The one who had a girl's name

In grad school I went on a lot of dates. ALOT. I started making a list once. That list helps me with this blog a bunch, especially since many of these dates were only first dates and I can't remember a damn thing about them.

I went online dating crazy. Crazy I tell you! It was a great way for me to get out of the house, meet someone new, and hopefully do something fun. But there's this strange first date syndrome I fell into and didn't know what to do about.

The first date syndrome: I only really had a couple bad dates: there was the one who pissed me off, and the infamous one who went to the bathroom and never came back . I went out with a lot of nice interesting people. But because I met them online, I didn't know if there would be any chemistry, and usually there wasn't. So there would be no second date. And that was because neither one of us would call the other. It's not like we didn't have a good time or good conversation, there was just no, you know, spark. I enjoyed it for what it was and just moved on.

So I went on a lot of first dates.

I don't regret this, but sometimes wonder if I should I have given these guys another chance? If I ever did get a call for a second date, I usually took it, unless it was a for a very good reason. And even if I didn't have that feeling, I would usually give them another chance. If they liked me enough to ask me out again, I'd usually give it a go. But if there's no spark, there's no spark.

But after a first or second date, if they didn't want to see me again, and I felt no dying urge to get on the phone and ask them out, that was it. Onto the next one!

But the one I think about when I recall this slew of first dates only, is this guy named Lindsay. I remember him as being cute and nice. He had a girl's name, lived with his two brothers, drove this awesome 1970s woody truck with the really cool side paneling and took me bar hopping in a city that I was somewhat new to.

We met at a favorite place of mine, with local history, lots of cool old pictures on the walls and a fun staff. Then he took me to a new hipster bar on the east side where the neighborhood was being gentrified. And then we finished off the evening across the street from governmental buildings where there was a 24 hour session going on. There was a huge tv monitor set up in the bar so that when government officials came in to grab a drink, they wouldn't miss anything. It was hysterical.

Whenever think about Lindsay, I wonder if we should have at least become friends. But so it goes.

If there's no spark, there's just no spark.

The one who had been dancing all night

It’s been awhile since I’ve blogged about steamy romance, and this one’s gonna be a little longer than normal. But here goes…

I was on a choir trip in college that toured through England, France, Belgium and Holland for about two weeks. We got to sing in amazing spaces like Chartres Cathedral in France. It was a fantastic time and an incredibly amazing opportunity. One of the perks of traveling through Europe is, of course, the European men that you might come in contact with. And since the group I was traveling with was compromised of women only, any attention and/or distraction we could get from the opposite sex was welcomed.

In my experience, I’ve found that traveling with large groups of people can be rather exhausting. Nerves and patience become rather sensitive because you just can’t get away from someone if they’re bothering you and attitudes can get ugly. At least my attitude can get ugly.

Traveling with a group of all women is different from traveling with a group that includes men. When you’re traveling with men, at least there is the possibility of flirting, or watching the boy you like flirt with someone else (stay tuned for, "the one who my friends thought was an unattractive douche") or be witness whatever scandal that might occur from male and female hormones interacting with each other.

Other possible tensions arise simply from specific personalities clashing with one another, whether or not they are based on romantic or sexual circumstances, and not getting a break. Of course some of these possible situations do not provide a positive and healthy environment, sometimes quite the opposite, but they at least do make for a lively one. Traveling alone is great, but it can get boring.

Traveling with a large group of only women takes away the sexual tensions (unless there are at least two lesbians or bi-curious ladies along) and just leaves the silly, stupid and annoying drama that occurs when women spend too much time together.

I’ve never considered myself a girly-girl and tend to stay away from women who seem to fall into this category. I’ve found that I tend to make friends with edgy, dorky, intelligent women who don’t get overly excited by all things makeup, shoes, hair product and clothes.

So a small group of women (mostly altos, interestingly enough) found ourselves to be the gals who sat in the back of the bus. Ironically when I was on a bus tour with men, I was among the same category of women, but we sat in the front of the bus. What’s up with that?

I mention the dynamics of traveling with all women because you need to understand why it is so amusing for me to compare my experience to some of those I overheard from these more frivolous girly-girls. Let’s call them Sopranos. And yes, I am generalizing. These were nice girls, very sweet, but I had no real interest in becoming lifelong friends with them or swapping makeout stories on the way to Brussels, like:

“Oh, we met this good looking Frenchman last night who bought us all drinks and promised to meet up with us in the next town.”

or

“Did you kiss him? I can’t believe you KISSED him!”

or

“That gorgeous Italian really wanted my email but I wouldn’t give it to him! I mean what’s the point?”

Jeeeeeeeez, how BORING. WHO CARES?? Maybe I was just jealous, it’s certainly possible.

So us Altos would hang in the back of the bus feeling like the high school outcasts that just couldn’t be bothered with these silly Sopranos. And, like, the front of the bus is for teacher’s pets or something.

One of my favorite memories from this trip was at a bar in Holland where one of the specials of the night was an “Orgasm.” I, new to this whole drinking thing (you know, being under-aged and all), asked the bartender “what is an orgasm?” which I realized was the wrong wording for the question because he grabbed my wrist and said “Come, I show you!” HA! Silly Dutchman. So cute!

But I’ve not gotten to the crux of the story, the one who had been dancing all night. So here goes:

On our last night in London, my friend and I found our way into a dingy club that we had gotten a flier for, advertising cheap drinks and cheap admission for ladies. There was hardly anyone there that night and in typical clubbing fashion, the music was terrible. But we had paid to get in, and we really didn’t want to wander around looking for something else considering we didn’t exactly know where we were anyway. So we got our drink and dance on and ended up having a darn-tootin’ good time.

I met this little Irishman named Sean. He was your typical light haired bloke, keen on showing a cute American bird a good time (sorry, but my British vocab was dying to be used just there). He bought me I-have-no-idea-how-many Mike’s Hard Lemonades (don’t make fun! That drink was new to me at that point! Didn’t matter what country I was in!) My friend met a guy too, a cute curly haired English one.

I don’t know how it happened, but Sean invited us ALL back to his house and he and the English guy didn’t even know each other, or so it seemed. I figured that since I was with my friend, it would be fine. We were meant to catch a plane to Amsterdam in the morning, but we would be able to take a cab back to the hotel from Sean’s house and we would totally be fine.

Sean rented a room above the Irish pub he worked at and we all piled onto his bed, turned off the lights and put a movie on, I think it was, umm…I think, maybe… you know what? I have no freakin’ idea what the movie was, cause it took no time for us to get, uh, distracted...

