dating

Guys And Dolls

WordPress, I told you I’d be back, within a week no less.

I saw this photo the other day, and I can’t lie – I laughed my ass off:

suggs

Look, I understand it’s cliche, but it’s true. To women all over the world – we just don’t think as much as y’all.

This explains why dating, and even more simply male and female interactions in general, are so messed up these days.

I admit it – sometimes I check out our Reader feed and I find myself amused at the countless number of posts from male and female bloggers who lament about their romantic struggles. But fear not – I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing with you. I mean, really, you have to find the comedy in single dating life, especially if it’s your own. Don’t worry, once you’re finally with that special someone, you’ll look back at these days and laugh even harder.

The general opinion is that guys are bad at texting. I tend to agree with this (not me though, I mean, can’t you tell by the Pulitzer-caliber writing quality of this blog that I’m phenomenal at texting) with a caveat – men and women simply communicate differently. The photo says it all – she over-analyzes and he over-simplifies. Maybe, just maybe, if women kept it a little more simple and men pulled back the curtain a little bit more in the text game, then singles would be better off. Just a thought.

P.S. By the way, Guys And Dolls, how did I come up with this oh so witty title? Well, Emily and I were in Netflix and chill mode the other night when we decided to watch Bill Murray’s Christmas Special because, well, Bill Murray is awesome. In the special, Murray sings Baby It’s Cold Outside. I think to myself, Hey who wrote that song? I go on Wikipedia and find out it was written by Frank Loesser. I think to myself, Hey, Frank Loesser wrote Guys And Dolls. And here we are. It’s been three days and I still can’t get this song out of my head.

P.P.S. If you haven’t, you should watch Guys and Dolls. Marlon Brando singing is horrifically awesome.

 

Chris.

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The Paradox Of Expectations

Oh WordPress, how I’ve missed you.

Actually, no, I haven’t. I’ll come clean; I almost forgot the password to this account.

Guess you’re our illegitimate stepchild after all.

We go into blogging with the mindset that we’ll keep it up and post regularly. I mean, c’mon, surely we have at least fifteen minutes a day that we can spare to blog, right? Right?

No, we do not. We’re too busy watching the same Vine loop a thousand times on our phone or stalking our ex-lover, ex-friend, ex-coworker, ex-whatever on Facebook.

If you’re new to blogging, just know this: one day you’ll hate blogging.

I listened to a podcast episode of NPR’s Hidden Brain the other day. This episode featured Aziz Ansari, and they discussed a concept known as the paradox of choice.

We love having options, but is there such a thing as having too many options?

I do get frustrated when I can’t decide on an entree at a restaurant that has a million dishes to choose from, as opposed to In-N-Out Burger, where I know exactly what I want since there’s only three items on the menu (secret menu notwithstanding).

How about dating? Is it good now that Tinder, Match, and eHarmony have given singles an endless pool of matches to choose from? I don’t know; it seems to me that the increased dating pool has left singles less satisfied with who they’re currently dating and more curious about what other, better options are out there.

 

The creator of the paradox of choice, Barry Schwartz, says that there’s a simple solution: lower your expectations.

Lower your expectations? The hell?

 

I don’t know about that. Lowering expectations can lead to taking less chances, and what is life without taking a chance or two along the way?

I would revise the solution this way: manage your expectations. Be careful not to expect something to be the best thing ever, yet don’t completely give up going in. Find that nice even ground that suits your personality and situation.

Like this blog. I expect I’ll post again once or twice before the new year. I’m not saying I’m going to do this everyday like I used to, but I won’t be forgetting my password anytime soon either.

 

Chris.

An Abbot Kinney Anniversary

So how was everyone’s weekend, good? Actually, I don’t care.

Saturday was our two year anniversary. Yes, that’s right, someone out there exists that can actually stand being with me for two years. It turns out that I’m not so bad. In fact, I’m pretty sure that I am a h-i-l-a-r-i-o-u-s individual, and as long as you don’t mind the chronic flatulence, I can be a good time.

Anniversary day is code for doing whatever she wants (if you’re reading this, Emily, I am totally kidding). After a relaxing morning that involved Netflixing and eating breakfast burritos, we took a drive out to Santa Monica. A few days ago, Emily found out that a Philz Coffee existed in Santa Monica. The news gave her an orgasm – a coffee orgasm, that is.

Philz Coffee in Santa Monica, CA

Philz Coffee in Santa Monica, CA

I like coffee but I go out of my way to drink regular coffee on a regular basis. What do I mean? People get extremely snobby about coffee, scoffing at commercialized, “normal” brands from their high horses. I don’t want to be that guy who’s always drinking the premier brands that the hardcore bougie coffee aficionados drink.

I must say, though, Philz does make a legit brew.

