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.
Explode-a-buttinski

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.

Silence.

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?)

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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. 😉

What? Like you expected my first date to REALLY go any way OTHER than that? Really? Really? Yeah, no. I’m not even the least bit surprised that my first date involved an encounter involving the infamous “2 girls, 1 cup” video, the muppets (P.S. You’ll never, ever, ever recover after seeing Kermit jerk off. That’s right. I said jerk off. As in felty green frog spanking it. Yep.), and naughty clothespins (you.don’t.want.to.know.–but I’m going to tell you anyway). Nope, not even a little bit surprised. So, about that. I don’t even know where to start.

So to recap, tonight was date numero uno with the AC/same shirt Wild Child, who entirely lived up to his name. He was right, he was a big guy. Ok, whatever. He did, I guess by some assessments, become kind of a wild child. sorta. not really. He was also super nice.

At this point I should say, that going on a date with me is an assumption of the risk. You are in the zone of danger. I am going to without fail, come home, and pick apart the date. I’m not going to hold in my sarcasm, my displeasure, or hold back from telling the juicy hilarious disaster details. It’s honest, but it may hurt. Let’s hope they never read this. My bad.

And now to the juice!

So he was super nice. And super nervous. Like, I was pretty sure halfway through he didn’t like me AT ALL (and totally at the same time thinking to myself, REALLY? YOU don’t like ME? Because, no way on that one. I mean, No, just no. It was the same feeling as if you offered to blow a virgin/homeless dude/scary tossed salad man in prison–and they turned you down. Does. Not. Compute. lol. Ugh. Anyway. He was so nervous it just came off that way–and it also affected our banter/conversations. [We had talked the night before on the phone and we totally hit it off. It wasn’t like the challenging hot banter that makes my eyes light up and my mischievous grin hit overdrive, and my eyes sparkle in hot pursuit, but it was fun.] He seemed LESS than interested in any story I had to share, and then alternatively acted really interested. It was like when he finished his plate of pasta (which wasn’t very big) and said he was stuffed, and I gave him this look like, yeah right, you are a big guy, and I would still be hungry if I ate that meal. Ok, crazy. 10 bucks says he went home and had a second dinner. Lord knows I ate hardly anything and went home and considered gnawing on my arm. (I think I have decided, if I get so hungry my dogs start to look like a good snack, I’ll stop this crazy diet and eat something real).

 

The Date

So, he shows up, and he definitely scored points by making the plans, researching, and putting the evening together. I admit it, my FF is right, I like a man to be a man. It doesn’t mean I reject all other gender roles, or am adverse to banging a hot bi guy every so often (hell, I love bi guys–they help out–I mean, say there’s some guy you don’t want to blow–the bi guy will totally hit that for you. It’s like having a stunt cock at your disposal, and hellllloooo, that’s just fing awesome. Although, my ex never let me actually yell “STUNNNTTT COCCKK!! during one of our fun with friends encounters–I so wanted to, hmm, it’s good to have future goals).

Anyway, now that half of you have turned away in horror, moving back to the story.

So he scored some points. He shows up, and eh, it’s so so. I mean, attraction is more than the physical, but I had seen pics and preferred his hair shorter (more bad boy) to longer (more altar boy). And since I’m not a perverted Priest, you know, bad boy does a lot more for me than altar boy ever would. Like, never ever. But ok, haircuts are do-able. He has a goatee, which I’m not partial too. I mean, if I wanted to make out with a vagina, I totally would. But since I was aiming for your face, not so much.

Anyway, so we get lost looking for the movie theater, which ok, he got us lost. I saw, and pointed out the sign for the theater, but he told me I was wrong, and so I followed him away from what was clearly the theater. I peed my face off laughing at the movie–it was so damm good. But he wanted to sit up front–and I’m sitting there and thinking, wow this is really really close. Like so close it feels like the screen is wrapping around my head. In fact, I couldn’t see right for like 4 hours after the movie. THAT CLOSE. He made a few comments in the theater, which sadly escape me right now (no food=no memory apparently–and I keep falling into things), and I remember sitting there thinking that I felt like I had walked into a joke. Surreal.

After the movie, we had some dinner. It was decent and the whole “doesn’t seem into my stories” thing came up again. Our waitress was a huge ditz, which was solidified in my mind when she came over carrying the utensils, place mats, and napkins–and then proceeded to look confusededly down at the table. She put them all over the place-like this was her first time at a table (moving up from the trough?). So, there I am, sitting on a wet chair with a tablecloth over it to soak the rain, in an Italian restaurant, listening to Spanish Wet-Tshirt-esque Spring break music, trying to not to attack the pile of bread and olive oil they put out in front of me like a rapid dog, and pointing out to this guy the waitress’ boobs. (We got talking about water bras, the likes of which are totally lost on me, and I pointed out our waitress had like negative boob and her superwhite water bra was showing through her white skimpy shirt. He said he didn’t notice–yeah, ok, what guy misses the EYE LEVEL super white outlined boobs in their face? lol Like I believe that shit, hell, I even noticed them! SO when she came by I gave him the cue when to look at her boobs. I’m a giver.

 

The Smell

There was also this weird smell. It was mostly in the car, and it was like a menthol thing. I wasn’t sure if it was him, his cologne or something, or the car smell/air freshner. All I know is there is a weird see through grease circle on my shirt from that night. Like dinner plate size. Was it him sweating on me? Was it the car? I mean, we didn’t hook up, so it couldn’t be any weird bodily fluids (let’s hope not at least, I mean he did show me his nipple in the car, so who the fuck knows at this point). I guess I should be thankful for the small things, like not asking me for money.

 

The “Truth or Dare”???

SO, after that we get in the car and he suggests just hanging out. He wanted to play online truth or dare. In. The. Car. Now, let me paint the picture, it is a somewhat deserted street in nyc, on a block where drunk people, sketchy wanna be ganstas, and some guy who looked like he was fleeing either the scene of a crime or a penitentiary regularly runs/walks by. It is late at night, it is dark, and did I mention we’re in a CAR? What kind of non-sexual (b/c uh, no) dares can occur in a tight car? I took like no dares, first because they were all sexual and I wasn’t putting out on some random corner on a random first date (yeah, rather get the t-shirt to prove it than the herpes or arrest record), and second, even if the dare was non sexual like get out and run 2 laps around the car chirping like a bird–I’d still say no. No way I’m even unlocking my door, forget getting out. So, he uses the game as a way to give me a peck on the lips and cheek. Which would have been fine, except the damm game also had him licking my ear, face (ew), and fingers. I also got to see his nipple, his top of his underwear, and heard him howl like a wolf. I fared no better, and my truths backfired by exposing me as the whore that I apparently am. The question comes up, “when’s the last time you had sex?” Now, I think to myself, do I lie? Nah, the truth is way funnier. So I’m sitting there visible squirming trying to decide how exactly to answer, and he looks at me and says,

DATER: “Aww come on, I’m not going to think bad of you.”

ME: “You’re going to judge me or think I’m a whore.”

DATER: “No way, I won’t. . . I mean, unless it was like last Tuesday, then I will. ha ha”

ME: “It was Monday”

DATER: “THIS Monday???”

ME: Yup.

DATER: “oh….”

