Last Christmas

Last Christmas, I gave him my heart
The very next day, he gave it away (it actually took 6 months but still)
This year to save me from tears
I will give it to someone special (already did and FAILED)

My God, I thought he was someone to rely on
Me? I guess I was a shoulder to cry on (about his fiancee - wtf was I thinking)

Last Christmas
This year won't be anything like, anything like
Last Christmas.



It was only a year ago...feels like at least 5. And to think I thought I was in love with this farm boy for the past 6 years. Last Christmas gave me the gift of closure and reality. Painful but now much appreciated. I still hope he has a shitty Christmas this year.

As for me?

Hey, maybe I'll learn to sew
Maybe I'll just lie low
Maybe I'll hit the bars
Maybe I'll count the stars until dawn
Me, I will go on

Lord, it's like a hard candy Christmas.

Pleasing Pig Principles

I remembered something today…about Mr. Ex. His friends invited us to do a mini Amazing Race type thing a few weeks ago. We tried for about an hour but it was tough, his English isn’t great and it was dark and cold outside. During the first leg of the race we happened to drive past my office building. I pointed it out thinking he might be a little curious where I spend my days. He didn’t even look where I was pointing. Just said “yeah?” I should have known then he wasn’t all that into me. One Sunday he drove me all the way (15 miles +) to his old house where he once lived with his wife and I was fascinated. Because I really liked him. Wanted to know everything about him. Willing to do anything for him and never, ever rock the boat.

On our last “date” together we went out for a nice dinner in Uptown and then for coffee and chocolate cake at a little French café. It was as romantic as it sounds. Held my hand. The lighting was perfect. It was cold outside. One of those nights I felt light and airy and happy and beautiful and lucky. Or at least I convinced myself I did because I ate pork that night. I don’t eat pork. I haven’t for months and months. I told him I don’t eat pork. We shared a pizza for dinner. He ordered it with sausage. He didn’t remember. Or maybe he did and was waiting for me to say something. But I sat there enthusiastically agreeing with his selection because I wanted him to be happy, for him to have what he wanted was more important than my principles. My love of pigs. They are like really smart dogs. I can’t eat something that plays and tries to snuggle with you while you pet it. No way. But I did! I lost myself in that moment or maybe I lost myself the moment I met him. Wanting to please him. Maybe he noticed this. I thought I saw him pause and look at me when he ordered. Maybe he was waiting for me to stand up to him and say what I needed or wanted. This causes me such a deep sense of shame. By me trying to be perfect for him, it made all my actual imperfections so apparent. I am sorry little pigs. I am sorry to the strong woman I am striving to be.

Naked Elevator Dancing

Basil went to the poochy parlor and got his “do” cut today. My naked Basily. He is going to be chilly for the next couple weeks but I selfishly enjoy this because he will be even more snuggly than ever. I love it when he sleeps under the covers at night.

I picked him up during my lunch break and when we got home I was so curious to see if he would do his naked elevator dance. My elevator is REALLY loud. It beeps (honks & vibrates really) at each floor as you ride it up and down. Basil and I take this ride at least 6 times a day. He is very familiar with it. I wonder why he thinks we have to go in a big metal box for 45 seconds every time he needs to pee. It’s confusing, even to me.


Anyway, after he gets shaved he does this dance where he spins around super fast and looks at his rear end every time the elevator beeps. EEEEEEEEE! Spin. EEEEEEEEE! Spin. EEEEEEEEE! Spin.




I smile after each twirl. Why does he look at his butt? It is the noise? The vibration? Something that I can’t see, hear or feel but he can sense? More so when he isn’t covered in fur? Whatever the reason, it makes my heart fill with love for him. My silly little Shih Tzu.


Side note: Not a good plan to wear tights and have a newly manicured dog sit on my lap while driving home.

