Who knew I had such sweet dance moves???

Sorry for the delay in a dating update, y’all, I was busy because sister got married!!! While we can all agree that she was the most flawless bride, and had a perfect weekend, married an awesome family (“you two go in the corner to cry!”) that the highlight of the night, that clearly everyone is still talking about, was my sick dance moves.  Obvi.  Anyway, back to me.

Spending so much time with family, I got asked a question many, many, fucking so many times this weekend.  How in the world are you still single? And imma like “I dunno, maybe because I don’t use that one filter with fox ears and whiskers as my profile picture? I use one of a lasagna.

fox face
I just have to do this and I won’t be single anymore???

So, I did what any mature, well educated, total hot catch would do…. I passed my phone around so that people could view some of the people I am stalking and they find that creepy my potential suitors on their own.

Gentleman #1.  This guy is in court? I’m not kidding, zoom in, THERE IS SOMEONE IN A PRISON UNI!!!!!!!  Like, as in “Please take the stand you criminal?” court????  Also, I love the warm and fuzzies I get from him… You know, he works at “None of your fucking business.” Immma like, “P.T. let me take you home and introduce you to my family!”

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He has zero interest in me.

Can you even imagine me with Gentleman #2? He wants to live in a forest and make fires with sticks and shoelaces? Then he wants to do the splits? And eat pie? Oh, shit.  I do love pie.

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I dunno, I mean, I do like pie. 

There was this guy, but I told him my mom said no.

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Thanks for taking a bullet for me momma.

Here is the thing, I would love to say that these are anomalies (is that the right word? Or are those a sea creature?), but this is LEGIT what is out there.  And believe me, I am not saying I am a catch, and I have super low fucking standards, but I do sort of draw the line at prison eh, maybe I shouldn’t commit to “no prison” . And I TOTALLY draw the line at Teva’s.

Robert wears Teva’s.  The end.

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Ahh, Bob-o…. Tevas and “attractive” don’t EVER go together. That isn’t even my personal opinion, it is science.

So anyway, I am kind of an asshole….

Here’s the thing about me.  I am kind of a dick. Wait, I don’t mean it that way.  Actually, yea I do.  Maybe I mean skeptical? Is that being a dick? Idunno.  At any rate. I figured that after posting about some of my potential suitors, it only made sense to follow up with some of the completely fucked up conversations that happen, so that you can really understand how why I am dedicating myself to the betterment of cats and therefore will be adopting 12 online dating works.

Now, I should preface this by saying, I just swipe right.  I am not going to read profiles ahead of time, I just swipe until I can’t swipe anymore.  And then I “match” with people like this:

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Look, in real life, if I was actually paying attention and not sedated blindly swiping, I would NEVER EVER swipe on a guy who has better boobs than me in four out of five of his pictures,  forgot to put a shirt on.  Because honestly, that is really fucking forgetful! But, alas, I do, and I end up with Jeff, the karate kid. Guarantee we have zero in common.  Including I don’t forget to wear shirts nearly as often as he does.

So anyway, the point being, now you know, I have no method in my “swipe” other than “Meh, go for it until you have carpel tunnel or run out of candidates.”

Which leads me to the messages I get.  Honest to fucking god, I do this to myself, because, (above) I am an asshole.

There was Andy.  The guy who totally didn’t use stock photos for his profile pictures, except, yes, yes he did.  He also said he went to Stanford,  (Man, I am so dumb sometimes, I should have asked him “Real quick, Andy, tell me! What is the Mascot?” because no one would guess it is the flying rabid pine trees.) but his grammar says otherwise.  Then, he wrote me a small biography on what he is doing now, INCLUDING, living in Africa, but not to worry, he has figured out the distance.  Only thing he needs is my SS#, DOB and bank routing # and we will be ret.to.go.

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So, as you can imagine, based off of shirtless Jeff and Africa Andy, I am feeling pretty fucking confident about my candidates! And letmetellyou, my ego was a boosted by this guy.  Who in ONE HOUR messaged me FOUR times AND told me I have a nice chin.