 

Yah. AWESOMENESS. He then told me (that while I’m out cavorting in the nude with my fuckfriend), he hasn’t gotten laid in over a year. DING DING DING who’s the whore in this conversation? OH, that’s right, apparently it is me. Right. Then he asked how many people I’ve been with, but at least I know well enough to know that there is NO right answer for that question as a woman. So you can either lie your whoohaaa off, or you can stop counting early so that you never really had a number in your head (or at least not a ball park estimate you’re willing to divulge), or, you could just start blowing him. Men tend to forget whatever you were talking about once you start doing that lol. 😉

So back to the truth or dare game on the cell phone/app. We selected the “progressive” option, meaning we assumed, that it would get progressively (read slowly and proportionately) naughtier as the game went on. Appppppparently someone doesn’t know what “progressive” means (aka the maker of this game). It went from “When’s the last time you had sex?” in one round, to the next question (being a dare) being “put a clothes pin on each of your pussy lips and spread it wide.” Um. Uh. Errrr. Uhhh. I looked at him and almost dropped the phone lol. We laughed, awkwardly, assuming it was either a glitch or something. I clicked to go to the next dare instead, thinking it couldn’t be worse. It said,

“woman make your man lay on his back. Make him cum into your mouth. Then let it pour into his open mouth. Then both kneel facing each other and share a hot deep kiss.”

O. M. G.

Now, not that this offends me, or that I might be adverse to it in other situations, but on a first date, in a car, with this guy, um. WHAT THE F! Yeah, and the game was over. I shut that down fast.

You would think this was the low point of the date. But you would be entirely wrong. At 1am, before bringing me home, but after the truth or dare incident, somehow the conversation turned to watching videos online. He asked me if I had seen “Two girls/one cup,” which, sadly, I had. (which, side note, if you haven’t–stop right here and go google it. I’m sure there is a wikipedia entry on it somewhere, trust me. like now). He debated the realness of it (like that was the biggest problem with it???), and then said that I “just HAD to” see this reaction video to it. Just had to? Really? How about no. Oh wait, too late. He had the phone out again, and in the blink of an eye, there I am, sitting in the car, my eyeballs being assaulted by the sight of Kermit the Frog, in all his green fuzzy glory, jerking off while watching the video. Apparently, frogs are into sexual shit-eating displays. I don’t think I’ll ever be the same. And there is no way my kids (someday) will ever, ever be able to watch the muppet movies now. I sure can’t. Google it. Really. Do it. You’ll hate me for it. Oh, and Kermie moans. alot.

 

The Next Day (RUN!)

Fast forward to the next day when he tells me again that my flaw might be being too perfect. Ahhhh if only!!! So, he seems really interested, and I’m not sure what I think. I’m willing to see where it goes, but in that same token I’m not cutting down my potential mating options here. I have a date lined up with the other eharmony guy, who seems nice but overly secure. I am, a little worried however, from his enthusiasm that he is out picking out china patterns as we speak. Sounds a bit much.

And I saw an old sorta boyfriend–you know from when bfs were like hair accessories that you change twice a day, but still had some PG – PG13 hot and heavy make out sessions with. Yea, so I saw him last night, and it was a blast from the past. The chemistry was still there, and although I resisted, by the end of the night there was some PG hot and heavy (always what he was good at) making out and cuddling going on. I was shocked to find out that he was a naughty, kinky, and fun as I am in bed. That’s right, that’s me tooting my own horn (although not last night, he tooted it for me, or well this morning rather) aahaahaaa. Still it was pretty PG13 and while I felt a bit slutty afterwards, b/c he is dating material, it was super fun and I think he was happy with it too. I mean, in my defense, it was only PG/PG13. If the boob feel up is OVER the shirt, I think we haven’t left the realm of dating and flung ourself entirely into whoreland yet. Right? Right.

The only negative thing that happened, was that I was pretty sure during those hot and heavy make out moments that he may have possibly called me the wrong name. A name close to my name, and one that I get called by accident often, but still. I think I’m going to just chalk it up to role-playing and let it slide. It wasn’t a big deal, and kind of funny honestly. It totally reminded me of this one time I met a guy, ended up hanging out and went back to his place. (Cue slut). Anyway, halfway through hooking up, I’m laying there on his glorified mattress on the floor, head hanging over the end, staring up at his cracked ceiling, and it dawned on me: this man has NO idea what my name is. Not even an inkling. He kept calling me babe, and baby, and honey, and at first it seemed like he was being mushy but after like 2 hours, yep, he had no idea what my name was. So, being who I am, and unable to shut the f up and having little to no filter, I blurted out mid thrust, “You don’t know my name, do you?” He stopped on a dime, froze, and stared down at me with a look that can only be described as a cross between a deer in headlights and that look you get when you know you are about to puke–where you’ve cross the point of no return–and you’ve just realized there is no where to puke it into–and it’s gonna be BAD.

At least he didn’t pee on me. (that time)

Stop, drop, and roll.

July 23, 2011

I’ve re-evaluated.

The nice guy from eharmony, I was giving way too much credit. I mean, sure on one hand we chat, text, and email all day, but I think I was somewhat blinded, albeit momentarily, but his talent. You see, skill and intelligence are HUGE turn ons for me.

We’re talking drooling, pants dropping, hump your leg on the side of the car turned on.

He happens to have a talent (his work), and he is good at it. I admire it, and when I watch him work (not in person yet, but I saw a clip of some work he did), I was moved by it. Therefore, I may have over credited. Whichhh…I’m taking back. I mean, even though I made it clear I wasn’t easy/that kind of girl (because who wants to “date” that kind of girl–I mean, sure you want to bang that kind of girl, but men are silly and complex and can’t fathom that a girl who is that kind of awesome dating material can also be wild and a huge fan of sex.) I get it, many- but not all of course- women aren’t into sex, or aren’t open, or aren’t willing to experiment (and no, doing it with the light on or in a room other than the bedroom doesn’t count as being “experimental” haahaa), or at the least some/many women don’t sport a much more than a closed-minded-missionary-position-we-can-do-it-once-a-week-but-only-with-the-light-off-and-when-I’m-in-the-mood kinda of take on it. (Which, a lot of the blame for that falls on their man–hey sure, some women are cold fish/unintereted/have other issues regarding sex/body, but lots of women would be more into it if their guy took some time to get them turned on, and maybe, GASP, even bothered to pleasure them. Whoa, what a concept). Whereas, I’m very liberal in my views about sex, what it should and can be, and what role it should play in a relationship.

Irony abounds when men want a woman that is open and into sex and believes it should be a big part of their relationship/marriage and then only seek out women who aren’t down for that. Kind of funny actually. Next time I hear a guy complaining about his sex life, I’m just going to laugh and laugh and possibly even point. Heckle even. Maybe get a wave started.

Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, that’s right, the nice guy. Well, I made it clear that I’m not that kinda girl (hahaaaa), but I have let him joke with me and we do have some lightly sexual banter going on. No biggie. However, I also realized, that recently while he has called to finally hear my voice (he sounded mostly male….), it was a short conversation and we really don’t talk about the usual getting to know each other stuff. I mean, we did at first, work, jobs, etc., but lately I feel like I don’t know much about his life, his family, etc. He doesn’t know much about mine. And he seems fine with it. Which to me, indicates that he does in fact, think I’m the kinda girl he can bang for sport, (who doesn’t like a sportfuck?–but he wouldn’t be my first choice lol), he isn’t really interested, or he is a bit weird. My gut is silent on this one so far. His actions speak louder than his (lack) of words, so it is a wee bit confusing. And men say women are confusing. I would bank on him being uninterested if he didn’t email and text me constantly all day and night long. I mean, I don’t contact him first, so it is all him initiating. Which, one would think, eh why bother. And let’s be honest, while I do have super amazing and huge boobs, he hasn’t seen a photo yet of them, so it can’t be that. 😉 lol.

Eh, whatever. I’m sure it will undoubtedly end in tears. And he is kind of dorky. His success may have landed him more ass than he should have gotten, and I’m starting to wonder if he has a bit of an inflated ego. I could be wrong. But I’m not.

