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Dating Is Weird

• August 02, 2010
• 11:54

  Ooooh Girl, an honest R&B song

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  
  
  Thanks Dave for the video heads up!
• July 17, 2010
• 12:50

  Dear Serial: I'm all out of love

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Dear Serial,

  My girlfriend is a smart, pretty, kind, funny, loving and rad woman. She's my best friend and I love her deeply. Only problem (there's always one, right?) is that I'm not attracted to her anymore. I'm also not sure if I'm still in love with her, but I care about her so much and love our friendship that I don't want to break up.

  Any advice?

  Anonymous

  Dear Anonymous,

  I have so many questions. When you say your girlfriend is smart, pretty, kind and funny, are you, you know, saying “she has a good personality”? Like, does she have a very pretty face? Is she really beautiful on the inside?

  You know what I’m getting at. Are we looking at a few too many relationship pounds?

  If so, I sympathize. Not so much with you, but with her. Goddamnitall if it isn’t hard not to plump up when you’re in a relationship. All that love and acceptance. The joy of cooking for and sharing meals with your honey. But if those pounds have gone from pleasantly plump to too much cushion for the pushin,’ it’s time for a chat. A loving, kind chat. Though there’s really no easy way to go about it. You’ll likely hurt her feelings. Try telling her you want to get healthier together. You can use a line like, “And just imagine how well our clothes will fit!” Naturally, you’ll mean, “You can finally pull those skinny jeans out of the back of your closet!” But I wouldn’t suggest actually saying that line.

  She might be pissed, but unless she has a really good reason for getting fat, like having a kid, or an injury, it’s reasonable to expect she keep in shape for you, just as it’s reasonable for her to expect you to take care of yourself. Now, you can’t expect her to stay the same size forever, we all get a little bit fatter as we age (and if that rule doesn’t apply to you, well you can just go ahead and eat s**t), but within reason, it’s OK to say, “Let’s get to the gym, sweetheart.”

  Now, if it’s not that something she can control has changed, but it’s just that you don’t love her anymore, why are you still with her? For friendship’s sake? She probably has enough friends. You’re her boyfriend (or girlfriend, I can’t tell). If it’s just that the spark’s not there anymore, have you tried to get it back? Do you care to? There are things that can be done. You know them. Try something new. Go on a trip. Talk about whatever your problems are.

  But if it’s really not happening, why not just dump her? If you’re not attracted to her, you’re not doing her any favors by sticking with her. She didn’t sign up for a friend, did she? She signed up for a more-than-friends situation.

  Love, Serial

  
  

  Got a question for Serial Monogamist? Want to tell her how full of s**t she is? Do it. We dare ya. Send a note to seriallymonogamous[at]gmail[dot]com

  
• June 11, 2010
• 14:52

  Mormon Soaking

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  I really really wish what I was about to say was made up. Really, I do because I like Mormons. I was unsure what it would be like to live in the Mormon mecca, aka Salt Lake City, but since moving here I'm very pleasantly surprised and happy to report that it's not as weird as you may think.
  
  Mind you, not as is not to say not at all. There's these funny little things like having to buy real beer (more than 3.2% alcohol) at a state liquor store, everyone is married with children even if they're significantly younger than me, and there's a rather schizophrenic personality to the citizens: you're either Mo-Mo and happy-go-lucky or you ain't and you're damn f**king proud of it.
  
  I digress. Mormon soaking.
  
  So here it is: because Mormons are against pre-marital sex, many of the "good" Mormons make it to their twenties as virgins. Heaven help them, they're hell bent on staying a virigin. But...we all know sex feels really really good. Add to it that it's forbidden and now you have a group of hormonally-saturated, unfulfilled virginal, twenty-something-year-olds going off to college, namely Brigham Young University.
  
  See where this is going? How do you have sex without having sex?
  
  You have "soaking," that is, you put your dick in her vagina but you don't move. Not even a single pump, rub, wiggle or jiggle. Nothing. You just lay there, soaking.
  
  Like I said, I wish I was making this up.
  
  I can't in good faith say I've ever experienced this phenomenon first hand because I'm A) not a BYU graduate and B) not f**king retarded. But, I have it from good sources (a few "Jack Mormons," also known as Mormons who were born and raised but no longer practicing, as well as an ex-communicated one).
  
  There you have it folks. The solution to every religious believer's ultimate dilemna: how do you have sex without having sex. Mormon soaking.
• June 03, 2010
• 10:05

  My very own pet stalker

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Today's offering is a guest post from "hackneygirl". Happy Dating!
  
  My first ever internet date. Yay! But me being me I should have known it couldn’t go well. And in fact I think I have managed to bag myself my very own personal stalker. WAY TO GO!
  
  I ought to have clocked it earlier but I’m new to this game and his profile was very funny – dry and sarcastic – and his pics were pretty cute. His emails were short and to the point and he seemed keen to meet up rather than spending lots of time exchanging inane emails. My impression: alpha male, possibly quite arrogant but could be a lot of fun. So, to a backing track of alarm bells faintly tinkling, I agreed to meet him for a drink the following evening. And that’s when the trouble started.
  
  8am. My phone buzzes. It’s a text seemingly checking I gave him a real number. Concerning. I reply with a one word affirmative.
  8.10am. Another text. This time re-confirming the details of our date later on. I do not reply.
  
  The uneasy feeling persists throughout the day but I am repeatedly reassured that everyone feels like this before their first internet date. Just go along! What’s the worst that can happen? Ok Dr. Pepper, fine, I’ll go!
  
  6pm. Another text. ‘See you soon. x’ SERIOUSLY! I am going to bail if he sends me one more word. I send a matter of fact response. Definitely no kisses.
  7pm. (we’re meeting at 8 and I am at this point waiting at a bus stop). Another text! This time saying he’s been delayed at work. So I ring him to find out if he’s a total loony or what. It rings out. I leave a message then head home. This guy has clearly never been out with a girl in his life.
  8pm. Buzz, buzz. ‘Just leaving. Can be there in 5 mins.x’ Dude, did you not listen to my message – I’ve gone home for pete’s sake!
  8.05pm. He rings me. It takes me FIFTEEN whole minutes to get him off the phone in which time he has repeatedly tried to find out where I live, offered to come and meet me near my house, asked me out for dinner on every single night of the next two weeks (it’s amazing how busy I am all of a sudden) and extracted a promise that I’ll check my diary and get back to him.
  10.30pm. Unbelievably, he texts again. Not being insane myself I do not reply.
  2am. Yes, you read that right, 2 o clock in the am, he messages me online to explain, yet again, what held him up. I will have to block his profile. He’s not going to like that.
  
  So, I remain an internet virgin and very likely the object of some disturbed fantasy. I am also probably going to have to change my phone number. Do I feel just a little bit grubby and freaked out? Yes I do. Am I going to quit internet dating? Of course not! Or not yet anyway… *
  
  *Since writing this post he has settled into a routine of texting me every morning at 9am with a new angle on why he didn’t make it to our date and the myriad ways he would like to make it up to me. It’s kind of comforting. I might even miss him when he stops.
• May 29, 2010
• 18:53

  Cops

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Why did I think it would be a good idea to date a cop?
  
  Sure, he was kind of cute. Sort of funny. A stitch mouthy. But honestly, at that point, I'd go out on a date or two with just about anyone who asked. I felt like I had to give everyone a chance. I felt like at that point in my life, I'd made such bad decisions in relationships, it was time to challenge all of my assumptions. And who knows? People can be surprising. Right?
  
  On my second date with Abe the cop, we were driving downtown, and I was in the front seat of his car, which, coincidentally, is the same year, make and model as my car. (Was that part of the attraction? That he had good taste in cars?) He wanted to stop by his house before he took me home, so I could meet his dog (He owned a house. I think that was a big part of it. I was curious about dating a responsible guy, I guess. Slightly older. Maybe looking for something long-term?), but as we drove down the left lane of one-way street, we passed by a cop car driving slowly in the right lane. My date slowed down his car and rolled down my window using his driver-side controls.
  
  “What the hell are you doing, harassing some punks?” he shouted across me as I tried to impress the back of my head into the headrest.
  
  “Abe! You son of a bitch!” the on-duty cop shouted from behind his mirrored sunglasses and moustache. “Are you drunk driving?”
  
  “Hell yeah!” Abe laughed.
  
  Then they proceeded to chat for another minute. Across my face. While I stared dead ahead, mortified. I live in a small town. Someone I know could've walked by at any moment, and I knew I'd be horrified if someone saw me in that position. I think that’s exactly when I decided I’m not the kind of girl who dates cops.
  
  The problem is, you can't live it down. Months later, I was out on the town with a new one I was just getting to know. It was a sweet summer night, and we'd ridden our bikes, loving the gorgeous weather and anticipating a few too many beers. As we strolled and chatted, we walked by a couple of cops on the corner. I realized too late one was Abe.
  
  We exchanged a friendly hello (I almost always let fellas down easy) and I continued walking with my new beau.
  "Um, how do you know that cop?" Beau asked.
  I had to 'fess up. Fortunately, Beau was understanding. Everyone has a few skeletons in the closet. Some of them just happen to be cops.
• May 21, 2010
• 18:44

  Chexy

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  We have a guest post from "Fillmore" today. Happy Dating!
  
  She came into my place of employment wearing one of those Victorian corsets with leather and purple, frilly bulls**t and stainless steel buckles; you know, for people to wear to the premiere of the next Twilight movie. Three quarters of her extremely ample, milky sweet breasts came bursting out the top of her outfit like steam escaping from a cartoon wolf's ears. Also, I think she was wearing a torn ballerina's tutu, which was sexy and cheesy at the exact same time. I call it Chexy. After having just had my heart used as an ashtrayenema bag I became Emotionally Unavailable Guy, which is exactly who sidled up to little miss clit piercing. I used the single greatest pickup line possible when working in retail:
  
  “Can I…show you something?”
  
  She said something stupider than me by saying, “I don’t know, can you?”
  
  She was eye touching me in my bathing suit area so I went for it.
  
  4 hours later I was off of work and she was knocking on my front door wearing a super tight t-shirt with a picture of John Stamos on it. Every time I stared at those amazing boobies there was Uncle Jesse, judging me. She was at my house for sex. 4 seconds after closing the door she grabbed me by my left nipple (my favorite one. The other one just…pisses me off) and led me to my bedroom. 10 seconds after that she was naked and I was giggling under my breath, for fear that my desperation would show through my mask of casual indifference. That’s when she slapped me in the throat.
  
  “Did that hurt, little girl?” She growled.
  “A little…”
  Thwack. Again. Right in the Adams apple.
  “Okay, that really…”
  Thwack.
  “Shut your face-hole, faggot and tie me to the chair.”
  
  Simply to spare my poor vocal cords further torment, I obliged. I grabbed my desk chair and a couple of ties from my closet and trussed her up like she was in the bed of a pickup and I was going on a road trip. A road trip to Creepytown.
  
  Once I tightened the straps she looked me in the face with big, wide, innocent eyes.
  
  “Now I need you to hit me as hard as you can.”
  I laughed. She stared.
  “Seriously?” I asked.
  “Please master? I’ll be good to you if you do.” She purred, all sex kitteny.
  “Now, by ‘good to me’ you mean…” I asked, fishing.
  “Anything you want, master. Just make me hurt and I’ll wrap my body over every square inch of you.”
  
  After a solid 3 or 4 seconds of thinking I said “Okay, I’ll do it, but does it have to be in the face? Can’t I punch you in the tit or something? Oooh, how about the kidneys? I’ll give you a hard shot to the kidneys.”
  
  After haggling like I was buying a bracelet on a beach in Mexico we agreed upon an open handed slap across the left side of her face. And then I did it. Left a red palm print on her cheek and everything. 15 minutes later, after I had stopped crying, I untied her and she left without wrapping a goddamned thing around me. But that was okay. I wasn’t in the mood anymore anyway. I just wanted to call my mom and have her tell me everything was going to be alright while I fell asleep with my thumb somewhere near my mouth.
  
  Anyway, I realized then that I had no choice. I was Sensitive Guy. I will always cry at episodes of The Office. Whatever, I’m fine with that. I like watching Dancing with the Stars and I’m not ashamed of that. Much.
  Plus, if it wasn’t for my little trip to Creepytown I never would’ve met that Gothic Princess, who I married 2 years later. That’s right, I married the s**t out of her. How’s that for a third act twist? I’d tell you that story, but you might think it’s weird. Maybe some other time.
• May 12, 2010
• 12:53

  Twyla

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  We have a guest post from "D" today.  Happy Dating!
  I can still remember dear sweet Twyla (not her real name). Twyla was a teller at the bank I went to and she was kind of cute. Not the kind of cute that made me want to hop the counter, explore the vault and make a deposit, but more like a Kia Sophia rental car. I wanted to race it across town, burn the wheels off and then return it, no strings attached.
  I flirted, she flirted back. I suggested going for a drink, she giggled. The warm up was good; I was just waiting to put it in drive.
  Well, I got her number and said I would call in a few days. You might imagine my shock then when she called me the next night. Are you wondering why I didn’t mention that she got my number too? Well, that’s because I never gave it to her, she just went into the computer at work and got it from there…yea, no kidding.
  Now I’m guessing psycho but I decide to play along because I’m still thinking Kia rental so what the hell. We agree to meet at this dive of a diner (absolute s**t hole) for coffee. Prior to going I mentioned to my roomy that he needed to call me in an hour and a half and give me an out….just in case.
  So what happens next is right out of Springer. I walk in, find Twyla, approach the table and discover that it’s a party of 3. Sitting comfortably in his car seat is a 6 month old baby boy. Next I’m told that Twyla’s mom and dad are sitting in the booth behind us…they are apparently there because Twyla does not drive and therefore needed a ride. I am then told that the parents decided to stay and have dinner because well, why not eat at this great establishment, you know you want to.
  I struggled for the right words at first and probably made an ass of myself but Twyla was cool and seemed relatively peeved that mom and dad had stayed…although she was not too concerned about the effect of baby boy. After a sip of sumptuous diner coffee (made for old people with no taste buds), I started asking about baby. It turns out that dad split the minute he found out that Twyla was preggo and Twyla was not shy that she was looking for a “daddy” to help raise the little man.
  At about that point my pecker had begun to head home. Willy was already pissed that some other guy had stolen the Kia idea but my brain and Willy don’t talk much so I got the message late.
• May 07, 2010
• 18:19

  Tequila

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  In case you need some dating assistance...
  
  
• May 03, 2010
• 16:14

  Tips for Flirting with People Behind the Desk

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  Tags:    [edit]

  I'm not really going to get into specifics, but I have a job where I work behind a desk.  My job is helping you find stuff, and I am supposed to be friendly and open and cheery and I happen to dress kinda cute most of the time.  People... some people... don't get that this is my job and I am like that to everyone.  Ladies in my profession are frequently the object of Craigslist Missed Connections and all sorts of other misplaced crushes.  Just because you have a card with my e-mail on it: don't send me drunken fanmail emails at 12:30 a.m. on a Sunday because I DON'T have a clue who you are. 
  
  I recently found myself flirting with a really really cute guy.  He was at his work.  It happened to be at a phone place, so in order to test my phone service he called my phone... like three times... just to check.  Now, honestly, the last thing I need in my life is ANOTHER guy to muck up the works, but Rebound Mojo is a bitch.  Instead of dwelling on my overwhelming knee-jerk reaction to text him, I am going to write a posting.
  
  Tips for Flirting with People Behind the Desk.
  
  1. This person is at work.
  2. This person is probably bored.
  3. This person is providing you with excellent customer service.
  4. This person probably has a supervisor watching them.
  5. This is first and foremost a commercial or educational interaction.
  6. Any personal information gleaned from this exchange is null and void for personal use.
  7. The way to ask someone out on a date is to ASK THEM OUT ON A DATE.
  
  Have a really nice day. Come back soon!
• May 02, 2010
• 12:30

  Out of the woodwork

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  How is it that ex-lovers and former flames know when you're no longer available?
  
  At a bar the other night, I ran into the Captain. More than a year ago, I had met him through a friend. That night, I ended up at his house, on the couch, drunk, while my friend was getting it on with Captain's roommate (they preferred to call it "housemates" because they don't share a room, but finding it important to make that distinction just seems vaguely homophobic to me). At some point, I said I was cold, and he offered to snuggle. Sweet. Then I started in about how I was worried about my new puppy who was home alone in her crate, and he offered to drive me to my house to let her out. I accepted. We chatted while he drove me home, and I impressed him by knowing about Stereolab. When we got to my house, he impressed me by knowing who Frida Kahlo is. He stayed the night. More snuggling, a little making out. In the morning, we exchanged phone numbers.
  
  For the next month, I threw myself at him. At one point I literally climbed into his bed and took my clothes off. Nothing. There was some making out, but I didn't even get laid. He never called me, and I refused to call him. Eventually, I gave up. We ran into each other from time to time over the next year or so, and I pretended I hadn't been totally rejected.
  
  But now that I'm deliriously happy with a hotass new boyfriend (with a sexy accent)?
  
  I ran into Captain at a concert. We chatted, he flirted his ass off. He acknowledged that he'd gained weight, referenced his new "man boobs." He said he'd since given up smoking pot. He had a new job and got to travel. At one point I said something particularly charming, and he smiled and said, "Will you be my girlfriend?"
  
  I laughed.
  
  "Seriously? You had your chance. Too late."
  
  "I know, I really f**ked that up. I'm sorry."
  
  "What?"
  
  "Oh, you know."
  
  "No, you can't apologize for something if you're not even willing to admit what it was."
  
  "I'm sorry I blew it with you and didn't ask you to be my girlfriend. I should have."
  
  I was surprised he said it.
  
  "Yeah, you are sorry," I said. "I'm a pretty rad girlfriend."
• April 29, 2010
• 10:09

  We all should expect Birthday Sex tonight.

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  That's right, Dating is Weird is two years old today.  That's like 30 in web years... which means that if we don't know what we are doing by now we are pretty much never going to. 
  
  To celebrate, we are taking off our old look and putting on something a little more comfortable. Our vacation has rested us up and we're feeling rather sassy.  (By "sassy" we MIGHT mean that we're still limping a bit and we used our last sick day for a hangover so we're so jazzed up on coffee right now.)
  
  There is going to be a photo contest coming up... the voting will take place on the Facebook page, though so be sure to friend us there.   We welcome your comments about our redesign... mostly because we need a good laugh every now and then. 
  
  As always, HAPPY DATING!!!
• April 01, 2010
• 22:30

  Kama Sutra lovin'

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  *** Editor's note: We're not dead! Here's a guest post, courtesy of The Kama Mama (I with I had a name with capital The at the beginning. Sigh.) ***
  
  Greetings DIW readers! As much as I love to read the dating stories and tales of love, heartache and general debauchery on this site, today I thought I'd offer a peek into the world of ancient Hindu dating practices.
  
  That's right! Apparently, the folks of ancient India were really into sex, and they collected their cultural sexual heritage into this little book called the Kama Sutra. The KS offers tons of advice on general living, marriage, sneaking guys into the king's harem and, of course, its famous sexual positions (for more on my exploration of said positions, you'll have to check out thekamamama.com).
  
  Today's discourse, though, has to do with first sex, that is, the first sexual encounter between a married couple. After courtship and wooing (and marriage, but whatever), the KS suggests there should be a waiting period during which the man is to "create confidence" in the girl before the couple gets to roll in ze hay. Keep in mind that despite their apparent sexual enlightenment, ancient Hindus lived in a patriarchal world where social norms included the caste system, marrying young and polygamy, among other practices now considered taboo (but they thought women were too good for blow jobs. Huh). That doesn't mean all of the advice offered by the Kama Sutra is bad (hello, Lotus position!), just that you have to consider it in its cultural context.
  
  OK, on to some dating tips from the KS:
  
  - After the wedding/wooing, sleep on the floor for three days and abstain from sex and salted foods. One KS contributor suggests the man refrain from speaking during this time. Critics say the girl might despise him as a eunuch if he does this, but I don't know ... I've never despised a guy who knows how to shut it when necessary, nor suspected he was a eunuch.
  
  - For the next SEVEN DAYS, bathe amidst the sounds of auspicious musical instruments and decorate yourselves. Harps and vajazzling, y'all!
  
  - Finally, after 10 days, the man should start plying the woman with his sexy ways -- embraces, lovely words. I'm all in favor of slow courtship, but seriously? Who would want to spend the first 10 days after the wedding being celibate? Oh, right, maybe the teenage girl who's afraid of the virtual stranger her parents just married her off to.
  
  - If the girl is reluctant, the man should beg, sweet-talk and, if all else fails, get down on his knees, "for it is a universal rule that however bashful or angry a woman may be, she never disregards a man's kneeling at her feet." Finally, some good advice.
  
  - After a little canoodling, the man should induce the woman into his lap, but if she still refuses his advances, he should frighten her by threatening to mark her lips and breasts with his teeth and nails, to do the same to his own body, and to then tell all his friends that she did it. Wait, what? That doesn't even make sense? How would he bite his own breasts? Wouldn't his friends just think he was a kinky mofo? And of course, that kind of play is definitely for consensual partners only.
  
  - If she's feelin' it, the man should now shampoo his wife's thighs. That's right, thighs. Because what's sexier than a thigh shampoo?
  
  - While engaged in thigh shampooing, the man should cop a feel of the woman's yoni, naturally.
  
  - Then, after he shares his feelings of love, his hopes for the future and his promise of fidelity with her, they can get down to business. But only in a way so as not to frighten her, the KS says.
  
  - Finally, the Kama Sutra offers some parting advice for men. It suggests men take the middle path with women, neither implicitly following the inclination of the girl, nor wholly opposing her. It suggests the man who increases a woman's honor is an object of love, whereas he who neglects a woman is thought of as a beast ignorant of the workings of the female mind. And, the KS wisely warns against rape, saying a woman who is forcibly enjoyed will begin to hate the man who has taken advantage of her.
  
  Lots to consider in the Kama Sutra. Some if it has no place in the modern world, where women choose as much as men. But sometimes, the ancients got it right. Slow, sexy courtship with baths, music and decorating of bodies? Yes, please.
  
  Oh, and thigh shampooing. Definitely thigh shampooing.
• March 09, 2010
• 16:35

  Another Editorial Break

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Yeah...We're bums. Sorry. I'm going on a trip and my co-editor is doing her thing on a new blog.
  
  Promise we'll be back at the end of March with good stories and even better dating is weird madness.
  
  Love,
  S.G.Loughlin
• February 21, 2010
• 20:31

  Watch It, That First Step Is A Big One

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Thanks Slightly Disheveled for today's guest post.
  
  He works at my favorite "local" and has always gone out of his way to make me feel special. Especially when I'm at the "local" on one of my many stumblingly boring or confusingly misdirected attempts to date here in Small Town. He's recently untangled with his Other ...and ask me out. Me: elated.
  
  He picked me up at my house. We went to a few places and had he bought some edibles and drinkables, opening doors for me and all the nice things. Big Smile. We've already established an easy banter between us and it was turning into one of the best dates I have been on since leaving the East Coast. We got back to my house and are rounding the side of the house in the dark and I trip. I'm clumsy. I recover myself (I thought) only to find myself plunging down the stairs that lead to the basement. It's so dark that he stands there asking "where did you go?"
  
  Sprained ankle... not just a little sprained. I broke my heel bone into three pieces. I tore the top half of my fingernail off and was bleeding everywhere. He Band-Aided me and fed me Tylenol. Arranged the pillows so my ankle was propped up and put a bag of frozen veggies on it to ice it. In the morning he brought me the sweetest thing I have ever been given after a catastrophic first date: crutches. All I have to say here is: YAY FOR MEN WHO STILL KNOW HOW TO BEHAVE LIKE GENTLEMEN.
  
  We have scheduled a re-do. No more Redneck Dates: I's already crippled on the first date so's I cain't runs away no more. For the second date, we'll explore some of the finer points of French cookery.
• February 10, 2010
• 18:52

  Did We Forget To Mention We're On Break?

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Yeah. Ooopsies. Sorry. We're taking a bit of time off from editing DIW. Forgot to mention that.
  
  Send us stories! It's Valentine's Day soon and I know ya'll got some messed up Valentine's stories.
  
  Best one gets $5 from me personally.
  
  Ciao,
  S.G. Loughlin
• January 22, 2010
• 7:31

  Co-sleeping

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  I remember clearly the first time a man farted on me -- and I'm not talking about my brother.
  
  You roll over in the night, you want to be the big spoon, so you cup your body to his, put your arm around his waist, then let it rest on his delightful chest. You nuzzle your nose between his shoulder blades, and you both settle in to the comfort of a warm body. Then: Pffft. Against your thigh.
  
  Here's the question: Is it rude to roll over? Do you just pretend it didn't happen?
• January 18, 2010
• 14:00

  Dear DatingIsWeird.com

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Short and sweet from anon. today.
  
  Dear DIW,
  
  I'd like to thank the former intern for dumping me and two days later taking the job I have wanted for a year. You rock.
  
  Love
  Anonymous
• January 13, 2010
• 8:37

  Vagina Power

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  ** We don't recommend watching this at work. Or in front of children.
  
  
• January 07, 2010
• 8:31

  I love you, internet

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  My first boyfriend was an anarchist. An anarcho-syndicist, to be precise, and a young student of philosophy. Big Nietzche fan. So, naturally, he didn’t believe in “love.” I did, though. And I was in love.
  
  I wanted desperately to tell him I loved him, but I was terrified of saying it first. So I moped, and pined, and whenever he said anything that began with “I love …” I froze in anticipation. The sentences always ended with something like “this slice of pizza” “this weed” or “Hegel’s dialectical method.” Maybe, if I was lucky, it was “I love your ass.”
  
  So finally, one drunken evening (Now, I can’t remember how far along the relationship was at this point. I felt like we’d been together FOREVER and would be together FOREVER and that my soul was his soul, and that there was no other love like ours, but in reality it had probably been a month. That’s the equivalent of a decade when you’re 15), we were laughing about something, and I did something really funny, I have no idea what, and he laughed, “I love you!” And apparently the look of soaring joy on my face was too much for him, and he explained that he didn’t mean it THAT way. So, naturally, I cried.
  
  And since then, in relationships, I still have never said the “L” word first. Not-a-once. A lot of women I know don’t. I will ask a man out, I will tell him where to put it (literally and figuratively), I’ll take all kinds of risks in relationships. But the “L” word? No way.
  
  What about you, gentle readers? Do you say the L word first? What’s it like?
  
  p.s. Do any of y’all do this twitter thing? I do. Find me at Twitter.com/serialmono
• December 31, 2009
• 8:38

  Messy First Impressions

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  I met my steady beau's parents for the first time over the holidays this year. Everything was great. They loved me, I loved them, presents were exchanged, etc.
  
  So I was feeling pretty solid when a few days into the visit, beau and I have sex in the spare bedroom. I'm on my period, so we put a towel down. At one point in the whole romp I feel a bit more wetness than normal but I think whatever, there's a towel..
  
  Oops.
  
  When we're done doing the deed, I get up to examine the towel and sheets. And there are three bright red spots on the top sheet. Three more bright red spots on the under sheet. And three more bright red spots on the down comforter thinger on top of the mattress. Thankfully there weren't any on the actual mattress.
  
  Mortified. Absolutely mortified at not only the three bright red spots but also the fact that beau has to tell his mother that I started my period and had an accident. (No f**king way are we telling her what it was actually from.)
  
  I can overhear their conversation, in which he actually says "______ had her period last night and it got on the sheets. She's mortified." and somehow the level of embarrassment increases ten-fold.
  
  Beau's mom handles it like a champ. She's nice and says its no big deal, gives me a hug and sends us on our way for the day. When we return, the sheets are all clean with no sign of last night's mess.
  
  Ok, great. No problem. Handled that. But then the next morning, I wake up to find black spots all over the pillow case.
  
  My f**king hair dye from three weeks ago stained the pillow case. I had gone to bed with my hair wet and apparently there was still dye left all these weeks later.
  
  F**king hell. No way am I taking the fall on this one so I insist that beau take responsibility and say it's his dirty working man's hands that caused the spots.
  
  Whether or not beau's mother believed him, I wasn't around to find out.
• December 22, 2009
• 15:37

  In the news

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Last week, I picked up a copy of our local alt weekly, and inside, there was a story about a local band, and, whaddya know, I went on an awkward blind date with one of the fellers. Awkward's actually not the right word, not totally. It was a fun time. We met for beers and split some chicken wings, and had a nice conversation. He made me laugh. The only awkward part was when I had to tell him that although I'd had a nice time, I wasn't planning to see him again. The thing was, he had led me to believe he was at least 60 pounds lighter than he was. I like big boys, but not that big.
  
  Flipping farther back in the issue, I saw another story about a local hip-hop dance program in town, and, whaddya know, the photo was of a fellow I'd gone out with twice, then decided not to see again. Except when, bored one drunken evening, I saw his green chat bubble pop up and flirted my way into a bootie call.
  
  I really need to move to a bigger town.
• December 16, 2009
• 7:20

  Cats break up, too

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  
• December 10, 2009
• 9:08

  On retiring poster boy

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Hey, y’all, heads up: This is a long post. You’re not required to read it. (Yes, I’m talking to you Anonymous Cereal Hater. You’re not going to like this post. You are welcome to save yourself some time by not reading it. I can just comment for you: "Cereal sucks and she can’t write blah blah blah, Signed, ACH.")
  
  I recently wrote here about the family of my ex, Poster Boy. All it amounts to is a little ditty about how I love and miss them, and they miss me, too. In comments, I was accused of having a heart. (And yes, maybe, Internet, I’ll admit that I do, in fact, have a heart — just don’t tell anyone, OK?)
  
  I sent a link to a member of Poster Boy’s family, a woman who has become a friend. I think her reply was, “Awwwwwww.”
  
  Days later, late on a Friday night, I noticed I’d missed a call from Poster Boy. I called him back pronto, since, although we’d remained friendly enough that I’d actually had him and his girlfriend to my house for a big, fan-f**king-tastic end-of-the-summer bash about a month prior, (after I extended the invite, he called me to thank me, then Miss Poster Boy emailed me, thanked me for the invite, and asked what she could bring. I thought we were all being Oh-So Mature until he got a little too drunk at the party, and, in a mock-friendly gesture, slapped me on the back hard enough to leave a welt) he didn’t usually call me at midnight. I was worried.
  
  “Well, I actually wanted to talk to you about what you wrote about me and my family on the internet,” he said. I could tell he was drunk. I refused, on account of the drunkenness and told him we’d talk later.
  
  But when I got home, I listened to the message. It was a condescending reprimand about how I needed to move on and stop writing about him on the Internet, (I guess writing my mother, or writing in my journal, or writing a zine would have been cool, but not the Internet) about how I’m a grown adult and I need to start acting like one. I think there was something in there about how the internet isn’t everything. (We know better than that, though, don’t we?) I texted him a message reading, basically: “Eat s**t and die.”
  
  He called me. Stupidly, I answered, and he ranted and talked down to me. When I reminded him that he was not allowed to talk like that to me, he actually responded, “I can talk to you any f**king way I want.” Naturally, I hung up on him.
  
  But I was confused. He’d never before minded when I wrote about him on DIW. I think he liked the notoriety. He even commented on some posts — even after we broke up. He e-mailed me about one once and told me it had touched him. And there are choice Poster Boy stories — horrifying, jaw-dropping stories — that I’ve never written about on this site. Believe it or not, I do have boundaries.
  
  I noticed the next day that a comment had been left on the post at about the same time we talked, an anonymous comment reading “get a f**king life and move on.”
  
  I was done. I sent an email and told him that if he didn’t want me to write about him, he could’ve just ASKED. I wouldn’t even need a “please.” But I’d taken my last drunken phone call—something I should have done years earlier. I told him to lose my number.
  
  Then a twist came. Poster Boy replied to my e-mail. He apologized. Twice. He told me he knew he shouldn’t have spoken to me like that and shouldn’t have called drunk. Then he closed by saying that he hadn’t commented on the post, hadn’t even read it, and: “Just so you know it makes things awkward for me that my family and you still are in contact with each other.”
  
  Clarity. It was young Miss Poster Boy who’d read the post, gotten pissed, left the s**tty comment. In all likelihood, it was she he was showing off for when he called and insulted me. Of course.
  
  And it’s no wonder. Not everyone understands this about blogging and dating: When you’re in a relationship, a really good one, sometimes the new relationship doesn’t make it on your dating blog. I guess some people don’t like being written about on s**t-talky dating blogs. That’s actually OK with me because the funny thing that happened yesterday with the sensitive, sexy man I’m now running around with? It feels precious and private.
  
  However, the love I feel for people who were a second family to me for half of a decade? That feels like something other people might identify with. Lots of emotionally mature folks get that sort of thing.
  
  And Miss Poster Boy? Poor thing. I sort of feel bad that she’s so insecure. That she doesn’t get, and clearly doesn’t have, that type of connection, forged over time. I really wish her luck with Poster Boy. And I know she’s going to need it.
  
  But, here’s the thing: She won. Poster Boy and I are done. We don’t talk. I think that’s what she really wanted. Thanks to her hissy fit, I’ve decided it’s time to retire Poster Boy.
• December 09, 2009
• 9:26

  The Band

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Or: How to ruin your ex’s birthdays for the rest of his natural life in ten steps
  
  Step one: Find out that one of his favorite bands is playing on his birthday, in town, in a tiny venue.
  
  Step two: Go to the show with him… not like WITH him, but with his friend group.
  
  Step three: Dress really well. Drink. Dance. Take some pictures. Get up really close to the stage.
  
  Step four: Find out where the band is drinking after the show, and then drag him and his friends there.
  
  Step five: Get autographs and strike up a conversation with the band.
  
  Step six: Have the guitarist buy him a birthday drink. Accept several free drinks from said guitarist, since he asked, thank you very much.
  
  Step seven: It would be a huge plus if the guitarist has a foreign accent.
  
  Step eight: Find out that the guitarist was just standing in for their usual guitarist, but that he usually tours with a much more well-known band that you are also a fan of.
  
  Step nine: Get yourself invited back to the hotel to party. Make sure the ex and his friends have got an invite too. Party like a goddamn rockstar, but keep your clothes on.
  
  Step ten: Apologize. He will never be able to top that as a birthday party. Ever.
  
  
  -Slightly Disheveled
• December 02, 2009
• 16:08

  How to Maintain F**k Buddy Status

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Part One: Make a Breakfast Burrito
  
  Many friends, acquaintances and talk shows have told me over the years that it is impossible to stay f**k buddies with someone. Reasons are that either emotions get in the way because one person wants a relationship and the other doesn't or that it ruins friendships, as sex often does. However, I'm happy to report that I've managed to pull it off in multiple instances, so I'd like to share my knowledge with those of you who are committed to establishing and maintaining a f**k buddy relationship. So, I present to you a series on how to maintain f**k buddy status.
  
  First, we must weed out candidates who do not belong here. It is true that most f**k buddy situations get screwed up when one party develops romantic feelings (rather than purely lustful feelings) for the other party. If you are the type of person who can't engage in sex without developing these sort of emotions, turn back now. Accept yourself for who you are, and wait patiently for a relationship. Also, if you do not drink, this course is not for you.
  
  It is true that sex ruins friendships. So don't be f**k buddies with your friends. If you want to maintain f**k buddy status, you cannot be friends with your f**k buddy. The only reason you should hang out with your f**k buddy is to f**k. Are we clear? Yes, you can go out drinking and engage in other activities with your f**k buddy, but all of these activities should be seen only as a precursor to f**king.
  
  So, now that we've eliminated the emotional types and we've established the First Habit of Highly Effective F**k Buddies (don't be friends), we can move on to establishing the f**k buddy relationship. This is important because without the proper steps, a f**k buddy arrangement can easily become one of the above scenarios. If a friendship or romantic feelings develop, you and your f**k buddy are f**ked.
  
  Both times I've established and maintained f**k buddy status, it began with getting drunk. After you're sufficiently sloshed, find your target. Your target should be someone you kind of know but who is not part of your circle of friends. Maybe it's a bartender who at least recognizes you from previous visits. Maybe it's a friend of a friend of a friend (notice three degrees of separation, not two) or someone who you have "seen around campus." College is, of course, the ideal time for f**k buddies. In a nutshell, your target should not be a total stranger, and at the very least you should know that this person actually lives in your city. So let's hope you are intoxicated enough to continue to the next step, because you've got to be pretty bold for this part. You must make it clear to your target that you are interested in having sex, right away, that night.
  
  What happens after your target accepts your edict is really only your business, but the next morning is crucial. If you're at the target's house and you sneak out without saying goodbye, this encounter is destined to remain a one-night stand. Same goes for if you are the host and you kick your potential f**k buddy out as soon as you wake up. The appropriate thing to do if you are hosting is to make your potential f**k buddy breakfast. Make something casual and simple, like a breakfast burrito. Don't make a big deal out of it; this might be read as a sign that you are trying to establish a relationship. No, if you want to get yourself a f**k buddy, you must prepare a breakfast that says "I care about you just enough that I don't want you to be hungry." If you are not hosting, eat it. Say thank you. When you are done, go home. You don't need to say why you are leaving; just leave.
  
  
  This concludes Part One of How to Maintain F**k Buddy Status. Tune in sometime later to read more, including appropriate activities for f**k buddies, birthday etiquette, text messaging and appropriate discussion topics.
  
  Some Sexpert
• December 01, 2009
• 9:12

  This Thanksgiving can kiss my ass. Seriously.

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  So, after waiting to see if "Henry" was going to up the ante and invite me to his family's Thanksgiving, I decided not to even bring it up with him and just go to the Thanksgiving Orphan's party that I was invited to. Yes, I had already accepted the invite to the party and yes, that was where I had planned on going... but I really feel that I needed to start this out with that particular angry dig. It was the thought that counted, really. I don't really have any interest in hanging out specifically with his family, since after the first few drinks everything gets relative, no matter if you're with family or not.
  
  And that was where I found myself at three in the afternoon, among all of my new friends who I'd met only hours earlier ...and the guy with the crush on me who invited me. I am by that time wearing an apron with Michelangelo's David's "naughty bits" on the front, starring as the uncontested countess of the kitchen. In a room with incredibly drunk straight single men. ALL of the men wearing black glasses. I might have just described my own personal heaven: the only girl at a geeky drunk sausage party. There are two turkeys ...and stuffing with broccoli - "just the tips" we kept saying - you can take it back out if you don't like it. After about a case of beer and really not sure how much vodka, and I can't even think to count how many bottles of wine both red and white and maybe even a pink one someone brought thinking there'd be chicks there... then the absinthe came out. By that I mean two bottles and by came out I mean special stuff brought in
  from Switzerland. By one-ay-hem I was trying to coax a guy with a PhD to go to his bed (yes, alone) but he was very comfortable face-down on the carpet in the middle of his living room ("no look, I'm not on the carpet, see... I have my hand there") but there was no way I was taking him there and there was no way he was going alone.
  
  That's when I get the booty call text from "Henry". I went to his friend's house where he was crashed face-down into a mattress in the third bedroom. Yeah. I hit that. Then I got up and went home because I didn't want my "walk of shame" to be into directly into work the next day. Out in the cold again, that was when I realized I should have stayed where I was at the first time. Maybe finished doing the dishes and wiping down the countertops and then crashed on the couch for a little bit. Because dating IS weird. Because I just am having a very hard time understanding exactly why I am behaving in such an extraordinary fashion over "Henry" instead of 409-ing countertops for a perfectly nice guy with absinthe, black glasses, and a PhD. Wait, I forgot to add he played college football and all of the other nerds were snowboarders and skiiers and not fatties and WOW'ers. And the gated community was a delicious add-on too.
  
  This year for Thanksgiving, I was thankful that my love interest has his head "so arranged" that I got to go to a fantastic party and meet people who may be just as passed-out face-down at the end of the night, but who are at least doing it in their own house. I wonder what I'm getting for Christmas.
  
  -Sofia Vanderslice
• November 30, 2009
• 12:53

  Throw Up in Your Mouth Alert

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  I'm not the Rom-Com type. I hate cheesy romantic stories where the chick gets swept off her feet by Matthew McConaughey (why is he in every one of those god-forsaken movies?) and I typically retch when told cutesey-wootsey tales of love. Valentine's Day is bulls**t as are most things having to do with Disney's version of true love.
  
  It is with this disclaimer that I post what is most assuredly the grossest romantic thing to ever happen to me. Even I was like, really? That's so sweet it hurts my teeth.
  
  I was in an outpatient surgery center a few weeks ago recovering from a minor procedure that included conscious sedation. I was just coming to but was still pretty out of it. I turned my head to see my big handsome boyfriend sitting by my bedside smiling.
  
  "Mmmmmmmmhhiiiiii..." I mumbled before drifting off again, feeling comfortable and safe knowing he was there.
  
  Later he told me that a beep from the heart monitor alerted him to the fact that my heart rate slowed down by about ten beats per minute when I saw him.
  
  Apparently being in love is the best medicine.
• November 21, 2009
• 9:31

  On kissing photos

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Dear Facebook,
  
  First, let me make it clear that I think it is gross when ANYONE posts a profile picture that features people kissing. I don't really care if people post kissing photos in albums, and it doesn't bother me when people's profile pictures include a significant other. In fact, I think that is kind of sweet. But I draw the line at kissing pictures. And I know I am not alone. A friend of mine just a few minutes ago posted a status message about how gross it was to watch people kissing in public (on a plane). No, it's not better when it is a photo instead of live.
  
  So, Facebook, because I don't want to see kissing photos of anyone -- not newlyweds, not close friends, not my grandparents, not strangers -- no matter how attractive they are, it should come as no surprise to you that I do not want to see it when my ex-boyfriend posts a profile picture of him kissing his current girlfriend. Let me make it clear that I honestly and truthfully never think about this ex. I don't think about any of my exes, and I don't harbor any kind of feelings for any of them, negative or positive. Note that no negative feelings means I do not unfriend my exes on Facebook because that would require feelings, specifically unfriendly ones. It is possible for me to have no feelings of any sort for my exes because I don't communicate with them. At all. This method has always worked amazingly well and has made my life low on drama and heartache. Best of all, it's very easy for me.
  
