Thursday, August 16, 2012

Always something there to remind me....

I don't know how I let my illusions, my hopes, my feelings get away from me and let me think that something exists where it doesn't. 

How it lets me think that I'm dateable.  That there is someone out there for me.  Because, clearly, there isn't.  Not anyone, at least, that I also want to date.  Maybe I'm not skinny enough.  Maybe I'm too bitchy.  Maybe I'm too career orientated.  Maybe I'm too much. 

Whatever it is, I'm so glad I get to be reminded of it all the time.  The second, the very moment, that I start to think that someone might like me, you know like me for dating, for a relationship, to fill the other side of this queen bed (with, I might add, kick ass smooth as a baby's bottom sheets), to be there to give a shit.  To wipe the languishing tangle of hair out of my eyes.  To think of me.  I'm reminded. 

There's two kinds of men.  The ones who want to date me (see:  empty area over there), and those who just want to fuck me.  The second ones are so easy to find; the first are non-existent.

The guy I'm sorta not really dating, didn't care enough to notice that it had been a year we've been hanging out.  Sure, we aren't serious, and I didn't expect a serious commotion about it.  But we did notice the 6 month mark.  Nothing huge, but you know a nod.  Noticing it, in some way, to say hey, I appreciate you, it's been a fun year, I care, I give a shit, would have been nice.  He forgot, he doesn't seem to think it is a big deal.  Maybe he should try blowing himself, and see if that's a big deal.  I hear that rib removal surgery is a real bitch.  Or how about spend a few weeks without me, maybe he will miss me then.

Or the guy who is that secret affair, the one with the baby and babymama.  We say we care about each other, that we are friends.  We share secrets and trust each other with information that you only share with someone super close.  He leaves me little notes sometimes, little hellos.  We text, we chat, we fall asleep together cuddling in bed.  He suggests hanging out sometime, like watching a movie.  And so, my heart even though it doesn't mean to, likes him a little.  And it starts to flutter a little, and get happy when I talk to him.  And then, he wants to come over for some fun, and I explain I'm just ending my you know, girl stuff, but that he could come over and hang out if he wants anyway.

And he declines.

And then I remember just who I am to him.  Or, rather, what I am to him.

and it just hurts.  

Sunday, July 1, 2012

Now Paging Debbie Downer

You Down With ODB?
(Old Dirty Bastard)

So, dirty old man from the other night at the pub texted me this morning, and I decided on a plan of attack.  I would either let it die out with like one text a day and just let it fizzle into oblivion, or I'd go with the whole bullshit line of not being over my ex and "aww shucks, guess I'm just not ready to date."   Not only that, but he knows someone above me at work, and you know, that could be awkward, especially since my money is on him already having told his brother and the gf about our "date."  Sigh. 

I totally am ready to date.  I'm over that shit.  But, I figured no need to hurt his feelings by telling him I  think he is a liar and creepy, and therefore I'm not interested.  So when he texted me and said that he could "sense [my] sadness" and that he hopes I "find peace," I was like oh hell yeah, he opened that door for me to slip in and get on that bandwagon.  So I wrote back that I guess I'm just not over it, and the feelings are still raw.  Totally thinking that this would end this awful encounter and we could move on (separately).  Instead, to my utter disgust, he wrote back, "I'd rather you be a different kind of "raw" ;)"

Oh.  Dear.  God.

I actually yelped in horror when I read it.  Yelped.  While at work.  Out loud.  Ugh.

Gross, man.

So, that didn't work.  I didn't reply, nor do I plan to.  ewww.


 Wax On, Wax Off

Speaking of the men from dating websites--namely plenty of fuckers...errrr...I mean fish, and OKCupid.  I just got a message from a man who has a profile picture of himself eating a slice of pizza with a hugely distracting unibrow.  I'm not talking a little unibrow.  This isn't a few hairs.  This is like a fucking landbridge of hair across his brow.  For goodness sake, wax, shave, anything! 

It is called waxing guys.  WAXING.  Your eyebrows should never, and I mean NEVER, touch.  Not even a little.  That much unibrow should be illegal.


The Impending Disappointment

Soooooo, what I didn't tell you is that I've been talking to a new guy.  I'm reveling in the banter, the texts, the phone calls filled with anticipation, with flirting, those delicious moments when you feel like there is a spark and you can't wait to see if it turns into a flame.  Filled with hope, deliriously drunk on lust and hope, ahhh, what a feeling.  Unfortunately, I know that it is a feeling of sadness that comes with it, b/c I know that in theory I'm the person of his desire.  On paper, on text, on the phone, I'm a catch.  But in person, when guys meet me and find I'm not a super skinny chick, well there ends that entirely.  So while I'm loving the moment and the feeling, it makes me sad too, b/c I know it isn't reality.  I know that come tuesday, when we are to meet, the reality will hit me hard, and he won't like me.  It has, sadly, happened before.  We were such a match on chat.  Entirely hit it off on the phone, the chemistry, the banter, the experience was amazing.  But the minute we met, I knew.  I knew there was no future.

And I know it is here again.  So, I fast forwarded it.  He already sent me a face pic.  So I sent one back.  Of course, I haven't received a reply text--but that was expected.  I might as well delete his number from my phone, because we all know I won't hear from him again.

It just is.

These moments make me a little sad and melancholy.  I think back to men over the years, that came close.  That ex that wanted me to leave my husband for him, who I did care about, who just got re-married to not-me.  Even though I totally put my heart out there and he ignored it.  I know he isn't the man I thought he was, b/c he didn't reply when the man I knew would have--even if to let me down easy.

Or I think about the guy I'm fucking on the side.  The one who is a delicious secret.  He has a sort of girlfriend, more like a baby mama that he is attached to, and who he can't seem to walk away from.  Mostly he stays because of the child, and even though I disagree, I can respect his choice.  I would consider dating him if the situation was different, but alas it isn't.  The other day at work someone made a comment that hit a nerve about my appearance, and I felt down about it.  I texted him that I felt unattractive, and being concerned I was upset, he called me.  He told me that if his situation was different that he would want to date me.  I told him that it was easy to say things like that when you can't actually run the risk of having to make good on them.  Then he disproved what he said, and totally put himself back into that category of men who just want to fuck me but probably wouldn't date me.

I mean, let's be honest.  There are two categories of men who are into me.  There are the men who want to date me, and the men who just want to fuck me but wouldn't date me.  The dating ones are a lot harder to find good ones, but I've never had trouble finding men who just want to fuck me.  That is easy, I mean, what man turns down easy, no strings, discreet sex?  Yeah, not many--regardless of who the chick is or what she looks like.

I guess even though my new fuck friend was just, and is just, a fuck friend, and I'm totally happy with that, and I know b/c of his situation that things are what they are--but I guess it made me feel good when he said that if the situation was different he would want to date me.  So a minute later, when he said he's my boytoy, well, that dispelled that bullshit immediately.  He's in the "just wants to fuck me" column, and that just makes me sad.  It's nice to feel wanted, for more than just free sex.  Oh well.

