Friday, March 7, 2014

Seduce a Man With Your Eyes. And Crutches.

April and I are going to a concert in Baltimore to see an artist she likes.  We decide to make a trip out of it so I rent a cool room through Airbnb (check it if you don't know what that is) in a funky Victorian row house.

We assume that the concert will be at a coffee shop or art gallery... from the website it looks smallish and hip. We follow the iphone to the venue's address. Nothing. It's a residential street. No cafes, coffee shops, etc in sight. Hmmmm... We park, get out and ask a cop nearby about the concert. He smiles and points to the large synagogue behind him. Ha!

Apparently the synagogue hosts a music series. I'm highly amused. April feels badly since this isn't the "vibe" we were hoping for but I'm totally on board for a strange basement synagogue experience. Let's get weird, people!

The artist we are here to see, Toby Lightman, is a kickass female singer/songwriter. She rules:  

We go inside and find seats in the second row! It's a mix of people... mostly older folks with a few teenage girls. April gets me situated (I'm still on crutches and majorly a gimp) and then runs off to buy wine - thank GOD they're selling adult beverages here.

I see him immediately. He saunters in alone. He's tall. Handsome. Swarthy. He takes a seat at the end of our row. I glance at him a few times during the concert and wonder what's his story. Who comes to a synagogue on a Saturday night to watch an acoustic jam? And alone? Intriguing, indeed.

At the end of the show we are waiting in line to talk to Toby. Tall man appears and he and I exchange a quick, flirty glance. April catches it and rolls her eyes. "Seriously? I can't take you anywhere." What? I'm just smiling. Sheesh. She goes to the bathroom and leaves me propped up against a pillar.

It's so ON. Swarthy man doesn't miss a beat. "I'm Levi." Well hello, Levi. He has intense blue eyes and a mop of curly black hair. Trouble with a capital T.

We chat for a few minutes and he's in the middle of telling me why it's a mitzvah to have sex on the Shabbat when April returns from the bathroom. She throws me a knowing look and says to Levi "I can't ever leave her alone."

Our conversation turns serious when he mentions he's recently divorced. Ah okay. Yes. This makes sense now. Handsome men don't just go to concerts by themselves and approach women on crutches to tell them about sexual laws in Judaism.

He asks if he can walk us to the car since we are in a questionable part of Baltimore. He helps me into the car and I know he wants to ask for my number. In a very un-Jamie-like fashion I say "okay, thanks! BYE!" and shut the door. April, wide-eyed, asks me what just happened. She quickly follows it by saying "don't get me wrong... that man is pure trouble. But I'm surprised you didn't go for it."

What can I say? I got a super naughty vibe from him (he was talking about sex IN the synagogue) and I don't want to be a recently divorced man's rebound.

Oh. But apparently it IS a mitzvah (command) for *married* couples to have sex on the sabbath. So Levi was right about that.

Tuesday, January 7, 2014

Screw You, Hindsight! You're the WORST.

It’s Saturday night. I’m tired. I’m still using a crutch after my soccer injury.  Even still, I’m not *quite* ready to go home after dinner with April. So I text my roommate, Vinny, and ask him if he wants to get ONE drink in Old Town. Famous last words, I know.

We head to Murphy’s and, because I’m still a gimp, we take a seat near the stage instead of posting up at the bar. The tables are close together and we soon make friends with the people sitting next to us. Brad and Carrie are a nice, slightly older couple (late 30s, early 40s maybe) from Texas. We chitchat about college football, their children, and their seething hatred of liberals. Um. Okay. Whatevs.

Brad seems to have that quality that few married men possess – the ability to be complimentary toward other women without being skeevy. He makes a few comments in front of his wife about how pretty I am. And because his wife is sitting right there, I don’t get a creepy vibe at all. Let’s call this EVIDENCE: EXHIBIT 1.

I get on stage to sing a song with the Irish musician and I notice that Brad has his phone out and is taking a video of my performance. Weird. But still – Carrie is sitting there unperturbed so again, I don’t think anything of it. Enter into EVIDENCE: EXHIBIT B.

Vinny is bored and wants a more lively crowd. Married folks and manly marines aren’t cutting it for him. We decide to go to the Bayou Room. It’s the late-night dance spot in Old Town, Alexandria. My other roommate, Padraig, described it as “the drain at the bottom of the bathtub that is Old Town… all of the scum eventually ends up there.” Carrie and Brad ask to join us… and hey, why not?  

Carrie walks with Vinny out ahead and Brad stays back to help me as I gimp along. Huh. That’s awfully nice of him. For your consideration, EVIDENCE: EXHIBIT C.

