Killing Brain Cells One Profile at a Time

Yesterday, the stars aligned, the skies parted and every dumbass with a pulse came out of the woodworks to accost me with their bullshit.

Red Carvett

“What's up babe?I weill be stright up with you.You are sexy as hell to me.And I mean no disrespect at all babe.Can I taste that little red carvett of yours?”

About me: I like to study the laws of physics and practice Shaolin. My goal is to open a school for women in self-defense. My hobbies are any variety of activies such as swimming and running. I love women and everything about them.How about that one on one - - -.Yes that.

First Date: I would like to meet her and make sure she feels comfortable and let her decide what she would like to do. My goal is to make her stay with me comfortably. And, how the date proceeds is entirely up to chemistry. However, if it were up to me then we would go out to dinner and****ails afterwards to enjoy conversation and get to know each other.

Also I'am not into playing games.I'am a one woman's man.Seeking a woman that is not afraid to be loved by a true man of love the last one cut from the cloth of Love,Trust and Loyalty.

First of all, he wants to taste my “little red carvett”? I seriously have no idea what he is referring to here. I’m assuming he meant to write “corvette” but even so, I’m still hard pressed to find the correlation. I’m a blond. The only thing red about me are the horns I keep neatly tucked under my halo.

He wants to open a school for women in self-defense? Perhaps teach women how to protect themselves from men like, Oh, I don’t know…HIM?

And how about taking time to proofread? My eyes are now bleeding. Oh I get it! That’s what he meant by tasting my “little red carvett.” He wants to lick my tears. Charming.
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The Racist

“Hi. I’d like to take you out.”

Stats: 33 yo, 5’10” tall, never married, Black

About Me:  Lets see...about me. My name is Derek. I am an extroverted type who embraces life and relishes each moment. I am hoping to meet a nice person with which to spend quality time. I am very athletic. I am a powerlifter who hopes to join the strongman circuit early next year. You will find me a cool, compassionate man who is genuinely loved by children (though I have none of my own), and has a depth of perspective that enriches my relationships. I keep my promises if when it comes at severe penalty to me and I regularly choose to be hated for being honest rather than receive love for pretending to be someone else.

I would like to meet someone who is between 28-39 yrs old. I prefer Nordic looking women, i.e., blond with blue eyes. My preference for white women is a culture phenomena for me. I am a native Alabamian. I grew up in a state that deemed a marital union between a black male and a white woman unconstitutional until 2004. So when I finally had the privilege of dating a white woman for the first time found the experience invigorating because it felt "American" to pursue happiness as I saw fit in my personal life.

Notwithstanding the above, I love women of all ethnicities. Asian, Latina, Native American, and bi\multiracial women are certainly desireable to me. In fact, I am only opposed to dating Black/African American women due to foreseeable perpetual personality clashes.

Did you notice that this guy is Black? He’s actually racist against his own race! So glad that he finds dating white women as “American”. Just to prove my patriotism, I’m going to go out and get myself a white woman, too. Then I'm going to have a slice of apple pie.  So there.

Also, men that discuss a “genuine love” when it comes to children creep me out. Maybe I should invite him over, order in and we can watch the “To Catch a Predator” series together.
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SVFRider

“..you sound like FUN! I'm nearby...ever ride on the back of a Harley? (Or ever had a Harley Man ride YOU?)...looking forward to meeting you...or "MEATING" you...HUNG (9") here..exceptionally clean/disease-free..always HARD..insatiable and oral pleaser too.

I can host or travel.

Will

PS- You wont be sorry...I'm an effing "Rock-Star" in Bed!!!”

About Me: Well Educated, Self-Employed and highly sensual "Free Spirit"...Dog Lover here (a Mix of "Cowboy" & "Hippy")...I have a couple of Harley-Davidsons and looking for an open-minded kindred spirit to ride with me....Some laughs, friendship and open to more.

First Date: Seeking a very open-minded and sensual woman that appreciates a very endowed man that is instaiable and a real pleaser..I can usually host at my place in the SFV. I'm open to age, race and body-type....just be like me please..exceptionally clean & disease-free.

This guy’s email is wrong on SO many levels. Who the hell says “I can host or travel” unless they are booking a prostitute? And I may be wrong but is he well endowed and sensual seeking somebody sensual that appreciates someone well endowed? I could be wrong.

Oh, and he’s 53. Yeah, no. I’d sooner hook up with my best friend’s grandfather.
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New2Cali

“Hello,well i am new 2 cali and this site,i love that u r so straight 2 the point.”

About Me: Well i was told by a friend about this site so i thought i would try it out,i am new 2 cali and so far so good,jst trying 2 meet new faces and go from there,i enjoy walks,mma,wrking out,occasionaly reading a book,Dean Koontz 2 b exact.

First Date: I think meeting in person is the best way 2 start so u c if there is any chemistry and how u feel around that person.

