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.

Single and No Mingle

It's been a long two weeks. Lately, I find that I've become content being single. Bumble hasn't really done much to improve my dating hopes, especially considering these yahoos. Observe: 

"Let me act like I'm some cool guy in conversation who is sitting around in a speedo so you can see how small my dick is." 

"I can't get real pictures of myself so let me just take selfies in the mirror of me making different facial expressions." 

"I can't afford to get my hair cut or even put on real clothes. Let me try to make you think I'm sexy by sticking my tongue out like Miley Cyrus." 

They all make me want to gag. 

I did meet one decent guy from Bumble, though. I went on a date earlier this week with a really nice guy named "John." John is a Southern boy with city flair. He's not a redneck, but he sounds a little bit like one. He does compliance checks to make sure that construction companies and their corresponding construction sites aren't violating federal safety laws. Sounds fancy, doesn't it? 

We met for drinks at an upscale bar. Things were going well. We were enjoying each other's company and exchanging laughs. As we consumed our drinks, I noticed something strikingly familiar about the bartender. I couldn't quite place it, but then it hit me. She was the fiancée of one of my ex's friends. I played it cool. 

We moved from drinks to having dinner at a Japanese restaurant. At the sushi bar, we ran into another friend of mine who was also on a date. Unlike me, he was no longer single and was out with his girlfriend. We exchanged some banter. One thing concerned me about John during the dinner portion - he seemed to need to go to the bathroom a LOT. I don't know if he had the urge to pee, but we hadn't been drinking much, and I'd never seen someone go that many times in the span of one hour. 

During one of John's bathroom breaks, my male friend said to me that he approved. I said to him, "Are you sure? Because you approved the last one and he turned out to be shitty!" My friend looked mortified. I thought it was because he was feeling guilty. I then realized that, at the precise moment the words came out of my mouth, John was standing right behind me. I was mortified, too! 

After dinner, John and I started walking back to our cars. I was a little antsy about getting home because I was supposed to start a trial the next day. Our short drink meeting had turned into a two-hour rendezvous that I hadn't anticipated. He wanted to sit and chat some more. After about five minutes of chatter, I let him know that it was time for this little lawyer to get home. 

As we walked to our car, I noticed someone who looked very familiar. I turned my head to get a better look until I realized that another ghost from my old life appeared - one of my ex's friends! He was there, at the bar outside, where I saw his fiancée. I turned my head, ignored him, and kept walking with John. 

John walked me to my car, hugged me goodnight, and said we'd go out again on the weekend. Since this date, John has been texting and calling me every day. 

John is a great guy, but when I first met him in person, I didn't feel that "spark." I didn't feel that sudden attraction for him like I did for my ex. It's not that I want my ex back - but I want that chemistry. When I look at my boyfriend, I want the feeling that I want to jump his bones all the time. I didn't get that feeling with John. I'll go out with him a few more times to see how things develop, though. It could be that the attraction needs to build. 

I think the other reason I'm partially turned off is because of all the phone calls and texting. It's not that I mind. In fact, I want a guy to call me and text me. I think I'm having an allergic reaction to it because I've been on my own for almost two years now. I've learned how to be alone. I've also learned to love being alone. I like my freedom. I like not worrying about another person. I like being able to do what I want, when I want, with whoever I want, or without anyone. It's all me. 

I know all of this sounds selfish, but remember the hell of a relationship I survived. I wouldn't say that my ex and I had the worst relationship in the world, but it certainly wasn't healthy. 

Being single again was rough because it meant learning to be on my own again. I know how to be alone again, and, frankly, I love it. I love myself. 

Someone once told me that the most important relationship you'll ever have after God is the one you have with yourself. It took me a while to understand what this meant. 

I think now I'm in a position where if the right man arrives in my life, I'll be ready to welcome him. Before I can love someone, I needed to learn how to love myself again. Loving myself is how I receive the ability to love other people. If I can't love myself, how can I love someone else? I needed this time alone. 

If I'm supposed to love again, I think I'm just about ready. 

Cinco de Flirto

photo credit: wallpapers-best.com

Sometimes, you unexpectedly get swept off your feet, literally.

