The Rock in Your Shoe (Anders)

J I'm sorry, I can't be who you want or need me to be. I appreciate that you love me, but for your sake and mine, don't. I treasure your friendship, and my friendship is all I can give in return right now.

 

A I don't want anything but your respect, I didn't even want to tell you about my feelings, not like I had to say anything, I  tried to hide them from you so that you didn't get embarrassed by me, I don't want you to be anything other than the perfectly imperfect person that you are, now...I can't take those feelings back exactly that I've shared them, so I've ruined a great friendship, and this makes me cry, but...At least I can feel, for me, it's a step and I'm happy to know I still can feel that way about people, thought that had gone out of me. You jumped too far, in thinking I asked anything of you, I'm sorry you did. Ultimately, I remember all the conversations about us having no future together, I respect that, it's OK, I kinda messed up falling for you, knowing I probably shouldn't, can't and wouldn't take it all back, you are pretty amazing in so many ways. Sorry for ruining our friendship, truly my fault.

 

All of that is sincere as I can possibly be, please don't think I'm being patronizing or anything, I'm being honest, ultimately honest, to my detriment. Take care, Pidge.

 

J You didn't ruin a friendship. Just give me some time. I didn't mean to lead you on, and I'm sorry that I did. We could never work, and not because I don't respect you or that you're not good enough, but the opposite. You've got on rose-colored glasses with me, and I can't live up to it. Be safe, be happy, I care about you immensely. 

 

A I know you're a mess, always have been, everyone is, I can't fix it either, I wouldn't want to, I just enjoy the show, but...all the logistics aside, it was never about it working out, it was about what could be shared, either way, I respect you, I need some space and such now to rewind some stuff.

 

Catch ya on the flip side. 

Brunette Bouffant (Kipling)

There was an after work reception in your building last night. This morning, left as a "gift" or an afterthought, the remnants of the veggie tray are tucked in the fridge. Through the plastic clamshell tray lid are the dried-out pieces of too-large-to-eat-in-one-bite broccoli, the perfectly-round-never-to-be-ripe mini-tomatoes sure to squirt down your blouse, the tasteless nubs of fluorescent carrot and the stringy stick-in-your-teeth-anemic celery. It's all arranged, artlessly, around a pot of white glop. Is it ranch? Blue cheese? It is highly caloric. The whole tray is nearly untouched. 

You'd had a conversation prior to the reception. Food would be served. What would it be? Sarah guessed shrimp. Served on the same clamshell tray the pinky prawns, harvested by slave labor in Thailand, would be cooked to rubbery blandness. You'd guessed cheese cubes - perfectly uniform 1/2 inch squares in various warm shades arranged in a pile, the orange ones revealing a flavor profile no different from the light white ones and the light yellow ones. Is it mozzarella? Is it cheddar? Is it food? It is simply cheese-ish. Perhaps there would be some meat slices - pink meat, white meat, brown meat - rolled and tucked between the cubes. A bowl of guacamole, over-pureed, under-seasoned, the color - the off-green of an old refrigerator, would tempt a few dippers. 

There would be white wine of unknown origin and varietal, perhaps a pinot grigio, a sauvignon blanc, served in brittle clear plastic tumblers. There would be "cookies" - dried out disks of white flour, white sugar scented with palm oil. For dessert. 

You found yourself wondering - does anybody like this? Do they find it delicious? Are they happy to see these plastic trays and plates of cookies? To you, it is a joyless spread. There are so many better options. Aren't there? So why are you still here?   

It's been better for some, you know, but relationships your late-30s have been like that reception, that veggie platter, that shrimp. During the relationship, the food resembles food; technically you can eat it, though it provides little nourishment, sustenance or satisfaction. You eat it but you don't crave it, you don't savor it. You try a different bite of something, maybe this will taste like something, maybe you'll have just enough of that pinot grigio to think something on this table is delicious. But it's not. And when it ends what remains is just unappetizing, inedible leftovers: in 9 months you've accumulated nothing but an old t-shirt, a couple of unflattering Instagrams and more bagels in your freezer than any single girl should consider eating in a lifetime. And the emotional leftovers: more mistrust, worry, insecurity to add to your already substantial piles. You feel proud of yourself for never getting drunk enough to say "I love you." You feel relief that you saved the receipt from his purchased-too-early- birthday gift. You feel disgusted with your pride and relief. You know there is better but where is it? The fridge? A different building? A different town? 

