What next time?

August 6, 2014

So it has been a while. A long while. I’ve still been occasionally dating. I get motivated, update my profile, log on daily and reply to messages. But the same thing always happens. I go on a few lackluster boring going nowhere dates, and I get disheartened. I stop logging on, I stop responding to messages, mainly because not only am I down about it, but let’s be honest, the emails suck to begin with.

Let’s see. Recently, I met a guy I liked. He was a little science nerdy, and a little awkwardly dorky, but I liked it. I prefer smart men, and he was interesting at least. I felt like he could challenge me, in fact, we could challenge each other. So of course he got laid off right before we met and he then proceeded to go on job interviews all over the country. I know his field (neuro research) is specific, and it isn’t like there is a suitable lab on every corner, but really? Really? We talked and stuff for a while, but it just died out over time.

The other man I went out with at the same time (the bar restaurant I always go to must be like dammmmmm this chick gets around because I bring all my first dates there. Why you ask? Well it is nearby, the food is good, it isn’t usually overly loud, and it is comfy and casual. And I don’t have the effort or desire to drive far lol). Sad but true. Anyway, he was nice but loved to talk about his ex at work who is his stalker. Yeah, allow me to exit left. I don’t need to start dating someone who already has a built in stalker. Thanks, but I’d rather not fast forward to crazy at my door at 4 am banging and screaming because she sees your car outside. It sounds appealing, but no. Lol.

Then there was that guy who was already like 3 drinks in when I arrived and met tried to get me to buy his drinks. He said, don’t worry, I’ll get you next time. Um, what next time? There’s not going to be a next time. We had no chemistry, and it was about as fun as watching paint dry. Separate checks please.


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! 


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 come marriage, 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.



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 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 was angry posting eh?), 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 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.  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.



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.  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.


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!



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.


The Unbelievables

June 6, 2012

(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.




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.  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).  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, Wasn’t this a movie?


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):


“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,



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 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.



Now, as you might have imagined, I knew the asskiss goodbye from assman/explode-a-buttinksi was coming, so it wasn’t the only thing I had cooking lol. On to the fun….


Let’s Play Strip Jenga Aroooouuuuunnnndddd His Issues.

Awesomeness. Um, no.

Strip Jenga boy tried to make it happen tonight, but when I suggested he come meet near me (versus me going to his place, which I wasn’t comfortable with), he told me he has “anxiety over going new places,” even though he is 37, and I’m a woman and not like, say a mass murdering huge 8 foot strapping lumberjack, but ok. Whatever. Maybe he hacked my amazon account and found out I ordered (in a fit of hilarity) that “The Ex” knife set. (trust me, google it haahaa).


Yet, he wants me to come to his house. Yeah, as much as I’d love to be on the news tonight, nah, I think I’m gonna decline. Thanks anyway for the rape/murder/stabbing offer though.

Yah. No.


Next time we are going to meet at a bar and call it “uncomfortable for everyone.” Spectacular.


During the convo, (during which he was calling me as he waited to get his (little bit of) hair cut. I was also wowed that he told me he thinks he has 3 years of having his hair left. Which, by the way he said it, sounded like that meant he had better meet someone fast before the folicule-apocalypse arrives. Better make the most of those buddy. Ugh. The flat out irony here is I actually love the shaved/bald look on men. And listen, if it is going, and you have like a ring and a bullseye of hair around your head, let it go. PLEASE. Let it go. I mean, I’ve seen so many guys that I looked at and thought, wow you’d be hot if you shaved those remnants of the hair you used to have, and embraced it. Because, it makes you look older. And ugly. There, I said it. Get some Coochie shave cream (I hear it works wonders on the head haahaa), and shave that puppy down. 😉




Rubatugtug One Narcissist In The Tub (minus the happy ending)

So, I still had that date planned from forever ago with our Rubatugtug-happy-endings-by-accident boy and I knew assman was going to bail. So, I get dressed, and even though I had a rough day, I rush out to NJ to meet him. Now, since I did lose a bet, and am required (as my punishment) to do 2 shots at the outset of the date of his choosing, I figured he would pick me up. I’m in NJ, he’s in NJ, we’re going to drink/eat in NJ–actually the place is more near me than near him. And no way I’m drinking after I have 2 shots of anything, sooooooo logically, he’ll pick me up right. Wrong. I thought that was the plan. And as usual, in my blog-o-fun, I’m wrong. Again.


I’m not even TO the date and he’s pissed me off. He wants to meet me at the restaurant, which is fine, but it is going to make me even later (if he picked me up it would be faster and we could have that car time to chat), and he thinks I’m going to drink and drive??? No sirrreeeeee. So, I try to put it out of my head–I don’t want to be the bitch and ruin the date b/c I’m annoyed about something stupid.

The Date:

I get there. He’s way late. Which is funny, b/c I was late b/c of traffic, and he had like an extra hour to get ready/get there. In fact, he told me he didn’t shave b/c he was originally rushing, but then when I was late he had time to take a nap and play video games. That’s right. A nap. and video games. Still no shaving though. Oook.


Now, I can understand being in a rush and late and not shaving. But if you have enough time then later to nap and play video games while you wait for my late ass, (and if you happen to look like a hobo when you haven’t shaved) and PS I took the time to shave and shave and shave some more, not to mention put on perfume, make up, dry my hair, and oh yeah, put on some actual clothes (instead of the jeans, sneakers, and long sleeve flannel, that’s right kids, flannel in July–maybe he has a Christmas in July fetish? that he wore), you could take that extra hour or so and SHAVE. A little. Even just trim it down. Landscape that bitch. Something. Anything. Sigh.


When he pulls up he says he was worried because he noticed the Amber Alert on the highway was for a red saturn…and he drives…wait for it…a red saturn. I’m sure the fact that he drives like a dead person also probably would draw a cop’s eye. He goes, “but don’t worry, it isn’t me.” Oh, good, so you don’t have a kid stashed in your trunk? Awesome. Bodes well for the date. Undoubtedly.


Talk about a harbinger.





Did I mention he sounds like a girl? Drives like one too. Ooooooo low blow, kidding, kidding.


But seriously, he drives like he is comatose.


For real. Narcoleptics drive faster. While asleep.



The Prep (or lack thereof):

He did go on a long trip (remember he was away when we met), and said he didn’t realize he was out of nice stuff to wear. Ok, that’s understandable, but did you take EVERYTHING you own besides a flannel shirt with you? He was also staying at an apartment while away. I guess only NJ has washers and dryers? Interesting. Irony, I went out and got a few shirts and skirts for these dates, and agonized over my shoes and lip gloss shade, because I wanted to look nice, make a good impression, and be attractive looking. Silly me, grooming’s for idiots (or apparently, keeping with the theme, in my case, assholes–just not the ones I apparently “date.”)


And PS was his hair SUPPOSED to look like that? I was thinking it went with the no-shaving naptime thing. Idk. Maybe the flattened to head look is in and I missed it? Maybe he napped while standing on his head? Maybe it was combing forward and plastered to hide the receding hair line? All I know, is, wow. (please see above about shaving the receding hair, and how sexy it can be. please). Maybe it got matted down as he drove and repeatedly wiped the sweat off his brow/head during that amber alert momentary panic. Yep, sounds about right.



Chivalry? Oh, no, don’t get up:

Whatever. Dinner was fun, he insisted on paying even though I offered like 3 times to split it (I know, right, I almost fell off my chair!!!!!) Granted he did eat all of his meal and most of mine. He didn’t open any car doors for me, and by the time I got mine open he had his door open, so I couldn’t even be the nice reach over chick. He did open the restaurant door which was nice. (as opposed to letting it like fall on my arm instead like at the bar. Ahh Chivalry).



