My "craft" is more like Kraft -- cheesy and fun, but of little substance and questionable taste.

A man sent me a first OkCupid message that alternated between asking me out and asking me for writing advice (my profile says I freelance, he's trying to).

Well, your message was 407 words, so I'd start with revisions. People are busy; make it snappy. (This entire post is 100+ words shorter than his message.)

Second, I don't know SHIT about writing. I vomit out whatever's in my brain, then shorten it – that's my “process.” Sometimes I consult a thesaurus. I can't advise you when I don't consider MY writing a skill. I haven't honed any craft -- I write what happens. Anyone can do that. So...do that. Start a blog. Ask to contribute to sites you like. Apply for writing jobs.

His profile says he's starting over, mentions being "codependent and childish" in the past, and now, at age 43, really trying to man up. His message said he probably shouldn't even be dating yet, but his discomfort tells him he should.

Dude… Respect, for sure, but I am also codependent and childish, starting over, trying to man up, and dating when I probably shouldn't be.

I can't date myself when I hate myself.

I'm not posting his whole message because it was honest and took courage, so I can't mock him. But seeing those issues laid bare straight away is, for my own issues, overwhelming. I know he's not asking me to help fix his life, but that's what it feels like. No can do, man -- I'm working on my own. Only one of us can be the fixer-upper.

Underground Railroad, Above-Ground Stupidity

The shit we BITCH about... She's not SMILING?!

I can't imagine why. The Underground Railroad seemed like a real hoot.

It IS a shame she's not smiling, since all those white dudes on my money are happy as fuck. They're ALL whimsy and shenanigans, sticking out their tongues, one's got a friend doing bunny ears behind his head. And OMG, it's totes hilar-balls how Franklin's got one of those moustaches on a stick on the $100 -- motherfucker was so jolly, Santa Claus asked him for pointers. In fact, Franklin advised Santa to get the reindeer. *nod* I think I read that somewhere.

Via The Guardian: ‘Cheer up, love’ – why is Harriet Tubman being told to smile 100 years after her death?

The Elusive Self-Esteem Boost and a Therapeutic Three-fer

If you've never had a day where you look in the mirror and think, "GodDAMN, I look good," I highly recommend it.

Spring and summer clothes and weather really are my wheelhouse. I'll also be buying more of this new makeup (aptly made by Tarte) and thanking the gods of hair for blessing my rolled-outta-bed coif today.

Sometimes a plan just comes together, and today it did, in the form of my unplanned FINE ass.

"Give it up, boys and girls. Admit it. I look GOOD!" (Don't judge me, Bette is my jam.)

P.S. I went to therapy tonight, and one of the first things she said to me, unprompted, was, "You look wonderful!" So there you go, y'all -- my cuteness is verified by a licensed professional. (My brain went full Cady-Heron-in-the-black-dress: "I KNOW, right?!")

P.P.S. Tonight's agenda: Therapy, takeout food, and Scandal. So basically a therapeutic three-fer.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A_Sb7PpLoS0]

Priorities, people.

Well, yeah, don't be silly -- we only care where Dennis Hastert's dick is if it's in the wrong restroom, not in a minor.

-- Via Twitter

Make America Masturbate Again

Sometimes you're in a bad emotional place.

But then your friend who works at the adult boutique texts you to report that a man wearing a Trump t-shirt bought a giant, veiny dildo, and suddenly everything else seems pretty insignificant by comparison.

P.S. If you wondered, the toy IS made in America. Because America's ALREADY fucking great. (Literally, apparently.)

Smother, Brother!

I emailed the OkCupid guy and canceled our first date, which had been tentatively scheduled for Saturday.

I'd already gotten antsy about how often he'd been contacting me -- I really don't need to talk to you EVERY day when we haven't met yet. I feel like a dick because he'd told me repeatedly how much he was enjoying talking to me. But my brain did its "Jesus Christ, PLEASE stop talking" thing that happens when I feel overwhelmed and smothered. Whether that's valid or just inferred, it's really hard for me to come back from.

