Letter to T.O.: We're finished.

I'm sad about it, but baby, you know you saw it coming. Listen, I love your body just as much as you do, but I had no idea that you were letting your skank of a publicist LIVE with you!!!! Do you think I'm stupid or retarded?! I know what you're up to! You pig-headed man-whore! I can't take it anymore, so I'm leaving you.

Stop crying.

I know it hurts, but it's your own damn fault. Seriously. I mean, pills? Really? That's the way rich white girls attempt suicide. At least drive your Escalade into a barracade or something and really do some harm to yourself - so we believe you and you look kind of pitiful. Instead, you look like a ghetto, wimpy, pansy of a man who uses his unbelievably hot body to trick women (and apparently, some men) to be at his beck and call.

But, what really has me irritated is you firing your trainer who has put up with your stank @ss for 7 years!!!!! Not even your skank of a publicist has put up with you for that long. YOU'RE THE ONE WHO STARTED ALL THIS TROUBLE!!!! Don't fire a man for trying to justify your bizarre behavior!!! I hate you. I mean, I knew that you were pretty stupid, but I was willing to overlook it because you're so hot and talented. However, it's not worth it now. You're more melodramatic than I am. And that will never work. I have to be the most dramatic - ALL OF THE TIME!!!!!

Besides, I've been seeing a really hot Trinidadian behind your back, and while I may not know his last name, at least I know he's not shacking up with his skank of a publicist! So, it's over. I can't believe it had to end this way.

I hope that you get your act together and actually play for the Cowboys this year - I mean they've given you 25 million reasons to play, haven't they?

Oh, what joy is mine!

Don't you all see what is happening?! Don't you?!

I fall in love with T.O.
He acts a fool and gets kicked off Philadelphia's team.
He moves to downtown Everycity (right by me!).
His "fiancee" breaks up with him.
He tries to commit suicide (and actually does a piss-poor job of it, I might add).

Don't you see that all these events are leading to one climatic event in T.O.'s life??????!!!!! Which is: MEETING, (and therefore), FALLING IN LOVE WITH ME!!!!!! (Because to know me is to love me, but please don't try to reference any of my ex-boyfriends on that....except for the Italian one.)

Oh, what joy! What joy is mine!!!! It's only a matter of time, you see. We even live in the same general vicinity!!! And I saw a picture of the outside of his condo complex in the newspaper, so I think that I'll try to plant myself in his pathway. That is if I can get that skank that calls herself his publicist out the way. (I think what probably really happened is she slipped him a forget-me-now, but I have no real proof...) Sure, it might be a little psycho, but it is a nessecary evil if our love is ever to bloom.

However, I'll make sure not to break up with him right at the start of the season. I'm a saint.

T.O., this one's for you:

"Oh, T.O., you came and you gave without taking, and I want you to know..."

No one can say it like Barry Manilow can.

I've made a huge mistake...

I know you're all thinking that I'm going to tell you some disasterous story about that freak of a boy who emailed me to tell me, that, after several months of not talking to him, he was still desperately in love me....or maybe that he just still thought I was hot. (Incidently, I haven't heard from him - a narrow escape indeed!)

But, no. That's not my huge mistake. My huge mistake is getting involved with a Trinidadian who doesn't give out his last name. (As I'm typing this, I'm realizing even more what a huge idiot I am.) Now, to my defense, this Trinidadian is excrutiatingly hot. However, I'm typically a little stronger in resisting even the hottest of them.....wait....
no I'm not. BUT THAT'S BESIDE THE POINT!!!!

We've been "seeing" each other for a few weeks now and I still haven't gotten up the nerve to demand to know his last name or else no hanky-panky. What's wrong with me?

I'll tell you what's wrong with me, I'm neurotic and have a touch of OCD. I can't stop thinking about how I don't know his last name, and I feel that the only way I can bring it up is in a casual, non-dramatic conversation. But, how, oh, how, I ask you, can I possibly bring up a subject casually when I've been obsessing over for weeks???!!

What to do...what to do....

And to heighten matters, he also appears to be practically perfect, meaning our life-philosopies seem to be closely related, we like to do the same kind of stuff, like the same music, are involved in the community, love children, but allegedly have none; have never been married (allegedly), are both very active, and have good senses of humor.
But this appearance of perfection is what has me so concerned. Maybe he's just a little too good, you know what I mean? Like, maybe he's a drug lord, or sells girls like me into white slavery, or he's really a serial killer, or he has nine wives, and/or 7 children.
What I mean is, there's gotta be something wrong with him, and as long as I don't know his last name, how can I run a criminal background check???!!! I'll even settle for a social security number.