And then, it makes me think about that guy.  That one guy that has always been "that guy."  The one, that despite everything, you just always have in your life.  The one you measure people against, the one you compare men to, compare sexual encounters to, you know, that guy.  I saw him recently, and despite our last encounter where I realized he couldn't handle our relationship and it ended badly--and almost ended our 15plus year relationship/friendship, this time it was different.  Like night and day.  He was exactly the man I always knew he was.  He was grown, engaging, deliciously mature and sexy.  And when we got back to his hotel room, it was more than just the comfortable ease that we fall into like a worn and well loved sweater, it was a whole new kind of hot.  The chemistry was dripping off us, the attraction was tangible, and the encounter was deliriously intoxicatingly good.  And even after it was over, he still was the man I knew he could be.  No matter how many years that we've been intimate, or that we haven't seen each other, we fall back into each other so easily, so effortlessly.  This man takes my breath away when we are in bed--literally--he quickens my breath, he makes me want to please him, and even just seeing a (non-sexual) photo of him stirs in me a physical sexual response.  And yet, he is far away.  Once he offered to come live here, and I turned him down.  It is a conversation and a moment I will never, and can never, forget.  I want to find that kind of chemistry, everyday.  I want to experience it daily, to feel the electricity of that kind of encounter when I come home at night.

Where can I find that?  lol.  Apparently not on the dates I go on!!!! 

Maybe I'm just meant to be alone.


Saturday, June 30, 2012

Old Men In The Rear View Mirror Are Creepier Than They Appear

I'm seven minutes away from the pub, and he sounds pretty awesome.  He's switching careers, but going into a field that sounds like you must be compassionate, at the least, to do so.  He's 46, sure a little bit old for me, but my best friend's husband is 42, and he acts and looks just like we do, despite the 10 year difference, so hey, why not.  I'm game.  I'll give it a shot.  His pics are decent.  He lists his body type as being "jacked."  He sounds like he is a good dad.  He lives nearby.   He sounds like he can take charge in the bedroom and toss me around for some good romps.  He sounds like a dream.  I sound delusional. 

So, we've been emailing on the website, and he did start flirting hard and almost immediately turned it super sexual, but I laugh it off, and you know, I know this is a bad sign, but he sounds sooo nice.  And in my heart, I want him to be nice and not a creepy old dude.  You know me, I give them a chance.  Even when I shouldn't.  So, I scrutinize the pics again, and meh, not that great, but hey attraction can grow, right?  right?

Right?  Sigh.

And he sounded like a reasonable guy who wasn't a douchebag (which is, by the way, totally on my "must haves" list).  You may not know it, but the area below my belt is a douchebag free zone.

I parked the car, and then totally saw a spot closer.  And not because I'm lazy, but because this is NYC and I'd like my car to not get stolen, I walked all the way back to my car, flipped a bitch, and moved it.  Ok, ok, and I wanted a quicker escape route outta there for when the shit hits the fan.  Come on, it is one of MY dates, afterall.  What do you expect?  Roses and happily ever after?  Yeah, ok.  Can you really blame me????  It's a wonder I didn't have the date while still in my car with the keys in the ignition and shaft in drive!

So, I adjust my skirt, the damm waistband of which is always halfway to my neck, and fix that underthing I wear to keep the girls (and maybe some bits of gigglyfat) wrestled down and in place, and start walking up the hill to the pub where we are meeting.  It is about 11:15pm, and in the glow the of the streetlight, I see a man standing outside, all in black, with a bowed gait, a belly that looks like he is carrying triplets to term, a mushed up tiny face, and frog lips.

And immediately, I know.

This is him.

Who else would this guy be there for?????   OF COURSE this is MY date.  Who else wants to date my ass.  Spectacular. 

And then, as usual, I woke the fuck up from that dream of happiness.  Rudely.   He looks like one of my dad's friends.  Like if my dad said, hey this is my buddy so and so, it would be totally normal.  Except that he isn't.  He's my porn talking naughty email writing date.

As I see him, those nasty naughty emails he sent me where he talked about throwing me on the couch, ripping off my panties, and forcing himself into my pussy (yep, he said that) ---the ones that an hour ago seemed overly dirty but yet somewhat provocative in a naughty way, slap me right in the face as the memory floods back and crashes into the image before me--and totally made my gag reflex start kicking.  Cause really, who wants to bone your dad's buddies?  Oh, therapy, please.  Lots of therapy. 

What the fuck.  Seriously, when he said "jacked," oohh I get it, he meant "jacked UP," b/c there was nothing jacked about him. Unless you mean jacked, like "I got jacked," or "someone jacked my car"--then I could see it.  TRIPLETS.  TRIPPPPPPLLLLETS.  Seriously, I'm a woman and I don't think I'd ever look THAT pregnant.  The best part was where the shirt drops off and hangs like a blanket over a cliff, off the huge stomach and flaps in the wind below.  Soooo sexy yo.

Now, I don't care that he isn't "jacked"--jacked isn't even on my list of what I'd love to find in a guy.  Sure, if you happen to have some muscles I'm not gonna kick you face first out of my bed, but it isn't a pre-requisite.  Just be honest.  I appreciate honesty.  Although,  "old and creepy" probably doesn't sell as well as "jacked."  

His face was nothing like his photos.  Well, I mean, back in 1989 his face obviously did look like his photos, but not recently.  And his shirtless photo with the muscles, um, photoshop maybe?  Because maybe he does have muscles, but they must have been in hiding under his HUGE ASS BEER BELLY.  Also, his arms were soft, so I'm calling bullshit on the jacked description.  Again, it never fails, men describe themselves soooo inaccurately on those dating sites.  I wonder, in all seriousness, is it that they truly see themselves that way or just a ploy to lure you in?   He had these froggy lips, you know the kind where you can't see the person's teeth and they are all flat and thin and wide, and it's just creepy.  And his face was kind of small (although maybe it was just when juxtaposed to his huge belly that it looked so tiny), and he had a wandering eye, and I don't mean that he was checking out ladies nearby.

The bartender looked (which I'm going to take as a compliment), thoroughly confused at our being together at this bar.  He told me he doesn't drink, so of course, he proceeded to have two beers.  I had a seltzer, and let me tell you, that lime was the highlight of my evening.

I tried to be average, to be not super friendly and engaging.  I don't mean to be a bitch, but if I'm myself, I can chit chat with just about anyone; I see value in people and their experiences.  But if I did that here, he would take it as me being interested in him in a romantic/sexual way, and I didn't want to lead him on.  And then there was the part that he kept trying to touch my leg--and that coupled with the dirty emails he had started to send me--I knew I was in treacherous waters there.  Back away slooowwwllly.

Then he mentions that he has 2 kids and a crazy ex-wife who likes to violate their visitation and he has to call the cops weekly.  (Sounds like dating would be sooo fun with this guy, no?)  Then he asks if I know so and so, who turns out to be kind of someone above me at work.  Awesome.  It's a small world after allllll, it's a small world after all, it's a small small world.  Small seems to be the theme of the evening.

