Archive | 11:09 pm

Strike or strike out?

19 Feb

Welcome to Monday night.  Date night with eligible bachelor #5. I’m rolling in men.  ROLLING IN THEM!  Unfortunately, not rolling around with any of them.

Let’s first talk about my banging date outfit.  BANGING!  Rocked out the best dress ever.  The right amount of cleavage, hem a little above the knee, opaque black tights, super hot ankle booties.  Mascara.  On dates, we wear eye make up and mascara.  We dress like ultra sexy versions of ourselves – but not so sexy our dates assume we’ll end up on our backs at the end of the date. We do not dress like sluts and we do not show off everything we have, we merely hint at what might be on offer at some point.  The outfit was on the money.  So on the money, in fact, that I’d wear it AGAIN tomorrow if it wasn’t going to be so warm.

On my way to my date, after sending a quick text to #4, I popped into the shop to pick up a birthday card for date #6 which is tomorrow night.  Most of you who voted in the previous post approved of the idea.  If the date tomorrow goes south, it’s totally your fault.  If he doesn’t like the card, then he is a dick and can go fuck himself.

As per usual, I was the first one at the restaurant.  The creepy host/waiter sat me in a crowded part of the restaurant and proceeded to enjoy the view down my dress.  He was a creep.  #5 showed up a few minutes later.  He walked in the door and BAM absolutely nothing.  No spark, no disappointment, no nothing.  Okay, fine.  Let’s settle in and get ready for some wine.  He was nervous, I could tell, not like a hot mess nervous, just a bit awkward which kind of made me nervous a little and we tripped over words for a few minutes.  Exceptionally awesome since every fucking table around us probably knew exactly what was going on and was dropping eaves on this awkward exchanged.

We ordered our wine, and seemed to settle in, and then nothing.  Really not much to report after that.  It was fine.  It was kind of like a plain roast chicken breast.  Bland, and forgettable.  Like jackasses we ordered some super messy turkey wings (which were stupid messy).  Although I wasn’t feeling anything I decided that when it came time to walk to the bathroom that I was going to strut everything I had so he could watch me walk away from and to him.  Obviously I rocked his world.

He paid for dinner.  The host/waiter came back to thank us, extended his hand to shake mine, and stared right down my dress.  Because he’s a creep and because my rack looked amazing.  My date offered to drive/walk me home, I passed.

I’ve heard from him already.  I’m going to pass again.

Not disappointed at tonight’s outcome.  Maybe a bit confused.  I guess maybe a bit disappointed – more so because I’m left with these questions about myself and these strange signals I must be sending off and why it’s so hard to find someone with whom I’m compatible.

Here’s the big question floating around in mind: why do the ones I want not want me back, and the ones who want me I don’t want back?  What is the messed up thing that goes on in my brain where I send these jacked up signals that say, “come hither” to those I’d rather wander off, and “retreat!” to the ones who I want to come nearer?  Why am I attracted to the ones I can’t really have?  Is that some jacked up defense mechanism?

The date outfit was definitely a strike, and every single interaction I’ve ever had with a man is a strike out.  I don’t understand men.  Sometimes, I don’t understand myself either.



Do I, or Don’t I?

19 Feb

Okay, people, now’s your chance to give me a bit of advice here.

Found out today is the birthday of the guy I’m going to go out with tomorrow.  Should I get him a birthday card?  Like a funny one?


Asking for a friend

19 Feb

Is it possible to get pregnant over text message?

Line them up and knock them down

19 Feb

I’m the absolute worst at bowling.  Guaranteed to get a gutter ball at least 90% of the time, unless I can talk the people I’m playing with to let me use the bumper guards that fill up the gutters.  Then what happens is the bowling ball will hit the bumper guard and still manage to knock down jack shit.  I’m the asshole that has to swing the ball between her legs, granny style, and still manages to only get a few of the damned pins.  It’s embarrassing.

Dating has been a lot like bowling.  A whole lot of effort and I’ve barely scored (LOLZ, I cracked myself up).  The Tutor has been dismissed #4 is seducing me via text message, and I’ve got a whole lot of time on my hands.  What to do with so many free evenings?  Sure, I can hang out with Mr. Bojangles and clear out my Neflix queue, or I can go out with strangers and have awkward conversation over drinks.  Well, kids, guess who just lined up dates #5 and #6 for tonight AND tomorrow night?  Yours truly.

I enjoy the light banter with #5.  He has a son, knows a ton of languages, likes to travel, and loves the same kind of wine I do.  Win!  We’re going out for wine tonight.  If all else fails, at least I’ll be drinking wine on a Monday night.

Here’s what I know about #6: not a whole heck of a lot.  His profile is somewhat lean: he works in some kind of sales, isn’t married and doesn’t have kids, loves to cook, loves to be outdoors (like every single fucking guy who has an online profile), and he has a nice smile.  That’s about it.  We’ve got plans to go to a pretty nice restaurant, so if all else fails at least the food will be good.

Maybe I’ll be pleasantly surprised.  Maybe it will be horrifying.  You’ll have to stay tuned to find out!