You Snooze You Lose… SUCKAAAAAAAS!

Some men (and women I guess. Not sure since I’ve never did this myself) have a mental defect in dating that I think I will call OPP disease. “OPP” in this case refers to “Other People’s Property.”

I am NOT down with this OPP.

Nope. LIES!

It seems that since I have gotten into a relationship after all this time of being single, all these fellows come out of the woodwork! Seriously, I still have my OK Cupid page up (I haven’t looked at it in a long, long while) and still receive many emails that I just delete as they pop up in gmail. The thing is, I get MORE emails now that it says “seeing someone.” I’m sure more than half of these guys are probably married or in a serious relationship and think I’m still up there to cheat or something, but that rubs this kitty the wrong way.

And then there’s Sippy Cup. Remember him? Very nice looks but no substance? Read here: (http://dimensionthe5th.com/2013/06/23/hes-awesome-wait-whats-wrong-with-him/ ) and here: (http://dimensionthe5th.com/2013/09/12/im-a-dating-alien-but-not-dating-aliens/ ). Anyway, Sippy does an open mic night at his place of business. That’s one reason I still talk to him, and stay friendly. He has plenty of women that come in and drool all over him like I did for a short while. A few have irritated me, until I’ve told Sippy to let his heffas know I’m not interested in any way shape or form in him. Other than that, we’ve been just friendly. Until I brought the Dude in one night to hear me read some poetry. Suddenly my phone starts blowing up afterwards with messages from Sippy Cup. The“do you have plans this weekend” kind and such, when I could barely get a message before even when I was talking business. Oh, and the really creepy one from him, sending me a picture of my housing area sign along with the message “Guess who’s nearby. Are you home?”

Yeah, Sippy, I’m home, with my DUDE. And my other man, Hector the Couch. What is your malfunction?

This may be another “dimensionthe5th has prude ways” thing, but it doesn’t flatter me. It makes me very disgusted when someone shows interest AFTER the a person becomes involved with someone else. It’s like, someone is happy, let me try to stop that ish because it’s not natural.

There’s that weird foot and sock guy that started trying to text me again and see what I’m up to. With him, since he thought I was on the stupid truck with his girlfriend situation, I think HE thinks that now that I’m seriously dating someone I can be a hoe-bag right along with him.

Um, no. I’m very satisfied.

There’s the exes from years ago, who always seem to pop up in my inbox and say we should hang out. For what? I haven’t seen you in almost 10 years, we’re FB friends and that’s it. Why would I want to see you. By the way, I really should clean up my faceybook friends list.

Sometimes it’s not the guys trying to get OPP flowing through my veins. It’s also the well-meaning friends that think that you shouldn’t put all of your eggs in one basket. That believe in having backup twig n berries in case your significant other pisses you off. To me, that shows that these women with their so-called advice do not at the time, or have not ever had a good relationship. For me, if it is great, I can’t even SEE other guys. There is just no attraction. Even when the dude and I have our mini disagreements I don’t automatically think “Hmmm, I need to bring out the twigs and berries in storage and get some use out of them.” I’m not a teenager. That’s young girl beliefs that I’ve stopped long before now.

Maybe I should just take it as compliment, but I really just feel it’s a grass is greener on the other side thing. And it just make me green, hulk green. I think I’ve just really mixed up where I was trying to go with this point, but oh well.

The Understanding of PDA: What Is This Thing Called Hugs?

*melting into goo*

Growing up, public displays of affection between my parents only happened when the father figure was drunk. Granted, there were hugs for the kids until they got a certain age. And even “I love you” … again until a certain age. It’s like once you weren’t a small child those things melted away.

I remember calling my mother on it not that long after their separation. I was battling not wanting to live with either parent, and staying with an aunt in the hood, a step down from our nice middle class fake happiness. I remember telling her “You never tell me you even love me!”