I waited 45 minutes and ran out of there like my pants were on fire.  Thank goodness I parked close!!!!

The icing on the cake?  That person above me at work is about 10 years older than me, and she is dating this guy's YOUNGER brother.  That's right.  I'm on a date with the OLDER brother.  OLDER.  Me.  OLDER brother.  ME.  OLDER BROTHER!

Someone kill me.


Tuesday, June 5, 2012

It will end in tears. (doesn't it always?)

Good thing he has lots of toilet paper laying around (for the assplosions) and can use that to dry his little eyes. 

Awww pobrecito.

That's right kids, I'll be wearing this bitchface all day, so get used to it.  

I know it has been a while, but I am back! 

I was busy, and I felt bad that some other guy might find this blog and be hurt (again). 

And. . .  I'm over it.  Yeah, if you date me, you might find yourself on here, call the wahhhambulance.  If you date me, you'll realize right away that I'm a bit outspoken, a bit blunt, a bit sarcastic, and a handful--so finding yourself on here, shouldn't be that much of a shocker.  And if it is, well put on your big boy panties and suck it up.  Wanna cry?  Go write your own damm blog.   Fucking babies.  Geez. 

SO, time for the REWIND. 

1.  Explode-a-buttinski---he put a comment (and adorably named himself "Explode-a-buttinski"!!!  Best thing he has done so far.)  I'll post it below:  (my comments are like this as always!)

"Sorry to disappoint, that response was not from me. (of course not, I mean, it only had content that only the person actually ON the date with me would know, but sure, it wasn't you.  Right.  We all believe you.  Uh huh.  Totally)  It was quite the misadventure, and it was amusing to read about myself on the interwebnetz.  (that's funny, b/c you sure seemed quite pissed when you found it, and what are you 5? "interwebnetz? lol)  I thought the blog was funny enough to show some friends about my comic mishaps.  (well, it was hilarious, I'll give you that)  I guess one of them felt compelled to reply.  (You guess. "one" of "them."  Yeah, ok, let's go with that bullshit)   I guess some of them actually read or follow your blog now, because I heard about the anonymous reply today.  (Sure, blame the anonymous friends, have some balls and OWN IT)  Whoops.  (ew)   I guess it does add to the entertainment value of it all.   (Um, what?  Were you distracted by another ass-quake and forgot what you were talking about?? Must be it)   I hope all is well, (thanks, it is!)  I have no hard feelings about the blog, (Yeah, riiiiiiight) or anything else for that matter.  (I can picture it now, he is skipping down the street with handfuls of AIM toothpaste, rolls of toilet paper streaming out of his ass behind him like streamers.  You GO with your happy self you!!!)   I actually met my fiance for the first time a few days after that comical first date, (FUNNIEST.  SHIT.  EVER.  I can actually hear the dollar signs cha-chinging in his divorce attorney's office.  I mean, it wouldn't be his first divorce, so luckily he already knows someone!    Maybe the second time gets a discount?   Divorce one chick, get the second one half off?)  So, it's all good.  -)  (forget the eyes on that smiley face there sunshine?)
By Explode-aButtinski! on Bitter Little [exploding] Ass on 12/19/11.  

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm divorced too, but heck, I learned from that mistake!  Please note, our date was around July of 2011, and by December of 2011 he was "engaged."  haahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.  

I couldn't have ASKED for better news!  I couldn't have MADE UP better news.  Oh, juicy!!!!

Barely 6 months and you are already engaged?  Ah, yes, sounds like a solid plan.  Is she pregnant?  Maybe she fell for the old "why-don't-you-wait-here-while-my-butt-explodes-and-then-we-can-go-make-out-in-my-room" routine.  Or maybe she loves men who sit in cubicles, call out sick to go play at the beach, feel like their manhood is being questioned when a date kindly suggests something other than Indian food when his tum-tum hurts, and announces their butt-capades?  Sounds likely.

Hey, if you are his "friends" who post and follow my blog, you should totally get him a gift card for a divorce attorney for the wedding gift.  I'm all about practical gifts.  :)

Mr. & Mrs. Buttinski sitting in a tree.  S-H-I-T-T-I-N-G.   First comes exploding, then comes wiping, then comes a mini-buttinski in the baby carriage.  Awww, love.  
(picture me, making the heart shape with my hands, awwwww).  

Maybe they bonded over enormous sized ice creams?  (Oh, man, please, let them both have licked the ice cream cups clean together).   Or maybe, he finally got the balls to crap in a public (and co-ed--and PS what did he do in college?  Like never crap ever?  Wait, did he go to college?  Hmmm)  toilet, and she was sitting in the next stall and they had an exploding butt symphony together, ending with her passing him some TP under the door.  

OR, maybe they had a "mag-shit-ical moment" outside a port-a-potty.  I can see it now.   Just thinking about it makes me want to reach for the hand sanitizer. 

So this is love...mmmhmm mhhmm hhmmm....

It will end in tears my friends, it will end in tears.  (Oh, and if this is his "friends," you might want to suggest he stop sniffing the AIM toothpaste, and not jump into another marriage right after barely being divorced.)  lol.  AMMMAZZZZING.  If only I could be there for the divorce proceedings!  Man, what a witness I'd make. ;)  

Gems of Wisdom from "not-explode-a-buttinksi"  (does anyone believe this at all? And who is with me that this guy needs to get over it---it was ONE date!!! lol)

Here are the points "they" made:
1.  You sound like you are a smart mouthed woman (you got me there), who is desperate (wow, someone's got their panties in a bunch!), and gives these men a chance when you shouldn't.  (Ok,  I do give people a chance, even when maybe I shouldn't.  BUT I think people deserve a chance, even a second chance, and why not?  I'd like to believe people aren't inherently (leaking) assholes (contrary to ample evidence) and give them a shot.)
2.  You seem to be angry (RAWRRRR!!!! I'M GONNA EAT YOUUUUU lol)
3.  If you are having that many bad dates, it isn't the men you are dating, it is you.  (OOOOh ZINGER!!!! Good one!!!  First off, I talked about like 5 bad dates, ask around, it is the norm.  Second, please, when I go on a bad date and he doesn't pee in the bed, doesn't have his ass explode, or doesn't offer to sign his CD for me, then I will 100% blame myself for the date being bad.  Until then, it is them.  Sorry, princess).
4.  How could you talk to a guy for a while on the phone and not realize he wasn't the one for you.  (what exactly, are you talking to these men about to "know if he is the one for you" by a few phone calls?  Spanish Inquisition?  Are you requesting social security numbers and background checks?  Geez, I just had a few phone conversations, about like life and stuff.  "The one," lol what a crock!!! Calm yourself, pumpkin).


So, let's bring it back to the present.

