Monthly Archives: April 2009

C.D. #2: An Unexpected Turn of Events, Part 2


We are now on Monday:


I am still all a-flutter at the thought of my date Tuesday night. Jay and I were text messaging like crazy on Monday. A bunch of “I’m looking forward to it” text messages and just some other random chit chat. I had to work Monday night at my PT job, so I called him when I got home.

Him: Hey you.

Me: Hey! What’s going on?

Him: Oh, just playing COD with my brother.

Me: Oh my God, AGAIN?

Him: Yeah, hold on. (Again, I heard screaming) he’s pissed off at me again.

Me: He is totally going to hate me.

Him: Ah, who cares. Besides, he won’t hate you, he thinks you’re cool already.

Me: He does?

Him: Yeah. I had lunch with him today and told him about this amazing girl who is cute, funny and really does like sports. And KNOWS about sports. He was impressed. (So FUCK YOU, RON!)

Me: Well I’m flattered.

Him: Yeah… I’m not going to talk too long tonight, just because we were both up so late last night, and I want to make sure that we’re rested for tomorrow.

Me: Good plan.

So we make plans as to where & when we’re going to meet. Then he says:

Okay, well, I’ll let you go. I’m really looking forward to tomorrow night.

Me: Me too. I’m nervous, though.

Him: No need to be. It will be great. Good night, hon.

Me: Night.

And now the day is here:


Again, we spend the day text messaging. I tell him again, that I’m nervous, but its an excited nervous. This is what he texts me:

“Let me tell you something. I’m not nervous about this because this is the most comfortable I’ve been going into a first date. It will be great. I already know it. So don’t worry.”

And he totally put me at ease. Well, sort of. We had decided to meet downtown at a really great Mexican restaurant at 7:00. I decided to leave my place at 6, get there early, and have a beer to calm my nerves. I had had my outfit planned out for a couple of days. Dark jeans, simple black, flat Mary-Janes and a short sleeved black shirt that showed off the girls enough, but not TOO much. Simple bracelet and I was good to go. God was especially nice to me because my hair looked AMAZING that day. And had actually not FLATTENED like it tended to do. (I am cursed with thick, FINE hair. It blows.) The entire time, Jay and I are texting, giving status updates on what we were doing, what music we were listening to, etc.

So at 6, I get a text from Jay telling me he’s getting in the shower and he would see me soon. This is when it hits me that OH MY GOD I AM GOING ON A DATE WITH JAY. NOW I get really nervous. I climb in the car and head downtown, replaying EVERYTHING we talked about. Now, I know I didn’t go into details before about our 7 hour long conversation, that’s mainly because it was SEVEN HOURS LONG. But there are a few things to bear in mind while reading about our date. They are:

1) He made it perfectly clear he doesn’t have sex on the first date. I am 100% completely fine with that.

2) I made it perfectly clear that I don’t like holding hands on the first date. To me, that implies some sort of relationship, and I’m not comfortable doing that from the get-go. He was cool with that.

3) I also said that I don’t usually kiss on the first date, because you don’t want to give people the wrong impression. I said there have been exceptions, though. He understood

4) He made mention that he is super sensitive on his upper arms, where his tattoos are. I made it perfectly clear that OH MY GOD I LOVE TATTOOS. He promised to show them to me, just to tease me, all night long. (He even sent me multiple picture mails showing off his tattoos)

5) In response to the above, I made mention that my lower back is really sensitive. I love when people touch me there, but it makes me shiver. He also promised to touch me there “on accident” as much as possible. Uh huh. Right.

Okay, that’s the highlights to remember… yeah… CAN YOU SEE WHERE THIS IS GOING? OH MY GOD I SHOULD JUST STOP RIGHT HERE.

So I arrive at the restaurant at around 6;35. I send him a text saying, “Here. Will be sitting at the bar.” Which I did. Ordered my Bud Light and began text messaging all my friends telling them how nervous I was. Suddenly, I feel a tap on my shoulder, and someone sits down next to me. Its him. I just know its him. “I could tell by the Bud Light,” he says and smiles. I knew within those 10 seconds that I was attracted to him, on all levels. The date could have ended right there and I would have been satisfied. Its so hard to explain, but it was electric, like there was something comfortable and all exciting between us, all wrapped up into a big ball of… something. So we start talking. The conversation is pretty much instantaneous. Its like we’ve known each other for years. We’re laughing, joking around, and suddenly, he looks at me slyly and says, “Well look what we have here…!” and lifts up the sleeve on his shirt. His tattoo. Ugggggggggggggggggh. Its even more impressive in person. I look at him and say, “You are evil.” He says, “No, if I was evil, I’d do this…” and he lifts the other sleeve, showing off his other tattoo. I turn to look at my beer and he starts laughing. “Oh this is going to be fun!” he says.

We talk for awhile longer, realize its 8:30 and that we should probably eat. He gets up and waits for me to move and I said, “Oh no, you go first…” fully protecting my back from his touch. He laughs and says, “Oooh. I forgot about that. Thanks for the reminder!” I scowl (playfully) at him, and we go to sit down. We order some margaritas (he loves mango ones! AWWWWWWWWW) and he tells me to order whatever I want for an appetizer. “I’ve had everything here, and they are all great.” So I look at the menu, decide that I am craving sea creatures, and say, “Calamari.” His face literally fell. I said, “Oh my God, sorry. You said order anything!” He laughs and said, “It totally figures. The one thing that is my least favorite you choose. Its like it was meant to be.” So we compromised and ordered this cheesy chorizo dip and our food. The dip comes and he actually says, “Here, let me…” and HE SERVES ME FOOD AT THE TABLE. HOW FRIGGIN AWESOME IS THAT??????? So then he lets me try a sip of his margarita and he tries mine. As I am leaning over to drink his, he reaches his arm around me, pulls me a bit closer and… runs his knuckle up my spine! I immediately stiffen, scowl at him, and it sends him into a huge burst of laughter. “Wow! That was really impressive!” he said.

I scowl some more and then start giggling. “See? I told you, now stop!” he then proceeds to lift up the sleeve of his shirt again. I smack his arm and say, “You are killing me! LETS EAT.” So we finish eating and decide to order a couple more margaritas. We’re talking about everything.. politics, family, showing off pictures of our nephews. I say, “I’ll be right back, I need to use the restroom.” I stand and AGAIN he runs his knuckle up my back. And laughs. I go to the bathroom, do a little happy dance while sitting on the toilet, and head back to the table. We finish drinking our drinks and he pays the bill (I offered for my share, but he said no). So then I say, “So…. Are you having a good time?” he says, “I am having a GREAT time.” I say, “Great enough to want it to continue for awhile longer?” He says, “What are you thinking?” I said, “I’ve never been to the Royal Mile, let’s walk down there and have a couple drinks.” He agrees. We get up, start to walk out, and AGAIN with the knuckle. I was so… shiver-y that I couldn’t get out of the building. He’s laughing his ass off saying, “Uh, Nik, you have to PULL on the door.”

