Broken Dreams

Sam works retail. Personally, I hate retail. I hate the hours and the lack of appreciation most large retailers have for their employees; but, I digress (already).  Due to the fact that Sam works retail, his hours are always different and there is no way to get into a routine (I thrive on routine).   Accordingly, there are times when Sam and I have a difficult time finding “private time”.  So we are banging away the other morning, minding our own business (and obviously each other’s), when we hear a large CRRAAAACK.  We had broken the bed.  Shit. 

We both had really busy days to begin so we didn’t think a whole lot of it and kind of forgot about it that day.  That night, Sam got home late and came to bed after I was already asleep. 

Sam requires very little rest.  He sleeps about 5-6 hours a night.  I must at least 7 or I’m falling asleep at my desk (and my eye-bags look like suitcases).   So we are sleeping that night and I wake up and it feels like we are slanting toward one side of the bed.  I had to roll up hill to get out of it.  Sam wakes up too and we realize that we had forgotten to deal with the broken bed. I murmured something about no sex in the morning due to the bed being broken and next thing I know, Sam is out of bed with the lights on, assessing the damage: AT 4:30 IN THE FUCKING MORNING. 

Two hours later, and we realize there is no fixing the bed since one of the sideboards has a large crack in it and needs to be replaced. Fortunately, I bought the extra insurance when I purchased the set a few years ago. So I call the insurance company and they send me a 4 page questionnaire to fill out, and one of the questions is as follows:

                “Provide a detailed explanation (at least one full paragraph long) of exactly where and how the problem occurred for each affected items as well as a comprehensive description of the actual event and exactly what caused the damage.  Please be aware that we only will be able to take further action on your service request when we get this information.”   (Worded poorly, I agree.)

REALLY? Ok. You people apparently don’t understand with whom you are dealing….

My response:

                We were having sex (we hadn’t even gotten to the crazy stuff yet), when the bed frame broke. It was approximately 7:00 am, and he was on top and I was on the bottom in the missionary position when we heard a large crack and felt the bed bump. We stopped having sex to look at the frame and noticed a large crack along the left frame of the bed.  When we tried to get it to go back together with the footboard, it wouldn’t go.  So we had to stop having sex and it was very inconvenient. Should you require further details, pictures reenacting the scene can be provided.

In the meantime, Sam used gorilla glue to hold the bed frame together.  I hope that stuff is as good as it claims....

A Hard Therapist is Good to Find

The funny thing about falling in love (after a really long time of lamenting love) is the reactions of my friends and family.

Of course, in the beginning they think it’s just a passing fling (since I am well known for my passing flings).  We all wonder, after such a long time, if I am even capable of the compromises that come with having a close, loving relationship.  In their defense, I’ve been saying I don’t want to be in a long-term relationship for years.   In my own defense…....  Fine.  I don’t have a defense. 

Then my friends and family start to notice things and point them out to me (to show me how wrong I’ve been).  That’s when I began to realize I might be in trouble here….

My sisters, for example, were over for a picnic to meet “Sam” for the first time.  I get a text from him saying he was a minute away and I immediately began to primp - fixing my hair and checking myself in the mirror.  My sister’s jaw drops open.  “Holy Shit! You REALLY like this guy!” she says.  ((Blank stare from me))

Soon after, I go to my mother’s house to drop something off (a few months after Sam and I had started dating). My mother takes one look at me and says, “You look great! Isn’t being in love wonderful?!  ((sigh))  I miss sex.”   ((Blank stare from me))

My friends’ reactions varied from: “This guy really seems to make you happy! Now don’t fuck this up!”   (very nice),  to a less positive reaction. The more I got to know Sam, the more I liked him.  He is sweet, affectionate and very complimentary and doesn’t care who sees it. Some of my friends assumed that I was settling for the first guy that came along after my daughter left (not true, I’ve had others) and basically told me that because I was allowing Sam to sleep and leave clothing here that “this isn’t who you said you were”.  The thing was that I was as surprised as everyone else, but it annoyed me that they felt I needed to remain the same way for the rest of my life.  (Well, excuse me for being fucking complex.) Still others found the affectionate and loving words this man said to me often to be “disgusting”. (Awwww! Someone’s kindness and MY happiness bother you? That is so sweet!  Fuck you very much.)

As for me, I was pretty much a hot mess.  The feelings were coming on fast and furious, fueled by massive quantities of sex and a lot of time spent together daily.  He was even sleeping over! (Something I always said I abhorred!!)  I didn’t want to be away from him (hell, I didn’t want to be out of bed).  I was dealing with past issues with which clearly I had previously not dealt, fighting these growing feelings and trying to talk myself out of it at every turn; not to mention all of these people close to me telling me varying opinions (opinions are like assholes….) and I knew I needed some help.  More help than I could give myself through alcohol and denial.

 So the first thing I did was to call two really good friends of mine and they both said the same thing, “WHAT are you freaking out about?? You do not need to figure out where this is going yet! Enjoy it for what it is and take it one day at a time!”   That worked …… for about a week.

I have a good friend that had been telling me for YEARS that I needed to go see a professional to deal with my disdain of all things romance.  She thought I protested too much and simply had trust/abandonment issues that I hadn’t dealt with (Ya think??) and that I could work through them with the help of a professional.  (On a side note, I have been to therapy twice before in my life.  The first was “couples therapy” with my ex-husband.  After the second session, the therapist looks at me and says “I really think you need to find your own therapist.  Your husband has many issues to work out on his own.”  [RED FLAG! RED FLAG!]) 

