The Bravest Among Us

I have decided to take a little break from dating to give my heart a little time to heal and build up the crunch candy shell that keeps it protected. It's a bit of a dating hiatus, if you will. Unfortunately, this means that I haven't had many interesting dating stories, of late, but that doesn't mean that I don't still have plenty of other ridiculous stories to share…my vault of hilarity and humiliation has a plethora of tales to which there is no end.

So I've been thinking…I could tell you one of the many, many, many dating stories of yor, from my single times in Buffalo and Atlanta, or I could wax philosophical about my past relationships and each bitter, dreadful, or amusing demise. I could talk about my first kiss, my first love, or other, more tawdry things, but instead, I think I'll give you…cockroaches.

Now, let me start by explaining that despite how absolutely horrible these things are, they are nothing, in my opinion, compared to rats, which is maybe why I can, at least now, consider stories involving them to be funny. Some people fear spiders, some snakes…me, I will scream and turn into a hysterical little girl at the mere sight of a rat…they terrify me to my very core in a way that I cannot begin to explain…and since squirrels are just rats with fuzzy tails - and don't even try to tell me otherwise - I'm not too fond of those things, either.  But since any story involving a rat is just horrifying without any side of funny, I will instead regale you with cockroaches, instead.

To be clear, I am not talking about those little bitty things that scatter in the light and exist in building I try to avoid like the plague they carry. I'm talking about the giant, freaky cockroaches that they have down south, known as waterbugs, or Palmetto bugs…Which are actually two different things, but might as well be interchangeable, as they are both large, fast moving, and horrific. (Side note: I know way too much about these things, thanks to the time I spent living in Atlanta, and the wonder that is Wikipedia.) They are around 2 inches in length, they have wings, and they are one of the fastest running insects in the world! These things are the stuff that horror stories are made of. Generally, they live in trees, where they should always, ALWAYS stay, but on occasion, they make their way out of said trees, and into our lives.

Here is one such story.

I moved down to Atlanta, all by my little lonesome, in September of 2006. The roommate I'd lived with in Buffalo, who also happens to be my cousin, and one of the tiniest full-sized adults you'll ever meet, drove down to Atlanta with me. My moving truck (a 'you pack it, we ship it" service) was waiting for us when we got there. If you have ever been to Atlanta, you know how hilly it is. My complex was no exception. Upon arrival, we discovered that the genius truck driver had parked the truck at least 50 yards DOWNHILL from my apartment…and left us no dolly. Being the very inventive gals that we are, we managed to move every last box, a very heavy recliner, and even my giant sofa using nothing more than our girly brawn and a desk chair on wheels which had been chewed down to almost nothing by my cat. Of course, we couldn't just move everything right into my narrow shoebox, because at some point between me packing it and them shipping it, someone added a couple hundred ants to the mix, and I refused to bring anything into the apartment until it was thoroughly shaken out.

Eventually, we moved everything in and started to explore the area. That's when I realized something.

I was on the WRONG side of town.

It had been a whirlwind move, selling my house, moving everything 1000 miles, and finding a new apartment, all in a very short time. I knew I wanted to live in the city and set my sights on an area called Midtown, but in my haste I ended up in a very beautiful, very expensive, very small and narrow apartment in a gated community on the WRONG side of Midtown. Actually, I was on the wrong side of a street that kind of cut through, separating the trendy, fun half from the shoot-you-in-the-face-for-looking-funny half. I was on the latter side of the street called Ponce de Leon. (Fun fact for my northern friends – they do not pronounce it the fancy way that we all learned in school. They pronounce is pawns-duh-lee-yawn. Drove me nuts.) Outside of my very lovely gated community was a Publix grocery store, where large scary-ass dudes stood outside the entrance after dark, flashing guns and drugs, in case you were in the market for either, while picking up your bread and milk. Around the corner was a holding center, and below my balcony was the parking lot of the Civic Center, where drug dealers and prostitutes would have a screaming turf battle every evening as they both tried to sell their wares.

It was a lovely place.

But that was all part of the experience, right? I wanted something new, something different…and you couldn't get much more different than that.

My cousin left and my mom flew down to bring me my cat. As we drove to my apartment, my mother was far from pleased at what she saw, but she was kind enough to keep most of her comments to herself as I tried to be brave and talk about how happy and excited I was. Eventually, though, I broke down, admitting that I hated the neighborhood and couldn't stay there. The next day we trudged back out into the huge, strange city, where, by the way, four right turns does NOT equal a square, and found a bigger, better, cheaper apartment in a much safer part of town.

