Happy Birfday, Go Fuck Yaself.

I'm not a huge fan of birthdays in general; my own or anyone else's really.  It's a nice excuse to drink and eat in excess and I do like that everyone gets an equal opportunity at a birthday celebration (unlike weddings, Quinceaneras and Bat Mitzvahs which are all higher on my shit list) but overall I think they are retarded.

At any rate, I just celebrated my 25th birthday and amidst all the balloons and sobbing, I paused to reflect upon my first 25 years on this planet.  I wanted to make a list of 25 positive accomplishments I can claim as a 25 year old.  Unfortunately I could only think of 15, so that will have to do.  If you all want to help complete this list please feel free.

25 Accomplishments at 25

1.  I earned an undergraduate degree from a real college. 

2. I am employed (for now)

3. I have a healthy credit score.

4. I have countless (translated: six) friends.

5. I have an ever expanding collection of decorative birds.

6. I have a netflix account AND dvr.

7. I have a pseudo-boy friend (that I did not meet on the internet).

8. I hold Executive Premier status on America's #1 airline network.

9. I'm not pregnant.

10. I'm moderately attractive.

11. I have a superb singing voice.

12. I make awesome paper dolls.

13. I make the funniest Brett Favre penis jokes of any girl I know.

14. My hybrid gets 37 mpg.

15. I'm being told I look exactly like Amy Poehler less and less frequently.

Some of you may be wondering about #7.  It's true.  My internet dating accounts have been suspended.  Wanna know what happens when you have exhausted every dating option available and find yourself alone and scared?  You lower the friend zone gates and date the only straight guy best friend still standing.  "Oh no JBird, what if it doesn't work out and you mess up your long standing friendship?".  To that I say mind your own beeswax betch.  So what am I going to write about now?  Well, I'm dating my best guy friend who lives in his dad's basement and often can be found lounging in a camo snuggie.  I think I'll have something for you.  Stay tuned.

I hope the person next to me was reading over my shoulder.

I hate going to the lady doctor.  Not because of the getting a telescope shoved up a small opening part.  And no, not because I always end up saying something really weird and terribly not funny when they ask whether or not I am sexually active.  Example: "Not really, I mean no, I mean I have, tons in college, oh and after college too, just not really lately, see my ex-boyfriend was a virgin, but the one before him - WOAH not at all, so yea, but I'm not a slut or anything, not that having lots of sex makes a girl a slut, such a double standard, oh my god your scrubs are so cute, where did you get them? SEX!"

At any rate, I have a retard ovary that gets excited and flips over sometimes.  So I get a bit of anxiety going to the vaj doctor.  In order to calm my anxieties I decided to get some thoughts down on paper while sitting in the waiting room.  I've met a lot of men over the past couple of months, both on the internet and in real life.  So I decided to do a little comparison of the two groups.  I took a photo of my notes for your enjoyment. 

There's no real winner here.  Both sets of gentlemen make me want to buy a couple of cats and start shopping at The Dress Barn or just light my face on fire.  But I'll let you decide for yourself. 

Actual notes taken by JBird while in the vaj doctor waiting room; straight lines achieved by using magazine edge

What do I have in common with a 41 year old podiatrist?

White people photographed while loving all things boat related.

A shared love for the sea.  That's what.  So obviously my attractive 25 year old girlfriends and I jumped at the chance to be a part of this bunyon lover's boat party.  A little advice to men out there; if you are unattractive, past your prime, or just like to bang random slutty girls during the summer months, then consider boat ownership as a path to happiness.  We can't say no to boats, especially not nice boats, this has been proven for thousands of years.  Look to the film masterpiece, Captain Ron, if you need further proof.  

At any rate, my besties and I showed up to the marina with bells on.  We drank countless beverages that were prepared by lonely middle aged men and exclaimed in delight, "OMG this yum yum tastes just like lemonade! It must not be very strong. Hehehe!" We straddled swan shaped water floaties and even took a jump on the floating trampoline. I went so far as to talk, nay, flirt, with creepy 40 year old men.  One friend and I agreed to go on a trip to Vegas with short-one and fat-one (I had too many yum yums to remember their real names).  

The pinnacle of the experience was not the vegas invite, nor was it the delish slushy liquor drink machine we found on extra-old-moley's boat.  No, it was something short-one said to me after we shared a lovely conversation getting to know one another.  He looked me, maybe in the eyes, with his trying-to-hard maui jim's and said, "It's great to meet such an average girl out here.  We normally only invite strippers".  

I was swept away by the romance of it all and retreated inside the boat to down more vodka.  It's too bad the season is coming to an end.  I think they would have made for great material.

This entry serves as the end to my internet dating vacation.  I'm back in the eGame and will report on that progress shortly.  

It doesn't count if you're blacked out, right?

I received an overwhelming response to my last post, so I took that to mean it was a great idea to pull a repeat and stay over at Peeter's again last weekend, twice.  I know what you are all thinking, "Seriously, the pee bed guy, isn't this blog about internet dating, why am I reading this, where am I?".  Bite your tongues.  I mean, yea, Peeter brought me back to his place to seduce me atop a urine soaked mattress, while playing hits by Usher to set the mood (did I not already mention that?) but let's give the guy a chance.  (Translated: I don't want to die alone)

So last Thursday a sober Peeter called and asked me out on a date to a new restaurant I've never been to and I hesitated, but finally agreed.  He came and picked me up and…wait, I'm sorry, that's someone else's life.  

Last Friday night rolled around and Peeter and I began exchanging a series of meaningless text messages.  I was busy at Lady Gaga for the first half of the evening.  I was with a straight guy friend who obviously had to do some serious binge drinking to make it through her show, so I blame him for my being drunk that early in the night.  After the show, my straight guy friend and I grabbed dinner (translated: honey wheat pretzels and a bottle of Andre from 7-eleven).  Following dinner we met up with friends at Social.  Thus began a texting conversation between Peeter and I.  I debated doing this, but you deserve to have the facts:

Peeter:  What are you up to tonight? (translated: wanna maybe give me a bj in a few hours?)

JBird: What ate you up to? We are getting ready to go out

Peeter: Great party tonight…I'll let you know as soon as we pick a bar…still up in the air at this point…holler

Peeter: Kincades…very dirty but fun…!

Peeter: This place is ratty but hilarious…..I would consider it

JBird: Dirty, ratty, perfect

Peeter: Not to mention we just made it prep….

