My entire body aches. My legs hurt. My arms hurt. My back hurts. Even my hair hurts.
Why?
Because I had The Fireman over Saturday night, that’s why.
Remember me telling you that I wasn’t as worried about him not writing me back as I was about him actually writing me back? I was right.
The moment I saw those 87” inch biceps and broad shoulders I knew there was going to be some serious fucking going on. Considering the dry spell I’d been having I had a lot to make up for. It’s been nearly two months since I’ve had my insides tickled and frankly I had some needs that needed to be taken care of.
The Fireman arrived at my place rather late on Saturday night. He’d had to work so I excused the tardiness. I should have had him wear his uniform over. Now that would have been HOT. I did, after all, have my own fire that needed putting out.
He picked me up and we decided to go out for a few bottles of wine. The only place open was a CVS so with the rest of the late nighters and half drunk assholes coming in from the closing bars we headed to the alcohol department. It was at this time I realized one unfortunate trait owned by The Fireman.
He was a loud talker.
Up and down the aisles he proceeded to tell me about crazy nights that included himself and mass quantities of Hennessy. As if it wasn’t bad enough that we were shopping for cheap wine at 1 in the morning, we (meaning he) were actually louder than the drunken idiots in there trying to act sober. The only difference being that we were actually sober. I found myself lowering my voice and then actually not talking in hopes that he would follow my lead. No such luck. The only highlight as I tried to distance myself from Lil Wayne was getting the chance to walk behind the hot loud talker and take full stock of what I was about to see disrobed and panting within the hour.
Of course, at this time of the evening CVS only employs checkers that are incapable of ringing people up and/or reading so we had to wait 15 minutes while Mr. CVS Checkout guy rang up a pack of gum. Just enough time for The Fireman to continue his stories of debauchery and to give me a chance to hear his Transformers ringtone. Correction, give the entire store enough time to hear of his stories and ringtone.
Once out in the parking lot, I began to breathe again knowing that we wouldn’t be sharing our business with the entire town.
We got back to my place and made ourselves cozy. We talked, laughed, drank lots of wine and generally had a very nice time. With the wine finished and morning approaching we got down to business.
In those next few hours, Mr. Fireman more than made up for the loud talking. He knew how to handle his business and riding that black stallion was worthy of Penthouse Forum. Just as I’d predicted, we were quite compatible and there was nothing left to the imagination. Any dry spell that I was having was completely quenched and we quickly fell asleep in a sweaty mess on top of the covers.
We slept in the next morning and I awoke to my head on his broad chest with his huge arm around me. A little groggy from the wine and late night erotica we gave round two a go before him getting ready to leave. As much as I wanted to chain him to my bed for all of eternity I let him leave about noon so he could drive back to his hood and do the things he had left undone in the few hours he had left before heading to work again.
He may not be relationship material but then again, I’ve come to the conclusion that I may not be either. However, with the sexual chemistry we both had he has definitely made his way to the front of my little black book. I won’t be going out with him in public due to his loud talking ways but rest assured, he can make as much noise as he wants when he’s behind the closed doors of my Den of Iniquity.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
The 40 Year Old Virgin
I almost ate my date the other night. I only wish I was joking.
I was recently referred to as a cougar. Not in the traditional sense but because I actually eat men.
But before I get too far ahead of myself let me take you back to the beginning before I almost devoured my victi…date, yes, that’s what I meant…my date.
Six days ago…
Me (In my head): Wait…did I just hear that right? No, I couldn’t have. Let me ask him again…
Me (Into the phone): “What do you want to see me wear?”
Me (In my head): Oh God, he did say it…
Him: “Spandex”
Me (In my head): Oh fantastic, he’s elaborating in the event I’m confused…
Him: “You know, like bicycle shorts”
Me (Into the phone): Hmph
Me (In my head): Yeah, this date is going to be fantastic. I wonder if he’d also like me to wear leg warmers and a side pony tail. I bet if I look hard enough, I may be able to find an old “Op” T-shirt and my pink pair of “LA Gears”.
Six months prior to Spandex-gate was the first time the 40 Year Old Virgin entered the picture. After our initial correspondences I sort of forgot about him. He was a nice looking man and seemed decent. I was just in the midst of a dating burn out. He would call me every month or so to no avail and really, the only reason I decided to call him back was due to a severe case of Cabin Fever and boredom combined with my need for new meat.
The very day I called him back he returned my call three times. Ah yes, now I remember why we never met…he talked too fucking much. His over exuberance seemed more out of nervousness than lack of manners. I only hoped that he didn’t act like a junior highschooler on our date. Cute, yes, but still slightly annoying. But as is usually the case with me, biceps won over logic and common sense. One of these days I’ll learn. I hope.
He was your typical Persian/Assyrian in that he actually still lived at home. No joke. At 10:45 his mom actually called to see why he was out so late. Again, I’m not joking. If I hadn’t had a history with men of Middle Eastern persuasion I would have been switching my heels for a pair of running shoes. But again, biceps and lack of anything better to do won out.
He was yet another personal trainer and did some work in movies. He was a bit of a name dropper but I’m not sure if he was actually being conceited or still just nervous and trying to impress me. I figured if he got too obnoxious on our date, there was nothing a boob in the mouth couldn’t fix.
Present Day
When I drove up to our meeting place and saw him standing outside I almost crashed from trying to kick myself. I could have met this stud muffin six months earlier?!? Who’s the nerd now? Me.
Beautiful body, had all his teeth, gorgeous eyes and eyelashes so long they tickled me when we talked. Two words…DE. LISH! That’s when I started to play a little game in my head I like to call “How long before I can get his shirt off?” If I ever meet a mind reader, I’m in trouble.
Knowing his love for thick women, I jokingly asked if my ass was big enough. He looked behind me and with a slight grin responded, “Hmm, almost”. He said I was perfect and very beautiful and even a little too thin. I have NEVER been considered too skinny. This reason alone is why we are getting married this spring.
The rest of the night was amazing. He was nervous and polite, enamored and a pleasure to look at. We made out like teenagers and yes, I did get his shirt off. This is where I almost devoured him. If we had had the correct preparations I would have hit that shit like Lennox Lewis in a Tyson fight.
All night he made mention of the places he wanted to take me. He wanted to see me again. He wanted to see me soon. He wanted to see me the very next night. As he walked me to my car he asked that I call him the next day to set up a time.