So we walk down to the Royal Mile, the entire time, he’s got his arm around me, trying to do the knuckle thing again. I keep trying to dodge it and failing miserably. He finds this amusing. We take a table and order a couple of beers and he starts poking fun at me by AGAIN, showing me his tattoos. “Do you want to touch them?” he says. “Sure,” I said. And decided turn about was fair play. I poked one, and then proceeded to rub my hand lightly along his upper arm. He kinda closed his eyes for a second and I laughed. “Ha ha!” I said. “Turn about is fair play!” he tells me, “Oh, you’ve been hitting all the right notes and getting me worked up all night, I’m just better at hiding it than you are.” I said, “Well that’s good to know.” He says, “Yes, don’t think it hasn’t been hard for me to keep my eyes focused up on your face a few times.” This is where I blushed, he caught it and started laughing again. “NICE!” he said. I grinned and said, “This isn’t even my lowest cut shirt!”

So we’re sitting there talking, he keeps knuckling up my back, and by this time, I have just completely given in. I’m melting in my seat, and he knows it. “Give me your hands,” he says. “Why?” I ask, immediately suspicious. “I want to see how sensitive you are in other places.” “No!” I said, knowing where this was headed. He grins and says, “What about here?” and he leans over and runs a finger along my neck, underneath my ear. I get goosebumps and grab his hand away. “OOOOOOH!” he says. I take his hand in mine and place it on the table and hold it there. “Hey now,” he says, smiling, “you said no hand holding on the first date.” I said, “Well I am making an exception to that rule.” He then leans over and says, “I don’t have to use my hands for this…” and blows softly on my neck. More goosebumps. More fidgeting. More scowling at him because he driving me nuts and he knows it.

I run my hand up and down his arm as we start talking about what’s on ESPN and football and stuff. We finish our beers and order another one. Then he says, “So your neck is sensitive, too, hm?” I said, “Yeah, but that goes for a lot of people. They enjoy it.” He says, “Do you enjoy this?” He leans over and runs his chin (he has a goatee, so it was sorta scratchy) along my neck. I dart away and say, “yes I do, now stop it!” He starts laughing and says, “You can’t get upset, because this all falls within first date guildelines! No sex, no kissing, remember?!” I grumble and he says, “This is awesome! You were so unprepared for me, weren’t you?” I said, “Yes, I admit, I was not prepared for this.” “You’re not used to not having the upper hand, are you?” I shook my head.

After a third drink, more in depth conversation about anything you can think of and more flirting and more contact of this nature… by the way, I’m not going into any more detail about what happened in the bar. Nothing bad, it was just a lot more of what I’ve already written. Ya’ll need to understand, this teasing, on BOTH our parts, went on for about FOUR HOURS. (We closed the bar down) Moving on…

The bar closes and he tells me he’s going to walk me to my car in the lot. He puts his arm through mine & we’re walking arm in arm down the street. He makes some comment about music and I said, “You should come listen to me sing sometime.” He says, “I plan on it.” I said, “Really? So does that mean there will be a second date?” “Oh most definitely,” he says. I’m grinning from ear to ear right now.

We walk up the ramp to my car and he starts giving me shit about my tags being close to expiring. “Nooooooo.. they don’t expire until 45 days AFTER the end of the month.” (I know this by heart, trust me!) So he comes over and says, “Well, I guess this is goodbye.” And leans in to give me a huge hug. I hug him back and make a split second decision. I pull away and say, “I’m about ready to break my second first date rule.” “What’s that?” he says. “This,” I say, and I pull him in and kiss him. Kiss him with all of my pent up frustration from the past 6 hours of non-stop teasing. And man oh man, does he kiss me back. I remember thinking, “Ooh! He’s a biter!” After about a minute of the AWESOME kiss, I pull back, take a deep breath and look at him. He says, “What would you do…” he grabs my hips “if I did this…” and shoves me back up against my car. Then leans in and kisses me again. Starts nibbling my ears, neck, my chin, back up to my lips… ACK! ACK! ACK!

He pulls away and I giggle when he has to un-fog his glasses. He looks at me and smiles and I grin back. He says, “Text me to let me know you got home okay.” I nod and say, “You too.” He gives me another hug and then waits until I’ve gotten into my car and backed out. Driving away, I can still feel the scruffiness of his goatee again my mouth, and I grin. And grin. And grin. I can’t quit grinning. Oh my God I am STILL grinning.

I get home and receive a text: Made it home. Had a GREAT night. Talk to you tomorrow.

So now we’re on Wednesday…


And Wednesday brought an unexpected turn of events…


C.D. #2: An Unexpected Turn of Events, Part 1


I had sent Jay a winkie and a note a couple weeks ago and never heard back from him. I was semi-disappointed because his picture and profile were pretty much everything I looked for in a guy. He was slightly pudgy (i.e. beer belly!), loved sports, his profile was funny, he even used PUNCTUATION. But alas, no response. I was getting used to that sort of thing. You know what’s worse than not finding any non-crazies out there? Finding non-crazies but not having them respond to you!

One day, though, I was pleasantly surprised to log in and see that he had sent me a message. (This was a Thursday night. Timelines will be important for this story.) Here, I will get you started:


(Microsoft paint SUCKS)

So anyways, Thursday, Jay writes back. He apologizes for not getting back to me sooner. He was apparently out of town for work and has been really swamped, so he was lax in responding to all the hotness that wanted to meet him, including yours truly. We send a couple of emails back and forth and he seems like a pretty decent guy. Meaning, no red flags like I got with StalkerShallowProtrusionMan. We agreed to log on the next night and do the handy little IM chat that cupid/com has to offer. I had to work until 10pm, but he assured me that he’d be around, and was definitely interested in talking to me. I gave him my cell phone number and told him to drop me a text the next day if he wasn’t busy. He does the same.

Now we go to Friday:


Friday morning, I wake up to a “Good morning!” text from Jay. I text him back, and we begin a every 10 minute texting marathon. Shit you not, I must have sent over 500 text messages that day. (Are there 5000 minutes in a day? Calculator time: 24 hours x 60 minutes = 1440 minutes. Okay well maybe it was more like every 5 minutes. Or every.. um… 2.5 minutes? YOU GET THE IDEA. I AM AN ACCOUNTANT, NOT A MATH MAJOR!) I even took my cell to my PT job and was texting him whenever I could. It was mainly stupid shit, but then again, aren’t all texts? He asked me again if I was going to log on when I got home, I told him yes, I promise.

