Sunday, August 26, 2012
Man, I've been on the road so much this summer, that I've been remiss to my readers. I've got Camp Tales coming, children. Buckle in and hold tight.
So this year, Doooder and I did Montana up right, hanging in the Gallitan Mountains and the Crazies. BUT, before that, we thought we'd hang in Bozeman for a bit. Check out the cool stuff. I spotted a '36 Knuckle outside of a joint called The Crystal Saloon with some seriously cool old neon outside, so in we went for our "Celebratory Centennial Trip Sip" as we called this in memory of our birthdays.
Three beers later, we walk back to our dumpy motel that makes last year's Bates Motel look rather charming.
Three Red Flags:
1. don't ever stay at a motel that rents rooms by the month. It's a free ticket for pedaphiles, alcoholics and drug dealers. We saw all three.
2. Copious amounts of duct tape to fix things all over the room, including the floor of the shower.
3. Unidentifable insects in bathroom.
"Dang, Dude, the bathroom lights don't work," Dooooder notes.
"The lamp above my bed doesn't work either," I add. Suddenly, I notice an arresting stain the shape of Texas on the carpeting near my bed. "I'm leaving my 'socks on, precautionary measure, Doooder,'" I say envisioning scabies, ringworm.
I pull off the covers to do a bed-bug check. No plastic covers, I think, "Well, maybe it'll be OK."
"Well, I don't see anything," I say hopefully. Dooooder pulls back hers and the sheets are dirty from the last visitor. Moreover there's frightning amounts of pubic hairs all over.
"I'm throwing up in my mouth right now," Doooder says, "And going to get new sheets. Stay right here." She told me stay right there because management didn't have a key for our room, so we would have to call the manager everytime we needed back in. Five minutes later Doooder comes back with new sheets. She unfolds them, but they're so badly stained, she throws them on the floor. "I think we should go out and get our sleeping bags and each sleep on top of the bed in the sleeping bags."
"Dooooder, you're being paranoid," I object. So I wash up and crawl into bed. No biggie, right?
The next day.
"Dude, what got at you? You have a million bites all over your arms," Doooder says in a alarmed voice. I look down and count. I have 27 bites on my arm and side. What's worse is that they were swelling up.
Up we jumped and ran to her car, headed for the Bozeman Public Library to look up bed bug bites which look rather identical to flea bites.
"Let's get the hell out of here," we both say in unison, grabbing our toiletries out of Motel Shithole, and headed for the mountains where we camped the next two nights.
Four days later, we went to the laundrymat where, just to be safe, we nuked our clothes on high, effectively shrinking all my favorite saloon t-shirts to sizes that would fit a sixth grader.
What have I learned? You're better off camping in the forest, or short of that, a dumpster.
Monday, August 20, 2012
This was sent to me by a new internet dude from the web who's been writing and texting me. Is he a potential D-bag like Hole and Cactus?
What's up with men when they do this? Why do they think I want to see their chest? To show me that they have one? Well, thanks, dude. I was wondering if your moobs might be a deal-breaker.
Perhaps they think it's hot?
"She's gonna pass out when she sees dis." (knuckles dragging as they lurch over to download their picture)
New rule: I am now offically going back to blogging about guys on here WHILE I am dating them. Forget this being nice and waiting til they're officially a shithead. I'm going to nickname this one, Ego.
I wrote back, "Uh. Nice, Ego. You're in shape, apparently." WTF did he expect me to say, "Hi, let's bang!"
I've decided they get ONE "get outta jail card" and after that, out they go; he almost used that card on this one. But last night, he sent me a picture of a view outside a condo window from some foreign place and wrote, "Coming soon." Coming soon? Is that like, "Coming soon to a theatre near you" ? I thought for sure it was intended for someone else, so I wrote back, "What was that? Is this text intended for someone else?"
Turns out it was for just lucky me, and it's a time share he has in Cabos (he has many time shares as he's wealthy) and wanted to know if I'd be interested in going this winter. Oh, OK. But still!
"NO!," I wrote. "I hardly know you yet." He wrote, "Never mind."
What's with these men. I mean, the next one, is getting a fucking frying pan over the head, or maybe even worse. Gawd, for all of Crackie and Hole's faults, they never pulled this shit.
ONE more chance, then out comes the frying pan.
Fed up in South Dakota.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
That's me and the big "B," on a road trip! With my ex, who is seemingly the only man I can trust these days, sorta. I mean he's sorta trustworthy, way better than most D-bags. He doesn't throw a bag over my head and push me down the stairs like Hole did.
Man, I've been having some weird dreams lately, no doubt brought on by my shocking experience and the fast "bait and switch" Hole threw at me. I dreamed I was in jail two nights ago. Then last night, I dreamed my ex's, ex, had a baby and it came out alien, speaking a language no one understood and shaking all over. Scary.
Whaz up, Universe?
So I'm meeting some new dudes on a different "paying site," and the universe is spinning fairly intelligent ones my way. But I'm just about the taking it slow as friends gigs these days.
So far, there's nothing to make fun of in two of the ones writing me, other than the geographical distance separating us.
Which brings up two questions:
What is wrong with Rapid City that there are no decent available men here to date?
What's up with all the men who get on dating sites but never want to actually meet or date? It's a little better on the paying site, since they gotta fork over some cash, but not as good as you'd think.
What the hell?
Thursday, August 9, 2012
I had a horrible time sleeping last night when I got home from rally. Get this, I ran into Gary/The Hole after I left the San Diego crowd and was going home.
There's over 30,000 people on Main St. during the Sturgis Rally, and he had to be standing right in front of me like a scene outta Casablanca.
