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.

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.

Too Sexy For Clothes

Every girl has a fantasy she wants to live out with a guy. For some it's places, others it's outfits, and still others it's personas. I'm totally one of those I-want-a-guy-who-does-X girls. And what did I want? A stripper. Oh yeah. I never expected to have a chance to explore said fantasy, but, when I did, I realized the extent to which I hadn't thought this whole fantasy thing through.

Dallas was a nice guy. And yes, I am using his stripper name. (Don't track him down, I doubt you'll find anything based off of that... or at least you won't be able to narrow it down...) He was really a blast to be around and to this day I think he's a riot.

Yet, Dallas wasn't really what we'd call "classy," and certainly not high privileged. Not that he was broke, but that he had a propensity to spend his umm... hard-earned money... very quickly. Wisely though, was a complete other matter.

Dallas liked coupons. And I would have supported certain kinds - food... restaurants... etc. But Dallas liked the "5 for $5" coupons offered by the local thrift store down his street. That's right. He liked to buy used consignment clothes for $1 each. Shirts, jeans, jorts, button downs, ties, shoes, and, not even kidding, suits. He bought a blue zuit suit for $2.

Here's my thing. Thriftiness is a desireable quality. Living beyond one's means is unacceptable, frankly, and reflects poorly on your future abilities to buy me shiny things. So, while I respected Dallas' intentions of saving money, I was distraught that it was at the expense of decent clothing.

Sigh. I guess he was too sexy for his clothes anyway...

Somebody Save Me

Yay for a joint post!

BJA

Disclaimer: This isn't the happiest post.

I had a horrible habit while dating String Bean that I'm disappointed to look back on now. I let him get away with most of the ways he treated me because I thought I needed to save him. My mom called it "broken-wing syndrome." My brother did it with one of his girlfriends, so this isn't simply a habit of women to pick up a partner who has the best of times just as often as the worst of times.

Let me actually explain a few things. String Bean was messed up in the head. He claimed it had to do with where he went to high school and a certain incident that happened on April 20, 1999... most of you should know what that was. He was injured. Plus his parents were divorced, he lived in a volatile family life with no one to look up to (including one uncle who had a restraining order from the rest of the family). He used his past as an excuse to treat me badly. Or maybe I simply used it as an excuse. He was hurtful, violent, judgemental, and possessive. He cheated, lied, yelled, drank, and mentally abused me in ways that today I know I would never accept.

I wish someone had shook me when I dated him and told me how many better guys are out there. Even then, I look back and people I knew did try to help me see it. My parents, his parents, his brother, his friends, my friends... they all told me that he wouldn't change. But I wanted so badly to believe that this man I had fallen in love with, the man I had watched myself grow and change along with and who I had seen what I thought was progress in... I couldn't believe he wasn't the man I "knew" he could be. I was so caught up with the fact that he just had to be the person I thought he was when I first met him - funny, creative, liked going on walks, made me laugh, gave me gorgeous jewelry, danced with me - that I was willing to wait through it all to be the one there for him when he finally acheived it.

I didn't realize that I was trying to be his savior. And the real kicker? I lost friends over it. I lost friends who couldn't bear to see how he treated me and how I treated myself with him. They told me time and time again and I came up with excuses. I thought they were reasons at the time, but they were nothing but excuses.

He cheated because his last girlfriend cheated and he can't open up to women. - No, he cheated because he had no respect for our relationship.

He lied because he had taught himself to cover up his true feelings and didn't want to hurt me. - Nope, he was a compulsive liar who had been lying so long he couldn't stop. And he just didn't want me to know.

He was abusive because he harbored pain and aggression from the shooting. - False. He was abusive because I took it. Because I stood up to him and was in his way.

He drank because he hid his pain through alcohol and hadn't learned to control it. - Wrong again. I even had the stupidity to tell him that song line, "whenever you need something strong, baby, just let me know." If I knew then what I know now...

To any girls who have gone through this - you can't change him. You can't save him. He has to save himself. You can believe all you want that you are the one who will give him the opportunity, the reason, the motivation to change. But you'll be wrong. When he wants to change, he will. But until then you will be hit, abused, cheated on, and otherwise treated as less than the woman you are.

To guys - most of you will never be like this. And I thank God for that. Yeesh, even the guys featured on this blog for the most part will never reach this level of loserex. I mean abusive guys are scraping the barrell!

