Happy Anniversary to ME!

Exactly one year ago today, I sat with a friend of mine plotting world domination. Due to a somewhat shady history chalk full of questionable and unwise decisions, we quickly realized running for office may not be the way to go. Marrying well was also not an option as I’m way too opinionated to be anybody’s bitch. It was determined, however, that I’m a narcissistic, sarcastic, sexually liberated and somewhat decent writer (did I mention narcissistic?). Hence, Miss Melisa Mae was born.

Never in a million years would I imagine that even a single person would give two shits about what I had to say. Let alone comment and become loyal followers of my abrasive, somewhat offensive and crazy antics. I’m humbled and flattered by those that take the time to read my bullshit and over usage of the words fuck and penis.

So, in a moment of introspection I’ve decided to list some of the things I have learned in the past year from having this blog. Enjoy…

1. I am an animal. I hunt, I prey and I devour men. I am, in a sense, a predator of the male population as a whole. No man is safe and every once in a while no woman is either.

2. I am not a dating advice blogger. I date, I screw, I write. End of story. Anyone daring enough to ask my advice will probably be lead astray. But it will at least be amusing. For me, anyway.

3. I look really good when holding a camera 38 feet above my head and to the left. If anything can be learned from my 16 year old cousins, it’s that.

4. I have way more sex than I originally thought.

5. I am not the only nutty, sex crazed, 30-something obsessed with biceps and peni.

6. Despite making periodic breaks in my stream of conscious writing, I still have no idea where and when to end a paragraph.

7. Not everybody is going to love me or my writing and those people should be shipped off to the island of misfit toys that's okay.

8. Despite my initial reservations about putting my love life on record and in writing, it has been among the best and most cathartic things I’ve ever done.

9. I now have one year’s worth of blog posts outlining exactly why I’m still single.

10. Not only am I dating to find love, I now also embrace those awkward and disappointing first dates because they make for awesome stories.

11. I still have a great rack.

12. I’m kind of a bitch. But that’s ok. I own it.

And there you have it, kids. I need to run, I have a post to write about an engaged dickwad with huge teeth and a pecker the size of a walnut.

Ciao, babies!

Parole Officers Count As Men In Uniform, Right?

The Parole Officer’s Profile:

“ONE man can love a million women,but only ONE REAL man can love ONE woman in a million ways.(and i truly post that quote genuinely.)as far as getting 2 know one another,i feel most guys approach women and reveal way too much about themselves,leaving nothing 2 the element of surprise.The only thing u need 2 know about me is that i have A LOT of POSITIVE energy and i'm really FUN 2 be around.Thus leaving us more 2 talk about and more fun in getting 2 know one another.I'm 36,but anyone and everyone thinks i'm barely older than 26.(I'm very thankful 4 that,it's a blessing.)With the right girl,trust me,every week is a valentines with me.I go ALL out 4 that special girl,because that special girl will stand out from all others in doing the same 4 me.Everything is ENERGY and KARMA,i truly believe that.4 every WRONG girl that didn't appreciate a GOOD guy,there's a MS. RIGHT who's waiting 4 the perfect time 2 quickly replace her.(and vice versa)(because everything in life is timing.)Whether a serious or casual relationship,i'm communicative,humorous and fun in all aspects of life.I'm as stimulating and as EXTREMELY passionate as any woman can ever wish and hope 2 meet and find in a guy.I can't lie,i LOVE thick n curvy women.If u always wanted 2 date or hangout w/a guy w/hazel eyes(they change from brown 2 green in the strike of any bright light on them.)and have a weakness 4 guys with deep dimples,well that's me,n your in luck.=)

The old cliche "girls just wanna have fun" is a cliche because it's true.Women care more about having fun with you than if your financially successful or attractive.Women are more at ease with a man who is humorous because his very nature is light hearted.Not that i've never been told i'm sexy,and believe me,i love the attention!!!~lol..=)but my physical attributes and all the money in the world could never compare 2 the person i am HUMOROUSLY..LOL...but yet the comfortable,communicative,and very balanced,GENUINE man i am as well.Some girls want something casual,some want something serious,most don't really know period..lol...and that's ok,no set rules,let's just enjoy it,life's 2 short not 2..=)it's not the date,but the fun company you're with,and with me,everything and anything is VERY fun..i'm CLASSY,i'm BAD BOY,yet GOOD HEARTED,i dress NICE w/SO MUCH STYLE,smell GREAT,EXTRA CLEAN,CONFIDENT,but not ARROGANT...”
Let's just assume that this profile was written by somebody with a reading level above the 3rd grade, shall we? If I went into grammar nazi mode this entry would be a whole lot longer.

