Sometimes I think my life is funny.

Sunday, March 30, 2014

That Time I Went on a Date with a Rocket Scientist

This is probably going to be the coolest thing I’ll ever say about my dating life ever: I went on a date with a rocket scientist! Yes! That’s right! Not only did someone who is employed and speaks full sentences ask me on a date, but he’s a fucking rocket scientist. ROCKET SCIENTIST.

Let’s just take a moment to let that sink in.

Okay, so technically he's an "aerospace engineer" but I looked it up, and that basically means rocket science. Seriously, Wikipedia says so: 

I met him online (obviously) and he lives in Jupiter which is about an hour and a half away (which helps to explain how he’s employed and smart). When he first sent me a message he asked me about my views on physician assisted suicide and asked me if I wanted to go to a hockey game sometime. Think what you want about me, but any guy who wants to have an intelligent conversation with me about physician assisted suicide certainly has my attention. Actually, the fact that he could correctly spell physician caught my attention.

So we talked a little bit about PAS and its disproportionate impact on people with disabilities and I was just elated to have a conversation that didn’t involve talking about deep topics such as how much a guy can bench press or his favorite sports car or “YOLO.”

He asked me to a Panthers game and since I’m always down for a good hockey game, I said yes. We met at the stadium and right off the bat he was genuinely a nice guy. As we were going into the stadium he gives me this panicked look and said “I didn’t even think to get accessible tickets! I knew you use a wheelchair, I should have thought about it!”

Yes, the rocket scientist didn’t think to get seats where I could actually sit. So for all of you out there using the phrase “you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to…” please note that rocket scientists aren’t perfect either.

I laughed and assured him that we could just go into a wheelchair accessible section near our seats and ask if there were any open seats that we could sit it. This helped to clear the deer in the headlights look off his face.

As luck would have it, the ushers were super nice and gladly let us sit in some open seats in an accessible area right near the seats he had gotten for us. I was pretty excited because I’d never sat so close at a professional hockey game before. The best part? Our seats were also in the section where the cheerleaders danced and stuff, so the whole night I had really nice cheerleaders behind me.

Pretty good date so far, right?

Then it happened. I was talking to the Rocket Scientist about the Sabres and the Bills and Ralph Wilson (RIP) when the 50-60 year old guy next to me interrupts and says, “You talking about Buffalo sports? My friend Mike here is from Buffalo and is down for the weekend!” and points to the guy next to him who is equally as old.

Suddenly, Mike and I are talking about NY and all that good stuff and he shared his bag of peanuts with me. After a few minutes I think our conversation is over and I go back to talking to my date, but Mike isn’t having any of that. Suddenly he’s telling me about the time he wanted to go on a date with a girl and they agreed for their first date he’d go to her house and bring a pizza and they’d watch a movie. When he got to the girl’s house, she opened the door, saw how large he is, grabbed the pizza, said “you’re not my type,” and slammed the door.

Cool story Mike.

Then Mike tells me his favorite pick up lines while handing me more peanuts. (“Do you know the basic difference between sex and conversation?” “No.” “Wanna come back to my place then?”)

Awesome Mike, it’s been fun chatting, but I’m kind of on a date here.  

Then, after we ran out of peanuts, Mike tells me that he went to school in Miami and that’s how he met Clyde, his friend that heard me talking about Buffalo sports and started this whole fiasco. Thanks Clyde.

For the most part Clyde sat quietly watching the Pathers get spanked and only added in a few comments every now and then. Mike, however, moved his chair so he could sit directly behind (and eventually BETWEEN) me and the Rocket Scientist.

Kinda like this, except we were sitting at a hockey game, not walking on the beach, and I'm not J-Lo. 

Umm. Welcome to our date Mike. Nice to have you join us?

While I’m trying to be nice and have a conversation with all of the guys now that my date with the smartest guy I’ve met down here has turned into a party, my poor date probably got about 10 words in the entire night.

