The Cake is a Lie… or is it?

She thinks my pocket protector is sexy...

Okay, Mrs. S. Mott, I am posting. Finally. So you can stop posting on my facebook page and all teasing me about it. Not only am I going to post, but I am going to talk about him. Yep. Right here, so that everyone will know my dark secret. Now, my massive following of readers will know of my deep love of one Chuck Bartowski.

You see, I have a special place in my heart for nerds. This is probably because I am one. I remember loving to play Duck Hunt and Super Mario Brothers. I even watched the Super Mario Brothers cartoon, though Legends of Zelda was my favorite. Anyone remember that cartoon? I may be the only one. So I grew up on Nintendo. This is not to say that I grew up a nerd. I also had a healthy, girly love of Grimm’s Fairy Tales and wrote my own fairy stories. Wait…okay, I grew up a nerd. 

In addition to my growing nerdiness, I also loved spies. When I was young, my cousins and I made up this game called “Spy Quest”, which was basically a mix of thundercats and GI Joe, and we all had code names. Mine was Night Shade. Cool right? So we basically just ran around in the yard hiding behind things and completing missions that my oldest cousin made up for us. I loved it. I loved pretending that I was a spy.

So one day, I am watching TV and this advertisement comes on for a new show. And it is everything I could ever want in a show. It has a cute, nerdy guy, who inadvertantly becomes a spy. Yeah. My two favorite things combined. And they call him Chuck Bartowski. He had everything. The curly, disheveled hair; the half-smirk; the pocket protector…the Tron poster.

I suppose I have wanted a nerd of my very own for sometime now, but have been unlucky thus far. And one would think the that internet datings sites would be “chuck” full of nerds ripe for the picking. Wrong. The internests is full of psued0-nerds. Sure, there are some pretty geeky guys out there…but none that are full nerd. Not like my Chuck. The other day I was perusing a site when I can across a promising profile… until he said something truly aweful. “The Cake is a Lie”. Now, here is where I unleash my true nerd. While I appreciate a good Portal reference, this guy got something terribly wrong. The cake in the game portal is not a lie. See, while playing the game you are promised a reward of cake if you win, only when you win you get baked in the cake. Someone wrote a song about later, called “Still Alive” with a verse stating that the cake is a lie. So I get what this guy was going for, but the cake isn’t technically a lie. You get cake…you are the cake. So, now that you have been informed on the cake debaucle, and likely do not care, let me share what my first thought was when I saw this statement: Chuck would know better.

Why do I care so much for Chuck, and his bff Morgan for that matter? They are who they are. They own it. They like video games and dress as a sand worm for halloween. They make Dark Crystal references. They own their nerd. I think an important life lesson can  be learned here. Whoever you are…own it. Be it. Love it. Chuck owns his nerd like I own my crazy. Just be people, just be. Oh, and watch Chuck on NBC.

The Curious Case of Mr. D

This entry begins with a very curious scenario and ends with an equally perplexing question. As you are aware, I have spent some quality time with my computer searching out Mr. Right. As I have met weirdo after weirdo, I have had to the opportunity to speak with a decent guy or two. One such guy being the curious Mr. D…………

It was a lazy evening when my email chimed to alert me to my latest email. After reading it, I see that I have a new message on one of my dating sites. As I check the message, I see that I have a new message from a new guy. After reading his profile I figure “what the hey?” and decide to communicate with him. So we communicate for a few weeks and seem to have a lot of in common and shortly thereafter, he politely asked if I felt comfortable giving him my number. Now, I’m not one to give a guy my number so easily but he seemed nice and I was hoping it was going somewhere. We began texting back and forth over the course of the next few weeks. It seemed great. Lots in common, similar sense of humors, chatting everyday and all the while he seemed to be nervously hinting at asking me out. Being a tad traditional, I would never be one to ask a guy out but I made every effort to make it clear I’d be more than happy to do so. Then, he stopped contacting me…….

