If my Vagina could talk...

It would say "Closed for improvements. Will not be in operation until further notice"

This dating thing is not working out. I suppose I need to just regroup and enjoy living my life for me for a little while. In all honesty, I feel relieved around my decision. I have so much more time on my hands (and between my legs!) now that I don't have to tidy up my apartment and shave my vag 2 times a week. With all this time left over I will be rehearsing for my role in The Vagina Monologues (AWESOME!), writing here more often, and taking dance lessons. I haven't decided what kind of dancing yet, but since I have ruled out the Horizontal Mambo, I am thinking of burlesque. Salsa, if I lose my nerve. The dancehall is not out of business for good, y'all!

So...Yay for me! Onward with the self improvement and such!

I just could not take the high road on this last dating debacle. We'll call him The Hot Danish. I. Do not. Geddit.

At the risk of sounding like a whiny 5 year old--HE STARTED IT!!! He called. Invited me out. Showed up. Paid. Kissed me good night. Texted me after. Rinse and repeat 5 times.

He then calls me 2 days AFTER we "took things to the next level" to ask me a food related question. I think this is the only time I would have preferred a booty call over a foody call. Feeling pretty annoyed, yet still hopeful, I gave him space. I gave him space for 1 week. I then proceded to write him this today:

Hey Hot Danish!
I'm assuming that you aren't dead, that you aren't being held captive by terrorists, or stranded in the desert.
I happen to be a fan of communication. It's pretty clear that you are not--at least communicating with me anyway. That happens to be one of my prerequisites for dating someone though. So... I had a good time getting to know you and am pretty disappointed that we never got to have that big blow out fight where I told you that your penis is small. That would have made me a liar though, which I am not. Most of the time.
I think you're pretty awesome (aside from the not calling me thing, that kind of sucks) and I wish you all the best on your dating endeavors.

Best,
Anni Hispanni

Okay, so it's more than a little passive aggressive. This is growth for me though! I don't think I have ever called a guy out on his douchebaggery in such a snarky way. I just became my own hero today.

I think I'm off to a good start on this whole self improvement gig.

The perils of online dating

When I was 18 years old, naive, and reeling from breaking up with my high school "sweetheart", I decided to hit the information super highway for love. I started chatting online with some righteous babes right away and quickly became addicted to the plethora of young available guys prowling the net. I spent countless evenings exchanging flirty banter, taking the perfect self portrait on my webcam, and then one fateful night I found him.

His screen name was Tahoebro78 and he was oh so dreamy. He regaled me with tales of road tripping across the U.S. following Phish tours and breaking his leg rock climbing.After chatting online with him for 2 days we set up a day to meet up and spent the remainder of that evening talking on the phone. I was smitten. I was ready to meet my future husband.

I had never been on a blind date before and I was so nervous that I spent the entire day changing my outfit, curling and re-curling my hair. At 6:00 I finally had chosen the perfect outfit. A cotton candy pink zip up sweater, light blue flare bottom jeans, and white and pink converse. I sprayed myself down for the 50th time with Tommy Girl Perfume and hid in my room until the door bell rang at 6:15. I answered the door and there he was. Every bit as gorgeous as I had pictured in my mind. He was sweet and boyish with thick chin length blond hair tucked behind his ears and wore a thrift store sweater and corduroy pants. We exchanged an awkward hug and I am positive that I giggled some nonsense about leaving before he had to meet my Dad.

I don't remember what we talked about on the ride over to the game park where we were to race go-carts, but the conversation went smooth and easy like the green hit off a freshly packed water bong. We laughed together and sang along to the soundtrack of The Grateful Dead playing on the cassette player that sat between us on the center console of his shiny Super Wagoneer.

As we pulled into the parking lot he playfully mentioned that he was actually quite competitive and I had better prepare myself to be left in the dust. Little did I know that in mere moments I would be eating his words.

Being the perfect gentleman that he had turned out to be, he told me to wait in the car so that he could come around and open the door for me. He grabbed my hand and kissed me on the cheek as I hopped out into the giant gravel parking lot of the game park. We linked hands and began to walk up to the entrance when he turned to me and asked...

"Wanna race?"

He could have asked me if I wanted to do The Worm over hot coals and I would have acquiesced if it meant he would fall in love with me.