I get home, boot up my slow-ass laptop and log on. He’s online, waiting for me. However, his response time to my messages has severely slowed. I was wondering if perhaps he had one of those trained monkeys that typed messages for him, that’s why texts were so much easier for him. Only 160 characters as opposed to an entire message. But no, he was just really butt-ass slow because he was playing Call of Duty on Xbox Live with his brother. I asked him if he wanted to just chat some other night and he said NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT! His dumbass brother could just hold his horses and get his ass killed a couple of times if he didn’t like it. This is why the military is so cool. Always have each other’s backs until a kickass chick comes along. Then you HOLD YOUR HORSES. So we keep chatting and find out there’s a bunch that we have in common that neither of us had put in our profiles. Which is always a nice surprise. (So long as those things don’t involve blood, full moons and fear of silver bullets… he hates blood, dammit!) Jay then asks me if I would like to go out some time.

This is where I hesitate. Up until this point, I had only gone out with StalkerShallowProtrusionMan, so I was a bit apprehensive. Especially since God gave me a sea of red flags with that dude and I completely ignored them. I told him that I wouldn’t go out with him until I talked to him on the phone first, to see if we are compatible. He said that he’s usually a lot better talker in person (he’s in sales…) than on the phone, but if it got me to meet up with him, then he said that would be fine. I told him that I would give him a call Sunday night, then (I had to work Saturday night for some weird reason). He was cool with that. He then tells me that his brother is getting slaughtered and he should probably log off and go help him out. Such camaraderie! So we agree to chat online a bit on Saturday night and that I’d give him a call on Sunday.


Saturday was more of the same as Friday. Texting every 2.5 minutes (Bah! There you go!), logging on at night and chatting while his brother gets killed on COD.


Sunday night rolls around, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous when I called him. I was terrified. We had clicked so well just through emails and chatting, I thought this might be too good to be true. So I bite the bullet and at 8:00pm, I call. He picks up on the second ring. I can hear shooting in the background. “Are you playing COD AGAIN?” was the first thing I said to him. “Yeah,” he said. “My brother has me addicted now. Hold on.” I heard the volume turned down, or the TV turned off, and immediately heard someone screaming in the background. “What the hell is that?” “Oh, my brother, he’s screaming at me in my headset because I just left him there to talk to you.” Awww how romantic.

So for the rest of the night, we talked on the phone. And I mean we TALKED. About everything. Sports, religion, family, politics, work, school, everything. I can’t even go into detail about our conversation because we talked about so many things. Oh yeah, did I mention our FIRST conversation was SEVEN HOURS LONG? All of a sudden he says, “Holy shit, I need to let you go.”

Me: Why?

Him: Its 3am, you have to work in the morning.

Me: Oh shit!

Him: Yeah, I know. I haven’t talked this long on the phone since, like, 7th grade. (Do boys that age seriously talk on the phone?)

Me: Well for me it was last night… hahaha… just kidding.

Him: So it sounds like you only have this upcoming Tuesday night free?

Me: Yeah. It’s the only night I’m not working or doing homework.

Him: Good. Let’s go out.

Me: Well…

Him: Come on, let’s meet. I want to meet you. I’ve just spent 7 hours on the phone with you, having a great conversation. I want to meet you in person.

Me: You know what? Let’s do it. Tuesday.

Him: Good. Okay, you need to go to bed. Call me tomorrow night?

Me: Uh… you mean tonight?

Him: Oops. Yeah. Tonight.

Me: Definitely.

Him: Sweet dreams, hon.

Me: You, too.

And we hung up. OMG HOW AWESOME IS THAT?!?!?! I still have a huge ass smile on my face thinking about it!!!!!!!!!!ELEVENTYONEONEONE!

So let’s recap:


We went from 1 star on Friday to a GABILLION on Sunday. Oh my heart was a pitter-patter while talking to him. What would Tuesday night hold? Three words: Oh myfucking GOD!!!!!!

To be continued…

C.D. #3: Nudged by a tool


(I know I skipped Cupid Date #2, but I’m working on it!!)

So Ron sent me a message with the standard “Hi, you’re cute, call me.” message that seems to be a staple for guys who can’t articulate a thought. I take a look at his profile and guess what? Oh, its written IN ALL CAPITAL LETTERS AND GUESS WHAT THERE IS NO PUNCTUATION WHATSOEVER SO CAN I CANT DISTINGUISH BETWEEN ONE SENTENCE AND THE NEXT ISNT THAT NEATO SKEETO YAY OMG WTF BBQ!

I HATE that. Hate it hate it hate it. My mom tends to do that in emails a bunch. I just want to take a red pen and correct everything like an English teacher and send it back to her. But, I love her too much to do it. Ron, however, no. Although, for some weird ass reason, I was compelled to write back to Ron. Maybe because his email to me actually did have a period or two. Or maybe it was because I was coming down from my most amazing, yet disappointing date EVER, so I needed some… validation? (Story to follow, I swear. It just happens to be another two-parter, and I wanted to Brillo pad my brain of Ron first.) I don’t know. Long story short, I was an idiot (AGAIN) and started talking to Ron.

Ron.. hmm… how best to describe Ron. I am literally sitting here, hand under my chin, looking up at the ceiling tiles trying to figure out how best to describe Ron. His picture online was fairly decent. That’s about the best I can do. Seriously. That’s all I can come up with. Yeah.

So Ron calls me one night as I am heading out to have dinner with my friend Chris. Talking with Ron is like walking into a porn shop. There is sex EVERYWHERE. And its not just implied, its pretty much thrown right in your face. Its like, you know that “Arcade” doesn’t mean “Arcade.” That there are deposits of some kind being made in the “Arcade” but its not quarters falling into a machine. Every single sentence from him was dripping with sexual innuendo. Followed by every single sentence from me dripping with disgust. Here’s an example, from the FIRST PHONE CALL…


Me: Hello?

Ron: Hey, its Ron.

Me: Oh! Hey! What’s up?


Me: Huh?

Ron: OH YOU KNOW (Can you feel him winking as he says this? I can…)

Me: Ummmmmmm… what?

Ron: Well I AM a guy, you know.

Me: Oh.


(**Again with the “I’m just kidding!” What the hell IS that?!?!)

So yeah… I guess in Ron’s World Of Sex starting off a phone call talking about how you’ve got a hard on (just kidding!!ELEVENTYONE) is endearing. When actually, it was envomiting.

So the conversation continues:

Ron: So what are you doing tonight?

Me: I’m heading out to dinner with a friend of mine.

Ron: It’s a guy, isn’t it?

Me: Yeah, why?

Ron: You girls are all the same! (insert high pitched voice here) ‘Oh, I’m just going out with a FRIEND.’ Like I don’t know it’s a guy.

Me: It’s a guy, so what?

Ron: Just the fact that you try to hide it. If it was a female you’d say ‘girlfriend,’ not ‘friend.’

Me: I don’t call ANY of my female friends ‘girlfriends,’ they are all just friends. And second, why the hell do you care? Its not like we’re dating or anything.

