Stuff.

Won’t be writing for a while. Busy week.

I’m here to remind you; and other musings

Currently, I’m resisting the urge to post the lyrics to Alanis Morissette’s “You Oughta Know.”

Sometimes I forget that this isn’t a teenager’s dairy.

In other news, I’ve started writing a book. It’s called TBD.

I can be anything that I want to be

Today as I was getting off the bus a rather unattractive man started to hit on me.

In response I feigned an accent and said, “Speakums English, no.”

In retrospect, though, it sounded like a Japanese accent.  Which, was most likely betrayed by my middle-European heritage.

My date…went, um, well.

Since so many people have been inquiring into my date (meaning three, but the quantity isn’t so important as the quality of the requests), I present you with the low down.

 

After systematically going through our joint lexicon of comic book characters and assigning them various tarot card personas (i.e. Wolverine would be the King of Swords, Batman’s Joker would be the Fool), we began to discuss deeper matters.

 

These involved pizza with odd cheeses (that, um, still taste delicious), the rules of soccer and David Sedaris. Then we began discussing my blog. Why I thought it kosher to mention this on a first date is still beyond me. But sometimes I’m just a big ol’ all-you- can-eat word salad.

 

Me: Yeah, I’ve got a blog about breaking up.

 

Him: (shifting in his chair) You’ve had that much experience with it?

 

Me: Um, sure?

 

Him: Is that an answer or are you just trying to skirt the issue?

 

Me: Um, sure?

 

Him: (laughing) Big heartache in your past, then?

 

Me: No, just enough to write 300 word write ups. I’m really more of a reviewer rather than someone who provides in-depth analysis.

 

Him: (sarcastically) Well, this should probably be the time to tell you…if we go out on a second and third and eventually an eighth date, well at that point it’s all going to be about me. I’ll talk to you when I want to, you can be there for me, but I’m not really going to have time for you. Just so you know.

 

Me: (crushed) Oh, I see.

 

Him: I wasn’t serious! Did you seriously think I was serious? Dear god, who have you been dating that you thought I was serious?

 

Me: Um, people.

Hmm, this might actually be a good date

So yesterday, while looking for Tarot cards at a card shop, I got asked out on a date.

Here is how it went down:

Me: Um, yeah, I was looking for Tarot cards. You know for fun…like the kind you would play at a party.

Him (reading a book behind the counter): Hmm. We don’t have those.

Me: That’s cool. Thanks anyway.

After a brief period of looking through the shop I purchase some “phobia cards,” which have complicated phobia names on them. The player has to guess which phobia it is based on the picture scenario on the card. The selling point is the picture on the cover of a man being engulfed by a spider.

Me: I’ll just take these.

Him: Well, I wanted to let you know I called around, and I’m sorry but no body around here has Tarot cards.

Me: Oh, thanks. I mean, you didn’t have to do it. Really, what I want is hard to find.  It’s one of those things you find when you’re not looking for it.  I want theme tarot cards. You know, like ones with comic book characters on them.

Him: (laughs) Oh, I see. Well, what would your comic book character be?

Me: Dark Energy. (I say a little too easily) She would expel men with her powers.  Yours?

Him: Laundry Man. I’d clean people to death. I take them through the spin cycle, if ya know what I mean. (raising an eyebrow) I’m really hard core about my laundry.

Me: HAHA. So am I. I’m serious about my laundry.

Him: (shyly) You know, we should really go out some time. We could look for tarot cards…

Me: (raising my eyebrow) Yeah. (write down my number)

Who could ask for anything more? Into comic book characters and serious about his laundry. I’m in heaven.

My Worst date ever: By Sweat Shop Sissy

Entry 1:

 

By Sweat Shop Sissy

 

 

My worst date ever occurred while I was still living with the mother of my son. We had decided that even though we couldn’t stand the sight of each other, we would continue to cohabitate for the sake of the child. It had been about a year since we’d had sex when I decided I was going to start dating. I told her that’s what I was doing and her attitude was basically, “do whatever the hell you want.” So I started trolling the online dating sites.

 

I was honest about the situation I was in and I quickly discovered that the women whose profiles interested me were decidedly uninterested in guys still living with someone. At the time I couldn’t understand why, “trust me, we’re not really a couple anymore” just didn’t cut it. So my list of Qualities I’m looking for was basically reduced to “squats to pee”.

 

My first date in more then ten years was with a woman who described herself as ‘voluptuous’. Dictionary.com describes ‘voluptuous’ thusly: adjective 1.) having strong sexual appeal; 2. (of a woman’s body) having a large bosom and pleasing curves;

This woman did have a large bosom and she did have curves, but I think only a fetishist would have found them pleasing. She must have been close to 300 lbs (I’m not kidding).

 

The plan was dinner and a movie so we met at a restaurant close to the theatre and I was more then a little surprised when she arrived with her two daughters age 10 & 12. After we were seated, this woman suggested (read informed) that I pay for dinner for all of us and she would pay for the movie tickets. The girls were going to a kid movie and we would go to an adult movie.

