I think it’s about time we open the time capsule that is the men I have dated.

I’ve always had a pension for the odd ducks, cocky assholes and outliers. I tried the nice guys but they never kept my interest and I am already a fickle bitch. My current version of dating is staking someones Instagram. First, I pick a guy and do a thorough stalker search of his social media. Next step is forming a made up future together. I go full on- oh he’s a musician we will tour the country while I am the ever doting tour wife making dinner for all the guys every night. That lasts maybe a couple days before it all falls apart. Slowly, I start to pick away and find all the ways it wouldn’t work. He just wants to keep me on this bus, not allowing me live my own life. Selfish Bastard! Oh yeah, my silent crazy is a doozy. Within two weeks I have broken up with him. This wild stallion can’t be broken. I enjoy this dating. All the excitement none of the annoyance and no one gets hurt in the process. No gentleman, you won’t know who you are. I make a point of not liking your posts, don’t want to seem desperate and needy. Before social media I had to actually date and let me tell you this is a big reason I live in my made up world.

Where to start? My first date was with an older gentleman that was a local radio DJ ( don’t tell my Dad or my daughters.) I should have never agreed to go but it was exciting for a barely teenager to be asked out by a “famous guy”. Well, the joke was on him. Me being practically child led on, what I am sure was one of the most horrible dates he has ever had. First, we went to get daiquiris. I wanted to seem mature so I ordered an Amaretto Sour Daiquiri because it sounded fancy and “International.” Daiquiri in hand he asked me where I wanted to go. All I could think of was a place I hung out with my friends. Ladies and Gentleman, I took my first date to the swings behind St. Pius Church. Not really hitting top bad girl status at this point. We swung, (nervous people swing way too hard in case you are wondering.) As I sucked down my very tasty and very sugar laden daiquiri, I swung as hard as my skinny little legs would let me. He tried to talk to me and I answered him in traveling “Huhs” and “Yeps” as I whizzed past his face. All of sudden, a battle was brewing between my head and stomach and neither was winning. Trying to convince myself it was from the high altitude, I was getting from my semi- expert swinging, I started to slowly head back to solid ground.
Finally at a standstill, he must have seen this as his chance. He leans in closer to me and before I can even react to what he was doing it all came back to me. The Daiquiri that is. I would like to say I mastered the art of throwing up in a swing and avoiding your shoes in one shot. Unfortunately, his shoes were not so lucky. Still pretty proud of that one- my first box was ticked off on learning to be bad girl. I still hold an immense talent for organized vomiting. Needless to say, this squashed his need to get to know me better. I was escorted quickly home and as he drove away I quietly climbed back through my window. I was smelly and slightly disappointed but still a little satisfied I had had my first date.

Just in case your reading this you weird perv. This whole night served you right. Any man who asks a girl that young out should have to go to the church swings and get vomit on your shoes.

Here starts the chronicles of the creeps, weirdos, selfish assholes and all around lunatics I have gone out with. Y’all have no idea what’s about to come your way. Hint: it involves penis puppets.