The Swirling Problem… or I Can’t Help The Flavor of Nookie?

I apologize for writing so much about dating lately… wait, no I don’t, pfffft. Almost everyone is always thinking about nookie whether it’s dating to get nookie, marrying to get nookie, cheating to get nookie, or just daydreaming about nookie. If you don’t think about nookie… there’s something wrong with the baby-maker between your legs. You should get it checked out. Moving on… something that has always been an issue of mine.. race and nookie:

Oh yeeeeeah!!!!!

It’s not that I dislike black men. I’ve dated plenty.

But I’m not really attracted to that many. It has nothing to do with attractiveness as a whole. I’ve dated wonderful black men. I dated horrible. I’ve dated good and bad white, Hispanic, Asian. I’m interracial and international with what attracts me. But mostly, it’s the peach crayon crowd that attracts me.

Its funny. I remember my first serious crush. The dude was very peach crayon with a mullet. A mullet, for cheezits sake! I think it was 1st grade. I can’t remember his name, so we’ll call him Redneck Jr. He probably wasn’t one, but that’s what we’ll call him.

 

Yeah… something like this… sweet baby Hey-soos.

So my school was mostly all peach, with a couple of chocolate drops like me dripped here and there. The same was for the neighborhood we lived in. So it was only natural to like the guys that my friends liked, which were very much not my color. And so Redneck Junior was my crush. But he didn’t like me. Not with all those blond hair blue-eyed (non-birth control glasses glasses up) peachy girls. And although that’s not the problem as much anymore, I still have a problem or 2.

Much like women who don’t have a gaydar and can’t tell when their best bud doesn’t want them out of their dress unless it’s so they can try it on, I don’t have a peach-dar. I have no clue when a guy is actually interested in me, except for the ugly guys. And when it comes to my peach crayon men, I’m as clueless as an Amish virgin in a whorehouse. Knowing the basics, but no finesse,and terrified of getting it all wrong.

At least that what I THINK an Amish virgin would feel like.

I’ve never hung around with any Amish dudes or chicks.

I should quit while I’m ahead.

Hmmm, guess they DO know how to party…

Anyway, case in point, I end up on a date with a dude I’ve known for probably 2 years. And I just found out that he’d been attracted to me the whole time, and I was completely missing the cues. But he was a dog anyway, and that one date was one enough.

It should be mandatory for me that guys have to put it in writing that they find me attractive. In plain words too. I’d hope I’d get the hint then.

Problem 2 is that I become a complete basket case trying to make the first move if I do find someone attractive and really want to see if we’re on the same wavelength. Because my peach-dar is on the frizz, I end up having to do this a lot. Which means nothing gets done. Much like cleaning my house. I have no idea why, but it feels like getting turned down by another race is even worse. It’s like, instead of just staying in the safe pool, you decide that maybe your swim skills are good enough to go surfing. During a hurricane. With one arm tied behind your back. So I punk out. Me, fearless dimensionthe5th who drop kicks fear in the throat usually.

I have come close to anxiety attacks on this. But I’m adamant about trying because, what if I let a good guy get away? Why can’t I just make sure at least that HE knows I’m interested? Well that kind of goes against my new lease on dating life through self-help books (ugh, no shame DT5, no shame!). Relationship gurus say like Confucious, man must make first move or leave woman’s goodies dry. I don’t like dry. And… I’m rambling.

I’ve recently had a date with a dude that looks like Luke Wilson’s broke cousin from Iowa. Which means he’s quirky and adorable. The cool thing about online dating is that I don’t really have to suffer for my lack of peach-dar. So I can meet generic Luke Wilsons. Yay!

Droooooool at non fluffyfied Luke Wilson… I always thought he was the sexier brother… well, as long as he doesn’t look like he’s smuggling a picnic in his cheeks and gut :-p

 

Now, throw some generic Morris Chestnut in there and then no one can complain that I’m discriminating.

