Signs of the Dating Apocalypse

 

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I scheduled a date for the first time in months, so of course there was a tornado.  When we rescheduled, Dallas flooded.  The fourth time that we tried to get together, he got sick.  We still haven’t been on a date.

Seriously.

Aaron and I met at school, where he worked.  We saw each other infrequently, but enough to know that we liked each other.  Since I knew that I was graduating in December and wouldn’t see him again, I flirted with him hard and emailed him my number, which he texted almost immediately.  SCORE!

We got to know each other over a week or two.  I didn’t like everything that I learned; for example, his daughter is 12.  That means teen drama, which majorly sucks.  Plus, his house was about 40 minutes from mine.  Add that to the fact that he is working a second job out of necessity, equals not the best situation.  Still, he is cute and fun and we made each other laugh.  I figured if nothing else, we could have a little fun hanging out.

So we scheduled a date.  I looked forward to it all week, but when the appointed Saturday arrived (December 19), he texted me, “I need to reschedule, because I’m a little light.”

Meaning, he’s broke.  Can I pick ‘em, or what?

I mentioned this in a previous blog (Success! And Netflix and Chill), and talked about my internal struggle over how to answer him.  Should I offer to pay?  Would that hurt his pride, set a precedent for me to always pay, or would it be simply a nice thing to do?  Ultimately, I decided to let him reschedule.  I texted back, “Ok : – (“

That night, he texted me that he regretted his decision.  “I wish we would have gone out,” he said.

Well, DUH!  Of course he did!  I’m awesome and we would have had a great time!

So we rescheduled.  And God laughed!

First He threw a tornado at us.  It was the day after Christmas.  Well, at least it wasn’t on Christmas – that would be a heck of a birthday present for Jesus.

“It’s only 6 p.m., think it’ll pass?” Aaron asked.

“I want to say yes, and I want to get together, but my gut instinct says that we better not,” I texted back.

A couple of hours and a few tornado warnings later, he texted, “Your gut was right!”

Well, fudge.  So much for getting out of the house that night.

Thankfully my neighborhood was spared.  Prayers and best wishes for the Dallas area families who were affected – Garland was hit hard.  The devastation was a powerful display of what a little wind can do.  Seriously, there are funds set up for many families that lost everything the day after Christmas.

“Let’s get together tomorrow night,” I texted.  Seriously, I wanted to hang out with this guy.  Why should a little weather stop us?

On December 27th, hail stones and heavy rains hit my house.  Sure, the hail was only nickel-sized—no baseball sized hail this time—but it still caused us to cancel the date.  The hailstones sounded like bullets hitting the house, and I’m surprised that the windows didn’t break.  The fence looked like someone had used it for target practice with a BB gun.

Well, fudgesicle!

“Do you think the rain will stop?  I mean, it’s only 5 p.m., we could get together later,” Aaron texted.

“There are flash flood warnings all over the metroplex,” I answered.  “First a tornado, then hail, now flooding?”

“If we reschedule, there may be an earthquake!  LOL,” he texted back.

I seriously thought about telling him that there wouldn’t be a fourth attempt at a date.  I mean, COME ON.  How many times do we have to try to get together before we just give up?!

Then again, as far as reasons to cancel a date, “Acts of God,” ranks right up there.  It trumps the lame excuses like, “my car wouldn’t start,” or “I had a flat tire,” or “I was in a wreck.”  It even trumps, “Grandma fell and couldn’t get up, so I had to go help her.”  Yep, we had the very best reasons for rescheduling.

So the next week I took the initiative and texted, “What are we doing on Saturday?”

“If one job doesn’t kill me, and the other doesn’t either, then whatever we do will involve alcohol and crazy talk!  Lol,” Aaron answered.

Ok, I am a person who has a lot of rules.  I know, I can be a neurotic about my list of rules.  This time I was thinking, “WTH?!  If you don’t have a time and a place, you don’t have a date.”  That’s one of the Rules.  At least, it’s one of Jules Rules; I know a few people who don’t agree (Nadia!), but that’s how I roll.

On Friday night, he texted me after I had gone to bed, “How was your day?”

The next morning (Saturday), I texted, “Pretty good, got a lot done at work.  What about you?”

He replied, “Getting sick.”

I answered, “That’s not allowed!”

He agreed.  “I’m on it!  I don’t have time for this shit.”

That was it.  No, “I’m looking forward to seeing you tonight,” or “I’d like to pick you up at 8,” or “I thought we could finally go bowling.”  That meant that we didn’t have a time or place; we didn’t officially have a date scheduled.

Double fudgesicles!!

I had given him a list of ideas for our first date, asked him out each time, and hinted that we should get together this weekend.  I mean, I asked him what we were doing; he could have easily said, “Nothing, I have to work,” or “Let’s do something another time.”  Since I had been so assertive, I decided to wait and see what happened.  I mean, if he really liked me, he should be eager to spend time with me, right?

I asked Nadia how long I should give this guy until I give up.  I mean, he should really schedule something with me before lunch, right?

She answered, “Depends on how badly you want to see him.”

She didn’t use the verb, “See.”

At 8 p.m., he texted, “I’m sickly, but I still want to see you.”

What the Fudge?!  HE WAITED ‘TIL 8 P.M.?!  Some people don’t care if you wait ‘til the last minute to holla.  Some people would have gotten ready and met him at 9 or 10 p.m.

I’m not “Some People.”

