It's the little things...

Some women complain that their men are too needy. Some women complain that their men don't romance them enough. I've dated men that I was able to endlessly complain about, that's why there are so many entries in this blog.

As women, we are so used to comparing our lives, relationships, and men to movies and reality TV shows. Comparing your man to Dr. McDreamy or wishing that the Bachelor would give you the final rose does nothing but blind you from all the little things - the good little things that our men do for us on a daily basis.

It is one of those little things that I'm writing about today.

The other day, I had asked my Muffin to help me rotate our King size mattress. It's a job for 2 people. I've been working out at the gym a lot lately but I'm still not buff enough to carry the floppy memory foam mattress on my own. He had recently hurt his knee playing basketball, so he hobbled into the bedroom, ready to help me.

We have a metal frame that the memory foam mattress sits on. Under that, usually, there isn't much. 2 suitcases, a box of Christmas decorations, a few pairs of Muffin's shoes, and dust. But not too much dust, I'd never let that happen.

But this time, things were different. When we rotated the mattress, the bed-skirt bunched up all kinds of crazy to reveal to me several rocks under the bed. I looked at the rocks, I looked at Muffin. I knew he had something to do with this.

Muffin has an affinity towards crystals, energy, and all things spiritual. He has a pretty big collection of crystals and the guest room and his closet is where they are all housed. He has me carry one around in my purse, but it's so small that I forget that it's there most of the time. I think his passion for them is endearing. It's something that I love about him. He whole heartily believes in crystals healing powers. Different crystals do different things, if you ask him, he would talk your ears off about it.

Well, the crystal collection had moved from out of just his designated areas to under our bed. There was a medium sized rock under where my head lays, several crystals on platforms under where his head lays, a giant crystal, the size of a cantaloupe in the center, and more crystals by our feet. I thought it was the weirdest thing ever. I was so surprised since I had no idea they had been under our bed!

I asked him why he put crystals under our bed. He said it was to help us sleep better. He reminded me that I had been sleeping better lately - I didn't have the heart to tell  him it was my Zyrtec-D that makes me sleepy. He told me that he had made a grid of crystals under the bed so that we would sleep better, be kept safe, have better energy, get along more, etc. His list of reasons was long and very sweet.

After we rotated the bed, I immediately texted my friends to let them know of my weird discovery. Obviously, we laughed and I made a joke out of it!  There were rocks under my bed that I had not know about, strategically placed by my very own weirdo.

That night, as we lay in bed, I couldn't help but think of the crystals. Now that I know they're there, now that I know they were strategically placed under me, I couldn't help but love my Muffin even more. What he did might have been weird to me. I might not understand why he did it, and I may not feel the benefits from any of it. But he did it for for us. He put those crystals under the bed with the intent to better our sleep and our relationship.

Sometimes we may not think our men do enough, say they love us enough, tell us we're pretty at the right moments. But sometimes, we overlook the smallest gestures of their love because we are too busy being negative douche-bags.

Lesson Learned:

As long as there are no crack rocks under your bed, you will sleep easy.

It's all so clear now...

This is not a blog about a horrible date or some dreaded fool who tried to woo me and or my pants off. This blog is going to be cheesy. It's going to be annoying. But you're going to read it. Because you love me.

This blog is about the day my entire life made sense. The day I found my wedding dress. As most of you know, I am engaged to Muffin. He is by far, the best man I've ever laid my eyes on. This is not a blog about how amazing he is, mostly because that would make the blog about him and not ME and we cant have that.

I am really excited to get married. I am NOT excited to have a wedding. Blending Assyrian, Iranian, Lebanese, and African American family for 5-6 hours is overwhelming. I plan to have an open bar - this was not done to please the guests, it is specifically for me. If you are lucky, I will share.

After several years of watching Say Yes To The Dress on TLC, every Friday night, while texting my best friend, I decided that I would fly to NYC to try on bridal gowns at Kleinfeld's. This was the best decision I have ever made- outside of the time I decided to NOT get Ricky Martin's face tattooed on my body.

In my life, I have had 4 serious boyfriends, Muffin being the fourth. My first boyfriend, he was a dud. Much like the first wedding dress I tried on. He seemed to be what I wanted, but I was young, and naive, and he drove an ice cream truck.... And I like ice cream, so we were happy. The first dress I tried on was nice, it was what I thought I wanted, it looked like Vanilla Ice Cream, but it wasn't THE ONE.