That night, we got some food and settled in to start re-packing the apartment as voices from the parking lot below rose up and in through the single open window, a distant chorus of curse words drifting in on the breeze. Wanting to get a little more fresh air into the tiny apartment, I reached out and opened the balcony door, just an inch, maybe two, when something small and black ran in, scurried past my feet, and hid behind the couch.

I screamed. I screamed like a helpless girl in a horror movie. A mouse! A mouse had run into the apartment! At least, I thought it was a mouse…It was about the size of a small mouse, dark in color, and moved very fast. I stared at my cat, waiting for her to do her predatory cat thing and pounce, but she simply glared back, bored and annoyed at my antics. I called my mother out from the bedroom, and she took the three step trek into the living room to find me standing on a chair, clutching a shoe in horror.

"There is a mouse behind the couch!" I shrieked.

Being the fearless woman that she is, she pulled the couch out, caught quick sight of the creature before it darted back under, and then proceeded to let out a scream of her own and jump up onto another nearby chair.

"It's not a mouse. It's a giant bug!" she insisted.

Well, once I knew it wasn't a mouse, I was fine. I calmly climbed down from my perch and gave the cat one last longing look. When it became apparent that she was interested in taking this one on, I handed my mother another shoe and gave her directions.

"I'm going to pull the other side of the couch out and try to smash it. If it runs toward you, just jump down and hit it with the shoe, hard."

She didn't look convinced, but agreed. Pretending to be far braver than I really am, I clutched my shoe in one hand, yanked the couch out with the other, and there it was…the biggest cockroach I'd ever seen. I stared down as it glared back up at me, a sneer on its little roach face, and our eyes locked, the bug just daring me to squish it. I took a deep breath, and in the name of single, independent women everywhere, I charged forward, ready for the kill.

Unfortunately, the cockroach ran, too, right toward my mother.

"Hit it!" I screamed, trying to come around the other side. "Hit it now!"

And she did. Jumping down from the chair, she slammed the shoe down on the roach, heel first, and we heard a crunch. She hit it again, for good measure, and I let out a sigh of relief. My mother, though, wasn't quite done. Her eyes wild, her arm swinging, she smashed the shoe down again and again, yelling in a high pitched voice, "help me! Help me! Help me! Help me!" The words were a steady rhythm with each smack of the shoe.

I yelled for her to stop, my voice finally breaking through as the pummeling came to an end, and we both looked down at the tiny black remnants of the cockroach, most of which had been smashed down into the carpet, along with a dark, inky pulp.

Tossing our shoes aside, we sat, physically and emotionally exhausted, and I wondered for maybe the tenth time that week, if I'd made a mistake moving down south. The next couple of years would be trying at times, but I would eventually answer that question with a resounding NO! I did not make a mistake. Though I ultimately did not stay in Atlanta, that move ended up changing my life and making me who I am today. I would later have several more run-ins with the dreaded water bug, my shoe a handy weapon in the war, but that night I just pulled myself up, dusted myself off, and searched Google for the best way to get smashed cockroach stains out of the carpet.

Say Cheese!

I like to think that my little blog serves three main purposes: sharing my silly stories with my friends, dissecting my life for my own self-awareness/analysis, and enhancing the world with my own little pearls of wisdom.

This post is directed at the third objective. I've been in and out of the online dating world for the better part of 8 years – a fact that I am not terribly proud to acknowledge. Nevertheless, I've been around for a few years, in several different cities, and there are many online dating blunders that I have seen repeated over and over again. Whether it be a terrible profile picture, a generic or off-putting "About Me" message, or inappropriate introduction emails, online daters seem to get it wrong more often than right. 

Today, let's talk photos. I'm going to focus on the guys, because, as a straight, single woman, I've viewed my share of male profiles. I'm sure there are plenty of awful blunders in the ladies' profiles, too, but that's a topic for another time.

Common Dating Profile Photo Offenses

1. The Topless Photo – A sad attempt at a playgirl spread without the visible cash and prizes, or an obligatory attempt at showing off the pectoral region. Now, guys, I understand that it's summer, it's hot, and you're probably spending time out at the beach or on a boat, sans shirt, with friends snapping photos, and that's okay. I think it's fine to sneak one or two of those photos into the mix, if, of course, you've got a body worth showing off, or are very comfortable with the lack thereof, but maybe slip those into the middle of the pack, and reserve the main profile picture for a shot that is a bit less revealing. Of course, if you're just looking for a little fun and the occasional hook-up, plaster your hot bod on up there, but don't expect a woman who's looking for something more serious to pay much attention. We appreciate the view, but the photo doesn't exactly scream "mature and committed." Once out of our twenties, most women are looking for a little more J. Crew and a little less Jersey Shore.
   
