Boyz II NopeSorryStillBoyz

Look, I’m not a “feminist” or a “lesbian” or whatever they are calling it these days.  And no, I’m not fat or single; and although I’ve considered it, I don’t own a cat (yet).  It also just so happens that my father did come to all of my childhood soccer games and recitals (translated: children’s theater productions of Gypsy), so no latent issues there either.  With that said, I really need to get something off of my chest -- twenty something guys really need to quit acting like 14 year olds.

A lot of people who agree with this sentiment will blame the parents or Seth Rogen or democrats, but I think all of that is crap.  Who/what is really to blame?  I think it all started with AOL Instant Messenger and maybe the Nokia 5190.

I’m twenty five, so back when I was in middle school AOL Instant Messenger (or AIM as it would be known) was all the rage.  Come home from school, hop on AIM, maybe throw up an away message with a cool Blink 182 quote or something, I dunno, whatever you were in the mood for, and let the games begin.  My handle was hessiehannah, or, I’m sorry, let me be more accurate, it was, hEsSiEhAnNaH.  My buddy list was pretty extensive, hoops2185 IMed me a lot, no big deal.

Chatting on AIM made it pretty easy for 14 year old boys to manage gf’s with little to no effort.  Scared boys calling the house and asking for you became more and more rare.  And if it wasn’t bad enough; enter the Nokia 5190 - we appreciate Snake, but text messaging?  Did you have to?  Sure, it would be a few years before text messaging became the preferred method of communication, but the ball was in motion.  

I don’t want to digress too much into the topic of text messaging but here it is: there is a time, a place, and a method for utilizing text messaging as a form of communication.  You are on the train and want to let your friend know you are running late - send a text.  You want to wish someone happy birthday, you don’t really like the person but you know they will be offended by a facebook wall post alone - send a text.  You are on your period and a terrible person and you want to give your boyfriend a massive headache - sure, send a vague text that reads something like, “i just wish u would care more”.  You’d like to see the girl you met over the weekend again and maybe get a drink with her - slow down quick thumbs - call the stupid girl. 

And I know, “but she texts me and doesn’t call, it’s a two way street”. Yea, see, the thing is, no it’s not.  And she’s probably retarded, but that’s not what this essays about, so just deal with it.  It’s very simply, you like a girl --> you call her (maybe you even have to get her number from one of your friends, unless you are a creep it really won’t be creepy) --> you tell her in real words that you would like to do something with her --> you tell her what that something is, when you would like it to happen, etc --> you wait for her response --> she says yes --> you do what you said you were going to do when you said you were going to do it.  It’s really that simple.  

I’ll go one step further.  You like her, dates gone well, you maybe want to touch her boob or do it with her someday?  Then don’t have more than a couple of drinks and do make a move on her at some point.  I don’t care what your move is, just grow a pair and try to make out with the girl.  If she rejects you, good for you, now you don’t have to spend more money on salads and white wine for a girl who is either a frigid bitch or just doesn’t really feel attracted to you.  If you don’t get rejected, way to go, a semi-sober make out probably means there is a good chance she might touch your penis in the future.

I realize boys don’t read this blog, so I’m speaking to an imaginary target here, but oh well.  At least I feel better now.

That’s all.

P.S. I date a total man-boy.  He never really had to step up in a big way and he still gets to do it on a fairly regular basis.  But, keep in mind, we were friends for FIVE years before we started dating and doing it.  Do you really want to talk on the phone with a girl about how shitty the guy she’s dating is and help her when she moves for YEARS before you get anywhere? Didn’t think so.  Note: My man-boy was doing a lot of other girls in between chatting with me on the phone and driving me places during that five year stretch, so don’t feel bad for him or anything.  He’s straight. 

Bringing Home Boyfriend Part III

This could have also been titled; Inappropriate Times to Show Cremated Dog Remains to a Guest.  Where's Emily Post when you need her...


