RedBull... Always a bad idea.

RedBull should have a bigger warning on the can. Not only does it turn you into a schizophrenic crackhead, it impairs your judgment and ruins your relationships.

One night, while on a date with a guy that I had been dating for a few months, I drank one too many RedBull and Vodka’s. I didn’t think much of it at the time, because, I was tipsy, feeling all kinds of sexy, and ready to rock-n-roll.

Wings took me back to his place for a nightcap. I was an animal. RedBull makes me feel like a warrior. As though I’m a gladiator fighting for my life. That feeling doesn’t just disappear after a few hours. I learned that the hard way.

Wings fell asleep and I was left to watch a really scary movie on TV. He sleeps for 2 hours while I’m terrified. I hate scary movies but I couldn’t find the remote so I was screwed. I was a hot mess - anxious, awake, and feeling like there were murderers under the bed. Not fun.

I decide that while Wings snores his life away, I will make a break for it. I text my friends and alert them of my current predicament. They laugh. I was trapped at Wing’s place, revved on RedBull, trying to escape. It was 4 am. I had no car. He had driven me there. What was my plan once I got outside? To call a cab. I thought it was a genius plan. I was ready to execute.

With each snore, I put on an article of clothing. I was fully dressed and he didn’t wake so I figured I would continue to mask the sound of my movement with his snores. Each time he inhaled, I took a step. It took me damn near an hour to reach the door. I’m almost free. I can taste freedom. I can’t believe I’ve pulled this off. I am escaping from the scary, snoring, super anxious hell I had created for myself by drinking one too many RedBulls. I was minutes away from getting into a cab, going home, and doing whatever the heck I wanted in my altered state.

I turned the door knob. I slowly opened the door. Wings woke up. He asked me where I was going. I was standing in the doorway, crouched in a ninja stance, holding my purse, fully clothed, and I didn’t know what to say. I got caught trying to escape. This was not going to end well.

I told him that I couldn’t sleep. He was not very excited about this. I pleaded for him to go back to bed. I would just try to sleep. I threw myself back into bed. But he knew I was lying. He couldn’t understand how I was still awake. He made me get into the car. He drove me home. It would have been a 10 minute ride back to my place but all the freeway ramps had been closed …since most people are asleep at 4:30 am on a Sunday morning. It took us almost 30 minutes to get to my place. We didn’t talk the entire car ride home.

He had caught me trying to escape from his home at an ungodly hour. For whatever reason, no matter how hard I tried to convince him, he just didn’t believe I was normal. Oopsies.

Lesson learned:

RedBull does not give you wings. It gives you a one way ticket to the single life.

Plastic Wrap me, Baby.

There’s something awesome about running into your ex-boyfriend and knowing that you’ve made him jealous. Whether it’s because you look good that day, or because you told him of your new super amazing boyfriend, making an ex regret not being with you can feel like a huge accomplishment.

Running into my ex was one of the most awkward experiences of my life. I was walking, downtown, to pick up some dinner. I literally walked right into him and Mr. Ed (his new girlfriend – I only call her Mr. Ed because after a quick poll, the majority of people agreed that she resembles a horse). From the looks of it, they too, were walking around looking for dinner.

It’s not like I could run away and pretend I didn’t see him, holding Mr Ed’s hoof while they smiled and giggled down the street. I had to face it. So what did I do? I came up with the most extravagant lifestyle update possible when he asked how I was. It was ridiculous, but it made me feel better. I was still single. I was going to eat dinner at home, alone. I didn’t need him to know that! The look in his eyes when I told him of my new and improved life told me that my fabricated life intrigued him.

A few days later, I get the text. You know, the “it was nice running into you. You look good. I’m glad you’re doing so well” text. Since the ball was in my court, I decided to play. And play hard. I made it my personal mission to win him back. Not that I actually wanted him back, but that secret, evil, totally bitter part of me that was jealous of his new relationship, and wanted to see if he still cared for me.

It took about a week before he agreed to meet up with me for lunch. A quick bite to eat. As friends. He must really have a thing for horses because lunch was like torture for him. He couldn’t stop talking about her. How great she was. How happy he was. I decided to change the subject. To remind him of all the good times we had … and the things, I know for a fact, his new girlfriend doesn’t do. This excited him. I was winning.

He drove me back to my place. Walked me to my door. I asked if he wanted to come inside for a few minutes. He agreed . We ended up talking a bit more. I had him just where I wanted him! If I could just get him to kiss me, then I would know, beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wasn’t over me… and I had succeeded in crushing Mr. Ed, that I wasn’t the single loser, that he was worse off than me. He sat down on the couch next to me. I got a little nervous. He leaned in. Then, he whispered… “Do you have any Saran Wrap?”

That is like the LEAST seductive thing to whisper before you kiss someone. I asked him why. His explanation might be, quite possibly, the best explanation for cheating of all time…. He told me that if we put a piece of plastic wrap in between our lips, it wouldn’t be cheating… because… we’re NOT TOUCHING.

I couldn’t go through with it. Not only did I no longer care if he still had feelings for me, I knew that I was trying to seduce a stage 5 creeper.

Lesson Learned:

Saran wrap should only be used to wrap food. Not your face. If someone asks for you to wrap your face with Saran wrap, report him to the authorities, immediately.

Peeping Michelle.

Dear Boyfriend,

I am sorry for scaring you this morning. I know it must have looked bad. You have every right to be creeped out. If I was in your shoes, I would be too. It’s just that I couldn’t sleep. I decided to watch TV on the couch, in my underwear, as to not bother you. After I got tired of the Real Housewives of New Jersey, I got back into bed … and stared at you. Which is what I was doing when you opened your eyes. I’m sorry.

I just want you to know that I am not a troll. I am not trying to steal your breath. I am not a serial killer sizing up whether or not I can make a mask out of your face. I am not a professional stalker that lurks in bushes while you’re at work. I do not stare at you often. You fascinate me, but not that much.

Just know that I am human. I make mistakes. But I couldn’t help myself. You are so handsome. I was just thinking how could a girl like me be lying next to such a miracle of a man? Your soft lips, strong arms, smooth skin…. For that moment, your breath was like a cool ocean breeze, whispering in my ear. There are only a few moments in life where you are blessed with absolute clarity. You can clearly see what is valuable in life. You try to reach out and grab it but it’s just a fistful of sunshine. All you can do is stare and quietly thank God, Buddha, or Jay-Z that you get to at least experience it’s light.

You were my personal sunrise this morning. Thanks for the tan.

That said, I vow to never stare at you again. Next time, I will watch the entire marathon of Real Housewives until you wake up.

Love,

Your not so creepy girlfriend

Pluck You!

Confession: I’m a hairy beast.

Not just like a little bit of peach fuzz… more like I single handedly keep most razor companies in business. That being said, I usually end up dating men with absolutely NO body hair. It’s a strange thing, I know. It’s not like I go around only speaking to men with no visible arm hair. It just happens! I swear!

Whisker literally had less than 20 hairs on his body, not counting his facial hair. Other than his goatee and eyebrows, he had almost no hair on his body. This was really frustrating. Not only did he look like Dr. Evil’s cat – Mr. Bigglesworth – he was softer than most babies. Oh how I envied him.

He may have been soft and hair-free, but Whisker snored like a bear. Had he been a soldier in Iraq, he would have been given a Purple Heart and sent home just to make the snoring stop. My envy combined with his snoring would keep me up all hours of the night. As I watched him sleep, I would think of evil ways to make him stop snoring. I thought of stuffing his mouth with socks or even dousing him with water. But I hate sleeping in wet spots, so that wasn’t going to work. One day, while resting my head on his chest, listening to him snore his life away, I realized that he had exactly 7 hairs surrounding his nipples.

