Part II: Long Distance Dud

Well the name of this post kind of gives away what happened, huh? Let’s rewind and review…like we were on a tv show and an announcer was saying “on last week’s adventure…..”

3x02_previously_on

So, my manicurist set me up with a guy in Philly…we went out….we went out again….high school made out Titanic style….and then came time for me to return home to LA….

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Looking to Nail Someone? Ask your Manicurst!

Looking to Nail Someone? Ask your Manicurst!

So, I’m going to be honest. I am a little behind on stories (aka my life) so I am just going to get the most recent one off my chest/ brain/ heart (bleghhhh) and then go from there….

Well, I mentioned a few weeks back that I had an interesting make out in a car, a make out that felt so high school it could only have happened in front of my parents’ home. Well there is a reason for that. See…my mother has been getting her nails done by the same woman for over 27 years. Wait, aren’t you 27, SSG? Yes, I am. My mother has been seeing the same manicurist since I was an egg and a sperm. Loyalty…yes.

So, whenever I go home, my mom books me an appointment with this manicurist, who I love dearly. And since she loves me dearly, she would like me to settle down with a NJG (nice Jewish guy) not in Los Angeles, where I actually live, but in Philadelphia. And of course she had someone in mind. Because when I walked in one Black Friday, the manicurist gave me the normal guilt trip,but also had the mother of a NJG sitting and waiting for her nails to dry.

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And then in walks MY mother….not the braggy type at all, who apparently went on a 30 minute braggy rant about me to some Jewish mom in the nail salon while I got a Pedicure. Let me know if you need a break from the overwhelming Jewlarity of all this.

Well, somehow this NJG’s mom was impressed by me, but not by the fact that I lived across the country. Smart lady! (whoops…foreshadowing??) So she left with her dry nails, and I proceeded to get the 18th degree (see what I did there?) about my lack thereof a love life in LA and why I need to move back to Philly.

As my mom and I got into the car, the manicurist texted my mom in excitement. “NJG wants to go out with SSG!” Ok, I figured what the hell…it’s not like any NJGs, or even Gs (guys) are beating down my door in LA to go out. Why not? So after receiving a phone call from NJG (guys, a PHONE CALL…as in NOT A TEXT) we planned to meet up for drinks that night. And I had a really nice time. Like way nicer than most first dates usually go. Maybe it was because my expectations were lowered because I had nothing to loose, or maybe it was just because I really liked him…

….I already wrote about date number two, so you know how that goes. But why don’t I split this up a bit and leave you on your seats…begging for more…wanting to know what could have possibly happened….To be continued

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Titanic-ing

Titanic-ing

Ok, I think it’s pretty obvious here from my well declared “SINGLE GAL STATUS” (SGS) that I wasn’t the coolest cat in high school. I wasn’t making out under the bleachers, or in the QB’s beamer, or…I don’t know…where else did the popular kids who actually had sex lives in high school do things?

Making_out_livingthedreammagazine.com_detail Continue reading

#GrouperFail

#GrouperFail

I keep meaning to write about this and just keep forgetting to. You all might recall a few months ago I went on a “group date” via the dating site Grouper. It was pretty fun, even if the men weren’t necessarily the right fit or even fun at all, because you are on a group date with two of your friends. So fun time pretty much guaranteed…unless your friends are the most boring people alive.

Something's Fishy around here....

Something’s Fishy around here….

Well, the last time I went, the guys were, well how should I say….awful? I even wrote this on a post:

SSG: Grouper fail
Lexi: What?! What happened? Sounded like the night was getting gooood at the Dawson’s Creek singalong!
SSG: Nope! One of the guys already left! But there might be one match happening
Lexi: Oooo! Lucky pair. Sorry to hear the guys weren’t exactly your type but so happy you were able to make a fun night out of it!
SSG: The guy that we are “stuck  talking to” as he won’t leave his friend, he told me he doesn’t trust anything I say
Lexi: Hahaha omg! Why would he say that?
SSG: He sucks
Lexi: Yiiiiiiikes
SSG: Yeah he also did a live reading of my blog.. Which was funny, but as it was about a bad date is kind if ironic
Lexi: Hahaha goodness! What are the odds.
SSG: Lets hope better next time
Lexi: We’ll make sure of it! Promise!