The next day I called.
And texted.
And tried one last time to call.
Then I got this:
“Sorry hun! I had a little bit of family trouble, and drama! I’ll call u tomorrow! Be safe babe. Talk to u soon”
What the fuck?!?
Completely confused I found myself suddenly 35 times more attracted to him than before. Never more than in that moment was it so obvious how I wanted what wasn’t so easily handed to me. Damn him. My girlfriend summed it up…
“Wow, a dick you didn’t conquer right away!”
I don’t know about you but that sounds like a challenge.
Stay tuned for Part 2 because there WILL be a Part 2 if I have anything to do with it… ;-)
I was recently referred to as a cougar. Not in the traditional sense but because I actually eat men.
But before I get too far ahead of myself let me take you back to the beginning before I almost devoured my victi…date, yes, that’s what I meant…my date.
Six days ago…
Me (In my head): Wait…did I just hear that right? No, I couldn’t have. Let me ask him again…
Me (Into the phone): “What do you want to see me wear?”
Me (In my head): Oh God, he did say it…
Him: “Spandex”
Me (In my head): Oh fantastic, he’s elaborating in the event I’m confused…
Him: “You know, like bicycle shorts”
Me (Into the phone): Hmph
Me (In my head): Yeah, this date is going to be fantastic. I wonder if he’d also like me to wear leg warmers and a side pony tail. I bet if I look hard enough, I may be able to find an old “Op” T-shirt and my pink pair of “LA Gears”.
Six months prior to Spandex-gate was the first time the 40 Year Old Virgin entered the picture. After our initial correspondences I sort of forgot about him. He was a nice looking man and seemed decent. I was just in the midst of a dating burn out. He would call me every month or so to no avail and really, the only reason I decided to call him back was due to a severe case of Cabin Fever and boredom combined with my need for new meat.
The very day I called him back he returned my call three times. Ah yes, now I remember why we never met…he talked too fucking much. His over exuberance seemed more out of nervousness than lack of manners. I only hoped that he didn’t act like a junior highschooler on our date. Cute, yes, but still slightly annoying. But as is usually the case with me, biceps won over logic and common sense. One of these days I’ll learn. I hope.
He was your typical Persian/Assyrian in that he actually still lived at home. No joke. At 10:45 his mom actually called to see why he was out so late. Again, I’m not joking. If I hadn’t had a history with men of Middle Eastern persuasion I would have been switching my heels for a pair of running shoes. But again, biceps and lack of anything better to do won out.
He was yet another personal trainer and did some work in movies. He was a bit of a name dropper but I’m not sure if he was actually being conceited or still just nervous and trying to impress me. I figured if he got too obnoxious on our date, there was nothing a boob in the mouth couldn’t fix.
Present Day
When I drove up to our meeting place and saw him standing outside I almost crashed from trying to kick myself. I could have met this stud muffin six months earlier?!? Who’s the nerd now? Me.
Beautiful body, had all his teeth, gorgeous eyes and eyelashes so long they tickled me when we talked. Two words…DE. LISH! That’s when I started to play a little game in my head I like to call “How long before I can get his shirt off?” If I ever meet a mind reader, I’m in trouble.
Knowing his love for thick women, I jokingly asked if my ass was big enough. He looked behind me and with a slight grin responded, “Hmm, almost”. He said I was perfect and very beautiful and even a little too thin. I have NEVER been considered too skinny. This reason alone is why we are getting married this spring.
The rest of the night was amazing. He was nervous and polite, enamored and a pleasure to look at. We made out like teenagers and yes, I did get his shirt off. This is where I almost devoured him. If we had had the correct preparations I would have hit that shit like Lennox Lewis in a Tyson fight.
All night he made mention of the places he wanted to take me. He wanted to see me again. He wanted to see me soon. He wanted to see me the very next night. As he walked me to my car he asked that I call him the next day to set up a time.
The next day I called.
And texted.
And tried one last time to call.
Then I got this:
“Sorry hun! I had a little bit of family trouble, and drama! I’ll call u tomorrow! Be safe babe. Talk to u soon”
What the fuck?!?
Completely confused I found myself suddenly 35 times more attracted to him than before. Never more than in that moment was it so obvious how I wanted what wasn’t so easily handed to me. Damn him. My girlfriend summed it up…
“Wow, a dick you didn’t conquer right away!”
I don’t know about you but that sounds like a challenge.
Stay tuned for Part 2 because there WILL be a Part 2 if I have anything to do with it… ;-)
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
The Fireman (Part 2)
Fireman Update:
Less than a day after sending The Fireman my eloquently crafted email I received a response from him. I grabbed myself a bottle of water and braced myself for what this perfect specimen of a man had to say:
“You are too funny Melisa! I just read your profile and your a woman version of me! Hey what can I say were both sagittarius! I'm pretty sure we can reak sum havok upon this world! I'm a wild child, love my hennessy and I love sex too! Give me holla back when u get this message!
-The Fireman”
Okay, he’s not going to be winning any Pulitzer Prize Awards but at least he spelled my name right. Upon reading this message I knew I was in trouble. Just as I explained in my earlier post, he and I together have the potential to be nothing short of explosive. Call it my sixth sense, call it my woman’s intuition, call it what you will but I just had the feeling that having us two fire signs in the same proximity would make it a good thing he was already a trained firefighter.
Without wasting any time, I gave him my number. If this guy was truly for real, I wanted a piece of him. He called right away. We discussed all the usual topics in this first conversation in the limited time we had since he was on his way out. Turns out he lived about 3 miles from being in a rap song so it looked as if we would be meeting in my neck of the woods. I have no desire to be some random shooting statistic. Being in school and working for the LA County Fire Dept. full time I was already getting a sense that finding a time convenient for us to meet was going be a little difficult.
After that…
I got bored.
Yep, I’ll say it again. I got bored. It’s as if the excitement of the chase was over. He was my unicorn and now he was within reach. But something about knowing he was too busy for anything substantial turned me off. I’ve played the game in the past where I had to be “fit into” somebody else’s schedule. I may not be furthering my education or rescuing kittens from trees but my time is valuable none the less.
The following Friday night at 10pm we had this little text message exchange:
Him: Hey r u out?
