why am I single?

Another little update of what has been going on since I haven't been posting. I went and paid for the Spice Girls reunion concert, not once, but 2 times. Cate and I went the 1st time, the 2nd was with gay man, of course. Why am I single?

SPICE UP YOUR LIFE!

EDIT: Photo credit. Pat (touchy touchy)
- chloe

No one likes a quitter

I have been a terrible settler and Jamestown resident, and I apologize to you, our fans, all 3 of you. We are back on track! Valentines Day was a bust because we reverted to our old habits by drinking red cocktails, eating chocolate covered things, and watching romantic comedies (only for irony folks), instead of finding dates. Good thing we never made consequences for the rules or else I could foresee myself being forced to sit through an eppy of Millionaire Matchmaker as punishment.

Because of my boss, whom I affectionately call "the weave" behind her back, I never got to blog about my stalker. It's true Cate had a much more threatening encounter, but mine is technology-wise better. Here we go, strap in tight.

So I had been pushing off dates with this 6 (his ranking) for quite some time, mainly because of "the weave." I finally have a free day over the weekend and TENTATIVELY (a running theme for us Jamestowners) make plans with him. He seems excited, however, there was NO LOCATION or TIME set. Sunday evening rolls around and I decide I much rather watch 'The Office' and eat Coldstone birthday cake remix (why am I fat?) than force myself to have a conversation with a 6 (at best). He calls, and I ignore it. Ok, that was juvenile, but I wasn't rejecting the date, just putting it off again.

So here is the detailed time of events:

9pm - comes around and I figure I am safe. No such luck. I get a text reading: ? That's it, just a question mark. I ignore it, figuring I can tell him I fell asleep and smooth everything out tomorrow. No such luck.
10pm - 6 CALLS IN A ROW! Wtf, I obviously can't answer now. I am getting slightly concerned.
11pm - 2 more calls back to back. Hmm maybe he is just concerned with my well being?
12pm - 1 more call for good measure I suppose.
12:30 - I go to bed, thinking I am in the clear and intent on blocking him from all internet communication sites in the morning. I figure all the calls warrant a legitimate fear.
6:02 AM!!!!! - 2 more calls. I was sure I was dreaming this one, but when I woke up for real at 8:30 ("the weave" doesn't request my presence until 10), I was assured it was no nightmare.
10am - I block him from instant messaging and the dating site from which I found him.
1pm - He calls my work number, which I NEVER GAVE HIM! I am actually freaked at this point but completely unsure what to do.
3pm - Another text with "?"

The phone attack ended there, but then a WEEK later I get this on a popular social networking site:

1. Clearly you aren't over it buddy.
2. Was there a question in there?
3. What was he trying to accomplish?
4. You effing insane, don't ever call me again mothafuckaa!

I realize I am irresistible, but this was pathetic and what sent me into a reclusive state in which I stared at my freakishly small nail beds all day and refused to log on to my assigned dating site. Don't worry kids, this chick is back and ready to take on the freaks! Bring 'em on!

all my love,
-chloe

It's All Al Gore's Fault!

Some people are goobers. And that's not their fault. They drink beer out of cans and they smash them on their heads. They are Tex-Mex enthusiasts. They think Jessica Simpson is hot. Depending on their arbitrary make preference, they put those stickers of that little boy wizzing on either a Chevy or a Ford on their cars. Many of them enjoy the band Tool. All of them enjoy Nickelback. I went on a date with one of these goobers. Check. It. Out.

