Tag Archives: new chapta

Our favorite married chick takes the cake.

Hello all—it’s Monday, and Gizzy and I have a special treat for you little minions (yeah, I saw Megamind last weekend). One of our favorite bloggers, JustMarriedGirl, wrote us a guest blog! I can’t tell you just how excited I was when my Blackberry ringle-dingled with delight Thursday evening with an e-mail from said blogger, with an attached blog—and a good one at that!

JustMarriedGirl, or Gina, kindly offers her advice to Gizzy and I. And it’s good advice, too. She’s the married girl I want to be (me too, my hero!) Sigh. But anyway, after Gizzy posted her political post on promo girls, this conversation happened:

JustMarriedGirl: I have a blind date story, but maybe it’s too long to type here. I’ll find a way to incorporate it somehow in one of the needless tales of my boring life.

Gizzy: Hahaha I’m so happy you have a scary long memory because now I don’t have to google it, which I was beginning to contemplate. If you want to tell us your blind date story email it to us cocktailsattiffanys@gmail.com and we’ll post it as a guest blog, we’re trying to get out of blogging this week because we don’t think people want to hear us ramble about how fast our fingernails grow so we’re looking for some guest bloggers :)

First of all, thanks Gizzy, for making us look like worthless little shits. But it’s ok, we’re all friends here. Lesson to learn—become friends with Gizzy and she’ll ask you to do her homework for her. (It’s true, but you know what, I spent like 6 hours working on that CAT vs DDM post last week so I’m patting myself on the back since no one else can or will.)

But thank all that is holy, because the post is effing-amazing-beautiful-educational-pretty-awesome! Take it away, G—

When I graduated from college with my undergraduate degree, I moved back home to New Jersey and eventually got a job as a loan coordinator at a commercial mortgage company. It was nowhere near a dream job, but I needed the experience and the steady paycheck, so I decided to suck it up and get to work.

The job was one I loathed. My immediate supervisor was a woman with a passion for wearing short skirts, piling on heavy make-up and getting wasted on her lunch hour. But who am I to judge her life choices? What I really despised was the way she treated me around the office.  She thought I was a life-sized turd with the intelligence of a hairbrush, and she took every opportunity to remind me of my lack of importance in the office. There wasn’t a lot of work for me to do, and I was not given access to the internet or the ability to email anyone outside of the office, so my days were spent staring at the computer screen, counting the minutes until lunch break and then until the end of the work day.

On occasion, my supervisor would call me up to her desk.

“Would you hand this to Fat-Disgusting-Boss-Man?” She’d be pinching a piece of paper between her fingers and holding it away from her body and out towards me in disgust. I wasn’t sure if it was actual scorn in her eyes or if she was just dead on the inside, but her glare always gave me the creeps.

“Sure,” I’d say in my most pleasant voice, and then I’d walk the three feet to Fat-Disgusting-Boss-Man’s desk and lay the paper there before turning back to my supervisor.

“That will be all,” she’d shoo me off to my desk where I’d sit for another hour or two before I was buzzed to photocopy or fax something.

It was miserable.

There were six other employees at the office, most of whom I liked to varying degrees. The other loan coordinator was an older woman who seemed to be an expert in loan coordinating (read: sitting around and doing nothing with authority) and who liked to talk to me in the ladies room while she was on the toilet.  I tried to avoid her as much as possible.

The person I detested as much as if not more than my supervisor was the aforementioned Fat-Disgusting-Boss-Man. He ran our branch, and his slimy personality was matched by his gross physical appearance. It wasn’t just that he was overweight or short or that he looked like a garden gnome, that’s no reason not to like someone.  It was that his lips were always wet and greasy, and he always sounded as though he was choking down his breaths, especially while he shoved bagels down his throat during meetings, as if he couldn’t get food and air in at the same time.  He would rock back and forth in his chair while other people spoke, and when it was his turn to engage the group; he was always self-congratulatory and arrogant. His ideas and his mission were of the utmost importance, and acted as though the rest of us should bow down and thank God every day for being in the presence of such greatness.  Even worse than this, he liked to flirt with my supervisor in the most vomit-producing ways, and she would cackle and tease back, making everyone sick.

So, needless to say, things were rough. And when my college boyfriend of two years broke up with me soon after I got the job, I thought I would just crumble into pieces or just perish right there at my desk from too much sadness.  All I could do all day was think about my broken heart and about how I would probably spend the next fifty years stuck in a crappy job that I hated.

In an attempt to cheer me up, a well-meaning friend decided to set me up with a single friend of hers.  I agreed because I thought that meeting someone might help me forget work and the pain of my break-up. I even went so far as to get a haircut and a new outfit, which worked to my advantage later, but not in the way I imagined.

