You're a big pickle.

I'm pretty aggressive. Not just in a physical, rub me down with oil and let's start wrestling kind of way, but also in my mannerisms, attitude, and general personality. I'm almost always assertive, bold, and extremely outgoing. Some men love it. Some men wish they'd never met me.

Gerkin was always afraid of me. I think, deep down, he wanted to see if he was man enough to handle me. He would always make comments about how tough I was, how he was afraid I'd kick him, or that he was scared of me. I thought it was cute; how meek and vulnerable that Gerkin was.

When Gerkin looked at me, he saw Xena Warrior Princess of Doom. When I looked at Gerkin, I saw a baby bird, waiting for it's mother to spit chewed up worms into his mouth. But I guess what they say is true - opposites attract.

When Gerkin and I hung out, it usually involved food. I tried to get him to do other things. I'd ask if he wanted to bowl, maybe shoot some pool, even pretend we know how to play darts ... he just wanted to take me to dinner. I think he was afraid I'd beat him at anything other than eating.

One day, Gerkin decided he would pick me up from work on my lunch break. He had brought sandwiches. We drove to a little park off the shores to enjoy the cute little lunch my Gerkin had made. With our sandwiches, Gerkin packed us a pickle each. The kind of pickles you buy at a baseball game, on the Eastside, on a hot day. The kind, so big, that the pickle itself becomes a meal.


Words of Advice: Don't image search for "Giant Pickle" ... just trust me. It's scary.

I take one of the two giant pickles and if my memory serves me right, I may have said something about my pickle being bigger than his. I'm not sure what he heard, or how he could have misinterpreted what I said, but Gerkin looked at me really confused. Then looked at his crotch. Then looked at my pickle. Then he spoke. "No, my pickle is definitely bigger."

Now, when looking at the two actual green pickles, that we were to eat, mine was bigger. When he said that his personal, hopefully not green, man-pickle was bigger, I was scared. I mean, who says that at lunch?!?! I'm trying to eat my sandwich, thank you.

I try not to laugh, throw up, or make any kind of facial expression that would let Gerkin know that he was weird. I continue to eat my sandwich because a.) I was starving b.) he made a pretty awesome sandwich and c.) the last thing I wanted to talk about while eating a real pickle, was his man-pickle.

We finished our lunch and I noticed that Gerkin never ate his pickle. Weird.

We get into his car and he reaches into the back seat, grabs the left over pickle, and says "You may think your pickle is bigger, but mine definitely wins." He then, grabbed his man-pickle, to compare to the green pickle, he was supposed to eat for lunch. AWKWARD.

I glanced only because it was the polite thing to do. I mean, if I didn't look, what if he pickle slapped me? I was scared. I just wanted to get away from Gerkin and his pickles. Clearly, this was a pissing contest. Just because I made one tiny comment, he felt the need to overcompensate, prove his manliness, and compare himself to a vegetable. After feeding me one.

I tell Gerkin he's right. His man pickle wins. Mine was a stupid pickle. My pickle was a mini dill pickle in comparison. Mine would be tossed out of the assembly line because it's a defected, too small, unwanted pickle. My pickle was so small, that I never had a pickle to begin with. He smiled, put both pickles away, and drove me back to work.

I have yet to eat a giant pickle since.

Lesson Learned:

If a man needs to prove to you that he's a man, he's not a man. He's just a pickle.

Rolaids Spells Relief

Allow me to paint a picture for you... I put on a tight black dress, cheetah print stilettos, straighten my hair, put on red lipstick and admire myself in the mirror, 20 minutes too long. I had a hot date. When I say hot, I'm talking jabenero hot. Muy caliente, super spicy, some kind of fiery gift sent directly from God, kind of hot.

I had never before dated a Cuban man. Pepino made me feel amazing. He made me feel like the most beautiful girl in the room. He always knew what to say and what to do to drive me wild. Pepino was trouble.

I had taken the day off of work to get ready for this date. I was a little nervous, but super excited. He was taking me salsa dancing. The only salsa I knew was the kind that comes in a jar. But, I was excited to try. I'm Middle Eastern. I was born to shake my hips, gyrate to loud music, while shrieking LELELELLE but I knew this was a different kind of dance. My belly dancing skills were not going to help me this time.

Looking my best, feeling nervous and excited, I waited for Pepino. He was 20 minutes late which balanced my 20 minutes of unnecessary self admiration. Pepino rings my doorbell, I take a deep breath, and I'm officially ready to dance. The dance of love. With my sweet Pepino.

He takes me to a restaurant that has a dance studio upstairs. We eat dinner, have a glass of wine, and before I know it, it's time to show him what I'm made of. Pepino excuses himself, goes to the restroom, and I walk upstairs to check out the scene.

The dance floor seems huge. There are mirrors everywhere. There is no place to hide. I strike up a conversation with the instructors telling them it's my first time. I tell them that my date, Pepino, is downstairs, but he's been here before and loves to dance. They know of the Pepino I speak of. They love Pepino. I just might also love Pepino. What a coincidence.

The class is about to begin and my Pepino is still no where to be found. One of the men in the class tells his chica that he's going to run to the bathroom and I ask him to check on my Pepino (Most men have heart attacks on the shitter, I was just being cautious!) After a few minutes, the man returns, without Pepino.

Me: "Was Pepino down there?"
Man: "Yes, but I think he's throwing up!"

I run downstairs and don't think twice about walking into the men's bathrooms. It's not my first time in one (Hey, the lines get really long for the women's bathroom, don't judge me). I hear someone puking their brains out. Poor Pepino, he must be really sick.

Me: "Pepino, do you need anything? Are you ok??"
Pepino: "Oh, I'm fine. I'll be done in a second. Don't worry"

I fetch my Pepino some water and by the time I return, he's washing his face. I try to talk him out of dancing. I don't want him to put up a front if he doesn't feel well. I instantly went from hot date, to persistent nurse when I saw how flushed my Pepino looked.