Me: Just got home
Him: Ok, now you gotta come to my home and see me! Lol (Yeah no, that’s not going to happen. I won’t be visiting 8 Mile anytime soon)
Him: Hey, I just got off work and I’m a lil wired! Haha
Me: I just got home and I’m a lil tired! Haha
After that, he called me. Still trying to talk me into meeting up he began to inquire more about my location. But, face washed, teeth brushed and PJ’s on there was no way I was having company. I guess nobody can accuse me of being desperate. I don’t care who you are. If I’m tired and comfortable chances are I’m not going anywhere.
This is where he lost me. Upon discussing my recent move, he let it be known that my place wasn’t fully a home unless it had been “broken in”. I happen to agree with this statement but there was going to be no breaking in done this evening. He continued to enlighten me on his sexual prowess and open mindedness. I got the full picture of how “open minded” this guy was when he mentioned a swingers club he used to frequent with his ex.
Sure, I’m a little bit of a freak and I have a very healthy appetite when it comes to sex. If it’s been longer than a month I start to go into withdrawals. I get cranky and try to hump just about anything that crosses my path. I start imagining weather forecasters in the nude. It gets really bad. But even I was a little surprised at his bravado. I was even a little intimidated which says a lot considering I certainly have no problems holding my own under the sheets.
In my last entry I made mention of keeping him all to myself in my bedroom but those were my own personal thoughts. I did not mention my plans for his captivity to him so for him to immediately jump into the deep end of this conversation left me feeling a little bored and unimpressed.
Perhaps, deep down I was hoping for something more substantial than just another notch on my bedpost. That just doesn’t excite me anymore. It’s too easy. The real turn on for me these days is to actually find somebody who can make me laugh and have something more meaningful to say other than trying to guess my bra size. But, it looks like that’s not going to happen with this fellow.
I’ll probably end up meeting him just out of curiosity. I do still have my needs but as far as him being my white knight I don’t think that’s a role he’s going to be able to fill.
Less than a day after sending The Fireman my eloquently crafted email I received a response from him. I grabbed myself a bottle of water and braced myself for what this perfect specimen of a man had to say:
“You are too funny Melisa! I just read your profile and your a woman version of me! Hey what can I say were both sagittarius! I'm pretty sure we can reak sum havok upon this world! I'm a wild child, love my hennessy and I love sex too! Give me holla back when u get this message!
-The Fireman”
Okay, he’s not going to be winning any Pulitzer Prize Awards but at least he spelled my name right. Upon reading this message I knew I was in trouble. Just as I explained in my earlier post, he and I together have the potential to be nothing short of explosive. Call it my sixth sense, call it my woman’s intuition, call it what you will but I just had the feeling that having us two fire signs in the same proximity would make it a good thing he was already a trained firefighter.
Without wasting any time, I gave him my number. If this guy was truly for real, I wanted a piece of him. He called right away. We discussed all the usual topics in this first conversation in the limited time we had since he was on his way out. Turns out he lived about 3 miles from being in a rap song so it looked as if we would be meeting in my neck of the woods. I have no desire to be some random shooting statistic. Being in school and working for the LA County Fire Dept. full time I was already getting a sense that finding a time convenient for us to meet was going be a little difficult.
After that…
I got bored.
Yep, I’ll say it again. I got bored. It’s as if the excitement of the chase was over. He was my unicorn and now he was within reach. But something about knowing he was too busy for anything substantial turned me off. I’ve played the game in the past where I had to be “fit into” somebody else’s schedule. I may not be furthering my education or rescuing kittens from trees but my time is valuable none the less.
The following Friday night at 10pm we had this little text message exchange:
Him: Hey r u out?
Me: Just got home
Him: Ok, now you gotta come to my home and see me! Lol (Yeah no, that’s not going to happen. I won’t be visiting 8 Mile anytime soon)
Him: Hey, I just got off work and I’m a lil wired! Haha
Me: I just got home and I’m a lil tired! Haha
After that, he called me. Still trying to talk me into meeting up he began to inquire more about my location. But, face washed, teeth brushed and PJ’s on there was no way I was having company. I guess nobody can accuse me of being desperate. I don’t care who you are. If I’m tired and comfortable chances are I’m not going anywhere.
This is where he lost me. Upon discussing my recent move, he let it be known that my place wasn’t fully a home unless it had been “broken in”. I happen to agree with this statement but there was going to be no breaking in done this evening. He continued to enlighten me on his sexual prowess and open mindedness. I got the full picture of how “open minded” this guy was when he mentioned a swingers club he used to frequent with his ex.
Sure, I’m a little bit of a freak and I have a very healthy appetite when it comes to sex. If it’s been longer than a month I start to go into withdrawals. I get cranky and try to hump just about anything that crosses my path. I start imagining weather forecasters in the nude. It gets really bad. But even I was a little surprised at his bravado. I was even a little intimidated which says a lot considering I certainly have no problems holding my own under the sheets.
In my last entry I made mention of keeping him all to myself in my bedroom but those were my own personal thoughts. I did not mention my plans for his captivity to him so for him to immediately jump into the deep end of this conversation left me feeling a little bored and unimpressed.
Perhaps, deep down I was hoping for something more substantial than just another notch on my bedpost. That just doesn’t excite me anymore. It’s too easy. The real turn on for me these days is to actually find somebody who can make me laugh and have something more meaningful to say other than trying to guess my bra size. But, it looks like that’s not going to happen with this fellow.
I’ll probably end up meeting him just out of curiosity. I do still have my needs but as far as him being my white knight I don’t think that’s a role he’s going to be able to fill.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Sugar Doll Blogger Award
I am honored to accept the Sugar Doll Blogger Award from the hilarious Man-Shopper!
Pursuant to the conditions of being named a Sugar Doll, I will now share ten things about myself that you may or may not ever want or need to know:
• I have an unhealthy fascination with all things Chuck Norris
• I could spend all day watching MSNBC documentaries about cults and serial killers (and have actually done just that…more than once)
• I think about sex every 4.7 seconds
• I'm a full blooded Sagittarius and therefore a dreamer by nature, bore way too easily for my own good and have a mean woman’s intuition
• I hate shoes. I only wear flip flops. If I could wear flip flops in the rain without being considered a retard or freezing my toes off, I would
• I think that women should be wary of single men with unhealthy attachments to their dogs. Beware of a man and his bitch. Seriously.
