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Worst date ever doesn’t begin to describe it.

25 May

I do not recommend meeting people online.  You can go back and read some of my older posts about the freaks I’ve talked to, but the experience I am about to share with you now, is by far the worst.

A guy messaged me and his picture was quite impressive.  He looked like Tim Tebow, so we shall call him Tim.  I was intrigued.  We had the normal starter conversation and decided to meet at TGI Fridays parking lot because its a public place and convenient for both of us.

As I’m finishing getting dressed Tim texts me and asks if I’m actually as pretty as my pictures.  I replied “what are you going to do if I’m not?”.   He answered that he would simply say nothing and just walk away.  Wow. I’m already turned off, but at this point I am hungry and dressed to go.

I pull into the parking lot and I see him sitting on the tailgate of his blue truck.  It was nothing special but still a decent vehicle. I get out of my car. I’m pretty nervous and Tim walks up to me and introduces himself.  I guess I do look like my pictures.  He also looks like his pictures, and is well dressed and nicely groomed. We plan on going to a nice outdoor mall to do some window shopping and grab some dinner.  I ask him if he wants to drive and he says his truck isn’t running properly. He thinks he ran through a really deep puddle?  I ask him how he got he got here. He points to the apartments just behind the parking lot and says he lives there.  Whatever. I’m more comfortable being behind the wheel anyway.

We get into my car and he tells me I look innocent.

Weird.

He says “oh, I brought you something” and proceeds to pull candy out of his back pocket. Not just any candy.  Can you guess what kind of candy? No, you can’t.  Because you would probably never fucking guess that it was Fun Dip. Yes, FUN DIP, PEOPLE!

fundip

Because that’s just what I want, candy that he SAT ON.  Plus, I am a fucking adult.  I do not eat packets of sugar with a fucking stick that you suck. I don’t eat candy that turns my mouth all different colors of the rainbow.  I don’t want to suck on a sugar stick that was broken by the weight of his ass.

But, I am a polite person, so I say thank you and toss it in the backseat. We are on the road now.  Tim begins telling me how he used to sing country.  He searches his myspace page on his phone and makes me listen to multiple songs. I’m thinking, great, he is one of those.  I am not impressed and kind of annoyed.  He is no Johnny Cash. I ask him if he has facebook. He says he doesn’t because it was too much drama. That’s not strange at all.

We finally arrive and decide to go eat first.  We agreed on Buffalo Wild Wings.  We both order beers. We get on the subject of jobs.  He reveals that he is no longer employed because he crashed the company car.  He laughs about it.  So as of right now, he is a candy sitting-failed musician-broken truck having-unemployed-but good looking guy.  This is not what I had in mind.  The waitress asks me if I would like another beer.  I say “you know, I think we’re going to need a pitcher.”  Little did I know, things were going to get worse.

The subject of his living arrangements came up again.  He shares that he has a female room mate.  She is morbidly obese and in love with him. He also doesn’t have his own room.  He sleeps in the living room on the couch. Because he is couch surfing. Tim is basically homeless.  I am on a date with a homeless man.

We finish dinner and I pick up the check, because, well, I have a home.

I try to tune out his words and focus on his beauty. Despite all of his strike outs, he was very nice. But nice isn’t cutting it. Because things are still going to get worse.

We are driving home and he is talking about how psycho his “room mate” is.  Okay, dude, she isn’t your room mate. You don’t pay rent. She is letting you stay there out of crazy lust. She obviously has just as many issues as you do. Let’s call it what it is, you are having a slumber party with your stalker.

I am curious as to why he doesn’t try to stay with a family member.  He claims that his Mom doesn’t have room in her house because his sisters children live there.  They get wild and he can’t handle it.  Why isn’t his sister taking care of the children, you ask? Well, it’s because she is a crack head. And the multiple children are also crack babies. HIS WORDS. This is his flesh and blood that he is calling crack babies. I don’t know the medical term for it but I’m sure there is one, and it has to be a lot less derogatory.  I know Doctors aren’t delivering newborns saying “Congratulations! You’re a proud mother of a sick crack baby!”

This just is not normal.

And I want to remind you, that this is the same guy who said he would walk away from me if I was not up to his physical standards.

The worst is yet to come.

I’m dropping him back off in front of his apartment where he says “I’d invite you in, but my room mate gets really jealous.”  Then he asks me if I kiss on the first date. I say no and he replies “I knew you were the innocent type.”

Gross.

I go home and my mind is reeling from the craziness.  For whatever reason, I have the urge to look him up on facebook, undeterred by the fact that he said he did not have one.

