Date of the Week: Heights and Sites!

This week's date is going to involve some serious advanced planning, but will give you some of the best views of the city. So, start booking!

First up, the Washington Monument. You can obtain tickets for the tour if you get here early in the morning, but you're better off just ordering them online in advance. The tour is free, but the online tickets to have a small service fee. Also, they will come to you in a rather plain-looking envelope, so make sure you don't throw them out by mistake. I would take a tour later in the afternoon, maybe like around 4, that way you can make early dinner reservations at 5:30.

Make sure you arrive a little before your tour time and wait out front for the park ranger running the tour line. Once you're sent inside, you'll wait a few minutes in the marble lobby for the elevator to come back down. The ride up takes 70 seconds, which feels like forever on an elevator, especially in DC where the buildings are all short, but the tour guide will fill the time with all sorts of interesting trivia. Although, if you get the same one I did, you will cringe every time she says the name of the monument (I really hate when people pronounce the name of our first President as if it had an "R" in it).

As the tallest building in Washington, DC, the monument has amazing views. Seriously. There are windows on all four sides of the monument, and each has a handy little picture above with the important buildings labeled, so you can sound like you know what you're talking about in front of your date. Also, you will realize how flat the city actually is. Bring your camera, these are the best views you will ever see (unless you're really rich and can afford a helicopter tour). Anyway, after you check out the great views, you can take the stairs down to the museum-y part of the tour and read all about the history of the Washington Monument before getting in line to ride the elevator back down.

The ride down is the best part of the tour because, you get to see all the innards of the structure. And, trust me, this is way cooler than it sounds.

After the tour, head north on 15th Street for the second-best views of the city. I'm talking about Point of View at the newly-opened W Hotel. You will need to make dinner reservations to get in here, but you can do that on Open Table. Unfortunately, this is not the bar at the Hotel Washington you remember (and long for). No more are the days of freely walking through the lobby to the elevator to sit on the balcony, $12 martini in hand, gazing out at the monuments. OK, well, they still have expensive drinks and great views, but now they have a very closely guarded elevator. While I am not a fan of the snooty revamp of my favorite bar, I have to admit, the views are great.

So, make yourself a reservation and get up there to enjoy the views. Linger around a little after dinner and have another drink. If after dinner, you decide the reincarnation of the Hotel Washington bar is too pretentious for your liking, you can always pop next door to Ebbitt's. In fact, you should do this anyway. Even if you do have drinks at Point of View first.

Date of the Week: Garden Party!

This week's date is full of fancy old-timey things, and includes plenty of time outside. Since it's still warm outside, this is a good weekend to take advantage of the great weather. Start the day off by meeting for lunch at Blue Ridge Restaurant in Glover Park. In addition to great food, Blue Ridge also offers old-timey cocktails and punch bowls. Of course, you and your date probably shouldn't drink an entire punch bowl by yourselves, so save that for when you bring your friends.

After lunch, take a walk down Wisconsin Ave to the beautiful gardens at Dumbarton Oaks (here's how). The garden entrance is located at 31st and R. The gardens don't open until 2pm, so you'll have plenty of time to get there after lunch. Admission is $8 a person, pr $5 if you're a student. There are dozens of different gardens, and they're all amazing. You can easily spend hours here. There are plenty of shaded areas, especially in the informal gardens, making the hot and muggy DC summer less miserable. Plus, it's so big, you won't feel crowded. Another bonus: you will see wildlife in the city other than rats (yucky!).

Once you're finished seeing all the gardens, it's time for a drink. And after spending all afternoon on manicured grounds of a gorgeous mansion, the usual Bud Light just isn't going to cut it.

The entrance to Dumbarton Oaks is just a few blocks away from Cafe Bonaparte. This French restaurant is known throughout DC for it's amazing champagne cocktails. And after a long day of walking, you deserve one. Or more. I won't judge you if you drink more.

Talk Dirty to Me

I am the most awkward and unsexy person ever. If I try to say something dirty, it ends up just sounding funny. Most of the men I've dated are just as awkward, so the dirty talk tends to not happen in my relationships.

Fred was one of the more awkward people I've dated. Except, he never seemed to realize his own awkwardness. So, he tried to say dirty things to me. It was terrible and uncomfortable for all parties involved.

One of his favorite lines was "Ooo baby, baby!" He said it exactly like Salt-N-Pepa do in "Push It." Seriously. He even squeaked a little at the end of it. And this wasn't a one time thing. He did it all the time while we were dating. Each time, I gave him a weird look. But, he seemed completely oblivious. I'm not really even sure what he meant by this. Maybe he was complimenting me. Maybe he was trying to arouse me. Perhaps, he was just singing his favorite 90's song. I really don't know.

The thing is, whenever he looked at me and said "Ooo baby, baby!" I started imagining the rest of the song in my head (do do do do do dododododo). For some reason, thinking of this song then makes me think of the song from Revenge of the Nerds. So, instead of thinking about dirty sexy things, I'd find myself thinking "Clap your hands everybody..."

And this was about as arousing as a fat, sweaty man in a banana hammock.

Date of the Week: Putt-Putt Picnic!

This week, take advantage of the DC summer by going to play putt-putt and enjoy a picnic. DC is limited in its putt-putt options. I mean, sure, there's the H Street Country Club, but playing in a dark bar really doesn't take advantage of the summer, now does it? You should still check this place out sometime though. Just not this weekend, ok? You're going on an outdoor date. You're going to Hains Point. Sure, it's not the fanciest course around, but it has its charm.

Start your day off by either packing yourself and your date a picnic, or going to the closest Chipotle and getting a couple of burritos to go. Remember to pack bottled drinks if you opted for Chipotle. You can't really put a fountain soda in your backpack. Also pack a picnic blanket, or a couple of towels. Now that you're all packed-up, you can either get in your car, or get ready for a good, long walk. I prefer walking. For you drivers out there, you're in luck -- there are a TON of free parking spaces at the East Potomac Golf Course. Also, they have real golf, if you're ever looking for somewhere to play.

Take the metro to the Smithsonian station, the head to Hains Point. Here's how. The mini golf course usually isn't very crowded -- even on weekends. Games are $6 per person. The course is well-shaded, making it a relaxing place for a fun afternoon. The course is a little old, meaning there are strange bumps that might impact your game. If you're serious about your game, that is. When I go, I usually end up goofing off by trying to knock my opponent's ball out of the way.

After putt-putt, head down to the water to enjoy the lunch you packed. I prefer the side that looks over the Potomac to Virginia (as opposed to the side that looks on to DC). It tends to be quieter. Plus, you can see planes take-off from Reagan National, and the DC Duck tour boat goes by every so often. And that's pretty awesome.

If you walked, you can stop and check out the monuments on your back home. If you drove, then you can stop and enjoy the traffic around the monuments on your way home.

Date of the Week: Hiking and Chicken!

I've been getting antsy from being in the city too long, so this week, let's head 'em up, move 'em out! If you're one of the lucky Washingtonians who actually has a car, you're in luck. There are a lot of great destinations for a day trip from which you can pick. This week, I am going to suggest hiking and chicken.

Get up nice and early, pack some trail mix and plenty of water and drive out to Skyline Drive in Virginia. There is a $15 fee per car to get in, but if you think you might come back, I would suggest springing for the annual pass ($30). If you really like parks, there is an $80 annual pass that will get you in to all National Parks. There are several great trails (not to mention, amazing views) along the way. I would suggest Little Devil Stairs as a good hiking trail. It's a little intense. And a little wet. But, you can handle it. SCT's dachshund can handle it. No, really, he loves to hike! One thing to be wary of are the ticks. They will get you. And if you have thick hair like I do, they will love your head. Make sure you wear a hat and cover yourself with bugspray. Also, you will get a little dirty, so if you drive a nice car, or one you want to keep clean, bring a towel for the car ride, and a plastic bag to put your dirty shoes. Also, if your phone is like mine, you will get spotty coverage in this area. I just leave mine turned off when I go out here.

After returning from your hike, continue driving down Skyline Drive. Take it all the way to Charlottesville and reward yourself with a Caniac meal from my favorite fastfood restaurant, Raising Cane's. Sadly, this is the closest Canes to DC. I know you non-Louisiana people are probably thinking "why the hell would I go all the way to Charlottesville for chicken fingers?" Well, just trust me on this one. Once you go, you'll get it. And you will be planning many a trip back to get your fix.

