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.

Dudes telling me crazy stuff on first dates: Exhibit A

Unlike my catfishing friend that I mentioned in my previous entry, I will let you know when I am using old stories and will not try to pass them off as current stories to make you like me more! This is another example of where my social worker vibe/active listening skills get me into trouble in the dating world. I actually recently talked to another social worker about this and she tells me it happens to her as well, so it must be a thing.

As I said, this is an old story. If I were going to try to give it a year, I would probably go with 2009. So, imagine it is a Wednesday or some night like that in 2009, it has snowed a lot in Denver that day, and it is super cold. I barely want to leave the house, let alone drive to Westminster or wherever the hell this guy who I met on Okcupid lives… But don’t worry, he’s crazy so he is willing to drive to a coffee shop right across the street from my apartment instead. So I meet him at the coffee shop. This guy, who we will call the Brazilian (he was Brazilian), had also slightly lied in his picture (he only had one picture, a sure sign of the catfish, I realized later) so I didn’t recognize him very well but there was pretty much NO ONE ELSE in the coffee shop so I figured that must be him. And he looked all right, older than I thought, but all right.

So we get our drinks and go downstairs, there is a downstairs area that has couches and whatnot so we go down there to sit. I think, this is a basement, a little creepy but it’s still a public place so maybe there will be other people there. Part of what makes this date hilarious is that there were indeed other people down there, specifically, my neighbor and friend who used to camp out at this coffee shop to do work on his computer. So I sort of give my neighbor the head nod, and he can tell I’m on a date so he kind of just keeps working and minding his own business. I asked him later if he saw what went down and he told me that he tried to just stay in his zone and didn’t really see any of it. Which I suppose is better, because I might have started laughing in the Brazilian’s face if my friend had made eye contact with me.

The reason I say that is because we exchange about three minutes worth of usual first date chitchat, and he somehow moves the trajectory of the conversation to the physical. He tells me I look better than my pictures online. More feminine. Tip for the guys reading this, if there are any: This is not actually a good compliment, it just makes girls think they aren’t photogenic, or in this case, look unfeminine in their picture online? I wanted to tell him that he looked worse than his profile picture, but again did not due to the previously discussed niceness. Ok, whatever, I think, he’s trying to be nice. He also says, “You look so good, I bet you smell good.” What?!?! As he says this, he lunges in toward my boob region and SMELLS ME. “Can I smell you?” He says, AFTER smelling me. I was too caught off guard to not recoil so I didn’t have to say HELL NO with my voice, I said it with my body language. He apologizes and explains that this is just how he is and how they do it in Brazil. Yes, I understand cultural differences, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t weirding me out here, dude… Remember, we are in a coffee shop basement and my neighbor is a couple tables over. But at least he doesn’t seem to be paying attention.

So we continue talking and I try to be nice and not just write him off for being a little extra Brazilian on me… I am social worker, equal opportunity for people of all cultural backgrounds! So when he suggests we go get a drink at the bar a couple doors down, I say ok. At this point, I am still willing to entertain the idea that he might not be entirely crazy and that I should keep talking to him. So we go to the bar and shit gets real.

He somehow gets onto his exes, because everyone knows that is an excellent topic of conversation for a first date. But old “Active Listening McGee” over here is just acting completely normal, because now it is just starting to feel like talking to a client and I do that every day, so sure, no problem. He then tells me, “I don’t usually tell people this, but….” Just so you know, any time this happens on a first date, it is about to be followed by something completely ridiculous and you will want the date to end immediately after the crazy comes out.

So, here goes. “I don’t usually tell people this, but…” and he launches into a whole story about his ex who is his BABY MAMA (he did not list anything online about having a kid, and I generally do not date people with kids for reasons like this story) moved here with him, and then he made her sign a legal contract (with lawyers!) to not steal his kid and take him back to Brazil. But then she said she was going to take the kid to visit family in Brazil and never came back and that was last year around the holidays. And he tells me he is debating going back to Brazil and forcibly taking the kid back, or maybe he will just save that money and pay for college for his son. What?!? I just say things like “That must be really hard for you.” Or “Thank you for sharing that with me.” What I should really be saying is “You have no boundaries on a first date and we will not be having a second one!” But again, with the nice.

So, this date is over in my mind, and I start trying to figure out ways to get to my house without him trying to walk me home or otherwise know where I live. No dice, he insists on walking me home. Yikes. I manage to avoid kissing him and get in the door, and congratulate myself on the fact that at least it is an apartment building and he doesn’t know which unit is mine.

Last note on this one, the Brazilian was a journalist. And apparently, a writer of romantic prose. Because after our date, he sent me several dramatic emails about how amazing and beautiful I was and how special our connection was that he felt like he could tell me anything. There were metaphors with flowers… I wish I could find those old emails so I could give exact quotes but they are lost somewhere in the internets. I couldn’t help but think he probably sent those same sorts of emails to his baby mama after his first date with her. So at least I didn’t kidnap his child and create an international custody battle, I just didn’t email him back.