Sunday, December 30, 2012

Percentage of finding love is 0%.

There's so much to do in Pittsburgh. For the first time in my life, I'm venturing out a lot on my own. I feel I have a tinge of social anxiety, so it doesn't happen too often. People up here are so nice. They strike up conversation. Coming from WV, it's weird. When I got Chinese food the other night, a woman waiting for food struck up conversation about the weather. I was elated, of course. In Wheeling, people grimly stand in line & wait for their product. This friendliness is an adjustment. I'm not saying there aren't dicks up here. I wanted to punch a woman in the face the other day. It's just astonishing how much nicer they are.
I love seeing different types of people. The area I live in is hardcore Jewish. I mean, long beard, black hat wearing Jewish. Let me tell you who's hardcore about making their kids shovel snow- Koreans & Jews. When we got this storm I saw kids V's age busting ass shoveling. The Jewish kid next door shoveled the shit out of his family's driveway. As I drove to work, I saw what looked like a six year old Korean kid getting his balls busted by his mom for not shoveling right. That's awesome. Viggo acts like he's dying if he has to get up & get his own drink. I should let him bunk with that kid for a week.
Oh, and you know how I came up with the statistic of 3 out of 5 men here being good looking? Well, 3 out of 5 are also gay. My gaydar is completely broken. I can't tell who's gay or straight. So, I just flirt with all men. Throwing it out there like a boomerang hoping it brings something back. Can't hurt, right? Oh, yes it can. I snagged an older gentleman admirer at work. I guess he's a regular. Very polite and well-dressed with obviously a lot of money. He tells me how beautiful I am all the time. Yesterday, he inquired if I had a boyfriend. I lied & said "yes". Disappointed, he inquired as to whether my mother looked like me & was single. Jesus. Why can't this man be thirty years younger. He said if I'm ever single, he'd love to take me to dinner. I just can't do the sugar daddy thing. I'm the jackass that's still looking for true love. The hell with luxury & comfort, I need love (which I'm convinced is as dead as disco). What's wrong with me? The old man said the boyfriend better marry me before someone "snatches me up". If he only knew the truth. No one is snatching this lady up. If I were merchandise, I'd be in a discount bin. I've had a couple of guys seem flirty at work, but, they were probably gay. At this point, I might look into becoming a beard. You know how many boyish-looking girls I've seen with boyfriends? What the shit? Maybe I should Boy's Don't Cry myself everyday to get a date. Tape down my boobs & wear my Gary Oldman glasses & no makeup. I always think these girls are lesbians, but then they mention having a boyfriend or fiancée. FIANCÉE! I can't get a date & girl over here that looks like a white Urkel is getting married?! This sucks. I see M a lot, but I think it's all just physical for him. I want a guy to hang out with. I have great conversations with him, too. His intelligence is through the roof. But, guys are weird.

Thursday, December 27, 2012

I love the shit out of Pittsburgh

  So, it's officially my second week in Pittsburgh. Lots of things still in boxes. It feels like home a bit. No cable, which is a huge adjustment for me. I always have the tv on, just for noise. I hate quiet. There's wi/fi here, sometimes. I watch a lot of Netflix and DVDs.
  My roommates seem nice. I'll be honest, I'm not even sure how many I have. I've met three. There's one on the mailbox that I haven't met. My friend, Amy, said she imagines it's like the show New Girl, though she's never seen it. I guess the only difference is instead of kooky girl moving in with 3 guys, it's kooky girl living with a couple of gay guys & a possible Russian girl. It's probably more like Mrs. Garrett on The Facts Of Life. These kids are messy. I did their dishes since I was snowed in yesterday.  Someone should inform them there isn't a garbage disposal in the sink. Ew. I don't think the girl who had the room before me ever cleaned the bathroom. I pulled what looked like a small animal out of the bathtub drain. I just want to clean and tidy things.
  The dating scene isn't really happening for me. According to my own statistics, three out of five men are good-looking, however three out of five are also gay. Makes finding a date rather difficult. I've seen M. a few times. I really like him, but who knows what he feels. It's easier to not think about it & keep my heart safe. I suspect, like most men, he's only interested in sex.
  I love it here, already. I love seeing all the different places to go & the endless possibilities. Coming over the bridge into the city is a thrill every time. I can't wait until it's not raining or snowing to explore.  I waxed poetic about it to a customer and she was enchanted by my excited descriptions of how I feel about moving here. I think people can become disenchanted with where they live. Spend some time in Wheeling, and suddenly your town looks spectacular. People are very nice here. Granted, I've seen more public arguments by couples, but overall everyone is cheery. Four out of five people in Wheeling are mean and cranky. (Once again, my own statistic). Understandable. I was miserable. There isn't anything to do. Jobs are scarce. Yesterday when I was snowed in, I walked a block and got Chinese food. How awesome is that? I could have gotten Arab, Italian or bar food on that same block. I love that. I pass a movie theater everyday that shows independent movies. I could throw a stick and hit a coffee shop. I love the shit out of this city. Even if I can't find a man, I'm in love with this city and it'll keep me entertained for a good while. I can't wait to do some exploring. For the first time in my life, I enjoy going places by myself. I just walk around with a stupid smile on my face. I can't believe I finally made it here. I've been happy for two weeks straight. And, oddly, I think I've seen Viggo just as much or more than before. It's a bit of an adjustment staying with my mom, but we're making it work.

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Almost ten things I hate about you

  The other night on Happy Endings (hilarious TV show, watch it), one of the characters got into trouble with a new boyfriend. She makes lists of things she hates about every boyfriend and he found it. This is something I've never done. I'm the too nice girl who is nice even after the break up. One of my best friends made a profile on for my cheating ex boyfriend and I eventually made it invisible because I felt he suffered enough. So stupid. Needless to say, I've never made a dislike list. I tend to see the best in people almost to a fault. It made me think that I should as a form of therapy. I mean, if you cheat on me the least I can do is make a list of things I didn't like. I'm on my period, so this could be long and drawn out. This is in no particular order.
1. He always walked ahead of me. It was like we were in a foot race of some kind. We'd go to the stupid Giant Eagle and it was like a cloud of dust in front of me where he was. I would think "Why the shit is he walking so fast? He works in a freaking lab all day." He wouldn't even be conscious of my presence. We're supposed to be shopping together and we're walking around like I was his freaking geisha, made to walk ten paces behind. Sometimes, I would just hang back to see if he'd even notice I wasn't beside him. That always really bothered me. It basically said that he didn't give a shit that I was there. Hmm. The signs.
2. We never went anywhere. Oh, other than Giant Eagle where I was following him like a sprinter in a race with Usain Bolt. When we first started dating, he took me to really nice restaurants. Then, it turned into just hanging out at his house. We saw ONE movie at the theater together. ONE. We dated for a year. Luckily, it was Moneyball and worth seeing. After maybe a month of dating, the only place we went, other than his house, was his dad's apartment. I think I saw as much of that place as I did his. Luckily, I liked his dad. We saw three comedy shows, but this was at my urging. We were supposed to see Patrice O'Neal right before we broke up, but he suffered a stroke. Maybe that should have been a sign. Your favorite comedian is going to die and so is your relationship.
3. He was very judgmental. I'd never had a manicure until I met him. He was so horrified at the state of my nails that he bought all the essentials and gave me a manicure. What man does that? I always did his dishes when I stayed over to be nice. He had a dishwasher, but was Nazi fanatical about washing the dishes before placing them in the dishwasher. One time, I took all the dishes out of the dishwasher and put them away thinking they had been through the cycle. They had not. He lost his shit. That's how clean these damn dishes were. He would always inspect them if I cleaned them. It makes me really laugh about that incident.
4. He was ridiculous when he saw a stink bug. I don't know the technical name for these bugs. Supposedly, if you try to kill them, they let off an odor. I think this is false. I've killed many without smelling anything. When he saw one, he wouldn't let me move. Then, he would run and get his vacuum and suck it up. He was so paranoid that I would do something to incite a smell from this bug. It was always comical watching him go through this charade. Ninety year old ladies react more rationally to the presence of bugs. 
5. He was a perv. And not always in a good way. I like some kink, but he always had the roving eye. Great, you think that girl on TV is hot? Shut it, I don't want to hear about it. He's the kind of guy that makes jokes about your friend being hot, but you really suspect he's serious. When he was cheating on me, he was taking Viagara. I suppose you need it when you're screwing two girls. That should have been a huge sign. It's not like he ever needed it when we were together at all. I may have horrible self-esteem, but I can provide a boner in a man, no problem. I think it's my titties, they're pretty spectacular. Anyway, he got a prescription for Viagara, which I thought was odd, but thought he was just experimenting with it. Duh. When I found out he was cheating, I dumped them in his toilet and didn't flush so he'd see what I'd done. I poked holes in all his condoms in his bathroom and left them in his cabinet. I should have been meaner and did some kind of Stella Got Her Groove Back revenge and set his clothing on fire in his front yard. Once again, I'm too kind.
6. He was just a horrible boyfriend. Not necessarily on a daily basis, but what he did at the end was unforgivable. Cheats on me when I think I might have breast cancer. There's just really something wrong with your morals if you do that. The day I had my biopsy, he was late. I had to go through it alone. It was truly awful. He was there when I came out. He took me up to Pittsburgh. He got me a manicure and a pedicure. I couldn't enjoy it. I saw him take a phone call while I was getting it and was paranoid it was the other woman. Here, he was calling his mom to see how much of a tip to leave. Then, he had the audacity to get offended at my being upset. Really? Instead of taking me to his house to rest, I had to go to his lab with him for a few hours. Mind you, his boss knew of the situation and told him to take the day off. Nope. He just let me sleep at a table. I'm not saying he was all bad. He was very doting and loving. He always called me "dear" and "beautiful". He gave me the best Valentine's Day ever. We were really in love. He just fucked up and handled it in the worst way possible.
7. He had to put his creamer in his coffee first. This is a really stupid complaint, but he always jacked up my coffee. I put the creamer in last.
Ok, at the moment, I'm very tired & can't come up with ten things. Truth is, I'd erase his existence from my brain if I could. The damage he did was far worse than the good he did. Regardless, he's some other lady's problem now. Enjoy, girl. I sure as hell don't miss these things. In fact, after a year of being depressed, I'm completely over him & wondering what I saw in him. Love is a strange drug.

