No Mistletoe For You

I still had some hope about finding love in 2016. Recently, I started talking to a guy who seemed fun and goofy. I mean, look at this profile picture: 

Adorable, right? He was from the area, had a so-so career (he was in real estate), but overall he seemed to have his life together. Now, you may be thinking, why are you dogging people who work in real estate? 

I'm sure that plenty of people who work in real estate are nice people. From my experience, men who work in this field tend to be douchebags. They are pretentious, haughty, and overall superficial. However, after some criticism from close friends that I should "ease up" on my list of excluding criteria, I decided to give this guy a shot. 

We decided to meet at a Starbucks that was midway between where each of us lived. It was a little bit of a hike, but I thought to myself, this could be worth it if the guy turns out to be nice. 

I got to the shop and peeked inside. There he was, sitting on the couch, with a creepy smile on his face. We greeted each other with a hug, and I felt myself shudder. I felt zero physical attraction. I kept telling myself to stop being so judgmental. So what if the guy felt like a wet noodle? What was on the inside is what matters, right? 

He asked me what I wanted to eat for dinner. 

"Dinner? I thought we were just having coffee, so I ate already, since we were meeting at Starbucks." 

Mind you, this "man" said nothing about meeting at Starbucks first and then going somewhere else for dinner. Everything said let's just meet for a coffee and see where things go. 

"Oh, well, I hadn't eaten, so I wanted to get something to eat." 

"Well, we can go to a restaurant, and I can get a drink if you want to get something." 

"No that's okay, I'll just eat something here." 

Strike 1 - you can't seem to make normal plans. Say what you mean. 

We made our way to the line. Like a gentleman, he allowed me to go first. I ordered a simple tea latte, since I would be sleeping in a few hours and I didn't want to get myself overly caffeinated. I noticed that he didn't stand next to me in line. He stayed behind me. The barista asked if that was all. He didn't order anything. I paid for my tea. 

Strike 2 - if you want to impress a woman, be a man and pay. It's a tea for heaven's sake! 

I was annoyed, but I thought, whatever. While I was waiting for my tea, I snapped a photo of him in line. As you can see, this guy screams wet noodle. 

He ordered a sandwich and a coffee. We sat down at a small table and he started eating. It was like watching a small child - cheese going everywhere. He would wipe his mouth, and he had the creepiest smile ever. It made me wildly uncomfortable.

We chatted and went through the usual "get to know you" topics about family, siblings, job, etc. He asked me about judges and lawyers in the area, and who I hated. When I told him that the attorney ethics code prohibits badmouthing, he scoffed to me, "You are probably the first lawyer I've met that doesn't badmouth!" He pressed me again to badmouth people. I was getting annoyed at him and it left a bad taste in my mouth. Dude, we're on a date. Why do you want to gossip about people you don't even know?

The topic then moved to politics. He told me how he admired that I was not a Trumpster. He revealed to me that he was a Gary Johnson supporter. I joked to him, "So, unlike your candidate, do you know what Aleppo is?" He defended Johnson, saying that he was caught off-guard. I responded that someone running for a position of world leadership should know up-to-the-minute information about world events. Then, this response really left me with a bad taste:
"Well, who really cares about Aleppo. I mean, we're here in a Starbucks. It doesn't affect us. The city sounds like a brand of dog food anyway."

I was disgusted. What I really wanted to do was tell him to have a nice night, get up, and walk out, but I have more class than that.

We talked about other topics, like favorite writers, books, and music. He mentioned a couple of American classics, like Emerson and Hemingway. You know, the stuff everyone reads in high school. When I threw out a few other names like Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Isabel Allende, he was clueless. It became painfully obvious that he was extremely uncultured, uneducated, and, frankly, he was nothing more than a bumpkin attempting to make himself up to be more than what he was - an insensitive, unrefined Wet Noodle.

Strike 3 - you have no decency or intelligence when it comes to topics concerning current events or culture. Being painfully insensitive to world tragedies is a huge turn-off.

He asked me what my dating life was like. He started to air his complaints about how women ghost him after dates. Gee, I wonder why. He admitted he was guilty of ghosting a few himself, but that usually, when he gets home and he wants to message the person he went out with, *poof!* she's gone.

I finished my tea, and I didn't want to spend another minute with the Wet Noodle with the creepy smile and lack of human decency. I announced that I finished my tea and had to get going to complete a few errands. I bid him goodbye.

Once I was in my car, the first thing I did was ghost him completely. It seemed like an appropriate remedy to a terrible date with the Wet Noodle. If he didn't have a shred of decency to pay for a lady's tea or have any sympathy for people getting executed in the streets, I certainly wasn't going to give him the benefit of any decency or sympathy in telling him that "things just aren't going to work out."

So much for the final hopes of love in 2016.

A Very Botox Christmas

I love this time of year. Holiday parties galore, where the foods are a'plenty, the wine is flowing, and music is going. I've been hitting party after party every weekend. Last Friday, my friend "Patty" invited me to a party at a home of a friend of hers. I gladly accepted the invitation, thinking that interacting with a whole new circle of people would enrich my own social circles.

Patty texted me the party information. I was intrigued by the address, as it was located in an older part of town. As I pulled up, I thought I was driving into a magazine photo shoot. What I thought were two houses was actually one house that connected two seemingly distinct buildings. The outside was immaculately decorated with a large horseshoe driveway. Large wreaths adorned the door. I double-checked the address. "Holy shit," I thought to myself. 

I rang the doorbell. I heard voices within, but nobody came to the door. I thought perhaps I was at the wrong address. I texted my friend and rang the doorbell again. 

Out popped my friend. "You're at the right house!" she chirped. I walked inside the magazine house. 

The beauty outside the home was no match for the beauty inside the home. The fireplace was roaring. The home was decorated with poinsettas, pine, candles, and other miscellaneous holiday adornments placed everywhere. It seemed that not even a speck of dust had dared settle anywhere. Holiday music was softly playing. I was amazed. 

