Waxing and Wayne-ing - Part 1

This story will probably not make you laugh. Even Jim Carey tried serious acting once so what the hell. I will still, as always, inject my unique personality into the telling of this tale. The question has been asked “Whatever happened to Wayne from the blog “Setting the Bar Low”? It’s probably not what you expect, but like all my other blogs, this is a true story.

Several months after leaving the bar and Wayne far behind I’m talking to a good friend of mine on the phone (who just happens to be Wayne’s mother) and she tells me that Wayne is temporarily staying at her house because his dad fired him. And since he didn’t have a job his dad also threw him out of the apartment he was renting from him. Nice. Not sure why she was telling me but OK. Then she said he wanted to talk to me for a minute.

Crap, OK……

He asked me how I’ve been, what I’ve been up to. Small talk. I, of course, asked about the girlfriend and he insisted she was gone. After a few minutes of chatting he asked what I was doing for the evening. When I told him nothing he asked to come over. Sure, I’m a sucker, why not? The crazy thing is he came over that night and stayed. For more than two years. Really some of the best two years of my life if I care to admit it. He found another job quickly and we just sort of fell into this rhythm.

After about two months of him staying at my house every night it dawned on me. Shit, I’m living with somebody. I better tell my mother.

I didn’t mean to get into a relationship. After my divorce I vowed to never let a man treat me like the gum on the bottom of his shoe again and I would do that by just not letting another man get close to me. But he opened doors, took out the trash, always put gas in my car, was affectionate, my kids loved him and he lit up like a Christmas tree every time I walked through the door. And yes, eventually, bought me the most beautiful diamond engagement ring I had ever seen. That’s why when he called me one evening on his way from work and told me he wasn’t coming home, ever, I was in total shock. Said he had to find himself and make sure that he was “man enough” to be married and be a step-father. I believed him and let him have his space. What a FOOL I am!

We would talk on the phone from time to time, cry together and he would tell me how much he still loves me. I would tell him to just come home and that we would figure all this out together. But he insisted that he was doing the right thing for “us” and that we needed to stick this out.

Not even two months go by from the time he left when I get a call from a mutual friend. She wanted to know if I had heard the news. What news? Wayne got married over the weekend.

WHAT THE FUCK?

No, I certainly had not heard this news and was none too happy to hear it now. How the hell could this be? I still had ALL his stuff at my house. We still had a checking account together. He was on my car insurance. The cable was still in his name. My head was spinning.

My world just fell apart.

Part 2 to be posted on 12-23-2010.

All Day Suckers

Men are suckers. Don’t get me wrong, women can be too. We’re just suckers for different things. There is a reason one of the bestselling books for years was “Men are from Mars…” Almost all the men I know and most of the ones I don’t can be convinced of almost anything if they think a piece of ass will be involved. Us women? We’re a little more sentimental, but for the most part I think that we’re not as different as we may seem. Sometimes.

For instance, I’m a sucker and I know it. I’ve been told so time and time again. (You know who you are) This gets me thinking. Why as a woman do I settle? Is it because I was once told stories about Prince Charming as a little girl and realized as I got older that he was never going to show up? Maybe, but I’m pretty sure Prince Charming is gay anyway.

My PERFECT vision of a man? Tall, has some meat on his bones, looks fantastic in a pair of jeans AND a cowboy hat, has a goatee that frames his killer smile, knows how to treat a lady in AND outside of the bedroom but is still fits right in with the boys. Let’s also not forget romantic, affectionate, can make me laugh, oh and drives a truck. But do I you think that I have ever dated this guy? NO! And why is that do you ask? Because he doesn’t exist! And if by some miracle he did, he certainly wouldn’t be interested in big women.

So, I settle. And not just for some Joe Schmo down the street. No, I’ve got to search Craig’s List for a guy who is in town for three days and wants me to meet him at his hotel room because to a man that’s reasonable. He gets his night of thrills and then gets to go home and forget your name. (FYI, no I did not meet a man in his hotel for the evening, but don’t think that doesn’t mean that I haven’t been offered, and actually the guy who did make this proposition turned out to be a really nice guy who I’ve been friends with online for a few years now but, trust me, he is the exception to the rule.)

I truly DON’T think I’m picky. As you can read from my other blogs I’m willing to give most men the benefit of the doubt even though most of the men I’ve dated don’t deserve this. I think I’m pretty low maintenance. (Although I’ve never dated me so how would I really know?) What I can’t settle on is if you’re an idiot. Maybe you don’t know you’re an idiot. I know we all think we’ve turned out pretty good but trust me it won’t take long for me (or my friends for that matter) very long to figure it out. Which I guess is where the problem starts. So maybe I don’t settle quite as much as I am accused of and so maybe that does make me picky then. But really, when it comes down to it, I just want someone who makes me happy. Regardless of size, height or even whether or not he has hair. Isn’t that what everyone wants?

Guess I’ll just keep waiting and taking my chances with the next guy that comes that comes along that is brave enough to give me a try. Unless of course you know my tall, truck driving cowboy. In that case? Send him my way. I’ve got plans for him.

I'm a proud member of the International Fainting Goat Asssociation

Young love. Isn’t it so exciting to do things together for the first time? The first time you touch, the first kiss, the first time you make love and let’s not forget the first holiday where you meet all the family and friends.

“Tyrone” and I had been dating for a few years and he decided that he was going to invite me to his mom’s house for Thanksgiving. Tyrone’s family was wonderfully accepting of me which you don’t always find when two people in love are from different cultures and they always treated me with love and respect so it helped a little with the nerves I had about going over.

We walked in the door and it was a whole house filled with people. None of which I really knew so it felt like I had just walked onto a different planet. Apparently everyone else felt like that too because everyone stared at me as I walked in. I stuck out like a sore thumb since I was the only white face in the crowd. I was ready to dash for the door.
Tyrone assured me that everything would be fine just to give it time. So we found a spot on a couch and attempted to join in on a conversation that was already in progress. The problem? The person talking had a really thick Jamaican accent and I had no earthly idea what she was talking about. So I just sat there quiet and just kind of stared. I might as well have had a giant mole on my face and drooled, because I’m sure that’s how stupid I looked. All I could do is pray that we would eat soon. At least that is something everybody does the same and I wouldn’t feel so awkward.

Finally the time for dinner rolled around. I had never been so relieved in my life! It was a beautifully typical Thanksgiving Feast. Turkey, ham, green beans, stuffing, cranberry sauce and then I came across a dish I had never seen before. It had a yellowish hue, looked kinda mushy and not very appetizing. I leaned over to Tyrone and said “what is that?” When he replied “curried goat” I almost fainted.

I mean look at me. I’m a big girl. I’m not afraid of food. I’m not even afraid to try new or exotic foods. I’ve tried eel, octopus and yes even gator tail but I am not eating a fucking goat.

Well needless to say that ruined the meal for me. I was afraid to eat a single bite of anything. Afraid of what other innocent farm creatures might be lurking in the recipe. I patiently waited for Tyrone to finish his feast with his family and friends and then I did finally dash for the door.

When we got outside his brothers were already outside. They were evidently done with their barnyard buffet when Tyrone turned to me and said “are you OK? You don’t look so good.” When I told him that the goat freaked me out his brothers burst out laughing, practically rolling on the ground. I’m sure they were thinking that’s what you get for bringing over a white girl. So, on that note I decided it was time for me to leave. I thanked Tyrone for the invite and happily drove home to a normal Thanksgiving meal.

Now that Tyrone is out of the picture I’m much more relaxed to have a traditional Thanksgiving feast with my friends and family. Bring on the fried turkey, homemade mashed potatoes oh and let’s not forget the strawberry margaritas! I think I’ll raise my glass for a toast. I wish wealth, health, love and laughter to all I love and leave the goats alone.

Lowering the Bar

Everybody has done the bar scene. It’s what you do with the bar scene that decides if you love it or hate it. Me? Never thought you’d ask. I love it and hate it. You didn’t think it would be any different did you?

One of my dear friends has a son. We’ll call him “Wayne.” Wayne’s mom didn’t particularly like his girlfriend at the time but absolutely adored me and was trying to set us up. So Wayne invites me to the bar to hang out with him. I, in normal circumstances would not think this is a good idea, but since his girlfriend happens to be the bartender I assume everything is on the up and up and I accept the offer.

I pull up to the address and immediately get onto the phone with my best friend because I know she knows every bar this side of the Mississippi and maybe more. I say "Wendy, I’m not in the right place. This is not a bar, it’s a bait shack.” She asks me if this particular car is in the parking lot and when I tell her yes. She tells me I’m in the right place.

Now I’m scared.

So I get my nerves up and walk in. The place is tiny. And it’s definitely a hole in the wall. There are only 5 or 6 barstools and 3 of them already got butts parked on em. I notice also as I enter that the 3 men are talking about shaving legs because one of them calls over to me and asks me if I shave my legs. When I tell him “often” he’s intrigued enough to ask if he can see. I politely show him I’m wearing pants and go sit next to Wayne.

Turns out Wayne is a pretty good conversationalist AND a pretty good listener. We sit and talk for awhile sharing jokes and stories until the girlfriend tells him she’s leaving and that she’ll swing by his place later and kisses him good bye. I assume that at this point he’s leaving since the girlfriend is taking off and go to pay my tab. He tells me he’s staying and asks if I will too. Well the girlfriend saw me there, so again, I agree. We continue to talk, laugh and shoot the shit when all of a sudden I feel my leg being lifted from the barstool. WTH? The guy from earlier, the one who asked me about shaving my legs. He’s hiking up my pants leg to check it out himself. OMG. Thankfully Wayne shoos him away and we go on about our evening.

Midnight comes rolling around and I decide it’s time for me to go. Wayne asks me if I would come home with him. Ummmmmm, what? I kindly remind him that he HAS a girlfriend. To which he replies, “don’t worry, she won’t be there.” I once again nicely remind him that when she left she said she WOULD swing by later and when she did then what? He tells me that if she shows up then she’ll just have to find somewhere else to park. Ahhhh yes. The drunken reasoning of a horned up man at a bar. I explain to him that I don’t really think that the issue is parking and quickly walk myself to the car.

The best thing about the evening though? I had a fantastic time and I learned not to judge a crappy hole in the wall bar by its bait shack cover. You just never know the fun you can get into when you step inside. My advice though before you go? Make sure you shave your legs.

As for whatever happened to Wayne? That’s a LONG LONG LONG, story better to be left for another day and another blog.

Broke Fake Illegals and Other Men I'd Like to Avoid

So I am certainly not once to dispense any meaningful dating advise. Especially since I can barely get a man to poke me with a ten foot pole much less want to lie next to me every night while I fall asleep. But I will tell you a few don’ts that I have personally learned and a few more tidbits of good advice that I have been given by friends. So on that note here is what I know. You can’t date me if…….

You call before the first date and ask if we can go Dutch.

You talk like Elvis, look like Hitler & call yourself “Batman”.

You tell me that you think my best friend’s daughter is “stunning”.

You send me random pictures of your penis without my asking.

You want to go out with me because I am a legal U.S. citizen and you need a green card.

You tell me that you love me by the second time we IM on Yahoo.

You call, text and leave me voicemails 37 times in one day.

You ask me if I would consider a threesome. With one of your family members.

You stand me up on our first date and get pissed off when I won’t give you a second one.

You tell me you want to have the “anal” discussion.

You can’t or won’t give me your phone number or home address.

You ask me when you get to my house if you can borrow some gas money.

You ask me if I would mind if your mom came along on our date because she doesn’t get out of the house nearly enough.

You aren’t of legal age to buy me a drink.

You have a great looking facebook photo but when we video chat you look completely different. My facebook photo is really me and current. Yours should be too.

Your armpits smell like rotten onions and your hair color can be found in a rainbow.

You ask me inappropriate questions about my children and their clothing.

You have been convicted of more felonies than years you have been alive.

I’m sure the list could go on and on. And I’m sure, as I’m forcibly continued to date because that special someone has not decided to show himself yet, the list will continue. On and on and on and on….. well you get the point. So here’s one last tidbit of advice. Ladies if the man you are dating has done any/all of the above, RUN. Men if you think any one or combination of these are acceptable. Don’t call me. I’ve got enough problems.

I Guess There is a Super Sized Slave for Every Tiny Tyrant

If you haven’t dated in awhile, don’t. I highly recommend against it. There are a lot of wackos out there. I’m talking about the whack jobs that make you wonder when the rest of the world went crazy. Let me explain.

One of my irritatingly lonely Saturday nights I decided to have a glass of wine and cruise Plenty of Freaks. I don’t know why I decided to tempt fate and surf into the belly of man hell again, but I did. “Guy” popped up and started a conversation. He sounded vaguely intelligent and could complete a sentence so I checked out his profile. Not my type. Too short, he had a mustache like a walrus and his picture made him look gay. (No, I do not have a problem with gay people I just don’t want to date them) So of course we set up a date.

We met at Downtown Disney so we could walk around, get to know each other and would have tons of stuff to do if things went well. First impression, he was tiny. Teeny teeny tiny. Like I could put him in my pocket. Or if I accidentally sat on him no one would ever find him. He was 5’3” maybe and probably 80 lbs. He immediately grabbed my hand and we started walking. At least he was sweet and not afraid to be seen with me which is more than I can say for a lot of men, bonus points for him. We found an outside bar to grab a few drinks which he paid for no questions asked. Double bonus. We sat and talked where he told me tons of stories about his adventures growing up tiny. I sensed a little bit of a Napoleon complex from the stories, but none of them included women so I thought I was good.

I asked about what he does for a living and he told me that he’s a professional hairdresser. Jackpot! I had visions of fabulously blow dried straight hair, fancy shampoos, sweet smelling conditioners and soothing hair masks and not having to spend a dime for it running through my head when he told me that he also worked full time as a maintenance man for an apartment complex. Ummmmm, what? This seemed a little strange and I guess he could tell from the look on my face that I thought it was when he explained that his daddy was a good ole boy and if he ever found out that he was a hairdresser that he’d whoop his ass, so he took the maintenance job as a cover. Weird, but with double income I was happy to know I wouldn’t have to shell out any dough.

He called me the next day to tell me he enjoyed our date and that he would like to see me again but there were a few things that needed to be taken care of first. “Like what?” I said. Bad idea. He tells me that he needs to find me a necklace that will serve as my daytime collar, that I will need to come to his shop and get my nails and toes done to his specifications, that I needed to call him sir at the end of every sentence, that he had a submissive manual that I would need to read and that he would be cutting my hair and there were to be no questions about it.