After dinner, he follows me home to where I was staying in NJ (after a long analysis where I was like UMmm If I’m drinking I’m not driving, so either you drive and we put my car home, or you entertain me until I’m sober which could be a while). Obviously, being the catch that I am, he didn’t select the “entertain me until I’m sober” option and he instead followed me home to drop off my car.



Grandpa? Is that you?:

Let me start by saying that I tend to sometimes drive like an asshole. Not always, but sometimes. He said he takes driving very seriously, and I can respect that. He told me he drives like a “sissy,” and by all accounts, well played sir, well played.


It was like having a blind person follow me.


I turned on a long yellow, he got stuck at the light. Listen, there was enough time in that yellow that after turning through it, I could have stopped, backed the fuck up, and gone through it again. Nope, he’s stuck. Anyway, ten years later I’ve aged and I’m about to nod off driving so damm slow, we get to my house. (NOW, I’m not asking him to speed, that wouldn’t be cool. But if the speed limit is 45, I’m gonna do, you know, 45 mph. WHY THE FUCK ARE WE DOING 25?????!!!!!!???!!!!). Omg. Seriously, I’m nodding off just remembering this part of the story. And you know it’s bad when you put yourself to sleep. At least meet me halfway at 35mph. Ridiculous.


I had to physically restrain myself from screaming DRIVE FASTERRRRRRRRRRR!!!!! (either that or pushing him out of the way, and hitting the gas myself. But, I refrained. Barely).



In case you missed it, he’s awesome:

So, we leave. Now to preface, he plays music and creates music, that’s his job/life. I get that. But am I the only one that thinks it is a WEE BIT NARCISSISTIC that the only CDs he had in his car were of him playing, or his band, or his music or his new release? The entire date all I heard was about how awesome he was, and how this celebrity thinks so. How this guy wants his musical help, and how he created this song in 5 minutes b/c he is awesome.


Call me crazy, but I’d rather find out myself how awesome you are, rather than have it beat in to me. Maybe I’m too picky. That must be it.


Is it me? Am I being the asshole here, or is this guy in love with himself? (I know, I know, you’re dying to be like, but you are usually the asshole here! Yeah, yeah, but this time, no shit, I think it’s him)


He sure smiled extra hard when I told him I liked the song. Whooohooo allllll smiles then. Great. In his slight defense, the music and piano skills he has are beautiful. But it was a little you know, much. Maybe I’m wrong. And maybe it was a first date, and he wanted to show off (but wouldn’t you have lots of other CDs from other artists in the car too even if you selected to share only yours with me tonight?)


He also doesn’t listen to the radio, but he did scan the hell out of it. I thought when he said he “didn’t listen to the radio” he meant he only listened to CDs. I didn’t realize that meant he liked to continually hit the scan/seek button and bitch about every song that came on and a millisecond later, change it again, and again. And again. And again. And again. And again. Every song was “omg too old,” “ugh way overplayed,” or “annoyingly bad,” etc.–maybe the real issue was that it wasn’t HIS song??? hmmmm…think I may have found the problem. Wash, Rinse, Repeat. Sigh.



Payback’s a bitch:

So we hit the bar for my un-victory shots. There are a few cute guys there, two of which are with women, but I see them checking out my cleavage. One gives me a naughty smile, and one by the bathroom was making eyes, but alas, I am on a date, and I’m not gonna do something like that. We played a game on his phone, (hey buddy, did it make you feel big and successful to beat me at a game I don’t know how to play after liquoring me up?) and I got my 2 shots of hell.


The bartender, thinking he was being helpful, suggested a Bourbon. The “roughest” one he had. Thanks. Thanks a fucking lot buddy.



Seeing me take them the bartender felt so bad that he took one himself with me (during my second shot). He was cute, and it was nice of him. But I’m still harboring some hate for the burning-OMG-burning-OMG-nauseating-OMG-i’m-gonna-puke-OMG-burning-OMG-I’m-ok-feeling that I went through twice. Think I’m kidding? Go take two of those. I’m so f-ing not. And I like whiskey shooters. This, my friend, was a new kind of liquid hell.


My date on the other hand decided to order as he put it “the girliest nicest shot they have just to rub it in”–a bubblegum flavored shot. Nice. Reallllllll, nice. Ass. Although, it does explain a lot about the rest of the date….




Newsflash: I don’t give a shit that you know celebrities. I don’t. I also don’t care that you keep the things they’ve said about you, and the quotes about how awesome you are on your (non-private–funny his pics and his info about how great he was is visible but nothing else, pattern, ahh yes) facebook profile. I hate when he name drops, sure he has met a few celebrities, but I gotta tell you, I barely know who they are by name, and I couldn’t care less.


Literally. Couldn’t. Care. Less.


Congrats. You want a cookie? I guess it is important to him, so I get it, but I hope he isn’t like that and is just doing it to impress me (in which case, please stop). However, judging by the rest of the evening-o-fun, I’m going to say that is ENTIRELY who he is. gag.


So Meatloaf and Tom Petty’s gf (which, uh, ok?) thinks you’re amazing. Are they paying your bills? Are they keeping your bed warm at night? Are you dating them? No? Then who gives a flyingfuck??!!


Not me, sweet cheeks, not me.

I’m the whore? Wait, which of us broke the law and got a hand job at a massage parlor? Oh, that’s right, it was you:

Anyway, we had some semi-fun, there was flirtation, and I thought we had a good enough time. And, well, sure the date was fun mixed with a coma and some narcissism, but I was willing to overlook it and give him another date. Especially since our emails and stuff were so fun previously. I tend to give people chances and overlook things (apparently) that I should not.


I texted him when I got home (soooo not what I should have done, but I was kinda a little tipsy from the liquor which was his fault! LOL), and he texted back. Fast forward to the next day, and silence. Is he doing the 3 day rule? Does he hate me too? lol. I gchatted him with a compliment to his music (since that is apparently what he responds too) but alas, silence. Foiled by the Great Narcissistic Wall of Happy Endings!!!!! He did email me then and said he “respects me greatly” which I’m prettttty sure translates to “I don’t want to bang you.” Fair enough. Considering I’d have to ball gag and duct tape his mouth shut to even consider doing anything with him. In fact, the only thing I could even barely contemplate doing with him would be (me) receiving oral sex (from him)–that way he would have to shut the hell up. 😉


After that he keeps emailing, and I’m not sure what to make of it. I don’t think he is interested (which I find hilarious–this guy–isn’t interested–in me–haahaaaa, man, that is some shit), and I’m (obviously) ok with that, but why keep emailing me? Maybe we can be “friends” hahaaaa. killme.


Oh, perfect ending lol. So, at the end of the date, he drives around so I can hear the last of his CD till the end. Then he drops me off, and gives me my very own copy of his CD. Now, that was a nice thing to do, but also kind of screams narcissist no? I mean, he had a box of them in the car–like is this what you do on dates? Or do you just drive around throwing them out the window? (well, he sure drives slow enough to do it….)


Then he walks me to the garage (like a foot from the car), and gives me a hug and a peck on the cheek. Like I give my aunt. I joke “that’s it?” and he looks at me like I’m the newest purveyor of WHORES R’ US (and ps wouldn’t that be an awesome store? lol). I was a bit taken back. I meant another hug (b/c he surprised me, and I didn’t give him a return cheek peck). He was like “well, it’s only a first date!”–as if I meant “why-aren’t-you-bending-me-over-this-hood-right-now-and-banging-me-with-your-(conceited)-prick??”