My second boyfriend, he was better than the first. He was tall, he was handsome, he had swag dripping from every pore of his ever so beautiful body. But, he was too much for me. His ego was bigger than my svelte ass which led to the inevitable breakup. The second dress I tried on was better than the first. It was more intricate. It was beautiful on the hanger, but on me, it wasn't right. On to the next.

My third boyfriend. He was my world. He had me laughing from day one. He was a manly man. A guys kind of guy. I was emotionally invested in number 3. I could have married number 3, had he not already been married and fathered a small tribe of children. The third dress I tried on was amazing. It was beautiful. I stood in front of the mirror, with my best friend and bridesmaid standing beside me, and I looked at myself and cried. The ugly cry. Where you cant stop the horrendous look on your face or the amount of tears from spewing out. It wasn't because the dress was THE ONE, but because I had never looked in the mirror and thought "Damn Michelle, you are stunning." Not until that moment. I had a serious moment. I needed a few tissues. The people outside of my dressing room all gushed over me. They all thought my dress was perfect. But I knew, much like boyfriend number 3, it was close, but not perfect.

My muffin. He is my fourth and last boyfriend. He is the man that asked my father to marry me. He is the man that I've built a home with. He is my home. He is the one that has helped me time after time, is always uplifting, has never once put me down. Muffin, he's perfect for me. And so was the fourth dress. After having such a moment with the previous dress, the sales consultant was sure I'd buy the 3rd dress. But I told her I wanted to try on one more. I'm so glad I did.

She had me step into the dress and before she was able to fully put it on me, I knew. This was my dress! It was perfect. Everything I had ever wanted. The 28 years I've spent dreaming of the day I'd be a bride were now a reality. I had found the most beautiful dress for me and with a sound mind and heart, I said YES to the dress!

Up until this point, my blog has been about men who tried to be the one. All the dates, the stories, the jokes, all the words in this blog had a purpose. To lead me to my Muffin.

I'm not going to lie, sometimes I do wish that my life was still as wild and crazy as it used to be. Sometimes I wish I had more to write about. But at the end of the day, I've never been happier. I've never been more sure that I'm doing something great with my life.

To all of those looking for love.... You might have to go on a few (or several hundred) bad dates to find your one and only. And when you do find them, you'll look back and be grateful for every single one of the freaks who tried to win your heart.

Lesson Learned:

Don't hate on the uglies, the weirds, the freaks, the awkward people who come into your life - they will all lead you to your one and only. But also, don't hump them. That would be gross.

Twerkin It

Being an avid BET late night music video watcher, I have picked up a few dance moves over the years. Most notably, the Twerk. Not to be confused with the Jerk, the Dougie, or any other dance that requires clothing. This is a dance of seduction.

Basically, it involves you vigorously shaking your ass like a stripper. How do you know you're doing it right? Push your ass out as far as it can go, shake as hard as you can, and if your lower back begins to feel as though it's going to snap in half, you know you're doing a good job!

I had yet to debut my Twerking skills to my Muffin. It's the kind of dance you keep at home, for your man, but its also the kind of dance that requires months of practice. Once I felt that my Twerking was perfect, I would seduce my muffin and show him how lucky he is to have wifed me up.

The other day, Muffin and I were both in the bathroom. I was in the shower, he was trimming his beautiful facial hairs over the sink and getting water spots all over the mirror, as usual. I had turned the iPod on before I hopped in for my morning scrub. I like to pretend I'm in a music video while showering. I try to mimic the video hoochies that are standing under waterfalls, posing and dancing all kinds of sexy. While they may be getting paid to do that, I'm getting clean!

My iPod playlist consists of pretty much the most random music on earth. Country, Rap, Spanish, Arabic, Jazz, you name it, its on my iPod. That morning, it started off with a few slower songs, then came a hard core rap song. The kind of song that makes you want to dance. The kind that made me rip open the shower curtain and start Twerking.

Obviously, I'm not shy. I never have been and even though I know I should probably have a little more humility in my life, I find nothing wrong with dancing, in the shower, for your soon to be husband. So, I really decided to go for it. If I was going to Twerk, I was going to be the best damn Twerker that Muffin would ever see. I saw Muffin looking out of the corner of his eye. He was pretending to be too busy to notice, too busy trimming his 11 chin hairs, but I knew he liked what he was saw. Those girls in the music videos have NOTHING on me.

