Doomed To Fear History


The thing that amuses me the most about dating is the comparisons we make and the conclusions we draw based on our past. History is a potent motivator. My No-Good-Horrible-Very-Bad-Ex is Italian, he was fifteen years my senior, he wasn’t college educated, multiple kids with multiple women, had no drive or motivation to be great, and had bad teeth. What drove me to him, you ask? I was 17 and desperate for affection. So starved in fact, that I literally ran to the first man who treated me like I mattered. We met online, talked for months, and then met in person not long after I turned 19.

I’ve learned a great deal, and grew from that shy, insecure 17 year old, to a less shy, less insecure more neurotic 35 year old. I have dated some strange men over the years. Some I dated for the safety they provided. Not physically, I’ve never been a victim of domestic abuse and pray no one would dare try to make me one. Emotional safety though, I clung to. I dated a man for almost a year because he was absolutely no threat to my heart. Then broke up with him because I just didn’t feel the love for him that he deserved. He was a perfectly wonderful man, completely misunderstood, but I couldn’t be what he needed because he wasn’t what I wanted.

I’ve also dated an alcoholic who lied regularly, a man completely and utterly controlled by his mother, a drug addict who held his violence close to the surface, and a man who struggled with his own sexual demons. You know what I haven’t dated? A normal, healthy, man with his shit together. I’m beginning to wonder if this type of person exists. I get it, we all have issues. I can go from 0 to bitch in 3.5 seconds. But I seem to attract a specific type of crazy and I don’t know what I’m doing that I keep walking into the same doors. I thought we were supposed to learn from our mistakes at some point.

Last night, as I was going to bed (at a decent hour I might add!) I received a message from a guy on the dating website that amuses me so. We talked for like four hours and though he kept trying to sneak in sexual innuendo, he respected the boundaries that I clearly set. That alone surprised me and was oddly comforting in that he at least made the attempt. He waited for me to open the door to any type of personal conversations and let me know at different points in the conversation that he found me amusing, and engaging. I found him the same way except of the historical parallels. He’s Italian, he’s ten years my senior. Even though time and space have grown far beyond that of the 17 year I once was, I can’t seem to escape the thought process. I enjoyed talking to this man, and yet I’m probably going to blow him off if he messages me again because I’m condemning an entire race and anyone older than me out of some ridiculous fear that I didn’t know I still had.

Or I can rise above my fear, be the human that I strive to be and quit over analyzing everything I do, say, think, or feel. Of course then you wouldn’t have this delightful blog to bring you insight to my crazy. Who in your history has had the most impact over your choices? Doesn’t have to be an ex, just someone that left a profound impact on the choices you still make.


I’d Rather Have A Root Canal Than…

blogdate2So because I’ve grown rather used to my many first dates, I decided to check out what the population of Christiansburg VA had to offer and changed my zip code on the dating website that I use. Let’s review the three candidates that lit up my profile within ten minutes of me changing that zip code. (I’ve come to the conclusion that there are a shortage of women in this area, and that the men are unemployed.) So basically it’s just like home. I don’t know what I expected, but I didn’t think it could get worse than the strange individual’s I’d found in our lovely city of Jacksonville.

Exhibit A – We never made it to names, so I’m going to call him Norman Bates

– This lovely gentlemen is 35, he loves to fish, hunt, and swim. He also, upon me saying hello, described in detail what he’d do to parts of my body with parts of his body. Not that this is surprising anymore, but he spelled his words like a second grader and genuinely thought juicy was a good adjective to describe everything. 

Exhibit B – “Gomer”

– Now mind you, I told every single person I talked to yesterday that I was only here for 8 days and I’m not actually taking this very seriously. Gomer tried to convince me to ‘sale’ my house, and move to VA so he could show me the time of my life. We could go on down to the Waffle House, they make real good eggs there. He said he needed a good woman to tend to him and his needs because he’s working too hard trying to find a job to worry about house stuff. 

