Monday, December 12, 2011

The Southern Girlfriend

I may be Southern, but I'm one'a dem progressive Southerners.  Ya know, a pro-choice, pro-gay rights, Obama-sticker-toting, severely-lapsed Christian, progressive Southern. I thought I knew SO much about the world and was just too cool for my little red state. While these things may be true (hehe), my adventures with these West Coaster DIW girls have taught me something - I'll always be a Southerner. And really, that's okay. I'll have manners, respect, domestic skills, high expectations, and other pros and cons that we're prone to. However, as the sweet Serial Monogamist recently pointed out to me, I'm also a Southern Girlfriend.

Southern Girlfriend noun : A female from the Southern United States who, once in a monogamous relationship, shows a different side of her personality that exaggerates any tendencies toward bossiness, neediness, and short tempers.

I will admit that when SM called me this, it was kind of a shock. In fact, I was a mite offended once I realized what she was saying. I'd never heard this term, and I suspect she made it up, but I get it. I'd been snuggling with my dude after a hard day, letting him dote on me, and drinking it up. But in the meantime, I'd made sure he'd called his mother. And then I made sure he washed his hands before dinner (In fairness, he'd been rubbing my feet.). And then I used a baby voice for no apparent reason. And then I asked him to get me a drink. And then I pouted when he said something negative. And then I asked him to do something that I should've gotten up and done myself.

WHO AM I? What kind of person does this? Especially a person like me who never asks for help! This is the same boyfriend who I wouldn't let drive me (four hours) to the airport, and fussed at me for never asking for assistance. And SM was the one who told me that I should let my wonderful boyfriend do sweet things for me. So, is it the big shit that I'm against, but I can revel in the little things? Is it harder to say "no" in person?

Regardless, here's the great part of being Southern - if you find a Southern boy, he expects a strong woman and knows how to please her. Southern folks come from strong Southern mommas who rear great Southern men (and women). We like to be handy and helpful and to make others happy. I would argue that we really do have the last bastions of gentlemen and ladies who would do anything for the ones we love, and a hell of a lot even for a stranger on the street. Don't believe me? Ask SM - she fell hook, line, and sinker for a handsome, blue-eyed boy with a sweet Southern accent and a heart that will do anything for her. And his momma.

Monday, November 28, 2011

Blondie and the hottie from the gym

** Today we have a guest post from Blondie, who has agreed to share some of her dating adventures in the city. Like some people we know (ahem) Blondie is enjoying a fairly fresh foray into singledom, making good use of the wonders and joys of the Internet. ***

Friday night was supposed to be my dating night off. Thursday night I had been with a couple I see, and I had a date on Saturday with a guy I've been seeing for a little while - so Friday I was going relax and give my "body" a rest.

I ended up going out to the bars with a couple friends. The plan was just to have a beer or two, go home and watch a movie. Well, I get to the bar and we hang out a bit and I realize that this guy who I've had a massive crush on at the gym is there. Not some guy I've seen - but a hot 6 foot 7 inch tall basketball player I've been watching while I cool down on the track for the last 5 years.

I tell my friend the story and he talks me into talking to the guy. Long story short - I talk to him and end up going home with him that night. Yep - I got to sleep with my gym crush. But that's not all.

Side note - this gym guy ends up not being very bright. It was an interesting situation for me - I felt like one of those guys who sleeps with hot dumb chicks. While we were hanging out post sex, I was found myself having an internal debate about hotness vs. intellect. Does his hotness make up for lack of smarts? Would I ever dare bring this guy around my friends? Would I be comfortable keeping a guy around for sex just because he was hot, even if he wasn't that interesting to talk to? (I appreciate that this might make me sound like an asshole but I have smart friends and they would call me out on this.)

But, the sex is fun, I have a good time. And, oddly, after sex, he hung out completely naked until I left. He was up walking around, doing all kinds of things. I thought it was cool how comfortable he was, most guys throw on a pair of boxers or something. Though I guess I could have done without him leaving the door open and looking at and speaking to me while he pissed.

As we're hanging out afterwards, he asks if I want to spend the night. I say no because, quite frankly, his apartment was kind of a shit-hole. I don't quite understand how a 32-year-old guy with a professional-type job could live like that. Anyway, I say no thanks and go home at about 3:30am or so. When I got home, I sent him a text saying I made it home safely. He didn't text back until the next day, but this is the conversation:

Me - I made it home safely.

Him - Who is this?

Me - Uh ... Blondie. The girl you slept with last night.

Him - Haha, no seriously, who is this?

Me - I am serious. Don't you remember?

Him - I'm in Seattle with my fiance. I think you have the wrong number

Me - HA! You're right. Wrong number. That's hilarious.


It turns out that I don't have the right phone number for this guy. He just gave me his number, I didn't give him mine. So now, not only did I hook up with the hot dumb guy, but I'm the one who never called again. Part of me feels a tad bad about that, but part of me thinks it's a little funny, if a bit of a bummer because I would like the option of sleeping with him again ... but c'est la vie.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

Going Out In Anchorage, AK

I recently moved to Anchorage for a job and was curious what it'd be like living in a place where the male to female ratio is skewed, to put it mildly.

"You're going to get raped. I heard they pay for women they're so desperate for pussy up there," said one idiot at a bar when I told her where I was moving.

"8-to-1 guys to girls. You don't even have to be hot to get proposed to I heard," said her friend.

"Get a gun," was my brother's request before boarding the plane.

And with that sage wisdom, I went to a local watering hole to meet some new gal friends two nights ago. I didn't make any effort whatsoever to look cute. In fact, I did the exact opposite. No shower after two days of skiing and hat wearing. I didn't even change out of the sports bra from said ski. I managed some deodorant and a different hat, but not much else. I chose one of my more pointed t-shirts (a bright red shirt called "burning bridges" with an image of a guy burning the bridge between him and a woman on the other side). What the hell anyway with all that stupid romance shit.

We saddled up to the bar and of course the three old guys sitting to the right of us starting making conversation, but they were fairly easy to not engage. I find old guys far more fun to drink with than younger dudes mainly because they're harmless and have funnier stories. If you tell them you're not interested, they're not butt hurt and they'll often still buy you a drink for being cool enough to not be a complete bitch. Younger guys on the other hand...sigh.

There was one of said younger versions of the male species to the left of my friend. I noticed him glancing at us every 30-45 seconds and looking for a way to insert himself in the conversation. I also noticed him staring at my tits every time he looked over. Did I mention I was wearing a t-shirt and sports bra and am not exactly a Victoria's Secret model? I have pretty much no boobs to speak of, particularly in a sports bra and t-shirt so I was curious what he kept staring at.

He finally figures out how to interrupt our convo with some asinine comment. He asks me a question, to which I ask him why he's been staring at my tits for 40 minutes. With absolutely not a moment's hesitation, he shifts his gaze to my general torso area and does not look up while responding that he's trying to figure out what my shirt means.

"Really? I'm confused how a bridge burning with a man on one side and a woman on the other is confusing."

"Oh. That's a guy, huh?"

"Yep. A guy. Burning a bridge. The shirt's called burning bridges, weird huh?"

The entire time, he has not once lifted his gaze to make eye contact.

"You're still staring at my tits dude."

"I know. I just don't really get your shirt."

I didn't engage him any further except to make a rather horrible, politically incorrect joke a few minutes later. I wanted to give the angry, lesbian feminist vibe because that's never failed in the past to scare guys away, but this guy didn't seem to mind neither my condescension nor general insulting of his ethnic identity. He asked what we were up to later that night.

Might have to take my brother's advice after all.

Monday, November 14, 2011

Lessons on life and love from Beyonce

I recently met my good friend's sister. The way the visit worked out, the sister and I had some time to hang out the following day, after my friend left to fly back to Oregon.

Over a glass of wine, the three of us sat talking, and my friend's sister told me that whenever I woke up in the morning, we could go out and get breakfast together, and she'd be happy to show me around her town a little bit, as I hadn't spent much time there.

