Breaking Up is Hard to Do

Dear Jack,

We’ve had many fun years together, haven’t we? I still remember the day we met in high school. Those $0.99 tacos, all fresh and steamy and made just for me were the key to my heart. And when you made me my first Ultimate Cheeseburger, you filled my soul with deliciousness.

These past fifteen years have been so wonderful.

I’m sure you’ve noticed how distant I’ve been as of late. Until last night and this morning. It was great being back together, even though it was only a short time.

I’m sorry, Jack, but I can’t do this anymore. I have to put myself first. My body just can’t take what you have anymore. All the soy, dairy, eggs, and meat. I’ve always loved the way you handled them, just as I’ve always loved everything about you from that first afternoon so very long ago.

It’s not you, Jack. It’s me. I can no longer process your culinary goodness. My body rejects it faster than Volvo rejects my credit score.

Please know I still, and always will, love you, Jack. And we’ll always have those late nights we shared together, even if they’re only memories.

Uriah

What do you people do on the weekends?

DUDE!

There are people EVERYWHERE!!!

It’s so strange…

I’ve become so accustomed to doing things during the week when there’s no one out and about because they’re all professionals and working and the like that being out and about while everyone is off is strange.  I feel awkward, like I don’t fit in anywhere.  Really, really awkward.  Like, that southern baptist kid at the school dance who’s not allowed to dance so they just stand against the wall awkward.

I don’t know where I’m supposed to be, when, or anything.  It’s like trying to do the Electric Slide while everyone else is doing the Boot Scoot & Boogy.

WHAT DO PEOPLE DO ON THE WEEKEND???

Rant and Rave! Rant and Rave!

You know what ticks me off?  The way people look down on bisexuals.  I mean, really, whether you want to call it “switch hitting”, “AC-DC”, or whatever, it shouldn’t be up to YOU to judge OTHER PEOPLE who want to say they are bisexual.  I like both sexes, genders, and whatever.  I guess you could say I’m “omnisexual”, although I’m not progressive enough to use such a term as that.  I just feel silly.  But, honestly, I don’t give a crap if you’re genderqueer, FTM, MTF, male, female, or any other part of any kind of spectrum.  If you’re a cool person, then cool.  Because it doesn’t matter what’s in your pants, it matters what’s between your ears.  And you know why?

Spoiled milk.

I read this post on a forum once about dating exes again.  This wise, wise person said something along the lines of “if you pull the milk out of the fridge and it’s spoiled, then put it back in the fridge, if you take it back out a few months down the line, does that mean it’s not spoiled anymore?  NO!  It’s still spoiled milk.  So why date someone again if you know it didn’t work the first time?”

Granted, I don’t look at relationships that way because people are people and can grow, unlike milk.  Ok, so, maybe milk can, in fact, grow.  How else do you explain cheese?  But that’s not the point of what they were saying, I don’t think.

In either event, people are people.  Period.  That’s it.  So stop telling me, when I tell you I’m “bisexual” that you “used to be bisexual, but then I got tired of sleeping around”.  Uh, hey, thanks!  Because what every person wants to hear is how their sexual orientation/preference/whatever is basically a synonym for “skank”.

I am not a ho, thank you.  I don’t sleep with anything that moves or has tits or a penis or what have you.  That doesn’t mean I couldn’t.  I mean, sheesh, I DO have hormonal urges, but that’s why they make clown porn.

So I settle for telling people I’m “half gay”.  They usually look at me like I’m stupid unless they aren’t straight, and then they just look at me and go, “Ooooohhhhh….so you’re bisexual.  I used to be bisexual, but then I got tired of sleeping around.”  It kind of sucks.

And you know what else totally ticks me off is the lack of consideration the working world has for Special Ed kids.  I’ve got this employee at work, it’s his first job, he’s ADD with a learning disability, and everyone wants him gone because he’s not picking it up fast enough.  No one’s willing to work with him to help him and I rarely work with the kid to help.  It really kind of sucks and pisses me off all at the same time because some high falutin retail VP guy has decided that people only get one week (that’s five days or 40 hours) to learn everything they are ever going to need to know about doing the job.  That’s just insane.  I can’t teach everything you’re ever going to need to do the job in 40 hours.

So, you know what world:  You can fucking go to Hell.  Really.

And I now concede the soap box to the next Ranter.

Its Dating History Wednesday

Hey, look, I came up with a gimmick!  Go me!

So I was thinking today about some of the crazy “dates” I’ve been on.  Some of these memories are comical, some are tragic, and some are downright embarrassing.  What perfect fodder for me to give to you!

Note:  For those challenged at reading between the lines, implied meaning is conveniently placed between parentheses.  That’s () for those who don’t know that already.

