tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34343610047546637792024-03-13T05:02:11.133-07:00Dating Is WeirdA dating blog full of horror stories, weird antics and maybe a little love. Happy dating.S.G.Loughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848043332676380294noreply@blogger.comBlogger286125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434361004754663779.post-90095413774730546842012-08-19T15:21:00.001-07:002012-08-19T15:21:24.507-07:00What we need to know.Y'all. Forgive me, but it's about to get real in here. Uber-dudes and conservatives may not want to read this, but I think they need to know this as much as, if not more, than all of us like-minded folks.<br />
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A fact of dating is sex, and a fact of sex is the possibility of pregnancy. If you're going to date, and you're going to fuck, you're going to be taking risks, and the only risk one should ever take is an informed one. Therefore, let me stand on my soapbox for a minute and talk about a few issues related to pregnancy in our world that have me worried. <br />
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I'd been thinking about writing a post on how undereducated so many of us are when it comes to sexually transmitted infections/diseases and pregnancy. We'll get there, but first we need to discuss the issue of U.S. Rep. Todd Akin (R-MO). He pulled this junk today: <a href="http://www.latimes.com/news/politics/la-pn-rep-todd-akin-no-pregnancy-from-legitimate-rape-20120819,0,7447581.story">LA Times Story</a> To save you the time of reading/watching, he stated in an interview this morning that in cases of "legitimate rape," a woman's body shuts down so it's very hard for a woman to get pregnant as a result of rape. If, heaven forbid, a woman's weak body backfires and she gets pregnant, then we should, of course, punish the rapist and not the baby.<br />
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Reading about this made me physically ill. That's usually an exaggeration, but I still feel a bit nauseated. This man wants to be one of our country's leaders - one of our 102 senators - and help shape policy, including the incredibly contested medical issues that we currently face. He obviously does not know how the female body works or pregnancy happens, so why should we let him help decide this?<br />
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Furthermore, how do let someone like Paul Ryan potentially be this country's next vice president? He supports Personhood USA, which propounds the idea that life begins at conception. That idea makes your average oral contraceptive verboten because it works to keep a fertilized egg from implanting. Yup - no more pills. Needless to say, he's against abortion of any form, fashion, or rationalization. He would also like you to say goodbye to rape crisis centers, Planned Parenthood, and any other assistance provided for those looking for low cost sexual healthcare.<br />
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That's where I really get concerned. In a recent study (reported on <a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2012/07/why-we-keep-accidentally-getting-pregnant/260370/">here</a> by The Atlantic), a third of all babies born in the US were not planned for, and the biggest reason that happened is because these women thought it couldn't happen to them. Unwanted/unplanned/unprotected pregnancies are more likely to be underweight, have issues at birth, and suffer from the effects of a severe lack of prenatal care. So why let this happen? If it's easy and affordable to get contraception in the first place, people (men and women) are less likely to be unprepared for sex. If sex education is emphasized, people (men, women, and U.S. legislators) will know how our bodies work and just how easy it is to get pregnant. (Hint: There is no "safe" time, way, method, or place to have unprotected heterosexual intercourse and be guaranteed a baby won't result.)<br />
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If you're interested, google "war on women." It exists for real in the United States, and if you don't think so, you're not paying attention. This isn't a matter of feminism or class or anything else - it's your basic healthcare and wellbeing. If this doesn't get you on your toes, give me a few days until I can get some thoughts together on sexually transmitted disease and infections. Abortion and pregnancy are far from the only issues we face, especially as women.<br />
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Until then, do keep dating and having fun and living your lives, but please be safe!<br />
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HAPPY DATING!<br />
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(These are solely my views, and I don't speak for the other editors of DIW. However, I hope they and you chime in.) <br />
Frenchiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334984491162571763noreply@blogger.com56tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434361004754663779.post-71450507856994929702012-07-20T13:48:00.002-07:002012-07-20T13:49:40.940-07:00Not a Word<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We all know that talking can get you into trouble on dates. Whether you drop a bomb about your baggage, manage to insult their mother, or just get flustered, it's easy to say the wrong thing. That's why we had to share a story from a reader about someone ruining things by keeping mum. Hope you enjoy this story as much as I did! Thanks for the contribution, sweetheart!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">HAPPY DATING!!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So, recently I have decided to get out of my two year long dating funk by taking a "Yes Man" approach to dating. I say yes to pretty much any guy who asks me out within reason (okay, so I'm not so good at the 'yes to everything rule.'). Still, I have been out on more dates this year than the last two combined and there have been some pretty awesome ones in the mix. But who really wants to hear about the good dates? It is all about the awkward, the weird, the dramatic. So here is a weird one for all of you.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It is a second date scenario - second dates are my downfall, I swear. This one had promise though, the guy (we'll call him Dean) and I had a great first date and kept up with each other consistently with calls and texts. He lives a little ways from me, so the second date was about two weeks after the first. I was set to have a great time. We were going to see "Prometheus" at midnight (I'm a sci-fi/comic book/fantasy geek so it is right up my alley), and I was under the impression that we were doing a double date with a friend of his. Nope. I meet up at the theater with him and I'm happy to see that he's waiting outside with tickets and my favorite drink, only to tell me that his friend is third wheeling. I was less than excited, but I like making friends and luckily got on well with the new guy immediately. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now, here's where it gets weird.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Dean turns out to be a total movie buff - something that would be awesome if he were not also the type who likes to 'immerse himself completely.' He was totally pretentious about the entire movie experience, already critiquing the previews of Prometheus before we got in. Which, as someone who dedicates most of her study to analyzing the form and construct of comics, was interesting but the second we hit the theater door he completely clammed up. Honestly, he would not even try to hold a conversation with me and we had an hour until previews started. He told me that he had to get into the right mindset and that he could not talk. I nodded politely and munched on my popcorn, which earned a sympathetic look from the friend who, helpfully, tried to start up talk with us, only to get shushed. The entire time I was thinking, "Seriously, dude? You are not the one flying into space to find your creator, you'll be fine if you hold a conversation with me." The date ended and he did not even walk me to the car or give me a kiss goodnight. The only good thing about the night was his friend who was actually polite and interesting. Go figure.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And the real kicker? A few days ago he asked me to Spiderman and I really can't bring myself to go even with my loosely followed 'yes' rule telling me I should.</span></div>
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</blockquote>Frenchiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334984491162571763noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434361004754663779.post-15134434138805165332012-07-05T18:25:00.000-07:002012-07-17T10:59:08.247-07:00Familiar UnderwearHowdy, dear daters!
It's been a while, but hopefully all is well in your love lives. I'm bringing you a guest submission from a sweet friend and reader who has a unique and perplexing situation on his hands. Here's hoping that one of you can give him a hand, so to speak.
HAPPY DATING!!<br />
<br />
An odd situation arose in the bedroom for me the other day. My current girlfriend of a considerable amount of time and I were being intimate when I removed her shirt to find that she was wearing a brightly-colored, uniquely-styled sports bra that an ex of mine also owned. Naturally, I had also removed this same bra from my ex, and had some interesting thoughts running through my head in that instant. Not wanting to spoil the moment, I managed to carry on as if nothing was amiss. Needless to say (which is a phrase I hate hearing and hate using even more), I was a bit distracted by this revelation and proceeded to last a bit longer than I may otherwise have. This was greeted with delighted and repeated satisfaction by my love.
Though I was not specifically imagining that I was having sex with my ex, thoughts of her were on my mind while my current and I were engaging. I felt a little odd about this and thought I might share it with you, dearly beloved DIW community. I cannot simply ignore it, as I am certain that one day soon she will wear this same bra as we begin seduction and the same situation will play out. Not that it wasn't enjoyable for me to please my miss well, but the circumstances made me feel less than wholesome about it.
