If at first you don't succeed, offer her a dick pic. Yeah, that'll probably (not) work.

Oy vey.

A month since I last published. I have plenty going on to write about, just haven't had the time. Next entry will hopefully be about my latest adventures in moshing. I've gone to a couple concerts since I last wrote, and man was that fun! I'm still healing from the bruises sustained at Trespass America.

At any rate, since I have nothing of substance to say, I figured I'd leave you with yet another idiotic dating site email I received. This one is from a 21 year old kid. Let's just say he's younger than me, and I won't be sharing by how much. But as far as I'm concerned, we're in completely different generations, and maybe even on different planets from how little comprehension he demonstrates.

Without further ado:


Stupid kid who thinks I'm his personal slut (SKWTIHPS): hey my name is tyler u should text me my number is XXXXXXXXXX.


Me: You've given me absolutely no reason to text you. Also, you're not even in the same state as me. I'm not interested in virtual relationships or texting buddies.


(SKWTIHPS): I'm moving to Oakland in a month I was lookin for people to hang out with when I move


Me: Oakland is about an hour away from where I live. With traffic and my schedule, that would make hanging out casually nearly impossible. Good luck with the move, though.


(SKWTIHPS): Hear I'll send u a pic of my dick and see if it will change ur Ming u have to text me so I can send it though


Me: What. Thefuck.

Are you fucking kidding me dude? I've been around the block my dear, and unless yours is green or has some mutant growth on it, I'm fairly sure you're not packing anything I haven't seen before. Just the fact that you think this is an appropriate pick up line proves that we're never going to meet. Stick to girls your own age. They're the sluts you want.

EDITED TO ADD ('cause apparently the kid's too stupid to just move on to the actual sluts) - 

(SKWTIHPS) 20 minutes later: Nope just thought I'd be a dick since u wasn't willing to want to talk



Me ('cause I can't resist prime opportunities to be a smartass): News flash - I don't have to talk to every guy that hits on me. A little unsolicited advice for you: girls pretty much have their pick online, with all the guys that are online looking for a piece of ass. You might want to actually practice your game before thinking douchebaggery is going to help you score.

Also, you being a dick to me - is that some retarded way of trying to get me to apologize and be all, oh I'm sorry I'm not rearranging my schedule to meet you when you get to Oakland? Or some immature attempt at bullying me into giving my number out to someone I have no interest in? Come on, kid. Get real.

Weenie Ride

Yeah, I got nothing tonight. Instead, I leave you with this gem of a song.

Definitely NSFW.

Listen to the words. I promise, you'll thank me.

Interesting ways to earn money

I've worked just about every job a person can, doing everything from picking up trash to pushing paper at the office to waiting tables to writing professionally.

However, one of my shortest gigs gets the most questions.

There was a time in my early 20s that I was a phone sex operator (PSO). Yes, there is actually an acronym for this. We were also called phone actresses for the politically correct.

You're probably picturing this.

Image: Flickr | Illusive Photography

The reality is more like this.

Image: Flickr |  Jerry Bunkers

 

Interestingly enough, I got the idea from my mom. She did a stint on the phones, too. She had office hours at home, with a notice posted on her door stating she was not to be disturbed. Apparently she was just that popular! So one day when I was bitching about needing a little extra cash for school, mommy dearest suggested I give PSOing the old college try.

I promise, we only sound like a super creepy family. We're the motherfucking Waltons at home, except with more attitude and a veritable herd of dogs. I digress.

Working as a PSO was appealing for a few reasons. You could work whenever you want, for as little or as long as you wanted. Basically you'd sign in when you were available and as calls came in they would be routed to you. Earnings were based on a sliding scale, which was determined by how many calls you took and how long you could keep clients on the phone. Also, STDs aren't transferable via phone. Yet.

There were some drawbacks, though.

You had to have a corded home phone, because calls connected via cell or cordless could be intercepted and overheard by a third party. If you weren't signed in and they had a heavy volume of calls, they'd start calling operators at home to get someone to sign in and take calls. There were times where if I wanted to sleep, I'd have to turn the phone off.

I had fun with it while it lasted, which was all of a month and a half. I'd get home from my evening classes, make some dinner, sign in to the call line and wait for calls to come in.

Believe it or not, roughly 75% of the calls were not sexual. Most callers simply wanted someone to talk to.

90% of the time, I was speaking to males. However, I would get the occasional female. And once I'm fairly sure I got a prepubescent boy. When I asked him about his age and quickly asked his birth year, they matched. I had no way of checking ID, so I had to talk dirty to this 12 year old kid.

For that 25% of the time where the conversation did turn dirty, I had little tricks up my sleeve for making it sound like I was getting off on this type of conversation. A trusty mayonnaise jar. A porno cued up in the background while I worked on my laptop.