Um, no.


But honestly, we’ve been talking for like over a month, a lot, everyday, and we had talked about our first kiss and how we were looking forward to it. Soooo, I didn’t think it was that crazy to get a lip peck or a kiss kiss. Whatever. His loss yo, I’m an amazing kisser. So ha.



No ink?:

All in all, I think I was most surprised that he didn’t offer to autograph his CD for me. Maybe only 3/4 narcissist? yay!




Wait, you closed me? Nice, real nice.


So, to add insult to injury, during the date with Senor-I-Heart-Myself-Mucho, my email blinked and I saw I had a message from this guy on eharmony who contacted me recently. He works in phone communications, or something vague like that, and he wasn’t very attractive, (kinda had a dropped on his face look going for him), but whatever, I’ll give the guy a chance. I mean, sometimes attraction isn’t always immediate, and I can definitely find other things super attractive too.


So I notice he sent me a message, so of course, I wasn’t going to check it and be rude during the date. (especially not with this Lord of the Dance motherfucker driving me into a coma). After I get home and undressed, I take a look. And see that he received the answers I wrote to my last questions (which I thought were good, cute, fun, decent, dateable responses), but I guess not because, his message stated:


“You seem like a strong and wonderful woman, but I fear not the one for me.” and then he closed the match.


Now, what the FUCK does that even mean???? Does it mean he likes strong and wonderful women (who doesn’t???) but he wants a different strong and wonderful woman, or instead that he doesn’t want those two qualities in a woman? Or he just doesn’t like me for some stupid reason that makes no sense because he was hoping I would say blue and I said green to his personally made up questions. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was supposed to fill them in with “what you want to hear”—I thought we were supposed to be honest. My bad.


I ‘m like, wait, I’m giving you a chance, and you close me for what?? Hellllllllooooooooo. I’m a fucking catch!! A CATCH!!! Ok, well, mostly. lol. I mean, except for this blog thing. and my assholeness (apparently as evidenced by this blog), and sarcasm, and…dammit…shit. lol.


Yeah, well I closed him right back. So there! Take that! (sniff).


I think what burned my bottom the most though, was that I couldn’t even write back and say WTF buddy, WTF. Damm closed matches. That is soooo not fair. Where’s the equality eharmony??? where!!!?? lol.



Love Hurts:

It appears, everything is a game. I hate games. Why can’t people say what they mean and mean what they say. And why does every guy have a virgin/whore complex?


Seriously. Grow the fuck up guys.


Like, say by tomorrow? That would really work for me thanks.


Every single guy on there says he is looking for “honesty” from his potential match. Note to self, just type “Honesty” in every response.


Honesty, eh? About that, yeah, let’s get honest.


Now if we were REALLY being honest, as they say they want– you would think that a few men, would mention sex, or a healthy sex life, or an intimate healthy relationship. Nope, only ONE guy out of HUNDREDS I’ve seen mentioned it.


Who’s bullshitting now?


Seriously, if you say sex isn’t important, then don’t get mad when you get women who don’t want an active sex life as a part of your healthy relationship. I’m not saying you should be vulgar or talk about sex a lot on your profile, but a healthy sex life with your husband/wife/partner is an important part of a healthy successful marriage.


It. just. is.


Otherwise you become roommates, penpals, weird supervised prison visits (sans the conjugal part). Yes, you’re supposed to be friends and super close, but you’re also supposed to have a healthy intimate loving relationship that keeps you close, keeps the marriage alive. Trust me, I did the penpal thing. It blew. And not in the good way.


And to ignore that, and act like I’m the whore for saying I want a healthy intimate life with my partner—is ridiculously hypocritical and I’m calling ALLLLLL your asses out for it. That’s right. Right now. Quit your bellyaching. You asked for it. You got it. So when you find yourself 3 years into the marriage, not getting any, and you’re trolling adult friend finder (at 1am while furtively looking over your shoulder to make sure the wife isn’t awake and doesn’t see what you’re doing) for some no-strings-b/c-my-wife-doesn’t-like-to-bang/blow-me-fun, remember this moment.


And if you forget, don’t worry, I’ll be there to say I told you so.



The Asskiss Goodbye

In all reality, and in spite of my (hopeful-but-delusional) last ditch attempt post, my gut is always right.

That sucker is never wrong. Man, it’s a bitch.

I knew that even though he seemed like a decent guy under all that ass exploding glory (explode-a-buttinski/assman in case you missed it– see “It’s not you, It’s my ass blog post), he has been through a divorce, and his conversations post blog discovery showed me that, in spite of what he said, he couldn’t handle it. There were some hints along the way….

(Hint #1: People who can handle it, don’t spend all their conversations throwing your other posts/blogs in your face).

A good deal of men surely couldn’t get past it, so he isn’t alone in that. Hearing criticism, however funny and honest it is, always hurts. I didn’t mean to hurt him, especially since this was always a personal, private blog sharing my most inner thoughts and feelings, but it was my big mouth that mentioned I blogged about dating. (however, isn’t the name of the blog fair warning? haahaaa)

But you know what, someone had to tell him. I’m going to chalk it up to performing a public service–and I bet he fixes some of these things for the next girl. Look at me, I’m like a fucking PSA!!! You = welcome!!!!

(Hint #2: Maybe one should interpret the chick not texting back all day and night as her not being interested/something’s up and ask her why, instead of googling her and her blog like a stalker. . . just a thought).

But sure, I did the blogging, it was essentially my fault. My bad. I’m sarcastic, I say what I feel, sans filter. But I only feel so free to do so because it won’t hurt anyone’s feelings.

This blog, in case you missed it, is anonymous. For. A. Reason.


That reason being: I don’t want to hurt anyone.

You would think an anonymous blog where I respect people’s privacy and DON’T use names nor identifying info like where they live/work etc. would be enough to keep that from happening. You would be wrong. (mostly b/c I have a big mouth, and felt like we had both been through something (divorce/cheating) and that I could trust him with this private information). And I was wrong. (man, I’m really working that trend, no? At least I’m consistent!!!!)

Moral of the story: No, you shouldn’t trust so easily. Got it.

This is for me, for strangers, and close friends. If I wanted someone specific to see it, I would share it with them. Actively seeking out that information, is just creepy.

Lesson learned: FoxyBlur will not be a topic of any future dating conversation. Ever. lol.

And you know what, I went out of my way to try to make him feel better, but alas, he didn’t care. I never chase a guy. Ever. But apparently, I can be guilted into it. Ouch.

The irony is that I’m such a sap, I even got some Aim toothpaste and put a bow on it for him as a cute peace offering. He probably won’t want to see me, even as a friend, so I guess I could return it? lol. Looks like I can spend that dollar elsewhere now. (yeah, it sells for a dollar, must be just loaded with floride and good shit, lol)

A Little White Lie

I will admit. I did lie to him. When he first found my blog, I lied and said that it wasn’t all truth, and that I sometimes exaggerate or put a spin on it. I panicked, and could tell he was hurting, and I think that a little white lie to hurt someone less isn’t a terrible thing. The truth is, I meant every word of it when I wrote it. I write what I feel, and dammit, that is exactly what I felt. Don’t believe me? Ask in the comments section, someone who knows me will confirm. I tell all, but I do so b/c it is a place for me to vent, and mend my heart in the way that I know how. Oh, and it’s anonnnnyyymousssss. fml.