As soon as we walk into the Bayou Room Vinny heads to the bathroom and Carrie bounces off to the bar. A split second later Brad’s hands are everywhere. HOLY SHIT: EXHIBIT D. What. The. Fuck. I’m confused.  A couple of thoughts run through my head. “Ewww” “Wait – you’re married!” “Your wife is tall and buxom and I’m on a crutch… I can’t run away from her.” As soon as Vinny returns I tell him quickly that we’re leaving. The urgency in my voice means he doesn’t stop to question me. We leave.

My awesome roommate says he’ll go get the car so I don’t have to hobble myself the 10 blocks there.  Brad and Carrie emerge and I stiffen. Yikes. They get into a cab. Whew. But the cab doesn’t leave. And then a second later Brad gets back out.

I am not upset that they asked. I can’t judge – they are both obviously into it. Arguably she is more interested than he is. Everything else aside, I get angry after he asks the second time. I’m alone. On a crutch. Waiting for my roommate to come get me. Brad says “Oh Vinny? He’s not coming back for you… he said he was heading home.” SERIOUSLY?! You think my only options are a. wait for my roommate or b. go home with swingers? I’m sorry, buddy, but there are MANY options besides those two. And now I’m just pissed off.  

As they drive off I wonder how I could be so naive. I swear to you I didn’t see this coming. That’s why hindsight is a motherfucker. Did I accidentally stumble onto an obscure word that swingers use? Was it because I mentioned playing ice hockey in college? Did my offer to babysit imply some darker, deviant behavior?

Vinny is even more upset than I am when I tell him about our swinging friends. “What the hell? I wasn’t part of the package? What am I… chopped liver?” Don’t get me wrong – Vinny didn’t want to go to the party either. But he would’ve at least appreciated an invite.

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Men - A Biological Clock: You Has One.

This is a Public Service Announcement brought to you by the Flingstress.

Friends, recently I learned, to my amazement, that men also have a biological clock. And that mother fucker is ticking.  

Let’s look for a moment at the section just before men hit the big 4-0. Washington, DC is one of the drunkest cities in the country. Our happy hour culture is unrivaled. So men (and admittedly women) booze their way through their 20s and 30s. It’s uncommon to know people under the age of 25 who are married in DC. Your 30s are touted as your 20s only with money. So now you have the ability to buy bottle service, top shelf liquor and wine older than you are. BAM.

Something happens, though. At some point it inevitably hits you. Maybe it’s the nieces and nephews that start appearing or the last single buddy getting hitched or the receding hairline that unfailingly greets you in the morning.  Oh shit. I’m 40. Time to get serious! And you still have time, right? If you date a woman under the age of 35?

You sign up for online dating. You write to women in their late 20s and early 30s saying that you’re “young at heart” and “still looking to start a family.” You unfortunately use the term late bloomer a little too often.
Here’s the thing… Men looking for love over the age of 40 is NOT the problem. I applaud you. HOWEVER, if you are only willing to date a woman MUCH younger than you, I perceive that as unjust.  One way I preserve my sanity is by only dating men who are willing to date a woman their own age. Men think, erroneously, that they do NOT have an expiration date because “hey, that one dude had kids when he was 65.” It is my duty, folks, to inform you otherwise. Anything less would be irresponsible.

Check out my reputable resources:

The Biological Clock, Ticking for Men Too

For men over 40, there’s almost a six-fold increase in autism disorders in their children compared with men under 25.

The Best Age to Have Kids

“Once you hit 30, he says, testosterone levels begin to drop by one percent each year. By your mid-30s, mutations begin to occur within the DNA.” 

THIS is what happens as you age. That’s right. Your sperm is DYING!!!  

So guys, if you don’t care about decomposing sperm or DNA mutation-riddled children, by all means… continue fucking around. But don’t say you weren't warned.

Sunday, November 24, 2013

I'll Meet You at the Dragon's Lair, M'lord

Promise not to judge. I meet Biff on Hinge. It’s not quite as bad as Tinder (the dating app that’s known for hookups) but it’s almost as bad. Hinge operates like this: You have facebook. Your friends have facebook. Some of those friends are single. Hinge shows me YOUR friend’s picture and not much else. I click “yes” or “no.” If he also clicks “yes” then BAM. Game on. Guess what? You may be unknowingly hooking your friends up. So thanks!

We meet and he seems nice. Normal. Goes to church. Loves horses and America too. Wait. That’s a Tom Petty song. But mostly correct. In an extremely un-Jamie-like-fashion I invite him to join me and my friends at the Renaissance Faire the following day.

He asks if I’ll be in costume. I respond with “I refuse to answer such a preposterous question!” (Of COURSE I dress up and am in full renaissance attire. Duh.) Biff comes in a t-shirt. And shorts. LAME. But whatever. Not everyone wants to be a fun person. He brings his roommate and another chick. They don’t bring much to this story so I won’t go into further detail about them.

