Posts Tagged ‘things that make me feel old

…And I have zero desire to be with him, but haven’t had the balls to tell him yet.

I should want him. I should want to be with him. He’s nice, he’s generous (paid for all our meals, even though he had to buy a ticket to fly down here), he’s complimentary (he always told me how nice I looked) – he’s perfect on paper. But we’re not living our lives on paper, so it makes this all the more difficult.

He got in Friday and we went to dinner, where I got my first clue that I didn’t think I could be with him.


So I’m thinking of investing in this business with my friend, he asked me to go in with him.


Oh cool! So what is it? What kind of business? What kind of return on your money?


I don’t know. I haven’t done any research.


That’s weird. Don’t you want to know where your money is going?


Well, I’m just a silent partner.

Me (very confused):

Riiiiiiight…… but don’t you want to know what your investment will be used for? How long it’ll take to earn it back? What the process is?


They’ve made us a shit offer, so there’s no point in researching until we get a better offer.


WHAT? You’re going to wait until you get a ‘decent’ offer to do any research on whether this is actually something you should put your money towards? WHY? Why would you not want to know up front if this is even worth investing anything in?

We went back and forth on this for a while. I couldn’t believe he wouldn’t bother to even find out if this business was something that would be worthy of an investment to start, and he seemed to think it was no big deal.

Finally, I couldn’t hold it in anymore and just blurted out:

This is the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. How do you NOT want to know where your money is going? Why are you willing to just possibly throw it away?

And I think I shocked him, because he then says:

I mean, of course I’m going to research. It’s been a busy week and this offer came in last Friday – so I just haven’t had a chance.


That’s not what you said. You said, for the last 20 minutes, you weren’t going to bother until you got a better offer.


Oh well, that’s just miscommunication. That’s not what I meant.

I dropped it but IT WAS NOT fucking miscommunication – I think he finally just realized how stupid he sounded.

On Saturday we did a pub crawl and met some of my friends out that night. I don’t know where he was, but it was later in the night, I was outside with my friends … and I started to cry.


I mean…. that’s a really bad sign.

But there I was … tipsy and crying and all I could say was:

What if this is it? What if this is the rest of my life? I can’t. I just can’t. I don’t want to.

And to my friend and her fiance’s credit, they both were just very calming and said exactly what I needed to hear:

This isn’t it. He’s not the one. He’s not right for you.

And I felt/feel guilty but he’s not. I shouldn’t CRY at the thought of being with someone.

I had one more day left with him.

So Sunday, we walked to lunch and on the way out, I had my hands in my pockets (which I guess he didn’t notice) and he apparently tried to HOLD my hand… except my hand was nowhere near available so instead he grabbed my wrist, which I wasn’t expecting BUT I STILL DIDN’T TAKE MY HAND OUT OF MY POCKET!

And instead, I blurted out:

Oh! My hands are so cold! Aren’t yours? Sorry. I need to keep them in my pockets.

HOLY FUCK! WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? But again… clearly he’s not for me. We didn’t kiss at all over the weekend, and I didn’t want to either. We came home drunk-ish on Saturday night, and I left him in the guest room alone so I could go to sleep. I have no desire to do anything with him. And I feel guilty about that too.

To cap off what was a basically uneventful un-offensive and unfulfilling weekend, we went for a stroll in the park. As we’re walking, he says:

Oh, there’s a water fountain.

I assumed he was thirsty but didn’t see what he was talking about, so I said:

I don’t see it, but do you want to get a bottle of water or something?


No, it’s fine. Just a water fountain.


…. I still don’t see it….


No big deal. Just a water fountain at the apartment complex. Out in front – just looked nice.



Sigh. I feel bad even just typing this all out. He’s not a bad person. But he’s not MY person. There’s no passion or desire for anything. There’s nothing in common for us except we’re both Indian.

And knowing all this, I still do wonder if I should give it another chance? See him again? I don’t think the outcome will be any different and I don’t want to waste his time, but there are no other options  — so do I cut him loose knowing there’s no safety net? I think I have to… I mean, I cried at the thought of being with him. And I don’t want to have sex with him. But am I just dooming myself to being single?