If you want to see me, schedule a date by Wednesday, with a time and place.  Confirm the date with me the day before (or I will).  If I don’t hear from you, like I didn’t hear from Aaron, I’ll make other plans.  And I did.

My plans involved pajama pants, a bottle of wine, and Netflix.  But as far as he knows, I may have been out on the town with someone exciting.  I could have received a last minute (7 p.m.) call from another boyfriend, and gone out with him instead.  I could have gotten on a jet and gone to Tahiti. Not so much, but it could have happened.

So much for Aaron.  Next!

Professor Mercury Update

After I confirmed that grades had been submitted, I emailed the Prof.  “Let me know if you want to get together for a drink.  My number is …”

He didn’t respond.

I thought that maybe he hadn’t seen the email.  I mean, it was the end of the semester, and maybe it got lost with all his other emails.  Then again, sometimes people get busy and don’t respond; maybe he saw the email, just didn’t have a chance to get back to me yet.

A month later (January 11th), I forwarded the official email from the school saying that I had graduated.  He responded with a friendly, “Congratulations!  Happy New Year.”  Great, he did receive my email.  I followed up with, “My friends and I are having happy hour on Thursday.  You’re welcome to join us.  I played a great prank on my daughter for Christmas, it’s hilarious, I’ll tell you all about it.”

Radio silence.  He didn’t respond AT ALL.  Since it was a group happy hour, he could have said, “Cool, I’ll bring my girlfriend,” if he has one.  Or he could have said, “I’m super busy right now.  Can’t get over to that side of town.  Have fun!”  Or, if he was busy but interested, he could have come back with, “I’d love to hear about your Christmas another time.  Are you free next weekend?”  But instead he chose to not respond at all?  That’s a dick move.

On the bright side, I’m over my crush.  Any guy who ignores two emails and doesn’t have the balls to respond at all, is not someone I want to date.  Ok, he’s still hot as hell, but I no longer want to date him.

Other things, however… I might want to “see” him, as Nadia puts it.

Summary

So that’s why I haven’t been on a date in months.  Acts of God: tornado, hail, flooding, and pestilence.  Add that to the rats in the attic, surgery on the 25th, etc., 2016 is off to a great start.  It can only get better from here.

Did you hear that?  Did God just laugh?  Oh shit.

Cheers!

NY Resolutions by NN and Jules

 

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Allie Apple & Jules Strawberry, Dec 31, 2015

The fishnets were thrown on the floor without care

In hopes that a maid might magically appear

My party heels were tucked in the closet with care

So I wouldn’t trip over them in the night, and bust my rear.

With a glass in my left hand, and a bottle of Jameson in my right,

I settled down in my bubble bath to end the night.

And that was my Christmas, and pretty much my New Year’s Eve, too.  No family drama, no pesky boyfriend wanting to watch sports, no kids screaming because they were cranky from staying up too late.  I thought about texting one of my guys for a booty call, then decide that it could wait ‘til tomorrow.

Sigh, I love my life.

Jules freaked out when she read last year’s resolutions and realized that she had only completed one of them.  So what?  There’s always next year.  Or, here’s a thought, don’t make any resolutions!!  Then you won’t fail!  I’m already gorgeous, successful, and well-loved.  You can’t improve upon perfection.

And Jules—well, close enough.  Not everyone can be me ; – )

Seriously, though, I’ve commented on Jules’ 2015 resolutions.  Pay attention, ladies, this is for all of you bitches!

  1. Date only the best guys. No more going out with whomever asks; no sir-ee.  Even if it would be a good story.  Even if, like Aladdin, he might be a “diamond in the rough.”  Nope, gotta stick to The List.  Unless he looks like David Tennant or Christopher Reeves in his Superman days; then all bets are off.  Nadia approves this one resolution.  Only, it shouldn’t be a resolution – it should be LIFE.
  2. Lose that last 10 lbs. I know this was on last year’s list, too.  I did lose 7 lbs; just found them again.  In 2015, I’ll lose them, and there will not be a Search and Rescue Mission led by Wine and Nachos.  That means cutting back on the wine, and I’ll make that sacrifice.    Just, no.  Somethings aren’t worth sacrifice.  Just make peace with your current size—what are you, a 6?—throw out whatever is too tight, and LOVE yourself.  You’re gorgeous!  Own it!

Of course, my definition of “too tight” and your definition may be two different things.  We’ll talk.

Side Note: Jules was laid off in January, completed and defended her master thesis in September, and completed her last graduate class in December.  That’s enough to make anyone gain weight like a mo’ fo’.  She should be given a f’in medal for not putting on 100 lbs from stress eating.

