Sunday, September 2, 2012

kiss me you, foolishly.

i have written this before and will again until my at peaced 85 year old body is pushed out to sea on a burning raft after being ravaged by the scientific masses as they harvested my organs. whoever is in charge of this morbid endeavor should probably really like me as the risk of going to jail for setting human remains on fire and pushing them out to sea is very great.

can you tell that this, the above mentioned subject is one that i am tired of talking about? okay, okay. the subject is the crushing weight of pedestals and the weighty crush of the crush.

when i worked at the LT, there were five scenarios i was made aware of involving people who had crushes on me, their polite but distant, clumsy but competent server.

the first scenario, which i have written about before, ended with me dating the guy for about five minutes.  if by date you count me listening to him whine about his ex and recite sonnets on how afraid of commitment he was.  For six months this guy came in and made lovely small talk with me until one day a friend of his outed him and he was forced to ask for my number. auspicious beginnings, man, you guys seem to be so great with them.

scenario number two was a lot weirder. a guy came in wearing chefs whites and ordered a pizza to go. he began doing this once a week, the same time every week.  every week he would stand and chat at me longer and longer. every week his appearance became more disheveled and his actions toward me more erratic until one day he brought me flowers and stood way too close to me while tracing the outline of one of the tattoos on my arm.  after that day i refused to wait on him.  he came back once more on a day i happened to be late and became totally irate when he found out that i was not there. my boss 86'd him and threatened a restraining order.  an off duty cop sitting in the restaurant helped to underline the point.  the guy never came back.

scenario number three was more innocent but still off-putting than the other two and happened about a year ago.  this guy who was friends with friends confessed to one that he found me to be something or another in a positive way, so i, being unafraid of anything, least of all something romantic, went right up to the guy and talked his face off. he was delighted. we made plans.  though we were mutually enamored, the timing could not have been less brilliant so we kept missing each other. until we finally didn't.  and then he moved out of state for school. to this day he wonders why i do not any longer give out the time of day.

scenario number four is the one that pisses me off the most.  anyone who has read me has to see that i shy away from drug use and do not date guys who so much as smoke pot.  i get that some of you probably think that i am a hypocrite because i drink socially. whatever. i do not care. you do what you do, i do what i do. if we are suppose to, ahem, do it together, great, if not, not.  any way. this guy sent me some heart felt crap about having met me a few times and being really into me and reading all of my stuff and wanting to buy me a drink.  i say crap now because, let's face it, hindsight is 420, right?  at the time i was flattered and so done wading through actual dating that i thought it would be fun to talk to someone artistic and poetic and not afraid to put themselves out there.  so, we met up.  my heart sunk a bit because, though i did not think he was stoned (he was), i knew that he was a stoner. our conversation was disjointed, he was self centered, and spent much of the time doodling.  after this half assed attempt to get to know me better, he took my hand and lead me to his house.  the night ended with me annoyingly unaffected.  i could not go where he thought i should and he could not give me one good reason to stay and melt.  we never spoke again and i do not know that i could pick the guy out of a line up.

scenario five is more of the same crap. some guy who knows some guy i know confesses to said guy that he thinks i am above average awesome, guy tells me in confidence because guy has a shrew of a woman or some such nonsense. i pay no heed until friend guy gets me all riled up some months later when they break up. i do my best to put a 'hi' in the ring and am met with a wet floor sign.

you may be reading this and thinking,or saying in a comment, maybe, that i am a bitch and should be happy that so many people find me blah blah blah.  huh. really? i should be flattered that all these guys and then some are hoisting my body, face, mannerisms and small talk up on this huge fucking pedestal? they look at me from so many angels and for so long that i actually turn to stone. so, when i, the real 'cass' show up and see them gazing up at my likeness adoringly and say hey, they piss their pants and run away? 

it did not quite happen that way in Pygmalion, now did it?

so, all of you out there biking through traffic, staring at online profiles, filling beer glasses. all of you painting murals, spinning records, stirring pots.  all of you, the crushed, the crush, the crushing, daydreaming about a face, a look, a gesture. he she they are real and you may want to be ready for when they peak out from behind that still in your mind. the one with the tossing hair and toothy smile. because they may be ready to be more than just your mind.

Wednesday, August 8, 2012


when i was little, i was a total barbie girl. not to say i had a spray tan and a blond wig, just that i was very, very fond of the dolls. my mom thought me adorable and so indulged me 100 percent.  i guess what is making me think of this is that, at the tender age of 8, i seemed to have a complete grasp of what dating in my twenties would be like.

see, my barbies all had jobs. some were teachers, some models, some musicians, some even ran a McDonald's.  it was kind of all about the accessories of the week.  stumbling on a tiny doctor's kit meant that barbie was donning a lab coat after spending ten years in college.  however, if it was the week i could sneak playing with my twin brother's ninja turtles pizza parlor, well, barbie was making the pizza-pies.

no matter what she was doing, though, barbie was well dressed, well liked, and having a great time.  she went grocery shopping, out to shows with her friends, whatever.

and barbie was quite the dater.

at first i only had this slicked hair creepo 80s ken who was only made worse when i added a pen mustache.  i did not know much about pedophiles at the time, but even i was nervous in my imaginary world about letting ken near skipper.

so, though ken hung out and was a part of the scene, he never really gelled with barbie.  and that was when the new kids on the block dolls came out.  i had to have one. of each. of course.  and was rewarded one christmas with the whole set plus the nkotb stage.  heaven.

so, barbie took her time and went out with them all, sometimes more than once with joey, the favorite.  but it never seemed to be as much fun as playing careers or friendships.  i guess my extremely young mind did not really know what grown ups did on dates that would create lasting connections, and i certainly did not know what was expected to happen after those promising dates came to a close.

sure, i got the whole marriage thing, but was never really sure why the chicken (marriage) ever came before the egg (children).   so, when a baby barbie was brought into the mix, barbie married joey.  mostly this just meant that joey sat in a chair in the barbie mansion while barbie got on with her life...don't look at me like that, i was just a kid.

now that you think i am crazy, let me explain.  when i was a kid, i was playing with just the one male character type. it did not really work out, so i sort of abandoned the concept, not being able to fully understand why i would want to include a male at all.  maybe, had i continued to play with dolls way passed the point of acceptable age, i would have diversified and had more fun with a male partner in crime.

what i am relating this to, i guess, is my early to mid twenties.  i was so busy working, meeting people, and having fun, and was seeming to gravitate toward the same type over and over, so i just kind of stopped bothering for awhile.  i am happy to know, that unlike barbie, i have stuck it out for long enough to realize the possibilities out there.

