Dear Junk...

Dear Junk,

I realize that it’s part of the evolutionary process for you to grow hair but at some point you need to stop. If your hair is long enough to require shampoo AND conditioner than that should be your first clue that it is entirely too long. If your hair is long enough to run your fingers through and can stretch up your happy trail to your belly button then that is your second clue.

This next part is for your owner…

Dear Junk’s Owner,

Just because the hair may be thinning on the top of your head and you can count the hairs on your chest with the fingers of your right hand does NOT mean that you should embrace the mass of locks beneath the belt. As a male you probably prefer, if not require your women to be trimmed. Some even bare. Newsflash, women enjoy the same courtesy.

Gentleman owner, let me enlighten you on a few things. We as women are a complicated species, as I’m sure you are perfectly aware. Without even traveling south there is a list longer than the Great Wall of China that needs to be accomplished before even heading down to trim the mane. Faces alone we have to battle crow’s feet, blemishes, wrinkles, dry skin, oily skin, COMBINATION skin. Eye cream, face bleach, moisturizer, special face wash, masks, exfoliants, botox, the list goes on and on. Don’t even get me started on the women that have to wax or bleach their upper lip. Luckily, as a blonde, I don’t have to worry about that but I truly feel for the women that do and I’m sorry for outing you, ladies.

Once we’ve mastered the skincare regiment we have hair. If your hair is dry you need to moisturize it. If it’s oily you need to be wary of conditioner. To blow it dry or make it curly we need to add product. We need to color and maintain and often times our hair stylists are putting their kids through college on our dime. Most of us will probably even be invited to their college graduations. Do you know how expensive this shit costs?!?

But those things are just the base. The canvas you might say. Then comes the makeup. A tube of lipstick can cost thirty fucking dollars! Then we have foundation, concealer, powder, eye shadow, eyeliner, mascara, eyebrow pencils, lipstick, lip gloss, lip PLUMPER. We as women spend more money on the part of the body above the neck than rent.

It’s a process and not one that I’m going to bitch about because it is also one of the wonderful things about being a woman. We get to play dress up on a daily basis. As women, we are artists trying to make ourselves look better to catch the eye of anyone willing to look. Consider that the next time you ask us “why does it take you SO long to get ready?”

Let me continue. Once we’ve perfected the art of hair and makeup we move south. Everything needs to be shaved and waxed within an inch of its life. Armpits, sometimes the arms themselves, legs, feet…TOES! We tan, we exfoliate, we lather ourselves with oils and moisturizers to keep the sagging at bay, disguise cellulite and to be soft to the touch.

Even after all that, we get to the bikini area. That’s a whole different Oprah. In order to maintain the secret garden we as women do horrific and barbaric things to the one part of our body that we can’t even see without a mirror. We take razors to an area so delicate going by nothing more than the sense of touch. We fold ourselves into Kama Sutra positions in front of the mirror trying to make sure we didn’t miss a spot. We use creams to DI-SIN-TE-GRATE the hair! If we choose not to shave or dissolve our southern tresses then we WAX! Remember the movie “The 40 Year Old Virgin”? Imagine somebody taking hot wax to your nut sack and ripping the hair right out of the follicles all on the count of three.

And now, I’m going to let you gentlemen in on a little secret. The hair doesn’t just grow on the sides of our pretty little lips. Oh no. It grows everywhere! Up towards your belly button all the way down your crack. Ever get a brazillion or Playboy wax? Didn’t think so, men. I ask you to try getting your butthole waxed, paying $100 and still trying to keep a smile on your face. Why don’t you try it sometime? I guarantee you will have nightmares and trouble sitting for weeks.

I’ll spare you on our need for shoes, clothing and the perfect $50 bra that makes us look as though we just had a boob job. Nevermind that we can’t breath but we do it for YOU.

But, for all this work we do to maintain ourselves for those that get to see us in the buff all we ask is that you take five fucking minutes and trim your Goddamn pubes. I don’t want to get hair in my teeth and I don’t particularly like sucking on hair. Nothing like wiping wet hair out of my face when I’m trying to make you feel good. I’m not asking for you to shave it all off...

I’m simply asking you to trim your fucking junk! PLEASE.

Kisses,
MMM

P.S. Although, men for the most part are aware of and appreciate what we as women go through and do take part in the art of manscaping, there are the unfortunate few who do not. This letter is dedicated to the clueless. To manscapers everywhere, I salute you and truly appreciate the hard work you put into maintaining yourselves so that for those of us that venture to the South Pole (pun totally intended) we aren’t forced to gag on your Dial flavored locks.

And to women that don’t mind a flowing mane of pubic hair, I apologize for generalizing by saying “we, as women”.

Christmas Eve In a Nutshell

I’m the oldest of four children and by far the least accomplished as was brought to my attention by my Aunt Betty’s endearing Christmas Eve toast:

“A toast to Cindy for getting accepted into the college of her choice AND for getting a scholarship!

…and to Nick for actually meeting a girl and for making it through two years at college!

…to Rosy for working at Memorial Hospital for almost two years now as a nurse!

…and to Joe (my sister, Rosy’s husband) for getting hired by the police department this year!

(Cheering and clapping followed by a long, hard blank stare in my direction)

…and to Melisa…

(Crickets)

(Chirping)

(Loudly)

…to Melisa…Gosh! We just love you!”

Nothing strokes your ego when you are already feeling the bitter loneliness of the holidays like a fucking pity toast. And that was just the beginning of the evening. The rest didn’t fair much better for my already deflated level of confidence.

But, all is not lost, I got a Snuggie, a sewing machine and lots of chocolate for Christmas. So now, instead of a man I’ll have my Snuggie to keep me warm, the chocolate to keep my endorphins up and a sewing machine to let all my clothes out once I’ve eaten my way through See’s Candy.

Looking forward to the New Year…In a BAD way!

Dating for Dummies

I think no explanation is needed here.

Yet Another Shirtless Idiot

First of all, yay me for finally figuring out how to post a picture on this blog. Secondly, I apologize that this was the first picture to post.

Less than 12 hours after posting my Profile Pet Peeves, I received the above picture via text message. Sometimes one really has to wonder about the timing in which things occur. Didn’t I just write “put your fucking shirt back on?”

Let’s cut the crap. Mr. Morning Wood is a fucking moron. I don’t know what is more stupid. The fact that despite not having been out with Wood in almost four years he still deemed it necessary to try and poke my eye out or that he sent this picture to five other women in addition to me. That’s right, he sent this gem wishing us all a “Good Morning, lol” to six ladies. Any guy in his right mind should know better than to give the special six access to each others phone numbers. I guess this picture alone is proof that when a man has a hard on the blood rushes from his brain down to his nether regions.

I’m not going to suddenly claim I’m a prude (you guys know me better than that). I have received such pictures before, sometimes upon request even, but this gratuitous morning wood picture is too much and sort of, well…random, to say the least. Let me give you some background on Mr. Wood.

Match.com was our matchmaker. The first two things I noticed about him were his biceps and his love of reality television (sometimes I just can’t get enough of watching people act retarded on national TV). Upon first meeting in person he appeared to be everything he had claimed to be only with a weaker chin but I could over look that minor detail because he had amazing pecs.

We went out a few times but he was just shy of a two year relationship so I was a tad weary and decided that it might be in my best interest to let this one die down before I found myself too attached. We managed to remain in contact, often by IM or email but nothing more came of this great love connection. He also happened to live about 45 minutes away from me and he didn’t seem to be making that much of an attempt to visit me on my end.

