The Fireman (Part 3) 03/30/2010
My entire body aches. My legs hurt. My arms hurt. My back hurts. Even my hair hurts. Why? Because I had The Fireman over Saturday night, that’s why. Remember me telling you that I wasn’t as worried about him notwriting me back as I was about him actually writing me back? I was right. The moment I saw those 87” inch biceps and broad shoulders I knew there was going to be some serious fucking going on. Considering the dry spell I’d been having I had a lot to make up for. It’s been nearly two months since I’ve had my insides tickled and frankly I had some needs that needed to be taken care of. The Fireman arrived at my place rather late on Saturday night. He’d had to work so I excused the tardiness. I should have had him wear his uniform over. Now that would have been HOT. I did, after all, have my own fire that needed putting out. He picked me up and we decided to go out for a few bottles of wine. The only place open was a CVS so with the rest of the late nighters and half drunk assholes coming in from the closing bars we headed to the alcohol department. It was at this time I realized one unfortunate trait owned by The Fireman. He was a loud talker. Up and down the aisles he proceeded to tell me about crazy nights that included himself and mass quantities of Hennessy. As if it wasn’t bad enough that we were shopping for cheap wine at 1 in the morning, we (meaning he) were actually louder than the drunken idiots in there trying to act sober. The only difference being that we were actually sober. I found myself lowering my voice and then actually not talking in hopes that he would follow my lead. No such luck. The only highlight as I tried to distance myself from Lil Wayne was getting the chance to walk behind the hot loud talker and take full stock of what I was about to see disrobed and panting within the hour. Of course, at this time of the evening CVS only employs checkers that are incapable of ringing people up and/or reading so we had to wait 15 minutes while Mr. CVS Checkout guy rang up a pack of gum. Just enough time for The Fireman to continue his stories of debauchery and to give me a chance to hear his Transformers ringtone. Correction, give the entire store enough time to hear of his stories and ringtone. Once out in the parking lot, I began to breathe again knowing that we wouldn’t be sharing our business with the entire town. We got back to my place and made ourselves cozy. We talked, laughed, drank lots of wine and generally had a very nice time. With the wine finished and morning approaching we got down to business. In those next few hours, Mr. Fireman more than made up for the loud talking. He knew how to handle his business and riding that black stallion was worthy of Penthouse Forum. Just as I’d predicted, we were quite compatible and there was nothing left to the imagination. Any dry spell that I was having was completely quenched and we quickly fell asleep in a sweaty mess on top of the covers. We slept in the next morning and I awoke to my head on his broad chest with his huge arm around me. A little groggy from the wine and late night erotica we gave round two a go before him getting ready to leave. As much as I wanted to chain him to my bed for all of eternity I let him leave about noon so he could drive back to his hood and do the things he had left undone in the few hours he had left before heading to work again. He may not be relationship material but then again, I’ve come to the conclusion that I may not be either. However, with the sexual chemistry we both had he has definitely made his way to the front of my little black book. I won’t be going out with him in public due to his loud talking ways but rest assured, he can make as much noise as he wants when he’s behind the closed doors of my Den of Iniquity. The 40-Year-Old Virgin 03/19/2010
I almost ate my date the other night. I only wish I was joking. I was recently referred to as a cougar. Not in the traditional sense but because I actually eat men. But before I get too far ahead of myself let me take you back to the beginning before I almost devoured my victi…date, yes, that’s what I meant…my date. Six days ago… Me (In my head): Wait…did I just hear that right? No, I couldn’t have. Let me ask him again… Me (Into the phone): “What do you want to see me wear?” Me (In my head): Oh God, he did say it… Him: “Spandex” Me (In my head): Oh fantastic, he’s elaborating in the event I’m confused… Him: “You know, like bicycle shorts” Me (Into the phone): Hmph Me (In my head): Yeah, this date is going to be fantastic. I wonder if he’d also like me to wear leg warmers and a side pony tail. I bet if I look hard enough, I may be able to find an old “Op” T-shirt and my pink pair of “LA Gears”. Six months prior to Spandex-gate was the first time the 40 Year Old Virgin entered the picture. After our initial correspondences I sort of forgot about him. He was a nice looking man and seemed decent. I was just in the midst of a dating burn out. He would call me every month or so to no avail and really, the only reason I decided to call him back was due to a severe case of Cabin Fever and boredom combined with my need for new meat. The very day I called him back he returned my call three times. Ah yes, now I remember why we never met…he talked too fucking much. His over exuberance seemed more out of nervousness than lack of manners. I only hoped that he didn’t act like a junior highschooler on our date. Cute, yes, but still slightly annoying. But as is usually the case with me, biceps won over logic and common sense. One of these days I’ll learn. I hope. He was your typical Persian/Assyrian in that he actually still lived at home. No joke. At 10:45 his mom actually called to see why he was out so late. Again, I’m not joking. If I hadn’t had a history with men of Middle Eastern persuasion I would have been switching my heels for a pair of running shoes. But again, biceps and lack of anything better to do won out. He was yet another personal trainer and did some work in movies. He was a bit of a name dropper but I’m not sure if he was actually being conceited or still just nervous and trying to impress me. I figured if he got too obnoxious on our date, there was nothing a boob in the mouth couldn’t fix. Present Day When I drove up to our meeting place and saw him standing outside I almost crashed from trying to kick myself. I