Saturday, April 30, 2011

Dating Horror Stories: "Egg Salad"

Okay guys, for this one...I really have no words.

Maybe it's my fault for saying that I laugh at fart jokes in my profile.  But I was just trying to get across that I'm not above middle school humor.  That even though a lot of women won't admit to laughing at crude humor, I totally will.

Perhaps I should have worded it that way.  Because today during an online chat on an online dating site, this insanity happened...out of freaking no where.  (Prior to this, the dude was sharing with me terrible pick up lines...then all of a sudden---BAM---smacked in the face with this doozy):

I was laughing at him, not with him.  Unfortunately, there's no font for that.  And maybe that's a good thing.

Yes. You read that right.

Fart jokes are one thing.

Telling me a personal story about your relationship WITH YOUR ACTUAL FARTS is something completely different.

Right after this, I edited my profile. It no longer says I can appreciate a good fart joke. Now it says, "I'm okay with sophomoric humor."

Holy hell.

Just... words.

Friday, April 29, 2011

You know what?

I'm weird.


And I'm totally okay with that.

Monday, April 25, 2011

Hey Spring, um...could you please show up already?

I'd say I'm a pretty positive, happy-go-lucky, take life as it comes kind of girl...woman...person...whatever.

But lately I've been finding it harder and harder to feel motivated.  (This is apparent in  my lack of posting between January and now, am I right?)

Although some of it has to do with my own inner struggles (like...why--at 30--do I break out like a teenager?  And, I at a point where staying out past midnight makes my bones ache the next day?  How is that even possible?  I'm not doing gymnastics.  I'm sitting on my duff, sipping a cocktail, and laughing.[Okay, okay, sometimes I might start dancing like an idiot...but that's just a few awkward arm and neck movements.]), I'm convinced that the bigger part of it is that Spring has not sprung.

Sure, she's peeked in but then she seems to run away screaming, leaving a trail of cold wind, grey skies, and recently snow...

...S N O W.

Are you kidding me?!

And it's left me feeling a lot like...

Why can't we just hibernate?  WHYEEEEEEEEEEEEEE?!?!?!

Although this is all speculation. And I'll have no conclusive evidence until Spring decides she'd like to actually stick around for more than 24 hours.

Because if she does, and I'm still being a mope about insignificant bull crap, it's going to call for some deeper introspection.

In other words, let's just hope it's the clinginess of this winter weather that's leaving me less than bubbly these days.

P.S. Unlike the rest of me, I just noticed that my hair is incredibly photogenic.  (In real life, it looks like complete dog doo.  But in this photo, not too shabby.  Now there's a positive!)

Friday, April 22, 2011

Dating Horror Stories: "The Prude Detector"

So, this might be an odd thing to put out for the world to see, but look, I've been single for almost 2 and a half years.

Let it be known, I enjoy my single freedom.  And I'm in no rush to jumpstart a relationship...but that said...

For the past couple months, I've been considering dating again.  Just considering--toying with the idea--thinking about it in passing.  So, because I don't really know where to start, I started with the only logical place: online dating*

*I've tried grocery stores, but the only time I ever see an attractive man are those times when I'm wearing dirty pajama pants, mismatched socks, and yesterday's makeup.  I take that as a sign that Mr. Right isn't going to be hanging out in Meijer's produce aisle.

Now, I'm not saying that the guys on these sites are ALL bad.   I'm sure there are really nice guys on there, unfortunately, my experience has been that I'm a magnet to the "WTF's" of this world.

So, I've decided to chronicle only the worst of the worst.  And I will begin our very first installment of "Dating Horror Stories" with a story I've titled: THE PRUDE DETECTOR

Please enjoy.

by Tiff


I'd been battling a migraine that was going on 36 hours and the last thing I wanted to do was get caught off guard in an online dating instant message session, but of course when I opened my computer there it was: A chat notification.

Yep. You read that right..."So do the shades match the carpet?"

I don't know what irked me more: the fact that he had the gall to ask me that, or the fact that he called curtains "shades"  No, it was the second one.  Because to me, shades are always just beige or white.  And no one cares if their shades match their carpet.  But their curtains?  Hell yes they do.  Anyways....

This is online dating, and I *did* mention in my profile that I have a juvenile sense of humor sometimes, so I thought I'd give him the benefit of the doubt.

I mean, maybe he thought he was the first person to ever ask me, a redhead, that question. (Which is reason enough for me to shut down the conversation...but alas, I let him keep talking...)