I said it again less than 10 years later when she fought custody against my best friend for my god-daughter, my birth daughter I decided to give away (http://dimensionthe5th.com/2013/03/18/the-girl-grows-and-asks-questions-the-child-i-gave-away/)

It took me until my 30’s to realize that it’s pretty hard for a woman to teach love if she’s never received it.

My mom with her siblings grew up in different welfare available projects. I know she grew up without toothpaste at times. Without any food but flour and water. Using sheets as menstruation pads because they weren’t affordable. If my grandmother had been a better person, maybe she would have shown more love to her 6 children, but the woman didn’t know love herself, probably because again her mother of 13 children probably could not adequately show it.

So it’s a cycle that my mother and I are slowly breaking, through trial and error with new relationships. In some ways I see my mother in her first relationship after 13 years and it frustrates me of her naivety. Luckily she’s not with a man who exploits it. He sees a woman who could easily be taken advantage of, and does not. He shows her instead what a relationship should be like, not full of verbal abuse and “love” only when drunk enough to show emotion.

We had a conversation while I visited for the holidays:

“Your Dude seems very affectionate. “
“Weird right? I’m not that good with PDA.”
“I know. It’s nice when someone openly shows that they care, and it’s not because they’re drunk.”

We’d slowly learned to show love to each other as mother and daughter over the years, but both hadn’t really learned until recently to let down our guard and be loved by a man. I think the shock of that just makes my emotions a mess. I hadn’t looked at it deeply. That I was learning for the first time possibly to truly put my hand in another’s just because. That I wasn’t looking at relationships around me and subconsciously wishing for something that was missing.

It’s something I never want to lose.

First Semi-Argument, Hunger Games, and the Damsel in Distress Syndrome

Mmmm, bread. Save him for the bread!

 

Soooo, in the honeymoon phase of a new relationship, as you’re still getting to know a person you try not to make any missteps. You don’t want to argue or anything, even about something trivial. But it happens. Hey, it’s how you grow right?

So the Dude and I went to see Hunger Games: Catching Fire the weekend it came out. Both of us were pumped to see it, maybe me even more so since I not only watched the first filmed but all 3 books. And plus I love anything about dystopian futures. The movie was great, and stayed more true to the books than I thought it would. I was bursting full of ideas after we left out, but one stuck more than any other, and I offhandedly mentioned it.

ME: Hmmph, so Peeta is the Damsel in Distress.
DUDE: What? No he’s not.
ME: Well, yes, he is. Katniss is the hero.
DUDE: No, that doesn’t make sense. He’s just as strong, not weaker than her. He can survive on his own. He’s not in distress.
ME: Fine. Nevermind.
DUDE: No, explain why you think that.

See, I hate arguing, well… I hate arguing with my significant other. And it wasn’t arguing, just the Dude trying to understand my theory. But sometimes, without being able to write something down it’s really hard for me to get my ideas out. And I get frustrated. And I had one of those instances of “Oh no, don’t treat me like I’m stupid like those guys in the past!”

But after realising that the Dude wasn’t like guys in the past that just thought I was stupid, and was really trying to understand me, I was able to calm and get my words out.

So, why did I decide that Peeta in the Hunger Games series was a damsel in distress? Well, look at older action/adventure movies. Superman, Indiana Jones, Popeye. Who knows why those are the first ones that pop in my head. Just keep with me here. What they have in common is a hero. even if that hero is flawed in some way, they are the hero. You know they will somehow come out on top. Katniss is that hero. We are looking through the world in her eyes. And she is not weak. She comes into the story with strength. That’s how she is able to survive the Hunger Games. Basically consider her a born hero. As the story goes along she is not trapped in the silly girly thoughts of a love triangle, at least not in the books. The movies seem to play this up a bit. But instead, she is thinking of saving those she loves, not having time for romance. That is not her main concern. She is no Bella.