"Make yourself comfortable!" my friend said. I set my purse down. I took a moment to walk around the living room which was larger than my one-bedroom apartment. I looked at the photos on one of the mantles. The couple who owned the home was picture-perfect. They were young. The woman was pretty, blonde, and had an excellent body, and the husband was very handsome with a body to match hers. Another photograph showed the couple with their two young daughters. The girls appeared to be in elementary school. "This is what everybody wants - wealth, a banging body after two kids, and a hot husband," I thought to myself. 

Moments later, the husband emerged. He appeared slightly older than the photograph. He was very tall, about three heads higher than me. Like any good host, he offered to get us some drinks. "We have a homemade pineapple vodka if you would like to try that!" I accepted. It tasted like the vodka went to the Caribbean and became a citizen. It was delicious. Recognizing the danger in such a delicious drink, I limited myself to one glass of it. 

More guests began streaming in, each one a character that was distinct from the next, but I noticed there was some commonalities among them all. The wife came down the stairs, breasts tastefully showing. She greeted us and began darting about the home, making sure that everything was perfect. If something was even a centimeter out of place, she adjusted it. She, too, was slightly older than the photograph. I noticed that her face appeared to have had some work done to it. I also noticed that her breasts were amazingly perky. Upon a closer look, I concluded that they, too, may have had some work done to them. 

Every woman at the party looked like she had botox injected in her face. I had never seen so much botox in one room, complete with a pair of operated breasts. It was amazing. I observed the guests and the hosts, laughing, joking, and reveling in the gossip of the day. The women, who all appeared to be in their 40s, were dressed sexy - some in short dresses, some in tight jeans with low-cut sweaters, and all with their men following after them. The men all had the same patterns - they looked like normal men who had spent a lot of time at the gym staying fit, probably to keep up with the botox. 

The only women who did not display such work were the younger couples who looked like they were in their 30s. I wondered to myself whether they would ever enter this metamorphosis of botox. I concluded that they likely would within the next 10-15 years, based on the patterns I observed among their older friends. 

I kept an eye out for any single men at the party, but there were none to be found. I noticed that a few of the men shot quick look-overs at me, but none dared speak to me. The women were obviously territorial, keeping their drinks close to them and their men even closer. I noticed that not many of the couples ever separated during the evening, each couple staying within a 4-foot radius of one another. 

The daughters of the house later paraded through with their friends. They were not the sweet, young girls that were in the photographs I saw. They were teenagers that looked like they were working their way up to the Red Light District in Amsterdam. Their faces were painted heavily with makeup. All of them had red lipstick that was so deep and so bright that I think a clown would have been jealous. Their skirts were skin-tight and short enough to be confused with shorts. One of the girls wore shorts that were so short her butt was exposed. I wondered to myself why she just didn't walk out in her underwear and call it a day. Their tops were low-cut, exposing their still-developing breasts as far down as probably what would have been the beginning of their tits. Their heels were high, fitting for adult hookers, but not quite for such young girls. I was appalled. I thought that maybe a parent or grandparent would reprimand them. Not at all. "Oh you look so beautiful!" commented the adults to the girls. My father would have had my head on a platter before I even attempted to walk out in public dressed like that, or even wear that much makeup at that age. These girls appeared to be fifteen and sixteen years old. I could only think two words about these girls, "Jail bait." 

It occurred to me that this house was just a sample of what was wrong with our society as a whole - it was focused on the artificial and keeping up appearances and had no problem with over-sexing the young. It was a house full of people who had a fear of aging and was doing everything medically possible to prevent the appearance of age. Nobody wanted to look their age. 

I heard a disturbance in another room. A few of the party-goers had gotten into an argument that turned physical. Some shoving was happening. The host husband whizzed by me with a smile saying, "Never a dull moment!" I felt like Alice in Wonderland. What is this place? The men who were fighting separated. I saw one of them storm out of the room. The party went on as if nothing occurred. The host walked past me again with the same, bright smile. 

Patty and I chatted throughout the night, with her telling me a few stories about some of the guests. One of the highlights was a woman who, upon first meeting Patty, recommended that she get botox on her eyes. Another story included a couple who was there with their young son. Patty was babysitting for them one day, and she found a small baggie of cocaine in the cupboard. She had never gone back.

After a few hours, Patty and I, along with a couple of Patty's other normal friends that I had spent the night socializing with, decided to leave. I had enough of the weird house. 

As I got in my car and took one last look at the house from the outside, I realized that the house wasn't perfect at all. The house itself looked physically perfect, but it was filled with people who couldn't handle reality, including the owners. It made me thankful that I didn't have these problems. To feel the need to keep up appearances that much meant that there was perpetual unhappiness or dissatisfaction with oneself. 

When I turned my car on, the engine started making some weird noises. I chuckled to myself. I can take the flaws in my life, only because I'm happy with it. 

Seeing the Girl My Ex Cheated With

Saturday mornings are my happy place. I attend a barbell strength-training class at the gym. After my break-up, I joined the gym and created a new routine for myself - running and the gym. There was something therapeutic about taking out all my frustrations through lifting weights or speeding through paths in a park.

Last Saturday, however, turned out to be a little different. Gyms become little towns. You tend to get to know who is who at the hours you go to the gym. Why is this? Because people are creatures of habit. As such, they will go to the gym around the same times usually on the same days. On this particular day, I noticed two new women walking in. One of them held the door open for me as I walked in. She looked at me as she held the door open, and she froze.

Initially, I didn't pay much mind to her and said a simple "Thanks" after she held the door open for me. Then, it hit me. It was HER!

It was one of the girls that my ex had been running around with behind my back. He had a hidden social media account. This was one of the girls from that account. No wonder her face froze. The bitch knew exactly who I was.

She and her friend walked towards a different section of the gym, towards the cross-fit area. I felt slight relief. Even though it's been two years, I didn't really want to see her face. I went to the room where the class was being held and started to set up my area. I was happy that I had arrived early and could have my choice of equipment as well as space.

