Love is a Data Field

So I was reading this article from Wired yesterday – it was all about how a math professor hacked the OKCupid algorithm to find better dating matches. #mathisawesome.

During this “experiment,” he kept a dating journal. And this got me to thinking — what if I had kept a dating journal? Not just for the last few years, but from the very first date. (which, btw, was to the movie “She’s All That.”)

“From the very first date” is a lot of data. And dates. If I had kept the journal, would it have prevented some of the missteps and heartbreak along the way? Would I be cracking my own data code?

I’m not sure. But if I had to write a set of rules for dating based off the from the very first date data, they would probably contain the following gems of common sense wisdom.

1. If he doesn’t call you, it’s not because he lost your number. It’s because he doesn’t want to call you.
2. Don’t date a guy that drives a Kia. Just…don’t.
3. Avoid run-on dates. And run-on sentences.
4. Nothing good happens after midnight. Nothing.
5. Don’t drink too much on dates. Seriously, don’t drink too much.
6. You’re worth it. Never. Settle.
7. The following should come with a warning sign: douchebags, commitment-phobes, cheaters, liars, the unemployed, and those threatened by a strong woman. And don’t ignore the warning signs.
8. Personal space is really, really, important. It will save a relationship.
9. People don’t change. Yourself included.
   
10. It’s just as hard to walk away as it is to stay. Sometimes harder.
11. And watching a movie at his place? NOT A DATE.

Good ‘ole #11. Gets us ladies every time. We think watching a movie means non-flurescent lights and some good conversation…”But I really want to watch the movie” said no guy ever.

So, in-between all this memory lane stuff, I’ll just be here re-reading my HJNTIY powerpoint…and maybe thinking that my very first date? It wasn’t so bad.

Advertisement

CP and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

Ever had a bad day?

I mean, like a reallllly bad day.

The kind that is so epically bad you have surpassed Bridget Jones turkey-curry buffet status and just gone straight to “are you sh*tting me life?”

Well, this was me a few weeks ago. It was such an epically bad day that its taken me this long to write about it.

First, my office was under construction, so I had been getting shuffled from random cube spot to random cube for about a week. I was a box/bag lady, just carrying loads of file folders from one locale to the next. But this was the least of my worries.

Given that it was nearly 100+ degrees out, I found it odd that my AC wasn’t cooling the house off. OH WAIT. That’s because it was broken. And not like “oh you just need a new hose” broken, we are talking busted-broken. As in, not fixable.

Goodbye shoe budget…

Luckily, the bright side was that it was Friday. And I only had 60-something hours on my time sheet. It’s the little things, right?

Then, I had a crafting fail.

As I was carefully trying kitchen twine around lovingly constructed invites to a summer bbq (post to follow), my sister rolls up and goes “I’m pretty sure you have the RSVP phone number wrong.”

#FML.

Did I mention the final owner of the invites proofread them?

To make matters even more miserable, I proceeded to drive home. Where I forgot to put the prius in park. And rolled into my garage door. Making a dent. #FMLx2.

Needless to say, I ended the night by drinking wine.

Straight from the bottle.

But hey, at least parking in my driveway is free.

Watch Out for the Nice Guys Part 2

It’s the nice guys that get you, EVERY TIME. They start out all nice and normal and romantic, and then you wake up one day and they do something super classy like call it off over text message.

The latest?

He is on to what’s “next!” because I didn’t offer to pay for parking.

(No, you are not hallucinating.)

Oh, and I found out via his FB status update. So while I’m asleep dreaming of the next date, he’s posting the “she didn’t even fake offer to pay for parking, next!” to FB, knowing that I’ll likely see it the next morning.

Almost as good as the time I was broken up with via FB relationship-status change…NOT JOKING HERE EITHER.

PARKING. IT WAS THE SECOND DATE. Are you sh*tting me, life?

I have several thoughts.

