Confession #8042

I like hearing no.


Do you know how much that sucks to admit?

Fawn all over me, tell me I’m beautiful and rub my feet? I’ll be mopping the floor with you in a matter of days. For as much as I bitch and moan about wanting a nice guy… I’m the girl that ruins the nice ones.

It’s not that they’re boring… it’s that the balls are already in my court and I’m not even interested enough to pick them up if it’s that easy.

There’s a man in my life that loves me down to my stretch marks. He’d rip someone apart with his bare hands if they so much as touched me and I know unequivocally that every single other person that loves me, would do cartwheels if I threw myself in head first and loved him back. I could have everything I claim to want, in a second…

Happiness is standing in front of me, daring me to say yes.


Because I want the platinum ring… not just the brass one. I want to feel about my husband the way that will keep me married. I need to crave the man in my life, if nothing else. I need to like him more than everyone else.

Which means I need to work for it. I deserve a man willing to work his balls off to have me… and I am only too happy to do the same. If it isn’t worth the effort… it isn’t worth it.

I completely recognize my insanity. I realize I should just choose happiness for a change.

I just want more than that.

I’d rather be miserable, lonely and hopeful than resigned, complacent and apathetic.

I’d rather hold out.

Which is exactly what hit me when I woke up wrapped in a bad habit yesterday.

He didn’t mind disappointing me because he couldn’t care less.

If he really likes you? He comes to you.

If he really wants you? It doesn’t matter if it’s midnight on Sunday.

If you’re really special to him… he comes when you want him to at a seconds notice.

and he tells you no when you should hear it.

Because loving a woman isn’t handing over your balls. It’s letting her hold them… and only her.

I want to be loved completely, but I don’t want to be allowed to be a brat. I care about the type of woman I am in a man’s life. I’m not jealous, I’m thoughtful, I’m sexually inexhaustible….Ā  I bake, I cook, I garden, I sew, I make every bad situation, better. I’m a female deadly weapon and I deserve the same. So I’m making a list, if only to remind myself how broken my picker is.

The Absolutes.

1. He must dance. Absolutely not negotiable. I want someone that wants to dance with me.

2. He must be employed. Ambitious too, while we’re at it. I don’t care how much money he makes, I just want him to be capable and financially stable.

3. He must kiss me stupid. I love to kiss, and it’s a buzz kill when you don’t want to kiss someone. It wont last if I don’t love kissing him. It’s positively doomed.

4. He must care about the example he sets, and the kind of role model he is. He must adore my children as much as I do. Preferably his are grown or nonexistent. No offense to anyone, but I don’t want to deal with another babymama in this lifetime.

5. He must have his own life, and pursue his own passions… including trips away from me. I can’t be the center of someone’s life again- it makes me miserable to be around. He must have friends and places to go, etc, and not need me there for everything.

6. He must NOT spoil me, always let me get my way or kiss my ass. I’m a confident woman, I can handle a disagreement and I’ll only lose interest in him if he’s a pushover.

7. He must look out for me and guard my happiness as much as I guarantee his. Without fail and without asking. It should be second nature to him.

8. He must chase me around the house and objectify me and understand if I want to install a stripper pole in my bedroom and take lessons. I’m happiest when desired, loudly. Attention whore? Yeah… that’s fair. It’s easily managed and it should not be a problem.

9. He must be honest to a fault. To the point of telling me I look fat in what I’m wearing. He must love me enough to honor me with the the truth, and respect me enough to be a blessing, not a curse, in my life.

10. He must be willing to walk through fire because I can be a royal pain in the ass when inspired to be, and because I devote myself completely and deserve to know what that feels like in return.

This is precisely why I’m single, lol… because there are women everywhere looking for this one mythical creature.

I’d be better off stockpiling yarn and ending up on that Hoarders show with cashmere stacked from floor to ceiling.

Now that’s bliss…

Listen to Mr. Man Card…

My favorite nice guy, the illustrious Mr. Man Card, came to hang out with us last night while I went on a Crown Royal sewing bender.

With the bags… not the booze.

