Wednesday, October 8, 2014
that time I got to audtion for a cooking show
So last summer a very famous cooking show was coming to Canada. Being the huge fan of my cooking that he is, the Frenchman tells me that I should totally "audition for dat". So we write up the application and lo and behold I get a phone call. During said phone call, I have a hysterically funny conversation with the girl who invites me to the closed auditions.
The Very VAGUE directions that are sent to us indicate that we'll be judged on originality, knife skills, bj technique, taste, etc. Ok, so one of those might not have been on the form - you can decide which.
After much deliberation I decide that my grandmother's perogy recipe is not going to travel well and auditions are 2.5 hours away. I decide on a nice elk lettuce boat. Forgetting that the nicely seared elk is going to be really fragrant shoe leather after 2.5 hours of driving and another 2 hours of waiting. but bygones!
So I turn up at a hotel in a town that rhymes with Shmalgary all perky and ready to stun. Cut to me signing my life away about never mentioning the name of this show, never talking about fight club, the first rule is don't talk about fight club yada yada yada. SO, I have to pose for a picture. The lovely little intern proceeds to drop into splits to get low enough to get me into the frame of the picture. I get it. I'm borderline little person material. Seriously. I get it. Stand up and shoot downward, ok?!?! Did you get my shoes? My rack? no?!?! well what was the point of that production!?!
So I make my way to a table to wait until it's time to do the 3 minute "VOILA" unveiling of our dishes. A very angry woman wanders in and announces "I'm here. You can start now". I get wanting to make yourself stand out but talking loudly about the young man you bang and about how much you hate your toddlers is really not that impressive. I am amused by the people encouraging you to hold court. I am even more amused by your "I don't care what you think about me" when I gasp at your statement in which you wished your son dead until he was 3. Clearly you don' care what I think. Do the voices in your head care what I think? I'd like to talk to the one in charge of your mental health care. Wow.
My table has 4 people at it. 3 of us are normal, hard working, career-minded individuals. The 4th quickly finds a table of wackadoos to hang with. So the 3 of us turn our chairs to face the rest of the room and observe this spectacle. I have now come to the conclusion (at approximately 9 am and 20 minutes into this process) that this is not something I want to do. I have a great career. Aside from wanting to print my Grandmother's kick-ass recipes into a cookbook, I have no designs on being a television personality. I do not want to leer a soul-stealing smile at you (a la Giada) while extolling the virtues of lemon zest. I do not want to say things like "let me throw these guys on the grill" (a la rob rainford) and I certainly don't want to do enough curls to give myself Matt Dunigan's biceps (although I would gladly take a bite out of those bad boys. miaoowwwwww! ps. what does matt dunigan's ass look like? does he have chicken legs? wait. nevermind!) All I want to do is a get a bit of recognition for being a great cook. on tv. While looking good. Since I am a short, chubby dwarf, this really means just shots of my cleavage with my little chipmunk voice in the background. Like Nigella on helium.
SO we do our 3 minute demo. One lady has brought samosas. Pre-made. Which she plates and then stands there smiling while everyone else has a heart attack trying to plate and show knife skills and compensate for the lack of kitchen facilities, refrigeration and a heat source.
A lovely young girl explains she is between jobs and cancelled a trip to Mexico to be there. Another adorable BC hippie explains that he left his job and that everything in his (DELICIOUS!) sandwich is home made. From bread to sausage to home-grown veggies!. Yet another man explains that he left his job to come to this audition. One young YOUNG girl in her "sexy hipster" costume of short shorts, wedge heels and red lipstick has a beautiful presentation. Then the chef comes through to taste our food. The interns quietly inform us that the day before, he did not even try everyone's food. He wanders through tasting and talking. Seeming unimpressed by everything.
We're herded back to the small room where the angry lady starts performing again. Wine is passed. Individual interviews are conducted. The single mom with no job comes back, wiping away tears. She informs us that there was bonding all around and everyone cried. You guys, I work in the oil and gas industry. THERE IS NO CRYING. I had 8 lb children without crying. I'm certainly not going to shed tears over some heirloom tomatoes and a pretty presentation!! I am now doubly convinced that I am in the wrong place and this is a horrible mistake!
After an interminable hour, in which samosa lady has her interview and then comes back to sit, stating she "never wants this day to end", it is finally My turn. I walk in and I can tell they're not feeling me anymore than I'm feeling them. I'm handed plastic food and asked what I'd make with it. Apparently a "melted pile of carcinogenic fumes" is not what they want to hear. I'm dismissed after a few nowhere questions such as "where is your family?". Um. My family is at home. 2.5 hours away. Enjoying this beautiful summer day while I sit with a bunch of desperate wannabe Ramsay's (btw, I don't want to be a Ramsay. I want to be Nigella's short, dumpy stunt cook!). Again, this is the wrong answer. I am dismissed. I am thrilled.
Until I get out and they call the next interviewee. And I realize I've left my fabulous Kate Spade handbag on the floor in that meeting room. DAMNIT!
After another 20 interminable minutes I get my bag and I'm free to go.
Months later when the show airs, I see a few familiar faces. I won't say who. I will say that its pretty clear that aside from cooking skills, they want wackadoos. People who WANT this. Who NEED this. I'll never watch reality tv the same way again.
I will however, still picture Ramsay shirtless and yelling at me (for staring at his crotch). I will also picture Bastianich curling his nose up at my attempt at homemade pasta (while I picture him shirtless and stare as his crotch). I will also picture that little peanut Graham in his little hipster cuffed jeans.
I am also fully aware that the moment the Asian judge who chewed with his mouth full gave me shit, I'd have likely launched across the table at him.
So really, everything happens for a reason.
I will always enjoy watching the US and Canadian versions of the program. I am grateful for my insight into the process of choosing the cast. and I am even more grateful that I get to drink 2 glasses of wine while watching and talking smack.
I may need a bigger glass.
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
Catholic School Recovery
So tonight after a DELICIOUS meal made by me (of course!), we settled into our adjustable bed to watch Supernatural. Because all 75 yr old couples have adjustable beds. I was too cheap to buy the one that adjusted each side separately so we both sit up to watch this business.
ANYWAYS, while watching Dean and Whatsisnuts speak in their best "I'm Batman" grunts, the Frenchman asks me if they're saying "Megatron". I respond that they are in fact saying "Metatron". Since I know that we both went to Catholic school, I'm now wondering which part of this story might have been lost in the translation from Hebrew to Latin to Swahili to English to French (that's the path it took, right?). So I explain to him "well you see, Metatron was the voice of God. Because mere humans couldn't bear God's real voice. . Because you know, God's voice was hard on humans. It made them ummmm bleed out their ass and stuff.". And as we stared at each other and then snickered (while looking for that lightning bolt to smite us!!) I realized that poor Sister Benedicta was probably rolling in her grave. Unless she's still alive and then I'm even more of an a-hole!!
But seriously, thank you Catholic school system. You did your best. And who knows how I would have turned out if I hadn't been an altar girl and stuff. I mean really - if you think this is bad, imagine if I'd never had that whole strict religious schooling bit. I'd be the world's chubbiest stripper or something! or I'd be Ricky Gervais' fluffer!
I wonder if there's time to be Colin Farrell's fluffer? He's got to be Catholic, being all Irish and tortured and such. Dear Colin Farrell, I am available to work out my purgatory here on earth by being your fluffer.
Holy crap. 2 glasses of wine and I am seriously sacrilegious!
I'm going to switch and write about my experience in closed auditions for a show that rhymes with "Blaster Meff".
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Oh yes it's ladies night...
That song is playing in my head. Not the awesome Kool and the Gang version, but the horribly EPIC version sung by Jon Lovitz in The Wedding Singer.
In light of the emotional roller coaster that has been my personal life, I called a summit last weekend. I scheduled it for this Saturday. Yep, a ladies night. I am not even sure WHICH of my ladies are appearing (although K-MC and Maverick are confirmed), but it doesn't matter. I only need to have one of these maniacs around to ensure that shenanigans will ensue!
To show you some of the planning that goes into a ladies night, I am sharing a text message conversation between myself and K-MC.
K-MC: I don't know what I'll wear. Maybe just jeans and a shirt, I don't want to fall down and flash people.
Me: That's how I introduce myself.
Yep, I like to keep it classy and dignified. The last time I was at this particular establishment with K-MC, it was my 39th birthday. One of my fondest memories of that night is looking over to see K-MC sling a rugby player over her shoulder and pretend to carry him out of the bar. K-MC is one of those incredibly feminine and pretty women that can totally act as a bodyguard should the need arise. I heart her for that!!
There's really no point to this, except that I promised myself I would blog more frequently and HELLOOOOOO!!! LADIES NIGHT!!! WOOT!!
In light of the emotional roller coaster that has been my personal life, I called a summit last weekend. I scheduled it for this Saturday. Yep, a ladies night. I am not even sure WHICH of my ladies are appearing (although K-MC and Maverick are confirmed), but it doesn't matter. I only need to have one of these maniacs around to ensure that shenanigans will ensue!
To show you some of the planning that goes into a ladies night, I am sharing a text message conversation between myself and K-MC.
K-MC: I don't know what I'll wear. Maybe just jeans and a shirt, I don't want to fall down and flash people.
Me: That's how I introduce myself.
Yep, I like to keep it classy and dignified. The last time I was at this particular establishment with K-MC, it was my 39th birthday. One of my fondest memories of that night is looking over to see K-MC sling a rugby player over her shoulder and pretend to carry him out of the bar. K-MC is one of those incredibly feminine and pretty women that can totally act as a bodyguard should the need arise. I heart her for that!!
There's really no point to this, except that I promised myself I would blog more frequently and HELLOOOOOO!!! LADIES NIGHT!!! WOOT!!
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
What are you doing on Valentine's Day?
So, quite QUITE some time ago, I was doing that whole online dating thing. Remember? I'm fairly scarred by it, so I'm sure you do!
While on a heavily advertised site that supposedly matches you based on your compatibility. I was matched with a man I shall call "Beret Boy" because as I recall, he had a beret on in his profile picture. So, Beret Boy and I exchange an email. He tells me he thinks I'm stunning. Considering my profile picture is a picture of me drunk, with girlfriends (faces blacked out for the sake of their security AND their pride!), I'm pretty sure this guy likes his women slightly simple looking. Nevermind. We're super compatible! It says so!!
Turns out he works with troubled children. I assumed there was some level of education involved in that, but it turns out not so much. By the 4th email, I had learned that he had 2 grown children, was friends with his exes, had a head injury that gave him seizures, he didn't drive because he wasn't allowed to, he waxed poetic but couldn't spell, AND, he was trying to book me for Valentine's Day. Which was 4 or 5 months away. You guys, I had never EVER met this man!! Aside from his wordy emails (which I responded to with variations of "really? hahaha" or "no kidding? lol") we had never spoken.
Let's get into the shallow side of things for a sec. I'm no tall skinny supermodel by any stretch, but I do alright with the men. Meaning, I have standards! lol. You all know I like a big man with broad shoulders and that a bit of a tummy is ok. When I say a bit of a tummy, I do not mean something that sits on your lap like a pet cat. I mean just a bit of nice warm tummy to curl up next to on cold nights! I quickly realized that even on this super-scientific matching site, when a man has only face shots, you should worry. He sent me a picture you guys. He sent me a full body shot. I mean a FULL BODY SHOT that should have been blurred, but it's kind of ok because basically everything was obscured by what was a lot more than just a bit of tummy.
So, to summarize: VERY heavyset man, ready for his own A&E show. History of head trauma (can I refer you all back to One Ear/One Eye and remind you why I am slightly leery of head trauma in my dating choices?!?!). Overly attached and enthusiastic. SENT ME AN UNCLOTHED PCICTURE!! Still, was I running for the hills? Not just yet. That happened on Day 4 of the email exchanges.
He had a pattern of sending me MANY messages (at least one every hour, several times a day) and he seemed to understand that I would respond to all of them with just one message of my own. Until Day 3, when apparently he had decided we were ready for a commitment. The emails were coming 4 or 5 every hour. I didn't even want to read them. It was akin to Stewie Griffin's version of love letters. Each mail would have a 4 word sentence. "Hi :)" or "You're so pretty" or "You're so smart. I'm so lucky". Obviously this was a bit off-putting. So I did what I always do in situations where men are pressuring me romantically - pretended he didn't exist. When his messages were met with silence, he turned the Creep dial to 9 and started asking why I wasn't responding. So I explained that this level of attention was too much for me, that I had a family AND a life and could not respond to 39 emails a day. That I was just frankly not that interested, and perhaps he should look for someone more in line with his personality. Of course he became offended and told me no one else came even close to me. (ummm huh?).