JBird: What cool

Peeter: And you love the dirt, lol (translated: I hope you are easy)

JBird: You know me so well darling

JBird: Why don't you make your way towards hubbard (translated: the boys at the bar I'm at aren't paying enough attention to me)

Peeter: i know your style…you WOULD crush this environment

JBird: I'll crush your environment (translated: what the fuck)

JBird: no but just come to social (translated: seriously I need a drunk boy to be all over me in order to boost my self confidence)

Peeter: that is funny now should join me

JBird: Love to, not going to, boo, sad face

Peeter: I might be ripped but where ya at (translated: I get to be as drunk an idiot as I want because I warned you)

JBird: Best be here quick you 

Peeter: I I'm on the way…seriously cannot believe you yalked me inti this…love it (translated: Look I can barely type a text, proving I really am drunk and am therefore really not responsible for anything I do or say)

JBird: Sell me when

JBird: u social

Peeter: 5 mins…lol

Ahh romance.  I'm sorry that you are never going to get the 2 minutes you spent reading that back, but I'm trying to paint a picture here.  After he arrived I met him in the street and instead of having him come inside the bar, decided it was best for us to skip that part and just go back to his place.  While in the cab I had a revelation and decided I should not be going home with this boy and should instead be going back to my straight friend from out of town's hotel.  "Take me to the W" drunky JBird tells the cab driver.  A confused Peeter gives me a look.  "No", she says, "You don't understand, I'm going to my guy friend from high school's hotel room, it's fine."  Peeter tells tells the cab driver where he lives and we go back to his place.  The rest is a bit fuzzy.  And by a bit fuzzy I mean completely black.  I wake up the next morning in the midst of a near strangulation by my adorable chunky necklace (the kind that make guys say, "why the fuck would a girl wear something like that?").  Removing the Anthropologie designed noose around my neck, I take a moment to observe my surroundings.  I am (maybe half naked) on the floor in the corner.  Don't see the boy.  Very confused.  

This would scare most people, but I once woke up naked in the dorm room (top bunk, obvi) of someone I'd never met before in college, so I wasn't too worried about it.  I made brunch plans on my phone, dusted myself off and just before heading out the door, stole a pair of his sunglasses to hide the lack of shame on my drunky-JBird-next-morning face.  Note: before stealing sunglasses that you assume came from the $7 rack at CVS, examine them fully - these turned out to be Ferragamo's.  First rule in shacker stealing - don't take something he will want to get back.

The next night went similarly.  Normally the mystery of not knowing what happened at that dude's place the night before keeps me from repeat shacking back to back, but apparently I am very lonely.  Upon returning to Peeter's the next night I quickly passed out on the sofa and awoke to a love note from Peeter left on the coffee table that read, "Went back out, you passed out, be back later".  Don't worry, I saved it for our scrap book.  The next morning (translated: afternoon) I actually lingered at the apartment for a while, clearly still drunk, long enough to watch tv and enjoy a plate of eggs prepared by Peeter's roommate.  The light of day cast some much needed light on this situation.  Conclusion:  I CANNOT go home with this douchey mcdouche face EVER again.  It's not like going home with him is getting me laid (not that that's my goal or anything, but it wouldn't be the worst thing I guess, I mean I'm not a slut, but you know, everyone's got needs, and my numbers seriously not that high, so come on, quit judging me) or getting me free dinners and it's just creating a transportation issue the next day, so no.  No, drunk JBird, bad drunk JBird.  

On a side note, internet dating paranoia has officially set in.  While having drinks with my middle aged colleagues this week, one asked, "So, are you internet dating at all or have you thought about that?"  My face said - "WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU ASK ME THAT, RON!?!?  WHAT DO I LOOK LIKE?!  WHAT DO YOU KNOW? WHAT DID THEY TELL YOU?  I COULD HAVE YOU KILLED FOR ACCUSING ME OF SUCH THINGS!"  Luckily my lips said, "Nope, hehe, I hear it's a great thing for lots of people, but that's just not for me".  

Yea, so…stay tuned I hope.

Um, no…no, that's not urine. I swear.

Disclaimer:  This entry contains mature (translated: slutty) subject matter.  Mom(s) and Mocha should consider not reading.

I've had many rough Sundays over the years.  You know the kind I'm talking about; we've all had them.  One minute it's a slow Saturday night, you're going out to grab "a" drink with friends, the next it's Sunday afternoon and you're taking a two mile walk of shame home in a dress that's been dampened by someone else's urine.  

College friends take pause* - SOMEONE ELSE'S URINE.  That's right.  

We couldn't decide whether or not to go out, so we began that obnoxious girl "to go out or not" debate.

JBird: So what are you thinking, should we go out?

Friend: I dunno I mean I guess I could…do you wanna go out?

JBird: I dunno I mean I guess…I'm sort of indifferent…where would you want to go?

Friend: I dunno, I could go either way.  I don't know where I feel like going…

JBird: Me either…

Friend: I dunno, I could go either way.  I don't know where I feel like going…

JBird: Me either…

Random boy in room: Please stop.  Let's just go out for a drink or two.  No big deal.

(JBird and Friend and random boy leave to go out for "a drink or two")

No big deal.  Just a drink.  Last time I said that was senior year of college and I ended up waking up in an EconoLodge in Greenville, SC with one shoe on, the other having apparently been lost at Platinum Plus (just google it).  Maybe I'll tell that story another time.  Anyways, the events that occurred between this decision and 5AM are a bit fuzzy to me.  I know they involved the VIP section at the Hotel Sax bar, Snoop Dog, a basement piano bar, a loaner tweed jacket, and somewhere between 3 and 27 bourbon and diets.  At some point I was introduced to Peeter.  The combination of my sassy attitude, southern roots and slightly pretentious remarks made me the holy grail of women to young Peeter.  He was enamored; at least that's how I remember it.  "I've been searching this city for years for a girl like you, and here you are", he continued, "I'm done".  At the time it didn't occur to me but in hindsight, Peeter was fucked up.  Drunk as a skunk on Christmas.  Schmammered. Sweet sassy mollassy drunk.  And so was I.

I have a great relationship with my dad, but I'm still a sucker for a guy who pays me a lot of attention and tells me how pretty I am.  I remember noticing our friends had left us at the bar and then I remember looking up from an intense make out session as we were being encouraged to leave the bar.  We then wandered the streets looking for an open bar at 4:30 AM and after failing in this mission decided to make out behind a hotel laundry service container being loaded by Mexican workers.  I then pretended to look around for a cab to take me home.  He then tried to talk me out of going home.  I pretended to resist the idea of going home with him.  Then finally agreed, sealed the deal by saying, "okay, but just know that we are not hooking up.  I'm not that kind of girl".  Clearly the girl who has her legs wrapped around a guy she's known for 5 hours, making out on a street corner at 4:30 AM is not that kind of girl.  Okay.  Keep telling yourself that, drunk sluttly version of JBird.  He assures me that he just wants to "talk" and "watch the sun come up together".  Awww, gayest words I've ever heard. Cab.