Friday, August 3, 2012

Tips To Make Your Server Not Hate You. Six Six. Six. Fun! Devil Numbers!

50.  no substitutions.  but i get it, as i am the queen of such things. i know that i am a pain in the ass, though, and usually end up eating at home.  substitutions suck because they ruin the flavor profile, but also they really fuck up the timing of the kitchen.  your fancy, expensive, wow-factor dish may have been created by a brilliant chef, but it is being executed by his minions who thrive by making the same dish over and over again until they can make it while sleep walking.  throw a ticket of substitutions in the mix and you are throwing off the order of the whole kitchen, not only slowing down your own finicky order, but also that of those around you.  usually, if it is a busy service and i am taking multiple table orders, i will put in the table with modifiers last, no matter what, to make sure my other tables get what they order before the high maintenance table.

51.  do not try to sneak by the host and sit at an empty table.  they will not blush and let you sit there because they are so clever.  someone, namely a server has let them know you have seated yourself because we hate that and since they deal with it all the time and are totally stressed out and underpaid, they will make you wait. for a long time as punishment.

52.  do not try to bribe us.  okay, please do. we will take the money and then take off.  i work in a busy restaurant and everyone is trying to get to the roof top patio, but once capacity hits, everybody waits. i wish just once someone would try to bribe me so i could literally take money for nothing.

53. let us talk. in english. soooooo rude to speak around me/to me/about me in another language.  i do not expect everyone to speak english, but if you do, please do.

54. i want to hold your hand. no. i don't. but i do want you to hand me your money/card/id when i ask for it.  when i card someone and they toss their id at me, it makes me want to throw it at them. how rude. hand the fucking thing to me. i am not some poor servant groveling at your feet. once a guy tossed his id to me and it landed on the floor. he made no move to pick it up. i told him i could not serve him because i was pretty sure he was carrying a fake. sorry dude.

55. read the menu.  i am not psychic, though i know when you will be a pain in the ass. if i bring out your loaded hash and it turns out you have an aversion to pork, well, i hope someone at the table is all for a heaping plate of greasy potatoes, because you got what you asked for.

56. again, be cool. if you are that jerk wad who wants to blame me for the mess of pork on his hash browns, well, fuck you.  if you are sheepish and understand that this is your fuck up, and not mine, i will take that mound of gross out of your way and get you something else.

57. sup girl? can i get that hot thang over there a drink? sure. talking like that though, i am going to reassure her that the drink has not been altered and that she should steer clear of your axe wearing ass. unless she is a dumb slut. then, you are welcome.

58. the magic of proposals. right. we had our first date here and now i want to  propose to my girlfriend and it should all be perfect over dessert or cocktails or whatever. cute, yes. but we cannot promise that the cast of hundreds around you is going to cooperate, so please keep that in mind.

59. cash or tab?  it is midnight. everyone is drunk, so why do you think that you are the one lucky guy who gets to drink without a tab? you think you are not capable of getting even  more drunk and sweaty and forgetting all about the 3 jag bombs you just did? tough. shit. your server will dangle your drinks or food or whatever in front of you until you pony up. and yes, we do have all night. just be mindful of the guy at the table next to you who is much bigger and meaner who you are keeping from getting another drink for his barbie.

Wednesday, July 4, 2012

Tips To Make Your Server Not Hate. Five For Five.

Yup. I am at it again. Thought that i totally exhausted my list, but with a new restaurant comes fresh, hideously bad behavior. why is eating and drinking so complicated? If you missed volumes one through four, feel free to dig through my (ha) extensive archives. they are good for a laugh. unless they are about you. in that

41. get out of my way. seriously. you see me, now move. no? then i push. no again? well, the screw on my wine key draws blood. i know from experience.  accidents happen.  uniform shirts made out of spikes are kind of a server's daydream.

42.  get out of the places you are not suppose to be.  employees only, get it? no hidden door, no secret hallways, no magic carpet rides up to the patio. this is not mario brothers. 

43.  you know the owner? you are with the owner? you are the owner?   good for you. now can i please get back to my job serving all of the tables who are lining the pockets of your good friend/companion/you?  and yeah, i get it. you are a big deal. in japan. here we just talk shit about you behind your back.

44.  stop holding my tables hostage. yup. your friends are on the way. stuck in traffic, lost, overdosing on heroin. whatever. they. are.not. here. so why the fuck are you taking up that table for ten and nursing a water?  i will let you stay if you have ten cocktails and three appetizers...

45.  happy hour is in twenty minutes. you want to be the cheap fuck who sits there sipping water until the clock strikes whatever o'clock? well, prepare to wait even longer because when the time does come for you to save a buck a drink, you are the last on my list. and you will be all night long.

46.  tip on the total bill.  your friend puts in twenty bucks cash and you put the difference on your card? tip on the bill, not the seven dollars you are paying for.  you have a buy one get one discount? we still did the work of buy one get none. tip on the total bill. fuck, i wish i did not have to spell this shit out.

47.  do not fight gratuity.  you may be the coolest table ever, and man do we want to take our chances with you. you loved us. we loved you. we are practically facebook friends!!!  but we cannot argue with policy. see, we have to grat parties over blah blah blah and we have to do it consistently. because there may not be a party as cool as you who see it and squawk. we need to know that we can tell them it is policy. if we are awesome, tip more. if we suck, talk to the manager. nothing is written in stone.

48.  please do not be dumb enough to put a tiny child on a bar stool. or to put a booster chair on a slippery, cushy booth.  i know, happy hour is usually in the bar, and it is far more enjoyable to face a whole night with baby jane while shit faced for a few dollars less, or to sit you widening ass on squishy upholstery while you manhandle your chicken alfredo, but please, think of the children.  i have seen not one but several kids get seriously hurt face planting onto the table after rocking their booster forward in a booth.  and i will not even tell you what happened when a two year old fell off a bar stool at a restaurant where i worked. okay i will tell you. she almost died.

49.  you do not want to know all about me.  you do not need to quiz me on things like my marital status, education level, previous employment.  you are not interviewing me. you are not a literary agent or a potential boyfriend. ( because if i found one of those where i work, i would probably drop dead on the spot. not good for anyone.)  all i am saying is, picture a day at your work. now tell me when those kinds of inquiries are appropriate.

