Look it up...

Friday, October 25, 2013

Love and Order CVU: Creeper Victim's Unit - Pug Luvr

After the story of my embarrassing life hit the internet, I was inundated with texts and Facebook messages from other girls who had experienced similarly catastrophic dates. In the interest of group commiseration, I decided to create a series that would tell other girls that they're not alone, and tell weird guys that maybe they should pump the brakes a smidge. If you have a story that you would like shared, feel free to send it my way!

In the Serial Dating System, the people are represented by two separate, yet equally important groups: the bros who do creepy shit and the ladies who have to text their friends, "SAVE MEEE." These are their stories.

After my boyfriend and I broke up from our approximately four-and-a-half-year relationship, I went on a blind date with a guy who was 26. I figured older, more mature, distraction, all good. Let me just say THANK GOD we went out for drinks because if I wasn't drunk I don't know what I would have done.
So he's starts out seemingly normal, everything is going well. Then he proceeds to tell me that he's never had a girlfriend--not even middle school, hand holding, not-a-real-relationship relationship--so I figured I'd switch the subject and randomly talk about how I really want a husky. He tells me he hates big dogs (he's 6'4...) but he is obsessed with pugs--not because he thinks that they're so ugly they're cute, but because he thinks they are the most beautiful creatures in the world. He even has an "I love pugs" t-shirt that he frequently wears out to bars (amazing that he's never found the right girl, right?).
For whatever reason, I agreed to a second date, figuring I could just take shots beforehand. He took me to P.F. Changs, and all of a sudden he started asking me personal sex questions like, "What's your favorite position?" and, "Oh you were a gymnast? I bet you're real flexible!" "Do you like it dirty?!"
Needless to say the ride home was extremely awkward. And I proceeded to immediately defriend him on Facebook.
--Balto Babe

Sunday, October 13, 2013

Female Body Inspector? FBI! You're Hysterical: Male Halloween Costumes, Explained

I love me a clever Halloween costume. As evidenced by last year’s “sexy” costume post, I’m all for creativity, but you really do walk a fine line between looking hot and being the butt of everyone’s joke the whole night (Sexy Bacon? You’re making breakfast time taste like lap dances and a father’s tears).
For the guys, it’s really not about looking hot as it is being “funny,” a term we will use very loosely throughout this entire post. “Look ladies, I’m wearing my personality! Could it be any easier to find someone else to talk to tonight?” How many costumes can they really make that either suggest that the wearer has a ginormous Krull the Warrior King or force hoes to shove their boobs in his face, and what exactly does the costume say about the guy as a whole? Let’s find out:
Wholesome Disney Character Costume – You either have kids, or are in the complete opposite direction and have never been laid. Ever. More than likely you are wearing this to a neighborhood costume party where your wife is a big puffy version of Buzz Lightyear (because who does she have to impress anymore?), but should you find yourself at a bar at 1 a.m., you will definitely only be taking one and a half Gummi Bear shots and drunkenly telling a Sexy Ninja Turtle, “But I like, respect you, you know what I mean?” right before you go home alone.
Rub Me Genie – Get it? It’s like asking for a hand job. Because at 26 years old that’s exactly what you should be going for. Your friends really don’t like you or else they would have talked you out of this horrendous get-up. Rub your own lamp, weirdo.
Wacky Waving Inflatable Arm Flailing Tube Man – You’re a heavy drinker (read: alcoholic) and a man with a plan; I admire you. You’re aware of the fact that you will be getting unbelievably trashed tonight, so when you’re swaying around and falling into people, you know they can’t get mad because you’re just staying in character. This is genius. Carry on. Also, Family Guy references are always crowd pleasers, it’s just a fact of life.
Weed – Nothing says, “I’m unemployed!” like a marijuana leaf costume. You’ve also just placed a big target on your back because if a group of guys come stumbling out of a bar, who do you think the cops are going to zero in on first? You guessed it: the bro who looks like he dropped $75 on a ticket to The String Cheese Incident concert.
The Joker – It’s been done. You’re either lazy, completely oblivious to any advances in pop culture, or a Bar Dad. To be fair, it’s most likely all three. Seriously though, there’s even been another Batman movie to come out since this one, you really need to get with the times.
Charlie Sheen – Can’t wait to hear you yell out, “Winning!” all night with your buddy The Joker. Go home.

Robin Thicke – You, sir, are doing it right. Culturally relevant in every possible way, this costume could either be a happy accident or the ploy of an extremely strategic young man. Women will flock to you for one of several reasons: 1) Every Woo Girl in the place will assemble when the DJ plays “Blurred Lines” for the umpteenth time. “OMIGAHH I LOVE THIS SONGGGG YOU SING IT SO GOOD!” 2) You have un/intentionally invited multiple ladies to twerk all up on ya throughout the course of the night. If you play this correctly, you can start a twerking contest in which five skinny white girls will drunkenly grind on your junk trying to outdo each other, and one black girl will step in to show them how it’s really done. Major, major kudos.  
Zombie Hotdog – Goddammit, is nothing sacred anymore?!
Banana – Have you been anything new for the past seven years? Be honest. Whatever, you don’t even really like Halloween and will still pull based on this blatantly obvious nonchalance. You can also revel in the fact that Sexy Big Bird will definitely text her friend Sexy Cinderella in the morning, “omg i think i got gang banged by a fruit basket last night, can u come get me?”
Zero Fucks Given T-shirt – Can you just go in a corner and watch Portlandia on your phone the rest of the night? Like, please? Your rose gold oxfords and grandpa cardigan are really putting a damper on everything. No, I don’t think the DJ knows any Clap Your Hands Say Yeah.

Like what you read? I'm this entertaining 24/7 on Twitter. Follow me @BTDubs_Skylar!

Thursday, October 3, 2013

The Worst Date I Have Ever Been On

Let’s call him Not John.

We had met a few weeks before at the winery I occasionally work at on the weekends. He was very smart, super cute and actually appreciated my vulgar sense of humor; such a trifecta is not easy to find, believe me. I had agreed to go out with him one time before on an excursion that led to Annapolis, MD and a photo on his Instagram with a caption reading “My baby ;)”. This is why I can’t have nice things.

Despite that photo and several warning signs that I was too lazy to pay attention to, I consented to a second date. I’d set Not John straight this time: we’d take it easy, see what happened, nothing serious. This would work! Only girls are the psycho ones, right?

I was meeting him at a park by the Potomac River right after work at 7 p.m. It was May, aka spring dresses were in full swing, and although my typical date outfit includes heels of some kind (so I stand a small chance of making eye contact with a person), I opted for flats since we would be in nature.  I pulled in right at 7 and sat for a minute to let Rihanna finish belting out Rude Boy. At 7:10 I gave him a call, and he said he was “so sorry, on my way, just picking up food, be right there.”

Food had been mentioned so I was totally fine with it. This gave Rihanna and I more time together to collaborate on Umbrella, S&M, and Love the Way You Lie (of which I also rapped Eminem’s part. Renaissance woman over here). I had been so taken with this personal concert that I was shocked when I checked the clock. 7:40. What the actual fuck. Where was he?

I’m not typically a serial caller, but Not John was forty minutes late, I was hungry, and since the long days of summer hadn’t quite kicked in yet, it was starting to get a little dark. “Haha (what’s so funny?), I just had to shower real quick (well I appreciate that), I’ll be right there (déjà vu).”

If I was a bigger bitch, I would’ve said, “Don’t even bother” and driven home to a trusty plate of Bagel Bites, but unfortunately I don’t have that particular bone in my body so I overenthusiastically said, “Okay!” and awkwardly sat until he pulled in a few minutes later.

He immediately won back a few points by telling me how pretty I looked and showing me the bags of food.

“We just need to walk a little to these picnic tables right by the water,” he said.

For once, flats were the right decision. We walked with our bags of yummy and chatted and he laughed at my jokes and everything was just peachy. However, as I said before, it was technically still Spring, where the sun goes down at an understandable 8 p.m., and we were on a path in the woods with no lights. We had already been walking for a little over ten minutes, so I casually asked, “So where are these picnic tables?”

