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.
Showing posts with label online date. Show all posts
Showing posts with label online date. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
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…
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…
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Eharmony Owes Me A Refund
Eharmony makes finding “the one” seem so easy. However, in a nutshell, this was my overall experience with it. I spent a week filling out a Christian based questionnaire just to determine that I would be compatible with someone that “liked to laugh” and “enjoyed spending time with family and friends”. You don’t say. After that, they took it upon themselves to determine that “My type” were short men from anywhere BUT California. To say that eHarmony was not a success for me would be the ultimate understatement.
I didn’t always feel so unEharmonious. At first, I was curious to see what this “relationship site” had in store for me. After all, I have tried just about every other site known to man with no luck other than learning how to put a condom on without any hands. Which I suppose is a fantastic talent if you get paid for that sort of thing. Given the hefty price tag, I thought I would get something out of Eharmony.
In the beginning, I wasn’t at all pleased to learn that the control had been taken out of my hands. But I went with it in the hopes that perhaps trying a different approach might give me a different result. When I was contacted by Smother Guy my hopes were lifted thinking maybe Dr. Neil Clark was onto something.
SG had one picture posted, with two men, both blond. Neither one was specifically my type but they weren’t horrendous either. And my communications with SG had been going so well that I was intrigued to see this through. Once we switched to Instant Messaging and to the phone my fate was sealed. I was sold. Hook, line and sinker. 6’2”, built like a linebacker, former marine and the sense of humor that would make Ben Stein crack a smile.
My dress would be white, bridesmaids were picked and the wedding invitations were ready to be sent out. Everything was perfect except….I still had to actually MEET this guy. What could go wrong?
We met for dinner and as expected had a great time. He wasn’t actually the one in the picture that I was expecting but he was funny and that goes a long way with me. We did some bar hopping and ended the night with a kiss. There was certainly no doubt about whether or not I would be seeing this guy again. The only drawback at this point was that he lived about an hour away from me. Which during rush hour was easily doubled but I didn’t mind so much considering it was only a matter of time before our relationship became legal and I moved in. Shut up.
Second date I drove to him. We’d decided on dinner and a movie at his place which was pretty much code for dinner and some sexy time. I was game. I don’t believe in wasting time. If I want you, you’ll know it.
Dinner started off great. Until my big boy started to sweat while eating. Not a good sign. With that, my inner bitch kicked in. It wasn’t my fault that we were sitting in a booth with unfortunate lighting that showed his thinning hair. I began to channel the words of my mother, and sister…and girlfriends…and, well, just about everybody I knew, saying “Stop being so damn picky! You’ll never find a man if you don’t change your way of thinking!” So, I handed him a napkin and told him to scoot over.
We went back to his place, had a few drinks and started a movie. It wasn’t long before Don Juan put the moves on me. I had long forgotten the dinner episode agreeing with the voices in my head that I needed to lighten up.
I jumped on top and as soon as he said these words I almost jumped back off…
“Use me like a shake and bake bag”
HUH?
I’ve heard a lot of lines in my day. Most of them cheesy but this one was Swiss, cheddar and Muenster all rolled into one. I was so glad that he actually repeated it for me to fully understand what a smooth talker he was.
But again, I’d already had our wedding invitations printed and stamped so I wasn’t ready to bail on this guy just yet. He was still salvageable.
Positions reversed and clothes off we let the good times roll. Until I realized one very important and life threatening element.
I couldn’t breathe.
No, I don’t have asthma or any other type of health condition that would make it difficult for me to catch my breath. What I had here was a clear case of bigmanlayingonmychest-idis. Being as this was our first (and LAST) time I didn’t really want to ruin the moment by telling him, oh you know, that I couldn’t BREATHE. I assumed he would eventually want to switch things up a little bit and I would be no worse for the wear. But no, apparently, big boy was about as Catholic as they come and didn’t believe in changing positions.
As the life force was slowly leaving my body I wondered if this was what autoerotic asphyxiation felt like? I found it hard to believe that somebody would intentionally cut off their source of air to reach climax. I for one was definitely NOT going to be getting off. Then as if things couldn’t get any worse, he tried to kiss me. Blocking my sole remaining access to the sweet oxygen I so longingly desired.
I used my remaining energy and with one last final attempt to save my own life I pushed the mother fucker off of me. As I inhaled deeply savoring that I was still alive he lay next to me smiling. His response?
“I wore you out, huh?”
Had I not just suffered a near death experience and was still out of breath my words most certainly would have been strong enough to make Andrew Dice Clay cringe. Being as it was dark in his room he couldn’t see the daggers my eyes were throwing him. He had almost smothered me to death and then thought I was the one that couldn’t keep up!
Being as I’m a drinker, I knew that this relationship would have to plateaus at the friendship level. Just as it’s not wise to get drunk in a hot tub it also wouldn’t be the best decision to drink and screw with this guy either. What if I had been drunk? I could have passed out and he would have kept right on going. Not even knowing that he was screwing a corpse. Nope, that thought wasn’t pretty the first time I had it either.
We stayed in contact but I was so traumatized by that one episode that I made no further attempts at trying to see him. Sure, he tried to make me jealous and often brought up how much fun our bedroom gymnastics had been (for him) and how much he could teach ME (Please, don’t do me any favors). At one point, as if trying to raise his own stock, he told me that he was a member of the mile high club. Not once, but twice. I find this hard to believe being as I have flown many a flight and I have also seen him. Airplane bathrooms couldn’t hold him and another person any more than I can share clothes with Kate Moss.
He eventually moved up north and got himself a girlfriend. He was not shy about sharing their active sex life with me every time I asked how the weather was. He once shared with me that the neighbors probably wished for them to keep their windows closed because of all the noise they made. I can’t help but thinking the lucky woman wasn’t moaning with delight but actually screaming out for help. They’ve since broken up and I wonder if “broke up” is just another way of saying she’s dead.
So, thank you Eharmony. $100 and a crushed lung later, I’m still single and deathly afraid to log onto your site for fear of what else you have awaiting me.
I didn’t always feel so unEharmonious. At first, I was curious to see what this “relationship site” had in store for me. After all, I have tried just about every other site known to man with no luck other than learning how to put a condom on without any hands. Which I suppose is a fantastic talent if you get paid for that sort of thing. Given the hefty price tag, I thought I would get something out of Eharmony.
In the beginning, I wasn’t at all pleased to learn that the control had been taken out of my hands. But I went with it in the hopes that perhaps trying a different approach might give me a different result. When I was contacted by Smother Guy my hopes were lifted thinking maybe Dr. Neil Clark was onto something.
SG had one picture posted, with two men, both blond. Neither one was specifically my type but they weren’t horrendous either. And my communications with SG had been going so well that I was intrigued to see this through. Once we switched to Instant Messaging and to the phone my fate was sealed. I was sold. Hook, line and sinker. 6’2”, built like a linebacker, former marine and the sense of humor that would make Ben Stein crack a smile.
My dress would be white, bridesmaids were picked and the wedding invitations were ready to be sent out. Everything was perfect except….I still had to actually MEET this guy. What could go wrong?
We met for dinner and as expected had a great time. He wasn’t actually the one in the picture that I was expecting but he was funny and that goes a long way with me. We did some bar hopping and ended the night with a kiss. There was certainly no doubt about whether or not I would be seeing this guy again. The only drawback at this point was that he lived about an hour away from me. Which during rush hour was easily doubled but I didn’t mind so much considering it was only a matter of time before our relationship became legal and I moved in. Shut up.
Second date I drove to him. We’d decided on dinner and a movie at his place which was pretty much code for dinner and some sexy time. I was game. I don’t believe in wasting time. If I want you, you’ll know it.
Dinner started off great. Until my big boy started to sweat while eating. Not a good sign. With that, my inner bitch kicked in. It wasn’t my fault that we were sitting in a booth with unfortunate lighting that showed his thinning hair. I began to channel the words of my mother, and sister…and girlfriends…and, well, just about everybody I knew, saying “Stop being so damn picky! You’ll never find a man if you don’t change your way of thinking!” So, I handed him a napkin and told him to scoot over.
We went back to his place, had a few drinks and started a movie. It wasn’t long before Don Juan put the moves on me. I had long forgotten the dinner episode agreeing with the voices in my head that I needed to lighten up.
I jumped on top and as soon as he said these words I almost jumped back off…
“Use me like a shake and bake bag”
HUH?
I’ve heard a lot of lines in my day. Most of them cheesy but this one was Swiss, cheddar and Muenster all rolled into one. I was so glad that he actually repeated it for me to fully understand what a smooth talker he was.
But again, I’d already had our wedding invitations printed and stamped so I wasn’t ready to bail on this guy just yet. He was still salvageable.
Positions reversed and clothes off we let the good times roll. Until I realized one very important and life threatening element.
I couldn’t breathe.
No, I don’t have asthma or any other type of health condition that would make it difficult for me to catch my breath. What I had here was a clear case of bigmanlayingonmychest-idis. Being as this was our first (and LAST) time I didn’t really want to ruin the moment by telling him, oh you know, that I couldn’t BREATHE. I assumed he would eventually want to switch things up a little bit and I would be no worse for the wear. But no, apparently, big boy was about as Catholic as they come and didn’t believe in changing positions.
As the life force was slowly leaving my body I wondered if this was what autoerotic asphyxiation felt like? I found it hard to believe that somebody would intentionally cut off their source of air to reach climax. I for one was definitely NOT going to be getting off. Then as if things couldn’t get any worse, he tried to kiss me. Blocking my sole remaining access to the sweet oxygen I so longingly desired.
I used my remaining energy and with one last final attempt to save my own life I pushed the mother fucker off of me. As I inhaled deeply savoring that I was still alive he lay next to me smiling. His response?
“I wore you out, huh?”
Had I not just suffered a near death experience and was still out of breath my words most certainly would have been strong enough to make Andrew Dice Clay cringe. Being as it was dark in his room he couldn’t see the daggers my eyes were throwing him. He had almost smothered me to death and then thought I was the one that couldn’t keep up!