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

So Much Slower. (Fiction)

The walk from the cab to the door is so much slower. Oppressive heat.  I will fall down, later, but not right now.  Falling down is what I fear but do not think, here at the beginning, that my fears will come to fruition.

My dress does not stretch to meet my needs. It does not quite cover the black strapless and threatens to flash the flesh colored Playboy boy shorts pulled in to place to protect the world from my erotically staged tattoos.  A tight tube of black crochet and dangerous heels. Flaming curls and lip gloss.

The walk from the cab to the door is so much slower.  We saunter inside, our mini-entourage of misfits.  Fumbling for ID, for money, for tickets.  Bewildered by requests we knew would be made of us.  We blink at the candlelight, freezing for one second before paving the way to the patio.

A bar has been erected outside.  There stand people I know, people I have known, people who will soon forget me if he ever actually tells anyone he is no longer in my life.  I speak at them, the same gibberish bullshit I have been spouting all day long.  The heat and the once an hour whiskey has me thoroughly bummed out.  I am tired of talking shit and taking it from people gargling marbles.  My brain had a break today, all day.  I want to turn back on.  I am happy in the company of those I keep, but I feel like I am waiting for someone, for something.  A drink, for now, will do.  We sprawl out in the weather as everyone else chooses the ten degree temperature departure inside.  I scan for him, for them, really, the one I want to see, and the one I want to talk to.  I would like a do over. to meet again, for the first time.  Would I do it all again?  Would I do it all over again?  Would I do the one and not the other? Did I even have a choice?  I will find out later, before I fall on the floor, that no, I never had a choice.  Rejection will fall gently, somewhat on dead ears.  It's all rose petals and absinthe in this place.

The walk from the table into the bar is so much slower.  I am hindered by heels stuck to the bottom of giraffe legs.  Uneasy, shapely stilts.  the legs of the insured.  the legs of the assured.  Legs that stop traffic and move ships.  I am told, and do believe.  That fact will not save me from self consciousness and those more casually dressed.

He is not here, but will be.  He also, is not here, but will be.  I am comfortable with this knowledge as I hug the bar, my drink, a smoke.  the buzz makes me warm, comfortable.  I will be surprised later at the angry marks on my feet.  I feel nothing right now, no pain. Not even when I fall, which does happen, later.

He appears, a mirage, halfway through my first drink.  He looks so good to me, so bad for me, so bad to me.  He thinks me self centered, not selfish, self assured, not stuck up, Unaware of anything going on around me.  He is right. I am generous in the right lighting, the right mood.  These are the things he hates about me. That I do not need him to tell me how to look pretty at myself, that I know when to draw a cartoon or bring him a cookie.  He wants me to forget how to behave because he forgot how to not be an asshole.

He hugs me, I look passed him, now that he is here, I am bored with the concept of his arrival.  wrapped in a cocoon of inebriation, I breath and watch, waiting for whatever I am waiting for to reveal itself.  I know it's a person, male, but otherwise, I am in the dark.

My friends are bored.  We move around, trying to get comfortable, cats in a patch of sun.  I am always happy around people.  I am never trying to find a fuck. or a husband.  they always find me, eventually.  Tonight I tower over the masses.  Some bitch with funny hair and a painted face looks at me like I am the freak.  Men part the seas.  I have the eyes of the blind: for no one.

The walk from the bar to him, the him, the other him, is so much slower.  The answer to my question is revealed in the form of a friend.  He looks good, too, without needing the tie or the hair gel.  A pipe dream. A pipe. I made him a cartoon once about being my drug dealer. I still have some pot, hash.  the silent killer of so many love-times. I stopped being a hypocrite and put away my rolling papers.

Hover.  He sits, I sit.  He stands, I stand. I shiver and sigh and shimmy like a sex worker.  Two drinks in and is there anyone in this fucking bar?  I look to my right, he is there, I look up, he is here, I look to my left and am assaulted by the look of the glum.  I shrug and turn back to where the center seems to lie.  The guys go outside, I sit and chew on and spit out words as my mind wanders to where they have gone. Outside.

The walk from the bar to the patio is so much slower.  My friend, he takes me in, seemingly for the first time all night.  In that moment this dress was a good choice.  The other one, he gave me a cursory once over.  No love there.  I look good, after he looks good.

The heat sucks.  I say as much.  We can smoke inside, so why don't we?  He is so sober, I am so fucked.  Not quite fucked up yet, but well on my way.  It occurs to me at this point that there may be more to life than watching this bartender out of the corner of my eye while sitting on a stool trying not to fidget.

My focus is dragged back to what he is telling me, about a boring girl who is good in bed and why everything ends after two months and how nice it is to stick your dick in someone.  I ask pertinent questions and here lies that soft rejection wrapped in an arm full of compliments.  He has been waiting for her all night. she doesn't show.  I don't feel bad for anyone involved. I know that tonight I could get what I want in a very small dose, but he knows that I don't want that, will never want that in any dose not lethal, so we will sit and chat and I will drink and the chasm will close up, maybe once and for all.

People move in and the conversation stops. for a moment phantom traces of cocaine flashbacks cloud my blood and I have too much energy.  It is hot, my heart palpitates and I decide that one of my female companions must learn to waltz. now. She is as drunk as I am, so dipping her proves impossible, and this, this is the moment where I fall down.  I do not laugh as it is not funny. embarrassing and made so much worse when I look up to meet the disapproving eyes of the bartender.  I am tired and ashamed.  He doesn't even have to say all of the things he says. I know. I sit in silence. Overwhelmed by the need to fuck off.  Girl and boy friend bond. I let them, someone should be happy, get lucky, tonight.

The walk from the bar to his car is so much faster. He drops me off, attempting to push away my sadness with words to admonish the bartender, a hug, a joke.  He goes on to take girl home.  what happens next in their story, I do not know, am not allowed to care.  I sit and smoke with my friends as the arrive on the stoop one by one, telling my tale.  Each offers words of wisdom against the bartender and fists of single friends I should be perfect for.  Inside is so hot. I can't stay here. So I make a phone call and try not to pass out.  He drives by a few times, my friends don't bother to tell me.  He honks, angry.  It is 3:30 AM.

the walk from the house to his car is so much faster.  I apologize for my friends, while he spits insults at their retreating, oblivious figures.  I apologize again for falling, trying my hardest to come off more sober than I could possibly be.  We find our final destination. I sway with my cigarette letting his words, the I love yous wash over me and fall to the ground.   I should not be here right now, but right now I don't know where else I should be.  the walk from his side inside is so much faster.  My head hit the pillow, cool sheets, familiar walls.  I will deal with this tomorrow. right now, I just want to forget all about falling and falling down.

should we get naked?

we are all just sitting, standing around feeling the same way. the same exact way. like making out. don'tcha just feel like grabbing that girl, that guy, that figment of your fucking imagination and kissing them til they get that annoying kool aid stache?

when was the last time you kept creeping up her shirt and she kept slapping your hand, because that is what we do. we set boundaries. we scold.

when was the last time you kept creeping up her shirt and she did not stop you? because, guess what, we are human, too.

my breathing is getting a little funny. i should probably stop writing now. and maybe get a life. just saying, though. one of the things i miss most about make believe is the believe part.