Bursting Bubbles

After every bad breakup I have experienced, I go through this bizarre grieving process. It’s very contradictory to my fear of commitment but once I allow something or someone into my life I have a very, very hard time letting it go. For example, my mom had to change our phone number when I was little (my dad was a lying, cheating bastard – yes I see where my men issues stem from) and I freaked out. I still remember the feeling of loss. My world tilted on its axis and I was angry and so upset.

Anyway…so after a boyfriend (or husband) dumps me…I go through this ritual in my mind. I know it sounds quite psycho but this has only happened to me 4 times or so. When I have lost someone I actually LOVE. It goes something like this:

1. Laundry in the basket. Stare at it. Put it in the washer. Think about how these are the last clothes I wore around Mr. Ex. Once I wash them, I will wear them again (not around him) and that makes me sad.

2. Find receipts, fortune cookies, mints, gum, other miscellaneous, meaningless scraps of nothing that remind me of Mr. Ex that I will shove in my wallet or purse and refuse to throw away. This makes me understand hoarders a little bit.

3. Think about shampoo bottles, body wash, soap (anything that you use and throw away every couple months – does not apply to furniture or appliances for obvious reasons) and feel a sense of closure when I squeeze out the last drop of whatever product I had been using while dating Mr. Ex. Smell is a powerful sense for bringing back memories.


4. If convenient, go to the local mall and find where they sell Mr. Ex’s cologne. Spray it on a card, put in my purse and smell it periodically for the next week. This is conscious, intentional torture but hard to resist.

5. If Mr. Ex has left anything at my house, I will refuse to touch it. At all. Because once I move it, it somehow takes me further away from him.

Reading this…it sounds a little scary but it is my way of letting go and missing him. It is better than stalking and/or slashing tires right?




I went and got my car washed today…first time since the breakup so that was a step in the right direction. Wash him away, wash him away, wash him away.

Rapunzel, the Mailman and Monday

I spent the weekend hiding, hibernating, thinking. I didn't even leave my apartment except to walk the Basil. Honestly, it felt good to be so lazy and eat and eat and eat. When I get stressed, I totally and immediately lose my appetite. Between falling in love and then experiencing the loss of that...I had lost at least 5lbs in the past month. I am sure I gained it back over the last 3 days.

The mailman just came into my office and asked if I am going home next week. Only 11 days until Christmas. I am not going home. Just twice in 30 years have I not gone home for the holidays. Part of me would like to see my friends and family of course but mostly it sounds depressing. Thanksgiving was emotionally exhausting per normal and last Christmas was, well, something to be left in the history books. I don't want to self-destruct. The mailman also asked how I was doing, asked if I get lonely...locked away like Rapunzel...alone in my office. Ouch. Is it that obvious? My alone-ness? My loneliness? How do I remove that sign from my forehead?

My mom always says that I "need to be alone for awhile." The anger boils every time that phrase comes out of her mouth. She has NO IDEA how much time I have spent alone over the past 8 years. In Texas. Even living with my ex, I was alone so much. He travelled almost every week for work. Last Friday, during my lunch break, I drove to our old apartment. The one he chose 6 years ago for us when we first moved to Dallas. I sat there and stared at that apartment for about 10 minutes and thought about all that has occurred since the day we pulled up with our furniture, filled with hope of a new life in a new city. Within days I felt alone again. Nothing really had changed. We had so many dreams. So many. One choice here and another choice there and we didn't last.

Gosh I hate the holidays. The melancholy follows me around like a trail of smoke from my heart. I gotta blow that fire out.

Faith

I walked into yoga last night and immediately started to cry. The instructor was talking to some students and I could see their lips moving and hear their voices but I couldn’t make out their specific words. My head was spinning and I was so sad. I was remembering a week ago when I walked into class, felt so smug with the confidence in my newly discovered love. I WAS THE LUCKY ONE. Now I just feel embarrassed and ashamed. This is the first real time being around people since the breakup and I felt lonely. I spend my days alone in my office and my nights home snuggling with my animals. The four walls sheltering me, trapping me, comforting me 24 hours a day. Hiding from the world.



