Month: July 2014

Date Fails

/ Love, M / Leave a comment

Do you think the reason I’m single right now has anything to do with me belting out The Proclaimer’s “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)” at 7:30 in the morning while marching up and down my hallway with no pants on and using my giant bottle of Coconut Creme coffee creamer as a microphone?

Yea, me neither.

So, I’ve been on way more dates than I care to remember. At one point (years ago) I had eleven first dates in one month, and that is not including any second or third dates I went on. What in the holy hell was I smoking, you ask? I’d really like to know the answer to that, too. Shouldn’t I get an award for that or something? I got zero STD’s because nobody got laid and so I guess that’s my award. No chlamydia. Lots of free sushi. Win.

I think Larry David says it best.

pdshoto

Now I’m not quite as cynical as Larry (yet) and I can’t say all the dates I’ve been on have been bad. I’ve had some pretty great ones. Some really great ones. Some, “OMG you’re going to DIE when you hear this” ones. Some, “I’m 96% sure I’m living out a very popular book series, right now,” ones.

When a date goes sour, though, it’s bad. Sometimes my encounters make me think that this cannot be real life. It’s appalling, some of the things men think will be impressive to do or say. I’m not 100% sure yet that my love life isn’t being Punk’d. I’m just waiting for Ashton Kutcher to jump out from behind my bathroom door with a camera. Except I hope it’s Andrew Garfield instead, and that he decides that he’s single and then also has no pants on.

I digress.

So, without further adieu, I want to share some of the Red Flags I’ve encountered on dates. This was originally going to be exclusive to first dates, but I didn’t want to discriminate and leave out all of the awesomely fucked-up things that guys have done at any point in my knowing them.

All of these things have actually happened to me.

Laugh it up.

The amount of FAIL that I’m giving these situations is obviously only my opinion…

But seriously, guys, stop it.

– If your date discloses that both his father and brother were admitted to the psychiatric hospital that you are currently working at. Okay well I guess I’ll be seeing your admission papers soon enough. Thanks for the pizza, okay BYE NOW. 

– If a guy tells you his favorite past time is working out, you might want to start lunging your way out of the juice bar you’re probably in. If I hear one more guy say how working out his his religion, I am literally going to throw up in my mouth, swallow it, and throw it up again. I am 150% sure that there are a billion exercise-obsessed men that are fucking cool as hell, but I can’t say I’ve ever had a good experience with a workout whore. I can’t listen to you talk about your “WOD” because it makes me want to “FKM.” And also because I can’t hear anything over the sound of myself chewing handfuls of Cheez-its.

– If a guy sends you a dick pic. Okay. Can we just chat for a second about dick pics? GUYS. A picture of your PENIS. really? Do you realllly think those things are that attractive? Besides the fact that it’s probably going to make us jump out of our skin when we open the picture, and then drop our phones into a puddle out of sheer terror, can you please tell me your thought process on sending me a picture of a giant worm attached to your body? It’s not sexy. You should know that 99% of the time, we are laughing at it. It’s a PENIS. We are laughing. And showing our friends.

– If your date says this: “I’m not a major stoner, just a mild stoner. At my worst, it was 10 to 20 bowls a day. Now it’s only like 1-3.” Do you remember what your last name is? Can you please recite the alphabet for me, sir? I’m going to need you to step out of the booth, and start walking in a straight line…and then just keep walking. Yep, right out of the restaurant.

– If a guy you haven’t gone out with gets your number and the FIRST thing he texts you is “Whattup?,” or “I ain’t got shit on Friday if you wanna hang,” or “You free tonight?,” we are probably not going to be on the same page with much of anything. I may swear like a sailor, but I actually AM a lady, and I’m most definitely not your homie or your booty call. Unless we’re role-playing.

– If a guy bails/reschedules on you three times in a row. You’re an idiot for giving him a third chance, and he’s an idiot for being so goddamn immature. Cut your losses and move on (but not before eating a giant Kit Kat).

– If he looks like he’s aged 20 years from the picture you were shown of him. Can someone please tell me why guys (or girls) think that their dates aren’t going to notice that their grandparent has replaced them at dinner?

– If this conversation happens: “I’m pretty apathetic, in general.” …Do you mean empathetic? No, I mean apathetic. Sooo, you have complete disinterest in everything? Yea, pretty much.” Oh..okay. That’s good to know. Shoot me.

