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. 😉