Saturday, June 30, 2012

Old Men In The Rear View Mirror Are Creepier Than They Appear

I'm seven minutes away from the pub, and he sounds pretty awesome.  He's switching careers, but going into a field that sounds like you must be compassionate, at the least, to do so.  He's 46, sure a little bit old for me, but my best friend's husband is 42, and he acts and looks just like we do, despite the 10 year difference, so hey, why not.  I'm game.  I'll give it a shot.  His pics are decent.  He lists his body type as being "jacked."  He sounds like he is a good dad.  He lives nearby.   He sounds like he can take charge in the bedroom and toss me around for some good romps.  He sounds like a dream.  I sound delusional. 

So, we've been emailing on the website, and he did start flirting hard and almost immediately turned it super sexual, but I laugh it off, and you know, I know this is a bad sign, but he sounds sooo nice.  And in my heart, I want him to be nice and not a creepy old dude.  You know me, I give them a chance.  Even when I shouldn't.  So, I scrutinize the pics again, and meh, not that great, but hey attraction can grow, right?  right?

Right?  Sigh.

And he sounded like a reasonable guy who wasn't a douchebag (which is, by the way, totally on my "must haves" list).  You may not know it, but the area below my belt is a douchebag free zone.

I parked the car, and then totally saw a spot closer.  And not because I'm lazy, but because this is NYC and I'd like my car to not get stolen, I walked all the way back to my car, flipped a bitch, and moved it.  Ok, ok, and I wanted a quicker escape route outta there for when the shit hits the fan.  Come on, it is one of MY dates, afterall.  What do you expect?  Roses and happily ever after?  Yeah, ok.  Can you really blame me????  It's a wonder I didn't have the date while still in my car with the keys in the ignition and shaft in drive!

So, I adjust my skirt, the damm waistband of which is always halfway to my neck, and fix that underthing I wear to keep the girls (and maybe some bits of gigglyfat) wrestled down and in place, and start walking up the hill to the pub where we are meeting.  It is about 11:15pm, and in the glow the of the streetlight, I see a man standing outside, all in black, with a bowed gait, a belly that looks like he is carrying triplets to term, a mushed up tiny face, and frog lips.

And immediately, I know.

This is him.

Who else would this guy be there for?????   OF COURSE this is MY date.  Who else wants to date my ass.  Spectacular. 

And then, as usual, I woke the fuck up from that dream of happiness.  Rudely.   He looks like one of my dad's friends.  Like if my dad said, hey this is my buddy so and so, it would be totally normal.  Except that he isn't.  He's my porn talking naughty email writing date.

As I see him, those nasty naughty emails he sent me where he talked about throwing me on the couch, ripping off my panties, and forcing himself into my pussy (yep, he said that) ---the ones that an hour ago seemed overly dirty but yet somewhat provocative in a naughty way, slap me right in the face as the memory floods back and crashes into the image before me--and totally made my gag reflex start kicking.  Cause really, who wants to bone your dad's buddies?  Oh, therapy, please.  Lots of therapy. 

What the fuck.  Seriously, when he said "jacked," oohh I get it, he meant "jacked UP," b/c there was nothing jacked about him. Unless you mean jacked, like "I got jacked," or "someone jacked my car"--then I could see it.  TRIPLETS.  TRIPPPPPPLLLLETS.  Seriously, I'm a woman and I don't think I'd ever look THAT pregnant.  The best part was where the shirt drops off and hangs like a blanket over a cliff, off the huge stomach and flaps in the wind below.  Soooo sexy yo.

Now, I don't care that he isn't "jacked"--jacked isn't even on my list of what I'd love to find in a guy.  Sure, if you happen to have some muscles I'm not gonna kick you face first out of my bed, but it isn't a pre-requisite.  Just be honest.  I appreciate honesty.  Although,  "old and creepy" probably doesn't sell as well as "jacked."  

