Amy Webb was having no luck with online dating. The dates she liked didn’t write her back, and her own profile attracted crickets (and worse). So, as any fan of data would do: she started making a spreadsheet. Hear the story of how she went on to hack her online dating life — with frustrating, funny and life-changing results.
Tag Archives: romance
If Stanley Tucci Were Your Boyfriend
If Stanley Tucci Were Your Boyfriend. Such a good piece by Mallory Ortberg.
If Stanley Tucci were your boyfriend, he would never bother you about the fact that you own two clearly well-worn copies of both The Devil Wears Prada and Julie and Julia. If he knew you were going to have a particularly hard day at work, he’d call out “Gird your loins” after you as you left the apartment, because he would know how much that would mean to you.
If Stanley Tucci were your boyfriend, your apartment would redecorate itself in only the finest and most luxurious of fabrics. The predominant colors would be Nantucket blue, slate grey, and the color of the sea before a storm.
If Stanley Tucci were your boyfriend, it would always be the second week of fall. The sun would never set before 8pm, but you would never sweat again.
If Stanley Tucci were your boyfriend, your relationship would be two-thirds what he and Patricia Clarkson had in Easy A, and one-third what he and Meryl Streep had in Julie and Julia.
If Stanley Tucci were your boyfriend, he would occasionally turn to you, smile warmly, and call you “Champ,” while wearing a scarf.
He would also call you “Sport.” You would find it endearing and waggish and not in the least patronizing.
If Stanley Tucci were your boyfriend, the two of you would go dancing, but he’d never make a big deal out of it.
If Stanley Tucci were your boyfriend, your dad would refer to him genially as “The Tooch.” “Come to the house this weekend, and bring The Tooch with you.”
If Stanley Tucci were your boyfriend, you would own a good cheese knife. Nothing pretentious. You wouldn’t need a whole set. Just one. But it would be perfect, and you would never have trouble sliding Camembert pieces off of it. You would be the kind of person who invests in small, good, useful things. You would treat yourself with compassion, and you would never eat Cheetos in the shower.
If Stanley Tucci were your boyfriend, he would make pots of red sauce on the weekends, and make you taste all of them. He wouldn’t Bogart the kitchen, either, and he’d be more than just complimentary about your own (inevitably inferior) attempts at cooking. “No, it was extraordinary,” he’d insist after cleaning his plate. “Just extraordinary.” And there would be a light in his eyes that would let you believe him.
If Stanley Tucci were your boyfriend, Nora Ephron would still be alive somehow. She would have dinner with the two of you at least three nights a week.
If Stanley Tucci were your boyfriend, every single one of your friends would act like the guys on Friendsdid while Monica was dating Richard. “Your boyfriend is the coolest,” they’d tell you. You’d have to ask them to go do something else once in a while so the two of you could actually get some time to yourselves. “I’m sorry about those guys,” you’d say to Stanley Tucci, while he’d look intently at you and say “Don’t ever apologize to me on behalf of the people who love you.”
If Stanley Tucci were your boyfriend, you would instantly become the kind of person who takes long, luxurious baths in a clean, bone-white tub.
If Stanley Tucci were your boyfriend, he would make excuses to run out and pick up a paper and buy you breakfast while he was out. “It’s nothing,” he’d say if you protested. “I don’t even remember how much it cost. I threw away the receipt. Stop asking.” If Stanley Tucci were your boyfriend, he would wear perfectly cut waffle-print shirts just while drinking coffee at your kitchen table, but your life together would be more meaningful than a collection of expensive fabrics and bougie breakfast foods. Your life together would be more meaningful than your life before.
#1- Three dates and a reality check
“I think a car ride is an intimate experience. For a period of time, two people are confined to a space. You get to know a lot from a person just by driving with them. My favourite dates are roadtrips…”
Date Expectations welcomes the first contribution on its page. Melissa* dropped us a note to share with us her story:
If anything, I’m guilty of setting my dating expectations too high. I expect butterflies, hours of conversation, the man sending you home; the whole enchiladas. As a (serial) monogamist who hasn’t been single for close to a decade, I had problems admitting that that’s not the game anymore. But I mean, why go out at all otherwise? I was faced with the reality and this was the story.
One fateful night, my girlfriend and I stumbled upon an empty club and decided to download tinder. I swiped right on one guy, who swiped right back at me. We had a good banter. So he asked me out. We went on three dates in total. It was a cold slap of reality check.
I was nervous on the first date. Luckily he played everything by the book. He picked me up, ordered wine, ordered dessert. He had so many brownie points that it pains me to say there wasn’t any chemistry! What’s going on there mother nature! So even after he brought up the stories of his ex, I was adamant to go out with him again. I mean, it has to work, right? He played by the book!
So we went out again, he picked me up after work and we went for dinner and drinks. No wine this time, which worked against my will to make this date a successful one. I was hit by the reality that we shared nothing – absolutely nothing – in common. He tried to ‘fix’ everything I did, which was awful.
I tried at jokes, to humor the sad situation I’m in. Strange twist of event, he was actually charmed by my humour and asked me out again. But this time I knew better to manage his and (more importantly) my expectations – I told him to wait for another two weeks.
“Perfect,” he said, “I’ll be travelling anyway.”
Great. So I didn’t push for it. We didn’t contact each other for two weeks straight and I actually started to forget about him.
Until two weeks later, he texted me, all worked up and upset because I didn’t contact him.
Huh?
This was one of the few ‘huh?’ moments in my life. Whenever two parties have working mobilephones with working 4G connection, a non-contact is a mutually agreed upon condition, no? Well at least that’s what I thought. And I felt bad, so I agreed again when he asked me out the third time.
The last time we met was in a cafe for brunch. Food was paltry bordering superficial, just like our conversations. He was evidently nervous. He had to burn two sticks before coffee. We caught up for an hour before I made up an excuse to leave. During the conversation though, for some unfathomable reason I mentioned I would be somewhere around his house the next day. Logic failed me but we agreed to meet (again!) the next day as as we were leaving.
Here’s the thing, I refused to let him send me home. I think a car ride is an intimate experience. For a period of time, two people are confined to a space. You get to know a lot from a person just by driving with them. My favourite dates are roadtrips and he’s just not someone I’d take roadtrip with.
So he walked me to the bus stop. My bus stopped while we were a few metres short. He then told me, I could run for the bus if I wish.
So I did. I didn’t think too far. We exchanged polite texts afterwards to thank each other for the company. I thought that’s the end of it.
The real cold slap dawned around 5AM the next day when we’re supposed to meet. He texted me that he was drunk. He told me to check with him an hour before we’re supposed to meet if, and I quote, “I’m not dead yet”. I told him to rest and have a good life, basically.
What I failed to understand was that he then told me the blow by blow accounts of what happened that night, with an amazing recollection for someone suffering a deathly hangover. I replied, man this isn’t working.
He told me, he wasn’t sorry.
That’s the end of it. Rather than placing his actions on a petri dish of a psychoanalytical microscope, I accepted the reality that after so long, I’m single again. I’m back in the game and it’s an unfamiliar territory. I accepted that I need to adjust my expectations. But chemistry? I think everyone needs to have chemistry to date. At least enough to last a car ride.
*Names have been changed, for obvious reasons, suckers.
The Date Expectations 