Posts Tagged 'dating'

Forward Progress

I have something to admit, Reader. I started another blog. I know, I feel like I’ve betrayed you. First I give you a blog promising sexual references but delivering actually more poop jokes, then I start writing a WHOLE OTHER BLOG. And there’s no sex on this other blog, either. There’s a simple reason for that and it’s mainly because no one wants to make sex with me right now. But just because I’m temporarily knocked out of the dating game doesn’t mean you should be deprived of the ENTERTAINING AND SALACIOUS CONTENT that discerning, naughty readers like you deserve to expect!

And that’s why I started Forward Progress. Actually I didn’t start Forward Progress because I have no love life, but rather because the football season is starting, which conveniently distracts me from my lack of love life. And there’s not actually anything salacious on there… just some lame drawings. LAME DRAWINGS! You know what that means! It means I am continuing my DRAW ONE THING challenge on the new blog because it fits my desire to always make FORWARD PROGRESS in life.

And conveniently, FORWARD PROGRESS is also a term in football! See, already a DOUBLE ENTENDRE, sexy readers!

Oh and did I mention I’m secretly crazy about football? Click over there and read all about it!

if only i had Desmond’s freaky immunity to lethal levels of electromagnetism

well, i’m dating again.

i went on my first first-date in almost a year last night. the follow-up date today went much better.

with Hot Lunch, i’d found an unprecedented level of kinship. i’d never had a boyfriend who was a best friend, someone who cracked the same jokes as me, liked a lot of the same stuff as me, had so many of the same thoughts i had. being with Hot Lunch felt like home. because i’d never experienced anything like that before, i thought that i’d found IT. the one. and subconsciously i felt done with dating.

finding myself single again has been disorienting. this is not my life. i’m done with dating. the whole awkward getting-to-know-you-stranger-whom-i-might-be-kissing-later-or-maybe-not-that’s-cool-too thing. done.

but it’s not the same old game this time. i’m a tiny bit older and a freaky amount wiser and more sure of myself. comfortable with being myself around anyone and open to learning about others without fear or agenda.

i’m enjoying dating. i’m learning about people, i’m learning about myself, i’m learning about life. my life wouldn’t be as complete without what i’m experiencing now.

omg! watch out! i sense a LIFE IS LIKE LOST moment coming:

Lost. Like life, only badder.

it’s like dating is the Island and I’m realizing it’s not quite finished with me yet. as i went about my day today, shopping for TP (it’s about time, it was dire… down to two pieces of kleenex in the house) at the Fred Bear and flirting with Candle Guy at Pier 1, i kept hearing Charles Widmore’s voice in my head.

i am ready for the adventure.

kidnap me, strap me to a chair and bombard me with electromagnetic waves, because i am like Desmond.

only like a female version and not with the hot accent. but with the same level of hotness overall.

you get the idea.

when you got a health thing

Pants came over tonight and almost the first thing she said was, “i want you to date that cute guy with all the piercings!”

i was sprawled in Ugly Chair, where i have the computer set up so i don’t have to use any muscles to view the internet. click, click with the wireless mouse and i turned the monitor so she could see the title of last night’s post.

“oh,” she said.

then we watched a little SNL on hulu. without using any muscles.

i really do need to start exercising again. the depressed-just-broke-up excuse is nearing its expiration date. maybe i’ll take kris straub‘s advice and try doing my internet while biking or mountain climbing some days instead of in Ugly Chair. he says this is good “when you got a health thing to manage.” i think this muffin top now qualifies as a health thing. even if jungle cat says Max is a fan.

but your advice is confusing, kris, because you also say not to do things that make my skin come off. and the few times i’ve encountered skin coming off usually involved some form of hazardous exercise that led up to it.

look at that! bedtime! i don’t need muscles for that either!

today was 100% good. mark it on my calendar.

i’ll never date a patron again

searching old emails for something today and instead ran across this oath i swore to a friend a few years ago and i think it’s a good reminder to all single librarians. next time an athletic build and dazzling smile tempt you to consider taking a patron relationship to the next level, pause to remind yourself of two simple statistics.

  • the majority of relationships come to an end
  • the majority of your patrons have no common sense

having given no thought to these a few years ago, this was my observation in retrospect:

i dont think i’ll ever date a patron again. makes it super awkward when he has the poor taste to keep using the library.

seriously. you can pick up your girly oprah book on cd at the branch 3 miles down the road so i don’t have to look at your face anymore.

sorry, Pierced Personable Baritone whom I’ve recently been flirting with… i just remembered it won’t work out.

One for the books, or My record-breaking romantic kiss

I’m starting to think about getting into dating again (accepted my first date yesterday and started planning my outfit tonight with Pants and Cupcake!) and so i thought this the perfect opportunity to remind myself of how nicely even my least successful date can end:

this is my brief, memorable encounter with the guy we all now call “Parking Lot Jason” because he saved his best (ie only good) moves for the parking lot where we said goodnight. this was years ago, right after i’d broken up with the boyfriend who had given me my first kiss. i was innocent and my journal entry a little cheesy romance-style. forgive me. here it is:

We hadn’t hit it off, so he walked me to my car. Took my hand.