I have more hair on my knuckles than he did on his nipples. Jerk. I decided that I would pluck one of these hairs… all while he slept. I was going to pluck him as if he was a chicken. Best idea ever!

I picked the perfect hair. I positioned my fingers in perfect plucking position. I yanked. He made THE FUNNIEST whimper noise I’d ever heard. I couldn’t help but laugh. Whisker was not awakened by my yanking. Mission accomplished.

That night, I felt a little better about my life. I had plucked one of his 7 hairs; his pride and joy, the only visible proof that he was a man. I slept well that night.

Weeks went by before he noticed a difference. One night while hanging out with a group of friends, Whisker said something about getting old and losing your hair. He mentioned that he used to have a few chest hairs, but now, they’re all falling out. He was sad about this. We all laughed at him. I secretly died inside. He went inside to get more beer. I told all his friends that I secretly pluck his hairs while he sleeps. I re-enacted the noise. They all cheered. They promised to never tell him my evil ways. I really loved his friends.

I wonder if the hairs ever grew back. We were together for almost 2 years. They never came back when I was with him. I sometimes get the urge to send his new girlfriend an email asking about his chest hairs. But that would just make me creepy.

Lesson Learned:

Plucking your man’s chest hairs while he sleeps does not make you a better person. It just makes you even more hairy than him.

Blow me

I'm not the world's best gift giver. That's my best friend's job. She not only gives the best gifts, but the gifts she gives are themed. She'll bestow onto you a beautifully decorated basket with things you didn't even know you wanted! I, however, suck at giving gifts. It's not because I don't know what the other person wants, or am not attentive to someone's wants/style/etc. I'd rather make a scrapbook, play someone a song on the piano, go on a trip, etc. Actually gifting someone an object is difficult for me.

That being said, I have only managed to be successful in gifting once ... at least that's what I thought. Horny was my boyfriend of 2 years. He looked like a large bulldog - but was a total softy. He always managed to get me great gifts. More Tiffany's necklaces than one girl could possibly need, Flowmaster for my car (!!), the world's most expensive and amazing flat iron... He really knew me well. I was always extra shocked and amazed by the gifts he gave me.

It was Horny's birthday, so I knew I had to step my game up. Our birthdays were only 3 days apart and just a few days before, he had managed to shower me with amazing gifts and a great night out on the town. I had spent weeks trying to come up with ideas for a gift. I was stuck.

I decided to make a list of all the things Horny loves. I'm really good at making lists. I wish I could give people lists I've made as gifts. Sigh.

Horny was a simple man. He passionately loved all the major food groups. He also loved cars. Horny was really good at, and loved, making trumpet noises. He had played trumpet in the marching band in school and would repeatedly tell me the story of when he played in Disneyland parade. Then it hit me, I would buy Horny, a trumpet. It was a genius plan. He LOVED playing it when he was younger. He always talks about playing it. He always mimics the noise, what better gift than a big brass instrument?

I drove to a music store near my house after work. I spent almost an hour in the store to pick the perfect trumpet for my sweet Horny. There are no returns or exchanges. I didn't need those options, I was POSITIVE he would love it.

I drove to Horny's house. Got out the car, lugged the giant trumpet up 2 flights of stairs, put a giant red bow on the case, and waited until he got home. He walks in, sees the trumpet case and is surprised. SUCCESS!! "You bought me a trumpet?" I couldn't even speak I was so proud of myself. I shook my proud head and smiled. "You bought me a trumpet and I'm not even in a band? Why would I want a trumpet? Nice try but you have to take it back!" Um.... wait one minute, you ungrateful horn blowing fool ... you speak of the trumpet as though it was one of the greatest loves of your life. I bring such joy into your life and you tell me to take it back? I was not a happy baby.

I told him there were no refunds or exchanges at the music store. He insisted we take it back. If he really didn't want it, I was happy to get my $500 back but it didn't change the fact that he hated the most perfect gift ever nor did it change store policy. We went back to the store. It was literally less than an hour after I bought this giant stupid trumpet. Horny walks in first, holding the trumpet, while I slowly walk in pouting. The owner sees this and starts to laugh. Horny also starts to laugh. Then they talk about how I was so silly for buying him a trumpet. After a few minutes of being made fun of, Horny manages to get my money back. We leave with what pride I have left, get into the car, and head back to his place.

We ended up just having dinner that night. I didnt have a gift to give him. I felt horrible - mostly because they laughed and mocked me and my heartfelt gift. I felt like I had traveled thousands of miles through the scorching hot deserts to bring Frankincense to baby Jesus in Bethlehem, to be told that Jesus only accepts Myrrh. It was heartbreaking.

Two days later, I bought him a fish. I said "when the fish dies, so does our love." He made me keep the fish at my house.

Lesson Learned:

If you suck at giving actual gifts, then dont give anyone a damn thing. Buy yourself things on other people's birthdays. Everyone will appreciate it.

In your face!

I just did a search for good comebacks to standard break-up lines. My search was unsuccessful. I figure that at some point in time, someone else might need such information. Now, you will be able to use my clever ways to get out of awkward break-up situation on top. Please feel free to use these comebacks. Take pictures. Make t-shirts. Do what you will with them... do not let them go to waste, my friends!

I'm not good enough for you - you deserve better. - Lucky for me, if I lower my standards any more to be with you, I'll die.

I love you, that is why I have to let you go. - You've already let go. You look like you ate the man I fell in love with.

I've fallen too much in love with you. I'm in it too deep - There's no lifeguard on duty and interestingly enough, I like to watch people drown.

You've put on too much weight. - Really? My other boyfriend said I lost weight from all our late night cardio sessions.

I just don't feel it anymore. - Me either. I must have been really drunk our entire relationship because now that I'm sober, I'd rather feel myself.

We both know it's been over for a while now. - I agree. That's why I moved on last weekend. All weekend long. Yee-haw.

I'm leaving you for another man. - Tell your dad I say hi.

This breakup will make our relationship stronger. Trust me. - The only things that will be stronger are my kegels.

My mom doesn't like you. - Your mom goes to college.

All Man. Grr.

I know most of you read this blog because you're interested in the absolutely outlandish things I experience on my dates. I don't usually write good things about just one man. Most of my list blogs are compilations of my experiences with multiple men. That's just how I roll.

This blog, however, has a very specific subject. It is about one man and one man only. A REAL MAN. I've dated many wanna-be sissy mama's boys who cover their lack of manliness with lumberjack beards. Just because someone looks like a man, burps, and can lift heavy boxes, doesn't mean he knows the first thing about being a man.

Here are the reasons I know, for a fact, that my Muffin is ALL man!

1. He knows that tears are not a sign of weakness. It's actually how he sheds his excess amounts of testosterone.

2. He would brave a torrential storm of Biblical proportions to pick me up a box of Tampons. He'd buy me just about anything as long as it wasn't diapers!

3. When he's acting like a punk-ass-bitch-mo-fo, he'll admit it. Maybe not in those exact words, but I know what he really means.

4. He'd never stab anyone in the back. He'd look them dead in the eye while I stabbed them in the face. Team work.

5. He's so reliable that even Jay-Z knows in case of emergency, he can call him to fill in at a concert.

6. In case the world comes to an end, he has a predetermined escape route. He even knows how to turn a broom and some duct tape into a tuna sandwich - in case of famine.

