Category Archives: Online Dating Project

What it’s like to write an eBook when you have no idea what you’re doing

In case it wasn’t apparent from the giant banner at the top of this blog, I wrote an eBook. That was a little under two years ago, but due to career changes, life, blah blah, it feels more like something that happened in the life of an entirely different person. Also, WordPress deleted like thirty minutes of good edits so this post is not as good as it could have been (*fist shaking at the WordPress gods*).

My life has changed so much in the past two years that I rarely think about the time when I hated my job and my career prospects and the only thing that gave me any sense of satisfaction was writing this blog. I really only think about it in a “wow, I’m really fucking lucky I’ve found something I love to do everyday. How did I trick these people into paying me?” kind of way. Or I think about it when people say, “Hey. You wrote a book. What was that like?”

And that’s what I’m going to talk about. I’ve been reticent to write about the experience because I don’t want it to come off humble-braggy (or regular braggy), or sounding like I’m lamenting one of the most exciting and proud accomplishments of my 20s. Please keep that second part in mind when I lament.

But I think enough (so, like five?) people who read this blog are also writers/aspiring writers in some vein and hopefully my learnings can help you one day when you also write an eBook (or regular book. Dream big, peeps!). So, here goes:

How did it happen? 

Like threepointfive years ago I was walking home from work, thinking about how the one year anniversary of when I met my then ex-boyfriend was coming up because I’m a massive creep who’s overly sentimental and I was thinking about the Google reminder I’d set for myself when we broke up for four months out that was like, “Throw a party because you’re totally over that douche”, and how that reminder and come and gone and I was, in fact, not at all over that douche. I should have told my boyfriend to skip this paragraph.

^That’s a tangent and also very close to the first page of my eBook. NEWAY. I came up with this whole idea about the online dating and went home and told Austin and CLEARLY we got drunk in the living room to celebrate and when our other roommates came home and we were sitting on the floor having a singalong to Robyn (but songs from before she was like, Gay Icon Robyn, eg. “Show Me Love”) and were like, “Why the fuck are you guys blackout? It’s Monday.” We were probably like

BECAUSE TIFFANY’S GONNA BE INTERNET FAMOUS FOR DATING

but I’m not sure we said that because we were blackout.

So I started my experiment and nothing happened. The Internet did not rally around me 40 Days of Dating style, but some of my friends did express that they thought I was The Worst for going on dates and writing about it in what I like to refer to as The Great Rooftop Confrontation of 2012. And then Chris and I got back together and the blogging about dating came to an end.

BUT. A year later, when I was submitting anything and everything to Thought Catalog anytime I felt extra suicidal at work, one of my posts was finally accepted. An editor there started scanning through my blog and reposing more stuff. Then one day she emailed me and asked if I wanted to turn my online dating posts into an eBook.

Within about ten minutes my boyfriend texted me that he’d gotten the job he’d been in hoping to get for the past six months. We had the best day ever. Champagne was consumed, Drake was blasted, drunk rapping was the main activity of the evening. The high from that lasted a few days for me. I was going to be an AUTHOR. Ok, well, an eBook author, but someone who wrote something who someone else asked them to write so that’s like an author. Right? Shit, I was going to be an author. was going to be an author? How was I going to be an author?

What was it like? 

I wanted to be a writer when I was a little kid. I imaged sitting in my New York City apartment, guinea pig on my desk, eating a cookie at 9 AM because mommy wasn’t there to tell me I couldn’t. I’d look out the window at my city view and type away, relaying all of my experiences to the world. It’d be fucking beautiful.

Wrong. Me writing a book looked like this –

All of my roommates were out of town that weekend. Someone had gifted me some adderall a few weeks back (god bless you, unknown drug angel) so I spent the weekend very alert, holed up in my apartment crying and ordering different variations of my favorite sandwich from the bodega across the street, feeling utterly terrified that I was going to fuck up writing a book like I fucked up music school because apparently I’ve got some demons, people. I had bed bugs but I didn’t know it yet, so I was also quite itchy.