This time, I went to see “Bob”.  Bob is a well-known psychologist in the area and I had heard his name before as a man that doesn’t mince words and speaks very openly (Yay! I can swear!).  He sounded perfect for me! What I didn’t know at the time was that Bob specializes in sex therapy. This became evident during out first appointment.  Bob and I met twice.  The first time we talked about my boobs for about the first 20 minutes.  No really. Bob was having a field day with my past sex life and analyzing the fuck out of me and trying to figure out what was wrong with my current sex life (NOTHING).  It was almost Freudian in nature in that while I was trying to talk about my trust and intimacy issues, Bob wanted to talk about the impact growing large boobs at 15 years of age and all of the sex that I have had in my lifetime had on my trust and intimacy issues (quite a bit as it turns out, along with a few other little events like my ex-husband leaving me and our infant daughter in the middle of the night). I know it sounds like a creepy couple of therapy sessions but it actually wasn’t.  In the end, I really like Bob, and I would recommend him to others, if just for the entertainment factor alone.

So here’s the thing about therapy.  Seldom does the therapist come to any epiphanies for you.  More so, the act of going to a therapist makes you more insightful about yourself and any epiphanies are yours to find. So while Bob obsessed about my boobs and my sex life, I would leave his office and start thinking about the important shit.  If I had taken the time and effort to go to therapy, didn’t that mean that I was ready, willing and able to make the changes for which I was seeking the therapy in the first place? 

 

The answer, clearly, was “Yes”…..

 

There. I said it.

One year ago today my daughter and I left for the long trip across the country to take her to college….

 

Shortly after I dropped my daughter off at college and flew back home, I was really getting into the groove of being an empty nester.  Granted, it took me a few weeks to get used to not having my daughter around with whom to argue; but eventually, I brought my gym equipment into her room, surrounded myself with friends, family and copious quantities of alcohol, and was happily moving into the next phase of my life.  I worked hard and I played hard and was happier than a pig in shit. My daughter came for visits for both Thanksgiving AND Christmas, so I was getting adequate amounts of “me time” and “daughter time”.   Just when I started to go through withdrawal from my kid, she would come home, piss me off and then leave.  Life was grand!

So I proceeded through life for the next 4 months, happily living my life and writing my blog and flirting both virtually and realistically. For the first time in the better part of 20 years, the focus was on me again….FINALLY!!  ME, ME, ME!!

Fast forward to January 2013 (((place squirrely fast forward noise here))), and the holidays, with all of their anticlimactic fervor, are over;- and it’s fucking cold outside,  boring and fucking cold. I decide it’s time to begin to address some things in the house that I felt I had neglected over the years.  I decide I want to do some home improvements in my kitchen….

About a year or so prior, a guy that (apparently) I went to high school with (I don’t remember much from high school) friend requested me on FB and around the same time, started reading Antics.  At that time, I was getting a whole lot of friend requests and I didn’t think much of it.  It just so happened, however, that the guy that friend requested me worked for a large home improvement store and (not angry about this), was pretty damn cute.  EUREKA!!

Keep in mind that I have always considered myself to be the world’s biggest cynic when it comes to love.  My friends and many who read my blog would agree with me.  For the past 20 years I have dated (short term), and even had one tumultuous longish-term relationship; but for the most part, I have been alone in raising my daughter and found love to be a messy, annoying emotion.   I found that sex without all of that silly emotion to be exactly what I was looking for and I was content to happily live my life without love. 

So, I begin to text said hot guy for any information/discounts he can give me, things progress from there and, Lo! and Behold! the naysayer of all things romantic, the purveyor of pessimism for all things passion, FALLS IN LOVE.  

There. I said it.  For the second time in public, I said it. 

For me, it’s been a bit of a rocky road, I’m not going to lie.  I actually fought it in the beginning tooth and nail. I didn’t think I wanted it, needed it or could possibly stand it.  I spoke to friends, family and even saw a shrink. But, it happened and here we are.

So, I guess the Antics blog will change a bit from here on out.  I will always write about my life, including the “old days”, but I will also have to change gears a bit and proceed from my life that is here and now.

So this is the rest of my story…..

Table for One

Do you know what I can’t stand (other than bigots and bad grammar)?  Whiny single people. What’s worse than that? That would be whiny single people on Valentine’s Day.

I am single. I am single by choice.  Maybe it’s because I refuse to settle for the wrong person just to have someone, or perhaps I find compromising a pain in my ass; but either way, it’s my choice. I truly don’t understand people that find their self-worth in having a boy/girlfriend.  If someone is desperate to have someone on Valentine’s Day then they should go ahead and settle for someone with whom they have nothing in common, someone who hogs the remote control or a loser that treats them like shit - and have a wonderfully romantic day!

As with most things in life, you have two options: Feel sorry for yourself for the hand that this big, mean world has dealt you; or, see yourself as an intelligent, independent happy person and TREAT YOURSELF for Valentine’s Day. 

Here’s how:

First, understand that Valentine’s Day is basically a Hallmark holiday.  If someone doesn’t show their sig-other how much they care about them on a daily basis, they are an idiot and don’t deserve to have a sig-other.  That being said, I like chocolate.

