“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.





Anonymously Denver famous?

Oh shit guys, I might be getting anonymously Denver famous!

You may recall my previous post where I refer to what it means to be Denver famous. It’s like real famous, but less so. Some Denver famous people move on to become real famous people… such as…. Nathaniel Rateliff. Or Condoleeza Rice? I don’t know if she was Denver famous when she lived here, she might have just skipped Denver fame to become actually famous. Anyway, I may have my shot at Denver fame, specifically anonymous Denver fame, thanks to a local institution that defines what it means to be Denver famous, the Westword.

I was asked to be a featured “bro expert” of sorts for a Westword article about the evolution of the LoDo neighborhood and its corresponding bros. Because I am a credible bro expert, certified by the Department of Regulatory Agencies of Colorado. That would be awesome if that was a thing. At any rate, I was asked to literally meet up with some of the fine folks from Westword to go out in LoDo and help them make fun of bros in an anthropological style for an article. It was a good time, and I appreciated being kept anonymous. My fake name for the article was Allison. I wanted it to be Lindsey, but apparently that had been used as a fake name in a previous article… So many women named Lindsey in my generation… Anyway, now there is an actual chance someone I’ve banged and written about will read the article and find this blog, so I really don’t want my identity, or anyone else’s, associated with this shenanigans.

They used a lot of direct quotes from me in the article that are probably actual statements I made… I think it’s all pretty funny, but possibly because I laugh at my own jokes? My friends also laughed when I read it aloud to them. Then I made them all swear to never tell anyone I have ever dated or might want to date that I am Allison.

So yes, an interesting article about an interesting night of me doing what I do best, judging people. I will say that the whole thing was a bit more subdued than I thought it would be due to the fact that I guess reporters don’t like to stay out super late on work assignments, so we left at 10:30pm, way before the bro witching hour.

Also, when I agreed to be a part of this situation, I didn’t realize it would be the cover article for the week. I have to say, I appreciate the amazing stock photo of a bro with brightly-colored sunglasses and an expression that can best be described as “the look on a Colorado bro’s face whilst shredding the gnar gnar and being whimsically happy about it.” Props to the art department or whoever made that happen. So, check out the sweet stock photo and even sweeter article  here.

And I will remember the little people when I become anonymously Denver famous. I am considering making a fake web presence for my fake self. If you have any suggestions for an awesome last name for Allison, please comment them.

For all the new people just seeing this blog now, welcome. Get ready for more tales of my “frequent and disastrous dating experiences,” as they were aptly described in the article.



In case you were wondering where I’ve been for the past several months, I was off the market. In an actual relationship. Relationships for me have been few and far between in the past few years, which you can clearly tell if you’ve read this blog at all. So it was a weird adjustment to be in a relationship, but sort of refreshing.

This relationship did not turn out to be the one that stuck. We had a good time but there were just too many small incompatibilities that started mounting up and making it evident that we weren’t going to be happy together forever.

However, for the first time in my life, I am happy to say I mostly acted like an adult from start to finish in a dating relationship. We are even being friends, so far, with reasonable success. He is friends with all his exes, so he’s clearly better at this than I am. Mostly because I have tended to engage with an assortment of oddballs and douches who haven’t given me a reason to want to keep them around in the least.

So I guess it’s back to my quest for pizzas and magical kitchens and fish and wieners and whatever else I call dudes… But I will say, I think I have learned a few things:                           

1 – Breakups don’t have to be quite as traumatic as you think. I mean, yes, no one likes breaking up, but when it’s mutual and you both still care about each other it can go better than you might think. The guy in question and I broke up on a car ride home from the bar for St. Patrick’s Day. However, because we were still going to be friends, we went to get nachos and then watched “Unlikely Animal Friends” on Netflix and went to sleep, platonically. Weird, perhaps, but in a good way. That descriptor is also fitting for “Unlikely Animal Friends!” In my opinion, it is one of the better shows pandering to people who watch cat videos that has ever been invented! It featured a two-legged Chihuahua and a silky chicken who are best friends and ride in the same crate. The silky chicken likes to lay eggs near the Chihuahua because it’s comforting. If that doesn’t make you want to watch this show, I don’t know what will!

2 – I learned so many things I didn’t even know I learned about football and the Broncos. I still find it boring but watched so much of it involuntarily that I think I know almost all the names of the players by now and also probably know which teams are in the AFC and the NFC and some other stuff that is probably lurking deep in my brain, poised to come out when I need to connect with some of my male students about football or otherwise impress some bros.

