Oh New Year's Eve, How I Hate Thee.

New Year’s Eve is amateur night.  It's the night that every Tom’s hairy dick is out trying to bring the New Year in with a bang (literally).  I’m not saying they go out with this goal in mind; but the later it gets, the more important this goal becomes.

I don’t think I have ever had an awesome, unforgettable time going out on New Year’s Eve.  Trust me, I have definitely given it the old “college try”.  I have been to every different type of New Year’s celebrations one could imagine.  I have tried casual clubs, black tie events, and parties large and small at various friends’ homes.  None of them has held up to the hype.  

Probably my biggest issue with New Year’s is the hugging and kissing of complete drunken strangers at midnight (and for the next ½ hour).  I don’t like to be touched by strangers (unless naked and horizontal, but that’s completely different).  It seems like some people believe The Universe has given everyone permission to jump across social boundaries in the name of another year.  I just don’t get it.

I cannot count the times I have been hugged and kissed –unwillingly- on New Year’s Eve by creepy, smelly, drunken men.  Usually, it goes something like this:

Typically sane and conservative married man (perhaps he’s a banker or an accountant) has been drinking and dancing all night long and is now good and toasted (and sweaty).  After having kissed and ditched his wife, he is now in his New Year’s drunken frenzy walking around looking for someone he deems attractive enough to “receive” his celebratory greeting. He takes one look at the boobs and thinks, “I want to smash THOSE against my body” and attacks.  Usually it’s accompanied by a sloppy kiss on the lips. (Blech)

Married, single, it doesn’t matter. If I am with someone or they are with someone, who cares? It’s a New Year and all bets (and vows) are off.

 I have seen more marital (and physical) fights start on New Year’s Eve by someone kissing a stranger their spouse deems threatening. The alcohol only fuels the fire.  Hey! Great way to ring in the New Year….with a black eye or a night in jail.  Yay!!

Personally, I want to start a new tradition: a nice firm handshake to ring in the New Year. 

Happy New Year and a nice firm handshake to each and every one of you out there!

Living in a virtual world

The websites to which I subscribe offer various ways of contacting people with whom one may have potential interest.  The free site offers virtual gifts that you can “give” to someone. You receive so many credits a month for your virtual objects of affection and, if you are really stupid and you do not spend your fake money wisely, you can purchase more credits (with REAL money) for more virtual gifts.  Yep.  You just spent money on absolutely nothing.  Good job!

So I am on the free site checking my emails (and looking for fodder for my blog), and this guy sends me a virtual teddy bear.  I must tell you it is more than a little awkward to receive a romantic gift from a complete stranger, and more than a little creepy.  I thanked him graciously and stated my lack of interest based on his profile (ok, it was really based on his looks and that fact that he was so little I could put him in my pocket, but I am not so mean as to tell him so….or he just got me on a good day, one or the other).  Having kindly explained my lack of interest, I figured that was the end of it. Apparently, I figured wrong.  A few days later there is the stupid teddy bear picture in my email.  Same teddy bear, same guy.  So either this guy has a memory worse than mine or he is a complete glutton for punishment.   It was then that I decided they needed to take the virtual thing a step further. 

If they are going to allow people to send virtual gifts, then they need to go all the way with it.  Personally, I’d like to see the following: a virtual middle finger (I’d have sent that to the “boob guy”).  Then if they continue to write, I could send them a virtual kick-in-the-nuts.  A virtual back-turning would be helpful too, to let someone know I am not interested before he even makes contact.  To be honest, I’d probably even pay money for those.

The paid-for dating site is a little better.  You send a virtual wink if you are interested in somebody but don’t necessarily have the balls to make direct contact (I’d like to send them a virtual pair of balls).  After the wink, you go directly to the contact.  In my opinion they should make it a little more bar-like.  First a wink, then a virtual smile, some virtual eye contact, a virtual wave and then a virtual lifting of your drink in a “cheers” type of way. You could do a little virtual moving around the room to be sure that the virtual eye contact is really aimed at you and then go in for the kill.  Doesn’t that sound romantic??

 It makes me wonder what the other dating sites have to offer in regard to the first move? I imagine it goes something like this:

The Christian dating site:  a virtual prayer.

The Filipino/Russian dating sites:  a virtual green card.

The S & M dating sites:  a virtual spanking. 

The elderly dating site:  a virtual walker

The gay men’s site: a virtual grooming kit.

The swinger’s site: a virtual wife-swap.

The foot fetish site:  a virtual corn remover.

If anyone out there knows what the other sites have to offer, I am dying to know!

I am still waiting for the virtual hand job, blow job, etc. to give to people when you REALLY like someone. The slogan for that could be "no muss, no fuss.”

On the converse side, the virtual screw doesn’t matter to me.  I do that all the time.  

Dating the Smoker

Dating a smoker can be a real drag.  Get it??

When I was younger, I usually ended up dating a guy that smoked. The fact that I, too, was a smoker probably had something to do with it; but more so I think it was his bad boy image of the smoker. He was a little bit dirty (minded, not hygiene!), a little rough around the edges, and he just looked like he knew his way around the bedroom.

Overall, I have found this bad-boy image to be pretty true.  Smokers (and/or ex-smokers) are typically much wilder in bed than lifelong non-smokers. (You non-smokers can relax; it’s not true with ALL of you. I’m just speaking generally here. If you are a lifelong non-smoker and you are reading this, I am sure I am not talking about YOU.)  Anyway, I am not sure why smokers are mostly less conservative in bed than non-smokers.  Perhaps it is a certain devil-may-care, rebel attitude.  Or maybe it’s because smokers have a tendency to be orally obsessed.  Whatever the reason, I’ll take it.

