<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052</id><updated>2012-02-16T05:05:01.276-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Things Men Say</title><subtitle type='html'>Men can be so creative in their words. I really need a translator.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>65</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-2596686484183093202</id><published>2009-07-09T07:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-09T08:51:10.055-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wanna give it a try?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SlYDqJD5prI/AAAAAAAAAg8/5YwWkn6ws-Y/s1600-h/eharm+discount.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SlYDqJD5prI/AAAAAAAAAg8/5YwWkn6ws-Y/s320/eharm+discount.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356472829325452978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just learned (from &lt;a href="http://lwfm.blogspot.com/"&gt;True Heart Girl&lt;/a&gt;) that eHarm is having a special promotion. $9.95 a month for 3 months (I googled it and here's the &lt;a href="http://www.pinoy.ca/eharmony/470"&gt;link&lt;/a&gt; to the codes). That's a fantastic offer. If you've thought about joining, that's an amazing price.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sadly it's only available to new members.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it is interesting that as soon as she tweeted me about it I immediately rushed to see if I could do it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess that means I haven't given up all hope yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;UPDATE: True Heart Girl has helped me again. She found the right code that will work for previous members. I'm going to ponder this for a day or two and then maybe sign up again. Thank you THG!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-2596686484183093202?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/2596686484183093202/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=2596686484183093202&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/2596686484183093202'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/2596686484183093202'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2009/07/wanna-give-it-try.html' title='Wanna give it a try?'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SlYDqJD5prI/AAAAAAAAAg8/5YwWkn6ws-Y/s72-c/eharm+discount.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-42090574498230620</id><published>2009-07-08T11:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-08T11:16:29.432-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Calling it quits</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SlTibMrv3HI/AAAAAAAAAg0/IBT7yavkirg/s1600-h/Alone.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SlTibMrv3HI/AAAAAAAAAg0/IBT7yavkirg/s320/Alone.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356154813739424882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple weeks ago I canceled my eHarm subscription. I was no longer having even potentially meaningful interactions with men and decided it was time for a break. I haven't sworn it off completely, but I'm weary about the whole thing and don't have the sparkle about it that I once had.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's how I felt 2 weeks ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I went to my cousin's wedding in Long Beach and heard the sweet story about how he met his new wife on eHarmony. And she was just about to cancel her subscription when my cousin "nudged" her. They met, hit it off, sparks flew, and the rest is history.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as they walked back up the aisle, I was ready to rejoin. I don't want to be alone. I really do want someone to share my life with. And I always thought of eHarm as the last effort. Like when all else fails, go to them and they will find your man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I haven't rejoined yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My life feels like it's in upheaval. And I know that's not a good time for me to try to be interesting, pretty, fun, entertaining and seductive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe in another month or two I'll start up again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not ready to give up. But can God please hurry up and send me the man of my dreams? I'm not getting any younger here.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-42090574498230620?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/42090574498230620/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=42090574498230620&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/42090574498230620'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/42090574498230620'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2009/07/calling-it-quits.html' title='Calling it quits'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SlTibMrv3HI/AAAAAAAAAg0/IBT7yavkirg/s72-c/Alone.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-7561651928419766506</id><published>2009-06-09T07:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-09T08:55:45.259-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm not really Creative with a C, but I'm definitely Kreativ with a K</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/Si50CXRjzJI/AAAAAAAAAgk/utV0FK20-Bw/s1600-h/Kreativbloggeraward.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 139px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/Si50CXRjzJI/AAAAAAAAAgk/utV0FK20-Bw/s400/Kreativbloggeraward.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345337391691582610" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was sitting here at work, avoiding doing anything truly productive, and I of course jumped on reader to see what my favorite blogs had for me.  Much to my surprise and delight, Kimberly over at &lt;a href="http://bloggerfriendly.blogspot.com/"&gt;Got Blog?&lt;/a&gt; had something special for me. Thank you so much Kimberly!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are the RULES of this Award:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(1) Thank the person who nominated you for this award.&lt;br /&gt;(2) Copy the logo and place it on your blog.&lt;br /&gt;(3) Link to the person who nominated you for this award.&lt;br /&gt;(4) Name 7 things about yourself that people might find interesting.&lt;br /&gt;(5) Nominate 7 Kreativ Bloggers.&lt;br /&gt;(6) Post links to the 7 blogs you nominate.&lt;br /&gt;(7) Leave a comment on each of the blogs, letting them know they have been nominated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seven things you may or may not find interesting...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;I have a little birthmark in the shape of a foot on my left knee.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I look at my Blackberry approximately 80 bazillion times every hour because it's possible someone sent me a text or email and I didn't hear it chime. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I have naturally red hair and at least once a week someone asks me if it's real. Does that mean it looks fake?&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Although I grew up in the &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emerald_Triangle"&gt;Emerald Triangle&lt;/a&gt; I have never tried the local crop.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I always test positive for Tuberculosis. I blame Kevin the dirty kid in 1st grade.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I own all 6 season of the HBO show &lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0118421/"&gt;Oz&lt;/a&gt;. And have watched them all at least 3 times.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Every time I go to the freezer to get some ice, I ALWAYS drop at least 1 piece on the floor. Always. Every time.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are some of the bloggies I love:&lt;br /&gt;1. &lt;a href="http://rondamarie.wordpress.com/"&gt;Life Uncensored&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. &lt;a href="http://lwfm.blogspot.com/"&gt;Losing Weight, Finding Myself&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;3. &lt;a href="http://ambeegs.blogspot.com/"&gt;The Grundmans&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. &lt;a href="http://thirtyawakenings.blogspot.com/"&gt;Carolina Girl&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. &lt;a href="http://specialkindofstupid.com/category/blog/"&gt;Special Kind of Stupid&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. &lt;a href="http://nicalyse.blogspot.com/"&gt;Accidental Ambivalence&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. &lt;a href="http://herartichokeheart.blogspot.com"&gt;Her Artichoke Heart&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-7561651928419766506?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/7561651928419766506/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=7561651928419766506&amp;isPopup=true' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/7561651928419766506'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/7561651928419766506'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2009/06/im-not-really-creative-with-c-but-im.html' title='I&apos;m not really Creative with a C, but I&apos;m definitely Kreativ with a K'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/Si50CXRjzJI/AAAAAAAAAgk/utV0FK20-Bw/s72-c/Kreativbloggeraward.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-4767504093065995701</id><published>2009-05-27T10:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-27T11:27:04.555-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tips for using eHarmony</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/Sh10rpeefNI/AAAAAAAAAgE/zUYBXWyjlUY/s1600-h/eHarmony.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/Sh10rpeefNI/AAAAAAAAAgE/zUYBXWyjlUY/s400/eHarmony.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340553026348154066" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My good blog/twitter friend &lt;a href="http://rondamarie.wordpress.com/"&gt;Ronda&lt;/a&gt; just signed up for my beloved eHarm. I'm so excited for her and at the same time I feel I have so much wisdom to share. I started to write my tips down as a comment to her, and decided to finish them up here for all to enjoy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So without further ado, I give you my Incredibly Useful and Truthful Tips for Navigating the Waters of eHarmony. Or UITTNWE for short.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tip #1: Don't be afraid to close someone out for any reason. Just because you are matched doesn't mean he isn't weird. And let's be honest, we're all little weird, but some styles of weird aren't compatible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tip #2: If they don't have a picture, they are probably married...or cheap. Either way just close him. You can give him a couple days to put up a picture, but it rarely happens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tip #3: If they don't respond to communication they probably haven't paid for the service. That means you either wait for a free weekend and hope they communicate with every match they have or you just close them. Cheap bastards!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tip #4: Have multiple cute pictures of yourself (all your pictures are cute, duh!) doing different things. Show them how amazing you are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tip #5: Trust that they do look as dorky in person as they do in their pictures. Seriously. Trust me on this one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tip #6: Don't assume your matches are men. Sometimes eHarm gets funky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tip #7: If he has a picture with someone cropped out, it's probably not his Mom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tip #8: Don't wait for your matches to communicate with you. I'd say roughly 80% never respond (see Tip #3) and they can clog up your match list. Plus you are taking control of things here. You are in the driver's seat so steer your way to love (men love car metaphors!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tip #9: It's OK to close someone at later stages in communication. Remember, this is all about you. Don't worry about his feelings yet. Right now he's only words on a screen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tip #10: Carefully review his list of Must haves/Can't stands. If he lists "Unassuming: I must have someone who is able to accept criticism, and even admit to being wrong sometimes" that means he has to be right. Always. This also works for "Denial: I can't stand someone who is unable to accept blame or see fault in their own actions."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tip #11: Be sure to notice what he has listed for his occupation. If that box is blank, you might have a problem. If he can pay for eHarm, he should really have job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tip #12: Don't be discouraged when someone closes you. He just did you a favor. Forget it and move on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tip #13: Ice breakers. Don't bother. These are free so they are only used by people who haven't paid for this service and thus they can only communicate this way. Again, you will either have to wait for a free weekend to communicate with them or just ditch them right away. Your call.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tip #14: On every profile, they say they want honesty. (Isn't that a given?) That makes me think most men feel they have been lied to. Give him what he wants and be honest. With him and yourself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tip #15: Treat every match like the first match. After a while, it gets tedious to answer the same questions with the same answers. I can't tell you how many times I've been asked " What are you looking for in a relationship partner?" Sometimes I give a nice long explanation, other times I just want to write "um...stuff" just to be done with it. You can copy and paste your answers (if you remember who asked you) or just be honest and fully commit to that person for that 2 minutes to write something heartfelt. At least I hope he's doing that when he answers my questions. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tip #16: Once you decide to communicate with him outside of eHarm, go ahead and close him out (use the excuse "we're communicating outside of eHarm"). Trust me on this one. If things go sour, there's no awkward closing later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tip #17: Along the lines of Tip #14, pay close attention to what he says. If he's inconsistent with his stories, watch out. There are professional players out there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tip #18: Insist on talking on the phone before meeting. You can learn a lot about someone by how they conduct themselves on the phone. This is invaluable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tip #19: Go ahead and give him a chance. Meet somewhere public and make the time short (no more than an hour). Treat it like an interview and get the answers to what you want to know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tip #20: Be patient. Weeding through the weirdos takes time. But you may just find someone worth the effort. Give it a chance and go with gusto.