My friend and the English bloke left Sean’s room and I assume found a couch in the hallway, leaving us alone to get up to our own debauchery. At this point I was still very new to all of this, you know, intimacy with men thing, especially the taking clothes off bit. I was VERY new to this oral sex thing, I had never done either form of it and asked Sean if he would. Well, he did, and honestly it was pretty horrible. And in typical first time fashion, I didn’t really know what or how to tell him to do it any better. But since he at least made an effort, I figured I would offer to return the favor.

He said, “No, thanks.”

Seriously?

Even now, years later, I’m still amazed by this. I mean, and I’m going to put this bluntly, WHO SAYS ‘NO’ to a blow job??? Who!!??

His reason?

“I’ve been dancing all night and you just don’t wanna go down there.”

How freaking decent is that?

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

It’s not like I wasn’t fumbling around down there anyway. Even though I had little to compare it to, I was already aware of Sean’s size and the fact that it did kinda curve to the right. So it’s not like he was ashamed of it or something. He was just concerned about his “swamp crouch” and how gross it might be to really get down there.

Incredible.

Anyway, in the morning he puts the three of us in a cab, gives me his address (not email) and cash for the cab. (Why do I meet the decent ones in other countries??)

My friend and I get back to the hotel, pack our stuff and get on the bus in just enough time. No problem.

We get on the bus and I’m looking at all these girls, beaming with what I thought at the time to be the best secret in the whole world. You know that morning-after-hookup-glow? I love it. I love feeling scandalous. It’s invigorating.

I just sat there smiling as the Sopranos told the newest round of foreign men stories.

It was a long time before I got to engage in the afore mentioned sex act but was incredibly excited to have made out with a cute boy with a hot accent in another country. I think you’ve learned that is something I take pride in.

I think I might have sent Sean a postcard just for shits and giggles, but never heard back. Didn’t expect to.

But one thing I can credit Sean for is jump-starting my fascination with Irish boys. They seem to like me, I don’t know why.

Eat your heart out Sopranos!

The one who said “This isn’t a date” on our first date

Two new blog entries cause I've been slacking lately...

Jon said that he really liked what I had written on my Friendster profile. I think I might have answered the “who I want to meet” section with something brilliant like, “someone who knows who they are even if they don’t know what they want to do with themselves.” This is perfectly acceptable for someone right out of college. You know, when you know what you like to do and that you want to do something really meaningful with your life, but have no idea what that is yet.

Jon had recently lost about 50 pounds and even though I’ve never done that (I wouldn’t look like me anymore) I have an idea of what havoc that brings into your head. I’d imagine it’s similar for men and women, but still quite different. I think it’s something you never really get used to, I know my dad still has the ghost of a fat little kid sitting on his shoulder most of the time.

Anyway, I was pretty new to this online dating thing, but Jon had done some online dating before. I know this because he told me, right after I show up to dinner. He’s sitting there at the table with a friend, a girl as a matter of fact, he was sitting at the table with a girl, a girl that was down right cute!

Awesome.

It was a little awkward, of course, not knowing what the hell was going on. There’s nothing better than sitting at a table with two people that know each other really well that spend a good amount of time talking amongst themselves about people and things you don’t know anything about.

A few minutes into dinner, she says something about us being on a “date.” And Jon says flat out “this isn’t a date, dates come with too much pressure.”

Ooooohhhhhh, I see now.

He’s a pussy. Got it.

So we’re on a non-date. I know sometimes this blog gets compared to Sex in the City but this “non-date” thing is right out of an episode where Carrie meets a cute boy in glasses sitting on a fountain in Central Park.

So anyway, Jon must have thought I wasn’t worth kicking to the curb, though, because we ended up going to back to his house without the cute friend to pick up his old crippled car. Two or three years out of college, Jon lived with his parents, which unfortunately is all too normal. He had a pretty cool part time job with digital radio, but got paid crap. I think this all explains why he connected with the “not knowing what to do with yourself” statement.

I honestly can’t remember what else we did on our first “non-date.” I feel like we may have gone to see a show at the indie club down the street. But it really doesn’t matter because we never went on a non-date again. Although we kept in touch over email and sometimes ran into each other at shows.

Turns out we live in the same city again and I’ve seen him out a couple times. And when he does see me he always seems to have someone better to talk to and hang out with, and he’s still single! Ha! We’ve talked about meeting up again at a club we both like, but something else always comes up.

Last time I saw Jon he was on a blind date. We were both in line for an invitation only party (I know, swanky right?) and my friend and I were able to get in, but he couldn't, even though he was supposedly on the list too. He called me later to apologize for being so stand-offish with me which I certainly appreciated.

I’ve come to realize that he’s kind of a social climber with probably bruised self-esteem. He definitely has his sweet moments.

But, like I said, he’s also a pussy.

The one who had great hair

Ben had a gorgeous head of curly brown hair. It was so cute. It would change lengths, but would always stay long enough to enjoy the curl. He was a grad student when I was an undergrad. I met him at a party after I had been drinking and flat out told him that we had to be friends. I didn’t know he had a long-distance relationship with his college girlfriend.

Okay, you know what? I hate that shit. HATE IT. My heart always sinks a little bit when someone mentions their “girlfriend,” strangely, even when I’m not attracted to them.

So Ben and I became great friends. He was bizarre and eccentric in a way only a grad student can be.

For example, he told me that when he gets really into working on a project, he likes to have a cigarette in his mouth. Ben wouldn’t smoke the cigarette, it would just hang from his lower lip. And I guess it was always the same damn cigarette. I don’t know, maybe it was an attitude thing. The cigarette probably just made him feel like a badass. It is an interesting visual image don’t you think? Like something out of a movie about Jackson Pollack…

Oh, he always wore the same striped scarf too. Even when it wasn’t that cold. I mean, why couldn’t the girlfriend buy him another one? It was weird. I saw a photo of him a year or two after we parted ways and he was wearing it. And he still had the same girlfriend.

Ben also loooooved Marilyn Manson. Alot. I would tease him about it. My best friend in high school loved Manson, and she was twisted and disturbed. So I chose to ignore that interest of Ben's.

Anyway, back to the girlfriend, she pissed me off, have I mentioned that? And I only met her once. When Ben and I would hang out, his stupid girlfriend would call him on the cell, and he would freaking talk to her! No, “hey I’m out with a friend, can I call you when I get home?” And never would he just let it ring, oh no, never. I don’t remember specifically saying anything to him, but I feel like I did tell him at some point how rude he was when he did that.

Later in our friendship, he started calling me around 12am or later, and I would just let it ring or pick it up and ask him if he was drunk. Once I asked him to stop calling me because it made me feel uncomfortable, like he was booty calling me or something. He got all defensive and hung up. I ran into him in the record store a few days later and everything was cool. What a friendship!

