Blow up dolls & clean shaven balls

Quality men on Match.com. This is the story.

Girl meets boy on Match. First date. Boy and girl hit it off. Laughed a lot. Stomach hurts. Tears streaming. A lot. 

Second date. More laughing. First kiss. On tidal flats. All seems dreamy. Girl over-looks the fact that boy walks on his toes. Has OCD tendencies. Sweep. Sweep. Being swept off her feet. 

Third, fourth, fifth date. It’s official. Dating. Have become intimate. Girl discovers more red flags. Clean shaven balls. His penchant for nakedness. His possible ADHD. His possible addiction to internet porn. Still lots of laughing. Red flags ignored. Sweep. Sweep.

First attempt at sleepover. Failed miserably. Girl learns boy thinks girls don’t fart or poop. Friend of girl suspects boy has been dating blow up dolls. Girl rethinks relationship with ADHD.

Date number…doesn’t matter. 3 weeks along. More red flags. ADHD confirmed. Boy can’t focus on making out. Mid-smooch (hot and heavy), boy decides girl has to watch a DVR’d TV show “right now!” Girl confused. Annoyed. Suspects boy also has issues with sex.  Perhaps because she is not a blow up doll. Girl indulges ADHD/OCD boy. Watches stupid show. Boy attempts to make out again. Girl tells boy “shop is closed.” Boy is dumbfounded. 

Date number…shoot me now. Boy brings girl flowers. Girl and boy snuggle on couch. Ah…smoopy. Girl rethinking relationship (again). Mid-snuggle. No warning. Boy stands up. Unzips his pants. Whips out his dick-n-balls. Shouts proudly, “look at my clean-shaven balls!” Girl shocked. Girl replays scene from the movie Step Brothers when Will Farrell teabags his brother Dale’s drum set. Girl also replays Sex in the City episode where Carrie is dating the ADD jazz musician. Girl thinks “what the fuck?”

Girl starts plotting the break-up discussion for next date. 

Date day arrives. Girl gets text. Reads ”did you read my email?” Girl opens email. Reads “our relationship has run its course.” Girl shocked. HE broke up with ME by text AND email? Girl floored.

Girl relieved. Girl still convinced it’s because she is not a blow up doll. Girl recognizes that she dodged a bullet.

Bed-Sharing 101: BYOP (Bring Your Own Pillow)

It’s Not the Gas That’s Gonna Kill Ya!

I’m thirty-fucking seven now and have become quite accustomed to sleeping alone in my bed. I have a sleep routine and often feel like Rain Man, but without this routine I sleep like complete ass. My “sleep start” position is on my back with warm lavender infused bean-bag compress on my chest. At some point, I turn onto my left side then turn over onto my belly and stick a leg out like a dog pissing on a fire hydrant. This is when the real sleep starts to happen. There’s also a well built pillow fortress throughout my bed so that whenever I turn over, I always have a pillow to spoon and there’s a sound machine playing white noise in the background to cover up any sounds that could wake me from my slumber.

I’m free to sleep naked with zit cream applied to my face. I can snore, drool and talk to myself as much as I want during my sleep if I so desire. I can sleep in the middle of the bed or move to the other side, which always feels so luxurious for some strange reason. And if a fart sneaks out, I don’t have to worry about it. It’s my bed and the only person I will offend is me. So the thought of sharing my bed gives me major anxiety and this past Saturday it all became a reality. 

Knowing that I was going to attempt my first sleep over at the “new Chris’” house, I planned accordingly. I packed my overnight bag with make-up, a toothbrush, ear plugs, a change of clothes, sleeping pills and gas preventing meds including Gas-X and Beano. Shortly after my arrival, we left his house and headed out to dinner. We ordered and when the food arrived at our table, I had to figure out how to secretly pop two Beano pills before consuming any food so as to prevent any gas later that evening. I reached into my pocket, took out the pills and tried to sneak them into my mouth, but I was caught red-handed and he said, “What are you taking?” I nervously responded with “Vitamins.” Curious George then asked, “What kind of vitamins?” Clearly, I didn’t think this through and should have. I finally said, “I’m taking medicine that helps me digest food.” Then he said, “What medicine?” What is my response here? Do I tell him that I inherited my father’s over-active exhaust system? That my family intestines are built to fart and so I’m taking Beano pills so that I don’t spend the entire night doubled over in gas pain because I can’t sneak one out? I’m doomed, I thought, but finally responded with, “Sometimes I need help digesting food, so these are enzymes to help with that.” Crisis averted. He took the bait and turned his attention to his chicken fried rice, while I began to consume my Pho.

After we got home, we went in the hot tub for a bit and then decided it was time for bed. [Make-out scene deleted.] We’re both admittedly light sleepers and so I knew this had the potential to turn into a total disaster, especially if the Beano didn’t work and I was crippled with gas pain. But, thankfully the Beano was working. No gas – hooray! But then I started to fight with the extra firm pillows. Flip. Flip. Tuck. Tuck. Flip. Tuck. Sigh.

“‘Is everything ok over there?”
“Yes, sorry I am just a restless sleeper.”
“I am too. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“No, I’m ok. Sorry to keep waking you from your slumber.”
“That’s ok. I am having trouble sleeping to.”
“Maybe I should just go home so we can both get a good night’s sleep?”
“No, just stay a little longer and try to relax.”
“OK I’ll try.”

Then we return to spoon-start position. Light snoring begins and I look at the clock. 2:30am. Ugh. He moves and I take the chance to slip out of the spoon-lock position and go to my corner to battle it out with the extra firm pillows for the umpteenth time. Flip. Flip. Tuck. Flip. Tuck. Sigh. Clock check – 4:30 a.m. Fuck. He moves again.

“I think I’d better go home.”
“OK. I walk you out.”
Sigh.

Match.com Feature Flaws

The Daily5 feature on Match.com is stupid and here’s why. They keep sending me matches that share these same interests:

Like you, he’s also a dog lover. Well, that’s great to know because I own cats.

Like you, he also likes weight-lifting. Really? Terrific! Because I think weight-lifting is the key to an everlasting relationship! And, I’d really like you to bench press me in bed! Can you do that for me honey?

Like you, he’s also a non-smoker. Ok, this one is relevant because I don’t enjoy playing tonsil hockey with an ashtray.

Like you, he’s also the youngest child. We really don’t need two of me running around acting like two ass clowns trying to make it as a couple, do we?

Am I a cougar or a Zoosk tease?

In late January, I will be 37. At what point do I become a cougar? There is a 30-year-old hottie young-blood trying to email me on Zoosk - he initiated first by winking and now 5 days later he sent me an email! And, I can’t email him back (or wink) because I am not a member. Instead, I guess you could classify me as a Zoosk tease because I do have a profile with photos…just don’t feel like dropping cash for that site…until now…when this little tasty treat jumped into my inbox. So it seems I am in a pickle. At first I wanted to post a photo of him on my blog to see if any of my readers knew him, but then I realized a) I don’t have many readers and b) I could probably get into some trouble. But then I thought..I don’t care, I want to meet this yummy one!