Personally, I have been smoking since I was 15 years old and have tried to quit hundreds of times.  I have journals that I wrote in my 20’s in which I would write on certain dates:  1. Go to the Laundromat.  2: Get groceries.  3: Quit smoking (just in case I forgot).  I used to announce the fact that I was quitting in dramatic fashion “I AM QUITTING SMOKING!  Tomorrow is the first day of my smoke-free life!”   I stopped doing that when the following two things happened when I quit:  the first was that my daughter would blame every moment of anger I had on the fact that I had quit smoking.  It typically went something like this, “You are just angry that I got black nail polish on the brand new couch because you quit smoking.”   Yeah. That’s it.  I am not finished paying for the couch yet, but had she ruined it while I was still smoking, I would be ok with it.  The second reason that I stopped announcing that I had quit was that I would, inevitably, go back to smoking.

Which leads me (via the scenic route) to my story:  While filling out my information on the dating sites, they all have the question of “Are you a Smoker?”  You then chose from (something similar to) the following options:

1.       Yes.

2.       Yes, but I am trying to quit.

3.       Socially

4.       No Way!

The obvious answer would be #1 but I never go with the obvious. So I went with #2 Yes, but I am trying to quit.  My reasoning behind this answer is as follows:  occasionally I think “I really should quit”.   Since admitting that you have a problem is the first step to dealing with the problem the answer is #2. Yes, but I am trying to quit.

On a side note, answer #3 confounds me.  What is a social smoker? Is that like being “kind of pregnant”.  Either you are a smoker or you aren’t.  There is no in-between.  I want to punch the social smokers in the face and say, “Pick a side, Asshole!”, but, I digress….

One day I logged onto the dating site (because I am a glutton for punishment) and some older man, that was way past my selected age range, sent me the following message (and I quote):

 “Quit Smoking!!”

He was definitely direct and to the point, I’ll give him that; as was my response:

“I will quit smoking when you quit telling strangers what to do.”  Oddly, I never head back from him.

There was another guy that I met on the site that I actually ended up speaking with on the phone.  Prior to our conversation, I had read his profile and he had chosen the “NO Way” response to the smoking question.  As we discussed possible plans to get together, I mentioned the fact that I smoke and he responded with “I can tell you smoke by the sound of your voice”.   Huh.  I wasn’t really sure how to respond to that.  Was that supposed to be a compliment?  I am not sure how it would be unless he followed it up with “…and it’s sultry and sexy.”  Damn! And here I was going to give him my best rendition of Kim Carnes’ “Betty Davis Eyes.”   Bye-Bye.

A few months ago I ran into a (non-smoking) guy that I dated in the relatively recent past.  Since our break-up, he has taken up some kind of power-of-the-mind hypnotism stuff that has, apparently, helped people to quit smoking.  Having tried everything but something like that, I asked him in passing if he would be willing to give it a shot on me.  He agreed.   Neither of us pursued the matter further until a month or so after that when I ran into him again.  When he saw me he made it a point to pull his car over to me to inform me that should I pursue the matter further, he wouldn’t charge me the entire hefty fee that he was charging others.  I, because of our past relationship, would only have to pay a discounted hefty fee (which was still a hefty fee).  Lucky me.  Perhaps I had no right to be, but I was a little put off by this.  I guess I figured that because we had done dirty little things to each other in the past, and we are still friends,  I would get the  “I’ve Had You In My Mouth Discount” which would basically make it free since I didn’t charge him for his pleasure either.

What can I say?  I’m gifted.

Dating the Virgin

I dated a guy for a few months while living in Florida. He was tall, dark and handsome with a very large shoe size (if you know what I mean) and, as it turns out, he was a 28 year old virgin. 

He first disclosed this tidbit of information at a very inopportune moment. We had already been out on a few dates that had ended with the usual good night kisses.  One night we had gone out again and things were progressing along nicely as we were lying on the couch, getting hot and heavy, when everything grinds to a screeching halt as he sits up and inform me of his virginal status.  My first thought was “Awwww, poor guy! What terribly mean girls you have been dating! You have clearly been hanging around with the wrong crowd! It’s a good thing you met me when you did!”

When he told me that his virginity was by choice, I was more than a little confused.  Not only was he not overly religious, we had gotten to the point where we were already half way there! Dude!?!  A little disclosure in advance of this moment would have been nice.

At that point I was still convinced that the right girl just hadn’t come along to help him realize what he was missing, and that I was just the girl to do that (cause I am sweet like that - always trying to help others). As self-control is not really my strong suit (to say the least), I really thought that there was no way after dating me for a period of time, that he would be able to maintain it.  Not because I was the end all, be all (ok, back in those days I thought I was pretty close) but because he would allow us to do everything else other than the “final act”. I figured if we…I don’t know….slipped and fell into it, that it wouldn’t be the end of the world. I would really be doing him a favor….

Let me just stop here and say how cruel I think this is on his part.  Not the virginity part.  You want to keep your virginity, that’s great. If it means that much to you that you save yourself for your wedding night, having no idea whatsoever if the person you are about to spend eternity with (or hopefully, at least a couple of years) completely sucks in the sack (and I don’t mean that in a good way); I encourage you (and wish you luck) in doing that.  On the other hand, it’s not right to flaunt something in front of someone that they can’t have (especially something that large). That’s just rude! Seriously, pick a side. Either you are really good and virtuous or you aren’t. You are walking a very fine line convincing yourself that you are still moral while being planted firmly in someone’s mouth. Sorry, but I don’t think it works that way.