What fucking dimension did I just step into?

Don’t get me wrong. Once I’m in a committed relationship I don’t have any problems experimenting in the bedroom. Some might even call it “getting freaky” but I’m not calling you sir in public and don’t even get me started on the whole hair thing. You can’t cut my hair short. I would look like a Chia Pet on crack. So I ever so politely told him I would have to get back to him. I immediately deleted his number and my Plenty of Freaks account. That was the last straw. You will no longer find me there. Or on Harmony, or Chemistry, or Match, or on PatheticSingleFatChicks .

I’ve got a new crazy idea. If you want to meet me, walk up to me, compliment me and maybe ask for my number. How much worse can that be?

Do me a favor. Don’t answer that.

Senior Moments

Old age. What exactly is THE number that decides you’re now old. If you ask me, it’s more of a state of mind. Take for instance, my new friend Bryce. He’s in his late 40’s but you would never know it by the way he acts.

It’s a Friday night when this story happens. My friend Jennifer and I decide that we’re going to hang out in her neighborhood, have a few drinks and see where the night might lead us. It just so happens to be the same neighborhood that Bryce lives in. I call him up and let him know that I’m going to be in the hood that evening and ask him if he wants to come hang out. He says yes and tells me to call him when I’m on my way in.

I get to Jennifer’s house and give him a ring. No answer. So my friends and I go on with our evening, hang out, watch some TV, shoot the shit, have a few beers, etc…, when Jen’s husband, Blaine, asks me where Bryce is. I tell him I have no idea. That I called him about 7:30 but he didn’t answer. So Blaine tries to call him too. He doesn’t get him to answer his phone either. This is pretty typical for Bryce to not answer his phone, or his door. Guess when this is your M.O. it gets people thinking. And thinking on a Friday night is not necessarily always a good thing.

So we continue to hang, and wait, and have a few drinks and wait. Nothing. Finally about 9 PM Blaine blurts out “this is ridiculous! It’s Friday night, where the hell is he? He’s probably passed out on us. We should go wake him up!” I tell Blaine HELL YEAH, I’m game, what do you have in mind? He tells me that he just so happens to have an air horn and asks me if I know where Bryce’s bedroom window is. “I sure do.” I tell him and so we hop in my car and head around the corner. So there we are, Blaine, Jennifer and myself in the dark, giggling like a bunch of school girls, tiptoeing around Bryce’s house. Blaine gets in prime position and lets the air horn rip! OMG, it’s sooooo loud. We’re practically jumping out of our skin and we knew it was coming. So of course we run back to the car and take off.

Not two minutes later Blaine calls Bryce to see if he’s awake now. He answers the phone. Jennifer and I can only hear one end of the conversation, but it’s freaking hilarious and we’re trying to keep ourselves from busting out laughing and getting ourselves caught.

Well the prank works. Bryce decides he’s awake now and is gonna come over. He walks in the door. Sits down and is pretty quiet for a few minutes. Then he asks me how long I’ve been at Blaine and Jennifer’s. I told him since about 7:30 when I called him. To where he says “Oh, really? Because the hood of your car is warm.” Damn! When did Bryce become a member of the CSI? And now is he going to decide I’m some kind of crazy stalker? I mean Bryce and I have just started to get to know each other. This could go really badly. Thankfully Blaine covers for me and tells Bryce that it was all his doing. Man I love my friends!

The retelling of the story comes up from time to time throughout the weeks but Bryce never suspects that I was involved. He pipes up here and there about some retaliatory plots against Blaine and we all get a kick out of that. Then this past weekend a whole big group of us are sitting around telling stories and the events of that night come up again. I’m encouraged to tell the story and me, not being one to pass up an opportunity to open my big mouth, start telling the tale. About halfway through the story Bryce looks over at me and says “Oh, so you were there too?” SHIT. I totally busted myself. Then he says “don’t think I won’t get you too.” Well, at least he had a good sense of humor about it.

As for me, guess I should have learned to respect my elders a long time ago. Some people never learn. And yes, I am one of those people.

Free Willy

Friends of exes. Have you ever heard a story that turned out good about someone who dated a friend of an ex? I haven’t. And guess what? This one is no different.

I met “Steven” when I was still married to my ex. We all used to hang out at a local bar/pool hall. It was a quiet little hole in the wall so it was easy to get to know the local yokels and become one yourself. One of the afternoons I decided to hang out at the bar, I came across Steven hanging near the pool tables. He asked where my ex was (who I was still together with at the time) and when I told him he was at home he asked me to call him and see if he would come up there and shoot some pool. So I did. I told my ex that Willy was at the bar & wanted to shoot some pool with him. The guy looked over at me and said what? My name is Steven. To which I replied well I don’t think you look like a Steven, I think you look like a Willy. He wasn’t real happy with that so he agreed he could live with me calling him Steven-Willy, and so I did.

A few months later I was in the middle of my divorce process and was alone for the weekend. It was shortly after Hurricane Charley and I was waiting on a guy to come get a pine tree off my house. He left me a message and let me know that he would call when he was on his way. I, not being one to just sit around the house, decided I would head up to the bar and wait on the tree guy. I mean after all it was a Sunday afternoon, football was on, it’s two minutes from my house and I had time to kill.

When I got up there Steven-Willy was there hanging like he always was. I sat at the bar and ordered a beer. It didn’t take long for him to wander over & start up a conversation. He asked about my soon to be ex and when I told him we were in the process of a divorce he seemed intrigued. He asked a few basic questions which I quickly answered and then he invited me to shoot some pool. We continued to talk, shoot pool and drink for most of the afternoon and into the evening when the conversation turned from innocent to not so innocent.

Well I guess the fact that I’m one to shy away from a sexual conversation got him hot and bothered and he told me to follow him home. And so I did. Shockingly, one thing led to another and the deed was done.

The next morning, I walk into work on time and with a big smile on my face. Let’s just say this is not my usual demeanor on a Monday morning. My friend sees me and blurts out. Oh my God. You got laid! “What? Holy shit! How the hell did you know that?” I guess it was the smug grin on my face which didn’t go away for a really long time. That was until my soon to be ex got wind of the whole situation. I guess when you frequent a small time establishment where alcohol is consumed, people talk. Not pretty. He wasn’t happy and really gave me hell, but since he had cheated on me for nine of the eleven years we were together, I wasn’t really concerned about his feelings on the whole subject. I did however want to get another piece of the action. Apparently Steven-Willy got read the same riot act from my ex and wasn’t nearly as willing to toss aside his objections.

Steven-Willy never called and when we both wound up at the bar at the same time, things just got awkward. Eventually the bar closed and I never saw him again. I know what you’re all thinking though. Whatever happened to the tree? When I got home that night after my romp with Steven-Willy, it was gone. I guess based on the disappearing act, the tree was a man too.

New York Cheese Flake

The Green Eyed Monster. What an interesting creature he is. I’ve never really understood the concept of jealousy in dating. You either want me or you don’t. And at the beginning of a budding relationship do we really have enough invested in each other to evoke this kind of strong emotion? I don’t think so, but not everyone shares my opinion.