Sunday, June 17, 2012

i am kind of a big deal.

i am kind of a big deal.

in my bath tub. water displacement and all that jazz. and that is where my kind of a big deal status ends.

that being said, i am amazed at how many fantastic, if not totally generic compliments i get every single day from this site. i have to wonder, though, why do these compliments not get me feeling all warm and gooey? well, because they feel copied and pasted. see for yourself, the eerie similarities:

Hi there gorgeous ;).

 your photogenic I like it haha

Hi. You are absolutely beautiful all i can say...your gorgeous...

Ur amazing

your very cute

you look very beautiful with youe eyes expression!! :)

you so hot
Hey you lookin.great

You are super cute !

You are very attracting! Nice photo's

damn your fine

Hey beautiful

and this is just one day. i am not poking fun at anyone or saying that they should not compliment people. i just wonder if we all should not be throwing our warm fuzzies out more regularly, and to people's faces. myself included.

So beautiful.I think we should fall In Love

Very good looking I still think u r ;)

Hello gorgeous, how is ur days going sweetheart

hi there is you a sweet caring funloving and faithful woman if yes lets chat txt me

Hi u doing ma I see u look sexy

Friday, June 8, 2012

imaginary sex.

come right here and be you.
suck it up. what you want is not at the bottom of your glass.
though it gives you courage, it will give you no pleasure when later you are exhausted and i am moving on.

be so great and mighty. deep breathe and daydream about what it would be like to see my face in the morning.

and all the things you will have seen to get to that morning.

have strong hands. hold me as i rock and moan. rock and moan.
force me to look you in the eyes. watch me blush. lips slightly parted, drunk with desire.
no one sees you that way. not in this moment. you are incredible. you that is reflected in my eyes.

take over from there, not being able to contain yourself any longer. bring me to my back. thrust and grip. thrust and grip. overwhelm yourself with the moment. give way to the tide. i won't mind. my time came and went. came and went.

choke back tears as prayers in dead languages cloud your judgement. cry out involuntarily as i grasp your shoulders. collapse into deep kisses. share my pillow. hold my hand. close your eyes.

your heart beats and aches. beats and aches. the pain subsides. you know i will be here in the morning. games over. you win.

and all it took was a single step toward.

*i wanted to make a comment about this post, as people have been asking who the mystery man is. um. this is complete fiction. as in, it never happened. all wishful thinking on my part. now that that is cleared up, let us move on, shall we?

Top 5 ways To Make Your Date Regret Her decision To Meet You:

you show up late. very late. so late that she starts to think she got the am and pm mixed up. and you do not call to say you will be late. twenty minutes and no phone call? bye.

you show up and announce that you are flat broke. so why are you dating? i am not saying that the guy is ever obligated to pay for everything, but is the girl? this has actually happened to me twice. i ended up buying a few drinks because the conversation was interesting, but nothing beyond. you can afford your bong rips but not afford to pay your own way when meeting someone socially? loser.

you force your date to go to some out of the way place because it is stumbling distance to your front door. no. it is super polite to choose a meeting place that is comfortable for your date, in case you decide to get all axe-murdery on her or something. i will rarely venture out of uptown for the first meeting just because i like to be surrounded by people who know who i am and where i am when i am with someone i do not know. i get that you are probably harmless, but really, one can never be too careful.

you show up drunk or high. should be a no-brainer, but isn't. i get that dating is stressful and having a way to relax beforehand is a good idea, but, believe me, you aren't fooling anyone, mr bloodshot eyes.

you talk about sex. a lot. you talk about your ex. a lot. you talk about sex with your ex. a lot. see where i am going with this? guys who are insecure tend to talk about sex way too much, which can make a girl uncomfortable. even if we do want to hop on right away, we still like to be treated like ladies. also, guys who talk about their exes a lot are usually rebounding. this is why i skip profiles where the ex is mentioned, even briefly.

what i wish is to know what it is that women do on first dates that can be so annoying. i want to know if i have done any of those things, or maybe even to know what it is that girls do that blow guy's minds. i would like to put a list like that together about guys, but not one thing has happened yet.

Sunday, May 27, 2012

cue the clown music. vol. one.

These few 'clown' posts are to show why i am still single, as this is the bulk of online attention i am getting.  I have not altered or changed anything except to blank out names and phone numbers...

Can I seduce ur panties off and make u smile???

Well, I'm're single. I think we may be looking for different things on here...maybe not.
I hope you find that you're looking for. And if that would happen to look something like me, I'd be honored getting to know you better.

i c u like books...2 bad i never read 1. I like your boobs...err I mean book collection....I mean uhh what do you do with a salad fork? (this one is from a really cool guy who was actually being funny...)

Ur hott ;) whats up ?

u like real niggaz from philly
why we never gt to chat

What's up sexy I'm ******
How are you doing beautiful? You look like someone I would love to wake up next to in the morning

Yummmmmm! Lol (this would not be bad at all if he actually knew he was referencing still life with woodpecker.)

Let me re introduce myself hello my name is Steve. Your extraordinary beautiful looking women.. is that proper enough for uou hahahaha yea right Im not gonna waste my time on another female like that again. byzzz!!! N btw ur not that hott to be puttin your pussy on a silver platter

ewww so gaangstsa internet shit talker nm dsb

Whos left headed

Damn u sexy as shiii
I love you
your so sexy wanna kiss u always mz pretty

Hey sexy

Get to know me..... i'll show you the way =)

Wow lefty and smokin hot! What are the hang ups!

fuck ur hot

u r sexy
you sure ur not a hipster =)

You're kinda cute muffinbutt :)

could i ask u somethin?? would u record me sucking my own d*ck? it's 10 inches long .... if that holds any weight.. ur really pretty.