So I cried before class, during class, after class. When the instructor put his hand on my back and said he was glad I came, I my heart just shattered. I needed a hug. Needed to feel some sort of human contact to remember that I am alive…that I too deserve love. In the confines of that glass enclosed room where I have begun to grow, I felt love. And that gives me faith that everything is going to be ok.

I would rather feel this than nothing at all

Day #5 after the breakup consists of deep breaths and faith that this will soon pass. Right?

I go back and look at the pictures of us, listen to his voicemails and I daydream about the memories. The way his cologne would taint my clothes and how much I loved his smell on me. I miss his hand in mine. God, his beautiful hands. His voice, his stories, the way he looked at me.

I realize it had only been 1 month. 1 month! But we spent almost everyday together. Created so many memories. So many things that I will miss.

And we were so amazingly happy together. Why, oh why did we fuck it up?

The Real World

I was very focused on writing this blog, going on only one date with each guy and not letting my heart get caught up. I failed.

I became involved with the yoga instructor to some degree although I think I liked him much more than he liked me. Lots of chemistry but we are just not compatible. At all.

I also met a nice guy. Things went quite fast at first. He was kind, liked my dog, had similar religious and political views…it seemed like a good “match” on paper but I was BORED to tears. I tried, I really did. I thought there might be something wrong with me. I have been alone for so long and had my heart broken so brutally I was starting to get scared that I am no longer capable of intimacy. Of letting anyone into my life. He would come over to my house and I could hardly look at him. I just wanted him to leave so I could watch Project Runway alone. Unfortunately he brought over a toy for my dog so I felt guilty and mean telling him to get the hell out. So I kept trying. We went to the State Fair one night and that was the end. He was irritating, smelled like a moldy basement, was sweating like a pig while eating a pork chop off a stick and teasing me about my dietary choices. Oh and jokes about “being on the rag” are never, EVER funny. Grow up.

So I tried to end things with him after that but like the sweaty, shaky, nervous fly that he is, he continued to hover around. I was swatting like a mad woman but trying to be nice about it. I was kicking myself over and over for agreeing to date him in the first place. 33 years old and never had a “real” girlfriend, is a terrible driver, isn’t handy in any capacity…really doesn’t do anything except hang out with a married couple, mow his lawn and grow marijuana plants in his garage. Yawn. I think I may have fallen asleep while writing that. What the fuck was I thinking? I really shouldn’t be so angry about spending time with him because one night I was so fed up with him suffocating me that I decided to go out…

And that is where I met the man of my dreams…in a bar late at night. He was so beautiful. Tall, grey hair, that sexy accent and the most perfect hands I have ever seen. But I have learned that you don’t meet anyone of substance in a bar – thanks Mom. I didn’t think much of it after that night. I never thought that he would call so I carried on with the wet blanket and my bad boy yoga instructor. And then he called Friday afternoon to take me to lunch. I flew up from behind my desk and frantically drove home to put something halfway attractive on. I threw my hair up into a ponytail and hoped for the best.

I met him at a kind of fancy restaurant. I walked in and he was sitting at the bar. First thought: Holy shit Jessica. He is better looking than you remember. Breathe. Just breathe. Second thought: Please don’t fall down while I walk over there. Please.

I made it over to the stool safely and slowly took in the full picture close up. Golly, he is a handsome man in his crisp, black, fitted button up shirt, perfect jeans and shoes. Third thought: Why didn’t I get that manicure yesterday? Fuck. Ok, I am going to be ok. Breathe.

When I get to the stool and he says “you look so good…so beautiful” My heart melts (hoping he isn’t blind) and then he kisses me on the cheek. He smells like heaven. We had a great lunch. The conversation flowed really easily. We talked about work mostly. I held my own and didn’t become a terrified mute. Success (hand pumps air). At the end of lunch he asked me to go out again. He said his friend is having a going away party on Saturday. I said nope, we need to go on a date alone first so he asked me to go out that very night. WHAT! My mind starts racing…what am I going to wear? What type of place is he going to take me to? Is he going to break my heart? HOLD ON!! Yoga is teaching me that I am too concerned with the end results of things so I miss out on enjoying the moment. And I really freaking need to enjoy this moment.

