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Category Archives: Rant
Warning: RANT ALERT
I am pissed. PISSED! It is mostly a survival mechanism because if I wasn’t pissed I’d likely be in the depths of depression. It is so fucking hard to not slip down the rabbit hole of doom these days. To say we’re in the midst of a dumpster fire is an unfair jab at dumpsters. And fire. Both of which are not only useful but “essential” in my world. And probably yours. No, dumpster fire is a gross understatement. I don’t care where you fall on the political spectrum or what your “danger level” is but I am DONE. I have “snoozed” or “unfollowed” quite a few of you over the past few days because I just can’t take the doom and gloom or any bullshit about not voting for Biden or the finger-wagging shaming or the fucking whining. (And yes, I realize that I am engaging in both doom and gloom and whining right now, but, hey, you’ve got a snooze button too, friend.) Woo-hoo! Kanye for president!
Today we enter Phase Three, which should have included indoor business for bars and restaurants. Instead, you are free to get a fucking fake tan. ‘Cause that shit is totally essential. I mean, who can’t live without a fucking spray on tan? Murika. Land of the free and fucking orange. At least the damn dog run is open again.
No, indoor business for bars and restaurants is out for the foreseeable future. And why? Not because of anything any NYC businesses have done. Nope, it’s because of rising numbers in states that have travel advisories in place so they don’t bring their idiocy and virus here, where we’ve worked so fucking hard to keep our numbers down. Where every bar and restaurant has pivoted. (Wow, doesn’t the world love that word right now? Aren’t you proud of your stiff-upper-lip resiliency and ability to pivot your business from whateverthehell you were doing, successfully, before this shit hit the fan, to something different and new and harder and, more than likely, less profitable? So proud! And who’s surprised that someone was injured while dining in the goddamn street?) Because of other states that opened too quickly. Never closed at all. Led with their wallets instead of their concern for the health of their citizens. Opened WRONG. Are doing it wrong. FUCKING. WRONG. Or, you know, their bars and restaurants have done it wrong. No mention of any other possibility. Nope. Must’ve been the bars that made everyone sick. That made the numbers go up. Alcohol is the devil. If that is actually true, then why are any bars open? Why are they allowing us to give you to-go booze? If we are the root of all illness, then let’s reinstate prohibition. No? Why not? Explain.
Sigh. I know. I’m not being very coherent. Where was I? Oh, that’s right. Because other states are screwing up. Because of the “optics” displayed by some asshole bar owner on the Jersey Shore who thought it was smart to let in 1000 customers and seat them inches from each other. Because our governor and our mayor are in a “whose dick is bigger” competition. We are suffering. Oh. And let’s add to the irritation the accompanying “graph.” Don’t get me started.
Actually. Do. Do get me started. Everyfuckingone from Anthony Fauci down to my close friends believes that the MOST DANGEROUS THING IN the WHOLE WORLD RIGHT NOW would be to have a drink in a bar. Hey, thanks! Thanks for calling US out as the most dangerous thing. ‘Cause, you know, our diabolic vice president at a church gathering jam packed full of people without masks, listening to a choir — you know, those singing religious people that are represented in one of the top three examples of “super spreader events” — of 100 spitting, spewing, projecting people singing….but no, having a pint of PBR in a bar is far more deadly. Don’t do it! Of course, what they mean is a drink inside a bar. Outside is totally fine. No middle ground for bars with good ventilation and great airflow. Nope. We’re all subterranean, super-spreading cesspools. I have now seen so many photos of businesses doing it wrong but instead of helping those owners course-correct, and maybe, oh, I dunno, encourage them to save a few lives, we all get painted with the same brush. It is so infuriating that I am having trouble forming coherent sentences.
LOOK AT THAT GRAPH! I mean, is opening the mail even at all dangerous? Why would you put that on there? Why are half the things on there even on there? There are no sports stadium events. You can’t go to a movie theater. Why include them? Are funerals really that dangerous? Or is it just that someone might hug you? How about a hugless funeral? Where everyone stands six feet apart and wears a mask? And it’s held outdoors? And where are the things people are actually doing? Like riding a train or a bus? Having a picnic with their friends? Amusement parks? Well, there are open amusement parks. And casinos. Seems like the world has decided they’d rather ride Magic Mountain or play a slot machine and, quite possibly, die as a result. Totes worth it. Any idea why that is? Do you think it is at all based in reality? Based in anything resembling safety? Oh HELL NO! It’s because Disney has more money than I do. It’s because the casinos have lobbyists. It has absolutely nothing to do with safety. Nothing. But wow. With their budgets, they sure do have a whole fuckton of reassuring signage and hand sanitizer to make you feel safe!
Hugging or shaking hands is at the top of “Level 7 Moderate-High Risk.” Really? I shake hands with you, or 100 of you, and that’s dangerous? Maybe. If you’ve all recently picked your collective noses, are sick or asymptomatic, and instead of washing my hands soon afterward I stick my filthy monkey paws right into my eyes. Maybe that would be dangerous. Friends, I’ll let you in on a secret: people who haven’t left the house for anything other than groceries that they still wash have gotten this virus. People who haven’t done anything on this damn graph at all have gotten it. There isn’t anything that’s actually safe.
Om shanti, eh?
