“My outsides look cool, my insides are blue.”

I matched with a guy tonight who has on his profile “only into way above average looking woman… and that it’s not going to work if you can’t pull off a bikini bathing suit convincingly.”  He and I engaged in a lively conversation. I told him my favorite expression was “don’t trip, we all ugly to somebody” to which he replied “doesn’t matter how hot she looks, there’s someone out there who’s sick of her shit.”

An hour into chatting once, I had a guy ask me if I gave good head. I told him I think so but why? This Prince Charming responded “Because you’re not pretty enough to fuck but I will let you suck my dick.” Wow. Sting. Again, tapped into my insecurities as a woman.  Dude had never met me yet was already judging me as a butterface  (see http://www.urbandictionary.com n. A girl who is hot, except for her (but her, butter) face.)

The concept of the cards we swipe left and right on comes down to window shopping for humans. Being judged on pure physical traits. While women can chat for a guy for awhile and overlook the slight beer belly, men cannot seem to do so. All that deep intellectual conversation and laughing seems to not exist if he finds one thing wrong. RG made the statement to me once that you date, and seem to more often than not get passed over for the next puppy in the window yelling “pick me! Pick me!”

TLC sings “at the end of the day, I have myself to blame. I’m just trippin'”  I’m not to blame that one jackass says a remark to make me think I’m not pretty enough.  I am however to blame on how it makes me feel inside.  And the best thing I can take from that is to not make anyone else feel that way.



“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


“Just a small town girl, Livin’ in a lonely world….”

These lyrics have nothing to do with this post necessarily. It’s just the fact that you cannot go see a live band without them playing this Journey classic. Marley and I had our girls night out last night. It was a blast.

It was a smoky bar, big but with the old biker dive bar feel. The crowd ranged from a guy who probably took his first date to see Wizard of Oz when it first came out to a kid who I am sure grew his first pubic hair only last week.

Marley looked fabulous, she can fit in anywhere with grace. I looked like the kinda chick you’d fuck in your backseat.  We got on the dance floor. I bumped into a Brendan Fraser from the 80s, curly locks falling over onto one eye.

So here begins the story of GK , named because neither Marley or I can remember what his real name is.  In tradition of ancestors from years past, I met a guy in person. Picked him up in a bar. How unbelievably old fashioned of me.  I offered to buy him a shot, he does not drink liquor so he in turn bought me one instead. I am all for that.  There’s a big but here with GK.  He violates the first of three rules Lorna and I came up with.

  1. Thou shalt not drink bitch beer.
  2. Thou shalt love dogs.
  3. Thou shall go down and be a good eater

GK was drinking Ultra. The ultimate bitch beer. As bad as drinking a pretty mixed drink.  He also had not much of a personality but stood there with his arm around my waist as if we’d been together for years.   I actually made the comment to Marley that he gave me the impression that he would cry during sex.

I walk GK out to his car. We made out like crazy.  He tried to convince me to come home with him.  But here again is where I reiterate one of my most important blog points: Never ever ever pick a man over your girlfriend. Marley, bless her heart, does understand the draw of a cute guy. She offered to drop me off at his place provided she was allowed to snapshot his drivers license.  He didn’t answer his phone so it did not happen.

I did receive a message at 4 AM from him. Then again at 9:30 AM. Then again at 11 AM asking me to come over. I eventually texted back around 5 saying no. He then asked me to come over tomorrow and he’d help me with my homework. Then an hour later texted me again to ask if I still liked and wanted him.

Girls, maybe we can be as complex as men say. We don’t hear from men (no RG since Thursday night) and we are sad. We hear from them too much, we see them as needy and clingy and whiny little princesses. Where’s the line?



“If you go out tonight and get drunk and lonely, please don’t call me”  Brett Young sings this perfect song for us chicas that always reach out to the guy that’s safe. The one that’s seen you at your ugliest. The one that’s always come to your rescue. And frankly, the one that deep down in your heart you know you’re using to make yourself feel better.

I’ll refer to him as MH.  We dated three years. Broke up five months ago. That breakup is what catapulted me into online dating.   The beginning of that relationship had tears and drama and all the stuff I seem to love. (To quote my mama: You ain’t happy unless you got something going on and if you don’t have any drama going on you create it Ellie.) He and I are like fire and ice. He’s an introvert and enjoys higher class things. I am outgoing and wild and irresponsible. Marley, the person I’m closest to in the world, told me weekly to get my shit together, men aren’t worth all that.  Then six months in he fell in love with me. The then passion became let’s create Princess Ellie. He spoiled me rotten. Anything I wanted I got. He came to my rescue numerous times from my car breaking down to a drunken night at the strip club when I wanted to come home at 4 AM.  He’s everything most women would die to have.

We lost the passion. Or else I did. Getting my way all the time was boring. So I broke up with him with the “it’s not me, it’s you” excuse.   He is still completely in love with me. We text almost daily.  Is hunting for that elusive spark better than being with someone that you love but are not “in love with” in that movie way? I think so.  I’m the type of person that needs to feel the toes curl kind of feeling, not the comfortable love. I need my heart to race from something other than the millions of grams of caffeine I consume daily.

I feel selfish for keeping MH in my life.  He’s my safe place.  I often contemplate going back because it is familiar. My bff Marley says ” If you do, you’ll cheat on him because you need passion.”  Lorna says “If you do you’re settling, don’t cheat yourself.”   But I am selfish. I do drunk text him after a bad date so I know there is someone out there that finds me irresistible.

