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Saturday, December 31, 2011

This year in nonline dating: fourth and final quarter

I got the most nonline attention this last quarter after I updated my profile pictures.  Did the quality of men change?  No, no it didn't.  (Unless you think a guy that shaved a nice clean arrow into his upper body pointing to his wiener is high quality.)  Here's what October, November and December did to me:

Dear (user name), Your pictures don't say sexy and mysterious as much as they say angry and rapist.  Just FYI.

Dear (user name), while I am flattered that you picked me to join your open relationship (I'm super into the whole "it's not cheating, we have an understanding" thing), I think I'll pass.  But don't go tempting me again!

Dear (user name), Just because you supposedly work out and play sports does not mean you can say your body type is athletic.  A picture's worth a thousand words and your 7 pictures say, "no neck due to excessive chin and bitch tits visible through shirts" over and over again.

Dear (user name), How does one become an underground hip-hop artist?  And what exactly is that?

Dear (user name): The person who wrote this: "I have a vivid imagination, I am an excellent writer to the point where I should do something with it..." could not have possibly emailed me this: "The Goonies certainly do no ever say die. They ar alve and well in my dvd cabinet. Its good that your still putting the word ut there."  (Bad grammar, bad spelling and the wrong "your."  This guy was like a triple threat of stupid.)

Here are some of the emails I received.  You might want to sit down for these:

"You are so stunningly beautiful and I want to get to know you so bad."  (Hmm, I wonder if he's all about appearances?  I looked at his profile and in one of his pictures he is holding up his wife beater to expose his abs and the caption says: "just so you know I stay fit."  I really wanted to send him back a picture of my stomach hanging over my jeans and say, "just so you know, I don't stay fit.  Still think I'm stunningly beautiful?")

"Hi Jen, I am Tall good looking guy who can dance.Have good day its butt ass cold."  (I might have to steal that phrase butt ass cold.)

Subject line: damn girl
Message: "I wanna coordinate an event on that delicious curvy body.  What's your name sexy thang?"
(throughout his entire profile he compared himself to a car: low mileage, high performance, exterior in mint condition, available for inspection by female drivers only, would love to have little Toyotas one day.  It's too bad he said Toyotas.  I was planning on having Beemers.  It'll never work.)

"Heyy I just want to let you know. that. you are gorgeous. not really expecting a reply seeing as you're a couple years older than but everyone needs an ego boost riiiight?"  What he says he's doing on a typical Friday night: "Out gettin muffffed up. No I'm kidding I'm out of the whole party stage. Don't get me wrong, I still love to go out n have hella fun, just the party scene got old to me."  (This guy is 20 years old.  He's not even old enough to be IN the party scene!)

Needless to say, I will be taking a break from the nonline dating.  Let's see if 2012 brings me a man the old fashioned way.  Like, at a bar or something.

Monday, December 26, 2011

Chapter 20, or Ladies Man strikes again

             At the end of [April 2009] I went to Sacramento for my friend Maggie’s birthday (you may remember Maggie from February when Ladies Man and I used her apartment as a sex cave).  James (whose apartment we also used as a sex cave) hosted the party at his place.
             During the mingling, when I had a nice buzz going, I went up to Ladies Man and whispered, “I don’t know if you got the memo, but I’m fucking you later.”  He almost blushed and said fake-shyly, “Oh, really?”  I said yep and walked away.

Next came the Texas Holdem tournament where we would repeatedly excuse ourselves to go upstairs to use the bathroom.  And we would use the bathroom...and then we'd make out.

         Eventually the poker game ended and I didn’t win, but I did get a consolation prize.  Another trip to the bathroom and this time we had sex.  It reminded me of this Dirty Santa gift exchange I was in once and one of the gifts was a porno called Toilet Sluts.  I think that’s what I was at that moment.  It was awesome.  Later, James told me that someone asked if we were upstairs and he said, “Yeah, they’re hittin’ it.” 

The next game was Catch Phrase.  No "bathroom" breaks.  I was in it to win it on that one.

