Intuition Only Works When You Listen To It

Remind me to listen to my natural instincts when I feel like I don't want to go out with someone.

Guierrmo and I met up at The Yardhouse after he got off work (meaning he was still in his little Verizon get-up, an ill-fitting pair of trousers and a button up shirt and clip-on tie combo, and amazingly still a nametag... how sexy) where I found him sitting at the bar drinking the last third of a dual-colored beer. He smiled at me but shyly didn't stand to hug me. I asked what he was drinking. I'm assuming he thought I was born yesterday and thought I would be impressed by the name "snakebite." I replied, "I didn't take you for the type to drink pear cider in a bar with the world's largest selection of draft beer," to which he replied with an insincere/embarrassed laugh, motioned to the bartender, and sheepishly ordered a black and tan. I ordered an Anchor Steam. Off to a good start I see.

He didn't have much to say but kept smiling and staring through increasingly glazed eyes, which only made the situation more awkward. But as we all know, alcohol makes anyone look cuter and seem more interesting, so after a couple more pints I started having a pretty good time. Beer tends to bring out the flirtier side of me and this wasn't any exception.

Further into the conversation he mentioned he had a formal coming up and was wondering if I'd go with him. Uh oh.

"You're in a frat??"

"No, I'm in a fraternity. 'Frat' is disrespectful."

Here we go.

As if being a sleazy, pushy cell phone salesman wasn't enough, on top of a totally over-available desperate 22 year old boy, he belongs to a frat. Yep. A frat. I made a point to refer to it as a "frat" at every available opportunity. Why not? This was only going to go south. But not in the cool sexual way. He asked if I wanted to see where he lived. How could I resist?

We took his car, and upon starting the ignition, found that song, "Beautiful" was on. (You know the one... "You're way too beautiful girl, thats why it would never work, you've got me suicidal, suicidal when you say its over...") He said, "Oh look your song's on!" Fabulous.

When we finally got to his 'hood, which turned out to be about 35 minutes away (great), we parked and walked into the scummiest and most run down living situation.... each piece of furniture was being held together with duct tape, there were beer cans strewn generously over every part of the house, holes upon holes punched into the walls, strange colors of unknown matter smeared across the walls, doors broken off hinges... and I'll spare you the details of the kitchen and bathrooms. I held my breath 'til we got out to the backyard, where there was a party happening that he hadn't been aware of. Hot dogs were being soaked in Bud Light (which everyone was drinking as well) and barbequed. I was introduced to the few guys who stayed home to have about 30 girls over, none of which I was introduced to.

One in particular started shooting me mad-dog glares since she saw me walk out with Guierrmo, and I'm assuming they've either been hooking up or she wants to. After a few more beers she walked up to me, standing right next to him, and slurred a speech about how he's a "scammer." What a scammer is I couldn't tell you, but I got the feeling it wasn't good. She told me I should stay away from him. Not a problem!

I finally convinced him that my headache was bad enough to warrant a trip back to The Yardhouse where my car was parked (case and point.... never depend on the guy to get you somewhere, it's so easy to get stuck) and we drove back in mostly silence, though every few minutes he asked what was wrong, and said he got the feeling I didn't like him very much. I didn't respond with anything but, "I'm just tired."

We got back to my car, and he leaned in for a kiss. I gave him my cheek and said I'd call him. I won't.

Moral of the story: If a guy has to put that much effort into talking you into hanging out with him, you probably shouldn't. Go with your gut.

JBF=Victory, according to VO5

Messing around on the internet today has led me to an amazing discovery, and that discovery is a game called The Ultimate Flirting Championship.

This is obviously right up my alley so I signed up immediately. Its an advertisement/game type thing from that VO5 hair product company where you make an avatar of yourself (or at least choose a face and a hair color and style you are amused by), pick a name, and are matched up with two members of the opposite sex (sorry to my gay friends out there) who are now contestants in your own personal dating show, vying for your affections.


You are asked to pick your 5 favorite questions out of 15, and the contestants have 30 seconds to type in their responses. After seeing both of them you pick your favorite answer and the game keeps tally so you can see which guy has the best answers at the end. You pick who you like the best and hearts erupt out of your heads and your hairstyles go from coiffed to (my personal favorite part of the whole sitch) "Victory Hair."