My friend and her husband were planning to join me and my mystery suitor for a double date, hoping this would ease any awkwardness.  Immediately upon arriving at my friend’s house and meeting my date, let’s call him No Way, I knew I’d made a terrible decision.  I did not find my date physically appealing for several reasons. He was balding on top but kept the remaining hair on the sides and back of his head long and flowy to overcompensate.  He was a bit overweight, and decided to highlight this by wearing an ill-fitting shirt tucked into tight brown jeans. It might sound shallow, but I was only twenty-one years old, and I was hoping for someone young and fun and cute, and No Way was, well, not any of those things.

No Way and I had exchanged exactly zero words during the car ride to the restaurant or over the entire dinner.  While he chatted with my friend’s husband, I suppressed the desire to cry and made small talk with my friend. There is nothing that makes a person feel worse about a break up than being set up with someone awful.  If I could have crawled under the table and disappeared, I would have done just that.

At one point, I excused myself from the table and called one of my close friends, we’ll call her Mary, to tell her about the train wreck that was my night.

“Bail,” she said.


“Yes, bail on that date and come out with me to New York tonight.”

In desperation, I agreed and told her I’d call her once the dinner was over.  In normal circumstances, I don’t know that I would have the guts to skip out on a lame blind date, but every moment I spent in the company this guy made me feel worse and worse about myself, and I needed to escape before I suffocated. The friend who set us up and came along for the evening wanted to rent a movie and go back to her house, but I knew that I just couldn’t do it. Why sit through a movie if I knew this date was leading nowhere?

I feigned illness and told the group I was going home; in hindsight, it must have been so obvious that I was making a weak excuse, but at the time, I felt pretty clever. Actually, I didn’t really care. I just needed to feel better about my broken heart and to convince myself that the only available men left in the world weren’t all like No Way.

In those days, we didn’t use cell phones, so I stopped at a gas station to call Mary from a payphone to let her know that I escaped. I met her at her parent’s home, and we drove to New Brunswick to meet up with some other friends from high school. Even though my nemesis, we’ll call her Horrible Human Being, was there, I wasn’t going to let it ruin the night even further.

Two of the guys in our group rented the apartment where we met. They were two grades older than us in high school, and though I knew who they were, I never spent much time with them during my younger years. One of them, we’ll call him Unexpected, was pretty cute, and even though we’d never uttered a word to one another before that night, we seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time chatting.

After a while, we took the PATH to New York with no real plan or destination.  Horrible Human Being wanted to go to some club, but by the time we found the place and got inside, most of us were tired and ready to get back to the apartment where the night was much more mellow and fun.

Horrible wanted to set Unexpected up with someone she worked with at The Gap. So, when Unexpected and I were spending a lot of time together, it really angered Horrible Human Being. To stop what she believed to be an atrocity, she told me that I was way underdressed for a club in NYC.  But I’d just bailed from a lame blind date, so what did she want?  Unexpected was standing next to me when Horrible Human Being spewed her venom, but luckily, he was immune.  I wasn’t sure if it was in my imagination, but I began to realize that I rather liked Unexpected, and I thought maybe he might (might) be interested, too. I never like to let myself think these kind of things, but we did spend the entire night laughing together and ignoring everyone else, so there was that.

By the time I got home, the memories of No Way and the lame blind date were almost completely erased. In fact, I was so infatuated with Unexpected, that I hadn’t even thought of my ex-boyfriend—the source of much of my recent distress—all night. It turns out Unexpected was interested in me, and we ended up dating for several months.  But because I never fully recuperated from College Boyfriend, I ended things with Unexpected even though he did things like: send me flowers, buy tickets to the movies I liked in advance to make sure it wouldn’t get sold out, call me every day, leave me really sweet voice messages at work to make the day a little happier and just generally treat me with respect and kindness.

In case you are wondering, this is not typical for a twenty-something guy, and in case you’re wondering, I realized that I was an idiot for ruining such a relationship after getting back together with College Boyfriend and re-living all the same crap that lead us to break up in the first place.

Luckily, I met Husband Sitting Right Next to Me almost a decade later, and everything worked according to plan. Even better than that, actually.

When people talk about the horrors of blind dates, I totally relate.  They can be self-esteem crushing and horrifying, but they’re not always a bad idea. If I never accepted the lame blind date with No Way, I might not have called Mary in desperation that night, which means I might not have bonded with Unexpected, a really great guy, the anti-No Way if you will.

This experience taught me that I should always accept a date in my single days because (a) hey, free dinner and (b) if the date is bad, I can bail and go on to have a really great adventure, or at least a have a story to tell later.

Now, go out into the world and start accepting those blind dates.  You just never know where they’ll take you.

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A {Heidi} photo Montag{e}.

It’s been an interesting week for Gizzy & I, and by that, I simply mean nothing is going on. We are just trying to get by, make the ends meet, just like every other single mom in this chauvinist world. For that reason alone, we wanted to take you on a journey. So come along, we’re all friends here. And so we present, A Day in Photos by Gizzy & Lucky.

