Webster's Dictionary

The last post about dating brought back some memories of Horrible Dates Past that I thought I had long smothered with alcohol and disassociation. Turns out, not so much.

I have so many bad date stories I could write about, how can I choose just one? Should I chose the one about the guy that professed his undying love and desire to marry me (on the first date)? What about the guy that quit his job at Wendy's and lived with his Mom & Dad (& 5 VERY STINKY ferrets)? Or maybe the guy that said he didn't care for hot tamales and then proceeded to eat my entire bag during the movie? Or maybe... I'll just tell you about Webster.

Webster. Webster will hold a special place in my memory (until I drink him into oblivion) for he was the first date I had after leaving my ex-husband. I was nervous, excited, well-groomed and nicely scented. But I would come to find out that that was all for nothing.*

We decided to meet at a Sushi restaurant within walking distance of my house. So I meet him there, and was only a little put off by the fact he doesn't stand up to greet me and he looks about as excited to be meeting me as one would be by hearing news of mandatory oral surgery. Without Novocaine. I sit. He tells me he isn't sure he likes sushi. Since we haven't ordered, I suggest going to any of the other dozen restaurants in walking distance. He assures me that it is alright. He asks for a recommendation, I say the California Roll as it is the most tame and mild of all sushi rolls (However if I had known that he was going to pick up and play with EACH sesame seed with his chop sticks, I would have suggested differently).

I am on the verge of giving this guy cool points for being adventurous and trying new things... until he started making the faces. You know, THOSE faces. The faces that 5 and 6 year olds make when they're forced to eat lentils or Brussels sprouts. This was quickly pushed out of mind when the swishing started. Swishing. Like mouthwash. It turns out that Webster needs to swish his drink around in his mouth before drinking it. Not every time. But every other time. Roughly. Regardless of what he was drinking, water, Sprite, beer... it was all swished.

After leaving the Sushi place, we walked down the street and when he saw that Fric & Frac had a special on tacos, he wanted to go in. So, he asked me if I would mind if we went in and, basically, start the date over. I really didn't know what to do since I've been absent from the dating scene for about 6 years and those of you good at math will know that I was 18 the last time I was on a date and that just consisted of McDonald's and put-put golf. This was, relatively speaking, a step up. So I agreed. I watched him wolf down 6 tacos (with extra sour cream) and swish beer. Conversation was strained since I wasn't eating and he kept shoveling (and swishing) food and drink into his mouth. I don't remember at which point it was (the glop of sour creme on his chin, the loud smacking of fingers or borderline gurgling of beer) where I stop trying. Thankfully he was a fast eater and we left. As we parted ways, he gave me an awkward side hug and said he was off to his parents. I half expected him to add "for dinner."

"It was nice meeting you" I reply and turn around and start my 3 block walk home. I never called or emailed him back and he didn't try to contact me again. Which is fine, because I only need one Fat, Dull, Dust covered Dictionary in my apartment.

*This will continue to be the theme of almost all my dates from this point on to the present and sadly, probably, into the future.

It's a Business Doing Pleasure

I'll admit that I've used a dating service in the past. Match.com and the like. Yeah, I've had various accounts and, obviously, didn't have much (long-lived) luck. 97% of the guys I went out on a date with didn't make it to round 2. This should in no way reflect badly on MY date-ability, however, I just haven't met someone that is an interesting, funny, non-douche-baggy, doesn't live with their mom, has no cats (or ferrets) kind of guy (I've met several different incarnations of this NOT guy, let me asure you).

This brings me to the latest dating service I've employed. We'll call them "The KC Pimp." Now, well before I had signed on to become a member of The KC Pimp's entourage, I had closed all my online dating accounts because I realized that I didn't really care about being in a relationship. I have awesome friends, money in the bank and lots and lots of really sweet shoes. My life; it is complete.

So why sign up? Well, a friend is the Relationship Counselor and said she needed girls to even out her guy heavy dating pool. So armed with a friend on each arm (Liz & Whitney) we went to sign up and to fill out a multiple choice questionnaire that would land us the guys of our dreams.

Part of the Service that The KC Pimp provides is monthly social events. On the calendar this month? A day at the K! Me and my girls donned our tailgating gear (flats), sustenance (24 pack of beer and ingredients for Jager Bombs) and a smile. We were instantly the belles of the ball. And I genuinely believe that we would have owned that title even if it wasn't given to us by default. But seeing how our "competition" came in the form of a socially awkward tom boy with tapered jeans & ugly shoes, a lady with Adult Braces and her little boy in tow, some chic with a hot-pink, long-sleeve t-shirt and a bee-keepers hat and Bobbi Jo, the title was in the bag. Bobbi Jo was (a lot) older than us (however, her clothes and make up tried desperately to convince us that she was our age) and therefore a non-threat.