What?……Confusion sets in…..then the self doubt…..Did I say something wrong?…..Am I not his physical type?…..What the heck happened? So, next comes talking to the friends. A second perspective always seems to make things clearer (well, most of the time anyway). Of course, when I spoke to the bestie she proposes a crazy idea….contact him. Now, I had to pause in confusion for a moment. After checking to make sure I had not grown a penis, I realized that she meant for me (the girl in this deal I want to reiterate) to initiate contact. Seeing as she has not led me wrong in the past, I consider this and then followed through. Mr. D seems into the convo and not at all bothered by my contacting him so I assume things are back in order…………

And that was three weeks ago. Have heard no word or responses from him in that time. A truly, truly curious case. And so here are my questions world…..Why would a guy contact a girl, build regular and good communication with her then for no comprehensible reason just end it? And why does it have to be the one I’m actually kind of into?

*sigh*……….the dating world just gets curiouser and curiouser…..

Warning: Do NOT wear your favorite outfit on a first date!

So, many of you have read my blog about the infamous date with Grunge Boy (and by many I mean Mrs. S. Mott and any random passers by). What you may not know, is that Grunge Boy jinxed my favorite vest! I know, right? See, I bought this adorable striped vest (though I called it a shirt in my entry, I don’t know why) just before our electronics store date and I couldn’t wait to wear it. So I did… and now everytime I wear it something bad happends. Sometimes it is a simple thing, like forgetting what side of the the car my gas tank is on, other times it is drastic, like being 30 minutes late for work because there are two wrecks on the highway I take to work and getting there only to learn that I have to cover girls gym and the asst. principal has been looking for me for quite some time. Yeah.
So today I washed my vest twice, hoping to get any residual bad Grunge Boy juju off the thing. I don’t even know how he managed to do it, because I didn’t let the guy near enough to touch it. The force was strong with that one.
So, ladies, do yourself a favor and don’t wear your favorite outfit on a blind date. It could have dire consequences. You’ve been warned.

An Ode to Heathcliff

So, Jane Austen is good people and all but I can’t help but feel that she has joined the diabolical ranks of Disney to destroy the souls of young girls. What inspired this thought you ask? A mini Jane Austen party I had with my partner in crime. Now, if I hold this opinion of Ms. Austen you may be wondering why I would host such an event. Well, it would be the same reason I know many Disney movies by heart and could perform them from start to finish in my own one woman show (don’t question how I know I could do this, just know that I can), I’m a glutton for punishment. Before I go on, I must pause and explain something about myself. Generally, I’m a sucker for a good romance, however, there comes a point (usually shortly after midnight) that I take stock of my boyfriend-less surroundings and get angry. I mean really angry. Taking this and the fact that we reached the Jane Austen portion of our night at about nine-ish into account, I think you’ll be able to excuse the hostility in the next tale……………

During our thrilling evening we watched Northanger Abbey, Pride and Prejudice, and Persuasion. Northanger was lucky enough to beat the midnight deadline so to be honest this film gave me the little warm fuzzies it was suppose to inspire. I was actually sad when it was over and declared my intent to add it to my personal collection of films. Love was in the air and all was right with the world. And thus we pressed on with Pride and Prejudice. Another lovely tale of girls falling in love with wonderful (and wealthy) guys. So naturally the fuzzies should have come right? ….Wait….did you just say yes?……Well, if I tell you that by the end of the film it was 1 am would that change your mind? ….No?!….Are you even reading the blog or are you skimming it? I demand you go back to the first paragraph and read again…..I’ll wait…….*hums I Dream of Jeanie theme song*

Welcome back. Do you have the correct answer yet? Good. You’re right, the fuzzies did not come because the anger was slowly boiling. Then, watching Persuasion made it all the worst! Why you ask (btw, you ask “why” too much…I’m just saying……)? First, these tales take place in a time where marriage isn’t about love, it’s business. And yet Ms. Austen and the yahoos at Disney expect me to believe that these girls, some of them not so good looking (I’m looking at you Anne Elliot), found good, loving, handsome, wealthy men who loved them completely BEFORE marriage. Really? Are you guys kidding me? Well, Mr. Disney and you, too, Ms. Austen, I’m not going to let you make a fool of me any longer. I know the truth about love. You know who told me? Well, check out the next paragraph.

The wonderful Emily Bronte. This little lady wove a true tale about love. Love and madness. You can not have one without the other. Through the twisted relationship of Heathcliff and Catherine we see the standard of what love really does to you. It makes you crazy. Simply put. You do things like betray the one you love by marrying another. Things like torture one another until one of you dies. It pushes you to new heights of insanity…….heights that causes you to dig up their body after your evil has killed them and snuggle with their corpse. Ah….love…….