7. He hugs me like he's my very own, personal, super snug, straight jacket.

8. Every time he says "I Love You" it sounds like a song, poem, promise, revelation, all at once. It's like an entire Boys II Men song in 3 little words.

9. He knows the difference between making sweet love and smackin-dat-ass. He knows it well. Very well.

10. He's proud of me. My victories are his. He's a team player - Go Team Michelle!

Sappy, cheesy, mushy...say what you want. But a good man should be acknowledged. Even if it means I come across as a smitten idiot.

Man compliments

We all know that women love compliments. Men, on the other hand, not so much. Maybe if they weren't called compliments, they'd like them. Maybe if they were called Man-Points or Mission Critical Information, they'd acknowledge them. Whatever the reason, some men are genetically unable to blush -when they hear such affirmations, they tend to squish their faces and run away.

I've tried to compliment many men, some for selfish reasons (doesn't hurt when you want a shiny gift!) and some because they deserved it (specifically for killing spiders). Here are 10 Man-Points your man will love to hear.

1. You're the only guy I've ever known who can drink that much and still be a tiger in bed. Grr.

2. You smell like a rugged, super strong, hunk of burning love, who just wrestled a bear. And won. You reek of manliness!

3. That jar you just opened didn't even see it coming. What took you 15 minutes would have taken Jack Bauer 24.

4. Is there anything you cant fix? My computer, car, cervix?

5. If you weren't an engineer/doctor/plumber you could absolutely be a NASCAR driver.

6. Your kisses taste like aged bourbon. So smooth.

7. These are the best hog dogs I've ever had in my life! I'll never eat another $1.50 hot dog from Costco again. Doesn't even compare!

8. You're sexier than all of the gladiators in 300. ALL of them.

9. What are you, a superhero? Did I just watch you save all of mankind again?

10. When you're around, I don't need a match. You're so hot my cigarette lights itself.

Ladies, get out there and give your man a "Man-Point" or two! Your man will be proud to blush to such compliments.

You'll thank me later.

Breaking up the easy way

I never really understood why breaking up was so “hard”. I’ve had 3 boyfriends, I broke up with all of them, and really, it wasn’t that hard. I let them know I didn’t want to be with them and it ended. Sure it was sad times, but it wasn’t necessarily hard.

If I had no problem breaking up with men I had substantial relationships with, it should be easy for me to tell someone I’ve been casually dating for 2 months that it’s not going to work out … or so you’d think. When I first met Dolla Bill, he was damn near perfect. He was so handsome, he had a swag to him that was indescribable. He worked with kids, loved his job, wasn’t much older than me, didn’t have any kids of his own, had never been married. Basically, Dolla Bill had potential future Baby Daddy written all over him.

The first month or so, we hit it off. Hanging out with him was fun. We always had something to talk about, we were compatible – enjoying each other’s company whether out for dinner or at home watching a movie. Dolla Bill and I were taking things slow – really getting to know each other before revealing our freak-nasty sides. I can genuinely say that I liked Dolla Bill. I just didn’t like him for very long.

It all started when I went to Hawaii on vacation. For whatever reason, he found it necessary to make ridiculous suggestions. So ridiculous, indeed, that I had to take a step back and reevaluate my precious Dolla Bill. By the end of the second month, Dolla Bill was on my bad side. I was done listening to his suggestions, I was over his charm, his smile didn’t shine as bright, his texts bothered me, his voice made my blood boil. It was time to tell him. Time to break it off. I knew it was going to be interesting, but I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

I may have a blog, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a heart. I asked Dolla Bill to come over so we could talk. We talked about his awful suggestions and how they pushed me away. You can’t possibly be taken seriously when you ask the girl you’re dating, for one month, to borrow her car. I mean, call me old fashioned, but I’d like to think that borrowing someone’s car is like a rite of passage. Not just anyone can borrow my sexy automobile. Those 22 inch rims don’t roll just for anyone. I told him how incessantly texting me didn’t make me want to respond, nor did his 5 minute long voicemails about how he can’t believe I’m not answering my phone. Did he think I was one of those typical, totally needy, and super desperate girls? Has he not read my blog? Ugh.

Dolla Bill wasn’t understanding why I didn’t want to date him. He was right in thinking that we were compatible when we first met. He just couldn’t understand that I was so turned off by his actions that I had no desire to be with him. That’s what dating is for. To date someone to the point of committing or calling it quits. Dating gives you the chance to get out. He wasn’t going to let me get out easy.

Dolla Bill excused himself to the bathroom. His phone went off while in the bathroom. When he came back, I mentioned it, and like the true idiot I am, made a joke about answering it/going through his phone. I mean, it was a joke. I was giggling when I said it. His phone was in the same place he left it, I was in the same place on the couch. He should know by now that I’m too lazy to snoop around. He mistook my joke for truth, even after I explained that it was nothing more than a bad joke. He grabbed my phone and ran back into the bathroom. Karma? Definitely.

While Dolla Bill was in the bathroom earlier, I had texted a few of my friends. I might have mentioned how much I hated Dolla Bill, how he was a wrinkly old bill that my new machine would not accept. I might have accidentally stripped him of his manliness in these texts and I wasn’t the only one making fun of him. My friends, being awesome and just as evil, texted back horrible things. That’s why I love them. Obviously, these texts were never meant to be seen by anyone else, and definitely not to be seen by Dolla Bill. So when he grabbed my phone and locked himself in my bathroom, my heart sank.

Breaking up is super hard to do. Especially when the one you’re breaking up with has just read endless text messages about how he’s a horrible human being and how you’d much rather mate with a chainsaw. He came out the bathroom, handed me my phone, and didn’t say a word. He got his stuff together and sat back down on the couch. I asked him if he went through my phone. He said yes. I asked him why. He said because I went through his. I reminded him that I had not. He didn’t say anything. I asked what he read. He said it didn’t matter. I told him it must suck to be him. He agreed.

Lesson Learned:

Breaking up doesn’t have to be hard. Just show him the texts you send to your best friend about how much you hate him. He’ll never look back!

Spanx me!

Nothing intensifies a first date like alcohol... at least for me, anyway. Most people feel as though they've loosened up, are able to relax and can enjoy their first date after having a drink. I, however, cannot stop at one drink and end up dancing on a table... or even worse... with a welt on my forehead.

Cello was a musician. I saw him playing the piano at the Fairmont hotel, just for fun. He had a baby face, was super sweet, and not only did he play the piano well, but he had a beautiful voice too. I wanted to make music with Cello.

Our first date had amazing written all over it. He took me out for a nice dinner followed by a stroll downtown. He asked me if I wanted to shoot pool and told me I was in for a real surprise. I had never been to this bar so I was ecstatic to find a piano next to the pool tables.

He handed me some money and asked me to get the balls and pool cues. I came back to find him sitting at the piano, playing my favorite song: Ribbon in the Sky - Stevie Wonder. We had just talked about how much I loved this song at dinner. There he was, playing the piano and singing. Just for me.

I stood there, shocked, intrigued, grateful for his romantic display of affection. He finished the song, I kissed him. Our first kiss was amazing. We had a few drinks, shot some pool, and before I knew it, we were heading across the street to meet up with some of his friends. It was Salsa night and his friends wanted to dance. I was excited. I cant dance, but the alcohol had me thinking otherwise.

Before Cello and I could walk across the street, we made out like 13 year olds outside the bar. I couldn't stop thinking about him singing just for me. He was so sweet, so romantic, so wonderful. The alcohol, the singing, the entire night had me feeling love drunk. Me + love drunk = hot mess... but at the time, I had no idea.

