the last resort

she couldn’t resist the smile that stole across her face.

she turned away suddenly to keep me from noticing, but she couldn’t go very far.

her hands were twined amongst mine, and the wind kicked and pulled her hair across her face.

briefly obscuring that smile.

she looked back towards me, more composed, more serious.

but i loved the way she couldn’t keep her rosey cheeks from dancing at the corners.

barely beneath the surface was that spring loaded smile, and she was having the darndest time trying to push it back inside its box.

i pulled her in for another kiss, and the smile broke to the surface again.

it made my heart skip – a million little high fives resounding in one loud clap inside my head.

at that moment it crossed my mind that the key to making this ‘work’ would be to keep her smiling like that.

forever.

and then i realized that it was impossible.

****

for all my tough bluff – strong words and angry rhetoric, i am secretly the worst kind of closet romantic.

i am a believer.

i eat that shit up with a spoon, a knife, and a bulldozer.

and it doesn’t take much for someone to figure this out – im actually quite open about it.

ill admit this to the first person, the last person, and anyone in between - but i doubt that many people realize how far the rabbit hole really goes.

if alice tumbled down far enough, the rabbit hole would drop straight into my heart.

and that’s why i refuse to settle for anything but crescendo’s and a thousand violins and the 1812 overture and fireworks on the fourth of july.

i want a nuclear implosion – a soundless explosion that i hear not in my head but feel in the tips of my toes.

i want it all.

and i want it on the first.

first look.

first touch.

first kiss.

our first.

the first.

of many.

****

and she wasn’t any of these things.

but she was very cute.

cuter than i expected, and certainly cuter than i deserved.

she was four feet and eleven inches tall, and she stood four feet and eleven inches.

she wore flats on our first date, and i almost fell in love with her for it.

her hair was flippy, just like i liked it.

she looked nothing like her pictures – which was a relief because i couldn’t decide if i liked her in her pictures.

even now as i draw upon a mental image of her, i am met with a confusing montage of memories of our time together mixed with memories of her in pictures that ive seen. sometimes i think im making my memory of her into something else – someone that isn’t her at all.

someone that i like. someone that i would like more.

but other times i think i remember her as i saw her.

and i hope that this is true sense of what she looks like.

not necessarily who she is, but what she looks like.

****

we were seated.

we sat for an hour emptily staring at our menus.

we didn’t order.

we spoke instead.

i don’t remember the words that we uttered.

they just tumbled as new words have a tendency to do.

skipping like rocks across a still pond – not really making a dent in anything, but causing little ripples within our consciousness before eventually sinking to the bottom.

it’s a first date – nothing of substance is actually discussed.

and yet so much is weighed, so much information is gathered, and so much is decided immediately.

it’s a first date – nothing of substance is actually decided – except perhaps the future of a budding relationship.

and of course words have no basis of influence in the matter.

words are superfluous.

so we ordered dinner.

****

she played with her hair a lot.

flipping it one way. then another. then back again.

they say this is a good sign.

for me.

of course, what the fuck do they know.

****

they also say don’t talk about ex’s. don’t talk about marriage. don’t talk about engagement rings, and the future, and white picket fences, and what you want your kids names to be.

we talked about all of this.

thumbing our noses at what they say.

and what they say to do.

we say what we do, and we do what we say to do.

words are superfluous, but actions never are.

****

our first kiss was a throwback to middle school.

we were shy almost to the point of immaturity.

a gradual progression from walking, to casual touching, to holding hands, to clutching, to kissing; it was a freight train set in motion by the first words we uttered.

it was inevitable.

which is presumptuous to say, but actually presuming very little.

i think its natural for any date (even a bad one) to progress along the same lines as ours.

a kiss at the end of the date is not a flashing neon sign of guaranteed success.

st. elsewhere

for men, dating is a lot like (pardon my explicitness) a big dick swinging contest.

woman may not understand what this means, but most guys probably get the gist - dating is about showing someone how ‘big’ you really are.

of course dating is never as straight forward as the above mentioned contest; in fact showing a women how ‘big’ you really are can be accomplished in a myriad of ways, which is WHY dating is so complicated - no two woman can agree on the criteria, no two woman will admit what they secretly want.

but its hard to refute that dating fundamentally boils down to (in women’s terms) a man’s ability to ‘wow’ his date.

if we (as men) can figure out what ‘wows’ a woman, we are in like flynn.

if we cant… we are out like a trout. ha!

****

obviously every women is different – thus the criteria for success is always a moving target.

anything is up for review: a man’s height, weight, looks, car, money, job, ethnicity, religion, personality, girth, attitude, build, eyes, hair… the list can go on and on (im not a women, so even EYE don’t know what the heck is on that list… ha!).

some of these criteria are verifiable immediately (profile pic!!!), while others can only be unearthed over time.

some of these criteria are ‘nice-to-haves’ while others are absolute dealbreakers.

and SOME of these criteria are completely ethereal and are just a ‘feeling’.

and unfortunately those criteria are usually the most important.