So, long story short...I just quit emailing him after that. After about 6 weeks, he sent me one final attempt at communication. This one saying "I understand your point. It's been awhile since I was interested in a woman with children. I'll leave you alone, but I'll be at (redacted) Restaurant on Valentine's Day 2010, hoping you'll join me."
Sigh. You guys, what does it mean when THIS is what I am matched with by a scientific matching system?!?! This means I'm the problem, doesn't it?!! It's ok, you can tell me!!!
While on a heavily advertised site that supposedly matches you based on your compatibility. I was matched with a man I shall call "Beret Boy" because as I recall, he had a beret on in his profile picture. So, Beret Boy and I exchange an email. He tells me he thinks I'm stunning. Considering my profile picture is a picture of me drunk, with girlfriends (faces blacked out for the sake of their security AND their pride!), I'm pretty sure this guy likes his women slightly simple looking. Nevermind. We're super compatible! It says so!!
Turns out he works with troubled children. I assumed there was some level of education involved in that, but it turns out not so much. By the 4th email, I had learned that he had 2 grown children, was friends with his exes, had a head injury that gave him seizures, he didn't drive because he wasn't allowed to, he waxed poetic but couldn't spell, AND, he was trying to book me for Valentine's Day. Which was 4 or 5 months away. You guys, I had never EVER met this man!! Aside from his wordy emails (which I responded to with variations of "really? hahaha" or "no kidding? lol") we had never spoken.
Let's get into the shallow side of things for a sec. I'm no tall skinny supermodel by any stretch, but I do alright with the men. Meaning, I have standards! lol. You all know I like a big man with broad shoulders and that a bit of a tummy is ok. When I say a bit of a tummy, I do not mean something that sits on your lap like a pet cat. I mean just a bit of nice warm tummy to curl up next to on cold nights! I quickly realized that even on this super-scientific matching site, when a man has only face shots, you should worry. He sent me a picture you guys. He sent me a full body shot. I mean a FULL BODY SHOT that should have been blurred, but it's kind of ok because basically everything was obscured by what was a lot more than just a bit of tummy.
So, to summarize: VERY heavyset man, ready for his own A&E show. History of head trauma (can I refer you all back to One Ear/One Eye and remind you why I am slightly leery of head trauma in my dating choices?!?!). Overly attached and enthusiastic. SENT ME AN UNCLOTHED PCICTURE!! Still, was I running for the hills? Not just yet. That happened on Day 4 of the email exchanges.
He had a pattern of sending me MANY messages (at least one every hour, several times a day) and he seemed to understand that I would respond to all of them with just one message of my own. Until Day 3, when apparently he had decided we were ready for a commitment. The emails were coming 4 or 5 every hour. I didn't even want to read them. It was akin to Stewie Griffin's version of love letters. Each mail would have a 4 word sentence. "Hi :)" or "You're so pretty" or "You're so smart. I'm so lucky". Obviously this was a bit off-putting. So I did what I always do in situations where men are pressuring me romantically - pretended he didn't exist. When his messages were met with silence, he turned the Creep dial to 9 and started asking why I wasn't responding. So I explained that this level of attention was too much for me, that I had a family AND a life and could not respond to 39 emails a day. That I was just frankly not that interested, and perhaps he should look for someone more in line with his personality. Of course he became offended and told me no one else came even close to me. (ummm huh?).
So, long story short...I just quit emailing him after that. After about 6 weeks, he sent me one final attempt at communication. This one saying "I understand your point. It's been awhile since I was interested in a woman with children. I'll leave you alone, but I'll be at (redacted) Restaurant on Valentine's Day 2010, hoping you'll join me."
Sigh. You guys, what does it mean when THIS is what I am matched with by a scientific matching system?!?! This means I'm the problem, doesn't it?!! It's ok, you can tell me!!!
Bad Blogger
I am a bad blogger. Really, with this whole only dating the Frobbit thing I've been doing, life is boring. I can't really blog about the Frobbit and all of his CRAP (and sweet mother of pearl, is there a lot!!) until after we finally call it quits on this mess...so until then, I will just discuss the fact that I am not sure why I date him. So let's discuss:
He's short. Since when do I date short men? (FYI, if you look at the picture, he looks tall but I'm 4'11 - and a half! so he's not that tall, I just make French Hobbits look tall!!) I've now realized why I don't date short men. There really is such a thing as short man syndrome. I didn't think it was true, but it totally is!!
He's French. Now listen, my dad is from NB and I grew up with a dislike for Francophones ingrained in me. I admit that at first I found the accent ANNOYING but now I like it. On the few occasions he speaks French in front me, I actually quite enjoy it. Now that I know that "poussette" is a term of endearment and does not mean go kart or squawky chicken, I quite like it. Although I confess that I made such a huge deal out of him calling me a squawky chicken that he no longer calls me that. Sad face!
He's not my "type". Do you see a soul patch on that mug? A scar? A shaved head? Are there bulging biceps and tattoos? Nope, not a one. He is also not social. At all. The man hates going dancing, going to a pub, going to parties full of my crazy friends. He is definitely not an extrovert!
He's broken. Guys, remember when I said I would no longer date projects? I inadvertently found the biggest project in the history of the world. Like, broken on epic proportions. He's chronically commitment-phobic (worse than I am even!!), doesn't show affection easily or say sweet things very often and I won't even start on all the past emotional traumas he's had. Which of course means I am probably madly in love with him, right?
On the flip side, he does have good traits. He's FABULOUS with my littlest spawn and the big kids like him. He has no issues with telling me when I'm being a smidge bossy (I know, it's shocking that I could be at all forceful, right?). When we hang out and sit on the couch, which pretty much accounts for 98% of our time as a couple, it's very comfortable.
Why must I turf him? He just can't get his Frobbit life together. That and the fact that he lied to me about some important issues for almost a year...and that he has an ex that is apparently never, EVER going to go away. To the point that I am no longer sure she's actually an ex.
Sometimes, in the blog world, we just write things to get them off our chest or to see it in print and realize just how black and white an issue is. This, I think, is one of those times.
All I can promise is this: When the Frobbit and I are done, I will itemize every single reason he's a jerkface. Although it will make me feel stupid, the cathartic side of it is too valuable to pass up.
This also means that I will likely start dating again...and you all remember how bad my dates are, right? Which reminds me, I have more dating stories of times past for you!!
He's short. Since when do I date short men? (FYI, if you look at the picture, he looks tall but I'm 4'11 - and a half! so he's not that tall, I just make French Hobbits look tall!!) I've now realized why I don't date short men. There really is such a thing as short man syndrome. I didn't think it was true, but it totally is!!
He's French. Now listen, my dad is from NB and I grew up with a dislike for Francophones ingrained in me. I admit that at first I found the accent ANNOYING but now I like it. On the few occasions he speaks French in front me, I actually quite enjoy it. Now that I know that "poussette" is a term of endearment and does not mean go kart or squawky chicken, I quite like it. Although I confess that I made such a huge deal out of him calling me a squawky chicken that he no longer calls me that. Sad face!
He's not my "type". Do you see a soul patch on that mug? A scar? A shaved head? Are there bulging biceps and tattoos? Nope, not a one. He is also not social. At all. The man hates going dancing, going to a pub, going to parties full of my crazy friends. He is definitely not an extrovert!
He's broken. Guys, remember when I said I would no longer date projects? I inadvertently found the biggest project in the history of the world. Like, broken on epic proportions. He's chronically commitment-phobic (worse than I am even!!), doesn't show affection easily or say sweet things very often and I won't even start on all the past emotional traumas he's had. Which of course means I am probably madly in love with him, right?
On the flip side, he does have good traits. He's FABULOUS with my littlest spawn and the big kids like him. He has no issues with telling me when I'm being a smidge bossy (I know, it's shocking that I could be at all forceful, right?). When we hang out and sit on the couch, which pretty much accounts for 98% of our time as a couple, it's very comfortable.
Why must I turf him? He just can't get his Frobbit life together. That and the fact that he lied to me about some important issues for almost a year...and that he has an ex that is apparently never, EVER going to go away. To the point that I am no longer sure she's actually an ex.
Sometimes, in the blog world, we just write things to get them off our chest or to see it in print and realize just how black and white an issue is. This, I think, is one of those times.
All I can promise is this: When the Frobbit and I are done, I will itemize every single reason he's a jerkface. Although it will make me feel stupid, the cathartic side of it is too valuable to pass up.
This also means that I will likely start dating again...and you all remember how bad my dates are, right? Which reminds me, I have more dating stories of times past for you!!
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
How I spent my 40th birthday..Part 1 - the waterslides
So this past august was my big 4-0. I usually like to celebrate my birthday over a week, because there's just SO much fun to be had when you walk around in a beautiful swarovski crystal tiara at 8 in the morning on a workday..for a week.
My sweet A1 decided she'd take a hand in planning this year's birthday party and what was originally going to be a day of backyard beer olympics turned into a day at the outdoor waterslides due to lack of response from attendees (and let that be a lesson to you slackers that don't like to plan ahead!!!). No big, we can do backyard beer olympics next year. hmph.
So the day arrives and we head to the slides. I get there to see that A1 and her awesome bf, A2 and her bf, Eggroll, Mini-Barbie and the Aussie are already there. With coolers. Full of alcohol. Right near a sign that says "NO ALCOHOL ALLOWED". Sigh. I love my friends. As I am forced to do a jello shot right from the ice cube tray, A1's cousin NoFilterHottie shows up. Now NoFilterHottie is one of those chicks you either love or hate. She has NO FILTER at all. What you see is what you get. I happen to think that's one of her best qualities, but I could see where it'd be off-putting if she decided you're a piece of crap. Of course, if she thinks you're a dirtbag, you probably are so shut up!! So NoFilterHottie and her fiance are there. I'd never met the fiance before and NFH introduces me as "This is Sherrin. SEE?! I TOLD YOU HER BOOBS ARE HUGE". I wasn't sure whether to slap him in the face with one or shake his hand, but I believe we gave the awkward "hello" nod and wandered over to the rest of the group.
As Mini-Barbie hands me my birthday gift of Baby Duck (by the way, that never came home with me you guys? WHERE IS IT?!?!) while toddling across a hilly park in her bikini, matching shorts and 4 inch wedge heeled shoes I thought that the afternoon was going to end in about an hour with us being kicked out for public indecency. (Strangely enough, we were allowed to stay and left of our own accord a few hours later.)
Flash-forward to my daughter arriving with her bf (no longer around but I like the new one better anyways!) and his friend and NFH saying to no one in particular "SHERRIN'S DAUGHTER'S BOOBS ARE HUGE". NFH didn't speak below a shout the whole time..although that could just be my recollection as I worked my way through some vodka-infused berries and club soda.
Next memory? An inter-racial family was sitting relatively near the shanty town we had made from coolers, blankets and lazy drunks. We were seriously one garbage can fire away from looking like a well-dressed and well-coiffed homeless shelter. NFH has a potty mouth to match mine and we were getting louder and louder so the mother came over and asked us to keep it down. She was very polite and quite lovely and NFH was very gracious to her...until about an hour later when she reacted to the teasing of her fiance by loudly stating "SHUT UP OR I WILL SLAP THE BROWN RIGHT OFF YOU". It was at this point that the inter-racial family decided to go home. Sorry about that. Except for Eggroll, we really do love everyone regardless of color, nationality, etc. (unless they can't drive, then we get to mutter under our breath about them as we drive by).
The only time we saw the Park PoPo was when one of the lifeguards came by to ask us not to smoke. A2 and her chrome-dome bf had been smoking but had disposed of everything. When the HoffWannabe came over...well let me take this moment to describe him. He was at LEAST 45, heading to a pot belly, wearing the red shorts made famous by the Hoff. A zip-up jacket, unzipped over his unevenly waxed chest. His hair? A modification of the business in front/party in back look. In fact, it was the "f@g tag" popular in the mid-80's. Short, with a long rat-like tail hanging down his back. So when he wandered over, we were not filled with lust, shame, intimidation or any of those other things a life guard should inspire. We were filled with a sense of "wtf". A sense that we had falled into our own Hot Tub Time Machine. A sense of wonder that this man somehow continued to exist in his hairstyle challenged state. Back to his visit to our shanty town, which we were now thinking of naming "Mcdrunkville". so he comes over and tells us there had been complaints about someone in our group smoking. As he wandered over and looked into our glasses (which, except for our designated drivers, were FILLED with contraband alcohol!!) he could see no cigarette butts. So he then APOLOGIZED for bothering us and left us to our pilfered drinks. OMG I LOVE THAT PLACE SO MUCH!!!