He promised me he was fine. He must have ate something bad. He wasn't going to let it ruin our night. What a trooper. We went upstairs to join the class. We dance. And you know what? I wasn't half bad. I doubt I'd win Dancing With The Stars, but there were people worse than me. Pepino was patient, he didn't get frustrated when I forgot the steps, went the wrong way, stepped on his foot, etc etc etc. He kept his hand on the small of my back, always kept me close, and for a while, I forgot that he had just puked his life away.

After the class ends, we thank the instructors, and Pepino goes to fetch our coats. Then, one of the instructors takes me to the side. Awkward. I must have been pretty bad if she wants to tell me something in private.

She leans in close and says "Pepino is bulimic. He always throws up dinner before dancing. That's why he was down there. I just thought you should know.

What is she talking about? This tall, handsome, extremely sensual, totally delicious man cannot be bulimic. It just cant be true.

We weren't even in the car for a few minutes before I question my fiery Pepino. I try not to be blunt, I want to be gentle since it's a sensitive subject, but if you know me, you know it's impossible for me to do such a thing.

Me: "Pepino... were you puking because you're bulimic?"
Pepino: "Why would you ask me that?"
Me: "The instructor pulled me aside to tell me. It's ok if you are, you don't have to be ashamed."
Pepino: "It's none of your business."

Uh oh, angry Pepino. The rest of the ride home is silent. We get to my house. I take my tight-black-dress wearing self to the front door, alone, as he drives off. A few days later, I call Pepino. No answer. What a rude bulimic.

About a week later, I get this email:

Dear Michelle,

I'm sorry I was not able to answer your question in the car. Yes, I have a problem. I hope that doesn't change how you feel about me. I'm sorry."

I respond:

Dear Pepino,

I really liked you before the instructor told me. It came as a surprise, but I was willing to work through it, with you, if you wanted to. I did not, however, like that you were a rude monkey. I cant date a man whose breath smells like puke. Nor can I, a woman who eats really well, date a man who cannot eat without puking. It's too bad cuz you were hot. Happy Purging."

Lesson Learned:

Spicy men may be hot, but they may cause upset-stomach, indigestion, diarrhea, etc. Always carry Pepto, Rolaids, or Milk of Magnisia with you. It will come in handy.

You Oughtta Know!

After sharing a few of my dates with ya'll, I find myself explaining how I met these men, time and time again.

Basically, I'm a pervert. I have no shame, no conscience, and I see no wrong in walking up to a man and telling him that I'd like to see his pants on the floor in my bedroom.

I don't advise everyone to use my techniques. To be so honest, crass, and forward can only be pulled off by someone extremely confident. The weak at heart and insecure need not try.

"How, Meesh, HOW is it possible for you to walk up to a man and say such things?" I honestly don't fear rejection. What's the worst a man can say? "No?" Or "Get away from me you hairy banshee?" I've heard worse things in my life. Rejection does not scare me, it motivates me. It makes me think of better pick up lines in the middle of the night, it makes me walk up to more attractive men, and it gives me the gusto needed to pull off my amazing pick up lines.

So, next time you find yourself admiring a man from afar, feel free to use one of my many ingenious lines...

- Hi. I like your face. It suits your sexy bodyyyyyy.
- Hey Baby, Do you like changing diapers? Cuz I wanna give you a child!
- I think I've seen you before. Oh! That's right, you look just like the guy I fantasize about when my boyfriend kisses me.
- Don't think I didn't notice what you just did. Stop undressing me with your eyes or I'm going to have to charge you.
- Wait a minute, wait a minute, WAIT ONE MINUTE MISTER.... did you just pelvic thrust at me? No? Oh, just wishful thinking on my part.
- I think you're delicious. Prove me wrong.
- Your smile makes me want to rip my clothes off. There you go smiling again. Oops, there goes my shirt.

For the less brave:

- Hi.

But in all seriousness, the key to meeting men and going on multiple bad dates is to be captivating. No man I've ever gone on a date with will forget me. I know what you're thinking, it's those beautiful Persian eyes, the badonk-a-donk that makes most men cry, but no. The fact is, I'm not afraid of what he thinks. I know what I have to offer, I know what I'm worth, and if I want a man, I'll get it. If the dates are bad, I'll blog about it.

The Run-&-Jump

The Run-&-Jump is a test. A test not just of a man's physical ability, but a test of just how much he likes me.

The Run-&-Jump (n): Running full speed towards a man and jumping on him like a spider monkey, praying he successfully catches you.

An example of a successful Run-&-Jump

Think about it... If a man likes you, he would catch you, spin you around, and it would feel like a choreographed dance move, or a scene out of a movie. If a man doesn't like you, he may move out of the way, drop you, yell at you after he catches you ... the possibilities are endless.

I have used the Run-&-Jump test on many men. I only give the test to those that I know can withstand the force of my spider monkey jump. I would never attempt to jump on someone who didn't look like they could catch me. I'm not that crazy. Most of the tested men have been successful. Some have yelled at me, called me crazy, run away screaming ... but there was only one who dropped me.

Butterfinger was a trained MMA fighter, he had the sweetest smile, and knew how to be aggressive in a gentle kind of way. He was Italian, had green eyes, and every time I saw him, a part of me wanted to rip my clothes off... But I feared being arrested, so I stayed calm. At all times.

Buterfinger and I would spend hours just driving round. That was our thing. We both loved to take road trips, turn up the radio, roll down the windows, and drive fast to nowhere. We would talk about almost anything on those road trips. I always had a blast when I was with him.

One night, Butterfinger picked me up and said we were going to Berkeley. We were going to watch a meteor shower. How romantic. My sweet Butterfinger and I, watching meteors light up the nights sky, on top of some hill, far far away. I couldn't wait to get there.