His face was nothing like his photos.  Well, I mean, back in 1989 his face obviously did look like his photos, but not recently.  And his shirtless photo with the muscles, um, photoshop maybe?  Because maybe he does have muscles, but they must have been in hiding under his HUGE ASS BEER BELLY.  Also, his arms were soft, so I'm calling bullshit on the jacked description.  Again, it never fails, men describe themselves soooo inaccurately on those dating sites.  I wonder, in all seriousness, is it that they truly see themselves that way or just a ploy to lure you in?   He had these froggy lips, you know the kind where you can't see the person's teeth and they are all flat and thin and wide, and it's just creepy.  And his face was kind of small (although maybe it was just when juxtaposed to his huge belly that it looked so tiny), and he had a wandering eye, and I don't mean that he was checking out ladies nearby.

The bartender looked (which I'm going to take as a compliment), thoroughly confused at our being together at this bar.  He told me he doesn't drink, so of course, he proceeded to have two beers.  I had a seltzer, and let me tell you, that lime was the highlight of my evening.

I tried to be average, to be not super friendly and engaging.  I don't mean to be a bitch, but if I'm myself, I can chit chat with just about anyone; I see value in people and their experiences.  But if I did that here, he would take it as me being interested in him in a romantic/sexual way, and I didn't want to lead him on.  And then there was the part that he kept trying to touch my leg--and that coupled with the dirty emails he had started to send me--I knew I was in treacherous waters there.  Back away slooowwwllly.

Then he mentions that he has 2 kids and a crazy ex-wife who likes to violate their visitation and he has to call the cops weekly.  (Sounds like dating would be sooo fun with this guy, no?)  Then he asks if I know so and so, who turns out to be kind of someone above me at work.  Awesome.  It's a small world after allllll, it's a small world after all, it's a small small world.  Small seems to be the theme of the evening.

I waited 45 minutes and ran out of there like my pants were on fire.  Thank goodness I parked close!!!!

The icing on the cake?  That person above me at work is about 10 years older than me, and she is dating this guy's YOUNGER brother.  That's right.  I'm on a date with the OLDER brother.  OLDER.  Me.  OLDER brother.  ME.  OLDER BROTHER!

Someone kill me.


Tuesday, June 5, 2012

It will end in tears. (doesn't it always?)

Good thing he has lots of toilet paper laying around (for the assplosions) and can use that to dry his little eyes. 

Awww pobrecito.

That's right kids, I'll be wearing this bitchface all day, so get used to it.  

I know it has been a while, but I am back! 

I was busy, and I felt bad that some other guy might find this blog and be hurt (again). 

And. . .  I'm over it.  Yeah, if you date me, you might find yourself on here, call the wahhhambulance.  If you date me, you'll realize right away that I'm a bit outspoken, a bit blunt, a bit sarcastic, and a handful--so finding yourself on here, shouldn't be that much of a shocker.  And if it is, well put on your big boy panties and suck it up.  Wanna cry?  Go write your own damm blog.   Fucking babies.  Geez. 

SO, time for the REWIND. 

1.  Explode-a-buttinski---he put a comment (and adorably named himself "Explode-a-buttinski"!!!  Best thing he has done so far.)  I'll post it below:  (my comments are like this as always!)

"Sorry to disappoint, that response was not from me. (of course not, I mean, it only had content that only the person actually ON the date with me would know, but sure, it wasn't you.  Right.  We all believe you.  Uh huh.  Totally)  It was quite the misadventure, and it was amusing to read about myself on the interwebnetz.  (that's funny, b/c you sure seemed quite pissed when you found it, and what are you 5? "interwebnetz? lol)  I thought the blog was funny enough to show some friends about my comic mishaps.  (well, it was hilarious, I'll give you that)  I guess one of them felt compelled to reply.  (You guess. "one" of "them."  Yeah, ok, let's go with that bullshit)   I guess some of them actually read or follow your blog now, because I heard about the anonymous reply today.  (Sure, blame the anonymous friends, have some balls and OWN IT)  Whoops.  (ew)   I guess it does add to the entertainment value of it all.   (Um, what?  Were you distracted by another ass-quake and forgot what you were talking about?? Must be it)   I hope all is well, (thanks, it is!)  I have no hard feelings about the blog, (Yeah, riiiiiiight) or anything else for that matter.  (I can picture it now, he is skipping down the street with handfuls of AIM toothpaste, rolls of toilet paper streaming out of his ass behind him like streamers.  You GO with your happy self you!!!)   I actually met my fiance for the first time a few days after that comical first date, (FUNNIEST.  SHIT.  EVER.  I can actually hear the dollar signs cha-chinging in his divorce attorney's office.  I mean, it wouldn't be his first divorce, so luckily he already knows someone!    Maybe the second time gets a discount?   Divorce one chick, get the second one half off?)  So, it's all good.  -)  (forget the eyes on that smiley face there sunshine?)
By Explode-aButtinski! on Bitter Little [exploding] Ass on 12/19/11.  