I don’t want to hear how laid back you are. I don’t want to hear how great you are. I don’t want to hear how funny you are. Am I laughing? No. So basically, you are a liar too. Good start.

So why did I meet the Parole Officer? Because he was cute.

I can fully appreciate a man with a healthy level of confidence. As long as it doesn’t cross over into cockiness, I’m accepting. The moment any man starts telling me what a Godsend he is I log off.

His profile said 5’10” but upon meeting he admitted that he was really 5’9”. I guess he figured he’d better own up since I stand at exactly 69” myself. I applaud his honesty but I’m not quite sure it’s wise to risk your word and admit to lying when it’s only 1” in question. But he did have gorgeous eyes, dimples and a job so I gave him the 1” and decided to let it drop. Laying down we are all the same height anyway.

Against every dating rule in the book, I met him at his place. I make no apologies. I did my research and deemed it safe enough for me to visit for a few hours before he had to leave for work. But maybe that wasn’t such a good idea after all. You can learn a lot about a man by the residence he keeps.

He had a studio apartment and from the looks of it had been there quite a while and accrued a good many items to fill it. Being half Italian, half Irish it was clear that he took his heritage very seriously. He made a point to let me know since his last name translated to Lion he was a strong male and therefore decorated his entire apartment to reflect that. Now my last name roughly translates to mean briar patch yet you don’t see me decorating my place in a tangle of vines. I’m proud of my roots but not THAT proud. Call me crazy.

Mr. Officer was also heavily into Ju-Jitsu and had a bunch of stuff on the wall that I will never know the meaning of. I’m sure it all meant obvious shit like Strength, Loyalty and some other crap that you see too often in tattoos on men that have taken one Karate class and consider themselves deep.

On his only window, instead of curtains, he used two fleece blankets. One being from “Beauty and the Beast, The Musical” and the other being of “Scarface”. On the wall opposite the Ju-Jitsu wall was his shrine to all things Al Pacino and “Scarface”. He made a point of letting me know that despite him being blond with hazel eyes he’d been told he looked like Al and they shared the same bone structure. As far as I’m concerned, he looks like Al Pacino about as much as I do. Again, stop TELLING me who and what you look like! I’m not blind!

So let me get this straight. He’s laid back, wonderful, funny, outgoing, a Lion, 5’9” and resembles Al Pacino. Please, why stop there, oh humble one? I’m obviously completely incapable of coming to my own conclusions.

To me he sounded like somebody that had watched one too many Sopranos episodes then learned how to construct a conversation at the Gang Banger School for Language Arts in East LA. Come on, I’m a 32 year old woman from Pasadena that considers Old Navy to be high end. I don’t do slang and I most certainly have a hard time pulling “gangsta” off.

He also bragged about being good in bed. Or rather, he told me that he didn’t need to brag about how good he was in bed because he’d never had any complains. This, in my eyes, constitutes as bragging.

He was wrong about that too.

After I was done and beat from doing all the work while the lazy bastard enjoyed my *ahem* enthusiasm, I was tortured by being forced to listen to Frankie J remixes on CD compilations that his past lovers had made him. Oh, the excitement *yawn*. From now on, the reverse cowgirl doesn’t come out until at least the 3rd time we get nekked. That’s too much effort to be putting out on a one time only, unimaginative gangster wannabe that insists you leave your shoes by the front door.

For me, the only good part of the evening was when he put on “Roadhouse” with Patrick Swayze and Sam Elliott. This led to a discussion on men and aging which naturally led to my lifelong adoration of all things Sean Connery. Maybe telling Mr. Officer that I’d totally have a threesome with Sam Elliott and Sean Connery wasn’t the best post coital pillow talk but after the rather dull “meeting of the minds” we’d just partaken in I didn’t much feel the need to censure myself.

I grabbed my purse, my keys, said a quick “talk to you later” which really meant “don’t call me, I’ll call you” and was out the door.

Moral of the story? Sean Connery is still the best looking 97 year old I’ve ever seen and I would still have a threesome with him and Sam Elliott.

