She’s Just Not That Into You Either…Seriously

16 May

Seriously. We’re not.

 

So a couple of years ago, a jackass “writer” by the name of Greg Behrendt came out with a piece of drivel entitled, “ He’s Just Not That Into You,” which I’m sure 99% of you have heard of and/or read. Why so bitter at Greg? Because I felt as though it was the “idiot girl’s guide to relationships,” and wondered WHAT woman would really need this mega dose of common sense. Then I snapped back to reality, noticing that most women DO in fact need this book. Some of my closest friends suffer from the same afflictions that the women portrayed do, unable to let things go, stalking, making excuses for their boyfriends/hookups/husbands. My personal favorite characteristic is holding on to a relationship that should be treated with the same mentality as a dead limb…cut it off, before the yuck spreads any further.

While the book was awful, I DID see the movie and will confess that I did enjoy it and found I could relate to it a twinge more than the book (for me this is rarely ever the case). It’s a dose of reality for those who would rather deny, deny, deny then own up to what’s really going on. For me, I identify with (I’m sure many of you?) one line in particular, where Justin Long’s character says, “Everyone wants to be the exception to the rule.”

It’s true.

That’s why we date, why we sit near the phone months and years after a relationship (figuratively, not literally) waiting to have that person who pulverized your heart like hamburger meat come back and stand bravely in your face, proclaiming, “Leaving you was the biggest mistake of my life and without you, I’m not whole.”

Doesn’t everyone want that validation? That knowledge that without you these past few weeks, months, years, their lives have been full of suck? The point is, that it’s clearly a very rare situation. Today I want to examine the reverse side of “He’s Just Not That Into You,” as men rarely get labeled as crazy as women or even in the near realm. It’s not a talked about subject and it should be. Just because you come after me and I turn you down does not make me a bitch. Similarly, how you would believe you’re not a jerk, just for the same reason. I’m going to give some of my own experiences and examine what I’ve come in contact with over the years. Can any of you think of other examples, or do any of these ring true for you??

“The Incessant”

First, let’s talk about the technology obsession and what it means when I do not call you back for longer than a week. If you called me on Monday, sent me two texts on Tuesday and an e-mail Wednesday, my skin is most likely crawling with the thought of seeing anything with your name on it come through any facet of communication devices.

Men aren’t like that, you say? False.

Again, I like to be equal opportunity when I “bash,” and can tell you that men are just as bad as women, sometimes worse.

EXAMPLE! (We’ll call him Paul)

BACKGROUND: Paul is a nice guy, who for all intents and purposes seems to be super normal, attractive and well put together. He tells you his story right away. After high school he went to college for half a year, worked for a major cell phone company for four years and was terminated because he’s a “victim of the economy.” Lost his job, lost his apartment and moved in with his family to get on his feet. Two weeks later, he’s in a major accident and his car is totaled. Paul has gone on multiple interviews and hasn’t been able to find a job, hanging out mostly with his seven-year old niece and mom. He’s a yes man and a pleaser, which is easy to tell from the get go, replying to everything I say with a “me too!” or a “that’s so great to hear, I’ve been looking for that for so long!” His idea of a big word was pedantic, and says he’s often told he’s a champion when it comes to vocab. Talking continued a few more times, as to not appear rude until finally, it was time to make it clear that we were ultimately not a match. He would IM 25 times a day, no exaggeration. When I’d respond, I’d be short or wouldn’t respond at all, causing him to text me asking, “Are you online right now? Because it says you are.” From there he’d call, explaining he’s bored, just wanted to say hi, etc. Then finally after explaining that I’m not in a good place, not ready for anything and also not particularly interested, I feel as though he’d got the message.

After dodging him for two weeks, he IM’s me, asking how I am, if things have slowed down and if I’ll go out with him now. I say no, I’m sorry, and he should move on…following the IM was an email, asking me to clarify my decision and a text and phone call telling me he sent me an email. Now, as some of you may know, I’m super open when it comes to dating people and will often times give those a chance that others wouldn’t. I say that, to explain that while he was in a bad place in his life, I may still have stopped to see what he was all about, had he not of blown up my media mediums, even after I expressed NO interest. If you have to call me to tell me you texted me, text me to tell me you emailed me and email me to get me to respond to your IM’s or bizarre line of questioning…SHE IS JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU. Desperation is an ugly stink…and he was bathing in it.

“The Misleader”

This type of delightful gentleman actually gets bundled into another kind of guy whom I’m having trouble naming. I suppose it’s misleading in two ways: one, they portray themselves to be something different in their pictures or actions. Second, they themselves are mislead to believe that they are more fantastic than they really are, which is typically spoon fed early on. These types are both equally annoying, and oftentimes feel justified seeking perfection (which newsflash, does NOT exist) as they themselves feel that they’ve already achieved it. We have to tackle these two different examples of misconception independently.

Type A: I look and act like this, I swear!

Something that tends to happen frequently is when people decide to be someone else to please someone else. Or, they just don’t photograph particularly well, so there are several types of pictures of them to which you’re unsure what they truly look like. OR…OR! You’re fully aware of what you look like, but find pictures that subtly cover what you’re insecure about. EXAMPLE: (We’ll call him Joe). Joe seems like a good guy as well, interested in health and fitness to the extent he recently switched careers to “health promotion,” from what I have no idea as he’s not willing to disclose. He sends me an email, that I’m beautiful and interesting and he would be “honored” (I am not putting words in here, just literally regurgitating it) to chat with me. Honored? Alright…trying too hard…but what the hell, I’ll see what he looks like and what he’s into. There are two pictures of Joe, that are actually the same picture up twice, showcasing Joe sitting at a bar with a hat and sunglasses on drinking a beer. He starts talking to me about how he switched into his new field because “the world is old and fat.”

Hmm…so you must be pretty fit? Pretty active? Health nut? But how am I to be sure? S

o I ask for another picture, one that does not involve the hat or sunglasses and he obliges, telling me that his hair is really short and that he’s not bald. “Okay,” I reply and wait for the message. I’ve got mail…and boy am I shocked to find he is in fact bald in the front and a little heavy. NOW I HAVE NO QUALMS with him being heavy, as I mentioned above (and anyone who knows my dating track record can attest to) I never decide who to date based on looks, as long as there ends up being some sort of physical attraction. Most of the time, I prefer a very tall guy and I could never date a guy who is supermodel thin (it’s just not for me). BUT, when you profess to be a trainer and you profess to be health obsessed and say things like “the world is old and fat,” you better be in perfect shape.

Fail.

Then he proceeds to say, “I bet you don’t want to talk to me anymore…” to which I answer, “Why is that?” although what I’m thinking is, no, I don’t like people who sort of…lie from the get go, no…and he replies, “I’m no Brad Pitt.” Lack of confidence is so sexy, topped off by your general demeanor and outlook on life as well as your…photos that were a little off…we’re done before it begins. If you are negative, lie or create a little “fib,” or lack confidence, OR do not practice what you preach…what happened to “PAUL” above can happen to you. Which it did…but unfortunately, Joe also violated another no-no…do NOT write things when you do not know someone like… “Hey sexy.” It’s revolting, it’s a turn off and it’s yikes worthy. It’s also a sure-fire way for us to not respond, leaving you scratching your bald head wondering why we don’t reply…because, my dear offender…SHE IS JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU.

Type B: I’m awesome, because I say so!

There’s probably been at least one occasion in our dating lives that people have stopped you and been like…what are you thinking? Why date a lagoon create? Why date a heinous bitch? So on, so forth. But for some of us, we give people chances because we believe that they’re unique and special and all that barf worthy stuff. Have you ever encountered someone who you may have known years ago, who liked you, things happen and then suddenly, YOU’RE obsessed? And I don’t mean “you,” but I mean they begin to believe that you’re obsessed with them. Part of you at the time is like, wow, they liked me so long ago and they’re interested and maybe I missed out. So you go out on a limb, because just as you want to be the exception, you figure everyone else does too. Things happen, you think…”Great! I’ve made a good decision to explore past feelings in a mature, adult setting.”

False. FALSE, FALSE, FALSE.

