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.

2

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.

IMG_5440

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.

3

 

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.

 

 

 

Dating. Exactly as awful as I figured it would be.

I have not blogged in a bit, because I have been busy, well, dating. “Dating” is actually a very loose term.  I went on two dates.  It is a tie on which one was worse. Let us recap, shall we.

I “met” both of these kind gentlemen online (obvi).  On paper, they seemed pretty darn great and I mean, when it was all said and done, they both had photos up that were only like, ehhh, 5-7 years old. Sidebar, do you bet that right now they are bitching to their buddies, like “Yea, on paper she looked fucking normal.  Not. So. Much.”

Date #1 background (on paper): Him.  Doctor.  Lives in Boston.  Likes dogs.  Divorced. No kids.  OK, can I please wake up to the fucking red flags?  I can never, ever go on a date with someone who has not had kids… Why? Because people who have never had kids don’t understand that they LITERALLY suck the life out of you.  Literally.  they are the most important thing in your life. Moving on. We decide to meet for a drink at a local(ish) bar.  Telling you, fucking ish gets me again.   I notice him right away from his gigantic bald shiny head profile picture.   We do the standard “Oh, you find this place ok, yea, parking sure is great, huh?” greetings as I sit down.   The lovely bartender asks me my favorite question in the world “Can I get you a drink?” and says to date #1 “Would you like another Dewar’s on the rocks?”  Oh, ok, so I am on a date with my grandmother.  We chit chat a bit and it is fine, except that it is not, that is a total fucking lie….. I get along with him, well, I guess, I get along with him the same way I get along with my girlfriends, or my best gay friend (who, the clock is fucking ticking on a ridiculous bet we made that if we were both single at 40 we had to get married.  Who’s laughing now. Right, neither of us).  When he all of the sudden yells, (legit, yells):  “Giiiiiirrrrrrlllll, I am ob-sessy with those shoes.  What size?”

Oh my god.  I mean, yes, I am rocking some awesome shoes.  But yes, he is also gay.  Totally gay. I am out, on a date, with a bald gay man who is now THREE Dewar’s on the rocks in. I am trying to hide the shock on my face, but I imagine it looked something like this.  Only less orange and hopefully at least a teenie bit more feminine.

face

Once I get over my initial shock, I decide to just have a nice date, while, he, decides to have two more Dewar’s.  We chat, and by “chat” I mean “he slurs about his dog for three straight hours.” Overall, I think that one went pretty well! And that there could be a real strong future for us!

So, at this point, I pick my sorry ass up, brush it off, and agree to meet date #2.  Because, I am an idiot.

Date #2 background (on paper): Him. Sales. Lives one town over. Likes dogs. Divorced.  Two kids.  OK, ok, this could be good, right???  No. No. At the FIRST second he suggested the date location, I should have been like “Yea, peace out.”  He suggests that we go to this nice bar in Salem, MA.  Ok, before you get all “Jesus Princess Nara, what are you looking for?”  I remind you that Salem is the literal mecca for adults to dress up like whatever the fuck it is they want for an ENTIRE month and roam the streets of said, Salem, Ma.  Oh, AND, take into account, there was a big “food truck” festival too. So, when D#2 makes the suggestion, I text something back like “You don’t think it will be crowded?”  Him “Nahhh.”  Fast forward to a text I sent him on date day:  “I have been driving around looking for a parking spot for 53 minutes.  This was really a bad idea.”  So you can imagine how fucking cheery I am at this stage of the game….. He texts back “Yea, I DIDN’T THINK IT WOULD BE CROWDED AT ALL” and I was like “because you clearly have never left the house before.  Ever. You GD troll.”  “Yea, I did.” He asks if I want to go to the “Tiki bar” in Swampscott.  I am racking my brain trying to figure out what he is talking about, when I drive by this, and realize “this” is “Tiki.” Which, coincidentally enough, is also the place you go to when you are 16 years old and craving a scorpion bowl.

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OK, be positive Nara.  I text him that I will head into the “Tiki bar” and he can meet me there.  I grab a seat at a booth, because the bar was full with 90 year old women drinking Dewar’s and playing Keno, and this one guy who kept telling me he thought I smelled good.  Next up, I need a drink. Clearly, I text him to ask what he wants “Ask if they have Harpoon.”  I ask.  I get this.

bar

I say “Just give me one of those.” Pointing to some bottle of beer.  Then, I ask what they have for white wine.  She doesn’t know, but kindly just hands me this.   Honest to fucking god, worst best date ever so far.

