If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain

Happy Friday friends! For once I have no date for the weekend. I may call RG to get laid. He complained yesterday that he did not get to see me enough. (Thought we were having fun.  Seeing each other more than twice a week is slowly getting on the relationship train. Men, we don’t come crazy. You make us that way.) GK Ultra is finally let back into the sea with the other crazy fish. I did not ghost, took my own advice

Anyhoo, I got to thinking about this song (A.M. Gold anyone?) and how times have changed since Rupert Holmes was writing to a newspaper for a date. Maybe personal columns were a better way to find someone. You actually had to put effort into that shit if you wanted to meet someone. Find a pen, a paper, and buy a stamp.  (For you millennials, a stamp is a little sticker that you put on the corner of an envelope to put in a mailbox with the flag up to communicate.)

To make it a Fun Friday, I rewrote “Escape” to go with today’s times.  I’ve even put the instrumental down below so you can sing along to yourself

I was sad on a Friday night, thinking there was no one my type

So I take out my cell phone, and began to swipe

While I lay there sipping, enjoying my wine

A profile caught my eye, and I had to make him mine

If you like Ultra and fireball,  a little Netflix and Chill

If you’re fit and active, and want to go to Brazil

If you like drinking on a patio, I’m your hookup for the night

I won’t text you tomorrow, but take a chance and swipe right

I ignored my gut feeling, cuz he seemed like a catch

So I took a chance and swiped right, and we were a match

So I wrote him a message, how do I make myself stand out?

Based it on his profile, and erased any doubts.

Yes I like Ultra and fireball, and Netflix and Chill

Please don’t be Charles Manson, and set me up for a kill

I’ve got to meet you within a week, only so much to do through texts

Let’s have drinks at my local bar,  see if you can back up your sexts

I waited on my bar stool, when he walked in I could see

It was the same guy who ghosted,  on the app with the little bee

I laughed and said you disappeared, I thought you were dead

He replied don’t worry about the past, you’ll end up in my bed

If you like Ultra and fireball, and a little Netflix and Chill

If you’re fit and active, and want to go to Brazil

If you like drinking on a patio, I’m your hookup for the night

I won’t text you tomorrow, but take a chance and swipe right

If you like Ultra and fireball, and a little Netflix and Chill

If you’re fit and active, and want to go to Brazil

If you like drinking on a patio, I’m your hookup for the night

I won’t text you tomorrow, but take a chance and swipe right

I hope you have a great Friday and don’t forget, stalk that motherfucker before meeting him, and for God’s sake make him at least buy you a drink first.

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

“One way, or another, I’m gonna find ya.. I’m gonna get ya, get ya, get ya.”

When Blondie sang this in 1979, there was no such thing as googling someone. To find her love,  Debbie Harry had to “drive by her lover’s house”, “Follow your bus downtown”,  and “walk down to the mall and hangout by the wall.”  Now it’s as simple as a click of a button if you have enough information, such as the phone number they’ve used to connect with their Facebook account. You can even find them with minimal information such as googling their profession and first name in the hopes of a Linkedin profile.   My point is, gone are the days when you’d need to sneak a peek at their wallet or their phone when they are in the bathroom to gain info.

Stalking can be either good or bad. In today’s age of meeting up with  virtual strangers, it can be the safe thing to do.  I’m a life lesson in this.  I chatted online with a guy I thought would be hot to meet for a morning quickie. And he was hot.  He had the nicest 9 inch cock I’d ever seen by pic.  The morning I paid him a visit, physically he did not disappoint.  The more we kissed, the rougher he became. I learned the term “skull fucking” that morning and through my mind ran the thought that this was the first dick I was going to have to bite. I could not breathe.  He then turned me around and pounded me so hard I bled like a virgin. This was my online hook up turning point. I swore I would never pay anyone a visit again without extensive online research or meeting them first. I googled this guy a little too late. He’d recently been released from prison in another state for assault charges.  Something that definitely I would have and should have known going in.

You always have to be prepared for what you find in your stalking.  RG asked me to come over tonight. I checked his Facebook page out of curiosity. (We are not friends and weirdly his cover photo is a pic of his celebrity twin.)  He posted the other night about feeling incomplete. He posted today that last night he had a date with the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.  Yes, I am well aware we are just having fun.  But there was an itty bitty part of me that was pissed he had a date last night and wanted to fuck me today.  By the way, I did not go.

In today’s digital age I guess you have to take the good with the bad. It protects us from criminals but we might prejudge someone based on how many cat pics they post on their Snapchat.

Always-Ellie

UPDATE: RG took the post about his beautiful woman down and KG Ultra is still hot on me.

“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.

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

“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?

Always–Ellie