Um ... that's gross

I may have mentioned it previously, but I'm single. Yeah, I know ... shocking.

Apparently there are a lot of younger guys out there who are into older women.  I hate to use the term "older" because it makes me think that dust is going to fly out of my vagina or something, but I've seriously been hit on by guys who could have been my son if I'd gotten knocked up in high school like so many people thought I would. ;)

So last night I was "chatting" with a guy who is 10 years younger than me.  He claimed he didn't have some kind of fetish for older women or fantasy he was trying to fulfill, but instead was just attracted to older women.  I believed him. For about 10 minutes.

Right out of the shoot he asks me my measurements. I told him it was none of his business (I didn't drop any "f bombs." I was still trying to let him think I'm a nice girl). He then asked me a lot of other personal questions, all leading back to when the last time I'd had sex and how old the person was.  Very odd questions, all which I diverted like the nimble gazelle that I am ...

He then decided to share with me that he had an affair with his mom's best friend when he was 17 and she was 37.  No biggie.  Every kid's fantasy to get busy with their mom's hot friend.  I can handle that one. 

But then, right after he asked me how big MY boobs are, he mentioned that he'd bought his mom fake boobs for her birthday ....  No kids, I'm not making this shit up.

I asked him why and he said because she had "always wanted them," and then bragged about how he "was the first one to see them after the surgery."
WHAT. THE. FUCK??!!

Am I the only one that thinks it is sick and wrong to: 1) pay for a boob job for your mom, and; 2) actually want to LOOK at your mom's new boobs, and; 3) brag about it??!! 

I quickly ended that conversation with Captain Pervo and chalked that up to one more reason why I shouldn't date much younger men. 

On a side note, "Mr. A," I'm still waiting for you to send me an e-mail so we can catch up.  No fair hiding behind one-way comments. :)   spiffychic3@gmail.com.

If anyone else wants to shoot me a message, I love random e-mails.  They make me happy!  Tell me what to write about if you have any ideas.  I'm tired of bitching about my lack-of-dating life.

Peace out.

Yes ... more dating stories ...

So, I feel like a broken record, but it's just the way my life is at the moment.  I've got a lot of fucked up dating stories! Ready for another one?  I thought so ...

I should first say that I have met some nice guys, just nothing that had me doodling hearts around his name or imagining what it would be like to ride his face like a wild stallion.  But, I digress.

The first guy I'll call "Mr. Librarian" well, because, he was a librarian.  Go ahead, laugh, but I thought I'd give it a try. 

Mr. Librarian was a little awkward on the phone (ok, he was a lot awkward), but I chalked that up to nerves and thought it was kind of cute.  What drew me to him you ask?  His love of the band Soundgarden and playing bar trivia.  Yep.  I'm a sucker for music and obscure, trivial knowledge.

We met for dinner and the minute he walked in the door I knew it was going to be a painful dinner.  He just simply wasn't my type.  AT ALL.  Regardless of our two commonalities.  He was awkward and timid and jerky and had no sense of humor, whatsoever.  It's a rarity when I'm not wisecracking every 10 minutes or so, and let's just say my librarian joke did not generate the laugh I'd expected ...

We finished dinner, parted ways and as I was driving down the street, he started calling me.  I didn't answer, and he called AGAIN!  This time he left a voicemail asking me out for the weekend.  I had plans later that evening (yes, I double-booked with a better back-up plan that I've nicknamed "Meat," but I'll talk about him another day ... maybe), so I hadn't planned on letting him down until the next day.

Before I had a chance to call him, he texted me the next morning asking, "So, are you still interested or no?"  Pushy much??  The answer, Mr. Librarian, is "NO!"  I was nice about it, but told him the truth; our personalities are too different, plus I'm pretty sure he's still a virgin and I'm too old to train someone.