We met up with his friends, started dancing, and were having a great time. I excuse myself to go to the little girls room. After all those drinks, I needed to make a deposit in the pee bank. I was wearing a dress that night, which means I had on my secret weapon - SPANX. I know, false advertisement, but with all this junk in the trunk, you should thank me for wearing SPANX to keep everything in it's place!

For those that don't know... SPANX are a godsend. They're like a contraption/corset all in one. When you pull them out of the box, they're about 43 sizes too small for you. With determination and a lot of bouncing, you maneuver your way into the doll size shorts and magically, your jiggly parts are safely tucked away. Taking SPANX off to make potty is easy. Putting them back on when you're drunk and sweaty ... disaster.

All I remember is struggling to pull my SPANX back up my giant ass. I started to freak out. I contemplated just taking them off and tossing them in my purse. But, being drunk, I figured I should just take a breath, relax, and try again.

I should never listen to my drunk self. I took a breath, started tugging, and out of nowhere, my drunk jiggling ass slipped. My hands were pulling my SPANX up, so when I slipped, the only way to brace my fall was with my beautiful face. But first, I hit the bathroom door. Dead on. With my forehead.

The bathroom stalls started to shake. The girls in the bathroom asked if I was ok. I was mortified. I managed to pull up those god forsaken shorts of death and tried to hurry out the bathroom. While washing my hands, I was trying not to make eye contact with anyone. I didn't even look in the mirror til a random girl asked me if my head hurt.

One look in the mirror and I knew my amazing date was over. I had a welt the size of a golf ball on my forehead. I had hit my head SO hard on the door that my forehead was red, bulging, and not first date appropriate!

I did what any love drunk girl would do. I found Cello, told him someone hit me in the bathroom. Then I cried in his arms. I made him vow to never leave me alone - not even for a second. He agreed. My hero.

Lesson Learned:

When wearing SPANX, cut a hole in the crotch. It just might save your life.

PS... don't cut the hole WHILE wearing your SPANX... take them off first. You'll thank me later.

Aloha Spirit

Spending 8 days in paradise makes you realize that there are some things that money can buy. For example, money can buy endless amounts of Mai Tai's while tanning on the beaches of Waikiki. It can also buy spam, shaved ice, and a bunch of souvenirs to bring home to your jealous friends. Some people use their money to travel while others spend it on designer clothes or purses. I'm not one to judge, especially when it comes to how others spend their money, but one thing I know is that if you don't have any teeth, you shouldn't spend your money on frozen yogurt.

I just spent 8 days in Honolulu. 8 glorious days filled with nothing but fun in the sun. 8 days of smiling or batting my eyes at some of the most exotic men I've ever seen. My one goal while in Hawaii - make out with a big Hawaiian man.

The first few days in Hawaii were filled with endless activities. I didn't have the chance to scout out a hot Hawaiian hook-up. Finally, on a quieter day, I decided to walk to the International Market to pick up gifts for my friends and family.

Shopping always makes me thirsty. I think it has something to do with all that cardio... you know: walking + holding bags = cardio. I decide to stop for a little treat - Dole Pineapple Frozen Yogurt. As I'm ordering, I see the most beautiful Hawaiian man I've ever seen. He was tan, topless, and had the greenest eyes. He was gorgeous. All he needed was a grass skirt and a stick with flames on both ends, and I'd be in Hula Heaven. He sat down right behind me, and while I was ordering, started to talk to me. I was too excited and flustered to look at this Hawaiian Hunk of love, so I focused on the fro-yo lady in front of me.

As I paid for my fro-yo, he asked me where I was from, how long I was in town for, what my name was. After the sweet lady hands me my precious fro-yo, I finally turn around to stare into my soon to be Hawaiian lovers sparkling green eyes. I smile. He smiles back.

He has no upper teeth.

By no upper teeth, I don't mean he was missing just one tooth. He was straight gums on top. Like a turtle. A big, tan, handsome, Hawaiian turtle. With no teeth. This was tragic.



I finally found someone I wanted to throw myself at and he has no teeth. Just my luck. I pretended that my phone rang, and walked away, quickly. I walked back to my hotel, eating my Fro-yo, wondering what I had done to deserve a toothless hottie. Karma can be a real b@$^&.

Lesson Learned:

Don't travel all the way to Hawaii to kiss a toothless man. There's a bunch at the senior center down the street just waiting for you to lick their gums.

To cuddle or Not to cuddle

Don't confuse me with the rest of the girls you know. I hate cuddling. I hate spooning. I think it's pointless. It just makes people sweaty and restless.

Cuddling is not something I want to do for hours. I'm sorry if this offends you. It's not that I wont do it, but there are limits, people!! For about 10 minutes, I can cuddle. After that, I'd like for you to return to your designated side of the bed. I just know that after about 10 minutes, I get hot and sweaty, which leads to cranky and irritable, and no one wants to hug an angry Middle Eastern. Trust me. Just like making out, eventually, you need to come up for air.

Most of my friends tell me that they love to cuddle, spoon, embrace with their men. Just hearing such stories gives me the heebie-jeebies. Quality cuddling is not determined by time, but the connection shared between two people. It's about sharing a moment. Pulling someone close to you, breathing with them, and for a brief moment, allowing your souls to connect. Then you let go. Falling asleep while pretzeled with someone else is not comfortable. I like to sleep on my stomach. Unless you want me to sleep directly on top of you, get your dingy, cuddle-loving hands off of me.

Usually, men get a bad rep when it comes to being affectionate. I think there's nothing wrong with cuddling, I'm sure some men love it, and there's nothing better than feeling your man's strong arms wrapped around you. But when there's a man in your bed, he needs to be free, in case an intruder comes in to steal your organs and sell them on the black market. He needs to be free and untangled to protect you.

There's nothing more sexy than a man who isn't afraid of being the little spoon, letting me wrap my arms around him and allowing me to be the protective love shell... then letting go after my obligatory 10 minutes.

Summary: Cuddling is stupid. Don't touch me.

Making it Rain

Drought (n): A period of time without a boyfriend or love interest. Basically, no sexy time. A drought can drive a person mad. Symptoms of drought are hooking up with ugly and toothless men.

My dating life was as dry as Ghandi's flip-flops, so I decided to increase the probability of rain. I decided to venture into the world of Online Dating. It's been a few weeks, Ive met a few men, and I thought it was only fair to document my findings.


Dimples:

Dimples is built like the man of my dreams. He's a corn-fed, rough neck, totally adorable linebacker who I wanted to ride into the sunset. Til the first time we kissed. It was like kissing my grandpa or a turtle. I was blinded by his dimples, his muscles, and his charm ... but not blinded enough to want to kiss a grandpa again.

Smurf:

Finally, a man that was going to take me out to a nice dinner and get to know me before asking me to send him half naked pictures of myself. Smurf showed up to dinner in the brightest blue shirt you've ever seen. Matching shoes and all. He spent damn near 200 bucks to get me drunk, feed me, and tell me I smell good, like fried rice, when we left the restaurant. 10 minutes after I left, he texted me "When can I see you naked?" I responded with "When your sneakers don't match your shirt, you nasty Smurf."

Arizona:

Everyone loves Arizona Iced-Tea, especially on a hot day. Definitely a thirst quencher. I never actually met Arizona. The reason we never met? We had talked on the phone a few times, he seemed normal, we had things to talk about, he made me laugh. The day we were supposed to meet, he sent me a picture of his man-tool next to an Arizona Iced-Tea can with "Thirsty?" as the caption. No. I've never been thirsty in my life. And now, I hate both Arizona and Iced-Tea. Jerk.