I'm sure I have you all (all two of you, that is) on the edge of your seats in suspense, waiting to hear how Christmas with the new boyfriend went.  In all honesty, it was a bit of a snooze fest.  I didn't start dating someone else before he arrived and this boyfriend doesn't have any of the fun qualities (i.e. anger issues, poultry allergies, etc) that have made past experiences so noteworthy.  Rather than bore you with a novel, allow me to give you the cliff's notes version of bringing home my most recent serious (had been dating two months) boyfriend.


Day 1
Boyfriend arrives.  Parents' dog sniffs boyfriends crotch.  Everyone giggles.  Parents dog continues sniffing boyfriends crotch for entire trip.  Parents laugh and say it's "normal puppy stuff".  Boyfriend stays seated a lot with legs crossed.


Day 2
Family bowling trip.  Boyfriend lets dad win first game.  Later, while boyfriend is upstairs, Jbird removes urn containing cherished family dog remains from bookshelf and hides them in entertainment center.


Day 3
Mom tries to turn on television.  Family argument erupts.  Jbird yells, "PRESS TV THEN POWER" repeatedly while parents take off glasses, then put glasses back on, repeatedly while passing remote back and forth.  Mom breaks the audio system.  Boyfriend comes downstairs.  Mom opens entertainment center.  Something has distracted her from the TV situation.  Jbird knows she should have hidden dog urn someplace else.  Mom removes Ruby from entertainment center and presents her to boyfriend.  "This is our dog, Ruby" she tells the bewildered house guest.  Boyfriend kindly reads engraved placard aloud, "Ruby, Forever in our Hearts...that's nice".  Mom takes back urn, cradles it in her arms, and places it back on the shelf next to a reindeer statue from Pottery Barn.  Jbird recalls the Christmas when Ruby bit Grandma.  Mom does not acknowledge the comment and Dad has already put on his noise canceling headphones even though he is seated in a room with three other people.


Day 4
Dad talks about how cool his Pandora stations are for ten minutes over breakfast.  Jbird and boyfriend pack up and head to the airport.  Awkward airport hugs and handshakes.  Once inside the airport boyfriend tells Jbird he had a nice time and would love to do it again.  Jbird is okay with the fact that boyfriend is a liar.  


So there you have it.  Boring, I know.  But such is life.  


Oh hey, I wanted to tell you about something I'm doing that I think you should read about.  I really like tater tots and other things that mostly only fat people are into.  So I'm writing a blog about it.  If you don't have anything better to do, check out A Very Serious Blog About Tater Tots.  Enjoy with ketchup. 

Thanksgiving 2009: The year I brought home the rageaholic who was allergic to turkey.

I met Stan through a mutual friend my senior year of college.  He lived in Indianapolis, where he attended law school, and I was still at school in South Carolina.  Having hit it off on our first meeting, we remained in touch, which led to him visiting me at school and me traveling to Indy for his annual law school formal.  Over the course of the weekend I developed a serious crush.  He was so cute and funny.  He owned books and spoke in complete sentences.  It was all so hypnotizing. His name was Rick and he was Stan's roommate.  Oh what a pickle I had gotten into.  Knowing that the roommate swap rarely happens without serious damage, I left Indy with no intentions of staying in contact with either of them.  But while at the airport, enjoying a delicious cinnamon pretzel, I decided to friend request Rick.  Fast forward over several drunk dials and countless IM conversations and I found myself in a relationship with Stan's roommate.

Several months into my relationship with Rick we decided it was time for him to meet the family.  Thanksgiving seemed like the right sort of holiday for it, seeing as it is fairly low pressure, centered mostly around binge eating, etc.  But as November rolled around I began noticing some things about Rick that seemed a bit off.  Please understand that this relationship was one that I was committed to making work.  While enjoying 'ritas and sizzling fajitas at a local Chili's, I even told my friend, Kathryn, that I thought he might be 'the one'.  Having made such a bold claim I had no choice but to forge ahead with the relationship, red flags and all.