Lo and behold, his face comes up.  I’m thinking, that’s a weird picture. Oh, right, because it is a fucking mugshot.  It is his mugshot as the profile picture, on a HATE PAGE on facebook. What I see blows my mind. It must be some ex that really hates him and is trying to ruin his life. Although, his life is already in shambles.

I search for his public records and to my disbelif, it is true. He was fucking arrested for a sex offense with a victim between the ages of 12 and 15. Holy shit. I messaged the facebook page asking for more information and they replied almost immediately saying multiple girls had come forward between the ages of 11 and 14.  The case is ongoing.

Even if he is somehow innocent, there was enough evidence to bring him into custody!  Innocent until proven guilty, I know. But any way you look at it, he was doing something he shouldn’t have.  I begin having mental flashbacks of the comments on how innocent I seem and the kids candy.  I am nauseous.

He messages me the following day asking when we can hang out again.  I could only think of one thing to say.

“I saw your mugshot.  I wish you were here. Just so you could watch me walk away.”

He messages me close to a year later.  He says his charges were dropped and was hoping to have a second chance with me.

No.

It looks like his charges were dropped from sex offender to felony battery.

I would rather die alone.

 

 

 

 

Beat or Cheat? The first Mistake

19 Jul

Disclaimer:  This post is written with the sole intent of entertainment.  If you actually rely on a strangers advice, who doesn’t know your relationship from a jack rabbits asshole to fix your problems, you are more than likely an idiot.  You deserve to be dumped.  I’m surprised anyone committed to you in the first place. You will probably die alone.  If your lover has already cheated on you, I’m pretty sure it’s your fault. My best advice to you is to hit the gym and buy a low cut top.

I’ve recently been thinking about what makes a man want to cheat. More specifically, why men cheat when they have what seems to be a very desirable woman at home.  This woman is physically attractive, smart, ambitious and basically the epitome of what the less fortunate females of the world, wish they could be.  These men that choose to risk their relationships are either dead set on self-destruction, or maybe, just maybe, men and women have different views of what perfection is.  Surprise! No one saw that completely obvious answer coming.

This day and age the existence of successful and powerful women is widely accepted, and even sometimes expected. Men aren’t necessarily looking for the next June Cleaver or a hot version of Martha Stewart.

Some men are just born players. They learned in middle school that they were adored by the female population. But for others, there are definite preventative measures you can take.

After doing some hot and heavy research, most men had the same excuse.  They aren’t getting the sex they want at home.  If you want to keep your man, you have to sleep with your man.  These morally confused men find themselves at a fork in the road, he can either choke the chicken to their favorite porn, or he can find a hot girl who has the same destination he does, Pleasure Town, USA. So… will your man beat or cheat?

It seems more and more are following the yellow brick road all the way to the wizard of sex they find in the Bar of Oz. Cheating.  Another thing I found is that good sex reflects a good relationship, and vice versa.  Sexing up your routine shouldn’t be viewed as perverted or desperate, but as a natural connection between two people who love each other. I’m no expert, on anything really. But I think I make a valid argument, that many cheaters would agree with.  I started this post with my finger pointing at men, but women also cheat.  And I believe it’s for some of the same reasons.

The first reason I want to bang upon, is sex. Boring sex is a symptom of a dying relationship. Resuscitate your relationship by giving your S.O. mouth to mouth, mouth to genitals, mouth to whatever creepy fetish you might be into.   If your S.O. loves you, they will give it a shot, or maybe you’re just not a match.  Or maybe you’re just into some really sick shit and need to keep it between you and your online circle jerk.

If you’re not asking your lover to dress up as an alligator, while crawling around at the mall on a leash, your chances are good.

First things first.  Good sex takes communication.  Unless you’re dating a mentalist, your lover won’t be able to read your mind.  Tell them what you want.  I know, I know.  It sounds crazy.  But most people that care about you will be quite receptive.  Take the chance.

Communication goes both ways.  Be open.  Just because you’ve opened your legs doesn’t mean you’ve opened your mind. You may end up liking something you never thought you would.  If it hasn’t been made illegal yet, there is a reason for it. It either isn’t all that bad, or its so unknown that you may literally be able to have a sex act named after you! That’s money, bitch! 

Secondly, be confident.  Nothing ruins potentially great sex more than insecurities.  Don’t think about that double cheese burger you had for lunch.  Don’t think about the last time you shaved your legs.  Don’t think about when your parents are coming to town.  Concentrate on your pleasure, their pleasure, and live in the moment.

And last for now, remember why you’re having sex with this person. You supposedly love this freak on a leash.

Names Shmames

7 Sep

We recently went out for Bakers birthday!  The drinking started at the beach bar in the early afternoon.  We had to request more soda for our drinks because they were that strong.  We were happy to get our moneys worth but damn, it wasn’t 5 o’clock anywhere.