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bonus tip: Filling out the personality profile thingy make you feel like you've just accomplished something major, like completing a dissertation. That's right folks, I have a PhD in myself.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-4767504093065995701?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/4767504093065995701/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=4767504093065995701&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/4767504093065995701'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/4767504093065995701'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2009/05/tips-for-using-eharmony.html' title='Tips for using eHarmony'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/Sh10rpeefNI/AAAAAAAAAgE/zUYBXWyjlUY/s72-c/eHarmony.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-4843481563055682998</id><published>2009-05-26T07:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-26T07:48:59.795-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I think we have a problem</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/Shv_Ep2wraI/AAAAAAAAAf0/p8hujO7Q5XQ/s1600-h/bad+match.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 349px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/Shv_Ep2wraI/AAAAAAAAAf0/p8hujO7Q5XQ/s400/bad+match.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340142238597950882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um. Can you tell me what's wrong with this match?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently eHarm now thinks I'm gay. They have grown bored of sending me matches of men who live with their mothers and possibly have an unnatural attachment to their children (cats) and have resorted to sending me profiles of women.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Either that or someone can't remember if s/he's got a vag or a peen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Laura" is sensual? Do men ever use that word to describe themselves? Would I want to meet a man that would say he's sensual? Although one of my favorite activities is shopping, so maybe eHarm is onto something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But wait, there's more. Here's his/her profile:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/Shv__Jbp8yI/AAAAAAAAAf8/BwYAGfinngw/s1600-h/bad+match2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 274px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/Shv__Jbp8yI/AAAAAAAAAf8/BwYAGfinngw/s400/bad+match2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340143243506610978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Laura" wants honesty? Yeah me too. Please honestly tell me if you are a man or a woman. That is quite possibly a deal-breaker.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-4843481563055682998?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/4843481563055682998/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=4843481563055682998&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/4843481563055682998'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/4843481563055682998'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-think-we-have-problem.html' title='I think we have a problem'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/Shv_Ep2wraI/AAAAAAAAAf0/p8hujO7Q5XQ/s72-c/bad+match.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-4980489034059609826</id><published>2009-05-05T08:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-05T08:23:05.850-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ugh! I'm done.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SgBXLRbBtyI/AAAAAAAAAd8/VCB4A69_3Wk/s1600-h/Done.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SgBXLRbBtyI/AAAAAAAAAd8/VCB4A69_3Wk/s320/Done.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332357809973606178" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last Thursday we were chatting and had what I thought was the beginning of an interesting conversation.  He said he had to deal with a crisis at work and I asked if everything was OK.  He said he needed to explain to his boss why he needed a transfer to a different branch (he works at a bank). I inquired about the transfer and he said, "&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;yeah it might be a better fit&lt;/span&gt;."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I asked "&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;why is that?&lt;/span&gt;" and then he abruptly stopped talking to me. I heard nothing from him until Monday morning. No explanation. Was I prying? Should I have asked no questions? A "better fit" is a vague reason for changing jobs and is often a lame excuse for personal failure. I know people who have used "better fit" as a reason for leaving a job. In reality they were fired. And probably for good reason.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now the texts and chats are very superficial. "&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;How are you?&lt;/span&gt;" "&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;How's your day?&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please just stop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think it says a lot when I would rather do work than talk to him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just go away.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-4980489034059609826?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/4980489034059609826/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=4980489034059609826&amp;isPopup=true' title='15 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/4980489034059609826'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/4980489034059609826'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2009/05/ugh-im-done.html' title='Ugh! I&apos;m done.'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SgBXLRbBtyI/AAAAAAAAAd8/VCB4A69_3Wk/s72-c/Done.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>15</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-5388467329678700856</id><published>2009-04-30T14:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-30T14:36:30.177-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm Stuck in a Cycle</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SfoVuZCqUuI/AAAAAAAAAds/HyPmzE8lvRo/s1600-h/Dear+John.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SfoVuZCqUuI/AAAAAAAAAds/HyPmzE8lvRo/s320/Dear+John.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330596995686617826" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not exactly sure how I got here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the past several weeks I've been talking to a new guy from eHarm. He seems nice, genuine, compassionate and although he does &lt;a href="http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2009/04/mamas-boys.html"&gt;live with his mother&lt;/a&gt; (I still don't know how I feel about that one) I am somewhat intrigued by him. Somehow, and I don't quite know how it happened, we have only been communicating through chats and texts. I can't remember how it started. Typically when I give someone my number, I like to hear their voice fairly soon because we all know what a kiss of death a weird voice can be. It's also a useful tool in weeding out the &lt;a href="http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/12/come-to-daddy.html"&gt;Cat Daddy&lt;/a&gt;'s of the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But somehow I'm stuck in this never-ending loop of texts. "&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;Good Morning&lt;/span&gt;" "&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;How's your day going&lt;/span&gt;" "&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;What are you doing?&lt;/span&gt;" "&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;What did you have for dinner?&lt;/span&gt;" "&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;Are you still awake?&lt;/span&gt;" How many times do I have to answer the same questions? This shouldn't feel like work. And maybe if we weren't in this cycle of LOLs and :) we might have something more meaningful to talk about. Instead we are limited to a handful of words that mean nothing to me and that I can't muster the enthusiasm to care about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should stop this train and just call him. Or do that sweet and endearing thing where I manipulate him into calling and at the same time get him to think that he was the one who originated the idea. (Yes men are capable of generating the idea to pick up the phone, but I might have a little influence in the timing on occasion).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think about calling. I think about how we can stop the idle chit chat. And yet I don't call. I wrap myself in a warm cocoon of reality TV and put my phone on silent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hmm. Maybe I don't want to talk to him. I shouldn't be this apathetic about someone this soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do I hang in there and see if I can care a little more about this, or do I cut it off now and put all my focus back on my shows?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-5388467329678700856?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/5388467329678700856/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=5388467329678700856&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/5388467329678700856'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/5388467329678700856'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2009/04/im-stuck-in-cycle.html' title='I&apos;m Stuck in a Cycle'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SfoVuZCqUuI/AAAAAAAAAds/HyPmzE8lvRo/s72-c/Dear+John.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-2314459712728218472</id><published>2009-04-17T10:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-17T12:51:59.587-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mama's Boys?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/Sei7z1p0t6I/AAAAAAAAAdk/Gl19r_AH3yk/s1600-h/mommas+boy.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/Sei7z1p0t6I/AAAAAAAAAdk/Gl19r_AH3yk/s400/mommas+boy.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325713058615834530" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've just noticed an alarming detail on my journey with eHarm which both concerns and perplexes me. Although I've met many men on this site, I've only met about 8 in person. Of those 8, 4 admitted to living with one or both of their parents? That's half! Am I out of touch with the world these days? Is it too much to ask that a single man in his 30's have his own residence?  I'm not suggesting that a man has to own an opulent mansion with a pool and a gardener, but a 1 bedroom apartment would be nice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know what you're thinking. "But maybe there are other circumstances. Maybe he's taking care of his sick Mother, or maybe he lost his job."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah you've succeeded in making me feel guilty because who has the right to judge someone's living situation while they are taking care of their ailing parent? But really, if he's taking care of his Mom, does he have time to meet new people and start a relationship?  And if he lost his job, shouldn't he be out looking for another job and not trolling the Internet for chicks? Plus he should probably save the monthly fee and use it to buy food.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So my question is, do I remain understanding and give them the benefit of the doubt? Do I try to understand their situation and wait to judge them? Or do I realize that something in my profile is now attracting homeless men? Maybe I should stop advertising the fact that I have an extra bedroom.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-2314459712728218472?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/2314459712728218472/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=2314459712728218472&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/2314459712728218472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/2314459712728218472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2009/04/mamas-boys.html' title='Mama&apos;s Boys?'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/Sei7z1p0t6I/AAAAAAAAAdk/Gl19r_AH3yk/s72-c/mommas+boy.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-6639487982446606752</id><published>2009-03-30T07:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-30T08:20:15.155-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Free Weekends Are Evil</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SdDcYXqorCI/AAAAAAAAAcg/7KhBahuQBeY/s1600-h/eharmony_free_trial.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 254px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SdDcYXqorCI/AAAAAAAAAcg/7KhBahuQBeY/s320/eharmony_free_trial.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318993471152368674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are tough economic times. I get that. People are being more careful with their expenditures. I totally get that. I myself am enduring a 20% pay cut, which I hope is only temporary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I understand that not everyone has the financing to be able to pay to meet people online. eHarmony isn't cheap, but there are free sites out there. If you don't want to pay the money for it, that's just fine. There are plenty of other places to meet people. I chose eHarm because I thought it would attract more people who are serious about meeting someone and less people who are just interested in hooking up. And I'm paying actual money to meet these people (wait that almost sounds like prostitution!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's what annoys me: Men who only communicate during the free weekends. I get it, you're broke. Or maybe just cheap. Either way, if I send you a question to answer, I would prefer an actual answer and not some cryptic jumble of letters and codes that are probably some lame attempt to disguise the fact that you are giving your email address. If you are really interested in me, give me a response to my question first.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's an actual set of questions and responses from this weekend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. What do you most like to do on a day off?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;I'm getting in late so I don't have time to answer your questions...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;2. What do you find physically attractive?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;...It would be pointless anyway since I'm not a member on this site and can only communicate within it during the free weekends...