A Landlocked State (Richard)

She is called Sunny. Her real name, matronly, monotonous Martha, was only used very briefly in her early life. Very briefly until one day, as she sat glowering and gloomy in her high chair, silently passing judgment on the creamed corn and mashed carrots being served to her on a thick rubbery spoon, her mother observed, not unkindly, “well, aren’t you just a cloudy day! We should call you Sunny.” And as those things so often go, they did.

As a child Sunny learned that it’s a lot of trouble to be gloomy. People were forever asking her what was wrong and trying to help her, solve her problems, cheer her up. She found them pandering, patronizing, annoying. She wanted to be left alone, to color, to read, to play with her dolls, and didn’t need some meddlesome adult suggesting that she go play with the other kids, or sing along, to pull her sleeping bag up to her chin and share her deepest giggly secrets like the girls did in the Young Adult books she bought through the Troll Book Order. Eventually she found it was easier to feign cheerfulness, to invest in a little smile and force a little laugh than it was to maneuver through awkward probing questions from concerned teachers, parents, strangers. Though she never lost the murky shadows that tainted her outlook as she got older she forced the darkness inside and on the outside she became, well, Sunny.

The Day of the Dead (Jason)

You love Halloween. Mostly you love the opportunity to design and execute an elaborate costume that will transform the wearer into a storybook character, a spirit animal, a beautiful (or grotesque) version of their self. And you love the parties – dressing up and mingling with friends and strangers – scrutinizing and appreciating the artistry, the creativity, the silliness. Deciphering the who and the why behind the parrot, the lumberjack, the “insert the timely celebrity,” the witch, the monster.

This year you are invited to Lena’s annual Halloween bash and as soon as you get the invitation you start plotting your costume. You have a beautiful silk party dress – crimson red with long tendrils of ruffles that drape from the hem. You order a light blue umbrella hat from Amazon and make the trek to the dollar store – yards of silver Christmas tree garland, Christmas balls, blue polka-dotted ribbon and a strand of tiny LCD lights, battery operated. You dig out your glue gun. You wrap and glue and hang and tie and twist – you make yourself a jellyfish costume.

Halloween evening your sister comes over – hauling trunks and laundry baskets of costume fixin’s. She frosts s’mores cupcakes with coconut rum buttercream while you curl your hair. Cody comes over and you devise a dapper monkey costume – your black and white pajama set, an embroidered vest, a vintage cap, a tattoo moustache – and of course, a long fur tail with a dramatic curl. Layla arrives and your sister assists her with false eyelashes and pigtails; you steam the wrinkles out of an orange satin cowgirl shirt and dig out the best Western belt you can find. She tucks her jeans into her boots. Cody hands out candy to the trick-or-treaters while you assemble various fur pieces and feather masks for not one, but two fox costumes. You apply long glitter lashes, powder your face a light sparkly blue and wrap a necklace made of clear glass bubbles around your neck. Layla asks if you have an extra toothbrush: “My goal is to make out with someone tonight.” You feel slightly melancholy as you grab her one from the hall closet – so many extra toothbrushes just waiting for an unexpected overnight guest. You aren’t going to set a kissing goal tonight – in a sea of sexy nurse costumes, sexy Girl Scouts, sexy zombies, your decidedly unsexy jellyfish costume is unlikely to encourage suitors.

Vision Quest (Patrick)

J - I'm sorry, I can't be who you want or need me to be. I appreciate that you love me, but for your sake and mine, don't. I treasure your friendship, and my friendship is all I can give in return right now.

P - I don't want anything but your respect, I didn't even want to tell you about my feelings, not like I had to say anything, I  tried to hide them from you so that you didn't get embarrassed by me, I don't want you to be anything other than the perfectly imperfect person that you are, now...I can't take those feelings back exactly that I've shared them, so I've ruined a great friendship, and this makes me cry, but...At least I can feel, for me, it's a step and I'm happy to know I still can feel that way about people, thought that had gone out of me. You jumped too far, in thinking I asked anything of you, I'm sorry you did. Ultimately, I remember all the conversations about us having no future together, I respect that, it's OK, I kinda messed up falling for you, knowing I probably shouldn't, can't and wouldn't take it all back, you are pretty amazing in so many ways. Sorry for ruining our friendship, truly my fault.

