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Quantum Entropy Stage Two: The First Date — By Mack

There’s nothing like that feeling when things are clicking at the beginning of a relationship. The excitement of your text messages immediately being returned.  That person getting your jokes. Testing the waters of sexual innuendo. It’s like crack.  But that inertia can only last for so long.  A first meet up must be necessary. Plus well, that’s the point.

But as vibrant and fun as the text message portion can be, when you actually meet the person all can go to hell. Maybe they don’t look like their picture. Maybe they’re an ass hole. You must remember, when you first meet someone, we take what we know then fill in the gaps with our imaginations. We do it with presidential candidates, jobs, everything. So when you’re sitting at that table for the first time, the reality gets defined as your hopeful imaginings die.  And for that reason (among others) that first date I tend to make lite. Coffee, maybe a bar. NEVER dinner.

I met Quantum Entropy for dinner at a place called the Crooked Knife. (yup I just contradicted myself.) Upon seeing her, I think my impression was “I think this could work.” Granted I was hoping for “My God! Her pictures don’t do her justice!,” but at least it wasn’t “oh Lord, so that’s why she didn’t have any pictures from the neck down.” Her style wasn’t quite a match and if anything you do to your nails impedes any hand movement, it’s a turn off, but I knew she was from Jersey when I messaged her.  However, in addition to the shared interested/sense of humor she also had a little bit of fire. And has been a while since I’ve played with fire.

The date itself did what I hoped. It continued that momentum where the text messages left off. But then it did even more. Dinner finished, we each had two drinks, the restaurant was closing. Most first dates that would be it. But then her fire came out and she wasn’t done with me. We hit the bar next door. When you get caught up with someone there is a magic that can happen. Like a shared solitude that the rest of the world can’t penetrate.  The Crooked Knife had been a place where a server brings your drinks on a tray. This bar was a place you had to shout at the fat old bartender over a row of barflies to get your shots.

I don’t remember when the first kiss happened. I just remember sitting on couches towards the back while the MTV music awards were on. Or maybe it was the Grammy’s. Either way an old man was looking at us and Adele just won album of the year. I didn’t care because Quantum Entrophy was playing with my beard as she made out with me. The she pulled away and looked at me with what I call hungry eyes as she said, “You’re going to be fun.”

I offered to walk her home ( she lives like 2 blocks away ) to which she politely refused.
“You sure?”
“Yea, I just…have this thing…”
“Okay?”
“I know you’re not crazy, I have this thing about guys knowing where I live…I’ve had some bad experiences…”

And we left it at that. But now I was wondering what I was dealing with. Was this an overly cautious girl or was she hiding something?  Come back next week to find out!

–Big Mack Attack

 
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Posted by on June 23, 2012 in By Mack, Dating

 

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The Post-It Date — By Mack

Continued from…The New York Post Date!

With one glance I knew…I wasn’t into her. And that this was going to be a very awkward date. Now you can chide me all you want about “beauty being on the inside” or that you fall in love with the person, but if that attraction isn’t there, it’s not there. Men fall in love with their eyes, people. It’s a fact of life.

We went off, shared a pitcher of beer, and bowled a couple of games. We both sucked by the way. Simply put we just didn’t have anything to talk about. I did my best to make the date fun. And thank God, it wasn’t a dinner date. When a date starts, you have the “exchange” part where you are essentially casting lines hoping something hooks. If it does, you’ve got conversation. When a conversation thread dies both daters feel it and it’s almost a capitulation to “cast another line.” We didn’t hook very much. The bowling really took the attention off the boring conversation. Don’t get my wrong. She was a nice girl. Teacher, worked with disabled kids, loves empanadas. But I’ve spent too long in relationships with nice girls because I was too afraid to reject them, hoping I’d fall in love with their inner self. Yea never happened.

We finished our hour of bowling but the Post was supposed to send a photographer to take pictures of us on the date. Brooklyn Bowl desperately wanted their lane back. They had paying customers. We shrugged off the manager’s dirty looks as we waited for the increasingly late photographer. Eventually he showed up and had us do a series of fun picture. While striking a pose, my bowling ball hit her bowling ball (with my finger in between the two balls.) It wasnt’ pretty.

I walked home to the Brooklyn train station alone, drunk on 3/4 a pitcher of beer, nursing my finger, pondering how I would write my mandatory recap (that had to be written by the morning for Callie.) I didn’t know how to say I wasn’t into her without making her or me sound bad. I felt because her thighs weren’t thin enough, or that her earrings were too big, or her face wasn’t pretty enough for me that that some how made me the bad guy.  And I certainly didn’t want to say that about her in print.

I made it home, threw something together and sent it off to Callie. What actually got written was a crock of shit. But what else do you expect from the New York Post?

–Big Mack Attack!