Since last we chatted (or last I blogged in a "desperate" way and "gave people chances I shouldn't have")--guess what I did.  Yep, gave some more chances I shouldn't have.  Can't change me now folks!  I'm set in my kind ways!!!!  Shit, I forgot to be desperate, dammit, next time I'll work harder.  Promise. Fingers crossed. 

Sorry To Announce...

The Announcer, yeah he's gone.  No oral sex was good enough to justify me wanting to gouge my eyes out with a melon baller.  He was a nice kid, but I remember sitting in the car, feeling the familiar feeling of the walls closing in when I know it isn't right, and wishing that the ferry we were about to take would sink so I wouldn't have to get on it with him.  I just couldn't deal with the whole announcing every bodily function every time.  As previously discussed, I don't want to know when you have to take a shit, or when you have to pee, or how much you peed at 2am last night.  I.  Don't.  Give.  A.  Fuck.  (not even a little fuck).   I don't need a text about your bladder.  Nor do I want you to pee ON me.  This right here, this is a no pee no crap zone, no doing, no talking about it.  Thanks. 

He also was the kind of guy who was sweet, but clueless, and I remember laying in my bed next to him after a little argument, and he was entirely confused and had no idea what to do to make things right, and I was just bored.  Bored in the moment, bored in the argument, bored that he was clueless, bored next to him.  And I realized in that moment that I was a woman dating a (mental) boy, who had no idea how to handle/wrangle a tornado like me.  We are still friendly, and I am happy to report he has started dating someone--someone who obviously doesn't hear herself screaming RUN RUN RUN AWAY in her head when with him.  And someone who has the patience to beg him to try a carrot.  And sure, she kinda looks like a man.  A man with a wig.  But hey, love is where you find it.  Good for them! 

Shit, if you don't know what an apple is or tastes like at 30, well, I am not the person to fix you.  Good for them!  I hope it works out, and I'll give a lovely wedding gift if it makes it that far.   Yay announcer and announcerette!  (I wonder if she shouts it out when she pees too?  Hey honey, time for a crap!  Yay!  Synchronized crapping!!  Now that's a match made in heaven!)

The 36 Year Old Virgin

Did I tell you about this one?  Well, not too much to tell.  He is no longer a virgin (come on, you would have done it too, it was like community service at that point.  And shit, I need some good karma).    Don't judge me, like you wouldn't have fucked the new outta him?  Sure you would have.  Have a fucking heart people.  (Amazing that I manged to get righteous about fucking a 36yr old virgin right?  I know lol) 

We still hang out, he is fun, but alas, not going anywhere (except for his bedroom) ever.    Anti-climatic, right?  I know, tell me about it.  (ouch!)  I think what pisses me off the most, is that he never cuts his nails.  Now, ladies, you know what I'm talking about.  Don't start fingering the lady parts with jagged uncut nails.  Um, guys, do you want me to get braces and blow you?  No?  Same concept.  I even bought him a nail clipper.  Is clipping your nails once a week pre-sex too much to ask?????  Apparently so.  

The Narcissist

Yes, you remember him?  The ballless wonder who gave me a copy of his CD at the end of the date after putting me into a coma (kinda like how he drives).  Well, about a year later, I opened up a (different) dating website, checked my mail, and to my surprise, guess who emailed me.  Yep, the Narcissist!  But, he didn't realize it was me!  I have my picture up, and yet, there it was, in my inbox, all friendly and new.  I wrote back, of course, and tried my hardest to play nice, but really, how do you go about saying "hey dumbass, are you shitting me?  I don't look fucking familiar to you?  You forgot that awful date we went on????"  He remembered me then!!!!!  Ahh, fun.  Then he kept emailing, as if we were going to go on a date now.  What, one per year?  And it was AWFUL.  There was a REASON we didn't go on a second date, soooo why would a year later I want to try again?  Absence does not, has not, and will not, make the heart grow fonder.  Ugh.  Go falsely imprison someone else in your car buddy.  Just not me.

Goal for this week:  learn to play better with others.  (just not the ass-y ones).   Duh.  

Monday, June 4, 2012

Fuck Apples; Eat Me Instead!

(this is from a while ago--but I never posted it--and I got to see him at Christmas, and it was awkward.  However, my bed remains piss-free.  Yaayyyy!!!)

You know how sometimes you get the feeling something in your life is missing?  Well, I can tell you what isn't missing.  A man who pees in my bed.

However, I'm prettttttttty sure he missed that memo, because guess who contacted me tonight?  That's right, Sir PEES a lot in the flesh.  Seriously.  This man peed in my bed, ON ME, while I slept, and he has the cajones even after I dumped his piss soaked ass, to ask to see me again.  He said he missed me, which by all accounts, I have to assume means that he hasn't found any bed as nice as mine to piss in.  That must be it.  Shit, I do have awesome sheets, and this Sterns and Foster mattress is the shizzle.

Bottom line:  Pee in your own fucking bed.  


You know what, I should invite him over.  And make him sleep in the kitchen on a dog bed.  Now, now, don't get all offended, I'll even put down a bowl of water, a chew toy (bottle of vodka), and a potty pad.  See, I'm so thoughtful.  It is a wonder someone hasn't snatched me up yet.  Right?  Right. lol.   I'm a fucking catch.  Ask Explode-a-buttinski, he'll tell you (anonymously, like his comments, of course). lol.


So, it has been a while, but don't worry, I was still "dating" (can we really call it that at this point?  It's more like self-inflicted torture.  One of my fav readers emailed me that I either have the worst luck ever or I am the bravest person he knows.  I'm going to go with both.  I clearly put out a sonar for every mouthbreathing, capslock writing, dating reject in a 20 mile radius, and then, I go out with them).  I think the problem, really, is that I give people a chance--even when I probably shouldn't.  I try to find the good in people, and understand that first impressions are often hard due to nerves etc.  Dating isn't easy, and I cut the men out there in the world some slack.  I'm not perfect, not by a long shot, so I accept them with their faults and give them a shot.

I gotta stop doing that shit.


I mean, so far it's got me harassed, bitched at, peed on, dumped for a bathroom, and bored to tears.  Talk about win-win.  I think the tampon insult was like the highlight of last week!  Awesomeness.  My gut is, sadly, always right.  Problem is, sometimes I hate what it tells me. 

So, that being said, you know there are a few more men who I gave a chance to (against all good judgment), and you know since this is me we are talking about, they didn't disappoint...or, well, they did, but you know, in a my-life-is-a-shitshow kinda way.  Get comfy, it's gonna be a bumpy ride.
The Candidates. . .drum roll please...

Innocence [not] Lost

Now, I mentioned I was introducing a carrot to my date in a past blog.  I wasn't kidding.  Not even a little.  Pick a fruit, a vegetable, a food, almost anything--and I can promise you, fuck that I can guarantee, that this guy hasn't tried it.  Sure, not everyone has tried a kumquat, or a lychee, or even a pomegranate.  I get that.  But an apple?  AN APPLE?  A FREAKING APPLE???? Who the fuck hasn't tried an apple?  Or a carrot?  Or lettuce?  LETTUCE!!!!  Seriously, pick anything--he hasn't had it.  I made him try a cherry--he almost puked.  Then I forced some lettuce, a cherry tomato (which his face when it squirted was hilarious--but I guess, if you never had a tomato before, how the hell would you know they are juicy inside? RIDICULOUS!!!), and a baby carrot.