Mmmm, now that is one chocolatey nut I would mind… um, ahem… let’s just keep those thoughts inside ūüėČ

I’m a Dating Alien… but not dating aliens

So I’ve been reading a lot, I mean A LOT of dating books. I tend to read the ones written by men, because seriously, another chick? She probably only THINKS she knows how men think. Just like the assumption I was under. I’ve realized after many of these books kept saying the same daggone thing, that I’ve been going about things 50% wrong. I wasn’t completely dense, but I was allowing my emotions to rule me.

Take the mistakes of the Sippy Cup situation (read here: http://wp.me/p2Jfjv-5p). That’s pretty much the last time I really wrote. And things went fine for a while. A very short while. But I made the mistake first of showing just how pretty Sippy Cup was to me. And then the second mistake was involving sensuality to early. Not to say that I went and had sex with him. But we started sexting pretty early on. Hey, my mind is in the gutter 24/7, and I tend to forget that not everyone lives there along with me. If they don’t, you just kind of come off as hard up and easy pickings apparently.

So he seemed to lose interest suddenly. And I made my 3rd mistake: asking about it. Doing the oh so girly lame “what did I doooooooo?” The “I really like yoooooou and I know I just met you but I’ve become an idiot and put all my eggs in one basket because you’re hot and funny.”

Slap yourself DT5. Slap yourself hard.

It wasn’t in those exactly, but I know I came off as a needy heffa, in texts no less. Sigh. Pffft. But you gotta move on. And I had to understand the basics of what I was doing wrong. I don’t want to play games, but I wanted to make sure I had clear in my mind when to put a chokehold on my impulse control and word vomit superpowers. With those great powers come great responsibility. And my responsibility is not to spit acid onto every possible relationship. Aw, look Ma, I’m learning!

I still feel somewhat of an alien though. Sippy Cup, although hot wasn’t what I wanted, he was the idea of what would be best for me. In reality… I’m always more turned on by the quirky underdog. The guy that may not be attractive in the general populace’s eyes. That’s when I’ve had the most fun, most comfortable relationships in the past. So no more being blinded by the num num men. Because as soon as the give me the confused dog look when I ask the meaning to “life, the universe, and everything” instead of just answering 42, I need to beat feet.

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.

Sometimes you just got to put those emotions to song…

Or in my case poetry. I have a short little poem about a crush. I cannot write this on my actual FB page because my paranoid personality is sure said crush will somehow read my mind, know it’s about them, and then things would be weird.

I swear I’m not shy, and pretty forward when I’m interested in someone, but my confidence in myself has been totally blown lately. I’m sucking at this whole online dating thing. I mean sucking big honkin¬†blue balls. It seems what I like looks wise doesn’t like me, and what likes me look wise I have no interest in. We could argue over looks not being everything, but I do try to¬†evaluate everyone by just the basics. You know, would I be okay walking down the street with a dude that has a huge unibrow¬†and teeth that looked like they were in an MMA fight all on their own? No.

I’m superficial. Sue me. So are you. You just don’t want to admit it. You don’t want a unibrow man with teeth that could give you a hysterectomy either.

Anyway… So, while the interwebs¬†dating thing is at an almost standstill, I crush on random guys that I shouldn’t. You know, the kind that probably have a whole closet full of issues bursting at the seams, but looks make me say “Me gusta”.

So here, I give my scribbles to the random internets!:

“Lucid Dreaming”

By dimensionthe5th

I can’t have what I want…
Or yet, no confidence in even planning the chase for your lips, your heart

And so, clandestine affairs reverberate throughout my night-time musings

Not dreams, as I control the level of love and lust lucidness that permeates the atmosphere of my mind

Not true to real life, I think, though I’ve never been in such a situation with you

So I just imagine
Arms wrapped around and warmth seeping like a kiss against the goose-pimpled skin of my body

I’m giving myself away, or is it not obvious that I burn like a small sun in your presence?