Take Antonio. Another dating website drone. I had actually seen him previously on another website and he never even gave me the time of day. Which is why I was so intrigued when he instantly contacted me on the new dating website du jour. He told me that I was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen on the website and was eager to get to know me. I was glad we were talking on line so he couldn’t see my eyes rolling.

We decided to meet on a Sunday so we could watch some football and eat some chicken wings at a bar. Within minutes he was trying to kiss me across the table. If he was totally hot maybe I wouldn’t have minded, but he wasn’t. I survived the date and he asked me on a second. I decided to give it another shot thinking maybe it was just nerves.

We went to a night club where I was watching people enjoying themselves on the dance floor. I had a few drinks and was having a good time when my date came up behind me and started doing a little grinding. Hey, the music was loud, the drinks were strong so I started dancing back. Antonio suddenly got weird(er) and wanted to leave. Okay? As soon as we get outside he freaks. Starts talking about how I didn’t even turn around, how I had NO idea who was behind me. What he didn’t know is that I haven’t been hit on in public, EVER, much less had someone rub themselves all over me. He tells me that he’s a very jealous person and doesn’t appreciate me acting like that.

Be jealous if someone is winking at me from across the bar. Be jealous if someone has smacked me in the ass. Be jealous when a swarm of Chippendale dancers have surrounded me and want to have their way with me but DON’T be jealous on a second date. Especially when the person your pissed about dancing with me, was you.

He thankfully stops calling so I don’t have to blow him off. Stops calling for awhile that is. When he finally starts calling again he tells me that his mother died & he went to New York to take care of the arrangements. That now that he’s home he wants to get back together with his girl since he’s lost everything else. Wow. I kinda feel like an ass.

I feel bad until during one of our calls he tells me that he wants to come and see me. To “be” with me before he has to leave for New York again. When I ask why he’s going back to New York he tells me that he has to go take care of his mom. What? Isn’t she dead? I didn’t really ask him because I sensed that I wasn’t going to get a straight answer anyway. I figured that this was just a not so clever scheme to get into my pants and that WASN’T going to happen. I decline his offer and wish him well on his new life up north.

A few weeks later I’m listening to a local talk show on the radio and I hear his unmistakable voice. Oh, I’m sorry did I mention that the talk show was LOCAL? As in NOT in New York? The funny thing is that he was talking about his cheesecake recipe. I don’t remember him ever mentioning he was a baker. He probably stole the recipe right out of his mother’s kitchen. She’d probably be so jealous knowing that he was sharing her secret recipes with everyone that she would roll over in her grave. That is if she really is dead. Guess I’ll never know

Saxa-phoney

Little white lies. What can you say about them? Sometimes a necessary evil, but for the most part I think people try to be honest and avoid lying when they can. But what about the people who don’t? What about the people who are big fat liars just to be big fat liars? What are they getting out of this? I guess if I had the answer to that question I would be a rich woman.

I met “Kendell” online of course. Which dating site I can’t remember, although at this point I suppose it doesn’t matter. He lived in Sanibel Island which is about a three and a half hour drive so as far as I was concerned it might as well have been a world away. I wasn’t about to make that trip so I didn’t even give him a second thought. But he was persistent and agreed to make the drive to meet me and he was a musician, which I thought was interesting, so once again my attitude was “what the hell”.

We met at a local pool hall for our first date. It was a little uncomfortable bending over a pool table in front of a guy I just met, but he didn’t seem to mind, and after a drink or two I was a little less self conscience and started to enjoy myself. He was starting to tell me more about himself when the DJ started to play a song that I was vaguely familiar with due to the strong saxophone rift. He then tells me that he was the musician who played on that record. Really? Interesting.

As we continued to talk he kept mentioning all the people in the music industry that he’s worked with. I told him that I would love to see some pictures. “No problem” he said. “I’ll bring them on our next date.” Nice. At least I knew I was getting a second date and hopefully he would be able to back up some of these claims of his because at this point I wasn’t buying it.

Next date rolls around and I ask about the pictures. “Oh, I’m not the kind of person who brags like that and I don’t really feel like I have to prove myself.” Uh huh. Sure, whatever buddy. At the end of the date however he asks me if I would like to see the DVD of his concert at The Villages (which for those of you who don’t know is a retirement community in Central Florida) and listen to his CD. He pulls out a portable DVD player that he plugs into the cigarette lighter of his car and I watch in fascination. Not because of his great performance or anything. In fact, you barely even see him on the stupid DVD. I watch in fascination because I’m supposed to believe that he doesn’t like to brag about the people he has played music with, but he carries his own CD in his car and a DVD of a really crappy concert that was barely youtube worthy? Something is not adding up.

We talk on the phone a few times after this and he tells me about how his sister is top level FBI or something like that, and his whole family has the highest level security clearance, and that one of his high school teachers was Tom Clancy (the author) and that his best friends dad ran the mob in New York and he had Richie Sambora from Bon Jovi on speed dial on his cell phone and….. blah, blah, blah. The bullshit just got thicker from there and I stopped listening.

Clearly the reason that he has to travel three hours for a date because everyone else inside that circle has heard his ridiculous tall tales. So I decide to call him out. I tell him that I googled Tom Clancy and that he was never a school teacher. And I googled his high ranking sis and her top level security was crap because I found her information all over the internet. This sent him through the roof! He told me that he was going to report me. To who? And for what? I just started laughing my ass off at him and couldn’t stop. And then I heard it. Click. He hung up on me. Guess he didn’t like the fact that I knew he was full of crap. Too bad for him.

To this day, I’m still waiting for the FBI to come throw me in the slammer for unlawful Googling of dumbasses. Maybe they’ll read this blog and then I’ll really be in trouble.

Jumping to Delusions

There are so many rules to dating now. Who pays the check? Do you offer to go Dutch? After what date is it OK to start sexting? How many times do you have to go out before you can invite someone home? You never know what is going to offend someone, or what might give them the wrong impression or if they might become a stalker.

That is where this story begins. The sad part is, it wasn’t even someone I was dating or interested in dating for that matter. I was living with my ex-fiancée, happy to be out of the dating scene and not having to deal with any wierdos. My ex had just started a new job and began telling me stories of this poor pathetic sap of a guy. He had no friends, no car and basically, no life. So my ex, being the big softy that he was decides to befriend the guy. Help him out. Picks him up for work, gives him an old TV we had in the garage & brings him to the house to hang out from time to time after their meetings. I was cordial but the guy gave me a bad vibe so I avoided him if I could. Eventually the friendship faded and “creepy guy” slithered back to where ever it was he came from.

I never even gave him a second thought once my ex and I parted ways……Until he showed up at my door one afternoon several years later. My very lovely, dumb, trusting daughter opened the door and let him know that I wasn’t home at the time but I would be home around 6. (Trust me; I wasn’t happy about that scenario). She lets me know what’s going on when I get home from work and I try to figure out what the hell this guy wants and how I’m going to get rid of him before he even shows up.

Six o’clock rolls around, nothing. Six-thirty, seven, seven-thirty, nothing. Awesome! I’m off the hook! I lecture my daughter about opening the door when I’m not home and slip into my jammies.

Ding-Dong. Damn.