3 – On a related note, I learned a lot of things about wine. Dating a certified sommelier who spends a lot of time talking about things like tannins and terrior and saying things are “jammy” and that they “suck your teeth out” and other weird and specific wine bro terms, had me learn a lot of these terms. I also learned that there are wine bros, and he would find them all at whatever liquor store or restaurant or park we went to. One of them is the proprietor of this new place Brik on York and is apparently some sort of new Colfax legend because I have heard from several people they think he is dreamy. Probably because he wears a vest and gives you wine. Maybe that was why I was in this relationship… because my ex-boyfriend also did things like wear vests and give me wine.

I think those are most of the things I learned. I also learned some things about myself, some of which make me wonder if I actually prefer to be single or if I am just used to single status as a default. Because I discovered how used to being single I really am. So it’s a transition but weirdly comforting to be single again because I clearly kick ass at it… I do want to get back on ye olde Tinder eventually, and also possibly try out a site called MeetMindful, which appears to be a dating site for hippies and people who are really into crystals and talking about Mercury being in retrograde… So I think I might hold off on dating for a little bit. But don’t worry, there are still some stories that haven’t been told. And Denver is a small town so I am guaranteed to run into some more exes soon – I just spotted volleyball tattoo guy from afar at my recreational volleyball game last week and went with the avoidance strategy. So stay tuned for more soon.


Resume pizza break! And don’t be a douche in Denver, this town is too small for that…

So when I went on my pizza break, I never really had a defined ending point. I figured I would just see if I got bored of having a pizza break, or see if anyone that seemed worth my time came my way. The goal of the pizza break was to be open to possibilities in the man department, but not try hard. Which has been nice, let me just say. I’ve been referring to 2015 as “Don’t Give a Fuck 2015.” Which is not to say that I give no fucks about anything, but I am being selective about the fucks I give. Literally and figuratively. So I have been just minding my own business, enjoying my life, writing archival stories in my blog because there haven’t been any dudes all up on me.

Until a series of events transpired a couple weeks ago. I went out for a birthday celebration for one of my friends and met up with her and a bunch of her peeps, some of whom I didn’t know. This cohort of revelers included one dude who we will call “Undercover Bro,” because he didn’t really seem like a bro at first.

First of all, he didn’t even know my friend, he came with one of her hippie friends who was wearing a scarf that looked like cat paws the entire night. You know, those ones favored by 13-year-old girls where you can put your hands inside a flap and pretend they are paws? Yeah, this guy was his main associate, so I figured him to not be so much of a bro. Undercover bro’s “game,” if you will, was talking about feminism and gender roles, having a ridiculous sense of humor that nicely complimented mine, and getting me to give him rides. That type of game is apparently more effective on me than Tastycakes or love poems…. But, needless to say, these are not your typical bro moves. We had a surprising amount of very honest and interesting conversation in one night. I actually thought he was enjoying my personality, and he was all up on me the entire night at my friend’s party. Which ended when I drove him home at 4am and we made out in my car in front of his house. Which I drove him to because he has no car. He didn’t invite me in because it was late, but I kind of suspect he lives with his parents, in retrospect.

But whatever, we hung out one more time and then I think he lost interest because I didn’t sleep with him the second time we hung out? I tried to hang out with him again a couple times but he didn’t really seem to want to so I stopped trying. Whatever, clearly this undercover bro showed his true colors.

So this was the start of a month-long festival of “Denver is a small town” coincidences and other weird episodes that began the very same weekend I met this undercover bro dude.

A friend of mine, we’ll call her Lindsey (many women of my generation are named this, but this woman is not, in reality, named Lindsey) asks me in passing, “How do you know so-and-so?” So-and-so being a guy who she was talking to on Tinder who she saw was my facebook friend. That’s one of the joys of Tinder, you can judge people by their acquaintances on facebook and/or do recon on people by asking your mutual friends about them. Turns out, she was about to meet up with this guy who is my roommate’s ex, and someone who I am also connected to through my work. I told Lindsey she probably didn’t want none of that, not because he’s a bad guy, but because he’s not very motivated in life and wasn’t compatible with my roommate, and Lindsey and my roommate are friends and very similar people and so it would be weird and probably not work on several levels. And I totally forgot to tell my roommate, so Lindsey brought it up, thinking I already told her, which was also weird. Complicated.

