Gutter Slut and the Stud, a la Beauty & The Beast

So its common knowledge, if you read my blog, that my friend Shine & I joined a website for the sole reason of dating the craziest, narliest guys off the site. So far, i've suceeded. I wanted to share a msg that I just got.



Let me start this off by saying that I’m not looking for my soul mate or the “one”, because that shit doesn’t exist.





The whole “pure truth” and “blinding realization” crap is a myth. It does not exist. Many people search for it and die trying. You will have a better chance at proving Oprah actually stays on a diet plan.

A little about myself…. I’m 27, good looking, in shape, and fun as hell to be around. But, I have a problem. I attract the most psychotic women on the planet. After many trial and error runs I have decided to stick with what I know. Why stray away from what I have already proven? Though, I have been put through the ringer, stepped on, chewed up, spit out, set on fire, and pissed on my ashes, thus damaging my soul and ability to care for someone eternally beyond repair. I have not totally given up hope.

Don’t get me wrong. I am a good person, but bad things happen to good people and I am ok with that. So, I decided that I will do someone a favor and give that lucky down and out gutter slut with bad credit an opportunity to trade up.



I believe that I was put on this planet to give someone a second chance at having a good guy in their life. I know that I will never be happy so I will suck it up and settle for someone going through a midlife crisis and has no direction in life.

Lets just say I’ve had a few rough go arounds with the female species, and maybe just maybe the psychotic spells were partially onset by my actions. So I feel that Karma has placed me on the sh*tend of it’s to-do list.
The person I am looking for must be a true basket case. A real nut job. You must be a few fries short of a happy meal and your carpet cannot run wall to wall, or this will obviously not work out. To get the chance at having a real stud in your life you must meet and are not limited to the following criteria.
You must be able to: Complain a lot, Scare off my friends, harass me at work, brick my car or bleach my clothes because u think I cheat on you, have violent outbursts and have no thought of the consequences, threaten my ex girlfriends, fart in public and blame it on someone else, beat yourself up and tell others that I did it, leave 15 voicemails in 15 minutes on my phone, cause a scene because you are unhappy with how your steak is cooked on the third try, put nair in conditioner bottle, pull a gun on someone, be unpredictable-not like a damn nun’s menstrual cycle, lack rational thought, use the words “the Fuck" in almost every sentence. Example- Where the fuck are you- or - get the fuck off me, you know what the fuck I mean?

First, I want to make this clear. Psychotic tendencies must be out in the open up front. I DO NOT want any surprises three months down the road while we are shopping at the market and you punch me in the face for making a sex comment about a stuffed turkey. Face punching must be taken advantage of from the get go. If you choose to face punch. You also must have a job of some sort. Even if you scrape dollar bills off the floor after the “boots with the fur” song or are lead shopping cart technician at wal-mart.

I don’t care as long as you have something. I’m no sugar daddy.

Next, If you have fucked up kids that get horrible grades and refuse to take their a.d.d. meds that’s cool. I’m no one to judge. I would make a terrible parent, so you just keep on keeping on with the destruction of you kid’s life. Lets have the sex talk. You are going to be in control of when and where it goes down. I’m all for being spontaneous and naughty in public, or even getting it on at your grandmother’s house in the closet during thanksgiving dinner. As far as kinky stuff goes, you’re the crazy one, so I will leave that up to you, but If we are getting it on and I’m banging you an inch from your life and you want me to give you a choker, NOOOO WAY. I do not need an accident to happen and catch a case having a dead hooker on my hands. They are hard to get rid of.

Lastly. Since I’m willingly giving up any chance of happiness and satisfaction in life you must be hot. A pleasant face and a nice body will suffice. You must also carry emotional baggage with your superficial beauty. In that, I mean you must need constant reassuring compliments about your hair/make up/ass/titts/face/shoes and clothes. Also, you must compare yourself to every little hussy that walks by and catches a glimpse by me. You know all the hot ones are crazy anyway.

YES! A guy that calls me a gutter slut, in the first MeSsaGe.. gold.

Second, is he, or is he NOT giving me an open invitation to act batshit crazy? Hmm. There is potential here, but.. ive made the decision to politely (yeah, right) decline this fucking douche canoe.