Now your thinking, this chick is nuts and I’m not reading anymore of her entries. I just want you to know that I realize that these thoughts are a bit on the extreme side (just a bit) however I state them to make a point. Love will kill you. And that is science. So, in that spirit this aforementioned scientific fact, this is number one in a serious of entries in which I will discuss all the films and programs that have lied to me over the years and honor those that have taught me the true nature of relationships. It’s going to be a blast guys…..so thank you Heathcliff for pulling me out of my fairy tale world and giving me a new direction in this blog.

Robin Hood

You know how Mrs. S Mott blames Disney and Cinderella for everything wrong with her love life? Well, I blame Disney too…Disney and Robin Hood. And not just the Disney version of Robin Hood, but all versions. Every single one from Costner to Crow. Every time I think I have forgotten about my first love, he comes back to haunt me.

My first love. Maybe this explains why my life is a little off.

I was young when the Disney’s Robin Hood came out on VHS. My parents got it for me and I watched that movie every afternoon. Seriously. EVERY afternoon. I was enamored with Maid Marion, she was the most beautiful, virtuous, and kind creature I had ever set eyes on. I was INLOVE with Robin and I wanted to be best friends Little John. I am fully aware that I had a crush on an animal, but he was everything I ever wanted in a man, er…fox. He was dashing, he was funny, he took care of his people, and he loved Marion and would do anything to protect her.

This is where things went wrong for me. I was programmed as a child to long for romance and adventure and the story of Robin Hood was the epitome of both. Ever since then I have been searching for my very own Robin. No pansy prince who just walks up to my glass coffin and kisses me. I didn’t want anyone storming any castles for me, fighting off dragons while I lay in a coma. I wanted to be part of the action. I wanted someone who would fight for me and for the good of everyone. Someone with integrity and ingenuity. Someone with a British accent.

Stop! Or I'll shoot!

 

Alas, my copy of Robin Hood bit the dust at a time when the Disney vault was closed. But have no fear, because by this time Kevin Costner donned the tights and bow. My love was renewed. I discovered at this point that Marion could have a more active role in her own life, and I was never more happy. That girl could hold her own, and Robin proved that he didn’t want a pretty princess for a wife, but a real woman with her own mind and quiet beauty. My illusions of love and adventure only deepened. And then…came Men in Tights.

Now, you might assume that this comedic spoof would prompt a distaste for good ol’ Robin of Loxley, but Mel Brooks had the smarts to cast Cary Elwes (for my 80′s babes, that is Westley from the Princess Bride) as the Prince of Thieves so I couldn’t complain. This Robin Hood was snarky and goofy, all the while managing to save his people.  Plus it was an all around awesome movie, which should be viewed at least twice a year.

I make man-tights look good.

And then came the icing on the cake. BBC, in their infinite wisdom, created a Robin Hood series. This is my personal favorite telling of the tale. Robin is dirty and sexy and Marion can fight too. They were the dream team. This Marion would scold Robin just as much as she would kiss him, and he treated her much the same way. He loved her and treated her with awe and reverence, but had not trouble telling her if she was about to do something stupid. Their relationship was so real. And I was so angry when they killed Marion off. How could they do that to my sweet Robin?

I'm dirty, tortured, and all around gorgeous.

And so this is my problem. Robin Hood. I keep hoping for a guy who will love me for the crazy, hard-headed girl that I am. I want him to fight for me, and I want him to have a cause. I want a man who does the right thing, even when the right thing isn’t easy. I want my Robin Hood, but is there a man out there like that? I like to hope so, but the longer I search, the more I believe that I am just chasing a dream. It is such a good dream though. A beautiful dream.

Ugh.  I thought this topic was going to help me work out some frustration…but I think I just made it worse.

Blame it on Cinderella

Once upon a time, there lived a little girl who was treated like crap by her family. Like all little girls, she was beautiful, charming, soft spoken, caring, loving, sang like an angel, and suffered from a mental disorder that made her believe she could talk to creatures such as mice, birds, dogs, and horses. Despite the abuse she suffered at the hands of the only family she had in the world, she grew up perfect in every way (well….except for that mental disorder I spoke of….however her beauty allowed her a certain leeway in her craziness….just one of the many perks of being aesthetically appealing). Because of her perfection, a wish granting benefactor was bestowed on her by the powers that be and she was allowed to meet the man of her dreams just by making her existence known. Over the course of events, this little girl was swept away by a charming prince who sings, dances, and is willing to pursue her to the end of the earth. They naturally live happily ever after.