 

Things started to go badly when the waiter came to take our drink order. They didn’t have the right type of cola and she tore a strip off him for that. The restaurant was featuring Cajun food that night so they had several ’blackened’ dinner specials. She apparently had never heard of this particular culinary motif. “Jezzus Christ, if I wanted my dinner blackened, I’d just get my daughters to cook it.”

 

The duration of the meal was spent with her loudly criticizing absolutely everything about the restaurant; the look of the place, the music that was playing, the smell of the restroom, the food, the staff, even snide comments about the other patrons. Meanwhile the two charming daughters grilled me about things I’m pretty certain had been previously suggested to them; how much I earned, how long I’d worked there, what my dad had done for a living, who I’d voted for in the last federal election, how many times had I been married, did the mother of my son know that I was out with their mother…

 

I should have just paid for my meal and got the hell out of Dodge, but I didn’t. I paid for everyone’s dinner and went with them to the theatre. As we were walking across the parking lot she informed me that she gets incredibly wet during sex and that she orgasms very easily. Then she thrust her ample chest in my direction and said, “These puppies are 100% natural.” Her daughters were very amused.

 

As I mentioned before, it had been a long time since I’d got laid and I remember that I wanted to see the movie so I decided to see it through to the end. We got into the theatre and the mother needed to use the washroom again and the daughters wanted to eat again. They were in front of me in the snack bar line when I looked over and saw a good friend of my soon to be ex’s. If she saw me with this woman she would call the soon to be ex to rat me out. Then she’d describe the woman I was out with and the soon to be ex would laugh at me and gloat. I could not stand the thought of that. So with the girls still in the line up and their mother still in the washroom I bolted.

 

Of course I couldn’t go home that early or else she’d know that the date was a bust, so I went to a neighbourhood pub to drink beer and feel very sorry for myself. And that was the worst date ever.

Various parts.

Yesterday I actually saw a woman throw a drink in a man’s face at a bar.

It was a cosmo; he was wearing white.

I hope the stain comes out.

I do bad things too.

Yesterday, a girlfriend of mine called me after her boyfriend broke up with her.

 

Maybe it was the shrill scream that came from the phone or the way I couldn’t understand anything she was saying except for “shubububa heart broken,” but I couldn’t help but notice that she was more than a little despondent.

 

Me: Are you going to be ok?

 

Her: Bubabua hubba not really!!!!

 

Me: Hmm, is there anything I can say to make you feel better?

 

Her: Tell me I’ll get over it!

 

Me:  Well, you will get over it.  Maybe not today and maybe not even for a few months, but you will.

 

Her: Yes, I will!  And by the time he sees me again I’ll have forgotten about him and he’ll realize what a horrible mistake he’s made!

 

Me:  He may.  He may not.

 

Her: What?!?

 

Me: (reading off the piece of paper where I’ve written a little speech I usually give in these situations) Well, honestly, I’ve said the same thing as you are saying right now.  And you know that’s something people need to say when they feel really bad about a situation.  But, when I really look inside myself, I know that’s not really the case.  I think people make decisions and they don’t really regret them.  They may rewrite history a bit in order to come to terms with the way they’ve acted, but they seldom really regret these things. You need to go, you know, through one of those fuzzy periods of self-reflection in order to examine what really went wrong and what you did to contribute to the situation.  That’s the only way you are going to create a positive improvement in your life from this situation.  At least that’s what Oprah tells me.

 

Her: Sigh. What am I supposed to do? Sit in a room with candles and meditate or something?

 

Me: Well, I’ve tried that, but for reasons involving my cat’s whiskers, I shy away from candle meditation at this point in time.  I would say just think about it when you want to, read some books, examine how you really feel.

 

Her: Wait!  But didn’t you tell me the other day that you regretted a guy you dated and dumped?

 

Me: (matter-of-factly) You’re really stuck on this ‘regret’ thing aren’t you?  Yes, I had a boyfriend once who was really good to me and I didn’t appreciate it and yes I do feel very badly about that.  (jokingly) In fact, sometimes even Oprah can’t help me.

 

Her: (triumphantly) See?

 

Me: (through clenched teeth) Well, if this is the only thing that will make you feel better, I’ll tell you this…I can bitch and complain all I want about men and what they’ve done to me.  But at the end of the day, when you look at the situation at least you can say “Well, it was him.”  It’s a whole other kettle of worms when you know it’s your fault.  And yeah, I’m an asshole too. We’re all assholes sometimes.  

Want to crawl into a man’s heart through his tummy?

Miss Gemma knows a hell of a lot about food. Please visit her here:

The pro bono baker

My favorite line.

 

The most common pickup line (it’s more of a paragraph really) I get from men is this:

 

“You know, what I like about you is how natural you are.  Not a lot of make up, not a lot of fuss. Most men wouldn’t notice how attractive you are but I do. But, you know, I’m not like other men. I’m really more of an artist, a deep soul.”

 

I’ve started responding with this:

 

“Actually, a lot of men notice how attractive I am.  And they all use that line.”