Best. Decision. Ever.

"And that's why 'Owner of a Lonely Heart' by Yes would make the best ringtone ever," decides N.

"Speaking of, I ended things with KB."

"Speaking of Owner of a Lonely Heart?" she laughs. "I never told you this, but last weekend Z and I sat him down and talked to him about his kissing."

"ARE YOU SERIOUS?!"

"Yeah, why?"

"If a mutual friend sat me down and told me that a guy was turned off by my kissing, I would be mortified. I would be embarrassed; I would want to crawl under a rock and die. And I most certainly would never call him again!" KB called me twice since N and his talk. Unflushable.

"It didn't seem to bother him. Hopefully he'll reflect on it."

"What happened? What did you say?"

"Just that he was being way too aggressive and to lighten up. That when a girl akins a kiss to a head rape, he's being too rough."

God, I love N. We didn't speak for the first several months we worked together, but that girl has my back moreso than anyone I know. "And what did he say to that?"

"He said that's just the way he is: aggressive in bed."

Oh holy crap. I can't imagine what he would have done with my more sensitive parts. Actually I can. And I wouldn't have liked it. I have a tendency to blurt things out in bed. Who taught you that!? What makes you think that's okay?!

And not being one to turn up an opportunity to prove I was right, let's go back to a previous post.


Maybe he doesn't even want to. By KB telling N that "That's just the way he is," KB obviously has no interest in pleasing others. It was the worst case scenario come true.

Yup. Best. Decision. Ever.

A post I wish I wrote

Sometimes I read people's blogs and I think Genius! Why didn't I think of that first?

This is one such post.

So, I tried again.

"Hey, I was a real jerk to you last week."

"Yeah." There was an awkward pause. If he couldn't say "I'm sorry," then I'm not obligated to "That's okay" or "Don't worry about it."

"Well you have your thing on Saturday. Do you want to do something Sunday?"

"Yeah." Wait. Shit, that wasn't the right response. I had even rehearsed this. Quick, I need to cover this up. "As friends."

This was the place where I was planning to tell him that there just wasn't any chemistry, which was technically true-- he was just such a terrible kisser. Instead I sat there silent on the phone, giving him no explanation.

"That's fine."

I couldn't speak.

"No, really, that's fine," he chirped again. "So I will give you, uh, a call."

"Okay. Later."

It's not that I'm so full of myself that I'm worried about breaking his heart. Ending things with someone is really more painful for me than it is for the other party, I'm sure, which is what makes me so completely terrible at it.

That's what I get for being so damn sensitive.

But I'm proud of myself for being an adult about it*.

*If everyone can just forget the part where I told him to fuck off last week, that would be great. Thanks in advance.

On Bulls and Blueprints

As I mentioned earlier, I spent my morning and most of my night last night reading this guy's blog. He's 28 and less than a week ago, his wife of 10 years died. Something happened and she was admitted into the hospital for flu symptoms. He never spoke to her again and she was dead within two weeks. They still don't know what made her sick.

It was hard reading his pleadings to a God he didn't believe in to keep his wife alive. Now that I'm through, I feel sad and hollow. What I read was not a movie. It was not fictional; it actually happened. There is a 28-year-old widower out there.

I decided after treating #7 and KB badly (and a few others that never made it on here) that I worked out my anger of Adam's and my relationship. How he treated me badly since the moment I first got naked with him. How he chose someone else over me. How he was one of three people I actually liked this year. How quickly I let someone walk all over me after vowing to stand up for myself. By treating them badly, I was striking back at what I felt were injustices.

For the past couple of months, I've been going through life like a bull in a china shop. A nick here. A dent there. Doing damage to myself and to other people. But AT's blog reminded me that, if nothing else, we should do our best to take care of each other, not to tear one another down.

I was going to start fresh with two new prospects from Esquire.com. However, both of them seem to have cut correspondence with me. It may just be an adjustment from the holidays. It may be that I finally warmed up and showed a peek of my true self to them and they simultaneously fled in terror. I'm disappointed I've ruined my chances to practice my new outlook by simply being myself.