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D#2 shows up, and it is weird. I have no idea why, but it is…. We sit and joke about our drinks for about 11 seconds when he says “Well, want to know why I am here, haha ha?”  Me: “Um, sure.”  Him: “My ex-wife plays for the other team now, I didn’t want a divorce, she is totally butch, but the good news is she gained 50 pounds.”  I raise my hand and give the universal “Imma need  a six pack of those plastic bottles of cheap wine, because, right.”  For the next SEVENTY minutes, he went on to tell me all about how she changed teams, she wears cargo shorts, she emptied out their bank account,  she racked up over $100,000 in debt.  He asked me if I had “Cash for the drinks.” (it was $12 for those of you wondering). This, this isn’t on the first date, IT IS IN THE FIRST FUCKING SEVENTY MINUTES OF MEETING SOMEONE.  He says things like “Yea, I see a counselor and we are working through things.”  To which I am like “Might want to see them more, bro.”  He tells me all about how he does nothing at work, just gets through every day (Oh, Sales = Chairs.  As in, he sells chairs).  This goes on for the full seventy minutes, until I am like “Whoa, lookie there, I just shit my pants” and left.  OK, until I was like “Wow, is it already 4:00pm, I need to get home and go to bed soon.”  No, really, I did say that.

He texts me WHILE WE ARE STILL IN THE PARKING LOT and tells me that he had the most amazing first date.  I, sit in the parking lot and delete all dating apps from my phone.

 

Sausage fingers.

For starters….  I just feel like we all need to clear the air on something.  Yes, I blog. No, it isn’t about you… Don’t be so vain.  You think if I didn’t sign on the dotted line to write a book about the Former Mr. Nara for cold hard cash, that I am going to write about the potential Future Mr. Nara??? I say this, because I get a lot of inquiries that go something like this:

  1. If you won’t write about me, I want to date you
  2. If you won’t write about my friend, I will introduce you
  3. If you promise TO write about me, I want to date you

The fuck?  THE ACTUAL FUCK? Ah, I said I am not writing about Mr. Nara now not, “ever.”. Just gotta wait for that court order to be lifted.  Anyjolla.

Anyway, just needed to get that out there….. So, here we are again, recapping my hot sexy dates….. There have been so many it is actually hard to keep track… Did that sound real? Yes?

Some updates, because I have been a biiizzee lil beaver.  OMG, don’t get gross. I dumped Tinder.  I feel like there is legit not a single person on there who is not crazy.  Wait, maybe I should be on there?  Maybe Tinder IS my thing????  I have spent a TON to time thinking that my expectations are WAY too high…. So, I took a look at my ole Bumble profile….. Ready….. Because this is ACTUALLY what it says. Oh, and be sure to send me your edits / enhancements.

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 am super skeptical of online dating, but having trouble meeting “the one” when sitting at home watching Bravo TV.  You: don’t play Pokemon go.

Honestly, my only expectation is that you don’t play fucking Pokemon? THAT IS IT? I didn’t even put in there “please have a job and not live in mom’s basement” because apparently I don’t even give a shit about that anymore?????? My best friend in the entire world keeps telling me to slow the fuck down. (I don’t know why?)…… But then I realize my expectation is just that you don’t glue your phone to your hand???  To backtrack.  Mr. Nara 1.0 moved on FAST.  Like, SO FAST that we were still happily married when he moved on. Wait, I should prolly omit the “happily.” But her point is, don’t settle for some DB who lives in moms basement.

So then, I went through some of my “matches” and what their profiles said, really analyzing them…..

First, EVERY guy puts their height on there….. So I am starting to be concerned that my total lack of height is going to be a problem. Is it too late for those growth drugs? Or, that I am going to end up with a guy who is the same height as me. And that is a nope.

Second, I noticed that quite a few people take selfies in some filthy setting or sitting on furniture from 1968. Not kidding, so if you are supposed to “show” what you like, these people like burlap and dishes.  Noted.

Third – Is there a SINGLE – LITERALLY – Single fucking guy out there who doesn’t fall into one of these categories:  1. A pilot, 2. Into rock climbing (can’t make this up), 3. Shirtless, 4. Rides a motorcycle, 5. Says “no drama” (sidebar, you ARE drama, if you are saying “no drama”)

Fourth – The expectations of people are really a bit weird (not “weird” like “don’t play pokemon”) but like a little creepy.  Expectations I have seen:

  • must have long hair
  • must act like a lady at ALL times
  • must be petite and VERY fit
  • must be ready to be a woman

To which I respond:

  • only if you pull it
  • what does a lady do ALL the time
  • very fit? but, but you, are not very fit at ALL.
  • as opposed to?????

And last, there is this whole new level of sexuality out there now. I don’t mean like the profile is like “I like sex” No, that would be way too easy, I mean, I have to google this shit.  And not from my work laptop.  Androgynyous, Androphillic, bicurious, intersex.  Ok, look, I am a “be who you want to be person” but at least make it easy for me and say what it means… Because, guess what, “intersex” doesn’t mean “intosex”  Made that mistake once.

Then, went through some of the messages I have gotten:

Today 12:21am

Hi my name is Chuck how’re are u?

Today – 9:20 am

Morning. How’re was your night?

Well Chuck, I am not sure what you do for those hours between MIDNIGHT and 9am, but shit sure got crazy around this fucking joint.  The first thing I did, was work on basic grammar and spelling, you?

I should mention that “chucks” name on this site is “ihave1hummer2”  Anyway you look at that, it’s fucked up.

Chris2phaa (am I the only one who wonders what that means?) said “ello punkin, how u?” WHAT FUCKING SCHOOL DID YOU ALL COME FROM????