It wasn’t until I found him on Myspace did I get the full picture at how dramatic and needy this guy truly was. What was news to me was the way he proclaimed his love for the new girl in his life. I was slightly surprised and a little disappointed but somewhat taken aback by his declarations of love for the girl with too much eyeliner. I will also make a mention that despite her having a nicer figure than yours truly, I was (and still am) way better looking. Come on ladies, you know there is something cathartic about being better looking than a guys ex or even current girlfriend.

I sent him an email to congratulate him and get the scoop as I was entirely curious as to what I had missed just since the last time we had been in contact. He immediately wrote back saying that I shouldn’t congratulate him just yet as he and his girl “were off and on like a light switch”. I found that to be a rather pessimistic view of things and wondered to myself why he would stay in a relationship where it was clear that things weren’t going to work out. Sure enough, one week later, all signs of her had been erased from his profile and he was listed as single. A week after that? You guessed it. He was in love again. Two weeks after that? Single. It is safe to assume you know where this is going?

He picked up on his text messages to me yet I was none to eager to meet up with him again. Every time I declined he would get pissy saying that I was a typical game playing woman. I’m sure he didn’t consider that he only texted me last minute when I had already made plans. I had also just moved an additional 30 minutes away from him. He was clearly not into driving out to my neck of the woods and I certainly didn’t have any desire to trek an hour and 15 minutes to listen to him bitch and moan about his ex and how she had done him wrong. Mmm, a bitter man that’s too lazy to drive, despite how many times I have driven to him…no thank you.

At one point, he even asked me to leave a comment on his page saying that I was looking forward to meeting him for drinks later. Knowing we had no such plans, I saw his little ploy for exactly what it was. An attempt to make the ex jealous. Now why on heaven’s green earth would I want to get myself involved in that stupid love triangle. I have enough issues of my own.

So, here we are two years later after having found him on Myspace. The ex and he got back together (big surprise) and she moved in with him. They had a son and have now split for good as of about nine months ago. He constantly leaves me (and many other women) cheesy comments on Myspace. I can tell this by the responses he gets back. I guess this is his way at receiving the attention he needs from the opposite sex. I find it a turn off that a man that is 36 years old needs Myspace to fulfill his need for attention.

Oh, and one more thing…even when he was “in love” with Max Factor he never actually took his profile off of Match.com. I’ll also let you know that he hasn’t changed it a bit since I actually met him…5 YEARS AGO! For your reading pleasure I present you with Mr. Morning Wood’s Match.com profile:

“Hello, I'm an honest man and i don't use out-dated pictures to represent myself. The oldest picture is 2 1/2 years old which is my main picture. The last several are mid January 2006 from one of my cruises which incidentally is not usually how I have my hair as it's way too short for my liking. I love cruises and have been on a 5, 7, 8, 10, 11 day cruises all within 3 years from the Bahamas to Mexico to Hawaii.

I try and keep in shape and my body tan working out at least twice a week and my main employment is working in my home office selling full-time I was just recently released from a 2nd job due to facility closure of the postal service and I didn't accept a further assignment.

My dad is from “Some place in Asia” and my mother is from “Hickville” (yes, I changed the locations) I'm not a big fan of "chatting" and am very spontaneous and am looking for the same. Would much prefer to meet for a coffee or a drink to get to know someone. Musically my favorite current artist is: Rob Thomas/Matchbox Twenty. My all-time favorite artist is: Elvis Presley. I own a condo in "BFE" and drive a Tundra and a Mercedes and I mention this just to show personality and not to brag, some have commented that I shouldn't list what I drive or where I live but I say if I was bragging I would said I live in Malibu and drive a Ferrari, right? If you like to be impulsive and spontaneous, give me a wink and lets hang out. Thanks for your time in reading”

P.S. Contrary to popular belief, I should also let you know that I never even slept with this guy.

Online Dating Profile Pet Peeves

• People that claim to have MBA’s yet can’t figure out basic grammar or how to spell. Case in point, I was emailed by a guy that said he had graduated from Harvard and did undergrad at the University of Texas yet didn’t believe in periods and randomly ended and started paragraphs on a whim. Sure you graduated from Harvard, honey.
• Text speak in an email. Is it really that much more effort to write out “you” as opposed to “u”? Also, correct me if I’m wrong but “kool” or “kewl” is in no way saving you energy over just writing “cool”.
• Under “What type of relationship” listing “Hang Out”. What the fuck is that? When you have the option of using “Friends”, “Dating” or “Intimate Encounter” in case you aren’t interested in “Long Term” why use “Hang Out”? Does that mean you want to bring over a 6-pack of beer and play X-Box? Either way, I’m not interested in “hanging out”.
• Put your fucking shirt back on. Seriously. I for one can fully appreciate a well chiseled gentleman but come on, the cheese factor alone makes me want to gag. Especially if I’ve given you my cell number and you bombard me of pictures of you in the bathroom with a towel around your waist. When I want to see your pecks, I’ll let you know.
• Profiles that rival a Harlequin romance yet when you actually get to emailing or talking with them on the phone the deepest thing that comes out of their mouth is the benefits of using the Jackhammer position in bed. Charming.
• One picture posted…with 2 people in it. Who the fuck are you? I can only hope that the profile belongs to the attractive one and not the one that is playing wingman. Nine times out of 10, the profile belongs to the short wingman that needs to iron his shirt.
• What’s with all the personal trainers? I’m not sure if this is a geographical thing as I do live in North Hollywood but if I want somebody to teach me how to lung and do pull ups I’ll contact one. I’m on a dating website to find a date, not someone I have to pay to hurt me.
• Along the lines of the personal trainers. Why do they all contact ME? At first, I just assumed that since I’m curvy they wanted my business. However, that seems to be far from the case. They all swear to like a woman with a little meat on their bones. WTF?
• Nuvaring commercials. Not in any way related to online dating yet important enough for me to share with you how much I hate their commercials. If I hear that fucking song “Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday…” I’m going to go postal. And btw, I’m perfectly content using condoms or the pill. The idea of shoving something up my cooch, leaving it in for 3 weeks then pulling it back out is in no way an appetizing thought for me.
• Never trust the profile of someone that is smoking hot yet only seems to have one or two pictures. Both headshots or model pics. Sometimes, these pictures may actually be blurry as well. Trust me, if you’re hot you are going to have a gazillion and one self portraits posted. Shit, there are people that shouldn’t even own cameras that have at least three or four pictures of themselves up.
• Please don’t email me in all CAPS. You could have written the theory of relativity and I’m still going to think you are an idiot because you are still YELLING AT ME!
• When people scan and post their driver’s license pictures. Really? In this day and age that was the best you could come up with? REALLY?
• People that are “Separated”. In the eyes of God and the law, you are still technically married. You shouldn’t be looking for a date. Perhaps that’s why you are separated in the first place. Ever consider that?

That’s it for now. I’m easily irritated and highly judgmental so I’m sure this list will grow. As soon as I think of anything more I’ll be sure and let you know.

Tell me…what bothers you???

P.S. On a side note, just as I finished writing this I received an email from a guy named “RoBeRT *SwAg Is On PoINt*” and his email was in all CAPS. Seriously folks, I can’t make this stuff up.

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.

West Side Story

I’m a horrible person and I’m going to hell. No, no, don’t feel sorry for me. This time it’s for real. Why, you ask? Because of Flame Boy (who will now be referred to as West Side Story. If you don’t know why then you aren’t paying enough attention).

Yesterday I received this text message from him:

“So am I waiting to hear from you or are you waiting to hear from me as to seeing each other again? Or are you hoping I’ll forget? *smirk*”

AGAIN, what grown man writes *smirk* in a text message?!? And for the record, I was sort of hoping that he would forget. I’m not any better at giving rejection than I am at receiving it.

I responded that due to my current circumstances and with so much on my mind I had actually just forgotten. Which was totally true.

