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.

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.

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?

Now, one thing that’s great about online dating is the ability to add boys to your virtual shopping cart. Can’t say that about regular in-person dating! I mean, it would be awesome to go to some store and while grocery shopping you also throw in a guy who’s tall, dark, handsome, funny, disease free and wants to do nothing more than please this person who wants to take this purchase home. LOL!

Having the ability to add boys to your online shopping cart gives you a huge advantage over “shopping” live in bars. First and foremost, there are no beer googles in online dating. Well, that’s not true. There might be a few drunk lonely nights where you make bad decisions like emailing the bathroom-mirror-self-portrait-shirt-off-ab-flexor guy, but at least you don’t GO HOME with this guy, which is a likely scenario when “shopping” live in bars. Then you wake up the next day without the beer googles and realize that he’s also the Fabio-wanna-be-guy wearing a speedo. You recoil and scream “WTF happened last night? Who are you? Where am I and OMG I think I’m going to throw up!” 

See how the online shopping cart is a good thing? It gives you time to think about making that “purchase” vs. buying on impulse. It’s like window-shopping or being able to put something like a pair of jeans or a flat screen T.V. “on hold” overnight to see if that desire to purchase is still as strong the next day.

Shirt off ab-flexer-guy (of course). Note that often times these guys also “forget” to include a photo of their actual face, which is suspect. So unless you plan on just having conversations with his stomach, he’s likely been hit with the ugly stick. Also note that usually the ab-flexer-guy is also bathroom mirror self-portrait guy (see below).

Bathroom mirror self-portrait guy. This shot screams out “Hey baby…I really like to look at myself in the mirror, so you should too!” It also forces me to ask a number of questions like how much time do you spend in the bathroom…alone…flexing, posing or spankin’ the monkey…eek!

Shotgun wielding guy. Uh…no comment.

Obscure images guy. If you’ve somehow managed to distort the image of you so much that I can’t even tell what you look like, you will not be added to my shopping cart. I don’t care how cool it was that you superimposed an image of an orange peel over your face or vice versa, I don’t want to date a fruit.

Photo of you on the horizon guy. If I can’t see you because you’re the size of an ant on the horizon, I won’t date you. I guess that makes me shallow. Or, maybe I’m just smart. 

Fabio-wanna-b-guy. If your hair is longer than mine and you’re wearing a Speedo while lying on the beach as waves crash over your body, you’ve got no chance in hell buddy. None at all.

Guys – if you want my advice – which you probably don’t, but since this is my blog I’ll give it to you anyway – get a friend to take a picture of you and if you don’t have friends, go find one. Keep your shirt on, cut your hair, don’t wear a Speedo, and avoid showcasing your weapons of mass destruction.

First one: 

From “mr.sensualandtall” (AKA the perv-sex-addict type): Want to spend some time in my tall and strong arms? (then he leaves his IM email address…for what reason, creep? You hoping that we can have virtual stranger sex?)

I could really fuck with him I guess, but what I want to say is….are you fucking kidding me? Really? Do I really look like that kind of woman? Was it the photo of me hugging a big round tree on a nature hike? Or maybe it was the one of me in an oven Halloween costume that made you think I’m a slut?! Cleary I am just a fresh piece of meat that was just dangled in front of this guy’s online profile and now I feel dirty.

Second message:

From “Eclipse” (AKA the nice dorky guy type who I’d eat alive):  you popped into my quiver today…

I stopped reading right there. Um, I popped into your what? Your quiver? Maybe you meant to write query, but writing quiver made my skin crawl…sorry dude. Oh wait…my buddy Dave just told me that a quiver is the thing that holds the bows and arrows…? I get it…cupid and all…clever I guess. Hmm…maybe I’m too stupid to get your sense of humor.

Third message:

From “mr.mountaineer” (AKA the guy that’s way too old for me, but hopeful nonetheless): your profile pictures made me smile…so just a quick note to say thank you.