It's Thursday, and I've talked to Crackie, Bassy, Dooder, Nicky, Jen and Katie. We even quizzed J.R.C. Three dudes and four chicks, to try and figure out why Hole did what he did. I even sent him an email to try to really wrap my head around it. No reply of course, because The Hole doesn't take responsibility for his actions. Why should he?
So that begs the question, what the hell happened?
I think I listed all his good wonderful traits in another blog. So here goes.
THE OTHER RED FLAGS POPPING UP THAT I IGNORED:
ME: Well, there was one thing that was weird, I saw a bullet hole in his bed.
NICKY/JJ: First of all, he promised you a bed downstairs SO WHY were you staring at his bed. Are you FUCKING kidding me? Why was there a bullet hole in his bed?
ME: I don't know. He wouldn't tell me. He said he'd tell me later.
Flag Two. Which is worse, that he has a bullet hole through his bed that he admitted to or telling me, "I'll tell you later." "Later" is to buy time.
Always a bad flag.
Hole: I have an obsession with the Hells Angels. (An obsesion with TV shows, books, working out, history=healthy. An obsession with the mafia or organized crime=sick)
Me: (WTF?) Uh, OK.
This is the part where experience will piss you off. I know all about the FOUR outlaw gangs. Oh, wait, "MC's." I dated a top 13'er in the "Infamous Four." And that is all I'm going to say.
TONS OF UNANSWERED QUESTIONS ABOUT THIS. For my own safety, I played stupid.
Me: So whatever happened to your wife and you?
Hole: I will tell you about that later.
Only "later" turned into a hellhole tirade the day he dumped me where NOTHING was his fault and she was a **%& bitch. Everything was "her fault." I think as long as he lives he WILL NEVER be over her. Thanks, Hole, for trying to date me when you will never be emotionally available.
Crackie: So does he drink?
Me: No. He said he quit many years ago, had to.
Crackie: Does he still follow the 12 step program and meet with his sponsor and pay it forward and help others?
Crackie: He's a fucking "dry drunk," D-bag. Be glad he's gone.
At this point, I am glad I saw the red flags, but I wish I would have ran faster. Either way, seeing them, and noting them, made the hurt a little less.
He's got access to this page, but like Crackie and Bass said, two males I might add. "He'll NEVER WORK ON HIS ISSUES." He'll just keep looking for Miss Right and never look deeper at himself. I thought that really insightful coming from two manly dudes.
Time to move on. Sorry this blog wasn't funny like I promised, but I had started to fall for him, and life is full of grey issues. I don't hate him. He wasn't like the others. However, the Universe wanted me to learn some lessons.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
I woke up today reminding myself my audience deserved some good laughs today about getting dumped last weekend.
Instead, I found myself missing things about him, despite his anger mismanagement issues and being a reprehensible douche and dumping me.
I miss his sweet texts. He had a way of saying something kind to me every day, a kind of sweetness I've not seen in a man since college. Imagine how good that feels. . .
I miss his generousity. He made you feel special by getting up and getting you things, whether it'd be a pop or whatnot. He wasn't a typical cheapskate. He was gainfully employed and not milking the system on a fake "Oh, my back!" disability or unemployment like so many do.
I miss our muses together. He liked to ask big philosophical questions and mull over them for a long time. If I felt like it, he'd let me ramble on about something without interrupting and would listen with interest.
A man who listens, yes I actually said that!
Sigh. But he threw that all away because I wouldn't sleep with him after a tiny handful of dates. Like it was high school or something. I thought we were on the same page. I THOUGHT we were taking it slow.
Wouldn't you think that at 53, a guy would have things figured out a little bit better than that?
Wouldn't you think that at 53, it would be OK to have an adult talk about sex, or about the big "M" without acting like a baby?
Having sex too soon is not a mature way to start a relationship. Don't we usually learn that before we're even out of our 20's? How can a man who's so deep that he asks the million dollar questions about our mudane existence on the planet turn around and be such a goddamned emotional-midget moron? Maybe his nickname shall be "Hole." As in, there's a hole inside of him nothing can fill.
Bette Davis once said, "Sex is God's joke." She was asked by Dick Cavett on his show what she meant by that. Her reply was that it clouds a person's judgement, and once that glory of sex is over and you see the person for the HUGE DOUCHE that they are, then you are embarrassed and amazed and overwhelmed that you slept with them and thought they were cool. Hence, God is upstairs laughing, because the universe doesn't want you to "hook up" with someone who's so hot you can't stand it. When I asked Gary if his ex (who he is so clearly NOT OVER, hello anger-management issues) was "hot" hence a retarded reason to marry someone, he just glared at me, which means "Yes. I am an idiot, stop rubbing it in."
The universe wants you to dig deeper than that, and put sex on the back burner and try to act a little more intelligent than an knuckle-dragging ape, which I guess that is what he really was.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
After last summer, I decided to not blog about the guys I date, WHILE I am dating them. Instead, I've decided to blog about them AFTER they've alarmingly misbehaved and disappeared.
I just got shitcanned by a "Catholic" who because I wouldn't sleep with him after a small handful of dates, dumped me after several weeks of exlusive phone and cyber dating.
Might I add he dumped me, AFTER, I met his children and family at his family picnic while he laid down to take a two hour nap, leaving me to entertain his family whom I didn't even know then threw me in his car, drove me over two hours home and dumped me.
Ain't that great? More later. I am too upset about this to make fun of it, but you guys know me, and as soon as I can, I will.
In fact, I've made a new rule. Since I've met so many douchbags, from now on, when a new douchebag has cut out on me, I will send them the link to this site. Why not? Besides, a true douche doesn't really care much anyway, right?
What a douchebag.