Lexi, for the uninitiated, is the “concierge” from Grouper, who checks in on your dates and makes sure things are going smoothy. Well, trouble is Lexi made me a promise that I would get another match, a better one than this crummy date! So when a month rolled around and no date had been sent my way, I emailed Lexi and received this response:

Hi Mara,

Thanks so much for reaching out. As soon as we find you a great match, we’ll reach back out to get your next Grouper all set up! I know it can be frustrating, but we’d rather make you wait for an awesome experience than rush you out the door for a mediocre one.

Please let me know if you have any other questions!

All the best,
Lexi

Ok, that’s fair. She cared about me! She didn’t want me to have another shitty date. She didn’t want me to waste my time, OR my friends’ time on losers. Awesome. So sweet.

So another two months roll by, as I sit there twiddling my thumbs, hoping, praying for Lexi to come save the day! And….NOTHING! So I send her another email:

Hey Lexi,

Just following up on this! I haven’t received anything from grouper in MONTHS!!

Thanks,

Mara

And how does she brush me off? By responding to me via TEXT!

Hey Mara,

Apologies about that- we just want to make sure we send you out on a Grouper with a great match so that you’ll have a good time! The last thing we want is to match you and then not have a good time. I promise I will reach out as soon as we find a great match!

Ok, so Lexi, and Grouper, let’s have a word….because this text…it was sent in June. Do you think I would rather feel like I am unmatchable? That there is no one in the entire Los Angles Metro area that could possibly, POSSIBLY want to spend an hour with me OR that maybe I would like to have a mediocre time and actually hear back from you? I’m guessing I wouldn’t like to feel worthless and unloved…..but that’s up to you Grouper. Until then, #Grouperfail

I would if I could Lexi.....I would if I could

I would if I could Lexi…..I would if I could

Why Being a Single Gal Can Actually Be Sad…Part II

Why Being a Single Gal Can Actually Be Sad…Part II

Ok, this actually is more “sad” in the sense of:

Creepy. As. FUCK

Creepy. As. FUCK

Also.Creepy.As.FUCK

Also.Creepy.As.FUCK

    

 

 

   OR    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Well, basically this story is tale as old as time. Girl meets Girl. They become “BFF” – Best Friends Forever. Or until Girl meets Boy. And then you have the first few months, when Boy and Girl go from BF and GF to one entity, attached at the hip, only to appear in public in the form of “couples.” As in multiples. As in, they try it out with Girl #1, who, let’s be real, we can call her Lonely Girl, a few times, and it’s just plain AWK. As in, they stop asking her out, because Girl and Boy are now a they, and Lonely Girl is not. And the “Theys” only want to be with other “Theys”, not ( shiver) “Singles”.

Healthy-Food couple

So, slowly but surely, that once Forever in BFF gets tossed out the window. You maybe text occasionally. Still refer to each other as “Best Friends”, but when was the last time you really saw each other? And then it happens. Lonely Girl realizes that her once BFF, who basically promised to be there for her in singleness and in health, hasn’t answered a text, email, call, message via carrier pigeon in months. And who does this really suck for….Lonely Girl.

Hey There, Lonely Girl....

Hey There, Lonely Girl….

Because at least 1/2 of Siamese Couple has the other half still, and all those other couple friends. Lonely Girl is basically left in the dust to repeat the cycle again. The Cycle of the Single Gal. And she doesn’t even get to benefit from her BFF’s new Boyfriend’s hopefully decent taste in friends. Or even bad taste for a slutty hookup.

The Cycle of the Single Gal

The Cycle of the Single Gal

 

Why Being a Single Gal Can Actually Be Sad…

Ok, for the most part on here…when I say “sad” I don’t mean it like…

Creepy. As. FUCK

Creepy. As. FUCK

….I more so mean it like… Continue reading

The Missed Connection We All Wish Was About Us…

So I have seen a few friends post this on facebook, and it literally is the most amazing missed connection that ever was. It almost makes you want to smile at all the strangers you see in case you can make a magical connection with them, but then you realize you have been doing that anyway….and it usually turns out to be a full on monet. Oh you know what I’m talking about…

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And now on to the most wonderful missed connection that ever was:

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Posted: 2013-08-06, 6:50PM EDT

Missed Connection – m4w

I saw you on the Manhattan-bound Brooklyn Q train.

I was wearing a blue-striped t-shirt and a pair of maroon pants. You were wearing a vintage red skirt and a smart white blouse. We both wore glasses. I guess we still do.

You got on at DeKalb and sat across from me and we made eye contact, briefly. I fell in love with you a little bit, in that stupid way where you completely make up a fictional version of the person you’re looking at and fall in love with that person. But still I think there was something there.