There was a 3rd grader at the table behind us that was far too loud.  My first thought was she is going to be even more annoying as she gets older.  She was the youngest person at their table, thus probably the dumbest.  But she was dominating the conversation like she owned the fucking place.  If that was me, my parents would have been like “pipe down with your pre-adolescent bull shit.”  The little girl commanded the attention of the table like it was the state of the union address.  She then confidently said “Not that it would ever happen, like ever, but would you rather die by drowning or get eaten by a shark?”  First of all, it could happen. Florida is practically the capitol of unprovoked shark attacks.  Second of all, what kind of question is that? Aren’t you just a sadistic, little 7 year old? I don’t consider this to be appropriate lunch conversation. Third of all, DROWN! Duh.

We attempt to continue drinking at dinner, but that is a bust because they are out of House Margaritas? How does that even happen?

After dinner we hit up our favorite waterfront bar to meet up with more friends. We notice a random guy sitting alone on the corner of the deck.  We make up a story that he is a writer.  He keeps looking at us, probably wondering why we keep looking at him.  We are convinced that we just became characters in his novel.  I am drunk.  My friend dares me to go ask him why he is there alone.

5 minutes later he is coming with us to play pool at the next destination.  I’d like the record to show that I did NOT invite him.  In his words, he “overheard us talking about leaving” and wanted to come with us because he wasn’t a local. According to him, he was a fourth grade teacher.  Coincidentally, one of my friends is also a teacher.  They talked. Multiple red flags were raised. He was a weird one.  His name was Amun, “like the sun god”.  We asked him how old he was.  His response? “Do you know how old our Lord Jesus Christ was when he died? I’m that age.”  That at least answers the question of why he is there alone.  I think he had some sort of God complex.  Eventually, Baker started interrogating him about being a teacher. She told him not to bullshit her.  Not even God could help him. He got scared and left.

I go to the jukebox to play music.  I couldn’t get my bill into the machine, mostly because I wouldn’t put my drink down to straighten the crumpled dollar. A random guy, comes over and offers to help.  It goes right in.  Drunk.  He returns to whatever he was doing and I play Britney Spears and Bob Marley.  Can you dig it?

His friend approaches me and I introduce myself.  He says “I’m Luke, we’ve met before.” I argue  “no, I don’t remember you. I think you are thinking of someone else.” He continues to argue with me saying I have a face he couldn’t forget. Awkward.

Then he says “you were wearing a peach dress.”  Creepy. And awkward.

I’m still momentarily baffled because I have always thought that dress was orange. He knows my wardrobe better than I do.

Baker walks over and I introduce him “Baker, this is Lance.”  He corrects me, his name is Luke. Awkward.  I still don’t remember him.  He reminds me that the night I met him, I was way more interested in his friend.  Wow, Lance sure does know how to keep a conversation awkward.

The night I met him was the night I felt like a slutty cinderella.  There was a nice guy and a cute guy.  Guess which one he is.

Anyway, it turns out he is friends with the jukebox helper, Marcus.  Marcus confesses to Baker and I that he “has to be honest, he just got out of prison.”  Oh, fabulous!   Don’t only rapists and pedophiles have to be up front about that kind of thing? Clearly, we need to find new places to hang out.

Lance invites us to his beach house that is not far from there that is stocked with rum. Marcus will also be accompanying us.  Beach house? Sounds fancy.  Rum? Sounds like fun. I ask him what his name is again.  I’m way past beer goggles at this point.  I’m just straight up fucking blind. Then, I ask Baker if she is willing to go.  She agrees. Only because she is drunk. He gives us the address.  Baker says “Marcus, we will meet you at the gas station to pick up some cola to mix with the rum.”  He corrects her, his name is Maurice. Whoops.

We get to the gas station which looks shady as hell. But I guess all gas stations look shady at 3 in the morning.  She opens the car door and tells me she will be right back.  I tell her I want to come with her.  She says no, stay here and keep the doors locked.  Which is pretty much what every person says right before something horrific happens.

A couple minutes later she comes back to the car with a 2 liter of cola with a frustrated look on her face. Apparently, Lance made a comment that it was a lot of soda for his amount of rum.  She is pissed because she felt we shouldn’t even go if the rum is that limited. I agree but it’s too late now…we bought the soda.

Just because the town has ‘beach’ in the name does not mean the house is literally on the beach. I got shafted.  The house was poorly decorated and smelled like the 1950’s.

The four of us took a lot of group selfie pictures.  All of which confirm that I drank too much.  None of which I wish to share.