After I had set up my space and started stretching, she came in with her friend. They looked around, and unfortunately, the only two spaces available were in the area in front me. They set up. I took the opportunity to look at her. She was shorter than I was, much shorter. She was also a little chubbier than I was. She also appeared to be younger - maybe mid-twenties.

As the class began, I must admit - I made sure to outdo her on every freaking exercise. Even when I thought my legs, arms, or abs were about to explode from burning, I kept pushing myself.

She was high maintenance - she was constantly texting on her phone throughout the exercises. What on earth was so important that she had to text in the middle of weight lifting?

As the class went on, the less I cared about her. I was fascinated to see the person that my ex ran around with, but today, does it matter? It really didn't.

As I drove home, I recalled all of the hurt I went through back then. I remembered screaming at my ex, "You will never touch me again!" I remember thinking that all the dreams I had for us were shattered. She knew exactly who I was when it was happening. This made her behavior just as bad, but it's not up to me to get back at her for what she and my ex did.

That's Karma's job.

Blast from the Past

Facebook did it again. Periodically, Facebook displays "People You May Know." For those not familiar, it's people that Facebook has identified as someone you might know based on common acquaintances, phone numbers, or any other things on Facebook algorithm. This time, it identified what I initially thought was my ex from law school's wife. Observe: 

Complete with baby. I was disgusted initially, but happy to see him happy. He and I had always been friends. We dated, it didn't work out, and then he got engaged years later to someone else who could give him what he wanted. After his engagement, he stopped calling, and I stopped calling. It just made sense. Then I get the friend request: 

Same name, different Facebook profile picture. I was appalled. Why would she send me a friend request? I decided to go into stalker mode. I learned that the profile name was actually their baby's name. After reading some comments, I discovered that it was actually my ex using his son's name. I had to admit, the baby was pretty cute. The wife seemed like a nice person. Wasn't I supposed to be hate-mode? Nah. 

The thing is this - we didn't end on bad terms. We used to be best friends. Of all of the relationships I had, he was the one I wanted to work out most. It didn't because of one thing: religion. He was Muslim, and I was Catholic. He went out of state for medical school. I just started my first job out of law school. He wanted me to move with him and take the next step. I wanted to take the next step, too, but he wanted the next step with one condition: conversion. When I refused to convert, then we talked about how we could raise our future kids. He was adamant about blocking out Catholic teaching and making it only Muslim teaching. In religion, there was no middle ground with him. I wasn't opposed to introducing Muslim teaching, but I was adamant about including Catholic teaching. These were issues that didn't come up until our relationship hit this breaking point. Everything we had ever talked about and agreed upon had changed. When our foundation changed, the relationship crumbled. 

We didn't speak for months. I was upset because I felt like he went back on his word - he was supposed to accept me "as is," beliefs and all. There were a few other issues that were associated with a long-distance relationship that I held against him - like forgetting to call me on my birthday. Eventually, I forgave him. When he called me again to see how I was, our friendship came back. 

We stayed friends until he got engaged. We haven't spoken in two years. Here he is again, with a friend request, masquerading as a 1 year old baby. 

Confirm or Delete? 

A Scary Halloween Haunt

Facebook has a magical way of bringing people you thought you had put behind in your life to creep right back. Such was the case with a guy from college who attempted to sexually assault me (below). 

He then sent me a message saying, "It's been a long time. How have you been?" 

It's been a long time because I didn't want anything to do with him. 

I'm not even sure why I'm writing about this tonight. It just bothers me that he had the balls to message me again after so many years. I thought that with college graduation, I could just lay him to rest in the graveyard of unpleasant experiences and memories from that time period. 

We used to be friends. What had happened was this - I was in undergrad, and he was a graduate student. I went to his apartment to pick up a sweater I left behind at a house party. His roommates were home. He asked me to follow him to his room, as my sweater was there. I didn't think twice about it because I was 19, shy, naive, and had no expectation that anything foul was going to happen. 

His room was dimly lit. He locked the door behind us. He then said he had downloaded some new Arabic music and asked me if I would like to hear it. I thought that the lighting was odd, but again, I didn't think anything of it. He told me to sit down. I sat down on the edge of his bed. He started the music. It was a slow song. At the time, I was studying Arabic. I was listening closely to the words of the song to see how much I could understand. 

He sat down next to me, really close to me. I started to feel uncomfortable, but I kept my cool thinking that nothing would happen. Stuff like that only happened to other people. He started to scoot closer to me. He got close to my neck. I'll never forget the smell of his breath in that moment.  

"I think you're really hot." 

I scooted away and said that I just wanted to finish listening to the song. He moved in again, this time grabbing my arm and pulling me towards him. I felt so stunned that I didn't know what to do. I had never been in a situation like that before. I pulled away. 

Then, he scared me. He grabbed me much more forcefully, grabbed me by the face, and said "Kiss me." He then pulled my head to his, and he forced me to have the most disgusting kiss of my life. I still remember what his lips felt like. I hated those lips. 

I pulled away and told him to stop. He grabbed me again, pushed me down on the bed, and got on top of me. He started forcing my legs apart and rubbing himself on me. "Just give this a chance. You'll like it." I started panicking. I couldn't believe this was happening. I didn't scream yet. I just kept saying "No" and tried to wiggle away. He wouldn't listen to me and he grabbed my arms even tighter and pushed my arms down harder into the mattress. He switched his hands and manipulated my arms so that with one hand he was holding both of my arms down and with the other he tried to unbutton my jeans. I raised my voice and yelled "STOP!" One of his roommates knocked and asked if we were okay. He got off of me. He said we were just having an argument. 

I took the opportunity to grab my sweater, dart for the door, unlock the door, and rush out of the apartment. I remember feeling embarrassed when I rushed out of the apartment because I felt that my hair was so messed up and it probably looked like we were messing around. The only time I ever saw him again was at parties or around campus. He would say hello. I usually said hi and then acted like I had to rush to class, answer a friend's phone call, or any other assortment of excuses. 