Ron: Hey, don’t get all offended (because, seriously, why would it upset me that he was bitching me on the phone during our first call? Silly me.) I was just kidding!** (See above)

Me: Well, I’m here, so I have to go.

Ron: Call me later?

Me: Sure. (Mistake #9034859058 in my long line of mistakes.)

From this point on, Ron is pretty much calling me every day. Half the time I ignore him, half the time I answer. The conversation always goes the same:

Me: Hello?

Ron: Hey.

Me: Hey.

Ron: Why haven’t you returned my calls?

Me: I’ve been busy.

Ron: Riiiiiiiiiiiiiight. Hanging out with your ‘friends’? (Complete with, I’m sure, air quotes)

Me: *sigh*

So about 2 weeks ago, Ron finally asks me, “When are we going to meet?”

I tell him, “I don’t know… sometime.”

Ron: When? In four months?

Me: You keep running your mouth and you’ll be lucky if its four years (yay me!)

Ron: You know, if it was any other girl, I would have quit talking to her by now. But I really want to meet you.

Me: Why?

Ron: Its not like I’m saving myself for you.. that boat left the harbor a long time ago. If ya know what I mean. (Again, can you feel the winking?)

Me: Well I am busy the next 2 weeks.

Ron: Don’t give me that shit.

Me: I AM! (Now I start shouting.) I have a shit ton of school work to do, Easter is coming up and I will be out of town, I have some volunteer work to do and I have TWO JOBS SO I AM SORRY BUT I AM BUSY.

Ron: Well you have to have SOME time free.

Me: Fine. We’ll do lunch.

Ron: Oh, can you spare 30 minutes to see me? (Exit winking, enter sarcasm)

Me: For you, I’d even take an hour. (Exit sarcasm, enter loathing)

Ron: Okay when?

Me: How about Friday?

Ron: No, I’m busy Friday. SOME of us have PLANS, ya know. We can’t just drop everything on a moment’s notice.

Me: Fine. Thursday? (Exit loathing, enter hate)

Ron: Okay. 12:30, then?

Me: Fine. Pick me up at work.


Now, here’s where people start wondering WHY I am going out with Ron when he is obviously… icky. I have 2 reasons. The first reason is because of what happened to me on my previous date. (It’s the date I have not yet written about, not the stalker guy. Ewww. But once I have written that story, all will become painfully clear.) The second reason is simple: I wanted the lunch date to go so horrible, that he never wanted to see me again. Now, I wasn’t going to be a bitch or anything, but I was going to be uninteresting, untalkative and unreceptive to his pull of implied sex. Which, honestly, wasn’t easy to do. It was like being trapped in a huge, throbbing black hole of unwelcomed “come-hither” goo.

Thursday rolls around. And Ron is late. (Please see my previous story about the stalker to understand my feeling about lateness.) I’m waiting out by the door when he arrives. I get in, and immediately wonder if I have the wrong car. Ron is nowhere to be found. Instead its like.. Ron, with 30 more pounds, 4 inches less height and 6 more years. Like, I am now in the car with “After” Ron. And I barely agreed to meet “Before” Ron. Hmmm… soooooooo not a good start. I smile and he says, “About time!” and I knew it was going to be shitty from then on out.

Wow. You know, in retrospect, shitty might not be the right word. While I type out the date, I’m going to try and think of a better adjective. This will not be easy.

So we pull out of the parking lot and Ron starts yakking about his job. I am “mmm-hmmm”ing and looking out the window. He looks over at me and says, “You’re not as talkative in person as you are on the phone.” I look at him and say, “Yeah, sorry, I just have this huge headache today for some reason.”

(This deserves its own paragraph…)

He says, “Hey, I got something that can cure that for ya.” And then he NUDGES ME. TWICE. As in WINK WINK NUDGE NUDGE YOU MUST BE 18 YEARS OLD TO ENTER THIS STORE WITHOUT AN ADULT.

I look at him and go, “What?”

He laughs a fake laugh and says (you guessed it!) “I’m just kidding!”

If we had been stopped at a red light, I honest to God would have leapt out and became one of those kidnapped people who run down the street, crying, knocking on people’s car windows saying, “Save me! He’s after me! Don’t let him get me!” No such luck, though.

So he then looks at me and says, “So… do I look like my picture?” I hesitate and say, “Erm… not exactly.” He smiles and says, “Its my hair, right? People always tell me its my hair.” Now, his hair is the ONE THING that DOES look like his picture. But I nod and smile and say, “Yep, I’m pretty sure that’s it. Your hair.” Not the extra weight, extra shrinkage or extra years. Nope, not whatsoever. “After” Ron.

We get to our destination and head into the restaurant. Being the smart girl I am, I take a seat at the table which is facing the television sets, so I can watch me some Sportscenter while we’re ‘talking.’ Here’s the thing, that may be a bitchy thing to do, but honest to Christ, Ron didn’t notice. AT ALL. He just started talking, and during every commercial, I made eye contact and inserted “Oh really?” “Wow” “Seriously” or “That’s cool” and he was content. I’m so not lying. Its like his phasers were set to “Oblivious.”

So here comes the part of the story where things get… interesting. And by interesting I mean even worse than you can possibly imagine. I do thank God, because its like he sent down a big sledgehammer and smacked me on top of the head, saying, “WHY ARE YOU EVEN GIVING THESE GUYS CHANCES LIKE THIS?” (And when God types in all caps, your ass better listen, fool!)

So.. we’re talking about the Angels pitcher who got killed in the car accident. And then the talk turns to football. Football, which is MY sport. I ADORE football. I schedule my part time job around football season. I play in 2 fantasy leagues. I LOVE football. Okay, deep breath, here goes:

Ron: You’re a Chiefs fan, right?

Me: Yep. You?

Ron: Hell no, I’m a Raiders fan.

Me: Oh, well then I am bound by law to hate your guts. (Well, added to the loathing, the disgust and complete lack of any feeling other than a seething red desire to kick your face in)

Ron: HAHAHAHAH YEAH! (And he starts giving me shit about the Chiefs. Now granted, the Chiefs have sucked for a few years now, but seriously? You’re a Raiders fan and you’re giving ME shit? Come on.)

Me: Well, yeah, but see I’m a Colts fan, too.

Here is where the mood in the restaurant slightly changes. I believe Tim Robbins called it a “chill wind.”

Ron: You can’t be a Colts fan.

Me: Huh? Yes I can.

Ron: No you can’t. They are an AFC team. You can’t like TWO AFC teams. That’s just stupid.

Me: What the hell are you talking about? I can, too. The Colts are more of a family thing, since my dad’s been a fan of theirs since they were in Baltimore.

Ron: No, you’re not a true fan then, you can’t like 2 teams in the same conference. MAYBE I will give you an NFC team, but not two AFC teams.

Me: Whatever, dude. I have had this argument with other guy friends of mine and I think its stupid. You can like whoever you want.