He told me this info, and I was speechless (a rarity as you might imagine).  I mean, who hasn't had an orange?  A grape?  How do you even respond to that?????   Unbelievable. 

So here's the run down.  He's a nice guy, a really nice guy.  A little awkward, and not very hung (like, not. even. a. little.), and very sheltered (as evidenced by never having a strawberry, EVER).  He lives at home, he's my age, and while that isn't terrible, he seems to have gotten himself stuck in a job rut and being at home has created a situation where he is kind of immature emotionally and responsibility-wise.  Moving out, paying bills, handling your own life, you know, without mom to do the laundry or have dinner on the table, really makes you grow up.  My ex didn't have this growing up experience--which totally explains why he expected me to be his mommy (he would say, why can't we have kids--I was like, newsflash, we have kids--it's you buddy).  Anyway, I don't want another ex-man-child, so I don't think there is future potential, but he does have some redeeming qualities, like he is super nice, fun to hang out with, nearby, and oh, he gives great oral.  Like, really, really great.  Like even though I'm only the second woman he has been with (ever, I know, crazzzzzy), he is great at it.  And he loves doing it. Soooo, yeah, keeping him around.

Hey, don't judge.  A girl has needs, yo.  And shit, why not.  And hell, for all the head I've given without reciprocation, I deserve some fun below the belt.

And did I mention he likes it?  And he's good?

Fuck apples, eat me instead.  haahaaaaaaa.  no, seriously.   


Keep Your Briefs On, Counselor

Then there is the newest love of my life (um, no).  He's a 44 year old attorney, and right off the bat tells me that he is into dating younger women so there is no "baby clock" ticking.  Ok, I can understand that.  Then he quickly moves the convo along to tell me that in the past he has dated women who were less than enthused about sex (see, frigidbitches), and he wants to make sure I'm not like that.  During the first phone conversation.  FIRST.  PHONE.  CONVO.  Yeah, ok, and now my gut is light up and blinking "this man wants ass."  Sad, because he seems fun.  However, if he tells me he is an "Irish Teddy Bear" one more freaking time, I'm going to meet him and tear out all his fluffy stuffing while pouring a Guinness on him.  Seriously, I get it, you drink too much and you're a little chubby.  It's fine, I'm cool with it.  Because, let's be honest, that is exactly what he meant.  (I even saw pics to confirm).  But, I think a little chub isn't horrible, in fact, could even be cute.  I mean, I'm no stick thin bitch.  I'm an equal opportunity fuck.  Chub, skinny, tall, short, bring it.  And shit, I like beer.  And redheads, fuck yeah.  Yum.  (unless they come with an explosive ass, then negatory on the yum). 

But alas, every freaking conversation turns to sex, and of course, how he is an Irish teddy bear that, as he put it so eloquently, "worships at the altar of DDDs."  Listen up sunshine, I haven't been a DDD since like 9th grade, and I have cleavage for miles.  One look at me in person and he's probably start convulsing and tithing his 10% to the church (or to the shop where I buy bras).  And don't get me wrong, I like sex.  In fact, I love sex.  I have a higher libido than most (read: all) of the men I've dated.  But I was looking to date someone and have sex in that relationship, not just random sex with an irish teddy bear.  Who wants to end up covered in beer with bear stuffing stuck to their ass?  No gracias, ya compre.

Either way, I hate that my gut tells me he isn't dating material, but I know he isn't.  Right now I'm trying to convince myself that my gut might feel different after meeting in person, but I'm pretty sure all my gut will feel after meeting him is reassured.  The rest of me, however, may either be turned on (I do like guinness....) or totally repulsed.  Since this is my life we are talking about, smart money's on "repulsed."


Wait, didn't I see this movie already?

The 36 year old Virgin.  He's a story for another time.  Suffice to say, the name says it all.  Unbelievable, for serious.  The best part, he wants me to wax his hairy back.  Come on, you saw the movie.  haahaa.  NICE.  Hold on to your nips, I'm firing up the wax!!!!


Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Bitter Little [exploding] Ass

So, it's been a while, and before I get into the fun fun fun I've been having in the dating world (next post), I wanted to address a lovely set of comments I received and clear a few things up.

Now, both comments were left on the "It's not you, it's my ass" blog, where I described the grand assplosive time I had with explode-a-buttinski.  The comment was left by " Anonymous" and yet the tone was very familiar.  Hmmmmmmm anyone remember a guy with an exploding ass who couldn't get over me blogging about him?  Hmmm, who could anonymous be?  lol.  I'll give you one guess.

Since "anonymous" was sooo kind to give me a lesson on chivalry as you will see below, I'm going to return the favor and share a lesson on privacy.  I use made up nicknames, but darling, I don't have to.  I could use first names if I wanted to--even full names as long as I speak the truth.

So, bring it bitches.
I think the "anonymous" comments will cease. lol.  

On to the comments--they are juicy!  Get ready! ("anonymous' comment is regular; my responses are in bold and blue):

"I'm gonna start this comment off with a little vocabulary lesson for ya. chivalry - noun qualities such as courtesy and courage    [At this juncture, I have two things to say.  First, how about a lesson in grammar: the end of sentences require punctuation.  I guess "someone" was too busy being angry (still geez get over it!) to slip a period in there.  Not to mention the missing commas, but heck, he spelled "ya" right. lmao.  Also, let me give you the actual definition of chivalry.  

1.the combination of qualities expected of an ideal knight, esp courage, honour, justice, and a readiness to help the weak [nope, not you, clearly]
2. courteous behavior, esp towards women [I think this is what you were attempting to refer to, however I will point out that it says ESPECIALLY TOWARDS WOMEN, maybe you missed that part of the definition.  Funny thing about definitions, you have to read all of it...not just the parts you like]
3. the medieval system and principles of knighthood [I would pee myself imagining him on a horse]
4. knights, noblemen, etc, collectively [not in a million years] 