First of all, on a tangent, I’m not sure any mature people even exist and secondly…you can never be too careful. You just can’t. Thinking is a highly dangerous exercise, and acting on your thoughts can be lethal. There was a friend of mine who knew of someone from middle school who was interested in her, and while they hadn’t spoken in many years, he found her and contacted her through some form of social media. “Wow, you are still so beautiful. How are you?!” She apparently had noticed time had been kind to him and he blossomed into a pretty good-looking dude. “You don’t look so bad yourself!” They chatted, he begged her to come visit him and voila! Guess what happened? I trust my readers to be smart, so eh…you know what that means. After the “boom boom pow,”  it was a cute and cuddly morning and lots of appreciation for her coming to see him and being with him, etc. When she returned she tried chatting with him as normal, and (shockingly enough!) he became squeamish, stating that he wasn’t really ready for a relationship.

From what I understand, that’s not what he was saying prior to their hookup, but he’s becoming a singer and couldn’t risk the chances of “blossoming further” and not being able to spread his seed to many more…lucky girls. Her reaction was more of a “get over yourself” attitude, as she was apparently just trying to keep it friendly. What I don’t get is, where someone gets off turning it around. She wasn’t sitting there begging him for a ring, or even a title as boyfriend girlfriend, just wanted to keep it friendly and keep it moving. She says that it was misconstrued, and being the hilarious woman she is, saved and shared the conversations with me. In the beginning, highly interested and then after the “incident,” fell off back into lagoon creature land thinking he’ll make it big as a Hollywood singer and will no longer need her. I suggested, that perhaps it’s because he wanted her so bad in middle school, then got her, then felt it right to be like…”PSYCHE! Gotcha bitch!” Who knows…but frankly, this kid isn’t going to find an Angelina Jolie or Megan Fox…not that he should’ve settled with her ( if he wasn’t happy!) but as crazy as men deem women to be, isn’t it just as crazy to ASSUME that she wanted anything more?

It wasn’t like she was acting like the above men, just trying to be friendly. Where’s the line of crazy drawn? What’s the crazy to friendly ratio and what’s “okay” to contact after a situation and what’s not? AND, who makes these rules?!?!? I’m sure you guys are kind of like, well, that was a slutty thing for her to do. However, did she do anything different then a man would have? She put herself out there thinking that she may have missed a big connection and went for it. I’m proud of her for doing so. If we don’t take risks how do we know? Commendable move, friend!

If we’re trying to be friendly with you and you misconstrue it, finding yourself there going, “WOAH! She wasn’t into me a few years ago, but she SO IS now,” and yet we’re not arguing when you say you don’t want a relationship, but are actually repulsed and irritated on the other end…SHE IS JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU. Deflate your egos and stop “worrying,” about new obsessive “fans,” who are sincerely trying to keep the friends lane wide open. It’s lame. Seriously. What’s better is she ran into him while out in LA on a trip, they met up, and he made out with a friend of hers right in front of her. Did she freak out? No. Did she drink too much and disclose intimate details about him to his friends…yeah maybe…so an element of crazy still lurks there, but that’s another story for another time.

“Sexual Seduction”

This one in particular is both my favorite, and grosses me out. I’ve been really good, because I’ve been sitting on a few really good stories for a long while now, afraid that the same men who threaten me when they see I’m going to post this to my blog, would actually check up on it at the exact moment I upload “our” stories. Sadly, for this one in particular, I do not care. He’s sufficiently freaked me out for YEARS now and I’m pretty sure it’s time to release our lovely banter out into cyber space. We’ll call him…Jonah. Things that are not sexy…For starters, how about when after many years of not speaking, you feel some sort of delight in contact someone to talk dirty. We all know by now how I feel about “badgering” and this is no exception. He’s actually the original badger, believe it or not. Jonah and I go way back…to middle school, where his brother and I were in the same grade and he was a few years older. Luckily for my friends and I, Jonah taught us all we’d need to know about “pleasing” men by describing play by plays in great detail. At the time, we were young and dumb and soaked it all in, keeping his brother our good friend and having to see him every time we went over to hang out.

After he graduated, we didn’t keep in touch. It wasn’t until years later that Facebook played a huge role in reconnecting us. I was still in Tallahassee at the time, and his name popped up on Facebook chat as I was sitting next to my boyfriend at the time. My boyfriend said, “Who’s that?” I said, “Oh, just some guy from high school.” How do you explain any further when he’s really not important? In any case, he wound up getting very sexually explicit with me, so I removed him from my friends and blocked him from my AIM.

Recently, he resurfaced and I thought…it’s been years, what’s the worst that could happen? I should really ban that phrase from my vocabulary, along with other phrases like “it is what it is,” and “prrrrr-etty good.” Jonah and I reconnect and he instantly pops up on my Facebook chat: “Wow, you turned out to be one sexy Jew!” To which I respond, “Oh, hello there…so nice to hear from you. How are you?” We carry on a normal conversation for a while, but he proceeds to ask me some highly offensive, sexual questions. When I ask how his brother is, he scoots right over it, more interested in what landscaping techniques are, etc. Gross stuff, especially when you’ve not spoke in so long.

Somehow, he reversed blocked me on AIM so that I could not block him back. His sexual forwardness continued to grow, and it was not and is not ok. Particularly when you’re just starting to talk to someone again who already has this whacked view of you. So as I said, he reversed blocked, and so when I’d have statuses up like… “Getting ready for a date!” He’d reply like… “Ooh where am I meeting you,” or “wear something that accentuates your…” etc. I never responded and this is actually still continuing on a small level, despite the fact he literally said, “If this is making you uncomfortable or if you don’t want to talk to me anymore, just tell me.”

SO I did…and where do you think that’s gotten me? If you’re being explicit, you should maybe take a hint when the person says she’s not only not interested but is not responsive to your unique advances. If you’re a freaky person and she’s not, if you’re explicit and inappropriate causing her to feel like screaming every time you contact her and you’re wondering why you get no response? It’s as simple as this, SHE IS JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU!

There are all different kinds of people, and everyone has their individual quirks. I suppose when it’s in regards to a typically gender specific topic it just gets me going. There’s no real difference between women and men. They both want what they want: to find the best partner, to be successful, to be loved on whatever level they’re capable of giving and receiving. Men don’t believe me when I tell them I’m relatively drama free, that I abhor conflict and that I’m pretty laid back. Perhaps that’s just my perception, and not reality, as it’s easier for me to be subjective rather than objective but I know I’m not always “fault free” either. No one is innocent, because relationships (friendships included) are (at least) two player games. But the next time you’re wondering why we don’t call, or why we don’t respond to what you say, etc…re-think what your actions may have been to get to that point, and realize…we’re just not that into you.

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The Tale of Smelly McNasterson

16 May

 

Don’t Leave Your Etiquette At Home!

So I’ve returned to this trainer of mine as I try to lose the leftover weight from college. Which they never properly warn you about at orientation. They give you this entire alcohol prevention and safety spiel, but the powers that be never slam an overweight dude in front of you and say, “Look at this man. He attended this school 5 years ago and guess what? 175 when he started, about 350 now (treeee-fitty). Why? He’d like to thank Jagermeister, Blue Moon and delicious mixed bar drinks that he was able to get for 3 dollars by the bucket.”

For all intents and purposes, I’m that “dude.” Except I didn’t start at 175 and end at 350… just to be clear for those who don’t ever see me in person. Either way, it’s time to get fit now that I have a bit more time to focus on “me.” SO I returned to my trainer, who is busy kicking my ass three times a week for the past month.  His gym is tiny, with a vitamin shop in front, a hallway leading to several cardio torture devices and then the open area full of machines and free weights.  For the past few weeks I’ve been coming in, there’s been a lady running on the treadmill who appears as if she’s been running for HOURS, drenched completely head to toe. Normally, I’d applaud this determination and express a twinge of jealousy for anyone with the patience and stamina. However, this situation is different. When I know I’m going to be working out for a prolonged amount of time, I ensure that the following things are in place: deodorant, socks, deodorant, comfy sneaks, deodorant, large refillable water bottle and the most important…DEODORANT. There’s no secret…you sweat at the gym, and if you’re like this woman, you sweat oodles and oodles. I have an overly sensitive nose…so it’s amplified for me perhaps more so than others. But I never, ever, want to be the “smelly kid” in the gym.