The way I see it is this: let’s say someone gives you a bus (drops it in your lap, so to speak), would YOU drive it around town alone and not invite any friends to ride along with you? Yeah. Me either.  It’s just selfish to show your awesome bus to the world and not share it.  Keep your stupid bus in the garage where we don’t all want to sit on it.

Anyway, after a few months of getting this close to showing him exactly what the hell it is that he’d been missing, and continually having him say “No” at the last minute, it became increasingly (and when I say increasingly, I mean frustratingly) apparent that he was serious about this virgin thing.  I even told him I could bring him closer to God (or at least make him call out to God a couple hundred times) but I was unable to convince him to give it up (I note here that if I believed in hell, I might be concerned at this point. But I don’t; so I’m good). He really was saving himself for marriage. Well good for him.

Don’t get me wrong, I did have a lot of respect for his willpower and the fact that he was holding out until marriage.  Having little willpower myself, I was somewhat in awe of his.  For….like… a minute. I was in my early 20’s and had no desire for marriage (there were oats that needed sowing) and as the “virgin boat” had already sailed for me, I had saw no reason (and had no desire) to re-dock it.  

Needless to say, after a few months, the whole thing just got old. I’m sure to some degree my ego had taken a hit in that, in all my awesomeness, I was unable to convince him to let it go.  So at that point, I ended it with him. Amazingly enough he had the nerve to be pissed about it!  What the hell did HE have to be pissed about?? Geez. Some virgins are so touchy.

Maybe if he’d gotten some he wouldn’t have had so much anger inside…

Happy Feet

”You must have chaos within you to give rise to a dancing star.” - Friedrich Nietzsche

 I will admit that the majority of guys I have dated I met in dance clubs (quit scoffing and let me finish!). There is a good reason for that.  In order to tell you though, I need to back up a bit… 

When my parents met they were both dancers.  My mother taught kids to dance at a studio in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. My father taught adults at a studio in New Jersey.  They met at a competition at which my mother was asked to judge and rest as they say, is history.  Prior to having kids my parents traveled doing competitions and exhibitions around the U.S. and Europe. 

The picture here is of my parents dancing at an exhibition.  Doesn’t that look fun??

About a year after my high school graduation I moved to Boca Raton, Florida. While Boca Raton is known for its incredibly wealthy residents, I was young and usually pretty broke.  I was 19 years old but was able to get into clubs because Florida was in the process of changing its Liquor Law to 21. I had made the “grandfather clause” by less than two months. (Why Yes. Yes, I will drink to that, thank you very much!)   It wasn’t so much about drinking as it was about dancing, though admittedly the two usually went hand in hand.

In south Florida in the late 80’s there was a “Ladies Night” every night of the week except for Friday and Saturdays (there may still be but I have since moved on).  This meant that ladies (and I use that term loosely) could get into the club for free and buy a drink for $1.  It made buying drinks for the girls incredibly cheap for the guys (even the broke ones), which made the night even cheaper for us! (Have I ever told you how much I love being a girl??)

On Fridays and Saturdays there would be a cover charge to get into the clubs but often, you only really needed to afford the cover and one or two drinks and the rest of the night drinks would find their way to you on their own (alcohol infused serendipity!).

So that is how I met many of the men that I dated in Florida. I met them in the clubs (and the really odd jobs that I worked, but that is for another blog).  It has always been my opinion that if a guy can move well vertically, he can probably move well horizontally too. If he has rhythm on the dance floor, chances are that it doesn’t go away in the bedroom and if it does, just throw on a little music to remind him why he’s there.  Most of the time this is true but there are always your disappointing anomalies. Unfortunately, one needs to learn that the hard way….or the not hard way, whichever the case may be.

Strangely enough, at the time that I started clubbing, I didn’t even know I could dance. Of course as a kid I enjoyed dancing around in the freedom of my bedroom, (singing into a hairbrush or crying over the heartbreaking words of whatever song) and at the occasional middle school dance; but I had no idea how much I would love it. In Florida I would go out dancing four or five nights a week except Sunday (because God said I needed to rest that day…and there were no good places to go on Sunday).  That is, of course, unless I had overdone it the night before in which case I would stay home on the floor of the bathroom swearing I would never drink again until the next day when I would feel better and do it all over again.  Most of the clubs were pop/ hip hop clubs (none of that “garage crap” they started playing later) but sometimes we would mix it in with salsa or reggae clubs. The one thing about Florida is it is incredibly rich with culture.

What I still cant believe is how the hell I was able to stay out until 1 or 2 am. night after night and be at work the next morning by 8.  I then worked until 5, went home, grabbed dinner (usually pasta because clubbing and clothing were more important than proper nutrition), took a quick nap then got up and got ready to go out around 9 pm.  If I met a guy I would be up even later of course (if I slept at all) and go to work and do it all over again the next night.  It must have been all of the exercise I got from dancing (and stuff).

 And now: a couple of pictures from the past:

This is me to doing a shot called a “blow job” as taken by the cute bartender. Yes, that is a shot glass sticking out of my mouth as you were not allowed to touch the glass with your hands (seriously, who comes up with this shit??).

This is me in one of my typical outfits in Florida (yes, the boyfriend has been cropped).

Those were my favorite pair of jeans.  They were ripped in all the right places (of course by me, my scissors were my best designing tool).   I couldn’t get away with wearing them in clubs as you had to dress up but I could wear them to other bars like the reggae bars (those guys don’t give a crap, Mon).