Date of the Week: The Shame

My boyfriend loves Harry Potter. I know I'm going to offend some people by saying this, but I think it's really lame for a man in his 30's to get into children's books and movies. However, being the awesome girlfriend that I am, I will go with him to the theatre to see this crappy movie. I will need a lot of booze to tolerate this.

So, I will start the night out with dinner at the CommonWealth Gastropub in Columbia Heights. It fits the whole British theme. Also, they have beer. Lots of beer. And the hearty food necessary to eat in order to consume lots of beer. I would set aside more time that usual to eat to account for all the boozing you'll want to do.

Anyway, the restaurant is next to the Columbia Heights metro, so it's just a short ride on the green or yellow line to the Regal Gallery Place movie theatre. Chinatown tends to get insanely crowded, so I would suggest purchasing tickets ahead of time. Also, even with your tickets purchased early, you'll still want to get to the theatre early enough to get decent seats. Seriously. I went to see "The Hangover" a few weeks ago and ended up getting stuck in the back row that has about 1/3 the leg space. My knees were pressed against the seat in front of me the whole time. And the little brat in that seat felt the need to keep rocking her seat back, jamming my knees. The little brat next to her (in front of my boyfriend) had the audacity to turn around and yell at him to not kick her seat, despite the fact the only thing moving was her seat as she rocked it. I hope she fell in a hole. She was a brat. But, I digress.

After sitting through the movie, you'll want to get up and stretch your legs, so take a walk down to Elephant & Castle (or metro if you're feeling lazy) to resume boozing while keeping with the British theme.

Who's gonna drive you home?

O/G is five weeks older than me. Most of the time we were dating, it was barely noticeable, but there were a few age-restricted activities that always seemed to fall in those five weeks that made life complicated. One of such was renting a car.

As everyone knows, if you rent a car before you're 25, you are tagged with all sorts of extra fees. It's grossly unfair because I was no bit a better driver on my 25th birthday than I was the day before, but it's based on accident data and I understand a business has to make a decision about risk so whatever.

O/G's 25th birthday was on a week day in early April. I planned to fly to Georgia the following weekend to celebrate. The previous time I had visited, I had flown to Jacksonville, rented a car (taking the hit on extra fees), and driven 90 minutes up I-95 to his house (it had been cheaper to do this than fly directly to Savannah and I was visiting for a long weekend so the drive wasn't a big deal). O/G really liked that I had a rental car because it meant he didn't have to put miles on his car and we could go out to the bars and cab home and then retrieve the other car the next morning. He liked it so much that he requested I do it again for his birthday. And by requested, I mean demanded in his whiny-baby voice.

The smart thing to do would have been for him to rent the car in his name, as by the time I arrived in Savannah on Friday afternoon, he would have already been 25 and thus wouldn't have to pay the extra fees. I suggested this as I was planning my travel but he didn't want to do this. His reasoning? It was his birthday so he didn't want to pay AND it was my turn to visit him and therefore my turn to pay for the travel costs.

I offered to write him a check for the amount of the car rental (since the fee itself usually has to be charged to a credit card in the driver's name), but he didn't like that idea because he didn't feel comfortable letting me drive a car that was rented in his name. Plus, in his words "the travel thing is your problem this time babe". Sort of like how I made it his probably to get him to and from the airport when he came to visit DC or how I left him to deal with his problem when his flight home got canceled during a snow storm. But that's probably why our relationship soured: I never made anything his problem and therefore he did not know how to solve his own problems.

In the end, I rented a car and paid the extra fees and spent the weekend driving him around on his errands because he didn't want to put miles on his car. After all, it was his birthday and I was a complete pushover back then.

A kiss on the hand may be quite continental

A few weeks ago, my sister stumbled upon a website called Ex-Boyfriend Jewelry where girls (and I suppose guys) can sell the jewelry their exes gave them. I had a complete "why didn't I think of that?" moment.

Over my years of dating, I have accumulated many pieces of jewelry and until I dated O/G, I had only returned one piece, a fraternity lavaliere, because I couldn't really wear the letters of someone I wasn't dating. Until I dated O/G, I never had an ex ask for his jewelry back. This includes several pieces of nice jewelry (Tiffany, David Yurman), several pieces of fine jewelry (diamond earrings, pearls, nice watches) and a decently-sized engagement ring, in addition to the other, more sentimental pieces. Of course, like many things, O/G was different about jewelry.

When O/G broke up, he sent me an itemized list of the jewelry he wanted back. I'm sorry, I meant he called my mother with an itemized list of the jewelry he wanted back because I wouldn't take his calls. We had been dating on and off for five years so one would imagine this list would be fairly extensive and it probably would have been, had he bought me jewelry that I liked from the beginning of our relationship. See, O/G spent the first three-quarters of our relationship buying me jewelry that he thought I should like, rather than the pieces I actually did like. And it wasn't that he didn't know what I would like: he'd take me shopping, I would pick out pieces that I liked, he would pick out things he'd like, I would reject his choices and three days later he would present me with one of the rejected pieces.

It was a real struggle to work rose gold heart necklaces with matching earrings into my wardrobe, but he would whine and complain if I arrived at his place not wearing something he gave me.

Finally, after a particularly big fight, he randomly started buying me jewelry I would actually wear. And I did wear these pieces regularly.

Those were the pieces that appeared on the itemized list. I have no idea what he did with a David Yurman bracelet and necklace and a pair of John Hardy earrings that he wouldn't do with the rose gold heart set and Tin Cup-style pearl illusion necklace. All the jewelry he gave me cost about the same, so if he just wanted to pawn the stuff, he should have asked for all of it back. All of it was long past its return date so it's not like he could bring it back to the jeweler.

I'm starting to think he saved it for his next girlfriend, which is creepy. And, judging from her Facebook picture, she's more the down-home rose gold heart set type.

Date of the Week: Moon Landing!

For the month of July, the National Air and Space Museum will be celebrating the 40th anniversary of Apollo 11. NASM is one of my favorite museums in Washington, and this is the perfect chance to go check it out. The museum is open until 7:30 most days in the summer, with a few exceptions. So, why not plan to go a little later in the afternoon. Maybe around 4 or 5. Catch a show in the planetarium, then check out all the Apollo 11 artifacts, including the command module, Columbia, and some lunar rocks.

After the museum, head up 7th street to Rocket Bar in Chinatown. This is the point where I should remind you to wear shoes you can walk a few blocks in. I am not going to say "comfortable walking shoes" because, that brings to mind visions of ugly tourist sandals. Cute shoes can be comfortable. Please find a pair that are. And wear those.

Anyway, back to Rocket Bar. Grab a few drinks and challenge your date to a game of skee ball (my favorite!) or shuffle board. If you're into more serious bar games, they also have pool tables and dart boards. But, really, where's the excitement in playing generic bar games? Save it for your buddies.

After a few drinks, you can keep with the space theme and take a cab up to Georgetown for dinner at Paper Moon. If you're going on a Friday or Saturday, you might want to make reservations beforehand. There is a lot of foot traffic in Georgetown on the weekends and restaurants tend to fill up pretty fast.

This is the Reason You Couldn't Get a Date

Back in high school, I was asked out on my very first "real" date by a man we'll call Brutus. This was early enough in high school that neither one of us could drive, so we had to rely on parental transportation. (Oh the shame...)

Brutus was a soccer jock, kinda pasty pale skin, and red hair to match. My boyfriend is a redhead now, but wasn't this pale. Brutus also had oddly shaped freckles that seemed to be spattered across his face and body with no particular rhyme, reason, or symmetry that I could see.

Nevertheless, I was excited for my first date. My parents were too, which is always embarrassing... but at least mine didn't show up with a camera like his did. No, it wasn't prom, homecoming, or any other dress-up event that would have actually warranted and been justified in having a picture to commemorate its occurrence. I had no idea where we were headed on this date of ours, but I was ready to get going after the tenth photo.

Clearly, the date was starting off right. Brutus' parents drove us to the local bowling alley, setting up shop just two lanes down the way - as if that was far enough to give us space without actually bowling with us. It might have actually fooled us, except his Dad would cheer everytime Brutus hit more than three or four pins. On the bright side, at least they didn't offer to put us on the bumper lane.

After we finished our two games, his parents drove us back to his place for a movie. Once there, they actually left us pretty much alone... and I look back on it and realize how good I had it when they were around.