You can all see where this is going, right?

He's trying to gauge whether or not I'll bone him.

Gotta hand it to online dating for making it so easy to weed these guys out. I mean, they have no qualms about just putting it out there from behind the safety of a glowing computer screen.

Anyhow, he tried to say my "Kinky" and "Sex-Drive" calculations were "in the negative" according to the website's personality ranking system...

...which, I should add uses questions like, "Hey? Have you ever tasted man juice?" and "Is it considered cheating if a guy you like kisses another girl but you're not really together but you've been on dates and he he's borrowed your phone once to call his brother which obviously means he's into you, but then this broad comes along wearing a half-top, so he probably just couldn't control himself and it's really her fault anyways!"

So, yeah, not very scientific.

And also, my scores aren't negative...they're just far below the Website's Average. Which, as I told this weisenheimer, isn't saying much, now is it?

Remember, I had a migraine during this conversation, so my "I'll be nice" attitude was nowhere to be found. I was in full "I just don't give a f*ck" mode.

And no, I don't mind existential debates about sex and dating (especially not in the first 45 seconds of talking to someone -eyeroll-)

Bring it on,

But then came my first favorite part...after I explained that I don't think there is anything wrong with casual sex, but that I'm not looking for that.  His ultimate response?  Priceless:

That's right..."Oh wow"

As if not sleeping with random people all the time is an odd thing to do. Holy hell.

Is this what's going on in the dating world? Really?

So, he wanted an existential dating and sex debate, huh? Well, he was about to get one...

Don't eff around with me. I have a what feels like a pick axe jabbing into my brain.

And for some reason, it made me a real wise ass.

And now I felt like I needed to see this conversation out until the end.  Part of me felt like all the laughing I was doing was helping my headache, and the other part of me just wanted to see what other bullshit I was about to read.

Like this flawless logic for example:


In other words:

To which he simply responded:

":)"  ????


I waited a moment.  There was that nice part of me that thought, "Hmm...I should just close the window."  Or maybe "I'll just nicely say, well, I'm off to bed, have a good night."

But no.  Inside that piercing, pulsating migraine in my head I swear lived a dragon.  A dragon of snarkiness.  A dragon of "Tell it like it is girl."  A dragon that was about to unleash its fury...

*Artist's Representation

And so after a short enough time that it didn't seem I had thought out my response, but long enough to leave him squirming, I replied. Not only did I reply, but at the very moment I hit send, I realized something:

I'd just grown a pair. A figurative pair, of course, but a pair I was proud of nonetheless.

Prude Detector me and have the gumption to say you were attracted after not giving a monkey turd about anything valid about me other than my sex drive? Really? Well...okay then, here's what I think of you, good sir!

And with that, the Dragon opened it's mouth and....

"If you would have started with something like, "I saw in your profile you were interested in [fill in the blank with whatever], what's that about?" instead of basically checking to see if I was into sex, I might have found you more attractive. :("

And with that, I closed the window, proud that for once, I told it like it was...

...even if it took a terrible headache dragon to make it happen.


Tuesday, April 19, 2011

A Serious Post: Part 1

The Realization

So, this blog has been a few things so far:
Random, for one.


And (hopefully) mildly humorous.

Oh…and delayed in its posts.  Sorry about that.  I’m going to, from now on, make it a point to at least post once every 2 weeks.  (But I’m really shooting for once per week.)

But this blog is supposed to be chronicling my 30th year of life.  I guess to me, beginning a new decade in which it’s commonplace to assume that at this point one should be acting like an adult at all times, seemed like a good time to chronicle.

Because by all outward appearances, I am an adult.  I own a home, I have a child, I’ve been married…and divorced.  I have bills, a job, and I have to cook for myself if I don’t want to starve.
So yeah, for all intents and purposes, I’m an adult.  But the funny thing is I don’t really feel like one most days.  

(I mean, at least twice a week I meet with people in order to play games and do improvised scenes about how my womb has become home to a giant tarantula…or something like that.)

And maybe that’s why I failed to update—because to be honest, although 30 feels different from my 20s, it hasn’t felt different enough to warrant posting, after posting, after posting lacking any new insight.  I mean, how many times would you like to hear about how I ate peas for dinner?  Or what my cats did today?  Or my wild and crazy Friday night of sitting on my couch, in my pajamas, watching Bridget Jones’ Diary for the 30th time?

But then, then something happened.  Something that basically changed everything.

