LoserEx Answers Your Questions

Here at LoserEx, we consider ourselves experts on dating. And as such, we feel qualified to give out unsolicited advice. Unlike other advice columns, we're not very tactful. Actually, we're pretty bitchy. We plan to continue giving our advice to people who sound like they need it, whether they want it or not. If you actually want our advice on something, feel free to email us.

Today's questions come from The Washington Post's "Dear Prudence" chat:

Dear Prudence,

I fell in love with a married man and slept with him. Clearly one of my worst moments as a human being. When his wife found out about our affair we ended things. Somehow their daughter found out, and she has been harassing me ever since. She wrote me several long letters in which she told me how much she disliked me and how gross and pathetic I was. She messaged the letters to my Facebook friends before I made my friend list private. I think she got my phone number and began prank calling me several times a night, sometimes three times an hour around 2 a.m. I changed my phone number. Now she is showing up where I work (a department store) and coming into my area. She has done this twice. I am always hesitant to talk to her because the wife and my affair partner threatened legal action if I ever contacted them or so much as looked at one of their kids. I do not have the money to hire a lawyer to contact their lawyer. Should I accept this teenager's behavior as a consequence of the affair, or am I within my rights to find a way to get her to stop bothering me?

Restraining order. Seriously. Don't think twice about it.


Dear Prudence,

I am against torturing animals. I never thought I would need to clarify that, because I assumed most people oppose torturing animals. Then I met met my daughter's fiancé. I found out he was arrested twice as a teen for maiming and torturing animals - his own and others. He has apparently not had an incident since he has to do tons of community service when he was seventeen. He and my daughter claim his abuse of animals was a reaction to his stepfather's abuse of him. My daughter thinks it is ridiculous to care about something her fiancé did years ago. But ever since finding out, I have not been able to look at her fiancé the same way. Am I overreacting by not fully trusting him?

You're not overreacting. He's probably a serial killer.

An Open Letter to a Particular Loser

Dear Loser,

I'm glad you were able to make it to the event on Friday. I hope you had a good weekend. Mine wasn't so great. Well, what I remember of it anyway. Oh, that reminds me. Thanks for slipping me a roofie.

I had thought that date rape drugs were limited to frat keggers, but you really took it to the next level by drugging my drink at a professional event. Classy. Like most people, I naively thought that only 19 year-old fratstars have the necessary lack of compassion to drug an unwitting woman, but you have shown me that even middle-aged men with wives, kids and houses in the suburbs are capable of this disgusting act. You're a fucking sociopath. Trust me, I will be much better about watching my drink in the future.

I will also be much better about watching your creepy ass, and so will everyone else I tell this to. If you feel like you're getting a lot of dirty looks at a party one day, it's not your imagination.

Thank you for the valuable lesson in safety. I'm sorry I made it to a cab before you could rape me.

Cheers!

RGB

Jeepers Creepers

I recently went on a trip and since the mailman has not been delivering my Economist, I was stuck with nothing to read except Cosmopolitan. So I read it like a million times. And while I enjoyed reading the article that made Lea Michele sound like an insufferable bitch, I was a little shocked by some of the advice they are giving to women.

In the past, Cosmo has given really bad advice, like suggesting you use a thong to tie your hair back during sex. Or that you stick your scrunchie on your man's dong (Really, who wears scrunchies? That advice is sooo 1993). Or that you decorate your room by putting a colorful scarf over a lamp (Hello, fire hazard). In fact, more than a few times, I have speculated that the writers are making fun of their readership. But, of all the bad advice Cosmo has given throughout the years, this issue really took the cake.

The article in question discussed ways to meet men. Some of the suggestions were actually pretty good. For example, throwing a party and telling your friends to each bring someone you don't know. This is a good way to meet people. The chance that your future husband is already in your extended social circle is pretty good. Plus, you know he's not a total psychopath if your friend hangs out with him.

But some of the ideas were shockingly terrible. One was that you meet cute doctors by hanging out in the hospital cafeteria. Seriously. There is so much wrong with this. First, the food is nasty. Second, this is a place where people go when they're sick, not a place to go to meet men. That is just wrong. Then, there is the fact that you're bothering some poor guy at work. This is especially bad considering that being a doctor is really stressful to begin with. The last thing a "cute doctor" needs is to be hit on when he's trying to grab a sandwich and get back to saving lives. This wasn't the only suggestion to creepily stalk people at their place of work.

