The Second First Date

I'll have you all know I'm dating someone new. But I am not going to give a description of him as we both prefer to remain private. We went on two dates in one week and then he went on a three week business trip. Since we liked each other so much but our momentum was going to be lost, my date (as I will refer to him until further notice) said that our third date would be our "second first date" so we could get reacquainted with each other. Pretty sweet, huh?

If you recall, a few weeks ago I blogged about a date with Bob and his undeveloped twin/giant nose-zit. I wanted to tell my (current) date that I'd gone out with someone else but there were no sparks to speak of. Honesty is the best policy I always say - and I figured he would read this blog at some point. I didn't want to seem like I was hiding anything because I wasn't. However, the beginning of our date was not the right time to say anything so I waited.

So, there we were... reunited and it feels so good... (OK, just kidding - bad songs suck in blogs too). After hearing about my date's travels and swapping stories about this and that, my date mentioned that he was "scared of me". I thought that was a strange thing to say as 1) he's taller than me, 2) surely doesn't think I'll punch him or any such nonsense and 3) I wasn't telling ghost stories. Truth be told, the phrase, and the fact that he used it upset me a little. Being scared of someone implies intimidation and I don't want to, or mean to intimidate people. I do, however, realize I can sometimes if I'm not careful. But considering my date doesn't know me that well, I was curious as to why he said such a thing.

We met at Boqueria, a fun wine and tapas bar that has super delish food. I highly recommend it. Apparently the wine is too good because we had two bottles with dinner. Oops! So, at the end of dinner, my date either knocked his wine glass off the table or the waitress did or someone at the table next to us did - I don't know as I wasn't looking... but all of a sudden I felt red wine splash on my face, down my neck, and all over the front of my brand new white silk blouse.

OH. MY. GOD. Did that really just happen?! I wasn't mad (too buzzed for that), but I was in complete shock. I looked across the table and my date was looking at the waitress, looking for her to congratulate him on his heroic catch. But what my date didn't see was that with that lucky(?) catch the red wine had swished out of his glass, across the table and on to me.

 I can't even explain how awful I felt for him. Total and complete panic his eyes. He was so embarrassed! He started to apologize profusely but I told him it wasn't necessary. Having wine spilled on me unintentionally was funny. It was like a slap-stick comedy. Incredibly ridiculous. A complete and total fluke! And while I wish I had been a better NY'er and worn all black that evening, I try to not cherish material belongings more than people. Especially sweet, considerate, well intentioned people like him. So after a few more rounds of apologies, I agreed to my date paying for the dry cleaning bill.

Clearly at this point we were feeling good and loose and had had a good giggle. Or we'd finished the second bottle of wine. Who knows. In an effort to make him feel better and, quite frankly, distract him from the situation, I told him about that date I went on while he was away on business. I wanted to reassure him that I wasn't dating the other guy. In fact, I mentioned that I'd started a blog... All of a sudden my date said "yeah, I know. Dating for Chickens, right? That's why I'm scared of you. I don't want you to blog about me!" We both laughed, but I couldn't believe he'd read about Bob! Awkward.... But that's deal with blogging and putting your thoughts out there in cyber world. You never know when someone is going to read the damn thing. Truth be told, my date begged me to not blog about him, and I don't blame him. If you were a dude and crossed me, would YOU want me to write about you!? I think not. I promised my date I wouldn't, but later recanted and said, "the wine splash was too funny to not blog about....pretty please?!"

He's an understanding fellow, my date. Or I'm just a pushy insistent woman. Either way, we're going out again this week. And no matter what happens on our next date, I've decided to not blog about it. ;)

Match(.com) is Not a Match

Online dating. What a farce. It's a soul sucking experience. And it will, without fail, deplete any confidence you may have once had about your ability to attract the opposite sex. Here's why I believe this to be true:

These people are fools.

I've been on Match.com three separate times and at one point, in 2006, I was on eHarmony and Match at the same time. It was a full time job! I'd work a 10-12 hour day, come home, stuff some fat-girl pasta in my face and then go online from 8-11pm looking for a suitable date. In case you are lucky enough to never have had to endure this experience, allow me to explain the differences between the two sites.