I went out last night with two good friends of mine, "Ava" and "Camille." We met up at the next town over. The next town over tends to be classier than my town, and it is only a convenient 30-40 minutes away, depending on traffic.

We ended up at an upscale Mexican restaurant that had a fantastic band playing. Ava went home a little earlier, but my Latin side couldn't help but begin shaking my hips and moving my feet to the beats that the band was happily generating. Camille and I stayed behind with another friend.

I'll admit that when I'm out, I usually don't care much what other people think. I'm just out to have fun and enjoy what the night brings. The night brought me a blast from the past - a guy I went on a date with over six months ago. He had lied about his height, but he was otherwise a sweetheart. I didn't go out with him again because he lied about his height. He was a good half a human head shorter than me.
"Hey!" he called out to me, saying my name. "How are you?"
"Do I know you?" Camille immediately gave me a swift elbow to my side. I nearly jumped from it.
"Yeah! It's me, Eric! We went out for sushi remember?"
"Oh my gosh! Yes!" and then I continued with the feigned excitement of seeing him again.
With Mr. Short was a tall man with a head of light brown hair who made eye contact with me and extended his hand to me as an invitation to dance.

Normally, in Latin music, an invitation to dance includes a few swirls, twirls, and maybe an occasional dip. This guy took Latin music to a whole new level - he tried to morph it into American swing dancing. That's right - after about 20 seconds of being twirled around, he suddenly picked me up in a lift that could only be fathomed in a scene from Dirty Dancing and swung me one way, lifted me up again and swung me another way, and then ended up plopping me back on the floor. I felt like I was a small doll being tossed around by a kid. It was fun. This guy was no Patrick Swayze though. He got me so disoriented that after he tried to twirl me around again, I accidentally elbowed the guy in the head. After a few more minutes, he introduced me to all of his friends, including Mr. Short Eric.
"We've met!" I said. Eric laughed. At least the guy was cool about it.

I went back to my friends, dazed and charmed

Camille commented that I was sprung. I was sprung! It was the kind of encounter I read about in books and saw in movies - not encounters that happened to me in my sleepy part of the country. We continued on with our evening. After about another ten minutes, the king of swing was back for another round. At that time, it was only me and Camille. I looked at Camille, not wanting to leave her alone.
"Go, have fun," she said to me. I went.

Mr. Swing, true to form, did more of his lifts and swings with me. It was fun the first time, but after this second round, I was thankful I didn't indulge in a late night meal or consumed more than my single margarita. Mr. Swing then turned on his Cinco de Flirto.

"You're gorgeous. My name is Liam."

I learned that Liam was a fresh transplant from Missouri. I was surprised that he wasn't from California, given the mop of surfer hair on his head. He hadn't been living in the area for more than a month. He did home remodeling. His smile wasn't too terrible, either.

"Let me get your number. Take my number. I want to see you tomorrow."

We exchanged information. He continued.

"Come over tomorrow morning. We'll work out tomorrow morning. I'll make you breakfast."

This sounded bizarre. Plus, it was a school day. I had work! What was this guy doing? I suggested to him that we just meet after work, in the evening, you know, like normal people.

Of course, Mr. Swing was not normal.

"I need to be in [another town] tomorrow for work. I'll be there all weekend."
"Aw, well, you can call me when you're back and then we can go out."
He smiled at me and acted like I just articulated the theory of relativity.
"Right on," he said. Was he sure he wasn't from California?

He kissed my hands, and we said good night. We both stayed with our own groups. Another guy came over to me to dance. Liam was watching me like a hawk. Liam then picked out another woman from the crowd and did the same swinging and twirling he did with me earlier. It was full Cinco de Flirto.

Camille and I checked the time and decided to check out. She commented that Liam was watching me hard while the other guy was dancing with me. I didn't really care what Liam thought. I didn't even know the guy. I was just out to have fun with my friends, although our feet were barking from the soreness we imposed from our dancing.

A little Cinco de Flirto doesn't hurt, but at the end of the night, the only people I wanted to leave with were the people that I know will stand by my side - my friends.

Creepers Part 2

 Have you ever seen a married man on a singles site? I have. Check out my ex's friend, "Bob" ...