1. Do you want the girl that pays for parking, or the girl you have a really awesome connection with and can’t stop thinking about? I like to think it’s the second, especially since you talked about how awesome it is that I’m career driven, I volunteer all over the city, and I look great in a mini skirt. Oh, and there were the multiple ‘thinking about you,’ ‘can’t wait to see you,’ ‘daydreaming about you’ text messages I received.
2. I offered to pick up the rest of dinner, which, btw, you paid for with A GIFT CARD. And, when you refused, I acknowledged that you had paid the first and second date. Which, if you remember from the multiple cupcakes and brownies and beers I had brought to your house in the past because we actually never went on a date, just watched movies, was probably a sign that I was going to do something nice for you in return. Now, I know the remaining $5 on the dinner bill plus tip isn’t the same as the $7.50 that parking cost, but if you’re looking for the arbitrary “fake attempt” to pay, pretty sure it happened.
3. Also, you DO NOT purposefully play the obscure band that we both like on the ride home from dinner, give me an amazing kiss goodnight, and tell me you will see me again soon if you are planning to post about parking on FB. THIS IS NOT OKAY.
4. Are you really willing to write me off so quickly without even allowing me the opportunity to do something nice for you in return? Sorry for draining your bank account over the course of two dates. So while you’re bemoaning the two dates we went on which you claimed were amazing, I’ll be doing something really amazing for someone who will actually appreciate it.
5. It was the second date. I’m generally on my best behavior (which, apparently, doesn’t include paying for parking) on the second date because I’d like to go on a third one. SECOND. DATE. As my y-chromosome enabled friends have informed me, dates 1 through 5 are supposed to be amazing so I want to keep dating you. They also think paying for parking is a “man” thing and that I just dodged a bullet.

Oh, and btw buddy, you just posted on your FB wall about how cheap you are, so good luck the next time you try dating.

Dear 2012…

To say you were, well, disappointing, would be an understatement.

2012 blew goats.

More specifically, I’ll say my 2012 dating life blew goats.

We started the year off with the “you overwhelm me” guy.

We went to dinner with Mr. Wrong…more than once…shame rattle.

And I was a bit of a good luck charm. Which culminated in my college bf getting married and my dad telling me I “missed the boat.” Bridget Jones much?

I received THIS in the mail. And THIS over email.

Even the NYT got in on the action. (Don’t worry, I haven’t yet turned into a pantless alcoholic…YET.)

We laughed a bit with the “I’m trying to have a creepy airport hookup in the sky lounge” guy.

And I was righteously angry at the “I’m ending it over text message less than 24 hours after telling you I really like you” guy.

Oh, and 2012 closed itself with a bang with the “you didn’t fake offer to pay for parking” guy. (Stay tuned, details to follow.)

2012 was a Bridget Jones meets a Taylor Swift song.

But I have high hopes for 2013. So I’m making some relationship resolutions.

1. Develop a dating bill of rights. Every girl should have one. It’s the list of non-negotiables in a relationship. For me? It starts of with I deserve a phone call and not a text message, and that yes, titles do matter no matter how much you tell yourself they don’t. No grey areas. I’m also going to add that I need someone who supports my job, has a life outside of me, and likes my family (or at least is really good at faking it.)
2. Read the writing on the wall. If you think things aren’t working, they probably aren’t. So walk away. It takes a lot of walk away, because you keep thinking that the other person will change or things will get better or it will be different in the new year. I’ve stayed in relationships for too long (and probably too many tear-filled phone calls to girlfriends) because I wasn’t willing to admit that I wasn’t happy and things weren’t working out. So read it, believe it, and act on it.
3. Keep taking chances. It’s a rough world out there, and it takes a lot to keep putting yourself out there. Some days it will feel like you are feeding yourself to the wolves. But keep doing it. I haven’t found the right person yet, but I’ve learned a lot about what I like and what I don’t like, and about what goes on the dating bill of rights. So keep taking chances.
4. Don’t recycle. If it didn’t work out the first time, there was probably a good reason. Don’t recycle relationships. It’s bad news bears.

So good riddance to bad rubbish 2012, and get ready 2013, because it’s time to rock on.

Watch out for the Nice Guys.

Watch out for the nice guys.

It’s advice that your mom/best friend/sister/therapist/Bridget Jones probably never told you.

But I’m letting you know.