Fairy tales set little girls up for disappointment. My proof? Dating in 2010. It is a time where men expect you to pursue them. They want you to sleep with them on the first date or have cybersex through an IM conversation. They make you feel like a gold digger if you want them to pay for dinner or woo you with flowers. Where a man feels he’s being inconvenienced if you want him to get out of the car to knock on the door when picking you up on a date. It’s a time where a man thinks you’re a b**ch when you don’t thank them for complimenting your breasts in a Quick Trip parking lot. A time when a man’s profile headline reads “Chivalry is not dead ladies” but after talking to him I learn he does not even believe in something as simple as opening a door for his date. Ugh!

You see, I grew up on the Disney classics. Snow White, Cinderella, and Sleeping Beauty, all pretty girls with good manners, sweet caring personalities, and cheerful dispositions even in the face of adversity, were able to find a dream guy on their first venture into dating. So I tried to embody these qualities as a young girl because I was sure that would attract my own prince charming. As I grew older and learned the history of the women’s lib movement, I became conflicted over being my own woman or following the example laid down for me by these submissive females. Luckily Disney had answers to this conflict and their names were Ariel, Jasmine, and Pocahontas. These characters were much stronger women who had their own thoughts and made their own choices. Choices that led them to perfect leading men who upon just seeing them offered their undying love and devotion. This quickly became a pattern in my life. Anytime I developed a new trait I thought did not fit into the mold of a Disney heroine, a new one appeared with said trait. When I went through my tomboy phase, I had Mulan. I realized my inner nerd, there was Jane. I developed my biting wit and sharp tongue, and here comes Meg.

So, why is it so important that I fit into the mold of these ladies? Well, they all have one thing in common. At the end of their little adventure, they have a great guy that they really put in no effort to get. Those of you who have read my Instant Gratification entry understand the appeal of this idea to me. Not once did Esmeralda have to deal with the rejection of having a guy you’re interested in blowing off your e-mail. Never was Ariel approached by some weirdo who opened the dialog with “do you like sex?” When Aladdin wanted Jasmine’s attention did he swagger over to the hip abductor machine she was working out on in the gym and make comments about how her spreading legs really got him going? NO! He took her on a romantic carpet ride around the world and sang her a beautiful song (that she oddly knew the words to and could join in on….good times…..good times).

So, here is my complaint. I am an attractive, nice, caring, loving, happy, witty, charming, intelligent woman. I have put my good vibes out into the universe and have yet to get them back. I even went as far as to once dating a beast without having him turn into a prince in the end (thanks Belle for leading me wrong on that one). I have tried to meet as many of the Disney qualifications as possible for finding true love and yet my prince has not appeared. I am hit on by guys older than my father at the gym (check my “Great Openers” entry for some good ones from this loser), my online profile seems to only attract perverts (no JJ, I do not have the full cleavage shot up that is causing this phenomenon), and I am ogled by drive-thru window cashiers as they look down my shirt from their vantage point above me. Perhaps I’m too picky. Perhaps I should do as many women and just accept a perv so I don’t have to continue to sift through pictures online and avoid eye contact in public. I suppose if this is indeed the case and I am too picky, I guess I’ll have to blame it too on Cinderella.

First Impressions

Don’t worry, ladies. He only seems scary at first. But what this picture is really trying to say is that this man will guard and protect your heart, even in the face of Armageddon.

It has been said that a picture is worth a thousand words. I have never thought this adage to be more true than when I began the arduous task of sifting through potential matches online, but lately I have been wondering about what pictures actually saying. I am certain the aforementioned cliché is used daily, and yet few consider the real implications of the message a certain picture is trying to relay. In today’s world we live on instant gratification. Some take a picture with their digital camera or cell phone and upload it to Facebook before even considering if it is a picture that they want their family and friends to see. I read somewhere recently that some recent college grads are losing out on jobs because potential employers can now look you up on various social networking sites and find the thoughts and pictures of candidates…and they aren’t impressed. Yes, that drunken night at Joe Bob’s bachelor party was fun…and that picture of you getting a lap dance is pretty amazing (by the way the caption “ladies man” was pure genius), but perhaps you aren’t the best choice for accounts manager at LifeWay Christian Bookstore. My point, you little shutterbug, is think before you snap (or at least think before you upload).

