“Another version of me..is she perverted like me, would she go down on you in a theater”……. Oops, time for a station change….”U got it, U got it bad. When you miss a day without your friend, your whole life’s off track”

I laid in bed last night coming up with the whole new blog entry in my head. Except, today I’m writing something different than I envisioned.  Alanis Morrissette was going to be my theme song today.    Because the little demon in my head was trying her (my demon is a chick that I picture as Elizabeth Hurley in the movie Bedazzled) best to convince me that CS was out getting fucked by someone else. (He wasn’t). I got in my own head and came up with a whole post about getting played emotionally this time and how much worse it was than being used for sex.  And then I was wrong. So I had to blog about what’s in me that causes my vivid imagination to make up the worst case scenarios instead of just laying back and using a toy while thinking about the way it felt when he kissed me that afternoon.

I haven’t mentioned much about CS yet, I think for fear of jinxing it.  And this post isn’t really about him, but about me. But here’s the background: He’s 6’3, hot, and has a big dick. He is great at foreplay and keeps my mind blown and head spinning at the multiple orgasms.  We talk almost everyday, which is where Usher comes in, (actually on the phone, heller 1994!), connect like hell mentally too, and is the first guy that seems to be as crazy about me as I am about him. He’s my guy, I’m his girl. (We mostly forego the boyfriend/girlfriend label as we are at the age where we are getting asked to leave bars for getting fingered rather than the homecoming dance.) He drove to my “Cheers”, met my friends. On a side note, we are waiting to have sex. Which is terrifying. and exciting. I keep having this whole Baby from Dirty Dancing moment in my head. Because I think that’s how I might feel afterwards.

So what’s the problem? Me. I have Post Traumatic Swiping Disorder. (There’s a whole market you haven’t tapped for DSM-IV diagnoses American Psychological Association).  On the outside, I’m fairly confident. I’m pretty hot for my age. I’m fairly smart. I’ve got my shit together. But such bad dating experiences has my inner, insecure needy bitch surfacing as soon as I stepped into some feelings.   CS has had such extreme patience and understanding but I know it can be frustrating for him sometimes. Because for the first time I didn’t hear from him for hours, I’d already envisioned me on the couch crying with chocolate ice cream and watching a girly movie, instead of taking him at face value when he said he was truly busy.  How do you overcome such bad experiences and not take it out on the next?  I think the antidote is just time.  And trying to vent to my girlfriends when crazy, inside, demon bitch tries to take over.

“Just going to stand there and watch me burn. That’s alright because I like the way it hurts.”

The one guy I’ve never written about.  The only one who was not a fleeting hookup. The one that has been in my life for over a year and a half, if not exclusively, at least consistently.  He turned me into “that girl”.   He is a narcissist who literally pouts when he can’t get what he wants.  And he had me so turned around, that he made me hate me at times. Ours was the quintessential toxic “non” relationship.  Here is the story of NP (no where even near his real initials-more on that in second).

My coworker decided to swipe for me on an app I hadn’t tried yet.  I match with the hottest guy ever.  He’s tall, perfect body. From the text conversations, intelligent.  I meet him at his house and while it wasn’t the instant chemistry I now know exists , it was fun, and all I could think of is that this super hot guy was interested in MEEEEEE!  We hung out, messed around (blow job) and it was great.

We continued to talk/text and see each other once or twice a week. He was (is) super convenient, lives three miles from where I live and my office.  It was always the same thing. We’d be buddies. Mess around. Blow job.  I decided to do some research after this was going on for a couple of months. He’s a retired NFL player with a local presence. And for that little bit every week, he was mine. It was fun. Until it wasn’t.

I went for a few months without letting on that I knew who he was.   The truth came out after he threw a sock at me while getting dressed and I accused him of throwing like a girl. Apparently retired football players don’t think that’s a very funny joke.  Everything changed that day. He had a TV appearance he was filming that night for sports commentary.  He told me to watch closely when it aired, he was going to give me a nod and a smile and I was the only one in the world who’d know what it was for.

NP started traveling for his side gig after that. It was supposed to be understood that I was available for him and him only (which you can see by the former blog posts, that wasn’t going to work for me).  When he was coming back in from out of town, I was to drop everything I was doing, and be there waiting for him as soon as he got home.  If I wasn’t, he would ignore me for days, he’d send me Snapchats of songs that were meant to put me in my place. (Chris Brown-This Ain’t-for example) or pics of him at a famous R&B singers wedding to remind me who he was.  The more he did this, the more I’d resist him, just to prove to him that, to quote Pretty Woman,  I was “nobody’s beck and call girl.”  But I used him too. Anytime I had a bad dating experience, I’d call him up. To remind myself that this unattainable guy had a slight addiction to me. Major self-esteem booster.

One night I was out and refused to be waiting for him at his house (I knew the codes) when he got home.  The next day, he skull fucked me so hard I was bruised around my mouth.  As fucked up as this sounds, that moment made any future blow job for any other man fantastic. I’ve always been talented in that area but NP taught me the ways of deep throating.  It was kind of necessary as I really thought “This is the way it ends. Choking on a dick. How appropriate. And because of WHO he is, it will be all over the news too. Sorry Mom and Dad.”   But this was the night that put forth the toxic cycle him and I had.  Another time to “punish” me for not being there when I was told, he picked up his phone to text during a bad moment. All to show me I could be replaced.

It’s embarrassing to admit that this cycle went on for another nine months.  Over the summer I moved and started working an additional job. I didn’t have much time for him. He ghosted me. Blocked me on every phone number and social media account. This was a guy that I’d been seeing for over a year.  Now, I broke up with a three year actual relationship and didn’t cry. With NP I cried for two days.  He’d never cut me out of his life completely.   ANNNNNDDDDD….. then he came back.

I had grown accustomed to the fact that he was never wrong,. that everything was going to be my fault.  And I admit I went right over when he sent the “we need to talk message.”   He pretty much acknowledged that we were like a drug to each other.  We made the decision that until one of us (him) got married (engaged or relationship didn’t even count) that it would be him and me. That this would keep going on.

Fast forward about three weeks later, I’m sitting in a booth across from a guy that terrifies me emotionally. He gets me.  There’s so much chemistry around us that we almost got kicked out of a bar a few days later (more on that later).  He refuses to have sex with me because he doesn’t want to screw things up. And he wants me to be his girl. And I agree to be his girl.  The next day I get a NP message. “You busy?”  I stare at my phone for a few seconds , press down on his name, and hit “Block User”.

So, NP. The end of our game. The fourth quarter is over. The stadium lights have dimmed. I’ve walked off the field.

“You make this all go away, I just want something, I just want something I can never have”

Today I’m thinking about the guy I did not pick up online. I used traditions set forth by my ancestors that involves eye contact and lots of alcohol.  I have the same bar I frequent weekly, usually same regulars. This particular night someone new was sitting at my usual table watching the NBA championship.  We locked eyes several times. It was that feeling. Immediately.

He invited me to sit.  He’s a Heineken drinker that kept up with me shot for shot. He was here on business from out of town. He invited me back to his hotel where we had amazing sex until 4 AM.

Have you ever taken Ambien dear reader? If you haven’t, let me explain. If you have $1000 in the bank you had saved for your mother’s kidney transplant you would decide that money would be best spent on Loubotins.  Your best friend’s boyfriend might look a little more attractive and deserve a flirty text. You may eat an entire pizza and gallon of ice cream. Or in my case, you decide you have to see him and experience it again.  You then decide it’s a good idea to Facebook message him. tumblr_msp1b8pRtm1qej05do1_500But I digress.

This was a week long affair. As you can tell by the title, he was (is as far as I know) married.  But he became my kryptonite for a year. I had never, ever had anyone with that amount of chemistry.  And any man that followed could never measure up.

I absolutely love Kevin Smith movies.  Silent Bob makes a quote in Chasing Amy that says “So I’ve spent every day chasing Amy” referring to the one that got away and he can’t stop thinking about  Sex wise, I’ve spent the past 499 days “Chasing J”

Aww yeah, hurry click. Can you send a nasty pic.