Exhibit C – “Don Juanabe”

 – this man had the audacity to be moderately amusing upon initial contact, making me think that Va had potential in the dating world. Fast forward through the initial boring ‘How’s your day’ chit chat, he jumped in with this smoothest line ever: Is your *ahem* ready to take a pounding, and can i @#%@ your throat? (censored for the sanity of my dear readers, he was not so kind.)

blogdate1So there you have it. I have the absolute insane ability to attract the dregs of humanity no matter where I am. Somewhere I send out a vibe, if you’re unemployed and are basically a douchbag, message me because I’m your dream girl! Here I bet you thought I wouldn’t be blogging on vacation. Eh, life amuses me to pause it in the middle for a dating time out. Who knows, Mr. Right Now could be right around the corner, just waiting for me to blog about him. 



Eating On A Date

messyeater I’ll never understand why women such as myself, list dinner as a date option. In this case, lunch. My friends and I have had multiple conversations about eating in front of potential boyfriends and we all had the same reaction. It can’t be messy, it can’t be decadent, and it can’t make us look like we gorge ourselves regularly. Don’t judge, you’ve done it too. We want to look cool and sophisticated when we eat. We worry about what it will look like when we order, when it arrives, how we will look eating it, what our breath will be like afterward, and most importantly, will it have any lingering unpleasant gastric effects.

chicsheekI carry this same internal torture toward money. Hows that for amusing. I never go on a date if I can’t afford to pay for myself. This isn’t because I don’t appreciate someone paying for my meal when I’m out, but because I don’t want to expect that from someone its just weird. Also, I’m perfectly fine with going Dutch on occasion. I’ve even paid for some of my dates. My preference? Duh. I’m cheap as hell and poverty stricken. But there’s still always that moment, when asked about the check, or ordering at fast food. That moment of wonder, who is paying that drives me insane. I literally hate that moment. The lunch date I had yesterday excluded that moment. We went to Tokyo Express, he started his order, and looked at me to order mine while I was still looking at the menu. So, no wondering there. I wish it were always that easy.

Dating is expensive business. I hear men bitch about buying a woman movie tickets, dinner or what not, but let me tell you, a woman will spend three times as much just getting ready to go out. She chooses her appearance, makeup, shoes and scent based on what she feels will make her more attractive to you.

Dating is hard work. But its fun, I just wish it hadn’t taken me so long to give it a whirl.



I’m A Big Kid Now

drinkgameLast night I went to a party. This party didn’t involve birthday cakes, children, or family. I can’t even remember the last time I was invited to and went to an actual party. The kind where music is thumping and adults play drinking games for the amusement of themselves and others. For a brief moment in time, I felt normal. Look at me, I have friends who do normal things. I stayed for about an hour because I am not normal. I can’t lose control enough to play a drinking game, and I was driving so I was playing a drinking game while drinking Gatorade. I’m so uncool.

As I sit here, drinking coffee and preparing to start my day, I’m amused that it has taken me thirty-five years to admit, that I’m kind of okay with myself. I’ve always been okay with the smart side of myself. That’s easy, it’s been a staple in my self worth. But the rest of me, i can tell you my flaws quicker than you can shake a stick at. 

Then there is the flip side to that. I’m bold. Very few things make me pause and doubt. I can strut naked in a room with a man and not wonder about what he’s thinking. If he didn’t want to see me naked he wouldn’t have been there has pretty much always been my philosophy. I can sing in front of a bar full of people without a drop of alcohol. When I make a decision, its made. I make them lightening fast unless its somehow money related, then I can stew for days.

Our own worth is such a fragile thing, while yes I do care whether or not people like me, or that they feel I’m a productive member of society, I’m not hung up on how someone else views me. They could never be as harsh critic as I am, and if they were, that’s not the type of influence I want in my life anyway.

So ladies, and men too, revel in the oddities that make you. Don’t wait 35 years to be able to stand naked in front of a mirror and say hot damn. Be bold, take chances. No one gets to decide what is right or wrong for me. 

This journey of first dates, a few second and thirds, has shown me, there are far more people to shake my head over than myself. A friend said that she felt like I’d ripped the words from her soul. Dating woes are universal. They aren’t defined by age, sex, race, or religion. People suck everywhere, but we all struggle through this because the thought of truly being alone is terrifying. We humans need to connect.