  1. Cut back on wine. Ok, need to make this a measurable goal.  Wine only once a week.  Hmm, need to make a reasonable goal.  Wine only twice a week.  See #2. 
  2. Workout more. Again, goals need to be measurable.  Workout 6 times a week.  Note to self: buy Advil.  If by “workout,” you mean opening bottles of wine, ok.  But again, this is LIFE, not a resolution.
  3. Pay off those credit cards. To meet this goal, I need to stay out of the Dallas Galleria, even and ESPECIALLY when Steve Madden has sales.  (Don’t take it personally, Steve, you know I love you.  My black, buckled boots are my favorites; that’s why I bought them in black and   They were half price, after all.)  Unsubscribe from Victoria Secret’s mailing list.  (Vicky, I love your semi-annual sales, but my bra drawer is full.  Really, I can go a year without buying 6 new bras.  I think I can, I think I can…)  Avoid Ann Taylor.  (Ann, my closet is full.  I don’t need any new suits or cute dress pants or the best jeans ever.  Really, I don’t.  And don’t send me a coupon, either, because that just makes you look desperate.)  I’ll miss you, old friends!  Jules will be caught up by February.  Close enough – call this one done and drop it from the list.  Wait, I gotta resolution for you: go shopping for sluttier clothes.  You need to get laid, woman!
  4. Spend more time with friends. Just not the couples, so much, because they remind me that I’m alone.  Wait, that’s over half my friend base.  Ok, spend time with couples, but make sure to talk about how much I love my job and how school fills my free time.  Avoid set-ups at all costs (reminder to self: Billy Ray and both my ex-husbands were blind dates).  Hell ya, spend more time with me!  Bring your credit card, since it’s practically paid off.  Next round is on you. 
  5. Finish writing Book 2. Book 1 was completed in 2009; I’ve had 5 years to work on book 2.  In that time, I’ve gone through 2 major relationships (defined as a year or more each), 2 moves (local, but still significant), started 2 new jobs (one was a transfer within the same company, but a major life event nonetheless), and completed most of my master degree at 2 different universities.  Wait, no wonder I haven’t had time to write.  No excuses in 2015!  Don’t beat yourself up over this one.  You did, after all, complete #8.  Relax!
  6. Complete my master’s degree. I’m on track to finish it in December 2015; gotta make it happen!  Only 1 class/semester plus research and thesis, so should be pretty easy, as grad school goes.  I mean, how hard could 1 class be?  Um, except my last class included quantum physics, so maybe I shouldn’t say that.  Shit, I had better buy the book and start studying now.  You survived with a grade of B!  Party time!
  7. Hike more. It makes me happy to walk through forests and climb up hills.  I should do it more, so that I’m happier.  (With that kind of logic, celibacy should be off the table.)  Well, DUH!  Of course you should do what makes you happy.  And OF COURSE celibacy should be off the table!  We just need to find someone who is up to your standards. 

I think I’ll make Jules a Tinder profile and dare her to go out with the first guy who matches with her.  Instead of “engineer,” I’ll call her a “burlesque performer.”  It was true for one night, anyway.  Could make for some interesting dates if guys are picturing her naked while they swipe.

Heh heh, while they “swipe.”  Heh heh.

Before her date, I’ll take her to the spa—she never goes with me, citing #5—and get her a facial.  Melanie does wonders; she can make anyone’s face feel like a baby’s butt.  In a good, soft way—not the “needs a diaper to contain the fluids” kind of way.  And I’ll have Logan give her a massage.  His strong hands are just…yummy.

Jules is making noise about writing a romance novel.  I say, forget the writing!  Go out and LIVE IT!  Seriously, that woman hasn’t had a boyfriend in over a year.  She tells me this is some kind of record.  Eh, I say, not one to be proud of!  Time to end the dry spell!

Anyone else have a Resolution Recommendation for my girl?

Happy New Year!  I hope you all get laid, often and well!

Pass the whiskey!

–Naughty Nadia

From Jules

A new year, a new beginning.

I have started over many times in my 41 years: after a divorce as a single mom at age 19, 6 years later another divorce with twice the kids, another 5 years later after graduating with a bachelor’s degree and moving to Dallas (which felt as far away as England), and most recently when I was laid off in January 2015.  I guess that also extends to the start of my new job in March, which was one of the days of my life; I love my job, my boss, my coworkers.  I have truly been blessed that each beginning has been better than the last.

My advice to anyone else starting over:

Keep moving. Make long term and short term goals. Remind yourself every day of the big picture and your motivation. Celebrate the small successes, even if it’s just paying the rent. Take chances and make new friends. Above all, take care of yourself: bubble baths, reading time, a long walk – whatever recharges your batteries.

If your motivation is a better life for the kids, remember to spend time with them.  If recharging your batteries includes writing, start a blog.  And if you’re a hot guy who can’t get enough of my writing, by all means, send me an email.  We can start the new year together.

Good luck! I look forward to reading about your successes!  Happy New Year!

Cheers!

Jules_Allie_NY_e

 