Yes, Victory Hair. Not JBF (or just-been-fucked for those of you who live under rocks or are members of extra conservative religious groups).... because as we all know, if you've just had your world rocked, you're obviously victorious, right?

Sheer genius.

I guess it is the network.

These days, cellphone technology evolves so quickly that a girl's gotta update her phone on a very regular basis if she wants to keep up with what's hot. And considering my entire life pretty much revolves around this wallet-sized piece of technology, I'm picky.

After doing a tiny bit of research and keeping my eye out for the phones I've been seeing my friends getting, and since I have Verizon and not AT&T (sorry iPhoners), I decided on a Palm Treo.

My New-Every-Two deal was up so I headed into the store to get my new pride and joy, thinking I was going to get a hefty deal on it. No such luck. I ended up having to talk to this guy, Guierrmo (who, I'll admit, is kind of a hottie.... but he needs to pick a new name for suresies), for like an hour and a half to try to work out something better (even a tech-savvy chick like myself doesn't feel like shelling out a whole $600 for something I'm going to drop within a month), since I guess its one of their most expensive models.

Not to toot my own horn too extravagantly, but I can be quite the charmer when I want to be, and I definitely wanted to be. It was clear that this Guierrmo guy had taken a liking to me, with all the unabashed flirting and staring he was doing, and I knew all I had to do was be cute and bat my eyelashes a little to get my way.

I ended up with a greatly discounted service plan and an extra $150 off the phone, plus the usual discount for the new 2-year contract. But that wasn't all. When I got home and started trying to figure out how to use my new gadget, I received a text message.

"Hi, this is Guierrmo with Verizon Wireless.
Feel free to text or call me if you have
any questions about your new phone."

Apparently he'd sneakily written down my cell number while entering it into the computer to update my contract. It was a pretty normal-seeming message, and I had to wonder if maybe I was overreacting... maybe this is a new standard of customer service? As they say... "It's the Network." I wrote back. I had to. Maybe I was a little bit of a smart-ass, but he didn't seem to mind.

"Wow.... pretty personalized customer
service you guys offer huh?"

To which he replied:

"Yeah, it's the network. ;-)"

So that settled it. He was definitely flirting. Customer service doesn't involve wink emoticons, if you ask me.

A few days went by and I did have a question about my phone that I couldn't find anywhere in the instruction manual, so I texted him and asked him why it kept turning the word "anything" into "thanksgiving" when I was sending text messages.

Bad idea. Then came an onslaught (we're talking.... 5 days worth) of texts and phone calls (just voicemails... you didn't think I'd answer, did you?) asking me to hang out, and telling me how awesome and hot he thinks I am, and how he hopes I'm having a great holiday and how I'm his Christmas wish. Wow. Has he ever heard of playing hard to get? I could teach him a thing or two. The Art of Seduction (the book and the philosophy) is all about not being very available... he should read it.

Hate to say it, boys and girls, but my arm's pretty twistable....

We're going out tonight.

Deck the Halls with Boys O'Plenty

I can't even begin to tell you how crazy my life has been the past week or so! I have been so busy, I'm sorry I haven't been able to keep up on my blog here... Thank you for all the emails, I promise I will be back up and running after the holidays have passed.

I can't wait to catch you all up on all the new happenings!

Merry Kissmas!!

Muah. <3

Mol-e Mol-e Mol-e!

Remember that scene in Austin Powers.... Mole mole mole mole.....

Now picture that character, except change a few details. The mole is actually on his inner eyelid, obstructing his ability to fully open one of his eyes. And his eyebrows are about 8 times thicker.

Well... take that image in your head and imagine me with him, on the date I went on last night.

Yeah. I know. Let's call him Sean.

So it all started when he responded to a Craigslist ad I posted looking for new friends in my area. He sent me a link to his Facebook profile where I found that in college, he lived with this guy Nick who I had a ridiculous crush on in high school, which was a totally random coincidence. All of his pictures were from a pretty good distance and he looked like he was pretty cute.

We played phone tag for awhile and he totally made me laugh, which is a huge plus in my book. We finally found a night we were both free and decided to have dinner. He called me on the way home from the office (he's an attorney... hot!) and said we could go anywhere I wanted... I suggested BJ's Pizza (my faaaavorite pizza ever), which he sounded excited about.

