We need to talk...

Dear Readers,

We need to talk. When we first started this thing, I posted every day. I was so dedicated to making you happy...attending to your every need. I showered you with gifts of wonderfully pathetic, yet hilarious stories. And in return, you left encouraging comments and showed empathy to my plight. We have been through so much together. There's been a lot of excitement, some great (and sometimes awkward) sex, and all the usual ups and downs.

I feel like I have been distant lately. I'm not showing you the attention you deserve. Sometimes I want to post, but I'm distracted with other things. And sometimes, I just avoid you completely. It's nothing you did. You've been a great group of readers. Really. It's not you; it's me. 

So, it is with great bitter-sweetness that I say, I'm breaking up with you...my readers.

I'm just going to be honest, because you deserve that. There's someone else. Most nights when I should be home thinking of you, I'm out doing fun activities with him. You deserve so much better than what I can give you right now. You don't really want to hear about the awesome birthday present I got, or how cute it is that we both got each other eight Hanukkah presents in honor of his first celebration of this holiday...do you? I didn't think so. 

I might come back to you one day. Maybe I'm making a mistake, but I just have to follow my heart right now. I hope you understand.

I'll always cherish our memories together over the last five months. Our relationship was short, but passionate. I hope we can still be friends.

Take care,

Lindsay

I am 28 years old.

On Monday, I turned 28.

When I was little, I thought this was the age for magic. I thought I'd be starring on Broadway, drive a Thunderbird, and I would marry my dream guy.

Some things haven't changed since I was a little girl. I still love Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. I still organize obsessively. I still sing and dance around my house.

But some things shifted with age. The Thunderbird was discontinued in 2005. I nixed my Broadway aspirations shortly after entering college. And I'm a long way from marriage.

But I can't complain. Life is good. 

Since starting my online dating shenanigans in March, I've gone on 16 first dates.

I've gone on four second dates.

I started and ended two pseudo-relationships.

And now I'm happy to say, I'm starting a third. Do you believe in the power of three? Maybe it's just the sorority girl in me, but I do.

I'm feeling good about turning 28. I still get carded everywhere I go. I have a great set of family and friends. I love my job. I have a dog that mostly loves me unconditionally. I'm (hopefully) about to get a new car. And I started a new romance...

Here's hoping the world doesn't end!

And, I'll give you one guess who this card is from...

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!

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. 

I'm Thankful for...Word Vomit

Soooo...what would you say if I told you that on my third date with Ron Swanson, I invited him to my family's Thanksgiving dinner?

You're so right. I'm fucking insane.

It.just.slipped.out.
WORD VOMIT.

He asked me about my plans, and I told him I was heading to New York for a family trip, leaving on a red eye after Thanksgiving dinner. He offered to drive me to the airport.

"Aw, that's so sweet but I don't want you to have to leave your plans."

"I don't really have any plans...Actually, this is my first year on my own for the holidays."

Oh fuck. That's right. Last year he was married. 

My Jewish instincts kicked in: MUST FEED STRANGERS!

That was a week ago. And now it's here...and we're still hanging out. And he's still game to come, despite me letting him know it would be okay to bail at any time.

So, um...Happy Thanksgiving! Wish me luck.

I'm feeling a little like the turkey the day before Thanksgiving...

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.

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. 

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. 

My new favorite game on OKCupid

In case you've been paying attention to my snapshots of dating profiles, I deleted my POF account and decided to explore OKCupid. (And yes I'm still too cheap for the paid sites. If you think I should be on there, you should sponsor my membership.) I grew tired of seeing The Busy Builder's face pop up in my searches, and I don't think I even wrote about the time he messaged me on there recently. Yup. We met on the site, and five months later he went out with his brother and thought it would be funny to message me, "hey baby ;)." Even I know he was on there to show his brother some other girls he was probably talking to. Ugh.

Anyway, I realized that on OKCupid you can search by keyword!

My new favorite game is searching for bands I love and looking for guys who have similar musical interests. No more Weezer please. In my search for guys who also like my favorite band, Local Natives, I came upon a guy whose username has to do with "Ron Swanson."

I decided to write him. Be bold. Geez, I really love Ron Swanson. He understands the simple things in life...like steak.

After a fair bit of banter, Ron Swanson asked to get drinks at a local bar. He quickly changed his mind and invited me to dinner...on Election Day.

Here's hoping Ron Swanson is a Democrat!

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...

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.

Hot N Cold

He Likes Me!

He invites me to dinner.

He Doesn't Like Me.

For the next two weeks he only wants to see me after he's been out drinking.

He Likes Me! 

He invites me over just to hang out, knowing I'm umm...out of commission.

He Doesn't Like Me.

....then jokes that I'll owe him.

He Likes Me!

He invites me out on a Saturday night (prime time) to a bar where some of his friends will be.