"And of course, if you'd like, we can go ring shopping! I know some great jewelry shops!"

Whoa. Wha?

Back up a little bit. I'm in a relationship. Have been for about 2.5 years. I'm 30. In the last year, I moved across the country to be with him. So, would I like to go ahead and get - if not hitched - engaged? Sure. And I don't see the point in pretending that's not the case. I don't try to advertise or bitch about it, but I'm not going to lie about it - definitely not to my closest friends. But, now I have to wonder.

I mean, I figured my friend would give her sister some backstory on me. She knew where my friend and I had met, she knew the basics of why I live in the south ... but is "she's waiting on her slacker boyfriend to propose" on the short list of details about me that I expect people to hear before they meet me? Yikes.

It brought me back to a conversation my boyfriend and I had before we moved out here. Two friends of mine had been together for 10 years, and I knew she was ready to get things moving. Get married, think about starting a family. So when I saw him, and she wasn't around, I'd nudge. And I wasn't subtle.

"Dude. What are you waiting for? When are you going to put a ring on it?"

It made me feel annoying, but I checked with my girlfriend, and she was totally OK with this type of encouragement. [I mean, I could write another blog post about why and how it is that there are certain decisions in hetero relationships for which women are basically removed from the decision-making process. You can't nag. You can't push. You're not supposed to complain, lest you be one of those gross old-fashioned girls who actually - gasp - wants to get married. Yuck. We're not supposed to care. And it's not like you could do something crazy like ask him.]

When my b.f. heard me talk about this couple, and about how the fellow needed to get his shit together, he wondered if I was trying to give him a hint.

"No, dear. They've been together for a decade. It's a different situation."

But that conversation was a year and a half ago. Are things different? Is living in the south affecting my views on marriage? Out here, people give me a sidelong look when I mention that I moved across the country to live with my boyfriend. People check my hand when I talk about him. I've literally been told that Jesus wants me to get married. His stepmother told him it bothers her that he hasn't at least bought me a ring.

I don't know. But I do know this: I told my boyfriend the ring shopping story when I got home. I'll let him decide what it all means.

Friday, November 4, 2011

Pay it Forward, Asshat

This is about some of the content that you won't find on this blog and WHY it isn't there anymore. Some of the best stuff gets pulled. This is the story of two blog postings that you can't see. I have to make it clear that this blog began in a small town in Oregon called Bend. The "dating pool" in the town would fit in the bottom of a mashed PBR can. We have (almost) all moved to other locations and are too twitterpated right now to be mean little bloggerbunnies.

The first story starts several years ago, while I was perusing a friend's website. I found a link to this site and started reading through the postings. I was amused and appalled, but disgusted in that car-wreck sort of way. I kept reading. I found a posting about someone's disturbing date.

It sounded bizarrely familiar. It was a date I went on. Yes, it was blogworthy how bad the date was. I had blogged it for another blog. Since everyone was wondering who in the world would have gone on a date with this particular Contributor, I left a link to my blog at the end of the "comments" section. It became a Blogwar. It was awesome, but our friends eventually made us make peace with each other and the blog was pulled from this site and the other site as well.

Of course, I swore up and down that I would never do that again to someone, because I then understood how it felt to stumble upon someone else's version of my bad date. Of course... I lied. I'm a blogger.

About a year passed, and I became a contributor to this blog. After a particularly interesting Thanksgiving party, I blogged the evening. That very day, I got an e-mail at my work from the guy whose party it had been. He asked me pretty please to pull the blog posting because it might endanger his livelihood if it got around town that he partied quite that hard. I had no idea that he even knew about the blog, but one of his workmates was an avid reader and was able to identify him from the bits and pieces I dropped throughout the story. We pulled it.

I guess the moral of this story is that you really should not date or party with a blogger, that we are all a bunch of asshats. We really are. We function on the belief that you all want to be the stuff of literature. Send us your stories. Happy dating!!

Monday, October 24, 2011

A new dating website

Just wanted to share with everyone a new dating website you might want to check out! It may be the only site I've ever seen that actually recommends you carry a gun for protection "until Obama takes it from your cold dead hand" har har har.

Looking for more wackadoodle stuff like this? Start with Stuff Fundies Like.

And if you're not a sodomite, go ahead and check out the site here.

Sunday, October 23, 2011

We're Not Dead Yet!

It's been a while, we know. We've missed you, too, baby.

For once, all of us were occupied with our respective boys and didn't have much to bitch about. However, for better or worse, things have changed (at least for this kid).

We've got things cooking, loves. Just bear with us. And until then....


Friday, September 30, 2011

For What It's Worth...

Since some of y'all seemed to like the posts about By the Numbers, don't forget it comes out today.

I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that it's probably NOT an awesome date movie. Well, not an early-in-the-relationship-date movie. If you know your partner's number and you're secure in your status, by all means, go together. But if you're likely to leave wondering what your date's number is, or whether your number will matter to your date, perhaps that particular person is not your best choice of companion.

Wanna know the craziest thing? I'm hawking an Anna Faris movie and not getting paid to do it. Thank jeebus it's almost the weekend, because I worry about myself.

Friday, September 23, 2011


Editors' Note: My friend is the drug dealer. Rad.

Monday, September 19, 2011

Oh, really? You're on Facebook?

So, a few of y'all totally got what I meant about recycling your numbers, and thought that movie looks totally decent. I'll admit that I'm not a huge Anna Faris fan, but something about this movie seems really spot on.

There's a new clip about Facebook-stalking. Done and done. We've all done it, we've all been victims of it. Hell, on the first date with the guy I'm seeing now, he freely admitted to Facebook-stalking me. For a minute, I was kind of turned off. I mean, I hadn't done that (though I had Googled him). Then again, I also knew exactly what I would be doing as soon as I got home. Plus, it made the "do I friend him?" internal debate nonexistent.

In this world of social networking, can we expect not to be cyber-investigated? What is the protocol? Check out this clip and see if you agree with her style...

Monday, September 12, 2011

One more time, without feeling.

So, I've been thinking lately about numbers. Sex by the numbers. Actually, I guess it's more like the numbers of sex. Every now and then, you hear of someone talking about their "number." I could go into the ins and outs of "does it matter," "should we care," "why are high numbers great for guys and bad for gals," etc.

Because of that last effing double standard, I think a lot of girls have considered reusing our numbers. You know - the relationship ended on a decent basis, the sex was good, you're lonely and horny, and why go find a new guy/number when you could booty call the old one?

I was having this debate with myself not too long ago, thinking of just who I could call, when I ran across this movie. When I was in school, I had a friend who had read in Cosmo (the source of all legitimate sexual information, of course) that the average woman kisses 78 men before she kisses the one she'll marry. That's some lip-whoring, I think, but I don't judge. (I'm the good girl on this site, anyway. Who care what I think.) So, that's the first thing I thought of when I saw this movie. Anna Faris's character doesn't want to add on to her sex number because of a magazine article she read. This trailer just stuck me as so funny - a recycling PSA. I mean really, who hasn't had that feeling? For the good of your sanity and your sex drive, reduce, reuse, recycle, right?

Watch the PSA here and let me know what you think.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

The Boyfriending

So we've been seeing each other for a while, and as a little gift he made me something out of glass for my office. Just something small. It is beautiful. It is sitting on my desk right now.

"What are you going to tell them about the artist, if they ask?"

"I'll tell them that my Boyfriend made it."

…and then Immediately Regretted It. All I could think of was that scene in “Young Frankenstein” where Frau Blücher belts out “HE VAS MY... BOYFRIEND!” Has it been too short of a time for me to Boyfriend him? He looked dazed for a second and my face erupted with some form of "I'm sorry" or another.

"No, it's okay. I like that you said that."