The drive there was scary. I watched Butterfinger as he drove. He was so focused. So attentive to the road. He took each turn carefully, but he wasn't afraid. The moon reflecting off his chiseled face, his big strong hands griping the wheel ... I must be the luckiest girl alive.

We get to the top of the mountain and its breathtaking. I had never been so far from the city lights before. The stars were so clear, so bright. It felt as though I could reach out and grab one. We got out of the car, bundled up in blankets, and waited for the meteor shower to begin. We were the only two people up on the mountain. Typically, two people, on the top of a dark mountain, with blankets, end up keeping warm in creative ways. Not us.

I challenged Butterfinger to the Run-&-Jump. This was his test. If he passed, I would feel comfortable ripping my clothes off every time I saw him. He chuckled, calling me silly. I assured him that I was serious.

I take position.

I begin to charge.

I jump.

SPIDER MONKEY ARMS ARE WIDE OPEN, I felt as though I was flying through the air, waiting for my sweet Butterfinger to catch me.

It all happened so fast. One moment, I'm running full speed at him, the next, I'm on the ground, face down.

DID HE JUST DROP ME??? I had never been dropped. I was a good judge of strength and never would have guessed that he, of all people, would drop me. I laid there for a few moments before moving. The shock was too great.

I hear, what sounds like, laughter. He better not be laughing right now. Oh, but he is. He's hysterically laughing. He thinks this is the funniest thing ever. I cant stand him. He dropped me. He's laughing. I hope he chokes on his saliva.

Through his hysterical laughter, Butterfinger is trying to speak. "That was so funny. Why would you do that? I didn't think you'd actually jump on me!" So, after dropping me, and laughing, you doubt me? This is SO over.

Butterfinger didn't pass the test. Butterfinger never got to see me rip my clothes off. Sadly, that was the last road trip we ever took.

Lesson Learned:

When testing a man, make sure to wear protection: knee pads, elbow pads, and a helmet.

It's not delivery, It's Digiorno!

I think everyone one has, at one point in their life, met someone they have an undeniable connection with. Someone who immediately understands you, makes you feel exceptionally comfortable, and makes you wonder how you ever got through life without them.

Pearl and I must have been married in a past life. We knew each other inside and out, before we knew each others last names. He almost instantly became one of the best guy friends I've ever had. I called him when I needed advice, a shoulder to cry on, or when I had great news because I knew there was no one else that would be as excited for me as he would. He, however, wanted more than I was ready to give. He basically had our entire lives planned out, including what we would name our first born, where we would live, and how he would he would wake up every morning proud to be my man.

Pearl was a chef. An amazing chef. He was so worldly, knew of cultures that I had never heard of, always treated me with the utmost respect, and honestly, to this day, I haven't met anyone quite like him. After college, I moved from the city back to San Jose. Our friendship/relationship changed drastically. We rarely saw each other, but we spoke to each other almost every night. As time went by, the nightly phone calls turned into yearly check-ins.

The last time I spoke with Pearl, he told me of the amazing new restaurant he was working at. He invited my girls and I up for dinner. I was excited to see him. I gathered my two closest friends and drove an hour, in the rain, to see him. We sat at the bar, and as luck would have it, we sat next to the executive chef, who was enjoying a beer. For whatever reason, chefs love me. It could be that they're passionate about cooking and they can instantly tell that I'm very passionate about eating - its love at first sight, more often than not.

The executive chef instantly fell for my charm. He spoiled us with the best things at the restaurant and endless drinks, all the while, Pearl kept an eye on me from afar. By the time the restaurant closed, the executive chef, Pearl, the sous chef, and us 3 girls remained. We decided to move our party to a bar around the corner. After a few more drinks, the girls and I decide that we're hungry. Again (don't judge me, I'm really good at eating). Good thing we were surrounded by 3 chefs.

You'd think that the executive chef, at a 5 star restaurant, would have a fridge stocked with things us mere peasants could only dream of. But no. He pulled out a frozen pizza. Digiorno. We watched tv, sat around talking, and before we knew it, it was 4 am. Thankfully, the rain had let up, so I rounded the girls up to go home. The guys drove us back to where I had parked my car, only to see that the garage was closed, the gate was locked, and we were stuck.

3 girls, 3 boys, this was a recipie for disaster. The executive chef insisted that we stay at his place while we wait for the garage to open. My friends and I made a pact; we would all sleep next to each other, arm in arm, so that if anyone were to even breathe on one of us, we could attack, fight to the death, and hopefully make it out alive. I knew that Pearl would never get me into a sticky situation, and after talking to him about it, he reassured me that we'd be fine. He'd stay up just to make sure we were safe.

Pearl and I spent the next few hours, waiting for the sun to rise and catching up on all that had changed since the last time we had seen each other. Those few hours only felt like minutes and before we knew it, the sun was shining, and it was time for us to leave. I wake the girls and we begin what ends up being the longest walk of shame ever.

Walk of Shame (n): When you leave someone's house with the same clothes you had on the night before.

We didn't want to wake the other chefs, so we had to walk about a mile in our cute outfits and heels to the parking garage. We giggled the entire way, making fun of ourselves during what probably looked like, to others, as a walk of shame. Little did they know that all we did last night was eat 5-star Digiorno pizza.

We finally make it to the garage. We're exhausted, cold and ready to get into the car to make the dive home. But of course ... the garage was still closed. I called Pearl repeaditly but he never answered. The man that had always been there for me whenever I was in trouble, was asleep. He was snoring while we shivered and waited hopelessly for someone to open the gate. While he was sound asleep, people taking their morning strolls, judged us with their judging eyes. How rude.

Lesson Learned:

No matter how good the food is, catching up with long lost friends / lovers is best done at home, in bed, where the walk of shame is limited, your car is safe, and your pride is still intact.