Should I surreptitiously dispose of this undergarment and be done with it? (Here I must add that my relationship with my ex was painful, tumultuous, passionate, all-consuming, and ultimately self-destructive. In addition, my current has some irrational hang-ups about my ex, a person she has never met and whom I have nothing to do with.) Please help, dear daters.Frenchiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334984491162571763noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434361004754663779.post-24598249059835533482012-06-02T08:21:00.001-07:002012-06-02T13:17:55.571-07:00Yeah... About That...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Frenchiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334984491162571763noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434361004754663779.post-68254780187111618542012-04-20T13:15:00.000-07:002012-04-20T13:16:18.292-07:00The 34 Year Old VirginHi, there.<br />
<br />
No, we're not dead. Well, I'm not.<br />
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In fact, I'm a bit rage-y lately. That boy that turned me into the Southern Girlfriend? Let's just say things didn't work out and it was 100%, utterly, and completely of his doing. Oh, and remember the one I wrote an open letter to (who I've been calling Fuck You Guy)? He came back in the picture and is throwing my li'l heart for a loop. Anyway, there's a touch of background to why I'm about to share a story that sums up in a really mean thought. And yes, only a thought, because try as I might, I'm a good girl at heart.<br />
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Ahem.<br />
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A few years ago, I had recently broken up with my first real, long-term boyfriend. I had done the grieving (there wasn't a lot) and had gone on a few dates. I'd even spent some time out of town, but then returned to the big(ger) city. Upon my return, I met a guy at a party who was totally not my type, but I was so drunk I started holding his hand. Things just happen sometimes, right? Anyway, he was a gentleman and drove me home, making zero moves. I promptly forgot about him.<br />
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A few weeks later, I get a text from him. Turns out that a friend of a friend had given him my number, and he thought I was cute. I was flattered, and agreed to go out with him, even though I wasn't sure whether I wanted anything to happen. This one time turned into a few times, and I got to know him more. Turns out that he's what we non-churchgoers of the bible belt call a Super Christian. Along with weekly church services, little to no drinking or swearing, and general goodness, most Super Christians also believe in abstaining from sex until marriage. That's right - I was dating a guy who was a 34 year old virgin.<br />
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I didn't believe it at first. I mean, really? So I dropped some hint-y questions. He never said, "Yes, I'm a virgin," but he also never said that he wasn't, either. One night, things got hotter and heavier than usual, and he asked if I wanted to go to the bedroom. I was curious, so I went for it. The heavy petting continued, and he started to awkwardly undress me. All the while, my mind was racing - "Has he done this before? It's pretty awkward. What would Jesus do?" All I could muster was to ask, "I thought you were a good boy. Are you sure you want to do this?" And he jumped up, ran to his dresser, and grabbed a brand spanking new box of condoms. In response, he said, "Would a good boy have these?" In my mind, I thought, "Why, yes, yes a good boy would have a box of condoms that he bought roughly 6 hours ago," but my mouth played along and said, "No, I suppose not."<br />
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Anyway, things kept going, and if you've ever stolen someone's innocence, you can guess how bad it was. He placed himself very much in charge and was not open to any suggestions. My comfort and pleasure were not important, and there was only one goal in his little mind. It became more and more apparent that he was, indeed, a good boy. Once his mission was accomplished, I got dressed and left. We kept in touch, but just barely.<br />
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Here's the part that I love, though. To everyone else he's ever met, he's still a virgin. To his fiancée, he's a virgin that will be giving himself to her on their wedding night. To his friends, he's as pure as the driven snow. I have friends who are married to his best friends, so I know the truth of this to a very comfortable degree.<br />
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Knowing that he's harboring this sinful secret, I really, really, really want to tell someone. The ultimate fun would be showing up at his wedding and speaking up instead of holding my peace. But really, in the society of this little corner of the word, I'd ruin his life and end his marriage before it started. Instead, then, I'll bite my tongue and keep my dirty secret. My uncomfortable, zero fun, sinful little secret.<br />
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HAPPY DATING!Frenchiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334984491162571763noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434361004754663779.post-72719726159513797612012-02-28T18:40:00.000-08:002012-02-28T18:41:07.261-08:00The Martyr SyndromeThis post may be a bit of a vent, but hopefully some of you can sympathize and/or back me up on this.<br />
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Do you have friends, family, coworkers, or whoevers that just LOVE to be the ones that are put out? They'll stand because someone might possibly want that empty chair; they'll ask for something and then complain when they finally get it; their favorite phrase seems to be "No, really, I'm fine. It's not that bad."<br />