Monday, December 10, 2012

I'm blogging way too much

  My anxiety is through the roof. I think Alzheimer's is also, because I just forgot how to spell "roof". Geez, I have way too much on my mind. I'm freaking out about this move. It doesn't help that it's coinciding with my period. I have visions of myself sitting alone in this new apartment surrounded by boxes and weeping uncontrollably. At least, I'll have my own bathroom. That's what I keep telling myself. When I have anxiety shit, I can be relieved by the fact that no one will come into the room after me.
  I'm excited about starting the new job. Very excited. It's such a nice store. I think I'll love it. I can't think about leaving my old job. I'll cry, I'm sure. I've made some really good friends there. I'll still stop in and see everyone, but it won't be the same not seeing them everyday.
  Let's hope I make new friends. Maybe stick a man in there somewhere. Not sure what's going on with M. I hate liking someone because then you're in the "wonder zone". I wonder if he likes me. I wonder if we'll continue seeing each other. I wonder, blah, blah, blah. You pretty much wonder until they flat out tell you what they're thinking. I don't even know what I'm thinking, so it's just as well. Anyway, I'm too focused on this move. It consumes my every thought. I'm not quite sure when or how I'm getting all my possessions there. See, this is where having a boyfriend comes in handy. Uh, I'm screwed.
  I'm in such a better place than I was last year, so I'm not going to complain too much. This year was vividly painful. Last December was an awful mess that no one should have to experience. On the bright side, I didn't have breast cancer. That was terrifying and I didn't share that with anyone. I have nightmares about it now and then. And, going through it with a cheating boyfriend as your support system is not the way to do it. I don't think I'll ever go for another mammogram. I've had around five and I can't do it again. I bury it all, but it comes to the surface every once in a while. I'll just send it back to the murky depths with some cement shoes.
  I'm off to start a new chapter of my life and couldn't be more excited. A lot of my dreams are coming true. There are a lot more to be fulfilled.

Saturday, December 8, 2012


  I just got back from looking at another apartment and now I'm really torn. The neighborhood was very nice, as was the apartment. The room I would have was incredibly spacious. I could fit everything. Plus, it has it's own bathroom. There's on-site laundry. The only issue is parking that I would have to get a permit for. There are four other roommates (3 guys and one girl). I'm a little disappointed that I might not be living in a real life Big Bang Theory (as my friend Becky said) in the other place. C'mon, blonde girl, Vietnamese guy and a German? Hilarity. Considering all the junk I have, I'd be wise to pick the bigger place. Plus, I'm only obligated to live there until April as opposed to July in the other place.
  I'd be pretty close to M. Not sure what's going on there. I wrote him off earlier in the week. He hadn't been returning my texts. He offered to help me look at apartments and when I asked him about an area, he never replied. I said "Never mind, I'll figure it out". Apparently, he felt he would let me "relax a bit". My snarkiness always gets me in trouble. All in all, I'm glad to hear from him. It did teach me that I need to pull back a bit. I was pretty bummed when I didn't hear from him all week. Lots of nights drinking wine and surfing the dating website. I did have a guy contact me from out of the blue. We went on a date almost a year ago. It went well, but then he went to Israel for a while and I didn't hear from him. He's back and flirting. Gay date is still messaging me. That was a year ago. I still think he's gay but he's persistent about trying to get a second date. Dude, you're 22, look 32 and are possibly gay. Let it go. Then, Pepe Le Peu messaged me. We had one date and he went batshit wanting to see me again. No, thank you. Fucking M. I did apologize for being a dick. Why do I have to like anyone? That's weak. I need to man up and not get attached. But, he's very intelligent and I really enjoy his company. Surely, I'll run into some men in Pittsburgh. I hope none of them are exes. Ugh. That's another reason I'm thinking of not moving to the one place. Eerily close to where He Who Shall Not Be Named works. Very close. Too close for comfort. And, not in a Jim J. Bullock fun kind of way. I'm sure I won't be lacking in company.
  Honestly, why didn't I discover wine a long time ago. Very nice. Two glasses give a nice buzz. I slept like the dead last night. It gives you a nice, fuzzy buzz. I wonder if this will be trouble having three young roommates? The other night, I had a man mistake me for 25. He said if his son were single, he'd set me up because we're the same age. I just shook my head and laughed. We're not the same age, but I would possibly date someone that age.
  I'm sure this is full of typos and nonsensical words, since I'm slightly drunk. 

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

I feel like Fred Sandford

  Preparing to move is not fun at all. I know that's a redundant statement, but it's so true. Man, I have a lot of junk. It's like a mini junkyard here. I'm ready for Lamont to come strolling in. If you don't get that reference it's because you're young, so, shut it. I have ridiculous things. I found some of my baby clothes. MY baby clothes, not Viggo's. Needless to say, I've been holding onto some things for too long. I know that hoarding tends to run in my family. I really don't want to turn into one of those people you see on "Hoarders" who store their pee in their fridge or who have so much shit that dead cats are underneath their junk. I'm liberally trying to throw away things. This is hard for me. I find sentimental value in everything. But, after seeing the small space I may be moving into, it's a necessity. I threw away a bunch of old makeup and my soul now hurts. I have to say to myself "When is the last time you used this?" and decide to pitch it or not. I'm doing better than I thought I'd do. My great grandmother was a hoarder. Except she did weird things like wrap a piece of candy in a bunch of tissue and put it in her pocket. I guess that's a form of hoarding. My grandmother was very sentimental and held onto things. Definitely genetic. Cheap wine is making this a lot easier.
  The good thing is I think I'll have some extra space where I'm going. I'm probably going to pick a place I looked at the other night. It's with two grad students, both foreign. Basically, they're never home. I will have a decent sized room and I can put anything else downstairs in the living room. It's a very guy apartment. I'm cool with that. There's a washer and dryer, so that sold it for me. Oddly, the first place I looked at was in Squirrel Hill and very nice. The two girls there were besties. I could tell they were going to talk about me when I left. The place was super neat. I just felt I'd be really uncomfortable. Basically, I'd either have to become their new best friend or they'd spend they're time dissecting me. Hence, the choice to live with two men. I haven't even met them. I met they guy moving out. He was hilarious. I think one guy is Vietnamese and the other may be German. Who cares? They're not there a lot. He said he hadn't even seen the one roommate in a month. It's going to be like living with a poor Bruce Wayne. I'll probably have to shine a bat signal to get a hold of them. I'm fine with that. Adjusting to living with other people may take some time. Wait until they meet the goofass they're living with. All of a sudden these poor men are going to have pads and tampons in their bathroom. Be afraid, be very afraid.

Thursday, November 29, 2012


  For the first time in four years, I'll be moving. For the first time in four years, I won't be living alone. After months of wanting to work for B&N again, I got hired. I'm super-excited. I'll get to live in Pittsburgh again, which I love. LOVE. Anyone that knows me, knows how much I hate living in Wheeling. Not just Wheeling, but anywhere in this valley. It's just not for me. It will be an adjustment, though. The last time I lived with anyone, I was married. Now, I'm looking for roommates. Still undecided about where I'll live or who it will be with. Part of me is bummed. Ideally, I would like to live alone. I'm an only child. It's what I know. Then again, another part of me is geekily thrilled at the prospect of never being alone. Few have seen my living habits. I pretty much even hid them from past boyfriends. I sleep in curlers a lot. Not sexy. When I first get home, I nearly break my neck trying to get into sweatpants as fast as I can. It's all about sweats and freeballin'. Can't be swinging around the cantaloupes with mixed company. I sleep with the TV on. That may be problematic. Plus, I think I'm slightly deaf from seeing Jesus Lizard live too many times without earplugs. Imagine curlers, sweats, Gary Oldman glasses and a loud TV. Can anyone put up with this? Shit, is this why I'm single? Goddamn, is this a revelation? No. Are people that shallow? Shit, yes they are. Maybe I'm onto something. However, that's a problem for another time. I need to be prepared to co-exist with others. My co-workers will tell you I'm horrible with other people's food. Note to self, don't eat other people's food. Ok. I wash my hair in the sink. Apparently, no one does this. They'll think I'm a weird, country girl. I'll give WV a weird image. Oh, who gives a shit? I think the jacked-up trucks with fake balls hanging off the licence plates do that. Do I do anything else abnormal? This is like George Clooney asking if he's good-looking today. OF COURSE! I can't be hanging tough in the bathtub like I always do, listening to podcasts. I can't be strumming the ukulele and singing to Arcade Fire. Essentially, I will just have to curb my weirdness a bit. Or reign it in like a wild horse, depending on who you ask. Regardless, I'm ready for this. I'm so pumped about living in Pittsburgh again. Anytime I want to see a good movie, I can. Anytime I want to check out a comedy show, I can drive a short distance instead of an hour. I can go on dates without some ridiculous pre-planning. Also, according to my own statistics, three out of five men in Pittsburgh are good-looking. In Wheeling, it's like one in 500. It's rough. Most men here look like Randy Quaid. That's not what I want in a man. I can get coffee or Indian food. I can go to the museum or the zoo. The possibilities for fun are endless. Now, I'm not saying life will be perfect. But, after this past year, I deserve some happiness. It's finally arrived.

Friday, November 23, 2012


  This year, I thought I would be generous and cook Thanksgiving dinner for my mom. We have this tumultuous relationship. Generally, she does something bad or batshit crazy and I don't speak to her for awhile. This tends to involve alcohol, which makes her a nasty person. I remember when I lived in Columbus, I would answer the phone and just hear "You fucking bitch! I hate you!" as soon as I picked up the phone. Must be mom, I'd think. In the past few years, she's really curbed her drinking. This is all due to Viggo. I told her she can't see him if she's drinking. She honestly loves him very much and quit for him. As a reward for her good behavior, I offered to cook dinner for the three of us.   You know, Thanksgiving dinner that I haven't cooked in over ten years. I've been graciously invited to many friend's family's dinners and have been spared having to cook. One year, I did make the best dinner ever. However, my only witness is Bob. That damn turkey was succulent.
  I wish I could say this dinner was a repeat performance. Not the case. First off, I forgot to buy a freaking pie pan. Exhausted after working nine hours, I didn't go back out. Fuck it, I'll use whatever. I ended up using a baking pan. That involved making two pie crusts to cover it. The turkey came out just right. Noodles weren't bad. The mashed potatoes were horrendous. I made them from scratch and added way too much milk and not enough salt. As we're eating, I notice my mom is picking at her food and Viggo just gave up halfway and demanded a sandwich. I, however, had three plates full. I guess those two get regular, home-cooked meals. Viggo also busted my balls for forgetting Cool Whip for the pie. My mom declared it was all delicious, but I know when she's lying. "A" for effort there, Mom. I'll take sober lying over drunken belittlement any day. Viggo eventually ate more of his dinner. My thick crust and lack of whipped cream was a deal breaker for dessert, though. I sent Mom home with some plates of food. I'll eat the rest, no complaints. It beats Ramen noodles. After work tonight, I came home and stuffed my face full of bland potatoes and turkey with noodles. This apartment is like a rural, Mexican village- food doesn't go to waste. 