Did he set up his online profile with a 12 year old Nokia? Whre did he lern how 2 write & tipe?
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UFC_Guy

“wow is your profile for reals? lol straight up hu? i like that”

About Me: 6 foot 5 hispanic looking for nice people. possibly a good friend. no liars.please. i love music. going out to dance.i love old skool r and b, old skool rap and classic rock.i love a woman who is classy. yet can let her hair down if needed.no drama. i have two daughters who are my world. i am not ur typical weekend dad. i have them over 50%

First Date: nice place to have some drinks, dinner. maybe some dancing. or a little coffee house and just chopping it up...

Motherfucker can’t even type yet he’s looking for “a woman who is classy”. He love’s “old skool r and b and is not ur typical weekend dad." He’s right, he’s probably a lot dumber than most weekend dads. Is it too much to ask him to use the Shift key when starting a sentence? All I can say is that I hope he isn’t home schooling his little bundles of joy.

And he can give UFC_Guy back his Nokia now.
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TimmyT

“add me so we can chat”

No
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Ty

“Nice”

About Me: I have been an athlete most of my life, I love workingout and hiking. I love to run on the beach. When I am relaxing, I like to watch movies, go to a movie and then I like to have a nice dinner with a nice glass of red wine. I am very simple and like simple things in life. If you like simple things and looking for a compassionate friend to hangout with sometimes, I would love to have that opportunity. Have a great day ladies.

First Date: I would introduce my new compassionate friend to a romantic evening at Sushi Rocku in Pasadena. We could start with a nice glass of wine and try different sushi of her likes. The purpose is to have a compassionate conversation to get to know each other and as the night go on, we could see how passionate, we are towards one another. A very simple compassionate and passionate date between two beautiful people of attraction.

Hmph. Compassionate friend, huh? Is that what the kids are calling it these days? In two paragraphs he has mentioned the words compassionate and passionate six times. I think I get the point. He’s looking for somebody to recite bad poetry to and poke in the butt. I know him. I’ve met his kind before.

Oh! Before I forget, let me leave you with this…

He wrote me too. Shocker that he’s still single.

Now if you will kindly excuse me while I go wash my eyes out with battery acid. That stings only slightly less than reading these profiles did. Then I’m going to go join a dating site that requires you have an IQ over 12 to join.

Wait Wait...Don't Tell Me!

Like most women people, I don’t like being told what to do. I’m a cut off the nose to spite my face kind of gal. Tell me to “have a nice day” and I’m likely to have a shitty one just to spite you. I’m gangsta like that.

My mother has learned this the hard way. She has had her hands full with me more than once. She actually knows better than to tell me to find a nice man and settle down for fear I’ll bring home the Oakland Raiders for Christmas dinner and an invite to accompany me to the Maury Povich Show for a “secret”. My mother has developed whiplash from shaking her head whenever I mention my “future ex husbands”.

Along those lines, here are a few things that men like to tell me when making contact that make me want to kick them in the gonads.

Please don’t tell me…

1. …how funny you are. You’re a part time comedian? Well that must mean you are really good then. Only doing it part time and all. Who wants to be funny 40 hours a week when you can just do it for 20? Working smarter and not harder, are you? Fantastic. You guarantee you will make me laugh? Yeah? When? Or does that start tomorrow because guess what? Your profile was boring, your picture with the cross-dresser was too obvious and the “Yo momma” jokes are only funny a) if I know you and b) if you’re momma really is that fat.

2. …my mother would love you. Newsflash, my mother doesn’t like ANY of the men I bring home. It’s a fact. And it’s actually taken me 15 years to figure out why. Because they were all assholes. Of course, the next time I bring home a gent and ask my mother what she thinks of him, I’ll still insist she just “doesn’t know him like I do” when she replies with “uhm, he seems nice” and walks away. Knowing this, the odds of you being one she actually likes are not in your favor. Can’t argue with statistics, darling.

3. …you treat your woman like a queen. Ever see that sports commercial with the guy whose spine was removed by his girlfriend and goes around smelling lavender candles? That’s you. Pussy whipped following your woman around like a puppy dog for fear she will let another dog piss on her. Or, you’re just full of shit.

4. …you are looking for somebody that is fit or likes to stay in shape. My profile clearly states “a few extra pounds”. Do I look like somebody that goes to the gym for fun? The only thing that gets me to the gym is if I know there are going to be good looking men there. Your farmer’s tanned, underweight physique is not exactly what I would consider a desirable body type either.

5. …you love your job. Unless you are Oprah, I don’t buy it.

6. …you’ll send me a picture if I will just send you my email address. Yeah, no. All I know about you is that you are “looking for your partner in crime”. Without a picture or any real defining personal information in your profile I can only deduce two things about you. First, you are really, really boring and unoriginal or second, you probably do, in fact, have a criminal record. Either way, I’m not interested.

7. …you love a girl with a big ass. I don’t think I even need to explain this one.

8. …hOw MuCH fUn U R. I’m sure you are. If I WaS 12 yEaRs oLd.

9. …you are looking for a lady on the streets but a freak in the sheets. The only thing I find more irritating than online dating clichés are song lyrics. Unless you actually wrote the song lyrics, please don’t include them in your profile to describe what you want in a woman. Strike that. Don’t EVER put song lyrics in your profile.

