Friday, December 16, 2011


I get crazy ideas when I read books, and I read a lot of books, so I'm probably filled with crazy ideas. Most recently, reading a book on the brain and how the unconscious and conscious mind work together, I learned that there is a significant difference when it comes to men being interested in women who are ovulating versus women on the pill. Seeing as I'm painfully single and am unlikely to participate in baby-making activities, I figured I'd give the whole "go off birth control and see what happens" thing a try.

I've been on birth control for 11 years. Coincidentally, I went on it at the same time I went on my crazy pills, which in some form or another I have also been on for 11 years. I have no concept of what my body would be like without all these foreign chemicals, and since I've tried to get off my crazy pills at other times and turned into a raging lunatic, I decided to start small and do the BC first.

Day 1: Nothing to see here, move along.

Day 4: Have period, don't vomit like I used to in high school. For that reason only, this day considered a win.

Day 7: Still feeling somewhat normal, noticing I'm losing weight in the stomach area and I have been slacking on exercise. Boobs have remained the same size. Another win.

Day 9: Craziness begins. Cry because I don't have a job. Cry at my parents because I feel bad asking for help. Cry at my parents because I feel bad making them worry. Cry at my roommate because I was already crying when she came home. Cry when the pharmacist gives me some pills for free because I have $12 to my name and can't afford the whole refill. Probably cry myself to sleep.

Day 10: Cried more. Napped a lot so things wouldn't make me cry. Made it to the gym, worked out for 30 minutes without crying. Small win. Watch Biggest Loser finale. Want to cry but successfully hold it in until I hear Christmas music on the radio driving home.

Day 11: Go to mailbox, find card from Grandma with check in it. Cry because I can finally not eat Starbucks. Cry because I love my grandma. Go deposit check, return home to FedEx envelope containing my $200 Amex gift card my parents sent so I could eat. Cry opening that, cry at my parents being so great, cry because I won't see them for Christmas. Successfully hang out all evening with humans and don't cry.

Day 12: Cry at home, decide to nap around noon. Wake up at 4:30. Count this as a win because I spent 4 hours not crying. Eat first meal of the day at Subway at 4:30. Come home and cry more. Cry at roommate again. Go to friend's house and she feeds me Indian food and lots of wine. Don't cry for the rest of the night. May have found solution in what I eat and drink.

Day 13: It's 3:10pm. Haven't cried yet. This is a big accomplishment. While walking around the lake giving myself props for not crying, I have a terrifying realization: Holy shit, I think I want babies. Ok, not a LOT. And not NOW. Walk home petrified as to what this realization means. Think of the quote from Family Guy that women only "cry and have babies." Want to cry realizing that this might just be true.

Eagerly awaiting the end of the craziness. I never turned into a crazy crying PMS-type when I wasn't on the pill, I never had symptoms of anything other than the one day of morning sickness each month which kept me out of my early classes. Does anyone want to tell me when this will end? I'm dehydrating myself through my tearducts. This can't be healthy.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011


Step back in the dating time machine to one of the most mindblowing failures of a year, 2008.

Around Halloween, I began casually seeing a law school acquaintance who lived about 250 miles away from my current home of Austin. We'd hang out when I went to Dallas, he took me to some nice dinners, and I watched his band play at local clubs.

The last time we hung out, he invited me to his law firm Christmas party. I heard the words "law firm" and "Christmas party" and imagined a fancy hotel, dressing up, free-flowing liquor, plentiful delicious foodstuffs, and other young attorneys with whom to drink and party. I of course said yes, thinking it would be in Dallas. I was instantly corrected - it was going to be in Longview. Never heard of Longview? There's a reason.

I was less excited, but figured at least the local Holiday Inn and an open bar couldn't be that bad, I mean, they're lawyers - lawyers throw nice, expensive parties. And the whole firm was going to be there, so it had to be huge. I made plans to come to Dallas to have a goodbye dinner with friends, then head out to Longview with my date. I was moving to Missouri in one week, and wanted to have a last hurrah with my law school crew.

The next day, my date and I headed on the 2 hour drive from Dallas to Longview, basically a tiny town in northeast Texas. He mentioned he "cleaned up his whole place" for me, which I thought was a nice gesture, and was looking forward to the party. That would soon change.

I walk into his house, which is a duplex, and it looked like it hadn't been cleaned in MONTHS. Papers, dvds, dirty dishes, and random crap was strewn along the floor, on the couches, and completely covering the kitchen counter. Not only that, but there was a foul smell, like spoiled milk or something. Neither of us could figure out where it was coming from. He actually thought perhaps an animal had died somewhere, since he was really close to the woods. After 20 minutes of searching, we find the culprit - a cooler that hadn't been cleaned out and contained POUNDS UPON POUNDS OF GROUND BEEF...obviously rotting. His response?

"Oh, I guess I forgot to clean out my cooler when I went camping TWO WEEKS AGO."


I was horrified, and the smell didn't get better after he removed the cooler and meat from the room. I'm immediately wanting to go home, knowing that I have to come back to the house of death after the party, probably intoxicated, and have to smell that all night as I attempt drunken sleep.

I go take a shower, where I have to make do with one bar of soap as my shampoo, face wash, and body cleaner, since I mistakenly assumed he might have BASIC HYGENIC NECESSITIES at his home. I dressed, and he took forever. He changed his clothes 50 times, asking me very self-consciously if he looked alright, and which outfit I preferred. I didn't give a fuck, but apparently he wanted a really excited reaction so I pretended to be thrilled with a shirt and jacket combo.

We get in the car, and start driving. It didn't even occur to me to ask where the party was, but I soon found out I was not sticking with the theme of the evening. He pulled into what I can only say looked like a pasture, and we walked on the dirt road to a BARN and were greeted by a bunch of older people in western attire. I, however, was wearing a plaid skirt, cute sweater, and knee-high leather stilettos - NOT cowboy boots or western wear of any kind.

Turns out his law firm is small (20ish people), he's the YOUNGEST MEMBER, and everyone is madly in love with country music, dirt floors, and Bud Light. If I could create my own personal hell, it would be nearly identical to this "party." They have a country band, which makes me nearly deaf, and he's apparently been talking about me around the office. An older woman comes up to me as he's making a speech on the stage and says "Oh I bet you're so proud of him, I bet you're like 'That's ma baby!'" I vomit a little in my mouth and attempt a smile. Then she asks what we're going to do when I move to Missouri. Seriously, did this guy tell them my life story? If so, why didn't he say WE AREN'T EVEN DATING?? I just HAPPEN to have gone to dinner with him a few times over the course of MONTHS and agreed to be his date to this rodeo-gone-awry.

Not only is there no one my age to talk to (he has left me to my own devices while he socializes with random old men for over an hour), but even if there was I felt like I was at a political rally for GW Bush, the lonely liberal city girl surrounded by drunk rednecks with money. I was so miserable I thought about resorting to drinking myself stupid, but then couldn't fathom having to go home with this guy later in the night to his putrid-smelling home. I kept reasonably sober, and then I pulled the ultimate bitch move...I asked him to take me home.

I'm really not sure how I pulled it off, but I managed to tell him I was leaving without a big confrontation, and at 11:30pm I began the 2-lane road drive to Austin through the tiniest towns I've ever seen. I managed to get back to my apartment at 2:30am, fall into my bed, and relish the fact that the horror of a weekend was the last one I'd ever have to spend in Texas.

Friday, August 12, 2011


Yes, this post is about me. And I'm a huge bumbling idiot.

Today at work I went into the kitchen to refill my water bottle. The kitchen is shared between the two rooms of our office space, both of which are currently filled with 3 separate projects - one large one in my room, and two small ones in the other. We rarely see or speak to the people in the opposing room, so I wasn't prepared when a really hot guy came into the kitchen as I finished my refill.

Immediately I turn into a 12-year-old meeting Justin Bieber. I cannot form words, probably turn bright red, and force a really creepy smile so that Cute Boy doesn't think I'm a raving bitch. Unfortunately, it probably makes him believe I'm a raving lunatic. In a huff, I return to my seat and try to calm down, wondering how bad of a first impression I just made.

About half an hour later, said water bottle is empty and my bladder is full. I leave the confines of my project space to enter the hallway. Walking to the bathroom, I see the back of Cute Boy leaning against the wall texting. Luckily he doesn't see me before I make it into the bathroom or I might have fallen on my face or thrown up on him a la Stan from South Park. When I get back to my seat, I text my friend across the room that there's a cute guy in the hall, and we decide we're going to "go downstairs to get a cookie."

We leave the room and Cute Boy is still in the same position, texting away (our job is REALLY boring). We pass him on the way to the elevators and he mentions he's seen us in the other room, and introduces himself. I don't remember what I said other that my name, but it was probably "I AM GOING TO EAT A COOKIE HERE WE GO" with crazy eyes and an unnecessary sense of urgency.

Downstairs, I buy said cookie, if only for show, and then decide to check my bank balance at the lobby atm. I pull out my receipt, turn around, and Cute Boy has followed us into the lobby. I make some joke about him stalking us, and head back to the elevator. All the while the atm is beeping loudly, since of course I forgot to get my card. The guard at the security desk followed me to the elevator and had to explain to me that the beeping was my card being left in the machine. I sprint across the lobby, in front of Cute Boy, retrieve my card, and embarrassingly get back into the elevator.

My friend and I were laughing so hard we stood there, the doors closed, and we began having a conversation. Unfortunately, neither of us had pushed the button for our floor, so the doors reopen momentarily and guess who is standing outside the elevator waiting for a ride. We all laugh hysterically (if not uncomfortably) and continue up to our floor. But because I'm a complete tool around guys I think are cute (and who actually happen to be nice), he probably thought I was the most bizarrely awkward, spastic person he has ever met, while my friend, who wasn't painfully attracted to him, was able to form complete sentences and look him in the eye.