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I have a friend like this. She's the friend that ended up in our "group," and she never quite got completely eased out. Her life is so rough, as demonstrated by the following email excerpt:<br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">We're getting married in the fall. I'm actually finishing up save-the-dates,now. It's both nice having him here, and irritating at times. As excited as I was, for the first time in several years I've got no personal space or "alone time" which will take some adjustment. He's selling cars in a nearby town, which causes me a lot of stress too. However, it's a job and all I told him was find a job so he did just that.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Let us examine this statement. Her fiance moved across five states to be with her, but now she doesn't have enough personal time. She TOLD him to get a job, but doesn't like his job. She has everything she's asked for - nay, demanded - but it's never enough. </span></span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Evident in this is the total control of the martyr. Their ability to complain is based on the fact that they control so much in their lives.</span> </span></span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">AND THEN THEY BITCH.</span></span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">How does one handle this? Laying down the law doesn't seem to help - it just fuels their "woe is me" fire. One can try to prevent indulging their whims, but that's usually easier said than done. </span></span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Have you dealt with someone like this? How did you deal?</span></span>Frenchiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334984491162571763noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434361004754663779.post-5869209455471346122011-12-12T18:48:00.000-08:002011-12-12T18:50:03.503-08:00The Southern GirlfriendI 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.<br />
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Southern Girlfriend <i>noun</i> : 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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?<br />
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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.Frenchiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334984491162571763noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434361004754663779.post-81390335692775255962011-11-28T11:57:00.000-08:002011-12-01T11:21:26.250-08:00Blondie and the hottie from the gym<div style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span style="font-size: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >** 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. ***<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span style="font-size: 10pt; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span style="font-size: 10pt; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span style="font-size: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span style="font-size: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >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. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span style="font-size: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >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.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; "><span style="font-size: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >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. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span style="font-size: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >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:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span style="font-size: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br />Me - I made it home safely.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span style="font-size: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Him - Who is this? </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span style="font-size: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Me - Uh ... Blondie. The girl you slept with last night.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span style="font-size: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Him - Haha, no seriously, who is this?</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span style="font-size: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Me - I am serious. Don't you remember?</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Him - I'm in Seattle with my fiance. I think you have the wrong number</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Me - HA! You're right. Wrong number. That's hilarious.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Well.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >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.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p></o:p></span></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434361004754663779.post-72534874258640475792011-11-27T20:56:00.001-08:002011-11-27T21:28:31.202-08:00Going Out In Anchorage, AKI 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.<br />
<br />
"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.<br />
<br />
"8-to-1 guys to girls. You don't even have to be hot to get proposed to I heard," said her friend.<br />
<br />
"Get a gun," was my brother's request before boarding the plane.<br />
<br />
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 <a href="http://www.merchline.com/fullbleed/categorydisplay.1980.c.htm">"burning bridges"</a> 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
"Really? I'm confused how a bridge burning with a man on one side and a woman on the other is confusing."<br />
<br />
"Oh. That's a guy, huh?"<br />
<br />
"Yep. A guy. Burning a bridge. The shirt's called burning bridges, weird huh?"<br />
<br />
The entire time, he has not once lifted his gaze to make eye contact.<br />
<br />
"You're still staring at my tits dude."<br />
<br />