  It was also easy for me to move on. It was easy for me to get into a good relationship with someone I truly love, live with and have been with for a long time. It was easy for me to not think of my ex. However, you have caused a quandary, Facebook. Yes, I did hide his updates from appearing in my news stream so that I could continue life with the luxury of not thinking about him. But, as I explained beofre, he is still there. That means when I search my friends, sometimes I see his photo.
  
  This brings me to yesterday, and the suddently stronger-than-usual aversion to kissing photos. My eyes registered the kissing photo, and my brain said, "hmm, that's gross, but you don't care. Why would you care? You haven't thought about him for a long time, and you have no ill will toward him, so it shouldn't bother you that he has a girlfriend. Who he is kissing. In his Facebook profile picture. ... What are you doing? Why are you clicking on it? Now you're going to see his whole profile, you idiot! What?! You're clicking it again so you can see a bigger version of it? Why? Why would you ... huh, he still lives in that same crappy apartment. Close this page! Good job."
  
  So, you see, Facebook, you are messing up my whole strategy. Of course, that was yesterday and this is today. Today, I don't care about the ex-boyfriend-kissing-new-girlfriend photo. (Did I ever?) Of course, I'm not looking at it right now either. Why am I not looking at it? Because photos of people kissing being put as their Facebook profile pictures is GROSS, and that is really all I was trying to say. Really.
  
  Get a Room Or Stop Snogging
• November 19, 2009
• 9:38

  1%

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  A little while ago, a newishly-single, male friend was getting set up on a date with a woman he’d only met once; the setters were a married couple. Just before the date, the setter-husband got just drunk enough to tell my buddy this:
  
  “You know how probably 20 percent of girls will let you put it in their asses, and then only 1 percent of THEM actually like it? I’m telling you, I don’t know why, but I think this girl’s a 1 percenter.”
  
  Personally, I lack the equipment (and inclination) to have a sample set against which to compare this data, but I’m just sayin’ this: Really?
  
  I mean, Really?
• November 17, 2009
• 20:46

  Flowchart to Determine If Your Girlfriend Is Cheating On You

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  
  **Funny story over at holytaco.com
  
  Girlfriends are a lot like volcanoes: they're fascinating and mysterious, and at any time they can explode and completely blow your head off. I might be confusing volcanoes with those collars from the movie Scanners. Anyway, here's a flowchart to help you determine if your girlfriend is cheating on you:
  
• November 09, 2009
• 20:47

  Sniffle

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  OK, so being sick sucks. But when you're in a new relationship, it's a wonderful litmus test. The first time you're stuck in bed, feeling miserable, achey, smelly and like maybe you'd like the rest of the world to go ahead and f**k off and die, and then Mr. Lovely shows up with 7-up and pudding cups, then sits on your bedside rubbing your back for a minute before loading up your bed with pillows, and setting up your laptop with his hard drive full of mindless movies? It's kind of kickass.
  
  And if he gets sick a day later, and you get to return the favor, and make him soup and rub his back and clean up the nasty tissues and act like you couldn't care in the least? It's satisfying -- NOT, of course, that you don't feel awful that he's sick, especially since you know where he got the cooties in the first place.
  
  Now, you've probably seen this, hell, I've probably posted it here before, but I like watching this come flu season:
  
  
• November 03, 2009
• 12:58

  Can't get enough of that Craigslist

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  *** Editor's note: Today's Craigslist Gem comes from Sir Robin, AKA The Fool. Happy dating! ***
  
  Being male, I'm used to being cast as the villain, but there are some dating scenarios that would make even the most virtuous white knight act rather like Sir Robin. Appropriately enough, a confrontation with a three-headed ogre is a pretty fair metaphor when used to describe my date, although to hear her tell it, I was the one who behaved inappropriately. We had first connected online, through Craig's List, and the day after our dating disaster, I found the following post:
  
  "/Last night was the worst first date of my life. Not only was it with the creepiest guy I had ever seen, but after pressuring me into a late-night meeting at Denny's and making me drive an hour out of my way, he barely said a word to me... except to call me fat and tell me to stop eating so much. He tried to order booze after I told him I didn't drink, and he wouldn't take his shades off the entire time. We won't be going out again./"
  
  There was no question that it was about me. The sunglasses bit confirmed it, although she left out the part where I apologized for my debilitating light-sensitivity. Still, as certain as I was about the subject of the story, I wasn't completely clear on the details.
  
  1. "/... After pressuring me into a late-night meeting at Denny's.../" Apparently, responding to passive-aggressive accusations about not being interested counts as pressuring. When I suggested that we wait until Saturday afternoon to meet - rather than a bit past ten on Friday evening - she questioned whether I really wanted to meet at all. I assured her that I did, and she asked if I knew of any restaurants that were open late. "Only Denny's," I joked. Her unexpected response was that Denny's was fine by her. It wasn't quite what I had in mind, but I supposed that it was better than a dingy dive bar somewhere.
  
  2. "/... Making me drive an hour out of my way.../" We lived three hours apart. You do the math.
  
  3. "/... except to call me fat.../" She weighed at least a hundred pounds more than she had led me to believe, but I didn't say anything about it. At least, not until she asked - and this was perhaps the second thing she said to me - "I'm heavier than you expected, aren't I?" My response, for the record, was a decidedly lame reply of "And prettier, too!" Really, though, is there a right answer to that question?
  
  4. "/... and tell me to stop eating so much./" While we had been planning the date, she asked if I would mind paying. While we were eating, she kept ordering more additions to the meal. While looking into my wallet - figuratively speaking - I politely stated that I couldn't comfortably afford much more, being that I was a broke college student. While ignoring my statement, she ate my french fries.
  
  5. "/He tried to order booze.../" No, I tried to order a Shirley Temple. It was the waiter who thought that I was trying to order booze. At least he realized his mistake after I explained it to him.
  
  Perhaps my favorite accusation, though, is this one:
  
  6. "/... he barely said a word to me./" This is true. Of course, it's a little bit hard to get a word in edgewise when she and her sister - who she brought along as a chaperon - are spending the entire time gossiping about friends whom I've never even heard of whilst dining on the meal that I paid for. It's even worse when they both glare at me every time I try to interject a comment or ask a question, and downright insulting when the they discuss me in whispers that they think I can't overhear from across the table.
  
  In spite of all those incorrect details, though, there's definitely one thing that she got exactly right: "/We won't be going out again./"
  
  Believe me, folks... As soon as it was polite enough to do so, Sir Robin ran away.
• October 29, 2009
• 20:59

  Adventures on CL

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  At the start of summer I placed an add on Craigslist in an attempt to find a few playmates for my two year old son and hopefully one for myself. Our first meetings were usually at a park with the kids just before nap time so I had an easy out if things turned bad.
  
  The following is an example of when things turn out bad, well badish.
  
  In my inbox was a long message from a woman, lets call her Lisa. Lisa is a single mother of four boys, all two years apart, all with different fathers. I am not one to judge being the middle child of three who all have different dads but she also has restraining orders on two of the four so... We seemed to have a list of things in common but they're the sort of things that most everyone has in common- funny movies, likes dogs, eating good food, drinking, etc etc. And a number of things not in common, the biggest being an addiction to drugs that she had beaten a couple of years back... not something I would include in my opening get to know you letter but... I wrote back and sent her a picture of myself asking for one in return. She sent me a number of photos and although I considered her sort of pretty she wasn't smiling in a single one. I thought it odd and asked for a smile and got a sort of grimace with tight lips. After a week or so we met at a local park with my son and two of her boys. I didn't dress up but looking at her Cowboys sweatshirt that was four or five sizes too large, the Yankees hat pulled down over her eyes and the faded and torn blue jeans Lisa wore didn't make me feel like I'd found someone really special. We sat on a bench and talked while the kids played but I spent the whole time talking to the back of her head. At first I thought maybe she's just really diligent about watching her boys but something felt wrong. At this point I could already tell that we weren't very compatible and was getting ready to institute the 'nap time' clause. Just then one of Lisa's boys ran up to us and as they talked I noticed that something was wrong with Lisa's mouth. I couldn't put my finger on it at first but over the next five minutes or so I came to realize that she was missing all her upper teeth. A bare palate. She must have seen me notice because she covered her mouth with one hand and looked away again. Now I felt like an ass... how to leave gracefully? I had already made the decision to go before I caught sight of her toothless mouth but now all signs would point to THAT being my reason for going. I kept up some small talk for a minute and then luckily, my son s**t his pants so we were able to make a discreet exit.
  
  I have a good friend who, upon hearing this story asked me what the problem was. 'I mean, come on dude,' he said. 'She doesn't have any teeth. THINK ABOUT IT MAN, JUST THINK ABOUT IT.'
• 7:49

  Family

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Poster Boy and I split a year and a half ago, and that's a good thing. It's been great for both of us.
  
  The thing that still sucks though? I love his family.
  
  The first time I met his grandmother, she walked into the room in her coordinated pantsuit, her smart black wig, giant glasses and dangling, colorful earrings and waved her cigarette at me while exclaiming in a voice that can only come from years of chain smoking, "What a pretty girl!"
  
  How could I not fall in love?
  
  I sent Poster Boy's family Christmas cards last year, the first Christmas in a half-decade that I wasn't with them. I've had drinks with some of them since going solo, gotten together once or twice. But I haven't heard from the grandparents (who adore their only grandson with a sweetly blind fervor) since the breakup.
  
  So when I saw a missed call from their house on my phone last week, my heart started pounding. S**t, s**t, s**t. They're old, and not very healthy.
  
  There was a voice mail. I called, my hands practically shaking, not at all willing to hear bad news about these people, who for the years I knew them were more kind to me than most of my own grandparents had ever been.
  
  A message from poster boy's aunt:
  
  "Hey, (Serial). I was just calling because my mom's cleaning some stuff out of the house, and she has this bear that wears costumes, and she wanted to send it to you. She said you had admired it once. So we need your address, if you send it now maybe we can get it to you in time for Halloween. Call us back here. We miss you sweetheart, hope you're doing good."
  
  I called back, I'd missed grandma, so I left my address with grandpa. He told me how it had been a good relationship, and to keep in touch, and that they wanted me to know how much they had always liked me.
  
  I can't wait to get that goddam bear.
• October 23, 2009
• 11:31

  Based on a true story

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  One night stand gone horribly, horribly wrong:
  
  
  
  Thanks, Ms. Disheveled!
• October 20, 2009
• 16:07

  Better Late Than Never

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Makes sense this would come in from an anon.
  
  A few years ago an ex of mine (who dumped me), died. We'd lost touch, but I heard about it through old friends. What sucks is that she was quite young. What is weird is that after hearing of her death, I had a few dreams about her. In the dreams she was yelling at me (in our two year relationship she never yelled, ever) and telling me how horrible I was at relationships. So I started thinking about her and our relationship and recognized that she was right, that I really was bad at being in a relationship. I communicated rarely and when I did I was aloof and distracted. I am ashamed to say that I think I went for months without looking her in the eye. I judged her for her inability to find a job, I criticized her for her shyness at parties, and one time, oh god, I even called her fat.
  
  No wonder she dumped me, though at the time I remember feeling it all as quite unfair. At any rate, the realization that I had been such an asshole, no, that I'd actually been way worse than just an asshole, I'd been a mean asshole, hit me pretty hard and I was filled with massive remorse. All I wanted to do was apologize -- but she was DEAD! Frankly, the whole thing was really kinda sad.
• October 13, 2009
• 21:47

  Dear Serial: Who buys dinner?

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Dear Serial,
  
  So, I'm back into the dating scene again after a 15-year hiatus, and am totally clueless about protocol, etc. I figured that you, Ms. Serial, as a renowned and infamous serial dater, might have some advice on first dates, having had SOOOOOO many.
  
  So, I have a date tomorrow with a friend of a friend. We're planning to go out for dinner, and I'm unsure about the whole payment thing. I mean, it used to be that dudes were always expected to pay, but when I was dating before, that wasn't always the deal. I mean, some women were actually offended by that and felt like if the man paid, there was an expectation. Plus, this is a reaaaaallly casual date. I have no idea if I'm at all "into" this woman. I'm kinda just wanting to go on some dates and see how it all works again.
  
  So, should I pay or not?
  
  Mr. Completely Out Of the Loop
  

  
  
  
  
  Dear Mr. Cool (nice work on that one, by the by),
  
  Yes. Pay for dinner.
  
  Love,
  
  Serial
  
  OK, cool, sorry. You probably were looking for some justification on this one. So just to be sure, I surveyed women of various ages, and all said that yes, they want a man to pay for dinner. One response was, and I'm not making this up, "If he wants a blow job he'll pay."
  
  Now, I'm not saying buying dinner automatically entitles you to a blow job, you'll have to show up with flowers or something in order to earn that (and not roses, for the love of god). Most women will go on a date with the expectation that she might have to pay half. One woman said that she always takes enough cash to pay for half of dinner and a cab ride home. Now maybe my sample's unenlightened and anti-feminist, but ... there's a good chance that a lady who's going to go on such a traditional first date is not exactly avant-garde.
  
  Personally, if I go out with a guy, and offer to pay half (I always offer), and my cash doesn't get turned down, I assume he's not that into me. So, I guess if that's the message you want to convey, then by all means, split the check. Hell, try to get her to pay. That could work out really well for you, I guess. Perhaps she's rich and looking for a kept man? Stranger things have happened.
  
  XOXO Cool,
  
  Serial
  
  Got a question for the Serial Monogamist? Send it on over to seriallymonogamous[at]gmail[dot]com.
• October 08, 2009
• 15:22

  just to be sure I thought I'd ask

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  When a young woman tells you to "stop doing that with your toes and get out of my house in fact forget it i'm calling the cops and im telling all our friends what you did and i cant believe you did that i feel sick to my stomach." is there any possible way that she's just playing hard to get? My intuition tells me that she was actually upset, but just to be sure i thought I'd ask.
• October 03, 2009
• 11:05

  Arm twisting

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Last night, I had a newish squeeze over for a movie. I succumbed to a frantic week, and passed out about 20 minutes in. I woke to the credits, and a large hand pinching my thigh.
  
  "Hmf," I said, in my best imitation of myself from Jr. High, "Can't I just sleep here?"
  
  "You can sleep wherever you want," he said. "I'm gonna go get naked and get in your bed."
  
  And that, boys, is how you convince a lady.
• September 29, 2009
• 7:58

  Before eHarmony

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  
• September 25, 2009
• 14:00

  Things I learned the hard way

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  - Taking relationships slow is rarely regrettable. OK, there was that one time that you took things slow and the potential love of your life got hit by a car before you got a chance to see where things were going, but other than that? Draw out twitterpation. It's good for the soul.
  
  - Just because your mom wants you to ask your boyfriend to be in the family Olan Mills photos she's scheduling doesn't mean you should ask him.
  
  - If you're going to plan a vacation to Mexico with a new boyfriend and his family, be sure you're comfortable enough to ask them if you can stop at the store for some anti-diarrheal medication. You also might want to be sure you can handle a surf-related wardrobe malfunction in front of his dad. Especially if you're not so good at ducking waves (Note to non-Pacific NW readers: People from Oregon don't usually swim in the Ocean, it's too effing cold. So that whole counter-intuitive dive into the wave to avoid getting smashed by it thing? Some of us missed that lesson.)
  
  C'mon readers. What did you learn the hard way?
• September 21, 2009
• 7:34

  High maintenance

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  I recently went out on a perfectly fine little first date. Date was on time, cute enough, and the conversation was good. So good, in fact, that we were both shocked to discover that it was nearly 2 a.m.
  
  As I waited for a cab, he stood on the curb with me, close enough to smell. Smelled nice. We talked about seeing "Action Flick by That One Really Good Director," and he said he'd call me to arrange it, told me he would be out of town for a couple of days, but he'd be back by midweek. As my cab pulled up, I saw him going for a kiss, but I was feeling like dragging things out (anticipation can be fun), so I have him a hug, a big smile and a wink, and I was off.
  
  A week later, nay, more than a week later, I got a text:
  
  "Seen Action Flick Yet?"
  
  I was a little confused about why it had taken so long to make any contact, but I shrugged and replied:
  
  "Not yet."
  
  A week later, I sent a text:
  
  "Cat got your tongue? Well, no worries, I'll see it solo. Best, June."
  
  He replied:
  "No no, my friend. I just wasn't particularly enthused by your response. What time do you get off work this week?"
  
  Really, internet? Would you go out with a guy who's that high-maintenance? I mean, what did he want, a smiley face emoticon at the end of the text?
  
  Is there an emoticon that means "Fat Chance"?
• September 16, 2009
• 10:49

  Tweezed Out

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Today's guest post comes in from "G. Ross"**
  
  I'm sick of DIW. Sorry to say, but I am. It has way too many stories from chicks who just rip on dudes. Makes me wonder if it's become a front for a bunch of angry dykes who don't know how to actually be with a man.
  
  I digress.
  
  I'm sending this story in about a woman I began dating a few months ago to try and offset all the male-bashing going on. This site used to be better. It used to have stories from guys about the very real phenomenon of crazy chicks. What happened? Where'd c.vance go? My father always taught me that if you're going to bitch about something then you better be prepared to try and fix it. So here's to you pops.
  
  S**** and I began dating after a heavy night of drinking. Blah blah...one night stand...turned into a first date....and here we are hanging out four months later. She's a cool girl. Into a lot of the same stuff I am. Doesn't run her mouth too much and when she does, it's not complete inane blathering. So she's got that going for her.
  
  Everything's been going great. Good sex. Decent conversation. Not overly clingly. Just great. Until a few nights ago when I walked in on her in the bathroom.
  
  Now my pops also told me that women have bags of tricks that men should never, ever try to open. This is what makes them female, he said. Appreciate the magic but don't try to understand the magic. Apparently the bathroom is where women practice their magic. Wish he had told me that one.
  
  We'd just finished having sex and S**** jumped out of bed to "freshen up" as women-folk like to say. Ok, fine. Whatever. About 12 minutes go by. My need to pee is pretty intense by now. I originally thought she'd take no more than 5 minutes. How much water do you need to splash down there to freshen up ladies?
  
  How wrong I was.
  
  I finally say f**k it and knock on the bathroom door. No answer. Dude. I need to piss. Bad. So I say f**k it again and open the door.
  
  S**** is kneeling on top of the sink, inches away from the mirror, plucking hairs from her nipples. She screams when I walk in and falls off the counter. I am so startled I just stand there, mouth gaping.
  
  She begins yelling at me about f**king knocking and bum rushes me out of the bathroom. I am too bewildered by what I saw to do anything except allow her to shoo me out. I go to the porch and take a leak off the side of it. Thank god for dicks.
  
  We haven't discussed it. Thank god. It's weird though. The image in burned into my mind. Sometimes it flashes while we're having sex and I go to suck on her tits. Weird dude. F**king weird. Chicks are weird.
• September 13, 2009
• 20:06

  All about ass

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  *** Today we have an anonymous guest post with a little (though direct) message for the fellas ***
  
  
  Hey, so I just want to say, from a woman's perspective, for all the guys out there: I do not want you to put things in my ass. If I do want you to put something in my ass, I'll go ahead and tell you. Otherwise, maybe it's safe to assume that no, I do not want you to put your dick or your finger in my ass.
  
  Seriously, every dude I'm with, when we're going at it, and I'm getting close, will grab hold of the cheeks (THIS IS GOOD!) and then a finger will wander southward. THIS IS NOT GOOD. I'm trying to focus on getting off, I do not need to be thinking, "Oh, god, is he putting his finger in my ass? What if his finger smells afterward?" It's just goddam distracting. The thing is, guys, women do not have prostates. So applying pressure to my arse doesn't feel the same for me as it does for you. Are you trying to tell me you want me to put my finger in yours when you're about to come? If so, then tell me by TELLING ME. I'll do it. No biggie. Don't tell me by sticking your finger in my pooper.
  
  Now, I know some women are into anal. You know what though? They're into it. They'll ask for it. Or, you can ask them for it, and they'll agree to it. Don't test the waters by trying to dipstick a test run. Among other things, if you shove your peter in my crapper, you then can't stick it in my vag. There are bacteria that live in the back door that should not go to the front (this is where the whole "front to back" thing comes from).
  
  Thank you.
• September 08, 2009
• 14:53

  More on staying friends with exes

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  A recent text conversation:
  
  
  
  "I'll be home at 7 lover."
  
  "I'm not your lover."
  
  "What?"
  
  "Check your outbox. You sent me a message clearly not intended for me."
  
  "Oh, sorry. Don't know how that happened."
  
  "Douche."
• September 03, 2009
• 20:32

  Dear Serial: I humped my friend's husband

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Dear Serial,
  
  Apparently, a friend of mind just found out I f**ked her husband. Thing is, it only happened one time, and it was years and years ago. I mean, it happened more than 10 years ago. It happened before they even got together, it was before I even got together with my now husband. Now, we’re all really good friends and have been for years, but recently, she’s saying weird stuff like, “sometimes you just wish you didn’t know things” and just being kind of strange towards me.
  
  I told my husband about that pity-f**k years ago, he’s not upset. What should I say to my friend?
  
  Thanks,
  Married and not going there ever again

  
  
  
  
  Dear MANGTEA (that’s kind of funny, at first when I looked at that, I thought it said Mangenta, which would clearly be a hot new color in men’s wear, much more masculine than purple),
  
  Don’t say a thing. You did your duty and disclosed your long-forgotten pity f**k to your husband; it was pally over there’s job to tell HIS wife about any potentially-awkward f**ks, oh, I dunno, maybe before they got married? That is, of course, if he was going to tell her. There’s a certain point at which, if you haven’t mentioned it already, you should just let the f**k lie.
  
  Plus, what if you say something, and that’s not what she was talking about? Especially if he hasn’t told her? That conversation’s going to be fun. “Oh, you were talking about how you finally noticed that I dog-eared your grandmother’s copy of Gone With the Wind? Oh. Heh. Well nevermind all that about f**king your husband. Oh, and the “pity” thing? What did I mean by that? Well certainly did not mean that I’m more attractive than your husband or that he was super desperate in the period leading up to him getting with you. No. Not at all.”
  
  Leave it be, Mangenta.
  
  Love,
  
  Serial
  
  
  
  
  Got a question for Serial Monogamist? Want to tell her how full of s**t she is? Do it. We dare ya. Send your email to seriallymonogamous[at]gmail[dot]com.
• August 30, 2009
• 8:54

  Snuggiesutra

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  There's a chance you haven't heard of the abomination that is the Snuggie (I think half the haters out there secretly want one):
  
  
  
  And just for fun, and your edification, we'll include the popular parody video, too:
  
  
  
  Well thank the lord for the internet. Because some genius has created a new Web site, the Snuggiesutra. Because I just KNOW you were fresh out of ideas on how to integrate the Snuggie into your love life.
  
  Here's one position called The Tablecloth:
  
  
  
  "She lies on the table. He wears the Snuggie on his front while the bottom end covers her. It’s just not a holiday without stuffing."
• August 26, 2009
• 22:37

  If you're single, there's someting wrong with you

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Katie Ett over at Unapologetically Mundane posted the following this week:
  
  

  “More to Love” is my favourite/most hated show on television right now. I was torn between it and “NYC Prep” on the first Tuesday night it aired, but after watching 20 fat women cry nonstop for an hour, I knew I made the right choice, and I’ve been making it every week since.
  
  I’m not a person who believes weight has anything to do with love. I’m not thin, and I’ve loved and been loved in return by all sorts of men, thin and not-thin themselves. (But mostly thin, because fat people are gross. (Kidding.)) These big-boned ladies all truly believe, though, that their one shot at love is this 26-year-old spike-haired real estate developer who likes to eat and doesn’t want a woman who watches her weight.
  
  And they all cry about it throughout every episode. Their skinny friends get hit on at bars. They’ve never had serious boyfriends. They’ve never been on a single date. And there’s a reason for that.
  
  If you’re single–if you’re perpetually single–and you don’t want to be, there’s something wrong with you. There, I said it. Don’t blame it on men being superficial. Blame it on you being a crappy date. Unless you live in the middle of smalltown Iowa, in which case I’m a little more sympathetic, but seriously, it’s probably still your fault, especially if you’re one of those assholes who scorns Internet dating. Whenever I hear some fat chick say, “I have no idea why I’m alone!”, I want to go through a laundry list for her, because it’s always so obvious. Even the guys who are willing to look past your weight can’t deal with your jacked-up face, your total lack of humor, your junior high vocabulary, and your skank clothes.
  
  For instance, not a single one of the women in the two episodes of “More to Love” I’ve watched has said something funny. In fact, when Luke asks each of them in turn if they’ll wear the ring that signifies their staying on the show another week, each of them in turn says, “Of course.” I’ve been waiting for even just one of them to say “bitch, please” or fake like they don’t want it only to throw their arms around him and snatch it out of his hands a second later, but they’re all so worried about losing their “one” chance for “true” love that all behave like robots. Whiny, sobbing robots.
  
  My boyfriend called the show depressing, but I really delight in watching these pathetic women mope around. None of them are actually the least bit interested in this guy specifically, as far as I can tell, and are only interested in him being interested in them. And he’s too pleased with the opportunity to grope 20 fatties to care. I mean, MAYBE the producers are hiding the parts where Luke and the ladies have deep, meaningful conversation about politics and religion, but it seems like the most intimate information the group has about Luke is the name of his dog.
  
  I had a long-distance relationship like this once: the guy would want to talk about how interested he was in the sinking of the Titanic every single time he called me–I mean, he really, really loved the Titanic–and I just wanted to talk about how in love we were. But I realized I was using him, whereas these girls are planning their weddings.
  
  And the worst part is that they make absolutely none of this secret to him. They tell him that they’d pursue their music careers if only they had better images. They tell him that they’re virgins. They tell him, “You’re my first second date.” And he uses these confidings as teachable moments where he gets to build their self-confidence by calling them sexy and telling them to believe in themselves. And they cry.
  
  It’s pretty clear that in the end, Luke’s going to pick the thinnest/prettiest girl in the house regardless of her personality, and all the other girls who were using his choosing her as sole proof that there’s hope for fat girls are going to kill themselves.
  
  I finally asked my boyfriend why I’ve been able to find love when these women haven’t, and he said, “Because you’re not psychotic.” Win.
  
  

  
  
  Did you catch that part, beloved DIW readers, about perpetually single folk? It bears repeating: "If you’re single–if you’re perpetually single–and you don’t want to be, there’s something wrong with you."
  
  That's what Katie thinks. What about you, is there something wrong with perpetually single folk?
• August 24, 2009
• 8:22

  More on being friends with exes

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  "The girls who work with my new girlfriend said you walked by the other day and were glaring at her."
  
  "The girls who work with your new girlfriend know who I am?"
  
  "I guess so."
  
  "Huh. Why would I do that? That's stupid."
  
  "I know."
  
  "Did you tell them that I wasn't glaring, that that's just what my face looks like?"
  
  "Yeah, I told her you just have sort of a scowely face."
  
  "Thanks, dude."
• August 21, 2009
• 8:26

  Boobies

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  *** Editor's note: Alecia in North Carolina's a rare breed on Datingisweird.com, a guest blogger unafraid to use her real name. Take that, Anonymous! ***
  
  So I met this guy online. We'll call him Idiot. Idiot and I spoke for a couple weeks via email, IM, phone calls and text. He seemed like a really nice guy and we had a lot of common interests. He lives about an hour away so getting together for coffee wasn't as easy as all that, but eventually we did make plans for a Friday night.
  
  So, I get all dolled up. Black pants, sexy tank top, little make up, little perfume, I'm good to go. I waited for him to arrive with excitement and just a touch of nervousness, but I honestly just knew we were going to have a good time. Idiot arrives and gets out of the car to shake my hand and say hi. I hop in and first things first, we have to make a quick trip to Target because apparently he needed to get his nephew some birthday present. We're on our way and literally, about a whole 2 minutes into the ride Idiot looks over at me and says, "Your boobies look nice."
  
  I'm sorry...uuhhh...what? My inner thoughts: "You're 29 years old and you still say boobies? And secondly, what the f**k dude?"
  
  I didn't actually say these things; I just told him to shut up. Idiot laughs, "Okay, okay, sorry." So I thought to myself, oh he just had a dumb guy moment. We get to the store and everything is good. I move on, I forget for a bit that he mentioned my tits and referred to them as boobies. We arrive at dinner and Idiot orders a mass amount of food which I find not only disturbing, but also hilarious as he just got done telling me how "healthy" he was trying to be. Umm, yeah, when you order the salad, it actually stops being good for you when you pile a half a pound of cheese on it, and bacon, and chicken, croutons and a half gallon of ranch dressing. (no, I don't care that the bottle says "Light" - you're retarded) Anyway...as we sit there and I begin to munch, him shovel, I notice that Idiot's leering at me; staring at me in this very intrusive way that has me tugging at my shirt again.
  
  Finally I look at him and I say, "What? Why the crap are you staring at me like that?"
  Idiot: "You know, it's funny...out of all the girls I've dated, you're not all my type, HOWEVER, I kinda wanna do you right now."
  My inner thoughts: "Do me? Did he really just tell me over my Greek salad that he wants to DO me? Awesome." The people at the table next to us gasped and choked. I felt their pain.
  
  Me: "Can you bring me home now? No, like...right now. Stop eating, check, car. Let's go."
• August 18, 2009
• 15:03

  Signs

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  ***Editor's note: Today's guest post is from Peaches. Thanks, Peaches! ***
  
  You’re not sure he’s going to come over tonight, but just in case, you wait to wash off your make-up until just before you go to bed, and then fall asleep with your phone on your bedside table.
  
  You find a shirt of his at your place. It’s dirty and sweaty, and you smell it. The smell is intoxicating.
  
  You avoid meeting other perfectly cute, perfectly single and perfectly available people.
  
  You send an anonymous post to Datingisweird.com, hoping he’ll read it, and leave her.
• August 17, 2009
• 9:23

  Chas

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  *** Editor's note: Today's guest post comes in from Louise. Thanks Louise! ***
  
  Met Chas one summer in Moab, when I worked as a seasonal ranger in Canyonlands National Park. Ran into him at the Laundromat in town, exchanged stories, contact info. His claim to fame was that he had served as the body double for Brad Pitt during the filming of Thelma and Louise many years before. Now he was in his late thirties and beginning to show wear and tear at the edges. I was much younger.
  
  
  He did in fact look remarkably like Brad Pitt in profile. Even from the front, except when he smiled - his face crinkled all the wrong ways. The weathered face and neck of someone who had stayed too long on the windy high plateau.
  
  
  Soon after, he turned up at the Park just as I was getting off work. What I remember most was his cringe-inducing comment as we hiked the river path. "The park is so “sensual,” he enthused, "can't you just feel it." Later in the evening, more memorable moments. First, he assured me that he had recently been tested, undergone a health exam. Just a week ago as luck would have it, and he was STD free. Then he whipped out the paper work to confirm it. Just happened to have it on him. All the markings of a clinic certificate generated on a home computer.
  
  
  Months later, curiosity kicked in. Rented Thelma and Louise CD to check out the Brad body-double bit parts to see if it was Chas. Only definitive shot was a headless camera sweep of Brad’s abdominal area in the motel scene with Thelma. Awesome abs, but prolly not Chas.
• August 14, 2009
• 13:57

  What would you do?

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  I recently woke to find a Canadian in my bed.
  
  I’d met him the night previous, his name was Gus, and he was in town for some Ironman or something or other, and he was delighted to come home with me. After some rolling around, I went to the bathroom to freshen up, I washed my face just as mama always told me to do, and I brushed my teeth. But there’s a problem with brushing your teeth when you have a stranger you met at a bar in your bed.When you get back to bed, and Gus wants to kiss? No, thanks. I mean, his mouth tasted like Jim Beam and porter, and I think a few cigarettes. Oh, yeah, and we’d split an order of onion rings. Yikes.
  
  Sorry, I digress.
  
  The point of this story is the following morning. I woke up and looked over at him and all I wanted was for him to go the f**k away. It was a Tuesday, for s**t’s sake. I had to work, I had an early morning appointment.
  
  I wasn’t sure how to get rid of him, and looking back, I don’t think I picked the most graceful method. I got up without the morning snuggle he seemed to be leaning in for, I let out my cat, and I plopped myself down at my desk and started IMing my girlfriend, who was already at work.
  
  (bing)
  Jesus, I have some Canadian guy here, how do I get rid of him?
  
  (bing)
  Canadian? Is he hot?
  
  (bing)
  He’s OK. Beside the point. I want him gone. What do I do?
  
  (bing)
  What’s his name?
  
  (bing)
  Um, Gus, I think?
  
  (bing)
  Did he go down on you?
  
  (bing)
  Focus, dammit! How do I get rid of him? And yes, he did.
  
  Of course, the sound of clacking and binging in the living room was all the cue he needed. He came out of my room dressed, asked directions back to his hotel, thanked me for the good time and got out of there.
  
  So I was wondering, DIW folks. What do you do to get a one-night-stand to leave in the morning?
• August 10, 2009
• 14:05

  Funny like I'm a clown, I amuse you?

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  I like funny guys. Silly funny, irreverent funny, sarcastic funny, dry funny—whatever. If you can get me to laugh, you might have a good shot.
  
  However. Jokes can be tricky.
  
  Funny: Starting up a game of truth or dare on the first date, especially if you take my dare to borrow a cowboy hat from a dude at the end of the bar and wear said hat wile you dance a jaunty jig for me.
  
  Less funny: You take a truth, and when I ask where you want to be in five years, you answer “I think we’ll be married, and at least have two kids. Three maybe?”
  
  Funny: You meet my dog, who’s usually an asshole, and she’s nice to you. When I tell you I’m surprised, you shrug and say, “Kids, dogs and gay guys all love me. I don’t know what it is.”
  
  Less funny: You tell me, while lingering at my doorway at the end of the evening, that I “feel like home.”
  
  Funny: You text me the next morning to ask how I’m feeling, and I admit I must have hit the gin a little too hard, because I have a wee headache. You respond, “Oh, sorry, I guess I got a little aggressive with the roofies.”
  
  Not funny: When we have coffee later, and I tell you that I really, really, don’t think we should date, at least not until your divorce is final, or, at least until you and your wife are no longer living together, you tell me multiple times that I’m “breaking your heart.” Um, we met yesterday.
  
  Waaay not funny: At the same coffee/letdown date, you start to tell a story, then pause and say, “No, that’s a really good story. I only tell that one in exchange for sexual favors.” I respond, “Well, I guess I won’t be hearing it then.” You respond, “Really? No? S**t. There goes my plan for getting you pregnant right away.”
• August 05, 2009
• 7:40

  PBR and AC/DC really is the way to a girl's heart

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Today's guest post comes in from T-bird. Thanks, T-bird.
  
  
  
  After a night of drinks and dancing that had gone nowhere I was standing outside of the club having a smoke. Up walks a pretty blond woman looking at her cell phone, talking to herself.
  "Standing by the car?!" she proclaimed "What do you mean standing by the car?!"
  I felt the need to join into this conversation and added my thoughts. "No cars here... maybe around back? There are plenty of cars over there."
  "No, She's in the bar. Stupid T-9 texting bulls**t."
  "I've watched it kill relationships before," I said truthfully.
  "Me, too. Want to grab a beer?" She asked and I was shocked. I had just come out of a failed seven plus year relationship and wasn't sure how to handle being single again. I honestly got a little scared and took the fastest, safest approach I could think of.
  "Sure, but I'm on my way to this kegger and need to hurry so if you want to give me a call later," I handed her a crisp new business card. "There is probably plenty to drink if you want to save yourself some money. Bring your friend too." As soon as I said it I gave myself a mental ass chewing. Three is a crowd you dumbass.
  About five minutes later she calls and her and her friend are on their way to meet me at this party. Now the party was real but had been going on for hours and it was late. I was fairly sure that it would be over or at least out of beer but I hadn't really thought about that at the time. We get there and sure enough its over, there is no beer and pretty much everywhere else is closed at that point.
  "I've got a sixer of PBR in my fridge if you ladies still want that beer," I offered thinking that there is no way that these two woman would go home with a stranger for a PBR and two oclock in the morning. I was wrong. Not only did they want to come over they were very excited about it. I couldnt remember if I even had a full sixer in the fridge or what state my house was even in.
  We get there and the friend immidiately starts riffleing through the cd collection and pulls out some AC/DC, put it on and turns it up... loud. Luckily I did have a sixer and pass out the beers taking survey of my house. I quickely pick up some dirty clothes in my room and throw them into my walkin closet. There are a lot of dirty clothes in my walkin, some smelly.
  "Take me on a tour," Cute Blond asks and procceeds to take herself on said tour.
  I catch up to her standing in my closet.
  "You have horrible fashion. I just want to go in here and throw all these clothes away," Blond says and she is serious. You can see it in her eyes.
  "Whoa, whoa, whoa," says I. "I do not, I rather like my clothes and new ones aren't cheap."
  She start pawing through what is hanging up, bad mouthing every one of my favorite shirts. I step into the closet to make sure that she doesn't just start tearing them to pieces. Just then she turns around.
  "You're cute," Blond whispers as she starts to pull off my belt buckle. I am at a loss. Maybe its because this is all so new to me or that I'm a little drunk but all I can seem to think about is that we are standing on and over every bit of dirty clothes from over a week.
  Before I really knew what had happened we had done the nasty over my hamper full of socks. As soon as it was over she quickly said goodbye, woke her friend who had fallen asleep on my couch and left. I turned off the AC/DC that was still blaring and started a load of laundry.
• July 30, 2009
• 14:00

  Handy chart

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  
  Thanks, interwebs, for this handy chart. Good thing to keep in the ole nightstand.
• July 28, 2009
• 22:26

  A day in Jami's Dating World.

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  We're not sure who Jami is, but this guest post suggest that while she may attract a-holes, she doesn't suffer them patiently. Enjoy.
  
  
  
  
  
  Holy F**king S**tballs.
  
  Let's do a little preface here.
  
  NEEDY GUY is, you guessed it, a little needy. He seems starved for attention. Spoiled even. He's a very attractive guy - so maybe he is used to women saying "yes" to him all the time.
  
  My life is not some empty hole with countless lonely days and nights. Sorry. I have wonderful friends who, for some reason, like to spend time with me on the weekends. I book up quickly - so uh, put your request in early.
  
  I have strict rules about going out during the week and I refuse to allow any guy into my home if they do not know my son. He does not need to see a new guy with mommy every 2 weeks.
  
  So, Needy Guy ....
  
  He wanted to take me out on a date. Great! Yes, I would love to go out. Problem is, he would wait and ask me on Friday night to go and do something ON Friday night. **Sigh** Sorry, I have plans already. Now, when I would tell him this his immediate response would be, "If you liked me, you would make time for me."
  
  I'm sorry, man, I don't know you and I will not cancel plans for you. You should've called me earlier in the week like any other person with any sense would have done.
  
  Then he asks to come to my home ... on a Wednesday afternoon. Sorry. No. I tell him my "rules." Oh, well, this in unacceptable to him. How can I be telling him "no"? Can he come over after my son is asleep? No.
  Can I break my rules this one time? No.
  
  I need you all to keep in mind that all of this "communication" is through TEXT MESSAGE. This guy had yet to call me.
  
  The last straw for me was about a month ago. He asked if I would like to go do something. I explain to him that this weekend is my weekend with my son, so no, I can't do anything. On the Saturday of that weekend he sends me a text, asking me what I was up to. I tell him that I'm at my friend’s house. He gets angry. He thought I couldn't do anything that weekend. I always make time for other people but not for him.
  
  Whoa. Whoa-day. Hun, I'm with my son. I'm not partying it up. I then go off on him telling him that he's too needy and seems to always want to argue and I'm not interested in drama queens. I also tell him to screw himself b/c he had yet to f**king call me.
  
  He disappears. Thank you baby Jesus.
  
  Then, about two weeks ago HE CALLS ME! What?! He does know how to use a phone. We have good conversation. He seems to understand the whole situation now. Great.
  
  He then asks if he could take me out. I was free Saturday, so I say "Yes." We decide that he'll pick me up around 7. Great.
  
  (Well, not really. I wasn't looking forward to it b/c he had started to show his "needy" qualities again....)
  
  He sends me a text around 4:30p on Saturday to tell me that he has to cancel because he has a funeral to go to the next day out of town.
  Yay!! I don't have to go through with this! I had an easy way out. I decide that I will make a trip to my grandmother's bar. Free tab.
  
  On my way to said bar and Needy Guy calls. "What are you doing tonight?"
  Me: Well, I'm on my way to [city where bar is located]
  NG: Oh, you going to that bar?
  Me: Yup.
  NG: Well, would you mind if I went meet you. I don't think I'm going to stay in [out of town location] tonight.
  Me: Uh, yeah, I guess. I don't mind.
  NG: Ok, cool, I'll be there in about an hour.
  Me: K.
  
  Two hours later he hasn't shown up. Now, keep in mind that I'm not really worried about it. I'm having a great time. I know 80% of the people at the bar and I'm enjoying myself. But, out of curiosity, I text him asking him if he decided not to come.
  
  He calls.
  
  NG: Hey, you still at the bar?
  Me: Yup, you not coming?
  NG: Yeah, I'll be there in a bit.
  
  :: we hang up ::
  
  One minute later he calls again
  
  NG: Hey, are you drunk? Buzzed? Or just feelin’ good?
  Me: Huh? I don't know ... I'm feeling good. I haven't drank enough to be drunk.
  NG: Oh ok. Well, you wanted to stay there or would you like to go back to my house and watch a movie?
  Me: Don't you live in [town very far away]?
  NG: Yeah
  Me: Uh, I don't feel comfortable going to your house...or [far away town] It's way out of my way. Why don't you want to come here?
  NG: That's f**ked up. You would rather hang out at a bar instead of hang out with me?
  Me: Well, it's not really that - I just don't want to go to all the way to your house. We can hang out here.
  
  ::Silence::
  
  I hang up.
  
  He calls back
  
  NG: I KNOW YOU JUST DID NOT HANG UP ON ME!!
  Me: Um, no. I thought I lost connection.
  NG: So, you're gonna stay there instead of hanging out with me?
  Me: Yeah. You cancelled. I made other plans.
  NG: That’s f**ked up.
  Me: [Needy Guy] look, I'm having a good time and you calling me acting like this is ruining it. I don't need some kind of guilt trip.
  NG: Why am I ruining it? Because you're a BITCH?! HUH? YOU F**KING BITCH!!!
  