We get back to his place.  He pours himself a glass of red and, based on my having a vagina, pours me a glass of white.  On our way out to the balcony I become distracted by the lovely view of Lake Michigan and stumble over something on the floor.  I look down and notice I have tripped on a human body.  "That's my roommate, Bob" Peeter explains.  Bob is fully clothed, and shoed, dead to the world.  To be sure he's not actually dead, I start poking him with a golf club.  He was a live.  Good.  We watch the sun come up.  Trying to be sexy and sit on his lap, I knock over both wine glasses and maybe hit him in the face.  We then take out traveling make out session to the bedroom.  This is where things got interesting.  

Laying on the bed, me on bottom, good ole fashioned, fully clothed, dry humping (since I'm a classy lady and all).  And then I feel it.  No, not that.  It was a a moist sensation, almost like my back was sweating but it wasn't.  Because of past experience, I immediately know.  The damp feeling is mattress urine.  Someone wet the bed the night prior, didn't air out the mattress sufficiently, and recovered it, thinking the problem was gone.  Amateur.  I jump from the bed and calmly ask the gentleman why he has allowed me to lay on a urine soaked mattress.  He fakes a confused look and rambles on about maybe leaving a wet towel on the bed.  Really?  Yea that could be true.  Perhaps he peed all over a towel then placed it under the top sheet before going out that night.  Great.  He then sits down and explains that a friend stayed over the night before and she was very drunk and pissed the bed.  He is so disgusted and sorry.  He thought it was dry.  Well, apparently Sweedish sleep systems need more than 24 hours to dry doucheface.  Glad you spent 3 grand on a mattress now, aren't you.

Let's take a minute and think about this situation.  Girl just laid in pee bed - how can you explain?

1. "I pissed the bed last night, thought it was dry, sorry"  Gross, sick, nasty but okay fucktard (sweatertard).
2. "A chick pissed my bed last night.  She's just a friend"  Sick, gross, and maybe you're a man whore.  But do I care?  Am I jealous about piss bed having taken home another girl before he knew me.  I'm a crazy person, so yea, kind of.
3. "I was taking care of my friends dog and he peed my bed."  I tried that line in high school when I had a party and my boyfriend pissed my parent's bed.  Only it was our cat and the lie worked.  Bye bye Buddy the cat.
4. "I spilled a glass of water"  Classic.  Any dude who wets the bed and convinces a girl of this should marry her immediately.  

Moving on to the scariest part of this story, after laying in the pee bed I still ended up staying over.  I slept there (not in pee bed) until waking up at 2:00 PM Sunday afternoon.  I put my damp pee dress back on, said a quick goodbye, and walked out.  I live about 2 miles from this guy but wasn't about to walk.  I look in my purse before getting a cab to make sure I have money and find none.  I also find no credit cards.  A purse full of bar receipts, a drivers license, gum, lip gloss, and a dead cell phone.  Saddest thing ever.  So I walk.  Two miles.  Curled hair the night before, next day, pee bed head and all.  Nick Nolte mug shot looked like a model compared to me.  Homeless beggars turned away from me in horror as I passed on the street.  Church goers silently judged.  Made me feel young again.  After getting back into my apartment and showering the sins of off my body I searched my purse again.  Sometimes when I'm drunk I hide my credit cards from the drunk slutty version of me.  On this particular night I shoved them into a pack of Orbit gum.  Nice.

All in all, I can forgive the pee, but I'm not sure I can accept that he owns two books authored by Ann Coulter and Gucci sunglasses.  That's what really sticks out in my mind. We shall see.  He might be my soul mate…

*A college tendency to binge drink led to what could be considered a moderate bladder control problem, so an encounter that ends in me being soaked in someone else's pee is new.

Oooh! Coupon! Enter Dating Site #2.

I've always been a sucker for a sweet coup.  Purchasing multiple items at Bed Bath & Beyond?  You bet your ass I'm getting 20% off all of them.  Why?  Cause I collect BB&B coups like it's my job.  So you can imagine my intrigue when I came across a coupon for Dating Site #2*.  Three month membership for 80% off.  Woah, I have no idea what the starting price is, but 80% off sounds like it will be about a dollar so sign me the ef up.  This way I won't miss out on any of the gems out there that aren't already on Dating Website #1.  Hooray!  

"Congratulations!  You are now ready to find true love on Dating Site #2! Now to get started just complete this simple questionnaire."  That's when Dating Site #2 made me their bitch.  The self evaluations and 73 questionnaires have taken me approximately 32 hours.  I'm so exhausted/confused/sad.  Out of the many sections I had to complete, I have one favorite.  Let's call it the 'deal breaker' section.  Within this section the site gives you a list of 50 negative characteristics and values, out of which you may choose 10 (and only 10) that would be considered your deal breakers.  No matter how great the guy, you couldn't be in a relationship with him if he were __________ (a workaholic, lazy, mean spirited, fiscally irresponsible, etc).  Easy enough, right?  Turns out there are a lot of things I've been taking for granted as base line requirements that Dating Site #2 needed to remind me of.  Going down the list I had already selected 10 and I was only at #13.  Here's a list of my favorite whatthefuckshit who decided to put that on the list items:

1. Boorishness.  Only one thing came to mind; selecting this item would eliminate Gaston, my favorite Beauty and the Beast character, from consideration.  You remember him, he uses "antlers in all of my decorating".  Boorish indeed.  And I like it.
2. Drugs.  The italicized explanation of this quality reads, "I really can't stand someone who uses illegal recreational drugs".  Thanks for the explanation, Donna from marketing.
3. Poor Hygiene.  "Donna, we're getting a lot of complaints in customer service about dates who smell of their own feces".  To which Donna replies, "Uh oh, Todd, let's add another to the deal breaker list!" (winky smiley face + high five)
4. Sexually Obsessed.  
5. Racist.  They casually list racism in between 'Television Junky' and 'Punctuality'.  Possible blog entry to follow: I was a little turned off when Jimmy Ray was late to our date at Chili's.  Once again, he lost track of time while watching a Toddlers in Tiaras marathon.  Then, typical JR, he started blindly shouting racial slurs throughout the restaurant.  I thought to myself, "Boy, this date is off to a rocky start, hope I at least get some chocolate lava cake out of it! LOL"

None of those made my actual top ten, so that should tell you something about my priorities…and my potential future dates.  

*No, Dating Site #2 is not JDate.  I did get drunk a couple weeks ago and signed up for JDate (and maybe tweeted about it) but then I remembered that I'm not Jewish.  My parent's gay, Puerto Rican, racist neighbors have been insisting for years that I should date and marry a nice Jewish man, but I'm going to hold off on that for now.

