Impatient.

I've been struggling with a chapter all day today. It doesn't have the right tone, it's boring instead of the awkward tension I seek, and I'm getting increasingly more frustrated each time I look at it. Part of me keeps saying to just get it done, stop wasting time on it, freaking just write it already and move onto the next.

And then I read this post by Erica, and I think, "Oh yeah...this is what writing is supposed to be like." Beautiful. Words that make you want to sink in and paint pictures and hope for more. This thing that you do because you need to do it, because you love to do it. And when it's done and it's done well, it's like standing back and regarding this perfect dwelling you've just built. One totally and wholly yours, with no sand lying underneath.

So I think I'll wait until the weekend, when I can sit alone and think and wait for words that actually mean something.

Soooo gooooood.

I'm back in tea phase again (I know this is incredibly fascinating to you), so the other day I picked up a couple of boxes of Celestial Seasonings Sugar Cookie Sleighride, and I have to say it: IT IS AMAZING.


Sugar cookies aren't even my favorite (have you met me, yet? If a piece of candy or a cookie doesn't have chocolate on it, I don't eat it), but this is delish. It's like a Christmas celebration for your mouth.

That's what he said*.




*Get it? I said "that's what he said" when I was talking about a Christmas celebration for your mouth, because guys always try to think of ways to make oral seem fun, even though it's not really all that fun. GET IT?!

SO excited for this movie.

"Talking about black metal in certain quarters seems deeply lame."

However, this article in the New York Times is not.

It's like the sphere of my influence is now immediate and infinite. Just as God had intended...

As many of you know, I suffered a terrible blow a couple of weeks ago when I saw this.

But then, my dear friend Kevin sent me this.

And although the mere mention of ironic wolf t-shirts on the 4th page just cements the idea that the purity that is the mystical wolf has been tainted, I do feel betta.

(I still love you, mystical wolves...but I still think we need to take a break. I wanna see where this thing with the dragons goes. You understand.)

YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME.

Upon which I defend Ang's honor and get into a sparring match with someone from OkCupid.com

A couple weeks ago, Ang and I were out at the VFW (because we love freedom) and chatting about OkCupid.com. Ang told me about a message she had gotten from a guy who - and I quote - looked like "Dwight Shrute's less attractive cousin." He had sent her a message stating that the two of them seemed to have quite a bit in common, to which Ang did not agree. She didn't reply back at first, so then he wrote her again with a bit more forceful message about how she really does need to look at all the things they have in common, etc.

Ang: So should I just ignore him or should I write him back and tell him I'm not interested?
Me: Just tell him "Thanks for your message, but I don't think we're a match. Good luck on your search!" It's as effective as saying "I'm just not feeling the chemistry" to someone after a bad date. You can't argue with it.
Ang: Sweet. I'm gonna write him that.

The next day, Ang informed me that she had written that exact message to this gentleman, only to receive a reply that said, "You are an idiot." Nice, right? Super mature and classy reaction to someone politely telling you that they don't see the two of you making babies anytime soon. Who the fuck says that? And especially - and here's probably the main point - who the fuck says that to my friend?!

So, being all "Oh no you DID-DN'T!", I trot right over to OkCupid.com to check this guy out.

A taste of his profile:

My Self-Summary:
I'm an artist. Any form of art, I've done it...I'm interested in many things and have done many things and hope to do many more thing. Some things I like to do or want to try include taking dance lessons, going kayaking, visiting various museums, traveling, shooting pool, hiking, swimming, rock climbing, martial arts, various sports, fairs, and more. There's a lot in life to see and do and I couldn't be confined to sitting in a bar drinking my life away.

What I'm Good At:
Lot's [sic]. And I say that with humility.

Really? Do we know what the definition of humility is, OysterBoy? And I'm not one to get bent out of shape with other people's typos (mainly because I make a lot of them, too, and get annoyed when people deem them worth pointing out - aka, get a life), but I think it's hilarious that his statement of being good at "lots" of things includes a typo. Apparently punctuation is one of the very few things he's not good at.

