The Bitch is Back

Guys, I am exhausted. The past month and a half has found me all over the East Coast, and I made my first foray into the Midwest. (Hayyyy Chicago, you be good gurl.) Should we take a little journey to see where I went and how fabulously lost I still am??? BLOKAY, sounds good!

Miami

Gurl. GURRRLLL. Gurl DOWN. 

(Gone. With. The. Wind.)

Have you ever been to Miami? No? Because it's not a real place, not even a little bit. It is the land of beautiful people, topless swimmers, outrageous night clubs, and expensive restaurants. Miami also has the Ke$ha-esque ability to turn any atmosphere into a glitter filled, alcohol infused, parental disappointment worthy party. Of course, all of that being said, the first night that I was there on "vacation," my friends and I promptly fell asleep at 9:30pm and slept until 9:30am. Like they always say, when in Miami.... sleep for 12 hours? 

(I've never been so refreshed and disappointed in myself at the same time. Blarg.)

We spent the next couple of days making up for it by laying by the pool and drinking many a "Bucket-O-Liquor," which was the specialty of the hotel we were staying at. I can honestly say that I feel like I did everything I wanted to do in Miami. It's a ridiculous city that I am glad I visited... but I don't know if I'll go back anytime soon. The one thing I did not do was find love in that place. I realized, unlike most strippers, I do not tend to do as well in climates that require less clothing. I am one of those people that would do really well in a place that involves sweaters and layers, like Canada. (Its aboot time I move further north, EH? I'm done. I swear.) 

DC Pride

Holy crap ballz. Last year, for DC Pride, I drank far too much at brunch and ended up falling asleep at 8pm. I saw some of the parade and ended up with a press-on tattoo. (On. My. Face.) This year I wanted to do Pride the way it was meant to be done. I wanted to remember everything. I wanted to feel the pride of my people. I wanted to enjoy adult beverages. I wanted to attend the parade. I wanted to dance at the gay clubs. I wanted to see the festival. I wanted the weekend to leave me bleeding rainbows. (I said all of those in my head like Veruca Salt. You know, from Willy Wonka.)

(She understands what's important in life. Ain't nobody got time to be good.)

I decided to throw a little pre-parade BBQ for all of my lovely gays. We dabbled with drinks, danced in the heat, and pounded some meat. (Ew, pervs, I meant burgers and hot dogs. Grow up.) The parade was spectacular and over-the-top, like it should be. There were bears on bikes, Mormons in cars, gay boys in underwear, cowboys in ass-less chaps, and Wonder Woman (literally — Linda Carter) leading the parade. The true fun, however, began after the parade and post-survival nap. My friends and I owned the night by pre-gaming at my place and then dancing up a storm at Cobalt, in the heart of the gayborhood. What I wasn't expecting was my lovely departure from classy, upstanding citizen to drunken, dancing floozy. 

(Too soon? Sorry, Reese.)

After a few (many) drinks at the bar, I decided it was time to make my way to the bathroom. Unbeknownst to me, on this simple walk across the bar I would encounter two gentleman friends. One of these gentleman I knew from a previous date, whom you have never heard of. (The date had gone well... I can't jinx that shit!) When I got semi-close, he pulled me in and began to dance with me. I shimmied and shook and maybe even Mac Daddied it up with him a little. Once my confidence was boosted, I realized my bladder had slowly begun to take over my entire body. No matter how much I tried to Vulcan Mind-Meld my bladder into disappearing, I had to abandon my impromptu make-out to take care of nature. 

On my way out of the bathroom, I went a-searchin' for the man of my dreams (for one night only). Instead, what I found was his friend, who decided that it was now his turn to shimmy, shake, and Mac with me. I decided that all this attention was a gift from the Pride gods, and I needed to accept my new fate as the Pride Vixen, otherwise, I would be disappointing the fates. Much to my chagrin, the original shimmy shaker walked up and decided to throw a hissy fit. Unfortunately for me, it was not because I had made out with both of them, rather it was because the both of them... WERE DATING. 