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lemmetellyou, nothing boosts the confidence the way that “Great chin btw” does.  Nothing.

But here is an example of one of the messages I had, that makes  me think to myself “Yolanda Squatpump (you don’t think I really refer to myself as “Nara” when I am talking to myself, how fucking lame would that be? I can be any name in the world when I am talking to myself, today I pick Yolanda Squatpump) you can’t rip on online dating and then do the below. It is not indicative of a princess, which you clearly are not are.

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So, there you have it. 24 hours in, and I am feeling pretty confident that Mr. Nara 2.0 is not anywhere close to the fucking interwebs and likely doesn’t have a computer in his prison cell due to spring up any time!

 

 

 

And on this day, cupid moved the rock and rose from the dead. Wait, no?

mature-cupid-fat-bearded-hairy-bow-heart-arrow-peace-sign-victory-his-hand-48936734I have been reminded quite a bit lately that I have not been blogging. And, ja know, it is true. It’s because I have mostly been snacking, drinking wine and shoveling. And petting my dog. Dear fuck I am a loser. So really, what better day to blog about my love life, than the day Cupid moved the rock and rose from the dead. Wait? Was that this holiday? What the actual fuck did cupid do?

Anyholla. I decided I wanted this blog to be two part (now, let’s see if my ADD allows for that). Part 1. How my incredibly busy dating life has been, and Part 2. My perfect online dating profile.

So, Part 1. The end. No, really. NOTHING HAS FUCKING CHANGED.

Part 2. Lemme tell you married people something. It is REALLY HARD writing an online profile of yourself. You have to “sell” yourself. But thing is, when you are out of a marriage, you don’t always feel super fucking awesome about yourself. Especially when you have been dealt some of the blows I have. Actually even just one. Just get dealt one of mine. Not a gigantic confidence boost. (except the formers new lady, according to sources, looks just like me AND has the same last name. Creepy, or stalky?)

This is what my actual profile says (can’t make this up, but it’s not online now, because I am burnt out from fielding marriage requests from men 15 years younger than me and am just going to work on stalking yoga or something).

Me. Was married for 10 years, but decided online dating seemed more fun. Have a great job, beautiful home and 2 mini-me’s. I’m skeptical of online dating, but having trouble meeting “the one” when sitting at home watching Bravo TV.

You. Must love cheese, bacon, dogs and wine. Be gainfully employed and not live with mom. Be active but not a Spartan. If your profile says things like “Hit me up” or “LOL” I am already annoyed. Gentlemen who have already claimed to be “the one” for me, so you need not apply: someone who asked if I like being slapped with bacon (no), a stripper (like, current, CURRENT stripper), someone who faked a dead wife, someone who sat down upon first meeting and said “My wife went butch, you gunna too?” And many men who are not “technically” single. If you support Trump, I assure you, we are not going to get along.

I mean, that’s funny, right???? Well, seems as though “funny” is not a quality people look for anymore. It also seems as though people don’t like women who own a home and are employed. And eat bacon. And drink wine. Otherwise EVERYONE says “hit me up.” (oh shit, maybe that is why I am always annoyed).

Anyjolla, I decided that I would write what I think my perfect online dating profile would be. Ya know, like the shit you want to say, but don’t.

Me: I dunno, I’ll prolly put some of the stuff from above in, however, here is the real me, lets give it a go.

Was married for 10 years, but decided online dating seemed more fun. Have a great job, beautiful home and 2 mini-me’s. Had my heart aggressively trampled on, but still believe (ish) in happy endings. Want an equal in life. You work, I work, I cook, you do dishes. Want someone to share the great (sunny days at the beach) and not as great (3rd grade recorder concert) with. Want someone who checks their phone in the middle of the night to see if I said “hi” and if I didn’t, you say it, because ya know, you are thinking of me. Want “easy” in a hard world. What does that mean? You understand that my life is chaotic, and even if I am not the fastest to respond to texts, it doesn’t mean I am not thinking of you…. It means, life. You don’t ever ask for racy photos…. Why, because you respect me… And really, who the fuck does that?

