My best friend jokes around that I never truly break up with someone. I mean, even though I am currently single, she has noticed my (very bad) habit of allowing the men I’ve dated in the past to stay in the present and it totally bothers her. She is married and doesn’t speak to any of her exes but I do wonder if that would be the case if she was still single. She feels that there is no room for someone new with the clutter of exes I maintain. She calls me The Collector; a collector of men. These men may honestly and truly be just friends with me now, they may be sticking around for some friends with benefits situation, or they try to reach out here and there, in hopes of a reply from me. My level of communication with them varies greatly from potentially weekly chats to maybe every six months to where they never receive a reply from me at all. There are probably way more of these men in my life than what some might deem normal. If I’m being honest, a number of them even have their own blog entries here… I feel like if they do have a blog entry, their behavior was very bad and the literal writing is plainly on the wall but I chose to ignore it and let them stay fixtures in my text messages, on my social media and sometimes in my bed. Regardless, I think they do care about me in their own way or they wouldn’t want me in their lives.

I’m not sure if it is the current state of the world or perhaps loneliness but last Sunday, I had six text messages from six different men from my past come over. Two were apologies, two were checking in on me and two were reprimanding me for not responding to any of their texts. Woah. That was a lot for even me. I did reply to two of them; one apology and one checking in. Sometimes I wonder why I allow men, who didn’t think I was worthy enough to love or who treated me poorly, back into my life. I think I must get a portion of what I’m missing from being in a relationship from each of them. That and I’m a bit of a masochist… I feel like they need me in some way. As a kind soul, despite the fact that letting them back in could potentially be detrimental to my mental wellbeing, I approve of the place they hold in my life. It’s nice to be needed. A few of them regret how things ended or how they treated me and wish we could date again. Those are usually the ones I don’t reply to. I have my reasons for not responding but I also don’t block them. I can admit that I get some sort of satisfaction when they reach out. It’s nice to be desired, especially lately, when the potential new suitors are nowhere to be found. No dating for me during the pandemic. I tried but it was mostly annoying so dating is on hold currently.

My best friend doesn’t really know most of the men I’ve “collected”. We either dated too briefly or she just never had the opportunity to meet them. She has mainly just heard stories and knows that many of them hurt me at some point. She is very protective over me. My pain is her pain but, while I appreciate her defensiveness, I need to let go of people in my own time. I have done it before when both of my best friends never thought I would. 5 years strong this year and if I never speak to this individual I’m referring to ever again, it would be too soon. He would need a three part blog entry but I just don’t have the energy. Honestly, he doesn’t deserve any more of my attention.

I absolutely know, when I find someone new, I’ll let some people go. It’s the natural progression of life. As I’ve aged, I realize that some people just don’t stay in your life and that is ok. It’s taken me a long time to come to terms with this. A few of these men are truly decent people and, despite our relationships not panning out, they are some of my very good friends now. I will clean house of the riffraff but a few are here to stay. Whoever I’m with will just have to be okay with this. I will never be the girl who says to someone, “My boyfriend/husband won’t let me be friends with you.” That just isn’t me and I’m not the girl for you if you’re not okay with this. I haven’t waited as long as I have for my partner to be with someone that controlling. Trust is imperative and we have nothing if we don’t have trust. I promise they will just be friends and if they don’t respect my relationship then they will have to go.

I hope one day to find someone who gives me everything I deserve in a partner. I don’t expect perfection, as no one is perfect. I just want someone who complements my personality, loves and respects me. I only ask what I am prepared to give. That’s all I can do. Until then, I’ll continue “collecting” for now.

Settle in people, this is a slightly long one. I’m making up for lost time and for not posting much since 2018! Here we go! I recently started dating someone and things with us went zero to 100 in 0.2 seconds. We will call him D throughout this post. Normally, I run for the hills when things go too fast, too quickly but this guy appeared to be an amazing match for me. He is 42, no kids, has a cat (I have a cat), he writes a blog (Why, hello there and welcome to my blog! 😉) teacher, cute, tall, fun to be around, smart, passionate, etc. He added me on IG the night of our first date so that read to me as though he had nothing to hide. I should have possibly seen it as a bit of a red flag, honestly. Just that perhaps this guy was to good to be true. He told me he was lonely, which made my heart melt. His honesty had me immediately hooked on him.

We had three dates in four days and by the following weekend we were attempting to introduce our cats to each other, mostly so we could hang all weekend, uninterrupted. It was a decision we would end up regretting. I think both of our cats have somewhat similar personalities and they did not hit it off at all. I brought Milo to his place. His cat, G, wasn’t having it. Yowled at Milo and his hackles were raised on end along his back. Milo cowered in any corner he could find, desperate for safely. We had to separate them if we left the apartment. Even when we were there, we kept them apart. It was extremely traumatizing for all four of us. I decided after just one night to get Milo home. He flipped out! Hissing, swatting and trying to escape the clutches of his carrier. My arms and hands took the brunt of the damage. I was a bloody mess. It hurt but as soon as we were home, he was totally fine. Possibly even contrite in regards to his earlier behavior. I think he may even have been slightly apologetic, purring and licking me.

It was way too soon to have made that move, introducing the cats. Shortly there after D felt horribly guilty for stressing out *his* cat, saying nothing about me or Milo. He nervously said that perhaps we should slow things down. My heart sank a bit but I agreed with him. I didn’t know enough about D yet and things were going very, very fast. That said, in practically the next breath, he was giving me a key to his place and a drawer in his dresser. I’ve never had whiplash so badly as I did after that. He knew we should take things more slowly but couldn’t help himself. Heart versus a head thing, as he calls it. In getting to know D better, I began to slowly calculate everything this guy had on his plate and I was overwhelmed for him. Here is just a sampling of a few things on that list:

• His father passed away unexpectedly two months prior.

• His mom has sever Alzheimer’s and is now in an assisted living facility, as his dad used to be her caretaker.

• His one brother is a flat earther (😳) and is less than helpful in dealing with everything that needed to be done with the estate.

• His ex is still living in the house they own together and, while they have been separated for a year, she only filed for divorce on 12/5/19… thanks for that Google, Lisa. Good times.

As you can imagine, I didn’t even know how he fit me into his life, given the state of everything. Retrospectively, I feel I must have only just been someone to distract him from all the bullshit he was dealing with.