I open the door. In my pajamas because I’m hoping this will give creepy guy the hint that I’m not up for entertaining. Apparently they don’t teach common sense at creepy school. I stand in the doorway and chat with him for a few minutes about what he’s been doing with himself since he crawled back out from under his rock and what happened between me and my ex. And then he asks to come in.

CRAP. I tell him that it’s late and that another time would be better. He tells me some sob story and of course I let him in. I’m such a sucker. I sit on the couch across from him and listen to the story and I guess he decides he’s comfortable and puts his hand on my thigh. Ewwww! I jump off the couch and tell him he needs to leave. He agrees to leave but asks if he can call me sometime. At this point I just want him gone so I give him my number and send him on his way. What’s the big deal? I can just ignore his calls and eventually he’ll get the hint. Right?

WRONG. He calls all hours of the day and night, incessantly, for weeks on end. I pick up the phone a few times and tell him I’m not really interested and ask him politely not to call. This doesn’t work. I tell him if he keeps calling I’m going to change my number. This doesn’t work. One of the times he called I happen to be at my best friend’s house. My phone rings and she sees me roll my eyes. I tell her “it’s him.” This brings sheer delight to her face. She picks up the phone and lets him have it. She essentially tells him that he is a low life pathetic loser and that we’re gathering all my phone records and that I’m turning them into the cops to bring him up on harassment charges. To which he tells her this would be impossible because we are actually in a sexual relationship.

WHAT? Roll the train back to crazy town sucka. There are one or two people that I have slept with that I would have LIKED to have forgotten about, but to forget about an entire relationship? Um, I don’t think so. At this point Wendy starts feeding me the details of our supposed illicit affair and I erupt in laughter as Wendy finishes humiliating him. Now I’m not usually the type to let someone else do my dirty work but when you’re having an entire relationship in the confines of someone else’s mind, I guess it helps to have someone else’s voice inside your head to put things into perspective. Thankfully, Wendy is a little more persuasive than I am and he starts to leave me alone. But every once in a blue moon, in the middle of the night, I’ll get a knock on my door and I know that the crazy train has left the station again and is trying to roll back into my hood. No thanks, this station is closed until further notice.

Security! Or is that Insecurity?

Imaginations. What a double edged sword. The imagination is a fabulous thing when you’re a kid making a mud pie, or when your five year old brings you a picture she just drew for you, or when you’re daydreaming about a smarmy guy on the latest episode of Lost. It can also be a horrible thing when you’re dating someone you have met online. The reason is because in your imagination the person you’re going to go out with can be everything you have ever dreamed of. Until you meet them.

I met “Jed” on that free dating website that seems to be so popular. He was nice. Too nice, but I thought maybe he was just trying to be courteous over the phone and plus he was from New Jersey so I figured he had to be good people. I set up a date for a party my friend was having. I don’t know why I continue to think that bringing someone I’ve never met around everyone I know is a good idea, but I keep doing it. You would understand if you knew my friends. They are a loveable but tough crowd. And honest, so maybe that’s why I do it.

The party went fine; my friends didn’t have anything overly negative to say about him even though he only worked part time (4 days per month) as an unarmed security guard, so I thought maybe this was going to work out. We started talking over Facebook, gave him my personal & work email addresses in addition to him having my phone number and hoped that we could get to know each other better.

He then sent friend requests to most of my friends on Facebook.

Ok, so maybe he’s just being friendly.

And then the phone calls started, and the emails, and talking to all my friends, especially my best friend on Facebook trying to find out all kinds of stuff about me. Like what I wanted, and what I liked and about past boyfriends, and why I wasn’t with them anymore.

Too much, too soon, too clingy.

But what he didn’t understand was that when you ask my best friend questions, you’re going to get answers. And it may not necessarily be the answers you WANT to hear but the answers that you NEED to hear. She explained to him that I am a single parent and that I really needed someone who could take care of me. Not necessarily all monetarily, I do have my own job, but I certainly wasn’t going to support him.

Well she was right, again. Damn.

He turned into a giant freakin insecure baby. Calling, emailing, texting, whining about how she wasn’t giving him a fair chance and what did I think about it and what could he do to show me that he could be what I needed and how he was going to get his armed security license… wah wah wah. Who’s the woman here? Really? Grow some damn balls! I’m done.

So I break it off. It doesn’t go well. He calls & emails incessantly. For weeks. I finally have to cuss him out and tell him he’s a giant fucking asshole and I NEVER want to see him or hear from him again for him to finally stop contacting me.

Oh well. Guess I’ll just go back to my imagination. It’s nice in there.

The Truth Will Make You Flee

How much baggage is too much baggage? Where does one draw the line? Finding a happy medium? Well this is the problem in dating.

I get that we’re coming out of a recession and that 12% of the country is unemployed right now. But do they ALL have to be on dating websites trying to get ME to go out with them? I decide for some reason to go back to my Craig’s List reserves and try ONE more time.

“Mark” is attractive, pretty funny, a good conversationalist and thinks that I’m hot so I decide that we should meet. Our first date is a walk in the park. Literally. The weather was nice and we got to know each other a little better so I guess it could have been worse. He calls me for a second date and explains to me that he’s recently lost his job so do I mind just watching a movie. At my house. Jeez. Thankfully it’s a weekend the kids won’t be around so I agree. The time for the date approaches and he calls me and asks if I can pick him up. His car has been repo’d. Double Jeez. So I ask for his home address so I can get directions. He tells me he’s going to be out “doing some stuff” and that I can come grab him at a grocery store near his house. Whatever.

The date goes fine. Lots of talking, some movie watching and maybe a little kissing on the couch. We decide to end the date and I have to drive him home. We start talking during the drive and I’m trying to pin down where he lives, because you know, I’m supposed to be driving him there. He tells me that I can just drop him back at the store. Ummmm, why? He goes into some speech how his “roommate” is a really private person and he has to respect that. Bull crap. I’m driving, I control this damn car and if he wants to get where he’s gotta go, he’s gonna answer some questions. So I push. He finally fesses up that yes he does have a roommate but his ex-wife and kids live there too. Gotcha. Me: “ And do you and your ex still sleep together?” Him: “Oh no, I sleep on the floor.” The pile is gettin higher. So I drop him off at the store and gladly leave.

He calls the next day to apologize and to see if we can go “out” again. I (laughing to myself and maybe a little at myself too) decide to see really how bad this is. So I tell him that if he wants to go out again that I need to know about everything. Lay all his cards out on the table. Turns out the ex isn’t even an ex. They’re “separated”. (Don’t ask me how you can possibly tell me that you’re separated from your wife when you still live together) He tells me that the marriage started to go downhill after they decided to become swingers. And oh yeah, when he was younger, there were a couple of jail stints after he got out of the Navy. Not for anything violent though, mostly for stealing stuff. Yeah, cuz that makes it better. And that, was the nail in the coffin. I tell him that I’m not really interested in seeing him again and he gets PISSED. He tells me he can’t believe that I won’t see him again after he was completely honest with me. I try to explain to him that the wife, not the honesty is the problem and as a general rule I try not to date married men but if his situation changes to give me a call. BAD IDEA.

