While discussing what day my parents can come over to help me with something:
Mom: We can come on Memorial Day. But isn’t there a race that day?
Me: A race?
Mom: Yeah - a marathon across the city. The Crosstown…something…
Me: The Crosstown Classic?
My Dad (in the background, to my mom): WHAT?! Where the HELL have YOU been?!
I have a problem.
I can NOT make eye contact. Period.
To clarify, I can make eye contact with people I know… but even that is sometimes a bit painful. Sometimes, when someone is talking to me I can’t pay attention to what they’re saying because I’m all like, “OH SHIT, where do I look?! I don’t want to look into their eyes because they’re going to suck my soul out of me, but I don’t want them to think I’m rude so I’ll just stare at their nose oh shit they’re going to think I’m staring at their nose because it’s big WHERE DO I LOOK!”
Anyway, I turned 30 a few weeks ago. My resolution for this year is to learn how to make eye contact. So far, I’ve failed miserably.
Today, a hot guy at Starbucks kept trying to catch my eye. I walked past on the way to the bathroom and he turned to look at me… and I decided to find the floor very, very interesting. Then, he went outside to smoke, and after he was done i went out…. and he followed me outside and faced me and tried to make eye contact some more. Instead, I pretended to find the road construction down the street very, very interesting. DUMBASS.
Fifteen minutes later, I see someone approaching me out of the corner of my eye (but of course, I’m too scared to look). I think to myself “YAY hot guy is approaching and I didn’t even have to make eye contact!”
I look up, and it’s not hot guy… just some random ass dude that I accidentally made eye contact with earlier.
Him: “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
Me: “No, I don’t believe so.”
Him: “I swear I do.”
Me: “Sorry, you must have me confused.”
Him: “Are you Latina?”
Him: “What are you then?”
Me: “Bosnian-Serb and German”
Him: “Is your last name Solis, by chance?”
Me: (Wouldn’t that make me Latina? Didn’t I just say I’m NOT Latina?) Nope, sorry.
Him: “Are you sure you’re not involved in the Latin community?”
Me: “Pretty sure.”
Him: “I know I’ve seen you at fundraisers for the Latin community before.”
Me: “Wasn’t me. Sorry.”
Him: “Do you have Latin friends that attend fundraisers for the Latin Community? Is that it?”
Me: (Thinking: What is this guy’s obsession with the Latin community?!) I do, but they are not involved with the ‘Latin Community’, sorry. NICE TO MEET YOU.”
Anyway, hot guy left, Latin Community Man decided to come back and ask me one last time if I was involved in the Latin Community via whatever-blibbity-blah-blah-nonprofit, and THIS, my friends, is why I don’t make eye contact.
I’ve decided to live-blog my thoughts for 5 minutes as I check my messages on OKCupid… because, to be honest… I think my friends are getting sick of receiving Facebook messages with links and editorial comments.
#1: Oh, he looks cute. Wait… he says he likes… penguins… more than he likes people?? And he spends a lot of time thinking about BATMAN? IS THAT A DOLLAR SIGN TATTOOED ON HIS LEG?!?! Who the fuck gets a DOLLAR SIGN tattooed on their calf?! DELETE!
#2: Meh, he may be handso… wait, nevermind. He somehow went from receding hairline to bald between pictures #1 and picture #2. NOT INTERESTED. I’ll save this message just because I feel like a jerk for judging someone who is probably a perfectly nice person based on their lack of hair. God, I’m a jerk. Does liking men with hair make me a bad person? I wonder…
#3: Hi, Matt… thanks for sending me a messa…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…..Delete.
#4: Shrimp balls? Who the fuck lists SHRIMP BALLS as something they can’t live without?! Delete.
#5 Nice try Mr. Hot Macedonian Guy… you live 1,000 miles away and we’ve all seen Catfish. This could be amusing. I’m totally responding…. for entertainment purposes only, of course. Not because I want to have his baby in the off-chance that he’s a real person. No, not at all…
#6: Helpful hint, dude: when you start off an email with “let me be straight-forward” - 9 times out of 10, you’re about to say something that I don’t want to hear. DELETE.
#7: If you’re “Chicago’s Finest” then I believe it’s time for me to relocate. Then again, perhaps I should save this message for later… you know, just in case…
…you forgot to add CREEPY. And really, a 51 year old man should NOT be posing like that. And that drink with me that you’re “still waiting for” … well, you’re going to be waiting quite a while, old man. Delete and BLOCK.
#9: You want me to come over and WHAT?!?!
#10: Dear sir, thank you for being honest about your desire to bang every chick on OKCupid… but no thanks. I’m fucking logging off of this shit.
Last night, I had three glasses of wine while hanging out with a guy I was (previously) dating, slipped up and called him the nickname he does not know he has.
1. This is why I don’t drink.
2. Secret nicknames are bad
3. I shouldn’t be hanging out with people I’ve nicknamed “___ Douche” anyhow.
4. I’m an asshole.
I’m not impressed with this melon in the Meaningful Beauty infomercial. I once had a squash sitting on my kitchen counter for 9 months and I’ll be damned if that squash didn’t age. Cindy Crawford needs to make some motherfucking Meaningful Squash serum.
Today I read an article in Cosmopolitan which stated that men under psychological distress tend to be more attracted to women carrying extra body weight.
Suddenly, everything makes sense.
Forever21 is selling a dress identical to the one I wore for my 10th birthday. I started laughing by myself at how funny it would be if I wore it for my 30th birthday in a few weeks and subsequently scared a bunch of preteen suburban girls.
In short, I learned two lessons tonight:
1. I’m officially old enough to see bad fashion from my childhood recycled
2. I’m almost old enough to be “stranger danger.”
ZOMG, butterflies. Major, major butterflies.
Claire Danes was talking about breast milk leakage on the red carpet.
Thanks for making me feel old, bitch. I liked you better when you were talking about zits.
“I wrote him back only because he’s actually from Chicago… Maybe my adversity towards transplants is limiting my dating pool.”