We go into our separate rooms upon parting the elevator and I don't see him again for the rest of the day. THIS, my friends, is why I'm single.

Saturday, July 23, 2011


Perhaps not the traditional post, but it does have to do with dating, and the blog needed an update.

At the food court of a fancy outdoor mall today, I was enjoying some Greek food in the sunlight when I noticed there was a guitar player instead of recorded music. I didn't think much of it until he began walking around the eating area, stopping for short periods at peoples' tables and playing. Quickly I became absorbed in shoveling food in my mouth in hopes he would pass me by instead of awkwardly drawing attention to me eating alone at 2pm on a Saturday.

I succeeded, but an unfortunate couple who looked as though they hadn't been dating long got bombarded with what this guitarist probably thought was a "romantic gesture." I watched in horror as the couple stopped eating, felt the need to stare at the guitarist, and sat in awkward silence for MORE THAN FIVE MINUTES as the guy kept playing. At one point, the girl thought he might be waiting for a tip, so she got out her wallet and was thumbing through some cash. I felt terrible for them, as such an incident is my ultimate dating fear.

My intense fear of "musical displays of affection" started very early, and not even in a dating context. I remember probably 20 years ago my grandparents had come to visit us in Texas and we had taken them to a Mexican restaurant on the Riverwalk. I think it was my grandfather's birthday (or someone's), and our large group tipped off the mariachi band that perhaps there was an event. All I remember is that once they found out there WAS a birthday, they proceeded to play about 50 songs at our table, drawing attention to us from every person in the restaurant. Not only that, but they were taking up valuable eating time.

Here's the question - what's the appropriate response when someone sings to you? This could be a professional musician, a mariachi band, your significant other thinking he's doing something romantic when in fact he's slowly killing you with humiliation even if you're in the comfort of your own home. Do you drop everything and stare at them? Do you continue eating or whatever you were doing as not to awkwardly stare at them? Is not looking at them continuously considered "rude" or "not paying attention"? Do you have to tip them for them to go away? How do you GET THEM to go away? Are you supposed to clap and shower them with praise when they're finished, thereby encouraging them to play more? SO MANY QUESTIONS!!!!!

The last thing I want to hear from someone I'm dating is "I play guitar." While my first boyfriend played and never played FOR me (thank god), but my second actually sang TO me some song he was making up as he went along. I almost died, threw up, and exploded with horror all in the same moment. When I met my third boyfriend, I was thrilled to find out he had no musical talent at all.

My worst fear is that someone I date will use their "musical talent" to write some sort of romantic love song for me and sing it at an inappropriate place and time (which to me is ANY time and ANY place). So in fact, if a potential date says to me "I play guitar" all I hear is "I have herpes."

It's like I draw these kind of people to me. Mariachis always sing at my table, the opera singers at Macaroni Grill would come over to us more than I cared for, and I even got song-bombed by a frumpy transvestite at a grocery store in Dallas. And she was singing a Christmas carol, in February, to JUST ME. WHYYYYYY??

Monday, July 11, 2011


**Ok, THIS is why I don't internet date anymore. I can't even believe this person exists. Thanks to my guest blogger for taking one for the team for this story!**

I had just joined the Internet dating world 3 months prior when I pimped myself out on a free dating site. Why would I want to pay money for something I could do for free? I should've been tipped off when the site had "Do you own a car?" as one of their standard questions. As well as "Do you use drugs?" The number of contacts I received from men with unmentionable advances significantly outnumbered the few decent once in my inbox. I was somewhat creeped out by this so I joined the site that states that they've had more marriages than any other dating site. I figured that if I had to pay for this, surely it has to have a better crop of men to choose from. Right?!

My first actual date from this site was Bachelor #1. Bachelor #1 was a couple of years younger than me, an investment banker, and seemed to have goals. We chatted back and forth for a couple of days. After the 3rd or 4th day he asked if I wanted to go out. I stalled. He then asked would it hurt to meet for a drink? I was hesitant to date someone younger but I quickly decided that maybe I wouldn't find my soul mate if I didn't explore this opportunity. I agreed to meet him. He wanted to go NOW. Stupid me, I called up my mom and asked her if she could watch my kiddo so I could go on a date with random Mr. Sweatpants from the Internet. Mom said yes. (Thanks Mom.)

I drive to meet my dating game contestant at a local bar. I go inside, look around, and am greeted by a guy who stands up from the table in SWEATPANTS. Who wears sweatpants on a first date?! Did I end up on MadTV's Lowered Expectations? Should I have worn Pajama Jeans? Clearly I was overdressed by wearing regular jeans. Remind you, I'd only been back in the dating world for 3 months so I decided to roll with it and sat down.

I ordered my beer and proceeded to listen to this guy talk on and on about himself. He was an investment banker, had the blue Audi parked right out front, was part landlord to the bar, just got the blue Audi parked out front, had originally gone to theology school but changed to business, and, oh, did I see the blue Audi out front?! As soon as I was about to say that I could give a rat's ass about that blue Audi Mr. Sweatpants informed me he was only buying me my first drink. Uh, okay. Awkward. I was planning to pay for myself anyway.

We start to talk about experiences with dating people from the site. I asked how many dates he'd been on. "Oh, probably at least a hundred." Looking back, I don't know why I didn't run then.

Less than an hour into this date, I am bluntly informed that Mr. Sweatpants does not believe in having sex until at least six or seven months into the relationship. How the conversation got to this point I don't know. I had just started another beer at this moment and decide not to come up for air. He took that as a sign to continue and rambled on. Apparently sex before six or seven months is too much of an emotional thing for him. He also didn't want to have an unplanned pregnancy. BUT, and he continues to talk while I continue to drink, "the Bible says we can pleasure our partners so how do you feel about oral?" As if it is going to seal the deal he rambles "by the way I like to give." WTF?!!

The moments after that are a bit blurry not because of my beer but because I was mentally scarred by what had just happened. I mumbled something about the time of the month, said I needed to go get my kid, please don't contact me, and paid my bill. I called my friends and listened to them laugh hysterically about what just happened to me. Maybe the sweatpants were "easy access" for something casual and worn for a reason. Barf.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011


And I thought that because I hadn't been on a date since Houdini left me to fend for myself for 3 hours that I wouldn't have blog material. So painfully wrong.

This is somewhat of an extension of Jill's blog, "You yell at girls on the street," but a little bit more subtle. Yes, there's the whistler, the catcaller, and the general obnoxious honker, but sometimes you find quieter versions of the same thing.

Today I decided to leave my current quarters for lunch because I'd been very good about saving food money for the past few days, and thought I'd treat myself to a non-home lunch, all $10 of it. Being the complete lazy ass that I am, I threw on some yoga pants, my Wipeout tshirt, flip flops, and my glasses. While I was wearing makeup, it was just mascara so I wouldn't offend strangers with my blonde eyelashes.

I drove a few blocks to Beverly Dr., where there is every restaurant under the sun from Subway to Ruth's Chris. I sat outside eating a delicious gyro plate, watching fancy people walk by with their tiny dogs and $1000 purses. After lunch, I decided to use a little more of my free 2 hour parking to take a little walk and look in the store windows of places I'm too afraid to go in for fear of being kicked out because I'm poor. Passing a jewelry store, there was a security guard out front. As I passed (remember the outfit here), he goes:

"Hey beautiful, how YOU doin?"

I gave a polite "Hi" and walked quickly away. I can't express to you why I get so offended when people call me "baby," "beautiful," "sweetheart," "gorgeous," etc. While these are things I would like to hear from a boyfriend (after the requisite amount of dating - don't start this shit up on the first date), the fact that you think you can just roll up and call me whatever the hell you want pisses me off.

I've had guys in bars approach me with "Hey baby." IMMEDIATE turn off. Had they just come up and said hi, and introduced themself, I might have been more obliging. I'm not your baby. I'm not some object that you have the privilege of staring at. I find it SO demeaning. You don't KNOW me. How can you already give me a pet name? Especially one that I find so horrifyingly offensive. Do other girls respond to this? Does "Hey beautiful" make you feel good about yourself and in turn you pay attention to said guy? Am I really off the mark here?

To me the use of a pet name as a pick up line either screams "you are something I want to show off to my friends and I don't care about any other part of you other than your looks" or "I'm a huge sleaze and will probably cheat on you and treat you like crap." I'm probably smarter than your ass, you sissy bitch. No I'm not going to make you a sandwich, shithead. Make your own goddamned sandwich.

While I have a firey hatred for pet names outside of a relationship, I can't say I haven't been a party to the use of pet names with boyfriends. Generally they're a mockery of real pet names, like "Sex Muffin" and "Love Biscuit," and only used for the sake of humor. But once I did receive a note from a boyfriend after he left for work that said "Have a good day, beautiful." I kept it til we broke up.

But really, guys. There's nothing creepier than someone you don't know calling you "baby." It's like they're oozing cologne and sleaze all at the same time. It's so...Jersey Shore. Ugh. Now I'm going to have nightmares of big guidos calling me baby on the street. And seriously, I understand such comments are often likely when I'm dressed up to go out, but if it looks like I made an EFFORT to be under the radar and unattractive (gym clothes and glasses...), at least respect my attempt at looking like crap.

Wednesday, June 8, 2011


I came into the singles scene a little later than most. Having had back-to-back boyfriends for nearly 8 years, with the short span of 6 months of self-inflicted singledom, I never really did the whole "dating" thing. Come 2008, I get dumped, and I have to start all over. But from where?

After 6-9 months of making a valiant effort of getting over my shockingly unforeseen dumpage, I decided to see what it was like dating. I worked in a terrible office in a terrible county in Texas, so it was obvious I was going to need to seek mates outside of work. A few nights downtown with friends turned into nothing, and someone suggested the internet.

At the time I was horrified. Now, I understand why I was horrified. I, an attractive, educated female in her mid-twenties shouldn't need to go on the internet to find a date. I should be able to find one in the real world. Sadly, this was not occurring and in order to take my mind off loneliness and job dissatisfaction, I hopped aboard the internet dating train and held on for dear life.