Speaking of bougie, we made our way to Venice afterwards where we spent the afternoon on Abbot Kinney Boulevard. This street is basically a hipster’s wet dream. There’s nothing but boutique shops and restaurants there. I did come across a cool men’s fashion store called The Stronghold, and Emily was able to buy some treats for our dog at Modern Dog. By the way, bringing our dog with us – not a great idea. He’s more A.D.D. than a thirteen-year old Asian gamer.

The highlight of my time there was eating a mint chip ice cream cone and witnessing an older MILF-like woman throw up on the sidewalk from drinking one too many mimosas. I wish I had captured that on camera.

A shot of Abbot Kinney Boulevard

A shot of Abbot Kinney Boulevard


Emily and Kang Kang

Emily and Kang Kang


At The Stronghold

At The Stronghold

Of course, there was traffic ready to kick me in the balls as we departed Abbot Kinney to head home. I shouldn’t be surprised at this point, but yet I can’t help but feel a bit astonished to see that much freeway congestion on a Saturday.

At night, I took Emily to a sushi restaurant in Yorba Linda called Sushi Noguchi. When we got seated, the only thing on my mind was beer. We had some nice unagi, uni, salmon, yellowtail, and tuna. We were really able to taste the quality of the fish as the cuts were thick and smooth. And did I mention beer?

Cold Japanese beer on tap is magic.

Cold Japanese beer on tap is magic.

All in all, it was a good day. I won’t get into the gifts or what we hand-wrote in the cards that we gave each other. I’m also not going to mention the fight Emily and I got into that day (fellas: a girl will freak out on you from time to time; just weather that storm and roll on). Why spoil things, y’know? I just want everyone to know that it was a nice way to celebrate two years of relationship bliss. I didn’t have to break the bank (though that sushi wasn’t cheap); all we had to do was change it up a little bit. It was quite nice, minus the traffic.

That pretty much sums up Los Angeles – nice, minus the traffic.

Happy 2 years to us.

Happy 2 years to us.

Chris.

Creeping At The Gym

Is it ever appropriate to holler at a chick at the gym?

If there is a right time to do so, then I don’t know of such things. It’s one of those places where we are the least presentable. The sweat, the groans, the lack of breath – these are not ideal conditions at all.

I remember many years ago spotting a very cute girl working out by herself. It was a Saturday afternoon, the gym was less busy, and she was on the treadmill. I was on a treadmill myself, a few to her left.

I tried my best to be discrete, giving her a few casual glances here and there. Look, let’s face it, girls get checked out all-of-the-fucking-time, so why would the gym be any different? I believe I did a good job of concealing my glances – I’m Asian after all, which means my chinky eyes are harder to spot (a win for the yellow man for once).

I was single at the time, so of course the thought came across my mind. Should I go say something to her? I figured it would obviously be in poor taste to come up to her while she’s jogging on the treadmill. Hey, I know you’re out of breath and sweating right now, but I just think you’re the darndest cutest lil thang ever. No, not happening.

Okay, I admit it, I creeped on a little more. I saw her again at the weights – I have to lift weights too, y’know. She was either doing squats or dead lifts and I was probably doing some arm exercise of some sort. Still, it didn’t seem right to approach her while she was lifting.

I went to the restroom to relieve myself and when I came back, she was gone. I never saw her again.

I’ve read a few blog posts about girls getting hit on by guys at the gym and how uncomfortable of a scene that is, so perhaps in retrospect I should feel relieved that I never did anything that day.

But take solace, all you yoga pants wearing female gym goers, you aren’t the only ones that men look at.

I find myself constantly looking at other men when I’m at the gym. That may sound super gay, but it’s true. How did this dude get so damn ripped? Those triceps are insane. Holy shit, he’s benching four plates.

I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that I’m not the only man checking out other men. We’re all about the visuals anyway, and so whether we’ll admit it or not, we are constantly scoping each other out, examining each other’s muscle mass and vascularity. It’s a total creepfest at the gym, probably more so than the bars and clubs, because there men are checking everyone out.

Don’t worry ladies, we’re not forgetting about you at all. Despite the constant observation of other men, we’re still checking each and every one of you out too.


 

Okay, I’m joking for the most part. I actually hate talking to people at the gym and I get horrified whenever someone recognizes me during my workout. My ideal gym experience is going in, doing my thing by myself, never saying a word to anyone, and leaving.

But I am man enough to admit to a casual glance here and there. I actually think I glance at men more than women at the gym. Does that make me gay? I hope so, because then I could start making gay jokes.

– Chris.

Remembering Single Life

Yesterday I came home from work to an empty house.

Emily was away on a business trip, and I had asked my parents to dogsit for us while she’s gone.

It was definitely a bit odd arriving to a silent home. Originally, I thought that I was going to enjoy having the house to myself. Everyone needs their alone time, after all, and this would be a brief moment to soak in the joys of solitude.

