Tag: dating disasters

Meet the Parents

meet the parents

I attended a bachelorette party one weekend and met this really cute gentleman. He and his friends hailed us a cab at the end of the night and paid for it making sure we got back to the hotel safely. We exchanged numbers and began chatting over the next few months. We scheduled a few dates, but couldn’t quite get our schedules on the same page, so my friends thought it would be a good idea to ask him to be my date to the wedding of the previously mentioned bachelorette. Sure, why not? Can’t be that big of a deal, right?

We set up all the plans, and he appeared pretty excited that we were finally getting on the same page. He brought a gift for the bride and groom, which I thought was insanely thoughtful considering he really did not know the couple. And the gift? A very nice bottle of wine. Well done, date.

It was an afternoon wedding, so after the reception, everyone made plans to hit up a local bar and watch the football game. Get that? After the reception? This means most of us were pretty tipsy, if not totally obliterated. I was at that point of tipsy where my mouth and my brain stop making connections and I talk incessantly about ridiculous crap while being the most overly friendly person you’ve ever met. Yep. I’m that girl. When I get this way, everyone is my best friend, I’m in love with everything and everyone, and we are all going to ride off into the sunset on the most gorgeous sparkling unicorn. Yes, that’s the kind of tipsy I was on this particular night. Unicorn tipsy.

You see, the problem with being unicorn tipsy is that I really enjoy making everyone around me happy, so I readily and enthusiastically agreed to forgo the bar plans with my friends and accompany my date to another football party. WHY IN THE HELL DID I DECIDE THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA? OH WAIT, UNICORNS. VERY SPARKLY UNICORNS. So, he explained that someone would pick us up from the reception site downtown and drive us to the party. After about 20 minutes, he alerted me that our ride had arrived. I said my goodbyes, and followed him to the street. He motioned for me to jump into the front passenger seat, and as I said hello to the driver, I realized that this driver is a bit older than me…like father-ish older. My date then made the introduction, “Glitter, this is my dad…Dad, this is Glitter.” WHAT!? WAIT, WHAT? WHY IS YOUR DAD PICKING US UP? OMG. I’M UNICORN TIPSY AND I’M MEETING HIS PARENTS! THIS IS NOT GOING TO GO WELL, AT ALL! I just hope he had compare trade insurance in case I caused an accident because I was drunk.

We continued on to this “football party” and when we arrived at a very nice residence, I assumed there to be loads of other people inside conversing, drinking, eating, yelling at the refs, etc. What I was really and secretly hoping is that everyone else inside was unicorn tipsy too. No such luck. (You should know I don’t have any luck by now.) We walked into the home, and there were 5 people. FIVE. FIVE EFFING PEOPLE! His mother, brother, grandfather, another brother and sister-in-law.

Let me just pause here and say WHO TAKES A GIRL A DRUNK GIRL TO MEET THEIR PARENTS/FAMILY ON THE FIRST DATE POST-WEDDING RECEPTION? WHO DOES THIS!! At this point, I was totally screwed. There was no sobering up. Except, if I ate. I thought to myself, “Maybe I should indulge in some food and try to pull myself together.” The hosts brought out some hot wings, and I desperately dug in trying to soak up all the wine in my system. The hot wings were vanishing quickly with others jumping in as well, and his brother says, “Dude, I thought you said she wasn’t going to eat. This is crap. We didn’t order enough hot wings for this.” Um, okay. Hot wings are a no-go. Check. I spoke to his mother for a bit about dogs and dog care because, at this point, what else was I going to carry on a conversation about? Maybe I should’ve told her how awkward this was, or how I wouldn’t have gotten so tipsy had I realized I would be meeting his whole family, or how I was really just interested drinking beer and watching football?

After a reasonable and considerate amount of time, I politely asked him if he could return me to the reception site. He obliged and drove me back.

I never heard from him again. But seriously, what did he expect when he decided to take a unicorn tipsy drunk girl to meet his parents on the first date?? How in the world did he rationalize that as a brilliant idea? Even worse, I cannot even remember the details of any other conversations I had with his family that night. They probably remember this story as, “Hey, dude, remember that time you brought that drunk girl here?” I know that’s exactly what I would say to my brother.

Had I not been so tipsy, I would have fully and properly analyzed that request and kindly said, “No, thank you.” But, c’est la vie. You win some, you lose some. And sometimes you meet the parents.