I went back to work and could hardly concentrate so I left early to buy a new shirt for the date (and shoes and earrings). I felt pretty and classy in a cardigan sweater and flowing, flowery top and jeans. Much better than my lunch ensemble, I promise you that. And as we were driving to the restaurant in his fast and very fancy car, I felt so amazing and lucky. We sat outside and snuggled in these huge chair/couch things under the stars. The weather was glorious. He asked for a kiss and butterflies almost burst thru my belly.
The restaurant was actually at my favorite mall (place) in the city. Upscale and diverse. I love it there but was so intimated by it when I first moved here. As we were walking thru it on the way out I felt like…almost an out of body experience. Now, here I am, that girl I only dreamt of being…in my WILDEST dreams…on the arm of this rich, handsome man. Look at me now world. Look at me now.

Why online dating is so discouraging + I heart my yoga instructor

One month into online dating and I am already feeling bored, frustrated and a little sad. Even with the best intentions of viewing this only as a social experiment and a project to fill my time, I can't help but allow feelings of loneliness and fear to creep in. That silent and pounding thought of "being alone forever" hums in my heart if I am not consciously batting it away.

I am about 97% certain I won't meet the man of my dreams or even a 3 month boyfriend online. Ok, that I can handle. The flip side...WHERE will I meet him? The last time I met a boy I even remotely considered as a potential interest was months ago while I was in the midst of a nervous breakdown in Minnesota after the supposed love of my life dumped me in the most brutal way possible. But I met this beautiful and interesting boy in a bar around 2am (I think). This was after I sat alone at a dingy bar literally crying in my beer in the corner for about 4 hours. We spent some time together that weekend and I still think about him. Too bad I was such a disaster and he lives a million miles away. And let's not forget, I met him in a BAR.

It is absurd to hope to meet him at work. My office environment gives very few opportunities of meeting anyone other than the delivery guys. So this really leaves only one other option. Yoga.

I have been religiously attending yoga for a few months now. Ever since evil farm boy dropped me like a hot potato and ran like the wind, I was having these night terrors trying to fall asleep at night. Wicked panic attacks that would last until I drank mouth fulls of codeine cough syrup. This seemed like a good solution at the time ok! I knew I needed to find a better solution though. The next morning my head would feel like I slept in the dryer (set to permanent press) the night before. So in lieu of begging my doctor for cases of Xanax and probably overdosing due to my sleep eating disorder, I listened to my mom and ex-therapist and joined a yoga class.

I was so nervous the first time I went. Panicked is putting it mildly. My entire body was vibrating and sweating. I walked into class looking like a human sprinkler and vomited my story of heartbreak and psychiatric issues to the yoga instructor. He was kind and calm and cute and told me some bullshit about how thoughts aren't real, blah, blah, blah. I was just trying not to pass out from fear. After a few classes I began to notice my strength and flexibility increasing and realized I wasn't having any trouble falling asleep. In so many ways, I feel like yoga saved me from going off the deep end. I made it through one of the toughest times in my life without breaking into a million pieces. I am forever grateful for that.

Fast forward a few months to last Thursday as I was driving home from work I saw the most perfect rainbow. It was a complete arc and every color was so distinct. It looked like it was going to rain again but I walked to yoga anyway. I was drenched by the time I got there and I was alone with the yoga instructor. We talked for awhile and it seemed nobody else was going to show up so I said we can forget class...it's just too weird to do yoga alone at the gym. He said "we could go grab a beer and watch the football game." Be still my heart. I looked at him and fully recognized I have developed a massive crush on this man. It didn't really occur to me at first and I probably put it out of my mind because I didn't want anything to ruin yoga for me. But this is the first time in years I have met someone in the light of day, became friendly with first and felt my heart go pitter patter. Unfortunately some other people showed up for class. He helped me into an arm stand and as I was standing on my head, trusting he wouldn't let me fall, I wondered if he was looking down and liking me too. Concentrate woman...not breaking my neck should really take precedence. He gave me a ride home that night. It was still raining. So now what do I do? I keep (ironically) repeating a mantra in my head. "I will not become romantically involved with my yoga instructor. I will not become romantically involved with my yoga instructor. I will not become romantically involved with my yoga instructor." Every time I have tried this attempt at resistance in the past I have failed miserably. I tend to the exact opposite of what is "right."