Moving on ... the next prospect I'll call "Freud" because he thought that since he spent four-years in college and ended up with an undergrad in psychology and a C average, that he was some kind of fucking genius who could analyze everything about me.  Mistake numero uno.

I won tickets to a Social D show, so I asked him if he'd like to go.  Pretty awesome first date with someone you've never met, huh?  I figured we were in public place and I had a lot of friends who were going as well, so I was safe if he turned into some kind of freak.

He was attractive and kind of cool, but started analyzing my past relationships, my actions and intentions and then decided it was OK to start groping my ass a mere two hours after we'd met.  Sorry, Freud.  I have a strict eight hour rule. Deal. :)

At the end of the evening (after he'd drank half of the bar) he decided to ask me how much money I made and then proceeded to ask me where I spend my money.  I kindly told him it was none of his fucking business how much I make or where I spend my money and right about then, I was ready to go home. He then told me his "strategy" was to get me agitated so my "heart rate would rise and I'd remember him." Like I said ... Freud, or should I say, fraud??

Well, his strategy worked enough for me to give it another chance, so we went out to dinner on Saturday.  He didn't want to come to my house and pick me up because it would be "a pain" to find me, so we met at the restaurant.  (Strike one).

Did I mention he drinks A LOT?  Well he started complaining about how he couldn't get drunk because he'd eaten (like it's a normal goal to get shit faced no matter where you go - Strike two) and then proceeded to tell me sordid tales from his youthful attempts at cat burglary.  I guess he thought if he painted himself out to be a "bad boy" it would get me all lathered up.  It didn't work.

He also thought it was appropriate to grab my ass and comment on its "firmness" and try to literally dry hump me in the middle of the bar. STEEEERIKE THREE!  You're OUT!  Note to potential future dates: I am not a prude and I appreciate public displays of affection, but do NOT think for one second you can maul me in public and make me look like a fucking floozy fool and that it's OK.  It's NOT OK!

I finally got out from under that bullshit and politely told him that we were just too different.  I didn't feel the need to berate him or humiliate him, just to get rid of him.  I will admit, though, that I've saved his voicemail messages to listen to when I need a good laugh and in case he turns into a stalker.  Thank you Jesus he didn't come pick me up!!

I think Spiffy is going to lay low on the dating scene for a while.  I don't think my heart and head can take much more of it.  Someone once wrote that (online) dating is like opening the refrigerator over and over again, expecting to see something new and discovering it's the same, old leftovers. 

I'm tired of leftovers.  I think I'll stick with my single-serving meals and side of Meat for a while ... :)


 

Olives.They're so delicious and made for pizza ...

OK, OK!  I know it's been a while since I've written.  I've had writers block, been really swamped with homework and, quite honestly, have been feeling like I'm sharing a little too much of my twisted brain.  

Sometimes I feel naked and while that's great in the shower, during sexy time or at 2 a.m. Saturday on my deck, it's not a great feeling when you're trying to write.  Now that I've told you my favorite times to be naked, it's time to share.  Pull up a chair, won't you?

So we all know that I've been trying my hand at online dating for quite some time and that I haven't had much luck.  Well, at the beginning of September I met a guy and I actually dug him.  I could stand being around him for more than 10 minutes; I let him into my personal space on our first date (no, not my pants, sicko), and I wasn't annoyed by him.  This was a big deal.  Just ask my girlfriends who think I'm way too analytical and picky. :)

Well, what goes up, must come down, right?  We finally hit the 30 day mark which, in my opinion, is "do or die" time.  You either decide you want to date the person exclusively or you decide to move on.  Now, I'll segue to what I will forever refer to as "the olive incident." 

We decided we were going to chill out at my place and watch a couple of movies.  One that he wanted me to see and one that I wanted him to see.  I bought some beer (his favorite beer, mind you), rented the movies and I even bought him his favorite flavored fucking cupcake! (Deep breath.  Move on.)