We met there (thank GOD.... great for easy get-aways when necessary) and when I walked into the waiting area I found him there: thick ass brows, obscene mole, college sweatshirt, cargo shorts, flip flops, hasn't shaved in days - the whole enchilada. Don't get me wrong... I'm all for being casual, but on a first date? At night? Out to dinner? With a female? Were you raised by wolves?

We sat there, waiting for a table... with me wondering if I should feign illness, and then him talking about how much he dislikes BJ's (the restaurant, not the felatio, duh!) and how he'd had lunch there today and had no idea what he was going to order because he doesn't like anything on the menu... and then me wondering if I should say I forgot to lock my car and run out the door, and then some more complaints from him. And I just so happen to be very turned off by negativity. And large facial moles.

To make a long and painful story short, he spent the whole time asking me lame questions and then hardly pretending to listen to the answer while he watched some sports game on the screen behind my head, complaining about how boring his job is, talking about how much he hates to be touched (hugs included) and mostly insisting that I was bored. On the other hand, I spent the whole time eating my favorite pizza (spinach & artichoke... try it), chugging pomegranate margaritas, and checking out the hot waiters... which he didn't even notice, not once. Other than him being there, I actually had a pretty nice evening.

Finally after the 8th time of him saying, "you're bored. You're so bored. Are you bored? You seem bored," I snapped back, "if I am bored, saying that is not going to help you any. Trust me." That shut him up about it. He went back to complaining.

Eventually the bill came, but he made no move to pay it. There was no way I was going to consider even paying my share, since this is the worst date I've been on in a long ass time. The bill sat there for literally 20 minutes while I secretly stared daggers at him and his stupid planet-sized eyelid mole and his negative attitude and waited for him to pay it. The waitress came by to pick up the check and he had to tell her it wasn't taken care of yet, and he STILL didn't do anything with it. Did he expect me to pay??

"Thank you SO much for dinner!" I gushed.

He slipped his card into the slot and I smiled because I was satisfied and tipsy. I counted down the minutes 'til the check returned for him to sign and he finished his stupid beer and I could take off.

We walked out to the parking lot, and I was feeling so thankful that I wouldn't even have to hug him considering how he absolutely can't stand being touched. We got to the driveway between the spots we parked in and I said, "don't worry, I won't hug you," and he said, "oh shut up, come here," and gave me this shockingly big, long, and firm hug that I was not expecting nor excited about. I pulled away, said another quick thanks-for-dinner and rushed to my car, jumped in, and sped off.

Minutes later, I get a text message. It's him.

"No goodnight kiss?"

YOU'VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME.

Ode to the Gay Boy

Spending time in West Hollywood is a reminder that I would be so happy as a gay male.

My recent trips to the area have involved lots of the following:

Big False Lashes

Lots of Dramatic Makeup

Absolut Mandarin and Tonics

....and....
....drum roll please....


10 Million+ Excrutiatingly Attractive Gay Men


What torture.

Don't get me wrong, boys and girls. I'm not really complaining.

I love love LOVE going out. I'm extremely social. I love getting dressed up. I love introducing myself to strangers, and making new friends. I love drinking. I love being with my friends.

But part of going out for me a lot of the time is meeting new dating prospects. And obviously, that's not an option in a sea of knock-out gay hotties. I end up getting tipsy, and after scoping out the scene, brutally crushing on 90% of the surrounding eye candy... but not a single one is into my species. It's so sad!

I've come to terms with it. I totally love gay guys. As it is, I've always gotten along the best with guys, and have about 4 guy friends to every 1 girl friend. I have always had a large number of gay guys in my friend arsenal. Why? They're the best. Here, an ode to the gay boys.

Here's to you, gay boys!
For your stylish fashion sense
and your snarky wit,
that I am never on the losing end of.
For more great and honest advice
than even my girlfriends can give.
You are always there-
as a shoulder to whine on,
to trash the bitches with,
to be the hottest eye candy I'll see all night,
to borrow lip gloss from,
and to give the most heartfelt compliments when I'm looking fly,
and also when I most need them.
(No one can be a 10 EVERY night,
but you know best when to pretend.)