Ben’s note, here is the actual New York Post – Meet Market column. By the way, I never called her a “nice lady.”

http://www.nypost.com/p/entertainment/dating/strike_out_PAlOsfO4WEa3v9hIufxnbO

 
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Posted by on May 19, 2012 in By Mack, Dating

 

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The New York Post Date! — By Mack

My dating profile got a message one day.  But rather than the usual “BigMackAttack84? That’s a silly name” or “How can you hate the Princess Bride?” (I put that just in to grab attention,) it was a message from someone at the New York Post. Turns out they have some Dating Game/Blind Date column they run on the weekends. The gist? A girl picks one of three guys and the New York Post pays for an awkward blind first date.  Now Jack often decries the evils of News Corp and their tyrannical Aussie dictator, The Murdoch. But c’mon, the guy’s going to pay for a date, not asking me to buy blood diamonds.

I replied to the message and filled out a questionnaire and before I knew it I was off to a photo session at the News Corp building. The crusty hallways of the New York Post were not what the glamorous exterior of glass security gates and a series of check points lead me to expect. It looks closer to a crappy public school, but oh well. Callie, the girl who sent me the message, met me and lead me through the inner bowls of pure evil. I signed my rights away on some legalese contract (probably shouldn’t be writing this blog, but who cares? I’m a fictional character!) And before I knew it I was in a photo shoot.

About a week later Callie contacted me, informing me that I had been chosen. Whoo! Free datesville, population me…and some…stranger. I’d meet my future love at Brooklyn Bowl.  I arrived at the venue only to have the bouncer ask me for a cover for the show. Apparently Less Than Jake was playing. If I was still fourteen I’d have freaked out. I told him I wasn’t there for the concert. He stopped me.

“Look buddy, this is a convert venue. If you’re not going to the show you probably shouldn’t bother.”
“I’m here for this New York Post thing.”

Immediately a girl from the back of the line jumped forward.
“Did you say you were here for the New York Post date?”

With one glance of her I knew…(to be continued!)

–Big Mack Attack!

 

Ben’s note.

By the way, the real preview article (they do one before the date and one after the date) is here http://www.nypost.com/p/entertainment/dating/broadway_babe_hopes_to_cast_new_zxH8ffaxX15fvUnPJKQIyM.
Ironically, this article came out after I had been on the date. So that poll (which I kicked ass in) was completely meaningless and had no bearing on whether I was chosen or not.

 
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Posted by on May 2, 2012 in By Mack, Dating

 

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The Wheel of Romance — By Mack

When it rains it pours, what’s old is new again,  two steps forward one step back, back to square one, there’s plenty of fish in the sea, there’s someone out there for you, I wasn’t looking for love, you can’t hurry love, and my personal favorite; I thought love was only just for fairy tales. These are all lovely cliches we’ve heard from friends or in songs time and again. Some of it true, some of it designed to keep us going. I may not know much about love or the inner monologue of the opposite sex, but the one thing I don’t know is that it all happens in cycles.

And after an extended time on the top of the wheel, 12 o’clock has become 6.  It wasn’t more than two weeks ago that I was messaging/texting/OkCupiding/dating 4 girls. Now 4 is a bit much for me. I’m not looking to be juggling 4 different women, but occurrences happen and you have to take opportunity when it presents itself. So over the next few posts I’ll go into detail about the rise and fall of the wheel.

The culperates are as follows.

  • The Addict
  • The New York Post
  • Sports Girl
  • Quantum_Entropy
But I’ll give you one story today.
***THIS STORY CONTAINS EXPLICIT MATERIAL***
                       Consider yourself warned
***THIS STORY CONTAINS EXPLICIT MATERIAL***

I met the Addict on OkCupid.  She seemed cool enough. Liked South Park, enjoys a good whiskey from time to time and is studying Psychology.  A girl with a drive for something is important. But we made plans to meet up and she cancelled a few times. Excuses like, I got home from work and took a nap, slept longer than I meant to, raised a bit of a red flag. My guard was up, but no reason not to meet her.

Eventually we built up enough comfort via text, and I called her a few times, and we set a date. There’s a cool wine bar on the east side that a good classy/fun first date. La Cava is the place. At first glance, her body type was a little bigger than what I’m used to (not fat but definitely pear-shaped.) But she had a pretty face and talking to her was easy and interesting. There was definitely something non-verbal going on.

As we got to chat more (around drink number 3) we started to get a little more personal. We both revealed we were into some fetish/kinky stuff. Her interests definitely complimented mine.  Then she revealed she had some “bootie calls” relationships going on. I’m cool with that. If guys can do it, why can’t women. But at this point I’m thinking this is a girl I’d like as more than just a “bootie call.” By then we were making out in the bar (being THAT couple) and decided it was time to head out.

We stumbled back to her place (on 50 something and York) and I’m wondering how she has a place there. Trust fund maybe? We’re in her bedroom and she gets a phone call. Suddenly she’s like, “You have to go.” And I’m like, “Uh…why?”

Her, “I didn’t think you’d end up back here tonight, so I got another guy coming over and he’ll be here in like 5 minutes.”
Me,”You’re seriously doing this to me?
Her, “I know. I’m sorry, what are you doing tomorrow night?”
Me, “Wait, why did you bring me back here if there was another guy coming over?”
Her, “I don’t know, he cancelled on me, but now he’s coming over.”
Me, “So let me know, if a guy did this to you, would you EVER talk to him again?”
Her, “I know. But I do like you!”

