Tag Archive: okcupid


So, today’s (un)lucky bachelor read my profile and had this to say:

Him: With an opening like that, you must get a lot of messages that sound like “Bevis and Butthead”!! I can out-sarcasam you any day!!! I just cant spell it… Oh yea!! A summery is supposed to be shorter than that.. Otherwise is called a long story!!! lol

I probably shouldn’t be quite as annoyed as I actually was by this right off the bat. I mean, he didn’t tell me how horny he is, nor did he try to send me photos of his engorged member. That’s a step in the right direction, isn’t it? But…”sarcasam”? “Summery”? Really? Sigh…and why exactly do you feel the need to “out-sarcasam” me, anyway? All I’m asking for is someone who can make me laugh from time to time, not to participate in Comedic Smackdown 2013.

Me: That *is* the summary…the real story is 3 times longer at least. 🙂

See? I can take the high road occasionally.

Him: See that!! I out Sarcasmed you already!!! lol

Did I blink and miss it? Which part of what he said does he believe is sarcasm?

Me: Oh yeah. You’re the king.

Him: I should’ve saw that one coming… Well played…

Yeah, don’t get too excited. Even I couldn’t say that with a straight face.

I’m still going through the motions on OkStupid, mostly for the blog material, even going so far as to re-write my profile hoping to provoke some interesting responses. Here’s the latest version:

I need to get laid.

There. Do I have your attention? Great!

Now, before you get too excited, this is in no way an invitation for every testosterone-laden, knuckle-dragging, mouth-breathing Neanderthal within a 50 mile radius to send me an instant message attempting to convey the sheer magnitude of his horniness while typing the fewest number of keystrokes possible. I am not some brainless bimbo unworthy of your respect and courtesy. I am not easy. Most importantly, I’m not *just* looking to get laid.

I want the whole shebang. (Yes, the word “bang” is in there. Calm down.)

I want a man who will be the Mulder to my Scully…the Rick to my Lori…the Brad to my Angelina…the Christian to my Anastasia…the Kermit to my Miss Piggy…the Fred to my Wilma (holy crap, who knew her maiden name was Slaghoople???!!!???)…the Bert to my Ernie…um…I mean the Ernie to my Bert…ok, that last one doesn’t work, but anyway, I’m sure you get the idea. I want it all. Love, trust, honesty, respect, friendship, companionship, and frequent hot, sweaty, in-the-middle-of-the-living-room-floor-because-you-just-can’t-wait-until-you-get-to-the-bedroom sex.

What? Yes, of course all with the same person. Geez.

Now, I’m not an idiot. I realize that these types of things don’t happen overnight, and you have to kiss a few (hundred thousand) frogs before you find that proverbial prince. Don’t be afraid that I’m going to have towels monogrammed with our initials just because we have one great first date. That being said, however, if you aren’t at least open to and interested in finding that kind of a relationship with someone, thanks for stopping by, have a great day, feel free to click on over to the next profile.

If what I described above *does* sound good to you (and you’re still awake), by all means, read on.

A little bit about me:
I am a sarcastic smart-ass (are they the same thing?) 98.9% of the time. (If you do not like/get/appreciate sarcasm, you will want to strangle me within 20 minutes of meeting me. Since I would prefer non-strangulation, it’s probably best that you click the “back” button now and choose another profile.) I’m left-handed. You know what *that* means, right? (Ha. It doesn’t actually mean anything. I just wanted to see if you were paying attention. ) I’m a little bit of a grammar/spelling nazi, so if you email or IM me and say something like, “Hi, how ru? Ur hot” I will probably ignore you. Unless I think you’re really hot, and then I might be willing to overlook your illiteracy, but if that’s the case, by God you’d better have nice teeth and all of your hair…or nice hair and all of your teeth.

I’m rarely serious (if you haven’t figured that out by now, we have a problem…) and can find humor in almost any situation. I don’t do drama or games, and don’t have any crazy exes hanging around. If I don’t feel like you’re truly interested in getting to know anything more about me than my bra size, I will lose interest quickly. I will not chase after anyone who is not chasing after me in return.

Let me just put this out there now – weight-wise I am not yet where I want to be, but I go to the gym 3-4 times per week, and work with a personal trainer once a week, so it’s only a matter of time. My photos are all from within the last year, and I probably weigh about 15-20 pounds less than I did when that full-length photo of me was taken. I’m down about 50 pounds total so far, so I feel confident in saying that I will get there. I’d love to have a workout buddy.

