How You Doin’ Blondie?


Analyze This
June 15, 2008, 10:23 pm
Filed under: advice, dating, Life, Men, relationships | Tags: , , , ,

Mark and I went out on our third date on Friday night. At least, I think it was a date. Regardless, we spent time with each other for the third time since he made that first clear move by asking me for my phone number. So for all intents and purposes, it was a date. Although I think it was also one of those “tests” guys administer, like the “See if My Boys Like Her” test.

We spent the evening bar-hopping with the two men Mark has been friends with since childhood, and then we went for a drunken, late-night swim in one of said childhood friends’ pool. I’m pretty sure everything went well. I mean I was “one of the boys” in high school, I know how they think, it’s not hard to fit in with them. Add to that the fact that Mark’s friends’ are pretty cool guys, and I’m pretty sure everything went well.

So what I am obsessing over? Why, I’m so glad you asked.

At the end of the night Mark and I went back to his house, and we did what most inebriated, physically compatible people do. Still no home-runs, but definitely a solid triple.

Well actually, only one of us got to third base…the other one of us has only made it to first.

One of us was pleasured orally, for a long time.

After one of us came from said pleasure, one of us tried to return the favor, but was politely rebuffed with an, “I like to take things slow, it’s a trust issue. I just want to hold you right now.”

Guess who got politely rebuffed, folks?

Yes, that’s right, it was me, I was the one…I’ll give you a second to digest that.

Now do you see what I’m obsessing over? Never in my life have I had a man turn down a blow job…at least not without a hand job to stand in it’s place. Mark wanted NOTHING. He REALLY DID just hold me and gently kiss my face until we fell asleep.

So ever since Friday night, I’ve been obsessing over that incident. Did I do something wrong? Why didn’t he want me to touch him? He was completely naked, just like me, and the lights were out (which is another thing – I couldn’t see a mother fucking thing. I usually leave the lights on, but he turned every single damn one of them off), so what possible insecurity could there be left?

He can’t POSSIBLY be concerned about penis size, does he REALLY think I’m expecting Magic Johnson?

But if he’s not insecure, what is it? He certainly isn’t conservative…holy shit, or is he? He told me he was incredibly “Straight Edge” in high school – but we’ve never discussed anything like religion or faith. He swears, and he drinks, so how overtly moral can he be?

I can’t help but think, though, that I’ve done something wrong. We went out on Friday night, and I haven’t heard from him since. That fact in itself doesn’t necessarily alarm me, it was Father’s Day weekend, I do know he had plans to go to the shore. But there is a tiny part of me that is slightly concerned I’ve scared him off, or intimidated him in some way. He seemed just fine Saturday morning, but still…

Seriously guys, I need some input on this one. PLEASE.

 

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Too Many Mother Fuckers Fucking With My Shit

There are several things I dislike, and one of them is people who dispense well-meaning advice. They assume that I don’t know any better, and that I will be greatly enlightened by their pearls of wisdom…the jury is still out on whether they’re aware they’re being condescending or not, but that’s not the point. It still irks the hell out of me. It’s almost as if they impart their genius out of pity, like “Oh you poor misguided idiot, you.” I’m always shocked in these situations, shocked that someone would have the nerve to talk to me like that…and I’m always so shocked that I revert back to my debutante upbringing whereby instead of confronting the problem, I smile sweetly and then gossip viciously behind the offender’s back.

Which of course begs the question, can one gossip viciously on a blog where the gossip-ee has immediate access to the gossiper’s content? That would just make it a sort of passive-aggressive throwing down of a  gauntlet, wouldn’t it?

Well, be that as it may, a friendly word of advice to all and sundry: assume nothing, and don’t underestimate me. Should you choose to dispense your delicately disdainful advice anyway, do so at your own risk, mother fucker.



Cheers
April 15, 2008, 10:53 pm
Filed under: Life, love, Men, relationships | Tags: , , , ,

There’s this bar I go to, where no body knows my name. Except for Mike, the guy that owns the place. Mike knows me, and my name, and he also knows that I mostly just want to be left alone. Mike sort of runs interference for me, serves as a “cock block”, if you will. He’s missing a few teeth and will never be accused of razor sharp wit but he’s an excellent conversationalist (he knows when to just be quiet), and he’s instinctively protective of me…have mercy on the poor guy who tries to send a drink or cheesy pick-up line my way.