I know I get weird, but this one was honestly, legitimately, not on me. I maintain that if one of the other red flags is something I'm not comfortable sharing here, THAT is a big, fuckoff red flag. I told y'all about that time I blew a guy in a Zipcar -- it's not as if I have a ton of boundaries.

Shut up and take my money

My newly updated Amazon wish list is proof that Jesus loves me and wants me to be happy.

Or, you know, proof that book publishers know an It Girl when they see one. Whichever. 

(I'm trying to score review copies, but they won't send them until right around the release dates. *shaking fist at life*)

 

Premature infatuation

Me: "I think I've set a new record for getting interested in, then totally over, an OkCupid guy. This last one took, like, three days."

Friend: "Are you serious?"

Me: "I'm probably exaggerating, I guess it couldn't have been THREE days... *looking at email* Holy shit, it WAS -- we started OKC messaging Friday, emailing Saturday, phone call Sunday night, and I woke up yesterday thinking, 'Yeah, I think I'm done.'"

This is why my therapist loves me.

...*slow clap*...

Via David London’s Instagram…

#illustration #cartoon #politicalcartoon #art #drawing #sketch #pen #penandink #womenshealth #feminism #female #sexism #body #fat #cartoonist #love #happy #beautiful #girl #food #magazine #photoshop #culture #america #woman #laugh #women #health #artist #boston

A photo posted by David London (@like_thecity) on Apr 15, 2016 at 9:05am PDT

Cameron Frye is my spirit animal

You know what's probably a bad sign leading up to a first date?

When your friend asks to hang out Saturday and you say, "Dammit. I have a date. But I think I'd have more fun hate-watching Fear and eating takeout with you."

In the words of Cameron Frye, "OK, I'll go, I'll go, I'll go, I'll go, I'll go...I'll go. SHIT!"

Curiosities of urban sprawl

Just drove past a strip club, next to a farmers market, next to an adult store, next to a Planned Parenthood.

That right there is what you call a DAY.

"Well, your Ken? Can kiss my Barbie."

Email to a friend:

"I'm about to talk to a guy named Ken on OkCupid. I know one super-rad Ken (your husband), and one super-douche Ken. So I'm going into this with mixed expectations.

"I guess there was also Ken from Barbie and Ken, but he always struck me as kind of a tool who was trying to hold Barbie back. Plus he had no penis, which sort of defeats...I'd say 33% of the purpose of me dating in the first place.

"Actually, he also had no tongue, and probably gave really shitty hugs with those unbending arms. And couldn't have made any sexy-man-noises when I did something pleasant to the blank canvas where his dick should be. And overall he seemed fairly disagreeable to be pressed against...

"Wait, what was my point?

"OH. Right. KEN.I hope this Ken is not a Ken of the genus Superdouchus. I don't need him to be a husband, just not a super-douche.

"P.S. I feel like Ken Burns maybe makes up for Barbie's Ken. So perhaps balance in the Ken Universe is restored."

I scream, you scream, we all scream, "You're an asshole!"

*sigh* Just...just... UGH. Go fuck yourself, seriously. Hard. With one of the scarier, more invasive dildos.

I don't give a single kitten's dick who you're voting for -- no one would have asked a man that question. No one.

Hmm... OK, wait, MAYBE someone would've asked Chris Christie. And whoever did would still be a total fucking asshole. But I'd wager they wouldn't, because Christie probably could and would slap the Massengill outta ya for that kinda bullshit.

A friend of mine had a better reaction: "If you watch closely, there's a split second where she turns and looks at someone who clearly GETS IT and her face just says, 'FUCK THESE ASSHOLES. FUCK THE PATRIARCHY.' At least, that's what *I* saw. Then she visibly squared herself to take on the bullshit sexism of the world and had another bite of her fucking sundae."  