Ron: Well when the Chiefs play the Colts, who do you root for?

Me: The Chiefs, of course. Even though I know they will lose.

Ron: You’re still not a real fan. You like one of their rivals!

Me: Whatever. Like I said, we’re not going to have this discussion.

Ron: Man, you’re really pissed off about this, aren’t you?

Me: No, not pissed. I just can’t believe that you’re so fucking narrow-minded about something this stupid.

Ron: I’m not narrow-minded about anything. I’m just really amused.

Me: What is so amusing?

(Wait for it…)


Ron: I just find it amusing that girls think they can talk intelligently about sports.


And there it is.

(crickets chirp)

All I can come up with is: “Whatever. I gotta get going back to work.”

YOU do NOT tell me I can’t talk intelligently about sports. Nooooooooooooooooooooo, you do NOT. I can’t even express the level of DO NOTNESS involved.

So we get back into Ron’s car, he drives me back to work. When he pulls up to the door, he gives me this sideways glance and I shudder. Oh God, he wants a kiss. You can just tell… No no no no no no no. I would rather eat fleas off of a drunken monkey’s ass than kiss Ron. So, because of space limitations and (thank God) a stick shift in-between us, I lean over and (I am not shitting you…) PAT HIM ON THE SHOULDER and say, “Hey, thanks for lunch!” He looks at me and says, “You’re welcome! Talk to you later?” I nod and say “When I have time this week!” And I get out of the car. Actually, “get out” isn’t right. I open the door and FLEE THAT CAR LIKE ITS MY JOB. He watches me the entire way.

I get back to my work and a friend had emailed me and asked how lunch went. My one word response: TOOL!

The good news is that apparently my pissed-offness about the football comment hit home, because I have only heard from Ron one time since.

The bad news is that I still can’t think of a better word than “shitty.”

I suppose there could be a worse outcome than that, eh?

Pardon this commercial interruption…


Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to add me to their blog list and to their favorites. All the comments I’ve gotten on here, Facebook and in email have been amazing! Its nice to know that other people can laugh with me at my horrible misfortune.

I’m in the middle of my birthday celebration week, Day #3 to be exact. I’ll continue with my Cupid dating stories sometime later this week. I have 2 more doozy’s for ya’ll.  No more protrusions, though.  But I wanted to pause and say thanks to everyone so far! I love to make people laugh, and it seems like I’m accomplishing that.

Anyways, thanks again for reading… more good stuff is on the way!

(Oh, and if anyone knows someone who’d be interesting in healping me design a nice, custom blog template for this site without me having to fork over my car, lemme know!)

Now back to your regularly scheduled internet dating freaks…

C.D. #1: Just Boring Would’ve Been Better… Part 2


“Good morning.” That was the simple text message I received from Dan on the Tuesday morning after our ill-fated Sunday dinner date. I hadn’t talked to him since the date, heeding the words of my very wise friends, “You found out early on that the guy is a douche. Consider the $60 well spent.” And I did. But the problem is/was: How do I get rid of him? Even though I’m loud and opinionated, its not my nature to be a bitch. And as much as I like people to be up front with me on whether or not they want to date me, I try to do the same. However, there’s that delicate balance of “Okay, how do I do this so he will understand and not show up at my apartment in the middle of the night and put a knife to my throat?”

I didn’t respond to the text. Avoidance is the best policy, right? Wrong… because at 8:12 that evening, my cell phone rings. “Dan: 515-xxx-xxxx”

“Son of a BITCH.” I sighed and decided to pick up the phone. It was mostly out of fear that he would keep calling and I didn’t want to put off the inevitable. “Hello?” I said.

“Well you’ve sure been hard to get a hold of the past couple days.”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy with work and homework.”

“Ahhh.” It sounded like he believed it. He better have, because that was honestly 2/3 of the reason why I hadn’t talked to him. The other 1/3 being, of course, that I STILL hated Guinness and weird abdominal protrusions.

So Dan starts in about absolutely nothing again. Morotcycles this time. And how he had taken his bike out that day, since God had decided to be nice to Iowa for a 24 hour period in March and give us 70 degree weather. I’m only sort of listening. He goes on and on about how much he loves biking and how much he HATES other people while biking.

“Why is that?” I ask, trying to show I am listening.

“Because car drivers have no respect for bikers. They don’t look for us when they’re driving around.”

“Well, I can see how that would be an annoyance. They’re probably just not used to seeing bikes on the road right now.”

“No, they NEVER look. There was this guy… I was pulling out of a parking lot, turning right, and this car just comes in beside me, turns right and totally cuts me off, so I end up wiping out.”

“Oh my gosh, are you ok?”

“Yeah… he stopped and asked me if I was okay. Then the asshole just got back in his car and left.”

“Why is he an asshole?”

“Because he just left!”

“Yeah, but he stopped and asked if you were okay. Did you tell him you were?”

“Yeah but still. He should have waited around.”

“For what?”

“Well to make sure everything was fine.”

I answer with silence… how do you reason with this lack of logic? I feel like I am arguing with my 5 year old nephew. (“No, you can’t put the cat in the microwave.” “Why not?” “Because he will die.” “But he’s cold.” “But he will die.” “BUT. HE. IS. COLD.” ) The guy STOPPED to check him out. STAYED until he was sure everything was fine. And apparently, that’s not enough. He forgot to wash Dan’s feet with his hair. GEEZ, WHAT A SELFISH SON OF A BITCH.

“That’s okay, though, because I got even.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, after I got on my bike, I FOLLWED HIM HOME (emphasis mine!) and sat outside his house and started revving my engine.”

“What did that accomplish?”

“Well, every time he heard it, it would remind him to watch out for bikes on the road and not cut them off anymore.”

“Uhhh… I guess so.”

“Yeah, and since he lives so close, I can keep doing it. If I decide to take the long way to work, I sit outside his house early in the morning and rev my engine. Hopefully it wakes me up.”

“Wait… I thought this just happened today?”

“No, this was before. I just drove by his house again today.”

“When did the accident happen?”

I hear him thinking. “Uh… hmm… it will be 2 years ago this June.”

Let me repeat, folks: TWO YEARS AGO. TEE DOUBLE-U OH. TWO. YEARS. AGO.

“So, um, you’ve been stalking this guy for 2 years?”

“I wouldn’t call it stalking…”

“You have been harassing someone, repeatedly, for something that happened over 2 years ago. I’d say that’s pretty much the definition of stalking.”

“Well I suppose if you look at it that way…” Right. Because, in all honesty, there are about 21398 other ways to look at it. Oh, my bad, NO THERE’S NOT.

