Nonline dating: where subtlety goes to die

The following is a text conversation I had this morning with a guy I met on Match.com:

Him:  How goes the ballroom dancing?

Me:  It goes well.  How goes the telling me whose number this is? :)

Him:  Drew (Yes, that's his real name.  Because fuck him.)

Me:  Ah, I suspected.  8am on a Sunday?  We need to work on your timing :)

Him:  Sorry.  Hungover?

Me:  Haha, nope.  It's just my last day to sleep in for five more days because of that dumb "real job".

Him:  What's that?  So no drinks and bad decisions soon?  Lol

Me:  It's super dumb is what it is!  It's totally ruining my life - except for the being able to pay rent and buy stuff part.  And haha, not so much!

Him:  Boo. :(

Me to myself:  Did he say boo because I said not so much in response to no drinks and bad decisions soon?  Surely he isn't propositioning sex in our first text messaging session - on a Sunday morning.

Me to him:  I think you're on the wrong site if that's what you're looking for.  Or maybe you're on the right site, you just picked the wrong girl.  Sorry.

No response.

Apparently, he was propositioning sex in our first text messaging session on a Sunday morning.  Impressive.  More impressive than his looks and height, that's for sure.  He's the kind of average that doesn't go with that kind of audacity.  And, come on, if you want me to surrender my vagina this early in the game, have some class and get me drunk first.  Jeez.

Ladies out there on Match.com, watch out for BacktoCA12.  He just wants to get laid.  Unless, of course, you also just want to get laid.  In which case, look up BacktoCA12.  Be sure to tell him I sent you and I'm expecting a finder's fee.

Practically poorfect in every way

Today I deposited my very last alimony check.

                                                   
My 3 ½ years of alimony are over.  Am I where I thought I’d be in 3 ½ years?  No.  But to be fair - did I have a plan of where I was going to be in 3 ½ years?  No.  I’ve had a lot of ideas.  I’ve had a lot of big dreams.  But, a plan?  Not so much.  (I’m pretty sure I need to get one of those.  Can you shop for those online?)
 
On this day, which I shall forever dub as The Day I Became Poor, I don’t have hateful and hurtful things to say to The Ex.  Surprisingly, I don’t have feelings of anger or sadness (well, maybe a little sadness about being poor) or victimization.  Instead, I feel thankful.  So, unlike the many other letters I have wanted to write to The Ex, here is a letter of gratitude:
 
Dear The Ex,

When you left, a part of me died.  But a new part came to life.  In a way, I owe a lot of who I am to you.  If you hadn't left, I might not have learned what I'm made of.  I am one tough ass broad.  And I'm resilient.  And capable.  And crazy and wonderful.  I'm like a human burrito - full of good things and bad.  And when you take a bite it's damn delicious.  Thank you for leaving me so I could discover that I'm delicious!

Peace out*,

Jen


*Yeah.  I said peace out.  That's the gangsta part of my burrito.  Or, the Napoleon Dynamite's brother part of my burrito.  Whatever.  Either way - take it.

Cliches in the membrane, cliches in the brain

I know I've ranted about my Real Job already, but I have a few new bones to pick with this system.  What is the deal with the 9-5er jargon?  On Fridays everybody says stuff like, "Happy Friday!" and, "We made it!"  On Mondays the response to, "How are you?" is always, "Not bad for a Monday."  Followed by a nod of agreement from the questioneer.  (What?  That's a word.)  And if anyone makes a mistake any day of the week it is necessary to say some variation of, "Is it Monday?"  And then laugh like a ding dong.

I'm surrounded by working drones and cheesy cliches and I'm becoming one of them!  I even call Thursday "Friday Eve"!  Just once, when someone says, "Happy Friday!"  I'd like to say, "Not for hookers.  They have a pretty serious work week ahead of them."  And I'd love to respond to, "How are you?" on Monday with, "Well, I'm hung over as shit and I'm pretty tender from being slammed like a screen door last night."

But, alas, I'm a lady (ish), and I just stick with the usual cliches.  One of these days, though.  One. of. these. days.

Someday is for bitches

I have this friend who is in a shit-or-get-off-the-pot situation with her boyfriend.  (No, this friend is not me.  If I had a boyfriend the whole damn world would have known about it long before there was a problem.  And if I had a boyfriend, you'd be reading a post called "Hell just froze over.") 

Anyway, he just can't seem to pull the trigger.  He says he wants to marry her and he wants to have kids...someday.  Someday?  I'm insulted and he's not even my damn boyfriend.  He's been saying "someday" for two years.  What about now?  When will someday be now?  It won't be.  You know why?  Because "someday" is just a polite way of saying "never".

Bleh, someday.  It's the twin brother of sometime.  As a single girl, I hear a lot of sometimes.  "I'll call you sometime."  "Let's do it again sometime."  Jeez, if you don't want to see me again just say, "It was nice to meet you," and be on  your way.  If you do want to see me again suggest now, tomorrow, next week.  Don't bother me with "sometime".

Guys, let me say this in words you'll understand.  You want to hang out again "sometime"?  Well, I want to give you a blowjob..."sometime".  On board with "now" yet?

What to expect when the ex is expecting

You can expect to feel like someone just wiped their ass with you.  At least, that's how I feel.

The man who threw in my face upon leaving me that he never wanted to get married - didn't believe in it - got remarried.  The man who said he didn't want to have kids - because he didn't want to contribute to the human race that is destroying itself - is expecting twins.

It feels less like he didn't believe in marriage and more like he didn't believe in marriage to me.  It feels less like he didn't want to procreate and more like he didn't want to procreate with me.  It feels less like "he did that to me, he'll do it to her" and more like he only did that to me.  It feels less like he made the biggest mistake of his life leaving me and more like I was the biggest mistake of his life.