Several times we looked at each other and then looked away. I tried to think of something to say to you — maybe pretend I didn’t know where I was going and ask you for directions or say something nice about your boot-shaped earrings, or just say, “Hot day.” It all seemed so stupid.

At one point, I caught you staring at me and you immediately averted your eyes. You pulled a book out of your bag and started reading it — a biography of Lyndon Johnson — but I noticed you never once turned a page.

My stop was Union Square, but at Union Square I decided to stay on, rationalizing that I could just as easily transfer to the 7 at 42nd Street, but then I didn’t get off at 42nd Street either. You must have missed your stop as well, because when we got all the way to the end of the line at Ditmars, we both just sat there in the car, waiting.

I cocked my head at you inquisitively. You shrugged and held up your book as if that was the reason.

Still I said nothing.

We took the train all the way back down — down through Astoria, across the East River, weaving through midtown, from Times Square to Herald Square to Union Square, under SoHo and Chinatown, up across the bridge back into Brooklyn, past Barclays and Prospect Park, past Flatbush and Midwood and Sheepshead Bay, all the way to Coney Island. And when we got to Coney Island, I knew I had to say something.

Still I said nothing.

And so we went back up.

Up and down the Q line, over and over. We caught the rush hour crowds and then saw them thin out again. We watched the sun set over Manhattan as we crossed the East River. I gave myself deadlines: I’ll talk to her before Newkirk; I’ll talk to her before Canal. Still I remained silent.

For months we sat on the train saying nothing to each other. We survived on bags of skittles sold to us by kids raising money for their basketball teams. We must have heard a million mariachi bands, had our faces nearly kicked in by a hundred thousand break dancers. I gave money to the beggars until I ran out of singles. When the train went above ground I’d get text messages and voicemails (“Where are you? What happened? Are you okay?”) until my phone ran out of battery.

I’ll talk to her before daybreak; I’ll talk to her before Tuesday. The longer I waited, the harder it got. What could I possibly say to you now, now that we’ve passed this same station for the hundredth time? Maybe if I could go back to the first time the Q switched over to the local R line for the weekend, I could have said, “Well, this is inconvenient,” but I couldn’t very well say it now, could I? I would kick myself for days after every time you sneezed — why hadn’t I said “Bless You”? That tiny gesture could have been enough to pivot us into a conversation, but here in stupid silence still we sat.

There were nights when we were the only two souls in the car, perhaps even on the whole train, and even then I felt self-conscious about bothering you. She’s reading her book, I thought, she doesn’t want to talk to me. Still, there were moments when I felt a connection. Someone would shout something crazy about Jesus and we’d immediately look at each other to register our reactions. A couple of teenagers would exit, holding hands, and we’d both think: Young Love.

For sixty years, we sat in that car, just barely pretending not to notice each other. I got to know you so well, if only peripherally. I memorized the folds of your body, the contours of your face, the patterns of your breath. I saw you cry once after you’d glanced at a neighbor’s newspaper. I wondered if you were crying about something specific, or just the general passage of time, so unnoticeable until suddenly noticeable. I wanted to comfort you, wrap my arms around you, assure you I knew everything would be fine, but it felt too familiar; I stayed glued to my seat.

One day, in the middle of the afternoon, you stood up as the train pulled into Queensboro Plaza. It was difficult for you, this simple task of standing up, you hadn’t done it in sixty years. Holding onto the rails, you managed to get yourself to the door. You hesitated briefly there, perhaps waiting for me to say something, giving me one last chance to stop you, but rather than spit out a lifetime of suppressed almost-conversations I said nothing, and I watched you slip out between the closing sliding doors.

It took me a few more stops before I realized you were really gone. I kept waiting for you to reenter the subway car, sit down next to me, rest your head on my shoulder. Nothing would be said. Nothing would need to be said.

When the train returned to Queensboro Plaza, I craned my neck as we entered the station. Perhaps you were there, on the platform, still waiting. Perhaps I would see you, smiling and bright, your long gray hair waving in the wind from the oncoming train.

But no, you were gone. And I realized most likely I would never see you again. And I thought about how amazing it is that you can know somebody for sixty years and yet still not really know that person at all.

I stayed on the train until it got to Union Square, at which point I got off and transferred to the L.

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Posting ID: 3985247459

Posted: 2013-08-06, 6:50PM EDT

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