{6:00 a.m.} Lucky’s alarm goes off and she immediately hates her life. Editor’s note: I just realized just HOW homosexual my alarm clock is with that cat sticker on it. No wonder I’m single.

{9:00 a.m} Lucky writes. At work, where she’s sat since 7:30 a.m.

{12:00 p.m.} Lucky eats the world’s cheapest lunch, while simultaneously pretending she’s in first grade again.

{2:30 p.m} Lucky reading at work. And about to rip into her afternoon snackie.

{5:15 p.m.} Lucky getting skin cancer in the tanning bed. Nothing like a pair of bronze tootsies!

{6:00 p.m.} Lucky at the store selecting a bottle of white to go with her dinner…and her bad attitude.

{7:30 p.m.} Lucky’s dinner is served: baked chicken, sweet peas, and white mac n’ cheese. Where’s the Mac-A-Weenie??

{9:00 p.m.} Lucky’s third glass of vino, while rotting her brain with Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.

{9:30 p.m.} Lucky telling her cat, O.J., that indeed she is drunk.

{10:30 p.m.} Lucky’s all out. Sad face.

{10:45 p.m.} Lucky’s bedtime. Time to face plant.

Now on to Gizzy’s day. …

(10:30am) Gizzy rolls out of bed and starts to get ready for her interview.

(12:30pm) Gizzy is driving to her interview.  This is what she imagines being colorblind to look like and also did this sepia tone for added mysteriousness.  Did it work?

(3:00pm) Gizzy is enjoying a snack with Bubby (Justin Bieber.)

(6:00pm) Gizzy is teaching Ella how to draw baby dolls, but hers looks more like a scary version of Kathy Griffen then anything.

(9:00pm) Gizzy is getting ready in a bathroom disguised as a fun house to go work with The Captain in Polar Bear form & Captain’s Crystal’s Bff, Witchie.

(12:00am) Gizzy is pouring shots for a bar with 20 people in it.

(2:00am) Gizzy is checking to see if Kelsey Grammer is online and wants to talk about her long day.

He is not.

(3:00am) Gizzy is tucked away in bed ready to snooze until 1pm tomorrow. (This is a reenactment. The views of this blog are not in any way associated or supported by these actors (pillows.))

Well, there you have it kids.  A day in the life of Lucky and Gizzy.  See, we’re normal.

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Lettuce, tomato, sub the gf for mayo.

Every Sunday night I have a writer’s meeting—you might remember last weekend when I mentioned burger guy. He writes with me at the magazine and he also flips burgers. And he is kind of cute. But he flips burgers. And, it’s The year of the No.

Naturally, I wanted to stalk him on Facebook and get the scoop (er, the flip). And what I found was quite disturbing. Not only does he have a girlfriend, but he has an ugly girlfriend. Of course he does, right? And I also discovered that he recently turned 24…wamp, wamp, WAMP! Not only did he just turn 24 in September, but for his 24th birthday, he wore a sombrero. And hung out with his girlfriend.

I know what you’re saying—but Lucky, he hasn’t even shown interest, so why do you care? Because I have no life, that’s why. Well, and because, let’s face facts, this Year of the No thing is new. I’m used to going after what I want, persistence, people!

But at last Sunday’s meeting, my editor made a comment about his girlfriend, so he was forced to admit that “Yes, I do have a girlfriend,” right in front of me. So it’s all out in the open now, so he can keep his flirty eyes and funny jokes away from my lady parts.

In other news, remember Townie? Well, even Townie has a girlfriend. Which I naturally discovered through Facebook stalking. He was tagged in a photo that came up on my newsfeed, where there was a girl tagged. I clicked on the girl’s name and her profile picture was of her and Townie, side by side, tailgating. I then notice her and I have one friend in common, aside from Townie—a dyke from high school.

Now, Townie’s new girlfriend isn’t very attractive, but then again, Townie is a huge doucher. I’m not sad, I’m actually quite appalled that Townie found someone needy enough to hang out with him. I wonder if he picks fights with soldiers right when they get back from Iraq in front of his new gf???

Anyway, I’m in a different state of mind now and I need to be focusing on different men. Ones that fall into the categories one Ms. Patti Stanger has set out before me. One of Patti’s assignments, if you recall, was to think of 10 non-negotiable things I want in a man. I’m supposed to put them in priority, using 4 categories—spiritual, physical, emotional, and mental. Chemistry is the one “given.”

So here we go, kids.