With that said, I have a date later this week with a guy that finds a big ass sexy, says my mother will love him, claims to have a killer sense of humor and enjoys his job. This is going to be super.

He Just Wasn't That Into Me (Literally)

Few things confuse me more than math and Paris Hilton's popularity. But there is one thing that tops that list and that thing is Men. Lately, my brain has turned into a clusterfuck of confusing innuendos and out of control hormones. However, I can explain the cause for this in three little words. Hot Bicep Guy.

HBG has not been an easy man to conquer. He runs hot and cold with little more than a few hours to distinguish between the two. One minute I’ll receive text messages and phone calls in rapid succession then won’t hear a word for days just to have him hound me down again the moment I ask myself, “Hot Bicep Guy who?”

He’s interested and I know it. To be honest, I’m truly enjoying the built up sexual tension that’s emerging from our little game of Cat and Mouse. At the peak of insatiable lust and desire I’m certain he will be the best lover known to man with a cock the size of Mr. Ed’s. But when he goes MIA I’m positive he has a little penis and is suffering from erectile dysfunction. Funny how my mind works sometimes.

Had he given into my whims and desires from the start I no doubt would have bored of him quickly and moved on to some other member of the male species. By him playing Keep Away with his genitalia I’ve driven myself mad trying to figure out ways to make kidnapping legal.

With my patience nearing its expiration date, last week I told him I had waited long enough and it was time for him to prove he wasn’t just all talk.

About 9:30 that evening HBG pulled up wearing little more than a pair of shorts and tennis shoes. He wasn’t even wearing a shirt which I more than okay with. After giving me a hug, I led him down to Fantasyland intentionally walking behind him so I could take stock of the fine definition of his back and ass. I was going to savor every single part of this evening. After months of seduction this was finally going to happen!

As he lay on my bed and mindlessly droned on about work and other nonsense I tried my best to keep my fangs and claws hidden. Seeing him topless on top of the covers without having to worry about any unwanted distractions was almost too much to bear. I was ready to pounce.

Then he said he was tired.

I turned out the light hoping that “tired” was code for “sexy time”.

Then he turned away from me and got under the covers.

???

Occasionally, HBG would turn over and look at me, only inches from my face and say something uninspiring. It was becoming painfully obvious that if anything was going to happen I was going to have to make the first move. Pansy.

Not being able to contain myself any longer I leaned over and kissed him. Kissing HBG was much like kissing my pillow. Soft and warm yet nothing in return. Not sensing any reciprocation I backed off quickly and he continued to mumble about dumb shit as though I hadn’t just leaned over and tried to stick my tongue in his mouth.

But it gets better.

He explained to me that he considered kissing to be a very intimate act therefore he didn’t do it a lot. Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that I was making out with Pretty Woman. He had, in fact, come over with the intention of penetrating me with his manhood yet swapping spit was crude and inappropriate? Mental note to bring my straight jacket out of storage.

That’s when the unthinkable happened.

He turned into a woman.

HBG: When you get what you want from me, you’re just going to kick me to the curb and never talk to me again, aren’t you?

Me: Huh? Where did that come from?

HBG: And I didn’t bring any condoms anyway.

This isn’t exactly how I had planned this evening to go. I’m not sure what part of “I want you to come over so we can fuck all night” gave him the impression that we wouldn’t be having sex and condoms wouldn’t be necessary. He apologized and told me I was a “funny and cool chick” that he wanted to see again. Gee, thanks.

Then, without warning HBG jumped on top of me and said he wanted to see what I felt like. He kissed my neck for a little bit, dry humped me like a fucking teenager, got me all hot and bothered then jumped off and turned away leaving me bitter, frustrated and wondering if I was capable of raping a man.

So let me get this straight. HBG drove a half hour to my place at 9 o’clock to dry hump and sleep. I must look damn good for my age as he apparently has me confused with a 15 year old.

5 minutes later…

HBG: If I had come prepared, we would be going at it till morning. When ARE we going to have sex?

Me: How about NOW, Motherfucker?

HBG: Sorry, next time I’ll come prepared.

Me: Go to sleep.

Another 5 minutes later (from over my shoulder since I had turned my back to him not being able to look at someone so dumb)…

HBG: You’ve never had this happen before, have you?

Me: If you are referring to a guy coming over to have sex with me then NOT having sex with me, then yes, you would be correct in your assumption.

HBG: Are you mad? You aren’t going to get crazy on me, are you?

Me: I’ll tell you what’s crazy. Driving 35 minutes to my place half naked at 9 at night for a booty call without condoms only to go to sleep. This isn’t a fucking slumber party. I invited you over so we could fuck around and you knew that.

HBG: Do you hate me?

Me: Yes.

I was pissed and my loins were on fire. I would have cut off my left arm to have somebody fuck me at that very moment. And the fact that HBG was able to drift off to sleep so easily pissed me off even more. If he wasn’t interested in having sex with me then why the fuck did he even come over?