I know what my answer is, but instead of cutting it off like I should, I keep responding to his “Hey how was your day” texts and basically continue to lead him on.  😦







Last night, I went out to a new bar with some friends and had so much fun. It’s like an arcade for big kids – skee ball, hoops, bocce, bowling, etc.

Towards the end of the night, I ended up chatting with this guy. Looking back on this conversation, I am totally surprised by myself for not ripping him a new asshole, but apparently drunk = desperate now.

So we’re chatting and he asks the usuals, and guesses my age, from where he then says:

“Wow, you look great for 36. I mean, you clearly take care of yourself.”




“So, you’ve been married?”

Me (thrown by the question, because we’ve been talking for 5minutes max):

“Um, no…”




“Um, no…”


“Well, I’m sure you have suitors, so what’s the deal?’


But really I said,

“Um, I don’t know??”


“So where’d you grow up?”


“I was born up north, but grew up in Florida”


“Oh, but you’re “Indian” right? I mean, let’s face it – you’re American. It’s not like you’re really Indian.”

Ok, I should’ve punched him. Who FLIRTS like this? Who basically denies an entire identity of another person that they don’t even know???

Jesus. I think I figured out why he’s 40 and single too.

Of course, I did give him my number. Because I’m also a single idiot. SIGH.



Called home tonight after a fun weekend and one of the first things Mom asked was, “Did that boy call?”

I told her he hadn’t and she asked if I called him and I said I hadn’t, I’m not that interested in him and reminded her that he doesn’t even have a job.

And then she says:

You can’t be like that with everyone. Maybe he could move to Atlanta! You should tell him that – he can look for a job there, if you both meet and like each other. You need to think about this – what about all these boys that live in other cities and you don’t want to move there. This may be good.

So basically, I should marry him because he’s jobless and easily relocatable? Talk about lowered standards.

I told her how he said he doesn’t want to just marry someone in months – that he wants to take a few years.

That made her think a bit.  SO THEN, she asks,

Do you even want to be married?

I was silent for a few seconds. I really wanted to say, “No,” just to see what happened. But that’s not true.

Before I can answer, she says,

Why don’t you try to find someone in Atlanta?

Oh. My. God. Why haven’t I thought of that for the ten fucking years I’ve lived here?!?!?!!?

I cannot even put into words how much of  a loser she unintentionally made me feel like – I never thought I’d be nearing 36, single, no kids, no change in my life from the years past.  I never thought it’d be THIS fucking hard. Never.

I didn’t WANT this life, and I accept that some of the choices I’ve made have led me here. But I don’t know what to change about myself to change things.  I wish I did – I would change it in a heartbeat.

It SUCKS to not have someone to talk to about my day. It SUCKS to not have someone to love, who loves me back. it SUCKS to sleep alone, night after night. It SUCKS every time I get my period to know that my chances of having kids is getting smaller and smaller. It SUCKS to have to come to terms with the loneliness and the life that may exist in front of me – one that’s different to what I had expected.  And it SUCKS to be reminded of all that by my parents, who mean well, but whose questions stab my little heart time and time again.

As much as they worry about me, don’t they think I worry about myself the same way? Do they think that this is what I want? And I guess I don’t tell them about all the nights I’ve cried, and all the boys I’ve loved, and all the guys I know that cheat and how that worries me… and I don’t tell them because I don’t want them to worry even more than they already do.

And as a spectacular ending to this story, the douchey British boy did call, right after I hung up with my mom. I was so annoyed, I didn’t answer. So her little lecture did the exact opposite of what it was supposed to.











As Mom and Dad keep on trying… so do I. And as each interaction crashes and burns, I tell them.

There was a guy who I’d been emailing with – he was really nice, thoughtful, sent really well written emails. We finally speak on the phone, and he tells me about himself, and then busts out with this:

I just want you to know that the Unitarian Universalist church is a big part of my life.



Yeah, I just have a thirst of knowledge about all religion and why we do the things we do. I don’t want to just do things for the sake of doing them, I really love to discuss and understand and KNOW.


Um…yeah. I’m mostly Hindu by ritual. I do things I know/think I should because if I don’t, my kids won’t know them.  Also, I have a religion degree – so … I’ve done this before.  I’ve had these discussions for a grade, and it’s not necessarily something I want to revisit.