Sunday, November 18, 2012

Get a grip, you're not Jeanne Dixon

  I was rudely awakened the other morning, very early, by a text from my friend. I had spent a fun night with M. and was trying to sleep in, snuggled next to him. Plus, I had three martinis the night before and had a bit of a hangover. Sleep? No, not for me. I have to wake up to insanity. My friend had a dream that I was cheating with her boyfriend. I don't even know where to begin with this. Oh, I know, I find her boyfriend repulsive. Also, I'm not an asshole who would cheat on her friend with her boyfriend. Or the fact that I was with someone else at the time. Or the fact that she's not psychic. I think every single woman has done this- had a dream and has woken up mad at the people in the dream. It's insane, but we've all done it. I understand that. You're unjustly mad for a few minutes and then you come back to reality. You don't text the people in the dream and ask them if it's true. I found it insulting on so many levels. I personally hate her boyfriend. He's annoying and not the least bit attractive to me. Having been cheated on, I would never do that to someone. And, for the love of Pete, I was trying to enjoy some time with a HANDSOME man of my own. Jesus. How do men put up with the insane thoughts of women? Thinking a dream is true? That's batshit. I had a dream Kenny Rogers died the night before, you don't see me writing a eulogy for him. Dreams are your subconscious working things out. Perhaps, you have issues. Analyze your dreams, don't start accusing the people in the dream of doing whatever it is from the dream. Jesus, this isn't Gossip Girl or Melrose Place. Many women I know love drama, too. It fuels their days. Can you leave me out of it? There are a lot of women who don't love drama and we sadly are surrounded by those who do. Put your drama in a sack and let me sleep in. Explaining this insane scenario to a level-headed man was even crazier. I felt embarrassed being involved in this stupidity. He found it amusing. My throbbing head, did not. I guess my integrity accounts for nothing. Yes, you are the next Sylvia Browne and you're completely right. I understand that she's had a friend cheat on her with a boyfriend. You can't apply this to all your friends. The goofiest part was I felt I had to prove and justify that I didn't do it. Sadly, I'm still sore about it. Maybe because I'm on my period. If you piss me off now, I may want your head on a platter. That's my womanly insanity. I don't think I'm Jeanne Dixon, however, predicting events of the future. I'm firmly grounded in reality and know my dreams aren't true. Ladies, the next time you have a rattling dream, please take some time and break down the feasibility of it before you pick up that phone. For the sake of the men in your life, your sane female friends and the better of humanity. 

Sunday, November 11, 2012

Fear of the mundane

  I'm always psychoanalyzing myself, trying to figure out what can make me better or what might be wrong with me. In the past five years, my world has changed so much. I've been in and out of various relationships and learned to live several different existences. At the back of my mind, I think I'm desperately afraid of a mundane life. When things get like that, it tends to get stagnant and possibly fall apart. Maybe that comes from the demise of my marriage. It was a very normal life. Everyday was kind of the same. I was very happy, though. Maybe as a Cancer, I loved the security of it. At the same time, I feel it can destroy a marriage. Where one is comforted another might be bored. Now, I'm terrified of that thought. In my last relationship, we were together for a year and I feel I kept it fun and interesting. We never had a chance to enter into any kind of normalcy. After a year, you start to approach some habits and maybe that fear set in hard for him. Personally, I love being in a relationship. I loved being married. I like meshing together into one entity. Your identity is part of someone else's. It might be due to being an only child. We crave other people a lot. That's part of why I loved being pregnant. I was never alone. After being subjected to being alone, now I fear becoming that entity and enduring normalcy. At the root of it, I fear being deserted. In my mind, that's when I get left. I've always had issues with being deserted. My parents were very young when they married and I was born. The marriage ended disastrously. Luckily, my dad remarried and had a wonderful family. But, I never got to see him. My mom, I saw a lot, but she emotionally and physically left me all the time. She'd go off with men unexpectedly and leave me. I had my grandparents, who had considered adopting me for fear of her never returning. But, she always did. They felt it best that I stay with them because of her not being dependable. They did a hell of a job. Best surrogate parents one could ask for. But, I always had the knowledge and the feeling of being deserted and left. That feeling never leaves you despite the security of having a solid, family foundation. I think that feeling molded me into an insecure, fearful person. I'm always afraid of losing people. Almost like a self-fulfilling prophecy, I have. Through death, I've lost the people I cherished the most- my grandparents. Then, I lost the people I loved passionately. I'm sure this attitude of insecurity that I carry like a ball and chain has a huge effect on my relationships. I'm desperately afraid to ever enter into a relationship again for a variety of reasons. Being left, it becoming boring, him finding life with me boring, etc. Hence, the self-analysis. How do I fix this? In my world, you stay emotionally detached and create an air of confidence. There's this hard candy shell that I'm not sure will crack.  I've had three dates with the same man and I'm terrified. Some part of my mind tells me to run away. "He'll get bored of you. They always do." I hear this at the back of my mind. Eventually, he'll crave something new and different and then I'll be starting over again. Or I could stay alone and safe, protecting myself. It's amazing how much emotional damage we do to each other. We've all inflicted some and all endured some. No one is safe. Some get dealt more than others. We have to navigate our own lives and it's like we're without a map.

Thursday, November 8, 2012

Yeah, he's cheating on you.

  I've decided that my pain could be useful to other people. I learned a lot from being cheated on. I should pass on this knowledge. Statistically, I have no idea how many people get cheated on, but I'm sure it's a hell of a lot. Many people have suffered through it. I have twice. But, never again. I know the signs and I'm passing them along. I'm aiming this at girls. Not that it doesn't take two to tango, I just feel men can't keep it in their pants more. Plus, I only know from a woman's point of view. If you want an account from both points of view, I guess consult Rupaul or Chasity Bono.
  Girls, his phone is your best consultant. It's like the ark of the covenant. Open it and awful things come out. Your face may melt off. Like I said, I've been cheated on twice and each time I busted them via their phone. I don't know if it's arrogance or desire to be caught that makes them keep the evidence on their phone. But, it's there. Check those texts. If he keeps his phone locked, then I'd say you're being cheated on. It's just a fact. If there's nothing to hide, then it's an open book. Now, I never, ever looked at a guy's phone until I had suspicions. I'm not a nib-nose. Everyone should have an expectation of privacy in a relationship. UNLESS YOU'RE CHEATING! If that's the case, fuck you, I hope you get some kind of eye herpes. I didn't want to snoop into these phones. Who wants to find that kind of shit? But, here's the second piece of advice- if you have a feeling they're cheating, then, they are. I NEVER thought the guys I spent time with would've done this. NEVER. Patrick had been cheated on by a previous girlfriend, plus he knew my past. I just never would've suspected him. But, I had this gnawing feeling each time. It's like a sixth sense. Haley Joel Osment saw dead people. I knew my guy was double dipping. You talk yourself out of believing it. Time passes. But, everyday that feeling and suspicion is there. Honestly, when you find the evidence it feels exactly the same as finding out someone you know died. There's an awful feeling in your stomach.
  Once they're busted, they lie like crazy. Rarely does a guy have the balls to admit what he's done. Luckily, the first time, he had the balls to be straight up and admit it. But, good old Patrick was very weaselly about it. I basically had to pry it out of him and it took weeks. I tried to kick his ass to the curb the night I found out, but he cried and begged me to not break up with him. Here's my third piece of advice- BREAK UP WITH HIM. Don't believe him for a second. Frankly, you deserve better. You're hurt and too willing to want it to go away and believe those lies. Have some self respect and end it.
  I don't know how this will affect my future relationships. So far, I haven't had one. That speaks volumes right there. My next piece of advice is to adopt Fox Mulder's motto of "Trust no one". I really never thought these guys would've done this to me. I thought they were good guys. And, honestly, one of them is a good guy. He just really messed up and handled things in a very wrong way. As for the other one, total weasel. He knew what he was doing every step of the way. Maybe he's messed up and in therapy. He should be. Who cheats on a woman when she thinks she has breast cancer? Man, you're low-down and disgusting if you do. It's jerk company, too. You're peer is John Edwards. Disgusting. Revolting. A woman is never more vulnerable than when she is afraid she may have cancer and potentially lose a breast or her life. If you're sticking your penis somewhere else when this is going on, you should be repeatedly punched in the balls. I mean, you could also spend your time kicking puppies. On a karmic scale, it's probably equal.
  My last piece of advice is to remember that it's not your fault. You blame yourself. I'm not attractive enough or I was a bad girlfriend/wife. I wasn't good in bed. In retrospect, I realize that some people are just fucked up in the head regarding relationships and their self-esteem. Maybe they never saw their parents in a good relationship. A lot of it stems from that. If a relationship doesn't have bumps and is smooth sailing, then, it's uncomfortable and boring to them. I saw good and bad in my childhood. My grandparents were together until they died. I routinely saw them hug and kiss. They rarely fought. I always remember when we rode in the car, seeing my grandpap reach over and hold my grandma's hand. That was true love. Then, there was my mother. She fought all the time with her boyfriends. She instigated every fight. She was a total asshole. I witnessed five billion screaming fights. I basically learned what not to do in a relationship from her. But, alas, many men must see that same thing in their childhood and then subconsciously crave it in their adult relationships. It's super-deep psychology. Sometimes, they're just bored and crave something different. I'm not entirely sure that men are supposed to be monogamous. I think most women are like penguins, mating for life. Some men are, too. Listen to Patrice O'Neal's stand up comedy about men cheating. It's totally hilarious and true. There's a part about how women wouldn't cheat even if it was Denzel Washington. Men see a girl laying on a pile of garbage and are attracted enough to cheat. Men and women's brains are just hardwired differently. I'm not saying there aren't exceptions. Stuff your comments about exceptions in a sack. We're talking generalizations here. I would love to be a guy for a day. Maybe I'd try to surpass Gene Simmons' or Wilt Chamberlain's bed records in one day. If guys were in women's bodies for a day, they'd never leave the house. They'd stay holed up feeling their boobs the whole time. But, I digress. Girls, just listen to your gut, check that phone if you suspect them and trust them as far as you can throw them.