Finally, hours after he had fallen asleep I drifted off myself only to be bombarded with wet dreams. Dreams so vivid I actually woke myself up once from my own moaning. At least I was getting some fucking action in my dream.

6:30am the next morning HBG came to sit next to me on the bed while I still lay under the covers trying to make sense of the previous night’s events. As he grabbed my hand and placed it on his erect penis he asked how I felt and what I was in the mood for. That’s when I told the Rocket Scientist to get out. He thought I was joking. I walked him out.

I can honestly say that I have never been so damn sexually frustrated in all my life. The rest of that day was a blur. I couldn’t concentrate on even the simplest of things. If he was afraid of me using him and then avoiding him he won’t have to worry about that happening anymore. Now I’m just avoiding him only I didn’t get the pleasure of using him first. What a waste.

The next day he called and texted but I’m over it. I’ll be damned if I let him over just so he can tease me again. I’m now in the market for a new Rabbit.

Unwitting Homewrecker

Picture it…

Full moon, in the middle of the Mexican sea. Somewhere between Puerto Vallarta and Mazatlan. Cute girl stands at the rail overlooking the adult pool and stalking watching the adorable waiter that has come to know her quite well. Vodka tonic with a twist of lime. No card is needed. He knows her by name and automatically knows who to bill. With a wink and a nod, the order has been placed.

Across the deck, a good looking guy stands also looking over at the same pool.

Eye contact is made. Another wink and nod and it’s been determined that vodka isn’t the only thing coming that night.

Good looking guy walks over to cute girl and makes idle chit chat. They exchange pleasantries and he tells her how great her ass looks in “those pants”. He asks if they can go to her room and if she has condoms. And with the subtlety of a true gentleman, his intentions are made known. Who said romance was dead?

With that, CG and GLG head to the casino. A few shots and a Dos Equis later, GLG and CG are feeling quite chummy. Brief kisses and promises of what’s to come later while at the slot machine ensue.

Then these lovely words are spoken over CG’s left shoulder:

“Would you kindly take your lips off my husband? We are on our honeymoon.”

With a brief explanation and apology, CG grabs her beer and with head hung in shame leaves the casino and the now fighting couple, sure to need security intervention shortly and heads back to her room. Alone.

By the way, in case you all hadn’t guessed yet, cute girl was me. That was me being seduced by a married man. A man that was not wearing a wedding ring. He hadn't even been married long enough to get a wedding band tan.  A man that said he was there with friends. That was me being accosted by a pissed off wife. And that was me becoming the punch line for every argument they ever have until their almost certain divorce papers are signed. I will forever be THAT girl that GLG tried to cheat with on his honeymoon.

Born with a guilty conscience, I’ve replayed the evening’s events in my head countless times wondering where I went wrong. This hasn’t been the first time my need for penis has gotten me into trouble.

On my walk of shame I felt sorry for the newlywed bride. If that night was any indication of their future together, she may as well be looking for her next husband and I should have thrown his ass overboard when I had the chance and done the poor lady a favor.

After the feelings of sorrow and guilt subsided, I was filled with anger and resentment. How dare GLG interrupt my flirtation with the cute little Indonesian waiter with perfect teeth to bring such unneeded drama? It was MY vacation too and now I would be spending the remaining 3 days trapped on a ship looking over my shoulder and not standing too close to the edge. Just in case.

The next day, while in the hot tub playing a game I like to call “how long can I keep my hands all over your six pack” with my new friend, Hot Coco, Married guy decided to join us. Great.

Not particularly in the mood make the wife’s acquaintance once again, I firmly insisted that married guy go visit the other hot tub as he was not welcome in mine. After explaining myself to other inhabitants as to why I had just told this man to get the fuck out leave I was given high fives and a few “nicely handled”s. Mostly from the women.

I’ve often joked that I’m catnip for married men, however, I would never knowingly fuck around with one. That’s just plain bad karma and I’ve got my hands full with that little bitch already.

For the record, the next evening, I went back down to the casino alone. I sat down at the very same slot machine and I won $40. I'll be damned if I had auctioned off a kidney to pay for my first vacation in almost two years just to go into hiding, when for once, I hadn’t done anything wrong but try to get a little cruise ship tail.

But, next time I meet a man, I will be insisting on a background check.

With the exception of that little *cough cough* debaucle, the rest of my time on board lived up to everything you all have to come to expect from me. I drank too much, I smoked too much, I ate too much and I tried to seduce every man I could find that had 36” biceps. I don’t even know the meaning of the word “moderation” and I’m in no mood to learn about it now.

Hot Bicep Guy

If you are a guy and we haven’t slept together yet I’m still talking to you AND I dedicate an entire post to you, you can bet that I am going to fuck the ever loving shit out of you you are pretty darn special.

Case in point, Hot Bicep Guy.

In case any of you have missed it, not only has HBG been occupying my (wet) dreams but also my Facebook and Twitter pages:

Tuesday, June 1st:

11:53am - Once again, just confirmed that I am completely incapable of having a coherent conversation with someone sporting amazing biceps and buns.

