Oh Crap, Am I Ready for This? A Guy that Actually Speaks My Language?

So I mentioned some posts ago about a Luke Wilson look-alike. And, we’ve been dating for about a month. He is all the things that I wanted “Sippy Cup” to be. Attractive, outgoing, but most importantly, able to have a conversation with me.

And when I say, able to have a conversation with ME, I mean this… I’m most likely an undiagnosed ADD person. If I didn’t schedule my life out day by day, hour by hour, I would be lost. Seriously, I always write out a list before I leave the house for more than one day. If I don’t, well, I’ve ended up on a trip without pajamas and a shower cap because I left them folded right on the bed. That’s what happens when I try to do that list in my head…

So back to conversations… friends and family have learned… my conversations are not linear. I know they say women have more than one conversation going on at once already, but times that by about 3 and you’ll see the way my brain works. Right now typing this I am watching TV, planning my grocery list in my head (which I will have to write down later or I’ll forget half of those things) texting LW-lookalike, thinking about working out in the morning, and working on a poem. In conversation, I switch randomly between subjects, in the middle of conversation. Most likely I have connected one or two conversations together and just start in the middle. The one person in my life that has been able to follow that train of thought was my best friend Florida. No male ever has, not when I’m actually going full throttle and not even trying to stay at one point.

LW-lookalike could.

I fell instantly in lust with his brain.

Any guy that can on the spur of the moment add the next line to an idea of a poem that I’m writing in my head makes DT5’s panties just… is it raining? Raining in my pants? The forecast didn’t say anything about that.

An intelligent mind can trump good looks any day.

And then, after only 2 dates and a couple of weeks of talking and getting to know each other, he wants serious.

My first thought? “Too good to be true.”
My second thought? “Squeeeeee!”
My third thought? “Crap I need to phone a friend. Because I have no idea on how to move forward with this, other than to say: let me think about it.”

So, I did phone a friend, who told me that things were moving kind of fast and maybe dude was too needy. And I needed to make sure I wasn’t going to jump in just because I wanted a relationship. After that I looked into the dating/relationship books I’ve been reading to see what they’ve said. All conflicting.

And I looked inside myself. Did I want to be with this dude because I wanted a relationship and didn’t care who it was with? Was I just getting horny and since it’s been some kinda looooong time since sex and was just ready for the first guy that was passable?


No. I wanted the look-a-like because of his mental smexiness… I had a small fantasy of being able to talk with him, to trade back and forth entertaining conversations until I was old and grey and my giggles and bits were shriveled.

So… I agreed to the terms of this new membership of one on one dating.

I changed my status to the online dating sites to “Seeing Someone.”

Frack, I’m in a real relationship.

There’s no need to keep it secret like some guys I’ve dated in the past. We don’t work together, he’s not in the middle of a divorce, and I’m not ashamed. He’s smart, a great kisser, and tells me I’m beautiful every chance he gets. And how much he enjoys my brain. He watches anime, and knows to answer 42 when you ask the most important question the universe.

Frack me, frack me, frack me.


Aaaand, Of Course Its A Great Day to be Smacked in the Face Verbally

You know, I’m enjoying my freedom as the Monster is on Vacay (at gramma’s house, out of my hair, FREEDOM!!!). And so, I’m getting more workouts in. Going out on more dates, since I don’t look in the mirror and see Little Miss Muffin Top Blobette. I’ve lost over 30 pounds so far. Go me! I’m still curvy as all heck, but my thighs do look like they’ve regressed from toddlers to newborns.

And I’m feeling great. I’m feeling pretty, oh so pretty. And on the dating sites I feel my confidence leaking into the interwebs.

Even with the randoms that throw me off, like Mr. 24 hour stalker.

But there’s always one. I’d like to add this message verbatim.


Message 1 from Douchebigalow (I think he’s trying to connect with my geeky profile, where I have photos of me in what-else? Cosplay):

INTj have one weakness… the J… Yes, you feline eyes are there, but who says magic is there gift…. It might be intimate. Please only reply if you are not “WHITE BOY Crazy.” Seriously… yes, I said it. Still I don’t think MAn of STEEL will be better than Avengers… EN_ _ on the test aka SENOR Q ps., Thinking women are quite interesting and not in a Vulcan sense. lol.

Message 2 from Douchebigalow (after he’s seen that I looked at his page but did not reply):

See,  I did not call you those names… lol. Thanks for stopping by and being legit about the cat or pantera in you… oh, Cheshire 
in you… off to meditate… Oh, I love the Receding hairline on the new Superman. It gives him something. lol… WHat do you think?

