Oversharing

When Internet dating there are a few steps that you generally take before getting to the actual talking to him/her portion of the "relationship.

After looking through a site and "man shopping" as my friend and co-writer Sheri so brilliantly put it, there is most often the first communication (wink/nudge/poke) via the web site that you are subscribed to, then the follow up email with a "Hi, how are you?". You check him out, if he is acceptable and interesting the inevitable response follows with the whole getting to know you game....back and forth and back and forth and back and forth. Until finally someone decides they have enough balls and enough interest to ask for a phone number or suggest a "meet".

From this point you can go in quickly and meet each other at your local coffee shop, bar or restaurant or you can drag it out with phone conversations or texts while continuing to "get to know each other" until the "should we meet?" is brought up eventually.

This is what I would consider the "safe" method of Internet dating. Comfortable, ya know? Ease in slowly.....Because really? This whole meeting someone online blindly is no more comfortable than my annual OBGYN exams or maybe even as comfortable as digging out an ingrown toenail. You know it has to be done, but it is NOT a day in the park.

One evening not long ago I had enough wine in my tummy that while I was on my patio on my computer, going through the offerings on a man shopping web site, I received an IM (instant message) from a guy who happened to be online, liked my profile and wanted to chat. Wow! It was like jumping in to the lake head first off that ledge...no prep, no easing in, no "getting to know you". It was kind of fun...like insta flirt.

It kind of reminded me a little of meeting a guy in a bar. Remember when we used to do that?

For anonymity's sake, we'll call him PicRich, or PR for short.

Shortly after a few back and forths, I asked PR to send me a better picture of him as the ones online were a little fuzzy and distorted. He said he was new to the site and hadn't put up many pictures yet. You could see that he had potential but I wanted to make sure he had all 10 fingers, both legs and wasn't pushing 300 pounds. I was thinking maybe he could email me the picture and check him out. But no, he asked for my phone number so he could just text it to me.

The little angel on my right shoulder shuddered and thought "Oh no, this is too soon!", but the little devil on my left shoulder swigging wine from the bottle figured "What the f**k, why not????". So I IM'd him my number and waited patiently for a clear picture of this guy.

I got a picture of him just a few minutes later. It was crystal clear and very obviously taken with his cell phone.

Unfortunately it wasn't all of him, he kind of cut off every piece of his body except for his very hard, very close up, very nice sized dick.

Yes my friends....PR sent me a photo of his dick.  His dong, his wiener, his schlong, his johnson, his pecker....whatever you want to call it. There it was, big as an IPhone screen can make it, searing the image in to my brain. I can still see it months later.

I want you to imagine me, sitting there with a glass of wine in one hand, IPhone in the other, mouth open because I didn't know what to say or do with this picture. Should I respond? Compliment him on the very obvious girth and length? Play the coquette and pretend to be embarrassed? Send it to my friends and brag?? Post it on Facebook???

Fortunately fate intervened in the form of a call from a friend in need (a real one, I swear) and I was forced to put the penis picture aside and settle in for a night of wine and friend therapy. I did, of course, show the picture to her....I knew it would cheer her up a little. :)

Just for shits and giggles, tell me what you would have done....

Much love from an over informed girl,

Jeni

Ass Hands

So, I am one of those women that are really attracted to “manly” men. The kind that are a little rough around the edges, aren’t afraid to get a little dirty, like to grill, mow the lawn and beat their chests and grunt like a cave man. Granted, I will kick some ass if the cave man mentality for them means dragging me by my hair. That doesn’t work for me. Sorry Bud!
My latest adventure deemed blog worthy simply because of this one quality that I find is most important to me and I am assuming the majority of women in general. I mean let’s face it, no woman wants to be with someone who is more feminine than them. They don’t want to be the one that kills the roach, the one that spends more time in the mirror than they do or MOST importantly they certainly don’t want to be the one that has softer hands than them. That’s what did it for me…he had ass hands.