This whole ex situation makes my roommate curious about Tinder, and somehow makes me want to go on Tinder. Also maybe the fact that I got rejected by undercover bro, maybe there were a few fucks given by accident about that. I will say this for Tinder, it boosts my confidence when I see how many dudes think I am attractive enough to theoretically bang. Anyway, my roomate seems curious, so my other roommate and I teach her how to play our favorite (and only?!) Tinder game, “Find the fish.” I think I have mentioned this before. It’s very simple. The first person to find a dude with a picture of himself holding a fish wins. I won, repeatedly. This caused me to get several Tinder matches in the process, several of whom started messaging me. I will come back to these later.

So, the next coincidence that happens is that my co-worker starts talking about how he ran into this guy at the dentist who works at another local nonprofit and sends out a lot of mass emails with his picture on them as part of his job. And how this dude was super awkward when my colleague introduced himself and told him he recognized him from the pictures. Unbeknownst to my co-worker, I had dated this guy years ago. And he was super awkward when I dated him. We went to a really good but sad independent movie at the Denver Film Festival, and I cried during the movie. Which made our already-awkward dating even more awkward.

Next coincidence, and this might be my favorite, I run into Wiener Problems Guy (see previous post, “Come on, little guy!”) at the DMV. He walks right by me we make eye contact for a split second, and he looks away like he’s seen a ghost and keeps walking. I almost start laughing out loud at his look of fear but luckily, the pervasive depressing and boring atmosphere of the DMV saves me from actually laughing and further embarrassing this poor little guy who can’t just can’t seem to recover from that wiener malfunction.

And the hits keep coming! This weekend, I go out for another friend’s birthday, and see my friend whose birthday I went to a few weeks ago. So, birthday friend number one and I are shooting the shit because birthday friend number two is late for her own birthday! Birthday friend number one says, what happened with that undercover bro guy you met at my party? I tell her he lost interest. She doesn’t seem that surprised and shows me a text from another girlfriend of hers that is a screenshot of undercover bro’s Tinder profile with the caption, “Isn’t this the guy who was all over your friend at your party?” Yes, it is. Hilarious. I don’t think I have seen him on Tinder myself yet, but who knows, I could have already swiped left on him.

Birthday friend number two arrives after a while and also asks me what happened with that undercover bro guy I met at birthday friend number one’s party. I also tell her he lost interest. She says she ran into him at the Ginn Mill with his bro-y friends the previous weekend. Sounds about right. All the pieces of the bro puzzle are coming together. The night I met him, he told me that the night before he had been at the ViewHouse. I made fun of him about that… I call that place the DoucheHouse because, well, you can figure it out. But I realize now that I was making fun of his whole lifestyle. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want to hang out any more. I mean, in some ways, I think it must be nice to be 30 years old and not have a car and live with your parents and sell credit cards at the airport and go to LoDo every weekend. The only part of that sentence that is not a stated fact is the living with the parents part. So next time I’m at a bachelorette party or something in LoDo, or at the airport, I will be sure to see this dude. Awesome.

Other “Denver is a small town” sidebar. At least I’m straight. I’m pretty sure Denver is even smaller if you’re gay. The site of this story about birthday friend number two and her party was Hamburger Mary’s. I managed to run into both my old roommate and another friend I know through a different gay friend there that night. The two of them actually know each other, also. Basically, I feel like it would suck to be gay and try to avoid exes in this town. You could never go to Vinyl, Beer Bust, Tracks, or apparently Hamburger Mary’s.

Last but not least, the final cherry on top of my ridiculous return to sort-of almost-dating, and one of the reasons I am going back to no-fucks-given-pizza-break-mode is this. One of the more promising Tinder matches I was chatting with after my fish-finding episode keeps making it seem like he wants to hang out and then not messaging me back. He asks to hang out with me yesterday, and I suggest a time I’m available between other things I’ve got going on. “My wife gets back at 7 so I don’t think we’d have enough time if we got a drink at 5.” What the hell?!?! Don’t put that on your profile or anything, just drop it casually in conversation when you’re trying to set up a date! Jesus, man, Tinder is the worst place to cheat on your wife! I probably know her. Or her divorced/single/cheating on her husband friend is going to see you on there and rat you out. So the moral of this story is: Don’t be a douche in this town, not just for the usual reasons such as “being a douche is bad,” but for “Denver is a small town” reasons!