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;3. How do you act when you're angry?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;...If you'd like to continue getting to know me, write to me at XXXXXX@ymail.com. Please include a recent picture since they don't allow non-members to view them here.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hmm. Well it would be pointless for me to respond to this guy because I'm not interested in getting to know him better. If he can't even pretend to be interested in me, then I won't bother responding to him. He put in the least amount of effort and I will be following his lead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And his little bit about including a recent picture? Are you effing kidding me? Why does eHarmony hate me so much?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-6639487982446606752?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/6639487982446606752/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=6639487982446606752&amp;isPopup=true' title='19 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/6639487982446606752'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/6639487982446606752'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2009/03/free-weekends-are-evil.html' title='Free Weekends Are Evil'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SdDcYXqorCI/AAAAAAAAAcg/7KhBahuQBeY/s72-c/eharmony_free_trial.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>19</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-7444795867460170789</id><published>2009-03-24T08:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-24T08:33:54.941-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It really was nothing else</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/Scj87qDP1tI/AAAAAAAAAbs/beZlwAImv40/s1600-h/nothing.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 280px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/Scj87qDP1tI/AAAAAAAAAbs/beZlwAImv40/s320/nothing.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316777461941262034" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we were at our "&lt;a href="http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2009/03/how-dinner-movie-became-lunch-and.html"&gt;lunch and nothing else&lt;/a&gt;" we had talked about going to see a movie the following Saturday. He said he'd call me and we would set up the plans.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't really think he would call. And he didn't. That Friday, he sent me a text message. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;Hiya&lt;/span&gt;. That's it. Really? Don't strain yourself buddy. I responded back casually and it didn't go much further. There was no mention of getting together by either of us. Perhaps we are just 2 nice people who aren't interested in each other and yet don't want to be the bad guy and actually come out and say it. Or we're just lazy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh well. On to the next.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I re-upped with eHarm for another 3 months. If nothing else, it's some entertainment for me. It gives me something to write about, something to look forward to, something to occupy my mind.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-7444795867460170789?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/7444795867460170789/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=7444795867460170789&amp;isPopup=true' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/7444795867460170789'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/7444795867460170789'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2009/03/it-really-was-nothing-else.html' title='It really was nothing else'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/Scj87qDP1tI/AAAAAAAAAbs/beZlwAImv40/s72-c/nothing.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-3433907912491320854</id><published>2009-03-16T11:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-16T11:47:20.714-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How dinner &amp; a movie became lunch and nothing else</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/Sb6eO0JmLMI/AAAAAAAAAak/WUjs2A7ZH_A/s1600-h/2DollarBill.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 135px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/Sb6eO0JmLMI/AAAAAAAAAak/WUjs2A7ZH_A/s320/2DollarBill.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313858587698015426" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I resigned myself to the fact that I was going to go out with him. I knew it was going to be awkward and uncomfortable and I would think of a million reasons to cancel before I actually walked in the door. But I also knew I needed to do this. Why am I wasting money on this service (eHarm) if I'm not going to give it and the people on there a chance?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He called me the night before and asked if we could meet a little earlier. His class would be getting out sooner and he wanted to up our meet time by a few hours. OK sure, no problem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I struggled with myself for hours the day of meeting. Before I could stop myself, I would think of reasons to cancel on him. Some were plausible (I'm not feeling well, my car won't start, I have to work) and some more ridiculous (I just broke my arm, my car was stolen, I have to leave the country). Some made me laugh out loud (I just found out I had a child).  Yes I'm insane. I've never denied that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I took a deep breath, tried to calm my raging anxiety, and drove to the meeting point.  Of course I arrived early. I always arrive early. I hate being late and if I'm not positive how long traffic will take or if I don't know exactly where the place is, I always leave even earlier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were meeting at at local sandwich place for a late lunch before the movie. I walked in and he was sitting at a table playing some little hand held game. (What's a PSP?) We said hello, exchanged pleasantries and looked at the menu. We walked up and ordered our sandwiches and now it's time to pay. This whole "paying for stuff" thing is so awkward. Do I just keep my mouth shut and let him pay? Do I offer? How do I offer without seeming insincere and yet without being too pushy? I have no idea how to handle this situation. So I just paid for my own. He didn't really offer, so I think I read the situation correctly. Who knows!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We sat down and ate and talked. He was easy to talk to, interesting, and intelligent. The conversation seemed to flow well. After about an hour, he mentioned that he was tired and that the movie was almost 3 hours and he didn't think he could stay awake and maybe we could try it next weekend.  I said that was fine and assumed he was doing what all guys do. At least what all guys seem to do to me. NEVER CALL AGAIN.  Yes I'm cursed. Insane and cursed. I think it has a nice ring to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we parted ways (no physical contact of any kind), he said he'd call me this week, and I knew I would never hear from him again. I went home, pleased with myself for actually going through with it. I faced my fears, tried to connect with another person, had interesting conversation, and I SURVIVED!!! That's a win in my book (although I admit my standards are in the basement).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that is how dinner &amp;amp; a movie became lunch and nothing else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. Less than 24 hours later I got a text from him. Just friendly and casual. We'll see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OH! He likes to pay with $2 bills.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-3433907912491320854?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/3433907912491320854/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=3433907912491320854&amp;isPopup=true' title='17 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/3433907912491320854'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/3433907912491320854'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2009/03/how-dinner-movie-became-lunch-and.html' title='How dinner &amp; a movie became lunch and nothing else'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/Sb6eO0JmLMI/AAAAAAAAAak/WUjs2A7ZH_A/s72-c/2DollarBill.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>17</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-8687753351671582743</id><published>2009-03-12T07:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-12T07:34:19.091-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dinner &amp; A Movie</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SbkZHZ6-R1I/AAAAAAAAAaU/AbcXUGbbwgo/s1600-h/dinner+and+a+movie.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 172px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SbkZHZ6-R1I/AAAAAAAAAaU/AbcXUGbbwgo/s320/dinner+and+a+movie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312304850468226898" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will be the first to admit that I am completely out of my element when it comes to dating. I have no idea what is expected and what the rules are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I'm learning. I think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been on eHarmony for almost 6 months and in that time I've met more men than I had in the 15 years prior combined (is this progress?). I've learned some things along the way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#1 Men are people too. Although the initial meeting after emailing and talking on the phone is always uncomfortable for me (and probably them too), I now understand that these men should hold no terror for me. They are just trying to meet someone and see if there is a connection. It does me no good to be silent and too nervous to function.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#2 Waiting for a guy to call will virtually ensure that he won't. Oh how much time I've wasted waiting for that phone to ring! And if he says he's going to call and he doesn't, that tells me all I need to know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#3 Always insist on the phone call before meeting. A voice and brief conversation can tell you a lot about a person. I've talked to mumblers, slurrers, cat men. I've also had entire conversations exclusively about tire recycling and beer making. If he doesn't ask about me, he either doesn't know how to communicate, he's narcissistic, or he just doesn't care to know about me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#4 Men like to meet for coffee. Every guy I've met has wanted to get coffee (with the exception of the &lt;a href="http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2009/02/hes-liar.html"&gt;last guy&lt;/a&gt;, but we know how great that turned out). Coffee is a nice way to check someone out and get a quick feel (ha!) for who they are in person. It's fast, non-threatening, and easy to make a quick escape if need be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These things have been fairly universal for everyone I've met. Now I've met someone who wants to meet for dinner and a movie. Seriously? We've only been talking on the phone for a week. Is that too soon for that lengthy of a "date"? Should I insist on coffee? What if we stand there face to face for the first time and don't like each other? Now we are stuck being polite for 3 hours. At least the movie will absorb some of the awkwardness.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-8687753351671582743?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/8687753351671582743/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=8687753351671582743&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/8687753351671582743'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/8687753351671582743'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2009/03/dinner-movie.html' title='Dinner &amp; A Movie'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SbkZHZ6-R1I/AAAAAAAAAaU/AbcXUGbbwgo/s72-c/dinner+and+a+movie.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-8882379585694134109</id><published>2009-02-25T08:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-25T08:35:47.937-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Roles are Reversed</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SaVxy5mDRuI/AAAAAAAAAY0/9uIwtw9ebhU/s1600-h/pisces2.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 253px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SaVxy5mDRuI/AAAAAAAAAY0/9uIwtw9ebhU/s320/pisces2.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306772855193814754" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;It seems like I'm always the one who is sitting around waiting for a call. I'm waiting to find out if he's interested. Somehow I seem to forget to analyze myself and figure out if I'm interested.  Part of me thinks that as long as he's a good person with a good heart I can enjoy his company and will want to spend time with him. I really don't think too much about chemistry, maybe because I'm too busy being nervous and neurotic. That may have changed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I had a first phone conversation with a guy from &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;eHarm&lt;/span&gt;. We've been answering each other's questions and emailing for a few days and I gave up my number more quickly than I used to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He seemed like a nice guy. A little slow perhaps, but nice. I didn't really feel a connection (although how much connection did I think I would feel after 5 minutes of phone), but was willing to give him a chance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until he argued with me about my astrological sign. My birthday is 2/20 and everything I have ever read tells me that I'm a Pisces. Not that I really pay all that much attention to it, except to read my horoscope every once in a while and hope that it says something about winning a massive amount of cash. Sadly it never says that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had told him earlier that my birthday was last Friday and he says "oh so you're a Capricorn." I gently tried to tell him that I didn't think I was, and he insisted he was correct because he'd Googled it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#1 How did Google let him down so badly?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#2 Why was he Googling my sign at all?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He then proceeds to tell me that he checked and "we" (there is no we) would agree on a lot of things and eventually I'd do something zany. Yes, zany. I'm not zany. I quickly and politely got off the phone and realized that even though he seemed like basically a nice guy, I'm not interested.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This leads me to my dilemma. How do I let this guy know that I'm not interested without being mean? I'm not usually on this side of the situation. I know I prefer someone to at least give me a heads up that they aren't ever going to call me again, but how do you do? How have I never considered that before?