And here’s where I get to the hindsight being 20/20 part –

I was living with a brilliant, kind, helpful, beautiful, wonderful human with a giant book deal (who could make this sentence a hell of a lot better) and I didn’t ask her for help. One of my dear friends who knows every terrible, embarrassing thing about me is an editor a very real publication. Yet another good friend is an editor at a publishing house.

I asked none of them for help because I was Imposter Syndroming so hard. I didn’t ask my editor enough questions because I was starstruck and believed she secretly hated me and was terrified she was going to cancel the whole deal entirely.

It did not help that during this time it was that part of GIRLS where Hannah was blowing her book deal and if Lena Dunham couldn’t do it HOW WAS I GOING TO DO IT?

What was your “process”?

Art(super hating myself for even slightly putting what I do and ‘art’ in the same category) and expression are romanticized like whoa. In reality, they’re a lot like pooping.

You’re walking down the street, minding your own business, and suddenly it comes to you and so you have to go to a Starbucks and order a coffee and pretend like you want to be there so no one else knows you just needed a place no one you know will be in while you get this thing inside you out of you. This metaphor is working so well.

My “process” sucked. And I did it all wrong. And when my book was released (i.e. – put up on Amazon), I was actually sitting in my apartment alone, drinking massive amounts of vodka and texting pictures of dead bed bugs in a plastic bag to the guy with the bed bug sniffing dog to confirm that I did indeed have bed bugs.

Did you sell a lot of copies?

It was a stroke of luck in some ways that I was drunk and on the verge of insanity because both of those things compelled me to announce my book’s arrival on social media. I’d posted nothing about it previously because I was terrified I’d fail to produce, but in my drunkeness I harassed everyone I knew into buying it and reviewing it.

The early sales and positive reviews (thanks friend & mom) placed me into the Kindle Singles program. If you don’t know what that is it means lots of free promotion from Amazon and lots of lots of lots of sales. Of course, lots of sales means lots of reviews.

Is it good?

I was laying in bed on a Sunday morning, a couple days after the book became a Kindle Single, trying to figure out something to tweet because people kept following me on Twitter and I felt the pressure. I took a break from trying to think up jokes about my hangover and popped over to my Amazon page. And there it was, a review from an unknown human. It wasn’t scathing, by any means, but it was a, ‘this was a meh experience for me’ sort of thing. I freaked out, my boyfriend calmed me down. We got mimosas. All was well again.

Until the next day, when Googling myself brought up a review. A review! Of my book! As it turned out there was a new website devoted to reviewing every Kindle Single and the woman who reviewed mine absolutely fucking hated it. I read her review that criticized my writing, my experience and me, in general, and then I went outside to wander around in the fog and cry.

At the time, it hardly hit me that my book was in the top ten non-fiction Kindle Single sales for the week. All I could do was be obsessed with the opinion of this one person. And, subsequently, a bunch of other people who wrote negative reviews.

At first I wanted to hear all of it. I thought if I could soak up enough negative feedback I’d be able to make myself immune. In my quieter moments, though, those words would echo in my head. I’d get defensive and bitter. I’d make up conversations in my head. I’d try to take action.

Reviewer – “Seems like Tiffany needs to keep her day job.”

Me – “I AM KEEPING MY DAY JOB YOU ASSHOLE.” And then I went and marked every single one of his Amazon reviews for screwdrivers as ‘This review was not helpful’. Suck it, reviewer.

I made the mistake of personifying them when, in reality, internet commentors are unsympathetic shells of people. Anonymity does weird things.

So it’s two years down the line and every so often I get the inevitable, ‘hey! you wrote a book,’ from a new friend who’s taken the time to look at my Twitter. It’s a weird thing to be both proud of an accomplishment and simultaneously embarrassed by it. And it’s a weird thing to manage your internet self, a distilled version of you that (at least if you want to be paid attention to) should present every little thing you’ve done as evidence that you should be paid attention to. Well, until you’ve done something cool enough that just gets you them for free.