On the other hand, we have Peeta taking the role usually reserved for the female lead. He ends up having to be rescued many times by Katniss, all in all is NOT as strong as her, and is ruled more by his emotions. He loves her and moons over her, and compared to her is less violent. To look at it another way, he is the submissive to her dominant. He tries to find the peaceful route, the softer way of doing things. Not to say he isn’t masculine, but if we are looking at stereotypical ways a woman and man are supposed to act, well, he’s the woman, or damsel.

Especially throughout the second movie, you could really see that the roles are reversed from the normal hollywood movie when it comes to Hero and Damsel in Distress norms. Peeta has to be saved twice, from what I remember (can’t wait to re watch). Heck, in the first movie/book he was injured for most of it. And at the end of the second movie, what happens? He is trapped with the “villains”.

I think it’s why I enjoy the series so much. Katniss isn’t a fake action girl, waiting to be saved by a man so she can go all soft and gooey. No, she IS the person who will change everything, even at the expense of losing that chance at love. She is not ruled by her emotions, or some fairytale of how things are supposed to be. This is one of the very few lead female characters that is strong all the way through without falling into the romance angle and losing all edge. Even though I am not exactly like her (I’m a romantic in my own way), I seriously appreciate her character. And I do want more of them. Not knocking the Bella’s of the world (ugh, even though I barf at that series), but I want to see more women that aren’t being strong while waiting for the right man to come along and put them in the kitchen.

Anyway, after explaining the way I thought (while we sat in the parking lot waiting for the car to warm up), the Dude understood and agreed. Then security came over and told us to stop loitering, because apparently at one in the morning you can’t be up to any good just sitting in a car having a conversation. Pffft!
BTW, Peeta is on the TV Tropes page as a Distressed Dude: http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/DistressedDude

Somebody agrees with me.

Who Needs a Heart When a Heart Can Be… Ripped Out and Driven Over With Spikes While Singing the Macarena

So while visiting the family a month or so ago, everyone wanted to hear about the new guy. Of course I’m not really the type to go gushing about a guy except to close friends.  And some of my closest, well, I still haven’t discussed with them my Luke Wilson look-alike.  Not because I’m ashamed in any way. Dude is smart and hot and makes me giggle. But, I am a somewhat cautious person.

 

Especially when falling deeply and giving up those 3 special words. Ya know: I wuuuuubs you.

 

To me it’s funny that people were asking already. I mean, I know there’s love at first sight. I know some people have married after a couple of months whirlwind romance. Heck, I could have convinced myself when I was younger to just fall and let me land wherever.

 

But I’ve grown a little. And I don’t need any fresh scars. I try to learn from my mistakes.  So instead of just running with open arms into love, I’m trying to take it one day at a time. I’m not saying that I won’t let myself fall. It’s just that I won’t speed things up. I want to get to know this person I’m with inside and out. Build on that connection I felt when first meeting him. Not let our relationship be built on sex, but a combination of physical, mental, and emotional respect and honesty.

 

Those same people who seem perplexed that I’m not gushing in love are the same with many failed relationships and marriages. No offense to them, but I’m trying some different. I don’t want a whirlwind romance.  That’s the stuff of plays and novels. Romeo and Juliet frackin DIED for a so-called love at first sight.  No thank you, check please. I’ve had my meal at the restaurant of crazy.  How about I fall in lust first with his brain and personality. And then find comfort in the way he treats himself and me. The passion that’s brought up naturally between us.  Not hidden behind games or false faces. Not on anyone’s deadline.

 

I wrote all of that about a month ago. And then the other day I told him those words. And I got them said back to me.

 

I laugh at myself, but it came out naturally.

 

 

 

You have My Unconditional Love… No Matter What Letter of the LGBT You Become

There’s a post I keep trying to write that I’ve flipped so many different ways and perspectives. But maybe it’s because it’s not my story. Maybe it’s because this story is still so fresh, so ongoing.

And maybe because I could never understand.

A person close to me came out to me as a pre-op transgender person.

It was something I had already assumed. Something that I just figured they would live in silence with. That maybe THEY hadn’t dealt with it yet. But no, I was definitely a couple of exits passed the finish ramp.