  That's my cue to hang up. Psycho.
  
  He immediately sends this text:
  
  "U know what fuk u, u wanted to hangout in [TOWN] but now u dont, u are a fukin bitch"
  
  Wow, man did I mess this one up, huh? Some lucky girl out there will eventually land this winner.
  I'm so glad that I didn't go anywhere with this guy.... I would probably be shoved in some deep freezer by now...
• July 25, 2009
• 20:40

  On staying friends with exes

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  If you stay in touch with your ex, if you try to be friends, you still have to be careful. From time to time, in an otherwise friendly chat, you might find yourself having this conversation:
  
  “So, how was your weekend?” he asked.
  “Really fun, I hung out with [list of mutual friends].”
  “Oh, really? It was fun?”
  “Yeah, [male mutual friend] cracked me up all day long.”
  “Huh, you and [said male mutual friend] get along now?”
  “Um, yeah. When didn’t we?”
  “Oh, well he talked some serious s**t when we broke up.”
  “He did, eh. Really? Like what?”
  “Oh, just what a f**king bitch you were all the time. I was all, ‘Whatever. I don’t care what you think.’”
  “Huh. Awesome. Thanks for sharing.”
• July 21, 2009
• 20:04

  Homeo and Juliet

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Juliet sent us this snippet of an IM chat between herself and her husband. Names have been changed to protect their identities. Being married really is a little weird.
  
  
  
  9:36 AM: Homeo: Hello
  

  9:45 AM Juliet: Hola!

  
  9:49 AM Homeo: How is your morning?
  

  9:56 AM Juliet: Great! How's yours?

  
  10:02 AM Homeo: Good. - I have my pedicure today at 3:30. Can you get the boys, or I can get them after
  

  10:02 AM Juliet: Whatever. I'll pick them up.

  
  

  10:03 AM Juliet: Just so you know, you have to live with the results of using my waxing budget to pay for your pedicure.

  
  10:04 AM Homeo: Actually, it’s my pedi budget. I use my own money for the pedi, I don't touch your beauty budget including waxing, cuts and color. Also, if you consider how much money I saved over the last 8 months not having to get a haircut, I am totally in the black
  

  10:04 AM Juliet: whatever. Pedi whore.

  
  10:05 AM Homeo: Just cause I care about my feet. Not my problem you choose to have grungy feet.
  

  10:05 AM Juliet: FU! My feet are not grungy.

  
  10:06 AM Homeo: How about scaley?
  10:06 AM Homeo: Lizard like?
  

  10:07 AM Juliet: My feet are fine. I take very good care of them.

  
  10:07 AM Homeo: I know you do. You’re the one who called me a pedi whore. You started it!
  

  10:07 AM Juliet: Well, just know that if not for your pedi, I'd have a nice bush.

  
  10:08 AM Homeo: The two are mutually exclusive. Go take care of your bush, I don't care. I'm not asking you to pay for my pedi. This leaves you bush money
  

  10:09 AM Juliet: I guess I should say bush bucks.

  
  10:10 AM Homeo: I dare you to tell [REDACTED CO-WORKER] about this conversation
  

  10:11 AM Juliet: No way - plus he's not even here.

  
  

  10:11 AM Juliet: I'll tell [REDACTED CO-WORKER #2] though

  
  10:12 AM Homeo: I figured that. She'll think it’s funny - and probably take your side
  

  10:15 AM Juliet: Damn straight she'll take my side! There's only so much salon money to go around, my spendthrift friend, and you are wasting it on your toes when it could be used to maintain more important regions.
  

  
  10:16 AM Homeo: My feet are very important - I'm on them almost all day. Also, its not my fault you won't shave or try some home remedy that might cost less.
  

  10:16 AM Juliet: (stony silence)
  

  
  10:17 AM Homeo: I have to go [REDACTED VERB INDICATING PROFESSION]. I'll talk to you soon. Love ya.
• July 17, 2009
• 22:25

  Captain Squish

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  There are a few things I’ve done in my dating career that I really regret. But at least I try to learn from my mistakes.
  
  One night I was out at my local watering hole drinking solo. I do that sometimes, especially when I’m single. It’s the best way to meet men.
  
  So this sweet young thing starts talking to me, and he’s just adorable. He’s in a local band I’ve heard of, but never seen. I even know some of the people in the band, so we have tons to talk about. He’s very sweet, and five years younger than me.
  
  The night turns toward the morning, and we’re still chatting. His friends, including his ride, come and ask him if he’s ready to go, I can tell he’s hesitating, so I offer to give him a ride home if he wants to finish his beer. He eagerly accepts my offer.
  
  But here’s the thing: I’m having fun, but I’m really not DTF that night. Some nights you’re in it to win it, and some nights, not so much. This was not my night.
  
  So by the time the bar closes, when we get into my car, I tell him, “Look, I’m enjoying your company, and if you want to come to my place for a beer, that’s cool, but I’m not going to sleep with you.”
  
  He says he wants to come over, and he’s OK with the deal.
  
  So we go to my place, drink some beers, and make out a bit. It’s getting late, very late, and I’m getting drunk. Somehow, and I honestly don’t remember the details, we decide to go to bed. Again, I tell him he’s welcome to stay, but I’m not going to sleep with him. Oh, yes, fine, fine.
  
  I fall asleep.
  
  Some time later, I wake up, and I realize my hand is on his dick. He’s got my wrist, and he’s pushing my hand into his dick. His flaccid dick.
  
  “What the f**k?” I say, sitting up, “was that your dick?”
  
  “Well,” he said, “I mean, I was kind of expecting more.”
  
  I got up and turned on the light.
  
  “No. F**k no. You need to leave. Now.”
  
  He pouted while he got his s**t together.
  
  “Can you give me a ride?”
  
  “You’ve got to be f**king kidding me. You can walk.” I lived miles from his house, and I didn’t care.
  
  But you know what? I realized right away what an idiot I had been. I mean, seriously? Don’t let a 22-year-old boy sleep in your bed if you don’t plan on f**king him.
  
  But also, boys, don’t press a sleeping girl’s hand into your fleshy, soft penis. That’s just gross.
• July 15, 2009
• 22:24

  Dear Serial: Do not answer this question

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Dear Serial,
  
  So, I’ve been trying on line dating out. I’ve met a couple of people, even in person, but nothing major has come of it. I tend to be pretty picky about who I meet. See, if I know it’s not going to work out before it even starts, I think, why bother? But there’s this one guy I can’t decide on.
  
  We’ve exchanged several emails, and even pics. But there are things that trouble me. He doesn’t have a job or a car, for one. He says he’s working on it. He isn’t really into the same things I am, he doesn’t like hiking, camping, biking, skiing. Those are my major passions. He is into music, and I like that, though. But his spelling and grammar are pretty terrible, and, worst of all, he has a three-year-old daughter half-time. I don’t have kids, and I don’t like them.
  
  The thing is, I’d probably just say no thanks, even though he’s good-looking, if it weren’t for one thing. He’s black. I’m white. I’ve never gotten with a black guy before, and I really want to.
  
  Does that make me a bad person?
  
  Signed,
  
  Just looking for a little jungle fever

  
  
  
  Dear Fever,
  
  I think so … but, you know, uhh … that doesn’t mean I think you shouldn’t go for it, not necessarily ... though, I’m not sure …
  
  Hooboy. This is a tough one; let me argue this out with myself.
  
  OK, so. You’re clearly objectifying this guy. And you’re doing it in a way that makes me feel icky, a way that brings to mind the long American history of sexual objectification of black men – women, too, for that matter. And that really makes the Liberal White Guilt alarm bells in my head start going off, loudly. With sirens and whooping bells and all that.
  
  But, I gotta say, isn’t objectification what we all do when we date? I mean, you weigh competing factors, and some of them are bound to be shallow. Is it OK to be an ass man? I think so. Is it OK to be into big titties? It has to be. Is it OK for me to have never dated someone shorter than me? Sorry, little dudes, you’re just not for me.
  
  So what if race is just one of your factors? You make it sound like this guy’s race is just one factor on your list.
  
  And yet. Is this something you’d be willing to admit to him? I think maybe the answer to that question gives up a bit about whether or not it’s OK. I mean, if a guy I’m dating tells me he thinks I’m attractive, that he just loves my, oh, I dunno, my long legs (hey, this is the internet, I can be who I want to. ), is that going to bother me? Nope. If he loves red hair and green eyes, and that’s what I’m packing, I think: Sweet! If he loves my porcelain skin, is that too much of a stretch? No. (Though if he loves my pure Aryan blood, we’re getting back to danger category) But no one deserves to be condescended to.
  
  And, doi, race is so much more than physical characteristics. It’s about culture, too. Sometimes culture’s a factor, and rightly so. I mean, I’ve been drawn to dudes because they were from Texas, or loved the fact that their mothers were English professors. Maybe you’re looking to widen your horizons. But that’s not the impression I get from the way you put the question.
  
  In fact, looking at your question more closely, I see that you didn’t ask me if you should go out with him. You asked if it made you a bad person that you wanted to. And in that distinction, I see the opportunity for a cop-out. The question you posed is this: Are you a bad person for wanting to get with a black guy?
  
  At this point, I think I’ve talked myself into a corner: No, not necessarily.
  
  But the question you didn’t ask was whether or not you would be a bad person if you only got with this guy because he’s black.
  
  Thank you for not asking me that.
  
  In conclusion, let me just say this:
  
  
  
  
  
  How Heath Lost His One Black Friend - watch more funny videos
  
  Love,
  Serial
  
  
  
  
  Got a question for Serial Monogamist? Email it to seriallymonogamous[at]gmail[dot]com
• July 13, 2009
• 0:27

  A Note on International Dating & Sex

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  I'm currently traveling for the summer. I'm in the south of France at the moment but spent a longish weekend in England before arriving. I'm in no way an expert on anything, much less dating, but here are some observations so far:
  
  1. Sluts dress the same whether you're in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin or Marseille, France. You can spot 'em a block away. Way too much skin showing, bold colors that foreshadow the fruity drinks she's probably going to vomit later, and a slight wobble when she walks because the high heels are far too big. There must be a Sluts 'R Us store that no one informed me of.
  
  2. If you don't look like the woman above and a guy wants to hit on you, he has to be cool about it. Or so he thinks. Here's some lines so far:
  
  a. You should come and live in Marseille. You can work for me, help me with the other guests. It's good. I'm not hitting on you. You're like a sister to me. You live here and we'll have a good time. You and me. You're very beautiful. Like a sister.
  
  He said this while stroking my upper arm. I about barfed on him, but luckily another guest came in and I jumped up to offer my seat.
  
  b. I love Americans. I am not like the other French people. They hate you. Not me. I love you. You should come home with me. I will show you why the French are the best lovers.
  
  Two points for boldness. Negative eight million for creepiness, bad teeth, obvious signs of STDs, too much cologne, etc. al.
  
  3. French teens are sexually advanced. And open about it. I was sitting at the beach, waiting for some other travelers whom I had come with, when a pqck of 11 - 13 year olds approached. We chatted for a bit and one of the other travelers arrived. We continued talking to them, but the conversation turned immediately to sex. They asked us if we were dating, if we had kissed, if we'd done it, etc. al. They then began to insist that he and I kiss in front of them. It got to the point where several were shouting at us to kiss.
  
  One boy finally said, Why don't you take her home and just f**k her already? Thankfully I didn't know until my friend told me later. I wouldn't have second guessed slapping that kid upside the head.
  
  
  I leave for Senegal and Mali at the end of the month. I'll post some observations from there. Hopefully they don't involve me drinking too much in a Muslim country and getting thrown in jail.
• July 09, 2009
• 16:54

  My Worst Date Ever™

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Click here for a bit about another lovely internet date. What, you don't like racist, sexist, drunken cheapskate dates?
  
  "I caught sight of my date, across the room, opening his leather jacket, taking out a bottle of Malibu rum and chugging from it. Stunned, I watched him return to his seat empty-handed. "They're out of beer," he announced."
• July 05, 2009
• 13:28

  Modern Girl's Guide to Being Dumped

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  If it’s been awhile since you've been dumped, ladies, here's a warning: A few things have changed, but others have stayed exactly, excruciatingly, the same. Here’s a short to-do list to get you started:
  
  • Wipe away literal tears.
  
  • Pull up metaphorical britches.
  
  • Apologize for that text you shouldn’t have sent.
  
  • Dust off your dating blogger pen.
  
  • Change facebook relationship status from “In a relationship” to “single.” You can leave it blank for awhile, but why? Embrace it. You’re single.
  
  • Update your Netflix queue. You don’t need to get his action movies, or the first season of Flight of the Conchords, which you’ve already seen but just rented so you could show him how awesome it is. Pick out every girly-ass movie you wanted to watch but had to bargain for. Been longing to finish watching Sex in the City? Fancy some cheesy musicals? Go for it.
  
  • Get his s**t out of your house. All of it. And don’t use the exchange of stuff as an excuse to “see how he’s doing.” He’s probably fine; or at least better than you are.
  
  • Re-program your speed dial. It’s hard enough to avoid drunk-dialing. You don’t want to do it by an honest mistake.
  
  • Send in a couple of the meanest things you want to say to dearoldlove.com. Don’t cc him on the email.
  
  • Buy more wine.
  
  • Find yourself a hot tub.
  
  • Work out like mad.
  
  • Rebound. Rebound early, rebound hard, rebound often. (With someone in his band, if you can pull it off, if not, someone who plays a different instrument will do).
  
  What am I missing, dear readers? Or for the fells, what’s the same/different when it comes to your “dumpee” list?
• June 29, 2009
• 6:31

  WTF guy

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Today's guest post comes in from V, who first posted it on her blog, *uncorked. Thanks V!
  
  
  June 12, 2009
  
  a very awkward gmail chat to start my day. this is with a guy i went out with this past october. once. and now i kind of know why.
  
  9:03 AM
  him: hi, how it going?
  me: need more coffee…just got off a three hour conference call! ughhhh
  how are you?
  9:04 AM
  him: Ouch! just waking up on the first day of summer vacation
  me: oh so jealous
  9:05 AM
  him: i am not, i did a tad too much celebrating last night
  me: well, at least you get to relax today!
  him: hopefully but its loos nice out
  9:06 AM
  me: finally!
  him: yes
  9:07 AM
  did you really mean you think smoking is sexy?
  me: sometimes
  him: really? why
  9:08 AM
  me: cigars can be sexy – like just chilling out having a drink outside with a cigar. i love the smell
  him: wow, i thought i was the only one out there that thought this way
  9:09 AM
  me: nah
  him: wow crazy
  me: brb
  9:10 AM
  him: ok
  9:12 AM
  me: i agreed to babysit my nephew tomorrow night and my sister is giving me instructions now.
  9:13 AM
  him: instructions for what?
  9:14 AM
  me: he’s only 3 months old, i dont know how to take care of a baby
  him: oh gotcha
  9:15 AM
  so how was the confrence call?
  me: long and kind of obnoxious, but productive
  9:16 AM
  him: thats good
  9:17 AM
  so do you know others that have “fetishes” for smoking or am i the only one?
  9:18 AM
  me: i wouldn’t call it a fetish, but i know some people that feel the same way. not sure there’s a support group or anything, but there’s some.
  9:20 AM
  him: me either, just new to it. just thought i would ask you because i am sort of affraid to look it up on the internet
  9:22 AM
  me: internet smoking porn? is this what you have in store for summer?
  9:23 AM
  him: haha no. i didn’t even know there was such a thing
  me: i’m surethere is
  9:24 AM
  him: i wouldn’t doubt it
  9:25 AM
  are you into that sort of thing
  me: what sort of thing
  him: smoking porn
  9:26 AM
  me: not so much
  him: wait so you are a little bit
  9:27 AM
  me: no, i just think that some guys look hot relaxing and smoking a cigar.
  him: so you get turned on and one thing could lead to another
  9:28 AM
  me: I guess, but I wouldn’t say I would be looking up internet smoking porn or anything like that.
  9:29 AM
  him: i know i wouldn’t
  i am not a prev or sick like that
  me: ha, good ot know
  9:30 AM
  him: isn’t it
  me: well, i suppose its time i get some work done
  9:31 AM
  interesting conversation to start my day
  him: hope you don’t think i am weird.
  ok bye
  me: no, dont think you’re weird. have a good day – enjoy the weather!
  him: you too
  and yes, i think you’re f**king weird, but am afraid of becoming a lampshade so I’ll tell you otherwise.
  
  seriously, this all started purely because i mentioned that a guy, chilling out, relaxing on a summer night drinking a glass of wine, or having a beer and smoking a good cigar was hot. i love the smell of cigars (good ones). and this is what i get in return.
  
  An update came later:
  
  
  
  June 22, 2009
  
  
  him: hi, how are you?
  
  me: i’m ok, a bit tired from a good weekend, but just trying to stay in with the a/c cranked.
  him: yeah, it’s pretty gross out today.
  me: agreed.
  him: does it make you want to smoke?
  me: i have to go.
• June 24, 2009
• 12:37

  Online Dating Instant Translator

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  So, I'm looking through old documents, trying to finish some old article ideas I started, when I came across this old CL post--composed as a retort to some similar piece of crap designed to translate women's false descriptions of themselves on dating sites. Yeah, yeah, some men tell the truth on the sites. Maybe some do. But if they do, you can chalk it up to a twist of fate. And, yeah, women exaggerate a little on these things. But what's good for the goose . . ..
  
  
  Guide for Decoding Men's Personal Ads:
  
  42......................................................62.
  Adventurous...................................Unemployed.
  Athletic............................................Jock itch.
  Average looking..............................Weeping sores, chubby, toothless, etc.
  Thinning hair...................................Bald as a cue ball.
  Self-employed……...........................Unemployed.
  Handsome, I guess..........................I guess NOT.
  Centered, Buddhist.........................Right f**kin' nuts.
  Knows how to please a woman......Can't sustain an erection.
  Likes to please her first..................Can't sustain an erection.
  Spiritual............................................Can't get an erection.
  Likes petite women.........................Teeny-weeny wienie
  Wants to find true love....................Wants to get into your pants.
  Friendship first.................................Wants to get into your pants.
  Misses being married......................Still in love with his ex/wants to get into your pants.
  Nature lover.....................................Homeless/lives under an overpass.
  Stocky...............................................Beer belly/manboobs.
  Unconventional...............................Think giant silk undies and size 13 heels.
  Looks younger than he is...............Delusional and legally blind.
  Free thinker.....................................g-g-g-gay.
  Open-minded..................................Desperate.
  Outgoing...........................................Loud and Embarrassing.
  Good sense of humor......................Laughs at all his own jokes.
  Good businessman..........................Cheap as dirt.
  Professional......................................Unemployed lawyer (trust me).
  Big guy..............................................Tall and enormously fat.
  Large frame......................................Think Chris Farley's grandpa.
  Wants Soul mate..............................Stalker.
  Seen the world..................................You could be woman #763!!!
  Loves to travel..................................He's moving on in a hurry.
  Intellectual.........................................IQ just above room temperature.
  Separated...........................................Married.
  Divorced.............................................Separated.
  Single...................................................Involved
  5' 10"...................................................5' 7"
  6' 4".....................................................7' 2"
  5' 7".....................................................Leprechaun/Tattoo/Gary Coleman
• June 23, 2009
• 22:37

  Numbers

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  *** many thanks to c.vance for sending us this post ****
  
  
  this is a story of love in numbers.
  
  541 815.3504--- that's my number. used for a great many things.
  
  some women have it programmed into their phone because they know i'm the only one always awake at 03.00; ready with colorful slurs or flattering lies.
  
  some women have it programmed into their phone because they know i'm always awake between 02.00 and 04.00-- when the bars are closed and the only friends i have are cuddled next to people they love --and the flashing ring of my name lets them know no one has died, no one is in trouble... it's a displayed WARNING! HAZARDOUS IF OPENED on the screen of their flip phone. reminders of mistakes made and a lesson learned: never give your number to a drunk.
  
  some acquaintances have used it to ask for $500 bail and a ride out of the cop shop.
  
  some acquaintances have used it to ask for help moving because they fear the man they're moving away from--- standing by the door at 6'3" 200 lbs. to watch over her moving everything, staring down the X and not helping because of a hangover, a bad back and temper waiting for ignition.
  
  most often it is used by creditors asking for $1.000's i don't have.
  
  but, 3 weeks ago, it was used in a new way. it adorned the bottom of a flyer tacked to the middle of a bulletin board at PleasureWorld; a porn shop on 3rd street.
  
  the 1st call was a weekend night-- 02.14 --from a man who had a restricted number and a gruff voice; one of those voices that calls Craigslist adverts looking to buy $5 refrigerators to compliment the other 4 in his yard. either a redneck or a classically trained actor schooled enough to fool these ears bred from South Carolina stock and born in Prineville. called to say:
  
  -Yeah, I'm calling about the add you posted 2 days ago.
  
  -I didn't post an add 2 days ago. You have the wrong number.
  
  not given any thought until the 2nd call, 3 days later, at 16.14. a young man lisped sexual propositions into my phone. graphic; but with a trembling voice that sometimes squeaked. responded:
  
  -I'm flattered, sweetheart, but I think you dialed the wrong number.
  
  -Oh. Oh my Guh-a-od. Stho you din't postht that 1 add?
  
  -What 1 add?
  
  -Oh... I'm stho embarathed. Y'know, that 1 add? At PleaschthureWorld?
  
  -Nope. I don't know. What did that 1 add say?
  
  -Oh. Jezthus. I'm sthO sthorry. It... uhm. It sthaid, "20-sthomething man stheeking company. I'm diztheasthe free but you don't have to be." I'm sthorry, I thought---
  
  -That's funny. And explains the call I got 2 nights ago.
  
  -Oh. Did you... do you know hith number?
  
  that's where i hung up. dialed 411 where a Southern operator told me i had the wrong city and state for DisneyWorld and there were no listed amusement parks in the area. only after spelling it out and yelling:
  
  -It's a porn shop on 3rd street.
  
  did she transfer me to a computer telling me it would dial 5.4.1. 3.1.7.9.7.2.3. for an additional $382.13 or 4 Euros. a woman stopped the ringing by answering with the business name in a voice that made me hope she had good penmanship. said:
  
  -My phone number is 541 815.3504 and I believe someone posted an add down there as a prank. Maybe on a bulletin board?
  
  -Let me see. 3504. 3504. 35--- oh. Yes. Here it is. So, even though this is your number, you didn't post it?
  
  -Yep. Even though it is my number. Can you read it to me?
  
  -Sure. It says, "NEED DICK NOW!" That part is all capitalized. Then it says, "Neat, clean-cut mid-20's male seeks 8" black cock. White cock OK if larger. I'm disease free but you don't need to be. Call: (541) 815-3504." Then it says, "P.S. I'm a bottom." So, you didn't post it? Even though it is your number?
  
  -I did not post it. Even though it is my number.
  
  -Oh. Okay then. I'll take it down. Oh! You know what? I bet 1 of your friends did it! Y'know? To be funny?
  
  -I only have 2 friends and they're... hm. Of a different humor, let's say.
  
  -Oh. Then who would have had your number, then?
  
  this was a story of love in numbers. 541 815.3504 is mine. if you were kind enough to post an advert trying to find me sweet man loving, let me have your number to properly thank you
• June 21, 2009
• 19:46

  One night stand gone wrong

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Most women have the occasional low self-esteem low points. Some women live in that space chronically; we call that having “daddy issues.” One of my worst low points wasn’t daddy related, it was wicked painful breakup related.
  
  I went out solo one night, just because I couldn’t stand to be at home alone another night. My cats were starting to look at me like, “Girl, get the f**k out of here, you’re depressing us, and we’re cats. We always mope.”
  
  So I was sitting alone at the bar, and in walks Chester. He looked vaguely familiar, and when he started talking to me, he told me why. Apparently he and I worked together, or at least for the same company. But we were in different departments, on different floors. We’d never met before, so we chatted for awhile, mostly about work.
  
  No point getting into the nitty gritties here, you guys know where this is going. I got drunk. We made out in the park, we went back to his place. We f**ked.
  
  The thing is, he had a nice body. Tall, lean, strong, and, well, nice machinery. So in the morning, when he felt randy again and my head was still swimming in Coors Light and Jaeger bombs, I let him go for it again, and he got me off, again.
  
  Then I looked around as morning filled the room, and memories started coming back to me. There, on the wall, was the picture of his daughter. She looked like maybe she had a touch of the down’s Syndrome. There, on the nightstand, was a photo of his girlfriend. She had Sally Jesse Rafael glasses. There, on another wall, was a poster: A wolf on a cliff, howling at a purple moon. And the thing is? I knew it wasn’t ironic.
  
  I remembered how, the night before, he kept calling me sweetheart and asking if I was OK, if I was comfortable. In my wastedness, I giggled at him and asked why, “Well when an angel falls into your lap, you have to do what you can to hold on.”
  
  As all this flooded back, all I could think was Oh, s**t. S**t. S**t. S**t.
  
  So then he rolls over and tries to go down on me, again, which, I admit, I have a hard time turning down, but as sobriety reared its ugly head, I just needed out. I pushed him off, told him I needed a ride home.
  
  “What’s wrong sweetheart? What happened?” he asked. I cringed when I looked over and saw his awful bowl cut. I remembered that he’d been wearing a Doors T-shirt last night. Tucked in.
  
  Jesus Christ.
  
  “I’m sorry, I just need to go,” I said, tearing around his room looking for clothes.
  
  We got in his El Camino (I am NOT making this s**t up). He drove me home. In the driveway, he paused, and seemed about ready to ask a question.
  
  “So,” I said, “I don’t think we need to, like, talk about this. And I really don’t need you to tell anyone at work.”
  
  “What, really? Just one night? That’s it?”
  
  I felt like I was the man. And what I wanted to say was: “One night stand, pal, what do you think that means?”
  
  What I said was: “Chester, you have a girlfriend.”
  
  He nodded, but then tried to tell me again that they were on the outs.
  
  “Nope, I’m sorry. I’ll see you around. Bye.”
  
  I still see him at work from time to time. In the parking lot, or in the hallway. I try to avert my eyes, or just say, “hello,” in the exact same tone I use with all the people I don’t know, but he always smiles brightly. Wistfully, even.
  
  I wonder if he’s told anyone sometimes. But then I think that even if he did, they probably wouldn’t believe him.
• June 18, 2009
• 10:04

  Vicarious sex

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Not getting any, but have an active fantasy life? Or do you like the idea of porn, but think all that ACTUAL humping is a little freaky? Check out this hipster fad, AIR SEX competitions. It's exactly what it sounds like.
  
  This video is not work safe:
  
  
  
  I know a lot of our readers are Oregonians, so how lucky are we that Portland is hosting its very own Air Sex competition this Saturday night at Berbatis. Please go, take video, and send it our way. Because that shizz is hilarious.
• June 14, 2009
• 21:50

  Regarding Fatties

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Dear Serial Monogamist,
  
  So, I've entered the wonderful world of internet dating (and yes, I know, I should submit something of my own to DIW and I will do so after having a few liaisons under my belt). Anyway, so far so blech. Not a lot out there on the interwebs, at least not on the sites I've visited.
  
  Anyway, I've gotten a few conversations going and then asked for a pic. Upon receipt of said pic, I've immediately been, like, "nope." I want to be really clear, and I'm not into lying, so in my next email I say "I just don't see it. Good luck to you." Since you're a member of the fairer sex, what do you think about how I'm responding? Yes, its entirely based on their uglyness, or extreme fat-itude, but oh well. I'm not just looking to date a nice person, I also want someone at least somewhat hot and I'm not going to pursue anything with people that aren't at least a 7 out of 10 on my personal scale.
  
  Thanks,
  
  Mr. Rodgers
  
  
  
  

  Dear Mr. Rodgers,
  
  OK, let’s start out with some linguistics.
  
  I think you would be well-advised to be careful about using terms like “the fairer sex.” You know, like, um, EVER.
  
  See, Fred, I know you’re not trying to get into my panties, at least not at the moment, but nonetheless, “The fairer sex?” I mean, when you use language like that, you’re likely to come off sounding like either:
  
  A) That jerkoff with a goatee who tries to sound all ironic all of the time but who really just ends up giving away in a sarcastic, “who really believes this garbage?” tone what it is that he really thinks of women, namely, that we’re hyper-sensitive, weak-willed, and prone to hysteria (which, if you’re dipping your hairy little toes in internet dating, you’re only MORE apt to believe)
  
  B) Some sort of renaissance fair guy who is, at this very moment, wearing crushed velvet pantaloons and drinking something you call “grog” that is really only apple cider mixed with Monarch rum, a guy who thinks it’s sexy to talk down to women so that it'll be this big f**king surprise later when you admit you just want to get tied up in a dungeon somewhere, but: Hey! It's no shocker! Your cat is named Azrael! We saw this one coming, dude.
  
  or C) Some guy who just trying his honest-to-joe-sixpack-best to make a throwaway joke.
  
  Even if the answer’s C, why’s it worth the risk of being seen as A or B? It’s not. I guess the moral of this particular rant is this, Freddie: Don’t talk down to me as an opener. Which, I guess, brings us on to the current topic.
  
  Don’t string the fatties and the uggies along. There are dudes out there who can, and will, love some bigole chubba rolls and even a brilliant goddess with a cleft palate.
  
  But: It ain’t you, babe. If you really feel bad about telling them off just after you get the photo, then try to get one more email with content out of them, and then suggest it’s something in that email that turned you off their fatty-ugg-ass-scent.
  
  She’ll know anyway. But why put you both through the awkwardness of the in-person meetup before turning them down for being such hags? It’s painful, it’s pointless. Let their humiliation be electronic.
  
  You also never said whether or not you were attractive. Maybe all you have to do is send a pic of yourself back to the ug-trons. Maybe then you’ll be the one getting the “yeah, I don’t see it, good luck,” e-mails.
  
  Stranger things have happened in this neighborhood.
  
  Love,
  Serial

  
  
  
  
  Got a question for Serial Monogamist? Just want to tell her to shut the crap up? E-mail her at seriallymonogamous[at]gmail[dot]com.
  
  Or not. Who needs you?
• June 09, 2009
• 13:29

  The new cyber-bullying

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  I'm having mixed feelings about Craigslist lately. I mean, is anyone on Craigslist NOT a murderer anymore? Do not click these links if you're emotionally sensitive (or pregnant), but: Exhibit A. Exhibit B.
  
  But then something comes along that reminds me that Craigslist has a higher calling. Like writing up fake craigslist ads making fun of people you don't like.
  
  Like this. A quote:
  
  

  
  
  "I'm looking for someone to be seen with. Basically.... I look amazing. You look amazing.
  We look amazing together. In public. We don't have to actually do anything behind closed doors and I would prefer if we didn't.
  If cleanliness is next to godliness, celibacy is next to celebrity.
  
  1. If you use incorrect grammar, just keep your mouth closed. I don't want people to think you're just beauty. (We have to appear to be the total package)
  
  2. You must have had an addiction to one drug at one point in time. Bonus points for H.
  
  3. You must have f**ked at least two dozen guys that are 'in a band'. Singers count as two people and if we've already f**ked, I counted for twelve."
  
  

  
  
  It goes on from there. It's signed "xoxo Cadaver."
  
  So who do we think wrote this? Cadaver's ex-girlfriend? An anti-scenester? Or just some hater?
• June 05, 2009
• 8:50

  The Right Way to Apologize

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  
• June 04, 2009
• 8:38

  Taking Out The Trash

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes in from a gal who knows how to get 'er done. Er something.**
  
  Back in my 'hey day' I was a fun-loving girl looking for a good time. Now, I'm a fun-loving girl looking to get drunk and dance her ass off surrounded by people she knows once every two weeks.
  
  Yeah.
  
  Anyways, back when I was living in Akron, I had a studio apartment on the third floor of a building a couple blocks down from one of my hangouts. Being the 'artistic' type, I hated the fact that I had to lug my garbage down four flights of stairs on a VERY NARROW stairwell, and then walk half a block up to where the dumpsters for our building were. It was winter at this time.
  
  So of course there were about four big black hefty bags full of trash sitting in my extremely tiny kitchen. I couldn't even open the fridge. I didn't let that fact bother me, cause it was Saturday night and it was drinkin' and dancin' time.
  
  At the bar (this one was across town), I proceeded to get very drunk with some acquaintances. I notice, however, this very adorable Skater Boy giving me the eye while he plays pool in the back with his friend. He has sandy blond hair, nice lips, and looks really good in the jeans he was wearing.
  
  We eventually strike up a conversation although for the life of me I cannot remember who said what first. The night goes on, and I say I'm going to head home.
  
  Skater Boy- "Um, did you need some company?"
  
  Me- "Sure, but you have to do one thing for me. If you do that, you can stay the night."
  
  Skater Boy-"Anything!" (sigh, I wish I could hook them in like that nowadays!)
  
  Me- "You have to take all my garbage out."
  
  Skater Boy- "What?!?! You're joking."
  
  Me- "Nope. Deal or no deal."
  
  Cut to Skater Boy looking horribly disappointed when he not only saw how much garbage I had, but where he has to dump it.
  
  But he took that trash out in record time. And he got to stay the night.
• June 02, 2009
• 10:07

  Pillow Talk

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  It can be touchy to discuss the romantic entanglements of mutual friends. I tried to shut it down with a, "Well, I'm sure it's much more complicated than that." To which the new one replied, "It always is with girls."
  
  "Oh really? We're always the ones complicating things?" I asked. I think there was enough warning in my voice to signal that he was wading into danger territory.
  "Well, you're not so bad."
  "I'm not?"
  "No, you're pretty simple for a girl. That's why I'm so lucky."
  "I'm simple?"
  "Yeah, you're always all, 'What the f**k are you talking about?'"
  
  The thing is, I wasn't sure if being glad to hear such a thing made me a bad feminist or something.
  
  But more honestly, I'm just relieved that I still have him fooled.
• June 01, 2009
• 11:30

  Best Breakup Ever

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  
• May 28, 2009
• 10:18

  Economic recovery is on its way!

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  
  Nation's Girlfriends Unveil New Economic Plan: 'Let's Move In Together'
• May 27, 2009
• 10:14

  Unwanted Gifts from My Ex

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  I've received a recent spate of letters from an ex. They don't actually include anything written. The only way I can identify they are from him is by the ever changing return addresses, all of which include some pot reference or something similarly lame in the street name.
  
  The first one was a crushed penny with a stamp of the lady and the tramp. You know those machines where you put in a penny plus a few quarters and you get back a now worthless piece of currency? I wish I had thought of that business model. F**king brilliant.
  
  But lady and the tramp? What? Did I miss some romantic memory where we watched the Disney movie over a plate of spaghetti? I don't get it.
  
  The second was his driver's license, which actually has meaning in that he knows I collect other people's identification cards. Ok, that one gave me a small pang. Until I realized his driver's license photo looked a lot like his mugshot they showed on the news.. Yeah. Don't ask.
  
  The third letter was a bumper sticker from a bicycle shop in his home town. It said "Share the road with a cyclist" and had the shop's name and address. I like bikes, sure. I even ride them frequently. But I'm not a "cyclist" by any stretch of the definition. If it had been something about a motorcycle, maybe, but again, what?
  
  I was telling a friend about it over breakfast and he asked if I sent anything back. Thus far I've taken the silent approach but his question sparked an idea:
  
  Send him my hair that collects in the shower drain.
• May 26, 2009
• 8:51

  Sports Obsessions Are NOT Sexy Time

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: The same gal who sent us Where Were You in 1983? sent us this lovely bit about internet dating.**
  
  I was lonely and bored, and my ex had just changed his facebook to "in a relationship" with the stripper he dumped me for. So I decided to give internet dating a try. And thus the story of Sex Blanket, as I now refer to him when warning others against internet dating.
  
  SB seemed like a cool guy at first. Then it quickly became clear that his obsessive love of sports took up all the places in his personality where "intelligence" "humor" and "charm" should be. Then it became clear (from the multiple bumper stickers, posters and flags plastered all over his apartment, and lastly, enormous back tattoo of the school's logo) that he was a little TOO obsessed with his alma mater, a la Andy Bernard (Cornell) from The Office.
  
  I was unimpressed and disinterested, but said loneliness and boredom convinced me that sleeping with him was an okay decision to make. I won't go into detail about exactly how and why, but it was THE. WORST. EVER. and multiple times I had to close my eyes and imagine that I was someplace else so I didn't throw up. No exaggeration, it was awful. And very, very sweaty. Him, not me.
  
  Afterward, while I debated high-tailing it out of there and risking a DUI or trying to find a non-sweaty spot on the bed, he went to his closet and pulled out a blanket that was fuzzy on one side and kind of satin-y on the other.
  
  "Do you know what this is?" He asked, in the wannabe suave voice that had added to my nausea.
  
  "Um, no" I replied, terrified at what the answer might be.
  
  "It's a Sex Blanket... you put it down before or after you have sex so you don't have to sleep in the mess afterward"
  
  "Oh super" I replied, hoping to sweet jesus that the blanket had been washed since its last use, and wondering how the F this guy was having enough disgusting sweaty sex to necessitate a blanket of this kind.
  
  So tell me, DiW friends... are sex blankets for real? Are all blankets with one fuzzy side and one satin-y side intended for this purpose? I received one as a Christmas gift from a female friend a few years ago and use it as a throw for my couch...
  
  Anyway, SB and I haven't kept in touch since then, and so far all of my other internet dating prospects have produced similarly unappealing/creepy results. So for now I'm re-dating people from real life that I have dated in the past, cause at least I know what mistakes I'm making beforehand.
• May 22, 2009
• 21:14

  Inside jokes

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  This is kind of insider baseball, but maybe it'll amuse someone. This is a note to my best friend, one of the sexiest women on the planet:
  
  "So we were just having dinner with The New One's roommate (and his tiny son, Twain, who I think has a major crush on me), and the convo turned to exchange students. We talked about the Japanese kid who kept on saying, "Howdy partner" and the eastern european girl who cried when she had her first root beer float. Then I told them about the German kid who I was stoked to make out with until he asked me to "teach (him) the ways of the American woman," at which point I was all, "uhh ... way to ruin the makeout sesh, dude," and then I left and re-joined you and Noah in the party room.
  
  Then I admitted to the boys that it was, as far as I remember, the one time a dude we both wanted picked me over you. Finally, 15 years later, I got it.
  
  "Yeah. The f**king German kid picked the blonde with tits over the redheaded Jew. Go figure."
• May 20, 2009
• 9:19

  In praise of Monday night nookie

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  This note from "Old Married Hag" (she came up with that name, not me) came in as a response to my latest Dear Serial column.
  
  
  

  As Serial pointed out a few days ago, married life can be unkind to the old sex life. Kids, cooking, mortgages, soccer practice - who has the time for sex? Or the energy?
  
  Which is why marriages like mine descend into the deadly rut of Saturday-night sexcapades. Sure, we throw on a porno occasionally or bust out a dildo. But sex on Saturdays after the kids were in bed had taken on a distinctively dull feeling. Yawn, is it Saturday night again? OK, you get the KY.
  
  Which is why my new solution is so much fun: Monday night nookie!
  
  I know it seems like not such a groundbreaking notion, but Monday night nookie has freshened up my week considerably. Sex outside the humdrum routine of a 15-year-relationship adds a spice that's all to rare for those of us who are old enough to have voted for Clinton. And who knows what a day-of-the-week shakeup could lead to? This week, adding Monday sex also introduced a new location to the repertoire. Nothing like a carpet burn on the ass to remind you that sex is fun even when it's not in bed or on the couch.
  
  Getting out of the sex rut may also lead to other firsts: It's surprising how open to experimentation both of you will be if you just step outside the normal screwing 'schedule.'
  
  Dating may be weird, but marriage can be weirder. And hotter.
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  Serial here. You got a question for me, dating (or, apparently marriage)-related? Or do you have feedback on my advice? C'mon. I know at least some of y'all think I'm full of s**t. E-mail me at seriallymonogamous[at]gmail[dot]com.
• May 18, 2009
• 21:50

  MySpace Sucks

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  I had forgotten all about the hellish side of MySpace until I was cleaning out my messages last night.
  
  Let me back up.
  
  Once upon a time long long ago in a living room of a house I used to live in, I drunkenly hooked up with a guy I knew from firefighting. We used to work together. He was my boss. Of sorts. He was also rather attractive and knew it. We both did. Of course there was sexual tension the whole summer fighting fires. Of course he had a girlfriend. Of course she hated me even though I'd been nothing but pleasant and respectful.
  
  Of course he didn't tell me they were still "on again off again dating" until the next morning.
  
  "Huh. Interesting. So is the switch on or off this morning?" I asked.
  
  "Uhhh. On. Yeah, on I guess. She would say on, so yeah. On," he replied.
  
  Awesome.
  
  Let me also back up to give some character development of this on-again-off-again girlfriend: She liked attention. She was loud. She was abrasive. She was attractive. She had a flair for drama. And if we had to go to blows, I might put my money on her and I don't often say that about other chicks.
  
  In short, don't f**k with her man.
  
  Which, I wouldn't have done had I known. But, he conveniently waited to tell until after the point of no return. F**ker.
  
  So back to last night's mailbox cleaning.
  
  I found the series of messages she sent in the weeks after. Oh boy. Here's a taste:
  
  "Subject: O.P.P.
  
  It has been brought to my attention that you had sex with the man who had been my partner for over four years. What's amusing is that he's been telling me for the last year that I'm gonna marry him and have his children. Fortunately for me, I learned (before making a big mistake) that I can't trust him.
  
  While I primarily blame him (after all, he was my boyfriend)I also find you guilty of serious misconduct. Apparently you haven't learned or just aren't grown up enough to realise that you don't go around f**king other people's boyfriends. I must be honest, I never liked or trusted you from the beginning. It's too bad (for me at least) that I was right about you.
  
  Let's face it, you wanted ___ from the beginning and I never tried to keep him from being your friend cause he always said he didn't find you the least bit attractive. Interesting how men can do that, screw woman they think aren't appealing. I guess one hole is as good as another if you're drunk enough and the lights are off so you don't have to see their face.
  
  If this message hurts you in any way, I can't say that I'm sorry because nothing could describe the pain that I feel. Maybe you are laughing as you read this, or maybe you could give a s**t; but on the chance that you have a shred of decency, I hope you take this to heart and realise the damage you have done. I would also take a moment to think about the fact that no bad deed goes unpunished, meaning that things have a way of coming back to you."
  
