The Couch Guy – Survived by Tara

Okay, let’s be real. I could totally lie and tell you that I’ve been going out on dates left and right. Or that I’ve mastered the art of finally picking up dudes at bars. That would all be a giant lie. I have done nothing. I’ve been working, dancing, trapezing, and having an amazing amount of visitors. I haven’t had time to try to go on dates, let alone the want. However, last week I made a little headway.
WHO: Rose (yes, you saw that correctly. Rose. A lady.)
WHAT: Real Life?!
WHEN: Last week
WHERE: Anthropologie, Seattle
WHY: Because I have no mouth filter.

The….well, the situation:
My sister had been crashing with me for a few days. I woke up to fresh baked bread, coffee, and Sister painting over the graffiti wall that O had done a few months ago. I headed to work and had a pretty normal day, until a woman came in looking for a couch. We sit on the couch looking at fabric swatches and chatting for a few minutes. She is funny and very eclectic. She’s a costume designer and wants something that will pop in her living room. She grabs her phone to show me the space where the couch would go.

Me: “Oooo! The red would look killer in that space!”
Her: “Right? Let me show you a few more pictures.” (swipe swipe swipe)
Me: “Wait. Who is that?”
Her: “That’s my son!”
Me: “Is he single and does he want to date me?”
Her: “Excuse me?”
Me: “I was just kidding, hahahahaha, I mean kinda? But really. Does he want to date me?”

I’m kicking myself for the verbal diarrhea that won’t stop coming out of my mouth.

Me: “I’m single! I love bacon, and I totally have a tattoo to prove it. We should set this up! Also, I have a killer relationship with my family and I have a job. OO! I teach dance classes, took up trapeze, and did I mention the bacon tattoo?”
Her: “I’m Rose and please let me see your tattoo.”

I bust out my bacon bicep tattoo. She laughs and tells me her son is single and loves to cook.

Her: “Well, I am definitely going to order this couch. How do we go about the dating thing?”
Me: “Um..uh…here’s my card? I mean if your son is totally okay with a blind date with an almost total stranger, then he should totally call me. But it’s no big deal if not. I mean it would be so fun cause I just moved here, but yeah, no pressure or anything……”
Her: “This was such a successful shopping day!”
Me: “Rose, I’m Tara. So glad you aren’t totally creeped out by my randomness. Guess maybe I’ll talk to you soon!”
Rose: “You are lovely. This could definitely work out. Talk soon!”

The next day Rose’s husband comes in to, um, “look at the couch.” Now, he had already seen it online and called the store about it before Rose came in, so there was no real reason. But sure. He asks for me and we end up chatting on the couch for about 20 min. All the things Rose and I chatted about, however brief, he casually brings up.

Peter: “So I hear you’re from San Francisco!”

Definitely didn’t tell Rose that.

Me: “Yep! Just moved a few months ago. So this couch, comfy right?”
Peter: “And you are a dancer?”
Me: “Oh! Yes, I teach Salsa classes.”
Peter: “Hmm, interesting. And you like Bacon?”

I didn’t remember telling Rose that either, so I assume I’ve been Facebook stalked. I can’t decide if I’m creeped out or flattered.

We chat a little bit more, and finally talk about the couches. He leaves and the next day I get a text from the Son!

He seems normal, at least via text message. Funny, witty, fast replies. But after a week of texting and me initiating a potential hangout, I’m over it. Again, I don’t want a text message buddy. I want to meet in real life. I have all sorts of ridiculous adventures planned and none of them involve hanging out on my phone. There are 20 places in Seattle with old fashioned photo booths. There is a german town north of here with pretzels and beers. Sarah’s uncle has a SAILBOAT!!!! A BOAT! TO SAIL! So many fun things!

I realize that I could have called him, but keep in mind WE HAVE LEGIT never met and are getting set up by his parents. Who FACEBOOK STALKED ME. So I sent one last text message and when I didn’t hear back after a few days, well, it’s probably for the best.

On the bright side, his parents did buy 2 couches.

Never compromise on someone who might live with their parents on VERY expensive couches from Anthropologie and are text savvy. Le sigh.