Spoiler Alert! - Backpack not filled with silly bandz.

Actual backpack.  Photo taken while date used restroom.

I know none of you could sleep all weekend long awaiting the conclusion of this nail biter of a scenario. So, what was in the backpack? Get your pillow and binky ready because this is a snoozer. It was his school bag. He's working on his MBA part time and takes a class every Friday night.

In a normal situation, I'd be very pleased to learn that the person I am on a date with is getting his MBA. And I know he isn't lying because he's carrying the school issued embroidered back pack. But in this twisted version of reality where I have come to thrive off of encounters that are so terrible they can be easily transformed into blog fodder, I was left disappointed. On top of the disappointing contents of the bag, the bag itself wasn't even a real back pack. It was a messenger. Lame.

I met CheesePimp at a cozy wine bar at 9:30 on Friday, we shared a delicious bottle of red, followed by a couple of additional glasses of red, engaged in witty conversation, etc. Fortunate for my readers, I left my first date filter back at my apartment so two glasses of wine in I started laying on a nice helping of sass with a side of uncomfortable honesty. It started innocently enough. Sometimes I make fun of guys I date and they giggle and give it back to me and it's a nice little thing we get going. However, there is a fine line between flirting and attacking with this approach; and I may have danced too close.

Me: So what's the deal with you being on Dating Site #1?
CheesePimp: Well, I just felt like [blah, blah, blah no time to meet girls, blah, blah bar scene blah, blah] and so I've been on it for about nine months and…
Me: (Interrupting) What?! You've been on it for 9 months?!
CheesePimp: Um, well, yea..I mean for periods of that I have taken a much more passive approach, but yea…
Me: Wow. After nine months I feel like you should probably just give up.
CheesePimp: Well okay. Wow. I guess so…
Me: (Thinking that if I take this way too far it will all seem like more of a joke) I mean after a year of trying this with no success I feel like you should probably just kill yourself.
CheesePimp: (His face is saying wtf you whore?!) Yea I guess you're right. At least I have a few more months though right?! Haha…
Me: Yea…lucky for me! (awkward laugh)

So after I suggested suicide as a possible option to end his unsuccessful run at online dating, we moved on to more interesting topics like what a great place Washington DC is. I love DC so this couldn't go badly. CheesePimp talked a little bit about how much the city has changed and improved over the past decade. To show contrast he mentioned the state of the city post 9/11, citing the fact that he was a young 24 (my age) at that time. Uncomfortable with such a serious topic, I followed this up with "Yea, 9/11, wow, I remember they cancelled my JV volleyball game that day, very somber time".

That served as a great opener for the age discussion. He went to undergrad at a school in my home state, but we opted to skip the name game since two full cycles of students separate us. Trying desperately to pull us out of this hole, CheesePimp taught me the "age divided by two plus seven" rule. You take the older partners age, divide it by two and add seven. The resulting number is the lowest age that the person should date. This formula put us in the clear, but definitely didn't put the topic to rest.

All joking aside, the date went okay. He was great and I have a bit of a crush on him. I'm not sure he's super interested. I may have pushed him away just enough. Plus I had gross red wine teeth by the end of the night so that may have sealed my fate. One sort of okay date in and I have now officially turned into an obnoxious, terrible, insecure girl type person. I'm the one chatting with girlfriends about whether I should text "Thanks again, had a great time!" or "Had a great time, thanks again. Have a nice weekend" or "Had a great time! We should do it again". In the same moment, considering at what point if I have not heard from him I will write him off completely while also planning our life together. This is absolutely terrible.

This kind of okay date has made me think. What am I going to write about if I like this person and we start to date? I'm pretty sure that won't be the case with this one, but maybe it is a possibility. No one wants to read about a relatively happy couple, just starting out in their relationship. I guess I will just have to (cue Beastie Boys background music) sabotage (translated: unknowingly ef it up then blame a latent resistance to being in a relationship as the cause).

"I'll be the one wearing a backpack"

I felt great about my decision to go on a date with the cheese importer. That is, until he wrote me to confirm the time and let me know he would be the guy wearing the backpack. I'm trying to be open minded, but let's look at the facts. I am meeting this guy at a wine bar at 9:00 PM on a Friday night. He is 32 years old. He is going to be wearing a backpack.

I think this is a good time to pull out the old jump to conclusions mat. Why is CheesePimp (that's not his real user name but I wish it was) going to be wearing a backpack on our date / what is in the effing backpack?

1. He's a workaholic and so the backpack is full of cheese that he peddles on the streets of Chicago. If this is the case, maybe I can have a dramatic "why do you always choose your work over me!" outburst in the middle of the wine bar.
2. He's homeless. The backpack serves as his traveling bedroom. ("In the foster home my hair was my room.")
3. Thirty-two year old, probably lonely, man carrying a backpack - obviously he is a terrorist. Just kidding, he's white. Just kidding again, there was the unabomber that one time and he was white. Just kidding, seriously though I'm not racist.
4. He's a hipster-type and wears his backpack while riding his fixed gear bike through the city. I'd rather it be 1 - 3.
5. The backpack is empty. He will drop it off in a phone booth after he abducts me. You will find the backpack, fill it with unmarked bills and leave it in the men's bathroom at Jamba Juice in order to ensure my safe return. (I don't know if that's funny or if maybe it's just likely enough to be not okay to joke about, oh well)
6. The backpack is full of silly bands and (Oprah voice) YOU'RE ALL GETTING ONE!!!!!!

I can't wait to find out if one of those is right or if it turns out to be something different that I don't even know about yet. Had I known this sooner I would have really embraced this backpack thing and worn one myself. But with only a days notice my mom won't have time to fedex my Claire's mini backpack. It's purple, with a brown suede flap. It looked effin bad ass with my mini watch mood ring circa 1996.

But seriously, why the ef is he going to be wearing a backpack? Please weigh in. (If you say something that reasonably explains the backpack I'm going to be upset.)

Lowering my Mandards

If you surveyed a random group of girls on what their man standards are you'd likely hear a lot of the same thing regardless of whether the response was coming from Carrie Underwood or Deelishis (Winner of Flavor of Love; Season 2 - I would hope you all already know that). But based on the number of obese, unemployed, married people in this world, many are obviously forced to ignore these standards in order to avoid dying alone. So do "standards" really hold any meaning or are they just a nice excuse to be used by fugly people when they are asked why they haven't dated in several years?