So tomorrow is a big day. I move into my new "corner" office and I go to yoga class with my heart filled with all the hope and expectation of a 16 year old girl.

I have an online date scheduled for Wednesday so hopefully I will be off this tangent and back on track with my next blog. My heart will thank me for playing it safe right?

Dates #2 & 3 aka Sick Cyclist and Nice Guy

By the time Friday afternoon rolled around, I started to get excited for my second date. We made plans to go to dinner and then a comedy club. I was leaning towards going to see the local production of “Guys and Dolls” but he bought tickets for D.L. Hughley. Going to see an African American sitcom star turned political pundit is an interesting choice for a first date but I am always down for new experiences.

I had a few butterflies in my stomach as I was getting ready for him to pick me up. I actually spent more than 5 minutes on my hair and felt cute in my short, purple hippy dress. His pictures looked good. 42 years old, in great shape, almost an innocence to his eyes. His emails and phone calls had a smooth, positive tone, if not a little high pitched. There was probable hope. Until I walked outside.

He pulled up to my apartment building in his cherry red Audi and he looked great from a distance. Nice clothes, shoes and (obviously) car but as I got close enough for a hug I began to guesstimate how many hours until the date would be over. He looked sick, as in ill, as in he has cancer and took a break from an intense round of chemo to take me out for a few hours. Seeing what he ordered for dinner, which looked like parakeet food next to my sea bass and baked potato, I started to wonder if he was anorexic. He said he rides his bike a lot. A lot being very subjective. Ish.

Dinner went fine and the comedy club was well dark, in more ways than one. I felt very white and blond and didn’t quite get the jokes especially the ones about giving his daughter a bath and having to put lotion on rashes in unmentionable places. I took cues from the lady across from me who was laughing so hard with her entire body that the table would shake. I tried to fit in.

My date never turned around and looked at me except to ask if I wanted something more to drink. I think he was disappointed my hair wasn’t curly as it is in ONE of my pictures online. No, that’s not true, I know he was disappointed because he said so. Ouch. He also made a couple more underhanded remarks that I smiled thru at the time but seemed to insinuate that he thought I was a little boring and weird.

I happily survived the rest of the evening by looking at the back of his bald head instead of his gaunt face with sunken in eyes. I was pretending to pay attention to the show but mostly I was trying to decipher why it smelled (reeked) like Doritos in that room. I will forever now associate D.L. Hughley with the smell of nacho cheese corn chips. What the frick happened to smoky, alcohol laden, sticky floored bars!

He dropped me off at home, opened the car door and gave me a hug, never to be seen again. I think we both drew a sigh of relief when we parted ways.

My lunch on Sunday with Date #3 went remarkably well. He was cute, showed up 10 minutes late and we talked for almost three hours. Yeah, I dunno. He was normal and I could imagine myself kissing him so that says a lot. He did make a weird gagging noise when I ordered fish tacos but my best friend does the same thing. Bitchface.

Other than that I enjoyed his company. He likes animals, cares about the environment and laughed at some of my jokes. Amazing! He is probably too nice of a guy and I would chew him up and spit him out after a couple of dates but at least he gave me some hope. I apologize in advance.

Back to work to find my next victim to take me out this weekend.

Vintage Online Dating Story #1 aka Marine Biologist in my Pink Dress

This isn’t my first attempt at online dating. I tried the first time about 8 years ago when I moved to a new city far from home. It was lonely, I was bored and I still believed in true love. After what transpired, I know I must be insane to subject myself to this again.