             Not long after the game ended people started trickling out.  I saw that Ladies Man was lying on the couch so I decided to share it with him.  I fell asleep while people were leaving and woke up to a pounding on the front door.  For a while I thought it was part of my dream but it wouldn’t stop so I finally got up and answered the door.  I wasn’t happy to have been woken up until Ladies Man started kissing me.  Then I was grateful for the interruption, without which I might not have gotten laid…again.  Not that I remember all of it.  I remember getting started and then…I must have blacked out because next thing I knew I felt like I had just woken up and found myself on top of him.  I must be pretty good even while blacking out because he didn’t seem to notice.
             In the morning I could hear everyone getting ready to go to breakfast, but we just laid there.  When they came downstairs, someone asked, “Are you guys coming to breakfast?”  I mumbled, “mmhmm,” but Ladies Man didn’t say anything so I just stayed put.  I figured he was thinking we could get in some private action when they left, because that’s what I was thinking.   Sure enough, as soon as they left his hand started to wander.
             Now, I have a bone to pick with all you men out there who don’t want to use condoms.  What’s that about?  I mean, I understand if you’re sleeping with someone exclusively, but when you’re single and promiscuous you should always be using a condom.  I had a guy tell me once, “You’re the one who gets pregnant.”  Spoken like a true deadbeat disease spreader.  So, for all the lazy men out there who want to sleep around and not use condoms, I will quote Van Wilder, “Don’t be a fool; wrap your tool.”
            You can probably guess that the point of my condom rant was because Ladies Man wanted to go bare.  I told him if he wanted to get in me he’d have to go in his truck and get a condom.  We finally got to bone in an empty apartment at full volume.  It was awesome.  See, guys?  Plastic can be fantastic.

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Oh lolli-lollipop

A couple of months ago I updated my pictures on my nonline dating profile.  I got 18 emails in one day.  Of those 18, one guy was worthy of a response...because his emails were witty and grammatically correct.  Over the phone he seemed like a bit of a nincompoop, but I went on a date with him anyway.  He was not a nincompoop, he just talked a little like a valley boy surfer.  We went to Zachary's.  The pizza was fantastic, the date was ordinary.  Nothing horrible, but nothing exciting.

When the check came, I did the polite reach for my wallet that I always do on dates.  He didn't stop me with the usual, "I got this."  So I pulled my wallet out of my purse.  He didn't stop me.  I pulled my credit card out of my wallet.  He still didn't stop me.  So I said, slowly, "Do you want to split it?"  He said, quickly, "Yeah, let's split it," and we dropped our credit cards in the check book.  Then he said, "Was that bad? Do I lose points for that?"  And I said, "Yep, you do, actually."  I was just being honest.  It was our first date, he couldn't pay for dinner?*

After the check was paid, three things happened that confirmed I wasn't into him:

1) He asked if my red hair was natural and I said no, but it goes with my fiery personality.  He asked if I was fiery in the bedroom, too.  I said, "That is not first date conversation, sir."  If I was into him I would've said something like, "Do you want me to answer you or show you?" or, "You'll find out soon enough."

2) We were given lollipops with our check and I grabbed one quick style.  I didn't want to kiss him and I figured he wouldn't try to kiss me if I had a lolli stick popping out of my mouth. 

3)  When we left the restaurant he walked ahead of me and opened the door for himself.**  I was hoping he wouldn't walk me to my car.  If I was into him, I'd want him to walk me to my car and kiss me goodnight.

Unfortunately, in this case, he did walk me to my car so I kept my lollipop in my mouth, my hands in my pockets and a safe, unromantic distance between us.  Despite my efforts against it...and my lollipop stick...he kissed me.  We hugged first.  He gave me the tight-grip-hold-on-I'm-gonna-kiss-you-after hug and I gave him the loose-grip-pat-on-the-back-don't-kiss-me-after hug.  I guess he didn't hear what my hug was saying because he leaned in for the kiss.  Me and my lolli stick leaned back.  He leaned in more, and we leaned back more.  He leaned in even more and at this point I couldn't lean back anymore.  Simply because I am not flexible enough.  So I said, "You're gonna kiss me on the first date?"***  He said, "Hell yeah, I'm gonna try."  So I let him kiss me.  I had to take my lolli out of my mouth and I went tight-lip-no-tongue, but he still slobbered on me.  Bleh.

He called me two more times and I finally texted him (as ordered by my most morally sound friend) saying that I didn't think we were a match.  He texted back: I have to agree for many reasons.  I can't help but think you are your own worst enemy.  Wow.  I'm not sure what that means, but it sounds like someone is a little butt sore.

*After the third date, I am happy to split the check, I am happy to pay the check, but on dates one through three I want to be wooed.  It doesn't have to be expensive wooing, but if you can't afford to buy a $36 dinner then don't take me to dinner.  Get creative.

**There are little chivalrous things I look for on dates.  One of them is walking beside me, not ahead of me.  Another is opening doors for me.  It's just polite.  Treat me like a lady in public and I'll be a tramp in private.  It's a simple give and take.  Jeez.

***Please, I totally kiss on the first date.  In fact, when I'm into a guy, I find it insulting if he doesn't  kiss me on the first date. But I wasn't into this guy.  Obviously.  I mean, I resorted to prudishness to try to avoid kissing him.  Prudishness!  Me! 

Saturday, December 17, 2011

Home alone

The longest I have ever lived alone is four months.  Before that I lived with a husband, after that I lived with a roommate.  Now, I'm living alone again in my very first apartment.  It's been three and a half months.  All by myself.