I didn't call the police. Looking back, I wish I had, but at the time, I didn't think anyone would believe me. I was just a 19 year old undergrad student. I also didn't think it was a big deal because I thought I was partly to blame for what happened. I didn't think that it was sexual assault. 

So here he is, 13 years later, sending me a friend request on Facebook. I didn't respond to his message. I deleted his request. I don't like to remember, and I wish I could forget. 

Parade of Misogyny

It's a fun new trend in the dating world. Misogyny. Donald Trump embraces it and is making a political career out of it, bragging about grabbing women by the pussy.

What is a misogynist? Merriam-Webster defines it simply - "a hatred of women." Dictionary.com defines it as "a hatred, dislike, or mistrust of women, or prejudice against women."

Unfortunately for me, I experienced what was a parade of misogyny. I had a taste of it a couple weekends ago with Trumpster. Apparently, this weekend I was to be treated to a full buffet. 

It started on Friday with a guy from Bumble I was talking to. He is a divorced father of 2. He disclosed to me that he was a father of 2 after reading my profile where I made it abundantly clear that I had reservations about playing stepmom and preferred a man with no kids but wanted to start a family. He was defensive about the issue. I gave him a pass for it. Then came the request for a "current photo." 

At first, my thought was, what a paranoid freak. I then recalled the times that I met a guy in person and he didn't match his photos at all. I obliged and snapped a quick selfie. Now, it was my turn... 

Yeah, you do look bad... 

I loved how he made excuses for looking bad. He didn't look like his photos at all. I stopped talking to him. If he was already suspicious of my profile, this was not going to be the guy for me. 

Fast forward to Saturday night. My friends and I went clubbing in a ritzy part of town. I was wearing a dress that exposed my back and a pair of smoking hot heels. 

Every woman knows that after a while, smoking hot heels means smoking hot feet. I needed to rest. While my friends danced, I sat next to them at the bar. I, being one of the only sober ones in the group, kept an eye out for any pervs nearby. 

Every club has at least one perv. Come on, you know what I mean. There's always at least one creepy guy who lurks in a dark corner, waiting to find one single woman who even temporarily gets separated from her friends so he can try to make a move. 

Unfortunately for me, there were two pervs. The pair was about 50 years old and they were watching me like a lion watches a wounded gazelle. I ignored them, hoping they'd just go away. 

They didn't go away. 

Those assholes had the gall to touch me. One of them extended his creepy finger and ran it up my back. They started to laugh at this violation of my body. I was ignited. I was livid. I immediately turned around and unleashed my street side. 

"WHAT THE F*CK! DO NOT EVER TOUCH ME AGAIN! YOU TOUCH ME AGAIN AND YOU'LL SEE WHAT THE F*CK WILL HAPPEN TO YOU! BACK THE F*CK OFF RIGHT NOW!"

They didn't back off. They moved in. One of them grabbed me around the neck and tried to kiss me. I violently pushed him. 

I raised my voice. "BACK THE F*CK OFF YOU F*CKING ASSWIPE! BACK THE F*CK OFF!" I kept repeating it over and over. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the guys from the group watching in amazement. 

The jackals left. I turned my attention to the guys in my group. 

"What the f*ck? Didn't you see all that?" 

"Yeah! But you looked like you had a handle on things!"

I guess I did, but it would have been nice to have backup. 

As the night flowed on, so did the booze, and so did my female friends' drunkenness. One of them was recently single. She disappeared into the crowd and returned with a guy from a wedding party. I watched the pair because my drunk friend was entertaining and because I was suspicious of men from wedding parties. 

Let's be real here. If you're single, and you go to a wedding, you mostly want to get laid at some point. 

My drunk friend was like a butterfly - beautiful and all over the place. She fluttered between our friends and this wedding party guy. The guy disappeared when my friend fluttered back to us for a while. I looked for him. 

When I finally spotted him, I saw that he was with another woman from the wedding party - a drunk girlfriend? She could barely stand. She had no idea what was happening. After a few moments of the two of them speaking, I saw them kissing. He then sat her down and returned to my friend.

I could not believe my eyes. 

I told my friend's sister who said she would alert my friend. 

I continued to observe this pattern - my friend fluttering between this guy and us, and the guy fluttering between my friend and kissing this other woman. 

The club was closing. I saw my friend's sister confront the guy. I positioned myself so I could hear what was going on. He started to deny everything. Again, I was ignited. 

"You LIAR! You're a freaking liar! I freaking saw you!"

With a straight face, he denied my eyewitness accusation. 

"Why would I lie? And who was I kissing?"
"I'm not going to play these games with you. How old are you? 26?"
"I'm 27."
"You act like you're 12. Get out of here. You know what you did."
Again, he challenged me. "Why would I lie?"
I decided to be crude. I pointed to my friend's vaginal area.
"To get that. That's why. Now get out of here."

At that moment, my friend took off running like Laura Ingalls in the prairie. Her sister ran after her. I walked over to the pair. There was a brief discussion about where everyone was parked. I had enough and told them I was going home.

The drive was long and it gave me time to process everything. Is this the state of men these days? Is this what we have been reduced to? I wanted the days of my father - where men were noble and courtship was authentic. I needed hope.

I said a small prayer to myself, to meet the right man soon, and to never be paired with a cheater or a closet misogynist. I deserve better.

We all do.

A Date With A Trumpster

photo credit: https://act.credoaction.com/sign/Trump_SNL

Let's wind back the clock. I was at a friend's house for an Easter-egg-dying party. Seated in a circle around the table were friends of my friend, including one particularly semi-obnoxious man, a Trump- supporting Baptist whose views were incredibly opposite to my own (hereinafter known in this post as "Trumpster").

Let me make this clear before I continue with the rest of the story: I can't stand Trump, mostly because his views tend to polarize the country along racial lines and social class. He's a buffoon that doesn't belong in leadership. I could probably write a book about why he doesn't belong in leadership, but I'll leave that for another forum. Just know that I think Trump is a freaking racist misogynist and that most of his supporters are the Archie Bunkers of the United States.