We’ve all heard it before – the grass is greener on the other side. When we’re single, we look at couples in love with equal parts of wonder, contempt, pity, and envy. We may think, How pathetic, they depend on each other for happiness. Why can’t they just be happy on their own? Losers. Or, Get a room you assholes. But deep down, perhaps we feel jealousy creeping up our spinal cords, longing to be with that someone to experience life with, who can tolerate us just enough and not fill us with shame when they see how ridiculous our naked bodies look in bed.

When we’re in a relationship, we look at single people in the same way, don’t we? We almost resent them for being so different, yet we envy their seemingly independent lifestyles. Our single friends can fly off to Rome on a moment’s notice without any permission, we think. They have all the time to sit around and do what they want.

Despite everyone being gone and my having the house to myself, I really didn’t do anything different. I didn’t have a massive freakout session a la Tom Cruise in Risky Business. All I did was eat some leftovers and watch a movie on Netflix – I ended up watching Electrick Children; kind of an odd movie, I think I enjoyed it, but am not completely sure.

This blog is called A Couple Talks. Emily and I started this whole thing because we thought we’d enjoy doing this together. That was the point and still is – together.

Thinking about last night though, I wonder, where the hell would I be if I was single? Would my life be that much different? I mean, I’d be eating out a lot more and the interior design of my home would be a lot worse – I never gave a shit about that before Emily moved in – but what about me? What kind of person would I be right now?

The core of who I am is the same, and I think that’s a good thing. I don’t believe anyone should completely change who they are on account of someone else. It’s like a meat lover giving up beef to be with a vegan – why would anyone do that?

However, I must say that I’ve improved in many ways being with Emily. I read a lot more, have experienced new things, and have become more open to new possibilities about the future. In a way, it’s like I’ve stayed the same person but in a more enlightened state. And isn’t that what we all want from a relationship?

Don’t get me wrong, being single is great. There’s so much personal growth that can happen being single. I know a lot of people are sick of dating, viewing it as a waste of time to spend an evening with a stranger which will most likely end up nowhere. And I know a lot of people also feel like they are doomed to be single forever, feeling like there is absolutely no way that they will meet anyone compatible enough to be in a lasting committed relationship with.

If this is you, the truth is, I have no idea if you’ll ever find that person you can spend the rest of your life with. It would be bullshit for me to be like, There there, you’ll meet the one eventually, everyone does. I have no fucking clue.

What I believe is this – life can appear to be completely random, and most of it is, but it’s really up to us to make of it what we want. Whether we’re single or in a relationship, we should always be evaluating the state of our lives – Is this how we want our lives to be? Are we in a good place? Are we headed in the right direction? What can we do to improve ourselves and our situation?

Our fates are not sealed. We have the pen and paper, so let’s be the ones writing our life story rather than having someone else write it for us.

– Chris.

A Guide to Getting a Girl’s Digits

Last night, our friends got together to celebrate Chris turning another year wiser.

We went to this bar/lounge/club in Orange County called The Commissary Lounge. I would like to rename this place The Meat Market. I have coined it The Meat market because my girlfriends and I could feel the eyeballs scanning us from head to toe as we walked into the empty room at 9:30. Picture a big warehouse, empty in the center of the room, and the perimeters lined with couches, a full bar, and a DJ. As the time passed on and the center started filling in, I did notice some women whenever I scanned the room for Chris. But it was definitely a sausage fest from where I was standing. So much of a sausage fest that there was an endless rotation of men who approached we three girls the entire night.

Credit: Yelp

Credit: Yelp

As one of Chris’s friends puts it, “You know you’re a hot commodity when you’re drunk and you didn’t even pay for a single drink.”

Chris has written posts about how he thinks men should approach women. Given yesterday’s eventful night, I’d like to share a woman’s perspective of what works and what doesn’t work. Without further ado, I share with you a tactical guide to getting a girl’s number.


WHAT WORKS: Approaching a girl and asking her common questions like, A/S/L? I must have told at least 5 guys that we were from Arizona and I now live in Fullerton. *Yawn*.

WHAT WORKS BETTER: Small talk and basic get-to-know-you is okay, but what really stands out is when someone can spark a common interest or make an interesting observation off the bat. It is also refreshing when someone can show off their sense of humor or personality instead of interview you. Maybe I am annoyed by the interview questions because I’m a recruiter Monday-Friday. Leave me alone.

Example: A guy started asking a series of “Would you rather” questions. “Would you rather be fat with a beautiful face or have a model body with an ugly face?” … “Would you rather live life to the fullest and die at 35 or live a stable, ordinary life until 60?” … “Would you rather have hair all of your body and not be able to shave or be hairless everywhere?” The defensive shield lowered with every laugh.