It was more than just a lack of chemistry that kept me from ever seeing Brutus again. It really came down to self-preservation. Brutus was a dirty minded boy. The sorts of things he was asking me to do (or saying we could do down the road) are things even today as a grown professional woman I would never consider. I was shocked! I wasn't completely sheltered growing up, but I sure as hell wasn't prepared for some of his suggestions of what we should spend some time doing.

1. If I were to ever have had sex with him, leaving pets in the room was never something I would consciously plan for. He actually proposed that we might be more "excited" if "someone... even an animal..." was watching.
2. I don't care how much you like fixing cars or the smell of vehicular residue, but pouring things on my body that you would find in a car is not even remotely something to suggest if you expect an affirmative response.
3. I don't like the idea of being tied up or restricted - and bungee cords is the absolute weirdest fetish I have heard to accomplish this task to this very day.

You may be wondering how in the world this conversation came up. I was wondering the same thing! I asked him what movie we were going to watch and he suggested we "talk" a bit first. At first I was pleased, but when he introduced the subject.. well I was no longer happy with the situation.

Needless to say, I was disgusted and disturbed. I made a solemn promise to myself to never go on another date with Brutus.

When Brutus first called to ask me out again, I simply said I was busy. In the next couple calls, I wasn't feeling well. After that, it became quite the production to come up with excuses on why I couldn't go out with him anymore. He called - every other day - for three months. I think back on it and I'm pretty sure it was because no girl would ever go out with him again. That would explain his parents taking so many pictures - I guess they were as shocked as I am now that he ever got a girl to go out with him.'

Of COURSE I would never go out with him again! I mean, really?

At some point, Brutus did figure out that I wasn't ever going to be "available" for him again. He took the "Breakup" badly and he hated me for the rest of high school. He badmouthed me and even tried to convince guys who I later dated that they "could do better" than me. Well, if by doing better, he meant someone who would play along with his sick little fetish games - in HIGH SCHOOL - then yes, there were far better women than me out there. They were called tramps.

Skid Row Bums

Fred had a relative whom his family ridiculed for a vareity of reasons. One of the most ridiculous was the fact that, despite being well past potty-training age (able-bodied and of normal intelligence), she still would not wipe her own rear.

Fred, on the other hand, was in his mid-twenties and did wipe his own rear, however the responsibility proved to be too much for him. Despite years of practice, he still had not mastered the art of properly cleaning himself. I don't mean to single out Fred. Shrek was just as bad about this. This is more of a general rant.

Dating Shrek was terrible because every single pair of boxers he owned had...evidence of wear. And Fred was so bad that every single surface in his apartment that he had ever sat on smelled like what comes out of one's bottom. It was absolutely foul. I couldn't sit on his sofa without smelling poo.

It just completely blows my mind that the men I used to date would wear roomy boxers and still manage to get their butt juice on them, while I wear thongs -- underwear designed to go up my ass -- and they still are stain-free.

Both of these men tried to defend their wiping skills, claiming that men just have leaky butts. Um, no, not all men do. In fact, in my experience I have found that most do not.

Just to make sure I am not dating the exceptions, I asked some girlfriends about their experience with men having this problem. Then, I asked some men if they personally had this problem. My conclusion is that this is not a normal condition. If your butt is leaking, you really need to go to the doctor and have that problem addressed. Your underwear should not be covered in stains. Your furniture should not smell.

Seriously, boys, you are disgusting. Go to a doctor.

Date of the Week: Kayaking!

My first job was working at a boat rental center, so I have a thing for small watercraft. If paddle boats in the tidal basin are a little too dorky for your liking, you can always try kayaking in the Potomac. For this, I would recommend wearing something casual. Shorts and a t-shirt. You'll get a little wet from paddling, and we all know how clean the Potomac is, so don't wear white.

For $10 an hour, you and your date can get a double kayak from the Thompson Boat Center. If they're out of boats, you can try Jack's, which is up the river a little more. They're a little bit more expensive though.

Some days, there is more of a current than others, but regardless, I would suggest rowing upstream first. Once you get past the key bridge, there is a lot to see. It is surprisingly calm for being just a few hundred yards away from the hustle and bustle of Georgetown. The Three Sisters Rock formation marks the farthest point navigable by larger boats, so after you get past there, you can relax and just drift for a bit. I've seen a lot of people kayak up here then bird-watch. If that's your thing, go for it. Otherwise, just sit back and enjoy the scenery.

Some people BYOB on their kayaks and crack one open at this point. I am going to be a nerd here and say don't do that. You should not operate any watercraft, motorized or not, under the influence. But, definitely bring some water, it gets a little hot on the water sometimes.

The good thing about rowing against the current to start off with is that you can coast back downriver to the boat center. Of course, be mindful of the other boats in the water, you may want to stay closer to the shore so you're out of the way of motorboat operators who may have had a few too many.

After returning your kayak, continue your day of river fun by grabbing an outside table overlooking the Potomac at Nick's for lunch and a few drinks. The Georgetown Waterfront is a great place for people-watching and is a very chill environment, especially during the day. It will be a nice break after all that rowing.

Nitwit Picnic

We've all been picky eaters at some point in our lives. My sister doesn't eat anything that is white. My fiance doesn't eat seafood (or vegetables unless I disguise them). I don't eat Chinese or Thai food. We all have our quirks, but if we were seated in an average, American restaurant we could piece together a complete meal, perhaps with some minor modifications (hold the mayo, etc).

Officer/Gentleman took picky eating to an extreme. He could not put together a complete meal at one restaurant, in part due to a sensitive stomach (everything made him sick but that is its own separate, disgusting post), but primarily due to obsessive eating habits. Dining with him was akin to a scavenger hunt: we needed a fruit, a vegetable, a source of protein and some creatine.

It would start on a Saturday morning after he got out of bed (around 11 AM). He would decide instead of patronizing the nearby Waffle House (it made him sick), or the coffee shop (it wasn't healthy), we would drive 20 minutes to the nearest Smoothie King for a delightful morning smoothie (with added supplements).

Now, I have been known to enjoy the occasional smoothie but I need two things for my first meal of the day: coffee and substantial solid food. Otherwise, I am weak, caffeine-deprived and cranky. This becomes even more important after a night of late-night drinking (O/G's favorite activity), because you can add "hungover" to the list of less-than-pleasant traits I possessed. You'd think after dating me for four years, he would have figured this out, but that would mean paying attention to someone besides himself.

So after we got a smoothie, we would head next door to Panera Bread for a cup of chicken noodle soup. But that's all we could get because everything else made him sick. If I dared to order anything else, he would tell me how unhealthy it was (because drinking an 800-calorie meal-replacement smoothie with god knows what kind of muscle-building powder in it as your first course is downright nutritious). I could, however, order a cup of coffee, provided I wanted to listen to him complain about how expensive it was.

Then, it was time for protein, and his favorite form of protein was a chicken sandwich from Zaxby's (on the other side of town). So away we'd go to Zaxby's for round three, where we would eat chicken sandwiches (but no fries because they made him sick).

It was like a cross between a progressive dinner party and the Bataan Death March.

From time to time, we go out to dinner at a restaurant (just one restaurant). He would usually concede, and even let me pick the place, but then once there, he would do weird things like order potato skins with a side of smashed cauliflower. This would confuse the waitress to no end as she pondered which of those selections was to be served alongside my entree.

For someone with stomach issues, he sure did eat weird things. Perhaps because by "stomach", he meant "control".

Psychological Case Study: Fred

In the tradition of making psychological judgements about my exes based on their care for pets, I bring you Fred.

Fred had a pet budgie in college. His name was Buddy. Then a hurricane came. No, not that one. So, Fred decided that he would take Buddy with him while he evacuated. I guess his deadbeat roommates didn't want the hassle of carrying the bird around.

Before we left, I explained to Fred that it was a risky idea since birds are very sensitive to climate and pressure changes. I noted that my friend growing up had had a budgie and that they had to keep it away from the front door, as drafts could eventually kill the bird. I even suggested he find someone else to take the bird, knowing that a car trip was risky, especially with the way Fred smokes in his car and opens the windows most of the time he is driving.

When we loaded Buddy into the car, I buckled his cage in, removed any toys that could fly around and possible hit him, and covered the cage with a sheet to protect him from drafts. Fred started to open the windows, and I stopped him, explaining (AGAIN) that the draft is not good for the bird.

Five minutes into the trip, Fred rolled down the window and started smoking, blowing the air from the window and the smoke toward Buddy's cage. I told him not to do that. I explained that he would need to limit his smoking breaks to a couple times a day as to not make his budgie sick. Of course he did not listen, and spent the entire trip chain smoking, letting the wind and smoke fly into Buddy's cage.

I don't want to go into details, but little Buddy did die on that trip. Fred's selfishness caused him to irreparably harm his pet.

It is unfair to accept the responsibility to care for something when you have no intention of actually doing so. At first, this event seems to illustrate Fred being absentminded. But, given that I had told him several times not to open the window, it really just shows his utter selfishness and insistence on putting his own wants over the needs of others. Once again, Fred's treatment of his pet should have been a clear sign of how he would eventually act toward me.

Date of the Week: The Zoo!

When I was in college, my animal behavior courses meant spending long hours doing research at the zoo. As a result, I am a total nerd about zoos and the best way to win me over is to take me on a date to one. Of course, you don't have to be a nerd to enjoy the zoo -- and it's a great place to take a date for a casual, cheap and fun day.

The National Zoo is on a steep hill, so you will certainly get a work-out looking at all the animals. So, I'd recommend starting off your day with a hearty breakfast from Open City, which is next to the Woodley Park Metro Station. Unless you get there super-early, you'll probably have to wait a little bit for a table. This will give you a chance to talk with your date and find out all about his background. I love the breakfast at Open City. My favorite menu item is the Chai Tea Waffle, and my boyfriend loves the omelets. The environment here is ultra-casual -- you can wear just about anything. The restaurant gets pretty crowded, but the tables are spaced so you won't feel like you have people sitting on top of you.

After breakfast, it's just a short walk up the hill to the National Zoo. The thing I love most about the National Zoo is that, like other Smithsonian Museums in Washington, it is free. Make sure you check out the outdoor exhibits at the Bird House. These tend to be less crowded than a lot of the other exhibits. And the beautiful scenery makes for a great place to steal a kiss. The good thing about a zoo date is that there is plenty of time to talk to your date, and the animals make great conversation starters. Alternatively, if you're not in the mood to chat, the animals are a good distraction, so silence will no e awkward. Basically, whatever your conversation style, you will be comfortable at the zoo.

All the exhibits at the zoo are worth checking out. You may have to wade through crowds for more popular ones (the pandas). You'll definitely want to take a break from the heat by slipping into some of the indoor exhibits, like the Small Mammal House and the Reptile Discovery Center. After some walking, grab an ice cream from the concession stand, or a vending machine and sit in the shade by the sea lions.

A day at the zoo is a unique and fun date that is a good change of pace from the usual dinner and drinks outing. It's cheap enough for an intern without feeling like a budget date.

Check Him Out : Old Ebbitt Grill

First of all, if anyone out there has the Lisa Frank "Check Him Out" picture, let me know. I can't seem to find it anywhere on the Internet, which is truly a shame.

Anyway, on to business. Old Ebbitt Grill is across the street from the White House and the Treasury. I absolutely love the back bar at Ebbitt's. This is the type of bar you wouldn't be ashamed to take your parents to. Details such as hooks under the bar for coats and a heavy lip on the edge of the bar to prevent drinks from being knocked-off really give this place a clean, welcoming feel. Turn-of-the-century details adorn this restaurant, including some of the most interesting knick-knacks you've ever seen. This is the type of place you'd imagine your great-grandparents going for a drink. Everything about it screams "classic." So, naturally, the type of men you can expect to meet here are, well, classic.

Ebbitts attracts a crowd of lawyer and lobbyist types, mainly in their 30's. The best time to meet men is at happy hour during the week. If you're an independent woman who needs time for her own career and social obligations, this is the place to meet your man. The career-focused men here work long hours, meaning if you snag one, you'll have to be willing to accept only seeing him a couple of times a week. If you're the type of woman who wants her boyfriend to be constantly present, look somewhere else. The men here are the smart, sophisticated, politically-savvy types you'd expect to find in DC. Another perk to meeting men here: the male-to-female ratio is stacked in your favor, ladies. Plus, these guys don't go out much, so if you're a cute girl in her 20's (even if you're only DC cute), you're going to get a lot of attention at Ebbitt's happy hour.



To meet a man at Ebbitt's, come after work later in the week. Wear your cutest work clothes (something that is chic, but still professional), bring a couple of girlfriends, and a lot of business cards. If you get there a little early, you can secure seats at the bar and chat it up with guys as they come by to order drinks.

New Features

In the interest of putting a more positive spin on dating, we've decided to add two new features to LoserEx.

First, there will be Date of the Week which I will try to post each Wednesday (that way you guys have time to find your date for the weekend). In this feature, I will make a suggestion for an inexpensive, fun date in Washington, DC. I'm going to try to avoid things like dinner and drinks, since I feel like we all go on way to many of those dates.

The next feature will be Check Him Out. This will be a less regular feature -- maybe once every three weeks or so. Check Him Out will review local places (mainly bars) in terms of meeting men. I will evaluate what type of man frequents various places and what type of woman should go to these places to meet men. On a related note, if you have the Lisa Frank "Check Him Out" picture (for which this feature was named), let me know. This picture is the best thing ever and would make a nice addition to this feature.

And, yes, there are still many more stories to come about the losers I've dated.

Psychological Case Study: Shrek

It is said that serial killers usually have a history of abusing animals. I am not accusing any of my exes of being serial killers, but I strongly believe the way one treats animals is a reflection of what kind of person he or she is.

In that vein, I strongly believe that the psychological problems of my exes can be expressed in anecdotes about their treatment of animals. This will be the first case study in a series about my exes.

As a sorority initiation gift, my big sis gave me a beta fish. It was super-awesome. I named it Captain Ron and loved it dearly. When the end of the semester came, I asked Shrek if I could take a fish on a plane or if I should ask someone who lives locally to board my beloved pet for the summer. His response: "You could put some bleach in the water and kill it."

Clearly, I had no desire to kill my pet. The question was how to make it live through the summer. For the record, I left it with a classmate who lived in town. My fish was alive and well when I returned from summer break. She even generously upgraded his bowl to a self-filtering tank.

On a similar note, Shrek had a dog back home. He kept it outside, year round. Even though the place he lived was known for being particularly cold. One day, he got off the phone with his mom and without emotion declared "I no longer have a dog." His parents had put the dog down. Not because it was terminally ill, or fatally wounded. They put it down because they didn't feel like having a dog anymore.

In both the dog and the fish case, he proved that he was comfortable killing things that were no longer convenient to have around. This inability to feel compassion for living things or respect for life should have been a clear indicator of what was to come in our relationship. I suppose I should be happy I got out before his aggression resulted in me being like to dog and the fish.

Screaming Infidelities

I'll be the first to admit that my moral compass does not always point true north. However, there are things that even I wouldn't do. Being the "other woman" is one of them.

Shrek had an ex. I'm going to call her Vikki. He painted the picture that she was crazy. Maybe she was. He carried Vikki's senior picture around in his wallet. At first I figured that he just never got around to taking it out. Then I realized that she was a senior after he had started college, so he would have gotten it after they had broken up. The whole time we were dating, the picture stayed in his wallet. I should also add that she wasn't really very pretty. Not that it matters to the story. It just matters to me. Grossly enough, a flirty picture of his 12 year-old cousin also maintained residence in his wallet the entire time we were dating.

One day, I finally got a little annoyed with the wallet picture issue and asked him why he still carried it. He told me Vikki would get mad if it wasn't there and she checked every time he was home. Um, why was Vikki even checking his wallet? Why the hell does she care if an ex has her picture or not? Weird.

Anyway, I tried not to think about Vikki, since she was in the boonie town Shrek was from, and we were thousands of miles away from that place. There were times when I suspected he never broke up with Vikki, that she didn't even know about me. But I wanted to trust him, so I would convince myself that was not happening. I convinced myself that she knew I existed and respected that I was dating her ex.

Well, I was half right.

Shrek mentioned a conversation with Vikki that took place online. And from his description, it sounded inappropriate. I pried for more information, but he flipped out and told me it was none of my business.

Well, of course this made me want to know about the conversation that much more. So, when I got to his room, I checked his chat log. In front of him. And wow. I normally do not ever condone spying on your boyfriend, but this time, it was totally warranted.

It started off innocently enough...