Here’s the thing – I don’t mind discussing religion here and there. But all the time? It’s fucking exhausting. People like that are exhausting. I know… I took classes with them.

I just want to watch the crap shows on my DVR and not think about the higher reasons we’re all here. I’m not opposed to smart discussions, but I think I’m more vapid than he needs in his life.

Also, if I wanted a Christian guy, I’d just marry a hot white one.

The best part of all this? I told my parents and my Dad asks:

So…. does he go all the time? Or like just once a week…?

They’re so desperate. Any standards they had flew out the window when I turned 30. I swear, a Nazi could show up and they’d be like, “Well, he’s not THAT bad.”

SO THEN. Because the universe is trying as hard it can to keep me single, and doing a damn good job at it, I get this email from this guy that contacted me online, on an Indian dating website. To note, he is super cute, and I was SUPER excited…until this:

Thank you for replying my email, i think you should create a yahoo or gmail if we have to connect on chat, otherwise you can share you mobile number.



I did email he back, because he’s hot and I’m superficial, but the response I got was this – all punctuation, spelling and capitalization is his:

my grand father settle very UK a very long time ago and making it possible for my parents to also gave birth to all of us in UK.

Don’t get me wrong but i am always very optimistic in everything that i do and i hope this works out between us .
I have to stop here to avoid boring you with my long e mails, but i will like you to share your Mobile with me if possible , we can get more connected right there by voice and i hope you have mine as well.    This is my roaming number xxxxxxx and if you will i will as well give you my local number here as well.  attached are few of my Pictures.  So much regards to you and your family,please do reply me next with your Pictures.


I think I’m getting catfished. SIGH.


AND THEN.  My parents gave me the email address of some random mom out there in Michigan, and told me to send her my biodata. So I did – she emailed me back (very well written, always impressed by that) to just say that she got it and she forwarded it to her son.

He writes the next day, clearly from his phone, and this is what it said:

 Good morning.  What ifs your phone number? We can text and chat.  My horrid are very weird and wanted to make sure I was not ignoring you.  Look forward to hearing from you.

Ok – here’s the thing. I get that autocorrect is annoying and everyone has mistakes. Just the other day I whatsapped my girls and instead of saying, “I’m so confused” I somehow sent them a message that said, “I’m so sinuses.”

But you know what, I’M NOT TRYING TO MARRY THEM.  Fucking hell. Proofread that shit.

But I emailed him back, like a good girl and we just cut to a phone call the other night. He’s truly British, and so I was enjoying the accent, until this:


“So your number shows up as a Michigan number, but I think you’re in the mid-west, right?”


“Well, listen – I should tell you that about 5 months ago, I quit my job. The manager was horrible and racist. I’m living in Ohio right now but my mum thinks I’m still in Kansas.  She has high blood pressure and I didn’t want to upset her by telling her. But, since you talk to my mum, if you want to tell her, that’s on you.”



“Um, I don’t talk to your mom. I only sent her the email with my info cause that’s the email address she gave my mom.”


“Ok, I didn’t know what was going on… oh, so you hear my British accent? [I replied yes] Yeah… it’s great. SUPER helpful in college… heh heh.”

JESUS CHRIST.  Are you fucking kidding me?

So we had a bit of normal conversation and then he says:

“By the way, you’re not so bad looking. You’re actually kind of pretty. I couldn’t just come straight out with a compliment, you know…”


So, I relay most of this to my parents (especially the jobless part and how he’s lying to his parents) and my Dad goes,

“Well, that’s just how some Indian communities are. They don’t share everything. So…. do you want to see him? “


Well, I know why – because we’re all desperate.  We agreed (because my dating life is now only happening by family decision) that if he pursued or came to Atlanta, we should hang out, but that I shouldn’t call at all. Which was my plan anyway, but at least we’re all on board now.

And then Dad says,

Well … This is all that’s left.


Fuck. My. Life.








Yesterday, I did a bit of shopping, even though I’m not supposed to be shopping at all. Oops.