Stay Glittery, Daters!

xoxo,

Candice

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Add to favorites
  • Email
  • Pinterest

Midnight Cami-oh!

midnight cami edit

This one will sound like a joke. Four ex-boyfriends walk into a bar…

My best friend and I went to see the very first Sex and The City movie together, and after getting dressed up to go to dinner and a movie, we thought we’d hit the bar for a drink.

We walked in, ordered our drinks and chose a patio table in the corner to talk girly things (you know, the Sex and the City fashion (Patricia Field, I love you), and of course, Mr. Big).

As we sat there talking, an ex from years past walked up and said hello. He sat. He chatted. This was not as awkward as I thought it would be… OMG I’M TOTALLY COOL, AWKWARD IS MY JAM. My emotions were running around slapping each other on the butt and chest- bumping like football players after a game-changing interception.

10 minutes later, another ex strolled up, sat and chatted. STILL COOL. 15 minutes later, another. BECOMING UNCOOL. NO, WHO AM I KIDDING? TOTALLY NOT COOL. This was beginning to feel like the “pick up” game. You know the one…I’m going to grandma’s and I’m bringing an apple. Ok, I’m going to grandma’s and I’m bringing an apple and a book. I’m going to gramdma’s, and I’m bringing an apple, a book, and…..

Another ex sits down to chat us up. ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!   AWKWARD IS SOOOO NOT MY JAM. THIS IS BEYOND WEIRD.

4 ex boyfriends. One me. One BFF. One table. Awkward doesn’t even begin to describe the panic in my head. My little thought processes were running circles around the synapses in my brain like little kids playing chase on a playground. They were screaming and hollering and crying and falling and getting all scraped up. THIS IS A CONSPIRACY!!! RIGHT? IT HAS TO BE A CONSPIRACY! Perhaps, or maybe just a well-timed joke courtesy of karma.

Thankfully, my wonderful BFF saved the day, and said we had another engagement to attend. We cashed out our tabs and left. No less than 10 minutes after leaving the bar, 3 of the 4 exes texted me. All different texts, all different innuendos.

Ex #1: “Hey, why did you leave? Well, it was good to see you.”

Ex #2: “Hey, come by my place after the bar closes?

Ex #3: “Where’d you go? I was really hoping to talk to you about some things. You free tomorrow?

Ex #2 (again): “No seriously, you’re still really hot. Can I see you naked later?

Ex #2 (again): “When can I see you again?

Um, no thanks guys. Appreciate ya.

So glad I got out of that one alive, sober, and unable to make any ridiculous mistakes.

To my BFF, thank you. Cheers to you for saving me on so many occasions! I seriously owe you.

Stay Glittery, Daters!

xoxo,

Candice

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Add to favorites
  • Email
  • Pinterest

It’s a Jungle Out There!

jungle

After my college graduation, I went to a house party with some friends who had also graduated that semester. We talked, danced, drank some beer, and celebrated our achievements. However, at some point in the evening, one of the guys found a turtle and placed it in an ice chest in hope of setting it free in the woods later. Me, being the animal lover that I am, decided to take the turtle out of the ice chest and just give him some love.

I picked up Mr. Turtle and held him like a hamburger about six inches away from my face. I spoke to him as if he were a small baby. (Ok, perhaps, I had a few beers.) I ooohhhed and ahhhed and told him how adorable I thought he was. Something like this:

“Oh, Mr. Turtle aren’t you just so cute? Yes, you are! Are these guys giving you a hard time tonight? I surely hope they’ve been treating you well! Did they give you something to eat? Are you hungry?”

Let me stop here and just explain that I am a complete animal lover. I am the girl who will pick up a dog off the side of the road, nurse it back to health, and then give it a good home, usually mine. I’ve also been known to find small animals of all kinds and keep them around for a while…you name it, ferrets, rabbits, dogs, fish, frogs, crawfish (although they usually died in a few days), hermit crabs, etc. If I could have a fawn as a pet, and make it get along with my dogs, I’d have one of those too. So, petting a turtle and giving him some good positive energy was not out of character for me. Nobody blinked an eye when I put the turtle up to my face, nor did anyone seem to think that a warning was necessary.

So, as soon as I end my loving coddling of this adorable turtle, and I do mean AS SOON AS, his head snapped quickly out of his shell and latched on to my nose like a rabid dog latches on to fresh meat thrown out by the butcher. So, there I was with a turtle attached to my nose as if it were some new fashionable piercing. I vaguely remember some spinning around, somewhat like a cartoon character. Hell, I probably looked like a cartoon character at this point.