Red Flags One Ought Not Look Past

1. Boy approaches intersection with girl in car on the way to girl's secret favorite restaurant, Buffalo Wild Wings.  Boy stops car late and blocks majority of cross walk.  Homeless man waiting to cross street flails arms at boy while yelling about blocked cross walk.  Boy rolls down window and yells something like, "F*CK YOU, YOU F'ING HOMELESS SH*T HEAD, YOU DON'T EVEN DESERVE TO BE ALIVE YOU F'ING F'ER GODDDDD I F'ING HATE F'ING HOMELESS F*CK HEADS".  Light turns green, boy rolls up window and continues yelling to girl about what a terrible waste of life the homeless man is and why he deserves to be dead for reacting to the blocked crosswalk.  Girl is scared and can't stop laughing.  Girl barely enjoys boneless asian zing wings.
2. While visiting boy's alma matar for a football weekend, boy takes girl to boy's fraternity house for post game fun times.  Boy asks random current brother for a beer.  Current brother says they are in basement and that boy is welcome to go get as many as he would like.  Boy yells at current brother for what he considers, 'total disrespect of an alum'.  Boy makes girl leave.  Girl has to quit dominating flip cup table.  Boy preaches to girl about fraternity respect things for two hour drive home.
3. Boy owned red bed sheets.  Ew.

As we came closer to Thanksgiving and the inevitable trip home, I found myself becoming increasingly repulsed by Rick.  I started noticing things outside of his anger issues that furthered my discomfort.  It became clear he only had 5 shirts in his standard rotation and his blonde hair seemed to repel water, never actually looking clean.  He bought a compact car.  Ect.

The first day of our visit home went fairly well.  I pretended to love him and he was on his best behavior.  Shit started to get real on Thanksgiving morning.  Rick claimed to be allergic to turkey.  Thinking ahead, I shared this fact with my mom and she ordered a delicious honey baked ham.  We both neglected to fill my father in on this detail.  An insight on my father; at his mother's funeral, didn't shed a tear; upon presentation of the 2005 hickory smoked turkey, eyes welled up with tears of joy.  I went outside to visit my father as he watched over our turkey and mentioned Rick's allergy.  My father laughed to himself and said that he's never heard of anyone with a turkey allergy so it probably doesn't exist.  So, as one might expect, during the meal my father insisted that Rick try a bite of his masterpiece.  Rick nibbled on an edge of a slice and agreed it was excellent turkey.  Noting he had barely tried it, dad refrained from acknowledging Rick for the rest of his stay.  

That evening I had a small group of friends over to hang out.  We all go way back and while the conversation began with them trying to get to know Rick, it quickly turned towards topics that didn't include him.  Over a three hour period, while a group that included my parents, visited and sipped beverages, Rick slammed 8-10 cans of Milwaukee's Best.  No one who was there that night, much less my family, even knows where he found the case of Beast.  At any rate, he pouted the whole time and after the guests left he spent an hour explaining why they were all terrible people for not caring more about his being editor in chief of the law review, blah blah blah.

The next morning my mother told me, in the nicest way possible, that my little boyfriend has a drinking problem.

Shockingly, we didn't actually break up until New Year's followed by a relapse with a final break up just before summer.  Some are harder to get rid of than others.  By this point I had created a track record of sorts - bringing the boyfriend home during the demise of the relationship.  But I somehow managed to block that out and invited then unemployed new boyfriend home for Christmas just two months into our dating.  The final installment of this trilogy will cover that, not to worry.

Bringing Home Boyfriend

Some of you may be thinking, "Wait…what?  You just started dating this person and you are already bringing him home to meet the parents?  Isn't it a little soon for that?"  You would be correct.  After dating my boyfriend, let's call him Driz, officially for less than two months, he flew across the country to spend part of the Christmas holiday with my family.  I have a tendency to fast track relationships to the 'meet the parents' stage a bit prematurely.  This, combined with the fact that I'm very fickle has caused a lot of uncomfortable visits.  Two situations come to mind immediately…(chimes sound effect signal a flashback memory sequence right…now.)