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm divorced too, but heck, I learned from that mistake!  Please note, our date was around July of 2011, and by December of 2011 he was "engaged."  haahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.  

I couldn't have ASKED for better news!  I couldn't have MADE UP better news.  Oh, juicy!!!!

Barely 6 months and you are already engaged?  Ah, yes, sounds like a solid plan.  Is she pregnant?  Maybe she fell for the old "why-don't-you-wait-here-while-my-butt-explodes-and-then-we-can-go-make-out-in-my-room" routine.  Or maybe she loves men who sit in cubicles, call out sick to go play at the beach, feel like their manhood is being questioned when a date kindly suggests something other than Indian food when his tum-tum hurts, and announces their butt-capades?  Sounds likely.

Hey, if you are his "friends" who post and follow my blog, you should totally get him a gift card for a divorce attorney for the wedding gift.  I'm all about practical gifts.  :)

Mr. & Mrs. Buttinski sitting in a tree.  S-H-I-T-T-I-N-G.   First comes exploding, then comes wiping, then comes a mini-buttinski in the baby carriage.  Awww, love.  
(picture me, making the heart shape with my hands, awwwww).  

Maybe they bonded over enormous sized ice creams?  (Oh, man, please, let them both have licked the ice cream cups clean together).   Or maybe, he finally got the balls to crap in a public (and co-ed--and PS what did he do in college?  Like never crap ever?  Wait, did he go to college?  Hmmm)  toilet, and she was sitting in the next stall and they had an exploding butt symphony together, ending with her passing him some TP under the door.  

OR, maybe they had a "mag-shit-ical moment" outside a port-a-potty.  I can see it now.   Just thinking about it makes me want to reach for the hand sanitizer. 

So this is love...mmmhmm mhhmm hhmmm....

It will end in tears my friends, it will end in tears.  (Oh, and if this is his "friends," you might want to suggest he stop sniffing the AIM toothpaste, and not jump into another marriage right after barely being divorced.)  lol.  AMMMAZZZZING.  If only I could be there for the divorce proceedings!  Man, what a witness I'd make. ;)  

Gems of Wisdom from "not-explode-a-buttinksi"  (does anyone believe this at all? And who is with me that this guy needs to get over it---it was ONE date!!! lol)

Here are the points "they" made:
1.  You sound like you are a smart mouthed woman (you got me there), who is desperate (wow, someone's got their panties in a bunch!), and gives these men a chance when you shouldn't.  (Ok,  I do give people a chance, even when maybe I shouldn't.  BUT I think people deserve a chance, even a second chance, and why not?  I'd like to believe people aren't inherently (leaking) assholes (contrary to ample evidence) and give them a shot.)
2.  You seem to be angry (RAWRRRR!!!! I'M GONNA EAT YOUUUUU lol)
3.  If you are having that many bad dates, it isn't the men you are dating, it is you.  (OOOOh ZINGER!!!! Good one!!!  First off, I talked about like 5 bad dates, ask around, it is the norm.  Second, please, when I go on a bad date and he doesn't pee in the bed, doesn't have his ass explode, or doesn't offer to sign his CD for me, then I will 100% blame myself for the date being bad.  Until then, it is them.  Sorry, princess).
4.  How could you talk to a guy for a while on the phone and not realize he wasn't the one for you.  (what exactly, are you talking to these men about to "know if he is the one for you" by a few phone calls?  Spanish Inquisition?  Are you requesting social security numbers and background checks?  Geez, I just had a few phone conversations, about like life and stuff.  "The one," lol what a crock!!! Calm yourself, pumpkin).