About a year later, out of the blue, I hear from him again. Says he’s no longer with the wife, he has a job, the car is back and he’s going to be in town a few weekends from now and would I consider letting him take me out. After I confirm we would actually be going OUT and that I WASN’T going to be paying for the date I agree. Tells me to add him on facebook where we can talk. Ah, modern love. What did we ever do before facebook?
So I can’t help but notice there’s a chick on his page that posts like every day. Mostly about how much she loves him and how great they are together. Not really what I want to see about someone I’m supposed to be going out on a date with. So again, I push. And again, I get a cock and bull story. I kindly remind him how that didn’t work the first time and it’s not working this time either. He admits that he’s living with this chick but that he’s leaving her and moving back to the area. (By the way, the chick had no idea he was leaving, and the moving back to the area was back in with the roommate and the ex wife.) No thanks. Sorry you are NOT a winner. Please do not try to play again. This officially ends my hate/hate relationship with Craig’s List.

Unless of course I’m in some sudden need of pictures of penises and then I know right where to go. Until then, I’m staying away.

Dirty Deeds for Clean Sheets

I would like to consider myself an optimist. Some people (who will remain nameless) consider me a moron. Just because I had one bad experience with Craig's List doesn't mean if I try it again that it would be bad too. Right???????

So I decide to place another ad to see what is out there. Not just for a specific event this time, but for a serious relationship. (I know now, it's Craig's List, there's no such thing) After weeding through the second round of penis pictures I actually have a few fairly decent hits. So I set up a date with one of the good ones and, OF COURSE, he stands me up. Now, I'm pissed. So I go to the next ad and basically tell this guy that I'm available, NOW. He humors me and we meet up for a movie. A real girlie movie, so I take this as a cue that he's into me. WRONG. He calls me the next day and tells me he's not looking for a serious relationship. Blah, blah, blah. Then why the hell did you answer the ad you douche? He then says that maybe, we can just be friends with benefits. UGH!!!!

My wheels turn over the next day or so and I decide that I'm not seeing anyone, so what the hell? I take him up on his offer. We meet at his place. He invites me in and there are sheets everywhere. Like in the package. Boxfuls of them. Apparantly, he's unemployed, but he sells sheets on E-bay. Grrreeeaaatttt. Thankfully though, he's pretty damn good at what he does and I'm able to forget about this for awhile. He even managed to teach this old dog some new tricks and well, at least the bed always had clean sheets. Which is pretty damn hard to find in a bachelor pad.

The problem is that my idea of FRIENDS with benefits is different than his idea of friends with BENEFITS. There is no "friends" in this deal. It's not like I want to move in or meet his parents or anything but how about a freakin movie and a microwave bag of popcon from time to time? It can even be an HBO special! I'm a low maintenance gal. Something, besides porn.

So I never called "sheety guy". I just let him call me when the mood strikes him and for some reason this brings me some degree of satisfaction. Makes me feel like I have a "one up" on the deal, even though I still cringe everytime the asshole calls me. And call me he does. For the better part of two years. I allow this to continue because I actually wind up having a decent time when I go over there and oh, there are the free sets of sheets that come my way from every once in a while.

So what does that say about me? Well some people (who are still remaining nameless) would say that this makes me a pathetic loser. I say that it means that I have a healthy sex drive that would dry up waiting for Mr. Right to wander his way into my life.

So the next time he calls, yes I will cringe because I know I'll eventually be headed over to his personal version of Linens & Things for a roll in the 800 thread count "hay" but I will be happy knowing that at the end of the night I will go home, with a smile on my face and get into my own bed, and hope that the next time that he calls that Mr. Right will have shown up and I can finally tell him once and for all that he can just go fuck himself this time.

Lunches with Liars

I really hate doing things alone. This is my downfall and a running theme in many of my stories. It also causes me to do things that you probably wouldn't even THINK of doing. Yes, it’s a scary world out there but sometimes, being alone is too.

I decide that I am bringing a date to the annual 4th of July block party. Now, I just have to find one. So I decide that I’m going to find one where you can find ANYTHING. Craig’s List. OMG, I can hear you groaning already. I didn’t have any experience with Craig’s List and I had been hearing people talk about it everywhere, so..... what the hell.

I place an ad stating that I’m looking for a date for the party. I specified no one under 25, no one over 55, no women, no married men and please no Craig’s List serial killers. I was amazed at the responses! Of course 30 of them just had to be random pictures of penises and what I was supposed to do with those I wasn’t quite sure, but I did actually get a few decent responses. None of which panned out so I still wound up going alone. Oh well, I had fun anyway.

The next day I get a very nice email from someone. He was sorry he missed the event but was still interested. I open the picture. He’s amazing. Exactly my type. We converse back and forth via email for a few days. He’s funny, smart, charming, and so easy to talk to. I can’t believe my luck. Eventually we decide to meet at a local bar. We sit and talk for hours, he walks me to my car at the end of the evening and gives me an amazing kiss. I thought my knees were gonna buckle. We continue to email back and forth, go to lunch from time to time and then…. POOF!
Gone. No explanation, no rhyme or reason. Just gone. Damn it all ta hell.

I would call him but then I realize I don’t actually have his number. I know where he works but I’m not going to sit outside his office like a crazy person so I let it go, but I never do get him out of my mind. Then a few months later ….. POOF! He’s back. Emailing me like crazy again with some lame excuses about being busy with work. WTH? But I buy it, so I go out for a few more lunches, plan a nice evening out, he stands me up and just like that ….. POOF! Gone again. Fuck. This is crazy! This goes on for the better part of a year. During one lunch he makes a remark about how you can find someone’s whole life on Facebook and jokes about how he’s sure someone is just Twittering away about their lunch right now.

Now, trust me, I’ve Googled this guy. I’ve looked. I’m not some crazy obsessive stalker type, but when you’re a single parent you have to at least try to dig up some dirt on the people you’re dating for safety’s sake. I’ve never been able to find a single shred of information about this guy.

After one of our last lunches I have to go to a meeting at work. Well I guess he thought his email wasn’t working right so he emails me from a different email address. But this email address shows a different last name than he’s told me before and BAM! I’ve got him, and he’s right you can find someone’s whole life on Facebook and I find his. And his wife’s. And his kids. Damn.

The internet is a very powerful tool. If you’ve got Google, Facebook, someone’s real name and just a few brain cells, you can find just about anything on anybody.

MEN! You should remember this. Especially when you are trying to cheat on your wife.

When Pigs Fly

We all have our pet peeves. My list includes most children, stupid people and of course dating. One of my best friend Wendy’s pet peeves is when we go out to a bar, she leaves the table to use the restroom and when she comes back I have some stranger sitting at the table.

I’m a friendly gal. I like makin small talk and I’ve always got my eye out for a nice lookin man who might need to take a load off his feet. You’d think I would have learned my lesson after “Philippe” but that would not be the case.

Most men were just waiting for their buddy and/or their date to arrive and were happy to have the chair for the moment but were quick to move on, afraid that the fat girl might hit on them. But a few men stick out. There was angry bald Irish guy. He was OK but I never did figure out what he was so pissed about. There was also the guy that tried to stick me with his check. That was a fun one to explain to the waitress.

One night while Wendy was in the restroom I saw a lady standing around, clearly waiting for a table. I told her that my friend and I would be leaving shortly and to feel free to have a seat. She was thankful and sat down. Then her friend showed up, and then another friend, and another. It was an interesting crew and getting larger by the minute. Wendy and I decided to not rush off. After awhile a few good looking guys show up and join the table and I decide to feel them out.

