The Biggest Loser...

As a tv show, it can't be beat. As a strategy for dating, it just plain sucks.

I was half-drunk (excuse) the other night after coming home from a happy hour (attempt to prove I'm not a loser) and decided to check my email. Match emailed me some good looking guys that day (stretching the truth) so I decided to click on a couple of them. I didn't know it would sign me into the website (lie). And I certainly didn't think anyone out there in cyber space would notice (wishful thinking). Somehow during my three minutes (20) online, I got the following email:

"11:00 Friday night, and we're both on something that ends with ".com". Pretty sweet."

Hey buddy, look, I know me and I'm no loser (usually). But now you think I am and you're still emailing me? You win. You're the biggest loser.

Just a Touch of Sarcasm

Dear B-,

I really enjoyed reading your profile. I especially liked when you talked about wanting to change your outlook on 'gringas'. I think women need to be described in derogatory terms more often. Chris Matthews and David Shuster just don't do enough of it for me. Don't those feminists out there who want respect from men really irk you? They seem to be the same women who want -gasp- a female president!

You requested that only if we're fun and interesting enough to hang out with you, should we write. Well, I want to let you know that I'm fun (we'll do whatever you want to do) and interesting (I'll always agree with your point of view). Look no further B-, I'm the gringa (bitch, slut, whore) for you!

Yours,
Dauntless

PS - I love the picture of you grabbing your balls!

Break's Over...

Back in the pool!

Springtime has showered the Nation's Capital in yellow sunshine, bright flowers, and breezy Cherry Blossoms. It's enough to make a girl feel optimistic about love. Shoot, it's made this girl dauntless about dating again. Yep, I'm re-entering the dating pool fellas. Look out.

Guys, you might want to take this opportunity to do some spring cleaning with your pick up lines. Here's what I heard just last night...

"What are you doing here?"

"What's your favorite candy?"

"What brings you here?"

"You ever heard of Manassas?"

"So, why are you here tonight?"

"I just so happen to be single."

Thankfully, I did hear this one, "I bought an extra shot. Do you want it?"

That Was Me Just Saying So.

After a few too many bad-but-not-bad-enough-to-be-blog-worthy-dates, I knew I needed a couple of weeks off. Even self-proclaimed 'dauntless daters' get sick of this shit.

The week before I made my decision to go on a break from all men, I met a guy at a bar and had planned to get a drink with him in the near future. In order to stay on the up and up with my good friend karma, I decided to be honest with this guy instead of just not returning his call.

So, I texted him (hey, I said I wanted to be honest, not that I had the biggest balls on the block). I told him that I was going to take a break from dating but that it was great to meet him.

Fifteen minutes later, my phone beeped and I had this message, "Umm...wow. I was talking about drinks not necissarily dating. And you could have just said so."

Four things:
One. You're a dick. Two. Going on a date is dating. Three. I did just say so. And four. Get spellcheck.

When you haven't even gone on a first date, you can't take the shit this personally.

Maybe if this was 1608

"Ok everyone. Let's go around the room and introduce ourselves." said the teacher to a roomful of adults who didn't care to know anyone else's name.

"Hi, I'm Andy Fallon."

"Hi. My name is Sheryl Logan."

We continued,

"Hi, I'm {Dauntless Dater}." (Dauntless is not very Irish sounding, but the real one is straight from the Old Country).

Introductions led to instruction and shortly, to the end of class. Now was my chance to make eye contact with the thirty-something guy whose knees were shoved next to mine under the too-short science lab table. I smiled as we stacked our chairs. That's when he asked, "So, do you speak Gaelic?"

My head tilted 45 degrees as I argued with myself as to whether or not I heard him right, "Uhhh, no."

That was it. End of conversation. What the?

Isn't that like asking an Italian if she speaks Latin?

We Already Know You Like Sex

No need to mention it in your list of 'favorite things' on your profile. Also no need to mention that you are looking for someone else who likes sex. We know that too.