We are having a grand ol’ time drinking beer out of leather mugs, eating steak on a stick and watching an angry wench meet an unfortunate fate in the “drench a wench” or “soak a bloke” dunk tank. Then we head to the Dragon’s Lair. Let me say this…  it’s not for the faint of heart. The Dragon’s Lair is where all of the serious Renn Faire goers gather. It’s a place to see and be seen.  It’s filled with people who spend thousands of dollars on their costumes and have only time-period appropriate clothes, hats and accessories. Strangely enough, it’s also where all of the bikers go. You read that right. Motorcycle-driving, leather-jacket-wearing, I-love-mom-tattoo-showing, big-black-boot-sporting  bikers. For some reason bikers LOVE the Renn Faire. Irrelevant? Perhaps.

We are in line for more grog when I strike up a conversation with the middle-aged man in front of us.

WTF?! Who is this guy? And better question: why am I here with him? Thank goodness that this kind soul has the ability to respond graciously to big, bad bully Biff and his awfulness. I am fuming. In a queen's veil. It's not a pleasant sight.

Biff is on extremely thin ice when religion comes up. Oh great. I am starting to zone out when he mentions that homosexuals are like criminals. Sigh.

I learn an important lesson from Biff.  Someone may check off your “boxes,” but it does NOT mean they are a good match. Similarly, just because someone goes to church on Sundays doesn't mean they treat people with the golden rule. Sorry dude, but Jesus would NOT have been a jerk to nerds at the Renn Faire. No way in HE double hockey sticks.

Actual Emails

For those lucky souls who've never been subjected to the horror that is online dating, let me entertain you with some actual emails from 

The one with two words:
Holla mamasita

The one I don’t understand:
Hey there. Do you get out much?

What does that even mean? Like.. am I living in an insane asylum and do they let me out regularly?

The one who uses hyperbole:
You could easily make me the happiest man on earth by simply writing me ;)

I doubt you would be the happiest man on earth. That seems extreme AND impossible to empirically prove.

The one with way-too-long-stream-of-consciousness:
You mention so many great things that I almost don't know where to start. Well, I don't know if this matters, but I also love to play guitar, and I've even played some open mike nights. If you sing, I'll happily play rhythm ( ... I'm not too sure about my singing). Of course, you can play the guitar solos if you like. What songs do you like to play? It sounds like you rock some Mumford & Sons. And I have to admit that I'm jealous of the fact that you lived in Brazil. How long ago was that? Did you live in Rio? I so want to see Rio, especially during Carnaval. But I'd also love to visit Ireland. Did you get to see the incredible cliffs? Those looks magical. Actually, my favorite country is Italy. Have you ever spent some time there? You're Italian too, so you must have. And if we compromise between those two places, I think that's someplace in France, which isn't too bad either. Oh, one other thing, cannoli. It doesn't get any better than that. I'm not even kidding. Well, I still want to ask you a bunch of things, but it may be best if I stop here. I hope that you're having a great weekend. Enjoy the sunshine. And you quote Metallica ... you are legendary

How would you ever have a conversation with this person? Does he pause to breathe? 

The one who is absolutely ugly/hunchbacked/married:
It is so hard getting responses here because I don't post a picture. I had identity theft issues in the past and I'm more careful what I put online. One woman just informed me I must be fat because I don't have a picture. hahahaha My name is soccerman81 on here. How many overweight soccer players have you seen lately? I thought it was funny and had to share.

The one who can’t be bothered to type intelligently:
Hi Jamie. Just wanted to say hi b4 falling a sleep. I'd like to get to know u.
::shudder:: Why?! This isn't a text. It doesn't take THAT much more effort to type "you."

The one who is 52:
How are you? I had to laugh because when I clicked on your profile, Match told me that we're both "fine wine connoisseurs." (Does yours say that, too?)
P.S. I know I'm a bit outside your distance and age range, but I travel a lot and definitely don't feel (or act!) my age, for what it's worth. :) I'm also still looking to start a family. (Guess I'm just a late bloomer.)
Yes, you are *slightly* out of my age range.  

The one who sends the same email to everyone:
How are you doing? I read your profile I really liked it. Anyway I am a really great guy and I would like to get to know you as person. I am constantly trying to better myself. I used to be a combat medic in the marines and now I work at a hospital in the ER. Some of my interests are sports, the outdoors, exercising, cooking, baking, TV, DVDs, reading, medicine, science, history, and just learning in general. What are your interests? What do you like in a guy? I'd like to see if we have anything in common and maybe go from there. Feel free to ask me anything. Also, I want you to know that I think you are very beautiful.