How It Should Have Gone

I value honesty above all else, but there is also something called modesty— even when totally honest, you don’t have to be blunt or vulgar. If your ass is about to explode, you could say, for example, that you aren’t feeling well, apologize, and bow out. Do the kiss to show interest, and make a plan for a second date. That scenario is honest, without being too vulgar or blunt on a first date, and still shows interest. There would have been no blog about that one. What would there have been to say? He wasn’t feeling well and was kind, mature, and awesome? Not really blog fodder there.

The Truth Hurts. (doesn’t it always?)

Truth: he doesn’t want to see me again because of it. (shocking? I think not)

There will be no do-over, no second/first date, and I didn’t expect there would be. (which I was floored he even seemed to be open to it at first. A man’s man? He exists? Calm yourself, he doesn’t). Had he seen me in person, I think I could have fixed it, but getting there was the hurdle. And it would always have been looming in the background. It may be hard to look someone in the eye who has publicly discussed your pooping habits. I’ve never put my private bathroom habits out there, so I wouldn’t know.

I keep those thoughts, entirely, to myself.

Next truth: He said it himself, had he bought pepto for his already upset stomach at the walgreens at the outset of the date instead of toothpaste, this might have gone entirely differently. Like, to at some point, seeing my special order bras and not your asscapades online. haaahaa. nope. no boob for you! And PS who uses AIM? I was shocked they even make that shit anymore. He said he can always find it at a dollar store. Great. Just, great. Where’s the dentist? At the drive through?

Memory Lane…one last go round….

Bullshit #1: “It wasn’t my gf I beat up”

Oh, did I mention, that he told me during the first date that he was arrested once for a domestic incident? Yah. Why would you tell me that? Ever. He said it was dismissed “or something”–even MORE reason to not mention it since I wouldn’t know right? How is that a first date story? Although, in his defense, I did say I value honesty, and he was being honest when I asked if he was ever arrested. I guess I’m the asshole, and he was doing what I wanted. But still, you could save this gem for later, or never. Right? Right. Ok, so he did ameliorate by saying it was just a fight with someone who was a non gf person, and it was a mix up. But still, why lead with “I was arrested for a domestic incident/violence”—at least lead with “This guy and I got in a fight and here’s what happened in this mix up”–gotta work on his story telling skills. Honesty is great, but you can present it in a less “I’m a wifebeater” kinda way. Geeeez.


(I hope he tells this one to his next date heeheee)


B/c you know every date is leaving thinking, whewwww, no second date for this asshole, I’m outta here BEFORE he starts beating me up!!!! Asshole!!! Because really, who is believing that it was NOT with his gf??? On a first date?? Uh, no.


Again, honesty is paramount, but how you present it is important too. I may be the last one to suggest this, but dude, get a filter.



Bullshit #2: “I’m not easy” (yes, yes you are) At least fucking own it.


The funniest thing is he claims repeatedly that he isn’t “easy.” All the while telling me about a few women who “used him for sex,” and past booty calls he was a party to. Wow, sounds like you aren’t easy at all. (especially since you’re telling me this over and over on a first date).


And then, as if the “I’ve been used for my penis” stories weren’t enough proof, during the date he brushed his hand against my butt, and during the kiss was pretty handsy–all over my back, front tummy/abdomen, hair pulling, neck, shoulders and attempted boob grazing. Then suggested making out in his room or in my car (you remember, after the asscapade).


Yep, you’re a chaste nugget, ain’t ya. So a filter AND a dictionary is needed. Got it.



Saddest truth: I think I’m most upset that I won’t get a back massage out of this.


Yeah…, that should have been my first clue that this didn’t have much relationship potential. What is eharmony matching us on? That we both breathe (and have asses?) Oooo!!! Maybe it was that he has an overactive ass, and I can be an ass…hmmm sounds likely. That must have been it!!! It was an assmatch. (Potential new dating site? I think yes!)



Newest truth: He wasn’t man enough for me. But, let’s be honest, I didn’t expect he would be. An ass-centric nickname, being teased and criticized, eh, doesn’t usualllllly bode well for the future of a relationship. you know, unless you’re dating superman. or a really awesome man. Either way, no-go. And in his defense, most people wouldn’t be.

In the end, he was fun, we had some decent chemistry and in his defense, his kissing did improve as the minutes went by. He wasn’t that ambitious career-wise, and honestly that probably would have made the relationship somewhat limited to just some fun dating. It’s probably for the best. I still feel like an asshole, but hey, people make mistakes (please note, my mistake was telling a guy I was considering dating about the existence of the blog, not the blogging itself).


Because, I’m always gonna tell it like it is.
I am who I am; Take me or Leave me.


If you choose to leave me, I can respect that.


I recently met someone that I think is pretty cool, and I’m happy to entertain the idea.


* * *


Listen, I know I’m a handful, I never pretended to not be. Marilyn Monroe said it best,


“I’m selfish (only in blogging), impatient (got me there) and a little insecure (occasionally, sure). I make mistakes (no shit), I am out of control (eh, in a funny silly way sometimes) and at times hard to handle (hell yeah). But if you can’t handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best.” (Amen!)



He said he met someone too who he “likes better than me”–which I’m pretty sure translates to “she didn’t make me feel bad by blogging about my exploding asscapades in public,” and is interested in pursuing that. I can totally understand that.


And I sincerely hope she is all the woman he deserves.





* * *


I’m an asshole.


Yep. Jury’s in. The unthinkable, the thing I was most terrified would happen, happened.


That’s right, there IS something worse than waking up in pee, or having your date run out when his ass explodes. Yep. There is one thing that is, by all accounts, WAY worse:


and that is your date finding your blog. The one you wrote ABOUT HIM. And he reads it.


Turns out, Explode-a-buttinksi is an excellent (and I mean hands down if I need to find some hidden in a box inside a another box in a closet in a hole shit I’m calling this guy) amazing google-er. I had googled my blog, lots of ways, and nothing comes up. He googles it, and BOOM, first entry on the list is me.



Me: You totally didn’t find my blog. haahaa (nervous laughter) what? what are you talking about?
EAB: Haahaa yeah I did.
Me: No, really? No, you didn’t. Ok fine, what’s it called (crossing fingers, praying at warp speed)
EAB: It’s called…(this pause gave me enough time to have 3 aneurysms) Tastes Like Bad Decisions
ME: heh heh, uhhh, and you think that’s my blog? (shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit)

And yes. He read it. He read every single ass exploding snarky word of it. And then he texted me and said he read it. and then, as if karma has a funny side, the tables turned in the blink of an eye (or sphincter, as would be the case here), and it was me that practically crapped my pants. Not really, but you know, figuratively. Which is pretty damm close at this point. (might I say, an “ass-hair” away lol ok,ok)


In fact, he is probably reading this. Right. Now. (hi!!!!) lol. FML.


(the irony is that the night before I dreamed (I SWEAR) that the wild child/ac guy found my blog, and got super mad about it and I felt like an asshole. Cue asshole, oh here I am!!!)


He then let me know that my memory wasn’t totally spot on, and corrected my blog for me. (What a giver–oh, God, I can’t stop!!! this man is going to HATE me) sigh.


In his defense, he claims he refused my offer to pay the first time, and at my second insistence he accepted. We are going to have to agree to disagree to remember it differently. Either way, it was very cute to hear him defending himself. He also said he picked Thai b/c I was bringing into question his manhood, wow, who knew? lol. I thought his manhood was very much intact (let’s hope in all ways lol), and didn’t realize I was doing that. So, see, I suck toooooo. lol.