Now I met ass hands on-line, go figure. The communication back and forth was great. We had things in common, he was really funny , my age (I always seem to get ones that are 7-8 years younger or are 15-20 years older and I will expand on this later), had a job, a car and he had the same taste in music. So, by all accounts, this guy was a catch. He was also pretty handsome (in pictures anyway)! So, when I finally got the official “How would you like to meet for drinks this weekend?” question, I of course said yes! This was absolutely new outfit and jewelry worthy. I found the outfit, jewelry and already had the perfect shoes to go with said outfit. I gave myself ample time to get ready, curled my hair or what I call put my stripper curls in, awesome make-up job, you name it….I was ready to go!

Based on the pictures, I knew who I had to find. I had this vision in my head that went something like this….I would walk in to the restaurant, as I opened the door, the wind would pick up slightly just enough to make my curled hair move. Our eyes would meet and for a moment, time would stand still so we could take in each other and that instant chemistry would immediately hit the both of us. Slowly we would come out of that daze and I would sashay’ my way to the bar where he stood up and took my hand into his still unable to take his eyes off of me….from there it was just as spectacular. But you get the idea.

Totally didn’t happen. I walked in and the first thing I noticed were his acid wash jeans. Then the tennis shoes and a button down shirt tucked in to his pants with a belt and a cell phone case the size of Texas attached to his belt. That moment that I had just envisioned didn’t come to fruition. Bummer…But, there is always hope. A man CAN be “persuaded” to change the attire to suit your own desires. So I had to give it a shot. Conversation was going great until he wanted to give a high five. Ummm…okay. Sure, I will totally give you a high five on our first date…at a bar…where people are…and I am 35 and you are 36…and this is awkward. Now, please don’t think I am a prude or anything. I give out all kinds of high fives…to friends. Not my initial dates. He gave me a high five because we had that whole we always seem to get the much older people that are interested in us type of thing. Which I guess he thought was high five worthy. So, I didn’t leave him hanging, I did high five him and for whatever reason, he cupped my hand and held it for a minute. Even more awkward. My immediate reaction was something like this…Holy crap, this guys hands are softer than mine. They are all lotioned up, cold clammy and it feels like I am being held by a woman or they are as soft as the skin on my ass (you know you’ve felt the skin on your ass and thought how soft it is). I vomited in my mouth a little. Seriously, I did. I had to pull out of that cupped hand awkwardness. I wanted to pull him outside and take his hands and rub them on the asphalt outside to rough it up a little bit or place it on a belt sander (of which I didn’t have because I brought my clutch and not my luggage sized purse which I normally have everything in, including a belt sander). Ass hands has moved on, as have I.

What can I say? I like ‘em rough and tough! Beat your chest and grunt like a gorilla but for the love of God, please don’t ever have hands softer than mine.

With love,

Sheri

That's What's Up!

So, you know how you have those random meetings with guys in everyday places, like the gas station, grocery store or in my case the gym? Now please know that I just got through running on the treadmill and am sweating enough to start my own purified water company. My make-up was running down my face, I was in ratty gym clothes and my hair was sticking to my face and in some sort of psuedo pony tail/bun/rats nest thing. The below conversation is what took place when I had the pleasure of meeting "A":

A: Hey "gurl", looking good. What's going on?

Me: Oh, thank you! Well, just got done working out. What's going on with you?

A: Oh, you know "gurl", the usual...chilling out and getting my "swole" on. I'm "A". What's your name?

Me: I'm Sheri (hand shake), nice to meet you "A". Good thing you came here to get your "swole" on, I mean its a gym and all.

A: Yeah, you know that's what's up.

Me: Oh, what's up?

A: You know, being here at the gym, like you just said.

Me: Oh, well I guess so. But, what does that mean, That's what's up?

A: You know, it means that's what's up to what you just said.

Me: But all I said was it was a good thing you came here to get your swole on. Are you asking me what's up? I am confused.