I feel as though the Asshole Ratio is pretty even here.

I understand this goes against my general "do unto others" philosophy -- I would NOT want this done to me. I feel bad about it, it's a dick move, and makes me a GIANT asshole.

We all on board? Excellent, 'cause I'm posting this screenshot of an OkCupid message, anyway. There's too much majesty in it to be confined by a mere retelling. You must behold the glory in its entirety.

Identifying information has been deleted/changed to protect the overly cheerful at 8:goddamn-13 in the morning.

Damn, that's a lot of emojis when you're 52. (Or any age, really. But 52 for sure.)

P.S. My profile mentions Carlin's seven dirty words, but just generally, gentlemen -- pro tip? Never lead with farts. I'm still a lady, fuckface.

No dick left behind

So weird, I was just thinking the other day that I should take some sort of class to improve my skill set and better myself, to bring more value into my life and, really, into the world.

So I guess this came (heh) into my life at exactly the right time. It's like the Serendipity of blowjob classes... It's Serendickity. (I'll stop now.)

Fellatio Fundamentals with Yvette St. James: 

"Let me work it, put my thang down, flip it, and reverse it..."

Email to a male coworker: “I almost feel bad every time they bring a new male employee in, because my eyes automatically check his left hand for a wedding ring. But I DON’T feel bad, because at least I check.”

Then again, when I tell my other friend a man is married, he always asks, “Well, sure, but…happily?” But investigating that involves too many potential emotional landmines for me.

Another male coworker is married and just had a kid, and a female coworker (also married) told me earlier she thinks he’s “so sexy.” And I agree, I want to nibble his lower tummy — don’t judge me, that’s what comes to mind. And this woman said, “I’m married, not dead.” Damn straight, lady. Respect. Dude is STUPID good-looking — like, I don’t even understand how he’s walking among us mere mortals.

And there’s another guy who’s SO cute, and he has NO idea. Like, I met him and expected him to be a total pretty-boy douche, but he’s super nice. (And also probably below my age bracket, but… I mean, there are always exceptions… “And when I clock black hair, blue eyes, I drift off, I fantasize…”)

Flo' sho'

I think I might be content with a life in which my most significant and satisfying relationship is with Flonase.

Presented without comment

Via The Awkward Yeti's Facebook page:

Boosting morale and apparently also your dick

So, hey, Creepy Guy From Another Office in my Building to Whom I've Only Ever Said 'Hi' in a Small Talky Sense...

I have not "been on a diet."

I have not "lost weight."

I DO "look good," but it's pretty gross that you said ALL that while passing me in the hall. I realize I can't get you to stop appraising my body, but it'd be SUPER great if you could stop reporting your findings aloud.

Worse, I said "Thank you," because I'm an asshole, and am now wondering what kind of goddamn hambeast I looked like before. (I look fine, it's just my dress -- sundresses are very kind to my body.)

By the way, yes, I do think I'd be this pissy if it were an attractive man who said it. Because you brought my weight AND dieting into your "compliment," implying my weight until today had been somehow suboptimal. So fuck you twice-baked.

P.S. By the way, dicknuts -- depression, anxiety, and stress can also cause weight loss. In my case, so can being on drugs that screw with your appetite and hopefully prevent you from going crazy. But hey, I'm thrilled I'm able give you your Monday lunchtime semi. I'll go find out who I speak to about adding "fluffer" to my business card.

I don't see how I'm NOT supposed to buy this book.

I'm not supposed to be buying any more books, because there are at least 30 on my "to-read" shelf -- books I have PAID for that are just sitting there, as untouched as my vagina.

But, I mean, I think if my instinct based on a first page is to buy copies for myself AND every woman I know, I should get a pass, no?

Rhetorical question -- I already ordered it. Don't judge me. You're not my mom.
 

Net-fix

This DVD arrived in today's mail, proving once again that sometimes Netflix just gets me.  