(Mothertruckin' ass dogs.)

Other than assisting in being a homewrecker, the rest of DC Pride went perfectly. I saw Icona Pop and Emeli Sande play the festival, and I took home a new award in the amount of sweat one person can sweat in a 90-minute period. It's really a gift. 

Chicago

I'm not gonna spend a lot of time discussing Chicago. 

NY Pride

DOMA was repealed four days before NY Pride happened. I can say, from the bottom of my heart, I have never cried so much during a parade in my life. (Except for that one time in Disney World. We still don't talk about that.)

The night I arrived in NY, Swifty, her husband, and I made our way downtown to the West Village to go to a gay bar or club. We found ourselves, first, at Pieces, where the bar was completely and totally overcrowded. To our surprise, there was a coat check available at the front of the bar... a coat-check in JUNE. Turns out it wasn't a coat-check at all, it was a CLOTHING-CHECK. That's right: You could check your clothing at the door and walk around in your boxer-briefs, briefs, or JOCK STRAPS. 

We stayed standing for an hour (obvs oogling) before heading to the next bar. We decided to head to Stonewall... yes, of the Stonewall Riot fame. For those of you who know me, I am more than mildly obsessed with social media, so it should come as no surprise to you that I am an avid user of Foursquare. (Because it isn't creepy that someone can track your every move.) Well, I went to check into Stonewall and was surprised to see there was an event I could check into. The event was titled "LESBO GO-GO."

First I felt: 

Then I was all like: 

After I realized it was dancing, I was like: 

(Cause, bitch, I DON'T PLAY with my music)

We rolled into this history-making bar and bee-lined to the upstairs and downed a few drinks. I don't think I have been around that many dancing lesbians ever in my life. It took me a few minutes to get over the fact that I had changed the color of my shirt with my own sweat. (I'm impressive like that.) Just as I was getting over this not-so-secret fabric changing power I have, my friend Nomad (she, like, travels lots, duh), showed up and immediately pulled me up on the stage in front of all the lesbians. Much to my surprise, I danced like my life depended on it. At one point, whilst on stage, I thought I was so impressive I could definitely try out for So You Think You Can Dance... or at least their drunk bar version of the show. 

The weekend only got better from there. Brunching, dancing, and lots of eating ensued. There was the emotional Pride Parade — Edie Windsor was the Grand Marshall of the parade. I got ramotional. It was quite the weekend. 

Match.com

So, over a year after I originally talked about it, I finally took the plunge and purchased a membership to match.com. When I originally dabbled in it, I didn't pay for it and kinda let it hang by the wayside. On Sunday, however, my good lady friend Simba and I had our own little Sunday Funday that ended with buying a SIX-month membership. I don't know how things got so aggressive. 

(THIS IS WHAT MY INSIDES FEEL LIKE ABOUT DATING.)

The six-month membership comes with a guarantee; the site guarantees that if you do not find love within the six months that you paid for, then you get a SECOND six months for free. Because I am half-Jewish, I casually want to not find love and get another six months for free. (Hey, it's a deal! Gimme a break people.) I'll be sure to let you know how it goes. 

Miami: A new meaning to Hot Mess

DC Pride: Politically incorrect and loving it 

Chicago: Shhh

NY Pride: Am I a lesbian now?

Match.com: Jesus, Joseph, and Mary

Sports and Stuff

Like I seem to do at the beginning of every post, I want to mention a few major things going on in pop culture/my life (because they go hand in hand).