• I think that "300" is the greatest movie of all time. I don't actually know what the movie is about though because I can't focus on what they are saying and their half naked, buff bodies at the same time
• I firmly believe that men should only be allowed to wear boxer briefs
• I don't date men that play "Socom" or drive Saturns. Anymore.
• I still think that Adam West was the best Batman and that Rod Serling of the Twilight Zone was a genius
With that out of the way, I now pass on the Sugar Doll Blogger Award to a few of my favorite ladies:
CandicePantz
Girl of True Heart
KB_in_NYC
caligirl714
XOXO,
MMM
Pursuant to the conditions of being named a Sugar Doll, I will now share ten things about myself that you may or may not ever want or need to know:
• I have an unhealthy fascination with all things Chuck Norris
• I could spend all day watching MSNBC documentaries about cults and serial killers (and have actually done just that…more than once)
• I think about sex every 4.7 seconds
• I'm a full blooded Sagittarius and therefore a dreamer by nature, bore way too easily for my own good and have a mean woman’s intuition
• I hate shoes. I only wear flip flops. If I could wear flip flops in the rain without being considered a retard or freezing my toes off, I would
• I think that women should be wary of single men with unhealthy attachments to their dogs. Beware of a man and his bitch. Seriously.
• I think that "300" is the greatest movie of all time. I don't actually know what the movie is about though because I can't focus on what they are saying and their half naked, buff bodies at the same time
• I firmly believe that men should only be allowed to wear boxer briefs
• I don't date men that play "Socom" or drive Saturns. Anymore.
• I still think that Adam West was the best Batman and that Rod Serling of the Twilight Zone was a genius
With that out of the way, I now pass on the Sugar Doll Blogger Award to a few of my favorite ladies:
CandicePantz
Girl of True Heart
KB_in_NYC
caligirl714
XOXO,
MMM
Thursday, March 11, 2010
DateDaily.com
DateDaily.com is one of the first websites to feature my blog on their website (you can check it out here). So, I’d like to return the favor.
DateDaily.com is a dating advice blog that provides readers with insightful and witty articles on everything related to dating. But wait… there’s more. DateDaily.com also aggregates news on dating, relationships, sex and entertainment, and has a host of compelling tidbits on – you guessed it – dating.
In particular, I’m a fan of their “Crazy Dating Stories” and “Sexuality” sections as I most certainly can relate! So, check them out. You won’t regret it! XOXO
In particular, I’m a fan of their “Crazy Dating Stories” and “Sexuality” sections as I most certainly can relate! So, check them out. You won’t regret it! XOXO
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Parole Officers Count As Men In Uniform, Right?
The Parole Officer’s Profile:
“ONE man can love a million women,but only ONE REAL man can love ONE woman in a million ways.(and i truly post that quote genuinely.)as far as getting 2 know one another,i feel most guys approach women and reveal way too much about themselves,leaving nothing 2 the element of surprise.The only thing u need 2 know about me is that i have A LOT of POSITIVE energy and i'm really FUN 2 be around.Thus leaving us more 2 talk about and more fun in getting 2 know one another.I'm 36,but anyone and everyone thinks i'm barely older than 26.(I'm very thankful 4 that,it's a blessing.)With the right girl,trust me,every week is a valentines with me.I go ALL out 4 that special girl,because that special girl will stand out from all others in doing the same 4 me.Everything is ENERGY and KARMA,i truly believe that.4 every WRONG girl that didn't appreciate a GOOD guy,there's a MS. RIGHT who's waiting 4 the perfect time 2 quickly replace her.(and vice versa)(because everything in life is timing.)Whether a serious or casual relationship,i'm communicative,humorous and fun in all aspects of life.I'm as stimulating and as EXTREMELY passionate as any woman can ever wish and hope 2 meet and find in a guy.I can't lie,i LOVE thick n curvy women.If u always wanted 2 date or hangout w/a guy w/hazel eyes(they change from brown 2 green in the strike of any bright light on them.)and have a weakness 4 guys with deep dimples,well that's me,n your in luck.=)
The old cliche "girls just wanna have fun" is a cliche because it's true.Women care more about having fun with you than if your financially successful or attractive.Women are more at ease with a man who is humorous because his very nature is light hearted.Not that i've never been told i'm sexy,and believe me,i love the attention!!!~lol..=)but my physical attributes and all the money in the world could never compare 2 the person i am HUMOROUSLY..LOL...but yet the comfortable,communicative,and very balanced,GENUINE man i am as well.Some girls want something casual,some want something serious,most don't really know period..lol...and that's ok,no set rules,let's just enjoy it,life's 2 short not 2..=)it's not the date,but the fun company you're with,and with me,everything and anything is VERY fun..i'm CLASSY,i'm BAD BOY,yet GOOD HEARTED,i dress NICE w/SO MUCH STYLE,smell GREAT,EXTRA CLEAN,CONFIDENT,but not ARROGANT...”
Let's just assume that this profile was written by somebody with a reading level above the 3rd grade, shall we? If I went into grammar nazi mode this entry would be a whole lot longer.
I don’t want to hear how laid back you are. I don’t want to hear how great you are. I don’t want to hear how funny you are. Am I laughing? No. So basically, you are a liar too. Good start.
So why did I meet the Parole Officer? Because he was cute.
I can fully appreciate a man with a healthy level of confidence. As long as it doesn’t cross over into cockiness, I’m accepting. The moment any man starts telling me what a Godsend he is I log off.
His profile said 5’10” but upon meeting he admitted that he was really 5’9”. I guess he figured he’d better own up since I stand at exactly 69” myself. I applaud his honesty but I’m not quite sure it’s wise to risk your word and admit to lying when it’s only 1” in question. But he did have gorgeous eyes, dimples and a job so I gave him the 1” and decided to let it drop. Laying down we are all the same height anyway.
Against every dating rule in the book, I met him at his place. I make no apologies. I did my research and deemed it safe enough for me to visit for a few hours before he had to leave for work. But maybe that wasn’t such a good idea after all. You can learn a lot about a man by the residence he keeps.