This simple rule works for all social networking sites and dating sites. Especially dating sites. Come now, fellas, you’re trying to snag a lady. Is that photo of you passed out on your friends couch with the word “loser” written across your forehead the best representation of you as an individual? Maybe it is, and if so, thank you for your honesty, but if it isn’t perhaps that photo is not the best choice for you. To be helpful, I have listed the worst examples of profile pictures that I have come across (I truly wish I could actually show you these photos, but I cannot do it in good conscience).

1. The iPhone + mirror shot: This particular shot gets top billing because of the frequency of which I have seen it. These pictures are easy to spot because you can (a) see the phone in the picture and (b) they are almost always shot in a bathroom. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love bathrooms. In fact, my friends have long ago learned that if they would like me to go anywhere with me they should make sure that there are ample bathroom stops along the way. It is my mission to pee in every public bathroom within the tri-state area, or it is my tiny bladder’s mission…I digress. The iPhone + mirror shot is not necessarily bad, but it isn’t particularly good, either. First of all, the resolution isn’t great so I’m not entirely sure of what I am looking at. Then there are those truly special profiles in which EVERY picture involves these shots. This makes me wonder if you just changed clothes a couple of times so we ladies could see your ample collection of Affliction shirts. I also wonder if you have any friends, because I would think at some point I would just ask a friend to take a picture of me. But what do I know?

If you find that you absolutely must use these pictures, you should at the very least make sure your bathroom is clean. I’m just saying…

2. The shirtless wonder*: Before I go on, I think it is important to make it clear that I like muscles. Truly. What I have a problem with are shots of a guy that does not show his face, only his overly tanned, shirtless “six-pack” (I use the term loosely, because I can usually only count four, so maybe you’re supposed to count man-titties as the other two of the six). I like faces, and I am disappointed that you will not show me yours. I know my next statement is going to seem shallow, but I am not going to say anything that anyone else hasn’t thought. If your face is that bad that you won’t show it, those muscles won’t do you a whole heck of a lot of good. Now, before you go scoffing at me…I have never seen a face so bad that I think it should be covered with a bag. So not showing your face seems a little ridiculous.

*These pics are often combined with the iPhone + mirror shot.

3. Arm candy: These photos involve the man with a girl. These photos have no caption explaining who the chick is, so I feel it is safe to assume that  this girl is an ex-girlfriend who the guy hasn’t quite gotten over. Better are the string of pictures with the same girl or with different girls. The latter makes you like a man-whore.

4. Gun show: These are my favorites. Nothing says love more than a picture of a man shooting off a gun. These pictures are so manly that I can hardly stand it. It says so much about the man. I look at these and they say, “I will kill squirrels for you.” How romantic. Better are when they are simply holding a gun. Nothing says back off quite like a gun.

My all time favorite was a man holding a gun toward the camera. Really. His face is the background somewhere, but I hardly noticed, because I was looking straight down the barrel of a gun. I don’t know what this guy was thinking. Does he think this is a good conversation starter? “Hey, I noticed you are about to shoot your webcam…what did it ever do to you?” Is he trying to tell me that he loves me so much he wants to kill me? Part of me wants to click on his profile to see if he explains the reason for such a disturbing picture, but another part of me (which is the part that wins out) is afraid that he might shoot me if I even look.

I am certain that I have only seen the tip of the iceberg in respect to bad profile picture choices.  And I am both excited and saddened at this prospect. Excited at the future blog fodder, and saddened that this is as good as it is going to get. **sigh**

By the way, ladies. I have seen some of your profile pictures to, and I would like to suggest that if you are looking for more than an oggling idiot you may want to consider something other than an overhead cleavage shot. But hey, look on the bright side, I’m pretty sure the shirtless wonder will contact you.

