Not Dating the Danish (ie Douchebags)

Sidenote: I went out last night to my favorite local dive, The Goathill. It was packed and 90% guys as usual. Despite my lowkey outfit (black t-shirt, jeans, flats, and a ponytail... not my usual outing attire) I was getting a ton of attention. I said hi to the friend I was meeting up with, and went to the bar to stand in the long line (all men) for a drink. As they turned around and noticed me, they kept letting me go ahead of them, 'til finally I was behind a group of three guys. The loudest of them (with some sort of accent) stopped what he was saying midsentence when he saw me and grabbed my arm and pulled me up to the bar. With slurred speech, he asked the bartender (about 5 times) for "a vanilla vodka and cranberry." (I won't say no to a free drink, though what I really wanted was a Hefewiesen.) He said cheers in Danish and handed me what he called a "Pantydropper." I thanked him, apologized that it wouldn't work on me, and went back to my friend.



I learned years ago not to date the Danish. Now I'm sure they are not all bad, but after a few examples of Douchebagginess I think I've accepted they are just not for me. Here's a prime example.

I met Von in the library my sophomore year of college. He told me how he thought I was beautiful and wanted to take me out, and at this point in my dating career a little compliment could go a very long way; I agreed, and we made plans for that weekend. Though I wasn't particularly attracted to him, I hoped he had potential.

We met up for shopping (his idea) which was really just walking around downtown and him pointing out all the stores he recently spent large amounts of money in. He didn't ask me a single question, and interrupted me every time I tried to speak, mostly with examples of how much money his family had. By the time he took me home, I was almost jumping out the car window.

In the days that followed, he would text and email me, telling me how great of a time he had and how he couldn't get his mind off me. I finally said very bluntly that I thought he was really full of himself and didn't want to see him again. He apologized profusely and promised that if I gave him another chance, things would be different. I conceded.

Three days later, he picked me up for a romantic dinner in Montecito. He dressed nicely, opened every door, asked me all kinds of questions, and was more of a gentleman than I had ever gone out with at that point. This time around, by the time we got back to my house I was aching for a goodnight kiss.

My best friend M, who had been my very first friend in college and literally the closest thing to a sister I have ever had, didn't like him from what I had told her the first time. She was protective and what I always described as not only my best friend, but also my sister, lawyer, and bodyguard. I finally talked her into accepting that we were dating after telling her how amazing he was the second time. They met one evening after lots of convincing, and she agreed that he wasn't quite as bad as she had expected. Even still, she didn't understand the attraction, telling me that he wasn't even cute. (Thanks, girl.)

Naturally, we started dating. He lived two blocks from our campus in a nice house on the ocean. We spent days at the beach, went out to great meals, took day trips, and he even took me back to Solvang to meet his family (yes, they actually live in Danishville... I know). He bragged to all of his friends about his new girlfriend, told me how thrilled he was to be with me, that he was going to plan something amazing for Valentine's Day (over two months away), and even gave me his passwords to his email account for some reason (which I never thought to check).

Somewhere around two months into the relationship things started to turn. When we would go out to eat, he would surprise me with having "forgotten" his wallet (despite the fact that he knew I was barely getting by) and started making rude jokes about me around his friends. One night at dinner (another one I was duped into paying for with the $25 I had left in my bank account), he made some stupid comment about how if I wasn't happy with him, maybe he'd just go date my best friend M. Flustered and angry, I snapped back, "she isn't even attracted to you." He laughed. "Are you sure we're talking about the same M?"

A few days later was Valentine's Day, the night before which I was at her house, close to tears and telling her how the relationship was going downhill at a fast pace. "If he doesn't perform a miracle tomorrow, I'm going to end it," I proclaimed. We'd had plans to get a room at a bed and breakfast in Solvang, but after the plans changed, he would now already be there hanging out with his friends, and I would drive up to meet him (almost 2 hours away) for the night, where we'd be staying at his parents' house since they were out of town. How romantic.

Even still, the next morning I packed up my overnight bag, put together the feeble Valentine's gift and card I was able to get him, and kept trying to call him to get directions. Finally he called me back, and when I picked up the phone, he said this:

"Look, I've been thinking, and this just isn't working. Let's not fool ourselves here, we both know this relationship isn't going anywhere. Why waste this holiday with someone I don't even want to be with? It just doesn't make sense."

I was so much in shock that I walked out into the living room where my roommates were watching TV, and put one of them on the phone to verify that I wasn't hallucinating. She cussed him out and hung up on him. As much as I was furious, I wasn't sad. I didn't cry. I called M and went over to her house to vent. She seemed even more upset than I was. We logged into his email (the first time I had ever used that password) to see that he had written an email to a friend of his two weeks prior, saying he was over me and was going to dump me. He had actually been planning to do it like this. She had all kinds of ideas for retaliation. "Let's go key his car! We should put sugar in his gas tank. Or egg his house. What a fucking asshole." (Like I said, best friend and bodyguard.) I turned down her ideas, wanting to stay on the high road. But just for laughs, we changed his name in my phone's contact list to "Danish Douchebag."

For the next few days, she would constantly ask me how I was doing, if there was anything she could do to help, or get back at him, or if I needed anything. By the following weekend I was over it and out partying with my friends, when I ran into her cousin. I called her to tell her, no answer. Unusual, but ok. We talked for a long time and I (drunkenly) tried to call her again, no answer. We went to another party down the street, I called her on the way, no answer. Since she and I talked on the phone about 50 times a day, this was strange. About 45 minutes later, I got a text message from her. "Sorry, I'm going to sleep, I'll talk to you tomorrow." Wtf, right? So of course, I call her again. NO ANSWER. Now I'm getting frustrated. She texts again, "my phone is about to die, I'll talk to you tomorrow." So I write back, "M, what is your deal? I have to talk to you!"

Two minutes later, I got a text message. Not from her number, but from "Danish Douchebag," that said "I didn't want to tell you like this, my phone died. I'm sorry. We're going to sleep. We'll talk about it tomorrow." I may not have cried on Valentine's Day, but I cried this time. In fact, I bawled. I cried so hard I couldn't see, and had to be escorted out of the party and back to my house, and I cried the whole way home. I wrote her an email when I got home about how heartbroken I was over the loss of my best friend. She wrote back the next day with some stupid response about how it wasn't her fault that they were "meant to be." We wrote back and forth a few more times, each one I sent a little more crushed, and each one I received a little more ridiculous.