First of all, I love this song. If you’re a hip hop fan, make sure you listen to this by Ludacris.    This post is two fold, partly about sexting and partly about that first meeting. And the lessons I’ve learned from both.

Sexting–the phenomenon that has replaced phone sex.  The phenomenon that has gotten many a celebrity and political leader in trouble.   How many times have we started chatting and almost immediately been asked for a dirty pic.  One day, thinking too many men were beginning to see little Ellie, I searched for a random vagina online.  I cropped that bad boy (girl) matched it to my skin tone, and sent it on to dude. (This made Marley laugh harder than she ever has). I have also done it with ass. In a discussion with some girls today, we talked about dick pics.  I have received so many, they start to look alike. One of the girls mentioned that guys wouldn’t mind knowing that we show our friends their little friends. Well boys, I gotta tell you, 90 percent of the time, we are showing it to our friends to laugh. The other ten percent of the time we are showing our friends because we are extremely impressed.

Meeting–I have a new rule thanks to Lorna. If a guy hasn’t suggested meeting me within a week, he’s gotta go. Something is wrong there. Marley suggested today that some of these dudes just join dating sites to have someone to chat with. I thought about that further and realized she has a good point.  I took it a step further and said most of the ones I’ve talked to are trying to get free porn. Think about it, they get to talk to a live chick and see dirty pics. They have no plans of meeting you but they have no issue with sexting you and jacking off to your pics. Some even send videos of just that. I guess there are some lonely guys out there too.  I chatted with V for about three weeks. He was witty, he had all the right answers (I asked him what he was looking for on the app, he said “You, I did not know it at the time but it’s you”) I literally had to force V to meet me. He flat out said “Okay, but only for an hour. And don’t think we are going to go any further than meeting.” He showed up sloppy as hell and was one of the weirdest people I’d ever met.  As Lorna says “it’s too easy to hide behind text.” I did not talk to him for much longer than that.

Advice? Stick with the week rule.  And remind gentlemen that there are sites they can pay for to get what they are wanting from you. Unless of course you are drunk and horny, but be in control sista.

Always–Ellie

 

You used to call me on my cell phone…….

Yes,  I am being unoriginal. The inevitable online dating blogger post on ghosting.  Obviously it’s an issue.  Such an issue that I think I’m going to do a starving children type commercial to aid in treatment.  “For less than what you pay for a cup of coffee, you can help a man get treatment for this terrible affliction affecting women’s egos everywhere.”  On a side note, did you know that ghosting is now a term in the actual fucking dictionary? Look it up. I’ll wait.

You’re welcome, you now know more useless information than you did two minutes ago.

Earlier in the summer, Lorna and I did extensive research to look for any excuse why we weren’t getting a call back.  Many online sites suggested to take a step back and determine if you were really getting ghosted.  Most sites give the reason that you probably are not because he’s too busy (most common) or he’s stranded in Antarctica without a cell signal (ok, I made that one up). Reality is, if he wants to talk to you, he will.  (You better put a note in a backpack and put it on a penguin that you’re thinking about me from another continent).

At what point is it considered ghosting? When someone simply stops chatting with you? After you’ve had sex?  After a date? I have three examples of my worst ghosting.