My friend told me that she had a falling out with Trumpster. She recounted the story to me a few months ago. I couldn't really remember much about the falling out story itself, other than recalling that he was an ass and she couldn't stand him anymore. She did what most women do - phased him out. Ghosted him. The ghost, however, came to haunt me on my POF account.

Last week, on POF, the Trumpster messaged me. He expressed how he remembered me from our friend's party, how he adored my friend, and asked me how I was doing these days. I exchanged polite conversation, keeping it light and trying to keep it distant. 

He asked me for my number, saying it was easier to keep in touch via text message rather than POF. I agreed and gave him my cell. I told my friend that Trumpster had reached out. I thought, initially, he wanted to try to use me as a medium to patch things up with my friend. My friend insisted this was not the case. "He's crazed for women." 

Surely, not me, an anti-Trump, Catholic, I thought to myself. I wanted to know the real reason that he was reaching out to me. Why now? Why so many months later? It had to be because of my friend. 

Eventually, he asked me to go boating with him. I agreed, thinking to myself, how bad could it be? After all, I could make a new friend out of it... plus I wanted to find out how much of a Trump supporter he really was. I mean, back around Easter, Trump was an ass, but his insanity hadn't quite yet climaxed... okay let's face it, his insanity is always climaxing, but I digress. 

We met at the docks in a ritzy part of town. As we were pulling out of the docks in the boat, I commented on the beauty of the large houses. And so it began - the racist comments. Much like his much-adored Trump, he started out with a stellar response. "Welcome to whitehood." 

WHAT THE F***!? I thought to myself. I didn't laugh. I gave a half-smile and looked at him, saying, "Really, dude?" I found the comment to be offensive towards non-whites, as well as myself. Let's face it, in the encyclopedia, I might be white. To the rest of America, I'm brown as brown gets. I come from a long line of doctors, lawyers, business people, and politicians. Anyone who knew the history of my family, and each individual contained in it, would be in pure awe. Somehow, it seems to get negated by certain people of certain mutated and half-witted thought processes. 

The next comment happened at the first bar we stopped off at. I made a remark about how beautiful the birds were. He responded, "Towards the later afternoon, the pelicans start to come out to get food when more fish are out jumping. You know, they're not just there to get the welfare checks." WHAT THE F***!? Is this guy serious? I looked at him again, with the same half smile. "Okay, okay, I'll stop with the jokes."

Now, some might say, he was trying to relax the atmosphere. Hell freaking no. Someone who makes jokes like that honestly holds those beliefs. To crack jokes like that is a test - to see how far I'll go, to see how much I'll tolerate. If I was laughing along with him and rolling with the "white homies," then he would have cracked more of the jokes. Since I wasn't, and visibly repulsed, he stopped. 

The rest of the day went well. We enjoyed some nice fresh fish, a gyro, and some beautiful views of the shores. He turned out to be a funny guy who could crack normal jokes. I laughed more times than I could count. Like all days, the sun had to set. 

There we were, in the middle of the water, with the sun getting ready to dip down, the clouds painted in hues of orange and pink. Slowly, his arm came around me. Shit. Trumpster is trying to move in. The whole day, I honestly thought he just wanted to be friends. He moved in for a kiss on the mouth. I turned. He got my cheek. After a few moments, he wanted to kiss me again. Again, he got the cheek. 

After a few more jokes and a few more moments of conversation, he wanted to know why I wouldn't give "us" a chance. I told him that I didn't like he was a Trump supporter.

"I think that if you support Trump, now, today, after everything he has said and done, there is a difference in our values and opinions that reaches down to the core. I don't think I can be with someone like that. We're having fun now, but eventually, this clash of core values will bubble up." 

He responded by saying that what some of Trump has said is insane, but he truly believed that Trump could change the economy. "He's a real estate guy, like me." 

Call me crazy, but I focus on more than one issue when I'm thinking about electing the leader of my country. I didn't push the topic. I told him that I wanted to be friends, but I didn't think we'd work out. He was understanding, and we started to head home. 

He was nice, he was fun, but deep down, he holds some racist views. I think to ever support Trump, you yourself must also hold some racist views. If you don't, then there's no way you could ever swallow the shit that Trump spews. If you don't swallow the shit that Trump spews, it means you must be at least a half-way decent human being that can reject racism, bigotry, and misogyny. 

Are all Trumpsters bad people? They're not necessarily evil, but I will say this: I firmly believe they are the precursors to people like Hitler and Putin. If you let it slide, then tyrants will continue to slide right in. It's a clash of values, and I just can't be with someone who clashes with my values that deeply. 

Piercing Love

Some men love to put their bodies on display on dating sites. When they do, it's likely that they're looking for a fun hook-up. That's okay - it's fun to look at them anyway. 

One of the more interesting ones I've noticed recently are "the pierced ones." I'm not just talking about piercings in the ear or nose, although Tinder has presented some horrific ones. I'm thinking about going back to Tinder for the mere entertainment value. 

Friends, Bumble has a plethora of pierced ones. Appearing below, you shall see them in their piercing glory - nipples included. 

Exhibit A: 

As you can see, Exhibit A appears to have a great body, but it's shot from below. Could it be that he wants the female viewer to imagine what he's like from below? 

Exhibit B: 

Literally, highly decorated with tattoos. He, too, has a muscular body. For some reason, men displaying their piercings tend to have nice bodies. 

Exhibit C, my personal favorite: 

This one is the most creative with the piercings. Happy Holidays! Okay, it's summer, but with a Christmas picture like this, how can I not post it? It's brilliant. This guy is saying, "I will jingle...all the way!" I wonder what kind of event he was dressed up - either a slutty Christmas party, or Halloween. Either way, it's brilliant, like the garland all over his neck. I'm sure a number of ladies wouldn't mind being the garland on that chest of his, ha! 