Lucky’s Top Ten List for Mr. Right

1. Trustworthy

This is a huge thing for me, as I’m sure it is for most people. But I don’t think any relationship that I’ve had has been honest, so this would rank higher than #1 if that was even possible. I don’t want to have any question in my mind that the person I’m dating is doing what they say they’re doing. I don’t even want to think about the possibility of them cheating, or being untruthful. Now that I want to kill myself…

2. Intelligent

I debated between putting this as number 2 or 3, because they are both so important to me. However, you can’t be a dumbass and get along with me. Now, I’m no genius, and I’m aware of that fact. But I am well-educated, and I like to partake in great conversation. So I expect my boyfriend to be my match, or even, a little bit smarter than me—even if it’s in different areas than I know.

3. Humorous

If a guy doesn’t have a healthy sense of humor, we will never get along. I joke, I’m sarcastic, I say fuck when I meet a person{except important business associates or family}—if a guy can’t laugh at that, then there is no future with us. I love to laugh, I love making people laugh, and I want to be around someone who enjoys my sense of humor, but has one of their own.

4. Kind-hearted

Now, it may seem like I’m just a hard ass, but for those of you who witnessed my emotional downfall with The Has Been Matt McFaggot, you know I have a heart. I am someone who cares deeply for my friends and family. In dating, I want nothing more that to be a part of someone’s life and for them to be a part of mine.

5. Hard-working

Okay, this one is difficult. Of course, I appreciate and want to be around someone who is hard working. Although it seems like I sit around my office with my thumb up my ass all day, I do hustle—working several jobs at once. And that’s been my story for most of my working life. However, as Gizzy has pointed out to me, I tend to be attracted to men who like to work a little TOO much. I call this the daddy syndrome—my dad has always worked hard, but sometimes to the point where his family didn’t see him much because of it. Every guy I’ve seriously dated has put me on the back burner for work. No more!

6. Sexy

If a guy has made it this far down on the list, I would say he’s probably pretty damn sexy. Of course, I could sit here and say I want a guy with a certain hair, eyes, washboard abs, etc. But, that’s not really what I’m looking for. I’ve never even dated anyone that looked like that. For me, it truly is personality first.

Having said that, Fratty looks goooood. So it’s a good thing I’m keeping it light.

7. Family-oriented

This, like hard-working, is a difficult one for me. I want a guy to value family of course, but I also want him to want me to be around his family and be a part of it. I’ve been with guys who never want me to meet their parents {and no, I don’t cuss when I meet the parents} and I’ve been with guys who hang with their families so much they don’t want to hang out with me. I need a balance—someone who values family, wants me to meet their family fairly early in the relationship, but isn’t obsessed with it.

8. Thankful

This is the first time I’ve thought about having a man who is thankful. But in reality, I’m a great girlfriend. I cook, I clean, I look good, I’m smart, and I’m funny—I’m your next wet dream. I’m willing to do all of that with very little in return. But I do want a thank you. A meaningful thank you. If I don’t get that, I won’t do those things anymore. I also notice appreciation other places and for other people. I always say thank you to my waiter, bartender, coworkers, etc., and I notice that in others.

9. Selfless

Rarely do I date a guy who doesn’t think about himself, in more ways than one. Of course, I want a guy who has his own life, which is why I put this toward the bottom of the list. However, it would be nice to know that my guy is thinking about me, even if by just sending me a text message saying so.

10. Spiritual

Gizzy was shocked by this, because I’m not the most spiritual person in the world. But being spiritual is different than being religious. I am spiritual, I do believe in a higher being, but my beliefs aren’t sharpened just yet. But they may be one day, and I want someone who will support me in that. I do not want to date an Athiest.

Welp, there you have it kiddos! My list of needs and wants for Mr. Right. And it’s time we face the truth—John Mayer meets all of those needs and wants. So track him down, bag him up, and send him to my office straight away. Wow, Patti Stanger really DOES know her shit!

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Giving biffles the sniffles and then some.

I was just about to cozy up in my desk chair with my book when I realized I should be productive and blog a little. Now is a perfect time to fill you in on Matt’s friends that I briefly mentioned last week. And yes, I’m still listening to the 90’s station, just in case you were wondering.

Alright, so I think I told you I met Matt at a wedding at the beginning of the summer. He is in a group of friends, which includes my friend Leslie. Also in that group are two other girls, Berika and Rhianna. They are pretty much joined at the hip, so they call themselves Biffles. Need I say more?

Anyway, I don’t know Biffles too well, mainly just through Leslie. However, I saw Biffles out one night and told them I was interested in Matt. They were super pumped over it and exchanged our numbers, which kicked off this whole romance. Now, of course I am thankful for that, but obviously Matt and I click, and that’s no one’s doing.

After our first date, Rhianna sent me a text asking how it went. I told her the truth—that it went great! And that was it. For our second date, Matt and I were enjoying a few cocktails when he asked me: “So, when was the last time you talked to Rhianna?”

Me: “Umm…I think a week ago? After our first date.”