could have met this stud muffin six months earlier?!? Who’s the nerd now? Me. Beautiful body, had all his teeth, gorgeous eyes and eyelashes so long they tickled me when we talked. Two words…DE. LISH! That’s when I started to play a little game in my head I like to call “How long before I can get his shirt off?” If I ever meet a mind reader, I’m in trouble. Knowing his love for thick women, I jokingly asked if my ass was big enough. He looked behind me and with a slight grin responded, “Hmm, almost”. He said I was perfect and very beautiful and even a little too thin. I have NEVER been considered too skinny. This reason alone is why we are getting married this spring. The rest of the night was amazing. He was nervous and polite, enamored and a pleasure to look at. We made out like teenagers and yes, I did get his shirt off. This is where I almost devoured him. If we had had the correct preparations I would have hit that shit like Lennox Lewis in a Tyson fight. All night he made mention of the places he wanted to take me. He wanted to see me again. He wanted to see me soon. He wanted to see me the very next night. As he walked me to my car he asked that I call him the next day to set up a time. The next day I called. And texted. And tried one last time to call. Then I got this: “Sorry hun! I had a little bit of family trouble, and drama! I’ll call u tomorrow! Be safe babe. Talk to u soon” What the fuck?!? Completely confused I found myself suddenly 35 times more attracted to him than before. Never more than in that moment was it so obvious how I wanted what wasn’t so easily handed to me. Damn him. My girlfriend summed it up… “Wow, a dick you didn’t conquer right away!” I don’t know about you but that sounds like a challenge. Stay tuned for Part 2 because there WILL be a Part 2 if I have anything to do with it… ;-) The Fireman (Part 2) 03/18/2010
Less than a day after sending The Fireman my eloquently crafted email I received a response from him. I grabbed myself a bottle of water and braced myself for what this perfect specimen of a man had to say: “You are too funny Melisa! I just read your profile and your a woman version of me! Hey what can I say were both sagittarius! I'm pretty sure we can reak sum havok upon this world! I'm a wild child, love my hennessy and I love sex too! Give me holla back when u get this message! -The Fireman” Okay, he’s not going to be winning any Pulitzer Prize Awards but at least he spelled my name right. Upon reading this message I knew I was in trouble. Just as I explained in my earlier post, he and I together have the potential to be nothing short of explosive. Call it my sixth sense, call it my woman’s intuition, call it what you will but I just had the feeling that having us two fire signs in the same proximity would make it a good thing he was already a trained firefighter. Without wasting any time, I gave him my number. If this guy was truly for real, I wanted a piece of him. He called right away. We discussed all the usual topics in this first conversation in the limited time we had since he was on his way out. Turns out he lives about 3 miles from being in a rap song so it looks like if we are going to be meeting it's going to be in my neck of the woods. I have no desire to be some random shooting statistic. Being in school and working for the LA County Fire Dept. full time I was already getting a sense that finding a time convenient for us to meet was going be a little difficult. After that… I got bored. Yep, I’ll say it again. I got bored. It’s as if the excitement of the chase was over. He was my unicorn and now he was within reach. But something about knowing he was too busy for anything substantial turned me off. I’ve played the game in the past where I had to be “fit into” somebody else’s schedule. I may not be furthering my education or rescuing kittens from trees but my time is valuable none the less. The following Friday night at 10pm we had this little text message exchange: Him: Hey r u out? Me: Just got home Him: Ok, now you gotta come to my home and see me! Lol (Yeah no, that’s not going to happen. I won’t be visiting 8 Mile anytime soon) Him: Hey, I just got off work and I’m a lil wired! Haha Me: I just got home and I’m a lil tired! Haha After that, he called me. Still trying to talk me into meeting up he began to inquire more about my location. But, face washed, teeth brushed and PJ’s on there was no way I was having company. I guess nobody can accuse me of being desperate. I don’t care who you are. If I’m tired and comfortable chances are I’m not going anywhere. This is where he lost me. Upon discussing my recent move, he let it be known that my place wasn’t fully a home unless it had been “broken in”. I happen to agree with this statement but there was going to be no breaking in done this evening. He continued to enlighten me on his sexual prowess and open mindedness. I got the full picture of how “open minded” this guy was when he mentioned a swingers club he used to frequent with his ex. Sure, I’m a little bit of a freak and I have a very healthy appetite when it comes to sex. If it’s been longer than a month I start to go into withdrawals. I get cranky and try to hump just about anything that crosses my path. I start imagining weather forecasters in the nude. It gets really bad. But even I was a little surprised at his bravado. I was even a little intimidated which says a lot considering I certainly have no problems holding my own under the sheets. In my last entry I made mention of keeping him all to myself in my bedroom but those were my own personal thoughts. I did not mention my plans for his captivity to him so for him to immediately jump into the deep end of this conversation left me feeling a little bored and unimpressed. Perhaps, deep down I was hoping for something more substantial than just another notch on my bedpost. That just doesn’t excite me anymore. It’s too easy. The real turn on for me these days is to actually find somebody who can make me laugh and have something more meaningful to say other than trying to guess my bra size. But, it looks like that’s not going to happen with this fellow. I’ll probably end up meeting him just out of curiosity. I do still have my needs but as far as him being my white knight I don’t think that’s a role he’s going to be able to fill. The Parole Officer’s Profile: “ONE man can love a million women,but only ONE REAL man can love ONE woman in a million ways.