Lovely Lady Humps

I was set up on a blind date by a coworker. My coworker thought that I would get along great with his wife's brother, Humpty. He had a long list of reasons why he thought Humpty and I would click so I trusted my coworker and agreed to go on a double date with them.

My coworker had given my phone number to Humpty so that he could call and arrange a nice date for us all. A few days before we were supposed to meet, he gives me a call. Going into this, I was told that Humpty was super funny. He did stand up comedy on the side, had a great job at a big software company in the bay area, owned his own home, and was extremely established for only being 28 years old. Those are all great things, of course, so while I was cautious, I have to admit, I was a tad bit excited to meet him.

Talking to Humpty for the first time went really well. We did have a lot in common. We watched a lot of the same TV shows, went to the same bars with our friends, both played piano growing up, and to top it all off, he was, actually, pretty funny. For whatever reason, I just assumed that my coworker wouldn't set me up with a weirdo, so I never thought to ask what this Humpty looked like. I didn't want to come off as being shallow, I'd rather just go with the flow and hope that I'll be pleasantly surprised when I meet him.

I was to meet my coworker, his wife, and Humpty for dinner just down the street. I put on my go-to dinner date outfit, straightened my wild hair, and took my time trying to look my absolute best. Not knowing what he looked like, had me feeling a little insecure. What if he thinks I'm ugly? What if he's gorgeous and I freeze up and start drooling at the dinner table? What if he thinks my curves are far too dangerous? What if, what if, what if...

I'm the first to arrive at the restaurant so I head to the bar for my favorite drink - a Hard Arnold. Lots of vodka, some iced-tea and some lemonade. It's amazing. While enjoying my drink, watching football, and making friends with the bartender, I'm so rudely interrupted by an extremely hard tapping on my shoulder. I turn around and there it was. Humpty.

Humpty was no taller than 5'4. I'm 5'6 and wearing heels. So let's just say I'm 5'9 tonight. He came up to my chin. Humpty was wearing a black baseball cap, a button up shirt tucked into his Levis 501's and purple Chuck Taylor's. He had a gap in his teeth that gave me a full view of his tonsils. Humpty scared me.

I'm no one to judge. I'm know I'm not the hottest girl. I know I'm not thin, have more arm hair than most Persian men, and can balance a plate on my giant ass, but I have yet to make children cry, just by looking at them. I had to snap out of it. I had to get over the fact that my wonderful coworker set me up with the shorter version of Corky from Life Goes On.

At dinner, I was fairly quiet. I engaged in some casual banter, laughed at all the jokes told, and even made some of my own. I started to warm up to Humpty by the time our appetizer came around. I began to realize that despite his appearance, Humpty seemed to be quite the charming gentleman. He complimented me endlessly, always had a quick response to anything I said, and appeared to be a nice guy. Until he took his hat off.

I had JUST gotten used to his face when he took off his baseball cap. Under that cap, was 2. large. humps. You heard me, HUMPS. They were the size of golfballs, on the side of his head. He had hair, but his buzz cut only amplified his misshapen head. Not only is Humpty ugly, but his head is broken. There's not enough vodka on earth to make this ok.

I tried not to stare, but couldn't help it. I got caught. I was embarassed. Humpty then goes into how he got these two humps on his head ... "When I was little, my sister dropped me, she's the reason I have a gap in my teeth and two large bumps on my head. Or as I like to call them, my lovely lady humps." Humpty, my coworker and his sister all begin to laugh while she tells him to be nice and not lie to me so soon! Now, I'm just confused. He knows I'm scared, and he tries to soften the blow by lying about child neglect? This guy is just weird.

Everyone finishes their entree and I'm ecstatic when it's time to leave. I say goodbye to everyone and have to refrain myself from breaking into a sprint to my car. The moment I get into my car, my phone rings. It's Humpty. "Michelle, come back, I wanted to give you a kiss goodnight!" Oh sweet baby Jesus, he must be joking. I tell him I'm tired and must get back to my dog. I drive off, trying my hardest not to burn rubber out of the parking lot.

The next day at work, my coworker asks me what I thought about Humpty. I told him the truth. "While he's funny, charming, and definitely has many things in common with me, why in God's name, was I not warned about what he looks like?"

My coworkers response: If I told you what he looked like, you wouldn't have gone. Duh.

Lesson Learned:

The only time to go on a blind date is when you're legally blind and dating. Otherwise, you'll find yourself sitting across the table from a man caressing his lovely lady humps.

Bad [facial] Hair Day

Repo, at one point, was the love of my life. I had met him one drunken night at a bar and the rest was history. Repo was hardworking, super outgoing, and would have done anything to make me happy. I adored Repo.

Our birthdays were just 3 days apart, so we always ended up celebrating them together. One year, I had organized a big dinner, with a bunch of our friends, at our favorite restaurant downtown. Live jazz music, our 20 most favorite friends, and yet another year together ... it couldn't get any better.

The day of our birthday dinner, Repo had to work, so I spent the day getting pampered and taking my sweet time to get ready.

Note: Repo had a goatee. Not a big bushy goatee, but a well maintained, slightly thin line around his mouth that draped down to his chin. I called it his handlebar. I love a man with facial hair, and I loved his handlebar. He always had some kind of facial hair in the time I had known him. Whether it was a beard, mustache, or thin goatee, Repo always had fur on his face.


((That's John Travolta, with the same handlebar goatee I loved so much. So hot!!))


It was about time for Repo to pick me up and I was excited. My doorbell rang and I ran to the door to greet my love. I opened the door and was absolutely terrified by what I saw.

There was a man standing in my doorway that looked exactly like Repo, but with no facial hair. He said hi. I could barely hear what he was saying over the sound of my heart racing. What's going on? Who is this man? I knew for a fact that Repo didn't have a brother or a twin. What has this man done with my Repo??