Chad – Survived by Tara

My work schedule is a little up in the air these days, so its’ hard for me to find a dance class that fits in. So instead, I joined a gym. For at least one month, I’m a gym goer. Gross. I don’t like to run. I’m a wogger. (walk jogger.) And I just want to be left alone and not bothered and get sweaty and listen to my mash-up workout mix. That’s all. I don’t want to be small talked by not just one, but 4 men over 50. I just want to be left alone. Sigh. You are required to take a tour of the gym with a muscley employee. My tour guide happened to look a lot like an ex of mine, which is why my date post this week is a blast from the past. Let it be known, the gym tour guide’s name was Sven and he was about as interesting as dirt.

WHO: Chad. No name change. It was ages ago and that statue of limitations has passed.That’s a thing right? I can use that?

WHAT: He was my then boyfriend.

WHEN: College, circa 2007

WHERE: Humboldt State dorms.

WHY: He was cute, confidant, and had this bro-y, “I totes work out and the Gym” thing going on that I normally didn’t like but was going to try on for size.

THE STORY
I had spent two years at Scripps College in Los Angeles where I did nothing but smoke pot, take dance classes, and lovingly annoy my now bestie Jess. Then I took a year off in Santa Barabara, aka the slutty summer. Now I was back in college in Humboldt, getting my shit together, and ready to kick ass and graduate. It was my second year at Humboldt State- yes it took me  6 years to get through college- who cares. Anyways, it was year two at Humboldt and I was at the orientation for housing. I was sitting on the floor stretching my legs, which was a normal thing for me. When you dance for six hours a day, any downtime you have is consumed by stretching. I listened to the blah blah blah orientation and locked eyes with said above bro-y dude. I smiled, he came over, and we chatted. Turns out we lived across the complex from each other. Did I want to come over and hang out?

Obviously I did and we started dating. He won me over by getting me to eat meat again after being a veggie for 10 years. He stuffed chicken with a stupid amount of cheese and wrapped it in Bacon. (Editor’s note from Sarah: See? Tara always capitalizes the word bacon because it’s just that important to her.) Then he cooked it in red wine for an hour and I was sold. (If you take me out for drinks I’ll tell you the MOST EMBARRASSING STORY EVER that goes along with this. It’s bad. It’s really embarrising.It needs alcohol.) Who cared if he was bro-y? Who cared if he was kind of a jerk to my friends? Who cared that he got weirdly angry when I went Salsa dancing with my platonic guy friends? He could cook, and boy could he kiss.

We were together for about 6 months. I’d gotten out of a very long relationship with a chef in Santa Barbara, and Chad was mellow and didn’t really ask for much. It was a nice change. Plus he tried. Kinda. He took me to a tattoo parlor and said I could get anything I wanted. This was VERY exciting. I tend to fall for artsy types who don’t have moola for frivolous things, so I was pumped. I wanted to get all the phases of the moon going down my spine. This was going to cost $300 and Chad gulped. “How many moons for $100?” he asked. And that, my friends, is why I have only four moons on my back. It was all he could afford. But I still thought it was sweet.

For our one month anniversary he took me to my favorite restaurant in all of Northern California. Larrupin Cafe. We had a crazy good dinner and went back to his place where I assumed we would have equally as crazy birthday sex. It had been a month. We did some heavy making out. It was time. But this was not the case. I will spare you the details because my Mom reads this, but basically he was on weird medication that he didn’t tell me about until MUCH later, and it made him not want to see me naked. Months went by and I thought there was something wrong with me. I remember crying and yelling, “WHY DON”T YOU WANT TO SEE MY BOOBS?!!!” It was awful.

Finally, he went off the meds. I don’t remember why. Also, I’m still not sure why I was with him. My bestie Kelly came to visit and she hated him. Sister loathed him. He booked us a romantic weekend in San Francisco where I assumed we would finally do the deed. It had been about 3-4 months of only making out. We road-tripped down, went wine tasting along the way, and got to SF. When we went to check in to our hotel, he “surprised” me by having his sister and her BF there too! Turns out we were all sharing a room and would be spending the week together.

How fun for everyone but me.