• I'm recently prone to random outbursts of emotions as well as hot flashes. It's either because I am menopausal...or...or...nope, the only explanation is that I am menopausal. I have really high high's and then I get really sweaty for no reason. I bring layers to work and then slowly peel them off as I heat up...or I keep them on because I am fearful of the wonderful sweat stains. (I'm quite the catch bitchessss)

(Vampires sweat too)

• I am in the process of SUCKING at packing. I have been avoiding it like the plague because it adds to my stress and it also adds to my menopausal breakdowns (see Robert Pattinson). I am 8 days away from moving and my looks like I'm nesting. 
• I haven't written about my favorite southern hillbillies in awhile, but Honey Boo Boo should be very proud of Mama June because she has lost 100lbs (according to her). Mama June is telling everyone she didn't change her diet or even set foot inside a gym - she is blaming being famous (Just sit with that for a minute). But, like, is that why I can't loose weight? Am I just that unfamous? I never thought that Mama June would contribute to my low self-esteem, but by George, SHE'S DONE IT. 

(HOW? There are two things I want to point out. 1. The media LOVES finding terrible photos of this woman. 2. Get it Mama June, solid shirt choices)

• Beyond trying to figure out if I can get Mama June thin from being famous, I am trying to figure out how to lose weight before I got to Miami for work in May (No, I don't work at a real place). What I have resorted to doing is a diet known as "Slow Carb,"  which basically means 6 days a week you hate the world and don't eat anything fun and on the 7th day you may have a cheat day (I live for cheat days). If you remember correctly, I tried out #nocarbs2013 in January and I casually wanted to punch everyone in the face. Obviously, I make good choices in life by adding a restrictive diets to my already menopausal outbursts. (Hey good lookin, you tryna get at this?)

(Just a normal Friday night!)

Ok, let's get onto the real thing that has been having me all in a hizzy the last few days. In the last six days I have surprised myself more than I have surprised anyone else. I am sure you all heard that this past week was the Super Bowl, right? Well, I was planning on watching the Super Bowl like I normally do-- stuffing my face with food (in the name of sports!) and waiting for the half-time show (surpriseeee). Then, out of nowhere, my mind, body, and soul decided to to make a random foray into football fanaticism.

(Someone's mother didn't hold them enough when they were little) 

To tell you how uninterested in the sport I was, when Super Bowl Sunday started, I posted on Facebook "I hope the Ravens score a homerun today" (You'd be surprised how many people thought I was serious). I did, however, travel into Baltimore to watch the game because I lovveeee tailgating and wearing the color purple and having it not be a strictly "feminine" color. We began playing beer pong, drinking Irish coffee, and randomly taking shots around 2pm (in the name of sports!). 

Slowly, as the game creeped closer and closer, I felt myself buying into the Ravens. Everyone around me was wearing purple and getting really excited and I couldn't help having sympathy excitement. However, it wasn't until the first play of the game that my feelings towards this team went out of control. (I kept it real though, my first tweet about anything Super Bowl was about the M&M commercial featuring Santana from Glee. Facts)

It happened when the first touchdown happened for the Ravens. It was like my body was taken over and all I wanted to do was live tweet this event. I started to scream when we had the ball and was irrationally annoyed when things weren't going our way. My friends who were around me were astonished at how into the game I was. I was the person everyone thought was going to make snarky comments about the game. Instead I was hooting and hollering about the game as if I was a lifelong diehard fan. 

(He just gets me) 

As if I couldn't be tweaking out enough in an abnormal way, the half-time show came like a bat out of hell. For the whole first half of the game I had been this hetero-masculine being, tweeting, grunting, and emoting all my straightness. Then it happened; I'm not even that big of a fan...or so I thought. Trotting down the center of the stage Beyonce made her way straight into my soul. 

(Throw some shady STANK Bey)

I went from the epitome of masculine to a giddy 12yr old girl. I kept turning and spinning and trying to see if anyone else in the room was having n religious experience like I was. When Kelly and Michelle rose from ground to reunite Destiny's Child, I honestly questioned if my body could handle the excitement going on in my body. I kept saying "My heart, my heart, this is everything." (Why? Because I am a dramatic homosexual)

The second half of the game was more stressful and I was actually almost brought to tears at one point because I thought the Ravens were going to lose. I HAVE NEVER BEEN EMOTIONAL ABOUT SPORTS. I couldn't handle myself and there were a couple of times that I tried to snap myself out of it. I had mini pep-talks with myself in the bathroom.

