All the women who independent! Throw your hands up at me!

I've been single for a while now. 

Well, I've been officially single for about a year. And since I spent all of 2011 in a long-distance relationship, my independence was never affected. When I have a flat tire, I call AAA (or Pinata). When I go to the grocery store, I manage to carry all six of my grocery bags to the house all by myself in one trip. Yes, six bags of groceries for one person. Don't judge me. When I need to reach something on the top shelf, I climb. When I need to open a jar that's really stuck...I swear like a truck driver and bang it on the counter until it opens! "You're mine...bitch!"

Where am I going with this? Well, I've just noticed now that I kind of have someone I can depend on, my inner "independent woman" is resisting a little bit:

Ron Swanson, noticing me climbing on a chair to reach a mixing bowl...trying to balance on my tiptoes: "Need some help?"

No.

Ron Swanson, watching me try to carry my purse, heavy coat, scarf, suitcase, and shopping bag to the car: "Can I carry something?"

No. I got it.

Ron Swanson, listening to me scream about the mouse that's been terrorizing my bedroom lately: "Do you want me to come help you, or do you want to just come over here?"

No. I'll handle it.

I bet Beyoncé carries her own bag.

What is a Grouper?

The following story is about a new adventure in dating, "Grouper." Though this is a true story, the names have been changed to protect their identity. Credit for the names goes to my amazing girlfriends. Love you, bebes. 

So I got this call from my friend -- Angela Sexpot -- asking if I'll be her wing for this dating thing called "Grouper." What the hell is a Grouper? I had no idea. Here's the gist...

Girl signs up, and gives some chick access to her Facebook, and they stalk the hell out of her until they find a guy they think she'll want to bone date. They pick a time and place, and set up the arrangements. Girl invites 2 single girlfriends. Boy invites 2 single guys. Everyone pays $20 and meets at the bar for their first point of contact.
Happiness, or awkwardness ensues.

You might be thinking...wait a minute. Did I miss an entry? I thought things were going well with Ron Swanson? This is true. But Angela Sexpot invited me before I had met him. I figured I might as well go, hang out with some of my best friends, and have a good story for the blog. (And yes, Ron Swanson knew I went.)

Angela Sexpot picked me up with Bebe Genuine and we pound a warm-up drink before heading to The Corner Door, a little restaurant bar local to my hood. We got there on time, but the guys were not there yet. The manager instantly recognized that we were a group of three chicks and asked if we were there for the Grouper. We order our first drinks, which are included with the $20 fee. The boys were fifteen minutes late before we started planning if we could use their drinks to get a free second round. And then a group of guys walked in... Bebe Genuine's face dropped. Let's just say, they were not cute. And thankfully, not there for us.

Our groupers walked in shortly after, apologizing for their tardiness. They weren't bad looking, either. Chatty Cathy, their leader, got right in and never stopped talking...both to Angela Sexpot and Bebe Genuine. I was sitting next to Miley Cyrus Hair Guy, a surfer from San Diego. We talked about Australia, since he'd lived there for a while. Across from me sat The Wet Sock. He was cute, but SO boring. The boys suggested we go to another bar for a second round...I was hesitant, but decided to take one for the team and go! It's a Monday! Why not get drunk?

On the way there, us girls decided Bebe Genuine would take Chatty Cathy (who was three years younger than us, by the way. What the hell? He knew our friend's little sister). Angela Sexpot would go for Miley Cyrus Hair Guy, and I would happily entertain The Wet Sock. I had all kinds of crazy girl questions prepped. 

The boys clearly made a plan, too, because once we got there...the lines were drawn. I tried asking The Wet Sock every dumb question I could think of like,
"What's your favorite Madonna song?" But he didn't bite. In fact, he got up from the table and moved to the other side, closer to Angela. Rude! Miley Cyrus Hair Guy gave me a lot of attention...Uh oh. He bought me a beer. I think he even tried to grab my hair. Uh oh. The girls and I agreed that the bar was FULL of hot hipster guys, and we were with none of them. Fail. Eventually we ended the night, and laughed our whole way home.

Moral of the story: I'm sure Grouper is a great idea. Go out with your friends? Score! But I don't think I'm a fan. I don't like the idea of "competing" with my girlfriends...let's see who wants to talk to us! It's kinda odd. The best part of the night was laughing with my girls. And getting free drinks from guys we never had to talk to again. We win!