To make a long story short and to keep this post from turning into a woe is me story I’ll keep it brief. A few nights ago my roommate gave me notice of him moving out in February via text message at 1am. No explanation. Nothing. What pisses me off is that after busting my ass to keep my apartment while unemployed it now looks like my fathers couch is beckoning to me once more. Also, I’ve found that two months is about as long as one can go before Time Warner Cable expects you to pay. Go figure.

W.S.S. apologized for being pushy (aww, low confidence…attractive) and offered to make me dinner at my place (redeeming some points by using food). But why at my place? Well, because he lives with his grandmother. My first thought? What grown man lives with g-ma? Second thought? I’m totally going to hell because he’s helping take care of the old bat and I just made fun of him.

Then he actually sent me a picture of his sausage with a note saying he was trying to entice me and make me smile. And I don’t mean his “saaauuusage” either. He actually sent me a picture of the sausage he was cooking. How endearing yet *lame*. What am I supposed to do with this guy? He’s too fucking adorable to turn down. I responded that despite that being the best “sausage” picture I have yet to receive from any man I was going to have to pass.

His response:

“So long as you don’t have a sausage picture of your own to show ME! That would be disappointing. Might have to question my sexuality! *frightened*”

OH. MY. GOD! Somehow, considering that I’m already questioning his sexuality something tells me he might not be so disappointed if I whipped out a sausage of my own. Also, what’s up with the screenplay text messages? Really?!?

I also received these texts from him:

“I never admitted how brutally attractive you were to me, did I? Wouldn’t want to give away company secrets. Ya know?”

ME: Thanks

“I am willing to admit to a new found weakness for sultry blondes with soft hips, smooth skin and a kiss to go to confession for :-)”

I’m in trouble. He’s so going to fall in love with me. I have to admit though, he is sort of growing on me but in a gay best friend sort of way. He deserves a much nicer lady than what I have to offer. I’m just a chain smoking, vodka drinking, sport fucking blonde with money problems. I would break him like a toothpick and I just don’t have the heart to be mean to such a nice guy.

Ladies…who wants to take him off my hands? Although, explaining how you got his number after reading my blog calling him West Side Story might be a little awkward and the end to our friendship.

P.S. I did meet up with the thug from my Shallow post this past Monday. Totally HOT! And remarkably sweet and respectful too. Although, not so sweet that I want to vomit. Stay tuned for that post…

Shallow, party of one!

Before I get started, I feel as though I must address my last entry in regards to Flame Boy. I received many responses via email and comments about giving him a chance (all of which I wholeheartedly embrace and appreciate!) But let me try to explain a little further, in my defense. I’m not intentionally trying to be harsh but there was just something about him that made me curl up inside. I appreciate enthusiasm but flamboyance is something that I question and just can not find myself attracted to. I like my men to be…well, MEN. I definitely wouldn’t mind keeping him as a friend but that in itself may be a very fine line to maintain especially considering that I received this text from him yesterday…

“I have 2moro off *smirk*. Care for me to give you that cooking lesson?”

Seriously? What guy writes *smirk* in a text message??? So no, I will not be getting a cooking lesson from Mr. Flamboyant. I do realize that I’m perpetuating the stereotype of women only wanting bad boys but I don’t agree with that completely. It’s not that I want a boy that’s bad I just don’t want a boy that’s THAT good. An edge would be nice. And somebody that I can’t describe using the word “cheesy”. The way he tells his stories is like he’s auditioning for West Side Story. Sorry, that’s just not my style.

Now that that’s clear, you can disregard everything I’ve just said for the following post is going to prove what a hypocritical woman I really am. Yet one more reason why I’M still single ;-)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m going to have sex on Monday or Tuesday of next week with a guy that wants to “kikk” it. I know, I know, ya’ll think I’m nuts. What-EVER. Following is our short but riveting email exchange:

VD: hey doll how are u doin....what did u get n2 4 halloween

Me: Hey there! Halloween was pretty tame. What about your Halloween? Get into any trouble ;-)

VD: no trouble yet....lol so when are we goin 2 kikk it....what is ur number so we kan hangout

Me: What's your schedule like? Then we can determine when we will be able to "kikk" it...I'm pretty open...Btw, what's your name?

VD: im mostly free @ nite and sumtimes during the wk....and my name is Vick....whats ur name

Me: My name is Melisa. My schedule is fairly open so let me know when you feel like meeting up or giving me a call...

VD: we kan meet up sumtime dis wk......and what is ur number so i kan giv u a kall...

VD: hey Mel...hows ur wk goin..

Me: My week is going along fine. How is yours?

VD: mine is so so ....kant wait until da wkend, so kan we hangout dis wk

Me: Give me a call. My number is 555-1212

I’m going to apologize now because I realize that reading through our email correspondences you may have lost a few brain cells. His writing skills insult my intelligence and make my eyes bleed. I don’t usually respond to grown men that need a tutor but let me tell you that after looking at his pictures and seeing his 6’4” physique shirtless I’m willing to make that sacrifice. Again proving how incredibly shallow I can be.

After dealing with his retard speak I almost didn’t give him my number. Almost. But what can I say? I have no other real prospects in site so I wouldn’t mind adding just one more notch on the bedpost with Mr. 6’4”, 8-pack, 96” bicep stud muffin. Can you really blame me? I’m looking forward to hitting that in a bad way.

Aside from that, I really was quite surprised at how articulate and sensible he sounded over the phone. What I was expecting was some cocky stud with only a slight grasp of his native tongue. English. But what I encountered was somebody that even at 26 seemed to know the playing field. He made sense and not once did I every hear him call me “son” or “you’s”. I was impressed. He was also quite insightful when it came to the way he looked at relationships and dating.

So, even though I don’t see a great whirlwind, soul mate type of romance ahead I do see some good times that I may or may not be busting out the video camera for.

Stay tuned…

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...

TB Anyone?

I’m happy to report that I may have picked up a job…FINALLY. It’s a part time job, but a job none the less. Thanks to Mr. Creepy High School Science Teacher Guy. He runs a program that tutors underprivileged children. So, as excited as I am to finally get a chance to make a couple of bucks, there’s one glaring problem. The job includes tutoring children. Oh well, say la vie.

In order to begin my new adventure I was informed that I would need to take a TB test and a Livescan (fingerprinting) before starting. Imagine my surprise and dismay at hearing this news. I mean, who has TB anymore? Really? Naturally, I don’t have health insurance so Mr. Creepy’s secretary referred me to a free clinic that could take care of this for me. She also took pity on me and sent me the $20 it would take to get the fingerprinting done. Sounds easy enough, right? Wrong.

Text Convo to my best bud:

Me: I have 1/8th tank of gas and $14. I still have to ship that scarf AND drive to Glendale for the TB testing and Livescan AND drive to training for the tutoring in San Fernando tomorrow.

Me: AND they only sent me $20 for the Livescan. The one they want costs $25. So basically now I have 1/8th tank of gas and $9. Awesome.

B: Your shot 4 TB is free rite??? It’s never ending, huh?

Me: Yes. Well, I’m off. Gonna do as much as I can b4 running out of money. Just pray that I don’t have to pay for parking anywhere!

B: Good luck!

15 minutes later…

Me: Apparently 1/8th was being generous. My car is on E sitting in traffic. Great.

10 minutes later…

Me: I’m using my laundry coins for parking. I hate Glendale. I’d rather have herpes than come to this shithole.

B: Do u ever use coins 2 put gas in the car?

Me: I’m parked a block away so I didn’t have to park in the garage and my flip flops have a hole in the heel. I can’t even afford a $2 pair of flip flops!

20 minutes later…

Me: Damn. I’m done with the fingerprinting but can’t hit the clinic for another hour. Ugh.