Being as I’m a drinker, I knew that this relationship would have to plateaus at the friendship level. Just as it’s not wise to get drunk in a hot tub it also wouldn’t be the best decision to drink and screw with this guy either. What if I had been drunk? I could have passed out and he would have kept right on going. Not even knowing that he was screwing a corpse. Nope, that thought wasn’t pretty the first time I had it either.
We stayed in contact but I was so traumatized by that one episode that I made no further attempts at trying to see him. Sure, he tried to make me jealous and often brought up how much fun our bedroom gymnastics had been (for him) and how much he could teach ME (Please, don’t do me any favors). At one point, as if trying to raise his own stock, he told me that he was a member of the mile high club. Not once, but twice. I find this hard to believe being as I have flown many a flight and I have also seen him. Airplane bathrooms couldn’t hold him and another person any more than I can share clothes with Kate Moss.
He eventually moved up north and got himself a girlfriend. He was not shy about sharing their active sex life with me every time I asked how the weather was. He once shared with me that the neighbors probably wished for them to keep their windows closed because of all the noise they made. I can’t help but thinking the lucky woman wasn’t moaning with delight but actually screaming out for help. They’ve since broken up and I wonder if “broke up” is just another way of saying she’s dead.
So, thank you Eharmony. $100 and a crushed lung later, I’m still single and deathly afraid to log onto your site for fear of what else you have awaiting me.
Monday, January 18, 2010
The 10 Minute Man
I just had the shortest date in history. It lasted all of 10 minutes, tops. My gut told me not to bother. My head said, I’ll never find “the one” if I don’t put myself out there.
I must have received half a dozen emails, at least, from the Minute Man before I finally responded. He wasn’t bad looking, he was tall and he had a good career. I suppose it was his ego that got to me. He promised me a good time and said he would “spoil” me. However, even those proclamations weren’t enough to get my attention and keep it. The moment the words “You’ll fall in love with me” and “I’m a catch” came out of his mouth I knew our pseudo relationship was doomed from the start. I immediately had flashbacks from Nigeria 2 and we all know how well that turned out.
In our phone conversation I felt like I was being interrogated. He bragged about his career in film making and living in Hollywood. It was almost as though he were measuring me up to see if I was good enough to justify bringing into his lifestyle. I made no apologies and tried to end the call. I was most certainly even less interested in meeting with him now after speaking with him than before when I had been inundated with his promises that after meeting him things would just get better and better. The whole time I was thinking “If you are so fucking perfect then why are you single and on Match.com?”
He called me a few times after our initial phone conversation and I received a few texts. I was slow in my responses, if I even bothered responding at all. I figured he would just give up.
A little lonely and desperately trying to get somebody else out of my head I finally relented to a meeting. I called him up and thought maybe a second conversation might not be that bad of an idea. What if he actually was a decent guy? I would never know because I might not have been in the best mood the first time we spoke. However, the moment he called me “darling” and “sweetie” I knew that my initial reaction of the Minute Man had been correct. There was just something “off” about him.
BUT…I decided to meet him anyway.
Figuring that dating is just a numbers game I thought maybe spending 30 minutes with this guy would better my chances for the next time I went out with a new man. Who knows? I might actually make a new friend.
We met at Starbucks. Three minutes after I arrived, he pulled up next to me. I jumped out with a smile on my face. He stalled. I hoped it wasn’t because he was disappointed. He got out of his Jeep and gave me a hug. He stood there with a stupid grin on his face staring at me. I wasn’t sure if it was a pity grin or a grin that he wanted to carve me up and serve with Fava Beans and a nice chianti.
He said he was finally glad to meet “somebody so stubborn” as he called me. He asked what I was doing later, where I lived and made small talk about never having been to North Hollywood and how strange it was. Considering he lives on Hollywood Blvd I found the comment retarded and lame.
And that was it.
He said that he had just wanted to come meet me and that he was back off to work.
That. Was. It.
We never even left the parking lot.
He gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek and got back into his car.
I wasn’t really disappointed. After being called darling so many times I truly thought he was a 6’5” black guy on the down low. The only thing that ran through my head at that moment after being dissed was…
What a fucking waste of makeup!
I must have received half a dozen emails, at least, from the Minute Man before I finally responded. He wasn’t bad looking, he was tall and he had a good career. I suppose it was his ego that got to me. He promised me a good time and said he would “spoil” me. However, even those proclamations weren’t enough to get my attention and keep it. The moment the words “You’ll fall in love with me” and “I’m a catch” came out of his mouth I knew our pseudo relationship was doomed from the start. I immediately had flashbacks from Nigeria 2 and we all know how well that turned out.
In our phone conversation I felt like I was being interrogated. He bragged about his career in film making and living in Hollywood. It was almost as though he were measuring me up to see if I was good enough to justify bringing into his lifestyle. I made no apologies and tried to end the call. I was most certainly even less interested in meeting with him now after speaking with him than before when I had been inundated with his promises that after meeting him things would just get better and better. The whole time I was thinking “If you are so fucking perfect then why are you single and on Match.com?”
He called me a few times after our initial phone conversation and I received a few texts. I was slow in my responses, if I even bothered responding at all. I figured he would just give up.
A little lonely and desperately trying to get somebody else out of my head I finally relented to a meeting. I called him up and thought maybe a second conversation might not be that bad of an idea. What if he actually was a decent guy? I would never know because I might not have been in the best mood the first time we spoke. However, the moment he called me “darling” and “sweetie” I knew that my initial reaction of the Minute Man had been correct. There was just something “off” about him.
BUT…I decided to meet him anyway.
Figuring that dating is just a numbers game I thought maybe spending 30 minutes with this guy would better my chances for the next time I went out with a new man. Who knows? I might actually make a new friend.
We met at Starbucks. Three minutes after I arrived, he pulled up next to me. I jumped out with a smile on my face. He stalled. I hoped it wasn’t because he was disappointed. He got out of his Jeep and gave me a hug. He stood there with a stupid grin on his face staring at me. I wasn’t sure if it was a pity grin or a grin that he wanted to carve me up and serve with Fava Beans and a nice chianti.
He said he was finally glad to meet “somebody so stubborn” as he called me. He asked what I was doing later, where I lived and made small talk about never having been to North Hollywood and how strange it was. Considering he lives on Hollywood Blvd I found the comment retarded and lame.
And that was it.
He said that he had just wanted to come meet me and that he was back off to work.
That. Was. It.
We never even left the parking lot.
He gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek and got back into his car.
I wasn’t really disappointed. After being called darling so many times I truly thought he was a 6’5” black guy on the down low. The only thing that ran through my head at that moment after being dissed was…
What a fucking waste of makeup!
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Me Shallow, You Youngbuck
I really hate to kick a dead horse but I once again feel it absolutely necessary to share with you the latest batch of text messages from Westside Story. If only just to show you that I’m not crazy! He really is that cheesy. So here goes…
WSS: How are you today?
Me: Fine. And you?
WSS: Well…I DID get paid today. And I SUPPOSE I could be talked into making lasagna later, or something. *trying not to be a pest*
Me: Sorry babe but I’m stuffed. I made myself a dinner of Snickers bars and Reese’s peanut butter cups.
WSS: Lol who said I wanted to share?! *being smartass* I was just looking for an angle.
Me: I see
WSS: I figure it’s a delicate balance between keeping you entertained by my attraction and being bored. I expect I can get away with pushing my luck a LITTLE. Haha
Me: Maybe another time
WSS: Ok, but give me an excuse not to hit on you. Cause it’s a strong impulse on my part.
And there you have it, folks *swallowing my own vomit*
Now, for the story you’ve all been waiting for. My shallow hookup with a 26 year old. I’ve taken to calling him Youngbuck.
So, despite his inability to write out an educated coherent email he was certainly able to hold his own during an actual conversation. We seemed to be on the same page in regards to dating, relationships and life in general. I was pleasantly surprised. If he looked even half as good in person as he did in his posted pictures I was in for a real treat.
We met a few nights later and guess what? He did! He looked just like his pictures. I was getting the real deal. We had a few drinks and got to know each other a little better. In the back of my head I kept waiting for him to call me “dude” or “hooka” but not once did those words slip from his pretty pouty lips. But as there usually is, there was just one thing…
His eyes.
Youngbuck was wearing a pair of sunglasses. Inside. At night. Or rather they were tinted glasses? Not quite David Caruso style but just enough where I couldn’t look him in the eye when talking to him. At first it wasn’t such a big deal but after a while it really began to get on my nerves. I’d seen his pictures and I knew that he had both eyes. He didn’t seem to have a lazy eye either so I was seriously confused. So much so that I was losing my train of thought while trying to unleash my super power of being able to look through steel and tinted glass.
Finally, after I was tired of having a conversation with a reflection of myself I asked him if he could take off his glasses. He explained to me that his eyesight was poor and without them he wouldn’t be able to see. I figured that would be perfect. I would be able to take off my makeup and put on my PJ’s without him noticing. Yep, I’m classy like that. He didn’t buy it. So, the glasses stayed on.
Here’s where it gets weird(er). He left the glasses on during sex. Oh, sorry, I didn’t give you much of a heads up on that one, did I? Would you have expected anything less from me than to end up in bed? Please. I cut him some slack on the glasses in my living room but the bedroom? How bad does your eyesight have to be to wear glasses during sex? Plus, if his glasses are tinted and my bedroom lights are out, then chances are you can’t see shit, right? But, I let it drop because he was a good ride.
Here’s where our age difference becomes apparent. He’s 26, I’m 32 (as of last Friday, fuck you very much). I’m all for a good romp in the sack but this guy takes it to a whole new level. He is single handedly keeping Trojan in business. Seriously. Five times in one night?!? He even woke me up at 2:30 in the morning to get his groove on. Hello lube.
He’s come over twice after that and it’s the same thing. For God’s sake! In three dates I’m over it. I enjoy his company but just getting a text message from him makes my coochy dry up and crawl inside my uterus. I never thought in my wildest dreams I would ever be tired of sex. Quick, if you look out your window I’ll bet you see that pig flying too.