Piercing love? For some, but not for me. I just can't wrap my head around the idea of someone who has as many piercings as I do. Not quite my style, but still fun to observe. 

Suddenly Gay

Yes. The bizarre continues. This time, a man tries a new method to get me to respond online. Read below:

Yes. First, the flirting. Then, after some days of silence, he comes out to me online. He is gay!? And he wants to be friends. 

I had to ponder this one for some time. Why?  Why would a straight man pose as a gay man online? The only thing I could think of was that a gay man is one of the most trusted beings to a woman, besides another trusted female. Think about it.

A woman knows that straight men want to penetrate her. Sometimes, she herself wants to be penetrated - but for a price. What is that price? Straight men know this price. It's dinner. It's getting to know the woman. If the woman has no standards, it stops just at dinner (or drinks if she's really got no standards for the guy). Beyond that, a woman who is looking for a real relationship will stress a full courtship and slowly let the man into her world. Come on, would you let a complete stranger into your world just like that? Into the world of your friends? Your family? Your personal time? Your schedule? Hell no! You make that man WORK! It takes time. It takes dates. THAT'S the price, and the taxes are all year long baby. 

For a gay man who is seeking a friendship, there is no price because penetration is not an option. Friendship is the easy way in to a woman's life. Want to call her up at the last minute to go to the beach? No problem! Let's go! Throw on that bikini and off we go! Movies? Sure! No problem! Let's catch the 9 o'clock showing! Drinks? Yes! And if I get too tipsy, you'll be the one to take care of me, right? Because we're friends! 

However, if you're a man trying to develop something with a woman and you're in the early stages of getting to know her, these last minute rendezvous usually don't work out. Why? Because men don't get an automatic ticket into her life. And why should they? They need to earn it. 

It seems like a double standard, I know. For the woman seeking a relationship, it's about developing a level of mutual respect, trust, and honor. For the woman seeking a friendship, it's about building a bond. Wait a minute, you say. Doesn't she wan't to build a bond in a relationship, too? Of course! But let's be real here. Your true blue friends more likely than not have already been developed well before your thirties. The friends I know that I can rely on, come hell or high water, were developed during the years of my childhood, college, and law school years. Of course, I make new friends, but I don't set higher standards for them like I would for a man that I view as my potential husband. In my thirties, I always welcome new friends, but I don't need them (which is why I have no problem dumping friends the minute they start giving me a lot of bull shit - the mark of a not-so-true-blue friend). 

Let's circle back to the question of why a straight man would pose as a gay man. Because of all of the above. He knows that he can bypass all of this hullabaloo and hoopla. He knows that he can get that automatic ticket into my life - because he's gay! And not just gay, but he "just came out," which adds the sympathy factor. This means that he gets a quicker avenue to the trust bucket, which means he gets to see me in vulnerable situations faster. Then, comes the grand unveiling. After some time, when we've been hanging out, having fun, and maybe one night after drinks and we "accidentally" kiss will happen the great unveiling. "I just pretended to be gay so I could get to know you."  

All I can say is, nice try, but I'm still not going out with you. 

Officer Fakeness and Ex-Porno

Hello, friends! 

I've fallen by the wayside again, but I'm back! This summer has brought many challenges that required my attention and left me with little time to blog. Fear not, the dating follies continue. 

I'll write about two such follies that I've experienced. One occurred last month. The man claimed to be a police officer. He wouldn't tell me where he worked, which I thought was odd. If he was posting his photo, he can't be that confidential, can he? 

Eventually, he gave me his Instagram name. We allowed each other access. I wanted to find out if he was really an officer or if he was a fake.

Let's be real here - why conceal where you work? I'm a freaking attorney! How "top secret" could this guy be?

After perusing his Instagram, I came across a couple of photos he posted that had his complete name. He had completed some kind of law-enforcement related training. His Instagram was saturated with police-related posts. He had many photos of himself with other officers from different agencies. There was nothing about himself with his own agency.

Unsatisfied with what I had seen, I went to another resource that never failed when I needed information. I went to Google.

I searched his complete name. The first result that popped up was a mugshot.

Whoa! An officer with a record?

The next few results were news stories related to the arrest. The arrest was from six years ago. He and some friends of his were on vacation at a beach town. They were being rowdy and causing trouble in the bar. The bar owner wanted the men removed. When police arrived, this guy tried to convince the officers that he himself was a cop and would they please "hand over custody" of his friends to him. What the f***?!? Naturally, he got arrested along with the rest of his knucklehead buddies. The media, being the media, did a search of his background and found out that he was nothing but a grocery store boy. What a punk. He had been applying to law enforcement agencies at the time, but hadn't been through any kind of training.

Shocked by this news story, I immediately blocked him on my Instagram and off POF. I don't want to talk to someone who abuses his power, or perceived power, like that!

I decided I wasn't even going to give this guy the chance.

Moving on...

Here's another gem that will give you a few good laughs. Read below...

Yes. Apparently, I'm more attractive than porn stars, from a porn star himself. What a self-confidence booster! 

Needless to say, I didn't respond to this gem. I'd prefer to date someone whose dick is not publicly viewable on the internet, or seen or experienced for profit. 

Wild Ginger

I know it's been a while since I've last posted! I was preoccupied by other travels and some crazy times at work!

So let me tell you about my latest date. Meet the Ginger. Most people know a ginger to be a redhead. Granted, gingers are usually not my thing. I decided to go out with this guy because a psychic told me a few months ago I'd meet a ginger with a great personality. She was right - he was a ginger with a great personality, but this guy is not the one for me. Take a look at his Bumble profile:

He looks like a possible good prospect, right? I can deal with the bald head. I can deal with the beard. He looked like he had a nice body. We chatted for a while and eventually met up for dinner. What is advertised in photos and what you actually get don't always comport. Observe: 

This guy has an overgrown bush on his face, and I COULD NOT STAND IT! It was wild ginger beard. When we met up for dinner, he was nice, classy, and fun. We got along, but more in a friendship kind of way. I couldn't stop thinking about his pseudo-Duck Dynasty beard. I wondered how much oil was on that beard. I wondered how dirty that beard was. The thought of that guy having sex and having that beard on top of me repulsed me.