He then tells me of an incident with a kid who cut him off in traffic. He apparently followed this kid home, sat in the kid’s driveway, behind the car, revving his engine. The kid was so scared, he wouldn’t get out of the car and called his dad from his cell phone. The dad came out of the house, yelled at Dan to get off their property, which Dan did, but only ended up pulling out of the driveway, then parking at the end of it so they couldn’t back out. He called the cops, and filed a complaint against the kid. The kid received a ticket for something, and Dan found out when the kid’s court date was and SPECIFICALLY TOOK THE DAY OFF to go to court. The kid didn’t show and lost his license.

“So now and then, when I’m feeling spiteful, I drive by their house and rev my engine to remind them of what assholes they were.”

(THEY were the assholes… hm….)

“When did this happen?”

“Last July.” July. Two thousand EIGHT. LAST YEAR.

“So you’re stalking them, too?”

“You and the stalking thing! No, its not like that!” I see. Its not stalking its “gently reminding them, repeatedly, over long periods of time, of a complete accident which they have both paid for in spades.” People, take note. Use that defense if you’re ever in court.

“You are like that old man who sits on his lawn, yelling at kids whenever they walk on his grass.”

“Funny you should mention that…”

Funny indeed. Dan lives in a duplex and the family next to him has 3 kids, all in grade school. Apparently, like kids do, they leave their bikes all over the lawn. Dan complained to the parents, who promised they would talk to the kids. They did, but nothing happened.

“So one night, I rounded up all their bikes and leaned them up against the house, right in front of t he front door. The next morning, I woke up early & went outside when I knew their bus was coming. They opened the front door and rushed out, totally tripping and falling all over their bikes.”

“Oh my God! That must have hurt them! Why would you do that?”

“To teach them a lesson. And they’ve never left their bikes out in the yard since.” He said this with such immense pride I imagined him puffing his chest out, with a beam of light shining behind him. Sort of like Mr. Clean, with hair… and a horribly misplaced 3rd nipple.

“Well, yeah, I guess.” I say. I am pretty much at a loss for words. Which, let’s be honest, doesn’t happen often, so point for Dan there. (And he needs all the points he can get right now.)

“So… when do you want to go out again?” There it was. Laying right smack in front of me like a $100 bill that fell off the back of a bank truck. All I had to do was pick it up, run with it and go buy some new shoes. Instead, I put that $100 in my savings account and let it sit there, unspent.

“Um… well, I am really busy the next couple of weeks…” As I said this, I pictured a pink, blinking neon sign above my head: LIAR! LIAR! LIAR! I wondered if Dan could see it from 30+ miles away.

Apparently not. “Well, just let me know when you are free. I would love to go out with you again.”

I admit it. I suck. Ever since then, I’ve been avoiding him. He hasn’t really gotten the hint, though, because I still receive messages from him on Facebook and random text messages. And every time I hear a motorcycle, I look around a little bit more. He has instilled a subconscious fear of kidnapping, death and dismemberment in me now. Which is hard to do. Score another point. What is he up to now? 2?

Let’s recap. In 72 hours, my experience with Dan can be summed up using numbers:

# of times he called me shallow: 2

$$ Dan paid towards our date: 0

# of times Dan offered to help pay for anything: 0

# of times he said “I’m just kidding!” after saying something horribly offensive: 5

# of people he freely admitted to stalking: 2

# of children injured because Dan doesn’t like bikes on his lawn: 3

# of times he reminded me of my shitty taste in beer because I hate Guinness: 190283901834

# of times he asked me to go out again after this phone call: 3

Poor Dan. I’m sure there’s a perfect woman out there for you. Unfortunately, I have a conscience, the ability to reason and opposable thumbs, so I fear I’m not the one you’re looking for. But rest assured, she’s out there somewhere. Just keep following random people home until you find her. Remember: there’s nothing sexier than a guy who hides in your bush every day!

Cupid Date #1: Just Boring Would’ve Been Better… Part 1


I entered my search criteria: “Male, between ages of 28-38, lives within 50 miles of Des Moines” and crossed my fingers. One of the major problems with these sites is that everyone is on all of them! You seem the same dudes on every single site. It is really disheartening when you get search results returned with “200 matches” and 75% of them you’ve already giggled at on another site. I was hoping would be different, because, ya know, you have to PAY for it.. so that makes it CLASSY. Only CLASSY people pay for a dating site, right? Right? RIGHT?

Dan’s profile came up within the first 10 matches. Reading through it, we had a lot in common. His pictures were good, definitely the type of guy I go for. I had a few moments of hesitation, because you know, there are always those “Eh…. I don’t know if I can live with that” flashes, but screw this, I was looking for someone to date; I was willing to overlook the “ehhhh’s” for now. At least until we met to see if we were compatible.

I should have seen it coming from the first phone call. Has anyone ever read Stephen’s King’s “The Dark Half”? You know at the end, where all the crows are sitting around the yard, just waiting to pounce? A big, blanketing, bird harbinger of doom? If I had opened up my hotel curtains, I now swear those same crows would have been perched on the sill, waiting to strike.

It was around 7:30pm on a Sunday night. I was in the process of driving home from a trip to Michigan and had decided to make a pit stop in the Quad Cities for the night. I was tired thanks to a 10 hour drive, bad weather, 3 hours of sleep, 7 vodka lemonades and 4+ double shots of Patron from the night before. (Eep!) I agreed to call him from my hotel room when I got settled in. Now let me preface this by saying I was in the middle of watching Rock of Love Bus while I was talking to him, so my view of him might be a bit skewed. (Was anyone else happy when Ashley finally went home? Ugh. She reminded me of Paris Hilton, only bathed in booze and sadness.)

What I’m trying to say is that the conversation was REALLY lacking. Here’s the thing to know about me. I love to talk. I love being social. I can talk about anything, anytime. I am never at a loss for words (minus one particular date that SHALL NOT BE NAMED AGAIN). But folks, seriously.. to spend an entire 2 hour conversation talking about brewing beer? I mean its nice to have hobbies and all, but when the person on the other end of the phone is constantly saying, “Oh, I’m sorry, what was that?” you should know you’re in trouble. (Damn you and your big boobed, drunken distractions, Rock of Love Bus!!)

Fast forward to 2 nights later (Tuesday, for those of you keeping track with calendars…) Dan had asked if it was okay if he gave me a call that night. I agreed, wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt. Mainly, that I had been the douchebag during the original call, distracted by Bret Michaels and the best hair extensions Europe has to offer. He calls, late. I hate it when people aren’t punctual. Especially at the beginning of a relationship. You’re out to impress someone. Why would you not be on time?

So we talk, sort of. Its still really boring. But at least we’re talking about something other than brewing beer. Oh wait… WE’RE NOT. He finally asks me (not sure how far into the conversation it was, I had turned on a Sham-Wow commercial to pass the time) if I would be interesting in meeting sometime. “Sure,” I say.