Wildchild was upset he lost his bowling game. Oh boy. I’ve been thinking about it. I don’t love bowling. I could play once in a while, but twice a week and on a team…not so much. On the other hand, having my partner out of the house twice a week would give me time to go out with the girls, wreck havoc, and look at porn privately so I can maintain my good girl image. Just kidding–I don’t care about watching it in private. haahaaa.

I’m mustering up the strength to go on POF and matchymatch but I fear, I haven’t eaten really today, and I don’t know if I could handle the pain on the mere 25 calories I ingested so far. And considering those calories tasted like a sponge, I’m going to go with no. I’m going to need at least a turkey sandwich to make it through. Or an orgasm. Either one will do. And despite my gnawing hunger (my watch is starting to make me salivate), in true form, I’d still pick the orgasm. On second thought, match and POF are the places to find men for “not-dating”–oh, but wait, they probably are the type who think that once they start shooting like a garden hose that the “sexual encounter” has ended.

Those men should be not be allowed to have sex at all. Ever.

Or eat cheese (delicious!)–No pleasure for them at all.

Maybe negative pleasure, like ball gag and S&M straps tying up the aforementioned boomshackalacka–unless, they’re into that. In which case, idk, ice buckets down the pants? Something distasteful at the minimum.

Instead of a scarlet letter for adulterers, we should make these men (who ruin it for everyone) wear something similar, like maybe a bright orange penis with a “no” sign over it–to warn women not to bang these men.

Imagine if the reverse was true. Imagine me with some guy, and he gets me off first, and I pop up like a freaking jackinthebox and say something like “whew, that was great!” and start getting dressed. Can you just picture his face! hahaaa. He would without hesitation (once he realized what was going on) immediately object, probably with the hard object sticking out for emphasis, wildly start gesturing and pointing to it, and demand to know what was going on (and where the hell did I think I was going leaving him like that, you bitch–whoa, got a little real there didn’t it). lol. What is going on, is exactly what most men do to women. You’re done does not equal “GAMEOVER.” Geez. Instead, I’d be called a tease and worse, and they would get pissed. Um, hello, guys, now apply this to your sex life and seeeeeee the problem? So, therefore, match and POF will just leave me unsatisfied, pissed, and did I mention pissed? (but hopefully, unlike my last date, not pissed ON).

I just ate a pickle. Which, by all accounts, did not help the situation.

Oy.

Speaking of garden hose delights, I know a girl who had a harrowing experience with a supersoaker. No, not the toy, the hidden in the pants, unassuming, old faithful geyser that explodes without warning. She was over his place, for a first bob at the apple, so to speak, and he rewarded her alacrity with a full body hosing. (Bukkake for 10? No waiter, I only ordered one serving please.) Immediately I thought of those tanning spray machines–why? lol, yeah, that’s where my mind goes, and– he was apparently also selfish in that area, sooooo lose-lose? I mean, I can appreciate a supersoaker, hell, go big or go home–that’s my motto (or in this case, don’t take genie out of the bottle and go home), but then, I am not the usual.

And to add insult to injury I saw her the next day–and no tan. Pffft. What a gyp!!!! Apparently, he exploded sooo much that she had to ask to take a shower in his apartment. There she was, scrubbing off his globs of motionpotion, and she had to ASK him to reciprocate. (What a catch…delete his number asap!). Anyway, so as they were sitting there afterwards, she had to stop and ask him for MORE napkins b/c not even a shower could get his swimmers off her body. Talk about staying power. If only my (waterproof my ass) sunblock stayed on half as well! I suggested next time she request Bounty by name, you know, the quicker picker upper. I might even write to Bounty and suggest this for a commercial. I mean, we all know how hard that shit is to get off, right? She doesn’t know it, but I’m planning on getting her a roll for Christmas. She’s gonna love it. 🙂 I also plan to teach her the benefits of “stop, drop, and roll”–good for putting out all sorts of fires! (and avoiding cum sneak attacks, if you know, you’re not in the mood for a facial….)

Speaking of reciprocation…I have a full reciprocity policy. Like that shirt I picked up in Mexico over spring break, “68, you do me and I’ll owe you one”–Amen, sister. Amen. Granted, you can cash in that IOU immediately after I wake up from my post-orgasm nap. 😉

Ay Papi

July 14, 2011

So, remember that part where i said that all this online dating eventually might culminate into one thing…actually having to go on a date? Well, I said it thinking that judging by the way these 3 sites were going, I wouldn’t have to worry about it for a while.

Fast forward to me having a date on friday with the AC/same shirt Wild Child, and talking the nice guy (also courtesy of eharmony) all the time. Like all day, everyday. Which was fun, until I started to think, you know, it’s been a few days of chatting, texting, game playing, and emailing and yet, I have never spoke to him, no idea what his voice sounds like and for all I know I could be trading winks and banter with some 75 year old man or a lady. Hell, who knows. I mean, I know a guy who met a woman (on a sex site, helllloooo adult friend finder, he found a friend alright ahaahaaa–ok back to story so you can laugh too), and he was a little paranoid (um, it’s sex site–not being paranoid sounds about as smart as showing up with only 1 condom and slippery fingers), so he asked her to call him so he could verify and hear her voice. She did and so they set a date to meet for lunch. He walks in (undoubtedly sporting condoms and a cheeky smug grin) to the lunch restaurant and low and behold who is waiting for him? The 30ish lady he is expecting? The giggling beauty on the phone? Nope. A 65 year old man. That’s right folks, he showed up penis and all. My friend was (ahaahaaa, man I WISH I could have seen his face) shocked. The guy apparently had a high squeaky voice (so he wasn’t sure if it was him on the phone with his high girly been-kicked-in-the-balls-one-too-many-times voice, or if he had a female friend pretend for him). Either way, the guy said that he thought if he came all the way there, he would just, you know, ignore the pool cue and balls and “just do it anyway.” Now, I don’t know about you, but the gender of the person I’m banging, sometimes…often…you know…occcccassionalllly comes into play when having sex. Maybe it is just me, but if I expected to put my boomshackalacka into some lady’s whoohaa, and she showed up with another boomshackalacka, um, sounds like a problem to me. The best part, is the dude was surprised when he turned him down–but, quickly asked if he at least wanted to grab some lunch. Right. lol. And I thought my dates were bad…at least they come with the parts I’m expecting. (Oh, man, let’s hope) lol.

Anyway, so WildChild and I are going out this week. I’m not sure what to say about it. He seems nice, and so I feel kind of like an ass dishing about it, but at the same time, I’m being honest. It’s not like I’m mischaracterizing the situation…just commenting on it. Yeah, I’m so going to hell. Ugh. Anyway, he let me pick the movie, which was sweet. We were going to go out earlier in the week but he said he had a doctors appointment. Of course, being the sweetie that I am, I said that I hoped he was ok and that the appointment goes well. He responded that he was fine, he was just going in to be evaluated for weight loss surgery. Que? Now, I don’t know that I would share that kind of info with my friends, forget a woman I just met online, have never met, and am trying to woo. Maybe it’s me, but someone needs a filter. I mean, I’ve seen his pics (are they accurate? we shall seeee), and he is definitely a bit heavy/chubby, but still cute and whatever, I may be lots of things, but at the moment skinny isn’t one of them. (Granted, I’ve lost 13 pounds in a week—and I am so hungry I could eat this blog right now). Anyway, point is, I realize, sadly from personal experience, that it is what is on the inside that really does matter. Your partner can be hot as hell, but if you want to club him to death every time he opens his mouth, or daydream about stabbing yourself in the face with a blunt spoon (for entertainment) b/c he is SO DAMM BORING, well, it isn’t going to work out. At least not past the putting the clothing back on and doing the walk of shame part. Def not.

Weight can be gained and lost, but that other shit is permanent.