Not only was this insane in my book, but it hurt. I tugged lightly at him to pull him off without trying to startle him even more, but he refused to let go. He just latched on tighter. Everyone was laughing, and at first, so was I. But this little reptile did not find the humor in the situation. He was exacting his revenge on his ice chest capture right upon the tip of my nose. I continued to struggle with him, and asked for help from the surrounding guys. Finally, Mr. Turtle was removed from my nose, and with him, he took a very large chunk of my skin. LOVELY, NOW I LOOK LIKE RUDOLPH THE BLEEDING RED NOSED REINDEER.

My boyfriend at the time was quite an outdoorsman/sportsman, so I called him to come pick me up from the party. He didn’t answer. I knew he’d get a kick out of this, but at this point I just wanted to go home. My nose was bleeding and throbbing, and this was obviously a sign from the universe that it was time for me to call it a night. Later, I spoke to my boyfriend and recited the entire fiasco. To say he “got a kick out of this little scenario” would have been the understatement of the year. He might have thought it the funniest thing he’d ever heard. In true embarrassing jungly fashion, he arrived to meet me the following day with a gift. HOW SWEET, I thought. PERHAPS HE’S BROUGHT ME A LITTLE FIRST AID KIT. No, this was far too easy a practical joke target than something actually practical. Instead, he had gone and purchased me the movie “Earnest Goes to Camp.” Remember that one? Yeah, Earnest. Goes. to. FREAKING.Camp. I must say, well, played, sir. Well played.

So, yeah, don’t go coddling turtles in your face. It took weeks for my skinless nose tip to heal, and trust me, there is no amount of makeup that can cover a scab that encompasses the entire lower half of your nose. You just live with it, laugh with it, and try not to take yourself too seriously when people oddly ask you what happened.

Be careful, beauties, it’s a jungle out there! Makeup can only take you so far.

Stay glittery, daters!

xoxo,

Candice

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Add to favorites
  • Email
  • Pinterest

A Cut Above: The Tale of the Razor and the Nipple

 

CUT ABOVE 2

You know what sucks? Slicing your nipple open with a razor blade in the shower at your boyfriend’s house. Yeah, that sucks. And that happened to me.

So, it was any other day, and I was staying at my Favorite Ex-Boyfriend’s house. We were getting ready to go out, so I hopped in the shower. We always got ready to music, so suffice it to say that I was, in fact, dancing in the shower. But, I seriously needed to shave my legs. I much prefer the shaving in the bathtub, especially now, but that day, I didn’t have as much time. I angled the shower head appropriately and put on the shaving cream. Shower head behind me and leg propped up on the back of the tub, I began to shave. After each swipe of the razor against my leg, I would turn my torso, and rinse the razor under the shower head. Well, guess who got careless and carried away? THIS GIRL. I swiped my leg once more and turned to the shower head, and that’s when it happened. SHARP STINGING PAIN RACED THROUGH MY RIGHT NIPPLE.  “Um, what the hell was that?” I thought to myself. I didn’t even have to look at my nipple because blood was steady falling down the side of the tub and into the drain. Dumbfounded, I kept thinking, “DID I CUT MYSELF THAT BADLY? I MEAN MY LEG LOOKS FINE!” Um, hello, Glitter, your leg isn’t the thing stinging like hell!! You’d think I would have made the connection by now. Nope. Too easy.

I see the blood cascading from my nipple and scream. Not like an “OOOOOhhhh!” but more like a “AAAAAHHHHHEEEEEKHAHAHAHAHA, [INSERT FAVORITE EX’S NAME HERE] I SLICED OPEN MY NIPPLE HELP!!!

From the other room, I hear, “You did what?”

“COME IN HERE! NOW!” I screamed.

He walked into the bathroom, and I turned off the whole shower and threw back the shower curtain. As I stood there naked and bleeding, I think he was confused. He wasn’t apathetic, but wasn’t quick to react to my dilemma either. He just kind of stood there staring at me. MEN. Typical. A naked woman is bleeding from places she shouldn’t be bleeding and he’s staring at the naked body.

So, I explained the situation and he immediately provided me with one of those men’s shaving cut white sticks. Let’s be honest, those things look like chalk in the shape of a tampon, but I digress. He explained to me how to use it, and then I tried. And OH. MY. GAAAWWWD. The stinging is far worse than I ever imagined. But it worked. It stopped bleeding. I was saved. For the moment. Well, relatively saved.