1) The place he selected demanded an "OUTRAGEOUS!" (his words, not mine) $7 dollars per margarita, so he suggested we scoot it on down to the nearest generic dive bar. Being the demure and accommodating G.G. I am, I told him I thought that was a great idea, even though I thought it was a stupid and cheap idea.
2) After we sat down with our less-than-seven-bones hooch, he proceeded to talk about Tool. A lot. He talked about Tool without interruption for a good 20 minutes, despite my constant insistance that I don't listen to Tool and didn't know WTF he was talking about. He couldn't help himself. I mean, the sheer magnitude of Maynard's entrance at their last show brought him to tears.
3) He finally did shutup about Tool, though, and we moved on to the "What do you for a living?" conversation. He found out I used to work in the muzak biz and then proceeded to try to promo-guy me on about 50 of his friends' bands. Descriptions like, "They're like Bon Jovi! But they RAP!" abounded.
4) He insisted that Texas has a great wine country now. While I have no idea if that's true or not, I said something like, yeah, it makes sense, the climate is changing everywhere. This comment brought on a shit storm of a tirade about how global warming isn't real, Al Gore made it up for money or something, and it's all a big liberal conspiracy.
5) That's when Jameson shots became necessary. I don't know what we talked about after that (I kind of remember trying to tell him about my passion for touchdown dances?), but I DO know I was equally bored with it and peaced out rather early.
6) I then stumbled home to Jessica, threw my bangles in her general direction, and passed the eff out. The end!

-Cate

PS - Al Gore invented the internet.

They can't be serious, right?

So nothing too noteworthy on the guy front. The first guy I went out with seemed like a little eager beaver at first--asked me to his apartment (but we'd been drinking) the first night, called two days after said first date, you know the one. I got the old "I'm going out of town this weekend" line, but he seems nice enough that I believe him. Anywho... said he'd call me while he was out of town, never happened. Haven't heard from him in about a week. What a prick! I was all G.G. and playing by the rules, too! I should have gone home with him after all!

Busy week at work, so haven't had a chance to meet more guys yet. And, you know, Lost is on tonight, and I've gotta watch that shit! Okay... back to my reason for posting.

So I keep getting these dudes who send me messages on the dating site that are so obviously generic and more or less SPAM! Seriously, I get 6 paragraphs all about you and you don't ask me anything specific you've seen in my profile? I mean, might be different if these guys were hot, or even able to speak English, but they're always complete douches!

Here's my example from today. 28 year old "breast surgeon." Wait... hold up. BREAST SURGEON? Like, is that even a term? Are you a plastic surgeon or are you curing cancer? That alone makes me think he'll rape and kill me, then give me Double Ds and throw my body in the East River. A few other tid bits that just annoyed me to the point where I don't even have to click on his profile to see what a fucking weirdo this one is:

1. His grammar is awful! I mean, it's obvious English is not his first language, but you're a "breast surgeon!" Don't they teach you grammar at breast surgery school?
2. He likes his ladies spontaneous and he doesn't like to tell them what to do. Okay... that right there makes me think that he's now a wife beater and secretly trying to hide his frying pan tendencies.
3. Back to the grammar... I can't on this one. He uses the word "shall" so much that I feel like I'm reading Bible verses!
4. He says he just saw the movie "Take The Lead," and was really inspired by it. Which, I guess, is why he's on a dating website.
5. Okay... one more grammar one. He would be "more than glad if you kindly join me on yahoo/MSN messenger." And also, does no one use AIM? I have YET to have anyone ask me what my screen name is, which is actually a blessing, come to think of it.

I think I'll have to pass on this "breast surgeon."

-Jessica

How I Dodged the 'Roid Rage Bullet Simply By Being Lazy and Inconsiderate

I hit the crazy jackpot! I hit the crazy jackpot! Check this shit out!

Shirtless-man-who-sometimes-wears-shirts-apparently and I had tentative plans for dinner on Monday or Tuesday. We hadn't chosen the day, time, or place, however. Come Monday, I was a little over dating, having had two in a row, so when he called me I chose not to pick up, simply because I needed a break. He left me a very polite voicemail, so I decided I would call him back at my earliest non-annoyance at dating convenience. The voicemail went as follows:

"Hi there! Hope you're having a happy Monday! I had a great time the other night, hope you did too! I'd love to see you again, so call me back when you get a chance."

