The 98% humorous musings of M. Lizabeth Currain

Tag: Brooklyn

The Comeback No One Wants

I’m talking about DAD JEANSAccording to the New York Times, an ever reputable source of trends that we didn’t know where a thing: basically anything that happens in Williamsburg or Bushwick, is letting everyone know that dad jeans are back in action.

“…for those willing to push the envelope, dad jeans are one way to stand out at a Bushwick loft party. Besides, roomier washed jeans provide a flourish of ’90s retro, which is making a comeback for Generation Y in the form of Doc Martens, flannel shirts and wallet chains. Some fashion-forward types even go so far as to add pin rolls at the cuffs, Mr. Thoreson said.”

I ask you all to stop right there and let that digest. DAD JEANS ARE A WAY TO STAND OUT. AT A BUSHWICK LOFT PARTY. You will definitely not be mocked or asked to leave if you show up wearing something you once (and probably still) make fun of your own father for wearing. Definitely not.

The New York Times needs to stop trying to make dad jeans happen. Here are a few examples why:


For tips on what kind of jeans are acceptable on this place we call Planet Earth, I direct your attention here.

I like torturing myself.

I’m back my lovelies! Sorry for leaving you all in a lurch with nothing to talk about the past couple of Monday mornings. But with all the dates with awesome guys I’ve been going on, it’s been hard to find the time to blog. My social calender has really filled up. I’ve been going to concerts in basements, helping brew beer, biking all over Brooklyn, cooking really complicated meals and discussing non-fiction works with some of the most interesting people the past few weeks! I had no idea I would get so caught up in the magic of online dating that I wouldn’t have time for much else. There’s just so many different guys, who are all into different things, with absolutely nothing in common with each other–it’s really amazing.

I’m lying. I was out of town the weekend before last and then last weekend, I just didn’t feel like hashing out the gory details of the week, mainly because there were none. That being said, I know that the last time I wrote, I mentioned I was going to delete my OkCupid account in a week. I haven’t deleted it yet. Reason being, I am glutton for punishment. I love seeing what kind of human messes are going to message me and also what kind of waste the 25 miles surrounding my zip code has to offer me. And let me tell you, things ain’t looking good. For anyone.

First of all, I seriously think that OkCupid is trying to match me with like the most ugly, inane people. I don’t get it. They have this thing called “Quiver”, where they pick three matches for you, that they think you will like. It’s an apt term, considering the majority of the time, I just want to shoot arrows at their god awful profiles. I have not once, liked any of the matches they have chosen for me. My reject list is getting super long. I can’t help it. I have high standards that are unwavering at this point. With good reason–I am amazing.

All of the profiles for idiots men, ages 25-34 all contain pretty much the same information. I have come across the sentence “I am a Mad Men” in reference to working in advertising, too many times to count. WHO SAYS THAT? When would a person ever think that that is an acceptable thing to say? It’s not. It sounds idiotic. Also, pretty much every guy in New York is a photographer, artist, writer, musician, butcher, baker, candlestick maker. It’s getting pretty old. I mean, I have nothing against those things. I’m all for the arts. I would love if someone paid me money to write shitty things about people. However, it just comes across like it’s something they knew they should put in a profile to attract dumbshit hipsters girls. And I am no dumbshit.

And the messages. Rarely do I send anyone a message on OkCupid. I’m usually to busy trying to unroll my eyes from the back of my head to message someone. I also rarely respond. Sometimes there is just nothing to respond to, because the message will just be one word, “howdy.” How am I supposed to respond to that? Why would I want to respond to that? If you can’t even compose a sentence introducing yourself, it doesn’t make for a promising case. I also get easily irritated when they use “ur”. Mainly because they are using it wrong. Example taken from an actual message: ur movie preferences had me me like “wha wha whaaaat?”. Translated from “internet/text speak” that would be, “you are movie preferences”, which doesn’t make any sense and makes you seem lazy. It’s “your”, how do people not know this? Also when things are misspelled. LIKE MY NAME. I get it. I spell my name a little differently than most people are used to. I’ve gotten used to it being mispronounced and misspelled. However, I have one major pet peeve when it comes to misspelling my name. It’s when people spell it incorrectly when the spelling is RIGHT IN FRONT OF THEM. Here is a message from an OkC Jackal that I decided to respond to, because a) he was ugly and I could give a shit, b) he was obviously an idiot, and c) I think he was from like Staten Island or something.

