Tag Archives: dating

Six things to avoid on a first date

20 Mar

Six things to avoid on a first date

that have happened to me on a first date…all within the last 6 years)

1. Try not to fall and cut your knee/leg/ankle. If you do, try not to cry. If you cry…avoid allowing your date to dress your wounds (but hey, if you’re horny, this is a great, easy way to let a guy in your pants).

2. Don’t laugh hard at his jokes and say something like, “Oh my god, that’s hilarious, I love you!” because you will spend the next 5 minutes in silence or awkwardly trying to explain what you meant.

3. If you’re out and you see the person who waxes you, avoid drunkenly calling her over and announcing, “She has seen my vagina!”

4. Avoid nose bleeds. Or, if you’re trying to get out of the date, don’t avoid nose bleeds.

5. Don’t talk to anyone who in the past has given you an embarrassing nickname. Your date may start calling you that nickname (“Moose” or “Wee Wee” are 2 examples).

6. Avoid tucking your dress into your panties. You should avoid this on all dates and at all times. I suggest that you look in the mirror AND check for a draft before you leave the ladies’ room. This should be easy enough.

Actually, while on the topic, here are the things you should be doing in the bathroom (in a timely manner):

  1. Pee quickly–you’re holding up the line. Do not pee on the seat. If you pee on the seat, be classy and wipe it off.
  2. Flush.
  3. Wash hands with soap.
  4. Check your teeth for the dreaded pepper tooth (a spice stuck somewhere near that lateral incisor).
  5. Check hair.
  6. Check cleavage.
  7. Gloss up those lips. Do not get gloss on teeth.
  8. Check that dress is not tucked into underwear.
  9. Smile and pose. As always, you are the loveliest lady up in that place.
  10. Grand exit.

a date worth mentioning.

20 Feb

Two years ago, I decided to join the Baltimore dating scene. I didn’t know what to expect. I met a lot of strange men that summer, including the male version of myself, an extreme racist, a horny firefighter, a douchey baseball coach, a comedian, a dude who looks exactly like Kevin James, and a guy who actively uses dollar signs to replace the letter “s.”  However, the weirdest date was with the hottest, tallest one of them all:  Matthew.

We met for happy hour at Brewer’s Art. He was a tall, dark and oh so handsome lawyer. Throughout the entire date he stared at me intently, listened to everything I had to say and was quick-witted. It was sexy. He had such an interesting life and we talked and laughed for hours. However, around drink number 4 or 5, the mood began to change slowly and the atmosphere got intense. He pushed my hair behind my ear and whispered, “like Helen, you have a face that could launch a thousand ships.” I laughed nervously. What an odd thing to say. Then he asked me to “make him immortal with a kiss.” Was he being serious?  “Heh, maybe later,” I responded.  He started petting my head. Things were getting weird and I decided it was time to leave.

Matthew walked me to my car (which was of course parked about a mile away). During the walk he told me how beautiful I am. Repeatedly. He was just naming random parts of me that he thought were beautiful, such as my collarbone. Who says that? Then he complimented my “strut,” which was odd because I really had to go to the bathroom. He was complimenting my pee pee walk! The more we walked, the less I liked him and the more I had to pee. When we got to my car, it turned out that I was parked right in front of his apartment building. Perfect. I really didn’t want to pee my dress on the ride home. Thank god, I thought, I’ll go right in his apartment, use the bathroom, and come right out. No big deal. Friends, I was wrong.

We went upstairs and I ran for the bathroom. Heaven. Just as I flushed, I heard some sassy R&B music coming from the other room. My heart began beating rapidly and I looked at myself in the mirror. Just walk out there and say no thank you and leave. You’ve got this. 

I took a deep breath.

When I opened the door, I was startled to find him standing right there, all 6’4 of him, completely naked and ready to go. Before I could even think, he picked me up and started kissing me in a way that felt like he was trying to suck my soul from my body. His tongue was everywhere, like even licking the air and stuff. It was so weird. Then, he grabbed a folder from the top of his refrigerator that was packed with magnum condoms. “PUT ME DOWN!” I yelled.

He put me down and frowned. He was out of breath from all that air licking. “Don’t you like what you see?”

That thing was huge and menacing. I have never seen anything like it. “Um, I have to go,” I said, and I turned and ran like the wind.

He ran out after me into the hallway. “Can I still take you to dinner next week!?” he called out. When I got to the bottom I looked up the spiral of the steps and saw him standing naked at the top. “No thanks!” I yelled back, and I never saw him again.