SHE had long ago felt that SHE was a HE. That ZE was trapped in a woman’s body. I can only imagine. I’ve had my own issues over the years with fighting to become MYSELF. But this, this is another level. Ze was afraid of telling me, for my bluntness confused them with thinking that it would turn into prejudice. But never, NEVER. I love this person, this family, blood of my blood whether they were gay, straight, yellow, purple, man or woman.

And so… that’s all I can say. I support. I’m proud that they are so strong in wanting to be who they are. I can’t understand at their level. But I can give my unconditional love.

Of course…. that is not me wearing that shirt. I’m chocolate. And I have boobs.

 

Relationship Stupidity Disease… Do We Have a Drug For That?

 

I’ve been enjoying my new relationship. And being a completely disgusting loveydovey couple with the Luke Wilson look-a-like. But when moving forward, sometimes you have to look back at your past just a bit…

 

Relationship stupidity should be an actual disease. I mean, if we’ve gotten to the point in America to call obesity a disease, why can’t we do it for those that let themselves become verbally, mentally, and physically abused all for the sake of a relationship? I may be on the right track now with much soul-searching, self-improvement, and self-study, but I WAS an absolute mess… with no clue how to get out. Some call that growing up. I call it the Evil Ex fiance and the nightmare years.

 

The other day I was going through boxes of stuff in my guest bedroom… things I hadn’t opened in many years. I came across a letter about 10 years old. I remember that back then I liked to write things out before discussing them (you know, before you could write out and rewrite a text message before pressing SEND).

This is not my hand. For one it is not chocolatey. And… my fingernails and polish are so much more awesomer 😛

 

The conversation that I needed to have with the Evil Ex shows just how naive, mentally abused, and under his control I was.

 

Here in all it’s cringeworthy glory:

 

“Evil Ex,

I have no clue as to why you are upset with me. Why you decided that you couldn’t even sleep in the same bed with me. What did I do last night to piss you off? I was a little drunk, but I don’t remember saying or doing anything. All I was trying to do is what you wanted. You’ve kept saying that you wished I would drink because I’m more fun when I’m drunk. But still it seems I did something wrong. Every time I try to do what you want, I do it wrong by your standards, or you change your mind about what you wanted. I am constantly trying to live up to your expectations, your ideals, but I keep coming up short. And then you can’t talk to me, look at me, because I’ve hurt or pissed you off in some way. But when you hurt me, somehow I always end up comforting you because you feel bad. If I mess up, you close yourself off from me like I make you sick.

Is this how it’s going to be? Someone constantly telling me I’m not good enough… oh excuse me, not being the best YOU know I can be> Tell me this: do you ever comfort me when I’m hurt? Or do you just turn it around and say that you’re hurting more than me. You want control. To dominate someone. I just want to love and be loved. Can’t we see eye to eye on anything? Can’t you just love me?”

 

*gagging sounds*

 

There are days I want to go back and slap myself into an alternate reality. And other days all I can do is thank the heavens at how far I’ve come. But the mental/emotional abuse I received from the so-called man who would make me write such a childish crazy letter… well, this letter was just a drop in the bucket of crazy, and not my fun natural crazy. He preyed on my insecurities, my youth (Evil Ex was old enough to be my father), my introverted-ness, my want of a relationship, companionship. He used my secrets against me instead of holding them as a gift that I shared with him. He took my issues with women from a childhood molestation and tried to live out his fantasies and fetishes as a way for me to “let go of the past”. He took my beliefs, ideas, and personal studies on submissiveness and what it meant to me, and twisted it into having complete control over what I wore, who I talked to, the decisions I made, my life. And he took my ongoing depression and exploited me and my feelings and my sanity until my family didn’t recognize me.