A challenge to see if I could sew a hat. I looked for hours and couldn’t find a pattern. I looked at the pile of bags I had and decided to just go for it. Made myself a cocktail and started cutting.

It’s effing awesome, if I do say so myself… and lined in cashmere, thankyouverymuch.

We made him model them, and because he’s the nicest guy ever… he obliges us.

Behold… my Crown Royal… crown hat… and my apron…

Running out of things to sew leaves me with a few dozen internet dating emails to check, and my phone is blowing up with text messages from Mr. Bartender.

At which point, and mid-giggle trying to read him the latest email… he looks at me and shakes his head.

R- Jenni… Oh my god. You LIKE douche bags. Oh no. Aw hell.

J- Oh stop. He’s nice.

R- He’s whiny, and omg are you kidding me? A bartender? You know who he looks like?

J- Shut up Robby.

R- I’m not kidding. No more douche bags. You’re a nice girl, no more.

I’m reading the emails out loud and he’s reading my text messages and whining. lol… and I read the last one and he covers his face with his hands and shakes his head.

R- NO. NO. This is just wrong. No. I won’t let you anymore. This has to stop. No losers, and NO douche bags. Jeeez. What do you do in your spare time besides crush hearts and delude weirdos?

J- Um.

R- Right… and he’s just the same. Damn it. I’m helping you from here on out. No more of this.

Just a crazy sister-wife date, in ten minutes.

PRAY it’s funny, I’ve had a long day.

First Impressions, a RANT.

What I really should do, is quit my job and open a business tailored to helping men sound like someone COMPLETELY DIFFERENT than they are, so that they could be more successful at internet dating.

Because frankly… they’re all so fucking ignorant I want to scream. If I weren’t hand picking the odd balls, I’d want to sew my vagina shut and live in an underground bunker- just to avoid the penis-folk.

I really have to pull out my bitchy soap box this morning though, because out of 19 emails, 2 men have taken the time to spell out the word Y O U. I understand shorthand laziness and I get that 90% of people just write “u”… but I’m not one of them, and when you have nothing but email to rely on for a first impression? Make it fucking count. For crying out loud, be so bold as to use two more letters while typing.

Here’s a sampling… so you can see what I’m fuming about.

Hi j how r u first date meet u in sandpoint for a drink and c where it goes from there what do u think

C where it goes from where? Perhaps you want to meet my … uh… well… shit. I don’t know anyone his age so I guess that’s out. If I introduced him to my mama she’d smack him.

I’m extremely multifaceted, most definitely one of the most interesting individuals you will meet, and I can promise you that! I have seen and done a lot in my days here on the planet EARTH. I tend to have an insatiable appetite for learning, which lends itself to many adventures. I am driven and have an uncanny sense of personal motivation. I am independent; although that can be my biggest strength, it can also be my greatest crutch. I would describe my adventurous ways as a cat, just a little mischievous, but one that will always land on its feet! I guess some, would label this as a free spirit, because I am passionate about humanity in a way that most others can’t touch. I am selfless in ways, which most don’t understand. I give of my time, without thought or payment; more often then most do in their lifetime.
Have I scared you away yet? I promise I don’t bite…

And ya lost me… I love a good biter. lol… BUT. The thought of this man biting me after his rather Thomas-esque 18 page email about how fantastic I am and how magnanimous and charitable he his, makes me throw up in my mouth a little. This guy does everything but email you the title to his mid-life crisis mobile. I understand some men play the sugar daddy card… but I’d rather be poor and exhausted in love than face my wifely obligations with any amount of hesitation.

hi j, i read ur profile and decide to say hi. if u would like to chatt sometime feel free to say hi. by 4 now good luck fishing.

Nevermind school was canceled yesterday due to snow. Nevermind it’s NOT FISHING WEATHER. It’s another one of those UR douche bags. For fuck’s sake, SPELL THE FUCKING WORD. This is your first chance to communicate with someone you potentially want to date, right? Is it really that much to ask that they fake a little intelligence? Please? My bad habit loves Jeopardy, if that tells you anything. Sheesh. This girl… loves smart men ONLY. Don’t even get me started on his decorating decisions or creeper mustache.