Around 5 a.m. Lance/Luke and I went into his kitchen to put the rum back in the fridge.  There was old, rotting corn on the stove.  It was definitely time to go. Baker had also had enough of her conversation with the felon, who she found out had a couple kids that he really loves.  Whatever.

We say our goodbyes and hightail it outta there.

The next day Lance text messages me multiple times. I do not respond.  The day after that he calls me multiple times.  I do not answer.  The third day he sends me a text that says “Are you not interested in talking to me?”.   What gave it away?  Was it the fact that I’m not talking to you?

Idiot.

Let your freak flag fly!

29 May

For any of you that have dabbled in online dating, you already know that trying to find your soul mate on the world wide web is like trying to build a hurricane shelter out of Lego’s.

Times are changing though. More and more people are using the internet to find love, sex, or whatever other kind of top secret, creepy shit they are into.  Online dating has great potential to actually become what it already claims to be.  But there are still a ton of kinks that need to be worked out.

As I said in part one, Entering the Gates of Freak City, I let my friend, Baker sign me up for one of these sites while I was under the influence of some cheap wine.

Well, the entrance fee to freak city was at the very affordable price of my dignity.  SOLD to the lowest bidder! Who needs dignity anyway? It’s like that annoying cricket bitching in my ear, slow down, stop and think, you’re embarrassing yourself.  Oh, shut the hell up Jiminy. I got this.

In order to start meeting people in this clown palace, you have to fill out your profile.  Baker uploaded my most flattering photo’s and then began to fill out the “About Me” section.  This was her opener:  “If you like to party, then you will like me!”

She obviously knows way too much of my history to be writing this section. Everyone else had written self praising novels about their lives. I tell her to add that I am a college graduate and have, like, hobbies and stuff.   The section ended up being three sentences. Whatever.  I’m too drunk to care at this point.

It wasn’t long before all kinds of crazies were messaging me.  I won’t bore you with the normal people, because though they are rare, they actually do exist.  But I always found a flaw with them. It would be nonsensical for me to date someone who might actually be good for me.  Besides, healthy relationships are dull.

This site had a spiffy feature where you can view who added you to their favorites list. And lo and behold! Someone added me as their favorite. Sweet! Lets check this sexy beast out.

Hmmm.  It’s a very thin, short, 50-year-old, black man.

And he is wearing a do-rag, taking a “selfie” picture in a broken mirror in what looks to be a shanty town.  I shit you not.

My first thought was “how does he afford the membership fees to this site?”

I click to the next picture because let’s be real, he’s got my attention. The second picture is similar to the first except this one has the added bonus of pigeons surrounding him. WTF? It looks like some sort of fucked up family photo.  The third picture is just of the pigeons, huddled around shards of glass and cardboard.  He can’t be serious. He lives in shanty town with pigeons.  PIGEONS! Ya know? Like shitty doves!  This might be normal in some parts of the world but this is Florida.  I think I’m going to keep my options open and see who else is out there.

I exchanged a few emails with another guy. He seemed normal at first.  Until he started asking me why I hadn’t deleted my account yet. I asked him what he meant. He said “It shows that you logged in this morning. Why are you still on that site when you are talking to me? You need to delete it.”

Excuse me? RED FLAG. A couple of conversations and he is already claiming me as his own and forbidding me from talking to any one else.  Listen pal, I happen to work as Domestic Violence counselor (shocker, right?) and you clearly have issues.  I told him I found someone better looking to talk to.  Then he swore at me a few times. Well, that guy is out of the running.

I asked one user if he had a Facebook and if I could add him.  He said yes as long as I didn’t mind being bombarded with photos of him and his fiancée.

The next dudes username is BillyBob.  I should have known I already had a winner on my hands. But his pictures were cute and he started out nice with the traditional pleasantries. Then things took a turn for the worse.  He told me he was an ass man. Uhm, okay, I didn’t ask but thanks for the heads up. Then, he asked me if I had a dirty butt.

Just one of the glories of online dating. Apparently he had some sort of swamp ass fetish. Who knows? I didn’t bother to ask.  I just wanted to get me and my clean butt out of that conversation.  And that’s probably my cue to depart from Freak City and go back to regular dating. With people who wipe.

The anonymity of the internet can work in disturbing ways.  Ugly people pretend to be pretty people.  Losers pretend to be cool.  And freaks suck you into their freakdom by pretending to be normal.

Did he just call me an asshole?

28 Apr

I can be a real bitch sometimes. But if you’ve read any of my writing then you already knew that.  Writing about how I feel in my own personal blog isn’t what makes me a bitch though.  I may sound like a bitch or an asshole but it’s not that observable in everyday life.  I like to think I have common decency.

But besides that, it got me thinking about the first time I was sincerely told I was acting like an asshole.  Believe it or not, it was only about two years ago.