There are rules, it seems, as to when and where it is proper to Boyfriend or Girlfriend people. I have no idea what the etiquette is and have always seemed to flub it. One guy took such umbrage with the term that I actually broke up with him because even after dating for four months—monogamously and seriously—he still bitched when I used it. Boyfriend. There is something awful about saying the term out loud for the first time… as if it were a binding legal clause and not the term defining the man that you are seeing. I hate that, but I like having a Boyfriend.

Thursday, August 25, 2011

And I Wonder Why I'm Single

Tonight I had a First Phone Call with a guy I met on Plenty of Fish. In the course of this 30 minute or so call, I subconsciously did several things that, upon retrospection, don't really scream, "This chick is a keeper!"

- I started the conversation with a sports question. This I blame on nerves - he was watching a baseball game earlier and I was grasping for a topic. However, I failed to steer the topic away from sports and instead opined at length about My Favorite Local Sports Team which, I should add, is a rival of His Team. I can only suppose this may place me in "one of the guys (who pulls for the wrong team)" territory.

- Though he knew I'd been baking all night, I failed to use this as an opportunity to extol the virtues of my buttercream or emphasize my domestic goddess status and take-me-home-to-momma qualities. Every smart girl knows that men's hearts and stomachs are truly linked, but we Southern girls are trained to home in on this weakness. Fail #2.

- I complained about my job and how little money I make. Yeah, I tried to joke about it, but it's just not a smart topic of conversation. What's next, how I've been constipated the past few days?

- As I pulled into the driveway of my house, I exclaimed, "Oh, Dad's still up! I should probably go say good night." He already knew I live at home, and I was kinda looking for a way to end the call. But still, it cant feel good to be met with the equivalent of "No, dude, I can't talk to you anymore because DADDY!"

- I had a conversation with my cat. Okay, really I just said, "hi, sweet man." But I said it with the phone to my ear and in mid-conversation. When dude said, "huh," I said, "Oh, just talking to my cat." I think that to most of the US's male population, that translates to something like "SCARY WEIRD FREAKSHOW RUUUUN!" But I could be wrong. Still, Kitty and I are a package deal, as The Girl Next Door likes to remind me. But hey, she's a crazy cat lady, too.

So, upon further reflection, maybe my subconscious is telling me that I am not or should not be into this guy. Any amateur psychoanalysts care to translate?


Sunday, August 21, 2011

I Can't Make You Love Me If You Don't

A few months ago my long-term boyfriend and I split because I decided to move to a different state for a job. He's the best man you could ever ask for and my heart still hurts when I think about the decision. Ever notice how when you first break your heart, it's this intense, all-consuming sort of emotional pain? I'm from Wisconsin and like most solid Mid-Westerners, we swallow our emotions well. Maybe I'm just actually emotionally delayed, but lately the heart break is this constant ache that wasn't there a few months ago. Music has been a huge solace and this video I found today has been on repeat all day. Bon Iver is a good Wisconsin boy so I have extra love for him.

Friday, August 19, 2011

Giveaway Winner!

CONGRATULATIONS to Heather Rose, the winner of our audiobook giveaway!
One of your lovely DIW-ers will be in touch with you to get more info so that Macmillan can put things in the mail.
Thanks for all of you who commented and to Macmillan for this chance!

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Captain Obvious

I am happy to say that I am seeing a card-carrying member of the Human Race now. New One and I went to the Apple Store last night and bought a computer for him. That's not what this is about, though. This is about the unwelcome drunk texts I got from a previous fling-guy this past weekend.


HIM: Are U in?

ME: Functionally asleep. Goodnight. Been lights-out for almost an hour now.

HIM: What floor are you on again?

ME: Shuddap.

HIM: But I am in the elevator.

ME: You have a home to go to don't be weird like this.

HIM: The only weird part is that you don't want to f#ck me.

Me: You're being really weird now and by weird I mean illegal.

HIM: Okay, if U say so.


HIM: Hi. Sex? I like it :)

(MONDAY, 6:09 P.M.)

HIM: Sorry about Saturday. I was drunk which is never an excuse! Sorry!

This evening New One and I are going to dinner and a movie. My phone will be turned off at night from now on.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

How Not to "Do the Online Thing"

There's been a lot of talk lately about online dating and what to do and how to meet the love of your life. Recently on Jezebel, they ran a piece about how to set up the perfect online dating profile ( Jezebel, y'all. They know their shit. And for the most part, I completely agree with what they said. As someone who's becoming old news on the online dating scene, allow me to add some more of my personal observations as to Dos and Don'ts when it comes to your profile. Admittedly, they're mostly Don'ts.

- DO have at least one profile picture that was not taken with a shitty cell phone camera.

- DON'T put up a picture of you and another person of the same sex and fail to differentiate as to which is you. Especially if that's your only picture. Granted, you're probably the ugly one.

- DON'T put up photos of yourself clad head to toe in your alma mater's or favorite sports team's gear. Two reasons: 1) Okay, super fan. Appreciation and commitment are great. But if your best picture was taken while you were drunk at a football game, that's not a good sign. 2) You immediately cross out anyone who hates your school. I once found a really cute guy who was a huge Buckeyes fan. He didn't even get a wink.

- DON'T put up pictures of yourself with children if you don't have children. If you feel that you must, please make it very clear that it's your niece/nephew/best friend's kid/latest kidnap victim.

- DON'T, for goodness' sake, put up a "mirror picture." This especially holds true for you, gentlemen. Not notorious for the cleanliness of your bathrooms, you don't always put out the "take me home to momma" vibe when you scare us away from YOUR home before we've even met.

- DO use proper grammar and real words. Text speak or whatever the young folks are calling it now does not convey that you are a real, grown-up person who knows words and grammar. Once you get to chatting, relax the comma usage a bit, sure. First impressions still count, though.

- DO realize that some things that mean a lot to you are really divisive (see: sports fandom, religion). Sure, talk about how much you love Jesus, but only if you're willing to let Jesus turn away some prospective dates for you.

Okay, so that's just a few things for now. This may have to be an ongoing series...

Happy Dating!

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

How to Wither an Important Appendage

Here's another post from Jorge, one of our few, but much loved, male readers. It contains some f-bombs, unabashed judgment, and failed physical contact - these are a few of our favorite things.

How to Wither an Important Appendage

This is less a story of a date than one that makes me lose faith that I will ever meet the girl of my dreams while horribly intoxicated, as I have always expected I would.

One night recently, at about 3 am, I found myself with one of my friends, terribly inebriated after spending some time at a bar. Big goddamned surprise. I had spent the eve watching an incredibly attractive girl, who had come to the bar with another friend, totally mindfuck all kinds of dudes who, it appeared, unequivocally spend very little time conversing with anything over, say, a 4.

I quickly came to realize that, besides being a colossal cocktease, this girl was also very fucking stupid, and an unparalleled belligerent drunk.

Later, I learned, she was just terribly fucking afflicted with aspergers. Which caused me to retract about 70% of the loathing.

Anyways, around 3 am, friend 1 and I, in our drunken state, decided that ordering a 26" pizza was a great idea.

Friend 2 managed to find his way back over, while also managing to leave Aspergers at home. At some point, friend 2 received a phone call from some girl demanding sex or something. She also happened to have a friend who was apparently desperate to make out with someone.

While friend 1 and I were intrigued, friend 2 most certainly was not. He was certain that this girl would want to go home with him, which obviously wouldn't work, because Aspergers was there, and would do God knows what, should he stumble home with another female. Probably something extra belligerent. And understandable.

So they arrived, and the girl with a rather large chest, who also happened to be the one apparently jonesing for a make out, began shamelessly comparing her much larger tits to her friends much smaller ones. And not so casually inviting her friend to cuddle with her, apparently thinking that some girl-on-girl cuddling would cause our loins to burn with desire.

Every girl I met tonight seemed fucking stupid. I texted friend 1, "These girls are fucking stupid." He didn't notice. He was too busy using our tiny Asian friend as a cockblock. I was tired/passing out. Friend 1 and tiny Asian were tired/passing out. Friend 2 was pretending to be tired, and pretending to pass out. These 2 dumbshit girls were on a mission. So outside on the balcony they went to smoke, along with friend 2. To the couch I went, with a blanket.