And finally.. he is NOT good looking. Oh, you're offering me a chance to "tradeup"? I need a real "stud" in my life? If you have to call yourself a STUD, no. No, man!

You are not a fucking stud. Who fucking says that anyway? A stud is an animal used for breeding, a Jackie Collins novel, a poker game, an earring in some cases, but you my friend, YOU.. are most definitely, in NO sense of the word a stud.

In your picture, you're holding a bud light (redneck). Not only that, but its like, the 2004 style bottle. And you have a beanie on, with your lucious locks hanging out. Long hair is for chicks, man.

You know what I wanted to do when I saw your gross face? Punch my computer screen, and THEN take a shit on it.
Alright. I'm off to do guttery, slutty things.

Did you just FART, and the bitch-u-crazy theory

So, my date. Let's call him Smelly.


First off, I met this guy for the sake of the experiment.

I only saw one picture of him before we went out. In the photo he was wearing sunglasses. In the online world, this is a BAD SIGN, especially if it's your only picture. If you had like, three or four, then one with sunglasses, I could judge you properly.

Sunglasses leave you guessing. And come on. I fucked a cross eyed guy. I should require an ophthalmic exam before even considering dates. It should be a prerequisite. Unfortunately the Lagoon Creature did not come to mind. (Does lightning really ever strike twice? Hope I never find out!)


So anyway, it's his only picture, and it's kind of from the side, but not really. He has a pretty sweet beard (I love beards I don't know why). I decide, why the fuck not?

We met at a sushi restaurant (my favorite, if you haven't noticed). Smelly was pretty skeptical about it because he'd never tried sushi before. I had to explain to him that there were other things on the menu. (granted, one of them was called, "Fish Mixture")

Right off the bat, I order a glass of wine and multiple sake shots. If i'm going to date losers, i'm going to have to drink EXCESSIVELY.


This guy is having a problem talking to my face. He is actually doing most of the conversating with my two chest pals. Which is just, amazing to me, because those motherfuckers don't talk! And they can't hear! I tell him this. It does not deter him. (note to self: Turtlenecks aren't so bad. Dress appropriately in the future.)


It's pretty awkward during dinner. I actually love awkwardness. It makes for great stories. I start telling him about all my horrible relationships. I am also talking really bad about my exes. I'm testing the bitch-u-crazy theory. (this will be explained later)

me: he probably didn't like me driving by his house, 4, 5 times a day but in order to feel sane I needed to know where he was AT ALL TIMES. Wouldn't want to have to fuck a bitch up you know??? YOU KNOW?

I lean forward excitedly and he is just sitting there in stunned silence, taking it all in.

me: come on, you've never done a little, harmless stalking?

him: I don;t think any stalking is harmless.

me: Well, if you really love the person it's not stalking. It's love. Just like if a guy hits you, it means he really loves you. When I'm with a guy and he isn't hitting me, I'm going to assume hes cheating and its time to have a bitch beat down. It's all part of the game, you know?

him: I guess that kind of makes sense.

dude...SERIOUSLY!?

Towards the end of our lame ass dinner, I talk him into trying some of my sushi. Spicy tuna rolls. Not anything to crazy. He picks one up. Pops it in his cockhole (haha sorry I had to) and chews. Then, to my horror (and the horror of everyone in our section) he starts regurgitating it back up, kind of baby bird style. He was moving his neck back and forth and making the loud gag sound. He then spits this nasty pink shit on his plate. I start gagging because of the sight and smell of it. We are both gagging like this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xr9BYDUKkmY
(ff to 24 seconds in. that's how we looked, and that's how loud we were)


So we're both gagging. LOUD. At one point I was pretty sure I wasn't going to make it to the bathroom to throw up. It resided though, which is fortunate, because that guy would have wasted a lot of money on alcohol had I thrown it up.

Everyone is staring at us; meanwhile, he is poking the pink shit with his fork.



After about 4 sake shots, and 5 glasses of wine, it's time for the movie.
We're going to see I Love You, Man.
I'm thinking, okay, it can't be that terrible because i've heard the movie is hilarious.

I make Smelly make a stop. I make Smelly purchase some wine minis... (six of them).
I'm already pretty lit up, but this oughta do the trick.