Well, the text of your POF profile certainly doesn’t speak very well for the “datin’ pool” of Sandpoint area eligible males!?! ( Altho, since I acually live on four acres out in the country, about eight miles outside the next city, perhaps I don’t fit the pattern you reference )?

Uh… no, you fit every pattern I’ve had the misfortune of coming across, thus far. At 55, you exceed my age requirements by oh… 10 years. Let me guess, you’re a young 55? Ugh. Yuck. No. Sack up and date women your own age and spare me their hate and vitriol when they see you trying to date me. These guys are the worst. They piss off the women I adore by being shallow bottom feeders who have in no way done anything in life that qualifies or absolves them the guilt of, dating someone 20 years younger. He should thank me for not responding. He’d hate my music and I’d end up flirting with his 26 year old son, lol…

Hey beautiful!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I just thought that I would write to say hello and to see if “u” might like to communicate a little bit for starters????????????

Oh boy… where on earth do I even start. He refers to himself in the third person as a “Savory Morsel” <gag>. He’s 50… and well… absolutely not. I had to post his email because he’s clearly trying to find his way to being a hipster that uses the destruction of Y O U. He had to put quotation marks around his U… he was that uncomfortable. Now that’s funny šŸ™‚

Ha R U?

Uh… I’m scared…. for so many reasons and in so many ways. A man of few words? Um… HA!Ā  I’m not sure where to go from there… other than to show you his profile… in it’s entirety.


Hi my name is. Dave. I was born in cali
And moved up Here a few years ago
I do like the country. I like to take my
Boat out to the lake Every chance I get.
I do like takin my truck. Or my dirt bike And going off road.
I do like the city life. I like going in watching a live band.
Or just going out on the town.
I do like to go to the movies a lot. Or go have a drink.
Or a nice dinner somewhere. Or run off to vegas for the weekend.
I have a good job.
I would love to find a good Woman.
I know it something you can’t rush.
I just hope someday. I could meet the girl for me

And y’all wonder why I pick the crazies…and Good luck, Dave.

It appears we all need a helluva lot of luck.

Behold… the perfect crazy date.

I don’t even know where to start, other than to walk you down the same path I took to find Josh.

I logged in to check the latest onslaught of email in internet dating world.

Weird old guy, weird old guy, 21 year old frat boy, crazy dad of 7 again, creepy guy from Venezuela again, and Josh.

“you look so sexy and you have a wild side just waiting to come out.I can see it in your eyes.let go and have fun!Josh”

Attached is a picture of him with his wife & two kids… as in babies. WTF?

I click on his profile, knowing a good crazy crackpot when I sense one… and up pops his profile. ooooh yes… we have a winner.

My self-summary
recently reunited with my wife and soooo happy! this site has definatly shown me how lucky i am to have a real woman.Yes we both believe a man can have more than one wife but it must be from God and not us.And to all you feminists who love to send me hate mail just stop.If a man can only have one wife then i suppose you condem half the women in the world to never being married or having children since the statistics show us that there are two women born on earth for every one man.I guess in your mind they are shit out of luck!Not to mention that almost every man in the bible had more than one wife.Im not christian but if you are then how do you explain that?

What Iā€™m doing with my life

I am currently writing a book on theology.I went to school for cosmetology but haven’t got my license in montana yet since the hours are more than colorado where i just moved from.I also do construction and ceramic tile for extra cash.I love to play guitar for fun and would like to start up a band again.

See? You can’t make this shit up- it’s this funny. This dude can dye my hair, fill my nails and save my soul, on a first date?

All in the hopes I may end up a sister wife to an unemployed polygamist.

And they say all the good men are taken…


This should be interesting.

Guido Baby…

I’ve been bored with my current selection of internet weirdos. They’re all sort of normal. Hmph.

I didn’t check my email until just now… and we have a winner.

Ok so he’s only 21… but he’s a self proclaimed die hard fan of Jersey Shore. <obviously>

He’s looking for his Snookie… and just think…

I could dress up. !!! Crazy internet date + costume= Awesome!!!!!!!