Some of us stay in bad relationships to avoid this feeling of loneliness. I did that a few times in my life. I simply knew it wasn’t for me yet stayed because, hell I can’t give up! What kind of nonsense is that. So I wasted time and energy on what wasn’t worth it just to wind up alone and lonely all these years later. Which works because that’s how long it took me to realize that I’m a pretty amazing person with brains, beauty, and a sense of humor that will keep your life entertained. 

So there you go, teenage angst that stayed with me a hell of a long time… suck it!




The Problem With Innuendo

This is what a conversation is actually like with me: 


Person X on the phone: I’d really like to get to know you better. 

Me: Okay.

Person X: Tell me everything about yourself, your ambitions, your deepest darkest secrets.

Me: I don’t like to talk on the phone for hours. How about you ask specific questions. I’m better with those. 

Person X: You’re funny. 

(Me thinking: how was that funny?)

Me saying: Thanks, I think. 

Person X: What are your plans for tonight?

Me: It’s eleven oclock. I’m going to bed here shortly. 

Person X: Oh? Gonna get a shower first?

(Me thinking: who the fuck asks that?)

Me saying: Yeah

Person X: I want to be the soap sliding all over your body.

(Me thinking: that’s disgusting.)

Me Saying: I don’t know how to respond to that. 

Person X: Invite me over, so I can shower with you, and tuck you into bed. 

Me: Does that line ever work? 

Person X: Everyone needs someone to scrub their back. 

Me: Okay so, I’m gonna go. I just don’t think you’re the type of person I’m looking for.

Person X: don’t be that way, invite me over. 

…. this is where I just hung up. He called 8 times after that, and twice this morning. 


I’m sure there’s some lesson to be learned in all this. I promise I’m not looking for the weirdest men on the planet. These are the men that don’t start with overt innuendo and actually have conversations first. 

I would love to meet one normal, well adjusted man, who didn’t think the way to get to know me was through my vagina. 




Busty? Seriously?


Respect is a big thing with me. I believe that there is simply no reason to be rude. It takes time to get to know someone to understand where their boundaries are. Without taking that time, you run the risk of stepping outside those boundaries and alienating the person you’re attempting to get to know. Here’s a prime example. Last night, someone who sent me a message on the dating website I use, asked me how ‘busty’ I was within 1 hour of saying hello. Oh, and they also informed me twice how much they enjoy cuddling and miss cuddling next to someone.

Here is my take away from that conversation. 1. He doesn’t care a wit about getting to know me as a person. Not once in the conversation did he ask me anything about myself other than what happened in previous relationships, what I was looking for, and what my chest size was. 2. He wants laid. Honestly that’s fine, to want. Hell *I* want to get laid, but I’m not going to have random sex with someone I barely know just to scratch an itch. Is it is so hard to just be honest?

I am sad for all the women who think this is how they deserve to be treated. It makes me cringe to think of the men out there who have lost their ability to respect a woman. The same can be said in reverse, I’m not saying it’s a universally male flaw. It’s degrading to be reduced to boobs and past sex life. I will never, ever go out with a man who asks me measurements before he asks about my ambitions in life.  A man never has to worry about me asking for a picture of his penis. I just don’t find it attractive enough to want it on my phone. Is there a woman out there who collects penis pics because she genuinely likes looking at them? I mean seriously, has it ever worked like this? Male sends you a cock shot, you get wet and wiggly and must find him to ride that image home?

Perhaps I’m asking for too much in this age of instant gratification. Maybe I’m simply too old fashioned and believe that respect is an integral part of any relationship, even one that is just starting. I guess my real question is when we lost our humanity that lies and sex were more important than respect and intimacy. You can have sex every day of your life and walk away feeling used shallow and empty. I want for more for myself than being someone else’s back scratcher. You should to.

I’m about to go on a vacation for a week to stay with my sister in Virginia. I’m so ridiculously glad that this will give me a week away from this disenchanted process called dating. I’m thoroughly disgusted with both men and women today. Men for not respecting women as people, and women for signing up to be degraded. Just stop it.