As is my luck, on date number three, Youngbuck told me that he “really” liked me and was having “feelings”. Ugh. Really? Now what? Nice guy or not, that “spark” is just not there with him either. I don’t know why but it isn’t. Perhaps I’m holding onto the romantic notion of chemistry a little too much but the moment he mentioned “settling down” with him, my innards curled up and I wanted him out…fast.
WSS: How are you today?
Me: Fine. And you?
WSS: Well…I DID get paid today. And I SUPPOSE I could be talked into making lasagna later, or something. *trying not to be a pest*
Me: Sorry babe but I’m stuffed. I made myself a dinner of Snickers bars and Reese’s peanut butter cups.
WSS: Lol who said I wanted to share?! *being smartass* I was just looking for an angle.
Me: I see
WSS: I figure it’s a delicate balance between keeping you entertained by my attraction and being bored. I expect I can get away with pushing my luck a LITTLE. Haha
Me: Maybe another time
WSS: Ok, but give me an excuse not to hit on you. Cause it’s a strong impulse on my part.
And there you have it, folks *swallowing my own vomit*
Now, for the story you’ve all been waiting for. My shallow hookup with a 26 year old. I’ve taken to calling him Youngbuck.
So, despite his inability to write out an educated coherent email he was certainly able to hold his own during an actual conversation. We seemed to be on the same page in regards to dating, relationships and life in general. I was pleasantly surprised. If he looked even half as good in person as he did in his posted pictures I was in for a real treat.
We met a few nights later and guess what? He did! He looked just like his pictures. I was getting the real deal. We had a few drinks and got to know each other a little better. In the back of my head I kept waiting for him to call me “dude” or “hooka” but not once did those words slip from his pretty pouty lips. But as there usually is, there was just one thing…
His eyes.
Youngbuck was wearing a pair of sunglasses. Inside. At night. Or rather they were tinted glasses? Not quite David Caruso style but just enough where I couldn’t look him in the eye when talking to him. At first it wasn’t such a big deal but after a while it really began to get on my nerves. I’d seen his pictures and I knew that he had both eyes. He didn’t seem to have a lazy eye either so I was seriously confused. So much so that I was losing my train of thought while trying to unleash my super power of being able to look through steel and tinted glass.
Finally, after I was tired of having a conversation with a reflection of myself I asked him if he could take off his glasses. He explained to me that his eyesight was poor and without them he wouldn’t be able to see. I figured that would be perfect. I would be able to take off my makeup and put on my PJ’s without him noticing. Yep, I’m classy like that. He didn’t buy it. So, the glasses stayed on.
Here’s where it gets weird(er). He left the glasses on during sex. Oh, sorry, I didn’t give you much of a heads up on that one, did I? Would you have expected anything less from me than to end up in bed? Please. I cut him some slack on the glasses in my living room but the bedroom? How bad does your eyesight have to be to wear glasses during sex? Plus, if his glasses are tinted and my bedroom lights are out, then chances are you can’t see shit, right? But, I let it drop because he was a good ride.
Here’s where our age difference becomes apparent. He’s 26, I’m 32 (as of last Friday, fuck you very much). I’m all for a good romp in the sack but this guy takes it to a whole new level. He is single handedly keeping Trojan in business. Seriously. Five times in one night?!? He even woke me up at 2:30 in the morning to get his groove on. Hello lube.
He’s come over twice after that and it’s the same thing. For God’s sake! In three dates I’m over it. I enjoy his company but just getting a text message from him makes my coochy dry up and crawl inside my uterus. I never thought in my wildest dreams I would ever be tired of sex. Quick, if you look out your window I’ll bet you see that pig flying too.
As is my luck, on date number three, Youngbuck told me that he “really” liked me and was having “feelings”. Ugh. Really? Now what? Nice guy or not, that “spark” is just not there with him either. I don’t know why but it isn’t. Perhaps I’m holding onto the romantic notion of chemistry a little too much but the moment he mentioned “settling down” with him, my innards curled up and I wanted him out…fast.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Gay or just too nice...
Somewhere along the way during my adult dating life, I lost my conscience. I’m not sure where it has gone or why but it has officially left the building. I’ve considered putting out an APB on it but can’t figure out if it would be worth the time. Let me ‘splain…
Last night I had an impromptu date with someone I had chatted with online but never actually met. I believe our initial contact was through AmericanSingles.com about five years ago. Nothing ever came of it and I had long forgotten about Mr. Nice Guy but when he added me on Facebook about a year and a half ago, I was all for it. Great sense of humor, cutish and employed. Perfect. I fully believe that the reason we didn’t meet was because of me. With my self diagnosed A.D.D. I often times will give the online dating thing a rest for several months to regroup so I think he was just an unfortunate consequence of bad timing.
Through Facebook, we reconnected and I was reminded at how funny, amusing and down to earth Mr. Nice Guy was. We didn’t have a constant stream of communication but would chit chat every now and again. This time around it seemed more platonic than romantic. At least on my end. Sure, we flirted here and there but nothing hard core where I got the feeling as though I just had to meet him right then and there.
Until last night.
I was bored and so was he. He commented that he had some Malibu Rum so I gave him directions and told him that I had the perfect place to store such a delicacy. My tummy. An hour and a half later I was buzzing him into my building. Not only did he bring the Rum but he also brought a cooler full of food. He had BBQ’d steak, sautéed vegetables, beans and a baked potato. Considering I would rather starve then boil water his ability to cook and share almost made me want to show him my “O” face before the formal introductions had even been completed.
He was cuter than his pictures which was a pleasant surprise. We had nice conversation while fixing and heating our plates. But there was just something about him that gave me the feeling that I would not be sleeping with him that night. Or any night. He was more soft spoken than I’m used to and almost effeminate without being girly. He was…well, for lack of a better word…sweet. It was also at this time that I came to the stark realization that if a man isn’t carrying a club and trying to drag me by the hair I automatically assume he’s gay. This was the case here. I’m not sure why I equated sweet with gay but for some reason I did. He really just seemed…too nice.
We settled down to eat and he began sharing stories with me about his karaoke adventures and past Halloween costumes (apparently he makes a good looking woman?). He was nothing short of flamboyant and I found myself forcing myself to laugh just so to not hurt his feelings as he did appear to be somewhat nervous around me still. He definitely gets an A for effort. He was cute and adorable with his story telling in only a way that can be described as me wanting to pinch his cheeks and put him in my pocket. Especially when he shared his impression of a Spanish Steve Irwin. He was…well, adorable. GAH!
In case you all haven’t read a single word I’ve ever written, I’m not the “adorable”, “nice” or “sweet” kind of gal. I’m hard, I’m cold and I’m often times a bitch. And that’s on a good day. We kept drinking and I had offered to let him stay the night in case he had too much too drink. Which, by the looks of it was pretty much after I’d opened the first bottle. Pfft, lightweights.
He continued to talk and share. I continued to listen and look interested. As the night wore on I secretly wished I had rescinded my offer but he was clearly making himself at home. The later it got the more obvious it became he had no intention of leaving. By this point, he was warning me that he was going to start flirting with me and that my pictures hadn’t done me justice. He still hadn’t so much as touched my hand so him telling me that he was going to start flirting with me was highly amusing. Especially considering that I wasn’t sure if I was his type or my roommate Mike was.
He went to change and get ready for bed since our fate had been sealed. Five minutes later he came out in a tank out and dolphin shorts. Okay, totally kidding here, he was in regular shorts but just imagine how great my story would have been if he came out dressed as Richard Simmons! Anyway, I’m not sure what he was carrying in his overnight bag but he suddenly had biceps. Nice, beautiful biceps. Apparently, he was talking to me but the moment I saw those beautifully sculpted arms my mind went blank. It took me a minute to actually realize he was talking to me. He laughed and I snapped out of it.
He offered to sleep on the couch but I said he could join me in bed. All thoughts of him being gay had been swept out the window when he put that tank top on. We talked a little more and finally Flame Boy attempted a kiss. Suddenly Flame Boy wasn’t so flaming. I’m not sure what switch turned on but something happened and he suddenly had the confidence and self assurance of a male gigolo. I can honestly say without hesitation that he was the best make out partner I’ve ever had in terms of skill. I complimented him on his abilities for I like to give credit where credit is due. To which he replied…
“Do you remember the end in Revenge of the Nerds where the cheerleader was amazed at the nerd’s ability to make love? He said it was because they’ve had plenty of time to practice. That’s me. I’m a nerd.”
I couldn’t stop laughing. He was being adorable all over again! If it weren’t for the fact that I knew he was 37 I would have sworn I was in bed with a 14 year old virgin. And no, for the record, I did not sleep with him.
The next morning he took off and I was left reeling trying to decipher what had just happened. It hadn’t been an evening of unrequited lust and wandering hands. It had been a simple night of good food, a few cocktails and conversation. It couldn’t have been any milder if I had been alone.
Here’s my problem. He’s a perfectly nice and good looking gentleman. What’s wrong with me that I can’t just like him? On paper he’s perfect. He’s got a great personality and he seems to be a caring and thoughtful person. I know how awful and clichéd this sounds but he really is just too nice. I don’t feel that spark. I want to pet him and give him a water dish, not have mind blowing mattress falling off the box spring sex (which by the way, has happened to me before. I’m not bragging or anything but I am). And despite him turning into Super Stud behind the bedroom doors I just don’t feel that umph!
A few hours later I got a text from him basically telling me what a good time he had and how he looked forward to seeing me again. I have a feeling that without realizing it, I may potentially yet inadvertently hurt him. I’m a hypocrite. All I’ve done is ask for a good man with good intentions. I get one and I accuse him of being gay and nice? Yep, I have some serious issues.
Now, on to Geico.com in search of my caveman. My hair was getting a little too thick anyway…
**Please note that I have no problem with men that are gay. I just choose not to have intimate relationships with them. They never put out...
Last night I had an impromptu date with someone I had chatted with online but never actually met. I believe our initial contact was through AmericanSingles.com about five years ago. Nothing ever came of it and I had long forgotten about Mr. Nice Guy but when he added me on Facebook about a year and a half ago, I was all for it. Great sense of humor, cutish and employed. Perfect. I fully believe that the reason we didn’t meet was because of me. With my self diagnosed A.D.D. I often times will give the online dating thing a rest for several months to regroup so I think he was just an unfortunate consequence of bad timing.
