psycho-stripper

So in my quest to put myself out there and meet single men, I have joined OkCupid.  No shame.  Whatever.  I work all the time.  I am around mostly women.  Either the men in my life are just friends, married, taken, co-workers or bosses in which all of the above are inappropriate.  So I need to put myself out there to meet eligible gentlemen.

Well, the words "eligible" and "gentlemen" hardly describe the male-species I am about to explain.

I had emailed with this dude who seemed pretty nice and conversational.  In fact, he called me before our date, which I appreciated.  It definitely eased the tension of meeting a total stranger in person, if you had already talked to the person on the phone.

So all was good in my book, I was willing to meet this guy, let's call him Joe.

Well  Joe was a G.D. liar...

Joe's pictures online were modest.  He was attractive, but not like a model, which I prefer.  A normal real person, please?

So it's the day of the date, and I see him waiting for me outside.  In person, this dude was about 50 pounds heavier than the pictures online.  He also was wearing glasses in his pictures, and none were to be found in person.

So I see him and think "wow, he's such a liar."  Ok.  Sorry.  Ladies and gents, I am sure we try to pick the most flattering pictures of ourselves with good lighting, your favorite shirt, makeup on and hair done, etc.  Things like that are normal.  But weight is a serious thing.  I am all about people doing whatever makes them happy.  But you shouldn't put yourself out there looking completely different than you do currently.  It's false advertising!  I recently switched up pictures because I wanted them to be the most current as possible, so nobody could accuse me of false advertising.

But not wanting to be a total (GDB - Community reference) I see him waiting for me outside the park where we decided to meet up, and to just suck it up and go with it.  Maybe we can be friends.  We are walking in the park starting to spark the conversation a bit, and here's how it went:

Joe:  Can you stand on this side of me?
(long pause....)
Me:  Umm... is this side not very good for youuuu?
Joe:   Well, I have a crick in my neck and it's hard to turn my neck this way.
Me:  Oh, ok.  (I then shift to his left side)  What did you do to your neck?
Joe:  Well, this morning my phone rang and I reached over to get it when I was in bed this morning, and it made a loud pop sound, and now it hurts.
Me:  Well that's lame you should call the person back, telling them it's their fault your neck hurts.
(small laughter, only coming from me.  long pause....)  Well, who called you so early in the morning?
Joe:  Oh, it was my mom.

And I am sorry.  Don't bring up your MOTHER in the first few minutes of our conversation.

Me:  Oh, are you a mama's boy?  (clearly a joke)
Joe:  Yeah I would say I am a mama's boy.  She's the first person I talk to in the morning, and the last person I talk to before I go to bed.

MOMMY COMPLEX.  RUN AWAY.  RUN AWAY.  RED FLAG RED FLAG!  OR WHITE FLAG - TIME TO SURRENDER!  EVERY MAN FOR HIMSELF!

What actually comes out of my mouth is "Oh."

I don't remember what was said next, but we eventually get to a particularly sunny side of the park, and he asks if I want to sit down.  He had brought a blanket and wine and decided to set up camp.  I told him I wasn't too much of a drinker, but that I would have a little.  A little literally meant maybe an inch or two of wine in a plastic red cup he brought.  (college party tricks much?)

So being the observer that I am, I also see in his timbuktu messenger bag, a razor, a candle, the blanket and wine, cups, a toothbrush and some clothes.  Next thing that goes through my head is that, THIS GUY LIVES IN THE GD PARK.  Or...he lives in his car.  And why the candle?  


So now at this point, he's shaking out the blanket and laying it down on the grass, pouring us wine.  Mind you, like I said, I had an inch or two of red wine.  He had the rest of the GD bottle.  Uhhhh what?

Then he starts taking off his shoes, socks, TOOK OFF HIS SHIRT, and then laid down on the blanket.

Joe:  Why don't you join me here?  (Showing his armpit area as a nice place to come over...)


I DON'T THINK SO JACKASS.  YOU PROBABLY SMELL LIKE STINKY BODY SPRAY.  

Me:  I'm good over here.  I think I'm good over here.

Mind you he has graying chest hair, and his belly is billowing over his pants.  Oh yeah, and his calvin klein tight underwear is sticking out as well.  Nice.  


