Monday, September 21, 2009

Vaginas and VD: Another trip to Michigan

I spent the weekend visiting my cousin M in Michigan again. We had a wonderful time (as always) but I had to share her briefly with the new man in her life. Seeing as I'm a bit selfish, I'll admit I had more fun when I had her all to myself. Here's the weekend wrap up.

Friday night I arrived to an empty parking lot because M and Silas (what I've named her new lova, since I thought this was his real name the past couple weeks...not even close) were having a "quick bite." By quick bite I'm pretty sure they skipped the sorbet and after dinner drinks of their 12 course meal. "Hi Silas, I'm Rachel." [Insert some inappropriate discussions about bodily functions, my dating experiences and profanity which I can't seem to wriggle out of my vocabulary.] "Nice to meet you Rachel." *shakes my hand then secretly wishes he had some hand sanitizer.

We get ready and M calls a cab to come get us...30 minutes later a party bus arrives. As the 3 of us pile in, I can't help but wonder if M anticipates picking up a dozen hitchhikers to party with? I had called a friend to meet up with us at the bar so I could avoid the third wheel scenario I had envisioned. Thankfully he showed up and the 4 of us spent the remainder of the evening dancing, drinking and wondering why M was in the bathroom so long. Hehe...

Saturday I woke up to an empty apartment because the lovebirds had flown the coop, leaving me just enough time to struggle with a NASA engineered coffee maker. The remainder of the day M and I went shopping. Most notably, our experience in Armani Exchange. Or as I like to refer to it, Armani Lite. We tried on our clingy fashions, sweating in the same fitting room, oblivious to the fact we were not in a soundproof cubicle, for about an hour. I'm pleased to note that if you spend enough money in this store they will not ask you to leave even if you insist on walking around the fitting room hallway with your pants around your ankles or discussing vaginas. At one point I felt M and the sales clerk were in cahoots because she remained in the fitting room agonizing over camel toe inducing skinny jeans while I was left to "browse" the displays near the register. I use the term "browse" lightly, because I just fondle the baubles for a moment, if the weight and texture is pleasing in my grasp it goes on the counter with all of my other purchases. The sales clerk was rather crafty about stashing my bounty behind the counter so I could not mentally keep track of my ever growing pile of goodies. That is, assuming I would mentally keep track in the first place. Not my style. By the time we left it felt like Christmas, as I had no idea of the contents in my bag. I'm pleased to announce that when I did open my presents, still giddy with excitement, I found that the only questionable purchase was a black leather cuff that would only fit a large strapping man. Note to self: find a large strapping man before Christmas.

We ate dinner at 10pm and finally went out to the bar at midnight. In all of Lansing, we happened to be at the same bar as the married cop who had handed M the phone to speak with his wife a few months back. [See Tolls and Trunk Pizza: My trip to Michigan post]. A rather bold (read: sloppy drunk) joined us for a bit towards the end of the evening. He introduced himself and I asked the obvious, why was he wearing his wedding ring on his right hand? "Oh, thish riiing? Myyy mom gavsh it to meh." Umkay. We're talking thick platinum band, diamonds, the whole nine yards of wedded warranty. Fellas if you're going to try this slick maneuver, at the very least, put the ring in your pocket or wallet. Eventually you'll get busted anyhow, but a woman might at least flirt with you a few moments longer. That is, unless the woman is a VD-toting hussy who doesn't care what finger or pocket your ring is on or in at all. To this woman, I say, best of luck with the inflammation and rigorous ointment application, you model citizen.
As M and I were discussing highbrow topics of hair, makeup and fashion, we were treated to a Britney Spears look-a-like crotch peepshow. I'm talking full on crotch shot. This young skank girl was attempting perhaps a yoga split on some dude's lap in a dress that barely covered the offending crotch even if she had been standing. He seemed to sort of prop her up in his lap as she drunkenly slithered towards the floor. Her skanky clone girlfriend beside her was molesting another dude while standing and trying to wriggle her own dress (maybe dress is an overstatement, long-ish tee perhaps) up another few inches. Not even subtly I might add. Just grabbing the hem and yankin' it up. Sad thing is, these girls were very attractive in an overly processed, Girls Gone Wild-inspired sort of way. They didn't need to get sloppy drunk and rub their VD all over the place. Alas, I'm sure they'll make some middle-aged banker very happy for a few years before their faces crack and their greatest assets look like little Ziploc bags of pudding. This sort of behavior makes me re-think procreation. If I ever had a daughter like this I'd be looking into underground clinics that specialize in aborting 22 year olds. To date I have never seen anyone protesting this particular brand of abortion so I can avoid the awkward fetus posters (see, I'm definitely becoming a closet optimist).

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Does Colonel Sanders have a ring in that coat for me?

Apparently Colonel Sanders and I are a match. I've also been approached by a diamond collector (which I believe is code for burglar), a man with freakishly small hands (I wouldn't doubt if his mother was Thumbelina) and a guy whom I've already dated that didn't recognize me...ouch. I feel as if I've been duped by a couple of matches that only post group photos. Usually there's one attractive fella in the bunch and I'm 0-4 that he's the one whose profile I've viewed. One of my eHarmony matches posted a picture of himself in Sponge Bob pj's eating cereal out of a giant mixing bowl in what appears to be his mother's basement. (eHarmony actually protects its patrons, so I couldn't copy the photo.) I'm starting to feel as if I'm on the brink of discovering my true love. So many qualified candidates, which one to choose?!

I've noticed that men think a good ice breaker is asking why I'm single. As if this is some sort of character flaw of mine. I don't even know what a good response to this question would be? No one can tolerate me? I have a mystery rash? The photos I've posted don't reveal my peg leg? I suppose the truth might work - I've chosen to be - but that's got a somewhat bitter and egotistical ring to it. I suppose that by merely joining these dating sites I've implied that I'm looking for a relationship. I should probably change my tag line to "Not interested in a serious relationship, just bored." Now that's catchy. More than anything, I'm just curious to see what's out there. If I stumble across the one while hanging out with everyone minus the one, I guess I'd consider changing my tag line to "Toying with the idea of commitment, still bored."

Another one of my many unfounded theories is that the right person will come along when you're actually ready for them, not simply because you think you are. Have you ever noticed that when you're desperately looking for love and romance all you find are the Colonel Sanders' of the world? Perhaps the right man or woman has been in front of you for some time, but until you're ready to really "see" them you're not going to be content with just anyone. Again, this theory is merely another idealistic fantasy of mine. I'm comfortable with being single right now, but I cleave to the notion that the perfect man is going to appear at my doorstep some day and I'll actually be ready for him. In this little fantasy of mine he's also bearing an obnoxiously large bouquet that even his rippling biceps struggle to grasp, the white/rose gold Princess cut diamond ring (I won't be so frivolous as to request the carat weight but let's just say it rhymes with "poo" or maybe "pee" carats - wow, that's mature) safely tucked into his cashmere suit coat, and a twinkle in his baby blue eyes as introduces himself. Why is there a diamond ring ensconced within Mr. Right's luscious cashmere when I've clearly described a first encounter? I don't know, I like the idea that he's prepared to fall in love with me in an instant. Plus, assuming I'm not actually ready for Mr. Right, I'll at least know he's standing before me and disregard all my previous blather. I mean come on, who's going to justifiably pass up this fab fella? You think this scenario seems highly unlikely and I shouldn't hold my breath? Then I say shut up Debbie Downer! to each their own, whatever helps you get through the day.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

