How Doozy Got Her Mojito Back

Okay, okay, okay.
It's been awhile, I know. But, well the menz has been the last thing on my mind lately.
But man-o-man does an oncoming midlife crisis fuck with Doozy girl.

And causes me to LOSE HER MIND for a bit.
Stay with me here, cuz like I've said before, I can't make this shit up.

So, it was a week or so ago when I was sprawled on my sofa, bored and in a moment of abject weakness thought
"Sure Doozy, why not get back on a couple dating sites and see what's there?"

It isn't that I'm in ANY way interested in dating again  - oh no no no no - it's more...

well I don't know what it is. Being pathetic most likely? Boredom? 

BUT MOVING ON.

Okay, so I was on OKStupid for 24 hours. Not even joking. They even had my old profile FROM ONE YEAR AGO. I updated one picture, but didn't even do anything else, cuz why the fuck would I?

L

A

Z

Y

And you know what? The same damn men are still on the site. And the same damn men messaged me with the usual

"Hey"

"Sup"

"Hi :-)"

 Now, my old OKStupid profile was a well written, detailed profile, and that's all I got?
DELETE.

Then I switched over to PlentyOfDooshes. Cuz = reasons. But this time I've kept my new profile short and sweet. Cuz = lazy. So far, I've had 87 men pop up as "wanting to meet me" and 6 message me - one of which has the name of "HARDCOK4U"

You know, online dating is a lot like reading license plates sometimes. Some of the names people give themselves takes some deciphering. Reading "HARDCOK4YOU", at first I was all "Oooh neat, he's a fan of Coke. Coke is yummy, maybe he even like Diet Coke or Cherry Coke too."
"Ohhhh. Wait. Right. I get it now. Derp."

Hooked on Phonics.
WORKING FOR ME!

In my extensive dating experience (but not in the skanky way..we've been over this. I dated, but didn't sleep with the overwhelming number of men I met), the men who blather on about their cocks usually are packing baby carrots. Hard sure, but sorta like a hot dog in a hallway, ya know?

MOVING ON

So PlentyofDooshes. Let's just take a quick gander what this website wants to hook me up with shall we?

FOR FUCK SAKES.

Our first eligible bachelor looks like a barrel of fun, doesn't he? I mean, what sweet, fun-loving girl wouldn't want to go out with THIS guy? Maybe a nice first date sorting his recycling or going over his colonoscopy results....

NEXT UP
SO
MANY
FUCKING
MOTORCYCLES
ON
DATING
SITES.
Seriously. Give is a goddamn rest dudes.

THIS GUY.
I...I...

3 things here.
1). A FROSTED, fucking fauxhawk? The 90's called, they want their hair back.
2). Mirrored sunglasses. For fuck sakes.
3). Throwing up the deuces sign. Christ.

EYE OF THE TIGER!

COME AT ME ESE.

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?
Um. Okay. I really like cars, but..uh..who wants to date a Range Rover? No matter what the horsepower? Wait.. Maybe HARDCOK4U?
FREAK.

I have so, so, so many more of these gems that I'll be sharing with y'all in the coming weeks. I haven't even scratched the surface.

OH OH OH OH...and get this! This is some classic TROLL LEVEL 9 SHIT.

Some dude wrote on his profile that he has herpes
H
E
R
P
E
S
Yes, let that sink in, I'll wait.
Okay, fuck it, times up. So yeah, dude has the crusties it was his opening line - not even damn kidding you. Guess there's something to be said for putting it all out there. But actually the rest of his profile was decent, so I said "Fuck it - why not?" and I messaged him.

And he didn't respond.

I didn't even get a response back from a dude with the Herp.

Classic Doozy.

I rolled with it and it didn't even phase me, cuz here's the thing..I don't want to date any of these men. The chances of ANY of these specimens being anything other than what I've encountered before is astonishingly small. And frankly, it would take a spectacular dude to convince me to STOP being single at this point.

AND I DON'T THINK THAT MAN EXISTS.

I mean, he exists, but he's either married or gay.

So yeah, for the time being I'm just over here eating a sammich and nursing my mojito.

All the sammiches guarantees that I don't look like THIS when I dance in my undies.

Meth Is A Helluva Drug

Happy Happy New Year Peoples.

Well. It's 2015. A new year, and I'm probably supposed to have some new outlook on life. Of course, that's a big bucket of horseshit - Doozy doesn't do that new age crap. So far, this year is just like last year.

Today's Doozy is another fallout Dooze from good ol' Hipster Pinocchio, that rascal. Yeah, there were a few months there where I just didn't make good decisions before getting out of the dating business for awhile. As my dear friend Paige said, Hipster was the one who broke me. Just took me some time to realize that, then longer to stop tossing my shit and fix myself.

Still. Fuck oh fuck.
THIS
WAS
NUTS
You're going to think I am making this up, but I'm not. Crazy men like this are really out there, and they truly think that they're good catches. I dunno, I'm probably being way too harsh, maybe elitist; but today's Doozy was someone so out there that even I was taken aback. 
No shit. Guys like this exist and not just in Vampire movies.

THE TALE OF CHAD KROGER...NOT THE NICKELBACK GUY..THE OTHER ONE.

Oh yes heartbreak.
You massive massive fucker.
So Chad Kroger happened because Pinocchio happened and I was messed in the head for quite awhile. But like I said with that weird Electric Truck guy, at the time I was soooo sure that I was going to be this strong, independent woman and "ain't no man going to keep me down".
BULLSHIT
Inside I was a damn melting snow cone, ya know.

So. Chad Kroger.
I was back on some site...let's say Plenty of Mullets-I-Mean-Fish, and just rolling through the profiles like crazy. When up popped Chad Kroger. He had a rather sappy profile, if not light on the wording. Chad Kroger talked about wanting to find "real love" whatever the fuck that meant to him. He talked about being a single father, owning his own construction business and how hard it was to meet "quality women" (should have been my first flag) and in his pictures, Chad had an aging rocker-behind-the-drum-kit look going for him.

I've always had a thing for musicians. I mean, Chad Kroger said he played drums.

DRUMS FOR FUCK SAKES.

And that should have been my second flag. Musicians have historically treated me like epic asswipes. I should have known better by then.

Oh ho ho. Just you wait. The bad decisions were just beginning.

JUST
BEGINNING
PEOPLE

Chad Kroger and I began emailing, then texting and in a short time Chad invited me out on a date. Fine, good. No problem.

BUT WAIT.
THERE'S MORE.

1. Chad lived across the border in the next state over. Not a huge deal, our city is near state lines. Sure, I'd been on plenty of dates "across the border loco". No probs.
Except that Chad Kroger lived 45 fucking minutes over the border, down the river in BFE. Maybe in a van, down by the river...hard to tell from texts.
Um.
Red Flag number three.

2. Chad Kroger said that he couldn't do anything on the weekends because he "had gigs".
Um.

3..Chad Kroger apparently didn't, couldn't or wouldn't find a babysitter for baby Kroger during the week, so would I be willing to meet him at his house? 
Across the border.
In Bum Fuck Egypt.
Um.
Red Flag number four.

See, here's the thing. When I'm in my right mind (like these days), I would stop talking to someone like Chad Kroger after red flag number one, maybe number two...depending on what the flags are. Maybe someone like Chad would get to a first date, then I would see the crazy and peace out.
But to get to red flag number four BEFORE THE FIRST DATE and not be all "yeah, thanks but I have to shave my cat..." shows, in hindsight, just how bad my decision making was.

BUT WAIT!
THERE'S MORE.
FUCK RIGHT - THERE'S MORE!

So, me in my "I'm a strong, independent woman! I'm not heartbroken! I'm not letting no man keep me down" delusion went "SURE! I'll drive to an unknown town to meet a stranger because you say you play the drums and have shaggy hair and you say you are looking for true love? What could possibly be janky about this?"
Nahhh.

For fuck sakes Doozy.

BUT WAIT!
THERE'S MORE.
FOR THOR SAKES.

Yeah. Luckily it was summer and the nights were really long, so I didn't have to worry about finding Chad Kroger's place in the dark. And the town he lived in was admittedly cute and charming looking, even if there were probably sex dungeons in the bottom of all the stores on Main Street. Whatevs. The Midwest is a freaky place peoples. It's all the corn syrup.

Anyhoozles.

Chad Kroger called me while I was on the road and asked what I wanted to drink.
"Drink?"
"Yeah. I'll grab you a cocktail."
Um.
Red Flag number five.
"Uh..I'm not a big drinker."
"Come on. My treat. I'm getting something, so I'll surprise you."
Right.

Chad Kroger also told me where to meet him and I could then follow him to his house - just on the other side of the railroad tracks, right off the state road.
Seriously?
The delusion was slowly starting to fade there. I know right? Like, how the hell did it take me THAT long? 
Bad decisions people.

Anyhoozles

I crossed the railroad tracks and there was Chad Kroger standing next to his big black truck with construction beds in the back. I stopped my car and got out to greet him. 
Okay.
At least Chad Kroger looked somewhat like his pictures, albeit older and rattier than what was online.
In fact, the phrase "rode hard and put away wet" immediately sprung to mind, because I can be an awful human sometimes; but I couldn't help it.
CHAD KROGER HAD FROSTED FUCKING HAIR.
Not even kidding peoples.
Chad Kroger had bleached and frosted tips in his late 80's, shag haircut.
Red Flag number six

(Chad Kroger wasn't nearly as cute as old Duran Duran)

We said our hellos as Chad Kroger salaciously looked me up and down like a rocket pop on a hot summer's day then he reached into his truck and pulled out a red plastic solo cup and handed it to me.
"Here!" He smiled proudly. "Rum and coke. You strike me as a rum and coke girl (I'm not). I got it from the tavern down the road!"
"Uh...thanks?"
Open container of alcohol in your truck. In a red solo cup?
Right.
Um.
Red Flag number seven

I could see Baby Kroger strapped into his car seat in the back of the truck too. For fuck sakes.
"I'll just have some at your house. Shall we go?" I put the cup in my cup holder and got into my car. The feeling of "WTH DOOZY?" suddenly washed over me.

BUT WAIT!
THERE'S MORE.
Goddammit.

Anyhoozles, I followed Chad Kroger to his house (and threw the drink out my window on the way) - which turned out to be a single wide mobile home with a room built onto the front and giant newly built garage in back. 
Okay.
I know people who live in mobile homes and some of them are nicer than my apartment, so I wasn't going to judge.
However.
As Chad Kroger unstrapped Baby Kroger from his car seat and walked me inside, I quickly discovered that his house wasn't a nice place at all.
HOLY
SHITBALLS BATMAN.

Chad Kroger did indeed have a drum kit in the front room he'd built onto his trailer. However, littering the floor were cigarette butts, empty wine and beer bottles and crumpled McDonald's bags.
Um.
Red Flag number eight.

Chad Kroger showed me into his house and I was..speechless. Now. Most people who know me recognize that I'm not easily rendered speechless, especially by a man. Words come easily to me.
But.
Well.

Words cannot quite describe what was in front of me. Okay look. I do not live in a swag house. Far from it. I am not, nor do I expect to live in the lap of luxury. As if. I'm a pretty simple girl.
But, but....but..
Chad Kroger's mobile home wasn't large, obviously; but it was very dark. The walls were covered with that fake dark "wood" paneling, much of which was peeling off from humidity. The floors were much the same way - the dark fake wood linoleum. Off to the right was a dark blue, worn down sofa with a large hold in the middle - so the stuffing was falling out, loads of baby toys and a huge TV in the corner. The one small dining room table was piled high with bills, papers, magazine, kids books and junk. The vinyl seats on the dining room chairs were torn and faded. The kitchen was dark, outdated and dirty.

Now I've never been in a crack house, but this was what I always envisioned one looking like. Only...ya know...with crack.

Oh, and did the mention spaz dog?
Chad Kroger had a spaz dog. No, he didn't sniff my personal radiator or anything, but the fucker kept jumping on me. Then Chad Kroger would yell at him, then Baby Kroger would start screaming.

Bet this crowd was a blast at family reunions.

"Do you have a bathroom I can use please?" I asked.
"Sure, down the hall on the left. I'll start dinner." Chad Kroger replied. "And watch out for the hole in the hallway floor."
Turned out that there was a foot wide HOLE in Chad Kroger's floor that he'd covered with a piece of plywood. Didn't nail it down or anything, it was just laying over the hole and sliding around.
Awesome.
So, at least the plumbing worked. There was that. But the bathroom window was too small for me to crawl through.
Goddammit.

 When I got back from contemplating how I was going to end this date of doom, the dog and Baby Kroger were locked behind a three foot high baby gate. The dog was jumping up and down against the gate and Baby Kroger was throwing his toys around the living room; as in just chucking them at the TV like a shot putt thrower. Chad Kroger seemed oblivious to all this as his was heating up Stouffer's Pasta Primavera for us.

Trying desperately to save whatever shreds of this date there were, I started pulling any small talk out of my repertoire I had.

Then Baby Kroger whipped off his diaper and took a leak on the living room floor. Totally stood there looking at us and whizzing all over like an old timey water wiggle.

By now my mouth was just gaping open and closed like a freshly caught  trout. The  dog was still jumping up and down against the baby gate, and now Chad Kroger was screaming at Baby Kroger. Once Chad Kroger started screaming then of course spaz dog started barking and Baby Kroger started crying.

"This is my life." Chad Kroger laughed half-heartedly while he was calming the baby and dog down. I edged closer to the door, picking up my purse on the way.
"I can see that. I'm just going to go and let you get things calmed down here. Nice to meet you."
"Fuck! You too?!"
By then I was outtie.
Right
No
Dude

I...
I...
I...
Well, I had a long drive home to digest what I had witnessed and what I gotten myself into. And here's the best part, Chad Kroger continued texting me for a week or two afterward, like that...dismal diarrhea of a whatever the fuck you want to call it we had wasn't bad.

 Nope. Chad Kroger just kept chatting me up until I had to go all "RELEASE THE KRAKEN" on his ass and tell him to screw off and that I had wiped smarter things off my shoes than him.
That was fun.

To this day, I still wonder if that huge garage in back of Chad Kroger's house was really a meth lab.
Cuz meth is a helluva drug, ya know.

Wee Willie Winkie's Pretty Cranky, Or Something.

Well, hey-hi-diddly-HO-HO peoples.

The Christmas clock-cheese-o-rama is ticking ever closer to the end, and as such, I have a big ol' box o'wine ready to guzzle in case of medical emergencies.

I DON'T FUCK AROUND WITH THE FAT MAN IN THE RED SUIT.
WE HAVE AN AGREEMENT.

So. Yes. Here we all are again.
And I was thinking back the other night as I was decorating our Astro-Turf-Tree about the Ghosts Of Douches-Pasts. It took me awhile, because as I've mentioned before, I've worked very hard to block that crap out.
But then it came to me in a blinding flash of bright white light. Or maybe it was headlights in my living room window. I dunno. Whatever. Roll with it...

THIS ONE IS CLASSIC.

I cannot believe I haven't remembered this date until now. Except that this Doozy is very old. Like vintage Doozy - early dating Doozy.
Why, I was a wee young lass back then. And dumb as a box of polished rocks.
FUUUUUCK ME.

THE TALE OF SLICK WILLIE

OH. Oh man oh man oh man oh man...
What to say about this one, except I walked into this date blind as a fucking bat and as naive as they come. 
See, here's the thing.
I was brand new on the sites - Match.fuck-my-life.com way back then and I had NO IDEA how the dating world worked. Or, more precisely how the douchebro's operated. I was just all; la-la-la, everything is going to go so great!
HA
HA HA
HA HA HA
yeah. no.

Anyhoozles. William, popped up on my match profile as I was still reeling from some of the recent disappointments (I'm looking at you Farkus and you Bubba), but back then I was ever the optimist, hiked my ladyballz back up and marched on.

Enter William. He was...slick. Let me splain'.
I'm not cool.
I'm nerdy, I'm weird, I have a wicked sense of humor.
And I'm a broad in the best sense of the word.
Of my many fabulous qualities, "slick" isn't a word I would ever use to describe myself.

But Willie was slick. He was handsome (like Hugo Boss model handsome), worked for some financial operation in a downtown high-rise, drove a fancy car and wanted everyone in the free fucking world to be aware of those things.
Back then, those attributes didn't grate me the way they do now.
Eh, an old dog can be taught after all.
Back then I was wooed by Willie's smarmy good looks, his patent jokes and compliments and boasting monologues. I didn't even read the red flags being dumped on the field by the god damned truck load.
Told you - dumb a box of fucking polished rocks.
FOR FUCK SAKES DOOZE.

Moving on.

It wasn't long after chatting that Willie and I arranged to meet for happy hour at a downtown bar, which to be honest, at the time, puzzled me. I also worked in a downtown highrise so it was convenient for both of us. Plus, that seemed to impressed old Willie.
I got the feeling that Willie cared and awful lot about what other people thought about him.

We met at some trendy, upscale bar that catered to the younger and richer set. You know, the kind that is a rooftop bar, only has counter height tables with uncomfortable chairs, lots of discreetly hidden blue neon lighting and a name like "Birch's on First". Total bullshit.
My TJ Maxx suit and Target heels suddenly felt very out of place in a joint like that and I had a hard time not pulling at my blouse as I walked in and stood awkwardly by the door, searching for Willie.

He was late.
Goddamn fantastic.

The hostess gave me a quick yet discerning once over when I asked for a table for two. I arched my manicured eyebrow, clutched my laptop case tighter in my hand and hoped my ass didn't look huge in my pencil skirt. I'm not heavy, but I still had my insecurities like any other normal girl.
I was looking over the menu when Willie arrived in a flurry of activity. He looked good, I had to admit, even his windblown, salon styled hair had a very Jane Eyre feel to it and I was instantly more nervous.

I was so fucking far out of my league peoples.
Seriously.
What was a nerd like me doing in a place like that? I'm a Juice Lucy and wings kinda girl. It's not that I cannot dress up and be a lady. Far from it, but that fancy, putting-on-heirs-shit just isn't my jam.

I smiled brightly as I stood up and introduced myself, but I still caught Willie's smile falter ever so slightly as he looked me over. I would be lying if I said that his seeming instant judgement didn't sting.
THAT was when the intuition kicked in.
Took me fucking long enough.
Willie and I made small talk before our waitress came over to take our drink and appetizer order.

So. Let's get started on the Doozy fun shall we?

(again, paraphrasing as this was yearrrrrs ago. But I'm pretty close to what was said.)

Server: "May I get you both something to start?"
Me: "I'll have a glass of the house Pinot Grigio please and and an order of the balsamic scallops. Thank you."
Server: "Excellent. And you sir?"
Willie: "Yes. Can you tell me where your grilled sea bass in the seafood croquettes is sourced from? And I need fresh water. My glass has spots on it." I saw no spots.
Server blinked twice very fast. "I'll need to check with our chef, but I believe the sea bass is Chilean."
Willie:"Hmmm. Chilean sea bass is so 1990's. Let me see" Looking over the menu. "And do you carry Black Cow Vodka? It's from the UK." Willie gave our server the side-eye as he ran his finger over the stiff parchment menu.
I crushed the polyester napkin with my fingers.

OH FOR FUCK SAKES. 
WILLIE WAS ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE.
YOU ALL KNOW THE KIND OF PEOPLE I MEAN...

Every little damn thing was an issue. Nothing was ever good enough and Willie had to make a server's life a fucking nightmare on earth. Probably everyone else's in a one mile radius too.

Bet Willie was great fun at parties.
Maybe I could get my scallops to go?

Oh..Robin. I miss you.

Server: "Sir? Would you like a few more minutes to decide? I will go check with our bartender about the vodka." She walked away quickly, swiping away Willie's assumed defiled water glass in the process.
Willie studied the menu - which by the way, wasn't long - for a few more tense moments, then threw it down on the table.
"This is the first time I've ever been here. It was recommended to me by one of the hedge fund managers, but so far, I'm not impressed."
"We have hedge fund managers in this city?" I laughed, trying to lighten the mood.
Willie crossed his arms over his expensive looking silk tie and frowned. "Of course we do. What a silly question."
"It.Was.A.Joke....?" I murmured as I looked away, shifting uncomfortably in my tall seat.

Awkward didn't even begin to describe this date. It was worse than your grandma finding your vibrator in your luggage on a visit home.

The server returned with a fresh glass of water for Willie, my wine and an answer.
Server: "I'm sorry Sir, but we do not carry Black Cow, however, we do have many other fine top shelf vodkas to choose from. Did you see our cocktail menu with our complete spirits list?"
Willie frowned. "Yes. Fine, fine whatever...I'll take a Grey Goose on the rocks. In a CLEAN glass. NO spots."
Server: "Certainly Sir. And would you care for anything to eat as well?"
Willie rolled his eyes and huffed, "I guess I'll have the kobe beef satays. But really your menu is deplorable."
Server: "Would you care to speak to our chef Sir? Or our manager?"
Willie: "I'll have a word on the way out. That's all. You may go." He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and I almost choked on my wine. That poor girl. I smiled kindly and made a "HOLY SHITBALLS! I'M SORRY" face at her. She just shrugged.
Me: "Wow. Um...so..did you have a really tense day or something?"
Willie: "No. Why?"
Me: "You just seemed rather...short with our server is all. I was just wondering."
Willie: "I just demand the best in service when I go out. Even if it's just for happy hour. I deserve the best. It's that simple."
OH
FOR
FUCK
SAKES

GET OVER YOURSELF PRINCESS

Annnnd, everything went to shit from there.
After our server brought Willie his vodka on the rocks in a sparkling glass, he sent it back.
Y'all wanna guess why?
Go on.
Take a guess...
Because there was too much ice.
Not even kidding you peoples.
I was mortified.
Willie, a grown ass fucking man (I presume with a grown penis, although by then it was debatable if he was compensating for something, ya know?) who ordered a vodka ON THE ROCKS, sent back a drink because it was... ON THE ROCKS.
I...I...just...couldn't...

By this time, I didn't even care if I looked like a two-bit-trailer-trash-crackwhore-fresh-off-the-meth-lot-who-had-been-rode-hard-put-away-wet-and-still-needed-her-roots-done.

I WAS SO OUTTIE.

Our appetizers arrived just as I had finished guzzling down the last of my wine.
Server: "Another glass of Pinot Grigio Miss?"
Me: "No thank you. I'll just take my check please."
Willie:"WHAT?! So soon? We just got here. Our food just got here!"
I shoved two creamy, delicious scallops into my mouth, chewed quickly and swallowed.
Willie leaned over the table and rested his chin on his manicured hand.
"I never did tell you how lovely you look tonight. My apologies. You know...I'm a bit of a chubby chaser." Willie smiled lopsidedly, which would have been charming on just about any other man but him.
WAIT...
DID HE JUST CALL ME FAT?

That was the final straw. I mean, come on, I ain't no size two, but I can shake it shake it like I'm supposed to do...
Cuz I got the boom boom that all the boys chase..
Yeah
All the right junk
In all the right places.

And I'm not fat.
FUCK THAT PRETTY BOY

I pushed my chair away from the table, stood up, rustled around in my purse, whipped out twenty dollars and threw it on the table.
"This should cover my half. You say you're loaded, I'm sure you can cover whatever is left."
"Cunt." Willie murmured as I grabbed my laptop bag and purse and walked away, sure to add a little extra "swish" in my walk.
However, I made sure to stop by the server station and give our server a twenty as well, because I was absolutely, positively sure that Willie was going to stiff her on his way out. Plus, I made sure to stop by and talk to the manager as well; let him know that Willie was a class A lunatic and a fuckwipe as well and that our server was superb to put up with pond scum like him.

Who's the cunt now?