That one time a guy wrote me a love poem… it was even on paper like in the olden days!

Here’s another time I experienced chivalry. Well, maybe, I am pretty sure this chivalry was in the service of getting in my pants. Allow me to explain.

Probably a few months after the previous story (so, circa 2008) about Tastykake guy giving me delicious packaged snack cakes and me not even calling him in return, I had another old-timey romantical experience. Kind of.

I don’t even remember how I met this guy, but I know it was through this dude who used to date my friend. They were roommates. Let’s say I met him at a party, because those dudes had a lot of parties back in the day. Many of them involved live music, because these dudes were in a band. Or bands. You know, those ones that are in a lot of bands and know all the other dudes in bands… Like that.

So I go on a few dates with this guy, who I will just go ahead and start calling love poem guy. We have fun, chat about whatever, hang out, etc. He’s a really good dresser, and is attractive and super smooth in general. He knows about cool things that I haven’t been to in Denver, such as the Mayan Theater, where you can drink beer AND watch a movie. I was very impressed at the time, but it doesn’t take much to impress young babies who just learned how to drink legally in bars. I discover at some point that the reason he is so cool and smooth and in so many bands is because he is 37 years old! Which seems pretty old to me when I’m 23. So I continue hanging out with him, but feel a little weird about it because he was starting high school when I was born. Want to feel creeped out about the age difference in your relationship? Just figure out how old the person was when you were born (or vice versa). If they/you were older than 10, you will both probably feel disturbed by that forever.

So after we’ve hung out maybe 4 or 5 times, love poem guy comes by my job at the ice cream store. See previous post about working in an ice cream store and living in a basement apartment if you need more details to set the scene. He comes by to say hi, we chat a little bit, and he gives me this envelope and tells me to open it later. Very mysterious.

So, pretty much immediately after he leaves, I open the envelope to find a card with a love poem on it and a drawing of a flower. Whoa! I recall that it was a pretty decent love poem, as love poems go. What the fuck am I talking about, I have no basis for comparison!?! It is the only love poem I have ever received, so I guess I can’t say if it was good or not. I have definitely received way more dick pics than poems (as has almost every woman in the world… up your game, fellas!). Anyway, I wish I had kept the poem because that would be AWESOME to post on this blog right now. But alas, it probably never made it out of that basement apartment because one time it flooded and ruined a bunch of my stuff. I don’t know specifically what happened to the poem but I sure don’t have it now.

So that was pretty impressive, the whole thing. I feel very excited, so I tell my friend who is dating love poem guy’s roommate/bro friend about this. Until now, she has not been very aware that I was hanging out with love poem guy. She tells me I should watch out about sleeping with him because he is a notorious man-whore and probably has STDs. She would know, she sees all these women in and out of the bro house this dude shares with her boyfriend. Yikes, 37 years worth of other ladies that he has been writing love poems to and banging… That seemed like a little much for my young, slightly prudish self. Yes, I used to be much less scandalous and would take much longer to sleep with people.

So I never actually slept with love poem guy. I hung out with him a few more times but I think he lost interest because his love poem did not make my panties immediately drop. But I have to give him points for going old-fashioned with it. Because even chivalry in the name of booty is still chivalry.

Maybe there was chivalry once…

I feel sometimes like my blog is me bitching about how dumb your average bro is these days. In my list (yes, I had to write a list to remember all these things, as previously mentioned, judge me if you want) of stories I should remember to write about in my blog, there are actually a couple that are sort of sweet. Most of them, sadly, happened at least 6 years ago, but hey, they happened!

So, when I first moved to Denver, in addition to having a sort-of-real job to get experience as a social worker, I also worked at a classic Denver ice cream institution. And no, it wasn’t Sweet Action, there weren’t enough hipsters for that shit to exist when I first moved to Denver! So you basically have two remaining choices to guess at, and again, I am trying to protect the innocent here so I won’t tell you! Both of the most romantic things that have potentially ever happened to me happened in said ice cream store. Probably in the winter, because there were too many angry ice-cream-hungry people for me to do anything but scoop ice cream whenever it was even slightly warm. You would think people would feel happy whilst waiting for delicious ice cream, but I think they just get impatient and it all goes downhill from there. Also, there was no air conditioning in this ice cream store in those days, which also makes people angry. Jeez, I sound like an old woman! But I digress.