We discussed pizza and he told me that he didn't like olives.  I ordered the pizza, but I was a little buzzed and mentally drained from the day and forgot to tell them to take the olives off the pizza.  He reminded me of that fact when I got off the phone, so I apologized and told him we could just pick them off.  Sounds reasonable to me, right?  I LIKE OLIVES!  (Deap breath.  Move on.)

So when we got the pizza, I MANUALLY picked every fucking olive off of his three pieces of pizza.  He was quiet while we ate except the one time he decided to break the silence and tell me I was bossy (What?  You just figured that out??) and then to tell me that if it was me and I didn't like olives, he would have called them back and told them to take the olives off, but since I didn't do that, I was basically telling him to suck it up and deal with it. Hmmmm ....

As you can all tell, the evening did NOT end as I'd originally planned.  At that point he told me he didn't feel the "spark" with me that he should and he still wanted to meet other women.  I told him to leave, he left, end of story. 

I was pretty hurt and pissed about it for a few days, but it's time to move on.  I'm pretty sure he's not sitting around dwelling, so I refuse to let him take up space in my head and my heart without paying rent! Now I sound like Oprah. "YOU get olives and YOU get olives and YOU get olives!!! EVERYBODY GETS OLIVES!!!"  (Only true Oprah fans will get that. Sorry...).

Regardless of the number of bad first dates or relationship sparks that fizzle, I still hold onto hope that there's someone out there who can handle all of my Spiffiness and who will meet at least 3 of my 4 major needs. :)

NEXT!

I remember...

Ten years ago I was 31 years old, working as an insurance agent for AAA.  I was sitting in my office early the morning of September 11th, trying to talk myself into making it through another day at a job that I hated.  I was in a shitty mood and didn't feel like talking to anyone.  

Someone walked by my office and told me to come into the kitchen to watch what was happening on TV, and that's about all that I remember.  Except that we all got to go home early (yippee).

Back in those days, I was often hoggishly detached from anything that didn't affect me directly.  If it didn't happen to "me," then I chose not to "feel" it.  Newsflash: Spiffy was selfish.

I remember watching the plane hit the tower and eventually the towers fall.  It all seemed so surreal to me; like it wasn't really happening.  I mean, how could something that looked like a blockbuster hit starring Bruce Willis and Nicholas Cage really be happening, for REAL??

A couple of weeks after 9/11, I was listening to the morning show of my then favorite radio station, e105.  Joe from "The Joe Show" was talking about how he was a big hair-band freak back in the 80's which immediately connected with me.  I, too, was an 80's hair-band fanatic who sported a killer red coif that I kept in prime shape with a hair dryer and Aqua Net.

He mentioned they were holding a radio contest and winners would get a round-trip, all expenses paid trip to New York City.  All I had to do was tell him why I was the biggest 80's hair-band fanatic and I'd win ... so I did ... and I WON!

I took my friend Kristen with me on a trip that forever changed my life.  Not only because of the experience of seeing Ground Zero only a month after the attack, but because of the people that I met on that trip who I still hold dear to my heart. There are so many great people who are now in my life who wouldn't have been in my life had the 9-11 attacks not happened.  I guess that's my silver lining in the dark cloud.

Tragic events affect everyone, whether or not they are in touch enough with their emotions to admit it.  I tried not to "feel" much back then, so it took a radio station trip to New York City for the reality to really sink in. 

Standing in front of Saint Patrick's Cathedral in Manhattan, watching the funeral procession for one of the fallen firefighters, Patty Brown, was a moment I will never forget.  You could hear a pin drop as the firefighters marched down the road, led by bag pipes.  The entire city was silent in tribute.  It was awesome and sad and beautiful all at the same time.

Ten years later, I sat and cried this morning as I listened to Paul Simon sing Sounds of Silence.  I relived the morning of 9-11-01 while watching a feature on NatGeo this evening.  I chose to feel the pain of others while I watched. 