This should demonstrate how the proverbial deck was stacked in our favor.

However, our lack of competition only meant that, logically, there was a lack of candidates. Scratch Lack. Insert "Complete and Utter Void."

A small sampling:

Dumb Frat Dude: DFD had emailed and texted me a few times before this past weekend. My instant impression of him was not a good one. His texting style is mildly retarded (How r u 2day?) and he thought that Worlds of Fun would be a great First Date. I was expecting someone dumb with no conversational skills and he delivered. (lol!)

Ghey But Doesn't Know It Dude: GBDKID came in from Houston (or Dallas or Corpus Christie... I wasn't paying attention) for this event. I imagined that, in order to explain his attire, his luggage was lost or stolen and all he had to wear was his "Liberace Goes Gangsta" outfit from the last Halloween where he sexually experimented with "Raul," but blames the lack of inhibitions on the two apple martinis he had.

The Gentle Giant: TGG was super nice, sweet and funny. He came in just at 7'1'' and loved to drink and liked to poke fun at himself and his height. Nice guy, but not dateable.

Showed Up Late Guy: SULG (who, no joke, kinda looked like a SLUG) was there for the food. He made up for valuable lost time by cramming popcorn, nachos and hot dogs down his trap at a non-stop pace. At one point, shortly before I had to stop paying attention, he had taken a bucket of popcorn and dumped several scoops of jalapenos in and was shoveling the contents into his mouth. I haven't come up with a reason why there was a huge mustard stain on his ass, though my early theory involves him stealing Adult Braces Girl's little boy's hot dog from him and he putting up a fight back, thus resulting in mustard stains on the attacker.

African Guy: Straight off the boat. Seemed kinda cool, kinda aloof but that might have added to the appeal. Though when Liz wanted to know how to say "Hello" in his native language, he was a stickler for accent and pronunciation. I mean, we were 3 drunk, mid-west girls and he was getting irritated that the last syllable wasn't PERFECT. Our English ain't any better, so take it or leave it.

I'm confident that The KC Pimp will be able to hook me up in style. Surely the crowd out this past Saturday wasn't their best representation of the eligible bachelors. But it's either The KC Pimp or my friends and the latter has already attempted to hook me up with a gay man AND a guy with no car and lives with his mother. She isn't a very good friend (anymore).

Birthday Round Up

I didn't want to forget that today is my mom's birthday. Happy Birthday Mom!!! I know that I didn't get my hair from you, but you're still, somehow, responsible for It's greatness.

Also, shout out to the older sis who's birthday was Sunday. Happy Belated Birthday Sis!!! I know you're jealous that my hair is better than yours, but I think you may have a case on claiming the "MyTitsAreBetterThanYours/Blogspot.com" domain. Ayche-Mama!

"525600 MINUTES!" or Apartment for Rent

I love my apartment. I also love my apartment building. I've befriended several of my neighbors and we have developed something akin to a "Friends" relationship with all of us moving about one another's apartment at any given time (and sharing food: baked goods, casseroles and anything else edible!). Without going into the specifics on who is who, we are still in need of a Joey and a Ross. This brings me to the "for rent" sign outside of our building.

The unit adjacent to mine is for rent. A couple lives there now and if it wasn't for the constant stench and fog of pot smoke emanating from their apartment, I'd have to surmise that their reclusivness is due to their serial homicidal tendencies. That isn't to say that I dislike them. In fact, they are VERY easy going. Which, I think is more of an "effect" rather than a personality trait. Regardless, I am both a little scared and a little excited at the prospect of a new neighbor.

As always, one wants their new neighbor to not bring any annoying habits, sounds or pets with them but at the same time expects this new neighbor to ACCEPT all of yours. This would make my perfect next door neighbor an attractive guy with mad cooking & baking skills that is also half deaf.

Half deaf because, while I don't know of any complaints against me, I would be willing to wager that I am a loud neighbor. I am pretty sure this is what happens in the unit below me every time I come home...