A little bit about you:
Physically you’re taller than me, have an athletic build (yes, I’m a hypocrite – I’m not going to apologize for liking what I like!), and are probably clean-shaven. You’re smart, SINGLE, sexy as hell, and a bit of a smart-ass yourself. You’re a non-smoker. You appreciate a good bottle of wine or a few beers now and then, but you’re certainly not putting away a 12-pack by yourself every evening.

Witty banter is what it’s all about – and if you’ve got it, I’ll be putty in your hands. You’re confident without being arrogant, direct without being pushy, and most importantly, you’re probably the *only* guy who actually kept reading past the words “I need to get laid”.

Yes, I realize that was at least 400 words longer than War and Peace. Get over it.

Anyway, I recently received an email from a gentleman (and by “gentleman” I really mean “jerk”) who read all that and honestly thought, “So…when’s the last time you got laid?” was the best way to start a conversation with me. I replied back, “If that’s your best opening line, it could use some work.”

He then proceeds to tell me that if I were to consider taking up smoking, we’d be a perfect match. Me being, well…me, I took that as a challenge and headed over to his profile to view this perfect match o’mine. Um. No. Not so much.

As he already alluded, he is a smoker. I am not, never have been, never will be. Physically he was ok, but not really my cup of tea. I wasn’t seeing anything that set off sparks, and when that’s the case, he’d better have a kick-ass personality, or I’m not going to be interested. I read his whole profile, and again, it was ok, but nothing really jumped out and grabbed my attention. Wondering what on earth made him think we’d be “perfect” for each other, I started to read the Questions section.

OkStupid encourages its users to answer as many of these ridiculous multiple choice questions as they can stomach, and rates your compatibility with other people based on how you each answered the questions as well as how much importance you place on the other person’s answer. This guy and I gave answers that led me to believe we would not only NOT be perfect for each other, but would in fact probably want to punch each other in the face not long after meeting, should we ever be so unlucky as to run into each other on the street.

He specifically answered a pet question by saying he dislikes cats, while I state plainly on my profile that I have two of the furry demons. He says that he enjoys discussing politics, where I say that it bores me and I want nothing to do with it. He doesn’t like camping. Or taking a walk. Or enjoying nature. I like all 3.

Now, those things alone aren’t really deal-breakers, but some of the answers he gave downright annoyed me.

Question 1: Do you believe contraception is morally wrong?
His answer: Yes – and he added the explanation, “The person concerned about contraception should take care of contraception.”
So my problem with this question is twofold. First, it seems like maybe he doesn’t understand what “morally” means. Second, um…what??? It would seem to me that *both* parties should be concerned about contraception, because otherwise that would imply that you’re ok with making a baby. It’s my responsibility because I’m the one who would get knocked up? Really?

Question 2: Is it possible for full-figured (not fat) women to be equally attractive as thinner women?
His answer: No.
Um…hey asshole, did you look at my pictures?

Question 3: You find out that a romantic prospect of yours comes from a broken family. Does this lower your view of them?
His answer: Yes. He/she is likely to have weak family values.
Really? Because my parents divorced when I was 11, I have weak family values? What about the fact that YOUR PROFILE SAYS YOU ARE MARRIED???

So as you can see from just those few answers, his idea of what defines a perfect match and mine are worlds apart. Galaxies, even. But…it gives me something to blog about. 😉

I’m going to France in 4 days. Really. I’m going to climb inside a big-ass airplane on Friday evening, sit in my seat quietly freaking out for 7 or 8 hours as we fly over the Atlantic Ocean, and when I peel myself out of my chair early Saturday morning, I’ll be in Paris. There are probably 157 things I could be doing right now to get ready, and instead, I’m sitting here pondering screen names. Specifically, I’m wondering just what goes through some men’s minds when they are choosing their dating site screen name.

When I need to assign myself a screen name on a website, I typically have two that are my “go-to” names. The name that I use here on WordPress is Unruhe29. I chose it for a couple of reasons:

  1. Unruhe was the title of an X-files episode (and I do love me some X-Files!)
  2. The word “unruhe” is German for “unruly” or “unrest”. For whatever reason, I was feeling unruly and restless at the time I first decided to use it, so it seemed appropriate

As for the “29”, that’s probably how old I was the first time I made that my screen name somewhere…I believe it may have been on AOL Instant Messenger.