As much as I'd like to publish his complete name and photograph, unfortunately, I will not. Bob is what I will call an Undercover Creeper. If you recall my post about Creepers, then you will easily understand the concept of the Undercover Creeper. At least a creeper is up front about his married status in some manner, whether it be with still wearing his wedding ring or just telling you he's married and looking for some fun. Bob, however, is another story. Bob portrays himself as a single man with no kids, looking for "like-minded" people, aka, let's f* and talk later.

When I saw that Bob was scoping out my profile, I figured it was to spy on me to see what I was up to these days. Of course, I decided to snoop his profile and see what the dirtbag was up to.

I've spotted Bob around town on a few occasions since my ex and I had broken up. Usually, he was with a group of people that included women who were not his wife. On the latest sighting, around the time that I spotted him on POF, he was with a woman, not his wife, and was actually making out with her. I was disgusted. As much as I wanted to go up to him and ask Bob how his wife and kids were, I declined. It is not my place to call out this particular married dirtbag.

Creepers abound more frequently than I'd like to think. Another creeper situation arose with a close friend of mine. She had become friends with a married male that she worked with. It was odd because for the first three years of their seven-year friendship, she had no idea that he was married and had two kids. She had transferred job locations into a nearby town about an hour away, and her married friend happened to be in her new town for training. He stopped by her office. They chatted and dished about office gossip as they normally do, as well as vented and touted each other's own office victories. Oddly, for being such good friends, they never got involved in each other's personal lives beyond the office environment. He had always promised to take her shooting, but at the last minute he would always cancel.

One day, he came forward with something that chilled her. He revealed that he'd had feelings for her for the past five years. "It's the reason we never go shooting. I'm worried that if I'm at the range with you, and we're alone, I'm going to end up kissing you." She asked him when it started, and he told her it started after they were put on the same projects together. She didn't know what to do, other than to say she was flattered and she was glad he never crossed any lines.

He started to give her hypotheticals. What would she do if he did kiss her? Would she resist? Would she accept? She refused to answer initially. Finally, after several minutes of being barraged by hypotheticals, she admitted that she might kiss him back, but there would never be anything between them.

At that time, it was the end of the work day and she was going to her car. She offered to drive him to his car, as his car was parked several blocks away. He accepted. Before he got out of her car, he tried to kiss her. She turned her face and he got her cheek. They've never gone shooting.

Another friend of mine actually did kiss a married man. She had dated this particular man for a short while before he started dating his current wife. There was always attraction between them. Both of them were lawyers. As I've said before, lawyers love sex and they love alcohol. Combine alcohol with two attractive lawyers, and you may get sex. In my friend's case, she had enough sense to the stop the sex train.

They had been out drinking at one of the local bar association's socials. It was getting later. A group from the social that included the two of them decided to move to another bar. After that shindig ceased, the two of them continued to stay together at the bar while the others left. He had put his hand on her leg and ran it up and down her thigh. She admitted to me that she enjoyed it, but did feel guilt. He offered to walk her to her car. Once they got to her car, he increased the voltage and moved from her thigh to her butt, and from her butt to ground zero. She admitted to me that she put up no resistance. She actually went with it. He then pulled her tightly into his body and started kissing her, feeling her, initiating what nearly became a sexual encounter in the parking lot. She finally stopped it. She told me that she apologized to him and drove home. The next day, she texted an apology to him and said she was out of line. He responded with an apology to her, admitting that he was the one out of line, and he thanked her for not following through. He tried kissing her again fairly recently. She did the 'ol turning her head to get the cheek trick again. When he did get her cheek, he smiled at her.

All of this makes me think one thing - are people really faithful these days? Clearly, there's a high percentage of people who are not. According to an article by the Washington Post, a 1991 study revealed that 70% of married women and 72% of married men have cheated on their partners.

Part of the reason for my singlehood has now become being single by choice. I'm sure that when I meet the right guy, my views will change. I don't want to get into a relationship or commit my life to someone only to get my heart broken again. I need to meet someone who doesn't want to get into a relationship or commit his life to someone to get his heart broken either.

I've always been confident that I could be happy if I met someone like me. If my match is out there, and he has the same concerns and goals that I do, then we'll be just fine.

Dead Fish S&M Bumpkin

This past Friday, I had the unfortunate displeasure of having a POF date. In full disclosure, I brought it upon myself. I saw this guy online and thought he looked like a normal man. Here's a quick snapshot of his profile: 

There was one photo where I could kind of see his face. He looked kind of cute, and in person, he actually was kind of cute. But let me tell you something - this date was a disaster. This man off Plenty of Fish was a dead fish. A masters degree, a machinist (again, in full disclosure, I had no idea what that meant - maybe an engineer?), and tall!

We exchanged messages on POF, phone numbers, text messages, and had a real conversation on the phone. The phone conversation left me feeling as though we had somewhat decent chemistry. It was a little awkward, but I thought, "Eh, he might be okay." He asked me out for drinks at a local restaurant that specializes in Southern cuisine.

After 5 o'clock rang at work, I went to the bar. I spruced my makeup up, I was wearing a nice outfit, and I was ready to break the spell of bad dates. He texted me, saying he had an outside table. Rather than breaking the spell, I was cursed by another hocus pocus.

As I walked up, my eyes perused the outside tables for what I thought was my next big relationship. He was worse than Tinder in Miniature - he was Dead Fish. When he saw me, he got up, walked over to me, and he almost body-bumped me while simultaneously giving me a hug. It was bizarre. He greeted me with a slight southern drawl. I observed his manner of dress for this first date and made my quick judgments. He was dressed as any bumpkin might be dressed - green shorts, a black t-shirt, a black ball cap. dark-rimmed glasses, and black sandals - the kind you spot unfashionable tourists wearing at the beach. I was appalled.

We sat down and began to chat. The waitress had already given us ice water, but no offer of alcohol. I was really looking forward to a good beer, and I was not amused at being robbed of my beer. He hadn't ordered any beer, either, and I didn't want to appear like an alcoholic. But dude, it was Friday and I had a shitty day at work. Come on!

He was slow in his words, quick in his thought, and difficult to carry on a conversation. He was different from the phone. This guy didn't seem cool and dynamic at all. He was a Dead Fish! A Dead Fish is a special term I ascribe to one who is difficult to speak with. Conversation with him was like pulling teeth. However, the conversation perked up, but for a damning turn.

Earlier in the day, I showed a friend from work the Dead Fish's profile. As we reviewed his summary, something popped out to me that I didn't remember from when I first reached out to him. He said he was not "vanilla" in the bedroom. In fact, he cautioned the reader that he was one who thought bites, bumps, and bruises in the bedroom were natural and necessary.

If you remember my post about S&M, people who use the term "vanilla" are those who belong to S&M circles and are referring to conventional sex. Seeing this term in his profile raised alarms in my mind. Had I stumbled across someone who wants to bite my tits off?

"So I need to ask you about something I saw in your profile today that I hadn't seen before."
He smiled. The bastard added the vanilla thing recently. "Sure, go ahead."
"I saw that you use the term vanilla in your profile. Normally, people who use the term vanilla in their profiles subscribe to S&M circles. Are you one of those people?"
"Well, yes and no. I mean, I like biting. If someone is into bondage, I'll get into it, but I don't keep a supply of chains."

I was already getting turned off. The next few things he said and did definitely shut down any electricity I had left. He asked me more about my profession. When I told him I was a lawyer, he chuckled and said, "Oh I've needed one or two in my lifetime!" When I asked him what he meant, he told me that he had been arrested for felony fleeing and eluding law enforcement. He got into a high speed chase with a state trooper when he was 31 years old - a mere two years ago. I asked him why he did it. His response: "I just wanted to see if they'd chase me. I thought it'd be fun. It was harmless - nobody else was around."

I was dumbfounded. This man got arrested for a felony and got into a high speed chase just for kicks? The masters degree seemed like a complete lie because surely someone who engaged in this type of behavior would not have the smarts to also obtain a masters degree. I asked him what happened to the criminal case. He said he got a break on it and ultimately didn't become a convicted felon. In my mind, he was a convicted felon.

The only good part about this disaster date was the food. I was eating a delicious crawfish po' boy with sweet potato fries. It was marvelous, even though I didn't have a beer to wash it down with. At the end of the meal, the waitress delivered the bill, as all waitresses do across America at the end of thousands of meals every day. He took the bill in his hands, furrowed his eyebrows, and looked up at me.