Repo must have sensed my confusion and tried to reassure me that it was him, but I didn't believe it. My handsomely rugged boyfriend had turned into a baby faced weirdo. It just couldn't be him. Repo hugged me, but I told him not to touch me. It felt weird. It felt like hugging a different man. I began to question the smooth faced monster on my porch - Who are you? What have you done with Repo? Where is your facial hair? Why would you do this to me on my birthday?

As I write this, I know it must sound ridiculous. But just put yourself in my shoes! Imagine Mr Clean, with a tan and a goatee. That's basically what Repo looked like. Now, imagine opening the door, expecting to see Mr Clean, but getting Mr Bean. Ugly, right? Well, so was my fur-free Repo. I couldn't bare to look at him. It was too much.

I sent out a mass text to all of our friends to let them know that Repo was "too sick" to make it to dinner that night. I canceled my own birthday party because my boyfriend shaved off his facial hair.

His excuse: The mirror in the bathroom got too foggy, I was in a hurry, and once I messed up, I thought I'd just shave it all off.

My response: Your face scares me now. Call me when your goatee grows back.

Lesson Learned:

Always keep one of those fake mustaches handy, you never know when you might have to glue it to your man's face.

No Ordinary Love

AliBaba was a hairy man. He spoke with the slightest hint of an Iranian accent, drove the Iranian mobile (BMW) and ate kabobs every chance he got. AliBaba wasn't one of those Iranian douchebags who gels his hair, wears sparkly Ed Hardy shirts and fist pumps in the club. On the contrary; He was a baby-faced engineer who giggled every time I spoke.

AliBaba and I had gone on several dates. Wonderful dates. He was so chivalrous, caring, and made me feel like a princess. I couldn't get enough AliBaba. We always did whatever I wanted to do, he took me where I wanted to go, and he never complained. I loved that about AliBaba. But no relationship is successful when only one person is happy, so I thought I'd try one of his interests. What better way to show him that I like him, then to venture far out of my comfort zone? How bad could it be? He's a modern day camel jockey, I'm sure his interests wont kill me.

AliBaba loved to hike.

Hike (n): A long walk for pleasure.

One could assume that hiking could be a pleasant activity enjoyed by two people who were getting to know each other. I had never, ever, in my life, gone on a hike. I had told many people to "take a hike", but never had I joined them. I envisioned walking on a dirt road, under giant redwoods, stopping every now and again to make out, and then coming home to show him the kind of hiking I really like to do. The kind done laying down, while drooling, with your eyes closed, in bed.

That was absolutely NOTHING like the day AliBaba took me hiking. The day before, he made sure to rile me up, confuse me, and basically scare me so that I'd be a nervous wreck in the morning. I wore all black, pulled my hair back and put on some mascara. A girl can never leave home without her lashes. Duh.

AliBaba takes me to what looks like a giant park with hills and tons of people. I'm scared. There's no parking, so we have to park far, and make an unnecessary trek before we even begin the hike. The trek included jumping over a wooden fence, climbing up a steep and loose hillside, and jumping over snake holes. What have I gotten myself into?? We haven't even started to hike and I'm hot, angry, and want to kill AliBaba for taking me to the mountains.

By the time we get to the bottom of the trail, I can tell that I'm in trouble. The trail doesn't gradually incline, it's basically the world's most steep incline. Did I mention I hate being outdoors? I'm not a quitter and we had already come this far, so I started to pray I'd live through this adventure. AliBaba and I start to hike. My lungs give out 2 minutes into the incline. Old people are passing us. All I see is AliBaba's stupid hiking pouch, with water bottles on his hips, and his hairy legs. I decide that I will push AliBaba off the top of the hill as revenge for being interested in such an excruciating activity.

As we continue up this incline of death, AliBaba has the nerve to turn around and walk up the hill BACKWARDS! Was it so easy for him that he could do it while walking backwards? Why not start juggling, AliBaba? Jerk. I could barely breathe and this camel jockey wants to start telling jokes. I was so angry. Mostly because my body was not built for hiking. I was built for laying down, being fanned by large shirtless men, and watching TV. I'm pretty sure that before we were even halfway up the incline, I had started to curse AliBaba, his mother, and most of Iran.

At one point, he decided that he would walk behind me and assist me by pushing me up the hill. Push me? Do I look like a mule? Am I on a swing? Oh AliBaba, how I hate you and your hiking. My anger only increased when I notice a large woman thundering down the same hill, holding 2 ski poles. Is this hike so dangerous and rugged that I need poles? AliBaba didn't bring any poles for me to use. At that moment, I realize that this bastard brought me here to die.

After what feels like 3 weeks, we finally reach the top of the incline. There are two options. Keep going up the ferocious incline, or go down the hill, in the shade, with old people and families. I chose the latter. Poor AliBaba was sad. I had cut his hike short. He was just getting warmed up while I was completely exhausted. We take the trail downhill and for almost an hour, we walk, while I complain. By the time we get back to the car, I'm a hot mess. (Refer to previous blog - I'll Cry If I Want To - for definition)

The car ride home is filled with silence. Until AliBaba's favorite song comes on the radio. Sade. No Ordinary Love. Which he begins to sing, at the top of his lungs, just for me...

I gave you all the love I got
I gave you more than I could give
I gave you love
I gave you all that I have inside
And you took my love

After almost 2 months of dating, of seeing each other a few times a week, of spending hours together and always having a great time, AliBaba sang to me and I realized... this ain't no ordinary man.

I took this picture as we were leaving. May not look scary from here, but we were in those hills!! Insanity.

Lesson Learned:

If your date wants to take you hiking, bring a shotgun. If you don't kill him on the hike, you will need it when he starts singing 90's love songs to you on the way home.

The Princess and the Ogre

Once upon a time, in a far away land, there lived a pretty princess. This pretty princess had spent years trying to forget the giant ogre she once fell for, in hopes that she could find her one true love. No matter how hard she tried, that ogre had some kind of magical hold on her. She knew she would always love him. Shrek would forever have a special place in her pretty princess heart.