Aside from some very brave squirrels that kept trying to make off with our food, that's all I really remember from an afternoon spent in the sun with some of my favorite people. The evening part of the festivities are where it gets REALLY good!
My sweet A1 decided she'd take a hand in planning this year's birthday party and what was originally going to be a day of backyard beer olympics turned into a day at the outdoor waterslides due to lack of response from attendees (and let that be a lesson to you slackers that don't like to plan ahead!!!). No big, we can do backyard beer olympics next year. hmph.
So the day arrives and we head to the slides. I get there to see that A1 and her awesome bf, A2 and her bf, Eggroll, Mini-Barbie and the Aussie are already there. With coolers. Full of alcohol. Right near a sign that says "NO ALCOHOL ALLOWED". Sigh. I love my friends. As I am forced to do a jello shot right from the ice cube tray, A1's cousin NoFilterHottie shows up. Now NoFilterHottie is one of those chicks you either love or hate. She has NO FILTER at all. What you see is what you get. I happen to think that's one of her best qualities, but I could see where it'd be off-putting if she decided you're a piece of crap. Of course, if she thinks you're a dirtbag, you probably are so shut up!! So NoFilterHottie and her fiance are there. I'd never met the fiance before and NFH introduces me as "This is Sherrin. SEE?! I TOLD YOU HER BOOBS ARE HUGE". I wasn't sure whether to slap him in the face with one or shake his hand, but I believe we gave the awkward "hello" nod and wandered over to the rest of the group.
As Mini-Barbie hands me my birthday gift of Baby Duck (by the way, that never came home with me you guys? WHERE IS IT?!?!) while toddling across a hilly park in her bikini, matching shorts and 4 inch wedge heeled shoes I thought that the afternoon was going to end in about an hour with us being kicked out for public indecency. (Strangely enough, we were allowed to stay and left of our own accord a few hours later.)
Flash-forward to my daughter arriving with her bf (no longer around but I like the new one better anyways!) and his friend and NFH saying to no one in particular "SHERRIN'S DAUGHTER'S BOOBS ARE HUGE". NFH didn't speak below a shout the whole time..although that could just be my recollection as I worked my way through some vodka-infused berries and club soda.
Next memory? An inter-racial family was sitting relatively near the shanty town we had made from coolers, blankets and lazy drunks. We were seriously one garbage can fire away from looking like a well-dressed and well-coiffed homeless shelter. NFH has a potty mouth to match mine and we were getting louder and louder so the mother came over and asked us to keep it down. She was very polite and quite lovely and NFH was very gracious to her...until about an hour later when she reacted to the teasing of her fiance by loudly stating "SHUT UP OR I WILL SLAP THE BROWN RIGHT OFF YOU". It was at this point that the inter-racial family decided to go home. Sorry about that. Except for Eggroll, we really do love everyone regardless of color, nationality, etc. (unless they can't drive, then we get to mutter under our breath about them as we drive by).
The only time we saw the Park PoPo was when one of the lifeguards came by to ask us not to smoke. A2 and her chrome-dome bf had been smoking but had disposed of everything. When the HoffWannabe came over...well let me take this moment to describe him. He was at LEAST 45, heading to a pot belly, wearing the red shorts made famous by the Hoff. A zip-up jacket, unzipped over his unevenly waxed chest. His hair? A modification of the business in front/party in back look. In fact, it was the "f@g tag" popular in the mid-80's. Short, with a long rat-like tail hanging down his back. So when he wandered over, we were not filled with lust, shame, intimidation or any of those other things a life guard should inspire. We were filled with a sense of "wtf". A sense that we had falled into our own Hot Tub Time Machine. A sense of wonder that this man somehow continued to exist in his hairstyle challenged state. Back to his visit to our shanty town, which we were now thinking of naming "Mcdrunkville". so he comes over and tells us there had been complaints about someone in our group smoking. As he wandered over and looked into our glasses (which, except for our designated drivers, were FILLED with contraband alcohol!!) he could see no cigarette butts. So he then APOLOGIZED for bothering us and left us to our pilfered drinks. OMG I LOVE THAT PLACE SO MUCH!!!
Aside from some very brave squirrels that kept trying to make off with our food, that's all I really remember from an afternoon spent in the sun with some of my favorite people. The evening part of the festivities are where it gets REALLY good!
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Dealbreakers
My myriad dating experiences have led me to complete awareness as to what my deal breakers are! I started listing it and it seemed overwhelming, but I can justify all of them so here we go. In no particular order, my deal breakers are:
- Men who HATE their ex. Not just dislike them but a seething hatred that makes you uncomfortable when faced with it. This means they are either unable to deal with disappointment (cmon people, we've ALL had our hearts broken, you move past it and carry on..you put on the big girl panties and get on with life!!) or are still in love and suffering from the loss. Either or, it's a bad situation for the single woman!!
- Deadbeat dads. 'Nuff said.
- Owning and USING a deep fryer. This is one of my neuroses, but it shows a certain lack of care for your health and a definite lack of concern for what you put in your body. There's no way you're going in THIS body if there's a chance your arteries are going to explode while visiting the pleasure garden!!!
- Not owning a cork screw/thinking Arbor Mist or Boone's is "wine". If a man invites you over for a glass of wine and whips out some Arbor Mist, you need to run. As fast as you can. If you bring a beautiful bottle of wine to go with a dinner and he tries to open it with a screwdriver. Just no. NO NO NO.
Note: There are some decent wines in a box - don't judge a boy for his wine in a box!!
- A man that looks at you blankly and says he doesn't understand you when you say things like "The onus is now on me". Let's read a book, shall we? Perhaps some word of the day toilet paper?
- Ed Hardy ANYTHING. Seriously. Just stop.
- Crocs. See above.
- Overly groomed. Call me insecure, but I want to be the one classified as "pretty" in my relationships!
Add yours in the comments ladies, we ALL have them!!
- Men who HATE their ex. Not just dislike them but a seething hatred that makes you uncomfortable when faced with it. This means they are either unable to deal with disappointment (cmon people, we've ALL had our hearts broken, you move past it and carry on..you put on the big girl panties and get on with life!!) or are still in love and suffering from the loss. Either or, it's a bad situation for the single woman!!
- Deadbeat dads. 'Nuff said.
- Owning and USING a deep fryer. This is one of my neuroses, but it shows a certain lack of care for your health and a definite lack of concern for what you put in your body. There's no way you're going in THIS body if there's a chance your arteries are going to explode while visiting the pleasure garden!!!
- Not owning a cork screw/thinking Arbor Mist or Boone's is "wine". If a man invites you over for a glass of wine and whips out some Arbor Mist, you need to run. As fast as you can. If you bring a beautiful bottle of wine to go with a dinner and he tries to open it with a screwdriver. Just no. NO NO NO.
Note: There are some decent wines in a box - don't judge a boy for his wine in a box!!
- A man that looks at you blankly and says he doesn't understand you when you say things like "The onus is now on me". Let's read a book, shall we? Perhaps some word of the day toilet paper?
- Ed Hardy ANYTHING. Seriously. Just stop.
- Crocs. See above.
- Overly groomed. Call me insecure, but I want to be the one classified as "pretty" in my relationships!
Add yours in the comments ladies, we ALL have them!!
Monday, May 31, 2010
Dating Lesson # 2 - What not to say..AKA the MOM factor!!
Dating Lesson #2 for the boys – the mom factor!!
Listen my sweet little bundles of testosterone, here’s what you need to think about…unless you have serious mommy issues, you probably love your mother quite a bit. You remember that warm, loving figure that would feed you and make you bathe even when you didn’t want to? The one that usually smelled good and always let you put your head in her lap when the world was just getting to be a bit much? The one that periodically tuned you in, even when you were a foot taller than she was? Just because she knew someone needed to keep you in check, and who better than someone that loves you? Well here’s a bit of a newsflash for you. These women you date? They’re either someone’s mom, or they will potentially BE someone’s mom. They are someone’s beloved family member. How would you like to have someone speak to or treat your mom the way you are treating the ladies?
Imagine some guy coming to take your precious life-giver out on a date…IF he bothers to pick her up, he is 15 minutes late. He tells her to make sure to bring her purse because it’s looking like tonight might get pricy…He slaps her on the bottom as they go out and tells her “mmm mmmmm! Babe, you are looking FINE!” No compliment on how pretty she is, how lucky he feels to be with her, how fabulous her shoes are. Just objectifying her with the intent of getting in her underpants. Yep, your mom’s underpants! That guy wants in them!! How are you feeling right now? Are you a little uncomfortable with that idea?
Now my precious little manlings, I want you to imagine your mom telling you that the man she likes isn’t that serious. He just wants to “hang out”. He wants a “casual” thing. He seems to be looking for more of a “friends with benefits situation”…but she’s sticking it out because mommy has needs too. By the way friends, I have had more than one man say that to me when I said I was busy mommying and was not free to go out…nothing makes a man more deserving of a slap to his bits than that comment!! If I am in the early stages of dating you, my “needs” are none of your business. Let’s discuss your tax return and assess your needs, ok Creeper?!?!
I am digressing yet again…but I want you to think of someone treating your sister, your mom, your niece, your DAUGHTER , your GRANDDAUGHTER, your Grandmother, your KINDERGARTEN TEACHER in the way some of you are treating women. Is your behaviour acceptable?
Again, for your edification, I am about to list certain phrases (some personal experience, some gleaned from the internet, some from friend’s experiences!!) that I am pretty sure you never want said to your beloved female family members…remember these the next time you are lucky enough to have an amazing woman at your side!
- Hardwood floor or wall to wall carpet?
- Do you really need to eat that?
- Your friend is looking super hot tonight.
- Let’s make out. Right now. (this is generally said in places like…church, the grocery store, funerals, a butcher shop…all the traditionally romantic zones)
- I always wanted to kiss an older woman.
- I am just too busy for a serious relationship right now.
- Have you ever considered an open relationship?
- I hate my ex, she’s a bi*@h.
- I am too scared to be with you, I need time to think, etc etc. (please fellas, can you stop being full of doo doo and just spit out the truth? Which is that you don’t want to date US. We’ll live. Most single women I know date 2 to 3 times a week. More on that in another post!)
- I didn’t realize I needed to dress up. (track pants are NOT appropriate date attire my precious little manlings!)
- It’s not that I don’t trust you…it’s him I don’t trust.
- Trust me baby, it’s all good.
- What’s wrong? Have you got your period?
I could go on forever. Basically, if you would punch someone for saying it to your mom, DON'T SAY IT TO A WOMAN!!! Don’t worry my Hairy Ones, I promise to also do a post on stupid things women say. I could do 3 or 4 on the stupid crap I’ve said! I’ll give you a brief taste before logging off…
Dumb things Sherrin has said:
- Does this make me look fat?
- Do you hate that I’m short?
- Have you considered trimming your nose hair?
- You’re not wearing that, are you?
- It’s not that I don’t trust you…it’s her I don’t trust.
Live and learn kids. Live and learn!
Listen my sweet little bundles of testosterone, here’s what you need to think about…unless you have serious mommy issues, you probably love your mother quite a bit. You remember that warm, loving figure that would feed you and make you bathe even when you didn’t want to? The one that usually smelled good and always let you put your head in her lap when the world was just getting to be a bit much? The one that periodically tuned you in, even when you were a foot taller than she was? Just because she knew someone needed to keep you in check, and who better than someone that loves you? Well here’s a bit of a newsflash for you. These women you date? They’re either someone’s mom, or they will potentially BE someone’s mom. They are someone’s beloved family member. How would you like to have someone speak to or treat your mom the way you are treating the ladies?
Imagine some guy coming to take your precious life-giver out on a date…IF he bothers to pick her up, he is 15 minutes late. He tells her to make sure to bring her purse because it’s looking like tonight might get pricy…He slaps her on the bottom as they go out and tells her “mmm mmmmm! Babe, you are looking FINE!” No compliment on how pretty she is, how lucky he feels to be with her, how fabulous her shoes are. Just objectifying her with the intent of getting in her underpants. Yep, your mom’s underpants! That guy wants in them!! How are you feeling right now? Are you a little uncomfortable with that idea?
Now my precious little manlings, I want you to imagine your mom telling you that the man she likes isn’t that serious. He just wants to “hang out”. He wants a “casual” thing. He seems to be looking for more of a “friends with benefits situation”…but she’s sticking it out because mommy has needs too. By the way friends, I have had more than one man say that to me when I said I was busy mommying and was not free to go out…nothing makes a man more deserving of a slap to his bits than that comment!! If I am in the early stages of dating you, my “needs” are none of your business. Let’s discuss your tax return and assess your needs, ok Creeper?!?!
