Fifty First Tinder Dates IV: The Friend

Sometimes on the dating apps, romance doesn’t bloom (blossom? Which one sounds better?). But a friendship might. And that’s what happened with one of my Tinder matches: Let’s call him Andy. I wrote my name on the bottom of Andy’s shoe, and now we are friends. He’s got a friend in me. Etc. Etc. We are strictly friends. We just have fun together and it doesn’t matter that there is an age difference.

Andy is well into his 20’s but I am 18 years older than him. In my defense, I look ten years younger than I really am. But only sometimes, apparently, because the funniest thing happened to me a few days ago, but also the most horrifying:

Andy and I rolled up to a convenient store one night. Let’s just say that Andy isn’t the most conscientious guy when it comes to shit going on around him. Clueless!  He jumped out of my car, and was practically at the door of the store before I even closed my car door. I was able to witness his BLOWING past an older lady (Older than me, thank you!), limping, of course. Leaving us both in his dust. Not surprisingly he didn’t bother to hold the door for either one of us.

Out on the store’s front stoop, I apologized for “his behavior” and gladly said “Please, you first” while hobbling up the walkway. I was able to hold the door for her to go in before me, when she turns back to declare:

“I’m so lucky. My son is very polite.”

For a nanosecond I tried to figure out: ‘Wait, does she think Andy is my son…’ but almost immediately, I agreed with her. Because, why not? This is hilarious!

“You ARE very lucky. I wish mine was.”

And once I got into the store, I made sure I went up to Andy and very loudly asked, “Did you hear that? Her son is polite! You embarrass me.”

And without missing a beat, Andy says, “Sorry, mom.”

Then we laughed. It was cool. No big deal. OMG, I look old enough to be my friend’s mom. Shoot me! When did I get so old??

After that I wondered, should I have just announced “Oh, that’s not my son – We’re fucking!” But I couldn’t even say that since it’s not true. Granted, neither is our mother/son relationship. Oh well. Maybe next time.

Andy’s “mom” has got it going on,







Hear Me Roar

I have a few female friends who would never attempt to do anything that a “man should do.”

I don’t have the luxury of having a dad, brother or boyfriend so I’m left to either HIRE someone or just do it myself.

And I’ll tell ya…there is something awesome about doing something you’ve never done before and accomplishing it.

I’ve put together several pieces of furniture (some of which were quite intricate and may have taken me three times, but I did!), I visit self-serve at the gas station (and yes I know people who do not pump their own gas and will keep driving to find full serve), I hang pictures, I fix things – you name it, I’ve probably done it. Not because I wanted to really, but because I had no choice.

A couple of weeks ago I bought a satellite radio which I’ve wanted for a really long time. I took one look at the direction on how to install the antenna and was a little intimidated.  I asked my cousin to do it, who was more than willing, but our schedules have never been free at the same time.

So today, in the heat, I sucked it up and decided to try…no, DO it myself .

I drive an SUV (Not a Porsche SUV in case you were wondering. And since I’m keeping count, I saw another one just today. Not a Turbo though. Cheap bastard.) and there is a specific place I’m supposed to put the antenna. Which truly isn’t the issue. THAT I can handle….

It’s the wire thingy that I’m supposed to snake through the cabin of my car.  Huh? What? There’s a picture, and they use words I’m not really sure about. Again, not an expert when it comes to my car. I can put gas in it and fill up my windshield wiper fluid. But other than that, don’t expect to see me on the side of the road changing a flat or anything.

So I’ve been putting this off because I’m like “How am I supposed to get the wire from the back, into the front without it looking ghetto?”

Today I was all like “Fuck it. Let’s do this!”

Immediately realizing I can’t actually see or touch the top of my car sent me straight back up into my apartment and I gathered some things:

1. A step stool

2. Black electrical tape

3. Scissors

4. Flat head screwdriver

5. Flip flops (Hey I was still wearing shoes from the Mother’s Day brunch I attended)

I won’t lie…it took some trial and error. It was probably a pure comedy show for any neighbors looking out their window. But in the end, I DID it. I don’t know if this is HOW I was supposed to properly do it, but it was my first time, and in my opinion did not look ghetto.