I don't know what made me write this today. I started talking to an ex of mine and we talked about what we learned from each other and whether or not we learned the MOST from each other. And I have to say, the one who taught me the most about life and love, relationships and myself, was String Bean.

The benefits of this type of blog is we women can vent about things that drove us crazy in our previous relationships. (See CrazyHo for the newly birthed guy version.) Some are the quirky habits that guys can change of course, some are ones that are specific to certain dead beats who most would not imitate, and some are things that perhaps we couldn't deal with, but another girl might. (Think fajitas, early morning booty calls, and tattoos.)

A real man would never do the things String Bean did. No excuses, no reasons, no meds. And I am so happy I figured that out before my boobs started to sag.




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It would be very easy for me to write my horror story of dating Shrek. He was not a good person. There are very few people I honestly feel this way about. In fact, other than Shrek, there is only one person I know personally who I would say is not a good person. While I was dating him, I didn't believe this. I honestly thought that his behavior was a result of his less than ideal upbringing, but that it wasn't ingrained in him -- it wasn't an unchangeable part of his character. I thought he was just waiting for someone to come along and help him. I thought I was going to be the person to do that. By dating him and by tolerating his completely unacceptable behavior, I thought I was saving him. I was really just enabling him.

But, as it has been said before, this is "LoserEx," not "Why My Ex is Going to Rot in Hell." I'm not going to talk about him. The point of my blurb is not to tell the world that Shrek is a horrible person -- everyone else seemed to pick up on that pretty quickly. My point is that you cannot change someone.

On a less serious note: when I met Fred, I saw a lot of things a couldn't stand, but I thought I saw potential to mold him in to the person I wanted to date. Fred was unattractive, slightly overweight, dressed like a retarded child and had absolutely no clue how to behave himself in public.

I thought I would start by pressing the clothing issue. I gave several gentle hints that I did not like the way he dressed. In fact, look back a couple of years on the blog and take note of how many "what not to wear" entries there are. When the gentle hints didn't work, I tried buying him clothes I liked. He would wear them and claimed to like them, yet he never bought similar clothes when left to do his own shopping. I finally banned certain articles of clothing. Specifically the Hawaiian shirts and jorts. He stopped wearing them for a few weeks, then picked right back up again. My grade for changing his fashion sense: F

While this was going on, I decided to work on the area of his appearance as well. Granted, what Fred really needs is a chin implant, but I would never tell someone to get cosmetic surgery. His jaw line was weak and feminine. A chin implant would have given him a better profile and balanced out his other features. Anyway, since I couldn't really bring this up, I tried to suggest other things: a better haircut, bleaching his teeth (they were the nastiest shade of yellow you can imagine), clipping his nails, not washing his face with old spice body wash. He listened to none of my suggestions. My grade for changing his appearance: F

After dating for several months, Fred really started to pack on the pounds. Granted, he was never thin, but HOLY CRAP did he get big. I suggested we do several activities together such as, rock climbing, hiking, joining the new (and really nice) gym next to his apartment and running. He shot down all of my ideas. I would even go to the gym in his apartment building, thinking he would feel motivated to come along. Instead, he spent this time playing on his computer. My grade for changing his weight: F

The worst of all was his inability to behave in any social situation. He was loud, make inappropriate comments and basically was unaware of what everyone else was doing. There is not enough room on the internet for me to mention all the times he proved this. Basically, every time I thought I had him trained enough for a certain social situation, I ended up being wrong. I'll write an entry about this soon, but really, there are too many to mention now. My grade for changing his ability to behave in public: F

Yes, these examples are trivial compared to my problems with Shrek. But, seriously, if stupid trivial behaviors like these can't be changed, it is foolish to think that major character flaws can be.

You knew this was coming

I've posted entry after entry about the fashion choices of my exes, the whole time avoiding the one issue that really bothered me: Fred. I naively believed that by posting generic complaints about his three predecessors, he would have caught on to the fact that I am very aware of the clothes that the men I date are wearing.

But Fred was none too bright in the way of behaving appropriately.This was evident through his lack of manners, his lack of style, his lack of consideration for others and his inability to not constantly look like a douche. Social graces? He had none.