Saturday, May 26, 2012

so again, it begins

we all end up in online dating land for the exact same reason. if that reason is not that we are rebounding or cheating. because those are not good reasons, thems just sad.

so, we all end up here because we walk the world without ever making eye contact. we gaze across the grocery store at a cute guy or girl, having a brief day dream about how cool it would be to just walk on over and strike up a conversation, but real life hits us and we are left holding the bag, or bags depending on whether you spent 40 dollars or 80 at kowalskis that day.

real life has nothing to do with being good looking or even confident. i get quite a bit of praise for the way i look and my personality, intelligence, etc, and i still cannot bring myself to approach a stranger unless i am so positive that he is into me that his phone number is floating in the air above his head.

we act and react this way to one another because, sober anyway, we all are protecting ourselves from rejection.  if for any reason you have ever seen me at work and have thought i was cute or pretty or whatever, but totally stuck up, well, i am not. i can be a bit shy when people seem to be checking me out and so i avert my eyes as i pass. it is involuntary and i do not mean to be cold but whoever is looking at me then thinks i am not interested and never talks to me. same goes for when i am out in public. i become just a little too shy to make eye contact, so i shut down any chance to talk to me by not even leaving that opening. stupid me.

so, we end up dating those who are introduced to us or those we have enough liquid courage to speak to at the bar, or those we work with because we have enough time to make sure that they are interested. it is safe, but it really limits the pool of applicants.  most of my friends are friends with the same guys as me, and i do not see myself with any of them, so that is out.  i do not allow myself to be picked up at bars by drunk guys and will not hit on the service staff, so liquid courage is out, as well. and then there is work. yuck. i work in a huge, busy restaurant. four floors of under the sea inspired chaos. the only thing that keeps things smooth is that i do not mix drama with it. i have heard plenty of stories and though harmless, they sound like a huge waste of time.

online dating seems like the perfect solution, right? well it can be, sort of. you see a bunch of people who you know are single (unless they are lying d-bags) and that is a great start. and then you can wink at them or whatever. i guess that is the equivalent of meaningful eye contact. if they return your 'gaze' with a 'gaze' of their own, you now have permission to talk to them. kind of. so you message. and message. and. yawn. message.

this is the problem.

no matter how much i message someone, i am going to get bored and lose interest, but, on the other hand, i do not really want to give my number out to someone i have not gotten a feel for in person. i want to feel like i am being courted, so i do not just want to meet at a random bar, but i also do not want to be sucked into a lengthy dinner date with someone i might not like. what to do, what to do?

well, i guess that is up to you, guys. women like confidence and just because i am a bit puzzled about how to proceed does not mean that you can't take the reigns and ask a girl out. it might be just that easy.

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Reason Number Two To Hate Me, Your Server:

i want your date. sorry, sorry, sorry. this only happened one time and i still feel like a wanker about it. in my defense, well this whole post is in my defense, so, here goes.

i was 23 and working in a steakhouse. i liked the job, except the middle-aged business men who tried to guess the size of my chest. they were always wrong, as if low balling it would be flattering.


a couple got sat at one of my tables. they were mid to late twenties.  she looked stuck up and overdressed and he looked, well, hot. casually dressed, visible tattoos, glasses he kept pushing up his nose, messy hair; the whole nine for my modest and youthful taste.

so he orders a big beer, declaring 'why not, it's my birthday!' while his date sneered at our wine list, quizzing me on wine i had never tried and knew nothing about. i am sure that she knew this and wanted to make me look foolish. some women, i can just tell, hate other women on site. birthday boy smoothed things over for me, declaring that he should just get three different kinds and mix them together. she gave him a withering look for his troubles.

after clearing that hurdle, he quickly glanced at the menu and then placed it down, already totally sure of what he wanted, while she. took. for. ever.  after about fifteen minutes of her frowning over the same three pages, i went over to the table and asked if i could make any suggestions or answer any questions.

"well, i am a vegan. i do NOT eat this kind of stuff and am having a hard time finding ANYTHING that will be palatable. what would you recommend in my unique situation? having to come to a STEAKHOUSE when i am a VEGAN?"

"how nice that you were willing to accommodate your boyfriend on your birthday. all of our salads and pastas can be made vegan. see the little 'v' next to some of the dishes? that means that those can be prepared to your specifications, just let me know which one you would like to try."

ten minutes later, she of course attempts to order something that we can not prepare vegan and i have to piss her off yet again. she finally points vaguely to one of the aforementioned  entrees and he orders a huge slab of prime rib, medium rare, a baked potato loaded with sour cream, butter, and bacon, and a salad laden with creamy ranch dressing and cheese, making a joke about letting me have whatever was left over after i expressed so much pleasure over the prime rib. at this point i would have killed the cow with my bare hands for him, or just the cow of a woman he was with so i could be the one sitting across from him on his birthday.

after they ordered, i overheard her ridiculing his meal choice, wondering out loud how she was ever going to be able to watch him eat so much animal product. and an idea for a harmless joke formed in my head.

about twenty minutes later, their food came out. in this time he had drank his entire beer and eaten much of the mini loaf of (delicious) honey oat bread with cinnamon butter. she had touched not her glass of wine, nor the bread. of course.

i set down their entrees, and as he took the final gulp of his beer, i stood a menu between them, explaining that this way, she would not have to watch him eat a dead animal and he would not be blinded by all of her healthy food.

he laughed so hard he spit out his beer.

in the direction of his date.

he continued to laugh as his date glared at me and ran to the bathroom. i get it, no one likes to be spit at, but we are talking about three or four drops here.

while she was gone, i apologized for what i had done. he thanked me for making his birthday fun. i told him that i did not understand celebrating something unless it is fun, that dates should be a good time, never stressful.

and then we shared a look. ffffffffuuuuuuuucccccckkk.

the rest of the meal was kind of a blur. i got a little busy and was not able to give them a lot more extra attention. he got another beer, she pushed her food around. they did not talk much.  when it came time to box up his food (she did not want hers. surprise.) i wrote my number down and slipped it in the box before bagging it up.

not until i had already run the card and said goodbye did i see the matching wedding bands.

he never called, and i never did such a thing again.

even though the story did not end up a fairytale, i am grateful to that guy for two reasons:

one, he paid the tab. for his own birthday dinner and tipped very well.

and two, he never told his wife that i gave him my number. i am sure of this only because i did not have some crazy vegan bitch coming back to rip my hair out.