While I sat on my sofa yesterday watching an I Didn't Know I was Pregnant marathon I began pouring over some of my recent eSuiter messages and really started to question my own standards. Based on the caliber of my current prospects I started thinking, well maybe that 7' tall man wouldn't be so weird. I mean sure, we'd probably have to take special van cabs everywhere but on the bright side it'd be nice to have someone around who can change a light bulb or paint a house without needing a ladder. And if I made him wear sunglasses a lot, raisinette eyes wouldn't be too unattractive…right?

I quickly returned from this dark place and decided that some of my standards (no giants, human sized eyes only, etc.) should never be questioned. On the other hand, I may have to start being a tad flexible in other areas. I have a strict height requirement. I'm 5'7" (translated: 5'6") so anyone I date needs to be at least 5'11", preferably 6'1" and 6'3" and above will be judged on a case by case basis. In the spirit of not judging people based on their physical appearance, I've decided to loosen my height requirement to 5'10". I've also decided that writing "lol" in a message to me will not result in an automatic disqualification. Look at me growing as a person. Fuck yea personal growth.

Don't get too excited, Mom. Just because I'm lowering my standards doesn't mean I'm going to date the air conditioner repair man you've been trying to set me up with for the past three years. I know he's going to take over the family business someday and I agree that repairing air conditioners is nothing to be ashamed of, but I'm really not looking to get involved in a long distance relationship with someone that drives a Ford Econoline. Dad says you held him captive for an hour and a half last time he came to the house and he's worried he's going to have to find a new AC guy since this one thinks he's being hit on by a 54 year old married woman. Please leave him alone. (But maybe don't tell him I'm totally not interested yet. I might be singing a different tune a year or two from now and don't want to limit myself.)

The moral of today's blog post: filler. Yep, I've been really bad and haven't been responding to my eSuiters so I don't have any dates to report on. Don't worry though, I'm active in conversations with two eSuiters right now. One is an attractive attorney who is "not looking for anything permanent, but would like something fun and exciting" (translated: wants to bone). The other is a less attractive importer / exporter / distributor (his name is not Art Vandallay) of cheese, chocolate and olive oil (he had me at cheese). Please vote for your personal favorite on the sidebar. Whichever one wins will be the one that I go on a date with. (Probably not, but vote anyway)

Oh and IDKIWP - spoiler alert - the lady pooped out a baby in the toilet of a KFC bathroom. In every episode.

Internet Date # 2: Why hasn't this guy blinked for the past 45 minutes?

I agreed to meet one of my eSuiters for a drink on Friday night. As Friday afternoon dragged into evening I began to dread the thought of going on another date. On the plus side, I was in much better shape than I was for date #1, aka DribbleDate2010.

The eSuiter I agreed to meet was someone with whom I had exchanged a few e-mails. Based on his photos he seemed to be tall and slim…or chubby depending on which photo you looked at. He had just adopted a shelter dog so that sounded promising. Basically - 27 year old, male, TDB (Tall, dark, and boring - my "type" according to friends).

I arrived at the agreed upon bar and found my way out to the back where my eSuiter was waiting. Aside from his outfit selection, a polo with an abnormally large, maybe 4" long polo insignia, he wasn't too bad. He appeared to be the skinny picture version of himself - hooray! The moment I sat down a terrible feeling came over me as I realized that aside from his first name and the fact that he owns a dog, I couldn't remember any details about him. No worries, I'm in sales, I can wing it. After, "Hey…great to meet you…how was your week?" I had nothing. Enter awkward silence #1. The thrilling conversation that followed went something like this:

eSuiter: So, you sell plastic for a living, what does the plastic you sell go into?
Answer I should have said: One interesting customer I have manufactures synthetic wine corks.
What I actually said: Um..Crocs shoes?
eSuiter: Oh, that's neat. I hate those.
Me: Yea, Crocs pretty much represent everything that's wrong with the world.
(WHAT?)
Me: (Super excited because I just remembered a detail about this person's life) So you're from Pennsylvania, right!?
eSuiter: Yea I am.
Me: Cool, which part?!
eSuiter: Lancaster
Me: (I know three people from PA and they are all from Lancaster, this has to be the luckiest moment of the day - cue name game!) Oh really!? A couple of friends of mine from college are from Lancaster! Do you know Terra, Trixie, or Sammy Simon?!
eSuiter: Nope.
Me: Oh, okay. (crickets). So Lancaster, Amish country huh.
eSuiter: Yea, lot's of buggies. I wasn't raised Amish though.
Me: Haha, didn't think so. (COMPLETELY JOKING) You were probably one of those crazy mennonites right!?
eSuiter: Yea I was raised Mennonite.
Me: (Silence)
eSuiter: Not, like super conservative mennonite; I was allowed to wear jeans.
Me: Oh jeans, sweet, yea. (CHANGE THE SUBJECT QUICKLY) So where did you go to school?
eSuiter: I went to SchoolIveNeverHeardofandCantRemember.
Me: Oh I think I've heard of that.
eSuiter: Yea, it's a small Mennonite school for Mennonites.
Me: Right, right, okay, yea, definitely.
Awkward Silence #14 - Please note that during all of these silences my eSuiter never shifted his eyes away from mine. I'm not even sure if he blinked. This made me very uncomfortable.
Me: So I love this bar, great patio…do you come here a lot?
eSuiter: No, I've never been here.
Me: Oh, okay…
eSuiter: I didn't know where to tell you to meet me so I was sitting in my office and looked down at my softball league t-shirt and it said this bar's name on it so I told you to meet me here.
Me: Oh, of course, cool. So softball?
eSuiter: Yea I don't play anymore. (The tone in which he said this signaled that I should not ask a follow up. However his rec softball career ended, it was not good and I should not ask so I didn't).

I would say that about covers the highs from this date. The low came when I recounted for him the story of my family's cats and how five have died under our care in my lifetime. By the time I got to the tragedy of Miss Kitty chapter of the story, he was still listening which I knew was a bad sign. When the waitress came by and asked us if we'd like another, I quickly told her no and we got the check. While eSuiter was asking the waitress something, the guy at the table behind me (who had noticeably checked me out as I walked in) leaned back in his chair and loudly whipered "Definitely a first date and it's definitely not going well". This gave me a giggle and I began thinking of how I could pull a switcheroo and be on a date with him instead. Too much work, I concluded. I then told eSuiter that I better get going since I had a thing with a person at a place I had to get to. He stood up to leave with me, revealing his pear shaped figure and that was that. He has since texted and called me twice. I'm doing the thing where I just don't answer or respond. I really think it's best this way. Bring on Bachelor # 3!

Love Letter

Dear eSuiters,

You might be wondering why I haven't responded to your repeated winks and messages. Within the list below, each of you will find one or more relevant answer(s) to that question.