I finally reply to Senior Douche:

You know, I did not reply, because I can’t tell if you were trying to be funny, or slyly put me down and be racist by questioning if I’m white boy crazy? Seriously, do you get many women interested in you with that kind of opening? Not this one. Not this one at all.

And I get back from Senior Douche:

Hi Oreo cookie…

My last reply before blockage:

I still don’t even get why you contacted me in the first place, just to troll and hurl insults? If I was at all interested, I would be extremely pissed that you are calling me out of name now, with a slur, just because I don’t fit your ideal of what a black woman should think. Thank God I’ve come from a racially diverse family, lived all over the world, and am raising my son not to be an ignorant bastard like men of your ilk. Good day sir, please enjoy me blocking you.


Seriously, am I over reacting with this shittake mushroom?! As you can tell, this was a black male. Apparently he guessed from my profile/ hobbies or just wanted to make sure that I was not “White Boy Crazy”. And yes, the Cheshire is my thing. WTF about being legit about the cat in me? WTF about talking about the J in my Myers Briggs INTJ?

Why message me just to be soooo, ew?! Just go die in a corner ahole. This pissed me off more than it should have. Seriously, even without the put downs this dude was not attractive to me in the first place, no matter his race. But to actively troll me with BS on a stupid dating website? To call me an oreo when you don’t even know me? Dagnabbit, I’m an uppity negro thank you very much! ( http://dimensionthe5th.com/2013/03/31/the-uppity-negro-does-not-do-holiday-inns/ )

Yeah, I was trolled. Letting this whole irritation go in 3, 2, 1.
I hope his testicles rot off.

He’s Awesome! Wait…What’s Wrong With Him?

So, with the toe sucker weirdos and non-working white chocolate stalkers, I was bound to meet an actual good guy right? Well, during the time of weirdness I did. We will call him Ridiculously Handsome Guy, like that meme. Seriously. He’s one of those. It’s almost disgusting.

This… my ridiculously handsome dude is my area’s version of this… Evil.

I’m going to fall for it hook, line, and glurg-glurg-glurg. That was the sound of my drowning.

So, even with all the badness/madness I’d run into on the dating site, I was not giving up! Dear Lord there had to be someone decent up there, that didn’t worship roasted chickens, or cause a nuclear war. Someone that had a job, some normal beliefs/morals/values. That was geeky enough that they wouldn’t look at me like I was a bug to be pinned on the wall. AND dear baby Hay-soos, could they be a little close to my age and not old enough for me to say “Dada” in all seriousness?!

RHG popped up while I was looking through all my so-called matches.

And I drooled.

I mean, looks aren’t everything, and I honestly didn’t start drooling until I read through his wacky profile. Wacky and a combination of OMG good looks had me drooling like a 1-year-old holding my hand out for the sippy cup. “Want! Want! Want!” Was all I could say at the computer screen.

But I figured “he’s almost too perfect. He probably isn’t into the chocolaty-ness. AND he calls female smokers dragonlady.” My adventurous drooly baby inside of me said “frack that, gimme that sippy cup!”… I should call him Sippy Cup. Yup, I like that more than Ridiculously Handsome Guy.

So, I listen to my inner toddler and emailed Sippy Cup. I let him know up front that I was a smoker, but other than that I loved his profile. Shortly afterwards I get a surprising reply of his interest, at least to be friendly and get to know each other.

So we did, and I can’t find anything wrong with him, other than him being extremely handsome. He’s gotta have warts somewhere, or a serial killer. Maybe his wholesome personality is a cover for wearing women’s clothes and skinning women at night. There has to be something wrong for him to find me attractive and not have any issues that I can automatically see or find out. It just does NOT happen with me.

So I gotta keep an eye out for the crazy to rear its ugly head. I will not be comfortable until I find it. This dude has to be Dexter-ish, or my names not dimensionthe5th.

This isn’t over. My adventures with Sippy Cup and online dating will continue. Hopefully.

Yes, Even My Toes Are Monogamous

Sooo, the date that I had a couple of weeks or so ago.

You know life was too normal to be right, that it went well, AND the dude didn’t irritate me, right?

Uh huh… This is the face of hope hanging on by a thread.


Everything with date itself was actually pretty great. A lame action movie, some hand-holding, some long gazing to rival Spock and Kirk in the newest Star Trek movie. The dude didn’t say anything too weird (except for some hints of a foot fetish), or have any real weirdness to him. A hug and kiss I was not prepared for/expecting by the end of the night, that actually gave me a light giggly bits flutter.