See, I'm not picky...or psycho. Right??

I know that it's wrong, but I just can't resist

First of all, let me apologize for linking you to the wrong post yesterday. Sorry if there was any confusion, but now you know how I feel most of the time. I'll link you correctly this time. Promise.
So, anywho, I couldn't help myself. I emailed the freakazoid. You read his email in the last post. I know, I know. What's my problem, right? I'm always lookin' to start a little trouble - and I might have also felt just a little sorry for him. (If you need to reference his first email, check yesterday's post) So, here's what I said:

"Well, it depends on what you want me to be interested in. Of course I'd love to hang out and have fun and all that jazz, but I'm not really looking for anything serious right now. I hope you understand. If that's not really your style, then cool. But, if you think you can swing it, then of> course we can hang out!! You're an interesting guy, fo' so'!
Queen, III"

And then he wrote, and I swear I'm not making this up - I swear:

"Well I totally understand not wanting to beserious. I'm the same way. But I do think you're anice girl and a super hottie and if we got a littlekissy huggie I wouldn't read too much into it. Don'tworry I'm a big boy. But I am wondering if you thinkI'm nutty as a fruitcake because of all the crazystuff I said to you while we were making out at myapartment. That was all in good fun though I like tosay crazy stuff. What have you been up to? I've been rockin androllin. Got a new drummer (much better than the guyyou saw at the rehearsal) named Craig who's a supercool guy plus his girlfriend's super cool. We couldhang out with them sometime. also been playing golfand poker. I have to brag that I've been to the casinoin Oklahoma 3 times in the last couple of weeks and mywinnings are about $800!!! So I'm a pro poker playerfor the time being. Well hope to hear from you soon."

He's the lead singer of a mediocre band, thus the references to "rockin and rollin" and the drummer. And just in case you forgot about the "nutty" things he said to me, go here.
You won't believe your eyes, and you'll be asking yourself: what the hell is wrong with queeniii?

I wish I had an answer for you.

I don't even know what to say....

So, remember this post??? Yeah. You remember. Well, last night, I got this email:


Subject:
Hey I remember thinking...
Date:
Fri, 22 Sep 2006 6:36 PM

That you weren't very interested so I stopped calling,but if I was wrong I'd love to hang out again. Iremember telling Jared (the big red haired guy) that Ithought you weren't interested and he said you saidyou were when y'all talked at that party so I thoughtI'd write again.So let me know if you'd like to hang out. I'dcertainly enjoy your company if it's mutual!!

This is not a lie. I feel bad for him. But, I'm completly mystified and subsequently speechless.

Technical Difficulties

There's something wrong with my computer. It's making everything very difficult for me...like posting on my blog. Bear with me - I'll be back!

Why Match-dot-com was a Horrible, Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Idea, Part 2

And we're back. To why match-dot-com was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad idea (for me), Part 2.

So, here we are at date number 2. This one isn't nearly as juicy as the first, but diverting, nonetheless.

His name: Eric

Occupation: some kind of sports supplement salesman

His gimmick to get into my pants: he had no apparant gimmick. (I know!!! Hard to believe, isn't it??)

Number of dates: 2

Eric was a nice guy. He was a BIG guy, but had played tennis in college. He was a body builder or something like that presently, but he also had a huge gut that you could tell he was uncomfortable with. I mean, if he was a tennis player, I'm sure that at one point he was incredibly thin. Have you ever seen a fat tennis player?? But, he was a pretty nice guy. So, we go out. He has a fairly decent sense of humor, but we have almost NOTHING in common and I spend the entire night scrounging for conversational topics. It was so exhausting.

He actually took me out to the nicest sushi place in town and spent a pretty penny on our dinner. We dined like Kings!!! We had the best wine, the best sushi, fabulous appetizers, and tremendous dessert. I was stuffed full to the brim! I think that we had planned to go to the movies after dinner, but we were so full that we decided to just go rent a movie and watch it at his place.