Apparently, large eyebrows were in then (think Brooke Shields).

My dad was a huge ladies man (shut up, I know what you are thinking) and he was living in Boca at the time too.  I remember one time I was walking out of a grocery store in these jeans and a similar cropped shirt and a guy whistled at me.  I turned around angry because I thought it was rude (I know, I know. I asked for the attention and then when I got it I got mad -  it’s a girl thing) and realized that it had come from my own father.  We were both absolutely horrified when we saw each other and then my dad burst out laughing (he had a very warped sense of humor).  I just kept walking, shaking my head the whole way to my car.  

Gross, but true.

And proof that Nietzsche’s quote must be pretty accurate.

And I Thought I Had Issues...

 So after the immense success of the free dating site, I decided that perhaps going with a site that required money might find better results (and literacy).

I had been the on the pay site for a short time when I met a local guy that seemed really cool.  He did not approach me in an overtly pushy way with an immediate need to get my number or go on a date.  Instead he started with something short and witty that had nothing to do with us dating.  I replied with something witty and back and forth we went for a while.  Smart guy.  He didn’t immediately try to saddle the wild mare and get kicked in the head for it.

After a few weeks of back and forth banter, a date was made. We met at a local restaurant just blocks away from my mother and sisters' homes (safety first!).  This is a huge first step for me. If you haven’t figured it out yet, it is my nature to be cynical as hell and I had no idea what was going to walk through the door. I am well aware that people can post pictures from 10 years ago (or someone else), but I was actually pleasantly surprised.  He was my age and appeared to be showered, he had teeth and no noticeable nose hairs, that kind of thing. 

The first hour of our date we got the basics out of the way and somehow found ourselves in a discussion about evolution.  I know, I know, my friends thought that was nuts too. In my own defense, anyone who knows me knows that I love deep conversation (among other things) with a well-armed opponent.  Somehow the topic came up and he made a quick comment in passing that he didn’t believe “that life came from a speck of dirt” and kept right on talking.

Wait a minute…wait a minute…WHAT??

Now, I don’t profess to know everything about everything. Ok. I kind of do, but not about the big things.  In my opinion, when it comes to deep concepts like religion, no one religion is better than another; none of them are right while others are wrong (except for the ones that want to hurt people). It’s the same with the big concepts such as evolution.  That being said, in order for me to give someone's opinion any credence at all, they had better be able to back it up.  So, while I actually believe in a combination of evolution and creation (something had to start the Big Bang); I had no problem that he didn’t believe in evolution.  But, I needed to know more. 

“Sooooo….,” I started my question, trying to choose my words carefully, “You believe that God put a man and a woman and all of the animals on the earth at pretty much at the same time?” 

“Yes,” he replied.

“What about the dinosaurs? Do you believe that man roamed the earth dodging the dinosaurs? When did the dinosaurs come into play? Why did all of the dinosaurs die and man didn’t? And while I agree with your statement that life doesn’t come from a speck of dirt, it’s been proven that with water, light, currents, etc., you can get life”, I retorted, firing questions one after another without waiting for his answers (out of the machine gun that is my brain). 

He just looked at me.  Uh-oh.

He quickly stated that he didn’t know how all of that happened or when, but he still doesn’t believe in evolution because you can’t get life from a speck of dirt.  Alrighty then.

I decided that a first date was probably not the best time to have this conversation and the date continued and ended pleasantly enough with us making plans to get together again.

A week or so later, we went out again, this time for a full-blown dinner.  It was the longest hour and ½ of my life. I was actually ready to run out the door before my dinner was served but I was starving, so I stayed.

Prior to even ordering, I found out that he is a raging homophobe (me thinks thou doth protest too much) who thinks that gay people are a product of environment and are not born that way.  I could not disagree more and I cannot tolerate people that cannot tolerate people.  My response to that was “What about the kids that are raised with no gay people in their lives? Did they eat too many Fruity Pebbles as a kid and that ‘gave them the gay’?”  (Sarcasm: my go-to anger response.)  Amazingly enough, he didn’t have an answer for that (are we seeing a pattern here?).

As we go to order dinner, it got much, much worse.  Like a gentleman, he tells me to order first.  I do so and then he orders something that I had not seen on the menu and that sounded much better than what I had ordered.  I suggested that I might change my order and he said adamantly, “You can’t.”  I looked at him with my head cocked to the side as a puppy might look at someone that is making a strange noise.

“I’m sorry?” I asked a bit surprised.

“It is a pet peeve of mine when people order what I am ordering at a restaurant”, he elaborated.

My head cocked more.

He continued, “If you had ordered what I was going to order, I would have changed my order. I let everyone order first so that I can order what no one else is having.”

“Oh! So you can share,” I said smiling, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

“Oh No! I don’t share,”   he replied. (Hello? Selfish much??)

My response was quick and succinct: “You do realize I will never order first again, don’t you?”  

(Excuse me, waitress, can you please tell the chef to hurry the hell up with my dinner??!!)

So at this point, I already know there will be NO third date with Rainman and it was just a matter of wolfing down my food and getting the hell out of there.  And then, we had this little conversation:

Me: “So, do you like animals?”

Him: “I like dogs, but I don’t like yours.”

Let me think..…how do I put this kindly?   FUCK. YOU.  

Not only had he never met my dog, he assumed, (wrongly) based on a picture (in which she was NOT sitting on oversize chair) that she was a small dog.  She is a 60lb. dog!

CHECK PLEASE!!!