My Favorite Books, Movies, Music, and Food:
I have many different interests and eclectic tastes. These aren't the extent of my tastes. Just some favorites.

When someone states that they have "many different interests and eclectic tastes", it's almost always done with the intention and hope that you'll be incredibly impressed with how cultured and sophisticated they are. It expresses a certain type of arrogance. Also, confusion - everyone has different interests and tastes. I know of some people who only like a couple of things and will not concede to liking anything else. Those people also tend to come with the diagnosis of autism.

This is what I wrote him:

"When you message a girl who doesn't care to reply, it's not good form to message her again to harass her about replying. It paints you as a buffoon who can't take a hint, and no girl wants to go out with a guy like that. Nobody HAS to reply back to you - they don't own you anything. You do, however, owe HER an apology for calling her an idiot when she DID send you a very polite response back.

And by apology, I mean that you need to message her again and tell her that you're sorry for being such an incredible jerk (just to spell it out for you - you might be good at "lot's", but apparently one thing you are not good at is courtesy and manners)."

His Reply:

"So, here's yet another mediocre fool looking for a typo in a vain attempt to "crush my ego"...As for my so called ego, there's nothing wrong with being proud of your accomplishments. If you weren't such a typical passive aggressive, insecure loser, you would understand that. Also ,you show your hypocrisy by condemning me for stating I'm good at something, all while saying you're good at something. Go get another drink, you alcoholic loser. Fix the mess that is you and life will be a lot better for everyone involved."

Real catch, right? Who wouldn't want to go out with this guy?!

My Reply:

"Why would I want to crush your ego? I don't even know you, and really don't care to. You assume too much about your value to me. You, however, seem to think that you know me quite well. Your assumptions are laughable. You still owe my friend an apology."

His Reply:

"I don't know who your friend is, but I'm sure that they, like you, owe me an apology for your assumptions. So really, save your stupidity for someone else. If you're a couple of rude bitches, don't call someone rude for not putting it up with it. Don't call me arrogant when you're an arrogant bitch."

My Reply:

"So calling someone an idiot after they tell you that they don't think you're a good match is common for you? Do you do this so often that it's hard to remember who I might be speaking of? Unlike you, I didn't assume anything. Everything that I've said has been absolute fact, taken from your very words. Nice job resorting to "bitch." That's really original and creative. And you call yourself an artist..."

His Reply:

"You and your friend assume everything. Your friend assumed we weren't a good match, despite the fact that nearly everything she said in her profile matched up with what I said or what I think. So, that means she's either an idiot and can't see it, or she's an idiot because she thinks she's a super model and I'm up to her 'standards.' Plain and simple. She made a judgment about me and I did the same in return. I don't like when socially impaired losers want to call me arrogant or assume whatever they want to assume about me when all I was doing was being friendly and saying hi to someone who looked like she would be a good person to get to know. She proved me wrong with her response. She proved to me that she's just another typical online misfit who is waiting for something more than she offers, only to complain that she can't find someone who she has things in common with that would treat her well. So, my tolerance for that behavior is nil. You can keep on saying this is about me, but it's about you and people like you. You're a bunch of fucked up losers who judge nice guys as assholes and assholes as nice guys. And when you've treated another nice guy like dirt and he won't put up with it, then you say 'see, I told you he was a creep.' I'll give you one more chance to express your opinion, but if you cant' see how your behavior affects other people's behavior, you'll be blocked. I've got nice women to talk to who don't behave like you and I'd much rather use my energy on positive, friendly, happy people.

My Reply:

"You actually don't have anything in common with her, other than one artist that you amy both enjoy. You disagree on a number of very fundamental issues, such as children, drinking, smoking, and other varied tastes and preferences. You cannot force people to like you, no matter how much you may perceive to have in common with them. Just because someone doesn't like you, it does not mean they're an idiot. That is a grave error in logic, as well as completely immature. And it sounds like you are extremely bitter towards women. That is unfortunate. However, you will only continue to get bitterness back if you continue to behave in that manner. It's how the universe works. I also have to disagree with your defense that you're a "nice guy." Nice guys don't call people idiots when they politely refuse your company. They also don't call people bitches, or "fucked-up losers" or any of the other number of names that you have delightfully matched me and my friend with. Please block me. I beg of you."