-If your date says he doesn’t eat sweets. At all. Oh…okay, well, fuck you then. Anyone who hates sweets is either the devil, or wants to be.

– If your date ends the night by saying, “Good luck on your next date!” …*slow blink*

-If he proceeds to tell you about the two really hot girls at a wedding the previous weekend that he and his buddy tried to hook up with, and then immediately realizes that he totally just said that out loud and tries to back track. Um no, my friend. You can’t back track that. Goodbye.

– If he still lives with his parents, at an age where you do NOT live with your parents.

-If, after your date, he sends you a bathroom mirror selfie of him wet, naked, and holding only a very small white hand towel over his manhood boyhood which includes the caption “Night night, sweetheart.” FIRST OF ALL, do not call me sweetheart. I just met you, dickhole. Secondly, the only thing your little white towel picture is doing for me is making me want to stick a butter knife into my eyes. 

– If your date gets legitimately mad at you for not wanting to drink as much as he is (even though he might be, say, over a FOOT taller, and have at least 100 pounds on you), you should take that as a cue to bail. Any man who actually tries to make you feel bad for not drinking, wants you to drink more so that he doesn’t feel bad about how much HE is drinking. Oh, I’m sorry that I’m not an angry alcohol-abuser like you are, and that I actually like to be able to go to work the next day without wanting to give myself a lobotomy. Find a meeting, love. 

– If, on a date, a guy decides it’s a good idea to say, “I watch a lot of porn. What can I say? I haven’t had a girlfriend in five years!,”  A) How the fuck did we get on the subject of porn and B) Were you done with your glass full of beer because I need to chug it and then puke into the glass. 

– If, after enthusiastically explaining what you do in your career as a Recreation Therapist, your date LAUGHS AT YOU and says, “Isn’t that kind of a joke? You’re actually getting paid for that?” Lord give me the strength not to ruin this man’s chance of ever having offspring.

– If your date shows up late. ESPECIALLY without calling. Either way, it’s super inconsiderate. Unless your dog died right before you left the house, your ass should be at the restaurant before mine.

-If your date pays the bill and then says, “You should feel really special right now.” You should feel really special that your face doesn’t have my handprint on it right now. 

– If your date says, “So I guess I should probably mention that I’m in a cult.” I don’t even know what to say about that.

– If within the first 15 minutes, you feel like you’re on a date with a clone of your super narcissistic/borderline-sociopathic ex-boyfriend, you should probs just stick a fork in that bitch because he’s done.

– If your date says, “I don’t think I have much empathy. Things happen to people, but it doesn’t really bother me…I only really call my friends or family if I need something from them. Yea, I’m not really a good friend.” Are you hearing yourself right now? You are? Okay, just confirming that my ears aren’t full of all of the starving children in the world that you give zero fucks about. 

– If a guy acts completely smitten by you on a first date, and never calls you again. A four hour conversation, sharing personal stories, holding your hand across the table, acting like he’s so moved by what you say, saying over and over how much he’s going to have to thank our friend for setting you two up…and then nothing. No call. No text. No nothing. Don’t be that guy. But thank you for not wasting anymore of my life than you already did. 

-If a guy tells you on a FIRST DATE, “I have $350,000 over in Europe that I’m sitting on.” First of all, no you don’t. Secondly, who the fuck says something like that, and especially the very first time you go out? Hi, I’m super insecure. Can you please believe my blatant lies so that I feel like I’m something other than the cold, empty shell of a person that I actually am? Also, would I really believe that you’re sitting on 350,000 bones when you’ve taken me to a restaurant that makes Applebees look gourmet? I should’ve known that going to a place called Rock Bottom on a first date was a bad omen.

-If your date talks an absurd amount about how attractive other women are (except I really think that talking about it any amount is pretty fucking unnecessary).

-If your date says, “So…do you hook up a lot?” Well, yea! Obviously I’m a slutbag, I thought you’d never ask!

-If your date tells you that all of his friends think that he’s really arrogant, but he doesn’t see it. DUDE.

-If, on your second date, he tells you that you guys will work out just fine because he’s planning on having interracial children, you should probably just start running and not stop running.

Well, that’s probably just part 1, unfortunately. Or fortunately?

—

Happy Monday, lovers!

Love,

M.