What it will all come down to, as I have been repeating over and over since the beginning of this, is each of us making the determination of what we believe to be safe for ourselves. A friend just posted that her place of business is being so unsafe that she has decided not to go back into work. She got a doctor’s note and is staying safely at home. She is not alone in her fear. There are, apparently, many businesses — including but not at all limited to bars and restaurants — who are not taking precautions. Who are not taking this virus seriously. Who are not protecting their staffs or, for that matter, the public. So it is up to US. We walk up to or into a business, take one look and need to decide if we feel safe. Is the business enforcing mask wearing for their customers? No? Then HELL NO. Is the staff wearing masks? No? Okay, again, HELL NO. Is there enough space between shoppers or sippers or whatever people are doing? Or is the store packed with people, making social distancing impossible? I almost had a stroke at Key Food a few days ago because, mask wearing aside, it felt like a year ago, with no pandemic, because people were cheek-by-jowl, checking out and pushing their carts and crowding the damn aisles. It was crazy. But I forged on because, well, what the hell, right? My copy shop? Packed full of idiots, the guy behind the counter apparently believing more in his God than masks because, yup, his mask is around his chin. Let’s hope he’s already had it and believes himself to be immune. Bottom line: Your safety is in the hands of each individual business owner (and their staff). So you need to decide if you trust them.
Folks, it isn’t even worth whining about who’s wearing a mask and who isn’t these days. If you aren’t willing to roll the dice, then stay at home. From the looks of our national propensity for stupidity, you’ll be there for quite some time. And all our friends who work in theater or concert venues or nightlife will be out of work for an even longer time because humans are fucking dumb. But, by all means, let’s blame bars. Those of us who are being careful, who are taking precautions, who are worrying every goddamn second that we could be killing people merely by being in business, we are being punished. Our government has more or less abdicated responsibility. They need to do that completely. Admit that they have zero control. Since they are not, actually, keeping us safe, then let us take personal responsibility for ourselves. We might as well descend into the fucking wild west. Everyone for themselves. Because no one can look out for you but you. RANT OFF!
If you don’t want to read a lot of sniveling, self-involved, self-pitying blather, I’ll save you the time. Don’t. But I’ve gotta get this outta my brain.
Between bouts of extreme depression, I find myself blindingly angry. Our government is an embarrassing shitshow. Racial and economic inequities are horrific. The lines for food banks are stretching for miles. Yet here I am, feeling sorry for myself…I KNOW.
If ONE MORE PERSON who I haven’t seen in a decade or spoken to in years tries to give me advice…if ONE MORE PERSON who has never WORKED in a bar, never owned a business, never even BEEN to Lucky, never lived in NYC, or, for that matter, has NO FUCKING IDEA what it’s like to BE HERE NOW, I swear to fucking GOD I am going to LOSE MY MIND. Yes, I know bars are delivering. Yes, I know bars are doing to-go drinks. Yes, I know bars are stocking merch and becoming grocery stores and selling flour or whateverthefuck. I KNOW.
What I DON’T know are the many ramifications of the many things I don’t know. Of what I “could” do. Like being unable to pay rent because the government says I can’t be open…and then I open. Do I all of a sudden need to pay my full rent? Even 50% would be beyond my budget unless, miraculously, thousands of people come and buy a drink every damn day. Not likely to happen. What about crowds gathering on the sidewalk? Will that get me shut down? What about the food I don’t really have to sell? Will THAT get me shut down? If I do open, do I need to now stock all kinds of extra food products? That no one will buy? I feel like the very amorphous rules change daily. And will become more strict and reactionary as the weather improves.
YES I KNOW I have loyal regulars. And they are eager to help me. But if all they’re getting is a can of beer in a paper bag, why wouldn’t they buy that at their bodega? Sure, they’d likely buy one. Maybe two. But after that? Also I’m not a mixologist. This city is chock-full of very talented, award-winning, book-writing, recipe-creating, world-renowned bartenders. Given the choice, why would anyone buy a drink from Lucky? We’ve never delivered anything before. We have no precedent as a restaurant because we aren’t one. I mean, 99.9% of New Yorkers have no fucking idea who I am. If I WERE to offer delivery, who does the delivering? Me? On a Citibike? If I’m delivering drinks, who’s making them? Would anyone come inside to order their to-go drinks? Because one person can’t be behind the bar AND work the “to-go” window. If I were to hire a delivery guy how the hell am I supposed to pay him? With the $15 profit I make that day?
The bottom line is, it’s not like I haven’t been thinking about these things — ALL these things — 24 FUCKING HOURS A DAY, EVERY FUCKING DAY SINCE MARCH 15. Holy christ. I mean seriously.
Yes, I am lucky. I have a roof over my head, cable and internet, food in my fridge and money in the bank. When I need more — which will be quite soon — my family is there to help me. But here is where I find myself standing on the edge of the cliff: I have been the family fuck-up my whole life. Too busy having fun to get good grades, apply to a good college, find the right jobs. The jobs I DID get, I mostly got fired from. Or I walked away, in search of something better, more fulfilling. No savings, no IRA, no 401k, no “security.” And never all that much of a future.