I hope to hear from you soon,

Guys, this doesn't work. We can tell you copy and paste the same thing to every woman.
The one who uses humor:
I deeply regret that it is my unfortunate duty to bring it to your attention that you are above and beyond our maximum standards for looks. You are clearly a 10/10 we only allow 6/10 maximum. Your account will be CLOSED unless you reply to this message with your favorite flower and if you prefer Chinese or Italian cuisine. :)

Okay, so this could also be copied and pasted to many women. But at least this is funny.

The one who takes rejection like a champ:
Jamie, perhaps you suck at basketball but I doubt that you suck at dating. For instance that was the nicest rejection I have ever gotten in my life. It was like I like talking to one guy but that guy isn't you ;). Anyway good luck to you as well my little match heart breaker hehe.
The one that’s angry:
People answer emails on here and disappear like a fart in the wind. I don't favorite or just talk to anyone on here, my subscription ends this week actually. I have interest in you because i thought you were beautiful and you had special love for music as much as i did and I thought you seemed like you had a personality. Most of all your occupation is amazing and admirable. Judging me based on a crappy profile and not asking your own questions isn't getting to know anyone. Match can easily bring the shallowist out of anyone. I find it immature how people respond on here and after a few innocent messages and disappear without any explanation, it's just a big fat fuck you.
He he. He said "fart in the wind." Seriously though. This is online dating. And we had only sent a few messages back and forth. Welcome to the jungle of SORROW.

The normal one I responded to:
Hi Jamie,

I just got back from a bike ride to a couple breweries in NE DC with a friend who’s a graduate of The Ohio State University, which I find fun to say. Have you been to Port City? Congrats on the win today by the way, it was a close one…

So where do you do these open mics? Looks fun. Have a good weekend.

Do you have any good online dating emails? If so, feel free to share the pain and post them in the comments.  

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

29 versus 31

I turned 31 recently. When I started this blog I was 29. Two years doesn't seem like such a huge difference, right? Here's a video that I stumbled on when I was 29. Somehow, it's less amusing now.

Men seem to sense this reality. They know that if a woman wants a family... she is staring down the 35 ADVANCED MATERNAL AGE deadline. Time is TICKING, people! Eggs are shriveling! Dying! NAY screaming as we speak!

I experience this firsthand not too long ago. I met Jim when I was 29. We only went on one date because ummmm... he forgot to mention he has two daughters (ages 9 and 11). Oops. "Didn't I mention that?" No. No you did not. I politely explain to him that I just "am not in the place in my life where I'm able to date someone with children."

Fast forward two years. I run into him at the gym.

He knows it. I know it. The day when I will have to entertain dating someone with kids is nigh. I'm not *quite* there yet.

The older I get I AM much more open to dating someone who is divorced, disengaged, etc. because let's face it. The older we get, the more baggage we accumulate. And that's okay. I can honestly say that if I met someone I connected with (in person), it might not matter if they had been married before.

But that's the danger of online dating. I get to eliminate you because you're not my "ideal" match. You have children. You're divorced. You didn't finish college. You're not at least 5'8. You don't play accordion.  I'm not saying you shouldn't have standards. But what I'm saying is that it's possible to "filter out" some great people because they carry extra baggage. I'm being filtered out now, in some cases, because I'm 31.

Where to draw the line, then? With Jim I didn't feel enough of a connection to deal with his baggage. Like I said: Check back with me in 5 years, buddy.

Monday, November 11, 2013

God Has a Sense of Humor Or...

... I'm going to be struck down by a bolt of lightening for this comic. I interrupt our normal dating dilemmas to bring you an observation I had recently.

I find myself filled with murderous rage driving around DC. People are just AWFUL. Why?! What happened? Did we all collectively decide to be horrible, selfish bastards? Have we become so jaded by horrendous traffic that even the nicest people REFUSE to let someone into their lane? Just out of spite?

I, for one, have attempted to maintain my Midwestern driving sensibilities. I let people in. I wave when someone lets me in. HOWEVER I will admit to have given the middle finger on numerous occasions to people who have absolutely deserved it.

Part of me wonders if it would help the situation if we all had a "sorry, my bad" light that we could utilize for when we screw up. The kind that would be on your bumper... and you could press a button (next to your horn when you wanted to say "oops" to the person behind you).

E.g.: Sorry I was looking at my phone! Sorry my GPS recalculated! Sorry I didn't get over and wait in line like everyone else. Sorry I'm late for work and that means I can cut you off. Sorry I was jamming to my favorite song on the radio.  Sorry I'm a moron who hates everything and everyone.

If someone cuts you off but then presses their "sorry, my bad" sign... maybe we wouldn't want them to die a excruciating, fiery death and be condemned to the depths of hell. Just a thought.