Don’t be a racist in Boulder while dating a social worker in the ‘hood

I don’t feel very good today, so forgive the fact that the title of this blog post is a fairly poor attempt to play on the title of the Wayans Brothers 90’s classic movie that you might guess now that I gave you a hint.

So this is another story from about 4 or 5 years ago. I believe I met this guy off of OkCupid or another free dating site. And apparently, this was before I was too lazy to drive to Boulder or the suburbs or other places outside of 15 minutes from my house to hang out with dudes. I recently realized this when I was talking to a guy on Tinder and was unwilling to continue talking to him once I realized he lived in Boulder. It’s just so far away, and there’s always construction!

So I meet this dude online and he wants to meet up to go on a date in Boulder. I figure why not, it’s the weekend, I can go up to Boulder. So I do, and we start dating. I hang out with him in such illustrious Boulder locations as Mountain Sun Brewery, that outdoor fancy shopping mall area, walking along Boulder Creek, at the Dushambe Tea House… it was pretty much a best of Boulder montage.

At some point in our dating I discover two key things about this dude. #1 – He literally JUST moved here from India, like weeks ago, and knows nothing about Boulder so I am the one who has to think of the ideas for things to do. #2 – He has no car. So it’s up to Boulder for me if I want to keep hanging out with this guy. I’m not really sure what I liked about him, but probably it was the fact that he was super into me. I remember he would give me the weirdest compliments, like “I love the shape of your eyebrows, they are so perfect!” I swear he said that to me.

He also liked EDM music (back when it was called electronic music or something like that) and the club and was really impressed with himself for having gone skydiving, so maybe I should have seen the end coming. Also, he had a soul patch. I just remembered that detail, which really completes this story in my mind.

We would make out a lot in public places because he was squatting in CU Boulder University Housing without being a student and lived with 4 other Indian dudes. They had very little furniture and none of them seemed to know how to clean, so I wasn’t really trying to get frisky at his house.

One day, we made out at one of the Boulder Open Space parks while hiking, in his designer outfit, so not real hiking. He wore really nice clothes, as in fancy jeans and really Euro-y looking shirts. Come to think of it, my friend who likes European bros probably would have liked him, at least in terms of his wardrobe. We got some dinner or something and then I went back to Denver. Unbeknownst to me, he had left his fancy sunglasses in my car. This will become relevant to the story later.

So, as you may recall, I am a social worker and I work with teenagers. This is also about to become relevant to the story. This guy and I talk on the phone sometimes during the week because I can’t drive up to Boulder to hang out with him except for on the weekends. One day, because we have been hanging out for a while, I decide to actually tell him something real and vulnerable and not just try to be entertaining. I tell him about how I feel sad because one of the students I work with just found out she is pregnant and it always makes me depressed when 15-year-olds get pregnant. He asks me, “Is she black or Mexican?” That is literally the first thing out of his mouth. I ask him what the hell he means by that and he says that he “can’t care” about black or Mexican people and I shouldn’t worry either. Wow. There went your shot at me and my eyebrows continuing to hang out with you, motherfucker… I started yelling at him over the phone about being racist and broke up with him. I try to put myself in his shoes because I know they have a caste system and everything in India but still come to the conclusion of hell no, I don’t want to hang out with him any more.

So that’s that, I think. Until he starts texting me constantly about how I have his Gucci sunglasses because he left them in my car. Sure enough, I do have them. Fine, I say, what’s your address, I will mail them to you. He tells me that he doesn’t want them to break in the mail because they are so very important and expensive and can we just meet up sometime and he will get them from me. First of all, if you paid that much for sunglasses, I would like to think that mailing them would not result in them breaking, but whatever. Second of all, the idea of meeting up with him makes me want to punch him in the face and break his sunglasses.

So, at the time, I was living with a roommate who had a boyfriend in Boulder, and the two of them went to Boulder about every other week for the weekend. He probably had only been living with me for a few months and he had started dating his boyfriend almost immediately after he moved in with me. So I didn’t really know either of them super well but I could tell we were all going to be friends. So, for some reason I think it’s normal to do what I do next…

I decide to explain this situation to my new roommate and his boyfriend the next time they are over at the apartment. I then ask them if they will go meet this guy, Racist Indian Guy, as I now call him, in his sketchy unauthorized University housing living situation, and give him his sunglasses. For some reason, they agree. I guess they did want to be my friends! I am, incidentally, still friends with both of these people, so I guess it worked out somehow.

So, my roommate and his boyfriend bring Racist Indian Guy his sunglasses, and they say it was ok, not too awkward. By the by, they thought he seemed nice and was a good dresser so they could understand why I was initially into him, despite the racism, soul patch, and bro-ishness. That was nice of them to say.

I would also just like to add that when I told my roommate I was finally writing this story in my blog, she started making up a song about the Racist Indian Guy. It was pretty good, maybe she will record it for me later and I can embed it in this post. And we started discussing ways to make a sitcom about our dating lives. Because I now have two other female roommates and we all have our assorted dating stories and rotating exes and most of them have names such as “Johnny New Year” and “Tim 2” and “LA guy.” And all of those could make for excellent characters in a sitcom. We also have this one friend who we always run into at every rock show in Denver who tried to date/dated one of my roommates and several of our friends but has no game. He could be the George Costanza character from Seinfeld, or maybe Nick from New Girl. So stay tuned for a pilot for “That One Girl in Menver and Friends Dating Variety Show.” Or some other name. Ooh, or maybe it could be like that show, “Singled Out.” You know, with Jenny McCarthy before she was primarily known for telling people not to vaccinate their kids.

In conclusion, don’t be racist and try to date a social worker. This should be obvious, but so should other things I have written about, such as don’t send random girls you don’t know dick pics.


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.