So bla bla bla we finally have sex, and it’s okay. We do it sorta often, and it doesn’t get better. It’s just okay. I’m communicating and trying to be a good partner, but it stays okay.  His roommate had just gotten some pot brownies and I was house-sitting for my professor. He had an amazing house on a little mountain. He had just renovated the bathroom with heated tiles, towel warmers, a sink that was invisible and looked like water was pouring out of nowhere. It was the perfect place to relax, drink a little wine, eat a little pot, and put some work into having good sex. It was going to happen. I couldn’t take it anymore. So we each ate a little piece and waited. We ate another little piece and started fooling around. The last coherent thought I had was, “Why is he taking so long to get my pants off?” The next thing I know its’ FORTY EIGHT HOURS LATER and I have NO IDEA what happened.

What I do remember is this.

At some point I crawled off of the bed and tried to stand up and go to pee in the bathroom. Since my pants were half on, this didn’t work. I tripped and fell onto all fours and promptly thought I had lost my legs forever. I was going to have to crawl army style to the bathroom. When I finally made it I realized my legs had GROWN BACK! It was magic. MAGIC WAS EVERYWHERE. I got onto all fours and promptly fell. THE FLOOR WAS ON FIRE. WHY WAS THE FLOOR SO HOT?! I grabbed the towel rack to help myself onto the toilet and IT WAS ALSO ON FIRE! WHY WAS EVERYTHING ON FIRE?!  WHY WAS IT SO FREAKING HOT!!!!???? I slithered off the toilet, coming to terms with the fact that I was going to die a fiery death, and suddenly remembered that I needed to wash my hands. I looked everywhere and couldn’t see a sink. WHERE WAS THE WATER????? I was flailing around and I must have hit something because MAGIC WAS EVERYWHERE and water started pouring from the wall. ABRACADABRA! I slithered back to the bed and woke up two days later.

I decided that Chad wasn’t worth the sex deprivation, the weird drug trip, or my time. So I dumped him. I started hanging out with a guy who made me BOMB BLT sandwiches and who really wanted to see me naked. It was great. It was very casual and after 6 months of Chad, it was what I needed. Then I got a phone call from my roommate.

Roomie: “Tara. You need to come home. LIKE ASAP.”
Me: “I’ll be home in 30. Whats up?”
Roomie: “You need to get here like NOW. You won’t believe this.”

I drive home and am parking when I hear a loud commotion up in the complex. Chad was DRUNK and yelling up at my window, Romeo style.

Chad: “TARA!!!!! I KNOW YOU ARE UP THERE!!!!”
Roomie: “Chad, she’s not here. I already told you. She’s out.”
Chad: “OUT FUCKING ANOTHER DUDE!!!!!”
Roomie: “Chad, I’m going to call campus security. She’s not here.”
Chad: “I BET IF I GAVE HER THE CHICKEN RECIPE SHE WOULD COME BACK TO ME!”
Roomie: “I don’t think so. Go home.”
Chad: “TARA! I KNOW YOU ARE THERE. I CAN SEE YOU IN THE ROOM!”
Roomie: “I’ve called campus security. Also, her room is dark. She’s not there.”
Chad: “I’M GONNA FUCKING BURN YOUR HOUSE DOWN! GET OUT HERE NOW!!!”
Roomie: “Nope, she’s out studying. SHE IS NOT HERE.  It’s finals soon, dude. Get out of here.”

He runs up the stairs, grabs a chair, and slams it against the door. It shatters and he LIGHTS IT ON FIRE.

I stay close to my car so I’m not seen until the cops get there. He gets escorted away, yelling my name the whole time.

‘TARA. TARA!!!! TARAA!!!! TARRAAAAAARRRRAAAAA!!!”

Maybe in the future I don’t date bro-y dudes with possible personality disorders. Noted.

Sizzl – Survived by Tara

WHO: Mike

WHAT: Sizzl. Yes, you read that right, Sizzl. The Oscar Mayer Bacon dating app.

WHEN: Last Friday night. AKA my first step back into dating in my new city.

WHERE: A little coffee place in downtown Seattle. AKA close to work and the bus in case I needed to make a quick getaway..

WHY: Sizzl. Duh. You all know I love bacon. I’ve got a bacon tattoo, people give me cray awesome bacon swag for holidays and birthdays, I candy bacon, I eat an entire package of bacon in 2 days. I love it. Like seriously.