Vikki: Hey!!!!
Shrek: Hey
Vikki: How are you?
Shrek: Good, how are you?

Then, it got shady...

Vikki: I'm great. Are you still dating that girl?
Shrek: yeah
Vikki: Are you faithful? ;-)

What. The. Fuck.

His answer was basically a coy "no," but that's not nearly as interesting as the fact she would even ask this. I mean, where the hell is this even acceptable?

To me, this is like asking "Do you still have a dog? Do you still feed it?" In my mind, being faithful to someone is a required and assumed part of dating them.

This girl was desperately trying to steal my boyfriend. Who the hell does that? I mean, really, does she think that some guy who bangs her on the side will eventually start dating her and they will actually have a healthy relationship that does not involve banging other sluts on the side?

That's fucking delusional. Vikki, Shrek, where ever you two are, I hope you end up together. You deserve each other.

Quirkiness is Not a Star Quality

Remember how your mom used to tell you that certain things build character? Typically referring to some kind of hardship that truly you should never have had to endure: mowing the lawn, going to one of your parent's friends homes when you could have been out playing, breaking your arm, etc.

Unfortunately, none of these prepared you for quirky habits of guys you would later date. Believe me, none of these things build character - at least not the kind you want built. The TV channel USA's new slogan is "character fantasy," where television actors have strange habits they want you to emulate, or form your own to be shared on nationally broadcast TV shows.

But quirkiness has it's price. 

Example 1: Deigo walks on his tip-toes. EVERYWHERE. You didn't really notice it until you saw him walk barefoot. At least a few times I thought he was about to fall forward but he caught himself again and kept walking. Even in high school, Deigo was called the tip-toe bandit. He played football. Apparently that made sense in the context of the game, but either way, he's pretty proud of it.

Walking on tip-toes, constantly... well you look a little odd, but for the most part its unnoticable and the kind of quirky that makes people laugh, not cringe.

Example 2:

Neanderthal and I rode to school together in high school. I drove since I had a car and a parking permit for the lot. What drove me crazy, and was, quite frankly very odd, was that he would rock forward and back in the passenger seat. Music wouldn't even be playing and he would rock. It had no rythym to speak of, just the back and forth, back and forth... like a kid on a rocking horse. There never even seemed to be a purpose!

Rocking with no express purpose, need, or motivation... freakin odd.

Example 3:

Sasquatch had a very disconcerting evening ritual. He would remove his necklace, which had a medallion with a creepy symbol of some sort. It had character, the kind I like. What I did NOT like was the weird thing he did with it.

After taking the necklace off, he would tap it three times on the beside table, then lay it in a circle. Next, he would take the small book next to his bed, which I believe was a journal of some sort. He would:

Open it,
Read a passage
Close the book
Touch it to his forehead
Place it back down on the table.

W.
T.
F.

I don't like to wonder if the guy I'm dating is a member of the occult. Therefore, don't proceed to learn any strange rituals and then NOT explain them when asked. The least Sasquatch could do was assuage my fears that the Devil was going to get me.

Lesson learned? Don't be too quirky. There's a fine line between cute, odd, and just plain loser.

Fred Exposes Himself to Many Things

Fred had a penchant for exposing himself. It was ridiculous.

I know guys seem to think exposing themselves is hilarious. It's not. It's especially not funny when it happens all the freaking time. If I were truly petty, I would tell you how embarrassingly small his junk is and that he was most likely just doing it to try to feel some sort of acceptance for his not-so-well-endowed member. But, I'm not petty. So, I will not tell everyone that he was lacking in his pants.

Fred constantly would be the guy at parties, social gatherings, dinners or study sessions who felt the need to pull his junk out of his pants and wait for someone to notice. It was completely childish. It was completely disgusting. And it completely alienated people. The worst part is, this behavior was not limited to the privacy of his own house parties. He did it everywhere.

I recall one particular incident in the parking garage in which he realized his jorts were slipping down his waist, so he decided just to push them all the way down and shuffle with them around his ankles. And, yes, he was going commando that day.

I recall another (post-college) incident in which he decided to return from the bathroom at a party my friend was throwing sans pants. In a room full of people he had just met. If he hadn't ruined his chance of making friends that night earlier, he certainly had after exposing himself. Not to mention, it was completely humiliating for me to have my boyfriend expose himself to the first people I had met after moving to a new city.

Of course, there are other stories I have heard about Fred exposing himself, but I did not experience them first hand. Since I am not here to spread rumors, I will not bring them up. But, trust me, Fred's privates have been seen by more people than Jenna Jameson's.

I could go on forever about stories of Fred's junk. But, really, they're pretty much all the same, just different places, different people. I honestly do not understand the fascination men have with their own genitals. Look guys, they're really not all that interesting. And we really don't want to see it. Women are not turned on by you showing yourself at formal events.

Fred, keep it in your pants.

Twitter Hijacked!

Hey folks,

Our Twitter account was hijacked by some Arizona "COP" who is old and heinous looking. We hope he croaks.

RGB and BJA.

Update: We got back in. We deleted him. Stay tuned for a new twitter!

Update: New Twitter is up and running. Sidebar now has the correct address.

Requiem for My Love Life

Fred decided one day that he wanted to watch "Requiem for a Dream." Since no one owned this movie on DVD (it is far too depressing for most people to want to watch more than once), he decided to go rent it from the local Blockbuster. This was located next door to the Circle K, where he went every single day to buy cigarettes, so it seemed like it would be easy to take it back after two days (this was before the whole 'no late fee' thing).

Well, I suppose taking the movie back managed to slip his mind every day for two months. Until one day when I was in his apartment and one of his roommates commented that the movie had been sitting there forever. Another roommate said that Fred didn't really care about bringing it back because it was on RGB's account. Fred laughed at this. The part that pissed me off was the fact that I know he had probably said this to his roommates earlier. He really thought it would be quite funny to stick me with an outrageous bill for his laziness.

But, I was the one who would get the last laugh.

"I don't have a Blockbuster account." I casually said. "So, it must have been on Fred's."

At that point, Fred screamed a word I will not put on here and immediately ran out to take the DVD back.

Funny how it was a game to not take it back when it meant sticking me with the bill. But as soon as it involved him, he was out the door before even bothering to put on clothes he didn't sleep in.

A week later, his parents called regarding the bill and I got to hear him lie to them by saying he returned that movie the day after he got it and it must be a mistake on their end.

Well, I've Never Been to Spain...

...But I have had creepy older men hit on me.

When I was 18 and living in New Orleans, I was walking out of a movie theatre downtown with some girlfriends to find a cab. A drunk man who was old enough to be my father comes running across the street to our group.

He approaches me and in slurred speech asks "Hey, did you hear about the amateur strip contest at [redacted]?"

Not sure what to make of it, I responded honestly that, no, I had not heard about such an event.

"Well, you should have gone! You would have won for sure!"

Aside from the obvious old man creep factor, I should also mention that I was wearing jeans, a t-shirt and flip-flops. Hardly anything even remotely sexy. Especially considering that there were countless other women dressed in much sexier clothing around me.

He then proceeded to try to entice me to enter the next contest, telling me that there was a big cash prize for the winner. He was apparently oblivious to the fact that I was not comfortable having this conversation and was frantically trying to hail a cab to get away from him.

Weirdo.

But, in all honesty, there's no way in hell I would ever win a stripping contest. I am way too clumsy. Me getting on a stripper pole would end with a trip to the emergency room.

You Make Me Sick

Social norms across countries are randomly different (nothing new there), occasionally surprising (which can be fun), and far-too-often down-right disgusting. There are just some things that I've experienced in other countries that were beyond my normal acceptance of social differences, and crossed the line into - you're still disgusting in my book.

Madrid, Spain.

On a trip to Spain last year, my family and I stopped in Madrid. As I was also in the midst of the leasing process on a new apartment, I made frequent trips to a local computer cafe to take care of my business at home.


I've accepted that there are men and women out there who get their jollies from exploring illicit sites on the internet. I'd even partly prepared myself to experience such a thing while I was abroad. However, I was utterly floored to find that, even in Spain, this was considered "ok" enough to be used as a flirtation method.


I went into the cafe, ready to send another nasty email to the landlords who were being a$$s about the whole moving ordeal, when I noticed the 30ish year old man next to me was looking at porn. I quickly averted my eyes and continued working. But the man kept smiling at me! When he said something in Spanish, I could only grasp but a few words - enough to know he was calling me pretty and something about pictures. Maybe you'll come to the same conclusion as me, but all I could think of was... disgusting.

I mean really. Who sees a girl in a random cafe and thinks to themselves... well I'm looking at porn maybe she's into it. I don't care where you live or what language you speak, there's a line there! We weren't in the red light district, I was not dressed provacatively, and I certainly wasn't trying to get his attention.

Perhaps this guy isn't quite a "loser-ex" by our standard definiton, but it only appears that way since I refused to pose and/or go with him anywhere anyway. Had I done so, I have no doubt that he would have ended up on this blog. Fortunately, I have class.

Ladies, don't lower yourself to date a man who would ask you to pose for porn. Especially if he doesn't speak your language and is doing so in a public cafe, proudly "showing" why he wants you to do so.

Fred's Dirty Laundry

In college, one thing that annoyed me was when people using the laundry rooms would not promptly remove their clothes from the machines after the cycles. Now, I understand being a few minutes late, but several hours? Come on. Often, I would see laundry sit in machines, finished, for the entire time it took my clothes to be washed, dried and folded. This was especially annoying when there was a shortage of machines.

The Resident Director of my dorm junior year apparently felt my pain on the matter and plastered signs all over the laundry room threatening to donate unattended clothes to charity. Overkill? Probably. Passive-aggressive? Definitely. But, I understood her underlying concern.

Well, Fred did not. He was one of those loath-able laundry leavers. And not just the extra hour variety. He was, by far, the worst laundry leaver I have ever encountered. Frequently, he would put his clothes in the washing machine, go to class for a few hours, move them to the dryer, go out drinking, and then take them out of the laundry room the next morning. And this was when he was on top of the laundry situation. Usually, this process would take much longer. Laundry time was frequently a multi-day event for Fred. This was particularly disturbing considering he did not even start the laundry process until he had been forced to go commando for at least 4 days.

Well, after one particularly long laundry run (five days, to be exact), he returned to the laundry room to find his clothes, and the suitcase in which he brought them to the laundry room, gone. Apparently at some point during those five days, the Resident Director had made good on her promise.

This particular batch of clothes included such gems as: the pink parachute pants, the yellow button down tie-dye shirt, and a plethora of Hawaiian shirts.

Needless to say, I was not sorry for his loss.

Kissin' You Off

When I was in high school, I was shy and not particularly "lucky" in love. I had never kissed a boy. I know! Some girls were all over it in middle school. Not me, I didn't even get my first kiss until my 16th birthday party.

There are two stories here, with two entirely different goals by melding them into one post, besides the fact they took place over the same event.

1. Boys are dumb in high school, and they make things up to match the "reality" of what they envision their lives to be.

2. Boys are cruel in high school, not realizing the implications of their actions, nor how easily they'll become as targets of catty-fun blogs like this in the future of the girls they cross.

So here we go. We'll call these two gentleman Meathead Dumb and Meathead Mean.

Both Meatheads, along with some of their friends and a few other high school hot shots, were invited to my 16th birthday party. Sad as it was, I had it at my place with my parents chaperoning. I realize now what a mistake that was, but honestly the rents were pretty cool with the whole thing. They even splurged for the margarita mix - sans tequila unfortunately.

That didn't stop Meathead Dumb, though. Most teenagers, even with the most juvenile and naive of brains, realize that margaritas mix must have tequila added to reach any sort of alcoholic content. MD decided, in his infinite high school wisdom, to chug the entire bottle of the mix - again, sans alcohol. Yet, he must not have known this, as he yelled at the top of his lungs to the entire party, "I'M WASTEDDDDDD!"

Umm, no MD. You're not. There's no alcohol in that. I wish I could tell you otherwise because I'd have been launched to high school stardom right then, but there's not and I never did.

So, moment to laugh at the idiocy that we women had to choose from in high school. You know you had at least one of these dimwits. Don't lie.

Meanwhile, Meathead Mean decided we should all play truth or dare. This was high school - so yes, of course I thought this was a brilliant idea. Up until I chose truth. MM asked me how far I had gone with a guy. To my own credit, I was honest. To my discredit, I was dumb enough to ask if hugging or holding hands was farther. (I was so naive in high school, I really was. I won't even pretend I was remotely cool.)

Later, MM took me aside on my trampoline out back under the stars... I'll let you awww at the effect that had on my cute little birthday-lovin self. MM said, "So... you've really never even kissed a guy?" I blushed and I think I left it at that. Like I wanted to admit that again! So MM decided to give me a birthday present, and he kissed me. My first kiss!

Yet, there's a reason MM is called mean. Monday at school, MM denied having even attended my party, let alone kissing me. My friends apparently had a pretty big mouth about what had happened that night. But the thing that made me really angry was the denial. I'd be less offended if he just said he got drunk and made out with someone he shouldn't have.

(Note: I've made myself sound somehow unfortunate looking - I'm not. I'm not super hot, but I'm reasonably attractive - I avoided the ugly stick and the awkward stick. However, I was incredibly unpopular in high school. And it doesn't matter how attractive or unattractive you were at my school since we had access to plastic surgery - you didn't get anywhere if you didn't put out or weren't one of the cliquie "cool" kids.)

After all of this, during our senior year when I had finally come into my own and figured out what I wanted, and didn't want - when I was dating someone steadily (albeit String Bean, who will continue to be the butt of the majority of my posts and jokes ) - MM asks me to come to his graduation party. This is after he and a few of his friends had bad mouthed me throughout high school.

I promptly told him, "why would I want to go to a party of yours? Mine never happened, right?"

Hell yeah I brought it back from two years prior. That's what you DO in high school. I had figured out what a fair-weathered friend was, and who to trust and not to trust. Living up to who was "popular" and who wasn't, was not my thing.

Who denies getting some in high school? Seriously? Call it vindictive or call it vengeance - either way, Meathead had it coming!

These Boots Were Made For ... Something

I love shoes. My closet has 4 racks of them overflowing and I still think I need more. Naturally, I do not expect the men I date to understand or share my love of footwear. I would probably be freaked out if I ever met a guy whose shoe collection rivaled my own. But, I do expect them to have the basics. This includes sneakers, flip-flops, loafers, and most importantly, some shoes to wear to work (one pair in black, one in brown).

I am not picky about what one's work shoes are. As long as they are dress shoes. And that is a very large range. While there are particular styles I do not care for (buckles on shoes remind me of pilgrims), I am willing to overlook personal tastes as long as the shoes are work appropriate.

Well, apparently Fred missed the memo of appropriate work footwear. He insisted on wearing the same inappropriate footwear every time he wore his slacks: a pair of ten-year-old Dr. Martin boots. I will give this a second to sink in.

They weren't like the 18 eye black boots that you're probably thinking. Nope, they were the dorky little brother of those. They looked like hiking boots, which was a little weird because Fred never really did anything that involved exerting even the slightest amount of energy.

He wore these stupid-ass boots to work with his slacks every day. Winter, summer, rain, snow, whatever, these boots were on his feet. I am honestly fascinated that no one ever told him his shoes were not appropriate.

Well, time went by, and I had forgotten about these boots. The rare times I did think of them, I assumed that he was young and stupid and had since picked up on social norms and ditched the boots for a pair of dress shoes to wear to the office.

Then I saw him. Still wearing the same fucking wrinkled slacks, button down short sleeved shirt and the boots. Those stupid boots. Jesus, if his current girlfriend has even an iota of good taste, she will take those things and burn them.

But, I don't think that's likely.

Hail to the Victors

I am a sports fan. Unabashedly and undeniably so. Mostly I watch football, with smatterings of Hockey and Baseball in there sometimes. I even watch college football (Go Longhorns) even though my college team wasn't really the best. (We did have an AMAZING rookie this past season really rock it out tho! So proud!)

So I understand exuberant support of one's college team, and even having such strong feelings for a school that was never even attended. However, there is a fine line between devoted fan and obsessed fan.

Wolverine worked security at one of the Big Three back when I lived in Michigan. He was a huge fan and dreamed of going to the Big House to watch a game, even though he had yet to attend college.