First was Match. My initial reaction was that everyone on there had some sort of sociopathic tendency or they were an outright serial killer. When I met the first guy I actually began messaging, I was pleased to find out this was not the case. He was perfectly normal. He was just...boring.

Three years and 4 dating sites later, I have come to realize that this is the main problem. Everyone I have met (which is the small number of about 5-6 in 3 different cities combined) has been reasonably attractive, did not appear to have any startling psychotic tendencies, and were in most respects completely normal. Here, is what I've found, is WHY they were on the internet:

1) YOU ARE PAINFULLY BORING - I know I may have a bit of a large personality, and this may come as a shock to new people, but never did I anticipate that I had more personality than everyone on the internet combined. THE VAST MAJORITY of my internet dates have been completely incapable of holding a conversation with me, which unfortunately requires intelligence and a quick wit. Most of them find themselves staring in awe as I simply talk the night away because they won't fucking say anything. Thinking the date went badly, I go home, then immediately get texts from these characters who think I'm hilarious and amazing. Sorry buddy, you were about as interesting as a couch cushion, which would probably also find me hilarious and amazing because they can't speak or move.

The worst part is all of these idiots have hilarious profiles. I read them and think "Oh, this guy's funny! We'll get along great!" Apparently their humor is only available in print, or they paid someone else to write their profile. And it's not like I don't give them a chance. I get tired of talking. My food is getting cold. I ask you questions about your life. THIS IS YOUR TIME TO SHINE, ASSHAT. No, one sentence answers is what I get. Finally I just get fed up and fill the silence with whatever bullshit comes out of my mouth, because at that point I couldn't care less what this boring ass motherfucker thinks about me.

2) YOU ARE DESPERATELY UNATTRACTIVE - I just want to clear something up. The internet is not a free-for-all. Just because someone is on the internet, doesn't mean that he or she is interested in EVERYONE on the internet. Nor does it mean we're desperate and have completely lost all ability to differentiate between "our level" of attraction, intelligence, and age. DAILY I would get "winks" from 45-year-old men when I was 26. NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT. My profile says what age range, and at that time I think I cut it off at 33. I DON'T GIVE A 12-YEAR WINDOW BUDDY, or should I say DAD. You creepy old fucker, wanting to date girls in their 20s.

I mentioned I only went on about 6 dates in the past 3 years in 3 cities. That's because 99.9% of the people who messaged me were the ugliest, stupidest pieces of shit I've ever seen. No, I don't want to date your 300lb ass, I don't care if we have 800 things in common. And if you have a picture of yourself with no shirt on taken in the mirror, WE ARE NOT COMPATIBLE. Same goes with "hi how r u." Does anyone notice that a) that's a QUESTION and b) it's SERIOUSLY LACKING in punctuation and spelling, and it's ONLY FOUR WORDS. Every one of those emails got deleted.

No, I don't like the pose of you on a tractor. No, I don't want to long-distance date you in Minneapolis. No, I don't enjoy NASCAR. No, you shouldn't use the same creepy school-like posed photo of you on Match that you use on your Russian bride search site. No, I don't want to date someone who has 3 different baby mommas and has never been married.

3) YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO DATE - Unlike the boring guy who planned very nice dates, which included lunch at a farmer's market as our first meetup, then OCEAN KAYAKING as our second (which was the ONLY reason I went - I used him for kayaking even though I had no intention of ever talking to him again), a couple of the others were completely clueless. One guy told me to meet him at his house and we'd walk to close bars there, only to NEVER LEAVE his apartment, watch a Family Guy on his computer because he didn't OWN A TV, and constantly suffer interruptions from his two large dogs who couldn't behave themselves if they were asleep.

Why I came back, I'm not sure. I think I was bored. But in the 4 times we hung out, only ONCE did we leave his apartment, to go to a bar for ONE DRINK before it closed, at which point he got semi-belligerent and I thought he was going to get in a fight with someone. All I wanted was to go OUT TO EAT. Just a fucking BURGER even. But no, he wanted to save money so he goes and buys steaks at Trader Joes and cooks them on his stove in a skillet. Which we ate while watching something saved on his computer, still suffering constant interruptions from his dogs. Often times I felt like I wasn't even THERE, the dogs required so much discipline and attention. I could've walked out and he'd have never noticed.

In fact, the first time I went there, the reason we never made it out to the bar was because one of his stupid ass dogs pissed the carpet because he was so excited a new person was there. This resulted in Dr. CleanFreak spending OVER AN HOUR cleaning the carpet, washing the pee-towel, doing some laundry that he was wearing at the time, and then spending an inordinately long time telling the dog that what he did was bad, as if he'd even be able to connect his behavior an hour before to the lecture he was now receiving.

A couple of months ago this guy reached out to me about hanging out. We had sort of mutually stopped texting each other months prior. I had to spell it out for him. When I said "I didn't feel a connection" I meant "I DON'T WANT TO HANG OUT WITH YOU, BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO DATE YOU." His response was "I wasn't ready for a connection." NO ASSHAT, THAT'S NOT WHY. You're not putting out some magical vibe now that will interest me. I didn't like you then and I don't like you now.

**This post is subject to the understanding that many relationships HAVE formed via the internet, and for others I don't necessarily knock it as a way of meeting a mate. Especially for people looking for specific things, like Jewish singles or Christian singles, it seems to have worked well for those friends. But regular old dating for a person like me? Nope. Internet, you lose.

Thursday, May 26, 2011


The blog has been somewhat neglected in the past few weeks, but lo and behold, I got myself a date. My friends and I now hope for one of two things - 1) the date goes awesome, and I go on a second date, etc. OR 2) the date goes so horribly awry that only an awesome blog entry could result. Seeing as this is a blog entry, you can guess which way it went.

I have been on a free dating site for a while, and after two failed attempts upon my arrival in LA, I pretty much ignored it. The site does, however, send me a message when a person sends me a message on the site, so sometimes I'll go in and clear out my inbox to rid it of all the "hi how r u" idiots who can't form a complete sentence or punctuate a question, let alone ask something that might garner an interesting response. After a few weeks of radio silence, a message pops up in my email. The preview showed proper grammar and an actual question, so I had to check this one out.

Turns out said poster was a stand up comic, who was cute, my age, not religious, and educated enough to put thoughts into sentences in a manner that didn't register as "DURRRRRRRRRR" in my brain, so I responded. We later became facebook friends, and I was asked on an actual date for the following week.

The day of the date, he messaged me and told me that he could still go, but had to leave early because he had to fill in for a comic who had dropped out of a show, but invited me to come along and see it. I agreed, thinking what better way to get to know this guy than see him perform. To be honest, I'm nervous - I'm almost always the funny one on dates, which really is a warning sign that I'm dating the wrong people, but to date someone who is potentially funnier than me and therefore might not find me funny was daunting. I was a little more awkward than usual, and, well, drank a whole beer (yay for the 7% alcohol one I chose).

My date seemed nice, but wasn't exactly the booming personality I expected from a stand up comic. I figured it was just first date jitters, and after our drinks we headed down the street to the club. This is where it gets weird.

We walk in, and of course he knows everyone. A show is going on, so he tells me to have a seat in the lobby and takes over working the door while another guy goes to the restroom or something. I sit with no interaction from him for at least 20 minutes, at which time he tells me the show is about to start so I should go in and find a seat. This is the only discussion we have. I go in, sit in the back, and order some cake to hopefully sober my poor, pathetic drunk ass up.

He is about the third comic to go on, and I was ready for a good show. Sadly, I was less than impressed. In fact, my competitive nature came out and part of me wanted to get up there and show all these people up. However, once his routine was over I was unsure of what to do. Should I leave because he was done? Was he going to come back and sit with me til the end of the show? Would he just let me watch it while he did other things and find me after it was over? I was confused, and not wanting to be rude to the person onstage, I kept my seat.

Thinking this show would be 4-5 comics, I was ready to go home about 30 minutes later, but noooo, they'd found every semi-funny comic in the city of Burbank to take up my time til nearly 11:30pm on a work night. I paid for my cake, eagerly awaited the end of the show where I wouldn't look like a douche for walking out, and wandered into the lobby, where I expected to find my date waiting. No such luck.

Still part of me was convinced he'd come check back when he thought the show was done, so I waited in the lobby, talking to other comics that came and went for about 30 minutes. Finally, frustrated and exhausted, I asked where this fucker was. No one knew. "Maybe he's watching the other show." Ok, where the hell is that? Someone walked me to an unmarked door and led me into a large empty room where the show had obviously ended a while before. Any other leads? "Oh, he might be at the bar."

The bar? Where the hell was this "bar"? I was escorted through the large auditorium to the other (completely unknown to anyone who came into this entrance) side of the club, which did in fact have a bar. A bustling bar, complete with my date and a beer.

"Hey, how did you like the show?" He asked when he saw me.

Confused as to why I was left to fend for myself on a DATE, I replied "Not bad, I enjoyed it."

His demeanor suggested he wasn't a huge douchebag, but merely COMPLETELY CLUELESS. He still seemed at least as interested as he was at the bar, and when I told him I had to go because it was 12FUCKING30am and I had to be at work at 8:30 the next day, he seemed surprised. He told me it was nice meeting me, gave me a hug, and asked if he could text me sometime. I said sure.

WHAT JUST HAPPENED? I was basically on a date for 4 hours and saw my date for 30 minutes. This could have been solved VERY easily. For instance:
1) I have to do some work at the door of this other show, meet me in the bar when you're done with this show.
2) He could have come SAT WITH ME in the audience after his set.
3) He could have come in and pulled me out of the audience after his set to have drinks with him.
4) He could have met me in the lobby after the show was over.
OR, as he chose,
5) He could have left me to watch an hour and a half show by myself, assuming I would figure out where he was, since no one told me there was a "bar" in the building and there were no signs to indicate this fact, and when I didn't show up in said bar til 12:30am knowing the show was over, he just stayed in the bar and drank beer with his friends.