Once when he was over hanging out he said to me, “you know how we talk about who we’d like to make out with and how it just takes guts to just do it? Well I’d like to make out with you sometime.”

Well I must have been in shock, because we certainly did not make out that night and he went on home. But I did think I might have kissed him goodbye on the lips on his way out like the stupid way I kissed the one who was painfully shy, and he didn’t do a damn thing.

But Ben did explain to me that over a year before, when my housemates and I had a party and I met The one who got high off NyQuil, Ben had just found out that his girlfriend had kissed a friend of theirs. He was depressed and pissed off and he came over to my party to kiss me in retaliation.

And I was preoccupied with stupid NyQuil man.

If I had known that Ben was on a mission, I would have gladly fulfilled the mission. But how was I supposed to know? I was distracted by a cute new boy! One without a girlfriend (and now we know why). Although I was probably missing a few obvious signs, like how he would try to make me jealous by telling me about hanging out with other girls and mentioning that I had been “couch hopping” all night at our party. But what is a gal to do when it’s her party and there’s several cute boys around? Well if she had known that one that she already had a crush on was a sure thing, then it might have turned out a little differently.

So going back to the time Ben tells me that he wants to make out with me…

He calls me on a Sunday and I’m on my way to a rehearsal for a show that’s opening in two weeks. He says “I want you to come over and hang out.” I had never been to his house. EVER. I explain to him that I can’t during the times that he’s asking about, and he’s all weird and blah blah blah…

So I stop by on the way over anyway, which was probably a bad idea, and certainly a waste of time. His roommate is there and there’s a weirdness and I leave for rehearsal. He never asks me to come over again. I wonder if he was pissed off at his stupid girlfriend again.

As a side note, there was an offer of a threesome with him and the girlfriend at some point. And I remember not saying ‘no.’ I had never been in one (and still haven’t) and didn't want to make it out of the question. Which made meeting her even more bizarre, since I’m positive she knew exactly who I was. There were pleasantries, but nothing more than that.

Never got to really kiss Ben, which is too bad, because he was a really passionate person. And I’m sure it would have translated over.

Looking back on this whole roller coaster of a relationship, I realize how toxic it was. And it was a good thing that even though we were emotionally involved, it didn't get physical.

Too bad, I would have loved to have that hair all to myself...

The one who had his own secret symbol

You know, like Prince, or the-artist-formally-known-as-Prince. Whatever...

Except I gave Will this symbol. And I did it while Prince was still Prince, way before the conflict with his record label even started.

Will was my first real crush, right after the week long crush I had on Mr. Idiot the-one-who-reminded-us-of-Gonzo. He was sweet, thin, and had blonde hair and blue eyes. I know, right? Totally NOT my type. But I was 11, I was still figuring out what my type even was.

I think I came up with the symbol by writing his name over and over again and realizing that I could combine the letters to make two super letters. It came out looking something like "Bb." And rather than writing his name all over my notebooks for everyone to see, I could crush hard by writing the symbol and not look like the scary stalker little girl I actually was.

I did ridiculous things like cutting up photographs with him in them and just keeping the bit that he was in. I think I actually carried a photo of him around with me in my wallet for awhile. Right, I know, SCARY!!

I'm sure Will knew that I had a huge, scary crush on him, since I had a handful of obnoxious friends that probably told him. But he really was a good sport about it and was always nice to me. He was a quiet kid anyway and never really got in anyone's face about anything.

I have this hysterical awesome picture of Will and I "slow dancing" at a classmate's party in sixth grade. I'm wearing tapered jeans, an oversized U2 t-shirt and keds. Oh yeah, I looked hot. I've got my hands on his shoulders, he's got his hands on my waist and there's about three miles between us. It's adorable.

I'm pretty sure it took all the courage in me to ask him to dance. It still takes the same amount of courage to hit on guys that I have crushes on these days, which is why I don't do it often. (I'm trying my best to do it more, and trying to get the nerve up to do it soon actually.)

Will moved to Iowa or Montana or some faraway state like that and no one has heard from him. I don't even think I'd recognize him if I saw him.

I wonder if he realizes that he was lucky enough to have his own kick-ass sign like Prince??

The one who paid my $250 parking ticket late

Cory was adorable. A bit of a whiny, worrying, emo kid, but adorable. And he was about 9 years older than me.

I was an intern where he worked and was therefore off limits, as far as having a relationship went anyway. This didn't stop him from making comments that were blatant come-ons, but I was still supposedly off the table. He would even tell me this. "Our time will come if it's supposed to come" Cory would say, or something stupid like that. I think he had just gotten out of a serious on-and-off relationship that left him a little wounded. Timing IS everything ain't it.

Cory would come to where I was working and just kinda hang around. He was totally a grown up version of that dorky, four-eyed, over-eager boy in high school that you'd get annoyed with but know he really does mean well.

He made it clear to me that he liked me and that whatever kind of relationship I was up for (as long it wasn't a REAL relationship) would be fine with him: friends, lovers, mortal enemies, whatever.

I remember going over to his place a couple times, he wanted to show off his original Fela Kuti LP set and watch the Ramone's movie Rock'n'Roll High School. He said that I reminded him off the main character Riff who is madly in love with Joey Ramone and brings rock and roll to take over the oppressive school administration. It's so 1979.

So one time while I'm over there, it starts snowing, like hardcore blizzarding. So OF COURSE I can't go home. He invited me to stay, and even though there is talk of him sleeping on the couch, not surprisingly, I ended up in his bed and we had some fun. Nothing serious, or incredibly memorable, but it happened. Although I do remember that he was more attentive than most.

I get up the next morning and my car has been towed. Since it had snowed the night before, The city needed to plow the street that I parked on and gave me a freaking $250 dollar ticket! I tell Cory about it and he offers to pay it since his parents just sent him a generous check. So I give him the ticket and he pays it, supposedly.

A few weeks later I get a letter from the city saying that since they got the payment late, there is a late fee which needs to be paid. And that fee is DOUBLE the original ticket. I'm not about to pay another $250, I'm an intern, I work for free. And I'm definitely not about to ask Cory for another check, I felt weird enough about him paying the first time.

I had to ask Cory if he had indeed paid the ticket late. Did he have a copy of the check so that we could prove it to the city? No. Did he have the receipt? No. I could have gotten pissed at is lack of organization, or at his lack of responsibility if he did pay it late. But like I said, he did pay for it. He didn't have to. I couldn't get mad.