Sometimes I wish there was a blueprint for my life. Just tell me what you want me to be and I'll be it.

My blog wouldn't nearly be as interesting though.

I'm a joker, he's a smoker, she's a midnight what?!

Thanksgiving has passed. Thank god. I hate Thanksgiving: it's important enough that you're expected to spend it with the family, but it's not religious so none of said family is on good behavior.

It's always Thanksgiving when I'm traumatized by my family. This year was no exception:

My step-mother and father and I were eating dinner the night before I left town. My step-mother's sister was visiting and we had just finished laughing over my speed dating story.

My step-mother's sister looks up from her plate of spaghetti, "Did you ever smoke pot?"

I look up wild-eyed and was immediately relieved when I see that she's not looking at me; she's looking at my step-mom. I look down at my plate and pretend I didn't hear the question.

My step-mother takes a long pause. I stare down a piece of garlic bread in front of me. "I did, but I waited," she began. "Like I really waited."

"Like I really, really waited," she continued. Only then I look up from my plate. Exactly how old was my step-mom when she smoked pot?

She looks to my father, "Honey, how old was I?"

I gag on the noodles I just forked into my mouth. She smoked pot with my father?! It's no secret that my dad was a hippie and smoked in college, but he did it after I was born?!

They smoked pot together which places me at least five years old. My dad was in his early forties smoking pot with my step-mom. I only tried it a handful of times when I was 21. Alcohol is my drug of choice. But my parents might still be toking.

Wow. That has to be good for a few years of therapy.

Digression

I was just going to run through and catch up on my blogs this morning real quick because I do have a lot to do before my boss returns tomorrow. But it's 11 AM and I haven't done crap because I ran across this blog.

I started the link at November 1st because that's where she becomes sick. His wife dies on November 17th.

I haven't made it all the way through yet. It becomes difficult for me to read all the emotion he drags himself through and subsequently posts on the internet.

Makes my blog posts planned for today look cheap. And petty. And not what life should be about.

Take Two

Apparently screaming "You know what? Fuck you!" and hanging up on someone doesn't get the point across.

KB called while I was out of town and left a message probing when I would be back so we could go out again.

Which means, I have to end things. Again.

As if I didn't feel scuzzy enough the first time.

Fuckucopia

I didn't want to end things with KB the day before Thanksgiving. I thought it would be cruel to send someone into the holiday having to tell the extended family, "We're not seeing each other anymore as of yesterday." But I had already ignored a text and a phone call this week, so I had to take his call.

The conversation started off pleasant enough. I thought because I was going out of town for the remainder of the week, I could get away with not seeing him without actually telling him that I would be never seeing him again.

But he had to start talking about politics.

Long story short, I didn't take my exit from the School of Class, but now he knows. I feel dirty, but a lot better.

TV Boyfriends

Stolen from the talented Mez, but with a caveat: I have a talent for knowing exactly how my relationships will end.

My Top Ten TV Boyfriends:

Dr. Doug Ross from ER (played by George Clooney). Like you didn't see this one coming. Better to start off with the obvious. Sure he was a bit of an ass, but he would do anything to save a child. Remember that episode when he was going to smoke a joint, but ended up saving a kid from a flooded sewer? I would have banged his brains out for that.
How I would screw this relationship up: One night after said banging, I would roll onto his shoulder and run my hand through his chest hair and say, "You realize we've been together for six months?" Not as a request for commitment, but as a marker of time. In any case the commitment-phobic Dr. Ross would dump my ass immediately.

Alex P. Keaton from Family Ties (played by Michael J. Fox). I know my life with the money-loving Alex would be financially stable. He dressed well and had a great family (well except for his fat little sister) and Mallory and I would be best friends who would often do lunch and spend the afternoon shopping. And he was misogynistic enough to demand that I quit my job to stay at home and raise the kids.
How I would screw this relationship up: No way in hell a picture of Richard Nixon is going up in my home.