So why is an attractive stand up comic (who sadly isn't as funny as I'd hoped) still single? Maybe because he has a complete inability to communicate and no common courtesy to even check on his "date" during the course of a four-hour evening.

I left confused. I wasn't angry, I wasn't disappointed - I hadn't gotten to know him enough to see if I even liked him - I just had no idea how a human could be so completely clueless about how to conduct himself on a date. He opened doors, bought my beer, then abandoned me in a rubix cube of a comedy club full of mediocre comics when I needed to get my ass home to bed so I could be a productive member of society the following morning.

Seriously, people. USE YOUR BRAINS.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011


Yeah, this isn't a hilarious story about some dude puking on his shoes or awkward hugs or cougars, I'm going to bitch a little bit because every once in a while, I really dislike being single.

I'm generally a cup half full type person (although recently I heard "The cup is always full - half air, half water." Touche) when it comes to my singledom, knowing that eventually I will find the right person and I will not die alone etc. You know when that stops? When being single is actually a detriment to my life and finances. How, you ask?

All of my friends are in relationships. ALL OF THEM. Even the ones I thought would be single as long as I was have coupled up. Boys and girls, gays and straights. All coupled. Now we're in what some affectionately refer to as "wedding season." It's not the weddings I dislike, or that get me into a tizzy about being single (I love weddings, no better reason to dress up and get free food and booze), but it's the preparations for said weddings. For instance, HOTELS AND TRANSPORTATION.

Couples ALWAYS have someone to split a room with. I don't. I have to keep looking and begging and looking for one or two other people to bring the massive charge of a hotelroom at the venue down enough for me to afford to attend. And don't even start with me about "hotels down the street." Sorry, if I'm staying somewhere ALONE, I'm not staying somewhere without all my friends. That's just sad, and drunk in the middle of the night it's dangerous.

Four people fit in a car better than 5, so two couples easily ride together. Where do you put your 5th wheel? I'm not very big, but I can easily make a 5 hour drive uncomfortable when I'm ass-to-ass with the others in the backseat. And if I had the money to fly, who the hell would come pick me up? Would I have to pay for a taxi ALONE to the hotel?

Being single is a financial drain. Seriously. Add it up. Hotel room for one, airfare because I can't ride in someone's car (OR I drive ALONE 5 hours, wasting gas and putting mileage on my car), taxi fare from the airport (or public transit fare). Meanwhile, if I was in a couple I'd pay for half a hotel room and have a practically free ride since gas would be split four ways.

In my group of friends, it never feels like I'm super single when we go out. No one is ooey gooey in the corner making out, everyone is having a good time with everyone else, and couples statuses are forgotten for the moment. We're all just friends. I never feel uncomfortable hanging out with a bunch of couples. That's why I rarely bitch about being single. That, and people don't want to hear about it.

It's only when my single status is brought forth as an obstacle to inclusion in activities that I become upset about it. I don't need it thrown in my face. I'm perfectly happy on a day to day basis, although I would like to get out more. Even numbers work out better. It's a fact of life. In cars, at tables, in hotelrooms, even when BUYING HOT DOGS. No one sells 5 hot dogs in a package. Every hot dog has a mate.

Couples get invited by other couples to do things. Go to dinner, do some day activity, see movies. No one actively says "don't invite the single one" but it's easy to forget when you start seeing your friends as BobandJane and TomandSara that
you have one friend out there who is just Friend1.

And riddle me this, coupled-up does one MEET new people of the single nature without GOING OUT? Coupled up people either don't really want to go out as a threesome with you or turn out to be terrible wingmen. Really we singles need each other so we can go out and do our single thing - find people to date. Counting right now I have 2.5 single friends within driving distance (.5 referring to a friend who promised to dump her boyfriend when she got a job, and she got one...).

I feel like I'm just sitting here wasting time. Go to work, hang out with my coupled up friends, sleep, repeat. Other than the work part, I like my life, but I need to get out there and make some efforts. And I need people to do that with.

So you damn couples GO FIND ME SOME SINGLE FRIENDS!! :)

Friday, May 6, 2011


And when I say wrong, I mean OFF THE CHARTS wrong.

I had the misfortune of landing my worst job as my FIRST job, rather than nicely stuck in the middle of a career as it is for some folks. Not only was it in a place where I fit in about as well as a goat at an AA meeting, but I had been dumped by my boyfriend about 1.2 hours before beginning said job. Needless to say I was on the brink of a mental breakdown.

My first day I was taken around by one of my coworkers and introduced to everyone. He mentioned that I would be working in the same court as Jenny, so I should meet her. He emphasized how smart and nice she was, and how she would be a really great teacher for me, but also seemed to indicate there was something a little off about her. I figure this out when I walked into her office and was told to sit and wait for her to return from court.

Jenny's office was an animal mausoleum. She had random pelts of various living creatures nailed haphazardly about her office, in places a normal attorney would put say, a law degree or bar license. Instead, she had an entire mountain lion skin, most of a beaver, a few other unrecognizable pelts, and a rabbit fur being used as a doily with a girly lamp and candle resting on it. Even this did not prepare me for what I was about to encounter.

Jenny walks in to her office, and true to my coworker's word, was very nice and welcoming. She was, however, somewhat off-putting...perhaps this had to do with the 3 inches of black eyeliner, bleach blonde semi-straightened hair, or the skirt so short I would feel uncomfortable wearing it in Vegas. To put it bluntly, she looked like some sort of crazy streetwalker who happened to have clothing that matched and didn't have holes.

At first, I thought the eyeliner was a mistake. Perhaps she slept in it, perhaps it had been smudged since she put it on. It was literally about a centimeter thick both above AND below her eyes, and not in a smooth and calculated way - more of "a Parkinson's patient did my makeup" way. Her skin was caked with too tan foundation, and her lips lined with a darker color than she used as lipstick. Overall, a ginormous disaster.

When you see a person dressed and made up like this, you automatically make assumptions - she's a hard partier, she's a slut, she's had every guy in the office, she uses her sexuality to get places. Sadly, for Jenny, NONE of these were even remotely true. Turns out, she was a VIRGIN, loved Jesus more than life itself, and rarely if ever drank alcohol. She was also incredibly smart, graduating at the top of her class in law school (which, as a former law student, I know just how hard that is).

I still can't quite get over the disconnect. This girl would wear leggings as pants. Leggings as pants TO COURT. Her top would be a tank that extended just to the edge of her butt, so it wasn't entirely covered, thereby giving everyone a good view of her ass in a thin layer of legging. She only wore black, but she'd wear sparkly silver open-toed party heels with most things. And on the days she decided to wear a skirt, well, let's just say she couldn't sit down in court, or bend over. She even admitted she had them tailored shorter than they came.

So one night another coworker goes out with Jenny and her friends to a bar downtown. She's dressed reasonably, but Jenny and company are all dressed in very tight, provocative outfits with the caked-on makeup and obviously fake hair. One guy, I was told by the coworker, actually came up to them and told them they looked like whores - instead of getting upset, they were adamant that he had no idea what he was talking about - they looked "classy."

Further proof that she had no concept of the fact that she looked like a crack whore was given by another coworker who met her for brunch one Sunday. Jenny was wearing what she wore to church that morning, which was as short and tight as the shit she wore out drinking. The worst part was, SHE TAUGHT SUNDAY SCHOOL. CHILDREN. I can only IMAGINE what their parents thought when they came to pick them up and saw what their supposedly Jesus-loving teacher was wearing. She literally looked like she'd woken up, not brushed her hair, not fixed her makeup from the night before, and came to church in whatever she wore out because she'd slept at some dude's house.

Now I don't know Jesus too well, but from what I've heard I don't think he really feels too enthusiastic about revealing clothing. And since Jesus was literally this girl's LIFE, I'm surprised this fact missed her by a mile. That, and if you don't consider CHURCH or COURT to be a conservative occasion, when WOULD you consider wearing something more covering??

It was pretty obvious that this girl would attract the wrong kind of guys. The ones at the bar that saw her and thought they could take her home if they bought her a drink, then send her on her way in a cab when they were through with her - not the good Christian boy she was actually looking for. And the good Christian boys, well, nothing screams "I love Jesus" more than short skirts, overdone makeup, and the collecting of dead animals.

Something that is important in both my degrees - advertising and law - is "KNOW YOUR AUDIENCE." Who do do you want to attract? If it's not guys in Affliction shirts with 20 STDs, don't dress like you're probably not wearing panties.

Tuesday, May 3, 2011


Disclaimer: When I dated this person I was 22. I had just gotten out of a long (4.5 year) serious relationship, so I can't say I was particularly experienced in, well, anything. Obviously not choosing guys, as this horrifying story will tell you.

The only reasons I even acknowledge that I dated this person was because a) it was unfortunately a year and a half of my life and b) friends had the unfortunate experience of meeting this individual, and therefore I can't deny it ever happened.

I think back now and honestly cannot remember why I liked this guy, but we're going to go with physical attraction because I think that was the initial kicker. When you're 22, you don't see warning signs like "Hi, I'm 26, don't have a college degree, and am a professional waiter." I made up excuses like "Oh, he's going to go back to school" and "He's really smart he just wasn't ready." WRONG.

Had we lived in the same city and I had not been attending law school, thereby being somewhat busy, I might have discovered the crazy before, oh, a year and a half passed. I probably would have figured that shit out within 2 weeks, but no, now I have this scarlet letter on my relationship history that forever mars me. I suppose list format will be more appropriate, because it's just so painfully long.

1) CONSPIRACY THEORIST - I should have figured out something was wrong the first time he told me that Bush planned 9/11, but being a Bush-hater, I was really willing to hear anything negative about him, whether it be "Bush kills puppies" or "Bush and Osama Bin Ladin have tea and crumpets each Wednesday." His favorite show was on cable access, which was basically an angry nutjob like him throwing out things like "celebrity relationships are all fake to distract us from the government corruption."

