The Mexico Diaries: Part 4

DAY 7

How is it even the seventh day already? In celebration of god resting, I’m up early at 5am and ready to roll. Check my phone: sunrise at 7:02am. Perfect. Get dressed. Head downstairs by 6:15am. It’s adventure time!

But first, coffee.

There…is…no…coffee. I may die.

Run back upstairs and grab two of my stockpiled bottles of water. I’ve resorted to hiding them daily when I leave so housekeeping keeps bringing more so I have them just in case. Water will have to hold me over until I get to Starbucks. There is one here. I’m basically the human form of Little Bunny Follows His Nose. I can sniff out coffee anywhere. Continue reading

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Epic GrindrFails: Vol. 3

In case you’ve been living under a rock and missed it, the ladies of Second City have released yet another “Ladies Looking” video.

Because of this event worthy of having its own government-recognized holiday (complete with mandatory bank, post office, courthouse, and school closures), I felt it was an appropriate time to release another round of the ridiculous messages I’ve received on the same ridiculous apps. Continue reading

Home Is Where You Make It And Not Just Where The Heart Is

No Place Like HomeGrowing up, I was taught that “home is where the heart is” – compliments of some hand-stitched needlepoint that my mom or grandma had done at some point and hung on the wall.  There’s the part in The Wizard of Oz where Dorothy clicks her ruby red heels together and chants ‘There’s no place like home’ three times then magically reappears there. Sometimes it’d be nice to be able to do this. Trust me – there have been times that I’ve wished I could click my glittery size 12 pumps (just kidding, those days are over) together and end up in my mom’s house with a home-cooked meal in the land of a lack of reliable cell phone service where the closest guy on Grindr is 4 miles away. Continue reading

Epic GrindrFails: Vol. 2

It was recently brought to my attention that Manhunt thinks I’m one of the hottest guys on their site. Well that’s a new one. I’d honestly forgotten I even had a profile on there until I received this email from them the other day:

“Hey there! We love your look, and we’re sure a lot of our users would agree! We’d like to feature you as one of our hottest members. This will include one picture (only your public pictures would be used) and a link to your Manhunt profile featured on our blogs and social networks.”

My ego would like to extend a sincere thank you for the boost of confidence.

But really, Manhunt, thanks. I’ll take the compliment.

I mean, who knows…perhaps some Prince Charming in a Maserati (or on a yacht) will see this and be like “Well helloooooooooo, future husband material!” and come speeding/sailing to rescue me from my high-rise tower on Lake Michigan.

One can dream, right?

So here I was, sitting around avoiding folding my Mount Everest-sized pile of laundry engulfing my bed when *ping* – in comes an email from Manhunt showcasing it’s hottest members of the week. Soon after, my phone started pinging more frequently alerting me that my Prince Charming wannabes were sending me messages. Well that was fast.

However…the first message sent me into a fit of laughter and reminded me how ridiculously barbaric some men are. If you thought there was no hope for humanity, you’re probably right based on some of these conversations. I can’t help but shake my head in disgust while laughing to myself as I take a screenshot. So on that note, I present to you Round 2 of some of the more ridiculous messages I’ve received lately on Grindr, Manhunt, and other such apps.  Continue reading

Tapeworm Twins Take the World: A Tale of Two Gays and One Schabes

Once upon a time, two twins were separated at birth. They lived apart for nearly 24 years before being reunited in Nebraska. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the tale of my unofficial (however it could be proven official if we got Maury Povich involved) twin and our tapeworm-fueled shenanigans/future plans.

Here we were in the booming metropolis of Lincoln, Nebraska. As any quality friendship begins these days, we were introduced by a mutual friend at the bar and bonded over vodka-sodas, tequila shots, frog sperm, and the fact that we shared the same ex-boyfriend with a Dorito-tinged skin color that rivaled Snooki’s circa season one of MTV’s the Jersey Shore. It was love at first sight for the two of us twins – well, within reason because twincest…well, that’s just gross. Continue reading

Losing Blood, People, Wallets, and Skin: The Adventure Continues

I’d left off before as we were about to enter a guacamole-induced coma while waiting for the rest of the group to get to the house. Need a recap? Check out The Real World: Puerto Vallarta. Needless to say, the other six arrived and were just as impressed with our new crib as we were. After a quick switch of bedrooms, we were all settled in and ready to hit up the convenience store and stock up on the essentials: bread, coffee, and booze.

There was only one thing standing between us and the store: a hill followed by a rope bridge guarded by an alligator.