Fred graduated from college a year before I did, so we had a long distance relationship for a year (which is probably the only reason we dated so long -- if I had to put up with his fat-ass humiliating me on a day-to-day basis, I would have told him to kick rocks a long time ago).

Anyway, I had come home for a short time during our long distance thing. My parents live about 45 minutes away from his apartment, so going out with him was a bit of an ordeal.We had made plans for him to come pick me up (my car was at school) at my parents' house at 7:30, then we would go to dinner, then go to a bar in Annapolis.

I spent the next hour getting ready to go out. I hadn't seen him in several weeks, so I was expecting this to be a big deal. I put on my Rock & Republic jeans, a cute top and stilettos. I did my make-up (and not just the half-assed going-to-work make-up I normally wear) and straightened my hair. I give myself an A+.

Well, 7:45 rolled around and I heard Fred'sbusted-ass car drive up and him get out and ring my doorbell. I was excited about seeing him, and ran down the steps, eager to go on our date.

However, my excitement turned to shock, then rage, then disappointment the second I opened the door. Standing there was my fat-ass boyfriend wearing a too-tight, tucked-in, pit-stained Hanes undershirt under a wrinkled unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt which was most likely purchased at Wal-mart and a pair of crusty-ass Birkenstocks which revealed his monster toenails. The worst part of all, however, was the pair of ripped-up jorts he was wearing.

I am not kidding.

Honest to God, jorts.

I was absolutely livid. I had just spent the last hour making myself look cute and he looked like he had rolled out of bed. I told him I was pissed by what he was wearing. He carried on in his annoying-ass-ignorant-as-hell-sounding-not-fully-capable-of-speaking-English way about how he wasn't sure where we were going.

If he had been listening, this would not have been an issue. But more importantly,why would he think this was acceptable for anywhere? I asked him where the hell this outfit was appropriate for. Clearly not going out to dinner. Clearly not going out to the type of bar I had planned to go to. In fact, I can only think of three places where this get-up would have been appropriate: 1) to wash a car; 2) to wear to Wal-mart; 3)Applebees. Our plans involved none of these.

I went up stairs and put on my casual jeans with a t-shirt and flip-flops. We went to Fudruckers. I had a nasty-ass hamburger. Fred wanted to go to a bar afterward, but I was too embarrassed to even take him to Notties. I mean, there could have been people I knew from high school there. And if I showed up with that piece of trailer trash...well, a lot of people know me, and they would have talked.

So, after Fudruckers, I went home and sent Fred back to his place. I have never had a more horrible date than I did that night.

Fred- I was always so out of your league. The least you could have done was try to dress-up a little. I hope you get the woman you deserve one day.

That woman has buck teeth, a tattoo, a perm, a spaghetti-strap tank top, shorts to her see-you-next-Tuesday and platform sandals. Go get her, Tiger!

You're always dressed to kill...

If I were to make a dating application for myself right now, one of the first sections would be about dressing appropriately. I would give a list of situations which could possible arise and ask what would be the right outfit for a guy to wear in each situation. There would also be questions like "what color shoes would you wear with a navy blue suit" and other items assessing their basic knowledge of not looking like a douche.

In fact, that's not a bad idea. Perhaps I really ought to put together a dating application.

Every guy I've dated has had a wardrobe that disappoints. Boris had the "field master" sweatshirt, Fruit Fly had a dog collar, Shrek had the Big Dogs shirts and Fred, despite hearing my problems with the previous three, wasn't much better.

The wardrobe issue epitomizes my problems with men. I put entirely too much effort into things they will only take for granted . I put thought and consideration into my appearance. If I didn't, I'm sure said men would never have been attracted to me int he first place. Sure, I understand that this is not what makes my relationships work. But, honestly, if I put the same effort into my appearance that these men put into theirs, they never would have approached me in the first place. The men I've dated just come to expect that I will not look like I rolled out of bed. They assume that I will go through all that trouble. And yet, not one of them ever bothered to think about how I feel about the fact they can't be bothered to put aside 10 minutes to find something to wear that is clean.

I can't even begin to go into all the times I've straightened my hair, curled my hair, dyed my hair, worn more skirts, worn more colors, worn more make-up, not worn my wellies, worn the lacy underwear and worn the ugly-ass sweater with the ostrich feathers (that made me get a rash around my neck) all because some loser ex-boyfriend liked that better.

