Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Blogging on blogs. Blahhhhg.

Over at Bend There Done That, Allegories in Life is talking about having to tell people she's straight just because she lives in the lesbo paradise that is Eugene, Oregon.

But she also says "Man or woman, it's just never a good idea to develop crushes on those you work closely with each day." OK, that sounds good in practice, but isn't it true that most relationships start in the workplace? We spend so much time there that it's the #1 place to meet people, right?

... Not that any of my workplace relationships have ever ended in anything but disaster, come to think of it ...

Also on BTDT, Write Up Your Alley (That handle has perverse connotations, does it not? Eh? Not? I'm a total perv? Fair. Not the first time I've been accused) takes a stand on the age old question, "Is it OK to post photos of your boyfriend's disgusting underwear on your blog?"

Monday, March 30, 2009

The Joys of Online Dating

**Editors' Note: Kate in KC sent this two-part story about her online dating experiences...thank god for the internets.**

You know how certain online dating websites offer you things like “6 months free” if you don’t find the love of your life within the first 6 months of signing up? You know why they do that, right? It’s because anyone who survives 6 months worth of dates off of their website deserves – at LEAST – six months free (if not a gallon of vodka and lobotomy to assist with forgetting what trainwrecks they’ve ended up dating). Overall, though, it sounds like an okay deal – it’s basically a Buy One, Get One deal on free dinner, drinks and (just maybe) Prince Charmings.

I made it one month.

I joined an online dating website with a couple of friends a few years ago after a particularly sad dry stretch of dating…we weren’t meeting any guys that were worth a damn and weren’t entirely sure where to start looking. Why not let the internet look for us?! Genius, we thought! Think of all of the fun dates we’re going to score, we though! The guys who would actually pay the money to sign up on this site must be serious and looking for love, too, we thought! What could go wrong?

Date #1:

While trolling the website one slow afternoon at work, I came across this particular guy’s photography. He was CUUUUUUUTE – we’ll call him Lawyer Boy. After sending a half dozen messages or so back and forth, he asked for my phone number. I’m not going to lie, I was pretty giddy. Here I was, not two weeks into signing up for happily-ever-after.com, I’ve met a smokin’ hot young attorney who’s smart, witty and – have I mentioned? – dreamy. We arrange to go out one night for drinks at a little bar downtown…he picks me up from my apartment and we head out. We belly up to the bar and order a couple of drinks…he asks me about college. I tell him where I went and get about a half of a breath into the rest of my sentence when his head exploded.


Umm…what? I, um, no…I didn’t ride a John Deere to class, but thanks for asking? Upon seeing his uproar over my “provincial” college upbringing, I assume that this cosmopolitan young man must have attended NYU or Boston College or someplace SUPER cool. You know, some school set in a “real” city. Oh, no. Not this guy. Where did he go to school

“O-K-L-A-H-O-M-A…OKLAHOOOOMA! THAT’S WHERE! THE BEST GODDAMN SCHOOL IN THE BIG 12 IS WHERE! OU HAS BEATING THE SHIT OUT OF K-STATE IN (insert about 45 minutes of mindless screaming/sweating/swearing/statistic spouting about when and how K-State lost random sporting events to OU in the last 75 years…YAWN). K-STATE CAN SUCK IT!”

After rolling my eyes so many times that I fear my eyeballs might get stuck in the back of my head, I choose to remind him that K-State beat OU a couple of years ago by a significant amount in the Big 12 Championship football game (after which OU went on to loose the National Championship…but who still remembers that?). Cue nuclear meltdown:

“Son. Of. A. BITCH!! WHY DO YOU HAVE TO THROW THAT BULLSHIT IN MY FACE?! ONE TIME! YOU BASTARDS WIN ONE TIME!! (at this point, I’m waving down the bartender to get our tab while Lawyer Boy’s eyes are threatening to pop out of his head) OKLAHOMA ROCKS!! OU!! OU!! OU!!”

Gentlemen, please…odds are that your lady friend doesn’t really care THAT much about college sports. Odds are even better that your lady friend isn’t at ALL interested in being screamed at about college sports by a relative stranger on a first date.

Friday, March 27, 2009

Cure for the British Disease

**Editors' Note: Terry Tucker sent this fun one in today. We were kinda expecting the cure for halitosis, but whatev.**

The four of us head into a Carmel restaurant. Milo, my date for the evening, is the talker in the group, down visiting from Vancouver. I refer to him as Milo because he reminds me of the Paul Giamatti character in Sideways. A taller, slimmer, better looking version…..….who would have been a more believable match for Virginia Madsen in the movie than Giamatti.