****

everyone’s got their fair share of dealbreakers – some of them are completely logical (i wont date someone who’s been to jail), while some of the others are completely superfluous (i wont date someone who’s been to new orleans) and yet still valid.

for better or worse, i have a long list of deal breakers.

and match.com has only added fuel to this fire, by providing all the information that i need to make an ‘informed’ decision about someone (even tho im fairly certain that every girl in boston is lying).

but of course the swords slices bread both ways.

and as i peruse my ‘matches’ it often makes me wonder what OTHER people’s dealbreakers are.

what is it about me (my wink, my email, my profile, my photograph) that causes some people to think, ‘nope, not for me’.

don’t get me wrong, this isnt a sad thought.

im not hurt or frustrated by someone who isnt interested in me - because i can be just as picky, and just as judgmental the next person.

and ultimately isn’t that what we all want?

don’t we want someone who is just as picky and just as judgmental, but yet (for some reason) we still chose them and they still chose us?

****

im taking a ‘match’ to icarus for dinner on saturday night.

our connection surprisingly progressed much along the lines of how match.com was designed to work: i looked at her profile a couple of times and then winked at her, she looked at my profile and winked back, i wrote her an email, she wrote me an email, i disappeared for a couple of weeks, then i replied to her email and gave her my number, she replied and gave me her number, finally i called her flinging flanging number and got a flinging flanging date out of it.

i like to claim that i don’t want to meet a girl in a bar because it will be an awkward explanation for our future kids. it would probably go something like this: ‘i was pounding beers when i saw your mom from across the crowded bar, and from the way she slammed those tequila shots, i just KNEW that she was the one. later that night as she projectile painted the ladies bathroom floor, i fell in love…’

its strange to think that THAT sounds more acceptable than talking about how we traded winks and scoped out each others profile via the interweb.

blah

****

but we’ve made it this far.

and that has to say something – we know alot more about each other than most people on first dates do.

we know what each other looks like*. we know how tall each of us is (a surprisingly important requirement for women searching for men). and we know what each person likes to do for ‘fun’.

im not super excited for this date, but i cant decide if that’s because match.com has sucked the intrique out of this, OR if its because im not vibing this girl. i hopes its the former, not the latter.

ive decided that profiles, winks, emails, and phone calls don’t count when getting to know someone.

so it still comes down to that very first meeting.

saturday is THE night - will i impress her with how 'big' i am? will she hit one of my dealbreakers?

no matter what happens, at the end of the night we will either know or we wont.

so be it.

* this reminds me of something that i commented to another blogger - 'appearance is the marijuana (i.e. gateway drug) of relationships. its the introduction, but never the addiction. its why we meet other people, but never the reason we continue talking. in the end, i want a relationship that is based on crack or speed, not pot. i want someone who likes my looks, but craves my personality. dont you?' - hooizz

'you can never really know another person, except by your first glance at him. because in that glance we know everything. even though we're not always wise enough to unravel the knowledge' -ayn rand

ive decided to move to blogger. i will cross post for as long as i can, but please re-direct your links, and comments to my blogger site (hooizz.blogspot.com).

interlaken says hello

in my own words...

writing about yourself is often an exercise in flatulence.

which is ironic since it feels AS unnatural to write about yourself, as it would to fart on a first date.

modesty and humility are characteristics that society has ingrained in all of us – much like the societal conditioning that forces you to clench your butt and cross your legs when you get the urge to fart in mixed company. ha!

fortunately our conditioning CAN be broken down (embrace your inner gaseousness), and eventually our true selves can be released…

released in the form of noxious vomit inducing fumes –or- equally bad match.com profiles.

***

writing a match.com profile is actually a lot harder than you would expect.

if you don’t believe me, you should think about your answers to the questions below.

(jess you get brownie points for completing this assignment early)

what do you do for fun?

what do you do for work?

what are your favorite ‘hot spots’?

what are your favorite things?

what did you read last?

what words do people use to describe you?

what do you want in someone else?

those are the topics, now write something that will make you appear to be a desirable ‘match’ AND do it in under two hundred characters.

go.

***
even tho it is SOMEWHAT difficult to write a profile, it is still just WRITING a profile – its not rocket science or saving the world.

and yet many people inevitably find themselves saying, ‘i don’t know how to describe myself… im not very good at writing these things… i don’t know what to say, but here goes…’

how the fuck did these people get into college? is this how they started their college admissions essay?

c’mon people, you have a thousand characters to describe yourself, and you just wasted twenty of them to admit that you are a moron.

i can already tell that we’re a perfect match. ha!