::jingle of keys, opens door drop purse, gym bag and other assorted luggage on floor::
Downstairs Neighbor: Well, Natasha is home. It sounds like she's been to the grocery store.
::rustling of plastic bags::
DSN: Sounds like lettuce and some bananas... maybe coffee.
::click click click click::
DSN: I wonder what she's doing in the kitchen?
::Clash, bang, crash::
DSN: She always drops her coffee thermos.
::muffled music::
DSN: She's been playing that Shin's album a lot lately. It's good, but can we get something new here?
::click click click click click click click click, [edited for content], FLUSH::
DSN: That's right, she had cabbage for dinner last night.

Help Wanted

It's official. I am, once again, on the hunt for a new job. To give a short re-cap of my last 6 months here at my current job: they've sucked. Not in the terrible way the job before this sucked... but in a whole new creative way of suckage.

When I explained the dilemma I was in to my Director and inquired about transferring into a different unit inside of my current department, it took him over two weeks to look up some HR rule that says "NO DICE" for those that want to transfer under their 1 year anniversary mark. (And I am not even going to mention the tiny detail of there being two (2) open positions in the unit I want to transfer to. Nope, not going to mention that at all.)

Fuck.

So, I have begun the job hunt, once again. But, this time it is a little more scary than last time, seeing that, I am not entirely sure I want to stay in the Technology field. Actually, I am pretty darn positive that I want to get away from all things SQL and all things looking like a Help Desk.

So, as a collective MHIBTY-audience, let's brainstorm different kind of jobs that I can apply for. To help us get started I've compiled a list of things that I enjoy doing.

• Gift wrapping
• Doing makeup
• Decorating
• Making old-fashioned oatmeal
• Coloring
• Making bulleted lists
• Working out
• Texting in full and complete sentences
  

Alright everyone, you have your assignment, now get to work. Jobs with signing bonuses or 4 weeks vacation or 20 hour work weeks or all 3 will get first consideration.

Yo, Lizzy, It's your birthday!

Well, aside from stabbing myself on Sunday and celebrating Liz's birthday last night by going dancing at a bar with a live Reggae band, I've got nothing to report folks.

Oh, except that I cut the same finger that I stabbed the other night. Those that know me can attest to my love for wrapping. Gifts, that is. Christmas for me is like one big, gigantic wrapping-orgasmo fest with paper, ribbon, bows and clear satin finish tape! As I was (hand-making, naturally) the curly ribbon bow the size of a small cantaloupe to place a top one of Liz's gifts, I sliced my middle knuckle. I do feel the need to defend myself on this one, I am pretty sure this laceration wouldn't have occurred if I hadn't been stabbed.

From now on I am going to tell the story like I stabbed myself on purpose to give myself higher street cred a la 50 cent. Don't mess with me.

Scarred for Life

I think the universe is trying to tell me to stop using my middle fingers for bad. Seriously. Last February I removed several layers of skin off of my middle finger on my right hand. I should have listened then.

Sunday I STABBED my middle finger on my left hand. Deep enough to require stitches. Though my aversion to needles is deeper. So mama just rubbed some anti-bacterial cream on it and a double layer of band-aids. When I went to my doctor today to inquire about the numb-tingly feeling coupled with searing, sharp pain, she said it was too late for stitches. Fine by me. Though her claim of being "fairly confident" that there is no nerve damage was only slightly reassuring.

And then they had to give me a tetanus shot. And I only cried for, like, 3 or 4 minutes. Which is about a 2000% reduction in crying from that last time I got a shot. My mother would be so proud. I clearly remember her telling me (as she dragged me crying and screaming out of the clinic) that she was so ashamed that her 15 year old daughter cried and screamed louder than the 6 year old who was also getting shots. Also me demanding a sticker and balloon when that evil nurse was done with her black "medicine" magic was slightly embarrassing for her too. And honestly, mom, I think it was a little harsh when you said that I didn't deserve the "I was brave" sticker.

Bob Villa ain't got nothing on me

I've been a busy little house bee lately. Working around my apartment, getting projects done. I figured that the 11-month mark (1 month before my lease it up) is the perfect time to hang my bedroom curtains. I used power tools and no one got hurt! And only one of the curtain rods is a little crooked, but, honestly, it just gives it character.

And I made this table:

I was expecting it to look like: I also made these chairs:

They look a little less like the picture due to the fact the assembly instructions are NOT clear. I'm not going to go into specifics, but let's just say that I've done so much screwing and un-screwing with an effing allen wrench that I now have a permanent grudge towards all things named Allen. Does this mean I will never buy a car from the Marcus Allen Ford on Broadway? Yes, yes it does.