   
2. The Mirror Shot – Posed shot in a mirror, holding the camera or phone in your hand. There is nothing natural or appealing about these shots. They are staged, awkward, and to be honest, we're usually checking out the background to see how dirty or messy it might be, instead of focusing on the macho pose you're striking. If you must take a photo of yourself, here's a helpful hint: just about every digital camera has a timer on it – set the timer, put the camera down, and pretend you're doing something other than striking a sexy pose in your bathroom.
    
3. The Angles – Originally perpetuated by the internet's abandoned playground formerly known as MySpace, the Angles are photos that only show a person from certain, specific angles, so that you're never totally sure how they really look. Like a mixed up puzzle, or a dissected Picasso, the Angles coincide with the Mirror Shot, often self-photographed, and generally looking like a model's pose gone horribly wrong.
    
4. The Arm-Stretch – An off-shoot of The Angles, the Arm-Stretch occurs when one takes a photo of himself while holding the camera up and out, shooting the pic at arm's length. This is only acceptable with two or more people in the photo, and preferably if you are all drunk. If you're alone, chances are whatever you're doing isn't interesting enough to take a photo of, and if it is, again, I highly recommend the camera timer.
    
5. The Not-My-Baby Photo – A photo of you holding someone else's baby. You post the pic, then you put up a caption explaining that the baby does not belong to you. Guys, I get that you're going for the whole "women love baby's" thing, but maybe just got with another picture and save yourself the trouble of explaining – or borrow a friend's puppy…much less likely to scare off the ladies.
    
6. The Visible Cut-Out – Scratched out, blurred out, colored out, cut out, or covered up picture of the person next to you. It's creepy, strange, and a little sad. If you have the photo on your computer, then chances are you have some kind of basic photo editing software. Find the crop tool. Embrace the crop tool. The crop tool is your friend.
    
7. The Beer Bottle Shot – This isn't a don't, per say. I'd just like to point out that a vast number of guys have shots of themselves, at a bar or party, eyelids half open, face a little red, beer bottle in hand. It's a classic, really, but maybe better left to those in their early 20s.
    
8. Thug Pose – The serious-face, flexed muscle shot, meant to look tough, rough, or otherwise badass. You're not fooling anyone, guys. Mom is your hero, and your pitbull, Daisy, is your baby-girl, so put the scowl away and give us a grin.

Thanks for Being Creepy

Sometimes I am utterly amazed by what people...and by people, I mean men, consider to be a good pick-up line.

Today, I got what has to qualify as at least top three creepiest come-ons  I've ever gotten. Thanks to online dating sites, that ranking has become more and more competitive.

Previously, the top creepiest pick-up line went a little something like this...Several year ago, I had an eyebrow ring. (I know, I know...but in my defense, it was the 90's and I was an art/film student.) I was at a bar with a friend one night, and a slightly inebriated man came up and said, "I like your eyebrow ring; it makes you look like a little girl, and that makes me want to take you home." It was confusing and creepy. How does a piercing on my face make me look, in any way, like a little girl? And more importantly, why does THAT make you want to take me home? Ick!

Pedopheliac undertones aside, this new one actually, for some reason, made my skin crawl even more. I think it was the combination of the email along with a profile expounding the importance of family, his own children, and good morals.

And now, I give you the creepiest online introduction I've ever received...

 I really am a cat type of person and I just gotta ask...
 ...can I pet your kitty sometime? Mine is getting really old and lives with my ex-wife.

EW! What woman would ever respond to that? What woman would read that and saw, "Awe, how sweet!" If you were shooting for funny, Creepy-Email-Guy, you missed the target...by miles.


To all my non-single friends out there, thank your lucky stars that you are paired up and don't need to trudge through the dark, dangerous, post-apocalyptic world of dating. It can be a scary place. 

Shakespeare, You Are Not

I get a lot of awful, ridiculous, eye-roll-worthy messages on the dating sites. It's amazing to me, at times, what people will put out there as a pick-up line. I'd like to share a few of my favorites with you.

1. Hi. You look like a playboy playmate.

• That was the whole message! I think I'm supposed to be flattered, but that's not exactly the look I'm going for, or the compliment I'm hoping to receive. Mommy, how did you and Daddy meet? Well, honey, your father saw my picture, compared me to a naked lady in a magazine, and the rest was history."