Matt: “hmm…ok…”

It was silent for a bit, before he went on to explain himself. He said he’s been friends with Biffles for quite some time. He told me I’m allowed to be friends with whoever I please, obviously. But then, he gave me a warning: “In the past, when I’ve started dating a girl, Rhianna feels like she has to be my older sister and step in…and she often tries to get between me and the girl.” He went on to say that wherever things go between him and I, he doesn’t want it to get ruined because of something like that. He said Rhianna will often take things the girl says, and twist them, and same with him. Normally, I might feel like this guy was just trying to cover his shady ass, but because Leslie knows Rhianna, I’ve heard a few things like this before. Let me share.

Rhianna is in her near mid-thirties (nothing wrong with that) and she just got married a year ago to her 27-year-old hubby, Scotty. Rhianna and Scotty had been dating 7 years before they got married, so it was no shocker there. Rhianna is a pretty big gal, and her hubby is just as large (trust me, that’s something you’ll need to remember). Scotty has always had dreams of being a basketball coach for a college team, and he is…only it’s at a very tiny school, he makes $10,000/year, and lives 4 hours away from Rhianna.

That’s right, they are married and don’t live together. They see each other probably once a month, when Rhianna drives up to visit him. Since he makes only 10-Gs a year, Rhianna pays for him to have his own apartment four hours away. She also pays his bar tabs, etc. Because of that, she can’t afford to live in a place of her own here, so she lives with Scotty’s parents. Yep. I’ve heard Scotty regularly cheats on Rhianna and such, but it seems like a typical case of low self-esteem on both ends—they both know they couldn’t get much better. It’s sad, I know.

Anyway, because Rhianna is married but she never sees her hubby, it’s almost as if she treats Berika as a husband figure. I don’t mean they have lezzie sex or anything, I just think that’s a big reason why they hang out all the time. When the two of them are apart, they are fairly pleasant people. But when they are Biffles, to all beware. All THAT, my friends, is what I had to experience at the Labor Day party last weekend.

It was a classic case of Misery Loving Company. From the second we got in the car, Biffles was ragging on Matt, making fun of him for everything under the sun. But instead of it coming across as funny, like I’m sure they wanted it to, it clearly came across as jealousy. It’s been a long time since Matt has brought a girl around his friends, and obviously some of them took the opportunity to take jabs. As an only child, I felt his pain. At this point, I think Matt is a genuine guy, so I tried my best to push the comments out of my mind.

After the party, Matt called Rhianna and told her to lay off—he told her that him and I deserved more respect than that and what happens between us, stays between us. I appreciated that. I think Matt is realizing these girls he thought were his friends, don’t have his best interest at heart. He later told me he didn’t care if he ever saw Berika again, as she was on her game when it came to insulting him. It was rough.

This weekend, Matt was out of town for the football game, but some of his friends I met invited me to watch the game with them. I took the offer, even though I knew Rhianna would be there. Fortunately, Berika was out of town, and we had a chance to discuss a few things. She apologized about her actions at the party, and said Berika mentioned, “she was tiired of being the only one who doesn’t have anyone.”

Really? I’m like, the LAST person to share that excuse with—I feel like I’ve gone my whole life without “someone.” Sure, I’ve had boyfriends, and none of them have ever included me in anything significant. Besides, if she really does feel that way, it’s probably because she has an incredibly unattractive attitude. As difficult as it is, she should try and be happy for her friend Matt who also hasn’t had someone around for two whole years.

Just own up to your mistakes. Biffles, you acted like an asshole. If my relationship with Matt continues, which I think it will, then yes, I will have more run-ins with Biffles. However, Gizzy & I decided my best bet is to be cordial, keep things casual, and be intimidating enough for them to keep their distance.

I swear to God, bitches and blunts!

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Bradley likes Olive Garden.

Well, Gizzy is boarding a cruise ship right now with her family for five days…so you all get to put up with me AALLLL week. Don’t worry kids, just when I thought the well was going dry a pile of new dating stories fell into my lap—not in the good way.

I realized last week that I mentioned this guy Bradley in a post but had never really explained my situation with him. Remember that concert I went to…er maybe a month ago and the girl’s face was all bloody?! Well that’s where I met Bradley. He was with the group of guys who asked me to come stand with them. The guys were cool, but I was genuinely interested in watching the concert (singing, dancing, screaming) and generally being annoying. So, while I talked to Bradley it was very small talk and we were both having drinks, so I wasn’t in a clear mindset to make any quick judgments. When Bradley left, he asked for my number. I gave it to him and he texted me an hour later or so to see if I made it home okay.

I thought it was nice, but didn’t know what to think. The next few days he sent me some really nice texts—how was your day? How is work going? etc. Since we were talking through text, the conversations weren’t too deep but I remembered that at the concert he mentioned his age—30, and said he was working as a waiter. I assumed he was in school or something so I asked him about that.