Me: I am parked in front of the Glendale PD. Guess I could just wait here and pray for a cute cop to walk by.

B: U got a license? And insurance? B careful!

Me: I’ve got insurance. License is questionable. My reg is expired tho

B: Geesh! Hang in there

One hour later in the free clinic parking lot…

Me: I guess I’m not the only one struggling. The car next to me has a screwdriver shoved in the door to open it.

Me: Ok, I’m off to be ghetto fabulous in this back alley free clinic! Ego…bye bye!

B: B careful!

5 minutes later…

Me: OMG! This is sooooo ghetto!

Me: If I didn’t have the swine flu virus b4 now I’m sure I’m going to be leaving with it

Me: And I’m going to be here a while. This fucking sucks

B: People sick in there? Gross!

Me: Oh gawd! I’ve heard 2 sneezes. I’m gonna die

B: Ugh, don’t touch anything!

Me: I’m. Not. Happy. AT ALL!

Me: A guy just walked in with a mask on coughing. I can’t believe I’m here. I’m not even sick! But I will be after this shit. I’m pissed!

Me: Get me the fuck out of here! That’s it…my last 9 dollars r going towards a pack of cigarettes

B: U ran?

Me: No, I’m sure I’m already infected with the death virus. I want to run tho.

B: Haha, I don’t blame you!

Me: I’m seriously fucking grossed out. And the worst part? That I have to come back in 2 days to get the results.

Me: Doesn’t being positive for the swine flu negate the fact that I’m going to be negative for TB? Just wondering…

B: Good point

Me: I think I’m already getting a headache! It worked fast! I’m already dying!

Me: Somebody just sneezed then somebody burped. Fucking gross!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

B: Ok, you’re making me laugh. Please stop! I’m bustin up! HAHA

Me: OMG! If these bitches mispronounce my name I’m killing somebody…

Me: Great, I just got scoped by the fucking masked sick man

Me: Oh, I’m up! BRB

10 minutes later...

Me: All they did was take my blood pressure. I told them I was perfectly healthy…for NOW. Some bitch tried to tape me!

B: Tape you?

Me: Looks like they are doing some documentary. She asked if they could tape taking my blood pressure. I told them no. I didn’t come here to be a star.

Me: I think I have lice now

Me: And the flesh eating virus

B: Ummmmm, not fun

Me: Ms. Documentary is killing me

B: Why?

Me: Bcuz now her perky ass is back in the waiting room with me asking if she can talk to people on camera

Me: This is truly ridiculous. My body is being infiltrated by germs. I can feel it!

B: I bet! Is it crowded?

Me: About 50 people.

Me: Have you ever noticed you never see good looking people in places like this? I’m too fucking pretty to be here damnit!

B: U r rite! U shouldn’t be there!

Me: Oh! My turn again! I’ll keep you posted!

5 minutes later…

Me: OMG! Spielberg is back! She’s following me, I just know it! OMG AGAIN! The doc says that he may not be able to give me the TB test…he’s checking with somebody else…

B: Good luck with that

2 minutes later…

Me: U r gonna love this. They don’t test for TB here. Mr. Creepy’s secretary is the one who sent me here! 2 hours and the swine flu later…

B: Lice and flesh eating disease 2

Me: I’m fucking livid

B: O I’m sure

Me: u know, I could have gotten a livescan done 2 blocks from my house but I went to Glendale cuz that’s where the clinic was. I wasted my time, gas and money. Fuck!

Me: and now I’m probably infected with God knows what. I don’t know if I should cry or stab somebody.

Let me be clear here. I did tell the incompetent idiots at the clinic why I was there WHEN I got there. But apparently, they felt it necessary to wait until I was fully saturated with the pig bug before looking at me blankly in the eye and referring me out to another clinic. Which, at that time of evening was closed. So yes, another trip to beautiful Glendale was in my future.

The next day…

As if the back alley free clinic wasn’t bad enough, the place I was referred to was an STD clinic and the TB test would cost me $5. Considering I had $9 left to my name and no gas, they may as well have told me the test ran $500. But I tried to look at the bigger picture. I made my way back down to Glendale and…wait for it…wait for it…got turned away. They already had their quota of diseased folk for the day waiting to see the doc.

Soooooo, not only did I catch the deathbug and headlice from the free clinic the night before but now I probably have syphilis too. Fuck you very much. But all is not lost. I talked to Mr. Creepy and told him I would NOT be going back to STD Central. He offered to pay for me to see a private doctor and get the testing done there. I called and my appointment is two days from now. Word.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On a completely unrelated note, I have three dating disaster…ah er…potentials I’ve been working on since last week. I’ll keep you posted…

And THIS is why I'M still single...

Ok, before I continue on with my latest entry I want to take a moment to thank everyone for the wonderful and kind words in regards to my last post. As much as I try to stay out of that “dark place” sometimes I can’t help but be enveloped by it. I’m feeling much better now and as much as I tried not to write about it I do feel a lot better after having done so and after being reminded once again that I am not alone.

That being said, don’t tell anyone I have a soft side. I wouldn’t want it to ruin my streetcred. Now, on to shamelessly making fun of others. I happily present to you this weeks Plentyoffish.com’s emails:

Subject: So I don’t meet all your criteria…

...but I figured I would message you anyway.

I am sure you are getting hit on by tons of creeps and weirdos - that's to be expected. My guess is that you are looking for someone who is nothing more than a boy toy - basically a walking, talking dildo.

OK - well if that's what you want, then good luck.

But if you want someone who has a somewhat more intellectual view of sex - who has studied it and understands in ways that most men never do - then you should message me back and we can talk.

I live in Sherman Oaks - so all you would be risking is maybe an hour for a drink.

Let me know if you are interested.

Cheers,
Elan

**I will not be meeting Elan. Why? The main reason is because he’s “recently separated”. Sorry, but I don’t date men that are married. Secondly, he’s got a baby mama. He SAYS they get along and that there is no drama. I’ll believe that the recession is ending tomorrow before I believe that line of B.S. Thirdly, he’s Canadian. Just kidding! Thirdly, he also says he’s 5’10” which means he’s a good 5’8” (I’m 5’9” so that won’t work) and his beard rivals Santa’s. Next…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

hello. name's Eric. read your profile and i thought i would say hi. just curious.... are for real? it just seem you're a little raw... not that it bothers me. just saying

**I won’t be going out with Eric either. Not because of anything that he said but because of his pictures. His smile screams to me “GAY”. I love my gays and my roommate is gay so nobody can accuse me of being a homophobe but in one of his pictures he’s actually trying to deepthroat a sushi roll…need I say more?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you gone let me tear that ass out the frame

**Just in case you guys aren’t sure what I’m thinking, I will not be going out with this guy. A-W) His email??? Hello? X) He lives in South Carolina. Y) He’s 21 years old. Z) He looks like Chance from Real Chance of Love on VH-1.

Just for kicks let me share his profile bio:

“My name is Rashaud but they call me Shaud. I'm real laidback and a real person. I don't lie and I'm humble. I joined this as a joke but if you want to hit me up I will respond.Real recognize real.”

**Uhm, no thank you. NEXT…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

u r BEAUTIFUL!

**u r LAME! He also recently started running and is looking for someone to go to church with. Sorry, but I’m not that girl…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Subject: G

wasup sexy

When I didn’t respond he emailed me a few minutes later:

why are you being mean?