Because this was the prehistoric era of online dating, most people did not post photos. Looking back it is bizarre to think I would actually decide to meet boys without having ANY idea what they looked like. But I went ahead and plugged my computer into the phone jack and began to “surf the web.”

The first guy I met was…how do I put this…a bible thumping stalker? I guess that is pretty accurate. He actually took me to see Pat Green before Pat Green was popular so I will give him props for that. (I had just moved to Texas and I remember seeing all the 20 year old boys in Wranglers and cowboy hats. Heavenly.) I am agnostic with my beliefs bordering on atheism so continuous talk about Jesus ain’t gonna cut it with me. I possibly could have overlooked his Christianity if I wouldn’t have come home from work one day and found him sitting outside my apartment in between the bushes and the sidewalk. Sigh. Do I REALLY need to call the police again?

The second guy I met was nice. He liked my cats, gave me rides to the airport, and bought me diamond earrings for Christmas. This was slightly creepy because I only went out with him 2 or 3 times. Keep in mind I was 22 and didn’t have a care in the world when it came to breaking hearts. So I broke his when I met the next one who was quite a snooze so I stole his carpet cleaner to entertain myself. I should have stayed with Diamond Earrings boy a little longer.

Then comes the fourth guy aka Marine Biologist in my Pink Dress.

Now, this is one of the most fucked up things that has ever happened to me and I have a God given gift for bringing fucked up shit into my life. I think he cooked dinner for me on our first date. He was cute little blond boy getting his masters degree in marine biology. He was nice and really liked me so I let him hang out with me a few times. I would have been more excited about him but he didn’t really like to drink. I was 22, all I did was DRINK! We would go out to a bar and after 3 beers he would become mute and refuse to move. You know, that type of drunk. B-O-R-I-N-G!

I was just beginning to tire of his refusal to hang from chandeliers and/or wear a lampshade when IT happened. My car was having issues so he spent the night at my apartment. The next morning he wakes me up by knocking on my bedroom door. My bathroom and clothes closet were separate from the bedroom area. He said he had a surprise for me. Breakfast in bed? How nauseatingly sweet is that! Too bad I almost barfed for a much more disturbing reason.

He sloooowly opens the door and I almost go blind. He is wearing my pink dress, high heeled sling backs and is holding a tray of scrambled eggs, juice and bacon. He sits on the bed and pulls the dress up and says “look! I even have your panties on.” I want to die. I want him to leave. I don’t want eggs. I possibly don’t want eggs ever again. I dare myself to look at him and he has makeup on. My makeup! Lipstick, mascara, the whole nine yards! I need to get this guy out of my house NOW. This isn’t funny. Or cute. Nobody belongs rummaging thru my underwear drawer. I feel violated. So I jump up and run outside on the balcony to smoke a cigarette. It is February so he throws a hoody on over the dress and comes out with me. Sitting in the chair with his legs crossed lady like style, swinging my high heeled shoe, I almost began to cry. He was upset I didn’t understand his humor. I told him it is only ok to dress up like a woman on Halloween.

He pouted and finally left. I put plastic baggies over my hands, picked up the dress, shoes, panties, bra (not my favorite bra dude!) and brought them to the dumpster praying this was the last I would hear from my cross dressing ex-boyfriend. No such luck. A couple weeks later I go out to my car and there is a note on my windshield asking for a refund for the Valentine’s Day gifts he bought me. An itemized list with the costs and tax. The laugh I got from that was almost worth losing my favorite bra. Almost.

I gave up online dating for a few years.

Date #1 aka Camp Director

So I ventured out Saturday evening on my first online date for this project. I was expecting total disaster but it ended up being only about 78% as bad as I anticipated.

I began the day dropping my mom off at the airport and getting my hair done. No, I didn't spend $200 for bleach and a hair trim for the DATE. It just needed to be done.