I am digressing yet again…but I want you to think of someone treating your sister, your mom, your niece, your DAUGHTER , your GRANDDAUGHTER, your Grandmother, your KINDERGARTEN TEACHER in the way some of you are treating women. Is your behaviour acceptable?
Again, for your edification, I am about to list certain phrases (some personal experience, some gleaned from the internet, some from friend’s experiences!!) that I am pretty sure you never want said to your beloved female family members…remember these the next time you are lucky enough to have an amazing woman at your side!
- Hardwood floor or wall to wall carpet?
- Do you really need to eat that?
- Your friend is looking super hot tonight.
- Let’s make out. Right now. (this is generally said in places like…church, the grocery store, funerals, a butcher shop…all the traditionally romantic zones)
- I always wanted to kiss an older woman.
- I am just too busy for a serious relationship right now.
- Have you ever considered an open relationship?
- I hate my ex, she’s a bi*@h.
- I am too scared to be with you, I need time to think, etc etc. (please fellas, can you stop being full of doo doo and just spit out the truth? Which is that you don’t want to date US. We’ll live. Most single women I know date 2 to 3 times a week. More on that in another post!)
- I didn’t realize I needed to dress up. (track pants are NOT appropriate date attire my precious little manlings!)
- It’s not that I don’t trust you…it’s him I don’t trust.
- Trust me baby, it’s all good.
- What’s wrong? Have you got your period?
I could go on forever. Basically, if you would punch someone for saying it to your mom, DON'T SAY IT TO A WOMAN!!! Don’t worry my Hairy Ones, I promise to also do a post on stupid things women say. I could do 3 or 4 on the stupid crap I’ve said! I’ll give you a brief taste before logging off…
Dumb things Sherrin has said:
- Does this make me look fat?
- Do you hate that I’m short?
- Have you considered trimming your nose hair?
- You’re not wearing that, are you?
- It’s not that I don’t trust you…it’s her I don’t trust.
Live and learn kids. Live and learn!
Sunday, May 30, 2010
An open letter to men - STOP USING THESE WORDS!!!
I'm back bitches! Awww, did you miss me? Do you need me to hold you to my heaving bosom? Have you recovered from the SNOW IN JUNE?!?! Ok, May 30th...but close enough to JUNE!!
Today's topic isn't really about dating. It's more a lesson for men...not boys, men. Men over 30. You all need to quit using certain words. You are no longer 5 years old and the terminology you are using for lady bits is really annoying the bejeezus out of me! I am not a woman that is annoyed by the C-bomb. Heck, I frequently drop a c-bomb and have even created a new swear called C-bomb face....but certain words offend me. Let's begin:
Breasts: ok. They're breasts. If you must, you may call them boobs. Gazongas. Hooters. jugs. Really, the only word that offends me is "titties". Seriously? Titties?!!? How about tits? Anything but titties. It's like something a 12 year old boy whispers to his friends when talking about what's in the neighbour girl's training bra. GROW UP. Stop using that word.
Also, now that I have issued this public warning, you should be advised that I will slap the next person that says this word in front of me right in the nuts!!
Vagina: It's so simple. There are a BAZILLION words for the hoo hoo. Women have adopted the va jay jay, I prefer cooter or hoo hoo. You can even use the C-bomb. Snatch? borderline offensive. Pussy or kitty? It works I suppose. I still don't think a hoo hoo looks anything like a feline, but whatever floats your boat. I think the only hoo hoo euphemism that really bothers me is "cunny". I don't know why, it just does! Let's all agree to call it Regina or perhaps THE PLEASURE GARDEN. Then you men could be smooth and classy and say things like "hey babe, could I wander leisurely through your pleasure garden tonight?". Now how is THAT not the greatest way to ask for sex?!?! It's guaranteed action!!
It is late and I am tired and that is all you get tonight. Let me know what euphemisms for your ladybits bother you!!
Today's topic isn't really about dating. It's more a lesson for men...not boys, men. Men over 30. You all need to quit using certain words. You are no longer 5 years old and the terminology you are using for lady bits is really annoying the bejeezus out of me! I am not a woman that is annoyed by the C-bomb. Heck, I frequently drop a c-bomb and have even created a new swear called C-bomb face....but certain words offend me. Let's begin:
Breasts: ok. They're breasts. If you must, you may call them boobs. Gazongas. Hooters. jugs. Really, the only word that offends me is "titties". Seriously? Titties?!!? How about tits? Anything but titties. It's like something a 12 year old boy whispers to his friends when talking about what's in the neighbour girl's training bra. GROW UP. Stop using that word.
Also, now that I have issued this public warning, you should be advised that I will slap the next person that says this word in front of me right in the nuts!!
Vagina: It's so simple. There are a BAZILLION words for the hoo hoo. Women have adopted the va jay jay, I prefer cooter or hoo hoo. You can even use the C-bomb. Snatch? borderline offensive. Pussy or kitty? It works I suppose. I still don't think a hoo hoo looks anything like a feline, but whatever floats your boat. I think the only hoo hoo euphemism that really bothers me is "cunny". I don't know why, it just does! Let's all agree to call it Regina or perhaps THE PLEASURE GARDEN. Then you men could be smooth and classy and say things like "hey babe, could I wander leisurely through your pleasure garden tonight?". Now how is THAT not the greatest way to ask for sex?!?! It's guaranteed action!!
It is late and I am tired and that is all you get tonight. Let me know what euphemisms for your ladybits bother you!!
Monday, April 5, 2010
I am done dating
No for real, I am taking a break. I realized that I am now at the point where I can barely hide my disdain for the man sitting across from me. Is it due to too many dates? Too many douchebags? An over-inflated sense of awesome? Probably all of the above.
This means future posts will be more tales of past bad dates or my daily facebook rants. In that vein, here is today's facebook status update:
Dear K-Car Driver,
Thanks so much for blindly merging into the lane next to me and flinging your old coffee out your window and onto my windshield. Your look of surprise as we passed each other was truly touching. I will be looking for you this week because the urge to pull you out of your car by your 4th trembling chin and slap you in your long-since-disappeared testes is irresistible.
Love S
Oh, by the way, I recognize the fact that I have quit dating about 3 times in the past year.... shhhh, don't judge. A woman has the right to change her mind!
This means future posts will be more tales of past bad dates or my daily facebook rants. In that vein, here is today's facebook status update:
Dear K-Car Driver,
Thanks so much for blindly merging into the lane next to me and flinging your old coffee out your window and onto my windshield. Your look of surprise as we passed each other was truly touching. I will be looking for you this week because the urge to pull you out of your car by your 4th trembling chin and slap you in your long-since-disappeared testes is irresistible.
Love S
Oh, by the way, I recognize the fact that I have quit dating about 3 times in the past year.... shhhh, don't judge. A woman has the right to change her mind!
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Banff - syphillis capital of Canada. Day 1
ok, it's the STD capital...and ok, it's not a dating story. It's just the story of 5 women, ranging in age from 24 to darned-near 40 on a post-Christmas odyssey of self discovery and penicillin. (PLEASE NOTE: To my knowledge none of the women involved in this trip actually needed a prescription of any sort. PLEASE ALSO NOTE: I am never going on a trip with them again!!)
Where to begin? It seemed like such a good idea. Let's all load up in a car and jam into a double room for a few days after Christmas. Let's go for fondue at the Grizzly House. Let's..well let's see how many randoms can be picked up in a 60 hr period.
First, I was only drunk once the entire trip. In the car. 45 minutes after we left E-town. How did I manage this feat, being the heavy hitter I am when it comes to drinking? Surely 4 oz of alcohol could not be contained within the GIANT JUICE JUG of dirty martinis with blue cheese stuffed olives? (listen up kids, when you reach my age, you do NOT swill no name beer or cheap wine as road pops..it's putrid smelling dirty martinis ALL the way!). Where was I? oh yeah, texting A1 (the driver) from the back seat 30 minutes after we'd left to ask if we were there yet. Apparently the 4.5 hr trip hadn't magically transpired in the 30 minutes I'd spent guzzling martinis. Who knew?
I was also put in charge of the road tunes, so the others were held hostage during the trip and forced to listen to my somewhat eclectic musical choices: The Glee soundtrack, George Michael, Beyonce, Lady Gaga, JOURNEY, Hanson (SQUEEEEE!!!), NKOTB, Prince, Hedley, Anjulie, Biz Markie, Prince, Pete Townshend, Ty Taylor...just to name the first ones that come to mind!!! As the Bestie quietly prayed for a quick death to release her from my music, it seemed Ms SS was happy just to have room for her skinny little behind on the rather roomy back seat of the Toyota Solara (nice ride A1!!!)....but I digress, back to my story!
After one potty break at a McRectalRockets and one stop at Cockring, AB to pick up some healthy additions to our mini bar (hello Jager!) we were in Banff. Home of the boy of your dreams...and his STD! We decide we are hungry chicks and want to head to the Keg after checking in...only problem? A redneck in a truck was riding our tourist ass and didn't like that we didn't know where we were going. As he pulled by, we all yelled and flipped him the bird...and I yelled "EFF YOU FLOYD!". I don't know if it was being called Floyd or 5 women giving him the finger, but Floyd immediately pulled his rusting, salt-stained, 1982 GMC pickup right in front of us...and came to a halt...and then started backing up towards us!!!!! A1, as a well-trained stunt driver, immediately pulled around him and kept driving and as we all realized we'd avoided a sound verbal thrashing from a toothless skiier/serial killer in a plaid lumberjack shirt, we started to wonder what Floyd actually had in mind. Was he going to call us names? Was he going to (gasp!) physically show us he was angry? Was he going to offer to take us to dinner? Had Floyd fallen madly in love with us and did he want to make the 5 of us into his very own episode of "Big Love"? Ok, Floyd was likely going to unleash a verbal flurry and use all 23 words in his vocabulary to do so. In hindsight A1, you should have let him pull us over. He'd still be curled in a fetal position, crying in his mommy's basement.
So, we have dinner. We turned the creep dial to medium and did a half-assed effort of creeping on the very average wait staff at The Keg. Truthfully, it wasn't my best work. I was coming off a martini high and needed a nap.
We headed back to the hotel (and I still have not napped!) and then decided to head to some Irish-style pub to watch the hockey game, ogle the locals and listen to a live band. Turns out the ogleing choices were fairly limited and the band SUCKED GIANT GOATBALLS. Sweet mother of pearl, I was ready to poke my ear drums out, but then realized it was cruel to punish me for their shortcomings! After briefly chatting with some Englishman (and let me mention that in no way, shape or form does an English accent do justice to the word "port-a-potty" the way a Scots accent does) and letting the Bestie do her best work at charming and alienating in equal parts by saying "You can't be British, your teeth aren't all effed up!!" it was time to go? Only problem? The girls wanted to "keep partying". Since we hadn't even STARTED partying, I was a little lost with the terminology, but we did mosey one block away toward some club housed in a basement....and the median age seemed to be 19.5. Since I happen to be the proud (and far too youthful-looking!!) parent of an 18 yr old son, this is problematic for me! I went home, with A2 and the Bestie in tow.
Once back at the hotel, we changed into jammies and sent out for pizza and poutine. If it wasn't so long ago, I'd give you all the name of the best poutine place in Banff, but I forget. Ask the guy at the front desk, how many places can deliver poutine at 1 a.m.?!?!? What am I your friggin tour guide?!?! Wait, I digress....
SO, there we are laying in bed, eating and watching tv. The only thing on tv happened to be a 2 hr long infomercial for the greatest love songs of the 70's. I am not ashamed to say that I would totally tap 1970's Mac Davis, James Taylor, Tony Orlando and even John Denver. Yep, I would totally violate the 1970's versions of those men....I could probably even be persuaded to hump the leg (and artificial hip) of the men on that list that are still alive! I also made a proclamation that I would no longer sleep with men of color (there's a story there - if I can ever figure out a less than x-rated way to tell it, I will!!)...and there was much bonding to be had.
Jump ahead to 4:30 in the morning when my phone rings. It's a whispery-talking A1 saying "let me in, I forgot my key!". I let her drunk hiney in and note that she is limping and covered in snow. I ask her where SS is...SS has been left behind (and I thought the first rule of warfare and dating was that you never leave a man behind?!?!?!). After tracking her down and getting her back into the hotel room, the events of the night were recounted for our benefit. In point form, for your enjoyment, here are the events:
- the girls found boys
- the girls went back to the hotel room with these boys
- the hotel room these boys were at was in the midst of a party
the police came
- immediately post-coitus, A1 hears the cops in the hall and rather than exit out the hallway, she takes her 5'1 self to the 5' high balcony and THROWS herself over the top (badly jarring her knee in the process, experiencing approximately a 9 ft drop to the ground!