Shaq:

Every girl loves an athlete. Shaq played semi-pro basketball, was lean and strong, and had a smile that made me crazy. Shaq also had a broken foot. So, going on dates with him was fun. Tall, sexy, and in a walking boot. If at any point, he was being weird, I could kick his foot and run. We went to Dave & Buster's only for him to beat me at all the basketball games. DUH. You play professionally. We could have frosted cupcakes but I'd have an unfair advantage. He didn't let me win. I didn't let him see me again.

Snuggle:

Snuggle looked just like Nick Cannon. I was excited to be his Mariah Carey. He was sweet, laid back, and was a perfect gentleman in the beginning. After two dates, he started to text me over 20 times a day and always wanted to know where I was. He was too clingy. I gave him a box of dryer sheets and told him to kick rocks.

Lessons Learned:

Online dating doesn't increase chances of finding someone special. It increases the chance of finding someone weird, perverted, or someone who dresses like a cartoon. Just stay inside. It's a crazy world out there!

The Glamorous Life

Some girls are born to date the rich and famous, to be wined and dined and treated like queens. I thought I was one of those girls. I sometimes still think I am one of those girls. But I've definitely learned my lesson.

I've always had a thing for linebackers. Not only are they big, but it's like having security with you everywhere you go. I love big boys so imagine just how happy I was when I met Truck. There's definitely a stereotype attached with dating football players. They're players, cheaters, they kill dogs, etc... but I wasn't worried.

Truck had a little more depth to him than most defensive linemen. We would speak of our families, values, morals, all things NOT football. That's why I was so excited for our first real date.

He had often spoke of the amazing things he'd experienced, the type of lifestyle he lived, and how he was the most romantic man I'd ever find. I was so intrigued. I didn't want to get my hopes up, but I was imagining the most amazing first date possibilities. Dinner someone where fancy, perhaps going to one of the more exclusive clubs for drinks, maybe even a private helicopter ride over the Golden Gate Bridge?? There's no harm in dreaming big and really, it's not my fault I have a very active imagination.

I met up with Truck for our first date. He said was going to take me to a place where we could relax, talk, and enjoy each other.

We didn't go far.

He opened the back door of his truck. Hesitant, I got in. There were two big TV monitors... Like the kind parents have for their kids when on a long road trip. But his were built into the headrests, like a true pimp. The glow from the monitors made everything a little more romantic but I wasn't sure if he got into the backseat with me because he had a driver, or because we were just going to sit back there. I prayed for the best.

My prayers were not heard, so we continued to sit in the back of his truck. With the glow of his TV monitors, he could see that I was confused. He decided to turn on some music to lighten to mood. Romantic r&b songs are great, especially when trying to woo the confused. But not when the subwoofer in the back of the truck is as big as a fridge. The bass rumbled my brain. This was NOT the date I had imagined. There was no Moet flowing from the sky, no 5 star chef asking me how I like my Filet Mignon, not even close.

After almost 30 minutes in the backseat bungalow of love, I realized that we were not going anywhere, I was not going to be wined or dined, and that this hunk of burning love was nothing more than a dud... a really big dud.

Needless to say, no touchdowns were scored that night.

My head's a little too small for my body. I know. Dont judge me.

Lesson Learned:

Just because he's a football player doesn't mean he knows the rules to the game. Always hate the player. It's not the game's fault the player is a dud.

Feelin Spiritual!

Some people eat oysters to get in the mood. Others bust out the champagne, strawberries, and whip cream. Muffin and I don't need anything fancy. Just some good ol' Gospel music to put us in the mood.

Muffin is FINE. Tall, dark, and so handsome it hurts in my special parts whenever I see him. Not only is he one of the most handsome men I've ever met, but he is by far the most genuine. Smart, funny, so thoughtful... he has the tendency to melt away my worst days with his smile.

I decided to invite Muffin to one of my brother's Gospel Choir performances. We made the drive up to Davis and along the way we listened to the random songs on my iPod, saw a fire, and stopped for beer. The gospel performance was fun. We sang our praises to Jesus, said Amen a few times, and clapped til our cheery, God-loving hearts were filled with the Holy Spirit.

After the performance, my family, some of my brother's friends and me and my Muffin head to get some fro-yo. Everyone is standing outside, talking, having a good time. I catch myself just looking at Muffin. Who would have thought that we'd be at a gospel choir concert in Davis with my family?!?! Not me. He looked so comfortable around my crazy family that I couldn't help but smile. Even my extremely high strung mother was falling for his charm. That's when I knew... I was gonna rock his world on the drive home.

I'd like to think of myself as a badass. I'm not shy. I'm not afraid of being wild. So on the drive back, I found myself attached to his love part... with my face. Good thing I have tinted windows because I was going for gold!! Most men don't realize that the best type of girl to go down on your love stick is a extra sexy, thicker than a snicker, big girl! We are always hungry. We know how to use our mouths. We will gobble you up like our life depends on it. And that's just what I did. Gobble Gobble.

All that singing about God and the Holy Ghost had turned our passion into something ferocious. It was almost 1 am when we pulled into his office. Before I knew it, I found myself in the main conference room, laying on a table. The only other time I found myself doing something illegal at work, I ended up breaking the table and blaming the cleaning people...so I was a little nervous. But the only breaking that was done this night was Muffin... breakin' me off!!

I left Muffin's office completely satisfied but a tad bit confused. I never would have imagined that going to a Gospel concert, singing praises to my Sweet Baby Jesus, and spending time with my family would turn me into such a predator. The next day, Muffin texts me asking what had gotten into me.

My response: Must have been the Holy Ghost.

Lesson Learned:

Love is patient. Love is Kind. But sometimes, Love is all kinds of wild! Grrrrr!

Compared To Cattle

Imagine that a tall, handsome, Turkish male model is talking to you. Imagine that this gorgeous man is buying you one tequila shot after another. Now imagine that you've just turned 21 and it's one of your first few nights out on the town.

Gobble was absolutely gorgeous. Quite possibly the most beautiful man that has ever spoken to me in real life (as opposed to the many gorgeous men who frequently speak to me in my dreams.) Gobble worked at his brothers restaurant, was just a few years older than me, and his Turkish accent and green eyes mesmerized my soul. Gobble could have asked me to do just about anything and I would have gladly obliged.

From what I can remember of the night, Gobble kept me busy with funny stories and shot glasses filled with Patron. One after another, I took them back, as though I'd win a medal in the Drinking Olympics. I was going for gold. He should have just put a straw in a Patron bottle. It would have been more efficient.

My cousin's girlfriend was my wing-man for the night. We all drank. We were all merry. The last thing I remember is Gobble taking us all for a drive in his convertible Mercedes after we left the bar.

The rest is a blur. I woke up the next morning in a hotel room with my cousin's girlfriend laying next to me. In the bed next to us, there were two men. I woke up my cousin's girlfriend to ask her where we were. Just as she starts to answer my questions, I see a veil on the dresser across from the bed.

"Who got married?" I shrieked with excitement! "You did, silly!" she replies. Excuse me, but the last time I was awake, I was single. And flirting with a hot Turkish man. Now, I'm married? This is far too much to comprehend in my drunken haze.