Through Facebook, we reconnected and I was reminded at how funny, amusing and down to earth Mr. Nice Guy was. We didn’t have a constant stream of communication but would chit chat every now and again. This time around it seemed more platonic than romantic. At least on my end. Sure, we flirted here and there but nothing hard core where I got the feeling as though I just had to meet him right then and there.
Until last night.
I was bored and so was he. He commented that he had some Malibu Rum so I gave him directions and told him that I had the perfect place to store such a delicacy. My tummy. An hour and a half later I was buzzing him into my building. Not only did he bring the Rum but he also brought a cooler full of food. He had BBQ’d steak, sautéed vegetables, beans and a baked potato. Considering I would rather starve then boil water his ability to cook and share almost made me want to show him my “O” face before the formal introductions had even been completed.
He was cuter than his pictures which was a pleasant surprise. We had nice conversation while fixing and heating our plates. But there was just something about him that gave me the feeling that I would not be sleeping with him that night. Or any night. He was more soft spoken than I’m used to and almost effeminate without being girly. He was…well, for lack of a better word…sweet. It was also at this time that I came to the stark realization that if a man isn’t carrying a club and trying to drag me by the hair I automatically assume he’s gay. This was the case here. I’m not sure why I equated sweet with gay but for some reason I did. He really just seemed…too nice.
We settled down to eat and he began sharing stories with me about his karaoke adventures and past Halloween costumes (apparently he makes a good looking woman?). He was nothing short of flamboyant and I found myself forcing myself to laugh just so to not hurt his feelings as he did appear to be somewhat nervous around me still. He definitely gets an A for effort. He was cute and adorable with his story telling in only a way that can be described as me wanting to pinch his cheeks and put him in my pocket. Especially when he shared his impression of a Spanish Steve Irwin. He was…well, adorable. GAH!
In case you all haven’t read a single word I’ve ever written, I’m not the “adorable”, “nice” or “sweet” kind of gal. I’m hard, I’m cold and I’m often times a bitch. And that’s on a good day. We kept drinking and I had offered to let him stay the night in case he had too much too drink. Which, by the looks of it was pretty much after I’d opened the first bottle. Pfft, lightweights.
He continued to talk and share. I continued to listen and look interested. As the night wore on I secretly wished I had rescinded my offer but he was clearly making himself at home. The later it got the more obvious it became he had no intention of leaving. By this point, he was warning me that he was going to start flirting with me and that my pictures hadn’t done me justice. He still hadn’t so much as touched my hand so him telling me that he was going to start flirting with me was highly amusing. Especially considering that I wasn’t sure if I was his type or my roommate Mike was.
He went to change and get ready for bed since our fate had been sealed. Five minutes later he came out in a tank out and dolphin shorts. Okay, totally kidding here, he was in regular shorts but just imagine how great my story would have been if he came out dressed as Richard Simmons! Anyway, I’m not sure what he was carrying in his overnight bag but he suddenly had biceps. Nice, beautiful biceps. Apparently, he was talking to me but the moment I saw those beautifully sculpted arms my mind went blank. It took me a minute to actually realize he was talking to me. He laughed and I snapped out of it.
He offered to sleep on the couch but I said he could join me in bed. All thoughts of him being gay had been swept out the window when he put that tank top on. We talked a little more and finally Flame Boy attempted a kiss. Suddenly Flame Boy wasn’t so flaming. I’m not sure what switch turned on but something happened and he suddenly had the confidence and self assurance of a male gigolo. I can honestly say without hesitation that he was the best make out partner I’ve ever had in terms of skill. I complimented him on his abilities for I like to give credit where credit is due. To which he replied…
“Do you remember the end in Revenge of the Nerds where the cheerleader was amazed at the nerd’s ability to make love? He said it was because they’ve had plenty of time to practice. That’s me. I’m a nerd.”
I couldn’t stop laughing. He was being adorable all over again! If it weren’t for the fact that I knew he was 37 I would have sworn I was in bed with a 14 year old virgin. And no, for the record, I did not sleep with him.
The next morning he took off and I was left reeling trying to decipher what had just happened. It hadn’t been an evening of unrequited lust and wandering hands. It had been a simple night of good food, a few cocktails and conversation. It couldn’t have been any milder if I had been alone.
Here’s my problem. He’s a perfectly nice and good looking gentleman. What’s wrong with me that I can’t just like him? On paper he’s perfect. He’s got a great personality and he seems to be a caring and thoughtful person. I know how awful and clichéd this sounds but he really is just too nice. I don’t feel that spark. I want to pet him and give him a water dish, not have mind blowing mattress falling off the box spring sex (which by the way, has happened to me before. I’m not bragging or anything but I am). And despite him turning into Super Stud behind the bedroom doors I just don’t feel that umph!
A few hours later I got a text from him basically telling me what a good time he had and how he looked forward to seeing me again. I have a feeling that without realizing it, I may potentially yet inadvertently hurt him. I’m a hypocrite. All I’ve done is ask for a good man with good intentions. I get one and I accuse him of being gay and nice? Yep, I have some serious issues.
Now, on to Geico.com in search of my caveman. My hair was getting a little too thick anyway…
**Please note that I have no problem with men that are gay. I just choose not to have intimate relationships with them. They never put out...
Monday, October 12, 2009
The Bumblebee Community called...they want their color scheme back
Never meet a guy without seeing a picture first! Those are the nine most important words of advice I can give in regards to Online Dating. Just. Don’t. Do. It.
EVER.
I met Mr. Bumblebee on Match.com at the beginning of my online dating foray. At the time, I was working for a National Insurance Company and as luck would have it, he was one of our independent agents. Being new to the game I wasn’t as adamant about making sure I had plenty of pictures to go by. In lieu of these pictures I simply did my research of him from within my own company walls. I contacted the marketing rep for his territory and grilled her on my new potential match. The glowing recommendation I received was more than enough for me to agree to continue on with our plans on meeting face to face without pictures. The marketing rep assured me that he was extremely nice, “oh so cute” and had “the most beautiful olive skin.” Miss Liar described him as tall, with black hair and brown eyes. I was sold. Really, she had me at “tall”. It should have donned on me that I was asking a salesman to sell me on the idea of meeting this independent agent. I was being double teamed…and not in a good way.
We decided to meet on a Friday night in Old Town Pasadena. There would be lots of restaurants and bars to choose from and plenty of people around should I need a quick escape. Since I had a rule that I never walk into a bar alone we decided to meet at the corner in front of a bagel shop. Since we hadn’t actually seen pictures of each other we had to go on our own descriptions. I told him I would be the 6’ tall blonde in black. After all, with heels on I am actually 6’ tall and with my blonde hair and fantastic rack I’m kind of hard not to notice. I don’t mean to toot my own horn but I sort of rock in the busty blonde department. The Agent told me that he was “about” 6’ tall (which I know now really means 5’8”). He also said he had been told by many that he looked like Carson Daly. I didn’t particularly think that Carson Daly was gorgeous but he was no elephant man.
I got to Pasadena a little early because I wanted to see him before he saw me. I found my little corner and braced myself. He called me on my cell phone to say he was in the area looking for parking and that he was driving a yellow Amigo. Sure enough, as soon as I hung up the phone I saw the little girlish, yellow jeep drive by. It seemed even more ridiculous after actually seeing it in person and the visual I had of Carson Daly driving the yellow Amigo was enough to make me giggle to myself as it certainly did not portray the manly image I was hoping for.
I waited for about 10 more minutes knowing that finding parking on a Friday night might take him a while. Then, from across the street I saw a tall, dark and cute Carson Daly look alike. I began to smile thinking that perhaps this was going to be okay after all. Carson was looking right at me and I was certain that this must be the Amigo driving agent. Being pleasantly surprised I stepped to the curb anticipating our first meeting in the flesh. Carson walked right up to me and with a twinkle in his eye handed me a flyer for a near by event. Apparently, and much to my dismay, this was not my agent. I stood there stunned for a moment. This guy was 6’ tall, had dark hair, olive skin and seriously looked like Carson Daly! What are the odds?
A moment later I was approached by another gentleman. He had seen me standing alone and came up to say hi as I’m sure by this point I probably looked like a lady of the night. I explained that I was waiting for a blind date and he suggested I ditch the date and grab a beer with him instead. After my disappointment with the Carson look alike and seeing the Amigo I was definitely tempted but even I’m not THAT much of a bitch. Okay, I am but that’s neither here nor there. However, I welcomed the conversation since I had just spent the last 15 minutes waiting for a stranger looking like some hooker working the corner of Colorado Blvd. and De Lacey.
As we were chatting I looked again across the street and saw “the agent.” I knew it had to be him because he was staring straight at me…and short. And in a small way he did actually resemble Carson Daly in that they had the same hair color. Actually, him telling me that he resembled Carson Daly would be much like me telling you that I resemble Selma Hayek. Sure, we are both women but that’s where the resemblance stops cold. When I saw the outfit the agent was wearing, I almost bolted for the nearest open door for fear of being stung. He was wearing black shoes, black slacks, a black T-shirt and to complete his outfit, a yellow leather (or rather, pleather) jacket. As if the yellow Amigo wasn’t bad enough I was going on a date with a grown man dressed as a fucking bumblebee. I stifled my laugh and introduced myself as it was clearly too late to run.
Having gotten over the initial shock of his amazing ability to match his vehicle we walked over to the local sports bar. The fact that I was at least 5” taller than him didn’t help matters either. We found a booth and Bumblebee kept finding it necessary to practically sit on my lap. Despite me continuously inching away from him. At one point, I had to actually turn in the booth so that I was facing him and put my knee up on the seat between us just to give myself some personal space. It didn’t take long before he was inviting me to Mexico for Thanksgiving. Apparently, he didn’t believe in wasting any time. I could see what had made him such a good salesman. The only problem was that I wasn’t interested in what he was selling.