When my sister found herself in a position to help me, she did, and I am beyond grateful. I’m sure she had no idea I’d actually be successful. (And I’m really not all that successful. Yes, I’m able to feed and house myself, but I haven’t been able to save a fucking dime. Like most small business, I barely get by.) I’m sure everyone expected this to be just one more of my fuck-ups. And now, the prophecy has been fulfilled. Sure, it took a global pandemic to do it, but I am no longer able to be self-sufficient. I KNOW I am fortunate to have help. I KNOW I am speaking from such an incredible place of entitlement that I should shut my fucking mouth. I know all these things, intellectually. However, emotionally? Psychologically? I am standing on the ledge trying to decide how much more I have in me. I don’t really know. It sure feels like not much…
Now, here’s a video shot by Jeremiah Moss, of Jeremiah’s Vanishing New York. It made me cry.
And this photo of Snow on Forsythia, by my friend Karen Heimann, is an apt metaphor for the day.
Well, hello, strangers! It has been for EVER! I haven’t blogged since I opened the bar. I’ve been way WAY too busy! But not too busy to waste time with dating apps. I mean, I need something to distract myself from the abject terror of being a first-time business owner!
In the last six (seven? eight?) months, I’ve been on many dates, some of which weren’t terrible. I’ve also fallen in love and gotten subsequently dumped via text. I’ll save that for another post. Nope. Today’s post is of the two most recent horror shows I’ve encountered. There is a dick pic coming (not “cumming,” just about to show up…heh) so consider yourselves warned. (Especially you, Heather!)
I’ll start with today’s hilarity. I saw this guy’s photo on Tinder and swiped right just to troll him. The BDSM get-up was enough for me to know he was a most definite NO but, well, I’m feeling pretty cranky today. And I took that out on this guy. So sue me.
Check out the first few lines of his profile. He’s a believer. Haha! It also said something about “women who make first contact go to the head of the line.” I’m just gonna post the screenshots of our back and forth because our dialogue speaks for itself. (Oy vey. Is that mixing metaphors?)
That was my cue to say “Goodbye!” and UNMATCH!
My other recent paramour was another Tinder sweetheart. His profile said “Let’s meet and see if we’re attracted to each other,” so I wrote, “Let’s meet! And see if we ARE attracted to each other!” He responded: “Aren’t we already?” Ah, men. Don’t they grasp that women need a bit more than a photo? I typed back, “I need to smell you” (or something to that effect). But before he even had a second to read that he zapped this back at me:
SWEET JEEZUS! I CANNOT UNSEE THAT! There is SO MUCH wrong with this photo. Who took it? Where was it taken? Why is he naked and erect? He’s looking a little sunburned so I’m thinking maybe Hedonism. Unless it’s someone’s back yard. Blech. Those tiny little shaved balls make me WANT. TO. PUKE! I don’t wanna see your dick unless I wanna see your dick! Men, take note: JUST. DON’T.
I’ve been a bit distracted, trying to get papers signed and the bar bought. Or at least semi-owned. It’s an extremely long, stressful, expensive, red-tape-laden process. Mired as I am, I haven’t had the time or inclination to blog. Laura, one of my devoted readers (and commenters), took it upon herself to make a plea: “Surely youre not going to let unsolicited comments deter you from further writing (or your own added comments)?”
Actually, Laura, nothing could possibly deter me from further writing, most especially not the senseless rantings of an anonymous troll. As one of my faithful followers, you should know that I don’t usually blog every day. With the exception of Yes-Vember!, which was a challenge I gave myself to write once a day, I’m lucky if I get something up once or twice a week. It’s been, hmm, less than a week now since the big Man Bun Meltdown post. So have no fear, I shall blog again. It just won’t be today. Because, dear friends — and trolls — the great interwebz has provided me with something even better: someone else’s hilarious rant. My friend Corinne posted this link to my timeline and I was weeping while reading it. No, it wasn’t me on this date (the post was from the Richmond, VA Craigslist “Missed Connections”), but man, it sure could’ve been. I’m passing it along because, not only is it laugh-out-loud funny, it is true. It’s true about so many men. And here’s proof that I’m not the only one on dates with these losers! Nor am I the only woman disgusted by these pathetic men. I wish I could meet the author of this gem:
To the guy on the Tinder date Tues night.. – w4m (Boulevard Burgers and Brews)
Obviously, we both know the date didn’t go well. But it could have. You could have gotten laid. She wanted to like you. Sadly, you shit the bed in seemingly every way possible. Even though you’re a helpless loser, and giant blowhard douchebag, I’m gonna try to critique your lackluster performance, to hopefully help you refrain from making the same socially retarded mistakes. Not so much to help you ( that would be futile, as you’re helpless and probably wouldn’t know a vagina from a flesh wound), but so hopefully you don’t waste another poor girl’s time and embarrass the shit out of her in a public place, like you did on this fateful eve.
Here is a list of ways you screwed the pooch, like a monkey fucking a football, and ways to try to avoid future bedshitting:
1. First, don’t talk so goddamn loud, so assholes like me, and everyone in the restaurant, can hear every moronic thing that comes out of your mouth. That’s how you get called out on the Internet like this.