Halloween Tips by NN

Witchy Woman, 2007

Witchy Woman, 2007

  1. Just ‘cause you’re dressed like a ho, and he’s dressed like a pimp, doesn’t mean that you were made for each other. PLENTY of pimps and hos fight.  I learned that from TV crime shows.
  2. That guy that looks GREAT in the steam punk outfit, looks great because his girlfriend sewed his costume.
  3. It’s the guy who has the cheesiest, least-amount-of-effort costume that you want to go for. The guy in the unicorn mask and street clothes?  Probably a bachelor who borrowed the mask from his sister at the last minute.  The guy wrapped in tin foil with the handwritten label, “Leftovers?”  Definitely a bachelor.  Unless there’s a woman nearby dressed as a microwave.  That may be where he’s putting his sausage to warm it up.
  4. If a guy is dressed as a Rastafarian, tie-dyed Hippie, or anything having to do with 420, then he might be a pot head.
  5. Some people might not be wearing costumes. Just keep that in mind before you tease the biker about his body odor, or tell the tramp in the low cut dress and too much makeup that she’s too slutty.  I’m not saying that I learned that from experience, I’m just throwing it out there.
  6. If you dress as a Marvel superhero, except some grief from the DC camp. Or vice versa.  For the non-nerds out there: if you dress as Superman, then you might have someone get in your face and tell you why Batman could kick your ass.  Jules learned this lesson at ComiCon Speed Dating.  For realz!
  7. If he’s dressed in anything from Star Trek, DO NOT—I repeat, DO NOT—ask him, “Hey, which Star Wars character are you?” You will get an hour’s long lecture over the difference between Trek and Wars.  Geesh, I was joking!  (as far as you know)
  8. If you see a guy dressed as Luke Skywalker or Darth Vader, feel free to ask, “Who’s your daddy?” That joke never gets old.  (Jules added this one.  Not sure what it means, but she was giggling while she typed it, so it must be one of those nerd things.)
  9. Don’t have sex with a guy in a mask, just for the thrill of it. He might be your neighbor or bank teller.  Or your neighbor, who happens to be a bank teller.  Ya, let’s not talk about it.  I can’t visit the bank or go to the mailbox without him putting his hands up like a mask and asking me, “Is it Halloween yet?”
  10. Candy bars are for eating, not inserting.  It’s helluva hard to get chocolate outta certain places.  No matter how much you lick! ; – )

I’m Naughty Nadia, filling in for Jules while she takes a dating hiatus.  I don’t pull any punches: I tell it like it is.  Happy Halloween!  Have fun and stay safe!!

Pass the whiskey!!

The REAL Jules Rules by Naughty Nadia

Jules on a Duck Tour in Seattle, wearing a Casper, Wyoming hat and a Grand Canyon shirt.  She’s quackers!  (That duck bill makes quacking sounds when you blow in it.  The tour company sells them with the tour tickets.)

Jules on a Duck Tour in Seattle, wearing a Casper, Wyoming hat and a Grand Canyon shirt.  She’s quackers!  (That duck bill makes quacking sounds when you blow in it.  The tour company sells them with the tour tickets.)

Guys, Jules makes a lot of lists.  Here are the REAL rules – the ones that really matter to her.  Let Naughty Nadia tell you how it is!

  1. Don’t expect morning snuggles. Jules gets up at 5 a.m. to workout.  If you keep her in bed, like a couple of dicks have, she’ll quit working out.  That makes her cranky.  Plus, she starts putting on weight.  Then she can’t fit into her pants, and she gets REALLY cranky.  Morning snuggles = fat = unhappy.  Got it?

Now, my girl can party on the weekend with the best of ‘em—that’s why we’re friends, after all—but she has her weekday routine.

Morning sex is good, though.  That’s a workout: elevated pulse, burns calories, and whatnot.  Sex = exercise = good.

Shit, I’ve been hanging out with Jules too much; I’m starting to write equations!  HELP!

  1. She goes to bed at 9:30 p.m. and is asleep by 10 p.m., so that she can get up for her 5 a.m. workout. You want her to look good, right?  Uh, continue to look good, that is.  So suck it up and let her go to bed early.  If you keep her up for “one more episode of Game of Thrones” or “just another hour of The Walking Dead,” then you’re going to have a zombie on your hands the next day.  A zombie that wants to bite your head off.
  2. If you want sex on a week night, get her to bed by 9 p.m.   See above.  Bed early = sex.  Bed late = scary monster.  Got it?  Good.

Shit, more equations.  I really gotta stop that; I’ll ruin my street cred.

  1. Don’t even think about cooking for her. Bitch has serious allergies: gluten (which is in, like, EVERYTHING), soy, garlic, white onions (the yellow kind are ok in small quantities), and about a billion other things.  Take her out to dinner.  She’ll magically pick something on the menu that she can eat.

And then if the bitch gets sick, it’s her own damn fault.

One guy planned a romantic Valentine’s Day dinner of garlic shrimp pasta.  Ya, that didn’t go over so well.

  1. About those morning snuggles, don’t expect any for a while. That woman moves sllllllow, like a damn turtle.  I swear, I can go through ten guys before she gets to 3rd base with one.

Then again, it’s been a while.  She may just jump you on the first date.

No promises tho.

  1. Speaking of cooking, that woman can cook like you wouldn’t believe!  Enchiladas are her specialty, though she makes a pretty mean pizza, too.  Read this carefully, though: if she cooks, you’d better appreciate it.  She stopped cooking for her husband the day that he buried her delicate lemon-basil chicken in A-1 sauce.  The look of rage in her eyes when tells that story is–well, it’s the best part of the story.  It’s pretty funny to see someone get so bent over steak sauce.

All that aside, taste the food before you bury it in condiments, ok?

  1. Girl has the nerdiest jokes. Think of the nerdiest joke that you’ve ever heard, then multiply it by ten.  Like this gem:

An atom was walking down the street with his friend (another atom) when he stopped and said, “I think I lost an electron.”

His friend said, “Are you sure?”

The atom said, “I’m positive.”  Then he looked at his friend and said, “You’re being awfully negative.  I’ve got my ion you.”

  1. She LOVES crime shows. Like, she’s watched every episode of CSI, Criminal Minds, Law & Order, and Dexter.  She was raised on Perry Mason, Mike Hammer, and Miami Vice.  I’m pretty sure that she started smoking just ‘cause Don Johnson looked so hot lighting a cigarette.  (She quit after tank tops and white blazers went out of style.)  When she finally snaps and becomes a serial killer, she KNOWS how to hide a body.