A short time later, Miss Desperation comes in. I'm half asleep, and not terribly coherent. She says, "Hey, can you come here and help me with something?"

"Curious," I thought. "Very fucking curious."

So I stumbled up, and followed her towards a bedroom, where I was then lead to a bed, and then promptly pounced upon by a girl who, it seemed, was intent upon chewing my face off. Or licking it off. Or stirring up some imagined concoction in my mouth with her tongue. I came to the conclusion in about 14 seconds that either: A) I was somewhere around the 3rd person she had ever kissed, or B) she had never kissed anyone more than once.

I felt like I was being mauled and clawed by a feral dog. In addition to this, my face was forcibly shoved, at least, but not limited to, 4 times into her mountainous expanse of chest, to the point of near suffocation.

I have no idea what her name was. At one point, after a few minutes, she said "Oh, I probably can only stay for like, 5 more minutes," to which I responded "Oh." Which was the first, and also second to last thing that I said during the entire ordeal. The last was, "Okay," after "I have to go now...goodnight."

It's been at least 3 years since I kissed someone that made me contemplate never participating in that activity ever again. I vow, if ever I find myself in an "am I kissing a sloppy joe with teeth?" scenario, I-don't-know-her-name may be somewhat shocked when I stop the whole thing in mid-misery and say, "Enough. My penis has withered, and I don't even think someone spending life in prison could possibly enjoy this."

And I guess it shouldn't be a big goddamned surprise when I get punched right in the withered penis.

I guess my message is this: cup size is but a trifle when coupled with desperate snake tongue. Or something like that.

- Jorge

Saturday, August 6, 2011

A Day in the Life of DIW

In case you were wondering, yes, we all have our Dear Serial days.

: hi honeybun

: whaddup dollface??

: oh, nothing
i was going to get some advice on how to not respond to the boy
i just.... ugh. feel awful just flipping the ignore switch

: You already dumped him.

i know!
and i think he's trying to worm his way back in or something?
i think he thinks it's working

Poor guy.

i know

The only way to take the plunge is to stop replying completely
I mean, I wouldn't suggest that
if it weren't clear he's delusional
I've had more than one guy I dated for awhile
broke it off with
and then texted back and forth a little bit
Like, he'd send a friendly
thing and i'd reply nicely
made it easier when I ran into him on the street


but his courtesy has run its course.
No mas.

maybe he's not delusional? i dunno.
he just seems way too caring
i don't like it

I feel like I'm missing something
why wouldn't you ignore him?
Because it'll hurt his feelings?

because he's nice and he means well
it would be a weird blow to him for me just not to answer

Well then you could always lie to him
Ignore him for a week
then say
"Sorry I haven't been replying, just really busy"
then ignore him for two
(or, you know, baby steps)

hmm. that could work

He'll know you're lying
but that's OK
It eases the blow of being ignored a bit
But when you say
"sorry I haven't been replying"
and he replies to that
you must NOT RESPOND


even to direct questioning

i see

That's my advice

i kinda want to say "you give me both the heebies and the jeebies now. please go away"

Wednesday, August 3, 2011


Dearest DIWers -

We have the opportunity to do something that we've never done before, and it's pretty cool. Though your editors are hot and sexy, we're also pretty nerdy, and we have a thing for books, including audiobooks. That's why we're pumped to offer a very cool giveaway - an audiobook of 40 Love by Madeleine Wickham (who wrote the Shopaholic series under the name Sophie Kinsella). This book has been described as a hilarious and perceptive skewering of the shallow rich. We think it looks like great hot weather listening.

To enter, just comment on this post by Wednesday, August 17, 2011 and include a way for us to get in touch with you if you win (even if it's just your email address in the posting information).

Make sure you get in on this giveaway - such an easy way to get a great audiobook from one of the hottest authors out there.

Thanks to Macmillan Audio for this opportunity!

Monday, August 1, 2011

Every Single One, Every Single Time

Dear Men,

So... the moment was right and we're getting it on. Somewhere in between the thought and the completion of the act ALWAYS comes the mandatory male statement: "I AM GOING TO CUM" ...and I am confused every single time it is said. By every single guy that I have ever been with.

Of course you are. This is obvious. It is, in fact, the reason that most of you get into this situation in the first place. Are we supposed to say something in return? It really interrupts the mood and totally turns me off, actually. Where on earth did this ritual begin and how did it spread to ALL of the men I've ever been with?

Get this right: I am very supportive of you completing the act, and I highly recommend it. It's just a question of WHY every single one of you uses the exact same phrase.

Please Explain,
Slightly Disheveled

Monday, July 25, 2011


When I started my job, I did so without promise of a real salary because I knew that I'd learn a lot. I'd learn about my field, business practices, learning to deal in the world of professionals, all the usual stuff - the stuff that they can't teach you in school.

But here's what I've learned a lot about lately: show dogs.

That's right. My boss shows dogs. They're the canine equivalent of beauty queens. She's at a show at least once a month. Most dogs you train to sit and lie down and behave, but not these monsters. You don't want them to sit down in the ring, so you basically just let them run rampant, apparently. And these are giant dogs, not little puff balls. Dogs that are as tall as me when they stand up. Fucking monsters.

So, here's my point and why I'm talking about dogs on DIW. My boss's main goal this week is getting her bitch knocked up. Therefore, tomorrow I have to cover an engagement for her because the frozen doggie jizz is stuck somewhere, on a truck, in the middle of the country. Apparently it's only viable for so long, and the bitch just went through heat, during which time every dog in the county tried to bone her.... Whatever.

Moral of the story - the bitch gets more play than I do. Literally.

Saturday, July 23, 2011

Dear Joe Rogan...

I have a confession to make. Okay, I guess it's two confessions.

One - I follow Joe Rogan on Twitter (@joerogan). I don't think this is a bad thing at all, but some people may judge. I don't know. I'm proud.

Two - I missed it when Joe Rogan linked to us here at DIW. This is a fact I am NOT proud of. We missed him linking to our Mormon Soaking article.

I've learned many great things about Joe through his Twitter account.

For example:
1 - He is hilarious.
2 - He likes to get high.
3 - His UStreams are incredible.
4 - His tattoos are gorgeous. I mean.... beautiful. Incredible.
4 - He is passionate about UFC. This is perhaps the most important thing I've learned about Joe. Listening to him comment on fights is golden. He's made me enjoy cagefighting. I know, right?

So, Joe - Here's to you. Our first - and for now only - celebrity appreciator.
We hope you and your friends and followers keep coming to visit us as we try hard to keep the good stuff coming. We know you're married and a dad and stuff, but because it's our mantra...

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Ponzi Dating

Please enjoy this oh so funny post from Gayle about one guy who couldn't take a hint to save his life!

About 15 years ago I made my maiden voyage to Martha's Vineyard. There weren't many people on the ferry from Wood’s Hole, just a handful of us, so the handsome, pock-marked man with a calm look caught my attention. I don't remember how we ended up talking (my ex-husband would say that I probably pushed my breasts out and tossed my hair, something he always says I do when I flirt)but I found out that he was the roadie/manager for a band that was playing at a bar in Oak Bluffs very close to where the ferry docks. Somehow I wormed my way into his lunch with the band members at the bar who asked me to come see them play that night. I didn't think that there would be any way in hell that my two gay, West Coast friends who I was visiting would come with me to continue my flirtation with a roadie for some hippie-ish bar band. But, well, they did and it actually became their MISSION to get me laid.

We had a great time at the bar and the band was surprisingly excellent. When they had played their last set and Clive started breaking down, my friends URGED me to suggest that he come back to my hotel room. The bar lights were flashing last call, and my friend was insisting that I slip him my room number. Somehow, it ended up on a napkin along with my lipsticked mouth imprint and my friend ran to the stage to give it to him. I was mortified. I was thrilled.