When I published the book I’d get asked by some of my more put together friends if I was nervous about the fact that I’d potentially forever be associated with drinking and dating. I didn’t think back then and I still don’t think now that I’ll ever be worried about that part of it. It’s really the smaller things, like the fact that I used the word ‘retarded’ or that I described in detail how I was repulsed by someone mainly due to his weight. I don’t worry people will find out I wrote it (because that’s still kind of fucking cool), but I’m always gripped by the anxiety that they’ll read it and see me like some of the internet commentors did. That maybe they won’t hear everything delivered in the flat, tongue-in-cheek tone I wanted them to hear it in.

What did you learn?

No one asks me this question, but it’s the most important part, because it all goes back to the biggest lesson I’ve ever learned about Imposter Syndrome. I was dying for an opportunity like this one in order to prove to myself that I was not just another person blogging on the internet, but a person with ideas worth being put into a more permanent form. Once I got that opportunity I felt just as much like an imposter as I had before. I was up against the other people writing books who really knew what they were doing. I thought if I could just push out ANYTHING and be published then I’d have that title of “author” to claim for myself. Once I did publish the book and the reviews started coming in, Imposter Syndrome struck again. I wasn’t an author, I was a “bad author”, a “hack”, or as the website that continually liked to use puns on how my book was about drinking (we get it, you’re not good writers either <- still bitter) described it “only selling copies because of a clever title and good cover art.”

The lesson I learned was that I’m going to feel like an imposter until the day I die if I let myself. It’s never going to get better, nothing is ever going to feed that deep-seeded insecurity that I’ve got in the pit of my stomach. Every glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel fades and morphs into something sinister, a whisper in my ear that wakes me up in the middle of the night to remind me that I’m the shittiest.

^Uplifting, right? BUT IT IS I PROMISE STICK WITH ME WE’RE ALMOST DONE AND THEN YOU CAN EAT COOKIES IF YOU HAVE THEM I PROBABLY SHOULD HAVE WARNED YOU TO COME EQUIPPED WITH COOKIES. Once I realized that the imposter syndrome, just like all of my anxiety and my crazy, is with me forever, I was able to take it a little less seriously. It became just like that voice in my head that tells me the 90-something, tiny Asian woman walking behind me in the street is actually a secret serial killer and she’s about to stab me. It doesn’t go away, but it’s stupid as fuck.

Are there a bunch of things I wish I’d done better when I wrote it? Hell yes. Am I so embarrassed at points when I think about things I wrote? Oh my god you have no idea. But we learn best through our mistakes. We see new parts of ourselves when we’re putting our broken egos back together.

And all of the lessons I’ve learned? Those will just have to be used on the next (e)Book.

Next time… On Serial.*

*I’msorryIhadtoIcouldn’thelpmyselfitsoundsSOcoolinmyhead.

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Featured on Amazon Singles!

That’s right, I’m kind of a big deal now. For those of you who don’t know what it is, Amazon’s Kindle Singles section is a substore of Amazon that features eBooks that are anywhere from 5,000 – 30,000 words. It’s super exciting to get featured and for the most part, I have those of you who have purchased, read and posted such awesome reviews to thank. Today you can feel extra good about yourself, knowing that you not only boosted my self-esteem with your review, but you also helped me accomplish something I get to brag about at my next family / high school / college reunion.

If you didn’t know I had an eBook. Now you know. It’s available on Amazon, B&N and in the iBookstore

IN OTHER NEWS, you can now buy my eBook on a bunch of eReader devices. I’d recommend you buy a copy for each, duh.

It’s kind of like listening to an album on tape, vinyl and mp3. The screen resolutions really affect the way you feel about how I describe Gallaway Hooker’s bar scene.

SO, please purchase and if you do purchase, please, please, please review it! I will send you good vibes and if I know your address also candy.

