Congrats, Skaterboysinskinnyjeans… You’re the lucky 10,000th follower. Send me your address and I’ll send you a present. Here are some hints as to what it could be:
a) A photo of me
b) Cash
c) Condoms
d) A stripper-gram
e) A puppy
Posts tagged sothenshe
Ryan Seacrest is the man. Ignore the haters who mock him, the gay rumors that swirl over his personal life and the lame questions he’s forced to ask pathetic contestants on Idol. He’s funny, charming, straight, and awesome. He’s easily the best wingman I’ve ever had the pleasure of spending an evening with. Because he got me laid.
I was in Miami a few years back and met up with a friend who was headed out with Ryan for the night. When we got to the table at the club, the booth was a shitshow. Randy Jackson lurked in a corner seat, looking more like Jabba The Hut, given his then-largess and penchant for clunky gold chains. Simon Cowell was perched on a back banquette, one-size-too-small shirt in full effect, manboobs on display, ever-so-slightly bopping his head to the deep bass beats filling the room. His face looked like he had just smelled a fart; a look he would retain for the duration of the evening.
After several months of slacking, I’ve updated the original content page. So click here for a list of links to all the original posts you may have missed. Then read them all. Do it. I dare you.
And for all the new followers, I haven’t done this in a while, so as to who I am, I’m an NYC-based entertainment professional who is more entertaining and less professional during romantic encounters. SoThenShe chronicles my often laughable triumphs and tragedies while I scour Gotham’s streets looking for love. And avoiding herpes.
Because a number of people write in with similar questions, there’s a lovely frequently asked questions page with a number of the responses featured, found right over here.
Finally, I’m starting to regain the ability to type (this is the reason for pause) and up next aren’t more emo-addled tales, leaving you to assume I have a $600 bowlcut swooping across my forehead, a series of rainbow tattoos snaking up my torso and often hold kittens ironically while looking uber-sad for pictures. No, up next are tales of dating awesomeness, including the time Ryan Seacrest successfully told a girl to sleep with me, crazy sexual liaisons with a Playmate, a Victoria’s Secret Model and one woman so cute I want to gobble her up. So, y’know, stay tuned and all that jazz.
Girl I like from over the weekend.
Me: How much are you going to miss me?
Her: A ton.
Me: Just one ton? That’s not very much.
Her: How much should I miss you?
Me: At least an elephant’s worth. They weigh more than a ton.
Her: I’ll miss you an elephant’s worth.
Me: Just ONE elephant? Pffsh.
Her: I’ll miss you four elephants, a hippo and a rhino’s worth.
So Beautyandart and Untilthecitylightsdie both suggested the differences in dating older women versus younger women. I like this one, so we’ll start here. It also allows me to talk about my one night stand simultaneously, so hello two birds with one stone. The rest of the suggestions were (MOSTLY) fantastic, so I’ll try to get around to them too. Unless yours was intentionally nonsensical. In which case: fuck you, assclown.
Down in Miami once, I found myself presented with two viable sexual options. The first was Molly, a 21 year-old college student with an UK accent and a penchant for double vodka sodas, nightclubs, dancing atop banquettes and talking about how much older boys liked her. The second was Lauren, a 43 year-old divorcee from the South who’d had three kids with the “adulturing bastard” before leaving “his dumb ass for greener pastures.” She also had an equally strong affinity for drinking and was mostly likely found wandering around with a nearly-empty bottle of champagne in her hands. No matter where we were nor what time of day it was.
You’ve frequently asked. I’ve singularly answered. Click here for the FAQ. I’m sure I’ll add to this in the coming months, but for now, I think this sufficiently handles the most common questions.
Now that @SoThenShe is 98% original content (with a few Tumblr links tossed in), you should be following me. If you don’t, baby Jesus will give you herpes. And who wants that, especially this close to the holidays? So just follow me.
‘Sides, I promise a much quicker (and wittier) response to your queries if they’re tweeted at me.
I have never had a truly blind date. I’ve typically approached people who I’m attracted to, sussed out whether they’re intellectually stimulating enough to spend an entire night with and then asked them out. The concept of blind dating has always been a foreign novelty, one which I don’t particularly place much stock in - for all the normally recited worries: “What if it’s awful?” “What if she’s ugly?” “What if she’s legally insane and only talks about her friends, all of whom are really her cats?” But with the elements of mystery and chance, it’s essentially gambling and I (occasionally) love rolling the dice.
(Note: this post wasn’t written by me. I was out with Hercules the other evening, and he expressed some desire to share his sentiments on dating, romance and love (or the lack thereof) with you, so I asked him to write a piece for SoThenShe and here we are. He poses some rhetorical questions at the end, but I - and he - would love to hear what your thoughts are.)
A friend whose life I don’t particularly envy is in the habit of advising me, “Don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good.” His well-intended message is, “If you already have something worthwhile, don’t jeopardize it by pursuing some abstraction that’s theoretically better.” My cynical interpretation is, “Settle.” (I don’t profess to be a pragmatic man.) I was reminded of his saying last week when I was told by a mutual friend that Helen, the reason for my debut on this blog, had gotten engaged to the boyfriend on whom she had cheated with me.
(Drunken booty call at 6am…)
Me: Come over. You’re drunk. I’m drunk. Let’s make some bad decisions together.
Me: On our backs.
Her: It’s SUNDAY. That’s like, the pure day.
Me: Then come sin with me.
“Hey honey,” the stripper cooed, as she dropped down into a seat across from us. She pronounced it “hunny,” likely the same annoying way she spells it in her text messages. She was largely unremarkable, easily pushing forty, which was evident on her tired face. Her body, covered in a stringy number that left little to the imagination, was in decent shape and her well-defined abs and curves fought for their fair share of attention. Sadly, most of my focus went to the gap in her front teeth, large enough to maneuver a subway car through. And to her booming voice. “I’M ATHENA,” she shouted, loud enough to startle deaf people in the next town over.
For her faults, Athena at least had a little life left in her, which was more than could be said for the rest of the room. I was with my buddy Zeus at a seedy little joint near our parents’ houses. It’s probably among the top five worst strip clubs in existence. Half a dozen unattractive working girls milled around us, the majority of which did not belong in g-strings due to egregious cellulite. I’d argue there was more cottage cheese on stage than in any dairy aisle. A handful of old, creepy men – many with pedophile moustaches – leered at jiggling girls, who had taken to holding hands when walking by the “super creepers,” as one later explained, concluding, “There’s safety in numbers.”
Me: Are we just doing drinks? Or will you feed me dinner with a spoon and a bib?
Her: Oh I dunno. Depends on if you wear enough Axe.
As the inquisition about my physical attributes mounts, I had my friend Hercules write up a little description of how he sees me. It’s quite accurate. Enjoy…
(Afternoon silliness on the internets)
Me: MY, YOU’RE QUIET.
Her: MY. YOU’RE REALLY INTO CAPS
Me: FUCK YEAH CAPS LOCK. THAT SHIT IS MOTHERFUCKING AWESOME.
I love asking you guys stuff because your answers literally crack me up. My favorites from my “what do you think I look like” post last night were - in no particular order here - Cher, Batman, John Lithgow, Conan and a hairy Jake Gyllenhaal.
And a few people wrote in asking me to toss a few hints out as to my appearance. So I gazed in a mirror for a bit, trying to figure out how best to describe myself. Which is hard. So I’ll give you the basics for now and I’m going to have a buddy of mine write how he sees me, because that will be 1) funnier than whatever I can come up with and 2) more honest and real than mine would.
But for now, here’s the low down…