So, yeah, me, date, weightlosssurgery guy (oh, if only he didn’t already have a name). I’ll let you know. Hopefully, I can make it through the movie without him strangling me, trying to smother me after one too many biting comments, or me wishing I had a blunt spoon in my purse….

About the nice guy. He seems nice, but then he also kicked my butt at a game last night. And I hate losing. Even more than that, I hate the thought that this guy might be better than me at something. Stupid and vain right. Well, nice to meet you. It’s not that I’m a bad loser, just that I’m a way better winner. I think it also really shocked me because while he seemed nice and all, I had clearly underestimated him. I didn’t expect to meet an equal–certainly not–and here he is. All kicking my butt (and when I say kicking my butt, I mean, ASS meet HAND, yah, it was that bad). I’ve met maybe one equal before, sigh, and that went awry for so many reasons (mostly because I wouldn’t leave my husband and run off into the sunset with him after he divorced his wife “for me.” Uhhh yeah, maybe you should have asked me about that idea BEFORE deconstructing your life on the assumption that our friendship could end up in a sunset, hello). Anyway, I don’t know if he is an equal yet, and I haven’t met him yet, but Im pretty sure, being that I kinda like him, that he won’t like me in person. Yep. I mean, it can’t work out so nicely right? Right. GOD, I could eat my arm right now.

I haven’t had it in me to check match or POF today. I’ve gotten the emails, and yeah, yeah, we all know that 400000000 people want to meet you on POF, aka bang your face off, thanks. I’m just not in the mood to see idiot after idiot send me one word emails and suggest I give them a call sometime. Who just gives out their number to strangers?? Unsoliciting strangers for that matter? And match, ugh, I keep getting emails (can I get my money back?) because this may be a dating site, but apparently the men who sign up didn’t get that memo. All the emails are just like POF except exceptionally veiled. Where on POF the profile says nothing pertinent and the description is like “looking for the right lady to spoil” (and of course the obligatory bathroom shirt off picture to go with it), on match they are wearing clothes and writing how they enjoy running marathons (read: Chasing you around the parking lot so they can molest you) or going out to eat (self explanatory, just insert mind into gutter). Not happening today. Maybe I’ll try again tomorrow. You know, if I don’t fall in love on my date and magically transform into one of those people who think love is all we need and monogamy is a good plan. Yeah. OK. Sure.

Love is all we need. aahaahahaahaaaaaaaaaa.

You know what took it out of me? Driving in traffic in NYC. Not even because of the traffic or congestion, or any of that. Because of the sketch factor. Is it just me, or are men picking up women in traffic? From their car. Yah. THEIR CAR. I was driving on the Grand Central Parkway, traffic, as usual and I notice this SUV (covered in stickers, huge Puerto Rican Flag hanging from the rearview mirror, large –shockingly somewhat hot–man in the driver’s seat with a dew rag on) that keeps pulling up alongside me. I look over and to my surprise, he is gesturing to me (also surprising, the gestures were PG). My window was already down, and he rolled his so he could yell to me from his car. Now traffic picks up, and we start going faster, and yet he stays next to me. (I’m thinking, this will be cute to explain to my insurance company when we crash). Anyway, he yells to me that I should take HIS number down. With what? My invisible pen and paper I keep on me while driving? Sure I had my cell there (which he yelled over that I should put it into), but he wanted to give ME HIS number. Wait. For what? So I could call and ask him out? So I could be his booty call? Eh, yeah, no thanks. So I yelled back he should take mine instead. He acted like I suggested he pull over and cut out his liver on the side of the road and eat it. I shrugged, and sped off, leaving him in the dust. Ok, there was no dust, being NYC, but I left him trapped in a slower lane, which by nyc standards, is so dust. He was cute, but on principle I turned him down. Recently I also had a uhaul driver try to pick me up, and a driver in a delivery type white van who tried to convince me to get off at his exit. I know it is hard to meet people to date, but really, 50 miles an hour winks and yelling from car windows isn’t the answer. Right? Ugh. Maybe I let prince charming get away on the GCP. At the least, I definitely gave up a chance to be called Mami and have my ass slapped. Darn.

Maybe next time. 😉

So, after Sir Pees a Lot was removed from my life (and my bedsheets bleached and bleached some more–thank GOODNESS for the 2 waterproof mattress protectors I use–yay Ikea), which is now his formal name for having peed in my bed, I kind of thought that the karma meter was going to swing in my favor. I thought wrong.

Day 3 of superawesomefingfantastic online dating was a shocker, even for me. Let me lay it out for you. On tonight’s line up we have, TheStage 5 Clinger, The Scammer, The Older-But-Still-Thinks-He’s-All-That-Lothario, The AC/same shirt Wild Child, and the other usual horn dogs, jerks, and weirdos. And maybe a handful of nice guys thrown in. (don’t get too excited now, I’m sure they’ll rear their ugly heads shortly).  Hey!  Get your head out of the gutter!  Moving on.   Let’s also not discount the throngs of rejection and crickets from today’s recap. Ahhh, how I like my love life, with a side of you-gotta-be-Fing-shitting-me. Awesomeness.

Here goes!

The AC/same shirt Wild Child & Friends:

Soooo our first contender of the day, Eharmony, yielded today’s only decent guy. He seems nice, he’s fun, friendly, normal. He is cute, and in spite of my better (rational) judgment, I like him. Basically, either I’m in a fugue state, or I just haven’t figured out what’s wrong with him yet. We’ll see.

The other guy, the AC/same shirt Wild Child, you remember him, well, he turns out to also be an AVID bowler, a bad dancer, a self described creep standing up against the wall staring instead of dancing, and even sports his very own custom bowling ball. Now, sure my wow meter is going off. But instead, I am going to pretend to be adult and choose to find it charming. Hey, maybe I can get my ball out of the gutter (haahaa, yeah right, I’m alllllways in the gutter heehee). Well, either way, he seems nice, and hey I secretly love the discovery channel, so we all have our weird quirks.   (Hmm, this is a very ballcentric post…I gotta stop watching porn.  Seriously.)  I’ve also been known to prune a rose bush at 3:30am, so you know, who am I to judge. Custom ball away. I mean, he didn’t mention custom bowling shoes, so I’m still in the win column. And really, have you seen discovery channel lately? That shit is addictive. I mean, I sit down to watch a half an hour of tv, and boom, 6 hours later I haven’t done a damm thing but I know everything there is to know about giant squids. (which really, are super fascinating, I mean, did you know their eyeballs were like grapefruits! Yah. creepville.  Imagine seeing that on your next disneysnorkel “adventure”). Anyway, so I plan to entertain either of these gentlemen, should they care to indulge me.  (and by entertain, I mean the go on a date and maybe give a kiss or peck goodnight depending on how it goes, and not in the strip and dance for dollardollarbillsyo kinda way).  Just to be clear.  I mean, shit, what do you think this is–a second date? haahaa.  I kid, I kid.

On the other hand, I still have “no new matches” all day long and I’m starting to take it personally. And they had the GALL to put a button on my page, on the second day of my account being open–and after I paid for 3 months up front, that says “Extend your subscription now!” What, like it’s running out on day 3? Or like I’m just taking the place by storm? How about this, Eharmony, how about you take that subscription dinero I sent your way (up front mind you–while you hold out) and wrangle up some matches for me. I live in one of the largest cities ever–NY, and I’m open to as far as PA and CT. Um, hello. It says it bases it on geographic area, preferences like smoking, drinking, and wanting kids. So, hey, you’re telling me no one else in the extended tri-state area is  a smoker/non-smoker, ok with some drinking, and wants kids eventually? Yikes. I guess those census people need a do-over. Either that or you’re holding out. I know you have matches under all that html and pretty graphics. SPILL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Cheap bastards.