When the game ended, the Rocket Scientist walked me back to my car and said “We didn’t really get to talk much tonight. I think we should go on another date except without Clyde and Mike next time.”

I agreed and we ended up just talking and joking outside my car for an hour. An hour later, when I went to get in my car, we were joking about something, and I turned around to go to my car door and told him to “suck it” and as I said that he literally ran around me to open my car door for me.

“Oh my God. Here I am telling you to suck it as you rush to open my door. I’m such a douche” I told him.

“Yeah, you are,” he said, “but I’d like to take you out again anyway.”

Smart and funny? Yes, you can take me out again, sir!

We decided we’d get ice cream on Sunday.

By the time I got home an hour later I had a new Facebook friend request. Who was it? Clyde! The quiet older guy with Date Crasher Mike. I thought he was just a nice older guy who wanted a new Facebook friend, so I accepted.

Five minutes later, I got THIS surprise:

"I met you last night at the Panthers attempt to play hockey game tonight and I can't begin to tell you how much I truly enjoyed talking with you. Y ou are beautiful, intelligent, funny,and just plain great. I know I am older than you but would love to spend some time with you. If you are game I would love to take you to dinner and if not I understand but for the record you are wonderful and deserve the best. Great meeting you tonight."

This guy barely talked to me and now he wants to take me out? I’m sorry, but you could be my grandpa. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO.

And he didn’t give up there!

The next day I didn’t respond, so then he wrote on my wall “Did you get my message?”

Whoa buddy. Take a hint!

So I tell the Rocket Scientist about Clyde and he gets a good laugh out of it. I felt bad because I didn’t want to hurt Old Man Clyde’s feelings with my brutal honesty, so the Rocket Scientist suggested I be “honest” with him.

"Id say go about it honest.. say "im sorry but i was on a date with the guy that was with me.. Hes really awesome and i hope to see him again."

 Smooth Rocket Man.  Smooth. I like your confidence. I also like your suggestion.

So I used it and Clyde was understanding, but told me I “know how to reach” him “if things change.”

In response to his message I wrote:
 "Thanks! It was great meeting you too. While I am very flattered, I was actually on a date with the guy I was with last night and I plan on seeing him again. But thank you very much for your kind words."

He responded:
"Not a problem and good luck with the relationship. If things change you know how to reach me."
Umm. Please take a hint! How do old men not realize that they’re creepy?!?!

As for the Rocket Scientist, when I suggested we postpone our ice cream date until mid-April because I really want to go to a Marlin’s game when they play the Nationals (yes, I’m a Nats fan. Judge me) and we technically could get ice cream at the game, I learned that all the Rocket Scientist really wants to do is take me on another date without Mike.

Me: think we should get my sundae in mid April when the nationals play the Marlins at the Marlins stadium. Just throwing that out there...

Him: Hmm.. Seems like you're trying to modify our agreement, but ill accept your terms on two conditions
Him: 1) i get to take you on a second date before then
Him: 2) mike isn't coming right? :p 


So tonight he's taking me to Latin Burger where they serve burgers AND burritos. It's like he wants me to marry him or something. 

Abridged Version:

Smart guy asked me to a hockey game. We got to talk for approximately ten minutes before an old, loud talkative guy and his quiet friend took over our date. I was accidentally a douche when I was getting in my car and while my date agreed that I’m a douche, he wants to take me on another date anyway, except without the old men who took over our date. However, the quiet old man would rather just date me himself.

Lessons Learned:

1. Sometimes it’s the nice, silent guy that’s the creeper.
2. Panthers suck at playing hockey.
3. Rocket scientists are real – they’re not just fictional professionals that we compare stupid people to.

Sunday, March 23, 2014

That Time I Went to Two Bar Crawls and Realized There Are No Quality Guys in Miami

When I tell you that the selection of guys in Miami is terrible, I’m not kidding you. The quality of guys here leaves plenty to be desired. To give you an idea, let me just tell you about five guys I met in one day when I went to two bar crawls.