He does deserve better. One day I’ll be strong enough to let him go completely. And he will finally get over me and find the one that he can grow old with, that likes IPAs and golden retrievers,  that enjoys $200 dinners, that can discuss fine china with his mom.  (Give me beer and tequila shots, mutts, and chick fil a, and informal cookouts).  I will probably be invited to his wedding and in that moment will have my regrettable moment.

Today’s lesson is lyrics from the same song ” If you’re going to break my heart, just break it. Have Mercy”

“I feel it coming baby…”


Marley is my 911. My fairy godmother. Without realizing it, she makes me feel as I have glitter raining all over my head.  She knows me all too well. So well she already has a speech prepared for the inevitable falling into feelings that are going to happen with celebrity look alike, or RG. Preventive is always the best cure right? It’s always said that men think with their dicks and not their brains. Guess what ladies? We are just as guilty. Except it is worse with us. Men see tits and want to fuck. We experience a man that can make our O face happen several times in a night and the next morning our minds go into fantasies of him cooking bacon in our kitchen and weeklong vacations to Mexico.

The Weeknd sings “You’ve been scared of love and what it did to you. You don’t have to run I know what you’ve been through. Just a simple touch and it can set you free.”  That’s how we feel after getting screwed over and still want to be screwed. That’s where the mythical friends with benefits relationship comes in. Of course movies make it look so simple. It ain’t sista.

RG is the sensitive type. The kind that makes ladies cream their panties. (Shut the fuck up, I know it’s vulgar but you haven’t experienced him and I have).  We stayed up late into the night the first night we matched months ago discussing music.  He turned me on to different music (Try FM-184 Goodbye).  The first night we were together he sang to me and actually cried while listening to a song. In the coming week after that, he also told me to “fuck off” for going longer than ten minutes without texting him back. He lamented that I am just like all the other women that fuck him and ghost him. In other words, he was a lot of drama even for me. But there’s something about that broody Heath Ledger movie type.

A week ago when Goodbye came up on my playlist and I was rather lonely, I sent the text to RG, opened up that again.  When I saw him after the couple date disaster, he talked to me and let me know how he’d changed. That when he dated me prior he was at the point of drinking himself sober. That night became the best sex I’d had in my entire life.  I saw him again a few days later. That topped the previous sex.

This brings me back to my friends with benefits point. RG has told me “let’s just have fun, I’m still working on me.” Gotcha RG-no attachment.  Until the rules of fuck buddies start to get broken. We are opening up to each other. We cuddled. He asked me to come over last night (that would’ve made three times in less than a week). He finally ended the night with the text “Let me know when you’re ready, I want you all night long.”  Uhhhhh—– do fuck buddies have sleepovers?

This is going to be an interesting ride.  My fingers  have been itching to send a good morning text all morning. Can I trust that he’s really changed? If he has, can I get over he’s not my tall, dark, scruffy manly man type?


On a lighter note: Best pickup line goes to my new match who said “Would you mind if I copy your pics to send to Santa so I can show him what I want for Christmas?”

Happy Black Friday dear reader.



PS: RG  has me in his phone as a nickname he gave me months ago.  He incessantly calls me babe. I asked and found out last night that he didn’t remember my real name. (Alcohol kills brain cells). Can I forgive that? Yep, that tongue action can have me forgiving everything but running over my dog

“….No Use Crying Over Spilled Perfume

“Did you really think last night would last forever? Did you really think that guy hung the moon? I know you hate yourself because you knew better, but there’s no use crying over spilled perfume.” I remember listening to Pam Tillis belt this out in 1994. Little did I know that this would become a Ellie Anthem twenty-three years later. I say anthem because at least once a week my friend Lorna says some form of this to me. (Love Lorna, she’s been there done that, gives great advice, lets me make my own mistakes, and embraces my slut-dom)

My first spilled perfume moment was a guy that lived way on the other side of town.  He was hot in his profile.  He was 5’8, tatts from the Navy, just hot.  He tells me he doesn’t have much money but would love for us to cook together and have a couple of drinks. I head to his house with a couple of bottles of liquor he asked me to pick up. He’s short. And skinny. I’m not a height-ist, but was expecting something different. It’s hard to get into someone that I”m scared I will break if I’m ever on top.  He also has a roommate on the bottom part of the house, no biggie,  but his upstairs apartment has no kitchen. No way to make tacos here. We drink. Have five minutes of terrible sex.  He immediately gets up, goes to the couch, and starts watching a terrible Netflix show. I go sit on the couch awkwardly. Now, this was my very first online hook up.  I would know now to immediately leave.  Instead, I endured a painful hour and a half. Texted Marley and Lorna to let them know I was fine and on the way home.  And cried the entire way home.

The advice on today’s post comes from my friend Lorna: “If they’re 5’8 online, they’re 5’5 in person.”


Cue Charlie Brown Thanksgiving Music

I realized I haven’t posted what I’m thankful for. What kind of shitty writer am I that I did not even acknowledge a holiday, a get out of jail free card for any blogger to have a subject to write about.  We can blame it on Tandy and a bottle of Crown Apple.

I am thankful for:

  • Lots of online dating, yet I still remain non-chopped up and hidden under a shed somewhere
  • Being a slut and yet to have contracted “something Ajax can’t take off.”  No itching, burning, or anything contagious”
  • I’m thankful for my girlfriends . Always remember ‘sometimes our girlfriends are our soulmates and guys are just people to have fun with”
  • I’m thankful for my double AA batteries that keep my “buzzing.”

I hope you had a good Turkey day dear reader!