Tag Archives: wtf

Another Tick In The Douchero Column

12 Nov

So after the stood up fiasco (and by the way…I never heard from that guy again), I got asked out the next night.

I have been communicating with this Douche (D3) for a couple of weeks.  I met him online, he is kinda sorta in the same profession as me, and he seemed to have a good head on his shoulders.  So when he asked me out last-minute, I said OK.  Free drink, possibly good company, so why not.  I figured the worst that could happen was I would be stood up again.

I got dressed in jeans and a sweater.  I put on make-up, which takes forever with one arm.  I wound up putting on way too much eyeliner, but I liked it, so I left it as is.  (Tangent-do you find you wear more make-up when you are trying to hide or when you feel more guarded?  Because I do.  I’m not quite sure why.)  I dug some heels out of the closet, and I was off to my second date in two days.

D3 and I arrived at the same time.  Bonus point for him.  He dressed nice, another point for D3.  But it wasn’t a great date.  Conversation was difficult and strained, I wasn’t comfortable.  There was NO WAY this was going to go anywhere, but I figured we may be able to make a friendship out of it.

D3 ate a burger, and I had a beer.  A BEER,  Not two beers, not Dom Perignon, ONE BEER.  3.75.  That’s it.

When I finished my drink, D3 asked me if I wanted another.  I declined, and said I needed to go home to take some pain meds.  Who knew the shoulder would come in handy?  Our bill arrived, he looked at it, and said:

Your part is 4 dollars.

Uuummmm…excuse me??

Did he not ask me out?  Did he not eat a huge, expensive dinner?  And he has the nerve to ask me to pay four fucking dollars?

I had no cash, so I pulled out my debit card, and told the waitress to put my drink on my bill.  When she came back, I said I needed to go and left.  He took my abruptness as pain, and texted me later saying he hoped I was feeling better.

OK-What the fuck??  I don’t know how many times I have had to pay for myself since I have been dating.  Many MANY times would be the most accurate answer.  It’s not like we are 18…far from it.  These guys run the gamut from 28 to 38.  Were they not taught basic dating rules?

The lack of chivalry has left me completely speechless.  I can’t even type the words to make this post sound more eloquent.  It’s just fucking ridiculous.

I have one more guy who wants to go out with me.  And I just can’t afford it!  I think I am going to have to tell this guy that since I am on such a strict budget, we have to go to McDonald’s.  Or I will have to say I just can’t afford to go out on a date right now.  Christ…I never thought this would be an issue.  How fucking embarrassing.

Love, Esme

#3

31 Oct

Yep, call number three just happened. I may have to call the police tonight…

Love, E

You Have GOT To be Kidding Me

31 Oct

So I’m in bed, at 1:06 this am, and my phone lights up.  I don’t recognize the number, so I send it to voice mail.  Guess who it is.  That’s right, Douche Dumpster.

He did wind up sending a text to me earlier today, apologizing for his actions.  I’m a bad drunk, my friend died, I understand you don’t want to talk to me anymore.

I never answered.  Damn right I’m not talking to him anymore.

So back to 1:06am.  Phone sings P!nk.  I ditch it.  Message left.

‘This is Staff Seargent Douche.  (which I believe is an enlisted position, but whatevs).  You should want to sleep with me.  So my friend dies, and I apologize, and you still won’t talk to me.  That makes you kind of a bitch.  How much do I have to apologize?  My friend DIED.  He’s dead.  And you won’t talk to me.’  Blah blah blah.

And wouldn’t you know it…while I typed that above paragraph, he called and left another message.  This one said that he will not be talking to me anymore, and he will talk to me later.  I’m guessing he is drunk…again…

Don’t get me wrong…it sucks his friend died.  But that does not give anyone a right to harass me.  His actions the last two nights are fucking ridiculous.

Guess who is going to the police department tomorrow morning.

Love, Esme

 

Definition of Douche Dumpster

30 Oct

n.-A man-boy who is unaware of how to act in any given situation.  A douche that needs a bigger container to contain all of his huge douchiness.  Example-This guy is the biggest douche dumpster for his actions last night.

See where this is going?

So I haven’t been on a date in a couple of weeks.  Had a few things on my plate.  However, I have maintained the internet dating profile on the off-chance I meet someone worth giving a shot.  This douche dumpster sounded good-in theory.  But he quickly slid down a steep slope.