"Winks" from weirdos

[One of my potential suitors. At least he's got pretty baby blues and has an eye for photography. Who doesn't look great with a dartboard backdrop?]
As previously mentioned, my favorite aspect of is its search engine. You simply type in a word and hundreds of eligible bachelors appear. For example, I've searched for: physician, chef, engineer, chemist, pharmacist, military, Italian Greyhound and psycho. I've gotten hits on all of these, including psycho. Just the mere mention of the term in your profile sets you in my sights. The downfall of this little stalking adventure is that paying members can check to see who has viewed their profile. This in turn gives the wrong idea to anyone whom I've casually clicked on. Then we go down the awkward road of, "Uh geez, I was recently diagnosed with Parkinson's and my hands flailed about, accidentally clicking on you. No I'm not judging you because you've got 4 kids and you're only 25. Don't be silly." To any woman who has joined or plans to join, be forewarned - DO NOT impulsively click on random profiles. Your email inbox will be bursting at the seams with "winks" and provocative emails like, "Saw you checked out my profile. Did you likey? Call me 1-800-PEDIPHILE." Alright, I'll admit I changed the number to keep my Match's anonymity.

I've also informed my family about this new prowling for men via cyberspace hobby of mine. Aunt D is convinced I'm going to find an obsessive lunatic. I informed her that's what restraining orders are for. She also notified me that most of these men are probably married. (Do you see where I get my optimistic outlook on life now?) I'm not entirely sure how to determine whether or not someone is in fact married (unless they pick me up for a date in their mini van cluttered with child paraphernalia), so I'm going to trust them at their word. Along the obsessive lunatic lines, I've already enlisted the help of a self defense guru. I highly recommend you do the same.

My other fail-safe dating technique is to only pursue men smaller than me. If we decide to throw down, I'll always have my number one ninja move. That being my palm to your forehead, keeping you just far enough away to comically swing wildly at me. I might do this even if things are going well because it's always a crowd pleaser.

Just for fun, here are a few of the emails I've received.
*Read your profile...and thought to myself "damn, this girl is almost as direct as me"...then I saw that you lived in Milwaukee :( - He's from Chicago. I love a man with a lot of quit in him.
*Hello, my name is Rachel will never contact you. I am an african american male,age 38, madison. I like to workout,dance,travel,shoot pool and darts. - I imagine if I had responded to this intriguing email, it would have looked something like this - Me too.
*PRAGUE!!!! - Yep, that's all he wrote.
*I like to see that you love to travel because I do too. I've only been to Cancun but I'd really like to see other things. - Awesome. I went to Cancun when I was 15. I bet we'll have loads of travel tales to share.
*You have a gorgeous smile, do you think mene is? I hope some day to met you. - Who doesn't love an illiterate narcissist?

Emails that I actually respond to have 3 things in common: they make me laugh, they ask me questions and they are punctuated. So far I think I've received 4 that fit the bill. Upon further investigation I usually find that they're single fathers, unemployed or geriatric. The search continues...

Monday, September 14, 2009

Dr. Pepper and Dots vs. eHarmony? would win in one round. TKO. Rachel, you're just being impatient. It takes more than a week for eHarmony to send your trivial questionnaire into cyberspace, find its equally trivial counterpart and then email your not even close perfect match. Seriously Dr. Warren? If it were up to you I'd be waxing the head of a bald, short, paunchy, middle aged, unemployed (no joke, I've gotten 3 of these winners already) cat lover. I can't help but wonder if my 47 cosmic dimensions of compatibility aren't trying to tell me something. I felt I answered all 200+ multiple choice questions honestly, so why is it that my responses seem to illicit matches of those whom I'd NEVER consider dating?

Personally I'm starting to feel as if Dr. Warren (whom I suspect went to medical school with Dr. Pepper) is having a great belly laugh as he runs to TJ Maxx to buy himself a new polyester wardrobe with my $40. I think what I resent most is that it is not even mildly entertaining. As I've mentioned, you're not allowed to search yourself. It's like being 5 years old again in a candy store and your mom insists on picking out a tasty treat for you. This usually results in a dismal selection of chalky antacids (commonly known as PEZ) and those dot paper candies (you know the rock hard drops of compressed sugar gorilla glued to paper? When you finally pry one of those little buttons off you end up eating a disproportionate amount of soggy parchment. Yum. Bonus - you walk around with yards of transcript paper, which is fun if you want to look like a court stenographer). Wow, got a little off track now didn't I? Anyway, adding insult to injury, you realize the "Free" trial provides more access to singles than the full bananas of eHarmony. WTF? Going back to the candy analogy (I can't let go of those wretched dots) this is the part where you morosely scan the faces of delighted children clutching their gummies and yards of licorice ropes. *sigh Since I'm a greedy little 5 year old, I subscribed to as well. I wasn't going to let those chubby little kids steal all my gummies. However, eHarmony is one of the only things I've been able to commit to recently so I figured I'll wait out my 3-month membership and continue to let Dr. Warren make me feel worthy of dot paper.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Voodoo Dating