2. If you’re gonna whine like a little bitch, try waiting at least 5 minutes into the first date. And if you ever want to see what of a vagina looks like in person, and especially if you want to feel what it’s like to be inside of one, I highly recommend not whining at all.. but especially not about the decision a girl makes in an attempt to be accomodating. It’s fucking shitty. And rude. I don’t know if you noticed, but there were no empty seats anywhere… she offered to let you take the last seat at the bar, and she would stand until something else opened up. Instead of being a man and saying “no, you sit.. I’ll stand until something becomes available.”, like someone with at least an average sized penis would say.. you had to profess your childish displeasure and say, like the whitest of white people, “well, this is the most awkward situation in human history.” But actually, no, fuckwad… the most awkward situation would be to have not done what she had said and just stand hovering around waiting for a table or seat to open up and lean over pepole for drinks.. which is the only alternative to her plan, which you so openly and obnoxiously shat upon..
3. The next part is hard to put into words.. Due to the futility of trying to teach you how to talk to women, because you’ll clearly never be able to do that no matter what anyone says, I’m gonna try to express this in such a way that hits home. Because your only hope of passing on your shitty, sloppy, ogre-like genetics, is to do the complete opposite of what you did. So.. if the things you said during the first ten minutes of the date were what you think you should say to impress women… then next time you try to talk to a woman, think about what you should say… and then say the complete fucking opposite shit. Or better yet, shut your dumbass mouth and let her get a word in edgewise. Ask her about her interests. Anything other than the 15 minute rant you went on, that was littered with douchey, transparent, false-confidence, thinly veiled by self-loving self-compliments and compulsive lies.. it was the most pathetic display of self-aggrandization I’ve ever witnessed. By far. So much of what you said was clearly bullshit.. the rest may not have been.. but was definitely unnecessary. And the way you incoherently strung it all together.. it was blatantly obvious you were trying to make yourself sound interesting and cool. But instead, you came across as a pompous, jackass, know-it-all, blowhard who thinks he is way cooler than he is.. the amazing part, is that through this entire diatriblical monolog, she listened. She still gave you a chance. She still wanted to like you. But before I move on to how you eventually totally fumbled your opportunity to lose your 30+ year virginity, I’d like to dig into a couple things you said that really struck a nerve. Now.. keep in mind.. I didn’t listen to all of your horseshit. I had to order drinks and food and make conversation of my own. I’m sure I missed some real doozies.. but I’m gonna just dig into a few that stood out.
A. “I like to be on the frontier.. in the wilderness.. places mankind doesn’t usually go..”
Yeah.. we get it.. you’re a “man of adventure”. But you sound more like you’re misquoting the beginning of a Star Trek episode. Don’t lie.. you’re a fucking Trekky. If there was a movie about Trekkies.. you’d be cast as the lead role. Because you’re the quintessential geeky white guy who has a Leonard Nemoy poster above his bed.
B. “I once led my family on a 20 mile hike through Vienna.. I was 12 years old. It just goes to show how strong of a person I am. And my thirst for adventure..”
Geezus,bro… The Vienna part is fine.. being 12… whatever..even though anyone with half a brain, excluding you, knows that your family wasn’t following a 12 year old through the mountains of Austria. Someone else knew where the fuck you were going. But yeah… I’m sure they let you walk in the front.. nice job kiddo.. but anyway… the issue is with your assertion that it shows how strong you are.. I mean.. what? Who fucking says that? What kind of socially awkward asshole says that about themself? It was unreal. I couldn’t believe you said that dumb shit. “It just goes to show how strong of a person I am”? What exactly were you trying to accomplish with that? Who were you trying to convince? Because you’re definitely not strong.. first of all.. you carry yourself like a huge, out of shape, pussy.. but also.. strong people don’t talk about how strong they are. They just prove it through actions. And by not acting like a bitch. You did neither of those, nor are you likely capable.
C. “I’m a highly intelligent person.”
Ummm… no you’re not. Because even a half-wit could have, at minimum gotten a second date with that girl. You weren’t even intelligent enough to shut the fuck up.
D. “I was living like a King at Virginia Tech…”
What the fuck does that even mean? What a load of horseshit. Don’t pretend like you’ve ever meant anything to anyone. You certainly never had any meaningful friends. Not only do I know that because you’re such a self-centered blowhard that no one would ever want to spend more than 5 minutes around you, but also, if you did, they would have told you to tone down your obnoxious horsefuck and taught you how to talk to people outside of Comic-cons and Star Trek conventions. But they didn’t. Because they never existed. And if you meant “living like a king” meaning “getting laid”, which is what it seemed you were implying.. well.. that’s a fucking joke. That’s never happened. Ever. At least not by someone who consciously gave consent.
E. “At the time I was 6% body fat”.
Ha! Lies. No you fucking weren’t. You’ve never ever been 6% body fat. Ever. Or even 16%. Ever. You don’t have the frame for it. And your posture says you’ve been a fat turd since you were a little Cheetoh-eating chubby kid. Between your neck fat, sausage fingers, and overall body type… I can safely say that if you’ve ever been 6% body fat, I’d suck your microdick, live on TV during the Super Bowl halftime show. That’s how confident I am that you are full of shit. But I wouldn’t have to. Because that’s a lie. And it’s the dumbest lie ever. Look, dude.. you’re clearly not 6% body fat now.. and your date has never been either… in fact.. she’s a decent sized girl, and probably doesn’t want to think about body fat. She’s probably self-conscious about her weight, and probably doesn’t want to hear some fat guy try to impress her by talking about some fairy tale about how he used to look like an Olympic swimmer. It may have been the dumbest thing you said. Oh wait… no it wasn’t.
