Bugs crawling into my ears at night. Getting pregnant with triplets. Being forced to drink Pabst Blue Ribbon. There is only one thing scarier than all of those things, and it’s internet dating.
It should come as no surprise that I’m not the best at dating. I can certainly hike up my breasts until they’re at cruising altitude, and I always refrain from using my shirt collar as a napkin until we’re in the “I accidentally farted on you” stage of our relationship. The thing I don’t have on my side is the ability to pretend I like stupid people who waste my time.
Internet dating has its benefits, but the relative anonymity of it coupled with the ease of access to thousands of potential mates has created a problem for those interested in a serious relationship. Gone are the days of daters trying to pretend they’re halfway normal, and in are the days of suitors asking if you’d like a dick picture after you tell them you work in marketing.
Don’t believe me? Let’s take a look at some of the gems I’ve met online.
The guy who isn’t letting his marriage get in the way of his dating life
I think I may be the neighbor from hell. I don’t throw raucous parties, or drive like one of those douchebag Audi owners through the parking lot. I pick up other people’s trash, and have even been known to say hi when I’m not daydreaming about almond croissants.
Despite my best efforts to be a decent member of society, some apologies to current and former neighbors are definitely in order.
To the neighbor who saw me topless:
Your expression really said it all. It was a mixture of pity, lust and confusion. Coincidentally, that was the same look I once gave to my reflection after eating an entire Little Caesar’s pizza by myself. I’m sure you had no idea that breasts could double as suspenders, or have so many stretch marks that it looks like there’s a freeway system tattooed on them. The truth is, puberty was not kind to me, and my breasts are now registered weapons in nine states. I guess I should’ve rushed to cover myself up, but I was pretty sure it was the last opportunity I’d ever have to show my chesticles to a man, and I had to soak it up. I’m sorry if this has stirred up a weird fetish, and your future wife finds you searching for “low-hanging tits” on the internet one day.
There is this little blogger named Le Clown, and he runs a small operation here on WordPress called A Clown on Fire. If you don’t know of his blog I’m going to assume that this is your first day on the internet. He recently approached me to participate in a guessing game on his blog. The conversation went like this:
Le Clown: “You are the most magnificent™ writer on the planet, and my blog needs you.”
Starting today, he will be posting five holiday posts (one each day) from five different bloggers who will remain anonymous. Your job is to guess who the author of each post is. The participants are (in alphabetical order): Continue reading
Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. I’d like to think it’s because of the time spent with family eating good food, and giving thanks. It’s actually because I was born on Thanksgiving the year I was born, and I enjoy focusing on things relating to me.
I’m sure there will be several posts today talking about what bloggers are thankful for. People will mention their family, their health, their children. All the posts will be beautifully written, and at this point in NaBloPoMo, my brain is in meltdown mode. I can’t compete.
This is why, instead of telling you what I am thankful for this Thanksgiving, I’ll just tell you what I could really do without.
When most people think of hell, they imagine a fiery inferno that they’ll be enslaved in for the rest of eternity. When I think of hell, it looks like sharing a jail cell with Rush Limbaugh while Christmas music plays 24 hours a day. “Jingle Bell Rock” makes me want to kick myself in the face, and I’m pretty sure “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” is the inspiration for many a serial killer. The fact that it begins playing earlier every year actually makes me think conspiracy theorists might be right, and the government may actually be practicing some form of mind control on the masses.
I know it’s hard to believe, but there was a time in my life when I cared about what I looked like. I wore nice clothes, carefully painted my face with makeup, and even managed to brush my hair daily. Obviously those days are long gone.
100% real picture of me from this morning
There was also a time when I did juice cleanses because I cared about health or something like that. A juice cleanse is when you only drink liquids for a certain period of time as a way to
kickstart an eating disorder remove toxins from your body. It’s also a great test to see how long you can go without eating before seriously considering robbing someone at gunpoint for a piece of pizza.
While the cleanses themselves were often different, the outcomes of them were always the same.
My birthday is in a couple of weeks, and I’ll be waving goodbye to 31, and saying hello to 32. I’m not one of those people who dreads her birthday; in fact, I’ve enjoyed getting older. There’s a certain confidence and wisdom I’ve gotten after experiencing a few things, and settling down a bit.
There’s no denying that you can run from aging, but you certainly can’t hide from it. I think I’m still pretty young at heart, but I’ve definitely noticed that some things have changed over the last 10 years.
21: Want a guy who is in a band
31: Want a guy who won’t ruin my credit score
21: Above my waist
31: Saying hello to my belt buckle
I am almost always the last person to watch a hit television show. I saw my very first episode of Breaking Bad a few months ago. I’ve been saying I’ll get around to having a looksie at Dexter. It’ll be another 20 years (and gut-wrenching boredom) before I watch The Walking Dead.
As one would expect, I was very late to the game when it came to viewing 30 Rock. I wasn’t interested in the premise of the show, and it wasn’t until a friend encouraged me to watch it that I finally did. “I think you’d really like one of the main characters, Liz Lemon.”
To say she was right is a very serious understatement. I mean, we’re practically the same person.
Neither of us understands how to meet a men: