Bang a Gong...

*Names and dates have been changed to protect the weak.

Note to people who don't know me that well and are reading this: The stories I share on here about the people I've encountered are only about people who I'm 1.) Not friends with on facebook. 2.) Never read this kind of stuff. 3.) Have a difficult time reading large words. or 4.) Are too stupid to know it's about them. As for the rest of you I've gone on dates with or have had an "abnormal" experience with...consider yourselves lucky...very lucky. :-)

I'm attracted to assholes most of the time. It's a fault of mine. No, I'm not talking about the Chris Brown asshole type that will beat me after leaving water spots on glasses after washing them. I'm talking about the kind that will call me out on my bullshit, will dish it back to me if I say something smart ass, and keeps me on my toes. I guess that's not typically qualified as an asshole, but rather someone with an "edge." Yeah, that's right, I like guys with an edge. I'll start calling them that. "Edgy boys" Anything to make myself feel better from liking the dickheads, right? Andddd I don't need anyone writing me a message saying "That's your problem. That's why you've had so many horror stories with dating and sex." Yeah, Yeah, You're right. Now moving on...

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To escape this whole "asshole" marathon that I had going on, a good friend of mine, who we'll call Sarah, begged and pleaded for me to go on a double with her and this guy she just started seeing.

The catch? He was older then what I was used to.

The first experience I ever had with an older boy, I was fifteen and he was twenty. He was an auto mechanic, drove a hot motorcycle, and had a Japanese symbol for diesel on his right bicep. Yeah, my mom didn't know about this whole endeavor but I was on cloud nine. Now that I'm older I think it's kinda deranged on his part to be attracted to someone my age, but I looked like I was eighteen back then - so I'll cut him a little slack. But, god was he hot and still is for that matter. Even with his wife next to him and their three kids.

When Sarah showed me a picture of the forty year old man. I thought Wow, he only looks thirty-nine. Still, he was very nice looking and i would have probably made some eyes at him if I saw him at the playground with his children...better yet, their high school graduation. So, after some careful thought i agreed to the outing, figuring Sarah has and would do the same for me. Sometimes I can be a very nice girl.

So, there I was in my car at the movie theater parking lot, looking at my clothes I had on, wondering if I should have aged myself a bit, possibly borrowed some White Diamonds Perfume by Elizabeth Taylor. And then I saw him walking up to my car, and I automatically regretted being the nice friend.

He wasn't ugly to say the least, I did find him attractive. He wasn't wearing Velcro shoes or a "Grandpa loves me" t-shirt. He was what I would call...young Paul Newman-ish. Classy, yet modern. So, why did I automatically start regretting to agreeing to this date? It's going to sound insane. But, I knew my dad would have been friends with a guy like him. Sadly for this Paul Newman look a like, before he said hello, he didn't have a chance in hell.

As the date progressed, so did the hatred for agreeing to this outing. But, I kept a smile on my face and soldiered it up. I could tell he was digging me, he was making it quite obvious. I mean of course he was. He was out with a chick who he could have created.

The whole suave hand on my leg during the movie was a nice touch on his part. Sadly, mister hand wasn't on miss leg for very long. We went to see a comedy. Though, I'm not one to laugh like this, I thought "Hey, it can't hurt." I just wanted the hand off my leg. So there I am waiting for a funny part to come up in the movie. You know the one, when people start laughing hysterically and a few select people choke on their popcorn from laughing so hard. It took forever, any other time Jack Black would be saying one lame joke after the next. And then it arrived. Perfect. I looked at his hand on my leg and then looked at the screen that everyone was looking at and I started laughing my best fake laugh I could give. And then came the move. I don't know if you know it or not, but my Grandpa used to to do it a lot. Laughing and then slapping your leg, like you're in a fucking episode of Hee-Haw or a jamboree. Yeah, totally did that. And the slap of the hand landed directly on his. And hard. It startled him and I got a funny look. I'm sure I looked like an ass. But, he removed the hand.

Lucky me, Sarah and her boy toy suggested that we hang out at her place after the movie. I mentioned how my stomach didn't feel that great, but lucky me everyone in the group went deaf at that moment and didn't hear a fucking thing I said. God, at that moment a frat boy sounded delicious.