4. Try not to flirt with the hot-as-fuck bartender while on a date. I know… it’s tough.. she was clearly into you.. the way she half-assed answered your stupid questions.. the way she walked away mid sentence.. yeah.. you totally got it bro.. you should probably go back and tell her how fucking cool you are. You’ll have your balls on her chin in no time… but seriously… for fuck’s sake.. don’t do that. Not only because the bartender is so far out of your league, you shouldn’t even be allowed to address her directly, but because it alienates your date. That’s really where you lost her. All you did was talk about your shitty self to her.. but then you start asking the bartender questions.. and calling her pet names and shit. Gross, dude.. wtf… get a grip. Meanwhile the only vagina on earth you had a chance with is staring off into space and rapidly losing interest by the second. I could literally see it in her eyes. A similar sort of disgust as in the eyes of the bartender for having to talk to your creepy, socially inept, self.
5. This is really where the train went off the rails… again… it’s so complex, it’s hard to express in words.. but your know-it-all blowhard mentality really bit you in your 60%bodyfat ass on this one, genius.. Sports.. you started talking about sports. Your problem was.. like everything else you talked about… you talked as though you were an expert. A fucking knowledgeable beacon of information. Sports.. I mean.. any dickwad can look at you and see that you’ve never so much as picked up a ball of any variety in your entire, uncoordinated-ass life. But I’ll be damned if you didn’t talk like you did. So.. first it was football.. you obviously went to VA Tech. Well.. she mentioned some other college football team.. now.. normally a real man could have been playful with it and made.. *gasp*… conversation. But no. Being the little bitch that you are, you had to get all defensive and basically try to talk down to her about how she doesn’t know football.. “Ugh.. are you serious? They never beat VA Tech.. the only teams that beat Tech are SEC teams like Alabama.. ” First of all… that’s horseshit. VA Tech hasn’t been relevant in top 25 college football since like 2004 or some shit. But SEC teams aren’t the only teams that beat Tech. Tech didn’t even win their own conference. I knew right then you were out of your league.. but you said it with such conviction. You had her convinced you knew what you were talking about. Probably because of the way you talked down to her.
So then it gets good.. then you show your ignorance and say that there isn’t even a world series of college baseball or softball.. and she’s like “umm.. yeah there is.” But you dig your heels in.. “no.. there isn’t.” At this point, she’s over your shit.. and frustratedly says.. “yes there is. And it comes on TV on ESPN.” Yet again you challenge her. “Do I have to Google this to prove you wrong.” Disgusted by your false hubris, she laughs.. “Go ahead..” (this is my favorite part) Now you know you’re probably wrong.. which you hate to admit.. so you get super defensive.. and say this unbelievable gem.. “Did you even read my profile? Anywhere in my profile did it say I’m a sports fan? I’m not.”
Hahahahahahahahaha! What, dude!? “My profile”?! Wtf is that shit about? You’re gonna bring up your online dating profile as a justification for your ignorance about a subject on which you had JUST pretended to be an expert? Classic. Way to really hit it home, that you’re probably the biggest loser in the city of Richmond. You had just shit on her about Tech football… SEC teams… softball.. but now when called out about a lie you stated as fact, you’re gonna throw it in her face that she’s dumb because your online dating profile never mentioned being a sports fan? Just… wow. It was an amazing moment. She laughed at you. And rightfully so. Then she called you out for demeaning her.. and your response was “well.. you picked a great place to go. This restaurant is great.” She laughed again and grabbed her jacket.. Way to backtrack, idiot. Talk about too little, too late. You shit on this girl for a solid hour, and when she calls you out, you compliment the restaurant she chose, that employs the bartender you unsuccessfully hit on in front of her? Well played.
I left at that point. But as I walked out, she had grabbed her jacket… before the food even came.. and was telling you how she was over your shit. I couldn’t imagine she stayed longer than 5 more minutes. I know damn well she never wants to see you again. But I hope you learn from this. Because she didn’t deserve that embarrassment. If you’re gonna somehow magically go on dates with women you fool via media messages, at least pretend to be man enough not to totally make an ass of both of you. It’s just the right thing to do.
Good luck losing your virginity. You’re gonna fucking need it, pal.
Okay, so I wrote this Saturday, during the big Blizzard of 2016. Of course, then I went out into the big blizzard and got blind drunk! Oh my. Anyway, while writing, I was also emailing with one of the other employees from the bar in question and he told me not to post anything about it. He thought it would get the staff in trouble and be negative press, both of which would be bad for him. So I didn’t post it. But I’m torn. I have some pretty strong feelings about this. To solve the problem of bad PR I took out all the names. Some people will know who (and where) I’m referring to. But at least it won’t be as obvious. And hopefully no one will get in trouble.
Last night I experienced a serious meltdown.
I sat down for happy hour at XXX, my favorite bar, a bar I’ve been drinking in since 1986. (No, not steadily. SHUTUP!) The friendly barmaid had my Stella in front of me in moments. But when my date arrived he almost died of thirst. Our barmaid was on the phone with tech support, struggling with the new POS computer. Eventually his thirst was slaked. Crisis averted. But only temporarily.