"I know. I just don't really get your shirt."<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Might have to take my brother's advice after all.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />S.G.Loughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848043332676380294noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434361004754663779.post-80273153958895377642011-11-14T09:00:00.000-08:002011-11-14T10:43:47.347-08:00Lessons on life and love from BeyonceI 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"And of course, if you'd like, we can go ring shopping! I know some great jewelry shops!"<br /><br />Whoa. Wha?<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"Dude. What are you waiting for? When are you going to put a ring on it?"<br /><br />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 <span style="font-style:italic;">him</span>.]<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"No, dear. They've been together for a decade. It's a different situation."<br /><br />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 <i>boyfriend</i>. 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 <span style="font-style: italic;">at least</span> bought me a ring.<br /><br />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.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434361004754663779.post-28348282623374908322011-11-04T11:05:00.000-07:002011-11-08T10:15:04.292-08:00Pay it Forward, AsshatThis 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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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!!"Slightly Disheveled"http://www.blogger.com/profile/01121059284965276291noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434361004754663779.post-84298770143408902612011-10-24T10:00:00.000-07:002011-10-24T10:06:11.103-07:00A new dating websiteJust 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.<br /><br /><iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/lMR6U9wCxVk" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />Looking for more wackadoodle stuff like this? Start with <a http://www.bhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.giflogger.com/img/blank.gifhref="http://www.stufffundieslike.com/">Stuff Fundies Like</a>. <br /><br />And if you're <a href="http://kingjamesbiblesingles.wall.fm/">not a sodomite, go ahead and check out the site here</a>.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434361004754663779.post-89561188360600046682011-10-23T17:32:00.000-07:002011-10-23T17:32:19.809-07:00We're Not Dead Yet!It's been a while, we know. We've missed you, too, baby.<br />
<br />
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).<br />
<br />
We've got things cooking, loves. Just bear with us. And until then....<br />
<br />
HAPPY DATING!Frenchiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334984491162571763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434361004754663779.post-30070082886028664562011-09-30T10:41:00.000-07:002011-09-30T10:42:01.935-07:00For 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.Frenchiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334984491162571763noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434361004754663779.post-69799392517606453992011-09-23T11:55:00.000-07:002011-09-23T11:56:04.329-07:00Dignity<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/WZnHNn14fWE" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
Editors' Note: My friend is the drug dealer. Rad. S.G.Loughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848043332676380294noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434361004754663779.post-41823953394868617222011-09-19T18:15:00.000-07:002011-09-19T18:15:58.004-07:00Oh, 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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...<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KVw_YyIbgP4" style="color: black;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #0000cc;">http://www.youtube.com/watch?<wbr></wbr>v=KVw_YyIbgP4</span></a></span>Frenchiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334984491162571763noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434361004754663779.post-72365282727081599182011-09-12T16:49:00.000-07:002011-09-13T19:08:21.859-07:00One 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.<br /><br />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?<br /><br />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?<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #1f497d; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MuvDyfgmscM">Watch the PSA here and let me know what you think.</a></span></span><br />Frenchiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334984491162571763noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434361004754663779.post-81040448103767579452011-09-06T10:26:00.000-07:002011-09-07T10:28:01.652-07:00The BoyfriendingSo 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.<br />
<br />
"What are you going to tell them about the artist, if they ask?" <br />
<br />
"I'll tell them that my Boyfriend made it."<br />
<br />
…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. <br />
<br />
"No, it's okay. I like that you said that." <br />
<br />
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."Slightly Disheveled"http://www.blogger.com/profile/01121059284965276291noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434361004754663779.post-83506742096379873782011-08-25T21:21:00.001-07:002011-08-25T21:21:09.551-07:00And I Wonder Why I'm SingleTonight 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!"<br /><br />- 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. <br /><br />- 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. <br /><br />- 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? <br /><br />- 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!"<br /><br />- 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. <br /><br />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?<br /><br />HAPPY DATING!!<br /><br />Frenchiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334984491162571763noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434361004754663779.post-34579249686804833572011-08-21T15:44:00.000-07:002011-08-21T15:53:21.037-07:00I Can't Make You Love Me If You Don'tA 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.
<br />
<br /><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/8MJio3s2wFI" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="345" width="560"></iframe>
<br />S.G.Loughlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848043332676380294noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434361004754663779.post-62408295711036548312011-08-19T11:22:00.001-07:002011-08-19T11:24:35.902-07:00Giveaway Winner!CONGRATULATIONS to Heather Rose, the winner of our audiobook giveaway!
<br />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.
<br />Thanks for all of you who commented and to Macmillan for this chance!