It's sad - I'm really good at faking orgasms on the phone.

I had to be, though. Some of these people really wanted to get off in less than two minutes to keep the charges low. If I couldn't talk fast enough they'd hang up on me, which affected my take home pay.

I was a good sport and thought of it as just another job. Then I started getting the weird calls. Or at least, they were weird to me at the time, being relatively inexperienced in the kink arena.

Men who wanted me to be two women.

Men who wanted me to be tall, black, and wearing hot pink fishnets (yes, the fantasies got that specific!).

Men who wanted me to tell them about my leather pants-wearing, hot football-playing boyfriend with a monster cock who liked to humiliate effeminate men while I violated them with a giant dildo.

FYI, I never had a football player boyfriend with a penchant for sadism and wearing painted-on leather pants. Dude made that up all on his own and I had to play along.

That last phone call was the end of the PSO line for me.

Funny, when I started I had this vision of myself being this cool, sexy chick who could convince strangers to get off on the phone, all from the comfort of home. I quickly figured out I couldn't share that part of myself with strangers, and faking it was affecting my own confidence and ability to get turned on.

I guess some of us just weren't made to be phone sex pros.

What do I look like, a hooker!?

Reason #12319841029473287 not to date online. I think I just got asked if I'm a hooker by some internet random. Or maybe dominatrix? The thing is, this isn't even an adult-themed site (read: a site where people look for sex hookups). It's an actual conversation from a DATING and relationship focused site.

He's in green, and I'm in grey.

hello there how are you doing?

i'm good

you?

fantastic thanks for asking

are you gutsy at all?

what on earth does that mean?

ok be honest would you have the guts to make a guy do whatever you said if he paid you a lot and no one knew? :)

i'm not a hooker

good luck in your search

i would recommend not approaching every woman who interests you in this manner, by the way

no sex

i don't fucking care

i wasnt talking on those term

ok sorry then

My favorite pickup lines

Most women have heard a lame come-on at some point in their dating lives. It doesn't matter how a chick looks - some dude has tried to pick her up with some corny, "I lost my number, can I have yours?" routine.

Many, many (manymanymanymanymany) moons ago when I was in college, I was a regular at a local dive bar. My favorite bartender had just made me my favorite drink, and I settled in to listen to the not quite so favorite local band. To my surprise, a young man approached. He never introduced himself. He simply sat down next to me and asked a strange question.

Young Man (YM): I'm curious. Are you a chicken farmer?

Me: [stunned, blank stare]

YM: Well, are you?

Me: What on earth would make you think I'm a chicken farmer?

YM: 'Cause you're raising my cock.

Me: [beat] [hysterical laughter]

YM: [beams]

Me: I'd like to buy you a drink, sir. That was a damn good one!

I never got his number. And I certainly don't remember his name. Hell, at this point I'm not entirely sure he was a man, except lesbians probably wouldn't be claiming I raised their cocks. I just remember the line, and the fact that he was ballsy enough to pull it off. I bought him a drink, true to my word. And we spent the next couple hours chatting until we parted ways.

That line is one of my favorite memories from my singlehood. I loved it so much that I routinely get into best pickup line contests with my girlfriends. Here are some of my favorites:

• That shirt is very becoming on you. Of course, if I were on you, I'd be coming too.

• How do you like your eggs in the morning, scrambled or fertilized?

• That dress looks great on you. It'd look even better on my floor.

• Can I take a picture of you? I want to show Santa what I want for Christmas.

• You must be a parking ticket 'cause you've got fine written all over you.

• How much does a polar bear weigh? Enough to break the ice.

• Your dad must be a baker, 'cause you got some hot buns.

• Fuck me if I'm wrong, but isn't your name ___________?

• I'm glad I have my library card, 'cause I'd like to check you out.

• Don't you think most people who use pick-up lines are dipsticks? (Yes.) In that case, mind if I check your oil level?

• Excuse me, does this rag smell like chloroform to you?

Have you heard any lines that made you laugh? What about lines that actually worked? I wanna hear the best of the best. Maybe I'll even buy you a drink. Maybe.

The hilarity of online dating

Ever wonder why I'm a bitch? Read the little exchange below.


Random asshat trying to get his dick wet (RATTGHDW):
Hello! How is everything ?

Me:
I can't really speak for everyone else and everything in general, but most things for me are going decently.

RATTGHDW:
Great! I'm fine as well, thanks)))) I' m not sure, u are really woman, honestly, it' so f...ked up here! That's why, if want me, then text me over- *************** I'll wait for u cutie!

Me:
That's not the best foot to start off on with me, dude.