Second, decorate your home with hearts and flowers for February, regardless of whether you have someone in my life or not.  Don’t see it as a glaring reminder that you are single, but a wonderful reminder that you are loved by your parents, siblings, kids, your friends and yes, even your pets.  Show those people that love you when you are at your worst that you love and appreciate them for it. Make them little treats, buy or make them a card, or just tell them that you love and appreciate them.  Valentine’s Day does not have to be just about lovers but just about love.

Most importantly, love yourself first (I don’t mean in the physical sense but if that makes you happy when you wake up in the morning, go for it). We have all heard it a million times and it’s true: you will never find someone to love you if you don’t love you.  Every year on Valentine’s Day I do something special for myself.  Last year it was a massage and it was probably one of the best Valentine’s Days I have ever had (remember, there are nearly always openings at the salon on this day because all of the attached people are out to dinner or whatever).  I had an awesome massage late in the day then went home all warm and mushy, had a glass of wine and a nice dinner, read a great book and relaxed for the evening. I didn’t have to argue with myself about what to watch on TV and I was not disappointed in the least in the gift I had received. 

This year - this evening - I am getting a facial (insert dirty joke here and see footnote on facials). I scheduled it months ago and have been looking forward to it ever since.  Again, Valentine’s Day doesn’t have to be a reminder that you are single, but more a reminder that you are loved and that you love youself.  

And now for my advice to men for the day:

Whenever I tell certain friends that I am scheduled for a facial, they giggle. Of course they are thinking of the dirty sense of the word.  I typically giggle too because most of the time I have the sense of humor of a 17 year-old boy; however, I am here to tell you men the truth: women don’t enjoy your kind of facials. If you have been with a woman that told you she did, she lies.  She is trying to look either cool or freaky in bed but either way, she lied to you. If you are a guy and you are into that kind of thing, you really should date a porn star. Porn stars don’t like it either but they don’t really have much of a choice if they want to get paid.  Your girlfriend/wife can thank me now.

 Have a great Valentine’s Day everyone, particularly if you are single!

Last Saturday Night Was Wild

Last week I did something that I have not done in a really long time.  I don’t feel bad about it.  Why should I? I am a single, adult woman.  I work hard, take my responsibilities seriously and rarely do anything for myself.  I decided that it was time to do something for ME.  Here’s how it went.…

It was Saturday night and I was restless.  I had not been out in a really long time and I’ve had little contact with the opposite sex of late. I needed a change in a bad way.

I don’t know what hit me but I was lying on my bed reading a book and I looked at the clock. Nine o’clock on a Saturday night and I am home alone reading?? What the hell is wrong with me? So I jumped out of bed and threw open my closet doors with purpose.  I start flinging clothing onto my bed like closet-vomit until I found the perfect outfit.  Small, comfortable, displayed the parts I wanted to display and hid the parts I didn’t.  Satisfied, I walked out.

I chose a place I hadn’t been to in as long as I could remember.   The last time I was there it hadn’t ended well and I left disappointed.  I knew that would NOT be the case on this night.  I admit I did open the door a little tentatively; but I put on a brave face and ventured inside.  The place smelled a little funny.  Pungent, a little like incense and a little like a kind of cheese that I couldn’t put a name to.  I assumed it was all the dinners they serve and decided to ignore it.  Eventually I got used to it and couldn’t smell it at all.

I started to relax and finished my beverage while I looked around the place and took in the sights when I decided to go outside for a smoke.   I hesitated, perhaps for a bit too long, when I spotted what would eventually be my trouble of the night. The first thing that popped into my head was “a cool drink of water”.  I don’t know why, but it did.

I was a little taken aback.  The entire thing was fast and furious and completely unexpected - particularly in that place.  But, I wasn’t complaining and I wasn’t looking back!

By the end of the night, after the sweating and the grunting, the rubbing and the caressing, the dirty talk and the sweet talk, I was completely satisfied and happy! I didn’t regret what I had done, didn’t care what people thought!  I smiled as I looked back over my shining clean refrigerator, complimented myself on a job well done, shut the door and went to bed.  I had even killed an hour. 

I’ve said it before and I will say it again: I like to live my life with no regrets.

Phuket is Not Just a City in Thailand

So clearly the dating game has hit a brick wall. A brick fire wall. You know the kind that keeps fire on the other side of the wall? Yeah, that kind. Granted, I may be a little gun-shy after the last guy (that I almost dated) who couldn’t even remember which chick I was; but the point is, things have been a little slow. On the other hand, I have been very busy adjusting to my new life as an empty nester. I have been filling my days with such life-changing things as cleaning out closets, reorganizing bathrooms and making a Facebook page for my dog (true story).

My most recent venture (and as it turns out much more interactive than my dog’s Facebook page): a neighborhood book club.

Two years ago I belonged to a book club that I enjoyed a great deal. It allowed me to read books that I would not normally read, and the women involved had vastly different viewpoints (conservative) than the people with which I usually hangout (not conservative). It was a very diverse group that brought interesting input to the discussions. They even put up with my crazy antics and choice of mindless books (usually of a sexual nature). What I didn’t like about it was driving all over God’s creation to go to the meetings (which left drinking to a minimum. Boooo! ). Eventually the vast differences in the members created bickering and in-fighting that led to the club’s demise. I believe it’s still active, but many of the original members are gone.