His Reply:

"How the hell does she know anything about how I feel about kids? Just because people don't have everything in common doesn't mean they're a bad match. That's a sign of immaturity. Do you think people have to match up in every way? Are you in complete agreement with everyone you know? We share the same interest in music, art, nature, animals, architecture, movies, politics, and much more. Now, you're telling me that there's nothing in common? give me a break. If someone think that having only 98 out of 100 things in common doesn't make for a good match, they are either lying about what they believe, especially when claiming to be open minded, or they aren't anywhere near being open and are nit picking things. So, what do you think, that nice guys are supposed to be push overs? That they're supposed to blindly accept lies, accusations and judgments and then be told they can't make their judgments of that? If you're so concerned about maturity, do the mature thing and stop basing your arguments on bias towards your friend rather than what's right."

My Reply:

"Look at your basic details in comparison to hers. She did. The bottom line? SHE WASN'T INTERESTED. AND SHE DOESN'T HAVE TO BE. You cannot bulldoze someone into liking you, just as it's bad form to try to guilt or harass someone into replying to your message, and then call them names when they finally do so. Also -

"Just because people don't have everything in common doesn't mean they're a bad match. That's a sign of immaturity. Do you think people have to match up in every way? Are you in complete agreement with everyone you know?"

VS

"Your friend assumed we weren't a good match, despite the fact that nearly everything she said in her profile matched up wit hwhat I said or what I think. So, that means she's either an idiot and can't see it, or she's an idiot because she thinks she's a super model and I'm up to 'her standards'."

Your words speak for themselves."

In other news, at least Ang and I now know what a nice guy looks like.

Update: Oh SHIT! Apparently Ang and I are not the only ones who've been privy to his charms.

Weekend Video Treats - Patton Oswalt on the song "Christmas Shoes"

Patton Oswalt - Christmas Shoes - watch more funny videos

WHO HERE WORKS AT PASTE MAGAZINE?! AND WHY DO YOU HATE ME SO MUCH?

A Twitter friend, @tookaleft, sent me this link. Normally I would think it was hilarious, since it's so spot on regarding all the other type of hipsters.

BUT THE HIPSTER OF 2009 IS WEARING A "POPULAR" THREE WOLF MOON T-SHIRT. And that makes me want to cry.

I don't like wolf t-shirts because they're hip. I love them because they're NOT SUPPOSED to be hip. I love them because they're weird and dorky and yet so super awesome at the same time. Why has this trend caught on?! The only reason I started liking mystical wolves in the first place was because my friend Matt pulled up a bunch of Google Images of mystical wolves on his iPhone for our entertainment one happy hour. And so in love with them I fell, my affection for them almost surpassing my love of unicorns (but not of Air Supply).

But I don't know if I can do it anymore. I hate you, hipsters. I hate it when you ruin every goddamn thing that I might love. You take it, twist it, brag about it, get all pretentious-dick about it with your smug ironic smiles and incredibly annoying sense of humor, and then I can't love it anymore.

Goodbye, mystical wolves. Goodbye. I will always love you! I will! But we just have to keep it quiet for a little while. Just for a little while, I promise. Just until things settle down...and then, finally, we'll be together again, free to dance under a moon while the midst hangs in the balance and Air Supply plays, softly, just in the background somewhere...

I'm DOOONE!

Official NaNoWriMo word count - 50, 057 words. "Ice Skating To Air Supply" is now a raging success. To me, at least.

We WIN!

The goal of raising $500 to support NaNoWriMo has been reached!!!!!

AND you guys have helped us become the #2 TOP FUNDRAISER!!!!!

Special and deep-felt thanks goes out to everyone who donated to and supported - either with contributions, encouragement, or just plain ol' nagging - me in my NaNoWriMo efforts for the last two months. I'm in the homestretch today - only 6,300 words to go!!! - and will announce it here when I'm fully done and validated in my 50,000 word count.