He said he wasn’t in school because he hadn’t found a school that had the major he was interested in. So I asked him about this major…he said he wanted to do personal training. I found it difficult to believe he couldn’t find a school with that, which I said. He was like, nope I can’t find it. I said, well Kinesiology is pretty popular, or even sports medicine. And he’s like, “wait, what’s it called?” Kinesiology.

He thought he could get a degree in personal training. Shit.

I feel like as I get older, I have come to understand more different situations. But honestly, I don’t know if I can forgive a guy putting off school for 12 years because he can’t find a school that has a non-existent major. My girl friends kept being like, come on Lucky, it’s a night out and a free meal. NO, no, no, no. I am not poor. I am not desperate for a free meal, especially if it means horrible conversation. But, I didn’t blow him off just yet…because I am a retard.

He still continued to send me nice text messages and asked me to hang out again but I told him about my detox. He said he would wait until I was finished, then I wished I had told him I was on a year-long detox. When it was over he sent me a few texts asking me if I was ready for real food, which of course, I was.

Bradley: What’s your favorite kind of food?

Me: I like Italian.

Bradley: Favorite restaurant?

Me: I don’t have a favorite—I like all the local spots.

***TIME OUT***I do have to mention that the city I live in is a food paradise. And the local Italian joints are amazing, along with other local food. But when I’m thinking about a date, I want to be in a nice environment…

Bradley: Bradley likes Olive Garden 🙂



Olive Garden.

WTF am I supposed to do with that? For starters, why did he all of the sudden start talking in 3rd person? Bradley is a moron. I immediately texted ShyGuy and asked him if I was stuck up for not wanting to go on a date to Olive Garden. He told me I was. But you know what? I hate Olive Garden, right along with Chili’s, Applebees, and anything similar. Simply because it’s loud as hell and the food is never that great.

If you like Olive Garden, then that’s great for you. But honestly, all I can think of is the endless everything—breadsticks, soup, salad, noodles…ick. And then there’s the berber carpet and wheels on the chairs. Basically, any place that gives crayons to kids isn’t date material. I’m sorry, but I think there are way too many better places to eat—hell, there is this burger shack by my office. Raoul is the chef there….and damn does he make a great burger and fries. I’ve been on a few first dates there actually and was happy to be there. So I guess I’m a food shob. Or an atmosphere snob. So be it.

I replied to Bradley to see if he could save himself.

Me: Seriously? Out off all the local places, you like OG?

Bradley: Love the attitude. I went to Olive Garden a few weeks ago and it was so good. I love a little culture in my food.

I didn’t think a remark like that deserved a response. Let’s just see how cultured Olive Garden really is.

And now I’m sure you all think I’m a huge bitch. Anyway, I have a date this evening with someone else. And I swear to all that is holy, if he pulls up to Olive Garden, I’m just going to down myself in the endless soup bowl.

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ShyGuy drinks the kool-aid.

Hello lovelies! Remember earlier in the week when I told you about my favorite DC (hottie) blogger ShyGuy? Well, after a little bit of sweet talking, Gizzy & I were able to convince him to guest blog for us! Why else would I be in such a great mood to be sitting in my shit hole of an office? Anyway, enjoy his post, leave comments, flirt with him, just make him feel welcome so he will come (cum) back.

Yo! You can call me ShyGuy. Gizzy and Lucky asked me to guest post, I assume because of a lack of male perspective. So here it is, your male perspective. Brace.yo.self.

As Lucky and I have discussed, I’ve had considerable difficulty finding a woman that even remotely resembles someone I’d like to pursue romantically. When I first moved out to the east coast after college I dated a lot. Actually, let me clarify; I went on a lot of first dates. There was a stretch of about a year when I went on like 25 first dates without a second.

No, I’m not a troll.

I have sense broken the one date curse, even if only barely, and have been on a few (3) dates with a woman we shall call PDA. I had a few -let’s call them orange because they’re not quite red-flags going into number four. The first was, she does this thing where we’ll be talking about something and she’ll mutter the first few syllables of a thought, then stop, then change the subject all together. This is hugely irritating to me as I’m trying to get to know her. It’s almost as if her speech has ADD. Second, she’s all. About. The PDA (hence the name). I’m not anti-PDA, but I usually like to be comfortable with someone before I get all hands-on in front of the whole world. Call me a prude, but I tend to shy away from finger-blasting dates on street corners.

That’s just me.

Regardless, I’ve been excited about this date for a few days. We were trying this new dim sum restaurant and seeing a concert of a really good singer/songwriter named Mat Kearney.

If you don’t know who he is, you should look him up.

I figured even if the date goes poorly, I’ll have some solid entertainment and an easy excuse not to pay attention to her.

So we’re at dinner and things are going fine. Conversation is going, we’re laughing and bantering.  Then something happened and she went from calm and playful to serious—I half expected her to come across the table and shine a bright light in my face for an interrogation.

And no, not the hot kind.

So while she’s gabbing on about what she wants and how she feels (blah blah blah) I try not to zone out, but you’ve gotta understand the restaurant was dark and I was slipping into a food-coma.