Since it had been a good 10 years since I had last sprinted full throttle I thought that this very moment was as good as any to take it up again. I looked into his dreamy blue eyes and accepted his challenge. Before the words could leave my lips he was in a full on sprint with a good 5 yard lead. I took off behind him doing my best to keep up. My mind was racing along with my legs and I'm thinking:You know, this is kind of ridiculous. What kind of guy challenges his date to a race? He's totally kicking my ass too. Oh my god...I hope I don't have pit stains after this.

Pit stains would be the least of my worries. As my body careened onward I could feel the weight of my shoulders pulling me down. Picture a duck with its wings tucked back, gaining speed, neck craned out into the universe, propelling itself faster and faster before it's grand ascendance. That was me, but there would be no grand ascendance into the horizon.

Fortunately, Mr. Granola was so far ahead of me he had no idea that there was such a spectacle going on behind him. Feeling a bit of relief that he was completely oblivious to me, I began to recover my stride when the unthinkable occurred. I could feel my pristine white and pink Converse One-Star make it's great escape from my right foot. There was nothing I could do to compete with the force of my body's increasing speed in conjunction with the betrayal of my footwear.

I was going DOWN.

I slid into the asphalt like it was a Slip n' Slide. The all too familiar sting of gravel infiltrating my palms brought me back to my childhood, and that really isn't ever a fun place for my mind to wander. It took me a moment to collect my thoughts and take inventory of what had just transpired. When I gathered the courage to look up, Mr. Granola was charging up the steps doing his best Rocky Balboa impersonation. He looked behind him as he reached the top of the steps, arms still pumping in the air when the Security Guard tapped him on the shoulder and pointed across the vast parking lot at me. I was still on the ground waiting for the universe to do me a solid and swallow me whole.

Mr. Granola rushed back over and peeled me up from the pavement and hugged me. It was then that I looked down and noticed that my clothing was streaked with asphalt and my jeans were ripped at the knee exposing a gnarly glistening strawberry. I looked like I had just been run over by an 18 wheeler. Attractive look for a first date, no?

In retrospect, I question his chivalry because he didn't offer to drive me back home to change. I'm a trooper though and I made a weak joke about how he would look after I kicked his as on the go-cart track. He ended up pummeling me in that department as well. So much for a pity win! Competitive indeed, no lie.

So I suppose at this point, you may be wondering what came to be of Mr. Granola and me. Well, let's just say that it all ended in a park very late at night after copious amounts of weed had been spliffed and a promise that I wouldn't get any diseases from allowing him to fondle my nether regions.

There are some real charmers wandering around the internetz.

Snow (flakes)

Is it the economy? The Holidays? Do I smell bad? Because within the past 2 days I have had 5 people cancel plans with me at the last minute. Hand to God, I am not this bitchy in person.

I think the icing on the cake was when The Missionary canceled going to Thanksgiving dinner with me. I'm not so much upset that he wasn't there, but honestly I'm just baffled at the absurdity of it all. He called me and asked me what to bring to the party the day before! Then...

*Crickets*

I defy the gospel of all the dating advice I have scoured over in the past year (for work I tell you!) and I call him. Then text him. Then call him. Then text him. Finally I get a response 15 minutes before I am set to go over to the party that says:

"Hi Anni. Sorry for not getting back to you sooner, but I couldn't do the dinner. I'll owe you for the cheese and crackers if you are not too mad. Have a Happy Thanksgiving."

Let's break this down, shall we?

Hi Anni
Oh! Hello there! Where did you come from?

Sorry for not getting back to you sooner
This is not a get out of jail free card for inconsiderate behavior, SORRY.

but I couldn't do the dinner.
Assuming that making a phone call is too arduous for you, I'm genuinely shocked.

I'll owe you for the cheese and crackers if you are not too mad.
You owe me for more than cheese and crackers, dude. Money makes the heart grow fonder, though.

Have a Happy Thanksgiving.
Fuck your compliment sandwich.

Obviously, I am taking this personally when in reality, this has absolutely nothing to do with my value. I have cancelled plans, and pretty much slid off the face of the Earth to avoid talking to someone I was no longer interested in. I have never stood anyone up though. It's a deal breaker.

All I have to say is that rejection is the Universe's protection because I actually DID have a Happy Thanksgiving! There were a couple of totally cute available guys at the party I attended, and who brings a sandwich to a buffet?