When the shift changed, instead of welcoming the acerbic XXX, who would spin vinyl and serve attitude, a willowy young woman wearing an off-the-shoulder shirt asked how we were doing. “You’re not XXX,” I stammered. “No, I’m not,” she smiled. Sensing my distress (and probably picking up on my panic, which evidenced itself as a string of expletives) she offered to buy us a round. Ordinarily that might’ve mollified me. But when she was joined by her co-bartender — A co-bartender? But WHY? The bar isn’t so big it requires two! — I blew my remaining gaskets. The man was wearing a belly shirt. And he had a man bun. A MOTHERFUCKING MAN BUN!
Ladies and gentlemen, I cannot express to you the direness of this situation. Yes, I know the East Village has been changing for years. I’ve watched as the drug dealers and junkies were replaced by bankers and “basics.” I’ve witnessed the high-rises go up on the Lower East Side and waved goodbye as my friends were priced out of their rental apartments. And I’ve mourned every closed dive bar as my property value went up. But this? THIS?
I should’ve seen the writing on the wall. When a “cocktail menu” appeared on the bar, touting muddled drinks. When the number of barstools doubled. When the tablet appeared beside the cash register, glowing annoyingly in our faces. But is NOTHING sacred? I mean, a MAN BUN? So here is my Open Letter to XXX.
I’ve been enjoying the ambience of XXX for 30 years. Last night I was sad to see that instead of XXX there were two shiny new faces behind the bar. This upgrade was a painful one. I can sympathize that changes need to be made. I understand that rents go up. But you own half the bars in the neighborhood. I was told you want to make XXX “more like XXX.” Why? Why on earth do you need to make bar A more like bar B? Especially when bar B is only blocks away? Couldn’t you leave just one bar the same? You’ve upgraded upstairs. You’ve created XXX out of a basement. Has XXX been losing money? Those hip, young drinkers you’re making these changes for are fickle. I’ve watched as they pause on the sidewalk, decide to come in, order one Appletini and then move along to the next hot spot. Are the few dollars you make on their one, fleeting transaction that much more valuable than the dozens (and dozens) of dollars I’ve been spending at your bar for the last three decades?
Yes, I know. I can take my business elsewhere. Yes, there are still a few other establishments that remain, like flies captured in amber, unchanged. But your bar is my favorite. Perhaps I’m being overly sensitive (or overly nostalgic) but the message I’m receiving is this: “Fuck off, old people. I don’t want you in my bar.” If that isn’t the intention, perhaps you can tell me why, with all the bars you run, it was necessary to “youthify” the only “neighborhood bar” you had left.
a cranky old broad from the neighborhood <shakes fist>
I just spent one hour and 24 minutes speaking with four different Time Warner employees. I now have no wifi and a technician coming tomorrow to hard wire my laptop to the Internet. Because the wifi isn’t free with the Internet connection. The wifi is $5.95 per month extra. And the modem that gave me wifi is an extra $8 per month. I can’t wait to see what the guy is gonna have with him tomorrow. I’m envisioning a giant metal tube. To connect me to the Internet.
Fuck. Time. Warner.
Seriously. Why can’t I get Fios?
In remembrance on World AIDS Day. Happy Giving Tuesday. Happy Wear a Dress Day. And Happy 60th Anniversary of Rosa Parks refusing to give up her bus seat. Oh. And RABBIT RABBIT!
Yes-Vember is over. I promise not to devolve into a downward spiral of depression. Because I am hard at work starting a bar business. Yes, that’s my next career. I should’ve done it 30 years ago; it would’ve saved me from being fired from all those jobs! But, well, those stars weren’t quite aligned. Now they are. So stay tuned. Until that happens, I will continue to regale you with my hilarious tales of online dating. I may also regale you with tales of putting together a bar business because I have a feeling that will be fairly riveting! And because it’s Giving Tuesday!
A Few of My Profile Photos
Over the past month, while I was being positive and full of sunshine and unicorns, the online dating world didn’t change a bit. Here are a few of the more appalling interactions I’ve had. Marianne can’t understand why I respond to these guys. I do it for you, my dear readers! In the name of entertainment! All are presented as written: typos, crappy punctuation and all:
From _Tonester_:, who sounds like a totally arrogant douche:
Wow, that profile is pretty fucking exceptional. What’s your story?
Thanks for the note but I’m Upstate indefinitely both caring for my ill sister and enjoying the quiet to write a complex screenplay.
Ok, well you might want to change your location so no one else bothers you!
Maybe it’s something I say just to get rid of people. /Blocked
Huh. Wow. Okay.
From AlmostTooMuch, an overly-muscular 32-year-old:
how are you doing?
Shy? Hardly. Just not really interested in anyone so much younger.
is that a defense mechanism?
nervous about what you will tangle with?
Oh please. Spare me. I’ve tangled with far wilder than you. And younger. Just not into it right now.
younger isn’t a particular virtue. neither is wilder. ever tangled with bigger?
I’ve had sex with well over 100 people. I’m sure I’ve had far bigger than you, too.
oh? are you? we can bet 🙂
Dude. Bigger isn’t a particular virtue either. I’m not interested.
you know that you would rather have bigger than smaller and you would rather be stretched than sheltered
Sheltered? Seriously? Sheltered from what? Some guy who thinks his cock is god’s gift to women? No thanks.
i never said that. sheltered isn’t a good thing, and my cock can cause discomfort..