"Get it together. This isn't you. You get emotional at Britney Spears concerts and during the months leading up to Christmas. You do not form deep relationships with football teams during a sporting event. You do not have panic attacks when "your team" misses a play. Get. Your. Shit. To.Geth.Er." (Gay claps implied)

Nothing I did would work, though. I still had so many emotions and when the Ravens did finally win the Super Bowl, I ran out into the streets with my friends and participated in a good old fashioned riot. 

(I'm in there! Can you see me??)

This was probably the least abnormal thing for me to partake in the entire evening. I like to break shit. 

This theme of random Raven fanaticism continued into the week as well. My boss convinced me to work my work schedule around being able to attend the Ravens Super Bowl Parade in Baltimore this past Tuesday. Not only did I gladly accept this reason to have an abbreviated work schedule, but I freaked the freak out about being able to see some of the players I had grown to love over the course of 72hrs. (Right next to all of the lifelong fans, they don't care, right?)    

I went, I wore purple, I screamed, I hooted, I hollered, I took 20+ photos, and 10 videos. I have mind boggled myself and I am just wondering at what point I was drugged by the sports fairy. Once I figure where this hetero-demon came from, I'll let you guys know.   

Football: Great for innuendo and rioting (Ill throw a ball in your end zone! *wink, wink*)

Mama June: Fame has really gotten to her...

Beyonce: Queen of Stank 

Fabulously Lost: Lost in a world of sports fandom (Like Space Jam)

Leap Day, Leap Frog, Leap of love?

Why hello there you saucy minxes! I have missed you all quite dearly and I apologize for my prolonged absence. I wish I could say it was because I fell madly in love and didn't have to write about my dating woes anymore, but mainly its because I was abruptly forced out of my little abode in Baltimore to move....(DUN DUN DUN) home with my parents. (You can gasp, judge, question my sanity, rinse and repeat) It is not a choice I made lightly, nor is it something that will be going on for a very long period of time. Since I had very little time to move (Due to craptastic landlord/housing/leasing issues) the only real option, without paying out the wazoo, would be to move home (rent free!) with the parents for a bit. (My new roomies have a beautiful house, require no rent, and keep a fully stocked fridge....so suck it Judgy-McJudgerson)


Enough of that jibber-jabber! It's LEAP Day! A-Top-O-the-Mornin' to you fellow leap day lovers! You may ask why I love leap day so much...its just an ordinary day, right? WRONG bitchesssss! It's an extra day in the year that only happens every 4years. The year I was born was a "leap year" which means I know people who were born on leap day! This is a vivid conversation I remember having with this girl Anne-Marie in 2000:

Anne-Marie: Hi Fabulous, wanna play Animorphs at lunch for my birthday?
(Yes....I used to pretend with my friends that we were the mystery solving group that used to morph into animals. Anne-Marie was always the dolphin cause she swam...this meant she'd flop around on the ground....we weren't very popular)
Me: SURE! I can't believe you are 12 today! Animorphs will be extra special today.
Anne-Marie: Technically I am actually 3 today
Me: What the WHAT?  hhahaha you can't be 3 silly. Oh Girlz!
Anne-Marie: Well I was born on Feb. 29th, which only exists every 4years, this is the 3rd year I've been alive that this day has come around...so I am technically 3. 
Me: *MIND BLOWN* I...I...this...whaaaaat...I...can't....words...uhhh....you look good for your age?

So  Happy 6th Birthday Anne-Marie (even though we haven't spoken since we were 12...) And a HAPPY LEAP DAY to you and your kin!

