Shirtless Hunk Refuses to Put 'Em on the Glass

Brace yourselves, readers. Shirtless man actually wore a shirt to our date. I don't know how it happened, but he somehow managed to put a shirt on before leaving his home, and judging by his all-shirtless calendar of Match.com photos, it may have been for the first time ever. SHIRT VIRGIN! This has to be because it was 20 degrees outside. It's the only explanation. He's a practical man, after all. If this had been a mid-August, or even, dare I say, mid-April date, he surely would have shown up bare, recently-waxed chest exposed without an ounce of shame. And really, I was wearing 4 dollar bangles from H&M and red hooker heels, so who am I to judge?

Anyway, we went to Auction House, he was pissed they didn't have Heineken, we talked about South American dictators, U2 (he's a superfan, and I refrained from making fun of THE MOTHAFUCKING EDGE. I'm a saint!), and his Polish ex-girlfriend he wanted to marry but who ran out on him and moved back to Poland to be an architect. He didn't know why she couldn't be an architect here. We're going out to dinner this week. The end.

sthoy sthause pleathse?

Alas, I have finally had my first internet date and thus have discovered why people need to hide behind their computer screens. Now, don't get me wrong, I am not totally against the idea of internet dating, you can just as easily pick up a loser in a bar as you can in the privacy of your own home, wearing your hello kitty jammies (an absolute must for a G.G.). So, back to the story. I have another AIM stalker, from before I learned my lesson (see my Hamptons post). He is the very worst kind, the second I sign on he makes himself known, even though we have exhausted every conversation possible before actually meeting. I work a billion hours a week, so I can never meet him, but he just won't quit. I find his exuberance and enthusiasm utterly revolting, therefore he shall now be known as, eager beaver.

Since I can't block Mr. Beaver's sorry ass, I went out with him last night. Judging by his pictures, I wasn't expecting an Adonis, just a regular joe with a quirky look, more commonly known as a hipster in these parts. From the first sentence, I knew I wouldn't be able to control myself all night. Why? HE HAD A LISP!!!! How does that happen? Do parents just allow their kids to walk around with that? I mean a slight one is fine, sometimes a little cute, but the man couldn't even order saki properly. Not kidding.

Well of course I made the best of the situation and tried to get him to use an "s" word as much as possible and then made a scorecard for myself. To make the game fair, I gave the beav points for avoiding using "s" words; it would be plain mean otherwise. By the end of the night, I got pretty creative if I don't say so myself. We talked about the finer points of scrabble, I asked him about his experiences sailing, I asked him to place my order without scallions, and even asked him to procure some sodium free soy sauce. Final score was:

Chloe: 73
Beaver: 46

I win! I win! I refuse to believe this makes me a bad person. I blame his parents. I just can't wait until he asks me out on a "sthecond date!"

-chloe

My Date With a Brazilian Imposter

FIRST of all, if you're going to tout up your Brazilian heritage all over your Match.com profile, you should actually be Brazilian. This simply means, when you call me, I expect you to have a distinctly foreign accent that wisks me away to another time and place without the jet lag and travel costs. Instead, what I got on the other end of the phone was a dude who sounds like someone I could meet in a Des Moine Holiday Inn sports bar. Rude! This is not only unsexy, it is also deceitful!

So Des Moine tells me he'd like to take me out for drinks somewhere downtown. Immediately I (mistakenly) assume he'll take me somewhere semi-nice, like Little Branch or Death and Company. Instead, he suggests Kenny's Castaways, which is basically a smelly dive venue for shitty bands that arent good enough to play Mercury Lounge. ROMANTIC! The date lasted all of two hours before I bailed. Here's the stats rundown:

1) His "accent" came and went throughout the date, which means he's not only a dating con artist, but he's a LOUSY dating con artist.
2) He ordered a sex on the beach in what I think was an attempt to look foreign and sensitive, but really just turned out looking lame and vaguely gay.
3) He went to DeVry.
4) The band played only orignal Dutch socialist jingles that somehow sounded like Heart song parodies. Des Moine was very impressed by them. Very.

After their set was done I escaped to gayville to be with my people. And Chloe. THE END!

-Cate

Investment Banker

Ok, so I promised before I would talk a little more about my dates for this weekend. SQUEAL! I hate to brag, but my first time at the rodeo, and I got the bull by its horns. What am I talking about? And how do I know what happens at a rodeo? I am just guessing, but anyway.....ladies and gentleman, who am I kidding? No man is reading this. Ladies, I have scored the top prize among New York single women....the INVESTMENT BANKER. He even has an investment banker name along the lines of Richard or something (have to keep identities secret), but from now on, he will be known as Investment Banker, or IB.

I personally don't get it, money thing aside. I know I won't have a single thing in common with this dude. To attempt to figure it out all I had to do was throw "dating" "investment banker" and "New York" in my handy google search bar, and voila! Hoards of articles and sites pop up about how to snag an investment banker. LUCKY ME! I even found out my boss is dating one! Everyone is doing it! Summer in the Hamptons here I come! I guess I have to make it through the first date, but I have a feeling that won't happen. Since Jess and Cate have made lists today, I don't want to be left out! (can you tell I am the youngest child in my family?) Below you will find the reasons IB and I are destined to fail.

1. No matter how hard I try to stick to the rules, at least one ounce of sarcasm will slip out. I am sure an investment banker has never seen that on a woman before.

2. I aint a blonde.

3. My rack is just average.

4. I know nothing about money.

5. Battery Park scares me. Not for the same reason as Cate. Don't mention the Statue of Liberty to her. EVER.

6. He probably dresses like this:


I don't stand a chance... why can't a shirtless man pursue me?

-chloe

ZOMG A SHIRTLESS HUNK!!!

Minutes after signing up for Match.com, (and paying eleventy billion dollars for their non-Dr. Phil package,) I received my first email. In case you're not familiar with the way Match works, an email is a step above a "Wink," which is free and basically just a way for someone to ask you if you think they're disgusting or not. If you wink back, they know you don't find them gross, and THEN they email you to ask you out.

So that being said, I was surprised my first suitor decided to skip the entire wink process and boldly email me with a "hey cutie! can i take you out sometime?" Such confidence! As the rules state, I have to accept this date unless I think he'll likely assault me, so I headed on over to his profile to gauge assault likelihood. HERE IS WHAT I FOUND:

1) He is a personal trainer (Free consultation! W00T!)
2) As such, he is ripped in that weird, 1950s, Jack LaLanne, bodybuilder kind of way, and has chosen to upload only shirtless photos of himself. Shirtless in Italy, shirtless in a hot tub, shirtless AT THE DAMN 7-11. He's like a shirtless "Where's Waldo." FUN! This goes on for about a dozen shirtless photos.
3) He's apparently HILARIOUS! His friends think he should be a comedian! A SHIRTLESS comedian! This will revolutionize the comedy world, believe me. Carrot Top, watch your ass.

Nudity aside, I've decided that although he definitely has the brute strength to assault me, he probably won't. I shall get on board with shirtless man and date him this weekend. Standby for updates.

-Cate