The sports bar we were in had a dance floor and being Friday night they had a DJ. Bumblebee told me that he wanted to dance but I lied and said I had hurt my foot at work and ordered another Double. The idea of him trying to bump and grind his crotch with what I’m almost certain was an itty bitty erection was too appalling to even consider.
At this point, he started to massage the back of my neck. If he had been the hottie I was hoping for the physical contact would have been welcomed but coming from a man dressed as an insect I didn’t want his hands anywhere near me. I shrugged them off and asked him to stop. It was still quite apparent that my hints of disinterest were not getting through to him, even when I asked him to tell the bartender to turn up the volume on the TV that was on above the bar. He thought I was joking even though I don’t remember stuttering when I said it. Finally, I felt as though I had given him a respectable about of time and told him I was exhausted from a long work week and needed to get home.
Bumblebee Man insisted on walking me to my car and while en route grabbed my hand and tried to show me some of his salsa moves. As soon as he tried to spin me I ducked into my purse, pulled out a cigarette and lit it. I was seriously hoping that he was one of those people that considered smoking to be a deal breaker. I had never hoped for someone to find me so repulsive in all my life. But even that didn’t deter him. At the very least, I hoped that it would keep him from trying to give me a kiss good night. But as luck would have it the Bumblebee didn’t mind the smoke. Oh yay. The desperation this guy exuded was palpable. I almost felt sorry for him. I wasn’t really trying to be rude. I was just trying to get and keep his hands off of me.
Once we got to my car I felt that it would be rude not to offer him a ride back to his since he was parked in a different parking structure several blocks away. After all, he was a nice guy, I just wasn’t interested in dating insects with wondering hands. I pulled up just outside his parking structure. As I yawned he continued to talk about going here and there together and even wanted me to accompany him to a party the following night which I politely declined. I couldn’t get this guy to shut up! Finally, I interrupted him by (AGAIN) telling him how tired I was and thanked him for the cocktails. He wanted a hug good bye so I leaned over and he STILL went in for the kiss. Thanks to my speedy thinking and foresight that Mr. NotSoBright was going to try anyway, I managed to turn my head just in time. His lips found my cheek just as I ducked to open his car door since he had apparently forgotten how to do so on his own. He reluctantly got out of the car and said he would call me later. Which he did and which I didn’t answer. He tried calling several times after that but he must have finally gotten it into his head that there was going to be no “us” and gave up.
EVER.
I met Mr. Bumblebee on Match.com at the beginning of my online dating foray. At the time, I was working for a National Insurance Company and as luck would have it, he was one of our independent agents. Being new to the game I wasn’t as adamant about making sure I had plenty of pictures to go by. In lieu of these pictures I simply did my research of him from within my own company walls. I contacted the marketing rep for his territory and grilled her on my new potential match. The glowing recommendation I received was more than enough for me to agree to continue on with our plans on meeting face to face without pictures. The marketing rep assured me that he was extremely nice, “oh so cute” and had “the most beautiful olive skin.” Miss Liar described him as tall, with black hair and brown eyes. I was sold. Really, she had me at “tall”. It should have donned on me that I was asking a salesman to sell me on the idea of meeting this independent agent. I was being double teamed…and not in a good way.
We decided to meet on a Friday night in Old Town Pasadena. There would be lots of restaurants and bars to choose from and plenty of people around should I need a quick escape. Since I had a rule that I never walk into a bar alone we decided to meet at the corner in front of a bagel shop. Since we hadn’t actually seen pictures of each other we had to go on our own descriptions. I told him I would be the 6’ tall blonde in black. After all, with heels on I am actually 6’ tall and with my blonde hair and fantastic rack I’m kind of hard not to notice. I don’t mean to toot my own horn but I sort of rock in the busty blonde department. The Agent told me that he was “about” 6’ tall (which I know now really means 5’8”). He also said he had been told by many that he looked like Carson Daly. I didn’t particularly think that Carson Daly was gorgeous but he was no elephant man.
I got to Pasadena a little early because I wanted to see him before he saw me. I found my little corner and braced myself. He called me on my cell phone to say he was in the area looking for parking and that he was driving a yellow Amigo. Sure enough, as soon as I hung up the phone I saw the little girlish, yellow jeep drive by. It seemed even more ridiculous after actually seeing it in person and the visual I had of Carson Daly driving the yellow Amigo was enough to make me giggle to myself as it certainly did not portray the manly image I was hoping for.
I waited for about 10 more minutes knowing that finding parking on a Friday night might take him a while. Then, from across the street I saw a tall, dark and cute Carson Daly look alike. I began to smile thinking that perhaps this was going to be okay after all. Carson was looking right at me and I was certain that this must be the Amigo driving agent. Being pleasantly surprised I stepped to the curb anticipating our first meeting in the flesh. Carson walked right up to me and with a twinkle in his eye handed me a flyer for a near by event. Apparently, and much to my dismay, this was not my agent. I stood there stunned for a moment. This guy was 6’ tall, had dark hair, olive skin and seriously looked like Carson Daly! What are the odds?
A moment later I was approached by another gentleman. He had seen me standing alone and came up to say hi as I’m sure by this point I probably looked like a lady of the night. I explained that I was waiting for a blind date and he suggested I ditch the date and grab a beer with him instead. After my disappointment with the Carson look alike and seeing the Amigo I was definitely tempted but even I’m not THAT much of a bitch. Okay, I am but that’s neither here nor there. However, I welcomed the conversation since I had just spent the last 15 minutes waiting for a stranger looking like some hooker working the corner of Colorado Blvd. and De Lacey.
As we were chatting I looked again across the street and saw “the agent.” I knew it had to be him because he was staring straight at me…and short. And in a small way he did actually resemble Carson Daly in that they had the same hair color. Actually, him telling me that he resembled Carson Daly would be much like me telling you that I resemble Selma Hayek. Sure, we are both women but that’s where the resemblance stops cold. When I saw the outfit the agent was wearing, I almost bolted for the nearest open door for fear of being stung. He was wearing black shoes, black slacks, a black T-shirt and to complete his outfit, a yellow leather (or rather, pleather) jacket. As if the yellow Amigo wasn’t bad enough I was going on a date with a grown man dressed as a fucking bumblebee. I stifled my laugh and introduced myself as it was clearly too late to run.
Having gotten over the initial shock of his amazing ability to match his vehicle we walked over to the local sports bar. The fact that I was at least 5” taller than him didn’t help matters either. We found a booth and Bumblebee kept finding it necessary to practically sit on my lap. Despite me continuously inching away from him. At one point, I had to actually turn in the booth so that I was facing him and put my knee up on the seat between us just to give myself some personal space. It didn’t take long before he was inviting me to Mexico for Thanksgiving. Apparently, he didn’t believe in wasting any time. I could see what had made him such a good salesman. The only problem was that I wasn’t interested in what he was selling.
The sports bar we were in had a dance floor and being Friday night they had a DJ. Bumblebee told me that he wanted to dance but I lied and said I had hurt my foot at work and ordered another Double. The idea of him trying to bump and grind his crotch with what I’m almost certain was an itty bitty erection was too appalling to even consider.
At this point, he started to massage the back of my neck. If he had been the hottie I was hoping for the physical contact would have been welcomed but coming from a man dressed as an insect I didn’t want his hands anywhere near me. I shrugged them off and asked him to stop. It was still quite apparent that my hints of disinterest were not getting through to him, even when I asked him to tell the bartender to turn up the volume on the TV that was on above the bar. He thought I was joking even though I don’t remember stuttering when I said it. Finally, I felt as though I had given him a respectable about of time and told him I was exhausted from a long work week and needed to get home.
Bumblebee Man insisted on walking me to my car and while en route grabbed my hand and tried to show me some of his salsa moves. As soon as he tried to spin me I ducked into my purse, pulled out a cigarette and lit it. I was seriously hoping that he was one of those people that considered smoking to be a deal breaker. I had never hoped for someone to find me so repulsive in all my life. But even that didn’t deter him. At the very least, I hoped that it would keep him from trying to give me a kiss good night. But as luck would have it the Bumblebee didn’t mind the smoke. Oh yay. The desperation this guy exuded was palpable. I almost felt sorry for him. I wasn’t really trying to be rude. I was just trying to get and keep his hands off of me.
Once we got to my car I felt that it would be rude not to offer him a ride back to his since he was parked in a different parking structure several blocks away. After all, he was a nice guy, I just wasn’t interested in dating insects with wondering hands. I pulled up just outside his parking structure. As I yawned he continued to talk about going here and there together and even wanted me to accompany him to a party the following night which I politely declined. I couldn’t get this guy to shut up! Finally, I interrupted him by (AGAIN) telling him how tired I was and thanked him for the cocktails. He wanted a hug good bye so I leaned over and he STILL went in for the kiss. Thanks to my speedy thinking and foresight that Mr. NotSoBright was going to try anyway, I managed to turn my head just in time. His lips found my cheek just as I ducked to open his car door since he had apparently forgotten how to do so on his own. He reluctantly got out of the car and said he would call me later. Which he did and which I didn’t answer. He tried calling several times after that but he must have finally gotten it into his head that there was going to be no “us” and gave up.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Mike the Schoolteacher
As a child my hormones kicked in at about 11 years of age. I hadn’t even so much as kissed a boy yet knew that I wanted to have sex with one. I wasn’t quite sure what sex meant but I knew it involved kissing, fondling and a bed. Preferably a very cushy bed. Of course, fast forward 7 years and me witnessing my first penis and I almost fainted. “You want me to put THAT WHERE?!?”
Thus began my fascination with just about every male school teacher I had. Seeing pictures of my former teachers now, years later, I was clearly blind. But, at the time there was just something about these teachers wielding their iron rule over hundreds of students that made me want to get naked. So, when Mike the Schoolteacher emailed me through Plentyoffish.com my mind jumped back to my Lolita days and I felt the sudden urge to play The Police. Unlike my schoolgirl crushes this guy was very good looking by today’s standards. I’m not going to lie and say that I didn’t have every intention of playing detention with Mr. Mike.