It wasn’t acceptable in elementary/middle and high school and it’s damn sure not acceptable now. My trainer’s store is set up as an organic haven and most of the patrons are purists or vegan or something along those lines. The first time I was on the treadmill next to this woman I assumed her smell stemmed from the fact she must not believe in all the chemicals in deodorant (even though they make a natural one…not sure if she got the memo). It’s one of those situations where you don’t want to stare as beads of sweat turn into buckets, dropping onto the treadmill with a putrid splat.  Note that I said don’t WANT to…more like…HAVE to.

My mind starts moving a million miles a minute…is she a dirty individual? No, she may just sweat a lot. Does her whole family sweat like this? Has she tried hyper-hydrosis treatment? Has she been on the treadmill for hours and hours?

CAN SHE NOT SMELL THE WRETCHED SCENT EMANATING FROM HER GENERAL DIRECTION?

Does she think it’s me?

This isn’t even the most important part.

As I’m worried about being smelly, I take a great concern in making sure I make good food choices prior to getting in there. For example, it seems like a poor choice to consume an entire BAG of green giant frozen BROCCOLI for lunch. We’re adults here…and as the book says, everyone poops and the same is true for flatulence. As I’m doing squats, I’m watching the lady on the treadmill in the mirror. Sweat is literally running off of her…and she just seems so unfazed. It’s truly amazing.  Squat number 75 and I start smelling something new. Less like body odor, more like rotting dirty diaper. It’s not close enough to me to think the trainer did it and clearly I know that I didn’t do it…there’s no choice. It’s my smelly little friend on the treadmill. At that exact moment, I watch her do a deep lunge on the treadmill and suddenly, a new waft of gross. I have what I like to call a “stank face” expression that says, “I saw you, and are you serious?” I’ve lost all concentration and wind up falling.

The thud from MY fall must have startled Smell-a-lotolous because the next thing I know, I hear her fall with a loud…THUD….AND THEN… she ends our gym experience with a… “pfffffffff…”

The loudest, sickest thing I’ve ever heard!

I guess she found herself a bit “winded.”

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Dan, Dan, The Wacko Man!

16 May

Ever Feel Surrounded By A Bunch of Clowns?

 

 

Sometimes it  feels as though I am participating in the “Bad Decision Olympics,” where I am the reigning Gold Medalist. I’d like to share another moment in dating hell, with my most recent fail…Dan. (* Just a reminder, all names have been changed).

A while ago, I met Dan. We started talking on the phone and texting nearly every day and although I wasn’t really prepared for anything serious, it was obvious that he wasn’t going anywhere without a fight…which I kind of liked, as it’s been a while since anyone of substance has come along. He is educated, driven, seemed pretty compassionate and genuine, etc. It probably didn’t hurt his case that he has a beautiful upper body and pearly white teeth…just sayin’. After talking to him for a few days, the comments started getting a bit weird…er.

I understand that people are marrying early and we are feeling a bit of societal pressure at 26, (like we’re lepers for not settling down by this point) but I’m never one to just meet someone and say any of the following things:

1. “So, are you going to be my baby?”

2. “I just need you in my life, and I know that…without a doubt.”

3.“I just think you’re a good influence in my life, and you’d be positive to have around.”

Those all seem like very sweet, endearing things for people who’ve been dating a little more than not at all. How can you possibly know that those things will be true without a bit more investigation? Maybe I’ve been hiding a secret identity, and I’ll rip off a body suit to reveal I’m a 350lb lagoon creature.

MAYBE I’m serial killer who loves to kill afflicted men. OR…MAYBE…I’m a code five clinger, who loves to snort coke and likes to dress my cats in funny outfits and film them. My point is, that it’s off putting to hear things like that right off the bat.

Dan and I were going on a date to go see The A-Team. I understand that the movies are kind of a stupid date to choose to go on when you’re still getting to know one another. But I chose the movies for that reason. I felt pressured to see him, because he was SO pushy. After a day at work from 8-5 where people constantly talk your ears off, why would you want to go and have someone talk your ears off for another few hours?

Look, I’m sure if I was “really” interested, it wouldn’t matter. I’d welcome the chatter, getting to know each other and enjoying a flirtatious flutter of the eyes back and forth. Dan wanted to go bowling, go for dinner, go somewhere. “Movies are fine,” I tell him. “I’m bad at bowling, I’ve just had dinner and again..I’m a horrible bowler.” On the way there, I start getting this bad feeling. What’s funny is my friends will tell you that I’m rarely off base with these instincts. They usually manifest themselves through soreness deep in my gut, saying, “hey….hey dumbass…this? This right here…? This is going to end HORRIBLY.”

Clearly, I don’t listen, pulling into the theatre fifteen minutes before it starts. I can see Dan from the car, although he can’t see me. He’s pacing a bit and seems frustrated, but when he sees me a big smile flashes across his face. We hug and he tells me he’s bought the tickets. “He’s not so bad,” I think to myself as we walk towards the theatre.

As we enter, he turns back and says “Goodnight Sophie.” Ehm…? Wherever Sophie is, she’s clearly not responding. “GOODNIGHT SOPHIE,” he says louder and sort of pauses for effect. I look over to see this girl hanging out on the pillar. She seems less than enthralled that he’s speaking to her and has a mild look of discontent and panic. He starts to explain, “Oh! She was waiting on her boyfriend and I was waiting on you, so we kept each other company since it’s a bit sketchy out here.”

We go inside…time to pick the seats… I like to sit near the bar so I can put my feet up and there are no big heads obstructing my view. He doesn’t argue and just asks that we sit in the middle, where these two girls have their feet on the seats. “Don’t worry, they won’t have them there for long,” he replies. I sit down immediately already embarrassed and praying there will be no confrontation…the movie hasn’t even started. “Hey ladies,” he starts. “Now don’t go kicking our chairs during this movie, ya hear me?” The ladies are giggling. They think he’s joking. “Oh don’t worry,” one replies. “I think I broke my toe before we came in here.” “Oh really?” he says, and starts rummaging around in his wallet. He hands them his medical sales card and they coo.  Right when I think we’re in the safe zone, I hear him start telling them… “We’re on a date. So please…don’t kick the chair.”

He sits down and says to me…

Dan: “Did you knock a couple back before you came?”

Me: “I’m sorry…what?” I’m staring at him blankly, like…did you really just ask that?

Dan: “Did you have a couple drinks? I mean hell, that’s what I would do…” (He’s unable to drink).

Me: “No, I didn’t…why, does it seem like I have?”

From there things got really ridiculous and if I sat here and did a full detailed recount, you’d be here for ten pages, guaranteed. I’ll highlight.

Dan: “Don’t take anything I say or do seriously tonight, ok?” Famous last words.

You know that point in the bad situation when you’re like… “uh oh.” While externally I said, “Ehm…okay…?” Internally I was saying, “HOLY SHIT, WAY TO STEP IN A PILE OF  HOT MOLTON CRAZY. GREAT JOB!”

It appears the fact of the matter is, I never learn. Ever. Body language is important on a date. If my legs are crossed away from you, if my arms are folded, my hands are on my purse and I’m intently watching the movie, I have just given you the universal signs of “don’t touch me.” Had I of left my hand out for you to grab, placed my purse in the seat next to you, crossed my legs towards you and leaned over a bit…that means “GO.” The other way means “NO.”

Dan had evidently never heard of that general rule of thumb. I’m sure that the A-Team would’ve been a great movie, but I really didn’t get to spend a lot of time watching it, as I was more concerned that every time Bradley Cooper and Jessica Biel kissed, I’d be attacked. I started dreading the love scenes. Every tacky move that could’ve been made was done. He picked up his cell phone, texted, talked to strangers, was loud and wanted to have a conversation throughout the movie.

BUT most offensive of all was THE BEST MOVE in the history of tacky moves:

“The Quest for Boobtown”

The 2 part quest:

1. He removes his watch methodically, then drops it down my shirt before attempting to FISH IT OUT.

2. He keeps trying to hold my hand but stretches his arm across me so I have to continuously keep moving his hand so he doesn’t rest it on my chest.