Except better balance.

Dancing in the shower has one major problem. It's slippery. My butt was shaking so vigorously that I lost my footing and hit my head on the ledge that the soap and shampoo bottles are supposed to sit on. Being the professional that I am, I didn't let that ruin my routine. I acted as though it was supposed to happen, slowly, and seductively closed the shower curtain. Then I held my forehead as tight as I could and sat down in the shower rocking my self back and forth.

Muffin saw me Twerkin as best I could. He was not going to see me sitting in the tub looking like a helpless fat baby.

Obviously, this is not a video of ME Twerkin. I'm way better at it.

Lesson Learned:

It is much safer to watch music videos with your man than to try to replicate them... in the shower.

Water Torture

Those of you that know me know that I am a neat freak. Growing up, I was raised by a Cleaning Cop, with major OCD, so there was never one corner of the house that wasn't sanitized, dusted, and wiped down with bleach for good measure. On the weekends, my job was to clean the mirrors and windows. Most people clean their windows a few times a year. I, however, was forced to do this 52 times a year. Growing up, our house was pretty big, had 3 glass sliding doors, and the entire kitchen had glass walls that looked into the backyard. It was a giant glass house and I was responsible for keeping it streak free.

I never realized that all that cleaning of glass transferred into my adult life. Only living on my own, my place was always clean, organized and streak free. This, however changed 4 months ago. While I've been on many dates, I have never lived with a man... until now. Muffin and I moved in together 4 months ago and it has been one lesson after another.

I have learned that after he comes home from work, my Muffin enjoys spending about an hour, playing his playstation games, while on the toilet. I consider this his well deserved "me" time after a long days work. I've also learned that he is the world's slowest laundry folder. Literally, in the time it takes me to fold an entire load of laundry, he has folded 3 shirts. He calls it "precision folding". I call it slight retardation. Aside from the small things that drive me crazy, living with Muffin has its upside. He always makes the bed, takes the trash out, and kill spiders when necessary. There is way more good than bad, so I cant really complain.

However amazing he may be, Muffin does something so repulsive, so disgusting, so absolutely disrespectful that I need to blog about it. I'm not sure why, but this man is the King of Water Spots. While brushing his teeth, washing his face, or even just walking past the bathroom, he manages to get water spots ALL over the mirror in the bathroom. I'm not just talking about 2-3 random spots, I'm talking about 30-50 spots. Yes, I've counted.

It's not just the spots. Its the fact that whenever he gets out of the bathroom, there is water on the counter, the floor, and the mirror. I honestly think that he tries to fit his entire body into the bathroom sink to take a bird bath, then gets out and shakes himself vigorously to dry. That is the only explanation I can come up with. What baffles me the most is that God made this man, so precise, so accurate, with the ability to pee while standing up, into a small bowl, but he is unable to wash his hands without a tidal wave destroying my smudge free mirror? It's just so frustrating.

This began to frustrate me so much, I told some of my friends about it. Little did I know that all of their boyfriends, husbands, brothers, male roommates did this same thing! Maybe it's a claiming of territory thing men do. A dog pees on things, a man gets water spots on every thing.

Since Muffin and I have only lived together a few months, I don't want to seem like a nag. I don't want to constantly hound him about being dirty and disgusting. That will start after the wedding. So, I try my best to just be patient and clean the spots whenever I see them. Usually right after I've spent 15 minutes cleaning the mirror, Windex-ing til my heart is happy, Muffin will deface my newly cleaned mirror and I cant help but throw a fit. I've literally dragged him into the bathroom, shown him water spots to which he responds "Babe, I don't see anything!" or my favorite response, "Babe, that's natural. At least you know I'm clean!"

I know I'm truly blessed and I'm super grateful for a man like Muffin to share my life with. He's super supportive and kind, he's always making me laugh and smile, he constantly tells me I'm the best, most beautiful person on earth. (which obviously isn't hard to do since it's the truth) He is my best friend. I never thought I'd be so lucky. But why God, WHY? Why must he torture me this way?!

Lesson Learned:

If you don't want water spots on your mirror, marry a woman.

Let's Get Married!