(If you don't watch 30 Rock...you should. Leap Dave Williams!!)

So many of you may be wondering how this whole moving in with the parents will change my dating life, and to be completely honest...I am wondering the same thing. It looks like we are going to have to work this out together and find the best possible solution. So I wanted to share with you what I have been doing in order to ensure a successful love life, whilst living with Mama and Poppa Fabulous. 

This past week or so has been dedicated to research. I have researched different dating websites, I have researched relationships results, and I have researched the crap out of my friends and families successful relationships. I decided that I needed to look more at what makes a successful relationship before I run off and try and find love so haphazardly. I also learned that doing all of the above makes me want to punch small children and cute animals in the face (this should come as a surprise, as I am someone who enjoys children and animals.) 

I also decided that I needed to update my profile a bit on OkCupid and maybe stop going on dates with guys from Grindr and the other wonderful "insta-date" sites.  Maybe its because of the winners I have been on dates with recently but I feel like maybe....JUST MAYBE...I might be going on dates with people in all the wrong places. How can you really tell if you are going to be attracted to someone or into them or whatever else from a series of random chats and photos sent back and forth (and not the dirrrrty kind, I mean face photos weirdos). I mean do they really think they know me? Are they going to be attracted to me? Will they have to learn to love me...or will it be natural and love at first site? Do I sometimes jump into a serious monogomous relationship with a person before we have gone on our first date, and I've already planned how we are going to introduce our polar opposite families to each other? Is that extreme? Is that why rejection stings so much? (yes. just yes to all of that.)

I was talking to my older brother the other day on the phone and he always asks about my dating life. Now, as I have mentioned before, he has been with the same person since he was 18 years old, which has taken him out of the dating game for quite sometime. He also happens to be one of the most competitive people I have met in my life before, which comes in handy since...ya know...he's LITERALLY a Jeopardy Champ. (Yes. He is 25. Lives in NYC. Has a successful relationship. Is going to be a lawyer. AND flippin' won a crap ton of money on Jeopardy. AND Yes I have a voodoo doll with his name on it. Seeee what that gets ya big spender! Rude.) Anywhoz, this is kinda how our convo went:

Older Bro: So are you going to make me ask? How are the men in your life?

(Ohhhh did I mention, he's also the most flippin' liberal person I know and likes to look out for the underdog. REALLY? REALLY? Good thing he is a sore loser otherwise I'd ask why I got stuck with the leftover genes.)

Me: HA! Thats cute. I'm kinda on a breather. I went on a bender...went on so many dates. I'm kinda tweaking right now cause I haven't had an awkward date moment in 5 days. I think I deserve a pin or something. 

Older Brother: Wow...so are you just giving up? That doesn't sound like a winner.

Me: Nahhh I'm not giving up...just doing research. I might do match.com, but it kinda costs a lot. 

Older Brother: How much is it? Stick with free

(We are both solid half-Jews who enjoy being as frugal as  possible. Our younger brother is the same way....I gladly accept that stereotype.)

Me: Its like frickin' $30 a month or something. 

AND this is where the competition comes in, the contest I didn't realize was going to happen:

Older Brother: That's a waste of money. Take that $30 and go up to four random people at the bar. Buy them drinks and try to get them to go on dates with you. BOOM. just saved you money. 

Me: Uhhh...it doesn't really work like that. That takes a lot of confidence and...er...also what if they reject you? 4 rejections just cost me $30 and probably an extra session at my therapist. Also....after the first rejection I would probably wallow in a pool of self pity and gin and tonics. 

Older Brother: Are you kidding? If they reject you...onto the next! Talk until you find one. I'll be your wing man...it's gonna happen. Next time you come up I'll find you one. 

Me: HA. HA. HA. I'm a homosexual, Older Brother. I don't think you realize that we work differently. We have groups and subgroups and we have rules.  So many rules. 

