Archive for the Dating Nightmares Category

Why Yes McDonalds, You Have Inconvenienced Me.

Posted in Dating Nightmares, Uncategorized, WTF? with tags , on September 8, 2009 by JustJennyRebecca

Every morning I make a quick stop at the McDonalds down the street from my house. I require coffee. A lot of coffee and since a Venti Frappacino costs as much as a barrel of crude, I have had to make some adjustments to my routine.

Well, imagine my surprise when I arrived at the drive-thru speaker this morning and saw this message taped to the screen:

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WHOA! BACK THE TRUCK UP! Do you mean to tell me that I have been wasting countless hours and oodles of my hard-earned money on Match and eharmony and all this time I could’ve just ordered a Boy Toy at the damn drive thru? What the hell McDonalds!?! Yeah, I’d say you’ve inconvenienced me. And now you’re out of them? When will you get more? And do you take special orders? Oh wait, you’re not Burger King so I probably “can’t have it my way”.

What. The. Fuck? Why am I always the last to know about the good shit?

Dating blah, blah, blah….Episode 2

Posted in Dating Nightmares on July 23, 2008 by JustJennyRebecca

As if Myspace isn’t tragic enough, I also tried an actual dating service a few years ago. They are officially called “professional introduction” services now, but whatever, same shit, new name. 


I went in for my appointment or rather “interview” and proceeded to answer a thousand ridiculous questions, took quizzes and surveys and had Polaroids taken of myself. Fantastic. After 4 hours and a few thousand dollars for which they had convenient financing options available, I left knowing that within just a few short days  my phone would be ringing off the hook. Fo Shizzle. 

My personal matchmaker, working tirelessly I’m sure, called the next week with my first match. I can’t remember his real name. That’s how enchanting he was. But first I should tell you what my stipulations were. During the course of my “interview” I made a few things perfectly clear. These were simple things, really – all potential suitors must 1) have a job.  A real one; 2) not live with parents or relatives; and 3) have reliable transportation. Motorized. Not a bike or skateboard. Simple, right? Oh, and I may have said that I enjoyed hunting and camping. At the time I meant it. All of my friends were very outdoorsy and I would tag along. Mostly I drank. It was fun. Lots of things are fun when you are drunk. Since then I’ve realized that I don’t like to “rough it”.  I like “it” rough. Sooooo confusing when you’re drunk and the boy is hot.

So back to my first match, let’s call him Bob shall we? According to my personal Yenta Bob had a full time job in real estate, his own home and loved to hunt. I agreed to the date so Yenta gave him my number and I anxiously awaited for contestant #1 to call. The idea of the dating service is to go out on dates not chat like school girls on the phone so when he called we set up a lunch date right away for that Saturday. Bob asked where I wanted to go and I foolishly said that I would leave that up to him. Why do I do that? Do I leave it up to the boy so that if the place sucks ass it won’t be my fault? Do I do it to see if maybe, just maybe he’ll come up with a clever idea, having actually put some thought into it? Or am I just setting these dates up for failure right from the start? IF I had  shrink, and no I do not, he would say it was the latter I’m sure.

So Mr. Enchanting chose, for our first date, drum roll please….. A Chinese seafood buffet in a strip mall. That’s class. I don’t care who y’are! Why I showed up for the date I can’t say. Possibly because I can’t stand to let people down. Possibly because deep down I’m not as mean as I could be. Or sometimes should be. So yes, I showed up. Imagine my surprise when I arrived to find him already seated, and eating AND he had only paid for himself. Yes ma’am, I had to wait in line and pay for my own $7.99 Chinese-seafood-eat-at-your-own-fucking-risk buffet. All the while Bob sat there sucking on a plate of craw fish. I almost stabbed myself in the fucking head with a dirty buffet dinner knife.

Clearly I had already decided that this would not lead to a relationship, a friendship and certainly not sex so I just suffered through, eating my salmonella-laced food and asking all the canned questions that are required on a proper blind date. What a waste. But here’s what I found out about Bob – thanks for nothing Yenta, you suck ass!
1) Bob certainly was a hunter. Big game mostly. In Africa of course because his parents would take him on Safari every so often. Uh-huh….
2) Bob did have a real job in real estate: He owned several duplexes in Apache Junction (that’s AZ’s answer to Arkansas). He and a room-mate (his “financial backer”) lived in one of the units and rented out the rest. That was his full time job. Jesus.
3) Bob also had more hair than a Woolly Mammoth. I don’t mean super-sexy Josh Groban -esque chest hair. I’m talking full blown can-I-knit-you-a-fucking-floor-length-parka coverage. From the knuckles on his hands to his shoulders and up his neck. That’s. Just. Wrong.


Bye bye Bob. Invest in a trimmer.

Dating in my thirty-something years, Episode 1

Posted in Dating Nightmares on July 18, 2008 by JustJennyRebecca

I’ll start with the most recent tragedy: Myspace. Need I say more? I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m a very smart woman. A clear thinker. A maker of good decisions. I don’t know how any of what I am about to tell you happened.