THE DATE
So I downloaded the app as a joke. (From Sarah: She totally didn’t. She was legitimately really excited…until she saw who was on it.) It’s like Tinder. Swipe left to say no, OR you can like someone and the whole screen lights up, sizzles, and says you’ve got a hot crispy match.
I’m writing this on the bus, cause that’s a thing I do now, bus. And I’m like starving for bacon. See? Just saying it makes me want it. I am so weird. Also, that may be why I’m single.

Okay so anyway. You only get three pieces of information about the person:

1. What kind of bacon do they prefer, turkey or pork? First of all, fuck everyone who likes turkey bacon. Except my best friend Kelly’s husband. He gets an out. But everyone else? Poop.

2. How do they like their bacon? They’d better answer crispy. None of this wobbly shit.

3. One piece of bacon left on the plate: Are they a bacon sharer or taker? Take damnit! I’m one selfish bacon eater. I will only share if I’ve already eaten 12 slices and I’m a little full, or if It’s my mom or dad asking for the slice. Cause ya know, it’s your parents. They like birthed me. They totally deserve a piece of bacon.

And that’s it. One or two pictures max and those three questions are all you have to go on.

So I sizzl and eventually match with this guy Mike.

He messages me and says this: “What do you get when you wrap a dinosaur in bacon?”
Me: “I dunno, what?”
Him: “I’ll tell you if you go on a date with me.”
Me: “Umm okay. How about tomorrow? I work downtown and we can get a drink.”
Him: “Okay. Till tomorrow my bacon lady….”

I rolled my eyes. This wasn’t a good sign.

I roll into the bar after work and order a glass of wine. He’s already 15 minutes late. I’m exhausted from work and have little tolerance for lateness.

It’s now 30 min past the meet time and I’m pissed. No phone call or text and I just want to know the punch line to the goddamn joke! Gah!!!!

I’m about to leave when I see him. He’s shorter than I thought, no real shocker. He sits down and I instantly loathe him.

Me: “Mike?”
Him: “Yeah, I was trying to be fashionably late.”
Me: “Well you are 35 minutes late.”
Him: “Oh. Sorry. You should have left. Who stays around waiting? Kinda sad, don’t you think?”
Me: “Well I’m leaving. Tell me the rest of the joke.”
Him: “Only if you go on another date with me. You know, you’re much prettier in person. You should think about changing your pictures.”
Me: “We haven’t even been on a first date. There will be no second.”
Him: “Your loss. And I’m not telling you the punch line. Bye bye.”

He waves at me.

I fume.

Me: “Well, if maybe you shaved your face, put a shirt on that wasn’t stained, and showered this would have gone better. Grow up.”

I go up to bar and tell the bartender to put my drink on Mike’s tab. What a douche.

Jurassic Pork. That was the fucking punchline. AKA not worth it. AKA FIZZL.

Jordan – Survived by Tara, but would have been easier to survive if she had Bacon

WHO: Jordan

WHAT: Real Life. He used to work with my sister at a stupidly yummy restaurant.

WHEN: Off and on 2013

WHERE: East Bay

WHY: His job involved food. As you all know, I love to eat. He was intense, funny, smart, and my sister liked him. He was not tall and had a girlfriend. I am aware of how this sounds. However, we started off as friends. Grabbed food every once in awhile, saw a show, all very plutonic. One night it went further and I put the kibosh on it. I told him if he wanted to “date” me, he needed to be single. Like really single. I was moving to North Carolina the next month and wasn’t about to get involved in his drama. I said goodbye, packed my car, and headed East.

THE STORY
About two months later I get a phone call from him.

Jordan: “Man, I miss you. You’re all I think about. Things just don’t seem the same without you around.”
Me: “Don’t want to hear any of this unless you’ve figured out your shit with the lady.”
Jordan: “That’s why I’m calling. We broke it off. Turns out she’s been sleeping with a girl and has decided she’s a lesbian. We’re done. I want to come see you.”
Me: “Ouch. Well, I live in North Carolina. So unless you want to come visit, then that’s not happening.”
Him: “When could I come?”
Me: “This is my schedule. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

We hang up, and I immediately get a call from my sister.