Online Dating — You’re Doing it Wrong

/ Love, M / 1 Comment

Confession: I recently made an online dating profile. Recently, as in a few days ago. Why did I do this? I’ve asked myself this same question about 67,000 times in the last 72 hours, but it’s basically the same reason why I came home yesterday from what was supposed to be just a chiropractic appointment, with shopping bags from Zara and Nordstrom Rack filled to the brim with useless clothing items: I’m a wee bit IMPULSIVE.

(okay but they’re not totally useless clothing items and I got a gorgeous new white top because I’m obsessed with white and ohmygodicantstopbuyingallthewhitethings. This is 100% a cry for help)

Anyways, what really happened is that this site lets you make a profile for free (so obviously I got super curious), but you can’t see anyone’s emails or pictures or anything unless you pay, so once the messages started flooding my inbox and I couldn’t even see who was sending them, I caved and said FINE TAKE MY THIRTY DOLLARS, NOW SHOW ME THE SIX-FOOT-FOUR HUGH JACKMAN AND RYAN GOSLING LOOK-ALIKES ALREADY!!!

Also, dating websites are fucking hilarious. The best. I’m telling you, it’s better than reality TV. I think it’s safe to say that it’s pretty much exactly like being on The Bachelorette, but without having cameras following you around. Except that I think I can pick out at least 7 men on this website that would definitely follow you around with a camera.

And maybe also a weapon.

JUST kidding.

But seriously.

I feel like I should be embarrassed to reveal this recent venture, but then again, I posted a picture of my torn up underwear on here, and also, when I brought up this concern to my girlfriend, she said, “Wayyy more people are doing this online dating stuff then you think. They just don’t wan’t to admit it.”

SO THERE. I’m admitting it. I’m on one. Now piss off. Just kidding, I love you. Keep reading. And feel free to laugh at me. I’m laughing at me.

Oh and ALSO, one of my other girlfriends once said to me, “If you’re ever feeling shitty about your life, just remember that I got super drunk a couple weeks ago and slept with a toothless guy.”

…so there’s that.

Now, I’m about 15% taking this seriously, and 85% using this as a social experiment and having my mind blown by some of the stuff I’m seeing and/or reading, immediately taking screenshots of the madness and sending them to my equally inappropriate, we’re-both-on-the-first-train-to-hell-but-it’s-totally-fine-because-we’ll-be-singin’-the-whole-way-there-and-besides-everyone-we-love-will-be-there-too-oh-and-also-WEWILLBRINGTHEMARGARITAS, girlfriend. Love her.

So are you super curious as to what MY dating profile looks like? Well, I was feeling generous today so I uploaded a picture of it for you. Enjoy!…

Hahahahaha

No.

If you want to see my profile, fork over the money to be on the site and stalk me that way, like a normal person would.

Anyways.

For every one message that I’ve received or profile that I’ve come across that has actually made me laugh in a non-creeped-out way, or raise my eyebrow with a look of Okay, well you certainly don’t suck to look at and you also actually write about yourself using sentences that go a little deeper than “I like to have fun. Beer is good,” there are 103 ridiculous ones.

The majority of the time I’m shaking my head in disbelief. So, I thought I’d share, in my humble opinion, how to tell if you should NOT go out with a person you meet online.

If his main profile picture is of him wearing a fish hat.

phortto 2

—

If he states that his pet peeve is “chipped nail polish.” Nail polish? Really? If you’re going to abstain from playing ping-pong or wrestling around with your girlfriend because you don’t want her chipping her nail polish, you need to re-evaluate your life. Wait, first remove the giant stick from your ass, and then re-evaluate your life.

 —

If he has no pictures whatsoever on his profile. Yea, you seem super legit and not at all embarrassed to show your face on here. Your mug shot is probably plastered on light poles in every residential neighborhood. 

—

If his email says, “You won’t be disappointed.” Honey, I’m already disappointed.

—

If his name is MacGregor, and he actually wants to be called MacGregor.

—

If he is the Hispanic Tom Selleck. Except that I think this guy may actually be doing it RIGHT. Let’s be honest.

phoeeeto

 —

If he sends you emails that are in style of a Shakespearean sonnet.

—

If he can’t even spell his own name right in his email.

—

If he’s Jesus Christ’s doppleganger. Like I mentioned above, I’m already on the south-bound train for writing this blog post and I can’t look at someone so Christ-like everyday, wondering how much he’s judging me for drinking coffee out of a mug with the word “cunt” written on it.