Then he peppered his conversation and banter with other stories from my blog. Which made my heart stop and head explode as I quickly tried to do a mental scroll of all the shit I’ve divulged on here and what he has now, clearly read, ingested, and judged me for.


Oh boy.


And now he probably thinks I’m nuts, a whore, or worse. None of which are true, but you know, I do tell all and leave no testicle unturned. (ahaahaaaaa) If some shit went down, I’m going to write about it in all its glory.



But then, something strange happened.



He said he was serious about his text. That he appreciated the honest feedback (it was the most honest he ever got, lol, yeah I bet, I mean how many other women blog about your ass-capades? heehee, c’mon, that was good). And that he found my blog hilarious. Sure it probably hurt his feelings a little, but he could also see it for what it was, and beyond anything I expected, and in spite of the looming possibility that I could blog about him again, he still wanted to see me again. Like on a date. With me. After this. In public. lol.


And I was blown away.


I mean, I know I’ve probably totally given him a complex, and he wanted to make sure he was dating me and not FoxyBlur, and that he wasn’t just fodder for my blogging pasttimes.


All valid concerns, especially given that I’m clearly an asshole.


But, at the end of the day, I blogged because this crazy stuff was happening to me, not going out to find crazy stuff to blog about.


I agreed to a second date. A do-over of sorts. (because, really, sure there were some fuck ups, but it’s a first date, there are nerves and stuff, and yeah he did have an incident lol, but overall I did have fun, and he doesn’t seem like a bad guy. and I did like kissing him (who doesn’t like dinner)). 😉 And, ok, he was actually sweet. He made me laugh, he did open doors, he was respectful of me, didn’t try to be sleezy or take advantage of me, and he was honest with me. I’m nothing but honest (clearly toooooo honest, I should shut up more or filter more or something lol), and I appreciate honesty from a guy more than anything. and he was you know, kinda cute. 😉 And shit, he brushes his teeth and is willing to eat out of his comfort zone to impress me. Did I mention teeth brushing? YAY!


I also assured him that I went on that date to get to know him, which was true (and not to blog about it–listen that was just the result of the ass-cident–I mean, how could I NOT have blogged about it????), and that in spite of the fact that he thinks he came off with a mixed result, I am impressed by his manliness that he was honest with me, that he can take the constructive criticism (and not hate me? lets hope!), and laugh and still want to go out on another date with me.


In fact, it impressed the pants off me, which I’m pretty sure is his eventual goal anyway. lol. Like in a relationship, you know, lol. Evennnnntuallll I said. Eventual!!! Sigh, I should just stop talking lol.


So, maybe just maybe, at the end of the day (and with pepto in hand), this one actually is a gem. I’m going to stick around and find out, that is, if he’ll have me.


(and if he doesn’t hate me after this, blog #2 –hey at least this one isn’t dedicated to his ass!!!! That’s progress right?? Right!!!??)


Oh, shit, just accept it, I’m an ass. But at least I’m a cute ass! 😉 ❤ and he thinks I’m prettttty (blush)!

You know, when I was married I knew one thing for a fact–that statement “It’s not you, it’s me”—totally didn’t apply to my marriage. It was absolutely the opposite. I knew for certain it was ENTIRELY: “It’s NOT me, it’s YOU.” And, it was. totally. No issues there. He was an ass, he treated me badly, and now he’s mad I’m gone. No one to blame but himself.

However, ever since I’ve been dating, it seems like I attract the crazies. The nuts, the clingers, the pee-ers, the scammers, the losers, the creepy-strangle-you-and-stuff-you-like-a-deer-creepies. I seem to attract all of them. If it isn’t one fucktard it’s another douchy-mc-douche. At first I thought, maybe it is my judgment, but then I thought of waking up in pee, being asked for cash, and being chased by a stage 5 clinger, and nope, it isn’t my judgment. I think I was entirely right to NOT date those “men.” I re-checked my profiles and even got some second opinions, and nothing abnormal (read stalker-attracting) there. Even my pics are normal–and nope–no “CALLING ALL CRAZIES” on my forehead.

So, what’s the common denominator? It’s me.

It has to be. What other explanation could there be? What am I doing wrong? It’s like I’ve been putting out the batcall in the sky on the regular for asswipes and dumbfucks. Please, someone, tell the old butler dude to stop meddling, kick him in the shin, unplug the red phone, sell the fireman’s pole, and for FUCKS sake, turn the batcall off.

The funny thing is, after the pee-er, I kind of thought my dating issues with bodily bathroom functions was over. You know how I’m always saying I’m wrong about these assumptions. Fast forward to me being wrong. Tonight.

So, I started talking to another guy on eharmony.

(Please note, I am still waiting on tugboy, who will be getting around to going out with me soon. I’m sure that date will be a little slice of heavenly bloggable material. He, however, is still texting, emailing, and regularly kicking my ass online in games. And I’m still pissed about it. Still no word on why he confessed his rubatugtug, and he’s still in love with himself. If I hear about how one more person said he was awesome, I might have to refer him to therapy. Luckily, I know someone with a therapist on speeddial (see pee-boy) Ahem.

Ok, back to new guy. He seems nice, kind of a teddy bear sort. He is also divorced. We had oodles of fun talking on the phone, although if I had to guess I would say he either is kind of dating stupid, or just not that into me. I would ask him a question, and he would answer. Now the usual thing would be to ask the same thing in return. Not this guy.

Me: Oh, what did you major in in college?

Dater: Environmental studies.

Me: Oh that sounds interesting.

Awkward silence.

Me: So, do you like what you do now for work?

Dater: Yeah, I love it.


You get the picture. Most people would have asked me back what my major was (instead of bashing a certain major to me for like 10 minutes–at which point I pointed out to him that that major he loved to joke about, was my major. Had he asked, he would have avoided that foot in mouth moment.) Good job.

Anthropology is a fine major. Fuck you. moving on.

Anyway, we go out. Now, I drive to NJ, pay the tolls (teetering at over $20 at this point), pay for gas (which is beyond ridiculously high, for $4.26 a gallon, someone should be giving me oral sex, or at least rotating my tires–for serious–I mean, shit, I do always pull into the “Full Service” filling area. heh. now that’s the kinda full service I’m talking about). I did put on my profiles that I was in NJ, and did say I was fine with coming to NJ. So, fine, NJ here I come. EZpass, work that shit.

He meets me at walgreens, where I had stopped b/c I was early and needed a lint brush and a card. He found me de-dog hairing my cardigan. Sexy look for me, no doubt. I know how to make a good first impression, clearly. (also explains the face and hello he gave me that totally screamed, “ugh this chick is weird I’m gonna get my toothpaste and go home”) So, knee deep in dog hair and sticky paper, he goes in and buys toothpaste while I wait in my car. Hey, ok, fine, I appreciate good dental health. At least he USES toothpaste. I gotta pick my battles….

We had picked Indian food, but he asked if we could try something less wild since his tummy was acting up. No problem I said. In the car I tease him that if he hates me, is that going to be his way out? To say that his tummy is acting up and he has to go home? His escape plan? Lol. We laugh, and laugh, and then, the universe sees a way to make a jackass out of me. (wait for it….)