Milo has been talking wine for the last couple hours, suave and self-assured. Earlier, we had partaken, partoked actually, of what Milo referred to as spliffs – Mid-eastern hash mixed and rolled with Turkish tobacco. An British thing, he confides, as if we were rural retards. Even though he’s Canadian, he has more than a bit of the British disease. Or maybe it’s the wine obsession that brings out the elitist touch. Prolly both.

We are seated next to an elderly group in formal dress, the men in suits. One of them is carrying on about wines. His speaking voice is loud, and abrasive…….very loud, probably an age-related hearing problem. We bide our time going over the menu, waiting for the verbiage to subside but it does not. It’s tempting walk over and adjust his hearing aid.

Too loud for us to carry on a conversation, so during the meal we listen to his spiel about David Bruce wines, a local winery, every imaginable aspect. Milo is listening intently, grimacing and shaking his head in silent disagreement throughout. Finally, Milo whips out a pen, writes on the slip of paper, and passes it around. “Total rubbish,” it says. We laugh.

Their group finally leaves, and we also prepare to depart. Milo calls the sommelier over, offers a few comments on the wine, then says, “that guy at the next table knew absolutely nothing about wine.” The sommelier nods knowingly. Milo beams in the glow of acknowledgment and hands him a generous tip. The wine steward pockets the tip……then says, “that gentleman at the next table……that was David Bruce.” Our cue to leave.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

He's No Cull

**Editors' Note: Today's guest post hails from Lisa S. about the first time her parents met her new boyfriend.**

Mom really wanted to meet my new squeeze, so we made plans to do a dinner together. Mom was nervous, and maybe I was a little, too. I wanted to keep it mellow and casual, so I suggested burgers and beers. There’s one spot my mom and I have been going to for years, it’s out in the country a bit, and they have delicious greasy burgers and crunchy, flavorful onion rings. That’s what I suggested. But mom wanted to invite a friend, whom I love, and friend had gotten sick at Delicious and Greasy before, so we went to the local pub. The local pub, which smells super bad. Like toilets, now that you can’t smoke in there and the cigarette smell’s not covering up the toilet smell.

But whatever. Squeeze and I have been to dives before, and we will go to many dives in the future. But here’s what was really charming: When we showed up at my mom’s place at 4 p.m., she was already working on a cocktail. OK, whatever. We all went down to the pub after mom finished what was at least cocktail #3, and we all ordered a round. When mom’s drink was set down in front of her, she took one sip and said, “Nope. This is no good. Bring me a double.” OK, whatever. I like a good drink, too, and sometimes I want to tie one on, too.

But here’s the really, really nice part: As soon as we order food, mom goes over to the ATM, pulls out some cash, and then plunks down in front of a video poker machine. Sure, when the burgers come, she comes over to eat, and yes, she’s being very nice to squeeze, but as soon as food’s gone, it’s another cocktail and back to the video poker machine.

Finally, I shouted at her from across the bar, “Mom, we’re tired of watching you play video poker, we’re out.” She seemed disappointed.

Later, she drunk-dialed me and told me how much they liked the squeeze. Not sure how they knew that they did, but OK. Whatever.

Here’s one more reason I know he’s awesome, though: Took it all in stride. No judgment, no complaints. Just shrugged it off and said, genuinely, how nice she seemed. He’s certainly no cull.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

With just enough mentions of sex to be dating related

A blogger named Sarah Brown apparently has the most hilarious, clever friends ever to have cell phones. And she publishes lists of texts that she's saved.

Two all-time favorites:

I sleep with so many dudes with weird chins. Clefts, dimples, you name it, I bang it.

Wait, are you on your date?! Stop texting me about your ex-husband’s dick!

Monday, March 23, 2009

Sex in Oregon

**Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes in from an OR gal who recently moved from the great state of California.**

I've said it and written it many times before, and as long as I live in this strange town I will continue on with my ravings. I said it to K____, in the days when we would speak to people who would say "I've got to go," and then walk a scant 10 feet away from us. I thought about it late at night, while my hair pomade soiled my martini-print pillow case. And I marveled at it as I wrote drunken slogans across a filthy 18-year old junkie's back before falling under the the wily and unholy sway of Carlo Rossi "Pisano" wine. I most certainly thought angry thoughts as visions of bygone days at Modesto Junior College passed through my dreams.