Match.com is a meet (read: meat) market. You sign up, browse, and wink at people you may find attractive or funny. Eventually you email them and wait for a reply. Usually the guys I liked were too cool to ask me out or, I assume, they were busy dating the however many other hundreds of girls. Without boring you with details (and please note Match.com's slogan is "You can look for free"), the pickin's were slim.

eHarmony requires you to fill out a questionnaire that is 1,000 questions long and sucks up 4 hours of your life minimum. When you finally arrive at the "meeting" portion of the website, you have to answer lengthy essay questions before even being able to chat with someone you may or may not even like. It's A LOT of work - and too much thinking, if you ask me. I always say, you can't see brains across a room. You're either attracted to someone physically or not - that's human nature. If you're at a cocktail party or a bar, and you see someone across the room who gives you that little butterfly feeling in your groin (I know you know what I'm talking about people!) then you make things happen, you go over and talk to them, flirt - the whole 9 yards. If not, you ignore them and hope they don't do something stupid like come up and talk to you and then you're forced to pretend to be nice so as not to embarrass them.

Anyway, back to the online dating nonsense. I eventually gave up on eHarmony because it wasn't producing good results. I met an Englishman who I went out with a few times. He was aggressive. I think he must have dated hookers or escorts because he was super naughty. There's a time and place for that, but that time is not on the first or second date. If he'd had it his way we would have been in the sack right after dinner and remained there until we tired of each other mentally and physically. I blame his accent, it threw me off - is there anything more charming than a proper English accent? But I quickly realized he was not after my heart, only my... well, need I say more? I think not.

On Match I found a guy who was from English heritage... born and raised in a swanky part of CT, went to a good prep school and a top tier college. These stats aren't necessarily important, but we came from a similar backgrounds which is hard to find on Match - and, we had a few acquaintances in common. I figured I had struck online dating gold. An issue I often had with online dating is that it's hard to connect to people who don't share any commonalities with you like schools, clubs or friends. You're working with too clean a slate - the feeling is almost, where do I start? Who are you? And people will pretend to be what they aren't. I've learned that lesson too many times the hard way. With online dating there is no sense of accountability. When you meet someone through friends there are few starting points, like the friend who set you up, or friends of friends who you can either rag on or figure out what you have in common through the friend. You catch my drift.

1 in 5 Match couples
get married my a$$!

So here's a story about one guy I met on Match. Let's call him Ben. He had a mess of wavy blond hair, clear blue eyes, was chubby but adorably so, loved golf, drank too much (which is always a good time in my book), and was really, really funny. I don't remember who contacted who first on the website, but I do recall a rather awkward phone call taking place where neither of us really knew what to say other than to establish a time and place to meet. He took me to great places, we made each other laugh, enjoyed our time together... or did "we"? This was over the summer so golf outings were normal and Ben had a house on the Cape where he spent time with his family. Over a 6 week time frame Ben was gone every weekend, either on business trips or to the Cape, playing golf. He told me early on that he wanted to "fly us up there for the weekend. You'll love it. I want you to meet my sister." I thought, 'finally! I think I'm in a relationship.' Who invites someone to their summer home with family hanging around if they don't mean it. Well, as I quickly discovered - this guy did! That's who.  As the weeks went on we saw less of each other but texted constantly. I started to realize, but didn't want to admit, that this was 1) not exclusive and B) not what I wanted at all. I was hurt that he didn't call me and that we didn't really go out anymore. We texted but those are impersonal if you really/actually like someone. Finally I'd had enough of the lameness and lies and bulls!t. I cut it off by refusing to reply to his texts and lame emails. I didn't understand what went wrong - we had so much fun together! Why was it so hard for him to just relax and get to know me? I wasn't asking to get married, jeez. I just wanted a date to a wedding at the end of the summer and some companionship. IS THAT A CRIME?!?! Apparently, it is.

Skip to 2 months later. An email pops up in my Inbox. It's from Ben. I'm all... what the...? It said - and here's the kicker, folks...

"Sorry things didn't work out. I guess I wasn't ready to be in a relationship. I'm Peter Pan and I'll probably never grow up. Hope you're well.  -Ben"

WTF?! No, I certainly am not well. Who IS this ass clown? PETER PAN?! Oh no he di-ent! (finger snapping, neck twisting...)

Even Peter Pan was offended.

It took every ounce of self respect, decorum and mental back flips to NOT write a scathing email back to Ben and tell him what I really thought of him. I've heard a lot of excuses but to compare yourself to the innocent boy wonder lovingly known as Peter Pan was an all time low. He didn't deserve a response. He was not worthy. I knew that, yet I still wanted to let it rip. But I didn't. I held back and stood on firm ground. I would not let him get the best of me. I would not let him know I cared. And really, in the end, I was mostly disappointed that THIS was the hand I'd been dealt, that this guy was a "catch" within the online dating world. I resolved myself to never dating online again and was back to being 99% confident I'd never find a suitable man to be in a relationship with. I gave up. Good riddance.