Bar Crawl #1
The first bar crawl I went to was a young lawyers bar crawl. The theme was “Red, Yellow, Green.” You wear red if you’re taken, yellow if you’re indecisive or some shit, and green if you’re single and want drunk creeps to hit on you incessantly. There was no choice to wear a color that says “I’m single but please don’t speak to me as I don’t want your alcohol breath on my face, your creepy hands on my shoulders, or your skeezy words crawling all over my body as you attempt to gracefully whisper them in my ear, but really just end up screaming and spitting all over the side of my face.” So I went with green.

Here’s three of the best character’s I met at Bar Crawl #1:

The Old Creepster

Apparently even when the memo clearly states “YOUNG lawyers” in the title, the point is missed by some. Perhaps the point was missed by this guy on purpose because he accepted he’s a creeper and had no shame in making young women’s skin crawl. Or perhaps the point was missed accidentally because he somehow thought that being in your mid-forties (or older) was “young.” Either way, it happened.

Because I met him once before I said hello to him at the start of the bar crawl, before he was so many drinks in that he lost count. By the fourth stop, he approached me THREE more times! The first time was to tell me that he’s had a crush on me since the day he met me. The second time was to scare the bejesus out of me when he came up behind me, rubbed my shoulders, and analyzed my personality.

It felt kind of like this, except he's not cool like Jack. 
I’m an ENFJ according to him. Who the fuck does Myers-Briggs tests on people during bar crawls? The third time was to remind me, again, that he has a crush on me. I’m in his top 5 crushes. Oh joy.

The Know-It-All Douche

At the third bar, I was sitting at a table with some new friends who were actually rather cool. We were talking when some guy comes up to our table, points at my wheelchair that is sitting beside the table, and asks about it. I smiled and told him it was mine and tried to go back to the conversation. Apparently he thought he was more important than the conversation, and started interrogating me.

Him: “Why do you use the chair? What’s wrong with you?”

Me: “Nothing. What’s wrong with you?”

Him: “Well, why do you use the chair then? How long have you been in it?”

Me: “Forever. How long have you been using your legs?”


Him: “I don’t know why you’re acting like that. I was just wondering. I do a lot of personal injury law, so I didn’t know if it was a skiing accident or something.”

A skiing accident? Is that what people think when they see people in wheelchairs? Oh, there goes another person who was in a skiing accident. Wtf?

Skiing accident.
Skiing accident.
Skiing accident. 
Me: “Because that’s really inappropriate to ask someone.”

Him: “No it’s not. I do this kind of law.”

Apparently if you do personal injury cases you are free to approach all people and ask them about their disabilities. Don’t bother asking their names first – this guy certainly never asked me my name.

We reached the point in the conversation where I wanted to incinerate him, but I could tell my friends were uncomfortable, so rather than taking this douche down a notch, I tried to change the subject. He proceeded to tell everyone his name, how amazing he was, and that should we ever run into people with personal injury issues we should refer them to him. Yep. That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’d love to give you business and force other people to deal with your smug ass.

The Babyface with “long-term potential”

At the last bar on Bar Crawl #1 I was sitting with my new lovely lady friends, dealing with the Old Creepster’s occasional come-on’s, when some babyface comes out of the bathroom and sits down with us. He told us that he was just riding by on his bike and saw everyone having a good time, so he decided to join. Because Babyface looked and acted like a child I began calling him Bueller. He had no objection.

I think Bueller’s best statement was “I know I’m only 22 and you’re lawyers, and I’m just a water meter repairman, but I’m still worth your time because I like older ladies and I have long-term potential because I have a pension. I’ll be able to take care of you someday.”

Apparently still feeling very insecure, despite the fact that none of us ladies were acting like we were better than him, he told us about how he’s somehow a Kennedy. And that’s he’s REALLY smart.

“Listen, I know you think I’m just a water meter repairman” he reminded us for the fifth time, “but I’m really smart. I’ve read thousands of books.”

“What’s your favorite book?” I asked.

“I’ve read the one about the angry grapes. And that one about mangos in the street” he tells us.