My other frequently used screen name is Eight6753oh9. To the untrained eye, that may just look like a mess of numbers, however, if you grew up in the 80’s as I did, you may remember a certain one-hit-wonder named Tommy TuTone, who sang about a girl whose name and number he found written on a bathroom wall. Her name was Jenny, and her number was 867-5309.

Maybe it’s just me, but when I’m looking at dating profiles, I will completely bypass someone if I don’t like the screen name they’ve chosen. Most of the time, this is because their name blatantly references sex or is just downright crude. Now, don’t get me wrong, I enjoy sex just as much as the next person, and I’m far from a prude (in fact, wherever Mr. Right may be right now, I sure hope he’s taking his vitamins – otherwise I may just be the death of him one day), but there’s just something about a guy calling himself “69Woody4u” that turns me right off. Even if they come right out and say in their profile that they’re looking for something long term, I’ve already gotten it in my head that “this guy is just out to get laid” and there’s no shaking that thought once it’s in there.

So in an effort to help educate my fellow man in the ways that a woman thinks, I’m going to tell you about a few of the screen names I’ve come across in my travels, and explain exactly why I wouldn’t approach someone with that name.

  • mywordislaw – Now, most likely the guy who came up with this one is an attorney, however, the first thing I think when I read it is, “wife beater”.
  • ladyinred1234 – Your screen name is supposed to describe YOU. If I see one that says “ladyinred,” I’d assume you’re A LADY. Same goes for any screen name that contains a woman’s name. I saw one the other day that was supposedly a guy, but the screen name was Alicia2468. I don’t know too many guys named Alicia.
  • any name with the number 69 mixed in – You’re a guy. You like sex. I get it. Really. I don’t need you to beat me over the head with your penis. If you’re sincere about trying to find a meaningful relationship with someone, try pulling your head out of your pants for a minute and focus on something else. If the very first thing I read about you is a sexual reference, I’m going to think that’s all you’re looking for, and I’m going to move on.
  • any name with the number 420 in it – I know what that means, pothead.
  • bend4me – I just saw this one today. I see that and think that this guy either wants a chick he can walk all over, or a gymnast. Either way, I’m not his girl.
  • cumaboard – Sorry, but I don’t want to think about you ejaculating when I haven’t even met you yet. There’s a time and a place, boys…a time and a place.

Tune in tomorrow, and I’ll tell you what else you’re doing wrong on your profile. 😉

~Eight6753oh9

I haven’t had any dates (good, bad or otherwise) or virtual altercations with anyone in a few days, which – while good for my sanity – doesn’t really help out when it’s time to come up with new blog material. As a result, I don’t have any good feature-length stories for you today. I do, however, have a couple of mini-stories that I shall string together and call it a blog. Enjoy.

  1. The Proposal

It all started with a 3-word message from a guy in Pompano Beach, Florida the other morning. It simply said, “You are awesome.” Well, hey, it’s about time someone recognized my awesomeness…the least I could do was check out his profile, right? I read it over, and found it to be mildly amusing, and his pictures were all fully-clothed with no extra appendages that I could make out. I figured, what the heck. Yes, sure, he lives in Florida, but hey, you never know.

[As a side note – it always makes me laugh when I see on a guy’s profile something to the effect of, “please be within a reasonable driving distance.” I want to email him and ask just what exactly he thinks the odds are that his soul mate lives within a 5 mile radius of his house. What if that one person that’s perfect for you lives on the other side of the country – or heck, on the other side of the world – would you not want to know him or her simply because it’s not convenient?]

So here’s how that conversation went:

FH (for Future Husband, of course): You are awesome
Me: And you are in Florida. Lol…how far is Pompano Beach from Cape Canaveral?  ~Jen
FH: 3,hours Jen please call me 555-555-5555 ~Bob
Me: Can’t right now, I’m on my way to work.
FH: Can you please text me
Me: What’s the rush? Are you stranded in a foreign country and in need of cash? Lol… I can’t text a lot at work, either. At least if I’m chatting on here it looks like I’m working on the computer. Lol …After hours I can chat or text, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to at least have a little conversation first so that I know I’m not giving my phone number out to a crazy person..unfortunately, I’ve made that mistake before.
FH: I am not a crazy person .I’m harmless. There is no rush .. but I do want to catch you .. (<—-exactly what a crazy person would say! And whaddya mean you want to “catch” me?)
Me: So, you’re not having much luck with the Florida girls, huh? How long have you been on here?
FH: One. Month .how about your self?
Me: About a week and a half. Hmm…some other guy in Pompano beach just looked at my profile, too…kinda weird, don’t you think? Someone you know? Lol
FH: No one I know lol..
Me: What are the odds? Is my name on a bathroom wall at the Denny’s there, or something?
FH: McDonald’s lol
FH: Jen I would like to meet you
Me: Do you come to Maryland often? lol
(And here it comes…..)
FH: Jen if you marry me I would move there
Me: Oh, well great, ’cause that’s not at all creepy. Can we maybe, oh, I dunno, meet once or twice before the wedding? Just for kicks?
FH: I would love to marry you
Me: Why? You don’t know anything about me.
FH: I know you’ll never cheat on me that’s all I need to know
 

I must just have one of “those” faces, for him to know that without ever meeting me. He messaged me again later in the day, asking me to call him, which I ignored. His account has since been deleted.

  1. The Prevaricator

There’s not really much of a story to this one. I am mostly just marveling at the large number of younger guys who message me on this site. I am 43. The a-hole from the other day was 33. I’ve even gotten messages from kids in their early 20’s. And yes, I can call them kids, because I have a 20 year old daughter. So there.

Today I got an email from a 31-year-old telling me, “Hey…So i am gonna be honest. I think you are beautiful and i like your profile. I really would like to get to know you. Perhaps we can chat and meet for coffee? Talk soon.” I don’t know about you, but when someone feels the need to tell me they’re being honest, my bullshit meter kicks into high gear. If you’re an honest person, you don’t have to announce it every time you speak.

  1. The Proposition

And last but not least…I got this charming message last night:

3SM (figure it out): would you be interested in having some good fun with a couple? if so let us know ttyl btw we do have pics of us too
Me: So what you’re telling me is that there are TWO of you who didn’t bother to actually read my profile. Thanks, but no. 
 

Can’t wait to see what tomorrow will bring! Maybe someone who wants to wear an animal costume and pee on my leg. That would be different.

 

About a week prior to my run-in with Super Douche the other day, I had an impromptu date with another gentleman from OkCupid. Ok, “gentleman” might be the wrong word. Maybe “asshole” is better. Yeah. Asshole. So anyway…

(I’ll apologize in advance here – if you’re friends with me on Facebook, you may have already heard a good bit of this story. Pardon my redundancy.)

I didn’t realize right away that he was, in fact, an asshole, otherwise, I never would have agreed to meet him. As it was, I went to the gym after work, and as usual, was starving afterwards. Asshole (let’s just call him AH for short from now on, shall we?) emailed me, and revealed that he hadn’t eaten yet, either, so we decided to meet at the Greene Turtle about 10 minutes from me. I will give him credit there – he lives in Annapolis, and considering it was already at least 9:30pm, he could’ve asked me to meet him at a more central location instead of offering to come to me.

That’s pretty much the only credit he gets for the entire evening, though.

My first clue that we might not be simpatico came before we even made it to the restaurant. He called to let me know he was on the way, and informed me that he’d just gotten pulled over because he’d accidentally turned on the (illegal) neon underbody lights on his truck. Um…who *has* those? The fact that he had illegal lights on his car wasn’t what bothered me (though I am at a loss as to why someone would intentionally put something on his car that he can’t ever turn on…that makes no sense to me), rather it was the way he told the story about what happened. Instead of just saying that the cop was cool about it, and let him off with a warning, he made it sound like the policeman was intimidated by him, and let him go because he is so big and bad. Can we say, “TURN OFF” boys and girls?

Because the Greene Turtle is kind of in a weird place and AH didn’t know exactly where it was, we met in a nearby grocery store parking lot so that he could follow me over. He got out of his truck to say hello and said something about how he usually wears contact lenses, but had decided to wear his glasses tonight. I said it was no problem, and that I wear contact lenses and glasses myself. He then proceeds to question me as to why I am not wearing my glasses. When I said that I don’t like wearing my glasses and that I prefer my contact lenses, he got this incredulous look on his face as if I were crazy to have such a preference. Little did I know, I would be seeing this same look from him every time I dared to have my own opinion (that differed from his).