On a whim, I logged into his email account again. I knew that password would come in handy someday. And there were all the emails we had exchanged, forwarded to him and sitting in his inbox.

It took me 5 days to get over him after he dumped me, less than 5 for her to pounce on the asshole (possibly even less than that, quite possible they started hooking up before he broke up with me), one month before he dumped her too (big surprise), and three years before I could bring myself to talk to her again. And even still, we won't ever be friends like we were then.

Moral of the story, I've written off Danish Douchebags for good. Save your Pantydroppers for another girl!

Karma’s a Bitch.

I'm sorry for the lapse in posts, I've not only been nursing a badly bruised heart, but also have had a hell of a time connecting to the internet lately. (Seriously... any CPU geniuses wanna help a girl out?)

Anyway, my friends would all tell you that they love my dating life, because they’re all in committed relationships and here I am, “happy as a clam” as far as they know, dating most of the under-40 year old population within an hour of my house. They like living vicariously through me, and get a kick out of my stories. And I play it off as though that’s all I want; a little entertainment, a free dinner, some attention, a good laugh.

Well, you know what?? That isn’t what I want. I was really fucking exciting to begin a new relationship, after all this time has gone by; after thinking I’d never find someone I liked on that level again. It was exhilarating to know that there was someone who felt the same way about me, too. Much to my friends’ chagrin, I was thrilled to dive off the single boat into Boyfriend Sea.

I’ve spent much of this past week dwelling on what happened on Easter. How could he? How could I let something like that happen? How could that delicious quiche have gone to waste? I’m a good person. I’m generous, kind, and thoughtful. I have a lot of love to give! I know… everything happens for a reason. What was the reason!?

The more I think about it, the more I realize that I do, in fact, deserve what happened. Here it is. I’ll admit it. I’ve been in the same situation before. But I wasn’t the one being played like a fool. Karma, you are such a bitch.

About a year and a half ago, pretty soon after the Breakup, I spent so much time and energy looking for a new guy that I didn’t care where I found him. Hours a day were spent on Craigslist personals, Match.com, eHarmony, Myspace, Facebook, Engage, and any other website you could think up. I wasn’t just perusing; I was a cat in heat and on the prowl.

I had posted one of my many Craigslist ads, proclaiming that I was “new to the area” (lies) and looking for “new friends,” (or sexy boys for dating and kissing) along with the best picture of myself I could find. It wasn’t long before my inbox was filled as usual, but one caught my eye. Exceptionally well-spoken, a little suggestive, and extremely vague, I couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was about this response that I liked. The mystery? The fact that he didn’t suggest kinky sexual activities, or tell me what car he drove? His picture was from 200 feet away, taken on the beach, from behind. He was hiding something. Maybe I knew him! I had to know.

We exchanged emails and I asked plenty of direct questions and received very subtle answers. By this point, all this mystery guy had told me was his first name (Brent), his age (27), the area he owned a house/ lived in (down the street from me and very swank), and his occupation (engineer). But that was it. It finally struck me one day…. He had to have a girlfriend, and I asked. For the first time, he was direct.

“It isn’t as black and white as that. I’m not going to lie. I do. But she’s moving across the country in the next few weeks and then it’s over. I’m not saying I’m single, or trying to have something lined up. I’m just open to meeting new people.”

Fair enough. He started to open up a bit more. He even sent me the link to his Myspace account. And he was hot! He wouldn’t add me to his friends, for fear that I could start leaving him comments or something. Looking at his profile, I found he was on the same marathon team as my roommate (who said she had met both him AND his girlfriend, who she said was a “total snot”) and had a seemingly perfect relationship with said snot, who posted him obnoxious “I love you Baby!” comments daily. Eventually, he admitted that they lived together. As much as my conscience should have kicked in and given me the “do unto others” speech, it didn’t. We made plans to meet.

Brent arrived at my house the following day, but insisted that I meet him down the street in case my roommate saw and recognized him (little did he know I had already showed her his MySpace) . I got into his (beautiful, foreign) car and we headed off to the countryside for a day of wine-tasting. Conversation was awkward, and I finally asked him how he’d phrased his plans for the day to his photographer girlfriend. “I didn’t have to,” he told me. “She never asks what I’m doing when she’s in the middle of a shoot.” Our flirting heated up with each glass of wine. After a few hours he said he needed to be getting back, but he would try and get out later to see me again. He dropped me off, and only an hour later texted me, saying he would come over as long as my roommate wouldn’t see him come in. I promised. When he arrived, he held my jacket in his hand (which I had unintentionally forgotten in the backseat) and berated me for being careless. As wrong as it was, I ate up every moment of it. We watched a movie on my bed, but didn’t kiss.

It started off innocently enough; occasional meetings, flirting, but no kissing or touching. An obvious attraction between us grew, and he called me one night, drunk and standing outside my bedroom window, demanding that I let him in. Despite my protests, he kissed me and we stayed up until the sun rose, making out aggressively; exhilarated in our sexual tension and how immoral it was.

Weeks turned into months, and when I would ask him when she was moving, he would give me vague answers. “It’s looking like next month.” “Sometime in the next few weeks.” “She hasn’t signed her lease yet but I think she found a place.” Our encounters became more frequent and his excuses for her began to run dry, until finally one day they packed up her things and drove her car across the country. He called me from the airport before his flight home left, to let me know he had gotten me a gift in NYC and couldn’t wait to see me.

Occasional turned frequent, and things seemed to be going well. I asked, one evening, why he still wouldn’t add me to his Myspace. “We haven’t quite broken up yet.” My heart dropped. From then on, things were strained, and we told each other less and less about our lives (yet the makeout sessions didn’t change). I casually announced one evening that I would be moving back down south, and his reaction made me wonder if we were experiencing two different relationships. I couldn’t understand how he could be so upset that I would leave, considering he was already in a relationship with someone else. We hardly spoke for the next few weeks.