There was another suggestion to look up Realtors online, find a cute one, then call to schedule an appointment to see something he is selling. Really? You think it's cute to waste someone's time? Not to mention it is beyond creepy to stalk someone on the Internet then get them to meet you under false pretenses. Just imagine if this were the other way around and some creepy man looked for attractive female Realtors online and then made appointments just to hit on them. This is gross and would probably be grounds for a restraining order in some places. 

I find it incredibly irritating when someone hits on me at a work function. I would be livid and creeped out if I then discovered that the person hitting on me wasn't there on any sort of business other than to hit on women. Seriously. Do not bother people at work.

Also, really, Cosmo? You do a ton of pieces about how to stop creepy men then turn around and encourage women to be creeps? Not cool.

Blown Away

I was at a Katrina fundraiser a while back and encountered one of the single most aggressive acts of jackassery ever.

I was on my way to the bathroom when I was accosted by some scrawny little French guy.

Frenchie: I am French and I want to tell you that you look perfect. Everything. Your dress (side note, I was wearing a navy Ports number and it was pretty perfect), your face, your body.

Me: uhh.....thanks?

Frenchie: I want to kiss you.

Me: No.

At this point, Frenchie aggressively tries to kiss me I am pushing him away while telling him I have a boyfriend and am not interested. He starts speaking in French. I start telling him in French (apparently he didn't understand my protests in English) that I have a boyfriend who is right over there and said boyfriend is going to kick his ass. After one good push, I run to the bathroom and lock the door. When I come back out, I quickly grab my boyfriend and leave.

Some women fantasize about foreign men seducing them. I find them skeezy and dread encountering another brazen and horny foreigner. Seriously though, there is nothing sexy about cornering some poor woman and trying kiss her when she has made it very clear that she is not interested.

I Love DC in the Springtime

OK, well, maybe it's not exactly springtime yet, but it's starting to get warm.

For some reason, as soon as it warms up, I am subjected to the ridiculous catcalls of creepy dudes. Yesterday was the first warm day in a long time. During my short time outside, I got an "oh la la," (no, he was not French), an incoherent shout from a moving vehicle, and the creepy guy who insists he's a photographer and wants to hire me as a model. Right. And this was just walking three blocks. I should probably add here that I am not wearing anything even remotely provocative. Seriously. I could be going to lunch with my grandma.

Seriously? What the hell? Staring at my tits and saying "oh la la" is not flattering. It's creepy. Just don't do it. And the photographer thing? That's even more lame. I am not going to be your model. I have a job. And the modeling ship sailed ten years and twenty pounds ago.

But, my real problem is with the drive-by pick up lines, mainly because it is not an uncommon occurrence. I am truly amazed at the number of men who think this is a good idea.

Why the hell do these losers do this? Has this ever worked on anyone? Dummies, no one is impressed by whatever you're yelling out your car window. Even if you do manage to come up with something truly interesting, most women are still going to be skeeved out by the fact you're yelling it out of a car. I'm really not sure what results these men are expecting. I really can't imagine someone being so impressed that they drop everything they're doing and jump in the car with some strange man and ride off into the sunset. Although, according to this month's Cosmo, the most dangerous mistake women make is getting in the car with strange men. So, who knows, maybe there are women this works on.

Obviously, none of these losers are my exes, but they're sure as hell somebody's loserex.

LoserEx Answers Your Questions

Here at LoserEx, we consider ourselves experts on dating. And as such, we feel qualified to give out unsolicited advice. Unlike other advice columns, we're not very tactful. Actually, we're pretty bitchy. We plan to continue giving our advice to people who sound like they need it, whether they want it or not. If you actually want our advice on something, feel free to email us.

Today's question comes from The Washington Post's "Dear Prudence" chat.

Hi Prudie - I love your writing and now I come to you for advice. There is this girl I have been interested in. I'm sure we will get along great when we finally get together. Anyway, I keep track of her through facebook, and recently she changed some settings that allowed me to see a bunch of her pictures. Needless to say, I was shocked. From what I can tell, she has had THREE boyfriends in the past two years. She also has lots of pictures of her in somewhat compromising positions with other girls, and also lots of pictures with alcohol. I was expecting her to be a nice clean girl, but obviously now I feel I have to let her go. Is this a normal occurrence in the young adult dating world? Or should I continue to keep trying to find the right one. Thanks!


ZOMG! THREE BOYFRIENDS?!?!?!?! SOMEBODY SOUND THE SLUT ALARM!!!!