All of that is sincere as I can possibly be, please don't think I'm being patronizing or anything, I'm being honest, ultimately honest, to my detriment. Take care, kid.

J - You didn't ruin a friendship. Just give me some time. I didn't mean to lead you on, and I'm sorry that I did.

P - Yeah, I need some space and such now to rewind. Catch ya on the flip side. 

Letters to the Editor, Memorial Day edition (Rocco, Akio)

12:30 pm

Fuck you and your blog. 

You're damaged and need to hurt other people to make yourself feel better. You know that the blog is an unhealthy public expression and cry for attention. This fact is obvious to everyone who reads it. 

2:11 pm

A I must say your blog, fucking hilarious. Thank you for that.

J Thanks! Have you read the WHOLE thing?! Sometimes it's sad, too.

A I jumped around a few links, randomly like flipping through a book. The number 7 was sad, but a few of the journal entries, esp the coffee guy calling for phone sex was humorous. very well written. Also the Rocco response was tragic but the honesty and way you captured your thoughts was beautiful.

J Thanks. Brutal soul sucking honesty is kind of my modus operandi. I like to tear my heart out before I tuck it back in.

A That is the best way isn't it. I mean life is dull unless we are putting ourselves in an  cyclical nature of hurt and regret. (this was said with no irony intended)

J I hate when people say they have no regrets. If you don't have regrets you're not taking enough chances, enough emotional risk. Regrets are enriching. I have many regrets.

A i'm going to take the quiz by the way.

J Yes! Take the quiz.

A I'm printing out all six pages now. Promise that you will post it and write some sharp and stinging criticism on it. along with some social commentary.

Steel Cut Oats (Caleb)

Hey! Joce,  
The only thing I worry about is I feel you are unhappy being "single." I sense you really want a nice, outgoing man in your life to have fun with and entertain with friends and family. I already applied for that position but kinda knew I would blow it a year ago. But, being single and older is not so bad. My own mom had a rebirth when she was 41 when she finally divorced my dirtbag stepdad and remarried a great guy.

Anyway, I hope this is not the freak you out email but your sharing with me your private life. My life did not even start until I was 27. When I was 17, I was accused and convicted of firing a gun into someones home in Arizona. They tried me as an adult, sent me to trial, and I was convicted. I spent 10 years in Arizona State Prison until I was released at 27.  My release was contigent I leave the state, so I came here. With no education, no money and a measly GED I received in prison, I enrolled into full time courses at the community college. I quicky finished my Associates and transferred to state college and finished my bachelor's. 

But now I have little experience in any kind of career and I am afraid to submit to a background check. I just finished the last of my parole last December in fact. I am a bad apple but I have been sort of ok lately. I basically do not have a job but somehow make good money wheeling and dealing. 

It could always get worse is how I feel. I know you are kind of depressed, I am sure you have heard it all before. You are spot on about yourself. But for some reason, silly as this sounds, I am proud of you for having a graduate degree and you are my sincere friend and I bet your family is too! You have so much time to meet the right guy, and experience with relationships so it will come together for you someday.  

I only fear you have high expectations for whatever man you choose to be with?  

I never would have told you about my past but oh well. Nothing to lose. Many women run away when I tell them. At least certain ones, not all of them.  

I don't have spell check so if there is a mispelled word let me off the hook, ok? 

Later,
Caleb

Goldfish in a bag (Joce)

From Joce's journal, June 8, 2005

I think they could make a sitcom out of my recent love life experiences. Todays episode would be the one in which a guy who I gave my phone number to, after a flirty conversation in a coffee shop, calls me in the morning while I'm still lying in bed. We have a friendly chat for about 10 minutes and I get my hopes up that he might actually ask me out for this evening, being Saturday and all. And then I get a funny vibe. He seems to be steering the conversation in a direction that is a little too familiar. He asks me how I would describe my sense of style and then wants to know what I'm wearing...he wants to see how "comfortable" I can be with him. I keep chatting because I want to give him the benefit of the doubt, he can't possibly be doing what I think he is doing. It's just too creepy. Keep in mind I've only met this guy once...and this is the first real conversation we've ever had. I change the subject...how many siblings does he have? One sister, named Christy. Where is he originally from? Chicago. Where did he go to college? Notre Dame. He says likes the sound of my voice, and he thinks I'm cute. Then he asks me how many guys I've had sex with. Uh, none of your business. I stall and skirt the issue. You're kidding, right? I finally hang up when he asks me if I masturbate.