  So ok. I felt bad. I mean, she has a point. And she even cleverly put a Naughty By Nature reference in the subject line. I didn't respond however; instead, I forwarded her message along to her "man" and said that perhaps he should look into it. He created the f**king mess after all. I thought he should be the one to clean it up.
  
  But no. She didn't see it that way. Here's another:
  
  "I want you to delete him as a friend from your myspace and never call him again. If you don't want to comply, I will show up on your doorstep and we can talk about it in person."
  
  Show on my doorstep and talk about it in person? Um, no f**king way. F**k you. Show up at my doorstep bitch?! That would be a bad idea. For both of us. Remember how I said I might put my money on you if it came to blows, yeah, not on my f**king doorstep. Bring it.
  
  But again, I didn't respond. Simply forwarded it to her "man."
  
  Thankfully all that died away. I haven't spoken much to him since, though he did text me a few weeks ago saying he'd be in town.
  
  The best part? I found all the other messages from jilted girlfriends who felt it was my fault they were dating a s**thead. Thank you MySpace. Thank you for allowing stupid bitches to send me ridiculous threats and for saving them for years.
• May 17, 2009
• 15:13

  Dear Serial Monogamist: Time to get freaky?

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Dear Serial Monogamist,
  
  Any recommendations for spicing up a lackluster sex life?
  
  Signed,
  A lady who thinks being married is weirder

  
  
  OK, Weirder, you didn’t give me much to go on. I mean, what have you tried? Role play? S&M? Pegging? Watching porn together? Sex toys? Dirty talk? Sex in public? New positions? Dress-up? Sex games? Threesomes? Stripteases? A little ass play? Have you been doing your Kegels?
  
  I kind of hope you haven’t tried all that, to be honest. Because I sometimes wonder how couples who start off with crazy rockstar monster sex deal once they get bored with THAT. “God, the sex swing and the midgets again? Snore.” What a nightmare.
  
  However, if you’ve been having mellow, vanilla sex with your hubby, then there’s a long list of things you can introduce that can make things seem new again. The internet is full of ideas.
  
  Of course, that advice assumes that you and your husband are willing to try. And that can be scary and weird. But you have to talk to your husband, and tell him that you’re not happy with the situation as it is and make sure he gets that it’s important that you guys fix the problem. Because it is important. Humping matters. And who knows, maybe there’s been something he’s been wanting to try that he was afraid to bring up. What if all you have to do is put on some high heels while you go at it, and suddenly he’s all wound up and the next thing you know you are, too?
  
  Don’t forget this, though: Being negative in the conversation won’t help. You don’t want him to feel like a loser who can’t get you off, because then what’s his motivation to work on finding your G spot? The whole thing needs to be fun. “It’s an adventure, honey! An adventure that leads to more sex!” Who’s going to say no to that? If he does, after you approach it in a positive way, if he’s still hesitant, you could always tell him that satisfied wives give more BJs.
  
  Love,
  
  Serial
  
  
  
  Got a dating question for Serial Monogamist? Let's hear it. Send it to seriallymonogamous[at]gmail[dot]com.
• May 15, 2009
• 9:23

  Quote of the day

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  I have a new pal who's just moved to town, and like many women in this situation who are regularly getting my own action, my mind immediately goes to who I can get into his pants. It just seems like the friendly thing to do. Plus, I think it reflects well on me as a friend and on my town if he starts getting some split-tail pronto.
  
  I was telling a girlfriend about him (accent, big purdy eyes, loves his mama), but knowing that she's been more apt to cuddle up to bear-ish guys, I warned her that new pal is "skinny-cute."
  
  "Well," she said, taking a deep breath and lifting her palms toward the sky, "I've f**ked a few skinny guys lately, and it hasn't killed me."
  
  Way to take one for the team, sister.
  
  
  
  
  ** Psst! You! You over there with the girlfriend who chews with her mouth open. Yeah, you. Or you, the guy who can't get past the third date and can't figure out why. Send your burning dating questions to seriallymonogamous[at]gmail[dot]com. Let me help you. Or tease you. You know you want it. **
• May 13, 2009
• 8:19

  The Joys of Online Dating: Part Deux

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Today's guest post is the second installment from Kate in KC. You may remember her first story about getting into a fight about college sports on a first date from a few weeks ago.**
  
  Adorable Nerd came along and seemed as if he would be the answer to my holy-crap-this-was-a-bad-idea prayers. He was smart, funny, interesting, cute in that Seth Cohen (yes, I’m dropping an OC reference in here) super-nerd kind of way and, best of all, seemed very interested in me. We sent a few novel-length messages to one another before trading in email for 3-hour long phone calls. We would talk about anything and everything while staying up so late that we would practically fall asleep on the phone because neither of us wanted to hang up the phone and end the conversation…we finally arranged to meet one night.
  
  We sat at a table in a small restaurant and talked and talked and talked…we were telling stories, laughing and having a fantastic time. We ended up closing the restaurant down and he suggested that we continue the night at a wine bar across the street. Sharing a bottle of wine, there was never an awkward silence or dull moment…it was like we had known each other forever and slipped into conversation with one another like it was the easiest thing on earth.
  
  The end of the night rolled around and we strolled through the moonlight of the city streets until we got to my car. I had butterflies in my stomach as we turned to face each other to say good night…he told me that he had a wonderful time, looked deep into my eyes, leaned in…shook my hand and ran away.
  
  He literally RAN the f**k away.
  
  I never heard from him again.
  
  A weird-o, a closeted gay and a guy with sports-related Tourettes…strike one, two and three. You win this one, online dating.
• May 12, 2009
• 8:33

  Where Were You in 1983?

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes in from a gal who said she loves DIW. Glad someone is actually reading this trash..**
  
  I'm 23 and the guy I'm dating is 36. Despite the thirteen year age gap, we get along really well and have a lot in common... Aside from our memories associated with music from before about 2005.
  
  The other day we were playing cards and drinking wine at his place, and he had a 90s station playing on the satellite radio. A song came on from 1996, and I told him how it reminded me being at Girl Scout Camp in third grade. A look of horror came over his face as he realized that while I was selling cookies and earning my Brownie Try-It badges, he was 23 and divorcing his first wife.
  
  We switched the station to some current indie rock, and silently agreed not to tell stories from our childhood anymore.
• May 07, 2009
• 16:57

  More on internet dating

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  So Katie Ett, a woman whose blog I started reading only because her Livejournal user pic was a still from the original Grey Gardens, one of the best films of all time, writes about all matter of silliness over at Unapologetically Mundane. Topics range from piles of family pictures from back on the farm in Iowa to reviews of fancy schmancy pants restaurants in New York (which are generally funny because she clearly has a midwest palate, but she seems to try). Her main obsession, which she admits, is her boyfriend. Whom she calls Dr. Boyfriend. It's a tad out of hand (she has a "creepy boyfriend obsession" tag, people) but sort of charming, too.
  
  Here's a recent post from UM, which is amusing in itself:
  
  "I’m a member of the online dating site OkCupid.com in the hope that when Dr. Boyfriend and I break up some day, you’ll look me up on there and woo me hardcore. Due to the fact that I’m not supposed to appeal to anyone in my current state of relationshipness, I’ve agreed to not change my horrible photos and to fill my profile with totally unattractive drivel such as:
  
  

  Nobody’s really just looking for friends and activity partners on here, right? But I am! Seriously! And just think of all the activities we can engage in! That don’t in any way involve our genitals! Except, like, if we specifically decide to engage in genital-related non-sexual activities! Like by joining a nudist colony and shaving our genitals! Together! To get to know each other a little better! And to have the best-looking genitals in the entire colony!

  
  
  AND YET. I receive messages all of the time from men who make me feel sad for people who are actually looking for dates. Such as this one, from a user in his 50s:
  
  

  I used to live in Brookyn, in the Bushwick area. I thought I would write and get to know you. I notice you say about joining a nude club and shaving each other’s genitals. I would love to do that with you. Or at least to join a nude club together. I would love to smell your vagina too. I am sure it smells sweet!!

  
  
  I mean, thank you and all, but no. I think the rule should be that if you wouldn’t walk up to me in a bar and say it to my face, you shouldn’t say it online, either.
  
  And now you should tell me about the even awesomer messages you’ve received."
  
  OK, Serial again. Um, is it OK to leave your OKCupid or Match.com or whatever dating profiles up when you're in a relationship? I'd be seriously pissed if I found out that The New One had a dating profile up on one of those sites (Well, I would if I could get over the concept of The New One going near a the interwebs for such purposes, since he plans to be the last person on the planet to even join Facebook. Dude doesn't even read datingisweird.com, even when I tell him I write about him. On the internet. WTF?).
  
  And I don't feel like I'd want to negotiate on that point. But I guess it could be entertaining. As entertaining, as, say, writing up a craigslist personal about a friend of yours, just to see what the response might be ....
  

  
• May 06, 2009
• 8:38

  Friends With Benefits

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes in from our semi-regular guest, Terry Tucker.**
  
  This was an Internet date match-up. When I entered Starbuck’s I saw a man sitting at a table on the far side, wearing the jade-green, U-of-Oregon cap that so many men wear in these parts. Signs of French Canadian ancestry could be discerned in his fine, virile features. He had an oval-shaped head, dark eyes, olive complexion and sharply defined bone structure. His eyes held yours, though not in an unpleasant way.
  
  He spoke in a manner not quite like ours, an indeterminate accent all his own. His manner was calm and relaxed, and he spoke in a very picturesque way, without gesticulation. He paused occasionally, and you felt that each phrase was being carefully constructed in the moment, not at all like the mindless, ready-made jargon we normally use in conversation. You quickly grasped that he had a gift of assembling words expressively.
  
  It was unclear at first exactly what he did for a living; it hardly seemed to matter. He was well traveled and engaging, overflowing with zest. As it turned out, he was Algerian, not Canadian, with a French connection. He had a wide range of interest and something to say on every topic. To be with him was very agreeable
  
  Things were developing nicely, when he began talking about a Private Stock Offering he was putting together for the construction of a Wind Farm on a South Dakota Indian reservation. The first-round financing was fully subscribed to, he said, but a way could be found to include me and my friends, if there was interest. Sounded so good, the way he put it. Friends with benefits. Might have gone for it if the Bernie Madoff scam was not so fresh in the memory. Maybe if he had waited until the second date to make the pitch.
• May 04, 2009
• 20:44

  Keep It Casual

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  
• May 01, 2009
• 10:09

  Dear Serial Monogamist: Gettin' Some

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Dear Serial Monogamist,
  
  What's the easiest way for a girl to get laid in this town?
  
  Sincerely,
  
  Tired-Of-Masturbating
  
  
  Dear TOM,
  
  I’ve believed for some time that nearly any woman who possesses at least average looks and charm can probably pull tail on any given night. I know a single gal or two, and I know that when they’re determined to bone down, they’re successful.
  
  But so much depends on you, darling. I mean, have you checked out all the options at work? Interns maybe? They’re usually pretty easy. Do you pass out your phone number indiscriminately to any male who glances your direction? I mean, you’ve gotta keep casting if you want to catch one.
  
  You know and I know that I can’t write you a recipe for action, but I wonder if you know the basic recipe for “getting laid.” (Which is, of course, a helluvalot different than the “meeting someone special” or “having good sex” recipe)
  
  1) Go out.
  2) Apply alcohol.
  3) Make eye contact with a target.
  4) Look away.
  5) Look back.
  6) Smile.
  
  Repeat until your target approaches.
  
  From there, it’s easy. Laugh at his jokes. Touch your hair, but not too much. Tease him. Drink more. One item that women sometimes make a mistake on: Don’t try to get him to buy you drinks, buy your own. This is about getting some nookie, not about getting free booze.
  
  At some point, hopefully after a spell of making out in the corner, all that’s left to do is offer to pour him a drink at your place. Do not pass go, and do not, for the love of tits, ask if he has a girlfriend (remember, kids, this is a “get laid” course, not a “be a good person” tutorial).
  
  I should say something about safety at this point, you know, carry a knife in your purse, have a fruitbowl of condoms on your nightstand at all times, have a safety “out” word if you play with S&M; but Jesus, I’m a dating blogger. I’m not your mother.
  
  One more tip. If June has taught us anything, it’s this: Fly solo. You’re less intimidating when you’re not surrounded by a flock of women. If you’re too afraid to go out alone, at least go to the bar alone when you get a refill.
  
  If all else fails, lower your standards. Ugly dudes, guys with one leg, guys wearing silk shirts, hell, they all need love. Grab a hold of a mullet and go to town. Imagine approaching a nerd and taking him home. He’d be so grateful. I won’t judge you.
  
  Haha, just kidding. You know I will. But I tease because I love.
  
  Got a question for the Serial Monogamist? Sure you do. E-mail it to seriallymonogamous@gmail.com
• April 30, 2009
• 8:36

  You'll Know Exactly What These Are

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Oh. My. God. My newest time waster:
  
  www.TextsFromLastNight.com
  
  Sweet jesus. Here's some examples:
  
  (734): Pregnant stripper...not hot.
  
  (843): I guess there's a 50 percent chance that it was her that wet my bed.
  
  (859): im in a kiddie pool, high, with a keg in arms reach. If i had a sandwich and a blowjob this would be the best day ever
  
  (516): Dude, just walked by a homeless guy pissing on the sidewalk while he was screaming at his wang. God, I love this city.
  
  (714): I wish there was an iPhone app to help you with your s**tty personality.
  
  
  I can't stop reading.
• April 29, 2009
• 9:06

  Spring Break in Mexico

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: This guest post comes in from a buddy of ours named Kenny.**
  
  Several years ago while living in Arizona, my girlfriend, Betsy, and I decided to spend our spring break visiting Rocky Point in northern Mexico. Scarcely a twelve pack drive away, it was a popular destination for land-bound Arizonan's who wanted some beach time. We packed up and headed south, crossing the border just before midnight and arriving at the beach in the wee hours. We slept in the sand next to my trusty Honda Accord.
  
  The next morning we woke up and headed into town for supplies. It was already hot, so pounding a few beers on the way seemed appropriate. As did smoking a joint or two. We entered town and, with Betsy at the helm, were navigating towards the supermercado, beers already warming between our thighs.
  
  Familiar with the town, we moved qucikly along, windows down, stereo up, sipping beers -- until we stopped unexpectedly upon the bumper of the car in front of us as it waited patiently for a red light. As we peeled ourselves from the dash (carefree springbreakers, we dismissed the idea of seat belts) the large woman driving the car that was currently wedged beneath the hood of my Honda approached us, suggesting loudly in Spanish what amounted to her personal opinion on Gringos, spring break, drinking and driving, and godless heathens.
  
  Betsy, speaking no Spanish, remained mute and simply applied direct pressure to the cut trickling blood from her forehead. My limited command of the language was further compromised by the remainder of our weed that I was choking dryly down.
  
  Soon the cops showed up, and with very little ado, quickly confiscated my car and ordered us to report to the police station at nine the next morning. Considering ourselves lucky for leaving the scene without someone so much as smelling our beery breath, we split. And proceeded to party the rest of the day, and night away.
  
  The next day we hitch a ride with friends into town and, nursing hangovers, we arrive at city hall promptly at nine. Betsy, tough girl that she is, walks towards the front door while telling me nonchalantly over her shoulder that she's "got this under control, feel free to wait outside". Which I do. For like an hour and half.
  
  Finally, I go looking and enter a seemingly deserted police station, long halls extending in three directions. Somewhere a radio played tinny ranchero music.
  
  "Hola? Buenas Dias?" Nothing. "HOLA?" Still nothing.
  
  I wait.
  
  Eventually I make my way deeper into the building following a long hall with flickery florescent lights. I hear a metallic clicking and look down another hall to see a heavy door swinging shut. Just before it closes I spot Betsy, sweaty hair in her face, hands held before her gripping the bars of a jail cell, looking wide-eyed right at me.
  
  And then SLAM, the door shuts.
• April 27, 2009
• 9:16

  Get It On

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  
• April 23, 2009
• 17:00

  Dear Serial Monogamist

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Hello interwebs.
  
  Not too long ago, a commenter accused me, THE Serial Monogamist, of trying to take over DIW with my giant ego. Really, I’m just so happy someone was paying attention to me. Thanks for caring. But I thought and thought about it; thought about me, re-read all of my old posts again and again, and realized that yes, Lucky, you’re right. It is all about me. Me and my ego.
  
  Funny thing, in addition to being egomaniacal, (and incredibly modest) I’m also a knowitall. And what do egomaniacal knowitalls just love to do? Give advice. This came in from a friend of a friend, and I couldn’t help myself.
  
  
  Dear Serial Monogamist,
  
  After how many days of unreturned phone calls should I write a guy off as a jerk?
  
  Sincerely,
  
  Miss Lonely Heart
  
  
  
  Dear Lonely,
  
  How many DAYS of unreturned phone calls? What the crap are you doing, lonely? Calling him day after day, leaving pathetic messages on his voice mail, and not hearing back? Or is this just one call, and then sitting around on your ass wondering when Mr. Wonderful is going to get around to thinking of you? Yikes.
  
  Here’s the thing: If he doesn’t call you back, you can’t really write him off. He’s written you off. Forget about it. What you need to do is pull up your big girl britches, give him the finger, and move on.
  
  But don’t be afraid to ask yourself why he didn’t call. Are you boring? Do you sit around waiting for awesome things to happen to you? Because that’s not really the way it works. I could be wrong (I think I was, like, once), but something about your question just reads “needy and boring.” Try being less of both. Go out and get an independent life. Take a drawing class. Learn a new hobby. Stop watching so much reality TV. Then maybe you won’t have to count days between phone calls.
  
  Love,
  
  Serial
  
  Got a dating question? Email me at seriallymonogamous@gmail.com
• 8:23

  A Friend of Mine Recently Lost His Mind

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes in from anonymous. But not the same anonymous who wrote about reading his girlfriend's email. We hope.**
  
  At least, that's what I thought when he abandoned a decade-plus relationship with a woman I admire and started playing house with his new, 19-year-old girlfriend.
  
  He's 35. A relatively normal guy. His long-time girlfriend was age-appropriate, lifestyle-appropriate and a good match for him, or so it seemed. Now she's starting over in the love department - a sad state for a woman in her mid-thirties who wants children but doesn't yet have any.
  
  Meanwhile he has a shiny new girlfriend, fresh out of her parents house and still driving her first car.
  
  When I first heard this, I got all hung up on the math: She was 4 years old when I met him; he was in high school when she was born; I have pubes older than she is.
  
  But now, I just worry.
  
  If this man can start over, can ditch his longtime girlfriend in favor of the flower of youth, what's to prevent my husband, or your boyfriend, from doing the same? This guy is not a player, or I never thought he was. But are all guys secretly players, just waiting for the chance to act on it?
• April 21, 2009
• 9:40

  Surreptitious Pleasures

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes in from Terry Tucker. And um, gross.**
  
  Friend of mine met this great guy….…..smart, good looking, fun - and thoughtful! When they were walking down the street, he would stop to pick up litter, even discarded cigarette butts.
  
  On subsequent dates, everything good…..although she did notice him sneaking surreptitiously outside for a cigarette. Trying to quit, he said, when asked about it. Later, when she noticed him picking up and pocketing a cigarette butt off the street, something clicked. You don’t smoke those, do you, she asked.
  
  He hesitated, then admitted he did. At first, he did it out of desperate addiction, he said. Better than buying cigarettes or bumming them. Then serendipity, he discovered smoking butts was more satisfying than regular cigarettes. Nicotine tends to accumulate on the paper at the lower end, resulting in a more concentrated delivery of nicotine when you inhale a pre-smoked butt. When you inhale, a tremendous rush. It’s wonderful, he enthused. And you get better and better at spotting the good ones.
  
  What about germs, she wanted to know. Oh, I wipe the cigarettes off first, he assured her. Hasn’t been a problem for me. They say that kissing a smoker is like licking an ashtray. This was worse than that.
• April 20, 2009
• 11:54

  Gay Marriage is Weird?

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  A story in the NYT tipped me off to this video, apparently a response to recent same sex marriage victories.
  
  
  
  But the online responses are so much better:
  
  
• April 17, 2009
• 8:42

  My Car is My Lover

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  
• April 16, 2009
• 9:18

  Her Skeletons in the Closet Aren't Dead

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes in from a guy who asked to be anonymous. Fair enough anon..**
  
  Just one really. He's definitely alive and kicking, sending her emails of his love. Emails full of s**t metaphors about that profoundly deep love of his. How do I know? Because I read them.
  
  I f**king read her email.
  
  Yep. I sunk that low and violated her trust and privacy.
  
  Worse?
  
  She feels that way for him. But also feels that way for me. She's even told him as much. But she's also told him that she shies away from looking at her feelings for him, doesn't want to look at her late night wondering if they'll ever be together. Has carnal dreams of him.
  
  I hate skeletons. Especially when they're still alive and sharing the bed with you and your new girlfriend.
  
  I hate that I read her email. That I didn't trust her enough. That I wasn't confident enough. That I found what I was looking for.
• April 14, 2009
• 11:09

  If I could erase a memory

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  My regular hookup, the ruddy-headed charmingly gap-toothed Mr. Bojangles, raised his head up from betwixt me thighs. I looked down with some surprise--I wasn't really expecting any sort of interruptus, even of the oral-coit-variety--to see an odd expression on his face. He fished his farmboy fingers into his mouth and pulled out a large, wet wad of blue lint.
  
  Dear god. Blue lint. From my blue slacks.
  
  Should have worn panties.
• April 09, 2009
• 15:40

  Ode to John Mellencamp

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  For five months I've been waiting for this bomb to drop in my new relationship.
  
  We both grew up in the same small town, though we've both since moved away. However, he's still friends with several of his old buddies. I happened to have a one night stand with one of them eons ago. I was never going to bring this up; my sexual past is not something I particularly enjoy discussing, and we're pretty happy to follow the "don't ask, don't tell" guidelines.
  
  I had some concerns about this other fellow, though. He's not known for his tact. Luckily they don't hang out too often though so I was just gonna keep my mouth shut. He was not so thoughtful.
  
  Over drinks the other night, Tactless made it known that he had, in fact, had relations with me in the past. When I first heard about this my stomach almost shot out my eyeballs. Obviously My Man doesn't think I'm the Virgin Mary but did he know I hit so close to home?
  
  My Man, the wonderful, caring guy that he is, informed me that he truly did not care about my past. Whew! I'm gonna go throw up now from relief.
  
  Then I started wondering to myself what other things his friend were telling him about me. They don't have the slightest clue what's happened in my life but for any of you who grew up in a small town, you know that people will run their mouths about others whether they know the whole situation or not.
  
  It took less than 3 minutes of conversation for me to be thrust back into my small town, without my even being there.
  
  So, DIWers, here's one for you. Should I be more proactive about letting him know that this might happen again with another person he knows? I have way more faith that this other person won't share, but I guess you never can tell. Why do I have to be worrying about stuff that happened almost 10 years ago?!
  
  I'll never go back to that small down. I won't die there. They won't bury me there. End of story.
• April 08, 2009
• 12:20

  Anthropormorphising

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Yes, it's essential that your pet like your partner, and vice versa. I mean, Christ, look at this.
  
  I can't imagine how difficult it would be if my pooch hated The New One. Or if he wasn't patient with her overzealous love of him, or her overzealous protectiveness of me (used to great effect with a creepy drunk bum in the Rite Aid parking lot the other night ... he was asking for change and got a little too close for comfort, like close enough to smell, and all I had to do was crack my car door and the vicious attack dog foaming at the mouth got him to back right on up), or her general state of overzealousness, actually.
  
  But now we've discovered how to use our pets against each other, and hide our own feelings in text messages from our pets, i.e., "Puppy misses u terribly." (Psychoanalyze that one, that's like a twice removal of feelings or something, innit?)
  
  It could get ugly, though, right?
  
  "Well puppy thinks u smell bad."
  "Kitty sez puppy's a jerk who p's her pants."
  "Hey, puppy only p's her pants when she sees u bc she loves you."
  
  The passive-aggressive potential is delightful ....
  
  "Puppy h8s you and ate the ugly pants u left here."
  "Kitty took a s**t on the valNtine u made."
  "Oh noes! Kitty changed the locks on u!"
  "Goldfish wants u to f**k off n die."
  
  What would your pet text?
• April 06, 2009
• 7:08

  Craigslist Personal - Older and Fat

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: We couldn't make this s**t up.**
  
  Reply to: pers-75cz3-1085924688@craigslist.org [Errors when replying to ads?]
  Date: 2009-03-21, 5:01PM PDT
  
  Here you have a 46 yo 300# fat balding man, that has bad teeth, a job that bearly pays the bills and is a paycheck away from being kick out of a rented place to live.. I also have a son, thats still under 18, and hes my little guy that keeps me going.. I would like to find a sugar woman, that would like to be there for me when I am bored.. I love to cook, cuddle and give massages.. and of course have sex, I am not well endowed, but love the forplay, giving and receiving.. I have been looking for a soulmate for ages on many web sites, but once they know what I look like, I never hear from them again. I would love to be a one lady's man, but for right now I want the compainonship of someone.... I get very lonely in my king size bed... I not looking for any Barbie type, but would enjoy one. But thats dreaming, I do love to watch the young ladies that think they are God's gift to man, but I know that they are way out of my reach... If that ever happened I know that I would die in bed...(hopefully a happy man). So here I am just dreaming that someone is out there for me.....
  
  [bend.craigslist.org]
• April 02, 2009
• 8:34

  Damn Tubes

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Slightly Disheveled sent this in after reading about June's burning biscuit. We've had many an embarrassing sexual mishap (bed wetting, farting, etc.) grace this blog. We're just thankful this particular phenomenon has yet to happen to us personally.**
  
  Okay, okay... so the last posting did bring this on. "Alejandro" and I had moved in together and all was blissy blisstastic. He was a tall, dark, handsome, Argentinian painter of the MFA variety and was just about as cute as cute could be. We went out drinking with friends one night and came back to our little love nest and started to Go There. Right around where we left third base I started to feel something Rather Odd which turned immediately to something Rather Unfomfortable and then to Really Very Unpleasant as we reached home base. All this in under a minute. Something smelled rather like wintergreen.
  
  He started to howl in pain and we turned on the light. The tube of Name Brand Lubricant was sitting nicely in the drawer and the tube of Name Brand Muscle Rub was on the bed next to me. I had never noticed that they were in the exact same tubes. From then on he kept the muscle rub in his nightstand and the lube in mine.
• April 01, 2009
• 9:16

  My Biscuit's Burning

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  So this story goes into some detail about my sex life. Probably more than I’d generally trust the internets with, but this is a public service announcement, kiddos. I have a lesson to share. One that should have been obvious to me, but sometimes, in the heat of the moment, I can be forgetful. Woe to she who pays no heed to my warnings. Hot woe.
  
  So, I was, as the kids say, “in the red.” My delightful new pet and I, though, have a hard time keeping our hands off of one another. In this case, he had a hard time keeping his hands off of my bits. But knowing as I did that it would all only lead to frustration, I playfully pushed his hands away, kissed him again and bid him good night. Moments later, the tingle began. I shifted. It got worse. “What the?...” And worse. Soon enough, my lady parts were afire. “Oh, god, babe, no,” I said, “It burns!”
  
  At the same moment, he and I flashed back to earlier in the evening. I was cooking one of my favorite Thai recipes, and he, being an expert knife handler, seeded six peppers for me. Hot, hot f**king peppers. When I looked down at his pile of hot seeds, I said, “Now don’t go sticking your finger in your eye later.” I’d forgotten at the time to also recommend that he keep his hands off my own sensitive, damp areas.
  
  “Oh, no, the peppers!” said he.
  “S**t, it really burns!” said I.
  “Do you want some ice?”
  “No, I’ll be fine. God! That’s really hot!”
  “Well, should I get some vinegar?”
  “Vinegar? I’m not putting vinegar on my snatch.”
  “You know some women douche with vinegar.”
  “OK, well, I don’t feel like doucheing right now.”
  “Peanut butter?” he offered.
  “Peanut butter?”
  “I don’t know, all I can think of is kitchen items.”
  
  Now, I'm not sure, but I think it may have been the food connection that led him to the proper solution to the problem. He’s a smart boy, he is.
• March 31, 2009
• 10:02

  Blogging on blogs. Blahhhhg.

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Over at Bend There Done That, Allegories in Life is talking about having to tell people she's straight just because she lives in the lesbo paradise that is Eugene, Oregon.
  
  But she also says "Man or woman, it's just never a good idea to develop crushes on those you work closely with each day." OK, that sounds good in practice, but isn't it true that most relationships start in the workplace? We spend so much time there that it's the #1 place to meet people, right?
  
  ... Not that any of my workplace relationships have ever ended in anything but disaster, come to think of it ...
  
  Also on BTDT, Write Up Your Alley (That handle has perverse connotations, does it not? Eh? Not? I'm a total perv? Fair. Not the first time I've been accused) takes a stand on the age old question, "Is it OK to post photos of your boyfriend's disgusting underwear on your blog?"
• March 30, 2009
• 9:52

  The Joys of Online Dating

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Kate in KC sent this two-part story about her online dating experiences...thank god for the internets.**
  
  You know how certain online dating websites offer you things like “6 months free” if you don’t find the love of your life within the first 6 months of signing up? You know why they do that, right? It’s because anyone who survives 6 months worth of dates off of their website deserves – at LEAST – six months free (if not a gallon of vodka and lobotomy to assist with forgetting what trainwrecks they’ve ended up dating). Overall, though, it sounds like an okay deal – it’s basically a Buy One, Get One deal on free dinner, drinks and (just maybe) Prince Charmings.
  
  I made it one month.
  
  I joined an online dating website with a couple of friends a few years ago after a particularly sad dry stretch of dating…we weren’t meeting any guys that were worth a damn and weren’t entirely sure where to start looking. Why not let the internet look for us?! Genius, we thought! Think of all of the fun dates we’re going to score, we though! The guys who would actually pay the money to sign up on this site must be serious and looking for love, too, we thought! What could go wrong?
  
  Date #1:
  
  While trolling the website one slow afternoon at work, I came across this particular guy’s photography. He was CUUUUUUUTE – we’ll call him Lawyer Boy. After sending a half dozen messages or so back and forth, he asked for my phone number. I’m not going to lie, I was pretty giddy. Here I was, not two weeks into signing up for happily-ever-after.com, I’ve met a smokin’ hot young attorney who’s smart, witty and – have I mentioned? – dreamy. We arrange to go out one night for drinks at a little bar downtown…he picks me up from my apartment and we head out. We belly up to the bar and order a couple of drinks…he asks me about college. I tell him where I went and get about a half of a breath into the rest of my sentence when his head exploded.
  
  “BAAAAAHHHHAHAHAHA! YOU WENT TO K-STATE? THAT IS SO GAY! WHO GOES TO K-STATE?! YOU GUYS SUCK SO HARD! SERIOUSLY, WHAT A BUNCH OF HILLBILLIES! DID YOU RIDE A JOHN DEERE TO CLASS? YUCK YUCK YUCK…”
  
  Umm…what? I, um, no…I didn’t ride a John Deere to class, but thanks for asking? Upon seeing his uproar over my “provincial” college upbringing, I assume that this cosmopolitan young man must have attended NYU or Boston College or someplace SUPER cool. You know, some school set in a “real” city. Oh, no. Not this guy. Where did he go to school
  
  “O-K-L-A-H-O-M-A…OKLAHOOOOMA! THAT’S WHERE! THE BEST GODDAMN SCHOOL IN THE BIG 12 IS WHERE! OU HAS BEATING THE S**T OUT OF K-STATE IN (insert about 45 minutes of mindless screaming/sweating/swearing/statistic spouting about when and how K-State lost random sporting events to OU in the last 75 years…YAWN). K-STATE CAN SUCK IT!”
  
  After rolling my eyes so many times that I fear my eyeballs might get stuck in the back of my head, I choose to remind him that K-State beat OU a couple of years ago by a significant amount in the Big 12 Championship football game (after which OU went on to loose the National Championship…but who still remembers that?). Cue nuclear meltdown:
  
  “Son. Of. A. BITCH!! WHY DO YOU HAVE TO THROW THAT BULLS**T IN MY FACE?! ONE TIME! YOU BASTARDS WIN ONE TIME!! (at this point, I’m waving down the bartender to get our tab while Lawyer Boy’s eyes are threatening to pop out of his head) OKLAHOMA ROCKS!! OU!! OU!! OU!!”
  
  Gentlemen, please…odds are that your lady friend doesn’t really care THAT much about college sports. Odds are even better that your lady friend isn’t at ALL interested in being screamed at about college sports by a relative stranger on a first date.
• March 27, 2009
• 8:18

  Cure for the British Disease

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Terry Tucker sent this fun one in today. We were kinda expecting the cure for halitosis, but whatev.**
  
  The four of us head into a Carmel restaurant. Milo, my date for the evening, is the talker in the group, down visiting from Vancouver. I refer to him as Milo because he reminds me of the Paul Giamatti character in Sideways. A taller, slimmer, better looking version…..….who would have been a more believable match for Virginia Madsen in the movie than Giamatti.
  
  Milo has been talking wine for the last couple hours, suave and self-assured. Earlier, we had partaken, partoked actually, of what Milo referred to as spliffs – Mid-eastern hash mixed and rolled with Turkish tobacco. An British thing, he confides, as if we were rural retards. Even though he’s Canadian, he has more than a bit of the British disease. Or maybe it’s the wine obsession that brings out the elitist touch. Prolly both.
  
  We are seated next to an elderly group in formal dress, the men in suits. One of them is carrying on about wines. His speaking voice is loud, and abrasive…….very loud, probably an age-related hearing problem. We bide our time going over the menu, waiting for the verbiage to subside but it does not. It’s tempting walk over and adjust his hearing aid.
  
  Too loud for us to carry on a conversation, so during the meal we listen to his spiel about David Bruce wines, a local winery, every imaginable aspect. Milo is listening intently, grimacing and shaking his head in silent disagreement throughout. Finally, Milo whips out a pen, writes on the slip of paper, and passes it around. “Total rubbish,” it says. We laugh.
  
  Their group finally leaves, and we also prepare to depart. Milo calls the sommelier over, offers a few comments on the wine, then says, “that guy at the next table knew absolutely nothing about wine.” The sommelier nods knowingly. Milo beams in the glow of acknowledgment and hands him a generous tip. The wine steward pockets the tip……then says, “that gentleman at the next table……that was David Bruce.” Our cue to leave.
• March 26, 2009
• 8:35

  He's No Cull

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Today's guest post hails from Lisa S. about the first time her parents met her new boyfriend.**
  
  Mom really wanted to meet my new squeeze, so we made plans to do a dinner together. Mom was nervous, and maybe I was a little, too. I wanted to keep it mellow and casual, so I suggested burgers and beers. There’s one spot my mom and I have been going to for years, it’s out in the country a bit, and they have delicious greasy burgers and crunchy, flavorful onion rings. That’s what I suggested. But mom wanted to invite a friend, whom I love, and friend had gotten sick at Delicious and Greasy before, so we went to the local pub. The local pub, which smells super bad. Like toilets, now that you can’t smoke in there and the cigarette smell’s not covering up the toilet smell.
  
  But whatever. Squeeze and I have been to dives before, and we will go to many dives in the future. But here’s what was really charming: When we showed up at my mom’s place at 4 p.m., she was already working on a cocktail. OK, whatever. We all went down to the pub after mom finished what was at least cocktail #3, and we all ordered a round. When mom’s drink was set down in front of her, she took one sip and said, “Nope. This is no good. Bring me a double.” OK, whatever. I like a good drink, too, and sometimes I want to tie one on, too.
  
  But here’s the really, really nice part: As soon as we order food, mom goes over to the ATM, pulls out some cash, and then plunks down in front of a video poker machine. Sure, when the burgers come, she comes over to eat, and yes, she’s being very nice to squeeze, but as soon as food’s gone, it’s another cocktail and back to the video poker machine.
  
  Finally, I shouted at her from across the bar, “Mom, we’re tired of watching you play video poker, we’re out.” She seemed disappointed.
  
  Later, she drunk-dialed me and told me how much they liked the squeeze. Not sure how they knew that they did, but OK. Whatever.
  
  Here’s one more reason I know he’s awesome, though: Took it all in stride. No judgment, no complaints. Just shrugged it off and said, genuinely, how nice she seemed. He’s certainly no cull.
• March 24, 2009
• 14:06

  With just enough mentions of sex to be dating related

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  A blogger named Sarah Brown apparently has the most hilarious, clever friends ever to have cell phones. And she publishes lists of texts that she's saved.
  
  Two all-time favorites:
  
  I sleep with so many dudes with weird chins. Clefts, dimples, you name it, I bang it.
  
  Wait, are you on your date?! Stop texting me about your ex-husband’s dick!
• March 23, 2009
• 7:33

  Sex in Oregon

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes in from an OR gal who recently moved from the great state of California.**
  
  I've said it and written it many times before, and as long as I live in this strange town I will continue on with my ravings. I said it to K____, in the days when we would speak to people who would say "I've got to go," and then walk a scant 10 feet away from us. I thought about it late at night, while my hair pomade soiled my martini-print pillow case. And I marveled at it as I wrote drunken slogans across a filthy 18-year old junkie's back before falling under the the wily and unholy sway of Carlo Rossi "Pisano" wine. I most certainly thought angry thoughts as visions of bygone days at Modesto Junior College passed through my dreams.
  
  Oh, MJC, the veritable petri dish of libidinous youth from the greater Central Valley. I sing a song of MJC, my Alma Mater, to the Pirates, and with passion to the men, who seemed to outnumber women 10 to 1. The odds are against the males of MJC, and they know the score. Perhaps it is the methane and pollution in the brown air, maybe it is the never ending roar of highway 99 sounding like an ocean in the distance, a primordial sea of hot pavement and speed, the California highway that can take you Anywhere. Maybe it was the pervading stagnation of Suburban Hell and Boredom, the knowledge of the fact that there are 12 million tiny rooms painted white, 17 billion little rooms that swelter with suffocating humidity in the summer and make you realize that the entire state is like a fishbowl turned over. No air. No space. Just heat, and people, and endless rows of houses, beyond that, the country that leads to more country, to weird lakes, to the foothills, and farther off, the ocean. Always the Road and the Ocean.
  
  What else was there to do but to f**k?
  
  They would accost me at any time. They would stalk, and call, and wait. They were patient. They knew what they wanted. I had the luxury to say "No," and I uttered it often. Even so, I never went without for very long.
  
  But here, there is no sex. There are too many women. It is a bachelor's paradise, the men are in charge, and oh, there are many blond ski bunnies to go around. Many nubile girls, beautiful girls, so many of them you could drown in a sea of tank tops and hair product. There are swarms of girls, they line the streets in summer. How I hate them! What's worse, how badly do I hate couples! I've a theory that every bedreadlocked dirty hippie sonofabitch was born with a girlfriend and a dog. I hate teenage couples. I hate people who go to bars and have sex and write about it on the internet. I hate how getting laid is a special thing around here. I hate thinking of all the lucky people out there, f**king, while I get none. Even working for it doesn't work. Even dating doesn't work.
  
  I'm cursed. That is the only answer.
  
  Fate has laid down the law. Fortuna deemed it can only take place between me and someone who has once lived in the Outside: Nevada Nevada California. I have never tasted the sweet nectar of Oregon, nor will I ever, most likely, and that is fine, for lack thereof has only embittered me, and even if the opportunity came, if Oregon offered me one of her Native Sons, I would yell "NO! None of your vile flesh! I will have none of it!" Oregon--you have done me wrong! You know I would do most anything for sex! I would ride for 24 hours on a rotten Amtrak carriage for it! I would seduce a CART BOY for a chance. What is it with you, Oregon? You have turned me into a dried up crone. You have stolen my youth and the best of my fruits! My lube has evaporated in the dry mountain air, my paintbox of Erotic Chocolate has spoiled, and my whips no longer sting--they only titillate my cat, now. What foul relegation! I could have given you orgies, masterpieces of BDSM, a really good time, but no! Do you know how unfortunate it is to wear a garter for practical reasons? I throw up my hands in anguish.
  
  I have officially given up on Sex in Oregon.
• March 20, 2009
• 9:59

  The Shortest Date of My Life

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes in from the 4S's blog. Thanks for the submission!**
  
  My friends set me up on a blind date with whom they promised to be a beautiful intelligent gal last week. After much convincing and elaborate descriptions I finally relented and agreed to make the date. I called her up via the # given to me and had a quick awkward conversation with a lady who we shall call Jane. Jane sounded pleasant on the phone and seemed to be as just nervous as me about the prospect of a blind date.
  
  Unfortunately I was strapped for funds and couldn’t afford to go out, so I suggested that I cook us a nice meal and she bring a bottle of wine for our enjoyment.
  The last items in my fridge I could pull together were a pack of pork chops, some potatoes and broccoli. So I spent the 30 mins before she was to arrive preparing dinner thinking rather highly of my self in my domestic skills. Jane arrived, beautiful as described and I was pleased.
  
  The door to my apartment enters into my kitchen so of course the first question out of her mouth was, “what’s cooking?”
  
  “I’m making pork chops, mashed potatoes, and broccoli.” I replied with a grin.
  
  She gave me a funny look and seemed disappointed. Then she said, “I don’t eat pork chops.”
  
  “Why? Don’t you like pork?”
  
  “No, I don’t eat it because of my religion.”
  
  “Ooooh… Sorry, I didn’t realize!” I said franticly trying to figure out how to stave off disaster.
  
  Jane cocked her head and gave me a funny look saying, “You shouldn’t eat pork either.”
  
  Rather suprised at her statement I replied, “But I don’t believe in what you believe in.”
  
  Then to my shock and awe she said something I have never actually uttered other than in jest.
  
  “That’s because you’re a heathen.”
  
  A heathen! She actually called me a heathen. I could not believe it. Folks, I am not a fan of organized religion. I am tolerant of it as long as you aren’t shoving it down my throat, but I don’t subscribe to any brand of it. So in complete shock my automatic response was,
  
  “Well you’re an ignorant bitch.”
  
  To which Jane turned and left the apartment. Luckily she left the bottle of wine behind, because I really needed a drink after that encounter.
  