I have a little secret for you. Come in real close. Closer. Closer. That's good. Prepare yourself. This is ground-breadking stuff. Are you ready? Women like sex too!

If a woman told you she didn't like sex, all that means is that she didn't like sex with you.

Bet no chick's ever told LL Cool J she didn't like banging.

Rocket Man

At the risk of piquing on the first day of 2008, I must share this one with you.

My friend "Karen" who had this bad luck several months ago, recently met "Steve" online. They had a lot in common and decided to go out on a date.

The date went well, no real sparks, but the conversation flowed and he asked to see her again. She said 'yes'. The next day, Karen received a text message from Steve, "Good morning beautiful. Hope you have a good day."

Hmm, that's a little over the top after one date, thought Karen. But like all good daters, she was willing to let a little thing like that slide.

The next day, Karen opened her phone to find this message: "Hope you have a great day, too bad it didn’t work out. On our next date, I was planning on taking you to outer space on a rocket ship."

What. the. fuck.

Three days after that he was asking her out again.

Acting like a head case, not a good strategy.

"You are Gorgeous...I want to fuck you."

Is just really not a good idea for a first email.

Rethink Your Own Information

Rereading information about your date before you meet is important. For some of us, rethinking our own information is important too.

"So you went to school in Baltimore, {Dauntless}?"

"Yeah, and I stayed in that area for a few years afterward."

"Oh yeah, where did you live?"

"Well, I lived in Towson, Timonium (a lie - with good reason - the truth, Cockeysville), and also, uhh... Holyshit! Whatthefuckwasthatplacecalled? Itwasjustthreeyearsago,moron "Um, White Marsh." That's not right!

"Oh, White Marsh? Where's that?"

Good question. "Just north of the city."

"Oh. Did you like it there?"

"Oh, yeah. It was great." Holy shit! Where did I live???

After the date, I walked through my front door, smacked my head with the palm of my hand and exclaimed to no one, "Owings Mills you moron!"

A Disturbing Discovery

In all my 29.99 years, I've never had the sort of disturbing discovery I had last week.

Early Sunday the soft morning light peeked through my blinds, rousing me from a good night's sleep. I squealed as I stretched the last bit of sleep from my bones. I was ready to start my day. Five errands to run and two parties to attend, one of which would include lots of single men. It was a promising day.

I swung my feet over the side of the bed, gave the dog a good-morning pat and plodded off to the bathroom. I took care of business, brushed my teeth and washed my face. Then, I began the fourth ritual, blowing my nose.

Blow.

Blow.

Yuck. I need a humidifier or something.

Blow.

Wow, you don't want to come out now, do you, you little shit?

Blow, dig, blow.

Damn. What the hell?

I got all up in the mirror. Close as possible. That's when I realized I wasn't just dealing with a stubborn booger here.

It was a zit. Complete with whitehead. Inside. my. nose.

Now, as this never has happened to me before, I was somewhat at a loss. Traditional zit popping methods were difficult, if not useless. But, after twenty minutes of fretting and contorting, I finally popped that sucker.

So, if ever you have a big, nasty, posing-as-a-booger zit inside your nose on the same day you have the possibility of meeting Ms. Right, here is my advice...

Squeeze the shit out of your nose.

It hurts like hell, but it's much better than snorting Proactive.

Timing is Everything

It's second down and seven. The opposing team is on their twenty yard line. Doesn't seem like the start of a remarkable play, but I sip my draft, entranced nonetheless.

24, 31, 42, Hike!

The quarterback rolls out of the pocket, looks left, then right. Fires on a line to his right. It's tipped. It starts to wobble. My defender has his sights on that ball. And...

"Hey there [Dauntless]."

"Wha?" I turn to my head left, eyes remaining on the television screen for as long as possible. Then I break away from the television to see it's the guy who I'm supposed to be meeting.

"Oh, hey 'Doug'"

That's when the other patrons start to go wild. Interception!

Damn it! I missed it!

I snap my head back to the television, "Go! go! go!"

He's at the fifteen.