So, let's bring it back to the present.

Since last we chatted (or last I blogged in a "desperate" way and "gave people chances I shouldn't have")--guess what I did.  Yep, gave some more chances I shouldn't have.  Can't change me now folks!  I'm set in my kind ways!!!!  Shit, I forgot to be desperate, dammit, next time I'll work harder.  Promise. Fingers crossed. 

Sorry To Announce...

The Announcer, yeah he's gone.  No oral sex was good enough to justify me wanting to gouge my eyes out with a melon baller.  He was a nice kid, but I remember sitting in the car, feeling the familiar feeling of the walls closing in when I know it isn't right, and wishing that the ferry we were about to take would sink so I wouldn't have to get on it with him.  I just couldn't deal with the whole announcing every bodily function every time.  As previously discussed, I don't want to know when you have to take a shit, or when you have to pee, or how much you peed at 2am last night.  I.  Don't.  Give.  A.  Fuck.  (not even a little fuck).   I don't need a text about your bladder.  Nor do I want you to pee ON me.  This right here, this is a no pee no crap zone, no doing, no talking about it.  Thanks. 

He also was the kind of guy who was sweet, but clueless, and I remember laying in my bed next to him after a little argument, and he was entirely confused and had no idea what to do to make things right, and I was just bored.  Bored in the moment, bored in the argument, bored that he was clueless, bored next to him.  And I realized in that moment that I was a woman dating a (mental) boy, who had no idea how to handle/wrangle a tornado like me.  We are still friendly, and I am happy to report he has started dating someone--someone who obviously doesn't hear herself screaming RUN RUN RUN AWAY in her head when with him.  And someone who has the patience to beg him to try a carrot.  And sure, she kinda looks like a man.  A man with a wig.  But hey, love is where you find it.  Good for them! 

Shit, if you don't know what an apple is or tastes like at 30, well, I am not the person to fix you.  Good for them!  I hope it works out, and I'll give a lovely wedding gift if it makes it that far.   Yay announcer and announcerette!  (I wonder if she shouts it out when she pees too?  Hey honey, time for a crap!  Yay!  Synchronized crapping!!  Now that's a match made in heaven!)

The 36 Year Old Virgin

Did I tell you about this one?  Well, not too much to tell.  He is no longer a virgin (come on, you would have done it too, it was like community service at that point.  And shit, I need some good karma).    Don't judge me, like you wouldn't have fucked the new outta him?  Sure you would have.  Have a fucking heart people.  (Amazing that I manged to get righteous about fucking a 36yr old virgin right?  I know lol) 

We still hang out, he is fun, but alas, not going anywhere (except for his bedroom) ever.    Anti-climatic, right?  I know, tell me about it.  (ouch!)  I think what pisses me off the most, is that he never cuts his nails.  Now, ladies, you know what I'm talking about.  Don't start fingering the lady parts with jagged uncut nails.  Um, guys, do you want me to get braces and blow you?  No?  Same concept.  I even bought him a nail clipper.  Is clipping your nails once a week pre-sex too much to ask?????  Apparently so.  