We were hanging out all the time, with me mostly going to his place because it was reverse commute. It was still a 45 minute drive one way. I spent over $500 on gas in a month 🤯 It would have taken him two hours to come out my way so I made the sacrifice. I really, truly liked this person I was getting to know. He was my favorite three S words: sweet, smart and sexy. He would hold my hand wherever we went and give me forehead kisses. I didn’t know how much I love forehead kisses until I was getting them from him. Our connection was palpable. We were *that couple* I used to roll my eyes at. Public displays of affection is an understatement.

I invited him to Christmas dinner. He had no where to go and, as crazy as my family can be, it’s better to be with someone who cares about you than alone, right? Right. It was a bit nerve wracking because I’ve only ever introduced my family to 3 people I’ve dated before. The last Christmas dinner guest was 2013 and that is a tale for another time. The takeaway from 2013 is teach your children manners, folks. Please and thank you’s go a long way and are invaluable. Ahem. I digress.

My mother loved him, a stark contrast from 2013. Before she knew that though, she had baked some cookies and wrapped some cat socks on top. She gave them to him at the table. He said thank you and that it was his only Christmas gift he’s received for Christmas so far. We all sort of gasped a bit. Later my mom said she almost cried at that statement. She felt so badly for him. Don’t worry too much though. I just hadn’t given him his things yet. I had a whole stocking for him in the car and I had purchased us tickets to go to a hockey game at the end of January. The second thing that won my mom over was how he spoke to and treated their cats. One cat is elderly and slept in her bed all evening. He sat on the couch next to her, petting her and talking to her in the high pitched voice he uses to talk to animals. He even leaned in and kissed her on her head. Forehead kisses for everyone 🥰! He thanked my parents for dinner/his gift and kissed me goodbye. I drove to his place after to give him his stocking.

So now you’re almost up-to-date with me and D and I’m sure I’ve left you wondering why this entry has the title of The Reverend long enough. After D added me on IG, of course he started popping up as someone I might know on other social media sites. I added him on FB and Snapchat and he added me right back. It took me a couple weeks before I did a deep dive on his FB page. He had not cleaned it up or hidden anything from when he was married and it was a treasure trove of pictures and posts!

One set of pictures literally blew my damn mind. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I rubbed my eyes. Is that… is that D?!? I squinted. The picture I was viewing was him in what looked to be some sort of priest like robes!?! What am I looking at right now!?! Is this real life??? All sorts of questions were streaming through my brain. Is he truly an Ordained Reverend as the caption on the photo stated!?!? What sort of crack pot was I dating? No offense to anyone but, if you’re super religious, I have a tendency to question your intelligence. We already know D’s brother is a flat earther so it wasn’t a far jump to think he may have been cut from the same sort of cloth… The questions continued: Is he still active in this life style?! Why didn’t he tell me about this!? What else might he not be telling me about???

The biggest question I had was, what would be worse? If his ex wife sort of forced him into becoming ordained or if he himself chose that path?? I leaned toward the latter being the most offensive-to-me, option of the two. I looked up everything I could about the church. I looked at their website trying to figure out what sort of sect of Christianity it was, if he was on their staff page, etc. It was really bothering me that he didn’t share this tid bit of information about his life with me.

I knew this info going into Christmas dinner and let me tell you how hard I was side-eying him as my mom lead us in prayer before our meal. Let’s just say, I about popped a blood vessel. I just assumed he was a recovering Catholic like I was because he had gone to a Catholic high school and he mentioned his mother was Catholic. He didn’t bless himself or say Grace with the four of us but he did bow his head. He still doesn’t know I know this because I never got the opportunity to address it… So… hey there, if you’re reading your own entry. It’s probably something you should either go and hide on your fb page or tell people about. It was an extremely weird thing to discover you were hiding. Just sayin’.

I’m sure the next thing you’re thinking is that this cannot be the reason he is getting a post. No, no it is not. I’m not that crazy of a person to write someone off for their beliefs. It takes a bit more for you to get this long and in-depth of an entry from me.

As I said earlier, he was in the midst of dealing with his father’s estate. That required a few trips up north a few hours where his parents home is. I knew he wanted to use the holiday break from work to do a lot of this so I took a back seat and let him know if there was anything I could do to help to let me know. I knew after New Years he was going up and I offered to check in on his cat. So this past Friday I drove down after work. I noticed he had cleaned up a bit, which was good, and went to work on making sure G was happy. I fed him, cleaned and filled the pet water fountain, swept the kitchen and played/gave pets to Mr. G.

I went to use the restroom before I left and I noticed my toothbrush that was on the sink for weeks was missing. I looked under the sink and it was there with my shower poof. I went into the bedroom to look around and noticed candles were out that weren’t out when I left on Wednesday. I found a receipt in the bathroom garbage from 10:00 the night he said he was driving up to his parents at 6:00. He was lying to me. I called him. No answer. I texted him to please call me ASAP. 15 minutes later he did. I asked why my toothbrush was under the sink and he said he had started seeing the girl again who had ghosted on him before me. My heart sank. I asked why and how. He answered that she had wrote him Merry Christmas and that he met up with her. I asked if he cared about me at all and he hung up on me. That stung. I know he wasn’t officially my boyfriend but we had had the not sleeping with other people chat. Very worst of all, he put my health at risk.

I felt sick. I still do. I truly liked and cared for this man. I’m mostly sad though. Sad he could do this to me and mad at myself for not realizing sooner that he wasn’t ready for what I *am* ready for. I saw him Sunday. We had to exchange keys and he had a couple things of mine. He gave me a card that was hand written and heartfelt. I know he is sorry about it all. I do still think if he had truly cared about me, it wouldn’t have happened. He wouldn’t have wanted anyone else. I hope he takes this as a life long learning lesson how not to treat the people you’re dating and to be honest in all aspects but most importantly in with what you’re looking for from the other person. If you’re not ready to be serious with someone, don’t be. Don’t give keys out. Don’t give drawers. Don’t lead people on, selfishly. Be whole and available. Heal and focus on you.

In conclusion, this bullet may have grazed me but it was mostly dodged. I still have hope that one day my kind heart will find it’s match. I won’t let one person burst my bubble when it comes to finding love ❤️

Ah, the holidays. That special time of year that brings families together, even if you’d rather it didn’t. In honor of the season, I have a number of holiday stories to share, starting with one of my faves from Halloween past.

