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

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...

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. 

I'm dressing as a slutty _____ for Halloween.

I'm a single girl. It's our job to dress like a slutty version of ourselves on Halloween.

Here's a list of some of my slutty costumes (and a large percentage of them have been successful for this single girl, if you know what I mean) in case you need a last minute idea:

• Slutty Pirate aka "Whore of the Caribbean"
• Slutty Little Red Riding Hood
• Slutty Girl Scout aka "Boy Scout"
• Slutty Panda 
• Slutty Mermaid
• Slutty Cookie Monster 
• Miley Cyrus (no slutty required)
• Slutty Cowgirl
• Slutty Minnie Mouse

But my most successful costume (even though I didn't meet anyone that night) would have to be...

Slutty Spelling Bee

Nerdy glasses and cleavage for the win.

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.

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.

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.

This isn't Downton Abbey

...But if it was, I would totally marry Cousin Matthew.

Ok let me fill you in. A few weeks ago, my first cousin got married. It's always a blast going to Chicago to see the family, and this time was not without its crazy. I had so much fun partying with all my younger cousins, who are now totally adults (which weirds me out). At Sunday's brunch, a VERY bizarre rumor starting floating about the party...

Long story short, my grandma tried to set me up with one of my cousins. She told everyone.
I've officially hit a low point.

Seriously, grandma? This isn't Downton Abbey, and times are not that tough.

"It's far enough removed," she said.

No. No it's not. I will not date members of my family. We are related by blood.

I tried to google the cousin relationship, but I got confused.

You can love your cousin, but you can't LOVE your cousin.

Takin It Back, Tuesdays #3

The TJ's Guy

I created two dating rules for myself after The TJ's Guy:

1. Never date anyone who lives walking distance from your home. 
2. Never date anyone who works at your local grocery store, unless you are okay with driving further to get food when it all crashes down.

It was like fate kept bringing us together. I worked with The TJ's Guy in 2005. In 2008, he showed up as the "wingman" for a date I went on. The next morning, he showed up at brunch as my neighbor's high school friend. We really hit it off, but nothing came of it and soon after...I moved away from Newport Beach. 

In 2010, we were reunited at Tr@der Joe's, his place of work. I was hiding from The Playboy's ex-gf who hates me when I saw his cute little hipster glasses. Nothing is better than having the girl your ex dumped you for watch you get your flirt on with a super hot guy...even if he is a grocery store manager. 

The next day I received a Facebook message from The TJ's Guy. I saw he was "in a relationship" and was a little bummed. But being we were neighbors, he invited himself over to catch up. Don't worry, it was very friendly. Shortly after, he notified me that he was no longer with his girlfriend, and invited himself over again. I don't remember if it was even summer, but we spent a lot of days together laying by my pool listening to music and drinking wine he brought home from work. I'd say he's responsible for my love of hipster music. And maybe hipsters in general. He had a ridiculously hot body.

A lot of weird shit happened in my time with The TJ's Guy, and this post would be way too long if I described it all. But you should know (and sorry, mom, I know you think this is x-rated), The TJ's Guy was a sexaholic. And I got a lot of rugburns. And he was also a compulsive liar (he never broke up with his girlfriend). One night he texted me to pick him up from a bar and when I declined, he took a cab to my apartment and hopped the fence. He banged on my door at 1am, waking up my roommate and our dogs. Then he freaked out that my dog was "watching us." After that, I had to start driving 15 minutes away to get groceries.

Since he is the ONLY man I truly hate, I'm going to disclose that he had the weirdest penis I've ever seen. I'm not exaggerating when I say it SEVERELY curved to the left...even when hard.

When he'd climax, he would announce: "Ya never know where it's gonna go!" and become surprised when his load shot to the left on his sheets. I know! I know! It's going to go to the fucking LEFT! One time I even reached out and caught it. A friend of mine and I named that "The Reverse Spiderman." Think about it.

I sort of want to email him this post. Hey there, TJ's Guy! Remember all the photos you texted me of your crooked penis? I showed them to ALL my friends!

Takin It Back, Tuesdays #2

The Sweaty Guy

One college summer, I lived on campus while taking summer session. It was the perfect scenario:

9am-noon: School
12:30-3pm: Pool
5-10pm: Work
10:30pm: Try to catch up to my roommate, who lined up the number of shots she'd already taken while she waited for me to get home.