She’s talking about being guarded and wanting to talk to me, but because I notice that she’s guarded she just doesn’t say anything. She gets to talking about what she wants and what she needs. The more she kept talking the more I went gloss. I thought that interest in a person caused more-than-usual openness instead of the other way around. All of this sounds like excuses and I’m preparing myself for the ‘let’s be friends’ line.

This merry-go-round continues for the duration of our dinner. I think I spent this time eating every last speck of food I could find on the plates and thinking to myself, this girl just isn’t interested and to hell if I’m gonna stick around and have to convince this broad that I’m a catch. I’m smart, I’m funny, and damnit I can dance. I’ve got manners, am romantic, and would rather eat the dessert between your legs than some silly French custard bullshit. Sorry I’m not sorry.

So I ask for the check, which we had agreed she would pick up because I bought the concert tickets. That’s fair, right? Apparently wrong. She’s like, ‘should we split this?’ shocked and still a little steamy from the verbal berating I just took, I say nothing and just toss my AMEX her way.

Once we get the check back and are ready to go I say, “I’m going to hit the bathroom before we go.” To which she responds that she has to also and tells me not to plot my escape or make any calls asking to get bailed out. She said it as if she were kidding, but all I could think was “oh, you have no idea.”

So I sent a text to Lucky (704): Fuck. This is going poorly.

As soon as I step out of the bathroom and get on the sidewalk with her, here comes the PDA again. She grabs my hand and steps up to kiss me. I kiss her quickly and start walking toward the concert. She makes a comment asking me if I’m comfortable, to which I honestly respond that I’m anything but comfortable.

Fast forward to the concert. We’re sitting on the side of the stage, fairly close. And she wants to start talking dirty.  She starts talking about all sorts of sexual things. Obviously I’m not opposed to this. So she tells me that she likes how I use my hands (I tend to be very hands-on… Oh shut up ladies, you like it), and I’m like… okay lets rectify this date! Hooo ahh! (that sound effect was just in my head I promise).

No dice.

After an incredible concert and a steadily ascending sexual tension, she kisses me goodnight and tells me to go home safe.


Ladies, if there’s one thing guys hate about women, it’s cock-teases. She was clearly giving me the green light. Hello! She told me she likes… no love… playing how many licks…! Then stonewalls me when it’s time to get in the game. Sure I could have been more aggressive and just come out and said, ‘Listen PDA, lets go back to my place and take my slam-piece to Bonetown.’ But I’m a nice guy and a little shy, so I didn’t, and was left walking home alone, pissed about being left with a pitched tent and no heat for the night.

No worries though, or so I thought. A few mornings later I woke up with the girl I used to be dating but am now just sleeping with. We’re still good friends, but the timing just wasn’t right. I just bought a condo and it’s still not so well furnished; it’s a work in progress. I don’t remember how it came up, but we were talking about housewarming parties or presents or something.

Sidenote: Back when this girl and I were dating I got a text from her on a random afternoon saying that she was at a certain lingerie store and had picked out my housewarming present. Sweet. Why didn’t this work out? Let’s not get into that.

I think I asked her when she’ll be giving me a housewarming present (I’d been living here for awhile) she promised and her response is possibly the best burn I’ve ever received. Her response was totally deserved, and complete Karma coming back for being upset about getting cock-teased a few night earlier. She said to me:

I took back your housewarming present and bought a vibrator instead.

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Too busy? Get a day planner, dick.

Well it’s an amazing Monday morning here in hell. Somehow I managed to make it through the weekend after I was put to shame on the cross of singledom. More on that in a bit.

My weekend kicked off with a lonely night—I went to a concert ALONE. Yep, like a fucking loser. I was planning to go to the show with Slutsky and another girlfriend, but needless to say I didn’t want anything to do with Slutsky and my other friend backed out at the last minute. I had already bought my ticket AND it’s one of my favorite bands, so I still wanted to go. Once, I got there, I figured no one would notice I was there alone because the place was packed. I grabbed a beer and found a spot behind a group of people and everything was fine…


“So you’ve been standing by yourself for the last 4 minutes…what’s up with that?”

Me: “You gotta problem with it?”

“No, I was just curious…”

Me: “I’m a big girl, I can stand by myself.”

“You can stand with us.”

Me: “I don’t need a pity party.”

I ended up standing with them and they were cool, but damn, I didn’t think it was that obvious that I was alone. Anyway, I’m still glad I went to the show because it was one of their best performances. Everything was going good until the last song, things started to get pretty wild. Mid-song, the singer is looking down into the front row and says, “Stop! We need a medic up here…no, seriously this girl is hurt.” He then motions for this girl to get on stage, so she climbs up there and everything seems cool.