He was convinced that the government was trying to poison him with flouride in the water, and that it was not put there to strengthen our teeth, so he spent $200+ to put a huge water filtration system in his tiny ass 300sq ft apartment. He would scream at me when I filled up the ice tray with tap water, and wouldn't even cook with it.

Pesticides weren't to *gasp* kill insects on plants, they were to pollute our food so we'd become some drone society that couldn't make decisions. Vaccines were to dumb down our children. Funny, I had all my necessary vaccines and managed to make it into a top 50 law school, but this fucker couldn't even graduate community college.

2) ANGER MANAGEMENT - Now add the "really fucking crazy" to "I can't control my temper" and it gets really fun from here. He'd come home from a bad day at work (dude, you're a waiter, your life is BAD DAYS) and punch the wall. I flat out told him if he ever laid a hand on me I'd legally fuck him so bad he couldn't ever get another job, which deterred him. However, it didn't deter him from acting like a complete moron in public.

Once we were at a Mexican restaurant and we both ordered margaritas. He didn't specify whether he wanted it on the rocks or frozen, so the waiter brought him the default frozen. Immediately he flips out, instead of saying "excuse me, I meant to ask for this on the rocks," he decides to scream at the waiter for being incompetent and said "a good waiter would have ASKED ME." GET OFF YOUR HIGH HORSE, YOU ARE A WAITER YOU WORTHLESS ASSHOLE. He was rude to the guy all night. When the waiter left once, I turned to him and said "I am absolutely humiliated to even be seen with you right now. I don't EVER want to see you treat another person like that, and if you say one more rude thing, I'm walking out of this restaurant and this is over. You need to learn some respect you fucking asshole."

To this he made up excuses as to why he was a better waiter than this fellow, so intentionally when the check came, he paid, and I pulled the waiter aside, in full hearing of Idiot, and handed him a 20 and said "I'm very sorry about the way he acted tonight, it was unnecessary and he embarrassed me. It will never happen again." Emasculation complete.

3) DUMB AS A FUCKING STUMP - When your girlfriend is in law school, you probably can't pull the wool over her eyes about your own complete lack of intelligence. For one, he lied about his SAT score - it came up in a conversation when he mentioned that one of the high schoolers that worked at his restaurant got a perfect score, then asked me mine. I replied, and apparently he felt threatened, because he upped his by a good 200 points I later found out. Just flat out lied.


I'd thought about dumping him for a few months, but since we saw each other so rarely it wasn't pressing. One weekend I go visit with the intention of breaking up with him, and because of this, I'm pretending I'm on my period so he doesn't try to hook up. We're about to go eat, when I say I have to use the restroom. When I emerge, he has a look of shock and complete disbelief on his face.

"What?" I asked him.

"Do you wear tampons?"

"Um, yeah...why?"

"Did you just go pee?"

"Yes...I'm confused...what's the issue here?"

"How did you pee with a tampon in?"

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT? At this point my disdain and horror is showing on my face, and I condescendingly ask him "How many holes do girls have?" to which he replied "TWO." Holding my laughter, I ask him what they're used for. "Well, one is for poop and the other is to pee and have babies."

I was so in shock that I laughed, thinking he was kidding, then realizing he wasn't. I honestly don't remember what happened after this that particular day. Suffice it to say, we went to eat, I managed to get explosive diarrhea which I promptly used to destroy his bathroom, and then left for home. I called him a day later and broke up with him. He still thinks it's because of the distance, and not because he was the most worthless fuck I've ever come in contact with. At least I left a really gross toilet for him to clean up.

I am literally so embarrassed by having dated this person for any significant length of time that I would honestly RUN the other direction if I ever came in contact with him. Luckily he's blocked on all my chats, Facebook, and the like, so he'll never find me, especially since I'm 1500 miles away from where I'm last believed to have lived. But because of this, I feel like no matter my successes, I can never reach the actual top because of this indiscretion.

It's like saying "Yeah, I'm king of the world, I own every landmass on the planet, BUT I fucked a donkey in college and it's on YouTube."

Thursday, April 21, 2011


This is a tale for the ages. Possibly one of my favorite stories of all time, and I finally get to share it with the world (not that I didn't verbally share it with everyone I knew, didn't know, and their moms at the time).

Law school was an interesting time. Some of my best friendships were made there, and also some of my best memories. Incidentally, some of the most hilarious parts of my life also occurred during this three-year period. This is one of those times.

I had been in law school for about a year and a half when a friend from out-of-town came to visit me in my new apartment in Dallas. We enjoyed some shopping, some eating, and then, at night, we joined my law school friends for some partying. Said friend was, at the time, very single, and enjoyed mingling with young men, if you catch my drift. I fully anticipated she would find a hot guy somewhere at our law school happy hour and enjoy herself to the fullest.

At happy hour, she and I are hanging out with some of my friends, when a somewhat infamous male classmate took a liking to her. This guy, to put it bluntly, thought he was hot shit. He thought every girl in town wanted him, and that he was doing them a favor to speak to, make out, or have sex with them. Ironically, he was only minorly attractive and rather short, so he made up for it by going to the gym and reminding everyone that he went to an Ivy League school for undergrad. He had basically become the school joke.

Not that I have unattractive friends, but this particular friend is rather striking, due equally to her body, personality, and general overall prettiness. The fact that she wasn't a regular struck even more interest, and within minutes the unsuspecting victim (my friend) had been lured over to sit with Mr. Awesome and his friends, who continued to ply her with free alcohol throughout the evening. Being a smart girl, she is not one to pass up free drinks, so my friends and I thought she was simply using him for booze and would eventually return to our circle.

At the end of the night, this still hadn't happened. I go up to her and ask her her plans, and she told me that she, Mr. Awesome, and 3 of his friends were going to hang out at his apartment for a while and invited me along. I joined, partly because I had a crush on one of the other guys, and partly to be the getaway ride when my friend wanted to peace.

The apartment party was rather uneventful, except for my friend violently vomiting and passing out in Mr. Awesome's bed while the boys and I hung out in the living room. When I decided to go, she was down for the count, and he promised me he'd drive her back to my apartment in the morning since she most likely would not make it to my car. Only because I knew him and where he lived did I agree to this.

At 10am the next day, I get a phone call saying "I'm outside your apartment, come open the gate." Then THIS is what I'm told upon her entry into my place:

Apparently she puked for an hour or so before passing out in his bed, and stayed asleep til approximately 8am. While she was deathly hungover and had puke/sleep breath, he still was interested enough that morning to prod her for some "intimate relations." She halfheartedly obliged, if only because she felt guilty for puking all over his bathroom. She was, however, shocked at how actually horrifying sex with this person could possibly be.

First of all, she told me, he had the smallest penis she had EVER encountered. She emphasized EVER, knowing that I was aware this was not the first one she'd ever seen. She honestly could not tell if there was actual sex going on. While this sounds bad, this is only the tip (HA PUN) of the iceberg - what really creeped her out was his sex talk, which consisted of:

Looking at his own biceps while he held himself up and asking her, NOT JOKINGLY, "Can you tell I work out?"

Followed by the even more creepy "How does it feel to be fucked...BY ME?" Grammatical structure aside, he obviously was more ridiculous than we had ever anticipated was possible. When I heard this I DIED laughing, as did she, and when I asked how she got the hell out of there, she told me that to avoid laughing in his face, she pretended she had to go puke and hastily ran to the bathroom and locked herself inside for a good 20 minutes.

When I heard the story, I BEGGED her to let me tell my law school friends that she had met, not so much for her benefit but for the fact that they would LOVE to hear a story that made the reality of this guy's douchbaggery so tangible. She agreed, and ever since has been a hero of my law school friends for "taking one for the team" simply so this story could be told.

For the rest of law school, I would walk up to certain friends and just whisper "Can you tell I work out?" and they'd bust out into a hail of laughter. In fact, they still do to this day.

And that, my friends, is why this gentleman should be still single (actual status unknown).

Tuesday, April 19, 2011


*Corrected the title because of a horrifying grammatical mistake. I, the grammar Nazi, am painfully embarrassed, but it was late dammit.

We've all heard of the chubby computer geek ending up with the supermodel, but the reason we hear about it is because it happens practically NEVER, so the general public finds such obvious freak shows endlessly entertaining.

I have good news and bad news. The good news - there really is someone for everyone. The bad news - they're probably just as ugly and stupid as you are. Sure, opposites attract, but opposites like an attractive hippie girl and a cute conservative business man, not a fat pizza delivery boy and a hot female CEO.

There have been times when some of my less attractive Facebook friends, both male and female, will get married, and I'll ask my friend "How am I not married if SO AND SO can land a spouse??" Her reply is always the same - "Go look at their wedding pictures. He's painfully ugly." I look, and she's right. These unattractive friends have found equally unattractive mates, and they're perfectly happy with them. When I realize that I wouldn't even give the time of day to their husbands were they to have asked me out on a date, relief sets in.

When you're in the sanctuary that is college or graduate school, especially if you're in a sorority or fraternity, you think you're just average looking compared to the people you see on a daily basis. Then you leave college and realize the rest of the world has endured a strong beating with the ugly stick. And often times the obesity stick and the stupid stick. I recommend spending a day in a criminal courtroom if you want an ego boost with regard to both your physical attractiveness and intelligence.

Listen people. Look in the mirror. You should have some idea of how attractive or unattractive you are. You should probably also realize if you have a good or bad personality (hint: if people avoid you at work, school, or anywhere at all, it's probably not a great sign). Now put those things together and figure out your league. If you keep shooting above your limit, you're going to keep failing and failing. Find yourself a nice happy medium, say a chubby girl with a good personality or a really skinny chick who happens to have no boobs and a venereal disease.

