Dating on the 405?

New tech concept: BUMP.

I know there’s that contact transfer app for your iPhone/Android using the same name, but this idea is different. It’s actually an online platform in its beta stage where you can register or ‘claim’ your license plate and connect it with some kind of contact [voicemail, email, etc.]. Once registered, people will be able to send you messages via the site based on your license plate number.

A little creepy, yes, but just think of the dating possibilities. Who needs the internet when you have the highway? UrbanDaddy says it best—

[What’s] a place that’s teeming with fresh-faced twentysomethings, gorgeous thirtysomethings and beautiful fortysomethings[?] It’s called the 405. Total hot spot. Always packed.

Now when you’re stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic thinking you’d rather be shot in the foot than sit in your car for a second longer, you can simply glance to your left or right and spend your time instead looking for that special someone… or a hookup… or a friend: whatever floats your boat. Best of all if you happen to spot your muse, or in my case a real life Jake Ryan [I can dream, can’t I?], but he’s 2-lanes over and about to exit on Sunset, it’s not a problem. Your soulmate is not driving away forever. Take a picture of his license plate or take note of it in your head and you’re all good. Let’s just hope he thinks you’re cute too.

UrbanDaddy also points out that “getting attractive drivers’ phone numbers isn’t the only use for Bump. If you happen to see a car that’s about to be towed, you can be a Good Samaritan and send them a quick message to let them know.”

But real talk?

It’s mainly for getting attractive drivers’ phone numbers.

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Oafish Laughter

I tend to avoid hearing recordings of myself speak.

In my head, I imagine sounding polished, my voice just the right amount of smoothness & depth, with a bit of elegance to my accent. In reality, my voice is much higher pitched than I’d prefer [it reaches the point of shrill at times] & every so often that old valley accent that I attempted to correct long ago is resurrected without my knowledge [usually at high points of excitement].

What I dread to hear all the more are recordings of my laughter. Some of my friends, in their polite fashion, have told me that my laughter is delightful and infectious [probably because they’re laughing AT me] but let’s be honest: I guffaw. I cackle. When I laugh, it’s usually so hard that my entire body is affected by it: head back, shoulder’s shaking, foot stomping the ground and hands clapping. Lord, I must look like a fool when I laugh. An oaf, so to speak.

Case in point: a video my cousins and I made one day after the gym when we were in a goofy sort of mood [disclaimer: I look like an absolute idiot for 99.9% of this vid but I’m totally ok with that]—

Despite this known fact, I can’t help but laugh all the time [much to the dismay of the people around me]. Laughing is simply one of my favorite things to do—especially when I laugh at myself. In fact, I need to be able to! I fall a lot and sometimes catch myself saying the most idiotic things. If I took myself too seriously, I would have an extremely low sense of self [I don’t].

So, shrill voice and oafish laughter aside, I kind of like myself a whole lot. Which is a good thing…

I think.

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twenty-one a no-go.

This story actually starts on the 14th of September—

Col and I were up to our usual Monday-night antics. I was still being Miss Debbie Downer and Ms. Lee, the coolest cat ever, took me to Lucky Jack’s a local bar near my place. We played pool (which I won 2 to 1), drank Jameson, tonics and ate pizza and garlic knots. At some point during the night, we were outside killing ourselves with cancer sticks when Col sees an attractive and tall boy standing on the street all by his lonesome. Since she is the most perfect wingman on this earth, she immediately walks up to him, talks him up, gets me to sing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” (his choice actually), and proceeds to get his number in order to text him my digits with the words “she thinks you’re cute, call her” (total lie, I couldn’t even remember what he looked like). We spent the night texting back and forth with the decision that we would meet up to watch a scary movie the next evening (my choice, not his).

Here’s the catch—which you may have guessed from the subject of this post—he’s 21.

I told Col that he was far too young for me & that I didn’t really want to hang out with him, but she convinced me to give it a chance and go have a little bit of fun. So I did.

The night was RIDICULOUS. We went to see Halloween II by Rob Zombie, a pretty gruesome, not-my-kind-of-horror, and most definitely disturbing film. He didn’t speak much, and when he did it usually followed with me throwing out some comment that he would laugh about then grow silent once again. The movie part of the evening was fine, not amazing… but definitely not cringe worthy.

It wasn’t until we got on the subway when I realized just how young he is. The guy lives in a DORM and whispered, “Do you smoke weed?” on the train because apparently it’s a very taboo subject… to top it off, he wanted to show me his “photo book” entitled Wood which was back at his residence hall and we had to hurry back to see it because I had to be signed in before 11 PM otherwise I would not be let in.

We ended up hanging out in a bathroom with three, stoned-out-of-their-minds, teenagers (yes, teenagers) who kept asking me if I was a student at their school, too [Side note: We were in the bathroom because they were scared that the RA would smell the ganja even though they were blowing the smoke into a towel and spraying Febreeze pretty much on everything, including me]. Then he took me to his room to show me his book, which would have actually been rather interesting had it not been for him explaining to me each image and saying “Ya know?” over and over and over again.

I said once before that I tend to focus on an annoying trait of a guy… and get absolutely grossed out by him. Guess what happened, lol. The night ended with him walking me down stairs, trying to give him a good night hug and instead getting slobber on my turned cheek.

So yeah. Moral of the story is:

Stop meeting people on street corners & most DEFINITELY never date a guy who is younger than me ever again.

candid.

Sometimes I wish I had a video camera following me around to capture the simple and silly nights with friends in which nothing but good old fashioned fun happens. I just replayed last night’s events in my head and I had to control myself from laughing out loud just thinking about the ridiculousness that is—Colena.

Because there’s no way I can ever describe in enough detail how completely special the two of us were last night, I’ll sum up instead. Let’s just say the night involved two bottles of wine, the song “Push It” and two rather tipsy ladies, dancing on a balcony at 1 in the morning pretending to audition for a strip club… and auditioning in the worse way possible.

Use your imagination with that one.

Best Colena conversation of the night:

“Wait, don’t you eat eggs in the morning? That’s dairy… why can’t you eat cheese?” – C
“There’s no dairy in eggs, Col.” – E
“Yes, there is… what are you talking about??” – C
“Eggs come from chickens not cows, crazy person.” – E
“Ohhh…” – C