The F Word

My posts may have slowed their pace, but my "relationship" with Ron Swanson has been speeding up. Within a mere month of dating, he's met my family and we've been introduced to each other's group of friends. 

And then he said the F word: FUTURE.

To be specific, "I'm excited for our future."

While I am very happy with how things are going, I couldn't help but hear Squints' voice from The Sandlot saying...

I guess it's been a while since this single girl thought about what life would be like as a not-so-single girl.

Thanksgiving Rules for My Mother

A lot of you reading this blog might think it's strange that its #1 fan is none other than...my mother. Yes, I admit it's a little strange to have her reading the details of my sex dating life, but we have a close relationship (and I would probably tell her most of this stuff whether she wanted to hear it or not).

When I accidentally invited Ron Swanson to Thanksgiving Dinner wayyyy too soon in our courtship, I told my mom the news. I'm sure she was more than thrilled -- typical Jewish mother behavior.

Before "the big day," I gave her THREE important rules for meeting Ron Swanson:

1. Under NO circumstances may you refer to him/introduce him as my boyfriend. He's not my boyfriend. He's not my friend. He has no label. His name is "Ron Swanson."
2. No awkward posed photos. Mom, can we both agree you kind of broke that one??
3. No references to my blog. I'd already told him about it, but there's just no need to make things more awkward. Imagine walking into a room full of people who already know allllllll about you...

As I went through the rules with my mom, she laughed as she remembered a very similar conversation we had when she planned to chaperone my 5th grade dance. She said I gave her an index card with very similar restrictions. Little did I know, it's been sitting in her nightstand for the last 17 years...

I was nervous as I sat in the car before heading into my mom's house with my newest suitor. But I was reassured by the calm of Ron Swanson. The night went off without a hitch, and I think he passed the family test. And more importantly, my family behaved themselves. And he still wanted to continue hanging out after we left!

I'm thankful for how pleasant it all turned out. And I'm also thankful for my mother. Moms are the best. xoxo

So, I have this blog...

As Ron Swanson and I started spending more time together, I started to feel like there was an elephant sitting on my chest...

I'm totally lying to him until I tell him about this blog's existence!! I have to tell him!!!!

I consulted my male friends, who all thought it was way too soon to unleash the toxic info. But I did it anyway. If I was going to bring him to meet my family for Thanksgiving, he had to know. I couldn't risk that he found out from someone other than me...

Me: "So, I feel like I need to tell you something..."

Ron: "Uh oh"

Me: "Well...it's just that I've not told you, I'm kind of an avid blogger. I've had a few over the years."

Ron: "About what?"

Me: "I used to write one about working in restaurants, and it was pretty well-liked, but then I quit. And I wanted to start writing again, but I needed something about my current life..."

Ron: "Your sex life?"

Me: "Well, not exactly....but my dating life. I started writing about my experiences with online dating mostly."

Ron: "Have you written about me?"

Me: "Yes. But only good things!"

Ron: "Okay, well that's cool. I get it. It's a creative outlet."

THE END. He didn't ask me anything else! In fact, he didn't even want to read it or know what it's called...which is pretty easy to maintain since he's not on Facebook. And he didn't care if I continued to write about him, so here we are.

That was a little too easy. 

Boys Dumb. Girls Crazy.

Are girls more observant than guys?
I'm starting to think so.

A large portion of my relationships ended because I "observed" more carefully than the guy expected...

The worst example was when The Playboy and I had a wonderful night together celebrating the holidays, but then I went to use his restroom and saw a pile of bobby pins and fake eyelashes on the counter. I mean, really? He couldn't bother to clean up after another girl who spent the night... right after he promised me he would never see her again?? Sloppy.

Ron Swanson has been pretty perfect by normal standards, but when I went to eat his steak dinner I took a quick look around his bachelor pad. It was totally normal until she appeared...

"Ex-wife" labeled on a box for an external hard drive sitting right on his desk. Her real name was handwritten with little flowers surrounding...

Oh god. How can I not stalk her now? Is she prettier than me? 

I don't know if it's just my experience, but I think guys are not as good at cleaning up after their previous relationships. Hell, I make sure there's no sign of my ex before a new guy comes over. But, it seems I am always very aware of another girl's presence.