I got the radio all hooked up and working. EUREKA!

I sat in the front seat, sweaty and dirty (from hugging my pollen covered car for an hour) listening to commercial free music.

With a huge shit-eatin’ grin on my face.

I am woman. Hear me roar.

Ladies, what have you done without a man’s help (keep it clean, please!! I have an imagination thank you!) that made you feel AWESOME after you were done?


Sexist Asshole Alert!!

So with the impending hurricane on the way, I got spooked into getting gas tonight instead of tomorrow (which was my plan). I knew the Shell station down the street was at $3.55/gallon…practically free right? So I headed there. It’s a tiny gas station. And anyone who knows me, KNOWS that I don’t like putting myself into situations that are uncomfortable. Having said that…

My tank is on the left hand side so I pulled into a space behind another car who was filling up.  On the left side of my car – the pumps. On the right side –  The Shell Store. Uh oh, I thought. This person will inevitably leave before me and then what? IF someone pulls into this spot, where will I go? Breathe Jen. You’ll be fine. There is barely anyone at this gas station anyway. Said car in front of me does leave.

As I’m finishing up and getting into my car, I barely got the key into my ignition when some pick up truck reminiscent of the Pizza Planet truck from Toy Story comes barreling in and starts to back up into the spot in front of me. So I”m like “well I’m going to beep. I’m just about to pull out.” Guy does nothing except back into the spot and then ignores me when he gets out. And I’m like “Excuse me, did you not hear me beeping, I was about to pull out.”

Sexist asshole: “Are you serious?”

Me: “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be? I was about to pull out.”

S.A.: Rudely and not looking at me: “You’re going to have to back up. Just back up.”

Me: “Why would I want to back up when I can just pull out? And five seconds ago I was doing just that before you blocked me in.”

S.A.: “Are you fucking serious? Just back up.”

Now he’s completely not even looking at me. Meanwhile some woman two pumps over starts saying “You should just back up. It’ll be quicker. That’s what I do.”

Me: “I’m sorry, who asked you for your opinion? For the record, it’s not about time. I have all day. It’s about ease and convenience.”

S.A.: Something something women drivers something something.

Me: “Ok well I don’t know who pissed in your Cheerios today but you don’t have to be a fucking asshole about it. I was just asking if I could pull out. I’m clearly not a fan of backing up and you’re making me feel like shit. I’ll just sit here until you pull out.” (Which I wish his daddy did a few decades ago.)

Now, Mr. Pizza Planet is actually Mr. and when I got home I checked out their website. No where on there does it say they have friendly staff…so apparently they aren’t going for that angle. It really should be Also – do people really sit around and say “Oh shit I ran out of propane right this second during my Turkey Fry. Instead of my going to buy some myself, I think I’ll wait for some asshole to bring it to me.”  Remind not to date a guy that relies on some slacker to bring him pr0pane. Also, remind me not to date guys that are complete sexist asshole that are rude to women at the gas stations. I didn’t know those existed, but just add them to the list.

After S.A. (and really, I wish I called him a cunt, cuz that’s what he was being) was done pumping gas into his pick up truck, he pulls out his orange travel gas can and starts filling that up. Are you fucking serious? I just shut my car off and wait. I’m emailing. I’m texting. I don’t give a shit. I have all day.

So if you’re looking for a propane delivery service, I would ask that you pick anyone else except PropaneTanks2You because, frankl,y that guy was being an ass right off the bat to me when I was just asking a simple question. “Can I pull out (like I was doing before you screeched in here like a frigging idiot) first?”  I certainly don’t think I”m a diva or anything. But I really didn’t want to back up at a gas station, when pulling out is way easier. Sorry. Call me crazy.

I hate creepy sexist pigs. I really do.