I really tried to imagine the pain of talking to a loved one on the phone and knowing that it was likely the last time you'd ever hear their voice.  I imagined the terror those poor people felt as they ran through the streets of Manhattan in a futile attempt to avoid the rolling cloud of debris.   I imagined the despair someone must have felt to have to choose between burning to death or jumping out of a building. 

Needless to say, my heart aches tonight. 

Be Vewy, Vewy, Qwiet...

Dating in your 40's is difficult. Meeting single men who you're attracted to and are honestly interested in getting to know you and not just getting to know the inside of your vagina is quite difficult.  I mean, I'm sure my vagina is very interesting and inviting, but so is my mind. :)

I may have mentioned that I started online dating again a few months back.  I've had A LOT of first dates and only one second date and that second date turned out to be with a guy who has a history of domestic abuse.  Needless to say it didn't lead to a third date.

Well, I had a great first date last night that will hopefully lead to an even better second and then, well, let's be honest...I would like to eventually introduce him to my vagina.

This guy, we'll call him "Kung Fu," was cool, interesting, different and slightly odd, and pretty easy on the eyes.  All important qualities to Spiffy Chick. I did get the feeling, though, that he may have some commitment phobia.  I can point fingers because I, too, may have a touch of the phobia.

My view on dating is that if I meet someone who I'm attracted to, find interesting and enjoy sharing space with, I would like to focus my energy on that person.  That feeling is so rare that when I find it in someone who I can tolerate for an entire evening without wanting to make up a fake illness, I'd like to prolong the feeling.

I'm not saying that after the first date he should give me his class ring and letter jacket or that I'll promise my virginity to him (shut up).  I'm just saying that I find it easier to focus on one guy at a time...OK, maximum of two guys at a time.

Kung Fu told me that (paraphrasing) while he liked me and that he wanted to see me again, he was still going to be out "hunting" for other girls to date.  If and when we decided to start introducing our girl and boy parts to each other, THEN he would stop the hunt.

My question to you: do all guys constantly think that that there is something better around the corner, and if they stop hunting they'll settle for something "slightly less" than what they could have had?  Do men ever grow up and out of this delusion?  Does that extra shot of testosterone flowing around their veins make then think that by settling down, that they will eventually whither and die? 

Know that I'm not one of those girls who generalizes all men.  I know that not all men are commitment phobes.  Only the men that I'm attracted to, apparently.

So I've decided that if Kung Fu wants to hunt, then I'm going to keep hunting as well.  Afterall, I've always wanted to be a warrior like Itzpapalotl, the "clawed butterfly," and I can rock a loin cloth if necessary.  

Plus, there's this other guy, "GI Joe," who has potential...

If I Were a Boy...

Tonight I've decided to talk about something guys love and girls should probably love a little more - blow jobs. 

Yes, tonight's blog is dedicated to mouth lovin', knob slobbin', head, BJs, felatio, hummers, Lewinskis, playin' the skin flute, smokin' pole...you get the picture. 

As a girl, I know my opinion on the subject - you give, you get.  How long you get depends on a few things, like are you trying to slowly push my head down or arrange your genitals to be in the general vacinity of my face?  Sorry, you may get bitten. (All male readers suddenly went from a semi-chubby thinking about a BJ to complete flacidity thinking about being bitten. Yes, I made up the word "flacidity." :)

I thought I'd ask one of my guy friends his opinion on mouth lovin'.  Granted, this particular friend has issues expressing his emotions and actually emotionally connecting to a woman, but he's a good guy and an avid fan of Spiffy.  He's kind of the male version of Spiffy.  He's who I would be in an alternate universe if I turned into a dude.  Well, kind of.  :)

Anyway...moving on. My question to "Alternate Universe Spiffy," or AUS, was whether he found it sexy when a girl looked up at him while she was giving him the business or if he'd rather just look at the top of her head?