We both know we'll never be romantic,
but you're the Will to my Grace,
the Ken Paves to my Jessica,
the Chris McMillan to my Jennifer,
my own personal queer eyes
when I'm in need of advice,
and for that I am forever greatful.

Thank you, gay boys-
For being beautiful, entertaining,
sexy, fierce,
and altogether
absolutely fabulous.

Relics from the Past

It's funny to look at where I am now, and look at where I've come from, and realize that since the third grade, nothing has changed.

How many frogs has a girl got to kiss in her life to find a prince?


I could literally sit here and list every guy I've ever had some insurmountable crush on, but since you probably don't have 45 minutes to read a list of names you've never heard, I'll save you the time and tell you only the very best.

Timmy Slevin - 3rd/4th Grade

Fig. A - Cursive Practice, circa 1994

Jason Covella - 3rd-6th Grade
He was a year younger than myself, but that didn't stop my daydreamed love affair with the strawberry blond hottie in the classroom next door. At one point the school was putting on a play, "The Will," and knowing he was going to get the male lead, I spent the week before auditions praying to the love gods that I would get the female lead, which he would "kiss" at the end. Unfortunately I got the part of the villian (a much more substantial role, but nothing could console me at that point) and was painfully jealous of this girl Tracy for too long of a time.
8th grade rolled around and I was throwing the Birthday party to end all Birthday parties. At Party Time my mom and I were ordering some kind of balloon-made archway masterpiece from the woman behind the counter, who asked how old I was turning. "Oh, you're my son's age. You might know him." "What's his name?" "Jason Covella." I almost dropped dead.
I haven't seen him since.

Huey Rufenaught - 7th-10th Grade
The first day of Junior High was a stressful one, but upon sitting down in my health class at a table with two very cute boys (A. Huey and B. Nick Rossi [more on him in a minute]) life seemed to be ok again. As it turned out, our table mates were our new groups for all the projects in the upcoming semester, and all the better for me. Huey, a Vietnamese/Swiss wrestling stud, had me at "Hello." I spent every morning waiting impatiently for that class. Who knew health would be so fun? And likewise, who had any idea I was such a wrestling fan? I went to every match I could manage, even through my high school years. Fast forward to the day in 9th grade when the Marines hung out in our quad trying to show all the boys why it was cool to be in the military, and Huey kicked every other guy's ass at both pull-ups and sit-ups. And did so without his shirt on. I was unable to move, let alone look away.

Nick Rossi - 7th Grade
Nick and Huey became friends, and although Huey had some magical essence about him, Nick was adorable and for me a lot less intimidating. He and I talked and flirted endlessly in our Literature class 5th period, and none of my friends could understand how he could be so nice to me when I guess he was sort of a big jerk otherwise. We developed a very innocent flirtation relation, which involved me wearing his sweatshirt. Totes the big deal at the time. Come summer he went away to a camp for a few months but wrote me a few sweet postcards and signed them "Love, Nick". When 8th grade rolled around, we hadn't seen each other in months and there was a flirtation no more. Sigh.

Josh Pometta -10th/11th Grade
After my freshman year I transferred to a different high school in the area, where I found Josh. He was kind of a bad-ass, which is totally not my type, but I found him excruciatingly sexy for some reason. Word quickly got around, and his girlfriend Jessica (who happened to the the captain of the cheerleading squad) was all but excited about it. He loved the attention, apparently, and went out of his way to flirt and hang out with me at every available opportunity, which I absolutely ate up. We always had at least a couple classes together which made school that much more enjoyable, 'til I ended up in a history class with his girlfriend. She confronted me in class one day over a little hot-tub get together I was having that night, which she'd found out he'd RSVPed to. I couldn't help but wonder why she wasn't more mad at him that he had decided to go.
In 11th grade my best friend and I were sitting around joking about this ridiculous crush I had and decided, just as a funny stupid idea, to make a little shrine thing. I bought his football pin (a fundraiser where they take a photo of each of the players and make each one his own pins, which they sell for a few bucks a piece) and put it in there, along with a few pictures of the two of us from different times in class, at parties, etc. He'd left his t-shirt at my house the night of the hot-tub party which I put in there too, along with a necklace he had broken in class and had given to me to fix.
Eventually, when said best friend started dating him (I've never gotten over that, by the way. Thanks a lot.) I threw all that shit in a bag and left it on her doorstep in a fit of jealousy and resentment. Oh high school... those were the good ol' days.