2. How are you today? I am April Break this week, so I'm enjoying some time away from school.

• Okay, now to be fair, there was nothing wrong with this email, per say, but the missing word...just two simple letters, completely changed the meaning of the sentence and I found it very interesting. This week, he is April Break. It sounds like a bad stripper name!

3. Hello. You are very beautiful and I know you are probably married, but I just wanted to let you know if you wanna text then we can.

• This message was funny on multiple levels. First, why would you assume I'm married when I'm on a DATING site? Second, and perhaps more importantly, it's great to know that even if I AM married, we can still text if I'd like. Good to know you have such a high set of morals. Or, was I supposed to read that and say, "Wow, he thinks I'm so great that I must already be snapped up off the market! How sweet!" Yeah...didn't so much have that effect.

4. Are you an ageist, or are you open to dating someone a little older? Please let me know. - Bruce (44 years old)

• Every guy knows that the way to a woman's heart is by insulting her. If you don't think a woman will talk to you, perhaps a little bullying will do the trick! Sorry, Bruce, but as it turns out, I guess I am a bit of an ageist - and also terribly allergic to douche bags.

5. Well, I'm old enough to be your father, so good luck in your search.

• Um...just...why? Why even email me in the first place? Just in case the idea of dating someone old enough to be my father is appealing?

6. And last but not least...this one might seem a bit familiar. If so, that's because it is a much longer version of a shorter email that I once dissected on my blog. The guy actually emailed me again, but with a much more detailed list of ridiculous gibberish...So, now, for your reading pleasure, I give you Literary Genius of the Dating World, Take 2.

Hello, my dear, may I say your beauty has me absolutely stunned! (Despite being stunned by my beauty before, he is still stunned again! I must really be something special. Also, let me just stop right here and say that when a guy emails me using a phrase like "my dear" it makes me feel like I'm being contacted by either a creepy evil genius in a bad b-movie, or my creepy uncle Saul (if I had a creepy uncle Saul, which, for the record, I do not...but if I did, he would totally say creepy-ass things like that!) My name is [Literary Genius]. I am 36, 6'2, 250 very athletic pounds. (Very athletic pounds? Swoon! You must be a hunk, Literary Genius!) I love almost all sports, but consider myself to be more of an intellect. I work out four very intense days per week. I am happily separated after 8 years of married. (Note...that is separated...not divorced...dude isn't even divorced yet!) I do not want someone who is shy, uptight or inhibited. (Translation: I want a chick who'll have lots of sex right away!) I am looking for someone whom I have a dangerously addictive chemistry with. (Really? Dangerously addictive? That doesn't sound entirely healthy or realistic. This is the real world, Literary Genius, not a Quentin Tarantino film.) I would love someone who is physically fit or at least goes to the gym. (Translation: No fatties!) I have seen so many people on here that only give one word or one line responses, or don't respond at all. I beseech (Oh! Someone has word of the day toilet paper!) you to not do the same. I hope we can find a connection, my dear. (Yuck! See my earlier comment about "my dear" and how much I love that phrase!)

The Games We Play

I've been thinking a lot lately about dating, and the games people play. 

You'll never hear someone say, "I really prefer to get to know the false you, fall in love, and THEN learn how crazy you really are."

No one will say that, but we all do it. You'd be hard-pressed to find an online dating profile that says, "I'm an up-tight, neurotic basket-case with emotional baggage and daddy issues." In the beginning, we wouldn't be caught dead in that ragged old t-shirt we like to sleep in, or with a sink full of dishes and clothes on the bedroom floor.

Instead, we all walk a tightrope of trying to really getting to know someone without showing our true, deep, dark colors. Some say dating is like an interview process. I think dating is more like trying to play Euchre with a new partner. You have to try to learn each other's tells, read your partner's hand, figure out when to trump high and when to go-it-alone.

It is difficult and tiresome, and you usually lose in the end.

It isn't until we're in full-on relationship mode that we let things go. It isn't until that point that we stop waking extra early to brush our teeth before slipping back into bed, stop cleaning the entire home every time he comes over, or actually go "number two" while she's in the house.

It isn't until we are safely and securely ensconced in a relationship that we really start to be who we truly are.

So why do we do it? Why must we play these games? Why can't we just say what we mean, and act as we feel? Why must we wait to call, play hard-to-get, and question how soon too soon is for the first kiss, the first over-night, or the first time meeting friend? Why can't we just be ourselves, for better or worse? Why is that so terrifying?