  1. T was a little strange.  I met him one night in a popular area in the city. He lived in the area, I drove. We went to dinner. It was pleasant enough, certainly not really sparks flying but it was okay.   Dinner ended and he asked was I ready to get out of there and hit another bar for a drink. I agreed and went to use the restroom. I texted Lorna and Marley that I was having a good time and things were good. Imagine my embarrassment to have to call Marley not ten minutes later to tell her he’d paid the bill and disappeared.  I cried, again not because I wanted him but rejection sucks. The woman part of me imagined him walking out of the restaurant and getting sucked up by a UFO.
  2. J seemed different. We had great conversation by chatting. He called me on lunch and we chatted for an hour. We clicked and agreed to meet for a drink after work that day. I scrambled around in my car to find something to wear (yes, I have that kind of shit in my car. If cleanliness is next to godliness then my car is the portal to hell.) Our drink went well. He walked me to the car, kissed me not once but twice.  Tongue and everything. Told me he needed to stop or he wouldn’t  want to. Again texted Lorna immediately to tell her it went well. Looked down on my phone not five minutes later and I was unmatched on the dating app and Snapchat. WTF happened?  I know! His phone probably got stolen on the way to his car from mine and this evil person went and unmatched every cute girl he could find on J’s phone. Yep, that’s it. So if I run into him in a bar, I probably really shouldn’t pour a beer in his lap. (Definitely a Natural Light but not an IPA. Not into that much alcohol abuse.)
  3. R. What can I say about R? We were involved in pretty much an online relationship for almost a month. He told me tales from his terrible childhood. How his cereal came out of bags instead of boxes. I opened up to him about my online dating woes and how I often let myself feel like a piece of ass. There were warning signals with R flashing. One being when he asked me “does size matter”? (Lorna and I decided I should sleep with him just to find out what he meant by that. ) He was actually a little possessive and “broke up” with me for a few days.  Until one day, he asked me to meet him at a hotel and gave me a room number. It was hot. Quick but hot.  We even cuddled after (Ew). Never heard from him again.

By the way, these last two are what prompted me to ask RG if I was a good kisser.

Maybe the reason they don’t want to see us again is us. We got too drunk. Talked too much. Sometimes it is situations out of our control we will never have the answer to. No matter what (well, unless you find out that they are a serial killer) no explanation vanishing is not okay. Give us a reason. It may hurt that you have a weird eyebrow fetish and ours are drawn in a little too dark but that’s okay, tell us. We move on.

Same goes for the fade out, the one where they slowly stop talking to you. Generally this means that they haven’t decided about you but still need you in their pocket for the nights that they need a booty call because another chick stood them up to save their masculinity. (Ok, us women do that too. As Marley says–gotta have dm, or dude mentality).

Now that I am writing this, I need to listen to myself. I gotta get rid of GK Ultra. He called me FIVE times yesterday. And then asked how my mom was doing.

Always–Ellie

I love bad bitches that my f**ckin’ problem, and yeah I like to f**ck I got a f**ckin problem….

 

I wanted to have some fun with tonight’s post. Warning, if  you couldn’t tell by the title,  this post is going to be rated MA-for mature audiences only.  I think every woman goes through their wild child phase, usually after something significant happens in life. Maybe not every woman, but it should be. The only problem is still the “slut” title. Yet, men are considered playas.   I’m going to share my bad girl moments. Yes, some are dumb. Yes, I realized how unladylike this is.

Let’s start with the hottest thing I’ve ever done in my life.  I swiped on a really hot younger guy. He swiped right back on me.  We began chatting one morning about sex and sex only, very minimal personal conversation. We talked about what a great fantasy would be and he mentioned he always wanted dressing room sex.  A plan was made. We met at a department store near both of us after work.   I grabbed a men’s shirt off the rack and went into the handicapped men’s dressing room. I then messaged him I was inside waiting. I stripped down to nothing but my six-inch heels. He came in, I got on my knees and made him hard. And he was huge. It was a nice one.  I bent over the bench while he pounded me from behind. He finished. Smiled and walked out. We never said one word to each other. We did add each other on SnapChat and chatted a few more times but nothing ever came of it. I will admit I did some hard research based only on his snapchat username and found out who he was. Yeeeaaahhh…. he’s young, hot, and really rich. Or else his daddy is.

Another day I matched right with a guy who I noticed was less than a mile from my office. I asked him where he worked. It was literally the  next office building over. Lorna talked me into inviting him over to our office.  He was young, hot, and really rich with daddy’s money too. (See a pattern here? I’m a good Cougar). We chatted over a couple of days and I did notice immaturity, but damn that body.  We decided to take a lunch break at the same time and I blew him in the back of the office complex. He said that was the most awesome thing that had ever happened to him.  We chatted a couple of more times, mostly out of his amazement of my bad girlness, but it faded and his company eventually moved.