After crushes upon crushes which were nothing but fruitless and frustrating, I finally had my first boyfriend just before I graduated from high school. It was the same old first relationship, I didn't really know what I was doing, but I liked him, he liked me, and we spent every second of time that we had together until we were so tired of being together that we broke up, but kept seeing each other every so often just to help dig that knife in a little further. I moved away to college and he'd come to visit every so often, we would hook up, I would remember why I had grown tired of him, we would fight, and he would leave.
I finally got over him the day I met the next crush, who, to this day, is still the most intense and dramatic crush I have ever lived to tell about.

Rob K. - Freshman year of college
We met online and it turned out he lived a few blocks from my dorm. I was only a little freshman, but he was a senior, with the same major as me, in the honors program, and on the rugby team. He was funny and charming, and in my opinion a total stud, and we had instant chemistry. Our first date, coffee, was supposed to be short and sweet but ended up lasting 4 hours. We realized we wanted to keep hanging out, so we drove to the top of a mountain and watched a meteor shower. I was done for.
The next month and a half were the most magical I had had in my 18 years. Thanksgiving weekend away from him was tediously long and we spent hours on the phone recounting how much we missed each other and how we wished we could fly to one another's houses. When we got back to school I couldn't have been happier to see him, but all of a sudden he felt like he couldn't be in a relationship because he'd be moving after he graduated. In JUNE. I was crushed. We didn't talk for a couple months and I felt I had moved on. After Christmas break it was his roommate's birthday party, and I decided to make an appearance. He spent the whole time staring at me, flirting with me, hugging me, and finally telling me how much he missed me. That's where it all went to shit.
I spent the next 3-4 months staying at his house almost every night, after he'd go out and get drunk. I thought I was completely head over heels in love with him and that he felt the same way. It was one sided.
One night I went over to hang out and a group of girls showed up. He disappeared into his room with one of them, all the other girls left, and I started to feel really odd sitting there in the living room with his roommates, wondering what was going on. When I got up to see, the door was closed and locked, and inside was my purse and dorm room key.
I sobbed violently for the next hour while his roommates banged on his door, tried picking his lock, and tried to climb through his window to get my purse for me. They yelled to him and called his phone and he didn't answer. He finally opened the door a crack and threw my purse out.
I spent the next 9 months on a steady stream of Vicodin from the moment I woke up until I went to bed; otherwise I couldn't stop crying. I sent him poems I wrote, lyrics to songs, music videos, more poems, more songs, letters, entries in my diary, pictures of us.... and whatever totally shameful things you should never EVER send someone who broke your heart. I would drive by his house to see if his car was there. I would look at his Myspace. Eventually I started sleeping with whoever wanted me, including his roommate, with the hope that a night of attention from some other guy would fill up the empty space I had in the pit of my stomach. It didn't.
Two nights before he was going to move to Washington D.C., he called me. I thought I was going to throw up. My heart was racing. He said he missed me, that he wanted to come over and see me before he left. He came over around 1 in the morning, completely shitfaced. He kept trying to have sex with me. I wanted to snuggle. He got angry and picked me up off my bed and threw me against the wall. I tried to get back on and he kept pushing me to the floor. I tried to stand up and he kicked me in the ribs. Finally he noticed I was bawling and let me back on and passed out. I woke up, covered in bruises, to find him scrambling to get dressed. "I have no idea how I got here. I have to go."
That was the last day I saw him, the last day I spoke to him, and the last day I ever missed him.

Sophomore/Junior Year of College
These were tough years for me because I always lived with a group of guys, anywhere from 5-14. And the guys in the town where I lived all looked like they should be modeling for Abercrombie (which a few of them actually did). I ended up hooking up with a few of them, others I would profess my love to and they would say it would never work because we lived together but would flirt to death with me, others had girlfriends... but in the end nothing of substance ever came out of those exchanges. Those two years were kind of a blur but I'm sure I was having a great time anyway.