Not that I expect her to snap any time soon, but you should know these things in advance.  Treat her right.  No pressure.

  1. She has some really awesome friends. Lilly and Lucas Blueberries live in Australia; Gala Pear and Wilson Bearberry live in Denver; and Allie Apple lives over an hour away in Fort Worth.  There’s me, Gabby Gumbo, Elizabeth, and Daniel locally, just to name a few.  We’d do anything for her, including hiding the body.

I must’ve read it on a mug, t-shirt, or internet meme somewhere; these words come to mind, “A good friend will bail you out of jail at 3 a.m.  A great friend will be sitting in the jail cell beside you.”  That’s the kind of friends she has.

Shit, am I scaring off all the potential dates?  That’s SO not my intention!  My point is, she values quality over quantity, in her friends.  Sex, too.  Ya, bring quality sex; that should be a rule.

  1. She likes quality sex. So bring it! I think her fav is up against the wall.  Or doggy style.  Eh, just to be safe, better do both.

Wait, doesn’t everyone like quality sex?  Pffft.  I’m leaving it on the list, anyway.  (I’ve got your back, Jules!)

10. She drinks wine. Not a margarita, not whiskey, not beer – WINE.  You wouldn’t BELIEVE the number of guys that have tried to get her to drink a Red Bull and Vodka or “Here, just have shot!”  If you wanna buy a shot, send it my way!

  1. I asked Jack (Jules’ son) what he thought. He said, “She’s highly critical.  You better be Clark Kent, ‘cause she’s looking for Superman!”

So, guys, if you think you’re up to the challenge, ask Jules out.   You’ve been warned!

God, I LOVE highjacking her blog!

Pass the whiskey!

I’m writing for Jules while she takes a dating hiatus.  We’ll see how long that lasts—beautiful women like us are never alone for long.  Don’t let the pic fool you – she really is one hot POA!

Naughty Nadia at Patty’s Party

Jules and Patty, 2012

Jules and Patty, 2012

“I have slept with every guy in the room,” I thought to myself.  “Holy hell.”

I scanned the room, doing a double take.

Pete the DJ was the first guy that I had slept with.  From this group, of course, not the First Guy Ever.  Geez, that was in high school—AGES ago!  Anywho, Pete was too thin, with dark brown hair.  He had enticed me by talking big about how he spun records, then disappointed me by living in a frat house with a guy that Jules dated.  In bed, he rated a C+: good enough that I went back a couple of times, but not so good that I could put up with his roommates hitting on me.

Luke the Locksmith was the second guy that had seduced me.  He was goofy and fun, with red hair and a party attitude.  We met at his annual Halloween party, where he was dressed as the LMFAO guy: afro wig, iridescent speedos, and huge glasses.  We hooked up when he came to fix my door knob.  For realz, my door was sticking, so I invited him over to fix it for me.  Yada yada, we ended up in bed together.

The next weekend, he invited me over for spaghetti.  “Mom is out of town,” he told me, “So I have the house to myself.”

Um, no.  First, spaghetti is the cheapest and easiest meal to make.  A man needs to put a little effort into a meal if he’s going to be too cheap to take me out.  Second, he lives with his Mom.  I thought that big two story house was his, but no, apparently he didn’t make enough money to move out.  Maybe I should have paid him with cash; he needed it.

I had to send a clear message to him that I wasn’t interested, so at the next party, I left with Will the Waiter.  Will was charming, in the way that all the best waiters are: subtly flirty and quick to compliment your choices.  He was shorter than me, but had the best of the latino features: dark hair, warm brown eyes, and delicious golden skin.  Unfortunately, he was one of those guys that couldn’t come wearing a condom.  He tried to get to me to have sex bareback, which really turns me off.  We may have had mutual friends, but I didn’t know him that well.  No glove, no love.

He had other shortcomings too.  Get it?  SHORT comings.  And I’m not talking about his height.

(That was a small dick joke, in case you didn’t get it.)

And then there was Peter the Programmer, my date for the evening.  He was one of the few brainiacs that I’ve dated.  Quiet and pensive, he was a nice change from the chatterboxes I had been seeing.  Only, he was beginning to bore me.  I brought him to the party to see how he’d interact with my friends.

And now, I wish I hadn’t.  I didn’t really think this through, did I?  Fuck.

Wait, fucking was what got me into this mess!

I looked around for Patty, who was upstairs giving someone the tour of her apartment.  Before I could go after her, though, Pete approached us.

“Hi Pete!  Meet my date, Peter,” I said.  I glanced back and forth between the DJ and my date.  “Pete, aren’t you a software guy by day?”

“Hey Nadia!” he hugged me and kissed my cheek.  “Yep, I <something computer-ish which translates to programming>,” he said.

I gulped.  The guys both had dark brown hair, pale skin, and were too skinny for their own good.  The two Peters could have passed for brothers, and I’d slept with them both.  “Peter here is a programmer, too,” I said.  Ya, that’s right: two Peter the Programmers who could pass for brothers and who BOTH earned C’s in the sack.

Peter rolled his eyes and said, “I actually <stuff about algorithms and other black magic that sounds like programming to me>.”

I turned and was relieved to see Patty coming downstairs with Matt.  I had only ever made out with Matt; we didn’t go all the way.  There, now I didn’t have to say that I’d slept with everyone in the room.

