Rude Boys

A ton of stuff is going on, but none of it is blogworthy.

I mean, there was the guy who sent me a video clip of him in slow motion slapping some chick’s ass.

Yeah, so there’s that.

Then there’s the guy I had to block on Facebook for being downright mean to me.

He’s the second person I’ve blocked.


The first guy I blocked what a friend of a friend who I’d never actually met but since we had a friend in common I approved the add.

He promptly sent me a message asking me when the last time I had sex.


I mean seriously, what is it about me that INVITES that kind of conversation?


That’s just a rude boy!

The second guy I blocked was a mutual friend of the common friend.

I guess amnesia set in because I thought, what the hell, I’ll try again.

Instantly, I was peppered with questions about my feet.

When I told him that wasn’t my thing and did nothing for me, he sent me a nasty message.

Obviously my feet must look OLD if I’m not willing to share a picture of them over the internet (to a virtual stranger with a foot fetish, I might add).


And now I know.

Do not approve anyone as a friend who you haven’t met in person, regardless of how many mutual friends you might have.

I say this a little tongue in cheek, because as you know Rude Boys make blogging gold.

I honestly couldn’t dream up some of the things that have been suggested to me.

But seriously, once, just once, I’d like to write a blog post about a man who was thougful and kind to me instead of the opposite.

One can only hope. . .

When this becomes the F*CKING RULE

Periodically, I clean out my phone of old text messages.

Yesterday, I came across an old text message from a man I nicknamed “DR. BLOCKHEAD.”

And when I looked at why I blocked him, it was too good to not share on my blog.

DR. BLOCKHEAD (who claimed to be an ER doctor) and I had been texting for about 10 minutes when my son asked me to go swimming with him.

So I told DR. BLOCKHEAD that I was going swimming.

And then THIS happened:


Just so you know, my ENTIRE profile (you can read it HERE) deals with this type of scenario – a guy trying to sexualize a woman way too soon.

Here it wasn’t even our first date.

I should’ve known something was off when he accused me of being an opiate addict.

He said my pupils in one of my photos were very constricted.



I literally couldn’t stomach this man who appeared to be doing everything he could to insult, offend, and sexualize me.

So, I BLOCKED him!

I’m sure by blocking him, I avoided subjecting myself to a slew of misogynist rants, sexual insults, and all-around general nastiness.

All things I’m willing to stay BLISFULLY unaware of.

But just so you know, DR. BLOCKHEAD isn’t the exception to the rule when it comes to the kind of men I meet.



Stood Up

Did I ever tell you about the time I got stood up by a Tinder date?

It was my first time EVER getting stood up.

Sadly, it would not be the last time.

The thing was, I was kind of excited about this date and so I popped in at home, brushed my teeth, fluffed my hair, and actually misted myself with spray glitter.

Yes, I know, how very millennial of me, no?

And very playa unfriendly.

But I wasn’t on the playa, I was in Los Gatos.

We were scheduled to meet at at Oak & Rye, a nice pizza place that serves my favorite beer – Panty Peeler by Midnight Sun.

As I’m WALKING INTO THE RESTAURANT, I happen to glance at my phone and I have a message from my date.

Well, that’s a nice how-do-you-do?

I was peeved by the whole experience.


Mentally, I wrote him off.


I was sorely tempted to reply:


But that’s just my inner bitch freaking out.

I actually sent no reply.

Sometimes actions speak louder than words.

F*cking Dance!!!

michelleI am not a good dancer.

This I know.

I tend to do the side step and I rarely move my arms.

I’m quite boring, really.

HOWEVER, put a few drinks in me and I turn into a freak on the dance floor.

I’m one of THOSE people.

The kind of person who can only dance when I have a few drinks in me.

Well, there I am at Decompression SF, dancing (sober) and not making a good spectacle of myself when I am approached by this beautiful lady wearing a blue wig, a tiny skirt, and a really tight corset.

“We’re all gonna die so you might as well dance,” she says to me.


I thought that was what I was doing.

She then proceeds to cajole/berate me into dancing the way SHE wants me to dance.

She grabs my arms and moves them.

She removes my backpack and sets it down on a nearby table.

She takes off my leather jacket and puts it with my backpack.

She grabs Todd, Marina’s boyfriend, and tells him to tell my boyfriend how HOT I am.


“You have to commit,” she tells me. “If you half ass it you look like a fool.”

My dance lesson turned into boot camp.

Finally, the song ended and I tried to get away.

I grabbed my stuff.

“No. Dance. One more,” the lady in blue said.

I extricated myself from her grip.


I want to GO.

Marina, perhaps seeing my distress, came over and pulled me away.

I rolled my eyes HARD.