But yet, not one of these guys could have cared less about what I wanted. They still wore their jorts, wore their Hawaiian shirts, wore socks with Birkenstocks (with dress pants in winter), wore pit-stained shirts, wore dog collars, wore free shirts out to dinner, wore green jeans, wore dirty underwear and countless other items which I did not approve of.

I've tried telling them, begging them, buying them clothes, showing them pictures. Everything. People say that men are clueless about dressing and want a women's opinion. Bullshit. These men are set on looking like special ed students who try to dress themselves.

I am not saying that I resent getting dressed-up for the men I date, because I certainly do not. Quite the opposite is true. I don't want to be one of those women who dresses frumpily and looks 10 years older than she actually is. I want to look pretty. I want my boyfriend to still look at me after we've been dating for 2 years and think that I am attractive.

I just want him to not want me to look at him after 6 months of dating and be embarrassed.

On her first blind date...

Okay, I'm done with being reflective. Time for more stories:

Once in college I was set up on a blind date. This was particularly rare because practically everyone at my small college knew practically everyone else but my friend managed to find the one guy I didn't know and set us up. The date was very casual: the date and I, along with my friend and another friend (all girls except the date) were all going to go to see a college theater production and then have drinks at the local bar later that night. It was a Tuesday, which wasn't a big drinking night at my college so rowdiness was not on the menu.

So we all meet up and introductions were made and we went to the theater. Walking there, I discovered the date was a complete dud and he was ugly AND he was wearing sneakers at a school where no one wears sneakers* and so I thanked God that there would be entertainment and then alcohol later.

So we sit through the play (it was pretty good) and then walk to the bar, where we grab a booth in the restaurant portion of the bar. The other friend and I had already eaten--we had grabbed snack bar food before we all met up--so we just had the cheap draft beer on special ($2 pints). The date and my friend who had set us up had not eaten so they ordered from the menu. And not just buffalo wings--they ordered meals. And they ordered expensive import bottled beer. Which is fine--that's their perogative.

The date was completely boring. I think the only vaguely interesting thing he said was that he had never had whatever beer he was drinking before, as if this was supposed to make him adventurous or something...I don't know. Wednesdays were always super-busy for me in college so I was looking to cut the evening short anyways (I would have made an exception if he had been interesting--my first real date with my current was on a Tuesday night and we stayed up until 5 in the morning--well, he stayed up that late, around 3AM I demanded to watch Spiderman on DVD and then passed out within the first ten minutes).

The check comes and it's for like $60, once you add in tip. If we were going to divide it four ways, which we shouldn't have done because two people ate real meals and the other two drank two-dollar drafts, we'd each pay $15. So you would think he should AT LEAST toss in $15 for his quarter (which was less than what he actually ate and if he was expecting to leave with me he should have picked up my beer as well). He tossed in half of that. The friend who set us up tossed in $15, the other friend tossed in $15 and somehow I got the honor of paying nearly $30 for two dollars' worth of Bud Light.

I was left completely aghast by his lack of good manners. I understand the concept of going dutch--I think it's awful, but I get it--but to make your date pay for your meal as well??? That's just awful!

So we're all standing outside and he was like "should we go someplace else and have another drink?". He was clearly clueless about the major faux pas he had just committed and somehow still thought he had a snowball's chance in hell with me. I muttered something about having to get up early and spun around and practically ran away.

The next day, my friend IMs me and asks what I thought about him. "He's boring, ugly and cheap, no wonder he's the one guy on campus I don't know." She got the hint and kept him away from me for the rest of the semester (which obviously wasn't hard because I had already gone 3 years and never seen him).

*I have this thing about sneakers--if you wear sneakers inappropriately I will not date you. It's just one of those quirks of mine.

I see London, I see France...

I believe I've mentioned this before, but Shrek's underwear of choice was unwashed, freshly-skid-marked boxers. One week, he decided that he was more of a briefs guy (to be honest I think the reason was something about how his little boy parts hurt). Anyway, he had only one pair of briefs, and they were green, blue and grey combined in a rather feminine pattern. Like you'd expect from him, the elastic was stretched, and there were several small holes adorning these hotpants. But above all, they had the most un-masculine pattern I have ever seen. I think he may have accidentally picked them out from the women's section of the store.