Okay, yes, I am a fucking loser. Yes, even though he bored me to tears (and infomercials), I agreed to go out with him. My reasoning is this: Some guys just don’t give good phone. Again, I was looking for someone to date, and I couldn’t pass judgment on someone just by how they were on the phone, right? Okay, I lie, I totally had. But again, I felt like a tool and decided to give him a chance. Long story short (too late!), we set our date for 6:00pm on Sunday night at the Old Chicago in Ankeny. (Met halfway)

Enter Sunday… I finished volunteering at the local animal shelter (pause for one second while God’s rays shine down and choirs of angels praise my awesomeness………….) and drove to Ankeny. I called Dan to let him know that I was pulling in the parking lot. It was right around 5:55. “Okay,” he says, “I’m just leaving town now.” What? Leaving NOW? So you live 25 minutes away, and you are supposed to meet me in 5 minutes and you are just NOW leaving home??? That means you’re going to be… (calculator time again….) 20 minutes late! I am not down with all the lateness.

I go in & take a seat at the bar. If there’s one (other) thing people should know about me, its that I love love LOVE Touch-Play. Those games that sit at the end of the bar? I love love LOVE them so much, I once asked my dad for one for Christmas. How awesome would that be to have one of those sitting on your coffee table? Unfortunately, they cost about $1300 and apparently the limit of my dad’s love is $1299. Son-of-a…

I digress. Sitting at the bar. Talking to the bartender. Cute kid. About 27 or so. I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn & hey, look who it is! Dan! Twenty minutes late, Dan! Buy a watch, Dan! So Dan sits down and immediately starts looking over his shoulder at the booths behind us. He comments, “Looks like we’ll have to wait for a seat.” Quick goat-thinking, I say, “I don’t mind sitting at the bar… makes it easier to get drinks faster!” (Oh, by the way, “makes it easier to get the drinks faster” = “the TVs behind the bar give me a distraction in case you’re still really boring.” Math is hard!)

He agrees and starts explaining the Old Chicago “World Beer Tour.” Each beer is assigned a number, you sign up on the computer, the computer keeps track of how many different beers you drink, and after something like 55, you get a t-shirt, 80 is a sweatshirt and 100 is a puppy or something. I lost track. Numbers aren’t my thing. Again with the beer talk! I like Bud Light (and I cannot lie!), I like Corona, I am NOT a beer connoisseur . He starts poking fun at me because I think Guinness is icky. I’m a GIRL, dude. I don’t like to CHEW MY BEER, I’m SORRY.

Lucky for me, the bartender also works as a mechanic at the Harley Davidson barn. Motorcycles is something that Dan is VERY interested in. (Oh, hey, keep this in mind… this bleeds into part 2 of this story.) Dan and the bartender start talking about mechanic-ing and biking and lady bikers. Me? I am content to sip my Bud Light and watch surfing on ESPN2. Suddenly, we get hungry and order food.

Food ordered. Bartender has to go home. New bartender shows up. Woman in her late 40’s, early 50’s. Our food gets there and we’re chowing down, not talking much. The bartender is talking to a waiter behind the bar. They are discussing how Johnston, Iowa has the biggest Casey’s General Store in the world. Now this is a fact I did not know, and cannot let go unchallenged. “Wait a minute,” I say. “Not to eavesdrop, but did you just say the biggest Casey’s in the world?” The waiter starts in with schematics of the building, dimensions of the lot space.. I think he is Jack Bauer. With a spray-on tan.

After the Great Casey’s Debate, the waiter starts chatting to Dan and I, telling us that he was in the military up until a year or so ago, and instead of reinlisting, he decided to pursue his dream of being a massage therapist. His wife was not too thrilled about this, which is why she is now apparently his ex-wife. (Now.. here is where the story starts getting good… make sure you lean in a bit closer to read this…)

“Yeah, it doesn’t matter though,” he says, “because she didn’t get anything. I made her sign a prenup.”

“A prenup?” I ask. “I bet that went over well.”

“Well,” says he, “She didn’t care when she signed it, because she didn’t know that I had over a million dollars in assets at the time.”

“A million bucks?” I am aghast!

“Yeah,” he goes on. “When we divorced it was up around two million.”

So me, being the jokester and goofball I am, stands up on my chair, lean over, sticks my hand out and says, “Well hi there… my name is XXXXX. How are YOU doin’?”

He starts laughing, sticks his hand out and introduces himself. Everyone is laughing. I sit down and Dan looks at me and says, “So that’s what you’re all about, huh?” I look at him. “What?” “Money. You’re all about money, huh?” I blinked. Probably 10 times. “Uh, no. Dude that was a total joke.” He looked at me and then said, “Oh I know! I was just kidding!” Because putting that caveat at the end of offensive sentences makes them magically disappear, folks! Its like fairy dust!

So it was getting close to 9:00 by this time and we decided to part ways. The bartender gave us the ticket and I told Dan, “I can pick up my half, if you want.” He says, “Oh you’re going to. You made it perfectly clear that there was no way I was paying for you on our first date.” (Okay, insert side note: BULLSHIT. I NEVER said that. What I SAID was that I don’t expect people to pay for me on a first date. If they want to, I will let them, but I will always offer to pick up my half. And he SAID that he ALWAYS paid on the first date.. so I was being nice. Moving on…) Dan proceeds to grab the receipt and mark off everything on the receipt that is his. I hand the receipt and my credit card to the bartender and tell her, “Everything that is not marked is mine. The rest is his.” She nods.

I get the receipt back. EVERYTHING was rung up on my card. I look at him and say, “Well I guess she’s going to put it all on my card.” He looks at me, shrugs, PUTS HIS CARD AWAY and says, “Okay. I’ll get next time.” Next time? WHAT THE HELL. He didn’t even offer me any cash or anything. And there was an ATM not 20 feet away from where we were sitting. Oh, and it was a SIXTY DOLLAR TAB. SIX OH. At this point, I just want to leave. To get away, unscathed, unhurt and with all my limbs in tact.

We walk out to my car. He is so close behind me, I can feel him. I open my car door, and he positions himself so I can’t climb in or close my door. He leans in for a hug, so I do one of those “This is my dance space, this is your dance space” hugs, where you don’t actually touch. I said, “Well thanks for inviting me out.” He said, “Yeah, did you have a good time?” I said, “Yeah (lie!). The food was pretty good, never eaten here before. Did you have a good time?” He says, “Well I would have if my date hadn’t spent the entire time flirting with the bartender.” Uhhhhhhhhh what? Dude, HE was the one talking motorcycles with the bartender for half the night, NOT ME. I said, “Whaaaa?” Again, he said, “Oh I’m just kidding!” and a leprechaun flew out from under my car, gave me a pot of gold and suddenly everything was right again and I had no memory of the preceding 5 seconds. I said, “I like to talk, and I told you that. It was just chatting.” He says, “You got a lot more chatty once you found out that that guy had a lot of money.”