Let’s start this story with a little bit of history:  Recently out of a horrible relationship filled with fireworks (which means we fought like cats and dogs, so of course the sex was fantastic) and wanting to explore my sexuality (which means I finally decided to do something about seeing all these crazy sexy guys and get some cock) I joined this online “dating” site (dating is in quotes because it’s a site that was designed to help men find other men who were currently horny so they could fuck without having to end up being arrested like George Michael’s and the whole Bathroomgate thing), because, let’s face it, Craigslist is great for finding a used couch/refrigerator/drug dealer, but trying to find a disease free guy…good luck.

A large chunk of the guys were strictly looking for hookups (which are stories for a completely different post)(the prior set of parentheses were not for those challenged at reading between the lines, but strictly for clarifying that this post is not about some fling filled with crazy sex had with an amazing Latin lover…not that it ever happened…and not that it couldn’t…it very well could…and might have…carry on), but some of the guys were actually looking for something a little more long-term than a one hour meet & fuck.  That’s where I met this guy…let’s call him Fuzz.  Now Fuzz, on paper, seemed like a great guy.  He had a personality, the same dry sense of humor, and was intelligent.  The fact we were both in food service was also a plus.

He invited me out one night with a group of his friends to play pool, and we wound up hanging out and talking for hours.  It seemed like things were going swell.

And then we went on a REAL date…

Firstly, having spent years in management, if I’m going to go on a date with a manager, I completely expect there to be a phone call and/or tardiness.  So the fact our 7pm dinner was pushed back to almost 9pm didn’t faze me.  I was actually prepared and waited at the coffee shop we were to meet at with a magazine and a book.  Shit happens, especially for managers of restaurants.  I didn’t expect, however, for our plans to be completely changed and for me to have to find my way into some neighborhood I’d never been to, nor even knew existed, with only a five minute time frame in order to pick him up instead of meeting at said coffee shop.  I agreed to a date, not to be a coffee delivery man.

I had planned on taking him to a great Thai place I’d scoped out with a “friend” (it’s in quotes because we had dated and had great sex and still occasionally hung out and watched porn together so, basically, she was kind of a special friend without having any benefits other than getting to listen to her moan and the like, as that would have been written “FRIEND” instead of merely “friend”) which it turns out closed at 9pm.  Apparently Fuzz didn’t like the idea of having a romantic dinner under the stars in the bed of a pickup.  Strike one, Fuzz.

So we wound up at Buffalo Wild Wings, sipping drinks, and neither of us enjoying ourselves because we couldn’t hear no matter how loud we were and we kept getting horrible looks and threatening glares from the other drunken male patrons.  Then his phone goes off.  It was a friend, “Hey, come help me fix my car!”

The date then devolved into him stripping into a wife beater (which I thought would be sexy but HOLY SHIT he had more back hair than a chimp!) and crawling around underneath a car (ok, that was kind of sexy) while I sat and chatted with his friend, who, it turns out, was a friend of mine from high school’s completely annoying little brother.

We then wound up at Jim’s (think Denny’s with better food and worse service) with his friend and his friend for four hours.  Then I took him home and got an, “I’d invite you in, but my mom’s asleep on the couch, but maybe we could…you know…park in the driveway…”  Yeah, sure, Fuzz, let’s just park in the driveway and have wild, crazy butt sex in front of the livingroom window RIGHT WHERE YOUR MOTHER CAN WATCH US FUCK!

“Sounds great, but I’ve got to be at work in an hour.”

“Oh…ok…next time, then. It was…nice…”

Cue awkward hug with a 6′ plus guy in a tiny truck and me driving away thinking “holy shit I’ve met someone worse at dating than me!”

So, why did Fuzz strike out? I mean, sure, talking about your ex who’s obsessed with you to the point of carving your name into his chest while institutionalised and the other ex of yours you set him up with but the guy really only agreed because he thought the guy was kind of hot and was hoping for some super crazy porn style three-way action was bad enough, but, seriously, there are razors for a reason. Watching that guy propose to his chick through a message shaved into his back hair was funny, but, ultimately, not something I wish to experience.

Plus, I don’t enjoy having sex with a laptop sharing bed space. I enjoy using every bit of bed space there is to use during sex, thank you very much and, unfortunately, Fuzz had this obsession with technology and had to have a gadget touching him constantly.  I asked about showering but, honestly, I was too terrified to ask about how that worked while having sex.  The laptop-on-the-bed-thing is the best case scenario.  Worst case involves a corded mouse and strange gyrations in order to play Minesweeper.

Anyone else got any crazy horrid dates they’ve been on? Care to share?