Like a ship captain's wife holding vigil, but without the widow's walk and flowy white nightgown I stared out my window almost all night, waiting for Clive to walk up the path to the hotel and come rap at my door. The bed was right under the window and I remember just finally sinking, rather sadly, into sleep. When I left the next morning to go meet my friends, I noticed that they had left a little note taped to a post that said "Gayle's Room" with an arrow pointing in my direction.

Back in Boston, with e-mail in its infancy, I found yet another way to contact Clive and I received an e-mail back, with some semi-apology about not coming back to the hotel, how he had taken a late-night walk and watched the sunrise. At the end of the e-mail, though, he said that there was something he really wanted to talk to me about in person and wondered if I would meet him in Providence when the band was playing, sometime during that next week. Something he needed to talk to me about in PERSON? Was he going to profess his love for me and needed me in front of him to kiss passionately and carry me away into the Providence sunset? In my mind, that was the only option and I told him that, yes of course, I'd be there.

I drove the hour-plus thinking of nothing else but how exciting a first kiss would be.

I walked into the rather large place and saw Clive, in shorts, Timberlands and a tee-shirt. We hugged each other and sat down at a high-top table, ordered drinks, some pub-ish food and made quick small talk. Within maybe 8 minutes, Clive pulled a napkin out of the dispenser and took out a pen.

"This is what I wanted to talk to you about." He started drawing boxes and arrows and began to describe something that I couldn't even follow. Why was this man DRAWING DIAGRAMS ON A NAPKIN WHEN HE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE KISSING ME????? It didn't take long before the boxes became a pyramid and I realized what was happening. I became an arrow on the bottom of a pyramid. He thought that I would bring him money and a bump up to the next level. To this day, I'm still confused how "boxes" could make someone rich.

I let him finish his spiel and he went back to setting-up for the band. I was stunned. I was temporarily immobilized. I had an hour and a half drive home and it was already way past my bedtime. All I could think about was how it wouldn't matter anymore if I smoked a million cigarettes because my breath wasn't an issue. I'm pretty certain that I had it in me to laugh, shake my head and not blame it on myself for being deficient in any way.

There have been some other doozies of dates and situations since then, but, I'm sure that this will stand out as one for the "Dates From Hell" record books.

If you liked this, do be a dear and visit her blog at


Thursday, July 7, 2011

An Open Letter to the Love/Hate Boyfriend

Dude -

Though I'm not given to quoting our 43rd president, what was that quote that W mangled once? "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me." Didn't he add an "aw, fuck it" on the end? That's the part I can't get right. "Fuck it, and fuck you." I say it, and I think it, and I never believe it.

You got me. Damn you, you got me. I haven't felt like this about someone in... 10 years? Since my first love. And what kills me is that I'm afraid I love you. It should turn my stomach to write that, but I kinda tear up instead. You, who I only spent one night with, though I remember every second of it. You, who's so charming and handsome. You, who can take my shit and give it right back. You, who has run off how many times now?

Some days I hate you. I'll scan across your number in my phone's contacts, and my blood boils. I raise my finger to delete your information... but I never do. An old conversation or picture will pop up and I want to write you letters about my hatred and loathing for you... but I don't. Because I don't hate you. And I want you around. But goddammit do I hate you and want you out of my life.

You make me act irrationally. Do you know how much that sucks? Me, who chooses brains over guts 100% of the time, who maps out her life in Excel spreadsheets, who can't hold a grudge because they just don't make good sense, and who gets panicky if she thinks she screwed something up. Did I screw you up? Not you, really, but what we could have had? I know I didn't, but I still can't figure out what happened, and it makes me crazy.

That leaves it up to you. For whatever reason, you can't handle this situation, or you can't handle me. I know I haven't screwed up because dammit, you keep coming back. You feel this, too - you've told me that much. But you just can't deal. Maybe you need to figure out how to be vulnerable enough to be a real man, or maybe you need to find spine enough to deal with your own shit before you can be with someone. I certainly don't know what it is, and I can't pretend to.

So, from now on, I will let my tiny little torch burn for you, and I will leave it at that. I won't try to stifle it, but I won't let you share it. I'll figure out how to embrace this twisted, sick, amazing feeling that I have for you, but I won't embrace you. I won't stroke your ego. I won't validate your feelings. I won't beg you to talk to me. I won't expect anything from you. But I know that you'll be back. I know that one day, you'll try again. You probably won't have gotten your act together, but if you fail that time, I'm willing to bet you'll try yet again. And one day, you'll have put yourself together and screwed your head on straight and learned how to be a man. Then, and only then, can we really do this.

Until then, though, fuck you.


Tuesday, July 5, 2011

The Ex Card

Here's another guest post from one of our beloved readers, Anne.

I was going through a difficult time with an ex and was trying to move on. So, when this new boy came along and asked me if I wanted to hang out, I thought, "why not?" He was cute, seemed quite funny, and he knew some of the same people as me so I felt safe meeting him. After a couple of dates, I realized that this wasn't going to go anywhere. He talked a LOT, and most of what he said was nonsensical. Basically, we didn't connect. After a few dates, I wondered why I had let myself spend so much time with him....

One given day, I was looking forward to seeing my ex, but he let me down, as usual. I ended up sad and in bed by 10:30. So, when the new boy sent a text asking if he could come round, I said why not. After all, I was shaved, moisturized within an inch of my life, and ready to go. Here's what happened next.

He started talking. I shouldn't have been surprised, I suppose. But he soon went into a spiel about how he had been told that he he looked happy, and it was from hanging out with me. I didn't care, and I told him so. After all, I didn't like him. What's worse, is that he thought me telling him that I wasn't interested was me being shy or demure - that I didn't believe him and needed some reassurance. Ha. He should have shut his mouth and just gotten down to the reason for his visit.

As if that weren't enough, he started talking about his mother and her three boyfriends. They were all the opposite of keepers, to put it simply. When I suggested that perhaps she was going through a breakdown, he SCREAMED at me, saying how she's been like this for 8 YEARS! And I still don't care. Neither did I care about his rough upbringing in Philly, or his several trips to prison, including a two week stint in maximum security. Excuse me?!!!

At this point, I realize that it's definite, I never want to see him again. But it's obvious that this one needs to be handled with care. Though he sends me text after text - what am I up to, can we get brunch? - I play the "ex" card, say I still feel weird, and he understands. It wasn't a lie, but it did the trick, and I'll certainly be playing that card again.

If you liked that little tale, check out Anne's blog at

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Little comforts

I’ve been thinking a lot about exes lately.

And don’t tell me you haven’t. I’m not interested in that. Really, can’t we please, for just a moment, admit, all together, that it’s weird, so very weird, to have exes in the universe? I don’t want to pretend that I’ve moved on—which I have, in a sense. I’m not stopped, I’m not waiting, or weeping. I’m just thinking.

Isn’t it strange that there are people in the world that you used to lay next to every night (if you’re a cohabitating type of serial monogamist, at least), who now have these lives that don’t involve you? They have wives and girlfriends and fiancés and children, and you have new loves, and you live somewhere else, and why does that have to mean you can’t still call his mother? Why does that have to mean that you’re a stalker if you want to see a photo of his new family?

One reason I’ve been thinking is because I’ve been hearing a lot from an ex who was an item so long ago I hesitate to think of him as more than a very old friend. I was visiting home not long ago, and he randomly called. He didn’t even know I was in town, but he instantly started pushing to see me. I agreed to dinner at his intense insistence—he hinted at some sort of trauma. He promised he’d be pathetic, and offered to buy.

We got in the car, and I said, “So. What was all that? What’s up with you?”

“Right,” he said. “So, my wife left me.”

Of course she did. Although there was one point in my life that I’d considered him my backup plan, my safety, in case my life didn’t go the way it expected, I gave up that plan about four years ago when he told me he was having a baby. Since then, I’d been firmly in the camp that supported his relationship, and I’d even been charmed by his wife – and while we’re being honest, I’ll just put it out there. I’m prettier than his wife.