Blinkity blink blink… wait for it…

“Just kidding!’ Whew. Thank God! For a minute I was worried he was SERIOUS! Oh, wait…

So I said, “Well, I gotta get home.” And I climbed in the car. He stood in the doorway(?) so I couldn’t close the car door. He leans down and starts talking to me about something. At this point, I honestly had tuned him out. Not because he was boring, but because I was fascinated by his tummy. He was a bigger guy, which I have no problem with. He was wearing a long sleeved white t-shirt that was maybe a size too small, which I do have a problem with, however.

Here’s the thing… right smack in the middle of his sternum was this protrusion.. like this BUMP, straining against his shirt. I couldn’t look away. It was too high up to be an outie-belly button. Do third nipples grow that low? What was it? Its looking at me. I can imagine it winkie-ing at me… It took every fiber of my being to not reach out and poke at it with my finger, just to see if it poked back. It was like the movie Alien, as the alien was straining against the guy’s stomach lining, right before it burst out and ate everyone. I literally sat on my hands so I wouldn’t poke it.

He finished up whatever he was saying and backed off. I shook my head, waking myself up, and waved goodbye. I immediately called my sister to tell her what a horrible date I had just been on. “Well, at least he wasn’t a psycho, just boring.”

Oh sis… Oh poor, sweet, naïve sis… we were soon to find out how wrong you are.

(To be continued…)

(Oh, and I’m increasing the font size a little bit. Seems to read a bit better that way.)

Selling yourself is so hard to do…


So, as promised, here is my profile that I have up. I’d like to think its a pretty fair representation of who I really am. The problem with these things is that you really have to lay it all out there in under 1000 characters.  Who can do that? Who can sell themselves enough in 1000 letters, spaces and commas so people want to get to know you better? Maybe I should have had one of my friends write out for me. And don’t think I don’t see the fucking irony in all of this: I bitch about how much I hate filling out the surveys these sites make you do, and then I bitch about having to write something up on my own that shows who I truly am. Yeah, yeah, I know. Save the comments, Judgey Judgerson.

Its really damned difficult! Do you go for funny? Serious? Romantic? Perusing this site, checking out the available men, I was highly amused at 2 things:

  1. A lot of these dudes have pictures on their profiles of them standing in front of a mirror, shirtless. As in SANS SHIRT.  As in, oh, I suppose I should put a tie on for work, but wait, I can’t because I don’t have a collar because I don’t HAVE A SHIRT ON. Do women find this attractive?  Well wait, I am a woman.. Do OTHER women find this attractive? How is this supposed to  make me want to contact you?  (In all secrecy, it does. But only because I want to send an email saying, “Does your mother know you have pictures up like this??” But that shows my age.) I can’t tell if your shirtless because you’re poor or because you’re a douchebag. And honestly, I’m rooting for poverty at this point. But because I DON’T KNOW, I won’t contact. Not even a winkie…
  2. How much bullshit guys talk, just to get laid, even online. I friggin’ ADORE the ads that say something along the lines of, “I want a woman I can spoil, can treat like a queen.” I’m pretty sure that means you want to get laid. Or: “I don’t want to play games any more. I want a woman who is honest.” And who likes to bend over a chair, dressed as Hello Kitty while drinking shots of Yoo-Hoo. No thanks. Men like that? I don’t buy it. You’re not a fucking Lifetime movie, you’re a dude.  Act like a dude.

So.. how do I sell myself? I decided for the honest approach. I know, hold onto your chairs.. radical concept. My thinking is simple: I’m looking for someone to date. I don’t want a assbag. I don’t want someone I have nothing in common with. I want me. With some spare parts. And less boobs. So here’s what I came up with:

About me…

I’m not a typical girlie girl. I love football, playing video games, beer and I tend to curse. I’m a huge Hawkeyes, Cubs and Chiefs fan. I love to cook, read, travel, laugh, watch movies, hang out with friends, amusement parks, shooting, sushi, the internet, reality TV, and the color red. I’m a social girl, I enjoy spending time with people, whether it’d be friends, family or one-on-one time.

I’m looking for…

I’m looking for someone who can make me laugh. That’s huge for me. Someone who has a grasp of the English language! I like to talk a lot, so I need someone who can keep up their end of the conversation. Someone who likes to spend one weekend out and then the next weekend at home, vegging. I’m a sarcastic girl who likes to dish it out.. and I LOVE getting it back. Don’t be shy! I’m always up for trying new things, so surprise me!

The most important thing in my life is…

Making sure I am happy.

I spend my free time…

Right now I have 2 jobs and am finishing up my bachelor’s degree, so I don’t have a lot of free time. When I do, I like to go out and have a nice dinner, watch movies, catch up on my DVR, hang out with friends, watch sports, catch up on a book.. you name it.

About my job…

Accounting. The most fun of all professions!

How I spent my last vacation…

Last vacation… drove out to Montana with 2 of my friends to attend another friend’s wedding. Spent 3 days at Glacier National Park and then 2 days in Rapid City, SD camping. Was a lot of time in the car, but it was so much fun traveling with friends and going sight-seeing. I’m hoping to go back sometime soon and spend a week camping in the mountains.

My favorite dish or recipe…

I make some kick ass cream cheese chicken enchiladas.

My last good read…

Just finished reading The Innocent Man by John Grisham. I love true crime novels as well as mysteries. I think I have read every Poirot novel Agatha Christie ever wrote. My favorite authors are: Christopher Moore, Dean Koontz, James Patterson, Jonathan Kellerman, Michael Connelly.. you get the idea.

My top 3 favorite movies and why you should see them…

Aliens, Die Hard and Halloween. I shouldn’t have to convince you!

The top 5 things I can’t live without…

Minus all the obvious things like family, pictures and pets, etc… my pillow that I have since I was 12, Frank’s Hot Sauce, iced tea, my car and.. my laptop.

My personal soundtrack…

I love Bon Jovi, Queen, Aerosmith, Blondie.. disco, classic rock, pop, blues… you name it.

My motto…

You’re the only person who can change your circumstance, so do what needs to be done.

What my best friend would say about me…

That I am funny, smart and loyal. I get along with almost anyone. And I have an amazing sense of direction!

My most prominent memory…

Seeing my nephews this past weekend.

If I could be anywhere right now, I would be…


On my coffee table you will find…

Glass of iced tea, 2 remotes, my cellphone, coasters and a packing list for a trip.

Last Saturday night I…

Was out with a friend who was in town visiting. Having couple drinks, sharing some stories and singing some songs.

I once made someone laugh by…

Oh lord… I have no idea. But I’m sure it was hilarious!

If I could be on any reality TV show, I would be on…

The Amazing Race. Who wouldn’t want to travel the world on someone else’s dime??

So there you go… that’s how I see myself. All wrapped up in a pretty little bow. For those of you who know me, feel free to comment on the accuracy of what I wrote. For those of you that don’t: Believe me when I tell you that I am fucking amazing.

I’m 3 dates into my experience so far. You folks have no idea what a ride you’re in for…