Someone I knew personally was attacked and murdered.  

Now I’m not going to go into details about what happened, but I’ll explain what needs to be explained in order to get my point and realization across.
She was a karaoke buddy – more than an acquaintance, but not quite a full-fledged friend.  Somewhere in the middle.  We shared the same passion for the same hobby at the same local bar.  We knew the same people.  We’d had conversations.  She wasn’t close enough for me to feel the same loss that those who knew her best are feeling, but she wasn’t distant enough for me to not feel some sort of pain and sadness that I’d never see her again.  After so many years of seeing her once a week, even if we didn’t talk much, I’d never see her again.

That startled me.  I watch plenty of true crime series on television.  And being highly sensitive, even with those programs I have to limit my watching time—and avoid watching them before bed.  And those people are strangers to me.

So when I got word on what had happened with the person I knew, it was definitely a whole new experience for my brain—and my heart—to process.

For the first few days, I was in between being completely out of it--just constantly trying to process that this thing, this terrible, terrible thing had happened to someone I knew (and not just any someone, but a really nice someone.  A kind-hearted, good-natured, harmless someone)—and trying to distract myself by going about my normal routine. 

But my normal routine, well, it stopped being so normal.  I mean, nothing had changed, save for me deciding to take much more caution in being out alone, but it was different.

I was now dealing with trying to process that something so scary came so close to my little world.  It stuck its nasty foot onto my lawn, walking past me, but onward to someone I knew, and it left a footprint.  

I realized then that I needed to take a long, hard look at a lot of things in my life.

The positive is that dealing with this whole thing taught me some pretty substantial lessons about myself and the world.  (Which I will share with you in A Serious Post: Part 2 - The Lessons)

They also caught the guy pretty quickly after the whole thing happened.  

And I’m sure, above all else, that my karaoke buddy is at peace—and I’m fairly certain the afterlife provides a karaoke song book selection that’s boundless and no wait to sing.  ;)

Sunday, April 10, 2011

A Date with Myself

So about a month back, I decided that it's been far too long (well over a year at least) since I've been on a date.

I mean an actual date.

You know, dinner, drinks, conversation (or at the very least, an interview disguised as a conversation, ie. "Sooo...what's your favorite movie and also you don't mind that sometimes I fart when I sneeze, right? Speaking of right, I cannot fall asleep on the right side of the bed. You know, for future reference. Oh. Your favorite movie is "Gigli?" Forget that whole bed thing.")

And I was also thinking about how I wanted to eat at one of my favorite local places that just so happens to be a really great date spot. Good food, nice ambiance, wine, candles.

So as I put the equation together, I realized that I had all the necessary components except for one: a date.

Being the creative person I am, I decided to look at the problem from a whole different angle.

What I wanted was to a.) gorge myself on decadent food and wine b.) go to one of my favorite restaurants and c.) be treated to an excellent evening.

I wasn't about to let the lack of a date stop me from going on a date, so I decided to get up the nerve to ask out...

...well, myself.

That's right. I took myself out on a date.

I didn't look at it as going to a restaurant alone. No. I looked at it as a way to treat myself for just being me. Who cares that the other patrons gave me that, "Oh look at that poor girl. Eating dinner alone." Because in my mind I was enjoying the shit out of myself (and I had a wonderful conversation, via text messages, with one of my best friends in the world.)

And the waitstaff was absolutely exemplary. Although I'm certain they thought I was a food critic, which in turn made me start to act like one. If I caught them glimpsing at me inquisitively, with that look of, "I hope she's enjoying that stuffed chicken breast enough to write about it!" I would take a bite, and then chew with purpose, in a way that made it seem as if I were concocting the perfect, adjective-laden paragraph about that bite.

I didn't mind eating alone. As a matter of fact, it was mildly freeing. A statement of independence and a new found sense of self that I hadn't realized before.

I mean look, in order to tend to the needs and wants of others, we must first tend to ourselves, right? Otherwise what good are we? And that night, I did just that.

And as I drove out of the parking lot I concluded that I can be really great company and at some point, someone might appreciate that.

Of course, then I realized that I had just gotten lost.

In a parking lot.

For 25 minutes.

Mindlessly circling around (and laughing hysterically at my ineptitude) searching for a way back to the street.

After which I concluded, that if I do go on an actual date in the near future, he should probably drive.

(I have no shame in admitting my weaknesses. Lack of a sense of direction being one of them.)