"Oh, honey. We at Netflix know you've had a long, stupid workweek, and have a busy weekend ahead. We know you need to spend your scant free hours drinking irresponsibly, eating popcorn for dinner, and watching Gretchen Weiners find true love with the Lord's guidance in a movie that looks like it was originally developed for Lifetime. No, wait -- this has Hallmark Channel all over it. You go MST3K that shit, sweetie. You've earned it."

I really hope she finds out how "fetch" Jesus is.

Or, as a friend said, "Maybe he makes her realize butt stuff doesn't count." 

WE RIDE!

Marky Mark can still finger me. But the Funky Bunch cannot help.

I saw this movie WAY too many times during my adolescence, and this is one of the greatest things I'll see today: Movie Yelling With Jaya and Matt: Fear.

"...The movie was described to me as 'Mark Wahlberg fingers Reese Witherspoon on a roller coaster and then he murders her dog...'"

"And like, I basically could not stop thinking this family is going to be FUCKED forever. Her little brother had to run over a guy to get keys off another dead guy to get a walkie talkie to call the cops! That’s a lot when you’re 10!"

"That ten year old had a DAY"

BWAH HA HA.

And yes, in hindsight, putting a guy's hand up my skirt on a roller coaster does not seem smart, not least because, yes, "there is NO WAY Mark’s fingernails aren’t busted as fuck." But hearing that Bush song totally still makes me wanna come on the Kingda Ka.

I'm not ashamed to say I went to Amazon to buy this movie after I read this, so I could watch it as a grownup, but it's $10, and fuck THAT. How YOU doin', Netflix?

P.S. "...And THAT’S WHY you don’t change the clock in dad’s office so you can stay out late getting fingered, honey. The moral really should be never get fingered on a roller coaster, though. That’s a terrible idea."
"Do Not Get Fingered At The Six Flags."
"The motto of the 90s."

Pole-itical pandering.

WOW. Can you just...stop saying things?

Sometimes I shut my goddamn mouth specifically to avoid saying something stupid. You know, like THAT.

Via Huffington Post: John Kasich Is Seemingly Baffled By Young Women Who Get Politics.  

Like... HOW? HOW? HOW are you at a mic in front of a crowd, thinking, "Oh. OH! This'll be great, I'll say THIS!" And then he trots offstage all, "You guys! Did you see? NAILED IT!"

They DO let women vote now, Governor. I know, right? I was shocked, too! But I watched "Suffragette" the other day and apparently it's a thing! Obviously I'm not 100% sure because there's so little room in my brain for facts next to Taylor Swift and rainbows, but..Votes from the Vaginal WOULD add to your bottom line, no? (And I do mean "bottom," because you're totally fucked here.)

Any politician worth electing would at LEAST give us pretty little ladies the ILLUSION that he gave a shit. Bernie Sanders has effectively assembled a goddamn army of ride-or-dies, with a shit-ton of Millennials ready to do his bidding, at least until their Adderall wears off. And Donald Drumpf has found his niche of angry middle-class (read: po') white folk ready to make America great again. Whatever disagreements I have with them, those guys know how to work that pole.

Jesus Christ, Kasich -- who the fuck taught you how to pander?

We're both too awkward for sexual harassment.

My (male, straight) boss just emailed me with the subject line "available?" and asked me to do a work thing.

I replied and said I'd do it, and then he wrote back, "I also just realized that my subject line could get me in some HR trouble… ha… I’ll be more specific next time."

Oh. It actually didn't even cross my mind that my married, just-had-a-baby boss might be soliciting me for...whatever, until you pointed that out, but...well, NOW I'm uncomfortable.

I mean, aside from the "married, just-had-a-baby, boss" bit, I totally would, but all things considered, I'm incapable of perceiving anything you do as flirtation. Obviously don't grab my ass or anything, but as far as hitting on me, you'd have to be pretty explicit for me to pick up on it. I can't tell when eligible dudes are flirting with me.