- after landing she proceeds to run/limp down the street toward OUR hotel
- A1's partner du noir yells behind her "WAIT, GIVE ME YOUR NUMBER!! I DON'T WANT IT TO BE LIKE THIS!!!!"
- SS has passed out in the shower
- SS's awakens and exits the bathroom where A1's p.d.n. says "Does your friend have a warrant? She heard the police and jumped off the balcony!!!"
- SS cracks up and thinks how wise it was to have gathered as a group and programmed all our names and cell numbers AND The name of our hotel into our phones at the start of the night.
- SS forces her date to drive her the half block back to our hotel
- SS and A1 proceed to lay in their bed and giggle, keeping the rest of us awake.
Moral of the story? NO ONE can rock a walk of shame like A1. NO ONE. Her walk of shame remains unparallelled and shall go down in Walk of Shame History!
I haven't edited this, so pardon the spelling errors...and wait until you see part 2!
Where to begin? It seemed like such a good idea. Let's all load up in a car and jam into a double room for a few days after Christmas. Let's go for fondue at the Grizzly House. Let's..well let's see how many randoms can be picked up in a 60 hr period.
First, I was only drunk once the entire trip. In the car. 45 minutes after we left E-town. How did I manage this feat, being the heavy hitter I am when it comes to drinking? Surely 4 oz of alcohol could not be contained within the GIANT JUICE JUG of dirty martinis with blue cheese stuffed olives? (listen up kids, when you reach my age, you do NOT swill no name beer or cheap wine as road pops..it's putrid smelling dirty martinis ALL the way!). Where was I? oh yeah, texting A1 (the driver) from the back seat 30 minutes after we'd left to ask if we were there yet. Apparently the 4.5 hr trip hadn't magically transpired in the 30 minutes I'd spent guzzling martinis. Who knew?
I was also put in charge of the road tunes, so the others were held hostage during the trip and forced to listen to my somewhat eclectic musical choices: The Glee soundtrack, George Michael, Beyonce, Lady Gaga, JOURNEY, Hanson (SQUEEEEE!!!), NKOTB, Prince, Hedley, Anjulie, Biz Markie, Prince, Pete Townshend, Ty Taylor...just to name the first ones that come to mind!!! As the Bestie quietly prayed for a quick death to release her from my music, it seemed Ms SS was happy just to have room for her skinny little behind on the rather roomy back seat of the Toyota Solara (nice ride A1!!!)....but I digress, back to my story!
After one potty break at a McRectalRockets and one stop at Cockring, AB to pick up some healthy additions to our mini bar (hello Jager!) we were in Banff. Home of the boy of your dreams...and his STD! We decide we are hungry chicks and want to head to the Keg after checking in...only problem? A redneck in a truck was riding our tourist ass and didn't like that we didn't know where we were going. As he pulled by, we all yelled and flipped him the bird...and I yelled "EFF YOU FLOYD!". I don't know if it was being called Floyd or 5 women giving him the finger, but Floyd immediately pulled his rusting, salt-stained, 1982 GMC pickup right in front of us...and came to a halt...and then started backing up towards us!!!!! A1, as a well-trained stunt driver, immediately pulled around him and kept driving and as we all realized we'd avoided a sound verbal thrashing from a toothless skiier/serial killer in a plaid lumberjack shirt, we started to wonder what Floyd actually had in mind. Was he going to call us names? Was he going to (gasp!) physically show us he was angry? Was he going to offer to take us to dinner? Had Floyd fallen madly in love with us and did he want to make the 5 of us into his very own episode of "Big Love"? Ok, Floyd was likely going to unleash a verbal flurry and use all 23 words in his vocabulary to do so. In hindsight A1, you should have let him pull us over. He'd still be curled in a fetal position, crying in his mommy's basement.
So, we have dinner. We turned the creep dial to medium and did a half-assed effort of creeping on the very average wait staff at The Keg. Truthfully, it wasn't my best work. I was coming off a martini high and needed a nap.
We headed back to the hotel (and I still have not napped!) and then decided to head to some Irish-style pub to watch the hockey game, ogle the locals and listen to a live band. Turns out the ogleing choices were fairly limited and the band SUCKED GIANT GOATBALLS. Sweet mother of pearl, I was ready to poke my ear drums out, but then realized it was cruel to punish me for their shortcomings! After briefly chatting with some Englishman (and let me mention that in no way, shape or form does an English accent do justice to the word "port-a-potty" the way a Scots accent does) and letting the Bestie do her best work at charming and alienating in equal parts by saying "You can't be British, your teeth aren't all effed up!!" it was time to go? Only problem? The girls wanted to "keep partying". Since we hadn't even STARTED partying, I was a little lost with the terminology, but we did mosey one block away toward some club housed in a basement....and the median age seemed to be 19.5. Since I happen to be the proud (and far too youthful-looking!!) parent of an 18 yr old son, this is problematic for me! I went home, with A2 and the Bestie in tow.
Once back at the hotel, we changed into jammies and sent out for pizza and poutine. If it wasn't so long ago, I'd give you all the name of the best poutine place in Banff, but I forget. Ask the guy at the front desk, how many places can deliver poutine at 1 a.m.?!?!? What am I your friggin tour guide?!?! Wait, I digress....
SO, there we are laying in bed, eating and watching tv. The only thing on tv happened to be a 2 hr long infomercial for the greatest love songs of the 70's. I am not ashamed to say that I would totally tap 1970's Mac Davis, James Taylor, Tony Orlando and even John Denver. Yep, I would totally violate the 1970's versions of those men....I could probably even be persuaded to hump the leg (and artificial hip) of the men on that list that are still alive! I also made a proclamation that I would no longer sleep with men of color (there's a story there - if I can ever figure out a less than x-rated way to tell it, I will!!)...and there was much bonding to be had.
Jump ahead to 4:30 in the morning when my phone rings. It's a whispery-talking A1 saying "let me in, I forgot my key!". I let her drunk hiney in and note that she is limping and covered in snow. I ask her where SS is...SS has been left behind (and I thought the first rule of warfare and dating was that you never leave a man behind?!?!?!). After tracking her down and getting her back into the hotel room, the events of the night were recounted for our benefit. In point form, for your enjoyment, here are the events:
- the girls found boys
- the girls went back to the hotel room with these boys
- the hotel room these boys were at was in the midst of a party
the police came
- immediately post-coitus, A1 hears the cops in the hall and rather than exit out the hallway, she takes her 5'1 self to the 5' high balcony and THROWS herself over the top (badly jarring her knee in the process, experiencing approximately a 9 ft drop to the ground!
- after landing she proceeds to run/limp down the street toward OUR hotel
- A1's partner du noir yells behind her "WAIT, GIVE ME YOUR NUMBER!! I DON'T WANT IT TO BE LIKE THIS!!!!"
- SS has passed out in the shower
- SS's awakens and exits the bathroom where A1's p.d.n. says "Does your friend have a warrant? She heard the police and jumped off the balcony!!!"
- SS cracks up and thinks how wise it was to have gathered as a group and programmed all our names and cell numbers AND The name of our hotel into our phones at the start of the night.
- SS forces her date to drive her the half block back to our hotel
- SS and A1 proceed to lay in their bed and giggle, keeping the rest of us awake.
Moral of the story? NO ONE can rock a walk of shame like A1. NO ONE. Her walk of shame remains unparallelled and shall go down in Walk of Shame History!
I haven't edited this, so pardon the spelling errors...and wait until you see part 2!
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
"Wandy Dodd" or "Just say NO to speech impediments"
ohhhh, this one is a doozy!
So this past spring I was in the grocery store (in gym clothes and ponytail and really STINKING up the place!) when I noticed the same man kept popping up wherever I was. He was an attractive man. Well dressed, although he did have frosted tips and was definitely FAR under 5'10 - my usual man criteria!
Finally in the deli he approached me and asked me about a product (not being a fan of the processed meats, I was not much help!)..then as I grabbed milk and was heading to leave, he came up and told me he thought I was "attwactive" and would love to take me for a drink. Since I am a sucker for pretty much any man who flatters me, I gave him my number.
Thus begins the story the man I call "wandy dodd". Now Wandy seemed incapable of saying the "r" sound. At first I thought he was something we in Canada call a "newfie" or a native of Newfoundland, because they tend to have strong accents. It took me 2 weeks to figure out that it was indeed a speech impediment.
Wandy was also a former military man. He used to drive a tank. I think he bumped his head. Repeatedly.
Our first lunch date lasted for 2.5 hrs, as I acted as his therapist and listened to the stories of his ex. And her children. And the ex. More on the ex. What? We're still talking about the ex? Ok, more on the ex. Excellent! At the end of it, he hugged me and told me he couldn't wait to see me again. What can I say? I'm a great psychotherapist. I said yes because I didn't want to assume the worst - that I was out with the "rebounder". Oh yes, the dreaded rebounder, still in love/obsessed with the elusive ex.
Second date: We go for drinks at a pub of his choice. This pub is in what I like to think of as THE MOTHERTRUCKING GHETTO!! While walking in past 2 gentlemen, I was eye-humped to the point that their optical spooge could be felt dripping down my leg. I walked in and realized Wandy Dodd was late. Feeling the eyes of 20 large men on me, I slowly backed out of the bar and immediately called the Bestie...mostly so if I disappeared, she'd know where I'd last been seen! Wandy Dodd finally arrived and over our 2nd drink I pointed out that I couldn't give 2 shits over his ex...he did his best not to mention her for 10 whole minutes kids, but it was a write-off. After excusing myself and heading home, I mused to myself on how even in the grocery store, I attract the nutbars!
Flashforward to the next day: The phone rings. Wandy Dodd "weally weally wikes me and would hate to miss out on something with an awesome wady wike me". After being kind and gently explaining that perhaps he had to do some work on being single for a bit, I finally ended up yelling at the poor guy. It wasn't good. I am not a nice person when I start yelling, which is why I RARELY do it (road rage doesn't count, right?). Wandy Dodd yelled back. Which was sort of like being yelled at by Elmer Fudd. I was vewy, vewy quiet before hanging up. End of story. Seems simple right? RIGHT!
Nope...
2 months later I hear from Wandy again. He is calling to tell me I was right (no kidding!)and that he is now over "her". After once again listening to him spew vitriol about the ex, I asked what the point of his call was. He asked if I was seeing anyone. I said no. He asked if I'd see him. I said no. He asked if we could be "fwiends". I said...I guess so. ANNNDD this is how we ended up on a night out with the gf's (for A1's auntie's birthday!) with Wandy Dodd in tow. You see, the girls (especially the Bestie) couldn't believe he was as bad as I said. So Bestie cajoled me into inviting Wandy out with us.
We go to a North End pub (slightly ghetto, but we all know I loves me some ghetto!) and this is his 'hood! I called him to invite him and he was tickled. TICKLED! He arrives. Fairly well dressed, but the beers are catching up to the belly, IF you know what I mean... I hid, and he called...and I answered..and he came to sit with us. Now keep in mind that A-squared had each invited their respective ex-bf's. Why? Well everyone gets along and it's this whole painful, interconnected situation that really needs to end..but I digress!
Wandy Dodd took much offense to the chair dance/leg hump that A2's ex greeted me with. He then proceeded to tell one of my guy-friends that he "is not normalwy an agwessive kind of guy but these girwls don't want these guys here. How come these guys awen't picking that up?". The irony? Wandy Dodd seemed to think he and I were on a date and had rubbed his face on my shoulder, put his feet in my lap repeatedly (until I threatened to jam a shoe up his posterior if he put his dirty feet on my pretty dress one more time), and told aforementioned guy-friend that he was so excited to be here on a date with "Shewwy". Oh, he also told guy-friend that "you and I are the onwy two here who haven't slwept with these girwls". UHHH WRONG wandy, that guy-friend had tapped this. He'd tapped it repeatedly. He'd tapped it six ways from Sunday!!!! He also told guy-friend that I was a great singer and that I had a powerful voice...probably because of all that "pweshuh" on my chest. "If you know what I mean...". eurgh!
aside: Oh yeah, he didn't know my name. did I mention that? Somehow in the 2 months we hadn't spoken, I'd gone from SHERRIN to SHEWWY. Also, I hate being called Sherry. It's a number one dealbreaker!
