the story of asshats and fish...

so. here it is, 2 am, my sleep schedule is completely FUCKED at this point (since when does a 1 hour nap at 2 in the afternoon keep you up all night?). it sounds like the perfect time to catch you up on a few of the promises i’ve made but haven’t kept...what better place to start than dating horror stories?

all for you darlings. ALL FOR YOU.

harland williams:

i started this story the night it happened, FIFTY SIX DAYS AGO. jaysus, how have you guys not beaten me for my slacking on writing?

harland williams- it wasn’t actually HIM, but i swear it could have been his identical twin. i was at my fav bar for my usual wednesday night band support and even though the WHOLE BAR was empty, this jackass had to sit next to me and start being the typical out of town business man looking to get laid. his friend was kinda cute/nice but this guy...holy hell.

so he’s hitting on me, doing something that we’ll call flirting, trying to buy me drinks (no go- i’m odd like that- i’ll buy my own, thank you very much). this guy is laying it on, i’m being a bitch, he’s not getting the picture. at one point he flat out said: “i’m horny. i could either go to the strip club and back to my motel room and jack off, or you could save me the time and money and just go back with me now.” gee. how can a girl resist such an offer? he’s laying it on, trying to tell jokes, trying to impress me, telling me about his big shot job (hey BANK OF AMERICA...your asshole employees are GREAT company representatives in public...AWESOME). he is just not taking a hint. i’m flat out making fun of him, not holding back on the bitchy comments, making fun of his company and he finally gets pissed off and says “FINE. I FUCKING GIVE UP.” and then exits stage left to the bathroom. i let out a sigh of relief, the adorable bartender looks over and asks if i shot him down to which i said “he finally gave up.” jackass comes back from the bathroom, sits down, and STARTS ALL OVER AGAIN. i literally looked straight at him and said: “since when does giving up mean doubling your efforts?” the jack ass STILL kept trying.

when you make the bartender laugh it’s a good night. he laughed a LOT that night. i decided that since the jackass wasn’t giving up i was going to be a true bitch and have a little fun with it. harland williams ended up staying til closing, racking up a good tab, and tipping well in effort to try to impress me. when he FINALLY left (alone), the bartender asked why i convinced the jackass to stick around instead of letting him heading off to a club or back to his motel. my answer: “well, he can go to a club and spend his money there or stay here, run up a tab, leave a good sized tip, and provide us entertainment. this way the bar got more money, you got a good tip, and i got to make fun of someone all night. win-win-win.”  i take care of my bartender.  he puts up with my obnoxious self inappropriately hitting on him every wednesday. getting him good tips is the least i can do.

i WILL admit to feeling guilty the next day about being such a bitch. i ended up emailing harland williams (at his work email since the asshole gave me his card) to apologize. i don’t do bitch well.

the silent guy:

this, as the best are, is a plenty of fish story. this guy seemed normal at first. we emailed for a while, he seemed smart, had some good jokes, somewhat decent conversation. i will admit that he seemed like he might actually have the potential of a non-train wreck date. i should know better. he wants to get together for lunch but doesn’t let me know until 2 pm. i suggest drinks and we agree to meet for cheesecake/drinks downtown that night at 9. i get there right at 9 and i sit at a table alone and wait. and wait. and wait. and since i’m waiting, i go ahead and order a drink. if nothing else i’m totes comfortable sitting at a table out alone any day of the week, so it doesn’t bother me too much that it’s looking like a no show.

oh, how i wish that’s how the story ended. the guy shows up TWENTY MINUTES LATE. awesome start. he introduces himself then he sits down on the bench NEXT TO ME. umm...how the hell are we supposed to talk? not only that, he shows up and crappy jeans, a faded out untucked button up shirt, SLOUCHES on the bench next to me and looks like he hasn’t combed his hair in a few days. awesome first impression. so he’s just sitting there. and sitting there. the waiter comes over and asks if he’d like a drink and he just sticks with water. what’s the point of meeting for drinks if you don’t drink? we could have met for coffee or ice cream or a million other things. so we sit there awkwardly.