No, this is not about how I think he wears women's underwear, that is another Ex. And yes, I am pretty sure he only wore the one pair for the entire week (because I do not think another pair of undies like these could possibly exist...the world would implode). Let me just say here, that I understand that guys wear briefs to the gym for reasons which I do not wish to discuss. But, I assure you, that he did not set foot in the gym once during this week...or anytime while we were dating for that matter. Furthermore, I am all right with neutral, masculine and above all, clean briefs. These were none of the above (well, except they were briefs).

Anyway, during the week of the briefs, the fraternity which he was pledging had some sort of ritual, and in this ritual, the guys had to strip down to their undies (and do a goat!) for some sort of ceremony. Anyway, I find myself laughing hysterically whenever I think about all his brothers in their boxers, and Shrek with his fat-ass crammed into a pair of (what were probably women's) dirty, mutli-colored, hole-covered, busted-ass underpants. His brothers made fun of him for that for months (maybe longer, but I am not sure because, we broke up). So much so, that I am pretty sure he threw those things out.

A Real Fine Place to Start

Dum-dum wore these God-awful (I mean truly heinous) black sneakers. ALL THE TIME. It was okay in the dead of winter, I'm all about closed-toed shoes in January (or to work and stuff) but it was July and he was stompin' around in ugly black sneakers with his shorts and he looked like an absolute retard.

And it's not like he didn't own more appropriate shoes--I bought him a nice pair of brown flip flops in April, which he refused to wear because they hurt his toes.

Quit being such a fucking pussy. Geez.

Anyways, so yeah, he wore really ugly shoes and everyone laughed at him, myself included.

He's a Little Strange, But I'll Keep Him

My current boyfriend has rather strange ideas about clothing and general appearances. I'll document a few of them quickly.

His Own Appearance:

I don't think this boy owns anything that didn't come from the thrift store. While he has made some pretty good finds there, most of it consists of t-shirts that were probably free in the first place. So basically, he's paying for a shirt that the original owner got for free, which I think negates the utility of the thrift store.

He also does not own a single pair of jeans. He wears only khakis. This alone would not bother me (hey, I like khakis), but he only has 3 pairs of them and all have holes and grass stains all over them. Whenever he goes out and wants to look nice, he wears the least holey pair of khakis and the same pink striped button-down shirt. The shirt itself isn't bad, but it is really thin and he never wears an undershirt with it. So, in certain lights, you can see through it.

My Appearance:

My current hates it when I straighten my hair. He says that it looks so much better when it is wavy. Now, I'm the type of girl who straightens her hair everyday, so at first I refused to stop. I mean, I like my hair better straight--my natural hair texture is that strange mixture of straight and wavy that just looks unkempt. But after months of hearing him complain about it, I finally relented and retired my hair straightener.

Recently, he saw me wearing my glasses, because my contacts were bothering me. So now he's decided that my glasses are the cutest thing ever and that I should start wearing them all the time. This is one thing that will never happen. I hate my glasses. Hand to God, I look like Mary from Its a Wonderful Life if she had never met George Bailey.

Resolutions you should have made.

Sorry for the lapse in posting, the holiday hustle-and-bustle has gotten to the contributors of LoserEx. We will return in the New Year with more bitching and moaning, but until then, here is a joint post of resolutions you should have made all those years ago. Who knows, maybe if you had made them then, we would have been kissing you tomorrow night (but this is highly unlikely).