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-8882379585694134109?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/8882379585694134109/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=8882379585694134109&amp;isPopup=true' title='16 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/8882379585694134109'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/8882379585694134109'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2009/02/roles-are-reversed.html' title='The Roles are Reversed'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SaVxy5mDRuI/AAAAAAAAAY0/9uIwtw9ebhU/s72-c/pisces2.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>16</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-3547805428826146842</id><published>2009-02-13T10:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-13T10:14:23.527-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Double Whammy!</title><content type='html'>I'm sitting here, at work, minding my own business. I'm entering data into a database and right now I'm knee-deep in names and addresses. Not fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until I stumbled across one of the best names in the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dick Hancock.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm still giggling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank's for a great laugh, Dick. HA! It's comedy gold. Or I'm a 14 year old boy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-3547805428826146842?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/3547805428826146842/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=3547805428826146842&amp;isPopup=true' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/3547805428826146842'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/3547805428826146842'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2009/02/double-whammy.html' title='Double Whammy!'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-4596452076264385816</id><published>2009-02-10T07:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-10T07:38:51.662-08:00</updated><title type='text'>He's a liar</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SZGbPMa3z6I/AAAAAAAAAYc/C7pAE6aCs7k/s1600-h/liar.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SZGbPMa3z6I/AAAAAAAAAYc/C7pAE6aCs7k/s320/liar.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301188921726062498" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Should I feel flattered that he cared enough to fabricate a ridiculous lie or should I be insulted that he didn't care enough to make the lie believable?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I received a call last night from New eHarm Guy. It was the call I didn't think I would get. Let's face it, I'm used to guys just never talking to me again without any warning. And it hurts a little less each time. I knew this guy was going to follow the same standard male pattern so I was surprised when he actually called me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After exchanging brief pleasantries, he launched into his story. He told me how he received papers in the mail that day telling him he had a son. When I didn't hang up the phone, he continued on to reveal his carefully thought out dumping story. He said that "they" (whoever that is) had investigated all his finances without his knowledge, started garnishing his wages and are taking 1/2 his pay. He also said that "they" checked his DNA from a 10 year old DUI and confirmed he's the father.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this point I started laughing. I knew exactly where this was going.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He said that he didn't think it was fair to me to be in a relationship with him with all this going on. And that he still wanted to be friends and would call me every once in a while to see how I'm doing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I giggled an OK. I told him that I understood, "I get it," and that he had to do what he needed to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He sounded relieved and said that he pictured our conversation going differently. I told him that I'm an adult and I understand exactly what's going on. I also said that I prefer others behave as adults and with honesty. He agreed (apparently he didn't catch my sarcasm) and said he'd call me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That should have been the end of it. But I seem to be incapable of telling someone how I really feel if that might lead to conflict. So after about 15 minutes I sent him the following text.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;The elaborate story was unnecessary. I already knew you were out.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You see, I can live with him thinking I'm unlovable, unattractive, boring, or pathetic. What I cannot live with is him thinking that I bought his story. I just had to let him know that I saw through the bullshit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He wasn't happy with my text. And I don't really care. I won't be responding to him and we can both go our separate ways knowing that we both have the full story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So back to my original question. Should it make me feel a little better that at least he tried to spare my feelings in his own lame and overly detailed way? And did he really think that story was believable? Maybe he just thought I was so stupid I wouldn't know the difference.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-4596452076264385816?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/4596452076264385816/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=4596452076264385816&amp;isPopup=true' title='14 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/4596452076264385816'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/4596452076264385816'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2009/02/hes-liar.html' title='He&apos;s a liar'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SZGbPMa3z6I/AAAAAAAAAYc/C7pAE6aCs7k/s72-c/liar.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>14</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-3651339474985919549</id><published>2009-02-09T14:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-09T14:51:26.529-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I am Wonder Woman</title><content type='html'>I have a superpower. It sucks. My superpower seems to be making sure guys I meet in person don't call me. In an effort to hone my skill, I'm coming up with a list of extra things I can do to be sure he doesn't call.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things I can do when we meet to ensure he never calls me again:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;Wear my pajamas and fuzzy pink slippers.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Never say a word.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Or talk non-stop. Especially if I only talk about myself.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Mention marriage and babies every 2.4 minutes.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Order the most expensive thing on the menu and then don't eat it.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Go to the bathroom more than 3 times in one hour.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Take pictures of him with my cell phone and send them to my friends...while I'm still at the table.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Wear clown makeup.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Wear a blue tooth thingy and let my friends listen in on the entire date.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Listen to my iPod the whole time.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;I'm sure there are an infinite number of other ways to perfect my superpower. With time I will master them all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-3651339474985919549?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/3651339474985919549/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=3651339474985919549&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/3651339474985919549'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/3651339474985919549'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-am-wonder-woman.html' title='I am Wonder Woman'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-8337179581771447972</id><published>2009-02-09T13:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-09T14:05:20.573-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Is it over already?</title><content type='html'>For the past 3+ weeks I've been talking to New eHarm Guy. We send maybe 5 or 6 texts throughout the day and talk on the phone 2 or 3 times. The conversations are usually less than 30 minutes and some are only 5 minutes. While I was away for work, he would call me every night before dinner and after dinner to see how my day was and tell me about his. There is no nervousness, no questions, everything is lovely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At least it was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last Saturday, after almost a month of communicating, we finally met. We had lunch and it wasn't awkward at all and I wasn't nervous. We had good conversation and he seemed like the same nice guy I had gotten to know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But now things have changed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't hear from him later that day, so I called him Saturday evening and he didn't answer. Oh well, whatever. Maybe he was busy. Although he's always taken my calls before, maybe he was in the middle of something. It's possible. He'll probably call me Sunday morning, I thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He didn't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just when I was concluding that he was definitely not interested anymore, he did finally call later Sunday afternoon. And we talked for exactly 5 minutes and 38 seconds. It seemed like things were the same as they had been before, but I just have this feeling that they aren't. And maybe they really aren't the same. Maybe he's just trying to be a nice guy and not completely ignore me. Maybe things are the same and my old insecurities and &lt;a href="http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/11/final-word.html"&gt;hurts&lt;/a&gt; are clouding my vision.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He said he would call me later Sunday night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He didn't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He did send me a text saying good night. It's not the same.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I write this I realize I sound completely paranoid and that I'm overreacting. I just can't shake this feeling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It shouldn't take long to figure out what his intentions are.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-8337179581771447972?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/8337179581771447972/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=8337179581771447972&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/8337179581771447972'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/8337179581771447972'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2009/02/is-it-over-already.html' title='Is it over already?'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-1976121587377108213</id><published>2009-01-30T15:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-30T15:52:49.912-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm still alive</title><content type='html'>My work has had me out of town the last couple of weeks and I haven't had access to my blog or your blogs. It's been very sad. Hopefully after 1 more week I will be back to a normal life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until then, I have a question for you. Is it wrong to get a little bit of a thrill from rejecting people on eHarm? I just went through and closed out 40 matches that I'm not interested in and it felt great. It's possible I need mental help.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. I haven't had time to write about the latest eHarm guy I'm talking to. We haven't met yet, but we talk many times every day. So far so good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See you soon!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-1976121587377108213?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/1976121587377108213/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=1976121587377108213&amp;isPopup=true' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/1976121587377108213'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/1976121587377108213'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2009/01/im-still-alive.html' title='I&apos;m still alive'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-144842527092559941</id><published>2009-01-15T13:05:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-15T13:27:55.009-08:00</updated><title type='text'>How Far Would You Go?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SW-p1NsYeBI/AAAAAAAAAXc/GwBahGKpcJU/s1600-h/loveLong.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 225px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SW-p1NsYeBI/AAAAAAAAAXc/GwBahGKpcJU/s320/loveLong.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291634818857596946" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Go might not be the right word. Let me explain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;eHarm has recently matched me with a lot of men who are more than an hour away from me. I have conflicting feelings about this. On the one hand, this is great because it means that there are men out there who fit what eHarm considers to be my particular brand of weird. It's always nice to think that some pseudo-scientific electronic matchmaker thinks that there might be someone out there for me. On the other hand, do I really want to invest the time and energy in someone who lives so far away? I know that physical distance isn't something that can't be overcome (Thanks Mr. Ford for inventing faster transportation), but really, isn't there anyone in this zip code who won't be instantly repulsed by me? And let's just suspend reality for a second here. Suppose this man is perfect for me and we fall deeply in love. One of us is going to have to move.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eh. It just seems like so much work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But things on the eHarm front have been really quiet the past couple of weeks so I decided to interact with someone I would normally "close out" (eHarm lingo for reject) simply because he lives too far away. I figured we wouldn't even make it to the email stage so what did I have to lose? Hmm. He seems nice, not a stalker, has a job, might not live with his mom. Crap. He makes it to round 2. We email. He sounds like he has a sense of humor and reasonable intellect. Crap. He makes it to round 3. Round 3 is talking on the phone and I'm really not all that excited about talking to him. Why? He lives almost 2 hours away. Ugh. So finally we talk on the phone. And he's delightful. I had a great time talking to him. TRIPLE CRAP! What do I do? I've already invested time and energy here. And so has he. I guess at this point I see this thing through, but in the future, I really need to have a mile limit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So how far away would you let eHarm look?