Sister: “TARA. YOU WILL NEVER BELIEVE THE STORY I HAVE FOR YOU! OH MY GOD!”
Me: “Oh really?”
Sister: “JORDAN’S GIRLFRIEND IS A LESBIAN AND HAS BEEN CHEATING ON HIM FOR LIKE MONTHS WITH A GIRL! THEY ARE BREAKING UP! AGHHHH! If only you hadn’t moved, you guys could like totally date. Talk about terrible timing.”
Me, playing dumb because NO ONE knew we were “hanging out”: “Yeah, uh, that’s a bummer.”

Thirty  minutes later I get an email from Jordan. He’s booked a flight to North Carolina and will be here in a week. Cue internal screaming. I had been dating on OKCupid and had had ZERO luck. (Please read about the Accountant or Cobra for proof.) Having a few days with Jordan, someone I actually liked, was going to be new territory.

I picked him up from the airport and long story short, we didn’t leave my house for 3 days. He told me all the things girls want to hear and I ignored the fact that he had JUST broken up with his girlfriend. We made plans to keep things casual and he said he would come back and visit again. So on this went for about 7 months: taking turns, visiting, never leaving rooms, cooking and eating. It was lovely.

By now Sister knew we were “visiting” each other. She loved that Jordan was pushing for me to move home, and we were on the verge of getting serious. I lived 3,000 miles away. I missed my family, my friends, and moving back West seemed like a great idea.

He met me in North Carolina in December, and we drove across the country together.

Sounds great, right? Well, in hindsight, the following occurrences should have been red flags:

1. I picked him up in some small ass snowy town at a Casino where he left me at the bar to drink while he played poker for 3 hours.
2. His parents refused to remember my name.
3. He didn’t want to stop at any of the fun in Middle America, largest ball of yarn or biggest piece of pie kinda places.
4. He spent Christmas with my family and not a soul liked him. My mom reused my ex-boyfriend Steve’s stocking, placing a piece of paper over Steve’s name she had quickly written Jordan on.

He did, however, get me a membership to a Bacon of the Month Club.

I had been planning on staying with my sister while I looked for a job and a home. But Jordan was greatly opposed to this. He was adamant that I stayed with him.

Me: “Jordan. This is a terrible idea. We have never spent more than 72 hours together and you want me to move in with you? Nope, staying with sister.”
Him: “Tara. I want you to be around, and I want this to work. I see babies and marriage and a future and I don’t want to waste time not being around each other.”
Me: “This is an awful idea.”
Him: “It’s not, it’s perfect. I love you.” (As I’m writing this, I am kicking 2013 Tara in the ass for believing this lame schpeel.)

So I move in with him temporarily. He’s working lots, I’m looking for jobs lots, and we don’t see each other often. New Year’s eve rolls up and he’s got to work. We make plans to meet up after the restaurant closes around 1am. I head over to hang with my bestie Kelly and wait for Jordan to get off of work.

12am. Text message from Jordan – Happy New years! I’ll call you when I get off! Love you!

12:30am. I’m exhausted, so I head home to wait for Jordan.

1am. Nothing.

2am. Nothing. I text him: Hey! wondering what the plan is. Let me know!

2:30. Nothing.

3am. Nothing. I text him: Okay, going to bed. I call him too, leave the same message.

I wake up around 7am roll over and the bed is still empty. I check my phone. Nothing.

7:04am. I text him: J, where the hell are you? Are you alive? Everything okay?

8am. Nothing.

9am. Nothing, and I’m totally freaking out. What if he’s lying on the side of the road somewhere? WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?! I’m pacing around the house, cleaning and organizing, getting madder by the second.

10:30am. I text him: I JUST WANT TO KNOW THAT YOU ARE ALIVE.

11am. Text from him: On my way home.

I wait outside for him, sitting on the stoop. Marinating in my madness. His car rolls up, and he stumbles out. Pants inside out, tie askew, and looking like a hot fucking mess.

Me: “Holy shit Jordan, where have you been?!”
Him: “Things just got kinda crazy and we started drinking and then bar hopped and then you know, it was New Years.”
Me: “I couldn’t care less where you were. I was just up all night, freaking out since we had plans, and you didn’t get back to me. I just wanted to know you were alive. I am livid. NO ONE deserves to stay up all night freaking out over their “boyfriend.” Also, have the common courtesy to at least call me and say, “Plans changed, sorry, won’t be able to hang out.” That’s all you had to do.”
Him, after some silence: “Can we just talk about this later? I’m in no mood for a lecture right now.”
Me: “A FUCKING LECTURE?! Oh hell no. We are talking about this now. You say you love me, but this isn’t the way someone who loves someone treats them. Also, where did you sleep?”
Him: “It just got late, sorry.”
Me: “Where did you sleep, Jordan?”
Him: “I said sorry. Just drop it.”
Me: “I’m serious, J. Where did you sleep?”