The last time, I was too busy re-learning how to take care of myself to focus on the alone part.  This time, I feel like little Macaulay Culkin running around in my underwear, screaming and waving my arms in the air.  I can do whatever I want!  I can eat lunch for breakfast and dessert for lunch and breakfast for dinner!  I have no bedtime, no curfew, and no rules.  I realize I haven't had those things for roughly 15 years (ouch), but for some reason, now, it feels different.

It's weird not having to be considerate of anyone else.  I mean, I don't have to apologize to anyone when I leave a few dishes in the sink or my mail on the counter.  It's okay if I wait until the last possible minute to empty and reload the dishwasher.  I can wait to take out the trash until the bag is busting at the seams.  And this one time, I finished the toilet paper roll and I thought to myself, "I need to put on a new roll.  Wait, I'm the only one who uses this bathroom.  I can put on a new roll next time.  Whoa, I can put on a new roll next time!  I'm gonna walk out of my bathroom without putting on a new roll.  I feel so free!

They say it's the little things in life.  I think they are right.

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Letter to Santa

Dear Santa,

This year all I want
is a tall, handsome man
who is loving and kind,
please do all that you can
to make sure he's smart
and funny and polite,
especially when I keep him
awake through the night
with my burps and my farts
which, of course, he'll adore
along with my temper
and mood swings galore.
He should think that I'm beautiful,
delicate and sweet,
even when I trip
over my own two feet.
He should love chick flicks
and think musicals are great-
oh wait, did I mention
this man should be straight?
Did you get all that, Santa?
Are you up for the task?
I really don't think that
it's too much to ask.
But, if you can't bring me
true love and pure joy,
please then, just bring me
a vibrating toy.


Monday, December 12, 2011

I dream of meanie

A couple nights ago I had a dream about The Ex.  It was really weird.  We were in a pool in a resort somewhere.  We weren't exactly there together, we were just both there.  I can't really remember what we were talking about.  Something about me being Vice President of his business and his giving me some kind of credit for it.  Random.  Anyway, I noticed a shark in the pool.  A big one.  Just chillin'.  Nobody seemed to mind that it was there, they were just swimming over it and around it, until it wrapped its mouth around a girl's head.  At that point I hopped out of the pool, narrowly escaping the shark's mouth.  Apparently, in my dreams, I have stuntman-like reflexes.

In the past, when I would dream about him, I'd wake up sad and disturbed.  I would immediately research and find out, either through Google or from the horse's mouth, that my ex cat had surgery, my ex grandma-in-law died, he took his girlfriend on a cross country trip, he got engaged and he got name a few. 

This time, I didn't wake up sad or disturbed (except about the shark part) and I didn't find out anything.  Well, I did find out one thing.  That I can't pinpoint the day I got over it.  ("It" being him, the divorce, the pain.)  I didn't wake up one day and realize it the way he woke up one day and realized he wasn't in love with me anymore.  I didn't actively take time to heal or find myself.  I didn't wait for him to come back.  I didn't put my life on hold.  I just be'd.  I just was.  I just am.  And somehow, at some point, I got over it.

I don't know if falling in love again, albeit briefly (ah, Vegas.  Curse you and bless you at the same time), helped me get over it or getting over it allowed me to fall in love again.  Either way, this was the first time I had a dream about The Ex that didn't put me in a funk for the day.  Except for the shark part.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Chapter 19 (part 2), or Return of Guy from high school

 One of the nights I was in town [for Easter and my part 1 first] I went out dancing with my sister.  On our way home at about 2am I was drunk enough that I wanted to get laid (you know, so I could feel better about myself…because that always works) so I decided it was a good idea to drunk dial Guy from high school.  It had been a while since I’d talked to him; it was time for a comeback.  Like leggings or the word rad.  He was awake and I could hear people in the background.  I said, “Guess where I am?  San-rockin’-Ramon!”  [Yes, I said San-rockin’-Ramon.  I’m not proud of it.]  I asked him what he was doing and he said he had family in town for the holiday.  I said, “But you don’t celebrate Easter.”  He reminded me that it was also Passover.  Ah, right.  I had forgotten about all those Jewish holidays that The Ex never celebrated.  So I said, “Well, can’t you sneak away for a quick fuck?”  He said he could and he’d be over in half an hour.
This guy was ridiculous!  He went for an hour and a half, breaking two condoms in the process (good thing he brought three).  I thought I was going to die.  I had to start yelling at him (whisper-yelling, of course, my parents were upstairs) to just finish already!
A couple days later my mom told me that grandma would be coming over and staying the night so I would have to move to an upstairs bedroom.  (Grandma needs the downstairs bedroom because she is mostly blind and deaf and can’t climb up and down stairs.) 
Mom said, “I’m not going to change the sheets, it was just you in there.” 
To which I replied, “No, you don’t need to change the sheets.” 
         I think one of items on the list of things that will send me to hell when I die is letting grandma sleep on sex sheets because at 31 years old I didn’t want to tell my mom I had a guy over in the middle of the night for a (not-so) quickie.  (I eventually told both of my parents one night about a year later when we were all drinking together.)