The Older-But-Still-Thinks-He’s-All-That-Lothario:

Moving on to Match. Here’s where the real fun begins. So, the previously mentioned The Older-But-Still-Thinks-He’s-All-That-Lothario, you know, the one with the kid who wants to feed me fruit and wine and wants to (oh, ever so graciously) let me “take advantage of him” (what a giver!) on our first (ha!) date–which in his fantastyland involves us skinny dipping. (cold day in hell, sunshine). I wonder how many other women he is laying it on thick with. Probably oodles. Anyway, he said hello a few times, the usual constant barrage of telling me how sexy I am, and how he hopes I’m sensual, and (the icing on the cake) how he “teehee is a nibbler” and hopes I don’t mind. Wink Wink.

Yeah, I got your wink wink right here buddy.

The Stage 5 Clinger:

Then there was the The Stage 5 Clinger. Ugh. He looks so normal on the outside, and comes off so crazy on the inside. Tasty. He’s the kind of guy who seemed just enthused and excited to meet you at first, but then, slowly, he started to get a BIT much. And by a bit, I mean a shitton. He’s that guy who you just know is going to be driving past your house 18 times an hour, sending mushy cards all the time, leaving stuffed animals on your doorstep, hanging on you like a wet blanket in public, and telling you he loves you during the first or second date. Sure, women like a man to be sweet, thoughtful, and romantic. But this guy is more like stalker, nutjob, and overly in love with love.

I started to notice, as we chatted, that he kept bringing up cuddling. Now, who doesn’t like a little cuddle. Granted, I’d rather cuddle at times other than after sex (I’m liable to fall asleep after good sex, come on, men do, why can’t I? Actually, once I fell asleep during oral sex (receiving, not giving, lol, although that would have been WAY funnier, come on…picture it…aahaahaaa, sooo ok, fine, maybe I took it too far that time.) But still, our ENTIRE conversation shouldn’t be about how he wants to cuddle with me, how he can’t with to cuddle with me, how fun cuddling with me would be, how he can’t stop thinking about cuddling with me. GEEEEZ. I get it! You love cuddling!!!! I’m pretty sure even my dogs know at this point. WE GET IT. I’m considering telling him I hate cuddling. See how that goes. This time I saved the chat we had, so I have the juicy gems to share. A few of my favs, after saying hello he opens with,

Stage 5 Clinger: I thought about you all day today
Me: Oh, what did you think about?
Stage 5 Clinger: I thought about whispering poetry to you. I totally want to cuddle with you. (shocker)
Me: Oh. That’s nice.
Stage 5 Clinger: Are you smiling right now babe? (whoa, day 2 of internet chatting and I’ve reached “babe” status. RED FLAG RED FLAG RUN GO GO GO!!!)
Me: Uh, sure. (but not b/c of you, weirdo.  All you’re inducing is my gag reflex)
Stage 5 Clinger: I’d caress your smile. (um, that wouldn’t be creepy or anything, right).
Me: Anything else besides cuddling?
Stage 5 Clinger: talking and sweet kisses (you don’t say. what else did I expect. fml)

Over the course of an hour and a half of very sporadic chatting, he told me he wanted to cuddle or was thinking of cuddling etc. with me 13 times. In fact, he talked about hardly anything BUT cuddling. During our very first chat ever, he waited a mere 4 minutes to start talking about how he loves cuddling and wants to cuddle me. (Hang on, I have to go throw up now).

However, he did round out the conversation with an especially lovely thought.  He told me, lovingly, “I love pleasuring the derriere.”  Heh.  I bet you do.  Spectacular.

The Scammer:

So, remember our other friend from Match? The one who has the kid, poor english skills, and is looking for a mommy for his kid? Well, he chatted me up for the second time online and immediately, I got that gut feeling. I knew something was up. For some reason, I got this feeling he was going to ask me for money. But, who, seriously would do that from a dating site after like 20 minutes of having known each other? No one right? Right. I was totally being ridiculous and paranoid. Maybe this internet dating this was taking a toll already.

Recall he told me he was away on business, and after saying hello, said he “wasn’t that fine actually.” Ahhhh, here it comes. I thought at first, maybe he isn’t feeling well, maybe his kid is sick, maybe his flight was delayed or some trouble at work. Maybe anything other than what my gut was screaming in my ear. THIS MAN IS GOING TO ASK YOU FOR MONEY. Noooooo. Yesssssssss. 2 minutes later he told me he was having financial troubles, and even though he had “plenty of money in the States,” (don’t we all?) he was having some cash issues in the small unnameable remote village he was working in. (sounds legit, I mean, I usually travel to unnamed places with not much cash to get by.  Hey, you should seeeeeeee what a boobflash can get you around there.  It’s like visa, and yes, I don’t leave home without them).  Hmmm, haven’t I gotten an email like this in the past? You know send me money to save the King’s money that he can’t get because of some tax thing, and you’ll be rich. Or send us money and you just pay shipping and get to keep the rest, oh stupid American, please help this poor scammer from the other side of the world rip you off.

And then it happened.

“Hey, can you give me $100?” Sayyyyyyyyyy whatttttttttt? That’s right, this man from Match asked me for money. I reported his sorry ass. Now, maybe he was in a bind, and I can understand that, but he has someone here watching his kid (like he has a kid, or is really from here for that matter), and he has family and friends. I suggested he asked one of them for some help if he was in a bind rather than a woman he met yesterday on a dating site. Wow, and here I was worried online dating would be a hot mess.

You know, I did get one of those emails one time–that was really impressive. I mean, it allllmost had me fooled! It was an email to inform me that I had died (so nice of them to let me know!!!), and here’s the kicker, they wanted me to CONFIRM I had died. Now, if I was dead…….see the problem? lol. And really, if I was tooling around in the afterlife, you think I would be wasting my time checking email? I mean, let’s see, check pedestrian email, or float around on clouds and chill with angels. Hmm, tough call. And even still, how could I respond? Dead people don’t email, and I hear ghosts have a tough time with the typing thing. I think they lost something in the translation from scammerlanguage to english. They said I needed to confirm so I could receive the money that was in my name in their country (that I had never been to, how awesome, random money that just appears in your name, coolness).

So, of course, I emailed them back post haste and told that I had in fact died, and to please send me the cash ASAP! I explained the afterlife was more expensive than I had anticipated, and that extra moola would sure come in handy.

Turns out, blowjobs in heaven just don’t carry the same weight as they do in the living world. 😉

Oh, apparently you must.  Now, at first glance you might assume I’m talking to my little dogs, one of which enjoys nothing more than peeing on a post, chair, or other item found outdoors.  And I mean he relishes it!   Although, to be honest, his life is not perfect either.  He is smitten with my other little dog, who alternatively lets him hump her (they are both fixed, don’t worry), or snaps at him for it.  Not that he is even nearby, he usually humps her arm, or leg, or side.  But they do have a little romance.  I think she secretly likes him, but just puts out a cold front sometimes.  I always catch them cuddling and him licking her ears and eyes–which in dog world, must be like foreplay.

So, who was really peeing you ask?  Well, I guess I wasn’t totally forthcoming in my first blog about what prompted my online dating attempt.  Sure it was that I was sick of who I was meeting (or not meeting) at bars, and being in school a lot, I rarely go elsewhere, so where was I going to meet some hombres?  Well there were also two other things that caused this disaster of an idea to occur.

Brace yourself.

1.  So, being newly divorced, (yet emotionally been there for quite some time), I wasn’t sure I was ready to date, but was ready to try some fun on for size.  Hey, it had been a while, and I’m a grown woman, and if I want to go around banging the town, dammit I will.  Ok, so it wasn’t the town.  But I found a guy I became close friends with.  We’re so compatible.  Similar careers, close in age, we just get each other so well.  I see him so well, and he sees me too.  You know what I mean.  The deep, really seeing me thing.  I can be sappy too.