Seth Cohen from The O.C. (played by Adam Brody). I've always wanted to date someone witty whose smart pop culture references would have me swooning. We would bond over our love for Breyer horses. Fine, my love when I was 10, and he still has Captain Oats on his bedside table, but whatevs. He would fall in love with me when I offered to extend Chrismukkah for 11 additional days (after all there are 12 days of Christmas).
How I would screw this relationship up: I would back over him with the Land Rover in his driveway for being a whiny bitch. I'm pretty sure he would break up with me as soon as he got out of the hospital or when I got out of jail, whichever came first.

Ben Covington from Felicity (played by Scott Speedman). I've been helping, now somebody save me. Ben, always drawn to the damsel in distress, would be more than willing to have my back. It must be nice to not have to depend on yourself all the time-- I would love to try that out. Plus he had a kick ass loft apartment that I wouldn't mind crashing at.
How I would screw this relationship up: Sorry Ben, but I would have broken up with you after you told me Lauren was going to have your baby. Good luck to you and the alcoholic mother of you child.

Noel Crane from Felicity (played by Scott Foley). It's my top ten list and I can have them both if I want. He was a geek with a hot body-- how do I order me one of those? Noel would fix my CSS problems and we would bond over our mutual hatred for IE. God he looked hot in his pea coat. Mmmm. Sometimes I would give him smart powder for shits and giggles, just to watch him freak out.
How I would screw this relationship up: I'm a teaser and Noel is a sensitive soul. I imagine one day I would tease and it would really offend him. We would argue and I wouldn't cave because, seriously, he would just have to suck it up. And then he would breakup with me.

Brian Hackett from Wings (played by Steven Weber). Brian is the male version of me, another Type B personality. Together we would laugh incessantly and take spur of the moment trips. We'd win entire crowds of people over and reign as king and queen of the party.
How I would screw this relationship up: Wow, I don't see this relationship ending without me taking a shovel to his face. There needs to be some balance and together we'd be entirely too flighty. I would end up turning into some sort of mother figure for him and ultimately resent him for it. The breakup would be ugly. UGLY.

Nat Ostertag from Mad About You (played by Hank Azaria). Over the summer I developed a thing for dog owners. Sure, he doesn't own Murray, but he takes care of him every day. He would love my dog; men who love dogs are good people. And you know they have to come home every night or otherwise deal with a mess in the morning.
How I would screw this relationship up: I would encourage Nat to do something more with his life than walk dogs. And by "encourage" I mean "give ultimatums." He would eventually choose the dogs over me.

Eric Gotts from Wonderfalls (played by Tyron Leitso). This was a very short-lived show that I loved. He loved Jaye despite the fact she was so many things. He loved her despite the fact that she was disenchanted and he loved her despite the fact that she could be inexcusably mean at times, all while serving her alcohol. If Eric could love Jaye, he could love me.
How I would screw this relationship up: Jaye's fear and unwillingness to commit drove him away several times. Let's face it-- one of those times he isn't coming back.

Dr. Mark Sloan from Grey's Anatomy (played by Eric Danes). Mark looks and acts exactly like Christopher. I would go over to his apartment under the condition that there would be absolute silence during the hour of Grey's Anatomy. He would agree to anything as long as I came over. Halfway into the show he would get bored and put the split screen on his TV: my half with Grey's, his half with porn. I would have killed him had I been able to stop laughing first. Mark is also a "get under your skin" kind of guy. I forgot how hot Christopher was; I wonder if I still have his number...
How I would screw this relationship up: I imagine it would end the same way. After several months I would finally feel comfortable enough to pop over. He, however, would not be comfortable with it-- he freaked out and I never heard from him again.

Dr. Preston Burke from Grey's Anatomy (played by Isaiah Washington). This is what I need: smart, confident, and sturdy. He's not afraid of moving forward and he's confident enough to not freak out when Cristina does. He's a calm and collected rock which neurotic women can lean upon and not feel freaking crazy. That must be nice...
How I would screw this relationship up: He's so calm and collected that I would pick fights with him to get any sort of emotion out of him. If he fought back, I would know he cared. If he remained cool and calm, I would know he doesn't love me. I mentioned neuroses, right?