A: Nah gurl...that's what's up is just what I say, its like I'm agreeing with you.

Me: Oh, well I guess I just don't understand the phrase, That's what's up.

A: Well, gurl if you go out with me, I will make sure you know exactly what that's what's up means.

Me: Umm....well I am going to assume that you just asked me out on a date and well "A", as much as I would love to really learn and understand what that's what's up means, I am going to have to respectfully decline.

A: Thats cool gurl....thats whats up.

Me: Okay, well then "A", have a good day and a great work out. Or to put it in words you would better understand, that's what's up.

Yes, the above conversation took place and while this was taking place, I couldn't help but wonder if this is what adult conversations had turned into, because if so, I am screwed. I have no doubt that "A" was a nice guy and maybe we would have had a good time. BUT....if just the introduction conversation went like that, what in the world was the rest of the conversation going to sound like? I would have been asking what he meant by everything he said and I envisioned the end of the date concluding with him saying "Deuces" and throwing up the side ways two finger peace sign gesture. So, you can certainly understand why I had to respectfully decline the date before it even started.

So, to all you "A"s out there and to the ladies that love them....that's what's up!

Word,
Sheri

I am NOT a believer

One day a long long time ago, I walked in to a salon with bleach blonde hair that I was trying to grow out from the shortest my hair had ever been. (growing out a mullett sucks!) I happened upon this petit little lady who took one look at me and went "oh lord, what did you DO??". She immediately set to putting my hair to rights and had me looking presentable in just a few months.

Lilli and I hit it off from the first time and now we've seen each other through 11 years of life and have remained friends. She, being happily married with 3 awesome kids, loves to hear about my dating life and would love nothing more than for me to be in the same shoes as she is. So of course, she has taken it upon herself to set me up.

Once was her brother in law, who was a very nice man, but so fresh out of a painful marriage and divorce that the ink was scarcely dry and his house was still lacking all the furniture that the ex had so nicely absconded with.

The second time she set me up it was truly a blind date (my first one ever). It was another client of hers who she really liked, he was fun and funny to talk to, had a good job and was good looking to boot. After much coercion she convinced me to meet him (and I assume convinced him to meet me) for dinner one night.

He picked the restaurant (Aloha Steakhouse, good choice) and we wandered in the restaurant not having any clue what each other looked like. Surprisingly enough Lilli was right, he WAS good looking. And he was very fun to listen to.

That's right....Listen. Because he didn't shut the eff up for more than 5 minutes at an hour and a half dinner. You know how that goes right? He says something, you try and answer or interject and off he goes on a tangent leaving you with a sentence half finished and your brain going..."huh?". So eventually I tuned him out, ordered another glass of wine and just intermittently nodded, grunted or made "mmm hmm" sounds without really listening to what he was gabbing about. I figured if I had to listen to him I might as well get a buzz going, right?

Untill I heard to word "Bigfoot". Multiple times. Something about camping, hiking, sliding down a hill chasing the Sasquach, there were footprints, he made a mold even! But alas, he did not catch the creature as he was always just a few seconds too late.

Wait a second, hold the phone. Seriously? My mouth dropped open guppy-like and I could tell he was getting excited and thought that I was really enjoying hearing about he and his Dad hunting for Bigfoot. Not just once, like they do this all the time. So I engaged him as much as I could, asking questions where he'd let me in just to see how serious he was about this passion of his. As it turns out, really serious.

Mr. Bigfoot continued on his rant for a good 30 minutes and all I could think about was GAWD!!! What are the people next to me thinking???? And what would date #2 be like??? Loch Ness Monster??? Chupacabra???

At a certain point I went to the bathroom and thought about using the old have a friend call me to get me out of this mess trick. But instead I called Lilli and laughed so hard in the ladies room stall that I cried off my makeup and then informed her that she was no longer allowed to set me up on blind dates.

Here's to not believing in monsters, cheers!

Jen