We went out drinking one night to a dueling piano bar. The two show masters decided to rev up the school rivalries by playing the Michigan fight song as well as the Michigan State fight song. They solicited donations into two pots, one for Michigan, one for MSU, on their pianos. Partiers could put money into the pot - $1, $5, whatever they wanted to - and whichever pot had more money would continue to play the song. If the other pot all of a sudden surpassed the one currently playing, then the winning school's piano took over the noise and played the school's song. This went back and forth as the MSU fans fought with the Michigan fans to get their song played. The winner was determined by whichever pot reaching the end of the song before anyone from the other school had contributed enough to stop the song.

Anyway, this got Wolverine all sorts of riled up. As the drinks continued flowing, he refused to stop singing. He was too drunk to drive and it was freezing cold (Michigan winters...), so we took a cab back to his place.

This is where it got annoying.

Wolverine was holding his keys out when we arrived at his apartment. The stubborn ass of a man then decided that, despite the fact that I was freezing and he didn't have a jacket, we could not go inside until he and I had sang the entire Michigan fight song at the top of our lungs.

First, I tried reasoning with him. It's cold. I'm cold. Give me the keys. You're being an idiot. Someone's going to call the cops.

Second, I tried wrestling the keys from him. "RAPE! RAPE!" Sure, make the cops come faster. Give me the damn keys!

Third, I tried browbeating him. Just give me the keys. You're drunk. You're an outright idiot. Stop being a dickhead. You are SUCH an ass.

Fourth, I halfway gave in. How about you sing it to me, then we'll go in.

None of this had any effect. He had a plan. Sing the song at the top of our lungs or we're staying outside all night.

So I re-hailed a cab and went home. Drunken stupid sports fans make lousy boyfriends.

Lie to Me

I've often wondered what the world looks like through Fred's eyes. Truly, he must live in some sort of unicorn fantasy land where anything is possible.

Either that, or he thinks the rest of us just fell off the back of the turnip truck.

Fred lied. Often. And poorly. And seldom about things of any consequence. He just really liked to lie. Of course many of the examples I would like to list here are either horribly humiliating, or fall more into the category of "why my ex has earned an especially hot corner in hell" than the category of "why my ex is a loser."

The first time Fred came to visit my parents, he was a two-pack-a-day smoker. No one in my family smokes. So, about every 45 minutes, he stand in my front yard and smoke himself silly. I'm not even going to touch how trashy this must have looked to the neighbors. Toward the end of his visit, my mom pulled me aside and said that while she was walking the dogs, she had encountered several cigarette butts in the yard and to please ask Fred to be more considerate. I could completely understand her annoyance with the situation and agreed to talk to Fred about it.

Later that night, I had the following conversation:

Me: "Hey, my parents have noticed a lot of cigarette butts in the yard. Moving forward, can you be more diligent about putting them in the trash?"

Fred: "They're not mine."

At this point, I was completely caught off guard. Whose did he think they were? None of my family smokes. None of my neighbors smoke. Did he honestly expect me to believe that some rogue smoker had taken-up leaving his trash in our yard several times a day without once being seen...and that this occurrence happened to coincide with Fred's visit? Not wanting to push the issue further, I just told him that I am happy he isn't leaving butts in my yard because my parents are angry with whoever is.

It absolutely blows my mind that he believed he could deny this and everyone would believe him. And that he would waste his efforts lying about something that truly was not a big deal. I should have realized that this was a sign he would only lie about bigger (see also, lesbian shower sluts) and more ambiguous things.

Wonder No More

I once went on an awkward date during which I was asked if I had had any work done. At the time, I was shocked, confused and self-conscious. I felt terribly concerned that something on me was fake-looking. I never really figured out what that something was.

Well, today, I think I have figured it out. When logging on to Facebook, one of my announcements was that my date from two years ago had posted some new pictures. I was slightly curious, so I decided to check them out. And, oh my god! His date looks to be about ten years older than me and like she had implants done when she was 18. They are obvious (if you've ever seen fake tits, then you know that they often have a weird ridge on top), and they are sinking down her chest (as they do over time), so they are now about 6 inches lower than boobs naturally occur.

So, the mystery has been solved. My boobs are apparently in the fake size range. And my bad date was just hoping they were, in fact, fake.

Hard as Nails

Most of my friends from middle school and high school stuck around the area for college. Not me. I went really far away. Consequently, I did not see my friends very often. The summer before my junior year, I spent at school, so by the time Christmas break rolled around, I had not seen my best friend from childhood for 8 months. We were both very eager for me to come home and had made plans to do several things. One of those things was to go to a New Year's Eve party together, as well as spend the day before the party together.

Fred showed up at my house the day after Christmas on very short notice and insisted that I come up to New York with him. I explained that I absolutely had to be back by Dec 30 because I had plans for early in the morning on the 31st. He acknowledged that I had made this request, so I assumed that he was OK with this arrangement and I went to see his parents. On the morning of Dec 30, he suddenly remembered that his family was going to have a dinner that night (they did this every night, so it really was no occasion) and he insisted that I stay. I reminded him of our original agreement and reminded him that I had made these plans with my friend several weeks ago, so it would be inappropriate to cancel on her now. Furthermore, I would see Fred at school, but I would not see my friend again until summer vacation.

He flipped out at me for "refusing to spend time with his family." Then he demanded to know what my plans even consisted of. Ok, so look, when I hang out with my friends, we aren't exactly saving children from burning buildings, or finding a cure for cancer. My plans in this particular case involved brunch, nail appointments and shopping. Yes, I will admit that none of these are really important on their own, but it was the fact that it was a day that both me and my friend had off and were willing to set aside for each other that made this important to me. I honestly don't care about brunch or nails or shopping very much, but I do care about spending time with my friends.

Fred seemed to miss the point in a lot of the things I did or said. Fred failed to see the whole bit about wanting to see my friend. And instead flipped the fuck out that I was "so superficial" and it was going to be so embarrassing for him to have to tell his family that I couldn't come over because I was "getting my nails done."

He really could have saved himself the embarrassment if he just told his family that I had made plans over three weeks ago, and this entire trip was sprung on me at the last minute and under the agreement that it would work around the plans I had already made, but Fred never did want to do things the unembarassing way.

Animal House

Vengeful exes are the worst. You might think of us as vengeful, but we aren't. We story tellers. If we were vengeful story tellers, we'd use their real names.

Now you remember Diego. There was a girl who had a major crush on him after he and I broke up (when he still wanted to rekindle our relationship) who took to name-calling. She thought I had puffy cheeks (I think I was chubby in the picture she saw - I am less chubby now) and she decided to call me a "chipmunk."

Diego never really stood up for me, but no matter, we weren't dating by then anyway. While it irked me because of the childish nature of it all, it was really not a huge deal. It was really more that I wanted to make a point that her immaturity was detrimental to her ability to attract men.

Until he made it a big deal. Diego and I finally called even a friendship off for good. I simply couldn't stand him anymore, even as a friend. He wanted more from me than I was willing to give because I had started dating a guy who I fell very hard and very quickly for. I mean, we're moving in together in a few months. It was a serious relationship that I wanted to be giving my all to. Point being, we had tried being friends, and it just wasn't happening.

Diego invited my roommate (who he met when he came to visit me and try to get a job... you remember...) out to visit him. So yes, they became friends. My roommate posted a few pictures of me on her facebook page, which wasn't a problem. However, it promptly became a problem when he took one of those pictures and posted it on his page with the caption: "There was a recent report of rabid chipmunks out... they tend to have issues with bright lights beware... and yes I stole this from {Roommate}."

I found out when my current roommate emailed me from Russia asking about the picture, and when RGB and SJT pointed it out to me.

It bugged me. Probably more than it should. While I didn't want him in my life anymore, I certainly wanted it to end amicably. I had to hear from my friends that it was not some ignorant ho calling me a rabid chipmunk, but someone who I used to care very deeply about. And he did this from a forum that was not just enough people to count on one hand - which would be the equivalent of all the readers of my blog (yaaaaaay)- but on Facebook. Where every person who knows him and knows our history could see it. Yes, I DO consider that betrayal and vengeful.

Diego used a picture of me and a spiteful caption in a location that all of his friends could see, but I couldn't. A blog at least you have access to, and all discussants have aliases. I almost wish my friends would have just let it die, but they felt the need to ask me if something had happened that prompted you to call me a "rabid chipmunk." Calling me names for the sake of calling me names? Juvenile is putting what he did nicely!