I drove downtown to his high rise apartment directly from the hair salon. Brave to go alone to his place? Maybe. But he sounded harmless, it was daylight and his building had security guards. As I pulled up to the intercom I was silently praying that he would be cute. In my experience, online pictures only give an idea of potential attraction. The gate opened and I tried not to cringe. Not terrible but reminded me of skeletor a little bit.

We rode the elevator up to his beautiful apartment with a glorious view of downtown and as my eyes were just beginning to soak up the sites my nose began to argue with me. There was an unmistakable odor of marijuana and food. Now either this dude just smoked a bowl 3 minutes before I arrived or he smokes often enough for pot to permeate every surface of his apartment. I bent down to pet his cat, got a whiff of poor (or lucky) Gizmo and determined it was the latter. On the plus side he did give me a box of tissues and a SARS mask wrapped in a bow because I have been suffering from a cold. No joke.

He had tickets to a preseason football game at the bizarrely expensive spaceship like stadium so we headed out there. Not to sound like a bitch, well maybe a little bit, but his $350 club level seats at the 50 yard line were half the reason I was convinced to go out with him in the first place. The stadium was amazing. I was in a trance for the first half of the game. At least I pretended to be hypnotized so I didn't have to look directly at him when he smiled. If I had any doubt about quantity of pot he smokes, it quickly dissipated when I saw the deep brown stains between every single one of his teeth. Thinking about it now makes me gag.

As I stared at the dancing cheerleaders as large as airplanes on the jumbo tron, I was also able to avoid the 16 year old kid to my right who kept commenting on every screaming happy fan the camera showed on the giant television. His cruel (not at all funny) antidotes were almost as bad as his big scaly arms that he kept waving in my face. Gag again.

Towards the end of the game when most people are getting tipsy, the man in front of me was highly intoxicated and kept leaning back and almost smashing into my face. I politely tapped him and asked him to sit down. He told me to be nice and I might get what I want. Red, I saw red. So I whisper to my date...I love drunk guys especially the ones who intimate and try to scare women. Apparently alcohol gave this asshole super hearing because he turned around and told me "you better be scared." I stood up and told him I was getting security. My DATE was totally silent and just followed me out. When we got a safe distance away and he was relatively sure he wasn't going to get punched in the face Camp Director exclaims "wow, you don't take any shit do you? I am more of a pacifist." Where is my knight in fucking shining armor? Put the bong down man and stand up for your lady!

We leave the stadium and drive home into the gorgeous summer night. He tells me on the way that he had a cathartic experience taking Ecstasy a few weeks ago. It helped him get over a girl who dumped him for the third and final time. THEN he said he didn't like cheese of any kind. Not cheddar, gruyere, swiss, NONE. I don't know which is more disappointing. His drug habits or his dislike of the most perfect food known to man.

He has texted me about 5 times since then asking to see me again. Get your teeth whitened after rehab and maybe we'll talk.

Step 1 - Posting My Profile

Plato, Aristotle, Socrates and Me. This is my social experiment of online dating.

I am a 30 year old single girl who still believes in love. But I am also one bitter and cynical bitch.

I was driving around during my "lunch" break today and an idea popped into my head like a lightening bolt. I haven't had a good idea since the 9th grade. This is huge for me.

I just finished a book called "Waiter Rant" and have seen the previews for that "Julie & Julia" movie and I got to thinking...if I was going to write a blog...what would it be about?

What am I passionate about? Good at? Something that other people would find interesting?

Well MEN of course. Duh.

But how could I make the vague idea of MEN into a blog? I had written some blogs on a social website about some nightmarish dates few years ago and received a few LMFAO's (Although I first thought that was an insult of some kind. It took me about 4 months to figure out what it meant). And then it came to me. I am going to post a profile on a well known online dating site and write about my experiences.

I have 3 rules.
1. I will go out with anyone that asks. I will need to find them somewhat attractive. Either physically or intellectually.
2. I will meet them only in public places.
3. I will only go out with them ONCE.

I just posted my profile so wish me luck. It's a jungle of ugly men out there with their hands hovering over their mouse, just waiting to wink at a seemingly sweet girl like me. If they only knew my plan.