Anyway, the cashiers both happened to be young gentlemen, probably in their late teens, definitely no older than 20, and I overheard them talking about Kanye being on Jimmy Kimmel’s show.  (Sidenote: I actually watched that night, and he (Kanye) was freaking exhausting! How can one person have an opinion on EVERYTHING? Doesn’t it get tiring at some point to care SO MUCH about SUCH STUPID STUFF?)

So when I went upfront to purchase my new clothes that I don’t need, I mentioned I overheard them talk about Kanye and then this happened:

Young cashier #1:

“Yeah, I think he’s going through menopause. Probably because he’s married to a Kardashian. He’s so cranky!”

Young cashier #1, again:

“And it turns out Lamar Odom passed his drug test! He’s not doing drugs. He’s just crazy because of that family!”

I’m absolutely giggling at this point, and then, this gets said:

Young cashier #2:

“I mean, look at Taylor Swift. She just dates guys to write songs about them when they break-up. Maybe if all those guys dump you, it’s YOU who’s the problem, not them?”

I seriously have new found hope for the future. They were awesome. And so efficient at checking me out as well! AND FOLDED MY CLOTHES BETTER THAN I EVER WILL! It’s the little things that make me happy.

BUT… let’s contrast that with the guys that are MY age.

I met a friend of a friend when I was in Dar es Salaam, and we ended up having dinner with a bunch of his friends. It was really fun and awesome and we were all well into multiple drinks, when the friend of a friend of a friend says this:

“Yeah, I gotta pick this girl up at the airport tomorrow and we’re going to Zanzibar for the weekend. Siiiigggghhhhhhh. I’m not even excited.”

Then he looks at me and goes,

“You know, if you want to keep a guy interested, don’t have sex with him.”

OMG. IS THAT WHAT I’M DOING WRONG? WHAT IN THE FUCKING HELL! I should just string someone along because that’s the only way to keep them interested?  I mean, COME ON.   (Although, yes, it’s clearly true and as I told him, I’ve learned that lesson more than I’d like to admit.)

And then, because shit like that isn’t bad enough to hear, I got a final email from the last guy my parents wanted me to talk to, and it said this:

“Hey, so I just want you to know that I’m really looking for someone 3-4 years younger than me. Thanks, and good luck in your search.”


First of all, can he not read? My age and birth-date were readily available for him to see in the first email exchange. Secondly, please tell me what difference those 3 years makes?


And it’s not even that I actually want to talk to him, or date him, or have sex with him, but it’s fucking offensive that WE’RE THE SAME AGE BUT I’M TOO OLD.


However…… it is Friday night, I just finished doing dishes, and am watching a Bon Jovi concert on VH1 classic.  Fuck it. Bring on the Ensure, bitches…. just lace it with some vodka.





I went to Hilton Head this past weekend with the girls for a little beach getaway.  It was perfect for what we needed – some pool time, some beach time, some drinking time and some catching-up time.

So one night we went out drinking in “The Triangle” (which is more like an octagon)….  guys…. I found the birthplace of frat boys. Everywhere you looked, it was a sea of button down shirts, khakhi pants (or shorts), and loafers. It’s like they’re hatched from the same egg and then become the same person, all variations of Brian, Bryan, Ryan, Rian. ALL THE SAME, except for the vowels.

There was this one guy, at the bar for a long time, already close to drunk when we got there.  He got to talking to my friend (who’s married and the world’s best wing-woman) and then got to talking to me. He was SUPER cute. Big gold cross necklace but I chose to ignore that for the evening. He was in jeans, and as I told him, he was just one khakhi pant away from being like everyone else there. He was slightly offended.

He asked my name, told me his (Brian), grabbed my hand and winked at me. Good god. I’m such a fucking sucker. I had a smile on my face as wide as the Grand Canyon. And then he got up, said he was going for a smoke and said I should go outside with him… I moved a little in front of him, he smacked my ass, and I may have smiled a little wider. (Side note: This is why I’m single. Because I fucking love douche bags.)

SO THEN! I stopped at my friends’ table to just let them know I was headed outside, AND HE LEFT! HE JUST WALKED OUT! WITHOUT TELLING ME WHERE HE WAS GOING!

I didn’t want to go search for him and look desperate, so I hung out with my girls.