"So, how have you been?" Doug asks.

Keeping my eyes on the screen, I replied, "Uh, great. Yeah."

He's at the ten.

"Go! go!"

"Exciting game, huh?"

Unable to put any thoughts together, I replied, "Wha? Uh..."

Touchdown!

"Whoo hooo!" The bar goes wild. Everyone's jumping and slapping fives. Everyone except Doug.

It's ok that we don't root for the same team. Really, it is. But to not know when to let me watch my team... It's a turn off. A big one.

Slow Motion

In movies it increases the drama. In football it reverses calls. On dates, it puts women to sleep.

I met up with 'Peter' at a coffee shop in town. We ordered our Pumpkin Spiced Lattes and found a seat near the window. We talked fairly easily for the first few minutes, but it quickly became apparent that I would be the listener (sleeper) in the conversation.

When I asked Peter a simple question about how he met his friends who live in my area (he lives almost an hour away), he said, "Hmmmm. Let's see. (looking up to the ceiling), I met Mike out about a year ago. (index finger tapping chin) Then....I met his girlfriend...aaaaand, then they moved up to Baltimore. Mike actually introduced me tooooo (tapping chin again) Todd and Sam...."

Every time I asked Peter a question, he pondered the answer as if I had asked him the meaning of life. But it was ok. I ended up inventing a little game...counting how long can I nod and say 'mm hmm' without actually speaking. Two minutes, fourteen seconds.

There Are Certain Things You Shouldn't Suggest - Part I

"So, can I get your number so we can grab a drink sometime?"

"Sure." I proceed to give 'Doug' my number.

"Great. I'll call you sometime this week."

"Ok. Talk to you later."

Two days later, Doug calls and we make plans to meet up for a drink at a local pub the following week. Then, date night rolls around...

"Hello?"

"Hey {Dauntless}, this is Doug. How are you?"

"I'm doing well, thanks. So, are we still on for tonight?"

"Actually, I'm pretty beat tonight with my weekend traveling and whatnot. I'm planning on making a little snack and having some wine though if you'd like to come over."

Ohmygod,he'sapervert!Orarapist.Maybehe'sanaxemurderer.

BodiesinthecerealboxeslikethefreakfromMexico.Holyshit.WhatdoIsay?

"Uhhhh, no. I don't think so." I'd kind of like to keep my innards out of the Cocoa Puffs.

The Blog Lives On.

So I took everyone's advice and gave my online boyfriends each one more email to ask me out. I've got three dates this week.

Looks like I should turn this advice giving gig over to you.

Survey Says...

I could pull out my hair and throw my date-ready leopard print heels out the window. No need for them. I haven't had a date in weeks.

This is how it goes. He emails. I email. He emails. I email, et-fucking-cetera. And still there is no date. I wrote about how penpals piss me off a while ago, but the men in my inbox continue to pursue a clickity clack relationship.

Aiming my heel at the open window across the room, a thought suddenly occurred to me and I lowered the shoe in wide wonder. Could it be? Maybe, just maybe? Am I being impatient?

So dear readers, I'd like your help. Especially from any (the three) men who read my blog, how many emails need to go back and forth before you ask a girl out on a date?

Maintain Your Sense of Humor

We all hit rough patches. If you read my last post, you know I've hit one. But I'm over it. Really. And I only know that because I can laugh.

See, after I heard about the ex, I had a couple of days there where I wasn't dealing with it too well. Yesterday was one of those days.

When a song came on the radio, it was one that made me think of him. When I watched a movie, it had scenes from our favorite city. When I went to Target, there were aisles and aisles of students with his alma mater plastered on their chests (I shit you not. Dog food aisle, air freshener aisle, it made no difference.).

So yesterday was rough, but today I woke up with a new attitude. I remembered what an awful boyfriend he was and instead of being sad that someone I once loved was marrying someone else, I was happy that it wasn't me. I had a fantastic day making friends in the neighborhood and generally not thinking about the ex.

Then I went to Safeway.