So, you see the problem?  At least he got that it was a noun right.  Good for him!  Yay!!!!]
You know why chivalry is dead or dying? [Hmm, no, but I bet you are going to tell me] Because of females like you who think it's up to a sole gender to keep it alive. [Yep, there it is.  Keep these nuggets of wisdom coming, peaches!]  Do you really need a penis to do the things that seem to be expected only of men? [Well, they are the ones WITH the penis, but hey, maybe you date women with penises? Sounds reasonable, next time I encounter a woman with a schlong I'll be sure to expect the same chivalrous qualities from her too--oh, and what do you mean "need a penis to do things"--like, what are we talking here? Penises picking up the tab?  Penises eating thai food?  Now I'm picturing a penis opening a door for me.  We have to work on your diction, get it, haahaaaaa.  Further, do you have a problem handling those things?  Stop whining, and man up you little biatch. lol] But hey, I understand that your purse can become too heavy and full of tampons for you to carry enough money to pay your own way on a first date or, GASP, offer to pay for something all by yourself. [How original, let's make a tampon joke.  Shows such brains, to attack women for a natural process they gracefully deal with.  You must be a real big man.  We are going to have to work on your reading skills sunshine.  I clearly stated that I have NO problem offering to pay, and even paying.  In fact, (sit down, your unmanly legs are probably about to give out at this point with all this reading), I have only let about 2 men pay for me ever.  I have always paid my way, in fact, I always without fail offer and am willing.  I never felt like it should be one person's role or sole responsibility to pay, but in the past years I've been lectured over and over that on a first date men "should" pay or that many men see it as a bad thing if the woman insists on paying.  I've had that happen.  I've had a few men who were very traditional say that my insistence on paying made them feel like I thought "they couldn't provide for me," or that it came off as "too women's lib." I've also heard that continuing to insist on paying--like both trying to pay--gets annoying.   So basically, I can't win.  If after I offer to pay I let the guy pay then according to you I'm out for a free ride (what, a $8 meal? lmao yeah ok, no), and if I insist on paying then I'm a feminist bitch.  WHAT THE FUCK GUYS!!!! lol.  Seriously.  My rule is that I offer to pay twice, if after twice I'm refused, I'll let it go, but then I try to pay for something else, like the parking or the popcorn/drinks at the movies after dinner etc.  Anonymous clearly ignored everything I said, and has some issues himself.]    After reading this blog entry, I can see why you're still single. [Me too, b/c I don't want to settle for losers like you? Yep, that's it!  And "still"?  I've been single barely a few months, and online dating for like 1 month, whoooo yeah, still single, lol]  You shouldn't go into a first date expecting anything more than trying to make a better connection with someone. [Did you not read the other blogs? Like at all??  lol. I agree with you sunshine.  Yeah, I've said over and over, that I'm there to get to know the person, I even said that in talking about explode-a-buttinski.  I said that I wouldn't have cared where we went to eat--if his tummy was bothering him, I wouldn't have cared if we had freaking tea and toast---I was there to get to know him and didn't give a shit (appropriately) about the meal.  I have an excellent job, and I can buy my own $8 pad thai, but thanks, lol]  So what if you split dinner? [It wasn't that he didn't pay, it was how he acted and went about it, like a child and spent his whole profile talking about how he was bringing chivalry back--and besides opening like 2 doors that I reciprocated, I didn't see any evidence of it.  Maybe he meant the knighthood definition and he has like a full body armor suit at home.  I bet he even wears it to take a crap, lol.  That must be it]  He offered in the first place, [He offered?  He did?  How would you know Mr. "anonymous"---were you on the date?  He didn't offer, he sat there drinking his thai iced tea and I opened MY mouth and offered lol] so if you had full intentions of freeloading, you shouldn't have offered at all yourself. [Please refer to the part where I offered and then offered again, and then paid.  In fact, when he first texted me he would come to Walgreens to meet me b/c he needed toothpaste, I asked him what kind he needed and was going to pick it up for him, yeah, I'm the freeloading bitch, clearly lmao]  Not to mention then proceed to be mad about it! [I wasn't mad, I just laughed about it, hence why it was in this blog where I joke and laugh about the ridiculous dates I go on]  Also you seemed so concerned with the fact that he wasn't listening when it came to you not liking ice cream. What about the fact the he clearly did like ice cream?  Would it have been so hard to say, "Hey I don't care for ice cream, but sure lets go!". Ultimately all he is doing is trying to extend the date, but I guess you would rather a guy say "Dinner was great...Bye!".  [It wasn't about not liking ice cream, it was about ice cream making me sick.  If your date told you something made them sick, like really sick, would you want to take them there?  I wouldn't, I would want my date to be comfortable--which is why I didn't say a word against it when we drove around and he picked his favorite ice cream place, and I still got out and went in enthusiastically.  I even ordered a little something so he wouldn't eat alone.  I didn't show that I didn't want to go there.  I understood that he probably just had this date planned and he wasn't good on the fly.  I get that, and I appreciated that he planned something.  So I went, I smiled, I had fun, and I didn't mention again that I didn't like ice cream.  In spite of feeling really sick from it, I even took a few bites to make him feel good and show that I was happy to be there.  SO SCREW YOU buddy lol] Do yourself a favor and quit playing games. [Gosh, this wise sage gives advice too!  Lucky me!!!!  I don't play any games.  None.  However, I am allowed to have personal thoughts, and express them anonymously on a blog.  Let me refer you to those amendments...aka the Constitution lol]  Finally, the poor guy had to poop. Get over it! At least he was honest.[He didn't have to poop.  He told me his ass was about to explode and create an incident.  AN INCIDENT!!! lmao.  He could have been honest and still modest.  I didn't care that he had to poop or go explode, but how he expressed it during a first date was hilarious!  Come on, your date says something like that, and you would laugh your ass off on the inside.  I didn't make him feel bad, I didn't give him a hard time, I was sympathetic and left immediately when he said he had to go.  No biggie.  I told him not to worry about it.  I still kissed him, which I never do, and reassured him that it wasn't a big deal.  In fact, I was still willing to go on a second date after that incident.  However, looking back it was funny as fuck.  I guess Mr. "anonymous" never thinks back at unlikely, or hard situations and finds the funny in them.  I can laugh at myself, and it was a funny night!]  Unlike you who didn't mention you weren't from New Jersey, but have no problem complaining and dwelling about it and the money spent.  [I am from NJ you idiot.  I grew up in NJ, I just happen to have a home in both NY and NJ, and at the time I was physically in NY.  I even have jersey plates, jersey license, etc b/c I'm a jersey resident.  Sorry to disappoint ya.  Some people like me, have homes that they own in more than one place.  New concept for ya?  Brace yourself, I have a third house on the beach too.  Sad new for you, it is also in NJ lmao]  Thank goodness you don't live in New Jersey, we have enough problems dealing with the "Jersey trash" stigma already. ["We" eh?  So you live in NJ, hmmm I bet I can guess which street lol.  Man, let's just say, if you aren't explode-a-buttinski--which I'm sure you are--I hope we meet sometime, it sounds like it would be a great time lmao]  In conclusion, I'd say that shit he had to take was probably the best thing that could have happened to him.  [More like the best thing that happened to me, and BONUS it led to you commenting!  whoohooo! doublescore!]  It's no wonder instead of the body heat of another man, the most warmth you get near your vagina is when you rest your computer on your lap to blog about your failures in life. [Now, that one was kinda funny.  I'll give you that one.  It isn't my failures in life though.  I went to excellent schools, I have my first choice job, I love what I do.  I was married, to a man who most women find hot, and I left him because I wasn't happy.  I am new to dating, I am sarcastic, and I like to laugh.  Sorry, lol.  However, I will mention that while I am not loving my "dates," some of them actually want to date me again, and lol, I'm a grown woman, and therefore, always have a fuckfriend on speeddial.  So, listen, don't you worry your pretty little head about my vajayjay, I'm good, great in fact!]  My money's on him [you mean you?] finding love and happiness before you do. DEUCES! [Now, saying "deuces!" is such a kiss off isn't it?  As if you know the person? LOL.  Well, explode-a-buttinski, I hope you have a great day in your cubicle tomorrow, and enjoy pooping at work and at home (but not in public), and find that happiness that eludes me.  Oh, good luck on that receding hair line too.]
By Anonymous" [haahaaa, yah, ok, nooo onneee beeeeliieeeevveeessss youuuu lol]

And now for his second comment...I guess he had more to say?
"too bad you texted him a week later saying you were still "dtf," which i think means down to fuck..