Thanks, asshole. Call me on a Saturday morning and expect me to have phone sex with you. Do I look like the kind of girl that has phone sex with a stranger? Do you come here often? Does this strategy really work for you, did you think it would really work for you with me?

Do you ever feel embarrased even when you technically didn't do anything wrong? I do. Today, for instance, when some pervert that I mistook for a nice, cute guy wanted me to prostitute myself to him over the phone.  He probably would have gotten a lot further, maybe even real sex, if he pursued me in a slightly more traditional way, say, I don't know, taking me out to dinner on a Saturday night!

Fight or flight (Joce)

A couple of years ago, after a holiday visit to my parent’s house, I went to the airport to fly back to Arizona. As I was walking up to check in to my flight, I recognized the girl behind the counter as someone I went to high school with. Sasha and I had belonged to different cliques (she was a cheerleader, I was a neo-hippie intellectual), and therefore, obviously, we had never been friends. I said a quick prayer that she wouldn’t recognize me as I placed my suitcase on the scale.

“Joce? Hi! How are you?”

Unfortunately, God, once again, wasn’t about to interfere in my favor. I feigned surprise and responded with a similarly enthusiastic greeting.  

“And, where are you going today?”

“I live in Tucson now, just going home.”

“Great. And the name is?”

I’ll admit to being more than a little confused at this question. She had just called me by my name. “Oh, Joce, Joce Stevenson?”

As soon as the answer was out of my mouth, the look on her face changed. No longer was she chipper and smiley. Now, she tilted her head and gave an exaggerated frown, furrowed her brow.

“Really? Still a Stevenson, huh?”

It took me a minute to realize what she was saying, what she was offering up her condolences for: my name hadn’t changed. I wasn’t married. What a poor, pathetic loser. I glanced down at the dime store speck on her ring finger. “Yep, you win the popularity contest, again, Sasha,” I thought to myself.

She printed my boarding pass and slung my bag on to the conveyor, “Good to see you, Joce, and best of luck to you.”

“Yeah, thanks, Sasha.”

Talk is cheap but not as cheap as you (Francesco)

TUESDAY

J How are you this morning? 

F Ciao gorgeousness :) I'm good although sleepy. 

...

F Tomorrow. I must cook for you. Really. I have to cook you something nice. I want to see you really enjoying something I make. Dinner at 8? 

J Perfect. Can't wait!

F Me too bella

J Thanks, babe, I've been missin' you

F Me too fiore 

WEDNESDAY

F Hi, I thought a lot about our situation and I think that’s better if we don’t pursue a romantic relationship. I wish you the best of luck, and I’m sure you’ll find someone who will make you happy.

J What? Really?

F I met someone else to who I feel deep attraction and that made me think and place what I felt for you on another level. I’m sorry. I didn’t plan it, it just happened. Good luck, Joce. 

 

Lady in Waiting (Francesco)

“Cara mia.” It takes two days. Twenty-four hours. Two days of your heart in your throat, biting your lip, catching yourself smiling at nothing. Two days of happiness, the chew and swallow kind: edible, tasty, satisfying. Two days of imagining an imaginary future together. Your hand, his hand. His breath, your ear. Two days and then the doubt sets in. “Ciao splendida, I had a really great time with you last night. Hope your day started well.”

Can he see the wrinkles around your eyes? Does he find them charming or do they just make you look old? Does he like long hair, curly or straight, or does he prefer a girl with short hair? Blondes? Brunettes? Redheads? Does he like your dress? It’s a bright color. Maybe something neutral is better. Maybe he prefers a girl in jeans. Flats, no heels. Your lip gloss is sticky. Your perfume is cheap.

“Buongiorno bellina.” Your first date is supposed to be just coffee. But the coffee shop closes at 6. “Shall we go somewhere for a glass of wine?” Wine turns in to dinner. Dinner turns in to knees touching under the table. You move on to a third place, for an after dinner drink. A lovely Scotch, neat, your faces get closer. You kiss. You close the place down and now it is very late on a Monday night and you are kissing on a bench in the park. Is that a full moon? Neat. “Sogni d'oro belissima ;-)”

Does he like the way you kiss? Maybe you are too forceful, but maybe you are not forceful enough. You’ve had coffee and wine, can he taste it on your tongue? Maybe it turns him on, you are delicious. Does he wish he had a breath mint to offer? When he wraps his arms around you does he find you too thick around the middle? Maybe he likes a girl with big boobs. Or maybe he’s a leg man. He’s an ass man. Is yours too big? Or just right? You guffaw. Your laugh seems forced. You are smart. You always say the dumbest things.

