WTF did you smoke, Spiffy?

Do you ever look around and wonder how in the hell you got here?  I mean right here, in this moment, in this place, at this time. 

What series of events led me to the disappointment and confusion that I'm feeling at this very moment?  How did I end up in this life, surrounded by people that I know, but that sometimes feel like strangers to me? 

Do you ever wonder whether if you ceased to exist, would anyone really notice you were gone?  Have I left a lasting impression on those around me, or will I simply be a fleeting memory?

Do you ever get the feeling that is so much more out there for you, but you just can't figure out how to make it yours?

Am I freaking you out a little right now?  I'm waxing philosophic tonight.  Once again contemplating the meaning of MY life.  I can't worry about the meaning of anyone else's life right now.  Maybe that's my problem; I don't worry enough about other people.  Am I a selfish bitch?  Yeah, I guess I am sometimes, but if I don't worry about me, who else will?

Sorry, I'm not feeling like the usual smart-ass, potty-mouthed Spiffy tonight.  I'm ready for my next chapter in life.  I just can't figure out how to start the sentence.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, the answer is no.  I'm not stoned, nor have I huffed anything.  Thanks. :)

More Spiftastic Randomosity...

Welcome to another mish-mash of random thoughts running through Spiffy's head...today with photographic support!  I can't form one complete thought, so I'll spew a bunch of meaningless thoughts at you.  Ready.....GO!

Pointless....

This is a picture of my toilet lid.  When I bought the toilet lid cover, it fit. When I broke the toilet (nothing bawdy...the damn thing just broke), they replaced my normal lid with this miniature lid.  Now my cover doesn't fit and I refuse to buy another. I washed and dryed it today in hopes it would shrink.  Denied.

No, those aren't men's tighty-whiteys...

This is a picture of my girl, Z.  When I leave my closet door open, she finds it comforting to dig through my dirty clothes, put them into a pile, and cozy up. I was almost embarrassed to post this because it looks like my closet is a big shit-hole, but I promise, it's all Z's doing.  I love her like a fat kid loves cake!

There is nothing up my butt.  I promise.

In this picture, it looks like I have a saggy turkey neck and have lodged something up my butt.  I assure you, neither is true.  Seeing how good my hair looks in this pic, I'm reminded that it's time for a trip to see my girl Kristy.   And, that I shouldn't take weird pictures of myself and post them.

Slurp.

This is the chambord margi that I drank last night.  Usually something that large and in charge would have made me want to flash half of Gardner. Thankfully the ice melted, sufficiently watering down the alcohol content.  Phew...

I think I'm flipping you off in some culture. 

I painted my fingernails today. I'm channeling my inner-hooker.  Not really.    As you can tell, I painted a little outside the lines...but then again, hookers don't care.

**

This last thought doesn't have visual support, it's just an update on Mr. LAME.  In case I end up dead in a ditch, I thought you should all know that Mr. LAME texted me last night.  It was a very thoughtful text, "hi."  It was difficult, but I ignored his charm.

Today he texted again, "so, r we not talking?"  Those of you who know me know how much I hate text-speak.  How fucking hard is it to put an 'a' and 'e' in that sentence??  

Anyway, I thought I should go ahead and cut the cord on this one, so I very tactfully told him that I found out he had lied about his last name, no specifics and I didn't know why, but that the fact he'd lie about something so insignificant told me that 'we' wouldn't work. He responded with , "lol, I certainly did not, but that's ok. Good luck." 

Fucking liar can't even come clean when he's been busted!  Seriously!  I know you lied! I found your Facebook and old My Space page with the name that you DID NOT give me.  Whatever.  I dropped it. I don't really want to stir up this hornet's nest if you know what I mean. 

Adieu...



And the saga continues...

Last night I shared with you the love and warm-fuzziness I'm feeling from Mr. Angry Beer-Gut Dude. Leave it to Spiffy to piss some guy off to the point of spewing verbal bars after simply meeting for a few beers.  Oh well. Fuck it.

Tonight, I'll share with you the tantalizing and (anti)climactic, yet true story of 'Mr. Lie About My Endname', or Mr. LAME. (I know...it was a stretch but it's the only way I could make the word 'lame' out of it...)

I met Mr. LAME a couple of weeks ago on Match.  We got to know each other over Mexican food (my favorite way to get to know someone) and hit it off.  You've probably figured this out about me while reading through my mind-candy; I have a hard time trusting or even liking people.  Most of the time I think people are stupid.  If I'm being honest.