BEWARE of the nice guy.

The nice guy is easy to fall for. He makes dinner reservations. He waits until you get inside the house before leaving. He asks about your day and is legitimately interested in hearing about it. He pulls out your chair, buys you flowers, and has a glass of wine waiting for you when you arrive. And not a glass of wine in the “I am making decisions for you and am trying to control you” way, but in the “I’m being thoughtful” way.

The moment you find yourself thinking, “this is really nice” and “wow, I need to go to finishing school so I know what to do when he pulls the chair out next time” remind yourself of this: The nice guy is easy to fall for. I need to watch out.

That way, when the nice guy calls it off with you over text message less than 48 hours after doing something amazingly sweet and less than 24 hours after telling you how much he likes you, you won’t be surprised.

I’M WARNING YOU. Watch out.

Also? “Hi!” is not an appropriate greeting for a let’s just quit while we are ahead text message.

An exclamation point? Are you sh*tting me life? Didn’t realize you were THAT excited to be extracting yourself from my life.

Beware. Of. The. Nice. Guy.

(I won’t even get started on the fact that I DESERVE A FREAKING PHONE CALL and that text message is only an appropriate form of communication if you are under the age of 14.)

At least when you fall for the d-bag, you know he’s going to consistently be douche-y. He’ll cancel plans (if he even bothers to make them in the first place), he’ll only call you after midnight (and nothing good happens after midnight), and he’ll probably tell you that he ‘forgot his credit card’ as soon as you show up to the bar (but do you mind spotting him? Just this once?). He won’t commit and he will forget your birthday. But he will manage to keep giving you just those few amazing moments every so often that you are always thinking “it’s going to be different” and “he’ll change.”

Like I said. Consistent.

Be careful out there ladies. Don’t let yourself fall for a Mr. Wrong. Keep your heart and your eyes open. WIDE OPEN.

And watch out for the nice guys.

This isn’t a ‘Dear John’ letter.

It’s a Dear Dan letter.

And it goes something like this.

Dear Dan,

Thank you for making me feel like Eva Mendes. She’s well, you know, sort of my girl crush.

Have you seen Hitch? Do you remember the scene in the bar, with the bad apple martini? It’s THAT Eva Mendes. So thank you, because I love Eva Mendes.

There I was, sitting in the airport, peacefully reading my book. And you came over. You ignored my headphones, my obvious interest in my book, and the ‘f*ck off’ sign I had above my head. You had, as you say, been ‘staring at me for thirty minutes’ (because that’s not creepy at all) and just ‘had to come say hi.’

I admire your persistence Dan. After I turned down your offer of a drink (three times), even though the bar was only a stone’s throw away and we had hours until the flight left, you just kept talking.

You told me how you live with your mother. At age 27. And how you have a tiny yippie frou-frou dog. And how you had never done this before, but those three glasses of white zinfandel really just gave you courage. And how this “just wasn’t awkward at all!”

Seriously? You had me at ‘living at home.’ 

And even after I told you I was seeing someone (huge dude, tons of muscles, in the mob, etc.), you just kept talking. You offered me more wine. You asked me to share things about myself (I declined) and you overshared about yourself (gag). You asked me to meet up in Texas. I told you that I watch Criminal Minds and no, no thank you.

You just wouldn’t take a hint. I was really enjoying my book Dan. 

Even when I blatantly did not close my iPad, did not fully remove my headphones, and openly texted my sister to emergency-911-avoid-the-crazies call me, you were still there. Talking.

So thank you, for the compliment of coming over. Truly, thank you.

But the next time you’ve had three glasses of wine and think its a good idea to talk to the girl reading a book with her headphones in sitting a few seats away in the airport lounge?

Yeah…keep that idea to yourself. Because I didn’t have Will Smith hovering nearby to save me.

Sincerely and xo,

cakerypapery

No, REALLY, you be the bigger person.

My least favorite line people drop in arguments is the “I’ll just be the bigger person” line, or some variation of this.

I’ll be the bigger person this time.

Don’t worry, I’ll just deal with it.

I’ll take the high road.

Any of these sound familiar?