“You’re naming fruit, not books.” I told him.

Then he puts his hand on my shoulder, looked me dead in the eye and said “Are we going to hook up? Do you want to take me home?”

“Well, as charming as you are Bueller, I think I’ll pass” I told him as I wheeled away.

Obviously I missed out on something great.

Bar Crawl #2
The second bar crawl I went to was in my neighborhood, Coral Gables, and, as luck would have it, also themed “Red, yellow, green.” My friend asked me to join him and his friends at the bar crawl and since he’s my only cripple friend in Miami I definitely wanted to go. It’s not often that I get to party with crips down here since most of the crips in Florida are my clients (and oddly enough I don’t want to get sloshed in front of the people who think I’m a hardworking, responsible, legal professional).

Even though he’s my friend, seeing him drunk was a completely new side of him to see, so he’s the first in my cast of characters for Bar Crawl Numero Dos.

The Sloppy Crip

My friend is a quad in a power chair. He became a quad within the last year or two, so perhaps he’s still getting used to this whole “I drive a 300 pound machine” thing, but he’s a sloppy drunk that gave a bad name to ALL crips that night. First, let me state that I love this kid, but dear Lord, he’s a sloppy ho. As we were leaving one bar and going to the other, he straight up was driving his chair into brick walls. What the hell are you doing bro? There’s a BRICK WALL there! I mean, our power chairs can take out a lot of shit (lord knows I’ve taken down plenty of things) but they cannot take out brick walls. Just no.

I yell at him to stop making crips look like reckless drivers, he buys me a drink at the next bar, and we all start to dance. Fine by me. We’re all dancing and having a jolly time when at random he decides he wants to back up at full speed! HELLO WE’RE ON A CROWDED DANCE FLOOR! That’s like seeing a crowd of people at a concert and deciding you want to put a blindfold on and hit the gas of your car and just see what happens. People fucking fly. THAT’S WHAT HAPPENS!

I mean, come on, even if you’re walking, you look behind you before you back up so you don’t bump into someone, right? Nope, not this kid. He just plowed through people like they were bowling pins.

Every person on the dance floor.
Then, when we go to leave, he decides that he doesn’t want to go through the segregated, wheelchair accessible back entrance. More power to you bro. I wasn’t thrilled about the Jim Crow entrance either. But instead of gracefully going out the front door that had one step, mofo plows through the door and straight into a bush. Oh dear lord. After the security guard and four other people help him out of the bush, I go to leave the front entrance and they think I’m going to make a similar mess.

“Step aside boys” I tell them as I drive my chair down the front step like the fucking pro I am.

His friends then decide my criptastic friend is far too drunk to keep partying. So we begin walking back to his car when suddenly Mr. Criptastic (semi-fantastic) decides he wants to play speedracer down the sidewalks of Miracle Mile. Usually I’d be fine with this because I’m always going full speed in my chair, but I’m also not plowing through people like I get 5 points for each one I hit. Luckily my chair is faster than his, so I passed Speedracer and cornered him to ensure he wasn’t endangering these poor human bowling pins. But then suddenly he’s back to trying to take out brick walls.


A few brick walls and some scared pedestrians later, we finally got him in his van & he went home.

The Lap Dancer That Doesn’t Know My Name

At some point before my crip friend started a fight with a bush, we were all having a fine time on the dance floor. I started talking to some guy who was decent looking and slightly entertaining. He introduced me to his friend as “the best fucking chick I’ve met all night.” I believe that was a fair assessment. His friend then bombarded me with questions about where I was all night (umm, at another bar crawl getting hit on by an old man and Ferris Bueller) and what I do. Blah blah blah. Suddenly I’m learning all about how he’s a lawyer (tax law – snooze) and he just LOVES life. How profound.


Excuse me sir, but just because I BYOC (bring my own chair) and sit in it, that is not an invitation for a lap dance. I will not tip you for this. I do not think it’s sexy, in fact, I think it falls more into the category of assault.