Oh, MJC, the veritable petri dish of libidinous youth from the greater Central Valley. I sing a song of MJC, my Alma Mater, to the Pirates, and with passion to the men, who seemed to outnumber women 10 to 1. The odds are against the males of MJC, and they know the score. Perhaps it is the methane and pollution in the brown air, maybe it is the never ending roar of highway 99 sounding like an ocean in the distance, a primordial sea of hot pavement and speed, the California highway that can take you Anywhere. Maybe it was the pervading stagnation of Suburban Hell and Boredom, the knowledge of the fact that there are 12 million tiny rooms painted white, 17 billion little rooms that swelter with suffocating humidity in the summer and make you realize that the entire state is like a fishbowl turned over. No air. No space. Just heat, and people, and endless rows of houses, beyond that, the country that leads to more country, to weird lakes, to the foothills, and farther off, the ocean. Always the Road and the Ocean.

What else was there to do but to fuck?

They would accost me at any time. They would stalk, and call, and wait. They were patient. They knew what they wanted. I had the luxury to say "No," and I uttered it often. Even so, I never went without for very long.

But here, there is no sex. There are too many women. It is a bachelor's paradise, the men are in charge, and oh, there are many blond ski bunnies to go around. Many nubile girls, beautiful girls, so many of them you could drown in a sea of tank tops and hair product. There are swarms of girls, they line the streets in summer. How I hate them! What's worse, how badly do I hate couples! I've a theory that every bedreadlocked dirty hippie sonofabitch was born with a girlfriend and a dog. I hate teenage couples. I hate people who go to bars and have sex and write about it on the internet. I hate how getting laid is a special thing around here. I hate thinking of all the lucky people out there, fucking, while I get none. Even working for it doesn't work. Even dating doesn't work.

I'm cursed. That is the only answer.

Fate has laid down the law. Fortuna deemed it can only take place between me and someone who has once lived in the Outside: Nevada Nevada California. I have never tasted the sweet nectar of Oregon, nor will I ever, most likely, and that is fine, for lack thereof has only embittered me, and even if the opportunity came, if Oregon offered me one of her Native Sons, I would yell "NO! None of your vile flesh! I will have none of it!" Oregon--you have done me wrong! You know I would do most anything for sex! I would ride for 24 hours on a rotten Amtrak carriage for it! I would seduce a CART BOY for a chance. What is it with you, Oregon? You have turned me into a dried up crone. You have stolen my youth and the best of my fruits! My lube has evaporated in the dry mountain air, my paintbox of Erotic Chocolate has spoiled, and my whips no longer sting--they only titillate my cat, now. What foul relegation! I could have given you orgies, masterpieces of BDSM, a really good time, but no! Do you know how unfortunate it is to wear a garter for practical reasons? I throw up my hands in anguish.

I have officially given up on Sex in Oregon.

Friday, March 20, 2009

The Shortest Date of My Life

**Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes in from the 4S's blog. Thanks for the submission!**

My friends set me up on a blind date with whom they promised to be a beautiful intelligent gal last week. After much convincing and elaborate descriptions I finally relented and agreed to make the date. I called her up via the # given to me and had a quick awkward conversation with a lady who we shall call Jane. Jane sounded pleasant on the phone and seemed to be as just nervous as me about the prospect of a blind date.

Unfortunately I was strapped for funds and couldn’t afford to go out, so I suggested that I cook us a nice meal and she bring a bottle of wine for our enjoyment.
The last items in my fridge I could pull together were a pack of pork chops, some potatoes and broccoli. So I spent the 30 mins before she was to arrive preparing dinner thinking rather highly of my self in my domestic skills. Jane arrived, beautiful as described and I was pleased.

The door to my apartment enters into my kitchen so of course the first question out of her mouth was, “what’s cooking?”

“I’m making pork chops, mashed potatoes, and broccoli.” I replied with a grin.

She gave me a funny look and seemed disappointed. Then she said, “I don’t eat pork chops.”

“Why? Don’t you like pork?”

“No, I don’t eat it because of my religion.”

“Ooooh… Sorry, I didn’t realize!” I said franticly trying to figure out how to stave off disaster.

Jane cocked her head and gave me a funny look saying, “You shouldn’t eat pork either.”