I met a guy through a mutual friend and was instantly attracted to him.  Blue eyes, blond hair, nice build –you know the type.  We can call him Johnny. Johnny was hot but also unavailable. Fuck. I may be a bitch, but I am not a home wrecker.

After troubling circumstances with a guy I was currently dating, my friends and I went to one of our favorite bars for a girls night out.  I have never been a big fan of girls only night, probably because I am a big fan of hot men. But whatever. I have great girlfriends and we already have our buzz on so we arrive at the bar feeling quite chipper.

I’m ordering a drink and who do I run into?  That answer is obvious.

Girl time will have to wait.

I’m drunk, newly alone and hungry for male attention.   My goal was to find a rebound boy. But Johnny was the last person I expected to see there. I hadn’t seen him in over a year.   He approaches me. He tells me how great I look. We talk.  He is single now.

According to them, my girlfriends are sitting at the table watching us from across the room.  They pretend like my love life is a wildlife mating documentary and begin commenting on our body language and what our next moves will be.  The show would be appropriately named Bitch on the Prowl.  They predict my signature hair flip.  This signifies that I am going in for the kill.

Johnny and I exchange numbers.  The bartender is making last call. We realize we are the last ones in the place, my friends are waiting for me in the car. We kiss goodbye. I’m pretty satisfied with myself. I did good.

The next day he calls me and invites me over. I decline. The day after that he calls me and invites me over.  I accept.

I get to his house and am blown away by the immaculate and pristine accommodations. I knew he was hot, but dang, he must have money, too.  Not to mention, I am greeted by the cutest puppy in the whole world.  I think it was an American Bulldog, but I’m not a fucking dog specialist and I already had a few drinks to calm my nerves, so it could have been a miniature pony for all I know.

He asks if I want to go to a local bar and meet up with his friends to play some pool.  As I mentioned earlier, I was still hung up on another guy.  My sole intention was to use Johnny as a coping mechanism and to forget about my recent failure at love.   Looking back, I think I was a tad more drunk than I realized and I slightly regret this decision.  Here’s a good-looking guy who wants to take me out and introduce me to his friends, and what do I do?  I avoid it at all costs. Go out in public? Meet his friends? I’m not ready for that kind of commitment.   I insist that we stay at his house and “watch a movie”.  I am destined to die alone.

Then he says he just got home from work and wants to take a quick shower.  Good, shower it up. I like a clean man. So, while he is in the bathroom washing his balls, I am sipping a beer and canoodling with the pup on his bed.  He comes out of the shower in basketball shorts and lays down next to me. We start flipping through the channels looking for something to watch when we start kissing.

Everything is going great.  Foreplay has begun.

I’ll spare you the details.  To my surprise a few minutes into it, he finishes.  He sighs and grunts his satisfaction.  He gets up to go to the bathroom. I ask him through a closed door “is that it?”.  No response.  For the love of fornication! I still have my pants on!

Moments later he comes back out and lies on the bed next to me.  I think he can see the disappointment seeping out my pores.  I looked like a fat 8 year-old who just dropped their ice cream cone.

I look at him too, he looks discouraged.  I ask him whats wrong.  He says and I quote “we took things too fast.” In my mind I’m thinking, no! YOU took things too fast! I did everything right, apparently too right!   But instead I blurt out “Why? It’s not like we are going to start dating or anything.”  His face went blank, and then quickly transformed into rhino stampeding pissed when he said “that’s the SECOND ASSHOLE THING YOU’VE SAID TONIGHT!” I blushed and gave him a confused face and gently asked “what was the first?”  

He  stormed into the bathroom again. Maybe I should just haul the mattress in there. Seriously, talk about a role reversal.  Some people just don’t understand the concept of reboundism.

I waited a few minutes and then yelled to him “I guess I’ll let myself out!” I think he could hear me arguing with the dog because he came out and was like “you’re leaving?”.  As much as I enjoy getting called an asshole and watching you lock yourself in the bathroom, the party has to end some time.  “I have to get up for work early tomorrow.”

He opens his front door and the puppy escapes and starts following me.  He SCREAMS for the puppy to come back.  The puppy does not respond well to commands. Or threats. I am scared for the puppy.  I’m standing at my car door and Johnny has to physically come retrieve the puppy to prevent it from jumping into my car.

The night ended in a fashion that I like to call fucking awkward.

How serious is serious?

27 Apr

Have you ever liked somebody up until you realized the feeling was mutual?  It happens to me all the time.  I guess I just want what I can’t have. I thought it was a phase but I’m beginning to think I have a fear of commitment.