“Oh, buddy,” I said. “That sucks.”

“For her teacher,” he said.

“Yikes,” I said.

“Who is a lady,” he said.

“Oh, fuck.”

At dinner, he told me the whole sordid story. It’s pretty fucking tragic.

He knew our server, it was why he’d picked this particular restaurant. When the server walked away, my friend confessed, “he doesn’t know yet.”

This break had been sudden, and the whole thing had only gone down about three weeks prior. My friend described to me how he understood depression for the first time in his life.

“I wake up in the morning, and I can’t think of a reason to get out of bed. And even when I can, I just can’t think of how in the world I’m going to make myself do it.”

I hugged him, and got a little drunk with him, and said what little, weak things you can say to comfort a friend whose family has just been torn apart. Mostly I listened to him. And when our server asked what the wife and kid were up to, he got the bad news. When our bill arrived, I think it was $5.

“I’ve been getting a lot of free meals lately,” he confessed.

What little things we can do to comfort a friend.

Later, after I’d left town again, he texted me, saying he wished he’d been able to spend more time with me when I was in town.
“I have a lot of friends here, but none like you,” he said.

I’m not sure what he meant by that. In a literal sense, he doesn’t have any other friends who took his virginity. In another sense, he probably doesn’t have any other friends who have considered making a life with him. I’ve thought about what our kids would look like. I’ve considered whether I would take his last name.

But he probably didn’t mean any of those things.

Sunday, June 5, 2011

Leprechaun vs. Ginger

Bringing you an important post by Lady Kay, which prompted this Dater to ponder 1) where the line between ginger and leprechaun lies, precisely, and 2) when does it become a good idea to forget all yer mama told ya and tell a guy to just get the eff out.

This is about the time I fucked a Leprechaun.

I have to preface this story by saying that I missed being slutty when I was young. I was more of a prude. I had a longish-term relationship followed by marriage, followed by a very long-term relationship. So my number is still really low at my ripe old age of... oh, never mind.

I met him online. We emailed a few times and then talked on the phone one night. It was late, I invited him over. In his profile picture he looked like a leprechaun, albeit a 6' leprechaun. I hoped he would look less leprechauny in person. He didn't. Damn.

We talked for a while, I drank some. Drank some more. He was nice enough and I was drunk enough so I asked him to stay. Things started. He started moaning. Ew. He asked to turn the light on so he could see, not me, but his dick. Maybe leprechaun dicks disappear in the dark? I don't know. He moaned some more. Too much. I did not come. And I couldn't sleep.

In the morning he asked if I was wet. Wtf? I just woke up!! He asked if I like "morning lovin' ". Um, not when you put it like that. And generally not with strangers. When he was done he asked if I came. No. No, I didn't. He muttered "sorry" and went to the bathroom. Wow. Thanks.

He stayed too long. He's very much into astrology and talked about charts and suns and moons. I was hungover and just wanted to go back to sleep and recover and forget the whole experience. I needed to forget that I fucked a leprechaun. A ginger. My mother would roll over in her grave, only she's not dead. So she'd puke if I ever told her. Which I never, ever would.

I think being slutty is best left to the young. The young and stupid.
It was a valiant effort, anyway.

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Fit But You Know It

One of the drawbacks of online dating is that no one is 100% truthful in their profiles. That's a fact everyone can accept as part of the game. However, I'm wondering if there's a pattern to these little white lies.

While it may be a topic deserving of a longer entry, here's my thought of the day: am I incredibly lazy in a fit society, or do most folks (particularly dudes) exaggerate the frequency of their workouts? It seems like a vast majority of the profiles I see are of "very active" men looking for "healthy and fit" ladies. These guys do crossfit, MMA, every ball sport known to man, kickboxing, weightlifting, surfing.... Tires me to think of it, especially when it's hard for me to muster the spirit to do some Zumba.

Are there other trends I haven't noticed yet? Guys, what do girls lie about with the most regularity?

Sunday, May 8, 2011

On or Off?

***GUEST POST!!***
Hope y'all enjoy this post from a guest I'm calling the Divine Miss M.
Take care, and HAPPY DATING!

So I signed up for an online dating site because it has been forever since I had a good date. I have a pretty hefty screening process and after almost two weeks of being on the site, met someone in person from the site for drinks. He was cute, took me to drinks and we talked for hours. I was unsure if he was just being nice but he ended up calling me the next day to ask me to dinner.. a place that we had mentioned at drinks and I said I had never been. How cute and thoughtful. We saw each other almost every other day, planned the next date before saying goodbye. We did nice dinners, drinks, movies, and he made me a fantastic dinner at his place. I felt like this guy could be the guy I bring to the two summer weddings I am going to... I felt comfortable enough to invite him over for Easter dinner, and he happily accepted.

However, one night, while he was going downtown (and he had proven himself quite adept), I was a little uncomfortable and wanted him to take it easy. You would have thought I just told him he was the most foul man I ever met. He was so upset that he turned away from me and completely ignored me for a good ten minutes. I tried to comfort him, I tried to play it off. I had no idea what to do. He spent the entire night going back and forth about how he ruined everything and then convincing me that he was fine when I told him I was going to go home.

We seemingly worked it out, but I noticed other things: how nervous he was that I would not like something he did or the food he made or the movie he picked. I felt slightly nervous myself because things were going well but I have a tendency to pick at little things so maybe I was making too big a deal out of his insecurity issues. I decided that we all have issues and we could work through it.

He did not feel the same. We took a little road trip to a place we both wanted to go and on the hour and a half drive home, he told me two things: that he was falling for me and that he could not be my boyfriend because he was not stable enough.

I felt completely heartbroken... and completely trapped in his car for a whole other hour! I cried and tried to tell him that we could work through issues and everyone had insecurities, etc. Apparently, I did not convince him because he dropped me off at my house and parked on the street so as not to disturb the people I live with. Then he told me "not to delete his number". What does that mean? I am not going to be waiting around for his phone call even though he's insisting that he is crazy about me and just has to work on himself. Though, it is impossible not to think I failed somewhere along the line here. How did we go from truly clicking in every sense of the word to a complete disaster where I walked down the street in the pouring rain to my house in a dress that was supposed to get me LUCKY, and not dumped!?

Now, I will never experience fondue the same way again, and I cannot wear that dress again without thinking how sad that night was.

So, now I just wonder how long does it take to "fix yourself"?

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Shitting Where You Eat: A Guide To Dating Your Neighbor With Dignity And Grace

  1. Meet neighbor.

  2. Run into neighbor again.

  3. Have a long conversation with neighbor.

  4. Go out to lunch.

  5. Run into neighbor again.

  6. Go out to bar.

  7. Make out on sidewalk.

  8. Date.

  9. Decide dating neighbor is bad idea.

  10. Become friends.

  11. Go out to lunch. As friends.

  12. Drink bottle of wine with neighbor.

  13. Have sex with neighbor.

  14. See neighbor escorting a girl out of his apartment at 9am on a Sunday.

  15. Cry on neighbor's couch for 3 hours.

  16. Ask him to cat-sit the following weekend.

  17. Avoid neighbor.

  18. Run into neighbor. Limit conversation to discussion of SSRIs and cats.

  19. Avoid neighbor.

  20. Give neighbor a basket full of whiskey and candy as a "thank you" for cat-sitting.

  21. Avoid neighbor.

  22. Move.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011


After the breakup of my last ill-fated relationship, I decided to hide out for a bit. This, dear reader, is why I was home on a Saturday night to receive his call. I HAVE to share, because of all of the "callbacks" I have EVER gotten, this one is the most interesting.

He called because I "am the only sane person that he knows" and he had to talk to somebody. He just broke it off with the girl he started seeing right after I broke up with him. He had JUST left a bar where he had dumped her and during his walk home, he told me what a mess she was and all that sort of garbage. He got to his house and was smoking on his porch when he quickly told me that she was there at his house and he had to go, but that he would call me back in a few.