Rather suprised at her statement I replied, “But I don’t believe in what you believe in.”

Then to my shock and awe she said something I have never actually uttered other than in jest.

“That’s because you’re a heathen.”

A heathen! She actually called me a heathen. I could not believe it. Folks, I am not a fan of organized religion. I am tolerant of it as long as you aren’t shoving it down my throat, but I don’t subscribe to any brand of it. So in complete shock my automatic response was,

“Well you’re an ignorant bitch.”

To which Jane turned and left the apartment. Luckily she left the bottle of wine behind, because I really needed a drink after that encounter.

All in all it was about a 3 min date that ended with us exchanging verbal blows. I will just have to always remember, never cook pork on a blind date!!!

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Going Out on St. Patty's Day

**Editors' Note: Today's guest post come in from "Terry Tucker" who sent us The Perfect First Date a few weeks ago. Thanks Terry!**

Driving downtown, I spot my ex-boss walking on the sidewalk. Should let it go, but I can’t. Later I call him on the cell, ask how it’s going. Tell him I saw him walking downtown, why don’t we get together and catch up….how about St. Patty’s day?.......been awhile.

Quite a while…..we did not part on good terms. In fact he fired me for insubordination, and I wonder what in the world I’m doing…..asking him out, wanting to see him again. Chance to clear things up? Always a lot of sexual tension between us. Or maybe just tension….we disagreed on politics and just about everything else…..the way we saw the world. But he was good looking, and flaunted it, and so did I…….flirting and sexual double entendres were part of the daily routine. Going with a biker at the time, so it never came to anything.

Still irked me the way he fired me. Had a dentist’s appointment on Friday afternoon at 2. The doctor’s office was on the other side of town, so I planned to take the rest of the afternoon off, not come back. No way, he said. Would not budge, even when I explained it. When I returned to the office the next Monday morning, he had me clean out my desk (hovering above) and walked me to the door. My last memory of him was a smirk on his face. No wonder I felt conflicted about this date. He should have been working for me, when I thought about it.

We had dinner at McCormick’s…..on the way back I suggested stopping and getting hammered at an Irish pub, not far from where I lived. Actually, it was a bikers’ bar called Duffy’s, Irish in name only. A couple guys at the bar greeted me as we walked in. He said something about it as we slid into the booth. I nodded……”yeh, used to come here a lot with my ex, he practically lived here.”

“Still does,” I added. He turned and surveyed the room. His eyes landed on the surly guy behind the pool table with a cue stick in his hand. Who glared back and held eye contact. As my ex slowly sauntered over to our table, cue stick in hand, I felt the urge to go. “Going to the girl’s room,” I said. When I came back out, both of them were gone. Ditto for the other pool player. I walked over to the bar and order a beer. Time to figure out a way to get home.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

The Back Story

Wondering lately, in my newly monogamous state, how others handle the past. Now, personally, I’m not talking about the “how many people have you slept with” question. Because I, for one, don’t go there. I don’t want to know unless there’s a reason to know. Say, if you were once paid for sex and so you did a LOT of it and can’t possibly come up with a number. Other than that? I can take a range. Like, between one and a hundred? OK. Fine. Between one and two hundred? See, I’d rather not know that and I wish I hadn’t asked.

But more generally, it’s feeling funny to have my first new b.f. in ages, and have to start telling stories from the long distant past. Oh, yeah, I did have an anarchist boyfriend who got knifed downtown one time by skinheads. Oh, and I had one who dressed in ladythings. Oh, yes, that one got married, this one refuses to talk to me because he thought I cheated on him (but the guy I supposedly cheated with turned out to be gay) … and on and on and on. Some of it’s important, some of it isn’t. Some, like admitting to The New One that yes, I do contribute to a dating blog, well that I got over with quickly. Bandaid-ed that fucker. Especially considering that the new one’s kind of afraid of the internets.

So c’mon, DIW readers. Do tell: What’s “too much, too soon” when it comes to a new partner? And what are the “need to know right away” points?

Monday, March 16, 2009

My Side of the Bed

**Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes in from Wayne, who almost put his foot down about his side of the bed.**

My two friends and I took these two girls home one night after seeing a sweet jam band that loved to cover the Grateful dead and the Alman Brothers. It was clear from about minute 4 of meeting these girls that my friend was hooking up with the cute one. That was it.