I consider my current relationship status to be friends with benefits.  But lately I get the feeling it’s progressing into something more.  The reasons are as follows:

1. Daily text messages.

He texts me to ask me how my day is going.  Since when does anybody give a fuck about my day?

2. Was that a date?

He invited me to go out to eat.  So, that afternoon I stopped by the drug store. I spent twenty minutes comparing razors.  The pharmacist kept looking at me like I might be illiterate. That, or I was contemplating on stealing it.  I splurged on the expensive one.  BOOYAH Pharmacist! I’m pretty sure I paid an extra $10.00 because it was pink. And I even bought an electric shaver also.  I was curious. Don’t judge me. Of course, I go to use it and the piece of shit doesn’t have any fucking batteries in it.  Maybe they should have put ‘buy your own damn batteries’ on the package.  I had to rummage through every piece of electronics in my house to find 2 triple A batteries.  Why the fuck doesn’t it take double A batteries like everything else in the world? Anyway, I digress.  The point is, I obviously felt that this night was special for some reason.  He paid for dinner and made sure to open the doors and all that jazz.  If it shaves like a date, pays like a date, and kisses like a date, is it a date?

3. Spending the night.

Most guys can’t wait to give their booty call the boot when the business transaction is complete. And if you want to cuddle you’re better off going to Build-a-Bear Workshop. I wish they had Build-a-Man Workshop.  They have Build-a-Bitch Workshop, it’s called a relationship (no wonder I’m single).  When the deed was done I’d gather my shit (Dignity not included. See what I did there razor company?) and be on my happy hoe way.  I actually like sleeping in my own clean sheets.  But now he offers that I spend the night.  I know the physical acts we just committed are considered to be one of the most intimate things two people can do together, but I feel like waking up next to each other is a whole new level of closeness.

4. Using his facilities.

He invites me over to watch a movie when I get off work.  He says that I can just bring a clean pair of clothes and shower at his house.  I told my friend this to see what kind of response it would illicit. She replied “You can’t shower at his house! There’s no way he will have good shampoo!” Plus my long locks need conditioner.  I think that’s a pretty valid concern.  I’ll never forget the day I woke up with a hangover at a male friends house. I had to shower before class so I didn’t smell like a hooker on a 3 day alcohol binge.  I was forced to use anti-dandruff shampoo for men, old spice deodorant, and I wore the same clothes I passed out in.  Then I walked into class smelling like a spicy man with a dandruff problem and my friend looks at me and says “have you seen your neck?”  It’s safe to say that was rock bottom but I think I deserve some credit for at least making it to class.  I continue to digress.  I feel like using his shower and shampoo is like domesticating our relationship.  It’s like sharing toothpaste. It’s like playing house.  It’s like committing to maybe, possibly, showering there on a regular basis.  But hey, maybe he just wants me to be clean for the post movie activities.

I’m not going to jump to any conclusions.  I’m probably over analyzing.  I just like to know what everyone is thinking and why they do certain things.  Hidden meanings are so aggravating.

It’s like my  motto, say what you mean, mean what you say, and say something mean.

Alexander Graham Bell, this is your fault.

5 Apr

It dates back to the prehistoric times of the Caveman.  The males approach to women doesn’t seem to have changed that much.  The caveman knew how to sweep a woman off her feet — beat her over the head until she falls flat on her back.

I know that men were put on this earth to create chaos in a womans mind.  I don’t understand it, but I’ve come to accept it — only because I have to.  We’re lucky if they change their underwear let-alone change their strategies of attracting women.  Here we are in the year 2012, and men still believe the best way to get a lady back to his cave is by messing with her head.  The only thing that’s changed is that now women beat their own heads against the wall.

Like men weren’t confusing enough, Mr. Alexander Graham Bell had to go and put hot sauce on a jalapeno and invent the telephone.  Which leads me to the topic of my post and the burning question, will he call?

This should be a very simple question to answer.  If he says he will call, then yes, he will.  But that wouldn’t get us to beat our heads against the wall, now would it? So, they’ve made it into an impossible guessing game because every case is different.

Classmate Example A:

Run into classmate at a bar:

“Hey, can I have your number? We should catch a movie tomorrow night.”

“Sure, that sounds great.”

He doesn’t call.  I bet he was really tired from staying out late last night.

I see him again in class and he continues to talk to me, but for embarrassments sake I do not ask why he bailed the other night. After all, it wasn’t set in stone and I don’t want to seem like a clinger. and then:

“What are you doing later tonight? Lets get together, I’ll hit you up.”

“Okay, I’m down.”

Is my phone on silent? I bet his phone ran out of battery.  Is my phone out of battery? He’s said he would be home, he should have a charger.  Maybe he isn’t getting service.  Am I getting service? I don’t even know if I like him. Why am I so worried about his call? I just don’t understand why he would initiate hanging out with me only to leave me hanging…alone. Just shut up. I need to just shut up.