I don’t know about your cock but your personality is causing me discomfort.
my personality? it’s benign. i ease into things…. 😉
Well you won’t be easing into THIS thing! But thanks for providing me with a couple laughs. Blocking you. Bye!
From, apparently, Michael Chabon, above:
You’re obviously a bright, perhaps very bright, woman and the first photo shows that you’re attractive but you fuck it up with those other lunatic shots…and you’re mistaken, some people do read the entire commentary.
Ah…one more point. You’ve said you’re an “avid responded.” [stet…what I say is “avid responder.”] Not necessary; I have a suspicion that you could bite the nuts off a brass monkey.
Uh. Okay. Well if you don’t like my photos, you needn’t have email me at all. Bad day? Needed to criticize a stranger? Have a great week!
You missed the point, or I didn’t express it clearly. What I tried to convey is that your commentary is very cool, beguiling…and the first photo shows an attractive woman but the others show a clown.
I remember seeing one of them (you had it as the first shot) every time I signed on to look at messages. It was so weird that I never bothered to even click on the profile. It’s a very cool commentary, and suggests a very cool lady.
A cool lady? With photos of a clown? Does it matter that a few of the photos are of me onstage? [And one where I am, actually, a CLOWN! See above.] That I don’t look like that in my day to day life? Might you have kept that to yourself? And then to tell me not to bother responding? What’s the point of communicating if it’s only one way?
Babe, listen…no one knows they’re of you on stage and no one is going to give a rats ass. You’re a pretty woman, obviously not frightened of her own sexuality, and the commentary you produced is far more compelling then [stet] the stupid banalities that represent 99% of the garbage in here. I simply believe that the following photos act to vitiate all that precedes them.
So…I just saw that you’re 5’10″…supposing I meet you wearing elevator shoes…or stilts.
You would know if you read the captions. As for giving a rat’s ass…well, if one is interested in another, one might, actually, give that rat’s ass. What about the last photo? No makeup. Plain. Or the second one? Still too clowny?
The last one is also attractive but the 2nd one is not.
You live in Manhattan?
Yes, I do live in Manhattan.
You do drugs, think nuclear war might be exciting, and have no problem cutting some lunatic that shoots his bolt that way. Swell.
I have no doubt…none…zero…that you would be the greatest sexual partner on the planet if I could stop laughing long enough to test it.
Well, that isn’t going to happen. I’m not the least bit attracted to you. Now YOU don’t need to respond because one second after I hit Send I will be hitting Block. Because you sound like a real prick.
That picture makes you no justice
Which one? And how would you know if you haven’t met me in person?
Download the Bible song You Beautiful I know that
The ones with the goggles on your beautiful I know that
What the hell are you talking about?
Sorry if I offended you
Should you take me away
you know that pretty
Look like a fool with f***** glasses
Blocking you. Bye. Again.
No let me block you stupid
Oh, I’m beautiful until I reject you? Asshole.
[In response to his saying that he won’t communicate with anyone who uses emoticons.] Aw, c’mon, there are instances when an emoticon is perfect!
Not in a New York minute! ; )
How was that oyster/cashew/burnt blood orange/boysenberry stuffing anyway?
I didn’t care for it. But I liked the traditional one!
So are you really 5’5″?
No actually 6’2″ but I try to avoid intimidating Okers.
How sweet that you had to lower the bar and explain what millinery is. I could chide you about your alcoholism, but it might just be more fun to meet and fuck you.
So are you just bored and looking to take our some aggression?
From artimesboy [boy? really? At 59?]:
My good friend Benny made me a sizable bet that your personality is not as stunning as your looks. Of course, I strongly disagreed but he is insisting confirmation by phone or a brief meeting.
Help me win the bet and put Benny in his place.
Happy to help you win that bet!
I’ll be at a bar/club called Meridian tomorrow night. Come meet me there!
PS Will Benny be coming with you or is he gonna just take your word? Heh.
I’ll surprise you. What time will you be at bar? It would be better to meet during a band break.
I’ll be there early, before the bands start, like 6.
So, um, is this a date? Or just an audition of sorts? Because I’ll be there with friends.
Sounds like we should figure another place and time where it’s just the two of us. Perhaps in Midtown on Thursday night.
I would actually prefer meeting you and Benny Wednesday. The more social an outing, the better chances of everyone having a good time!
I really really don’t like dates…
Sounds like your fearful. I’ll pass. By the way, Benny is a dog.
Oh. Hah! Benny is a VERY good friend, then. The best. As they say.
Fearful? Hardly. Just tired of spending so much time on dates. If you’d like to meet me AND a couple other interesting people too, which I think is a much better idea, let me know. You’ll never know whether my personality is any match for my photos!
So yeah, my OKCupid account has been “fixed,” as their email alerted me. Not like it was “broken.” They were just being OKStupid. As an addendum, I wrote to them in response to this line in their correspondence with me: “We also make sure that everybody using OkC for event stuff is actually a legitimate OkC/Match.com partner (it’s a safety/legitimacy thing) which I hope you understand.”
Well, thank you for reinstating my account.