We made it to the restaurant without incident, sat down and started to look over the menu. AH then proceeds to start talking. And talking. And talking. In fact, he never shut up from the time we sat down, until the time we left. Ever. I’ve never in my life met a man who talks so freaking much. The few times he managed to shift focus for a minute or two and ask me a question, I’d get halfway through telling my own story before something I’d said would spark a memory and he’d be off talking about himself again.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m all for having a guy who likes to talk to me. Communication is good. However. I also enjoy the occasional comfortable silence. And being able to hear myself think. And being able to get a word in edgewise. And maybe a little flirting. I’m just sayin’.

Even the fact that he talked (ALOT) could’ve been overlooked, if not for the absolute CRAP he was spouting. He bragged…constantly. About his 3 cars (one of them’s a porsche!), about making $80,000 last year while only working part-time, about his illegal wolf-dog hybrid…and every time he said something that could be construed as bragging, he would preface it with, “not that I’m bragging!” Um, yes. Yes, you are. Jerk.

If he wasn’t bragging, he was saying something completely stupid and/or thoughtless, or just acting like a complete know-it-all. Those of you who know me well know that I don’t let a lot of things get to me, and it takes a *lot* to offend me. This guy offended me or just said something so incredibly stupid so many times in the short time we spent together, that I lost count. Here are just a few examples:

AH: So, do you cook?
Me: No, not really.  I have a couple of things that I make well, but I just don’t really enjoy cooking. I’m better at baking.
AH:  (looking incredulous) Really? Wow. I thought all women could cook.
Me: Oh, ok, and that’s not at all sexist.
 
AH: I tend to date someone 2 or 3 months, and then I get bored. Then I just move on to the next one.
Me: Yeah, that’s probably not the best thing to tell someone on the first date.
 
AH: I used to only date really thin supermodel types. If someone weighed a little more, I would kind of make fun of them or be mean. I used to be kind of a jerk.
Me: Oh, really?
AH: Yeah, but I’m trying be a better person now.
 
AH: And someone older than me? Oh, I never would’ve dated someone older than me back then. No way. But now since I’m trying to be a better person, I figure it’s better to try different things and be nice to everyone. [He’s 33 or 34]
Me: You do know I’m 43, right?
AH: Yeah, but you look good for your age.
 
AH: (incredulously) You’ve never been on a jet ski?
Me: No…they look fun, though. I’d give it a try.
AH: Seriously? Have you ever even been on a boat?
Me: Of course I’ve been on a boat. What does one have to do with the other?
AH: What kind of boat?
Me: The kind that floats on the water. What kind of a question is that?
        Then later:
AH: I’d like to go downtown to the museums sometime. I’ve never been.
Me: You haven’t? How long have you lived in this area?
AH: My whole life. I don’t know where to park down there [in DC], and I’ve never ridden the metro.
Me: You’ve never been on the metro before? Really?
AH: I don’t know how to work the lines. Do you?
Me: Yes, it’s called a map. I can’t believe you’re giving me shit about a jet ski when you’ve never ridden the metro or been to the Smithsonian.
 
Talking about animals/pets:
AH: Male dogs only like women and female dogs only like men.
Me: What? No, they don’t. 
 
AH: I also do massage therapy on the weekends. Well, only when I need extra money.
Me: I see. 
AH: Yeah, and I can tell just by looking at you that you’re tense. 
Me: I am?
AH: Yes. Well, I could be wrong, but I can tell.
Me: (What? Uh, if you’re WRONG, then obviously you can’t!) Ah…
 
AH: I’ve been engaged 3 times, and I called it off each time. No one’s ever broken up with me.
Me: (Why do I find that so difficult to believe?)

Finally the meal was over and it was time to leave. (YES!) As I was getting in my car to leave, he once again felt the need to demonstrate that he was “the man” and I am “the little woman”.

 

AH: Why is your car shaking like that? Do you feel that?
Me: Um…because it’s running?
AH: Oh no, that’s not good, that’s [insert a bunch of crap here that I tuned out]…but don’t worry, I can fix it. I used to work on cars. I’ll get it taken care of for you.
Me: (Did he forget that we just met?)
AH: You should take those shoes off, too, and drive home barefoot. Those are dangerous.
Me: What? What are you talking about?
AH: The back moves. Just trust me. Take them off.
Me: They’re slip-on sandals. They’re fine. 
AH: No, really, it’s better to drive barefoot.
Me: That’s ok, My shoes are fine. Have a good night. 