Plus he has like five kids, so his sperm are far too industrious to be allowed anywhere NEAR my bits.

If I were a single-issue voter, that issue might be dildos.

A friend sent this to me: "Cruz wanted Texas sex to mimic assembling Ikea furniture: a dutiful, results-oriented process enacted without the assistance of substantial tools."

Via Slate.com: Ted Cruz Once Argued That Selling Dildos Should Be Illegal  

Which is super weird, because he looks so enthusiastic in that photo, like he's all, "Yaaay, dildos!"

(Again, this is not about politics, so don't argue with me -- this is about dildos. You find me an article about Sanders or Clinton trying to outlaw my vibrator, I'll post that, too. Dildos transcend politics. Dildos reach across the aisle. Dildos are something we can all come together on. [I'm done now. I think... Wait, one more time -- dildo. OK, now I'm done.])

"No worries. If you miss the O train, it'll come again in 5 minutes or so."

Pro tip: If your OkCupid username is "fun_not_long," my brain goes to the filthiest and most unflattering place possible for you.

Yeah, yeah, "size doesn't matter" -- tell that to the guy I dated who was SO secure in that notion that he brought a compensatory Magic Wand* to our FIRST (and only) sexual encounter.

Digression 1: I was not at all displeased with the Magic Wand -- it's named that for a reason. If I didn't already own two pricey sex toys that get the job done just fine, with a portion of my forthcoming (heh) tax refund earmarked for a third because it looks SUPER fun, I'd be all over (heh) the Magic Wand.

Digression 2: Now my brain is wandering to memories of that Magic Wand experience (my first), during which I learned about orgasm denial, and why it's a thing. A thing that man was impressively skilled at doing to me. A thing I wish he hadn't just decided to DO to me without warning the first time we slept together, because I was ready to murder him, but a thing that worked out incredibly well for me in the end. I have no idea how he could tell when I was JUST about to, or if it was just a lucky guess, but damn. Dude was like the Orgasm Whisperer.

Digression 3: This is not a good train of thought at work. Though my mental image of said train barreling full-speed through a tiny, tense tunnel is a hilarious metaphor.

 

*I linked to the Walmart site only because I am infinitely amused you can buy it there.

Whoring for whiskey and melted cheese

Emailing a friend who's been to this bar with me a bunch of times...

"This guy's OkCupid profile says he owns a 'craft beer and whiskey bar in Philadelphia.'

[screenshot pic of guy wearing bar-branded t-shirt]

"DUDE. Will fuck for whiskey and nachos!"

Reading too much into Goodreads

I checked out the profile of the OkCupid guy I wrote about earlier, and I'm not interested, so the name thing won't even be an issue. (If I met anyone cool, I'd likely get over a name pretty quickly.)

Weirdness factor, though: In his profile, the OkCupid guy linked to his Goodreads page. I clicked it, and it took me directly to a Goodreads page that asked me to accept a friend request from him. I didn't know that was a thing. I declined the request, but then noticed it also had him "following" my reviews, which I also didn't know was a thing. So I went to find who else follows my reviews -- and it's him and That Guy, plus two other people I don't know. 

Fucking Internet. 

I don't write reviews, so it's not as if there's anything to follow, but I locked down my Goodreads, anyway. 

I'm almost positive That Guy friend-requested me on Goodreads a million years ago, and when I declined, Goodreads automatically did the "follow" without him even realizing; he's likely never noticed because I don't post anything there. So I'm not implying that he's, like, stalking my reading list -- that would be dumb. The sequence of events was just freaky.

Blow me, Shakespeare -- EVERYTHING is in a name.

I never mentioned that Elbows Guy had the same name as my ex.