<br />Frenchiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334984491162571763noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434361004754663779.post-78024602888285772142011-08-16T09:08:00.000-07:002011-08-16T13:45:40.761-07:00Captain ObviousI 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.<br />
<br />
<br />
(FRIDAY/SATURDAY 2:00 A.M.)<br />
<br />
HIM: Are U in?<br />
<br />
ME: Functionally asleep. Goodnight. Been lights-out for almost an hour now.<br />
<br />
HIM: What floor are you on again?<br />
<br />
ME: Shuddap.<br />
<br />
HIM: But I am in the elevator.<br />
<br />
ME: You have a home to go to don't be weird like this. <br />
<br />
HIM: The only weird part is that you don't want to f#ck me.<br />
<br />
Me: You're being really weird now and by weird I mean illegal. <br />
<br />
HIM: Okay, if U say so. <br />
<br />
<br />
(SATURDAY/SUNDAY 2:10 A.M.)<br />
<br />
HIM: Hi. Sex? I like it :)<br />
<br />
<br />
(MONDAY, 6:09 P.M.)<br />
<br />
HIM: Sorry about Saturday. I was drunk which is never an excuse! Sorry!<br />
<br />
<br />
This evening New One and I are going to dinner and a movie. My phone will be turned off at night from now on. "Slightly Disheveled"http://www.blogger.com/profile/01121059284965276291noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434361004754663779.post-65119445615300227152011-08-14T07:25:00.000-07:002011-08-19T11:27:57.218-07:00How 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 (http://jezebel.com/5825950/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.
<br />
<br />- DO have at least one profile picture that was not taken with a shitty cell phone camera.
<br />
<br />- 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.
<br />
<br />- 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.
<br />
<br />- 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.
<br />
<br />- 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.
<br />
<br />- 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.
<br />
<br />- 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.
<br />
<br />Okay, so that's just a few things for now. This may have to be an ongoing series...<div>
<br /></div><div>Happy Dating!
<br />
<br /></div>Frenchiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334984491162571763noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434361004754663779.post-35507422710812997292011-08-10T06:00:00.000-07:002011-08-11T16:25:19.265-07:00How to Wither an Important Appendage<div>***GUEST POST!***</div><div>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.</div><div>
<br /></div><div><b>How to Wither an Important Appendage</b></div><div>
<br /></div><div>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.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>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.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>I quickly came to realize that, besides being a colossal cocktease, this girl was also very fucking stupid, and an unparalleled belligerent drunk. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Later, I learned, she was just terribly fucking afflicted with aspergers. Which caused me to retract about 70% of the loathing. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Anyways, around 3 am, friend 1 and I, in our drunken state, decided that ordering a 26" pizza was a great idea. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>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.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>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.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>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.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>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.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>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?"</div><div>
<br /></div><div>"Curious," I thought. "Very fucking curious."</div><div>
<br /></div><div>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.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>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. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>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."</div><div>
<br /></div><div>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."</div><div>
<br /></div><div>And I guess it shouldn't be a big goddamned surprise when I get punched right in the withered penis.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>I guess my message is this: cup size is but a trifle when coupled with desperate snake tongue. Or something like that. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>
<br /></div><div>- Jorge </div><div><a href="http://omgnoparentsnorules.blogspot.com">omgnoparentsnorules.blogspot.com</a></div>Frenchiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334984491162571763noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434361004754663779.post-70734642876231011822011-08-06T06:00:00.000-07:002011-08-06T06:00:02.817-07:00A Day in the Life of DIW<span>In case you were wondering, yes, we all have our Dear Serial days.</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />frenchie</span>: hi honeybun<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />serial</span>:<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>whaddup dollface??<div class="kk" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; "> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />frenchie</span>: <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span dir="ltr" id=":1m4">oh, nothing</span></div><div id=":1m3" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; ">i was going to get some advice on how to not respond to the boy<br /></div><div id=":1lf" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; ">i just.... ugh. feel awful just flipping the ignore switch<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />serial</span>: <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span dir="ltr" id=":1mp">You already dumped him.<span class="" style="cursor: default; font-weight: bold; zoom: 1; "><br /><br />frenchie: </span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span dir="ltr" id=":1py">i know!</span></span></div><div id=":1sf" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; ">and i think he's trying to worm his way back in or something?</div><div class="kk" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; ">i think he thinks it's working<span class="style="cursor:"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />serial</span>: </span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span dir="ltr" id=":22m">Poor guy.