What, you thought I was just bitchy?  damm.

Anyway, we get along great, and the sex is hot.  The thing is, we came into this as fuckfriends, boomboom buddies, friends with benefits, whatever you want to call it.  And we are actually friends on top of the good lovin.’  Normally I am excellent at separating sex and love.  I don’t start generating feelings if I’m in a benefits only relationship.  I can compartmentalize well, and it is never really an issue for me.  I know most of my friends have trouble with this, and it is true, it can be hard to not start having feelings for someone you are intimate with, even if you try not to.  But me?  Never.  It just isn’t an issue.

Until now.

I guess because we are so close otherwise, which usually isn’t the case with a friend who is just around for some friendship (which isn’t usually the heavy kind), and some benefitos.  But there it is.  When I get a text from him, I smile.  When I see him, I just want him and get butterflies in my heart.  And there is no way in hell I’d EVER tell him. Ever.  We came into this as friends with benefits, and I, my dear, am certainly not going to be the one to change things, or ruin what we have (that I really enjoy) by professing feelings.  Oh.  Hell.  No.  He would have to say something first.  Granted, lately he is more cuddly at night, and the last two times felt more like making love than some hot boomboom, but I could also be just impressing my feelings on my interpretation of how it was.  Honestly, he has always been a little cuddly, but he is single, and maybe on a human level, he misses that kind of soft touch too.  So maybe he has zero feelings for me besides caring and friendship.  We may never know.  What I do know, is that I’m starting to really like him too much–too much to keep it hidden and be happy with what we have, if that is all there is.  Which means I need to be distracted otherwise, and have my heart and head on other things.  Namely, other penises.  Uhh, I mean, men.  6 of one….

2.  So, here’s what happened.  There was a cute waiter.  He was tall, kind of big in that throw you around, exuding manliness, beat down a waterbuffalo kind of way.  He was funny and attentive, and definitely flirty.  After a few times of flirting, he asked me for my number.  Claiming he came down to where I lived “all the time” (lie #1), and that he would love to take me out (lie #2).  He said he would call, and shockingly, after making me wait on nails for a while, he did.  We talked, joked, and generally had some fun conversation.  I was sympathetic to his needs, his issues, and listened as he talked about how the reason he broke it off with his long term ex was that she wasn’t sympathetic enough. (lie #3)  Now, at the time, that seemed like a reasonable complaint.  He wanted kids someday, and so someone who wasn’t nurturing and sympathetic might not be idea mommy material.  Got it.  Anyway, we talked for over a month, and this being one of my first freedom romps, I was open for anything.  I went up to visit.  I had told him that nothing would happen, and then it snowed.  I had to stay over, and well, after midnight, we count that as date number 2 right?  And that isn’t nearly as unrespectable as banging him on date number 1, right?  Right.  Rationalized and hot and heavy, I jumped in.  He was pretty good in bed.  However, then he wanted to perform oral sex on me.  Now, who am I to turn that down, and considering I’d already pre-returned the favor, hell yeah.  So, he heads south.  About 3 minutes later I’m starting to worry he got lost (made a wrong turn at my navel, perhaps?) and never made it to his target.  I was wrong.  Oh, no, he was there alright.  But just so gentle I couldn’t feel a thing!  Now, maybe he was new at it, or never had a girlfriend who liked it before, or maybe his last gf was made of tissue paper an felt every last flick of the tongue.  Nope, no way.  It was that bad.  It was like he had NEVER done it before, or had at the least, never been corrected.  He could have been blowing on my lady parts through a coffee stirrer straw and I would have felt more.  Seriously, get a book, or go online, or anything. I tried to direct him, which resulted in him being mad and insulted, and finally I was like, yeah, enough.  He asked if I didn’t like it, at which point my humanity kicked in, and I felt bad crushing him by saying that that was hands down the worst oral ever, so instead I smiled and said it was fine, I just wanted him instead at that moment.  Feigning being overcome with rapture isn’t easy.  I give those porn stars some credit.  Anyway, long story short, I thought hey, good guy, fun in bed, needs some work, but I’m up for the challenge.  Can’t win em all you know.  3 out of 4 wasn’t bad.

And then he opened his mouth.

Turns out, he wasn’t such a great guy.  College drop out, past 6 year drug problem, estranged family members, no drive or motivation careerwise, and he gets calls at weird hours to go bail his buddies out of jail.  Hmmm, keeper?  Then I learn that he has major dad guilt, and anxiety, for which he pops pills like they’re candy, and sees a therapist (who he keeps on speed dial) for appointments he can’t afford.  In fact, when I dumped him the first time, he got so upset, he had to hang up and while sobbing called for an emergency therapy appointment.

Emergency.  Therapy.  Appointment.

Did I mention he can’t afford these appointments.  Probably because he is spending all his money on snickers bars and prescription drugs, which Lord knows what they are.  All I know is that the way he pops them they aren’t what he says they are.  You don’t take zoloft 8 times a night yo.  not even a little.  Anyway, so I saw him a second time.  Again, I drove to his place, and we hung out.  Watched a little tv, hooked up, it was fun.  He got me some roses, and it was sweet.  So in spite of the ever growing list of why-you-should-not-date-this-man, I was giving him a chance.  He was fun to talk to, and newly divorced, I’ll admit the attention felt nice.  So he asks me to be exclusive, and thinking that we were both adults and he could understand, I said I didn’t think I was ready to get so serious, but that I was interested.  He promised he wouldn’t back off and understood.  Which translates to bye, bye, bye.   He called less, and I knew something was up.  Either he had someone else, he was super busy with work (big dinner rush?), or he wasn’t into me anymore.   2 out of the 3 were reasonable, and I’m a big girl, I get it.  Sometimes, he just isn’t that into you.  I asked him and he assured me he was into me, he was just busy at work (lie #4).  I knew it was bullshit.  But what can you do.  So, I was surprised when a few days later he accepted my friend request on facebook.  I figured, if he was doing shit, he wouldn’t want me to see.  That noble thought was immediately dispersed when I realized he must have NO idea that he friended me, b/c he just changed his status to “in a relationship” and the girlfriend, wasn’t me.  Nice.  So, please add two timing jerk to the list.  Turns out he has a string of ladies, he’s quite the ladies man.  Anyway, I called and confronted him, to which he said he had no idea what I was talking about (all the while I could totally hear him typing–most likely logging in furiously to facebook to figure out how I could see and delete the damage).  So, that was that.

But then, I reconsidered.  Remember how I can separate sex and love?  Well I knew that this wasn’t going anywhere romantically, but the sex was fun.  It was new, if felt nice, oh hell, I just wanted to.  I don’t need to rationalize it.  So I asked him if he wanted to just be friends with benefits, shockingly, and in spite of the women he was no doubt romancing, he said yes.  However, we didn’t see each other for a while.  Long story short, he calls and after lots of last minute cancelling, he decides to come visit.  So, he is supposed to come on a tuesday, but calls on monday to ask if he can come early.  I picked him up at the train, and we headed to my place.

Fast forward to some boomboom, and it’s 3 hours in and I wanted to duct tape his mouth shut and drop him back off at the train.

He talked about himself constantly.  How he’s wonderful.  How everyone says so.  How his boss loves him.  How everything wishes they could be him.  I get it.  You’re great.  DEEEEElusional.  I thought he was going to come by, and leave the next day or so, like I did.  He told me he was staying until thursday.  THURSDAY.  It was only MONDAY.  See the problem?  However, the real trouble began when we only had sex the first night.  He said his anxiety was acting up too much–all day every day–to have any more sex.  I’m going to point out that someone taking pills all day and night like crazy should have his anxiety under enough control to have some sex.