**Aside from the fact that he’s 5’7” his pictures look like he’s a Russian gangster and the medallion he’s sporting on his hairy chest (yep, he included a no shirt pic) would make Michael Phelps jealous. He says he’s looking for “Long Term” but he has literally nothing else filled out. Under Profession he put “N/A”. That’s probably because “Russian Mob” wasn’t under the list of options.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And the most creepy email of them all…

First of all, you are not a mess, as you say, you are just a "Sagg", which means, that;s the nature of the beast. So we are part man, part horse. Simply put, we are horses asses half the time, right?From the very first word of your profile, I understood you. Loud and clear. Scarey isn't it? How many men used that as an opening line to get in your pants and really meant it? Idon't know if you are familiar with the zodiac signs or if you even believe in them. I do not profess to have any great knowledge of them myself but it has interested me enough to crack open a book on the subject from time to time.For instance. It is a scientific fact that the moon has a great impact on our oceans. Their tides, high and low, depending on the phase of the moon at the time. So, if that be true, why wouldn't the other planets in our solar system have some sort of impact on us. It's not designed to fortale our future but more to understand where each of us are coming from.Now, you and I and about 4 gazillion other people share the same birth sign, saggitarius, right. It is considered a fire sign. Now what happens when you build two fires and you put them together? It gets H-O-T, HOT. Passionate, sweaty, blazing hot. In everything we do. And we are able to understand each other more so than any other sign. That too is the nature of the beast.So, I suggest we start a couple of fires and see what kind of blaze we can ignite. How does that sound?

**It wasn’t the email that creeped me out as much as who wrote it. Albeit, the email was a bit strange. The author of this piece of work is 46 year old fellow Sagittarius looking for an “Intimate Encounter” and someone “whose appetite for sex meets or exceeds my own”. And lets just say that time has not been kind to him. He looks like somebody’s bald grandpa. He was also nice enough to include a picture of him in a wife-beater tank top. All that glorious old man skin showing. Awesome. No, I will not be starting “a couple of fires to see what kind of blaze we can ignite”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

HI BEAUTIFUL LETS HOOK UP. LOL

**NO

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I even got emailed from a girl…

Subject: Sorry to bother you…

but I was just checking out the competition & your profile is AMAZING!!!!! Clearly the best read I've had in forever. Just wanted to thank you!

**This amused me and truth be told, she’s better looking than 99.9% of the men that email me on here. Too bad I don’t play for that team.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was left out when it said non drinker because i don't drink.. but i also don't pass judgement on those who do....But the fact that you want a virgin with no ex girlfriends... figure if you can have wishful thinking for that i can have wishful thinking that you'll actually reply to this message... only time will tell cause after all the whole looks things (full dark hair.... how about a full dark head)

Here’s his profile:

I'm pretty laid back. I work hard through out the week so when I have free time I like to do things that keep my mind free and a smile on my face. I've only meet one girl from this site and we ended up becoming close friends and thats why I haven't been on here.... But now she has a boyfriend so i figured i'd come back and meet someone else new and interesting.

**This is the guy that is every girls “Best” friend that she never wants to date. I had that feeling by looking at the pictures long before I even had a chance to read his bio. No, I won’t be going out with him either. Next…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Subject: I usually don’t…

sport wood reading profiles, but I guess yours is a somewhat different...

He’s involved in the Entertainment Industry and wrote this in his profile bio:

"Interested in somebody that has the potential to grow in a relationship. I like to have fun, live life to the fullest, I don't get scared easy, and I want to be with somebody who knows how to laugh and avoid the drama or take it on and still laugh at it."

**He listed approximately four profile clichés. For that reason alone I will not go out with him. And he has a cheesy smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

interesting profile.... can i ask you something personal?

hi..... enjoyed your honesty... you live somewhat nearby, i prefer curves, etc.. like what i see and hear/ do you like very well endowed men?

**NEXT!!!

An update on where my head has been

It has been brought to my attention that I haven’t been updating my blog enough. With that I would have to agree. Considering how honest I am with my writing, I still tend to not want to air my dirty laundry online for fear of being construed as negative or a whiner. But considering that this is my online diary of sorts I’m going to update those interested in what’s been going on with me lately. Just a warning, this is a bit long so grab a cup of coffee and make yourself at home.

First and most importantly, my grandmother passed away about three weeks ago. She lived an amazing life and I didn’t think I would take it as hard as I did but the moment I saw her breathe her last breath I felt as though I had been kicked in the gut. As time has gone by I have achieved a certain level of peace with her passing that I haven’t experienced before. My grandfather passed about seven years ago so knowing that she wanted to join him makes me feel as ease that she isn’t alone anymore. But I consider the mourning process to be a very selfish act. It’s for us that are left behind to grieve. I know she’s in a better place and no longer suffering so my tears are only shed because I miss her.

Employment (or lack thereof):

I should probably write “it sucks donkey balls” and leave it at that. But I’m going to elaborate as I’m sure I’m not encountering anything that some of you haven’t come across also. As I’ve mentioned in at least one of my previous posts, I don’t have a degree. Who would have thought that not having this piece of paper would affect my professional career this much? I used to be of the belief that a strong work ethic, stable history and good references stood for something. I’ve been proven wrong. It has come to my attention that “on the job” experience literally means shit in this market. I’m actually appalled by employers these days that post job listings requiring a Bachelors degree with starting pay at $9 an hour. Where does that leave me?

Also, my credit is so disastrous that I should be declaring Martial Law. I’m not sure where these companies get off having the right to run my credit if I’m not applying for a position that requires anything more extensive than answering a multi line phone system but they do. I find it a Catch 22 that with so many people in the same situation as myself their credit is bound to be damaged when put out of a job. To think that I can actually not qualify for a job before I’ve even had the chance to interview due to my poor credit leaves me feeling hopeless.

So, if I hear one more person ask me “have you tried Monster.com or Yahoo Hotjobs yet?” I’m going to shoot myself. Please don’t insult my intelligence by inferring that I haven’t even tried searching for a job on even the most basic of employment networking websites. Trust me when I tell you I’ve tried them all. Even going so far as to apply for anything part time, beneath my experience level and far less than what I need to actually maintain my existence.

Love Life:

My search for love is going about as well as my search for work. I just don’t seem to have the patience any longer to deal with somebody new and their issues. I’m cleaning house with the men in my life at the moment and my online dating life has pretty much come to a stand still. But let me give you a brief rundown as to why my heart and legs are closed tighter than security at the Pentagon.

Nigerian #2 – I won’t even waste a whole 3rd blog entry on him. He had the audacity to tell me I was using him for sex and was argumentative because I felt like sleeping after working a 12 hour day and then driving home from Vegas (a five hour drive). Then when I couldn’t describe my life’s dreams, hopes and aspirations in 30 words or less he said I wasn’t as “driven” as he. Well, fuck him and his trying to shove it in my ass every time I wasn’t paying attention.

The Drummer – You haven’t heard about him yet and you won’t except for this little blurb. He calls himself an actor and a musician. This egotistical asshole has been in and out of my life, at his convenience, for the better part of 4 years. He told me that he’d “be in touch” when I wouldn’t drive out to Silverlake to pick his lazy ass up and then drive him home again in the morning. Especially knowing that I wasn’t working and could barely afford the gas it took to visit my mother. Fuck him for acting like he was doing me a favor by letting me hang out with him.

The Ex – The one true bullet I’ve dodged as an adult. I thought I loved him till he broke my heart over the phone. However, despite having broken up over 8 years ago and him being married with two kids he still calls me to be his side dish. He’s Armenian and I should have known that this little white girl didn’t have a shot in hell of getting married to him. As in stereotypical fashion, he married a good Armenian girl but likes his white meat on the side. He’s a cliché in every meaning of the word. But I really wish he would just leave me alone as I’m not interested in being somebody’s “other” woman. I don’t need anyone’s sloppy seconds. Fuck him for making me feel like a whore.