Rinse and repeat.

I was lounging by the pool when a friend introduced me to a six pack. Okay, I'm pretty sure there was a face and body attached to the six pack, but I swear I only saw abs. He was hot. A transfer to our school to join a sports team. I flirted my way into him getting my number, and then I flirted my way into a summer fling. He was interesting, smart, and very worldly...but there was just one thing: he was REALLY sweaty. I'm not one to judge, since I have a very efficient cooling system myself, but The Sweaty Guy wore a wristband to soak up his mess. At first I didn't mind it because sometimes he'd lift his shirt up to wipe sweat from his brow and I'd get a peek at those abs.

My roommate always knew when The Sweaty Guy was spending the night; I'd turn the air conditioning down to 68 degrees. One night I reached the breaking point. He was on top of me and the sweat fell onto my face. Ew.

"Hey baby...let's move to the shower. What do you think?"
No guy turns down shower sex. This is a fact.

He never knew my true intentions. [Insert evil laugh] Sorry Sweaty Guy! 

Takin It Back, Tuesdays

The Cherry Guy

That's right. All you boys on that list better start sweating. I've decided to start a weekly post highlighting some of my fondest dating memories.

I was getting my hair done at one of those fancy DryBar locations the other day, when I noticed the pair of cherries tattooed on my male hairdresser's forearm. "Hey! I have that same tattoo...but in a much more ridiculous location!" He, being gay, thought it was adorable. It brought me back to 2010...when I moved back home with my parents and started working at Bloggiano's. After finishing my training, I was on a mission for extreme drunkenness and hot guys. Where did we go? A douchey LA sports bar...Actually I think it's even #9 on this list of douchiest LA bars. Perfect. 

Whilst drowning my "I'm living at home...again" sorrows in vodka soda, a girlfriend and I stepped outside for some fresh air and started talking to a pair of guys having a smoke break. To be honest, it was really dark so I wasn't sure if he was hot. But he was definitely a tall, bearded hipster who told me instantly that he's always wanted to marry a little Jewish girl. Swoon.

He had noticed the tattoo peeking out of my top on my ribs and stated his general lack of interest in tattoos. "They're stupid. That's why I got the dumbest one I could think of," he said. He lifted his shirt just enough to show the lack of muscles developed from his vegetarian diet, and pulled down the side of his jeans just slightly, revealing a pair of cherries on his left hip.

Holy fuck. I have the same tattoo. And not just "Hey, we both have a pair of cherries so that's funny" kind of tattoos...they were mirroring each other as we stood face-to-face. Was it fate that he had the same tattoo my family and friends make fun of me for getting when I was 18 and feeling rebellious? Maybe...We ended up chatting the rest of the night and he asked to kiss me. Sure. He even went so far as to ask if he could take me to dinner the next night. Why not?

The Cherry Guy took me on a few dates Downtown...and impressed me with his bachelor pad loft. One too many games of Dirty Jenga (you don't want to know) and I was telling myself he was probably not boyfriend material. The man was holding onto a pair of leopard speedos from his glory days in college...ten years prior. When he asked me why I wouldn't have sex with him, I told him I was looking for a relationship. He was looking for a girl he could meet up with at the end of the night. No thanks!

I guess cherry tattoos are a tramp-stamp for guys, too. 

Thrown to the Wolfpack

Well, shit. I didn't exactly expect The Busy Builder to say yes to my offer. He's not too busy? I snapped out of my champagne coma and wondered how exactly I might pull this off. I was on my way to dinner and a night out with the girls from the bridal shower, and I'm so not the girl to ditch her friends for a penis. But the girls were very supportive and told me to invite him out with us. "It's a group of like seven girls. You're okay with that?" And he said yes.

You might think I shouldn't have gone to this much trouble, but I went and picked him up from his house. Apparently he'd already had a few beers on his own. The ride over to the Venice bar was slightly awkward. We hadn't seen each other in a few weeks, and who knows what this means that we're hanging out again?