Or, I’m blowing this out of proportion, and I’m the broken one. Maybe I’m being unfair and judgmental.

Or perhaps, I just like myself too much to be blind.

The world may never know.



Dating Confession


Hello, my name is Kristy. (Pause for dramatic effect.) It’s been one full week since the date of my last first date. I know, I know. My single life will not be absolved if I do not continue to confess my deepest darkest secrets and desires to random strangers who are willing to cough up $2.75 to buy me a beer. The ones I have pegged for big spenders take me to Starbucks. I am in love with coffee dates because Starbucks makes even the most boring person entertaining. Or is that the beer. I’m starting to confuse the two. They always ask the same boring questions, and use the same cheesy compliments.

It’s like all the men in the world are given a handbook when they’re told how to approach women. This universal approach seems geared towards unintelligent, simpering, vanity driven fembots that can laugh on command and alternate between Mother Theresa and Jenna Jameson in her prime. As a free thinking woman I’m held accountable for every expectation the male I’m out with has. If sex happens at all, then too soon and I’m a W.H.O.R.E. or if I hold out then I’m a tease. If it’s too easy to get, then it’s not worth it, if it’s too hard, well shoot, it’s still not worth it.

I’m apparently asking for a miracle among men, while being average among women. Is it really too much to ask that someone have basic human courtesy skills? Instead of assumptions, ask. Instead of judging, discuss. Instead of ridicule, educate. It’s hard to be single in your thirties when everyone you know is married, engaged, or in a long term committed relationship. Everyone is so quick to point out that I don’t need a man. No shit. I’ve survived a decade without a real solidified relationship.


Maybe I don’t want to do it all on my own anymore. Maybe I want someone to wake up next to. (That doesn’t drink like a fish, smoke like a chimney, have a criminal record longer than my sons, or a wife waiting for him.) Is it truly asking too much to have all of that, and someone with a vehicle and employment? I’m employed, I have a car, I have a place to live. Sure I struggle sometimes, but I have my shit together.

Of all the men I’ve met and talked with over the last few months, only one isn’t going straight to spam when he texts. Either I’m the pickiest bitch on the planet, or I attract the crème de le crème of Jacksonville men. (See I can do sarcasm!). Apparently I should have listened better during my formative years, so that I could learn to be a fembot too.

Oh God, I believe I just cringed writing that. It’s far too late for me. Save yourselves… The fembots of the world are in charge now.



Stupid Stepford Wives


Last night I watched Stepford Wives and asked myself what fiasco went so wrong in my life that I’m purposely lying in bed watching what could possibly be the worst movie in history. I got invited to go have a beer, but I didn’t have my car and will never think it’s a good idea to invite a random stranger to my home and then get in the car with them. If nothing else, I’m quite adept at keeping myself among the living. It is my preferred state of existence after all.

I’m taking a break from blogging about the insanity that is my dating life. I did go on a first date that lasted something like five ours and started at four am. I couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t sleep, sex wasn’t involved, but it was nice. We’ll see how that plays out.

I’m learning more and more about myself each day. I enjoy entertaining others. I write this blog more because I know twenty seconds after it posts Kate and Kay will like and/or message me. I’m going to start an impoverished laptop fund soon because I’m a little tired of creating words on my cell phone. My thumbs just aren’t that dexterous. One of my coworkers whom I don’t speak to on a regular basis let me know she enjoyed reading it.


This morning I feel a bit like I’m in a maze waiting to find the prize at the center. I know what I want out of life, and where I want to be. I want to move to Virginia, so that I can live near my sister. I want my car to be safe and legal, all at the same time. (Paid off would be nice too but hell why be greedy?) I want to be in a healthy, loving relationship where I don’t feel smothered, inferior, or like a bitch all the time. Since this is my blog and my wish list, I’d also like to lose about fifty pounds while keeping most of my boobs and ass. I want the motivation to go to the gym I pay for each month. Basically I need a life overhaul that involves a militant like personal life coach.