“Ciao mia gorgeous.” Tomorrow he will cook you dinner. A bottle of Bordeaux. Risotto with wild mushrooms. A perfect tiramisu. He is practiced. You are impressed. He is a pro. You are flattered, then disappointed. You should stay over. This will be your toothbrush when you are here. Let’s spend Christmas in Belgium. Does he say that to all the girls? Seeds of doubt are sown.

You are too confident. You are too insecure. Do you work too much? Or does he think you are not ambitious enough? Do you want kids? Is your answer the wrong answer? You talk about your family too much. He admires a girl that is close to her family. Maybe he doesn’t like pets. Why do you keep talking about your dogs?

“Buongiorno splendida. Tanti baci for you.” Date three. He is in a hurry. Dinner. Drinks. Are you ready to get out of here? Less than an hour and you don’t have to pay for parking at the garage. One more drink at his place. You don’t stay over. He doesn’t ask. “Sleep tight.”

You are playing hard to get. Maybe not hard enough. He wants you to throw yourself at his feet. Or maybe leave him alone. Why are you calling? Why didn’t you call? He thinks you're funny. He thinks you are bitter and hard. He thinks you are cute. Beautiful and sweet. Graceful. Kind. Clunky. Loud. Pushy. Bitchy. Ugly.

His communiqués are less frequent. His flattery less overt. You ask him to come for dinner at your house. “Tomorrow I don’t know yet, bella. I think I have plans. But I will let you know.” He has plans. Friday. Saturday. Sunday.

You try again. You ask him point blank. “Of course, I want to see you bella, I am just very distracted and busy right now.” So you wait for the other shoe to drop. “Grazie cara mia.”

Will he text you today? Will you ever hear from him again? Will you respond? Is he seeing someone else? Does he wish he never met you? Is he glad you met? Will you be friends when it ends? Or will you scan the crowd and hope you never catch his eye? Will the end hurt like a white hot poker in your heart? Or will it all just fade away and weeks from now you won’t remember his last name or the shape of his fingers or the smell of his cologne?

“Ciao.”

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Pursuit of Happiness (Richard)

She is called Sunny. Her real name, matronly, monotonous Martha, was only used very briefly in her early life. Very briefly until one day, as she sat glowering and gloomy in her high chair, silently passing judgment on the creamed corn and mashed carrots being served to her on a thick rubbery spoon, her mother observed, not unkindly, “well, aren’t you just a cloudy day! We should call you Sunny.” And as those things so often go, they did.

As a child Sunny learned that it’s a lot of trouble to be gloomy. People were forever asking her what was wrong and trying to help her, solve her problems, cheer her up. She found them pandering, patronizing, annoying. She wished to be left alone, to color, to read, to play with her dolls, and didn’t need some meddlesome adult suggesting that she go play with the other kids, or sing along, to pull her sleeping bag up to her chin and share her deepest giggly secrets like the girls did in the Young Adult books she bought through the Troll Book Order.  Eventually she found it was easier to feign cheerfulness, to invest in a little smile and force a little laugh than it was to maneuver through awkward probing questions from concerned teachers, parents, strangers. Though she never lost the murky shadows that tainted her outlook as she got older she forced the darkness inside and on the outside she became, well, Sunny.

Middle Spring (Xander)

Oh, spring, bursting forth cheerfully with your tiny puckering buds, waves of fresh and tender green tendrils breaching the winter-hardened soil, your precocious pink and whisper white first flowers. Oh, spring, heaving with the humid light of a virgin birth, promising the exhalation of sweet scented breath, inviting, welcoming the growth and bloom of the months to come. Oh, spring with your naïve insistence, your youth choir of daffodils and tuplets of tulips. Oh, spring, there is a treachery, an insincerity in your perfection.

I’m always getting fooled by spring. It’s hard not to be hopeful at the freshness and warmth and the robin’s egg skies. The clouds are so full and downy, surely they must house piglet plump cherubim: the littlest and most brazen, a silken sashed archer. No?