Every girl has, at some point in her life, imagined how she will be proposed to. Being the dramatic princess that I am, I knew that it was going to be grandiose. I had always envisioned being whisked away on a romantic weekend getaway, the man of my dreams getting down on one knee as the sun sets off in the distance. I figured I'd be wearing a ballgown, with my hair blowing in the wind as he professes his love for me, tears in his eyes, tears streaming down my face, the sweet ocean breeze wrapping itself around us as I say yes and leap into his arms. I had no other vision for my proposal.

I met Muffin 6 years ago. His ability to wear a suit drove me wild. I was young, he was newly single, and I fell so madly in love with him I scared him into the friendship zone. There was something so genuine about him that I didn't care that we were just friends. I knew that he was supposed to be in my life - in any shape or form. I really cant recall what turned our friendship into romance, but somehow we found ourselves knee deep in love. We had talked about getting married, about future children and even tried picking out names for our imaginary family. So far the only things we can agree on are Sha'Diamond and Velocity for the girls and Ja'Michael for the boy. We're very classy.

I figured that because my Muffin takes forever to do anything - waking up, brushing his teeth, cleaning, driving, sleeping - we wouldn't be engaged for years. I figured in 5 years, he'd have no choice but to marry me. I never saw it coming. I had absolutely no clue that it would happen so soon.

I had taken a trip to Chicago to visit my family and to see Ricky Martin. Yes, I still love him. And yes, I know he's gay. I had planned to stay a few days but was having such a great time, I extended my stay to over a week. Even though Chicago blood runs through my veins, I have transformed into a California girl and the cold weather, snow, and rain froze me to the core and infected my sinuses to the max. The day that I flew home, I was doped up on nasal spray, cough drops, and Nyquil. I couldn't wait to get home and lay in my own bed, pull the covers over my head, curl up in fetal position and sleep until I felt normal again.

When we landed in California, I turned on my cell phone to call my Muffin to alert him to get in his chariot and pick my sweet ass up. I had several texts messages waiting for me and as I waited for people to deplane, I quickly read through them. One stood out. A message from Muffin's aunt in Detroit congratulating me, asking if the wedding bells would be ringing soon. I was confused.

I immediately call my cousin freaking out. He told me that he had no idea what I was talking about. Then I called my friends. No one knew anything. But why would his aunt congratulate me? Maybe she texted the wrong person? I begin to freak out. I'm too sick to be proposed to. Is he going to be at the baggage claim, ring in hand, asking me to marry him with snot running down my face? I was terrified.

I got my bags and waited outside. I was so nervous. When Muffin pulled up, he got out and he was dressed up. My heart began to race. I hugged and kissed him, got into the car, searched the back seat for any signs of a proposal but there was nothing to be found. We got home, I went to the bathroom to compose myself, wash my face, and pop multiple Nyquil pills. I literally could not hear, my nose was completely congested, and I had the worst headache ever. The flight home had amplified my sinus infection to the extreme and I was miserable.

I come out of the bathroom and see that my Muffin is anxiously waiting for me in the kitchen. He tells me that he had spoken to my father while I was in Chicago about us moving in together. I had tasked him with telling my father about our decision because I figured if my father didnt like it, he would kill Muffin and I'd still be safe. I asked what he said, how he reacted, what happened, and Muffin told me he wrote down everything that was said in a letter. He had put it in the new bookshelf he bought and put together for me while I was out of town. He had placed it in a book he had given to me when we had first started dating.

As I picked the book up, I saw a ring box behind the book. I knew it was happening. I was shocked. I was sick. I was deaf, and everything was happening too fast. He came over to me, said a bunch of nice things that I couldn't hear through the congestion. Inside the box was the most beautiful ring I had ever seen. He asked me to marry him and put the ring on my finger. I said "are you serious? are you sure? no, really? oh my god. seriously?" for about 2 minutes before I said yes.

I then jumped up and down while screaming. I was the happiest girl in the world. I called my parents, my friends, and in about 20 minutes, I began to feel the Nyquil.

I never in my life thought I would be proposed to, while miserably sick with a sinus infection and deaf from my ears being plugged after a plane ride home. I never thought I'd be immediately sleepy after being proposed to because I tripled the recommended dose of Nyquil. Literally 20 minutes after my Muffin proposed, I was in bed.... asleep... and probably snoring.

It was nothing like what I had imaged, but it was perfect. For my blog.



Lesson Learned:

Don't dream too big. Your sinuses will get too congested at extremely high elevations.