***

some people* avoid the issue altogether by writing practically nothing about themselves.

they are a one paragraph sink hole of bland sentiments – ‘im nice, im friendly, i like the color white, i like to eat chicken etc.’

they say nothing about who they are, or who they’re looking for.

humility (can be) is a respectable quality in a person. but boredom is not.

while i was interviewing potential roommates last year, i asked someone what they like to do for fun.

her response, ‘i like to watch tv and eat buffalo chicken sandwiches for fun’.

are you serious? do people like you actually exist (duh a rhetorical question)?

the scary part is that she was seriously hot, and didn’t need match.com to meet people.

***

the irony of this whole post is that the match.com profile is completely superfluous.

why the hell did i waste so much time whining about it, when it’s totally a moot point.

nobody actually cares what someone says in their profile, because the truth (and the vibe) can be derived by a quick perusal of that persons profile pic.

profile pic hot. or profile pick not.

its a binary switch.

and if you don’t have a profile pic, you’re not even in the running.

ive been contacted by several ‘blind’ matches with absent profile pics.

call me superficial but i don’t talk to girls that i don’t ‘know’ (‘know’ in the ‘know what you look like’ sorta way)

this philosophy is akin to something that my friend matttius once said, ‘i don’t date girls who wear one piece swimsuits because it makes me wonder what they’re trying to hide’.

we were only fifteen.

ive decided to move to blogger. i will cross post for as long as i can, but please re-direct your links, and comments to my blogger site (hooizz.blogspot.com). its rough around the edges, but ill get around to fixing it up.

mother russia

its not flashy

or shiny

or even really that fun to play with

but it IS time consuming

and strangely addictive.

so if i haven’t been blogging, its because all my free time is going to something else.

but dont be jealous of my new obsession with match.com, because lets face it, anyone who uses match.com is kinda sad.

which is how i should feel.

but i don’t.

you know why?

because match.com is effin hilarious.

***

my first ‘match’ was a russian mail order bride.

it was awesome.

she was tall, blond, gorgeous, and way out of my league.

so i winked.

and she winked back.

so i wrote her a quick anonymous email.

and she wrote me one back…

she told me all about herself, where she was from, what she liked to do, who she wanted to be with (typical match.com fare). she said she felt a connection with me, and directed me to contact her using her ‘real’ email.

uh huh… im not falling for that one.

the ‘real’ email wasn’t the tip off – the tipoff was the whole ‘im a poor HOT blond girl who lives in a kibbutz in the motherland and all i want is a man to keep me warm at night’ schtick.

im not even sure if there ARE kibbutz’s in mother russia.

those russian-mafia-mail-order-bride-green-card-needing scams are TRICKY sometimes. ha! but even tho i knew it was a trick, even tho it was SO obvious that this was an attempt to defraud me (probably a couple emails down the line), a small aspect of my psyche pulled on my groin and actually made me feel (hope? remorse? wishful thinking?) for poor poor super model natalia.

afterall, i COULD be wrong about her... couldnt i? hah!

despite my nagging doubts, i didnt write back.

but i did think about playing along with the ‘game’.

i think i could have convinced them to send me noodie pics of her.

probably, but then again probably not.

in the end it probably woulda cost me my mastercard or something.

which is why i just dropped it and LAUUUGHHED my ass off.

what a way to start my online internet dating experience.

***

match.com can warp your mind.

when i think of girls – when i see girls on the street – i don’t think of them as women.

don’t get me wrong, i don’t objectify them as just tits and ass, i just objectify them as ‘slender’ or ‘firm and toned’ or ‘a couple extra pounds’ etc.

these are the categories that match.com uses to 'describe' your body type.

and there are a lot of girls on match.com who think they’re in one category when they’re really in another.

i want to write them and say YOU ARE A LIAR!

but that would be mean.

so instead i LAAAAUUUUGGHHHH my ass off some more

***

i would love to say that im incredibly successful at this online dating gig.

but im not.

ive winked at a couple of girls – and when that didn’t work, i started writing detailed emails.

i didnt even use form emails (hi ______, my name is ______. i think we have alot in common. you like ____. i like it too) ha!.

and i still don’t get responses.

it’s a pretty big blow to your ego, when you realize that on paper (on the net), you SUCK as a potential boyfriend.

of course, im also batting WAY out of my league.

why flirt with ugly girls, when its all virtual reality?

***

i think every relationship should be based on three things - trust, friendship, and truth.

which is why its effin hilarious that EVERY single girl in boston (at least on match.com) absolutely loves the REDSOX, and DOESN’T fucking smoke.

every SINGLE one of them.

yeah fucking right.

because if you believe that, i know a really lonely blond girl in russia who would love an email from you. ha!

ive decided to move to blogger. i will cross post for as long as i can, but please re-direct your links, and comments to my blogger site (hooizz.blogspot.com). its rough around the edges, but ill get around to fixing it up.