He had a studio apartment and from the looks of it had been there quite a while and accrued a good many items to fill it. Being half Italian, half Irish it was clear that he took his heritage very seriously. He made a point to let me know since his last name translated to Lion he was a strong male and therefore decorated his entire apartment to reflect that. Now my last name roughly translates to mean briar patch yet you don’t see me decorating my place in a tangle of vines. I’m proud of my roots but not THAT proud. Call me crazy.
Mr. Officer was also heavily into Ju-Jitsu and had a bunch of stuff on the wall that I will never know the meaning of. I’m sure it all meant obvious shit like Strength, Loyalty and some other crap that you see too often in tattoos on men that have taken one Karate class and consider themselves deep.
On his only window, instead of curtains, he used two fleece blankets. One being from “Beauty and the Beast, The Musical” and the other being of “Scarface”. On the wall opposite the Ju-Jitsu wall was his shrine to all things Al Pacino and “Scarface”. He made a point of letting me know that despite him being blond with hazel eyes he’d been told he looked like Al and they shared the same bone structure. As far as I’m concerned, he looks like Al Pacino about as much as I do. Again, stop TELLING me who and what you look like! I’m not blind!
So let me get this straight. He’s laid back, wonderful, funny, outgoing, a Lion, 5’9” and resembles Al Pacino. Please, why stop there, oh humble one? I’m obviously completely incapable of coming to my own conclusions.
To me he sounded like somebody that had watched one too many Sopranos episodes then learned how to construct a conversation at the Gang Banger School for Language Arts in East LA. Come on, I’m a 32 year old woman from Pasadena that considers Old Navy to be high end. I don’t do slang and I most certainly have a hard time pulling “gangsta” off.
He also bragged about being good in bed. Or rather, he told me that he didn’t need to brag about how good he was in bed because he’d never had any complains. This, in my eyes, constitutes as bragging.
He was wrong about that too.
After I was done and beat from doing all the work while the lazy bastard enjoyed my *ahem* enthusiasm, I was tortured by being forced to listen to Frankie J remixes on CD compilations that his past lovers had made him. Oh, the excitement *yawn*. From now on, the reverse cowgirl doesn’t come out until at least the 3rd time we get nekked. That’s too much effort to be putting out on a one time only, unimaginative gangster wannabe that insists you leave your shoes by the front door.
For me, the only good part of the evening was when he put on “Roadhouse” with Patrick Swayze and Sam Elliott. This led to a discussion on men and aging which naturally led to my lifelong adoration of all things Sean Connery. Maybe telling Mr. Officer that I’d totally have a threesome with Sam Elliott and Sean Connery wasn’t the best post coital pillow talk but after the rather dull “meeting of the minds” we’d just partaken in I didn’t much feel the need to censure myself.
I grabbed my purse, my keys, said a quick “talk to you later” which really meant “don’t call me, I’ll call you” and was out the door.
Moral of the story? Sean Connery is still the best looking 97 year old I’ve ever seen and I would still have a threesome with him and Sam Elliott.
“ONE man can love a million women,but only ONE REAL man can love ONE woman in a million ways.(and i truly post that quote genuinely.)as far as getting 2 know one another,i feel most guys approach women and reveal way too much about themselves,leaving nothing 2 the element of surprise.The only thing u need 2 know about me is that i have A LOT of POSITIVE energy and i'm really FUN 2 be around.Thus leaving us more 2 talk about and more fun in getting 2 know one another.I'm 36,but anyone and everyone thinks i'm barely older than 26.(I'm very thankful 4 that,it's a blessing.)With the right girl,trust me,every week is a valentines with me.I go ALL out 4 that special girl,because that special girl will stand out from all others in doing the same 4 me.Everything is ENERGY and KARMA,i truly believe that.4 every WRONG girl that didn't appreciate a GOOD guy,there's a MS. RIGHT who's waiting 4 the perfect time 2 quickly replace her.(and vice versa)(because everything in life is timing.)Whether a serious or casual relationship,i'm communicative,humorous and fun in all aspects of life.I'm as stimulating and as EXTREMELY passionate as any woman can ever wish and hope 2 meet and find in a guy.I can't lie,i LOVE thick n curvy women.If u always wanted 2 date or hangout w/a guy w/hazel eyes(they change from brown 2 green in the strike of any bright light on them.)and have a weakness 4 guys with deep dimples,well that's me,n your in luck.=)
The old cliche "girls just wanna have fun" is a cliche because it's true.Women care more about having fun with you than if your financially successful or attractive.Women are more at ease with a man who is humorous because his very nature is light hearted.Not that i've never been told i'm sexy,and believe me,i love the attention!!!~lol..=)but my physical attributes and all the money in the world could never compare 2 the person i am HUMOROUSLY..LOL...but yet the comfortable,communicative,and very balanced,GENUINE man i am as well.Some girls want something casual,some want something serious,most don't really know period..lol...and that's ok,no set rules,let's just enjoy it,life's 2 short not 2..=)it's not the date,but the fun company you're with,and with me,everything and anything is VERY fun..i'm CLASSY,i'm BAD BOY,yet GOOD HEARTED,i dress NICE w/SO MUCH STYLE,smell GREAT,EXTRA CLEAN,CONFIDENT,but not ARROGANT...”
Let's just assume that this profile was written by somebody with a reading level above the 3rd grade, shall we? If I went into grammar nazi mode this entry would be a whole lot longer.
I don’t want to hear how laid back you are. I don’t want to hear how great you are. I don’t want to hear how funny you are. Am I laughing? No. So basically, you are a liar too. Good start.
So why did I meet the Parole Officer? Because he was cute.
I can fully appreciate a man with a healthy level of confidence. As long as it doesn’t cross over into cockiness, I’m accepting. The moment any man starts telling me what a Godsend he is I log off.
His profile said 5’10” but upon meeting he admitted that he was really 5’9”. I guess he figured he’d better own up since I stand at exactly 69” myself. I applaud his honesty but I’m not quite sure it’s wise to risk your word and admit to lying when it’s only 1” in question. But he did have gorgeous eyes, dimples and a job so I gave him the 1” and decided to let it drop. Laying down we are all the same height anyway.
Against every dating rule in the book, I met him at his place. I make no apologies. I did my research and deemed it safe enough for me to visit for a few hours before he had to leave for work. But maybe that wasn’t such a good idea after all. You can learn a lot about a man by the residence he keeps.