So I take it up with the city. I go to the courthouse, I fill out appeal forms. All I remember about that was that by the time I moved away months later, the matter hadn't really been officially settled. I just never heard about it again.

I saw Cory about three years later and had dinner with him and a friend of mine that he didn't know. He tells me about his new 23 year old girlfriend who he has a long distance relationship with (barf!) and casually brings up in front of my other friend that he and I had had a "tryst" once before. What the hell? I just looked at him and said "do we really need to talk about this here?" and dropped it.

I'm still trying to figure out if $250 was worth all of that.

The one who had been celibate for five years

Alex was a little weird, he was, I'll admit that. He was a DJ on the late night shift. And because he was often the only one in the station, he basically got paid to talk to himself for 5 hours each evening, 5 days a week. The one time my friends met him at a party, they thought he talked loud and was a little obnoxious. But that's because he wasn't used to talking to REAL people. And I liked him, and that's all that matters, right?

This station was one of the five in the country not owned by Rupert Murdoch, but he could still only play the same mediocre pre-approved tunes over, and over, and over again. And because of this new-fangled technology, he could pre-record all of his spots and simply man the computer the rest of the night and make sure it didn't explode.

I met Alex online and we emailed back and forth for several weeks before we met each other. He was crazy witty, very funny, flirtatious and had an endless amount of interesting information in his head. I later found out that he had film and political science degrees, to me the perfect combination of serious issues and pop culture topics. It was never boring hanging out with him. And I liked telling people that I was dating a radio DJ. To me Alex was a fricken' local celebrity! He even had stalker stories! And I made sure that I didn't become one of these stalkers.

Sometime early on in the dating, he told me that he had gotten published on a website for funny hook-up stories, you know, kind of like what I'm doing now... Actually this was more of a "how not to hook up" website; date stories that ended horribly, also like what I'm doing here.

Alex's story was something about going out with a co-worker on new year's, getting ridiculously trashed, trying to hook up, but because of the shear amount of alcohol he had ingested, the little man was down for the count. He also throws into this story that it had been almost five years since the last time he had sex, FIVE YEARS.

I was sort of confused, was this his way of telling me that he was out of practice? Or had he not realized that information was in there. Whatever is was, I realized that there might be something horribly wrong with this man. My friends even warned me: "GET AWAY WHILE YOU CAN! This is not normal for a 30 year old man!"

The other problem with this dating situation is that I only got to see Alex about once every week or two. We had completely opposite schedules, I worked during the day, he worked at night and it worked out that I would go out of town one weekend, he would go out of town another weekend, he got sick...whatever, I never got to see him.

I'm a patient person. I could wait. No problem.

So when things finally got to the point where sex was a possibility, the poor boy must have been so nervous that he had, well *problems,* not much unlike The one who was so hot and didn't speak much English .

I'm a patient person. I can wait till he was comfortable.

I could tell after a little while that he was kinda pulling away a little bit too. His emails became less frequent (at first we emailed once a day) and I would be the one to bug him to make plans. But of course when we did hang out things seemed all good. And, once again, I was getting ready to leave town for good, so I just wanted this to last until I left.

I also wanted to be sure to have a hook up-buddy if I back in town if I needed one. So I wanted to end things on good terms. I even had him promise me some nookie when I did come back to visit. But it never works out for me like that. Other people get hook-up buddies in other cities, but not me!

We really only had sex once. ONLY ONCE!! And by then the little man had no problems, in fact the "little" man was not so "little." It was darn right huge! But for me sex is never really amazing the first time. You have have to get used to each other, you know? So I was looking forward to more.

But more never came.

I left town. I heard from him a couple times. He didn't email me back once. Then I called him and he never called back.

So that was it.

My luck. Just my luck.

Oh, the potential. It was so sad.

I could listen to his show online right now if I wanted, but that would be like stalking him. I'm no stalker! And anyway, my new computer doesn't have the right plug in...

The one who had no neck, poor thing

And yes, I say "poor thing," you can hide a small penis, a drug addiction, low self-esteem or a hairy back (most of the time), but you can't hide a no-neck. You just can't. It's just always not there.

Justin was a really sweet guy, and good friend in Australia when I lived there. But not only did I simply not find him attractive, he, like the one who didn't know how to get over it (a.k.a. the one with the tiny penis) had developed a hardness about him. At age 20 he had given in to a life of bitterness and pessimism toward the world. But he I think meant well and was trying to deal with what life had handed to him in the only way he knew how. And I don't think he got a whole lot of attention from the opposite sex. Even for those who could see through the surface, there was another layer that was hard to get through. Justin wasn't ready to let them in.

Australians are drinkers. And like the best of them, Justin was a drinker. And when he drank, he would come on pretty strong. He would try to kiss me, hug me, and confess his feeling in a number of ways. He once confessed his feelings for me to someone sitting on the couch next him as if I wasn't also sitting in the room within earshot. And I'm sorry, yes, Justin had no neck, but this drunkeness was not attractive. It just wasn't.

I hung out with him and his friends quite a bit and I began to develop little crushes on his friends. Justin would get angry in his drunken states when his friends would flirt with me. He would tell them off and give them attitude, it was embarrassing.

I started taking guitar lessons with his teacher and that increased his feelings for me. I probably should have stopped hanging out with him all together, or at least had a talk with him about it, but I didn't. But, like a few of the guys that have had feelings for me, it was only when he was drinking that I had to be worried about what he would say or do to affect my comfort level. When he was sober, it all was fine.

As I'm writing this I feel like such a hypocrite since I tend to be at my boldest when I'm drinking and I'm certainly not alone in this. I feel like many of us get into trouble when we drink and our inhibitions are down. But what I don't do is repeatedly put someone in an awkward position when I'm drinking. I think this is pretty inconsiderate and disrespectful.

That being said, he was an interesting person and a pretty good friend when he wasn't drinking. We would talk politics and Monty Python. And he did, of course, have a cute Aussie accent, and we know how I feel about accents. He even offered to give me a ride to the airport when I flew back to the States, which was pretty long drive. I remember dreading the good-bye hug, but the moment passed and it was all over.

I keep tabs on him on one of those socialization networking websites and I really hope that the poor kid is getting more comfortable in his own skin.

I say, if you've got a no-neck, work it! Make it one of your finer qualities!

The one who we used to chase

No kidding.

We literally used to chase Richard around the play yard. I was in kindergarden.

He had one of those adorable bowl cuts of totally straight blonde hair. Us girls would chase him and corner him, I remember once in the little playhouse, and plant kisses on him.

If I remember correctly, he was a pretty good sport about it.