The Kissing Bandit can't kiss

The first time KB threw me up against the wall and kissed me, it was awkward. I just attributed the kiss to a combination of alcohol and nerves.

Later that night when he walked me to my truck and shoved his tongue down my throat, I thought he was just pushing for a connection since he was in competition with his friend for me.

The third time he kissed me, he grabbed the back of my head and pried my teeth apart with his tongue. Strike three and I was done making excuses for him: the Kissing Bandit can't kiss.

Not only can he not kiss, but he's so bad at it, the thought of kissing Kissing Bandit makes me cringe. I'm trying to think of an analogy of how bad he is. When he kisses me, it's like inserting a raw hot dog in my mouth. I mean, what am I supposed to do with that?

My friends tell me that I should just work with him and teach him. I actually spent some time with Indiana discussing KB and he brings up an interesting point:

Sarah: First of all, I think a bad kisser is indicative of much worse. If you can't kiss by thirty, then you've got some problems.
Indiana: Really... it also might suggest that he is not a player.
Sarah: Obviously. But I was thinking more of sex-related problems. I think he hasn't taken the time to learn to please, or maybe he doesn't even want to.
Indiana: Ok... but does that make you shallow, or does it mean he is inexperienced.
Sarah: Shouldn't chemistry be natural, not taught?
Indiana: Chemistry is natural....skill in bed is not. Where does it say that you should be born great in the sack?
Sarah: It doesn't, but you should have learned how to put your tongue in someone's mouth within your first three decades of living.
Indiana: Why???? Where is that written?
Sarah: I dunno, but it should be written somewhere.

Do I really end things with someone because he can't kiss? Does that make me shallow? I agreed to go out with him again and I've been spending all week trying to figure out an excuse to get out of it. Only now the week is up and I haven't done anything about it and it's too late to cancel.

Lesbian Stuff

Now I remember why boys like me:

Because I can dance.

In stiletto heels.

On a stage.

For hours.

Living in Midtown, I really don't take enough advantage of our celebrity-riddled clubs. Truth is, I'm not much of a club goer. I prefer bars with seating and waitresses to fetch my pints of beer, not lemon-drop shots while hovering over a sticky bar where my only thought is, God, it's kinda loud in here.

But N dragged me out to a hetero club the previous week, and as I danced (it's one of the few things I excel at) I felt the eyes on me. I didn't even have to look around to know that seven or eight men were checking me out. Me.

I thought I would get the same results at the lesbian club.

It's not that I was looking to get hit on by a member of the same team, but everyone wants to feel desirable. So when I danced and pulled out my usual moves that makes men drop their jaws, I was expecting a little something-something.

Wrong.

Nothing. I got nothing.

After awhile this Asian couple began dancing with us and the one girl kept making eyes at me. She was an excellent flirter. She would look at me, grin, and laugh while pulling up the bottom of her dress up at me. I'll have to remember that for future use (except the lifting of the skirt bit, that seems a little forward).

In the car I bragged to N, "Did you see that Asian girl? She wanted me."

"She's married with two kids. She escapes to this club every weekend where she hits on everybody."

Hmph.

I complained to N about not getting checked out.

"No, there were several girls checking you out while you were dancing." Z chimed in with her, noting the same thing. "It's just that girls are much more stealth at checking people out than boys."

Could that be it?

"We're more subtle. Think of it this way: you check out women every day."

"Er..."

"You do. You look at them to see how their hair is styled, or what cut they may have. You check them out for their clothing and shoes."

"True."

"Besides that, most men stare when they check people out. Obvious stares. Women, however, can glance once, maybe twice, and file it away." N checks me out for emphasis, "See, I have a snapshot of you right now, I don't need to look anymore."