Amazingly enough he had no clue that he was DTM (Dead to Me) and was talking about what we might do on our third date.  I have an idea.  Let’s go to a pig flying competition.

I Am What I Am

 I have decided to take a break from my dating stories (though I have an awesome one to tell you) to talk about the subject of morals.

I have none.  The end.

Yes, I am just kidding but it has been brought to my attention recently by a concerned friend that this blog can possibly be making me look bad (i.e., a trampy).  My mother expressed concern recently too that I might regret writing this blog someday when I am a grandmother (coming from the woman who asked if 17 was too young to buy her granddaughter a vibrator).  The funny thing is anyone who knows me knows I have never pretended to be anyone other than exactly who I am. 

When I was in high school, I was very against being labeled in one particular crowd. Each day I would wear a different outfit that put me a different group.  I would wear docksiders and an Izod T-shirt one day like a “preppy”, ripped jeans with bandannas wrapped around my leg the next day like a stoner (we called them “heads” back then).  The next day I would wear a football jersey and sneakers like a jock and after that a lime green mini skirt and safety pins in my ears like a punk rocker and so on.  I really didn’t care what people thought about me as long as I wasn’t labeled a conformist.  Not much has changed. 

 Guess what? I have had sex.  Have I had a lot of sex? As I know better than to talk about numbers, let’s just say it’s somewhere between Mother Teresa and Gene Simmons.  Of course, society has been saying for hundreds of years that when a guy has multiple sex partners he is virile - a rock star, if you will. When a woman does it, she is a slut. Even in the Bible men have multiple wives (rock on, Noah!) while women were to be subservient.  Ummmm…screw that.

This is 21^st century. Is it still the case that women are to be there to serve their men and are not to enjoy sex?  I don’t think so (but this is my argument so I might be a little biased…and happy).

Today's media is full of women that enjoy sex without necessarily being in a committed relationship, and many of these women are strong and intelligent with powerful jobs.   Take for example, two of the women from the popular show Sex in the City: Carrie Bradshaw and Samantha Jones.  Carrie, the endless romantic, had lots of sex but all in the name of finding true love.  Samantha had lots of sex, all in the name of having lots of sex.  Is one reason better than the other for having lots of sex? I don’t think so.

Moreover, many medical studies indicate that having more sex makes you live longer: 

“Sex not only helps by keeping close human contact in your life, it may even add 3-8 years to your life. While not a great deal of research has been done among older adults, it seems that people who have frequent orgasms do, in fact, live longer. This makes some sense -- an orgasm releases chemicals in your body that cause relaxation and pleasure. These chemicals, if released often enough, may counteract the negative effects of stress.” - Mark Stibich, Ph.D

I don’t know how you feel about it but what is the point of having sex if you don’t enjoy it?  If you do enjoy it, why would you not want more?

 It’s kind of like a massage (and for the purpose of this example, not the “happy-ending” kind).  If you get a massage and it hurts and it is terrible, you will probably not get another.  But, if you get one and it feels terrific and you are happy and relaxed afterward, you would be an idiot not to get another…and another….and another….

Back in the day, I used to liken myself to a big game hunter.  I may have been promiscuous but I was also very selective.  It was a challenge to see if I could get the sexy lead singer of the band, the hot DJ that had all of the girls watching him or the adorably shy bartender (apparently, I used to be very competitive).  Did I make men buy me expensive meals, jewels, gifts, etc.? Hell no. I actually prefer sex before dinner.  Who wants to have sex when they are all full and bloated? Personally, I have found that food tastes better after sex.

My sister used to say that I usually ended up falling in love with the broke musician or poet that I would allow to move in and ended up supporting him for a while.  This was actually very true.

All of that being said, I do have my boundaries.  I have never been with (nor wanted to be with) a married man (that I know of) and I do not date men already involved in a relationship.  I am not judging anyone that has; it’s just not for me (it doesn’t help the trust issues).   I would also like to note that I never cheated on my husband for the 5 minutes that we were married.  Another plus is that I very rarely lie. Mostly because my memory sucks and I can’t remember what I said; but it keeps me honest.  

The last topic I would like to cover in this particular blog is that someone recently asked me how I can write a blog about dating and sex when I have an 18 year old daughter?  Fortunately for me, my daughter is NOTHING like me.  She is somewhat of a prude in that she is very private about private things, she never swears (can you fucking believe that??) and she has had the same boyfriend for 2 years.  She also has no desire whatsoever to read my blog and I have no desire for her to read it. So, we’re good.

Essentially the bottom line is this, in the eternal words of Popeye:  I am what I am. And I couldn’t be happier about that. This blog was created to make people laugh and to share some of my adventurous, nutty dating stories with you.  If you find me shocking and over the top, all the better because remember, my grandkids will think I’m a rock star that will clearly live forever.

If my boobs could talk...

If my boobs could talk I think they’d have a lot to say.  I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t get a word in edgewise…

Yes, this blog is about breasts.  To make it wittier I could name them something cute like “the twins” but this presents two problems.  One: they would be fraternal twins at best, as one is larger than the other and; two: my sisters are twins and that would be creepily confusing. For the purpose of this blog, I will call them “The Girls”,  though I don’t really do that in real life.  It’s a little too cutesy for my taste.  I would probably go with something a little more substantial like “the linebackers”, but that just doesn’t have the same flow.