So he picks Thai. Not the most logical choice, but ok, I’m game. Then he picks a spicy dish. Now, if your stomach is acting up, so much so that you can’t handle trying a new cuisine, maayyyybeeeee you shouldn’t get the super spicy chili seafood dish. Just maybe. A little. SUPER! SPICY! CHILI! SEAFOOD! Which one of those words did you miss buddy? I tried to warn him, but no.

I also offered him a taste of my meal, which he accepted twice. Didn’t reciprocate. (Chivalry AND generosity AND manners? How has someone not snatched this gem up yet?). Although he did open some doors, which I of course reciprocated with the reach over in the car/car door thing. So, any points he scored, were summarily cross out by my reciprocation. Bitchydater giveth, bitchydater taketh away.

The check comes, and I believe a girl should always at least offer, and be willing to pay her half, but of course a first date it is often that the guy feels he should pay, or even wants to pay. (especially when half his eharmony profile is about how chivalry is not dead, and how he is all like that and shit. and shit is right. Oh, and when the girl just paid way more than half the dinner in tolls and gas to see him, ok whatever). So I offer. And he is like is this a test? I laugh (because, really who is this dumb?) He goes OK!! So, I pay half of dinner. fml lol. All in all, I think this date cost me about 3 times more than him. And I did all the work lol.

After dinner he suggests ice cream. Now, he had suggested it earlier, and I explained I didn’t really like ice cream. Then at dinner when he suggested it again, I re-explained that I didn’t really like ice cream or sweets. At all. In fact, I even explained that I usually felt sick after eating them.

So, of course, where does he drive to? To the ice cream place. Shoulda seen that one coming. I let him pay for that one. Especially since I DIDNT WANT ANY ICE CREAM. Ugh. I had like two bites of something gross. He inhaled his, and for the first time tonight, I saw love in his eyes. At first I thought something was wrong, and then I realized, he was just really really into his ice cream.

Yes, I don’t like ice cream much. Get over it. I also hate yogurt. Blasphemy! I know.

At the close of ice cream, he mentions to me that he—here it comes—-has to go home or there will be an incident. Involving his ass. Apparently, the spicy thai food (you know, the stuff I warned against) has irritated his already delicate-like-a-flower tummy and if we don’t leave soon, there will be an explosion. A bad one. He also lets me know in no uncertain terms, that he “can poop at home and at work, but not in public.” Good to know.

On the way back he says that he has heard that it is better to beg forgiveness later rather than to ask for permission, but that he was going to do the opposite anyway. (Meaning I guess that it was better to tell me his ass was about to explode and create a firestorm of spicy thai seafood shit everywhere, than to make up some other excuse to get himself home and ask for forgiveness later???) He says that he hopes he made the right decision on that one.

Newsflash. You made the wrong decision. Totally. 100000000% wrong decision there, sunshine.

I mean, he could have made something up, hell ANYTHING. His hamster died and he has to get home, he has to call his mom, he left the gas on the stove, he has to jerk off at exactly 9pm nightly, I mean, I would have taken ANY excuse. ANYTHING. I’d have worked with him, even let him get away with some dumb bullshit. Because really, ANYTHING is better than “I gotta go home and blow up my bathroom or my ass will explode RIGHT here RIGHT now” on a first date. T. M. I.

But he keeps saying, really it’s not you, it really isn’t, I’m having fun, my stomach is just acting up and I have to go home to the bathroom.

Sooooo, what he was saying essentially was . . . it’s not me, it’s his ass? awesome.

We get to his house, and he kisses me goodnight. and then…he suggested I wait. for him. to crap.

He suggested I either sit in my car and wait for him, sit inside with his like 10 roommates while he poops (like that won’t be an awkward introduction, “uhh here’s my date, can she sit here for like 10 minutes while I take an exploding crap? Thanks guys!,” or stand outside b/c it isn’t “that buggy” out tonight. Then he would come back (let’s pray he has good handwashing techniques, because I sure as hell am not going in to supervise! fml), and resume making out. Which he would like to do either in my car or in his room. On a first date. Hmmmmm, yeah, not so much. I suggested that I should go, it was already, um, 9:30pm, after all. lol. So he walks me to my car.

Then he made out with me like I was dinner. Again. I hope this meal didn’t also irritate his ass. I’d hate to cause a second explosion in his pants. (let’s hope he is a tighty whitey guy and not a boxer guy–to hold all that crap inside the pants)

He texted me later and joked that I might blog about the night. I said noooo I won’t blog about it. Never…Noooo neverrrr. What’s there to blog about? Yes, and I’m a virgin and waiting for marriage. Oh wait, too late. Yeeeeaaahhh, I’m sooooo blogging about your ass. (in all its exploding glory).

So, to recap:

four sentences for my date tonight.

1. My date ended at 9:30pm tonight.

2. Even though I paid tolls and gas to NJ (and received no oral sex/tire rotation), we still split dinner.

3. Even thought I told him I hate ice cream, we went to an ice cream parlor and had ice cream.

4. The date ended early because the spicy thai food caused his ass to explode.

that is all.

Another one for the success column! He wants to know when date #2 is.

um. about that.

(how’s a quarter past never, does that work for you?)

Miss me? Well, you would be the only one who did. Because no one on a dating site does! haahaaaaaa. Although I did get a guy today on match who thinks we should get together and play strip Jenga. Be still my heart. He gave me his number, (speed dialing that bitch asap), and I’m totally calling him tomorrow. He is also wearing a blue wig in his profile pic. Can we say WINNNNNINNGGGG???!!!

The “Nice Guy” from eharmony: (soon to be known as Tugboy) So no shit there I am talking to my mom when my caller ID goes off. To my shock, it is him. The nice guy from eharmony that I kinda like but am worried he is too conceited because he gets way more ass than he should for his looks. You know, that guy. I’m even more surprised because in spite of our all day everyday emailing and texting, I’ve only had one phone conversation with him. Well, two if you count the fact that he hung up on me right after he called the first time. “OH NOOO!!! Can I call you right back?” –best first convo ever. So, fine, we’ll call this the “3rd” phone call.

So we’re chatting, the chemistry is good, he has a cute voice and I’m thinking, wow I kinda like this guy. (Which undoubtedly means there is something REALLY wrong with him, like he was born with a tail or has bodies in his fridge, or he will hate me in person). Either way, it will end in tears. So, whatever, I’m gonna enjoy the damm moment. I mean, after all the shit email and crazies I get, I deserve to feel nice for a few minutes. Cue basking in the glow.

Remember how I said he was really nice? Remember how I’m wrong a lot? Yeah. About that.

So, you know how when you’re going along thinking wow, this is great? Well, that is the universe’s cue to come and fuck you in the ass. And not in the good way. More in the no lube, wayyy too big but he’s hell bent on sticking it in anyway, and now you’re wishing you didn’t have that big enchilada plate dinner earlier? yeah, like that.

You know the universe was thinking, awwww how sweet she’s basking in the glow, time to F it up. He gets quiet for a second (I’m thinking what is he going to say he loves me? (AHH RUN!) Do I have another Stage 5 clinger?? Or maybe ask me for cash? Or tell me he is a wanted felon in 6 states? –because you know, that would totally be my luck). He says he has a confession to make. Oh good. A “3rd” call confession. (and why is your ass confessing to a girl you never met?? This can only go amazingly badly). And it does.