He had a studio apartment and from the looks of it had been there quite a while and accrued a good many items to fill it. Being half Italian, half Irish it was clear that he took his heritage very seriously. He made a point to let me know since his last name translated to Lion he was a strong male and therefore decorated his entire apartment to reflect that. Now my last name roughly translates to mean briar patch yet you don’t see me decorating my place in a tangle of vines. I’m proud of my roots but not THAT proud. Call me crazy.
Mr. Officer was also heavily into Ju-Jitsu and had a bunch of stuff on the wall that I will never know the meaning of. I’m sure it all meant obvious shit like Strength, Loyalty and some other crap that you see too often in tattoos on men that have taken one Karate class and consider themselves deep.
On his only window, instead of curtains, he used two fleece blankets. One being from “Beauty and the Beast, The Musical” and the other being of “Scarface”. On the wall opposite the Ju-Jitsu wall was his shrine to all things Al Pacino and “Scarface”. He made a point of letting me know that despite him being blond with hazel eyes he’d been told he looked like Al and they shared the same bone structure. As far as I’m concerned, he looks like Al Pacino about as much as I do. Again, stop TELLING me who and what you look like! I’m not blind!
So let me get this straight. He’s laid back, wonderful, funny, outgoing, a Lion, 5’9” and resembles Al Pacino. Please, why stop there, oh humble one? I’m obviously completely incapable of coming to my own conclusions.
To me he sounded like somebody that had watched one too many Sopranos episodes then learned how to construct a conversation at the Gang Banger School for Language Arts in East LA. Come on, I’m a 32 year old woman from Pasadena that considers Old Navy to be high end. I don’t do slang and I most certainly have a hard time pulling “gangsta” off.
He also bragged about being good in bed. Or rather, he told me that he didn’t need to brag about how good he was in bed because he’d never had any complains. This, in my eyes, constitutes as bragging.
He was wrong about that too.
After I was done and beat from doing all the work while the lazy bastard enjoyed my *ahem* enthusiasm, I was tortured by being forced to listen to Frankie J remixes on CD compilations that his past lovers had made him. Oh, the excitement *yawn*. From now on, the reverse cowgirl doesn’t come out until at least the 3rd time we get nekked. That’s too much effort to be putting out on a one time only, unimaginative gangster wannabe that insists you leave your shoes by the front door.
For me, the only good part of the evening was when he put on “Roadhouse” with Patrick Swayze and Sam Elliott. This led to a discussion on men and aging which naturally led to my lifelong adoration of all things Sean Connery. Maybe telling Mr. Officer that I’d totally have a threesome with Sam Elliott and Sean Connery wasn’t the best post coital pillow talk but after the rather dull “meeting of the minds” we’d just partaken in I didn’t much feel the need to censure myself.
I grabbed my purse, my keys, said a quick “talk to you later” which really meant “don’t call me, I’ll call you” and was out the door.
Moral of the story? Sean Connery is still the best looking 97 year old I’ve ever seen and I would still have a threesome with him and Sam Elliott.
Friday, March 5, 2010
The Fireman
I had a post all planned out in my head about a dryhumping Italian I went on a date with but my attention was suddenly diverted when I logged onto Match.com just now.
At the moment, I’m surprised I can even remember where the home keys are. I saw a profile on there that literally made me forget how to exhale. Three words…
He’s a FIREMAN!
Raaaawwwwr! I want to do things to this man that if written down here would require a parent’s permission to read, regardless of age.
I’m fairly convinced that in order to become a firefighter one must not only be in good shape but they must also have the kind of looks that bronze sculptures are modeled after. As if when filling out the job application there’s a third option under “Sex”. Male, Female and God. Even older firemen all turn into Sean Connery. True story.
I don’t know this man. I probably never will. I have no intention of writing him. He’s too good looking. It’s not that I fear rejection. I don’t feel he’s too good for me. My fear is that he will write back. That he will be interested. How the hell will I ever get anything done if I never allow him to leave my bed? I wouldn’t be able to update this blog! Mutiny would ensue. The world as we know it would stop rotating. So, it’s in the best interest of humanity that I leave this man alone.
Here are his stats:
He’s 28, 6’1”, black, shaved head, brown eyes, Baptist, never married, no kids (yet wants some down the road) and has trouble keeping his biceps tucked into the sleeves of his uniform (yes, I’m drooling). And he’s a Sagittarius. Only two things about him so far make me want to run. First off, he’s 28. I don’t mesh well with younger men. There’s a level of maturity that we have a hard time meeting on. And in case you are wondering, I’m not necessarily referring to myself as the mature one. Secondly, he’s a Sagittarius. I’m a Sagittarius. By all accounts, we are perfect together. Knowing this, I definitely know I can’t write to him. My suspicions of us never leaving the bedroom would be well founded.
On second thought, I should write to him. If I’m going to be playing in bed all day then that means I won’t be eating. If I’m not eating and I'm working out 12 hours a day *wink-wink* then imagine the body I will acquire.
Well, shit. I’ve gone and gotten myself all flustered with promises of a flat stomach and hot bedroom action with someone trained to put out fires and rescue pussy.
So, I did it. I wrote to him. I racked my brain for the perfectly crafted email to send. Brace yourselves for the killer note I sent him…
“Hi”
Was that too much? I hope I didn’t give him too much information. I want to leave some things to the imagination. I hope he’s intrigued enough to write back.
By the way, I’m inviting all of you to our wedding…
Just as soon as I finish this cold shower…
At the moment, I’m surprised I can even remember where the home keys are. I saw a profile on there that literally made me forget how to exhale. Three words…
He’s a FIREMAN!
Raaaawwwwr! I want to do things to this man that if written down here would require a parent’s permission to read, regardless of age.
I’m fairly convinced that in order to become a firefighter one must not only be in good shape but they must also have the kind of looks that bronze sculptures are modeled after. As if when filling out the job application there’s a third option under “Sex”. Male, Female and God. Even older firemen all turn into Sean Connery. True story.
I don’t know this man. I probably never will. I have no intention of writing him. He’s too good looking. It’s not that I fear rejection. I don’t feel he’s too good for me. My fear is that he will write back. That he will be interested. How the hell will I ever get anything done if I never allow him to leave my bed? I wouldn’t be able to update this blog! Mutiny would ensue. The world as we know it would stop rotating. So, it’s in the best interest of humanity that I leave this man alone.