Seriously, this girl is not some harlot for having had three boyfriends in the past two years. That averages 8 months a boyfriend. There is really nothing bad about dating men for a few months at a time (also, I am assuming she is pretty young, so she should be dating). Based on the fact that you think this is shockingly inappropriate, I am guessing these "compromising situations" are probably pretty tame. Like, maybe she is holding a drink in some pictures or wearing a skirt that exposes her ankles.

You don't say how well you know this girl in person, but based on the fact that you were horrified at the pictures of her doing what are probably normal activities for her, I am going to guess the answer is little to not at all.

I'm thinking you don't get out of the house much. You sound incredibly sheltered and seem to have no clue what normal people are like. Or maybe you're just a member of a very conservative religion, in which case, maybe you should try to meet women at your place of worship. They are more likely to share your values than the women you stalk on Facebook. On a related note, do not stalk women on Facebook. It is so creepy and no reasonable woman would want to date you after finding out you do this.

Is this a normal occurrence in the young adult dating world? Or should I continue to keep trying to find the right one. Thanks!

It is not normal for adults to stalk people on Facebook and develop weird fantasy crushes on them. It is normal for women to drink. It is probably normal for women to end up in what you consider "compromising situations." I'm not really sure what your standards are, so I can't say whether it is worth trying to find someone who meets them. However, given your strange courtship habits, I think you need to see a therapist before pursuing another relationship.

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.

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.

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.

The Story of Us

I started my first blog my junior year of college. Putting your innermost thoughts on the internet and putting the link in your AIM profile is probably not the smartest thing to do, but all of my smart/witty/deep friends were doing it and we all do really dumb things in college. At least I didn't get herpes or something.

The next summer I dated MB. MB wasn't as smart/witty/deep as me and my friends, but he wanted to pretend so he started his own blog. Unfortunately, having already graduated from college (and I am using the term "college" very loosely) and being marginally employed, the content for his blog was pretty mundane. He attempted to make up for it by posting song lyrics (usually Italian opera lyrics that no one understood) and some of his original poetry (he was self-published). Shortly after we broke up, he took a stab at writing fiction. Really grotesque fiction (think scripts for snuff films). About me. Using my real name.

I am not going to go into details, but let's just say with a good bit of alcohol in my system, I could probably be persuaded into a few kind-of-kinky things. Necrophilia is not one of those things. Especially if I am the dead one.

Ordinarily, this would be terrifying and I would look into restraining orders, but, as I may have mentioned before, MB was questionably literate. So much so that you had to read each sentence three or four times before you understood what he was trying to convey. So instead of taking out a restraining order, I printed out a dozen copies of one of his creepier stories and left them on the editing table of the newspaper office on a Sunday afternoon.

My fellow editors are to this day some of my best friends because just like me, they are a) anal about editing things and b) willing to do just about anything to avoid doing actual work.

My friends didn't let me down and immediately began editing MB's prose and researching the submission requirements for the literary magazine (as in we called the editor of the literary magazine, told her we were writing a story about it and asked a bunch of "interview" questions--then, so no one would suspect anything, we stuck a random "call for submission" text box on the A&E page). We put MB's real name on his story and stuck it in the magazine's on-campus mailbox in the middle of the night.

I wish I could say it got published, but it didn't. Surprisingly, the literary magazine actually gets enough submissions that they are able to reject some. I never heard about it again, unless you count every editorial meeting for the rest of the semester.

I guess it's all for the best, as it probably would have resulted in both of us getting in real trouble if it had been published. And while I am all for making my exes pay for their transgressions, I don't think any of them have done anything bad enough to deserve jail time.

It's Goodbye Time

The Sap was a nice guy. At least at the beginning. He was sweet, even went a little overboard by bringing a dozen roses to our first date. Granted, it was a week after my birthday, and he felt compelled to make sure I caught that he noticed and had listened the day I met him. It was actually a very nice gesture.

Our second date took a turn towards stalker. Let's talk about bringing up what a girl wore on the day before your date, when she had not planned or even noticed that you had "seen" her. Let's also talk about dropping the L-bomb. And, to really round it out, let's find out what you want to name your kids.

The Sap and my budding relationship quickly ended. A quick talk explaining that we weren't in the same place and I was no longer interested in pursuing this relationship, and I felt the deal was done. A few calls over the next week that were not returned, seemed to send a similar message. (Apparently, explicitly saying "no, I do not want to date you anymore" just doesn't do the trick.)

But the Sap was not done.

Six months later, (SIX MONTHS) I get a text message. From a number I do not know but has the area code that the Sap would have possessed.

