“The Rock Disaster Movie”

A while back, I went on two Tinder dates on one day. I have only posted about the second one so far. The first one was a little more mundane, at least on the first date.

This guy, we will call…. Badminton guy. Because he told me on our second date that he used to be a high level collegiate badminton player in India and almost went pro. Because I guess that’s a thing in India. And a friend of mine who has her own badminton net and no one to play with her always says she should go out with him so he will play badminton with her. But she doesn’t really want to go out with him, for reasons that will be explained shortly.

One funny thing that happened on my first date with Badminton guy is that we ran into the very same badminton-loving friend of mine, who lived in Baker at the time, on the street while we were going to Sweet Action to get some hipster ice cream. She was carrying a stack of books, one with the title “Teen Relationship Violence” or something dramatic like that and a picture of a girl with a black eye on the cover. It was for her thesis for her Ph.D., but she joked that it was her way of setting boundaries with random passersby in the street. Which cracked us up because we work in mental health. Badminton guy was not a therapist and not a native English speaker, so he did not get the joke and just said something about how people will think she is so studious with those books.

Anyway, date one was normal. Especially in contrast to the fact that immediately afterwards, I went on a date with that guy who showed up like 2 hours late and did a tongue-filled attack-makeout in the Lyft I begrudgingly shared with him.

The part where it stopped being normal is that after our first date, he wanted to text me and call me all the time. I think it was the day after our first date, I was grilling with some friends at my house and he sent me a bunch of texts, starting out normal with “how r u” (he had a good mastery of text speak for not being a 12-year-old from the U.S.) and gradually devolving into “I guess u just don’t want to talk to me :(” after a series of unrequited texts. My roommate told me that she wondered how many more non-response texts it would take for him to show up at my house and break down the door. Luckily, he didn’t know where my house was.

And he started calling me “baby” constantly, which I promptly had a talk with him about, but he kept doing it. But despite all this, I decided to give him another chance in the form of a second date because I tell myself that being overzealous is better than being underzealous (definitely not a word but I’m going with it).

So our second date started off when he picked me up at a friend’s birthday party picnic at City Park. Because he very specifically wanted to pick me up rather than meeting somewhere. This was complicated because of his lack of familiarity with Denver (like many bros I meet on Tinder, he had lived in Denver for less than three months at the time of this story) and communication barriers due to his less-than-perfect command of the English language and perhaps mine as well! After several complicated and annoying phone conversations, he finally found the spot in City Park where we were having the picnic. He then decided we should go somewhere with the best “American chicken wings” in town. I like the wings at Jake’s, so I decided to take him there. Where we awkwardly ran into one of the students I work with and his parents. Which is par for the course when I go to that place so I should have known better, and they are a really nice family, but still awkward.

Over the best “American chicken wings” ever, we talked about his badminton career, and how much money he makes. He was trying to impress me, I guess. He was a computer engineer for a diamond mining company. I guess that sort of thing exists other than just in the movies. He was also trying to convince me to go to Orlando with him because he had to go there for a month for work. I have a job, you see. Two of them. Also, it was summer, and Orlando is one of my least favorite places even in the winter, despite the fact that my heart is with all the victims in the recent Orlando tragedy and their families. Also, we are not there yet, at all.

But I decide to humor him and not just cut the date short right then and there. He wants to go to a movie. I remember there was some sort of halfway decent movie that was supposed to be playing at the Denver Pavillions downtown. We showed up, and any movie that would have been tolerable was sold out or playing in 2 hours. But he seems really committed to this movie plan, for reasons that I will discover later, and insists that we watch that terrible disaster movie with the Rock in a helicopter… San Andreas. I had to Google that, but it was the first thing that popped up when I entered “the rock disaster movie.” That might as well have been the title. But, as a consolation prize, it was in the theater there with the nice leather seats where you can recline a lot.

However, a little ways into the movie, I discover this is not a consolation prize, this just means that it is super annoying and cramp-tackular when he wants to hold my hand during the entire movie. I periodically shift around to get his claw-like grip off of me for brief intervals. Eventually, he gets bold and moves to full-on boob groping. Because that is the next step after hand-holding? Ugh. “The Rock Disaster Movie” as I will now call it, is also really long for a movie so lacking in plot, so this dance of periodically squirming out of his grasp and/or removing his hand from my breast goes on for much longer than I would like.

After the movie, I just feel grossed out and want to leave. Also, during all this physical contact, I determine that Badminton guy’s general scent is a lot of B.O. mixed with a lot of man perfume. Why do I always find the ones that bathe in cologne? Anyway, this wanting to leave is complicated by my stupid decision to let him pick me up and leave my car in City Park. But after minimal complaining, he agrees to drive me to my car. I tell him goodbye and that I don’t really think I want to do this again. He seems very sad and asks me what he did wrong. I can’t quite manage to put my finger on a kind way to say it at the time, so I just say that I don’t think we’re on the same page or something vague like that. And I drive off into City Park, where he will never find me. The end.





Douche transference

I have recently been experiencing a phenomenon that I have invented a name for – douche transference. Transference is a term commonly used in psychology and social work. Transference is when a person unconsciously transfers their feelings about a significant person in their life (usually a parent or someone from their childhood, according to Sigmund Freud) to another person, often someone that reminds them of the original person. It’s usually talked about in therapy, like in situations where a client treats their therapist like their mother, or something like that.