Sea Salt (Unknown)

Mid-week work trip. Drive 5 hours, eat a burger and tots at the Shoshone Snack Bar and check in to an old Best Western with a “river view.” There is a great big TV but nothing on and nothing to read but a Holy Bible. “Good Lord,” you say out loud and sigh.

You wash your hands, your face. Eye cream, Vitamin C serum, overnight cream, hand cream. Tomorrow someone will tell you you look younger than your 35 years. Have you fooled them with your snake oil elixirs…or maybe it’s the big zit punctuating your chin.

You turn in early.  Ghosts of the motor inn age: squeaky screens, metal car doors slamming, wafting smoke from a Lucky Strike, interrupt your already compromised sleep. “Good Lord.” Sigh.

The next morning you attempt to fortify yourself at Buddy’s Drive Thru Java Stop. This is a mid-western vanilla mocha double-whip with chocolate chip town and your cappuccino is resolutely thin.

It’s a four-lane road, wide and pitted and dusty. Up ahead and to the left, a digital billboard flashes pixilated fireworks and a robotic American flag. Your name in lights, misspelled. Welcome!!! You pull in the parking lot and park. The air is humid with the smell of chilidogs and pizza. Someone somewhere is practicing duck calls. It is a flat, desperate sound.

Standing there, behind your plastic table with the plastic tablecloth underneath a striped tent you turn on your alternate personality: you smile at everyone, chat easily with strangers, coo at children, tilt your head and nod knowingly. You answer questions and make jokes.

Hours go by, you meet hundreds of people. You chew on ice cubes and feel your voice weakening, cracking from use. You find it exhausting.

About 3 p.m. the throng thins and quiets. For the first time you can just make out the Muzak through the tinny speaker overhead. Don Henley. Sting. You sit down. You check your phone. No messages. You look up and out into the multitude.

Jus sayin hey (Sam)

S Hey how have u been? Happy Holidays!

J I'm okay, you? Happy Holidays!

S I'm okay.

J Alrighty then! Glad we're both okay. Drink sometime?

S Yea i think im goin to portland for a few days mayb next week

J Okay? Have a nice trip.

J Dear Sam, I like you, I think you're a good guy, I find you interesting to talk to. However, you don't seem to feel the same way about me. You don't want to be my friend, have a drink, go to a movie, hang out, etc. I don't push it, I'm not desperate, why pursue someone who doesn't like me? So, I don't. But then, every 2 months or so you send me a text. Every time I'm really surprised: I never thought I'd hear from you again. But, I am friendly, so I respond, try and draw you out a little. In return you act like I'm chasing you around or something...dude, you texted ME. I get it, I'm the last person you want to anything to do with, I'm not awesome enough for you, or hot enough or cool enough, and we both know that's not going to change, so why keep contacting me? It's dumb and I don't get it.

S Jus sayin hey

Next Time Never (Doug)

It feels almost as bad when someone says "I'll call you," and you know they won't and you don't care, as it does when they don't say they'll call and you do care.

One week after our second date...

Doug Not ignore ing you just having some pressing issues.
Joce Don’t worry about me. Hope everything is okay!
Doug Everything is cool. I just have to take a trip and be there for a buddy. Done know for sure when I’ll be back.
Joce Well no matter what I wish you the best.
Doug I want to see you again. Its okay darlin. We get together again.
Joce I’m not worried. It is what it is. Have a nice time!
Doug You know I was thinking. Maybe we should go get saucy next time. You know. Have some wine and beer?
Doug Just go have fun.
Joce Beer and wine, both?! That sounds a little crazy ;)
Doug I was surprised you didn’t call. I have been really busy sorry.
Joce Honestly, I didn’t think I’d hear from you again. No worries! We’re both busy.
Doug Why did you think that I didn’t want to see you again?
Joce I don’t think either of us was feeling a spark. C’est la vie!

Two weeks later...

Doug Hope all is well. I’m having a blast!

Not Srry Enough (Collin)

He’s a musician and paints hauntingly beautiful luminous portraits but he also has a good job and a decent car. He can talk intelligently about movies and literature and art. He appreciates good food and knows what to order off the wine list. He wears cute jeans and trendy sneaks but never looks like he is trying to hard. He has dark wavy hair and soft grey blue eyes shaded by shy lashes. He is never cocky but carries himself with a quiet confidence. He is quick to laugh. You find him incredibly charming. 