I hate messing up a kitchen and dirtying dishes for one person, and I always feel like the world’s biggest loser when I realize I’m standing in front of a free-range oven fretting over the right temperature for a dish I’m whipping up for Cody…so I went to the bar for dinner tonight. The food there is atrocious, that fact really isn’t debatable. They even manage to mess up french fries, which one would assume to be a pretty fail-proof food. But I ordered a burger (really, really well done) and fries anyway and fell into my usual routine of alternating between staring into the brown glass of my beer bottle and staring at whatever game’s playing on the plasma screen. I was in the middle of trying to figure out what my approximate beer to buzz ratio was when Mike surprised me by cracking open a beer for himself and sitting next to me at the bar. I thought maybe he was just taking a break or something, but he swiveled to face me and I was surprised to find a look of concern on his face. It was a look of genuine concern too, the likes of which I can honestly say I’ve only ever witnessed once in this lifetime, and even then it was fleeting. So I straightened up a little and said, “What’s up, Mike?” He sighed a little bit, and I remember what he said next very, very clearly;

“Suzanne, my heart hurts a little bit for you, honey. You’re so young and so pretty, but your so damn lethal, darlin. I know we joke around and call you the Lone Ranger, but you can’t be like that forever. The way you sit here sometimes, if you didn’t look the way you do, I’d swear you were a 54 year old man with three ex-wives and alimony payments that are slowly killing him. At least you don’t smoke,” He offered one of those wry laughs and then took a swig from his beer. I really did not know what to say in response, and we just kind of sat there in silence for a few seconds while he looked into his beer bottle. Then he looked over at me again and continued;

“Look, sweetheart, just humor an old man, ok? All I want you to know is this: you gotta let something or someone in, you have to. No body can get through this shit alone, and it’ll just kill you if you try. I’m talking about finding a husband, or something. I know I come from a different generation where women didn’t do as much by themselves as they do now, but that’s not the point. I see you come roaring in here with a different set of wheels every week, I know you’ve done pretty damn good for yourself by yourself, but a person can’t be by themselves forever. And especially a sweetheart like you. Honey, you’re one tough cookie, but one of these days, you’re gonna find someone whose gonna be able to take what you dish out, and give a lot back. I just want you to be prepared, is all, because he’s out there. And it’s going to be a Battle Royal when he finally comes waltzing in.” He tipped his bottle towards mine in punctuation and then got up to tend the bar again.   

I left before my food came because Dr.Phil moments make me feel awkward. I’ve tried to fight it, but I always feel kind of uncomfortable when someone opens up like that. It’s not what he said that put me off, I’ve been playing the same fantasy over and over in my head ever since I hit puberty and I started reading those absurdly worded romance novels…I’ve always dreamt of finding that guy who thinks he’s as bad ass as I think I am, and we meet and we just melt each other and we live sometimes happily, sometimes angrily, but always together, forever and blah blah blah all that Lifetime movie bullshit. I want it, I do, I really do, but it’s just kind of weird when the guy who serves you beer and sometimes tells you off-color jokes articulates it to you.

The only reason I didn’t tell him to shut the fuck up is because 1.) I like his bar and 2.) I like him.

And 3.) I don’t know of any other bars I can go to and not run the risk of getting hit on by some Lamborghini-driving stud who fancies his genitals dipped in platinum.

…but seriously? “Battle Royal”? Who does he think is coming to claim me? Hacksaw Jim Duggan?



Bill Has An Interesting Way of Indexing Things
April 12, 2008, 4:35 pm
Filed under: advice, Humor, Query, sex | Tags: , , ,

Found it. Searched “how do i make myself cum harder” using Windows LiveSearch. My blog is returned as a result on the second page. I’m a little surprised by that, I was expecting to be more like a 5th or 6th page result. Am I really of second-page relevancy to “how do i make myself cum harder”?