You: Understand that I had a life before you, but still want a life with you. What does that mean? I have two people who rule my every being. I never would have guessed I could love going to third grade basketball games, and doing science projects, and reading Octonauts every.single.night. They are actual parts of me (not like my old art teacher who had a sixth finger on both hands, but you know what I mean). You understand that I am a work in progress. Sure, I want to go to the gym more, and be the prettiest, smartest, fastest, but I’m not. And I don’t. And I won’t. Because life. I don’t really watch TV, but always have music on. You should be overly comfortable with a nightly dance party. I don’t believe in electronics at the dinner table. Or lunch table. Or breakfast table. I am right here. But the phone down, I assure you, nothing happened on FaceBook.

So, there you have it, the profile I would like to post, but won’t, because, eh, imma hold out and hope I meet someone in the produce potato chip aisle.

 

 

 

This thing still on?

So any yolla, I had to take a break from the old book of face…. Why, you ask?  Well, because when that gorilla, Harambe, got shot, I had NO idea that I had so many friends on book of face that were gorilla experts….. It actually made me feel like a total idiot that I, for one, didn’t know as much about gorillas as all of my friends (some would say, that I know what I am an expert in and that “gorillas” are not one of those things, but ya know, that’s cool)……  Ironically enough, I also had quite a few friends who I didn’t realize were doctors of fucking perfect parenting, and they had quite a bit to say too…. If you can believe this shit, I am ALSO not a perfect parent.  Not a gorilla expert, not a perfect parent.  #lifefail

The timing was somewhat ironic, because I had also been debating taking a blog break….. It’s odd, when you blog, often times, people think they “know” you… But the thing is, you are really just writing a story…. YES – all of this shit happens to me, it literally ALL does, but, that doesn’t make us BFF (so if that one creepster could stop emailing me, that would be roarsome, or at least be a “good” stalker and bring wine)…. I had been contacted by a small online company that may have been porn based publishing company to write a series of blogs, and while at first I loved the idea, then it felt forced….. listen, if it were up to me, and I could do it all over, and I wouldn’t fail, I would either be a writer, or a professional eater.  It is a total toss up.  But imma do it on my own time.

It also seems as though my life has been SUPER laid back as of late…. But then I realized, “Nope, you are just sedated enough that this shit just roooollllsss off.”  So, I did what I do because I am almost always blacked out and I went back through my photos to try and remember things that had happened.

I suppose I will just work backwards (forward? Backwards? Like if I start from now and go in the other direction?)……  So Sunday was Father’s day, the mini’s and I decided to pack up the ole family wagon and head to papa and yaya’s, it’s sort of our lil bliss place.

You need to understand, it is a 3 minute drive.  THREE FUCKING MINUTES……  It was so strange though, because we are driving along West Shore Drive (AKA, “main drag #2 of 01945”) and there were the LOUDEST gunshots….. So in my perfect state of sedation, I was like “Bigs, dude, you hear all those gunshots.” And he was like “I do.”  And we kept driving.  And the gunshots kept following us.  And then I was like “Wait, maybe they WEREN’T gun shots?” (I mean, it would be weird if they weren’t, because that is so fucking common in 01945, but go with me)…. I all of the sudden realize, that the gunshots are coming from my car……  So rather than freak out when I SHOULD have, I now freak out about something I can ACTUALLY deal with…… Imma like “Bigs, the gunshots are coming from my car! Something is wrong with it, you’re 8, fix it!”  However, because I am a totally rational pretty princess, I am clearly not stopping to identify the noise, I actually just drive faster.  At this point, Bigs is like “Mom, I will pray for our safety.” And imma like “Fuck yea god.” We make it to papa and yayas house, and obvi I celebrate my three mile drive with wine.  Then today, this falls off of my car.   I sort of flash back to the gunshots, and all of that shit, and then am like “Well, I mean, it doesn’t seem like it is a super important car piece?”