Mike the Schoolteacher was a 34 yo, 6’1”, non-smoker looking for a long-term relationship. He never married, had no children and lived just down the street from me. Here’s what he had to say in his profile:
“I'm from Indiana. And I teach (so I'm off all summer!). I've been told that I'm wine spitting funny and I'm the best boyfriend LA county! I would be interested in meeting open-minded (No prudes:), conscious and enlighten individuals who happy with who they are and may be into snowboarding, camping, dogs, working out and motorcycles. I'm looking forward too meeting new people.
picky and lonely are friends and the enemy of happiness
Thanks for looking.”
Now, if I see one more profile that says I’m going to fall in love with you, my family would adore you or you are the best boyfriend in town, I’m going to shoot myself. If you are so fucking wonderful then why are you single and why are you online? You should have been snatched up years ago and living the life that most of us can only hope for. So please, spare me your egotistical overconfidence when you know that you are just as fucked up as the rest of us.
Also, for him to write he’s interested in “meeting open-minded (No prudes please)…individuals” basically tells me he’s looking to get laid. Not that I mind that but what I find ironic is how he can state that he’s looking for long-term when he really wants to stick his dick in your mouth. How many of the men you’ve boned on a first date have taken you home to meet momma? None? My point exactly.
So yes, I met him anyway. I have a tendency to over think things and am a bit cynical (oh stop it, you say) so I gave him the benefit of the doubt. We talked on the phone and our personalities seemed to mesh quite well. Of course, that’s not really saying a lot considering that I can pretty much hold a conversation with an empty chair. But, he was cute, tall and made me laugh so off to meet him I went.
On a whim, we decided to meet at one of the local Starbucks. Unfortunately, the Starbucks was just closing so we ended up talking in the parking lot for about an hour. He was interesting. I almost felt like I was interrogating him with all the questions I had about school girl crushes and his experiences with them. When he started to tell me about how cute some of the girls were and how many of the male teachers at his school actually dated some of those girls my adult instincts started to kick in and I wasn’t so turned on anymore.
He assured me that he wasn’t a serial killer and asked me back to his place for a beer. I obliged. Once inside he turned on the T.V. and he went to change. When he came back and gave me a kiss I didn’t think much of it. When he straddled me and tried to stick his dick in my mouth The Police soundtrack that was playing in my head came to a screeching halt. Not only was his pecker not as big as I had hoped but he was well…trying to stick his dick in my mouth.
Needless to say, we haven’t gone out again…
Thus began my fascination with just about every male school teacher I had. Seeing pictures of my former teachers now, years later, I was clearly blind. But, at the time there was just something about these teachers wielding their iron rule over hundreds of students that made me want to get naked. So, when Mike the Schoolteacher emailed me through Plentyoffish.com my mind jumped back to my Lolita days and I felt the sudden urge to play The Police. Unlike my schoolgirl crushes this guy was very good looking by today’s standards. I’m not going to lie and say that I didn’t have every intention of playing detention with Mr. Mike.
Mike the Schoolteacher was a 34 yo, 6’1”, non-smoker looking for a long-term relationship. He never married, had no children and lived just down the street from me. Here’s what he had to say in his profile:
“I'm from Indiana. And I teach (so I'm off all summer!). I've been told that I'm wine spitting funny and I'm the best boyfriend LA county! I would be interested in meeting open-minded (No prudes:), conscious and enlighten individuals who happy with who they are and may be into snowboarding, camping, dogs, working out and motorcycles. I'm looking forward too meeting new people.
picky and lonely are friends and the enemy of happiness
Thanks for looking.”
Now, if I see one more profile that says I’m going to fall in love with you, my family would adore you or you are the best boyfriend in town, I’m going to shoot myself. If you are so fucking wonderful then why are you single and why are you online? You should have been snatched up years ago and living the life that most of us can only hope for. So please, spare me your egotistical overconfidence when you know that you are just as fucked up as the rest of us.
Also, for him to write he’s interested in “meeting open-minded (No prudes please)…individuals” basically tells me he’s looking to get laid. Not that I mind that but what I find ironic is how he can state that he’s looking for long-term when he really wants to stick his dick in your mouth. How many of the men you’ve boned on a first date have taken you home to meet momma? None? My point exactly.
So yes, I met him anyway. I have a tendency to over think things and am a bit cynical (oh stop it, you say) so I gave him the benefit of the doubt. We talked on the phone and our personalities seemed to mesh quite well. Of course, that’s not really saying a lot considering that I can pretty much hold a conversation with an empty chair. But, he was cute, tall and made me laugh so off to meet him I went.
On a whim, we decided to meet at one of the local Starbucks. Unfortunately, the Starbucks was just closing so we ended up talking in the parking lot for about an hour. He was interesting. I almost felt like I was interrogating him with all the questions I had about school girl crushes and his experiences with them. When he started to tell me about how cute some of the girls were and how many of the male teachers at his school actually dated some of those girls my adult instincts started to kick in and I wasn’t so turned on anymore.
He assured me that he wasn’t a serial killer and asked me back to his place for a beer. I obliged. Once inside he turned on the T.V. and he went to change. When he came back and gave me a kiss I didn’t think much of it. When he straddled me and tried to stick his dick in my mouth The Police soundtrack that was playing in my head came to a screeching halt. Not only was his pecker not as big as I had hoped but he was well…trying to stick his dick in my mouth.
Needless to say, we haven’t gone out again…
Friday, July 31, 2009
The Stripping Nurse
When I came across The Stripping Nurse’s profile on Match.com my first thought was that he was way out of my league. To put it simply, he was beautiful. Tall, blonde, blue eyed and had a body that could make angles cry. When I picked my jaw up off the floor I reluctantly sent him an email not sure of the response I would receive, if any. Low and behold, he actually responded. He seemed to be a decent guy and not the egotistical manwhore that I was expecting. He worked as a nurse by day and a stripper by night (how very super hero-ish). I thought it a rather random combination at the time but then again, it was a crime to keep that beautifully sculpted body covered up.
We decided on meeting for dinner. Being the adventurous one I decided to drive out to his place which was about 45 minutes away. I would have ridden a bicycle to New York if it meant getting to rub up against this fine example of perfection. Upon first glance, he was just as gorgeous in person as in any photo I had seen. Although, I wasn’t quite able to read his reaction in regards to me. He looked neither happy nor disappointed. But, I was hungry and hopeful so off to dinner we went.
Since I wasn’t that familiar with the restaurants in his area he suggested that he drive. That is where his charm started to wear off. Now that I think about it, he never really had much charm to begin with. Even before we met face to face I was so distracted by his six-pack and biceps that I hardly noticed his underdeveloped personality. When he pulled into the McDonald’s parking lot, I noticed. In disbelief, I turned to him and suggested if we could go somewhere a little more, oh I don’t know, less fast foodish? He may not have been enamored with me but since we had already resigned ourselves to dinner and I had just driven 45 minutes to “The 909” would it have killed him to hit up a Denny’s?
His conversational skills were in desperate need of help and he was about as fascinating as watching the evolution of the rock. I talked to myself for about an hour and when I was done we headed back to his place. Realizing that he was not indeed my Prince Charming I tucked my tail between my legs and headed home. For the gazillionth time (this wasn’t the first or the last) I tried to tell myself that perhaps I should think twice before gallivanting across Southern California just to meet a nicely sculpted physique and pretty face. I had even shaved my legs in the hopes of getting my own personal show. Male Reviews can get expensive with having to find al those dollar bills and all. I’ve been known to run out of 1’s and start shoving larger bills into the g-strings of stripping Gods just to get close. True, I’m about as shallow as a rain gutter when it comes to the opposite sex but I just can’t seem to help myself. The night was a complete bust but they can’t all be great.
To my surprise, a few weeks later The Stripping Nurse Instant Messaged me apparently trying to land himself a Booty Call. Suddenly, he was outgoing and flirtatious. If only he had been that way when we first met. But I tend to bore quickly so I had already moved on to my next online victim. Unfortunately for him, being the true Sagittarius that I am, once you’ve lost my attention it’s very rare that you will ever get it back. Besides, if I was looking for a Booty Call I sure as hell would pick one a lot closer to home. However, one thing is for certain, I guess you could say he didn’t consider me quite the troll I thought he initially might have. Unless, he typically makes it a habit of trying to bed trolls. I know men that have screwed worse.
We decided on meeting for dinner. Being the adventurous one I decided to drive out to his place which was about 45 minutes away. I would have ridden a bicycle to New York if it meant getting to rub up against this fine example of perfection. Upon first glance, he was just as gorgeous in person as in any photo I had seen. Although, I wasn’t quite able to read his reaction in regards to me. He looked neither happy nor disappointed. But, I was hungry and hopeful so off to dinner we went.
Since I wasn’t that familiar with the restaurants in his area he suggested that he drive. That is where his charm started to wear off. Now that I think about it, he never really had much charm to begin with. Even before we met face to face I was so distracted by his six-pack and biceps that I hardly noticed his underdeveloped personality. When he pulled into the McDonald’s parking lot, I noticed. In disbelief, I turned to him and suggested if we could go somewhere a little more, oh I don’t know, less fast foodish? He may not have been enamored with me but since we had already resigned ourselves to dinner and I had just driven 45 minutes to “The 909” would it have killed him to hit up a Denny’s?
His conversational skills were in desperate need of help and he was about as fascinating as watching the evolution of the rock. I talked to myself for about an hour and when I was done we headed back to his place. Realizing that he was not indeed my Prince Charming I tucked my tail between my legs and headed home. For the gazillionth time (this wasn’t the first or the last) I tried to tell myself that perhaps I should think twice before gallivanting across Southern California just to meet a nicely sculpted physique and pretty face. I had even shaved my legs in the hopes of getting my own personal show. Male Reviews can get expensive with having to find al those dollar bills and all. I’ve been known to run out of 1’s and start shoving larger bills into the g-strings of stripping Gods just to get close. True, I’m about as shallow as a rain gutter when it comes to the opposite sex but I just can’t seem to help myself. The night was a complete bust but they can’t all be great.