The lesson here, folks, is that if you are in a weird situation and you have to pee, fuck the unknown. Pee your dress.

my medieval valentine: part 2.

15 Feb

Well, the good news is that I didn’t have to go to Medieval Times on Valentine’s Day. However, at 5:30 yesterday I received a text saying, “I picked up the tickets!” along with this picture:

So I put on a slutty medieval barmaid bodice costume that I have (that’s a whole other story), per the cleavage advice of Carrie Rubin, and sent a picture message saying, “Oh good, because I’m ready to go!” He then caved immediately and told me I needed to change because “medieval minx” would likely be frowned upon at a nice restaurant. Hooray! We weren’t actually going to Medieval Times! This wasn’t a competition or anything, but I’m pretty sure I won.

my medieval valentine.

14 Feb

Ladies, I have some advice. The day before Valentine’s Day is not a good day to argue with the guy who has, for some crazy reason, chosen you as his Valentine. Why? Because I made fun of my Valentine during a heated argument and now he is threatening to take me to Medieval Times:

Really, Medieval Times, a $200 value?

Good god, is the person in the middle photo proposing?! I would be mortified. I could have just said sorry, but I’m stubborn and instead I yelled, “FINE, SOUNDS FUN, CAN’T WAIT!”

As I stomped out of the room he calmly said, “Okay, then I’ll reserve those tickets.”

So, of course now I am worried we are going to Medieval Times. Well, he would be the one going. I am not “too cool” for a lot of really, really dorky things, but this?  It will be a damn cold day in hell when I go to Medieval Times on Valentine’s Day.

I’ll let you know what happens.

Dear Men:

30 Jan

Allow me to get straight to the point. A number of women are sharing with me stories about receiving unsolicited penis pictures from a significant other or stranger. I would like to offer some advice and information on this subject.

See, guys, here’s the thing–if we don’t request a photo of it, then we don’t want to see a picture of your penis. Why? Because it’s gross. Your penis doesn’t photograph well, trust me–not even when you choose to go with a full body shot. Personally, I would prefer a photo of you clothed and smiling instead of that creepy gaze you’re giving yourself in the mirror as your pants sit awkwardly at your ankles. You look like a sex offender. You look like you’re raping yourself with your own eyes. Stop and ask yourself, “Am I trying to create/maintain chemistry with the recipient or am I trying to frighten her?”

Now, if you believe you are an exception, which you are not, and that it would be a true injustice not to send a photo of your junk, please consider the following:

1. Not sending the photo. A preferred shot would incorporate your smile and a cute pet or hobby. We find that stuff sexy.

2. Send a warning. No one likes a surprise penis.

3. If you send a picture of your penis, the reaction always will be “Ewwww!!!” followed by boisterous laughter.

4. By the next day, at least 1-5 of that gal’s friends will have seen your penis and the reaction will always be laughter at your expense.

5. Manscape. This isn’t the 70s.

6. Don’t send a picture of your flaccid penis. That’s creepier than a hard one.

7. If you’re sending the photo with intentions of sleeping with someone you’ve never met, you’re a complete  idiot.

Gentlemen, please note that none of this means we dislike your dongs, we just prefer them under the appropriately inappropriate conditions. I hope you will keep all of this in mind before your next photo shoot.

On behalf of women everywhere, thank you for your consideration.

Sincerely,

Lauren M.

the crazy cloud.

28 Nov

On Sundays I work with all women. It is a supportive, difficult,  inspiring, hilarious and absolutely exhausting environment. Why exhausting? Well, while a lot of the time we are having fun, there’s usually a part of the day when we are all thinking way too much and getting worked up about things that probably don’t matter. 9 times out of 10, we end up talking about the things that we think that men are thinking, but we never actually know. And yes, we are all a little crazy and then we feed off the crazy of our friends. It happens. I call that “place” that we all seem to go the “crazy cloud.”

I’d like to give you an example of a Sunday on the crazy cloud, all in good humor (names and subject matter have been changed):

Sunday begins–

Hope: Last night we went to *name a place* and had so much fun, but my man said *name something stupid* and I called him a dick and now it’s the end of the world because he isn’t talking to me and I don’t know what to do so I am going to overreact.

Susie: My boyfriend did that once and I didn’t talk to him for 3 weeks and he came around.

Kelly: My ex husband did something like that once. Relationships are hopeless.