I must keep the secret, so I’m not hurt by your disinterest.

So I let a rain of lies my mind has made up wash over me, so that you don’t shine so bright in my emotional senses.

And the pretense is that I’m just a no one, a figment on the wind.

Don’t trouble yourself,

And leave me to my imaginings.

March 2013

Dear Males of the Past: Frack You Very Much and Very Hard

I have a special little hate for all of you, even those that are still my friends. Whether those I broke up with, or broke off with me. Whether it was friends with benefits, or true love. You’ve all got a special little place of extreme distaste within the depths of my soul.

Ain’t that poetic.

I’m not a bitter person, I swear! I learn from my mistakes. Maybe not the first time since I’m a little thick-skulled, but at least by the third time. So, I don’t date thugs and knuckleheads anymore, because I’m older and wiser. I don’t date guys that want a house-wife/babymaker, because my tummy is closed from creating anymore little monsters, and I love my career too much to give it up for anyone. I’ve learned that I really can use online dating to filter out the craziness, and that’s great. Because of what those mistakes in the past taught me:

My past loves/lusts/WTFs¬†have taught me many things. To listen when someone tells you they are no good for you. They’re probably right. That you can’t change people who don’t want to change. That you can’t change yourself for others. That someone you loved once and still loved, doesn’t stay the same over the years apart, just like you didn’t, so don’t expect the past to be the present. That baby momma drama is something for BET and MTV but not for dimensionthe5th. That if you can’t be honest at the beginning of a relationship, why expect truth in the future? That I never want to be a dominatrix, and I don’t want my man wanting me to use a strap-on. *shudder* That I cannot deal with eating in the bathroom… Just weirds me out dude.

They’ve taught me that just because you are in your early twenties and he’s in his forties, does not mean automatic maturity. Sheesh.

That you should always practice OPSEC¬†and never let someone you “love” use your log-on information, because they may decide to look up she-males and foot fetish websites on the government’s dime… And come close to ruining your career… And security clearance. And have she-males contacting you for a threesome you DEFINITELY did NOT have any interest in participating in… *hold a second, I’ve got to keep the contents of my empty stomach down. Flashbacks, you know*

My past loves have taught me now to never settle for less than what is right in companionship, something I must remind myself as I stay alone instead of just hooking up with what’s available. My standards aren’t high, but over the years I’ve learned that settling does not make one happy, just ask my friends that are on their 3rd marriage. I told myself that when I found love, my commitment for life would happen once, and if for some reason it didn’t work, that was it. End game. No altar hopping. So I’ve held on to my “marriage virginity” with a tight fist… with some close calls that would have made life miserable. And I pffft at those that judge me for that. Like poor me. Poor me hasn’t had to change my last name multiple times – I’m good thank you very much.

But what was I saying? Frack¬†you to the men of my past? Actually… Thank you. No matter how insane or soul crushing those moments may have been, you helped me learn to be me. Annnnd, that’s why I’m now online dating instead. So I guess I have to thank you.

But seriously, never let anyone use your log-on a government computer.

I Saw You Nakey Style in My Dreams!

So, while I’m in the midst of my adventures of online dating, I’m also dodging left and right well-meaning friends and their attempts to play at matchmaking. So far I’ve succeeded but they’ve messed my brain up also.

So one guy at my job was mentioned, since we have similar tastes and blah blah blah, we would be GREAT for each other! *rolls eye so hard they get stuck* He hadn’t crossed my mind at ALL before that moment. Until then. And now, muthafrack it I’m nervous and trying to get a good look at him when no one else is looking. He’s not bad-looking, but I don’t know him at all. I think I’ve probably had one conversation with him. But now its stuck in my mind. And if he catches me just staring at him, I may look like a stalker, or that I’m sexually assaulting him with my eyeballs.