Like an idiot, I wore a nude bra and a white shirt that night out. Thinking the tampon chalk stick fixed it all, I put on a Band-Aid and went on my merry way. Two or three drinks in with friends, there was an awkward look on my favorite ex-boyfriend’s face. He quietly stepped next to me and angled his body to cover my right breast area. He grabbed my hand, clasped our fingers together, and whispered,

“Baby, you’re leaking.”

UM, EXCUSE YOU. I’M WHAT? NO I’M NOT. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU? RUDE.

Yeah, baby, your cut. It’s literally bleeding through your shirt. And that’s a white shirt.

OMG. HE HAS TO SPELL IT OUT FOR ME. BLOOD + WHITE SHIRT + BAR FULL OF PEOPLE = I’M ABOUT TO LOOK CRAZY.

Oh, God. We gotta get out of here.

Right about that time, his friend notices. Ever the smooth talker, I hear “Um, Glitter, is that some kind of costume or is your tit oozing blood?”

Classy, dude. Real classy. I wanted to respond, “Why, yes, so glad you’ve noticed. This is actually my fembot costume that I wear when I go out just to freak out people like you.” But I kept my mouth shut.

I turned and walked away. The bar was two blocks from his house, so I walked back there to change, clean up, and stain stick the hell out of my white shirt. When I returned to the bar, obviously in a different shirt, all the guys were laughing, and I had to explain, in detail, how this happened. There were questions like, “So, where was your right foot? And your left arm? And your boob?” Seriously??

Of course, it’s hilarious now, but that night, not so much. Who slices their nipple open shaving their legs??? I do, apparently. I went to the doctor just to make sure I hadn’t given myself any nerve damage, because that would just suck. The doctor explained to me that the tissue on that part of your body is the same type of tissue as your lips, so they have a tendency to rebuild quickly, but once broken or busted bleed insanely. Um, I got that part sir.

Moral of the story. Shaving in the bath is dangerous. Very very dangerous. Consider yourself warned.

Stay Glittery, Daters!

Xoxo,

Candice

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Add to favorites
  • Email
  • Pinterest

John, Jeans are good. Did I provoke this?

provoke

I went out with all my girlfriends one night. There were always about eight of us, and we lived next door to each other in two condominiums that shared adjoining walls. Our general plan was to go out, dance, and see what happened. On this particular night, three of the eight girls brought a guy home, and I ended up on the sofa-bed with John. My best friend slept peacefully on the adjoining couch.

It was just like any other night. Dancing, drinking, dancing, drinking, and the after party at my best friend’s house. Everyone eventually claimed a place to sleep. On the second story, there were bunk beds and a queen sized bed in the second bedroom. Downstairs showcased two couches, and one had a queen sized sofa bed, which we often used for crashers and Saturday/Sunday hangover sessions filled with Lifetime movies and Izzo’s fabulous steak bowls.

On this particular night, I found John, who was a nice enough guy. Tall, relatively handsome, and he did look pretty decent in a pair of jeans. Well, we all crashed, and in the PG sort of way. The next morning, you would’ve thought I’d negatively provoked him the night before. As we laid next to each other on the sofa bed, I heard him wake up and roll around. My back was toward him. I heard him shuffle around beneath the covers, occasionally bumping his legs into mine. I figured I’d just stay still and see if he would head for the door. OH NO!!! THE DOOR WOULD’VE BEEN FAR TOO EASY. He slowly lifted the covers, and breathed a sigh of relief. A SIGH OF RELIEF COME MORNING DOES NOT BODE WELL FOR ANY GIRL.

My best friend was lying on the adjacent couch, facing me. Our eyes were both open, just waiting for what would come next. And do you know, this guy had the audacity to say, OUT LOUD, “WHEW, THANK GOD, JEANS! JEANS ARE GOOD.” This guy is actually thankful he’s woken up in a girl’s apartment wearing jeans!!! My best friend’s eyes blew up into the size of soccer balls as the blood rushed to my face. She’s trying to stifle a laugh, and I’m trying to make myself as small as possible to disappear completely. SERIOUSLY, JEANS ARE GOOD? OH LOVELY. AS IF I DIDN’T FEEL REJECTED ENOUGH BY MEN IN GENERAL, THIS GUY HAS TO GO AND BE ALL THANKFUL FOR HIS DENIM?? I MEAN HE LOOKS GOOD IN JEANS, BUT THEY WEREN’T THE MOST AMAZING PAIR OF JEANS EVER. Ugh. Was I that repulsive to him? That unattractive? That unable to assist him in being manly?