I couldn’t drive away fast enough.

The next day he texted me a few times, and then called me while I was driving home from work. I didn’t answer, and he didn’t leave a voice mail. My policy on phone calls is that if you don’t leave a voice mail, it must not have been important, so I am not obligated to call you back…so I didn’t. Haven’t heard anything since. WHEW!

Not-so-OkCupid

As part of my never-ending quest to find Mr. Right (or at the very least, Mr. Doesn’t Make Me Wanna Gouge Out My Own Eyes With a Plastic Fork), I seem to be on a quest to dip my toes into every cesspool of a dating site I can find on the internet. My latest foray is into the hell on earth that is OkCupid.

So far, the only redeeming qualities this site seems to have are that 1) it’s free and 2) it seems to be chock full of blog material. I’ve only been on it for a little over a week, and so far I’ve had a date with an a-hole, a marriage proposal from a guy in Florida, and a virtual run-in with someone who I will call Super Douche. He’s the one I want to tell you about first.

I was browsing the profiles yesterday afternoon while eating my lunch, when I came across Mr. Douche. OkCupid rates your compatibility with your matches, and Super Douche and I were only rated as a 10% match. I read his profile and didn’t see anything too awful there. He’s a pianist, which I liked, having a musical background myself, so I wondered whether there is actually anything to their scoring system or not. The only thing that gave me pause were his pictures. There were 3, all shirtless. The main photo was of him, shirtless, wielding an ax. Yes, an ax.

Am I the only one who sees the humor in this?

I decided that if nothing else, I would share the chuckle that his picture gave me, so I sent him a message. Here is the mayhem that ensued, copied and pasted, word-for-word:

Me: I wonder why we’re only a 10% match…maybe it’s because of the ax…lol

Super Douche (who for simplicity’s sake will from now on be referred to as “SD”): I would not rely on some mindless computer-generated so-called “match” as an indication of anything. You are giving it too much credence.

Me (ooook…lighten up, dude!): I actually don’t give it any weight at all. It was a joke about the fact that you’re holding an ax.

SD: An axe which I was using to chop wood – great exercise.

Me: Yes, I get that. Which is why it was a joke. Surely you can see the humor in using a photo like that on a dating site, where there’s no real way of knowing whether the person behind the profile is a nice guy or girl, or a serial killer. Anyway..sorry if I bothered you.

And here’s where it all starts to go downhill, folks…

SD: I understand that it was a joke, and I am aware of the fact that there is no way to determine the inner nature of anybody based on a photo. I also know that the instance of serial killers on dating websites, or anywhere for that matter, is statistically insignificant.

SD: I also do not think that using that particular photo is humorous, since I have received many compliments about it, and since it accurately depicts my physical appearance.

It’s lucky for him his photo is getting compliments, because I’m pretty sure his pissy-assed attitude isn’t!

Me: Ok, I think I figured out where that 10% comes in to play. Have a great night, and best of luck to you.

And that, my friends is called “waving a red flag in front of a bull”.

SD: I don’t need you to wish me luck, idiot. I find you rude and obnoxious. Feel free to compose a witless response. I have already blocked your sorry fat ass. Don’t think that just because you see that a message was sent on this webiste, that it was sent. Over and out.

Yet I’m the one who is rude and obnoxious? 

SD: Good luck going easy on those cookies, fatty.

Me: What a sweetheart. You’ll have no trouble finding a date.

Obviously it’s still bouncing around in that uptight, humorless, neanderthal brain of his, because 9 minutes later:

SD: I thought you attached no weight to matches, moron.

Me: Let it go and move on already. There’s no need to act like an asshole. You’re not interested, I’m not interested, the end. Geez.

Just in case anyone would like to send a message to Mr. Prince Among Men – because I’m sure he’s available, and not at all selfish in bed – his OkCupid screen name is novapianoman. I’m sure his sense of humor will improve once they remove the massive stick from up his ass.

Some days I don’t know why I even bother. I know the guy I want is *not* on this site. I guess it all goes back to my earlier list…1) it’s free and 2) great blog material. As a friend of mine said to me not too long ago, “You just can’t make this stuff up.”

Next time I’ll tell you about the a-hole and the marriage proposal. Laters!