BUY IT ON AMAZON

BUY IT ON BARNES & NOBLES

BUY IT FROM THE iBOOKSTORE

And if you haven’t yet read about the drinking game I created to go with it, Thought Catalog has published a new and improved version today. Check it out at http://www.thoughtcatalog.com.

Buy My Ebook and Use it to Get Drunk

Or, you know, reading it is an option too.

BUT YOU KNOW WHAT’S MORE FUN THAN READING?

Drinking, duh.

If anyone had told me a year ago that I would have a Thought Catalog Original ebook I would have been like, “Seriously, quit fucking with my emotions you asshole. Life is hard enough.” If anyone had told me when I was 18 that I would have an ebook about online dating, I would have been like, “ONE DAY I’M NOT FAT AND I GET TO DATE???” So really, surprises all around.

YOU GUYS I HAVE AN EBOOK. HOW DID I NOT TELL YOU THIS WAS HAPPENING?? I TELL YOU EVERYTHING!! Well, really it’s because I had convinced myself that at some point Thought Catalog was gonna be like, “oh nm, forget it, we don’t want to do this,” and you know my whole knock-on-wood thing.

I told them it was ok that the cover photo wasn’t brunette, because I’ve always wanted to be blonde anyway.

A month ago yesterday, TC contacted me and asked about turning my online dating project into an ebook. I explained to the editor that there was a little more to the story than what was posted on my blog, because during that time I was getting back together with the person who inspired the whole thing. They asked me to include that story, edited the whole thing (brilliantly) to make me sound more literate, and now it’s on the internet forever and for-always so that my grandmother can read about how I broke up with someone after he sent me a dick pic. Sorry, grandma!

Oh yeah, you want the drinking game part. Here it goes:

Every time I mention a form of transportation: Take a sip

Every time I think about something deep while en route: Take a shot

Every time I mention Austin: Take a shot

You see the words, “Spicy Special”?: Take a fucking shot. It’s the best sandwich ever, and if you’ve never had it you need to come visit me so I can personally buy you one.

Every time I mention my job: Finish your drink, because, seriously, if you’d had the job I had last year you’d be drunk too.

Whenever I mention my guinea pigs: Shots! Shots! Shots! Shotsshotsshots! (so that’s like, 2 shots. Of limoncello, because I’m not a sadist or anything). Yes, this is becoming a more involved drinking game than you’d planned. You can also just take shots of whatever shit you have hanging out in your fridge. Beer and siracha anyone?

When you get to the part about the first time I had a kiss forced upon me and the subsequent times too: WATERFALL. YOU WILL NEED IT.

Ok, dear reader, you’re drunk. Hope you liked my ebook. Write an awesome drunk review on Amazon (give me 5 stars, duh) and send it to your friends. If you don’t already have enough reasons to promote me, I have bed bugs (next week I return to blogging in a weeklong series about bed bugs), so seriously. HELP THE ITCHY.

Peace, love and sorry grandma,

Tiffany

PS – For anyone who is new and has happened upon my Online Dating Project section, I’ve removed a lot of the posts but kept a few teasers. I recommend the ebook! It’s cheap, and I once watched Austin read it in less than an hour and laugh his ass off the whole time.

PPS – To get a little sentimental, the best part of this whole thing to me is that as a (sorta former) songwriter, I’ve written songs about practically every crush and ex love ever, but have never written a song about my current boyfriend. When I started reworking these posts into an ebook, I called up my boyfriend and was like, “well, everyone else got songs, but I guess you get an internet book?” Ok. Cuteness done, I’ll go cut myself or something to counterbalance.

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Note to self: Don’t tell Online Dates about this blog

We were sitting across from one another at Big Bar in the East Village when I realized his interest  in me had turned to hatred.

“So… I guess I should just leave?”
“Yes.”
“Ok…. bye?”