I know my league. I'm pretty smart, and I'm pretty attractive. But I am aware that not everyone I date will be GQ material. And despite the fact that I'm 50% hotter than Bradley Cooper's ex-girlfriend, I know that he's probably not interested in an underpaid attorney who drives a Honda Civic and sometimes has to eat Easy Mac for breakfast due to lack of financial resources.

So you, Mr. 30lbs overweight insurance salesman with a GED, need to understand that an attractive female with multiple degrees who keeps herself in good physical shape probably won't be interested in a date, but that doesn't mean that the girl with the muffin top and tattoo of her ex-boyfriend's name on her boob won't go out with you. Sure, you'd rather go home with me. I'd rather have someone make me a fresh omelette every morning on my waterfont patio than eat a piece of toast with Nutella at my desk, but we can't always get what we want.

The sooner you embrace the fact that you have to lower your standards a little bit, the sooner you'll find someone who's right for you. And the sooner that Nutella will start tasting just as delicious as the omelette you can't afford.

Monday, April 18, 2011


We've all been on one side or another of unrequited love. It's a sad thing, having feelings for someone who doesn't share them, but at some point in your life you have to suck it up, be a big boy, and get the hell over it. That point in your life is now.

Everyone has crushes that will never turn into anything. I, for example, dream daily about how Bradley Cooper and I will get married on the beach and be the most beautiful blue-eyed Hollywood couple and neither of us will get fat, old, or bald. However, I have enough sense to know that, as upsetting as it is, I will probably never even meet Bradley Cooper, let alone marry him or even so much as touch his shirt. My dreams of Bradley don't get in the way of snagging 23-year-old Joel McHale lookalikes in Las Vegas, but some people simply wallow in their own self-pity and convince themselves that I or whomever they desire will come around eventually.

Look. I know you want to date me. We're friends, you have a crush on me, and it's pretty obvious. Seeing that I'm a female and we pick up on things a little quicker than our male counterparts, I figured that out a long time ago. Now, think for a second - I'm single, have been for three years, and have said many times to many people I would like a relationship. Would you not think that I, in my infinite wisdom and ability to sense your blatantly obvious feelings, would take advantage of the fact that you liked me if I liked you back? Why would I be out looking for a date if I knew I had one right here waiting for me? OH RIGHT, BECAUSE I'M NOT INTERESTED.

No, buddy, I'm not going to come around, so stop messaging me every time I get online, unless you have something really interesting to tell me - for instance, if you saw a man catch fire on the sidewalk on the way to work. I want to hear about that, I don't even care if the person telling me is someone I hate, that's a fucking interesting story.

The word "subtlety" was left out of the man dictionary, so I have spelled it out to you many times, with actual words. We are not dating. We will never date. Yes, I enjoy you as a friend, but that doesn't automatically translate into "I like you, eventually we can get married, but let me date all these other guys first." I'm about as likely to have a change of heart and come running to you as I am to Jesus, which in no uncertain terms means you don't stand a chance.

Stop waiting. Go find someone who actually likes you. If I'm friends with you, that probably means you're not a complete douche who actually could succeed in a relationship, so there's someone out there for you. Just, unfortunately, not me.

And if you happen to be attractive enough that I might enjoy the occasional makeout, that still doesn't mean I'll come around. When I said before we made out "We are not dating, we will never date, I just want to make out" I was not using code - I'm a lawyer, we spell things out pretty bluntly. Don't put your hand on my leg, don't rub my back, especially not in public when there might be guys I could date watching. You do that with a girlfriend, not a makeout buddy, and I've made it VERY clear I will never be the latter. I attached the proper warning labels and you chose to ignore them.

So go, seriously. Go find a date, a wife, whatever, because you're not getting any younger and I'm not getting any more interested.

Sunday, April 17, 2011


Loved this one! So painfully true. Enjoy the THIRD guest blog!

Let me lay the scene: You’re jogging along, grooving to your iPod, when suddenly you hear something. It’s a car horn honking. You snap your head around, hoping you’re not about to be plowed over at that intersection you kinda-sorta-maybe of breezed through without looking. But no, you’re not about to get turned into roadkill; you’re about to get cat-called by a complete friggin moron. “Heeeey!” “Ow owwww!” “Damn, girl!” “Yeah, I like that!” or some other equally brainy remark flies your way.

And instantly you fall madly in love. You gaze into his eyes (assuming you can find his eyes through those heavily tinted windows), and your world is suddenly complete. You simultaneously rip your clothes off AND propose marriage right there in the middle of the street.


Hey, buddy…what, exactly, are you hoping to accomplish with this lame-ass pick-up tactic?! How many times has a girl ACTUALLY stopped in her tracks, flagged you over, and jumped into the car with you? Oh…never? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

You are single, and will remain so, because you adopt the stereotypical construction worker mentality to approaching women. Yelling at us as we walk/jog/ride/drive by you is going to get you absolutely nowhere. More than likely, it’s going to startle your target and cause her to trip, thereby really pissing her off. Just a guess, but extreme annoyance is probably not the first emotion you want to evoke when hitting on a girl. But if it is, by all means continue on with your brilliant wooing method.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011


After a weekend in Vegas I have finally returned to the world of blogging.

This story just goes to show value (and horror) of coincidence - had my father known my zip code, I would never have (not) met this creepy stalker.

During law school I lived in downtown Dallas at a large apartment complex. My parents often sent me packages, with no issue, but one package never seemed to show up at my apartment office. After forcing the office staff to literally comb through every package in the closet, they told me where the local post office was that would have it if it were delivered when the office was closed. I set out to make this my mission.

One afternoon after a couple of hours interning at the DA's office, I arrive at the downtown branch of the post office in my suit. For some reason, more so than if I was in a swimsuit or tight workout spandex, I get hit on when I'm in my suit. However, this day seemed normal and the 5-6 folks in line that I noticed didn't look my way. I make it up to the counter and explained my situation to the woman, who went in the back to look for my package. She apologized, told me my package was not there, but requested my address and phone number so she could contact me when it showed up. I gave them to her. Aloud.

The next day, still packageless, I get a phone call. It had an area code I recognized so I answered thinking it might be someone from school.


In a thick Indian accent, the person on the other end responded. "Um, hi, my name is Gil, and um I saw you at the post office yesterday and I thought you were pretty."

What he just said hadn't really sunk in fully, so I asked "How did you get my phone number? I didn't talk to anyone at the post office."

"I wrote it down when you told it to the lady at the counter."


He continues "I was wondering if you wanted to go out sometime, maybe Tuesday, are you free Tuesday?"

"NO. NO. You can't just write down some unsuspecting stranger's number when they are clearly not giving it to YOU! Don't EVER call me again!" And I hung up.

Rightfully, I was freaked out. This creepster thought that not only was it acceptable to write down someone's number when they were CLEARLY not giving it to him, but that it I would most certainly interested in going out with someone I had never seen who had severely violated my privacy.

It doesn't even end there. I clearly told him NEVER to call me again, and I get another call the very next day, which I let go to voicemail.

"Hi, this is uh, Gil, uh, the post office guy, I was just wondering if you were free tomorrow night to see if you maybe uh wanted to go out somewhere, or if not tomorrow than the next day, um, here's my number, call me back..."

This guy was completely out of his mind. He had been VERY ACTIVELY rejected the day before, told never to call me again, and defied both of these things and thought I'd have a change of heart the following day. Now not only was I terrified of him calling me again, but I knew that if he had heard my phone number, he also had my address. Luckily at the time my boyfriend was living with me most days, which made me feel safer, but I was constantly looking around for someone waiting for me when I didn't even know what he looked like!! I had no idea if he was watching me at all times.

So apparently there are some guys out there that are more clueless than we realize. I now have to spell it out to you.

1) NEVER write down a girl's number unless she is giving it DIRECTLY TO YOU. No, this is not the movies, and she won't be flattered that you thought she was cute enough to take the chance to contact her even though she's NEVER LAID EYES ON YOU. Yes, you're probably going to go on a date with this girl who's never seen you and you'll fall madly in love and have a great story to tell at your wedding. Or she'll get a restraining order.

2) If, for any reason, you violate rule #1, DON'T USE THAT NUMBER. Sure, you have it, but don't use it. It's like being drunk and calling an ex. It's still in your phone, you want to use it, but NOTHING good will come of a 2am drunk dial to someone you're not-so-secretly still in love with. Similarly, nothing good can come of you calling someone who has no idea who you are after doing something as creepy as STEALING her number while she gave it to someone else.

3) If you are a complete moron and violate both #1 and #2, and the victim seems even SOMEWHAT displeased with your phone call, GIVE THE FUCK UP. English may not have been your first language buddy, but "Never call me again" doesn't mean "try again tomorrow, maybe she'll feel differently." There needs to be some way to make this phrase as startling and severe as those yellow caution signs in many languages: ACHTUNG! !CUIDADO! STOP CALLING ME YOU CRAZY STALKER!!!!!!!!

So the story basically ends a few days later, when after he calls 4 times without messages (literally once a day), I'm in the DA's office and talking to one of the cops awaiting trial. Fortunately for creepy stalker, that was the first day he didn't call at the same time, or else Officer Beatdown would have answered the phone for me and scared the everloving shit out of him.

Because of this I avoided ALL post offices in the Dallas area for over a year, looked behind me every time I was alone at night, and absolutely, positively, will never SPEAK my phone number to another human in my lifetime. If you get it, it'll be typed into your phone for you or written down.

Thanks, Creepy Stalker.

Thursday, April 7, 2011


A second, different, guest blogger. Enjoy!

I want to preface this by saying that I think a well-thought-out, timely obscenity can be a beautiful thing. It relieves stress, it makes a good punchline, it can put someone else at ease.

But there are limits.

Men who swear constantly: You sound like idiots. You are not Joe Pesci in "My Cousin Vinny," and we are not re-enacting "Scarface." When we are walking down the street and every other word out of your mouth contains four letters, it makes me think you either a) have a terrible vocabulary or an inability to express yourself or, worse, b) are trying to sound "cool." If you think swearing amounts to coolness, you must have really loved the seventh grade.