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Do you love that I saved it? Like what the actual fuck do I think imma do with THIS? 

So then, I go backwards another day, to what we will refer to as “boat day.”  You need to understand that even though I grew up on the water, I get fucking boat sick like a mother fucker.  I am talking green just looking at a dock…. I didn’t even watch pee wee get swamped last summer because I knew I would puke. But, it was my birthday, and gosh darn it, when you turn 27 for the 12th time, you throw on a bikini and pee over the side of a boat I AM SORRY WHAT??? YOU WHAT??????  For those of you who didn’t know, there are two choices, this

Pee
I am like more than 12% certain no one knew what I was doing.

or this

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No one should think I wouldn’t spill pee everywhere.

Pick your poison.

 

Reverse some more (not like drive in reverse,  because I am NOT a good backwards driver, like reverse in time a wee bit more)……. To this….  Biggie’s “Author’s Breakfast”  So cute, right, so fucking cute.  Here’s the thing… .When these guys (well, at least Bigs) started the old second grade (right, second? They are in second?) they were not WRITING novels, and now, well, now they aren’t either…. But we are going to celebrate all 22 of them writing about how a squirrel got his bushy tail (sidebar, they are so fucking cute).  Listen, I am a BIG believer that you celebrate successes big and small.  Our mini trio has had more than our fair share of heart break, so together, we celebrate the wins….. I honest to god need a lobotomy sometimes.  Because I ACTUALLY thought it would be a good idea to take brother to the Author’s Breakfast.  That he would be REALLY good.  Nope.  By like kid #1 he was ready to go…. Don’t panic brother, because Quinn is DEAD LAST. He legit read about his squirrel and I was pitting so much from trying to tame brother that I was like “Nice job learning how to write a book, peace.”

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“And then the squirrel got a bushy tail.” x 22

So, last but not least, everyone always wants an update on my very lame dating life…. Well friends, I will have you know, that a friend of mine talked me into trying online dating…… And this happened.

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Imma just date cats.

Because.  Right.

The hot mess nest gets hotter. It actually catches on fire.

I think sometimes, people don’t really believe me about what a horror shit show my life can be…. Like, as if I make it up for humor.  Listen people (listen, read? Idunno) you don’t make shit like this up unless you are craaayyyyy I mean like octomom, astronut, cray.

So I have been tied up this week (whoa, not literally, but you know, like busy, I’m not into that shit) in 2 huge projects.  One personal, one professional (wait, is it a project if it is personal? Or just like a thing? Idunno).  Both draining. Normally, I can take this shit and run with it.  The ex-husband formally known as Mr. Nara (Mr.Nara 1.0?) use to say I was the least emotional / sentimental person in the world.  Partially true (it is hard to be like “Yep, that’s me” because there has GOT to be someone who is less sentimental than I am).  Anyholla.

The combination of early mornings, late nights and not having a clear direction on where I am going in either of these “projects” may have totally fucking gotten to me just a teenie bit. Wednesday, I am driving peewee into school, and remember that I forgot something. Shit, what did I forget? Oh! His backpack…..  So, we turn around and head back to the ole homestead.  I leave the car running while I run inside and actually think to myself “Wow, self, that is LOUD.”  Then drive off into the sunset. There is no sunset in the morning, FYI, I made that up.

Then, well, then there was yesterday.  Again, dat bitch (my car) was totally fucking PMS’ing…. But, hello, I had places to go. I got through my normal daily routine, ja know, napping at work and surfing the interwebs until it is time to go home…… I can’t type express enough, HOW long of a week I have had at this point (Thursday).  I am just looking forward to going home and eating. And by “eating” I mean drinking.

So, I am jamming out, when all of the sudden, I realize something smells.  But imma like “Weird, smells like someone’s car is on fire.” BECAUSE CLEARLY IT ISN’T MINE. It actually was mine. So there I am in the middle of the road (road? Highway? What do we call it when there are four lanes, separated by those dividers? Rural Route?) when I realize it actually is, in fact, my car.