He says his back was hurting him the other day, so being in CA, he went to a massage parlor. YEP. You know EXACTLY where this story is going, and I did too. I tried to pray quickly and do that trick my mom did as a kid when she “turned her ears off,” but alas, it was to no avail. I got to hear the details. He said he was soooooo relaxed (which, I mean, I can understand, I could totally misplace my boxers when I’m ssssoooo relaxed) and the nice Asian lady told him to turn over. Now, when you got there and she had you strip naked–this SHOULD have been your first clue. Even if she left the boxers on, the “you turn over now” REALLY should have tipped you off. What kind of massage did you THINK was coming????? A shiatsu nipple massage? Hot stone belly button treatment??? No shit.

Anyway, long story short, he said the “next thing he knew” she was all lubed up, grabbed his penis, and was rubbing one out for him (which I’m not banking on what he’s packing in his breadbasket being anything that big, so you know, she probably had to search around in his boxers for a while to find it —like I do in my big purse when I can’t find my keys). Either way, he had ample time to realize this was a “Happy Ending” kind of massage, and stop it.

Now, if I wasn’t TOTALLY in love before, his next statement sealed the deal. He said, “Well, I didn’t want to offend her, or hurt her feelings and tell her to stop.” So, he just let her jerk him off. WHAT a PHILANTHROPIST. He also mentioned that he could tell she was enjoying it.  Talk about a giver. Shit. I was overcome with benevolence–it was literally spurting through the phone. (Probably in a similar fashion to how he spurted all over his chest when she jerked him to a happy place). So, not only did I get a keeper, but I got a mental image burned into my brain to boot. His new name, by the way, is Tugboy. Just fyi. I mean, the way he put the masseuse’s needs and feelings above his own–LAUDABLE!!! I can’t imagine she wasn’t LOVING jerking this 32 year old piece o’ meat off. Talk about a man candy bonus! I know what you’re thinking, when’s the wedding? Gems like this don’t come ’round every day. (Don’t worry, if he tries to get away, I’ll lube up and grab his junk–I mean, he won’t want to hurt my feelings and say no….)

And what man, in his right mind, confesses this to a woman he has yet to meet but hopes to date? Really? What was the thought process behind that one? Hmm, she will never know I went to this place, and I’m single (please note I’m totally not even going into the illegality of this, which he asked about, and was surprised to know that “but I didn’t know she was gonna do it” wasn’t a viable legal defense had he been caught and arrested). Shocker. But really, who tells some girl they wanna date that??? WHO??? This guy.

The REAL winners of the evening—get comfy!!

The two real winners in today’s story are John-who-works-for-really-important-people and DOD-why-won’t-you-marry-me-guy. These two, you just can’t make this shit up.

First: John-who-works-for-really-important-people

You see, I know John works for really important people because he told me so in his profile and his email no less than 4 times. Here’s the email: (my commentary is in the ( ):

“my name is John and I love yr profile. (I see those two extra pesky letters in “your” was too much to ask for) We seem to have quite a few things in common especially SIGHTSEEING, and VOLUNTEERING. (in Caps no less. and I’m totally down to build a relationship on just sightseeing and volunteering. totally) As a job I work as a Bodyguard (ooo you know you’re extra important when your Profession is Capitalized, like in Ghost? You’re SO my Patrick Swayze!) for very important people (#1) and im also a Retired Detective having worked in the Police Dept (No one, not even my dog, believes this shit. Retired Detective for what? Missing toilet paper? Yeah, if you were a cop, I flew to the store today, with my special magic wings that I grew myself) My Bodyguard job is a serious job which i meet alot of interesting and important people (#2 you don’t say). I know a spectacular Thai restaurant. Maybe we can try it some time. Are u into Thai food ? How did you know Thai was my favorite food? that’s you thinking  lol. (Ok, put the cup o’ crazy down. WTF are you talking about? I didn’t know Thai was your favorite food, as evidenced by the fact that we’ve never met nor talked, ever. Never ever. Ever. and what’s “that’s you thinking”–What? Have you invented a fake relationship we already have? I hope I’m a good imaginary gf) Of course well go for coffee first. (of course, I like my coffee with milk, one sugar, and a dallop of crazy) Oh by the way this is not a recording. (was that something I had to worry about? And if it was, by chance a recording, would I be able to READ it???) LOL.i cant believe yr single . (you and me both buddy) by the way thats a compliment (no, you don’t say) If you’re not in the mood for Thai food we could do italian.(Wow, it is just like an arranged marriage, if I don’t want Thai we can have Italian. Thanks for making all the really important decisions for me. Now, what shirt should I wear?) I really loved you’re profile which sent to me saying were a match (remind me to email match.com and question their “matching” protocols).

Now, if that email wasn’t enough for me, I just HAD to check out his profile. (His photos by the way, are from the 1970s, no joke, and he looks like a serial killer even back then. In fact, some of the photos are of other people entirely and he isn’t even IN them. I can understand a pic of your cat, but 5 pics of your sister’s bridal party (which you aren’t in)? Hmm, not so much.

Here’s the gems from the profile: swpm (what’s the “p” for? Pedophile? Pinnocio? Penis-holder?) 6 ft., attractive (um, only if you like the I might EAT your face look), 190 lbs, slim, clean cut (again, we have to work on our adjectives), and I have all my hair (well Amen for that sister). My hair is brown and my eyes are light blue. I am fully Irish.! I come from a very large IRISH family (in case you missed it, he is IRISH!!!), and we are very tighly knit. I’ve never been married and do not have children.(not really surprised on that one) I enjoy volunteering at the local animal shelter in an effort to place homeless animals into good homes. (dear Lord, please tell me he is supervised) I’ve aways had a powerful connection with animals (Do they talk to you and tell you what to do?), and I frequently baby sit my brothers Explosive Detection Labrador. (does this mean the dog seeks out explosions/explosives or just blows ass a lot?) I love the ocean and all of the attractions and restaurants in NYC. I have travelled to Ireland on three seperate occasions. (as opposed to 3 occasions all at once?) I have a B.A. in Criminal Justice with a minor in Liberal Arts. (noooo one beeeelieeeevvess youuuu) A lot of people want to know what is the funniest thing that has ever happened to me. (really? they do? you get that alot? Who are these people? Are we talking real people, or just those nice ones in your head?) Well here it is. (I’m waiting with baited breath, go on!) I went to the wrong open casket viewing last year. Immediately, “I knew I was in trouble,” (but only in quotes, not reallllly in trouble) The person in the casket was a female and the wake that I was going to was supposed to be a male. (You know, you really must have been a detective–and supposed to be male…too easy) “HELLO”. (your quotes confuse me. Does this mean hello like “whoa” or hello like he said that to the casket lady? Meh) Anyway, while in line, unfamiliar friends (why would they be familiar?? you’re in the wrong line jackass) of the deceased were approaching me, asking me what did I like about Mrs. Smith. (well, you got in the wrong line dumbass–and “Mrs. Smith? Sounds believable…) I said she was the most beautiful person I had ever met. (that’s nice of you, maybe you aren’t a mass murderer) Can anyone beat that story?(Yes, yes, everyone, and I mean anyone and everyone CAN beat this story. My dog has better stories, and he can only bark them) This really happened.(you should write a book, talk about a page turner!) As far as my picture is concerned, it was snapped when I exited the funeral. LOL!(CREEPIER THAN I CAN EXPLAIN–and who is taking pics as you leave a funeral? and if you were at the wrong funeral, who exactly took this pic and how did you get it? hmmm) I could venture to say I have that impression from my picture. (no idea–I can’t process this statement, I’m too busy being creeped out) I never have been photogenic and I dont like the way I look in pictures. (you got me there hot stuff, probbbbably b/c you look like a serial killer) Maybe, I’m doing myself a disservice by not smiling but so be it. (yeah, it makes me think you are a SERIAL KILLER “HELLO”–hahaaaa) I have many things to be positive about, including possessing all of my hair, teeth, and light blue eyes. (he has all his teeth and hair and both eyeballs. KEEPER!!!!) LOL.. Oh, I promise not to wear the suit in my picture, if we meet for a drink or coffee. (haahaaaa, so. not. happening.) I actually never wear a suit, unless I have to. (like when you go to the wrong funeral?) I prefer to meet for a cup of coffee or tea, because I am old fashioned. (what if I want a modern coffee? no go?) I think it is more appropriate and relaxes the atmosphere. (why, is that b/c you’re slipping something in my drink?) So if there is no Cafe or Starbucks in your neighborhood, we can always go for a drink!. (is that old fashioned too?) You know in life you can’t make someone like you (they broke the mold with you sunshine), and you can’t predict chemistry. (unless you tie them up and hide them in your basement? Is this where you’re going with this?) I try to have an open mind. Im looking for the geniune and natural woman,not the prettiest or skinniest like most other guys..(Did you just call me fat and ugly? Man, I’m totally putting out for this dude) I put some pictures beside myself. (yeah, I noticed, you weren’t in any of the dresses) There’s one with my mom ,and her two brothers. Also there’s one with my family. Im all the way to the left. That was the mid 90’s. (how about some 2011’s?) There’s also a picture of my sister’s at my sister Sheila’s wedding. (at this point I can pick Sheila out of a crowd from all the pics) I recently started going to the pistol range. (Oh God, he’s got a gun) It’s a really cool hobby. (no, not for you) And believe it or not it makes a great date night.(oh so this is how I’m going to die, awesome) Of course not the first one.lol.(he only kills on the second date, what a gentleman) The worst thing is when i lose to a woman.(oh, so you have some misogynist tendencies AND a gun, great) Hope there”s no Annie Oakleys out there. (he he, cue nervous laughter) That’s my cat Frisky in the picture. (why does she look dead?) I brought her home from homeless shelter. (IS ANYONE SUPERVISING THIS MAN???)