i try to ask a few questions, start a conversation which is DAMN hard when the person is sitting next to you. all i get back are 1-2 word answers and nothing else. spiffy. in the middle of it my son calls to check in on me and a darling friend calls to see if i need rescued. i’m trying to stick it out. FULL EFFORT. it’s just awkward and quiet and strange. fuck it. i finish my drink and tell him it’s time for me to jet. i go up to pay the bill and the waiter looks at me a little strange, asks how it went and all i can say is “get me the hell out of here.” the waiter cracked up and handed me my tab. kinda pointless at that stage of the game, but i went out the BACK door and hauled ass out of there. the guy actually emailed me the next day to argue something i had tried to start a conversation about (yes, there really is an organization called the IAVA- iraq and afghanistan veterans of america. look it up. support them.) nothing about how it went, no awkward attempt to make it better, nothing. just an argument. winner.

fister guy:

the answer is in the name. do i even need to tell this one? FINE. ok. another plenty of fish guy- go figure. this guy is a little off from the start. high strung, PTSD from one too many trips to the sandbox. he likes telling me about how he loves to be violent, play rugby, hit people...AWESOME. sign me the eff up. i’m trying to carefully let this one go. i try ignoring emails, phone calls, i remove him from chat (and block him). i was able to put him off for a while, but he was damn persistent. so. one day we’re talking on the phone...keep in mind i haven’t actually MET this guy in person yet. just chatted. we’re talking along, his questions are starting to get a little uncomfortable.

(yes, it was as awkward as me putting a kitty picture in my blog)

*NOTE: while i may be a trashy little trollop in life i TRY to appear a little more mellow and reserved when first meeting/talking to potential dates. i try like hell to keep any sex talk out of it for as long as possible. i know...doesn’t seem like me but there it is.*

so. the guy is talking along, questions are getting a little risque, i’m trying my best to avoid or give half answers then the BIG question hits: what are you into sexually?

*sigh* great. excellent question to get from someone you haven’t even met yet. so i try to brush it off: “oh, you know, mostly typical stuff, nothing to out there.”

all’s well and good, right?

his response: “i like fisting and rough sex.”

ummm...

fisting?

is that really even a thing?

don’t bother checking youporn. it IS and you don’t want to see that.

who the hell drops FISTING? to someone you’ve never even met? isn’t that something that if you’re into it you date someone for a while, get to know them, sleep with them, one day, a few years into things, maybe suggest some new porn, wait for their reaction, see where it goes from there?

YOU DON’T JUST DROP FISTING ON SOMEONE. in any way shape or form.

confession: while i avoided this guy like the plague after that i DID agree to go out with him on bin laden day. i mean, he did several tours in OIF/OEF and deserved to celebrate, you know? do what i can to support the troops. and NO, i didn’t see if he was serious about being into that.

and the saddest story for last, the one where i find out i have ZERO gaydar. did your heart just break a little too? so depressing.

i was invited to a masquerade ball for autism a while ago. an actual BALL. big gowns, masques, ALL OF IT. so i decide to go, get the dress, do the hair, nails, ALL OF IT. i hand made the masques even (they were AWESOME if i do say so myself- take a look:)

i ask an adorable young guy to be my escort for the evening, make a masque for him, rent the tux, the whole shebang. we looked ADORABLE together. so much fun. at the last minute my darling gay friends decided to attend the ball as well. this is VERY important. at the end of the evening my date isn’t feeling well and decides to leave. i’m a touch disappointed because he is delicious (although he was NINE when i was giving birth. creepy cougar much?). he leaves and my darling gays decide to let me in on something: he’s playing for THEIR team. if it had been any other friends i would have called bullshit, but i have a feeling their gaydar is pretty well tuned. insult to injury? another friend who was there came over to chat a bit and she ALSO had the gardar going off full force about my date. me? i had NOTHING. i turns out i have NO, ZERO, NONE, NOTHING when it comes to gaydars. i feel defective. like i should be on the reject clearance rack at the back of the idaho walmart. so depressing. i would like to point out that there is not actual evidence of my date being gay, but how can you question SEVERAL people with proper working gardars? *sigh*

so. that’s all of them lately. there was one guy at the bar that did a drive by “i just wanted to let you know you’re nine different kinds of fine.” but not much more than that. things are depressingly quiet on the dating front.

i still can’t believe i slacked for FIFTY SIX DAYS. i really AM a professional slacker. damn.