Ugly John – I met this guy several years ago through a friend. He looks good on paper and has a voice so sexy your panties almost come off by themselves. However, he’s ugly as homemade sin in person. I know that he’s been practically in love with me from the beginning but I’ve never felt any spark for him in a way that makes me want to “settle down.” Perhaps that’s why lately he’s felt it necessary to shit on my dreams and every idea I’ve come up with to try and better my financial situation. He takes playing the devils advocate to a whole new level. Not to mention, the moment I told him I had quit drinking he stopped asking me out. I know this is because he can no longer “drink” me into bed. Fuck him for being desperate and transparent.

The Cop – You’ll hear about him. He’s also the reason why I’ll never date another man in uniform. Unless it’s for UPS or Subway. I never thought somebody could be so devious and outright untruthful. Without going into too much detail and ruining the surprise for when I do write about him let me just tell you that I would have easily given up my devil may care ways to be his lucky lady. So fuck you, Mr. Cop, for lying to me dead in the eye then coming back to try and rip at my heart once more.

Loverboy – You’ll hear about him too. Another selfish prick that wouldn’t spit on you if you were dying of thirst.

The Neighbor - I’ve been in love with this fool for the better part of 2 years. But actions speak louder than any words I could ever write…and I’m a damn good writer. Never trust a man this smooth talking. And no matter what he says I can’t help but get the feeling that he’s hiding something from me. We’ve been through hell and back and I take much of the responsibility with the way things have gone but I don’t take it all. If there ever was an example of “He’s Just Not That Into You” then this would be it. He tells me I’m reading too much into things and that he does care about me but when you have to beg somebody to visit you for an hour every 3 weeks then it’s a clear indication that you’re not one of the priorities on his list. I’m not sure if he deserves a “fuck you” or an “I love you.” Either way, he’s the only man to have my heart breaking this bad in the last 8 years.

As if the things I’ve already mentioned weren’t enough to keep me in bed with the covers pulled tightly over my head this happened:

This morning my 23 year old cousin found it a fitting time and medium to call me a whore on Facebook (I should probably mention that my blog is, with the exception of my best friends, anonymous and she has not read it. I also only see her but maybe twice a year as she lives in Hawaii). Not quite sure where the animosity came from but she’s always had a smart mouth. I usually let it slide because she’s family but this morning she was out of line. She was actually responding to a status update I had posted seeking a back transplant due to my back having just gone out (I thought it was funny as did several of my friends. Apparently, she did not). Despite realizing how childish this whole thing was I still engaged in a little Facebook fight for everyone to view. Stupid? Yes. Did I feel better after having schooled the little bitch in common courtesy and manners via the social networking website and email? You bet your ass I did.

However, this little squabble really bothered me. Much more than I even care to admit for it seems like the running theme of my life at the moment. I’m not sure where those close to me get off on feeling it necessary to judge me and make me justify my actions but it’s getting pretty tiresome and old.

So, I’ve been giving this whole episode a little thought. Trying to determine if there really is in fact something desperately wrong with me or in those feeling the need to kick me when I’m down. At this point, I make no apologies for the person that I am. Contrary to what those around me may want to believe I’m rather happy with the person that I have become. I don’t intentionally hurt those around me and I give when I can. I have my vices just like the rest of us and I’m far from perfect. I’m often times selfish and speak my mind but I’m never malicious…unless it’s deserved.

I often get the feeling that because I’m 31, free spirited and still single those around me feel like they have the right to treat me as an irresponsible child. Considering that nobody is supporting me at the moment and I’m taking care of myself I don’t see why family and friends have the right to judge me or burden me with their petty views on what I should or should not be doing. Am I just an easy target because I’m alone? Would I be getting such persecution if I were married? I’m treated as if I’m the wildcard and therefore nobody takes me seriously and they feel completely justified in making remarks and comments letting me know exactly how they feel about the situations in my life. Did I ask them for their opinions? No. Why? Because I don’t care.

I’m not sure what brings all this attention on. Is it jealousy that I’m doing just about whatever the fuck I want? Or is it just a case where people feel so bad about themselves that the need to tear others down without any consideration for others feelings is justified in their minds? I’m not quite sure. As long as I’m not hurting myself or others, these people need to back off and leave me alone.

I realize that by venting on this blog nobody that really needs to know my feelings about this are actually reading but since I can’t afford therapy I’ll take my self prescribed “blog therapy” in lieu of paying a shrink. In reality, I don’t find the need to pay anybody anything to try and figure ME out. I have a very keen awareness of myself and my actions. I know why I am the way I am. I know why I do the things I do. I know how I’ll react in certain situations. Whether or not I choose to listen to myself is another story entirely but as far as figuring ME out, I think I’ve got it pretty well covered and I didn’t have to spend thousands of dollars to do it either.

So, at this point, you know what? I give up. I give up on trying to make those around me happy because no matter what I do it just isn’t going to be good enough. I’m no longer going to seek approval and justification from those I love and those around me. It’s time to look out for number one. And right now number one is me. I’m not even going to apologize for that coming across as abrasive. It is what it is and that’s how I feel. If somebody doesn’t like it they can choose to not be around me. It’s as simple as that. I’m no longer open for “friendly suggestions” or “helpful observations.”

What it boils down to is this. I just want to be happy. I want to be surrounded by those that laugh at my jokes, make me smile and support me emotionally in those times that I do need a shoulder to cry on. I want to be able to support myself financially and take care of those around me. I don’t need to be rich but I want to be stable. I want a man to be by my side that compliments the attributes that I have to offer. Somebody that loves me regardless of my little quirks and idiosyncrasies. I want to eventually have children and a cat. And I just want to be accepted for the person that I am. I’m not sure why these things that seem so simple are so hard to come by but despite these trials and tribulations I still hold out hope that one day I will achieve the goals I have set out for myself.

Desperate? Check. Ugly? Check. My dream date!

Only one picture should have been my first clue that something wasn’t quite right. Let me describe the lone picture of my potential Plentyoffish.com blind date. It was barely large enough to fit his whole head. It showed him from the bottom of his neck to the top of his head and from ear to ear. It was so closely cropped that I couldn’t even see the background. Add in mediocre lighting, a bad scan job, a slight haze and that’s what I saw. He resembled the wrestler, Chris Jericho. Now, I don’t usually date blondes, not being particularly fond of looking like the perfect Arian Nation couple but as far as Chris Jericho was concerned, I’d hit that.

Jericho mentioned that he was from a small town and had finally moved to the city. I thought he was cute and I liked the idea of a guy with Midwestern values. My only hang up was that he only had the one picture. I would also come to find out that when he said he was from a small town, he was referring to Seattle. When I hear “small town” I generally think of Bum Fuck Egypt, Missouri. Not the grunge rock band and coffee hub of Washington State. This diamond in the rough was definitely no rocket scientist but for what I had planned his brains wouldn’t be needed.

Considering as much experience as I’ve had, I really should have known better but his one picture was so cute that when I received the quick note from him asking to chat I gave him my Yahoo screen name and told him to hit me up. He didn’t waste much time. Within minutes we were chatting. Right off the bat, I noticed his excessive use of emoticons. I’m not sure why he insisted on following up each sentence with a smiley face but he did. Every. Single. Sentence. As irritated as I can get with the over usage of “LOL” you can only imagine my contempt for the over abundance of the little yellow smiley face.

He lived and worked within minutes of me and had mentioned in his profile that he worked at Universal Studios. It would be a lie if I told you that the idea of free admission to the overly priced park didn’t cross my mind. I was hoping he was one of the higher ups or something awesome like a zombie that scares the shit out of little kids during Halloween. However, it turned out to be nothing exciting like that. Just a “manager”. Of what, I never found out. In a sense, I was actually glad he didn’t turn out to be the campus Clark Gable or alligator tamer. It was just refreshing to be talking to somebody without a headshot. Which, in my neck of the woods is very hard to find.