Time finally passes, and he decides to put his clothes back on and we start heading towards the exit.  He then asks me if I have ever been close to getting married.  And that took me way off guard.   But I decide to be honest.

Me:  Well, I was given a ring and there was a proposal but there was no engagement.  And I've never been married.

Joe:  Oh, so you're afraid of commitment.

Me:  No...it just didn't work out.  He wasn't a good guy in the end.

Joe:  Oh, so you tend to date the wrong guys then...

Well you have a point there, Joe.  Look at you!  You live out of a timbuktu bag and have a mommy complex, you strip in public, you drank a bottle of wine half naked in front of children.  You're right - I do date the wrong guys.  But thank god, I only spent 45 minutes with you, you pycho-stripper.


Me:  You know what, I am going to go.

Joe:  You want a ride home?

Me:   No, I'm good.  I would rather walk.

HOLY HELL.

One less clown in Boston

Let's get this straight.  I have pretty awesome friends.  You know the type of friends, who make you more hyper?  More crazy?  (wait, is that possible for me?  errrr...yes.  It is)  More... well anything in this case?

Well, my beloved brother-from-another-mother and Juliekins make me feel as such.

Recently I went to Boston, not only to DUH visit Boston, but to also visit them.  There were many sights to see and things to do, but I insisted on going to this Italian restaurant that about 6 people, who don't know each other, referred to me.  This place was called Giacomo's.  Legit place for realses.  We had the best butternut squash ravioli.  Some homemade fusili.  Some free garlic bread that was the bees-knees.  Literally this place was so good, that you have to wait outside in line for dinner starting as early as 4pm.  No reservations type of place, if you catch my drift.

Anywho dinner was so delicious and I was just feeling so happy to be away, with friends, eating amazing food, and seeing the world.

Then, oh yeah, it's time for my "Slims-is-crazy" moment (which is probably every 3 minutes) and things just tend to come out of my mouth unfiltered.  Sometimes I don't realize how whackadoo I sound, until a dear friend is standing next to me and says "what did you just say?!".  And in this case, Brozef and Juliekins were around to here it.  

We were walking down some cute brick-lined street in Boston, and I saw the saddest sight.  A broken, smushed, colorful-but-broken looking ice cream cone.  The saddest sight in the world I tell you.

See?  Doesn't that make you go "awww" from the heart?  Well, if it doesn't...then it should. 

My inner monologue then becomes my outside-voice and I say, pointing to the sad, smushed twisty cone...

"Sad!  That's sad.  A clown died there."

It was true.

The end.

The day I was outed in Barnes and Nobles

Sometimes I wonder how these things happen to me.  And I of course have no GOOD answer.  But here is a recent and true tale that has happened to me.  I had just finished watching "Moonrise Kingdom" with a friend at a local movie theater, and decided to hang out at the Barnes and Nobles cafe and read for a bit before saying goodbye.  While my friend stepped away to go to the restroom, I got bombarded with this:




Woman:  "Excuse me.  My English isn't very good.  It's not very good.  I need help.  Help to write a note for a friend.  Can you help me?"
Me:  "Um...  sure.  I'll help."
Woman:  "Thank you, thank you.  My English isn't good, and I need help finishing a note to my girlfriend."
--Now, when the woman mentioned "girlfriend" I literally thought she mean a girl that is her friend.  I did not think that she literally meant her significant other type of girlfriend...  DUMB ASS ASSUMPTION!  I now internally realize, while walking over to her table that this "note" means a full on five page letter, and that this "note" is being written on her laptop...  Holy frizzle.  Let's continue...
Me:  "What do you need help saying?"
Woman:  "Well, my girlfriend is mad at me, and she says she cannot continue being my girlfriend with my lifestyle.  Because.  Because.  Because.  Because.  Because.  Because....I have psychological problems and she doesn't want to deal with me anymore."
--HOLY FRIZZLE
Me:  "Oooohhh.  Well, do you need help with a particular sentence?"
--I also notice that she's wearing a Kaiser Permanente sweatshirt with the word, Volunteer underneath it.  I start wondering how often she goes to Kaiser Permanente...
Woman:  "Well, she won't let me  let me  let me  let me  let me  let me.  She won't let me stay at her house anymore.  And she says she will not take me to this House Concert.  But I don't care about concert.  I care about about about about about.  About seeing her."
--While I am reading what she has in her letter, which is full of apologies and reminding her girlfriend that she will get therapy and drugs for her psychological problems, her English is in fact not that bad.  She writes English heck of a lot better than she speaks English...
Me:  "Well, what you have so far sounds pretty good..."
Woman:  "Have you ever broken up with a girlfriend?"
Me:  "Um.. well, I have had a girl in my life that I was close with and now we don't talk anymore."
--NOW the lady starts rubbing my tricep...
Woman:  "I'm so sorry sorry sorry. It's hard breaking up with a girlfriend."
--Now her voice raises ten octaves...
Woman:  "HOW LONG DID YOU GO OUT WITH YOUR GIRLFRIEND?"
--Holy frizzle.  This is why I regret not correcting this lady before.  When I said "girlfriend", I of course meant girl friend, not girlfriend.  But now since she might go bat-shit cray cray on me, I feel that it's better for me to be homosexual than to prolong this conversation.
In the mean time, every single person within a gooood radius of B&N has now whipped their head around and is staring at me and my new friend...
Me:  "Um...  we were together for three years.  But I haven't talked to her in a year."
Woman:  (still with the ultra high and loud voice)  "WELL BREAK-UPS ARE HARD, BUT AT LEAST YOU'RE A A A A A A A A A LESSSSSBIAANNN WITHOUT PSYCHOLOGICAL PROBLEMS!!!"
She is still rubbing my tricep...
Me:  "Yeah.....your letter looks great.  I'll see you later!"
--I start speed walking in the opposite direction, towards the escalator.  I then see my friend standing nearby.
My friend:  "Who was that?"
Me:  "A lesbian who made me a lesbian.  She needed help with a letter."
My friend: "WHATTT?"
Me:  "I'll explain when we are out of this joint..."




classic and completely true.  

Where were you when the titanic sank?

I am assuming something is definitely AMAZING if are were in fact: a survivor from the sinking Titanic, are over 100 years old, know how to use a computer, and you still have the eyesight and wherewithall to READ a blog. Congratulations you lucky son of a bitch. What drugs are you taking? I need to invest in whatever you're doing right.... But most of us readers are not as lucky as the 100 year old son of a gun. For example, I wasn't even alive. I was 11 years old when the movie came out - thanks James Carmmeron. (snickering) When I was 11, my elementary school class decided to see the movie all together. Now that I'm thinking about it, how the hell did they let in 35 eleven year olds into a pg-13 movie? Crazy ass staff... Well anyways...I'm sitting next to my "boyfriend" Bryce. Holding hands was a epic moment. Our pinky fingers barely interlocking were the beezneez then. Legit! But of course everyone is STARING at us because we are holding hands. So we were asked by some snotty girl in my class (Shelly) "Have you kissed?" Me am Bryce have not kissed by that point. Our pinky fingers touching was like first base - are you joking? But because I wanted to "fit in" I replied to stupid Shelly with "yes." So then Shelly (little biotch) asks us to kiss in front of her. Without a moments hestitation Bryce leans in for a peck. Twice in a row. I might have peed in my pants a little. Don't let assholes in your life, like Shelly, pester you into doing shit you're not ready for. Honestly everyone needs a first kiss. I just wish I wasn't taking direction from damn Shelly to make it happen. Oh well... My second was with a guy two years later, also named Bryce. Weird. But that time, it was not on cue, and was unexpected. Screw you Shelly. (there is no actual hate. It's just fun to dog on her in a blog that she will never read). the end

I am doing it.

One of my dreams is to be a teacher or an educator, twenty years from now in the fitness, health and wellness field.  Growing up I had big dreams:  to be the best dancer I could be, and to be in a professional dance company.  Well wouldn't you know it, I did achieve my dream.  Although it didn't turn out like I thought.  I thought I would enjoy it and I would be on cloud nine.  Never did I consider that I would get to my dream, and that I wasn't happy.  It tore me up inside that being a professional dancer didn't make me as happy as I thought it would.

Although I love dancing, it wasn't enough for me.  And that depressed me.  And then I was just depressed in general.  I felt lost without a dream anymore.  I had never NOT had a dream.  It felt weird, empty, and alone.