Girls are crazy. Guys, just don't leave your trail out in the open.

C-Block makes a New Friend

Not every guy has a positive reaction to, "I have a dog....he's a cocker spaniel mix...small, white, fluffy thing." But at the end of the day, he has to be cool with my main man, Oliver, if the relationship is going to go anywhere.

My roommate does the online dating thing, too. One time I witnessed a guy bring her dog a treat from Three Dog Bakery, and thought, "good move." She takes the meet-and-greet pretty seriously. But she's also the girl that locks her dog in the spare bedroom on nights her ex visits because he's a "light sleeper." Uh huh. Suuuuuuure. 

Personally, I've always approached the situation from a pessimistic side. I'm nervous that he'll think my dog is stupid and not manly enough.

"So, uh..here's my dog. Oh, ya he's crazy. Don't worry...let's go."

But secretly I'm jealous of the couples I watch at the dog park while Oliver wanders around peeing on every tree. 

Ron Swanson told me he had something for me when I went to his house for dinner. Turns out it wasn't a gift for me...but for my furry little c-block. He handed me a stuffed fox, complete with squeaker inside. It's Oliver's favorite kind of toy. To be fair to all other guys in the world, Ron Swanson isn't so perfect as to buy my dog a gift. He tried to adopt a dog after the divorce, but the jack russell was a little too crazy and their trial period (and relationship) expired...much like his marriage.

Oliver very happily accepted the foxy toy. 

We're both pretty content being #2 right now. 

Girls love assholes.

Girls (like me) love assholes. Anyone who disagrees...you're wrong. We may grow tired and get over it, but we still love them deep down.

Married Man laughed at my reaction to Ron Swanson. "I love that you can't handle a guy being nice to you." But really what am I supposed to think?? The guy wants to make me dinner. That doesn't happen to me. There must be something wrong with him...obviously. Doesn't he know he's supposed to pressure me into sleeping with him, only to never contact me again?

This is just not normal.

It makes me mad that I'm so surprised by his behavior. Have I completely forgot about what it was like to have someone truly care about me? The Busy Builder isn't pleased with my latest entries. Shocking, I know. Naturally, he's felt a need to respond to my recent entries. He knows I have a weakness for assholes, yet he denies being one. "You made zero effort with me, and that probably made me want it more," I said. "It's more complicated than that," he replied. But I know that means he wishes we could hook up again. I told him I can no longer think about our situation as complicated. That's how I ended up seeing him for so long after he showed complete disregard for my feelings.

No more assholes. It's time for a cleanse. 

And hey, it doesn't hurt that I like hanging out with Ron Swanson. The man makes a nice steak dinner. 

Happy 30,000 Views!

Sorry, but today's post is not about my usually pathetic (yet laughable) dating life. Today I honor you: my readers. How can I do that? Well, I'd like to share one of my favorite parts of the backside of blogging. Traffic sources. 

I LOVE statistics! (Math nerd alert)

I google searched "math nerd" and found this

I get pleasure out of reading that my dating profile has been read 660 times, and that two people in Malaysia are reading my blog RIGHT NOW.

But the best part is knowing what people were "google searching" when they landed on my page...

Here are my favorites:

1. can you see your own cervix?
2. severely crooked penis
3. men don't get cherry tattoos
4. do I know you
5. drunk bowling
6. UR CUTE
7. crying girlfriend meme
8. she cock blocked me
9. lady parts fail
10. is he really being or blowing me off?

Thank you, readers. You fucking rock. 

Chivalry is NOT dead.

Over the years, a lot of people have urged me not date guys from Los Angeles. Actually, people said the same thing about Orange County guys when I lived in Newport. They're all Peter Pan types, who aren't interested in getting in serious relationships and blah blah blah. I tuned it out. Because what else was I supposed to do?

Transplants must be where it's at. Ron Swanson is from Florida, but he's lived in LA for a few years. It's a good blend of southern manners with LA style. I'll admit I have been a little thrown off and weary of his gentleman-like nature. It's been a long time since I dated someone who...

• Opens doors and pulls out chairs
• Always asks if I'm warm enough, and offers his coat
• Compliments genuinely and often...but not too often.
• ...And listens.