So I'm officially a dork. The jury has been debating this conclusion, but the verdict is now in. I am indeed a dork. Why? I signed up for joke. Let me explain. I don't particularly enjoy meeting men at bars, it's tacky and doesn't lead to an interesting, "how I met your mother" scenario. I don't enjoy being set up on blind dates because they're awful and make me wish I were literally blind. I also don't enjoy meeting men on trips because I've realized I'm quite lazy when it comes to making an honest effort. So where does this leave me? eHarmony! To be honest I started poking around these dating sites out of morbid curiosity after having numerous friends vouch for these webby cesspools of men. Most of them you can search for free which is highly entertaining and I completely recommend doing if you're bored. Most of the profiles are hilarious and you'd be shocked to see some of the photos people actually post. One such photo was a dude carving a pumpkin with a serial killer smirk on his face. Super creepy. Also, I was amazed to see how many men are "easy going, don't like drama, like to have fun." How original. No matter how cute you are or what your job may be, if you put generic lame ass descriptions about yourself I would never poke, nudge, wink at, or whatever these sites utilize for garnering attention.

Now the difference between eHarmony and is that eHarmony pretends its magical personality profile matching voodoo questionnaire is somehow going to find you the love of your life because you've both managed to answer a bunch of silly questions similarly. on the other hand, does not really care about your personality or interests, rather your location and looks. The site allows you to custom order a man of your choosing and then bombards you with a bunch of selections that don't remotely relate to your search. eHarmony is more like the Democratic party that feels you are unqualified at finding your mate, thus takes away your ability to search for them on your own and tells you who your match is. So far I think the men on eHarmony tend to be a little more clever or serious, whereas seems like a booty call pimp page. I ended up subscribing to eHarmony for 3 months because they don't allow you to look at photos or chat with potential stalkers soul mates without a monetary commitment. Since I'm impulsive and have very skewed judgement when spending my money (I justified the subscription fee by silently negotiating a no new shoes/cheaper wine for the next few months deal), I thought what the hell. I have no expectations, I couldn't care less if I don't find "the one," and I'm happy to join yet another stigmatized group of singles. Hooray. If I make a friend, great. If I have a few laughs, better yet. If eHarmony makes a commercial about me and my "dating since September 2009" match, super!

So far I'm having serious doubts about Dr. Neil Clark Warren's patented Compatibility Matching System and its accuracy. For starters, Dr. Warren has found 5 men that I would never remotely be interested in. I thought we were suppose to match on 29 cosmic dimensions? Based on my "matches," the only dimension we are compatible on is gender. Why am I getting profiles of 5'8" balding 34 year old entrepreneurs? Apparently my questionnaire did not take me seriously when I said I valued looks. I don't care if that sounds shallow, it's simply a preference of mine. (To be fair, I do read the profiles before I look at the pictures.) I'm "communicating" with a couple of them out of curiosity and just trying to figure out how the system works. By "communicating" I mean we send each other pre-written questions and answers, do a little multiple choice selecting and wah-la, deep communication on probably 17 dimensions (so stupid). Also the profile questions get really personal, like - things I'm thankful for - surprising how many men are thankful for family, friends and their job. Boooring. I want to be matched with someone who is thankful for "So You Think You Can Dance" starting earlier this season, babies who don't cry or poop on planes, mad Guitar Hero skills, regular bowel movements or fancy cheese. Everyone is so uninspired. How are you expected to find anyone interesting if everyone puts the same freakin' answers that sound good? My answers sound pretty scary and uninviting but we'll see if Dr. Dubs and I can't shake things up a bit.