What a sweet guy! I'll call him tomorrow! Yay! Then bitch went straight up Ike Turner on me. Eight hours after the nice voicemail, I get these texts from him. That's right, plural texts. He had so much rage to share that it spanned two whole text messages! Here is a direct transcript, grammar/spelling errors and all:

"i cant believe your blowing me of you whore! seriusly?! i take u out and by you drinks and u dont call me back???!!?! whatver! good!!! im glad i dont have to worry about catching your diseases now you fucking WHORE! FUCK YOU! WHORE!"

In his defense, this may not be an overreaction. I mean, he did buy me like 2 (well) vodka and diet cokes, and I did admit in my previous post that I wore red hooker heels to our first date. Maybe he meant "whore" in the professional sense, in which case it certainly stands to reason that I may have several venereal diseases. To prevent this kind of misunderstanding in the future, I'm considering only wearing white orthopedic nurse shoes to all my future dates. Then if I get a message with something like, "NURSE! I'M GLAD I DON'T HAVE TO GIVE YOU A PINT OF MY BLOOD NOW! FOR INFUSIONS FOR OTHERS! FUCKING NURSE!" I'll know the gentleman's confusion was the fault of my fashion choices, and not a side effect of his obvious steroid addiction.

ps - That Polish ex-girlfriend didn't move back to Poland. She's still here, and hiding. I know it.

-Cate

Shirtless Hunk Refuses to Put 'Em on the Glass

Brace yourselves, readers. Shirtless man actually wore a shirt to our date. I don't know how it happened, but he somehow managed to put a shirt on before leaving his home, and judging by his all-shirtless calendar of Match.com photos, it may have been for the first time ever. SHIRT VIRGIN! This has to be because it was 20 degrees outside. It's the only explanation. He's a practical man, after all. If this had been a mid-August, or even, dare I say, mid-April date, he surely would have shown up bare, recently-waxed chest exposed without an ounce of shame. And really, I was wearing 4 dollar bangles from H&M and red hooker heels, so who am I to judge?

Anyway, we went to Auction House, he was pissed they didn't have Heineken, we talked about South American dictators, U2 (he's a superfan, and I refrained from making fun of THE MOTHAFUCKING EDGE. I'm a saint!), and his Polish ex-girlfriend he wanted to marry but who ran out on him and moved back to Poland to be an architect. He didn't know why she couldn't be an architect here. We're going out to dinner this week. The end.

sthoy sthause pleathse?

Alas, I have finally had my first internet date and thus have discovered why people need to hide behind their computer screens. Now, don't get me wrong, I am not totally against the idea of internet dating, you can just as easily pick up a loser in a bar as you can in the privacy of your own home, wearing your hello kitty jammies (an absolute must for a G.G.). So, back to the story. I have another AIM stalker, from before I learned my lesson (see my Hamptons post). He is the very worst kind, the second I sign on he makes himself known, even though we have exhausted every conversation possible before actually meeting. I work a billion hours a week, so I can never meet him, but he just won't quit. I find his exuberance and enthusiasm utterly revolting, therefore he shall now be known as, eager beaver.

Since I can't block Mr. Beaver's sorry ass, I went out with him last night. Judging by his pictures, I wasn't expecting an Adonis, just a regular joe with a quirky look, more commonly known as a hipster in these parts. From the first sentence, I knew I wouldn't be able to control myself all night. Why? HE HAD A LISP!!!! How does that happen? Do parents just allow their kids to walk around with that? I mean a slight one is fine, sometimes a little cute, but the man couldn't even order saki properly. Not kidding.

Well of course I made the best of the situation and tried to get him to use an "s" word as much as possible and then made a scorecard for myself. To make the game fair, I gave the beav points for avoiding using "s" words; it would be plain mean otherwise. By the end of the night, I got pretty creative if I don't say so myself. We talked about the finer points of scrabble, I asked him about his experiences sailing, I asked him to place my order without scallions, and even asked him to procure some sodium free soy sauce. Final score was:

Chloe: 73
Beaver: 46

I win! I win! I refuse to believe this makes me a bad person. I blame his parents. I just can't wait until he asks me out on a "sthecond date!"

-chloe