On our first date, Ron Swanson asked my favorite type of food. I love Asian cuisine, but told him that even though I spent years slinging pasta, Italian food will always be most comforting. He listened and took me to an Italian restaurant on our second date. 

I'm here to announce: Chivalry is NOT dead. 

The Worst Second Date

A couple days after my date with The Speed Dater, he texted to say he had a great time and wanted to see me again. This took two weeks to happen, due to his work schedule. Just what I need...another workaholic.

He met me at Westside Tavern after for dinner and a movie on Saturday night. Unfortunately, the movie was sold out so he bought us tickets to see Perks of Being a Wallflower. We had FOUR HOURS to kill before it started. So he suggested we go across the street to Gyu-Kaku instead. The wait was a little long, so we walked next door to The Wellsbourne for a drink. Oh great. This just turned into the same date I took The Busy Builder on for our fourth date. We went up to the bar and he ordered...a DIET COKE. Wait, what?

Five minutes later, I changed his name to Dick Downer.
Things that Dick Downer is allergic to:

• cats
• dust
• ALCOHOL
• sun
• happiness
• fun

"But you can order a drink," he said. That's okay. If I wanted to drink alone, I'd be in my pj's watching SNL. We walked into the restaurant and he panicked: "Does it seem safe to eat here? It looks dirty." Ummm...I laughed. I thought he was joking. He ordered for us without even asking me what I like, then dismissed himself to go wash his hands. [First text to friends: "Oh god. He doesn't drink."] He came back traumatized. "The bathroom is right next to the kitchen...and I don't think they're very careful about all that raw meat." He proceeded to wipe down our table. I laughed, uncomfortably.

Over the next four hours, I learned a lot about Dick Downer. 

Things that Dick Downer hates:

• germs
• bars that have live music 
• spending money
• his job
• his co-workers
• Chrismas music
• Republicans (yup, he talked politics on a second date)
• costumes
• his high school friends

This guy probably hates blowjobs and rainbows, too...

We finally made it over to the movie theater, and I snuck away to the bathroom. [Second text to sister: "Wish I was with you. This date is bleh."] The moment we sat down, he lifted the armrest and reached for my hand. Interesting, since we had no prior physical contact. The movie started and well...it isn't exactly a romantic comedy. I won't spoil it, but you shouldn't see this film on a date. When the plot turned, he pulled his hand away. After the movie, Dick Downer added something to the list of things he hates: 

• Perks of Being a Wallflower

He complained about its lack of originality, then complained about the $8 parking fee, and then complained about the parking garage. Just when I felt relieved to make it back to my car, he surprise-attacked my face. HE ATE MY FACE. And just like that, he was gone...and I wiped the saliva off my face and raced home. 

This is why first dates should last longer than thirty minutes...

Spring Forward, Fall Back

I spent my extra hour...blogging.

The season changed, and my summer romance officially ended. In fact, I closed the door on everyone I'd been in contact with:

The Aussie
The Over-Texter
The Not-So-Tall Guy
The Busy Builder

After I posted my "Takin It Back, Tuesdays" about The Aussie (and he confessed he knew about the blog all along), we decided it's better when we don't have contact with each other. This might be the first time neither one of us has the other's phone number. It's for the best.

The Over-Texter was umm...texting me too much. So I politely told him I was interested. He said ok.

I was a complete dick to the Not-So-Tall Guy. Ugh. I feel so badly about how it all went down, but I pretty much just pulled a disappearing act. I should have told him a long, long time ago that I just didn't have romantical feelings for him.

And now I'll say what many who read this already know...I'd still be seeing The Busy Builder all summer. We started hanging out about once a week, and I started to think the feelings were strong for both of us. But I was wrong. I'd been having all kinds of anxiety, wanting to tell him how I felt. And then he dressed as an online dating profile for Halloween. I put my heart out there, though via text. I wanted to be included in his world, meet his friends, be more than the girl he hung out with out of laziness at the end of a night. I told him I was ready to shut down this blog and delete my dating profile because I only wanted to hang out with him. But he didn't want that. So that's that.

While part of me has been sad, feeling like I did last November when The Aussie and I ended our relationship, the other part feels relieved. I'm too awesome to settle for only a little attention and consideration. Time for a new season!

Just me and this guy again...

I won't message you back if... #5

...you have a creepy tattoo...and/or a nipple piercing. 