Some recent examples: A guy I had not even gone out with yet was e-mailing me to plan our date. By virtue of his having my e-mail address, he was able to g-chat me (a topic for another post, entitled YOU ARE SINGLE BECAUSE YOU ARE BOTHERING ME). In the middle of class, this pops up on my screen: "F--- this workday. F--- it in its mother----ing a--." Then, when we finally did go on a first date, to one of my city's nicer Japanese restaurants, frequented by older Japanese people, I couldn't stop myself from growing red everytime he spoke. At one point we were engaged in a conversation about the tsunami and resulting crisis, and this was his valuable contribution: "Yeah, they're f---ed."

My mother always told me: No one can embarrass you but you. Not true, mom. A guy you are on a date with who sounds like a complete douchebag because he wants to sound "hard" by swearing every 4 seconds? He can embarrass you. Dating is a long conversation in which you're trying to find out about the other person. When the conversation calls for its own bleep button, that's all the other person hears. Restrain yourself, and save the blue streak for guys' night. I hear they love it.


Our very first guest blog!! I love hearing other people's stories, hopefully you will too.
So obviously this post can only apply to men. So incase you men are unsure of what exactly a mama’s boy is, let me define it for you. A mama’s boy is a grown man who is excessively attached to his mother at an age where men are expected to be independent. By independent, I specifically mean financially. I get that sometimes in your early 20s, you may need a little boost here and there from a family member to get by, because I know I did…but by the time you are in your, oh, late 30s, you best be able to pay your own damn rent, iron your own dress shirts and buy your own groceries. And lord knows, if you cannot do these things…you DEFINITELY should not be dating.

Trust me, I speak from experience. My most recent relationship, if I even want to call it that, I was basically someone’s mom for 3 months. I should have seen the signs. Date one was a movie night. Date two was another movie night. Date three was kind of impromptu and I had cooked dinner…he loved my cooking and being a dietitian I like to cook…so there you go. We started to have this relationship where I was always cooking dinner, dessert, brownies…and he was coming over and eating it. This guy actually had the nerve to call me in the afternoon and basically put in his order of what he wanted for dinner. Soon I found out that he also does this to his mom…who just so happens to live walking distance from him. I also found out she irons his clothing, does his laundry and gives him money.

No wonder when his phone rang at midnight (which it did pretty much every time he was over) it was always his mom. They would yip and yap at each other in Hebrew (ALSO KNOW MOST ISRAELI MEN ARE HABITUAL MAMA’S BOYS-YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!), probably saying something to the effect of “Son, why aren’t you here for dinner” and “Mom, I will be there for lunch tomorrow, please make ____ and have ___ dollars ready for me to pay for____.”

P.S. This guy turns 37 in May! So I am pretty sure those fancy roses and card I got for Valentine’s Day I can thank Mommie Dearest for, not Moochie McGee.

I admit I feel pretty pathetic for putting up with all of this. His looks did get him pretty far in my book, but no man like that is going to put a ring on my finger (or probably even want to BECAUSE I AM NOT HIS MOM!)…and at 37…I highly doubt any woman would put up with that in a boyfriend or husband for very long. I can bet if I look up this loser in 10 years he will still be in his same clusterfuck apartment pulling the same BS with women and still going to his mom’s for lunch and borrowing money from her to date-which, by the way, he admitted to me he does! Awesome. Any of you ladies want his number?

Wednesday, April 6, 2011


Just wait, there's more! We have a guest blogger (which I'm really excited to read), YOU'RE SINGLE BECAUSE YOU'RE A CREEPY STALKER, and YOU'RE SINGLE BECAUSE YOU'RE BATSHIT CRAZY - both of which are hilarious, yet pathetic, personal experiences in dating.


Sure, all of us have had those moments after a bad relationship where we're like "all men/women are evil, I'm never dating again." However, those of us that are normal, functioning human beings can get over that after a few weeks or months of reflection and get back to a healthy view of humanity and ourselves.

We all have that friend or acquaintance (female used for simplicity, but I'm sure there are men out there like this) - "All men are evil, everyone is out to screw me over, I can't get in a relationship because it'll just end badly." No one wants to be around her because she is always bringing the mood down. You tell her about a really good date, and her response is "I doubt he'll call, he probably just wants sex."

She always makes excuses why guys don't like her specifically, yet are able to carry on healthy relationships with many females across the country and the world. "They don't like me because my thighs are too big." "I'm a strong woman, men hate a strong woman." "My boobs are too small." "I need to lose 20 lbs."

No, you know what? It's not your thighs, your boobs, your independence, or your weight. Ever hear that old saying, "It's not you, it's me"? Well, hate to say it, BUT IT IS YOU. There are fat chicks, thunder thighs, A-cups, and MANY strong women in relationships with partners who respect them and love them. You, however, are an annoying, negative bitch who makes it impossible to even get past a conversation with a guy without them figuring out you're batshit crazy.

If you're lucky enough to even get a guy to ask you out without ripping his head off about how you believe he'll take you to a restaurant, force you to pay, then make you drive to his apartment where he will tell you if you don't have sex with him you're worthless and he'll never talk to you again. After that he'll probably kick you out, make you walk home in the snow, and send hate mail to your entire family, all while sending out mindfuck emails to you saying he loves you and you should come back.

NO, you idiot, THIS DOESN'T HAPPEN. IF you get past that point and go on the date, he'll figure out he probably doesn't want to date you when you are negative and condescending the whole date and talk about guys who have treated you like crap in the past. He bolts, rightfully so, and you chalk this up to the same "all men are evil" explanation. You are, in yourself, a self-fulfilling prophecy.

We get you've had some bad dates and relationships. But take a look around you - your parents, your friends, random strangers, famous people, whoever - at least SOME of these people are in normal, stable relationships where both parties are equally happy and no one plays mind games. So what's the common denominator here? YOU. People can't have relationships with you because of your crazy ass antics. Here's a suggestion - swallow your pride, go to therapy, talk to a friend, and stop being such a CRAZY BITCH.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011


Ok, that may sound IS harsh, but it's sadly true.

In college there was a point where I lived with three other girls (luckily I spend most of the time at my boyfriend's place for my own personal sanity). At the time, I had a long-term boyfriend, another of the roommates had an equally long-term boyfriend, and the third had no problem finding dates and dated a couple of guys during our year of residence. The fourth roommate, whom we'll call Amy, was painfully single. Painfully, dramatically, and tearfully single.

When I say she was the epitome of everything guys hate, I really have no other way of explaining it. Not only was she the type of person who practically oozed desperation, but if she ever had any success in landing one date, she would scare the guy off with her clingyness, drama, random tears, and inability to stop talking.

1) STAGE 5 CLINGER I say this as a victim of the clinging. She'd cling to ANYONE, girls, guys, children, small animals. Amy was incapable of being alone. Once she had a drink, it was over. She was the girl you didn't want to bring to a bar because if you happened to hit it off with a guy, she'd cling to his friend and they'd both bolt to save the friend from her. She was, in fact, the anti-wingwoman. Now imagine this after an unsuspecting guy took her on a date - I watched her text and call and text and call over and over and over simply because she didn't get a response within 5 minutes. Then she'd start crying "Why don't boys liiiike me?" to which I couldn't give her the real answer, because that would be counterproductive.

2) TEARY MCCRY This poor girl had no self esteem. None. She'd cry at the drop of a hat - when something didn't go her way, when she was frustrated, when she had her daily "why don't boys like me" cry, when she got drunk. She was always the one that would show up with a friend at the door who had to take her home because she'd get wasted and start crying at a bar, presumably because she got rejected or because no guys paid attention to her. If there's one thing that says "come date me, I'd be a great girlfriend," it's someone who cries at a bar every time she has more than 3 drinks.

3) JUST SHUUUUUT UP Amy could not stop talking. She had no concept of how to be in a room with a living being and not have a conversation. There were no moments of silence in our apartment, because she would fill them with her mindless chatter. The best part was that she didn't even listen to anyone else, she'd interrupt and tell her own story that took an hour, following you from room to room in the house and would even keep talking when went into the bathroom and closed the door. I was bombarded with unnecessary talk at all times: "How was school?" "How was your nap?" "How was your shower?" "How were the last 20 minutes I was in the restroom and therefore not directly en communique with you?" Now just imagine being her boyfriend. It makes me cringe to even think about it.

4) DRAMA QUEEN Everything was a big deal. If I moved her laundry basket from in front of the washer to on top of the washer, it was a conversation. A LONG conversation. If one of her friends didn't call her the minute they said they would, she'd get angry and be "in a fight" with them for days. If she missed the bus and was 3 minutes late to class, her whole day was ruined and thus she would ruin the day of everyone with whom she came in contact. I don't even want to know what happened when someone got her order wrong - it could've been a tearful situation, a bitchy situation, or worse - BOTH.

The worst part about all of this is she wasn't an unattractive girl. She was kind of short and thick, think Snooki-sized (I can't believe that is now a unit of measurement), but definitely dressed well for her size and shape. Her face was cute, and her hair was always taken care of. Not someone you'd look at on the street and think she'd never get a date in her life.

Boys can smell desperation like a fat guy can smell a pizza, and no one wants to date someone who has no self-esteem. Guys don't like criers. Shit, I don't like criers. Guys don't like drama, and guys don't like girls who won't shut the fuck up. Sadly she really was the embodiment of EVERYTHING guys hate in a normal-looking, well-manicured package.

How she became the person who would profess her love to a guy on the first date and cry when he didn't reciprocate, I don't know. Look, we know you want a date. No one needs to know just HOW MUCH you want a date, especially the person you want to date. And once you get a date, hold off on the crazy for a bit. Don't let it all out at once. It's also probably not in your best interest to call someone more than once a day, especially if they aren't calling you back. And don't leave crying messages. Ever.