He suggested we just ride together and he'll take me back to my car after we visit for awhile. Whatever. At least I wouldn't have to waste gas on this.

The whole 15 minutes there felt like an eternity. I found out he had just went through a divorce a year ago, enjoys camping, is a realtor, and has two 17 year old twin boys. I'd be lying if I told you it didn't cross my mind that I was closer to age to them, wondering if they were hot, and how long it would be before they were legal.

Any other time in Sarah's life she wants to play scrabble or monopoly. Do you think that happened on that night? Of course not. It was like Hugh Hefner himself gave her tips the day before on how to dim the lights and play Barry White music for an evening of seduction. Ugh. There I am sitting on the love seat with Paul, wondering if he's ever said "back in my day we had to walk to school forty miles uphill both ways." And there Sarah and her boy toy were, on the other couch directly across from us, moaning as their tongues intertwined. This was my cue to go.

I'm no fool, I know when one person in the room starts making out or fooling around, it spreads like fucking wild fire. And I didn't want Paul to think my tongue wanted anything to do with his. Well, I was little late on the cue. There he was, smoothly placing my hair out of my face and smelling it. And there I am noticing Sarah forgot to remove one Christmas decoration by the mantle. I was tempted to interrupt and tell her.

I really didn't want to be a twat swatter (the equivalent to a cock block) get all bitchy, yell at Sarah and place a halt on her high school action, demand to be taken back to my car, and neither of us get laid. So, I did what any girl who's not interested and feeling the guy that's kissing her. I sang a song in my head to pass the time.

Yes, it's weird. But, it makes it go by faster. I've only done this twice in my life. Okay, three times. Because, any other time if i don't want to kiss you, I'm just going to plain out say it. Sadly, the only song I could think of at the time when he was heading towards my ears was "Don't Stand So Close To Me" by the Police. It was very appropriate, but to this day ruined that song for me.

Ears. Oh it's a weak spot for me, among other places. I'm not sure where this guy learned to kiss ears, but I'm pretty sure it starts with Geico and ends with Lizard. Who the hell needs Q-tips if you date this guy often? There's a major difference between kissing an ear and looking for fucking buried treasure. He's lucky I'm an avid ear cleaner, though I think I forgot to that morning. Oh well.

As he's kissing my neck. He starts saying something. I didn't hear him at first (I should have probably turned down the music in my head) and then he said it again, this time I heard it. Another lesson in kissing someone...If you're kissing someone, having sex, whatever - the only thing you should be doing is moaning, saying the other persons name (or Jesus') giving directions, compliments, or the word "YES" ...You do not talk about the weather. You just don't. I am not a meteorologist or an old man on a bench at the mall. So, I ignored it, thinking of the next song I was going to sing in my head.

"What's the most beautiful place you've ever been to" ...I'm pretty sure crickets started to chirp at this very moment. I started to question what kind of woman he once was married to that A.) had to hear all this conversation or B.) told him this was the thing to say to seduce someone. I once again ignored it. And he said it again..."What's the most beautiful place you've ever been to"...At this point he is by my neck, and I don't care who you are that's kissing me, the neck feels amazing. Carrot Top could be kissing my neck as long as I had my eyes closed. So I simply said 'I don't know" in hopes he would shuttup. No. "Come on tell me." What are we the fucking travel channel, Paul Newman? Is it going to get you hard if I tell you Disney World Or Paris?

I finally thought to myself how much I tried to not be a twat swatter, how I tried to soldier up and help a friend out but I could no longer continue with this dryer upper. I put my hand in front of my lips as he came closer to them and told him I felt like I was going to be sick to my stomach. He got up right away, mentioned something about his bad knee, and I ran upstairs. I thought to myself on how long it would probably take for someone to be puking their guts up. So, I took my time, brushed my hair and checked my text messages.

On the drive home we listened to "Bang a Gong" six times in a row. (it's his favorite song) At this point I wanted someone to bang a fricking gong on my head to knock me out.

At last, we arrive at the Movie theater parking lot. I felt like my father was dropping me off to school and reminding me not to forget my lunch bag. He mentioned what a wonderful time he had with me and he looked forward to the next time he sees me.

Next time?

I may be messed up, but Daddy issues I do not have nor any desire to be a mid life crisis.

I finally arrived back at my place, thinking of ways I can get back at Sarah for setting me up with Grandfather Clock, and I hear my phone go off and saw there was a text message. "i got lost in you" ...Well, I got lost in the scent of your over-powering old man aftershave but you don't see me texting you. I refrained from saying that and went with the choice of not responding. Ten minutes later, another one. " When you stroked my arm in the theatre, I felt goosebumps." ...First of all, sir. I did not "stroke' your arm. When I think back to that moment, I'm pretty sure I dropped a piece of popcorn on his sleeve. So yes, I touched your arm but it was only to retrieve the kernel. I mean what would Orville Redenbacher do? He would have been proud. ...Once again I chose the smart route and said nothing. Fifteen minutes later, my phone goes off again. "I haven't felt this way since my ex wife." ...Number one, i realized Sarah's sooo dead. Number two, I also realized I left my damn hairbrush in her bathroom. Number three, how do I get myself in these kind of situations. I responded with a "goodnight" and turned my phone off. Hey, I'm not completely heartless.

Final thoughts of the story: 35 is my limit for now. If I get kidnapped, play "bang a gong" to really torture me. Sarah has yet to remove the Christmas decoration from her fucking mantle. And last but not least: I have a number of someone you can call if you run out of Q-tips. Just sayin'

XoX

Hotto

"I like your beard"

I realize by airing out my dirty laundry on here, I'm taking a chance on judgment being passed on me. It's quite possible after reading a few of these blogs you'll label me as a cold harded bitch. A blonde slut. A picky complainer. An opinionated ditz. I'm fully aware of this. I'm a tough broad and I've probably been called worse. Just as long as you add "...but she's got great hair" then we're all good. :-)

So, here it goes...

I lead no big, extravagant life like a lot of people think I do. I don't party with Britney Spears every weekend, panty-less, I watch the West Wing on rainy nights, and sometimes I whistle out of nowhere just to remind myself that I still can. But, what I think gets me in the situations I get myself into is my smartass mouth...okay, andddd my blonde hair and big boobs.

I'm not going to lie to you, I've had no recent prospects worth talking about. The most recent offer of a date was from a man last night in the bread aisle at the grocery store. Silly me, the offer from a man holding onion bagels and referring to me as "baby girl" just didn't seem to cut it for me. Butttt, the most recent and legit offer was from a guy whom we'll call...Ben. Since working in downtown Cleveland, I've had the opportunity to meet some new faces and some of these faces have been pretty fucking rad. I met Ben when working at an event in downtown Cleveland. He's so not my type. On the outward appearance he was somebody my mother would have approved of. But the dealbreaker for me? He had a lumberjack beard. I'm no Ke$ha, you will never hear me say "I like your beard." Which caused some friction between my high school lunch lady and I. (I swear that woman could grow some major patches of hair on her face.)

Like most, my first judgment is the outward appearance, so not being fully attracted to him I kept to myself and my friend Beth and I flirted with the band we were working next to. After the event had ended, Ben and I started to talk. It became obvious to me that he was a smart ass and pretty funny. The combination of the two is a type of kryptonite for me. By the time we had walked out to our cars, he asked for my number. I had two choices 1.) I could give him my real number. or 2.) I could give him the number of a local pizza shop like I often do. Since I knew I was most likely going to run into him again, I went with the first choice.

After a week of the casual text and phone call from him, my verdict was that he seemed like a pretty cool cat. After some convincing he asked me to come over to his apartment to watch the "Shining" that I admitted to never seeing. I agreed to it, figuring the excuse of "having to wash my hair" was a little too cruel for this nice of a guy. When I arrived inside his apartment, I was pleasantly surprised how tidy it was for a bachelor pad. As small talk about the apartment ended, the invite to the bedroom followed. "I have a great TV in my bedroom, we could watch the movie in there." Now, we were both adults and I guessed that we both could handle with watching a film in a room with a bed in it. Why not, since I decided beforehand that I wasn't planning on sleeping with him? Yes, I decide these things beforehand.

