Fighting an old guy is never a good idea. Especially when you’re on a date.
I happen to be a Brooklyn dating pro, because I naively choose to believe that I will find my love and together we will ride a tandem bicycle into the sunset, which in turns means that I go on an absurd number of dates. My (nearly) 10 years of dating in this borough has had its perks as well as its disadvantages. Perks: Being privy to the particularly bad dates that plague Brooklyn, I know the warning signs and can hope to avoid them in the future. And sometimes I get to make out with a cute guy. Disadvantages: I must endure the dates at all.
Despite the optimism that someday my hipster prince will come, I realize my dating record doesn’t speak highly of the kinds of guys who remain single in this borough. (I know men have it hard, too, but their dates generally aren’t as creepy and violent.) I have been on far worse dates than the ones mentioned herein, but please allow me to share with you the five worst dates I’ve been on in Brooklyn. Because if others can learn from my experiences, at least some good will come out of it. And so, from worst to most worst: (more…)
Scattered, smothered, swiped. My life as a Waffle House on Tinder. Photo by Alex Horowitz.
In 2014, I went on Tinder for three weeks and all I got was a host of creepy messages, some boring conversations and a tumultuous six-month relationship. A few months ago, I went on Tinder again and got mostly nonthreatening messages, a couple of fun dates, and a renewed faith in my fellow man. What’s my One Weird Trick for using Tinder and not consequently wanting to despair-throw my phone into the Gowanus? This time, I was on Tinder as a Waffle House. Here’s what I learned. (more…)
Look at these fucking hipsters (at their luxury hotel). via Facebook
We don’t know what it is about people that they can’t let go of the idea that Williamsburg is chock full of hipsters, but every day brings a new piece of news that hammers home IT FUCKING ISN’T. Today’s sign that Williamsburg is for stockbrokers: a $1.75 million two-bedroom apartment overlooking the McCarren Hotel pool that’s being pitched as the perfect antidote to rich guys who just wanna wave their wallet around, with the Daily News chiming in that your new terrace gives you “plenty of opportunity for observing the doe-eyed hipster set in its summer skivvies.”
And what art school dropout with pink streaks in her hair wouldn’t consider this scenario a heavy gusher:
But some locals think it would be a hit with Brooklyn babes.
One playboy’s advice: “You just walk down to the pool, get a drink and ask them if they want to come upstairs and freshen up.”
If that’s not game, we don’t know what is.
We didn’t think the Williamsburg J. Crew would take a shambling, Jager-puking human form so quickly, but then who are we to argue with the dark arts?