At one point he actually tried to lay his head on my chest….when I kept moving his hands and head, he finally turns to me and says, “ why are you so uptight?!”

“I’m not uptight,” I reply calmly, a little shaken up from the shock of his actions. I really can’t remember a time I’ve been more disrespected publicly. Although you say to yourself, “If something like that ever happened to me, I’d punch him in the face,” it changes when it happens to you and you’re in the moment. I thought that had answered the question sufficiently, but then right at a climactic point in the movie he turns to me and raises his voice… “OH LET ME GUESS…YOU’VE BEEN HURT BEFORE, RIGHT? AND NOOOOOOOOOW…I’M PAYING THE PRICE?”

I had nothing to say, mainly because how do you answer that…mid movie, with now the entire theatre no longer paying attention to the movie they’ve paid for, but rather your conversation with a crazy person. At that moment, you can feel the sympathy radiating, hear the women going “poor girl,” and I can feel my jaw clenching, fists tightening and tears trying to fight their way forward. “I’LL TAKE THAT AS A GIANT YES,” he screams. I had enough, but refused to get angry as we’re still in public, and I’m still a lady… of some sort.

Me: “Take it however you want to. Just leave it alone, and leave me alone.”

Dan: “SO…YES,” raising his voice over the climactic moments of A-Team.

Me: “Think whatever you want.”

After that, it was as if he had never snapped. He returned to trying to caress my hand, tell me how into me he was, etc.

Dan: “I’m going to go get a soda, want anything?”

Me: “No.”

He leaves and I text my mom and a friend of mine. I text: “awful. Crazy, crazy, crazy. Just went for a diet coke, hope he doesn’t come back.” But he did. With a large diet coke and large popcorn, both of which he finished then proceeded “release” the popcorn and soda back…out both ends. It felt like a cosmic joke…this kid couldn’t be serious? But he was.

Finally the movie ends and he walks me to my car, which I cannot get into fast enough. Before I even get home he’s called twice and left three texts.  We never spoke after that, and in truth, it  seriously rocked me so much that it took me a minute to get to a point where I could write it down.

But wait, there’s more…

About two months after the ordeal,  I get a friend request from a girl name Sandy. For some reason, I accept her friendship thinking I must know her from somewhere.  Something about her looks weirdly familiar, but I’m not sure I’m not crazy. I let it go and figure if nothing else, she’ll just be one of the other Facebook friends that I have that I don’t “know.” A week ago, I signed on to Facebook and my chat popped up immediately…it was Sandy.

Sandy: “Hey,” she says.

Me: “Hey, do I know you?”

Sandy: “Can I ask you something, and can we keep it just between you and I?”

Me: “Of course,” I reply, thinking…I don’t really know you, so what does it matter? And, you didn’t really answer my question, which would actually be telling of how the rest of the conversation would go.

Sandy: “How do you know Dan Smith? From CL?”

Me: “What’s CL?”

Sandy: “Craigslist,” she replied and my face automatically went into a highly grossed up, perplexed contortion.

Me: “Um no, not from…Craigslist,” I reply trying to suppress the disgust seeping up from my tummy and into my throat.

Sandy: “GREAT,” she says. “That tells me that he’s really out there trying to look for something/someone else.”

And so we spoke about Dan for about 30 minutes. She asked what happened and what my experience was. I tell her bits and pieces, but am still withholding because I’m not sure how she knew to find me on Facebook. Apparently, she met him off of “CL,” and then proceeded to have a plethora of strange experiences with him. He stood her up, she said she toyed with his emotions but eventually felt bad and met up with him. They went back to “his” house and he tried to get her to do stuff but she said she “doesn’t do THAT because it’s trashy.”

She said that it was time to consider not speaking to him, to which I reply he’s been blocked on my end for a while and that in my opinion, he’s not a hundred percent there and she should stop communication. While we’re talking, something occurred to me…the same thing I mentioned above…how on EARTH did she figure out who I was and how did she know how to get a hold of me? While she continues to talk to me, I decide to go to his Facebook page and see if they’re friends. Something just started to feel weird…I know, imagine that.

Turns out they’re not even Facebook friends. Which leads me to believe he clearly told her to contact me and ask why I’d not responded. ANOTHER thing occurs me…she looks EXACTLY like the girl that was at the movies that night, standing on the pillar (SOPHIE…remember?). Turns out, the crazy just keeps getting crazier. By the time I went to ask her how she knew to find me and confront her to see whether or not that was her that night…she disappeared off Facebook entirely.

SCARY, CRAZY and yet…typical.

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“Show Me Your Boobs”- A Heartwarming Tale Of Rosh Hashana Past

16 May

WAIT A MINUTE…these aren’t BOOBS!

See what I did there? Totally tricked you into reading a heartwarming tale of Rosh Hashona from 2010. And you thought it would be about boobs.

We are a week away from that  magical time of year ladies and gentleman! That’s right. It’s the Jewish New Year! A time to get together, eat apples and honey and gather around the dining room table while we laugh until noodle kugel comes out of our nose. What is it about the holidays that turn families into laugh factories? It seems to be the place where other family members cry out, “STOP! My sides! They’re killing me! You should really be a comedian!” Hardly. It’s the nature of family to tell inappropriate stories that no one in their right mind may find funny, except for the sheltered group of crazy people sitting before you, spraying green bean casserole every time a laugh escapes.

There are two main characters in this story: Steve, a club-footed ex-janitor who is a “friend” of someone who lives in the same condo as my Mother. Steve loves to tell inappropriate stories or say inappropriate things while in front of large groups of people. It’s a lack of filter combined with a “who cares who’s listening” attitude. Anyone know someone similar?

I always have to refrain from being like… “True or false: you’re aware people can hear you right?!”

Michael is the other main character, a friend of my mom’s, who is a brilliant individual bored with his job as a computer programmer. He was raised Southern Baptist in South Carolina and over the years has turned into a straight up atheist. BUT! He is a Bible Blaster, a “Master of Biblical Disaster.” I’ve watched him shut down several conversations about Religion with ease. It’s quite impressive. In any case, we include these two as part of our extended family who comes for just about every holiday and have become “Jews by association.” He and my Mother ballroom dance as a hobby, and that’s actually how they met and became friends.

Final note would be that my Mother, who is not a drinker by nature…has had two drinks. Two drinks for my Mom is the equivalent of getting frat boy drunk…getting Lohaned up, if you will.

She is…drunk.

The night was already weird, and little did we know how weird it was ABOUT to get. While we’re sitting around, Steve begins discussing his latest vacation he and my mother’s neighbor took (they’re a couple, clearly).

Steve: “Oh YAH, we went to Freedom Beach”
MOM: “Freedom beach?”
Steve: “Yes, it’s a nude beach.”
He proceeds to grab himself before finishing his thought…
Steve: “I got to let it all hang out, if ya get me!”

As I mentioned, my Mom had two drinks that night, which is like, two drinks too much…so she’s literally rolling on the floor laughing uncontrollably.

MOM: “You’ve got to be kidding!”
Steve: “No! Don’t you want to be FREE?!”
MOM: [stands up on the chair and shouts] “I’m FREEEEEEEEEEEEE”

Then falls.

Steve is still caressing himself in a disturbing and particularly gross way. Just to the point where you’re not sure if they’re doing it intentionally or just kind of…resting their hands in the general vicinity? Gross either way.

Some of Steve’s other famous stories include:

“I went to the zoo last week and watched these two monkeys go at it for like an hour. Do you know turtles can have sex for over 7 hours? Crazy, right?”

And, as if this should shock you by now…

[We were at the pool, all together, and he says to his girlfriend…]

“We need to go upstairs now. Because I want it. A sandwich, then nap and if we don’t go now…there won’t be time for OTHER things. Get me? OTHER THINGS.”

He loves that phrase, “Get me?” NO Steve…frankly, we don’t.

Michael’s stories, on the other hand, tend to be more detailed yet equally as disturbing and unexpected. The best one from the Holiday evening has to be the one he told directly after Steve’s, regarding a Ballroom dance routine gone wrong.