—

If his spelling is so bad that he confuses the word “horse” with “hores,” multiple times, thus asking you if you currently live with hores.

—

Two words: Bathroom selfies.

—

If he takes the term “Profile picture” literally (and also burns worse than you do — for the sake of your unborn children)

phodddeeto

—

If he puts up pictures of himself completely hammered and standing next to the Señor Frog mascot in Cabo (or any other monument/mascot/anything while shitfaced and slumped over). Stop it.

—

If the subject line in his email to you is, “Who doesn’t like a good box?”

—

If the subject line in his email to you is, “I have a gorilla.”

—

If he posts this picture:

photeeo 1

I do not care that your muscles are chiseled and glistening with fake sweat. You’re an idiot. But have fun getting winks and emails from a bunch of girls who pop Valtrex like they’re Flintstone vitamins.

—

If his message to you is anything along the lines of: “I’ll keep this short and sweet. You’re hot. What’s your cell number?” What this message ACTUALLY means is: “We should text for a couple of days and then have sex and then you can immediately regret it while I find someone else to text/sex/repeat.” And as romantic as that whole idea is my darling, you can just take your Costco bulk package of condoms and fuck off. K thanks. 

—

If his username is “CreepyMcCreeper”

—

If he sends you an email with this subject line:

photdsdso

Thank you for that. Now, if you’ll excuse me for a moment I’m going to go throw up and then pour acid in my eyes. 

—

If his username contains the phrase “Rico Suave.” If you feel the need to make it known that you are the Rico Suave type, then you are not suave, you are a d-bag.

—

If he’s wearing a big red helmet in 90% of his pictures. Take off your helmet.

—

If he has someone take a picture of him talking on his cellphone, while strategically placing his other hand casually through his belt loop, and also just happens to be looking at the camera and giving a casual smile that says “Oh, were you taking a picture of me? You silly goose I wasn’t even ready!” You are not posing for a spread in LL Bean. Get out. 

—

If he sends you multiple emails in a row, because he kept forgetting things that he had wanted to ask you. Let it go, my friend. Oh and also, Xanax. 

—

If his pictures are literally from a modeling agency and so incredibly photoshopped that it looks like you could use the hollow of his cheekbones as a vessel for guacamole dip. Stop. You are not real, and if you ARE real, I am 98% certain that you have never been able to give a female an orgasm. You probably also do weird shit like only drinking water and sucking on lemons, except for on Tuesdays when you’ll let yourself have some organic soybeans.

—

If he posts his Instagram username in his profile with the caption “Follow me on Insta!!” HONEY. You look so desperate. The douchebaggery that you are sending out into the world right now is really messing with my chi. 

—

If any (or all) of his pictures are taken with various bikini-clad babes that CLEARLY are not his sister. Oh, please let me be your next lay. I can tell that you’re really into monogamy and class. Puke.

—

Lastly, and on a slightly different note, if you’re a widower whose wife died of cancer 2 years ago and you post pictures with the adorable little girl that you had together, and you write happily about how most nights nowadays are spent building forts and watching Frozen, you should know that I’m just going to start bawling. So thanks for that (but you, kind sir, are NOT doing it wrong, and I hope that you find a deep and mighty love). But seriously, I cried. I know, I know. Throw me a tampon.

 It’s not all bad, really. This ain’t my first rodeo. I’m living proof that good things (and horrifying things) can come out of this interweb-correspondance. I know quite a few people who have a certain finger that is a little extra sparkly these days, thanks to one of these silly websites. It’s really no different than meeting people the “normal” way. No matter how you end up getting involved with someone, you’re always going to run the risk of  them being a fucking nutjob. Or a narcissist/sociopath. <— worst case scenario. But you may also just meet that dude (or lady) who is YOUR kind of weird, and it just works.

Well now that I’m feeling sappy, I’m gonna go snuggle my cat and then run around outside until it’s time to drive up north for the day and get into trouble with some old amigos.

Cheers!

Love,

M.

Self-Esteem Boosters

/ Love, M / Leave a comment

If you ever feel like you’re the only one struggling, read this and then high-five yourself.

You’re welcome.

Did I mention I tried to make a thong out of a pair of white granny panties?

Well, I did try to do that.