Top Five Reasons I Hate My Server:

1. my drink is empty.  For awhile and it's not busy.  I do not care if my food takes an hour-you do not control the kitchen-but what is your excuse for not checking on my table for the past 20 minutes?

2. you want to fuck my date. good luck. get your skanky ass away from as i am super paranoid that your herpes is some ultra-violent strain that can actually jump off your mouth and onto his dick. also, he might be paying, uber slut, but i always pick up the tip.

3. you are that super macho fake-o flirty guy. yeah, buddy, because i really need to pay someone to hit on me. come on, have you seen me? i'm kind of a big deal.

4. you are surly. you grunt instead of responding. you roll your eyes when i ask for a set of silverware. you hate your job? fuck you. i have your job.

5. you fucked up. forgot to put in my order, dropped my order, spilled on me, whatever. you send a manager over even though i tell you i am fine, that i am a server, that i have been there and done that a dozen times. manager comps my meal and you decide to hide from me for the rest of the meal, having wrote me off as a bad tip. man up, make a joke, move forward.

i decided to write this piece because i have been catching some flak about being too hard on the general dining public. servers are humans, too, and therefore have the capacity to be really, really annoying. just like human customers.  in future posts i will even detail how i have been 'that guy' in each and every one of the above scenarios.

imaginary sex.

come right here and be you.
suck it up. what you want is not at the bottom of your glass.
though it gives you courage, it will give you no pleasure when later you are exhausted and i am moving on.

be so great and mighty. deep breathe and daydream about what it would be like to see my face in the morning.

and all the things you will have seen to get to that morning.

have strong hands. hold me as i rock and moan. rock and moan.
force me to look you in the eyes. watch me blush. lips slightly parted, drunk with desire.
no one sees you that way. not in this moment. you are incredible. you that is reflected in my eyes.

take over from there, not being able to contain yourself any longer. bring me to my back. thrust and grip. thrust and grip. overwhelm yourself with the moment. give way to the tide. i won't mind. my time came and went. came and went.

choke back tears as prayers in dead languages cloud your judgement. cry out involuntarily as i grasp your shoulders. collapse into deep kisses. share my pillow. hold my hand. close your eyes.

your heart beats and aches. beats and aches. the pain subsides. you know i will be here in the morning. games over. you win.

and all it took was a single step toward.

*i wanted to make a comment about this post, as people have been asking who the mystery man is. um. this is complete fiction. as in, it never happened. all wishful thinking on my part. now that that is cleared up, let us move on, shall we?

wizard, my ass.

my brain in a box. my gift to you.
a hole in the box.
my brain bled through.

sorry about that.

 all i had to offer up to those oz freaks and i could not get even that right. might have been subconscious as i have always been afraid of scarecrows.

i have neither heart not courage in spades enough to save the others, but would trade the lot not for those hideous crimson shoes, only for that thick curtain. or the tornado.

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Free Advice, Online Daters

this advice is for men only, as i have never read the train wrecks i am sure make up the female half of this site.  this advice may not pertain to everyone, but is geared toward the things i have noticed over. and over. and over. again.

photos. 4 biggest pet peeves include the snap of you very, very far away. those thumbnails are the size of well, thumbs. many a girl will pass you by simply because she cannot immediately tell what you look like. there are about 70000 of you to every 500 of us. stand out.

second is the fact that you only have photos of yourself with other people. you may think it is easy to tell which one you are of your backwards cap wearing frat brothers, but we have never met you. one head shot will clear up the confusion.

 three, you are wearing a hat in all of your pictures. i do not care if you are bald or have a mohawk or a bad haircut or whatever. girls get nervous when you hide things.

and four. my personal favorite: you look different in every picture. a girl does not need to know what you looked like five years ago, fat, thin, bald, with long hair, rocking a 'stache, whatever. she needs to know what you look like now. like today, or the day that you will meet. if you are self aware enough to know that you looked way better 40 pounds ago, it might be time for a gym visit, as in order for you to be embraced by someone, you have to be cool with yourself. cheesy, i know.

moving on to your profile. no one reads it unless they find you attractive, so that first part on photos is very important. still, who you are on paper is the only thing we have to go on aside from your good looks, so make it count.

first, do not, anywhere ask yourself why you are online dating. everyone says that and as soon as i read it, i skip it. screw you, we are all here and it will not make you the cool kid because you say you are above it all.

also, do not go on and on about how hard it is to describe yourself. why? you know who you are right? or at least how you want to be perceived...opening with,"describe myself? geez, well, here goes..." makes you seem wishy-washy.

llllllooooooonnnnnnngggggg profiles. cut it down. be funny and cut to the chase. women get messaged dozens of times a day, we do not have time to read a book with every profile.

short profiles. fine as long as you are creating the right flavor. be funny and sarcastic and you will usually do okay. repeat the same word in every box and a girl will probably just think that you are stupid.

talking about getting out of a recent relationship. when i get a whiff, i run. she should not be in any way a part of your dialogue. unless you are not over her, in which case, again, screw you. you are not emotionally ready to connect and will end up being another one of those jackasses who gets drunk and slobbers all over me.

spelling, grammar, proofreading. i am not a stickler, but come on. a fifth grade education should translate into better profiles from the ones i am reading sometimes.

what it comes down to is sincerity. be exactly yourself and not what you think will be clever, because chances are, a few dozen guys are out there making the same joke about needing food and water and oxygen as part of their list of things they can't live without.

well, this is getting a bit long, so let us talk about my favorite thing. messaging.

step one, read the profile.
step two. send a message that is less than 3 paragraphs long commenting on what you believe will create mutual attraction. do not reiterate what is in your profile. if we want to read about you, we will. that is why you wrote the thing in the first place.

again. proper grammar and spelling makes a difference.

wuzzup girl. how r u? is not a good message. it actually offends me that someone would think that i was so desperate that i would respond to that.

hi, how are you? is not a great message, either. it does not have to be long, just long enough so we know you are not copying and pasting the same thing to ten other people.

my last piece of advice is the most important. if you do not get a response, do not sweat it. take it personal if you must, because hey, it is you that we are not into, but do not freak. it just was not made to be.

if you do get a response, do not draw out the online conversation forever. make plans to establish chemistry. you pick the place and the time. do not meet at a bar, try something different. we all want to feel special and seem to be avoiding meeting people in bars. our first face to face should be, at the risk of sounding cheesy. again. special.