I wonder what that did to him in the long run...he could be a total player, or completely traumatized. Who knows?

I still feel like I'm chasing boys around the school yard sometimes, although I've recently gotten really tired of it. I wonder why I had the guts back then to plant a wet one on a prey after trapping it. I was probably more ballsy at four than I am over twenty years later.

The one who didn't like cigarettes

David didn't like girls that smoked cigerettes. Even though I was smoking a beedee (a Mexican cigerette) or a clove, or something like that, I wish I had known that this was a huge turn off for him. I would have saved my one-smoke-of- the-month moment for another time. I'm not a smoker, but I like to partake from time to time.

David was a gorgeous Irish guy who was on the same Australian student exchange program. He lived in Boston with his mom while he was going to Harvard. We studied at the same university in Sydney for a semester and had a lecture together called "Australia and America in the '60s." He was in my smaller discussion class once a week and I would try my hardest not to stare. But he looked at me once from across the room and smiled, I melted. I was smitten.

I love the Irish accent. The Irish can't pronounce the "th" sound, so they say things like "tree tirty" and "tousand." I have a thing for the Irish and it seems they like me.

Possibly on my first real date ever, we went to see a silly British comedy at this cute theater near the unversity where they sell a combo of a ticket and "meal" from the concession stand (which he paid for): a drink, a candy bar and some popcorn. After that, we found this awesome cafe near my house that had a Louie Armstong mural, Beatles postcards all over the walls and boardgames to play! We played battleship, and I had myself a merry time chatting up a storm and, I guess, at some point smoking something. But I don't even remember what is was. And, I guess, I didn't ask him if it was alright if I smoked something. So rude!! I'm never rude! well, almost never...

He excused himself when we were done, since he had a scheduled phone conversation with his mom (which was probably a lie). So I let him go and went down to my favorite spot on the rocks over the beach to watch a lightning storm. I remember wanting to call David so I could invite him down there with me. But I didn't have my phone on me, which is good since I didn't know that he had already made his decision about whether he wanted to go on a second date or not.

I saw him after that and he hardly gave me the time of day, it was pretty painful. I didn't get it. We had a blast on our date, or at least I did.

I later found out from a drunk roommate, who was also in our class, that he had told her he didn't like me. Well, by then it was obvious.

It wasn't until four years later when I randomly ran into him on the east coast Chinatown Bus that the reason why he didn't want a second date was because I had smoked something that night. It was weird because as we were talking about it I kinda remembered smoking something, but still doesn't seem to make sense. Why would I be smoking Mexican cigerettes in Australia? Is my memory getting different parts of my life mixed up? Was David making up the whole cigerettes thing? Why would he do that four years later?

I certainly don't smoke many cigerettes anymore. And I know that there are people who find people that smoke them absolutely disgusting. I just never knew I would be one of them.

The one who managed a magician

It's like in the movie American Pie when Jason Biggs' character wakes up alone after losing his virginity to Alyson Hannigan; he's all excited that someone's used him for sex. That's sort of how I felt when I woke up alone after hooking up with Phil, the magician manager.

Phil was a friend of a friend of a friend, and we all went out drinking one night during the summer after I graduated college. Usually on nights like these I'm feeling good for a little while but then get bored of the people I don't know and hate the bars we're at and all the stupid drunk people in them.

But in this case I was feeling sassy! Well, sassy or just really drunk. I think we went to a couple crappy bars near campus and then ended up at a house party. I was drinking Mike's Hard Lemonades, I used to love that stuff.

I decided that I really liked Phil, he had a gorgeous body, he was interesting (manages a magician!! when do you meet someone like that?? I know, I find strange things sexy) and I wanted him to come home with me. And my inhibitions were down enough to let him know I wanted him to come home with me, which meant I had had a few too many. I don't normally just invite boys home with me. I don't, really, I don't.

For some reason we didn't want to tell our friends know he was coming over, so we concocted a lie: instead of driving the hour home, he was going to crash in his car for a little while, sober up, and then drive back. I have no idea why we couldn't just tell our friends that he was going to sleep at my house. But that's what happened. It all made sense at the time.

This was the year I lived with 11 people in a co-operative living community. I invited Phil in and we hung out in the kitchen for a little while probably to have a late night snack. I explained the living situation to him and that there were several other people in the house, so try not to wake them up!

We had some fun, he was pretty good in the sack. There was no sex however, which makes me seem a little less trampy in this story. I remember him getting up a some point and putting on clothes as it was getting light outside, but in my half-waking stuper I figured that he was just going to the bathroom, and fell back asleep.

I woke up hours later by myself, and had my Jason Biggs a.k.a. Jim Levenstein moment. And I was a bit proud of myself and didn't feel too bad about it. Anyways, I had already graduated and was moving away in a month or (I feel that this might be a pattern for me?), so who cares that I was never going to see him again!

I went down the street to a friends house for a birthday brunch and returned back to the house in the early afternoon. I was chatting with a couple housemates in the kitchen when one picked up something off the kitchen counter and asks, "What's this?"

Phil left his card on the kitchen counter I shared with ELEVEN other people!!! He knew this. I did happen to have my own room, he slept in it!! Why didn't he just leave the card in my room? I didn't find the card until the next afternoon, so it was possible that a housemate might have gone and moved it and I never would have seen it.

What I think is so funny is that this means that on his way out the door at 6am in the morning, Phil stopped by the kitchen to do whatever and leave his card. Was it an afterthought? Was he too lazy to go back upstairs or afraid that if he came back in he would wake me up?

I saved the card because I thought it was so damn hysterical. On it, the card has his magician friends' name in huge letters and Phil's name in tiny print underneath, which is why it took me a second to figure out the card was his. And not only that, but the contact information on the card is the business' information! So if I had emailed or called him (which I didn't), what would I have said? "Hi Phil, this is Kinky, the girl you hooked up with and then bailed on! wanna hang out?" No. I don't think that's an email or phone call I wanted to make.

I eventually checked out this magician guy's website. He does that super cheesy shit with confetti, a silly looking 80s tux and bad synthesized dramatic music.

I wonder where Phil is now? I sometimes think about if he really did want me to call him. Does he feel bad because he thinks I used him and never called him? Maybe he had his own American Pie moment.

The one who made me a Beatles mix tape

This is the boy who is responsible for my initial love of The Beatles.

In 8th grade I was friends with this group of nerdy indie rock boys. I realise in retrospect that I should have dated at least half of them at some point since they were cute, sweet, smart, funny and dorky, totally my type! But at the time I was too shy to do anything about it. And so were they. And anyway, I had a crush on the boy with the beautiful singing voice that made my heart skip a beat whenever he talked to me or looked in my general direction. So I was too distracted to see these boys as potentials. Even when it was totally obvious.