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-144842527092559941?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/144842527092559941/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=144842527092559941&amp;isPopup=true' title='17 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/144842527092559941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/144842527092559941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2009/01/how-far-would-you-go.html' title='How Far Would You Go?'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SW-p1NsYeBI/AAAAAAAAAXc/GwBahGKpcJU/s72-c/loveLong.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>17</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-2323528239221824204</id><published>2008-12-29T14:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-29T14:40:45.360-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Awards?</title><content type='html'>I have to admit something. You might not know this, but I am pretty awesome. And from time to time I have received recognition for my awesomeness. Here are all my awards to date:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#1. Spanish 1 Student of the Year- 9th grade. I was awesome. I truly deserved this award. I memorized vocab like a mo-fo. Sadly I used up all my allotted brain space for memorizing the days of the week and fruits and now I can't remember crap about anything. Except this award. I remember it. I don't actually have it. I think my mom does somewhere. It's possible she suspected it would be one of my few great accomplishments in life. She's pretty smart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#2. Best Halloween Costume- 10th grade Halloween dance. I was dressed as Raggedy Ann. I looked amazing! Patchwork dress, red cheeks, black eyelashes, freckles, red braids. I totally rocked it! Unfortunately I was 1 of only about 20 people that dressed up, so there was some loserish feelings going on. Plus my date was a good 13 inches taller than me and my red cheeks kept rubbing on his shirt. On the plus side, 1st prize was pizza and a limo ride. SCORE!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#3. Angi over at &lt;a href="http://www.sleepfordreaming.net/"&gt;Sleep for Dreaming&lt;/a&gt; named me as one of her 8 favorite or recently discovered bloggers. I'm so totally stoked! I'm surprised anyone even reads this thing. I doubt I'm as funny or entertaining to anyone else as I am to myself. Anyway, I really appreciate this award. I'd like to thank Angi for always leaving such great comments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SVlONWXaJ_I/AAAAAAAAAJ4/orYT_S1xPCI/s1600-h/proximidadeaward.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 191px; height: 157px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SVlONWXaJ_I/AAAAAAAAAJ4/orYT_S1xPCI/s320/proximidadeaward.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285341628945016818" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: left;"&gt;Proximidade Award - thanks Angi!&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;“This blog invests and believes in PROXIMITY–nearness in space, time, and relationships! These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in prizes or self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers! Deliver this award to eight bloggers who will choose eight more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award.”&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Wow! I even get to pass it on to others? I love this! Here are 8 of my favorite blogs:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;16 paws at &lt;a href="http://sixteen-paws.blogspot.com/"&gt;Life Uncensored&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Amber at &lt;a href="http://ambeegs.blogspot.com/"&gt;The Grundmans&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Gabrielle at &lt;a href="http://theredroomstories.blogspot.com/"&gt;The Red Room&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Julie at &lt;a href="http://julzzzblog.blogspot.com/"&gt;Living in the Desert&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Nicalyse at &lt;a href="http://nicalyse.blogspot.com/"&gt;Accidental Ambivalence&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The Dating Guru at &lt;a href="http://www.bestdatesnow.com/"&gt;Best Dates Now&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Life on Edge at &lt;a href="http://whyontheedge.blogspot.com/"&gt;Life on Edge&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Mauleigh at &lt;a href="http://singleandreadytojingle.blogspot.com/"&gt;Single and Ready to Jingle&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-2323528239221824204?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/2323528239221824204/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=2323528239221824204&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/2323528239221824204'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/2323528239221824204'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/12/awards.html' title='Awards?'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SVlONWXaJ_I/AAAAAAAAAJ4/orYT_S1xPCI/s72-c/proximidadeaward.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-2448781134014654240</id><published>2008-12-22T09:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-22T08:58:51.928-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Love's Grand Gesture</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SU-_hjDVjAI/AAAAAAAAAJM/xZ2eS0IbZA0/s1600-h/love+actually.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 248px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SU-_hjDVjAI/AAAAAAAAAJM/xZ2eS0IbZA0/s320/love+actually.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282651470994705410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I spent the weekend absorbed in all things Christmas. Shopping, wrapping, and watching movies. Yesterday I popped in one of my favorite Christmas movies, Love Actually, and soaked up all the warm goodness it gave me. As I was watching it for the second time (I just didn't want it to end), I realized the characters who are happiest at the end are the ones who made some grand gesture to show their love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hugh Grant realizes Natalie is more than just an employee and must immediately see her. He jumps in the car and drives to her street only to realize that he doesn't know her address.  So he knocks on every door until he finds her. Love and happiness ensue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Colin Firth realizes that he's in love with Aurelia (a woman who cannot understand a word he says) so he learns Portuguese, dumps his family and must immediately see her.  He flies to another country, follows her father all over town to find her, and proposes to her in the middle of a crowded restaurant. Love and happiness ensue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even 11 year old Sam cannot contain his love for Joanna. Desperate to gain her attention, he learns the drums and dodges airport security to profess his love for her. Love and happiness ensue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These three end up blissfully happy. Poor Alan Rickman and his wife are miserable, perhaps because he failed to see the significance a grand gesture would have on his life and his relationship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I started thinking. Does this happen in real life? Are there men who make grand gestures? Or is this only a bit of Hollywood magic? Do these movies hurt me by thinking that if a man truly cares he will be willing to make this surprising display of true love? That if he loves me and I walk away, he will fight for me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess none of this matters anyway since I don't seem to get to a second date with anyone lately.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-2448781134014654240?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/2448781134014654240/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=2448781134014654240&amp;isPopup=true' title='16 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/2448781134014654240'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/2448781134014654240'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/12/loves-grand-gesture.html' title='Love&apos;s Grand Gesture'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SU-_hjDVjAI/AAAAAAAAAJM/xZ2eS0IbZA0/s72-c/love+actually.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>16</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-9189617769220686230</id><published>2008-12-20T20:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-22T08:25:24.183-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Good Advice?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SU-_UTtEZVI/AAAAAAAAAJE/qMgI5qXfFYA/s1600-h/what+am+i+doing+wrong.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SU-_UTtEZVI/AAAAAAAAAJE/qMgI5qXfFYA/s200/what+am+i+doing+wrong.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282651243536475474" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know what I'm doing wrong. I decided to take Kev's advice and not contact &lt;a href="http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/12/coffee-take-2.html"&gt;coffee guy&lt;/a&gt;. Kev said to wait him out and so I did. Or rather I still am. I'm not sure if I'm just horrible at reading the situation or men are liars. Might be a little of both. Either way, I'm focusing all my attention on the holidays.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-9189617769220686230?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/9189617769220686230/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=9189617769220686230&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/9189617769220686230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/9189617769220686230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/12/i-dont-know-what-im-doing-wrong.html' title='Good Advice?'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/SU-_UTtEZVI/AAAAAAAAAJE/qMgI5qXfFYA/s72-c/what+am+i+doing+wrong.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-7203204053030879762</id><published>2008-12-09T18:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T18:20:00.861-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Cat-Man-Don't</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/ST7-HBwv53I/AAAAAAAAAAk/WOf_mUUWmIk/s1600-h/cat+man.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/ST7-HBwv53I/AAAAAAAAAAk/WOf_mUUWmIk/s320/cat+man.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277935210010240882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As much as I enjoyed my emails with Cat Daddy, I just couldn't think of him without laughing. At him, not with him. Any man that calls himself Daddy when talking to his cats needs to keep that shit under wraps until he finds a woman who is so completely in love with him that she thinks its cute. I am not one of these women. At least not with him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So knowing that I had to end things and that I honestly did think he was a nice guy and I wanted to be kind, I sent him a message that would hopefully let him down easy. I basically said that while I enjoyed getting to know him, I didn't think we were a good match. I was polite, sensitive and tried to make it painless. No one likes being rejected, but at least I'm letting him know instead of ignoring his calls. And I wanted to give him the opportunity to say whatever he wanted to say before I closed him out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are some choice bits of his response:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;"What specifically didn't work for you?"&lt;/span&gt; Are you freakin kidding me? You want a detailed account of all the ways you turned me off? Is that really what men want to hear? In my response to him I said &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;"I'd rather just&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;say that I didn't feel a connection over the phone because that's the&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;truth, but if you want me to be specific I can." &lt;/span&gt;I then gave him a few reasons why it didn't work for me. #1 We had agreed it would be a short conversation and it was very long. #2 He spent the majority of the time talking about his cats. #3 I felt like he wasn't interested in getting to know me because he didn't ask me any questions, just talked on and on. I also said it wasn't any one's fault, there just wasn't chemistry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;"I'm feeling a bit discounted at the moment. I mean, here I spent all this time writing you thoughtful emails, trying to get to know you... It troubles me that you're willing to throw that all away because of a phone call." &lt;/span&gt;I'm not sure what he thinks the point of an online dating service is. Or maybe I have it wrong. I thought you get matched up with people with similar interests, get to know them and then decide if you want to take it to the next level (phone, meeting, sex, whatever). Do I have to have long intimate relationships with every person I email on eHarm? Because if that's the case I'm doing it all wrong. At any point I should be able to evaluate my feelings and decide whether I want to continue with him or not. I responded to him with &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;"I know you spent time getting to&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;know me and I'm sorry you feel it was wasted. I spent time getting to know you too, but choose to see it as a fun time where I got to know more about someone. It's not wasted, it just is what it is." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;"I was tired and I didn't much feel like talking."&lt;/span&gt; You could have fooled me. You rambled on for 75 minutes without taking a breath. And no one forced you to call me. I realize this is his attempt to save face because in his eyes I just dumped him. It's still crap!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;"I hope you'll reconsider, but if you don't, well, you can step in line with all the superficial people who've given me the same lack of consideration."&lt;/span&gt; Whoa! Back up the train of tears here buddy. Why am I superficial? Because I got to know you and didn't feel the chemistry? That's completely unfair. I responded with &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;"I didn't feel the chemistry on the phone. I don't think it's any one's fault, but you can blame me if it makes you feel better.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;You can hate me if it makes you feel better. I just don't feel we are a good match."&lt;/span&gt; And if he really wanted me to reconsider, this might not have been his best tactic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;I thought I might have been a little tough in my response, but I had tried the nice approach and he wasn't accepting it.  So I amped it up just a bit in my comeback. That might have been a mistake. Who knows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are some snippets from his response to me:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;I didn't want to do most of the talking or talk about my cats, but you weren't giving me anything to work with. If I wanted to do all of the talking, I would just talk to myself into a tape recorder. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;I had to fill the space with a bunch of junk that didn't interest me just so there wouldn't be dead silence.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;"&lt;/span&gt; I honestly couldn't get a word in. I spent the last 50 minutes of the conversation waiting for him to take a breath so I could say I needed to go, but it never came. And if it was so horrible talking to me, why did he stay on the phone for so long? Is this more of him trying to save face? If he was controlling the conversation couldn't he talk about something that interested him? Why would you talk about something that didn't interest you if you were carrying the whole conversation? When I talk to myself I'm very entertaining.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 255);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;It is not a man's job to entertain you."&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I think he's wrong. It's not every man's job, but the man who is trying to have a relationship with me? Yup it's his job to entertain me. And it's my job to entertain him. Not all the time, but for short intervals. We should be entertaining to each other. Clearly we were not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;I guess I can understand why he's angry and lashing out at me. Even though I didn't want to hurt him, he's hurt. But if he really felt about me the way he claims, he should have closed me out long ago. He did close me out right after he sent he last message. And that's OK with me. He can think whatever he wants about me. I'll always remember him as the Cat Daddy and giggle just a little.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-7203204053030879762?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/7203204053030879762/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=7203204053030879762&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/7203204053030879762'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/7203204053030879762'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/12/cat-man-dont.html' title='Cat-Man-Don&apos;t'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/ST7-HBwv53I/AAAAAAAAAAk/WOf_mUUWmIk/s72-c/cat+man.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-2707706554968827993</id><published>2008-12-09T07:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T08:31:41.975-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hello Daddy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/ST6V_Fn7iHI/AAAAAAAAAAc/zTs1fRweRyE/s1600-h/daddy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 294px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/ST6V_Fn7iHI/AAAAAAAAAAc/zTs1fRweRyE/s320/daddy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277820724398753906" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First let me say that I have no problem dating men with children. I like kids and hope to have them some day. A man that takes care of his kids and loves them is incredibly attractive to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is not one of those stories.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me back up a bit. I am getting used to talking to multiple guys at one time, thanks to eHarm. They are all at different levels in my mind. For the past week I've been exchanging lengthy emails with eDad. His responses are always witty and insightful and they make me laugh. I looked forward to reading every one. And my responses back were long and personal and I felt comfortable sharing things with him. Yesterday he asked if I wanted to meet. I declined. I told him the truth. All of it. I told him that I really prefer talking to someone on the phone at least once before a meeting takes place. #1 it's good to see if the good email conversation can translate to good phone conversation and if he's got a strange or high voice I really don't like to be surprised by that on a first date. He agreed and said he'd call me that night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And he did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I'm so glad I insisted on a phone call.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His voice was OK. It was a little strange, but I couldn't figure out what made it strange. It wasn't high pitched. It wasn't too deep. It just had a different quality to it. I can't explain it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His voice ended up being the best part of the call.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had previously agreed to keep the first conversation short at about 15 - 20 minutes. That didn't happen. He talked and talked and talked and didn't let me get a word in and talked and talked for an hour. And what did he talk about the majority of the time? His cats. I now know everything and more about his 2 cats. I know that the boy cat likes to sit in the shower and just stare at the wall. I know that the cats aren't allowed to sleep with him anymore because they make too much noise and don't let him sleep. I know that the girl cat hates his mom and hides on top of the fridge when she comes to visit. I know that his house smells like cats (why would a man actually admit this because, ew gross!). I had already told him that I'm not really a cat person, but he didn't seem to mind that. Finally after an hour and 15 minutes, I was desperate. I didn't want to hurt his feelings because he really is a nice guy, but I just couldn't take any more. He was launching into what I feared would be a decade long lecture on everything pokemon and I couldn't take it. So I used my home phone and called my friend and hung up twice, hoping she'd get the hint and call me. She did and now I felt I could interrupt him and get him off the phone. He said he had a really great time talking with me (I think "at me" is more accurate) and he would call tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope he doesn't. I'd rather he just forget I exist, but I think I'm going to have to be honest with him and tell him that I don't see this going anywhere. Can I do this over email? Please say yes. I don't think I can listen to him drone on about the cats for another hour. I'm sure they did all kinds of cute things today. I just don't care.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh and he doesn't have any children. He calls himself "Daddy" when he's talking to the cats.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-2707706554968827993?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/2707706554968827993/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=2707706554968827993&amp;isPopup=true' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/2707706554968827993'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/2707706554968827993'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/12/come-to-daddy.html' title='Hello Daddy'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/ST6V_Fn7iHI/AAAAAAAAAAc/zTs1fRweRyE/s72-c/daddy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-7610825347817452769</id><published>2008-12-08T20:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T14:06:35.525-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Coffee Take 2</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/ST6QGyfzhaI/AAAAAAAAAAU/Zv1QPFimOpo/s1600-h/Coffee+Lover.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 291px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/ST6QGyfzhaI/AAAAAAAAAAU/Zv1QPFimOpo/s320/Coffee+Lover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277814259633587618" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even though the last experience wasn't so good, I decided to give coffee another try. Another try with another guy from eHarm that is. I had been talking to him for a couple weeks online. We seemed to have some things in common so that's always nice. Then we talked on the phone last week and really seemed to hit it off. We were both astounded by how much we have in common. We had 4 great conversations and I found him extremely easy to talk to. Finally we decided to meet for coffee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's the rundown.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;He arrived on time and spotted me right away. This means he's punctual and that my photos online are truly reflective of what I really look like.&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;He paid for my drink and did it in a sweet way. Like it was no big deal. Which it shouldn't be. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;He stood close to me as we waited for his coffee. I'm going to interpret this as he was comfortable with me and not repulsed by me. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;We couldn't find a table inside and the place was really crowded so we sat outside. It was only 45 degrees out and I was freezing. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;We spent the next hour talking easily about a variety of topics. We seem to have similar conversation styles because we flew off on tangents and couldn't remember what we were originally talking about. He was engaging and didn't force me to do all the talking and didn't monopolize the conversation either. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;When we were so cold we were turning blue, we decided to part ways. He asked if I would be interested in getting dinner some time. I said I would love to and we started walking in the direction of the parking lot. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;He gave me a nice hug and we said goodbye. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;OK. Sounds like a nice time, right? And it was. But I haven't heard from him yet. Am I going to? I thought the dinner invitation was the signal that he was actually interested. Or did I read that wrong? Was he just being polite? Should I contact him and thank him for the coffee? Or do I wait for him to contact me? I'm so bad at this!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-7610825347817452769?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/7610825347817452769/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=7610825347817452769&amp;isPopup=true' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/7610825347817452769'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/7610825347817452769'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/12/coffee-take-2.html' title='Coffee Take 2'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/ST6QGyfzhaI/AAAAAAAAAAU/Zv1QPFimOpo/s72-c/Coffee+Lover.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-8760880256585193469</id><published>2008-12-02T07:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-02T07:31:02.535-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Would you like some coffee?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/STVRwf3YEpI/AAAAAAAAAAM/qHsDVfEQhLY/s1600-h/Buy+my+coffee.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/STVRwf3YEpI/AAAAAAAAAAM/qHsDVfEQhLY/s320/Buy+my+coffee.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275212432163738258" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went out with another guy from eHarm last night. We've been talking on the site for a while and talked on the phone Sunday night. He asked me out for coffee and I accepted. He seemed like a nice, sincere, gentlemanly guy so I was happy to meet him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until I met him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not that he wasn't nice, because he was. I get to the coffee place about 1 minute after he did and he's already ordered his drink. And he doesn't even offer to buy mine. Why does this bother me so much? Do I think men should always pay for everything? No. Do I think the person who asked should at least pretend to offer to pay? Maybe. Do I think he's cheap? YES! My coffee was $1.87. Am I way off base here? Am I overreacting? Probably. I guess I should be happy he didn't wait until he saw me to make me pay for my own drink. At least now I know it wasn't because I'm so hideous he couldn't stand to look at me. He just lacks a few social graces.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speaking of social graces... This guy was nervous. OK so that's not really a social grace, but he was so over the top nervous that his voice shook and his hands shook and he was doing that weird rapid blinking thing. He had moments where he would relax a bit after I asked him some questions that must have hit on things he has a genuine interest in. Although I had to completely carry the conversation. That is not a role I like to be forced into. I can't seem to come up with clever topics to discuss when I'm in a pressure situation like a first meeting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ugh. It was uncomfortable. His nervousness stressed me out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I was about 1/2 done with my coffee, he said he should probably go. Which was totally fine with me because he wasn't really saying much and I had run out of questions to ask him to try to engage him in conversation.  As we were walking out to the car, the said "&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;We should talk on the phone soon&lt;/span&gt;." HUH? I'm going to assume that means "Don't call me, I'll call you (no I won't)."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-8760880256585193469?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/8760880256585193469/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=8760880256585193469&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/8760880256585193469'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/8760880256585193469'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/12/would-you-like-some-coffee.html' title='Would you like some coffee?'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03490307436039972879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='25' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtSHkWDMLa8/TkFOQVEAdYI/AAAAAAAAAo4/jkujH1kJd4A/s220/34421_437029476780_575776780_5761896_500437_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_496LjaPXLkU/STVRwf3YEpI/AAAAAAAAAAM/qHsDVfEQhLY/s72-c/Buy+my+coffee.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-4627925203226404548</id><published>2008-11-25T10:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-25T10:54:33.088-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Final Word</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SSxHY3rnEsI/AAAAAAAAAxc/EehnCvQtm9s/s1600-h/Final+Word.