When we get in the theater, we're the ONLY ones in there. Which would be awesome if I was interested in the guy. We go to the very top and sit down. I'm enjoying the movie. I finish my first mini. I throw the little tiny top down the rows of chairs. I hear it quietly find a new home somewhere towards the bottom of the theater.
'Not enough,' I childishly think. I chunk the empty bottle. It explodes. Violently. I raise my fists up in victory.

me: YES!
Completely baffled, he hesitates, but finally asks, “What made you do that??”
At this point I’m trying really hard not to lose it and just burst out laughing, “I've just been really angry lately!”


I continue to do this throughout the movie. He says nothing. With all six of my bottles. Everyone of them shattered near the stairs. On the sixth one, I turn to Smelly and say, "watch this."

I stand up and with a Nolan Ryan esq like windup, I pitch that motherfucker as hard as I can. I was hoping for the screen, but, I'm no Kenny fuckin' Powers. It didnt work. But it busted, just as beautifully loud and crazy as the others.

I turn to him. "I don't know about you, but I feel a lot better now. Keeping it all bottled up like that makes ya crazy! Sometimes you have to just bust those bottles! Or that's what my therapist tells me!"
him: he might not have meant that literally.
me: No, I asked him. I said, do you mean that literally? And he said, Yes...literally...go out and bust bottles.
him: oh, well if you asked him..

(WTF? Who would believe that? What kind of doctor does he think I see?)


He is still flirting/being gross. I am pretty sure he is farting, but the only thing I have for proof is something stinky. No solid evidence, if you will. Finally after about 30 minutes of it, I KNOW, without a doubt, that what I am smelling is a fart. And it infuriates me. Seriously?! You think you can just fart in my air and shit? There is no one around for him to blame it on.


me: Did you just fart?
him: YES! I thought it would be silent! You heard it?
me: No, motherfucker, I SMELLED it!


He starts laughing. I get up and move 5 seats away. I can feel him staring at me for the duration of the movie.


Him: Come on, come on back. I won't poot again *he used the word poot.*
me: I'm not coming to sit in your little toot cloud, buddy. Think again.
him: I'll move down there, then.

He moves. We finish the movie. I drunk dial on the way home.

Now, allow me to explain the bitch-u-crazy theory.

The uglier the guy is, the more fucked up you can act.

Hell, you can do any fucking thing you want and get away with it! This date has just helped add credence to my "bitch-u-crazy" theory.

I SHATTERED SIX WINE BOTTLES IN A PUBLIC MOVIE THEATER LAST NIGHT. I TOLD HIM I WAS OKAY WITH DOMESTIC VIOLENCE. I TOLD HIM I WAS A STALKER. Did he ask me out again?

HELL YES, he did.

*Spicy Tuna and me are taking a much-needed break.
*No more guys with sunglasses.

Lagoon Creature

2007.

The place? The dearly departed Baileys.
The culprits? 2 of my "friends." and one other, who will be called "Lagoon Creature"

Factors involved that led to this heinous oversight: alcohol and a sticky icky green substance

Friends, this night I had on what you might call a pair of goggles. Really, really thick, smoke-beer filled goggles. Everyone at Baileys was lookin alllllllriiiight to me. And come on. Half the dudes in Baileys, more times than not, are a bit questionable. Do they shower? How long has he had those pants on? Is that DOODOO on the back of his shirt? Did he sit in something? And are those dreads on purpose, or did they just happen? Baileys is DARK anyway. The odds were stacked up against me.

I'm rocking out to Earthbound. Probably dancing like a fool. This guy comes up behind me. I turn around, and might as well be staring at Fabio! I'm thinking, WOW! The hottest guy in Baileys is definitely talking to me right now! We take a seat at a side table and start talking about everything. We're really spilling guts to each other.

Creature: I like your chacos.
me: I like your shirt.
me: and your hair. how its all messy.
Creature: yeah, your eyes are, this amazing green color.
me: (swooning) Your eyes are, are...

He stops me at this point with a kiss. Kids, I dont make out in public. I dont condone public displays of affection. They make me sick. Sometimes, even hand holding bothers me. So the fact that i'm making out with this guy should tell you, I was INTO him. People were disgusted. Later, I would find out why. But not soon enough.

I go to the bathroom with my friends.

Me: Did you guys see Creature? Is he not awesome!
friends: staring blankly at me.