 

Do I blame him for everything? No, I actively pursued him and ignored all the warning signs. I was still learning what a real relationship should be like and thought he would work because he wasn’t the “type” I had in the past. But those rose-tinted glasses of like/love/lust had me to the point of cutting myself to escape the pain of dealing with a twisted relationship. And I couldn’t figure out how to get out. I couldn’t just break up with him, he’d sit in my parking lot, constantly calling until I talked to him… and accepted him back. Somehow that behavior made me believe he truly loved me. Until the cycle of “you must do what I say to make me happy” began again.

 

So…. I ran. I had a job related offer/excuse and I took it and ran. I knew that if I stayed in the same vicinity I might let weakness and loneliness keep those rose-tinted glasses on my visage of what was really real.

 

Now, I use my experience to talk to friends/ acquaintances that may be headed for, or have experienced the same thing if I can. And I’ve been pretty good at running the other way from any men that give me the vibe of the Evil Ex. I dodged a bullet in more ways than one. No lasting damage really… except the scars to my soul. But hey, you haven’t really lived until you have battle scars to prove what you’ve survived.

 

I threw the letter away. I don’t need it to remember where I will never let myself go again.

 

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?

And…

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.

Um, yeah… I’d Rather You Had Herpes… and I May Be a Prude

I thought I was pretty open-minded when it comes to sexuality.

But nooooooope, I’m a prude when it comes to some things.

And that’s a very weird feeling for me…

I mean, in my past I’ve been pretty wild and freeloving. And even if it wasn’t something I wasn’t into, I would accept it of people I knew. Hey, as long as you weren’t raping or molesting (and by the way, animals can’t say no you weirdos) and everything was consensual, I wouldn’t bat an eyelash.

I must be getting old.

Because there’s a guy that knowing his situation makes it very hard for me to look him in the eye. And he makes my skin crawl.

Funny that I had a crush on him some months ago.

See, here’s the deal. I had one of those random attractions that I didn’t want and was doing my best to get rid of. You know how it is, some dude or dudette is not your type, you’d kind of feel ashamed if anyone knew and you just wanted the horror of your brain/attraction factor going wonky to STOP. There must have been pheromones involved. Because I finally broke it, but there was still a weird flutter. Until… The yuckiness factor.

Having a conversation one day with Mr. Not My Type led to him expressing that he was not single (still probably under the assumption that I was attracted, ugh). Instead, he (drunkenly) decided to tell me about his girlfriend. And her husband. And his girlfriend. And how they pretty much lived together.

I did what I do when I have no choice but to deal with a small child’s puke. Blank your mind DT5, this is NOT happening.

My inside face was like this. JUST LIKE THIS.

I managed to get out:

“Well, whatever floats your boat. If you’re happy, then good for you.” I am lying out of my bunghole!!!

He says “But it’s not. I’m ashamed, and want something better.” Dude, you just made my brain hurt on a day I was supposed to be enjoying myself.

See, here’s the deal. This is where my line is drawn and then underlined:

1. Call me old-fashioned but I believe in the sanctity of marriage.

2. “Love as thou will” is a philosophy that I live by. That means, as long as you’re not hurting yourself or others mentally/physically/emotionally. I got it from the book series Kushiel’s Dart. I have it tattooed on me. I live it.

And this guy is involved in something that hurts him. He says so. He is ashamed of his relationship. If they were all involved and saw nothing wrong, nothing to hide, then whoop-dee-frackin-doo. But they’re not. They are empty souls filling themselves with behaviors that excite the body, but do nothing for their hearts and spirits.

And I believe consensual caring sex to be one of the most spiritual acts you have. Yes, you heard me, good sex is right up there with getting the holy ghost. *Looks up* if I’m wrong, don’t worry, someone will correct me one day.

Anyways, I’m a prude. And I don’t want to know this information that dude friend has heaped upon me. And my crush was already gone though I still found him somewhat physically attractive. Now… Now it’s like if he came up to me and decided to mention to me that he has multiple STDs. He is the kind of guy I would touch with a ten foot pole. Even if I was drowning and that was the only way to save me. Even if there were sharks and crocodiles and clowns in that treacherous water. I’d just have to fight until my last breath.

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 😉

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.