So there you have it. I'm a dork. I'm looking for a cosmic voodoo love connection based on irrelevant criteria and having a few chuckles while doing it.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

The Trivial Pursuit of fun up-north*

I've recently noticed that some of my pals stopped blogging due to their...what's that word I'm looking for? You know, that thing people wake up grumbling to go of my tongue here...ah, yes - a job. If your employer really has enough down time to Google you in the middle of the work day, I can only assume your job is not that secure. Besides, unless you're writing about suspicions concerning your boss of diddling the mail room chick or insider trading, I think you're in the clear. Having little to no concern for my current employment status, I will freely admit that the 2 burglars bosses running the joint are tip-toeing the line of most poorly managed firm in the greater Milwaukee area. I'm pretty sure they are aware of this so it's not really malicious libel, right? Look at it this way, if blogging gets me canned there's another job opening for you! Uncle Haru gave me some future employment suggestions anyway. I'm suppose to be looking into gas station management and the exciting world of solar energy. Considering my qualifications to take on either of these endeavors is on par with my aptitude for bio nuclear engineering, I think I just found my dream job(s).

Plans to go up-north this weekend. (Up-north being my house located north-ish, less than 3 hours away.) I don't particularly enjoy these weekends since we built the house. We used to have a trailer on the land, thus forcing everyone to find entertainment in the woods. As Swiss Family Robinson as this sounds, I prefer the rustic creativity of events. When we were little we would catch grasshoppers and recreate their natural environment in a giant cardboard box filled with dead leaves, a stuffed animal for entertainment and usually a shallow dish to drown swim in. Sometimes we'd play pioneers and I'd make delicious meals of questionably poisonous mushrooms and berries. Long walks to the lake through tick infested woods, thus ensuring a good hour spent "tick checking" afterwards. Hell, we even had tick races! (Rules: Draw a circle, pull a tick off your neck and place in circle. Whichever tick leaves circle first gets burned with a match.) Now we tend to sit indoors and watch movies, play games and isolate ourselves from nature. I always find myself wondering why we drove 3 hours to do what we could have done in our own homes? Seems pointless. We rarely even have campfires. Well that's not entirely true. I make campfires every night, but no one feels compelled to join me in staring at my wondrous creation. This gets boring rather quickly as my mind turns to bitter thoughts towards the band of city slickers in the house, ultimately forcing me to abandon my efforts and join them in Trivial Pursuit. Which by the way, is one of the worst games ever made. I'm not a fan of activities that highlight my lack of obscure knowledge or my first grader level of patience. (I used to swallow the little pie pieces when I was 12 little so that no one could win.)

I do enjoy spending time with my family, but no one wants to sleep in tents anymore, so we all end up on top of each other in the house the entire weekend. Our house is a moderate size, but we're cramming an entire little league team's worth of people in there. Not to mention, this weekend there will be 8 dogs, 6 of which will be in the house. I'm a dog lover (not really, I love MY dogs) but we're kenneling a band of unstable misfits with emotional issues. My dogs are as picky as I am in choosing friends and will completely shun any canine that doesn't conform to their high standards of doggy excellence. I know for a fact one of the dogs vehemently hates most people and smells funny. Seany's dog is the largest and has the uncanny ability of making you feel bad about yourself (Aunt D swears she gives her dirty looks). She's still a pup but has the capability of taking down a lion. Should be interesting in a house filled with dogs the size of large gerbils. The other 2 dogs are up in the air, but I'm pretty sure my dog Rebel once made them both cry. I'm envisioning a poop filled weekend of finger pointing and UFC level brawling. Thankfully my dogs are the quickest, so I'm not too concerned. There might be some tears and mental breakdowns though. Standby.

*I agree, this title is both clever and capable of inducing a hearty groan. Your welcome.