Douche (I’m starting to feel like an episode of South Park) and I wrote back and forth for a few days before he asked me for my number.  I am always so hesitant to give out that information, but what the hell.  He seemed really nice.  Now keep in mind, this was only two days ago.

Last night around midnight, Douche started texting me.  I told him I am going to bed.  Here is what follows…text verbatim.

D: So how long are we going to be text buddies without talking?
E: Good question 🙂 tomorrow evening works well for me.
D: You have a timeline?  Is this the movie Swingers?
E: No timeline.  I’m going to bed, and I am busy most of the day tomorrow.
D: I meant talking on the phone.  Like tonight.  Weirdo.
E: Got it.  I’m going to bed, and I am busy tomorrow day.
D: (12:08am) There should be a team called excuses so you could wear their jersey.
D: (2:48am) I gotta tell you Alpha Douche is pretty pissed.  I might have gone to war but I was still in ROTC for my first year of college.  I’ve been an officer since 02.
D: (2:49am) 327th Battalion.  Airborne Ranger, and I’m a fucking officer.
D: (2:49am) You have something to hide.
D: (2:50am) Why would I think an M4 was an MP5? (He is referring to the picture I have where I am shooting the rifle).
D: (2:51am) An MP5 uses a handgun .45 acp.
D: (2:51am) You were firing .223.
3:33am-phone call.
3:57am-phone call, with a 1.5 minute message, where he accuses me of being a guy instead of a girl.
5:08am-phone call.
5:34am-phone call.

After the text messages, I turned my phone on silent, so I was not aware of the phone calls until I woke up this morning.  Stalker much?!?  I was going to ignore the texts, but I decided to send a response this morning.  For your reading pleasure…

E: 1. ‘Alpha Douche’ is a dick.  Glad I got to meet him.  2. I most definitely am not a guy.  3. I was firing an M4A1 with a 10 inch barrel instead of the standard 14.5.  Since you are an officer, I am sure you know what special force that gun is made for.  4. I was firing 5.56mm NATO rounds, not .223.  5. I could give a shit that you are an officer if you don’t act like one.  Lose my number.  If I get any further contact from you, I will consider it harassment and file a police report immediately.  Your move.

So far, no response.  If he knows what is good for him, he won’t.  I have every intention of following through with my threat.

But I would like to thank Douche for reaffirming why I love being single.  I am going to stick with awesome sex with Medic for the time being  😉

Much love, Esme

I feel like this applies to my dating life as well…

Who Knew The Pain Would Get Worse…

27 Feb

I’m on pain meds, so I apologize if this makes no sense,

Well, I wish I was here to tell you a new tale of debauchery.  I wish I was here to tell you about the hot-ass guy that told me he just had to see me tomorrow night.  I even wish I was here to tell you I am taking a break from the douchebaggeryness because I am just too damn fine to deal with all of this.  But alas, I am not.  I am here to tell you that my ovaries have raged an all-out war on me.  Yes, my lovely skanks, my ovaries held a meeting-only inviting each other.

And what did they decide? Read on.

I went to the ED on Wednesday night because I had some bad pain.  The ultrasound revealed that I had a cyst on my right ovary.  I was given some high doses of narcotics to take at home.  Done.

And I was alright for a day and a half.  I kept my lunch date with Jake.  We walked around town for a little bit.  I wasn’t feeling great, but I felt as to be expected.

That night I had a problem sleeping.  I chalked it up to the narcotics-they make me restless.  At 245 in the morning, The pain was excruciating.  I took two doses of my pain medicine and laid back down.

I was repeating this action the whole next day.  I dozed fitfully and only got up when it was time  to take more meds.  Around 500pm, it got worse.  How the hell can it get any worse?!? I was running a fever.  The pain was making me yell out loud.  I couldn’t stand, I couldn’t sit or lay down.  I couldn’t find a comfortable position.  I am not much of a crier, but DAMN.

So back to the hospital it was.  Another ultrasound was done, and where one cyst was two days prior, there were now MANY.