Is this true, men? Do you find it hard to tell when you're being checked out?

Makes me glad I'm a girl. Er, a hetero girl. Not so sure I would be good at this lesbian stuff.

Foreign Policies

As a well-educated American, I know to get my news from international sources, especially news that pertains to American foreign policy. Normally I'm a fan of the Telegraph , but today I found myself on the Khaleej Times reading an interesting op ed piece on the war in Iraq.

With international websites comes international advertisements. I know it's tradition there, but this ad made me laugh:

Click for big

Back at the Batcave

By 10 PM on Saturday we were seated on my couch watching TV.

It should be mentioned that I don't have cable.

It should also be mentioned that I don't like having people in my apartment that I don't know that well.

He took me out to dinner at a microbrewery he frequents with business clients. Afterwards he just drove back to my place without even asking me and followed me in and sat down on my couch.

I opened my fridge and popped a beer top. Maybe drinking myself into a haze would make this night more exciting.

"Would you like one?"

"Do you have anything besides Bud Light?"

"Um, no. I wasn't expecting company."

"Well then Bud Light will be fine."

He found the remote under a pillow and began flipping through the channels. I took a long drink. When he said he was going to plan the night, I thought it meant it was going to be more than dinner at a bar followed by watching TV in my apartment.

"Damn, you have a lot of Spanish stations and religious channels."

"Yeah, er, I only get the 5 major networks. I don't really watch that much TV."

45 minutes later and my beer was getting warm; I didn't even feel like drinking it. I wondered how long I would have to wait before kicking him out of my place-- I wanted to crawl under my down comforter and watch my Grey's Anatomy DVDs in bed.

My phone broke the silence. It was N.

"What are you guys doing?"

"Oh we're watching TV at my place. What's up? Are y'all going out tonight?"

"We're thinking of going to a club."

Desperation hit my voice, "Yes! Let's!"

"Okay, just to warn you, it's a lesbian club."

"I don't care!"

I think N picked up on my desperation to do anything, including spending my Saturday night at a lesbian bar. "Is my friend treating you okay?"

KB leans into my phone, "Don't believe a word Jessica says!"

I looked at him, "Did you just call me Jessica? My name is Sarah."

His eyes widened.

"N, did you just hear him call me Jessica?"

"Yes."

"He's so buying us top shelf tequila for that."

I made a joke out of it, but I was really offended. He was in my home and depleting my beer supply and he forgot my name. Or worse, he was depleting my beer supply and thinking of a girl named Jessica. He should be drinking Jessica's beer.

I got up to change.

"Are you really changing to go to a lesbian club?"

"Why not?"

"Well, they're lesbians. What's the point of dressing up?"

"I'm not going to go to a club in boots and a sweater; I don't care who is there. I like looking nice for me. "

"Is this what I have to look forward to?

"What?"

"Sitting around while you change?"

I wouldn't be so sure of yourself.

To the lesbian club...

Bodily Function Sarah ???

N and I had been taking Airborne together every three hours. I blame her. She felt sick on Tuesday and Friday morning I shuffle into work, not making much sense, and complaining that I feel like I dropped out of a butt.

Airborne tastes like a bottle of Sunny D left in the trunk of a car all summer long, but she swears by it.

"It helps that were both drinkers," she says. "Our chugging skills keep us from tasting it."

We toast and chug. I make a foul face and chase it with my tea.

"So how are you feeling?" she asks.

"Ugh, I snored. I snored so loudly it woke me up this morning. And I never snore unless something is going on up there," I wave my hand around my face.

RHFDSC appears in front of my cubicle. It seemed like he appeared from thin air, much like super villains do.

"Would you say snoring is a Bodily Function?" he laughs.

N looks at me, "He really does call you Bodily Function Sarah?"

I can't believe she doubted this. What reason do I have to make this up about myself? "Yup."

"I take it you don't like me calling you Bodily Function Sarah."

"Well, it's just that Bodily Function makes me think of much worse things than sneezing and coughing."

