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.