 [Hmmmm, that is SOOO weird, that you, an anonymous poster, would know that I texted him a week later.  However, you are mistaken, I never told him I was DTF (which does mean what you think it means lol), and I was never DTF him.  I was down to get a neck massage lol, but listen, I looked at his hands.  He is a medium-tall man, with a huge belly, a receding hair line, and not large hands.  You do the math.  My texts were to try to apologize, because these are my private thoughts and feelings, presented in a funny way, that were meant for anonymous reading only--and not for him to see.  I felt terrible that he saw it, and I tried to invite him over, offered to cook for him, and tried to make him feel better.  I never texted him that I was DTF, but nice try asshole]  weird.. if you're like the other girls this guys dates, you're ugly and a little bit fat. [So, you're saying this guy only dates girls that are ugly and a little fat? Wow, you pass judgment on everyone eh?  lmao]  so it probably is just you [I've discussed my weight, yep, I'm not fat, but maybe I'm a little bit fat?  Sure, let's go with that.  I'm not ugly though, in fact, I'm super pretty, so lost me there.  However, he was at least "a little fat" himself, so pot, meet kettle.  And I have also said, that I don't care about that, I would date a guy even if he was heavy or super skinny, as what is inside is what matters.  Clearly, you missed that nuance, and it makes you feel big and better to call a girl who is putting her heart out there and being brutally honest about not only her dates, but about herself, because she likes to write and believes it is better to laugh at the ridiculous things life throws at you rather than cry, "ugly and a little bit fat."  Hey, I hope it made you feel like a real big man. (no doubt a first for you).]
By Anonymous"  [Still rocking this eh?]

Dearest "Anonymous,"

Next time, be a man and post it with your name, screen name, contact info, or something.  

Anonymous= biggest pussy ever. (but hey, at least his butt explodes on command!!!)

lmao.   I guess someone read the second blog about himself lol.  Whoops lol. 

love and asskisses,

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Mouthbreathers In The Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear

Miss me? Nope. Yeah, well bite me. Go ahead, close the match. Everyone else does. lol.

Hobo In July (like Christmas, just smellier)

The Narcissist (who, let me remind you, was originally referred to as the "nice guy from eharmony" in past blogs--yeah, update that shit in your head b/c "nice" isn't really one of the adjectives I'm going to use for him. lol):

1. has not only been boring and more distant as of late, but also has mentioned how he plans to lose 3lbs a week from now on (haahaa, good luck with that sunshine, and PS maybe shave while you're at it, that should cut like 2 pounds of hobo from your ass---ooooh and if you keep wearing the long sleeve flannel in July you can probably sweat out at least a few ounces of douchebag),

2. stays up all hours to play Magic, the gathering (if we didn't know he was a keeper already...--and complains that people cheat in the game. Wait. People cheat at a magical card game? Could we reach a lower level of loserific? nope, ground floor, all mouthbreathers please exit the car),

3. is obsessed with that Final Fantasy game (yeah, haahaa, I bet that is the only fantasy you ever make come true darling--and not one where you'll ever end up naked), so much so that he uses it as his music inspiration, artwork, and as a reference point for his life.

Man, can I pick 'em or what?

Not that there is anything wrong with a hobby, or even those games, as dorky as some people think they are. Hey, we all have hobbies, you enjoy it, great. Who am I to give a shit? I don't. And besides, I have quirks too. I mean, it isn't every chick that gets lost watching archaeology shows or documentaries on gangs. (it was so freaking interesting, I'm serious, netflix that shit).

But seriously, it shouldn't be, nor take over, your ENTIRE life. Ever. No wonder he says he never gets laid. You don't say? Yeah, not a revelation there peaches. Although, I'm sure his comatose driving and general self-centeredness doesn't reallllllly help.

Sure, some women like assholes, but really, who likes a small inwardly turned prick? No. One.

Self Squealer

I mean, hell, I can barely handle him shooting off AT the MOUTH...Imagine him shooting off IN MY mouth? OHGOD. I'd imagine he ejaculates self congratulatory semen as well. Can you imagine? Oh, man, I've scarred myself. Talk about gag reflex. Ew. Probably screams (*squeals) his own name as he cums too. Sounds about right. And we can allll guess what the soundtrack to his "lovemaking" is. lol. At least there is no scan/seek button in bed.

He says he gets more action when single than when in a relationship.

I can totally see that. At first blush (assuming one is shitfaced drunk and he just told some impressionable chick that Tom Petty's gf thinks he rocks) I can see how he *might* get laid. Or at least blown. a little. like, no swallowing and certainly no facial action, but like, you know, maybe the tip, near or proximate to, someone's (maybe female) mouth. maybe. (no wonder he paid for it) But after a few dates (read: coma onset), I could see how one would never want to touch/blow/kiss/listen to/bang him again. It would be like when you grate cheese and catch your finger on the metal slicer, you just, you know, suck the wound, put on antiseptic, and buy grated cheese from now on. Cue antiseptic.

Distance (does not) Make the Heart Grow Fonder

So, he is also probably more distant b/c I somewhat balked at his "I respect you greatly email." If he respected me greatly, he would have the balls (or grow a pair of said balls) to tell me that he isn't interested. I can respect honesty, and not everyone is a match. I mean, if you have eyeballs you can tell from my blog I'm not over the moon about him either. If I wanted to date a narcissist, I can think of a few hotter and more well-groomed ones to start suffering through than this Lord of the Dance motherfucker. (I'm sorry, I should have named him that, because now that I used it once last post, I just can't stop calling him that. and I kinda heart it). big time.

Lord of the Dance motherfucker. aaahaahaaaaaaa.

Anyway, point being that I stopped being super nice and ignoring his shit. You're gonna say some shit, I'm gonna respond. I'm always myself, I am, but sometimes, especially at first, I know I can come off a bit much (have you read this blog? hahaa), and I try to wait until someone knows me to show my funny/unfiltered/oh-so-wrong side.

That time period has ended.

Revelations: You're Great But(t)....