(and i truly post that quote genuinely.)as far as getting 2 know one another,i feel most guys approach women and reveal way too much about themselves,leaving nothing 2 the element of surprise.The only thing u need 2 know about me is that i have A LOT of POSITIVE energy and i'm really FUN 2 be around.Thus leaving us more 2 talk about and more fun in getting 2 know one another.I'm 36,but anyone and everyone thinks i'm barely older than 26.(I'm very thankful 4 that,it's a blessing.)With the right girl,trust me,every week is a valentines with me.I go ALL out 4 that special girl,because that special girl will stand out from all others in doing the same 4 me.Everything is ENERGY and KARMA,i truly believe that.4 every WRONG girl that didn't appreciate a GOOD guy,there's a MS. RIGHT who's waiting 4 the perfect time 2 quickly replace her.(and vice versa)(because everything in life is timing.)Whether a serious or casual relationship,i'm communicative,humorous and fun in all aspects of life.I'm as stimulating and as EXTREMELY passionate as any woman can ever wish and hope 2 meet and find in a guy.I can't lie,i LOVE thick n curvy women.If u always wanted 2 date or hangout w/a guy w/hazel eyes(they change from brown 2 green in the strike of any bright light on them.)and have a weakness 4 guys with deep dimples,well that's me,n your in luck.=) The old cliche "girls just wanna have fun" is a cliche because it's true.Women care more about having fun with you than if your financially successful or attractive.Women are more at ease with a man who is humorous because his very nature is light hearted.Not that i've never been told i'm sexy,and believe me,i love the attention!!!~lol..=)but my physical attributes and all the money in the world could never compare 2 the person i am HUMOROUSLY..LOL...but yet the comfortable,communicative,and very balanced,GENUINE man i am as well.Some girls want something casual,some want something serious,most don't really know period..lol...and that's ok,no set rules,let's just enjoy it,life's 2 short not 2..=)it's not the date,but the fun company you're with,and with me,everything and anything is VERY fun..i'm CLASSY,i'm BAD BOY,yet GOOD HEARTED,i dress NICE w/SO MUCH STYLE,smell GREAT,EXTRA CLEAN,CONFIDENT,but not ARROGANT...” Let's just assume that this profile was written by somebody with a reading level above the 3rd grade, shall we? If I went into grammar nazi mode this entry would be a whole lot longer. I don’t want to hear how laid back you are. I don’t want to hear how great you are. I don’t want to hear how funny you are. Am I laughing? No. So basically, you are a liar too. Good start. So why did I meet the Parole Officer? Because he was cute. I can fully appreciate a man with a healthy level of confidence. As long as it doesn’t cross over into cockiness, I’m accepting. The moment any man starts telling me what a Godsend he is I log off. His profile said 5’10” but upon meeting he admitted that he was really 5’9”. I guess he figured he’d better own up since I stand at exactly 69” myself. I applaud his honesty but I’m not quite sure it’s wise to risk your word and admit to lying when it’s only 1” in question. But he did have gorgeous eyes, dimples and a job so I gave him the 1” and decided to let it drop. Laying down we are all the same height anyway. Against every dating rule in the book, I met him at his place. I make no apologies. I did my research and deemed it safe enough for me to visit for a few hours before he had to leave for work. But maybe that wasn’t such a good idea after all. You can learn a lot about a man by the residence he keeps. He had a studio apartment and from the looks of it had been there quite a while and accrued a good many items to fill it. Being half Italian, half Irish it was clear that he took his heritage very seriously. He made a point to let me know since his last name translated to Lion he was a strong male and therefore decorated his entire apartment to reflect that. Now my last name roughly translates to mean briar patch yet you don’t see me decorating my place in a tangle of vines. I’m proud of my roots but not THAT proud. Call me crazy. Mr. Officer was also heavily into Ju-Jitsu and had a bunch of stuff on the wall that I will never know the meaning of. I’m sure it all meant obvious shit like Strength, Loyalty and some other crap that you see too often in tattoos on men that have taken one Karate class and consider themselves deep. On his only window, instead of curtains, he used two fleece blankets. One being from “Beauty and the Beast, The Musical” and the other being of “Scarface”. On the wall opposite the Ju-Jitsu wall was his shrine to all things Al Pacino and “Scarface”. He made a point of letting me know that despite him being blond with hazel eyes he’d been told he looked like Al and they shared the same bone structure. As far as I’m concerned, he looks like Al Pacino about as much as I do. Again, stop TELLING me who and what you look like! I’m not blind! So let me get this straight. He’s laid back, wonderful, funny, outgoing, a Lion, 5’9” and resembles Al Pacino. Please, why stop there, oh humble one? I’m obviously completely incapable of coming to my own conclusions. To me he sounded like somebody that had watched one too many Sopranos episodes then learned how to construct a conversation at the Gang Banger School for Language Arts in East LA. Come on, I’m a 32 year old woman from Pasadena that considers Old Navy to be high end. I don’t do slang and I most certainly have a hard time pulling “gangsta” off. He also bragged about being good in bed. Or rather, he told me that he didn’t need to brag about how good he was in bed because he’dnever had any complains. This, in my eyes, constitutes as bragging. He was wrong about that too. After I was done and beat from doing all the work while the lazy bastard enjoyed my *ahem* enthusiasm, I was tortured by being forced to listen to Frankie J remixes on CD compilations that his past lovers had made him. Oh, the excitement *yawn*. From now on, the reverse cowgirl doesn’t come out until at least the 3rd time we get nekked. That’s too much effort to be putting out on a one time only, unimaginative gangster wannabe that insists you leave your shoes by the front door. For me, the only good part of the evening was when he put on “Roadhouse” with Patrick Swayze and Sam Elliott. This led to a discussion on men and aging which naturally led to my lifelong adoration of all things Sean Connery. Maybe telling Mr. Officer that I’d totally have a threesome with Sam Elliott and Sean Connery wasn’t the best post coital pillow talk but after the rather dull “meeting of the minds” we’d just partaken in I didn’t much feel the need to censure myself. I grabbed my purse, my keys, said a quick “talk to you later” which really meant “don’t call me, I’ll call you” and was out the door. Moral of the story? Sean Connery is still the best looking 97 year old I’ve ever seen and I would still have a threesome with him and Sam Elliott. The Perfect Match I'll Never Meet 03/05/2010