 “Whoa! I didn’t ask for a lap dance! You shouldn’t be sitting on me, you should be carrying me!” I told him.

I shouldn't have said that because then Mofo picked me up and half carried, half-danced with me. After 10 seconds I told him to put me down, but he kept going throughout the entire song of “Timber” and even created a “dance move” of pretending to drop me every time Kesha said “It’s going down.” If you think that’s fun, it’s not.

As I went to leave, he asked me for my number, telling me I was the “coolest girl ever.”

“What’s my name?” I asked.

“Umm…” he replied.

“You want my number, but you don’t know my name?” I asked.

“You can put it in my phone” he told me.

“Fine,” I said as I grabbed his phone. I put my number in and for “name” I wrote “What’s Her Name?”

“Don’t call me until you know my name.” I told him as I rolled away.

Needless to say I haven’t heard from him.

Abridged version:
Two bar crawls, five guys. 1. Old creepster that has had a crush on me since the day he met me. 2. Douche that think’s he has a right to ask people about their disabilities and I’m rude for not answering him. 3. Ferris Bueller who has a pension and long-term potential. 4. Sloppy drunk crip who would have about 450 points if he got 5 points for every person he hit. 5. Short guy who thinks I’m cool but doesn’t know my name.

Lessons Learned:
1. There are no quality guys in Miami
2.  Surprise lap dances are not cool.
3.  I can see why some people are afraid of wheelchair users now. 

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

That Time I Went on a Date with a Senseless, Preppy Version of The Hulk

By now you should know how the story starts – a guy sent me a message on OKCupid, I checked out his profile, he seemed relatively good looking and he could string together complete sentences. Since that’s a rare find, I decided to give this guy a shot.

After a few messages he asked for my number and I gave it to him. That’s when the weird things began. First he texted me but didn’t tell me who he was (and considering I’ve given my number out to a few guys, you need to identify yourself in the first text). Then he sent me a picture of a baby and wrote “Hi from my nephew.”

I feel like it’s in Common Sense 101 that you learn not to send pictures of children to strangers, no?

Still not knowing who this guy is, I replied “Dear Stranger, not a good idea to send pictures of your adorable nephew to strangers. Don’t worry, you’re safe this time around because I’m not a creep.”

After that he finally identified himself and kept texting me and he even challenged me to a wheelchair race. Bad idea, obviously I’m going to win since you don’t even have a wheelchair.

Then I would wake up to texts from him that he sent at 4 and 5am.


Apparently, the gym.

Ugh. Here I am eating Chef Boyardee Beef Ravioli and girl scout cookies every night for dinner as I lay on my couch Netflix binging and I’m talking to a guy that wakes up at 4am to go to the gym? That was my first indicator that this guy wasn’t the one for me.

Sorry, but I have no desire to date a guy who is going to judge me for laying around and stuffing my face with microwaveable food. I want to date the guy that tells me I’m beautiful as the cookie crumbles fall down my shirt because I stuffed my mouth too quickly and found that I can’t fit 7 thin mints in my mouth at once. Not the guy who judges me for wearing sweatpants and eating brownies for dinner.

But hey, what the hell. I’m 25. I have plenty of time to date the wrong guys, so when he asked me to brunch, I said yes.

He told me there was a place in Coconut Grove that he used to go to all the time that had great brunch. So I show up the restaurant and what do I see? 


No, not just one step that someone might think my wheelchair could hop.


The path at the top of the stairs led to ANOTHER set of stairs!
Is this real life? Did you miss all the pictures in my profile of me in a wheelchair? Did you miss the words in my profile that explicitly state that I use wheelchairs?!


I know you didn’t because you challenged me to a wheelchair race. Yet you invited me to a restaurant with stairs to get in? A restaurant you used to go to ALL THE TIME?!


Yep. Seriously.

So there I wait, at the bottom of the staircase, and this mofo is late. Umm. No. Girls are allowed to be late, guys are not. I don’t give a shit if you think that’s a double standard and blah blah blah. Don’t care. Rules are rules.