Thursday, December 8, 2011

Chapter 19 (part 1), or Cyber research

In 2009, Easter was in April.  My birthday was two days after so I celebrated both occasions with family in the East Bay.  I don't remember what I did for my birthday, but I do remember having three dreams about The Ex and boning down with Guy from high school (perhaps as a direct result of the dreams, perhaps not.  Either way, we'll talk about that trip to pound town in the next post.)

The dreams made me feel disturbed and frustrated and angry and sad.  They felt a little more like nightmares than dreams.  In every dream I would yell at him.  If [the husband stealer] was there I’d yell at her too.  Sometimes I punched her in the face.  Often times I punched him in the face (ah, those were the parts that made them dreams).  I got to do all the things that I want to do in real life, but I would never feel better when I woke up.  
At times, it gave me pleasure to imagine punching them both in the face.  It gave me more pleasure to imagine afflicting them with words, or as I like to call it, “mental warfare”.  Now, I have never punched someone in the face, nor have I ever been punched in the face.  But I’ve seen a lot of movies and I’m pretty sure a punch in the face will cause damage that will heal in a few days, maybe weeks.  Words can scar a person for life.
            About a month later I would do some cyber research (some might call it cyber stalking; research, stalking, potato, potahto) and find that while I was having those dreams, The Ex was taking her on a cross-country trip.  On my birthday.  (Obviously my birthday wouldn’t mean anything to him anymore, but it should, it’s probably going to be a national holiday one day).  Kind of like the cross-country trip he took me on a few years back.  His Twitter page wasn’t blocked at the time so I read it through to the most recent update.  It just so happened that her twitter page wasn’t blocked either so I did the same thing with hers.  What I found made me want to cry, throw things, and beat him to a pulp.  But all I did was cry.
            I found out that two weeks after he left me he sent her flowers (with no card so they were all mysterious and romantical) for her graduation.  He sent me mysterious and romantical flowers when we first started dating, too.  Four months after he left me he took her to Mexico to meet his dad and stepmom.  We used to go to Mexico to visit them around that time of year because it’s his dad’s birthday.  He took her to see Wicked.  We saw Wicked for my birthday two years before that.  For Valentine’s Day he took her to Mexico again and they got massages.  We went to Mexico for Valentine’s Day the year before and got massages at the exact same place.
            I wanted to ask him why, if he was so unhappy with me, and our life together, was he living the exact same life with her?  And I wanted to tell her to enjoy her recycled romance.   

Note:  For all the women out there who feel like I’m being the cliché woman blaming the other woman, let me explain.  My ex-husband is the one who betrayed me, not her.  He is the one who broke vows and lied and left.  He is one hundred percent to blame.  But she was no innocent victim.  She didn’t think he was single and was shocked to find out he was married.  She knew he was married, she knew who I was, she had talked to me before.  It took both of them to form a relationship outside of our marriage.  Did either of them bother thinking about anyone but themselves?  Did it occur to them that if it was that easy to break our marriage it would be just as easy to break theirs?  Their actions showed complete disregard and disrespect for marriage and that is why I harbor anger towards her as well.

Monday, December 5, 2011

I am woman, hear me...EEK!

     In the three and a half years that I have been single, I have learned that I am a strong, capable woman.  And while I want a man, I don't need a man.  I can take care of my own self.
     I can pay my own bills (thank you automatic bill pay).
     I can take out my own trash (albeit reluctantly and with a scowly face).
     I can take my own car to shop when the maintenance required light goes on (even if it takes me a week...or two).
     I can drive myself to the airport (that is, if my flight is unreasonably too early for a family member to take me).
     I can program my own thermostat (thanks for teaching me how, mom).
     I can put up my own Christmas lights (like the Jew ever helped me with that anyway).
     I can give myself my own orgasm (thank you creator of the vibrator).
     I can even take a shower at night (I still only do that in emergency situations, though.  I've seen enough horror movies to know it's extremely dangerous for a woman to take a shower at night when she's alone in the house).
     But for the life of me, I cannot kill the damn spider that is crawling across my ceiling.  He's small but he's thick and black as night.  (Um, can I get a that's what she said?)  Looking at him makes me want to vomit.  I'm afraid he's going to crawl into my ear while I sleep and lay eggs in my brain.  (Again with the horror movies.)  He's just wandering around my ceiling taunting me.  He can smell fear.
     So, I guess I do need a man.  Not to hook up my TV to my DVR, DVD player and Wii or assemble a some assembly required (which turned out to be ALL assembly required) wooden filing cabinet or set up my printer, but to killthisspider.  Any takers?