Saturday, May 5, 2012

why is it so hard? to herd cats.

i was thinking last night while tooling around downtown that life really ain't so bad.

and then we walked into the marvel? marble? martyr? bar. whatever the hell it was called. oh gross.

i do not usually find myself in that neckathe on a friday night, as work wins the nightlife fight pretty often, but last night was different. i cannot quite put my finger on it. oh yeah, it rained and i was on the patio four stories up.

while i held my sweating cocktail and surveyed the well dressed and very hungry looking crowd, i wondered why i was feeling like such a bitch towards the place, and actually had an epiphany.

i am a bar snob. i cannot say i am a reverse bar snob because then i sound like those idiots who say that when people of other races hate caucasians it is reverse racism. no, its not. its still just racism.

yup. total snob. i grimaced at the emaciated waifs smoking on our way in. i sneered at the cocktail list full of legal absinthe and a boat load of crap i had never heard of. i gazed disdainfully at all of the people looking over each other's shoulders to make sure that they are talking to the hottest person that they can. i physically recoiled at being presented with a bill for 22 dollars after ordering 2 cocktails i was not even sure had booze in them.

what makes the depot different? people are still roaming around trying to buy themselves out of having a clue.  the drinks are priced by the pour. the smoking chicks still need a sandwich, their costumes are less couture and more hipster, but they are cold in the same skinny way.

and then a light bulb went off.

the three things that make me want to go to a bar have nothing to do with the booze or the people i can make fun of.

it's the music.
it's my friends.
it's whether or not there is a guy in the room i could want in any way.

so we went home. he was not at the depot.

Thursday, May 3, 2012

Dating Number 2

what can i say about this that has not already been said? i feel like a marathon runner who got accidentally shot by the guy with the starting pistol.  like i have all the tools to participate, but some clumsy loser is trying to keep me off my feet.  i know that this sounds weird, or dramatic, or something, but really, without going in to specifics, you would have to have seen my luck the past few weeks. it has been just sad.  i feel more like a therapist or guidance counselor than anything. and a prude. hilarious.

what i am feeling is that i might not be reading deeply enough into the people i am going out with because i am trying to make split second decisions on chemistry the way i do in the real world. until just this moment i forgot to stop and realize that that never really worked for me either.  i have also been making excuses for why i should tolerate behaviors that i really can't stand.

guys who do drugs.
guys who show up for a date with no money. a first date. i get that i can and will pay my own way, but i have never gone into anything expecting someone else to pay for me.
guys who smoke pot. different from drugs, as it is mostly harmless but i am so underwhelmed by the personality that comes with daily smokers.
guys who want to talk about their exes. on the first date.  this tells me that you are not over her, because if you were, describing yourself would not have anything to do with your previous relationship. at least not at first.
guys who want sex. first date. you do not know me. you feeling all hot and heavy and probably drunk? well, i cannot help you, buddy. have enough respect for me to keep your hands to yourself.
guys who get wasted. i do not tend to be a big drinker but am all for social interactions and going with the flow.  i do not want to be the girl who had nine whiskeys with the guy who had nine whiskeys any more than you do. trust me. this will not translate into an invitation to my bedroom.

do i sound harsh? well, i am not perfect, either.  though i seem to know a lot about what i do not want, i do not really know what exactly i do want, which, i think is good. maybe now i can actually pay attention instead of just letting that guy with his waving pistol keep bringing me down.

which one are you?

he lurches in, disrupting quiet that exists high above the moody ballads of fallen axe welders. he is drunk, half asleep and hungry. he is hostile and paranoid because he can see in your eyes that you do not want to even approach the stink of beer wafting toward you, safe behind your wall of judgement.

he shuffles in, holding up his pants as they sag madly toward his knees. he scowls in every direction with bloodshot eyes. he finds your armor and knows he is going to get whatever he came for.from you. you with the apron. it is the last time he will look directly at you. from now on he will stare everywhere over your shoulder, slouching halfway out of the booth.

he bounces in, usually with friends. they all bounce. they are a stunning array of neon and chunky highlights. they are boisterous and fun. and fucking annoying. shrieking for attention. drunk and unprepared for human interaction, they suck time like oxygen. unless you are fabulous, you will be forgotten when it comes time to get paid.

he lingers at the door, finishing a smoke. you do not know how he moves because, though he moves slowly, to the beat, he is quiet and moves straight to the bar. ink and leather or ink and some obscure band logo stretch across his upper body, always thin, sometimes toned, depending on his instrument.  you deliberately catch his eye in the mirror.  he gives you a cool, appraising look that will become an all out, bloodshot gaze by the time he makes his way to the bottom of that bottle of jack.

he saunters in, suit jacket unbuttoned to reveal an undone tie, he rakes his hand through his hair and scans the crowd, while simultaneously grabbing a newspaper from the stack.  He takes a booth near the door and picks up the drink list. he smiles as you walk over, makes a polite joke about always being early and reads happily while sipping the beer you get to him at break-neck speed.  your heart drops a little as a woman so clearly not in an apron kisses him hello and murmurs about his interesting choice in bars.

Saturday, March 31, 2012

the long slow screw

i put my hands on the counter, fingers brushing through spilt beer or whatever condensation was left behind by the filthy glasses held in the hands of the briefly my problem. the head throbs in some far off place that dissipates every time i remind myself to take an ibuprofen. so i never take an ibuprofen.

i scan the room, looking out for empty glasses needing to be filled and jab at the screen of my phone. three jerk offs i just finished serving went to the bar for shots. for once i am glad. fuck them. one more interaction with anyone in this room tonight is going to drive me nuts.

instead of doing anything for anyone, i do something for me. i grab a smoke and head for the patio.  the cold knocks my headache back to the forefront of my thoughts as i sit down, avoiding the eye of some guy who has fucked a few of my friends and thought, perhaps, he had a shot with me. he reeks of pot and desperation. he looks like mr potato head. i inhale and talk all around him.

my mind wanders to no one in particular. just a faintly guilty fantasy that i could go home tonight and that there would be someone waiting there, someone i could have hbo sex with. someone who would somehow make it so i would not have to get up in the morning and face a double shift, one of them being the last i will have here, at this bar.

i hate goodbyes. i guess that, and sheer exhaustion will propel me through the door without saying goodbye to anyone, once this shift is over.