Matt loved The Beatles, LOVED them. I told him that I didn't know where to start with them since there were so many albums. So he made me a Beatles mix tape that I listened to up until last year when I got a car that sadly didn't have a tape player. It's a great tape. I miss it. It's sitting in a box in storage somewhere.

I hooked him up with a friend of mine, which I stupidly managed to do several times in high school. I realised in college when I was hanging out with the same group of boys over a holiday that I always kinda liked him. I also noticed that he had really bad breath, so maybe it wasn't a bad move afterall.

The one who didn't know how to make up for it

The longest relationship I've ever had was four months long. I'm not super proud of this fact, especially considering it really should have lasted less than one month. I met Adam at a Purim party and he liked me immediately because I joked that it was really scary being in a room full of desperately single Jews. I met some really bizarre people that night.

Adam asked me what I was going to do the next day, and when I said I didn't know, he surprised me with "well you're hanging out with me!"

It only took a week or so before he asked me if he could call me his girlfriend.

Our relationship only should have lasted another two weeks after that. But I was leaving town in four months for grad school and figured, "Why the hell not?"

Well here's why not, and to put it bluntly, because there's no other way to put it, the man had a unfortunately tiny penis.

Really tiny.

Like once I asked if it was still in. Really. All he said was "Well THAT'S not a good thing to hear." Um, oops.

And even more unfortunately, he didn't know how to "make up" for it. Which I put up with, because I was leaving, and hey, I've got electronics to make up for that.

But unfortunately He had developed a bitterness toward life because of his size I think. He was pretty moody. And even though his mom has recently died of lung cancer, he smoked. Not enough to make it an issue for me, but he did smoke regularly. He also LOVED pool and poker; two games I couldn't fully get behind. He had a cool job in the video editing world and complained about it constantly. I think he still works there, and I dated him almost five years ago.

Not that he was all bad, he liked cooking, he was an EXCELLENT kisser (this should never go unappreciated, because there are some god-awful kissers out there, I've kissed many of them), he liked going to shows and movies, he didn't mind sitting around doing nothing when the time called for it and had good taste in music (and we know how I feel about that).

My rationale was that I was leaving in four months, I wasn't getting too involved, he was usually good company except when it was "that time of the month for men," and I didn't have that many friends in the area (and he was better than nothing). I still stand by that descision. A couple of my friends got really mad at me for this, and my family thought he was weird, but as you know I like them weird...

When I did confront him with the "making-up-for-it" issue he claimed that he just didn't "like" doing it and defensively asked "would this be something that you would break up with me over?"

I said "no, I wouldn't, but other women might. And I'm telling you for you're own good and for the future, you're going to have to learn to like it!" He didn't like that answer. At my brother's suggestion, I didn't go near the "your penis is small" conversation. I thought that was wise. Wherever would I get with that comment?

When we finally did part ways, he gave me a mix CD called "Love Songs" with all these old indie rock emo-esque tunes like "Bohemian Like You" by the Dandy Warhols and "El Scorcho" by Weezer. I didn't quite know what to do, was Adam in love with me? I wasn't going to ask. I just let it go.

I was kind of a bitch to him after that. He would call every now and then checking up on me in grad school, sometimes mentioning that he wanted to come visit. I once made the mistake of telling him that I would be back in his area but ended up freaking out and cancelling on him at the last minute over email. I haven't spoken to him since.

The one who was my boyfriend when I was 4

I think our families met at family camp. My brother and Jared's dad met on the playground and it was love at first sight. Our mothers have a very sisterly relationship where one makes the other crazy but always forgives. Our mothers also figured that since they each had a child the same age, those children should hang out.

And hang out we did.

We watched lots of movies together, I still think of Jared whenever I see Back to the Future, it's just something built into my brain. Jared IS Marty McFly.

I remember showering with Jared when I was 4. I looked down and thought, "what's that?" I'm sure he thought the same thing too.

We went to high school together and even though we ran in completely different circles, we still hung out at family functions. Our mothers bought an ad in our senior yearbook with the two of us in the bathtub together. It was great! Not mortifying at all Mom, thanks a lot!

We had sleepovers. I think we would kiss good night, but I couldn't be sure.

I do remember that Jared snored a bit though, and I'm a light sleeper, even back then. And I could never sleep well in strange places. I know that at least once I called my Dad and had him come pick me up in the middle of the night. I was pretty embarrassed by that. I would never do that again: leave a guys house before he woke up, but it would happen to me twenty years later (The one who managed a musician)! Maybe it was karma...

And I know I have pictures somewhere with Jared modeling some of my clothes, maybe it was in junior high? I'm to saving these just in case I have blackmailing needs in the future.

I still see Jared and his "little" brother at my parents house for holidays. They have become perfect specimen of men: tall (like 6'4"), tan (they love to surf), muscular (they work out like crazy), and damn good looking. Not only that, but they are super smart too, Jared is a doctor, a GOOD doctor that's already published and went to Senegal to volunteer at an orphanage for a summer! (he got typhoid, but that's another story), and the younger brother wants to get a business degree. They're a Jewish mother's dream right?

Every time I seem them it kinda blows me away, and sadly, they are more like my brothers or cousins than just two good looking guys. So I could never look at them that way. They're way too damn tall for me anyway.

The one who I wished was a boy

You know you're not a lesbian when you think a girl is really hot, but wish is a man.

So I gave it a try several times: dating girls. I would be a good lesbian! I'm much less intimidated by women, I can charm them, get their number and be sweet. Around guys I say stupid things or nothing at all figuring they're all a bunch of wankers anyway.

Angela was this gorgeous German lesbian. I met her when my band was playing at a pizza joint. She was this totally hot gal, messy short hair, good skin, meat on her bones and had this deep voice. The German accent made her even hotter and gayer. I don't know why, but it did. I love accents I guess.

We met eyes from across the room, but I didn't know if actually happened or if it was just a random eye contact thing that happens with strangers. I'm sure this happens all the time with people, but I'm oblivious because I don't trust it. But somehow we started talking and we exchanged emails claiming she wanted to hear the band again. My band really sucked, so I assumed she was trying to pick me up!

She was really into Native American religion, once a week she would go to a sweat lodge and she even started doing vision quests. Angela also went to pow-wows whenever there was one around. She worked with patients who where healing from brain injuries and studying to be an art therapist. This girl was interesting and cool. But she was also one of those self-righteous people that told me that drinking Diet Coke is really bad for me. Thanks, I know!

