drama and ladybugs

Some people are such whiners.

And if you notice, everything sort of hits at once, right? When it rains, it pours crazy people, all around the same time of the month.

Brooke might kill me for that last sentence.

Seriously, though, let's just face facts here: we live in an apartment. Apartments, much like houses and other various places of residence, have pests. We get ladybugs, like clockwork, every spring.

LADYBUGS.

Not even cockroaches, or ring of fire ants or whatever the hell they're called, or cats. Just harmless, cute little ladybugs. And Brooke goes all Universal Soldier on me and demands I slaughter them all. They're cute! They're harmless! And they drive Brooke insane! As far as I'm concerned, they are .0001% proof of God's existence in this world. And I'm not about to wipe out an entire colony of ladybugs that are eating her leftovers, as long as they stay away from my cheese doodles.

And I have a breakfast date with Tommy, this weird Emo kid who had a crush on me in high school and tried to impress me by burning down the gym. While I was in it.

Clearly I'm going to need a good night's sleep to handle this date, and clearly Brooke's idea of the best time to get me to eradicate an entire coven of ladybugs is at 5 am. I didn't even know 5 am EXISTED.

So I'm tired, Brooke is losing her mind, Tommy's needy and um, weird on the date, and honestly, all I really remember about how it went involves coke, an answering machine, and a gun. It's really all kind of a blur, because after I got home I took a nice 18 hour nap.

Point being, I'm not a hippy or a voter or anything, but I really feel like this is my chance to show Brooke that life is sacred and important. I'd tell Tommy the same thing, except his family has since filed a missing person's report, so I don't know how to get a hold of him, and honestly, I really don't care that much. He probably just went on a two week long road trip without telling anyone. I do that all the time.

Prude, aka, that one guy who loved a bus a little TOO much

I know I haven't blogged about my dates in a while, you'll have to forgive that. I've been in mandatory grief counseling and only now is my therapist allowing me to do what she calls "process" (aka blog) what happened on the date with the guy who tried to fuck a bus.

Unsuccessfully, might I add.

Anyways, here we are, another one bites the dust. It started out innocently enough, and by that I mean I thought my date was totally innocent, maybe a little sheltered, a bit threatened by jello. You know, like raised Mormon, or something.

Also, his name was Wendell. Huge warning sign, right there.

So Wendell and I go out to lunch, I eat jello, he freaks out, and it's back to his place where he immediately starts bragging about his sexual history. I mean, talk about overcompensating. I know most of us have been there and done that, but Wendell was really going overboard about how he slept with this and that and demanding to know whether or not I had a problem with it. I guess he didn't like it when I sort of assumed at lunch that he was a prude. At any rate, Brooke would have died of shock after hearing what he's slept with.

Which brings me to another point here. Brooke usually lets me borrow her clothes, and by this I mean she hasn't yet replaced the lock on her door that I busted in, so I can still take her clothes, and I'm pretty sure she knows and is okay with it. And this morning, for the first time in like, decades, she said no to me. So I was already having an off day as I ate lunch with Wendell. In Brooke's dress. That she specifically told me not to get dirty. This will be important later.

Anyways, so it turns out Wendell's got this meat thing -- which I'm all for, being a Californian and all, we're kind of open to that kind of thing, but as long everything he slept with before me was clean, you know? Because I'm pretty sure that if you compared a bologna sandwich with Lindsay Lohan, the bologna would come out on top, am I right?

Mmmm, bologna sandwich....

Sorry, re-focused now. So off we go to the deli, where Wendell's all bound and determined to prove himself a man, and I'm all, Dude. Let it go. I don't care how many meats you've slept with. What matters is that right now, at this very moment, I'M the only meat you should be concerned with sleeping with. I mean, how many guys bring up their exes on the first date? I don't want to sleep with a guy and wonder how I am compared to all those deli cuts. That's just too much pressure for a girl.

And then there was the bus. Now, I don't know if Wendell had slept with buses before, I don't even want to know, but Wendell was hell-bent on fucking THAT particular bus. I guess when you have a type, you have a type, and you gotta do what you gotta do.

So Wendell ran over to do the bus, or rather, the bus ran over him, Brooke's dress got splattered, I'm in grief counseling (yawn) and Brooke's not talking to me. Again.