From X2mcx2 “Into younger guys? You’re beautiful.” HE IS NINETEEN… NINE + TEN. Isn’t that illegal????

From ResMedian “Best profile in the business, but I hate dogs, but you have some kick ass lines.”  I asked him to marry me. He disabled his account.  Too much?

From Arthur045, WHO, I might mention is a 12% match….. “Hi goodmorning sweetheart how are you sweetie so beautiful.”  Is this an actual thing?  This can’t spell, run on sentences?  Like, are people like “OMG Arthur045, take me out now and talk to me in runons.”  Is that what I have to look forward too?  I’m not saying 1.0 was all that smart but jesus.

Brendan, 39 – “Hi, I don’t eat bread.”  I’m sorry, now I just think I am getting fucking punked.

BillieBoris (which is it, Billy or Boris?) – What award did the police give you? (On the picture of me getting sworn in)…. So close Billdo.

Cas_09 “Hi there how are you? Stopping by to say hi. Can we be friends?”

Stopping by where Cas?  My profile? You stop there? That doesn’t even make sense?

 

So then, some quick stats.

Opening messages that I comment on a dog, 2.  Responses that the dog died, 2.

Messages from men CLEARLY wearing wedding rings: 5

Times I have swiped “Yep” when I meant “no no”: uncountable.  Literally.  Sausage fingers.

Times my phone has defaulted my location to New Orleans: 3

Guys who were totally 2.0 material BUT based in NO: 3

And a few discoveries:

I attract MUCH younger men. I am very concerned about cougar / mommy complex at this stage of the game

I gravitate toward people who have animals in their profile pictures.  I actually “yupped” a guy holding a bunny.  Truth.

I notice that people change their age constantly.  There is a guy I know who has gone from 37 to 49 in just a few days.

So, I suppose I will just keep up with my real life.  You know, the life when Bigs tells all of his friends I am a professional bacon tester, and pee wee has so much speech therapy he speaks like an exchange student.  No really “Oh, heeeo. You, you, lok beatfil on this day.”  Thanks Hong Li. I mean, pee wee. You know, our normal life, when pee wee goes and JUMPS OFF THE DIVING BOARD ONLY FUCKER CAN’T SWIM.  Our life when Bigs is like “I will only answer you if you talk to me in a dog voice.” And I do. Yea, that life.

 

 

 

 

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?”

car
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

Bucket-a-day.jpg
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.”

bigs
“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.

IMG_0924 (1)
Imma just date cats.

Because.  Right.

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.

1

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.

If you don’t have anything nice to say….. Don’t read my blog.

I got an email from someone bitchass troll who pre-divorce, I would have considered a “good friend.” Funny how life changes, isn’t it. She so pointedly told me that my blog was “disgusting” that I was “laughing in the face of divorce.”  OK, THAT part might be true, but when the Ex. Mr. Nara and I decided it was time to part ways, a huge part of me died.  It is the part that believed in love, or the fairy tale.  I’m not sure any of that exists, or if people just survive together. So yes, my blog is funny, because that is how I survive (and because I am funny as shit).

I could go into the 10,000 reasons we got divorced, (and it seems as though people are honest to fucking god DYING to know) but the reality is, I never would…..  Why?  Can you not read? Because when we parted ways, I died. I was 23 years old when I met the old Mr. Nara. We grew up together and then we grew apart.  He was wrong, I was wrong (ok, obvi he was WAY wronger, because HELLO, have you MET ME?). But the thing is, I have gotten past the part of my life when I wake up every day hoping his brake lines got cut cry every day.

So to the people who think I am “laughing” at my divorce, know this…. The night before our divorce was final, I laid in the fetal position in my car hysterically crying for hours.  I was alone.  There was not one person there, because my “person” was gone. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe.  I couldn’t believe he was gone. I thought about the things we had done, the things we wanted to do, and the dreams we had…. It was all gone.  I was alone.  Neither of us went into our marriage with the vows “Till we feel like meh, something better came along.” When I decided to follow through with our divorce, that we both had talked about for so long (because again, we met when we were twenty – fucking – three years old, are you the same person you were at 23? Right.), I not only lost him, I lost our family. I lost friends, I lost confidants.  But I found myself.  And guess what, he did too. And guess what else bitch ass trolls who I sorta think are jelly of me both of our lives are better for it. People who say to stay together for the kids, really?  Honestly, RE-FUCKING-ally?

I am not writing this as an explanation of myself, there is no one who deserves that. But for the people who question if we did the right thing…… I will tell you this…. Hardly a day goes by that I don’t communicate with the ex-husband formally known as Mr. Nara.  Not about me, not about him, not about divorce, or the weather (that’s a lie, we do communicate about weather) about our babes.…. Why, because he loves our children. And I do too.  And that is what matters.  So settle the fuck down trolls.  I would love to say “Walk one mile in my shoes.” But they are Louboutin and you can’t handle that shit.

Up sooner than I thought….. The friends you need in your life, and, the ones you don’t.  And, because this is me, likely some more of this… Because back to funny.1