Needless to say, I can’t wait for our first date. I better bring my phone–truth or dare with this guy should be ammmmaaaazzzzinnngg. (see, future crime victim).


#2 DOD-why-won’t-you-marry-me-guy

This guy’s pic is so creepy, I don’t even know where to start. He is in military fatigues, which only worries me even more. He looks like the Son of Sam, and he has access to guns. He is also way older than me, and I’m pretty sure, loose on a military base somewhere. Wow. Note to self, put up fake face photo of yourself ASAP.

Here’s his email (again my commentary is in ():

“good afternoon, bon apri midi (he can’t spell and I don’t speak french, except for food items, dirty words, and “will you go to bed with me, so we’re off to a good start) I am happy that you have reviewed my profile. (I have done no such thing) I am an engineer with DoD and I work in APG with JPEO CBD. (Oh, because I know what all those letters stand for, cool–and who let you work for DOD? Geez) I like your profile and I see that we are a good match so far.(how you figure that?) I am welling to meet your friends and family for better assessment. (he’s “weeeeelling” to meet mom and dad already? SCORE!) You can trust me and you will like my personalty. (Gosh, I just love it when men tell me what I am going to love. No. I wont love it you pompous jackass. I won’t love it at all. and trust you? lol, ok, crazy. this is how people end up in trunks, dumpsters, and buried in the desert–by trusting anyone who suggests they can and should) It is up to you to where you wish to take this and how far. (Is it too late to go backwards? How’s never? Does never work for you? How about half past fuck no? That good for you?) I am ready and honored to be privileged to the have the opportunity to meet you and to know in the near future.(there is a better chance I will wake up tomorrow and have grown a big spanking hot hairy penis) One more thing, I could be deployed as a civilian DoD to Afghanistan but I always return back to my old duty station and back to MD. (Since I live in neither Afghanistan nor in MD, shouldn’t be a problem) It is part of my career to take assignments overseas as an engineer working for our Dept of Defense. (I’m seriously writing Obama a letter about our national security if this fool can be DOD and the other fool can be a Police Detective for Very Important People, who is screening these people? TSA Agents??) It is always easy just to say no and life moves on. (you have no idea how easy, yeah yeah, I’m a bitch, hmm that was mean, now I feel bad) I am devoted, sincere and respectfull. (well that is good at least!) Feel free to Call me (xxx) xxx-xxxx my mobile. (I x-ed out his number, b/c I know the urge to prank text him is too great for anyone to resist) Nice to meet you/ Bon chance. Good night… V/R… (his name). (what’s V/R?)

So, a little off, but hey the email wasn’t that bad. So I checked out the profile, and that is where the crazy took off and running.

Profile–As a Person with deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward a Lady, such as that arising from future kinship, recognition of attractive ways. (wowzas, slowly backing away….) Ideal Match is attractive, smart, sensitive, accomplished, brave, and like challenges. (Is it me, or is this halfway 3rd person and halfway 1st person description kind of creepy like in a I have multiple personalities that are all trying to date you at once- kind of creepy. Brave? why? b/c you’re gonna chase me around for sport? Why do I need to be brave?) I am looking for a true good old fashioned lady to accept me as I am, and to be my future wife if we only match. (what’s with the old fashioned stuff? Oh, a lady? whoops, count me out 😉 ) Time is sensitive and time cannot be reversed and/or controlled. (It’s like listening to a prophet) I would like to find a true lady with the courage and high intellect to challenge me,(shouldn’t be too hard, I know a cheeky blow up doll you might like) yet to love me truly. I understand that many women worldwide are afraid to be direct(clearly, that is my biggest problem) and many women are afraid of direct men. (no, just of men who want to lock me in their basement and speak in the 3rd person in creepy riddles to me) I understand that many women would like to commit for marriage but when it comes to real commitment and marriage then they change their mind at the end. (I’m gonna say I don’t know too many women who run off. Maybe he does though….) I understand that women function on emotions (hey now), and women psychology is not as simple as men. Please, I know that there are fake people out there on this site, so try not to play games because I can easily find out if your are real or a scammer. (uh oh, here come’s the DOD, bad girls bad girls, whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do when THIS guy comes for you? Run, obviously, in a zig zag pattern so it’s harder for him to shoot you) Be careful money scammers because I know your game and I could find your location. (Ahhhhh!!!!, hmm maybe he can locate that dude who asked me for money lol) Hence forth, I do not like to waste my time also on women who join this site and they are not sure what they want later on. (he will bitchslap your ass, watch out)

OK, so that wasn’t as bad. But after a day of lots of these emails (including one from a guy who I’m pretty sure is the best chance at finding extra-terrestrial life on earth), a bunch looking for gratuitous sex, and people who are just mean in general (listen, I’m NICE on my profile, so why would you email me on a dating website just to criticize my description of who I am and what I’m looking for?? WHY????) —so after all that, yeah, my patience is gone, and I can’t help but…yeah.  See above.

As you can tell. Today was a SUCCESS. If you don’t see another post from me. you know what happened. Please call some Very Important People, or the DOD (in the APG with JPEO CBD) and let them know that I can most likely be found locked in a basement with a cat named Frisky (who may or may not be dead) on my lap. Oh, and Sheila will be upstairs making lunch. She’s be the one in the bridesmaid dress. You’ll know what she looks like from every one of shitcrazy #1’s pics on match.

And, somehow, suddenly, tugboy isn’t looking half bad. I mean, shit, I got bail money in the bank. and lube. 😉