Fast forward to a couple of hours later, I assumed he’d left for the night.  I was talking to this guy who looked Bruce Banner and his friend, Sleazy Ryan. SOMEHOW… Bruce Banner went to smoke, found my original guy, Sleazy Brian, and brought him over and says to me: “DUDE!! THIS GUY IS SUPER IN TO YOU!!!”   Yes, yes… just like all the guys that are super in to me and disappear. Awesome effect I have on them.

But at the exact same time, Bruce Banner’s friend, Sleazy Ryan, was trying to get us to go home with them and saying to me: “You guys should come over! We can drink wine! Wanna come sailing with us tomorrow? Give me your number!”

So, I gave him my number for the fuck of it, because what was I supposed to do??  Sleazy Brian sees me giving my number to Sleazy Ryan and says the following, while shaking his head at me: “It could’ve been something.”

WHAT?? IT COULD HAVE BEEN WHAT?!?!?!?! A ONE NIGHT STAND – AT MOST!  Jeez… I do love me some dumb assholes.

So then, we have this conversation. I’m pretty sure the sober bouncer right behind us hated us so much:

Sleazy Brian: “We could’ve been good, but you gave him your number.”

Me: “But… you left. And didn’t tell me where you where.”

Honestly, repeat those two sentences for about 5 minutes.  It was this endless loop of stupidity. That’s what happens when two drunk people talk.

Finally, we get up to go and he follows us out, and we kissed for a bit. He put his hand on my tummy and I pulled away. One – I haven’t worked out in 6 weeks and am not thrilled with the current shape. Two – we’d had Olive Garden for dinner and been drinking for hours. I had to poo so badly, I was worried any pressure would end the night abruptly.  Issues.

Anyway, we kissed briefly, he was super cute and I was super happy and I gave him my number. Never heard from him again.  Surprise. 😉

Oh!! BUT!!! The best part of the whole weekend? Apparently, Hilton Head is some magical land where white boys are unable to tell anyone’s age.  We were definitely the oldest in “The Triangle” by a good bit, and I’m pretty sure all the khakhi-clad boys were mid-20s. Thankfully, they thought we were too!

My friend was chatting with this guy (Sweaty Bryan, with a “Y” as he told us) – he noticed she is married and asked how old she was, she responded with the truth: “34.”   He looked SO HORRIFIED that she quickly laughed it off and said, “Ha ha!! Just kidding! I’m only 26! AND I AM THE OLDEST OF ALL THE GIRLS!”

LOL!! Gotta love her 🙂

And then when we went paddle boarding the next morning (completely hung over), our instructor, who’s in college himself, asks: “So are you girls in school?”

Us: “Yes… yes we are.”  We did confess eventually, but damn, you guys. Cute fratty white boys who think I’m still in college, or at the oldest, mid-20s? I may be in Hilton Head every weekend.

Black may not crack, but Brown don’t get tore-down.

I feel like the young lady, but look like the old hag. Sigh.

I feel like the young lady, but look like the old hag. Sigh.

Actually, it was a lot of fun (“It” being the matrimonial convention I attended this weekend) – so don’t read this expecting my usual snark or annoyance, because I didn’t feel that way, which is a good thing.

As noted before, my table was the oldest. And the most fun!!! Truly – everyone came over and told us how they could hear us laughing and chatting (loudly) and how they wished they were sitting with us.  The tables were 10 each, 5 guys and 5 girls, and we just had a good mix.

The guys at the table were great, but the 5 of us girls got along like we’d known each other our whole lives. And I guess in a way, we have – we all grew up the same, are the same age, are looking for the same things, and have had surprisingly similar life experiences in terms of traveling, family and dating. We were definitely having a little love-fest amongst ourselves.

But – to back it up a bit, it all started Friday at the Fiesta.  Guess who’s the first person I see that I know? Yup… ‘Bidet of Jay‘ guy.  He comes over to chat, I tell him the whole story and he cannot stop laughing. The best part is, as I’d sort of guessed, none of it is true. His sister isn’t even engaged!!!!!

Oy. Indian people are the worst at playing “telephone” – they totally only hear what they want to.   It’s like if I told my Dad, “Hey, I went to the mall today”  and eventually my cousin’s cousin’s cousin’s wife will call and say: “I hear you’re getting married … at the mall!”