It turned out well.

photo

Now before you start going off with, “Good gracious!! That girl needs to keep her skivvies to herself! Who in their right mind would go around posting pictures of their panties?! She’s coming off looking like a goddamn hooker!,” let’s take a step back for a second.

People. Look at this pair of underwear. Does it LOOK like I was trying to make them into something that I was planning on having anyone else actually see (until now)? I do have a shred of dignity, sometimes.

I was trying to make them into something that I could wear so that certain things would NOT be seen through all of my white summer dresses because APPARENTLY, it’s really trendy right now for companies to make transparent clothing.

Lovely.

This endeavor clearly did not work out (and no, I didn’t end up wearing any of the dresses because I try to save my hoe-bag looks for never).

If I ever do manage to be successful in creating a thong out of granny panties though, you’ll be the first to know.

Or, I could aways just go and stock up on some of those string-y underwear bullshit things, like a normal person, and not have to sit on my floor trying to go all Martha Stewart on my underoos.

Either way.

—

Did I mention I went out to dinner and the human that I was with happened to get accosted with death threats at our table by a wild, yelling, arm-flailing man who claimed to “know all about him?” Yea. That happened. Was I surprised that it happened? No. Of course that would happen to me. And as I watched this all going down, with wide eyes, a forkful of lamb shank and giant gulps of my whiskey cocktail, I thought to myself Self, is this an appropriate time to get your phone out and start video-taping? I may be witnessing an attempted murder. Or a real murder. Or even my own murder. If this man actually takes a swing at the human across from me, is possibly knocking over my delicious plate of lamb really worth jumping in on the action and trying to be a hero? Is this person I’m with right now the Seattle version of Jordan Belfort, and I’m about to witness his downfall when twelve cop cars come screaming around the corner in about 30 seconds? I better start eating my lamb faster because if this happens I probably won’t have time to ask for a box. 

Did I mention that on this said ‘dinner-with-a-fellow-human,’ it took nearly an hour for me to get the half mile to the restaurant because the driver of the car that was sent for me couldn’t spell or pronounce the name “Harrison,” and kept trying to find a “Sheraton” street while I was standing outside in 6-inch heels and about ready to call Pizza Hut so that I could at least have something to munch on while my life was passing me by?

Did I mention that my fellow human was super romantic that evening, sending me texts while he was waiting for me to arrive that said things like,  “I’ll probably be drunk when you get here,” and, “Pouring Jameson in my eyes.”

Did I mention that the aforementioned dinner experience ended with a hilarious rejection of mouth to mouth contact, and the town car driver later telling my fellow human, “You’ll kiss her next time, champ.”

Aaahh, optimism.

Dating is really fun, guys. REALLY fun.

(okay but seriously, though, that one was really fun)

—

Did I mention that I resemble a zombie pretty much all of the time now and I’ve probably bought Sephora out of all of their under eye concealers because this little feline thing that I rescued is actually a human toddler? A toddler that doesn’t stop meowing from the time I get home until the time I pass out, UNLESS I let him drape his furry body across my face and start snoring in my ear? A toddler who, like clockwork, puts his face in front of mine at 4am every single morning and starts loudly meowing at me until I wake up, and once I’m up he promptly goes back to sleep, because he’s trying to KILL me? He thinks that because he’s so goddamn cute with his one eye, he can get away with murder.

He’s right.

Did I mention that I bought said feline a gift from Vegas, to try and remind him that I am actually the boss and will put uncomfortable, too-tight pieces of human-looking clothing on him whenever he gets sassy?

My efforts to embarrass him were fruitless because he gave absolutely zero fucks about it.

photo

—

And finally, since it’s 4th of July weekend, did I mention that I once had a new brazilian wax client, who’s name on her consult sheet was spelled “Merica,” and when I went to introduce myself and take her back for her service, I called her Mer-i-ka? Yes, like ‘Merica, in the style of Larry the Cable Guy.

Do you want to know how her name was actually pronounced? MUH-REE-SA.

Do you want to know what ethnicity she was? African-American.

Do you know how badly I wanted to crawl into the crevasses of the couch she was sitting on and never, ever ever come out ever again?

So, so badly.

SO badly.

I still almost throw up when I think about it.

Well folks, If THAT doesn’t make you feel better about yourself, I don’t know what will.

—

I hope all of you abstain from holding Roman Candles by the wrong end this weekend, and have lots of fun writing swear words in the air with sparklers.

Happy 4th!

Love,

M.