I remember on one particular evening we were finished discussing the book and somehow the talk turned to sex and then, our number of sexual partners. Normally I know better than to share that information but Of COURSE the conversation began with “you can be honest” and “no one will judge you”. So when I said my number (or the closest I can get), one of the girls (who has been married for many years and whose number is supposedly 4) said, “Wow. You were a real slut, weren’t you?” Typically name calling doesn’t bother me. No one is surprised by the fact that I enjoy sex and when you enjoy something, why would you want to have the same kind every day? It’s kinda like eating cookies. If you really like cookies do you want the same kind of cookie day after day? No. You want a variety of cookies so they don’t get boring. But it wasn’t so much the words coming out of the girl’s mouth that bothered me, but rather whose mouth out of which they came. I never suspected this woman to be judgmental until that night and I never looked at her the same way again in the future.

Anyway, eventually I quit that book club but I did miss the camaraderie and discussion so I thought I would start one in my own neighborhood (where I can just stagger home after an enlightening evening of profound discussion and massive quantities of wine). I already had a few women in mind to invite but I know these women well and we are all pretty likeminded. I wanted some real differences of opinion so I thought of an older woman that lives in my hood. She is probably in her 70’s, is a lot of fun and seems young at heart. (Come on! She even got her first tattoo at 60!) So I assumed she would be okay with our group. I phoned and invited her to join telling her I thought she would be a great addition and would bring some different perspective to the club.She told me she was interested but the only thing holding her back was that she “didn’t like the ‘F’ word”. Uh-oh.

Anyone who knows me (or reads my blog) knows the love affair I have with the word “fuck”. The way it rolls of the tongue when used in the middle of a fucking sentence; the harshness of it when it’s over annunciated as an expletive. FUCK! It’s awesome! And don’t even get me started on its versatility. Furthermore, it’s become so main-stream with so many variations used - even in freaking television these days - I just assumed that it was no longer offensive in casual conversation. Obviously I wouldn’t use it in business; but, that girl in the suit speaking in a professional voice and acting like she cares what you have to say isn’t the real me anyway.

Needless to say, I was pretty surprised by my friend’s reaction to the word and the fact that she hated it so much it would keep her from joining our group. What happens if someone chooses a book that uses the word freely? Would that offend her too? I needed to know more. “Really? Why?”, I asked. She didn’t really give me a specific reason but rather told me a story of a bunch of women with whom she used to go camping that used the word freely. She said that she eventually confessed her disdain for the word and in lieu of using the word they started calling it the “PH” word. Wait, what?? It’s one thing not to use the word or to call it the “F” word in lieu of that, but even the acronym for it has to change? WHAT THE PHUK IS THAT???

Of course I love words and I have always been of the belief that words are only powerful if you empower them. I mean, let’s say someone calls me an idiot. I know I am not an idiot and therefore those words are powerless. On the other hand, let’s say someone calls me a slob. I don’t consider myself a slob but if I am honest with myself, I would have to admit that I do have a tendency to be messy; so that may hit a nerve. Another example: a famous politician is giving a speech. If you lean toward that candidate’s way of thinking, you find it to be powerful. But, if you don’t agree with the candidate and you don’t believe a word that is coming out of his mouth, then his speech doesn’t mean shit to you. So why give so much power to one particular word?

Some of my friends have issues with certain words and I find it amusing (and totally use it against them). One of them doesn’t like the word “panties” and another hates the word “moist”. I can annoy them both in one fell swoop by saying “My panties are moist.” BAM! As for me, I can only think of one word that can physically make me flinch when someone uses it: the “N” word. I don’t believe that word should be used by anyone be they white or black. I do however believe that I have good reason; having seen the movie Roots as a child and having been impacted by the horror of that movie, it takes me back every time I hear it. Other than that, words don’t bother me.

Anyway, as there is no way for me to curb the entire group’s language, much less my own (nor would I want to), unfortunately there is one less addition to our book club. What a shame that one word can be given so much power as to keep a woman that doesn’t get out much from having a fun evening out. We do, however, have a great name for our club: it’s a Fucking Book Club.

So now I am curious if there any words in particular that my readers can’t stand? If so, is there a reason behind the disdain for the word or is it just the way it sounds?

Dating and the Internet: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

The Good:

You can meet a shitload of people these days over the internet.  Back in the day you met potential mates at a bar, church, a party, etc.  It required you to remove your ass from the couch, get all gussied-up, and actually walk out of your house if you wanted to meet someone (unless you were looking for a nice Jehovah Witness, in which case you just needed to answer the door).  There were far less potential partners to choose from.  Maybe you met one or two at a party, three or four at church and a half a dozen at a club. This is not the case anymore.  I can sit on my couch in my pajamas with bedhead and no makeup and meet dozens of guys online. Based on their profiles, I can also determine their level of literacy (kind of a deal-breaker for me) before the sappy love-notes even start (that I would feel the need to correct for spelling and grammatical errors and return to them).  I can “ignore” them if I choose, or email them if I want more information.  It’s awesome in an incredibly lazy kind of way.

The Bad:

Choose a previous Antics blog post.  Read it.  Insert story here.

 

The Ugly:

When I was younger and fell head over heels in love with a guy (and it ended in a fiery inferno), I admit that a few times I would show up at his work or his house to see if he was (a) where he said he was going to be and (b) with someone else in that place he said he was going to be.  Some people would call that stalking.  Stalking is such an ugly word.  I prefer “Curious As To His Whereabouts And Company” (or CATH WAC).  Doesn’t that sound better??