Clearly he did not notice my photo eating a hamburger, which in my eye, is a gift from the man up above. 

Mmmm sinfully delicious animals.

Fortune Cookie Fail

Sometimes when I'm hungover and slightly depressed about my love life, I head for Panda Express.  I can't help it. I find orange chicken comforting.

You may have noticed I was not posting as frequently as I usually do, and it's because a lot has been going on..things I would love to write about, but would hate to be ridiculed for. Maybe it's the change in season, but I've been getting a little antsy, feeling a need to make some changes to my personal life. I need some advice!

So there I was, finishing up my fried rice, when I thought..."Hey Lindsay, maybe your fortune cookie will help you decide what to do!"

Did Panda Express just call me fat? Fuck off.

Taking It Back, Tuesdays #9

I think this is the last post of this series, unless I can think of more stories that won't get me in trouble for sharing... I'm running out of exes! (Thank goodness.)

The Not-So-Virginal Virgin

I had two boyfriends in my high school years, and this one was the second. He was older. And by older I mean one whole grade older -- which made him SO much cooler than me (at least that's what he made me think). This is the story of how he helped spread a false rumor that I had gonorrhea in high school.

Mid-way through my junior year of high school, when I was dating The Not-So-Virginal Virgin, I contracted mono. I got horribly sick and had no idea why my throat was so sore, so I went to the doctor. She examined my throat and saw the infection taking over. She asked, "Are you sexually active?" Considering my boyfriend was a virgin, I was confused by this question.

Are we talking about BEFORE I started dating him? The Not-So-Virginal Virgin considered me something of a slut for having slept with one person. He was waiting for marriage. Or are we talking about the hand and mouth stuff that "virgins" are totally cool with? Apparently, if you give head to a guy who has gonorrhea, you can get the infection inside your mouth. Geez, that is fucking disgusting and so NOT what I had. But I made the mistake of telling my boyfriend what she said.

He was not pleased with the test results showing I had mono, either. "How could you get mono if I don't have it?" The stupid "kissing disease" can be passed around in lots of ways, asshole. I'm not a cheater. Anyway, I felt like absolute crap...and he made it worse. He dumped me.

He said he couldn't risk getting sick because of his "volleyball career."

So I was completely sick for a month, my boyfriend broke up with me and went to prom with someone else, and my other high school ex (The Bad Boy) called to make sure I didn't have gonorrhea....a rumor he heard at school in my absence. Awesome. Junior year was a great year.

FYI, The Not-So-Virginal Virgin boned his next girlfriend. His punishment for having sex before marriage? She hated sex. Sucks for him.

The Over-Texter

Remember Sarcastic Profile Guy from Monday's post? I gave him my number.

BIG MISTAKE.

I know he thinks it's the girls who are totally crazy, but I think it might be him. He's texting me WAY too much. It's annoying. There has to be balance, people!

There are so many things that are wrong about this "conversation." 

• The first text was at 9:45am, fifteen minutes after I got to work. Too early to text if I don't really know you.
• "Good to meet up tomorrow?" is NOT asking a girl out on a first date. That's why I didn't reply.
• But he didn't give up. 10am is a little better than 9:45am.
• Yup, I still didn't reply.

This is why he's 34 and single. 

Takin It Back, Tuesdays #8

The Co-worker

It was a very fragile time in my life when I began working at a little mom-and-pop restaurant in Newport Beach. First night on the job, I ended up hanging out with a group of my new co-workers and one of them told me I was beautiful and he wanted to marry me. We kissed. He wasn't at all what I was looking for, but I will admit it was convenient.

We had quite the dramatic "relationship." Working together meant fighting about work...WHILE at work...before work, and after work. But somehow we kept finding each other. One moment he would tell me I had saved his life, the next he was throwing a fit because flowers were delivered to me while I worked my Valentine's Day shift (they were from one of my best friends...a girl). Talking to her last weekend, I thought about my time with him. I can't remember most of it. Perhaps I blacked it out because it ended so badly. (I moved to Israel. He stopped talking to me. He moved on after about a week. He got married. He had a baby.) But the greatest blessing from that relationship was the package deal that came out of it: his friends. 