The Narcissist

Yes, you remember him?  The ballless wonder who gave me a copy of his CD at the end of the date after putting me into a coma (kinda like how he drives).  Well, about a year later, I opened up a (different) dating website, checked my mail, and to my surprise, guess who emailed me.  Yep, the Narcissist!  But, he didn't realize it was me!  I have my picture up, and yet, there it was, in my inbox, all friendly and new.  I wrote back, of course, and tried my hardest to play nice, but really, how do you go about saying "hey dumbass, are you shitting me?  I don't look fucking familiar to you?  You forgot that awful date we went on????"  He remembered me then!!!!!  Ahh, fun.  Then he kept emailing, as if we were going to go on a date now.  What, one per year?  And it was AWFUL.  There was a REASON we didn't go on a second date, soooo why would a year later I want to try again?  Absence does not, has not, and will not, make the heart grow fonder.  Ugh.  Go falsely imprison someone else in your car buddy.  Just not me.

Goal for this week:  learn to play better with others.  (just not the ass-y ones).   Duh.  

Monday, June 4, 2012

Fuck Apples; Eat Me Instead!

(this is from a while ago--but I never posted it--and I got to see him at Christmas, and it was awkward.  However, my bed remains piss-free.  Yaayyyy!!!)

You know how sometimes you get the feeling something in your life is missing?  Well, I can tell you what isn't missing.  A man who pees in my bed.

However, I'm prettttttttty sure he missed that memo, because guess who contacted me tonight?  That's right, Sir PEES a lot in the flesh.  Seriously.  This man peed in my bed, ON ME, while I slept, and he has the cajones even after I dumped his piss soaked ass, to ask to see me again.  He said he missed me, which by all accounts, I have to assume means that he hasn't found any bed as nice as mine to piss in.  That must be it.  Shit, I do have awesome sheets, and this Sterns and Foster mattress is the shizzle.

Bottom line:  Pee in your own fucking bed.  


You know what, I should invite him over.  And make him sleep in the kitchen on a dog bed.  Now, now, don't get all offended, I'll even put down a bowl of water, a chew toy (bottle of vodka), and a potty pad.  See, I'm so thoughtful.  It is a wonder someone hasn't snatched me up yet.  Right?  Right. lol.   I'm a fucking catch.  Ask Explode-a-buttinski, he'll tell you (anonymously, like his comments, of course). lol.


So, it has been a while, but don't worry, I was still "dating" (can we really call it that at this point?  It's more like self-inflicted torture.  One of my fav readers emailed me that I either have the worst luck ever or I am the bravest person he knows.  I'm going to go with both.  I clearly put out a sonar for every mouthbreathing, capslock writing, dating reject in a 20 mile radius, and then, I go out with them).  I think the problem, really, is that I give people a chance--even when I probably shouldn't.  I try to find the good in people, and understand that first impressions are often hard due to nerves etc.  Dating isn't easy, and I cut the men out there in the world some slack.  I'm not perfect, not by a long shot, so I accept them with their faults and give them a shot.

I gotta stop doing that shit.


I mean, so far it's got me harassed, bitched at, peed on, dumped for a bathroom, and bored to tears.  Talk about win-win.  I think the tampon insult was like the highlight of last week!  Awesomeness.  My gut is, sadly, always right.  Problem is, sometimes I hate what it tells me. 

So, that being said, you know there are a few more men who I gave a chance to (against all good judgment), and you know since this is me we are talking about, they didn't disappoint...or, well, they did, but you know, in a my-life-is-a-shitshow kinda way.  Get comfy, it's gonna be a bumpy ride.
The Candidates. . .drum roll please...

Innocence [not] Lost

Now, I mentioned I was introducing a carrot to my date in a past blog.  I wasn't kidding.  Not even a little.  Pick a fruit, a vegetable, a food, almost anything--and I can promise you, fuck that I can guarantee, that this guy hasn't tried it.  Sure, not everyone has tried a kumquat, or a lychee, or even a pomegranate.  I get that.  But an apple?  AN APPLE?  A FREAKING APPLE???? Who the fuck hasn't tried an apple?  Or a carrot?  Or lettuce?  LETTUCE!!!!  Seriously, pick anything--he hasn't had it.  I made him try a cherry--he almost puked.  Then I forced some lettuce, a cherry tomato (which his face when it squirted was hilarious--but I guess, if you never had a tomato before, how the hell would you know they are juicy inside? RIDICULOUS!!!), and a baby carrot.