To be honest, I had no intention of any "hooking up" with either of these girls. I just had to start a conversation because they were the only girls at the bar who weren't old enough to be my mom. I mean, they were fun, they were just the sort of insecurity that manifests itself as negative reactions, whiney tones, and a general discontent, instead of just.. idk... laughing at a situation. (aka stop complaining).

After bar time, we arrive at my place. One of my friends was captain wasted face and crashed on my roommates bed. In order to give the two love birds some privacy (British accent implied) I offer to share my bed with the other friend. I guess this is called "taking one for the team." And so we enter my room.

My queen size bed fits snugly in the back corner of my room. This means there 1 side to get in and out from. Being that its my bed, I typically sleep on that side, the "outside" if you will. My new friend, however, decided that if you throw yourself in my bed with all your clothes on, you get to pick what side you sleep on! Neg friend.

I get naked because that's how I sleep (jk). I'm in underwear and t-shirt. I ask her to scoot over, and in the same whiney voice she's had all night she says "No! I'm sleeping on the outside."

My first thought wasn't to make her sleep on the floor, or with Drunky McUnderage in the other room. It was, "how did this girl learn that that would be an ok way to react?" I mean, entitlement is an understatement.

I calmly informed her that this was in fact, my bed and as a guest in my bed, she would surrender the same 6' by 3' area I sleep in every night. Her face was shocked, but then for the first time all night, I felt like she chilled out and realized its ok if everything doesn't go your way.

A man can be territorial, no doubt. It's hardwired. We take pride in what we call our own, and feel great about being able to share our bed with you. Try to be grateful for what your man provides, return the favor with your feminine sweetness, and he will share everything with you.

P.s. we ended up making out, and she woke up on the "outside"

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Craigslist Personals - girl who dumped me over the phone at 1:30 am - m4w

Date: 2009-01-18, 1:57AM

You called me at 1:30 AM to tell me over and over that you don't want to be with me any more. The problem is, I don't know who you are, and I tried to explain that.

In retrospect, it would have been more fun to play along, but I was a bit too groggy to think fast. Oh well, next time a wrong number breaks up with me, I'll be ready.

Give me a call if you want to practice dumping guys, I guess my number's probably in your phone now. Try to call before 10 though.

* Location: 818
* it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests


Wednesday, March 11, 2009

The Perfect First Date

**Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes from "Terry Tucker" about the winner she met one night.**

A club below Santa Cruz, drinking and listening to music with a group of friends. Late in the evening, a solitary male walks in and parks himself at the next table. He catches my eye, and we invite him over to join us. Good looking guy with a scruffy beard. Just before closing time, he mentions his nightly/early-morning newspaper delivery route in the Santa Cruz mountains….starting in less than an hour, do I want to join him? Of course.

We pick up the newspapers just before 3:00am and head out, fortified with stimulants he just happens to have handy. Soon wildly careening down backroad corridors, alternating the paper stuffing, a wonderful rhythm, chatting our heads off, totally wired. A couple of stops where he grabs paper and package, runs inside the cabins, quickly returns. Delivery to the door for invalids and shut-ins, he explains. What a guy. Not just that, but he took them something extra, probably food, and delivered inside. Talk about trust.

It occurs to me that this is the perfect type of first date. A shared activity that brings a strong sense of teamwork, connection…..the conversation so easy. It should always be like this. That’s when I realize I'm buzzing on something special. I like it. The route takes about 3 hours, is over like that.

We wheel into a breakfast café still in the Santa Cruz mountain area, Felton I think. The locals seem to know him, and greet him as they filter in. He gets up and works the room while I tie into an omelet. So popular, almost everyone knows him, wants a piece of his time. A overheard fragment of conversation from the next table, then it hits me, and slowly sinks in.

The fatal flaw. My ex was a dealer, too.

Monday, March 9, 2009

It Would Be Better If This Were a Friends Episode

**Editors' Note: Today's guest post hails from "Rachel" who wants us to know she doesn't get paid a million dollars to deal with this crap.**

So the first time I was approached about contributing to DIW I had to carefully explain that I couldn’t really contribute since I hadn’t actually dated. Yes, I was about 8 months in to my first serious relationship (lasted 15 mos. Boo-ooring!), but everything before had been pretty much the same: he’s cool, we start hanging out alone together, he acts weird, I go out of town and I never call when I get back. All in less than 3 weeks. That just didn’t seem DIW worthy. That’s when I learned that you don’t have to have officially dated the person, just tell us some crazy relationship shit. Oh! In that case, I’m totally in.