Friday, June 4th:

2:58pm - Just learned that since I left work early I missed hot bicep guy coming by to cut rock. Yes, I said cut rock. Who cares why?

Today, Thursday, June 10th:

9:30am - Dear Sex Gods, Please let hot bicep guy come by the office to cut rock BEFORE I leave the office today instead of after like the last two times. Kthxbye.

**The Sex Gods answered my prayers. Water was turned on (as was I), power tools were brought out and rock was cut**

12:00pm - Oh God...boss just ran out to arm wrestle hot bicep guy. Best. Job. Ever.

2:00pm - Ok, for those keeping tabs...hot bicep guy asked for my Facebook. Is that the 2010 version of asking for one's phone number? Either way, he will end up disrobed. Just sayin...

So, if I do the math, I’ve invested 10 days into this relationship. Assuming that’s the equivalent of approximately 3 dates, it’s time we did the horizontal mambo. He owes me. And he’s going to pay me. In penis.

I spent a full hour today in what can only be described as the most fun one can have with their clothes on. As if the Gods above had read my mind and answered my prayers, along came the construction truck with 185 lbs of pure muscle and 6% body fat tucked neatly inside its cab.

Time stopped. I watched as HBG jumped out of the truck and went over to inspect the slabs of rock waiting to be cut.

Wait, did he just look back at the office window? Oh yeah…it’s on like Donkey Kong!

Never mind that I was smiling like a Cheshire Cat. So? I was hungry and he was lunch.

I’m sorry, did my boss just ask me to do something? Not possible as there are only two people in this daydream. Me and HBG.

Shit, boss is talking to me but I can’t understand a word he’s saying. He may as well be speaking in Greek because at the moment I can’t even remember my own name, let alone how to type up a letter.

Still staring, I watch as HBG and his helper turn on the hose and saw. Things are getting wet (I love puns). His back is to me and all I see are muscles contracting and heavy equipment being used. He’s cutting then lifting the heavy slabs of rock into the back of his truck. The only thing missing is me, straddling the rock slabs in a white t-shirt.

Am I dead? Because this MUST be what heaven is like.

Uh oh, I’m drooling. Boss saw it and looked out the window.

Boss: What? You lookin’ at HBG?

Me: bholysoudtoaopshhdfgjslhg?

Boss: You know, I’m stronger than him. I can beat him at arm wrestling *heading for the door*

Me: bholysoudtoaopshhdfgjslhg…*following close behind*

I’m not about to miss two guys playing “who’s got the bigger penis” for my benefit.

They wrestle, I giggle and the boss concedes to a bad wrist. I now know who has the bigger penis.

Oops, time’s up. Time to leave work and head to job #2.

Boss: Can you stay for a few more minutes?

Me: Nope

Like a cougar stalking her prey I hightail it out of the office to go attack my unwitting victim.

With a grin and a wave HBG asks if I’m leaving. That’s my que. I got this. I just hope I didn’t leave claw marks when I pounced.

Some small talk and a Facebook invite later, the door has been opened.

Stay tuned…

The Poet

I’m going to let you guys in on a little secret. I’m kind of a smart ass. I know that may be hard to believe but it’s true. Don’t worry, I’ve come to terms with it and no amount of therapy or vodka is going to change that.

That being said, I’m also not what you would consider a “romantic”. Slow songs during Karaoke make me uncomfortable and American Idol makes me laugh. I find appreciating art difficult and I certainly have a hard time getting into poetry. This probably makes me sound like one of them there uncultured folks but I’d literally rather spend my time organizing my sock drawer or removing my wisdom teeth with a plastic spork and a straw.

If you feel like hanging with me and a bottle of tequila while skinny dipping in the middle of the night, cool. That’s more my style. If you want to discuss the importance of SNL’s Tina Tina Chanuse and why you shouldn’t have a boring doorbell, that’s even better. Yeah, I’m classy like that.

So, when I received this email from The Poet, I rolled my eyes so hard they almost got stuck in the back of my head.

Left my heart looking in the mirror, I knew I was losing it all.
A glass of vodka, without the cranberry, yes it was a bad week.
Look at the guy sleeping on the ground, what a joke.
Wait thats me, but I showered like a rich guy; with water that
sprouted from the wall.
The clouds cover the sun again, and its hard to see but this fool is
still wearing sunglasses at 8 o clock at night.
I love it when they laugh and I make everyone's night, but I belong
to the night, to the streets of the night.
Where are you headed ? well I just ask cause I stay in Santa Monica
right next to the nice hotel, I didn't live or work there but kinda liked it when the lady asked me if I could park her car.

At least I think this was an attempt at poetry. And if it isn’t, I’m REALLY confused. He had me at vodka. He lost me at the comma following. I’m still of the belief that if it doesn’t rhyme it isn’t really a poem. I’m more of a “Roses are red, Violets are blue. I can’t write poetry and neither can you” kind of gal.

In his defense, he did catch my attention. However, probably not for the reasons he was hoping for.