“Just a little bit longer,” Not John said.

Chatting continued, fighting off gnats began, and weird nature sounds became louder. Fifteen more minutes went by, and I had a mental flash of my story being used on an episode of CSI.
“He lured her into the woods saying they were going on a ‘date’. He shot her in the head.”
“I guess it’s true. Love… *takes sunglasses off*…hurts.”

“We’ve gotta be getting close, huh?”

“Uhh yeah I think it’s right around the corner.”

Stop. Just fucking stop. “Think”? You “think”? I followed you into the jungle on a guess? Thank god we weren’t paddling on the river or else we would definitely be recreating OpenWater.

In an uncharacteristic twist of fate, I managed not to flip out and calmly suggested that if the picnic tables weren’t around the next corner we should probably turn around. Not only was I totally over it, but it was now officially dark and the rabid toads were on the prowl.

Shock of the century: the picnic tables weren’t around the next corner. We turned around, using the glow of his phone as a flashlight and my heightened survival instincts to lead us back as quickly as possible. Again, my lack of dramatic bitchiness did not allow me to bring up the fact that this was a poorly executed excuse for romance and instead, I just talked about anything else that came to mind. We covered my love for The Wedding Singer, when I got my tooth knocked out in a soccer game in sixth grade, and my disdain for Taylor Swift when he suddenly chuckles and says, “I’m so glad we’re at the point in our relationship where we can just laugh about things like this.”

Let me reiterate for anyone that’s been scanning this post for the part where we hook up in the woods (P.S. sorry to disappoint): this was our second date. Relationships take several more dates and conversations and actual feelings before they can come to fruition, and we could not have been farther from that point.   

I was shocked into silence. For the first time in my entire life I literally didn’t know what to say. I might’ve blacked out for a while because I really don’t recall the rest of the walk back to civilization, but finally we made it back to the parking lot.

“We can eat in my car,” he said.

“Exactly what I wanted to do!” I accidentally yelled, a side effect of regaining consciousness and a potential indicator of PTSD.

We ate in silence. He might have told a story or two, I’m really not sure as my sole focus was on escaping the confines of his godforsaken Acura and the night as a whole. I was forced out of my “Mmhmm”’s and nods when he says, “So I have a surprise for you.”

I swear to you I was fully prepared for an engagement ring to be pulled out at that exact moment, and my stomach fell directly to my toes in terror.

“What’s that?” I asked, wondering if the plastic knife I was using would properly sever my left hand off and if that would be an appropriate “no” to his proposal.

“I got us tickets for The Great Gatsby in Frederick at 10:20!”

Crisis somewhat averted, but a new issue emerged. From where we sat at that moment, Frederick was at least another 25-30 minutes away. Gatsby was almost two and a half hours long. My patience had already worn thinner than Nicole Richie circa 2006. I just couldn’t do it.

“Ya knowww…” I began, my go-to conversation starter phrase when I don’t feel like doing something, “…I have to work really early tomorrow, and I was going to try to get some stuff done beforehand so I’d be waking up even earlier, and I wouldn’t want to fall asleep during the movie, and…”

At this point I just trailed off and gave a fake sorry smile. This was exhausting. He sighed “Okay” and was visibly disappointed, and said we should try again the following week, which I agreed to but which I immediately knew would never happen. I couldn’t take the risk of any other costs factoring in to our divorce.

After speeding home, I showered the unfortunate nature of the evening off of my body and prepared myself for just how uncomfortable our future interactions would be. Perhaps giving the turn-your-head move went he went in for the good night kiss was a twist of the dagger in his already wounded heart, but seriously? He tried to take me on an uninformed picnic to a mystery location in the middle of the woods and then assumed he had wifed me up before I even had a chance to send a “Bail me out of this nightmare” text to my best friend, leading me to eat salad in the front seat of a car while Ginuwine crooned softly in the background.

I thought things like that only happened with people you met off of Craigslist.  

Like what you read? I'm this entertaining 24/7 on Twitter. Follow me @BTDubs_Skylar!