Anyway, other than meeting for coffee (and a Diet Coke) briefly, my only date with Angela was a party at her artistic friend's house. She showed up looking all cute with her hair in a faux hawk, a striped polo shirt, corduroy pants and converse sneakers. I was thinking, "man, she looks awesome, but I wish she was a guy!"

After the party, which was super fun by the way, we made out a little. When I had my hands around her back, I hated that she was wearing a bra! And it wasn't because I wanted her to take it off. It was like, "oh yeah, I'm making out with a girl! damn."

Afterwards, she tried to get me to go out with her again, but I was really busy with grad school. She told me that "I believe everything happens for a reason. if you want to hang out with me you will." And I'm thinking, "cool, I don't need to explain shit to this one!"

I think that was my last attempt at dating women. I'm not saying I won't try again, I'm just saying that maybe I'm not into butch lesbians so much. Maybe I should try girls that dress like girls.

The one who got high off NyQuil

I'm not kidding.

Mike didn't come to one of my house parties in college because he was TOO HIGH FROM DRINKING TOO MUCH NYQUIL!!! What? We had our own keg, full with regular alcohol, what's wrong with Rolling Rock? Not strong enough for you?

Wow, can I pick 'em... why did I like this boy? Oh yeah, he loved The Beatles, had worked for the British Parliament and loved British Indie rock, which I think is a good reason to like someone. Really, I do. One night he played the guitar and sang to me. I'm kind of a sucker for that. He had good CD collection and went to shows. I'm a music whore, what can I say?

I met Mr. NyQuil Drinker at another house party, and that night passed up a wonderful opportunity to makeout with the one with great hair in a weak moment. DAMN! I'm sure that's one thing I'll regret on my death bed.

We were friends, kinda, when we lived in the same city after college. He started going bald at the age of 24. I laughed. Too much NyQuil?



****As a side note, I thought it was interesting that many a googler has found this post by looking up "NyQuil High" or something like that. It must be trendy like sniffing glue...

The one who loved Led Zeppelin

He was my 23rd birthday present.

I worked with Ron for about a year and I thought he was adorable. He was a short, but not too skinny, funny, cute, lover of music, especially Led Zeppelin, and was a total flirt. But of course, he had a super hot Phillipino girlfriend.

But they eventually broke up.

We bonded over Zeppelin. He gave me copies of some of the many Zeppelin CD's he had including a couple of those really cool "Influences of" they made now featuring Muddy Waters and old British folk music tunes. He even overdubbed 2001: A Space Oydssey with Zeppelin music, I think we were stoned when we watched it. It was one of the coolest things I had ever seen, it was like playing Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon while watching The Wizard of Oz. He said he would make me a copy.

We had a good makeout session after that, which made my actions on my 23rd birthday understandable.

I had my 23rd birthday celebration at a martini bar and got just completely wasted. Everyone kept buying me expensive and exotically flavored drinks that I would never order myself.

There are pictures of me from that night hugging my friends in pure glee, my eyes are totally glazed over. I'm in total bliss.

Someone took me home and Ron got out of the car to give me a good night hug and I drunkenly said,

"Aren't you coming in?" and he just looked at me and responded,
"You're horny aren't you?"
"It's my birthday!" (This was the only thing I could come up with?)

So we're making out on my bed and my roommate is making out with her quasi-boyfriend on her bed. My roommate and I shared a room in the attic of a large house, the room was kinda an "L" shape," so I couldn't see her bed from where I slept, although this doesn't make the situation any less bizarre, but hey, it was college and we were drunk. Very drunk.

At some point we convinced the boys to do a little striptease for us. It was pretty awesome, I have not had the pleasure of anyone since entertaining me with a striptease. Ron got totally into it, my roommates' boy was a little embarrassed. At some point, I just jumped Ron cause he's just so damn cute.

He later tells me that we can't have sex because I'm just too good of a friend. Which was absolutely fine with me since I was still a virgin. It is funny though that we could do all sorts of other things, but actual sex was out of the question.

We stayed friends (unfortunately without benefits from them on) until I moved away and we then sorta lost touch.

He randomly called me last month wanting to know if he could enter my name in the competition to win tickets to the Led Zeppelin reunion concert in London in honor of late, great Ahmet Ertegun, the Producer from Atlantic records who discovered and signed them. He said that if I won, I had to take him. Sure Ron, sure.

I'm still waiting for that Zeppelin/Space Oydssey DVD.

The one who reminded us of Gonzo

I have no idea why I even liked him, but we where 11! Why do you have a crush on anybody when you're 11? For some reason he reminded me and my friends of Gonzo, not quite sure why. Maybe it had something to do with the nose? That's certainly not why I liked him though, I know I have weird taste, but looking like Gonzo is not something I look for in men. I had a crush on him for about a week, right before my real first crush ("the one that had his own symbol" to come later) that lasted several years.

I also went to college with him and would see him around every so often. His friend asked me to their bizarre frat formal (stay tune for "the one with the weird arm"). He later told me that when he would go home to visit his parents, he would drink and drive after being out in the bars, I mean what other choice do you have if you want to go to a bar!?

He's a lawyer now.

Glad I never dated him. Even when I was 11.

The one who was painfully shy

Dormcest. I've been told to avoid it, but only after the fact.

I lived on a co-ed floor my freshman year of college with a bunch of art, music and engineering students. It was a bizarre combination, but it seemed to work out well. We were all a little dorky, awkward, creative and comfortable staying in on a Friday night.

Two doors down was this adorable sophomore named Micah, he was from a very rural part of the state. He told me once that there was so little to do in his hometown, high school students either drank a lot or watched TV a lot. He was the kid who had no friends and watched TV. Micah was super quiet and shy.

We had these Ugly Betty moments, you know where Betty and Henry see each other and can't stop smiling? It was pretty cute. We would listen to music and watch TV, I remember he liked U2 as much as I did. I would get that feeling in my stomach every time I got to the top floor of the stairwell or got out of the elevator. It was pretty obvious that he liked me, and I'm usually incredibly oblivious to these things. I think my stupid compulsive liar of a roommate might have just come out and told him I liked him, I'm not sure. I've tried to block her out.

Finally one day I dragged him out to the stairwell and had some awkward little talk with him about how I liked him and I knew he liked me too. I don't think we kissed since we were both way to junior high about the whole thing. Micah and I did get to hang out on Halloween though. We ended up going to a haunted house where they wanted us all to hold hands as they led us through the "scary" rooms. All I kept thinking was that this was a great idea, get someone to make us hold hands, that's all we needed, someone to force us to hold hands. We kept holding hands as we went home. How freaking junior high. This was my first year of COLLEGE remember.