Now for the dirty. The dirty, dirty. The back door. (Lorna don’t kill me when you read this, I know you said girls don’t talk about poop.)  Until I entered the dating scene again after years of hiatus, I did not realize how popular the booty was.   I’ll start with Mama’s Boy, or M as I’ll call him here.  I drove to his house at 1 AM to hook up. M is hot, great body. No fat anywhere. We went to his rather messy room and began to mess around, moving back to the shower, then back to his room. He proceeded to finish with the rear door entry. Then I heard one of what is my favorite sayings from any hook up: Wow, you took that like a champ!  He offered to go down and get me something to drink before coming back for round 2. He was down there awhile and comes upstairs and suddenly says “Are you ready to go? I told you I was housesitting for the weekend!”  Lo and behold, the truth eventually came out. He lives with his parents. He will still send me a message every now and again to inform me his “roommates” are out of town if I’d like to come over.  Him and I have remained friends though.  When the bad hook up prison guy happened, I told M all about it. He was there for me and checked on me on a daily basis.  He’ll make someone a good man one day. Hopefully they can help him keep his room straight when they move into his mama’s house.

RG is the only person I’ve ever enjoyed back door with. I don’t know what he does different but he is wonderful. Here is where the dirty comes in.  After our first time of letting him in the back way,  I noticed something else minimally came out too. It was minimal, but it was embarrassing. I called Marley mortified who calmed me down saying that was to be expected. The funny thing is when we saw each other two months later, he made it into a joke and called me his ‘dirty girl’.  That’s all it took for me to be comfortable again.

The advice from this column is-Experience shit (no pun intended). Don’t worry about societal issues or what’s right. Just be safe.

Always-Ellie

“Wouldn’t you like to get away…Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name”

If you’re lucky you have a Cheers. I do. My weekly bar where the bartenders are like brothers.  I love my bar. Tandy started out being a regular with me. We have Jesus dressed up like Don Johnson. Dred guy that can sing the fuck outta some Korn along with his Barbie looking girlfriend who is one of the sweetest bar girls I know.

My bar however is cursed.  I have never had a successful date there.  Or one that turned out to be successful.

Guy 1: I was really into TJ. We chatted for weeks. All day, everyday. He was cute. He was successful. He was my age.  After three weeks of chatting, he met me at my bar. At about 1 A.M. (He was a gum smacker though). He walked me outside and we ended up making out like crazy. He really is a terrific kisser. We ended up screwing in the backseat of my car like teenagers. Laughed like hell about it, texted until 4 AM. Then, he disappeared.

Guy 2: Guy 2, who I can’t even give a fake name because I don’t even remember his real name, was recently divorced and quite a few years younger.   Everything I said, he compared to his ex-wife. For example, I mentioned I had a 125 pairs of shoes. He immediately said his wife had 130.  It bordered on obsessive. The only saving grace to this date was it was made about 30 minutes into chatting. No wasted time.

Guy 3:  Guy 3 was nice, but not much personality.  He turned his nose up at my bar.  But alcohol makes anyone more interesting. I went home with him.   He was trying with me, I will give him that. Offered me use of his condo in Florida and season tickets for baseball season (months away). I saw why.  Size is of course not the only thing that matters. Skill does make a big difference.  And attitude.  It wasn’t the fact that the condom was too big that was a huge turn off. It was the “Please, more gently” as I was blowing him.  I will give it to guy number 3 though. He does still keep in touch. It is to complain about everything in his life but he does keep in touch.

Cursed bar girlfriends but I won’t dump it. However, the embarrassment of bringing so many different guys so many weeks in a row has caused me to take a break.

Blog lesson for this Sunday: Bringing a date to your home bar is the same as bringing someone home to meet your family. Don’t do it until you’re comfortable enough to bring them around Uncle Harold who has no teeth and mashed potatoes are hanging off his chin. And to my own personal Sam and Woody…… Love ya’ll

Always–Ellie