As most young girls do, I began to develop in middle school.  Around the 8^th grade, someone started a rumor that I stuffed my bra.  Having been the youngest of four children and quite used to being teased; I knew not to show that it bothered me (that cute little kid in the movie Jerry McGuire had it mostly right: dogs, bees and other kids smell fear).  So when some smart-ass kid would wave his hand in the air while yelling to the teacher “it’s STUFFY in here”, and the teacher would agree while opening a window; I would laugh right along with everyone else.  It affected me. It was 20+ years until I could purchase a padded bra again (Nipples! Get your nipples here!!). If my boobs could talk, at this point, I think they would have said, “Don’t sweat it, Kid, they will love us in high school”.

I can understand why women get breast augmentation surgery.  There is an odd level of confidence that comes with having large breasts. I assume the same could be said for a man knowing he has a large penis. We could analyze this topic for hours as to why that is, but I don’t feel like it.  The point is, The Girls have served me well.

When I was 16 years old, and pretty much fully developed, I took a trip to Florida to visit my dad. He took us to a waterpark that had drink bars throughout the park (because alcohol and swimming is such a good idea).  I remember ditching my dad and sauntering up to the bar in my finest bikini (The Girls prefer to see what is going on out there). I ordered a beer with a confident smile and sure enough; I got one. I was beginning to understand the power I had been given; the bartender didn’t even look at my 16 year old face when he served me (The Girls were pleased).

I hate to say it (but you KNOW I will) having large breasts has opened many doors for me, both literally and figuratively. They have been a blessing and curse over the years, specifically when it comes to men. I cannot tell you how many times The Girls have been asked by a guy if he can buy me a drink.  My favorite response (and one I used often) was “they aren’t thirsty, but thanks anyway.”  (The Girls might disagree).  Sometimes it’s hard to determine if someone is really interested in speaking to me, or if they are more interested in finding out what The Girls have to say.   One might say this “curse” is actually what I deserve considering I usually have them on display in some way, shape or form, and I guess I would have to agree. However, if I were to wear looser clothing, they make me look heavier than I actually am (hey, this is MY excuse and I am sticking with it). And besides, The Girls wouldn’t be able to see this big beautiful world. 

Obviously having large breasts attracts the infamous “boob man”. If he is cute, I guess I am ok with that so long as he doesn’t actually expect them to speak…and he stops touching them at inappropriate moments.

In my mid-20’s I was living in Colorado and was hired as a legal secretary at a very conservative law firm. Needless to say, it didn’t last long.  I am not conservative in the least and while my immediate boss loved me, the owner of the firm was less than impressed by my outspoken personality and style. I was ultimately fired but not before my boss got me a replacement job with a larger-than-life criminal attorney from Texas.  Rowe was on his 5^th marriage at the time to yet another stripper that he met, bought a boob-job, and took her out of the strip club for a better life.   Rowe was clearly a boob-man.  Needless to say, I got the job. I would like to note here that I was a good legal secretary. My boobs may have helped me to get the job but had I not been good at it, I never would have kept that job for the years that I did as there was no inappropriate behavior between my boss and me.  Apparently, he just liked looking at large breasts, even at work.

I once dated a guy that informed me, as we were about to get intimate, that he was a “leg man”. Before I could stop myself (and this happens often), I blurted out “Well, what the hell are doing with me?!” The whole thing was not great. It wasn’t him as he was actually pretty good; but I was so distracted on what angle would make my legs look 6 inches longer than they actually are, I couldn’t enjoy it.

Hey Idiot, way to ruin what could have been an awesome hour of your life.

What's in a Name?

When I was a little girl, my nickname was Weiner.  This should have been telling. 

I have always been a girl who gives nicknames.  It doesn’t matter if it’s a person, a pet, a place, a houseplant and even an inanimate object.  Perhaps it is my love of words that makes me want to play with them; or maybe I’m just nuts? (Still up for debate)  Either way, I love to give nicknames, especially nicknames that only I use.  

Many of my immediate neighbors in my neighborhood have been given nicknames. Very few of the names are created out of malice. (Ok, there is one lady we call “Pleasant”- because she isn’t- but the majority of the names are not meant to be cruel).  In fact, most of the names come up as a matter of necessity.  We either don’t know their real names (or we didn’t know them at the time the nickname was created) and rather than say “you know the people down the street that have five kids in a townhouse…” we just say “you know, the Duggars!” (named after that crazy family with the 19 kids).

A few other neighborhood examples:   “Lancelot” (because of her Sir Lancelot haircut), Band-Aid Nose (the only time the guy has ever stopped and spoke to us he had a huge Band-Aid on his nose), Hot Cop, who is married to Hot Nurse (seriously one of the most attractive couples I have ever seen), Mustang Sally (that guy loves his car), The Fudds (his name is Elmer) and the Cat Lady.

Some of our nicknames are not short as nicknames usually are.  Case in point: “Majestic Ice Tires.” Majestic Ice Tires is a name that evolved about three winters ago when we had an extraordinarily icy winter.  Our neighbor was terribly upset one icy day because she had bought brand new tires that she was told were supposed to drive on ice. No, seriously.  She was livid that they did not easily drive the 20 feet to the mailbox (that she refuses to walk) on the icy hill in front of our homes.  She was so mad she was going right back to the store to return them for better ice-driving tires.  Perhaps the kind of tires with spikes on them is in order?