I had a post all planned out in my head about a dryhumping Italian I went on a date with but my attention was suddenly diverted when I logged onto Match.com just now. At the moment, I’m surprised I can even remember where the home keys are. I saw a profile on there that literally made me forget how to exhale. Three words… He’s a FIREMAN! Raaaawwwwr! I want to do things to this man that if written down here would require a parent’s permission to read, regardless of age. I’m fairly convinced that in order to become a firefighter one must not only be in good shape but they must also have the kind of looks that bronze sculptures are modeled after. As if when filling out the job application there’s a third option under “Sex”. Male, Female and God. Even older firemen all turn into Sean Connery. True story. I don’t know this man. I probably never will. I have no intention of writing him. He’s too good looking. It’s not that I fear rejection. I don’t feel he’s too good for me. My fear is that he will write back. That he will be interested. How the hell will I ever get anything done if I never allow him to leave my bed? I wouldn’t be able to update this blog! Mutiny would ensue. The world as we know it would stop rotating. So, it’s in the best interest of humanity that I leave this man alone. Here are his stats: He’s 28, 6’1”, black, shaved head, brown eyes, Baptist, never married, no kids (yet wants some down the road) and has trouble keeping his biceps tucked into the sleeves of his uniform (yes, I’m drooling). And he’s a Sagittarius. Only two things about him so far make me want to run. First off, he’s 28. I don’t mesh well with younger men. There’s a level of maturity that we have a hard time meeting on. And in case you are wondering, I’m not necessarily referring to myself as the mature one. Secondly, he’s a Sagittarius. I’m a Sagittarius. By all accounts, we are perfect together. Knowing this, I definitely know I can’t write to him. My suspicions of us never leaving the bedroom would be well founded. On second thought, I should write to him. If I’m going to be playing in bed all day then that means I won’t be eating. If I’m not eating and I'm working out 12 hours a day *wink-wink* then imagine the body I will acquire. Well, shit. I’ve gone and gotten myself all flustered with promises of a flat stomach and hot bedroom action with someone trained to put out fires and rescue pussy. So, I did it. I wrote to him. I racked my brain for the perfectly crafted email to send. Brace yourselves for the killer note I sent him… “Hi” Was that too much? I hope I didn’t give him too much information. I want to leave some things to the imagination. I hope he’s intrigued enough to write back. By the way, I’m inviting all of you to our wedding… Just as soon as I finish this cold shower… Hell Week Isn't Just For The Military 03/03/2010
I’ve come to the conclusion that I am never, ever, EVER moving again. Ever. EVER! When am I moving again? Never. Good, just so we are clear. What is it about the process of moving that throws one’s life into complete and utter disarray? Even things not connected to the move itself seem to hit the fan and scatter like confetti. Leaving me with the feeling that the only thing to help pick up the pieces is my bad back and a pair of chop sticks. I’m actually amazed that I’m able to sit here and write some of this out at all as I’ve been hit with a severe case of writer’s block. I can only hope that once I get settled into my new place I am able to resume my often times unfair yet cathartic bashing of dating, love and the male population in general. But, I have a confession to make. I’ve been holding out on you. My heart does belong to someone. It has for quite some time. Longer than I care to admit. And much to my dismay, this feeling is completely one sided. It has left me feeling empty, hurt, frustrated, angry and sad. All at the same time. I only bring this up now because upon leaving my apartment I also left “him” behind. I’ve struggled for a while about whether or not to even write about him. Putting my feelings into words and onto paper somehow just makes it more real that there will never be an “us” and I have once again failed in the romance department. Think back 2 ½ years. I was new to the building having just moved in three weeks prior. He lived two doors down from me. The only reason we met was because I had a botched booty call that arrived 3 hours later than expected while I was long asleep. My neighbor had run into him in the hall at 5am while he was roaming around telling anyone who would listen that he was there to see “the girl in 206”. The booty call and I never connected but the next afternoon I was paid a visit from The Neighbor to make sure I was ok and that the guy wandering through the building wasn’t a serial killing psycho. After much apologizing and trying to conceal my embarrassment from the very cute neighbor, he left. I thought he was sweet and cute yet my fear of rejection kept me from asking if he was single or taken. Two weeks later I ran into him again. Twice in one day. To this day I’ll swear it was fate as I’ve only run into him once the whole rest of the time I lived there. The second time around I was coming home from the bar (read: drunk) and no longer felt the trepidation of asking him over for a cocktail. He said yes and the rest was history. Over the course of the 2 ½ years I lived there I fell hard for The Neighbor. When trying to explain my feelings for him, I was without words. Having feelings so strong that no words could even do them justice is something I haven’t felt in almost 10 years. In fact, I’ve never felt that spark with anybody like I’ve felt it with him. Smelling his scent, feeling his lips on mine literally make my heart pitter patter (Lame? Yes. Shut up). My heart aches when he isn’t around. I think about him when I wake up, I think about him during the day, I think about him when I’m lying alone in bed at night. When I’m on a date or with another man, it’s him I long for. How does one explain these things without sounding like some crazy stalker chick? All I know is, I haven’t felt this way about a man in a decade and I can literally feel my heart breaking when all I hear is an echo to my declarations of love and affection. Being single for so long, I’ve become quite selfish. I won’t deny it. I own it. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to relate to men in anything more meaningful than a sexual relationship. I’ve lost my patience with getting to know someone and having to deal with their issues and hang ups. I’ve become bored, stagnant, and cynical. Simply put, I just don’t care anymore. I had a friend tell me a few years back that I had an attraction to men that were not available to me. He claimed that I used it as a defense mechanism. I argued profusely thinking that was just another cheesy way of saying I had my “walls up”. For God’s sake, who doesn’t have walls? Who isn’t a little apprehensive when it comes to matters of the heart? I did not want to be put into the category of women who relied on stupid excuses to rationalize their poor choices when it came to dating. Fuck that noise. But I’m starting to see the patterns. Men that are married, not interested, GAY I have found myself enamored with. Men that are gentle and sweet, available and eager to open their hearts to me I find repulsive and annoying. I have become a fucking cliché. So, when the neighbor happened along, I didn’t know how to react. I became THAT girl. I played hard to get, then laid it all out on the table, and then acted as though I didn’t care. When I didn’t get the desired response I would become angry and hurt. No wonder he got confused. I took being passive-aggressive and made it into an art form. In other words, I blew it. The part that upsets me the most is that I knew what I was doing yet couldn’t seem to stop it. Now it’s too late. I was so close to something I’d wanted for so long that I let it consume me and I fucked it all up. He insists that I would bore of him if he ever gave in to me. Knowing my history, he may be right. Perhaps, that’s why I want him so bad. As if knowing I can’t have him all to myself makes me long for him even more. I don’t take full responsibility for why things didn’t go as planned. He was far from perfect and had his own issues. He was often too busy to make time to walk the 15 feet to come say hi, even if he was home. Promising to make time for me “soon” every time I asked to come over. Always full of excuses as to why we couldn’t make a legitimate plan and stick to it. To this day, I’m not sure if his actions were in response to my attitude or if my attitude was in response to his actions. Either way, I’ve had to come to terms that he just can’t (or won’t) give me what I need to feel fulfilled and cared for. Not to mention, I’m not so sure I want to be in a relationship with a man that takes Tom Lykus’ relationship advice as gospel. So, in leaving my apartment, I also left my apartment romance. I know I will never live there again and I know I will never see him again. If I could barely get him to visit me when I lived two doors down I know better than to expect a visit from him when I’m 15 miles away. But this is a good thing. That chapter of my life is now over. It’s time to move on. I can no longer waste my feelings on somebody that clearly does not feel the same way. I can’t fault him for not returning the strong feelings I have for him. I myself have often been in his shoes. You can’t force love. You can only offer it and hope that it gets returned. With all this in mind, I consider myself on the rebound and the best way to get over somebody is to get under somebody. Hello, new city….hello, new men…hello, new stories… Keep It In Your Pants, Please 02/17/2010
I recently took a quiz on Facebook. The quiz was expertly titled “How Well Do You Know Men?” My score? 0% - Pathetic (their words, not mine). I proudly posted my score for all to see finding it amusing yet realizing that that one quiz pretty much summed up my entire dating and relationship history. Really giving this trivial yet meaningful quiz a lot of thought I figured the way I had been viewing the opposite sex could actually be flawed. Until 12 hours later when I met Vanilla. In 15 minutes of being face to face with Vanilla I was proven that my initial assumptions had been correct all along and that Facebook was full of shit. As with any other dating site, much of my time is spent weeding through the social retards and leather wearing, motorcycle riding grandfathers trying to reclaim their youth till you find somebody that doesn’t make you cringe or vomit in your mouth a little. Receiving an email from Vanilla and not feeling the need to leave the table was definitely a good sign. He was tall, brunette, had abs you could wash clothes on and biceps that looked as though lifting my big ass would be a piece of cake. He had all his teeth, lived locally and apparently was a chubby chaser. Yay me! I think. Draw backs included being six years younger than me and him only looking to “hang out”. Still, I responded back. Thanks to unemployment and a sudden appearance of one of my Wisdom teeth I put my newfound love interest on the backburner. This wasn’t good enough for him. The moment he knew there was a spark of interest he was relentless. Daily emails and miraculously, every time I logged onto the site he was there. If he weren’t so damn hot I would have avoided him like the plague. However, due to my circumstances I could see how I might have been coming across as a tad flaky so I cut him some extra slack for being so tenacious. If the situation had been reversed I would have already probably written myself off. I gave Vanilla my phone number and let him call me. The initial conversation was decent. I’m not sure if he was trying to assure me or compliment me by telling me how much he loved women with “meat on their bones”. But his emphasis on the matter made me feel a tad uncomfortable. I’m not a freak, I’m not a circus monkey, and I’m not required to