I texted him "Do you need me to call the police?" jokingly after about a half hour. He said no, that the police were already there and that he was watching her get arrested.

So, he calls me back and goes on and on about how she was crazy and had a drug problem and drank too much. I remained silent and smirking. I AM so much better than that and was SO GLAD that I was over him. He was slurping down scotch while he was talking. Then came the big pause: "I have something I have to tell you and you're not going to like it."

Right after I broke up with him, he called an escort service. He was dating the girl from the escort service.

That's right: not a stripper or a topless waitress, he went directly to dating a whore. A whore with two kids. He kept talking. She was addicted to crack. In the first month of dating, they had ALREADY had a pregnancy scare. She was arrested in front of his house for drunk driving... with her three-year-old daughter in the back car seat...driving the wrong way on a one-way street. She had a key to his house. She said that she loved him. That was why he babysat her kids while she went off on tricks. Oh... and she was "really, really hot".

Did I have to explain that she was playing him for his money? Yes. Twice. "Trip" had never, apparently, actually met a whore before and must have missed all of the movies and books where the whore plays the rich guy for his money. He asked me what he should do. If he should break it off.

"It depends on how much drama you want in your life. If you want a psychotic crack hoe having your baby and really want to pay her monthly for the next 18 years, I'd say no. You should stay with her for a while. It will be very exciting... like watching COPS. If you don't want a crack baby, I'd say that you should change your locks tomorrow morning and never talk to her again."

He ask me if I'd go to drinks with him the next night. I politely declined. He changed his locks and is shopping for a psychiatrist.

Monday, April 25, 2011

Am I crazy or is he creepy?

I can't tell. I was just sitting there, minding my business late in the week, trying very hard not to beat my head against my keyboard, when an IM popped up on my screen.

He says:
Hey! Whatre you doing?

She says:
whipping some stuff out before I get out of here
and then tomorrow's FRIDAY

He says:
Yes it is!!! WOO HOO!!!!
big plans this holiday wekend?

She says:
Oh yeah
cleaning my floors
big stuff
Actually I might spend a night in a cabin on the Waccamaw
and do some kayaking
so that'll be good
Oh, you know, and being pious, of course

He says:
LOL>...of course!!!
well...I cleaned floors last weekend so thais done...YEAH!!!
a little golf Frdiay and Saturday mongings...

She says:
Oh nice

He says:
and I do have to clean out the garage one day...BOOOOO

She says:
I hate chores

He says:
me too...

She says:
Why did I think they'd go away when I grew up?
I think I need to have kids. Make them start doing some dishes.

He says:
they just get more and more and more

She says:

He says:
we need FUN in our life...hhhmmmmm

This is where I start to feel squeamish. I mean, OK. I like fun. But that long "hhhmmmmmm" felt like a hot breath across a phone line, right? That's not fun. It certainly ain't sexy. So I tried to keep it light and jokey. I figure, can't we all agree that work sucks, eh? Eh?

She says:
Oh, what, like work isn't FUN for you?
It doesn't bring you enough JOYJOYJOY?

He says:
there you go again..scarcasim...I LOVE IT!

She says:
I just can't help it
I'm glad someone around here appreciates it

He says:
I do...let it FLY!!!

She says:
I still have to figure out different types of humor.
Not everyone thinks I'm hilarious, apparently.

He says:
i find you hilarous and interesting...

I don't want bald, married guys my dad's age to find me interesting. Especially if they can't spell for shit. Again, I retort with a joke.

She says:
Me, too!
That's why we get along

There's a pause, so I think it's over. Oh, no.

He says:
tell me something unique

Um, what? Is this how old people flirt? Is he that bored? I hardly know this guy. He works in a different building. (I think his WIFE works in my building though.) Are we all of a sudden on I play it safe by playing stupid.

She says:

He says:
lol haven't figured me out yet...I am haviong a tought ime with an outage over here and thoiught I would settle my stress by being silly wiht you

She says:
I'm slow sometimes

He says:
not a problem...

OK, DIW. What is this? Am I being paranoid? Is he just so well-meaning and innocent and I'm the one projecting? Should I avoid this guy?

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

When the Deal Breaks....

In every new relationship, there's hope for a happy future. There's the inkling of an idea that maybe this one is IT! We tap into the Disney-perfected romantic notion that there's one love for each of us and dammit, we're going to find that magic, fireworks-when-you-kiss, love-at-first-sight magic.

At this point, you've probably pegged me as the jaded dumped one. Wrong, kids. In this case, I'm the dumper. I'm the one whose deal was broken by a totally clueless yet very well-intentioned young man. The clues started out small, with him forgetting things I'd told him while I painstakingly remembered his schedule. Then he started only getting in touch when he wanted a li'l sumpin, not just to get have a nice chat. THEN he forgot the species of my beloved pet whom I talk about all the time (that's right, I'm a crazy cat lady, not a dumb dog dresser-upper). Lastly, when a friend came back to the state from a war zone where he'd been for over a year, dealbreaker said "Oh, then I guess I'll just play things by ear." No, sir, you won't.

It had gotten to the point where I was annoyed every time I spoke to him - wanted to reach through whatever device we were speaking through and slap some sense into him. He corrected me and always had to have the last word. While I know I'm full of corrections, I'd like to think that I can shut my damn mouth and detect irritation. Him, not so much.

Tonight, we had a chat. I told him things hadn't felt right lately; we were just half-hearted chats in between booty calls. He said he had no idea. Completely blindsided. Thought I was happy with the whole situation. Guess that's what happens when you don't talk....

Now, I could be wrong in all of this. I could be a heinous bitch who broke a booty call's li'l heart, and I do hope y'all tell me if that's so. On the other hand, I finally did something I've had problems doing - I had "the talk" when I didn't want to, and I didn't lead anyone on or drag anything out. My relationships usually end when I, in fullblown sobbing tears, say "DON'T YOU LOVE ME ANYMORE?!" Okay, that's not quite accurate, but it feels true.

At this point, I'm beginning to feel that this dating shit just isn't meant to make sense. Maybe I should read "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus" like my mom suggested after all....

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

The mess in the living room

I recently realized something. A little blip of recognition.

If you're a breeder: Between your parents' house, your dorm, your roommates, and then kids of your own, a retirement community, maybe a nursing home ... there are very few -- precious few -- years when you can wake up on a Sunday morning and stagger out to your living room to find you'd left a pile of underwear on the floor, empty bottles stacked up on bookshelves, and lube and toys on the coffee table. Enjoy them.

I know I plan to.

Saturday, April 9, 2011

The Text Message Diaries

A good looking friend of mine recently joined We'll call him "Guy." Guy already has plenty of dates, and his online dating hasn't stopped him from asking out the chick at the bar, all of my friends, pretty much any cute girl.

The other day we were chatting about Girl #735 and how it had ended poorly, yet again, over text. I asked to see the conversation and almost pissed my pants. Good stuff. The best part is he's too lazy to delete his texts. We're talking months of texts with dozens of women.

So I asked, would you be willing to let us publish the conversations, au total, on DatingIsWeird?

He's game. Sorta. I had to buy him beers and dinner so I could transcribe what follows is.

I just felt Like we had a cheesy good bye and all.
And now I'm second guessing
my communication like u :)

Girl #1:
Well don't!

Clicked "politely ignore" on ur wink.
And your messages and profile disappeared.

Girl #1:
Really? I saw a message that said
something along the lines of "thanks but no thanks",

I didn't feel like u invited yourself last night.
I ended up just hanging out at my
friends house. I closed my profile on match for a bit,
probably why its gone.

Jeeze... I hope its not b/c of me. Didn't mean to try &
make it a date & I should have kept my
developing crush to myself. Hope u stay in touch.
I would like to hang out again
but I won't pester u. I promise!

Girl #1:
Ha ha. Second guesser. The crush talk was sweet!
I closed my profile for a bit because
I just felt like taking a break, has nothing
to do with you. I like you, stoke we are friends!