Our first tale takes place on Halloween in 2008. My group of girlfriends decided to get dressed up in costumes and head out to the Saddle Rack for some dancing and debauchery. We had a sexy kitten, sexy Indiana Jones, and I was sexy Dorothy from the classic, The Wizard of Oz. My skirt was way too short and my top was way too tight but I was 26 and could still pull it off.

We waited in line to get in and paid the ladies at the door the $20.00 cover. They must have gotten the memo because they were dressed up as the Tin Man, Scarecrow, Cowardly Lion, and The Wicked Witch of the West. I high fived them all and proceed to drink like it was the end of the world. One of the girls in the group, who shall remain nameless as to protect the innocent kindergarteners she now teaches, was dressed up as sexy Mrs. Claus. She was way worse off than the rest of us. After looking back through the pictures, you could almost thumb them to create a flip book of her drunken demise. First pic, bright, shiny eyes and glasses, raising a toast. Second pic, eyes glazed over as she looks far off and away from the camera lens, gripping her drink. Third pic, head down on her arms, looking worse for ware, as she still clung to the booze in her glass.

What happened next will go down as the most memorable moment I’ve ever had at the ‘Rack’ and could possibly be the best Saddle Rack story ever. Mrs. Claus was in need of a toilet. She made it but barely, heaving forth the little food and massive amounts of booze in her system. I don’t know when it became a thing but the women who take the money at the front door, the rest of my Oz friends, were required to follow any obviously inebriated women into the rest room to make sure they were ok. Some liability security for the establishment or what not.

So, I’m standing in the women’s restroom with the Tin Man, the Scarecrow, and the Wicked Witch of the West. They were watching Mrs. Claus through the crack of the door of the bathroom stall. After she had evacuated her stomach, she needed to do the same for her bladder so was now sitting on the throne. After she was finished, she stood up and promptly slipped in her own emesis and fell in the stall. The next thing I knew, the Wicked Witch yelled for help and then DOVE under said toilet stall. All I could see was her little stripped legs sticking out looking very similarly to when the house fell on her sister. I could not believe my eyes and desperately looked around for someone I knew who could be witness to this hilarity. I rubbed my eyes and looked again! Black and white stocking legs kicking out from the chrome stall door. I whisper, “Please tell me someone else is seeing this! Someone else needs to see this!!” Unfortunately, I was the only witness to this joy. It’s a good thing I remember details like 2008 was yesterday.

Mrs. Claus was promptly asked to leave the premises and the whole thing put a bit of a damper on the evening but I came away with one of the greatest night out stories of my young(ish) life.

From Halloween, Thanksgiving is quick to follow and my family does not like to let me down for material. Each account tells the one before it to, “hold my beer”.

Over the years, our Thanksgiving traditions have ebbed and flowed with whatever the majority of my mom’s side of the family was up to. We started out going to my great grandparents’ home, where I was always forced to say prayer as the eldest (great) grandchild. The group was fairly small back then, only 15-20 people. Aunts, uncles, cousins, I can close my eyes and feel the anxiety of saying grace in front of everyone. As time went on and family grew, traditions changed.

This first of three epic T-day tales, takes place in South Lake Tahoe at my grandparents’ home. I was 20 and sitting at the peninsula in my grandmother’s kitchen. My mom, the infamous Lisa, my grandma and my Aunt Katie, were bustling around the kitchen, prepping the feast. The place smelled amazing and I was taking it all in.

My mom is the eldest one of three sisters; Aunt Katie, aforementioned, and Aunt Wanda. Now my Aunt Wanda is only 13 years my senior so by the time she was 18, I was 5 and my younger sister and I completely idolized her. She could do nothing wrong in my eyes. She painted our nails, let us watch MTV, gave us big bangs (it was the 80’s), etc. In my young head she was the epitome of cool. According to my mother, her youngest sister wasn’t (still isn’t) the sharpest tool in the shed. It took years for me to fully realize this myself but this story definitely gave me reason to pause.

This particular Thanksgiving, she had bought my little cousin, her nephew Duke, a remote control toy car. She had just put new batteries in and all she needed was a flat surface to test it out. It was snowing outside, most of the house is carpeted so she had the brilliant idea to try it out on the one large, uncarpeted surface in the house. The kitchen. On Thanksgiving.

I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what happened next. Seconds after she started to drive the little car around the kitchen, my mom stepped on it and fell, very hard, to the floor. Almost as quickly as she fell, she popped up and was ready to fight her sister. I can close my eyes and see it. Mom pops up, starts screaming, grandma places herself between her eldest and youngest daughters as they were both screaming and trying to hit one another over grandma’s shoulders. It was quite the scene and I had a front row seat. I know we ate dinner after this but for the life of me I cannot recall how it went. After the excitement of women in their 30’s and 40’s almost exchanging fisticuffs, it’s no wonder my memory is a bit blurred about the rest of the evening.

My next story is a hard one. Both this story and the next involve prescription medication abuse. Fast forward to a few years later. We are all up in Tahoe again. This time my grandpa is in a bad way. He was addicted to OxyContin for his back pain and was up to 8 pills a day. He was in the restroom getting sick while the rest of the family tried to figure out what to do.

My mom has had a wall up around her when it comes to her emotions and my grandparents. It stems from some psychological abuse my grandfather put his family through. She is very reserved when it comes to grandpa. While all 30 of us were standing around trying to figure out what to do, my mom casually stated to call an ambulance and have him hauled away. Aunt Katie, who is way more empathetic than my mother is, was infuriated by my mother’s off the cuff and nonchalant quip that she tucked her hand into a fist, with her thumb jetting out, and thrust it into the small of my mom’s back. “Don’t you talk about my dad like that!!”, she said between gritted teeth. Mom popped around and said, “If you touch me again, I’m calling the cops!!”.

Everyone looked at each other and decided Thanksgiving was over. I’ve never in my lifetime seen a Thanksgiving dinner clear out as fast as this one did. People were grabbing coats as fast as they could. I was the second person out. My Uncle Jack, married to my Aunt Katie, didn’t even bother to put his jacket on before he flew out of the house.

Grandpa was ok that night, has since gotten his OxyContin intake under control, and will be turning 89 in 2020! He has more lives than a cat but all those survival stories I’ll save for another post.