Since then I've stuck with more normal relationships with guys. More like an actual dating, or serious relationships, and less like a star-struck mega crush that totally consumes me. I'll never forget how fast my heart would beat though, or how one smile could make the rest of my week disappear into obscurity.

Double sigh.

Loose Lips

There always seemed to be something about the wait station at my old restaurant that brings out the raunchier side of my female co-workers.

Let me explain.

I'm all for talking about boys, dating, boyfriends, friends, family, boys again... and what have you. But I'll be damned if I'd ever tell a perfect stranger the intimate details of my sex life (wait, I'm a hypocrit.... let's just say other than in this blog). Apparently not everyone can say the same.

Now I'm not complaining as much as just sitting here (as I was sitting there at the time) in total shock. I have to say that as much as its sort of off-putting, its also totally entertaining to hear way TMI about someone you don't even know.

For example:
It's my third day. I'm sitting at the counter, refilling salt shakers and the cup of straws. This other waitress walks up who works with me but we've never spoken. I knew the color of her hair and her age range (I want to say like.... 39-45?), but had no idea what her name was. By the time I walked away it's likely I knew more about her than I know about a lot of my friends.

She starts off by ho-ing and hum-ing about how she looks like shit, and she's going on a date tonight. She asks me if her lipstick is too red. Does it look too whorish?

Upon a polite no, her box (not that box, thank god. I mean I don't think.) opens and details start pouring out about how she "doesn't even give a fuck" if she dates this guy, she just wants some "god damned cock." She tells me she's 34 (which is impossible, sorry) and that she's so desperate that she's even hit on her mechanic. "At this point I'll even fuck a Mexican," she tells me.

I'm completely aghast but choke out a polite response; I ask if she's ever tried Craigslist. She laughs for an awkwardly long time and tells me she's not THAT desperate. She says she and "the Mexican" went for a walk after he changed her oil and everything seemed to be going well until he asked how old she was, she told him, and he told her that she "looks good for her age." She was so appalled by his response (which I think was pretty fucking nice considering there's no way she's 34 in the first place) that she pouted all the way back to the dealership, jumped in her car, and sped off. But now she can't understand why he hasn't even called her, "that motherfucker."

She goes on to tell me that I better "enjoy youth while it lasts" because once I hit 30 it all goes downhill. The guys her age "won't fuck anyone over 28" and no matter how amazing she looks, there's always some young girl to get in the way of her much-needed dick quota. That, or the guys that will fuck her (please excuse my language, I'm only recounting what she said to me) can't get it up or "have a cock the size of [her] ring finger."

I kid you not, this actually happened. I wish I was exaggerating. Once all the napkin dispensers were full, she said, "nice talking to you!" totally cheerfully and since then has acted as if she and I have only just met. Oh wait! That was actually the case. Jesus.

Another example:
A few nights later I walk up to the same wait station (which I'm starting to gather has some sort of smutty aura that makes girls generous with the raunchiest parts of their lives) and into a conversation that two of my co-workers are having about one of their new boyfriends. One is looking in a little pocket-sized mirror, perfecting some totally vampy shade of violet-red lipstick while her friend fills pitchers of ice water. She asks the water girl if it looks even, and she replies, "does it really matter? You're just gonna smear it all over his dick anyway." Here we go again.

They both turn around and look and me and giggle, and then continue on as if I'm naturally just part of this conversation. The one applying tells us that she kissed a piece of paper for him to take to his tattoo artist so he can get it tattooed on his ass. I can tell by the tone of her voice and the look in her eyes that this is by far the most romantic thing that's ever happened to her.

Water girl tells Lipstick Girl that she shouldn't let him do that, because she's going to get tired of him and break his heart. I ask how long they've been together, they burst into a fit of giggles. "They're not actually together," Water Girl tells me. "Well kind of!" Lipstick Girl says. I ask, again, how long they've been "seeing each other." They tell me three weeks. That's not bad. Water Girl says, "Yeah, but tell her how long his girlfriend has known."

Lipstick Girl starts telling me about how he was going down on her (!!!) a few mornings ago at around 9am when his girl friend (not to be confused with girlfriend; apparently this girl is just a friend of his who likes to "cockblock" him at every possible moment.... her word, not mine) called to ask what time he wanted to hang out, although they didn't have any prior plans. She kept insisting that they did have plans, but Lipstick Girl is convinced the Cockblock only called 'cause she knew she was over. The CB went on to whine and complain that ever since "that girl" has been around he didn't have any time for her. LG goes on to tell me about how she just got kicked out of her house and moved in with him, and they are now living together, though they hardly know each other.