The doorbell rang, and a bald guy walked into the room.  I couldn’t remember his name, but I’m pretty sure that we had almost torn each other’s clothes off at the Halloween party.  I had heard people laughing downstairs and decided that they might be able to hear us if we did anything, so I had stopped and pulled my costume back up.  He stayed in the room a little while after I left to—uh—calm down.

He had been wearing a green body suit (which didn’t hide much, thus the need to calm down), with a name tag that he kept changing.  The first one had said, “Cucumber,” and he had gone from there.  He was tall, with pretty blue eyes and a great smile.  For the life of me, I couldn’t remember his real name.

Then I looked around the room.  Holy fuckcakes.  I hadn’t slept with everyone in the room, but I had made out with them all.

I started laughing.  I really need to find new friends!

Pass the whiskey!

Naughty Nadia is writing blog posts periodically while I (Jules) am on a dating hiatus. Leave a comment to tell her what you think about her writing, and whether she should write more–or whether you want me back.  Cheers!

Psycho Sam and Naughty Nadia

Pink

“PINK!” Sam said to me, Naughty Nadia.

What the holy hell, Batman?  I thought, and blinked at him.  We were in the middle of sex, I was feeling really good, and the last thing I expected was to hear my lover say, “PINK!”

My head cleared, and I realized that music was still streaming from his laptop.  The song, Pink, by Aerosmith was playing, and Sam had suddenly decided to sing along.  To that one word.  In the middle of sex.

Sam heard a phone ring and ran to the other room.

Ok, then.  Guess we’re done.  I got up and thought about getting dressed.  Nah, there may be a round 2; Sam was still naked, after all.

I walked casually down the hall to find him.  On one hand, I didn’t want to eavesdrop on his convo.  On the other, I wanted him to come back to bed.  Sam was delicious: the slim, tight build that I love, with a lot of energy to go behind it.

Sam said, “I love you too.  Talk to you soon.”  Then he hung up the phone.

I raised an eyebrow.  Who was this person that called him at 10 p.m. at night, whom he loved?  I had met Sam at a party, where he was with a woman.  Which was fine, because I had a date that night, too.  We had double dated a few times: karaoke at his house, nights out dancing, and playing pool.  The four of us got along well.

After we both broke up with our significant others—at different times for different reasons—we had started dating.  Heck, my ex went out with his ex once or twice, too.

So now, late at night hearing him say, “I love you,” into the phone to someone else, I had to wonder.  Was he thinking about getting back with his ex?  The look on my face asked this, along with stating clearly, “You got some ‘plaining to do, mister.”

“That was my brother, Dennis.  I had to take the call because I tried to commit suicide last night, and he talked me down,” Sam told me with a straight face.  “He was calling to check on me.  I didn’t want him to worry.”

He was dead serious.  I looked for some sign that this was a sick joke, but he continued talking as I silently freaked out.  I went from “how do I get him back to bed?” to “how the hell do I leave without upsetting him?” in zero seconds flat.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ll be there for a friend in need.  But he wasn’t that—he was a guy that had been hiding his problems from me and sprung them on me at one of the worst possible moments.

Fuck.

And then it got worse.

“Dennis loved your pictures, by the way,” Sam continued, pulling me close for a kiss.

I resisted.  “What?  Which ones?” I asked warily.  I was suddenly cold, and shivered; I should have gotten dressed.

He smiled slyly.  “All of them.  You know, the ones of you posing on my pool table, all sexy.  And the ones of you in bed, with messy hair and not a stitch on.  Those pictures.”

I froze.  “You promised,” I croaked out, “not to show them to anyone.  Those were for you and me.  That’s it.”  I’m proud of my body, and I love sharing it.  When I choose to share it.  I do not appreciate pictures of me being distributed without my knowledge or consent.  Hell, Sam probably emailed the pics to his bro, which means that the brother could email them to his buddies.

I could be an internet sensation in another hour or two.  If I wasn’t already.

“Aw, Dennis isn’t anybody.  He’s just my brother,” Sam said with a dismissive nod of his head.  “Now, where were we?”

Suddenly, a massive headache overtook me and I had to leave.  Sam was apologetic.  I tried to talk to him the next day about his mental health, but he didn’t want to discuss it.

Let’s see: he thinks using his brother as a therapist in moments of crisis is the key to living a long, healthy life.  He refuses to talk about his issues with the person he’s dating (me) and brings it up at the worst possible times (while naked).

Next!

Ok, so Sam and I hooked a couple more times after that.  He was gorgeous and energetic, and the sex was amazing!  He did that thing, where he moves his hips in a circle…mmmmmm…then pop!  Ohmygoodness.  Happy memories.

ANYWHO, I definitely quit seeing him.  Who needs a guy singing in the middle of a feel good moment?

PINK!

Pass the whiskey!

I’m Naughty Nadia, is writing for Jules while she takes a much-needed break from dating

Jules is excited about Lilly and Lucas arriving from Australia today.  (I haven’t met them, so I’ll reserve judgment.  I’m sure they’re kickass peeps, since Jules is so crazy about them.)  She’s also studying for her last mid-term ever, as she plans to graduate with her master’s degree in December.  Why the hell anyone would want a master’s degree is beyond me!  I’ve seen some of those equations that Jules works on—they’re like ancient Greek.  Graduate students are freaking masochists!

Be good.  And if you can’t be good, be good at it.  ; – )

Steven Tyler says, “Say WHAT?”