We rent a movie. We start watching the movie, and during the previews of the movie a Pizza Hut commercial is aired. I say, "Mmmm....Pizza." But I wasn't hungry, I was just trying to fill the empty silence with a little idle conversation about pizza, since everyone loves pizza, it's an easy topic, right?

Here it takes a tragic turn for the worst.

He says, "You hungry? You want to order a pizza?"

I'm dumbfounded. A pizza??!! But, we only just ate! I'm still really, really full of sushi and the dessert that I said I didn't want but you ordered anyway and I was forced to eat. I was just trying to make conversation!

I force a laugh, "No, silly! I'm not hungry! You just stuffed me full of fancy sushi!"

"Oh, come on! You're hungry, I can tell! I'll order a pizza for us." And he picks up the phone and orders pizza.

I'm so not joking. I think after the order was placed I made some jokes about what a big pig I was, mainly because I thought he was a big pig and I didn't want to accidently let it slip that I thought so. I know it doesn't make much sense, but it was all I could think of to deal with the situation. I had to act like it was me who wanted the pizza all along, because otherwise, I'd have to act like he wanted the pizza. And if I acknowleged the reality of the situation, it would just make everything so awkard, because then my subtext would be so obvious: "You huge fat-@ss. We just ate a bunch of sushi and now you want PIZZA?? Are you crazy??"

He was a nice guy, and I just couldn't be that much of a b!tch on the first date. We continued to watch the movie in somewhat awkard silence. The pizza came. We ate it. Even though my stomach was about to explode, I ate it. The movie was over. And here's the real clincher:
he didn't even try to make a move! I was perplexed, but figured I should get while the gettin' was good! Man, did I scee-dadle! I couldn't believe that he didn't try to stuff his tongue down my throat!! It was great! But, it didn't make me like him any more, unfortunately. I just kept thinking, "If I were to date him much at all, I'd be as big as a whale!! And everyone knows I like to eat, but even I have my limits!!"

We had one more date. It was fairly uneventful, or it must have been because I don't remember what happened. What I do remember is I never kissed him. Phenomenal.

We wrote a few emails and called a few times, but after that it pretty much fizzled. It was probably for the best, though. Who wants to eat themselves into oblivion? Not me. No, sir, not even me.

Men!! Oy Vey! (aka, Hauty Mutterings of a Cranky Spinster)

I know you're all sitting on pins and needles, just waiting for the next hi-larious entry about my misadventures on the match-dot-com, but today I mun' needs vent.

Men. *sigh* *double sigh* For reals. I understand, believe me, I DO understand. But really. Really. You're just all so lazy!

Yes, I know, I guess technically I can't lump you all into one HUGE
group, but today, YOU LEAVE ME NO CHOICE!!!
I'M SO FRUSTRATED!!! that I can't possibly focus my frustration into specifics.

The story is a familiar one: there's this guy, you see, and I like him more than I like most guys, meaning, I don't hate him. He wants to see me, so I, being the benevolent, gentle creature that I am (please stop laughing), rearrange my boring, yet full schedule, so that he can see me. Fine. I can do this. No problem. I'm an excellent time manager. In fact, I'm just an excellent manager. In fact, I'm just excellent. Period. Okay. So, I successfully rearrange my boring, yet full schedule to accomadate. I'm so, so generous and giving. Things are set. I'm a little inconvenienced, but you know, who cares, it'll be fun! Right?

Yesterday, I get an email. An email. From said boy. Basically it says that he's too much of a pansy to manage his time correctly and is now really stressed out and can't come to Everycity, blah, blah, blah. He's going to totally make it up to me, whatever, whatever. Now, I am slightly irritated by the content of the email, but I can certainly understand being completly stressed out and over-committed. I mean, we all remember the hullabaloo centered around this fiasco. So, I understand. But....an email?!! AN EMAIL?!! I was irritated. Grow a pair and call me. It might be more painful, but trust me, it is WAY more manly. WAY MORE MANLY. Don't be less of a man than me. I would have called.

Okay, so I'm irritated, but I work through it and call him to clarify. He elaborates on ALL the stuff he has to do. I choose not to mention here that I'm waking up at 5 am every morning to run miles upon miles and then go and teach 100 students every day. (Yet another example of my overwhelming generosity.) He concludes by saying that he's not sure if he's not coming, and it all depends on how much work he gets done in the next few hours. (Whatev. Just grow some balls and tell me that your not going to follow through so we can just get it over with.) He says he'll call tomorrow.