You know how on Friends they had the whole “We Were On a Break!” thing? Mine is “I Don’t Think We Should Do This Anymore”. And just like on Friends I can say it and all my friends know what I’m talking about. And just like on Friends, it never quite gets to the “we will laugh about this one day” stage. Its always just as awkward and hurtful as the day he said it.

So you should probably know that while we weren’t dating, 88 and I were sleeping together pretty regularly. We were good old-fashioned fuck buddies, there for each other at all the right times (ex: After bar time). Oh, we were also really great friends. But that’s what friends do in college; they sleep together. And if they are a really great friend, they’ll be ok with no strings attached and they won’t get all emotional on you every time they down a 12-pack. So that was us—really great friends. And I think we must have been sleeping together for about a year before things got ugly the first time.

I could totally feel it coming; things just weren’t feeling as friendly between us as they had been. I knew it. He knew it. I knew that he knew it. You know. But less than friendly sex with your FB is better than no sex at all. Apparently that only holds true until your FB girl (me) shows up to your house shit faced off tequila and with a group of friends.

It was a friend’s birthday and we had been at a Mexican restaurant doing the obligatory underage “pitcher of margarita/flirting with the waiter” thing. And I was properly shit faced. I can’t give you great details about the first half of the night at his house other than at one point, I was mummified in scotch tape, I opened a bunch of flavored condoms that were in a bowl on the counter and tried to get people to taste them, and my wallet was missing for about a week. What I can tell you is just about every single thing that happened after 3 am that night.

I ended up passing out in his bed of course and somewhere around 3 am I got that half-asleep sex nudge. You know, you’re both still kind of sleeping, but you still know you want to have sex, so you fumble around for a bit until you wake up going at it?! I know I don’t have to explain that to this crowd.

So I got the nudge and I responded and I was fine with it. He, apparently, was not. It wasn’t more than 15-20 seconds after we finished, we’re both totally naked, I’m laying on top of him, resting a minute, when he said the words that have come to define an entire period of my life:

“I don’t think we should do this anymore”.

He said it with the kind of slight hesitation that you know he had been practicing it over in his head and for just a second he had to make sure that this time he was saying it out loud. That’s it. No, “I think we need to talk”, no “I think you should put your clothes back on”. Just, “I know I just initiated this sex, but now I got what I want and am ready to humiliate you”

Ok, that might not be word for word, memory can be a tricky thing. But I got up, I gave him a little “Are you fucking kidding me that you did this right now, like this? You’re the one who started this.” speech, I put my clothes back on and I went home. I’m not totally sure, but I’m guessing I was starting to cry at this point too. I know myself and I was sort of drunk, it was the middle of the night, and I just got broken up with by my non-boyfriend. That’s usually the kind of thing I would start crying over.

So I left. But I didn’t get in my car and drive home like a nice self-respecting girl would do. I didn’t have my car there so I stomped out the front door and started to walk the 7 blocks back to my apartment at 4 in the morning. And I had gotten about a block and a half before I realized I had forgotten my shoes at his apartment.

So now comes my mental debate: Is it better to turn back now and have to walk a few extra blocks and get the shoes, or wait until morning and have to call and ask for them back?

I turned around and retrieved my shoes, deciding I’m still a little drunk right now and can probably pull this off better now than when we all sober up in the morning. And I was pretty sure I didn’t want to talk to this asshole again for quite a while. So I walk back into his house, announce that I’m not returning to talk to him, only to get my shoes, and I walk right back out the door.

And I never slept with him again.

Actually, that was about 4 years ago and we finally ended things last week. You’re probably going to be hearing from me again.

Thursday, March 5, 2009

Worst One Night Stand Ever

**Editors' Note: Found this little story from across the Atlantic. Holy shit. **

Wayne Fisher looks like your typical early 20-something guy:

Wayne likes to drink, likes to fuck, and enjoys taking some Valium every now and again to cut loose, according to a story in the Daily Mail. His tastes lean toward the pretty, young, attractive girls at the clubs as evidenced by Dominique Fisher, a young lady he went home with:

According to the story, Wayne went home with Dominique after meeting at a club. They had both had a few drinks, Wayne had taken some Valium, and they bumped uglies in the bikini area, as the saying goes.