= Devil's spawn.


Oh, you didn't think that was the end of the story, did you? No, no. Ben came back for more. He couldn't resist, I suppose. They rarely can. I've found that as soon as that "boy who got away" is safely out of your mind and/or heart for good - they slip right back into your conscious mind and contact you. Like a dog to a bone, they know where to find you and where to dig. So a year later Ben was back to toy with my emotions. But this time I was ready. He found me on Facebook. We had never become FB friends while we dated - you rarely do when you first start dating someone because you want to avoid the inevitable de-friending when you break up. I let his friend request linger for a few days. Did I really want him seeing all my pictures and wall posts? Not really, but then the curiosity got the best of me and I accepted. But I vowed to not be the first to make contact. (This is a sick and twisted thought pricess, no?) The next week Ben sent me an instant message over FB. He asked how I was, and - get this!!! APOLOGIZED for being such a jerk to me all that time ago. At first I was surprised and quite pleased - there is some hope for these morons, I thought. But then he went on to recount our various dates and without going into too much detail... it went downhill quickly. He just wanted a trip down our sexy time memory lane. 

I did get the last laugh though. I signed off saying; 'Dear Peter Pan, I never wanted to be your Tinkerbell. Have a good life.'

And with that, I de-friended him.

Dating a Chimp

Do you know the story about Charla Nash and her best friend's "pet" chimp, Travis? Charla's face and hands were destroyed when Travis acted like a wild animal one day and freaked out on this poor woman. Can you imagine?! A wild animal - acting WILD?! The nerve.

People, what kind of an a$$hole do you have to be to think that having a chimp as a pet is acceptable? Here is a picture of smoking chimp - at first he looks all cute and "oh, he's smoking a cigarette - naughty little bugger..." NO! This chimp can crush your larynx, pull off multiple fingers at one time and take one swipe at your face only to have ripped out your eyeballs, removed an ear and left your nose hanging off your face. Let chimps live wild and free. Do not take them in your home and treat them like a "son". Ridiculous. More on this later.

Here's a picture of Charla Nash, post attack.

I know it's hard to look at but it's important to remember that she is suffering due to another human's stupidity. The chimp was only being a chimp after all.

Here's the full story: Chimp Attack Victim on Oprah 

Of course Oprah lifts the veil...

What's in a Name?

So, I'm Chicken. Not a chicken, THE Chicken, Chicken Hoffman. Why the strange nickname? I can thank my father for that. He started calling me Chicken when I was a newborn. It's the same as a pet name like "Pumpkin" or "Bunny", but instead it's the bird that can't fly, the bird we Americans tend to eat for many a Sunday supper. I have a telegram (people under the age of 25 won't know what that is) in a baby album from one of my dad's trips to Hong Kong or Europe that starts, "Dear Chicken" and ends "Love, Daddy". It stuck. And he only uses that nickname when writing to me - hand written notes when he sends me an article from the paper, emails or greeting cards. In person he always calls me Sweetie or by my full name, Alexandra. Strange but true. As a matter of fact, my (personal) email is chickenhoffman@... because after I graduated college in 1999 he was the only person I emailed. Never occured to be that we'd email to the extent we're all used to now, and I never bothered to change it. It's different, it's weird - and people remember it! Sometimes I meet people and they'll say, "Oh! You're Chicken Hoffman!" Why, yes, yes I am.

I find nicknames to be very interesting. I simply adore having a little inside joke with a friend. It's a sign of intimacy. Most of my close friends from college, for example, I call by their last names. I didn't play on a sports team with them or anything like that, it just happened that way. They also happen to have pretty cool last names like Pouch, Moody, Melone. Their sir names roll off the tongue so well. My best friend's nickname is a longer version of her real name, Kate - I call her Katers. Or a variety of other names that will pop up on this blog over time. Once I had a boyfriend who wouldn't let me call him by his last name. He said it was too much like I was one of the guys and since I was his girl I had to call him by his real name. I like that too, even though it goes against my theory of nicknames being intimate. Perhaps the last name thing isn't intimacy as much as one step removed - for guys at least. Currently, I easily refer to one friend as Shit Nugget or Nuggs, for short. She seems to like it, or at the very least she's appeasing me and my love for the clever, or stupid, nickname. And to her I am simply, Hoff.

So, fair reader(s) - that's the round about reason/story of why I named this blog Dating for Chickens. Just made sense in some twisted nicknamed way.

Tomorrow I'll write about something more... er, less intimate.

Adios for now.