Well, I liked Mr. LAME.  He didn't set off any red flags; wasn't too nice, wasn't too much of a douche, wasn't too cocky, wasn't too clingly.  He seemed cool and laid back...but then again, so did Jeffrey Dahmer. (Probably, I'm not sure.  I never met the guy, but I bet he knew how to keep it cool right up to the time he ate his victims...).

I asked for LAME's last name, and he gave one to me.  Turns out, it wasn't actually his last name.  I found this out while conducting my usual background search on potential dates.  Or Google search. 

He gave me a few key pieces of information that allowed me to search and find out his real last name.  I verified the real information when I found his FB and My Space page (yes...My Space does still exist). 

While pondering why someone would lie about their last name, one of my super-sleuth girlfriends suggested I run his name through CaseNet, so I did.  Thinking I would find nothing, imagine the shock and disbelief I felt when a rap sheet two-pages long popped up on the screen.

This man had several charges of stalking and domestic abuse, a paternity case, a few traffic cases.  Now I know why he lied about his last name...

Thankfully, he hasn't contacted me in a few days, and not since I found all of this out.  I wasn't sure how I was going to bring it up, but I think he's decided to cut and run instead of trying to stick around and spin a bigger web of deceit. 

Online dating sucks.  You never know who you'll meet and the ones who seem the coolest are (apparently) the biggest liars of all. Lucky for me, the experience provides me with tasty bits of goodness to blog about!

Be careful out there!

Spiffy's Dating Stories - Angry Beer-Gut Dude

I mentioned this a couple of posts ago; I recently decided to trek into the world of online dating.  Unfortunately, the ease of meeting someone online is losing more of its lustre as days go by. 

I told you the story of date #2 - "Bad Dental Work Dude."  His partial didn't touch the top of his gums, leaving a gaping hole for food and spit to escape through.  Bleh.

I was going to leave this guy out of the Wrath of Spiffy, but he's succeeded in pissing me off, so I'm taking off the gloves. This post will focus around date #1 - or as I will forever know him - "Angry Beer-Gut Dude." 

This is the only guy who I didn't meet through Match. He is a friend of a friend and we actually have a lot of friends in common.  When I met him, he was sitting behind a table at a bar. (I put that fact here for a reason...keep reading...). 

We chatted and, as it turns out, he's friends with my ex-husband and his whore wife.  At first that freaked me out a little, but I thought he was cool and that we'd get along since we seemed to have a lot in common. I overlooked the possible future awkwardness of the two of us running into my ex and the whore at a barbeque where we had to make small-talk about the weather or something else equally insignificant.  I figured I'd cross that bridge when we got there, hypothetically speaking, of course.

Fast-forward. We talk, we decide to meet for a drink.  The day of said meeting, he offers to pick me up and pay for a cab to take me back home so I wouldn't have to worry about drinking and driving.  I was instantly impressed at his chivalry.  NO ONE has ever offered to do something like that for me, so he had immediate bonus points.  I warned him that it would likely be a pricey ride, but he told me not to worry about it. Come to find out, he has a cabby on his speed dial because of his two previous DUI's and loss of a license.  At least he learned his lesson; I'll give him that.

I don't want to cut him down at the knees, so I won't go into a lot of details, but I will say this; I didn't think the date went well.  I felt that I had to carry a lot of the conversation and that I did nothing but talk to fill nervous space. 

And, if I'm being honest, I wasn't attracted to him.  I thought I would be and hoped I would be, but when I saw him standing, I noticed his large, bulbous, beer-gut.  I've said this a thousand times and I'll say it again; I'm no goddess, and I've got some hail damage on the ole' thighs and buns among other issues, but I do try to take care of myself. An obvious, flabby, beer gut shows no effort to take care of oneself and is just unattractive - period.  Trying to imagine him thrusting his man parts into my girly bits made me throw up in my mouth a little.  And, lets face it - you date because you want someone to thrust their man parts into your girly bits!

Let me clarify something important -it's not all about physique.  I'm attracted to some odd things (Professor Dan and Cee-Lo Greene -neither with outstanding physiques), so I can't say that it was only his bulbous beer belly that turned me off.  Something just wasn't there for me - period.

With that being said, by the end of the night I was pretty sure he wasn't into me either.  He didn't talk much, drank A LOT, and didn't really seem interested.  He gave me cab fare, I went home and assumed that would be the end of it.

A couple of days later, to my shock and amazement, he asked me out again.  Then, I was bewildered.  I've always told myself to give it at least two dates.  Maybe we'd be less nervous and I would focus less on his belly. I didn't feel it was fair to pretend to feel something that I didn't feel and hope that I suddenly felt it, so I said no.