</span><span class="" style="cursor: default; font-weight: bold; zoom: 1; "><br /><br />frenchie: </span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span dir="ltr" id=":22l">i know</span></div><style="margin-left:><div id=":22j" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; "> <span class="style="cursor:"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />serial</span>: </span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span dir="ltr" id=":22k">The only way to take the plunge is to stop replying</span> completely</div><div id=":22i" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; ">I mean, I wouldn't suggest that</div><div id=":227" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; ">if it weren't clear he's delusional</div><div id=":226" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; ">I've had more than one guy I dated for awhile</div><div id=":225" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; ">broke it off with</div><div id=":224" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; ">and then texted back and forth a little bit</div><div id=":223" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; ">Like, he'd send a friendly</div><div id=":222" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; ">thing and i'd reply nicely</div><div class="kk" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; ">made it easier when I ran into him on the street<span style="cursor: default; font-weight: bold; zoom: 1; "><br /><br />frenchie: </span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span dir="ltr" id=":220">yeah...</span><span class="style="cursor:"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />seria</span>l: </span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span dir="ltr" id=":21z">but his courtesy has run its course.</span></div><div class="kk" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; ">No mas.<span class="style="cursor:"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />frenchie</span>: </span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span dir="ltr" id=":21x">maybe he's not delusional? i dunno.<br />he just seems way too caring</span></div><div id=":21w" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; ">i don't like it</div><div class="kk" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; "> <span class="style="cursor:"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />serial</span>: </span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span dir="ltr" id=":21v">I feel like I'm missing something</span></div><div id=":21u" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; ">why wouldn't you ignore him?</div><div id=":21s" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; ">Because it'll hurt his feelings?</div><div class="kk" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; "> <span class="style="cursor:"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />frenchie</span>: </span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span dir="ltr" id=":21r">because he's nice and he means well</span></div><div id=":21q" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; ">yeah</div><div id=":21p" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; ">it would be a weird blow to him for me just not to answer</div><div class="kk" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; "> <span class="style="cursor:"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />serial</span>: </span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span dir="ltr" id=":21o">Well then you could always lie to him</span></div><div id=":21n" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; ">Ignore him for a week</div><div id=":21m" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; ">then say</div><div id=":21l" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; ">"Sorry I haven't been replying, just really busy"</div><div id=":21k" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; ">then ignore him for two</div><div class="kk" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; ">(or, you know, baby steps)<span class="kn" dir="ltr" title="jekinard@gmail.com" style="cursor: default; font-weight: bold; zoom: 1; "><br /><br />frenchie: </span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span dir="ltr" id=":21i">hmm. that could work</span></div><div class="kk" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; "> <span class="style="cursor:"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />serial</span>: </span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span dir="ltr" id=":21e">He'll know you're lying</span></div><div id=":21d" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; ">but that's OK</div><div id=":21c" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; ">It eases the blow of being ignored a bit</div><div id=":21b" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; ">But when you say</div><div id=":21a" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; ">"sorry I haven't been replying"</div><div id=":219" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; ">and he replies to that</div><div id=":218" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; ">you must NOT RESPOND</div><div class="kk" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; "> <span class="style="cursor:"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />frenchie</span>: </span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span dir="ltr" id=":217">ahhhh</span></div><div id=":216" dir="ltr" class="kl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left; ">true</div><div class="kk" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; "> <span class="style="cursor:"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />serial</span>: </span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span dir="ltr" id=":215">even to direct questioning</span></div><div class="kk" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; "> <span class="style="cursor:"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />frenchie</span>: </span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span dir="ltr" id=":214">i see</span></div><div class="kk" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; "> <span class="style="cursor:"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />serial</span>: </span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span dir="ltr" id=":211">That's my advice</span></div><div class="kk" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; "> <span class="style="cursor:"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />frenchie</span>: </span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span dir="ltr" id=":210">i kinda want to say "you give me both the heebies and the jeebies now. please go away"</span></div></style="margin-left:>Frenchiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334984491162571763noreply@blogger.com2