We were just starting to warm up to each other again when the girls danced into the bar, most of them on the prowl for guys...and all of us a couple skinny margaritas deep. I was extremely nervous since I normally don't bring guys around unless they're sticking around, but The Busy Builder jumped right in, attempting to learn names and buying drinks. He even had the balls to suggest a game of "Who Knows Lindsay Better" with the bride-to-be, my best friend of 22 years. She won. As the tequila shots soaked into my veins, I was right back where I started. So very smitten with The Busy Builder. He must like me...or why would he be here, making nice with my girlfriends? 

I gave him the signal that he should take me home, (my little c-block was staying the weekend at my dad's house) and I went to wait outside while he closed out the tab at the bar. As I stood at the exit, another very cute guy came bounding out the door. He did a double-take and walked right up to me. "I don't normally do this, but you are gorgeous. Can I get your phone number?" Part of me felt like I should give it to him. Hey, I don't owe The Busy Builder anything, and he wouldn't even be with me tonight if I hadn't made it happen! But, instead I used the phrase all girls dream of, "I'm sorry. I'm actually here with someone." And as I turned to find him in the crowd, he was outside the bar watching..."Lindsay!" I went running to him.

Some of the best parts of this night are lost in a fog of tequila, but I'm pretty sure The Busy Builder's fish witnessed some inappropriate kitchen behavior. Sorry, Mom.

Sleepless Night

...and not the good kind.

On our third and fourth dates, I started to notice something concerning about Sandwich Guy. He drinks A LOT when we hang out. Typical girl thoughts: Does he have to be drunk to hang out with me? Maybe he's just nervous. Do I want to date a guy that always gets wasted? But I party a lot, too. 

On our fourth date, I permitted him to spend the night. This was mostly because I had no idea how he'd get back to Hermosa that drunk. I was definitely not ready to sleep with him, but I figured I could probably give him a bj and he'd be satisfied with that. I'm told this is a typical Jewish girl maneuver. Well, I didn't even have to because he wanted the night to be about me...SCORE. That kind of thing doesn't usually do it for me, but if you insist...

...Can I keep this guy around just for that? Is that horrible?

That thought quickly left the moment he passed out, wrapped around me with his hot, hairy body. He nearly pushed me off my own bed. And then...the snoring started. Oh my fucking god. He's smothering me! How is he not waking himself up?!? Oh I know. I'll just nudge him away. Fuck, he's too heavy. I know. I'll squeeze out from under his arm and...YES I'm free! I'll just go on the other side of the bed. It's so nice and cool over here. Ugh. It's 4am and I still can't sleep. Psssst...Oliver...are you awake?

I took Oliver and quietly tiptoed out of the room. Thankfully we have a guest room. I slept soundly for about three hours before I heard him wake up to pee. Crap. I went back into my room and sat on the bed, and when he came back he wasn't even that surprised to see me. "Where were you?" Oh...um, I'm just a really light sleeper and you were kinda snoring. "Oh. That sucks for you."

GAME OVER. 

I'm Back, B*tches!

So if you know me, you probably encouraged me to start a new blog. It's been about 16 months since I wrote my farewell post on Gratuity Not Included. While I loved writing about my adventures as a waitress in order to make the days go by quicker, I am quite happy to not be slaving over marinara sauce anymore. You may also remember that I had a special Australian friend that I was about to visit down under. Well, that's exactly where our relationship went...down under. If you ask him, he'd probably say I broke his Aussie heart. If you ask me, I'd say he probably shouldn't have smothered me and went through my shit while I was at work. Two sides to every story. And don't you worry, I'll tell you all about it...

Because I'm here to write about my love life. This is a story I've been dreaming of telling since college. But for fear of embarrassing my family with my shenanigans, I held back...until now. I joined an online dating site (which I guess is pretty normal these days) and have been dying to talk about the fucking crazies kind gentlemen I've been going out with, but then I thought...this could be bad juju.

If I write a blog about the awful dates I go on, and I want the blog to be successful, well that pretty much means I'm stuck going on bad dates and not finding the man of my dreams. 

Fuck it. When this is all over, I'm sending my pictures to Patti at Millionaire Matchmaker and she'll find me a Sugar Daddy. Seriously...She'd love me.
1) I'm Jewish
2) I'm educated
3) I'm not ugly
4) I work with ABUSED CHILDREN
5) I know how to wear a tight dress and use a hair straightener to cover my Jew Curls


So here we go. Stories of my past. Stories of my present. Ideas for the future.


Welcome to my life.... EVERY.SINGLE.DAY.