To my surprise, a few weeks later The Stripping Nurse Instant Messaged me apparently trying to land himself a Booty Call. Suddenly, he was outgoing and flirtatious. If only he had been that way when we first met. But I tend to bore quickly so I had already moved on to my next online victim. Unfortunately for him, being the true Sagittarius that I am, once you’ve lost my attention it’s very rare that you will ever get it back. Besides, if I was looking for a Booty Call I sure as hell would pick one a lot closer to home. However, one thing is for certain, I guess you could say he didn’t consider me quite the troll I thought he initially might have. Unless, he typically makes it a habit of trying to bed trolls. I know men that have screwed worse.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Proof that Karma reads blogs...
Apparently, Karma reads my blog. She still has yet to take my advice though. Opting instead to continue her masquerade on systematically ruining my life. I’m once again reminded that she also has a fantastic sense of humor. Only I’m not laughing.
Here’s how I know she reads my stuff. If you all (yes, all four of you) will remember, in my 2nd ever blog posting titled “Dear Karma” I made my disappointment in the country of Nigeria known. Yes, I agree, perhaps I’d been a little hasty and somewhat generalized in my blaming of the entire country. Maybe I should have looked at the bright side being as Nigerian scammers seem to be the only ones even responding to my futile attempts at trying to find employment. But, I watch Chris Hanson’s Dateline on NBC and he says it’s Nigeria’s fault. And whatever Chris Hanson says I believe whole heartedly. Haven’t you watched “To Catch a Predator”? That show is brilliant! Those 49 year old men were just trying to meet up with those 13 year old girls to talk…
So, no more than two days after posting “Dear Karma” I heard from a gentleman on Plentyoffish.com. I may be tall, white and blonde but I can definitely appreciate a fine looking black man. Actually preferring me some Reggie Bush to Antonio Sabato Jr. given the choice. Wait, strike that. Given the choice I’d gladly take both with a little side of Josh Holloway (aka Sawyer from “LOST”) but I digress…
We chatted over Instant Message for a little while as his phone was broken and he wasn’t getting it replaced for another week or so. A week? That red flag I hid behind his biceps. I noticed, even through IM that English was not his native tongue so I asked where he was from. You guessed it. Nigeria. In all my years of online dating this was my first Nigerian and the timing seemed somewhat suspect. At this I almost logged off and crawled back into bed. Had Nigeria infiltrated Plenty of Fish? Not only was I being inundated with email responses to my resume but now there was a flesh and blood person asking me to meet him for a date! Was he going to take me out to dinner, give me a second party, out of state check, ask me to keep 10% as my commission and then give him the difference in cash to pay for it? Was he going to steal my credit card, buy electronics and then have me ship them to his business in Nigeria? How had Nigeria found me??? A million scam scenarios went through my head. I may have actually made a few up in my over exaggerated, paranoid mind also. But, I’m a woman that happens to be a complete sucker for abs and pecks so I hid that red flag behind his well chiseled abs and 6’4” height.
Having not been in the best mood lately I wasn’t keen on meeting anybody new that evening. But, it was a lovely night and I felt like going for a walk at the nearby park. I figured he could meet me there. I’d make sure not to bring anything with any of my information on it. Even though, at this point I was pretty sure that Nigeria was infiltrating my life and probably already knew my bank pin codes. Since they already had my resume, I knew they had my address, phone number and email. Now they had one of their representatives trying to steal my heart too. Either way, I asked him to meet me at the park. But, oh no, he didn’t have a car. Supposedly his brother had borrowed it to go to the beach. At this point, I had enough flags to make my bed but I shoved this one behind my dreams of him having a 10” cock. So? What? I’ve been having a dry spell and I’m somewhat of a size queen. Don’t judge me unless you’re fucking me.
Against my better judgment and having not even spoken on the phone with Mr. Nigeria I drove to meet him at Griffith Park to go for a walk. Luckily, it was close by and early enough in the evening where I didn’t have to worry about being raped or stumbling upon gay prostitutes in the bushes. When I first saw him standing outside he looked pretty much like his picture, only thinner. Whereas most men complain about meeting women from the internet that are 20 lbs heavier than their photos, I have the opposite problem. The men I meet are all thinner than their pictures. That’s not necessarily bad but I typically like my men to look like linebackers. I’m a large girl myself and 5’9” tall. I’m going to look awkward standing next to a guy the size of Prince. Or is he still formally known as?
We got to walking. The topic of what we did for our livings came up. Or rather my lack of. I quickly turned the conversation back to him. What did Mr. Nigeria do for a living you ask? Import / Export. Of course. I should have known. I was on a walk with a fucking cliché. Import what? Humans? Export what? Playstations and DVD players? I never got the specifics and it took everything in my power not to ask him. I survived the walk and he was a gentleman the whole time. We ended up going for coffee and I left unscathed with all 49 cents left in my wallet. My emails have not increased nor my spam so maybe he wasn’t a Nigerian spy out to steal my identity after all.
A week after that walk, Karma sent me another Nigerian…swear to God…
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P.S. Got an Instant Message today from “The Fireman”. I asked how he was doing. His response? That he “was having a bad week but he could still shoot a full load! LOL” So glad he told me. I’ll sleep much better tonight knowing that…Moron.
Here’s how I know she reads my stuff. If you all (yes, all four of you) will remember, in my 2nd ever blog posting titled “Dear Karma” I made my disappointment in the country of Nigeria known. Yes, I agree, perhaps I’d been a little hasty and somewhat generalized in my blaming of the entire country. Maybe I should have looked at the bright side being as Nigerian scammers seem to be the only ones even responding to my futile attempts at trying to find employment. But, I watch Chris Hanson’s Dateline on NBC and he says it’s Nigeria’s fault. And whatever Chris Hanson says I believe whole heartedly. Haven’t you watched “To Catch a Predator”? That show is brilliant! Those 49 year old men were just trying to meet up with those 13 year old girls to talk…
So, no more than two days after posting “Dear Karma” I heard from a gentleman on Plentyoffish.com. I may be tall, white and blonde but I can definitely appreciate a fine looking black man. Actually preferring me some Reggie Bush to Antonio Sabato Jr. given the choice. Wait, strike that. Given the choice I’d gladly take both with a little side of Josh Holloway (aka Sawyer from “LOST”) but I digress…
We chatted over Instant Message for a little while as his phone was broken and he wasn’t getting it replaced for another week or so. A week? That red flag I hid behind his biceps. I noticed, even through IM that English was not his native tongue so I asked where he was from. You guessed it. Nigeria. In all my years of online dating this was my first Nigerian and the timing seemed somewhat suspect. At this I almost logged off and crawled back into bed. Had Nigeria infiltrated Plenty of Fish? Not only was I being inundated with email responses to my resume but now there was a flesh and blood person asking me to meet him for a date! Was he going to take me out to dinner, give me a second party, out of state check, ask me to keep 10% as my commission and then give him the difference in cash to pay for it? Was he going to steal my credit card, buy electronics and then have me ship them to his business in Nigeria? How had Nigeria found me??? A million scam scenarios went through my head. I may have actually made a few up in my over exaggerated, paranoid mind also. But, I’m a woman that happens to be a complete sucker for abs and pecks so I hid that red flag behind his well chiseled abs and 6’4” height.
Having not been in the best mood lately I wasn’t keen on meeting anybody new that evening. But, it was a lovely night and I felt like going for a walk at the nearby park. I figured he could meet me there. I’d make sure not to bring anything with any of my information on it. Even though, at this point I was pretty sure that Nigeria was infiltrating my life and probably already knew my bank pin codes. Since they already had my resume, I knew they had my address, phone number and email. Now they had one of their representatives trying to steal my heart too. Either way, I asked him to meet me at the park. But, oh no, he didn’t have a car. Supposedly his brother had borrowed it to go to the beach. At this point, I had enough flags to make my bed but I shoved this one behind my dreams of him having a 10” cock. So? What? I’ve been having a dry spell and I’m somewhat of a size queen. Don’t judge me unless you’re fucking me.
Against my better judgment and having not even spoken on the phone with Mr. Nigeria I drove to meet him at Griffith Park to go for a walk. Luckily, it was close by and early enough in the evening where I didn’t have to worry about being raped or stumbling upon gay prostitutes in the bushes. When I first saw him standing outside he looked pretty much like his picture, only thinner. Whereas most men complain about meeting women from the internet that are 20 lbs heavier than their photos, I have the opposite problem. The men I meet are all thinner than their pictures. That’s not necessarily bad but I typically like my men to look like linebackers. I’m a large girl myself and 5’9” tall. I’m going to look awkward standing next to a guy the size of Prince. Or is he still formally known as?
We got to walking. The topic of what we did for our livings came up. Or rather my lack of. I quickly turned the conversation back to him. What did Mr. Nigeria do for a living you ask? Import / Export. Of course. I should have known. I was on a walk with a fucking cliché. Import what? Humans? Export what? Playstations and DVD players? I never got the specifics and it took everything in my power not to ask him. I survived the walk and he was a gentleman the whole time. We ended up going for coffee and I left unscathed with all 49 cents left in my wallet. My emails have not increased nor my spam so maybe he wasn’t a Nigerian spy out to steal my identity after all.
A week after that walk, Karma sent me another Nigerian…swear to God…
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P.S. Got an Instant Message today from “The Fireman”. I asked how he was doing. His response? That he “was having a bad week but he could still shoot a full load! LOL” So glad he told me. I’ll sleep much better tonight knowing that…Moron.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
An uneventful beginning to my career of online dating catastrophies...
Gold Lame
I set up a date with a guy from Lake Arrowhead. He had a somewhat decent profile from what I can remember and one decent picture. “Gold Lame” was a doctor (I thought I’d hit pay dirt), said he drove a sports car (which didn’t make much sense considering he lived in the mountains) and had a daughter (could be worse. He could have had two). When he arrived at the restaurant it turned out that he was the shrink for a mental ward, drove a Mazda four-door and wasn’t yet “fully” divorced from the mother of his kid. Not that any of these points alone were bad (except for the not yet divorced part) but it just showed his propensity to stretch the truth. Add all this together and include him wearing a gold lame shirt to lunch and I’m sure you can see where this date was headed.