"Do you have any cash on you, like a ten?"
I looked at him, thinking to myself that after the disaster this date had been, he wasn't seriously going to ask me, the female half, for cash.
"No. I don't have cash." I wasn't going to offer to pay any portion with my card, either. I'm a traditionalist, and for the wasted hour of my life I spent with this moron on my Friday night, he could at least pay for my meal.
"Hm, okay." He reached into his wallet, plopped down a card, and after a painful ten minutes of waiting, the waitress came and picked up his card with the bill. After an additional five painful minutes, she returned his card.

I thanked him for the dinner and wished him well. I jumped into my car and drove straight home. Lucky for me, I had one of my favorite beers in the fridge. I popped the cap off and indulged in the bubbly flavors of a Sam Adams Cherry Wheat.

I reviewed my awful date with the Dead Fish S&M Bumpkin. I closed my eyes as I took another sip of my beer. The beer was my comfort. To my surprise, I realized that a cold beer was all I really wanted for a Friday night. I then started to recount the collection of terrible dates I'd had, coupled with the tragedy of my last relationship.

I then realized this single truth: It's a blessing to be single when I'm surrounded by fools.

The Bumbling First Bumble Date

If you remember in my last post, I did a review of the dating app, Bumble. 

The caliber of men on Bumble seemed to be higher quality than the mess I was getting on other sites. After a few messages with this guy (pictured below), I decided to go out with him. Except he had two fatal flaws which I have outlined in each photo: 

Yes. He was boring, and he had bad breath. You may be saying to yourself, "Come on, really? Didn't you give the guy a chance?" Let me tell you how this date went.

We agreed to meet at a bar downtown for a drink. He wanted to expand it into dinner immediately, but I learned a long time ago to stick to drinks or coffee only for a first meeting for online guys. It's like pulling something out of the bargain barrel at the store - you could either strike gold, or get something horrific that no one else wants (and therefore, explains the reason why it's 90% off).

When he approached, he resembled his photos, but he was ugly in person. He had a very scrunched up face. It's like the difference between seeing the photo of a sweet poodle and then meeting a pug instead. I told myself not to judge on looks. For me, sometimes personality can save the day.

Unfortunately, he had no personality. Most people would agree that conversation is a two-way exchange. Trying to maintain conversation with him was like trying to maintain conversation with a slice of dry, plain, white toast. It just wasn't happening. Like toast, he just sat there, mildly plugging along.

With the small puffs of words he uttered from his mouth also came a toxic gas - bad breath. Sitting next to each other at the bar, I thought briefly that perhaps my ex sent this man to gas me to death with bad breath. At the first puff of toxic gas, I thought maybe my nose was mistaken in what it was sensing. There was no way that a single man on a first meeting would dare approach without brushing his teeth, or at least chewing a piece of gum, or something to freshen that cave. After the third puff, I couldn't take it anymore. I knew it was either leave or die under his toxic gas breath.

I knew within the first ten minutes that this date was going to suck, and I did not want to lose an hour of my life to this man. A bunch of my friends that I was with earlier were still downtown, and I decided to rejoin them. I subtly texted a plethora of them, begging for one person to please call me and say it was an emergency. One female immediately responded to me.

"Are you okay?" she said. "Do you need rescuing?"
"What's wrong?" I said, knowing that she would understand what I needed.
"Huh?" Okay, she didn't quite get it yet.
"Is it an emergency? Do you really need me to come now?"
"YES! Come now!" she exclaimed.
"Okay, I'm coming!"

Gas Man looked at me, bewildered.

"I'm sorry, but my friend just broke up with her boyfriend. She's in tears. She needs me to come. Do you mind if we reschedule?"
"Yeah, go ahead."

I thanked him, dashed out the door, and dashed into another bar nearby where my group was. I immediately deleted the guy from my Bumble matches. He can gas some other poor soul.

The problem that I see with Bumble is the same problem I get with other sites - men don't behave like men. They don't pursue. After a match, they just sit there like bumps on a log after I initiate contact. I do give Gas Man kudos for actually setting up a date, I just wish he had more personality and better oral hygiene. Part of the problem is also my dating demographic - my town just sucks, period.

I'm still hopeful that there's a prince out there for me, I just need to go through a few frogs, including a poisonous gas toad.