Steven Tyler says, “Say WHAT?”

Two and a Half Dates—the Notorious Naughty Nadia

Nadia_Whiskey

I had sex with a man without seeing his tattoos.

I met him at a bar, while I was waiting for my second date of the evening.  I was chilling at the bar, watching the band, and scanning the crowd, when he showed up on my radar.

By “he,” I don’t mean my date.  I mean a lean man standing nearby.  He wasn’t too close—he didn’t want to scare me—but close enough to get my attention.  He was friendly with the bartender, which meant that occasionally he’d talk loudly in my general direction.  There was room further down the bar, but this guy was standing near me.

Oh, ya, this guy was trying to get my attention, in a non-threatening manner.

Respect!

“Hi,” I said, flirting with him with the heavy eye lids technique.  That’s where your eyes look a little sleepy, on purpose.  Combined with a quick glance down his body, it accentuates the eye lashes and sends a clear message, Hello, Handsome!

He responded by smiled widely, cutting his eyes at me, and saying, “Hi!  Waiting for someone?”

Oh, ya, he’d been planning that one.  Smooth.  He was giving me the opportunity to let me know that I was waiting for a date right off the bat, so that I wouldn’t waste his time.  Or so that I wouldn’t fret about how to bring it up.  This guy was good.

He was 5’10” tall, bald, with not an ounce of fat on his body.  A little scrawny for my tastes—I like a little padding on my guys—but I wouldn’t kick him out of bed.

“Waiting for someone.  He’s late—just texted that he’d be here in 15 minutes.  Sheesh, can’t anyone be on time anymore?” I asked with a it’s-us-against-them smile.

He smiled and said, “Hey, that means that you have time to chat.  I’m Peter Forte.”

I like that he used his first and last name.  Now I can cyberstalk him, which implies that he doesn’t have much to hide.  “I’m Nadia,” I said.  I don’t like stalkers, so I don’t use my last name.  “Thanks for keeping me company, Mr. Strong.”  I automatically translated his name from the French.

He laughed.  “Yes, my name does mean strong, very good!  Now tell me about this guy you’re meeting.”  He grinned.  He gave off the “I’m not jealous, just curious, making conversation” vibe.

Very smooth!

“Jeffery,” I said.  “I met him on Tinder.  Have you tried that app?”

Peter laughed.  “The hook up app?!”  He laughed hard.  “Are you looking to get laid?!”

I laughed a little, rolled my eyes, and said, “I like to meet new people.  We’ll see where it goes.”

He looked at me hard.  “Have you met anyone else from Tinder?”  He was trying to figure me out.

Ha!  Good luck with that!

I answered, “Well, I had dinner with my first one earlier this evening.  Came straight here.”

He laughed again.  “Two dates in one night!  You’re ballsy!  What if the first date would have gone well?  I mean, I assume it didn’t, since you’re here.”

I shrugged.  “I like to keep first dates short,” I said.  I refrained from quoting Jules Rules, which suggest one hour first dates.  I don’t always follow that, and I didn’t want to get into Jules’ dating philosophy.  Or the fact that I ignore most of her rules, anyway.  (Love ya, girl!)

“So I might see him again,” I said, referring to Date #1.  “He was ok.  Tall, red hair, reasonably good looking.  It’s just that…he bored me to tears!”

Peter seemed fascinated.  “What did he say?”

“Not much!  I asked him questions, and he gave me these short answers.”  I sighed dramatically.  Peter was leaning close so that he could hear me in the noisy bar.  I touched his arm.  “He was an ex-NASCAR driver, so I just knew that he had some fun stories.  But he just clammed up!  He’s an accountant now, and owns property and helicopters, but finding that out was painful.”  I looked at him with wide eyes, asking him to back me up.

“Oh yes,” he said agreeably.  “That sucks!  That guy should have come with stories ready.  What a disappointment!  NASCAR sounds so cool!”

I nodded.  “So much potential on paper, such a disappointment in person.”

“How about tonight’s guy, Jeffery?  Do you know what he does?  Do you have a picture?”  Peter asked.

I loved how Peter kept the conversation going—unlike the accountant—and acted like we were old friends.

I pulled up Tinder on my phone and flipped to a pic of Jeffery.  The guy had shoulder-length dark brown hair, a beard, and mustache.  I don’t go for facial hair, generally speaking, but this guy had caught my eye.  Glancing from the pic to Peter, the two couldn’t have looked more different: one had as much hair as possible, the other was bald and clean shaven.

“When he gets here, I’ll step to the side, don’t worry,” Peter said, glancing at the door.  “Here’s my card.  Call me tomorrow and tell me all about the date.”

Wow, he really is a smooth operator!  He managed to give me his number without seeming creepy about it.  And he gave me an excuse to call him.  Very nice!

“You have cards?” I asked, laughing a bit.  His name, cell number, and email address were printed neatly in white lettering on a black background.

“Sure,” he said.  “It’s easier than asking a waitress for a napkin and a pen.  Besides, I meet a lot of people—I like to stay in touch.”

I sent him a quick text and said, “There.  Now you have my number too.”

Peter smiled and I decided that tonight hadn’t been a total waste.  Then he nodded to the door and said, “Looks like your guy is here.  Good luck!”

I was a little disappointed.  Peter was fun and I had a bad taste in my mouth over stuck-in-traffic Jeffery.

I turned around to meet him, and my disappointed turned to, “Oh shit.”