1. Learn to drive. This applies to a couple of people. Actually, it should be a broader category of attain necessary accoutrements for driving (ie, a driver's license, insurance and a car).
2. Wipe your ass thoroughly after taking a crap. I shouldn't even have to say this one.
3. Learn to speak, read and write English. All of live here, most of you were actually born here. Become familiar with our native tongue.
4. Stop stealing silverware, etc from restaurants. It only drives up prices that our current boyfriends have to pay to take us out. Don't make them look cheap.
5. This is sort of a long the same lines but stop stealing scrubs from the damn emergency room. Ever wonder why there's a so-called healthcare crisis?
6. Stop trying to stick your tongue in every crevice of our bodies. Your tongue up my nose is not incredibly erotic. There's a good reason why I don't date my dog. (This also goes for putting our jewelry in your mouth. If you want to make sure my pearls are real, throw down your plastic for a new string.)
7. Learn to dress yourself. See previous post for a list of unacceptable items. Print it out and take it to the mall with you when you go spend those giftcards you got from Aunt Beverly.
8. Come up with a date that's classier than drinking gin and Sprite through a turkey baster. It's like giving my mouth an illegal abortion and it is not my right to kill my mouth babies.
9. Stop getting so drunk that you wake up to your dad hosing you down in a field when you're covered in chicken and have had your pubes shaved off. But if you think this is going to happen, please don't call us at 4AM to tell us how you got to your current state. We really don't care.
10. Finally learn that when we offer to pay we're not actually offering to pay. This is your cue to throw down your plastic.
11. Lose your religion. Especially if it is borderline cult-like.
12. There will be at least four (but hopefully more) gift-giving occasions this year: our birthday, our anniversary, Valentine's Day and Christmas (these are not in sequential order). Do not give us a crappy gift. When in doubt, the following is acceptable: expensive gourmet chocolates, expensive white gold jewelry, expensive perfume that is not endorsed by a pop tart, an expensive dog with a smushy face and an expensive vacation to someplace exotic. Notice that the words "Bargain", "Gift Card", "Homemade Art" and "Fredericks of Hollywood" do not appear in this list. That's not because we forgot them.
13. Acquire good taste in music. None of you are black, please set your programmed radio stations accordingly. If the song has to be drastically edited for the radio station, it is probably not good music so stop tuning to the station where every other lyric is bleeped out.
14. Get a job and move out of your parents' basement. At 26, this is just pitiful. If you can't support yourself with your current gig, maybe it's time to try a new career. Afterall, you did graduate from "John" Hopkins.
15. Don't call me skanky, fat, dumb, prudish, stuck-up, arrogant, heartless, selfish, difficult, etc. Especially not when you're blowing my cell phone up with drunk text messages at 3AM on a Tuesday. Who does that?
16. Don't google me. That's so sketchy.
17. Stop lying about the other women you're sleeping with, your brain cancer diagnosis, the size of your package, your age, your job, your whereabouts, your personal hygiene habits (look, I shouldn't even have to ask if you brushed your teeth, but I can sure as hell tell if you're lying to me), your plans for the future (including moving my shit to my apartment), or really anything else. Just don't lie. We will find out and when we do we will not be happy.
18. Don't call my dog ugly or misbehaved (don't say it about my sister either).
19. Make your room me-friendly. Take down the 500 paintings of me you created after we broke up, take down the posters of the Playboy Bunnies, get some furniture so I don't have to sit on the damn floor when I come over, quit turning the air conditioner on in February so that I get THOs when I come over, clean your bathroom and kitchen (this is big), stock your pantry with stuff other than beef jerky, doritos and beer, throw away petrified left-overs and buy at least one DVD that does not star Jackie Chan, Angelina Jolie, Jenna Jameson, Sylvester Stallone, Jet Li, or The Governator. As much as we love Ah-nold, his movies leave much to be desired.
20. Don't blame me for your sub-par grades.
21. Try to avoid being thrown in the looney bin this year. Avoid prison too.

We'd love to say we'd rather be kissing you tomorrow night, but well, we wouldn't want to lie to you. We'd honestly rather spend tomorrow playing leapfrog with unicorns. But hey, given a little effort you are all capable of becoming mediocre dates for fat 30-somethings. Aim high, boys.

Happy New Year from us here at LoserEx!!

God help me.

My first boyfriend was a Mormon.

God, where should I even begin with this one? I should have ran away when I first met him, but unfortunately I stuck around for two years and I'm sure if I were to show up at Nottie's or someplace tonight I would be asked "Are you still dating the Mormon?"

Umm, no. We broke up seven years ago, but that's what happens when you date someone for so long in high school.

He's married now (no big surprise there), so I can talk about him now because it's not like his (mormon) wife is going to divorce him or anything.

For religious reasons I could not see or talk to him on Sundays. Keeping the sabbath holy or something. I also could not see him on holidays, including Christmas, Easter, New Year's Eve, New Year's Day, Independence Day, Bastille Day, Boxing Day...pretty much if the banks were closed I couldn't see him. He would go to church all day on these days, or at least that's what he told me.

For a while there was also a rule that for every date we went on, he had to take a Mormon girl on a date. I guess so that he could find a wife before he graduated from high school.

(This shit would not stand now, but I was naive.)