Seeing as how I'm not the quietest person, I made enough noise to wake the hot Turkish brothers. Once Gobble explains to me that we did get married, I begin to freak out. I don't even know this man. He may have the most beautiful green eyes I've seen, a jaw so perfectly chiseled that God must have used his best tools, and a smile so bright that it lit up my soul - but I could not have possibly married him. I'm not a reckless person. There was no way I'd allow this to happen.

When it finally settles in that I was, in fact, a reckless and married idiot, I called my father. "Dad, I accidentally got married in Reno. What should I do?" I was terrified to hear his response. "If he got you to Reno, he needs to get you home." That's all he said. He must be mad. At this point, I'd much rather stay in Reno than go home to face my disappointed father.

The almost 4 hour drive home seems like 4 days. When he dropped me off, Gobble tried to explain the situation to my father.

Gobble needed a green card. He was going to be deported if I got an annulment. My father didn't seem to care. Before I knew it, it was Monday morning and I was in San Francisco, in front of a judge, waiting for my turn to annul my spontaneous, drunken, totally awesome wedding to the hottest man I'd ever met.

When it was our turn, my father turned to the judge and asked if he could say something. "Your honor, I'd just like to say that if I had bought a cow and raised it, it would have been smarter than her."

When your father declares to the world, in a thick Persian accent, that livestock is more intelligent than you, you pretty much know you're a useless human being. "Are you sure you cant put her in jail to teach her a lesson?" I was mortified.

Not only did my father want to imprison me, but I would never marry such a beautiful man again.



Lesson learned:

When you drunkenly marry a male model with green eyes, don't tell your dad. He'll send him back to Turkey.

Double Trouble

There's one thing that I just can't live without: ice cream. I love ice cream. So it's only natural for me to want to date the ice cream man.

Push-Pop was a sweet guy. Best of all, he drove a truck around all day that had tons of ice cream in it. HEAVEN!!

After a few months of dating and endless amounts of ice cream, my ass started to resemble a truck. So sexy, I know. It was finally time for Push-Pop to meet some of my friends. One random night, he was out with his boys, I was out with my girls, so we decided to meet up at a club downtown.

My two sidekicks and I made our way to meet Push-Pop and his friends. We drank, danced, and had a great time. At the end of the night, we decided to stop at our favorite taqueria for some late night sustenance... La Victoria's. We got the best taco's and quesadillas money could buy, at 2 am, and went back to Push-Pop's place.

As the girls and I drenched our tacos with the famous Orange Sauce, Push-Pop spent most of the time in the bathroom. After finishing our food, the sleepies kicked in, so I decided to find my precious Push-Pop to tell him we'd be leaving.

I went to the bathroom and knocked on the door. He hadn't shut it all the way so the door opened. I believe in keeping some things mysterious in relationships. There was no part of me that wanted to see Push-Pop on the toilet. He was silent when I called his name. I opened the door all the way to find him on the floor. My precious Push-Pop was on the floor of the bathroom, his pants around his ankles.

I was terrified. I don't remember him drinking that much. He had like 2 beers. Hell, he drove us home! I had no idea what was wrong with him. So I did what any loving girlfriend would do, I kicked him. (Do you think the Devil will allow me a small fan in hell?)

He turns to look at me. We stare at each other for a few seconds, until the stench Push-Pop had created reaches me and I'm now covering my nose and mouth.

"Are you ok?? What happened? Why are you on the ground? Are you drunk? What's wrong with you???" He just laid there looking at me.

Finally, he sat up, and spoke. "I was going to the bathroom, you know, number 2. Then I threw up. Then I fell down."

I couldn't help it. I started laughing hysterically. Who does that?? He wasn't even drunk! I couldn't stop laughing and this angered my dear Push-Pop. He slammed the door in my face. I couldn't even stop laughing long enough to tell him we were leaving.

I gathered the girls, still laughing, and we left.

I got a text while driving home: "You just left me?" I responded: "You poo'd and threw up at the same time. Then fell down. It's gonna take me a while to get that vision out of my head."

Then he responded with the most cruel thing anyone has ever texted me: "No more ice cream for you!"

Not the actual Push-Pop ... or is it????

Lesson Learned:

When the Ice Cream man is sick and has fallen, do whatever it takes to help him! Your ice cream inventory depends on it!

Gimme the Oldies!

I have a confession to make: I like older men.

Some have said that I have an "old soul". Others have said that I seem far too wise for my years. Whatever the reason, I've always had a thing for those old geezers. When I was 19, I dated a man who was 43. I've even had a 2 year relationship with a man 14 years older than me. I've actually never dated anyone remotely close to my age, now that I think about it.

Here are the 5 things you need to know to be more Catherina Zeta Jones and less Anna Nicole Smith:

1. Weekends are for his kids.

Chances are if your man has gray hair, he also has children. When dating an older man, expect to be wined and dined every other weekend and rarely during the holidays. The times he's not with you, he's with the kids. God forbid little Charlie chips a tooth or breaks a bone, you will become a distant memory. Even more frightening are the evil children who resent you for dating their father. Those are the ones they make scary movies of. Be weary... always carry pepper spray.

2. Old = Stubborn

He's been on earth much longer than you. He probably knows what he's talking about. He wont listen to anything you have to say, because let's face it, he's been there and done that. Your old man will always seem stubborn and set in his ways. His past experiences will dictate your future, so be sure to pick an old man with amnesia or memory loss.

3. Medicare

Once you start dating the gray haired hotties, you must constantly be aware of lurking medical conditions. He might not be able to mix alcohol with his medicine, or maybe he just cant eat the killer Gumbo you made because of his cholesterol. No one can stop the inevitable. That's why when you sense he's taking a turn for the worse, you marry him! Sans pre-nup! (Im kidding?? Or am I...)

4. Generational Gaps

To you, "Ice-T" is a hip hop artist. To him, it's a beverage served best when cold. This will be frustrating. Imagine trying to defend your love for liquid leggings or even your beloved Lady Gaga CD... he's just not going to get it. And neither will you when he starts talking about life before the creation of the light bulb.

5. Sexy Time

What you lose in quantity, you gain in quality. There is nothing better than an experienced, fully knowledgeable, and totally mature lover. Be sure to plan accordingly. If after he's pleased you in every way imaginable, he experiences side effects that last more than 4 hours, take him to the emergency room. It's only fair.

People will mistake him for your father. Some people will applaud him for pulling a younger woman. Some people will try to set you both on fire. However, if there's one thing you should take from this, it's that men get better with age.

So stop being a cougar and date an old man. Before he dies.

Thong, th-thong, thong, thong!

When dating, sharing becomes an essential part of getting to know each other. You share parts of yourself, your likes/dislikes, your dreams, your body, etc. You, however, should not share underwear.

Skivvy was one of the first guys I ever dated. I was young, naive, and had not yet learned the ins and outs of dating. I thought Skivvy was cool. He drove a Jeep, was a Senior in high school (I was a Sophomore), and one time, I saw him drink a beer. In my eyes, there was nothing more desirable than Skivvy.

I met Skivvy in a parking lot. A well lit parking lot outside of the neighborhood Safeway. When you're in high school, that's where you hang out. After a few weeks of hanging out with friends, in random parking lots, Skivvy asked me to hang out at his house.

It was raining that day - full on El Nino storm type of rain. He didn't live far from my house, so after school, I walked to his... In the torrential storm... I was soaked. By the time I got there, I looked like a wet dog. Cute, I know. But what do you do to a wet dog? You dry it and make it warm!! (Even back then I was always coming up with ways to get frisked)

Skivvy offered me a change of clothes. I changed into his sweatpants and his favorite sweatshirt while he played video games in the den. I yelled out to him that I needed a pair of socks. He told me to go into the top drawer of his dresser.