Just leave me alone to dance the way I want.

I actually DO enjoy dancing.

And just to prove it for my birthday I’m going dancing in downtown Campbell with my friends.

To celebrate and dance my ass off.

Without the Blue Dance Nazi telling me what to do.

I couldn’t make this sh*t up

So there I am on date #4,832.

And it’s going O-K.

My date, a longtime employee of an online bidding site that rhymes with C-Bay, is engaging enough – although he’s not good at making eye contact.

He’s already told me that I blink too much.

And he’s admitted he has no filter.

Hmmm. . . sounds like an excuse to say what you want and damn the consequences, but O-K.

He moves a glass on the table and says, “I did that so that I can see your tits better.”


I instinctively cover them up with my hands.

Jesus! Did he really just say that!?

EXCUSE ME? I say loudly.

“Oh sorry. I was joking,” he replied.

And then 5 minutes later… “I really am sorry.”

And again, 5 minutes later… “Sorry.”


I should’ve walked out.

I thought about it.

But by the time it occurred to me, it was too late. The conversation had moved on and we were behaving amiably again.

And a part of me realized with dismay that I’m kinda used to men behaving badly around me, or else I would have left.


I couldn’t make this shit up.

Dating Pet Peeves


Bad tipping.  Maybe it’s because I worked in foodservice in high school and as a barista in college, but bad tippers are my pet peeve.  I once went on a date to a fancy cocktail lounge where the bartender takes 3 – 4 minutes to mix and muddle the perfect $14 cocktail.  On a $30 bill, my date left a measly $2 tip.  I hastily dropped a few more bills on the tab when my date wasn’t looking.


Being late.  I waited in a wine bar for my date to show up for almost an hour once.  I ordered my first glass of wine and the waitstaff felt so bad for me they gave me a HUGE pour.  When my date arrived, he received a SMALL pour.  Ha ha.  Divine justice, if you ask me.  There was no second date.


Bad kissers.  You’d think by the time we reach 20 we’d know how to kiss but no, there are people out there that still suck face like amateurs.  I have little patience for someone who is a bad kisser.  If you can’t figure out it’s a game of mutuality instead of tonsil hockey, I’m done with you.


Bad breath.  Oh god, you know what I mean.  I once went on a date where I could smell his breath from across the table.  I always carry a discreet packet of mints with me and I wanted to discreetly suggest that he eat them all.


Being negative.  You know who I’m talking about.  That person who will list of 10 things that are wrong before they list one thing that’s right.  Mr. or Mrs. Downer.  It’s exhausting and draining to be around them.  Next!


Being self-absorbed.  I went on one date with a fireman.  He was so into himself his head fairly floated above his body.  If at the end of the date he could’ve told me anything about myself, I would’ve been shocked.


The alcoholic.  This is the person who sits down across from you and then drinks nonstop throughout the meal, barely pausing to eat and breathe.  Or they talk incessantly about all the parties they throw/go to and how obliterated they’ve gotten.  Yawn.  We’re not 21 anymore.


Being rude.  There’s nothing worse than going to a restaurant with a date and watching them be rude to the waitstaff.  This drives me completely batty.  Again, I worked in foodservice so I know how hard it can be.  I do not trust a man who is nice to me and rude to other people.


The cell phone addict.  I once went on a date with an attorney that was so horrifically bad – involving two standard poodles and a 6 year old.  As if that wasn’t bad enough, he kept answering his phone.  We barely said 10 words to eachother.  I’m still traumatized from that date.

Taking one for the team

imageI dislike being single in bars.

There. I said it.

It’s usually loud, you can’t carry on a conversation, and people can be rude.

Last night, after a great dinner and conversation in a downtown restaurant, my girlfriend and I wound up in a seedy little bar. We were invited to join a group of men who we met briefly at the restaurant. My girlfriend was intrigued by one of the men in the group so we made our way to the brothel hovel.

Let me preface this by saying that right now I feel mighty ambivalent toward men. I don’t hate them. I don’t curse them. I’m not thinking of growing my leg hair and buying a Subaru Outback.

I am simply just not interested in making an effort to get to know anyone.

I would rather just goof off with my friends.

So I was content to just hang out in the booth and let my GF and the new man chat amiably at the bar.

Instead, I got raked over the coals by his friends for being a Scorpio (“dominant bitches who hold a grudge”) and mocked for not giving my number out (“the Los Gatos girl is snobby”).

I totally took one for the team last night.

It was pure torture for me. It was so bad that by the time they sounded last call, I turned to my male companions and said, “Thank God! I can’t wait for my head to hit my pillow.”

Yes. Rudness. Out of me.

And it felt pretty good.