Needless to say, the guys I have dated are no exception (if you haven’t already, see the story of Musk from an earlier blog).  Some of the nicknames are obvious: i.e., Shorty, and some are not so obvious like a guy we called Lizard:

Quite a few years ago I had dated a guy for a few months and it became clear that we were not on the same page.  Having recently been divorced, he really wanted to get married again and….well….I don’t.  Furthermore, we both had younger kids and his parenting style was much more lackadaisical than mine.  So while we were out to dinner with our kids, I am correcting my daughter for her behavior or bad manners and he was letting his kids do whatever they wanted.  So I got to the point where the relationship was basically over but not to the point that I let him in on that little fact.  For me, that is usually the place where little things they do start to drive me crazy.  Lizard had this quirk that when he would go to kiss me he would stick his tongue out before he actually got to me.  By the end of our relationship it drove me so crazy that it seemed like he came at me with his tongue out from across the room.  Hence: Lizard.

There was a guy that I dated that we dubbed Missionary Mark, who clearly didn’t have a sexually creative bone in his body (pun intended).  It makes me yawn just thinking about him.

There was a guy I dated that we called Snidely.  It was an incredibly crowded relationship.  There was me, there was him and there was his mustache that he liked to twirl. A lot.

There was the Marlboro Man who very definitely looked like him and even smoked Marlboros to perpetuate the identity.

And then there was a guy that was home on leave from the Navy when I met him out at a club.  We had a fun little tryst and I thought we both understood that is was just that: a fun little tryst.  After he went back to the boat, he ended up calling me (a stalker amount of times), he wrote me love letters and proposing to me via letter.  He basically scared the shit out of me.  He created his own nickname: Psycho Navy Guy.  Granted, it wasn’t very original but I really didn’t want to think about him long enough to give him a good one.

The upside of being given a nickname by me is that you will never be forgotten (even if I wanted to, Psycho Navy Guy).  And who really wants to be forgotten? 

Love,

The Weiner

Monogamy is in the Eye of the Beholder

 They say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  It is my opinion that when it comes to dating that adage applies to monogamy as well.  I want to be clear so that you married people out there don’t start sending me hate e-mails: I am only talking about dating.  If you have chosen the marriage route, you have made your monogamous bed and now you must lie in it….with your spouse and ONLY your spouse…forever and ever and ever…and EVER.  

When one discusses monogamy and dating, however, it is not so black and white.  Which leads us to the question: When dating someone, at what point is it appropriate to bring up the subject of monogamy?

I have been on dates with men that seem to want to discuss our future together within a few weeks of getting together.  They talk about what we can do over the summer, over the holidays, etc. This has happened whether sex was already involved or not (but let’s be honest, it usually was).  I can only guess that future to which he refers includes me not dating other men.  So while the actual word “monogamy” is not spoken, is it understood?  Would he get attitude in the next moth if I casually stated that I had a date with someone else on Friday night? I am thinking he would.  Does he have a right to? This is where the waters get really murky.   

The clear and concise conversation was never had.   Some people believe that their first sexual experience with someone denotes monogamy and that it’s understood. Others believe that until the conversation has been had, they are free to screw anyone.  In any case, if monogamy is what you seek, I suggest you put on your big-kid pants and have that difficult conversation.  Do you run the risk of ruining a good thing? Absolutely!  If you are dealing with a commitment-phobe or someone who “wants to take their time” or someone that is trying to set the world record for sexual partners; you are screwed (or in this case, NOT) and you just messed up a good thing.  But isn’t it better to know that sooner rather than later?

I have been on both ends of that situation wherein, while it was early-on in a relationship, I was pissed that it wasn’t perfectly clear that we were not to sleep with other people. On the other hand, I have used the “well, we never talked about it” excuse.  In that case, ignorance was my defense (admittedly it was a lousy one, but it was all I had at the time).  

I remember a long time ago while living in Florida, I met a cute Italian guy when I walked into his family’s pizza shop.  We had a couple of dates and I had already met half his family as they were all working there when I met him, and he started talking about what we would do on upcoming weekends for the foreseeable future. While I was having some fun dating him, I was not feeling the “Head Over Heels Effect” (HOHE) and when he started talking about our future together (and the fact that we would no longer be keeping our options open) I dumped him like a hot potato. Those were the easy days without cellphones so I just let the machine get it whenever he phoned.  Yes, it was lame. But I was young and my balls were not nearly as big as they are now. 

The point is, if I am dating someone that starts talking about a one-on-one relationship too soon, I am more likely than not to excuse myself from the table and head directly for my car while turning off my cell phone all at the same time. I have also messed up a good potential relationship myself when I was feeling the HOHE and tried too soon to get a commitment. It’s a slippery slope.  

So, we can probably all agree that certainly when sex is involved, one expects their partner not to be boning the waitress later that evening. I would have to agree with that (even if the bartender IS smokin’ hot).  Just to be sure, a conversation needs to be had to make sure that you are both on the same page (and in the same sheets).

You know, this could all be solved by Monogamy Card. Each of us is given a card and when we have possession of it, we should feel free to bed anyone with a pulse. But should I decide to give it to a guy, I am saying that I choose to be monogamous with him. If he then hands me his in return: Great! We are now in a monogamous relationship and it was done without all of that messy communication!  Perfect!

Dating and Monogamy

The other day I was watching “Millionaire Matchmaker” on T.V.  I have to say, I love that girl.  The show itself seems rather contrived.  I mean seriously, how many single millionaires can there be out there?  There’s a recession going on! But, I enjoy the Matchmaker, Patti.  She is not intimidated by the millionaires in the least and is part psychologist, part life coach, part bitch.  She doesn’t take crap from anyone and is brutally blunt but smiles the entire time she is telling the poor sap what an idiot he is.  Where do I sign up? Not for the dating portion of the show, as I find that men with copious amounts of money usually want a woman that will keep her mouth shut (sooooo not me).  I want to be the Matchmaker. One might question my ability to be a good Matchmaker in a “Doctor, heal thyself” kind of way but I really want to boss millionaires around for a living (Patti, email me!).