The next time I’m walking out to my car, staring at the ground in a daze, only to look up and see him in his car waiting to talk to me.

“Hey, what class did you have today?  What are you doing later? We should go to the beach or something.”

“Yeah, just let me know.”

Oh, no. I feel it. My brain is going into over-drive-over-analyze mode again.

I don’t think our phones can connect for some reason.  I bet he found some other girl to go to the beach with. Why is he doing this to me? Do I deserve this? I bet this is karma for all those fake numbers I gave out. FML. Why does he act like he’s interested and then pretend to do something about it?  I knew I shouldn’t have worn these jeans today.  They make my ass look huge. What a fucking dickbrick.  I hope he knows how to use his dick better than he knows how to use a phone.   Fuck you and fuck Alexander Graham Bell.

That’s where Classmate Example A ends for now.

Let’s continue.

Random guy at a bar Example B:

Run into a friend at a bar who introduces me to Example B.  We hit it off and have a great time.  The night ends around 4 AM with a drunken, short, good night kiss.

“Can I get your number?”

“DLFKAJS;LF yes alajdfas;lij”

I know I said yes, but like I said– 4 AM – BAR– I’m lucky I remember the little that I do.  Besides, that fuckers never going to call.

Next day:

“I wanted to know if you’d like to come watch a movie at my house tonight?”

“Yes.”

Well, the movie, ahem, went well. We share another kiss goodbye and I leave.

Why didn’t he mention calling me again? I am so stupid.  I have no self control. He doesn’t want to buy the cow. Fucking bastard motherfucker.

Next morning text:

“Good morning, How are you?”

Texts me all day. WTF. The guy who never mentions calling is the one who calls. The one who goes out of his way to say he will call me is the one who doesn’t.

That just goes to show you how fucked up the male psyche is.

I really need end this post because I think my head is bleeding.

No, I can’t hear you now. But Call me, maybe?

This song is so catchy.

I am here for an oil change, not a date.

22 Feb

I am not going to answer

You can call, but I won't answer.

It seems like I can’t go anywhere these days without getting hit on.  Yes, most of the time it is flattering but nonetheless inappropriate.  And also awkward.  I feel the need to tiptoe around town avoiding the guys working in certain places that have blatantly flirted with me.  The most recent occurrence of this really made me laugh at his methods.

I take my car into the dealership I bought it from for service.  They instruct me to go sit in the waiting room until it’s time to surgically remove my arm and leg to pay for the oil change.  I walk in and of course there’s the usual mixture of snacks in a basket, like crackers, cookies, donuts, — anything I shouldn’t even be eyeing if I want to be ready for bikini season.  Eh, fuck it, I grab some peanut butter crackers because they’re free and I might be a nice bitch but I am also a broke bitch.  College is expensive, ya heard? I think I will make that my next post. lol.

In walks this hefty man, I’m guessing around 30 years old.  He kind of reminded me of Randy Jackson.  He asks me what I am waiting for.   Well, I have a dry mouthful of peanut butter crackers and normally I wouldn’t dare speak with my mouth full but every time I walk into this wallet-emptying-hell-hole I seem to say ‘fuck it” a lot more than I usually do.  So, there is no way I can be appealing trying to answer his boring,  just-leave-me-to-my-crackers-and-iphone-please, stupid questions.  Finally, he hands me his card and says he is being paged and has to take care of something important.  Well, aren’t you just Mr. Big Deal?  Thank God, now I can eat my crackers in peace and text my friends how annoying the guy that works here is.

You guessed it, Mr. Big Deal walks back in and sits down on the couch next to me.  You think this may have tipped him off but apparently not — I ask him “Aren’t you going to get in trouble for sitting here with me?  Don’t you have something you should be doing?”  He smirks and replies “Didn’t you read my card?”   Um, obviously not.  So I dig through my suitcase/purse to find the card I carelessly threw in there. A few minutes pass. lol. I pull out his card and read that he is the Sales Manager. Wow, he is a big deal.   And!!! (I know we don’t like excessive use of exclamation points but I am just that excited!!!!) His card reveals his name is “Big John”. HAHAHAHAHAHA. No.  You shouldn’t have a ‘big’ in your name unless you are a Pro Wrestler, Porn Star, or dating Carrie on Sex and the City.   And do I even need to elaborate that it’s on his business card?  The only big part about him is his belly… and his head. He proceeds to ask me how old I am and I tell him to take his best guess. He says 25. And I pretend to be slightly offended and tell him I am younger than that (by a year. lol).