He must have read my mind because he asked, me, "So what do you think of the beard?"
"It's okay, I guess. I'm not a huge fan of beards, but it's whatever you want to do to your face."
"Good! Because I'm not getting rid of it. I want to grow it out, make it nice and long!"

And that was that.

The other fatal flaw with this guy is that he lives an hour and fifteen minutes away. I didn't bother keeping up with him. The text messages he'd send me of himself with his ugly ass beard did nothing but make me want to vomit. How on earth did this guy think the beard was hot?

He would send me photos of himself and his beard in bed, at work, getting ready for work, or just stuck in traffic. I had had enough. I did what any single woman does when she wants to silently strangle a no-go man - conveniently "forget" to text him back.

He also had me on his Snapchat. I think after I blocked him on Snapchat and "forgot" to text him back, he got the message and backed off with the beard photos. Eventually, I told him I didn't think we were going anywhere. He was perplexed.

"I thought we hit it off?"

In my mind, I was thinking, "You must be mentally ill." Just because I sit through a dinner with you without running away and the conversation seems to flow doesn't mean we "hit it off." You might have had the hots for me (and why wouldn't you!), but I certainly didn't have the hots for you!

That was the end of the Ginger. No more Gingers for me.

Men in Costume

Many women I know have been fleeing Tinder recently. If you view the images below, you'll see why. It's becoming a circus! I don't know what it is that made these men think, "Hey, if I dress like an idiot, I'm going to get a woman for sure! She won't be able to resist my wit!" 

I think that the reason some of these men are single is because they have no game. I don't know what it is about Tinder that everyone loves. I think the only people that make real connections on that app have got to people with minimal intelligence. 

Let's get to the commentary, shall we? 

It's like the 70s died and were resurrected by this crazy imbecile. A guy dancing with a beer in platforms? WTF? This might have been attractive 50 years ago to someone who was cracked out of their minds. 

Another resurrection - Elvis. I only know one woman who thinks Elvis impersonators are sexy, and she is over 60. 

Batman! Nothing screams sexy like wearing fake muscles and striking a dashing pose. 

Pedophile?

This one gives me as many creeps as the pedophile guy in the bunny costume. Why on earth would you think you trying to grab a cat (and possibly trying to send a subliminal message) would attract a woman? 

If any of these men are off the market now, it's probably because whoever nabbed them as amazingly low standards. I suppose there is someone for everyone, right? 

Summer Freaks

Happy Friday, friends! Summer is beginning and the freaks are out! Allow me to share with you the wonderful freaks. Let's start with Mr. Deepthroat.

Yes. You read correctly. This a**hole had the audacity to ask me if I was willing to blow him. Here's the thing though - if he had the audacity to ask me, thinking there might be a chance that I'm actually into this stuff, then chances are that there are other women who really are down for this. I guess this is what some men do when they go out of town...

Now here is a guy who has better hair than I do:

He's polite, but I'm looking for a man, not a man who has hair like a woman. Gross.

And lastly, the young guy looking for a cougar. He thinks his cool line will capture me...

Wtf? 

To all these freaks, how about a giant FRO (f*ck right off)!

Dear John - Goodbye

In my last post, I wrote a little about John, seen below: 

He looks like a nice, normal guy, right?

Friends, John is a psycho. Since our first date, he has proven to be a clingy, attention-seeking individual with low self-esteem. I'm all for helping people, but I'm not looking for a charity case for a boyfriend.

John and I made plans that last Saturday we would go to a baseball game together. John let me know that he couldn't make it Saturday because he was called away for work at a stadium. We planned to see a game last Sunday instead. I didn't hear from John and sent him a text. The following was said:

Notice the weekend radio silence about him being in the hospital. "I am at the hospital." Now, I have no idea whether he's in the hospital, or someone else is in the hospital, or who the hell is in the hospital and for what. Clearly, he would have been able to give me some kind of detail if he was able to squeak out "I am at the hospital." I didn't appreciate the radio silence the rest of the weekend. To me, it screamed that he wanted attention. It turned out I was right. Read on: 

In between the Monday and Tuesday texts, there was one phone call where he told me about what really happened. John wasn't in the hospital at all (shocker). One of the workers he was with fell from a high altitude and John had to exert heroic rescue efforts to save him (shocker). Another call for attention. My friend "Kristy" told me about a wine tasting event in town that sounded like a lot of fun. I wanted check it out, so I wanted to see if John would want to do that instead. Look at his response: 

First of all, what the f* is an "alcoholy"? And he doesn't have good grammar. Anyone who is a native English speaker who doesn't know the difference between their, there, and they're  (or you're and your) is an idiot. His joke about calling me an "alcoholy" rubbed me the wrong way, but whatever. We agreed to meet at 6:45, since the event started at 7 and the invitation said to arrive early. 

John was late, but I gave him a break for that one. I was on the phone with another friend on my way there which was why I didn't text John back. Regardless, his ass should have been on time. He didn't arrive until 10 past 7. My friend Kristy was there too. 

When John entered, I was impressed by his outfit. He had a nice, pressed dress shirt on. He had nice shoes. He had nice jeans. He looked clean-cut. He sat next to me, and then he put his phone in my purse. WTF!? Red flag. 

For those who don't know, a woman's purse is sacred. Not just anyone can go into a woman's purse. A woman's purse is the extension of her home - her essentials are in there. For anyone else to invade that space is the equivalent of an invasion of privacy. 

The wine tasting event turned out to be a total bust. Instead of a true wine tasting, it turned out to be a pitch for a pyramid scheme! During the pitch, I looked around the room to see what was going through the minds of other people. Surely there still aren't idiots in the world that fall for these pyramid schemes? 

One of the people must have been in sync with me because they asked one of the sellers, flat out, if this was a pyramid scheme. 