I'm not the type of person who goes through people's things. I don't look in people's medicine cabinets or bathroom cupboards. I don't pretend to drop things in their nightstand, only to dig around and snoop. Just not my style. So when he told me to go into his drawer, I was nervous.

I opened the drawer. The drawer was filled with white socks. When I grabbed a pair, I grabbed a little something extra. A navy blue thong. Not a woman's thong. A real, live, man thong. I only know the difference because a man's thong has like weird saggy pouch area for... well you know what its for.

I was soooo disgusted. I touched his underwear. But not just underwear, his sexy unmentionables. I shut the drawer in disgust. I didn't know what to do. Something came over me and before I knew it, I was elbow deep in the drawer, looking for more thongs. I found 5. Skivvy had a total of 5 man thongs. I was mortified.

At that age, I think I only had 1 thong and that was because I stole it. There was no way my mother was going to be ok with me wearing a thong. So this guy, had more thongs than I did. It was just too much to handle. After a while, Skivvy decided to check on me. I was sitting on his bed, in his sweats, my hair still dripping wet, holding one of his thongs.

I just looked at him. He looked at me. Totally awkward. After what felt like hours of staring at each other, Skivvy finally spoke. "Did you need to borrow underwear too?"



Lesson Learned:

Stay away from men who like to wear pretty panties. It never ends well with those guys.

Get it girl!

Some men call me charming. Others call me manipulative. Doesn't matter what you call me, as long as I get what I want.

In my years of seducing the opposite sex, I've mastered a few techniques and I owe it to the world to share it with ya'll.

Here are my tricks to getting what you want in a relationship.

1. Always ask for things when naked.

Most men will agree to just about anything if you're putting it on them right. Men will make life altering decisions when you're giving them the good stuff. There's no better time to ask a man to take the trash out then after making sweet lovin' to him - and while he's at it, he can wash not only your car, but your mama's too.

2. When his favorite team is playing, keep your mouth shut.

For a man, there's nothing more romantic than when his woman leaves the house when his favorite team is playing. Letting him cheer, scream, or even cry in peace will not only make him grateful for his space, but he will appreciate you so much more when you return. With shopping bags full of things he just unknowingly bought you...

3. Gender roles keep things kosher!

Your man had a bad day? Long day at work? His favorite team lost? He sprained his ankle while shooting hoops with the boys? Put your apron on and cook something. Dinner, some dessert, and not bombarding him with questions the minute he walks through the door will not only make him happy, but I guarantee he'll be the one wanting to cuddle and talk all night. That way, it's not your fault if you forgot to mention the new dent in the car's bumper.

4. Tune me out.

Men lack the necessary genes for multitasking. Most men tend to tune their women out when doing other things, like playing video games, or even breathing. Recognize this and make demands only you'll remember. He'll be forced to do what you asked later because he wont remember saying he wouldn't do it. But remember to thank him, profusely for being so helpful. If by the grace of God his memory clears; deny, deny, deny.

Every woman deserves four pets in her life. A mink in the closet, a jaguar in the garage, a tiger in bed and a jackass to pay for it all.

I like boys.

I'm boy crazy. I think I was born this way. My first words might have been "Damn mama, that baby boy is all kinds of sexy! Do you think he wants to see whats in my diaper???" I love looking at men, talking about them, growling at them. A man walks into the room - I'm the first one to notice. It's just how I roll.

To balance out my last blog about deal breakers, I thought I'd share with ya'll my 5 most favorite things about men.

1. Shower Time

I love when a man uses my body wash. When a man smells like my Midnight Pomegranate or Armani Diamonds shimmering body wash, I want to bury my face and sniff his now super soft and lavish body. Men are supposed to smell like Old Spice but every now and then, I love a man who smells like sugar and spice. But, start using my body wash everyday and we're gonna have a problem. Don't get it twisted.

2. Security

Scary movies - you let us dig our nails into your thighs. Bar fights - when someone tries to break a Corona bottle on our heads, you break their necks. Nothing says love like defending us in bar fights.

3. Huggies

I love to hug men. Not because I'm a pervert, not because I like to press my chest on people for shits-n-giggles, but because it just feels right. There's nothing better than manly strong arms wrapped around our bodies. Wait, I take that back. There's nothing better than you hugging me when covered in chocolate frosting. Oh em gee, it's bananas!!

4. Furbies

A man with stubble on his face drives me absolutely wild. I like to scratch my palms on stubbly cheeks. And when we're done kissing, I dont need to exfoliate my face. While sometimes it causes irritation and makes me bleed, it's still so sexy to run my hands across a stubbly, lumberjack-chic man face.

5. Chivalry

I have arms, I can open my own doors. I can walk on the outside of the street and get hit by a car first, trust me. I know how to drive, you dont have to pick me up as though I'm 12 years old. The fact that men go out of their way to show us that they want to take care of us, that's got to be my all time favorite thing about them. It just shows me that if I were to lose my arm or license, I could count on you. So sweet.


Men are simple creatures. You can almost always count on them to fix your car, they're really good at answering yes or no questions, and it doesn't matter how many times they've seen you naked, but every time is like the first time.

Thank heaven for little boys. *


* Little boys meaning those over 18 years of age.

Deal Breakin'

Some of us want a man too sexxxy for his shirt. Some want a man so sexxxy it hurts. Then there's those who just want a man with all his teeth and limbs.

All of us have deal-breakers. I made a list of mine:

1. Dirty Fingernails

There's something absolutely repulsive about dirty fingernails. Especially if those nails belong on the hand of the man who wants to hold my clean finger nailed hand. I'm not saying that I want a man with perfect cuticles and weekly manicures, but the black festering darkness in your nails has got to go if you even want to think about putting your hands anywhere on this body.

2. Bad Teeth

Not everyone grew up with a dad in the dental field and I understand that not everyone can afford braces, zoom whitening, etc etc etc... However, if brushing and flossing your teeth is something you only do the day before your annual dental exam, please feel free to use your mouth on someone else. Like maybe a tree.

3. Pathetic Wuss

Some girls like men who like to cuddle. Some girls like dating men who wear pink lacy underwear. I, however, like to date REAL men. Hairy, sweaty, rough and rugged (but clean finger nailed), aggressive, passionate MEN who grunt, spit, swear, and can kill with their bare hands (if necessary). If the sound of gunshots scare you, go away. If it turns turns you on, please send me an email. I think I love you.

4. Bad Joker

Every girl wants a man that makes them laugh. No woman wants to constantly laugh at their man. Unless he's George Lopez, Dane Cook, Jim Carey, Russel Peters... you get the picture. If you're the butt of all my jokes, how will I ever learn to look past your stupidity and love you? If your jokes cause Lung Cancer, Heart Disease, Emphysema, or may complicate Pregnancy, I will refer to you as the weakest link. Goodbye.

5. The Player

I don't want to date an ugly man, duh. When another woman flirts with my man, I take it as a compliment. Until my man thinks that he can flirt back with the low-down, dirty, monkey with a wig on. If you feel the need to date everyone and their mothers, I'm sorry to inform you that mine is happily married and that's not how we roll.


If only I could find a man who could kill zombies in his sleep, decapitate evil with a swing of his light saber, throw me over his shoulder to carry me over puddles, fire two Uzis at the same time while driving a Mac truck through a mine field, I'd be the luckiest girl alive. And the safest.

I mean really, is that too much to ask for??

Mission Valentine

Most of my blogs are from dates that I went on a while ago, only a couple are recent. This tale is about LAST NIGHT.