Anyway, back to the Fiesta. Only one girl took the dress code seriously – she was in a neon pink dress and neon yellow shoes. She looked like a walking double-sided highlighter. But I’m sure she was very nice!

Fiesta night ended, and we were already in our “table” groupings – we got along so well that our table, plus some others, went out for drinks afterward.  Maybe not the best idea, cause I didn’t get home till 230am, and had to be up 4 hours later. Dude. I’m old and need my beauty sleep. Ugh.

So bright and early Saturday morning, I put on my cute business casual dress and gear up for a day of smiling … the first half of the day was the ‘speed dating’ part – except it’s with the whole table. So, at all the tables, all the girls stayed seated, and then boys rotated around from table to table to meet all the girls.

Oh, excuse me – not ALL the girls. And we didn’t meet ALL the boys. Apparently, it was decided for us that the youngest we’d meet was 29/30 – since any younger would be a waste of time. Don’t they know how well I do with young (white) boys? Sheesh. Guess they missed that memo.

After introducing ourselves to over 50 guys (so it wasn’t like there was a dearth of gentleman to meet), we did some more ice breaker stuff with the guys/girls in our age range and then we started the ranking process.

THIS WAS ALL BEFORE LUNCH! What the hell, yo. Exhausted does not begin to describe how we all felt.

Then, the volunteers (who, I have to really say, did an amazing job – the organization of the whole event, how it ran on time, how they encouraged us without just pressing the marriage issues, reminding us repeatedly to keep an open mind – they were awesome) took EVERYONE’S sheet and entered that data into the computer and came out with rankings.

That’s 250 people, with a minimum of 10 people listed that they’d like to meet on a more personal level, entered into some database and then some program is used to see how you matched up.

THEN! You get a list of all your “1 on 1” matches – so people that mutually chose each other. Plus a list of all the people you chose that didn’t choose you. Awesome, thanks for that. Plus a list of people that chose you that you didn’t choose, which just makes me feel bad.

I had 6 matches, 4 of which were ‘1 on 1s’ – and I REALLY enjoyed chatting with all the guys, even the ones that weren’t a perfect match! I mean, do I think I’m marrying any of them? No, not quite yet. But I’m excited that some of the guys I met were cool and fun and at a very minimum, I’d at least hang out with them again. That’s better than my usual disgust at even having to talk to them, so we’re off to a better start than normal. A

Anyway, we finally finished at … 5pm. That’s 8 in the morning to 5 in the evening. THAT’S MORE THAN I WORK IN A DAY! Jesus. And, we all (and I mean the whole convention basically) went out Saturday night to a club.  Let me just say, all I did on Sunday was sleep. I’m too old for this shit.

Oh – and – don’t think this ends after you leave the event. The organizers produce “The Book” – it’s the holy grail of single Indian people all in one binder.  Everyone who signs up for the convention is in the book, with name/age/height/phone number/email for easy stalking. Seriously, though, it’s even arranged by “table groupings” so that it’s easy to weed out those that are too young and concentrate on the elder statesmen of the crowd.

My parents FAVORITE THING IN THE WORLD TO DO  is to look through the book and mark off the guys they think I should be talking to, if I’m not already. They LIVE for seeing this book. And “The Book” is in such HIGH demand that unless you show up to the convention and show you’re serious, you can’t have it! They won’t send it to you!!!! And if you somehow lose it, sucks for you! We all guarded our books like they held winning lottery numbers.

We were highly encouraged to review the people we didn’t meet, and some of the ones we did, and to email/text/call and keep the momentum going. And I have to say, some of the guys I met have done just that – which is nice!  It may not last or go anywhere, but it’s a good start.

The crazy thing was, during lunch, three of us girls were in line together and I just happened to mention I’ve never dated an Indian guy before – and they both said it was the same for them. There couldn’t have been a more perfect mix of girls if they’d tried.  So… I guess the gist of this is, I went to a matrimonial convention and mostly came away with new girl friends. But, I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.

Although, my parents didn’t give a crap about the girls I met —  when I tried to tell them how cool they were, all they could say was, “Yeah, but what about the boys!”  🙂


Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 280 other followers


%d bloggers like this: