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Two Free Birds

Shit happens and sometimes sharing it with strangers is better than therapy.

Category Archives: dating

Girl meets boy.  Boy flirts with girl.  Boy and girl become friends on Facebook.  Boy and girl never talk again.

I’m thinking I just don’t need to know that much about people before getting to know them in real life.  It’s a major buzz-kill—like finding out the guy you’re crushing on has three cats and plays Farmville.  The worst is when his profile makes him seem like he could possibly be gay—does he want to do lunch or does he just want to do me?  Does he like Barney’s the department store or Barney’s the bar across from ASU with 50 cent beer night?  Hopefully it’s the later because I could create a whole separate Facebook page with my drunken updates titled “Posts from 50 Cent Beer Night.”  I haven’t even begun to analyze what that might say about me—what’s worse, having an entire Facebook album devoted to your cats or having too many drunken posts?  Either way, I’m starting to think Facebook is ruining dating all together.  I think this, but I can’t deny it’s usefulness in the vetting process.  So which is it?  Is Facebook a dating killer or a dating savior?

For example, take the case of a friend of mine.  Last night we continued our tradition of Man Monday where we drink beer and watch football in a manly fashion, except we wear things like camel ponchos and lace leggings (you know, so as to be really approachable).  We sat at the bar, drank locally brewed beer, and she explained things like “San-chize” until the subject of her current crush came up.  That is when we used her iPhone to creep his book, and thus stumbled upon the best case of the “Facebook Dating Killer” I have ever seen.  You see, her crush has this tattoo.  Not just any tattoo, it expands across one side of his rib cage—two giant black letters, D.A.  Guess what they stand for… wait for it… wait for it… Dumbledore’s Army.  That’s right, DUMBLEDORE’S ARMY (you better believe I have a picture of this).  We are talking a full on, larger than life, permanent tribute to Harry Potter.  At first glance we thought it was a joke because it’s just so flat out hilarious.  Come on, this would be the best joke tattoo ever.  Almost as good as the time a friend of mine pretended he was going to get a mermaid tattoo because it looked “fierce.”  The best part?  My friend with the crush loves Harry Potter.  She even said, “You’re looking at the girl who was upset she couldn’t play Hermione in the movie.”

We still can’t decide if his tattoo is a good thing or a bad thing because let’s face it, some things are just so bad they’re good.  This, my friends, is one of those things.

Judge for yourself…





Cropped for privacy but the full picture really makes it, trust me.



P.S.  You know how they say you should imagine the audience naked when you give a speech?  Well, the next time you’re nervous about talking to a cute guy, just imagine he has a giant tribute to Harry Potter tattooed on his chest.  Better yet, imagine him buying Harry potter jewelry from one of those Skymall catalogs.


If a man has an oiled up torso shot of himself in his phone… he is gay.


If that is you.

But it’s only a matter of time before you meet another boy pretty enough to make you question your sexuality.

How can I make such a claim?  Have we met?  My gusband is gorgeous.  He gets hit on by men claiming to believe he is a girl all the time.  Sure, he’s pretty, but for god sake’s people he has stubble!  And man-sized feet!  And manly, although well manicured, hands!  Straight men look at him and may get confused for a second (except on Halloween when he was JLo) but they figure out he has a penis eventually.  Closeted gay men never figure it out until he tells them.  We are not talking about a passing glance, we are talking they flirt with him non-stop all night and never even question his gender.  You would think my laughing would clue them in.

This little gender phenomenon has led me to believe there are a lot of men out there who are secretly gay (duh) and all of those men have oiled up torso shots of themselves taken in the bathroom mirror with their cell phones.  You see, all these men who claim to think my gusband is a girl eventually ask for his number.  He’s hot, I don’t blame them, but after they get his number every single one sends him an oiled up torso shot.  Every. Single. One.  I’ve never received an oiled up torso shot (and if I did, I would run in the opposite direction).  Sure, I’ve received torso shots, but not oiled up ones used as an introduction—like, “Hello, nice meeting you last night, wanna see my glistening torso?  I saved it in my phone just in case.”  I’ve only received semi-nude pics from guys I’ve actually seen in the nude and only because we couldn’t physically be in the same place to enjoy each other’s nudeness (nudeness, god I make up some legit words).  My point, straight men, the ones who only touch their own penises, don’t send oiled up torso shots to you right after you exchange numbers, let alone at all.

I could be wrong, but I doubt it.  Maybe when girls search through their boyfriend’s phone in search of scandalous text messages they should look for the oiled up torso shot instead?


The other day, my gusband said to me, “You know, we don’t have to do everything together.  You are not going to find a man if you’re always doing gay things.”  He may have phrased that differently, but that is what I remember and memory is infallible, especially when influenced by liquor, so it must be an exact quote.  I live with my gusband—gay husband, best friend, better looking than me—and he has been my plus one since my ex’s therapist gave him the courage to break it off with me over a year ago (by therapist, I mean that lady he went to see like three times).  It’s come to my attention—both of our attentions—that we our killing each other’s love lives.  They say you need to go out alone in order to meet men because a group is intimidating, but I’m going to guess a group of gays is even more intimidating.

When I go out, I am usually surrounded by no fewer than two gay men and lately that number has increased to three (okay, five).  I love them, but I guess I can see how this factor might keep men from hitting on me.  Sometimes I even push one aside and yell, “Stop looking like my boyfriend (I’m talking to you, Anthony).”  I even joke that one of them is eventually going to have to do me a solid and touch my boobs every now and then if I never find a man (again, I’m talking to you, Anthony).  Serious dry spell going on over here, but I’m not the only one struggling.  My gusband gets hit on by straight men—all.the.time.  Only straight men, actually.  Well, men who refuse to believe they are gay, anyway.  Point is, he doesn’t need straight assholes looking for an experiment and I probably shouldn’t sequester myself off inside a ring of gays.

Actually, what I really want to know is—if my life is so Will & Grace, where the hell is Karen?  She’d have the answer to this dilemma… and a boot flask.



P.S. If a man is going to be afraid of my gay friends, I’d rather just be single…  cause I am never giving them up!

Also, I think I overdid it on the long dash and dot dot dots, but I never said grammar was my forte.

I have decided to swear off coffee dates.  They’re boring and nobody likes them anyway.  Coffee dates are for friends who need to catch up, not for sparking the beginning of a romantic relationship.  I came to this conclusion while reading The Upside of Irrationality (makes sense).  The book is authored by Dan Ariely, a professor of Psychology and Behavioral Economics at Duke University (among other impressive accreditations).  In the chapter, When a Market Fails, he explored the world of online dating.  I’ve never tried online dating because it never sounded like any fun and seemed like a ton of work for little reward.  In addition, I figured it would only increase my chances for spending the rest of my days locked up in someone’s basement. Turns out I was right on.  Well, not about the ending up in a basement bit, that fear likely stems from my love of suspenseful movies.  Sort of like how after I watched that Liam Neeson movie, Taken, I became highly paranoid on a trip to Paris* where I was given a room by myself on the first floor of this quaint boutique hotel.  I swore the guy who checked me in was part of the setup and every night I felt like someone was going to barge in through the window (can you say paranoid).  Anyway, this is not what led me to the conclusion that the coffee date is lame.  Reading this did:

“Dating is about experiencing something with another person in an environment that is the catalyst for the interaction.”

Coffee is not a catalyst for anything besides the possibility of bad breath and a bowel movement.  Both of which serve no purpose on a first date.

My advice would be to just say no to the coffee date.  I know it’s touted as the no risk date where you aren’t obligated to actually spend an entire evening with someone you may not end up liking all that much.  I know it’s cheap and you don’t have to shell out more than $10 in order to get to know someone.  But, it’s also awkward and forced.  You don’t get to learn anything about how the person interacts with the world around them.  A huge factor in whether or not you’re actually going to get along.  There’s nothing stimulating about a coffee date.  It’s not going to give you anything to discuss and it’s not going to bring out your personality.  It’s just going to be you, a stranger, and latte breath… enduring numerous awkward silences.  If I’m going to be drinking something on a date, I’d rather it be some sort of liquor.  Alcohol makes everything more fun.  Why do you think it’s served at every party you’ve ever been to… wedding receptions and funeral collations alike?


* The exception is Paris.  You can go on a coffee date in Paris.  This is because you’ll be sitting on the street outside of some quaint little café smoking a cigarette (even though you don’t smoke) and drinking espresso (even though you don’t drink espresso) while taking in the sights and sounds of one of the world’s most romantic cities, instead of sitting inside a Starbucks adjacent to the mall sipping on a caramel frappachino.

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Oh, Esquire.  Much like your female counterpart, Cosmopolitan, I don’t know whether to love you, hate you, or just roll my eyes at you.  To be honest, it’s a little of all three and that is precisely why I can never resist reading you.

This morning, I came across this article, The Surprising Science of a One-Night Stand.  Here’s an actual snippet…

“If you appreciate romance with your casual sex — such as hugging and holding hands — a one-night stand is preferable to a long-term affair. If you’re feeling extremely horny, however, the latter is ideal. And if you can’t get enough oral sex, you belong in a loving relationship.”

This actually made me think about my own reservations towards the things that make me uncomfortable about love.  Like how awkward I feel holding hands with a guy unless I know I am never going to see him again (or during an actual relationship, obviously).  Turns out there is good reason for that and it’s not because I am neurotic (yay).  According to the latest findings of Peter K. Jonason, a University of South Alabama psychology professor, booty call partners don’t usually engage each other in the intimacy of things like holding hands because they are trying to keep emotional confusion at bay.  Whereas, during a one-night stand, intimate acts like kissing and hand holding are important in establishing a dynamic between two people.  So, all my resistance towards acts of faux intimacy have really just been attempts to protect myself against becoming emotionally attached in the grey area that is casual sex.    

Not to worry, according to the article, booty calls make up for a lack of intimacy with an abundance of freaky sex.  Also, strangers have more post-coital conversation, and girlfriends give more head.  

 Read more:

Food for thought.


More food for thought…

A Princeton study found that having sex can boost brain growth and decrease anxiety.  It also found that virgins experience high levels of brain stifling stress.   Tell that to the next person to call you a slut.

Love makes me uncomfortable.  I have ruined many romantic moments because of it.  Whenever I feel it’s heavy weight baring down on me, I make a joke to lighten the mood.  Don’t get me wrong, I love the act of falling for a guy.  The first stages of infatuation are addicting.  My problem is when something real settles in.  I always get the feeling like I need to back out.  Sometimes, and this is completely twisted, I actually fantasize about the man I love breaking up with me.  It just seems so much more exciting (be careful what you wish for).  To be honest, the possibility of love has always been more alluring than actual love.  Actual love kinda sucks.  I’m pretty sure that if I am ever willing to go the distance with someone and actually commit the big M, it will be with a man who feels the exact same way or at least with a man who isn’t offended by what I am about to say.  So, without further ado, I present to you a list of things that freak me out about love.

Making Love

What a horrible term.  It just makes me cringe.  I never want someone to utter the words, “Let’s make love.”  The only exception is when I watched Under the Tuscan Sun and the young, hot Italian guy told Diane Lane’s character that he was going to make love all over her.  If you do not have a delicious accent combined with minimal understanding of sentence structure in the English language do not say anything about making love.  Also, goo-goo eyes during sex creeps me out.  Am I the only one who thinks the look of love shares a striking resemblance to the look of retardation (I’m sorry)?  No one needs to see that when they are trying to reach an orgasm.


PDA’s are the equivalent of dogs marking their territories with urine.  It’s like a man’s way of pissing all over you in order to keep the passerby out of his territory.  That might be a bit extreme, seeing as I like some PDA, but there’s a balance that should be in play.  A little affection goes a long way in public.  Another thing, sitting side-by-side in a booth when there is a perfectly good, and might I add empty, seat across the table is weird.  Just get on your own damn side.  It’s even worse when the couple makes out at dinner like they have the entire restaurant to themselves.  I mean, it’s fun for a good laugh, but I don’t want any part of it.  The prolonged holding of hands while walking is also another no go.  Are we in fifth grade?  Everyone knows sweaty palms are uncomfortable.  It’s awkward.  I’m a grown-up, no need to pull me along everywhere.

Marriage Proposals

Don’t hate me, friends, but the way some of your husbands have proposed to you really makes me want to gag.  No offense, but I cannot take anyone seriously who rips off romantic comedies.  I am not a sucker for sappy moments.  More than likely I would laugh and I highly doubt that would be the reaction the proposer wished to illicit from me.  Unless of course he knows me well enough to play on the fact that I would think it was funny.  Like in Mickey Blue Eyes when Hugh Grant hides the marriage proposal in a fortune cookie and his date takes so long to crack it open that the Chinese waitress finally tells her to, “Eat fucking cookie!”  Now that sounds like a marriage proposal to me.

I’m starting to understand why my ex said he felt like he could never ask me to marry him.  I am also starting to think I will have to delete this entire blog should I meet someone I might actually want to love.


Well, Lisa, I was hoping you would end your MIA streak and post something so that I would have an easier transition from my last post.  Help a girl out!  I really wanted to tell my virginity story, but thought it might be a bit much right after my post about a one night stand.  You know, sometimes I actually like to save face.  Sometimes.

Anyway, I was thinking about sex (is that all I think about).  Not the act of having it, but about how single women balance the need to satisfy physical urges with the need to satisfy emotional ones.  Let’s face it women, we do need both to be satisfied and I think I was maybe, just maybe, thinking about this because of my little encounter last weekend.  Also, I was reading one of my favorite blogs, Living Flirtatiously, and she just happened to be discussing sex and evolution… and why everyone seems to be so confused.  Her main question was whether true love was thrust upon us culturally or built inside us naturally.  Are we supposed to love one person forever and ever?  Personally, I think maybe that is just what Disney movies want us to believe.  She on the other hand spoke to an actual expert, or two.  She asked Christopher Ryan, Ph.D, and Cacilda Jethá, M.D., the authors of Sex at Dawn:The Prehistoric Origins of Modern Sexuality, to weigh in.  Here is some of what they had to say, you can read the rest here.

“Several factors conspire to make long-term sexual monogamy difficult for people.  We evolved to be sexually responsive to novelty.  In hunter-gatherer societies, our ancestors were genetically predisposed to be attracted to new and unusual partners [this explains my recent fascination with the handlebar mustached sandwich shop worker] because that helped them to avoid incest and to have offspring with greater genetic variety– which helped them to become more fit to survive.”

“In their twenties, men’s testosterone levels begin a long decline, often experienced as diminished passion.  One of the few things that can reliably revive sagging testosterone is exposure to a new woman; even a brief chat with an attractive female can raise men’s testosterone levels by 14 percent, as one study found.”

Okay, if you thought that was good, wait until you read this.

Please say I am not the only one nerding out right now.

“Another problem is that many people in the West marry because they’re “in love,” which is a temporary, possibly delusional state we should not expect to last forever.”

“The intense infatuation that makes us want to spend all of our time together only exists until we really do spend all of our time together.  Then, like hunger satisfied, it gradually dissipates.  While married life can be deeply satisfying and uniquely meaningful, it cannot sustain the passion of those first couple of months or years.  Many American couples have unrealistic expectations about the longevity of this initial phase and consider its passing a sign of a failed relationship, which is unfair, unrealistic, and unfortunate.”

I don’t know if all of this makes me happy or slightly sad.   If I am constantly at the whim of chemicals released from my brain than maybe my one night stand was just my brain’s attempt at getting high again.  Yeah, that’s it.