Going through some bullshit right now,
stressful day. If I don't respond or pick up
its not because of you.

guilty as charged!

(A few days later....)

Girl #1:
Thanks? Ok. Match is weird because
it causes pressure when u go out. Like
you have to decide right then if u like
the person. Pressure!

Thats all you. I mean we do get to choose
from dozens of possible dates so I imagine
lots of people end up liking something
about one another, thats fun
I don't feel it like pressure

Girl #1:
Yep, it is all me I guess. That's why I realized
that I'm not ready for dating. I've never really
done that before. Just met friends and
it turned into something. Dating isn't fun for me,
plus I have too much baggage. Well, good luck ;)

Yea I know you were just looking for friends...
Sorry I wasn't fun for you. I think u r hot and cool
but I didn't mean to bring the pressure.
Hope we can hang out again sometime, friends.

Girl #1:
Crap!!! No! You were fun, ugh,
can I make this more of a mess?
I'm such a social retard. I like u.
YES friends and let's hang out again.

(Again, a few days later...)

Girl #1:
We should go grab a beer??

Dang..I think I may have plans as of 1/2 hour ago.
Text u tomorrow and let's figure it out.

Girl #1:
Sounds good...I'm more fun :)

I wouldnt know. Jus kidding.

Girl #1:
You son of a bitch!! J/k...

I might go out tonight.

Okay I'm not. Talk to u tomorrow :)

(The next day)

Okay what about planning on a beer later :)
say 6 or 7. And just see what unfolds

Girl #1:
What about your other plans??

Well im keeping it vague
and since u r just a friend,
I'm not going to feel bad
if we cut it short because someone else
wants to meet me afterward.

Hah, like u did the other day. Fair enough?

Girl #1:
Ha ha! Ok. You would not have had fun
if u came with me. It was lame. Me, my friend, and
her Weirdo husband at their house...

That's perfect, u wouldn't have fun
w/ me later either b/c
my other plan might actually like me. Hehe

Girl #1:
Oh please! Of course they will,
but will they be as fun as me? NO

We'll see, call me later?

Girl #1:
Stop being so mad at me.
Yes, let's plan for around 7?

(A few logistical texts later. I'm going to include times from here on out because they also say something...)

Girl #1:
You better not stand me up
because you're so mad at me ;)
It will hurt my heart. See u at 7

Ok, you're going right?

Tonight seems weird and you have plans after, so
let's plan for another time :)
Have fun tonight on your date!

Are you effing kidding me? I just got the message that you want to bail?
I'm pissed I rushed home to take a shower so I could meet up with you
after you practically begged me.

I actually canceled my plans with a very sweet girl...
And now I've got nothing to do....

Damn it I'm so pissed. I was on a motorcycle ride with a friend
so I didn't get the texts until I got home and got out of the shower.
We rushed back from ___________ so I could meet you on time.

(Guy calls Girl #1 twice)

Girl #1:
I'm not answering cause I don't want to get yelled at.
I'm sorry I came across as begging you.
You made it sound like you had plans right after,
u didn't tell me u canceled. If u could relax a little
we could figure out what to do, Jesus!

Whatever! You're acting totally crazy.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

What do I wear... to my breakup?

So the time has come to break it off. It's just not really going anywhere and the promises given in the first month have been falling off slowly. His drinking is getting worse (the "side effects" as well) and he's a chain smoker. His "mask" is slipping a little too much for my taste. I digress.

So, it's time to break it off and all I am really wondering about is the actual break-up scene, and specifically: what I should be wearing. I'm trying my best to make this into something deeply psychological, but it isn't. I'm trying to make this as tasteful as possible because he's been drunk texting me some horrible things and I really don't want to bring them up at the break-up. I just want to meet with him in person (respectful) and tell him that it isn't working out (clear). Every time I play the scene out in my head though, my outfit changes. One part of me wants to dress like the total psycho that he wishes I would act more like (making it easier for him to psychologically dump ME) and one part of me REALLY wants to show up in business attire and slap a home run.

This is pretty much the shallowest possible reaction to this scenario. I know. The thing of it is, I'm really kind of a clothes person and can't get away from the theater aspects of a possibly psychologically explosive scene. When I play it back in my head later, I don't want there to be any possible way that I could have diffused the situation any more. He and I are both kind of "dramatic" and I am swearing to you, gentle reader, that I will be on my very best behavior.

So: I'm leaning towards the professional attire and the "I am a more mature person than you are and you're not going to drag me into your personal hell anymore." I can't believe that I'm actually considering dressing up all artsy and giving him extra credit for the cognitive dissonance caused by my words versus my outfit.

Or should I just let him wonder and not even give him the satisfaction of a break up?

Friday, March 18, 2011

Dank-ass Doughnuts

***Guest post!! Special thanks to a nameless contributor for this tale of youth and young manhood. And Phish (not Kings of Leon). The towns in question are located in that lovely little slice of strangeness known as South Carolina, if you were wondering.***

When I was 17, I dated a girl from Mauldin named Jill. On a Saturday night in March 2001, we drove to Columbia to see Phish front man Trey Anastasio play at the Township Auditorium. Long story short, we all got fucked up on weed and nitrous and hippie beer in the lot and she began to annoy the hell out of me.

Once inside the venue, I left her and watched the show with my high school buddies Wilson and Daniel and some other girls. When it ended, I left with my friends instead of my girlfriend. Oops. :( On the drive back to Greenville, we stopped at the Hess on Piney Grove.

As we “shopped,” the evening attendant was discarding that day’s stock of Krispy Kreme into a -- honest-to-God -- pristine and absolutely fresh trash bag. Being freshly stoned bros, we naturally carpe-ed the penis out of that diem and picked out the best pastries with our hands. Those doughnuts got dominated. No joke: We shoved them into our gaping maws with the collective adroit of a half-wit homunculus.

While we were “eating”, Jill and her group walked in.

Her: “Dude. What. Are … you doing?”

Me: “Eating some dank-ass doughnuts. Um … See you at church tomorrow?”

I didn’t go to church again until after college.

That night in Columbia, Trey played a cover of Stevie Wonder’s “Signed, Sealed, Delivered”. Whenever I hear that tune, I can't help but think of that night and that poor girl. This one’s for you, Jill, darling. For the record, I am truly sorry. But that doesn’t mean I’m not still an asshole.

Thursday, March 3, 2011


So, I've been thinking a lot about stereotypes lately.

Between my and my friends' dating experiences lately, stereotypes have come up a lot. For one pal, it was a guy "acting like a chick" when he spilled his guts about feeling nervous and hesitant in their young relationship. For another, it was having her little white girl mind blown when the black guy she started sleeping with turned out to be extremely well-endowed.

Point is, these things stick around because they're true. But do they have to be? When it comes to biological features (so to speak), these things are inescapable. Do we have to say that a dude acts like a chick, though? Why can't he just be sensitive, or honest? The worst part is that so many of us feminist, intelligent, open-minded chicks are guilty of this. We want sensitive, honest, open men, but when they show their feelings, even WE say they're being too feminine.

And how about stereotypes and double standards? Why must they frolic about datingland like two such best friends? In fact, I think I conflated them in that last paragraph. As a girl who's "one of the guys," "the funny fat girl," and "too smart for her own good," I've been placed into several of the categories that act as both stereotypes and double standards. When you break it down, these all presuppose that a certain quality in a person means that she (in these examples) will have certain behavior. (Ex., Smart girl = nothing but hassle. Smart guy, though...)

Here's my upshot on all of this: Be your gotdamn self and let others do the same, especially your potential loves. Keep an open mind and just let things come.

As a control freak, I find this crazy hard to accept, but I try. I really do. We'll never be rid of stereotypes or double standards, so I say accept them for what they are - half truth, half lunacy, and zero relevance to that attractive person across from you. Take it from the little white girl who got her mind blown.... ;)