His profile listed his profession as “Writer”. He’s 33 years old, looking for “Friends”, has never been married (surprise, surprise), has no kids and only has one picture posted. With sunglasses on.

Hemingway’s Profile:

Love to play poker and shoot pool. Like a woman that can sing so I can relax and enjoy your voice. I am a writer and when I become big I wanna help animals and people who live in poverty. I would like to get to know someone so I can take them to vegas.

First Date:

coffee. coffee. coffee.

If that’s not one of the lamest attempts at trying to woo a woman than I don’t know what is. This guy must be a real hit at dinner parties. I suppose I should give him kudos for wanting to save the earth and all its unfortunate inhabitants but there’s just something about him that makes me want to vomit.

Considering that he states he’s a writer, I also would have assumed he’d have given a little more thought to his profile. A dating profile is a perfect opportunity to showcase one’s talents (especially if you are indeed a writer) and is the closest thing to a first impression one can make on the internet. He clearly doesn’t believe in spell check and considering he didn’t take this opportunity to stand out from the rest, I find him to be somewhat of a fraud.

If this guy is actually making a living off of his writing, then I give up. I guess I just can’t compete with such raw and uninhibited talent. I certainly shouldn’t write him back for fear that I won’t be able to live up to his expectations and amazing ability to put the written word onto paper.

To make the long story short, I won’t be going out with Robert Frost anytime soon.

Tragic Dating Profiles/Emails

"im kinda new on here and i was reading your profile and it sounded like we have some things in common. being new on here not sure what to do im kinda shy at first but open up as i get comfortable im a down to earth guy who enjoys simple things and open minded in trying different things i have 2 beautiful daughters i like to golf,shoot pool,going to the movies. i listen to all types of music. there is more to me but i dont like typeing so i am better on the phone by the way my name is Ron"

**Oh really? You drink too much, smoke too much and watch Cathouse on HBO? You enjoy knitting, watching MSNBC and eye cream? Awesome! Where have you been all my life?

And thanks for letting me know you don’t like typing. I can tell you aren’t a big fan of punctuation or capital letters.

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"You're so gorgeous...

Men should get in line for you!

Wish I lived a bit closer... ;)

Kiss,

-Mr. Rio de Janeiro"

**It’s not his email that caught my eye. I actually thought it was simple and sweet. What made me take a double take was his profile.

Status: Not single/Not looking

Looking For: Talk/E-mail

Interests: Movies, Internet, Cable

In the “About Me” section he simply listed his personal email address.

First Date:
"On the first date I had sex a few times. I also had a nice chat for hours some other times.  I'm open minded, so I guess it's about chemistry...Anyway, enough talking. Where's the fun? ;-)"

**Alllllriiiighty then

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

"want to go to the beach on friday, get dinner or coffee and get to know eachother"

**This 18 year old jewel is the poster child for worst picture EH-VER. As if those two things aren’t enough of a reason to keep us apart he lives 2 hours away, is looking for an Intimate Encounter and had this is say in his “About Me” section…

“I have been in school for two years and want to find someone who I can really connect with. I have had some trouble in my past with girlfriends but it was their problems that caused the break up. Do not be afraid to talk to me because I am a great person. I am a very athletic person with a great body and mind”

**Really? Did he really just put all the blame for his past relationship failures on his ex girlfriends? And how many could there be at 18 years old?

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

"My name is Arthur and i just adored your pic and profile. I am living in Del Mar, which is North San Diego County; single, never been married, no kids. Seeking to date a white woman leading to marriage ultimately. No games. Interests include sporting events, dining out, hanging out with friends, dancing, and romantic getaways. Willing to travel to make this happen. Open minded.
Thanks! Ciao4now. Xoxo"

**Again, I don’t have much to say about the initial email except for whooooaaa on the marriage mention…but it’s his profile that ultimately made me gag a little.

2 hours away from me (wonder if he knows the 18 year old that blames all his ex – yes, I left that singular on purpose), 44 years old, 5’6” (3 inches shorter than me), a few extra lbs and balding. Please, stop there! No, there’s more…

Interests: Get-togethers with others who love God

About Me:
"Hello! My name is Arthur. I'm doing well. Jesus is my Lord and Savior!

I'm closer than ever in my life to God, at the present time.

I was raised in a Christian environment all my life.

I moderate a National/International Christian news wire that reaches thousands by Email, twice weekly.

I used to be one of the Restaurant Critics for the Union Tribune.

Del Mar is where I live.

I am in my 4th year paying mortgage on a condo. I have pets.

Church attendance is unorthodox. I am involved with lots of religious organizations. I have my finger on the pulse of what's happening, what God is up to nowadays.

Seeking someone who wants to share passions, Christian interests, and explore the world around us. Ultimately, I want this to lead to more than acquaintances. Ciao!"

First Date:
"With that said (see above), I am worldly and materialistic, and a sinner just like the rest. I am nowhere near "holier than thou". I like all kinds of activities, so first dates can vary widely. I maintain an open mind."