BREAKING NEWS. Saying “I’ll be the bigger person here” does not, in fact, make you the bigger person. And when you do say it out loud, you automatically have stopped “being the bigger person.”

You want to know why? If you really are going to be the bigger person, YOU DON’T NEED TO SAY SO. You just do it. Because when you do say it out loud, it just sounds immature and condescending.

And hearing any variation of this immediately puts me (and the rest of the world) on the defensive. Because if you’re the one taking the high road, what does that leave me, the low road?

“I’ll be the bigger person” has friends too. Their names are “You should know what you did ” and “I’M FINE, NOTHING IS WRONG.”

Which makes one tripod that I have no desire to make into a quadrapod.

So, no, REALLY, go ahead, you be the bigger person.

If Snooki Married Bill Gates: Meet the Brogammers

Jersey Shore has invaded the last nerd standing: computer programmers.

Yo, brogrammer, two heinekens.

And while I haven’t seen any monitor tans combined with my new haircuts just yet—emphasis on the yet—I have serious concerns. About brogammers.

What exactly is a brogammer? Well, according to Urban Dictionary, a brogammer is:

A programmer who breaks the usual expectations of quiet nerdiness and opts instead for the usual trappings of a frat-boy: popped collars, bad beer, and calling everybody “bro.” Despised by everyone, especially other programmers.

Sweet Jesus, it sounds like we’re at a UVA football game.

And let’s pause while I point out the last line. DESPISED BY EVERYONE.

Brogammers are programmers’ worst enemy. Brogammers sleep with the prom queen and make FORTRAN sexy. I suspect they wear their sunglasses at night and use pick-up lines that reference the Commodore 64.

They sound terrible.

So what’s wrong with a little diversity in the programming field you say? Is it  that I am offended by job postings that say things like “want to bro down and crush some code” or mention that there is a “friendly female staff”?

No, it’s not that. And it’s not instructions on how to become a brogammer either. Or the “are you a brogammer” quiz. Or the fact that you can follow a fictional brogammer on Twitter, @brogammer.

IT’S THAT IT’S FREAKING COMPUTER PROGRAMMING. Computer programming is a sacred space reserved for quiet, nerdy types. Quiet, nerdy types who are hot because they are quiet and nerdy.

Given that I went to college and graduate school for math (yes, even Elle Woods types can do math), I knew a lot of geeky, nerdy kids. And I knew a lot of HOT, GEEKY, NERDY KIDS. The “no game” game? Gets the girl every time. Even me.

Computer programmers don’t need popped collars (vom) and Natty Light (vom plus a bad hangover) to be cool and hip. And no one refers to it as “computer programming” anymore. It’s not like we are back in 1990 and Al Gore is inventing the internet. Programmers already have sexy job titles, like digital art director and web developer and digital designer. 

And the guy who claims he scored his first job by talking about a calendar of “nudie pics” he made of his college girlfriends? You’re not a brogammer, YOU’RE JUST A TOOL.

So stay away brogammers. Or go work someplace where real programmers can’t be found. Like Microsoft.

Just leave my nerdy programming types alone.

No, I will not have a “Thinspo” board.

So the other day I was casually wasting time browsing Pinterest. Because, you know, I need more ideas for things that I can do with mason jars…

When I came across yet another skeletor-like photo labeled “thinspo.”

Seriously life? This has got to stop.

First, I’ve never quite understood the pinning of motivational quotes or photos. I mean, they’re nice to look at, but do people actually go back through and read these, like pre-workout? I’ll meet you at the gym, just as soon as I re-read my exercise motivation pins…

It would make more sense to print out said motivational quotes and put them someplace useful–like the front of the fridge.

Second, if you combine “inspiration” with “thin, ” you get “thinspiration.” I don’t quite understand how this shortens to “thinspo.” It’s not thinsporation. AND since we all know how I feel about bad grammar…this just really puts a bee in my bonnet.

And third? Photoshop works wonders. I bet half those skinny-girl thinspo photos have been retouched. So keep that in mind the next time you’re pinning some ridiculously flat-abbed skeletor who to your “thinspo” board. Even models have cellulite. So does Britney. And Kim K.