On top of that, I had a dream about another guy at the office. I saw his nakey in the dream, and although we didn’t actually get to smexy times in the dream, I cannot look him in the eye. In fact, I just try to avoid talking to him. Because knowing how my mouth goes wonky and likes to word vomit out the most random things when nervous, I would tell him I saw him nakey in my sleep. And knowing me, I wouldn’t “wombit” (word vomit combined… Don’t ask how the b gets in there, it just does) when it’s just he and I. NO, I would probably wombit right on the smoke deck where everyone gathers. awkwardness level would be accelerated to over 9,000, and I would never want to come to work again. Luckily, I don’t see him often. Maybe a man would feel actually good about a random woman thinking smexy times with them by accident? I’m just preparing my “look on the bright side of life” outlook, in case this accident of epic proportions actually takes place.

I just need to actually find a guy on that stupid web dating site that isn’t weird-looking, likes curvy nerdy black girls, can write and talk at least at a high school education level, and doesn’t try to get me in bed first date. That way I can stop stalking and fantasizing about random dudes at the office. Because that’s weird. And I’m weird enough without extra sauce.

 

relationship

Smexy Times and Sugar, both bad, but oh so tasty!

So today after work was spent running around trying to get some replacement pieces to my costume for the anime convention I’m heading to tomorrow. *Sigh* Another downside to being extra curvy, couldn’t comfortably fit into the costume I ordered. Luckily, the alternative I found is actually more comfortable than the one I bought, even if it had fit right. I’m going as Medusa from Soul Eater. It looks soooo¬†awesome. The Monster Teen is going to be rocking out in a full Ezio¬†costume from Assassin’s Creed. We are proud geeks and our flag is gonna wave HIGH tomorrow!!! Lets see how much fun my back can take without me falling to pieces in pain. Percocet¬†is my friend, Flexeril is my friend. Rinse and repeat. Anyways, on to what’s been bothering me lately.

I miss smexy¬†times. Not enough to leg hump the nearest male, but my hand gets a work out *waggles¬†eyebrows* if you know what I mean. I just hate the baggage that comes with it. Smexy¬†times without a valid relationship doesn’t work for me. When you literally get sick to the stomach from a 1-nighter in your young and dumb years, you learn never to do it again. And that your conscience is a strong evil monster.

So I can’t have smexy¬†time without a relationship. And a relationship that I feel is actually going somewhere. I made a mistake a couple of months ago of smexin¬†with a friend I thought could be something more. Though I don’t regret it, I do. Yeah, doesn’t make sense, but I have no other way to explain it. Before that, I hadn’t been with someone for a loooong time. We’re talking more than months. And that last relationship wasn’t a good choice either. Never go backwards to a relationship that’s ended, is usually my motto, but there’s one man who I let back into my heart over and over. He trashed it plenty of times (after I first trashed his many years ago), to the point where after he told me he had a new girlfriend while I was deployed and miserable… Well let’s just say my knickers will never talk for my heart with him anymore.

So smexy times… I love them, and can’t have them without someone I really care about. New online guy seems cool, but I can’t yet see myself letting him get anywhere near my giggles n bits. But I have to be careful. I know myself. My giggles n bits have seriously rewired my brain when they feel they’re gathering dust. They’ll convince me that someone is worth letting in to my knickers, when my brain and all those wonderful kittens in my head are screaming No! I guess I’m somewhat like a guy in that moment because the wrong body part is doing the thinking for me. I even have two guys from the job already starring in random fantasies when I have those rare moments of free brain wandering.

Its better to be alone than miserable with someone, right? And I am happy with myself, about 90 percent anyway (the other ten is about my health issues and weight woes). So no smexy times for me in the near future… The giggle n bits brigade can just sit there and become a classic. Won’t they become worth more that way? ūüėČ

And I’ll try to release as much genetic awesome contained in me as I can with geeking out tomorrow. Maybe it’ll take my time off of the missing of a nice set of twig n berries. Oh if only I could combine the two… Kinky¬†role-play¬†anyone? ūüėČ