**No, no, no, no no! Did he even READ my profile? He’s either trying to date me or save me. Either way, I’m not going anywhere with the bible thumping polar bear.

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

"My name is Armando and I'm Peruvian/Italian. 6'0 tall, 210 lbs, 41 yrs.

I like to play soccer, rugby, work out, travel, carnival cruises, dancing, fine dining, movies, etc.

I'm looking for someone who wants to start out as friends and see where it goes from there! A cool, down to earth woman with a great sense of humor. If there's no chemistry, we can always be friends, simple as that!

SENSE OF HUMOR IS A MUST THOUGH!

I live in Culver City and work in Century City.

You seem like an amazing woman and it would be a pleasure to meet you.

Ciao

P.S.I WAS IN A 70'S PARTY IN THE 1ST PICTURE ABOUT 6 MONTHS AGO SO FEEL FREE TO LAUGH! LOL

PENSO CHE SEI UNA DONNA BELLA! it means, "I THINK YOU'RE A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN""

**I have received this email no less than four times in the past six months from Mr. Copy & Paste. And guess what, I didn’t laugh at the 70’s party picture the first time around. He works hard, plays harder, loves to travel, looking for his best friend/partner in crime blah blah blah. Two words…BO RING!

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

"you do look gorgeous =]"

**Why, thank you Mr. 18 year old, looking for an Intimate Encounter with the headline “anyone here to fucck?”

Good luck in your search.

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

"how are u today, are u busy

would u like to chat?

my name is kevin, whats your name?

Kevin"

**The 42 year old divorcee with the Driver’s License picture has this to say in his profile:

"The Scorpio man is unlike any man of any other. Scorpios men, are very deep and intense people. Understanding a Scorpio man is important in carrying on any type of relationship with him. If you are willing to deal with a Scorpio man then you will have a loyal friend"

**There’s something about a man that only refers to himself in the third person that creeps me out.

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

"caall me 949 XXX-XXXX

samir"

His Profile:
"Am sweet careing down to earth romantic i love cuddleing And kissing i love going to the beach and going shopping i am very loyal to who ever i am with i never play games. I am into sports and I am kind of shy. Going out and having a good time is great but I like to stay home too. If that makes you frown upon me then thats on you cause i am a cool guy at times been called a sweetheart oh i work out to trying to better myself oh yeah is the any real ladys out there THE ONE AND ONLY ME! Better known as ONE9...Im a charming guy, whos out going....my please is to c u smile! Im known as a snicker--take your love hunger away..when u kiss me, ill be called the LAYS chips cause i bet u can just take one!...So get to know me, and find out! CAuse i Gone to a lot of places....seen a lot of faces........ If u want me, you'll have me! if u like what u see, you'll stay! if your a queen, ill be your KING! ..."

First Date:
"To the girl that just wants to hold hands.. -To the girl that kisses with a meaning.. -To the girl who says...."I do care". -To the girl who just wants a guy to give their jacket up when they are cold.. -To the girl who just wants him to call.. -To the girl that just wants to cuddle.. -To the girl that just wants to sleep (no sex) with him.. -To the girl that is not scared to put her heart out there again because she has been hurt so many times.. -To the girl who is thinking right now... maybe this could be the one. -To the girl that believes in her dreams.. -To the girl that would do anything so she could achieve them.. -To the girl that supports him in his dreams 100% and will help him achieve them.. -To the girl that laughs at stupid stuff when she actually doesn't think it's funny at all. -To the girl who is just looking for that one and only and is having a rough time along the way.. ..."

**Will somebody please...Shoot. Me. NOW!?!

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… ;-)

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…

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….;-)

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!

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.

A REAListic online dating profile

Due to the overwhelming abundance of boring, run of the mill online dating profiles, I decided to write one that actually reflected my feelings. And if you will notice, I not once mentioned the detested phrase "I love to have fun"...

About Me:

First off, I’m a mess. I drink too much. I smoke too much and my favorite TV show is “Cathouse” on HBO. I’m not particularly fond of babies that cry, even if they are related to me (although my sister swears I’ll be more tolerant once I have one of my own). I’m in debt up to my ears and can’t seem to hang on to a dollar to save my life. If it’s in my wallet, I can guarantee you that it won’t be there long.

I’m narcissistic and insecure. I love the outdoors but not if it’s too hot or too cold. I don’t care to be out of my comfort zone and don’t like to be inconvenienced. I’m very selfish and will often think of myself first. Unless I really, REALLY like you. I love my family but don’t really want to see them. I’m still slightly hung up on an ex and I’m highly oversexed. I bore easily and don’t care for rejection. Much like “The Godfather” I’ll only ask once.

I’m lazy and once I’m off of work I don’t really want to do much of anything. Education is not that important to me and I don’t consider ones education to be a deal breaker. To say that I have issues is an understatement. However, I do have this to offer. I am fantastic in bed and I’ll make you laugh as I don’t take things too seriously.