Two nights before I left, he called me drunk and outside my window again, demanding that he come up. “I broke up with her. It’s done. Don’t leave me. You don’t have to leave now.” I, of course, wasn’t leaving over him, and was leaving despite him.

Since I moved here a year ago, and although I have many friends who I could stay with when I go to visit my old city every once in awhile, he is invariably the one I call. Without my asking if I can stay, he asks what time I’ll be in town and where he'll meet up with me. I go out, see my friends, have a great time, and we meet up at the end of the night for a hot makeout sesh like the old days. Other than my visits, we very rarely speak. Recently, he started IMing me more frequently, and told me how much he looks forward to my visits, and that he will be down in my area over the summer for a wedding and wants to see me. He casually mentioned that his ex-girlfriend had moved back from New York, but refused to talk about it when I asked him if they had seen each other.

Just days ago, I took a peek at his Myspace page, to find that he is now “In a Relationship” with her again. Interesting how things come full circle.

Oh, karma. You vengeful slutface.

A Love Affair with CL Missed Connections

If you don't know what missed connections are, check this out.

Basically, picture you're out at dinner with your friends, let's say. You look at a table across the room and see a member of the sex you're attracted to who is totally good looking, stylish, and seems to notice you, too. You want to talk to them, but you're both tied up with friends, and they end up leaving before you have a chance to work up the balls to approach them.

So... you go on Craigslist, and you post a missed connection about where you were, what you look like, what they look like, what time it was, and that you hope they see your ad because you're hopelessly in love with them, or want to jump their bones, or whatever the case is.
That way, you save yourself the humiliation of being rejected in person, and if they happen to see it and want to talk to you, they have the opportunity.

So.... truth be told, I had kind of a fascination with the Craigslist Missed Connections about a year ago. And every time I would see a guy I fancied (which is extremely often) but didn't have the balls to talk to him (which is not too often) or wasn't in a situation where I had the ability to talk to him, I would go on Missed Connections and post an ad. You'd be surprised how many times it worked.

The first time, I was in the drive-thru line for In-n-Out Burger, waiting for a milkshake. When I pulled up to the big window they have so you can watch them cook while you're waiting, I was practically face-to-face with an incredibly handsome Joaquin Pheonix lookalike: perfect, muscular build, black hair, green eyes, and without the awkward lip scar. He was just feet from my car, but we were separated by the glass; it was the only time I have ever enjoyed a long wait in the drive-thru, because nothing could have been more appealing to me at that moment than watching his biceps flex while he pushed potatoes through the fry-slicer machine.

I posted a Missed Connection about him, and two days later got a reply from a female friend of his, telling me that not only was he super hot, but was also an incredibly sweet guy. She showed him the post, and he emailed me right away. We ended up going out one night with some of his friends, all of which were super fun. He was super shy in the beginning but the more he drank, the more he seemed to loosen up. By the end of the night we were giddy and holding hands and flirting, and were both completely bombed, so he ended up staying over. We made out passionately for what seemed like hours, and finally fell asleep. When we woke up, I realized he was naked (which I can assure you did not take place while we were making out) and I was fully clothed. The awkwardness and embarrassment of the fact that he had drunkenly gotten naked in a stranger's bed without intention to proved to be too much for poor Joaquin, who sheepishly got dressed, I drove him home, he gave me a very shy kiss, and we never talked again.

The absolute most amazing MC story was on the 405-South. I was driving south to stay with a friend of mine, when I started to come up on a beautiful, brand new 6-series BMW... didn't even have a license plate yet. The license plate frame was from a law school. I had to see who was driving this thing. Picturing some old, stuffy lawyer, I was shocked to see a very young and VERY good-looking hottie driving it. He looked at me too, smiled, and raced forward. I raced forward too, smiled at him, and sped off. This went on for about 10 miles (and is affectionately known as "flirt-driving") until he exited onto another freeway, waving as he drove off. When I got to my friend's house, I posted a Missed Connection on a whim, in the area of LA that we had been traveling through. I described his car and my car, the situation, where we were, and where he got off. I didn't say the color of our cars though, and said that if he saw it, he should email me and tell me what colors they were.
Early the next morning, I had an email. From him.

You are not going to believe this, but I am the guy from you post. I remember you, as I was checking you out too. My license plate is Santa Clara Law school (I was actually getting home from the office). My BMW is a graphite color (dark grey). You had a lighter colored car if I recall correctly...kind of an orange or rusty type color.

This is crazy, I alway cruise the missed connections sections, but never thought I would be the subject of it. So tell me about you.

Sean

My friend ran in when she heard me screaming about it. I couldn't believe he'd found it! I wrote back.

Wow! I am in shock right now! I never thought that would work but I figured I might as well give it a shot. That is amazing.

Anyway.... you obviously are who I was talking about, you got all the details right. :) My car is a reddish color.... I think they call it salsa red haha. So you work at the law school? Or you're a lawyer? I was planning on going to law school but decided to do hair and makeup instead, big difference, I know.

I was on my way down to Orange County last night from Santa Barbara. I do hair and makeup in a salon right now but when I move I'll be working at the school I went to.

What else? I'm 22, as you probably saw on the ad. I'm from Northern California, in the wine country. Umm... I'm not sure what else to tell you off the top of my head.

What's your story? How old are you?

I seriously can't believe you found my ad, but I'm pretty excited that you did. :)

And then he made himself even better.

No kidding! How random!

Here is my story. I am a lawyer...in Westwood/Brentwood. I am from the Bay Area too....Richmond and Moraga. I really miss it there. I am 28. Since you could only see my head, I am 6'1, 185...very athletic. I live in Marina del Rey ...with my dog Bailey (Beagle). What else would you like to know?

I have never been to Santa Barbara.

Do you have any pics? I tried not to make it obvious that I was checking you out :)

Very nice to meet you :)

Sean

Our email exchange went on for a few weeks. We texted daily, flirted, and couldn't wait to see each other. Unfortunately, by week three his emails started requesting "bikini" pictures, and other toolshed things, which I quickly discouraged and we lost touch.
A few months ago, I was driving through LA and passed the World Savings Bank building on the right side of the 405-south; the building that he works in. I texted him, and we exchanged a few as I drove home. I asked him if he wanted to get together. He said he had a girlfriend now. Oh well.