Being single on Valentine's Day leaves 3 options: Send a mass text message to the men in your phone and hope one will take you out, stay home all alone and hate the world, or go out with your friends to make fun of the couples out to celebrate the day of love.

Naturally, I rounded up the girls for a Valentine's Day lunch and then spent the rest of the day with my bestest friend. Our mission = find a Valentine before midnight. We decided to stay local and check out the dive and sports bar. We figured that's where the single men would be hanging out.

We were wrong.

After 4 tries, we gave up looking and found ourselves at an Irish Pub. We decided we'd set up shop and hope the Sweet Baby Jesus would send men directly to us. There were a few couples enjoying drinks together, good music, the Olympic games were on the TV's and most impressive of all, there was a child, with a pacifier in his mouth, sitting at the bar... drinking from a plastic cup. This place was awesome.

My bestie kept trying to seduce a handsome Irish man. She'd give him the "come-hither" look, the "I want to give you a baby" look, and she even tried the "I'll even make you breakfast" look. His thick Irish accent, the way he chugged Guinness and his eagerness to curse had my bestie all kinds of riled up. We soon figured out that he had a gremlin looking girlfriend. UGH. Abort, abort!!

When filling your bladder with all kinds of liquor, one frequents the restroom. On a trip back from the little girl's room, a Ray-J look a like grabbed my hand as I walked by and smiled at me. I kept on keepin on to my table, where my bestie and vodka waited for me. We had two options, continue drinking alone, or make friends with Ray-J and his friends in hopes that they'd be our Valentines. Naturally, I decide to attack.

I walk up to the bar, near the boys, while one, we'll call him Giggles, orders a Mimosa. I ask why he'd be drinking a breakfast drink at night. He called Ray-J over and told him that I called his favorite drink a breakfast beverage. Ray-J came up to me with all his swagger / smooth talking nonsense and told me he loves to drink Mimosa's anytime of the day. I told him that I only drink them with pancakes, for breakfast.

He then said "Girrrrrrl, I'd love to pour syrup all over you for breakfast." This could be the man of my dreams. I love me some pancakes. Mostly because of the syrup. Giggles and Ray-J join my bestie and I. I'm excited that we might have found ourselves some Valentines. It's 11:30PM. Mission almost successful.

Giggles and Ray-J are all over us. Think Lifetime Movie kind of situation where it's almost like weird soft porn. I've never had a man randomly lick my face my at a bar. I'm pretty sure my bestie has never had a man give her a deep tissue massage at a bar either. I wasn't going to complain, since, well, they were cute, smart, and totally entertaining. Ray-J works as an analyst for Google while Giggles was a professional Drummer and toured all over the world.

One thing leads to another and somehow we're walking out the back door of the bar, supposedly to play pool at my bestie's house. They ask me to give them a ride to their cars which are just down the street. These two random men, that we just met, that we definitely don't want to have to see naked, are now in my car. I haven't had the chance to tell bestie that I don't want to go through with this, but I figure once they're out of the car, we can talk it out.

We drop them off at their cars and they begin to talk to each other about who's going to drive, who's going to leave their Escalade at the bar, etc. I ask my bestie.... "Should we ditch them?!"

When she said it was up to me, I crept past the boys, as to not make it look like I was evading. I drove down the street, made a right at the light and then booked it like a bat out of hell all the way to safety.

By safety, I mean the Taco Bell drive-thru.

Lesson Learned:

Looking for love on Valentine's Day is a bad idea. Just shut it down. There's always next year.

Touch me, Dr. Love!

In my quest to reduce the size of my ass, I paid a ridiculous amount of money for a personal trainer at the gym. My trainer was short, skinny, and totally annoying. She was 21, talked about how she loved to run for miles, and would point out all the men she had dated at the gym. Like I cared. Stop talking and make my ass smaller, lady!!

Being chubby does not mean I'm weak. I used to play sports growing up, I can still run a mile faster than most of my friends, and I can bench press midgets. My trainer saw just how strong I was and began to work me out as thought I was training for the Olympics. She started to have me do things that she would do herself to stay in shape. Things which included jumping on and off a large stool.

Chubby girls should not jump off of stools. Or anything, for that matter. I jumped and ended up tearing my MCL. I spent the next month limping, not able to bend my knee, and in constant pain. After almost 6 weeks, I finally gave in and went to see the Orthopedic Surgeon. My insurance allowed me to pick the doctor I wanted to see, so I picked the cutest one. We shall call him Dr. Love.

He was tall, handsome, from Chicago, and a surgeon. I couldn't wait for him to touch my knee. My first appointment consisted of a lot of giggling and seduction ... with my eyes. At the end of my appointment, Dr. Love asked if I was Persian. How could he know such a thing? His response: "You have big, beautiful, Persian eyes." He totally wants me, YES!

Before I left, he placed his hand on my shoulder, told me to take care of my knee and that he'd see me again in two weeks. I had two weeks to figure out how to make him love me.

For my second appointment, I had an agenda. My knee was not getting any better and I had a girl's weekend trip to Las Vegas coming up. I needed a shot of cortisone. I knew Dr. Love was against it, he thought I was too young, blah blah blah, but when baby wants something, baby gets it.

I wore a dress to my appointment (easy access to the knee. duh). I made sure to smile, undress him with my eyes, and hang on every word he said. He didn't want to inject me, but I told him he was the only doctor I trusted, the only man that could heal me, my one and only knight in shining armor. He gave in. I had him wrapped around my finger and broken knee and it was only my second appointment.

As he was injecting, I told him that every time he touches my knee, he touches a special place in my heart. Dr. Love giggled. He looked me in the eyes and said "I didn't know the heart was connected to the knee bone!"

We talked for almost 20 minutes about growing up in Chicago, how we love Las Vegas, and our favorite buffets. He put his hand on my shoulder, almost giving me a hug, and told me to have a great time and come back to see him in a few weeks.

I went to Vegas with my friends, had a blast, and my knee didn't bother me one bit the entire time. I got home, printed out a picture of me and the girls, and put it in a card that read:

Dear Dr. Love,

Thank you so much for injecting me. My trip to Las Vegas with the girls was great! You had me feeling like a million bucks. Feel free to call me anytime, when you're not in the office."

I left my phone number, spritzed the card with my perfume, and sent it to my future lover.

Dr. Love called 5 days later. I almost dropped the phone when I heard his voicemail. I waited a few days before returning his call - gotta keep him on his toes! He thanked me for my thoughtful card and wanted to take me to dinner so he could hear all about my trip.

You'd think that an experienced surgeon, who runs a hospital in Uganda in his spare time, has worked with multiple NFL teams, and has performed rare operations, would be cocky, spend the entire time bragging, or just be downright arrogant. Not Dr. Love. He was boring.

In an effort to woo me, in a non bragging kind of way, he didn't speak of any of the cool things he did. He told me of his love for reading next to the fireplace, spending weekends in Aspen and drinking wine, and how he loved the ocean. SIGH.

I had spent years praying to my sweet Baby Jesus to send me a doctor to marry. A tall, dark, handsome doctor. He finally sends me the doctor and forgets to give him a personality.

Lesson Learned:

When praying for your dream man. Be very specific.

Ex: Dear Baby Jesus,

Please send me a 6 foot tall man, with all his teeth and limbs. One who doesn't drink too much and only swears at the TV. Please baby Jesus, let him be a doctor, funny, and have a soft spot for Chihuahuas. Oh, and make sure he washes his hands. Amen.