Hope: I give up, I am going to find someone who deserves my time. If that doesn’t work, I’m going to be a lesbian.

Susie: You could get anyone. So yeah, fuck him! You deserve better!

Nikki: My husband did that before we got married so I kissed someone else in front of him. I don’t recommend that. It worked, but don’t do it.

**2 hours pass and they meet up again**

Hope: You know, I dig the guy and I think I am just going to say sorry because he hasn’t said anything yet and he’s obviously mad at me.

Susie:  He probably just meant *this* and instead it came out like *this* and now he feels stupid.

Kelly: Men don’t know anything about anything and he was only thinking of himself. The other day this guy and I got into a food fight over something like that. Don’t expect anything better than him because men are all the same.

**hours pass, they meet up again after marinating in the fact that men are terrible**

Hope, Susie, Kelly and Nikki basically just all talking at the same time: I was just thinking, and I think that most guys think *name something we think that men think, but we aren’t sure if they are actually thinking at all*

Hope: Oh, wait, he just sent me a text. He had fun last night and he got to sleep for a couple extra hours this morning.

Susie: See? There ya go. Just let him come to you.

Hope: Thanks, Susie, for talking me down from my crazy cloud.

–Sunday ends

my milkshake brings all the crazies to the yard

18 Nov

 

I’m still not exactly sure what Kelis means by “milkshake,” but I would like to announce that I am an owner of one. How do I know? It started last year. Before I had a milkshake, my yard was void of all the boys and now that I have a milkshake, my yard is overflowing with them.

It sounds exciting, I know, but wouldn’t this have been way more useful about 5 years ago? I don’t want it now. It’s too overwhelming. I’m busy and I just want to live my life. Also, it’s not like it’s just nice, honest, hot guys up in my yard–I’ve got old guys, creepers, crazies, homeless men, trashmen, white trash men, hipsters, douche bags, married dudes, alcoholics, 15-year-old boys, a guy with anger issues, guys with girlfriends who want threesomes  and even a guy with a foot fetish.

How do I give back this milkshake!? I think I got a dud or something. I just want to be me and be with someone who is himself and together we’ll fit.

Also, whoever that person is would probably find this funny:

 

Peter, the asexual Geppetto

7 Nov

In 2005, I had a brief lapse in judgement (one of many) and decided that I hated Baltimore so I dropped everything and moved to London, England. I moved in with some Irish guys, got a job and eventually went on some fancy dates with British dudes. It was a rollicking good time.

I love the British accent and whenever a British guy approached me, I swooned and I swooned hard. Ladies, here’s the thing–just because it has a British accent, does not mean you should accept all date offers. There needs to be a filter. I didn’t have a filter, so when 32-year-old Peter Mahoney approached me for the first time and said I was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and we were going to get married some day, I enthusiastically replied, “YAY!” and three days later we went on a date.

The date was nice, but something seemed kind of “off.” I thought maybe it was because he was trying too hard, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. My reaction at the end of the date was “eh.” We went on a couple more dates and each was as “eh” as the last. There was no spark and I couldn’t tell if he was quiet, boring or asexual. He finally kissed me on the third date. It was awful. We went back to his house and he kissed me again. It, too, was awful. He gave me some tea and we stared at the wall. No one spoke. Then, when we went up to his room, I wasn’t allowed to turn on the light. How odd. When I asked why he told me not to worry about it. Then, he asked me if we could just cuddle. It was all very weird.

When I opened my eyes the next morning, the very first thing to catch my eye was a tiny wooden marionette. I looked at the shelf above it and there was another, but it was larger. Then I saw another. And another. One was dressed as a clown but it didn’t have a face. Then I realized that none of them did. Wooden marionettes were everywhere and none of them had faces. There were at least 25 of these things. Why?! Fear built within me and I shook him awake. I needed answers. “So, I couldn’t help but notice these faceless marionettes,” I noted casually. “I make and collect them,” he responded, “and I also have some puppets downstairs.” It was time for me to leave.

When I got to the bottom of the steps I received a surprise greeting from his mother, and guess what? She had made us fucking breakfast. His dad poured me some coffee. I ate as quickly as possible, went home and never talked to him again.

I had no clue he lived with his parents. I had no clue he made faceless marionettes. You know what? If you’re into puppetry or you want to make marionettes, you make those creepy fuckers and then share it with the world because that’s what you do and you love it. Own it and you’ll find someone who is loving and proud to own it with you.

I, however, was not going to be that girl. I know I can do better than “asexual Geppetto.”

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