As I entered into his room, I noticed a Nickelback poster on his wall. I tried not to judge him for his horrible taste in music. But, I felt ashamed for him. Posters automatically make me think of when I was 15 years old. As he closed the door, I was expecting his mother to pop out of nowhere and knock on the outside telling us to leave the door open. I gave myself the pep talk - Okay Haley, just give him a chance. You're too used to dating older guys. He's one year older than you. This is a different ballgame than what you're used to.

He awkwardly sat next to me on the bed, he pressed the play button on the remote control and proceeded to talk during the first half of the movie. The basics were talked between us: work, school, music and ...if size matters. That question came out of nowhere out of his mouth. I sat there staring at Jack's face on the screen, wondering if I heard Ben correctly. My next move? My eyes automatically went to the crotch area of his jeans. It's like if someone asks you if the paint on the bench is wet, regardless on whether you know or not, you automatically look at the fucking bench and touch it. Thank god, I refrained from the touching part. "Umm, I guess it varies with the girl." I responded. I was hoping and praying the subject would be dropped. Good thing I decided beforehand I wasn't sleeping with him because I now had a neon billboard sign that he was packing something that resembled tiny Tim downstairs all from that random question that he asked me. I may be blonde but I'm no dummy.

The topic of conversation had moved on with him but sadly for him, both him and I weren't on the same page. Because, I don't know if you've ever seen "What Women Want" with Mel Gibson but if you don't hold our interest, our minds are going to wander. For all I know he could have been talking about wanting to lock me up in his neighbor's closet and steal my identity but in the back of my mind I was wondering why I didn't go with a darker shade of red for my finger nails and how his floor color matched these really pretty boots I saw at the mall. As long as you smile, nod, and say "are you sure?" it'll be believable. Trust me. Those that know me, know that I'm a talker so this act was not me at all.

I was sadly interrupted from my random thoughts when he got closer towards my neck. I can't explain the move I did to get out of it to move my body away from him, but I'm sure it looked like a poor made up dance move from a white girl. Regardless on how ridiculous it looked, it worked and managed to achieve some space between the both of us.

So there I am, sitting on this guy's bed, who likes Nickelback and is packing a small penis, watching the TV wondering what the hell is happening in this hotel and why there are little children in the hallway. I officially feel a degree of lame. Thoughts are interrupted again when I all of a sudden hear in a seductive manner "Have you ever had your asshole licked?" ...I had no words for what seemed like 3 hours. I then stared at his beard, wondering if he had trouble eating spaghetti without any of it getting caught in it, then the poster of Nickelback came into sight. Then the beard. Then the poster. This shit wasn't worth it. My final response? "Not in the last half hour. Time for me to go." As I got up from the bed, got my coat on, and my purse together. I kind of felt bad. A little. And I started to question on whether I was leading him on or if my final response was too bitchy? The verdict was No and No.

My co-worker has reminded me how awkward it's going to be if I see him again. Yes, it probably will be. More awkward then when I saw my old Elementary teacher dressed in Drag. But, Ben's got his Nickelback and his beard, what more can a man need for comfort?

The sad ending to this story is I never did find out who those little children were in that movie.

XoX

Hotto

I smell sex and candy...

There's many reasons why a woman may start to act a little crazy and I'm going through two of those reasons right at this very moment - 1.) a diet and 2.) a drought.

Regarding number one: Yes, I've lost 9 pounds and it feels wonderful. So much so, that it makes me want to continue on to my goal weight. But I'm not going to lie, I'm feeling border-line Lindsay Lohan crazy. Everyone knows you're not yourself when craving anything that's not an apple or carrot stick. Everything starts to resemble food: chubby fingers for twinkies, dogs for ball park franks, you sadly even stand closer to a stranger on the elevator just because their breath smells like a hint of roast beef from Arby's.

I'm on month one of this "healthy living." Which in translation means I secretly fantasize beating you with a hard rice cake as you're eating your Chipotle and smiling at me. There are many days I want to scream, pull my hair out, and run off with an ice cream truck man named Tony. Oh, the things I would do to him for a klondike bar. That's problem one...

