Excuse me?

An ode to the boy who told me my job could be accomplished by formatting an excel file:

Ross seemed like a nice boy from the looks of it: nerdy, tall, possibly Jewish with a Christian father. But as of late, I have learned my judgment in boys is far from taking first place. When he asked me for drinks, I thought, “Sure, why not?” When he scheduled them for 8:30pm on a work night, I thought, “This is actually around my bed time, but I guess.”

He promptly arrived at 8:45pm, and I had been sitting at the bar alone since 8:25pm because of my severely-anxious, on-time personality. After he sat down without apologizing for being late (Five minutes, fine. But 15? On a work night? At least acknowledge it.), he proclaimed, “I don’t really know much about alcoholic beverages.” (Excuse me while I choke on my cider, but why did you suggest meeting at a bar?)

After discussing if he should eat the orange garnish on his Blue Moon or let it soak in his drink, he went on to tell me how he graduated from the University of Virginia. He told me about how he likes to watch polo matches. I heard  all about how prestigious his university is and all of the high class activities he participated in (…alcohol free obviously…doesn’t sound like college.) So I told him my brother-in-law went to Cornell, and then paused for a moment to state, “I think that’s an actual Ivy.” (Seriously, you’re not impressing me by bragging.)

We quickly moved on to talking about where we called home in the city. After he made fun of my elevator apartment building (with dishwasher!) being right on the 2^nd Ave subway line construction, he hesitantly told me he crashes on his grandfather’s pull out couch in Union Square… There is no shame in saving on rent, but at 27, you shouldn’t be shacking with gramps on a pull out couch. At least you shouldn’t have the gumption do that while making fun of my apartment that I pay for myself.

But my dear readers, it does not end there. At 9:07, we began to talk about work. As a media planner/buyer and as most of the world, I deal with excel charts, but my job as a whole could not be done by an excel program as Ross simplified it, “So, your job is basically an excel file?”  As I began to defend my job that pays for my self-sufficient lifestyle, he began to laugh, “I didn’t mean to offend you.” (Did you hear what you said? Did you think it was appropriate?) I asked about his job, which had something to do with airport efficiencies, but what I mostly got was that after six weeks on the job, he hated it. At 9:17 I excused myself to the restroom with a sigh, “I’m glad I love my excel file job that I have a few  years of experience in.” (Did I mention he just finished grad school and this is his first real job that he is about to quit?)

When I returned, I threw down cash for my drink, shook his hand and headed in the opposite direction of him…unfortunately the opposite direction was away from the subway, and it was raining.

I’m starting to think maybe I should just be an NJB for myself…

He Was From Iran So...I Ran

If I had a penny for every time a boy called me crazy, I would at least be able to afford all of the dinners my dates have not paid for. Up until this month, I believed I was the epitome of this “C” word. I believed that my obsessive and compulsive behavior was supremely abnormal, but luckily I was proven wrong by a crazy Jewish boy whom I will now refer to as CJB.

THE BACK STORY: I met CJB at a Havdalah happy hour for people in their 20s. The truth is, I went to this event trying to meet people who would take me under their wings and volunteer to be shul buddies (in short, I was looking for some funny girl friends). However, I was approached by an Iranian Jew. After speaking for approximately five minutes, he instructed me to give him my number…(Who does that? “Let me have your number.”)

I received a phone call three days later when he asked me on a date. “Sure,” I said, my tone unenthusiastic because I spent half of the 20-minute-conversation asking him to repeat himself due to the thick accent.

On a first date usually conversation is light. Conversation is easy. Conversation is breezy. Conversation is basically CoverGirl. On this first date, he told me his Dad passed away. (I am not by any means making a joke of someone dying, but what does one do with that information from a practical stranger?) I awkwardly danced around this topic and kicked myself every time I said something about my father, which seemed to be more frequent than any other date when I have barely spoken about my parents.

The date was fine enough to agree to a second date, but with friends in town, I wasn’t willing to give up a significant portion of my time to someone who probably wasn’t going to be in my near or far future. So I suggested coffee and a walk in the park.

As he dropped me off at my Metro stop, he told me the more time he spends with me, the more he likes me. I paused, taken aback by this statement. On both our dates, I was bored. I wasn’t able to make one joke. His serious nature made me uncomfortable, and I was forced into being some polite version of myself that I only sport around my parents’ friends. I confusingly thanked him, and he tried to schedule another date to go grocery shopping, which I laughed off and scooted down the stairs. (Why would I take you grocery shopping with me?)

THE STORY:

A few days later I receive a call from CJB at 10pm, a time when I informed him I would not be available. (I am true believer in the courtesy 9am/pm rule…no calls before or after unless it’s an emergency.) I didn’t pick up. He called again the next night even later at 10:30pm when I was already in bed. At this point, I wasn’t ignoring him, but I also wasn’t following up…He didn't leave a message to call him back like my voicemail instructs.