Whatever you want to call it, back in the day before Facebook and cell phones, one could only CATH WAC someone for a relatively short period of time before they had to be at work or do their laundry or get other shit done.   These days, with all of the technology we have at our disposal, you can CATH WAC someone from the comfort of your own home, or car, or sitting on the fucking toilet for God’s sake. Sometimes, it is whether you choose to not. 

For example:

 A good friend of my daughter’s broke up with her long-term boyfriend when she left for college.  She was pretty upset that the relationship had ended.  She did her best to put on a brave face but her first mistake was remaining friends with him on Facebook. Inevitably, every time he made friends with a new chick, it came up on her news feed (Hello, Salt! Please jump into my wound!).  Then of course, she would creep on those girls’ FB profiles (let this be a lesson to you, HIDE YOUR FB PROFILE FROM PUBLIC VIEW!!)  She tortured herself daily, hourly and even secondly at times; literally watching him move on from halfway across the country! (Clearly we have come a long way from sitting in our cars in front of someone’s house.)  To make matters worse, when she wasn’t creeping on FB, she would get text messages from “friends” telling her all of the shitty things he had done/was doing while she was away. She couldn’t get away from it even if she had wanted to.  

Eventually she got smart and blocked his ass on Facebook and told her friends to knock it the fuck off, but the damage had been done.  What should have taken a few weeks to get over and begin to heal took a lot longer because technology kept pulling the scab off.  (Yes.  That would be the ugly part.)

Seriously, how many people do we know that may have stalkerish tendencies that soon turn into full on get-a-retraining-order-whack-jobs because of the ease of technology? My guess is that it is far more today than ever before.

And don’t even get me started on camera phones and camcorders!  I am forever looking for holes in the walls of department store dressing rooms…

So what do you think? Has technology helped or hurt the dating scene? Has anyone had any similar experiences with break-ups and technology?

Guest Blog: A Man's Point of View

As one of the author’s readers and close friends, I have immensely enjoyed the wit and wisdom of her blog. Yet in spite of the classically distasteful spin regarding online dating sites, I have ventured down this scary road on my own recently. With little time for the bar scene, and rare other chances to meet someone of the opposite sex, I thought I would give it a try. I figured it could not be as bad as everyone says. Certainly the horror stories and blog posts are exaggerated, under artistic license, to enhance the reader’s enjoyment. But alas, I was wrong.

The stories, if anything, have been underplayed. Either in an effort to protect the guilty or at least to not completely disenfranchise the reader, she has made it seem that online dating is suspect, inconvenient, and fraught with small dangers. It is a lot worse than that. It is a minefield of misrepresentation, outright lunacy, and enough unresolved issues for a thousand doctorate degrees in psychology.

I joined a common dating site, and like most, the users are encouraged to post pictures. In fact, I am sure that profiles without pictures are readily dismissed, as it is a prominent criterion for any search you may want to do. The site makes it convenient to quickly eliminate the profiles without pictures. Yes, we are all still hard-wired to be physically attracted to our mates, at least initially. I know beauty is only skin deep, but butt-ugly is more often than not a deal breaker. So I have had to peruse thousands of pictures of single women. Seriously, what are these women thinking? If a picture is worth a thousand words, some of these photos are screaming in a foreign language.

As a community service, I thought I would share some suggestions for female dating site users that may help.

1.       If your profile says that all your kids are over 18, then the picture you have with your son when he was 8 may be considered outdated.

2.       If you only post one picture, and it is a group shot of you and your girlfriends at some event, try letting us know which one you are.  Me: “Are you the one in the middle?” Her: “No, I am the one second from the left.” Me: “Can you introduce me to the one in the middle?”

3.       If you are posting a picture of you with your pet, that’s great. If it is just a picture of your pet, don’t bother. I am not looking to date your pet (though some men on the site might be).

4.       If your profile says you are not looking for sex or “one night stands”, avoid the pictures of you on your bed dressed in lingerie. It sends a mixed signal.

5.       If you want to post something sexy or provocative, avoid the overhead shot looking down your cleavage. It is way overdone. Every woman has tits and there is probably a classier way to insure he knows you have big ones. If you’re not looking for sex, see suggestion above.

6.       If you post multiple pictures and they are all close-up face shots, we are going to assume you are "larger than life" (and I am not talking personality here). 

7.       If your profile says you drink socially, it's probably best to not have every picture you post be of you in a bar with a drink in your hand. Unless, of course, you mean “socially” as in anytime I am near people.

8.       Don’t post an old picture of you and your ex from your wedding. Not sure exactly why this doesn’t work, but it just doesn’t.

9.       Don’t post pictures in which you are not pictured. No one cares about your favorite poem, the cool picture of butterflies you found on the internet, or your grandma’s cookie recipe.

10.   Don’t post the picture you got from “Glamour Shots”. Men can recognize them easily and we know you don’t look like that without hours of hair and make-up work done in a professionally lit studio.

11.   Be aware of your background. The great pic of you can be a turn off if behind you is a kitchen table full of junk, dishes overflowing out of the sink, or your 200 count Prozac prescription bottle.

12.   Don’t take a picture of yourself in the mirror holding your phone. This screams that you don’t have at least one friend who would be willing to take a picture for you.

Thanks for reading and happy hunting!

 

In his spare time, Brad writes his own incredibly intelligent blog.  Check it out:

http://commonsensiblyspeaking.com/

Hugs, Gina

Problem Solved

This blog is an update to “The Quandry” posted on 08/25/2012, so if you haven’t read that one yet, I encourage you to do so.  Go ahead. I’ll wait….