“I’d kiss you,” he said, “but I don’t want to be your second kiss…” Hesitation. “Unless you want me to…”

I laughed and thanked him and said goodnight. Goodnight. We turned away. I took a step, then heard his voice behind me.

“You know, you only live once.”

I turned toward him again, found his arms around me.

“So I’m going to kiss you…” Our faces were close. “…if that’s okay.” His lips pressed gently against mine, warm and soft yet strong. “And you decide,” he murmured. Another kiss. “When to stop.”

I closed my eyes and gave myself over to the kiss, tasting our mint breath and the lingering musk of his beer as his lips worked gently, slowly with mine. My hands came to rest on his shoulder and the back of his neck, pulling us closer as the kiss opened and deepened, his tongue pressing softly against mine as our excitement grew.

At last, my teeth found the fullness of his lower lip and gave a gentle, lingering bite before I bowed my head, breaking contact. He kissed my lips one last time. Stepped back, squeezed my hand.

“Goodnight, Tink.”

Why my boyfriend maybe thinks I’m a dude

So ok I have a mustache. Not a MAJOR one, though. And it’s not visible, really. You can just FEEL the feathery, blond hairs growing long and featherily on my lip. Until they get so long they start casting their own shadows. Which ARE visible. So really, it’s a shadow mustache. It comes back every month to two months, I wax it, wait for the horrible pimply breakouts that inevitably follow, and put it off again as long as I can.

A couple months into dating Hot Lunch, the stache was back. I was weighing the ill effects on our relationship of invisible, shadow-casting facial hair versus a mustache of zits. Obviously the facial hair is the lesser of two evils IF he hasn’t noticed yet. So I asked him.

(In answer to his question “what are you doing today.”) “Well, I’m going to run have lunch with Cupcake, do a little grocery shopping, and then I thought I might get my mustache waxed.”

(Uncertainly.) “…Yeah…?”

(I stay casual.) “Yeah, I don’t know, what do you think? Has it gotten bad enough yet?” I stick my face closer to his, ruffling the peach fuzz with a forefinger.

He spares a couple uncomfortable glances from the road. He could have spared more. I’m the one driving. He shakes his head. “No way. This is one of those trick questions women ask. I refuse to answer.” Which is ridiculous. Nothing makes Hot Lunch uncomfortable. We’ve been peeing in front of each other for almost a month by this point. His idea. We regularly say things like, “I took a deuce in your bathroom,” or “Can you smell that fart?” We HAVE no boundaries.

“I am not asking a trick question. You’re making a huge deal out of nothing.”

He shakes his head again, laughing grimly. “You’re not getting me to answer. There is no safe answer to these questions.”

Totally redonk! Safe answer number one, Hot Lunch: “No, I can’t see a thing, you’re crazy.” (This is the answer girlfriends always give me no matter what, bless their hearts.) Safe answer number two: “Sure, go for the wax. Knock yourself out.”

In fact, the only way his answer is unsafe is if he’s thinking: “Hell yes! I was hoping you’d take care of that mustache ages ago. It’s verging on eastern block. I feel like I’m kissing my brother.”

I’m getting irritated. “Why don’t you just say it’s totally gross and you’ve been staring at it for like ever.”

He looks appalled. “I have?”

I stare at him, suddenly horrified. “You have? Omigod, you HAVE! You’ve been STARING AT IT!”

He shakes his head. “See. These kinds of questions just cause problems.”

“There WASN’T a problem until you MADE a problem by being so weird about it!”

“Here we are!” he points happily to his stop ahead. I pull over in front of his work and he jumps out. “Call you later, babe!”

“Don’t bother!” I say to myself as I drive away. But I’m already dialing my cell. “Yeah, do you have any drop-in times for a lip wax today?”

Needless to say, I’ve been vigilant against the stache ever since. Therefore what happens next was not my fault. And it was months later, anyways. We were watching a movie preview that included a reference to the stock comedic device of the inconvenient erection. I’d never thought to ask a dude about that situation before.

“What’s the most embarrassing hard-on you’ve ever had?” I ask Hot Lunch point blank, silently congratulating myself for being the girl who asks the no-nonsense, hard-hitting questions.

Without hesitation, but thoughtfully and frankly, he answers, “Swimming in junior high was the worst. There’s girls in bathing suits and you can’t really hide much in those trunks.” Then, again without hesitation, he asks me something odd.

“How about you?” he asks.

How. About. You.

How ABOUT you, sweetie? When WAS the most awkward time in your life that you got a big ol’ erection in your penisy penis?

I am silent for a beat. He looks at me, shakes his head, laughs and says, “Ah, sorry. I meant…”

And then he says nothing. Because, of course, what COULD he have meant?

The preview keeps playing. He avoids my penetrating gaze. My gaze gets penetratinger.

“Do you sometimes forget I’m a–”


It’s that authoritative no he gives when I tell him he’s going to try something with tomatoes in it or that professional wrestling is make-believe. I never noticed before it’s kind of… defensive.

I could have taken the question as an automatic response. Like saying “you too” to a box office cashier’s “enjoy your movie.” But all I’m thinking is Cupcake was right. Peeing in front of each other was a mistake. Although you’d think it would at least remind him I have a vagina.

Let’s just blame the mustache.