Now, I explained that I like a wide variety of people, from musician to businessman.  I think that most people have potential and can tell interesting stories.

But when a guy shows up 20 minutes late to a first date wearing sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt, I’m less inclined to listen to those stories.

That’s right—he was wearing gray sweatpants.  The shirt wasn’t even interesting; just a greenish-blueish t-shirt that had seen better days.  The guy’s waistline was—well, he had a fucking beer belly.  I shuddered.  If you’re going to have extra weight, at least dress well, for Fuck’s sake.  His faux leather jacket looked like a Wal-mart special from the 70’s.

I smiled pleasantly and tried to talk to the guy.  Really, I made an effort.  After 10 minutes of his muttering, I couldn’t take it anymore.  He also seemed to be absolutely mesmerized by my chest.  I mean, I know I have nice tatas, and I wore a low cut shirt to show them off.  HOWEVER, I do prefer some eye contact during a convo.

“Well, Jeffery, it’s late, I really ought to be going,” I lied.  It was 9:30 p.m., still early.  But he let me go without protest.

Thank God.  I couldn’t stand a moment more with him.  I mean, really: sweatpants?!

Peter texted me early the next day to ask how the date had gone.  I loved that I could be honest and tell him all about it.  We texted a LOT over the next three days.  We talked about favorite movies, favorite drinks, and, well, just about everything.  I felt a real connection to this guy.

Date with Peter

Naturally, we met back at that same bar for our first date.  I was sooo nervous; I hadn’t clicked with a guy like this in a while.  I mean, there was no bullshit.  He knew that I was an independent woman who could reject two guys in one night.  I knew that he had dressed like a leprechaun for a St. Patrick’s Day race.

I also knew that I was going to have sex with him.

He knew that, too.

So I drank too much, laughed too much, and tried to ignore the fact that he was he being a little—well, he was a bit of a dick.

“I see a tattoo under your sleeve,” I said, touching him arm in a flirtly manner.

He flinched and pulled away.

Whoa!  That’s not good.

“Let’s not talk about my tats,” he said.

I frowned.  “Why would someone get tattoos, if not to talk about them?”

“Listen, they’re very personal to me, alright?  And not everyone likes them.  I had one girl refuse to date me after seeing the one on my back.  And my Dad rides my ass about them.  So, just don’t ask, ok?” Peter said defensively.

Hmmm.  Where’s the guy that I met the other night, who would talk about anything?

I tried another approach.  “So you have one on your arm and one on your back,” I said.

He rolled his eyes, like here we go.  “And a devil on my left thigh, and an angel on my right thigh, to represent the dichotomy of the human soul.  I’m not going to show my tattoos, so drop it.”

We chit-chatted about other stuff, but we had ran out of things to talk about.  That’s a side effect of texting for hours.  So I told some raunchy jokes and he suggested that we go back to my place.  “After all,” he said, “it’s obvious that you’ve been thinking about it.”

I weighed my options.  This guy had been awesome up to tonight—maybe he had had a bad day.  Aw, fuck it, I was horny.  We went back to my place.

Peter continued to be a dick.  He questioned my brand of condoms.  They were freakin’ Trojans, which is top of the line!  Who complains about that?  He even tried to check the expiration date, but since he insisted that the lights be off—so that I need not be offended by his tattoos—he couldn’t read it.

“I’ll trust you, I guess,” he huffed.

I had a good time.  If a girl knows how to move just right, arch her back just right, or squeeze at the right moment, the guy’s skill is less of an issue.

Put another way, I can make myself happy even when my partner doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.  Ha, ha, what the fuck!  I crack myself up.

Anywho, afterward, I did the obligatory two seconds of cuddling (sweaty sticky yucky), and then got up to go to the restroom.

“Oh, you’re going first, I see,” said the asshole in my bed.

WTF?!  My house, I’m the girl, hell YA I’m using the bathroom first!

That was it for the night.  We got dressed, I walked him to his car and said goodbye.

Damn it.  I prefer nights when there’s a round two.  Or maybe even three.  One and then done; hit it and quit it; that’s just disappointing.

I never did find out what his problem was.  We texted a few times over the next week, but he claimed that he was busy.  That’s code for, “I really don’t want to see you again.”  If he had wanted to see me, he would have said, “I’m busy this week, but I’d really like to see you again.  How about next week?  Tuesday, at 6 p.m.?”

Peter was a player.  He knew how the game was played.  I have no doubt that if he had wanted to see me again, he would have arranged something.

But ya know what?  That’s ok with me.  I went out with the NASCAR driver from Date #1 again, confirmed that he bored me to tears (it could have just been the first date jitters; I gave him the benefit of the doubt), and moved on to the next guy.

To summarize, I picked up a guy in a bar while waiting for my second date of the night.  A couple of days later, we had satisfactory sex in pitch dark so that I wouldn’t see his tats.  Then we went our separate ways.

Now that’s a fun weekend.

Pass the whiskey!

Naughty Nadia is writing for me while I take break from dating.  I can’t control her language or subject matter, but she lets me review her posts for grammar.  As her name implies, her posts may be NSFW! 

I AM SO EXCITED!!  Lilly and Lucas are flying in, from Australia, on MONDAY!  They’ll be here for 3 weeks.  Eeeek!  Can’t wait to see my bestie again, and meet her new husband—who has become my bestie, too.  Love those guys! 

Cheers!  –Jules