I feel like everything I told myself to explain why he left isn't true anymore.

I feel like the practice wife, the starter wife, the wife that was thrown away.

I feel like he's not a guy who leaves, he's a guy who just leaves me.


So, now, my fake eyelashes have fallen off (waterproof glue, my ass) and my eyeshadow and mascara have blended together to form what looks Hollywood style black eyes while I cry this bitch out and try to come up with new reasons why he's a giant douche bag fucktard, they're destined to be unhappy with ugly kids, and I'm a perfect and beautiful victim of disaster.

What else did you expect?

Annoying encounters

(Well, this post is just about one encounter...but there will be more.  Sadly.)

For my friend's birthday, I took her to a local bar I frequent.  It is the weirdest place with a mixture of singles from 25 to 65 (great for people watching).  As soon as we walked in a very nice, very skinny little nerd started talking to my friend.  So, naturally, his old ghetto friend started talking to me.  Why?  Why always the ghetto dudes?  I know what my close friends and family would say: because of my ghetto booty.  But still!  It irritates me to know end.  Know your league, men.  And stay in it.  Here is a reenactment of the encounter:

Him: Hey.
Me: (Half smile mixed with slight annoyance) Hey.
Him: So, what do you do for a living?
Me: Do you really want to know what I do for a living?
Him: No.
Me: Then why did you ask?
Him: It's a conversation starter.
Me:  I realize that, I just feel like you can come up with something more interesting to ask.
Him: Well, what do you do to make money?
Me: What are you, a girl? You want to know how much money I make or something?
Him: Wow, you're really tense. It's Friday night.  (Gesturing towards some bar stools) Why don't you sit down and relax.
Me: No that's okay, I don't want...
Him: (Interrupting) Just because you sit down with me it doesn't mean you're with me.
Me:  Oh, I know that.  (With a wave of my hand across the bar) But I don't want everyone else to think I'm with you.
Him: Wow, you're wound up really tight.
Me: Yeah, I kinda am.
Him: You don't get out much do you?
Me: I really don't.  It's my friend's birthday and she made me come out.  I very rarely leave the house.
Him: Well you should try to relax and have fun.
Me: Yeah, okay, I'll do that.

He finally left, but after some time passed he popped back up.

Him: Do you like baseball?
Me: Sure.
Him: Do you like going to baseball games?
Me: More so than I like watching them on TV.
Him: It's just that I work with people that have a lot of money and they get good tickets.
Me: Wow, I'm really impressed that you know people with money.  Good for you.
Him: Well, I was gonna see if you wanted to go to a game with me, but...(his words drift off)
Me: Oh, too bad. (Shrug and smirk)

It became clear to me that the reason he kept asking what I do was because he wanted me to ask him what he does so he could talk about whatever job he has that surrounds him with people who make a lot of money.  I can't speak for other women, but in my opinion, you have to be a bit more impressive all around for me to give a damn about your money...or your coworkers' money.

Chapter 22, or 21/31/35 and no, those are not my measurements...the 5th and final part

                    **Be sure to read parts 1-4 first**

               Polite Aussie, Irish guy and Kinda Hot Aussie congratulated us on making it in the picture.  They were all going to dinner and said that we should probably hang back but they would meet up with us after.  We were okay with that; we had already exceeded our expectations for the day.  Rochelle and Jade stayed for dinner and we had cake for Rochelle’s birthday, but they decided not to wait for the Aussies to get back.   

            My family had gone out to dinner so it was just me and my laptop on the lanai.  It was a gorgeous, romantic night.  All the tiki torches were lit because it was after sunset and there was barely a breeze.  If it were a movie, Kinda Hot Aussie would show up and we would kiss. 

            I was watching for the Aussies to come back while trying not to look like I was watching, and as it happens, one of the times I wasn’t watching, I heard my name.  It was Kinda Hot Aussie.  I guess every once in a while, movie-like things happen.  He took a seat on the low wall outside the villa. 

            I walked up to him as sexily as I could (which probably looked more like regular walking and less like slow motion walking with a fan blowing my hair) and casually said, “Hi.  How was dinner?” 

            He said, “It was great. What have you girls been doing?”  I told him about dinner and cake for Rochelle’s birthday and that they left.  He said, “That’s too bad, Polite Aussie was pretty taken with Jade.” 

            I said, “Most guys are.” 

            He said, “I think she’s bad news for him.  She seems like a bad girl.  Are you a bad girl?” 

            I said, “Nah, I’m a good girl.” 

            He put his hand on my hip and pulled me towards him and said, “Well then, come over here and do something bad.”  Pretty cheesy, but you have to understand, everything he says is in an Australian accent!  He could’ve said, “I like to fart through a tube” and I would've gushed a little.

            While we were kissing, my family came back from dinner.  Kinda Hot Aussie suggested we go for a walk on the beach.  I told the fam where I was going and walked with him to the beach.  Our version of going for a walk was finding a secluded place on the beach and making out.  There is nothing like having sweet nothings whispered in your ear in an Australian accent.  And I’ll tell you something ladies, what they say about Australian men is true.  Even if we had condoms I don’t think I could’ve had sex with him.  He would’ve ripped me in half.  Plus, I’ve done some slutty stuff, but sleeping with a random guy the day after sleeping with another random guy is not yet on my list.

            When we decided we had to stop, he walked me back to my villa and got my email address.  I thought that was sweet even though we both knew we weren’t going to become pen pals. 

            I have since decided that I want my next husband to be from Australia.  Or New Zealand.  Or England.  So if you know anyone, set me up, I’m probably still single.