Match Dot Shlong

I had a profile up on a dating website for a while. “Had” is the operative word.

It was actually a site for people of a particular culture.

I really don’t like dating websites, but I figure I may as well try, right? Even though they give me the creeps. And I thought it might be good because it was guys with the same background as me.

So, a got a hit from a cute guy. He was a good age. Divorced. Two kids. Seemed legit. I had to actually pay up for the stupid thing in order to write back to the dude. But, you know, I got a good feeling about it.

It took me about a month to do it, but I did. I was pondering over it. Should I? Shouldn't I?

Whatever, whatever.

So finally I signed up and got back in touch with him.

And the guy was still interested!

I was kinda excited about it.

He wrote back, “Here’s my email adres and telphone nummer. Call mee soon if you fell sayfe.”

I told him I’d feel safer if I could email him first (even though his spelling sucked for someone with a Masters degree), and he agreed.

His email address was his first and last name. So, since I had his full name, of course I Googled him.

Guess what came up?

His profile on “MiPuta.com”

His screen name was HOTGUY-4U

It read, “ GOOD LOOKING ‘RUSSIAN’ GUY WHO LOVES ‘BRITISH’ LADIES. LOOK HOT, DRESS HOT AND YOUR MINE.”

Note his spelling of ‘you’re’.

Also, I substituted the nationalities to protect the innocent. Other than that, that’s what it read verbatim.

On the site, there were like a million hot chicks’ pictures. And by hot, I mean they all look like hookers.

So. Hmmm.

This was the nice guy who, out of all of the guys on dating websites who I never gave the time of day, I decided was a good one?

Oh brother, my judgment with men is really in the shitter

I got so grossed out; of course I never contacted him.

I’m gonna be single forever.

I’ll Tackle You to the Ground at Filene’s Basement Blowout Sale - Part II

... I looked.

And looked.

Looked again.

No black silk Escada ruffled wrap dress.

Checked the dressing room.

No black silk Escada ruffled wrap dress.

Asked the little Russian woman organizing the clothing on the racks, “I just saw it,” she said.

I told her I had it earlier, but I put it down. I joked that I guess I shouldn’t have done that.

She replied in a thick Russian accent, “No. Not today!”

And she was right. I know that. I learned that at Loehmans. I call it the Loehmans mentality. Never walk away from something you’re interested at Loehmans. It may not be there a moment later. I’ve learned my lesson the hard way.

This is actually the reason why I buy too much. I don’t want to let anything go.

Suddenly, I woman with about 50 dresses crumpled up in her arms, passed in front of me. In the pile of fabric, I thought I spotted black silk. OMG. It was my black silk Escada ruffled wrap dress!

I walked over to her and asked, “Are you going to try that on?”

If so, I figured I’d hang around her in case she didn’t want it anymore or it didn’t fit.

But instead, she immediately spat, “I’m buying it!!”

I turned around and sulked back to my place in line, in front of the woman who kept smacking my booty with her hanger.

The woman in front of me asked, “So, did you find it?”

I told her my story. She responded, “You should have never looked like you were interested! You know how women are, she’ll buy it just because you wanted it.”

Damn! She was right. But I thought I’d be honest. Honestly always wins out in the end.

Doesn’t it?

Oh well, I guess it wasn’t meant to be.

I stood on line again, which was moving like a dead turtle, and plotted. How was I going to get that dress away from that woman?

The dress that I didn’t need earlier, I was obsessed with and couldn’t leave the store without.

Myself and the line ladies discussed it further. About 15-20 minutes later, they pushed me to look again. At least for the second dress.

I left the line.

Re-checked the racks.

Re-checked the dressing room. The dressing room ladies looked for me.

No sign of the woman with my black silk Escada ruffled wrap dress. Was she on the line now? I didn’t see her.

And where was the second black silk Escada ruffled wrap dress?

Nothing.

I sulked back to my place in line… Empty-handed.

The line had moved forward a little.

While on the line, I spotted the woman with my black silk Escada ruffled wrap dress. She had about 100 items now. My black silk Escada ruffled wrap dress was one of them.

Damn!

I pointed her out to my friends on line. The woman behind me, who kept poking me with her hanger spewed, “She looks mean!”

We all laughed.

As we got closer and closer to the front of the line I dreaded the fact that I would check out without my black silk Escada ruffled wrap dress.

I thought about offering the woman with my black silk Escada ruffled wrap dress my place in line if she would just give up the dress to me.

I didn’t do it.

But I did keep seeing the little Russian woman who organized the racks. I decided to asker her. One last time.

“Excuse me, but did you happen to see the black silk Escada wrap dress again?”

“Yes!” She said in her thick Russian accent. “I have it. I thought you left.”

“What??? I have been on line all this time. Can you get it for me?”

And she did.

The other ladies on the line started screaming and cackling as the woman brought the black silk Escada wrap dress to us.

“Oh, it’s beautiful! You must wear it for New Year Eve!!!” They screamed.

I thanked the worker.

I was five people away from the front of the line.

I guess it was meant to be.

I’m glad that I was honest and didn’t tackle that woman to the ground for my black silk Escada ruffled wrap dress.

After all, honesty IS the best policy.