So, yeah. I realized something valuable today. It was super depressing, but I guess true. Now, there are rare exceptions (my ex was actually super hot by most women's standards, tall, built, blond, blue eyed, chiseled looks...and yes, I got rid of him. He was an asshole/a drunk/stupid. When he asked me if Guatemala was in Africa, I knew it wasn't going to end well.You can fix many things, but you can't fix those things. And I'm not gonna try. No gracias, ya compre. I put his needs before mine, for like 6 years more than I should have, and I tried. I did.) but, overall, this is apparently truth...

What I realized is that this is me: (I'm going to put humble aside here, bear with me)

Intelligent/smart, funny (ok, maybe somewhat sarcastic and wrong, and needs a filter, but hey, it makes me laugh...and that's what matters right?), compassionate (shut up, I am, ask anyone), kind (see, compassionate), generous (I'm a giver, clearly), witty (contrary to my blog's content), successful (yeah bitches, I go after what I want), I'm honest (yeah, yeah, I know, filter, got it), ambitious (giving up is not an option--and adversity just makes me stronger), adventurous (i'm up for it!), and spontaneous (let's go!). I mean, I am.

I know this blog is flippant and sarcastic, but it is only one aspect of me . . . Magnified by the douchebags who ask me out.

The rest of me, well, I volunteer, I love helping people, and animals. I can't pass a homeless person without giving him something. I can't walk past a starving stray on the street dodging cars without doing something about it. I put myself out there, heart and all. I love hard. I care, I genuinely give a shit, and there is little I wouldn't do for someone I care about. I'm family and career oriented, and I always go out of my way for my partner--to please them, in every way, to support them, to share and communicate. I get what matters, I don't do drama, and (obviously) I don't put up with bullshit. Liars, assholes, douchebags, keep going. I try to do what is right, even when it is hard.

And to top it off, I'm pretty. Like really pretty. I'm fun. I love to laugh, I'm well rounded. I have my shit together (except, of course, in the relationship department), and I'm a catch. My flaws are that I was married (we all make mistakes yo) and hence, now divorced, that I sometimes wear my heart on my sleeve, and that I'm a bit heavier than I should be. Now, we aren't talking the USSBIGASS here, or like a boat, and I do compensate with (super awesome) huge boobs (cleavage for miles = understatement), but still, I should be and am trying to be thinner.

For health, for me, for tube tops.

and I'm great in bed. seriously. I'm open, experimental, wild, vocal, naughty, talented, non-judgmental---the whole 9 yards. and I love giving. I mean it. love. giving. love love love. lol. TMI? Probably, but you asked. What? You totally did. Stop lying.


And yet.

None. Of. That. Matters.

Not even a little bit.

Turns out, the only thing that matters when you're online dating is that you aren't (not even a little bit) fat. Yep. Hope you're a reallllllllllllll skinny bitch, because that is all that any guy cares about. Sure, attraction has to be there, but:

1. I'm not scary. seriously, Im not. Im even pretty.
2. I give these fell on my face on the way over to your place ALLCAPSLOCKTYPING idiots a shot, because chemistry can come from other things and it is the person who matters most.
3. Did I mention I'm pretty? and not scary?
4. I've dated. I've had men in love with me. I've had flings, sex, ffs, bfs, and even a husband--allll while looking like this. In fact, some when I looked less cute. So, clearly, someone does, and can, find me attractive. (see #1 & #3 for reaffirmation).

Soooo You Want a Bitch, But Not a Bitch? Got it.

but it doesn't matter. Which is crazy to me. I'm allllll these awesome things, and none of it matters? How can that be? How can the shitcrazy, dumb as a rock, materialistic, undriven, unsuccessful, but skinny bitch be the one they want? Guys constantly complain that women are crazy, full of drama, materialistic, gold diggers, bitches--helloooooo, then why are those the ones they date?

Rejection Recap

Meanwhile, the bald older fat guy (that I was kinda actually into a little) closed the match when I sent him my "can't stands & must haves" on eharmony-- which is weird, b/c "being a bald older fat guy" wasn't even in my can't stands list. It was flat out rejection central. Felt good.

Then the guy with like 8 chins --(you know, it is funny, I'm heavier than I should be sure, and I put up pics that show what I look like, I always err on the side of describing myself as heavier than I am when picking descriptive nouns, etc. because I'd rather have someone be happy that I look better than expected than worse, and yet, men seem to have no issue describing themselves as having "a few extra pounds" when they weight 400lbs and are about to have weight loss surgery, or as "about average" for body type when I'm pretty sure I could lose my cell phone in a chin roll. Incredible. It really is. I mean, I don't care, I have no issue dating a heavier guy or a skinny guy--it is the person that counts to me--but guys seem to have no body issues at all. I mean, I would think that a guy who legit weighs 400lbs, or even 300lbs, would be somewhat anxious about how he looks and worried the girl might not be into him. Nope. not even a wee bit. Meanwhile, I'm underselling myself and worried that I might not be portraying myself accurately by posting some pics of me that came out especially good (along side some not so good ones). Dripping with irony.

Last Call For Giving A Dammmmmm

So. new plan. I'm gonna be like a guy. I am who I am. I think I'm pretty awesome. Don't like me? Your loss dicknose. That's right. I said dicknose. booyah. snort that.)-- anyway, guy with like 8 chins didn't reply to my "can't stands & must haves"--hmm seeing a trend. I'm closing his match tomorrow. Well, at least I won't waste 5 hours searching for my cell after our date.

I was also summarily rejected by a guy who works in "transportation services" (read: bus driver), a guy who looks like the before picture in the plastic surgery/derm office magazine--you know the one you look at while you wait and that makes your chin drop and think to yourself, shit, I should get some botox or something because those before and afters are AMAZING!--yeah that guy), and a the rest I didn't even bother to look.

Oh, and man you should see the 2 who emailed me on POF. One's a martial art obsessed guy who looks like he might try to lure me into his fight club and beat the shit out of me. Now, I can appreciate a hobby, but if you have 20 pictures and ALL of them involve a head band tied ala Karate Kid, I'm gonna say too far. too far. Or the other who clearly is rocking his ESL classes, and who is sporting a sexy photo of himself in a hot tub with like 7 "gold" chains. Hmmm, yeah, you're looking for a relationship, no doubt. He said I was "rumbling around in his head all day"--and I'm going to say there must be a hell of a lot of empty space up there for that to happen.)

My new plan is to contact every match, that way they make a decision (usuaaaally to close me lol) but at least it thins out my list. I'd rather have some movement, even if it is out the door. So, slash and burn= new dating motto. Don't like me, fuck you. :) Don't let the closed match hit your ass on the way out buddy.

Leave Me Breathless Baby

Sigh. And this, my friends, is why I have a date lined up with a guy on (permanent) crutches, a guy who can't use full sentences (he loves a good fragment?--he must, b/c he hasn't mustered a single sentence utilizing a verb AND a noun yet, I know, I know, I'm a demanding bitch), and a guy who while sweet is super young, sheltered, and generally clueless.

I'm introducing him to a carrot this weekend.

I'm so fucking serious.

Someone, kill me.