  All in all it was about a 3 min date that ended with us exchanging verbal blows. I will just have to always remember, never cook pork on a blind date!!!
• March 18, 2009
• 9:11

  Going Out on St. Patty's Day

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Today's guest post come in from "Terry Tucker" who sent us The Perfect First Date a few weeks ago. Thanks Terry!**
  
  Driving downtown, I spot my ex-boss walking on the sidewalk. Should let it go, but I can’t. Later I call him on the cell, ask how it’s going. Tell him I saw him walking downtown, why don’t we get together and catch up….how about St. Patty’s day?.......been awhile.
  
  Quite a while…..we did not part on good terms. In fact he fired me for insubordination, and I wonder what in the world I’m doing…..asking him out, wanting to see him again. Chance to clear things up? Always a lot of sexual tension between us. Or maybe just tension….we disagreed on politics and just about everything else…..the way we saw the world. But he was good looking, and flaunted it, and so did I…….flirting and sexual double entendres were part of the daily routine. Going with a biker at the time, so it never came to anything.
  
  Still irked me the way he fired me. Had a dentist’s appointment on Friday afternoon at 2. The doctor’s office was on the other side of town, so I planned to take the rest of the afternoon off, not come back. No way, he said. Would not budge, even when I explained it. When I returned to the office the next Monday morning, he had me clean out my desk (hovering above) and walked me to the door. My last memory of him was a smirk on his face. No wonder I felt conflicted about this date. He should have been working for me, when I thought about it.
  
  We had dinner at McCormick’s…..on the way back I suggested stopping and getting hammered at an Irish pub, not far from where I lived. Actually, it was a bikers’ bar called Duffy’s, Irish in name only. A couple guys at the bar greeted me as we walked in. He said something about it as we slid into the booth. I nodded……”yeh, used to come here a lot with my ex, he practically lived here.”
  
  “Still does,” I added. He turned and surveyed the room. His eyes landed on the surly guy behind the pool table with a cue stick in his hand. Who glared back and held eye contact. As my ex slowly sauntered over to our table, cue stick in hand, I felt the urge to go. “Going to the girl’s room,” I said. When I came back out, both of them were gone. Ditto for the other pool player. I walked over to the bar and order a beer. Time to figure out a way to get home.
• March 17, 2009
• 11:02

  The Back Story

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  
  
  
  Wondering lately, in my newly monogamous state, how others handle the past. Now, personally, I’m not talking about the “how many people have you slept with” question. Because I, for one, don’t go there. I don’t want to know unless there’s a reason to know. Say, if you were once paid for sex and so you did a LOT of it and can’t possibly come up with a number. Other than that? I can take a range. Like, between one and a hundred? OK. Fine. Between one and two hundred? See, I’d rather not know that and I wish I hadn’t asked.
  
  But more generally, it’s feeling funny to have my first new b.f. in ages, and have to start telling stories from the long distant past. Oh, yeah, I did have an anarchist boyfriend who got knifed downtown one time by skinheads. Oh, and I had one who dressed in ladythings. Oh, yes, that one got married, this one refuses to talk to me because he thought I cheated on him (but the guy I supposedly cheated with turned out to be gay) … and on and on and on. Some of it’s important, some of it isn’t. Some, like admitting to The New One that yes, I do contribute to a dating blog, well that I got over with quickly. Bandaid-ed that f**ker. Especially considering that the new one’s kind of afraid of the internets.
  
  So c’mon, DIW readers. Do tell: What’s “too much, too soon” when it comes to a new partner? And what are the “need to know right away” points?
• March 16, 2009
• 7:56

  My Side of the Bed

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes in from Wayne, who almost put his foot down about his side of the bed.**
  
  My two friends and I took these two girls home one night after seeing a sweet jam band that loved to cover the Grateful dead and the Alman Brothers. It was clear from about minute 4 of meeting these girls that my friend was hooking up with the cute one. That was it.
  
  To be honest, I had no intention of any "hooking up" with either of these girls. I just had to start a conversation because they were the only girls at the bar who weren't old enough to be my mom. I mean, they were fun, they were just the sort of insecurity that manifests itself as negative reactions, whiney tones, and a general discontent, instead of just.. idk... laughing at a situation. (aka stop complaining).
  
  After bar time, we arrive at my place. One of my friends was captain wasted face and crashed on my roommates bed. In order to give the two love birds some privacy (British accent implied) I offer to share my bed with the other friend. I guess this is called "taking one for the team." And so we enter my room.
  
  My queen size bed fits snugly in the back corner of my room. This means there 1 side to get in and out from. Being that its my bed, I typically sleep on that side, the "outside" if you will. My new friend, however, decided that if you throw yourself in my bed with all your clothes on, you get to pick what side you sleep on! Neg friend.
  
  I get naked because that's how I sleep (jk). I'm in underwear and t-shirt. I ask her to scoot over, and in the same whiney voice she's had all night she says "No! I'm sleeping on the outside."
  
  My first thought wasn't to make her sleep on the floor, or with Drunky McUnderage in the other room. It was, "how did this girl learn that that would be an ok way to react?" I mean, entitlement is an understatement.
  
  I calmly informed her that this was in fact, my bed and as a guest in my bed, she would surrender the same 6' by 3' area I sleep in every night. Her face was shocked, but then for the first time all night, I felt like she chilled out and realized its ok if everything doesn't go your way.
  
  A man can be territorial, no doubt. It's hardwired. We take pride in what we call our own, and feel great about being able to share our bed with you. Try to be grateful for what your man provides, return the favor with your feminine sweetness, and he will share everything with you.
  
  P.s. we ended up making out, and she woke up on the "outside"
• March 12, 2009
• 8:53

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

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  
  
  Date: 2009-01-18, 1:57AM
  
  You called me at 1:30 AM to tell me over and over that you don't want to be with me any more. The problem is, I don't know who you are, and I tried to explain that.
  
  In retrospect, it would have been more fun to play along, but I was a bit too groggy to think fast. Oh well, next time a wrong number breaks up with me, I'll be ready.
  
  Give me a call if you want to practice dumping guys, I guess my number's probably in your phone now. Try to call before 10 though.
  
  * Location: 818
  * it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
  
  [www.craigslist.org]
• March 11, 2009
• 12:54

  The Perfect First Date

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes from "Terry Tucker" about the winner she met one night.**
  
  A club below Santa Cruz, drinking and listening to music with a group of friends. Late in the evening, a solitary male walks in and parks himself at the next table. He catches my eye, and we invite him over to join us. Good looking guy with a scruffy beard. Just before closing time, he mentions his nightly/early-morning newspaper delivery route in the Santa Cruz mountains….starting in less than an hour, do I want to join him? Of course.
  
  We pick up the newspapers just before 3:00am and head out, fortified with stimulants he just happens to have handy. Soon wildly careening down backroad corridors, alternating the paper stuffing, a wonderful rhythm, chatting our heads off, totally wired. A couple of stops where he grabs paper and package, runs inside the cabins, quickly returns. Delivery to the door for invalids and shut-ins, he explains. What a guy. Not just that, but he took them something extra, probably food, and delivered inside. Talk about trust.
  
  It occurs to me that this is the perfect type of first date. A shared activity that brings a strong sense of teamwork, connection…..the conversation so easy. It should always be like this. That’s when I realize I'm buzzing on something special. I like it. The route takes about 3 hours, is over like that.
  
  We wheel into a breakfast café still in the Santa Cruz mountain area, Felton I think. The locals seem to know him, and greet him as they filter in. He gets up and works the room while I tie into an omelet. So popular, almost everyone knows him, wants a piece of his time. A overheard fragment of conversation from the next table, then it hits me, and slowly sinks in.
  
  The fatal flaw. My ex was a dealer, too.
• March 09, 2009
• 8:55

  It Would Be Better If This Were a Friends Episode

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Today's guest post hails from "Rachel" who wants us to know she doesn't get paid a million dollars to deal with this crap.**
  
  So the first time I was approached about contributing to DIW I had to carefully explain that I couldn’t really contribute since I hadn’t actually dated. Yes, I was about 8 months in to my first serious relationship (lasted 15 mos. Boo-ooring!), but everything before had been pretty much the same: he’s cool, we start hanging out alone together, he acts weird, I go out of town and I never call when I get back. All in less than 3 weeks. That just didn’t seem DIW worthy. That’s when I learned that you don’t have to have officially dated the person, just tell us some crazy relationship s**t. Oh! In that case, I’m totally in.
  
  You know how on Friends they had the whole “We Were On a Break!” thing? Mine is “I Don’t Think We Should Do This Anymore”. And just like on Friends I can say it and all my friends know what I’m talking about. And just like on Friends, it never quite gets to the “we will laugh about this one day” stage. Its always just as awkward and hurtful as the day he said it.
  
  So you should probably know that while we weren’t dating, 88 and I were sleeping together pretty regularly. We were good old-fashioned f**k buddies, there for each other at all the right times (ex: After bar time). Oh, we were also really great friends. But that’s what friends do in college; they sleep together. And if they are a really great friend, they’ll be ok with no strings attached and they won’t get all emotional on you every time they down a 12-pack. So that was us—really great friends. And I think we must have been sleeping together for about a year before things got ugly the first time.
  
  I could totally feel it coming; things just weren’t feeling as friendly between us as they had been. I knew it. He knew it. I knew that he knew it. You know. But less than friendly sex with your FB is better than no sex at all. Apparently that only holds true until your FB girl (me) shows up to your house s**t faced off tequila and with a group of friends.
  
  It was a friend’s birthday and we had been at a Mexican restaurant doing the obligatory underage “pitcher of margarita/flirting with the waiter” thing. And I was properly s**t faced. I can’t give you great details about the first half of the night at his house other than at one point, I was mummified in scotch tape, I opened a bunch of flavored condoms that were in a bowl on the counter and tried to get people to taste them, and my wallet was missing for about a week. What I can tell you is just about every single thing that happened after 3 am that night.
  
  I ended up passing out in his bed of course and somewhere around 3 am I got that half-asleep sex nudge. You know, you’re both still kind of sleeping, but you still know you want to have sex, so you fumble around for a bit until you wake up going at it?! I know I don’t have to explain that to this crowd.
  
  So I got the nudge and I responded and I was fine with it. He, apparently, was not. It wasn’t more than 15-20 seconds after we finished, we’re both totally naked, I’m laying on top of him, resting a minute, when he said the words that have come to define an entire period of my life:
  
  “I don’t think we should do this anymore”.
  
  He said it with the kind of slight hesitation that you know he had been practicing it over in his head and for just a second he had to make sure that this time he was saying it out loud. That’s it. No, “I think we need to talk”, no “I think you should put your clothes back on”. Just, “I know I just initiated this sex, but now I got what I want and am ready to humiliate you”
  
  Ok, that might not be word for word, memory can be a tricky thing. But I got up, I gave him a little “Are you f**king kidding me that you did this right now, like this? You’re the one who started this.” speech, I put my clothes back on and I went home. I’m not totally sure, but I’m guessing I was starting to cry at this point too. I know myself and I was sort of drunk, it was the middle of the night, and I just got broken up with by my non-boyfriend. That’s usually the kind of thing I would start crying over.
  
  So I left. But I didn’t get in my car and drive home like a nice self-respecting girl would do. I didn’t have my car there so I stomped out the front door and started to walk the 7 blocks back to my apartment at 4 in the morning. And I had gotten about a block and a half before I realized I had forgotten my shoes at his apartment.
  
  So now comes my mental debate: Is it better to turn back now and have to walk a few extra blocks and get the shoes, or wait until morning and have to call and ask for them back?
  
  I turned around and retrieved my shoes, deciding I’m still a little drunk right now and can probably pull this off better now than when we all sober up in the morning. And I was pretty sure I didn’t want to talk to this asshole again for quite a while. So I walk back into his house, announce that I’m not returning to talk to him, only to get my shoes, and I walk right back out the door.
  
  And I never slept with him again.
  
  Actually, that was about 4 years ago and we finally ended things last week. You’re probably going to be hearing from me again.
• March 05, 2009
• 20:19

  Worst One Night Stand Ever

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Found this little story from across the Atlantic. Holy s**t. **
  
  Wayne Fisher looks like your typical early 20-something guy:
  
  
  Wayne likes to drink, likes to f**k, and enjoys taking some Valium every now and again to cut loose, according to a story in the Daily Mail. His tastes lean toward the pretty, young, attractive girls at the clubs as evidenced by Dominique Fisher, a young lady he went home with:
  
  
  According to the story, Wayne went home with Dominique after meeting at a club. They had both had a few drinks, Wayne had taken some Valium, and they bumped uglies in the bikini area, as the saying goes.
  
  But when Wayne woke up, something was horribly, horribly wrong. He was covered in blood and found this:
  
  
  
  And these:
  
  
  
  "When I woke I was covered in blood. Dominique was snoring. I just had to get out of there. I didn't even wake her to ask what she'd done," Wayne told reporters.
  
  Jesus H. Christ.
  
  Needless to say, Wayne high tailed it out of there and called the police. Dominique was arrested, charged and found guilty of "unlawful wounding." (God I love the British vernacular.) She has yet to be sentenced.
  
  Next time you think of going home with that pretty thing from the bar, think of Wayne.
• 10:49

  A quick note about awkwardness

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Dear Internet,
  
  Did I ever tell you about the time when my mom was taking a photo of me and my boyfriend (we were 18 or so, hadn’t been dating too long, and he had come to Christmas dinner, so she took our photo in front of the tree) and instead of saying, “Say Cheese!” she said, “Say Babies!”?
  
  I almost shat myself.
  
  Love,
  
  Serial
• March 04, 2009
• 8:29

  Craigslist Personals - Even Stoners Get the Blues

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  A few extra lbs? No problem! Just don't be a bitch and love smoking weed. Easy!
  
  Super Stoner seeks same - 43 (South Side Bend)
  
  Why can you find these sorts of things always on the south side of town?
• March 03, 2009
• 9:38

  Top Keyword Searches Sending DIW Traffic

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  As the main editor / webmaster of this funny little blog, I have the immense pleasure of reading the ever growing list of keywords sending Dating Is Weird traffic. As we've grown, so has the ridiculousness of many of the keywords.
  
  Below is just a small selection of some of my favorites:
  
  1. "pee party loughlin"
  
  WTF? Why are 23 people looking for me in relation to a pee party? Fuuuccck that. I think it's actually because a co-worker of mine wanted to spam my keyword log...dude has way too much time on his hands..
  
  2. "she farted in my face"
  
  Apparently this is more of a problem than I realized. Quite a few folks landed on DIW looking for assurance they weren't the only ones with fart breath.
  
  3. "dated that douche"
  
  This just seems to be a more succinct synopsis of this blog.
  
  4. "how to get a guy to talk to you"
  
  That's easy sweetie: don't write for this blog.
  
  5. "call us sluts serial monogamist"
  
  Couldn't really figure out what people were looking for here other than one of our regular contributors Serial Monogamist. Hmm.
  
  6. "had no regard for the feelings of others, i was narcissistic and self-absorbed to the point of psychotic delusion"
  
  Personal favorite here.
  
  7. "astroglide lube burning asshole"
  
  Less buttsex, duh. What I wish I could tell is which post came up as most relevant for this search..
  
  8. "boyfriend unemployed parents basement"
  
  I love how you can glean so much from just four words.
  
  9. "buttass naked"
  
  Hey, who doesn't like nudey time.
  
  10. "condoms pinned to the wall"
  
  Evidently it's not just me that misses c.vance on this blog.
  
  
  That's all for now. There's plenty more so stay tuned.
• March 02, 2009
• 9:10

  My First Lay in a New Town

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes in from "ZZ Bottom" about his first lay after leaving home.**
  
  so i am writing my first blog...so i'm chosing to write about my first lay in a new town. at 18 i moved to a city out west, and i was having a little trouble meeting the ladies as i did not have a fake id, and i had no friends. well, everyone knows the best way for an underage scrub to meet a young, willing woman...house party!! a co-worker invited me to a house party, and beverages were being served. well, later in the night, a classy young breezy started talkin' to me. before long we were tongue wrestling atop a freezer box in the basement...pretty standard hook-up story up to this point...
  
  enter her hippie ex-boyfriend.
  
  lets call him Kip, and lets call her Jessica...which was her name (i'm surprised i remembered that). in any case, Kip, a disheveled, passive aggressive hippie common to the region, accosted us while we pawed at each other's goodies. being a glutton for self-punishment, he hung around us like the smell of patchouli and body odor while we made out. not long after he says to me, still next to Jessica, "Hey dude, she means a lot to me and we just broke up a week ago... just please promise to wear a condom." Interesting request, but i nodded and we continued kissing and groping. We made the natural course to the cramped bathroom. Young Jessica lifted her skirt and we commenced to boning...without a condom. HA! (now i typically don't endorse this cavalier attitude about sex, but luckily i've since been tested and came out ok!)
  
  Anyway, dude, Kip, sees us coming out of the bathroom, fully sexed out. Being the sweet doormat that he is, he offered us a ride to my new apartment. SWEET! this dildo let us pile into his cute little yellow VW bug (like Ted Bundy's) and took us! Then he dropped us off and gave me the whole, "hey, she's a great girl...treat her right" speech. Then he left and we had more unprotected sex on my couch. the next morning i found her panties on the sidewalk in front of my house. poetic.
  
  thanks Kip
• February 26, 2009
• 20:18

  Men vs. Women (Spoiler: I think the men usually win)

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  A girl I know was dumped, hard, by her long-term boyfriend when he found someone new. Problem was, he still wanted to hit the familiar. Probably because she knew his kinks, it was easy, it was comfortable. So she gave it up, but it drove her nuts. And all of her friends frowned on her for it—and I’ll admit it, I was among their ranks.
  
  Now take a man I know (I know this is way different, but bear with me): I went out with this Guy (Let’s call him Guy, but pronounce it the French way. Soft ‘g’ followed by a long ‘eeee.’ Try it: "Guy." Isn’t that nice? After all, he was an excellent kisser, just scruffy enough and he pulled away at the perfect moment) a few times, then I dumped him. Not hard, no. Ole June just told him that I didn’t really think we were compatible. I had fun going out, but in all honesty, he was a brute and a conversation hog when my friends were around. One on one with me? Perfectly charming. But it became a problem later. Oh and Guy drove a s**tty car. Not sort of s**tty, but very s**tty, bad upholstery and a spider crack crawling across the windshield, and he didn’t even work full time.
  
  But I digress: I dumped him. He was none too pleased, and tried to talk me out of it. No go, buddy boy. A couple of weeks later, I was checking my email and his little green available button popped up. He IM’d me. And I’ll admit it: I was pretty wasted (it was a Sex in the City watching and wine drinking party night), and pretty randy. Not sure how long it took for me to subtly invite him over—not long, though.
  
  Now here’s the thing I like about men. Did he once complain that I didn’t like him and I was using him for his body when I dumped him and then invited him over for a late night bootie call? No. He hopped right into that godawful jalopy and right into my sateen sheets. Did he think that because I’d let him sleep over that we were ‘on again?’ No. And did his friends look down on him because I thought I was too good for him unless he had his pants off? I doubt it. Did it hurt his self-esteem to have meaningless sex with someone he was interested in for more? If so, he certainly didn’t act like it when he bounced out of my apartment the next morning, whistling Dixie.
• 9:48

  Grand Theft Auto

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes in from "Trodo." Who doesn't love a little crime with their dates?**
  
  Around this time last year I broke up with my ex and was on the prowl for something new, exciting and distracting. A friend figured she would be kind and gave my name and number to a friend of hers. I should have known something was not right from the get-go when, instead of calling me, he messaged me on Facebook first. A day or two go by of us exchanging vague, non-specific pleasantries back and forth – him with the intent of wanting to meet up, me with the intent of being polite so he’d take the hint, shut the hell up and leave me alone.
  
  But, as we all know with bad dates they just don’t get the hint. Car Boy eventually worked up the courage to ask me for coffee and I brushed him off with an ‘Oh sorry, too busy with work’ excuse. Then he text messaged me with another ‘Hey lets go for coffee!’ Me: ‘I’m sick.’
  
  Next I get a flurry of determined (stalkerish) messages about how he’d do the nice thing and bring the coffee to me because I am so sick. Yeah, no, I can’t have him doing that so I eventually agree to meet up at a different time later that week.
  
  The planned date time comes and goes and I don’t hear from him. Instead of being relieved, I have to admit I was somewhat curious that he let it drop after all his hard work so I text him.
  
  Three days later he gets back to me. Apparently he was doing some ‘Training for work and blah blah blah blah.’ I hesitantly accept this line, and I agree to go out with him the next night.
  
  Date night comes and he arrives at my place to pick me up. I have to admit he was kind of good-looking in the fierce bald way, but he totally blew it when he matched that look with a Christmas sweater. That had danglies on it. Dangling Christmas dangles—if that isn’t a red flag I don’t know what is. But: Car Boy had a great Jeep.
  
  So I get in the jeep and we (he) decided that instead of going to sit inside a place full of potential witnesses, we’d hit a coffee drive thru and drive around. But despite everything, Car Boy is somewhat of an interesting guy to talk with (minus the fact that all he really did was talk about cars and I could only nod along, give doe eyes and act interested), so it was rather easy.
  
  After a good hour of being parked down near a river that screamed ‘Make out point,’ he decides that he is in fact a horny teenager going to get some action! He puts the moves on me; leaning close, sliding arm around shoulders, puckering up his lips and attempting to look me longingly in the eyes. I wanted to vomit and this conversation followed:
  
  Me: Yeah, time for me to head home.
  
  Car Boy: Oh, okay, well have a good night.
  
  Me: Um…you picked me up?
  Car Boy: Yeah, I know.
  
  Me: You’ve got to drive me back home.
  
  Car Boy: Oh, right.
  
  His astuteness astounds and stuns me into silence as he begins to take me home. But then! Instead of taking me home, he goes and picks up his friend instead! Even worse, I get shuffled to the BACK of the jeep for this to happen. I would have gotten out if I knew where exactly we were and found my own ride home but before I thought of that I was trapped in the back seat.
  
  Next, he drives to the opposite end of town from where I live. I’m now a good 40 minutes from home. In the industrial park. With Car Boy and his friend. Trapped in the back seat.
  
  Soon we find ourselves parked outside of a locked, chain link fence that is keeping us out of a darkened parking lot. It was at the point his friend got out of the Jeep, reached into the back (where I’m sitting) to grab a pair of chain cutters that were under the seat, and he goes to the fence. I dig through my purse to find my phone and SOS some help, but it’s dead. Great.
  
  His friend cuts the lock on the fence and pushes the gates open only for us to drive right on through. I just witnessed by first up close and personal B&E. Car Boy jumps out of the vehicle after parking, telling me to wait there.
  
  Five Minutes go by.
  
  Ten Minutes go by.
  
  He finally comes back around the 15-minute mark. He doesn’t come back alone. Nope, he’s bearing gifts! Greasy, oily headlight gifts. Which he promptly dumps in my lap asking, ‘Hey, can you hold this?’ This repeats over and over until the back is littered with car parts. Seriously, car parts. He’s stealing car parts from an auto shop parking lot.
  
  You know what makes this all sweeter? About the fifth time he starts talking about his sexual powers, but he starts talking as if we were in mid conversation about it already. So while he’s stealing vehicles I’m learning he’s got a dick that is just ‘made to tickle the girls the right way.’ Is stealing an aphrodisiac?
  
  Just when I think things can’t get any worse, I hear the sound of an engine start. His friend had hotwired a vehicle and peeled out of the parking lot. Cue for us to leave. We peel out of there and I finally get a ride home. He expects a good night kiss; I stare at him as if he’s grown two heads that each has a dick flopping from his forehead.
  
  Next day at work – extremely paranoid by then – I get a call from my friend. Car Boy and his friend have skipped town. Apparently they had some trouble with the law. My paranoia goes into overdrive and for the next two weeks I refuse to leave the house without giant sunglasses to hide my identity and believe I’m being followed.
  
  I deleted his number from my phone. He still tries to get in touch with me today. But hey, we made it into the newspaper.
• February 25, 2009
• 7:36

  Tarzan Responds

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Last week a guest submission from "Jane" came in about the first time she saw her boyfriend too drunk. Her boyfriend, Tarzan, responded this week.**
  
  I must admit I was amazed at the response I received by your friends when I (drunkenly, I admit) made my pubic hair preferences public knowledge. Aghast looks, dropped jaws, smirks of derision. Since when did an attraction to a natural and beautiful thatch of luxuriant pubic hair become a sexual deviance? I argue that a sculpted and manipulated bush, or god forbid, a fully shaved one is much more strange and freakish.
• February 23, 2009
• 9:28

  Dating a Banker Anonymous

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  There was an article in the NYTimes recently about a support group started by some women living in NYC whose relationships went in the s**tter due to the recession:
  
  Are you f**king kidding me?
  
  The one common thread among them is their romances with high powered, financial wankers have all suffered as their men have come under the stress of a market collapse and economic recession. No more credit cards or $250 eye brow waxings. No more unhindered consumerism at their boyfriend's and/or husband's expense.
  
  Here's a quote from the article:
  
  "In addition to meeting once or twice weekly for brunch or drinks at a bar or restaurant, the group has a blog, billed as “free from the scrutiny of feminists,” that invites women to join “if your monthly Bergdorf’s allowance has been halved and bottle service has all but disappeared from your life.”
  
  I know I'm a freak who would rather wear elastic waistbands and baggy socks, but what is the f**k is bottle service and how f**king lame do you have to be to pay for it?
• February 19, 2009
• 8:42

  The First Time I Ever Saw My Boyfriend Too Drunk

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: This guest post hails from a gal who asked to be called "Jane." Names have been changed to protect the hairy.**
  
  It was only 3 months after my own, overly drunken fiasco that I had to wait to see my boyfriend's version. There's probably a Hallmark card somewhere, but I'm not so sure I want to mark the anniversary. My friends who were witnesses have taken it upon themselves to remind me. Regularly.
  
  Here's the story:
  
  Boyfriend comes to my regular-Tuesday-night-supper-club crew's movie night. We had decided to watch the Big Lebowski while drinking white russians. Someone had brought over Kahlua Especial, which is 70 proof. Not realizing that this Kahlua was actually as strong as the vodka we were generously pouring, we generously topped off the drinks with more fire water.
  
  The bottle runs out. Someone reads the label. Holy s**t guys, we're a lot drunker than we probably realized. The Dude was only half done abiding so we kept going. Someone went to buy more. Not especial this time, but still. Regular Kahlua is about 40 proof. Nothing to scoff at.
  
  I was taking it easy (strange in itself) because I hadn't brought my A game. Not necessary as I came to find out later as boyfriend brought his.
  
  I went outside to hang with the smokers and catch some fresh air. My dear friend was leaving for several months, so I wanted to see her as much as possible before she left. We chatted about how well it was going with boyfriend.
  
  When I reentered the party, the remaining folk were silent, including my clearly drunk boyfriend.
  
  "Hey guys. What are ya'll talking 'bout?"
  
  "Oh, preferences..." said one of my girlfriends with a derisive smile.
  
  "I told them about my preference for the natural look," said a slightly slurring boyfriend.
  
  Knowing exactly what he was referring to, I immediately blushed red and flustered my way to the coach. Looking around, everyone was smiling at me. They all knew too.
  
  "Well I still keep it manicured. Whatever. When in Rome, do as...whatever. Just whatever."
  
  Later when we were ready to go, I said "Come on Tarzan. We're going home."
  
  My friends still find it immensely funny to say things like, "Don't trip over your pubes" or "You need to comb your hair" or other helpful grooming tips.
• February 17, 2009
• 8:42

  **Sappy lovey dovey alert**

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  
  
  Being in love with my boyfriend feels like this video.
• February 16, 2009
• 8:37

  Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde Syndrome

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Today's guest post is from Tally G about a recent New Years encounter.**
  
  If you've ever dated, you've experienced the Dr. J and Mr. H Syndrome. This one threw me for a loop. It was a story book encounter, the kind you reminisce about for years to come. The “how we met” story that makes your friend’s jealous and little girls to continue to believe in “the one.”
  
  Freshly single, I went out on NYE to simply have a good time. Unbeknownst to me, a complete stranger came up to me at 11:45 and said, “I don’t have anyone to kiss at midnight. How about it?” It took me a couple seconds to process, but as I looked at him, I thought he was cute and I liked his confidence. So, I agreed. After 15 minutes of small talk, we did the deed. Despite that he was a sloppy kisser and that I didn’t remember his name, I decided to take him back home with our party. Thus, starting the first week of dating bliss with Dr. Jekyll.
  
  We went to breakfast the next morning with some of my friends and he passed that awful situation with flying colors especially having only known me for 12 hours. I found out we had the same sense of humor and a lot of interests in common: music, family, outdoorsy, driven. I got a call for the first date later that day. No game playing, I like that. The first date-dinner, his house and a hot tub. After that, we ended up spending the whole weekend together. He had to leave town for work after that. But, I got a call/text from him everyday that week. Still no game playing-he likes me, I like him and we’re both enjoying getting to know each other. Unfortunately, I was really sick the next weekend so I didn’t see him. But, with the promise we’d reconnect when he’s back in town the next.
  
  He leaves town for work again. No biggie, I like the space. But, I don’t hear from him at all this week except a drunk dial proclaiming his affections. Awww. We planned to meet up that Saturday. This is where it gets weird. I didn’t get a cancel call from him until late that night. Rude. I gave him an out right then and there and that was fine with me. (After all, he was a sloppy kisser and rather small in the game). Instead of taking it, he killed himself to change his other plans to hang out with me. But, yet again, the next morning, he couldn’t drop me off faster. I was a little surprised he didn’t just open the car door and kick me to the curb. Still, we planned to meet up for a movie that night. The movie ended up being sold out, so we grabbed a beer instead. It was the longest beer of my life. I felt like I repulsed him the entire time. As you can guess, Mr. Hyde never called again.
  
  P.S. If your New Year’s Resolution is to be an asshole too, at least be good in bed.
• February 12, 2009
• 15:47

  Getting used to new things

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  I think it's strange what we can get used to, and how these things don't seem at all strange at the time, not until they're undone.
  
  A recent meeting with an ex highlighted the point for me. Poster Boy and I were getting together for one final exchange of stuff.
  
  (Or we thought it was final, that process seems neverending, the unentwining of things, pictures, friends, bank accounts, tax documents. Everso thankful there had to be no courts involved, no kids, even more)
  
  More than six months had passed, the holidays were over. And we'd both moved on, and both had new people in our lives. Somehow, this was the first meeting at which things were comfortable. I could tease him without getting nasty. We could laugh without following it up with sad silence. No one cried, no one yelled. There was a brief, awkward hug (I refused to shake his hand. That seemed stupid). We shared a beer. He asked me about the New One, I gave up only as much info as I was willing to, danced around other questions. Then Poster Boy, in classic form, asked, "if this dude" was going to try to find him and fight him or something. I laughed, admitting New One had asked the same question of him. But then I answered, "No, no. He's really nice," and immediately after saying it, I realized that there was noticeable surprise in my voice.
  
  Poster Boy looked at me, "Oh yeah? He is? I have that, too," he said, eyes wide, incredulous.
  
  We nodded together, slowly.
  
  "So, do you guys fight?" he asked.
  
  "Oh, no. No." I said, "You?"
  
  "No, huh uh."
  
  We looked at each other, shaking our heads. Shrugged. As if we'd had no idea such a thing was possible.
• February 11, 2009
• 9:20

  Why Dating Co-Workers Is A Bad Idea

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes in from "Slightly Disheveled." This is why we don't date co-workers.**
  
  I was a head hostess in a "gourmet" pizza place. Our pasta chef was only a little bit older than I was and was really cute in a kind of awkward skater way. I flirted with him and exchanged off-color jokes and we were... friendly. He was quirky and offbeat. I like that.
  
  He eventually got around to asking me out and took me out to dinner and to his favorite bar. I displayed my full range of ineptness at pool. Had some... was I young enough to have ordered RED WINE in a Dive Bar? I guess I was. One of the girls there kinda pulled me aside to tell me that he was bad news. Okay. Jealous much?
  
  I got the flu soon after and he wanted to fix me a blood orange salad with a orange-balsamic vinaigrette dressing. He was speaking my language, so I let him come over. It was delicious. I agreed to another date after I got better.
  
  He came into work the next time Absolutely Brilliantly Happy. He swung through the door and walked up to me and said: "You'll never ever guess what I found on my way to work. It's so cool. Not everyone would understand it though. But you would. You're really going to love this." He opened up his brilliant yellow backpack to show me three wet objects the size of a man's fist wrapped and tied off neatly in those long baggies that newspapers get delivered in. I was perplexed.
  
  "They're cat heads."
  
  (ahem)
  
  "I'm going to put them in the back yard with the rest of them. You put a rock on top of the hole and the other critters don't eat them but the bugs clean them off."
  
  I told him that I couldn't go on that date with him after all.
  
  So he started showing up in my backyard at night watching my house "To make sure I was okay." He told me to watch for his Mickey's Wide Mouth Bottles in the recycling so that I would be able to tell how long he spent each night watching my house. Which he did... for about four bottles a night... for the next three weeks.
  
  I left the state.
• February 10, 2009
• 9:13

  Dating is Really Weird

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  
  
  Um. I don't know what to say about this.
• February 08, 2009
• 21:54

  The Pubic Combover

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

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  **Editors' Note: This guest post came in from "Donna Trump." What we'd like to know is how'd it go that weekend? Perhaps a follow up post Donna?**
  
  The best part about a long distance relationship is that you can go chunks of time without worrying about maintaining the illusion that you are nearly hairless on most of your body. While I don't ever subscribe to the fully shaved pubes, I do like to keep them tidy when I'm getting ready for a weekend bedroom marathon.
  
  I was doing just that the other day, getting ready to go see my man, who, honestly, probably wouldn't care one way or the other whether I had trimmed in preparation for him or not. Here's how it goes:
  
  I get out the trimmers and start doing my thing. It's been a VERY long day, I'm exhausted, and with one slip of the wrist everything changes. There, about an inch northeast of ecstasy, is a nearly bald spot. DAMN S**T F**K HELL STUPID F**KING F**K S**T. I go to the mirror to inspect the damage. Since we're always more critical of ourselves, I'm sure it's the most obvious thing in the world.
  
  First things first, can I cover it? I start manipulating the rest of the hair around it to try and cover it up. Marginal success. There's really nothing else I can do. I refuse to shave it all off to cover up my mishap.
  
  It's late, I go to bed and decide to discuss it with the roommate in the morning. Meanwhile I think about how I can keep my guy from seeing it. Is this going to be a lights-off, dark-of-night sex only weekend? No daytime fun? That doesn't sound good...
  
  My roommate assures me that it's not noticeable, especially when I manipulate the surrounding hair.
  
  And that is how I created the pubic comb-over.
• February 05, 2009
• 9:55

  Dating Is Weird Gets Reviewed!

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  So it's happened. A self-described "critical blog analysis" blog-review blog reviewed us. Wha? Yeah, exactly. A blog about blogs reviewed our blog. Stupid blogosphere.
  
  But get this! They didn't like us.
  
  They said things like:
  
  "The main problem is that the stories aren't crazy or over the top enough. I know some really strange stuff happens in the world of dating, I just know it! It's just not getting reported, obviously. The sort of stuff you'll find on Dating is Weird is your average, every-day kind of weirdness. Yes, the stories are strange... But they're very believable. When I read a blog like this I wanna be like 'He did what!?' and 'She touched what!?' and 'No way!'"
  
  They also said, "This blog journals hundreds of strange / bizarre / funny / 'zazzy' dating stories."
  
  First of all, what the f**k is zazzy? Does anyone know? Can someone help me out? Cause maybe I'm so boring and lame and too believable to know what zazzy implies.
  
  And secondly, hundreds? Um no. We just broke 100 stories here at Dating Is Weird. If you're going to review a blog critically, get your facts right. Maybe I'm just a stickler for accuracy, call me General Eric Shinseki, but it's not hard to count to 100. I just did and it only took a minute.
  
  And finally (though I could go on) if the stories here are the "average, every-day kind of weirdness" of dating, thank f**king god I'm not dating you Drew. Because pissing the bed, farting while going down on a girl, going on a date with a homeless bum and s**tting in the hood of your ski suit while trying to pick up a snow bunny are NOT average, every day type of events.
  
  Thanks for the review though!
  
  P.S. In the email he sent me, he said and I quote verbatim, "Your blog has been reviewed! Again, I wouldn't take the review too seriously. Enjoy"
  
  Good thing even they don't take themselves seriously.
• February 04, 2009
• 8:06

  Three ways to confuse the Serial Monogamist

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  1) Go out on one date. At the end of the date, ask for date two, to which she replies, “Maybe let’s grab a beer sometime, you know, as friends?” Follow up with near daily joke email forwards.
  
  2) Go out on three dates. Get into an argument on date #2 and date #3. When you try to set up date three, and she says, “you know, actually, this is going to sound really strange, but I think not. I’ve met someone, and I think it might go somewhere. You’ve been there, right?” Tell her, of course, yes, sure. Thanks for being honest. "Pocket dial" her that night, so she can hear what sounds like a bar in the background. When she texts, asking if that pocket dial was intentional, ignore her. Then, weeks later, send her a text, just saying hi and wondering how she is.
  
  3) Go out on two dates. Try to make date three. When she explains that while you seem really nice, you two don’t seem to be a match, tell her she’s “wrong.” Then continue for weeks afterward to send emails and texts. Continue this even after you’ve sent a text that says, “Hey stranger, how are you doing?” and she replies, “Good. I’m seeing someone.”
  
  Isn’t it OK to just stop talking to someone you went out with just a few times, after it’s clearly, amicably way, way over?
• February 03, 2009
• 8:51

  Strictly Business

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  **Editors' Note: Today's guest post started out as a conversation we had on the phone yesterday with a friend. Quickly realizing he sounded too much like a Craigslist personals ad to not share on DIW, we wrote down what he said.**
  
  So here's how my dating usually goes:
  
  Either I like a woman or she likes me in the romantic way. Rarely is it a two way street. One person feels it much more than the other and it's obvious but not awkward. Or at least, it's not awkward in the we-have-to-have-a-conversation-about-me-having-feelings-for-you sort of way.
  
  It's more like a business negotiation. In fact it usually is. I like to have it over lunch. "Hey, let's talk about us and grab a bite to eat." That way it's no big deal.
  
  You figure out the details like, hey we're going to sleep together from the hours of 12 am and 4 am, we'll call each other typically between 5-8 pm. And outside that, we do our own thing.
  
  But always, always one is secretly wishing it will turn into something more.
  
  So then you sleep together, maybe like 3 times in a row, boom boom boom.
  
  And then you take a break because it gets too serious for one person.
  
  But then you start calling each other again and things return to normal, ie sex, and then you're right back to where you started which is one person wanting more and the other doesn't so then the awkward conversaiton ensues.
  
  I'm done with that crap.
  
  Here's what I'm looking for:
  
  I have good women friends and I value them a lot. I'm not trying to f**k my women friends because that's a horrible idea, so that's why I have to find strange trim instead
  
  So unless my skirt is flipped, i don't want to date you. I want to have sex with you because daminit beating off gets old and sometimes I just want to eat the pie.
  
  That's why I end up seeming like an asshole because I'm like, I'll call you. Between the hours of 12 and 4 am. Sometime in the next three weeks. We already worked that out. In our negotiations. Remember?
  
  So if you're looking for the same, actually just looking for no-strings- attached sex, feel free to drop me a line.
  
  Women who want more need not apply. No seriously do not f**king apply. For really real, just don't.
• February 02, 2009
• 8:58

  Mister, Mister

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Six months after dating a guy for more than a year and suffering from a humiliating and public separation, I was ready to try dating again. I found the perfect guy. He liked to have a good time, but was opposite from my ex in that he was a) nice to me b) could drive, and did c) called and showed up when he said he would.
  
  I had a good time with M. He'd whisk me off to the beach for the day, play me cheesy Bon Jovi songs, and generally was just a nice guy to be around.
  
  Things started to go south when I realized that he was MUCH more feminine than I am. I'd show up at his place for a date, and sit on the couch for 30 minutes while he tried to figure out what to wear. He'd come out with two shirts, hold them up, and ask my opinion.
  
  "That one," I'd quickly say.
  
  He'd hustle back into his room, then 5 minutes later come out with the shirt I'd picked, and a new choice.
  
  "What about these two?"
  
  "The one I picked before," I'd say. At first I thought it was kind of funny.
  
  He primped, he gelled, he shaved more often than I did, and often smelled better. He played cheesy Bon Jovi songs.
  
  As time went on I became less amused and more terse with him, which wasn't fair on my part.
  
  Finally, after a couple months of dating, we parted on good terms.
  
  Not 4 months later the news came. M is gay. I heard it through the grapevine. It was so obviously true. I haven't seen him more than twice since then, we both went our separate ways, but to me he seems to have really found himself. Seems more comfortable in his skin. I don't know if he always knew and just tried to hide it because of the right-wing redneck town we lived in, or what.
  
  I like to tell myself that even if he did know, my being a tad bitchy at times pushed him over the edge of wanting to give it a go with women. I'm probably giving myself too much credit. Either way, I was the last girl he ever had sex with.
• January 29, 2009
• 9:07

  A Portrait of a Date

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  **Editors' Note: Today's guest post came in from she who wishes to remain anonymous. Fine by us, just keep 'em coming.**
  
  It was a funny date. Not funny "ha ha," but funny "mildly awkward." Just not a really good match, but still a decent time. And the making out was good, so that's sort of how I ended up at my suitor's house. Then he made gin and tonics, and then he was obviously too drunk to drive, and it was late, and I didn't want to deal with waiting for a cab in his far-flung borough, so I decided to sleep at his house. Now, I could have slept in the guest room, or made him sleep in the guest room, but please. That's ridiculous. So I let him know that there would be no pants-off partying, and that I would figure out an exit if that was a problem.
  
  "No, no, stay, I'll be good," he slurrily promised. And this guy was basically a frigging boy scout, so I trusted him. As well I should have. He didn't try a thing … until the next morning. And what he tried was very convincing, as it didn't involve the removal of clothing on his part. So I accepted his offer, but I still had no interest in what he was packing.
  