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 301px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SSxHY3rnEsI/AAAAAAAAAxc/EehnCvQtm9s/s320/Final+Word.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272667756333306562" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well I did it. Last night I sent my final message to eGuy. I wish I had been able to tell him exactly what I thought of him, how I felt about what he did, and how angry and hurt it made me. But I couldn't do it. I had even written a long rambling letter about how confused and disappointed he made me. In the end I decided that just getting the words out of me was a huge help. I didn't need to send that part. Instead, I sent the following:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;I won't bother you anymore. It's clear you don't feel the same way about me as I feel about you. I wish it wasn't this way. I truly liked you and enjoyed spending time with you. I'm sorry things didn't work out. I hope you are happy and that you find what you are looking for.         &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know why I felt compelled to have one last word. I just had to do it. After I hit "send" I felt like a weight had been lifted. I could put him behind me and concentrate on the new person I am talking to.  Unfortunately this morning I checked to see if he had read the message. That was a mistake on my part. I should have just removed all traces of him from my computer. But I didn't and so I saw that he had read the message last night. And given me no response. Did I really think he would write back? I guess in some ways I did. I was still holding on to the hope that he had a good excuse for hurting me. That I wasn't just some worthless piece of shit that he couldn't even be bothered to acknowledge. That everything he had ever told me wasn't a lie told to manipulate me. So today, I'm not as OK as I was before. I know I will be, but today it hurts all over again. I don't deserve to be treated this way. I need to find solace in the fact that the person I thought I knew doesn't exist. The person I thought I knew would never have treated me like this. The person I spent time with was an impostor and it is a good thing that he is now gone from my life. I won't give him another chance to hurt me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-4627925203226404548?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/4627925203226404548/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=4627925203226404548&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/4627925203226404548'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/4627925203226404548'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/11/final-word.html' title='The Final Word'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SSxHY3rnEsI/AAAAAAAAAxc/EehnCvQtm9s/s72-c/Final+Word.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-8287889172455204535</id><published>2008-11-24T07:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-24T08:27:36.877-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I'll Text You</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SSrUGz0vekI/AAAAAAAAAxU/IXXR4G0ywWs/s1600-h/Cell+Phone.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 227px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SSrUGz0vekI/AAAAAAAAAxU/IXXR4G0ywWs/s320/Cell+Phone.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272259527246314050" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I decided to give eGuy the benefit of the doubt and believe his "I got run over by a car" story. Yes I am a fool. Yes apparently I want to give this man another opportunity to hurt me.  I have issues.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I responded with something along the lines of "are you ok, what happened, etc." I received back the following message: &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;I'm getting my phone replaced today. I'll text you when I get it&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That message was sent to me on myspace on Wednesday. Today is Monday. I have heard nothing from him since. I replied to his message, sent him a text the next day, and tried calling him 3 days later. Nothing. Obviously I am that stupid. I just wish I knew what changed for him.   He's probably hoping I will finally give up and stop trying to contact him. And I will. I just need to say one more thing to him and I'm done. Once I get this off my chest I'll be able to forget about him completely.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-8287889172455204535?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/8287889172455204535/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=8287889172455204535&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/8287889172455204535'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/8287889172455204535'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/11/ill-text-you.html' title='I&apos;ll Text You'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SSrUGz0vekI/AAAAAAAAAxU/IXXR4G0ywWs/s72-c/Cell+Phone.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-7859743265324898129</id><published>2008-11-19T07:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-19T07:46:59.290-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hit By A Car</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SSQycWRZaHI/AAAAAAAAAxM/CUrY-6_Q88Q/s1600-h/Hit+by+a+car.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SSQycWRZaHI/AAAAAAAAAxM/CUrY-6_Q88Q/s320/Hit+by+a+car.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270392926526597234" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This whole eGuy thing has been so perplexing. My poor little brain simply cannot fathom why he would so abruptly shut me out. I was hurt and I needed some closure. So I sent him the following message on myspace:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Is there something I should know? Because I don't understand. I thought we were getting along so well.  What happened?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sent the message Monday morning and obsessively stalked my own sent mailbox to see when he would read it. If he would read it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I received the following message at 11:30pm on Tuesday:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;I just got home. I'm so sorry. I couldn't call because my phone was ran over. I got hit by a car Saturday night as I was taking my dog for a walk. I broke some ribs and have a concussion and a lot of bumps and scrapes. I hope you don't hate me. I don't have your number memorized. Again I'm really sorry!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is this for real? He's never lied to me before (that I know of) and before this whole incident I definitely trusted him. So why am I skeptical? Is it because I've had 3 days to convince myself that he isn't the person I knew and cared for? That it was all an act. Is it because this is one of the most ridiculous excuses out there?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although it does explain a lot. Am I a fool if I believe him?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-7859743265324898129?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/7859743265324898129/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=7859743265324898129&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/7859743265324898129'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/7859743265324898129'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/11/hit-by-car.html' title='Hit By A Car'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SSQycWRZaHI/AAAAAAAAAxM/CUrY-6_Q88Q/s72-c/Hit+by+a+car.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-920720056413221113</id><published>2008-11-18T09:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-18T09:22:19.959-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Invisible Man</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SSL2bkazahI/AAAAAAAAAxE/zMSOxJbR0FY/s1600-h/Disappear.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SSL2bkazahI/AAAAAAAAAxE/zMSOxJbR0FY/s320/Disappear.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270045467469900306" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have no idea what happened. I am completely in the dark.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have heard nothing from eGuy for 3 days. He has become the invisible man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I realize 3 days is a relatively short period of time, but we had established a pattern of texting constantly every day. For my texts and phone calls to go unanswered is extremely unusual.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really hope there is some extenuating circumstance that has made it impossible for him to contact me. But rationally I know that's not the case. If he lost his phone, he could still send me a message on eHarm or on myspace. And in fact his myspace says he was online on Sunday. I know, I'm a stalker. I just want to know what happened. He also knows where I live so even if he was completely cut off from all technology, he could still get a hold of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My conclusion? He doesn't want to get a hold of me. He's made that very clear. And I've spent far too much time crying over this and I'm done. If this is the way he behaves and how he treats someone he supposedly cared about, then he's not the person I knew. The man I cared about was kind and honest and wouldn't act like a 14 year old. Apparently the man I cared about doesn't exist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh well. On to the next.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-920720056413221113?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/920720056413221113/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=920720056413221113&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/920720056413221113'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/920720056413221113'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/11/invisible-man.html' title='The Invisible Man'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SSL2bkazahI/AAAAAAAAAxE/zMSOxJbR0FY/s72-c/Disappear.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-2678091047729065758</id><published>2008-11-16T08:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-16T19:50:10.134-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Passed Out</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SSBMUcdr_mI/AAAAAAAAAw0/io2NR-87WAA/s1600-h/passed+out.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SSBMUcdr_mI/AAAAAAAAAw0/io2NR-87WAA/s320/passed+out.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269295478145285730" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been seeing eGuy for a couple weeks now. Our work schedules aren't in sync so we haven't been able to see each other in person more than once or twice a week. But we've been texting all day every day. We don't go more than 2 hours without texting except when we are asleep. I really felt like I was getting to know him and connecting with him. I really liked him and thought just maybe I had finally found a decent and caring guy who actually cared about me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Earlier this week we made plans to do something Saturday night. We didn't really talk about what we would be doing, but we had decided it would include alcohol. Neither of us mentioned it again. I figured we would meet up and then go from there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Saturday, I didn't get a text from him in the morning. That's very uncharacteristic. He always texts me in the morning. Around noon I decided to text him to see how he's doing. He responded that he was hanging out with family. We texted back and forth a little and I left him to enjoy the fam. I figured he would text me later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Around 6pm I sent him another text. I thought we were doing something that night and I was surprised I hadn't heard from him. But I didn't get a text back. I waited and waited and still nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't get a text back until 10:30pm. He said "&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;OMG I passed out!&lt;/span&gt;" What does that mean? Fell asleep or got drunk and passed out? I don't understand. He also asked what I was doing. I said I was "&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;getting ready for bed&lt;/span&gt;." I had spent all night waiting for some communication from him. I was tired and just wanted to go to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't heard anything from him since. I don't know if that means he is pissed because we were going to get together and I was already turning in for the night. Or if he "passed out" again. Does this mean that we are done? I really hope not because until this happened I really really liked him. I hope I am just misinterpreting what has happened and that we have a chance to talk about it because this is not at all like the person I grew to know and care about. Should I hang on or give up before I get hurt again?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-2678091047729065758?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/2678091047729065758/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=2678091047729065758&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/2678091047729065758'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/2678091047729065758'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/11/passed-out.html' title='Passed Out'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SSBMUcdr_mI/AAAAAAAAAw0/io2NR-87WAA/s72-c/passed+out.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-4755760088740063896</id><published>2008-11-03T09:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-05T11:58:41.375-08:00</updated><title type='text'>When Can I See You Again?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SRH5JPvWerI/AAAAAAAAAwc/CtTaa35ddtg/s1600-h/See+you+again.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SRH5JPvWerI/AAAAAAAAAwc/CtTaa35ddtg/s320/See+you+again.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265263376612096690" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I met up with eGuy (aka The Biker) on Friday night. We met for coffee after he got done with work, which was about 10:30pm. Of course I was nervous, but I'm getting to the point where I'm no longer devastated if someone I just met doesn't like me. Eh, maybe I'm growing up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, we met, he gave me a hug, it was nice, we talked for 2 hours, then called it a night. I got in my car and drove home and thought about the evening. He was sweet, kind, respectful and courteous. All wonderful qualities that I require from people I spend any time with. He was also adorable, cute, funny, intelligent, and handsome. BONUS! We really seemed to click, but I rarely trust my own judgment anymore. I just can't seem to read the signs like I should be able to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went home, slipped into my pajamas and crawled into bed. I was reviewing the events of the night when I got a text from him. "&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;I had a great time tonight.