Since the PJ saga ended I have been in a bit of a dating slump. As not to sound like a complete loser, I have decided to regale you with some favorite stories from my past.
Very shortly after I moved to New York, which was 11 months ago, I was apartment sitting for Mark who went on a family vacation. I live in Astoria and Mark lives in Hell’s Kitchen, so I jumped at the chance to be in the center of it all. I packed my little overnight bag, hopped on the N train and trekked up five floors to his deluxe apartment in the sky. First things first, I logged onto Grindr, to see who was around. For those of you who are not familiar, Grinder is a gentleman’s socializing network app for your phone. The way this app works is that it shows all the guys who are also on in your area. It places them in order of who is closest to you. Kind of cool. Kind of weird. The app actually tells you how many feet away people are from you. Sometimes when you click on a picture it will say that they are 0 feet away. “We’ve traced the call… it’s coming from inside the house.”
People use Grindr to meet friends and dates, but mostly the app is used for “dates.” As soon as I logged on I was lost in a sea of shirtless/headless torsos. Apparently, most people do not use face pictures to get “dates.” Who needs to when you have abs like that? So, up went my torso with the rest of them. Soon thereafter I got a message. He was very attractive. Well, his torso was. So we started the typical chit chat. When he started talking to me in an intimate manner, you know within the first few seconds, I told him my status. “Why does this keep happening to me?” “Why does what keep happening to you?” I replied. “Every one that I am attracted to is positive!” He continued a rant that went on like this for some time. I stared at the phone in disbelief.
I have a couple different ways to react to rejections based solely on my status. There is the “Woe is Me” reaction. This typically happens if I really like a guy. I fall into the depths of despair and I smother my feelings with food. Remember the Gouda incident? There is the “Fuck you!” reaction, where I get all brooding and angry. This usually is followed by going to the gym. This allows me to work out all my frustration and gets me back to my passive self (not to mention it is good for my biceps). Sometimes these two reactions happen simultaneously, which is quite entertaining for onlookers. I end up moping around the gym, brushing away tears and aggressively lifting weights while lip-syncing to empowering songs “Cause baby you’re a firework!” But this time neither one those reactions happened. Then all of a sudden, as I was staring at the phone, I started to laugh, uncontrollably. “Why does this keep happening to me?” Happen to him? How incredibly absurd! I guess I have found another way to react. Let’s call it the “WTF?” reaction. So, off went the phone and out came the vodka!