Then I read his email, which only sealed his fate as my next literary lesson in why internet dating is just about as close to hell as you can get without dying.

Dear J,

when ur finished hanging out with Stacy’s Mom, u should strut that bombshell body on up my way. Thurs good 4 u?


Oh my yes, Paulie… I wouldn’t miss it for the world…


Wardrobe suggestions, anyone?

A real Man.

Every once in a while, you come across a man that reminds you why it’s worth it. A shining example of a guy who does what he says he’s going to do or dies trying. Faithful, honest and funny, he makes the other guys look bad just standing still.

He’s my best friend’s boyfriend and in honor of his birthday, I’m outing him for being a fabulous enough example that he gives me faith on a week I shouldn’t have any left.

She met him a year ago (or so) and after ten minutes with the two of them you can’t imagine one without the other. She steals the bread off his plate and he steals it back and licks the whole thing. She laughs and steals it back. He’s confident enough to baby talk to her in front of anyone.

R- I love you sho, sho….

C- Sho, sho?

Yeah… sickening and fabulous all at the same time. It’s quite a bit priceless.

He’s one of those real men. Complete with the commercial fishing career. He’s hot as hell, sweet as sugar and the most confident man I’ve ever met. He walks beside her, with his hand on her back or wrapped around hers. He’d flatten anyone for disrespecting her AND he doesn’t mind hanging out with her friends.

He dances with us… (and he might kill me… but it’s just too good not to share)

He’s taken a pretty serious ration of shit for it from his buddies, but in my not so humble opinion, this is the guy we all hope our boyfriend/husband is like. He’ll make you laugh till you cry, protect you with his whole soul and throw down with a little Katy Perry…

Robby Meyer, well done my friend… you give me faith that there are good men in the world, and that when you meet one it’s pretty obvious right off the bat.

He doesn’t have to lie, because he’s living a life he respects and believes in. He doesn’t have to cheat, because he cares about the value of his love and his word. He doesn’t have to, because he doesn’t want to be anything less than everything to my dear friend.

THAT right there- is a real man.

Way to go, Mr. Man Card, and Happy Birthday šŸ™‚

Like there was any doubt…

It was bound to happen sooner or later… and finally, thank heavens… I’m at a place where I can hate him out loud.

You’re welcome…. pour yourself a drink first- some of this isn’t going to be easy to read.

Oh Thomas.

Perhaps you should buy the domain name… ya know… since you like to mimic other people.

I put my judgement aside for my heart, something I don’t regret because I know eventually it will result in my happily ever after. I bought new panties and flew across the globe with nothing but faith in my pockets. I lost a lot in this disaster, but I’ll never let you steal the hope you encouraged me to have. <eyeroll>

I let you know my flight was an hour late. You said you couldn’t wait to see me…. and I land… and ??? Bad form, dude… seriously. Even my 25 year old boy toy was always on time. Perhaps that’s a side effect of dating an older man? You need your beauty sleep? Clearly you’ve missed a lot of it.

I have dated disasters, rich boys, poor boys, hot boys, weirdos… hoarders and faithful gentleman. Nothing holds a candle to my four days with you, and that’s saying something. FYI… that’s not a compliment. Fucking you made me miss the Vagina Hoarder.

For all your criticisms and demands for perfection, you fall very short. You don’t qualify for a six foot anything, blonde or otherwise- and I’d love the number of one girl you’ve dated in her twenties. Oh and your wife’s number too so I can warn her you’re having unprotected sex.

The funniest detail that only a select few know? lol… I went to lunch with my girlfriends a month before I left to see you, and got tipsy on Cuervo Gold margaritas, and asked if you were married. It was a tipsy hunch, and they’re usually right. You FLIPPED out, and told me if I didn’t send you the headers from the email that told me you were, you’d never speak to me again. I was simply curious, looking for a little reassurance- and didn’t see your overreaction coming. I opened up my blog and sent you the headers from some “Penis Enlargement” spam comment that had come in… thinking that’d be the end of it. You emailed me and told me “SHE” was a fat brunette that lived near your ex. The mythical Cylie… if she even exists. It was the first very real, very red, flag. You brought her up while we were together and I changed the subject. I did my best to help you keep your red flags in your very full closet, but even I can’t hide THAT many women.