He was an architecture student and his department worked them hard. Lots of hours building models in the studio, Micah wasn't around much. And when he was, he was still SUPER shy around me. I was like, okay, we already know that we both like each other, why are you still tiptoeing around me? I'm sick of making all the moves!! About two weeks after "the talk" in the stairwell, I was in his room and there was this weird energy between us. He says something about not having time for a girlfriend at the moment and I'm like "fine, you're lame anyway."

For the rest of the school year, we kinda avoided each other and I still got that feeling in my stomach every time I got to the top of the stairwell or got out of the elevator.

The one who was so hot and didn't speak much english

You would usually see this is as every man's fantasy, right? A hot blonde Swedish woman who speaks broken English, like Ulla in The Producers, and is just fine with putting out.

I met Reuven the evening before my birthday while I was in Israel at a hot springs near his kibbutz. Something told me that I wanted to talk to him, maybe the sulfur fumes had gotten to my head. But, he was a young, wet, good-looking Israeli. They make them hot over there I tell you! We start talking and he invites me to meet his two American friends and have a cigarette, which by the way, was a special kibbutz brand that is strong enough to make a non-smoker feel like you've just taken a hit of marijuana. nice.

I was feeling giddy and bold and invited them back to where we were staying for pre-birthday celebrations of beer, vodka and juice and hookas. I didn't think he would show up, but he did! But only for 20 minutes or so before his friend needed to leave for some I-not-feeling-so-good reason. I was sad that I didn't get a picture with this hottie. But I was glad to have "pulled" a nice young man, as the British would say.

Even though I was super hung over the next morning and puked all over the parking lot of a Golan Heights military fort (a totally different story) I had a wonderful birthday and a sweet Valentines day, which is a day after my birthday. Reuven kept sending me text messages in his horribly broken english like "Happy Valletimes Day sweety."

He invites me to come up to visit a week later. My cousins encourage it. I feel weird about getting on a three hour bus ride for a booty call! But I do.

This man is hot, and he knows it, people told him this when he was in the army. But since he lives on a kibbutz near his family, he doesn't get out much. He works in the kibbutz greenhouse with his plant "babies," which I'm sure added to the romantic fantasies of this lazy American city gal.

We watch Friends and The Simpsons and he laughs at all of the stupid jokes that a foreigner would enjoy, like the fart jokes. We make out, go to a local bar 20 minutes down the road, take funny pictures, we sing in the car to Joe Cocker (who they all LOVE over there) and I mostly talk to his American friend. We get back to his little room and make out under the large poster of the half-naked women on the wall.

As you will soon learn, I seem to attract men with sexual problems that the ladies in Sex in the City dump boyfriends for. This hot Israeli can't keep it up after a condom has been placed on his member, but I'm happy to make out all night. The next morning, he goes off to work and I go back to Tel Aviv.

I go back a week later, for more of the same. But this time just the two of us go the bar on the "mighty" Jordan River, where people from all over the world come to get baptized. And we don't have much to talk about since there's this language barrier. We go back to his room nonetheless and try again, the same thing happens.

Whatever, it's fine, no threat of having Jewish babies for me at this juncture.

Reuven sends me emails sometimes. He asked for a picture of me and wants to come visit me in the United States. He wants me to come travel with him in Central America. I'm happy to have him stay when he comes, but we'll see about Honduras and Beliz. Is this part of the fantasy? Are you supposed to get emails months after? But he's sooo hot!

His emails are hysterical and adorable, they go something like this:

hey girl how you doing? i had some problems with my
internet and now i can send you an e-mail.  so what
are you doing in these days? are you working or
something like this?

One of the best parts about all of this whole encounter is that before I left his place the second time, he gave me this silly fake Hawaiian leis he had lying around. I found this so funny on so many levels:

1) The "I got laid" joke is always funny!
2) I didn't get laid.
3) I said "I got laid" out loud and laughed in front of him.
4) He didn't get it when I said it.

classic.

The one who went to the bathroom and never came back

Might as well start this off with a bang!

I do a lot of online dating. It's an easy way for me to avoid my fear of talking to cute boys that I think are out of my league. If they've read my profile, seen my pictures, and they still want to go out with me, the hard part is out of the way. It's just the actual chemistry that might be absent, but that's another story.

I met Colin online, on one of those "online dating for smart people" websites, how pretentious. We planned to meet at a bar and then go see a band I had found on myspace and was curious about. Turns out this guys is 32, grown an unemployed beard, and now that I think back on it, probably completely stoned. Not that there's anything wrong with these things, but let's just say this dude was not a winner. Conversation is fine, not amazing, but not awkward. His phone rings, he let's it go to voice mail, which I thought was classy. We've been there for about an hour, and decide to go to the club, but first he's got to go to the bathroom, and off he goes.

You know that feeling when you're out with someone, doesn't matter if it's a date or you're out with your grandmother, and they leave you at the table while they pee? It's weird right? So I wait, I watch the group of people laugh and giggle to my right, I chat with the waitress when she asks me if I want another drink. Wow, Colin has been in there for awhile... Did he fall in? Is he puking from an allergic reaction? Is he having a Ewan McGregor trainspotting moment in the loo?

"Hey, excuse me," I say to a nice looking guy that just came from where the bathrooms are, "was there someone in the bathroom just now?" "Um yea, I think there was someone talking on the phone in the stall" Hmm, interesting, maybe he really needed to call that person back...

I give it another few minutes and get another drink.

This is weird. It's been 20 minutes... I'm embarrassed now to say that I even waited that long. How long would you have stayed?

I ask another guy to see if anyone is in the bathroom? "No one in there." "Thanks anyway."

I talk to the waitress and tell her what's going on, she can't believe it. I tell her that I'm leaving and if the guy comes back, tell him that I left and that he's a big douche bag.

I feel a little BAD about leaving. What if he was on a really important phone call with his manic depressive mother around the side of the bar? What if he's puking in the street? He could have at least excused himself! I should NOT feel bad, it's not like he was super hot or anything either, the man is an unemployed stoner for gods sake!

I get home, I send him a rude email... why not?

"That was a very inconsiderate rude thing to do, please do not contact me ever again."

It felt good! He didn't write back trying to explain himself, and now I have a wonderfully horrible dating story to tell my friends...

A few months later, I get an email from him on the same dating website. He says "hi, you're interesting, want to get a beer tonight?" He's not only forgotten that he's been out with me, he doesn't remember that he went to the bathroom and didn't come back! I write back:

"I'm not going out with you. Are you an idiot or too stoned to remember that I don't go out with the unemployed?"

What a tard.