We couldn't watch R-rated movies. He was over at my house one time and my parents were watching Dracula (the Bram Stoker version) and he asked me to ask my parents to turn it off because he couldn't watch it.

He was also cheap as hell. I think we went out maybe like four times in the two years that we dated. The rest of the time we'd watch movies at my house. Then we would make out. Then he would tell me I was going to hell because God didn't want him making out with non-mormon heathens. In fact, I was really the devil because I was trying to make him "unpure" so that he couldn't enter the temple.

In April of his senior year I found out he still hadn't applied to any colleges. I filled out the damn HCC application for him and mailed it in. I guess he spent too much time praying to actually apply to college.

He had this t-shirt from the Physics Olympics that he wore like everyday. With a flannel shirt, five years after the grunge look was in style. When I first met him he didn't bathe on a regular basis. He actually wrote in my yearbook "You have taught me the importance of hygiene when no one else could." Nice. Isn't cleanliness next to godliness?

He wrote (and sometimes spoke) in his rendition of old english. There was a lot of "ye" and "doth" in his vernacular. Yeah, that was a good time. (That thing in the yearbook probably actually says "Ye hath taught me...")

He wouldn't cuss. At first this was funny, but after awhile "Gosh darn it!" got pretty damn annoying.

He wouldn't drink caffeine and he told me my little sister needed to go into drug treatment because of her caffeine addiction (because she would drink ONE CAN of Dr. Pepper after school everyday).

The gas gauge in his car was broken. Instead of having it fixed (or at least watching the trip odometer), he would just drive his car until it ran out of gas and then have me call my mother to come pick us up.

Once, he promised to take me to the circus but then his family came into town and they were going to go to the beach instead. Rather than calling me and explaining and dealing with a little bit of whining from me, he had his mother call and tell me that until we were married, his family came first.

Junior year, he got "called" on his mission. He would be gone for two years and we wouldn't be allowed to talk to each other. He chose to break this news to me at halftime during a Friday-night basketball game. I was a cheerleader. It was one of the few times he actually game to one of my games. I think I ran out of the gym crying. It was real fun trying to be peppy after that. And then his cheap ass didn't even take me to dinner after the game.

He left on his mission the day before we left for Disney World for Nationals. Needless to say, I didn't have a good time in Florida that year.

A few weeks later he went apeshit and got kicked off his mission. He came back to Slumbia but didn't bother telling me. I guess he thought he could keep it a secret. One of the girls who danced with me went to his church. She was the one who told me he was back. I started hyperventilating in the middle of the dance studio. I got to go home early. You can guess where I stopped on my way home. That's when I broke it off for good, two years too late.

Your best friend won't tell you what not to wear, but I am not your best friend.

Let's face it: men have very little sense of style. While I can accept that men won't iron their clothes, or may wear t-shirts in the middle of winter, I cannot accept the fashion crimes of my exes.

Boris- I could go on forever about this one, so I am just going to list a few of the worst things which he wore:

• black jeans -about 10 years after they ceased to be in style
  
• white jeans -often with a white t-shirt
• jeans in any other obnoxious color you can think of- including, but not limited to: red, green, and funny blue
• sweat pants -the kind from k-mart with the elastic in the ankles (and in assorted colors)...and I mean he wore these out of the house, like to school or out to eat.
• a variety of shirts from k-mart -which, in his defense were plain, and therefore not too bad
• brown shoes with black slacks- there's really nothing to be said here.
• those stupid shirts boys wore in 1st grade with animals on them, and some sort of nature scene -the worst of which being this green one which had a huge eagle on it, and some trees in the background, then at the bottom in HUGE letters, said "Field Master" and he wore it with olive-colored jeans. I still cringe when I think about this one.

Fruit Fly- Was prissy about what he would wear. He wanted to maintain his gay-punk-does-this-color-look-good-on-me style. Oddly enough however, he dressed like a tool. Key pieces of his wardrobe are as follows:

• Those hanes white undershirts worn as outer shirts- he wore this almost every day.
• Those hanes white tank tops worn as outer shirts- this was so gross. It showed a lot of chest hair, and looked...well, skanky. Mellie called him "nudie boy" after he wore this to school once.
• a pair of baggy punk-esque khakis with holes covered in duct tape- he never wore shorts. For awhile, he only had one pair of these pants. This was not because his family was poor or anything, it was because he was too prissy about his pants to find another pair he liked. The finally pissed me off so much, I bought him a pair of $11 pants at old navy and told him to please discard the duct-taped pants.
• a pair of flip-flops held together by duct tape- he would never wear sneakers because, he didn't like the way they made his feet look. He eventually realized that he needed some closed-toe shoes for the winter, and spent all winter making me take him to various shoe stores, where no shoe was what he wanted. In the spring, he finally settled on a pair of slip-on brown leather shoes with sneaker-like rubber soles which look much like what one's grandfather would wear. When he showed me these, I didn't know what to say, until he wore them with black leather accesories, then I knew exactly what to say: "The fashion police are going to get you if you do not change something here." Seriously, these shoes were soooo ugly. I can't believe someone so prissy about shoes could ever find these to be the right shoes. I can't imagine anyone wanteing to wear these, unless they are really old and no longer have th motor skills needed to tie their own shoes.
• assorted bracelets and necklaces- most of which were either hemp, or those little metal ball necklaces which no punk can be without. He also had a this black, shiney vinyl wrist cuff that he wore...but he lost it one day.
• a buttload of hair products- including, but not limited to a collection of gels, sprays and pomades. He would never want to leave the house without having his hair done. Or without plucking his eyebrows. He plucked more than I do.
• a leather coat that felt like plastic and had a funny shape to it- it was, um, interesting. Once again, this was the only coat which he would wear, because he didn't like the way coats looked on him.
• my purse- I'd often ask him to hold my purse for a second, and he would not just hold it, but put it on his shoulder and strut with it.
• a few band t-shirts- although he would always swear he didn't like the band which the shirt was of...whatever.
• a navy blue hoodie- worn almost everyday. It was coming apart at the seams, and he even sang about his damn hoodie.
• Thrift store finds- including, but not limited to: a CCCP t-shirt, a pair of Burgundy corduroys (which "made him strut"), some goofy-ass hats, and a shirt that looked like clown vomit.

Shrek- was just so dirty. His clothing wouldn't have been too bad, had he just washed it once in awhile. When I sent some people over to get my stuff from his room a few months ago, they were so grossed out by how he was wearing dirty clothes, and obviously did not practice the most rigorous of hygiene- routines. Aside from everything being dirty, here are some of the bad things Shrek wore:

• Free shirts- which would not have been so bad, but this was all he wore. He only had like 3 shirts which were not free, and I did not buy him. He wore this one I got at CR which was really ugy. It had a herd of angry elephants at said "Stampede to Victory: Bush/Cheney 2004." Oddly enough, he is pretty apathetic towards politics, and would only pretend to be a strong supporter of the Republican party because, he wanted to dupe me into thinking we had similar values. What a tool. Look, I really don't care if people have beliefs different from my own, but at least have the balls to say what they are, and have a damn good reason behind them.
• Big Dog shirts- remember those? I bet you do. Know anyone who still wears them? I bet you don't. He told me that he wore them because they were meant to fit people who were big (he was really tall, and broad...ok, fat). To this day, I do not know if that is true or not. All I know is that they made him look like a Big Dumbass.
  
• skid-marked underwear- sorry I brought that up again. ew.
• shorts- and almost never pants. Even in the dead of winter, he would wear shorts and a t-shirt.
• sneakers- boy did not ever wear a pair of nice shoes, even when we went out to dinner with my parents on New Years, he wore black slacks with ugly-ass white sneakers. And his feet were size 16, so those damn sneakers were HUGE and always stood-out. I hated this. Well, I mean, it's ok to wear sneakers with jeans and stuff, but when we go out, and you wear slacks, wear some nice shoes too, dipsh*t.

This was all he ever wore. Ever. And remember, it was almost always dirty. He smelled really really bad. My friends told me his room was covered with half-eaten food which was decaying, and piles of clothes which are obviously dirty when I sent them to retrieve my belongings he had held captive. Charming.

Look, I don't want a guy who dresses better than me. I just want a guy who wears clothes which are clean, and not stupid. I am ok with guys who like to dress casually. A t-shirt (which was not a freebie), or a polo shirt with jeans is totally acceptable. Also, wear a sweater in the winter, or at least a long sleeve shirt with some pants. And when we go out, PLEASE wear some shoes which are not sneakers or flip-flops held together by duct tape. All I am saying is I put effort into the way I look, I just want you to do the same.