Sunday, November 4, 2012

What is this weird rumbling? Feelings? NOOOO!

  After a heinous breakup, you learn to distance yourself from feelings. Getting hurt down to the fiber of your being is too tremendously painful to experience again. Thankfully, I've really learned to turn off my feelings towards men. I've been on quite a few dates in the past year, not getting attached to any of them. They come and go like seasons or passing fancies. My apartment has become my favorite hangout. It's a well-protected cocoon of safety.
  I've had a couple of dates with one guy, M. We have these amazing conversations about everything from philosophy to movies. He's incredibly intelligent. Granted, I've only ever dated very intelligent men. I crave great conversation. We sit and talk and then even more amazing things happen. Lately, I've found myself thinking about him a lot. Oh, no, inner me is nervous. Why is this happening? I considered not seeing him again. What if this rumbling gets stronger? Shit. I can't have this. This is weakness. Hitmen never care about their victims feelings. Then, he told me he thinks about me a lot. What? Honestly, I've put the thought of men actually having feelings out of my head, like it's an urban legend. A man caring about a woman is right up there with ghosts and guys running around with hooks for hands killing virgins. I'm used to guys telling me what they think about me on a physical level and it never gets any deeper. To a large extent, I've kept it that way. I might have thought at times that I wanted more, but I kept it at bay. Self preservation is a wondrous thing. So, why all of  a sudden  is this seeping into my thoughts? I'm nervous. But, giddy. I've reread his texts over and over. He says things that make my knees buckle. He said he thinks of me often and wants to see me more. He's said very romantic things that made me melt inside. This is dangerous territory. I could easily fall for him. I don't know what to do. I really can't have that.  The last one I fell for utterly destroyed me. I heard lyrics from Mumford & Sons today that perfectly explained how I'm feeling.
And my head told my heart
"Let love grow"
But my heart told my head
"This time no
This time no"

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

What it means to be a Fleming

  There's been a lot of sadness lately in the Fleming family. Even though Bob and I aren't together anymore, I'll always consider myself a part of his family. I was with them for 13 years. Imagine an only child raised by her grandparents getting meshed into a super large family full of lots of sisters and babies. It was culture shock at first. Then, I grew to love it. Of course, there was always something wacky going on. I've had my hardest laughs around them. It's pretty easy to sum up a Fleming family member. They will tell you exactly what's on their mind, but also give you the shirt off their back. They look out for each other most of all. Maybe that's what I grew to love the most. It was always total insanity, but it wouldn't have been right any other way. Lately, they've suffered some huge blows. My brother-in-law, Bill, passed away very recently. He was one of the best damn guys you've ever met. Everyone loved the shit out of him. He made everyone laugh like crazy. He was just a good man. Taken well before his time. For them to lose Bill was rough enough. The other night, my father-in-law, Bob, died. Many of the kids had a kind of ruptured relationship with him. He didn't make it so easy on them and things happened to make the relationships strained. Sometimes, losing someone you weren't on the best terms with makes their passing more difficult. Even though Bob and I are not together anymore, I still care deeply about him and his family. He was my best friend for 13 years. Our love may have grown apart, but he will always be that friend to me. To know he is hurting saddens me so much. I guess, I've grown a lot because I'm happy he has his girlfriend, Angela, to comfort him. When we first separated, it was very rough, I won't lie. But, it's helped shape who I am now. I'm a totally independent woman. Damn proud of that. They're very happy together and that makes me happy for him. Bob's a great guy and one of the best dads out there. I'm happy to have spent time as his wife. We created a beautiful boy and had a good marriage. Now, he's still my friend and family. That family is still my family. I love his sisters like they are my blood sisters. That will never change. I just want to take all their pain away. If you know a Fleming, then you know how great they are. I'm proud to still be one. I guess that's why I never changed my name back. I love the Griffith clan, but I never really knew them to well. I became a Fleming through good times and bad. I suffered and laughed with them. I watched babies be born and grow up, marriages come and go. The worst part is to see some leave this earth and the sadness they leave behind. If you know a Fleming, give them an extra hug. They need it.

Sunday, October 28, 2012

Murtaugh said it right, "I'm getting too old for this shit"

  I almost titled this "I kissed my apartment floor when I got home". After an insane night, I felt like it. My friend wanted to go out for her birthday. Having had a bad week, I tried to not go. Then, I felt bad and realized it was for her, so I went. Remind me never to do selfless things.
  After work, my friend, her cousin and her annoying on/again off/again boyfriend and his friend met at my apartment. They wanted to "pre-game". I had not idea what that was. Apparently, you drink obnoxiously before going out to drink. Let me set the scene- Shelly, completely blitzed and ready for whatever. Ian, her cousin and designated driver. The friends, drunk, one dressed in Halloween slut wear. Me, SOBER. I just wanted to leave and get the night over with. Finally, around 11:30, we left. We drive crammed into one car to River City bar. They were having their Halloween celebration. Only two of us were dressed up-girl and me as Rosie the Riveter. As we get there, Shelly declares that she left her license at my apartment. We drive the twenty minutes back to get it. Get back to the bar, and it's $20 dollars to get admission. I'll pay that much to see a concert or a good comedian. To get into a fucking bar in Wheeling? Hell, no. Shelly decided to go to the Owl's Nest bar, or bane of my existence. I hate that place. They notoriously steal people's credit card information. I just want to go home, as does Ian, but we tread on for Shelly.
  As we're walking back through downtown Wheeling, Shelly sees her friend's bar. It looks like it was a freakin' Bone, Thugs & Harmony reunion straight off St. Clair avenue in Cleveland. At this point, my mood was dwindling to pure annoyance and I flat out refused to go. One, I feared for my well-being. Two, I really dislike her friend. She acts like she's never met me every time I meet her. And, she once gave me love advice after telling me a story about hitting her boyfriend with a frying pan. Yeah, think I'll pass on this fun time. Shelly goes in alone to say "hi" to her friend while we wait on the street. Finally, she emerges and we walk back to find Ian's car. On the way, Shelly declares she can't find her i.d. Mine you, she's been dropping all her possessions like Hansel and Gretel with breadcrumbs. However, she insists someone didn't give her i.d. back. This becomes my silver lining. Without that i.d., she can't get in anywhere. But, having some drunken hope, she insists on trying to get into the Owl's Nest. It's almost one at this point. Girl wants to stop at her house and change out of Halloween slut outfit. Hey, what's more time? I've only been up since six in the morning. We finally get to the Owl's Nest and I realize there's no God, because they let her in without her i.d., despite my prayers. Does the night get better? No. I then run into this guy who was friends with my ex, Joe. We hung out a few times, played poker, watched movies. We were friends. One day, he declared his love for me. I explained that I didn't feel the same. He defriended me on Facebook. Flash to this night- drunken and angry at me, saying I wrote him a message saying he was an "asshole". Not true. I may think things about people, but I rarely tell them. I hate confrontation. So, it's VERY awkward. Eventually, I convince him I didn't write this and smooth things over a bit. This is after he looked me directly in my eyes and told me he thought he was a sociopath. Ian and I confessed our plan to escape to the car and text Shelly to ditch her friends. She had wanted to earlier, but now we were totally on board. Before it seemed rude, now it just seemed like a necessity. We get shielded by my sociopathic friend and make our escape. He stops me before I escape, asking "You're not going to ditch me are you? I need to pay my tab." Lying, I nervously shake my head and then Ian and I run. We hide in the car, repeatedly texting and calling Shelly. Normally, her phone is up her ass except for tonight. She's too busy being charmed by the local drunk who was buying her drinks. Twenty minutes later at two, she emerges. With friends. Plan fail. They all want to go to another bar. ANOTHER BAR! I'd had it. No, I want to go home. Ian did, too. He was sick of being a chauffeur. Thing one and thing two wanted to drink more. Assholes. Luckily, Shelly refused and we headed home. I say home because I stupidly offered a place for everyone to crash if they drank. Hindsight is twenty/twenty, right? Luckily, we dropped loud girl off at her house. We got home. I felt like kissing the damn ground of my apartment. Shelly and annoying guy took my bed, while Ian and I slept in the living room. In the morning, I woke up to an annoying droning noise that I thought was snoring. Nope, just this kid's super-annoying, monotone voice. Finally, he left. Thank God for Ian. He was my only saving grace that night. He kept my sanity. We suffered together like it was the battle of Normandy. We both love Shelly to death, but couldn't lie when she asked if we hated her friend. I might have elaborated on that fact too much. We do love her and that's why we suffered. It was all for her. We spent more time in the car than we did in any actual bars. Birthday girl had the front seat. I was wedged between monotone and slut wear, singing in my ears the whole ride. The whole night made me envision rolling myself out of the car at high speeds that we couldn't reach because so many of us were packed into this tiny car. I can totally laugh about it, but, at the time, it was hellish. Very reminiscent of Griffin Dunne in After Hours. Maybe next year, we can do something more enjoyable like hit ourselves in the head with hammers.