1. You spend two paragraphs on your profile telling me about your virginity. You love Jesus, we get it.

2. In your message to me, you used 'lol' anywhere from 3 to 12 times.

3. You are 7 feet tall and I'm not sure how I feel about dating a giant yet. Although you did lead me to google, "how many 7 ft tall people in the world". So that was cool.

4. You have a large head and eyes the size of raisinettes. (sorry, it's true)

5. Based on the 9 photos you display on your profile, you spent all the shirt money your mom gave you on hair gel.

6. You're 42 years old. If you had been cool enough to get laid in high school, your child would be my age. Plus you look like an old man version of Pauly Shore.

7. You are holding what appear to be different babies in all of your photos and say you have no children now but would love to someday. So then, who are those babies? How are you friends with that many babies? Give the babies back to their real owners.

8. For fun you like to "hold doors for strangers", "lend a hand to someone in need", "be a good role model" and "water ski". Go fuck yourself.

9. Unsolicited, you shared via a personal message to me (among other things that fall into the I don't need to know this category) that you're favorite color is blue-green.

10. Your favorite band is Creed.

Give me a few weeks and increased desperation may lead me to rethink some of these deal breakers, but for now I'm going to stand firm. Good luck with; your internet motorcycle business / keeping your V-card / fucking yourself / stealing babies / owning things that are blue-green / etc.

HAGS,
JBird

First Internet Date - A Major Success!

...if you define success as not throwing up on your date. In order for you to fully appreciate a recap of Monday's lunch date I need to take you back to Saturday.

Poolside day drinking quickly led to night drinking, friend making and I'm pretty sure there was some dancing involved. Skip to Sunday morning. Me, super hung over on the couch, where I slept unable to make it the 8 feet to my bed, covered in pistachios. For those of you that know me well you know morning's like these leave me with what can only be described as Nick Nolte mugshot hair. Smeared mascara. Drunkenly picked out ill fitting pajamas. As I lay in a pile of spilled excedrin migraine tablets and pistachios, I hear the friendly beep of my blackberry signaling receipt of a text. I happily open the text unaware that I am unleashing the first in a series of unstoppable events that will lead to a date so bad the guy I went out with has probably decided to give up on internet dating.

The text came from my gay (allegedly straight) ex-boyfriend neighbor. It read, "Hey, are you home? Do you mind if I stop by?" We spend a significant amount of time together so this came as no surprise and I quickly responded, "Bring chai tea lately and mcnuggets" . Along with a follow up, "10 piece pleeeeeeease". A few moments later there was a knock on my door and I yelled for him to come in. Before I could set in on how effed up it was that he was mcnuggetless, he stopped me and said that we needed to talk. Sensing it was something serious I sat up, picked a pistachio off of my arm and shoveled several excedrin onto the coffee table. I looked at him all decked out in his church clothes and immediately I knew. I said to him, "You have a new girlfriend". He nodded confirmation.

Keep in mind I was probably still a bit drunk at this point.

Initially I went into my crazy super fake voice and spouted off something about how happy I was for him, how kind and considerate it was of him to tell me about her, and that I looked forward to meeting the whore face (I probably just said "her"). From there the conversation went something like this:

EXBF: Why are you being like this?
Me: Being like what? (Still in super fake scary voice)
EXBF: Being so nice and fake.
Me: Oh, I'm sorry. Would you prefer I be honest? (Still in super fake, now even scarier voice)
EXBF: Well…I dunno…yea I guess so.
Me: Oh, okay. Well then go fuck yourself.
EXBF: Umm…okay.
Me: This news doesn't bother me in the least. I'm only a tiny bit disappointed that you didn't come over and finally admit you're gay. I mean what the hell could she have that I don't have? (I then pointed to myself, Nick Nolte hair and all). Whatever it's never going to work out anyway because you're still in love with me, obviously. That's awesome though, that's great. Tell me about her.
EXBF: Well she's not a nurse. She's a nutritionist from Nashville.
Me: (Under my breath but not really) A nutritionist? Like an under-qualified nurse slash cafeteria worker? (I know that doesn't even make sense nor is it funny and I really have nothing against nutritionist whores)
Me: (Rolling around mumbling things) Just get the eff out of my apartment.
EXBF: Okay, well…that went well all things considered.
Door slam. End of scene.

So after that happened I had to start drinking again, obviously. Repeat Saturday night but with more drinking, more dancing, and more patriotic funfetti cake. I returned home around 5:00 AM just in time to catch 2 hours of sleep before waking up to begin what would be hours of vomiting along with other super attractive intestinal issues. Next thing I know it's 10:30 and time to get ready for my lunch date at noon. I manage to change out of my clothes from the night before and wash my hair. Things are looking up! My friend feels sorry for me and so he agrees to drive me to the date since I'm pretty sure walking the 6 blocks to the restaurant or taking a cab will lead to more vom. He also let's me know before dropping me off that he will come pick me up if I throw up on my date or crap my pants. Based on my overall appearance he estimated that there was a 10% chance that one of those things would happen. On that note I get out of the car.

As I get out of a car driven by another guy, I see my date getting out of his car. He notices me and seemed to have some confusion about my method of arrival. I decide to never address that and instead extend my clammy hand in introduction. After saying nice to meet you the first thing that comes out of my mouth is "Yea sorry I'm really, um…tired kind of". To which he replies, "Oh, long night huh?" I actually just don't respond to his comment and dive right into my water then ask (what turns out to not be) our waitress for some diet coke, immediately. The next 30 minutes are kind of a blur but I'm pretty sure I successfully portrayed myself as a drunk whore. And guess what? He was effing amazing. Extremely attractive. Extremely successful. Extremely concerned about my overall state of being.

Did I mention that I dribbled? Yea, I didn't really throw up, but at one point water just sort of slowly spilled from my mouth. I kept my talking to a minimum because the more time I had my mouth open, the more the hair on my arms stood up signaling that at any moment I might throw up on him. Eventually he finished his meal, quickly paid for our lunch, mentioned something about needing to meet someone to do something and peaced out. I would have judged him if he'd played it any differently.

All this time I was thinking this blog would be about the weird shit these internet dating guys do and say when in reality they are the normal ones? I feel like I've entered an alternate universe.

On the bright side, I didn't throw up on him! Which means I can still go to that restaurant! Yay!!

Date #2 here I come!

Tiddlywinks

In college I used to get drunk and play a game I called "Getting on my friend's facebook accounts and poking people they aren't really friends with"; Drunky Pokes for short. Remember that terrible girl in college who was a year younger than you, hung out with the same fraternity you did, and would often yell things in unison with her friends like "Yea bitches!!!". She got poked a lot during Drunky Pokes. So did the random dude you did a group project with in econ, random dude you made out with 3 years ago, and maybe your cousin. Drunky Pokes was the best and always led to a lot of laughter, confusion and password changing.