This man, I’ll call him “Adam”, is my age, professional, a single dad. He didn’t seem like a freak so after many, many emails and several actual phone calls (and you know how I feel about those) I agreed to meet him for coffee. Here’s where things get a little foggy. For some reason I ended up picking him up for the “date”. Why would I do this? I can’t remember the point in the conversation where I agreed to or suggested this ridiculous idea. I’m a “meeter”. I will meet whomever wherever, unless it’s a proper evening date. If it’s a proper evening date then the boy should pick up the girl. Duh-huh. I’m old fashioned I guess – men should drive. They should kill bugs, fix broken things and fucking drive on the date. There are other things they should do of course, but that’s a different post entirely. Most likely a drunken post.

I picked him up and can’t remember the conversation leading up to that decision. Apparently in that same conversation, had I been paying attention and clearly I was not, I would have learned that I was picking him up because he didn’t have a car. At all. I was picking him up at his mom’s house because he didn’t have a car and lived with his mother. You see, these tidbits of information are called “red flags”. I can only blame myself for what happened next. I hate having to blame myself.

So I picked him up. At Ma’s house. But damn it I made him drive my car! Lemons=lemonade… Shazzam! See how I did that? Then we went downtown and did some shopping. He wanted to hold my hand. We just met. It takes me a while to be affectionate, but I sucked it up and around we walked, hand in hand. We went to the music store downtown. I can wander around there for hours. They let me touch the drums. No other music store lets me touch the drums. You can touch everything else, but not the drums. Why is that? Anyway, we walked back to my car and he grabbed me suddenly and kissed me. He kissed me like he kind of meant it. Like he had thought about it a lot. Do you know what I mean? Kissing is good. Kissing a good kisser is even better. He was a good kisser. He was also wacko. I couldn’t tell that from the kissing and we’ve already accepted that I missed the earlier warning signs, so this kissing clouded my already foggy brain. And now all my brain is thinking about is sex. Damn it. Damn brain. What brain? Damn kissing.
Date Two. This was the next freaking day. I’m not kidding. This date involved more shopping and was peppered with running errands. His errands. Stop laughing. There was also sex at the end of said “date”. I absolutely needed it, so that’s my excuse. Yes ma’am. I did need it. Date over. I went home never expecting to hear from him again. Why? Because I gave it up on the second date. Maybe I was praying to never hear from him again. Whatever. Surprise, surprise… Not only did he call, but he waited only about 3 hours after I left before doing so. I can’t be sure, but I think that COMPLETELY violates some Dude Rule.
“Adam” called to ask if I could pick him up the next morning and take him to work. You’re laughing aren’t you? I know I am. My dumb ass wasn’t prepared for the question and had no choice but to say yes. I cannot lie-on-the-fly. I have to “prep” first. Apparently I can’t say “NO” either. I’m a sucker.
I drove him to work. He proceeded to text me all damn day long and of course asked if I wanted to meet him for coffee again that night. I had now seen the same man three days in a row. But the thought of getting laid 2 days in a row made me happy. Sex is a good thing. Unless my little poppet happens to read this, then sex is a bad, bad thing until you are 19 or 20. Or 25 is good. Abstinence until marriage, that’s what I always say. I actually did say that just last week in front of poppet and all her teeny-bopping friends. Then a 12-year-old hoochie reminded everyone that I have actually never been married and yet somehow have a child. Kids are assholes.
Where was I? Right – sex, 2 days in a row, sweet! I picked him up from the coffee shop because I am a chauffeur. Do you know that he actually wanted to spend the night? In my bed. With me. I can only imagine that he wanted to “spoon” or whatever, this man I’ve known for like 5 fucking minutes. Gross.
So more sex and then I took him home. It wasn’t as good as the day before, so I was pretty much done and was going to tell him so the next time he called which I was sure would be super soon. He texted me a million times the next day. I ignore my phone when I am with clients, which is about 10 hours a day. That’s the beauty of texting. It’s leisurely, non-urgent. If there is an immediate need for an answer or there is an emergency then pick up the phone and call. Texting is casual. That’s a universal rule.
The texts kept coming and coming, eventually turning into voice mails and for the grand finale there were emails. I got home from work that night at 11. It was a long ass day. I read all the texts, listened to all the VM’s and read the emails. His last VM said, “I guess you can just have a good night. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Can’t wait! I am a magnet for fools, liars, losers, you name it. You’ll understand better in the coming episodes….
I called Adam the next day. It was a preemptive strike. I told him it wasn’t working for me and that all I wanted was to date casually. Just dipping my toes into the dating waters because I had never really done it before as an adult. I also explained that I felt like he was looking for someone to help him get his shit together. Tell you what, you get your shit together, and I’ll get my shit together. How’s that? I said it really nice though. And I was very detailed so that there would be no mistaking the fact that I did not want to go out again on a date, or to hang out or have sex or run errands with him, nothing. I was very clear on this.
He texted me the next day…. It read “Did I do something wrong?” Hmmmmm…. Ladies and gentlemen today, playing the role of the whiney, broken, pathetic girl is…… Adam from Myspace. That was the last time I exchanged phone numbers with a myspace guy. I only use it now to commune with my friends. And to check out indie musicians.