(Maybe he didnt get the memo, you know, the one that explained that boomboom was the reason he was here.)

He then proceeded to drink all my alcohol, eat all my food, asked me bring him more food, made a mess, and slept all day long.  It was like a preview to dating a huge loser.  My friends were telling me to pack him a sandwich and tell him to get the F out.  I felt kinda bad, why I don’t know.  About the only time I find myself not standing up for myself is with men.  But I’m working on it.  Anyway, finally he got up one morning, said he was going to shower and check his voicemail after.  Kind of a weird announcement, especially since his phone never rang, but maybe he was expecting a call or psychic.  Either way, he showered, put the same clothes he was wearing all week back on, and got an emergency voicemail!  He had to leave immediately!  There was an emergency at home!  Let me tell you, I have never lept out of bed so fast.  He asked me if we could make the train, Hell yeah I said!  I didn’t even get dressed, I ran out the door in flip flops, pjs, not even looking at my hair on the way out.  I even paid the higher toll to get him there faster.  He rewarded me by leaving his garbage in my car.  Awesome.

But that isn’t the best part.  One night, he drank almost a whole bottle of kettle one (mine), and the next morning I woke up about 5:30am, probably because I felt something wet.  I checked, I was dry, but the bed behind me (and in front of him) was soaked.  Like 4 cups of water soaked.  My pjs were dry.  The dogs were behind the baby gate in the kitchen.  That’s right.  This 36 year old man, PEED in my BED while I was IN it.  Yep.  I’m guessing he wet the bed in his sleep.  However, he PEEEEEEEED in my BED.  He woke up a few minutes later, and not realizing I was awake, he touched the wet bed, and then ROLLED OVER and went back to sleep.  Unfreakingbelievable.  It was like walking up in a twilight zone movie.  I laid there in complete shock.

The irony is that my dog had been having accidents on the bed lately, and so they were sleeping in the kitchen.  Had I known, my lover boy could have joined them.  (or I would have kept a newspaper rolled up nearby handy to bop him on the nose with.  Bad dater, baaadd.)

I thought that was the end.  However, this man who peed in my bed, (and yes there was a stain and an outline on the lovely 600 count sheets), had the gall to call me a few days later.  I explained we were looking for different things.  I wanted a relationship with a housebroken guy.  Clearly, he wasn’t a match.

and that is why I had to find a new place to meet (housebroken) men.

Day 2 of dating hell

July 9, 2011

So, the first day came and went, and while I felt disheartened like a kid who waits for the ice cream truck that never comes on that sweltering day, I chalked it up to being day 1.  Fast forward to today, the illustrious day 2.

First, I checked Eharmony.  Ok, let me stop lying, I never logged off since 9am.  I refresh it like it must be broken.  Because really, with 3 gazillion people on dating websites, how do I have “no matches found”?  Doesn’t that seem a WEE BIT strange?  Sure, I’m not the hottest, and this sarcastic biting humor isn’t for everyone, but I’m not asking for everyone, I’m asking for ANYONE.  Seriously.  So, let me walk you through the a few “matches” I had over the 2 days.  Now, let me clarify, it is what Eharmony thinks is a match for you.  They seem to ignore things like body type, and appearance preferences–and I know, I know, it is really what is inside that counts, but you do need chemistry–and sadly, most people make snap judgments based on looks.  So, that being said, you know where this is going.  When I first signed up, I had a few immediate matches who initiated contact–aka sent the first set of “get to know you questions.”  I thought my answers were swell–honest, I used my inside voice, I was on my best behavior, not even a single biting comment! Apparently I was wrong b/c two of them closed the connection (ouch, rejection on day one, what a bitch!), some didn’t respond at all, and the rest slowly fell by the wayside.  A few I had to nix myself, and some nixed me.  Two went to the second set of questions.  One has not responded since, so I’m going to rationalize that he really, really wanted to but must have had an accident/died/or something else that made him unable to reply.  The other guy, well, he is ok.  I mean, he isn’t super attractive, but he seems like a decent person, and who am I to not give someone a chance.  And well, it’s not like my eharmony door is being kicked down, that’s for sure with their “no matches for you” thing.  In my (weak) defense, I realize that they only send you a few potential matches a day that way you keep hanging on and renewing as the months go by.  I get it, but dammit, it is dumb.  I would rather pay a closing fee, like in real estate.  Listen, you buy, you pay a commission.  I’d be down with that, just give me all the matches NOW and stop raining on my self esteem!  Geez.  I’m sure the other sites use the same protocols, but even though I know it, it doesn’t not hurt when I see the “no one loves you” thing on the page.  (Ok, it doesn’t say that, but it might as well have!)

OK, so back to my eharmony guy.  In response to those questions he had to tell me about the most spontaneous thing he has ever done.  He said, hmm, –shit, it was so boring I already forgot.  Hang on, let me log in to the website and go check.  Ok, I’m back.  He said, that one time on a weeknight he went out for pizza, and had to go to work in the same clothes the next day because he was coming straight from AC.  Hey!  Wake up, I know, that story put you to sleep.  So, I’m assuming the pizza place was in AC?  Or maybe he made a wrong turn?  Delivery guy got way lost?  He wanted deep dish?  I don’t know.  All I know, is that was some boring shit.  I’m sure he is nice, and I’ll say yes to a date (hey, worst case I’ll tell you about it), but man, I don’t know if I can handle all that excitement.  Maybe he is livelier in person?  Or asleep?

So, on to Match.  Ahh, let the self esteem destructor, uhhh, I mean online dating service begin.  So, day 1 and 2,  I had 50 men view my profile.  My pages says “you have: no new emails, no new winks, no new voice calls.”  I’m sensing a theme.  Ok, I did have one email tonight from a man older than I’m willing to entertain, who lives in IL.  Which is fine, unless I live in NYC.  Which I do.  And unless he wrote his entire email (except his name—hilarious twist there buddy) in ALL CAPS.  Which he did.  Stellar.  Then I had a wink from a man who I emailed who is working on his second language (English), and has a child.  He is looking for a mom for his son.  Now, I love kids, but I’m not sure I’m ready to pour myself into a insta-mom get up.  I mean, if I loved the guy, sure, but searching a dating site for a mom to raise your kid, seems, well creepy.  The other winker who also IMed me, was at the high end of my age limit (so, ok, I’ll bite), but liked to call me Ms. (insert my first name), and talked only about wanting to feed me strawberries, grapes, red wine, and take me skinny dipping where I could, as he suggested if I was “lucky” take advantage of him.  Oh, rapture!  He also has a kid (a teenager no less) from his “ex wife, not his ex gf he just got free from.”  I know this because he asked me how long I’d been out of prison–meaning divorced.  Sounds like a keeper.  And last, but not least, let’s not forget the guy with the fake photo who spams everyone, including me (got me all excited too, the fake pic was smexy!), and asked me to chat him on yahoo for some “fun.”  Oooh, sorry buddy, fresh out.

And now on to fun land, aka POF.  Man the emails I get…lol.  I have TONS of men checking out my profile.  I liked it when POF emailed me telling me that while I hadn’t logged on since yesterday, I had like 76 men check my profile out.  The only slightly alarming thing was that I was logged on at the time I received that email.  Someone needs to look at their website workings.  I also had been emailing, browsing, and searching since yesterday, but oh well.  Anyway, it was true, over 76 men had checked me out!  And there was a budding list of men who were “interested.”  Unfortunately, most were more interested in an “intimate encounter” with my boobalicious boobies, than a date with the mammary owner.  I did originally check off that I was not interested in being contacted for boomboom, but I guess that setting fell by the wayside just like my logging in and activity logs.  There was however a nice diversity of shots taken by men in bathrooms–what’s a site like that without some prime bathroom pics?  You know what they say, location, location, location!  Seriously, why must they all take pics of themselves in the bathroom?  When I did venture onto a more, let’s say, liberal site, ahem, I found that without fail, most men had a I-took-this-pic-of-my-junk-in-the-bathroom-near-the-toilet-you-love-it-right shots on their pages.  Is it because they are cheating and that is the only place to get a private shot?  Or is it the convenience factor, like well, I already had it out when I peed…so the next logical move is to take some pics to memorialize the event?  Either way, you can get your fill online, go sign up!