What I'm Look For:

I want a man with a full head of thick, dark hair. Cut short. 6’ plus. Olive skin. Big biceps, tight ass and six pack abs. I also love me some chocolate. In such case, hair is optional as long as you have amazing traps. Somebody sarcastic with a slightly romantic side. But not so romantic that he sings to me or recites poetry because that will make me laugh instead of swoon. He doesn’t have to love his job just as long as he has a lot of money to spend on me and support my knitting habit.

If he’s sober and doesn’t drink we won’t match. If a non drinker says he doesn’t mind you drinking he’s lying. The drunker you get the more judgemental he will get. You call when you say you’ll call. Oh yeah, and you love to give massages but don’t like to get them because I hate to give them.

I want a man with no ex girlfriends/wives or children. Preferably a virgin so that I can mold him to my specific likes and dislikes. A man that hates videogames would be ideal because I like sex too much. One more thing, IF after I have just posted 987 photos on Match (Plenty of Fish, Yahoo, Etc.) and we get to talking and/or emailing PLEASE don't ask me if I have any more pictures. Especially, if you have none or one posted yourself. If you do ask me this then you are a retard and good luck getting to first base.

My Ethnicity:

To put it simply, I’m a mut. I’m a quarter Slavic and the rest is a mix of English, French and some other western European countries.

For Fun:

I love to watch people and make fun of them. I adore knitting but only knit scarves because I don’t have the patience to learn how to follow a pattern. Scarves are pretty basic and straight forward. I feel at home in craft stores and have bought so much crap that I could and should actually open up one of my own. I also love to paint, draw and write. I love to talk about myself and watch documentarys on MSNBC.

Favorite Hot Spots:

I love the beach but only if it doesn’t have any sand. I love to party with friends but prefer smaller settings. I don’t particularly feel the need to be stuffed like a sardine in the highly pretentious Hollywood club scene. If I can’t make my way through the crowd to the bar than what good is it to be there? I also don’t consider standing for 5 hours in heels to be much fun either. No seat, no go.

Favorite Things:

Money, yarn, wax, sex, TV, music, bath and body products and eyecream. Not particularly in that order.

My Religion:

I’m not particularly religious. I’ve never been baptized and if I’m going to hell because of it then I’m sure I won’t be going alone. Although, if there is a God and I get rejected at the pearly gates I’m sure going to be upset with my folks for not taking care of that when I was a baby because I don’t particularly care for extreme heat.

My Education:

I graduated high school, what more do you want? I went to college for a few days. Wasn’t my cup of tea. Does that make you love me any less? At least I know the difference between “there”, “their” and “they’re”. That’s more than I can say for many of the profiles written by people claiming to have “their” Bachelors degrees. If you actually consider “kewl” as an abbreviation for “cool” than we shouldn’t be dating also.

Last Read:
My profile because after reading hundreds of others I’ve come to realize that mine is the only one worth reading. At least mine is honest.
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And YES, I did actually post this on all the above mentioned dating websites. The responses were far more interesting than you'd imagine...

Day 1...The Beginning

So, it has been suggested to me by a very near and dear friend (I’d swear she was my Gemini twin if she were also a blonde) to start a blog. It has come to her attention that I seem to have a plethora of things to say on any given subject. With this I’d agree.

Being as this is my first blog entry I’ll start with today, move backwards to give you my history. Then hopefully move on to bigger and better things.

Today sucked. This a game I like to play with above mentioned friend. We compare notes, bitch about the days wrong doings and how much God has come to dislike us. She thinks she was Hitler in a past life. I think I was Judas. See how it works? I won that round.

At this point in the game, I’m 31, just lost my job AGAIN, in desperate need of making this months rent (with was due today), have no significant man in my life and am at home alone watching “Trekkies 2” for the umpteenth time on Showtime. I also had the glorious opportunity to chat with my Indian representative at HSBC Auto Finance after receiving a notice saying they were ready to repossess my lovely ’05 Toyota Corolla. Which, I’m paying entirely too much for because I have an APR of 196% due to my shitty credit.

On a good note, I have a great rack, a ton of blonde hair and amazing eyes. I also have a very active and glorious sex life. All is not lost.

As you can probably imagine, most of my entries will revolve around the male of the species and my interest in acquiring one or more of them for my permanent collection. I don’t mean creepy, chained to the basement kind either. I’d opt for ladies but I have no desire to Dine at the Y. Sorry, but if I “ever change my mind” I’ll be sure to “give you a call”. At this point, my family is seriously getting on my nerves about becoming an old maid and I do get a little lonely from time to time. Sex is awesome but I get bored of having to ask men to leave. “What is your name again?” is not the best way to start the morning.

So, how did I do so far? I’ve either driven you to the brink of desperation (in which case, say “Hi” because chances are I’m standing right next to you) or you are curious to see how I’m going to dig myself out of this mess and end up on top. On top of whom? Not sure yet.

Also, I find it only fair to give you a heads up that I’m a fairly open book and as I long as my dear grandma isn’t reading this I will continue to be so. So, if bad language, graphic descriptions of my many sexual escapades and ridicule of others tripping offend you than you should probably move along.
Cheers!