I was a mess last night, which could have been predicted given my whole pre-date routine of ‘I’m drinking and having an emotional breakdown after hot yoga by myself in my apartment,’ but sometimes I don’t realize before it happens that my being a mess isn’t like, Zooey Deschanel adorable (Fuck you, Zooey! Why are you so cute that fucking COTTON wants you to represent it?!?). I was texting Nina tipsily my whole cab ride down about how much I was not in the date zone, how I’d be home in two hours, how Rutherford seemed super dumb. Yes, Rutherford… I make up names for all these guys and I’ve decided to just have fun with it because I’m running out of Johns and Kevins and because he really did have a weird name, even though it wasn’t Rutherford.

I realized pretty quickly upon meeting him that a lot of his stupidity was due to his being a recent Seattle-NYC transplant. People new to New York are like babies! I’m sure we wouldn’t like each other sober – he talked about himself a lot and asked me the worst questions… but then we started drinking. I really enjoy this part of my dating life; getting drunk with a total stranger is what I’d imagine a bartender experiences every night. Because we’ve only just met and we don’t know each other’s last names or social circles, the conversation gets more honest more quickly. I underestimated Rutherford until he admitted to me that he’d been on an online date RIGHT before meeting up with me. I high-fived him, because let’s be honest, anyone feels cool doing that. I went on two dates in one day last summer and I felt SO COOL and kind of evil but also in a cool way.

After that confession, most sentences started with “Since we’re being honest….” even though we weren’t telling each other anything that really needed the preface.

We smoked cigarettes outside and had idiotic conversations –

“Since we’re being honest…. I was fat in high school!”
“I was too! How fat?”
“175 pounds.”
“That is kind of fat – I got skinny around age 13.”
“Oh….you were much cooler than I was….”
“Yeah, I was kind of cool in high school. When did you lose your virginity?”
“I was almost 21. You?”
“Since we’re being honest… I was almost 17.”

I high-fived him here.

I didn’t think he liked me, because I didn’t like him, but when we got up to leave the restaurant he said something about there not being anything here (gesturing between the two of us) and I was like OMG I KNOW, RIGHT? I’M GLAD WE CAN BE HONEST.

And then he said, “I was joking? Wait.. you were joking right? Come have another drink with me?”

“Oh.. yeah. I was totally joking.” Some how that worked and we stumbled over to Big Bar.

I think it’s all the interviewing I’ve been doing that made me want to tell him at least one real thing about me. I’ve been answering all these questions about why I want to leave my job and where I see myself in 10 years and I’ve been lying through my teeth. I hate lying, and so before I knew it, the truth about why I go on online dates was tumbling out of my mouth at a terrifying speed.

“Since we’re being honest…”

I tried to backpedal after that, but there was no saving the conversation. I got up and saw myself out. I thought about feeling bad, but then I got into my cab and the super old Latino driver offered me a cigarette. He told me about how much he hated his job and how all he wanted to do in life is get drunk and watch tv. We bonded. I came home and threw up on my pillow… it’s been a weird week.

This morning I’m faced with a gross pillow and blurry thoughts of my conversation with Rutherford. Is telling someone, “This thing you think is a date isn’t really a date” any worse than when guys use online dating just to hook up with girls? I don’t think it is, but maybe I’m an asshole.

I’m going to comfort myself by thinking that Rutherford now has a story to tell his Seattle friends about crazy New York people. I had to wait until my fifth online date to have anything crazy happen so, YOU’RE WELCOME, Rutherford.

The great part of online dating is that when you fuck up royally as I did last night, you get to walk away with a feeling of lightness. I’ll likely never see Rutherford again, as long as I don’t eat at the restaurant where he’s a chef.

And since we’re being honest… I can’t afford that restaurant anyway.

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An Education

Tonight marks my first Atlasphere date. I still haven’t read anything about Atlas Shrugged.

The Straight Grindr

When I first heard about Grindr, the geolocating App for single, gay men, I had several reactions:

1.) What?

2.) It does WHAT? It’s for men who want to have sex and can find someone within the same 10 blocks?

3.) Why isn’t there one for straight people??!