Sometime between a dress fitter calling her assistant to re-take my measurements because I’m just really big in the hips and having one of my friends tell me I’ve got a great personality which looks awesome in a v-neck, I came to the realization that I won’t ever be someone’s thinspo.

But I might be someone’s real-spo. My reality isn’t a Nike ad. I don’t have uber-flat abs, and my butt probably wouldn’t pass the pencil test. And I have embarrassing stories of my upper arm getting trapped in too-tight button-down sleeves. I’ve been known to wear spanx.

I eat cupcakes, cook with real butter, and I thoroughly enjoy carbs. I sometimes put whole milk in my coffee and I really love the way a full-calorie coke tastes. This is what my real life looks like. It involves lots of leggings.

Stupid quotes like “nothing tastes as good as being thin” make me seriously question some people’s sanity.

So no, I will not have a “thinspo” board. And you shouldn’t either.

What is this, 1990?

Do you ever have those moments when someone says, “Yeah, it was like 10 years ago” and you think they mean the 90’s, when really they are referring to 2002?

THIS IS NOT ONE OF THOSE TIMES.

I received the following at my parents’ house last week.

At this point, you’re probably saying, “BFD. Someone mailed you a letter. You’re just soooooooo  popular.”

But this is not an ordinary letter. It is a gramatically incorrect, poorly punctuated, neatly typed, blast-from-the-past, super creepy LOVE LETTER.

Don’t believe me? I’ve gleefully accurately transcribed it below. Names have been changed to protect the…innocent.

RXXX,

Hey how are things going? I came across your address on something a little bit back and thought I’d write you and say hi. Well right after that I was out for a jog and was hit by a F150 Pick-up truck. Broke 10 ribs puntured lung few other things, Nothing really physically noticeable, incredibly lucky for getting struck at what the driver said he was going 50MPH and threw me into a tree. Going back to work today for a couple weeks then surgery on my ribs.

Anyways, how have things been? What are you doing these days? I’m still doing the police ting and own a few houses. Starting a new business I think soon. Think I’m going to build a house soon, Have a lot of plans for it just have to find the location I want it.

What is new with you? I think the last time I saw you was at Nathanial’s the summer you were working at red wings stadium. You still living in NYS. Sent this to your parents hoping they could forward it to you. How is your family? Lol I remember being over your house after class a couple times and your dad came home and I was all intimidated lol. We were young then eh?

Well Anyway If you want you should get a hold of me, still have the same #…585-XXX-XXX. Maybe we can meet up for a bit or something and catch up. Hope everything is well, and Happy Easter. : )

Okay, I know what you are all thinking. Give this guy a break, he’s just trying to be nice, etc etc.

But let’s be reasonable.

First, a letter to my parents’ house? A letter? What is this, 1990? And ten years later? There are MANY MANY ways to find my contact info…LIKE GOOGLE. Or LinkedIn, Facebook, Twitter…the list goes on.

And the fact that he still has my address memorized is just…creepy.

Second, can we discuss the punctuation? And grammar? I work in communications for a living. Good grammar is like breakfast cereal to me. I’d just like to say, the capitals after the commas…SO CONFUSED. And no question mark after the question about living in NYS is just…wrong.

Third, the phrase “LOL” should never be used outside of text message. And the “eh?” I’m all for celebrating my Canadian heritage, but wtf. And he was hit by a pickup truck??? And owns a “few” houses? Are you sh*tting me life?

Don’t even get me started on the ones who say they plan to “start a new business.” UGH times TEN.

AND BEFORE YOU CALL ME JUDGY MCJUDGERSON…which I might be…I’D LIKE TO POINT OUT THE STAMP.

What grown man has a stash of “Love” stamps just hanging around the house? Flag stamps, Liberty Bell stamps, even leftover Christmas or a wedding stamp would have been better. But a “LOVE” stamp? I’m pretty sure this stamp was…intentional. And therefore creepy. VOMS.

Overall, the only redeeming facet of the letter is its choice of font. A sans serif. Thank goodness for the little things in life.

A for effort. And A+ for creep factor.