And then, when that's over? Some blogging will happen, I'm going to read a book, and then I'm going to finish the other novel (it's been driving me crazy all month, I can't wait to get back to work on it, which is a really great thing since I had lost a little bit of MO before November), and then I'm going to begin re-writes on this one. I really like it. It surprised me, how easy and just plain fun it was to write. (Oh yeah - in case some of you don't follow me on Twitter, the working title of the NaNoWriMo book is "Ice Skating To Air Supply").

See you when I'm through!!!

I heart Kevin Smith.

I really, really do (and not just because he did Degrassi. But it didn't hurt any).

It's even better that this video is like worlds colliding. I read his autobiography in Barnes & Noble yesterday just before going to see New Moon, and today I saw this -

Happy Birthday, Miley! You're dumb.

I don't think it should come as a surprise to any of you that I hate Miley Cyrus (Megan Fox is also close in the running, for the same reasons). She's just sooo stupid. Nobody wants to hear you talk, Miley. It takes too much attention away from you dancing on a pole during a live performance at an awards show for kids.

These guys think so, too.

Weekend Video Treats - Fans Reaction to New Moon Trailer

Via Jimmy Kimmel -



I'm totally going to this movie tonight. AND IT HAD BETTER BE BETTER THAN THE LAST ONE.

Better.

Thank you, Zach Saueressig, for loving literacy.

Thanks, Zach, for donating to NaNoWriMo! Progress is now at 97%!!

For your Sunday morning enjoyment.

This is oddly mesmerizing and fascinating. Also, incredibly depressing.

So I'm changing my book for NaNoWriMo.

I started out writing Black-Eyed Kids, a book idea I had about five years ago. I still really like some parts of it and would like to take the whole thing to fruition at some point. However, I just couldn't seem to get motivated or inspired to work on it, even though the whole point of NaNoWriMo is to just sit down and freaking write.

On Sunday, inspired by a text from the lovely Erica , I decided to try out something different. I won't go into too much detail at this point because I don't want to lock myself in quite yet, but take the dating posts on this blog - along with some of the other ridiculous crap-trap - and envision it in a book format. The style I use on here is vastly different from my "serious" style of writing (see Many Detailed Things and Romance), which is why I felt it would be enough of a challenge to commit to fleshing it out some of the things I've posted on here in a novel form.

And I was right - it is somewhat of a challenge. However, it's also been completely fun and refreshing, as proved by the fact that I've already written 11,212 words within the last 48 hours.

So, that's what I'm going with. I changed the subject of my book in the middle of NaNoWriMo last year, too, so I'm aware of how much catch-up I'm going to have to do, but I actually want to do it now, all the time.

I want her to be my new best friend. Sorry, Katy, but you just don't get me like she does.

Last night I had a horrible night of sleep. Quite possibly the worst. I'd sleep for half an hour only to wake up from a terrific nightmare consisting of demons coming to get me, or one where everyone's faces in the dream melts into bloody pools of flesh, or another one where Katherine Kersten was trying to be my friend.

The only saving grace of the entire night was turning the TV on around 3:30 am to find an episode of Metalocalypse playing on Cartoon Network. And that is when I was finally able to fall asleep, my friends. Safe in the arms of cartoon Death Metal.

And then this morning, I woke up, checked my Twitter, and saw this.

It's like the whole night was just a tightly orchestrated event, preparing me for one of the greatest announcements of the decade. SLAYER AND MEGADEATH ARE GOING TO BE PLAYING ON FEBRUARY 4TH. MY BIRTHDAY IS ON THE 6TH. IT'S LIKE GOD IS ALREADY TRYING TO TELL ME TO HAVE A HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

G-rod. Maybe G-rad. Maybe G-bad. Hopefully he's a nice lad, instead of a cad. That would make me glad.

On Thursday evening I finally went out on a date with G .

After I wrote that last post, I kind of gave up on G. That is, until I went on a slew of dates and found myself sitting there, staring at my date, and thinking, "I wish I was on a date with G. I bet G wouldn't be this lame. I really wish G had texted me back." So I sucked down my pride (I have a lot of that, so it's kind of a big deal when I do it. Hurts my throat and all...) and wrote him a message essentially telling him about that inner dialogue. He thought that was adorable (duh) and told me that he had simply figured that he had screwed things up beyond repair, but would like to try to meet again if I were willing. "Ball's in your court, playa," was my reply.