Shrek was huge. 6 feet and 11 inches of man. He had tattoos, mumbled his words and always chewed on a straw. Despite that seemingly ogre-like description, Shrek was handsome, charming, and at one point in my life, the apple of my eye.

I was so excited to spend a few days with my Shrek. He was going to visit and I couldn't wait to introduce him to my roommate, have him bond with my dog, and just spend quality time with him. Every time Shrek and I are apart, I miss him, wish he was closer, and wonder when I'll see him again. But whenever Shrek and I were together, I wonder what it was about him that I missed, wish he'd stop chewing on straws, and can't wait for him to leave so I can miss him all over again.

On the last night of his visit, Shrek decided that he'd treat my roommate and I to dinner to show his appreciation for our hospitality. For whatever reason, my sometimes antisocial roomie didn't want to join us so I had to beg. I needed her to accompany us so I wouldn't stab him out of boredom at dinner. After a good 10 minutes of begging, she finally agrees to join us. Hallelujah!

I live on the 7th floor so obviously we take the elevator. Shrek decides that it's a perfect time for him to practice his slam dunking skills and jumps as though he's blocking the game winning shot from Shaquille O'Neal. The massive PSI from his jump catapults us into what feels like a speeding bullet straight to hell. Then, the elevator stops on the 4th floor. And starts bouncing. Then it drops. Sweet baby Jesus, we're gonna die. We end up stopping somewhere between the 2nd and 3rd floor. Shrek has managed to get us killed. Great. Just, great.

After I check my pants to make sure I haven't soiled myself, I use the emergency call button to dial for help. I can barely hear the switchboard operator over Shrek's laughter and my roomie's anxiety attack.

Me: Help! We're stuck!
Operator: Tell me where you are? What happened?
Me: It says 3rd floor, we cant get out! Its stuck! Please read me a story, I'm scared!
Operator: Ok, calm down honey, want me to call your mommy or daddy??

I know I sound young on the phone but in a time of crisis, that was the last thing I wanted to hear. I just wanted to get the hell out of the elevator before my roomie killed Shrek. The operator tries to reset the elevator with no luck. He has to send technicians. The wait time is an hour...

The switchboard operator stays on the line with us while we wait. I ask him every question that comes to mind in hopes to entertain my roomie before she shoots bamboo daggers out of her eyes and straight into Shrek's heart. No luck, she's pissed. She didn't even want to come to dinner. I had begged her. I was afraid to even look at her! Shrek, however, thought being stuck with us and the switchboard operator was a jolly good time!

My roomie starts to put her makeup on so that she wont die "ugly". About an hour into our imprisonment in the elevator, we hear voices. We start to scream for them to help us. The two guys are useless and can offer us nothing but their stupid little giggles from the outside world. I then may or may not have yelled profanities to strip them of their manliness... but hey, it was a life or death situation and my emotions got the best of me.

Finally, help arrives. After almost another entire hour of asking the switchboard operator if he's wearing underwear, what he ate for lunch, if he washes his hands after going to the bathroom, the elevator drops again... with no warning... to the basement. I don't think I've ever screamed so hard. I honestly believed I was going to die in the elevator with my angry but freshly made-up roomie and Shrek.

We spent a little over 2 hours in that elevator. One would think that once we were freed, the ordeal would be over, BUT no. Because we spent all that time trapped in a cage, every restaurant around us had closed. Still angry and extremely hungry, dinner is filled with silence and evil glares.

We get home and my roomie and I try to relax after our near death experience, keeping in mind that it was Shrek's last night and we'd never have to see his huge jumping ass again. Shrek has retreated to my room out of fear or maybe even shame, but after a while, I decide check on him. In the few minutes I left him alone, Shrek managed to break my bed.

Not just break my bed, but he literally bent the metal frame of my bed beyond repair. First, he traps us in an elevator. Now, my bed frame is broken and I'm sleeping on the floor. This is quite possibly the most aggravating night of my life. I wasn't mad about getting stuck since I knew it was going to be something we'd laugh about later and I wasn't too upset about my bed frame since it's just a bed frame....but the fact that they both happened in the same traumatic night, was a tad bit overwhelming.

Shrek didn't know his own strength in my pretty princess world. He also didn't know that when he left, my roomie and I did a happy dance.

Lesson Learned:

If you're in an elevator with a large man, kill him before he jumps and gets you stuck.

Proof that Shrek and I were stuck in the elevator. I asked if he wanted me to blur his face, he insisted on not being censored.

Double Double on the Double!

Animal was one of those guys who looked really intimidating but was actually just a big cuddly teddy bear. Or so I thought. He worked at a local radio station, was super charming, and while I wasn't necessarily attracted to him, I thought that by giving him the chance to woo me, that part would fall into place later.

On our first date, we mini golfed! He spent hours trying to beat me but my mini golfing skills are pretty amazing so it wasn't easy for the poor Animal. While golfing, Animal kept asking me questions. It was like an impromptu interview. He wanted to know the type of men I typically date, what qualities I found most attractive, where I saw myself in 10 years, the list goes on and on. I did a pretty good job of answering. I tried not to divulge too much information, keeping him curious enough to want to learn more. Good thing I read all those dating books or I would have divulged it all on the first date.

After our golf date, Animal was to take me home. On our way, he took a detour to the In & Out near my house and wanted to grab some food. The conversation had turned a tad bit steamy and instead of asking me about my goals and aspirations, he began to ask me about the things I like... when in the dark... with another person.

I can hang with the best of them. I can talk about just about anything with anyone. But the way Animal was asking me these questions, was downright creepy. I answered in hopes that I'd be home in just a few minutes. Once in the drive-thru line, Animal asked me if I had any fantasies. I said that I wasn't the type that fantasizes. Then I began to pray that the date would end, immediately.