  When he got out of bed, he was sad, mopey, even a bit mooney faced. I, of course, felt wonderfully sleepy, glowy, etc. He moped into bathroom to take a (presumably cold) shower. I rolled over and nuzzled deeper into the blankets. He turned on the radio. Over the water I heard the whiny warble of Morrisey cry out, which seemed entirely, hilariously appropriate to me.
• January 28, 2009
• 7:21

  On exes

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

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  From Shannon Wheeler, Portland-based creator of Too Much Coffee Man (please buy his book):
  
  "My ex was over the other day and we were chatting about our cats.
  
  My cat was being her usual friendly self. She noticed how grey my cat had become and she said 'at least she's friendly'. She went on to tell me how her cat is psycho. It goes from friendly to psycho-killer without warning. She said it just isn't worth the risk petting her. It surprised me that that she could tell me all this seemingly without irony."
  
  Me, I'm just relieved that I finally deleted the little "People you may know!" box on myspace enough times that my ex no longer pops up, trying to be my "friend." Also, can't his new girlfriend take a new profile picture of him?
• January 27, 2009
• 1:32

  telephones and people do, fortunately, die

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

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  her cellphone died the day the bombings happened.
  
  where it used to say: This is Rebecca. Leave a message at the beep.
  it now said: The subscriber you are trying to reach has been disconnected or...
  
  she could have been anywhere; India is a big place. but i didn't sleep for almost three days. living on online news sites, looking for the names of the dead. every time i lied down the same thought thought itself. repeatedly. and guilt or fear would pull me from bed to google her name again and again like i've done so many times before. even called her parents but they, thankfully, didn't answer. didn't think of what i would have said if they had... Remember me? I used to date your daughter? Is she dead?
  
  that same thought that thought itself: FINALLY.
  so many things made easier by one little event; one stopped pulse.
  
  not the obvious things.
  obviously, it would make more sense why i have my answering machine sitting on my nightstand. i have no landline and, of all the women who have slept next to that little machine with its red light lit with a digital 2, only one has hit PLAY to conjure Rebecca's voice from 10+ years ago into the room. it would have been easier to say: That's my X who died and that's all I have left of her. rather than: Sometimes I get lonely and like to listen to the voice of the only woman I've loved. no woman likes to hear you're lonely when lying next to you; even less-so if the remedy is on the opposing side of the bed.
  
  and obviously it would free me.
  whatever part of me she had locked inside of her would be scattered into as many pieces as her body--- blown to the wind to be inhaled by any one/where. so i lost some sleep thinking i could finally walk streets i've never known and feel like i could fall in love with anyone instead of feeling like it abandoned the city just before i got there.
  
  but, mostly, i lost sleep over little things.
  pulling out old photos. re-re-re-re-re-reading old love letters. questioning: do i call mutual friends? when would the funeral be? could i give the eulogy? her father liked me, knew me to be the kind of guy who would call 411 at 04.00, drunk, and get the listing of every Rebecca Smith in the state of Oregon to dial them all one-by-one instead of disturbing him and his wife. why couldn't i give the eulogy?
  
  so much time spent on the eulogy. my masterpiece. a requiem written in three weeks. long past the time a funeral would have been held--- but no mutual friends had heard from her or her family. so maybe it could still be given or performed or published or...?
  
  one week after it was finished, she called.
  to ask how Prague and my travels were--- to tell me about hers.
  and i had to tell her i would kill her myself if she ever was in a bombed country, domestic or foreign, and didn't call within a week to let me know she was alive. she laughed it off, asking: Did you worry I was dead? and i answered honestly: No, I didn't worry...
• January 25, 2009
• 20:25

  i'm so blue...

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

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  recently my girlfriend and i had a series of brief grope, kiss, and grind sessions. due to time and place, none of them culminated in anything other than a heightened sense of arousal. while the encounters were warm, tender and very enjoyable, the lack of a climactic finish left me with a serious case of blue balls. now, the girl fancies herself a bit of an authority on human anatomy and physiology and she immediately dismissed my uncomfortable situation by discrediting the entire existence of the blue balls phenomenon. while i respect her knowledge of all things biological, i know for a fact that blue balls happen and i assured her that should she poll other guys, they would undoubtedly confirm my belief. come on fellas, help me out. weigh in on this one.
• January 22, 2009
• 11:26

  Friends Forever?

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

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  **Editors' Note: This guest post comes in from a gal who wishes to remain nameless. Fine by us, just keep 'em coming!**
  
  I need to stop f**king all of my single, male friends. Pretty soon I'm not going to have any left.
  
  I don't know why it happens or how it happens. Well, actually I have a pretty good idea of why – they know me and I know them and it's comfortable. And, thinking about it, the how too – alcohol is usually involved. Is there some kind of underlying sexual tension with some of those single, male friends that just sometimes, on the right night and the right conditions (or wrong ones), just erupt?
  
  A history:
  
  1. A really good friend who I worked with and got close to over cigarette breaks. He was leaving town to move back to his homeland and his last night on earth…well, yeah. Since then we haven't been able to keep the friendship. I still really want to be friends, but it doesn't seem to be working.
  
  2. Another friend about this time last year, not as close but still designated as a pal. This one hit me sideways, I wasn't expecting it to happen and it happened again and again quite a few times, on those certain nights. He left town too.
  
  3. And just recently, a good friend that I have known for years and hang out with on occasion. I am currently in the process of trying to figure out how to approach this one – should I be honest and tell him the truth? I think he wants to get to know me better and he is a great guy, but I'm not sure if I want to start anything serious. How can I keep the friendship? Does it have to change our relationship?
  
  Maybe I just need to start going out to bars more.
• January 21, 2009
• 9:19

  How Not To Pick Up A Snowbunny

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  **Editors' Note: This guest post came in today from a Marine who prefers to remain nameless. We don't blame him.**
  
  Years ago I was a marine stationed in Southern California. We did lots of things in our time off, most of them centered on finding girls and then trying to f--k them. Sexist and rude yes, but we were marines after all.
  
  One weekend some buddies and I planned a snowboarding trip to a nearby ski resort. True to form, the intent was not really to snowboard (none of us were all that good anyway) but to lure sexy snowbunnies back to our cheap hotel room and yes, try to f--k them.
  
  At any rate, we got up to the resort, rented our gear and donned our makeshift ski wear. My buddies wore U.S. issued fatigues and laughed at me as I stepped into my insulated one-piece Carhartt suit. Franky, I thought it had a certain honest, everyman appeal. The morning progressed and sure enough, we did locate and team up with a crew of attractive gals. We shared lift rides, chatted a bit as we cruised easy runs, and overall, things were looking good for our ultimate intentions.
  
  At some point mid-day I ducked into the trees at the side of a run to answer natures call, i.e. take a big s--t. I felt a bit rushed as I saw my buddies disappearing down the hill with the girls and knew that they had absolutely no reservations about ditching me for the rest of the day in the hopes of improving the odds with the ladies. I finished up, stepped back into my board and bombed the hill, getting to the gondola line just in time to cut my way up to our party as they crammed their way into the crowed gondola car.
  
  The door shut and up we went. The first thing I noticed was that I was located directly under the heat vent and hot air was blasting me. The second thing was the distinct smell of human s--t. Very soon it became evident that other people noticed it too.
  
  Comments began circulating: Dude! Smell that s--t? Bro! Who S--t themselves?! Clearly, I was the culprit. I checked my boots - all clear. My gloves - all clear. Snowboard - clear. Pants cuffs - clear. A glimmer of hope emerged. Maybe I wasn't the offender.
  
  The ladies were obviously grossed out and embarrassed by the whole thing and by this point the warm air and intense reek had them breathing into their elbows. I knew we just had to get to the top and get out of this damn gondola into some fresh mountain air where I could do a more thorough check of my gear. Ah! the lift shack at the top of the line was in sight, just a few moments more and I was home free!
  
  Suddenly, from just over my shoulder, my buddy, my buddy, the f--ker that was supposed to look out for me, put his life on the line for me in battle, yells, no bellows at the top of his lungs -Dude! Dude! YOU S--T IN YOUR HOOD!!!! HE S--T IN HIS HOOD!!! and proceeds to begin laughing his ass off. He is very quickly joined by most of the other people in the gondola. Except of course, the snowbunnies.
  
  The look on their faces was textbook disgust and embarrassment. A few moments later, the gondola docks, the doors open and the crowd stampedes out amidst laughter and nasty comments about the hygiene of the US marine corp. My friends are literally rolling on the ground, not even observing, or caring about for that matter, the rapid disappearance of our quarry. I admit, at this point I found the humor in the whole situation as well and joined in with belly laughs of my own. We spent the rest of the day reliving the gondola ride and pounding beers in the lodge, of course, only after I had ditched my trusty Carhartt suit.
• January 19, 2009
• 7:51

  Hitting On A Married Woman

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

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  **Editors' Note: This guest post came in late last night. I happened to be around for this one (funny how often that happens) and was one of the unfortuante fools suffering the Nikki-Six wannabe. After reading this, I'm glad I got him and not the ass hitting on the married chick.**
  
  
  Dating may be weird, but believe it or not … marriage can be pretty damn bizarre, as well. But those are stories for a whole 'nuther blog. I've been out of the dating scene for years, and while I do visit the bars (ok, one bar) from time to time I am not usually privy to an insider's look at the dating/pick-up scene in the 21st century. My fortunes changed one evening not long ago.
  
  I met some friends at "the" bar for drinks and conversation. The four of us—three of us female and one male—sat at the bar for a spell, making small talk over our beers and whiskeys. When the linear arrangement of seating made conversation difficult we picked up our drinks and moved down to a table. Things were busy that night, with a table down the way quickly filling with people and growing in size as more tables were dragged over to accommodate the blossoming number of drunks gathering there. They were young, for the most part … and granted I'm older than everyone in this story so a bunch of early-20-somethings made it look like frat-boy night at the bar to me. Though, NONE of these people looked like ever they'd seen a college, let alone a frat house.
  
  The four of us minded our own business, drinking and talking, laughing and drinking more. Eventually the youngsters outgrew their accommodations and went looking for more seats. They found them at our table, and instead of picking the chairs up and dragging them over to their soiree, three of the guys plopped their asses in chairs around our table. At first I was sure one of my companions knew these guys, despite the fact that one of them—the ringleader, it seemed—looked like a Nikki Sixx-wannabe, and the other two looked like they were Nikki Sixx-wannabe wannabes. Aim high, young men … aim high. Needless to say, my companions did not know these boys.
  
  Wannabe One placed himself at the end of the table, between me and my male friend. Wannabe One looked at me and said, "You're married, aren't you?" To which I replied, with a sarcastic flash of my ring finger in front of my face, "Wow, what ever gave you that idea?" Give the young man props for his astuteness. His answer? "Because you're so sexy." Wow again. And thus began Wannabe One's heavy-handed charm … from his sharing of his pay stub with me (he had a job!) to his drunken slurring of my name whenever he could fit it in a sentence. Boy was all of 24 chronologically, but not a day over 16 emotionally. At the end of the table, one of my girlfriends was getting the suave treatment by Nikki Sixx-wannabe and Wannabe Two. At one point Nikki Sixx-wannabe looked at me, trying for his best deep and smoky look, and asked, "Where are you from?"
  
  So I'm from California … I don't always share it up front because I get some ribbing for it, but with this guy I was more than willing to do some verbal sparing. "California," I said. "Ah, me too," said Nikki, sealing our common bond, "I'm from Huntington Beach." "Oh," I replied, "Huh. I'm from Northern California … we don't typically like the SoCal bunch."
  
  And what do you do when a woman makes a point to show she has no interest in who you are or where you're from? You try to impress her with your rock-star credentials, of course. "I'm just up here with my band," says Nikki. "Oh?," I say, "What's the name of your band?" To which he replies:
  
  "Slut."
  
  Honest to god. (No, this is not the same band as the German band Slut … in case you music lovers were wondering.) "You must get a lot of girls with that," says my girlfriend who's been stuck with these two hacks hovering over her. But they still don't get the hint. Obviously our acid is not acidic enough. Finally, after disturbing our peace for a good 20 minutes, Nikki Sixx-wannabe asks, "So, what are you guys doing tonight?" To which my friend and I look at each other and reply dryly and in unison: "This."
  
  They didn't run away immediately, but they apparently heard chastity belts locking because they pulled back on their assault, slowly filtering back into their own crowd of hairspray, black leather and ear piercings. We continued with our night.
  
  I told my husband the story when I got home, and he just laughed. Which, on one hand, was nice … he wasn't going to blow a gasket over me being at a bar with random losers hitting on me. On the other hand, he could have shown a little concern. I mean, really? Your wife is at a dive bar and you have zero territorial instincts when you hear she's been hit upon? That's just one way in which marriage is weird. But again, that's a story for another blog.
• January 16, 2009
• 8:10

  Henry Rollins Hates Dating

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  
  
  I love you Henry. And I promise I hate Nickleback too.
• January 14, 2009
• 10:22

  Dating in the Social Networking Era

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  My new beau recently changed his Facebook status to "In a Relationship." The gesture, while very cute and much appreciated, was a bit weird for me for several reasons:
  
  1. Multiple women commented on the change with notes like "lucky girl!" or "and hearts break around the nation" and "I second lucky girl!" among other flirty, innocuous compliments. I know he's a good looking dude and women hit on him wherever he goes, I just didn't realize he had fans around the nation waiting in line..
  
  2. My status is and will remain "Whatever I can get" as that option no longer exists for new Facebookers. Having joined this little social networking phenomenon when it was open only to college students, I was given that option in my relationship status choices and me being me, will now and forever be looking for whatever I can get. (Note: it's actually one of the few things in my life that even remotely resembles a trophy case...unless you were around in the beginning, you can never have that status. I was, therefore I do, in your face! Yes, stupid and immature and awesome. Whatever.)
  
  But this is the first time that I've ever been in an actual relationship while on Facebook, and so is there some sort of dating rule about updating your social networking relationship status? Am I inadvertently sending a message about my feelings by NOT updating? The whole thing weirds me out a little.
  
  3. His sister, who is NOT on Facebook, texted him a few days later to tell him she heard about his relationship status update. What? Really?
  
  
  I talked to him about it, mostly to let him know that while I'm very much into him, I won't be changing my relationship status. Thankfully, he was alright with that.
• January 11, 2009
• 18:28

  You get ONE

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  How I ended up in a bedroom making out with two guys is not the part of the evening I remember. It doesn't matter. These fellows were friends (of mine and with each other). Hot friends. I had a crush on one, and really wanted to be dating him.
  I do remember that we got into the room and started fooling around. I tell you, it's not everyday that you've got one guy working the boobs and another making out with you. It's not the worst way to be, either.
  
  I knew the one I didn't have a crush on had a girlfriend. Since we hung out together often, I had to deal with his certifiably crazy girlfriend on a regular basis. I did not consider her a friend. I was nice to her, though, because life is easier that way.
  I also knew that she was in the other room sleeping. In my experience, if you don't want to deal with a crazy girlfriend, you let her continue to sleep. You don't wake her up to ask if you can have a threesome with her boyfriend and his frat bro.
  (Yes, they were frat boys. More stereotypical beef-head football players, but whatever. They were very nice, very cute boys.)
  
  We didn't get to the really fun stuff because we got interrupted. Apparently crazy girls sleep lightly.
  She screamed crazy-girl nonsense. We listened to her scream. I put my shirt back on and we all went to leave so I could go home and the boys could get on with their evening. She slapped me once. I kind of smiled (I'd been having a good night until she came in so I was in a good mood). She earned that slap, but she only got one. If she would have tried it again I would have punched her in the face. But I was making out with her boyfriend so she got so slap me.
  
  As I was walking out the door she said something like, "We're not friends anymore."
  I was irritated at being interrupted and did not give a s--t about her. I turned to her and said in a voice oozing with sarcasm, "Dang it," and walked out the door.
  
  I remained good friends with both the boys. Crazy-girl's relationship ended... eventually.
  
  Dang it.
• January 09, 2009
• 20:41

  12 steps

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  Tags:    [edit]

  You know you have a problem when you're tidying up your house before a fellow comes over and you spend five minutes carefully shaking out your blankets and sheets, then checking around your nightstand for condom wrappers.
• January 08, 2009
• 11:40

  Dating Married Men : Part Deux

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  As promised, the second installation of why it's a really bad idea to date married men:
  
  I didn't realize it was a date until he saw a female friend who looked first at me in confusion then at him questioningly then back at me in disgust and then turned to him and said, "How is (wife's name)?"
  
  It wasn't that I didn't know he was married. I've met her. And their two kids. It was that he asked me out to drinks to discuss "work." Or so I thought.
  
  "I'd like to run some ideas by you about my book business," he wrote in an email. "And it'd be nice to catch up over some whiskey."
  
  Now if you've followed this blog even a little bit, you're aware I love whiskey and hate bad pick up lines. I'm also a bit of a geek so a book discussion over whiskey invite is heaven. It's also a brilliant cover.
  
  We met at a swanky bar downtown and ordered top-shelf scotch-bourbon with a tasty appetizer. The conversation meandered through the usual catching up then veered towards discussion of building crushes. Evidently the men in his office had crushes on the various young women in the building (I used to work there). I feigned ignorance and ordered another.
  
  He kept asking me about my personal life - what I was up to these days, what did I like to do on the weekends, etc. - and was reticent when asked about his wife and children, whom I asked about frequently. Truth be told though, I was alright with having a few drinks on a married man's tab until his female acquaintance walked up and gave me the stank eye like I was the one in the wrong.
  
  Tangent: women, instead of blaming each other when a man's being a dog, blame him. This seems obvious to me, but for whatever reason, the majority of women will go after the other woman like she's the one cheating. I have a few stories about this as well, mostly about being physically threatened and harassed by crazy girlfriends who think their boyfriends are cheating on them with me, but I'll save that for another post.
  
  At one point I asked if he had to go given that it was getting late and a school night and he said that he had told his family he would be working late. Sketch.
  
  As the third round of drinks were finished, I thanked him for a pleasant discussion, pointed out we hadn't even once mentioned books and wished him well. No mention of the possibility of meeting again, nothing about the awkward tension introduced by female friend, just a nice and formal "thank you."
  
  "I'm sorry we didn't even talk about books! We'll have to go out again soon," he said.
  
  "Thanks again. Tell (wife's name) I said hello," I replied.
• January 07, 2009
• 8:06

  DATEBLOGGING is weird

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Did our loyal readers notice that we seem to have a blogwar on our hands?!
  
  Thank, you cvance.
  
  Thank you, baby jeebus.
• January 05, 2009
• 11:45

  Dating Resolutions

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  New year, new leaf, new dating resolutions...
  
  Here's mine:
  
  Don't f--k up the really good relationship I started a few months ago. Given my history, the fact that he still likes me three months later is a good sign. I don't think he believes me when I tell him that I sometimes maybe a teensy tiny bit sabotage things by being a big fat jerk face. Example: get s--t faced wasted and not come home or call or call the next day until the hangover is semi-manageable. I pulled that one already and he called me out on it but then actually let it go after we'd discussed it. Well, let it go after we'd discussed it a few times, but fair. I'll give him that it was disconcerting enough to necessitate the WTF? Was That conversation more than once.
  
  So what are your resolutions DIW readers and writers?
• January 03, 2009
• 18:33

  Love this

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  
  Online Dating Helping Pathetic Women Get Their Hopes Crushed More Efficiently
• January 02, 2009
• 16:16

  Say It Don't Spray It

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  "I think... I'm in love with you," I mumbled into my phone, my champagne-warm face pressed against the cool back seat window of my friend's Land Rover.
  
  Then she said something. It was muffled. She said something else. I blacked it out. And then it was morning. And I had no idea how she felt.
  
  AWK.
• December 30, 2008
• 21:06

  Year end reminiscence

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  One of the most intimate moments of my life took place in an airport terminal. Sort of like in the movies, but not all contrived, and with no soundtrack.
  Poster Boy and I had spent months on the road together. First, traveling the U.S. in a van, working side-by-side for insane 16-day stretches, 15+ hour days, days in which we fought, and spat and snapped at each other, but days in which our respect for one another grew as we totally nailed the job, kicked its ass and wiped with it.
  We explored cities we’d never seen before, we befriended or alienated locals, depending on where we were, we ate gloriously though cheaply, (The best barbeque in the world in North Carolina, greasy cheese steaks in Philly—wiz wit—deep fried cheese curds in Wisconsin, his first oyster on the half shell in pre-Katrina New Orleans) we destroyed hotel rooms, we saw kickass bands in strange cities and made friends we’d never see again, we nursed hangovers while the other drove long hours down the highway. We made out at the top of the empire state building.
  Then we went to Europe, where we ate mushrooms in Amsterdam, twice, and I freaked out the first time, and he freaked out the second time, we both got scabies from dirty hostel sheets, we saw the Beastie Boys in a squatter village tent in Rome, we got drunk everywhere, we slept on trains side by side, wandered the Irish countryside where we ran into a redheaded farmer in rubber overalls walking a cow down a road (we asked him for directions, and his accent was so thick we just smiled and nodded), we were confused for Germans everywhere we went, failed repeatedly to speak the local language, got lost in a drunken fight in Venice, got so poor we stole bread from a breakfast buffet in Prague, we had a funny hangover day in Dublin. We made out at the top of the eiffel tower.
  After a couple of months, time was up. We went back to New York. We got tattoos in Manhattan, went to our favorite Jewish deli. We were jetlagged together. Then we flew back to the West Coast. Boarded our last plane.
  It used to be that as soon as you got off the plane, your family was there to meet you. We all know that in the post-9/11 world, you weave through the terminal, past security that's roping your family off, because your loved ones don’t have boarding passes. So Poster Boy and I walked through the airport with our heavy, smelly backpacks pulling our shoulders down. We were at our home base airport, so we knew when we got to the turn around which our parents were waiting. We stopped.
  
  We looked at each other, and we kissed. We were terrified. We had not seen anyone we’d known for a long time. We hadn’t been away from each other for more than a few hours. And around that corner, standing teary-eyed, were both of our MOTHERS. And our DADS. We looked each other in the eye, squeezed each other’s hands, and both knew there was no way to avoid going. It was done. Our unit was about to be splintered. It was all over.
  And that moment, right before we looked away, just before he and I each turned the corner, just before he and I and let go of the other’s hand: It was beautiful. It was perfect.
  
  
• December 29, 2008
• 9:50

  Submission

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

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  **Editors' Note: This guest post came in from "Running On Thin Ice," which is an apt name given that after this story happened, ROTI ran home in a snow storm rather than wait around with the woman and her boyfriend for ROTI's ride home. We only know this because we picked him up on the side of road..**
  
  That title sounds like this story is going in a different direction than it really is.
  
  I have something of a sordid, lascivious history with this woman. We worked together at the same restaurant for about a year and worked together well. There were instances where the place was short-staffed and she and I had much more responsibility than anyone making $3 an hour + tips should ever have, but we made it happen and meshed well as drinking buddies, co-workers, and eventually f--k buddies. Problem: she was on her third husband and has three kids to boot. I am a free-wheeling kid fresh out of college at this point with zero job prospects aside from that which a bachelor's in psych can afford (read: waiting tables, digging retaining walls, etc.). She is much more attractive than she gives herself credit for, and that has always been a turn-on for me, as it complements my joking self-aggrandizement well. Still, I don't wish to be Homewrecker Miles as I have been down that road and have scars and concussed memories to prove it.
  
  That honorable intention lasted maybe a month and we were between the sheets. Things fall apart, and between me moving across the country and her other life we lost touch for a while. Fast forward to more recent times and we are back in touch... promising to connect and drink ourselves silly as a late birthday celebration for her.
  
  I show up at the bar we left when we first got together all those years ago, and there she is, looking fantastic and with a 6'4" boyfriend with arms as big as my thighs in tow. He also happens to be much better at pool than me, which doesn't happen everyday, in addition to being an extremely well-paid engi-nerd. Sigh. Tequila flows freely with Mr. Buff picking up I don't know how many rounds in a row, and all of a sudden Miss Thing and I are talking about what it was like exploring each others' nether regions back in the day. She is sneaking this conversation in when Mr. Buff isn't close enough to hear, but she is getting into my personal space bubble and I don't think Mr. Buff was too excited about it. Thankfully there were a bunch of their friends around to distract him while Miss Thing and I step outside. Then we're kissing. Then we're getting into HIS truck. Then...
  
  It's as good as I remember, even if I am sneaking looks over her shoulder at the bar door waiting to see if Mr. Buff is running in my direction with a pool cue / tire iron / gun. He is not. This is pretty hot, even if my life could be in danger. I wonder briefly if he will smell the sex in his truck.
  
  We hurry back inside and nobody seems to be the wiser. Miss Thing is even audacious enough to go up to her man whom I just cuckolded and give him a kiss. Scandalous. But who am I to talk?
• December 24, 2008
• 11:22

  Happy Holidays

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  From all of us to all of you, Happy happy joy joy and all that.
  
  Looking forward to a new year of weird dating stories.
• December 21, 2008
• 20:30

  Small town dating

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  I was on a date with Edgar. It was going OK, but slow. We had already done the one-on-one cup of coffee thing, which went well, and now we were trying the “going out” thing. Some live music, a couple of cocktails. Naturally, in a small town, that involves a lot of running into people you know, which I generally like. All signs pointed toward success. It should have been a fun night, but it was rough going. I felt like I was pulling, like he was pulling, like we were both trying too hard. (Except when people I knew came up to say hi, then he’d completely shut down.) I was starting to wonder.
  
  Toward the end of the night, we ran into a couple of my friends who wanted to go to The Grange, so we four crunched through the snow to our next location. Just before we got to the door, I looked up from under the hood of my jacket and saw him. It was Heathcliff, standing outside The Grange, smoking a cigarette.
  
  I’d dated Heathcliff for no time at all, but there seemed to be something there. Then, as happens, quite suddenly, he had apparently found a cliff and fallen off. No calls, just awkward, halfassed attempts at replies to my playful emails.
  Like, “Oh, hey! How’re you doing?” Um, great? Maybe better if you called me?
  
  So my throat tightened up and as we approached, I took a deep breath and said, “Hey, Heathcliff. How the hell are you?” Edgar had the good sense to walk inside the bar with my friends and leave me in the cold with Heathcliff.
  
  He stuttered apologies; he made a “Look at how sweet I am and see how wide I can open up my big brown eyes?” face. He said he knew he should have called, should still, but This happened and then This happened and, man, it had been rough. Then he looked at me as if to say, “what a mistake.” I shook my head, No. But still, for a moment, I forgot how mad I’d been. And why? Why did his pathetic little hangdog face make me want to hug him make a bad joke to make him laugh? I wanted to take off my glasses, I wanted to put my face in his neck. I don't think it was the rejection itself, I'd felt this way before he disappeared. I had barely gotten to know him, but it had felt easy (yes, like a Sunday morning). Then he’d disappeared, until now.
  
  Then my friends came back out of the bar, apparently it was packed with douchebursts. They still had Edgar in tow, and he seemed even less appealing than before. I said goodbye as Heathcliff shrugged, smiled, and went inside. And when my date suggested coming back to his place, just for a drink, I declined.
  
  So it worked. I ran into someone who had rejected me, yet who still made me swoon. The meeting with Heathcliff had clarified just one thing.
  
  Edgar? Not it.
• December 19, 2008
• 8:57

  We Interrupt This Weird Dating Story

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  Dear Spammers,
  
  F--k you. If you post a comment on this site with a link back to your crap ass site, it will be deleted. If you post a comment on this site that is irrelevent or off topic, you will be deleted and/or unmercifully made fun of.
  
  Don't do it.
  
  Love,
  The Editors
• December 18, 2008
• 10:50

  He also told me once I was the "biggest" girl he'd ever been with.

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  Tags:    [edit]

  
  I had a boyfriend in high school who I suspected was too cute for me. That's never a good start. But he seemed to like me quite a bit, and we decided to give it a go. That's what high school's for, really. It sure as hell isn't about learning classroom nonsense.
  
  It was always sort of weird. He had a car, I didn't. He was 18, I wasn't. I smoked, but he didn't, so he'd buy the cigarettes for me, but bitch about it all the time. He was a vegetarian who wore a leather jacket. I still hated Bob Dylan.
  
  The funny thing was, we always wanted to like each other, we just never did that much when we were together. But we both learned big dating "Don't"s from each other.
  
  We were out at dinner once, sitting on the patio of a local family-style pub. It was a sunny day, and our waitress came by, and as she turned away, a bright shaft of sunlight illuminated the blond mustache on her upper lip. I snorted as soon as she was out of earshot.
  
  "What?" he asked.
  "Did you see her mustache?" I said.
  "Oh, I guess so. It's not really much worse than yours."
  
  I didn't finish my dinner and refused to speak to him for a week. But I also learned about how vegetarians tend to react to catty bitches: Unfavorably.
• December 16, 2008
• 1:09

  why would you go on a date with someone who posts on here?

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  Tags:    [edit]

  
  some women see themselves in every man.
  it's why they cannot be happy with any of them.
  
  some women are like my fourth grade teacher---
  always with the, "Oh, he has SO much POTENTIAL!"s; always ready for the investment in a fixer-upper.
  
  some women wouldn't know what to do with happiness.
  so they choose men who will see to it they will never have to worry about such a thing. these, curiously enough, happen to overwhelmingly be the bigger psychos.
  
  there are a lot of other women.
  i know this; but i've never known them. it's that kind of knowledge you know in periphery--- only thru television and tales of people in better income/contentment brackets. like the way poor kids know that Santa brings other people better things but they don't know the people who get better things so it is imagined: instead of food stamps it's food; instead of the discount Wal*Mart clothing it's the full-priced stuff; instead of one video game on the outdated gaming console they imagine the newest model--- never imaginative enough to imagine stockings stuffed with treats food stamps could never buy, designer clothing that would make Barbie blush and enough video games to while away eternity without getting good at any of them so they are all found boring.
  i am like that: i am poor in women. more now than ever. and like those horrid rich people who say things like:
  -Those people wouldn't know what to do with these things if they had them.
  i agree. i wouldn't know what to do with a good woman if i had her. but of the women i've had---
  the women who see themselves in every man only felt like seeing themselves in me when i was younger, more attractive--- no woman wants to see herself in a man that is drinking away what little looks he has; women want youth more than men want young women--- we are all vain that way.
  the women who saw all the potential are more practical than they sound; they only see the easily moulded potential in the untapped creative people--- college slackers who don't know what direction to go. they don't see potential in someone who is trying at a creative career; there they just see failure.
  but the women who don't know what to do with happiness, they are the only ones who are still seeking me out--- they are the only ones who KNOW i won't disappoint.
  
  a date:
  a woman with a good resumé; a job that demands glasses and an astute pose.
  an attractive woman, five years my senior, who has already been thru a failed marriage--- that is a better resumé than any occupation: knowing they know what men have to offer and when to say it was enough.
  so we meet for lunch; someplace where i can show up and be sober but still have a few beers. something cheap. a sandwich. someplace to talk. TAKE NOTE OF THAT: i wanted to show up sober. it's a courtesy few people have seen--- even my parents don't remember it happening since 19.
  but she shows up late and i am a stickler on time--- so i was reading Calvino, reminding myself how no woman is better than the company of a dago folk tale teller.
  and when she shows.... now, i know i'm not the most pleasant person to be around. in fact, on the whole, i enjoy making most people miserable. but i know how to treat a woman... for a night, for a day or two when i think she could be the answer to whatever makes it so i cannot sleep, cannot stop drinking; when i think she can cure me of being me, i'll be anyone else. that said: she was miserable. she made my normal temperament look like i s--t sunshine and roses on a regular basis. antagonistic in the worst way. which makes the beer taste better.
  and there are people who can pull things out of their asses and do it in a curiously interesting way. there was once a woman-- one of those POTENTIAL type women --who said she once met Marilyn Monroe (she was 20 in '99). that's endearing in it's lack of comprehension in--- anything. but a woman who knows me as a Bukowski freak who tries to tell me his is in the 1900's era, Lost Generation type, and critiques him at length!? oh--- i've beat a bitch's ass for less than that.
  so it ends.
  i'm out $32 for beer and a couple sandwiches--- mutual friends gave her two books to give back to me since they knew she'd be seeing me, figured it's worth the extra $30+ not to walk back to her car. hell, i'da paid more than that to end it there. so i say i'm going to go start drinking, have to memorize a poem for the slam that night... she says she's going to go buy cigarettes then join me.
  i didn't say what bar i was going to but she knew--- made me wish i was less predictable.
  so i sat at the bar of the bar; something i rarely did. talked with the bartender. talked with the regulars who knew me by face only. talked with everyone who i didn't talk to in the 12 years i'd been coming into that bar daily.... and when one finally took to talking back, i was riveted. we talked about his wife and plans for kids and shooting things with big guns and all the things people talk about in the bar i drink in... after 45 minutes of COMPLETELY ignoring this woman, she sent me a text message (while sitting next to me) that read:
  
  Hate to tell you but I think I' leaving. I'm bored. Didn't want to tell you to his face that I'm BORED. See ya later maybe.
  
  then walked out.
  HALLELUJAH, the end.
  
  but no, not really.
  if you know this type of woman, you'd know this. i should know this. i just didn't know she was this type of woman.
  so i go on trying to memorize a poem for the slam i'm hosting... but i've dranken too much. there's no hope for something new. so i keep drinking. friends come out, we drink more. i tell them about the crazy woman. they laugh, i laugh--- everyone is having a good time.
  until she texts again, with the following:
  
  Say please and I'll come to the slam. Say pretty plesae with a flaming cone of rum-soaked sugar on top and I'll bring material.
  
  and i show it to my friends and we stop laughing. for a moment. then they keep laughing and i don't, they tell me about rabbits that could be boiled on my stove and i think:
  -Hell, I like rabbit....
  but not even cooking a marmot properly could make this less weird.
  and she knows where i will be, so she is there. brings our mutual acquaintances to make it more awkward for me to avoid her; but i succeed. at the end, when she approaches to invite me to be with the people i know, i'm drunk enough to give her a double flick of the wrist and a glare.
  HALLELUJAH, the end.
  
  but no, not really.
  she sent me text message apologies, she sent me facebook apologies, she started her own blog that was only one REALLY F--KING LONG entry about our lunch date--- explaining how she had diarrhea so couldn't be charming, felt insecure around me so had to be combative, felt hungover so she drank more, felt i slept with one of the poetesses who read and felt jealous of her and her bad writing...
  and i've decided i don't like women breaking into my house and cooking for me... i cook well enough for myself. so i say:
  -It was a failed experiment. Let's end it there.
  and she agrees.
  HALLELUJAH, the real end.
  
  but no, not really.
  she starts saying how her job of glasses and pretentious poses would benefit from local authors being displayed. and how it would be business. and how these things should be talked about....
  and, if you know me, my ego is my weakness. so i agree.
  then, in the SAME sentence, she shifts to inviting me over for dinner and how we would hit it off so much better in person, without people around.
  and i say no, again.
  and she apologizes again.
  and i say i accept but apologies aren't meant to change a person's outlook... not a manipulation tool. maybe in a real relationships, sure... maybe. but not after a lunch date where there was no f--king, not even a kiss--- not even a hug.
  and she says she gets it. one last apology.
  HALLELUJAH, the really real end.
  
  but not really.
  i s--t you not: as i was writing this i get a text message---
  
  Do you have an hour free tomorrow?

• December 14, 2008
• 19:58

  Hooking up

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  Tags:    [edit]

  From an interesting story in the New York Times. After defining what hooking up is, the author writes:
  "It turns out that everything is the opposite of what I remember. Under the old model, you dated a few times and, if you really liked the person, you might consider having sex. Under the new model, you hook up a few times and, if you really like the person, you might consider going on a date."
  
  
  
• December 11, 2008
• 9:21

  Bros & Hoes

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  **Editors' Note: This guest post came in from a guy asking to be called "Wingman," which seemed apt given his backstage role in this story."
  
  We've all heard the old saying, "Bros before hoes." For me it's gospel. I'd do anything for my guys way before I would do something comparable for a girlfriend or a potential f--k. After a few nasty experiences with friends' ex-girlfriends, girlfriends of exes, friends and my ex-girlfriends...you get the point. What guy hasn't been burned in the past by not following this one, simple rule to dating?
  
  That's why when last week I had the opportunity to help a bro get a hoe, I was stoked. There's gotta be extra karama points for that, right?
  
  He had managed to lay the hot manager from Barnes and Noble a few weeks ago after meeting her out at the bar. There was enough alcohol involved that although he remembered it being good ("f--king best piece I've had dude!" he said) he didn't remember her name.
  
  Classic.
  
  Even more classic was calling me 15 minutes before their "first date" in a panic.
  
  "S--t! I don't know her name! I mean I think it's Beth, but I'm not 100% positive. What if I call her the wrong name?! S--t s--t s--t!"
  
  "Calm down," I said. "We can figure it out. I'll call the store and ask whoever answers the name of the manager."
  
  "I f--king love you dude."
  
  We hung up and I called B & N.
  
  "Hi. I was just in there talking to the female manager. I told her I'd bring something back, but I forget her name. What is it?"
  
  "Oh, you mean Beth. She..."
  
  I didn't even wait to hear what the clerk was going to say.
  
  "Sweet. Thanks dude."
  
  My bro got laid again and didn't hesitate to call out her name during it. I made up a new law for our friends: "Help our bros get hoes."
• December 08, 2008
• 10:09

  No, you're NOT invited

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  It's good to get to the point with your ex that when he calls you on your birthday, you pick up, and you're genuinely thankful that he called.
  
  It's not so good when that call comes at 3 p.m., and he's half-soused and suggesting that he might show up at your birthday party.
  
  But it is a good reminder of why he's an ex in the first place, no?
• December 05, 2008
• 11:02

  Excuse Me, Do I Know You?

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes from "Sweet Sickness." Keep 'em coming folks!**
  
  I had one of those "I'm totally telling the internet on you" moments. OH Aaron… he was a fun one. Younger than I usually consider doing … anything with, but he had one of those baby faces that I just melted for. Even stranger, he's blond, and I don't normally go for blonds. Once again, just one look at the baby face with the puppy dog eyes.. you would melt too.
  
  There's his introduction. Now here's the story.
  
  A couple years back, I had some friends that had a constant party house. Pretty much when we weren't partying, we were getting ready to, or getting rid of hangovers in preparation for the next party... You get the idea. One of THOSE houses. Well Aaron and I met through being friends of friends of friends. I actually knew the people who lived there, and he appeared at a party playing with the "band" aka the house people blowing and banging and strumming their instruments.
  
  He played the sax. I love sax. Yes, sAx. Anyway, they all played and we had an instant drunken lust for each other. It's like "love at first sight" but it's actually "drunken-horniness-you're-cute-I'd-totally-f--k-you" at first sight. We went a couple parties just flirting, magically appearing in the same conversations with other people, etc. Then one night, we all ended up too drunk for anyone to safely leave the house. Everyone crashed wherever there was floor.
  
  We, somehow ended up on the same pull out couch bed. And well, come on, two drunk kids sleeping next to each other.. it's rare you actually sleep. Especially with the whole attraction thing. So, my friend still doesn't know this, I'm sure she'd be kind of pissed if she knew, we ended up getting rid of that sexual tension. It was bound to happen.
  
  I am one of those chicks where it's usually really hard for me to orgasm. Long story. I'm just a difficult orgasmer...but no worries. I still enjoy myself, and it's always fun when the guy takes it on as a challenge. I should give out medals to the ones that did… hmm… Ok, anyway, back to the story. So, he soon discovered this, and I tried explaining to him how it's not just him, it really isn't.
  
  After the party and stuff, we exchanged numbers and I had him over at my place a few times. He made promises of dedicating a night to making me orgasm and also to take me to a movie. I thought it was cute he was trying to be "gentleman" like after he had already gotten into my pants.
  
  Anyway, a lot of things happened that aren't really important to this story. He moved to Eugene for a while. A year or so later, I ran into him at a Safeway (the Forum) and he was all, "You know, I still owe you a movie and an orgasm," which I thought was hilarious that he remembered. We exchanged our new numbers and promised to call, but never did.
  
  About another year or so later, I run into him again. This time, unless he was being shy, I don't think he remembered how he knew me. I'd love to see it hit him randomly somewhere. Apparently we're both regulars at one of my favorite places. He still has the baby face to melt for, but I have enough stupid little crushes.
• December 02, 2008
• 10:27

  Dating Married Men

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Dating a married man is a bad idea. (Yes yes, I know. Duh. But before you get too comfortable on your high horse, don't assume you know why unless you've also had several unfortunate experiences with married men or women. Then ride 'em cowboy. My hat's off to you.)
  
  Dunno why or how, but I have the tendency to attract married men. I chalk it up to the absence of anything remotely similar to a wedding ring. My friends theorize it's because I also have this tendency to be somewhat naive about a man's intentions. Either way, whatever. Married men love me.
  
  My first experience was in college with one of my former instructors. We dated (after I was done with his class) for about 5 months. I don't remember why we broke up, but it had nothing to do with a wife, whom I didn't meet until 3 years later. She called me one day while I was at work.
  
  "Hello?"
  
  "Is this S.G.Loughlin?" asked a heavily accented female voice.
  
  "Yes. Who is this please?"
  
  "I'm Ramon's wife. Have you contacted my husband lately?"
  
  Shocked. Utterly shocked. I'm opening and closing my mouth silently like a fish.
  
  "Uh. Yes? I guess I just emailed him a few days ago."
  
  "Well I want you to stop. Never contact him again. He is my husband. You leave him alone or I will be forced to do something to you. Did he tell you I am his wife and I have his baby? Leave him alone..." Her English was good enough to threaten bodily harm but not quite good enough to explain how the hell she got my number or what the royal f--k?
  
  According to her, they'd be married for the last five years but she had only recently come to the U.S. (they're both West African) and learned he had been having affairs. Mind you, she's calling me years after we dated, threatening physical violence, though I'm not sure she meant to actually threaten me given English was her second, maybe third, language. Either way, I'm not going to investigate the matter too closely.
  
  I agree to never contact him again - "No problem! I'll be sure to lose his and your number as soon as we hang up! My apologies! Have a nice life!" - and hang up.
  
  A few days pass. I'm walking home and Ramon passes me in his car. He pulls over, smiling and asks why I haven't called him back.
  
  "Are you kidding me? Because your wife called me. She threatened to beat me up Ramon. Um, hello. You're married?"
  