Keep It In Your Pants, Please

I recently took a quiz on Facebook. The quiz was expertly titled “How Well Do You Know Men?” My score? 0% - Pathetic (their words, not mine). I proudly posted my score for all to see finding it amusing yet realizing that that one quiz pretty much summed up my entire dating and relationship history.

Really giving this trivial yet meaningful quiz a lot of thought I figured the way I had been viewing the opposite sex could actually be flawed. Until 12 hours later when I met Vanilla. In 15 minutes of being face to face with Vanilla I was proven that my initial assumptions had been correct all along and that Facebook was full of shit.

As with any other dating site, much of my time is spent weeding through the social retards and leather wearing, motorcycle riding grandfathers trying to reclaim their youth till you find somebody that doesn’t make you cringe or vomit in your mouth a little. Receiving an email from Vanilla and not feeling the need to leave the table was definitely a good sign. He was tall, brunette, had abs you could wash clothes on and biceps that looked as though lifting my big ass would be a piece of cake. He had all his teeth, lived locally and apparently was a chubby chaser. Yay me! I think. Draw backs included being six years younger than me and him only looking to “hang out”. Still, I responded back.

Thanks to unemployment and a sudden appearance of one of my Wisdom teeth I put my newfound love interest on the backburner. This wasn’t good enough for him. The moment he knew there was a spark of interest he was relentless. Daily emails and miraculously, every time I logged onto the site he was there. If he weren’t so damn hot I would have avoided him like the plague. However, due to my circumstances I could see how I might have been coming across as a tad flaky so I cut him some extra slack for being so tenacious. If the situation had been reversed I would have already probably written myself off.

I gave Vanilla my phone number and let him call me. The initial conversation was decent. I’m not sure if he was trying to assure me or compliment me by telling me how much he loved women with “meat on their bones”. But his emphasis on the matter made me feel a tad uncomfortable. I’m not a freak, I’m not a circus monkey, and I’m not required to purchase two plane seats so he could have left it at “I like thick women”. Once I was able to direct him from the size of my ass the conversation flowed smoothly.

A few nights later we decided to meet for an impromptu late night snack. We chose a café close by and I arrived a few minutes early and prayed that things would go well. A few minutes later he pulled up. We both got out of our cars and despite him looking skinnier than his pictures he was still very cute. He immediately wrapped his arms around my waist, pulled me close to him and tried to kiss me.

Wait, what?!? This would have been great if we were in the midst of a Harlequin Romance but we had just met. I gave him a quick hug and gently removed his hands from my hips. He checked me out from head to toe in a way that made me feel as though I were livestock and started to growl his approval. Yes, I said growl. Trying to get out of such direct scrutiny I suggested we go inside for a cup of coffee. He said we would “in a minute”.

Changing the subject from my curves to his upcoming birthday he made a very fateful decision. He started complaining about turning 26 and how old he was going to be. With disdain, I reminded him that I myself was 31 and that being 25 was by no means anywhere near old. To counter, he told me that the aging process was different for women than it was for men. I agreed, pointing out that in the battle of age men were usually the benefactors and women were usually stuck trying to reverse the process. Think Phyllis Diller v. Sean Connery. Who’s sexier? I think you see where I’m going with this.

To make things worse, he started to rub himself. And by “himself” I really mean his junk. The growling started up again and he told me he couldn’t help himself because I was so damn sexy. With disbelief, I caught myself saying “What are you doing? You can’t pull that out HERE!” At which point he told me that I needed to “see it”. I assured him that I had seen plenty of Peni in my day and that NO, I did not need to see his. As if things couldn’t get any more awkward he asked how close I lived and if we could go there. According to Vanilla, he wouldn’t be able to have a decent conversation with me unless he had a “release”. All the while trying to grab at me and bring me closer to him. And yes, we were still in the parking lot.

I decided it was time for me to extract myself out of this particular situation…and FAST. I told him I needed to go and started walking back to my car. The last words I heard escape his suddenly childish pouty lips as I disappeared into the distance were…

”you aren’t going to call me, are you…?”

I’m sure the closing of my car door answered that question. Buh bye.

Two weeks later, I got this:

Him: U still want to meet babe?
Me: What do you mean? We already met...
Him: like hang out
Me: I think I'm going to pass but good luck to you...

Folks, I can’t make this shit up…