To be rejected is one thing. To be rejected when neither of you even attempted to hook up was a completely different story. I mean, I was rejected before I even had the chance to consider this imaginary hook up “invitation.” So, basically, the imaginary me was rejected, the simple thought of me. LOVELY! I AM OFFICIALLY BRIDGET JONES, before she gets Hugh Grant or Colin Firth, of course.

As the other girls made their way downstairs and into the kitchen, we all became spritely, and John stuck around for a bit. WHY? DON’T YOU HAVE JEANS TO TEND TO? After awhile, he bailed, and THANK GOD!! I couldn’t face him much longer without telling him I heard his little jean prayer. I wish I would’ve been thinking on my feet, and asked him how sleeping in those jeans was? or if he had slept comfortably? Looking back, I still can’t come up with something witty and insulting at the same time.

From that day on, all eight of us called him by his new full name, “John Jeans Are Good.” I don’t know if he ever figured out why, but I’m sure he did.

Moral of the story, don’t ever get into bed with a man who still has his jeans on.

Stay Glittery, Daters!

xoxo,

Candice

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Add to favorites
  • Email
  • Pinterest

Steel Her Heart: Ummm…awkward…

steel her heart

I once had a date with this really nice I guy I met while studying at a coffee shop. We talked several times and eventually exchanged numbers. He asked if he could take me on a proper date, so of course, I accepted. He did everything right: picked a great restaurant, made reservations, was considerate of my schedule, and picked me up at my house.

He arrived at my house on time and with flowers. He opened the car door for me. He ordered great wine at the restaurant, and the date was going well. By the end of dinner, I thought, “HEY, I THINK I MIGHT WANT TO SEE HIM AGAIN.”

In gentlemanly fashion, he promptly drove me home after dinner, opened the door for me to get out, and began to walk me to the door. As I walked about halfway up the pathway to my door, amazing leftovers in-hand, he said, “Hey, hang on a second!” as he walked around an opened the trunk of his car.

At this point, my brain is racing. I am in full fight or flight response. HE’S GOING TO PULL A GUN OUT OF THE TRUNK AND KILL ME HERE. OR OH CRAP, THERE’S A SACRIFICIAL LAMB IN THE TRUNK. OR A DEAD BODY. OMG. Every possible, horrible, awful creepy thing ran through my head. My pulse was racing. My dogs were going absolutely crazy on the inside of my house while they peered out the window.

It seemed like ages for him to get whatever it was he was going to get out of this trunk. And then, there he was, in all his glory, trying to steal my heart. This man serenaded me with a guitar in the middle of my front yard while I held leftovers in my hand. WHO BRINGS A GUITAR TO THEIR FIRST DATE???? IN THEIR TRUNK??? WOW. He played a good two minute song I had never heard, and I think it’s safe to assume it was an original song. My neighbors were walking out of their houses to see what all the fuss was about. GREAT!!! (Oh, did I mention that three of my neighbors are ladies in their 60’s). Yeah, they were giggling too. LOVELY! Now, not only do I have to stand here and pretend to enjoy this, but I also have to be thankful I’m not dead. Cool.

I’m not the best at “faking” actual reactions. They always come across as sloppily covered up honest emotions. (kinda like that time I received a miniature shopping cart full of tea at a sorority girl-esque gift exchange? um, what am I going to do with a shopping cart fit for a cabbage patch kid? yeah, that’s the face I’m talking about.) I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, collapse in relief that my life wasn’t in danger, or just walk inside. So, I stayed. For all two minutes. And I said “THANK YOU.” It was all I could muster without completely bursting into laughter.

He replaced his guitar in his trunk, and closed it. He then walked me to my door and kissed me on the cheek. Sweet enough, right? Sure. Wasn’t my WORST first date, but wasn’t my BEST either.

Exactly three weeks later, on Valentine’s Day, I received a delivery. It was a dozen red roses and a small box. Hmmm…..I anticipated the flowers, but the box. This was curious. My little romantic mind thought it may be a gift card or a “ticket” to another date. But, no, it was the guitar pic from that night strung on a necklace full of 1990’s hookah shells, or pookah shells, whatever those things are. Yeah, a shell necklace with a commemorative guitar pic from the random serenade in my front yard. Now, looking back, it could have been romantic, but in the moment, this was horrible, and awkward, and just downright embarrassing. This was not, in any way close to, the John Cusack scene in Say Anything. The serenade, the horrible necklace. It was all too much. Too soon. Too intense. Just trying too hard it felt disingenuous.  But, as I stood in my front yard, neighbors watching, while a man serenaded me with a guitar he pulled from his trunk, I couldn’t help but be thankful that guitar wasn’t a gun or a machete. That was literally all I could think about. So, I guess this nail polish name is perfect. He didn’t steal my heart, but he did “steel my heart.” Do you think that’s what they meant when they said “be still my heart.” Are we sure it wasn’t “be steel my heart??”

Next time a man tries to pull something from his trunk on a first date, I’m just gonna run. And I don’t run. That moment is scary. Guys, please find another way to be cute.

Stay Glittery, Daters,

xoxo,

Candice

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Add to favorites
  • Email
  • Pinterest

Mink Muffs…Worst Date Ever

Mink Muffs

Let me begin this post by saying that it is not for the faint of heart. With that said, I hope you don’t have a weak stomach. And this isn’t suitable for children as there are some curse words in the following post.

I was set to go on a first date with a really cute guy, the kind of cute guy that you oogle over. He had a great athletic build and gorgeous blue eyes, and the straightest white teeth I’ve ever seen. Needless to say, I was so excited!! It was summer time in the South, and I knew we would be going to a higher end Mexican restaurant. Given the summertime South, I thought it would be appropriate to wear a cute little bright top with my white skinny jeans and some adorable little platform black heels. Looking cute? Check. Ready for this date? Check.

He picked me up in his super nice truck, and we were on our way. The margaritas were flowing, the food was great, and the conversation felt promising. Toward the end of the date, I started feeling a little gassy and nauseated. I thought it was just nerves, so I thought it would be okay to just let that gassy-ness go. It was certainly just a little silent one. Oh. MY. GOOOOODDDDDDDDDD. This was not anything I would have ever expected to happen to me.

It wasn’t a silent pass of gas, instead, it was a full on crap myself situation in white pants. Yes, you heard that right. I shat myself in white pants on FIRST a date at a Mexican restaurant. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?????? I HAVE THE WORST LUCK IN THE ENTIRE FREAKING WORLD. I’M NEVER DATING AGAIN.

I immediately excused myself to the bathroom. I thought that if I could haul ass to the ladies and clean myself up before it had time leave evidence on my white skinny jeans, I could escape this nearly unscathed. You should know by now that I don’t have that kind of luck. This is one of many reasons you should never take me gambling.

While in the bathroom, my brain was racing. Do I leave? How do I leave? I don’t have a ride, and this guy is way too nice to just stand up at the end of the meal. How in the hell am I going to get out of this with the least possible amount of humiliation?? I clean myself up as best as possible, which wasn’t much. My jeans were stained, I smelled like a manure factory, and I am about five minutes from having no semblance of dignity left. Fabulous! SERIOUSLY, Universe!!! In the whiniest internal voice possible, I scream in my head, “WWWWHHHHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY??????”

I did the only thing I could do without completely ruining this guy’s self esteem, and I slipped out the back door of the restaurant. I called him at the table and explained, “We need to go. I’m not feeling well, and I’m standing in the back of the restaurant? Can we just go? I’m so so sorry for the abruptness of this request.” It was as nice as I could make it given the insanely offensive smell he was about to encounter. Then, it hit me, OMG, I have to ride in his single cab truck, which has a small interior. This smell is going to permeate everything! Just lovely.  He takes care of the check, and drives his truck around to the back of the restaurant. I then have to explain what has happened to him. His face contorts in the worst of ways, his nose wrinkles, and he looks like he is about to gag. Yay me! Despite this, he is generous and offers to take me home, on one condition, that I hang my ass out of the truck’s back sliding glass window. Well, whatever, at this point my crapped on ass going down the streets of my city is not the worst part of this story. I’ll survive.

He drove me home with my ass hanging out of the back of the window, stained with crap. It was the most humiliating moment of my life. He never called for that second date, despite the wonderful time we had prior to me crapping myself. I couldn’t have muffed this date any worse than I did. So, the moral of the story here is don’t crap yourself on a date. It’s just bad.