Some of my friends were (and some still are) off in grad school pursuing their dreams to be teachers, professors, lawyers, and even some doctors.  And inside, I just felt like little ol' me.  I felt that I was deflated and that I needed a spark under my ass to be lit, and to fly me across the state of California, so I can feel what it's like to have that motivation again.  Something pulling me towards a goal.

For a while work did become motivation for me.  I received more education in my field and lit the spark that I can be an even better and informed teacher.  The only problem with dreams, is that you can't live in the "I will" "I should" "I could" world.  You have to live in the "I am" world.  I am doing (add in your dream).

I will be the first to admit, writing down your dreams as a reality is a little frightening.  I have had occasions in my life where I was afraid of failing, but what was even scarier was succeeding.  That meant higher and more expectations of myself.  It meant more commitment.  More drive.  More passion.  More anything and everything.  That scared me.  What are my limits?  Do I have limits?  Can I ALWAYS push myself further?

The answers are:  Dream as big as I want, and there are no limits.  And yes, I can always push myself further.  

So making my dreams a reality, and taking the steps I need to take to make my dreams happen are necessary and required as far as I am concerned.

So watch out world.  Literally.  I am traveling around the world educating students, teachers, whoever wants to attend my lectures feel free.  I'm coming your way by 2022.  And if I'm lucky, I'll be doing it with a smile on my face.  

a little romance

 was talking to my friend Eleanore about how romance has fizzled into a text-frenzy, writing on your wall, sending a cute e-card kind of way.  People don't really ACTUALLY buy your roses, comb their hair, and SURPRISE you with things anymore.

There are no such things as secret admirers.  The closest thing to that, from my observations, are Google stalking or Facebook Friending.  I think people have lost the art of being able to walk up to people, say hello, may I sit with you? and just have a friggin conversation.

I have asked two gentlemen out before, in daylight in front of other people.  So, two points for me.  I have found women my age, don't do the asking...  One was a man named Adam and he was a "hottie" to me in 7th grade.  Mind you, he was 6 inches shorter than me, had a red poofy afro, and barely spoke a word.  But at the time, that clearly did it for me.  I told him that I liked him and that if he would want to go on a date with me.  I think he agreed merely because a girl had never asked him out.  I think that weekend, his parents drove us to the $5 movie theater (no longer exists) and we saw probably the worst movie ever.  My mom then drove him home, and then took me home.  That was the end of me and Adam.  But!  I did learn that we didn't have that much in common, and that it was better to get that one weird date out of the way, instead of fantasizing about us holding hands during lunch.

The second man, I don't even remember his name.  Sorry, whoever you are.  We were both in 8th grade.  He had a shaved head, and this time the guy was taller than me.  My friend Jessica, dated Mr. Nameless' friend.  So I figured, hey, if they get along, then me and Nameless could get along too.  We could go on a double date.  When I actually went to talk to him, I apparently did all the talking at first.  I asked if he would want to go on a date with me Jessica, and her man...low and behold he had the vernacular of a 1st grader.  So I told him that I didn't want to go on the date anymore, and that it was just a joke.  I know, that's cruel.  But when someone's version of speaking is practically ga-ga-goo-goo--uddhhhh-drrrr-ddddeeeee....then it's time to move on....

So my point is!  MUSTER up the courage to say hi, or whatever.  You can comment on anything!  I flirted with a guy once when he asked me what time it was, and we ended up talking for 20 minutes.  I also met a hot guy I was sitting next to on a train going to the airport.  These things DO happen, so take advantage.  The hot guy buying bananas in Whole Foods could be single - you never know!  So go ask.

The most romantic thing that has ever happened to me, was in 6th grade.  I'm not kidding.  My 6th grade "boyfriend" named Jim was cute, and we were both friends with a girl named Ashley.  So the three of us hung out a lot during recess and after school.  Well, Jim and Ashley did a three way phone call, letting me know that Jim actually liked someone else and that he wanted to ask her to the 6th grade school dance.  I told him I had homework to do and that I didn't have time for him.

I must say... if I ever had the balls to say that to someone's face nowadays, I would be in better shape dating-wise...  What 11 year old says that?  Wait...probably a lot.  But for me, that's saying something.  I don't like the feeling of being mean, even when people deserve it.

It was the week before my 6th grade dance, and I didn't have a "date."  But oh well, good! I thought, the principal of my school knows my dad.  I definitely don't want word goin' around that I danced with some guy and my dad was going to hear about it.  How embarrassing.