Lastly, she tells me about the most perfect first date she's ever had - their first meeting. She met him through some mutual friends at a party where she was pretty trashed, and slept with him.

Yep. End of story. I know... for a hopeless romantic like myself that's almost too much! I think the look on my face wasn't enough to convince her that I was impressed, so she explained, so very earnestly, that it only made sense because she hadn't had GOOD sex in 5 months.

Almost brings a tear to your eye, doesn't it?

Right before bringing some appetizers to her table, she says it'll have to only be head tonight though, 'cause she's on her period. WOW.

Every time I was standing there with another waitress they end up either telling me or someone else something I absolutely didn't want to know.

What is it about that counter??

Check, Please!

Although I've had more than my fair share of dating experience at my tender age of 23, and may shell out a generous amount of wisdom and advice to my friends who may have a little less, I seek at least twice as much from other sources (can't learn EVERTHING from personal experience, you know).

So I've read lots of books. My favorites so far have been the Art of Seduction (thank you very much to Spencer for that spirited recommendation) and Superflirt (which is really just a thanks to Amazon, who suggested it when I was searching for the former, good work people).

And although I learned a great deal about the world of dating (and how to have anyone wrapped around your finger, by ignoring them and swinging your hips correctly, respectively), I still continue to feel that there is just oodles I don't know yet.

Which brings me to my new book. Hopefully you know by now that some of my favorite things are dating, talking about dating, thinking about dating, boys in general, and celebrity gossip. Now combine that all in a book written by the world's first supermodel, and we're in business.

Check, Please! Dating, Mating, and Extricating is written by the infamous Janice Dickinson, who has dated more celebrities than Paris Hilton (give the heiress some credit though, Janice has got a lot of years on her) and is filled with acerbic wit and tough love, plus TMI about way too many male celebrities.
I haven't finished yet, but so far, Janice has taught me that:

I'm an idiot for "going for my wallet" on a first date.

If a woman breaks out her wallet, she has a problem. Even for the 50/50 split. On a first date, I don't ever want you to say, "What's my share?" He brought the wallet. You brought the girl. Even trade.

I should stop meeting guys on the Internet.

You know how they used to say of ugly actors, "He has a face for radio?" Well, if a guy's out there hunting for women online, chances are he has a face and personality for the Web. Plus, some of those weirdos really could be hunting for women. And remember this: If the camera adds 10 pounds, the Web adds 40.

There are ideal places to meet guys (some of these I haven't even tried! Thanks Janice).

• Park Benches (not bums... the rich one's own the parks, not live in them)
• Men's Clothing Stores (ie: Turnbull & Asser, the nicer the better obvi)
• Bike Paths
• The Car Wash
• Dog Parks (at least you know the men can handle the responsibility of nurturing and interacting with living things.... and are used to dealing with some crap)
• The Gym
• The Bank (only the main branch of one of the most exclusive banks, as approved by Forbes)
• Delicatessens in Wealthy Neighborhoods (Janice is obsessed with Jewish men, more on that in a second)
• The Golf Course on Weekdays (only two types of men can golf on weekdays - rich men and retired men, who are often rich men too. And according to Janice, one of the three requirements of a perfect man is a flexible schedule [the other two being slim hips and a trust fund])
• Car Dealerships (of course, luxury car dealerships. This is Janice Dickinson we're learning from)

Jewish Men are God's Gift.

They make the absolute best husbands -- because they're loyal and because they have the largest units. Jewish men are used to women running things. [They] are also used to women taking charge of the household finances, so you'll control the purse strings -- which are always strings I want to control. They're also less likely to divorce you. They would rather put up with more of your crap than give you the keys to the second BMW and the vacation house in Boca.

All in all, I think Janice might be slightly out of her mind, a little too stereotypical, and overly impressed by a huge bank account... but her book is fun to read and there's no reason why an avid Dating Diva like myself can't try out a few of her theories.

P.S.... Kazakhastan? Really?