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Depressed, part 500

  I should call this blog "I'm so depressed". There's more depression that dating that goes on in my life. I just discovered that my ex's girlfriend has been setting up emails in my name. You know, I'm really trying to forget that whole chapter of my life. I don't even want to remember the good times with him. It needs to be completely eradicated from my mind. Last year, close to this time, I thought I might have breast cancer and found out the love of my life was cheating on me. Flash forward to now- the girl that knowingly cheated with that said love is harassing me. Why? Who knows? She won. She got him. They collectively destroyed me. Let it go. Let me move on. That's all I want. Leave me alone. I have a son that I want to be here for mentally and physically. At this point, he sees me cry a lot. I hate that. Enjoy also destroying a child's life with his mother? I can't move on if I'm constantly harassed. Honestly, it's not fair. But, life isn't fair, I know. It's like I'm in a grave and she keeps throwing dirt on me. Why he would want to be with an individual like that is beyond me. Why she's so obsessed with me is also mind-boggling. I'm just so sad and beaten down. I try to do the right things in life- be a good mom, bust my ass at work, be a supportive friend. Obviously, karma doesn't exist. She's living this great life and I'm being tortured by her. Where's the karma in that? So, congrats. You're also damaging a boy's life with his mother. He gets to see me cry a lot. I try not to, but sometimes I can't help it. How can I forget Patrick and move on if she's constantly reminding me? You'd think she'd want me to forget him. You'd think she'd have her own shit to do. Apparently not. I don't know how to resolve this. I just want to life my life not tethered to some evil person bent on hurting me for some unknown reason. I want to enjoy being with my son and not crying about some bullshit. He deserves better. So, please, for his sake, leave me alone. I know you're reading, LonelyGirl. However you feel about me, set that aside and bury it. There's a boy that needs his mom in mind, body and spirit. You're killing that spirit and it's not fair to him. He doesn't need to see what you're drudging up out of my soul. Move on with your life and let us move on with ours.

Monday, October 22, 2012

Next stop, tissue boxes on feet

  In the past few weeks, I've become rather reclusive. I don't want to go out and when I do, I'm kind of vagrant like. I leave off the makeup and wear my Gary Oldman glasses. I just want to stay home, read, watch tv and pin things on Pinterest. The only person I want to see is Viggo. Most of the time, I don't even want texts. I feel like telling everyone to fuck off. Who knows what's going on with me?This is quite possibly what a human bear entering hibernation must be like. Not a good thing. The other night, a friend wanted me to go out with her and a former co-worker. I enjoyed their company immensely. However, I didn't enjoy the bar atmosphere in Wheeling at all. In fact, I came home and cried. People were rude and I felt out of place like I was in high school again. I love my friend to death, but sometimes she's a little too blunt and hurts my feelings. We're at the bar while my other friend pays her tab. She sees a guy at the bar and says, "There's that Scottish guy you hit on once.". Thanks, I need reminded of being drunk and flirty and getting turned down. If I need to feel bad and be reminded of my faults, I'll just call my mom. As we're leaving the bar, some guys yells out "Hey, Peggy Sue" in reference to the pin-up look I was donning. I hate Wheeling. I never want to go out around here again. It's just not for me. I  also got mistaken for someone's mother by a very drunken boy. That made me want to die on the spot. My already withering self-esteem has been vanquished. The only people who have made me feel good lately are my friend, Brandi & my recent date, who I'll call, M. Brandi is always there with a supportive shoulder. She tells me nice things & threatens to demolish the souls of those who hurt me. My guardian from afar.
  I have great, stimulating conversations with M. He feeds my need to talk philosophy & life. Plus, he just makes me feel good. I was showing him pictures of the model Mosh, who I am currently obsessed with. Raving about her beauty, he interrupted saying, "You're very, very beautiful". I melted. Whether he was sincere or not, it didn't matter. I needed to hear it. Having never been one for stark reality or blatant truth, I'll take the compliment. I feel down and out of place. I'm hoping it's just the onset of winter coming.

Sunday, October 21, 2012

Cat lady or confirmed bachelor

  I've noticed a shift in my dating perspective. I'm not giving a shit. Previously, I would become totally emotionally embroiled in whatever real or imagined relationships I had going on. Now, I could care less. Sometimes, I'm like a man. I can hang out with a guy and leave late at night. I just calmly announce that I'm leaving. Some men seem offended or hurt. Like a woman. The other day I turned down a date so I could go home to read. TO READ. What is wrong with me? This is where the crazy cat lady part is coming out. I'm enjoying being alone. I watch a lot of "Cats 101" on Animal Planet. My only saving grace is that my complex doesn't allow pets. Otherwise, I would probably have 10 cats by now. It seems I'm fluctuating between confirmed bachelor status or crazy cat lady. Neither one is ideal. This doesn't mean I don't enjoy the company of men. I'm still me. I've had a couple of dates with a very intelligent great kisser. I'm eager to see him again, yet, at the same time, I'm not counting on it or expecting it. I've turned off some kind of emotion inside me. I don't care anymore. Like a regular guy. Don't jump my ass, I know all men aren't like that. But, admit it, the majority are. Love 'em and leave 'em. How is one ever supposed to find a relationship with this mindset? Maybe I'm not supposed to get into another one. Maybe this is my evolution. It could be called sociopath dating. Leave all emotions out. It's antiseptic and safe. I'll be at home later watching "My Cat From Hell" and reading.

Monday, October 15, 2012

Can I sleep with you, but not "sleep" with you?

  My friend was telling me about how she doesn't sleep well with her boyfriend in the bed. I jokingly said "Wouldn't it be weird if that was an indicator of how well your relationship was? If you couldn't sleep well together, then it's meant to be. If you sleep well together, then it's doomed." At first, we were joking. Then, as we both really thought back on past relationships, we realized there's something to it. I slept like a baby in Patrick's bed. We snuggled the whole time. It was glorious. We could even sleep on a couch together. Look at how that ended. The same with her previous relationship. Very cozy. Ended horribly. I didn't sleep that well with Bob. We lasted 13 years. I feel like going on dates now and asking if I can sleep in their bed without sleeping with them. Like a slumber party. I feel this won't go over too big with anyone. Guys seem to like the sex part. I could always pretend to be on my period. The ticket is to find that someone I can't sleep with. The worst person in the world to sleep with is Viggo. He throws his arms and legs around. He cracks you in the head. He hogs the bed. And he's the best thing on earth. This theory is fool proof. I'm not saying it works for everyone.  Please, don't shatter my illusions and tell me how well you sleep with your boyfriend/husband. I like my magical thinking. I play these games with myself all the time. Just go with it. I'm going to search for a man that I can't sleep well with and ride off into the sunset. This thought, Pinterest, Snyder's Hawaiian sweet onion potato chips, and my new ghost hunting app are the few things bringing me happiness at the moment. It all keeps me from thinking about how poor, lonely and out of shape I am. The scary thought is eventually trying to fit a man into my weird world. When I get home, I immediately strip out of my clothes into sweatpants. Then, I spend my night watching the I.D. channel, listening to stories of people who have murdered their loved ones. I fall asleep reading with the tv on. This is while wearing my glasses and tape on my forehead to prevent wrinkles. I lay down with my arms folded across my chest like Nosferatu and I'm off to sleep. Not exactly the picture of sexy. But, maybe we won't be able to sleep together and it will work out for the best.

Friday, October 12, 2012


This is the email I got yesterday from good, old LonelyGirl.
"Caught me.
I apologize if my comments made you feel offended. They were meant to be interpreted as tough love, because I care. I will stop commenting on your blog. I got the message. Forgive me. "
Are you kidding me? What a dick. First of all, YOU DON'T KNOW ME! Tough love? So, calling someone an idiot, slut, whore is tough love? I really hope she never has children. I feel I should just notify social services right now, Minority Report style. That's atrocious. Why this girl is so concerned with my life I'll never know. She went so far as to email a guy I went out with. That strikes me more as psychotic rather than concerned. Why the shit does she "care" about me? I could never be a celebrity. Can you imagine someone you don't know involving themselves in your life? Judging you as if they matter? I mean, I put it out there, so judgement will happen. It's cool. Everyone has their opinion. But, to say blithering bullshit like you care about someone after you scathingly insulted them takes some audacity. It truly does. I forgive a lot of shit. Hence, my life with my mother. She's blood. LonelyGirl is about as important to me as my UPS man. When I dyed my hair red, the UPS guy didn't like it. It kind of irked me, but then who gives a shit? Same here. It's like when I was little and my mom would say I was bad. I knew it wasn't true & she just said it because she had mental problems. When this one said I was an "idiot", I just thought "well, that's not true" & went about my day. I'm many things, but not an idiot. I guess I'm just baffled as to why she contacts me & who she is. I'm just not the type of person that people hate. In fact, I'm quite the opposite. People come into work all the time specifically seeking me out. People like my personality. I'm silly and have a goof-ass laugh. It would be like hating Amy Poehler or Natasha Leggero. You may not care for them, but you can't hate them. Obviously, this all stems from jealousy. I have a lot of love in my life. My friends are loyal and very caring. My son is the coolest kid ever. And, I spend a lot of time with attractive men. When they look like a blond Jake Gyllehaal, LonelyGirl gets really irked. Hate all you want. I may not have all the things I want, but that's life. What I do have is beautiful and I wouldn't trade it for the world. I may not have beauty or fame, but I have people in my life that make the day worth living. Sappy, I know, but it's true. LonelyGirl needs punched. I know a list of people that want to do it. And, I don't forgive you. You don't deserve anything.

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Be careful when you say "sir"

  In the early stages of getting to know someone, you're always feeling each other out. These days, it's mostly via text. We all know that texts can be misconstrued. I have found this out a few times. I like to  say "sir" jokingly like Peppermint Patty's friend. However, I've found that once you say that to a man, he can respond as if you're initiating some S&M thing. All of a sudden, you're getting called "slave" and getting weird responses. I'm not down with that. I never really understood that scene. I like some aspects of it, of course. I'm not a total prude. But, the idea of putting on a collar and losing my identity to be called "slave" is not happening. I remember discovering some things in an ex's drawer when we were first dating. I snuck a peak in a bedroom drawer. It was the first time in my life that I'd ever been high. Hanging tough in that drawer was a riding crop, butt plug and a  ball gag. Panicked, I immediately texted my friend, Amy. We surmised that I wasn't sure of what I saw. I mean, I was on a different planet at that moment. But, I didn't know him that well and I was afraid I was going to be made into a gimp like in Pulp Fiction or get some Ving Rhames attention. The decision was to go back downstairs and nonchalantly act like I didn't see anything. It worked. I got distracted thinking his cat was reading my mind. Later in the relationship, the riding crop was introduced. That was fine. Everyone likes spanking. But, the butt plug and ball gag? No. I don't see the purpose. Who wants to not be able to speak and have droll running down their face? And a butt plug. The only purpose I can see for that is if you have uncontrollable gas. Sexually, I don't want to know. Jesus, that's territory I don't want to explore like North Korea.
  The other night, I jokingly said "sir" in a conversation and it got weird. There was talk of "Master" all of a sudden. I couldn't figure out if he was referring to sadism or satanism. It got a little weird. Then, I realized he was just quoting Master Of Puppets by Metallica. Metallica I can do. If you worship a dark lord or have chains and ball gags, I'm out. I like experimentation, but I do draw a line, especially at being submissive. Maybe I'm too feisty for that. I like a man taking control, but I'm not licking any dog dishes for you. Ew, this is getting way too 50 Shades of Grey for me.