Regarding the second contribution to my craziness: the ever dreaded drought. I'm not going to say exactly how long it's been. But, let's just say it's just about as long as Gary Coleman's hollywood career: It may seem short to a few select people, but in the end it's pretty damn long. Too long. It's to the point that I'm watching Wheel of Fortune at the gym on the treadmill and am starting to find Pat Sajak attractive. Sad, I know.

In my defense, I havent had time. I know, who doesnt have time for sex? Probably just me and Larry King. Unless I some how fit you in between the slot of my internship and class, it's not gonna happen. I admit, I could call up an ex, solve this, and end the unexplained attraction to Sajak . But, why backtrack or even settle for "mediocre" sex?

When going out with friends, they try to be the "vagina whisperer" by introducing me to various guys in hopes this drought will be cured. But, sadly I havent been impressed. Am I picky? Damn straight I am. And I honestly don't see anything wrong with it.

One day, I'll reach my goal weight, be able to have some chiptole before having an amazing night of sex. Til then? I swear vibrators and 100 calorie pack of cookies are the best inventions known to man kind.

XoX
Hotto

Pearl Handcuffs

I think my mother's afraid I'm kicking it Ellen Degenres style or my heart is set on unrealistic hopes for John Cusack to come knocking on my door with Peter Gabriel playing on his boom box. Either way, it causes a strain on our relationship when the subject of dating comes up. The look of disappointment over takes her face when she finds out the Mike I am going out with to dinner on a Friday night will end up borrowing my heels later for a drag show he is starring in at a Gay club downtown. I'm going to be straight up with you, the last time I had a good date was...well, counting a tea party with the neighbor boy at the age of nine as a date is pretty pathetic, right? Honestly, I don't remember when I had a GOOD date. But, let's go over the definition of "GOOD" shall we? A date not ending with a penis picture sent to my phone on date one, the subject of his ex not being the main headline for topic of conversation or not being asked if I like my asshole licked after we talked about our future careers. I blame Obama for all this. I do. Actually I don't, it just seems like everyone else does in this world for their problems. But seriously, I feel like I'm in a marathon of Sex and the City episodes that I cant get out of and unlike the ending to that show, there are no satisfying orgasms at the end of the night. Well, at least not on my end. Like a lot of the women did in Sex and The City, I stopped believing in the whole idea of Prince Charming when I was nine years old. Yet I still believed that Santa Clause put a pink bike under the Christmas tree and the Easter Bunny pooped out colored hard-boiled eggs in my basket. Yes, I know it doesn’t make much sense to me either. Ever since a boy on the playground told me his dad went to see other women’s boobies on his parents’ anniversary, I knew there was no hope in the world for Mister Perfect. From then on my Barbie went out for girls night, sipped pink champagne with her many friends, had meaningless sex with Ken and kicked him out of their dream Barbie house late at night. I learned quite young.

I know what you're thinking, my problems that I experience in the dating world and men are because something's wrong with me. I suppose I could agree and disagree.

Disagree, because I'm a great catch. I know I am. I have my shit together to put it plainly and have my priorities set straight. Besides having all the important qualities a civilized human being in society should have, I feel like I'm slightly familiar with the balance a woman needs to have to be a lady and a vixen. I'm trying my best to refrain from the ever so popular saying in rap songs "Lady in the street but a freak in the bed" ...this task isn't easy. In fact, Paris Hilton and Miley Cyrus are still striving to obtain this title. I call this achievement the "Scarlett Johansson" the right amount of "bam" but you still know the chick has some brains to her and she does everything in a classy matter. But, you still have to question whether she has pearl handcuffs at home in her goody drawer.

But, then the agreeing part would say "Yes, I'm a handful to say the least. I don't settle or agree with everything you say. I judge people on their music taste and I have a wall surrounding me that's as tall as fifty-five Shaquille O'Neals." Yes, this serves as a problem. But, show me one girl who doesn't have something stopping her from her ideal dating life.

It sounds like I'm complaining about this ordeal in my world. Maybe I am. Just a little. But, it's a love/hate relationship I have in this department. The things I go through, the people I meet, the shit I say in response to stupidity...It just gives me a story to tell at a Friday night dinner.

XoX
Hotto