It is a general rule in Ballroom Dancing for ladies to not wear a tube top while performing, as the chances of “foreign exposure” are at an all time high. With the lifting, tilting, spinning and twirling, a lady’s chance of exposing herself are probably 80-90%. Usually, you see a woman with some sort of strap around the neck or shoulders for that very reason! Apparently not all people know this, or perhaps just disregard it. In this case, it backfired in a BIG way.

Picture this: A lavish ballroom scene with lots of competitors, judges, family and friends who have all come to see you take home the trophy for “most awesomest ballroom dancer…ever.”

You’ve chosen a purple glitter dress with a high, right leg slit, illuminating your silver stockings. The dress is a tube top style, strapless dress but you’re not concerned! No big deal! The dance begins and you and your partner are off! You’ve gone through your choreography and are ready for the big lift!

Annnnnnd, you’re up!

But wait? What’s that breeze your feeling? Could it be? Uh-Oh! Your boobs are full on exposed, flapping around in sync with you as you are swept from one side of the stage to the other.

Apparently, the couple finished the entire routine and when they finally took their bows, the lady stood up and put her breasts back in.

The ENTIRE routine? YIKES! That is ONE proud dancer! The Holidays are always great, and I look forward to writing a similar post after Rosh Hashanah takes place next week! To all my He-brews and She-brews, enjoy the upcoming Holidays and let it all hang out!

P.s…open seats at our family dinner table. No? No takers? Bueller…?

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Me, A Gorgeous Firefighter, And…My Dad?

16 May

 

Come on Baby, Light my Fire!

 

As you’ll start to notice, I go back and forth with my dating regime. I’ll serial date, then quit cold turkey. Soon after, something happens and I always wind up meeting someone by accident and taking a chance.

Enter John, the Firefighter. John is a weird case, because from the get-go there was a ton of physical chemistry. In some respects, even though we had met a few times, I figured when we actually went on a “date” there would be nothing to say. Most of the time was spent drooling over his arms, back, abs…butt…you get the point.

Turns out he is actually quite smart, genuine and all around appeared to be a nice guy. I didn’t want to sound like a jerk, but I had to ask…

Me: “Why on earth are you single? You’re a firefighter, you have perfect teeth and eyes I’d love to dive into. Help me understand!”

He went on to compliment me before saying that he just usually meets “trash,” which is why he’s always hesitant to meet people in bars.

He went on to say he rarely drinks, watches TV, etc and is also not an overly obnoxious health nut.  John seemed relatively perfect…potential mythical unicorn material! Typically that means…there’s a catch!

We spent five hours at a Starbucks, with a constant flow of conversation. It might have been the first time I’d felt a genuine connection with anyone in a long…long…LONG time.

There was a guy who sat down quite some time after we’d been there, and he was an older guy who set up a laptop, mouse pad and some intricate looking mouse for “people who are serious about doing computer work.” He was sitting on John’s side, and periodically, I’d see John’s eyes wander over to the screen. He’d laugh, look back and mouth “oh..my…GOD” to me. Eventually the dude next to us went inside and I asked, “What’s so funny??”

He replies, “The guy next to us is playing World Of Warcraft!” I laugh, and he looks at me and gets very serious…

“Hey, this isn’t your dad, is it?”

“What? NO, that’s not my Dad.”

“I’m just saying, that would be super clever. Like he was here to make sure I was a good dude, and make sure his little girl is ok.”

“I can assure you…that’s not my Dad.”

“Ok…” And he lets it go. Temporarily.

“He’s really looking at me funny…” he says.

The guy can’t hear him because he’s wearing industrial sized headphones.

“John honestly…I can’t make you believe it’s not my dad if you think it is.”

“No no no…you’re right. He’s probably not.”

The conversation went on, and as the night was coming to a partial close/relocation as Starbucks was closed for over 2 hours now and it was only us…and this guy. I decided that since John had already picked up on my humor, and we were sort of already in the “easy part” of the date, I’d mess with him…because that’s the mature, caring individual I am.

“Are you ready to get out of here?”

“Yes, it’s best…it’s 12:30 and the only other person here is this guy,” I say.

“Don’t worry, I’d protect you,” he says with a smile.

“Oh that won’t be necessary,” I reply as we stand up.

“Have a good night kids,” the guy says, indicating he’s probably been able to hear us the WHOLE time.

“GOODNIGHT, DAD!” I look back and yell. The guy was momentarily confused, John went completely ghost white, and I had a good laugh. The way I see it…everyone won!

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Nothing Like A Nude…Oops, NEW Relationship!

16 May

You like? I like.

 

I’m 90% sure the sole reason I continue to date is for the continuous stream of free material. Terrible? Maybe. Worse for me to immerse myself in these awkward situations then for you to read them? Let’s hope! I wish I could say I’m dating because I’m interested in starting something again, but anyone who’s been around me for more than five minutes knows that although I’ve recently ended a relationship…a serious one…I’m not particularly ready to eh…date again. So instead I’ve been occupying my time with casual dating in the hopes that one of these delightful gentlemen will surprise me, and I’ll wind up really liking someone by accident.

Recently I wound up chatting with someone who I have had a little bit of genuine interest in. Not only is he educated, in a great place job and life-wise, but he looks a lot like an old crush of mine from middle school. This is about to get disturbing…but I loved that he spoke another language (H-O-T) and that he literally looked like this other guy almost EXACTLY. Perfect fantasy-to-reality love story right there!

So he happens to call me on Sunday, and asks for a last-minute date and I’m super excited, as he’s again…one of the only people I’ve even had any remote interest in for some time. “Sure, I’d love to meet up! Where and when?” He’s not from South Florida originally, but he happens to pick this classy wine bar that’s on the beach in Fort Lauderdale. Great start.

I head in to find him and wow does he look like my middle school love. Now I’m really excited, as he’s not a lagoon creature (a term for the highly unattractive and misshapen) and he’s turning out to be rather well put together. As we finish our bottle of wine, he continues to tell me a little bit more about him, and we’re hitting it off! We begin talking about traveling, and he’s impressed that I’ve seem most of the U.S. by car. “Wow, that’s great! When I was driving down from Canada to move here, I passed through a few places but nowhere for long enough to explore. My favorite trip was to Spain and France, where my friends stopped off at this nude beach.”

Suddenly, I’m thrown off.

MEN…listen carefully…MAJOR turn off…talking about sexual things via phone prior to first date, or ON the first date.

Me: “So did you…enjoy the nude beach…?”

Him: “Well, I wasn’t going to do it, but all my friends were doing it! SO I just took my pants off and voila (the other language he speaks fluently is French…just saying….hot).”

Me: “Wow…pretty adventurous. How was that?”

At this point I’m not really willing to be affected by this. He seems about 90% normal, why care that he is confident enough to drop his pants in public? If he’s willing to do that…his eh…”confidence” must be pretty…huge. Next question was in regards to the South Beach nude beach, to which I reply that I know it exists but would not go to that sort of thing.

Not my bag.

Then I quickly recovered by explaining it’s pretty normal for that type of thing in South Beach, as the mentality down there makes it seem like the Europe of FL. I can’t believe how normal the night appeared to be. A whole date without any MAJOR sense of weirdness? Impossible!

You don’t seem to be unusually attached or afflicted, uneducated or unmotivated…what’s wrong with you, I wonder?!

As is normally the case, it was allllllllll a matter of time. I should have realized little signs indicating his love for nudity, the act of being nude and general overall hatred for clothing.

Him: “Want to take a walk on the beach? Or we could have another bottle of wine? Or didn’t you say that you lived close to here?”

I text my friend and tell her that everything is fine.  Per usual girl code, if I say no, it means my dog is sick. In this scenario, she is my roommate and needs me to come home NOW. I also tell her that I think he’s trying to trick me a bit into going back to my house…she says if I’m all out of pepper spray or good judgement…do none of the above.

I decide she’s being paranoid and agree to the walk on the beach.  I’m on the fence about how I’m feeling with this one, but the walk on the beach goes seamlessly and I’m stunned by his normalcy and down to earth attitude. Now it’s time to walk back to the car. I’m parked in a dark lit place, but a place I’m familiar with so I’m not nervous. He walks me back to the car and I agree to drive him back to his.