In the morning I woke up to this disgusting text (Note for context, I work in advertising on the Duracell account): “I don’t hear from my sweet Duracell Bunny these days! Is everything alright?!”

 No. Gag me. Gross. No. Ugh. What? Are just a few thoughts that went through my head.  The next morning he texted me saying he saw me tweet and that the silent game was over, and that “[I] think the silent treatment will work, but [I] will speak!” Two minutes later he texted telling me I was a wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing…super poetic.  

Gathering my thoughts as any sane lady would do I took the day to figure out how to politely tell him my interest was on the decline, “I’m really sorry for my lack of response! I’ve been trying to come up with a polite way to say I don’t think we are compatible. I’m sorry if I’ve led you on or made you upset.”

In response, I got the email below:

“It's good that you decided to respond because I wanted to call your father tonight to ask him teach you some life lessons which would prevent you from remaining single for the rest of your life. It isn't your fault that you couldn't come up with a polite way of expressing yourself because you don't seem to have much dating experience (if any), and I think you didn't even care to say anything. I'm not sure when you came to the conclusion that we aren't compatible but regardless, unless something really strange happens between two people who are dating, it would be almost impossible to judge each other after just one date, which I think was pretty fine (or two, if you can actually call that rushed walking in the park a date!). You said you would be free on Saturday to go the NFL event because I wanted to have fun together instead of just dry conversations but instead you made plans with your friends and didn't even have a second to sit down! This rude behavior made me both surprised and uncomfortable but I didn't take it personally because I understand that things can happen. You always (especially after the first date) said that you're really enjoying it, etc., and that you want to do it more. So understand that your actions were very abnormal. You really need to work on yourself. Also, if you were dating multiple guys at the same time to eventually find the ‘right’ one, this is a huge mistake. You should avoid it. Try to understand these because they will really benefit you.

Goodbye”

Since I felt it was much too cruel to respond to his email, I will respond here to my readers:

1. You actually think my father wants me to date someone who thinks a man can tell me what to do and how to behave. He would be glad I discontinued communication with you.

2. I have dating experience, which you can see in my blog. You should have been able to read this all when you stalked my twitter out.

3. It wouldn’t have been dry conversation if you had asked me about myself or talked about something aside from school.

4. We weren’t dating. We went on two dates.

5. Of course I am going to spend time with my friends from out of town who I never see over you because I have a pre-existing relationship with them.

6. It’s fine to date multiple people at once. It’s an efficient use of time.

7. Let’s take a look back at 2. I have this blog, and you know about it. What were you thinking, you crazy human being?

And boys think girls are the crazy ones? Hoping I find an NJB who isn’t crazy and who understands my neuroses are quirks rather than a bout of mental instability.

Do you want Coke with that?

Where I am from we question the word “coke.” Does she want a Coca-Cola or did she want all twenty-three flavors in that Dr.Pepper? Never did I imagine looking up from a text message and begging the question, “Is he referring to the soda or the drug?”

“I’m so tired,” The text read. “I can’t decide to get a coffee…or coke. Lol”

To be honest, I should have known anyone making a joke about doing a drug to a practical stranger, probably wasn’t making a joke. (I should have also gone with my intuition of repulsion to the use of “Lol.”) Instead, I channeled my sister’s constant advice to “just try.” (Note: I am no longer a fan of taking my sister’s advice.) 

On our first date, everything seemed normal. He was the typical Jewish boy: Exactly one inch taller than me, a case of the nasal voice and had a strange sense of entitlement. So obviously it was good enough to warrant a second date. 

On the second date, this Cali Non-NJB talked about the crazy parties he attends. Fine. He bragged about his medical Marijuana license. Fine. He then told me about the last party he attended where there was an area dedicated for attendees to enjoy Coke…and he didn’t mean soda. Nope. NOPE.

After leaving the restaurant, he suggested we continue the night in my apartment, and I suggested he go home.  Unfortunately…very unfortunately, my suggestion fell on deaf ears. He put his arm around me while walking, and I was forced to put my arm awkwardly above his and around his shoulders since my short wedges put me in the awkward position of being taller. 

Finally, standing outside my apartment, could it be? Could the date finally be over? Wrong! He went in for the kiss. Now, I have had my share of bad kissers. Hell, I’ve probably been someone else’s bad kiss. But this, my dear reader, this was a kiss to give you the heebie-jeebies.  The only way to describe this unwanted interaction is to equate it to the limp fish handshake…I was left questioning if his lips even did anything.

When he texted to ask me on a third date referring to me as “Baby,” I told him there were issues I was uncomfortable with so it was best to not continue. When he asked what the issues were, I politely told him that marketing himself as an NJB on our first date was falsifying information.

With that I continued my search for an NJB who is a fan of the soda and not the drug.