Fast foward to today. Lovely, lovely day. I woke up this morning thinking how nice it would be to spend the weekend all alone. Maybe do some painting and some movie hopping, take a little break from the running, watch some movies and sleep late. I, of course, was anticipating that said boy would call me moaning and whining about HOW MUCH HE HAD TO DO and officially cancel.

I get into my classroom this morning, turn on my computer, open my email, and there, waiting for me like a snake in the bushes, is an email. From said boy. I sigh a heavy sigh. He still hasn't grown any. I open the email. It is, as anticipated, his official cancellation. HOWEVER, I really, really thought that said boy would actually call me to officially cancel. But no. An email. AN EMAIL!!!! That is just one, measly step above TEXT MESSAGING!!!!! I HATE IT!!!!!! HATE IT!!!! just effing call me. Just call me. Just be a man and call me!!!!!!!!!
;laksjdf;liauwro;ijasd;lfna;slkjf;aslkjf;alsdjf;asjrf!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
don't make me crazy!!!! Don't make me write a blog entry about you. Please. I don't want to be like this. BUT YOU FORCE ME TO IT!!

Men, don't be lazy. And be brave. If you really want to get some, be manly. Most heterosexual women (and some not hetero) find that incredibly attractive. Manliness. Try it, you'll like it!

No, seriously.

TRY IT.

Why Match-dot-com was a Horrible, Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Idea, Part 1

(ed. note: I already typed this post, and it was really witty and fabulous, but my dinosaur of a computer just up and decided to completely erase it. Its lucky that its school property and I didn't throw it out the window, for fear of having to endure a paycheck docking.)

Okay, so we've already established that my life is incredibly boring. And I have nothing to talk about. And while it is painful for me to have to do this, it is inevitably and completely nessecary. I'm going to have to...oh, this is so hard... delve into the past few months and share with you ALL my misadventures of online dating. That's right! All of them!! Queen, III EXPOSED! Er...well....you know....so to speak. (And yes, yes, Cach, I know. You were right. Online dating is creepy. You win. I lose. Again.)

Date 1: A man we'll call "Ray Salinas," because, actually that's his name. And you can even google him...that is if you're brave enough. I'm not.
What? Yes, I realize I'm giving his full name, but it's not like I'm violating HIPPA or anything!! Geez.

Gimmick to get into my pants: "You need an older man who can support you and show you the ways of love." (Seriously. I'm not making this up.)

Number of dates: 3

Ray was an "older" man, meaning he was much too old to go out with me, but he at least pretended to have a lot of money and bought me food and liquor and I was on the rebound...the perfect storm. Ray and I went on a few dates, and each time he spent what seemed like hours trying to convince me that I needed a man like him to "teach" me about the ways of lovin' and that he could also give me things and help launch my career, because he was so very connected. I considered this for about .25 second and then decided that having sex with an old, long-haired, closet case, perverted shell of a man wasn't worth all the fame in the world. He tried earnestly to convice me, helpfully reminding me that many young starlets reached fame by marrying their managers. Celebrities like Mariah Carey, Celine Dion, and Kevin Federline. I must admit the promise of fame was tempting, and then....I'd think about what I'd have to do to get that fame...it wasn't worth it.

A few weeks later, after Ray and I had stopped talking (or more accurately he stopped calling when he finally figured out he wasn't gonna get any), a girlfriend of mine signed up for match-dot-com and AS SOON as she did, Mr. Salinas sent her the SAME EXACT email he sent me when I signed up (notice he was date 1)! Creepy, no?
It read: "WOW!"

Double creepy.

And folks, I wish that I could tell you that this was the end of all the shameful goings-on, but, sadly, this is just the very, very beginning. Don't say I didn't warn you!

How Big of a Loser Are You...

when your mother calls you just because she's bored? Geez. I'm young. With a thriving career. And big knockers. And yet, and yet, my mother's life is apparently more exciting than mine. I'M the one she calls when SHE'S bored. My disciplined life is one big yawn and I've gotten so used to being bored that I don't really need to call anyone at the onset of boredom. But not my mother. No, not her. Her life is that exciting. And she knows that when it's not that exciting, she can always call her predictable, reliable, unexciting, spinster daughter for diversion.

I've hit an all-time low.