Anyway... those are a few examples, but definitely not all of them. I still have the urge to post a missed connection every time I see a cute guy that I don't have a chance to charm the pants off of in person. And of course.... always nice to peruse them; you never know when someone is going to write about you!

The most epic week in history.

Firstly, I apologize for the lack of posts the last week. I really am very sorry (and appreciate the concern and emails); I am in fact ok, and I have just been up to my neck in sexy boys... that's all. :)

And secondly, if you had any idea what has been going on, you would understand my need to gather my thoughts before I write about it.

So. Let's do this day by day.


Last Friday
My potential hat trick, which ended up being one date with an excrutiatingly attractive, yet very odd little guy for lunch, being stood up at Starbucks (but scoping out a few major hotties that work there) and then meeting a few duds at the bar with my roommates. Plus a substantial amount of turning down the weird OKC hottie (Kelly) from lunch, who despite having said he was going to be too busy to hang out 'til the coming Thursday, kept asking if I would meet up with him again. I said no, and we made plans to hang out Thursday. I asked if he was a "smitten kitten." He wrote back, "meow!" Classic.


Saturday
After working all day, I rushed home to change, extravagate (v: to make extravagant) my makeup, and throw some overnight shit in a bag, and headed off to West Hollywood to hang with my super sexy gay friends. It was absolutely pouring rain so the drive took a bit longer than expected. While I was driving I got a phone call from Ken, a plastic surgeon in LA that found me on OKCupid, and we chatted for a bit and made plans to have afternoon mojitos for Sunday Funday the next day. I finally arrived at my friends' apartment where we had shots out of beakers and cabbed it down to Fiesta Cantina (quickly becoming my very favorite place) where we partied all night with some of the hottest guys I've ever seen in person (admittedly pretty torturous... but great eye candy nonetheless). I made a new BFF, Peter, a really sexy tall brunette who I hung out with all night, hand in hand, and he got me sufficiently drunk by buying me two drinks at a time. I intoxicatedly set him up for a threesome with two other sexy guys. Ha! Such is life. I've heard I'm a great matchmaker... guess it follows in the gay world too. Eventually my friends and I made it back to their apartment where I was so drunk I couldn't lay down without spinning, and was basically just a walking disaster.
We woke up the next day around 10 (thank the holy heavens I didn't have to work), though I stayed in bed 'til 1, unable to move without wanting to die instead. I texted Ken to tell him there was no way I could touch a mojito, and he agreed and suggested food instead. He called me soon after to cancel because he had to go calm down a patient in a panic, thinking his stitches were coming apart. Ew!
When I got back in the evening I freshened up and headed over to my new favorite Starbucks for my signature drink of choice and a little flirting with the boys behind the counter. I've decided to become a regular. Unfortunately, Hottie McFirecrotch wasn't working.... but one of the other hotties was.
After getting home, I spend a long while online chatting with a few different people; namely the Ex, who I've done quite a bit of texting/iming/chatting with on the phone as of late. Upon telling him about his long-lost redhead twin, he tells me he's probably evil and I should stay as far away from him as I can. And admits to maybe being a little jealous. Interesting..


Sunday
I worked all day as usual, somehow still a bit hungover. You know you've had a great time when you're hungover for two days, I always say. And it really doesn't happen often. Texted briefly with Ken about hanging out with him sometime this week... I can't say he's exceptionally attractive, but he's nice looking, passionate about what he does, ambitious, smart, and seems like a very nice guy. When I got home, one of my best friends imed me about a reggae concert on February 8th, which seemed random, considering I'm not really a huge fan of reggae or anything... I mean its ok, but I don't go out of my way to see it live. Anyway, she explained that she and this guy she's been dating for a few months were going, but that her guy was bringing one of his best friends (again, named Peter.... guess its a good name for sexy boys), who she described as REALLY REALLY HOT, and that I just had to meet him.
Ok, I'll take the bait.
So she sent me his myspace profile, and she wasn't lying. Not only does he have classically sexy, masculine good looks (strong jaw line, nice body, green eyes, tan skin, sexy smile, etc... think a young Val Kilmer) but he's really into kite surfing, he's an engineer (smart is oh-so-sexy), and is Czech.... and has a slight accent. So I start drooling on my keyboard and enthusiastically agree to go.
Ended the night as I have been for the past few weeks, texting flirty messages back and forth with the Ex. Hard to turn that back burner off, as it turns out.


Monday
After working all day, me and my friend C from work met up at my new fave Starbucks for some coffee and oogling... though yet again, my sexy redhead was nowhere to be found. The other hottie, the tall blue-eyed boy with shaggy brown hair and a disarming smile, was though, and I wasn't complaining. He made my drink and winked at me when I picked it up. C and I sat and talked awhile, and ended up going to Maki Monday since we were both starving. I managed to down a beer (after having professed that I was "never drinking again" the day before) and a few rolls. After telling her all about my most recent trip to Weho, we made plans to go next time our schedules both allow it.

Tuesday
Worked all day again (I basically live there), and found out I finally got some time off to see my family up north; coincidentally where the Ex lives as well. He seemed excited about the news and we made enthusiastic plans to spend my first day together. At lunch I texted with Weird OKC Hottie (Kelly), who insisted that we have dinner, despite having been "booked" last time he checked. I gave in and told him I hate making decisions, so he picked a Japanese place by his house, and I headed over there after work.
It was the type of place where you order a bunch of little plates of stuff, which is really awesome except when you are, again, someone who hates making decisions. I told him just to order since he knows what I like, and he did, gladly. And for whatever reason that was a huge turn on. He wrote up a list of a ton of stuff on the back of the sushi sheet and handed it to our waitress. We had an alright conversation, a little strained, but the 4 glasses of plum wine helped a lot. By the end we were flirty, we walked out holding hands, and he kissed me. We ended up back at his apartment down the street (VERY clean... almost creepy clean) and watched Planet Terror (turns out Zombies oozing pus out of large facial boils is not the most romantic thing ever, but oh well) and cuddled, and made out a lot... which was good except for once every few minutes he'd shove his tongue down my throat out of the blue and I kept saying, "dude, chill out." But it didn't work. We laid there talking for awhile (and to be perfectly honest with you, a few of his comments and big sudden changes in mood were causing my crazy radar to go off, but.... eh), and it somehow came up that he has a "type," which has turned out to be, in blunt terms, fat chicks.
He told me that, in all honesty, I was just not his type physically because I'm too skinny (his word, not mine), but he just thinks that I'm so gosh darn beautiful that it doesn't bother him. Now, in my right mind, that would be an amazing thing to hear (what girl doesn't want to be told she's almost too skinny?) but, what? You're into fat chicks? What? He told me his ideal range is 160-250. Instantly this is a huge turn off (also, keep in mind that he's about 5'6", 145 lbs), but I'm kinda buzzed still and change the subject back to making out. Eventually he walks me out and insists that he sees me again; I agree to it for whatever reason.