purchase two plane seats so he could have left it at “I like thick women”. Once I was able to direct him from the size of my ass the conversation flowed smoothly. A few nights later we decided to meet for an impromptu late night snack. We chose a café close by and I arrived a few minutes early and prayed that things would go well. A few minutes later he pulled up. We both got out of our cars and despite him looking skinnier than his pictures he was still very cute. He immediately wrapped his arms around my waist, pulled me close to him and tried to kiss me. Wait, what?!? This would have been great if we were in the midst of a Harlequin Romance but we had just met. I gave him a quick hug and gently removed his hands from my hips. He checked me out from head to toe in a way that made me feel as though I were livestock and started to growl his approval. Yes, I said growl. Trying to get out of such direct scrutiny I suggested we go inside for a cup of coffee. He said we would “in a minute”. Changing the subject from my curves to his upcoming birthday he made a very fateful decision. He started complaining about turning 26 and how old he was going to be. With disdain, I reminded him that I myself was 31 and that being 25 was by no means anywhere near old. To counter, he told me that the aging process was different for women than it was for men. I agreed, pointing out that in the battle of age men were usually the benefactors and women were usually stuck trying to reverse the process. Think Phyllis Diller v. Sean Connery. Who’s sexier? I think you see where I’m going with this. To make things worse, he started to rub himself. And by “himself” I really mean his junk. The growling started up again and he told me he couldn’t help himself because I was so damn sexy. With disbelief, I caught myself saying “What are you doing? You can’t pull that out HERE!” At which point he told me that I needed to “see it”. I assured him that I had seen plenty of Peni in my day and that NO, I did not need to see his. As if things couldn’t get any more awkward he asked how close I lived and if we could go there. According to Vanilla, he wouldn’t be able to have a decent conversation with me unless he had a “release”. All the while trying to grab at me and bring me closer to him. And yes, we were still in the parking lot. I decided it was time for me to extract myself out of this particular situation…and FAST. I told him I needed to go and started walking back to my car. The last words I heard escape his suddenly childish pouty lips as I disappeared into the distance were… ”you aren’t going to call me, are you…?” I’m sure the closing of my car door answered that question. Buh bye. Two weeks later, I got this: Him: U still want to meet babe? Me: What do you mean? We already met... Him: like hang out Me: I think I'm going to pass but good luck to you... Folks, I can’t make this shit up… Eharmony Owes Me A Refund 02/09/2010
Eharmony makes finding “the one” seem so easy. However, in a nutshell, this was my overall experience with it. I spent a week filling out a Christian based questionnaire just to determine that I would be compatible with someone that “liked to laugh” and “enjoyed spending time with family and friends”. You don’t say. After that, they took it upon themselves to determine that “My type” were short men from anywhere BUT California. To say that eHarmony was not a success for me would be the ultimate understatement. I didn’t always feel so unEharmonious. At first, I was curious to see what this “relationship site” had in store for me. After all, I have tried just about every other site known to man with no luck other than learning how to put a condom on without any hands. Which I suppose is a fantastic talent if you get paid for that sort of thing. Given the hefty price tag, I thought I would get something out of Eharmony. In the beginning, I wasn’t at all pleased to learn that the control had been taken out of my hands. But I went with it in the hopes that perhaps trying a different approach might give me a different result. When I was contacted by Smother Guy my hopes were lifted thinking maybe Dr. Neil Clark was onto something. SG had one picture posted, with two men, both blond. Neither one was specifically my type but they weren’t horrendous either. And my communications with SG had been going so well that I was intrigued to see this through. Once we switched to Instant Messaging and to the phone my fate was sealed. I was sold. Hook, line and sinker. 6’2”, built like a linebacker, former marine and the sense of humor that would make Ben Stein crack a smile. My dress would be white, bridesmaids were picked and the wedding invitations were ready to be sent out. Everything was perfect except….I still had to actually MEET this guy. What could go wrong? We met for dinner and as expected had a great time. He wasn’t actually the one in the picture that I was expecting but he was funny and that goes a long way with me. We did some bar hopping and ended the night with a kiss. There was certainly no doubt about whether or not I would be seeing this guy again. The only drawback at this point was that he lived about an hour away from me. Which during rush hour was easily doubled but I didn’t mind so much considering it was only a matter of time before our relationship became legal and I moved in. Shut up. Second date I drove to him. We’d decided on dinner and a movie at his place which was pretty much code for dinner and some sexy time. I was game. I don’t believe in wasting time. If I want you, you’ll know it. Dinner started off great. Until my big boy started to sweat while eating. Not a good sign. With that, my inner bitch kicked in. It wasn’t my fault that we were sitting in a booth with unfortunate lighting that showed his thinning hair. I began to channel the words of my mother, and sister…and girlfriends…and, well, just about everybody I knew, saying “Stop being so damn picky! You’ll never find a man if you don’t change your way of thinking!” So, I handed him a napkin and told him to scoot over. We went back to his place, had a few drinks and started a movie. It wasn’t long before Don Juan put the moves on me. I had long forgotten the dinner episode agreeing with the voices in my head that I needed to lighten up. I jumped on top and as soon as he said these words I almost jumped back off… “Use me like a shake and bake bag” HUH? I’ve