At first, it seems harmless…until he grabs my face and kisses me like he is attacking me. Many quick HARD kisses while saying things in French in-between… “C’est Bon.” I’m officially turned off and am ready to hop in the car and head home to my “sick dog.” I HATE forward acts on a first date. Suddenly, he asks…”can you take my shirt off? I’m a little itchy and want to make sure it’s not a rash or spreading… WHAT? “Eh…no, I’m sorry. I’ll take you back to your car and you can check it out. Best of luck with that.”

As you’ll come to learn in time, I don’t joke about these things. I’m a horrible fiction writer, and what purpose would I have to lie?

He literally gets out of the car, stands up and RIPS his clothing off.

Him: “Remember when I said that I had never been to the nude beach down here?”

Me: “Uh…yes…” I’m insanely nervous at this point. WTF just happened Dr. Jekyll!?

Him: “Well…I lied. You see, I love being nude. Can’t get enough of it as a matter of fact! Had a really nice time, I WILL call you…”

Before I could say don’t bother, my façade of a decent man took off running with his clothes down a back alley…nude. One can only hope he composed himself before returning to his car or out on the busy Fort Lauderdale Beach.

Despite the various texts, emails, and calls after the incident it was clear that we were not a match.

Just another blip on the dating radar from hell!

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Epidemic Continues To Spread! Is There Hope For A Cure On The Horizon?

16 May

Are there really ANY words that could do this image of D.A.D.S justice?

 

Congratulations!

If you’re reading this, you’ve come to the realization that you are suffering from one of two very serious afflictions; Dumb Girl Syndrome (D.G.S) or Dumb Ass Dude Syndrome (D.A.D.S). Right now you’re confused and scared, wondering where you’ve contracted this from, who’s to blame and regretting not using protection the last few times. Relax. Sadly, like so many other serious diseases, D.G.S. and D.A.D.S ar typically a genetic defect or something learned from a very early age. Most likely if it’s learned it’s due to an overbearing mother, strict upbringing, or daddy issues. So many Americans in particular between the ages of 13 to douche bag suffer daily, and unfortunately… there seems to be no immediate cure.

“But how can I KNOW for SURE if I suffer from these offensive diseases?”

Great of you to ask! Today, we examine the symptoms of D.G.S and D.A.D.S and pose the serious question: Is there hope for a cure?

 

“Like, O.M.G, D.G.S?”

D.G.S, or Dumb Girl Syndrome, is continuing to run rampant. It appears to stem from need for attention, affection, or extreme denial. Girls who suffer from D.G.S are typically very easy to spot, as they tend to run in packs. During the winter season, they typically migrate north and west, clamoring to NY to catch a glimpse of the girls from The Hilly City (whoever they are) or to LA to become the next contestant on The Real World (I’m going to be famous!). These girls are skittish, so if you approach them, be sure to do so calmly and without food in hand as they’re most likely hungry (eating= a major no no! But, you CAN have a cheese cube if you’re about to pass out). A half-caff, light mocha frap has been known to calm the beast, but NO WHIPPED CREAM…God help you if there’s whipped cream…

Other symptoms tend to include possessing one or more magazines in their gigantic mansion of a purse that often accompanies a small dog closely resembling a stuffed animal rather than an actual animal! These girls tend to drag their dogs everywhere, treating their pet as an accessory. Let me ask you a serious question…do you really think fluffy wants to be shoved into a Louie knock-off and toted around while you walk the city, read in Borders and gossip about how Scott likes to call you at 2 AM but cannot commit? If I was a toy dog, I’d demand to be left home so I could flounce about the house believing I was living in a giant “Fluffy” based world.

Many girls afflicted with D.G.S suffer from two other major symptoms, including an oomp-ish orange hue and skunk-hair (defined by a platinum blond top layer of hair with a bright color or dark brown layer underneath). If you see this, do not blame these misguided girls as they are simply victims of trend and excessive media consumption. Someone needs to drop some knowledge on these girls that what the Gossip Girls or Katy Perry do are not gospel. Just because you see it, does not mean you must imitate.

For example: spandex leggings. Whoever reintroduced this fashion statement should be exiled! News flash: spandex…not for everyone. In addition, the reintroduction of hammer pants, or as some call them “genie” pants? N-O-T cute, and in this case not for anyone unless of course you’re actually M.C. Hammer…or live in a bottle.

All girls suffering from D.G.S suffer denial and misguided notions, particularly when it comes to men. They cannot conceive why they’re not married or in a relationship, why their ex’s have not returned to shout from the roof-tops “I’m so sorry, I made a huge mistake!” This is very closely related to the book turned movie, “He’s Just Not That Into You.” If you’re sitting there thinking, “that is so not true, I know he’s just intimidated by my beauty or my success…or my…love for my dog,” etc. then may I suggest you pick up a copy of either.

Is there hope for a cure? Let’s be serious. As long as the Paris Hilton’s and the like are some sort of diluted version of role models or public figures, my guess is no. While I’d like to say I’m optimistic for the future and finding a cure for this disease, I see little to no chance of that happening in my lifetime or those to come. Sorry. How do we avoid and/or comfort those suffering with this terminal illness? With laughter. Look around…one out of three women you know is suffering from this. If you can’t figure out who it is, as the old saying goes… it’s you.

 

So, you’re becoming a D.A.D!

This subject is one of my favorites, and one I love to talk about with passion! I love men (albeit typically the wrong ones, but none the less)…real MEN. Not man-boys, or the ever-present “man-baby.” Also on my list of “dislikes” are the symptoms included within this awful and sadly…flourishing disease. Men, brace yourself…these are the symptoms that if you have 1 or more, could mean that YOU…are becoming a D.A.D.

I would generally just write, “large sunglasses,” as a distinctive characteristic of this disease that both boggles my mind and infuriates me. If your sunglasses are larger than mine, that’s an issue. It’s not a fashion statement, it’s idiocy and frankly sir…you look ridiculous! Oh, don’t believe me? Going to purchase some new shades? Ahhhh yes, I see you’ve chosen the ultra douche bag large WHITE sunglasses, or the sunglasses that shouldn’t even be classified as glasses because they have lines through the center of it. NICE choice. NEWS FLASH MEN: Kanye West…is an idiot. Anything he does, you should go ahead and do the complete opposite. He’s not black Jesus, he’s not the best thing to happen to fashion,  he’s a man…with bad taste. Large sunglasses are the largest indicator of D.A.D.S…get it together men.

On the topic of de-manification, let’s discuss the following: guyliner, skinny jeans, Ed Hardy, shiny metallic gear of any kind and bejeweled ANYTHING. I’ve got to tell you…if I see one more embossed Eagle, Snake or false idea of manly-hood decorated in beads I used to play with from my Pretty, Pretty, Princess game when I was five, I’m going to LOSE it. If your jeans are skinnier and tighter than mine, if you’re wearing silver metallic gear, using my eye liner or foundation, OR if you’re wearing more jewelry (cubic zirconia, of course) and hair gel then I am… we have an issue (potentially multiple). When did gender lines become so blurred that it’s acceptable for people to say, “what a cute couple, now which one of you is which? Oh, nice black nail polish dude, it really matches your snake that’s on fire on your sleeveless vest and matching leather murse (man purse)!”

YIKES.

Similarly, the phrase “No Homo” comes to mind. Not only is the phrase incredibly offensive, but really? You need to make it clear to those around you that although you just said you love your guy friend, you’re not gay? And…you think…saying that phrase makes it better? Actually, it leads me to believe that while I wasn’t previously thinking you had any sexual interest in your friend…now? I kind of do!

How about this real life example I saw on a friend of mine’s wall on Facebook from another guy friend from high school:

“Hey dude. I was thinking about soccer the other day and I thought of you, so I thought I’d drop by your wall and leave some love. It made me so happy to see you with a girl in your picture and it seems like you’re happy, which makes me happy…no homo…take care.”

WHAT? Anybody catch what just happened?

I was thinking about you. I wanted to leave you love. I’m happy you’re happy. I’m not gay though. Alrighty then! Guys, you sound ridiculous. It’s okay to wear things that make people question your eh… “openness,” but heaven forbid they think you care and have girly emotions. PSSSH…how “homo.”