"BJA, hey it's Sap. I wanted you to know I haven't met anyone who is as smart and beautiful as you and I really want to see you again. Please call me. My house number is __________, my pager is ___________, or you can email me at _____@_____.com. Hope to hear from you soon. You are the most amazing woman ever."

OMG. Stalker's suck.

You are My Princess...Right?

Romance goes a long way in relationships. Sometimes the tiniest bit of effort can produce such astonishing results that women just melt. Flowers for instance. Jewelry for sure. A card in the mail for no purpose. A note on the car window. Candy. (Yum!) Making dinner. Writing a fictional story... wait... that's a little much.

I had been dating Gumby for a little over a month. I had found that I really didn't have the time or energy to devote to the relationship as school got more intense and the college search kicked into gear. I felt as though I was neglecting him, and I told him as such.

His response was to write me a story.

Let me preface this by letting you know how Gumby and I met. He was working at the local grocery store where I lived in Colorado, and I was a friendly shopper. My flip flop shoe had broken while I was in class, and I needed a quick cheap replacement. So I swung into the grocery store which I had noticed was offering flip flops for $2. Killer deal when you needed a quick fix in the shoe department. Gumby struck up a conversation, and asked me out. We went on a double bowling date with a friend of his named Ian. And from there it became a relationship.

Now, I can get to his "story" in response to me saying I didn't really have the time for him.

"Once upon a time in a high mountain kingdom there lived a beautiful princess. One day she came to a stable far from her castle. The lowly stable hand was awed by her beauty and offered to assist her with whatever she needed."

(Pause for the corniness to sink in....)

"When he muscled up the courage, he asked the beautiful princess if she would like to meet him in the village, where they could sample the local fare and enjoy the festivities of the night. When she agreed, he was smitten."

(Seriously.)

"The agreed upon night, the stable boy travelled far into the hills, onward and onward until he reached her castle. He was accompanied by a fellow squire, let's call him Ian, as he ventured forward on the clear and crisp spring night. For weeks, the two frolicked through the fields, enjoying the serenity of the mountain air."

(Yeesh...)

"Then, one day, the princess told the stable hand that things were just too busy. And she worried that she was neglecting him and the time they spent together. But the stable hand was not worried. He knew that the princess cared for him deeply and was only concerned about hurting him. So he assured her, that any time she had available was alright by him. Just hearing her voice once a week was enough to put him on cloud nine."

It went on in that vein. Essentially, the idea was: don't break up with me, I'll be fine just seeing you less and still calling you my girlfriend.

This type of behavior is unacceptable. It comes across as needy. We women do not want needy guys. So here's the thing - even a cute story is not enough to get a girl to stay with you when she feels her schedule is no longer conducive to a relationship. Our goal, or at least my goal, was to not hold Gumby back because I knew he would eventually resent that I never saw him. I knew that I would eventually resent never seeing him.

Relationships take dedication and time. They do not require neediness. So leave the princess crap at home.

Why The Dud Cannot be Left Unattended, Part IV

I have some minor health issues that are not particularly life threatening, but are particularly painful. As a result, I have some very needed prescription painkillers.

The first time the Dud was over at my apartment, he was snooping through my stuff and came across my prescriptions. I explained to him why I have them and that they are very much needed. However, my explanation apparently went in one ear and out the other.

Over the next few weeks, I noticed that my pills started to disappear-- several at once. And usually after the Dud had spent the night. Seeing that he was stealing my medication, I started hiding them in my dresser, thinking that he would be less inclined to take them if they were not in plain sight.

That didn't stop him. I came out of the shower one morning to see him digging through my drawers. When I asked him what he was doing, he nonchalantly asked "Hey, where are your drugs?" as if this were a perfectly acceptable and legitimate thing for him to be doing.

While I do not condone taking a medication prescribed to another person, I would at least be able to understand where he was coming from had he been suffering from a kidney stone or something. But, no. He was in no pain whatsoever and was taking my painkillers recreationally.

I was livid that he honestly felt no shame in taking medication from a sick person. That's like stealing food from starving children in a third world country (I mean in concept, not in severity). Who the hell does that?

Why The Dud Cannot be Left Unattended, Part III

Once again, the Dud had spent a weekday night over and was getting in the way of me getting ready for work. I decided to lock him out of my bathroom so I could straighten my hair in peace.

That didn’t last long. Within seconds of turning the lock, I heard him opening my dresser then announcing that he was rummaging my underwear drawer. I calmly asked him to stop. He was quiet, so I assumed he had.