Thursday, October 4, 2012

I have a stalker

  If anyone has read my blog, they've probably noticed comments from LonelyGirl. At first, they were nice comments. She even wished me a happy birthday. They have since become increasingly nasty. Honestly, I don't know her identity. I'm 90% sure it's Patrick's girlfriend. The change seemed to occur after we hung out together a few months back. I'm sure she's suspicious of what went on and honestly, given his history, she should be. Regardless, it's weird that she continues to focus on me. It's pretty funny. She came out the winner in the situation but still thinks about me. Is this because he still has pictures of me on his phone or computer? Maybe. He does, anyway. It's just strange and the sign of someone with something not right in their head. I'm one of those people that generally everyone likes. I never have enemies. To have one now makes me laugh. She's going out of her way to contact people I know. Weird. Nothing better to do? Really? When I'm bored I get on Pinterest or Facebook. I never write hate emails or nasty blog comments. Of course, I'm not crazy. She must be a little jealous of me, also. Why would you focus on someone if that weren't the case? I don't know. It's not going to prevent me from writing or dating or whatever it is that she wants. I'm not different from other girls, I just candidly blog about my life.

Thursday, September 27, 2012

Hollywood movie

  I like to pretend my life is a Hollywood movie. Everything would be a lot more glamorous. I would be played by someone better looking-possibly Renee Zellweger or Michelle Williams. My dates would all be better looking, too. I like to keep my options open with lots of potential dates, so I always have a minimum of 3 guys that I message/text. So, let's pretend it's a Hollywood movie and I've actually found someone. We're going back in time ala How I Met Your Mother or that awful Ryan Reynolds movie with Rachel Weiz and Isla Fisher. Who do I end up with?
-Ned (played by Karl Urban). He's 26, works at part-time job and goes to school for something. Gimme a break, I haven't met him, yet. We have a lot in common and have a date coming up.
-Nelson (Ryan Gosling or Lee Pace). He's 34 has an adorable 4 year old daughter. He works as a technical editor. I don't know what that entails. I just roll with it. He's quite the gentleman and can cook like a fiend. Also, haven't met him. We text a bit.
-Nicholas (Jamie Dornan). In his thirties, works as company doing online publicity ( I think. I never pay attention to what people actually do for a living). He has a boy. We had one really great date. He took me to a hip bar, paid for everything and walked around with me. He gave me a hug and wants a second date.
-Rick (James Franco or Billy Corgan). He's 34 and works as some type of engineer. Has a dog and a hot tub. We talk incessantly on the dating website. He's flirty, but still a gentleman. I tend to like him the most which tells me he might be the worst for me. That's just from my general man experience. I get all giddy when he messages.
-John (Robert Downey, Jr.). He's 34, works part-time as a cook, suffered brain damage in an accident 5 years ago. Talks non-stop about sex, which can be quite exhausting. We talk a lot.
-Spacey (James Franco, a very dirty Tom Hiddleston or the fried pot guy from Cabin In The Woods). He's in his late twenties, owns a house, but doesn't work. He's really nice, but really fried. His house is straight up 1970's. Absolutely no aspirations in life, but amuses me.
  I think that's it for now. Seriously, who would you choose if you were me? I'm awful at this. I can't choose the right guy if my life depended on it. Do I give up now and become a nun or a cat lady? Is there any potential with any of these men? I'm in the dark here. I might as well try to solve the mysteries of the universe while I'm at it. Maybe I can pick the right guy and find out who killed Kennedy.

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Amelie, Emma and Erin

  One of my favorite movies is Amelie. Perfect from start to finish. Basically, a very sweet, French girl who tries to make everyone's life better but has no idea what to do with her own. Sound familiar? Yes, it's also the plot to Emma and my existence. My mom said when I was a baby I went around taking care of other kids. To say I have a big heart is an understatement. I'm always super-concerned with everyone's happiness to a ridiculous extent. I've been told I give really good love advice. Funny, because just like Amelie and Emma, I don't know what the shit I'm doing in my own love life. Why this is, I'll never know. It's like trying to analyze your own dreams. Friends always come to me with relationship advice and tell me I'm dead on with my assessments. Maybe I should be a relationship therapist. That's until I get on Dr. Drew or something and they question me about my own HOT MESS life. I'm pretty sure that they weren't hung up on a guy that cheated on them, either. I really need to shut it and move on. This is beyond stupid. I'm so sick of thinking about him, I can only imagine how everyone else feels when I bring him up.
  I've had friends offer to fix me up. Usually though, when that happens, the person is not attractive. It's always "Oh, he's so nice. You'll love him". Translation- he's not cute. Listen, we're all pretty shallow. Admit it. We like shiny, pretty things. I'm not saying I can't be attracted to someone not pretty. I've had relationships before based on things other than physical appearance. But, I'm like that fat guy that lives in his mom's basement. I'm going to ask the hot girl out in case it works. It's like the lottery. Shit, I might get a hit. Honestly, I think I'm to the point of accepting a set up date from someone. I obviously cannot make good decisions for myself. I need a love guru. A wrangler. Anyone want to be my Amelie? That's like asking if anyone wants to clean up the BP oil spill. I need Kevin Costner.

Saturday, September 15, 2012


  I think I'm officially confused by metrosexuals. I blame living in Wheeling, WV. I'm used to being around beer drinking, gun-toting gruff men. I can't recognize a normal metrosexual. I've been on dates with three of them to mistakenly think they were gay. Gay and not realizing it or gay and not wanting to admit it. I realize I'm, in fact, wrong about my assessments. Seeing a well-dressed, thin man with a not so deep voice has thrown me off. I called gay when they were only metrosexual. No wonder they kept looking at my breasts all night. They were straight! They kept texting me after our dates. BECAUSE THEY WERE INTERESTED! I'm a true dunce when it comes to men, I swear. But, of course, since they're well-adjusted men without hang ups and possible mental problems, I do not seem attracted. I think I'm turning a new leaf though. I'm starting to change. Maybe it's all the Doctor Who I've been watching. He fits the profile. Maybe I should give the metrosexuals a chance. I think I should pull a George Costanza and do the opposite of what I feel for a day and see where it gets me. It seemed to work for him. They seem to be interested in actually talking to me. It's refreshing for a change. I'd like to think there's some merit in talking to me. Like I said, I love having someone be attracted to me. I'm always amazed when anyone finds me attractive. But, when it's only that, it's empty. I think I have so much more to offer. The other day, I found myself just wanting to sit on a porch somewhere, drinking a pumpkin beer and talking to a man. Just talk. How great would that be? I feel like the molecules have changed. Change is happening. I can find what I want.

Monday, September 10, 2012

Hey girl....

  A good bit of my day was spent oogling a picture of Jon Hamm that my friend, Amy sent me. What's so unusual about me staring at Jon Hamm? Three facts- he's holding his girlfriend's hand, he's shopping and wearing some tight, revealing pants.  Could he be more perfect? Seriously. Damn. As if he wasn't attractive enough. I knew he was funny from being on SNL and various podcasts. Now, I have to accept that he's SENSITIVE AND WELL HUNG? Too much. He's dashing my man expectations. Normally, that's a literary thing. It probably started with Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights. Sensitive, brooding, manly man. Recently, women have had their perspectives skewed by characters like Edward from Twilight. He would do anything for Bella. Ridiculous. Men aren't like that. They're more like Mr. Big. They step all over your heart. I can't accept that there's some real world man who is this perfect. How am I supposed to accept regular men? I think the last guy to hold my hand was Herpes. It wasn't that sweet. It was probably self-serving. And, no offense to any former lovers/boyfriends but none of y'all even come close to Jon Hamm. And then there's Ryan Gosling. Don't even get me started. Half of the memes out there about him are true. Where are these men in real life? Do you think Ryan Gosling sends out penis pics? I think not! Do you think Jon Hamm's girlfriend tells him about her bad day and he responds with telling her how horny he is? NO. He's a damn gentleman. I can find sensitive men, but they apparently can't keep it in their pants. They drown their sorrows in another woman's vagina. It's bullshit. Oh, I meet sensitive men in real life. I suspect they're gay. So far I've been on two dates where my gaydar went bonkers. They couldn't take their eyes off my chest. I heard that gay men love boobs just as much as straight men. I'm confounded. I can't take these celebrity sightings. Chris Hemsworth cradling his newborn child. I need more pictures of a drunken Kiefer Sutherland with a rose sticking out of his pants or an angry Sean Penn. Reaffirm what dicks men are. With smaller penises, too. Dammit, Hamm. You've spoiled me!!!!

Thursday, September 6, 2012


  I've been profoundly depressed lately. Nothing is going right. I have no one to confide in. Men only want to talk about sex and women seem to hate my guts. I have a male sense of humor which doesn't coincide with women. I've offended two good friends with my sense of humor. It sucks. I try to talk to men, but they ONLY talk about sex to me. It never used to be this way in my relationships. I used to have male friends. I used to be able to talk to romantic interests about other things. These guys I've encountered lately only talk to me about sex. It's exhausting and depressing. I really love sex, but, damn, time and a place, bro. Men and women are hardwired very differently. Men have a bad day- solution? Masturbate. Women have a bad day- solution? Cry. I cried for two hours straight last night. I look like E.T. after a prize fight with Tyson. I tried talking to the guy I'm interested in last night. Every response was sex related. No joke. I'm exhausted and mentally drained. The LAST thing on a woman's mind after a rough day is sex. I just want to actually talk to someone. I'm SO depressed. So depressed. Ever waking second. The only time I seem to be happy is when I have V around. Everyone seems to hate me at work. I give up. I truly do. The only man who actually talked to me about something other than sex was Patrick. He was astonished at how depressed I was when we last talked. Oddly, he is the major cause of this depression. Vicious circle. I read a lot and sleep a lot. I try not to think. To be the five billionth girl to quote Florence Welch- " I can never leave the past behind". Every day, I tell myself that I'm going to "bury that horse in the ground". I can't recover. I can't get past anything. Honestly, I'm probably just hung up on Patrick because he's the last man to listen to me, hold me, look at me compassionately and desire me all at the same time. Now, I get desired. That's it. Which, I love, at times. When you have low self-esteem, being desired is very great. It's empty, though. I get many texts from men and here is the extent- penis pics, middle of the night calls desiring sex, attempts to get me into bed and sex talk. My soul is so lonely. I miss Amy, Bethany, my grandparents, Patrick, seeing Viggo everyday, happiness, looking forward to something. I miss feeling good. All I have is escapism. I'm running from myself. Moving back to West Virginia was the absolute worst decision I've ever made in my life. I lost my marriage and child. The only benefit was making new friends, most of which I never see and the ones I do, dislike me. It is what it is. I'm trying to change the circumstances.  That's all I can do. For now, I'll just cry a lot, sleep a lot more, and read to escape.