I’m sure most people had the same reaction, and developers caught on to that and took not that long to create the straight version of Grindr. The interesting thing about creating a straight Grindr is that these developers seemed to understand that making an App with the exact same pretense would creep people out. For some reason, even if it’s a lie, straight interactions cannot be that blunt.

Blendr has to pretend to be about meeting people in the general sense. Otherwise it seems super creepy.

I heard about Blendr for the first time on Monday, and immediately signed up. I then forgot about it, until the next night when I was at Angela’s, drinking and trying to forget about the terrible day I’d had. At that point, getting back on Blendr seemed like a great idea. I got online and responded to someone who’d sent me the following:

Him: “Ho”…. “*Hi”

I responded: “Lol”

From that super-romantic starting point, we talked back and forth for about twenty minutes before exchanging numbers. If I were to describe this experience, I’d call it Match.com on crack. It took  30-40 minutes of me talking to/ texting this person to make a date when it can take weeks on Match.

Interestingly enough, the same conventions apply. Something I’ve noticed about online dating is the perpetual need to qualify why you’re on an online dating site. When I talked to Ryan on the phone, he asked me how many dates I’d been on, after immediately clarifying that he’d only been on a few. I knew from the way he phrased it that the only answer I could give was, “Oh, you know, just a few. My friends have done this, so I’d figure I’d try it out.”

My experience on Blendr was no different. My potential match asked me right away; “What’s a pretty girl like you doing on this site?” It sort of reminded me of the movies: a scene where a lonely woman sits at a bar, drinking by herself, and gets asked by men why she’s there. We have a fixation on not seeming desperate when, in reality, we are all so very desperate. If I were to answer any of the questions I’ve been asked by men in bars, on match, on okcupid, or on blendr in honesty, my answers would be unflattering. They’d be something along the lines of:

“Well, I got my heart broken and I can’t personally afford to purchase as much alcohol as I’d like to to numb the pain.”

“I’ve decided to write a blog about my various online dates. Wanna be featured on my blog?”

Instead I responded something like, “hehe. My friend told me about it, so I figured I’d check it out.”

So tonight I met Joe. I didn’t expect someone on Blendr to have an attention span long enough to wait two days to meet me, but he did. We talked about family, work, drinks and rap; and overall it was a better interaction than I’ve had with several of the guys I’ve spent weeks talking to. Along with that, Joe was much more of a gentleman. He refused to let me pay for drinks, repeatedly asked me if I was having a good time, and forced a $20 bill into my hand as I grabbed a cab.

For these reasons I feel much more guilty writing about the experience than I usually would…. I’m going to take that as a sign that I should. Online dating is not all bad. I say this on my blog after only having documented one date, but from my past experiences, you meet some great people. Joe is one of those great people. I’ll definitely go out with him again.

Tonight, Joe and I talked a lot about New York. He’s a native New Yorker and for me it’s rare that I meet people who grew up here. I live under the assumption that those raised here aren’t walking around in constant awe of the city, so I was surprised by his fascination with the randomness of our meeting. It hit me that years here don’t change the feeling that you can always change, and you can always embark on a new adventure. Joe spent a lot of tonight telling me that he was still shell-shocked by the fact that he was meeting someone he met through an iPhone App. To think that even a native New Yorker can feel that excitement is reaffirming. It makes me want to live here for many, many more years.

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Business Ideas

Oh! The other thing I forgot to say about my match.com date from last night. This is the guy who wanted to talk on the phone a few weeks ago. We did talk on the phone, which was less awkward than I’d imagined, but in talking he told me about how he wants to start his own company. I thought this was really interesting, so I asked him if he had any ideas:

R- “You know Skype? Well the other day someone wanted to Skype with me for business, but I didn’t want to like, Skype from my room. So I was thinking what if you could use a green screen background for all your calls. Like people interviewing and bands could use it.”

T- “So… like what iChat does?”

R- “Yeah, but that one sucks. I’d make a really good one.”