Here are his stats:
He’s 28, 6’1”, black, shaved head, brown eyes, Baptist, never married, no kids (yet wants some down the road) and has trouble keeping his biceps tucked into the sleeves of his uniform (yes, I’m drooling). And he’s a Sagittarius. Only two things about him so far make me want to run. First off, he’s 28. I don’t mesh well with younger men. There’s a level of maturity that we have a hard time meeting on. And in case you are wondering, I’m not necessarily referring to myself as the mature one. Secondly, he’s a Sagittarius. I’m a Sagittarius. By all accounts, we are perfect together. Knowing this, I definitely know I can’t write to him. My suspicions of us never leaving the bedroom would be well founded.
On second thought, I should write to him. If I’m going to be playing in bed all day then that means I won’t be eating. If I’m not eating and I'm working out 12 hours a day *wink-wink* then imagine the body I will acquire.
Well, shit. I’ve gone and gotten myself all flustered with promises of a flat stomach and hot bedroom action with someone trained to put out fires and rescue pussy.
So, I did it. I wrote to him. I racked my brain for the perfectly crafted email to send. Brace yourselves for the killer note I sent him…
“Hi”
Was that too much? I hope I didn’t give him too much information. I want to leave some things to the imagination. I hope he’s intrigued enough to write back.
By the way, I’m inviting all of you to our wedding…
Just as soon as I finish this cold shower…
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Hell Week Isn't Just For The Military
I’ve come to the conclusion that I am never, ever, EVER moving again. Ever.
EVER!
When am I moving again?
Never.
Good, just so we are clear.
What is it about the process of moving that throws one’s life into complete and utter disarray? Even things not connected to the move itself seem to hit the fan and scatter like confetti. Leaving me with the feeling that the only thing to help pick up the pieces is my bad back and a pair of chop sticks.
I’m actually amazed that I’m able to sit here and write some of this out at all as I’ve been hit with a severe case of writer’s block. I can only hope that once I get settled into my new place I am able to resume my often times unfair yet cathartic bashing of dating, love and the male population in general.
But, I have a confession to make. I’ve been holding out on you. My heart does belong to someone. It has for quite some time. Longer than I care to admit. And much to my dismay, this feeling is completely one sided. It has left me feeling empty, hurt, frustrated, angry and sad. All at the same time.
I only bring this up now because upon leaving my apartment I also left “him” behind. I’ve struggled for a while about whether or not to even write about him. Putting my feelings into words and onto paper somehow just makes it more real that there will never be an “us” and I have once again failed in the romance department.
Think back 2 ½ years. I was new to the building having just moved in three weeks prior. He lived two doors down from me. The only reason we met was because I had a botched booty call that arrived 3 hours later than expected while I was long asleep. My neighbor had run into him in the hall at 5am while he was roaming around telling anyone who would listen that he was there to see “the girl in 206”. The booty call and I never connected but the next afternoon I was paid a visit from The Neighbor to make sure I was ok and that the guy wandering through the building wasn’t a serial killing psycho.
After much apologizing and trying to conceal my embarrassment from the very cute neighbor, he left. I thought he was sweet and cute yet my fear of rejection kept me from asking if he was single or taken. Two weeks later I ran into him again. Twice in one day. To this day I’ll swear it was fate as I’ve only run into him once the whole rest of the time I lived there. The second time around I was coming home from the bar (read: drunk) and no longer felt the trepidation of asking him over for a cocktail. He said yes and the rest was history.
Over the course of the 2 ½ years I lived there I fell hard for The Neighbor. When trying to explain my feelings for him, I was without words. Having feelings so strong that no words could even do them justice is something I haven’t felt in almost 10 years. In fact, I’ve never felt that spark with anybody like I’ve felt it with him. Smelling his scent, feeling his lips on mine literally make my heart pitter patter (Lame? Yes. Shut up). My heart aches when he isn’t around. I think about him when I wake up, I think about him during the day, I think about him when I’m lying alone in bed at night. When I’m on a date or with another man, it’s him I long for. How does one explain these things without sounding like some crazy stalker chick? All I know is, I haven’t felt this way about a man in a decade and I can literally feel my heart breaking when all I hear is an echo to my declarations of love and affection.
Being single for so long, I’ve become quite selfish. I won’t deny it. I own it. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to relate to men in anything more meaningful than a sexual relationship. I’ve lost my patience with getting to know someone and having to deal with their issues and hang ups. I’ve become bored, stagnant, and cynical. Simply put, I just don’t care anymore.
I had a friend tell me a few years back that I had an attraction to men that were not available to me. He claimed that I used it as a defense mechanism. I argued profusely thinking that was just another cheesy way of saying I had my “walls up”. For God’s sake, who doesn’t have walls? Who isn’t a little apprehensive when it comes to matters of the heart? I did not want to be put into the category of women who relied on stupid excuses to rationalize their poor choices when it came to dating. Fuck that noise.
But I’m starting to see the patterns. Men that are married, not interested, GAY I have found myself enamored with. Men that are gentle and sweet, available and eager to open their hearts to me I find repulsive and annoying. I have become a fucking cliché.
So, when the neighbor happened along, I didn’t know how to react. I became THAT girl. I played hard to get, then laid it all out on the table, and then acted as though I didn’t care. When I didn’t get the desired response I would become angry and hurt. No wonder he got confused. I took being passive-aggressive and made it into an art form. In other words, I blew it. The part that upsets me the most is that I knew what I was doing yet couldn’t seem to stop it. Now it’s too late. I was so close to something I’d wanted for so long that I let it consume me and I fucked it all up.
He insists that I would bore of him if he ever gave in to me. Knowing my history, he may be right. Perhaps, that’s why I want him so bad. As if knowing I can’t have him all to myself makes me long for him even more.
I don’t take full responsibility for why things didn’t go as planned. He was far from perfect and had his own issues. He was often too busy to make time to walk the 15 feet to come say hi, even if he was home. Promising to make time for me “soon” every time I asked to come over. Always full of excuses as to why we couldn’t make a legitimate plan and stick to it. To this day, I’m not sure if his actions were in response to my attitude or if my attitude was in response to his actions. Either way, I’ve had to come to terms that he just can’t (or won’t) give me what I need to feel fulfilled and cared for. Not to mention, I’m not so sure I want to be in a relationship with a man that takes Tom Lykus’ relationship advice as gospel.