I miss writing, and creating worlds, characters, situations that entertained the people around me. I got frustrated because my books didn’t sell. I felt like I’d failed. It’s taken me a long time to realize that I’d never actually failed at something before, so I didn’t know how to react to not being perfect. Life isn’t easy for me, don’t get it twisted, but I damn sure go out of my way to always do better than is expected. I’m so ridiculously driven, I have an end game in mind before I say hello. Writing did not follow my life pattern, so I packed up my toys and went home. Then I started writing this ridiculously stupid zombie girl story that I thought was silly words on a screen meant for nothing more than to get into the daily habit of writing. The only problem is my friends fell in love with it.

So while I may not have the car situated, or the man, or the location… hell or even the laptop… what I do have is perspective. I never did write for money, so who the hell cares if I made any?

I write because I’m pretty damn sure my brain will explode with word overload.



Struck a nerve… did I?

It would seem that a certain person assume I was talking about them in my last blog, and thought to try and have it removed. I’m a pretty nice person, ask anyone, had they asked, I’d of simply taken it down. This is cathartic for me, and in no means meant to hurt someone else’s little feelbads. However, since that was obviously too difficult, I will go ahead and leave it up.

Now let me tell you how vastly amusing I find it that someone tried to go to war against a blog that 11 people read, none of which he probably even knows. Use your energy wisely people, we only get so much of it… sheesh. So in the spirit of I don’t give a fuck, here goes my eloquent retort:



And if that doesn’t get my point across…



Just be lucky I’m not actually a vengeful bitch. 



More Life Lessons??

voicesI struggled what to write in this blog because so much has happened in the last few days. I learned a few very valuable life lessons that I thought I’d share with the group so that those living vicariously through my single woman life can avoid having to live through them. Why should we all have to go through the trials and tribulations of humanity if some of us can avoid it.

Life Lesson #1
No matter how long you’ve been alive, there are things you will do or say that will shock you for doing or saying them.

I’ve led a secluded and mostly sheltered life for the last decade, most of what I’d said or done remained in the virtual world, in text, or through the phone. What I mean by that is that I would meet people online, and we’d never meet face to face. One of the men I love the most in the universe is someone that I never so much as held his hand. I wasn’t capable of having real relationships at the time, and sometimes I wonder if I am to this day.

So when I tell you that this whole series of first dates is something that I wouldn’t have done, trust and believe that its true. Meeting people, and forcing myself to “Go Anyway”, even if I think I’m going to have a boring time, has been part of this weird adventure I’m on.

Life Lesson #2
Some people will do, or say, anything to have sex with you.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I like sex as much as the next girl, but I don’t feel the need to be someone I’m not to get it. Let’s review.

phonesex“Jack” – Jack’s idea of a good time started with lowering his voice an octave and telling me all the things he wanted to do to me while on the phone. So, normally this would probably have worked, I’m not going to lie, but Jack sounded like Michael Jackson, how’s THAT for sexy?

“Randall” – Randall I didn’t meet online. I met him the old fashion way, at a bar. He waited until after my friends left and then approached me. He proceeded to tell me that I was the most beautiful woman in the place and that he wanted to spend the evening creating memories. Good right? I thought so too, lucky for me he drops the bomb he’s deploying for nine months but really, he’ll remember my name.

“Tim” – Tim is a tricky little devil. Smart, articulate, and intense. Most women will go for a certain look, I am all about the intensity of a man. Make me think i’m the only person in your universe and my panties drop faster than a groupie at an Aerosmith concert. Too bad the reason he was so intense was that he’s far too busy trying to keep the fact that he has a wife hidden.

Life Lesson #3
As a woman, I have no idea what I really want.

Pretty sure the men of the world just said a collective ‘duh’. But seriously, I always think I know what I want. I’d like to get married, and live a life unified with the man that I fell in love with as we go off on grand adventures. Simple right? But I also want someone who makes me feel things. I want someone to fix my problems while balancing my need and pride in feminism. I want someone to be my equal in all areas, unless in that moment I don’t want him to be… and him know the difference. I want to do it all, on my own, but he can help. Only if he wants though. Then five minutes later, I want him to take the burden of all my problems and send me to a spa for a month so he can fix them.

Yes world, I really am this bat shit crazy.