I had just broken up with Todd, my high school boyfriend who I followed to college in South Carolina (that story is for another time children), and in typical Jbird fashion, I was hot on the trail for my next relationship.  Enter Don.  Two reasons Don seemed like a good fit at the time.  One, he was bff with one of my bff's bfs; double dates at Ruby Tuesday's - YES PLEASE.  And two, if I squinted my eyes he looked like a slimmed down version of Todd, who I was still very attracted to.  It was nearing the end of spring semester and Don was set to start pharmacy school, four hours away, that next fall.  So, having dated casually for several weeks, we made plans to continue our relationship and make long distance work.  

A mix tape (cd) exchange, a teary good bye, and I was on the road back to Texas.  Within a few days of being apart, Don had purchased a plane ticket to visit me.  A plane ticket for a flight FOUR WEEKS AWAY.  A lot can happen in four weeks.  Enter Hunter.  Hunter had a boat.  It was the summer time.  Teaser for future Hunter stories: when he liked something he would use expressions like, "sweet ass sweet" to describe them.  Deciding that suffering through four terribly awkward days of having a boy who I had no interest in staying in my home, would be better than calling him and telling him not to come, he boarded a flight bound for Houston.  It's worth mentioning that this was his FIRST TIME ON AN AIRPLANE; he was 21 at the time.  I told Hunter I would be busy for a few days and planned a lot of structured activities for Don and I.  

The airport greeting included a closed beak Jbird kiss and a presentation of gifts from Don.  The gifts included a picture of us inside a frame decorated with mementos from our love story (i.e. a Hootie and the Blowfish concert ticket, a bottle cap from a beer I once drank, etc) and a set of South Carolina coasters.  From the airport, I brought him over to my friend Lauren's house to swim and have lunch.  Over chicken tacos, he shared with Lauren and I that it's common knowledge that gay men are gay because, "their parents let them play with dolls and stuff when they were little."  Oh sweet Jesus I must have been very drunk back at school.  

Having no physical attraction to this person, whom I was slowly beginning to believe might be gay, I avoided all contact.  Noticing this he said, "I think it's sweet that you are so respectful of your parents that we can't kiss on the lips in their home".  Don was really doing most of the work for me by this point.  Over those four days we saw three movies, one museum exhibit, two sporting events, and spent all remaining moments in the company of my parents and / or friends who owed me favors.  My mother loved him more than all of the suiters that came before him (or since him for that matter).  She also had suspicions regarding his sexuality.  When recently asked about Don, my father did not recall his existence or his stay at our home.

After dropping him off at the airport I made plans to meet up with Hunter and I never spoke to Don again.  It's possible that Don and I are still dating.

Lesson learned…not quite.  Two years later, a much wiser Jbird invited anger problem Rick to join her in Texas for Thanksgiving.  Stay tuned for that tale as well as the culmination of this series, a Texas Christmas with the Current Future Mr. Jbird.

Mix Tape (CD) from Don Song List

Aint No Mountain High Enough Marvin Gaye

Anything But Mine Kenny Chesney
Double Shot (Of My Baby's Love) The Swingin' Medallions
Good Morning Beautiful Steve Holy
How Forever Feels Kenny Chesney
Irish Instrumental Boondock Saints Soundtrack
Lean on Me Bill Withers
Mud on the Tires Brad Paisley
Sexual Healing Ben Harper
She's Got a Way Billy Joel
She's Got it All Kenny Chesney
Simply Beautiful Al Green
Steal My Kisses Ben Harper
Two Princes The Spin Doctors
Walker, Texas Ranger Theme Song
Wonderful World Sam Cooke
Wrapped Up in You Garth Brooks
Yes! Chad Brock
39-21-46 The Showmen

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