"No no no! We are not a pyramid scheme. All you need to do is recruit two people, and then those two people each need to recruit two more people, and so on down the chain." 

As he said this, he illustrated the formation with two fingers... forming a pyramid. 

Despite the bull sh*t event, we didn't want to be rude. Kristy and I came up with a plan to leave, one at a time, discreetly. I told John the plan. John said, "But my phone is in your purse." I handed it back to him, thinking at this point he was a total dumbass for putting his phone in there in the first place. The three of us left, one at a time, in a discreet manner. I formally introduced John and Kristy to each other. John seemed very cordial and friendly. 

We then left to a nearby restaurant and sat in the bar area for some drinks and appetizers. At first, John was very chatty with me and Kristy. His demeanor started to change. He wasn't joining in the conversation, and he was making a lot of back-handed remarks towards both Kristy and me. 

Now, you might be thinking, "Well she was the third wheel. So he was probably irritated." Is that really an excuse for being rude to someone? A gentleman should always be a gentleman. 

John also revealed that he had been engaged before. Kristy and I gave our condolences for the death of the engagement. I asked John how long ago it ended, and what the reason was for the engagement ending.

"It was a year ago, and I can't talk about it. It's too painful."

Too painful? Baggage alert! Red flag! Red flag! 

He then went on to tell us that he goes to therapy regularly for chronic depression. Another red flag! Now, remember that I went to counseling for ten months to make sense of my past abusive relationship, but I didn't have chronic depression, and I certainly was not in the same emotional storm that I was two years ago. He definitely had some issues he still needed to work on. I fully encourage counseling and therapy. There certainly is nothing wrong it, but I am cautious about people who have a chronic condition. 

John then made another cry for attention. He asked Kristy and I what we thought about a movie idea. He laid it out like this, with me peppering him with questions along the way. 

"Okay, so there's this girl."

"What's her age?"

"She's like, 20s." 

"Okay, go on." 

"Okay so there's this girl, and there's this man - they call him Old Man Henry." 

"Old Man Henry? So is he the town creeper? Is he a serial killer?" 

"No, no. That's just what they call him. He's nice. He's the girl's uncle. He takes care of her because her parents died." 

"Okay." 

"Okay, so Old Man Henry dies, and she's sad about it. So one day she goes to a lake with some friends of hers, and she's sad, and then she tells her friends she's going for a walk." 

"Is this a horror story? Does the uncle haunt her?" 

"No. Not a horror story. But she goes on this walk, and goes into an abandoned house, and then she finds all this stuff about her uncle in the house and some other woman. And it makes her wonder about his life. And then that's where the story begins." 

He smiled at me and Kristy, with a smug smile on his face, as if he had just surpassed Steven Spielberg himself and already won the Golden Globes and Oscars. 

Kristy, not one to pull any punches, immediately launched into her opinion. 

"It sucks! Where's the grab? What's the interest?" 

John looked at me and asked me what I thought. 

"Well, I mean, I don't see what's attractive about it either. It sounds like a boring beginning. Maybe if there was more spice to the beginning." 

Kristy jumped in again, "Yes! What is the grab? This story needs a good kick. There's no kick! There's no grab! If this was a book I'd throw it in the garbage!" 

Then John tried to redeem himself. "Well, my friend, who wins a lot of indie movie film awards and does filmmaking, and I are doing a movie together and I'm coming up with the story line. That's why I wanted to know what you thought." I felt bad. 

"Maybe work on the story a little more?" 

John became more withdrawn. I think we triggered his depression. John then became animated again and decided to pick a fight with me. 

"Okay, let me ask you this! What happens if you don't show up for jury duty?" 

"You can be held in contempt of court." 

"What does that mean?" 

"It means that the judge can fine you or put you in jail." 

"Okay well, what if my address isn't updated?" 

"Why wouldn't your address be updated?" 

"What if I just moved?" 

"I don't know - probably not. You're supposed to keep your address updated. It's a misdemeanor if you don't." 

John then continued with about ten other scenarios, as if he were a little child with a wild imagination, asking me over and over "What if this" and "What if that," including what if he was out of the country. Finally I asked him, "Why are you asking me all these scenarios? Did you just get summoned for jury duty and you're trying to figure out how to get out of it? I don't get it." 

"Well you work in the courts so I want to know!" 

"But WHY? I don't control the jury system. That's not my domain. I don't understand why we're having this discussion. It's bizarre." 

He stared at me very weirdly. "Okay, I won't talk about it anymore!" He turned his face away from me and put his hand over his mouth. What the hell kind of reaction was this? 

Kristy looked at me and her eyes said to me, "Who the hell is this guy?" 

I decided to cut the night short. I asked for our checks. John didn't offer to pay for my bill. Red flag number three. 

The three of us walked out of the restaurant. Kristy and I walked next to each other. John walked ahead of us, not looking at us at all. He was like a robot. 

"Hey, have a good night!" I shouted at him. 

"Yeah, you too!" he shouted back, not looking at me at all. 

Kristy said, "I feel bad. Should you go talk to him?" 

"Hell no! Why would I do that? He's being a dick. Let him go be a dick." 

Kristy and I went to sit at another nearby restaurant to chat about the night and what a freaking weirdo John was. I decided to pull the plug on John. After I sent the following text messages, John tried calling me. I let it go to voicemail. 

I had to think about whether I was going to give this bad and bizarre behavior a third shot. I decided not to give him any openings. I sent the following text the next morning:

I then promptly blocked his phone number, as well as blocked him on Snapchat. Let's be real - if the guy can have a Jekyll-Hyde reaction over two dates, imagine how he'd react after a text like that! It was time to give John the final goodbye.

Note that I didn't even give him the opening to be friends with me. Let's be real here - some guys think that being friends means that they can someday have another opening. I didn't want to give John that kind of hope. I had to crush that hope, and crush it I did.

I'm sure that John, someday, will find the right woman, just as I will find the right man.

We're just not right for each other.