The Co-worker was a transplant. And one by one...his friends moved to Newport, eventually filling a house. My best friend is right: I didn't just date him. I was the house girlfriend. I spent many a night dancing with those boys. I've seen all four of them running around ass-naked (not by choice) and I know whose dick is the biggest. They took care of me, too...but most importantly they knew that when I spent the night, they could probably get a free breakfast the next morning at our favorite local spot.

On this particular morning, I woke up in the house that smelled of surfers, cigarettes, and beer after a night at a lingerie party The Co-worker bartended. I ran around the house, jumping on beds to get the boys to go to breakfast. But since I only had my nighty from the party (covered by The Co-worker's jacket) we needed a pit stop at my place. We piled in the car and started the half-mile commute. The Co-worker thought it would be funny to roll down the windows, blasting his music and honking to wake up sleepy Newport Beach. And right as we pulled into my alley, a cop turned on her sirens. I died. The cop would surely see my outfit was only underwear. She came to the window and could immediately smell the alcohol from the night before. The Co-worker took a DUI test. The roommates and I couldn't help but giggle. The situation couldn't have been more awkward until...on the patio above our car, a dog started taking a massive shit. The Co-worker barely passed the test, and we made it safely to the restaurant. After such a hilariously typical event, I offered to buy breakfast for the group.

He ordered two meals. Then puked in the parking lot. 
...Did I mention he's married now? And has a baby?

Good times. Love those boys.

Best Time to be Online

Ladies, I have just discovered the best time to be "online" on a dating site: Sunday afternoon. 

It's football season. So what are all the guys I don't want to date doing? Watching football. Maybe it's because I grew up in LA, but frankly I don't care at all about this sport. I'm sure tailgating is fun, and I'll be a good sport and go to a bar to watch a game...but you should know I'm only attending either for the beer.

It's also the day after Saturday. Yes I know that's obvious. But I mean it's the day after Saturday NIGHT. A lot of people, including me, are so fucking a little bit hungover that they are just enjoying their couch and catching up on their DVR on this fine afternoon. All the time in the world to be online...

So here I am, writing back and forth with a guy online. I've gotten about ten messages this afternoon and only one of them is even remotely attractive. That's a pretty standard ratio. I responded to Sarcastic Profile Guy because of his funny profile. Um, ya...that's why I gave him that name. I know my creativity is astounding. Apparently he's had a few crazy dates on this site, and so have I. I even mentioned blogging in my first reply, because honestly I think he wouldn't care. And he didn't even ask about it. Awesome.

Hey, if it doesn't work out (and it probably won't), maybe he'll want to guest post.

And the award for funniest profile goes to:

I won't message you back if... #4

...you're looking for a girlfriend for your wife.

I don't want to be your princess. But I do appreciate the recognition that I am one.

Does size matter?

Relax, Mom. This isn't a post about penis size. It's about one of my dating dealbreakers: Weight. 

This is a true insight into the female mind. I fully accept that I am showing my readers what crazy thoughts go through my head.

I'm not a tall girl. I can't even imagine what it's like for those girls over 5'7 trying to find a guy online (or in the world) that makes them feel petite. By all standards, I AM petite. I'm 5'3. It's not hard to find a guy that's taller than me. And although I do love me some five inch heels, I would never dismiss a guy for being short. There are many different attributes that made my not-so-tall Aussie seem six feet tall. But I will admit, I am more attracted to tall guys.

The crazy reason behind this is weight. While I am small, I wouldn't label myself as skinny -- especially not by LA standards. I like tall guys because they make me feel little. I think most girls have that desire to feel small in their man's arms. Recently I met a guy who is not-so-tall. I know, I know...I haven't gone through the hilarity of our first few dates on here, and that's mostly because I haven't told him about this blog yet. Oopsies. I've happily put my cutest flats on for our dates because he makes me laugh.

The trouble is, not only is he not-so-tall, he's also not-so-big. He's pretty skinny. Every time we're out, my mind starts drifting to what it would be like if our relationship progressed to nakedness...I might squish him. I would definitely feel like a giant on top of him. Guys, I would rather you have a bit of a beer belly than be manorexic. And I know some guys can't really help that...lucky bastards. 

So here's my dealbreaker: If you weigh equal to or less than I do, it's just not going to happen. If you wear a size small or extra small, you're not for me. It might not seem fair, but you can't help what you are or are not attracted to.

What's really twisted is that I definitely love a skinny hipster in his skinny jeans. He just has to be over six feet!