Pretty ominous, right? But come, on…it’s just a hill. It’s nothing our parents hadn’t probably walked uphill both ways in the snow to get to school when they were our age, right?

Wrong.

This hill would prove to be either the devil or the world’s best lower body workout. Perhaps both. This hill would go on to claim more breath, skin, and bitching than anything else any of us had probably ever – and will probably ever will – experienced in our young adult lives. I equate conquering this hill to giving birth.  Continue reading

First Impressions, Worst Impressions, and Why it Pays to be the Fat Kid

I’ll say it: It pays to be the fat kid. Sometimes being hungry pays off.

About two weeks ago, I had started talking to this guy – and no, not on Grindr. This time, I was testing out an app called Tinder. Now you straight people may be familiar with it. It’s probably the closest thing to Grindr you have on your phone. To fill those of you who’ve been living under a rock in, it shows you a picture of someone else who’s also “looking” and you swipe one way for yes and the other for no. Interested? Not interested? Swipe away! It’s like a game. Seriously. If you both swipe that you think the other is attractive it’s like “Congratulations! You’re a match!” and then asks if you want to message them or “Keep Playing” – seriously…keep playing. It’s a game. I told you. Oh, and you link it with your Facebook so you can easily upload your pictures and get to swiping quicker, see mutual “Likes” and interests, AND see if you have mutual friends. Pretty easy. Welcome to the dating in 2014.

So here we are: Congratulations! You’re a match!

Umm…jackpot. Gorgeous. Looks phenomenal in a suit. Has a picture with a French Bulldog. AND we have a mutual friend (that I can research him through and make sure he’s not psychotic). Forget this game. This calls for sending the first message.

So we talk for a few days, swap numbers, and make plans to meet up for drinks since – let’s face it – pretty much anyone can come across good via text, but if you’re socially awkward or just weird in person in general, a nonchalant meeting over a beer and and appetizer will spell it all out quick and easy. We made plans for a random weeknight – partially because I had other plans later in the week, but more importantly because working early is an easy cop-out if you need an escape from a bad weeknight date – to meet up in his neighborhood since it was on my way home from the office. Step one: Check. Continue reading

No Means No

Seriously buddy…did you miss Rape Day in elementary school? When I say “no” it means no. Not “maybe” or “yes” – it means no. End of discussion.

So there’s this guy that I’d been talking to. You know how the story starts. Blah blah blah. Seems like a nice guy. Profile notes how he’s super romantic, long-term oriented, not looking for a hookup, enjoys checking out different bars and restaurants…whoa…it’s like we’re twins. So we chat for a week or two. Talk about making plans to grab coffee or dinner. Schedules keep conflicting…until yesterday morning. Continue reading

Epic GrindrFails: Vol. 1

To say that this post has been a long time coming (no pun intended) would be an understatement. As I’m sure you’re aware (if you’ve read any of my past posts about awkward dates), I have a knack for attracting the weirdos. There’s been a video circulating of some ladies reading messages that people had received on apps like Grindr and Scruff. This could not possibly be any more accurate.

When conversations with these nutjobs occur, I have a tendency to screenshot them. Some make their way to Twitter and Facebook. Others get circulated around via group text. Others stay in my phone for times when I need a good laugh. 

DISCLAIMER: Not all conversations on Grindr and other such apps are trainwrecks like the ones you’re about to see. Don’t believe me? See also: Not All Grindr Dates Are Bad Dates.

So for your viewing pleasure, I present to you…some of the most random/awkward/funny/epic #GrindrFail messages (and a text someone sent to the wrong number) that I’ve received in a while. And no….this is probably NSFW (or Not Safe For Work for those of you who don’t understand common abbreviations – yes mom, that would be you since I’m sure you’re probably reading this). Continue reading

Grandma Knows Best

Sometimes (or a lot of times lately as it seems) I come home from work genuinely fed up, worn out, and downright annoyed. Shocking, right? I mean, how else would I have come to be known as the “Often Annoyed Designer”…

A little backstory.

To put it simply, I work for a micromanager-in-denial. It’s extremely annoying. A direct quote of theirs said to me in a one-on-one meeting about a month or two ago is:

“I’m not trying to micromanage you. I’m just asking that you copy me on every email and that you review everything with me before sending anything out.”

Last I checked, the definition of “micromanage” – or at least according to Dictionary.com – was the following:

mi•cro•man•age [mahy-kro-man-ij] verb. (used with object), mi•cro•man•aged, mi•cro•man•ag•ing. to manage or control with excessive attention to minor details.

Interesting that you should claim you’re not one when, according to this, you most certainly are. DENIAL. Continue reading