He Doesn't Like Me.

"Hey, this is my friend Lindsay."

He Likes Me!

Public display of affection.

He Doesn't Like Me.

I think that happened after a few drinks. Doesn't count.

wikipedia

Ugh. I'm living a Katy Perry song. Low point.

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.

Ace a First Date: For Girls

Since Ace a First Date: For Guys has been a popular post, I figured it's only right we do a list for girls. I didn't want to write it from my perspective since clearly I am not an expert. My best single guy friend helped me put together a list of do's and don't's for the ladies!
Here are Pinata's tips for a great first date (with commentary by yours truly):

1. Don't check your phone; put it on silent. ~ Your work emails and texts to friends can wait a couple hours. Lindsay says: it's okay to check and update your friends when he goes to the bathroom...just don't get caught!
2. Don't talk about your exes. ~ This should be self-explanatory, but why do girls always do it? Guys don't care. Lindsay says: resist resist resist the urge to talk about "...this one time, my ex and I..." I think very often we jump back in the saddle right after a break-up (unlike guys who seem to wait FOREVER) so it happens to be fresh in our mind and hearts. 
3. Be cute, but not slutty. ~ Lindsay asks: How should a girl dress on the first date? Guys are always so casual. Pinata says: Not overly trendy...show some skin, but leave some mystery. "Get the gears turning, but don't show what's under the hood!"
4. Don't be picky when ordering. ~ You don't want to seem indecisive or high maintenance. And yes, it's okay to actually eat more than a salad.
5. Don't get drunk. ~ Pinata recommends 2-8 drinks, Lindsay says: Eight drinks?!? WTF? I'd be on the floor. (He was joking.)
6. Be engaged. ~ Ask questions. Try not to just answer his questions and ask, "what about you?" Be creative.
7. Laugh at jokes and smile a lot. ~ Lindsay says: I am so good at that! Wait, why don't I have a boyfriend?
8. If you talk about something you both like, suggest you do it together. ~ This shows the guy that you are interested in seeing him again, and you want to create a personal, special memory.
9. At least offer to pay for your portion. ~ It gives the guy an opportunity to be the man, say thank you, and let you know they've got it. Lindsay says: Bleh. I disagree. Maybe that's why I'm single.
10. Appear kissable. ~ We both agree that if you like someone, the first kiss should happen on the first date. Stay close so the guy knows you want to be kissed. Face him; give the opportunity. Fumble the keys, Hitch-style.

What do you think, people?

Are you my "Fluffer?"

I'm feeling a need to comment on last week's episode of New Girl.

As I closed the door behind my friend who had gone with me to Olive Garden for the never-ending pasta bowl in honor of the Glee characters' favorite restaurant "Breadsticks," I wondered...

"Are you my Fluffer?"

As any girl from the San Fernando Valley aka Capital of Porn would know, a fluffer keeps the man aroused while he waits for the camera to start rolling. In this particular episode, the boys accuse Nick of being Jess' Emotional Fluffer. She is trying to just have casual sex with her man, while calling on Nick for the boyfriend-y type things like assembling her dresser.

I guess I can kind of relate to this situation. I haven't had a "boyfriend" in a very long time. My last relationship was long distance, so he wasn't exactly there to take me to dinner, tell me what's wrong with my car, or hang things on my wall. I've always counted on my two best guy friends for those kind of things...I frequently bring them as my "plus one" to various work and family events.

I've never really thought that might be unfair to my friend, so oopsies. All the work of being a boyfriend, none of the benefits.

So, Pinata: Thanks for always fixing my car and checking my oil/tires, for taking me to dinner, and for attending any and all events I ask you to! 

P.S. I know you've thought about having sex with me. 

Takin It Back, Tuesdays #6

International Lover

I guess I have a bit of a wild side. If you've been following along for the last two months, you probably already figured that out. A few years ago I gave up everything I knew to move temporarily to Israel...Tel Aviv to be exact. After a series of failed relationships with men who didn't love me the way I deserve, I made a promise to myself to just enjoy my time there without the complications of dating. I was quickly tempted to break that promise within the first week. He was a bartender at the local bar. Typical. 

A male Israeli friend taught me one of my first phrases in Hebrew on our way out. It translated to "I want to f*ck you tonight." Beautiful, right? My friends and I found it to be hilarious and naturally, I had to try it out.

After a few Goldstar beers, I leaned over the bar and called my International Lover over to me. I put my lips to his ear and recited my new phrase. He leaned back. "Do you know what you have just said?" 

Mmm hmm.

I tried to get him to kiss me. He shook his head.

"I will not kiss you in my bar. But I will make you this offer to come home and sleep with me."

Oh how I enjoy the blunt nature of an Israeli man. I instantly chickened out.

"Ummm no thank you?"

I'm all talk...in Hebrew.