Another unfortunate side effect of D.A.D.S stems from factors starting at childhood. Men, just because your mother has told you since you were able to breathe that you are the hottest, most talented, smartest, gift to women in the WORLD does NOT give you a free range to be an ass. It also doesn’t mean you’ve won the lottery and are able to run around with a free “act like a douche for life” card. False. Take a look at why you haven’t had a successful relationship in years, or why you’ve been single and no one wants to get near your bejeweled fire snake for more than a second or two. And of course, that hot piece of ass feeding you compliments is…your mom.

D.A.D.S often enjoy provoking you to talk about their “situation down below,” or want to talk about how they’ve had a girlfriend for five years but still like to get freaky with other women.

Is there a hope for a cure? It’s not likely. As long as trends are in power, brains lack in power, and parents try to program their “little pieces of perfection” from the get go…de-manification will continue to lead to a more prevalent outbreak of D.A.D.S until it takes over all of the remaining (alleged) “real men.”

 

If you know anyone who fits in D.G.S or D.A.D.S or can foresee a cure in the near future, we at the “Foundation for a Yikes-Free Future,” would love to hear from you!

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Tales Of Online Dating: Poopie Pants

16 May

It’s not me, it’s YOU. A thousand times, YOU!

This story that I’m about to tell is particularly strange, but I swear on my dog’s life…it’s legit. I have this awful habit of getting frustrated with the normal dating scene and turning to the Internet. I’ve only done it a few times, for reasons you pretty obvious by the time this post is done. So! One summer a few years ago I got very tired of being single. My mother says to me, “You should try J-Date.” J-Date it a site where other Jewish people can get together and date, kind of like Match.com or E-Harmony….just for Jews. The entire reason my mom pushes this is because I do not date my own kind. Weird? Maybe. But it’s how I roll.

ANYWAY!

I join and see two guys worth giving my screen name to. Not even phone numbers, but email/IM. Fine. Cut to an IM I receive from George, a teacher from Miami who “seems” relatively well-adjusted minus the main profile picture being him and Goofy from a recent trip to Disney.

Him: Did I tell you the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to me?
Me: Ehm…no? We’ve only been talking for about 10 minutes now.
Him: Well it happened today, do you want to know?
Me: Sure? Go for it….

What the hell was I getting into! I was definitely not ready for the response I received.

Him: So today, I’m on the way home and I got stuck in some heavy traffic.
Me: Okay…that seems pretty standard.
Him: I realized that it was too late to turn off anywhere and I really had to…pee. So I just kind of went. Right there. In my pants.
Me: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA (etc.)
Him: IT’S NOT FUNNY! IT’S A SERIOUS CONDITION.
Me: (still laughing) OMG…you cannot be serious!
Him: Very!!!

Okay, I sign off. I’m disgusted a little, but think it’s hilarious. No way it could humanly be true, right? For  reasons I cannot explain at the moment, I decide not to block him. After a few weeks of not hearing from him, I completely forgot that he even existed.

About a month later….

Him: Hi, remember me?
Me: I think so…George?
Him: Yes, how are you doing?

Cut to boring conversation of pleasantries for the next five minutes. Then…cut back to this.

Him: Did I tell you the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me?
Me: Yes, you did…last time.
Him: No, something else happened pretty recently.
Me: Uh…I don’t…think…
Him: Well, I’m driving home again, but this time…I had to poop.
Me: WHAT!? You are going to tell me….at 25….you had to poop while driving home, so you just…pooped? Right in the car? In your PANTS?
Him: Don’t act so repulsed! What would YOU do in that situation?
Me: HOLD IT LIKE AN ADULT!

I blocked him immediately and got off J-Date. Come to find out, he lives with his ex-girlfriend who takes cares of him because he got pneumonia a thousand years ago and was bed ridden. While being confined to the bed he had to use diapers because he was too weak to get up and evacuate his bowels by his lonesome. He now has a fetish; he said the doctors were trying desperately to “wean” him off of…at 25.

It’s been about four years since this entire scenario has entered my head, although it’s one of my favorite stories.

A few months ago, I caught up with a friend from High School who went away for College and had recently returned. Somehow, in the mix I overhear her telling my friend the story of this guy she met online that was so bizarre. “He used to like to wear diapers,” she said. “And be cleaned up and stuff like a baby. Loved it.”

“ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT A GUY NAMED GEORGE?” I ask. To which she replied, “Yep, I sure am!”

How crazy…further proof how small the World can be, and why sometimes it’s better to just meet someone naturally and not try to “squeeze a relationship out,” or “Bowel down” to Internet dating.  It’s just not something I want to “doo.”

I’m out of poop puns, I promise!

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FACT: Babies Are Ruining My Life

16 May

There Goes Your Hopes and Dreams!

Sweet Moses, this topic is frightening! For those who have yet to read my interesting perspective on all that life has to offer, I apologize in advance. And for the five of you loyal readers ( Mom, big ups to you!) who hang on my every sentence for entertainment…and to feel better about you, once again…you’re welcome. I’m sort of like watching Intervention. At the end of it, you’re a bit confused, worried, turned on…but ultimately grateful that you lead a completely different life, and that’s why I’m here, to bring horror to the masses.

Recently, I’ve become more and more entwined with the community, which is great, since my goal is to ultimately do something positive for children, women in distress and shelter animals. Children and I tend to get along famously, as I’d rather spend my days sipping Juicy Juice, watching SpongeBob SquarePants and running around the house pants-less.

Children are awesome. Their honesty, their integrity, and their ability to be happy with life’s simplest pleasures. I’ve had a glass of wine, so if this post goes sappy, blame the silly juice.

My thoughts on children, as of September 2011:

So here’s the thing.

Most of you who know me, know how I feel about giving birth as I did a wholllle portion of my stand-up comedy act on it and I’m not particularly shy about saying the following: I’d love kids, I just don’t want to birth them.

Previously, I’ve said the following things have to happen prior to me agreeing to have kids:

1. Caging children must become legal, so like a dog, if I get frustrated with little Yikes Jr. I can cage it until it learns not to pee in the house.

2. Men must be able to have uterine transplants. Seriously, they should be able to have children already…it’s 2011.

3. They would have to be able to put me to sleep, take the baby out, perform liposuction and wake me up when everything is over, with my tang tang intact.

4. The only alternative to three, would be having your egg removed, mixed with your partners, it’s put into a pod that you check on and feed…kind of like sea monkeys…and eventually, the baby grows and wakes up at nine months cuter than hell and ready for you. Kind of like…iRobot meets Identity Report…meets the Pillsbury Dough Boy (he rises in time…in time…ON HIS OWN).

It’s a wonder I’m not married with kids yet, no?

Well…here’s the thing. Most of that nonsense above, while completely ignorant, stems from me assuming the right person will make me feel differently. My mother, who is probably gagging as she reads this, insists that as we get older…there is an instinct that rises.

So what’s been happening? There are children…everywhere. Seriously, criminally adorable children. Slowly but surely, I don’t feel like that anymore. I find myself looking at these families, envious that someone has made them feel like blowing their pelvis and tang tang region out was totally worth it.

Crap.

Furthermore, people from high school…from college…from my LIFE are having children at such a rapid rate it’s bananas. Some of them, I don’t even know they’re pregnant, then today I see TWO of them have, “Little Isaac turns one month today!” whaaaaa….t?

AT LEAST have the courtesy to throw us a baby bump pic here and then so we’re not shocked! ( And this is what technology has done to us!)

I’m 26. I’m in no way, shape, or form behind on the times. I’ve never been married, because I want to do it right…one time, and forever. Optimistic? Sure, sure, sure. Not in a rush (absolutely no man believes this)!

So for now I’ll continue sipping my Juicy Juice and roaming the house pants-less, while watching SpongeBob SquarePants and come to grips with the epidemic that will most likely grow as I continue to!

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Knock Knock: It’s Reality!

15 May

“I swear to God I’m going to burn down the building”- Milton, Office Space

It was a grab bag of mixed emotions as I entered the arena in Tallahassee where I had sat three years prior on Graduation Day. A weird feeling of pride, mixed with all of the extraneous feelings that I’ve felt since leaving there. The faces on the kids graduating were priceless, and evoked a sense of jealousy, frustration and sadness. Part of me felt like… “Ahhh…my Alma Mater….that I love.” Then the other piece of me wanted to be like, “Dear children before me. These people are about to lie to you, telling you that the previous four years you’ve broke your back to finish with a degree were all worth it and NOW…you can be whatever you want!”