Right away, he thought I was funny. As alluded to by his 987 smiley face emoticons. He also mentioned it half a dozen times. Just in case the little smiling balls of yellow hadn’t given it away. He wanted to meet for dinner…like yesterday. Said tonight would be a “perfect Blockbuster night :) .” Nothing gets into my pants faster than an overeager nut job and an awkwardly timed cliché.

I broached the subject of pictures with him. Or rather, the lack of. I asked if he had a Facebook or Myspace page. He said that due to his job he didn’t post pictures of himself online. I felt it absolutely necessary to point out that he didn’t work for the CIA and therefore the secrecy was probably a moot point. I’m pretty certain that Universal STUDIOS, located in the ENTERTAINMENT capital of the world wouldn’t have any problem with people marketing themselves with pictures online. There was clearly something wrong with this guy (i.e. ugly or fake picture or both).

He again pushed to meet. I told him flat out that unless I got another picture I would not be meeting him. He asked for my phone number. I again told him no. So, he agreed to send me a picture providing I would agree to meet him for coffee. Reluctantly I did, knowing fully well that I had no intention of getting out of my pj’s unless he really did look like Chris Jericho. I also had to promise “not to plaster his pic all over the internet! :)” Paranoid much?

In his initial picture, he had a slight shag haircut that wasn’t quite below his jaw line. I’m not a huge fan of long hair on men but he was definitely still do-able. He warned me that his hair was a little longer now. I assured him I was ok with that and had dated men in the past with long hair so that wasn’t a deal breaker. It’s like having a bald head. Some men can pull it off. Most can’t, but some can. Hoping that was the only difference I waited with baited breath.

After much begging, bargaining and promising not to flake (apparently this wasn’t his first rodeo) I received the blurry web cam photo. Once the picture of Jericho showed itself, all bets were off. This one was as closely cropped as his profile picture. At this point, I was seriously beginning to wonder if he even had legs. It also appeared as though he had actually turned off the light to take the picture (or rather his roommate must have taken the picture as I wasn’t 100% sure he had arms either). Also, his hair was long indeed. Well, almost to his shoulders from what I could actually tell. He had put on weight, a LOT, aged and developed a serious case of Rosacea. Now let me be clear about something. I myself am overweight and sometimes break out like a 13 year old boy. Some men like it, some don’t (not the acne, but the booty). I don’t much care. However, I post recent pictures because what’s the point of selling me 30 lbs ago? I’m not looking for a fucking pen pal. I’m looking for a date. So the idea of meeting and being outed should my pictures not be recent is not only unfair to my date but also just setting myself up for rejection. Not to mention a huge waste of everybody’s time.

Jericho fired off a list of questions in quick succession. “Did I pass the test? :)”, “Where can we meet? :)”, “What time? :)” Did I want to meet him somewhere or have him pick me up because I would “love his car. :)” Or better yet, he could grab dinner and a movie and just bring them to my place. Oh sure, like that was going to happen. I avoided answering if he had “passed the test” and told him I would meet him somewhere and that I really hoped he didn’t use that line about a girl “loving his car” a lot. I may be alone on this but the first thing I think of when a guy begins to brag about his car is that he’s trying to overcompensate for what’s lacking in the trouser department. Not that I now had any desire to be picturing ugly Jericho Gemini twins little unit.

I was now in a pickle. In order to get the picture I had agreed to meet this fool. But I believe that somewhere in the small print of a verbal confirmation, once a lie has been perpetrated, said contract is no longer viable and therefore null and void. This being said, I was too much of a pussy to let this guy know that our verbal agreement was no longer binding. So, I did the next best thing. I also lied. I asked for his number and said that I would call him in 30 minutes to set things up. Dick move? Absolutely. But no more so than him making me regurgitate my lunch.

Forty five minutes later I emailed him using Plentyoffish.com’s anonymous system saying that “a friend of mine had car trouble and I had to give him a lift. But, rain check?” He responded with a “Sounds Good! :)” and I felt safe for the moment thinking that I had just dodged a bullet. He didn’t have my address, phone number or even email. Just my Yahoo screen name which he could easily be blocked from had he begun to get crazy(er). This man had creepy stalker guy written all over him.

P.S. Everywhere you saw ":)" imagine a little yellow smiley face. I can't for the life of me get the emoticon to appear on this entry :)

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.

Creepy Married High School Swinger Guy

For this particular blog post, I’m just going to let my Facebook entries and Instant Messages to my friend, D, explain it all. For the record, I went to high school with creepy married guy.

My FB Status:
“FB update #125 for the day...if someone has to purchase 2 plane tickets due to a large bottom, shouldn't they be allowed to drive in the carpool lane? Just wondering...”

Here are the comments that followed:

Creep: If a girl with big breasts works at Hooters, shouldn't someone with one leg work at I-HOP?
Me: Touche! Nice comeback young grasshopper
Creep: It appears that the teacher has now become the student!
Me: Its ok, I just quit my job at Hooters and was looking for something to occupy my time

Apparently, he didn’t catch my attempt at humor because shortly after my response I got this email from the creep:

“Did you find anything interesting to take your mind off of walking around in your small Hooters shirt?”

Realizing that he was an idiot, I didn’t respond.

Three weeks later while IMing with my buddy, D, Mr. Creepy infiltrated my peaceful existence once more:

Me: I've got some retard trying to school me in humor...he's losing poorly
D: lol
Me: he's a retard and the kind of funny where he actually TELLS you he's funny. Uh newsflash...you are a moron!
D: HAHAHAHAAH tell it like it is girl!!!
Me: you know, if you have to tell someone that you are funny.....
D: then you really are not
Me: Bingo!
Me: and the high school NOTfunny guy is married
Me: so now I have creepy science teacher guy AND creepy married guy that’s not funny trying to bother me at the same time. I’m being instant message molested by the perverts from my youth!
D: oh great, why is he bugging you then?
Me: OH GAWD!!! Science teacher just told me he's never had a problem getting women....
Me: DUDE!!!! He just busted out the "I'm Rich" card...wow, he really put it out there!
D: of course, because all he talks about first is about how much money he's got
Me: yup. see I told you! I’m a weirdo magnet
D: oh man I can't wait to read THAT story
Me: I seriously can't believe this is happening...oh wait, this is me...YES I CAN
Me: married guy just told me my confidence is sexy...wtf???
D: creep!!!!
Me: ACK! He just said he's hot and bothered! Well, go fuck your wife then! Seriously, WHAT. IS. UP???
D: yeah no shit!!
Me: I'm seriously laughing in my head....see, I don't even have to do anything and the crazies seek me out
Me: totally entertaining though
D: hell yeah it is
Me: I just told him it was a good thing he had a WIFE to help him take care of those urges
D: good
Me: FUCK! He just told me that they are always looking for OTHERS TO PRACTICE WITH!!!!
Me: I need to log off from facebook...like yesterday!
D: oh boy.. swingers...nice
Me: now, creepy swinger married guy just told me "I think you're hot and I don't mind saying it. I have no shame"....nope, apparently not. Although, by the looks of the pics of his wife, I can TOTALLY see why he's hitting on me
D: OMG you are a trip
Me: wow, creepy swinger just threw it out there too...asked me what I thought of his pictures and if I’d be interested in meeting up with him. love the subtlety
D: I can't wait to hear how you let this one down
D: or tell him off
Me: I think I'm gonna play with him for a while then break his ego by telling him I'm only into black guys and 10" dicks
D: HAHAHAHAHAHA
Me: apparently I'm just too sexy to resist now
Me: I can't blame him of course
D: of course
Me: I’m weirded out about creepy married swinger guy. It's been my past experience that most men that brag about being "the best" in bed are usually the worst
Me: I told the guy flat out that I didn't dig doing other women’s men...that I didn't need their leftovers
Me: didn't stop him from trying
D: of course not, because guys don't know the meaning of "NO"
Me: it's the egos that get me
Me: he's not exactly George Clooney and his confidence is annoying, not endearing
Me: uh oh, I see the redhead is online...Gotta GO!