Our last Turkey Day extravaganza story involved an actual ambulance! The year was 2014 and we were all gathering at my cousin’s home to celebrate the day and spend time with our immediate fam. All 35 of us. What can I say? We roll deep on Thanksgiving! I pull up to the house and there is an ambulance out front. My mind is racing! Did someone hurt themselves?? Many injuries occur on T-day… Is it for my Grandfather?? Totally, totally possible. Is it for my 90 year old Great, GREAT Aunt?? Maybe! I rush into the house to discover that it wasn’t there for either of them! It was for my cousin’s husband’s mother who was only in her 70’s. She decided it would be a good plan to take a handful of Ambien and other drugs, washed down by some booze. Needless to say, she spent the evening at the hospital chugging charcoal instead of turkey. This put a damper on the evening as my cousin, not her husband, escorted her MIL to the emergency room. I should also point out my cousin’s husband is a huge creeper. We always make sure we are carrying something when he arrives as to not to have to hug him. I think she married him as a last ditch attempt with no other options. I’d rather be single for eternity than marry someone who is that big of a creep. It’s a fun family dynamic at Thanksgiving.

On to Christmas! I don’t have many bad stories about this holiday. The one that comes to mind is the year I almost “ruined” Christmas for my fam. It was 1999 or 2000 and I was 17 or 18. We were still going to mass on Christmas Eve, per tradition. I decided that I was over this religious nonsense. Mind you, I went to Catholic school the majority of my life and was confirmed. Right as my row was to get up to go to communion, I decided that was the perfect moment to voice my new found atheism. I refused to get up for communion. The gaze from my mother’s eyes seared my soul. If laser beams could have come out of her eyes, she would have zapped me out of existence.

Everyone could see. What would they think or her?! What would they say!? The shame of it all was too much for my mother. When we got back to the house she was screaming at me. There would be no presents. Christmas was cancelled and I was to blame. How could I do that to her?! What was wrong with me?! She eventually calmed down but it was touch and go for a few hours. Now, in hindsight, if it didn’t mean anything to me, just do it and don’t be an asshole. Or one better, just cross your arms and get a blessing. This is coming from my more mellow and wizened 37 year old ass. I wish I had had slightly more tact at 17/18. We survived and I’m more respectful now.

I have to say my favorite, favorite Christmas was the one when I was 5. My little sister and I would always be up at the crack of dawn. We’d examine the sooty handprint Santa always left on the cookie plate in awe. We sneak in to mom and dad’s room to lift an eyelid, only to be told it was way too early and to go back to bed. We were always too excited to go back to sleep. We’d pull down our stockings and chatter about what we thought the big man in the red coat brought us this year. When mom and dad finally arose to join us in the living room, we’d tear open the packages with excitement and glee. This one particular Christmas, my uncle showed up with a video camera. It was 1987 so it was most definitely a rarity to see the giant over-the-shoulder monstrosity that was video cameras back then.

I was only 5 so I didn’t think too much of it until my parents said, “Hey… do you hear something?” We all stopped and listened, my uncle with the camera rolling. My dad said he heard something coming from the garage. We ran to the garage door in the back hallway. My dad went out first and came back with the most adorable English Springer Spaniel puppy we had ever seen! She was a gift from Santa and my sister and I were ecstatic!! Her name was Molly and we loved her so much.

That was, by far, the most memorable Christmas of my childhood.

As today is New Years Eve and this is my first post of 2019, I promise to try harder and to post more often. Sláinte to a new year, a new decade, and a fresh start. I wish you all love, health, and happiness for the coming year. Happy 2020!!

I love first dates! The nervous excitement of the potential connection, the butterflies, the possibility of it being the last first date you may ever have.  The unknown is thrilling!  More often than not, they are utter crap and even the idea of a second date is doomed. But sometimes, few and far between, there are great ones with sparks of potential. Now, obviously I’m still single so, regardless of a good first date, nothing seems to have panned out lately… or has it… 😏

A while back, I actually had a fantastic first date.  Shocking, I know but, like I said, it does happen from time to time. He took me to the driving range, which I thought to be fairly original, as I had never been before, let alone on a date.  He brought me my own set of clubs to borrow and showed me how to sling them properly as we walked to the platform.  We split a basket of balls and whacked away.  I was terrible, shanking balls left and right! He had been playing since he was 5 and was very helpful.  At one point he stood behind me to help me with my grip. The closeness, for a first date, was daring but the timing was good and I wasn’t opposed. I’m pretty sure he was just trying to look down my shirt and smell my hair but the conversation was great, the flirting was nice, and this connection had some potential.

Inevitably, a good first date leads to a second date, which was the case with this guy. We would be going to dinner out downtown, near my place. As we were planning the details of the date, he made a request that had me scratching my head. He asked if he could bring his PlayStation over to my place after we have dinner. I let him know I had a PlayStation 3, if we wanted to watch a movie or whatever. He explained his request a little bit further. He wanted to play some games with me but they are only on his machine. Now, I’m a bit of a nerd, I’m not opposed to a video game here and there but this was another first for my dating repertoire. I reluctantly agreed and thought to myself, let’s just see how this plays out. If anything I will have a story for the blog… Oh, how true that thought was.

The night of the date arrived and duder showed up on my doorstep with his PS3 in hand. We went off to dinner, which was perfectly nice, and returned back to my place afterwards. He got to work immediately, getting behind the TV on his hands and knees, unplugging things, and plugging in cables. He couldn’t get something to work with his PS but he was so insistent on playing video games he then went to work on my dusty PS3. Honestly, I never use it. It hadn’t been updated in years. He noticed and commented on the lack of updates as he began to get my dinosaur of a gaming system up and running again. Finally, after about an hour, it was ready to go. He was like a kid on Christmas! We got to playing and, as I suspected, he was better than me at everything we attempted. I grew bored with losing always so he began to play alone while I sat and watched. I think that was way worse than playing and losing. As he played we did talk here and there. I asked the normal, get to know you better, questions. He began to spill the tea on details he had glossed over. Turns out, his “roommates” were actually his parents and his “position with a large Fortune 500 company” was working in the stock room at a large retail store. My spidey senses were tingling. That’s when he dropped the following bomb: His parents didn’t like him to play video games at home. His dad, a doctor, had confiscated his PS4 and locked it in his medical practice office so he is forced into using his “old PS3”. He carries it everywhere he goes so that his parents can’t take that one away too… 💥💥💥💥 I am not often at a loss for words but this did it for me. This 30 something year old was a man-child! His daddy took away his gaming apparatus because he lives with them and is apparently addicted to video games 😱

