Monday, March 23, 2009


So. Remind me to never bitch about having a date accidentally give me a black eye (refer to earlier blog, please, but if you're too lazy to go back and check rest assured it's alcohol's fault) because earlier tonight the guy I went on a date with, the guy who had been tracking me and pursuing me for YEARS and was all, I love you, please marry me, let me buy you things, what do you want me to kill for you (ok, to be honest, when he asked that last one I was a little frightened) HEADBUTTED ME. DURING OUR DATE.

And then he dumped me. Unbelievable.

Who cares about personal growth or the fact that he's cutting back on stealing locks of hair from my shower drain? Did he really have to make our date all about him?

The answer is yes, yes he did. And this was AFTER I gave him all the stuff that I thought would make the night go better, like my mom's telephone number or the lock of hair. And I paid like $35 for that bra. Well, Brooke did, anyways. STILL.

So here I am, thinking romance or at least another dinner was looming on the horizon, he makes eyes at me from across the couch, I close my eyes, try to picture Seth McFarland to get in the mood, and BAM.

No, I'm not exaggerating. I literally heard a BAM as his forehead cracked into my nose. And then he got me some tissues, walked me to the door, and told me off. AND he kept the bra.

What a crappy date. Sometimes stalkers are SO selfish.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009


The problem to saying "yes" to everyone I EXACTLY why last night went the way it did. I'm still bruised, and not in a Dr. Phil, touchy-feely emotional kind of way. I mean that I still have black and blue spots on my legs and back from wrestling with Helen during what was supposed to be a nice and normal threesome, although some of that black and blue might still be left over from when I got bored and played tic tac toe on my leg with two different colored sharpies. Hmm, didn't think about that...

The worst part? I totally lied to Brooke. The only reason I'm even blogging about this and being honest is because she's out of town at a knitting retreat for the next couple days so she won't be able to read the truth (she only reads my blogs over my shoulder, as I'm typing them). But good God did last night suck.

Where was the passion? The romance? The sisterhood of...traveling pants? I dunno. I thought you worked together during a threesome and that it was supposed to be about, you know. The girls. Isn't sex always about the girl?

Apparently not, as Ted can now confirm. Helen and I sat there totally bored as he scrolled through his cell phone and probably called every single friend of his to brag about being in a threesome, and this is when he didn't even do anything with us. He even called his MOTHER. Ew. And I thought I had problems with boundaries.

The back story here, as you can probably guess, is that once upon a happier time Helen and Ted were all happy and in love and whatever. And they asked me to join them in a threesome, Ted asking because I think he wanted to be able to sleep with a girl without calling it cheating, Helen asking because I think she wanted to prove to Ted how "secure" she was in the relationship. Good luck with that, kids. You can tell how well that one was gonna end up, because after I gave a very polite "thanks but not ever, please leave," they broke up a few months later.

So here I am, on a one woman journey to change my luck with dating and figure out what the hell I missed the first time around, and word gets around that I'm dating everyone I rejected. Apparently that guy from the Chess Club in high school was more bitter than I thought, so he posted it on Craigslist. Thanks, little chess club tweako. Remind me to kick your ass again when we go on our date.

At any rate, Ted calls me up. Am I interested in the threesome now? he wants to know. And of course, I have to say yes. And then he suggests having a threesome with somebody else, NOT Helen, which breaks my rules, but it doesn't matter anyways because apparently Helen had sneaked into Ted's apartment and was living in his closet for a few days before he noticed and overheard the entire conversation. So great, we were all agreed, after Helen stopped wailing and making that god-awful whimpering noise. Threesome. His (and used to be hers, she loved pointing that out) place. 8 pm. Good times would be had by all. I ordered pizza to get in the mood. And then made Ted and Helen pay out of what was remaining in their joint checking account.

So fine, great, we order pizza, Helen discovers Ted's eHarmony account and we spend a good forty minutes calming her down, Ted has doubts, Helen is desperate and is no longer bothering to conceal the fact that she HATES ME AND WANTS ME DEAD (anyone detect a small problem here?) and we decide that it's a good idea to do this.

Want a recap in less than thirty seconds? Great. Because that's about how long it took, real-time, for Ted to get turned on and then orgasm. THIRTY SECONDS. I'VE SEEN GOLDFISH TAKE LONGER.

Meanwhile, Helen and I kind of got in a fight, meaning that she shoved me up against a wall after pulling my hair and smacking me in the face. And yes, true, I did technically break her finger, but she had it coming.

So that happened. My first (and hopefully last) threesome. Totally not erotic. Completely unsatisfying. And absolutely nothing like the movie "Wild Things."