But Diego felt bad. He pleaded with me to understand his "joke" and to not be upset and cut him out of my life. Ok, I would get that, except that there was no way for me to "get" the joke. I didn't have access to it. If he had sent it to me via email and said "you look like a rapid chipmunk who's afraid of bright lights..." well then I might have laughed with him. But with poor execution, it simply reminded me of what I need to do to keep myself happy. Get rid of Diego.

Cuz name-calling and facebook are childish. Let's be honest. All the grownups use blogger.

Spelling RG Bee

My name, first and last, is ten letters. Ten. Even the most simple-minded person can remember a string of ten letters with five minutes of rehearsal. Unfortunately, Fred is unable to do this. Even with two and a half years of rehearsal.

The other day, I received a check in the mail from Fred. The first thing that caught my eye was the fact that my name was misspelled on the envelope. I figured it was just a fluke, but no. The check had the same misspelling.

We dated for two and a half fucking years and he never bothered to learn how to spell my fucking name. Not only did he not bother to learn it, he must have actively fought learning it. He had emailed me the day before sending the check and apparently did not notice the spelling of my last name in my email address. Seriously, what the fuck? You have to spell my name correctly to even email me! Furthermore, he has seen my name written out a million times and yet, somehow the ten letters did not string together in his head.

Although, this honestly shouldn't surprise me. This was the same guy who could not spell his own sister's first name. While trying to address a card to her, I asked Fred whether she spelled her name with an "e" or an "i" and Fred drew a blank (I ended up having him call his mother). I suppose that if after 18 years of his sister's life, he could not learn to spell her (very basic and very common) first name, then I really shouldn't have expected him to figure out my last name without at least 50 years' practice (I thank God every single day that he will not have the opportunity to practice my name for 50 years).

So, remember kids: pay attention in school. Misspellings are adorable when you're six, but when you're twenty-six, it's just fucking pathetic. Now I am stuck with a check that the bank most likely won't cash because someone is a fucking retard.

Nice going, douche.

What Not to Buy Your Girlfriend on Valentine's Day

So, I'm probably beating a dead horse by making another bad gift post. But, it's Valentine's Day, and bad gifts never fail to be hilarious. So, suck it up and pretend you haven't heard this one yet.

What I have recieved in the past:

Fred: The first Valentine's Day we were together, he gave me nothing. The big fucking goose egg. We had dated for 6 months, so I kind of expected something, but was left empty handed. I recieved flowers from 4 other people and he still didn't take the hint. I canned his ass shortly thereafter. We got back together and the next Valentine's Day we were together, he mailed me a care package from Walmart. Now, I love Walmart as much as the next person (ok, probably much much more than the next person), but V-Day is not the time to get me Walmart knick-knacks. A box of batteries, cans of soup and beef jerky hardly constitutes a romantic gift. And a big stuffed dog is hardly appropriate for someone who is not a child.

Shrek: Gave me a box of chocolates. But then he ate them. Seriously, he presented me with a half-eaten box of chocolates as a gift. And the only ones left were the ones he didn't want. Why even bother?

Fruit Fly: Gave me a vase that was covered by a stuffed koala...it's hard to explain, but basically, it looked like a red plant was coming out of the koala's ass. Also, he gave me a chocolate bar that fell on the floor at work and he therefore obtained for free.

Boris: Ok, this is actually really really sweet, but a little misguided. He decided to be very romantic for Valentine's Day and got me two dozen roses, a huge box of Godiva truffles, a big heart-shaped balloon and a card. Except, he did this at school (I was 16 at the time), so I spent the entire day lugging around my Valentine's Day bonanza (my locker was way too small for the balloon and roses). Also, I was (and still am) really shy, so I didn't exactly love all the attention these things brought me. I loved the gifts, but I would have preferred recieving them at home.

At this point, I am over the idea of Valentine's Day. This year, I am just hoping for a good dinner and a lot of alcohol.

The F Word

There are certain topics which are widely regarded as off limits for criticizing one's significant other. For example, I would never criticize a guy's height, penis size or baldness. Those are all things that are beyond their control and furthermore, if they were things that truly bothered me, I would simply not date the guy in question.

The list of off limits topics for women would probably include any facial features, breast size and weight. Of course, this didn't stop my exes from bringing up each of these topics. Perhaps the most alarming was the weight matter. I am not fat, so it would seem logical that no one would ever have anything negative to say about my weight. Apparently, this is not the case. Men seem to think that because I am not fat, they get a free pass on the weight issue, like it won't bother me. Well, assholes, it does.

When I was dating Fred, I was 5'8" and wore a size 0 (I have since ballooned up to a humongous size 2). Yet, he seemed to take pleasure in pointing out any area of me that had even an ounce of fat on it. One such area was my ass. I am not a big girl, but I have a lot of T & A. While this is not something I love about myself, it is something that I mostly accept and do not think about on a day-to-day basis. And seriously, if my ass still fit into a size 0, how much A did I really have?

I should also bring up that I grew 6 inches in high school and as a result, still had the faint remnants of stretch marks on my upper thighs in mid college (in case you really care, they are no longer visible). Well, one day Fred took it upon himself to point this out to me.

Fred: Your ass is too big

Me: It's a size 0.

Fred: But you have stretch marks. That means you're too fat.

Me: No, it means I grew six inches very quickly.

Fred: But it means you got too fat.

The conversation went on like this for a while before I finally gave up. Yes Fred, I am fat.

The thing that pisses me off the most about this is that he was, in fact, fat. 5'8" and 220 lbs is fat. Sorry, but it is. Yet, I would never have told him that. Also, I was much thinner than the girls he dated prior to me (and the ones he has dated since). If he ever called them fat, I hope they were more willing to roll with this kind of criticism than I was.

I often wonder what types of conversations he has had with these other women, given his penchant for playing fat police.

Fred: You're fat.

Fred's gf: You're fat, too.

Fred: Let's have fat sex.

Fred's gf: OMFG, I LOVE BUTTER!!!

Or something like that.

The Game

BJA and I both have boyfriends, so it has been getting tougher to come up with new posts. While this doesn't really count as an ex story, we feel that these losers have earned themselves a special place on our blog.

Last Saturday, we went out with some other friends and were soon accosted by two... interesting-looking gentlemen. Oh, why am I trying to be nice about this? They looked like fricking rednecks. One was sporting a wolf shirt with a leather vest. The other was wearing a tight (I mean like so tight there was visible nippleage) and unflattering (he did not have the body to be wearing anything tight) bright yellow New Mexico shirt and motorcycle boots. Even with a motorcycle convention going on in Washington, they were still sorely out of place.

As they approach us, New Mexico announces "I usually don't talk to ethnic girls, but you guys are really hot."

Um, what? Ok, aside from the fact that is massively inappropriate to say to anyone, it also was a little confusing to me. I would not describe either myself or BJA as being ethnic. We're both of European ancestry, just like the rednecks. I am assuming that BJA was the "ethnic" one of us since she has dark hair and eyes, but either way, it's still a stretch. BJA thinks it may have been my dress, which had a pattern that may have been vaguely Indian-esque.

The conversation continued with them basically sounding ridiculous and BJA and I politely making fun of them in a way that went completely over their heads. I finally slipped in an insult that was low-brow enough for them to get. And they found it to be significantly more funny than it actually was. After they had themselves a little giggle fest, they revealed to us their plan.

They were trying to get rejected by as many girls as possible. They wanted to know if we had any advice for them. I politely gave them two of my worst pick up lines and suggested they used them. Then their entourage came over to talk to me and BJA. The rest of the entourage was about as interesting as Wolf Shirt and New Mexico. Clearly, they were not putting this plan to work. I told them to get on it (trying to get them to leave) and they turned around to the girls behind us (while still looking like they were in our group). I told them to try talking to people on the other side of the bar, as far away from us as possible; because they'll look more reject-able if there are no women with them. They took the hint. I think deep down, they were grateful that I gave them each one more rejection to add to their count.

I get it. They go out and try to pretend like they want to get rejected, that way when they do get rejected, it was part of the plan. And if they don't get immediately dismissed, they think their victims will find themselves special when they're let in on the plan. It's not clever. It's not cute. It's annoying.

Look, guys, seriously, don't play games like this. If you want to talk to a woman, just go for it. Don't make up stupid-ass back stories. Don't tell me you're from out-of-state if you're really just from over the bridge. Don't ask me if I saw the fight outside. Don't pretend to be taking a survey. Don't pretend to show me a magic trick. Just don't. Be honest about your intentions. Even if they are just to get in my pants.