So, in leaving my apartment, I also left my apartment romance. I know I will never live there again and I know I will never see him again. If I could barely get him to visit me when I lived two doors down I know better than to expect a visit from him when I’m 15 miles away. But this is a good thing. That chapter of my life is now over. It’s time to move on. I can no longer waste my feelings on somebody that clearly does not feel the same way. I can’t fault him for not returning the strong feelings I have for him. I myself have often been in his shoes. You can’t force love. You can only offer it and hope that it gets returned.
With all this in mind, I consider myself on the rebound and the best way to get over somebody is to get under somebody. Hello, new city….hello, new men…hello, new stories…
Consider yourselves warned….;-)
EVER!
When am I moving again?
Never.
Good, just so we are clear.
What is it about the process of moving that throws one’s life into complete and utter disarray? Even things not connected to the move itself seem to hit the fan and scatter like confetti. Leaving me with the feeling that the only thing to help pick up the pieces is my bad back and a pair of chop sticks.
I’m actually amazed that I’m able to sit here and write some of this out at all as I’ve been hit with a severe case of writer’s block. I can only hope that once I get settled into my new place I am able to resume my often times unfair yet cathartic bashing of dating, love and the male population in general.
But, I have a confession to make. I’ve been holding out on you. My heart does belong to someone. It has for quite some time. Longer than I care to admit. And much to my dismay, this feeling is completely one sided. It has left me feeling empty, hurt, frustrated, angry and sad. All at the same time.
I only bring this up now because upon leaving my apartment I also left “him” behind. I’ve struggled for a while about whether or not to even write about him. Putting my feelings into words and onto paper somehow just makes it more real that there will never be an “us” and I have once again failed in the romance department.
Think back 2 ½ years. I was new to the building having just moved in three weeks prior. He lived two doors down from me. The only reason we met was because I had a botched booty call that arrived 3 hours later than expected while I was long asleep. My neighbor had run into him in the hall at 5am while he was roaming around telling anyone who would listen that he was there to see “the girl in 206”. The booty call and I never connected but the next afternoon I was paid a visit from The Neighbor to make sure I was ok and that the guy wandering through the building wasn’t a serial killing psycho.
After much apologizing and trying to conceal my embarrassment from the very cute neighbor, he left. I thought he was sweet and cute yet my fear of rejection kept me from asking if he was single or taken. Two weeks later I ran into him again. Twice in one day. To this day I’ll swear it was fate as I’ve only run into him once the whole rest of the time I lived there. The second time around I was coming home from the bar (read: drunk) and no longer felt the trepidation of asking him over for a cocktail. He said yes and the rest was history.
Over the course of the 2 ½ years I lived there I fell hard for The Neighbor. When trying to explain my feelings for him, I was without words. Having feelings so strong that no words could even do them justice is something I haven’t felt in almost 10 years. In fact, I’ve never felt that spark with anybody like I’ve felt it with him. Smelling his scent, feeling his lips on mine literally make my heart pitter patter (Lame? Yes. Shut up). My heart aches when he isn’t around. I think about him when I wake up, I think about him during the day, I think about him when I’m lying alone in bed at night. When I’m on a date or with another man, it’s him I long for. How does one explain these things without sounding like some crazy stalker chick? All I know is, I haven’t felt this way about a man in a decade and I can literally feel my heart breaking when all I hear is an echo to my declarations of love and affection.
Being single for so long, I’ve become quite selfish. I won’t deny it. I own it. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to relate to men in anything more meaningful than a sexual relationship. I’ve lost my patience with getting to know someone and having to deal with their issues and hang ups. I’ve become bored, stagnant, and cynical. Simply put, I just don’t care anymore.
I had a friend tell me a few years back that I had an attraction to men that were not available to me. He claimed that I used it as a defense mechanism. I argued profusely thinking that was just another cheesy way of saying I had my “walls up”. For God’s sake, who doesn’t have walls? Who isn’t a little apprehensive when it comes to matters of the heart? I did not want to be put into the category of women who relied on stupid excuses to rationalize their poor choices when it came to dating. Fuck that noise.
But I’m starting to see the patterns. Men that are married, not interested, GAY I have found myself enamored with. Men that are gentle and sweet, available and eager to open their hearts to me I find repulsive and annoying. I have become a fucking cliché.
So, when the neighbor happened along, I didn’t know how to react. I became THAT girl. I played hard to get, then laid it all out on the table, and then acted as though I didn’t care. When I didn’t get the desired response I would become angry and hurt. No wonder he got confused. I took being passive-aggressive and made it into an art form. In other words, I blew it. The part that upsets me the most is that I knew what I was doing yet couldn’t seem to stop it. Now it’s too late. I was so close to something I’d wanted for so long that I let it consume me and I fucked it all up.
He insists that I would bore of him if he ever gave in to me. Knowing my history, he may be right. Perhaps, that’s why I want him so bad. As if knowing I can’t have him all to myself makes me long for him even more.
I don’t take full responsibility for why things didn’t go as planned. He was far from perfect and had his own issues. He was often too busy to make time to walk the 15 feet to come say hi, even if he was home. Promising to make time for me “soon” every time I asked to come over. Always full of excuses as to why we couldn’t make a legitimate plan and stick to it. To this day, I’m not sure if his actions were in response to my attitude or if my attitude was in response to his actions. Either way, I’ve had to come to terms that he just can’t (or won’t) give me what I need to feel fulfilled and cared for. Not to mention, I’m not so sure I want to be in a relationship with a man that takes Tom Lykus’ relationship advice as gospel.
So, in leaving my apartment, I also left my apartment romance. I know I will never live there again and I know I will never see him again. If I could barely get him to visit me when I lived two doors down I know better than to expect a visit from him when I’m 15 miles away. But this is a good thing. That chapter of my life is now over. It’s time to move on. I can no longer waste my feelings on somebody that clearly does not feel the same way. I can’t fault him for not returning the strong feelings I have for him. I myself have often been in his shoes. You can’t force love. You can only offer it and hope that it gets returned.
With all this in mind, I consider myself on the rebound and the best way to get over somebody is to get under somebody. Hello, new city….hello, new men…hello, new stories…
Consider yourselves warned….;-)
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