But let's say my ex's name is John -- Elbows Guy was a grown-ass man who chose to go by "Johnny." That was enough of a departure to clear him for a first date, but in hindsight I don't know what I was thinking. Moaning "Johnny" in bed was not gonna work for me, just generally. But also, my ex's family called him Johnny when he was a kid, and occasionally as an adult at family gatherings. So in any sexual context, Johnny has "ick" all over it. (Johnny Castle notwithstanding.)

So of course today I get a nice enough first message from a different OkCupid guy, and I'm thinking, "Huh. This is pretty good, I'll probably respond," but then toward the end he says, "By the way, my name's 'That Guy.'"*

Of course it fucking is.

I gotta stop screwing around with guys with common names. Next guy I get naked with has to be named, like...Moonbeam.


*If you've just followed recently, That Guy is the pseudonym I assigned to a guy who hurt me pretty badly, and when I used to talk to friends about him, they'd be like, "Oh, THAT guy..."

Let's talk about sex.

I can't go to this class, but you should:   

"It's finally time to find out everything about sex you wish you'd been taught in school. It's never too late to learn how to make sex better, the ways our bodies function, STIs, birth control, and much more. Come ready with an open mind and lots of questions, and leave feeling confident with knowledge you can use."

Here's the instructor's Twitter. She's pretty badass, and also one of my favorite people.

And as long I'm pimpin', do you follow me? You totally should. I'm kind of adorable.  

WebMD’ing my vagina just peaked my “talent” as a writer.

One of the dumbest things I’ve ever Googled is “abnormal vaginal bleeding.”

I know it happens. Just generally not to me, and not off and on for 6 days.

So I looked it up and WebMD says I’m basically dying. OR, helpfully, there could be “an object” in my vagina.

AN OBJECT. IN MY VAGINA.

I love how vague that is, as if there could be, like… dice in there. Butterscotch candies. Maybe a $20 bill I forgot about.

Get out of my vagina, Object. It is not for storage!

OMG, you guys…The Cuntainer Store.

Yep, that’s it. I’m never writing again. That was my Bill Hader score on LeBron James, right there.

P.S. There is absolutely no object in my vagina. My sex toys are all present and accounted for, and no other objects have been visiting the region.

I am juvenile. And this is hilarious.

Via NYMAG.com: Indiana Women Are Calling the Governor About Their Periods. 

Last words on Waffles Guy

I almost forgot to report that Waffles Guy texted me Sunday morning asking when we could get together again. And that is my fault. I did let him kiss me, and let him leave the last date thinking there'd be another. So...my bad. I did want to kiss him, and I'll admit I didn't have the balls to a) stop him from kissing ME, or b) sack up and say to his face that there wouldn't be a third date.

I let the text sit for a day because I was busy and didn't have time to think about a response. He texted again yesterday morning, asking if I'd gotten the FIRST text. I apologized for the delay, told him I had, but that: "I actually don't think we should get together again. I had a nice time, but I don't see it going further."

I said essentially the same thing to Elbows Guy, and he was cool with it, so... brilliant, right? I've created The Line? Kind, but clear? I AM a real writer!

Yeah, no. Waffles Guy texted back and said, "Why, what happened?"

And for as much of a snarky asshat as I was when recounting what happened on that date...nothing really "happened." It was all MY preferences and issues. There's gotta be a woman who'd find him charming...no woman *I* know, but surely someone.

So I told him nothing specific happened, but I didn't think we had "anything in common except for George Carlin. :)," and he responded, "Didn't get together enough to really find that out...oh well...good luck :)"

...Um, how much more time do YOU need? I knew 30 minutes into the second date. Do your stories about diverticulitis or shopping for shirts get better?

I told a friend about this and she said, "You didn't need to give him any response, but seriously, was he hoping you'd say, 'Never mind. You're right. We should date some more?'"

I gave him a, "Thanks, you too!" and called it a day.

Waffles Guy, we hardly knew ye.

The greatest LinkedIn notification I've ever received...

"Let's do that. Let's do EXACTLY that."