Wednesday
Another long, tediously slow day at work, filled with gossiping about boys and eyeing the hotties I work with (one nice perk of my job) that I have crushes on... a girl can never have too many, if you ask me. Spend an hour on the phone with the Ex after work; I still get butterflies when I see him name on the caller id. Sue me. We hung up when he got a call on the other line, and I never heard from him again.


Thursday
Finally a day off for yours truly, thank GOD. Needless to say, I did hardly anything with it, as usual (other than the same boring errands as every other day off, and a trip, of course, to my fave Starbucks for a little sight-seeing.... Firecrotch STILL not there, what the heck??), until the late afternoon when I drove a friend to the airport. I'd texted Ken (the plastic surgeon) earlier in the day to ask what his plans are, and he said we should get dinner in the Marina. After I left the airport I was on my way up to LA, but made him promise we could go somewhere super casual, as I was in a pony tail and converse (which I can assure you with the utmost honesty is not how I would EVER consider presenting myself for a first date... But I didn't have time to go all the way back to my house and change, and just thought what the hell). I got there 90 minutes later (forgot about rush hour) and met up with him at the El Torito on the water.
Having thought he was a super sweet guy, I was unpleasantly surprised that he remained on his cell phone for the first 10 minutes of the date, yelling into the phone at his assistant about why he needs the window seat in the emergency exit aisle of the plane, or he's not flying. Hot. A totally self-obsessed, mannerless control freak? Sounds good to me! When he finally hung up we started talking, only to find that he was about 1,000% more egotistical and obnoxious than I had gathered on the phone. Eventually the conversation turned to a question I'm sure anyone would naturally have on their mind: "When you meet people, are you thinking about what you could do to them to make them look better?" He answered, "only on dates," which I laughed at, assuming he was being sarcastic.
What followed was a 5 minute, hands-on examination of my forehead in El Torito (him leaning completely over the table, pulling hard at my skin and angling my head in different ways); the result of which was a suggestion for a mere 40 ccs (or oz or grams or pounds or however you measure it) of botox every five months. He attempted to lift my chin off the table (which of course had fallen open in utter shock and horror) by telling me, "don't worry! No biggie! I'll do it at cost since I know you." Well, this was off to a beautiful start.
Eventually after he realized that was maybe not the perfect first date conversation, he went on to tell me why, other than a few "minor wrinkles" forming on my head, I have the ideal face, and described in detail how each of my features are ideal (other than the disaster that's going on above my eyes, apparently): How my nose is the perfect angle and size, my eyes are the ideal distance apart and a perfect shape, etc. I told him he was full of shit and he told me he majored in Classical Art before med school, and does medical illustration on the side. Fair enough.
Somehow, after picking at my salmon fajitas, he convinced me to go to this local hot spot in Venice, called The Brig (which is pronounced with a hard G, though it looks surprisingly like my nickname) and meet up with friend he went to med school with. This was all starting to sound like some gangrape set-up, so I insisted on taking my own car. I followed him (in his obnoxious black Corvette convertible... of course) and found that the place has a huge mural on the outside of a Cougar with a painful-looking cameltoe and a much older sugardaddy. And then my name painted in huge letters above it. I SO regret not taking a picture with my camera phone (sorry, this is the best I could find). I hope this is not a glimpse into my future.
We went in and got drinks, which he said he would pay for (duh) but that I should know right now that he's not the kind of guy who is going to "take care" of anyone, and that I shouldn't expect him to pay my rent. Are you serious? We got a table and by this point he was hardly speaking (other than him telling me about growing up in Canada.... what is it with me and Canadians lately??), but was pretty much just staring at me wistfully, and for whatever reason seemed to be getting increasingly nervous. I finally asked what was up. "Honestly... the more time I spend with you, the more I realize you're really fucking cool and the more I'm worrying about impressing you." Blah blah... told me he was totally smitten, etc. I'm not sure what it is I'm doing to guys this week, but I'm casting some sort of weird spell.
So his friend arrives, and is the complete opposite of Ken; he's a total hippie pot doctor with longish hair and a very calming demeanor. I spend most of the night talking to him because he's A. really cool B. married and totally not a skeeze and C. is clearly aware that his friend Ken is a total tool shed (ie apologizing for his forehead exam, etc). After a little while he disappears to play pool and somehow Ken ends up grabbing me and kissing me. Have you ever had someone kiss you, that you were totally not into kissing, so you forget to close your eyes, and here you are, looking right at this very unsexy person trying to make out with you with their eyes closed? It's not a pretty sight. I think I kissed back for a second but he has a goatee and I got grossed out by the whole situation and told him I had to go home (to which he kept replying, "just call in sick! I'll give you a doctor's note!"). He made me promise he could see me again. (Barf.) Texted with the Ex on the drive home, and told him all about the awful date of the evening and did some flirting as per the usual, though he seemed very distracted.