At this Point I am just talking to him solely for entertainment purposes.  He tries to recover from the age insult by saying that I carry myself like a woman on a mission.  Make that a bitch on a mission and I might forgive you.  Then he offers to take me on a ‘test drive’ to help pass the time.  I am playing into his antics now and I tell him bring me the biggest, baddest truck on the lot.   During the short drive, he begins to interrogate me on what I am studying in school, what kind of truck my boyfriend drives, where I like to go for dinner, etc.  As much as I try to steer the subject back to the truck, he puts the pedal to the metal back to the subject of me. Ugh. But, I did end up giving him my number, but only because I am a nice bitch.  I like to tell it how it is but without intentionally hurting others.  But he called me and I never answered.  I don’t think that is the first time that has happened to him.

I just don’t know where these guys get off thinking it’s okay to approach customers in this fashion.  Car salesman have a bad rep as it is.  And now I feel uncomfortable going back there.  I mean, at least if I do see him I will still get some free crackers out of it.

The truth is, I’m flattered that you like me, but insulted that you think you have a chance with me.

Chocolates go on Sale tomorrow!!

14 Feb

Happy Valentines Day!

Love,  the bitchy truth

I’m not single, I am my own Boss.

13 Feb

It’s almost Valentines Day otherwise known as Single-people-can-go-fuck-themselves-because-obviously-nobody-else-wants-to Day.   Clearly,  it’s one of my favorite holidays of the year.  Between the flowers, candy, and other overpriced bullshit, I can hardly contain myself.  If you can smell sarcasm it’s because I’ve been soaking in it.  And it’s not that I’m a lonely old, bag lady.  I’m not jaded. I absolutely believe in love.  I have a heart, even if it is cold.

I just feel that love is misunderstood.  I want to slap people all day because of the mindless, dim-witted, dickshit decisions they make.  And then they want to blame their desperate acts of retardation and rejection on being blinded by love.  Your girlfriend was impregnated by your best friend.  I think it’s safe to say she doesn’t love you, or even like you.  And it’s probably because you’re a low-self esteem, doormat, who can’t say no.  Take a bitch’s advice and hop off that hoe train.  Unfortunately, my advice won’t be taken and they will continue their long, tragic, on and off again, mind torture they call a relationship.  I hope you really enjoy that mess of a broad and banging the cold, worn out cavern gaping between her forever spread legs.  And don’t worry, the clap is totally curable.

If that’s what love is, I don’t want any.

Of course, there are some decent couples out there.  They actually make me sicker than the doormat folk.  But it’s only because life isn’t fair.  Some of us have to wait to find love.  Wait, and wait, and wait, and fucking wait.  But that’s okay, I spend my waiting time being fabulously single, enjoying my freedom to bitch at anybody who crosses my path.  Because while love can be great and all, with love and relationships come rules.  And bitches don’t like rules, unless we are the ones enforcing them.

As soon as you commit to someone things naturally progress into owning one another.  A Marriage Certificate is just a fancy term for Bill of Sale.  Congratulations on your wedding! You’ve just become property.

1. You spend all your time together.  There’s only one person I can spend every second of my life with, and that’s me!  And I can only handle that because I drink a lot.

2. They constantly want to know where you are, what you’re doing and who you are with.   Well since you asked, I’m apparently on a short leash, waving goodbye to my freedom with the warden himself.

3. They think they can go through your phone. Bitch, touch my phone and we are finished. I’ve got way too much to hide.

4. You have to pretend to like what they like.  Golf? I can’t even fake it.

5. They get comfortable with you.  Comfortable is so unattractive. Sweat pants? Burping? Pooping? Absolutely not.   That’s why I always look out for others and try to make them as uncomfortable as possible.

6. You have to buy them stuff.  If I have to buy you a gift to reciprocate you buying me a gift then that counteracts the thoughtfulness of you buying me a gift because we might as well just buy our own shit.  So keep the gifts coming but I won’t be buying you anything because that way what you bought me will mean more.  You don’t have to understand it. Trust me, I’m right.

So, somebody should call the Nobel Prize people because I just disproved the theory that Love is Blind. It’s not blind, it’s stupid.  It’s all heart and no brain.  But there is no denying that it’s out there. Just waiting to get you in its grasp so it can eat your mind and soul.  Happy Valentines Day Bitches!

Then again, maybe love is blind, because it obviously hasn’t seen how incredibly fantastic I am.  All I know is I plan to spend this Valentines Day following my heart and spending it with the person who brings the most satisfaction to my life.  My bartender.

Love can’t be controlled.  You can’t live with it, you can’t live without it. It’s unstoppable. Love is your boss.   And your boss is a BITCH. ya dig?