So here's a thing a purportedly adult man decided it'd be perfectly acceptable to say to a woman in a first OkCupid message on a Saturday morning:

"Hiya. Would you be interested in getting great oral? Or at least a great make our session?"

A few things: 

1. I can't decide if he remembers he sent me the FIRST intro message 2 weeks ago and said only, "Hiya. LOL @ a relatively decent command of the English language. That's not asking much!" (Response to bit of my profile.) 

Is this supposed to be a followup after that went unanswered, like maybe he's just switching up his game? Or does my profile somehow convey that half the reason I'm dating is because I can't go down on myself, and he's like, "My direct approach will swiftly lead to this woman sitting on my face?"

2. You went with "hiya," huh? Twice? Right. *nod*

3. Assuming you could spell "make out"...we're 40. Really? I'm gonna get Date Pretty for a "make out session?" Would this be before or after your mom drives us to take the SATs? "Naw, man. Naw. Shit, naw, man. I believe you'd get your ass kicked sayin' somethin' like that."

4. Can you even go down on a woman when you're obviously made entirely of balls?

10 Things I (Won't) Date About You

I'm going with a basic list for last night's date recap (Waffles Guy, date 2), because no storytelling would be better than just throwing it all out there:

1. He really likes Triumph the Insult Comic. He was surprised I didn't, because it's "such similar humor to George Carlin's." 

THAT is when I should've left. BUT...

2. He ordered Bud Light Lime. On purpose. And paid for it. With money.  

3. He mocked Rhonda Rousey for saying she was depressed after a loss, because "she just didn't get her way," and "male fighters would never say something like that -- they'd say, 'OK, I'll get back to the gym, work harder.'" 

So... You can't be depressed but ALSO plan to improve? But "that's not what a champion says."

He actually seemed pretty dismissive about mental health issues in general, which is odd because he works in a facility that treats addicts and people with psych issues. But fuck you, dude -- I'm only moderately crazy ("dysthymic," I believe is the word), and therapy and meds have helped me a lot. And I know at least two people who'd probably be dead if they hadn't sought help.

4. There's "gentleman," which I enjoy, and then there's repeatedly insisting I put your coat over my shoulders even when I've said I'm not cold. Dude, it's 65 degrees out, and I am a grown-ass woman who can determine when she needs a coat.

5. Related: While walking, he told me he was switching sides with me on the sidewalk so I wasn't walking closest to the street. 

I forgot that was a THING. 

I don't usually get feminist-tweaked until you start treating me like a child, and then suddenly you're staring down the barrel of 40 years of family issues. I know when I need a coat, and it's our second date, so... you're gonna, what, get hit by an out-of-control car so I don't? Way to volunteer as Tribute.

6. Discussing movies:
Him: "I never saw Lord of the Rings. Is that the one with the kid with the glasses?"
Me: *blink*"...No. That's Harry Potter."
Him:"Oh, right! I've never seen those movies, either."

I don't care if he didn't see them. But how the actual balls do you confuse the two?

7. He said Breaking Bad was "just OK," and that Better Call Saul is better. I hope someone gives you Stevia. (Kidding.)

8. Audible eater. (Of FOOD, shut up.)

9. While not as disgusting or graphic as I would've thought, hearing how diverticulitis presents in an adult male is still pretty boring.

10. When I asked if he was a Trump voter: "There are two things I don't talk about in public: religion and politics. One I know far too much about, one I know nothing about. I won't tell you which is which, but I will say I went to Catholic school for 12 years."

Wow. I am in awe of the enigma of you.

I realize some of this is just me being an asshole. But... I mean, the valid points are REALLY valid. (It also hit a lot of my big-issue nerves, but that's ME, not him, so I'll get into that later.)

P.S. I let him kiss me because I was still curious after he didn't on the first date, and I'll give him credit: Solid kiss, one hand around my waist, one hand in my hair. Good work, sir. A little too much moaning for me personally, but overall, good for you.