At the time that I wrote that previous blog, I skipped a portion of our conversation due to my perceived lack of relevance to the story.  Ultimately, it did become relevant so I will have to back up a minute and fill you in:

During our original meeting, somehow the topic of vacation homes was brought up.  He stated that he was on the look-out for a home near the beach where his parents live in a different state. I stated that I was hunting for one near my parents’ beach house as well, which ended up being not too far away from his parents’ home.   (See? Doesn’t seem real relevant does it?)

So when he called me a bit later to ask me to the ballgame (and informed me of the many girls that he dates), he brought up the fact that he had found a home very close to his parents and that he was looking for someone to invest in a property with him. He then began a small “interview process” to see if we might be compatible business partners (Wait. What?).  Call me a cynic (it’s okay, everyone else does) but I barely know this guy and he is “interviewing” me for an investment opportunity?

He begins his interview with the question “are you a clean/neat person?”  I answer that cleanliness is a relative term and that if you were to ask my friends with kids, they would probably say that I am. However, if you were to ask my mother (a certified clean-freak) she would probably say “No”.   

He goes on to say that we would have to agree on which dates/weekends each of us would get use of the place (of course, this is after he had already informed me of his other two women, and all I can think of is that I would have to anti-bacterial all of the counters each time I went there for fear he was banging some girl in the kitchen).

He continues, “So ummm…let me ask you,  your voice sounds a little scratchy. Do you smoke?” 
“Yes.  Yes I do.”  (I wanted to follow this answer up with the fact that I do an incredible Kim Carnes impersonation of “Betty Davis Eyes” but thought better of it.)

He continues, “Do you smoke in the house?” 

This seems like a legitimate question for a potential housemate so I answer, “No.  I do not smoke in my house.”

Next question: “So you don’t smoke in your car?” 

Huh?? What the hell does my car have to do with this??  But I answer anyway, “Oh no, I totally smoke in my car. I drive around all day for a living. My car is a rolling ashtray.” 

At this point, fully expecting his next question to be if he can see my financial portfolio, I changed the subject.  Basically, I have no interest in sharing my potential beach house with anyone; as I have stated before, I am not a good sharer.

Three weeks go by and I don’t hear from this guy at all.  Nada. Nothing. Zilch.

Saturday night I am out with some friends and my phone rings: it’s him.  I let it go to voice mail because (1) I am out; and (2) even if I were home I wouldn’t have answered it because it’s Saturday night and I wouldn’t want him to KNOW that I was home on a Saturday night. When I get home, I check my voice mail.  His message goes something like this,  “Hi Gina. I don’t remember whether you said you like baseball or not, but I have these two tickets for tomorrow’s game and I was wondering if you’d like to go?”  

Seriously dude?? We had a 10 minute conversation about my disdain for baseball and your disdain for country line dance which you compared to my disdain for baseball and you can’t remember that?  Clearly I have left an impression.   

It was late so I answered via text:

                Me:   I was the one that wasn’t too keen on baseball. Thanks anyway.

                Him:  Oh ok. Thanks.

                Me:  No problem. So just out of curiosity, are you having a hard time keeping all of the girls straight?

                Him: No, Smarty pants. Just was hoping not to go by myself.

                Me: I gotta be honest.  I have heard from you twice in 3 weeks and both times it was to find out if I would accompany you to a baseball game so you “didn’t have to go alone”.  Not incredibly flattering.

Him: Good point. Sorry but I normally go with my daughter and she has to get ready to go somewhere… (blah, blah, fucking blah).  I do remember now asking you before and not at the last minute and you did mention not liking baseball.  Good night.

                Me: Night

Him: You know the truth is I do have a lot of women that I see but when she said she couldn’t make it earlier today it didn’t cross my mind that I had invited you to another game. (Gee, thanks)  I just was interested in taking you to something that meant something to me and didn’t think. Guess that’s selfish of me. Not intentional to hurt you. Sorry.

Awww. Poor forgetful little martyr. Let's get down to nuts and bolts...

Me: It’s ok. The ball game thing isn’t a huge deal. I am just not the kind of woman that chases a man.  Call me old fashioned in that regard. I thought I saw something, interest in both of our parts during our appointment. So I pursued it, which I rarely do, and I don’t feel it’s very reciprocated.  Clearly you are busy, I get that.  But it’s one thing to be busy with work and volunteer stuff and quite another to be busy with a bunch of different women.  I don’t stand in line well and frankly, I don’t have to. 

And then he finally gets honest:

Him: I was interested up until I asked you if you smoke.

Now, I actually knew this and I have no problem with it.  I myself have certain standards (like not dating a guy with 9 other girlfriends) and I don’t fault others for having them too.  But I will tell you this: if and when I ever figure out how to quit this stupid habit, it will NOT be to get a man.  It will be for ME.  Furthermore, why didn’t he just say this during our original phone conversation?  Was he trying to keep his options open for a potential ballgame buddy?  It really chaps my ass that I am not good enough to date but I am good enough to be company to a ball game “so he doesn’t have to go alone” because his 27 other women don’t want to go with him either.   Nice, dude, real nice.

Me:  I guessed that.  Full disclosure is a lovely thing.

Him:  Never mind.  See ya Gina.

Me:  Or not.  

Admittedly that last comment was kind of a dick move on my part, but I had had enough.

Anyway, problem solved.  

The Quandary

I am in a quandary. This doesn’t happen very often as I am a relatively decisive person.  Maybe you guys can help me out?