Now, I firmly believe you can pretty much decide within the first few minutes of meeting and talking with someone whether or not they are someone you would like to pursue further. I determined right away he was not of that sort. We swapped small talk and waited for our order to be taken. We weren’t waiting all that long before “Gold Lame” showed yet another red-flag. He became highly agitated and decided it was time for him to go hunt down the waiter. I’m not the most patient person in the world but even I wasn’t unhappy with the service. We really hadn’t been waiting all that long. He found the waiter and brought him back with him to our table. As the waiter took our order it was very clear how irritated with him he was. I’m 100% certain that there were a little more than carrots and dressing in our dinner salads that evening. My date’s clear lack of respect for people in the food service industry turned me off more than his wardrobe from 1984.
I figured the date would be over before I knew it so I just decided to ride it out. We received our DNA salads and the conversation lulled so we could eat. I looked up at “Gold Lame” just in time to see him shoving a huge forkful of lettuce into his mouth and a leaf falling out of it. I’m sure it was just bad timing as this guy didn’t seem like the sloppy type but he may as well have eaten a booger. In addition to his rudeness with the waiter and his wardrobe it was quite apparent to me that there would be no second date, at least as far as I was concerned.
Towards the end of our lunch though, he began referring to future events. He mentioned how he loved visiting Pasadena. Then, as if things couldn’t get more awkward for me he said we should continue hanging out all afternoon. He suggested us going for a walk through Old Town then actually getting dinner and having a few drinks. I didn’t want to spend another five minutes with this man let alone spend the whole day with him! I only hope I didn’t stutter too badly when I lied about meeting a friend later when all I really had planned was an evening of take-out and online soulmate searching.
I set up a date with a guy from Lake Arrowhead. He had a somewhat decent profile from what I can remember and one decent picture. “Gold Lame” was a doctor (I thought I’d hit pay dirt), said he drove a sports car (which didn’t make much sense considering he lived in the mountains) and had a daughter (could be worse. He could have had two). When he arrived at the restaurant it turned out that he was the shrink for a mental ward, drove a Mazda four-door and wasn’t yet “fully” divorced from the mother of his kid. Not that any of these points alone were bad (except for the not yet divorced part) but it just showed his propensity to stretch the truth. Add all this together and include him wearing a gold lame shirt to lunch and I’m sure you can see where this date was headed.
Now, I firmly believe you can pretty much decide within the first few minutes of meeting and talking with someone whether or not they are someone you would like to pursue further. I determined right away he was not of that sort. We swapped small talk and waited for our order to be taken. We weren’t waiting all that long before “Gold Lame” showed yet another red-flag. He became highly agitated and decided it was time for him to go hunt down the waiter. I’m not the most patient person in the world but even I wasn’t unhappy with the service. We really hadn’t been waiting all that long. He found the waiter and brought him back with him to our table. As the waiter took our order it was very clear how irritated with him he was. I’m 100% certain that there were a little more than carrots and dressing in our dinner salads that evening. My date’s clear lack of respect for people in the food service industry turned me off more than his wardrobe from 1984.
I figured the date would be over before I knew it so I just decided to ride it out. We received our DNA salads and the conversation lulled so we could eat. I looked up at “Gold Lame” just in time to see him shoving a huge forkful of lettuce into his mouth and a leaf falling out of it. I’m sure it was just bad timing as this guy didn’t seem like the sloppy type but he may as well have eaten a booger. In addition to his rudeness with the waiter and his wardrobe it was quite apparent to me that there would be no second date, at least as far as I was concerned.
Towards the end of our lunch though, he began referring to future events. He mentioned how he loved visiting Pasadena. Then, as if things couldn’t get more awkward for me he said we should continue hanging out all afternoon. He suggested us going for a walk through Old Town then actually getting dinner and having a few drinks. I didn’t want to spend another five minutes with this man let alone spend the whole day with him! I only hope I didn’t stutter too badly when I lied about meeting a friend later when all I really had planned was an evening of take-out and online soulmate searching.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
How Quizno's is a metaphor for my life...
I went for a nice walk at Griffith Park this evening with a blind date. I needed to get out of the house and get some fresh air since I have been so miserable lately. After our walk, my date and I decided to grab some coffee at Starbucks. We hit up the local strip mall and right next to the Starbucks was a Quizno’s. That was when I made my mind up. As much as I hated to actually spend money on going out I figured that the $10 I had left in my wallet wasn’t going to help me out of my current predicament anyway. So, fuck it. I decided to treat my constantly upset, stressed out stomach to a meatball sub and some soup. Mmmm, broccoli cheddar soup. Quite possibly the best soup in the world. Almost better than sex soup. Wait, depending on the guy…BETTER than sex soup. I was gonna have me some balls and soup.
I couldn’t tell my date about my decision because I had already told him I had no cash on me for coffee so he would pay. A little white lie, but not that far from the truth. I had, after all, driven out to see him down in Hollywood. And I hate driving into Hollywood. After coffee, my date left to go to Ralph’s since he needed to pick up some stuff and I made my stealth get away. That probably wouldn’t have looked too good had he seen me buying food right after lying about my lack of funds.
Excited about my dinner I snuck my way into the sandwich shop with the stealth of a black panther. Being careful not to catch the attention of my departing walking mate. Once inside I made my way to the counter. I needed to make this food purchase fast.
“Hi. Can I get a meatball sub?”
“I’m sorry, we don’t have meatballs right now”.
Hmmm, ok….? That was the first sign I should have made a B line for the door but I was there and they still had my better than sex soup. Something else would have to suffice.
“I notice you are still offering a large sub for $5. Does that include any large sub?”
“No, just these on the Value Menu.”
Ok….? Hmm, which one of the five subs listed should I opt for? So many choices, what should I do? Of course, as if to mock me, my beloved meatball sub was among the five staring back at me. So really, I only had my choice of four. I wasn’t feeling ham and cheese and I didn’t want the turkey. The chicken wasn’t screaming out at me either so I decided to go big and check out the rest of the menu. How much more than $5 could a sandwich cost anyway? I opted for the Black Angus Steak Sandwich.
As he was making my sandwich, I told him that I would also like a cup of the broccoli cheddar soup.
“We aren’t selling any soups right now.”
WHAT? WHAT? No meatballs AND no soup? The only two things in that entire stupid place I wanted were NOT being sold THAT day. Dumbass behind the counter just looked at me as I’m sure my disappointment was quite obvious.
“I don’t know why. We just don’t have it right now.”
So, that answered that. I was stuck. Suddenly, Chinese was sounding really good to me but my sandwich was already rolling through the toaster. Ugh!
Crestfallen, head hung in defeat, I walked to the checkout counter. That’s when I saw the sign by the register that read “We do not have any meatballs or soups available today”. In all my excitement I had raced straight to the sandwich making counter. Completely unaware of the disappointment that lay ahead.
“Is there anything else I can get you?” dumbass asked.
Yeah, how about some fucking soup!?! “No thank you”.
“That will be $8.18.”
Not only did I have to pay three dollars more for a sandwich that I didn’t even want but I wasn’t even getting a side or drink. What the hell do they make these sandwiches out of to dignify charging so fucking much? Do they lace them with blow, pot, E? I know the bread is good but unless it is made with Cristal and yeast these people are committing highway robbery. In addition, I had to use my last “saving for laundry” quarter due to the .18 cents. Damn them. Damn them all to hell.
And just in case you were wondering, the Black Angus Steak Sandwich sucks.
I couldn’t tell my date about my decision because I had already told him I had no cash on me for coffee so he would pay. A little white lie, but not that far from the truth. I had, after all, driven out to see him down in Hollywood. And I hate driving into Hollywood. After coffee, my date left to go to Ralph’s since he needed to pick up some stuff and I made my stealth get away. That probably wouldn’t have looked too good had he seen me buying food right after lying about my lack of funds.
Excited about my dinner I snuck my way into the sandwich shop with the stealth of a black panther. Being careful not to catch the attention of my departing walking mate. Once inside I made my way to the counter. I needed to make this food purchase fast.
“Hi. Can I get a meatball sub?”
“I’m sorry, we don’t have meatballs right now”.
Hmmm, ok….? That was the first sign I should have made a B line for the door but I was there and they still had my better than sex soup. Something else would have to suffice.
“I notice you are still offering a large sub for $5. Does that include any large sub?”
“No, just these on the Value Menu.”
Ok….? Hmm, which one of the five subs listed should I opt for? So many choices, what should I do? Of course, as if to mock me, my beloved meatball sub was among the five staring back at me. So really, I only had my choice of four. I wasn’t feeling ham and cheese and I didn’t want the turkey. The chicken wasn’t screaming out at me either so I decided to go big and check out the rest of the menu. How much more than $5 could a sandwich cost anyway? I opted for the Black Angus Steak Sandwich.
As he was making my sandwich, I told him that I would also like a cup of the broccoli cheddar soup.
“We aren’t selling any soups right now.”
WHAT? WHAT? No meatballs AND no soup? The only two things in that entire stupid place I wanted were NOT being sold THAT day. Dumbass behind the counter just looked at me as I’m sure my disappointment was quite obvious.
“I don’t know why. We just don’t have it right now.”
So, that answered that. I was stuck. Suddenly, Chinese was sounding really good to me but my sandwich was already rolling through the toaster. Ugh!
Crestfallen, head hung in defeat, I walked to the checkout counter. That’s when I saw the sign by the register that read “We do not have any meatballs or soups available today”. In all my excitement I had raced straight to the sandwich making counter. Completely unaware of the disappointment that lay ahead.
“Is there anything else I can get you?” dumbass asked.
Yeah, how about some fucking soup!?! “No thank you”.
“That will be $8.18.”
Not only did I have to pay three dollars more for a sandwich that I didn’t even want but I wasn’t even getting a side or drink. What the hell do they make these sandwiches out of to dignify charging so fucking much? Do they lace them with blow, pot, E? I know the bread is good but unless it is made with Cristal and yeast these people are committing highway robbery. In addition, I had to use my last “saving for laundry” quarter due to the .18 cents. Damn them. Damn them all to hell.
And just in case you were wondering, the Black Angus Steak Sandwich sucks.
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