Back to it: Wandy was in the process of giving my friend's aunt (a total stranger to him) a lap dance...for her birthday...because after the bikini-clad beer girl had given her one, he felt quite sure that she required his sweaty-self grinding up on her! Then he was back to threatening the boys. Finally, after telling Wandy in no uncertain terms to either be nice to my friends, ALL of my friends and to sit down and shut the hell up or leave, I was ready to go home. As I left the pub, Wandy proceeded to hunker down with A2 - a very understanding and sympathetic girl. Wandy did not leave the pub that night until the rest of my friends left. Imagine being stuck with a strange, angry, DRUNK, speech-impedimented, sweaty, close-talking, touchy-feely person for an entire evening because one person (ahem, Bestie) insisted they be invited out so they could witness the carnage for themselves!
Moral of the story? Trust your instincts! Just say no to speech impediments! and NEVER date a man named "Wandy Dodd"
By the way, Bestie left 45 minutes after Wandy got there because she had to work the next day. She's a diabolical genius.
So this past spring I was in the grocery store (in gym clothes and ponytail and really STINKING up the place!) when I noticed the same man kept popping up wherever I was. He was an attractive man. Well dressed, although he did have frosted tips and was definitely FAR under 5'10 - my usual man criteria!
Finally in the deli he approached me and asked me about a product (not being a fan of the processed meats, I was not much help!)..then as I grabbed milk and was heading to leave, he came up and told me he thought I was "attwactive" and would love to take me for a drink. Since I am a sucker for pretty much any man who flatters me, I gave him my number.
Thus begins the story the man I call "wandy dodd". Now Wandy seemed incapable of saying the "r" sound. At first I thought he was something we in Canada call a "newfie" or a native of Newfoundland, because they tend to have strong accents. It took me 2 weeks to figure out that it was indeed a speech impediment.
Wandy was also a former military man. He used to drive a tank. I think he bumped his head. Repeatedly.
Our first lunch date lasted for 2.5 hrs, as I acted as his therapist and listened to the stories of his ex. And her children. And the ex. More on the ex. What? We're still talking about the ex? Ok, more on the ex. Excellent! At the end of it, he hugged me and told me he couldn't wait to see me again. What can I say? I'm a great psychotherapist. I said yes because I didn't want to assume the worst - that I was out with the "rebounder". Oh yes, the dreaded rebounder, still in love/obsessed with the elusive ex.
Second date: We go for drinks at a pub of his choice. This pub is in what I like to think of as THE MOTHERTRUCKING GHETTO!! While walking in past 2 gentlemen, I was eye-humped to the point that their optical spooge could be felt dripping down my leg. I walked in and realized Wandy Dodd was late. Feeling the eyes of 20 large men on me, I slowly backed out of the bar and immediately called the Bestie...mostly so if I disappeared, she'd know where I'd last been seen! Wandy Dodd finally arrived and over our 2nd drink I pointed out that I couldn't give 2 shits over his ex...he did his best not to mention her for 10 whole minutes kids, but it was a write-off. After excusing myself and heading home, I mused to myself on how even in the grocery store, I attract the nutbars!
Flashforward to the next day: The phone rings. Wandy Dodd "weally weally wikes me and would hate to miss out on something with an awesome wady wike me". After being kind and gently explaining that perhaps he had to do some work on being single for a bit, I finally ended up yelling at the poor guy. It wasn't good. I am not a nice person when I start yelling, which is why I RARELY do it (road rage doesn't count, right?). Wandy Dodd yelled back. Which was sort of like being yelled at by Elmer Fudd. I was vewy, vewy quiet before hanging up. End of story. Seems simple right? RIGHT!
Nope...
2 months later I hear from Wandy again. He is calling to tell me I was right (no kidding!)and that he is now over "her". After once again listening to him spew vitriol about the ex, I asked what the point of his call was. He asked if I was seeing anyone. I said no. He asked if I'd see him. I said no. He asked if we could be "fwiends". I said...I guess so. ANNNDD this is how we ended up on a night out with the gf's (for A1's auntie's birthday!) with Wandy Dodd in tow. You see, the girls (especially the Bestie) couldn't believe he was as bad as I said. So Bestie cajoled me into inviting Wandy out with us.
We go to a North End pub (slightly ghetto, but we all know I loves me some ghetto!) and this is his 'hood! I called him to invite him and he was tickled. TICKLED! He arrives. Fairly well dressed, but the beers are catching up to the belly, IF you know what I mean... I hid, and he called...and I answered..and he came to sit with us. Now keep in mind that A-squared had each invited their respective ex-bf's. Why? Well everyone gets along and it's this whole painful, interconnected situation that really needs to end..but I digress!
Wandy Dodd took much offense to the chair dance/leg hump that A2's ex greeted me with. He then proceeded to tell one of my guy-friends that he "is not normalwy an agwessive kind of guy but these girwls don't want these guys here. How come these guys awen't picking that up?". The irony? Wandy Dodd seemed to think he and I were on a date and had rubbed his face on my shoulder, put his feet in my lap repeatedly (until I threatened to jam a shoe up his posterior if he put his dirty feet on my pretty dress one more time), and told aforementioned guy-friend that he was so excited to be here on a date with "Shewwy". Oh, he also told guy-friend that "you and I are the onwy two here who haven't slwept with these girwls". UHHH WRONG wandy, that guy-friend had tapped this. He'd tapped it repeatedly. He'd tapped it six ways from Sunday!!!! He also told guy-friend that I was a great singer and that I had a powerful voice...probably because of all that "pweshuh" on my chest. "If you know what I mean...". eurgh!
aside: Oh yeah, he didn't know my name. did I mention that? Somehow in the 2 months we hadn't spoken, I'd gone from SHERRIN to SHEWWY. Also, I hate being called Sherry. It's a number one dealbreaker!
Back to it: Wandy was in the process of giving my friend's aunt (a total stranger to him) a lap dance...for her birthday...because after the bikini-clad beer girl had given her one, he felt quite sure that she required his sweaty-self grinding up on her! Then he was back to threatening the boys. Finally, after telling Wandy in no uncertain terms to either be nice to my friends, ALL of my friends and to sit down and shut the hell up or leave, I was ready to go home. As I left the pub, Wandy proceeded to hunker down with A2 - a very understanding and sympathetic girl. Wandy did not leave the pub that night until the rest of my friends left. Imagine being stuck with a strange, angry, DRUNK, speech-impedimented, sweaty, close-talking, touchy-feely person for an entire evening because one person (ahem, Bestie) insisted they be invited out so they could witness the carnage for themselves!
Moral of the story? Trust your instincts! Just say no to speech impediments! and NEVER date a man named "Wandy Dodd"
By the way, Bestie left 45 minutes after Wandy got there because she had to work the next day. She's a diabolical genius.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Dating Tip #9: Chicks do NOT dig Ed Hardy Douchebags "dude-bro"
This is an ode to the single dad (and listen buddy, I invented the "kid as wingman" game, so give it up you amateur!) that sent his adorable little ragamuffin over to me at West Edmonton Mall yesterday...
There I was briskly walking through the mall looking for a Bell kiosk when I saw him...an ode to greased hair, sequins and gold dragons in expensive yet somehow ill-fitting jeans - he was at least 50 and seemed to see nothing wrong with being the world's oldest Ed Hardy douchebag (with the exception of the Audigier himself!!). He smiled and I noted that he had groomed eyebrows and that he was MISSING AT LEAST 5 TEEFS!..I immediately looked at my feet lest he think my eye contact was a show of interest, but I was too late. He'd locked his radar on me. I saw him lean down and whisper to his son, probably something along the line of "now you lissen to me Cletus-bro, dat der wo-man looked at yer paw and if yer tired of washing yer unnerpants in the creek and eating KFC for every meal, you'd better seal this deal fer us!". So little Cletus-bro came up and said "Hi! My daddy says you're pretty". Awww, so cute. Just a wee little dude-bro in the making.
Maintaining my brisk pace, I smiled at Cletus-bro, said thanks and kept walking...which is when I heard (and I wish I was joking!) the Geriatric Dude-Bro say "you're probably a dyke anyway". I had to laugh...and I did laugh...but now I'm wishing I'd at least made fun of his Audigier loving ass.
Also, SWEET BELT BUCKLE BRO!
There I was briskly walking through the mall looking for a Bell kiosk when I saw him...an ode to greased hair, sequins and gold dragons in expensive yet somehow ill-fitting jeans - he was at least 50 and seemed to see nothing wrong with being the world's oldest Ed Hardy douchebag (with the exception of the Audigier himself!!). He smiled and I noted that he had groomed eyebrows and that he was MISSING AT LEAST 5 TEEFS!..I immediately looked at my feet lest he think my eye contact was a show of interest, but I was too late. He'd locked his radar on me. I saw him lean down and whisper to his son, probably something along the line of "now you lissen to me Cletus-bro, dat der wo-man looked at yer paw and if yer tired of washing yer unnerpants in the creek and eating KFC for every meal, you'd better seal this deal fer us!". So little Cletus-bro came up and said "Hi! My daddy says you're pretty". Awww, so cute. Just a wee little dude-bro in the making.
Maintaining my brisk pace, I smiled at Cletus-bro, said thanks and kept walking...which is when I heard (and I wish I was joking!) the Geriatric Dude-Bro say "you're probably a dyke anyway". I had to laugh...and I did laugh...but now I'm wishing I'd at least made fun of his Audigier loving ass.
Also, SWEET BELT BUCKLE BRO!
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
communicator conversations OR the legend of Snowpants
So A1 and I work for the same company, which has a handy little tool called "communicator"...today we ended up in a discussion on Snowpants. Not the garment, the person!
ME: did I ever tell you about my coffee date with Snowpants from the gym?
A1: no lol
tell tell tell
ME: ok, the guy I call snowpants he always wears really baggy sweats at the gym. I don't think much of it, he works hard and has pretty decent arms and chest...now I know why he wears the baggy sweats though! He asked me for coffee. i go for coffee....he's wearing jeans and it honest to god looks like he's tucked a rolled up towel around his waist...and his pants - it looked like he was wearing snow pants but they weren't...they were his incredibly roly poly and fat and rotund lower body and legs filling his jeans out in a puffy way. EUGH
I couldn't quit looking at it, no matter how hard I tried not to!! It was like a trainwreck!
A1: omg omg omg! lol!!
So he did not have a big slong it was like rolls of fat, like what the nutty professor would wear in one of is his movies kinda thing?
ME: YEAH! And he probably thought I was looking at his junk but seriously, there was a roll obscuring where the junk should have been!!!
A1: omg why
how does that even happen?!? So what does his upper body look like...like he shoved his fat from his arms and tummy down his pants?
Maybe that is all extra skin from losing a shit load of weight
ME: I'm sure it is
ME: IT WAS SO WEIRD A1!!
he was totally misshapen
like someone took a nice top and stuck it on a fat guy bottom
like those paper doll books where you could mix and match the heads, torsos and legs
A1: omg
i loved those
ME: yeah, but would you DATE one? I don't think so!
A1: noppers
lol
ME: nope! Plus he was a slooowwwwwww talkkkerrrrr and i like me a nerd, but when he told me he went to Vulcan and bought some souvenirs and I had to feign excitement and awe it was so not cool!
He also wondered out loud about star trek costumes and whether or not he could start a cottage industry by making them. when i told him i was pretty sure you could buy them readily off the internet, he looked at me like I'd just spit gold and diamonds out of my mouth. He was THRILLED...and slightly disbelieving
A1: Wow
You know how to pick em - blog about it....lol
ME: yep, i fo sho do!!
this is me blogging about it...the rest of the conversation was too graphic!!
ME: did I ever tell you about my coffee date with Snowpants from the gym?
A1: no lol
tell tell tell
ME: ok, the guy I call snowpants he always wears really baggy sweats at the gym. I don't think much of it, he works hard and has pretty decent arms and chest...now I know why he wears the baggy sweats though! He asked me for coffee. i go for coffee....he's wearing jeans and it honest to god looks like he's tucked a rolled up towel around his waist...and his pants - it looked like he was wearing snow pants but they weren't...they were his incredibly roly poly and fat and rotund lower body and legs filling his jeans out in a puffy way. EUGH
I couldn't quit looking at it, no matter how hard I tried not to!! It was like a trainwreck!
A1: omg omg omg! lol!!
So he did not have a big slong it was like rolls of fat, like what the nutty professor would wear in one of is his movies kinda thing?
ME: YEAH! And he probably thought I was looking at his junk but seriously, there was a roll obscuring where the junk should have been!!!
A1: omg why
how does that even happen?!? So what does his upper body look like...like he shoved his fat from his arms and tummy down his pants?
Maybe that is all extra skin from losing a shit load of weight
ME: I'm sure it is
ME: IT WAS SO WEIRD A1!!
he was totally misshapen
like someone took a nice top and stuck it on a fat guy bottom
like those paper doll books where you could mix and match the heads, torsos and legs
A1: omg
i loved those
ME: yeah, but would you DATE one? I don't think so!