Well, it’s certainly funnier then “define whore”, but definetly lacking the dramtic irony.

And since I’ve obviously been given some type of authority on the subject, allow me to weigh in: stroke harder, kid.



Malibu Barbie is One Tough Fucking Hombre

Picture what the foreign gas station attendant saw: blonde woman in a shiny red luxury car, asking him slowly and loudly if he could break a hundred dollar bill…Guy is probably thinking “she’s probably the daughter or wife of someone wealthy, takes everything she’s got for granted, probably hasn’t worked hard for a damn thing a day in her life.” Where I him, I probably would’ve tried pulling the same slick little maneuver…

I asked him to put $20 worth of gas in my tank, and when he was finished I gave him a hundred dollar bill. He pulled out a dirty roll of cash and started counting twenties off the roll. When he was finished, he hesitated a little and gave me a strange look as he passed me my change. I thought nothing of it as he walked away to service another vehicle, until I counted my change to put it back in my wallet and counted $60. In the most demure voice imaginable, I called after his retreating form, “Hey! You owe me 20 bucks man.” He turned around and came back to my car wearing an expression that to a lesser person would have appeared to be communicating “Yes ma’am? Oh my, there isn’t a problem, is there? Not a problem for my most esteemed and highly valued customer?” So I said again, still in the most measured, ladylike tone, “You owe me 20 bucks. I bought 20 dollars worth of gas and handed you a 100 dollar bill, 100 minus 20 is 80. You gave me 60 bucks, you owe me another twenty.” At this point he hesitates and his English magically deteriorates before he looks at me with big, doe eyes, and says “20? What is 20 I do not-.” At this point he is interrupted as I look him dead in the eye with a stare that can make children cry, and say “Look, you owe me 80 bucks. Give me another 20 right now. DON’T fuck with me.” There was a brief pause, and his eyes widened slightly as he realized he’d made a pretty serious misjudgement. He looked at me again and issued a barely audible “Uhhh” before his fingers started moving like greased lightning as he counted out 20 dollars and said “Ok, ok, here, 5, 10, that’s 70; 5, 10, that’s, 80, ok? I’m sorry.”

Poor guy…rule number one – you can’t work a worker.



You Got To Make That Money, Honey.

Another little fun discovery: the phrase  “assholes ‘men relationships’ ” returns my blog.

Why would you enter those words, in that order, into a search engine? What are you hoping to discover? That you’re not alone? That there are other women who think that the men they are engaged in relationships with believe their partners are assholes too?

Honey, that’s a given.

What you should have entered, instead of “assholes ‘men relationships'”, is “assholes ‘gifts he gives'”. Because all men are assholes, and all men know it. So it’s not about whether or not your man is an ass, it’s whether or not you make him pay for it. If he crushes your soul on a weekly basis and you’re not walking away with a minimum of 10,000 a month in un-taxable income, that relationship just isn’t working, sweetheart.



My Kingdom for What S. is Thinking

Was there a memo circulated on Understanding Men that I missed? Did I miss the meeting where they covered “Why He Hasn’t Asked For A Second Date Yet”? Or did the powers-that-be figure I’m such a lost cause they shouldn’t waste their materials on me? Why hasn’t he made a move? We had a great time October 9th…and I majored in Applied Mathematics so let’s see, carry the 1, THAT’S ALMOST TWO WEEKS! He sent me a text this past Wednesday asking me how my week was going; told me that he’s been really busy lately with work, kids, and firefighter stuff. Is that his way of semi-apologizing for dragging his feet with the second date? I mean he’s already told me he wants to get to know me better, and I told him that I was very interested too, so at least those cards are on the table…but he’s made absolutely NO PLANS to see me again, he hasn’t even dropped any hints! How long does a guy usually wait before he asks for a second date? In my experience, if he waits longer than 2 weeks, oh hell who am I kidding? I have no experience with normal relationships, I have no idea if things are progressing normally or not. It’s so frustrating! I hate that I’m so obsessed with him, but he has everything I’ve always wanted…I’m terrified I’m not good enough. Is he subtly trying to give me the brush-off? Or is he interested, and there’s just something else holding him back?