When he finally shows up I see this six foot something, bulky man wearing a hoodie that would be tight on ME and I can’t help but wonder how he got it on and if he is going to randomly rip it off Hulk Hogan style at some point during our meal. He didn’t, thank god.

This is an accurate depiction of what was going on in my mind.
He was also wearing tight, ripped express jeans. Not ripped because he’s super masculine and was working on his car. No. Ripped because Express made them that way. I’m not sure why, but I can’t respect a man who wears Express jeans. Certainly not tight ones.

So I follow him up TWO SETS OF STAIRS and order a delicious banana strawberry waffle. We start talking and the conversation is about him. Okay, fine. But we keep talking. The conversation is STILL on him. I swear I can tell you his life story now because all we talked about was him.

It wouldn’t be terrible that he just wanted to talk about himself, except he clearly didn’t know when to shut his mouth.

First he tells me about how he used to live in Coconut Grove, but then he “changed careers” so he lives with his mom now. Why would you tell me that right off the bat? Are you trying to guarantee that there will be no second date?

Then I ask him why he changed careers and he tells me that he had a job as an accountant, but his boss didn’t know what he was doing. This is where I expect him to tell me he quit because he thought his boss was incompetent. Nope. This is where he tells me he got fired.

Why would you tell me that?

But wait – it wasn’t his fault. It was his boss’s fault because his boss is incompetent.

Listen buddy, we all get fired (okay, not ALL of us, but it happens to a lot of people), so I understand. No need to play the blame game though. That’s not attractive.

After he finished blaming his boss, he goes on to tell me he got another job. He was doing a GREAT job there, he was one of the BEST accountants there. But, again, his boss was incompetent, SO HE GOT FIRED AGAIN!

Admitting you were fired once is already bad enough, but TWICE? And neither time was your fault? Please just stop talking.

“That’s when I decided to change careers” he says.

No, you didn’t “decide” to change careers. Your career rejected you.

“So I took a $15,000 pay cut” he tells me.

Umm, first, it’s so not okay to talk about your income on the first date. Unless we’re in a serious relationship, that’s not my business. Second, that wasn’t a pay cut. You were unemployed then you took a job. That’s just called pay.

“I was making $65,000, but now I’m only making $50,000.”

Again, that is so unattractive to talk about your money.

But more importantly, YOU’RE MAKING $50,000 AND YOU LIVE WITH YOUR MOM?!

You’re 26 and you’re gainfully employed. It’s time to take off your tight Express jeans and put on your big boy pants so you can move out of your mom’s house and stop blaming everyone else for your failures.

Then he tells me how he works for a cruise line now and orders food for the ships. I tried to be interested, so I asked him about getting fresh produce to the ships. Shut up, yes, delivery of fresh produce interests me! Then I told him he should get New York apples on his ships, not Washington apples or any other kind. I made a big push for granny smith and golden delicious apples. I know, I finally get a chance to talk in the conversation and I talk about apples. I fail. 

When we finished breakfast I was excited to leave, but then the waiter offered dessert and, I mean, who really ever says no to dessert?

So I stayed, listened to more of his life story, and enjoyed my key lime pie.

Then he insists on driving me to my car which was less than a block away. When we get to his car it’s this tiny little deathtrap that he calls a “sports car.” After I get in, he proceeds to tell me about the time he totaled his grandfather’s car.


But it doesn’t even stop there.

A week after our date he texts me out of the blue. We hadn’t talked since our date and he randomly texts me this weirdness:
Him:  Would you like to see my instagram view on religion?
Him: And by the way, we have granny and golden delicious on the ships too.
Me: That's possibly the weirdest thing anyone has ever asked me.
Him: I try to keep it interesting.
Him: Image of a text conversation he had with another person. 