Anyway, I was watching the show and Patti’s mantra is “NO sex before monogamy”. It’s an interesting concept.   Maybe I should try it.  Or maybe not.

As I am big on the “pros and cons” lists, let’s make a list and see where it gets us. Alrighty.

Pros:

1.       Men want what they can’t have. I would assume this is even more the case when talking about spoiled millionaires that can pretty much buy whatever they want when they want it. 

2.       A girl might get to do fun things that she wouldn’t typically do on dates such as helicopter rides, dining in castles, etc. prior to giving “it” up (i.e., why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?).  I can guarantee you this isn’t going to last long.  If a guy flies you to Miami for an authentic Cuban dinner, he is going to expect something in return. I’m thinking you would be lucky to get three awesome dates out of the deal before he expects you to pour him a glass of milk.  Ya know what I mean?

3.       ……    3……    3……. Yep. That’s all I got.

Cons:

1.       Who hasn’t heard the old saying that you wouldn’t purchase a car without test driving it first? An oldie but a goodie.

2.       When does monogamy actually happen? What I mean is, is it when he puts a ring on it? Is it the wedding night? Or is it when he outwardly says “Yep! We are monogamous, now let’s get to the bedroom!” Because if that is the case, I have been monogamous many times in my life.  For that night that we were together, I was all his (whoever he was).

3.       Deal breakers.  This is a huge category. It covers everything from excess body hair to fetishes.  How fair is it to either of you if you allow the (sexless) relationship to proceed for a long period of time, fall in love (or deep like) and then he wants to suck your eyebrows off in the heat of passion?

 It reminds me of a guy I dated for short period of time that my friends and I nicknamed Musk.  Musk and I had quite a few dates prior to my offering him a “glass of milk”.  I noticed the odor immediately but thought perhaps it has been a long, hot day so I let it slide (so to speak).  Unfortunately, this was not the case.  The next time was directly out of the shower and Musk remained….well...…musky.  Deal breaker.  But herein lies the problem.  We had been getting along fine so the fact that I now needed to end it with Musk (or wear a clothespin on my nose) is clearly based on sex and Musk is going to get his feelings hurt.  Everything was great and then we had sex and then I kicked him to the curb.  Had we had sex from the beginning, I could have used any other excuse and not hurt Musk’s ego. I could have said I decided to be in a relationship with a guy I had been casually dating for a while. I could have said I was drunk, that I don’t remember a thing and that I am not that kind of girl. If I saw him out somewhere I could have told him I had lost my cell phone the very next day after our tryst and in the meantime had decided to devote my life to God and I couldn't possibly see him again.  But now, Musk knows that I think the sex sucks and that is why I don’t want to see him anymore.  That seems terribly mean. 

Private note to men:  hair holds odor.  Why do you think women shave their armpits?  Much like you do not want to see a 1970’s bush, neither do we.  I little “manscaping” goes a long way.  

Who says I wouldn’t make an awesome Matchmaker?

Coming soon: Monogamy Part II

Dating and Sarcasm

I am sure this is hard to believe but I have been called a smart-ass pretty much all of my life. I can remember my father calling me a smart-ass when I was a very young age and while I knew better than to retort in kind, my response was: “it’s better than being a dumb-butt.”  

Being born the youngest of four by many years, I spent a great deal of time alone as a kid.  My 10 and 11 year old siblings didn’t want a pesky 5 year old around bugging them (and I don't blame them NOW), so entertaining myself was imperative to pass the boring hours and I was forever making myself laugh.  My mother used to tell me that if given a mirror, I could entertain myself for hours.  That was pretty accurate but not in an “I am so beautiful” way. It was to make funny faces and do or say funny things to crack myself up.

My friends will probably tell you that not much has changed.  My brain has always spoken to me in sarcasm and I find it incredibly difficult to stop…or sensor.  Sarcasm is my go-to defense mechanism whether I am happy, sad, irate, whatever. I very rarely cry and usually end up laughing maniacally at things that would piss most people off.  Chuckling to myself in a crowd is not unheard of thus perpetuating the “that chick is nuts” persona that I have eventually learned to embrace. I have also determined over the years that my joking and sarcasm make people either like me or hate me; there is typically no gray area there. I have learned to embrace that too.  I have never been the kind of girl that needs a million friends around or needs everyone to like her.  A few close friends that know me and love me and I’m good.  To the rest, screw ‘em if they can’t take a joke.

I will admit that in times of extreme disagreement my sarcasm must make me very difficult with which to argue. The one-liners come out like tears at a funeral infuriating my opponent and amusing the hell out of me. Yes. I am well aware that is one for the shrink.

On a side note, God apparently has a great sense of humor too as I gave birth to a kid that not only didn’t get sarcasm most of the time, she hates it.  You’re a funny, funny, God. Very funny.

So, needless to say, when logging onto the dating site, if you come at me the wrong way, you are going to get it back.  For example, one guy wrote me an email that stated the following:

“You seem like a nice girl, what’s the catch?”

My reply: “I am a whore.”

I seriously chuckled about that one for hours.

Another guy wrote: “Is it me or are your boobs massive?”

My response: “They are massive, they are glorious and unfortunately, you will never see them.”  

I mean, seriously? That was his pick-up line? Way to woo a girl, Idiot.  Of course, both men came back for more abuse but I didn’t respond from there. 

Sometimes in life a one-liner is all you need.