Well there’s one in every crowd. He thought he was clever and I’m guessing him and his buddies had done this before because they went right along with him. Me, always one to start a conversation asked him what he did for a living. He told me he was a manatee hunter. What? What the hell is that? I mean I’ve heard of manatees living in Florida but there’s no need to hunt them, they are an endangered species, and not to mention; It’s illegal! Then he tells me he used to be a seal clubber but this job had better benefits. Gotcha, I see where your headed with this. You’re full of shit! He then asks me what I do for a living. I tell him I’m a bikini model. Take that douche bag. He laughs, tells me him and his buddies are actually garbage men from NYC. OK. Not as interesting but at least they have jobs.

The conversations go back and forth between everyone when one of the ladies that I invited to the table mentions how much they all enjoy working for the airline and how much fun the traveling is. Airline? “Oh yes, we all work for Jet Blue.” Since when is it cooler to be a garbage man than it is to work for a major airline? I guess when you don’t want a fat chick squeezed into a seat next to you on a flying tin can. I could see that if I stuck around all the bullshit was just going to continue so I decided it was time for Wendy and I to bail.

After all, why would I continue to sit around and listen to them when I just know there will be another willing victim that will need a chair next weekend.

Two Buck Up Chuck

Online dating. What can I say about it. Yeah, I’ve tried it. Probably every site you can imagine and then some you can’t, because well, you’re probably normal. I get asked out from someone on a BBW website. (Big Beautiful Women for those uneducated skinny people out there) He’s fairly attractive, phone conversation doesn’t go horribly and he’s willing to drive to me. But he’s YOUNG. 27 actually, but I HATE sitting home alone on a Saturday night so I cave. Of course.

We decide to go to dinner and then go to Old Town and meet pretty much everyone I know on the planet. What was I thinking? Dinner goes fine. I decide to let him drive me to Old Town and hitch a ride back with my best friend. We’re in the car making casual conversation and out of nowhere he tells me I’m stunning. WHOA. That’s not something you hear every day, or in my case, ever. I’m swooning.

We get to where we’re going. Meet up with everyone, hang for a few and we all decide to head to the bar. During the time it takes to get there we continue talking, getting to know each other. "Ralph" then proceeds to tell me that my best friend’s daughter is stunning. Strike One. I tell him he’s digging his own grave and that he can’t’ be on a date with me and tell me someone else is stunning. At this point I’m sure I look as offended as I am. He then tells me that he meant to say she’s beautiful and I’m stunning. Not working. We get to the bar and while he's off getting me a drink and I mention to the table that my date thinks that Wendy’s daughter is stunning. BAD IDEA! Once he gets back some suggestive comments are made at the table towards Ralph about this.

Ralph, I come to find out has the type of personality that he’s not just going to let these comments slide and decides that he’s going to confront my best friend about the comments when we get outside. This does not go well. He then tells me he’s going to take a walk to calm down. Well I guess it was a really long walk because he never does come back. He does leave several messages apologizing profusely on my voicemail. But I don’t get until the next day because my cell phone is dead. Somehow after all of this I feel bad that the evening got screwed up and I wind up going out on a few more dates with him.

After dinner & drinks one evening we decide to go back to my house and watch a movie and maybe get to know each other a little better. After a few minutes of kissing he excuses himself…… to vomit. He pukes EVERYWHERE. Several times. Toilet, floor, bathroom rug, and yes even the walls and then proceeds to pass out until 3 AM when he then dashes for the door. Strike Two.

Once again he calls apologizes profusely and promises that if I go out with him he’ll show me a really good time. I hesitantly agree.

We once again go for dinner and drinks. During the time we’re at the restaurant my youngest daughter calls and asks if I will bring her something home to eat. I agree and ask the waitress to put a burger to go on a separate check. Ralph then tells her to go ahead and put my drinks on the check too and he’ll pay for the dinner. WHAT? You fucking cheap bastard. This is the good time you promised me? You vomit all over my house and you can’t even pick up the whole check for the evening? It’s not like we’re at the Ritz, we’re at a frickin Chili’s for cryin out loud AND it’s happy hour. What happened to my REALLY good time? Strike Three, you’re OUT!

At the end of the evening I kiss him goodbye and bring the burger home to my kid. At least she can keep a meal down. So maybe........ the night didn’t wind up to be as crappy as I thought.

Hobos, Homos & Potatoes - Part 3

Time to get down to the date that led me to the world of blogging. For those of you who know me, you already know the story I’m about to tell. For everyone else, the story is a little long but well worth the read, so….here you go.

It’s about 3 months after my divorce, my kids are with their dad for the weekend and my best friend Wendy and I decide to go for a girl’s night out. I show up in my brand new t-shirt (courtesy of Wendy from her recent trip to Bike Week) that says “Wanted: Meaningless Overnight Relationship.” She immediately tells me that I am crazy for wearing the shirt, that I’m just looking for trouble and to go walk around the bar so everyone can see me wearing the shirt.

Immediately this man walks over, bums a cigarette from Wendy and asks “What are you two ladies doing here alone?” Wendy declares “married” and I just sit there looking stupid. “Philippe” asks to join us and orders a pitcher of beer, for himself. Philippe proceeds to brag to us about his cars, his houses, his money and his rough and tumble days in the Brazilian army. Wendy, not afraid to let him know that she thinks he’s full of shit, throws every stereotype in the book at him and the two of them go back and forth verbally for awhile. In the meantime, Philippe starts getting “friendly” under the table and thinks that Wendy doesn’t notice. She of course, does, but I’m getting drunk, I’m grinning like a dog and frankly, don’t care.

Little while later Wendy gets up to use the restroom and Philippe starts to kiss me. Right there at the table.

Little while after that Philippe gets up to use the restroom, Wendy tells me that I shouldn’t think for one minute that she doesn’t realize what’s going on and whatever I do, DON’T BRING HIM HOME. I, of course, agree. She’s my Jiminy Cricket, my conscience, that little voice of reason in the back of my head, which I moronically, for the most times, ignore. She then tells me she’s going home and leaves. I look at Philippe and say “ready to go?” He hums and haws and makes some lame excuse about how ALL his cars are in the shop so I tell him I’ll drive.

We get to my car. He gets in. I no sooner put the car in drive before he has his pants around his ankles and is goin to town, on himself. OMG. He asks me “do you like the way it looks? I shave.” What? I let him know that I’m sure it’s lovely, but I’m driving.

We get to my house, clothes are flying off down the hallway, we get to the bedroom and get completely undressed where he then says………… “Oh.” Not like oh baby, but like oh what the hell? “Oh?” I repeat. He then says to me “you’re not a…….” “I’m not a what?” “You’re not a man?” WTF? Seriously. No, I’m not a fucking man. I FINALLY get a man to follow me home and he thinks I’M the man. Funny enough, I have a problem with this and I guess he senses this because he then says to me “Don’t worry, we can still do this.” Ummmmmmm, NO, we can’t. I tell him to get dressed so I can take him back to the bar.