The same gripe I have with movies that depict a brand of love that is harder to find than “unobtainium,” I share with our educators. From the moment I could recite the alphabet, teachers [and of course my mother] have been pumping me up with the notion I can be whatever I want. FURTHERMORE, not only can I be whatever I want, but NOTHING and NO ONE can stand in my way. Doesn’t that sound fancy? It seemed relatively simple, right? Go to school to the highest level and it pays off.

Well…here’s a newsflash kiddies…LIES…ALL LIES! [Said like Frau Firbissinau from Austin Powers]

On the jealousy aspect, here’s how I was feeling…my time at FSU was amazing. Period. In the beginning, I couldn’t envision myself being happy in a place like Tallahassee. BUT, after that, I met some of the greatest people and some of my closest friends whom I’ll remain close with hopefully forever [making me extremely happy]. Also, looking at the about to be grads, I just thought…wow…I’d like to feel THAT optimistic about ANYTHING these days. Their faces were glowing, their excitement was palpable and I just thought…damn you…damn you all…

After sulking momentarily, I collected myself when I realized that reality was about to bitch slap them…and hard. Life’s not as rosy as it’s necessarily always painted. Shit gets REAL. Wait until you are searching for a job and can’t find one. Then, after 600 resumes via Monster, Craigslist, CareerBuilder, LinkedIn, Smoke Signals, and Willsellmysoulforajob.com you get a hit. You’re amped. Like…super, ultra, mega, fucking AMPED. “THIS IS MY TIME!” you confidently reassure yourself in the mirror, while shaking with that “just graduated undergrad” smell of fear and joy emanating from you. In your head, this job is locked up. YOU GOT THIS. And, why not? You’re smart, fearless [stupid?], and ready to work to prove you’re here and you mean business.

The job interview goes insanely well and you saunter out of there trying not to make it look like a victory dance. You nailed it! You nailed it SO HARD that no one else will want to even try, because that job’s going to be walking funny for WEEKS. BOOYAH! Good for you! Now, you wait…. and wait…and wait….

Waiting has to be the cruelest game ever. As time goes on, the waiting game has this funny way of chipping away at your confidence. I’m not sure what that’s about, but it gets serious. Where you started out thinking you basically took that job interview to a fancy dinner and made passionate, sweet love to it, you start thinking…uh oh…what did I do, what did I say? I shouldn’t have worn perfume, he was coughing…he was probably allergic. Maybe I was twitching; I do that when I get nervous. No eye contact? TOO MUCH EYE CONTACT? SWEATY ARMPITS? BLARRRRGH! Pretty soon you turn into a ball of insecurity, left alone to dwell within your own broken psyche. You whimper… “b…b…but…I’m qualified.” When the company has finally broken your spirits, that’s when they call you with the big news…you’re wanted. “IN YOUR FACE!” you scream…to yourself. “TOLLLLLLLDJA!”

The job process is like playing with a yo-yo. At some points it’s high and you’re enjoying yourself. Other points, it swings gracefully between confident and holy shit where did this go wrong. THEN…it stops. We’re about at the stopping point, where they tell you how much you’re worth. You take the job, because you need it and if you need to work yourself to the top, than by GEORGE you’ll DO IT! Enjoy this moment, for it’s the last moment you will ever feel that level of drive…ever…again.

The job starts out fine. You make peace with the fact you’re working for peanuts, because you have no loans to deal with and are planning to go back to school to get a Master’s degree because that’s where the BIG opportunities are…for “those” people with BIG degrees. You muddle through and eventually leave that job, after being convinced that “you’ll see how many doors open for you and how many people value higher education and the power of knowledge and blah, blah, blah, blahhhhhhhhhhhhhh…” Your last thought at that job is… “Whatever…I don’t need you guys. And you’re silly, because I’m going to be a Master and THEN you’ll want me and I’ll be like…no chance yo.”

Advance to “GO” and collect a small piece of optimism.

Enter Graduate School. It’s nothing like your Undergraduate experience and you wonder WTF you just signed up for. You don’t write a single paper past two pages for two years, and then on your last semester you write what’s called a thesis, A.K.A “jokes on you, bitch” paper. A nearly 100 page paper on something you care nothing about, but if you don’t keep your margins tight, your grammar perfect and don’t bleed your heart and soul into this rigidly formatted silly paper…you are, for all intents and purposes….le fucked.

Then, HUZZAH! You wait to hear if you passed! And wait…and wait…and…

YAY! You passed! You’re out of Graduate School and are a Master [of one thing or another] and now, that notion of “anything is possible” is being drilled into your brain. Yet, this time…it feels right. YOU CAN do anything. YOU ARE READY to take on this World and make a difference [throw a fist in the air, jump, and smile as I’m doing right now. Seriously…it makes it more authentic]!

And then…3 months later, no job…this happens…

Stranger: Knock, Knock

Optimistic Me: Whaddup! Who’s there?

Stranger: Reality!

Optimistic Me: Oh heeeey reality, I’m ready for you. You’re supposed to be awesome, and cookies, and ponies, and flowers.

Stranger: Eh…I don’t know about all that, but I did bring you a complimentary “I can learn to cut myself” kit. Yay? Also, my friend the economy is here to kick you square in your lady balls [if you’re a dude, clearly sub that for regular man balls].

Me: *gulp*

At six months, you’re disgruntled, frustrated, sad, angry, disappointed and it’s getting worse. This was supposed to be the answer, but you’re pretty convinced that the stripper off your highway exit with the superman tattoo on her face is bringing in more dough than you are. You repeat the process from Undergrad and start feverishly searching Craigslist, Monster, CareerBuilder, LinkedIN, Facebook, Smoke Signals, Willsellyoumysoleormaybemyfirstbornforajob.com and still nothing comes from it. Luckily, you had a job while in school who thought it’d be a good idea to start paying you full time.  While the job makes you think that hot fire pokers in your eye would be a calming relief from the day to day, you’re grateful and you keep it. Sure, it’s not what you envisioned yourself doing.

Sure, it’s not what you want to be doing. BUT complacency sets in. Lots of other people don’t have jobs and can’t seem to find one. You’re lucky, you understand.

FACT: The economy blows.

FICTION: It’s “getting better.”

FACT: Job peeps are looking for the most experienced person whom they can pay the least and work the hardest.

FICTION: This is a wildly exciting notion to you.

FACT: You start using the term “FML” more than a 12 year old girl with back acne who bought a strapless dress for the dance.

FICTION: You’re thrilled that your brother, who just graduated with a Bachelor’s Degree, is making $40,000

FACT: He’s selling designer dogs, so the joke’s on him.

And then once again…SHIT GETS REAL! At this point, you’ve given up. You’ve become another corporate yuppie; exactly what you didn’t want, but you’re making SOME kind of money. Then…you realize…you have loans to pay back, a cable bill, rent, FPL, and bill, after bill, after bill…AFTER BILL.

One last FACT…none of those people above take “hugs” as collateral or payment.

Everyone wants a piece of you and not in a good way. They want money from you that doesn’t exist. You panic…but you can do nothing except bury your once perfect credit. And life is grand.

My point [it was in here, I swear]…is that I’m sick and tired of people fluffing up reality. Men wonder why women are insane and want prince charming? Simple. It’s a combination of Disney’s fault, and society allowing us to believe there is some level of perfection roaming around who will do whatever it takes to get us and keep us. If you’re perfection and you’re out there, show yourself…because I’m pretty sure you’re a mythical unicorn [meant to be told in legends, but never held nor seen]. MORE TO THE POINT…our educators and parents need to be real with us. They need to say, you’re going to get out of school and struggle. It won’t be fun, it won’t be cute, but eventually something will crack and you’ll be fine. Stop painting this picture that education is “the way,” or that it will solve all economic problems [meaning you’ll be paid oodles of money when again, there’s really not that much to be had]. Honesty can go a long way…and I should have ended this better, but honestly, I don’t care! HOW DO YA LIKE ME NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!?

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