I do not expect perfect whatsoever but, sometimes, I wonder why people try to date when they obviously have way bigger things going on in their life that they should be focusing on. I wanted to shake him. Get your shit together man! You play video games as an adult so much that your dad had to intervene. Someone needs regulated no screen time badly!! Calling this a huge turn off is an understatement. I am a grown up. I have a grown up job and grown up bills. I haven’t live with my parents in almost two decades. I do like to have fun too but I also know when it’s time to play and when it’s time to put games away. I absolutely do not want a child for a boyfriend. I could only imagine if he was asking to bring his PS over on date number two, what date 10 would look like. I don’t mean to be judgmental, I only ask from my potential partners what I myself bring to the table. Needless to say, I had to end things with the guy who will forever have the moniker, Gameboy. I do hope he has hung up his controllers and grown up a bit.

Now, I know I teased you a bit at the beginning, hinting that my dating life may be looking up lately. While it was most definitely not with Gameboy, I have met someone who I like. It’s early still but he makes me laugh and I’m excited to see him again. That’s all I’ll say about it. I do truly hope that I run out of material eventually, that I’ll have to purely imagine horribly bad dates to keep you all entertained. That being said, thanks for always coming back, even when I’m inconsistent about posting ❤️

It’s time again, folks. Time for a couple more Lisa stories. Huzzah! I thought a couple light-hearted tales were overdue, especially after the crappy date stories lately.

My first tale begins in the winter of 1989. It was the holiday season and my family and I had gone into The City to do some shopping and take pictures with the ‘good’ Santa. The Santa that looks like he could actually be real was a fixture at the Powell Street Mall. Real looking or not, he always made my little sister cry. She was not a fan of Santa IRL.

During our visit, my mom needed to use the facilities so my dad, sister and I waited for her. As she was walking down the corridor back to us from the restroom, we noticed a man following behind her with a smirk on his face. She rejoined the fam and we discussed our next move. All of a sudden, a boisterous woman in a long fur coat interjects herself in the family circle, throwing her arms around my mom and dad’s shoulders. She turns to my mom and said, “Honey, I have to tell you, your skirt is tucked up in your pantyhose!!” To her mortification, she had given the whole mall a free peep show of her backside, which explained the pervert who was following her. To this day, because of this story, if I ever am wearing a skirt or dress, I always do a once over pat down before I exit the restroom. It most definitely left a lasting impression on me and I’ve never walked around with my ass hanging out because of it.  Thank you, Mom!

The second story occurred 16 years later. My mom, sister, aunt and I went to Arizona for Spring Training. We were staying at the newly renovated, retro Hotel Valley Ho. It was a pretty cool place, very 1960 mod vibe. Side note, the rat pack used to hang out there back in the day. One morning, as we were eating breakfast, my mom was ear hustling the table behind her. It was a table of men, one of which was the travel editor for the Today show. She over heard that they needed tickets to the baseball game that day. She happened to have a number of extra tickets in her purse, wrapped up with a very tight rubber band. She jumped up and introduced herself, leaving my sister, aunt and I at our table. She let them know she had extra tickets and was hoping that, in exchange, the Today show guy might talk about her company on the air. She came back quickly, grabbed the tickets from her purse, and brought them back to the other table. My sister and I were facing everything and my aunt had her back to the situation.

As my mom attempted to pry the tickets from the rubber band, it snapped off and hit one of the men just above his eye! “MY EYE!”, yelled the man, who was friends with the Today show dude. In a panic, my mom scrambled to pick up the ill fated rubber band from the ground. It was at this time, my sister and I watching the whole situation go down were frozen in horror.

We watched as my mother bent at her waist to snatch up the rubber band… Seemingly forgetting she was in a jean skirt…! All we could see was a full moon of white underwear. Then the distinct opaqueness of her sanitary napkin with the lovely frame of it’s ‘wings’. Here is a quick drawing for a visual:

Ashley and I grabbed each other in utter terror at the sight of the un-ladylike ‘bend and snap’ that we were witness to.

The two of us looked at each other and then erupted in absolute hysterics. My aunt was beyond confused. She had her back to everything and had no clue what was going on. At first, she looked between the two of us, whispering, “What!? What is going on!?”, but we we’re laughing so hard we could barely breath, let alone tell her what we had just observed. Then she moved from, “What?!”, to “You two need to leave. Go! Get out of here! GO!”  We were couldn’t control the fits of laughter we were experiencing. Though the streaming tears and the snorts, we exited the restaurant of the hotel, bouncing into each other, hilariously, into the lobby.

This story is now legendary amongst my parents friends.  All one has to do is yell, “MY EYE!” and everyone within ear shot erupts in laughter.  My mom is extremely lucky though.  The man she hit was an attorney.  A half and inch lower and things could have been much more worse than flashing the whole restaurant your undies and pad!

I don’t think that it is a coincidence that my mom is a wealth of stories like these two. Things like this always seem to happen to her.  As they continue occurring, I will always write about them.  The pad one still makes me laugh to this day, almost as hard as when I was watching it unfold.

I’ve only met and dated two men in my lifetime whom I did not meet online first. One was my high school/college boyfriend, who is a waste of a thought, let alone blog space. I saw him about a year ago at a local Target. I walked by as if I never even knew him. The second man, who should never be lumped into the category with the aforementioned loser, was introduced to me at work. Though we only dated briefly, he is now one of my best friends. I appreciate and respect him so much that this will be the one and only time I speak of him in this sort of capacity. I only hope to meet someone as kind, thoughtful, intelligent, and all around fantastic as my friend is. Part of me still hopes we figure it out but if not, I’m glad we are good friends. These two individuals represent the very best and worst I’ve ever dated. I find it odd they even have anything in common, aside from me.