It’s Not JUST You, It’s Me

So, my previous blogs have been about the humorous failings of men in my most recent dating experience. Tonight, I am going to turn over a new leaf and instead discuss the failings of one Mrs. S. Mott. Shocking right? I mean as the blogger I clearly know all and couldn’t possibly deserve any of the blame for the creepiods who continue to contact me through the magic of the world wide web. However, as I laid in bed last night, listening to my new bestie describe the bear-in-a-cave-shaped crack in her ceiling, I began to question what was the role I played to get my love life to this point. What point you ask? The point where I must co-found a blog page to share my hilarious attempt with the world. So, I have tried to pinpoint my problems (because the first step to solving a problem is realizing there is one) and I have broken them down to the following ailments.

Peniiphobia

peniiphobia – n. 1) medical condition which produces an acute fear of the phallus; symptoms can include blushing at the mention of the phallus, lack of desire to touch the phallus, nausea at the sight of a phallus, and general distaste at the thought of performing “pleasurable acts” with the phallus

As a woman of innocent virtue (or what men would call a prude), I have self-diagnosed myself with peniiphobia (trademarked by the author). In my expert medical opinion, I would have to say that I have the most severe case of this debilitating disease ever diagnosed. Many of you may be wondering why I list this as one of my problems. As anyone who has interacted with a male of our species must know the penis is their most prized possession. This is really saying something for the penis since it is able to surpass women, offspring, money, careers, and, yes, even their cars on the hierarchy of manhood. Since they view this instrument as such a gift to the world at large, one can only imagine their dismay (and pure shock) that I am not overjoyed by the prospect of engaging with the one-eyed monster. The fear that my disease will cause men I actually do not find creepy to shun me is at the root of some of my problems in dating I am sure.

Failureholic

failureholic – n. 1) when one continuously sets oneself up for failure 2) a fruity mixed drink

Why does this apply to me you ask? Well, its not because of the delicious drink (that I just made up out of kool-aid, lemonade, pixie sticks, and good old fashion American ingenuity). When I look over my matches on my favorite online dating sites, I see images and profiles of guys who strike my fancy (yes, I just said strike my fancy). They describe what they are looking for in a mate and many times I meet much, if not all, of their criteria.  However, after seeing this guy that seems an ideal match for me, and I for him, I assume it is too good to be true and do not contact him. I instead, embark on the brilliant path of finding a guy that I do not find attractive (physically or otherwise) and e-mail him instead. Now, at this point, many of you are blinking at your screens in confusion. That is understandable when you are dealing with Mrs. S. Mott. However, I must explain how my logic behind these actions are sound. I assume that the “good match” guy is too good for me and would not respond but the “bad match” guy is just as pathetic as I am so he has no choice but to respond. Let me take a break here and give you a moment to ponder the genius I just spouted to you. I’ll be here when you return…….*hums the I Dream of Jeanie theme song as she waits.* Are you back now? Great. As you can see failureholicism, is yet another barrier between myself and success at online dating.

Chickenitis

chickenitis – n. 1) being a weenie

What makes me a weenie? Well, my first e-mail I ever sent in my online dating experience had to be thought up, typed and sent by my bestie because I could not handle the pressure of the moment. Many of you would chalk that up to first time gitters, however, let me dispel that thought right now. If I could convince her to conduct my whole online dating life for me, I would. This includes the going out on initial bad first dates part. Second piece of evidence of my chickenitis, there is this cute guy who shares my common interest that I think is into me. Now, you must know that I never believe guys are into me and yet I am almost positive this one is. So, what do I do about it? I don’t speak to him unless he speaks to me first. I avoid eye contact with him unless he specifically approaches me. And I keep people around me when I think I might bump into him so that I can not be alone with him again. Third piece of evidence I suffer from chickenitis? What? The first two weren’t good enough for you?

Sarcasm

sarcasm – n. 1) if you don’t know what it means you probably shouldn’t be reading this blog…….

So, technically, sarcasm isn’t an ailment. But if you’re looking for everything to be technical maybe you should just get off your high horse and mingle with us little people. Anyway, what was I saying…..oh yeah….sarcasm. I have been told by many that it is difficult to tell when I’m being sarcastic and when I am serious. So, I must wonder if my sarcasm is even more difficult to catch across the exchange of e-mail. Perhaps my biting wit is off putting to guys or they take me seriously when they shouldn’t and it is causing my success rate to go down. It truly sadden me to think that my favorite personality trait might be standing in the way of true love. Oh well, I suppose if I must pick between getting a man and flexing my sharp tongue, I guess I’ll go start looking for a cat now.