  He sings me a song and dance about her actually being a crazy ex-girlfriend who hacked his email account and contacted all his friends to find out if he'd been cheating on her..blah blah blah...it's not true...yada yada.
  
  Whatever dude. What. Ever.
  
  Epilogue: She called me about a year after that asking for help. Evidently she tested positive for a STD and he had left her and the baby high and dry. As an undocumented immigrant, she didn't know where to go or how to get help. I gave her the number of a Planned Parenthood, wished her luck and raced to get my own test. Thankfully he caught it after we had broken up (whew!) and I was clean. I changed my number and email address.
  
  Stay tuned for Dating Married Men: Part II.
• November 30, 2008
• 22:22

  Boundaries

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

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  I was visiting a friend on the east coast recently, and since my galpal wasn't on vacation, I found myself going out on the town solo a couple of nights.
  
  One night I met a friendly young thing, cute enough, and I thought I might like to spend a little more time with him. But just having met the fellow, I didn't feel comfortable bringing him back to my girlfriend's house. The next morning, after I got back from his place, I was telling her later about this trouble I ran into. She pointed out to me that maybe there was something funny in that I wouldn't, like, "vouch for the guy," and bring him over to her house, but that I was perfectly willing to let him get to know my vagina.
• November 24, 2008
• 15:50

  I got some money ‘cause I just got paid

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  It was another Friday night, and I had every intention of being a good girl. But I was not staying home alone—not after that asshole neglected to call me. Again.
  
  So I prettied up and took my little coup out for a spin. I parked her carefully and began my strut. Before I’d even made it down the block, I ran into an old buddy for a stop-n-chat, how are you, how’s the family, where ever did you get that leather jacket, etc.
  
  Then I stopped in at some schmancy event, took my free munchies and worked the room for a bit. Snore. So I figured there had to be some live music happening at the local Sip’n’Shake. But winter's coming, kiddies, and mama needs to keep warm. And this particular night was so blasted cold out that I couldn’t even walk all the way to S&S (I never drink and drive) without stopping off somewhere to warm myself.
  
  I found myself walking past a bar next to a sushi place downtown that serves a decent drink. Sometimes there’s even a DJ. This night, there wasn’t, and the place was kind of slow. I was a bit disappointed, but really wanted a Bombay sapphire ’tini. So I ponied up at an empty seat at the corner bar. In front of the empty seat next to me was a nearly-full beer. Something micro.
  
  Just as the bartender set down the gorgeous ‘tini, a young man with a striped shirt, a Joaquin Phoenix-ish face (minus the cleft palate scar) and a baseball cap sat down beside me, grinned, and said in a thick southern accent, “Well hello.”
  
  “Well, hello,” I thought, “So you’re what I’m doing tonight.”
  
  I didn’t really miss the asshole’s phone call after that.
• November 21, 2008
• 10:07

  Craigslist Personals - You Answered It

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: An anonymous post today about dating online.**
  
  Dating is weird. The weirdness gets brought to a new level when you involve the internet.
  
  But hell, why not give it a shot, right? I have.
  
  And it was fine. Perfectly fine. We exchanged a few emails, we met for a couple of beers and a snack. He was cute enough, decent conversation, but no spark. No problem. Just a decent conversation with someone in town I might not have met otherwise. We even had a few things in common, so we chatted about that.
  
  He was describing a painting he had made years ago. There were a couple of figures, and over them, he had pasted a newspaper clipping.
  
  “Probably some depressing story,” he said, “Or the classifieds or something.”
  
  Thinking of the s--t-state of the economy, the lack of “help wanted” ads and the proliferation of people selling off personal possessions in order to stay afloat, I said, “Well, classifieds can be pretty depressing.”
  
  “Yeah,” he said, snickering, “especially the personals.”
  
  Awkward pause.
  
  “Oh, that was bad. Sorry,” he said.
  
  I moved on.
  
  But, please. Are you kidding me? You answered the f--king thing.
• November 20, 2008
• 13:16

  Dating Is Weird Stickers

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  So we just ordered 1500 "DatingIsWeird.com" stickers. They're about 5" x 1.25" and look great on the wall of a bathroom stall. Bars stand out as choice candidates for these new stickers, but really anywhere you see stickers (back of a lift chair, your car's bumper, the local wall where everyone plasters flyers, etc.) works. They're white font on black background and simple.
  
  Want some to put up?
  
  Email us at datingisweird@gmail.com with your address. We'll mail you some in the next few weeks.
  
  Happy dating.
• November 17, 2008
• 17:39

  Some people just don't get it.

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  This was more than 8 years ago, so some of the details of the end of our time together are foggy. I was young, and there's a good chance that I didn't handle it in a very adult fashion, although I'm sure I made myself clear...we were done.
  
  What happened afterword is crystal clear, though.
  
  My first inkling that this guy was not giving up that easy came the night before graduation. He called and wanted me to drive an hour and a half in the middle of the night to come hang out with him at his parent's place (They were gone. 2 guesses what he wanted).
  
  "Ummm, no, I have to graduate tomorrow."
  
  This didn't seem to faze him (maybe I should have said, "You know, for a big guy you have a small penis."), but I got off the phone and (duh) didn't go see him.
  
  A few weeks later he called me to hang out. I was 200 miles from home, busy for the week, and unavailable.
  
  Then came the clincher. While I was out of town, I met up with my sister near where we were staying.
  
  "You're not going to believe who was just here."
  
  I had no idea. When she told me it was Big Ben my heart nearly came out of my mouth.
  
  A short time later I returned to my car to find a note from him on my windshield asking me to call him (how I managed to not run into him myself I'll never know, but I can't tell you how relieved I was to not have to see this guy). I couldn't believe he found me. Apparently he had up and decided to visit the area and camp with some of his friends... I never knew him to be so spontaneous.
  
  I called, though, and reiterated that I was not in a position to see him. I thought that would be the last of it.
  
  A few months later I had moved to another state. Big Ben contacted me by e mail, asking why I had cooled to him.
  
  "Because you act like a stalker, you know, showing up uninvited and unannounced when I'm 200 miles from home. That's something a stalker does."
  
  That finally put an end to it. I will not think of him fondly.
• November 16, 2008
• 20:50

  The Over-share

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Dating-related things your big sister might not want to hear about:
  
  The size of your boyfriend’s penis. Especially if he’s a disgusting loser-asshole.
  
  How great of head your boyfriend gives. Especially if, in addition to being a disgusting loser-asshole, he is the dickwad, unemployed father of your beautiful daughter.
  
  The time when you and your loser boyfriend were on a break, and you spent the weekend at mom and dad’s, using their computer after they went to bed to find guys on Craigslist, walk to the bar to meet them, hump them (god knows where, thanks for leaving out that detail), and then walk back to mom and dad’s house to go to bed before they got up.
  
  You and your disgusting loser-asshole boyfriend’s forays into anal and how much it hurt. Especially if your loser-asshole boyfriend has long, greasy hair and a thin goatee. And he shows up to Christmas in sweatpants two sizes too big with holes in the ass.
  
  The time you gave head to my best friend’s brother. I totally had the hots for him.
• November 13, 2008
• 8:04

  The First Thing I Would Do With A Time Machine

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Thomas Richter sent this guest post in today. We personally don't see anything wrong with being remembered for a harmless request such as he made, but then again..."
  
  When I was younger I got engaged to a girl I had met online. Before I squandered my savings on a ring and asked her father if I could marry his daughter, I had met her in person just five times. She lived on the other side of the country and she believed in abstinence until marriage. I didn't, but I pretended I did. We talked on the phone constantly. Both of us were still in college.
  
  About six months before we were planning to get married, she went to study abroad in Malta. I thought, who studies abroad in f--king Malta? Why Malta of all places in the world? She was majoring in child psychology, but most of the classes she was enrolled to take in Malta were about the Knights of the Templar. We said goodbye over the phone.
  
  On her way to Malta, she called me from a payphone at the London Heathrow Airport and said, "Listen…I've been thinking." I've noticed that when people start parroting clichéd Hollywood script lines it's because they don't know how to go about saying something difficult. But I wasn't expecting her to say anything difficult, so I interrupted her and said, "Yeah. So have I. I know you don't want to have sex before marriage—and neither do I, believe me—but can we maybe try phone sex?" All I could hear on the other end of the line was the announcement of a departing flight in the background.
  
  "I'm going to Malta," she said after a huge pause.
  
  "Yeah, I know," I said. "I mean when you come back."
  
  I saw a movie a while ago in which one of the main characters says authoritatively that the only reason girls go to Italy is to sleep with Italian guys. Same goes for Malta, apparently.
  
  Even now, years later, I can't believe that happened. It's too much like a movie. I just wish it could have been more like a movie in which the last memorable thing a character says before getting dumped for the countless potential romantic encounters that an exotic island has to offer is not "Can we maybe try phone sex?"
• November 11, 2008
• 16:58

  Ahhhahaha...I may leave awkward messages, but you got fat.

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  
  
  Last night, saw some guy whom I had hung out with twice, kissed once, left what I thought was a sweet message about liking kissing him (apparently he thought it was so weird he saved it to play for our mutual friends so he could make fun of me) leave the bar that I was entering.
  
  He totally doughed out like a freshmen who just discovered beer.
  
  Ha.
  
  Serves you right dickweed.
• November 10, 2008
• 8:57

  Bedspring Symphony

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Having your mattress on the floor without a bed frame is probably the best way to combat this. For those of us who have a frame, though, things can get a bit noisy. In my experience lots of moving and packing and hauling tends to weaken the joints of the bed frame, resulting in squeaky screws.
  I was finally going to the next level with B. We'd been dancing around it for awhile, but in the past we were usually so drunk by the time we made it to bed that we just had some heavy making out sessions before passing out.
  This time was different.
  When I first climbed into his bed that night I noticed it was a bit on the squeaky side but thought nothing of it (he hadn't had this bed frame in the past). During our very intense making out and foreplay the bed pretty much kept to itself.
  It wasn't until I climbed aboard and things really got rowdy that the noise level of the bed struck me as odd. His neighbors could probably hear the rhythmic metal-on-wood squeaking across the parking lot.
  It caught me off guard and threw me a bit off my game. Luckily, that lasted about a second before my focus was back on the pleasure at hand.
  Still, though, can't he take a screwdriver and tighten that thing up? To heck with the noise, I felt like the bed might just crumble underneath us.
  I wasn't sure if I should laugh about it or what. I didn't want to make fun of him for the bed he sleeps in, but can we really just ignore something like that? It's like the big, squeaky elephant standing in the room watching us hump.
  The next night I was more prepared. I'd like to get B over for a few rounds in my quiet bed.
• November 06, 2008
• 18:39

  Jesus loves you more than you will know

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  I knew it was going to be a good night. I had a feeling. I had run into some girlfriends of mine downtown, and we decided to go out “skeezin.” Seriously. I hadn’t even ordered my first drink before he started talking to me at the bar. He tried to buy my drink when the bartender showed up, but I declined. He and I talked at the bar for awhile, then made our way to a corner table while the girls worked the dance floor. He bought me a couple more drinks. He was young, but not too young. I told him he looked 19, I checked his ID. No, he really was 23.
  
  When he brought back round two (or was it three?), I noticed he was wearing a bathing suit. Really? Yeah, he’d been on the river earlier that day. OK. Whatever. He was cute. Tall. Dimpled chin. I could forgive him. He knew my favorite bands. Before long, we were making out. That got boring, so he asked if I wanted to see his place. Oh sure, why not?
  
  We get in his truck. I asked where we were going. “To Booneytown.” Seriously? Booneytown is about 20 miles out of town. Fairly secluded. I also don’t have my cell phone on me. I’d left it at my house. Ah, well. Time to take chances, and this kid was just so babyfaced. A face to trust.
  
  We were about 10 miles out of town when it hit me. I went out on the wrong night. The wrong week, actually.
  
  “Oh, my,” I said, “I just remembered something.”
  
  He looked across the pickup seat at me, his drunken Mrs. Robinson, with his shiny, excited blue eyes.
  
  “What’s that, June?”
  
  His hand was on my thigh. I noted that he was sober enough to drive and to remember my name.
  
  “Well. I’m on my period.”
  
  “Oh,” he said, “OK,” and looked back at the road. Still smiling, still tapping the steering wheel with his left hand.
  
  OK, then. I shrugged. When we got to his house, I was relieved to find that he had black sheets. It was a good night.
• November 05, 2008
• 16:10

  a rather cute little site that has ...

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  a rather cute little site that has a lot of nonsensical comics about dating. Click Here to read more of it...
  
  
  
  
• November 03, 2008
• 13:37

  Dear Old Love

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Cool site where you can send in short, anonymous messages to old loves:
  www.dearoldlove.com
  Here's one I liked:
  FIFTEEN MINUTES OF LAMEYou left me for someone who doesn't know who Andy Warhol is.
  I'd bet DIW readers could do better, though, right? C'mon. Show us what you got. 
  
  
• October 29, 2008
• 7:27

  More on SNAGS

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  So I'm not as anti-Sensitive New Age Guys as some of my galpals are. Perhaps that's because I've never dated one. However, a friend of mine recently told me that her current beau was on a date with her ex, a SNAG extraordinaire, one who wanted to talk about the status of the relationship and the depth of their feelings daily. Current beau and former beau are friends, so current beau decided he needed to tell the ex about this new relationship. In order to do that, he decided to take former beau for a walk and then to a movie. 
  I guess that's where SNAGs veer to the left of the guys I've dated. Rather than a walk, a talk, and a flick, there would have been a shot, a beer, a confession, another beer, a punch, a makeup shot, a hug, several more beers and a game of pool ending with someone falling over. That's my guess anyway.
• October 27, 2008
• 10:40

  Glad You Asked POBNPO...

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: This anonymous guest post is actually a response to last week's Inadvertent Golden Shower. Ahh good times...**
  
  As someone who drunkenly pissed on a cute guy a few months ago, I'm uniquely qualified to answer the question "Pissed On But Not Pissed Off" posed in Inadvertent Golden Shower. Before I do, here's what happened:
  
  I was visiting an old friend from childhood whom I'd always found both attractive and fun to hang out with. We had hooked up once long ago and while that is a doozey of a story, it's not for this post. Only reason it's worth noting is that on this particular visit there was an undercurrent of hookup potential, albeit a small current.
  
  I arrive shortly before noon and am promptly offered a drink. This is vacation after all so drinking before noon? Yes please.
  
  This continues all day from my various perches on his roof watching the San Francisco bay to the bar where my sister and I shot pool during lunch back to his house for dinner and beers back to another bar to meet my sister and family friends for more drinks (including some now legal, French absinthe) back to his neighborhood to close down the local watering hole.
  
  I was flexing my drinking prowess for sure, all in the hopes of impressing said old friend. How many drinks did I have you wonder? By my estimates about 14 or 15 over a 14 hour period. It wasn't technically binge drinking, which is defined as more than one drink per hour for more than 5 hours (or something lame), but I might agree that I'd had had enough at around 6 pm. It was the cigarette that put me over the edge. I don't remember anything after sitting on his front porch smoking except that the world was unpleasantly spinning and I needed to crash.
  
  Next thing I remember is waking up soaking wet. In his bed. Next to him.
  
  Mortifying does not begin to describe that feeling.
  
  He handled it well. Made many, many thinly veiled jokes about it all the next morning. When I asked how to get back to the apartment where I was staying, his response: "Well, first you start by walking down the hall and passing the bathroom on your left. Note that it works and feel free to use it."
  
  I appreciated his farewell the most: "Stay gangster" he yelled as I biked away into the SF traffic.
  
  Stay gangster indeed.
  
  So POBNPO the best way you can handle her is to make a few, well-placed jokes that only you two will understand and then NEVER TALK ABOUT IT AGAIN.
  
  Trust me. I know.
• October 23, 2008
• 10:29

  Inadvertent Golden Shower

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Holy wow. This guest post from "Pissed On But Not Pissed Off" had us crying and begging for it to stop it was too funny. Thanks POBNPO!**
  
  I showed up with a six pack of microbrew in bottles. She handed me a can of Milwaukee's Best. I sat down to watch some mindless television and make small talk. Her friends were bringing the ping pong table up from the basement. It was obvious from the start that it was going to be one of those nights. I hadn't anticipated drinking games or drunken debauchery, but I love drinking games and drunken debauchery so f--k yeah.
  
  We played asshole and hockey, f--k the dealer and 99. We even played one of my favorites for a round or two..."drink your beer moderately fast while laughing." It's this great game where you just drink beer and if you finish your beer, you get another one. (Everybody wins, minus that guy who starts telling everyone how sorry he is at 3 a.m. and you're all "dammit, my great game put him over the edge!? would someone put this tard in a sleeper hold and call it a night?") Anyway, I digress.
  
  We started early so by midnight everyone was pretty smashed. No one was losing their lunch or anything, but someone was singing Bon Jovi way too loud getting all the words mixed up and I was getting fishing tips from a guy who wasn't too sure that he was even talking to anybody...you get the picture.
  
  My quasi-girlfriend grabbed me by hand, while joe fisherman was rambling about muskies and lunkers, and started off towards her bedroom. While I didn't know that this night was going to include massive drinking and plenty of rowdiness, I did know I'd end up in a bed with this particular lady.
  
  Short tangent: This woman and I have been seeing each other for about a month. At the time of this party we were exclusive...I think. But that's for a different story. The point is that this wasn't just a random hookup, but it was definitely taking place in the honeymoon phase so it was still extremely lustfully charged. Plus we were loaded.
  
  We started the make out-wrestling that drunk horny people do and it escalated from there. She mentioned something regarding shedding her uterine wall and that while we did play "drink your beer moderately fast while laughing" we weren't going to play "inny-outy uppy-downy". This was fine by me. We rolled around a little more, settled into position, and drifted off to sleep. (I must include here that she doesn't usually drink beer. She's the vodka crangrapeorangefruitsugary drink type, but that night she consumed about 7 beers. keep that in mind. That plus she had had a very long week and was already exhausted. I on the other hand love beer, I might even marry it someday.) Anyway...
  
  I woke up at about 4 am and I was freezing. I reached for more blanket only to discover that I was fully covered. I was covered by more than a blanket. I was soaking wet. A twang of panic rang in my gut. I checked myself to make sure I hadn't vomited, came to the conclusion that, in fact, I had not vomited, and turned to my partner in crime to make sure she was okay. I gently shook her awake and asked her how she was doing. She said she was fine and told me to go back to bed. What she didn't understand at the time is this: If I wake up in the middle of the night and I am soaking wet, I cannot just go back to sleep. Maybe it's just me, but excessive wetness in bed is never a good thing.
  
  Then it hit me.
  
  It was very faint, like an outdoor fart, but it was there. I smelled urine. I had my underwear on and it was dry. I was safe. I was also laying on a pee soaked mattress covered by a sopping blanket. Needless to say that while I was relieved it was not me who peed, I was not in love with the fact that she had relieved herself next to me. (When I say 'next to me' it is an understatement. I wouldn't have been surprised if she told me the next day that she had peed directly onto me.) I got up, grabbed a couple towels and a dry blanket, laughed a little to myself, and laid back down. It was 4 am and, although it seemed like someone dumped a gallon of milk on top of us while we slept, I was still super tired and a little drunk. I fell back asleep.
  
  I woke up in the morning and she was gone. She had to work at 8. She had gotten a few more towels and covered me with a new blanket in the morning so I knew she knew that I knew that she knew. We haven't talked about it since.
  
  I would like some sound advice from anyone and everyone. What do I do? The fact is that I don't really care at all. I understand these things happen, but I'm guessing she's extremely embarrassed and I don't want her to feel bad. Do I keep my mouth shut? Should I tell her in a non confrontational way that it was no big deal? Should I let some time pass and then make it a little joke? For now I'm not saying anything. We're going for a run tonight and it doesn't seem like it will be weird. Then again, last time we hung out I didn't think it was going to be weird and I ended up taking an inadvertent golden shower.
• October 21, 2008
• 12:52

  Up For Debate

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  One lives far, the other is local.
  I am amused by one, one is amused by me.
  One is trying to better himself through education, the other through entrepreneurship.
  One always contacts me when he says he will, the other rarely calls when he says he will.
  One is a pessimist, one is an optimist.
  One is calm, the other not so much.
  One can handle heavy drinking and keep his s--t together (for the most part, I think), the other is a true alcoholic (who doesn't drink much these days).
  I've had only good experiences with one, and the past sometimes makes me weary of the other.
  I've made out with one (it was hot), and slept with the other (it was hot).
  
  It's still too early to decide, but there may come a point in the not too distant future when I'll have to make a decision about these two. Who knows, maybe I can go on like this forever... but that's unlikely.
  Whatever it is I have with either of them is not even in the realm of real or exclusive dating, but there are no clues as to where we are headed. Do I choose the first one or the second one? Or neither?
  I'll probably just wait for a clear sign...or get annoyed with both of them and be done with it.
• October 17, 2008
• 10:01

  A Mystery

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

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  Here’s a mystery for you. Imagine being the guy who does this:

  You’re on vacation with some pals. While you’re in a cute little mountain town, you decide to catch a show, and you find out that Indiefolk Magee’s Traveling Solo Act is in town. You decide to check it out.

  In the bar, you catch the eye of a cute blonde. She smiles. You smile. Later, you notice her casually standing a few feet away from you, so you start chatting.

  It’s going well, she’s a writer, you’re an architect. She has tattoos. You’re from Berlin. You buy her a beer, then another. You’re having such a good time together that you get shushed by a middle-aged twat with his name printed on his tracksuit jacket as she explains an Americanism in the lyrics that you don't understand. You both roll your eyes, and you put your hand on her knee.
  

  At the closing number, she gets misty eyed with emotion. It’s a good song, but really? You tease her a little, she laughs, you hold hands. You decide to go across the street to get a beer.

  The teasing continues, the laughter. She meets your friends, they like her. They leave the bar ahead of you. She has to work tomorrow, and you’re on the road. She can’t invite you home; her roommate, she says, is pregnant and grumpy. You have a small hotel room full of buddies. You invite her to join you on the road, tomorrow you’re going to Big Frigging Lake, but she’s on deadline. She has a story to write. She calls a cab.

  You walk her outside and kiss on the sidewalk until the cab comes.

  The next day, you try to meet her for lunch. It doesn’t work out. A week later, you send her an email, an e-mail filled with adorable non-native English misspellings, and a photo of you waving from a cliff overlooking Big Frigging Lake. You close your email with “Kisses, Helmut.” She replies to your email, the two of you make tentative plans to meet up at a city in the middle, just a couple of hours from each of you. You’ll let her know.

  Two weeks later, your time to meet up has passed. You send this:

  hey Blondie, sorry for just writing you now. but my week was truly something else: i got really busy with work and then suddenly got layed off by my company! it's funny, after coming back from my trip, I was anyway trying to reconfigure my life a little bit, searching for some new approaches, and now in general i officially have to! Anyway i am still thinking about hitting Midcity in the next few weeks, especially since I could head down there with a buddy of mine, who's thinking about being there the same time you'll be around - the weekend in two weeks from now. of course i have to see how right now everything else develops, but lets keep it in mind. And well in general it looks like i should actually have a whole lot of time to do whatever, right ...no work routine...freedom, hahaha! cheers, Helmut

  She replies. She’d love to see you.

  Then you fall off the face of the planet.

  So, tell me, interwebs, Wha happened?

• October 15, 2008
• 14:45

  How To Handle Bad Pick Up Lines

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  I broke my arm sufficiently enough to require surgery, two 4-inch plates and 12 screws in my left forearm. The scars are significant, to say the least, and run along the inside and outside of my arm.
  
  Shortly after the surgery I was sitting at a bar, a bit surly, drinking my usual - Jack with a Pabst back - when a man saddled up next to me. We had made passing eye contact a few minutes earlier when I was scanning the crowd for my friend. I knew it was coming from the way he sat down.
  
  "Hey, I'm ______."
  
  "Hi."
  
  Slight pause.
  
  "That's a sexy scar on your arm."
  
  No f--king way. Are you kidding me? A sexy scar? Normally I might take the compliment, but at the point - just a few weeks after the uninsured, $10k surgery - I wasn't having it.
  
  "Yeah. They just let me out of the hospital. I tried killing myself."
  
  Then I threw the shot down the hatch and looked at him with what must have been a gnarly sneer.
  
  Thankfully he got my point.
• October 09, 2008
• 14:05

  When Do You Become GF?

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

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  I received a late night text last night that was very sweet and nice and said simply "Good night GF!"
  
  GF meaning girlfriend? Hm.
  
  I was unaware that we'd reached that status, particularly given the more then 100 miles separating our home towns. I've only very recently put my toe back in the dating pond and so perhaps I'm a teense skittish at the thought of total immersion, but I'm pretty sure you're not someone's girlfriend unless there's been the monogamy discussion, mutual feelings, etc. al. conversation. Right?
  
  What defines a girlfriend or boyfriend?
• October 07, 2008
• 21:33

  The Puppy post

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  I'd been hanging out with The Puppy quite a lot. All was pretty f--king cute and sweet, a little drinkey, and quite cuddly. Lots of giggling. 
  Gross, right? Yes. 
  So on day three of the hang out/make out marathon we decided to watch a flick with the roommates. We ordered pizza, continued to drink beer, and put on the British version of "Stand By Me." He and I agreed on which scenes were funniest, and rewound and re-watched those, howling. And of course we watched most of the movie with our arms around each other. 
  I know, I know.
  
  The roommates, who might even have drunk more than we did over the long, long weekend, passed out on their couch as soon as their bellies were full, but The Puppy and I snugged deeper into our couch, engrossed in the movie.
  
  As the end of the movie came near, we both got really into it. I mean, kids with British accents? They get me every time. We leaned forward in our seats: That poor boy! How could his brother do that to him?! Oh no! Watch out for the--! Ouch! Is he OK?!
  
  Then The Puppy kissed my cheek and squeezed me. Aw. I reached over to pat his face, but I brushed my hand against my sleeve first. It was all wet.
  
  "Dude, did you just drool on me?"
  "No," he said sheepishly.
  "Well what the hell …"
  
  I turned to look at him as he wiped away the last tear.
  
  "Oh my god. You're crying?"
  "So? This movie's really good."
  "You cried on me."
  
  This was not one little tear, there was a wet spot of some substance on my sleeve.
  
  "Puppy, you cried on me. I'm totally telling the internet."
• October 05, 2008
• 2:01

  a Persian headboard

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  time takes its toll on how truths are remembered---
  even this last one; where i would say her love for me was given freely, she would claim it was stolen. the truth may be somewhere in the middle... but we can both agree it was never reciprocated. she would blame me for never giving it freely, i blame her for never taking the effort to remove it forcibly...
  i rarely get to hear the other sides of stories.
  one side of the story: my cousin is staying here for a family wedding; her and her two little mixed-breed children--- their father stayed in Oklahoma. when they were living in Idaho, he was a jazz musician and didn't come home one night. called her in the morning, shirt covered in blood that wasn't his own, and said he woke in an alley like that--- his wallet and cell phone he found under the garbage dumpster but still there. so she picked him up and drove him to the hospital--- says his shirt was COVERED in blood. and, of course, she is freaking out... the police are asking him questions as the doctors do tests... including one to see if he is raped which surely has to involve a finger or two in the asshole. when the blood tests came back, the doctors pulled him aside saying:
  -Well, you can tell your woman or we can...because, it turns out, it was menstrual blood. he was out all night eating out a married woman on her rag and didn't know how to cover it up.... so he decided police and fingers in the ass were better than telling her the truth.
  but that is only the side of the story she told; perhaps his is more deceptively true...
  tonight i've been thinking about my side of an old story: once i was engaged; she was an Iranian who needed a green card. years after that all ended, her best friend and i started talking thru MySpace: Golsima. i'd like to think she became enchanted by my words; it's more flattering and easier to believe than if her true story thought those profile pictures of me were cute. but she wanted me, for whatever reason, one night--- a sunday. i got off work and at 20.00 and drove up to Salem. meeting her was odd; a beautiful Persian girl with too much make-up standing in six-inch f--k-me pumps--- she looked like a gorgeous prostitute. and she knew i liked dark and smokey bars but she liked clubs, had no idea where dark and smokey bars were, so we went around being told it was too late to be served as we found our way into each one. the same thing happened at the Phoenix Inn where she said she wanted to share a bed with me--- no sex, just cuddling. one male night-auditor thought she was a whore and wouldn't give us a room; another one, female, came out and also thought she was a whore but was sympathetic to working women... so we got a lil' room tucked by the elevator where we wouldn't be heard too much. and i am one to take women at their word. we cuddled in the dark with few clothes between us and, when i was almost asleep, she took my hand and put it in her frilly panties so i could feel that she had shaved for me. she asked:
  -Aren't I naughty? Tell me I'm naughty...and i did when, really, i didn't see anything too "naughty" about it. it only made me feel like a pedophile--- never understood the charm of bald pussy but soon my face was there, tasting her. she had this pelvic--- not a thrust. a twitch? and a moan to die for. after an unknown amount of time with that thrust of a twitch and moansmoansmoans, there was a non-moaning noise. i thought someone had kicked in the door but there was still no light coming in and she screamedscreamedSCREAMED:
  -DON'T STOP!so i didn't. but when i got to a natural stopping point i climbed up to her and found the headboard on top of her head: she had pulled the two bolts free from the wall and broke it where it adhered to the bed. there was more--- she had a great ass and liked keeping it in the air but, even in the dark, she was too self-conscious to let me take off her bra.
  there are other stories i want to know how time altered them between one woman or another and me... the cut me/beat me/rape me tales, that girl by the covered bridge... but, tonight, that's the only side of any truth that's been reliving itself in this dark room.
• October 01, 2008
• 20:45

  The long goodbye

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

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  I don't care what anyone says. It's nice to have a regular bootie call. One you're comfortable with, one you don't abuse, and who doesn't abuse you.
  
  Ace isn't anyone I would get serious with, and I know he feels the same. One: He's voting for Barak Obama. Ew. But we put all that aside. When we see each other in a coffee shop, we say hi. We chat. And every couple of months, when the going gets rough, one of us will send a text:
  
  "Hey, you downtown? Wanna get a drink?"
  
  It's usually only one drink (because whoever sent the text has usually had a few. Or 13.) before we decide who's going to give who "a ride home." It's nice like that. Sometimes, in the morning, after a lazy, next-morning screw, it's almost like having a boyfriend again.
  
  Last time, I got up and put on my robe, realized how hung over I was, and collapsed back on the bed. He put his arm around me, and we lay on my bed, chatting about life. How s--tty this year's been (come on, 2009!). How he hates his job and recently got an hour long lecture from his superiors for, basically, being an asshole. I mean, how was he supposed to know that the kid who bashed his head on the doorjamb was epileptic? Why coddle the f--ker? Right?
  
  I played with the hair swirl on his temple and laughed at his impersonation of his boss. He tried to sneak a peek in my robe, I faked modesty and clutched it closed. We even chatted about the times we had each f--ked someone who was married. In fairness, he didn't know she was married.
  
  (As an aside to married folk: Don't call the single person you humped and talk to them about how guilty you feel, and how you "have no one else you can talk to about it." Find a shrink. Better jet, find a priest. The single person you f--ked probably doesn't care about your guilt, or your soul.)
  
  Then we talked about how pointless marriage is. He told me that one of his buddies says that what a guy needs to do is find the hottest girl he can, "so if you usually f--k 7s, find a 9. Then marry her." Great tip, Ace.
  
  So we laughed a lot, softly. There were nice, snoozy silences. It was pleasant. But the morning was wearing thin after a couple of hours. I wanted to take a shower. And there were some other rumblings. Like I said, a few beers had been imbibed. More than a few. A few dozen? I'm not sure. But one thing I am sure of, those suckers were microbrews. Organic, I think. So those grumblings? They were getting uncomfortable. Catch my drift (ahem.)?
  
  I got up. He got up. I moved to the kitchen table. He sat down. I played with my hair, mentioned how greasy it was. We laughed. This was getting ridiculous. I was about to look at my watch, but I wasn't wearing one. Finally I just stood up and walked over to the front door. I smiled and hugged him, and opened the door.
  
  Bye, see you later, etc.
  
  Seriously, I wonder if he heard it when the door shut behind him, before he even stepped off the stoop. I imagine him thinking, "Was that a fart?"
  
  Yes, it was. And it felt damn good.
• 8:46

  We're Not In Kansas Anymore

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  **Editors' Note: This guest post came in from "The Scarecrow" aka "Mista Gonads." Thanks for submitting 'Nads :) **
  
  My senior year in high school, I left my hometown of beautiful Bend, Oregon, for a new and exciting life in San Diego, California. What a dream; I was going to a totally new school with people that wouldn’t remember the time I farted in fourth grade music class.
  
  I had a popularity plan. Right away, I started selling cheap weed. Easy.
  
  To round out the number of friends/customers, I got into the dramatic arts program. I was the shining star of their theatre, so when parts for “The Wizard of Oz” were selected, I was chosen to play the Scarecrow. I took the job seriously, I even stopped smoking for the play. We were an ambitions group, and incorporated several dance routines into the play. Naturally, during a rehearsal, while I was dancing with Dorothy, she fell in love with me. I think it was my beautiful eyes.
  
  Dorothy was a very cute junior with light skin and a petite body. She had long, soft brown hair and big brown eyes that would often make me forget my dance steps. I would casually flirt with Dorothy between takes. Making her giggle was the highlight of my day. It was too easy. There was one major disabler though: Dorothy’s boyfriend, Kevin. Kevin was 6’2” and played football, basketball and baseball. He was strapped. I assumed he would be the problem.
  
  After the play was over, we had a “cast party.” After holding off on smoking for so long, I was ready to get high. Really high. I did. I giggled a lot, I got the munchies, but other than that, my memory is fuzzy. I do clearly recall sitting between Dorothy and the Wicked Witch and telling them both stories about Oregon. These stories always make a girl, any girl, love Oregon (and me).
  
  I knew I was going to make out with at least one of them. Of course, I decided to make out with Dorothy. To this day I regret that decision. I should have chosen the Wicked Witch (I recently heard she was modeling for several chic clothing companies in New York. Damn).
  
  The final memory I have of that evening was of Dorothy and me making out on top of a bunk bed during the party. All the other actors and techies were snickering and whispering about how Dorothy hooked up with the Scarecrow after all.
  
  It only took Dorothy’s boyfriend, Kevin, two days to find out about our escapade, and he was not happy. Even the baseball bat he was carrying when he confronted me looked pissed off. I still can’t remember what I said to him that convinced him to give up the idea of killing me. I may have just outrun him. Either way, with Kevin out of the picture and summer drawing near, Dorothy was able to concentrate and turn her crush into an obsession with me.
  
  I had been living in a two bedroom apartment by the beach with three other guys. I had the couch. Dorothy would come over on occasion. Or rather, I would driver over to her house, sneak her out of her window, take her back to the apartment, and f--k her on the couch, praying that no one would walk in on us. These rendezvous continued through summer and after I had finally found a real house to live in.
  
  Dorothy and I had been “dating” on and off for four months when I received a phone call. A male voice said: “You better stop seeing her or you’re going to get messed up!” *Click.*
  
  I called Dorothy immediately and broke up with her. No pussy is worth my safety. I thought Dorothy would understand. However, I had neglected to compensate for Dorothy’s “bi-polar” and “semi-psychotic” behavior. Dorothy was devastated over the break up, but I still planned on never seeing her again.
  
  About a month later when I was riding my bike home from work, I saw Dorothy and her best friend (the good witch, Glinda) walking down the street in alarming proximity to my house. I stopped to see what in the hell they were doing in my neck of the woods. Dorothy and Glinda claimed they were “looking for jobs without any success.” Funny, I had heard that they’d both become part-time strippers soon after I broke up with Dorothy. I blew it off and continued home.
  
  Less than a week later I came home to find that someone had stolen my entire weed supply, my cash and my bong. I was enraged.
  
  I called Dorothy claiming I knew she was the one who had stolen my whole business set up. “I’m F--KED!” I screamed as she pleaded innocence. I owed $300 for that bag of weed and now I couldn’t even get high to make myself feel better. I started crying in disbelief “I should have made out with the wicked witch.” This time I was seriously done with Dorothy and never wanted to speak to her again.
  
  Later, on a warm spring night after a heavy night of drinking with my roommate, I had an unexpected knock at my door. It was Dorothy and Glinda, and both drama students seemed very drunk, at least to my drunken self. Dorothy and Glinda claimed that they were at a party up the road and wanted to come hang out. I invited them in and gave them each a beer.
  
  A group of us went into the back yard to smoke when Dorothy and Glinda started to grope me all over, not being shy with other people around. They managed to make everyone feel uncomfortable to the point where it was just the three of us remaining in the back yard. With two very cute girls sucking on my body, I started to plan my next move, but they had me out numbered and out positioned. Dorothy whispered in my ear, “Let’s go into your bedroom,” as Glinda started to tug on my left arm like the horny 18-year-old she was. Dorothy, Glinda and I landed on my bed with a thud as they started to rip off my shirt. Dorothy and Glinda bit my nipples, licked my body, and kissed each other. I really started to get into the mood when their clothing went flying across my room.
  
  Glinda rode me in her thong while Dorothy wanted to kick it up by tying my hands to the bed. I started to get nervous. I saw this situation going bad quickly, especially when Dorothy and Glinda blindfolded me. I pulled up my eye protection up just enough so I could see what Dorothy was doing as Glinda played cowgirl on my throbbing apparatus. Then I saw Dorothy lunge into my closet where my stash of weed and money had been before I was ripped off. I sat up, hands still tied, and yelled “HEY! What are you doing in my closet?” Dorothy darted back to my bed and told me it was time to get out some condoms. Glinda removed my blindfold as Dorothy reached into her purse. I should have known there were no condoms. She swung her hand in my face and unloaded half a can of pepper spray, point blank, into my eyes.
  
  Now I’ve had broken bones, bugs bite, and the s--t kicked out of me, but there is no pain like being maced. The excruciating pain hit my nerves as I screamed. Dorothy and Glinda grabbed as many of my personal items as they could before running out of my house in nothing but their thongs.
  
  My roommate, freaked out by two half-naked girls fleeing our house like it was on fire, heard me scream in pain and ran to my room. Of course, he turned on the light to reveal me: his drunk, naked roommate, tied to the bed with watering red eyes. I screamed “THOSE BITCHES MACED ME, AHHHHHHHHH!” I thought I was going to die.
  
  I decided to wash my face with water; this only caused the infectious spray to flush down my chest and onto my stomach and genitals. My penis was officially on fire. I felt like my dick was going to fall off and after it fell off I was going to die. I didn’t sleep that night, I felt like I was sunburned, had rubbed sandpaper on my skin, taking off a layer or two of skin, and topped it off by taking a bath in lemon juice.
  
  The only redeeming quality I can find of that night is this story. Also the fact that in Dorothy’s and Glinda’s panic to leave, the dumb bitches left their purses with IDs, credit cards and cash. It was apparent when I found wads of cash that they were indeed strippers. Early the next day my phone would not stop ringing. Dorothy and Glinda felt guilty and knew they’d better come up with a deal or I was going to the police. I told Dorothy and Glinda that I wanted an apology for not only assaulting me, but for my stolen property, $1000 in cash, and my bong back. In return I would give Dorothy and Glinda all their personal items. They agreed and I went to their place to finish the deal. I brought a knife just in case Dorothy and Glinda were planning to f--k with me again. On my way over to their apartment I told myself I would claim self-defense if I had to kill one or both of them.
  
  When I got to their place they apologized, gave me the money, packed weed in my bong, and shared the story of that unbelievable night. Shortly after, we all f--ked in the living room of their dank apartment. It still wasn’t worth my time though. Hot sex with two girls can’t make the memories go away. They only bring them back. I smacked Dorothy and Glinda several times during the hate f--k I released upon them.
  I have not been maced since, but I’m still scared of women who carry mace. I won’t date them. At least now if a woman asks me “Why won’t you date me because I carry mace?” I won’t have to tell her this embarrassing story. This would have never happened in Kansas.
• September 29, 2008
• 10:16

  Sloppy Seconds

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  Ha. They're not as gross as you may think. Particularly if they're of the former male model type.
  
  But yeah. They are seconds and model or not, making out with a guy whom your friend already made out with several weeks ago is a bit strange. Especially when you've made out with said friend.
  
  Not that I would know. This is just what I hear ;)
  
  Long live dating triangles!
• September 24, 2008
• 10:04

  I've Been Engaged 3 Times In A Span Of 5 Years...

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  **Editors' Note: Guest submitter "A.S." sent us this post about her myriad engagements. Our advice: stop getting engaged and work on the substance abuse problem and/or dating immature guys...Jus'sayin..**
  
  
  This is it. I will finally sit down and remember as clearly as possible, the whole deal with my 3 past engagements.. I'm not doing this to see where it all went wrong, I'm doing this to jog my memory, cause the rare occasions the subject does come up and I am asked about it... I'm at a loss for words! It's like I have done too many drugs, because my memory seems pretty f--ked for being 25. So, this could take a while, but, this is one of those times where insomnia comes in handy.
  
  First Engagement... I was 19, engaged to Todd. Let's see... it was doomed from the beginning. We nearly hooked up while he was still married, he said he "emotionally" blah blah blah'd me ... we were weird, I was really messed up. I think that's one thing he liked about me. I was all crazy masochistic in so many ways, and he was a charmer. Even though I hated but secretly loved it but made sure everyone knew I hated it... (flattery, that is) if that makes any sense. So, after a few months of dating through his separation then divorce to his wife, he asks me to marry him over a small order of french fries and splitting a cup of coffee at 2am in Jake's Diner. We were that broke. Yes, that's right, Jake's Diner. I mean come on! Who doesn't go into Jake's Diner and think, "wow... this place has such a romantic atmosphere, this is where I'm going to ask my girlfriend to marry me"... Just to clarify, Jake's Diner is a truck stop, and an old building on the south end of town, now it's new location isn't too bad... still doesn't seem all that "romantic"... unless, maybe I was a trucker.. We went off and on with one person supporting the other financially because somehow, the two of us couldn't seem to have a job at the same time. Then there was the random accusation of me cheating on him with a friend over the internet.. completely not true, he misunderstood the idea of me ditching my friend(who I was talking to online) when my fiance got home so that I could spend time with said fiance. And then we skip ahead through a lot of senseless fighting and arguing to the point where we break up. The end. Same old break up story like so many others I'm sure... so I'm not even going to go through it because I still have 2 other engagements to cover.
  