I'm really not sure why I even asked him that question because I knew the answer and he didn't disappoint me.  AUS said, and I quote, "I don't spend my time staring but when I do look down, eye contact is normally just strange and leads to everyone making fake porno faces...which can on occasion damper the moment."   He went on to close his sexist statement by saying, "A good blow jobber needs to get to work.  Looking up seems needy and can sometimes be pathetic.  Concentrate on what's important - my junk."

Ah...gotta love AUS...makes me want to give a thousand hummers to guys just like him! :) xoxo

Another good guy friend of mine once told me that there isn't anything better than a "good old, sloppy BJ."  The term just puts visions of spit-laden pubic hair and a large wet spot on the bed.  Neither of which are sexy thoughts. But then again...I'm not a dude!

So what is it about BJs that guys love so much?  Is it that they don't actually have to look at who is pleasuring them?  That they can get lost in the fantasy of the moment?  Or is it a control issue?  Or maybe, JUST MAYBE, I'm overanalyzing the entire thought process and it really is just because it feels good?  I mean, come on.  I'm never one to over analyze...

Girls, what are your thoughts?  Guys, care to share your opinions?

I'm a little scared about the feedback I'll get on this blog, but I promised AUS I'd offer a "male Spiffy" perspective on something and this is what I came up with.

At least I didn't ask your opinion of the shocker...

More Random Thoughts...

My 12.5 fans seem to like it when I post "random thoughts" and since I can't seem to form an entire thought tonight...BACK, BY SEMI-POPULAR DEMAND... it's "Spiffy's Random Thoughts"! Otherwise known as a typical day in my mind.

- I like the view from my new deck.  I'm on the third floor which is far enough up that wanna be burglars or guys named Kenny with bad teeth can't get in, but close enough that I wouldn't turn into Spiffy Soup if I had to jump.  You know, if there was a fire or snake attack of some sort.

- I met a guy named Heath from Albuquerque, NM a couple of weeks ago who was one of the coolest guys I've ever met.  Not to mention, the BEST kisser *sigh*. Of course, he was only here for the weekend and I'll never see him again.  Fate hates me.  I think of you every time I hear Radiohead, Heath... "I don't want to be your friend.  I just want to be your lover.  No matter how it ends.  No matter how it starts."  I'm wrapping this thought up and sending it out to the universe, "I'm really glad I met you, even if it was for a moment. You made a lasting impression on me.  Thank you."

- Proof that looks are only a small percentage of the "attraction factor," I noticed this guy who was boarding my flight from Atlanta to KC last weekend.  He was nice to look at, so I looked at him (sue me).  Unfortunately I sat behind him on the plane and had to listen to him drone on about himself to the guy next to him for two hours.  Check off one more guy from my spank-bank.

- I'm pretty sure I saw an actual white-supremacist at the gym yesterday.  No shit.  I've seen plenty movie renditions, but this guy was working out on the Nautilus equipment, proudly his pale, bald head and displaying his hate message tattoos.  There were three words, one down the back of each arm and one across the back of his neck.  I think they were, "Act, Eradicate, Dominate," or some shit like that.  Seriously, I had to keep myself from staring at him because I was afraid he'd know that I've had relations with a black guy and immediately hold some sort of white-supremacist grudge against me and try to kill me. Or, at the very least, carve a swastika into my boob.

- Speaking of the gym, what's up with guys wearing black dress looking socks up to their mid-calf along with tennis shoes and shorts?  I bet I saw at least five guys sporting this look at the gym yesterday.  Is this some new fashion statement that I wasn't privy to?  Hey guys, guess what? It's not hot.  It looks like you're channelling your inner grandpa and if there's one thing I've yet to find hot it's old balls and loose skin.  Loose balls, sure.  Just not old.

- And finally, I thought you should all know that I never heard from Hot Dad. *heavy sigh*  Oh well, his loss, right?  But on a positive note, I've never heard back from Yuck-mouth Kenny, either.  You win some, you lose some, right?!