"Yeah," N agrees. "Bodily Function does carry excrement connotations."

"Well then I shall give you a new nickname."

I'm definitely seeing a pattern with being attracted to people that tease me.

And I'm scared about what my new nickname may be.

Charge!

After the stunning realization that I am such a cliche by liking bad boys, I went shopping.

Hello, furry boots and puffy vest, it's time we meet.

But after that I went home-- my place was pitch black and it was barely after 8 PM. I took the dog for an abbreviated walk and returned weary.

I was tired; I was tired of wanting what I can't have and never being satisfied. I was tired of shopping when I'm down and I was tired of spending money. I was tired of Adam's ever-presence in my life: I was tired of his blog stalking and I was tired of making him out to be better for me than he really was.

I looked at my bed, shed all my clothes, and climbed under my goosedown comforter. It was a night for going to bed early. Kissing Bandit, however, had other plans.

He called and gave me his schedule to see when we could go out again. My choices were Thursday or Saturday. Under the blankets I chewed on my lip, debating whether or not I was going to let Grey's Anatomy dictate my social life for the second time.

"Er, Saturday would be better. I have plans on Thursday." And then before he could ask, "You know, yoga." Technically it was true.

"Okay, Saturday is fine," he paused. "This time let me make all the decisions."

I sat up in bed and leaned on my elbow, all of a sudden much more interested in the conversation. "Okay. What are we doing?"

"Just leave it to me. Be ready at seven and dress casually."

I don't know if he spoke to N or not, but he is stepping up and taking charge.

Me likey.

I like assholes.

The thought came clearly in my tequila fog. I was out at dinner with Married Work Guy (We're friends. No hanky panky, honest) and we were splitting a pitcher of margaritas after he had a particularity gnarly work day. Invariably, the conversation always turns to theLoveLife.

"Well, I'm not going to finish this margarita. With this tequila, you're inhibitions are going to be lowered and otherwise I won't be able to say no when you offer to blow me in the parking lot," he says. He smiles afterwards and I know he's not really serious. Okay, he is, but with the smile I can at least see his game.

That's just like MWG, to take his thing for me and turn it around to make it somehow my fault. I like that. Why can't I find someone like that?

And then,

Omigod, I like assholes.

I did, after all, spend five months in bed with a guy who called me a whore at first meeting. He played hot and cold with me and I loved every minute of it.

"MWG, I like assholes."

"I know you do. You like it best when you think you have control, but in reality you never do."

Yeah, pretty much. That's why I pushed the envelope with Kissing Bandit last week. I wanted to see how much control I had and I was disappointed when I found out I had it all.

"Was your dad an asshole?"

"No, he was absent. My mother was a huge one though. I refuse to have much of a relationship with her to this day because of that."

"Well there you go. We often look for partners that have the same qualities as our parents. You equate tearing you down with love. If it's not a battle, you don't think it's real because it's too easy.

"Nothing was ever good enough for my father," he continued, "So I married a woman where nothing I did was good enough for her. But we realized this pattern and we put a positive spin on it where she pushed me until I became a better and better person."

He paused and dipped a chip into the salsa and ate it. "Not bad for clown school?" he asked.

I once made fun of him in a meeting where he said he graduated with honors and I added, "from clown school." RHFDSC laughed.

"Nope," I agreed.

"Your mamma went to clown school."

And I laughed.

Well that was short lived

After a sneeze that broke into a coughing fit, RHFDSC came over to my desk and declared me "Bodily Function Sarah."

And end scene.

I have a crush

This morning the really hot, freshly divorced, straight coworker got on the elevator the same time as me. The elevator doors shut and he talked on his phone while I checked out myself in the funhouse reflection. As I reached up and tucked a few stray strands of hair behind each ear, he waved to get my attention and gave me the thumbs up. I smiled.

Ladies and gentlemen, I want to do bad things to him.

The good, bad, and oh so ugly

The Good:

The really hot, freshly divorced, straight guy at work came up to me and said he thought about me over the weekend. I got all tingly inside.