Older Brother: Fuck rules. Do you think I couldn't pick up guys at the bars? Don't you remember when we went to the showtunes bar? I got looks. I got a lot of looks. 

Me: That's not what I said....I just meant you couldn't get me a guy. It doesn't work like that

Older Brother: Is that a challenge?

Me: No I don't think I just challenged you. 

Older Brother: Sounds like a challenge. In fact I will UP it. Next time you come up we will both find guys and then in the cab on the way home...I'll hop out and then you can have both of them. You  don't have to sleep over my place. 

Me: That's nice of you...but I didn't challenge you. 

Older Brother: It's on like donkey kong. I'm a great brother. 

So my research began with my brother challenging himself to find me, not 1, but two men to go home with at the end of the night the next time I go to NY. The weird part is that I fear what will happen when I actually go up there...once he has put his mind to something, the man will do anything to complete a challenge. 

After this little nugget of odd confidence, I began answering some of the questions on OkCupid that are supposed to help you find your match. The issue with free sites is that they are poorly put together, and I'm fairly certain the creators tend to throw in joke questions.

Would you like to play Twister naked with a group of people?
(ummmm what? Now I guess I will know if the person I go on a date with enjoys orgy  childrens games?)
Gay Marriage- Should it be legal?
(sooo they obviously do not tailor the questions to the gays)
Would you date someone who was already in a committed relationship?
(Really Okcupid? Reaaaalllly?)
Would you rather climb and sit in a tree or sit on the ground?
(I'm baffled. I don't even know how to answer this or if they answer is truly that important....how will this find me love?)


That was actually the last question I answered when I realized I needed to join a more reputable site. I am in the process of paying for and signing up for match.com. This blog now has a whole overhaul ladies and gents. Match.com guarantees me true love after 6months (Or the next six months free...)


Today, when I get home from work I will be purchasing this package...because....well it's Leap Day, so nothing really counts because its a fake day. Right?

Internet Dating: Getting a Beyonce style  Upgrade

     

Fabulously Lost: Hopefully found in 6months
Older Brother: Constant creator of competition

My attempt at being mysterious...

I hope all of my single friends have had a lovely holiday so far. My coupled friends....suck it, go cry on the shoulder of your sig other. This holiday was splendid for me, spent it at my parents house, but was readily aware of my lack of a love life when I found myself sitting sandwiched between Padre and Madre while watching Love Actually . Now for those of you who haven't seen this movie, I am not going to explain anything about this movie...you should be able to get the jist of it from the damn title, and if you don't we have issues. As I sat there watching these increasingly sappy love stories I began to think back to my love life over the last year. There is one person that seems to come up quite often in my group of friends and has even become an anecdote for people to tell at dinner parties. (Cue the sound of my self esteem both rising and falling at the same time. Wrap your head around how THAT happens).

I began going to the gay clubs and bars frequently back in Jan. 2011 when I began hanging out with gay friends on a regular basis. It was new and wonderful and full of dancing sweaty men who just wanted to belt out Lady Gaga and Britney Spears without being looked at like they were fulfilling any of the stereotypes they actually were almost always fulfilling.  I began to slowly fall in love with this world while in Baltimore, but it wasn't until I went to Philly on a random weekend with gay friends that I realllllly fell in love. 

I drove up to Philly with gay bffl (best friend for life, duh loser) and sang Britney Spears and Beyonce (cahm ahnnnn we arent that gay. You can only sing Britney Spears OR Lady Gaga when not at the club. Read the rule book. No need to out gay the cars next to you.). Pulling into Philly was magical and it seemed like a brand new playground for me. I literally couldn't wait to go see the Gayborhood and all the fun things Philly had in store for me. 