I should have known. I should have guessed… and it’s on me for being delusional. You wrote about me and exploited every single weakness I have in a few hundred words. You’re the original snake oil salesman, and you continue to manipulate me with my poor tattered heart. Fuck you. Fuck your bullshit words, fuck your lies and fuck your old ass attempts to be more than you are. You are as tragic as I am gullible.

I may be 20 pounds overweight, but Sugar you’re a con-artist and I can go on a diet.

I quit smoking for you, ya asshole. That was the longest four days of my life, especially given the stress level of babysitting an old man who acts like a spoiled frat boy with a few drinks. Honey, learn to handle your liquor or find yourself an AA meeting. ASAP.

Your racist bullshit views made me choke back the vomit they required. You wont waste another moment in my life, but you’ll serve as an example, forever.

Thou shalt not sell out for a ticket to paradise when you’re sick of the snow.

Thou shalt not date someone 15 years older than you’re used to, unless he rises to the occasion and is worth the sacrifice…. <cough>… keep talking about Anna Faris’s abs… it’s as close as you’ll ever get to them.

Your big daddy plan? To cut off your baby girl when she turns 18 because all she loves you for is the check you put in the mail? That’s just pathetic. You’re an idiot for not giving a shit and she’s a smart girl for knowing what you’re good for. PS… I have her Facebook page bookmarked- just in case you ever think twice about fucking with me. Tip of the iceberg, my dear… and you’re a fool for not paying attention to what happens to boys who shake the hive. There aren’t bees tattooed on me by accident, and you know what a nasty little insect I can be when inspired.

It’s sort of sad to have to tell a man what he falls so short in, but then I sort of appoint myself to do so when it’s necessary.

It’s incredibly bad form to walk in front of a woman. Seriously. I can hear my grandfather rolling over in his grave. Your whole fixation on Mormon girls is not going to ever play out because you are so not good enough for us. We’re raised to believe we’re women, ladies…and absolutely the greatest treasure, worth protecting and guarding. In all of Doucheville, you’re the first douche to walk with your back to me while other men smiled appreciatively. Oish.

Watching the people around us laugh at you and roll their eyes at me was the real moment that resonates. Watching you hit on a woman willing to buy her way out of your reach was priceless. I’m reminded <yet again> of my favorite quote.

Regardless of desire, life hands you who you are.

I don’t care how much money you make. I don’t care what you do for a living. I don’t care about you. I went with an open heart and the best of intentions and came home in a wheel chair. Suffice it to say, if you ever come to Idaho, you’d be really lucky to leave in the same condition.

Juggling bloggers, recycling words and capitalizing on the suffering of the women who are open enough to share it… aren’t you a prize. Does it make you feel better about your sad little life to create a fantasy for someone to fall prey to? I think so.

You made one fatal mistake. You ignored one detail that was staring you in the face the whole time you were calculating how to manipulate me.

I’m deadly when underestimated. There aren’t skeletons in my closet, there’s a case of body bags…. and when you fuck with me, you fuck with the whole trailer park. We may not be millionaires, but baby we’re real- and all the money in the world can’t buy you legitimacy. Notice who didn’t have to delete their blog…

Obsessive showers, cologne I didn’t like and watching people do a double take when they saw me sitting with you… yeah… no thanks. I don’t mind being a trophy… but only if I’m dating a thoroughbred.

The cost of shipping your shit back express mail? $60.

The drug test to determine whether you drugged me or left me vulnerable while you hit on other women on our LAST night together? $120

$300 for a weekend in Puerto Rico in February? Priceless.

I hope your wife wonders where you went and with whom. I hope she figures it out and I hope she kicks you out of the “compound” SHE owns. Google is a powerful creature, Liarpants2. Yeah… you get a pants name but yours is recycled, just like your words. You’re Nathan, part 2.

Realistically…It’ll be a cold day before I fuck Mr. Smithers for sunshine again…. and PS… I faked it.

xoxo J