I figured Ryan was in the brainstorming process, and that once he started examining other start-ups and markets he’d find an idea with a slightly larger target market. One our date, he told me his more recent idea which does indeed have a bigger target market:

R- “My friend was telling me about this website that you use to make reservations to restaurants.”

T- “Opentable.com?”

R- “Yeah! That’s it! So I was thinking… what if you could do that for everything? You know, like weekends out with friends or doctor’s appointments-“

T- “Have you heard of ZocDoc?”

R- “What is it called?”

“T- Zoc. Doc. The website that does that… they’re all over the news because they keep getting a ton of funding.”

Ryan looked at me like I was lying.

R- “…Well you could do that for everything.”

Even though I’m pretty sure Ryan thinks I made up ZocDoc, at least he’s coming up with business people would (and do!) use.

I’ve come up with a couple ideas for Ryan on his journey to starting a company. I think they’re pretty great.

The Home Store: They sell everything you need for home improvement!

InstaVintage: It’s an App! You take a photo on your smart phone and then make the photo look like it’s old, or black and white or something. Maybe there could be a social networking feature!

The Music TV Station: Everybody likes music! Why aren’t there any stations that play music? I have an expansion plan too! Get everyone hooked on music videos, then start breaking up the music videos with bad tv shows so people get hooked on those!

… I think they could be HUGE.

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Ryan and I decided to be friends

I woke up at 5:30 this morning absolutely hating myself for getting drunk on a week night. It doesn’t even matter that I got myself home without getting a bunch of bodega food, at a decent hour, with all my belongings AND managed to put my mouthguard in before falling asleep with my alarm set – all things that wouldn’t have happened in college. Waking up hungover solidifies for a few brief moments the deep-seated fear that I will never be a functioning adult.

As I laid there suffering, the conversations from last night started pouring in along with some more self hatred. Really? Did we really discuss preferred types of porn? (Angela, this further answers THIS question.) On a first date? I remembered a bunch of other embarrassing things I said (and tend to say after a bottle of wine) and then I remembered that right before sliding into my cab I asked Ryan if we could be just friends.

He was all about the idea from what I remember, but in my sobriety I wonder if he really felt the same way or if he agreed because there’s not really anything else you can say to someone saying they’re not interested in you romantically.

I’m hopeful it was the former because while Ryan was a perfectly normal (and nice!) guy, there was absolutely no connection there. Aside from the fact that he did this hand motion a lot

 and I found it distracting, talking to Ryan made me feel like a weirdo.

In my day to day I don’t think of my friends or myself as quirky, but I guess that we are. Ryan talked to me about the type of things you ‘should’ talk about on a first date – how many siblings he has, what he was like in high school, etc. In the middle of my talking animatedly about Austin’s temporary paralysis and why that’s resulted in us throwing a knock-on-wood-themed New Year’s Eve party I realized this is not what you’re supposed to talk about on a first date, I guess? At the end of the story I had to clarify with “… we have a morbid sense of humor.”

If I were to chart out our back and forth, I think it would look something like this:

(I know I misspelled religion in the chart… I don’t feel like fixing it)

I left the conversation thinking about all the ways I didn’t feel understood by this other human and how for some reason not feeling understood for a few brief moments makes you feel totally alone in the universe.

Then I came home to my roommates, who were eating some of the novelty candies we buy from the bodega and I remembered I’m not alone. Not alone in my quirkiness at all.

To Ryan: If you do decide to be my friend, below are some future conversations you can expect.

  • Why geese are awesome
  • All the reasons I’m sure my retinas are detaching even though the eye doctor says they’re not
  • All about my friend named Hibben and probably some pictures of her to prove she’s real
  • About my dog that we’ve renamed ‘Die’
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Tonight, UES… match.com date number one.

I forget how much I dread these things…

Email from okCupid

Someone chose me! What’s his screenname?

PatrickBateman.

No, no I’m not going to go out with someone who willing chooses to use the name of the lead character in American Psycho.

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