We checked into our hotel and proceeded to get schwasted with a group of gays who I'm pretty sure judged me the whole time and I generally had a terrible time that first night. My dreams dashed against the liberty bell I woke up with an inexplicable urge to go to a sports bar and hangout with straight people to balance the cattiness from the evening before. Once I was finished being a drama queen and the gay bffl was done being a drama queen, I realized going to a straight sports bar meant I would have to actually watch sports and the men there wouldn't be interested in me (or would they be? *WINK, WINK* get it...did ya see what I did there? "straight" = fun game! JK lolzzzzz)

Anywayz we spent the entire day walking around the city scopin' peoplez out and deciding what debauchery we were going to get into when our lesbian friends came for the second night. I couldn't wait for them to arrive and our glittery night adventures to begin!  (All good night adventures with the gays involve glitter. I'm pretty sure Ke$ha is just a gay man posing as a woman.) I got shnazzed up in my normal black attire (It's slimming. Im not gothic. I promise. I like colors. ughhh I knew you would make this awkward. I wear more color now, ok??). We had a couple drinks before we left for the club with the ladies. The first place we went was fine and ok...nothing to write home about, it was really the second place that changed the game. 

We walked into Voyeur and there was a magnificently large circular stage in the center of the room with men, upon men, upon men packed on it. My first thought was "Aww hellz naw Im not getting up there. Those crazy queens!" Much to my shock and awe, my gay bffl responded to my "thought" by telling me he had no doubt I would be up there at some point in the night. (Apparently in my drunk state, my thoughts became word vomit that I felt necessary to spew onto my group. Damn you Drunk M., damn you). We made our way up to the second floor of the club, which overlooked the entire first floor, and got a couple of drinks. As we stood up there....Beyonce's "Run the World (Girls)" came on....

Gay Bffl and I ran down stairs as if Judy Garland herself had strolled in ready to hand out the Queen-iest  of Queens award, and we had been called for first place. We began dancing like maniacs and trying to replicate the music video we had memorized the weekend prior. While down there on the floor I looked up at the stage and there was this dark figure walking towards the edge of the stage. He looks at me, I look at him and he points. I turn and search in the crowd to see what he is pointing at before I realize it is me. I slowly walk to the stage as if I am on a runway, trying to remember what Tyra had taught me on ANTM, and he pulls me up to dance with him. I rock the crap out of the stage and out of this attractive black man. As we begin to mack it on stage, my friends begin to hoot and holler like banshees. Embarrassed by this....I continued to mack for a few more minutes and dance. THEN I got off the stage. 

Several moments later we repeated the entire process above.  Point. Dance. Mack. Hoot. Holler. ROCK his mother effin' world. While I was up there dancing with him we had a very short exchange that went like this. 

Him: Why you so sexy?

Me: *silence, unsure how to answer perplexing question*

Him: Sexy, My name is Stephen

Me: Thats a nice name. My uncles name is Stephen. (Whaaaaaat? WHAAAT? MY UNCLE? who the HELL brings up there Uncle as they are dirty dancing with a man on stage? *winces at memory*)

Him: Uhh thats cool. Whats your name?

Me: *Winks* Thats for me to know and for you to find out? *Winks again, continues to dance and mack it*

Can we discuss for a moment my last sentence. Thats for me to know and for you to find out. Ummm YO....he was trying to find out and you thought you were being sexy and mysterious. Nope, sorry about it you were just mind boggling and confusing. In my drunk state I figured that the sexiest thing I could do would be to NOT tell this person my name, which explains my singledom. Stephen and I could of had a lovely drunk convo that turned into breakfast, that turned into spending weekends at each others homes, that could've turned into vacationing with the parents, getting proposed to and being married in front of the Liberty Bell. But we will never know because I didn't tell him my name. 

To this day I get random text messages from people that say "Why you so sexy" or friends who will ask about how Stephen is doing. Any possibility of a future with this dark finger pointing figure has gone out the door and down the drain. PSA for the kiddies: Mysterious only works in the movies. 

Internet Dating: 4

Fabulously Lost: 0

Philly: Pretty damn good...they have lots of gays.