So, the first story is this. I met a guy through my old roommate, he went to her church, which was actually probably the coolest church ever. Have you heard of Unitarian Universalists, readers? If I was going to get into religion, I would probably get into that! The reason I even met this dude is because my friend invited me to her church service because it was a demonstration on the Capitol steps supporting marriage equality! Best church service ever! And these people were seriously ahead of the curve in terms of social justice issues, because this took place in 2008 or so… So anyway, as far as I can tell, Unitarian Universalists draw from all different religious philosophies, but mostly focus on the good things that are supposed to be important in religion, like love, and human rights. So I am down with that, because those are pretty much two of my favorite things. Anyway, after the awesome church gathering down at the Capitol, they had snacks (another one of my favorite things!) and my roommate and I sat there and shot the shit with some people around our age. Among them, this guy, who I will call Tastykake guy for reasons that will be explained shortly.

So I’m chatting with this guy, who seems really nice, but definitely has a ponytail, which is not one of my favorite things. He tells me he’s from New Jersey, which, although generally a characteristic that East Coast people make fun of each other for, is sort of a commonality for us transplants out in the Mile High. People sometimes think I’m from Jersey, anyway. Around that time, I remember being told that I seemed like I was from New Jersey because I was loud and said “word” a lot. If being loud and saying “word” means you’re from Jersey, then I don’t want to be right! I still say “word.” I said it to one of the high school students I work with the other day and he looked at me funny. And I felt old. Ok, the point here is we get onto the whole thing that he’s from Jersey and I’m from Maryland and the things we miss from the East Coast. Among them, Tastykakes. What are Tatsykakes, you say? Delicious snack cakes, made by a Pennsylvania-based company, similar to Hostess or some other thing like that but with way better products, such as Kandy Kakes and Butterscotch Krimpets, or the best ones, Jelly Krimpets. You can google them, I am too lazy to find a good link. Now, again, this story is old because around this time last year I discovered that Tastykakes have become available at your neighborhood King Soopers. M’erica! But at the time, there were no Tastykakes available West of the Mississippi. Tastykake guy tells me that his mom knows how much he loves Tastykakes and sends them to him in care packages every few months. His mom is brilliant, I don’t know what the hell my mom was doing with her time back then, but it wasn’t sending me Tastykakes! Oh yeah, it was working. She was working to help pay for my sister’s college education. That bitch!

All right, I really need to get it together with these tangents. Ok, so Tastykake guy tells me he will share some Tastykakes with me sometime and I’m like ok, I will probably never see you again, but sure, bro. I am apparently not necessarily picking up what’s he’s putting down because I don’t seem to gather that he’s hitting on me. At any rate, my roommate and I head out back to our lovely basement home (that was back when I pretty much exclusively lived in basements due to being broke) and I don’t think much more of it. But apparently I, or someone, had mentioned to Tastykake guy that I worked at the previously-mentioned anonymous ice cream store.

One or two days later, he shows up at my work with a freakin box of Jelly Krimpets! We chat a little bit and I repeatedly ask him if he’s ok with giving me all these Krimpets, because to me (and probably him) those are like the equivalent of valuable swiss chocolates, or diamonds or something… He says, here’s my card, it’s taped on the box, call me sometime if you want. Potentially the best game a person has ever spit to me in my life. Thinking back on this, he must have either been in love with me, or just a really nice person always to everyone. And what did my dumb, 23-year-old self do? Eat the Tastykakes and never call him. Because he had a ponytail. Maybe the universe has been paying me back all these years for being a terrible person in this instance. Jesus, Tastykake guy probably tells stories about me in his blog about what it’s like to be the nicest man in Denver. He probably refers to me as Ice Cream Store Girl or something, but nothing mean, because he’s the nicest person ever. And I blew it. Ponytails aren’t forever, but love is.

So let that be a warning to you young babies from an old woman… Don’t sleep on chivalry, if it still exists these days. And go get some Tastykakes.

Pizza Break

I am taking a pizza break. What is a pizza break, you ask? Allow me to explain.

Earlier this year, a friend recommended a book to me called “The Mastery of Love,” by Don Miguel Ruiz. You should read it if you want some knowledge bombs dropped on you about love and relationships. The main thing I learned from this book is to call dudes “pizzas.”