Friday
Back to the ol' grindstone for me. After I got off work I was just so freaking tired I couldn't even think about anything but putting on yoga pants and writing this. Sitting on my laptop around 9:45pm, I get an IM from the friend who invited me to the reggae concert for this coming Friday. She asks what I'm doing. I say nothing. She tells me she's sitting outside the random bar down the street, about to meet up with her boy and The Sexy Czechy and that she refuses to go inside until I get there. So I'm running around like a chicken with it's head cut off, trying to throw on something cute and put back on the makeup I'd rubbed off and make myself presentable enough to meet a MAJOR hottie.
I rush over and we meet up, I introduce myself, and spend the remainder of the night doing one of the following things: A. briefly flirting with him B. forgetting about/ignoring him (extremely effective when attempting to smittify [v: to woo someone into smitten-ness] those who are exceptionally attractive; it catches them off guard) C. making fun of all the ridiculous dancers at this really strange, trashy club in the middle of suburbanville, or D. drinking. By the end of the night, The Sexy Czechy was pretty much following me around like a puppy and his body language was a big "I have a big crush on you" billboard. After he bought me another drink I told him we had to go, and as the four of us departed, he grabbed my hand and held it all the way out to the car, where he insisted I give him my number (though I very coolly suggested he get my "contact info" from his friend when he said he had to see me again) hugged me for an extra long time, and then kissed me. And then again as I was getting in the car. Mission accomplished.
Texted with the Ex when I got home; didn't mention tonight's new boy. Got online and found this guy (we'll call him Fick) that found me on OKCupid (we've been iming/texting/talking on the phone, you know the drill) was online. He imed me and invites me to Taco Tuesday this week at his usual place, where I have never been, and tells me he's burning me a mixtape. Hot!


Saturday (yesterday)
The last day of our fiscal year at work, and completely out of control, but very financially successful. C and I met up afterwards at le Starbucks for some hottie-watching... yet again, the redhead wasn't there! What the f-! But as always, the cute shaggy-haired guy was working. As he was making my drink, he started making some awkward conversation with me.

"How's your night going?"
"...eh...Good.... how's yours?"
"Good now, I'm about to get off."
"Cool.... how long have you worked here?"
"Since July. Where do you work?" I told him, he asked me which location, I told him, he asked me what part. Hmm.
He finished making my drink and went to hand it to me, but took it back and looked at my name on the side, "B*******, huh?"
"Yep."
"Well mine's Randall. It's nice to finally meet you," ....uh.... "You were in here the other day right? You were sitting over in that corner for awhile, on your phone?"
".... yeah."
"Cool... (about 10 seconds of really intense eye contact) Well it was nice to meet you, B*******." And winked.

So I go sit with C, and after a few minutes he comes over with a tray of samples, which he offers to me, using my name. Oh jeez.
My roommate calls me and talks me into going with her to a party that's being thrown by a guy she was friends with in college, but hasn't talked to in over a year, and won't know anyone. Me and C rush back to my house, throw on heels and more appropriate party attire (uggs and a polo just weren't gonna do it for me) and head over to a house party that turns out to be straight out of a movie. They have a huge, very nice house in the pocket of a culdesac, that is the quintessential bachelor pad: four 25 year old guys living in a house complete with a pool table, a "love den" (seriously... a sunken room with shag carpets bean bag chairs and a fireplace), two gigantic tvs, Wii, a full built-in bar, a beer pong room, and (cherry on the sundae) a stripper pole. Needless to say, all of those elements were utilized by all three of us at some point during the night, though not necessarily in that order.
As it turns out, her friend from college throwing the party is VERY cute, VERY funny, VERY nice, and VERY flirty. Throughout the night we hung out and flirted and took shots and such every once in awhile, and I was crushing on him in a big way (though I think he's just a flirty guy). At some point I start telling him and his roommates about this guy I went out with the other day that likes fat chicks (Kelly, the weird OKC hottie), and since there were a few at the party, we decide its a good idea to call him and tell him to come over and meet them, which I do. In my drunken state this seemed like a fabulous plan, but as it turned out, he was incredibly clingy to start off with (for example, kept KISSING me in front of the guy throwing the party, and all the other cute guys I'd been flirting with all night.... what a cockblock) and then hurt that I was "trying to pawn him off," and then was totally dramatic when I was trying to explain that him liking fat chicks is just kind of a huge turn off and it was just not going to work out between us, even though I am painfully attracted to him and he really hasn't done anything wrong.... literally to a point where my friends had to come over and talk him out of bursting into tears. He finally says he has to go, and wouldn't even hug me goodbye. It was horrendous, and in hindsight I realize I was probably being a very awful (and drunk) person but at the time I thought I was doing the right thing. Eh.
My friends and I leave around 3:30am because 2/3 of us had to work today (me and C unfortunately) though the party was still definitely going strong. Her sexy friend walks out with us, with his arm around my waist and asks if he'll see me again, I tell him to call me (and then recall the drunken note I scribbled on the back of a receipt I found on his desk that says "Dear J***, you're cute, I wanted you to know I think so, call me love, B*******" except with no phone number, that I left on his laptop)
Finally, around 4 in the morning I crawl into my bed, drunk as a skunk and dreading work today.


Today
Got ready for work slowly and carefully, as to not wake the hangover monster lurking inside of me. Turns out only C and I were working, so it turned out to be a pretty fun day.
Headed over to le Starbucks after work to grab a coffee, but neither hottie was there. Came home and started this entry (literally HOURS ago), and got an im from the Ex, saying that he doesn't know why he "always lies" to me. GREAT. He fills me in on everything he's really been doing this week, though he's been telling me completely other things all along: meeting some girl visiting from Kentucky, spending almost every night with her at his friend's house, hooking up with her, taking her to the airport, and now missing her and talking to her all the time. Once again, the Ex has the uncanny ability to make me go from happy-go-lucky to sick-to-my-stomach anxious in less than 10 seconds. Eventually I told him I couldn't talk about it anymore, and after apologizing to me extensively, he was off to bed with the resolution to be a better person to me from now on.
I'll believe it when I see it.

Other than that crap, which I'm really over (though I've been saying that for three years and my feelings still haven't changed, which I wish I could explain), there are a lot of promising things happening this week; mainly Taco Tuesday with Fick, and the reggae concert on Friday. I haven't heard from Czech Peter since we met on Friday, but I figure maybe he's following the three-day rule.

Should be another good week. I'll try to fill you in on a more consistent basis, if schedule allows. :)


(P.S. Talk about recovering from a dry spell!)