Stay Glittery, Daters!

xoxo,

Candice

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Add to favorites
  • Email
  • Pinterest

Innocent Trade Winds

INNOCENT TRADEWINDS

So, I started dating a guy after the “Big Ex.” You know, the Ex that just takes forever to get over. That one. The new guy seemed great and we really hit it off. Talking into all hours of the night, enjoying the newness of what was upon us. About three months into the relationship, he lost his job. Fortunately, he had a friend whose parents worked for a welding company in Oklahoma. Keep in mind it’s BFE Oklahoma. So he got a job working in the office at this company in Oklahoma…middle of freaking nowhere! I knew some guys in that industry and they told me this was a “super cushy, low stress” job.  However, Mr. Horrible No Good Very Bad Day Every Day made it seem like the toughest, most stressful job on the face of the Earth. We talked everyday and I was completely in love (or so I thought.) The distance makes you fonder right? Ha! So, I packed up my car, readied my playlist, and took a road trip to go visit for a week. I had a fantasy of it being all romantic and surprising, and I thought it would be a good way to keep him company and make his days better. You know, they were so awful in that “cushy” office job of his. Being a woman now, I had something sexy planned. This was going to go off without a hitch. He was going to love it. He was going to be so full of intense lust and love for me that he wouldn’t be able to see straight? Right? Well, that is how it played out in my head.

Just like any other day of his, this was a Horrible No Good Very Bad Day, but I had a plan. A sexy plan. I was going to cook supper for the two of us wearing nothing but an apron and heels, so when he came home he would see me as the sexy potential awesomeness that I certainly was.  Of course, he didn’t see anything. He walked in, looked at me, obviously recognized I was naked cooking, said hello, walked past me into the bedroom. Um, what? I’m NAKED HERE!!!! And I’M COOKING YOU DINNER. Oh, and by the way, I drove very far to be here to be naked in your kitchen preparing a lovely meal. What is happening? Surely he’s just gotta pee. Right, he’s gotta pee, and I’ll just wait here at the stove and continue to be sexy. Yeah, I’m good. Don’t over react. Yep. We’re fine.

He changed into comfortable clothes, came back. Yes, this it! This is the sexy time where he grabs me by the waist and kisses me gently like in the movies. And then, well you know….

“Um, Glitter, this is the universe, and I’m telling you to brace yourself.” WHAT! Brace myself? For what? Awesomeness?

He went straight to his Xbox. OMG. Seriously? A video game? There’s a NAKED WOMAN COOKING FOR YOU IN YOUR KITCHEN!!!!! Every possible emotion flashes through my body, pulsing down into my toes, well, my heels, since my freaking toes are cramped into these uncomfortable things so tightly. I’m angry, I’m sad, I’m utterly mortified. I’m self conscious. OMG. I am competing with an Xbox. I’m naked. It’s a video game. Lovely. This is SO NOT LIKE THE MOVIES.

So, what’s a girl to do? Put on clothes. Pack your bags. And walk out the door. So, that’s what I did. While this might not be the most embarrassing dating story you’ve ever heard, it’s by far the most humiliating. Putting yourself out there, and getting rejected in the worst way just takes a piece of your innocence away. A piece that you’ll never get back. A piece that, inevitably, you’re hesitant to give to another. But, keep trying. The right guy is going to love this.

 

Moral of the Story: The next time you cook naked, make sure it’s with a guy who likes you to be naked.

Stay Glittery, Daters!

xoxo,

Candice

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Add to favorites
  • Email
  • Pinterest

Butler Please! Go Overboard! Man Drowns in Girlfriend’s Snot

butler please go overboard

It was just a random night out with my boyfriend and his friends, or so I thought. I had no idea the night would end with my snot all over my boyfriend’s face.

My boyfriend and his friends picked me up to take me to the party. The party was fine, nothing special about this one. It was just like any other Saturday night, except I was just getting over a cold.

On the ride home, my boyfriend and I sat in the back seat of the car, with his friends in the driver and passenger seats, respectively. About ten minutes from my house, we started making out, you know, just to get in some good tonsil hockey before we pulled into my driveway. During this makeout session, his friend seated in the passenger seat said something ridiculously funny which caused me to express the laugh through my nose, seeing as how my mouth and tongue were currently in use. As this force of air expelled through my nasal passages, my cold of yesterday roared its ugly head and snot spurted from my nose onto his face, mouth, and lips like a fire hose being turned on at full force. He was basically drinking my snot at this point. MAN OVERBOARD, MAN OVERBOARD!! He’s going to drown!!

So, I sit in the backseat forced with the question “WHAT DO I DO NOW?” Butler, please?? Can I get a tiny freaking Butler the size of the Snap, Crackle, Pop characters to come magically clean this up?? I mean, I am in a car, there is no escape. The friends have full knowledge this is happening and they are laughing so hard they are crying. Thank God it was dark because I would rather not have seen the disgust and shock on my boyfriend’s face. So, I did the only thing I could think of, and I used my sleeve to wipe his face and mine. Guess I’ll have to be my own butler. Duly noted, universe. Obviously, there was no making out after that abysmal performance.