Upon my return for the bars last night Drunky Pokes was reborn in an adaptation I'll call: "Getting on my Dating Site # 1 account and winking at random men I have no interest in"; Tiddlywinks for short. The drunk me thought this game was hilarious. The sober me thinks this game is dangerous and sad. My wink count went from 0 yesterday to 17 today. All of the men who received tiddlywinks were among those that have already winked at me. Quick cross section of tiddlywink recipients:

Gregory - 22; works in IT; divorced; total ginge; talks about atheism a lot.
CaucasianShrek - 37; works in IT; 6' 7"; mentioned he owns a boat 7 times in his profile.
SPORTSYAAAA - See earlier post.
LargeBlackMan - 33; divorced; large black man; hobbies include Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, Muay Thai Kickboxing, killing people, and cooking*.
Dr. Love - 35; Indian Doctor; 6' 6"; describes his life as being "basically the storyline for Harry Potter"

*I made up one of those hobbies. Can you tell which one?

Jabba the Whutt?

Ever heard of Wookieepedia? Neither had I until I decided to abandon dreams of being with the one I love aka my gay (allegedly straight) ex-boyfriend neighbor and try my hand at internet dating. I learned about Wookieepedia because I google search many of my eSuiter's usernames to figure out what they are supposed to mean. A significant portion of my searches lead me to Wookieepedia, the Star Wars Wiki Site. Want a little insight into the workings of eSuiter SithLord4Life - Wookieepedia that shit. Not sure what he means by "looking for his Lumiya" - I wookieepedia'd the eff out of that. A great tool for anyone who's hit rock bottom and likes to be in the know.

My Safari tabs at this moment are:
1. my own blog
2. Dating site #1
3. Wookieepedia's page on Darth Zannah so that I can decode a reference made by the potential future Mr. JBird
4. A fwd email from my mom telling the story of a monkey and dog that became bffl's

Anyone else a little concerned?

Wait, do I have to go on actual dates with these people?

One of my many eSuiters has requested we meet in person. "Maybe we could check out Taste" he wrote in a message commenting that writing emails back and forth has gotten old.

Eff. I've really enjoyed sitting on the sidelines judging these guys on their feeble email pick up lines, dermatological conditions, and disregard for grammar. I'm thinking maybe I could just keep doing that for a while, right? I mean, uh, eh, nooo (this is where throw a subdued hissy and emotionally shut down because I don't want to do something).

After listening to many voice concern over my reluctance to go out in public with these men, I have decided to take the plunge. So I'm going on a date with SPORTSYAAAA.

No I'm not actually. I'm agreeing to meet up with one of the less fun to make fun of "normals". His response to "Favorite Things" was "Stuff White People Like". So he's okay I guess. On the downside (depending on how you look at it), the more I look at his pictures, the more I think his soft bone structure could be that of a lady. And I'm very concerned about his comment that "life is measured in happiness, not wealth" because that might mean he's poor which would be gross. Oh well. Here we go.

Protein Shakes for Everyone!

SPORTSYAAAAA
About me and who I'm looking for: I like all sports. I like the bulls and hawks. I like the Boilermakers. I played 4 sports in high school. I don't have a prob meeting girls in bars but this could be cool too. Ariiiiiiiight!
For Fun I like to: Play sports and watch them too. Also work out. lol
Favorite Hot Spots: Chicago lol

* Please note that I have maintained SPORTSYAAAA's writing style but omitted certain details in order to protect his identity while also capturing his true essence. I also made up a new username for him.

So I guess I'll just leave him in the maybe column?

I can think of a reason this would not be a good profile picture. Why can't they?

An astounding 20%* of my potential internet suiters have posted pictures similar to this one. Guys, have you ever met a girl in a bar, found her to be attractive, then pulled out your iphone to take her on a walk down memory lane of you and your ex-girlfriend's relationship? Oh, I'm sorry I forgot to mention that some of these guys did go to the trouble of cropping the photo OR using the paint application to scribble out the girl's face. Some did not. Seriously. I'm not sure why, but scribbly faced ex girlfriend pictures send me into a giggle fest so those get a couple of points. I'm so shocked that such bright, paint application savvy men have had to turn to the internet for dating. If you're saying to yourself "well, you're the one that's trying to date these guys hehehe" (I'm saying that in a high pitched mocking tone) then I agree with you but keep it to yourself and become a follower of my blog if you haven't already :)

I have to go now because I'm pretty sure the mug shot they just showed on the five o'clock news 'favorited' me earlier today but I want to be sure before I unfairly remove him from my consideration set.

* 20% is a number I made up based on looking at a few pictures. It's both very likely and very unlikely that the number is accurate.

What's in a Wink

I'm still not sure I completely understand the 'winks' I have been receiving in response to my dating profile. I get that it's a signal of interest, but I'm not too keen on winking in my real life so I have yet to reciprocate.

Do you know anyone who winks often in their real life? I've known a few gentlemen in my life who are winkers and I must say it is certainly not for everyone. My friend David winks early and winks often. I've gotta hand it to him though, great wink. The beauty of his wink is in its' ambiguity. When you receive a wink from David you are usually left wondering if a) he desires to sleep with you or b) you are in on some secret that maybe you forgot about or c) both. Less successful winkers default to the creepy pedafile wink, the as seen on tv spokesperson wink, or the ever popular, maybe he just has dust in his eye wink. Bottom line - I don't wink. If I were to show interest in a guy I might look at him, get caught, look away, and act like I'm having so much fun with my friends and someone just said something so funny. "Ahahahaha (sitting up straight, looking thin) hahahaha, we are just such a fun group of friends". Then he would see how fun, awesome, and thin I am and pursue a lasting relationship with me. So if they could capture that in a button, maybe I would use that signal. Until then, I'm going to stick to being withholding.

I'm really struggling with properly introducing my readers to these guys who are messaging me. Since I can't post their actual pictures, I'm working on some amateur illustrations to help tell the story. Please stay tuned for those as well as an overview of my two legitimate prospects. And as always...remember, as Tupac says, keep your head up, legs closed, eyes open.

Creating My Profile: Shits about to get Real (and by real I mean sort of real)

I once re-read an email that I had sent to a client and was certain that I could not have been the author. I must have blacked out, I thought, and been possessed by some terrible, type-A, buzz word slingin', douche face. That's when I realized I had traded my soul in for a smart phone and the magical gift of fitting the words synergy, action items and strategic objectives into the same sentence. Damn you corporate America.

This afternoon I had a similar experience while on my journey in the world of internet dating. Creating my profile was easy at first. Age? Check. Body type?…slender can be interpreted broadly, so yea, check. What type of movies, food, music do you like? Check - check - check! Who are you, what do you want in life and what do you want in another person? Go on…describe yourself. Oh, you can't even describe yourself? Shit. That's not a good sign.