Ok, well at least he’s not a creep…well I guess he could be, but this relationship won’t last long enough to find out. Not attracted, I don’t care how active you are in all your photos, you are older than my father..so next please!

Maybe I’m taking this a little too seriously…I’ll keep it in perspective, but I will continue to share my stories because quite frankly, they are amusing! And, if you have any online dating stories, leave a comment…

As I’m pulling into the Safeway parking lot tonight, a guy pulls into a spot next to me driving a big ass pick-up truck. I only saw the truck, not the guy, but he proceeds to get out and as he walks by my old beater pollen covered car he says, “Do you have enough room to get out? Sorry, I just moved here from Maple Valley and I’m not used to the small parking spots!” Me being totally thrown off by his unexpected hotness (and the realization that I looked like complete ass in my sweaty workout garb) said something stupid like “Uh, that’s ok, my car is a piece of shit” instead of saying something confident or clever like “Hey, welcome to the neighborhood! What brought you to these parts? Need anyone to show you around?”

Then, as we both sort of awkwardly walked into the store together and grabbed carts, I watched to see which way he was heading so that I could go the other way of Mr. Hotness. But, despite my best efforts to avoid his hot ass, I kept running into him and while I was handling tomatoes in the produce section, he struck up another conversation and asked me about yellow squash. He was confused as to why it had a sign in front of it that read “white asparagus” and wanted to confirm with me that it was indeed yellow squash and not some new form of white asparagus. At this point I am totally thinking “So this guy really IS flirting with me. A hottie is flirting with me while I am looking like complete ass in sweaty workout clothes. Ok, Irreverent One…now think of something clever here, quick…you can do it!!” I simply say, “yes, that’s yellow squash not white asparagus” and then as I walked over and started handling the squash making comments as to how bruised it was, he said “well, she wants me to get yellow squash for the spaghetti sauce so I guess this will have to do.” Doh! Was he married? Dating? Was the squash for his sister? If I had just asked more questions when he pulled up, maybe I wouldn’t have wasted my time feeling flustered at the possibility of running into hottie-McHotterson in various aisles of the grocery store! Painful encounter…I am a dork.

Dating challenge #1 – house pants: it’s really hard to impress a man when you’re wearing house pants 24/7 because that’s the only comfortable pair of pants you own. I used to think that house pants rocked and I wore them a good portion of 2009 after I lost my job and became a lady of leisure, but I had no idea how BAD it was to wear them all the time! All of a sudden – BOOM – I’m 10 lbs heavier! When did this happen?? I forgot these god damn comfy pants expand to accommodate the copious amounts of incoming food and beer! And, oh!! What about the new crop of cottage cheese that I found on my ass? What the hell is that? Listen here cheese – the muffin top might be able to hide inside the cozy house pants but you my friend, you cannot hide because your little dimples show right through the fabric of the pants! 

Here’s a solution to this problem. Wear jeans 24/7 – even to bed! Jeans come with a built-in fat-o-meter that kind of works like the guard rail on the highway. As you approach the guard rail, provided you aren’t asleep at the wheel, you swerve before you hit then put down the beer and hamburger and head for the gym. However, if you’re one of the unlucky ones (like me!) and you fall asleep at the wheel, you wake up 7 months later from your food-enduced coma to find yourself resting your arms on your new muffin top baby who has escaped the confines of your jeans!

Dating challenge #2 – the back boob: What is it? It’s the fat near the middle of your back that you weren’t acutely aware of until you put on your bra. This is your back boob made out of back fat that’s formed by the tension of your bra strap. What’s a guy gonna think of this?

For this challenge, I have a couple solutions. 1) Go bra-less and put tape on your nipples. 2) Accept the back fat because believe it or not, even the skinny bitches have some so don’t beat yourself up. And, back fat is nothing compared to man boobs that require “The Bro!” But, if you’re really self-conscious about it when you’re on a date, only let the guy see you coming…not going…and if you do go, walk out backwards then think of some excuse as to why you did that when you’re in the restroom reapplying lipstick.