The rest of the bunch I’ve met online and for the last year and a half, one guy in particular has been ‘around’. My friends call him Tattoo Face for obvious reasons, though, to be fair, I couldn’t see them at first from his pictures online. He had the angles! Hahaha! Ahem… anyway, TF wrote me on a dating app, asked me out and I went on a date with him. At first it was only two tattoos on his face.  One of his daughter’s names down his sideburn and this cool open outline of California.  Not horrible but also not great. Despite his poor judgement of ink placement, he was still very handsome. He was the ultimate bad boy. Tons of tattoos, gauged ears, smoked a ton of pot, rode a Harley, couple of kids from a couple of different baby mamas. The list is endless. Of course the old adage is true. We all want the bad boy. The key word there is “boy”.

I shouldn’t have been surprised by TF’s bad behavior whatsoever but I was. Last minute cancellations, never taking me out, smoking pot in my house, lying excessively, etc. These are all bad behaviors but the worst thing he has done has been putting me on the spot to pay for things for him. The first time it happened he had dragged me to two different malls looking for a particular pair of Vans. When he finally decided on the two he “needed” we walked up to the register. After they were rung up, the cashier asked how he’d like to pay. He said, “My baby is going to get them for me.” and looked at me. I should have scoffed at him and told him no but I was embarrassed at the position he put me in. I didn’t know how he’d react if I told him no in public. That should have been a major red flag! I shouldn’t be out with someone who would put me in that situation in the first place or whom I don’t know well enough to gauge their reaction if denied.

It turns out that TF had lost his job a while back and, unbeknownst to me, had been living off the sale of an inherited house after the death of a family member. About $130,000.00. He blew most of is on his Harley, tattoos, and a 1960’s style Chevy Impala.  I would ask if he was at work and he would say yes but then he never was.  He didn’t come out and say that he didn’t have a job any longer. A lie of omission is still a lie. TF had money for some things, like new tattoos and pot. I did question how he was paying for all of it but he shrugged me off and said that his friend bought it for him, he paid for it a while ago, etc. The face tattoos grew!  A Harley symbol next to his right eye, an eagle on the side of his head, a small flower next to his daughter’s name.  The he moved to his neck… the comedy/tragedy masks, a giant pair of red lips with a black widow crawling out of them, and the worst of all, a huge Jason mask with a bloody knife that said ‘Camp Crystal Lake’.  One of the new tattoos was a depiction of Jesus on the side of his head. Right next to the letters FAB which means “Fuck A Bitch”, in honor of his “baby mamas”. Super classy. Then again, when my mom asked why I didn’t get anything spiritual for my first tattoo, I could always point out that his head tattoos included our lord and savior. Can’t get more spiritual than that! Not that TF was ever going to meet my mother. She’d drop dead out of horror. He used to say that he would cover them all up with makeup to meet her. Lol! Like she wouldn’t see right through him. Lisa: Say, TF, where did you go to school? Oh… and where do you work? Ah, Uber! As an engineer? Oh, no? As a driver… ah. Ok. 🤐

When the funds dried up, he began to drive for Uber here and there as well as leach off me. Last we spoke, he had just gotten kicked out of the place he was staying. He said that $3000.00 went missing and his good friend of 20 years had a sinking suspicion that it was TF. I was on the fence about if he did it or not until he said that if he had taken it, the first thing he would do is pay me back. 😒🙄 My bullshit meter went way off… He also got an iPhone X during this same time frame. Coincidence? I think not. I haven’t spoken to him in months when he flaked on me because he didn’t have money for gas. Who doesn’t have gas money!? His tab with me is now around $800.00. I think of it as insurance that he will never reach out again. If he does, I will ask for the money and he will crawl back under the rock he came out from.  I have another Tattoo Face story for the blog but will save it for another time.  Stay tuned!

I am so exhausted of getting my hopes up, when it comes to dating, only to end up having them dashed by men who have little to no regard for anyone’s feelings but their own. The story I’m about to tell is as fresh as it can be, only concluding today.

Before I get into it I want to discuss one of my favorite aspects of dating; receiving a notification that I have a new message in my inbox. I love getting messages. Before I open them, there is always the possibility of the future, but more often than not, I discover a cringeworthy diatribe waiting for me. In my opinion, the last one is the cherry on top, the pièce de résistance. Here are the examples:

I have no words for these amazing illustrations of bad behavior. They still give me the creeps. As long as I continue to receive messages like this, I will add them to my blog so these dudes can creep you all out, too!

I inherently give people the benefit of the doubt when it comes to trusting them to be decent human beings. You’d think after all these horrid first messages, I’d lose hope. Not sure if it’s hope or the definition of insanity, but either way, I persevere, continuing to put myself out there with the thought that one day I’ll meet someone who fits.

Two weeks ago, I was stood up for the first time in my life. Sure, I’ve been cancelled on mere hours prior to dates but this was the first time that I waited alone 40 minutes for a man so disrespectful that he couldn’t even shoot me a text to tell me he wasn’t coming. His name is Chris. He doesn’t get a funny moniker because of how big a douche he is. I contemplated using his real last name and pictures but after today, I’ve changed my mind.

Chris and I started talking on a dating site back in November. He was intelligent, funny, and we had good conversation. We set up a first date, despite our travel schedules, for early December. He lives in Texas but splits his time in the Bay Area after his startup was acquired by a company in Mountain View. That made me hesitant about meeting him but I was at least willing to have a drink and chat since he asked me out.

A few days prior to our date, Chris stopped replying to texts. I wrote him off, deleted our texts, and moved on. It was the holidays and that should be about family anyway. I’ve been ghosted on before and, each time it happens, it gets easier and easier to not wonder why. I forgot about Chris and went on with life. That was until January 5th when I got another text from him out of nowhere. This is what the dating world calls Zombieing. When a ghost comes back from the dead. It’s as scary as it sounds.

He apologized for disappearing. Said that he lost a friend to suicide but that he still wanted to meet me if I could forgive his disappearance. My gut said that he was lying but it was such a sensitive subject, I couldn’t bring myself to call him out. I told him I’d have to think about. I discussed it with friends and I decided that I’d give him another chance. He said he would flying in to SFO on the 16th and that he wanted to see me that night. I agreed to meet him and, in the mean time, we wrote back and forth every day. When the 16th arrived, he confirmed with me at 5:00 that he would see me at 7:00.