OkC Jackal: yaaaayy. the meghan show. need a netflix buddy? ;-I

Me: It’s funny that in your profile, under the things that you are good at portion, it says, “paying close attention.” Considering, that my name is clearly spelled out in my screen name, and you can’t even get that right, you might need to make some revisions to that section.

OkC Jackal: that’s the best you can come up with? my spelling?….wow, no wonder you’re alone.

Me: Yes. The spelling of my name. Sorry if I happen to like it spelled correctly. And if my option is to be alone or be with idiots, I’ll take being alone.

It reads like Shakespeare doesn’t it? Then I blocked him. And yes, I am alone because I demand that my name be spelled correctly. I am forever doomed to a life of solitude for requesting such a horrific thing. I know my standards are high, but damn OkCupid, my bar would only have to set a couple of inches off of the ground!

Sometimes I contemplate making a fake profile with a whole bunch of cliched hipster information and a Photoshopped picture and see what kind of dudes hit me up. Right now I seem to be attracting some weird basement dwellers with Asperger’s…and not the good kind that look like Hugh Dancy.

With all that being said…I do have an OkCupid date lined up for Tuesday. His profile didn’t make me what to vomit and he could at least string together a coherent sentence. So, with any luck, I won’t be murdered and I will be able to share all the horrific details with you next Sunday! Or maybe earlier if it is especially painful. Wish me luck! Or don’t, I’m not sure it really matters.

Blame it on the…

bad decision making. Depending on how old you are, you either thought I was going to say “alcohol”

(editor’s note: I think that whole video can be blamed on the alcohol. I mean, Ron Howard? Really? And while we are at it, I am blaming Jamie Foxx’s “singing career” on the alcohol too. Shit is whack. Who let this happen? But I do love T-pain, which makes it hard to hate the song, dammit!)

or “rain”.

(editor’s note: Honestly, Milli Vanilli was ahead of their time. What they did wasn’t much different from auto-tune. R.I.P Rob Pilatus. Also; I like using editor’s notes because they make feel important.)

Back to the matter at hand. There have been times; recent times; when I wish that I could blame the activities I was engaging in, on some sort of behavior altering substance–but I can’t. There may have been a (few) times where I have answered personal ads on Craigslist. Sad, I know. I’ll save the gory details for some other shame cleansing blog post; I’m not sure how much dignity will be left after this one; so stay tuned! I also may have joined an internet dating site–or two–and possibly met up with someone from one of them and then proceeded to make out with them in their apartment. Again, another post dear readers, another post. But the most horrific offense of them all happened about a month or so back. At a work function. Do you see where this is going?

So in early October, the organization that I work for, threw a staff appreciation party…on a boat…with an open bar. Now it’s not an exaggeration to say that the people that I work with cut loose–especially if there is an open bar. I’ve seen many a disgraceful thing happen at these parties. I only had a couple of beers, because I know better than to get all wild and crazy at a work party. Or so I thought. I was dancing; I honestly wish I could say that was the worst of it; but it’s not. At one point I went down to the bar to get another drink, maybe my 3rd Bud Light (keepin’ it classy!) and ran into a guy from another store that I had met last year at one of our fundraisers. This was near the end of the night, so I am just going to cut to the gory details and say that we ended up making out in the parking lot of  the boat dock, with other employees watching. I mean, the guy I was making out with was wearing a shirt/jacket like this:


I wish I was kidding, I really do.