Image he attached:
A one sided text conversation with "Chad."
Him: I especially enjoy seeing people on IG post things like this...:
Him: Image of text that says "Sometimes when you wonder why you can't hear God's voice during your trials, Remember the teacher is always quiet during the test."
Him: Then follow it up with:
Him: Image of a woman talking to a child with text that says "Let me tell you a secret. If you hit my baby again imma fuck you up."
Him: #epicfail #wtf #skeezer

Yup. That’s how this story ends. I wish I could give you a more grandiose ending, but it was just plain weird.

Abridged version:

Guy asked me out. He knew I use a wheelchair and invited me to a restaurant that had a flight of stairs to get in. He showed up late and looked like the Hulk dressed in preppy children’s clothes. His shirt did not rip during our meal, though I fully expected it to. He told me about how he had been fired TWICE but neither time was his fault. He also told me about how he makes $50,000 but lives with his mom.

Lessons Learned:
1. There are 26 year old men that make $50,000 and still live with their moms.
2. There are now Granny Smith and Golden Delicious apples on a major cruise line.
3. The Hulk would not look good in tight jeans. 

Monday, March 3, 2014

That Time I Dated the Trust Fund Charmer

Let me tell you about my experience dating the Trust Fund Charmer.

I had lived in Miami for 2 weeks when a guy sent me a message on OKCupid who seemed really cool. I messaged him back and told him he could only take me on a date if he promised to take me to see alligators. Yes, I like weird dates. Judge me.

So on a Friday he said he could pick me up but when I saw a giant black jeep with tinted windows in front of my building I refused to get in for a while because he could kill me in that thing without anyone noticing.

He laughed when I told him this.

“I’m serious” I said.

He swore he wouldn’t kill me (and I already left a note on my counter with his name and phone number in case I went missing and the police searched my apartment) so I got in. But first I made him tell me his entire name and searched for him on the Sex Offender Registry in front of him. For real.  

He took me to the Everglades to find alligators and when I saw some in the water I started throwing mini Oreos at them to lure them to me since my good looks obviously weren’t doing the trick. I got a little hungry too, so I started doing the “one for me, one for you” deal with the alligators. They didn’t seem to mind sharing. As they kept getting closer I was super excited, then suddenly I was super scared when I realized I’m cripple and can’t outrun these giant reptiles if they decide that the Oreos are not as satisfying as my flesh.  I immediately pushed the Trust Fund Charmer in front of me and hauled ass back to his giant deathmobile. Then he tells me it’s illegal to feed alligators in Florida. Umm, thanks for the heads up.

This guy especially loved Oreos!

During our outing he told me that he was a phlebotomist. After I gave him a confused look he explained what a phlebotomist is (they’re people that take blood). Then he took me to dinner in Miami and asked me what else I wanted to do. I told him I wanted to see Miami, so he drove me all around Miami showing me the different neighborhoods. Then he stopped at Walgreens to grab a drink and he came back with coconut cookies and a giant bag of gummy bears for me and I probably would have married him right then and there for that, so we kept dating.

The next Friday morning I told him in passing that I wanted to see a dolphin. He told me that in Marco Island his family had a beach house and you could see dolphins in the water every day.

“I NEED TO GO!” I squealed like an overly excited prepubescent girl.

“Let’s go tonight after work” he told me.

Go to an island with a guy I’ve known for a week?  Obviously I agreed because, well, dolphins.

When we got to Marco we were driving through a neighborhood and all I saw were giant mansions.

“This is a vacation place? No one lives in these houses full time?” I asked.

“No, these are mostly just vacation houses. Very few people actually live in Marco” he told me.

So then I start ranting:

“No way! These houses are huge! This is so wasteful! At least ten families could live in these houses but they’re just sitting there empty?!”

As I continue my rant he suddenly pulls up to a mansion that is so much bigger than every other house I was ranting about.

“Stop it,” I told him. “You’re not funny, get out of this driveway before someone sees you. Let’s just go to your beach house.”

But then he got out of the car, went to the door, and unlocked it. I felt like a massive douche.

I refused to go in for a solid 20 minutes because I still felt like he was joking somehow. He wasn’t.