heard a lot of lines in my day. Most of them cheesy but this one was Swiss, cheddar and Muenster all rolled into one. I was so glad that he actually repeated it for me to fully understand what a smooth talker he was. But again, I’d already had our wedding invitations printed and stamped so I wasn’t ready to bail on this guy just yet. He was still salvageable. Positions reversed and clothes off we let the good times roll. Until I realized one very important and life threatening element. I couldn’t breathe. No, I don’t have asthma or any other type of health condition that would make it difficult for me to catch my breath. What I had here was a clear case of bigmanlayingonmychest-idis. Being as this was our first (and LAST) time I didn’t really want to ruin the moment by telling him, oh you know, that I couldn’t BREATHE. I assumed he would eventually want to switch things up a little bit and I would be no worse for the wear. But no, apparently, big boy was about as Catholic as they come and didn’t believe in changing positions. As the life force was slowly leaving my body I wondered if this was what autoerotic asphyxiation felt like? I found it hard to believe that somebody would intentionally cut off their source of air to reach climax. I for one was definitely NOT going to be getting off. Then as if things couldn’t get any worse, he tried to kiss me. Blocking my sole remaining access to the sweet oxygen I so longingly desired. I used my remaining energy and with one last final attempt to save my own life I pushed the mother fucker off of me. As I inhaled deeply savoring that I was still alive he lay next to me smiling. His response? “I wore you out, huh?” Had I not just suffered a near death experience and was still out of breath my words most certainly would have been strong enough to make Andrew Dice Clay cringe. Being as it was dark in his room he couldn’t see the daggers my eyes were throwing him. He had almost smothered me to death and then thought I was the one that couldn’t keep up! Being as I’m a drinker, I knew that this relationship would have to plateaus at the friendship level. Just as it’s not wise to get drunk in a hot tub it also wouldn’t be the best decision to drink and screw with this guy either. What if I had been drunk? I could have passed out and he would have kept right on going. Not even knowing that he was screwing a corpse. Nope, that thought wasn’t pretty the first time I had it either. We stayed in contact but I was so traumatized by that one episode that I made no further attempts at trying to see him. Sure, he tried to make me jealous and often brought up how much fun our bedroom gymnastics had been (for him) and how much he could teach ME (Please, don’t do me any favors). At one point, as if trying to raise his own stock, he told me that he was a member of the mile high club. Not once, but twice. I find this hard to believe being as I have flown many a flight and I have also seen him. Airplane bathrooms couldn’t hold him and another person any more than I can share clothes with Kate Moss. He eventually moved up north and got himself a girlfriend. He was not shy about sharing their active sex life with me every time I asked how the weather was. He once shared with me that the neighbors probably wished for them to keep their windows closed because of all the noise they made. I can’t help but thinking the lucky woman wasn’t moaning with delight but actually screaming out for help. They’ve since broken up and I wonder if “broke up” is just another way of saying she’s dead. So, thank you Eharmony. $100 and a crushed lung later, I’m still single and deathly afraid to log onto your site for fear of what else you have awaiting me. www.AdultMingleSingle.com - For the adult in you... Bitter Much? 01/25/2010
I received an email the other day from this gentleman (I use the term loosely) and just had to share it. By the end of the very first sentence you’ll know why. You will probably also know why he is still single… "O.K all for the new year I'm making it a point to not accept anything less than what I desrve,That being said there is no polite way to say no fat chicks so I'll just say it:)I have been on many dates from these sites with women that post great pics and when they show up they are 50 to 100 pounds overwieght which they hide well in pics and write about how they keep in shape???Then think we are to dumb to notice.So please if you are not in shape within reason do not contact me( Sorry attraction is not a choice)It has been almost a year since I've had a sexual encounters ( Mostly by choice)And if it's another year before I find a LADY worth my affections so be it:) I'm not, I repeat NOT looking to just hook up.I do however look forward to the day I finally find a woman that has what it takes to be my girl:)But the longer it goes the more frustrating it becomes when I meet the bad types:(I am swiftly losing interest in this whole on line dating thing.I'm going to give this site till the end of Jan. then close the account:(WOW how hard is it to find ONE great gal???No pressure girls:) So here is the rest about me: I read every profile I find interesting before I contact a woman(Not just the pics:) It is a numbers game I contact a very few and even fewer get back to me yet I don't take it personally this is getting a bit old:( I'm very affectionate and love a cuddly woman:)VERY hard to find the right one:( I am seeking a long term relationship:)( But not in a rush to find it I'm a hopless romantic seeking the same:) I love to cook and told I do it well:) I'm very kind hearted looking for the same in a LADY:) I'm very affectionate(with the right woman)Love to cuddle.OH I mentioned that:) I enjoy doing sweet things for a LADY I care about:) I'm seeking a LADY that will do the sweet things too:) I do not sweat the small things,seeking the same:)PLEASE no more drama queens I'm a manly man looking for a LADY girly girl:) I do stand up comedy seeking a #1 fan:) as I will be hers:) A little about you: Attractive both inside and out:) PLEASE no more fat chicks!! I know it pisses some off but it's just rediculous A hopeless romantic:) Not into DRAMA:)Can't stress that enough:) Take care of youself,physically and emotionally:) PLEASE no more big drinkers( Not for me to hang out with drunks:) Not a vegitarian,I enjoy meat and won't change that. A girly girl,Please no more tom boys. Please