Sunday, February 19, 2012

i miss you, cutie pie.

you loosely wrap your arms around me, kissing the side of my face, watching to see if the don't walk turns to why don't you go ahead. it does its thing and you grab my hand. we walk fast against traffic. against real life. our tattoos look stupid together. camouflage against an urban sub urban backdrop. uptown. i am going away from work, but into the building because with you, a date happens anytime, anywhere. i get excited for the lazy thursday afternoon drinking watered down booze and figuring out the crossword while those around us puzzle over rampant hand holding and molten gazing. we aren't solving anything and turn our attention to the cribbage board instead.

you get up to go to the bathroom. i admire the way your t shirt creeps above your waistband. i smile at you and blush. you catch me every time. i sit alone thinking of the salty perfection of that spot right next to your left eye. i love to kiss you there.

you come back, kiss me on the cheek. read my mind. i pluck at the beaded bracelet you bought me some other time. i do not have to pee, but i want to run a hand through my hair. squeal with a coworker about how great you are. feel you watching my butt as i walk away. i want to miss you, even for a few minutes.

so i hop off my stool, clumsy and awkward. sex and beauty giving way to tangled limbs and the drink i almost drop on your lap. you laugh and stroke my earlobe.

i back away, grinning. turning, clasping my hands behind my back, blocking the perfect curve of my ass. you love it, you sigh as i jan brady walk toward the bathroom.

i look in the mirror. i want one more sip, one more drink, one more hand. and then i want to go home. with you. i want to sit and talk and fall asleep with you playing with my hair, telling me a story about real life.

mostly though, i just wish you were fucking real.

Saturday, February 18, 2012

you are the reason i am trying to leave

i work in a bar. duh.
i work in a dive bar. uh huh.
i work in a dive bar full of regulars. sure. great. get to the point.

for the most part, this is great. it is nice to walk into work and see a bunch of familiar faces. or to be super busy and to look up and notice that your next table is not only someone you love to wait on, but someone who will love you back, monetarily.

and then, there is you.

we call you and your boyfriend that 'couple of stupid fuckers' because that is what you are to us.

you, with your stuck up pig face that we only have the privilege of studying from afar as you will not ever bother to actually look at us when you order us around, will eat your weight in cheese and drink your weight in beer and bore neat little holes in the back of my skull with your beady little pig eyes if you have to sit for even a minute without something to shove in your face.

and your dumbass boyfriend is no better. i guess i would be pissed, too if my girlfriend  looked like a barn animal, but does that mean he has to yell his order? am i deaf? is he deaf? and why does it take him so long to choose a beer? our selection hasn't changed since bush inauguration number one. how hard is it to choose between a bottle or tap of rocky mountain piss water?

so, when they finally order,i slam over to the well to pick up their drinks. the bartender laughs, knowing that is my turn to wait on them, the them, one of the many thems that frequent every bar since the beginning of bar time.

eventually they leave, taking with them a sliver of my patience, while the fish hook to a different place tugs at me with a little more insistence than usual.

why do i let this get to me? because i am really good at my job. i am a great server slinging two for ones and grease at people who wish i was either ugly or naked, if they do not know me well enough to know me at all. i won't miss my regulars because they will still be here when i get done with work, instead of being here with me,and being my work.

and the thems? the stupid fuckers? well, while i am still here, i will be dedicating a bit of my time to finding out where they work so i can repay them for the shitty attitude and paltry tip. you may not know who you are now, but soon enough, you will.

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Fiction, For Now

i had a dream once, about a million years ago that i was sleeping beneath a tree, leaned up against some nameless faceless who warmed me while lazily reading from some obscure sci fi action thriller. no wonder i nodded off.

when i came to, i realized that i was covered in daisy chains that he had constructed after abandoning his book to the grass.

i looked out into water that magically appeared in front of us and asked him what he was doing.

he said, my fallen angel, i am tying you to the earth.

with dreams like these, who can ever count on reality to be as good, as frothy, as dripping with liquid gold?  How can i daydream lightly about swirling around on a dance floor to the song 33 on my wedding day and shrug nonchalantly any time anyone ever asks me about love?

i have 5 tattoos. all reminders of the greatest love stories that i have ever been told. not one of them is my own.

i am not writing this because i am frustrated. more because i am tired of caring about seeming cooler than all of the other girls because i am just one of the guys.

i am not just one of the guys. i wear makeup and skirts and have swishy hair. but i am not afraid to get dirty or eat a chili dog or try to learn how to hang glide. i do not think these characteristics particularly make me manly, they just make me, me.

the lights are bright for now. by the time i step into the vehicle, the light will have faded into nervously lit embers and the magic of another chance to say more than a bunch of words.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

and now we play the dating game. yay. phase 1

i very recently lifted my head from my books for long enough to realize that it would be kind of fun to meet someone.  i have been casually and sort of listlessly dating around the neighborhood for the last two years or so, having fun and not quite needing for anything to really stick. in popping my head up, i realized that uptown is tiny and i keep seeing the same faces, day in and day out, which is fine as they are nice faces, just not the ones i want to be waking up to, if you know what i mean.

so, i did it. i took the plunge and put a profile out on a dating site and was not disappointed by the amount of attention a girl can get who is in her twenties, sans divorce or dripping with the need to trot down the aisle and then straight to the delivery room anytime in the near future.  that coupled with the fact that i do not have any stalky exes or a sinful past makes me a good candidate for just about anyone.  Being creative and not too hard on the eyes is icing on the cake, i guess.

so, i was excited.  wow, i was about to chat with and possibly meet a whole bunch of new people! I was going to be able to check them out and see what they were sort of like and establish that they could maybe like me to. it sounded like a breeze to me and i only wondered why more people were not doing the same.

oh holy hell, was i wrong.

after posting my profile and cruising my match selection and 'favoriting' the ones i wanted to message when i got a free minute, i shut my computer off and promptly forgot all about it for about a week because as luck would have it, i met someone to date in person,briefly anyway.

when that guy, well will call smismathew, turned out to have a girlfriend, i literally said fuck this and pulled up my account, thinking maybe there would be a few nice messages for me.

and there were, if by a few you mean 87 and you add it to the other 62 gross ones.  in three days my profile had been viewed over three hundred times!

i was in shock. i was overwhelmed, and i was excited.

first, because yes, i feel that you MUST be attracted to someone before you can date them, i nixed all of the messages from people who were not really my type and then went through and scanned the messages of those who were left, deleting all of the ones that said stupid shit like 'hey gurl, what up?' or 'dam r u sexy' and then i looked at photos of those remaining and weeded out anyone with a picture of themselves topless in the mirror.

i ended up with 18 possible matches.

that night, by the time i had read those 18 exhaustive profiles, i was too tired to write anyone about anything.

and that was phase one of my experience in online dating.