As I browse through the pages, I can’t help but comment.  The guy whose tag line is “You’re gonna love me” just makes me cringe.  Yeah, pretty sure it is a safe bet I won’t.

And who doesn’t abhor the guy who says “You won’t be disappointed”–which 1000% means I will be entirely, and probably repeatedly, disappointed.  (I winked him, just for the hell of it, and low and behold, I was disappointed.) lol.  And he was an opera singer.  I’m not even sure where to go with that.  He looked more like the band director, but ok, whatevs.  lol.  I’m tempted to write him and express my disappointment.  Someone should.

Then there was the guy who sent me the one word email.  “Cute.”  If there was ever a sure fire way to not get someone’s attention, it would have to be spending less than a millisecond in composing your sole contact with them.  I wrote back, “thanks.”  Then he asked if we could hang out b/c he really liked me.  Clearly, he learned so much from the “thanks,” that you should check back on the blog tomorrow for the save the date card.

Next up, I had a guy yesterday tell me, again in all caps, that I was the MOST beautiful woman he has EVER seen.  Wow.  Someone needs to get out more.  (and learn to work the caps lock button).

I was almost redeemed by the most recent email I received.  It seemed normal, genuine, albeit completely canned and you know 300 women a day are getting the exact same email (which somehow cheapened the compliment of how “drop dead gorgeous” I am, but shit, I’ll take it).  He won’t post a picture though, because he doesn’t want it sold and used elsewhere on the internet.  He must either be a real looker, or a REAL LOOKER, lol.  (or married).  I mean, I don’t think POF is clamoring to use my face in a toothpaste ad, but hey, I could be wrong I guess.  I do have a nice smile (allegedly, I think it looks like a rectangle, but what can you do).  Maybe a happy rectangle.  Anyway, a huge turn off for me is the ones that can’t spell.  If you’re looking for your “sepcial someone,” well, good luck there sunshine.  I bet she’s out there; check tanning salons.  I’ve already forgotten the rest of them, but they were funny.  You’re going to have to take my word for it.  I’ll write them down tomorrow.  😉

So, that was day 1 and 2.  I will point out that as I wrote this I had 5 more men view me on match.  Guess how many wrote, winked, or called.  Yep, you guessed it, zip, zilch, zero.  Then, since it is a new day (past midnight), Eharmony has sent my new matches.  It still says “no new matches” (I swear, they’re doing it just to spite me), but I have 7 new matches according to the site.  Which means I can look forward to 7 new rejections tomorrow.  Oh, goody!

I know what you’re thinking, she’s so negative!  She won’t meet anyone with that attitude!  Oh poooo poooo.  I keep this attitude for you, and portray the upbeat happy woman I am (I can be both! lol), and I’m not negative.  I’m a realist.  It is not the same thing.  I’m facing crickets and ALL CAPS online, so you know what, I’m going to have to take it as it is, and accept it.  Maybe I should hit up that tanning salon, I hear a “sepcial” someone might be stopping by….

Have you been on a dating website lately?  It’s like that time you were at the bar, and didn’t know what to order, so the bartender made you something “you’ll love.”  Which, of course, you didn’t love, but in fact hated, but drank anyway.  It was blue, and frothy, and tasted like bad decisions. 

And then you made some. 

Like going home with the married guy who claims his wife swings and is cool with it.  You know that guy, the one who gets up at 6am to leave (and says “the thing about taking home a married guy is that at some point they have to go home to their wife”–um, great? sounds good to me), and he puts on the one sock he can find, and leaves that way in the cab you called for him, because no way you’re driving him home: you’re still drunk from the night before (clearly, as evidenced by your sockless wonder romp), and no way you driving home to the wife (and visiting in-laws–although, that being said, I can see why he didn’t want to go home lol)–talk about an awkward drop off. 

I mean, do you wave? 

And then you find his other sock.  and his undershirt.  and his boxers.  on your floor.

Yeah…it’s like that, but worse because every mouthbreathing, all caps writing, thinks he is God’s gift dating reject is going to be emailing you.  And, you. might. have. to. meet. them.  UGH.

So, you ask why did I join a dating website?  Well, meh, why not?  I can always use some more laughter, misery, and weeping in my life, right?  Right.  That and I’m not getting any younger, I’m divorced, and last time I went to a bar to meet men I was less than worked up into a lather over the choices of weird older guy who stares, guy who dances like he is humping something, creepy middle age couple who *both* smiled creepily after offering to buy me a drink (and yes, I checked, it was a regular bar, not a swing club), and the general male population that seems to have huge egos without anything to justify it.  So when I logged online and saw the profiles, emails, and lack thereof, I knew this was too good not to blog about.  Someone has to laugh their face off, besides me.

So, here I am.  Not to be unenthusiastic, I joined not one, but three sites.  I am a proud new member of Eharmony, Match, and PlentyofFish (I knew something smelled).

Eharmony seems like the we’re going to get you married but only if you’re conservative, missionary position only, able to describe yourself and what you want in 330 characters or less per boxed area, and really, REALLY patient. However, the graphics are nice and I like that they make up questions for you, so you have to be even less like yourself (unless yourself is uber lazy when it comes to soliciting blind dates, which I totally am, in which case, you’re in luck!).  Unfortunately, there is so little room to write, that you have to decide between letting your personality come through or getting out the pertinent information about who you are in the most basic form and who you want to meet (and presumably run off into a sunset with.  Someone, please, cue the sunset.)  However, you have to wait really, really, patiently for them to match you with people.  Even then, you message someone, and wait.  Then they message you, and you respond and you wait some more.  I’m not sure if it is a dating site, so much as training for getting your license renewed.  Oh, come on, who doesn’t love a trip to the DMV?

Match seems a bit more open minded, and by that I mean maybe you could be the kinda gal who is down with your man bending you over a couch, like you know, three times a year and on federal holidays (but only the ones where the post office is closed, of course).  They let you write more stuff, and see other members.  You get to select if you would be interested or not, which in a way, gives you more control.  If they like you back, you could have a match.  Or you could have an empty inbox that makes you feel a little sicker each hour you incessantly check it to see if anyone (how could there not be anyone? Isn’t there like 3 million people on that bitch?!!?) has messaged you, winked at you, viewed you, or call requested you.  (Of course they send you to their sister site, Chemistry, where you can join and pay another membership fee.  However, if you think about it, everyone who joins Match gets this service/offer also, soooooo aren’t you just paying a second membership fee to talk to the same people?).  Hmmmm.  Deleted that account….

Now, on to the gem of the bunch:  Plenty of Fish.  Oh man.  This site is special because not only can you find people to date, you can also find people to bang, have “intimate encounters,” hang out with, be friends, and whatever else they’re calling getting dirty dirty with nowadays.  It is like adult friend finder had a baby with eharmony and birthed this nugget of boom boom dating fun.  If you’re looking for some pics of guys in the bathroom, pics with their girlfriends cut out, with their wedding rings still on, and pics of a few nice normal looking guys–this is the place for you.

Now don’t get me wrong, they are all very nice sites, in the business of finding you, the paying customer, someone to love.  Sounds reasonable to me.  So here we go!

(now cue the sunset!!!)