What is the point of this entry? Well, it’s to tell all our male readers that though you can be dinks, we can too. So, even as I bash your stupidity in countless entries to come, know that in the back of my mind I am well aware that its not JUST you, it’s me too.

You Didn’t Have Me at Hello…

I find the egos of men astounding. Really. They assume that because they are a man, with parts intact, that you should be swooning at the mere mention of their screen name. On the rare occasions when such men do not elicit that response from me, I try my best to politely let them know that I am not really interested. The only problem is, some men do not get the hint. EVER! Some to the point that I think I could probably tell them to F#$% off (which is not something I ever say, because I detest F-bombs, but I’ll save that for another blog), and they would likely take it as an invitation. I really don’t know what to do, and should a male be reading this, I would love some advice.
I will give you a few examples of guys who won’t take a hint. I’ll even create fancy screen names for them.

CreepyStalker79: Hey what’s up?
JJ: Not much
CreepyStalker79: You are soooo pretty.
JJ: Thanks
CreepyStalker79: What have you been up to, Baby?
JJ: Nothing. And I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t call me Baby. I’m not really a pet names kind of girl That really gets on my nerves.
CreepyStalker79: okay, Sexy. Sorry. I just really want to get to know you better. I think we would really get along.
JJ: Well, seeing as how you called me Sexy directly after I asked you not to call me such things, I have a feeling that this wouldn’t work. I am uncomfortable with a man I don’t know calling me Sexy and Baby. I am neither of those things. So, while I am sure that you are a very nice person, I just don’t see this going anywhere. I do sincerely hope that you find what you are looking for.
CreepyStalker79 has saved your profile to his favorites.
CreepyStalker79: Hey Sweetheart. Are you mad at me? What am I supposed to call you, then? Lovemuffin? Buttercup? Sugar? Dumpling? Schookems?
JJ: Nothing. You get to call me nothing.
CreepyStalker: Baby, please. I just want to get to know you better.
JJ has blocked all correspondence from CreepyStalker79.

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From IdgitMaster
Subject: I’m looking for a serious relationship that leads to marriage.
Body of email: Hi, how are you today?

JJ: I’m doing well, thank you. But I am not looking for anything serious at this time. Sorry.
IdgitMaster: Well, that’s fine. All good relationships start as friends. We should just see how things go.
I did not respond to this.

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FunkMasterFlesh 8/6/10: ur sooooo beautiful.
FunkMasterFlesh 8/10/10: hey sweetheart,how r u? you r so beautiful to me. Im FunkMasterFlesh. wutz ur name?
FunkMasterFlesh 8/11/10: cat got ur tongue,lol
I, by the way, have responded to none of these emails. I delete them immediately. However, these little gems keep arriving. What’s a girl to do?

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I am trying very hard not to feel bad about myself now, because these are the only guys that seem to be contacting me.
I will also be researching ways to politely tell a guy where to shove it, so that he understands that I am not interested. Because, simply telling him I’m not interested would be far to easy.

Great Openers

Guys sometimes use some lame openers. This is no secret. Yet, somehow, the anonymity of the internet allows a guy to take his brazen open-lines to a whole new level. Those of you who have been through the exhilarating experience of online dating would once again say this is no secret.

Don’t get me wrong, I have also from time to time wracked my brain for the right icebreaker when considering the right words that will spark that lasting love connection I’m sure I will soon have with this picture on my computer screen. So I can be sympathetic when I receive a new e-mail, rush to the website to read it and find it says “Hi”. To which I much more cleverly respond “Hi” and generally that’s all she wrote for this deep love connection. However, there are those true deep thinkers out there who produce one of those “Great Openers” that truly make a girl like myself swoon.

So I have decided to dedicate a special place in this blog to honor these heroes of online dating by placing their “Great Openers” here because every little girl should be allowed to experience these gems vicariously through me.

1) IM: “Hi, do you like sex?”

2) E-mail: “I needs a women dats can excepts me for whose I am and the dirtys things I like to dos when we alone.” [author's note: I will always quote the original author as accurately as possible, including typos and grammatical errors. It makes the experience all that much more real for you the reader. You're welcome.]

3) E-mail: “You so bootiful. I cant believe nobody made you his baby momma yet” [an: nor can I sir....nor can I.....]

Are you in love yet ladies? Check back for more poetic expressions of hello soon.