Too good to be frackin true.

So, Faceybook is the devil Bobby. And as usual, it slapped me with some shittake I wasn’t expecting. I’m a-scrolling, FB porchsitting, you know. Watching as life happens internetically (oooh, I like my new word). And I see Mr. GuyDude himself, with, *gasp* another chick on his new profile status saying “In a Relationship”.

That would be my heart if I had actually cared…

That chick was not me. And to add to this dude is sending me texts about another date, possible foot massages, all that shittake mushroom. And I say of course at this moment “Well, GuyDude, how do you plan to do this with a GIRLFRIEND?!” He first says he doesn’t have a girlfriend. So who the frack am I looking at then?

In GuyDude’s version of life: his ex who is suicidal and has tried to kill herself 3 times after he broke up. And since they were friends and still friends, he thought it would help if he just pretended to still be with her.


Everyone, please be on the lookout for a Truck of Stupid I apparently fell off of. It’s dangerous. Shoddy brakes.

What I imagine a truck of stupid looks like. Probably filled with Nazis. And clowns.

Of course I replied with wide-eyed innocence “oh poor girl, poo poo,” and some other such nonsense. And then dropped: but I don’t get involved with guys that are already involved. Period. End sentence. End thought.

Even my footsies are off-limits.

So, there’s that. And so I went back to online fishing and caught myself… A stalker. Shoot, dagnabbit!

I should have known that it was a bad idea to even entertain someone that would call themselves White Chocolate.

It’s like a softer version of Pretty Fly for a White Guy.

Exactly. Shame.

So this dude tells me his life story in like 3 messages. But I ignore the eagerness (or THIRST if I’m using new kids slang-crap that makes sound old) and give the dude my personal contact information. He then proceeds in a 24 hour period to contact me almost every hour. And not just a text, oh no. Each time I get a phone call (which I asked him NOT to do at that time), a voicemail, a text, and then an email on the dating website.

Are we for serious here?

This goes on all night, and then all the next day while I’m at work. I send him a text saying I will contact him after work, hoping that will back him off a bit, but he KEEPS sending messages! When I get home I finally call him to tell him just how much I am irritated by his utter rudeness and clingy-ness.

He doesn’t get it.

I ask him if that’s worked for him in the past with chicks, since it obviously hasn’t if he’s on a dating website (yes, kinda hypocritical since I’m on the same site, but dangit I’m pissed).

And I thought he finally got it, that any interest that I had was gone, especially after blocking him on the dating site… That was about a week or so ago. Today I had sent a nasty message to tell him to stop messaging me “Good Morning Sweetheart. I hope you have a beautiful day.” I would have a frackin beautiful day if he would stop calling me pet names like we’re that familiar with each other, and if he’d just go away!!!

The icing on the cake? He had the nerve to say I should have said something in the beginning, and called me fake.

The sprinkles on top of the icing of this bad moldy cake? I check his profile before I block him… This ahole doesn’t have a job.


Gots to be more careful looking at these profiles. And my Facebook friends.


My Couch is My Boyfriend… Oh God, Either I’m Becoming Really Weird or Pathetic

So, when I come home after work, I throw my bag down and instead of getting out of uniform, I run right to my couch. Of course, that’s where my laptop is and yes, I may have a small internet addiction, but that’s not it. On weekends, Fridays where I don’t go out. I fall asleep on my couch. The Monster Teen has learned not to try to make me go to my room. He just turns off all the lights. I have a pillow and blanket there.

My couch is my inanimate boyfriend. I name him forever more… Hector.

This is not Hector. Hector is more handsome in a solid sage green. And he’s bigger. Bigger is better when it comes to my sofa Hector.

Hector is there for me. We sit comfortably together. He doesn’t tell me I’m fat (even though I’ve lost over 25 pounds in the past 2 months, go me!). Hector doesn’t care if I decide to hang with him in PJs, unbrushed teeth, and my hair a mess with no makeup. Hector is the PERFECT inanimate boyfriend.

He’s not like my bed. Cold and empty because my picky butt still hasn’t found someone I’m willing to share it with, no matter how many online dating sites I join.

Oh god, its depressingly hilarious that I have a closer relationship with a frackin couch than any man right now.

For that reason, I’m going out on a date today with someone who while attractive, may be just trying to see the dimensionthe5th knickers color. But, as much as Hector means to me, this relationship is bad for my mental health!