But when Wayne woke up, something was horribly, horribly wrong. He was covered in blood and found this:

And these:

"When I woke I was covered in blood. Dominique was snoring. I just had to get out of there. I didn't even wake her to ask what she'd done," Wayne told reporters.

Jesus H. Christ.

Needless to say, Wayne high tailed it out of there and called the police. Dominique was arrested, charged and found guilty of "unlawful wounding." (God I love the British vernacular.) She has yet to be sentenced.

Next time you think of going home with that pretty thing from the bar, think of Wayne.

A quick note about awkwardness

Dear Internet,

Did I ever tell you about the time when my mom was taking a photo of me and my boyfriend (we were 18 or so, hadn’t been dating too long, and he had come to Christmas dinner, so she took our photo in front of the tree) and instead of saying, “Say Cheese!” she said, “Say Babies!”?

I almost shat myself.



Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Craigslist Personals - Even Stoners Get the Blues

A few extra lbs? No problem! Just don't be a bitch and love smoking weed. Easy!

Super Stoner seeks same - 43 (South Side Bend)

Why can you find these sorts of things always on the south side of town?

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Top Keyword Searches Sending DIW Traffic

As the main editor / webmaster of this funny little blog, I have the immense pleasure of reading the ever growing list of keywords sending Dating Is Weird traffic. As we've grown, so has the ridiculousness of many of the keywords.

Below is just a small selection of some of my favorites:

1. "pee party loughlin"

WTF? Why are 23 people looking for me in relation to a pee party? Fuuuccck that. I think it's actually because a co-worker of mine wanted to spam my keyword log...dude has way too much time on his hands..

2. "she farted in my face"

Apparently this is more of a problem than I realized. Quite a few folks landed on DIW looking for assurance they weren't the only ones with fart breath.

3. "dated that douche"

This just seems to be a more succinct synopsis of this blog.

4. "how to get a guy to talk to you"

That's easy sweetie: don't write for this blog.

5. "call us sluts serial monogamist"

Couldn't really figure out what people were looking for here other than one of our regular contributors Serial Monogamist. Hmm.

6. "had no regard for the feelings of others, i was narcissistic and self-absorbed to the point of psychotic delusion"

Personal favorite here.

7. "astroglide lube burning asshole"

Less buttsex, duh. What I wish I could tell is which post came up as most relevant for this search..

8. "boyfriend unemployed parents basement"

I love how you can glean so much from just four words.

9. "buttass naked"

Hey, who doesn't like nudey time.

10. "condoms pinned to the wall"

Evidently it's not just me that misses c.vance on this blog.

That's all for now. There's plenty more so stay tuned.

Monday, March 2, 2009

My First Lay in a New Town

**Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes in from "ZZ Bottom" about his first lay after leaving home.**

so i am writing my first blog...so i'm chosing to write about my first lay in a new town. at 18 i moved to a city out west, and i was having a little trouble meeting the ladies as i did not have a fake id, and i had no friends. well, everyone knows the best way for an underage scrub to meet a young, willing woman...house party!! a co-worker invited me to a house party, and beverages were being served. well, later in the night, a classy young breezy started talkin' to me. before long we were tongue wrestling atop a freezer box in the basement...pretty standard hook-up story up to this point...

enter her hippie ex-boyfriend.

lets call him Kip, and lets call her Jessica...which was her name (i'm surprised i remembered that). in any case, Kip, a disheveled, passive aggressive hippie common to the region, accosted us while we pawed at each other's goodies. being a glutton for self-punishment, he hung around us like the smell of patchouli and body odor while we made out. not long after he says to me, still next to Jessica, "Hey dude, she means a lot to me and we just broke up a week ago... just please promise to wear a condom." Interesting request, but i nodded and we continued kissing and groping. We made the natural course to the cramped bathroom. Young Jessica lifted her skirt and we commenced to boning...without a condom. HA! (now i typically don't endorse this cavalier attitude about sex, but luckily i've since been tested and came out ok!)

Anyway, dude, Kip, sees us coming out of the bathroom, fully sexed out. Being the sweet doormat that he is, he offered us a ride to my new apartment. SWEET! this dildo let us pile into his cute little yellow VW bug (like Ted Bundy's) and took us! Then he dropped us off and gave me the whole, "hey, she's a great girl...treat her right" speech. Then he left and we had more unprotected sex on my couch. the next morning i found her panties on the sidewalk in front of my house. poetic.

thanks Kip