A Date Night

I can't believe I'm blogging. This is so 2011 of me!

I write a lot of emails to my family and friends so it only makes sense that I just point the appropriate people to the appropriate blog post. I also like the idea of having a voice. I've been told that I write the way I talk - hopefully that will come through here and you'll enjoy what you read. If not, take a hike. I won't know the difference. So, if I'm going to write the way I speak, which is often in the voice of a very sarcastic New Yorker, it may sting. If you don't know me well you won't like me. If you know me, you'll know I have a twinkle in my eye as I type this jibber jabber.

This blog will be about dating, life, food, sex, friends, love and whatever else I want to blog about, I guess. Isn't that the point; self indulgent public journaling? Hey, why not. Mostly I'm writing this blog so I can share some horrific, funny, sad and/or just plain messed up dating experiences and adventures. My friend Emily and I keep saying we'll write a book about it one day. Blogging, as it turns out, is free. I like free. Maybe this blog will become famous and I'll get a book deal like Julie Powell did when she blogged about cooking every recipe from Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking (Cuisine? whatever). Or maybe Emily will be my only follower. Who knows.

So where do I start? Not from the beginning because Emily - and my other close friends - know that story and I don't want to bore anyone. So, I'll start with last night's date.

Let's call him Bob. Bob and I were set up on a blind date by my boss and his wife who happen to be close family friends of mine. Bob works w/ my boss's wife on a non-profit board. He's a conductor at Lincoln Center, an accomplished singer too. He went to a prep school in NYC like I did, then on to Dartmouth (not like I did). He is short, but when I manage to get over that disappointment I see that he's handsome with pretty hazel eyes, wavy brown hair, a beard, which I like. Oh, and a pimple on the side of his nose the size of a pencil's eraser head. At first I thought it was a mole... the restaurant lighting was dim. When I got a better look I saw that it was red around the edge and yellow in the middle. It was so big that I thought it was his undeveloped twin - just hanging out right there on the side of nose, waiting to say "heyyy!" Bob even went to the bathroom at one point, and when he came back, the twin was still there. Had it been me with the eraser sized twin on my face I would have birthed it in the bathroom and invited it out for another glass of wine.

So Bob and I made all the usual chit chat, but there were no sparks. No thoughts of "damn, I wish he'd throw me up against a wall tonight and make out with me for awhile". Dinner was OK, we talked about school, growing up in NYC, and legalizing drugs. He sort of agreed with most of what I said which bored me, then the convo turned to music. Considering his whole world revolves around classical music I was curious to know which other genres he enjoys. He said hip-hop. I was impressed. I blabbered on about how in the early 90's when hip-hop was starting to become mainstream I didn't really think about it at the time, but I loved the music. I told him I thought it was the tapestry of our teenage NY'er lives. Blank stare from across the table. OK, I thought - you're veering to far off course. Ask again. I mentioned Lady Gaga. A NY'er like us! Surely he knows who she is. She's a pianist too, I offered. He had never heard her music!! Didn't know who she was.

Does he live under a rock?! Unacceptable. That is when I should have gotten up and stomped out like a PMS'ing drag queen. But, alas, I'm too nice.

Out came the iPods and there we were, listening to Gaga together. Bob promised me he didn't have ear fungus as he handed me his ear bud to use. I mean, really people?! REALLY?! Ear fungus?
I tell Bob, 'Gaga went to my high school' (this is true, although she attended 8 or 9 years after I graduated.) Nothing. We listen to Bad Romance and her new single Born This Way - both hot Gaga classics. He said, "she's alright, good beats."

UUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! WHERE. ARE. MY. GAYS!?!??!?!?!  Gay, gay all the way!!

I don't know why I agreed, but we decide to go to another place to have one more glass of wine. I'm always game for another glass of wine. We go to a place where I once saw Woody Hearaldson with his girlfriend (wife?) and shooed him away from a table I was holding for my girlfriends. I tell Bob the story, which I think is terrible funny... I SHOOED a movie star away! Nothing. He yawns. And then yawns again. Wow. Now I'm finished with this bozo and his white puffer coat (what dude has a white puffer coat with a fur lined hood??? Gay. And not in a good way!) At this point I'm carrying the conversation, asking him any question I can think of to keep him talking through this last glass of wine. Finally we finish. I pay the bill (he paid for dinner) and we walk a few blocks uptown. At 72nd street he says he's going to crab a cab, I tell him I'll walk home. He offers that we should do this again sometime. I think, not unless I'm comatose.

Maybe he's really from NJ. Food for thought. ;)