In my typical fashion of being JUST sedated enough, I freak the fuck out. I am in the middle of the Rural Route and don’t know what to do…. I am not a lot of things…. For example, I am not tall.  Likewise, I am NOT a fucking gearhead.  When I turned 16, my dad said “Pretty princess Nara do you know how to change a tire?” And Imma like “Fuck no”  “Nope” and he handed me a AAA card and said “That is how you change a tire.” And really, that is me…. I am not afraid to get dirty, to hammer shit out (omg, that actually sounds dirty, but I don’t mean it to be, I mean like, I am good with a hammer) but I just DON’T do cars.

So, I somehow get my smoking car (that has every light I knew about and a few bonus lights on at this point) into a parking lot.  Meanwhile, some dick gave me the finger as I almost hit him and I was ready to get out of my busted up SUV and be like “FUCK YOU SPARKLE TITS” but I didn’t.  I call AAA, it goes like this.

Me: Imma need someone to come get this car

AAA: What’s wrong?

Me: Yea, I have no fucking clue

AAA: Ok honey (legit) can you tell me what happened

Me: It made some really loud noises this week, I have been so busy, I just turned up Pitbull’s new song because that’s mah jam, then it smoked, not like smoked a cig, but had smoke coming out of it and then it died.  Bitch died.

AAA:  Ok, we will send a tow truck

So at that point, I couldn’t even help it, I started to cry.  Listen, I am NOT a crier.  I have been through things and seen things that have made me who I am and part of “me” is that I don’t do that shit.  Welp, there I was, at the corner of Highland and Swampscott Rural Route, sitting on the dirty sidewalk in all white, crying. I should mention, I am a fucking ugly crier.  I am not like a movie star crier, I am legit ugs. But this was the car that we throw little people through the sunroof when I lock myself out, and that we karaoke in while driving on the wrong side of the road, and sometimes the minis drive (only when I have had too much to drink, safety first).

Well, the tow truck guy showed up and offered me his sleeve to wipe my tears and started telling me how he would make $6.00 commission on my misfortune, and Imma like Sleeve, one more time “Six dollars? You should have left me on the side of the road.” And he was like “Wanna ride in my cab?” No dude. Just leave. Honestly. Go. Leave your sleeve though.

 

 

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Move bitch, get out the way…. 

 

10 minutes, Oh, excuse me, 100. NBD.

peep.pngThis April, I was blessed enough (I had to put that in there, because I can’t stand when people #blessed) took the minis to sunny FLA.  More on all of the deets of the trip, our doings, getting yelled at, the one time bigs almost drown (well, one time I saw), flooding the kitchen, etc etc, but first, lemme tell you about a trip we took to the ole Animal Kingdom.

It was day 2 of what shall be known as our “Disney Excursion.”  Listen, I am NOT a Disney person (not saying they are weird, but they are, I have never seen so many adults dressed up in fucking costumes when it is 98 degrees, except for that one time I went to a drag show and that actually seemed more approp than these people just walking around with ears on their heads and matching “family vacation” T shirts  it is just not my gig). Again, more on all of that later, but, let’s just start with a lil safari we took.

Apparently there are “do’s” and “don’ts” to the Disney parks. I have no idea what any of them are, because I am a pretty bad parent and didn’t read about any of this stuff, but seems like this “Safari” is on the solid “Yep” list.

My general “order” to these parks (and, my life in general TBH) is “Ohhh, let’s just go in, and we will see what we find, I bet we will like something, and if we see a monkey, roarsome.”  Ok, ok, I suppose when you are dropping some serious Disney dollahas on this, you may want to, oh, idunno, see if there is an app for that or something, but again, I didn’t.  (Sidebar, it is more like I can’t, I can’t plan every second of my life, and to plan even a single second of vacation, is just everything I am not, interesting fact, Disney parks average 52,000+ people a day.  Ever stood in line with that many people? Right.).

