“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.

 

 

 

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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.