One day after school, there was a knock at the door.  My mom answered it, and it was my friend Billy from school.  So she let me stop doing my homework for a minute to see Billy.

Billy was out rollerblading with Jim, my "ex", and decided swing by my house to see if I wanted to join them.

Billy:  Hey, sarcastical girl, do you want to go rollerblading with me and Jim?
Me:  It sounds like fun, but my mom is helping me with my geography homework.  Maybe next time.
Billy:   long pause...
           longer pause......
          OK bye.

I then shut the front door to go back to geography (my least favorite subject at the time).

30 seconds later:  KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.  I open the door.  Billy is head to toe in rollerblade gear:  helmet, elbow pads, knee pads, the works.

Billy:  I was wondering if you wanted to go to the dance with me.
Me:  (noticing Jim in the background, and wanting to make him jealous) I would love to.
Billy:  Greatokaybye.  (rollerblading at top speed away from my front door)

I have to say, that was the most romantic way I have ever been asked out to by anyone, or anything.  Billy and I are still friends, and fondly remember our rollerblading days.

But ask yourself, when is the last time someone has truly touched your heart in that kind of way?  I was eleven.  But that is such a precious age.  We deserve this as an adult too!  I don't mean a knight on a horse or any of that crap.  Or even love notes.  Whatever.  How about, flowers for no reason.  How about, a hug when you are doing the dishes, and you didn't see it coming.  Or how about, planning a romantic dinner in or out, on your own without any help.

Maybe I have dated a couple of toads, but men don't seem to do this for me.  Sure on the first date, they may pay for the bill or open the door for me.  But it ends soon after that.  I don't ever expect prince charming.  But I guess I do hope that romance can be rekindled for mankind, for everyone's benefit.

SO GET TO IT!

little white lies

Admit it, you have at least told a white lie every once in a while.  And hell, I'll be the first to admit it:  it's fun.  Now, don't get me wrong.  I won't lie about important things to important people.  That's just wrong.  But to tell white lies to complete strangers that you will probably never speak to again... maybe not so bad.

In the last couple of years, a hobby of mine has been ballroom dance.  I like to go to the social dances just to practice, have fun, and let loose after a long day of work.  It puts me in a good mood at the end of the night.

So one night several months ago, I went to the ballroom social dance.  A guy asked me to dance, I said yes, and we were out there having fun on the dance floor.  Good times.  However, that day I was particularly stressed from something about work, and it was just the LAST thing I wanted to think about.  However, my dance partner really couldn't take the hint.


Dance Partner:  How has your day been?

Sarcastical Girl:  Not too great, but it's much better now now that I am here dancing.  How about you (I get cut off)...

DP:  What do you do for work?

SC:  Oh, I just don't really want to talk about it, no offense.  Just really stressed about something.

DP:  It can't be THAT bad.

SC:  Well... (I'm fumbling for a way to shut down the conversation about my work).

DP:  C'mon I bet it's not bad.  What projects are you working on?

10 second pause

SC:  I work for the government.

DP:  Oh wow!  In which department?

SC:  I'm not classified to give much information on that.  It's a very high-risk project including transportation and safety but other than that I cannot reveal anything.  In fact, I may have to kill you for even telling you that much.

DP:  Oh man  - I wish I knew what you did!  That's so fascinating!  Do you work nearby?

SC:  I cannot disclose where I work.  Again, safety and privacy regulations.

DP:  Do you receive orders from Obama, himself?

SC:  My boss in the end is of course, Obama.  But the person ahead of me is much like Charlie in Charlie's Angels.  Just a voice with messages.  We talk on a secure private line and I just follow my instructions.  By this time, the dance was over, and I bowed to him saying thank you.  Thanks for the dance.  I walk away.


Now this guy was just stupidly gullible.  Nobody would believe that load of crap.  But apparently he DID, and it was fun being a super government spy even for 2 minutes.

I might have scared DP away, because I have never seen him at the ballroom social dance again.

Maybe I've struck gold:  come up with random crap to either lure people in, or turn people away.  Maybe the next time a creeper hits on me, I will tell him I am a tax auditor and ask him if he has kept all of his receipts.  At that point, he won't care about buying me a drink or getting me in my pants.  He'll be too busy panicking and sweating bullets.