A few weeks back, I met a guy while working.  We seemed to hit it off pretty well during the appointment and I thought there might be a connection there.  He is good looking, has a beautiful, clean home and he has a dog that he treats like a king (I like that in a guy).  During the appointment, we talked about relatively personal stuff.  He informed me that he had been married and his wife cheated on him two years ago and moved out.  He kept the house and in his spare time had added a sunroom, a pool house and a large covered patio – with his own two hands.  He said he builds things to relax.  (I like that in a guy too because (1) he is obviously good with his hands and (2) I require a relatively large amount of solitude and when I feel the need to be alone, I can say “You should go build something. Like a vanity or an armoire. You know, for ME.”). 

The pièce de résistance was when I walked into one of his spare rooms and saw a massage table. I stopped, turned to him and asked, “Do you have your own massage parlor?”  He responded with “No, my wife had back problems so I got certified in MASSAGE.” Hmmmm. 

During the appointment he was relatively complimentary (at one point he turned to me and said “You’re pretty smart.”  Yes. Yes I am and you must be pretty smart for seeing that).  Between the compliments and telling me that his wife was gone, I assumed that he was interested.  I also found out we have mutual friends, another bonus. 

The rules of my career are clear that there is to be no “impropriety,” perceived or otherwise, so I needed to complete my work for him prior to pursuing anything on a personal level (See?!? I am NOT a hooker), but I was pretty intrigued by this guy.  So I went home and thought of professional question to text him. I did and a texting conversation ensued.  More Hmmmm.

I completed my work in about a week and texted him to let him know that I was done. Another rather long texting conversation ensued in which he complimented my hair (which IS awesome, by the way).  “Ok” I thought, “this guy MUST be interested.”  He told me to contact him again after by upcoming trip and so I did.  This is where things get….confusing.

So he calls me and invites me to a professional baseball game on a Sunday.  “Oh, sorry, that’s my church day.”  Hahahahaha.   By now you all know that I don’t care for sports much but to prove it my ex-husband and I went to a professional ballgame many years ago and I was so bored I made him leave in the middle of the game.  I couldn’t even drink my way into fun with that.  The problem for me with baseball is the downtime.  The time spent between the plays is way too long; just get up there and hit the fucking ball.  You do not need to walk in a circle, hit the ground with your bat, adjust you balls and spit for 5 minutes prior to settling into your position to hit the fucking ball.  Why don’t you do that before you get up to bat so as not to waste my time?

Anyway, I told him I wasn’t really into baseball and that I would have to pass on the game.  (Let me just stop here and say that there are probably women out there that would have gone to the game, if only to spend time with this guy.  Those women don’t really like sports either, but would pretend to in order to get with a guy.  Those women are stupid.  I will never pretend to be someone I’m not to get a guy to like me.  What if you two hit it off?  You are now stuck going to ballgames together or you would need to “come clean” and tell him the truth, at which point he would feel duped.  The whole thing is a bad idea.)

O.K., back to our conversation:  after some more discussion about sports he states that he is pretty active in outdoorsy-type activities, kayaking, snowboarding and the like.  I would definitely try the kayaking (down a nice lazy creek, not that “white-water-hit-your-head-on-a-rock-and-die” kind) but I don’t do winter sports.  HOWEVER as a compromise, I AM willing to get dressed in the cute little ski-bunny outfit and wait for you by the bar in the chalet.  (See?? I can be flexible!)  He then asks me what I do for fun.  Let’s see….screw, write a funny blog, screw, read, screw… No seriously, my mind starts racing trying to think of something active that I do.  I couldn’t think of one thing.  I certainly couldn’t answer with “I’m pretty much a sedentary slug,” so I came up with dancing which I am trying to get back into by learning country line dancing (mostly because no one wants to see a 40-something woman hip hopping).  He said he feels the same way about line dancing as I do about baseball but that “the other two women I date both do that”.  Wait, what?

NOW the conversation is starting to get good.  I asked for further clarification of that statement and he stated that when his wife cheated and left- last summer- his friends set him up with different women, two of whom he currently dates.  For some reason I was under the impression that his divorce was two years ago (a good long time to get over THAT fucked-up situation) but came to find out it was last summer.  It’s a little close to my time frame of “one year after a divorce” that I will date a guy, but I might be able to get past that.  Boning two chicks and wanting to be thrown into the mix? Not so sure about that one.  Herein lays my quandary:

1.       I don’t do competition well.  It’s one of the reasons I don’t date married men.   How do I know that he isn’t thinking of one of the other ones while we are going at it? I mean, with three of us it would have to get confusing after a while.

2.       It’s not like I am looking for a serious committed relationship. Or maybe I am.  I don’t know.  As I’ve stated before, I have no intention of getting married again.  I am emotionally and financially secure (OK, financially anyway) and I’m not looking for someone to “take care of me” or anything like that. Furthermore, when things start getting really serious, I’ve been known to get scared and run.  So why should I have a problem with someone dating two other chicks along with me?

3.       Maybe it’s a control issue? If I am the only one, I have the control.  If there are 3 of us (this is starting to sound more and more like “Sister Wives”), and I have an upcoming event that I want him to attend with me; do I need to schedule it 4 months in advance to know that I get that date?  I’m not a great turn-taker. I want what I want and I want it now.