I see the corners of their mouths twitching. At the time, I could not see this was restrained laughter.

me: Be happy for me! Say something! I'm taking this guy home. For sure.
friends: oh, yeah.. (pause). You TOTALLY should.

Jealous bitches! I thought. Just mad that i'm hooking up with the hottest guy here. Whatever. I totally ditch my friends and continue my drunk making out. Pretty soon, everyone is ready to leave and we all pile in friend#1's car and head back to her apartment. I bring the Lagoon Creature with me. We make out in the back seat the whole way home. There is also major gropeage going on. My friends are laughing. I dont put it together that they are laughing at me. At the time, I thought they were telling funny jokes. Really, really, hilariously fucking funny jokes.

We reach friend#1's apartment and he & I immediately go into the extra bedroom with the twin bed. Just the right size for GETTING.IT.ON. And thats what happens. We get it on. I would like to give you more detail, but my mind has blocked it out. Kind of like trauma victims, you know? Sometimes things are so painful to remember your body just says, fuck it, get out of here, bad memory.

The next morning, my sneaky bitch friend comes in the room.

"GOOD MORNING LOVEBIRDS~!"
me: ufhhhmmmmmmmmm (unintelligible, still drunk grunt)
friend: I have to go to work! You coming? (we worked together at the time.)
me: tell them ill be there later. I gotta take creature back to his car.

As soon as she leaves, I hop up and get in her bed. Its big and comfy and I was feeling a little shameful. I sleep for 30 more minutes. I go to wake him up.

"Hey, creature! Its time to go. Come on. Get up."
He rolls over. Opens his eyes. But something strange is happening here. I turn away. I couldn't process it while looking at him. I'm also hoping maybe since he had JUST opened his eyes, maybe they had to adjust or something.

creature: Come get back in bed for a minute.

I slowly look over at him. His eyes are open. And those motherfuckers are CROSSED.

I start panicking. I start thinking about all the people I saw last night. All the people that saw ME. and this crosseyed motherfucker. MAKING OUT. A memory of me telling friends how i'd met this great guy. A memory of me trying to compliment his eyes but getting cut off by his tongue down my throat. That sneaky bastard. He probably thought he was the luckiest fucker alive!

me: no. no. come on. we gotta go. NOW.

I'm talking in a really high pitched voice. It was involuntary. And I was talking really fast. I couldnt look at him. I seriously did not look at him ONE time, from Alabaster to Homewood. Except when we pulled into his complex. I looked over just one more time, to make sure he had googly eyes. YEP, still crossed.
At this point he had probably gotten that I had sobered up and the ruse was up! He didnt make it weird. He got the hell out of my car and slammed the door, and I peeled out of there.

At work, said friends were sitting there WAITING for me to walk in. As soon as I walked in, they lost all composure.

friends: did you drop loverboy off? Whens the wedding! Your kids will be so fucking cute!
me: eat a dick. no, eat lots of dicks.
friends: did you eat some dick last night? Cross eyed dick?

I walk away. We laugh about it later. They got me. I got GOT. I thought this was the last I would see of the creature. I was wrong.

FF to Oct 2008. It's the night of the Phil Lesh & Friends/Allman Bros concert. THere are a few of us going and we have a hotel room to party in. After the show, we decide we want to get our minds a little more twisted. One friend suggests a substance that shall remain nameless. None of us have any. Another guy says, "I know this guy. Hes cool. Hell bring it here."

30 minutes later there is a knock on the door. I beebop over, excited.
Guess who is on the other side.

THE FUCKING LAGOON CREATURE.

creature: hey, I know you from somewhere!
me: MM.. nope. Dont think weve ever met.
creature: No, I KNOW i know you from somewhere. Ill figure it out.

shit, shit, shit, i'm thinking. I'm actually with a guy I like this night. And of all fucking nights. The lagoon creature moonlights as a drug dealer. Guess his modeling day job doesnt pay him enough. A couple of hours later he comes up to me, as i'm sitting next to the guy I actually DO like on the bed.

creature: I figured out how i know you.
me: Oh (i get highpitched and fast here) really? hmm. Wow I have a terrible memory. Thats cool though good to see you again okay bye.
creature: I havent even told you.
FUCK.
me: oh, wow, geez (nervous laughter.) Where.
creature: WINKS and walks away.

guy that I like: What was that about?