Basically, what I ended up doing with creepy married swinger guy was telling him I wasn’t interested in playing with him or his wife. It was then that he informed me that all women should get a chance to see a perfect penis once in their lives. I told him that I had in fact seen a perfect penis and that that perfect penis lives two doors down and ISN’T MARRIED! Buh Bye!

Chris Hansen...Where You At?

Text to my BFF:

Me (8:17pm): Yesterdays recap. Was told I make my HS science teacher inappropriately “happy” cuz I’m sexy, asked to “practice” in bed by a guy I went to school with bcuz he and his wife are swingers, rcv’d multiple texts from a pimp (another story for another day), and had my blog posted on a porn site to help with donations (Thanks, D! XOXO). I’ve only been up since 10am.

Me: Oh, and I had spaghetti for dinner.

BFF: I’m exhausted just listening to you!

This is my motto, “Go Big or Go Home” but even I have my limitations. Yet Tuesday proved to me that it is possible to have two full moons, during the day, on Earth. Considering that I’m not working at the moment, have no specific love interest to occupy my time and have decided to lay low from the internet dating scene I still seem to have a plethora of things to keep my mind a’ buzzin.

Allow me to elaborate:

I’ve decided that it’s time that Facebook and I either need to sit and have it out or it’s best that we part ways. If I’m not constantly being bombarded by the 100% happy 100% of the time soccer moms then I’m being annoyed with the people that post status updates thinking they are funny when they clearly are not. Anyone that has kept up with my blog should already be aware of the feelings I have towards Facebook and my tendency to consider it a necessary evil of sorts. It allows me to cyber stalk yet still makes me feel unworthy.

I didn’t think much of it when I received an email and a Friend Request from my old 8th grade science teacher saying that I was one of his favorite students. I mean really, how could I not be? I was filled with warm memories of the goofy looking, younger than most science teacher with a pregnant wife at home. He was funny and probably the only reason I know anything at all about genetics. Unfortunately, I’m sometimes horrible about returning emails so I just accepted his Friend Request and called it a day.

Fast forward 20 days and me posting something about a bumblebee stalking me on my balconette (also referred to as my mini balcony) and I received yet another email from soon to be apparent Mr. Should be on “To Catch a Predator” creepy high school teacher guy. This is what I got…

”HA! Quit putting sexy pictures on your site and you won't be stalked! Although the bumblebee threw me... besides i like your pictures and comments”

Ok….EEW! Ignoring my gut, I actually responded to this email. Having a tendency to over think and often times overreact, I figured that this must be one of those times. Considering all the time I’ve had on my hands lately, it is entirely plausible that I may have misinterpreted his innocent remarks as a come on. Plus, I happen to think I’m quite adorable and therefore almost expect to hear it from most people. I’m not sure if my ego is so high that I expect flattery or so low that I need it. Whatever the case, I’ve got a great rack and this is a fact.

I felt my response was pretty innocuous and innocent:

"Hey Mr. Smith! Or is it Steven now? Even at 31 I still feel the need to address you by Mister! How about a compramise? Mr. S?

So, where are you teaching at these days? If I remember correctly, I heard a few years back that you were no longer teaching at LC. Those students are definitely missing out. The first thought that came to my mind when I got your "Friend Request" a few weeks ago was you having a discussion about Evolution v. Creation with Jane Doe. I thought that was well played, Mr. S! HA (Jane, btw, just contacted me a few months ago to get back in touch. She's now Jane Doe-Doe if you care to add her as well). Funny thing, this Facebook...

Your daughters are beautiful. If I also remember correctly, wasn't your wife pregnant at the time I had you as a teacher. My father always used to warn me that the older I got the faster time would pass. I hate to admit it but he's right. Hm, mental note, tell the pops he was right. He'll love that!"

The very next day I got this back:

"How about Steve?!I'm not a teacher anymore. I'm in the education business now- tutoring, afterschool programs, office and school supplies, books, games, all kinds of stuff- if you're interested, go to my profile and check my profile for websites.

It's weird after living month to month on a teachers check, now it's a little different. I live on 20 acres in Santa Clarita ( Sand Canyon), a house on the beach in SanDiego and a house at Lake Tahoe. I make more in a day than I did in a year of teaching.

But the best thing is how precious my daughters are. They are my life. They have to be, as my wife is a raging alcoholic and we're separating-I have to keep her from my girls, who she keeps deserting.

Sorry for that last paragraph, but I'm right in the middle of it right now.You seem really happy and I love reading your posts. Yes I did look at all your pics and tried to tilt the screen down...lol I'm 48, not dead!

I looked up a bunch of LC kids when the fires were happening. I'm glad I did. I've gotten a lot of wonderful letters.Keep in touch."

Wow! Just Wow! So I was right! He was hitting on me and he is a pervert. Was anyone else completely caught off guard when he went into the small tangent about his wife being a raging alcoholic? I also can appreciate the way he threw out that he’s now wealthy. But, I guess when you are a 48 year old, almost divorcee with an alcoholic wife, have four daughters, are short, fat and ugly you need some sort of selling point. There just seems to be something so intrinsically wrong with a teacher hitting on a student when the last time they had any contact was when the student was 13 years old.

So, what did I do with that information? Well, I asked him for a fucking job. I know what you are thinking and to that I say WHAT-EVER! (Shameless plug #1…buy my shit and help a girl out). I should have known right then and there that was a mistake and honestly, I did, but if this guy has so much money and is clearly in need of an Administrative Goddess then why not share the wealth? Ok, maybe he doesn’t need a secretary but just in case he does I wanted to make sure he knew I was available. I’m working all angles and leaving no stone unturned.

Instead of emailing me back, the moment I logged onto my Facebook I was accosted by Mr. High School Teaching Pervert via instant message.

“hey to be clear, i haven't flirted with anyone in 17 years. I believe in honor and loyalty and that stuff, but she has deserted me and it felt good to talk to you. I hope you don't think i'm a creepy guy”

This is my thinking, if somebody has to tell you they are not creepy, guess what? They ARE!!!! With that, began the downward spiral of inappropriate innuendos and propositions on the part of the teacher. I’m not particularly sure what it is about me that bring out the crazies but I need to go wash my forehead just in case I have written in permanent marker “Hey crazies, come bug me and PLEASE start telling me how hard my pictures make your cock.” Since when did phrases like “Hello” and “How are you?” take on the meaning “I want to bend over and let you take me from behind?” Just wondering…because I think that Webster needs to update his dictionary.

As if it couldn’t get any worse, Creepy Science Teacher guy proceeded to tell me that he smoked pot. Like that was some badge of honor and he was trying to impress me with how “cool” he was now. I seriously felt as though I were in an “Afterschool Special” gone awry. When the conversation geared towards me making him “uh…happy” I’d had enough. Awkward! Discussing my old science teacher’s erection was definitely not on my agenda for the day.

P.S. One last thing, knowing my predicament, he did offer me a “loan” with “no strings attached”…

GTH: How do you know he’s not just trying to be nice?

Me: Because he’s talking about his hard on at the same time...

Yep. That pretty much sums it up.

Stay tuned for Creepy Married Swinger High School Alumni guy…