Silence. Doesn’t even make eye contact with me.

Me: “WHERE DID YOU SLEEP?”
Him: “On a couch. It’s not that big of a deal. It’s not like you and I are serious or anything.”
Me: “YOU ASKED ME TO MOVE IN WITH YOU! I’ve got keys and you want me to have your babies! I call that pretty serious.”
Him: “Whatever, I’m not dealing with this. You are totally blowing this out of proportion.”
Me: “Well I’m grabbing my stuff and leaving. Fuck you. MAIL ME MY GOD DAMN BACON, FUCKER.”

I later found out that he had been “dating” a girl who paints her eyebrows on WHILE I LIVED WITH HIM. I sure know how to pick them. Guh.

Also, I never got my bacon.

Jackson Part 2: UnHinged – Survived by Tara

WHO: Jackson, a 35 year old grown up with a real job and car

WHAT: Not real life! We met on Hinge about 6 months ago, but then met while he was in line buying his sister a christmas present at my place of work.

WHEN: Date two,  January 2015

WHERE: Berkeley, CA

WHY: Date 1 was more or less a success, minus my 4am Hinge stalking when I realized that we had kinda met before. Date 2 was dinner at Homeroom for some BOMB mac and cheese, then bowling with my work bestie and her husband. Full disclosure: I told Jackson that the bowling alley only took Friday night reservations for groups of 4 or more, hence the need for the double date. I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to kill me in my sleep or sell my kidneys.
THE DATE:
I had decided not to say anything about knowing him before we met at Homeroom. When I arrived we hugged it out, got a table pretty quick and ordered. Goat cheese mac for me, Bacon mac for him.
(EDITOR’S NOTE FROM SARAH: Tara capitalizes Bacon because she loves it so much, so I left it in because how adorable)
While waiting for our food to arrive, we have the most BORING conversation ever. Something about the weather, and roasting coffee, and blah blah blah. Our food finally arrives. As I listen to him talk, saying nothing of any importance or merit, I realize that I have eaten all my mac and cheese. ALL OF IT. He’s had 3 bites. WHO GOES TO HOMEROOM AND DOESN’T EAT ALL THEIR FOOD?!!!

Me: “How’ s your mac?”
Him: “Oh, it’s great!” (eats ONE noodle)
Me: “You not hungry?”
Him: “No! I’m famished!” (eats two noodles)
Me: “Oh, cool…so, um, you excited about bowling?”
Him, putting his fork down: “Yeah! Should we get going?”
Me: “You haven’t finished!”
Him: “Oh, yeah,” (eats another noodle) “I’m full.”

We take my car to the bowling alley and meet up with my work friend and her husband. I quickly text her: ‘Not into him, hates mac and cheese. Sigh.’

We proceed to have a pretty nice evening of beers and bowling, however I’m bored with him.  I drive him back to his car, and on the drive home his hand is on my knee. I’m already a not-so-great night driver, plus I drive a stick shift, so having someone’s clammy bowling hand on my leg helps nothing.

Well anyways… I pull over and say something along the lines of, “So this was nice. I have to work early, so you should get going. Thanks!”
Him, his hand still on my thigh: “You know something? I’m so glad that we’re the kind of couple that does stuff. Ya know? Like activities. Like, we went skating and now we went bowling. I’m just really pumped about what things we’re gonna do next. You know, together.”
Me: “Ummmmm……..”

He takes my jaw dropping as an invitation. Both of his hands shoot out and he grabs BOTH of my boobs, starts massaging them, and then proceeds to make out with me. WHILE HE IS GRABBING BOTH OF MY BOOBS. I’m in such utter shock that I just sit there in the driver’s seat awkwardly kissing him back. He gives the ladies one nice squeeze before getting out of my car.

Who needs first base when you can head right to second?