 WHAT WORKS: Early on in the night when the room was empty, us three girls sat on the couches. We were engaging in conversation until a pot head randomly sat down on one end and proceeded to have a conversation with Ms. Hot Commodity. This approach was okay, as he ended up conversing for around 15 minutes. Apparently he was pretty deep with the aid of Mary Jane.

WHAT WORKS BETTER: A really outgoing, confident dude came up to all three of us on the dance floor. What was really smooth about this approach was he didn’t single any one of us out. But what he was able to pick up from this conversation was that I was in a relationship, another was engaged, and only one was available. Even then, he continued to engage with the engaged girl, making jokes like, “How did I not notice that? Look at that ring. That must be a VS2.” Girls look to their girlfriends for approval and by being friendly with a girl’s girlfriends, you’ve just made allies. Plus, if you are able to learn multiple girls are single, you can then make your move instead of strike out with the, “Sorry. I have a boyfriend.” move. Often told by single girls as a shield.

WHAT DOESN’T WORKA dude literally came up to me and introduced himself as we shook hands. The next question he asks is, “Where are you from?” As I internally sighed, I explain I’m from AZ but moved to Fullerton. He follows up with, “What made you move out here?” I replied, “For love.” What happened next? This fool literally walked away. Good luck getting close to my single friends!


 WHAT REALLY WORKS: Be genuinely nice.  There were a group of guys towards the end of the night who offered to buy us girls multiple drinks. But then one of them realized Miss Anonymous probably had reached her limit, and offered to get her water. Not just tap water but bottled water. This doesn’t really matter too much to me because when I’m dehydrated I could care less if it is filtered but bonus points to this super considerate nice guy.

By the way, this guy was the only one out of all the sausages who ended up leaving with a number. 🙂

dwight the office

#Winning

~Emily

Go For The Girls With Blue Drinks

I might be an asshole for saying this.

Actually, I’m definitely an asshole for saying this.

The other night, I was at a bar with some friends. There was actually a line to get in – a big one. Imagine seeing dozens of people outside of a bar, foaming at the mouth to get in and give their money away in exchange for an alcoholic beverage at a ridiculous price.

These types of places are a bit strange, particularly the establishment-customer relationship. Young adults are always looking for the new hot-spot so that they have some place to be on a Friday night, and these bars need the customers to stay in business.

So who needs who more?

But back to my asshole tendencies. So we finally get in. The music is blaring. There’s a live DJ at this bar and he’s playing some horrible Top-40 hip-hop, per the usual. As we enter, the body heat hits us in the same way humidity in a tropical country would when exiting the airport. The place is packed and the cacophony of voices from the patrons act as background noise. Any semblance of conversation is going to require screaming.

We’re standing around, checking out the scene. Then I turn to one of the guys and tell him:

See that girl over there, with the blue drink? Yeah, you should go for girls with blue drinks.

What am I trying to say? Blue drinks will fuck you up. Whenever I see a girl holding a blue drink, I instantly assume that she’s okay with getting hammered, aka having a good time, aka open to being hit on by another guy. It’s like an open invitation to try out your charms on her, her alcoholic flag planted for all males to see.

Of course, keep it appropriate, though. I’m not that much of a jackass.

Is this always true? Of course it isn’t always true. But when it comes to meat markets like this bar, everyone’s judging and prejudging everyone else anyway, so why not use our observations and intuitions to our advantage?

It’s funny how the drink someone holds will lead to all sorts of conclusions. If I see a girl drinking straight up whisky, I’ll have this weird mix of being fascinated and impressed while assuming that she’s a bit of a tomboy.

If I see a guy drinking his beverage out of a straw, I’ll automatically judge him. C’mon you pussy, put that dainty little straw away and drink like a man, will ‘ya.

Anyone who takes shots at a bar is a douche, male or female, especially if they need a chaser to follow it. By the way, what’s the word for a female douche? I’ve always wondered about that.

And back to the blue drink. It’s usually an AMF, or Adios Motherfucker. Think about that – the drink is called A-D-I-O-S-M-O-T-H-E-R-F-U-C-K-E-R. Why would anyone ever order that?

You’re such an asshole, Chris. Who cares what people drink? They’re just having fun. You’re just hating. You must be a miserable little shit.

Jesus, calm down. I’m merely making some observations about people here. I’m allowed to formulate opinions, am I not? Hell, I’ve used those little, pathetic straws before for my pussy cocktail. Don’t get it twisted, I’m not saying I’m above all this, but I’m still able to point out idiocy and buffoonery as I see it.

It’s quite a conundrum – I hate judgment but I love to judge. Sue me.

Oh, by the way, the friend ended up not even approaching her. We just ended up drinking and talking to each other all night. She enjoyed her blue drink, and he enjoyed his blue balls. Just another night in the city.

– Chris.