And then I didn't hear from him again for two weeks. THEN, earlier this week, he texts me out of the blue, asking if I want to meet up this week. After a texting battle ("He's either totally like me and therefore my soulmate or I'm going to end up killing him," I told Katy, after he kept me waiting for 2 hours for a response from him about time and place), the plan was set for Thursday, 8:30, at The Green Mill.

Around 8 he texted to warn me that he'd be late due to his class ending late, etc. After an astounding round of dates where I have been kept waiting for 15 minutes or more, often with no warning or apology in sight, I was just happy that he told me in advance (aaand observe the process of standards being lowered). I still show up at 8:30 and discover, to my delight, that the bar is packed due to a Thursday night football game. So I'm standing in the corner, awkwardly, waiting for G and praying that "late" means 5-10 minutes. Nope. And as it always happens when you're waiting for someone who's late, everyone notices, and thus, I get pulled unwillingly into a really awkward conversation. As I'm looking around, hoping to spot him just on the horizon so I can be saved from talking to this people, I spot a guy walk in, sporting blond hair and a Canadian Tuxedo. He looks just similiar enough to G's pictures that I start to hyperventilate a bit. "No, God, please, not him...please, God, don't let that be him...not after yesterday, God, really?!"

It wasn't him. Thanks, God. I don't owe you one yet, but keep those coming and I will!

He finally shows up, and I immediately forgive him for being late because it's obvious that he was late because he had showered, which was also apparently paired with the application of great cologne. It's amazing what I will forgive in the face of great cologne.

Here's the interesting thing about having been on a copious amount of online dates: Instead of it being commonplace, when a guy shows up and he actually looks like his pictures, it's like you're getting special gift. "Oh! Look at you! You look like you!" And G? He looks good. I'm not sure what it is - is it because I'm 30 and evolutionary stance is causing me to become more attracted to burlier men because they're more apt to be all testoteroney, aka more likely to turn me into a baby-maker? Hmm - but lately I've found myself really digging the manly-men. I wasn't like this before. I always wanted someone sensitive, lanky, possibly with translucent skin because it usually meant they were inside all the time, pouring through tall dusty stacks of incomprehensibly brilliant tomes of poetry or some shit like that. But lately I've been really digging on the broader chest, the arms that could easily lift you up and throw you onto the bed, and just the overall "I'm a guy" thing. And you wanna know why? Because those are the guys who will kiss you when you need to be kissed, who will have the courage to ask you to slow dance when Journey starts playing, and who will be the big spoon all the time.

So, to sum up, G is hot. And he's funny. Funny, as in "Wow, I'm actually laughing at what you're saying instead of just smiling and saying "That's Funny" funny. He's also smart, and I was already thinking about how I wanted to kiss him after only being 5 minutes into the date (have we talked about that yet? The imagining-the-kiss-thing on a first date? Because we should), and he even told me how awesome it would've been if I would've worn my Mystical Wolf t-shirt on the first date, because he totally would've gotten it. And he probably would have.

During our date, we talked about his bartending job. After he mentioned that he closed on Saturday nights, I threatened to come in and harass him while he was work - although the way I said it was totally cute and adorable, of course, not all freaky and stalkerish like I just made it sound...maybe, I think - and he was like, "You can come and visit me at work. That would be nice." Then the date ended with the whole "this was fun, hug!" thing.

"Okay, Patrick, I have a question for you," I told my friend Patrick on Friday night, after we had met for late night beers at the Mill (I'm a creature of habit. Sue me). Sitting in a darkened corner, we rested our heads against the dark wood of the walls and began a lazy conversation about dating. "Let's say you go on a first date with a girl, and you dig her. The date's great, whatever, you're getting the vibe from her that she likes you. Do you A., ask her out for a second date before the first date is over? Or B., wait to call her later? And if it's B., how long do you wait to call her?"
"You never ask for another date before the first date is over."
"Really? Never? Never ever?" I wondered. "But girls like that."
"It's too eager."
"Okay, then how long do you wait to call her?"
"Usually I give it until the night of the day after."
"So at least 24 hours."
"Yeah. Never the morning after. The morning is for stalkers."