He told me this info, and I was speechless (a rarity as you might imagine).  I mean, who hasn't had an orange?  A grape?  How do you even respond to that?????   Unbelievable. 

So here's the run down.  He's a nice guy, a really nice guy.  A little awkward, and not very hung (like, not. even. a. little.), and very sheltered (as evidenced by never having a strawberry, EVER).  He lives at home, he's my age, and while that isn't terrible, he seems to have gotten himself stuck in a job rut and being at home has created a situation where he is kind of immature emotionally and responsibility-wise.  Moving out, paying bills, handling your own life, you know, without mom to do the laundry or have dinner on the table, really makes you grow up.  My ex didn't have this growing up experience--which totally explains why he expected me to be his mommy (he would say, why can't we have kids--I was like, newsflash, we have kids--it's you buddy).  Anyway, I don't want another ex-man-child, so I don't think there is future potential, but he does have some redeeming qualities, like he is super nice, fun to hang out with, nearby, and oh, he gives great oral.  Like, really, really great.  Like even though I'm only the second woman he has been with (ever, I know, crazzzzzy), he is great at it.  And he loves doing it. Soooo, yeah, keeping him around.

Hey, don't judge.  A girl has needs, yo.  And shit, why not.  And hell, for all the head I've given without reciprocation, I deserve some fun below the belt.

And did I mention he likes it?  And he's good?

Fuck apples, eat me instead.  haahaaaaaaa.  no, seriously.   


Keep Your Briefs On, Counselor

Then there is the newest love of my life (um, no).  He's a 44 year old attorney, and right off the bat tells me that he is into dating younger women so there is no "baby clock" ticking.  Ok, I can understand that.  Then he quickly moves the convo along to tell me that in the past he has dated women who were less than enthused about sex (see, frigidbitches), and he wants to make sure I'm not like that.  During the first phone conversation.  FIRST.  PHONE.  CONVO.  Yeah, ok, and now my gut is light up and blinking "this man wants ass."  Sad, because he seems fun.  However, if he tells me he is an "Irish Teddy Bear" one more freaking time, I'm going to meet him and tear out all his fluffy stuffing while pouring a Guinness on him.  Seriously, I get it, you drink too much and you're a little chubby.  It's fine, I'm cool with it.  Because, let's be honest, that is exactly what he meant.  (I even saw pics to confirm).  But, I think a little chub isn't horrible, in fact, could even be cute.  I mean, I'm no stick thin bitch.  I'm an equal opportunity fuck.  Chub, skinny, tall, short, bring it.  And shit, I like beer.  And redheads, fuck yeah.  Yum.  (unless they come with an explosive ass, then negatory on the yum). 

But alas, every freaking conversation turns to sex, and of course, how he is an Irish teddy bear that, as he put it so eloquently, "worships at the altar of DDDs."  Listen up sunshine, I haven't been a DDD since like 9th grade, and I have cleavage for miles.  One look at me in person and he's probably start convulsing and tithing his 10% to the church (or to the shop where I buy bras).  And don't get me wrong, I like sex.  In fact, I love sex.  I have a higher libido than most (read: all) of the men I've dated.  But I was looking to date someone and have sex in that relationship, not just random sex with an irish teddy bear.  Who wants to end up covered in beer with bear stuffing stuck to their ass?  No gracias, ya compre.

Either way, I hate that my gut tells me he isn't dating material, but I know he isn't.  Right now I'm trying to convince myself that my gut might feel different after meeting in person, but I'm pretty sure all my gut will feel after meeting him is reassured.  The rest of me, however, may either be turned on (I do like guinness....) or totally repulsed.  Since this is my life we are talking about, smart money's on "repulsed."


Wait, didn't I see this movie already?

The 36 year old Virgin.  He's a story for another time.  Suffice to say, the name says it all.  Unbelievable, for serious.  The best part, he wants me to wax his hairy back.  Come on, you saw the movie.  haahaa.  NICE.  Hold on to your nips, I'm firing up the wax!!!!