Thursday, August 30, 2012

We all knew this was coming- I think I'm Samantha

  Recently, I've been watching a lot of Sex and The City reruns. I, like probably 90% of women, loved the show. When it originally aired, I was married with very limited experience. Sadly, now, I'm living every episode. Of course, every girl wants to think of what character she connects with the most. We all want to be Carrie. Men, shut it, I know you think she's hideous, but we women find her attractive. We love Carrie's fashion sense and quirky sense of humor. She's a fucking cool character. She's a writer for a living! My dream!
  Not too many girls want to be Charlotte. She's pretty and classy, but a prude and sometimes a ditz. Probably only 2% of women want to be Miranda. She's a bitch and not that hot. I don't know what percentage wants to be Samantha. In fact, I'm making up these percentages. However, I feel I've become Samantha. Sometimes guys will text me and I have to think for a minute who they are. I've taken all emotional attachment out of my dating life. I exclusively date younger men. I'm Samantha. The only difference is her body is rocking and she has a high paying job. I'm Samantha in the real world. Can't I be Carrie? C'mon. Everyone tells me I'm fashionable. I have a gold necklace of my name. Jesus, Samantha just gave out advice that sounds like something I once said. I'm Samantha. On the bright side, I got through a toll road the other day with not enough money. The guy was young and very handsome. He put in the rest of the change for me. That's Samantha clout. Carrie would've dropped her change all over the road like some goof-ass and never reached her destination. I'd better just enjoy being who I've become. Let's play a fun game called me or Samantha. Creepin' on a priest? Uncomfortably hits on friend of a friend's friend? Beds a twenty-one year old? Throws a melon at two bitchy girls smashing a window? Pukes up carrots and vodka? If you could guess the answer to any or all of these, you need to devote your time to something more productive than my blogs and reruns of Sex and The City. Although, we are both fabulous.

Sunday, August 19, 2012

I think I just broke up with my one day boyfriend

  After my last date, even though I puked, it didn't spoil things. In fact, the other night I had a weird text interaction with my date. We talked about his love of popcorn, the television show 24 and how he really likes me. Now, I don't necessarily think he's always on this particular planet when he talks to me, but I just roll with it. He wanted to know if I'd seen any other guys since we had our date. He was very curious to know if I was hanging out with anyone. He was curious to know what he was to me- a potential boyfriend, just a good time, or what. I didn't know what to say. I'm in love with love and ready to commit in a heartbeat, but no way in hell will I tell a guy that. Better to lie to myself and all men than get hurt. I kept it aloof. By the end of the conversation, I kind of wondered if I had just snagged a boyfriend. I'm telling you, magic vagina. I should patent this thing. Just kidding.
  Today, I suggested we hang out after work. He seemed to be agitated that I didn't answer my phone at work and things kind of went downhill from there. We talked on the phone for a bit and he mentioned a girl that he had been talking to from the website (hmm, sounds familiar) called him today. They had been trying to plan a date for months. Um, why tell me this? I have no idea. We ended our conversation and I thought, what the shit. It brought up a lot of bad memories for me. The last time I had competition for a man it was for Patrick and I lost. I wanted to think that I wasn't affected by what he did to me by cheating, but, I'll be damned if I'm not. I quickly texted this boy and told him I was out. Not good with competition. He's a little perplexed, to say the least. It's time to pull the troops in and retreat before any losses are suffered. I'm pretty sure my next step in life is hoarding or an insane asylum. I'm not going down a good path. I'm terrified. Patrick damaged me more than I can even believe. It's weird because Bob also cheated, and completely uprooted my life, but it wasn't as painful. Not seeing Viggo is more painful, but I eventually dealt with my hurt feeling for Bob. Not with Patrick. Not at all. I sooooo wish Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind was a reality. I'd do it in a heartbeat.

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

I must look like a Jezebel whore

  Judging by the messages that I get on the dating website, I've come to the conclusion that I must look like a Jezebel, whoring hizwhore. I just got a message yesterday from a guy telling me he just got out of a relationship and wants to try some "no strings attached" sex. He wants someone who has been with more than one person. What? So, I don't know if it's my age or how I look or what. Regardless, I seem to be the go-to girl for sex? You can state on your profile what you're looking for- long term relationship, short term, casual sex, penpals, etc. Mind you, mine does NOT say casual sex. I just have dating listed. Dear God, why am I suddenly everyone's Mrs. Robinson? Has to be my age. Admittedly, I'm not the most chaste lady, but I'm not here to educate or experiment. I'm probably the one person out there looking for true love (which I'm sure is dead).
  I do sometimes get very sweet messages. I had one the other day that said "You look like you just walked out of my dreams. In all honesty if I could build the perfect woman, I'd simply nod in your direction". I admit, I was quite charmed by that. He, however, was not someone I'd be interested in. Figures. On a daily basis, guys in their early twenties message me with salacious requests or offers to "show me a good time". I just want a nice date. Is that too much to ask? I'm guessing that it's a young guy's fantasy to be with someone older. Do other women my age get these same messages? I feel like starting a support group. Granted, I date younger guys. Only because the guys my age look like either Louis C.K. or Larry The Cable Guy. One tends to gravitate to the attractive, younger gentlemen in that case. Also, I've discovered that even guys in their 30's and 40's are only looking for sex, too. Why not at least date the more attractive age group? It's pretty much a lost cause. Patrick was a fluke. I fell in love and dated and was blissfully happy for a year. Fluke, unicorn, will never happen again.

Saturday, August 11, 2012

Just call me Carrot Puke

  My last post was about giving guys nicknames. I'm sure after my last date, I should be given one-Carrot Puke. First, some back story.
  I met this guy online right after my break up. We've texted back and forth for some time now. He's very offbeat, so the communication was never frequent or normal. So, for the first time, we decided to actually hang out.
  I made it to his house after getting lost and threatening to myself to just go home. He didn't give me his exact address for fear that I didn't really look like my picture. Apparently, this happens on dating sites. People misrepresent themselves. He said he's had three nightmare dates-one bald, one 300lbs and one toothless. Eventually, I made it. His house was glorious- straight out of the 1970's. I mean, down to the appliances. It was great. I felt like I was transported back to my childhood. I don't know what the story is behind how he came to own this house. I never ask many questions. Can't get too attached.
  With little money and boredom being a factor, we decided to drink vodka. Yeah, I know. I don't handle my alcohol that well. That became evident when I began puking. Carrots. I ate a bunch of carrots on the way up. But, he was very sweet and gave me a garbage can, blanket and cleaned me up.  I took a after puke nap on his couch. I woke up at one point to his nineteen year old neighbor sitting on his other couch. "Hi", I declared all cheery. Mind you, there was no air conditioning. So, the air had to smell of barf. I recovered later, felt like crap the next day. I, oddly, had a great time. He did, too. He's different- very laid back and not concerned about the average things in life. So, it's a nice change for me. I spend all week working my ass off, being stressed. It's a nice respite. So, time with Viggo and getting out of the house are my only salvation. Spending time in a 70's house with a laid back guy was very nice. Even if it had no air conditioning, toilet paper and I puked.

Tuesday, August 7, 2012


  I've decided that the best way to emotionally detach myself from dating is to give men nicknames. Whether you're just talking to them via text or messages or if you've actually been on a date, it's the best tactic. If I just call a man by his name, then I might place some seriousness on the relationship and when it doesn't work out, I'm hurt. Can't get that hurt if you give them a dopey name. Plus, it's very amusing and I must constantly entertain myself. It all started years ago when I met my friend, Eric, aka High Five. We had two dates, at the end of each he high-fived me. Yep, High Five. It's to the point where my friends don't even know his real name. We once told him his nickname and it made him sad. Luckily, he was drunk and doesn't remember. We're friends now, it's all good.
  I've even inspired my friends to do the same. We know a relationship might work out if the guy isn't given a nickname. Patrick, oddly, was never given one. Oh, hindsight, that name should have been "soul taker" or "heart evisceration specialist" or maybe just "whore". A good friend of mine never gave her guy one and they've been together for a year. I don't see any of my shit working out, so let the nicknames fly!
  Currently, there's Herps. We've had a couple of dates that seemed to go really well. All until he developed a rash near his man parts, freaked out and insinuated that I gave him herpes. You can imagine how well that conversation went. "Well, you're a complete dick and I didn't give you herpes because that's not something I have". Thanks for thinking I'm a dirty whore. It was actually a rash or something like it. He apologized profusely and I forgave him. Only, now he's known as Herps. Learn what things look like, dude. It's the age of Google.
  Another guy I'm talking to has been deemed Meatbus, due to the fact he told me he was hauling home meat on a bus. Took him three trips. I haven't given one guy a nickname, but it will never be serious. He's got his shit together. He deserves the respect of an actual name. Part of how much of a fuck up you are also determines your nickname status. If you don't get a nickname, you may also end up in my phone as number. I have a lot of Dude 1 and Dude 2. Sadly, I can't remember who some of them were. Usually guys who you text a bit with but never end up actually meeting. I swear I have two guys named Chase 1 and Chase 2 and I don't ever remember a Chase 2. This is depressing. It means I'm not making connections, sometimes deliberately. Maybe I'm evolving into a man. Taking out all of my emotional caring and just hanging out when I want to have a good time. Geez. Shoot me now. This sucks. I don't want to be that person.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Hello, I'm the Doctor

  There's been a ridiculous amount of Doctor Who viewings in this apartment lately. I suggested to Viggo that he might like the show, and voila, he became obsessed. I'm quite all right with that, having loved the show since childhood.
  The Doctor is quite a lonely character. He has a bevy of companions, but always ends up alone. It made me see a metaphor to dating. I feel like the Doctor. I've had companions be with me in the Tardis of life. But, alas, just like the Doctor, I end up alone. Sometimes we pine for the ones who got away and we can't forget (Rose or Patrick). Lots of times, it's like Martha- they travel with you for awhile, but then move onto their own lives. Then, you're alone, looking for adventure, getting hunted by Daleks. Oh, wait, I can't identify with that part. I work 45 hours a week, so I guess that's close enough. I realized how sad his existence is when he's alone. How sad my existence is when I'm alone. Maybe we're just always supposed to shuffle through different companions, never traveling with just one. They may be with you for some time (Bob) or they may be short-lived like Donna Noble or any of my recent encounters. Somewhere out there, is my River Song. Someone who knows all about me and greets me with a "Hello, sweetie". Someone who would sacrifice the universe to keep me around. Ok, no one is going to be that enthused about me, but you get the point. Who knows? I think I think about it too much. Seriously, I'm one step away from writing fan fiction. Get a life, lady.