A1: noppers
lol
ME: nope! Plus he was a slooowwwwwww talkkkerrrrr and i like me a nerd, but when he told me he went to Vulcan and bought some souvenirs and I had to feign excitement and awe it was so not cool!
He also wondered out loud about star trek costumes and whether or not he could start a cottage industry by making them. when i told him i was pretty sure you could buy them readily off the internet, he looked at me like I'd just spit gold and diamonds out of my mouth. He was THRILLED...and slightly disbelieving
A1: Wow
You know how to pick em - blog about it....lol
ME: yep, i fo sho do!!
this is me blogging about it...the rest of the conversation was too graphic!!
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Dating Tip #8: If you must have the last word, try not to make yourself look (more) foolish!
I once spent 3 weeks dating the epitome of "my type". Shaved head, full sleeve, brawny, and a trades person. Sounds good, right?!? Sighhhhh, they always sound good in the beginning. I met him many years ago when we worked for the same company and he looked me up on Facebook to tell me he'd heard I was single. Well helloooo, a girl loves a guy that makes the first move...and I'd forgotten who he was!
SOOOO, I start dating this divorced father of 3. Listed below, in no particular order, are the red flags I should have noted!
1) He took 2 weeks to tell me he'd been divorced twice.
2) He owes both ex-wives child support.
3) He bounced his rent cheques.
4) He is on medication for anxiety.
5) He expected me to kiss him, like a full-on make out kiss!, in public. ew!
6) He did not take every opportunity available to him to spend with his kids, and hadn't spoken to his oldest daughter in MONTHS.
7) He couldn't pay his bills but would gamble $200 a time in the VLT's!
8) He NEEDED to talk to me every single mothertrucking day.
Sadly enough, except for #'s 6 and 8, I was trying to be very accepting of everything. Finally, with encouragement and support and many exclamations of "OMG, there is NO way you will be able to handle that sort of irresponsibility!!" from my Wolfpack, I finally accepted that it was time to pull the chute on this hot mess that shall hereafter be known as DeadbeatDAD!
Being a coward, and far more macho than I like to admit, I did the guy thing..and unconsciously (but purposely? yikes!) didn't answer his calls one night..or his texts...or his voicemails...or his facebook messages..and seriously men, NEVER leave a total of 27 messages in different places for a woman. It screams..CRAAAZYYYYYYYY!!! The next morning I texted him and apologized and he proceeded to pick a fight because we didn't speak the night before. I took it as a perfect opportunity to end this, and THEN the text messages and phonecalls REALLY started. Our last conversation went as follows"
DBD: "Is it wrong that I think I should hear from my girlfriend every night?"
Me: "Not wrong, but a little strange! Life happens, sometimes people with kids get busy"
DBD: "I don't think there is any reason to ever get so busy you can't call your boyfriend!"
ME: "What if I'm high on all the coke I snorted off a hooker's thigh? What if I'm busy with all the other men I see? What if my BDSM game got out of hand and I couldn't shout FIRETRUCK in time to get them to untie me?"
DBD: "That's not funny"
Me: Well I said nothing, I had just cracked myself up and was busy giggling and snorting....
DBD: "I can see you're not ready for this discussion"
Me: "Sure I am! Here's the deal: you seem to be under the impression that you have the right to make demands of me. Your behaviour is coming across as needy and controlling and quite frankly, it's a dealbreaker. BYE"
DBD: "bye, I guess"
I thought that was the end of it...until 7 hours later when I received a text message from my very recently dumped ex. What it said: "Just as an FYI, your behaviour was a dealbreaker too".
I was certainly put in my place. I exhibited unacceptable behaviour when I broke up with him. LOL! I was now adequately shamed. I should probably have crawled back, hey? Orrrrrrr I could just let him have the last word and move on to my next unsuspecting victim! Here's hoping for a combination deadbeat dad/herpes sufferer. cmon dating gods, bring it on! :p
SOOOO, I start dating this divorced father of 3. Listed below, in no particular order, are the red flags I should have noted!
1) He took 2 weeks to tell me he'd been divorced twice.
2) He owes both ex-wives child support.
3) He bounced his rent cheques.
4) He is on medication for anxiety.
5) He expected me to kiss him, like a full-on make out kiss!, in public. ew!
6) He did not take every opportunity available to him to spend with his kids, and hadn't spoken to his oldest daughter in MONTHS.
7) He couldn't pay his bills but would gamble $200 a time in the VLT's!
8) He NEEDED to talk to me every single mothertrucking day.
Sadly enough, except for #'s 6 and 8, I was trying to be very accepting of everything. Finally, with encouragement and support and many exclamations of "OMG, there is NO way you will be able to handle that sort of irresponsibility!!" from my Wolfpack, I finally accepted that it was time to pull the chute on this hot mess that shall hereafter be known as DeadbeatDAD!
Being a coward, and far more macho than I like to admit, I did the guy thing..and unconsciously (but purposely? yikes!) didn't answer his calls one night..or his texts...or his voicemails...or his facebook messages..and seriously men, NEVER leave a total of 27 messages in different places for a woman. It screams..CRAAAZYYYYYYYY!!! The next morning I texted him and apologized and he proceeded to pick a fight because we didn't speak the night before. I took it as a perfect opportunity to end this, and THEN the text messages and phonecalls REALLY started. Our last conversation went as follows"
DBD: "Is it wrong that I think I should hear from my girlfriend every night?"
Me: "Not wrong, but a little strange! Life happens, sometimes people with kids get busy"
DBD: "I don't think there is any reason to ever get so busy you can't call your boyfriend!"
ME: "What if I'm high on all the coke I snorted off a hooker's thigh? What if I'm busy with all the other men I see? What if my BDSM game got out of hand and I couldn't shout FIRETRUCK in time to get them to untie me?"
DBD: "That's not funny"
Me: Well I said nothing, I had just cracked myself up and was busy giggling and snorting....
DBD: "I can see you're not ready for this discussion"
Me: "Sure I am! Here's the deal: you seem to be under the impression that you have the right to make demands of me. Your behaviour is coming across as needy and controlling and quite frankly, it's a dealbreaker. BYE"
DBD: "bye, I guess"
I thought that was the end of it...until 7 hours later when I received a text message from my very recently dumped ex. What it said: "Just as an FYI, your behaviour was a dealbreaker too".
I was certainly put in my place. I exhibited unacceptable behaviour when I broke up with him. LOL! I was now adequately shamed. I should probably have crawled back, hey? Orrrrrrr I could just let him have the last word and move on to my next unsuspecting victim! Here's hoping for a combination deadbeat dad/herpes sufferer. cmon dating gods, bring it on! :p
Monday, February 8, 2010
Dear Wonky Effing Toenail!!
Ok, I know I dropped a 50 lb dumbbell on you a month ago...I knew you were going to fall off...Did it have to be during a vigorous cardio workout? Did you have to fill my shoe with blood? And did you really have to stick straight up and catch on everything as I tore my shoe off?
I go to Gold's Gym, this sort of girly behaviour is frowned upon! Don't ever make me act like a girl at the gym again!!!!
EFF YOU WONKY TOENAIL!!!!
I go to Gold's Gym, this sort of girly behaviour is frowned upon! Don't ever make me act like a girl at the gym again!!!!
EFF YOU WONKY TOENAIL!!!!
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Dear Ben Stiller
I don't know how to break this to you, but you are no longer on my Freebie Five. I've lusted you for so long...your ill fitting swimsuit in Meet the Parents, your goofy, braces-filled grin in Something About Mary, your black lung cough in Zoolander....but you look a little sickly lately..and well, I just watched Colin Firth in About a Girl. You've been bumped.
Dear Colin Firth, welcome to the Freebie Five. You realize this means I am yours for the asking. You are now in the esteemed company of (in no particular order)
Will Mothertrucking Ferrell!!
Daniel Craig
Hugh Jackman
and Ryan Gosling.
In my mind, the 5 of you lounge around my house enjoying my cooking and changing the lightbulbs in your loincloths.
Ummmm, seriously, why am I single? :p
Dear Colin Firth, welcome to the Freebie Five. You realize this means I am yours for the asking. You are now in the esteemed company of (in no particular order)
Will Mothertrucking Ferrell!!
Daniel Craig
Hugh Jackman
and Ryan Gosling.
In my mind, the 5 of you lounge around my house enjoying my cooking and changing the lightbulbs in your loincloths.
Ummmm, seriously, why am I single? :p
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Rant of the Day (so far!)
Dear Girl at Marble Slab,
Some people use these things called WORDS to communicate. I know grunting is big ummm, well on the farm I guess? But here in the BIG CITY we use words. Things like "HI" and "What can I get you?" and "you're welcome" when someone thanks you. If I see you again I will be sure to bring along my signing baboon so he can translate for us.
Love Always
S
Some people use these things called WORDS to communicate. I know grunting is big ummm, well on the farm I guess? But here in the BIG CITY we use words. Things like "HI" and "What can I get you?" and "you're welcome" when someone thanks you. If I see you again I will be sure to bring along my signing baboon so he can translate for us.
Love Always
S
Thursday, January 28, 2010
A dating tip for the fellas..AKA I am not your baby, your sexy, your sweet thang, or your doll!!
**disclaimer: If you are in a committed relationship with us that has lasted more than a month, you may start breaking out the petnames listed above!!
Listen boys, women nowadays are accomplished. We are not validated through you and your opinions of us. We are educated, we have careers, we raise families and still take care of you...so perhaps it's time to give credit where credit is due, by perhaps learning our names?
We all know that when you call us "babe", what you are really saying is you've either forgotten our names or you have so many on the go it is easier to give us a generic name. When you call us "sexy" and we have not yet slept with you, you are taking the liberty of assuming we will. When you call us "doll", you have diminished us into a plastic creature with soulless eyes but a great rack...ok wait, I guess it's alright to call me that. The description is accurate enough! If you call us "bodacious", we suddenly understand why you use mousse and still pop your collar...
So boys, learn our names...because trust me, the nicknames we give you are far worse. To illustrate my point, I will now list the nicknames my friends and I have given some of the men we've dated:
The Mute Crackhead
The Widower
One ear/One eye
Pepe Le Pew
Wonky Peen
Sgt Sexipants
Teeny Peen
Wannabe Fighterboy
Asian Invasion 1
Asian Invasion 2
Asian Invasion 3 (we're still waiting to nickname one "Asian Penetration")
Married Douchebag
Scarface
Blue Shirt
Naked Text Guy
Kyle
C**ntface
I could go on forever. Don't take us on here men, we are far more creative and generally have a bigger vocabulary. The war of the nicknames will not end well!
Listen boys, women nowadays are accomplished. We are not validated through you and your opinions of us. We are educated, we have careers, we raise families and still take care of you...so perhaps it's time to give credit where credit is due, by perhaps learning our names?
We all know that when you call us "babe", what you are really saying is you've either forgotten our names or you have so many on the go it is easier to give us a generic name. When you call us "sexy" and we have not yet slept with you, you are taking the liberty of assuming we will. When you call us "doll", you have diminished us into a plastic creature with soulless eyes but a great rack...ok wait, I guess it's alright to call me that. The description is accurate enough! If you call us "bodacious", we suddenly understand why you use mousse and still pop your collar...
So boys, learn our names...because trust me, the nicknames we give you are far worse. To illustrate my point, I will now list the nicknames my friends and I have given some of the men we've dated:
The Mute Crackhead
The Widower
One ear/One eye
Pepe Le Pew
Wonky Peen
Sgt Sexipants
Teeny Peen
Wannabe Fighterboy
Asian Invasion 1
Asian Invasion 2
Asian Invasion 3 (we're still waiting to nickname one "Asian Penetration")
Married Douchebag
Scarface
Blue Shirt
Naked Text Guy
Kyle
C**ntface
I could go on forever. Don't take us on here men, we are far more creative and generally have a bigger vocabulary. The war of the nicknames will not end well!
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Sgt Sexipants
Hang on kids, we're about to delve into my history of dating military men. I'm patriotic dangit!!
The first story is the tale of Sgt Sexipants. A product of online dating. Sgt Sexipants was what I like to call "good on paper". He ostensibly had it all. Funny, smart (a masters in criminology you say? well sign me up!!), handsome...a little on the short side, but who am I to judge?! He'd had several tours in war torn places and was a bit on the jaded side, but I figured this is where my "happy bubble" would come in handy!