There was a long silence as I was trying to concoct some elaborate, shitfilled story to throw him off, but for some reason while I was still debating, I just word vomited the truth.
me: oh i fucked him last year.
guy that I like: Hahahah. Thats why I like you! You have a wild sense of humor.


Yes.. yes I do. :)

TIger Shirt Mcgee

Ah. My date last night. It was horrible enough to warrant a blog.

Yes, it was one of those.
I met this guy a couple of weeks ago at a bar you might know as Marty's. He seemed cool enough. Dressed normally. Jeans, t-shirt, flops. Nothing screamed "CRAZY" at me... so.. he got my number, called me after the standard three day waiting period, and we began a pretty regular talking/texting relationship.

Our first date was last night.
We went for sushi. As soon as he walks up, I'm NOT feeling it. Let me paint you a picture. Button down shirt.. with a graphic of a tiger on the back. And the tiger was lounging on some kind of rock.

He also had on those croc shoes which, i'm sorry, are only okay for little kids.

Believe it or not, i'm a polite person and couldn't just say, alright, i'm bailing.. besides, he's actually good looking.. I decided to give it a go. I tried to order as many glasses of wine as I could. Some things said/done over dinner include, but are not limited to as my brain is still a little hazy from the alkeehol:
him:*I have a suspended sentence now, because my ex girlfriend has a restraining order out on me. I was trying to call her and apologize, but shes just a dumb-bitch. Can't wait til that thing expires. (note to the girlfriend, RE UP THAT R.O, stat!)
Him:*No, i'm not drinking tonight. Wanna be sober when we bone. Well, that and my medication. It makes me black out and do (He pauses for at least 6 seconds, then maniacally giggles) horrible things.

I have had about 5 glasses of wine at this point and am significantly buzzed. Buzzed enough to think, at least we are going to hear a good show after this. Show-uneventful. He suggests some pool. I agree, only because the beer is flowing like honey through the promised land.
me: Racking pool balls.
him: Nice rack!

I let that one slide. Somehow we get on the subject of body hair. I tell him i'm opposed to completely shaved men, that I actually LIKE hair on a man. He tells me that he's covered there because he's hairier than carrot top (I SHIT YOU NOT) down there.The guys behind us are making fun of his shirt. I'm so buzzed that I start laughing, too. I mean, it's never gotten so bad that I'm actually making fun of my date, ON the date!

After pool, we sit at a table to finish our beers. We have a semi-normal/decent conversation about David Gilmour. I feel like I can close this parade down without causing a scene. Heres how that went.
Me: I probably need for you to take me back to my car.
Him: You know, a lot of people call me the human valium (winks)
Me: (blank stare, as I am processing this for a while) Yeah i'm still probably going to need you to go ahead and take me back to my car.
Him: My nipples are pierced.
Me: I hope you're not trying to entice me.
Him: We can go back to my place and watch PF Pulse. Lets do that.
Me: Yeah, I can't. Just if you could just take me back to my car now that would be so awesome.
Him: Hard to get! I like it.
Me: So, about that car ride...
Him: You are kind of making me angry. I dont think you would like me if i'm angry.
Me: (laughs this off, but is very scared and has that scared nervous smile plastered on face)

He does take me to my car.
So we're now doing the awkward sitting in the car in front of my car thing. If the date goes good or bad, this is where I always kill it saying awkward phrases, really, they just spew out of me. I have put them in bold, just for you. Fortunately I did not care what this guy thought at this point because I just wanted to get.in.my.fucking.car.
Him: This has been a great date.
me: One for the history books!
him: Can I tell you something that might freak you out?
me: (oh jesus) Keep on truckin!
him: I'm already thinking about how to make you my girlfriend.
me: It's raining cats and dogs!
him: Turns my face (YES HE TOUCHED ME) TURNS MY FACE toward his)
Me: (high pitched voice) Hoooo! I'm not kissing you. Sorry.
him: I should kill you! Haha just kidding!
Me: Right. Well, zip it up and zip it out! (dave chappelle for those of you who dont know)

I exit the car. Get in mine.
He calls me on the way home.
I do not return the call.the end