When I went in this house I was silent. I’ve never seen ANYTHING so big. You could take every house and apartment I’ve ever lived in in my entire life and put them in this house and still have room for more. Then he pressed some buttons and the walls rolled up like some futuristic star trek shit and there was a view of an incredible pool that overlooked the ocean.


It was.
Evidence that this was real.

At that point I said, “I think you’re lying. You’re not a fucking phlebotomist.”

That’s when he fessed up and told me that he did take blood, sometimes, since he worked at blood bank... THAT HIS MOM OWNED. I’d say that’s slightly different than being a phlebotomist. Just saying. 

Anyway, I kept dating him, but we had some differences that we just couldn’t understand about each other.

He couldn’t understand why I would give my leftover steak to homeless people we passed on the street and I couldn’t understand why he didn’t give to people or good causes at all. He couldn’t understand why I would work so hard to defend the rights of people with disabilities and I couldn’t understand how he could take weeks off of work at a time to go on motorcycle trips and other vacations with his friends. He couldn’t understand why I would flip a shit on him every time he said “retard” and I couldn’t understand why he didn’t learn the first 50 times I explained to him why that was offensive.  

Despite all of this I continued to date him because I just moved here, I had literally ZERO friends except him, and he was the only thing that made me feel less alone in Miami.

Then one night I hit my breaking point. His friends were over and wanted to “eat a sandwich” (HIMYM fans can enjoy that reference!).  I told him I wasn’t going to judge him for it but it wasn’t my thing, so I would just go home for the night if that’s what he wanted to do. He said he was just going to go outside to tell his friends that he wouldn’t be joining them. Then he just went ahead and ate a sandwich anyway! Literally right outside where he KNEW I could hear him!

Ted & Marshall Enjoy a Big Sandwich.
I thought that was more than a little rude, so I packed up my shit and left. This clearly should have been the end, but obviously it wasn’t because, hi, have you met me? Nothing ends how it should in my world.

We eventually make up and do the apology thing, but then he stops responding to my texts and answering my calls, so I told him that if he was still upset that was fine, but I wasn’t going to play games, so I wanted to get all my stuff and be done. Then he tells me I’m being ridiculous and he can’t handle how much of a “roller coaster” I am and just blatantly ignores me.


You want my attention? Just make it clear that you’re ignoring me. Logical, I know.

After he ignores me for a week I decide that I clearly need to make a grand gesture because, I mean, it works for guys in the movies. Why can’t girls be cute and make grand gestures too?

But of course I can’t do anything normally, so rather than doing something typical like, you know, standing outside of his mansion with a boombox blasting over my head, I decide that I should buy a bunch of fruit, draw sad faces on all of the fruit, and put them on his car while he was at work.

Because what says “Sorry, you’re clearly in the wrong but I’m pathetic and have no friends so let’s talk again” like a frowning pineapple on the hood of your car?  


Guess what. It turns out guys don’t actually like grand gestures. In fact, his exact words were “you’re freaking me out.”

You don’t like my sad limes all over your deathmobile? Then I don’t like you.

And that is how my month long “relationship” with the Trust Fund Charmer ended. An unappreciated grand gesture that made him think I’m a serial killer.

And that’s also why I will NEVER do a grand gesture for ANY man EVER again.

Abridged Version:

Met a guy. He took me to find alligators. Thought he was a regular guy. Then he took me to his mansion beach house.  Turned out to be a Trust Fund baby who barely worked because he was too busy going on vacations. Got in a fight. He started ignoring me which pissed me off so I went to the extremes to get his attention (because I was super lonely and had no friends in Miami) so I tried to make a grand gesture by drawing frowny faces on a bunch of fruit and put them on his car. He thought I was a serial killer after that. I thought he was an unappreciative jerk.

Lessons Learned:

1. Always make friends in a new city before dating anyone.
2. Phlebotomists are people who take blood.
3. Sad fruit is hilarious and adorable, but clearly some people are terrible humans and don’t appreciate sad fruit on their cars.