The sparks with Sgt Sexipants? They flew. Had there been dried tinder in the area there'd have been a blaze! Thank goodness for my 5 date rule or I'd have been led down the garden path (and by "down the garden path" I mean bitten by the trouser snake!!). For our 3rd date, we decided to meet each others friends. Yes, Sgt Sexipants was braving the Wolfpack. As a combat-hardened veteran, how rough could the Wolfpack be? It was only 2 members of the Wolfpack vs the Sgt and his friend. sigh...it was ugly folks. As 1 of the 2 members of the Wolfpack I shall call "A-Squared" began an all out frontal attack on our poor Sgt, his wee chest began to puff in agitation. His scarred fists clenched on the table and he began to look around wildly, like a caged animal. (Who knew the caged animal was a badger or other rodent-like creature?) His short little legs began to twitch, his wee little foot began to tap....and he kept looking at me for permission to blow. So I said "go for it, she's a big girl"...but Sgt Sexipants refused to pull the pin on the temper grenade.
Now let's keep in mind that as soon as the Sgt's friend arrived, he turned from a doting and attentive date into a complete dirtbag. He was openly scoping the waitresses, making inappropriate comments about other women in the pub and generally forgetting I was there unless it was to stare at my chest or my feet (by the way, when did this whole foot fetish thing start? and well...EWWW!). Being a woman who doesn't feel a need to compete or make a scene, I proceeded to start texting and playing Sudoku on my phone (Gentlemen, if your date finds Sudoku more interesting than you, things are NOT going well!!). By the time A-squared arrived, I was glad to have reinforcements and had no issues with A-1 teeing off.
After about half an hour of verbal warfare, we decided to head to a bar I will call "Where Cougars go to Die". The median age was 60. There was an Elvis wannabe. There was a lot of 80's flash. There were a lot of Ed Hardy douchebags. It was people watching heaven! There were very elderly little men...I mean LITTLE men. The fellow that asked me to dance was shorter than I was, and I was wearing 4 inch heels so I was a staggering 5'3!!!
Ok, back to it: Due to the fact that we had all taken separate cars, AND that I get lost every-single-mothertrucking-time I leave my house, I got there after the Sgt and his friend, but BEFORE A-squared. I spotted the Sgt and moseyed over fairly slowly (I was NOT feeling this anymore)...just in time to see the Sgt trying to pick up a woman as wide as she was tall...in a floral muumuu. So I stood beside the Sgt to see when he'd notice me, and to enjoy the look of panic and then forced cheer as he realized he'd been caught. Again, not into causing scenes, I ignored it and mentioned that A-Squared were on their way. At which point the Sgt looked at his friend and said "The C**nts are here". PARDON ME?!?! PARDON ME YOU SAWED OFF LITTLE PIECE OF POOH?!?! I couldn't have heard that correctly...so I asked him to repeat it..and he DID! He said it again! He looked me square in the eyes and said "the 2 C**nts are here". At which point I waved buh-bye and walked out...
Let me do a brief segue here into one of the few tenets I hold dear...Chicks Before Dicks. Ladies, your girlfriends were there before these men and any man worth keeping will accept your fabulous friends as an important extension of you...Look at your happily married friends - don't their husbands accept you? Even if they do occasionally shake their heads at you and wish out loud that they were deaf? Don't they plot with you in great surprises for your mutual loved one? YES THEY DO! So find yourself some of that action, don't settle for ANY jackass that would refer to your friends in derogatory terms...
Back to our story!
So after squirming my way past many Guidos/Ed Hardy douchebags, I exited the bar to run into A-Squared. As I angrily told them what had happened, they just shrugged and said "so what dude? He's into you. We don't care what he calls us". Soooo I stagger back in to give Sgt Sexipants a chance to explain..or apologize..or plead temporary insanity/demonic possession...SOMETHING. Instead Sgt Sexipants tells me to chill out and that it's just a name. At which point I asked if it would be acceptable for his friends to refer to me in that manner. Immediately his Alpha Male tendencies kicked in and he exclaimed that he'd kill them if they spoke that way of anyone he was dating. I gave him the patented "raised eyebrows, you're a moron look" and waited for him to clue in. When he didn't and proceeded to grab my butt, I realized it was a losing battle...BUT AGAIN, A-Squared stopped me and sent me back for another try because "dude, he's totally cute and he's totally into you". (you know, A-squared isn't actually a surfer dude. They're two extremely gorgeous and accomplished women..I don't know why we all speak that way!)
3rd Try is a Nuclear Holocaust but not a Charm!!: Sooooooo I mosey back over to Sgt Sexipants. He has his arms around me and is making headway in this debacle. I'm laughing, noses are touching..until...mid-sentence...his head swivels around to a blonde with 3 inches of black roots carrying a BLUE FAUX-FUR jacket..and he says "hey baby, how YOU doin'?" Stunned silence. A moment of "oh no, that did NOT just happen"...and I was out. For the 3rd and final time. I passed A-Squared inhaling some carcinogens as I left and explained what was behind my exit and THIS time they were 100% behind me in my escape.
As I pulled into my driveway, my phone rang. Hello Sgt Sexipants. He apologized profusely and then pointed out that he hadn't "F**ked" her so what was the problem?". As I tried to explain the inherent disrespect in his actions, I realized I was talking to the human equivalent of a stump. (Ok, I'm going to be honest - had she been well dressed or perhaps even well groomed, I'd probably have been more forgiving!) I gently said I was tired and disconnected.
Flash forward two days later. Sgt Sexipants calls again and is flirty, acting like nothing happened. He seems completely oblivious to the fact that I am cold, speaking in one-word sentences and actually grocery shopping. Finally I jump in and say "hey Sexipants, where do you think we're at right now?". His response? "I thought after Friday night's awesome date, you and I were seeing each other exclusively." After listening to my semi-hysterical laughter for a few minutes, the Sgt finally caught on that perhaps we had been on 2 VASTLY different dates. Our conversation ended with an "eff you bi**h".
and THAT is the story of one of my stints as a patriotic dater...be good and I'll tell you the story of meeting US Marines in Vegas and turning into an incoherent, giggling, blushing moron who chickened out on drinks with some amazing Southern specimens because I was feeling bloaty and sweaty!! OR the story of the man I met in the grocery store - we shall call him "Wandy Dodd".
The first story is the tale of Sgt Sexipants. A product of online dating. Sgt Sexipants was what I like to call "good on paper". He ostensibly had it all. Funny, smart (a masters in criminology you say? well sign me up!!), handsome...a little on the short side, but who am I to judge?! He'd had several tours in war torn places and was a bit on the jaded side, but I figured this is where my "happy bubble" would come in handy!
The sparks with Sgt Sexipants? They flew. Had there been dried tinder in the area there'd have been a blaze! Thank goodness for my 5 date rule or I'd have been led down the garden path (and by "down the garden path" I mean bitten by the trouser snake!!). For our 3rd date, we decided to meet each others friends. Yes, Sgt Sexipants was braving the Wolfpack. As a combat-hardened veteran, how rough could the Wolfpack be? It was only 2 members of the Wolfpack vs the Sgt and his friend. sigh...it was ugly folks. As 1 of the 2 members of the Wolfpack I shall call "A-Squared" began an all out frontal attack on our poor Sgt, his wee chest began to puff in agitation. His scarred fists clenched on the table and he began to look around wildly, like a caged animal. (Who knew the caged animal was a badger or other rodent-like creature?) His short little legs began to twitch, his wee little foot began to tap....and he kept looking at me for permission to blow. So I said "go for it, she's a big girl"...but Sgt Sexipants refused to pull the pin on the temper grenade.
Now let's keep in mind that as soon as the Sgt's friend arrived, he turned from a doting and attentive date into a complete dirtbag. He was openly scoping the waitresses, making inappropriate comments about other women in the pub and generally forgetting I was there unless it was to stare at my chest or my feet (by the way, when did this whole foot fetish thing start? and well...EWWW!). Being a woman who doesn't feel a need to compete or make a scene, I proceeded to start texting and playing Sudoku on my phone (Gentlemen, if your date finds Sudoku more interesting than you, things are NOT going well!!). By the time A-squared arrived, I was glad to have reinforcements and had no issues with A-1 teeing off.
After about half an hour of verbal warfare, we decided to head to a bar I will call "Where Cougars go to Die". The median age was 60. There was an Elvis wannabe. There was a lot of 80's flash. There were a lot of Ed Hardy douchebags. It was people watching heaven! There were very elderly little men...I mean LITTLE men. The fellow that asked me to dance was shorter than I was, and I was wearing 4 inch heels so I was a staggering 5'3!!!
Ok, back to it: Due to the fact that we had all taken separate cars, AND that I get lost every-single-mothertrucking-time I leave my house, I got there after the Sgt and his friend, but BEFORE A-squared. I spotted the Sgt and moseyed over fairly slowly (I was NOT feeling this anymore)...just in time to see the Sgt trying to pick up a woman as wide as she was tall...in a floral muumuu. So I stood beside the Sgt to see when he'd notice me, and to enjoy the look of panic and then forced cheer as he realized he'd been caught. Again, not into causing scenes, I ignored it and mentioned that A-Squared were on their way. At which point the Sgt looked at his friend and said "The C**nts are here". PARDON ME?!?! PARDON ME YOU SAWED OFF LITTLE PIECE OF POOH?!?! I couldn't have heard that correctly...so I asked him to repeat it..and he DID! He said it again! He looked me square in the eyes and said "the 2 C**nts are here". At which point I waved buh-bye and walked out...
Let me do a brief segue here into one of the few tenets I hold dear...Chicks Before Dicks. Ladies, your girlfriends were there before these men and any man worth keeping will accept your fabulous friends as an important extension of you...Look at your happily married friends - don't their husbands accept you? Even if they do occasionally shake their heads at you and wish out loud that they were deaf? Don't they plot with you in great surprises for your mutual loved one? YES THEY DO! So find yourself some of that action, don't settle for ANY jackass that would refer to your friends in derogatory terms...
Back to our story!
So after squirming my way past many Guidos/Ed Hardy douchebags, I exited the bar to run into A-Squared. As I angrily told them what had happened, they just shrugged and said "so what dude? He's into you. We don't care what he calls us". Soooo I stagger back in to give Sgt Sexipants a chance to explain..or apologize..or plead temporary insanity/demonic possession...SOMETHING. Instead Sgt Sexipants tells me to chill out and that it's just a name. At which point I asked if it would be acceptable for his friends to refer to me in that manner. Immediately his Alpha Male tendencies kicked in and he exclaimed that he'd kill them if they spoke that way of anyone he was dating. I gave him the patented "raised eyebrows, you're a moron look" and waited for him to clue in. When he didn't and proceeded to grab my butt, I realized it was a losing battle...BUT AGAIN, A-Squared stopped me and sent me back for another try because "dude, he's totally cute and he's totally into you". (you know, A-squared isn't actually a surfer dude. They're two extremely gorgeous and accomplished women..I don't know why we all speak that way!)
3rd Try is a Nuclear Holocaust but not a Charm!!: Sooooooo I mosey back over to Sgt Sexipants. He has his arms around me and is making headway in this debacle. I'm laughing, noses are touching..until...mid-sentence...his head swivels around to a blonde with 3 inches of black roots carrying a BLUE FAUX-FUR jacket..and he says "hey baby, how YOU doin'?" Stunned silence. A moment of "oh no, that did NOT just happen"...and I was out. For the 3rd and final time. I passed A-Squared inhaling some carcinogens as I left and explained what was behind my exit and THIS time they were 100% behind me in my escape.
As I pulled into my driveway, my phone rang. Hello Sgt Sexipants. He apologized profusely and then pointed out that he hadn't "F**ked" her so what was the problem?". As I tried to explain the inherent disrespect in his actions, I realized I was talking to the human equivalent of a stump. (Ok, I'm going to be honest - had she been well dressed or perhaps even well groomed, I'd probably have been more forgiving!) I gently said I was tired and disconnected.
Flash forward two days later. Sgt Sexipants calls again and is flirty, acting like nothing happened. He seems completely oblivious to the fact that I am cold, speaking in one-word sentences and actually grocery shopping. Finally I jump in and say "hey Sexipants, where do you think we're at right now?". His response? "I thought after Friday night's awesome date, you and I were seeing each other exclusively." After listening to my semi-hysterical laughter for a few minutes, the Sgt finally caught on that perhaps we had been on 2 VASTLY different dates. Our conversation ended with an "eff you bi**h".
and THAT is the story of one of my stints as a patriotic dater...be good and I'll tell you the story of meeting US Marines in Vegas and turning into an incoherent, giggling, blushing moron who chickened out on drinks with some amazing Southern specimens because I was feeling bloaty and sweaty!! OR the story of the man I met in the grocery store - we shall call him "Wandy Dodd".
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