When Romance Turns into a Nightmare

As a newly engaged woman I take pleasure in the sweet things my Muffin still does for me knowing that once we're married his lack of romance is protected by the law. That is why I was so excited to know he set up an hour long massage for me, all by himself!

How special am I to have the man I love call ahead, make an appointment for me, and pay for an hour of relaxation and pampering. I was so excited. But that excitement soon turned into fear.

As most of you know, I'm a stickler for being on-time. I got to my appointment a few minutes early only to find that the doors to the office were locked. I waited a few minutes before I saw a large Native American woman running in the parking lot towards me. She was wearing a dream catcher necklace that swayed with her large chesticles as she ran as fast as she could in my direction. Before I knew it, she was hugging me. A random stranger was hugging me in front of a locked office. I should have known then that I was not here for relaxation and pampering.

The Chief Lady set up the massage room while I waited in the lobby. The office was peaceful, tranquil, and very adorable. I tried not to think about the awkward greeting outside, but tried to focus on the sweet gift my Muffin had bestowed upon me. Chief Lady led me back into the room, told me to get undressed and lay under the blankets.

As I lay there, excited for the massage to come, Chief Lady told me that she was going to read the energy in my body to understand where she needed to focus the massage. As she rubbed me down with oil, I could not have been happier. She started with my feet, then worked her way up to my thighs. She then, did something I never saw coming. She took a hot stone and put it in the top of my butt-crack.... inside of my underwear. I...was....mortified. How many other people have had that SAME stone in their butt-cracks? How do people relax when there seems to be a hot dookie in their pants? I did not like this. I did not like this one bit.

Chief Lady then told me that I carry a lot of stress in my tail-bone - my sacred place. She mentioned that was a characteristic of people who were nurturing and motherly. She told me she sensed that I was very caring and that I was a good person. I couldn't help but agree. She then told me that lots of good things were coming my way - all at the same time - and that I would need to prepare my body and mind. Chief Lady told me of the importance of focusing on the good things that come so that I can appreciate and welcome them into my life.

Then, Chief Lady, in a steady and serious voice said "I want you to take a heating pad every night and put it on your Vagina. I want you to talk OUT LOUD to your Vagina and say 'Hey Girl, It's me. Just want you to be prepared for the things that are going to happen to you. It may be scary and different, but the journey will be great. Girl, I want to prepare you for the insemination.'"

I don't know what exactly I thought was most funny, but I laughed. Hard. Mostly because I couldn't believe this woman was talking to my fancy part, and telling it to prepare for seeds that were going to be planted. She looked at me and told me, in her oh-so-steady voice, that this was a serious topic. She told me that it was important for me to be physically and mentally prepared for my body to get pregnant as it was going to happen soon. Very soon.

I was scared. She was serious. Does she know something I don't know? Can she tell, just by rubbing me down with oil that my uterus was stretching and doing squats, all so it can carry a baby? I didn't think it could get any more weird .... but then Chief Lady takes a stone and puts it over my heart. All I could think was that it was the same stone that was in my butt-crack minutes earlier, the same stone that was probably in others butt-cracks as well. Now, this butt-crack infested stone was on top of my precious heart.

I couldn't wait for the massage to be over. I wanted to leave this place. I wasnt relaxed. I wasnt calm. I just wanted to go home, away from the stones and insemination talk. Thankfully, Chief Lady told me to take my time getting dressed and she'd meet me in the lobby when I was ready. I got off the table only to find that my entire body was oily. There were no towels anywhere, no tissues, nothing. Just the sheet and blanket that had been covering my body. I took the tan colored sheet and wiped the oil off my body. The sheet was now literally greased stained, so I hid it under the blanket and walked briskly to the door.

Before I could leave, Chief Lady proceeded to hug me 4 times - telling me how special, beautiful, lucky, etc I am. She thanked me for "letting her be her" on our hour long journey together. She then walked me to the door.

I thanked her one last time. I could taste freedom. I couldn't wait to get into the car and call my Muffin to tell him how crazy the lady was. Before I could get to the car, Chief Lady yells one last thing to me.... "I cant wait to crash your wedding!!!!!!!"

Lesson Learned:

Instead of training your man to be romantic, teach him to be resourceful. Teach him how to use Yelp. It'll save you both from butt-crack infestation.

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.