A minute later, he asked “If you came out here and I was masturbating with this blue and white lacy thong, would you be pissed?”

No, I am not making this up. I explained to him that I would be pissed and that when I came out, he better not have said undergarment.

A minute later, when I came out of the bathroom, he was in my bed, being intimate with my blue and white lacy thong. Gross. I immediately took it away from him and threw it in my hamper. I have washed it several times since, yet still feel too disgusted by it to ever wear it.

I'm sure there are people out there who would not find this offensive. I am sure there are even people who would be turned on by this. I am not one of those people. I find this incredibly offensive. Perhaps this makes me prude (and trust me, I've been called this many times before).

However, nasty or not, he did something that he knew I would find offensive and disgusting. In fact, he did it primarily for the purpose of ticking me off. While I am incredibly bothered by the nastiness of the situation, I am more bothered by the fact he had the audacity to come to my house and purposely try to do things that would be offensive to me after I specifically requested he not do those things. He honestly found it amusing to do things that were upsetting and offensive to me and expected me to just let it slide.

The way I see it, this is on par with me going to his house, taking a crap in his living room, then thinking it's funny that he is upset by that and expecting him to get over it. It just doesn't seem reasonable, does it?

Death of a Salesman

I try not to pick up guys in bars. Granted, it happens, and occasionally I can meet someone who shares my affinity for tasty liquors. Mistake number one should have been meeting the guy at a bar anyway, but whatever.

Salesman seemed perfectly normal. In fact, he was relatively interesting, with a cute laugh and everything. We went out for dinner the next night, and had a great time. He called me a week or so later, letting me know that he would be in town again for a business meeting (he lived an hour or so away) and that he'd like to take me to dinner, again. How sweet, right?

He came to pick me up, and I noticed his suitcase in the backseat. I asked if he had checked into his hotel yet, and if he needed to do that before we went to dinner.

"Well... I didn't get a hotel...I was kind of waiting to see how the night went."

Hang on. Not only did I just discover Salesman to be a cheapskate, he also had assumed I was easy.

In an attempt to diffuse the situation, I told him that in dire circumstances I might could offer my guest room.

He wasn't too much more creepster other than being a hornball, so I set up the mattress in my guest room and told him he'd be welcome to sleep there. In the morning, I woke him up so I could head off to work.

After glancing in my room, he actually got pissy with me that I had a big bed and made him sleep on a blow-up mattress.

I'm sorry. You made some incorrect assumptions here that I will now point out. These are surefire ways to leave you out of my life completely should the opportunity come up again.

A) I am not easy. Taking me out to dinner twice does not equal coming home with me. You're lucky I even offered the blow-up mattress.
B) You're cheap. Get a hotel. Your business pays for it anyway.
C) Don't assume that you're smooth enough to get in my pants on a second date. You're not.

Salesman could sell things - but not his ability to woo a girl. I'm not buyin.

Nice Hands, Lobster

To pay a last tribute to a nearby dive bar that was closing the next weekend, a bunch of friends and I went for a final night of debauchery and libations.

I was there with a few of my guy friends, and I was the only female in the bunch. One starts macking on some girl, which I support whole-heartedly. The boy needed some attention and she was certainly cute and lively enough to be a good fit for him. Bravo!

And then of course, a few of the guys get catty. My friend had picked up the girl in 10 minutes. I felt a challenge coming on.

These guys didn't think I could pick up a guy in 10 minutes or less. Psh. Watch this.

I saw a cute guy in a red shirt. I made eye contact, smiled, and looked away. This happened once more, and I had no doubts the guy took notice. Less than five minutes later, he was up at the bar getting a drink. He slipped right behind me at the only openish spot on the bar where the bartenders could get to him.

I made my move by slowly backing up and laughing at a joke one of the guys told. (It was opportune!) Bumping him, I apologized, and turned back around.

Don't get me wrong - I was blatantly picking this guy up. It was not the least bit hidden from either of us, though my friends may have missed it. But I wasn't expecting quite this response...

I had my back turned to red-shirt guy, and was back discussing who knows what with my friends when I felt it. Red-shirt guy pinched my ass.

It was obvious. No other way to explain it. And no other hands to place the blame on. Red-shirt guy had copped a feel and/or made a pass at me by pinching my rear end!

Whoa there! Little forward. So I turned around, and in response, said, "subtle."

He turned to me, rather sheepishly, and asked, "too bold?"

Too bold? Guys, pinching a girl's ass makes you a lobster. Especially when you are also wearing a red shirt. Let's be classy here.