So, as we are wondering around aimlessly, trying to find a tiger to pet (did you know that is frowned upon? What the fuck are they there for then? To “look” at? Lame.). I stumble on this safari (literally, one too many AM sangria).   Oh! I totally have a déjà vu moment and am like “I think this is on the heeellllyep list.”

Now, you need to understand, that the parks put up these signs (for us assholes who don’t fastpass because they just can’t deal) and it tells you your wait time.  I would say they are pretty accurate….. I see a sign that looks EXACTLY like this for the Safari.1

There is only a 10 minute wait for someone to take me on a Safari and drive me around Africa for 22 minutes.  Done. Sign me up.

OK, I am not very smart, totally on board with that, but when 41,000 of the 52,000 people at the park are in the same fucking line, it is not a 10 minute wait.  I literally see people coming in with coolers and imma like “huh? 10 minutes you say?”  But the thing is, once you are in these lines, you are kind of locked in. And by “kind of” I mean “totally fucking”  And I am still thinking 10 minutes…  Dudes, I have no fucking clue. Disney V card right here.  So we are in line for about 20 minutes (which I feel like is longer than 10, but again, I am not very smart) when I send Pie this text.

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THEY RAN OUT OF FUCKING ZEROS??????  How for fucks sake does that actually happen????? Can we sidebar how patient Pie is that I send him like 86 of these a day, AS IF HE CAN FIX IT?!?!?!?  I hate myself.

Fast forward, fast forward, we get on what seems like a standard safari vehicle (because obvi I know). And I’m all like “Can we get a bartender here? I just waited for ten minutes one hundred minutes.”

OK, so imma tell you a lil Disney secret.  When you finally make it on the truck, you know, for the Safari, there is a “good” side and a “bad” side.  Guess which one I picked.

So the mini one and I saw a ton of awesome stuff.  Like this:

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Giant piles of shit. Lots of them.

 

This was pretty fantastic too.  A giant pile of heeeeyyyyyyyyyy……

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There may have been some animals on the left side, but I could not see past this guys hat, which was fine, because,  I only waited 100 minutes.  I should note too, that at this point, every “animal” that the driver “points out” MJ yells (and I mean YELLS)  “DOGGIE, WOOF” or “IS DAT A REINDEER? WHERE IS SANTAS FAT BELLY?” So people were less than impressed with us. Shocking.

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Good news is, they got this sign correct. Which is awesome. And I had a bangin view of it.

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So, as you can imagine, I was already pretty fucking jazzed with this hot spots we had seen on safari, when the driver was like “PEOPLE ON THE RIGHT, THIS IS THE BEST THING YOU ARE GOING TO SEE!!!!!”

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A fucking termite hill.  You can’t make this shit up.  At this point I jumped up and was like “WOOOOFUCKINGHOO, I LOVE TERMITES.” Because, ya know.

As we rounded the corner to end our 22 minute drive that we did not wait in line 10 minutes for, the driver is like “People on the right, people on the right, there is an animal on your side!”

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You can’t even make this stuff up people.  You really can’t.

 

 

Why I will never online date, part 2. Right?2? No?

Here’s the gig.  I legit 100% slammed the brakes on online dating. Why? I already have enough fucking crazy in my life, I don’t need to be swiping to find the next Mr. Nara, when I could be at the shelter looking for cats. I dunno.  It just isn’t me…. I don’t want to go to a random bar, and meet some random guy, and assume shit is just going to work out.  Do you know who I am? I still can’t figure out how to make the lights on my car go back to “auto” you HONESTLY think a Tinder date is going to work out for me? Solid nope.   I am holding out for meeting in the produce aisle and someone being all like “Wow, you ALSO like cucumber, we are a 10 match.”  Oh shit. I grocery shop online.  Ha.  So much for a produce match. Anyhoo.