Happy Birthday, Kristin Cavalleri

Turns out Miss Cavalleri celebrated her 21st birthday at Stone Rose Lounge with Paris Hilton and Cisco Adler, which is the same spot I went to on a date with Zoolander (as mentioned in Rich Guys Pt II). Small world.

Rich Guys, Pt II

Thinking you've found "the one" before you've met said "one" really only sets you up for a healthy dose of disappointment, I've found.

As I've mentioned before in my post Rich Guys and Kelly Clarkson, I playfully signed up for a website called Millionaire Match, which has all kinds of people, but more importantly rich, handsome, entrepreneurial ones (what could be better, I ask). The interesting thing about the site is that when you sign up for it, it asks if you make over $150 grand a year. If you say no, you are grouped in the non-millionaire club and there is nothing on your profile related to income. If you say that you make $150+, you are asked to specify (the max category they offer is $1Billion a year, but I have yet to see one of those profiles). For those wealthy members that want to obliterate any shred of doubt, there is a Certified Millionaire option, where they can fax in their W4s from the previous year to verify that they do, in fact, make as much money as they claim they do. These members receive a sparkling ruby emblem on their profile next to their yearly income.


And after exchanging a few lighthearted emails with the hot Persian fashion mogul I mentioned in Rich Guys, we decided we were going to hang out. We spent a few weeks texting for days and spending hours on the phone chatting and laughing, and it seemed clear that we had chemistry. I found him on the pompous side (his entire profile is quoted directly from Zoolander.... as in "I'm sure there's more to life than being really really ridiculously good looking"... you know what I mean) and he makes a lot of comments like "try not to daydream about me too much," but I took them with a grain of salt and figured he had a healthy sense of humor. Plus, in his pictures he looks like he actually is ridiculously good-looking. And to make matters better, he's under 30, is totally intelligent, makes me laugh like crazy, and is certified as making $1Million+ a year. Not bad.

The day finally came to hang out with the hot Persian fashion mogul (or Zoolander, as he will now be referred to) and I was beyond nervous. I spent the day shopping for new clothes (they had to at least look expensive... he's not only rich beyond reason but also owns a clothing company for God's sakes), getting my nails done, tanning, exfoliating, deep conditioning, moisturizing, and so on. Forget any flaws he might have; I wanted to seem as flawless as possible, since on paper this guy was just that.

I told him that I was going to meet up with an old friend for a little while before we hung out, which he said was totally fine as he'd be getting home from the gym and showering at that point. As it turned out, my old friend likes to talk a lot (I guess I had forgotten that part) and our one drink turned into a long-ass dinner. Except that I didn't eat anything but a bloody mary because me and Zoo were supposed to eat at some chic new restaurant in Weho, so I sat there wishing he would eat faster and staring at his delicious-looking mashed potatoes. I texted Zoolander a few times, apologizing profusely for my tardiness, but he assured me it was no problem at all. I finally got out of there and rushed over to his hot Hollywood home, now 45 minutes late.

The directions he gave me were clear, and he described his house as the one with a lot of lights and a yellow Corvette in the driveway. He was right; of the whole street, his house was by far the most well-lit, which showcased an amazing modern style concrete porch area sitting proudly in front of a three story house and beautiful landscape. And the yellow Corvette was not the only flashy car in his long driveway.... only the brightest. I knocked on the door, shaking a bit and trying to breathe deeply.

When he opened it, I was actually relieved to see he wasn't as perfect as I imagined. He stood at about 5'8" and had a big nose and a white blazer over a blue shirt. He was extremely welcoming though, and after asking for it gave me a little tour of his house. It was very lightly furnished; he told me he hadn't lived there long and was remodeling it. He showed me his kitchen (my favorite part of any house) and it was surprisingly small. I found a small Menorah in a glass cabinet. "Are you Jewish?" "Only on holidays," he told me. He took me upstairs and showed me his rec room, music room, art room, lofts, and finally his master bedroom - complete with the most gigantic, mahogany 4-poster bed, which he said he got in an auction of late 16th century royal furniture. I tried not to act too impressed. We went back downstairs.

The one thing I couldn't take my eyes off of, though, was a wall-sized painting of the famous moment when Britney Spears and Madonna kissed on stage at the MTV VMA's. I asked about it, and he told me he painted it, along with a few ocean scenes hanging in the kitchen that also closely resembled photographs. Impressive! He said he was working on a collection of important moments in Pop Culture.... sexy.

I sat down in his living room in front of his 50" Flat Panel Plasma TV hanging on the wall to watch some music videos while he made us drinks and called a cab. We chatted and drank until it arrived. He said it seemed a bit late for dinner but we should go out for some drinks and maybe an appetizer. As much as I had been totally starving, I had already started to get my buzz on and had pretty much lost my appetite anyway.

We got in the cab and sped off to the Sofitel's Stone Rose Lounge, a totally swanking hotel bar that was packed with good-looking LA socialites. He asked if they were still serving appetizers - the cocktail waitress said they had closed the kitchen an hour ago. He handed her something, and asked, "are you sure?" She scurried off and came back with good news. We ordered some crab thing (I was too drunk at this point to really care about reading the menu) and got a table. We sat intimately close, which somehow seemed comfortable already. There was just something about him I connected to. It didn't have anything to do with what he does or what he has, but there's just something about him that puts me at ease.

We laughed about how we had come about the Millionaire site; my story paled in comparison to his: Running on the treadmill at the gym next to Tommy Lee (yes, THE Tommy Lee) working on his laptop simultaneously, he told him he thought that was a great idea to bring a laptop to the gym. "I'm on this website, its amazing. You gotta join it," Tommy told him. Millionaire Match, no less. He was sold. (And so am I!)

Our crab thing came and it turned out to be A-MAZING... some totally rich crab/mayo mix on top of sticky rice and stuff, but he wouldn't eat any of it. "Oh my god," I said, "You don't eat shellfish. Why didn't you say something??" Duh. He's Jewish. I'm an idiot. He took a few bites and mmm-ed a little bit to make me feel better. I ate a few more bites and left the rest.