There is a great metaphor for love that Don Miguel Ruiz lays out in the book, which I will attempt to poorly summarize now. If you know me in real life, you can skip this part because I have surely already explained this in person. Seriously, I have probably told this shit to everyone I have talked to in the last 4 months or whenever I read this book because it is amazeballs and I am using it to explain all the problems in my love life! Clearly, after reading my blog, whether you know me or not, you have probably started to identify the problems in my love life yourself. But the point is, it was a great book and an useful metaphor and I don’t own any of it, so don’t sue me, Mr. Ruiz!

Ok, so the concept is this. Everyone in the world has their own magical kitchen (no, this does not mean a vagina or wiener, you pervs) and in their magical kitchen they can make any kind of food they want, and it is always the best, most delicious food and the kitchen never runs out of ingredients. They can eat the food they make themselves, give it to other people, etc. And that is like love. We can have all different kinds of love, love for ourselves, love for other people, and it never does run out. We always have capacity for love.

But in the world, lots of times people forget they have a magical kitchen and they don’t use it. They start going hungry and looking for food (love) somewhere else because they forgot how to make their own. Then, one day, a starving person answers the door and there is some dude or lady standing there with a pizza. “You can have this pizza every day for the rest of your life,” they say, “but you have to do what I say.” And that’s like a relationship. The hungry person figures that they better settle for this pizza because they are super hungry and can’t guarantee any other food will be available.

The actual point of this is that we all need to remember how to use our magical kitchens and love ourselves and each other but not rely on anyone to make us fulfilled and whole people. And then we can find a person we like to kick it with, but they don’t have to feed us because we know how to make our own food.

After reading this, I thought about the concepts for my life, blah blah blah, but, as I mentioned, the biggest way I have put this self-help book into action is by calling dudes pizzas. Because clearly that was the point of the book. Nonetheless, it’s a fun metaphor… You can have frozen pizza, gourmet pizza, hot-n-ready pizza, cheap pizza, meaty pizza, pizza by the slice, cheesy pizza, sausage pizza, drunk pizza, greasy pizza…. Once I was talking to a friend’s former pizza (he was still her pizza at the time, and we had explained this whole metaphor situation to him) and he said “we pizzas don’t choose to be covered with meat and cheese” or something profound about how my friend was treating him like a pizza when he wanted to be a magical kitchen (or magical kitchen owner, or whatever). “That’s deep,” I said. “I’m a deep dish pizza,” he replied. Best metaphor ever!

Also, because I like ridiculous videos, enjoy this video of Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen singing a song about pizza in slow motion:

So, I am taking a pizza break. Or a manbbatical, as a good friend of mine who also used to have a dating blog until she found the love of her life and shit, calls it. She met him after her own manbbattical, so it will most definitely work for me too, obvi! I think I am going to try to bring back obvi… it was the only one of those late 90’s/early 2000’s word-shortenings that I really liked.

Anyway, I think I have been having too much pizza lately and not making enough stuff in my magical kitchen. Or I am just disillusioned and think it’s all bros and pizzas and douches… Either way, I realized recently that I have been attempting to find my soulmate like it’s a thing that just happens if you keep trying. And I have been on a mission to find him, by online dating, picking up dudes at bars, doing those speed dating things, Tindering, getting set up on dates, etc. with pretty much no break, for about 6 years. After all, my philosophy is, don’t stop trying, because trying hard is the way to make someone love you! Right, great plan. All of this has basically just led to a parade of dudes to be awkward around when I run into them around Denver (see previous post). Think of how much delicious food I could have been making if I wasn’t letting all these pizzas in my house!

I’m excited about my pizza break, just in time for the holidays. Some people think the holidays are depressing without a partner. I think it just eliminates the need to have to deal with someone else’s family in addition to your own.

One last note, dear readers: Don’t worry about a shortage of ridiculous stories due to my pizza break. I still have a surprising number of ridiculous stories I haven’t even started telling, some I even forgot about until just recently. I made a list so I would remember them. That seems sad that a list is necessary. I also realized recently that I don’t remember many of the dudes featured in this blog by their real names… Only by names I have given them such as Volleyball Tattoo Guy or Vegas Guy. That also seems sad that I have turned these people into caricatures because I am cynical or something… Hence the pizza break!

And if I find my soulmate, I’m sure hilarious things will still happen that I can write about. Although when I first meet him, I may not tell him about this blog. Because my dude friends have told me to not tell guys I date that I have a blog because then I will be like Taylor Swift and no one will go out with me because I will write a song/blog about them. Haters gonna hate hate hate…