Safeway has this policy where after you use your membership card, the cashiers read the name on the receipt and say, "Have a nice day Ms. So-and-so." Well, as I don't have a discount card, I usually type in my parents' phone number to suffice. Not only do I get the discount, but they get the name right ("Thank you Ms. [Dater]"). Well, this particular evening, I must have been distracted because I accidentally typed in my own phone number. The cashier glanced down at the receipt and said, "Thank you. Have a good night Ms. [Ex's last name].

Whoa. I must be hearing things.

So I check the receipt. There it is. [Ex's first name. Ex's last name.]

I must have gaped at that name for a good 30 seconds before my brain processed the random coincidence of it all. Crossing the parking lot, I threw my head back and laughed my ass off.

If there are dating guardian angels, mine's got a fucked up sense of humor.

Don't Kick Her When She's Down (or ever really)

August has not been good to me.

This month I have been stood up, unceremoniously dumped, and learned that my ex is engaged. Ouch.

Then, this morning, after only eleven hours to process my ex's happily ever after, I received yet another email from the Bitter Bob who gave me attitude when I wouldn't give him my number.

Subject: Oh jeez!

Message: Your back on match...didn't you learn your lesson the first time that emailing and not meeting makes match worthless?

I have too much class (fear for my personal safety) to retaliate and explain to him that I tend to avoid meeting bitter, whiny assholes who don't know the difference between 'your' and 'you're'. So I thought I'd do so here.

No, you won't know when the girl you are trying to contact is feeling down, but that's ok. Just don't be a dick. Ever.

Phallic Phascination

Yeah, yeah, I know it's funny to see things that remind you of your penis. And yes, it's funny to take a picture of yourself with these phallic reminders. But, it's just plain creepy when you post these pictures with your profile.

In the past week, I have seen three different men who have made this deal-breaking mistake.

Mr. Posing with a Nude Man - Nude statue. Hands on hips, goods swaying in the wind. Next to him, the man who wants to find a date, standing in the same pose, thankfully fully clothed.

Mr. Cactus Penis - This man found a phallic looking cactus, stood over it, and smiled as he longingly gazed at the gigantic penis extending from his legs. Yuck and ouch.

Mr. Bull Balls - Picture this: Huge sculpture of a bull, complete with melon-sized testicles. The man who is attempting to woo women is laying beneath the bull so that it's balls are resting on his head. It's balls are resting on his head! What. the. fuck.

Note to Self

You were falling for her and she ripped the rug right out from underneath you. She talked a big game. You had a good feeling about her. Then she stood you up. She didn't call. Didn't text. Didn't email.

She's a bitch.

Do not blame yourself, even if there were a couple of things you would have done differently, they certainly weren't deal breakers.

You do not have my permission to waste another minute thinking about her. You get your single ass back out there and find the right one.

Wardrobe Malfunctions

Home improvement stores are the best places to meet strapping young men who are good with their hands. Ehhem. Urban legend or not, this belief lives on in the hearts of single women everywhere.

I happily hummed to myself as I strolled the aisles at Lowes, feeling giddy about some of those strapping prospects I spotted. Taking my time, I carefully selected my merchandise (stalked a particularly steamy customer), and headed for the check out. I was helped by a super friendly clerk who gave me a wide smile each time she made eye contact with me. Maybe, I supposed, she knew the real reason I was shopping at this fine establishment. I had a fleeting thought that I could really use a second job.

As I exited the store and pushed my shopping cart across the parking lot, I glanced down to make sure my potting soil was secure under the cart. That's when I noticed something was wrong. My potting soil was fine, but I was looking straight down at my ass! In all my strolling, my skirt had shifted more than 90 degrees around my waist. I twisted and pulled while trying to hold on to my cart with one hand, avoid being hit by a car, and stifle my nervous laughter.

Damn. it.

Man, woman, young, old, member of the Jackson family, or not, wardrobe malfunctions will get you. So guys, don't judge us too harshly and we'll return the favor.