Okay, so I'm not going to suddenly stop dolling myself up for a first date, or cleaning the bathroom before a new guy comes over, but I would like to think that maybe, just maybe I could stop questioning and second-guessing and just go with the flow. I'd like to believe that I can just enjoy each moment, without over-thinking and analyzing it, that I can be just as available as I want to be, and that maybe, just maybe, I'll find a guy who happens to enjoy my own special brand of crazy for what it is.

Another One Bites the Dust

So, I haven't posted anything in the last month...because I had started to date someone new and it was actually going really well. We had a very amusing meet-cute involving a bee landing on my chest and him gallantly brushing it away before realizing what exactly he was brushing. From there, the chemistry flowed and everything was big smiles and fireworks...literally...best fourth of July date ever. Things moved quickly, but not because of me...he always wanted to come over after work, stay the night, and talk the next day. It was great, and maybe a little fast, which I pointed out once or twice, but overall, just enjoyable.

Then last week, he suddenly got distant, and last night? The "thanks, but..." text message. That's right, I was dumped via text message...very classy and personal:)

I heard my phone buzz shortly after getting home from work, and saw that it was him. Then I saw the first line...Hi Jen...Immediately, my heart sank, because, let's face it, when the guy you're dating starts by addressing you by name in a text message...oddly formal for such an inform mode of communication...that's never good.

"I think you're a really great person." Just what every girl wants to hear. Somehow, in a weeks time, I went from being a great girl who he misses if he doesn't see in a day or two and who he wants to spend tons of time with, to a really great person. Kiss of death.

"But I don't think we will work out and i don't want you to waste your time with me."

Seems perfectly reasonable, if things hadn't been so hot and heavy on his side up until that point.

I asked, for my own piece of mind, what happened, and was basically told that our expectations are different...mine are apparently high and his are...something else...Didn't really get a good explanation there, and I wasn't going to belabor the point...so there it is.

Now, I know that this time I did not push things, expect things, plan for things, ask for things, or talk about things in any way that would put too much pressure on someone. Maybe I should be less available, more aloof, more bitchy, demanding, difficult, or hard to get, but the truth is, that though it would be easier to turn off emotion and pretend I just don't care, I have no stomach for games. I never have and as much I'd like to think i could, I won't.

So, instead, I will keep on keeping on, adding each and every ridiculous chapter to my dating saga until I finally meet a keeper, or become the crazy cat lady and die an old maid.

Someone, please just be sure to play Another One Bites the Dust at my funeral...and remember to feed the cats.

Tell 'Em Large Marge Sent Ya!

Ok, I'm not the biggest girl on the planet...Not even close...They wouldn't even consider me for The Biggest Loser, but I have to admit, that at this moment, I weigh more than I would like, more than I am comfortable with, and more than I should. I'm no longer teetering on the edge of average/over-weight...I've jumped right over the side and am splashing around in the deep end!

I am, in fact, and I can't believe I'm going to admit this, twenty pounds heavier than I was a year ago. Twenty pounds! That's one of those big weights at the gym that are reserved for people with more muscle than myself. I've noticed a few things that have come with the weight (not including the lower self-esteem, derailed body image, and penchant for baggy clothes):

1. I waddle. I waddle when I walk...or at least, I feel like I'm waddling. I feel like a fricking penguin in heels!

2. Clothes don't fit. I know, this seems like it would be an obvious side-effect, hardly worth mentioning, but the thing is that until now I just kept telling myself "it must have shrunk," but eventually you have to admit that your jeans, shirts, bras AND shoes have not all shrunk. It is I who is in need of a little shrinking.

So, in light of my big fat realization, I have recently started doing several things...

1. Eating better. This means no more fast food (yuck), much less carbs (who needs 'em!), all natural, low-gluten food (gluten and me...we don't get along), and veggies, veggies, veggies!

2. More frequent, small, healthy meals. A plate of potato salad and a 100 calorie chips ahoy snack pack counts, right?

3. No more diet soda. It's nothing but water for me from now on. Water...and caffeine withdrawal headaches! Woohoo!

4. Working out. I've been going to the gym at least 3 times a week, and walking at least a mile or two a day...So far so good. I haven't fallen down or passed out or anything!

5. Wellness Spa. I'm leaving tomorrow morning for three days at a wellness spa retreat in the Poconos. I'm hoping that all the yoga (which I love and miss), exercise, nutrition/cooking classes and relaxation will be the jump start I need to getting back to the slightly slimmer, much happier me.