I was never so happy to pull into my driveway and exit a car. I’m not even sure I said goodbye. I think I just got out and walked inside. Fortunately, he was pretty cool about it. I don’t remember hearing about it from him or his friends, but I’m certain they all had a pretty good laugh about it on multiple occasions.

Moral of the Story: Do not makeout when you are sick, even if you think you are well. You’re obviously not.

Stay Glittery, Daters!

xoxo

Candice

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Add to favorites
  • Email
  • Pinterest

Enough is Enough, Mademoiselle

photo(6)

I once went on a triple date. Three girls. Three guys. Dinner. Dancing. After party. Seems simple enough, right? Well, it was until that moment where I had a little conversation with myself that went something like “Enough is Enough, Mademoiselle!” and left the after party.

After the dinner and the dancing, we went back to one of the guys’ apartments. To this day, I do not remember any of the guys or the other girls on the date. They were all nice enough, and were all pretty cool people. I must have blocked it out of my memory altogether, because the only thing that has ever stuck with me is what caused me to hide out near a dumpster at the end of the night.

At the after party, we had a few drinks and some h’ors d’oeuvres just sitting around chatting like normal post-party 20-somethings do. The apartment was really nice, and showcased a lovely white sectional. All the ladies were seated on the white sectional while the guys prepared everything in the kitchen. The chatter was lively, the music was upbeat, and everyone was having a great time.

I was wearing an adorable sleeveless lace top with a spring floral print skirt. I had been sitting on the white couch chatting with the ladies with my knees sweetly tucked under my bum sipping wine. I got the urge to make a dash to the ladies room. Nothing overly dramatic, but the wine was flowing. I stood, and turned to look at the girls to see if I could get them anything on my return from the loo. Their faces were faces of shock, confusion, pity. Their eyes gazed upon the white couch. My sight line slowly made its way to the couch.

OMG! This is NOT happening. Where’s the escape hatch? The rip cord? The trap door? My invisibility cloak? My ability to time travel? Clearly, my super powers were not working today, and nothing was going to save me now.

I had started my period on this guy’s white couch. Who buys a WHITE couch in their twenties?! I became angry at this guy for having a white couch to begin with, but I think my brain was just trying to process the inevitable. It wasn’t just a little bit  that could’ve been easily cleaned or covered, it was everywhere. My cute spring floral print skirt looked like a murder had taken place on it. What does a girl actually do in this situation? I couldn’t very well ask for some cleaner and attempt to remove blood from a white couch while 5 people watched in horror. That would have taken the embarrassment to downright masochism.

So, I did what any self respecting person would do, and I picked up my purse and walked out the back door. I did not say a thing. I did not say goodbye. To my great fortune, nobody chased after me. I feared that might happen, but I was now presented with a whole new issue, where the eff was I supposed to go and how was I to get there? I didn’t have my car, and I had been having cocktails. I remembered that my best friend was having a “night in” that night at my apartment hanging out with my dog, so I called her to come get me. The conversation went something like this:

BFF: Hey, why are you calling me? I thought you were on a date?

Glitter: Oh, I was. Now, I’m not. I NEED you to come get me.

BFF: Why? What happened? Are you okay?

Glitter: Um, I started my period on his white couch.

BFF: ((uncontrollable laughter)) ok. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Wait, where are you?

Glitter: I’m at the XYZ Apartments hiding by the dumpster, and it stinks.

BFF: Oh, honey. I’m getting in my car now. I’ll call you when I pull in.

Glitter: Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

BFF: Hang on, so you just walked out?

Glitter: Yeah, what was I supposed to do? Scrub it with carpet cleaner only to watch it bleed all over the rest of the white couch? No pun intended.

BFF: ((More laughter)) I don’t think this guy will be calling you again.

Glitter: Yeah, I figured that. Please hurry.

Needless to say, I never heard from the guy again; not that I expected to. Thank goodness I didn’t personally know any of the girls. Having to relive that moment every time I saw one of them would’ve been too much. I felt bad about leaving his couch in such terrible shape. I would’ve called back an offered to have it cleaned, but I just could not bring myself to do so. I chickened out every time I picked up the phone. I now wish I would have at least done that because it would have been the right thing to do. But, for me enough was enough, mademoiselle.

Stay Glittery, Daters!

xoxo,

Candice

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Add to favorites
  • Email
  • Pinterest