At this point she grabs my hand and is putting it down her pants. I pull my hand away. She starts rubbing her ass against my leg. All of a sudden that “pear shape” goes from sexy to repulsive. I just want to get out of there.

Her, “I’m a sex addict. I’m sorry. Will you hang out tomorrow?”

I leave.

Okay so the story wasn’t quite as explicit as I made it out to be. I cut out some details, but you get the idea.  I wandered around the streets of New York pretty much a wreck. In retrospect, I was able to see what it for what it was, a girl who is really into sex had too good of a backup plan. But in the moment, drunk, mega blue balls, and having  just been kicked out of a bedroom, I took it personally.  I felt like the thing that garbage had rejected.  I was a mix of lividly angry and broken to my core.  When you get in that head space, all you want to do is tear yourself down. And that’s pretty much what I did the whole way home.

Next: The New York Post girl (or maybe I’ll do the Sports Girl Virgin.)

-Big Mack Attack.

 
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Posted by on February 24, 2012 in By Mack, Dating

 

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Shut the fuck up already! –by Jill

So I went on a date yesterday.  Cute guy.  And that part’s actually kinda significant because I don’t usually go on dates with cute guys. My rule is if you have courage to ask me out I’m probably going to say yes. I’m so glad I don’t have to go up and ask guys out.  Don’t get me wrong, if I’m at a bar guys’ll buy me drinks.  But dating is a different animal.  The guys who usually ask me out are guy on the subway (creepy) and when ever I walk into a comic book shop.

I meet  this guy at a coffee shop for our date. He shows up like 20 minutes late, but at least he texted me while I was waiting. It’s New York, trains suck. No big whoop. But when he sits down there’s this instant attraction.  It’s a combination of his looks and body language and something else. Perhaps it was the small table that made out knees bump together almost ever five minutes.  I’m thinking  jack pot.

But then the date gets going. We talk about television. That’s pretty much it. He’s a fan of comedies because when he watches TV he dosen’t like to think. (minus points) He’s an actor. But he only wants to do commercials (more minus points.) No Tom Stoppard plays? No Eugene O’Neill? When I mentioned my love of A Long Days Journey into Night…

 

…he responded, “Oh wait that’s the name of the theatre Book of Mormon is  playing at.” I think that was when I realized the date was going sour.

Now, I’ve never won any awards for brevity. Someone once even gave me the nick name “talky.” But this guy would not shut up. And his “words per minute” probably was on par with the Micro Machines guy. (Funny parody)  And he insisted on telling me about TV shows I had never seen like he was going to convince me to run out on the date and watch them.  Every time I tried to turn the conversation to something more substantive he veered it right back to television.

Part of me wants to give him another shot just because he was pretty damn hot. Maybe he was nervous? Maybe I think too much? Maybe he has a cavern of depth under this kiddy pool TV layer. It’s not like I have an army of men banging down my door for date.  And the dinner’ll be free.

 
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Posted by on November 17, 2011 in By Jill, Dating

 

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Like a Band-Aid –by Mack

 

 

So I’ve got this kind of sixth sense for when someone’s about to break up with me. It first happened when I was dating Jenna. I was 22 and she was 18. I said I’d never date that young again but Marge is  a whole other story. We made out most of the afternoon, but at this one point, the song I was a Kaleidoscopic popped into my head. The lyrics of this one section kept repeating.

And this is when I forget to breathe,
And all the things I’ve scripted 
They sound unfounded.

And it’s the look that you’re giving me,
that tells me exactly what you are thinking
this ain’t workin’ anymore. 

I walked her home and as we’re walking she says to herself  “next tree. No, next tree.” Then she turns to me and BAM. Ends it right there.  Ever since then, I’ve taken particular notice of when songs pop into my head.

I met Kelly for coffee today. I expected her to be waiting for me. Maybe I was there early, I don’t remember. I kept looking at my hands for some reason. When did they get this hairy? Kelly and I started dating off of an internet dating site.  The attitudes of most girls profiles really piss me off. Most of them try to come off as quirky and off beat but in the exact same way as the next girl. But Kelly liked action movies.

She arrived and had been shopping. I found that odd. She’s not a big spender. Once she got settled and we got through the standard pleasantries, she segued to “I’ve meaning to talk about–”
I interrupted her mid-sentence with, “This isn’t working for me.”  I leaned back and looked at the Starbucks LCD screen. The momentary display of Eva Cassidy was my safe house.

“Excuse me?” trying to deny what she had just heard.
A list of lies fired through my head. -I just not ready for a relationship-I think we’re too different-We want different things-I think you can do better (yea I actually considered saying that one.)-

But what came out was, “I don’t want to date you anymore.” And after my eyes returned to Eva Cassidy. I got up from the table and walked to the door. There I hesitated. Keep going on check in with her? I looked back and she was sitting at the table as if I were still sitting in front of her. She hadn’t moved.

I immediately walked to a deli and bought a pack of cigarettes. This pack will be the last pack.

–Big Mack At… you get the idea.

 
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Posted by on October 26, 2011 in By Mack, Dating

 

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