I raced home after work so I could freshen up my makeup and hair. We were meeting an hour away, in traffic, from my home at my favorite Speakeasy in the South Bay. I arrived a few minutes early and, since it was pretty cold out, I texted him I had arrived and that I was headed inside. He didn’t reply. I ordered myself a drink and awaited his arrival. At 7:20, 20 minutes after we agreed to meet, I questioned if we said 7 or 7:30. I wrote him again, double checking the time. He didn’t reply. At 7:40, I left. I texted him one last time with the simple saying, “Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice shame on me.” I said goodbye and blocked his phone number.

I was so angry I was on the verge of tears. I couldn’t believe it. Who DOES that? What kind of monster confirms with someone two hours prior and doesn’t show up?! Now it was personal. If he had just let it go after he ghosted… Now I couldn’t let it go. I needed a better conclusion. I needed to know anything more that could help me understand.

I went back to the dating app. I found his profile and saw that he was online. I couldn’t resist messaging him. I wrote, “I’m sure I’m wasting my time but what the fuck!? How could you do that to me!?” He read the message and promptly blocked me. Funny thing though, even though he blocked me, I could still see his account. We had been pretty glossy on the life details, name of our companies, last names, etc. I looked at the pictures and realized that if I wanted to know more I’d have to find something on his profile to work with.

I always tout myself as a woman who is legitimately not a crazy person. I normally move on and don’t bother with people who obviously don’t want to date me. I always say I’m not about to try to talk someone into liking me or being with me. I should make it clear that, at this point, I didn’t want to date Chris either but standing me up after everything else was my final straw. Something inside of me snapped. I knew this guy was dirty and I was going to find out what was up.

On his profile, he has a picture of himself completing an Ironman with his bib number showing. A quick google search and I had everything. His last name, his company, even his Facebook page, which included the update that he was recently engaged.

GOTCHA Super Douche! I was not surprised at all. I need to listen to my gut instincts. The engagement happened the week after he ghosted on me. I decided that I was going to let this woman know what her fiancé was up to. I wrote a very composed message and sent it to her via Facebook messenger. It said, “Hey girl. I’m sorry to be writing to you about this but I thought you should know what Chris is up to when he is in the Bay Area. He has an active Plenty of Fish account, listing Mountain View as where he lives, and he started talking to me back in November. If you want screen grabs of everything, I can send you it all. I just found out about you yesterday. Let me know if you want more information. I’m so sorry.”

She wrote me back within 15 minutes of writing her. She asked to see what I had and I sent her everything. Screen shots of his profile on the dating app, our texts, everything. She had some questions and I answered anything she needed to know and then I wished her good luck.

I do wish her luck. I cannot fathom finally thinking that I’ve found my person only to have been misled like that. It made me sick to my stomach but I have been cheated on before and I would have rather known than found out later. She told me I saved her. I want to believe her.

Normally, I just get back on the horse and continue to put myself out there but this story made my heart sad. I have other stories for you but I’m taking a break from dating for now. I do know there are good men out there, I do. I know that my optimism will eventually return to me but until then, I’ll continue sharing my awful dating life with you. As much as I like writing them all down, I do hope one day I run out of material. ❤️

A friend gently reminded me that I’m failing as a blogger. She went to show her colleague my site and was shocked to see my last post was from January LAST YEAR. For shame, I have utterly failed at my commitment to write monthly in 2017. In my own defense and to be fair, working at the startup was a ton of work between February and April. Then, moving back to my previous company but contracting for the startup after hours (5pm-10pm) from April until August was crazy. I had no social life or time for myself at all. I also got a kitten in September! His name is Milo and I’m in love, even if he is bitey sometimes.

Regardless, it’s cringe-worthy that I haven’t written in so long and I hope that I keep you all interested. My friend has lit a fire under my ass and I have no fewer than 10 bad dating stories and 8 Lisa stories to share with you all! Thank you, Amanda! I will try my best to be more consistent now that I’m back to one job. I’ve even started dating again and already have two more stories to add to the list! One may quite possible be the worst entry yet. I think I’m even going to use his real name, he was that awful. Coming soon so stay tuned!  That’s enough housekeeping, now, on with the show…

In my opinion, the most unattractive thing a man can do is try to talk me into dating him when I’ve clearly let him know that we are not a match. I’ve already decided that I’m not into him, for whatever reason, I’ve been a grownup and let him know this, instead of taking the cowardly way out and ghosting on him, and I would appreciate if his response reflected the situation. Be an adult and accept it. Shake my hand and move on to better opportunities. That is what I do when someone decides I’m not their cup of tea. I will never talk someone into dating me. I deserve someone who wants to get to know me and appreciates my amazingness enough to want me in their life. Also, if someone feels that I’m not the one for them, it’s really their loss because I’m fucking awesome! Everyone should have this outlook about themselves. Love yourself first so someone else can love you too!

A little while ago, I went on a couple dates with a guy.  At first, things went well, minus his choice of hairstyle; the manbun. I remember when he hugged me the first time. His hair smelled like a camp fire, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but strong smells of any kind leave a lasting impression. I got the vibe that he might be a bit too hippy dippy for me, but I tried to be open minded. Since I like to use monikers for these ill-behaved men I’ve dated, this guy will be known as Manbun. On our first date, we had dinner and the conversation flowed well. I was a little concerned that he was a 30-year-old man who still lived with his dad all the way down in the south bay, which is a touch far from where I live, and that he worked in the Santa Cruz mountains, so even further away. Manbun wasn’t concerned with the distance and, since we were still getting to know each other, I tried not to worry about it either.

Things went from okay to very bad over one phone call.  Since we lived far apart, we talked on the phone quite a bit, usually when he was on highway 17, on his way to work. Now if you’ve never driven highway 17 here in the bay area, it is the 4-lane highway that connects the south bay to the coast, over the Santa Cruz mountains and it is windy AF. It’s a pretty dangerous road.  So, while we were chatting, he mentioned that he was thinking about moving to LA. I asked if he was thinking of moving to LA why he was still trying to date up here.  I could hear agitation in his voice. The (road) rage was strong in this guy. I heard wheels squealing and a loud horn blast. I was cautious with my next words. I asked if he was ok and he screamed that some lady isn’t letting him by and he was going to be late for work! He was being very aggressive and, while I’m sure it wasn’t the best time to be discussing us not seeing each other any longer, it was too late to change the topic. He accused me of speaking down to him, which I absolutely was not. I voiced my objection and received this retort verbatim: “I’m tired of bitches in this area talking down to me!  The next chick that talks down to me, I’m going to get a gun and I don’t know what I’m going to do…”

. . . O.O . . .