you must own as many dresses as you do jeans:) If you are sexually repressed or have excess baggage,no need to apply:) Please no more mommies with young kids:( I enjoy life without the screaming kids:)It is amazing what people let thier kids get away with these days:(If you ever see my stand up comedy act you'll see how I've turned all this negative into a great and funny set:)If nothing else I'm getting alot of great material for my act:) In the interest of finding that one special LADY I put all this here in hopes of weeding out the types that are not for me.I enjoy that feeling you get when you have found a person that just makes your heart beat swiftly when you see each other,I have an affinaty for picinics,and romantic walks on the beach,cooking a great meal for a gal and having her enjoy it along with candle lite:)And just talking for hours and enjoying it:)I'm just looking for a LADY that is worth my affections:) Are there any more romantic sweet girly girls left in the world??? are you her???Well if you think so you may contact me now... All others I bid you well in your search and good luck fishing:) Wow! Just Wow! Who knew that comedian was actually spelled A-S-S-H-O-L-E? “Funnyguy” emailed me saying he thought I was funny and charming. After reading through his profile I can say without a doubt that the feeling is clearly one sided. Maybe if right out of the gate he didn’t actually write “no fat chicks” I might have been able to overlook his preoccupation with “girly girls”. I might have even been able to overlook his ridiculous holier than thou attitude about a woman being good enough and “having what it takes” to be his girl. I’d also like to point something out here. Funnyguy is no George Clooney or Brad Pitt. He’s more like their second cousin, twice removed on the side of the family that still thinks Suburban bench seats are more than acceptable to use as porch furniture. He does however have this to say… “If you ever see my stand up comedy act you'll see how I've turned all this negative into a great and funny set:)” It would have been nice if he could have put some of that so called humor into his profile. Instead, he just came across to me as a bitter, egotistical douchebag with gender role issues afraid of anything larger than a size four. And if I’ve learned one thing about human nature, it’s usually he who doth protest too much that is truly hiding something. And did he really just write…”I have an affinaty for picinics,and romantic walks on the beach,cooking a great meal for a gal and having her enjoy it along with candle lite:)”? This guy can’t be for real. I would have hoped him being in Stand up and all that he would have been able to list something a little more original that the long walk on the beach bullshit. And just for the record, I can't think of a single "manly man" (as he puts it) that uses so many damn smily faces! I wish him luck in finding his robot. The 10 Minute Man 01/22/2010
I just had the shortest date in history. It lasted all of 10 minutes, tops. My gut told me not to bother. My head said, I’ll never find “the one” if I don’t put myself out there. I must have received half a dozen emails, at least, from the Minute Man before I finally responded. He wasn’t bad looking, he was tall and he had a good career. I suppose it was his ego that got to me. He promised me a good time and said he would “spoil” me. However, even those proclamations weren’t enough to get my attention and keep it. The moment the words “You’ll fall in love with me” and “I’m a catch” came out of his mouth I knew our pseudo relationship was doomed from the start. I immediately had flashbacks fromNigeria 2 and we all know how well that turned out. In our phone conversation I felt like I was being interrogated. He bragged about his career in film making and living in Hollywood. It was almost as though he were measuring me up to see if I was good enough to justify bringing into his lifestyle. I made no apologies and tried to end the call. I was most certainly even less interested in meeting with him now after speaking with him than before when I had been inundated with his promises that after meeting him things would just get better and better. The whole time I was thinking “If you are so fucking perfect then why are you single and on Match.com?” He called me a few times after our initial phone conversation and I received a few texts. I was slow in my responses, if I even bothered responding at all. I figured he would just give up. A little lonely and desperately trying to get somebody else out of my head I finally relented to a meeting. I called him up and thought maybe a second conversation might not be that bad of an idea. What if he actually was a decent guy? I would never know because I might not have been in the best mood the first time we spoke. However, the moment he called me “darling” and “sweetie” I knew that my initial reaction of the Minute Man had been correct. There was just something “off” about him. BUT…I decided to meet him anyway. Figuring that dating is just a numbers game I thought maybe spending 30 minutes with this guy would better my chances for the next time I went out with a new man. Who knows? I might actually make a new friend. We met at Starbucks. Three minutes after I arrived, he pulled up next to me. I jumped out with a smile on my face. He stalled. I hoped it wasn’t because he was disappointed. He got out of his Jeep and gave me a hug. He stood there with a stupid grin on his face staring at me. I wasn’t sure if it was a pity grin or a grin that he wanted to carve me up and serve with Fava Beans and a nice chianti. He said he was finally glad to meet “somebody so stubborn” as he called me. He asked what I was doing later, where I lived and made small talk about never having been to North Hollywood and how strange it was. Considering he lives on Hollywood Blvd I found the comment retarded and lame. And that was it. He said that he had just wanted to come meet me and that he was back off to work. That. Was. It. We never even left the parking lot. He gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek and got back into his car. I wasn’t really disappointed. After being called darling so many times I truly thought he was a 6’5” black guy on the down low. The only thing that ran through my head at that moment after being dissed was… What a fucking waste of makeup! |