I’ll Tackle You to the Ground at Filene’s Basement Blowout Sale

I went over to Filene’s Basement in Union Square last night to check out the sale. They will be closing this Friday. I actually had a present to shop for and figured I could do pretty well there.

I’d been visiting Filene’s periodically since I first learned of their closing. The first time, I bought a fabulous Valentino jacket for 30% off. The next time, I found a pair of black Valentino trousers for 60% off the Filene’s price. Yesterday, the high end designer stuff was 80% off.

Oh yeah! I was gonna buy something if it killed me.

Pickings were sparse, but there was still some Valentino and Escada left. Some of the items were trashed, too big, or too small. But I didn’t care. I tried everything on I could squeeze myself into.

It’s so hard to shop for those Italian designer pieces. A size four in Italian is NOT a US size four. You can’t fit your big toe into a size four in Italian. And the numbers are 38, 42, etc. It’s fine. It just makes shopping a little tricky.

I tried on some pants, skirts, and a black silk Escada wrap dress with ruffles. It looked like trash on the hanger, and there was a size 40 and a size 42. I think that meant a US size 10 and 12. I tried it on. It was a little big on me, but I wasn’t sure. The price tag read $599.99, so I put it back and proceeded to take my two items to the checkout.

I walked over to the check out line. And made my way to the end of the line. I walked.

And walked.

And walked.

Are you kidding me right now??

And walked.

The line wrapped around the floor from one end to the other.

Oy! Do I really need this stuff?

Yes. When else can I get a pair of winter white Valeninto flare leg trousers for $79.99?

I also had an ankle length black satin Escada skirt. It was a little too tight, and I’m not sure I can sit in it, but I couldn’t put it down. It didn’t have a price on it. I asked the funky looking sales girl, with the most fabulous haircut I ever saw, the price. She told me it was probably about forty bucks. They’d tell me at the counter.

She had very short, cropped hair on the sides and a huge pompadour on the top. Kinda like Elvis in jailhouse rock, but higher.

I got on the end of the line with my two items.

And waited.

I waited. Even though I didn’t even know how much my stuff was going to cost!

Everyone on line had these huge garbage baskets on wheels, filled (and I mean filled) with all kinda crap. Crap was dripping off the sides!

And then there’s me.

The woman in front of me was cracking jokes. The woman behind me kept hitting my buttocks with her hanger.

Whatever.

I was getting hot and bored after about 25 minutes waiting and wondering why I was there. I thought about the black silk Escada ruffled wrap dress. Hmm. I wonder what 80% of 599.99 is? I took out my iPhone.

What???!!!

$119???!!!!

Are you flippin’ kidding me right now?

That’s it???

Why didn’t I just buy the damned thing for the love of God!

I decided to ask the woman who kept hitting my tucus if she would hold onto my spot for a moment while I checked on the black silk Escada ruffled wrap dress. I would just go and get it. Bring it right back to the line. And I would feel better...

Are You Stalking Me Or Are You Just An Asshole 2?

A year later, I still hadn’t bumped into her. I was happy, but plagued with the anxiety of the fateful day when I’d be stuck on the elevator with Yenti. But it hadn’t happened yet, so I was in denial that she even was lurking. In the meantime, I was house hunting. Seriously.

One morning, I was doing my make up in my car outside my building. Why, you ask? Well, it all comes back to parking. I was parked in a spot in front of my place, which was only legal until 7 a.m. So, I decided to get in the car and do my make up there instead of in the bathroom like a normal person.

So, I’m doing my face and listening to Howard Stern, when all of a sudden, I see Yenti walking out of my building. I immediately ducked! When I saw her for the first time, I didn’t want it to be while applying mascara, in the front seat of my Toyota, like a friggin’ homeless chick. Like I’m living in the back seat of my freaking car or something. So, instead of looking like a loser, I’m ducking in my Toyota, holding my friggin’ YSL mascara thing out so I don’t get it all over my face.

I couldn’t pick my head up. I was afraid she’d see me.

Yeah right. Like she was really going to see me in my little Toyota. Like she had nothing better to do at 7 a.m. than to be looking in cars to see if people are hiding from her.

But to me. I had to hide. When I see her for the first time, it was gonna be on MY terms! And I definitely WASN”T going to be in a 1995 Toyota applying mascara when it went down dammit!

On Monday, I was schlepping home from work and my chiropractor appointment. About 7:30 at night. My back’s been out lately, so I’ve been wearing sneakers to work in order to get through the day. I was wearing black skinny trousers, a white T, a silver rain jacket and magenta sequin Converse All Star sneakers. I wasn’t wearing glasses, so I can’t see twenty feet away. But as I got closer to my building, I saw a woman out front. I got closer. NOOOOO. It’s not her! It can’t be …

Yenti!

Damn!! It’s her.

And I’m too close to turn around and take the back entrance. Of course she’s glammed to the max and I’m wearing a T-shirt and magenta sequin Converse All Star sneakers!

Busted!

“Hi Yenti.”

“Oh! After a year and a half, we finally see each other! Hi cutie, sweetie pie, cupcakes!! You look sooooo adorable in your magenta sequin Converse All Star sneakers.”

“Yeah, right.”

Ok. So, it went down. We exchanged polite ‘how are you’s’. Blah. Blah. Blah.

As I walked away, I thought, “I gotta move”.