However, the hilarity of online dating lives through some of my BFF’s.  For example, can we talk about one of my GF’s who was “talking” to this guy, and all of the sudden, there is a question of height.  AND HE IS FIVE FOOT FUCKING 2 INCHES.  Listen people, that is how tall I am, and I am a very short person.  I was all like “Oh, so he wears those shoes that make you look taller, no, those are super cool. I mean, looka how well they work for Tom Cruise.

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Seems like a match. Go for it, if, ya know, you are into little people

I am sorry, what the actual fuck.  There is a reason he is online dating. BECAUSE HE IS HOPING HE DOESN”T GET ASKED HOW SHORT TALL HE IS.  I bet he does get asked “So, how short are you?” like, slip of the tongue.  Womp.

Moving on to online date #2. GF shows me pictures of this guy, and it went something like a so…..

Me:  Yea, I don’t like him at all.  (I at the very least admit that I am judgy).

Friend: Why?

Me (judger): He is super fucking boring.

Friend: But that is just his picture, and he is nice.

Me (bitch): No, no he isn’t, he is boring. He makes me want to take a nap right now (ok, to be fair, I was so gassed after having a crayyy week, that anything made me want to nap, but this guys profile picture was like a “Contacts out, NAP.”)

Well, dontcha know, they go on a date…. So, the next morning, we are all laying making sure we do nothing productive….  chatting… When immma like “OMG, how was your date with the most boring person in the entire universe?” And then we went like a so:

Friend:  Um, it was good. He’s nice.

Me:  Uh-huh, did he look like his pictures (listen, “nice” means the same thing for men or women… Like, yea, he’s “nice” so boring I stabbed myself and jumped into the pizza wood burning fire for fun.”)

Friend:  He, um. No. No, he didn’t. He was…

Me: Oh, like the old “The pictures are from 5 years ago.”

Friend: Yep.

Apparently the worlds most boring person forgot to mention this.

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See, see people, there are just TWO reasons that I want a million cats won’t online it.

Now, I did have a few superhot dates this weekend……. Areyouret?

One was for family taco night. Here’s how that date went.  Within 8 seconds I had locked my keys in my car (Legit, I should never be unsupervised).  Good news, I left the sunroof open and we tossed a few lil people (not midgets, and not date #1 from above, but I guess that would have worked too, actual young people) through the sunroof.  Yup. All class, all the time.

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Next date, was with one of my BFF.  I took her to the dump……  Yup.  She is running Boston (right now, holla #30581) and such as it is, she had a bit of pre-run nerves (like how I say that as if I know?….. Clearly I don’t.  We were all actually discussing today how I would not run the .2 miles for anything less than genuine street tacos. And even then, .2 seems far).  Anyhoo, I had to hit up the dump, so off we go…. Right, lemme tell you people, this place is a HOT SPOT, because the line was down the street (I’m actually not kidding about that part)…. I’m not sure if it was the shot out, taped up windows (also not kidding) or the clientele of said dump, but the place was popping.  Lots of people from 01945 still had to dump their Christmas trees.  Truth. I was disappointed to only get hit on yelled at once, by the guy I hit with a rather large branch. Apparently you shouldn’t throw those.  I’ve never really been a “rules” person.

The last hot date of the weekend, was one that actually should have been video taped by E for my upcoming reality show  censored. You know, when you have that one friend who when you are together, basically everything is funny and someone pees their pants? Right, well, that is my 1.png

(did I forget that I also identify people with emojis.  Yea, true)…..

So, uni and I decide to go shopping for our kiddos panties.  I mean, why not? First things first, this weekend, likely because I did not have my own cherubs, screaming, crying children followed me.  Those fuckers had my number.  Let’s not act like this was any different.  There were many exchanges of “If that asshole follows me, I am taking out my flask leaving.” Well, dontcha know those dinks follow us to the skivvies.  So, in such, imma like “Unicorn, do you like this thong, or this thong.” CPS frowned upon that one.

So, as you can see, I am really crushing it in the world of dating. Hold on to your seats for more deets about my friends who are ok with super short people where that goes.