After a few more impressive speciality martinis we headed outside to a glass firepit and continued our conversation. The thing I found most surprising about him was that his cockiness (in jest or not) totally disappeared in person. He seemed completely humbled, and come to think of it, sort of in awe of me. Not that I think I deserve that kind of reaction, but it was certainly nice coming from someone that I was totally intimidated by prior to our meeting.

We got up to leave (I a little unbalanced no less) and he took my hand. Almost outside he stopped and turned to me, and leaned in close. "There's just... something about you... something I'm drawn to, I feel like I can't get enough of you." My heart raced. I smiled and played it cool. He kissed me. My heart raced faster. I kissed back. We pulled away and smiled at each other close.

We practically skipped out to the front, giddy in our newly discovered intimacy. He asked a doorman for a cab, and tipped him when it pulled up. He told the cabbie his address and made out in the backseat like teenagers for a few blocks. He pulled away suddenly, and sat straight up. "Why are you taking Santa Monica," he asked sternly. The cabbie explained he couldn't turn around on the street we'd been on. He pushed. "We could have taken Robertson, why didn't we take Robertson?" They argued back and forth 'til we pulled up to his house. He paid and we walked inside.

"Was that guy trying to stiff me??"

I wasn't sure how to respond. Was he really that concerned with a few extra dollars? Even I wouldn't have given it a second thought, and with my monthly salary being less than what he makes in a single day, I couldn't understand his frustration.

"No... I don't think so. It sounded like he had a reason to go that way."

He insisted he was trying to pull a fast one on him. I suggested that maybe he had a family at home he was struggling to take care of. He told me that wasn't his problem. After a few minutes of this, I tried to reason with him.

"Do you realize how many seconds it takes you to make $3?"

That seemed to calm him down. He made us some more drinks and we cozied up on the couch and made out playfully 'til the wee hours of the morning. I told him I had to leave, he asked me if I wanted to stay. He was worried about my driving after having had quite a few drinks and being tired.

I was so concerned with not staying at his house that I convinced not only him, but myself, that I would be just fine to make the trip home. We made out for the next 20 minutes, slowly inching our way to the door, where we said a sad goodbye and I got in my car and took off, only to realize that I was definitely too drunk to be driving.

(Sidenote: I do NOT under any circumstances condone drunk driving. In fact, I am extremely against it and am always 100% willing to pick up my friends anywhere in the middle of the night, no matter how late. This was a mistake all the way, and one that I won't make again!)

I tried to turn around and go back to his house so I could stay the night, but was lost in a matter of minutes. I drove around for two hours before I was able to find my way to the freeway to get out of LA, and another hour on the freeway back to my house.

Upon arriving home, I burst into tears, never so relieved to be alive.


On a happier note, other than the totally obvious display of awful stereotypical behavior (and I HATE stereotyping) during the second cab ride, I think it was a pretty successful date. He's out of town for a month, but I guess we'll see what happens when he gets back!

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.

Rich guys and Kelly Clarkson.

One of my favorite ways to spend a day off is to sit at home at the dining room table with my roommate. I think it's one of those "you'd have to be there" things, but we sit around on our laptops, watching tv and iming each other links to funny things.

Today was no exception. We've spent many a day off (and some evenings into the wee early hours of the morning when bottles of wine are involved) signing up for dating sights, only to find that the others enrolled are some of the most unattractive and socially-stunted people possible... unless you're into bottom feeder types. We basically spend most of this time sending each other links to the worst profiles we can find.

So we're sitting there, with Tila Tequila on in the background (why does she get a Shot of Love? She's a hoebag in the body of an 11 year old Asian girl) and my roommate somehow stumbles upon a website called "Millionaire Match."

Now, boys and girls, before you get your lacy underthings in a bunch, I wouldn't date someone just because they were rolling in dough. However, I am human. And I'm a girl. And I'm 23. And there is definitely some allure to dating some wealthy, handsome entrepreneur who wants to sweep me off my feet in his Maserati and whisk me away to Monaco. I'm just saying.

So of course, we did as we usually do, and signed the hell up for this thing.

Now, just like you I'm sure, I was expecting to find nothing but old, unattractive, married pervs who were looking for a "sugar baby" or whatever other sickening name you might use to describe a girlfriend who you pay to love you. But what I found completely shocked me.

I can't tell you how many especially good looking, positive, funny, intelligent, very wealthy, and NEARBY guys are on this thing! It's unbelievable. So we start browsing through these profiles and find MORE than enough guys to decide that this website is right up our alley.

I've found around 10 totally stellar guys who I "winked" at.... the website only allows you to initiate email conversations if you are a "premium" member (and I make it a policy to NEVER pay for an online dating website, that's just a whole new level), and a few of them have already emailed back. A male underwear model, a hot Persian Fashion mogul, an adorable blue eyed Psychiatrist working at the UCLA medical center... I could go on. And they're all under 32!

Pinch me?

All the while, we're listening (/belting) to Kelly Clarkson's "Miss Independent." Oh the irony.

Miss independent
Miss self-sufficient
Miss keep your distance, mmmm

Miss unafraid
Miss out of my way
Miss don't let a man interfere, no

Miss on her own
Miss almost grown
Miss never let a man help her off her throne

So, by keeping her heart protected
She'll never, ever feel rejected
Little miss apprehensive
Said ooh, she fell in love

(Chorus)
What is this feeling taking over?
Thinking no one could open the door
Surprise, it's time, to feel what's real
What happened to miss independent's no longer need to be defensive?
Goodbye, old you, when love, is true

(Verse 2)
Misguided heart
Miss play it smart
Miss if you wanna use that line, you better not start, no

But she miscalculated
She didn't wanna end up jaded
And this miss decided not to miss out on true love

So, by changing a misconception
She went in a new direction
And found inside, she felt a connection
She fell in love

(Bridge)
When miss independent walked away
No time for love that came her way
She looked in the mirror and thought today
What happened to miss no longer afraid?
It took some time for her to see
How beautiful love could truly be
No more talk of why can't that be me
I'm so glad I've finally seen

P.S. I would just like to say a huge THANK YOU to all of you who have been spreading the word about my blog.... I went from around 7 hits a day to 97 already today! You guys are awesome, I really appreciate it. Muah muah muah!