And guess who was amazing enough to keep me company at the hospital?  Jake.  He showed up with some books.  Sat with me from eight to midnight.  He was such a trooper.  And I know he HATES hospitals.  I told him to stay home, but he said I was worth it.  Aawww…why can’t a straight men talk like that?

So here I am, waiting for test results, and receiving a strong dose of pain medicine every two hours.  Right now the doctor’s guess is that I have polycystic ovarian syndrome.  Back when I was fifteen, the doctors all had assumed I had PCOS.  Now, I wait for the results to be sure.  SIGH.

A big fucking SIGH!

Love, Esme

Scratch That

25 Feb

So we can scratch that date.  Partly because I am still in more pain than I thought I would be in.  But also because I think I would have been stood up if I didn’t end it.

We messaged each other a lot yesterday.  Had really great conversations.  He chose the time and place for the date (because I am really working on letting a man be a man and plan all of that shit).  I told him yesterday evening, as I was signing off, to please confirm with me tomorrow.  I gave him my phone number, and told him he could either call, text, or IM.  It all goes to my phone.  He said absolutely, and he told me he was very excited to meet me.

As a side note, I require someone to confirm with me the day of the date.  Why, you ask?  I have been stood up three fucking times. Three times I have been sitting in a bar/restaurant and waiting for ducheros.  And that is just damn inexcusable in today’s age of technology.  So I no longer show up if I don’t have confirmation.  And amazingly enough…I have never gotten a text ‘yelling’ at me for standing some dude up.  So I am guessing I would have been stood up even more if I show up anyways.  ANYWAYS…

I didn’t hear from him all day.  I finally sent him a message (because he never gave up his digits) and let him know I am still in a great amount of pain, and can we reschedule?  I didn’t hear back from him.  I still haven’t heard back from him.  So what the fuck ever.

I am just tired of all the game playing.  I still have a few guys that want to meet/date me.  And I am not sure I want to keep doing this to myself.

And has anyone else noticed a direct correlation between the hotness of the guy to the douchebaggery quotient?  I have.  And it may require its own post…

Love, Esme

Right Back At Ya, Simmarah!

7 Jan

So that sassy dame, Simmarah, and I, decided to blog about the guys we have slept with.  Why?  Who the fuck knows…and cares.  All we know is it could be really interesting.  So here it is…the lucky guys on my list.  Oh, and apparently we rated!  Take that, fuckers.  Drumroll please!!!

1.  My ex-husband…the one who never gave me an orgasm. 0/10

2.  Ambulance Guy…Ahh, what memories.  Looking back, not all that great, but exactly what I needed to awaken the desires.  4/10

3.  Perfect…looking back, what a stupid fucking nickname for him.  But, at the time I thought he was fucking phenomenal.  Ummm…no.  Only good thing was he could go for hours. 5/10

4.  Mr. Hottie…to this DAY I still look back on Mr. Hottie and think he may be the best damn lay I have ever had.  Not because of mechanics or know-how, but because he was so damn into my body. And it just shined through.  10/10

5.  The Doctor…looking back, meh.  Just not much to say about it.  5/10

6.  Another firefighter not worth mentioning.  2/10

7.  New Guy…it was so vanilla, I almost forgot about it.  3/10

8.  Sexy…Awesome.  It was awesome.  Too bad his personality wasn’t.  9/10

9.  Irish-man…it was good, but I still maintain I think he is married.  Too bad…fucker.  7/10

10.  Nice Guy…so we finally did it, and it was well worth the wait.  Didn’t rate quite as high as one other, but damn it sure was close!  The man knows his way around a woman.  9.5/10

11.  Ex-BF…also excellent.  He was also a great fucking time.  Too bad he had to go and be a dick.  *sigh* Men and their drama.  9/10.

As a disclaimer…I wish my list were longer.  WHAT?!?! You heard me right.  I wish I was a bigger skank.  I was the good girl who didn’t sleep with anyone else until she met her husband.  I was even in a sorority in college!  I had every fucking opportunity!!  I wish I were a whore in college!!!!! But I was all for maintaining my good girl image.  Fuck that shit.  Once I was free to start seeing people again, I did.  With a vengeance.  And without much prejudice, apparently.  However, I am making up for lost time.  AND, I am still working on it, thankyouverymuch.

Anyone else want to join in on this?  Reminiscing can be such fun…I dare you…

Much love, Esme