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

When in doubt, play possum

  I had another horrendous date the other night. He came to my apartment to meet me. Normally, I wouldn't do that, but I'm very low on gas and didn't want to drive to Pittsburgh. It was another case of knowing within five minutes that it wasn't going to wasn't going to work. He was a nerd. Weird laugh, glasses nerdy, nerd. I knew to endure the night, I was going to have to drink. I really didn't get drunk, only pretended to. That's where my fine acting skills came into play. After we watched True Blood, I pretended to be very sleepy, hoping he would get the hint. He didn't. In fact, he tried to put the moves on me big time. He kept talking about staying over. Dear God, no, I thought. In fact, I said prayers like "Sweet little baby Jesus, please get this guy out of here". Finally, I resorted to playing possum. Or drunk possum. I pretended to be so drunk that I fell asleep. For awhile, it didn't work. When I would "wake up", he was still there, staring at me. After a good long, fake snooze, he got the hint. It also took me flat out saying I was going to bed, alone, and under no conditions would "snuggle" with him. Goddamn. I was never so happy to get someone out of my apartment. I'll never make that mistake again. Only meetings in public, easy to escape places. It also proved to me that any man who is eager to make a date has something wrong with him. I'll stick to these dickhead douchebags. At least they're entertaining and attractive. I didn't realize how underrated that was in a man.

Friday, July 20, 2012

Someday cats will eat my face

  I love when my period comes around and self-pity and sadness overwhelm me. It's the old, I'll be alone forever. I'm convinced I'll never find another man and live with cats who will eat my face when I die. I can tell you right now, none of my second dates are going to work out. They suck. I don't want a second date with any of them. I hate the players and the game. They're a bunch of jackasses. This dating site is bullshit, too. I had one guy send me a message. Normal, hey, how are you. We're making small talk. Then, he says something about being in a cheap hotel with his on-again, off-again. Says he's not sure what to call her since it's always changing. Gee, I think I see the problem. SHE'S CALLED A GIRLFRIEND! Maybe you have problems because you're on a DATING WEBSITE. GIRLS DON'T LIKE THAT IN A BOYFRIEND. I mean, I'm not Freud here, but that could cause problems. Jackass. The only guy I enjoy talking to seems to live too far away. Figures.

Friday, July 13, 2012

Will I ever land a 2nd date?

  Recently, I've had three first dates that went well, in my opinion. Men are so hard to judge. I still have contact with all three guys, so I'm assuming this might lead to a second date. The first date was well over a month ago. We talked for hours and walked around. Then, he went to Beirut for vacation.
  The second date was Mars Volta t-shirt if you've read any previous blogs. I'll fully admit our date was a blur but I remember a great time. He is tentatively attending the Doug Benson show with me late this month.
  The third date was with a very handsome man. Runs his own business, lives on the South Side, pulled my chair out for me. Obvious selling points with me, especially that handsome part. We all know I really don't give a shit about money. I don't have and don't expect anyone else to have it either. So, it is odd for me to even be on a date with a guy that's "good on paper". The date went really well, but I drank and vaguely remember sleeping through/watching Shooter with Mark Wahlberg.( He starred in the movie, I didn't actually watch it with Marky Mark).
 I've been trying to judge via text whether or not they're interested. I'm really in the dark here. I'm guessing they are due to the fact that we are in contact. But,then, I responded to the Israeli guy who I didn't want to see again just to spare his feelings. Are these guys as nice as me? No, I doubt it. Guys, on the whole, look out for their own intentions, at least in the dating game. One of them is actually mature, but who knows if that will help. I just want a second freakin' date. Sweet pete, why is this so difficult? Seriously. It makes me get to a weird, mental fork in the road. One way, I give up on dating and save some sanity (and dignity). The other way, I just up the ante and date more guys. I mean, it's like the lottery, you have to play to win. Man, who says these things? Me and 70 year old lottery ticket buyers. Strangely, I'm actually giving less of a shit if I don't get a second date. I think it's more the principle than actually wanting another date. They're cool guys, but, geez, they're not fucking George  Clooney. Not exactly head over heels over anyone I've met. Or, maybe I'm subconsciously keeping myself from feeling anything. That way you don't get hurt. Last time I fell in love, my heart was destroyed and never returned to normal. Is anyone worth that? I guess I just want a second date to see where something could go.

Thursday, July 5, 2012

The best day of the year

  It might be weird to post about your child on a blog devoted to dating, but I don't care. If there's one male human being that keeps me going, it's this guy. Honestly, if it weren't for him, I wouldn't be here. He's the only one who gives me the ability to wake up everyday. It's so hard to believe that he's eight. When we first met, I wasn't automatically in love. I was too freaked out. Plus, I had postpartum depression. Who knows if women are even being truthful about loving their babies at first sight. I was more concerned with whether he was normal and hearing the doctor say "I'm going to sew you up now". That's heavy shit. Love isn't on your mind. But, I did come to love him. When he grunted as he ate. When he looked into my eyes. Now, he's his own little person, full of ideas and interests. Maybe I spoil him a lot. Then, we argue at fourth of July fireworks celebrations because he wants me to buy him a lightsaber after I've spent all my money on his birthday. Good times. But, I stop and look at him. His beautiful smile, his absolute craziness (surely inherited from his mother), those gorgeous eyes. I love this boy to the depths of my soul. I suddenly become full of love, gratitude and happiness. That's something no one else on earth has ever or will ever give to me. For that, I'm eternally grateful to him. He has no idea. I may be a jackass when it comes to mothering, but underneath it all is an undying love for this boy. July 5th is always the best day of the year.

Wednesday, July 4, 2012

Probably two lonely nights away from

Yeah, is starting to look good. I might have to have an awkward I-don't-know-if-I-believe-in-God discussion, but would it provide a man? Would he be looking for more than sex? I'm very intrigued. By intrigued, I must mean desperate. This is by no means meant to be disparaging to my faithful friends. I quite admire someone who has faith. I've just lost mine. Sometimes, like Fox Mulder, I really want to believe. Most times, reality just slaps me in the face and I can't. Probably a childhood of having religion shoved down my throat didn't help. In fact, I get quite excited on the regular dating site when someone says they're atheist. We can talk Richard Dawkins without an argument and he will never bring up cavemen riding on dinosaurs with a straight face. I feel like I would sizzle if I walked into a church at this point. And, I'd rather take my naps at home instead of a pew. Basically, I'd be a raging hypocrite if I joined this Christian dating site. 
  There's a super hot guy that comes into our store that we've dubbed "Hot Jesus". Long hair and biblically gorgeous. I declared if Jesus looked like him, the churches would be flooded with broads. I'd be in the front row like a Magic Mike premiere, declaring "Amen!". Alas, he's just a regular man with a girlfriend. I encountered a really hot Satanist recently, too. Don't think I could get on board with that, though. There should be a dating website called I' Until then, I'll just stick with what I have. Maybe something will pan out. Currently, I have two potential second dates in the works (what?!) and one potential first date. It's like rolling dice. I should also take up gambling. Combine all my vices. New date is with a lacrosse coach/actor who is very good-looking. Still hoping for a second with either Mars Volta/R.Pat lookalike or Joe #2. We're not even going to talk about the whole Patrick clusterfuck. Moving on. 

Friday, June 29, 2012

Mars Volta t-shirt is my rat fur hat

  Last night, I had a fantastic date. We went out to the South Side in Pittsburgh. Went to see a friend of his playing a show at midnight. Great band, can't remember their name. Before the band came on, we bar hopped and got some food. It was a fun night. He was very easy going. And, I'm always easy going. Good combination. We played darts and drank. Just a lot of fun. Maybe a LOT of fun. Wink, wink. I wore a dress on this date, so I didn't want to do a "walk of shame" the next morning. He was gracious enough to lend me a t-shirt, which he declared was his favorite. It was super-tiny. He insinuated that it might not fit & I got offended thinking he was implying I was pudgy. He admitted he was referring to it not fitting because he thought I had big boobs. Oops. I'll take that any day. I paired that tiny, Mars Volta t-shirt with a pair of huge jean shorts. I slept in that outfit and made sure I walked out wearing it. You may remember a very funny Seinfeld where George purposefully left a rat fur hat in a woman's apartment to ensure a second date. Yep, that Mars Volta t-shirt is my rat fur hat. Hey, I don't get men. I don't know what it takes for a second date. Probably not sleeping with them on the first. But, no use shutting the barn door after the horse is out, right. By barn door, I must mean vagina. I liked him. He looked like the bastard son of Robert Pattinson, Michael Pitt and Michael Shannon. He was very tall, mmmmm, I like tall. Plus, we got along so well in all areas. What's wrong with wanting a second date? Either way, it's a win-win for me. If he makes a second date, my fur hat trick worked. If not, I got a sweet t-shirt.  I always come away with something collectors items from my encounters with men. My best gain was a tiny video camera. Most of the time, I get some sweet shirts or shorts. I should seriously reconsider becoming a lesbian. Can you imagine the haul I might come away with? It might be glorious.