4.       Maybe it’s more of a time issue. He stated that one of them is “quite young” (what the fuck does that mean?? Great. Now I have to compete with a 25 year old??), and she lives south and comes up for entire weekends to hang out. I think I’d like someone that has more time than once a month but less than 5 times per week. (See?? I don’t know what the hell I want.) 

5.       I do like his honesty.  No punches pulled; just straight-out lay-it-on-the-line honesty.  Refreshing.

6.       He gives MASSAGES.

7.       He builds shit.  Like with hammers and saws and wood. 

8.       He is incredibly busy. Besides his full time job and dating, he volunteers with many organizations: from music to teaching winter sports to cleaning up highways for his company.  Volunteering is admirable.  Picking up used condoms and heroine needles from the side of a road is gross.

9.       He gives MASSAGES.

10.   It’s almost a challenge to show him my bag of tricks and see if he kicks the other two to the curb.  If he does, I win. But then what? I end up coming up with some stupid excuse to break it off and he’s alone again? Maybe I won't this time? And what if he doesn’t kick them to the curb? It would be a massive blow to my ego.  I don’t enjoy massive blows to my ego.  They piss me off.

 

 
Yes, I am over-thinking as usual.  It’s what I do.

So I’m turning the tables on you guys this week.  Usually it is I giving the advice (for lack of a better term).  This week it is me with the question: Should I go on a date with this guy and see what happens or should I just move on (move on to WHAT? I have no idea.)

 

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Don't Sell Yourself Short

Two of my male friends (one of which has been a good friend for many years and the other a more recent friend) are very open and honest about their perceived “inadequacies”.  In other words, they go around freely and openly telling the world they have small weenies.

I am all for full disclosure and I absolutely abhor lying.  Anyone who knows me well can attest to this fact.  Further, it would be ridiculous to tout a John-Holmes-size penis only to be discovered otherwise in the bedroom when the time comes.  I mean, there are some things you just can’t fake.   BUT, don’t kill your game before it even starts!

For example, I was out with a group of friends and (inevitably) the conversation turned to sex. During that conversation, my male friend basically stated for all my girlfriends to hear, that he is completely under-endowed. I just looked at him. Dude, you are your own cock-blocker!

Yes, in many of my blogs I joke around about wanting a big shlong (It's a girl thing; like men joking around about chicks with big boobs). But in reality I have been with men of all sizes and have been just as satisfied with both.  

 All of that being said, the following is my opinion on the whole tiny Johnson subject:

In a nutshell, sex is a sales game. I don’t necessarily mean “slimy used-car salesman” sales wherein you lie, cheat and steal your way into bed with someone (although there are definitely those that take this approach); but rather, a sales game in that you are selling yourself (Disclaimer: you are not actually going to get paid at the end of it - unless you have made pre-fuck arrangements). 

If you are looking for a one-nighter, you are selling yourself as a lover (“Baby, I can rock your world”).  If you are looking for a long-termer (Yes, that IS a word because I just used it in a sentence!), you might take a different approach (“Baby, I can rock your world AND make you a bangin’ omelet for breakfast in the morning”).  Either way, it’s pretty much all the same: you are selling yourself as a lover to get someone into bed with you. 

It’s almost like a job interview.  You wouldn’t walk into an interview and in the first 5 minutes state that you have a habit of being late every day (well, maybe you would but then you’d be an idiot: an unemployed idiot). The same goes with sex.  If I were hitting it off with a guy to which I clearly had a connection, and he said, “I am terrible in bed but wanna screw anyway?”  NO. No, I don't. But thanks for asking. 

Guys have the advantage of…well….clothing.  It is very difficult for a girl with an “A” cup to walk around telling everyone that she is a “D” cup.  It’s pretty damn obvious that she is full of shit. But guys, unless you are wearing a speedo (and I highly recommend against that), no one knows of your endowment - or lack thereof - until the time comes. 

So what does a guy do to sell himself in the bedroom without lying about his humongous dick? My suggestion is to work your other abilities into the flirty conversation as it becomes clearer that you will be ending the evening with a “big bang”.  For example, rather than “Let’s go back to my place, but I must warn you I have a tiny little pee-pee”, how about “Let’s go back to my place, but I must warn you that I LOVE giving cunnilingus”. Or, “Let’s go back to my place; I have an awesome toy that I am dying to use on you.”  (OK, I really feel the need to stop here for a moment and explain to you men that women typically do not like USED toys. I may have said this before but it is important.  Please have a nice selection of unused toys to choose from. Yes, they can be expensive but do you want to get laid or not?   If you get a lot of game, might I suggest a “Dildo of the Month” club?)

If you have confidence in your other bedroom abilities and you know it, you can still walk with your head held high and get laid regardless of the size of your organ.  Women love confidence. But let me be clear: if you boast about your other talents, you’d better have them because you can’t fake that either. Practice on some fruit or something; do a Google search on “how to perform cunnilingus”. (There is much to choose from but be warned: you will also get many porn sites doing that particular search and unless you remember what you are looking for, you will become distracted and have learned nothing sitting there with your dick in your hand).  You can also search “how to use a dildo on a chick”.  This is the information age, People! Stupidity is not a defense (and will not get you laid).

The point is, there are ways to overcome short-comings and disclosing them to an entire room of potential partners is not one of them.

I would love to hear from my readers on this subject.  As a girl, is it important that the guy be well-endowed? As a guy, if you are less-than-average in the penis department have you figured out a way to compensate for that? Did it work? I would love to hear anything else that anyone has to add about on this subject!

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