Sunday, July 31, 2011

Dating: The First 15 Years

Time to start my story so you guys can catch up to where I am now (cuz now is where all the "Back the fuck up" stuff is happening).
  • My first “boyfriend” was when I was 18 and a Sr in high school.  Technically NOT my boyfriend since he was, well, gay, and, well, dating another guy, but I fell for him, we hung out every day, had in-the-same-bed sleepovers, cuddled... yes, yes, yes, OK, fine.  I was his Fag Hag.  Until the summer when we kissed (like, really kissed) and fooled around during one of our oh-so-innocent sleepovers.  Was I his Fag Hag?  Sure.  Was he my first kiss and my first time fooling around? Yup.  My first boyfriend?  You bet your rainbow suspenders he was!  Besides, it's fun saying "my gay ex-bf" and watching people try not to snort whiskey out their nose in shock.
  • First real boyfriend (read: non-gay) was when I was just 20, and he was 17.  The age difference wasn't an issue, and despite the teasing from my friends, I hardly thought about it.  Plus it cracked me up that I broke the law anytime we went to the movies because I was taking a minor across state lines without permission (we lived on the border). We were together almost 2 and a half years, he was my first love, and I've never loved anybody the way I loved him.  Of course I was crazy as batshit when we were together, so that could have something to do with it...
  • Next I was with The Abusive Italian.  Long black hair, full Italian, tattoos, wore leather, and played lead guitar and sang in a metal band.  He was gorgeous, and he opened up a whole new level of confidence in me in bed.  He fucked me like I was a porn star.  Sadly, he also fucked my bank account like it was his prison bitch and he got way too much from me before I left him.
  • Then came a series of guys I dated but wouldn't say were my boyfriends.  Had fun.  Met guys.  Got laid.  S'all good.
  • When I was 27 I was with a wanna-be hip-hop-gangsta who was all Irish and all Idiot.  White boy couldn't even spell gangsta (or gangster for that matter), yet he was wearing his Red Sox baseball hat sideways and overusing the phrase "Let's bounce."  So I did. With someone else while he was on a cruise with his boyz and being unfaithful to me.  We happily parted when he came home.
  • The next boyfriend lasted for a year, until I was forced to end the relationship. We never had sex. No, I mean never. As in NOT ONCE.  And not because of religion or morals or some other socially acceptable reason.  No, no, no, this was because it caused him pain when he got hard and he refused to go to the Dr for it.  Back the fuck up, indeed!
  • And finally, there was my most recent ex. I met him when I was 28, we were together three and a half years, and lived together for four.  I ended that relationship when he couldn't do what I needed him to do.  All I asked him to do was get a job.  Go to therapy for his social anxiety, which made him so sick he couldn't even read help wanted ads without shaking.  Stop playing World of Warcraft for 16 hours a day and realize he was a 32 year old man.  Oh yes, and have sex with me more than once every three or four MONTHS.  Huh, now that I think about it, maybe I was asking too much.  Maybe I should have asked him to cut WoW down to 12, instead of 10, hours a day.  Fucking level 85 Blood Elf.

So now we're at the beginning of 2011, and that's where this story really starts... 

The men of my far

  • Significant guys in my past include two Shaun/Shawn's, a Chad, a Helder, a Henry, a Pedro, an Andy (aka The Marine), a Randy, a Rob, a Ron, and an Austin. Oh yeah, there was a significant girl named Rebecca in there, too...
    • I'm J-name cursed, to the point where I hesitate to date a guy whose name begins with "J". There's been a Jon (aka Jon the Giant), a Jonathan, a Johnny, a Jeff, a Justin, a Jesse, two Jay's, and a Jason.
    • I have very specific weaknesses when it comes to guys.  They are:
    1. Long black hair
    2. The Presence (aka Bad-ass-ness wrapped in sex and garnished with a little 'Oh my fuck')
    3. Tattoos
    4. Black clothes (especially black leather)
    5. Ability to play the guitar and/or sing
    6. Member of a metal or hard rock band
    7. Looks mean and tuff and intimidating and Bad-assey to everyone else, but is a big softy with me
    8. Loves classic muscle cars (old Camaro, Mustang, GTO) or bikes

      Saturday, July 30, 2011

      I need another one...

      My BFF Kelly saw this bumper sticker yesterday and thought of me...

      I love my friends, I really do.  But what I really love is that in my quest to find this one online, I came across a message board for swingers, where this was suggested as a "secret sticker code" so swingers could find each other in different cities.  HA!

      Friday, July 29, 2011

      giggle *snort* giggle

      Just read the latest post from The Bloggess (funniest blog EVAH!) about Copernicus.  Not only did she make me laugh so hard I snorted, she also provided me with a new quote...


      hee hee hee *snort*

      No make-believe stories here; it's all true

      After a very long and rough road of unfulfilling relationships (read: several years and several asshat boyfriends), I decided 2011 was going to be the year of ME!!  Time for me to stop worrying about pleasing others and bending myself in half to make others happy* and find what I wanted and the relationship that would make me happy.

      Which led me to online dating, and emails, stories, and guys so ridiculous that you wouldn't believe me if I told you.  So I told my friends.  And they said "No!  I don't believe it!  You need to write that one down!" and "Tell it again, my husband is so boring.  I only get to have crazy sex if I live vicariously through you" and my favorite "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.  Back. The fuck. Up.  He asked you to help make the bed before you left?!"

      So, I'm writing them down, and telling the stories again so my friends (and all of you) can live vicariously through me (though I don't know why anyone'd want to). And yes, he really did ask me to help make the bed before I left.

      *although in all fairness, at the right times, bending in half could be fun for me, too

      Saturday, July 23, 2011

      Texting: The New Reason Kids Can't Read

      A couple of weeks ago I received an email from a guy on one of the internet dating websites I'm trying.  His stats seemed good.  He's 33, lists his interests as cooking, reading, and farming, and lives in a large city.  Here's the beautiful email he sent to try and woo me:

      wat up ? u got a lil info abt ur self for me cos i wana know u

      Um, what the fuckity fuck?  I tried to be sensitive to the fact that he was clearly a 10 year old child playing around on the computer Daddy had accidentally left on and open to his online cheating-on-his-wife dating profile, and composed a thoughtful, yet stern rejection.

      Sorry, I don't speak teenager text shorthand.
      Good luck on your search.

      Thoughts? Comments? Whiskey for my headache?

      Condoms Aged Me 20 Years Tonight

      I just got "Maam'ed" at Wal-Mart by a guy who was obviously a good 10 years older than me.

      Yes, I am 33, but I am routinely told I look about 22 28.  About 6 years ago I actually got carded when I walked into an Adult Toy store, because the guy at the counter didn't believe I was over 18!  No, really.  Really!  Ok, maybe he was drunk, but the point is I still got carded.

      And yet tonight, some acne-scarred old dude called me "Maam" as he rang up my purchase.  *sigh*

      I'm chalking it up to the fact that when my box of 12 XL Magnum Trojans refused to be scanned and needed a price check, thus announcing to the four people in line behind me that there was a woman buying not just a normal 3-pack, but a whole box of extra large condoms, he turned the color of Peruvian purple potatoes and I didn't blink, blush, or blanch.  Because really, only a mature (i.e. old "Maam") woman would be unfazed by that.

      Hi, can I borrow that gun, please?

      Dating at 33 sucks.

      Internet dating really sucks.

      Internet dating at 33 makes me want to mess up my kickass hairdo by blowing out my pretty little brains all over my shiny new laptop.

      Welcome to my world.