Like this was MY fault.

Mystery Man

Well goddammit. If there was ever a time to have a lousy memory.

Don't get me wrong, it comes in super handy when it comes to birthdays, holidays, and other overly-sentimental days and moments that people expect me to remember simply because it's important to THEM. Nobody ever remembers Talk Like a Pirate Day, why should I remember their birthday? Or my birthday, for that matter. Or that funeral.

But sometimes being forgetful (or just not giving a shit, I forget which I feel most of the time) has its downfalls. Like when you go out with a seemingly normal, perfectly cute guy and have no freakin' clue why you rejected him the first time around. It was on the tip of my tongue, swear to god...

I knew Tony Tambler wasn't physically deformed. That's an easy one to spot. And mental illness usually shows up early on in the date as well (although Liam was so damn hot. And he really did smell good. Stupid schizophrenia, ruining a perfectly good thing. Can you tell I'm not over him?)

But Tony just had that...thing. He was cute, polite, intelligent, and his shoes were just the right balance of gay and straight. You know what I mean.

And I totally blanked. I think I spent a good portion of the night (when I wasn't making out with him) trying to rack my brain as to what the hell was wrong with Tony. He wasn't too weird, too normal, too tall, too short, he wasn't that guy who did the eyebrow thing which freaked the crap out of me, he was just...Tony.

And it's been a long time since I've been with a good kisser. So I just kind of went with it and figured when I remembered, I'd remember. I usually get those epiphanies at the movie theatre in the middle of sappy romantic comedies because then it's really fun to call Brooke and tell her my important self-realizations while pissing off the maximum amount of people that I can around me. Especially if Brooke is sitting right next to me in the movie theatre, but she still answers the phone because she can't resist. I think I did that four times during Twilight. She fell for it every time.

Anyways, Tony is good at, ahem, everything, and a good time is had by all, and then I come home, and Little Miss Killjoy is waiting for me on the sofa, all puffed up like a proud bird. I know that sign. It means I'm about to be proven wrong about something.

And I was. Cuz here I was, making out with Tony, thinking he was totally normal. And instead, it turns out he's a total freak who belives in marriage. And as sad as I am to see him go, a girl's gotta draw a line somewhere with the type of guys she dates, because there are some sickos and weirdos out there and I just barely dodged that bullet with Tony. Good god. Marriage? What kind of a mental illness IS that?

I miss Liam.

lesbian

blogging while hungover/ still possibly drunk not a good idea. just saying, if my spelling sucks and you can't understand what i'm talking about i'll ex plain it later.

going to make this one quick bc i might have to throw up again but can i just say that my head really hurts and it's not just bc i'm not gay. wait not sure i'm typign that right

what i'm trying to say is that i most of the time dont think i'm a bad person who leads people on, like if they dont have a chance with me i'm not gonna be all like yeeah, you have a chance with me, and i won't really date them except if they're taking me to a really nice restaurant but evn then if i don't want to keep dating them i won't, right? so here's the ting bc i'm supposed to go down on everyone I've rejected but Tammy was a lesbian and that makes me someone who leads people on bc i'm not Tammy nor am i a lesbian. but reuls are rules.

So fine i go on a date with tammy ans she's not actually that bad, i mean shes cute and everything but good god did brooke have to get me licquord up in order to just make tit to the date and she even had to drive me bc i was not in a position to be a diesignated driver by any means.

so I get dropped off at tammy;s place like i'm fourteen and going to the mall and brookes all 'have fun, go third base' and i'm all I hate you and tammy's like, who dropped you off? was that your ex-girlfrind? and I'm all, no. That was Evil Incarnate. Plus she's a tease you wouldn't like her.

And then of all things rammy fixes FOOD for DINNER. like that's okay to do vever. ANd i think i threw up in Tammy's closet, while I was peeing. which is kind of hard to do and i htink somebody should high gfive me.

anyways the date went badly bc there was food and tammy was a lesbian and i have a vague memory of throwing up hin her bathtub and wasn't sure how i got home. sluper tired now gonna go throw up one more time then call it a date.

Stalker

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.

Threesome

The problem to saying "yes" to everyone I rejected...is 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.

Mustache

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.