And while I don't like Patrick's rule - I wanna know NOW if you wanna go out with me again! That way I can plan out what our first time is going to be like and how I'm going to introduce you to all my friend and start figuring out what song is going to be our song - I do have to respect the widely-popular stance of it.

On Saturday night I went on a girls night with my friends Jen and Ang. One of the stops we made was to the bar where G works.

It was awkward. And weird. I walked in and immediately realized that this has been a poor decision on my part. Even though he had said that a visit to his work would be nice, I instantly felt like a stalker from the moment I sat down at the bar ("But see, that's why you're not one," my old pal Jules tried to tell me this morning. "If you were one, you wouldn't know the difference between when you were being one and when you weren't. It's like what they say about being insane." "Yeah, but," I retorted, "I bet if I were insane you'd support me and tell me that it was totally fine and excusable, too." "Well yeah, because I'm your friend."). And then, after he asked us what we would like to drink and I ordered a beer, he kind of smirked and was like, "A beer. Wow. Adventurous." Cue my friend ordering a mixed drink, him gushing about making them, and I instantly wanted to sink into the floor.

That, along with some more moments of being delighted with my stunningly pretty friend and her drink choices, was the low point. High point: When Ang and Jen took a break from the bar, he did actually make a point to talk to me a number of times (and called me "tiger". See, Paul Saarinen?! It doesn't take much to make me happy).

So the jury's out. I don't think he'll call, given the fact that I actually would like him to and the fact that I didn't get an overwhelming "That Amber chick is alright" vibe from him last night. Ang and Jen think that he will.

As of present time, I'm giving him 48 hours. And then it's on to the next one, and the next one, and the next one.

This whole dating thing is kind of getting depressing.

I believe the word "Trainwreck" would be the most eloquent way to describe it.

I've been on some bad dates.

And when I say this, I mean to say: I've been on some bad dates that you would never want to have been on. You wouldn't hear about them and say, "Well, gee, I wouldn't mind going on that date! It'd be kinda funny and entertaining and then I could blog about it, too!" No, dear reader, you couldn't. One of my gifts in life is being able to take horrific personal events, find some type of ridiculous humor within, and then blog about them for your amusement. It's like a barter system with God. He gets to continually squash any hopes that I may harbor for a functional, meaningful, and mature relationship, and I get to blog about it and have people tell me that I'm funny.

So this particular date on Wednesday evening came as somewhat of a surprise. I thought I'd seen it all: 10 years older than stated age and picture; a startling resemblance to Doc Brown in Back To The Future, an excruciating amount of crotch grabbing and belching; creepy pudgy forearms; insulting stories and anecdotes about how they are better than me in every way; extolling the virtues of dating younger women when you're a senior citizen (but not, however, younger women who would have the nerve to order a six dollar glass of wine on a date...HE IS NOT MADE OF MONEY YOU KNOW!); already planning our holiday trips and how we'll meet each others' friends and family and dogs when we've only just started the first date; and a three hour tirade on Lance Armstrong, the Federal Reserve, and how America should just totally suck it.

And now this!

So we met on OkCupid.com. He had noticed that one of my photo captions mentions Hayward, WI, and messaged me to query about whether I had lived there or just visited on vacation. I told him that I had lived there in my early twenties, he tells me he grew up there, so great, we have something in common. From his pictures he looked like a cross between Carrot Top and Shaun White, which was actually kind of intriguing in a way. You ever meet someone that you, at first, think is really super ugly, and you're like, "NO WAY", but you keep an open mind because you dig the whole personality thing and you're hoping that, in time, his face will grow on you? Yeah, that's how I felt about my last boyfriend when I first met him.

And look where that got me.