Monday, April 4, 2011


Really you could be single because you're clingy, or you could be single because you're a drunk, but in this case, he was single because he was both. It was a pretty lose-lose situation.

Once again I partially blame myself for pursuing someone I was not physically attracted to because our personalities seemed to mesh really well. Key word: seemed. After those few initial weeks when you're trying to get to know someone, the comfort apparently set in and he sadly turned into not the funny, interesting person I thought he was, but actually his clingy, cheesy, annoying real self. Oh, and that self was also drunk at all times.

I think everyone has had a "let's go out for drinks" date at some point in their lives. However, I think most people understand that when you go out on a drinks date, it's a little different then going out and getting hammered with your frat buddies. Sadly, this guy hadn't figured this out yet.

I don't drink a lot. My body doesn't like it, I get bloated and don't feel "right" for hours and sometimes even days after drinking, so I keep it to once or twice a month, preferably in a party setting. Yes, I said bloated. What female likes to feel that way? Not I. A drinks date is one of those things you do at the beginning to loosen the tension, not something you do EVERY NIGHT.

"Hey, let's go get drinks." Ok, fine. In my mind, this meant have one to two drinks and talk, then move on to perhaps watching a movie or simply going our separate ways. Nope, not here. I'd have one to two drinks, and he'd have six or seven. EVERY SINGLE TIME.

By the time we left the bar, he was embarrassingly trashed, turning into sappy clingy 15-year-old who needed affirmation at all times and tried to convince me that when he was nearly running into walls that he wasn't drunk. When I would try to be the mature, sober one, telling him that I would drive his car, he'd insist I "stop being so mean" and "I'm not drunk."

When I finally realized that this would happen every time we went to an establishment with alcoholic beverages, I suggested we stay in one night and watch a movie. Instantly he offered to make me a drink, which I declined (during the course of this one-month of dating, I gained at least 5 lbs from alcohol alone), but he took it upon himself to make one for him. Then he took it upon himself to make himself 4 more during the course of the movie. Once again, by the end of the movie, he was so trashed I had to figure out how to get out of his place without him whining, which was, sadly, not accomplished. He wanted to cuddle, make out, or pull his most annoying drunk move - slow dance in the living room.

Are you kidding? Sappy shit like that makes me want to vomit. I felt like I was dating a 12-year-old and I was his mother, having to deal with his stupidity, really annoying tendencies, and trying my best to keep him from smothering me with drunken hugs or turning into Whiney McBitch when I wanted to get the hell out. The night before I broke up with him I put up with nearly fifteen minutes of a drunken attempt at cuddling that had him almost violently stroking my hair and whispering cheesy nothings in my ear.

Ladies and gentlemen, some advice. It's probably in your best interest to not get WICKED TRASHED any time early on in a relationship, let alone EVERY time. Take a cue from your's only polite - if he or she stops at two drinks, STOP AT 2. This is not a competition. And clingyness...well, we'll discuss that at a later time. But let's just say that when you want to see someone every single day and you've been dating less than a month, it's a little terrifying to anyone, especially me, who desperately needs her personal space. A LOT of personal space.


Don't freak out too much, ladies, this one is mostly for the guys.

During my year-and-a-half stint in Kansas City, I didn't date much. I wasn't good at it, and I didn't have many friends to introduce me to people. This is the only reason why I even gave this guy my number, which was a terrible mistake.

After too many years of being a member of 24Hour Fitness, they sent me a card in the mail for a free personal training session. I figured, "It's free, why not?" I went in and signed up with a seemingly innocuous personal trainer for the following week.

I come to the gym in a big tshirt, yoga pants, my hair back, and glasses on. I really figured that this was all I needed to do to not be a target of unwanted stares while on the cardio machines or doing any exercise that involved my ass being in the air. Well, Mr. Personal Trainer thought the baggy shirt and glasses combo was sexxxy, and following our session we chatted a bit. I wanted to go home and eat, because I'm always starving after working out, but he wouldn't let up, so I allowed the conversation to continue.

While he was reasonably attractive and in good shape, I found out that he had only been in Kansas City two months and had moved here because of a girl, which apparently hadn't worked out. So he's either here for two months and gets dumped, or creepily follows a girl he's not dating to a new city and gets promptly rejected. Either way, not a good sign.

Due to my intense fear of confrontation, when he asked for my number, I gave it to him thinking I could just not respond and that would be that. That, in fact, was not just that.

That night: "Hi, this is Steve from the gym, just wanted to let you know this is my number :)"
I didn't reply.

The following morning: "Hey, how's your morning? ;)"
FIRST OF ALL, if ANYONE knows ANYTHING about me, I hate mornings with a firey passion that burns deep into my soul. My parents know not to call me, speak to me, or make any communicative attempt before noon. Here's this fella texting me at 9am with a CHEERFUL EMOTICON. It sent me into a spiral of rage. Keep in mind we have still not gone on a date.

One day later: "Hi, how's your day going so far? :)"
No response. Ask me a real question, dumbass. How far could this text conversation go? "Oh, I just put some dudes in jail, how bout yours?" "I trained some folks." aaaaand done. Had he asked a question even REMOTELY relevant to what we had talked about or even did the day before, i.e. "Are you sore today?" since we worked out, I might have given him a chance. Unfortunately this moron lacked the personality to even compose a text message with enough thought to make me want to read it, let alone respond.

For the next few days, probably in total about a week, I get a text a day from this character, to which I send NO RESPONSES. Not one of those text messages had any substance, nor did he ever ask me on any date. AND he used emoticons in EVERY SINGLE TEXT.

Do not use emoticons in your text messages unless you a) have a vagina or b) have a vagina. Seriously. It screams "I'll probably cry after sex." Even if you're female, use emoticons SPARINGLY, and rarely at the beginning of a relationship. There may be different rules in some Asian communities regarding emoticons, but outside of that exception, DO NOT USE THEM.

Also, just a general rule, both guys and girls, if you text TWICE without getting a response, the ball's out of your court. Either wait for the person's grandmother to recover like the trooper you are and they will text you again, or cut your losses and give up. Stalky Stalkerton never landed his or her dream date. Take it from me, I've been that person (but never with emoticons - I'm not THAT bad).


I'm a single, 29-year-old attorney living in LA, part-time game show contestant, part-time beach bum. Through my years of dating I have come to realize why some people are single, even when they themselves cannot. From clingers to cheapskates to drunks, I've met them all, and dated a few. This informative website is designed to tell those guys and girls who completely and utterly fail at dating exactly why they happen to suck at it. It may be harsh, it may be crude, but it's all honest.

I'm sure you're wondering how a person still single herself is qualified (or at least believes herself to be) to tell others why they're single? Well, first off, I know why I'm single. As to not come off like a total dick, I will enumerate below the reasons I believe I'm single.

Having come from a background of eight consecutive years of relationships (three, to be exact) with only a six month break in the middle somewhere, I have at some point in time held down healthy relationships. In fact, the first one is still one of my best friends. I do, however, have a little bit of an issue with the beginning part of dating, BEFORE a relationship occurs, which explains why I can't seem to get into one at the current time.

Why I'm single:

1) I don't get out much. This sounds pathetic and sad, but it isn't as bad as it seems. I don't, however, really have ways of meeting people other than the general "bar hopping" with friends and work (where I have eight coworkers and only one of them male). I've exhausted the "friends of friends" thing, which honestly I've found is the most reliable and comfortable method of dating people, and I've found that the pickings on the internet, in person, generally let you know instantly why they had to go to the internet to date.

2) I'm perhaps, a bit, maybe a smidge, overzealous. Yeah, I admit it. I have been the overtexter, the overanalyzer, the "gets attached too fast" girl. However, that comes somewhat from my background - I've pretty much always been able to talk my way into whatever I want, whether it be a better grade, free or upgraded services at places, or even a conviction when I was a prosecutor. I'm an attorney. We expect to be able to talk our way into anything. Unfortunately, you can't talk someone into liking you. I finally had the revelation in the past six months that "If they don't like you now, they probably won't like you next week either."

3) I haven't met the right person yet. Really and truly I think this is the main one. I am somewhat picky, although not ridiculous about it, and am not willing to settle. If I'm only kind of feeling it, you get maybe a week tops for me to get more into you or you're out. I don't waste my time on people that I can tell I'm not 100% into. I'm not an equal opportunity dater. I don't give EVERYONE a chance. Sometimes you just know there's nothing there, and it's ok to say "no thanks" even if you're single and looking.

4) My looks and personality don't match. Perhaps this is a category all its own, but I find myself rather attractive. Based on audience response, I don't believe my opinion is too far skewed in one direction of the other. However, I'm somewhat quirky. I'm a closet nerd, a jackass, a sarcastic bitch, an intellectual, somewhat overbearing at times, and a social-phobe at others. The guys who see me as something they are physically attracted to generally aren't looking for what comes out of my mouth. They want the sorta stupid, easy-to-manipulate dumb blonde that will be arm candy and put out. It also works against me in the other direction, however - the guys I would be interested in are not interested in ditsy blondes who have nothing in their head and can't hold a conversation, and often won't even approach me because that's unfortunately how I look.

5) I have an intense fear of rejection. Why don't you go up to the guys you're interested in and talk to THEM, you ask? Unfortunately, this is where my social anxiety comes in. I'm great in a group of friends, even when that includes new people, but when it comes to introducing myself to a hot stranger? No thanks. The humiliation I would suffer from a rejection would be far worse than simply not meeting them at all. The only time this is possible is if there have been glances exchanged, I'm pretty drunk, and I have a wingwoman (or man). That combo happens about as often as it rains in LA, this year excluded.

So there you go. That's me. Be forewarned, however - nothing is safe. If we date, you'll probably end up in this blog. Sure, I'll change your name, but probably not incriminating details. So sit back, relax, and learn why the hell you're still single.