Just wanted to mention.... this is awesome.

Thank you to Drew for recommending StatCounter, which provides a recent visitor map, so that I may see how many readers I have in Kazakhastan.

You are all awesome in all that you do, please keep spreading the word, I love you to a million itty bitty pieces. <3333

Could it be... speed dating in bed?

So as you know by now, I love dating. And as some of you may know, I also enjoy lounging around at home on my computer. A good handful of you have read my speed dating post.... but speed dating proved to be fruitless, and let's be honest... was sort of a huge waste of time and makeup and hangover and my sparkling personality.

Alas! I have found the solution to this dilemma:

ONLINE SPEED DATING.

I know. I was surprised too. How does it work, you ask??

When you sign up, you provide a username, a picture, your location, age... a few other details. Depending on the website, you can either start "speed dating" the other people who are online at the time, or you are emailed about "events" that they throw, where everyone is invited on at one time.

You also tell them your preferences based on location and age, and they start matching you up with people they think would be suitable.

So OBVI I signed up, stat. I was instantly matched with 8 different guys, each one of which I had the opportunity to spend a timed 3-minute videochat session with. Shockingly enough, there were 4 guys that were VERY cute, funny, nice, and live in the same state (ok I know a 7 hour distance is a stretch... but let's cut this thing a little slack).

Unfortunately for me, I can't find the disk that goes with my webcam (thanks again, Ben.... more about him some other time), so I can't get it to work... but the website allows you to have an instant message conversation at the same time, so it posted my picture and I was able to see them typing to me.

Yes... it was a little weird. I'm not going to lie. But it was also extremely entertaining and kind of exciting. The other good news is that you can immediately dismiss someone if you don't like them based on "no chemistry" or "not my type," to name a few. At the end of the three minutes the system cuts off your session and asks you for a YES or a NO vote. If you both vote YES, you are able to contact each other... if either one says NO, you never see or hear from them again.

Genius!

I'm not the only one to find out about this, though. I originally heard of the idea from Facebook, where WooMe had a paid advertisement. I signed up for that site and was notified days later that I was selected for their beta testing group, or something. I guess its not totally up and running yet. To be honest I wasn't totally thrilled about having to return to the site at different times to be able to speed date (again, I like the convenience of being able to sit at my dining room table whenever) so I haven't really looked at it since.

Being totally intrigued by the idea, though, I googled online speed dating and found a great article written on the New York Times website about the boom in online speed dating websites... apparently this is kind of a big deal.

Read: Does This Webcam Make Me Look Fat?

After finding all kinds of websites for this stuff (hurrydate, speeddate, woome, digg, 15minutedate, YesNoMaybe, and speeddater, just to name a few), I settled on SpeedDate.com which I have tried a couple times.

Though admittedly there have been a few winners (4, to be exact), a majority of my "matches" have been... well... jokes. To be honest with you, readers, most of the satisfaction comes from having a little fun with the absolutely worst daters.

Example:

Me: What do you do
Him: I work at Safeway as a meat clerk
Me: that's hot
Me: I like a guy who knows how to handle his meat
Him: really?
Me: oh yeah

The worse the date, the more I try to either inflate his ego or inspire inappropriate thoughts. Another one was the dweebiest looking dude in a completely ill-fitting Sears suit, standing in front of a cheesy background uncomfortably.... looked like he had his portraits taken at the mall. (So sorry... wish I had saved the picture for you.)

Me: Wow! You're a model??
Him: No.. I'm a performer. :)
Me: Oh cool! I've never met a male stripper before!
Him: haha no no I'm a pianist.
Me: Oh... well close.
Him: haha. what are you into?
Me: whips
Me: you?
Him: i'm into online stock training
Him: whoa! its too bad a pretty girl like you doesnt live out here in ND!

You get the picture.

All in all.... this website kicks ass.

If you do decide to visit it, PROMISE ME you'll watch the little example videos on the main welcome page..... they would lead any normal person to believe that what they are about to encounter is more scripted, forced, and awkward that it actually is or could ever be.



One more thing.
Let's be honest with ourselves, SpeedDate.com. We aren't so "busy" that all we have time for is a 3 minute date and a granola bar on our lunch break. We just like the naughty anonymity we feel when we watch other people's webcams.