However, in my own defense, I didn’t agree to make out with him until he took off the shirt/jacket thing. I have some standards. I actually put up a pretty good fight too–he thought it looked cool. And I think we all know, that it didn’t. That thing was a big F.A.I.L, if I have ever seen one. So finally, he came to his senses and realized what a prime piece of real estate I am and took off the crumby jacket. This makes me realize that I was not drunk, because if I was, I wouldn’t have cared about that stupid jacket. But I did care…that was the part of me that was saying, “hey sister, this is a bad idea, but if you must, at least make him take that off, he looks like a broke down Chris Tucker in Rush Hour 2.”

He had the nerve to ask, “So are we going back to your place or mine?” Um, excuse me? I don’t be thinking so. I firmly told him that he was going to his place, ALONE. I then, however, felt compelled to put my number in his phone. This learning curve is a hard one for me to get around. So later that night–after the work shindig, I kept the party going with a few coworkers–he texts me to ask if I want to hang out the next day. I had the day off, so I figured, “why not?” and plus I still thought I was hot shit for making out with someone (ugh, it had been a while! Give a girl a break!). If I had known, what I was going to be walking in to, I never would have said yes.

It looked a little something like this:


track jacket? check!

Combined with:



Terrible sungless? Check! Puff Daddy swagger...check and mate.

It was AWFUL. The moment I saw him, I knew that this was going to be one of the most painful experiences ever. The lenses of his sunglasses were two different colors. There are just some things, that are never okay. Thinking about it now still upsets me.

So, we decided to see the movie Whip It; about the roller derby. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. Although, it would have been better if I wasn’t with someone who was complaining the whole time about the people sitting behind us, not doing anything. And then he put his head on my shoulder. NOT IN TO IT. And it wasn’t like I was inviting it. I was practically sitting in another chair.

Afterwards, we went to get something to eat. We went to a taco place and he was really obnoxious and rude to the people behind the counter…which I can’t stand. And it took him forever to figure out what he wanted and was being an total spaz about it. When we sat down to eat, he started unloading all this personal information. It was a first date. I don’t need to know about your ex-girlfriend and how she dumped you because you didn’t want to marry her and now you have to live with roommates that you don’t like because they are gay and use your dishes. Then when two police officers came in, he said, “I was this close to taking the police officers test. Can you imagine me as a fucking cop?” He said it loud enough for them to hear. And then he said it again. I wanted to die. There are certain things you say in public when cops are around and certain things that you don’t. I would file “fucking cop” under the “Don’t” section. And he said that he collects knives and swords. And that he has the sword from the movie Blade that Wesley Snipes used. ::shudder:: Then on the way to the train we passed a Dunkin Donuts and he said, “You probably don’t want to hear my theory on Dunkin Donuts” and I was like, “Um, not really.” I mean, that is what I said…and he proceeded to tell me! So everyone out there, reading this. I went on a date with someone whose theory on Dunkin Donuts is this: “They are all owned by middle easterners and they are trying to poison America.” If a train had been approaching at that moment, I probably would have pushed him in front of it–that is one of the most atrocious and stupid things I have ever had to listen to.

The train ride home was painful because all he was doing was complaining about the train and trying to touch my knee. I was trying to debate whether or not it would be worth it to get off at the wrong stop and walk all the way back to my apartment. So about an hour after I got home, he sent me a text message saying, “Why’d you let me run my mouth like that?  now I feel stupid.” I wrote back, “thanks for dinner.” I mean, what was I supposed to say, “Trust me, I wanted you to shut up more than you regret talking”?  Then the next night he texts me at 2am! We are not on the 2am text level. That is reserved for family and close friends. I didn’t respond. Again! The next night he texts me asking if I got his last text or if I don’t want to talk. I. Didn’t. Text. Back. He got that message.

But! and this is important people! Don’t make out with people that you work with! Even if they work at a different store than you. Because they might come into your store a month or two later! And come over to you and say “hi”! And then you’ll have to not look up and say “hi.” and then walk away. Because that is how it always goes. Until you get another job. Which doesn’t seem likely.

Which is why, I wish I could blame it on the alcohol, but at this point, it’s just bad decision making.





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