I know that you don't know if I'm a woman, but to be fair I don't know if you're a dude and I didn't start things off by accusing you of being something else.

Second, you've done absolutely NOTHING to pique my interest. "How's everything?" That's not the brilliant opening line that gets you my contact information.

RATTGHDW:
Yahahaha.... I have more than u can accept! And don't call me dude! " how is everything" - it normal here! If u so special, what u doing over, or u can not find somebody without chat?

___________________________________

I love it. I've been railed on before for my "don't make small talk" point of view before, but it's the damn truth.

If you're not going to say something interesting, don't bother. I don't want to talk about the weather for the 50 billionth time. I don't want to talk about [insert sports team name here]. I don't even want to talk about what I do for a living or what I'm doing here. I want to talk to someone who makes me think or who makes me laugh.

Want to know how to get in my pants? Be smart and/or witty and/or charming. Those traits are panty melters, fellas.

Sex 101: Where Babies Come From

Years ago, I had my tonsils taken out. At the time, I lived on a military base and was scheduled for surgery at the on-base Naval Hospital.

A friend came to stay with me in the event of complications. She drove and waited with me in the private room as I was getting ready (read: baring my ass in a cheap hospital gown and sexy non-skid hospital socks).

Soon after I was dressed, the nurse came and asked that I go pee in a cup to prove I wasn't pregnant before they could OK putting me under general anesthesia.

I naively remarked that my significant other had been gone for many, many months. I highly doubt I am the next Virgin Mary (a little too late for that). Whatever immaculate conception I might have would probably bring about the apocalypse.

He laughed. Why are you laughing, good sir? I asked. I probably left out the "good sir" bit though. I always like to imagine myself in the best possible, most mannerly light even though I probably swear more than Lisa Lampanelli and Andrew Dice Clay's imaginary love child.

Goddammit, motherfucker! I don't want to piss in a cup, asshole!

The nurse explained that he once was stationed on a ship. About five months into his deployment, one of the guys suddenly started passing out cigars and telling all his cronies that he was a daddy. His wife was officially four months along. Keep in mind the wife was on base the entire time husband was deployed overseas.

Say what?

So....you've been gone for five months. And now your wife is four months pregnant. Something's not adding up, dude.

It turns out the young, misguided soldier was under the impression that sperm doesn't die.

He thought he could jerk off into a plastic baggie and then MAIL THAT SHIT ACROSS THE PACIFIC OCEAN. Once it arrived safely, likely smelling like death and wet dog, the loving wife would of course somehow inject this loving gift into herself and conceive (I imagine a turkey baster works best for this kind of self-marination).

Poor abused turkey baster.

Holy COW are those strong swimmers, man. They must look like THIS dude:

Or we could go with the more likely option - your wife is a tiny bit smarter than you. She figured out you'd buy her story about sperm-in-a-bag impregnation and that she could shack up with someone else without worrying about whether she'd have to deal with that nasty if-I-get-pregnant-I'm-screwed scenario.

Of course, the nurse informed the confused young man that his chosen method of procreation doesn't really work, and that there was a strong likelihood he was not the father based on the dates of conception and deployment.

And that, my friends, is where babies come from. It's the new Dick in a Box: Sperm in a Bag!

Step 1: Open a plastic bag

Step 2: Put your jizz in that bag

Step 3: Make her open that bag

Step 4 (optional): Also, include a turkey baster.

A rant on traditional relationships

What's wrong with dating these days? Everyone wants to be loved, right?

I guess my curse is wanting something different. If you really look at dating and romance, it's become pretty damn formulaic, has it not? Check it out:

1. Meet, sparks fly.
2. Date, become exclusive.
3. Fall in love as you get to know one another.
4. If you really want to be corny, insert some boy loses girl or girl loses boy drama just for fun.
5. Reconcile in a super cheesy can't-live-without-you love fest.
6. Get engaged and/or move in together.
7. Get married and/or have kids.
8. Spend the rest of your lives being blissfully happy and/or annoying the living shit out of each other. Sometimes both AT THE SAME TIME.

I'm tired of being told what's normal, especially by mass media. I completely disagree with the fact that being a single chick in her late twenties is something to be embarrassed by.

The thing is, this need for a fairy-tale romance is deeply ingrained in our society. Running alongside the mainstream culture's search for "the one" is a counter-culture of guys and gals basically trying to see who can have the most sex.

I'm caught somewhere in the middle. I've done the serious relationship thing and at this point in my life, it's NOT for me. But I'm also not trying to be grand high queen of the sluts. Who wants a gift they can't give back? Interpret that how you will.

So now it's back to basics. I'm just doing what makes me happy and going out with men when I have the time/inclination. If they can't hack it, they get thrown back in the pit to fight it out.