What a bummer.

Thursday, March 5, 2009


I will be the first to admit that I may have made a mistake turning down Bruce, aka Mustache, the first time he asked me out, but I was rushing through the checkout line, wasn't really paying attention, and well...

There was something missing from his face. You know what I mean, right? When you look at someone, and there's this huge space between the nose and the mouth, and there's just...something missing. And you can't quite put your finger on it but you know it would make that person so much more attractive. So I waited until Mustache gave me a discount on my merchandise and then I turned him down when he asked me out. I had already learned the hard way that turning someone down for a date BEFORE he or she gives you a discount doesn't always result in aforementioned discount. I think I cried that day at Target when I learned that lesson.

Anyways, I was still kind of freaked out by Larry so even though we'd agreed to go on a date as my first official "dating-everyone-I-rejected" project I kind of just blew him off and didn't show up at the restaurant. I'm sure he was fine.

So I headed back to the super-store where Mustache first asked me out, found that he was moved to the sporting goods department, and I swear, while he was demonstrating a fishing rod to a family, I just stood there, in awe. Because he had grown a mustache.

I'm not quite sure what it is about his mustache, so maybe it's the fact that I'm a child of the eighties and Tom Selleck had one, but his mustache made me feel...taken care of. Like he knew how to take care of me. And that mustache rang with authority and confidence... it's not everyday that a man grows a mustache. Or hell, even can. And a man with a mustache? Clearly knows what he's doing. Tom Selleck did.

I was smitten. Mustache turned to me, and put down that fishing rod, knowing full well why I was there. He had this "I thought so" look on his face and honestly, that was almost as attractive as the mustache itself. Did I say smitten? I was already thinking about whose first-born I could steal and give to him as a sign of true devotion. Brooke told me it totally worked on Days of Our Lives.

And then...and then I had to go and blow it. Or rather, Brooke did. I'm still not one hundred percent sure she didn't screw me over on purpose, convincing me to shave right before a date when I had no idea that Mustache would reject me so cruelly. I always knew I was on to something with the shaving-and-bathing-optional approach to life. I'm not even sure why I listened to Brooke in the first place... it's not like SHE has a long line of suitors parked outside her front door. Or living on her balcony, like Larry.

Either way. I'm itchy, pissed off, and I've run off guy number two in less than a week. So far dating is running a distant second to eating hot dogs while watching Brooke try to watch Lost, and I'm pretty close to shaving her eyebrows while she sleeps tonight. Except it took her a really long time to forgive me the first time I did it, and I didn't have clean clothes to borrow for like, weeks.

Monday, March 2, 2009


When you're locked in the trunk of a car with your date, waiting for the AAA guy to show up, a lot of questions occur to you. Not just basic questions, like, "How did I get here?" and "Am I wearing cute underwear in case the coroner does a full autopsy?" but also general questions like, "I wonder if this guy still likes me" or "Did I leave the oven on?" Things like that.

I'm not going to come full out and say that I got myself into that situation based on a dare...although I might admit that this whole thing started when I decided to finally prove Brooke wrong about what supposedly crappy taste I have in men. One minute I was defending the guy who accidentally punched me in the eye (he's recovering nicely, and thanks everyone who asked about him) and the next minute I was being asked out by a nice-but-strange-looking guy standing randomly in front of a construction site. And after I turn him down (hello, white suit?) then Brooke's all like, "You're into guys who treat you like shit," which was SO not fair or accurate, so I kind of had to go back and ask him out. And the date went kind of badly. Like, really badly. Like, he pointed a gun at my underwear. And then I think he went to a mall and shot a bunch of people (again, NOT my fault).

I'm beginning to realize that (and while I will be buried wearing Ugg boots and a mini-skirt printed with pink fuzzy unicorns before I admit that Brooke is correct about ANYTHING) Brooke might have a point that I need to reconsider my dating choices. I've been asked out by a lot of people, for whatever reason, and most I turned down, mainly because they seemed weird or didn't look interesting or were wearing a polo shirt. And the guys I didn't turn down? Well, sure, they were good for dinner and drinks, sometimes, but most of the time the guys I go out with turn out to be total...jerks. Who don't get me at all. In fact, oh cruel subterfuge, some don't ask me out while wearing polo shirts but show up to the DATE wearing polo shirts. That shit ain't cool.

So maybe I'm missing something here. Maybe I'm supposed to find out what was going on with all those other people that I didn't really give a chance. And then maybe I'll get to prove to Brooke that my taste in who I date doesn't really suck and is TOTALLY not my fault.