So how did I answer these questions? I decided to just be honest and speak from the heart. I figure if I really put myself out there free of any embellishment or sarcastic mask, I might really be able to find my one and only. Don't worry I'm joking. What did I really do? I lied. No, I'm sorry, "I presented the truth in a creative way". For example: What do you like to do in your free time?
Honest answer = I enjoy spending hours laying on my couch watching shows like The Real Housewives of Atlanta and re-runs of Gilmore Girls. I like going to the 'low fat' frozen yogurt places around my house, ordering one cup and then hesitating while ordering the second saying something like, "and I'm pretty sure he said he wanted the lime yogurt with gram crackers, yea that's it." And I love outdoorsy things as long as they include drinking.
What I actually wrote = Love being outdoors, whether it be playing volleyball at the beach, walking the dog by the lake, or just napping in the park. Also enjoy live music, eating delicious food and spending time with friends and family.

I'm not ready to share anything from the 'who are you and what do you want in life' section because it's just far too embarrassing. Re-reading it was a lot like the work email story, made me want to claw my eyes out, curl into the fetal position and have a good cry. Internet Dating Website # 1 - 1, Jbird - 0.

Since going live with my profile at 8:00 PM on Saturday night I have received approximately 22 emails, 2 VIP emails, 48 winky faces, 13 i am interested in yous and 9 instant messages. My profile has been viewed 200 times. I will spend the next day or so decoding what all of this means and selecting some top quality excerpts. Here's a teaser. This email excerpt came from a software engineer who clearly had professional headshots taken to use as his profile pictures. Note his resistance to using traditional punctuation. He instead opted for repeated use of the ellipses. Why bother with commas, periods or semicolons when you can just throw out the dot dot dot, right!?

Message from iFoHawk:
you're kinda cute..you look like a little cartoon version of Britney Spears obviously before she cut her hair off and turned into a psycho……but just to make sure….you're not crazy are you?
OK..joking aside, you look much younger than your age in your photos..are these sort of old photos... or you are just one of those baby faced people?

Stay tuned, this just keeps getting better.

Just the tip, just to see how it [internet dating] feels...

As it turns out, I was already signed up on an internet dating site. Note: We will call this site Dating Site 1 so that when my blog gets so huge and billions of people are all up on it I won't get sued or anything for all the bad things I say. I signed up as man seeking woman because a friend and I were convinced that our other friend was lying about how she met the dudes she was dating. Yeah I know that was so crazy / mean / awesome of us. Anyways, our investigation came to a halt after we realized just how many single 24 year old online daters there were in the DC area. So since I was already signed up, Dating Site 1 is where I decided to start. I signed up but did not create a profile - not quite ready to commit yet. So, this way I can just look at men's profiles and get a feel for how terrible this might be.

I must digress a bit to explain my first major take away from internet dating. The topic: Vanity license plates. An incredible medium in that they allow horrendous people to go ahead and proclaim to the general public - "Here I am! I'm one of those vanity license plate people, I'm a totally awful addition to your community! Don't you love my GR8 BMR?!". And you're thinking, "No, no, my dad/uncle/family friend is just really wealthy and puts his initials and a number on his plates." Unless this person has so many automobiles that they must be labeled or else he will...nope, no, still can't think of a justification*. But really, who doesn't love driving down the road with a friend and having a little giggle fest at the expense of KKN AZZ or IMTPLS**? What could be better you ask? Answer: internet dating usernames. Since I have just entered the world of online dating, this phenomenon is all new to me. Please enjoy a few of my favorites. I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.

pecan2cool. Are you a pecan and you're too cool? Do you just really love pecans? I'd be lying if I said I wasn't intrigued, but still.
V8foryoursoul. How bout some V8 for your dick, idiot. (I don't know why but that's the only comment that came to mind)
mrdurr. Is that supposed to read "murder"? I love going on dates with guys I meet on the internet named Murder, yea, uh huh…OR is it "Mister Durr"? That could be quite different.
mapleflavor. Not sure what this means, but I love syrup. He maybe just made my short list.
MrBoatShoes1328. What!? Soul mate! You must be so fratty mr. boat shoes. You must wear them all the time, even in the winter. Hey, you might even have a boat…but probably not. Yea I already dated you a few times in college so we're good.
brochocho. Hehehe.
heartonsleave79. How does your mind read that one? Because I maybe read that as heart ons leave. And thought he was sharing that he has trouble sustaining an erection. But he maybe also could have meant heart on sleave. As in he wears his heart on his sleeve but he can't spell sleeve? So we have dual meanings here. This guy's multi dimensional fo sho.

I'm only on page 30 of 80 so there's still going to be a lot of judging to do before I can admit defeat, sign up, and hopefully become Mrs. Durr…unless he didn't mean Mr. Durr in which case, oopsie dead daisy.

* One group is allowed to have vanity plates. Cute elderly people. This includes sweet grandmas and confused old men.
**IMTPLS - Get it??? Say it slower. They drive a convertible - topless!! Ahhh that's so clever and hilarious! Holy shit I'm going to die that is so effin clever and hilarious!!! I wish I were cool enough to drive a Chrysler Sebring convertible too! Damn!

Tomorrow I will commit to a site and create a profile. Between now and then I need to find a way to take pictures of myself doing fun and interesting things so that I seem adventurous and worldly. The farther this goes, the funnier / more concerning it will become - so please stay tuned!

So here we are...

I know what you're all thinking. "Internet dating? Really? But you're so awesome and attractive, what gives?". And you're right. I am awesome and attractive. But that doesn't change the fact that the state of my love life is, well…what's the word for no physical contact with the opposite sex for six months because I'm hung up on my possibly gay* ex-boyfriend neighbor? Yea, you get the idea.

Typically I have held (and still hold) that internet dating is for people who have exhausted all other resources and reached the peak of desperation. I haven't really exhausted any resources or energy on finding someone, mostly because I don't like exhausting things plus I'm a little lazy and judgmental. And as far as the desperation part goes…eh whatever.

So I'm going to try this and give it my best, most minimally crazy, effort. And I'm inviting you all to join on my journey to find my soul mate on the world wide web. If you know me then you know this will probably not end well and as a result you are likely very excited to read on.

* Okay so maybe I did confirm a few weeks ago that ex-boyfriend neighbor is not gay. To put my suspicions rest, I decided to ask him directly. I learned two things from this: (1) ex-boyfriend neighbor is not gay and (2) straight men with whom you've had relations do not appreciate having their hetero-ness challenged…especially while they are preparing you a delicious dinner meal.