He began to go into detail about his fantasy. His fantasy included going to In & Out, ordering a double-double, taking it home, then making sweet sweet love, while standing behind a lady friend, and using her back as a tray for his delicious burger.

I started to pray harder than I ever had in my life. "Dear God, I'm sorry for everything I've ever done. Please dont let this man use my back as a tray!" I was afraid that he thought his fantasy was turning into a reality. Technically, we were halfway through his fantasy. We were in the In & Out drive thru, he just ordered a double-double, so all that was left was the kinky food lovin part.

I decided that I had to run away. I got out of the car while he was busy paying and ran straight into the bathroom. Who do I call now? How will I get myself out of here?

Good thing my dad was still awake.

Lesson Learned:

Be weary of men who like cheeseburgers more than you . You might end up with secret sauce in places where the sun don't shine.

Indecent Exposure

Donut and I had gone on 4 successful dates. Each date was filled with hours of conversation, tons of laughter, and undeniable chemistry. Donut was a slightly famous warden at the prison. Slightly famous because he was in an episode of Locked Up where they interviewed him about the dangers of being a warden. He was technically on TV for 2 minutes and 11 seconds. My hero.

I decided that for our 5th date, I would make Donut dinner. The dinner was to show my appreciation for all the times he drove to see me and all the dates he so generously paid for. While he made the two hour drive to see me, I began to cook the feast.

By the time Donut arrived, I had whipped up an appetizer, a delicious entree, and even baked cookies. Donut was thrilled. I'm sure he thought to himself, "She can cook AND she looks like a taller and less hungry version of Kim Kardashian? I must be the luckiest man alive!!" I'm almost positive he thought that to himself.

Donut and I enjoyed our romantic dinner for two. He loved my cooking and I loved the fact that he was 6'5, looked like a linebacker, and could shoot people at work (only if necessary, not for fun). He was my knight in shiny prison armor. My roommate came home shortly after we finished dinner and joined us in the living room for some casual conversation. Donut even showed us the clip of him on Locked Up. My, how impressed we were.

It had started to get late and I wondered when my glazed Donut would leave. I've been known to kick men out of my house, but I was feeling generous that day and thought I'd let him leave on his own. Donut excused himself to use my restroom. He was gone for a while so I went to check on my cream-filled Donut only to realize he was laying in my bed. Under the covers. With the lights off. How strange.

Me: Donut? Why are you in my bed?
Donut: I was going to take a quick nap before I make the drive back home.
Me: Oh, ok! I'll let you nap
Donut: Or you could join me?

Note: The chemistry between us had been raging from the moment we met. However, we were able to control ourselves and had only engaged in some tonsil hockey up until this point. I know, from experience, that whenever a guy asks you to lay in a bed with him, there are only two possible things that will happen: 1.) The Horizontal Mambo or 2.) He snores like a grizzly bear directly into your ear, severely rattling your brain.

I wasn't ready for either of those options so I declined the offer. I could tell my jelly-filled Donut was not too thrilled about my answer. Just then, the light from the moon began to reflect directly off of my sweet Donuts body.

Me: Donut, is that your nipple?!?!
Donut: Yes?

OH HELL NO! There is a giant man, who beats prisoners for a living, in my bed. Naked. I freak out. I tell Donut to immediately put his clothes back on and to leave! I couldn't believe that my sweet Old-Fashioned Donut was such a creep!

Donut: Why are you mad?
Me: Because you're naked in my bed!
Donut: Of course I am, you made me dinner. Why would you make me dinner if you didn't want to get naked?
Me: GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT NOW!!!!!

Donut scrambled to get the heck out of my condo, never to be seen again. I never spoke to Donut again. He tried to call a few times to apologize. He sent a few text messages and even a lengthy apology in an email but I just never got over the shock long enough to respond.

Lesson Learned:

Never cook a man dinner unless you also plan on giving him desert. And by desert, I'm not talking about cake.

Can you hear me now?

There are surprises in life that are pleasant, some that are not so pleasant, and some that are just severely bittersweet.

I had spent the afternoon at the mall with one of my girlfriends. While casually strolling along, a very tall and very handsome man walked up to me and handed me a note. He smiled. I was confused. He walked away.

At that very moment, my confusion turned to fear. I was terrified that he was a suicide bomber on a mission. The note was a warning that he was going to blow up the mall all because he was promised 50 virgins in heaven. I contemplated throwing the note away and running as fast as possible back to my car, but curiosity got the best of me.

I opened the note.

Hi, I think you have a beautiful smile. I gave you a note because I'm deaf. I hope that you're open enough to look past this. I hope that you'll call. -Dumbo

I do not refer to him as Dumbo because he flew around the mall flapping his large ears, but because after reading his note, all I could think about was his broken ears. The thought of dating a man with a disability reminded me of the time my friend introduced me to her new boyfriend... the new boyfriend with a small arm. He had one normal arm and one arm that belonged on a 5 year olds body. He once patted me on the back with it and I almost died. I'm not sure why, but it really creeped me out. Just being honest, don't judge me.

I started to envision our first phone call. Obviously we'd have to use one of those TTY assistance lines. The only other time I'd used that service was when a deaf man tried to buy accounting software from me at work. Let's just say, it wasn't a very easy process. I imagined the conversation going a little something like this:

Me: Hi Dumbo, my name's Michelle. You gave me that little note the other day at the mall. STOP.
Dumbo Typing.
Operator reading what Dumbo wrote: Hi Michelle. I'm so glad you called! Will you marry me?? GO.

How would I ever introduce Dumbo to my family? Would we all have to learn sign language? Would I need to bring a whiteboard with me so that we could communicate? Clearly, these are the thoughts of an extremely naive and selfish person. I started to feel really guilty for being so insincere.

But really, what would our wedding day be like?