  Second engagement... I was 22, Dustin.. I still sometimes have regrets about this one. We were friends first, for quite some time. Sometimes I don't know if I still love him or if it's just that care for a friend... either way, I call it the care for a friend. It's better that way. It really sucks I can't remember how he proposed... but I know it was way better than Jake's Truck stop. I do have to say we had amazing sex... sometimes I still think about it.. he was the first and actually only person I had broken anything with... we broke his bed.. still proud to say that one! I had quite a terrible drinking problem back then though, and I did actually cheat on him. I told him as soon as I got home and still, I don't think I have forgiven myself. He never did anything to harm me, he was even willing to work things out, and I felt too undeserving. And I just told him I couldn't do it. And we tried getting back together a little after that, then we started fighting and now that I look back on it. It was because I was being a drunk and really stupid. We are talking again, it took a couple years, but I never thought I would get a chance to talk to him again. We had a lot of good times while we were dating though. But the past is past... I think the main reason why I can't remember much is because I was drunk/stoned nearly 24/7... and that sucks, I wish I could remember everything.
  
  Third engagement... I was 24... Tim... I know people say never to say you wasted any amount of time of your life as long as you learned something... and I learned a lot. But I feel like I wasted a whole year of my life thinking he was someone he really wasn't. I think the main reason why I actually proposed to him... we had been talking about marriage, so it wasn't a surprise or anything, but our one year anniversary was coming up, and it was the record for both of us, and this is how the proposal went... Me: "Wouldn't it be cool for our one year anniversary, to get married?" Him: "Uhh... huh? Really? Umm.. yeah, I guess".. or something like that, once again, I have a really horrible mostly inaccurate memory. Then a couple weeks after that he kept saying how he wanted to be the one to propose and that's what the guy is supposed to do... so one day leaving the bar drunk.. we go to a hot dog stand on the corner of the street, order, and as we're waiting and stumble into chairs, he stumbles out of it and takes my "promise" ring he got me (I had to give it to him a couple days prior so he would have a ring to propose to me with, and he wanted to surprise me when he proposed... yeah, I was going to be really surprised) and nearly falls on his knee and asks me to marry him. I quickly say yes to get him to get back in his chair and yet, all I can think is, "Really? Drunk? This is his big surprise proposal??? Ugh.." Anyway, he really wasn't ready to be married, and I call bulls--t on him actually being in love with me, because the night I saw where his priorities were, was the night our roommate and I had an argument and I was crying (drunkenly as usual) in the room, Tim got home from work, asked what was wrong, I tell him the story and all he says is, "Well, you've been drinking, I'm going to go see what his side of the story is.." Then I get mad at him, I don't care if I was right or wrong, but to think, "Oh, she's mad at me, I should see if I can help.." He decides to avoid everything and play video games with the roommate. And drink the night away as usual. There were so many other things, he wanted to see if we could put an xbox on a registry and kept telling me he didn't know if he was ready to leave behind all the partying and drugs and stuff. Basically, he wasn't ready to grow up. He wanted to make sure he could still have video games. Well, obviously it didn't work out either.
  
  So, there we are. I can't believe I did it. This is all to the best of my poor poor memory, so... yeah. But I did what I could and left out a lot cause, well, it's a lot.
• September 22, 2008
• 9:18

  The Try

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: Today's guest post came in from G.G, a brave lad for his honest retelling of his first foray into post-college dating. Keep it real G!**
  
  After college I decided to jump head first into the adult dating scene. I still don’t even know what that means. All I knew was that adults couldn’t possibly be as arrogant, ignorant, drunk and horny as I was in college, so something had to change.
  
  I spent the first few weeks in my parents’ basement being celibate emotionally and physically. I didn’t let any of my collegiate slop drag into my adult life. I wanted a fresh start, so I purified my situation, analyzed myself and re-entered the dating scene. My first interaction with a female was as follows:
  
  Under the star speckled summer sky on a hot night in the California central plains, the soft ballads of a Northern guitarist crescendoed through the crowd and the guests drank their colorful champagnes and stepped rhythmically through tangles of family, friends, acquaintances and strangers. I smiled and allowed myself to follow the gusts of laughter and the brushes of discomfort as we all bit our tongues about the inevitable failure of the commitment we all celebrated so wistfully. The conversations were as pleasant as one could imagine:
  
  You must be ….
  How splendid!
  Are you from …?
  One time Brady and I …
  I wish you could have seen him when …
  You really shouldn’t have.
  
  And so it went until I was introduced to the only three women at the wedding with potential for love interest. The first was a small bowling-ball type of lady with cursive eyebrows and broad, drooping jowls. Her name escapes me, but through the evening she was referred to as, “The sort of (hand gestures circumferencing waist) one, ya know?”
  
  “AHHH”
  
  The second woman was beautiful, blonde, artsy and angry. In the earliest moments of conversation she mentioned her boyfriend who could not attend. The third was Jessie, tall, soft, beautiful, innocent; she smiled and asked curious questions about everyone she met. Her and I shook hands formally and I knew that things had only just begun.
  
  During dinner I glanced towards the ladies’ table. First I was met with a fierce glare from the (hand-motion; furrowed eyebrow) one, then the girl with a boyfriend made a point of looking and looking sharply away towards nothing in particular. Finally, Jessie and I met eyes. Once quickly at first. Then again with smiles. Finally, we graduated into quick, mischievous glances every few minutes.
  Eating turned into walking around aimlessly; walking around aimlessly turned into drinking more; drinking more turned into odd conversations; live music, odd conversations and aimless wandering turned into dancing. The scene developed typically and it was clear that everybody in the crowd had watched numerous wedding scenes in movies. We all knew what to do.
  
  The young and the old. The fat and the skinny. The drunk, unhealthy-looking ex-frat guy and my little sister. All borders were crossed and everybody acted like they were having more fun than they actually were. I joined in and pretended to enjoy dancing to acoustic guitar hard rock and Jessie did the same.
  
  Slowly, our hands eased from our sides into the air and we acted like we were in a music video. Our dancing surpassed the rhythm of the music and she said, “Why don’t you loosen up a little bit?” I took offense and danced even stranger. I moved my feet faster, pursed my lips, started with the thrillingly awkward eye contact, but no matter what I did I couldn’t fake her out. She knew I was faking it.
  
  We gave up on dancing and walked over to the wedding cake, each took a piece and a fork and acted casual with each other. We close-talked by the cake station for a while drinking vodka out of plastic cups and acting more sober than I would at a church. The formalities broke into blank, drunken stares and empty nods, affirmations and occasionally reckless giggles. We exchanged numbers and then re-entered the crowd pretending that nothing had happened.
  
  My family loaded into a limousine with Jessie’s two friends and we left for the hotel. Jessie stayed. Who with? I do not know. My mind whirled in suspicion and I became irritable. Her friends, drunk and angry, told tales of Jessie dancing with other guys, having lots of fun. I didn’t buy it for a second. I sent Jessie a text message asking if she would call when she gets back to the hotel. She agreed.
  
  When she arrived, both of us got dressed casually and walked through the small town of Grass Valley in the middle of the night sharing our tales of life. She was 28, hardworking, established in a nice apartment with a good job in the heart of Portland. My situation was very different: unemployed, parents’ basement, no prospects, loser friends, drinking problem, soft-working, aimless. However, being a refreshed person in this adult dating scene I spun it something like this: transitional, learning some new lessons in the real world, nobody understands me, too smart for my own good, saving money in parents’ basement to ensure future well-being.
  
  I explained recent epiphanies that came to me in a Portland strip club one afternoon with a close friend. We weren’t in the strip club for the nudity, I explained, we were there for the culture shock. She liked what we heard and we kissed quietly on the side of the road, laughing innocently at each other for reasons still unknown.
  
  Back in Portland we made a date to date and I had to back up everything I told her that night in California. I met her downtown and she toured me through her apartment, which was only so-so.
  
  “What are we going to do tonight?” she asked me excitedly. I told her my plan, which was fairly fool-proof in the winning of a heart. The plan unraveled like a song in a Disney movie.
  
  “A dinner at the restaurant! Why? These fresh turnips here will do just fine? Wine? Of course! I brought some of my own. A movie later? Why, miss, you have been living in a movie of your own. How about we watch the movie of life, walk through the city and explore this town of ours!” I told her. She ate it up. I was being as honest as I could while maintaining the façade that I as mature.
  
  Everything went to plan and we laughed at each others’ jokes. Nothing special happened. She tried to get me to sing her a karaoke song and I wouldn’t, but I really respected her for trying so diligently. We played some video games at an arcade and threw coins into a fountain. It all would have looked very romantic in a highlight reel.
  
  Back at her place we sat on the couch and kissed. I didn’t know what she wanted me to do and reacted nervously by taking her shirt off. She responded strangely by doing the same. We went to her bedroom and everything became naked and she gave me the best blowjob I have ever had. I lay there for a few moments, lifeless, until I get a phone call.
  
  It was my best friend due to be back from Alaska in just a few hours. My heart began to race with excitement. Jessie asked me what was going on. I told her, nakedly, about my friend’s arrival. It had been almost two months, which was about one month longer than our longest separation in 16 years. I got quiet, stood up, put my pants on.
  
  “I know this is weird, but I can’t sit still. I need to go. I am really excited about seeing my friend. I had a great time and I will talk to you soon,” I told her. She looked at me confused and agreed to my leaving. She asked again if we would talk soon. I told her: Of course.
  
  I went to my friends apartment downtown to kill the next few hours and proceeded to drink beer, smoke cigarettes, get high and fall asleep underneath somebody’s winter coat on a carpet in the spare room. The next day I woke up and went to meet my friend around 11 a.m. I never called Jessie and she never called me. Nothing.
  
  Two months later I got a text message that read, “Want to come out to Nemo’s next Saturday night for my birthday?” I had never heard of Nemo’s, and since I had just gotten a new phone, I assumed that the unknown number and unknown location must have meant that the text was from the girl who I met the night before downtown at a bar, who was a 19-year-old stripper. The second girl I kissed in the three month period.
  
  I wasn’t interested in her at all and responded with “I stopped by your work today. Didn’t see you there.” Jokingly.
  
  “What? Did you see my car there or something?” she responded.
  “Oh. Nevermind.” I said.
  “Who do you think this is?”
  “I thought it was this stripper I met lastnight. This is a new phone. Who is this?”
  “It must get pretty old, Griff. I hope it’s worth it.”
  “It’s not. Who is this?”
  “I forgot about your thing with strip clubs. Huh.”
  “Oh. I think I know who this is. Sorry.”
  
  My go at adult romance turned into the most deceptive one-night-stand of my life, the façade crumbled and I was left with the Truth. I’m just a guy living in his parents’ basement, still unemployed, still drowning in commitment issues, who, if he had his choice of women at the bar would choose the most emotionally vacant screwball girl possible, only made possible by fake identification and lots of liquor. Immaturity prevailed, again.
• September 19, 2008
• 9:14

  To My Crazy Ex

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  You ruined me
  for any other man.
  No one
  will ever make me
  cum
  like you did.
  
  When friends ask why
  I stayed
  so long, their eyes
  widen with wonder
  envy
  when I explain
  your tongue worked
  me over and over for hours
  til cumming a fourth
  time was ordinary
  for us both.
  
  Simultaneous, mutual
  orgasms
  whenever we wanted.
  F--king sucking licking groaning biting touching tickling pounding screaming caressing throbbing moaning passionate love making sex
  every time,
  I would explain.
  
  They don't ask
  why I stayed
  or why I don't
  date anyone else
  anymore.
  
  
  **Editors' Note: Thank you to whoever submitted this anonymous guest post! Here's to simultaneous mutual orgasms whenever you want!**
• September 17, 2008
• 10:05

  The Retard Game

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  **Editors' Note: This guest post comes in from "The Professor Herself" again. And it's a doozy, again. Thankfully she didn't marry the guy.**
  
  
  The other day, I was snooping around MySpace looking at profiles of ex-boyfriends who have now deleted me from not only every social network on the internet, but from their lives as well (I can’t blame them really, from the helplessness, to cheating, to heartbreak. I’m a s--t storm of non-conventional love.) I ran across one in particular who has been my longest relationship thus far. I noticed that he had a joint MySpace profile with this girl who looked similar to me, and has some similar interests that I had when I was eighteen. I also noticed that he was now married, and still living in Washington. I’m not offended that he didn’t tell me, of course, what was I going to do? Go to the wedding? No, I was almost in that situation with him and I’d like to avoid being in a wedding situation with him at all costs.
  
  Now, I’m going to admit to being eighteen once. I spent most of my eighteen year old life in a chat room on AOL instant messenger, where I actually happened to meet somebody I was interested in who happened to live in Washington. This new “love” interest and I chatted online for a few months before he decided he wanted to come down and visit me. This was convenient because the same week he was coming down to visit, my mom was also going on vacation for a week and had asked me to watch her house, so my new love interest and I had a place to stay and perform debauchery together without getting in trouble.
  
  Well, we personally weren’t getting into trouble, but I had no idea what trouble I had gotten myself into. The second night my new man was in town, I took his virginity, and he being either super emotional, or super Christian, or both, cried. This was not my first virginity that I had taken, so I wasn’t too consoling, but enough to make him comfortable. Three weeks later (even after cheating on him with a f--k buddy of mine) he was moving down to Bend and we were getting engaged. Before we were to be engaged though, I had to go up to Washington, not only to meet his family, but to watch him be baptized. This baptism was interesting because his father was not only the pastor of the church they belonged too, but was also the man he was to be baptized by. This baptism my boyfriend was going through meant no more sex until marriage, hence the quick engagement.
  
  The engagement wasn’t so bad. My now fiancée lived in Meth Meadows near the parkway with a very good friend of mine, while I lived at my father’s house because my father needed someone to watch it because he was away on business trips constantly. His parents would sometimes visit and hold “bible study” at their hotel to gain my interest in their religion. Times were interesting, but the three of us, my fiancée, his roommate, and I would watch movies, experiment with drugs, and live a normal eighteen year old life.
  
  Until I noticed that my new fiancée had some interesting habits.
  
  He not only made the strangest broiled cheese sandwiches I’d ever seen, he also listened to too much electronica music, and he would make me play a game with him, which I later renamed “The Retard Game."
  
  My fiancée and I both worked slightly professional jobs at the time: I had a nice office job and he worked at a front desk at a nice resort. We would have to get dressed up constantly, so when we would arrive back at his apartment after work, we would change clothing into something more comfortable in order to do things like go downtown or grab lunch. After my fiancée and I would change and be completely ready to go, keys in hand almost out the front door, he would run back to his room, lie down on the sofa, take off all his clothing, and act mentally disabled.
  
  Now, when I say “all his clothing" I mean, completely naked. Now he’s flailing his arms and legs on the sofa screaming “dress me, dress me” so I would have to proceed in putting on everything from socks to underwear, to shoes and belt, and so forth, until he was satisfied with the outfit that I put him in. This “retard game” would last up to an hour at most on some days. No matter how many times I would say “We have to go, we’ll be late!” he wouldn’t listen. We were always late.
  
  One day, my fiancée and I were meeting some friends’ downtown for coffee and he decided it was a good day for another extended round of the “retard game.” I was doing my normal girly banter of “No seriously, we really have to go, please, don’t do this, please!!!!” while putting on his socks and pants, when I heard giggling from behind me. I turned around and noticed the bedroom door was cracked open slightly. My fiancée was still flailing on the couch, so I left him, went to the door and opened it. The roommate had just gotten home from work, came in quietly because he noticed that my fiancée and I were home, and wanted to spy on us.
  
  I looked at the roommate, sighed, and asked “How long have you been watching this?” He giggled some more and responded.
  
  “You have no idea, I’ve been spying on you two playing this game for the last two weeks. I noticed it when we were all going to go to lunch together one day and thought it was the most hilarious thing ever.” I shook my head at the roommate in disappointment, and then started laughing as well. In the meantime, my fiancée still proceeded to act like a retard on the couch, but eventually realized how ridiculous he was being, and got up to go with me to meet our friends for some coffee.
  
  Unfortunately this “retard game” alluded to my fiancées roommate spying on us more often. I not only caught the roommate spying on us during more retard game sessions, but while sleeping, and while having sex (yes, I became the “devil” and warded him away from his religion). Eventually, because I’m the “devil” his parents convinced my fiancée to move back home. The fiancée and I had discussed the idea of me moving to Washington, but I wasn’t willing to part ways with the lifestyle I was living here in Bend.
  
  We eventually broke up, which now that I look back on it, I’d probably be living in a trailer, knocked up, smoking cigarettes, and falsely believing in Jesus, so I think that I’m better off now. I only still smoke cigarettes.
• September 15, 2008
• 9:17

  Tucker Max on Dating Is Weird

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  ** Editors' Note: Tucker Max is an asshole. Don't worry, he's not offended by being called one. He's a self-proclaimed ass who makes quite a bit of cash by being one. Check out his site www.tuckermax.com for the full adventures. His book, blog and movie chronicle his dating exploits. Tucker gave us permission to repost one of his old blog posts about butt sex. Disclaimer: it's sexually explicit and not to be read if you're squeamish or easily offended. And if you are, what the hell are you doing reading Dating Is Weird anyway?**
  
  TuckerMax.com - July 12, 2005
  Tucker tries buttsex; hilarity does not ensue
  
  I spent the summer between my 2nd and 3rd year of college suckling on the parental teat in South Florida. It was the absolute prime of my "do anything to get laid" phase. I was recently freed from a 4-year long-distance relationship that began in high school and I wanted nothing more than to have sex with as many girls as possible.
  
  Most of the things I did that summer are not story-worthy; you can only tell the same, "I got drunk on Dom and f--ked this hottie" story so many times before it gets annoying. That summer I experienced every random sex situation that a 20 year old can imagine: f--king on the beach, getting head from random girls in club bathrooms, sleeping with 3 different girls in a day, getting so drunk I passed out during sex, getting arrested for receiving fellatio in the pool at the Delano, blah, blah, blah...Jesus. What does it say about how f--ked up my life is that I don't consider these stories to be extraordinary anymore?
  
  Anyway, while most of my stories may not be extraordinary for me, there is one very notable exception...
  
  I was seeing one girl, "Jaime," about twice a week. She was a fresh arrival to South Beach, having moved there 5 months ago from upstate New York as a 19 year old with a modeling contract. We met through a mutual friend who befriended her while they were shooting a TV commercial. Five weeks and lots of sex later, she thought we were dating. I knew better, but she was way too hot to bother correcting her assumption.
  
  The ex-girlfriend of 4-years I previously spoke about was very sexually conservative. It was missionary in the dark and then straight to sleep, with maybe a blowjob on the weekends if she'd had a few glasses of wine with dinner (it was a high school relationship, I didn't know any better). After four years of this, I was ready to experience all the things I'd missed out on (when I wasn't cheating on her, of course).
  
  Buttsex, known in the biz as "anal," was one of these unknowns, and I decided that I wanted to try it. Jaime was the perfect partner: very hot and very sweet, and more importantly, very naïve and very open to suggestion.
  
  She was reluctant at first, not understanding why we just couldn't keep having normal sex, so I had to employ my persuasive powers:
  
  Jaime "But...I've never done it."
  Tucker "I've never done it either; it can be our thing."
  
  Jaime "But...I don't know if I'll like it."
  Tucker "You won't have to worry about getting pregnant."
  
  Jaime "But...I like normal sex."
  Tucker "Everyone's doing anal. It's the new black."
  
  Jaime "But...I don't know...it seems weird."
  Tucker "It's the preferred method in Europe. Especially with the runway models. Don't you want to do runways in Europe?"
  
  After a few weeks of this, she finally consented. Though she agreed to let me put my penis in her small hole, she extracted a promise in return:
  
  "OK, we can try anal sex, but I want it to be special and romantic. You have to take me out to a nice place, like The Forge or Tantra, NOT one of your parent's restaurants, and it has to be a weekend night, NOT a Monday. And you have to keep taking me out on weekends. I'm tired of being your Monday night girl."
  
  I made reservations for the next Friday at Tantra. Aside from being insanely expensive, Tantra is famous for having grass floors. Really; they put in new sod every week. They also advertise their food as "aphrodisiac cuisine." Yes, at that point in my life, I thought these things worked.
  
  Thanks to my father's connections, I got us a corner booth in the grass room. She was quite impressed. I ordered like it was the Last Supper. No expense was spared. Two $110 bottles of merlot, veal rack, stone crabs, the Tantra Love platter--it was lavish and decadent. I was 21, stupid, and wanted to f--k Jaime in the butt; I wasn't about to let a $400 tab get in my way.
  
  By the time we left Tantra, this girl had doe eyes that made Bambi look like a heroin-chic CK model. She could not have been more in love with me. The entire drive back to my place she was rubbing my crotch, telling me how badly she wanted to me to f--k her, how hot I made her, etc, etc. We get back to my place and our clothes are off before we even get in the door. We collapse on the bed and start f--king. Normal vaginal sex at first, just like always.
  
  Now, what she did not know, and what I have not told you yet, was that I had a surprise waiting for her.
  
  [Aside: Before I tell you what the surprise was, let me make this clear: As I stand right now, 27 as of this writing, I am a bad person. At 21, I was possibly the worst person in existence. I had no regard for the feelings of others, I was narcissistic and self-absorbed to the point of psychotic delusion, and I saw other people only as a means to my happiness and not as humans worthy of respect and consideration. I have no excuse for what I did; it was wrong and I regret it. Even though I normally revel in my outlandish behavior, sometimes even I cross the line, and this is one of those situations....but of course, I'm still going to write about it.]
  
  This was going to be my first time foraging in the ass forest, and I wanted to have a reminder of my trip, a memento I could carry with me the rest of my life...so I decided to film us.
  
  I planned this beforehand, but I was afraid she would decline, so instead of being mature and discussing this with Jaime, I just made the executive decision to get it on camera...without telling her.
  
  That alone is pretty bad. But instead of just setting up a hidden camera...I got my friend to hide in my closet and film it.
  
  No really--I know that I will burn in hell. At this point, I'm just hoping that my life can serve as a warning to others.
  
  I left my door unlocked and we arranged it so that around midnight my friend would go over to my place and wait until my car pulled in, and then run into the closet and get the camera ready. The top half of the closet door was a French shutter, so it was easy to move the slats and give him a decent camera shot through the closed door.
  
  By the time Jaime and I got to the bed, I was so drunk I had forgotten that he was filming this, and of course she had no idea he was there. After a few minutes of standard sex, she kinda stopped and said, all serious and in her best seductive soap opera voice, "I'm ready."
  
  I quickly flipped her over and grabbed the brand new bottle of AstroGlide I had on my bedside table.
  
  A week prior, after Jaime consented to buttsex, I realized that I didn't have any idea how to do it. How exactly do you f--k a girl in the ass? Luckily, I had the world's best anal sex informational resource at my disposal: The gay waiter. I consulted several gay waiters who worked at one of my parents restaurants about the mechanics of buttsex, and each one recommended AstroGlide as the lubricant of choice. Much to my dismay, I learned that spitting on your dick is not enough lube for buttsex. Stupid, lying porn movies.
  
  The other important piece of advice I remembered was from Calvin, "Make sure you use enough, because if this is her first time, she'll be especially tight, and it might hurt her. Use enough to really loosen her up and go slow until she gets used to it. Then it's smooth sailing from there."
  
  Well, since some is good, more is better, right? At 21, this seemed logical.
  
  I opened the cap, crammed the bottle top into her asshole, and squeezed. I probably emptied half of the 4-ounces of AstroGlide into her. I have since learned from homosexuals that a 4-ounce bottle usually lasts them about 6 months. So yeah--I overdid it.
  
  But Tucker Max wasn't done. Oh no, after depositing enough grease in her to run a Formula One racecar, I dumped half of what remained onto my cock and balls, really wanting to lube up because I didn't want her to be uncomfortable.
  
  Really--consider my thought process: I was going to f--k her in the butt and film it without her consent, yet I was truly concerned about her personal comfort. Sometimes the contradictions in my personality even amuse me.
  
  Predictably, I slid in with ease. She was a little tense at first, but with an Exxon Valdez size load spilled into her poop chute, she quickly loosened up and got into it. I liked it also; it had a different feel to it. Not as good as vaginal sex, a little grainy, kinda tight, but still very nice.
  
  Before I knew it I was f--king her like the apocalypse was imminent, burying it to the hilt with impunity. After a few minutes I was ready to come. My urgency was expressed in my tempo, and I began really jackhammering her. As the excitement got the best of me, I pulled out too far and my dick came out of her ass. I kinda scrambled to grab my dick and put it back in so I could finish off inside of her, but before I could even get a hold of it and put it back in her ass, I heard a faint "psssst" sound and felt something wet and warm hit my crotch.
  
  It was dark in the room (I was not smart or sober enough to leave the lights on for the camera), so after I looked down it took me a few seconds to realize that my dick, balls and groin area were covered in a viscous black liquid. I stopped moving and stared at my strangely colored crotch for a good 5 seconds, completely confused, until I realized what happened:
  
  "Did you...did you just...s--t on my dick??"
  
  I reached down to touch the liquid feces, still in complete and utter disbelief that this girl shot explosive diarrhea on my penis, when, without warning, the smell hit me.
  
  I have a very sensitive nose, and I have never been more repulsed by a smell in my life. The combination of synthetic AstroGlide and rancid stench of raw fecal matter combined to turn my stomach, which was full of seafood, veal and wine, completely over.
  
  I tried to hold it back. I really did everything I could to stop myself, but there are certain physical reactions that are beyond conscious control. Before I knew what I was doing, it just came out:
  
  "BBBBBBLLLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH"
  
  I vomited all over her ass. Into her crack. Into her asshole. On her ass cheeks. On the small of her back. Everywhere.
  
  She turned her head, said, "Tucker, what are you doing?," saw me vomiting on her, screamed "Oh my God!," and immediately joined me:
  
  "BBBBBBLLLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH"
  
  Watching her throw up on my bed made me vomit even more. Her vomiting all over my bed, me vomiting on her ass, the next step was almost inevitable.
  
  I heard the loud CRASH first, turned to see my friend break through the shutters and rip the closet door off as he, the video camera, and the door tumbled out of the closet and crashed onto the floor next to us:
  
  "BBBBBBLLLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH"
  
  The memory of the 2-second span where all three of us were vomiting at once is permanently seared into my brain. I have never heard anything like that symphony of sickness. It was like something out of the old Pink Panther movies.
  
  I think the crowning moment was when my eyes locked with Jaime's, I saw her moment of realization and then her quick shift from shock and surprise to complete and irreparable anger. Between bouts of hurling she flipped out:
  
  "OH MY GOD--BBBLLLLAAAAHHHH--YOU FILMED THIS, YOU ASSHOLE-- BBBLLLLAAAAHHHH-- HOW COULD YOU-- BBBLLLLAAAAHHHH--I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME--BBBLLLLAAAAHHHH--OH MY GOD-- BBBLLLLAAAAHHHH--I LET YOU F--K ME IN THE ASS--BBBLLLLAAAAHHHH."
  
  She tried to stand up, slipped on the huge puddle of backflow AstroGlide on the bed, and fell into both my pile and her pile of vomit, covering her body and hair in vomit, s--t and anal lubricant. She flailed on the bed for a second, grabbed the top sheet, wrapped it around her, and started running out of my place. Still naked and retching, my dick covered in s--t and oil, I followed her as far as my front door.
  
  The last contact I ever had with her is the image I witnessed of her in a dead sprint, a s--t, vomit and grease stained sheet stuck to her body, running from my apartment.
  
  
  POST-SCRIPT:
  
  The camera we used was one of those old fragile ones that filmed onto a VHS tape, and when he crashed out of the closet, the tape recorder and tape broke. It didn't occur to us at that the tape records the images magnetically, and we could take the actual tape itself and get someone to put it in another holster until after we had thrown it out. I know it seems stupid now, and believe me I kick myself about it everyday, but you should have seen the apartment afterwards--the tape was not a high priority. AstroGlide, s--t and vomit covered EVERYTHING.
  
  I had to rent one of those steam cleaners, buy a new mattress, and I STILL lost my deposit. It was impossible to get the smell out. The next month was like living in a sewer. Every girl I brought back to my place after that refused to stay there, and some even refused to sleep with me anywhere because of how my place smelled.
  
  What I never found out, and I still want to know, is how the girl got home. I never heard from her again, and the mutual friend who introduced us called her but didn't get her calls returned. I never heard anything about her or from her again, even though she left her clothes and ID at my place (she wore a tight dress out that night, and didn't bring a purse or any money with her).
  
  Can you picture that scene? What did she do, hop in taxi? Wave down a passing car? Get on the bus? She lived at least 30 miles away, there is no way she walked home. It perplexes me to this day.
  
  I'm hoping she reads this. Maybe then I'll find out how she got home.
• September 12, 2008
• 14:51

  Sometimes you just hit one out of the park.

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  The army guy, the trustafarian and the former male model.

  In one weekend.

  The end.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  OK, that was a tease (which I certainly am not). Here are some highlights:

  • Army Guy, attempting to be suave, opens his bedroom door with a jock sort of a flourish, and immediately a bat flies past his face. I run away and watch from a distance while he shoos it out of the room. It wasn’t quite as hilarious as John Candy in The Great Outdoors, but it was up there.

  • Trustafarian referring to himself with the phrase “A man of certain means.” Seriously.

  • Starting to tell a friend about the Former Male Model rendezvous, to which she (who had met him at a happy hour earlier that week) said, “Oh, you think he looks like a model? Really? Hm. I didn’t think he was that cute.” I replied, “Um, no, Gucci and Abercrombie and Fitch thought he looked like a model. I thought he looked like a house painter.”
  

• September 10, 2008
• 13:13

  NOT Dating Is Weird

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

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  I’ve been single for some time now. We’re talking years. It all started when I fell off the deep end at college and decided that until I got my life in order, I wasn’t going to worry about anybody else.
  For the most part it has worked. I get horny, yes, but I can (mostly) handle that myself.
  Mentally this is working for me. I’m much more stable inside my head now than I was when I was slutting around all over campus (sometimes off campus). To clarify, I don’t sleep with 4 guys and think I’m a slut. I’m not a slut. But I’ve f--ked a hell of a lot of people.
  There were many fun moments, of course, but I’m still not sure what I was trying to get out of it, aside from the generic “looking for love in all the wrong places” kind of companionship.Things aren’t hunky dory inside my head now, but I no longer look for any kind of…reassurance, if you will...from having the opposite sex between my legs in one fashion or another.
  I’ve hit a wall, though. It’s been so long since I have done any kind of “traditional” dating that I feel like I've forgotten how. I don’t even spend that much time with the opposite sex in general, a complete 180 from my pre-slutting days. The thought of opening up to a person at that level is daunting.
  People around me date. Some more than others, and all in different fashions. But while I was not dating, several of the people around me were dating. Then getting serious. Moving in together. Getting engaged. Now they’re married and have a kid.
  I truly don’t feel like I’m in a race, but my word, how did I get so far behind? It’s like I’m paralyzed at the idea of even putting myself out there enough to ask a guy out. I don’t flirt in bars. I don’t even really go to bars. I haven’t tried dating online (save one close call with a craigslist dude, but I let my friend handle that one). I work in an environment that is damn close to being exclusively female. I’m totally surrounded by estrogen all the time!
  True, I’ve got my life in order. I can take care of myself now, for the most part. But this dating thing…or not dating…it really is weird. For me it’s just weird because it feels like the unknown. Maybe I'm just taking the whole thing too seriously.
• September 08, 2008
• 9:46

  Dating In The Casbah

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  **Editors' Note: This guest post came to us all the way from the Middle East from a friend who'd prefer to be known as Saddam Marmapuke. Thanks Saddam! Good luck with the new wife!**
  
  I was born in the US. My mother is American, but my father is from a small Middle Eastern country, which I'll refer to here as Arabistan so as not to sully its international reputation—a crime for which the country's constitution allows capital punishment. When I was young, my parents divorced and it was settled that my life would take place in the US. I visit my dad's country almost every year, but I have always strongly agreed with my parents' decision to keep me in the US, mostly because I think Arabistan is a socially backward s--t hole.
  
  I like visiting my family and friends in Arabistan and I enjoy getting out of the States every so often, but I was never willing to stay there for an extended period of time until last year when I graduated from college and moved there to work and settle in for a while with the hope that I would learn to love my father's unfortunate little country.
  
  Almost immediately upon my arrival in the nation's capital, my stepmother, her sisters, her mother, my paternal aunts and every other female member of my family and extended family launched their campaign to get me married to a "nice girl from the village," which translates more directly as a first cousin (preferably), highly trained in cooking, cleaning, and rabbit-like reproduction. It was the first of many identical conversations with my female family members and I learned to laugh and divert their probing questions and outrageous suggestions with my own questions ("What is your favorite color?") and suggestions ("I really think you should see a doctor about your multiple sclerosis.")
  
  Eventually, I found a job disseminating the most vulgar propaganda for the corrupt, dictatorial government, I started smoking heavily, I spent hundreds of dollars every month buying large quantities of Qat (an intensely stimulating drug that Arabistanis use almost every day), and I found myself a non-Arabistani girlfriend. My father's family was thrilled that I had so quickly adapted in Arabistan, but they were irate about the girl. Addicted to drugs? So are we! Coughing your tar-filled lungs out? Join the chorus! Aiding and abetting the criminal dictator? Our love for him is pure! But dating…and dating a non-Arabistani girl? You are spitting in our faces and stomping on our hearts.
  
  "Listen," my father said to me one day while we sat alone digesting lunch. "I know you have a girlfriend, and I'm happy for you. But people here don't do that—they don't date like you do in America—and it's causing a major stir. People are talking about it and you know what that means." He explained that his wife had reported rumors circulating in some female circles of the city that my girlfriend was either a Zionist spy (a totally irrational, but major fear in the national psyche) or a con artist trying to steal my family's savings.
  
  "F--king retards," I said. "Goddamned hooded beasts."
  
  "You're the one who's been acting retarded," he shot back, surprising me.
  
  "Excuse me? By dating a girl?"
  
  "You're living in one of the most conservative cultures on the planet. If you're going to have a girlfriend, you need to do it secretly."
  
  For an hour he tried to tutor me in the art of having an illicit relationship, a talent he claims to have gained as a young man. I listened attentively, imagining trysts in dark alleys, trying to picture myself sneaking into windows and wearing disguises.
  
  Eventually, he said, "Or there's the other way…."
  
  "What's that?" I asked.
  
  "You could marry her."
  
  I met this girl through mutual friends about four years earlier while I was visiting Arabistan. Every time I returned to the country we would occasionally see each other at gatherings and have friendly, but brief conversations. It had only developed into a sleepover relationship about a month prior to my father's suggestion that I marry her. I liked her a lot. I thought I was falling in love with her, actually. But I was not about to marry anyone after one month, and the idea of societal pressure being the driving force behind a marriage proposal disturbed me. I was sure she wouldn't be interested in going native to that extent either.
  
  "It's not like she's knocked up," I said. But I understood that there were two options and that pregnancy wasn't the issue at hand. It was the general idea of premarital relations that Arabistani society feared, despised, and strictly guarded against. Quickly, I scrambled to promise my dad that I would play the game of secrets, that I didn't want to cause anyone any trouble, but that I'm not used to this kind of thing and it may take a few days to develop a strategy. He'd have to bear with me a little.
  
  The next day while I was at work I got the first text message. "CNGRTS ON UR WDDING, CUZ!!!!!!" I thought my cousin had mistakenly sent it to me, so I ignored it, but several calls and text messages from family members followed throughout the day. Apparently, my father didn't believe my assurances and his lack of faith in my ability to secretly date a woman had led him to choose plan B on my behalf and on behalf of my girlfriend/wife. He had told everyone—his friends, our family, his wife's family, and all the neighbors—that I had secretly married my foreign girlfriend, who he could now confirm is not and has never been a spy, a con artist, or a Zionist. So, I was married to a girl who didn't know she was my wife.
  
  Breaking the news to her was not as difficult as I had expected. After a period of silence and introspection while I stared at her, anticipating panic and anger, she said, "So does this mean we'll be living together?"
  
  "I think it means we have to live together," I said.
  
  She paused.
  
  "Do you know how to cook?" she asked.
  
  "Sort of," I said.
  
  "Do you know how to make the bed?" she asked.
  
  "Yeah."
  
  "Do you know how to do laundry and iron?" she asked.
  
  "Yes."
  
  "Then I have no problem with this new, bizarre, arrangement."
• September 05, 2008
• 15:21

  And I Thought Dating Was Tough

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  
  
  Apparently John McCain called his wife a cunt back in the early 90s during a press conference...
• September 03, 2008
• 10:01

  Worst Pickup Line Ever

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  I should have known the pickup lines would be as geeky as the attendees of the work conference I went to a few weeks ago, but wow.
  
  Some background: I work online doing Search Engine Optimization and went to a conference about search engines. Everyone there either worked for an engine or worked for clients trying to perform better in said engines' results. (Read: lots of dorky people talking in computer jargon). Good times.
  
  Google threw an enormous party at their headquarters one night and it was one of the most spectacular displays of neon I've ever seen. I've been to Burning Man and still was impressed at Google's throw down of glow sticks and flashy things. While standing off to the side of dance floor, snickering at the increasingly drunken and emboldened displays of dancing, a man approached.
  
  "Hey. You look lonely."
  
  "Why? Because I'm choosing to stand by myself?"
  
  "Yeah."
  
  "Have you ever prefered your own company to standing around bulls--ting with strangers?"
  
  "I guess, yeah. Is that your not so subtle way of telling me to get lost?"
  
  "Haven't decided yet."
  
  He laughed and said something to the effect that I was intimidating. I said something to the effect that it's a good bulls--t filtering mechanism and the conversation actually improved from there. We chatted for a few minutes, mostly making fun of people's dancing, and laughed quite a bit.
  
  I smelled it coming though.
  
  The song ended, the party was clearly winding down and I was looking for my co-workers to start heading back to the hotel.
  
  "Hey, do you have a business card?"
  
  "Uh yeah but I forgot them at home."
  
  "Bulls--t. You just don't want to give it to me."
  
  "No really. I left them in Oregon."
  
  "Well, can I have your number?"
  
  "I don't give my number out to guys I've just met. Safety thing. But you can have my email."
  
  He pulled out his card and I wrote my work email down.
  
  "What? No personal email?"
  
  "Yes. I have several personal email accounts."
  
  "Well?"
  
  "Well?"
  
  "Man, you're a tough cookie."
  
  "Congratulations. You're officially the second person to tell me that, after my grandmother when I was 6 and skinned my knee but didn't cry."
  
  Awkward silence. I began regretting being so stand-offish, but quickly stopped when he dropped the line.
  
  "Well, I can get your web site in the number one result on page one of organic Google results for any keyword if you ever want. Give me a call, here's my card."
  
  Dumbfounded, I let the awkward silence return.
  
  "Well, I can beat you in a foot race around the block right now. Probably won't call you after."
• August 29, 2008
• 13:01

  Van-o-dudes

   » ‎ Dating Is Weird

  Tags:    [edit]

  
  
  I was standing in a local bar, talking to Single Friend. We were talking about boys; Where to meet them, what kind we like, details about the ones we can’t stand anymore. That sort of thing. I had a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, and I was facing the door, which stands next to a large picture window open to the street.
  
  We continued to chat as a big, white van pulled up and parked out front. It’s the kind of van that church groups stuff 45 children into when they haul them all off to the water park on a hot day. The van doors opened, and a flood of guys poured out. And kept coming. Nearly 20 guys right around my age started swarming into the bar.
  
  “Um, a bus full of dudes just pulled up,” I said to my friend flatly. She laughed.
  
  “No, really,” I said, nodding toward the door, where they were now pulling an amp and a guitar over to the corner of the bar. She looked over, and her jaw dropped.
  
  Now, these guys were not particularly hot, and some of the cutest ones were wearing conspicuous gold bands on their left ring fingers. But this mob of men chose to have their fraternity reunion in our little town, and they’d chosen a bar where they could plug in and play Dave Matthews songs. It was also a bar with four women in it; Me, SF, the bartender and a tiny hippie chick playing pool with her dread-locked boyfriend. SF and I sat down side by side and gawked. We were surrounded in about 5 minutes.
  
  Introductions were made, the former frat boys were friendly. I called SGL and instructed her to get her ass to the bar pronto. She didn’t believe me until she walked inside.
  
  Soon enough, our beers were being refilled before we’d drunk them below the label. Shots arrived (ever had a Wisconsin Lunchbox? It’s DELICIOUS). At one point, I was pulled up to the front of the bar, where 20 frat boys took to their knees or stood on booth seats, clenching their hands together or reaching out to me and singing the Everly Brothers’ “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling.” Seriously. You’ve seen Top Gun? Wow.
  
  So that’s what I missed out on by not hanging out with these people in college. Interesting.
  
  One guy zeroed in on me. He was nice, but he was short. We talked about his family in Mexico. But I grew bored. AG and I were ready to go. SF was not.
  
  “SF, are you sure you don’t want to come with us? We’re kind of worried about leaving you here with them.”
  “Oh, no, it’s fine.”
  “OK, just don’t go back to their rental house. You do not want to end up in Date Rape Central. Or Gang Bang Land. Promise us you won’t go to their house.”
  “I won’t go to their house.”
  
  I have a faint memory of giving Mexican Guy my business card before AG and I stumbled home. At the next morning’s debrief, I heard about SF and MG making out in a phone booth while the other boys took pictures. Classic.
  
  So after hearing that story, I was surprised when I got an e-mail in my inbox this morning (pre-sic):
  
  Serial,
  So, how is life in Smalltown? I bet there hasn't been a van full of guys rolling into the bar quite like that night. How often have you seen 18 guys come into a bar and start they're music show?
  Anyhow, I've been traveling through the northwest for the last couple of weeks. I thought I'd send you an email to say hi once again and talk about nothing at all.
  
  -MG
  
  My reply:
  
  MG,
  You know, I haven't seen any more van-o-dudes in town. It's really a shame.
  SF (remember, the one you made out with in the phone booth? Do you have any of the photos of that? You should send them to us!) and I say hi!
  -Serial