The Bad:

He said he was at a salad bar and laughed when he saw the sneeze guard because it reminded him of my sneezes.

The Ugly:

Sneeze guards at salad bars remind my really hot, freshly divorced, straight coworker of me. He only thinks of me when my face explodes and snot goes everywhere.

*Sigh*

Eye of the Tiger

Hi, my name is Sarah and I'm a maneater.

Yikes, Sarah!

I've seen it in the animal kingdom: If a dog notices weakness in another dog, the stronger dog will attack. A cat will play with its prey before going in for the kill.

I'm pretty good at smelling weakness, or nervousness as the case may be. I don't know what happens inside me, but I will sit there and psychologically toy with the boy for hours while smiling sweetly from the other side of the table.

It's not good for me to be the alpha in relationships, because it's very clear that I will misuse any power.

Saturday night, I'm out with the Kissing Bandit. Whatever confidence he did have evaporated when N called him up ranting, "Now I have to work with her, so you better be on your very best behavior. If she comes in to work on Monday and tells me about some god awful thing you did, I will have your head!"

He's nervous. He flat out says he's not very good at first dates. Matter of fact, he has a list of things he's not allowed to talk about.

"Like what? What's on the list?"

"My family, ex-girlfriends, Bob Saget, porn and sex, my family again, my sister, religion..." he continues for quite awhile covering most topics.

"So, uh, anyway," he says, "I just want to preface this by saying I'm looking to settle down. I'm 30; it's time to get serious about dating. I do want to get married and have kids..."

I almost choke on my beer. He is the second person I've been out with this week who has brought up the m-word on the first date. I don't know what makes them think this is okay.

"So this isn't a date so much as it is an audition for marriage," I quip back.

"Well, er, no. That's not what I meant."

He's nervous. I can smell it.

We're both thespians, him more recent than me, so I switch the subject to acting.

"Being a drama major really helps with everyday life," he begins. "It's made me a really good liar. I can act my way out of almost any situation I don't like."

"So you brag that you're good at lying? What do you lie about?"

I feel the claws coming out. I meet his eyes and lean across the table, "Are you a liar?"

Yep, they're out.

"No I'm really honest! Ask me anything embarrassing and I'll tell you the truth."

Attack! Attack!

"When was the last time you masturbated?"

He puts his fork down and turns a couple of colors and begins to nervously laugh at my verve. He looks at his watch and pretends to count hours. I laugh so hard that I've lost the ability to breathe and just clutch my chest.

His left eye begins to twitch.

I have succeeded in getting him so worked up that I ignite his facial twitch.

"Omigod, you're twitching!"

Telling him he's twitching doesn't actually help with the twitching.

It's not something I do consciously, but I've always been one to poke at wounds. When I was a child I used to walk up to my mother and press her bruises, "Does that hurt? What about that one?"

Uh, calling Doctor Freud.

Maybe I do it because I was always the one bullied. Being the youngest of six, I've had to learn to hold my own. And with the fight or flight reflex, I've always been a fighter.

Ask Anne from the fifth grade-- bitch deserved her goddamned canoe tipped for making fun of me.

Because I love my readers

To the girl in India who found my blog by Googling, "I love a guy, he loves me, what should I do next:"

You should probably go out on a date. Hold hands. Maybe kiss.

Does anyone else have any suggestions?

Unlucky Number Seven

I've had three dates with #7 and it's going to stay that way. Every time I was out with him, I was mentally making lists of why I couldn't be with him.

Date #1

• God, he is talking about not being married a lot.
• Did he just say he likes his girls in lingerie? Aren't you supposed to wait until, I don't know, not the first date to say that?
• How many stories about John Holmes does one person have?
• I know he's not where he thought he would be at 30. I wish he would stop talking about it.
• No career? Hmmm.

Date #2

• Really? Two dates in two days? That's against one of my rules, but everyone is telling me to give him a second chance.
• Omigod, that noise is him breathing.
• He pays for everything with hundred dollar bills. Can't. Stop. Laughing. Where's the gold chain and the gobs of hair gel?
• Whoops! He had me on my back a little too quickly there.