So, sometimes I meet a guy that reminds me of a previous douche I have dated or known. And I become inclined to treat this new douche like the other douche I used to know. In Denver, you get a lot of douche archetypes (yes, even more Freud for you, look at me go!) so this happens pretty often. I see a douche walking down the street wearing a similar or even exactly the same Rockies hat that a previous douche I dated used to wear. Boom! I make all kinds of assumptions about this person, even if I don’t speak to him. That stupid hat… He must be really into taking pictures of himself in that hat and posting them on facebook.

Sometimes douche transference has to do with a smell. There seem to be surprisingly few cologne options available in Denver, nay, in the United States, for douches who like to wear a lot of cologne. Ugh, I still will get massive douche transference from my very first Maryland bro boyfriend, he used to wear so much cologne, and apparently whatever kind it was is still used by the douches of today. Pretty much any sniff of a dude wearing copious amounts of cologne just gives me flashbacks of regret after sleeping with dudes who make my entire room smell like gross cologne. I was thinking about this today when I was in the elevator at my office and there wasn’t even a person in there, just the leftover cologne smell from someone who had been in the elevator previously! If you are like Pigpen on Charlie Brown but with a cloud of cologne following you everywhere, it’s not a good look.

Douche transference can also have to do with actions. In some instances, I can predict (or maybe create a self-fulfilling prophecy, I’m not sure which sometimes) the behavior of current or future douches based on the behavior of past douches in similar situations. This douche is looking at me in this particular way, he is getting really into me. Better break up with him! Or this douche is bringing his friend on our date (this has happened to me on more than one occasion), he is uncomfortable with me and is going to stop calling me in about three dates… Unless I choose to stop calling him first. This douche just tried to pick a fight with me about being a feminist, I am going to incorporate all the anger I have from past douches doing similar things into my response to this particular douche… Great plan. Sometimes the douche transference can have the effect of multiplying my reactions to things because of past stored-up emotions from experiences with douches past. This douche tried to get me to have sex without a condom… The next thing he will say is “I just don’t usually use them, I don’t like the way it feels.” Great. That one kills me, there are so many dudes out there trying to have sex without condoms, I don’t know how the Colorado STD and STI rates aren’t worse than they are! Ain’t nobody got time for diseases! You telling me you don’t “usually” wear condoms really makes me want to get added to the list of girls you have had unprotected sex with… Anyway, I used to just tell the douches that no condom means no sex, but maybe next time I will also make them go home.

Or here’s another one… This has actually only happened to me once; this douche is taking me on the exact same date another douche took me on two years ago, sort of like that episode of How I Met Your Mother where they go on the same date years apart:


So, next time you meet a douche that reminds you of another douche you know (or used to know), just know that you are experiencing douche transference!


An addendum: International bros… in different area codes!

I have recently realized that there is such a thing as an international bro. In fact, I was just dating one, it was my first date I met on Tinder. I have lots more to say about the social phenomenon that is Tinder later, look for a future entry on that topic.

So, the thing about meeting a guy from another country, in the case of my European bro that country was England, is that at first you are easily impressed by his accent, good dressing skills, and general vibe because he is different from your average American Midwestern bro that you so often find out there in the wild. You think wow, he must have a very unique and interesting world view. He must like arts and culture and cooking or some other cool things because that’s what people like in other countries! But alas, the more time you spend with the European bro, the more you realize he does not have a lot of individuality and, like your American bros, he “just wants to have fun! In a group of 5 or 6 other, similarly dressed bros!” -Jezebel – see previous entry for a full explanation of bro typology and a link for this Jezebel article.

For example, this English bro I hooked up with wore just as much cologne as any American bro I have ever been with. My roommate actually said when I brought him home that when she walked in the house, she noticed the distinct smell of “dude trying to get laid cologne.” Sounds about right. In addition, this bro was an accountant, not some sort of cool international job where you travel and speak different languages. I am pretty sure that most English bros have another thing in common with American bros, they don’t speak any language other than English. The main thing about this bro that didn’t really do it for me was that he basically said “That’s aiight” or “that’s not too bad” (but in an English accent) constantly, and that also seemed to be his general philosophy on life, that everything was “aiight” or “not too bad” but nothing was amazing, or bad, or interesting. He really liked me, for some reason, but I feel like I was not a very great date because his boredom was rubbing off on me like the smell of his cologne… There was only so much to talk about since it seemed like his main interests were motorcycles, James Bond movies, drinking, dive bars, and telling me now that I met him, I wasn’t going to have to be on Tinder any more. You can only do so much with those sorts of very generic topics. In short, once I got used to his accent, there was nothing to distinguish this guy from every other boring bro dude guy I have ever encountered in the great US of A…

A friend of mine was also dating an international bro off of Tinder who she referred to as “The Spanish.” You guessed it, he was from Spain! The Spanish had similar accoutrements to the English bro, the accent, the fact that he did indeed speak Spanish and English (I think English bros may be the most similar to American bros in their linguistic simplicity and general vibe, at least out of the European countries), the dressing skills. But he had bro-y sports habits about futbol and didn’t actually like to go out and do fun things, he mostly just wanted to have my friend come over his house and watch TV. Definitely a bro move. So, the moral of the story is that a bro by any other name, or from any other country, as it were, still smells like a bro.