Until she turned around to face the crowd. Her face was covered in blood. From my spot, I thought she was missing her left eye. The entire venue let out a huge gasp, then screams. The girl was ushered off the stage and got help. From what I heard later, she had a gash above her eyebrow, possibly from being pushed into the stage or a speaker. Talk about a buzz kill though—I do not handle blood well, so I was glad the concert was over.

On the drive home, I had reached my emotional limit. For some reason that’s unbeknownst to me, I’ve been having dreams and flashbacks of my ex all week and it’s awful. I want him to go away so bad. Can Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind really happen? Because I need it. I guess spending a night out alone wasn’t really a great idea, but at least I’m trying. I made it home and fell asleep for a few hours, until my phone rang—my new guy. We talked for a bit and he ended the conversation as such:

“Well it’s almost 5 am, I will call you tomorrow when I wake up.”

Me: “Sounds good, bye.”

After doing random shit around my apartment Saturday, I hear from the new guy at 4 pm. Really? Considering he had to work at 6, I went on with my day as usual. However, thoughts started creeping in my head. My dating history is filled with bullshit like this. As Gizzy reminded me yesterday, I’m attracted to guys who work hard—sometimes too hard. I’d say 85% of my failed relationships are because the guy says he is just too busy for me (read: he’s just not that into me).

Don’t get me wrong, I have no desire to see the person I’m dating everyday. However, seeing them once a week and getting blown off because he’s “too tired” is completely lame and I’m so sick of hearing it.

I had plans to go out with one of my girlfriends that night and the new guy said he would put us on the list at his bar. I went out with my girl, but she decided to bolt early to go see her boyfriend. Awesome. However, my friend Morgan (who’s a guy) said he was out and wanted to meet up. When I find him, he’s with two guys I’ve never met. I tell them we should go to the bar because I promised my guy I’d go see him. So I find New Guy and get a beer, then sit at a table with Morgan & Co. I wondered if NG would be mad that I brought guys in…however, he’s made it clear that we aren’t exclusive, so I didn’t feel like I needed to answer to him. To my surprise, NG brings over a round of free shots for us—I figure all is good.

Then I go to pay my tab, because the bar is closing.

NG: You look pissed.

Me: No, I’m just a little paranoid about driving home.

NG: Why, are you wasted?

Me: No, but I’ve had a few beers.

NG: Oh, well, what are you about to do tonight?

Me: It’s 2:15. I’m about to go home and sleep.

NG: Well, my phone is dead. And I’ll probably get home around 5 or 6, right ladies? (gestures to female bartenders)

Me: Ok, well…

NG: It was good seeing you.

Ummm WHAT THE FUCK?!?! It was good seeing you? We’ve seen each other naked and THAT’S what I get? I was totally confused. Either he’s fucking the other bartenders, or…he’s fucking the other bartenders. I went home and went to bed—I had a bridal show to wake up for.

In the morning, I met up with my girlfriend who is getting married. Even my cynical self is very happy for her, and since I’m going to be in her wedding, I want to be helpful, so I jumped at the chance to go to this bridal show. Once we got there, we had to register. We gave her our tickets and the humiliation began.

“Which one of you is getting married?”

GF: Me

“Ok I need you to fill this out. Name, e-mail address, and the date of the wedding.”

GF fills out the form, reaching the end, where the wedding date goes.

GF: (mumbling to self) “It’s July, ok 7, July 8th, 20…11. Geez I can’t even remember my own wedding date!”

Keep in mind that my friend has only been engaged for about a month. But at this moment, the lady at the registry desk was in utter shock that someone, could not remember the date of her wedding. Once her breath came back, she gave the us the appropriate wrist bands—hot pink for the bride-to-be…

And green for the slimy single girl.

Seriously. God fucking dammit.

As my friend Buttons said, “Why didn’t they just give you brown, like you’re a piece of shit?!”

Once we entered the bridal show, I saw the wristbands in action. Pink, to the vendors, meant money. So my friend was hounded by vendors, food, and giveaways. While, I on the other hand, was reaching for the wedding cake samples with my non-branded arm. Because my arm may has well be rotting off with disease, since I’m obviously a hideous mutant who is NEVER going to get married, so no I shouldn’t try your chocolate covered strawberries, or your raspberry champagne, or get a free Bridal magazine. I needed to get out.

I was relieved when it was over. I went home and had a text-chat with NG.

Me: I feel like you aren’t a huge fan of me at the moment

NG: Honestly, I feel like I barely have enough time for myself right now, let alone a girlfriend. I like you, I’ve just been spread out really thin lately.

Me: Do you not want to talk anymore?

NG: Of course I do 🙂

WHAT IN THE FUCK? That’s just fucking brilliant. NG wants to go to dinner tonight, but I can’t say I’m up for it. What’s the point of trying to hang out with someone who clearly doesn’t like me enough to make time for me. Thoughts?

In the meantime, I’m gonna go wash my arm.

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