Date #3

• Another date this week? I haven't seen a person I was dating three times in one week in over three years.
• He doesn't live within city limits.
• I know he's proud of his house, but it's kinda ugly.
• No. No. No. I will not date a 30-year-old man who has a lava lamp in his bedroom.
• There's that breathing noise again. That is the most annoying thing ever.
• His teeth click too? There is just way too much sound coming from up there.
• I know "Come over to my place and watch a movie" is international code for sex, but that's not happening.
• No it's not happening.
• Get your goddamn hand out of my pants.
• Slow. Down.
• WHAT IS WITH THAT BREATHING NOISE? CAN THEY OPERATE FOR THAT??

Needless to say the date did not end well. I'm justifying with if I really liked him, none of these things would have bothered me. But if I'm sitting on his couch with 14 reasons why I can't go out with him again, even if as individual reasons they are pretty lame, then I must not be interested in him.

Like at all.

Fortune

A historical landmark had a Halloween mixer last week. At the mixer was a psychic giving free readings. I, of course, made a beeline for the free food, and after I was done eating, visited the psychic.

We had a rough start.

"Do you have a roommate?"

"No."

"No roommate?"

"No."

"Well I see you've been close to an older woman recently, a mother figure perhaps?"

"We're not close. I haven't spoken to an older woman in quite awhile."

"Oh." She pauses and flips a tarot card over. "Boyfriend?"

"Er, no." I started to feel bad for her.

"But I see a..." and goes on to describe Adam perfectly.

"We were dating, but not anymore as of yesterday."

She looks at me, horrified. Why, I don't know. "And you weren't close to an older woman over the breakup?"

"Nope."

She flips a card, on it is a picture of a woman. "Another woman?"

"Yup."

Her eyes panic again. She obviously feels terrible for me.

"It's not how you think. We're going to be friends instead," I try to assure her.

"Let's not talk about him anymore."

"Okay," I shrug.

She flips five cards over rapidly, all pictures of men. "You're going to do just fine. There will be a lot of men for you this year."

Is it possible for a psychic to make you feel slutty? Cause I'm pretty sure that just happened.

She flips another card. "One," she smiles broadly, "will be of marriage potential. You will get into a serious relationship with one of them. He will be a marriage prospect."

I try to smile, but frankly I don't see that as anything to smile about. I just want a date to the Christmas party, not a ball and chain. The idea of relationships still terrifies me.

She flips again and gasps. "This," she makes sure to make eye contact with me, "is the fertility card."

In short, I think she saw a young single girl and assumed that I wanted to get married and have babies. This, however, is not the case. Regular sex would be nice. Oh, and apparently I'm going to seriously look into buying a house within a year.

Back at home, I log onto my computer to see my speed date results. I just want one yes, even if I didn't like him, just for the sake of my self-esteem. The results pop up and I scream.

8 of the 13 men checked yes to me. That's over 60%. My self-esteem soared. I click back on my speed date profile and see I had a message. It's from #7. Seven wrote and said


Yeah, I bet a made an impression. A great one, however, I'm not so sure about. But he had written me within minutes of the results being published and wanted to take me to dinner the next week. If he didn't know that I was stinkin' drunk, then... good for me.

Flash forward to the costume party Saturday night. I lock N in the bathroom with me.

"N, I'm pretty sure that I have my pick of three of your friends."

"I know you do."

"Are you serious?"

"You know they are all best friends; two of them live together. Anyway when you left the room, one said, 'So you're interested in Sarah too?' and the others nodded. They all toasted and said, 'May the best man win.'"

My mouth drops. Stuff like that never happens to me. Well, except for the one bar fight years ago, but that was a misunderstanding.

Of the three men Saturday night, I kissed two and consequently have dates with them this week.

So maybe that fortune teller wasn't all BS. There seems to be a lot of men in my future.