Granted, I still responded, and some of you may think that amounts to success. It does not. I immediately wondered how many girls actually respond to ass pinching and how many Red-Shirt guy had gotten to go home with him based on this type of action.

To make things clear to all you guys out there - don't get pinchy till the second date, at least. Then at least I like you for something other than your lobster hands.

And on a side note - don't ever test my skills in picking up a guy. It took me less than ten minutes to get my ass pinched, let alone getting the guy interested.

Why The Dud Cannot be Left Unattended, Part II

The way I explain The Dud to my friends is that he is the type of guy I'd want to go to bed with, but not the type of guy I'd want to wake up with. In fact, waking up with him was quite an ordeal.

Aside from the usual 5 more minutes game, trying to convince me to call out of work and taking too long in the bathroom (therefore limiting my hair and make up time), I had to worry about him staying the hell out of my things.

One of the many items that he seemed to have a particularly strong interest in was my sorority t-shirts. For those of you who do not know me, I am not a particularly large girl. Most of my t-shirts from sorority date parties are youth sizes. The Dud wore a men's large in shirts. This means, that in order to find a t-shirt in my closet large enough for him, he would have to take several out and go through them.

He would try on several, stretching them all out in the process, until he finally would find a random hand-me-down shirt that was an adult small or medium that he was able to stretch enough to fit over his shoulders.

By the time I got out of the shower, there would be a big pile of t-shirts all over my bed, and The Dud would be proudly wearing a shirt that was entirely too small for him and asking if he could wear it home.

I know there is a bit of a double standard here. I love wearing clothes of the men I date. In fact, one of my dirty secrets is that I still keep (and wear) clothes of several of my exes. But the difference is this: I wear my exes' over-sized t-shirts and boxers in the comfort of my own home. The Dud wore my t-shirts out to run errands. I can't even imagine the looks he must have gotten from people. There was something truly disturbing about seeing a pink bid day shirt stretched across man-sized shoulders.

Here's Lookin at You Kid

Ever notice how every relationship you've ever been in has pet names?

Some are traditional - baby, sweetie, darling, honey, sweetheart... etc.

Some are a little more complicated - sugar plum, baby girl, schnookums, shugie bear, mclovin, googlybear, snuggle muffin... whatever.

Most of them, I can get on board. I can handle the traditional obviously easier than the more complicated, but either is acceptable in most situations. Clearly these names are private or among close friends, and shouldn't be shared in professional or networking situations. Fortunately, I have never dated a guy to make that faux pas, but I thought I'd mention it for the studious gentlemen who may read this and need a clue or two for appropriate nickname usage.

Unfortunately, I have dated a guy who used a nickname that is not acceptable. This may be nitpicky, but do not ever ever ever call a girl kiddo.

"Hey kiddo, you should come over."

"Well hey there kiddo, what are you doing right now?"

"Oh kiddo."

I can get on board with most names, but not kiddo. I'm not eight. And I don't want people thinking I'm dating a perv. As far as I know, you're not one, but calling me kiddo sends the exact opposite message. Not to mention there are times when it is just effing awkward.

Lesson today: Don't call girlfriends a nickname than can only be described as creepy.

Every Step You Take

I am creepy. If you’ve ever gone on even one date with me, you can be sure I’ve googled you, looked you up on every social networking site and probably asked several of my friends if they know you. I am horrible about this. But, I can justify my stalking. I don’t want to end up alone with some creep who is going to kill me then throw my body in the Potomac. It may be a stretch to say that I stalk potential dates as a safety measure, but at least (at some very small level) I can say that my stalking is justified and not just creepy.

One of my exes, on the other hand, can not justify his stalking. I have elected not to use even the pseudonym of my ex this time because, this is really screwed-up. This ex openly admitted to checking his ex’s (we’ll call her Bertha) Internet browser history and her email. Furthermore, he didn’t see a problem with this. Granted, he did make some great finds, such as the fact Bertha has quite the fondness of lesbian porn, but I still find this to be a little over the line.

What was even worse was the fact that he continued to check Bertha’s email after they had broken up. Again, he did make some juicy finds, like her correspondence regarding a one night stand with the grossest guy on campus (side note: the one night stand guy totally had the worse acne known to mankind…and an uncanny resemblance to Quasimodo), but really, who does this? The fact that he admitted to finding this email the ‘one time’ he checked makes me think that he was probably really checking her email on a daily basis.

If I hadn’t made a point to change all my passwords, he’d probably be reading my email right now.