A couple of days after your second date, this happens:

There's a hole in the bucket (Cody)

Todays episode would be the one in which a guy who I gave my phone number to, after a flirty conversation in a coffee shop, calls me in the morning while I'm still lying in bed. We have a friendly chat for about 10 minutes and I get my hopes up that he might actually ask me out for the evening, being Saturday and all. And then I get a funny vibe. He seems to be steering the conversation in a direction that is a little too familiar. He asks me how I would describe my sense of style and then wants to know what I'm wearing...he wants to see how "comfortable" I can be with him. I keep chatting because I want to give him the benefit of the doubt; he can't possibly be doing what I think he is doing. It's just too creepy. Keep in mind I've only met this guy once...and this is the first real conversation we've ever had. I change the subject...how many siblings does he have? One sister, named Christy. Where is he originally from? Chicago. Where did he go to college? Notre Dame. He says likes the sound of my voice, and he thinks I'm cute. 

Then he asks me how many guys I've had sex with. Uh, none of your business. I stall and skirt the issue. You're kidding, right? I finally hang up when he asks me how often I masturbate.

Also, slipping and falling (Kaleb)

J Are you working or do you just text people all day?

K Working ;)…lol

K Let me know if you need a pic of me in just shorts ;) …I have nothing to be embarrassed about ;)…lol

K Although I am very white…lol

J Yes, judging by the number of pictures of yourself that you’ve texted me, you seem to have no end of confidence in your appearance! I don’t need more pictures. I’m more interested in personality.

K I am still awesome trust me!!!!

K Lol I am awesome…lol very fun to be around, honest, a gentileman, trustworthy, and inteligent ;)

J I like how you spelled intelligent wrong LOL

K Lol I keep telling you my auto complete suxs…lol

K I think I need to reset my phone but then I might loose also my contacts…lol

J You mean lose?

(K texts picture taken in bathroom mirror)

K haha your favorite type of pic…do I look ok?...lol

Dear Kaleb,

When someone gives you their phone number on Monday and you make plans together for Friday AND they specifically say they “aren’t really into texting,” don’t text them incessantly, like 500 times, because they might really regret agreeing to go out with you. Also, you are 36 years old; do you really need to follow each text with lol? It’s tiresome. Also, I’m not laughing.

People can make their own judgment about your appearance and trust me, they will. Repeatedly telling someone that you’re a “good-looking guy,” doesn’t make you a good-looking guy. In my opinion, you’re pretty average looking.  Also, same goes for telling people you are “intelligent” and “awesome.”

Driving a mid-range sports car doesn’t automatically make you “sexy.” Also, quit talking about “picking me up in your sexy sports car,” as if it’s the highlight of my day. You dropping me back home after our date and knowing I never have to see you again was the highlight of my day.

The fact that you have high blood pressure and cannot eat "fatty meats" should probably be offered up on a “need to know basis” only. The fact that you’re running low on your anti-inflammatory medication is not of interest to me at this particular juncture.  This might be interesting to me if I was 75 and we were married; in fact, I am 35 and single.

I’m not sure I’d agree that you’re “adventurous and love to try new things,” you turned up your nose at just about everything on the menu and when your martini came you refused to drink it because it wasn’t “sweet.” Then, when the mojito you ordered came you proceeded to pull out every single mint leaf. Just drink your drink already. Because if you don’t, I just might.

Also, speak up. Mumbling is not attractive. If you’re date has to keep saying “sorry, what?” that means you should annunciate.

Also, when someone asks you questions, it’s polite to reciprocate. I know you’re entire life story and you don’t even know my last name or what I do for a living.

Also, it’s rude to tell someone, “I thought you were taller.”

Also, when someone practically breaks into a run when leaving your car, they probably don’t want to see or hear from you, ever again. There is no need to text, “we should hang out again!!! lol.”

All my best,

Joce

Quick Question (Charlie)

Hello late night Charlie,

I enjoyed meeting you, too and I'm certainly not opposed to going out again. Are you ever available before 10 p.m.? I kind of keep the opposite hours, up early, in bed by 11. My brain tends to be more agile in the daytime or early evening... 

Also, quick question...are you married? I did a google search to find your business website and there were a couple of articles that popped up and referenced "Charlie and wife Carrie Johnson." It said she's the COO of your company? Seemed like they were dated fairly recently...

Joce