Alarms went off inside me immediately!  My tone changed from annoyed and determined to calm and docile, attempting to settle him down. This dude was out of his damn mind!! I didn’t want to be anywhere in his vicinity if he was true to his word. He legit scared me because I honestly did not know him well enough to know if he was just talking out of his ass or if he was for real. I continued to talk him down while we were on the phone until he arrived at work and had to end the call.  When he texted me a day or two later, I continued to reiterate that I didn’t think we were a good match. He proceeded to blow my phone up. Walls of texts were sent of him arguing aggressively about wanting to continue to see me.

I held my ground and he eventually gave up. Since he knew where I live, I was scared for a while that he would attempt to see me again by showing up.  It’s been long enough now that I don’t think he is an issue any longer.

When I read the news, and hear about someone who went missing after a date with someone they met online, my thoughts drift back to Manbun. Online dating can be a minefield of unknowns.  I ended up being lucky, but this situation may have been avoided if I had talked to Manbun a bit longer before agreeing to go on a date with him. He may have shown his true colors prior to our dates and I would have saved myself the stress of it all. You really don’t know who you’re going out with. The best advice I can give is to always make sure someone knows you’re on a date. Give the person’s phone number, photo, etc. to your sibling, friend or person you trust. Make sure you let them know when you’re home from the date. Keep your people in the loop of your life. I realize this wasn’t a very funny post but it is an important one. Stay safe people and always keep your wits about you, dating or otherwise.

It’s 2017 and I have decided that I will be writing monthly this year.  Granted, I did wait until the very last hour of the very last day of the first month but I promise I will make it happen monthly!  I know how much my horrible dating stories are loved and, while 2016 did not disappoint on the bad date blog fodder front,  I will be talking about my mother in this month’s installment.  Now, on with the show!

My friends and I say that we will be telling “Lisa Stories” as long as we live.  Lisa is my mom.  Now, to preface, these stories are only funny now, 20 years later.  When I was growing up, my mother scared the ever living shit out of me.  It might be one of the reasons I turned out how I did.  Nothing like a good dose of fear to keep everyone in line, right?!  My favorite Lisa story is about my inflatable blow up chair.

I might be dating myself but, in the 90’s, blowup furniture was all the rage.  Even though my room was pretty small, I fit a blue, inflatable blowup chair at the end of my bed.  I had a blanket over it and I would sit and read in it.  My mother hated it.  I have no idea why as it was in my room, minding its own business.  It never did anything to her.  I did have to move it to get to one side of my closet but I had to deal with it, not her.  She was a working mom and I can’t ever remember a time she did my laundry and put it away in my closet for me.  She told me over and over again to deflate it.  I refused.

The battles my mom and I had over the course of my teenage years were epic.  My bedroom door received the brunt of her frustration.  I vividly recall slamming it closed, sitting with my back to it and my feet pressed up against my dresser so that she couldn’t get in.  She would drop a shoulder and bum rush it to try to get in, like she was a linebacker.  One of these occasions she was able to bend the door over my head and I could see the frenzied look on her face through the crack.  By the end of these years, my door consisted of just the shell, clacking together each time it was opened or closed, barely hanging by its hinges.

One day, while we were in the midst of one of these major blowout arguments, she got a mad look in her eye.  She stomped to the kitchen, grabbed the largest butcher knife we owned and marched back to my room.  She stormed past me,  violently raised her arm above her head, and began to murder my blowup chair, as if she was Norman Bates and my poor chair was Marion Crane in the shower.  Talk about Hitchcockesque.  It was a very Mommy Dearest moment.  NO MORE BLOWUP CHAIRS, EVER!  Joan Crawford would have been proud!

It didn’t end with the horrific assassination of my poor chair.  She also took offense to the collection of lotions and Bath and Body Work sprays that I had in a neat corner of my dresser.  She took them all out with one swipe of her arm.  Lotion flew through the air, like fireworks exploding, and splattered everywhere.  The bed, the walls, the ceiling, all covered in Cucumber Melon and Sun Ripened Raspberry.  My room smelled like a whore house for weeks!

Another favorite Lisa Story is one that takes place on an 880 freeway off ramp.  I went to a Catholic high school a few cities north of my hometown.  Before my friends and I could drive, our parents carpooled us the 30 minute drive to school.  My mom had the lucky job of the early AM shift.  One bright, sunshiny morning, my mom was driving my two friends and I in her purple Chrysler Town and Country.  We were in a rush, as per usual.  We were always running behind.  As we exited the freeway, what appeared to be smoke began to pour out of the hood of the van.  The power went out so we lost power steering.  My mom cranked the wheel to get us as close to the side of the road as possible, threw it into park,  jumped out of the car screaming, “It’s gonna BLOW!” and ran down the off ramp away from the spewing van!!

I jumped out and as I was beginning to run after her, I noticed that my friends were trapped in the back seat!  Even though it had been many years since my parents had little children, the bloody child locks were on!  The look of terror on their faces has stuck with me over all these years, frantically pulling on the handle, watching the only adult available high stepping as quickly as she could hustle her behind the opposite direction of the firery vehicle they were confined to.  I ran back to the van and opened the door for my friends.  They burst out of the opening screaming as the three of us ran toward my mother.  We walked/ran to the nearby gas station where my mom had to use the pay phone to call my dad for help.  More dating myself.  No cell phones… ahem.  I digress.

Before the tow truck could arrive a motorcycle cop appeared.  He told my mom he would push the car out of the way and over to the gas station.  My mom looked at him, bewildered, and asked, “With your bike?”.  He looked at her, with a classic WTF look on his face.  He replied, “Uh, no… with my hands…”.  He walked to the back of the van and proceeded to attempt to push.  He stopped, walked back up to my mom’s window and asked her to take off the parking break and put it in neutral… Poor guy.  Turns out the van was basically a lemon but wasn’t on fire.  It was steam that was pouring out of it, scaring the crap out of us all.  No excuse for my mom though.  She totally left my friends for dead.

This is just a small sample of the many fantastic Lisa Stories to choose from.  I will be speckling them in throughout the year to break up the monotony of the bad dating stuff.   Have a great rest of the week people!  See you next month!!