Now I don't know about you, but I've been shot down and rejected A LOT.  You learn to just deal with it an move on.  No need to dwell or fret. It's their loss, right?  Well apparently this douche bag is pissed at me for not being interested and has been talking some kind of trash about how I drink too much and how I was a waste of his money.   Hey, Dick Head...FUCK OFF!

There are positive points and negative points about going out with people who know people you know.  Positive - there are less walls to break through because they've proven themselves to the people you trust.  Negative - they talk shit to your mutual friends and your mutual friends get stuck in the middle.  In the case of my friends, they pass along the juicy tidbits. :)

So, I say to you Angry Beer-Gut Dude - get the fuck over it and move on. We met once for drinks.  You offered to pay.  You offered to buy me a cab.  I never made any promises and neither did you.  We're both adults, so act like it. I do not want, nor do I need the drama.  NEXT!

F*#$ You!

It's not easy being Spiffy.  Sometimes people don't know how to take me and other times I don't know how to think before I speak.  There's a fine line between funny and offensive and I typically find myself walking it on a daily basis. Most of the time I think I'm offensively funny, but unfortunately that doesn't work for some people. Be 100% sure that there is no fine line on this post. I'm letting my frustrations out!

I'm sure that there are many other people out there in the same boat.  My fellow human beings who wonder about the meaning of life and whether they're living the life they should.  My fellow human beings who are often mistreated, misplaced, and misunderstood (thanks, Pink!).  My fellow human beings who find it hard to separate themselves into all of the compartments that people want to put them into.  My fellow human beings who really just want to be happy and wonder why there are so many unhappy, haters in the world. My fellow human beings who just want to be all that they can be (outside of the Army) without being cut down at the knees.  The more I write, the more I seem to relate to fucking Lady Gaga and her 'Little Monsters'.  Damnit. 

So, I'm using this post to send out a big FUCK YOU to all of the haters on all of our behalf. 

FUCK YOU if you think it's OK to make someone feel bad about themselves in an effort to divert attention away from your shitty-self.

FUCK YOU for telling me that I'm not nice. 

FUCK YOU for not appreciating me.

FUCK YOU for hurting my feelings and humiliating me.

FUCK YOU for pretending that you're my friend.

FUCK YOU for backing me into a corner that I can't get out of.

FUCK YOU for making me cry.  FUCK YOU!

OK, that's enough of the outburst.  It's now time to return to introspection and learning how to be a better person.  Heaven forbid I offend one other person... :)

Is there anybody out there???

I have a confession.  Not like the Red Shoe Diaries or whatever that show was, but maybe just as scandalous...I've decided to join Match.com. 

Yes, Spiffy has decided that the "traditional" means of meeting guys (work, friends, gym, random spontaneous manifestation of Bachelor contestants) hasn't been working.  Possibilities will present themselves, then something will happen that changes everything.  Great guy, but he lives in another state.  Nice guy, but he'd rather play head-games.  Nice guy, but I'm not attracted to him.  You name it, I've experienced it. 

I have tried online dating before and met one cool guy.  We dated for about a month, and that was it.  I don't know what in the hell possessed me to try it again, especially not right now when I've got so many other things going on in my life.  Actually, I think it was the picture of the hot guy who allegedly emailed me.  I couldn't read the email unless I joined and apparently I was feeling weak and horny at the moment...

There is a lot of stigma surrounding online dating.  Only desperate, lonely, losers meet people online.  You know, those people who have a closet full of skin suits and a credit card full of online porn charges?  Well, I'm not one of those people. I mean, my suits are natural fiber and who needs porn with a mind like mine!? I'd like to think that I could meet someone just as (almost) normal as I am.  Maybe??

Allow me to share the experience of my first Match.com date with you and let you be the judge.  Enter Dave. I liked his profile pics and his profile was fairly well written.  We met for brunch and as soon as I shook his hand I got the heebie-jeebies. He looked at me like I was a piece of meat, and then he smiled (insert suspenseful music segue).  

Sometime during his 40+ years he had his four front teeth knocked out of his head.  Apparently he had his dental work completed at "Dentists-R-Us" because there was a big gap between his top gums, and the top of his fake front teeth.  I spent the entire brunch staring into his mouth through the tooth gap, praying that the teeth didn't fall out into his Belgian waffle.

It was so disturbing and disgusting.  I tried so hard to look him in the face but I couldn't stop staring!  Top that with the fact that he had the personality of a paper plate, I was in and out in 55 minutes flat.

Spiffy is no quitter, so I'm going to stick with it and see what happens.  Open mind, open heart, open to possibilities.  In the meantime, if you know any hot guys... :)