Meanwhile, during this whole episode his cell phone has been ringing off the hook. I ask him if he needs to get it. He says “you don’t mind? Are you going to say anything?” No. Why would I mind? And what am I going to say, I don’t know the person on the other line. So he picks up. “Hi baby. OMG, I’m soooooo sorry. My car broke down and me and my friends are in the parking lot trying to fix it. I’ll be home as soon as I can.” All the stereotypes that Wendy was throwing at him like darts at a target start to flood back into my mind.

I thankfully, get him back to the bar, where he gets out of my car and asks me if he can have my number. HELL NO. He then asks me how he will ever find me again and I tell him if I have any luck, he never will.

Thankfully, I never have seen him again. Not that I would actually recognize him if I did.

Hobos, Homos & Potatoes - Part 2

You see all kinds of interesting people when you work in an office downtown. If your there long enough you start to get to know some of the locals. This can be a good thing when you want to find a rowdy bar, an awesome cheeseburger or a safe place to park your car.

For work, I used to park in a garage and there was always a cashier there on Friday nights that was really nice to me. I used to flirt here and there but sadly, he never asked me out. One Friday, the Weekday cashier was in the booth with Friday Night Guy and the testosterone was flowing. Weekday Guy suggested that Friday Night Guy wanted my number. Finally! So I happily handed it over, except Regular Guy called me. Whatever. I wasn’t dating anyone at the time and I thought maybe this would give Friday Night Guy the balls to ask me out too. So I set up a date with “Tim” and went out a few times. Boring, boring, boring. He had some obsession about the local cable company and the Rambo films and really didn’t talk about much else. Maybe it was the fumes from the cars in the garage, but he always paid for everything so I tolerated him.

My friends and I decided that we were all going to go try out a local family entertainment center and I was going to bring along Tim to introduce him to the “gang”. I was trying to describe him to my friends. I told them his personality was sort of a cross between Elmer Fudd and a Potato. He was then dubbed at that point by my friends and me “Elmer Spud” but my youngest daughter couldn’t remember that so it turned into “Elmo Potato” and it stuck.

He met my friends at dinner where he completely embarrassed me with his lack of table manners and his continuing ranting about the cable company. After the night was through my friends advised me that he reminded them of a serial killer. I decided he wasn’t that bad and wasn’t about to drop him just yet.

Our next date, we went and checked out a band. I had a GREAT time. Shocking. We had a few drinks, good music and good food. Well I guess all of this went to my head because I decided this was the night I was gonna take the next step. We went back to his place to do what people who date do, and reality came along to slap me in the face. It was the size of a thimble. FULLY ERECT. Now I’m not one to judge people on size but give me SOMETHING to work with. Thankfully, it ended quickly.

The next morning, after the alcoholic fog lifted, I realized that I had such a fun night with Elmo Potato because I didn’t actually have to talk to him. And clearly he wasn’t going to be worth the effort in other areas……. So it was time for me to end it, which was awkward because I had to drive past him twice a day, four days a week. I stopped taking his calls and started to speed by him on my way in and out of the garage. Thankfully he still had Rambo and the cable company to comfort him.

I don’t know if he ever talked about our dates with Friday Night Guy, but he never did ask me out. I guess this is a good thing though because finding a parking spot downtown on a Friday night is tough enough all on its own.

Hobos, Homos & Potatoes - Part 1

Time to get down to the real reason I started this blog. To talk about my dating life. More so, to let you know how BAD my dating life is, to help you to realize how GOOD your dating life has been and hopefully to make you laugh. First let me provide a disclaimer. The events you about to read about are real and the names will be changed to protect the stupid (i.e., me) There are several contributing factors leading to my bad dating life to consider before reading about these “dates”. I am a fat, poor, single parent. And oh yeah, I had (and probably will continue to have) really bad judgment.

So typical day at the office, going to the mailbox and I am stopped by a gentleman who looks at me and tells me I have the most beautiful smile he has ever seen. How can I not melt? I mean it’s not every day someone stops me in the middle of my oblivion and compliments me. He asks me if I am married/dating someone and I say “no”. I immediately want to kick myself. Why am I so honest? He’s not terrible. He’s dressed well, speaks well, just not really my type. But I’m a sucker for a compliment, so whatever. He proceeds to walk by my office every morning, coffee in hand and waves and smiles. Eventually he asks me “out”. Tells me he would love to cook me dinner. I accept. The night that he’s going to cook for me he tells me his car has broke down, his buddy is busy and would I mind coming to get him. So as I am on my way to get him I am of course cursing at myself saying “what the hell are you thinking?” He’s already sent me a text providing the ingredients to pick up so he can cook his “masterpiece “ and I’m just happy for a night that I don’t have to cook.

Dinner goes fairly well. The conversation is decent. Not the worst date I’ve ever had. (As you will find out in part 3 of this blog) He then tells me his friend is not able to come and get him and asks to spend the night, he doesn’t mind sleeping on the floor. It’s late so I agree. He’s a perfect gentleman, sleeps on the floor the whole night (which for some reason I feel horrible about) and is gone by the time I wake up. Second date, same pattern. Weird, right? Third date, well I guess he figured that I liked him at this point and instead of picking him up at the bus stop like I had been, asked me to pick him up at “the mission”

Shit. I’m dating a homeless guy. Now what?

I can’t just dump him because he’s homeless, and now I feel bad for him. So not only do I let him “stay” at my house but I actually start driving him to his job. AT 5:30 AM. We have time to talk in the car where he tells me about how “annoying” all his co-workers are and how he really just wants to be a dishwasher because no one bothers you. Now I’m disturbed. I’m no CEO, I’m not a doctor, nor a rocket scientist but certainly my ambition in life is not a minimum wage job where no one will acknowledge my existence as long as the silverware is clean.

This guys gotta go.

Luckily for me, I’m starting a new job (not as a dishwasher) where I won’t be able to take him to work anymore and conveniently stop taking his calls and PRAY that he doesn’t catch a bus and just show up. Eventually, he gets the hint and stops calling.

That should be where the story ends. Should. Down the road a few months he finds me on a FREE dating website, and tells me that I’m still his dream woman. I’m guessing it’s mostly because of the food and shelter thing, but I never respond to find out. Maybe that makes me a horrible person, but maybe, just maybe, this whole experience makes me better for the next one that comes along.

Bloody Hell

So, nothing like a blood donor questionnaire form to make you contemplate how boring your life is. I know, talking about how boring my life is isn’t the best way to get people to start reading my blog but this is where I’m starting.

Seriously? Have you ever stopped to really read this thing?

Since 1980, have you spent five years or more in Europe? Have you received a blood transfusion in the United Kingdom?

Have you been to Africa or Latin America?

Have you had a tattoo in the last year? What about a body piercing?

Have you had sexual contact with a prostitute?

Have you had sexual contact with a male who has had sexual contact with another male?

Who gets to do all this stuff? And if you did do this stuff why would you admit to it, in writing, to a complete stranger on a big red bus? Can you imagine if I started asking all of these questions to men I was interested in dating? How would I bring them all up anyway? So, how’s your salad? By the way, ever get fucked in the ass? Did you pay for it? Would you mind passing the salt? Not exactly the best conversation starter. Finding a decent man is hard enough already and my standards aren’t even all that high. I guess what I’m saying is that I’m ready for a little more adventure in my life. Mostly the kind that won’t get me banned from the blood bank but maybe a few things to make the questionnaire a little more interesting next time.