So we're exchanging messages and he tells me that his name is Timbre, and do I know what that name means? First off, don't do this, guys. Don't do the thing where you think you're asking a fun and challenging question but only because it requires that she learn more about you. I understand that sometimes our childhoods were not that great, and that our moms didn't always come up to our rooms at the end of the school day to sit on our bed and to listen to us talk about our 3rd grade hopes, dreams, and lunch table interactions, but if you feel like there's not enough people in the world who are interested in who you are, start a blog and force it upon them. Don't kill it before it's even gotten out of the gate by making it clear that you only want to find someone to date so you can have someone with which to talk about yourself more.

So I write back and state the meaning of his name correctly and he offers to buy me a drink to reward me for my intelligence. I like it when people buy me drinks, so I say yes. We agree to meet up on Wednesday.

Wednesday rolls around, and while I'm at work I suddenly realize something: Do you know how Timbre is pronounced? According to the Webster's Dictionary, Timbre is pronounced as "TAM-ber". Hello. My name is Amber. So that means that TAMBER AND AMBER ARE GOING ON A DATE.

Here is how the date goes, in order of events:

1. He is 20 minutes late.

2. He calls me. I pick up, I can't understand a word he says, and then I turn and look to see him walking towards me. Sidenote: I really, really hate it when people consider my cell phone to be a radar honing device. Open up your fucking eyes, walk around the place, and LOOK. It's one of those seemingly small things that actually start to signify a lot.

3. He is super, super, super unattractive. Did you ever see the movie Mask? Not the one with Jim Carry, but the one with Eric Stoltz and Cher? He looked like that, only less physically deformed so I couldn't even feel bad for him.

4. First topic of conversation: I Just Got Fired From My Job, But Surprise! It Wasn't My Fault.

5. 2nd topic of conversation: I Hate My New Job and Have To Smoke A Lot of Pot Just To Get Through It.

6. 3rd topic of conversation: My Mom Was A Bitter Control Freak And My Dad Was An Abusive Alcoholic.

7. 4th topic of conversation: Two Years Ago I Dated A Girl Who Said She Was Divorced But She Was Really Only Separated. This includes the choice phrases: "She went away on a month-long trip to China with her estranged husband and his family, and when she came home she broke up with me because she said it wasn't going to work out. No, it's because you went to China and had sex with your husband for a month and now suddenly I'm not good enough for you." and "Don't lie to me. I don't like liars."

8. 5th topic of conversation: MCAD Sucks Because They Want You To Make The Art That They Want You To Make, Not The Kind of Art You Want To Make, But They'll Give You D-'s Instead of F's So They Can Pass You Onto The Next Course And Still Make Some Money Off Of You Because They Are Soulless, Barren, Blood-Sucking Dicks.

9. 6th topic of conversation: I Was Going To Go To UW-Superior To Finish Up College, But Then My Dad Hit Me Because He's A Drunk And So I Moved Out And That Was The End of That. *Cue a couple minutes of awkward, horrified silence *

10. 7th topic of conversation: I'm Kind Of In The Middle, Because I'm Kind Of A Punk But I'm Also A Conservative, So My Punk Friends Get Really Mad At Me For Driving A Luxury Car And Liking Nice Things. But Whatever, Because Our Government Totally Sucks Anyway And Personally I'm My Own Person And I Don't Identify With Just Any One Political Party. Sidenote: Gentlemen, has this worked for you in the past? Is this known as a tried-and-true routine in your dating report? Because I cannot tell you how many guys will state the whole "I don't identify with just one party" line and then look over at me with a smug half-grin, as if expecting me to slam down my drink, grab him by the shirt collar and say, "You're such a renegade. Let's do this right here, right now." Which I won't do, because you saying that you don't identify with just one party is pretty much akin to you saying that you think just like everyone else.

11. 8th topic of conversation: Oh, You Know Some Of The Guys I Went To School With? I Hated Them In High School. I Got Made Fun of A Lot In High School And People Picked On Me All The Time. Join the club, buddy. That's why it's called "High School."

12. And this is where I bid him adieu, after paying for my own drink (no, he didn't offer, even though he used it initially to get us to meet) and sending a panic-text to Ang to meet me at the nearest bar as soon as possible.

Total time of this date? One hour.


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