And for the record, I applied, via your web site, TWICE to be a host for your “events.” Being a cranky old lady, it makes me even crankier that ALL the events are for young people. I probably don’t need to point out to you (since I’m assuming you are “young” and NOT anywhere near MY age) that “young” people don’t need events to meet each other. They meet each other ALL THE TIME! Those of us over 50, however, DO need “events” because most people have given up and don’t ever leave the damn house.
Anyway. Back to sorting out the scammers from the real humans on your site.
And ya gotta love the “safety/legitimacy” bit. Guffaw. As though any event is more “safe” than another. Or “legitimate.” I am tempted to show up at their offices and present myself as their newest event producer. “Here I am! Ready to go to work creating exciting events for people who aren’t fucking 30!” I mean seriously…
Ah, the sweet taste of victory! Coupled with the influence of righteous indignation! The power-mad millenials at OKCupid have seen the error of their ways and reinstated my account. After they accused me of soliciting, I continued the dialogue, pointing our how ridiculous that accusation was. Here’s how it unfolded after my previous post:
What am I soliciting?
“I’m producing an event on Feb. 17 that I think you might enjoy. It isn’t a singles’ party (or a couples’ party) but there are components that I think will be appealing to people who are “seeking.” Even if they aren’t sure what, exactly…
I hope you can make it!
You cannot be serious. The events I produce are happy hours and live performances. I’d be happy to show you my Facebook events. “Seeking” means many things to different people. Clearly the person who reported me wishes he were receiving invitations to something a bit more exciting.
I waste so much time reporting fake profiles on your site it isn’t even worth it. You people should be paying more attention to actual scammers and less to idiots who don’t know what they’re talking about. My sex party days are FAR behind me. I’m 56 fucking years old, fer crissakes. FIFTY SIX YEARS OLD! Even Annie Sprinkle has moved on. Wow.
I am not saying you are a scammer, and I am not being judgey at all, but the rules we have to enforce for everybody say:
“Unique and bona fide profile
You agree to create only one unique profile. In addition, in order to maintain the integrity of the Website, by joining, you agree that your use of the Website shall be for bona fide relationship-seeking purposes (for example, you may not use the Website solely to compile a report of compatible singles in your area, or to write a school research paper). “
Really, what you were doing isn’t dating – And people (a LOT of people reported you as a scammer) – So they would complain if we didn’t ban you as well. We also make sure that everybody using OkC for event stuff is actually a legitimate OkC/Match.com partner (it’s a safety/legitimacy thing) which I hope you understand. If you want to use OkC to date, seek people for friends etc then you are welcome to – But stick with craiglist etc. for advertising events, please?
I ask people I meet on OKC if they are interested in joining me for events, some I produce and/or promote, others I attend. I invited one guy to a fundraiser for the Lower East Side Girls Club. Is that against the rules? What about a fundraiser for Figment? If I’m producing it?
I’m about as far from a scammer as it’s possible to be. A real human, actually interested in meeting people, as friends — at the very least. I’ve met friends on here. Go read my emails.
There is nothing I’d like more than to meet someone and fall in love. I have three friends who I helped with their profiles on OKC and they eventually married. Three success stories. I sure wish I was one. Being 56 and single sucks more than I can describe. I’m sure you cannot begin to relate.
But if you seriously believe I have been using your site for the sole purpose of — well, whatever you think I’m using it for — then by all means, ban me. However, you could not be more wrong.
There was a time when I produced two weekly events. For seven years! Fetish parties, rock parties, sex parties. As I said, those days are far behind me. I now co-produce a few events annually: Night of a Thousand Stevies, a Stevie Nicks tribute night; Ghostlight, a Halloween Eve fundraiser for HOWL Help; and the Figment fundraiser. I get paid for two of the three, minimally. I also help organize weekly happy hours for the Burning Man community. I don’t get paid for this work. I am often hired to emcee events, most recently the third birthday bash for Batala NYC, an all female Brazilian style drum group.
Hardly Heidi Fleiss. If that reference even means anything to you.
One man I met on OKC is helping the House of Yes with their build out. We’ve been friends for a few years now. His life is more interesting now than it was before he met me…a different sort of success story. I’ve invited a lot of guys to a lot of things. It’s sad that any of them would call me a scammer for those invitations. Really sad. And I’m sure they have sad little lives. Thankfully, I don’t. So I’ll be fine without OKCupid.
And I’ll say it one more time.
You are wrong.
So, dear readers, that’s how the situation unfolded. They’ve seen fit to let me back into their cesspool of dick pix and scammers. Oh hooray! Over the seven years as a “member,” I’ve been booted off twice now. I’ve dealt with so many scammers I can’t count them. (I initially posted on here about the illiterate men on OKC but those weren’t potential suitors, they were scammers, looking to coax me out of cash. HILARIOUS!) Though I’ve met a few men whose company I enjoyed, not many were willing to cultivate an ongoing friendship. I can’t really see much benefit from the site; I’m not one to go begging for free meals…not my style. I think I’ve had about one for each year…each time insisted upon by my date. I’ve even paid for my own coffee on a number of occasions. The sole reason for remaining a “member” is to continue regaling you with my hysterical tales of dating disasters. So I guess I’ll keep on “soliciting” and see what happens! And I’ll be sure to “advertise my events” on Craiglist. Guffaw.