Pastor: Do you, Dumbo, take Michelle to be your super awesome wife?
Dumbo Typing: I do. GO.
Pastor: Do you, Michelle, take Dumbo, to be your super hot but totally deaf husband?
Me: I do. STOP.

After talking it over with the friend I was with, I was torn. Do I call my sweet Dumbo and get to know him? Do I pretend this never happened to me? By ignoring him, will I be given a one way ticket straight to hell? This was all just way too confusing!!

It's been a few months since the day Dumbo walked up to me at the mall and handed me that note. What did I end up doing, you ask?

I wrote a blog about it.

Lesson Learned:

When life gives you deaf lemons, make really bittersweet lemonade....in a blog.

I’ll Cry If I Want To!

To describe Eggplant in just one word, I’d pick: gentleman. Eggplant was kind, chivalrous, and knew just what to say to make me smile. Eggplant was nothing like the guys I usually dated. He was artistic, soft spoken, and extremely gentle. (I usually like them rough, rugged, and rowdy)

For our first date, Eggplant and I decided to meet for dinner. We talked about the usual things; how pretty I am, how funny I am, in all, the conversation was amazing. We had such a great time that I really didn’t want our date to end. It just so happened that in the same plaza there was a PetSmart and I really needed to pick up some dog chow for my pup ( may she forever rest in peace.)

Random fact: I have a certain infatuation with anything Jewish. Don’t know where it comes from, or why I find it so amusing, but I just do. Needless to say, I was ecstatic to find that PetSmart carried a KOSHER plush dog bone. Perfect. It was absolutely perfect.



I was impressed by Eggplants ability to look past my weird obsession with Jew toys so when he asked if I’d like to see a movie, I was beyond thrilled. That week, Marley and Me had opened in theaters and I was dying to see it. All I knew was that it was about a cute dog. A cute and quirky dog and the owners that loved him. Nothing more, nothing less. Not only did Eggplant accept my weird obsessions, but he even let me pick the movie on our date! Marley and Me, here we come!

For those who have not seen the movie, I envy you. The stupid dog in the movie DIES. And not just dies because he’s hit by a car or tractor in a quick and painless death, but the dying takes up the last 30 minutes of this movie. I have never, ever, in my life sobbed so hard in a movie theater. I was a HOT MESS.

Hot Mess (n): When ones appearance is in a state of disarray but they maintain an undeniable attractiveness or beauty.

Mascara was all over my face, my eyes were puffy and my sleeve was soaked with tears. At one point, I honestly lost complete control and began the uncontrollable whimper. This is not appropriate first date behavior.

Poor Eggplant didn’t know how to console me. Does he keep quiet out of fear and seem insincere? Or does he try to comfort his new Jew toy loving princess? When he leaned over to ask me if I was going to be ok, I began to sob. Hard. Harder than I ever had in my life. Not just because poor Marley was dying, but for my own dogs that had died, the dogs in my life that would die in the future, world hunger, wars in the Middle East, and global warming. Poor guy didn’t see it coming.

After the movie, Eggplant walked me to my car, as I continued to whimper and wipe my tears. I must have cried the entire drive home and possibly even in my sleep that night. I wish he had picked a different movie. I wish he hadn’t been so sweet and eager to please me and picked the new Harry Potter Film. Anything other than that damn Marley.

Lesson Learned:

Only date men who chose the movie. Do not view this as controlling. View this as a selfless act of kindness. Just trust me.

Gold Teeth in the Sand.

We'll call this guy Sea Biscuit. Like the race horse. Not because he was fast, or looked like Mr. Ed, but because that was the movie he took me to see on our first real date.

Warning: I went through somewhat of a phase where I found men with grills attractive. Very attractive.

Grill (n): a gold/diamond plate that is molded to your teeth, sometimes decorated with diamonds. Usually worn by rappers: Nelly, Paul Wall, Michelle Afshar, and many others.

Sea Biscuit had a grill. A fancy grill. Diamonds and all. He even had an extra grill, in case the fancy grill was too flashy i.e. Church. Every time Sea Biscuit would smile, I would see a white light, sent from heaven, reflecting off his grill straight into my heart. It was like being a video girl in a BET Music Video. I thought he was SO dreamy.

Sea Biscuit was a banker by day and rapper by night. He drove a Mercedes (his dads), drank Grey Goose (get loose!) and thought I was the prettiest girl this side of Oakland. After a few dates, usually in a group and usually at a park (Dont judge me. I just followed the light of heaven wherever it led me), Sea Biscuit and I finally had our first real date.

After the movie, we grabbed something to eat. Sea Biscuit had to remove his grill, yeah yeah, his grill, from his mouth. Without his grill, I saw a side of him I'd never seen before. He looked so... normal. I couldn't wait until we were done with dinner. I missed my shiny toothed boo.

Dinner was followed by some time spent in a park, frolicking, like children. I decided to be romantic and push my beloved Sea Biscuit on the swings. I apparently had been eating my Wheaties that day, because I pushed Sea Biscuit so hard that his sparkly grill popped right out of his mouth and into the sand beneath the swings. By the time he jumped off and I realized what I had done, we had created such chaos in the sand that we basically buried the grill.

Sea Biscuit was mad. Very mad, Sea Biscuit was.

With nothing but the light of the moon and the mighty glow of our cell phones, Sea Biscuit and I looked for his white gold and diamond grill for nearly an hour. Finally, Sea Biscuit took me by the hand, led me back to the car, drove nearly 20 minutes to drop me off at home, without speaking a word to me. Sea Biscuit was very mad.

I never spoke to Sea Biscuit again. I spent years feeling guilty about not knowing just how strong I was and losing the BET Music Video Rapper of my dreams. To this day, I pray that Sea Biscuit finds his shiny teeth and feels complete again.

Lesson Learned:

Only date men who have real teeth. Shiny distractions in the mouth are only used to distract you from their cold and bitter souls.

Pain in my colon

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