&lt;/span&gt;" ACK! I wasn't expecting to hear from him so soon. What does that mean? I guess it means he had a good time. I responded with "&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me too :)&lt;/span&gt;" I figured that was enough to let him know that I also had a good time, but without becoming my usual insane self.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got back the following text: "&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;When do I get to see you again?&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WOOHOO!!!! This must mean he really truly did have a good time and wasn't just being nice in the previous message. (see how my insane brain works?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We made plans for the next day and I drifted off to sleep thinking that it's possible that for once I didn't come across as a raving lunatic on a date. Or maybe he just likes that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-4755760088740063896?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/4755760088740063896/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=4755760088740063896&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/4755760088740063896'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/4755760088740063896'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/11/when-can-i-see-you-again.html' title='When Can I See You Again?'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SRH5JPvWerI/AAAAAAAAAwc/CtTaa35ddtg/s72-c/See+you+again.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-4413118050734513639</id><published>2008-10-31T10:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-31T13:45:05.449-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's a Chopper Baby</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SQtNIpIZKsI/AAAAAAAAAwE/YOeqIqlaNts/s1600-h/Bruce+Willis.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SQtNIpIZKsI/AAAAAAAAAwE/YOeqIqlaNts/s320/Bruce+Willis.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263385400387906242" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think last week's dates went as far as they are going to go. And I'm OK with that. I really liked eDude, but if he doesn't feel the same, I'd rather get over it and find someone else to spend my time analyzing and obsessing about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight I have a date with a biker. He might not call himself a biker, but I think he kinda looks like one. I don't have anything against bikers. In fact I spent my entire senior year of high school obsessed with Bruce Willis. But you have to admit he was amazingly hot in Pulp Fiction. And I think the chopper just increased his appeal for me (I know BW isn't really a biker either).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I admit that I don't actually know any bikers so all my information about them is what I have seen on TV and in movies. I assume them to be tough, gruff, strong, a little mean, and have great boots. I think the boots are like a membership requirement. Biker dudes always have sweet boots.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I digress.  This biker that I'm meeting tonight doesn't seem like my typical vision of a biker. He's incredibly sweet and caring and generous. He talks about his feelings and seems genuinely interested in mine. Maybe bikers are a misunderstood group. Maybe he's just a different kind of biker. Maybe he's not really a biker but I just think he looks like one.  Regardless, he better have sweet boots or I'll be disappointed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dammit! I just got an email from eBoy. Does this mean he's interested or just bored? Could go either way.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-4413118050734513639?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/4413118050734513639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=4413118050734513639&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/4413118050734513639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/4413118050734513639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/10/its-chopper-baby.html' title='It&apos;s a Chopper Baby'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SQtNIpIZKsI/AAAAAAAAAwE/YOeqIqlaNts/s72-c/Bruce+Willis.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-8047214119881146635</id><published>2008-10-28T12:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-28T12:37:30.905-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Is it a bad sign?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SQdptEUAc2I/AAAAAAAAAvU/z9g5bL7hjUU/s1600-h/BadSign.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SQdptEUAc2I/AAAAAAAAAvU/z9g5bL7hjUU/s320/BadSign.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262290912578401122" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is it a bad sign that I had to initiate conversations with the 2 eMen I went out with last week? It is, right? No matter what I tell myself (like he's just busy or he's shy) the truth is that neither is interested in me. SHIT! And I really liked eDude.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't want to waste my time thinking about someone who isn't thinking about me. If I say that enough I might believe it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-8047214119881146635?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/8047214119881146635/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=8047214119881146635&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/8047214119881146635'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/8047214119881146635'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/10/is-it-bad-sign.html' title='Is it a bad sign?'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SQdptEUAc2I/AAAAAAAAAvU/z9g5bL7hjUU/s72-c/BadSign.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-8024997752530327736</id><published>2008-10-25T09:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-25T10:08:05.259-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Juggling eDates</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SQNNToe7NgI/AAAAAAAAAvM/Ig_Hx2inC0w/s1600-h/First+Date.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 311px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SQNNToe7NgI/AAAAAAAAAvM/Ig_Hx2inC0w/s320/First+Date.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261133789378852354" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I might not be cut out for eHarmony. I understand that it's a dating site. I understand that I am paying money to participate. I understand that the more matches I get the more I am getting for the money I am paying.  I truly understand this. And I have no problem when I am viewing profiles. The challenge comes when I am talking to more than one person. I already mentioned &lt;a href="http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-suck-on-first-dates.html"&gt;eDude&lt;/a&gt; and the disastrous date we went on. I did hear from him the next day. I sent him a text saying that I had a good time and he responded that he did too. There was a little back and forth about how our days were going and then we both stopped texting.  I don't know what this means. Is he interested? Is he just being polite? Is he considering changing his number to get away from me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I am pondering everything I said or should have said with eDude, I get a message from eBoy. We have been emailing each other multiple times a day for more than a week.  Yesterday he asked me out for a drink. Before I even thought about it, I had answered yes. SHIT! How do I remember what I know about eBoy and not get it confused with what I know about eDude? What if I am as retarded on this date as I was on the date only 16 hours ago? And by going out with eBoy am I closing the door on eDude? I'm just not cut out for the juggling thing (I realize that 2 dates is not juggling).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I drive to mid-town to meet up with eBoy and I am surprisingly calm. I'm not even remotely as nervous as I was the previous night. I don't understand. Why am I not nervous? Did I use up all my nerves and now there aren't any left? Do I just feel more comfortable with this man? Do I feel more like friends with him so I don't really see this as a date? I don't know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I walk into the coffee place and he's sitting there waiting for me. He's cute, nice, intelligent and sweet.  We proceed to have an hour of amazing conversation. A real conversation. I was telling him about my job and he asked very interesting questions. I really felt like he heard what I said and internalized it and asked questions because he was interested. It was so easy to talk to him. The hour flew by and before I knew it the shop was closing. He walked me to my car and said he had a great time and we should do it again. I agreed and we parted ways.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a lovely evening, but I'm starting to wonder if my lack of nervousness, although it allowed me to be more like myself and engage in meaningful dialogue, was a signal that I only view him as a friend. Do my nerves from the night before indicate a deeper attraction to eDude?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess now I just wait to see if either of them actually wants a second date.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-8024997752530327736?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/8024997752530327736/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=8024997752530327736&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/8024997752530327736'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/8024997752530327736'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/10/juggling-edates.html' title='Juggling eDates'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SQNNToe7NgI/AAAAAAAAAvM/Ig_Hx2inC0w/s72-c/First+Date.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-6357100374059353818</id><published>2008-10-24T08:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-24T08:37:51.681-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I Suck On First Dates</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SQHq51W342I/AAAAAAAAAu0/efTobOsqlzU/s1600-h/how+we+met.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SQHq51W342I/AAAAAAAAAu0/efTobOsqlzU/s320/how+we+met.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260744119041909602" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I met eDude for coffee. He and I were matched on eHarmony and we've been exchanging texts for the past couple weeks. Neither of us really asking the other person out, but more like feeling out if the other is interested and not really getting anywhere. I've never asked anyone out before because I'm too shy and my insane brain is convinced that I will be rejected. At least that's always been the case in the past. But for some reason I really wanted to meet this guy. I can't really explain why. We only talked on the phone once and it wasn't for very long. And although we had been texting, they were mostly superficial in content, i.e. How's your day? I don't understand it, but I was drawn to him. I just had to meet him. So finally I asked if he wanted to get coffee. And color me shocked, he accepts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WOOHOO! This is awesome! I'm so excit.....SHIT! I'm actually going to meet him for coffee. How did I not understand this? Now I'm really getting nervous. What if he doesn't like me? What if he thinks I'm hideous? What if I trip and spill my coffee down my shirt? What if I have something in my teeth? What if he thinks I'm boring? What if he doesn't show up? My mind is spinning out of control and every negative thought I have about myself is all combined with how this man will see me and I cannot breathe. Then I hear my phone beep. It's a text. It's from him. It says "I'm nervous."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;YIPPEE!!! He's nervous too. This is awesome. That one simple message from him alleviates all my worries (well most of them) and I am able to be a calm and rational human being once again. For a little while at least.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I go to the coffee place and meet him and he's adorable, sweet, funny, kind, handsome and has the most amazing eyes. He gives me a hug right away and I'm feeling OK. A little nervous, but that's normal, right? We go in, get our coffee and sit down. This is the point where every thought in my head vanishes. I cannot remember any of the topics I had thought of to talk about. I am barely speaking and he's doing all the talking. I try to think of something witty to say (I'd settle for something that didn't sound like Rainman) and can find nothing. My brain has vacated my body and I'm running on auto-pilot. I can see he's wondering if I'm retarded, shy, or just not interested in him. I desperately try to convey that I like him, but I feel like I'm in one of those dreams where I'm being chased by some monster and suddenly I can't move. I can only stand there in terror while the monster gets closer and closer and I struggle to move my pinkie, like that will do any good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After about an hour we go back to our cars and stand there for a few minutes. I'm frantically trying to get my brain to figure out some way that I can convey my interest in this man and I come up with nothing. I just stand there. Trying to look not completely insane. I'm sure I failed miserably. Eventually he gave me a hug and said he'd call me, but honestly I wouldn't call me. I cannot seem to behave like a sane person if my life depended on it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I had some way to let him know that I really honestly am a nice person. I'm sweet and kind and funny and intelligent and warm and affectionate and INTERESTED IN HIM!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although I think I blew my only chance. I suck on first dates.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-6357100374059353818?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/6357100374059353818/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=6357100374059353818&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/6357100374059353818'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/6357100374059353818'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-suck-on-first-dates.html' title='I Suck On First Dates'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SQHq51W342I/AAAAAAAAAu0/efTobOsqlzU/s72-c/how+we+met.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-4665744552227954260</id><published>2008-10-23T10:39:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-23T11:20:57.226-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Time for a Change</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SQC_tRLfd_I/AAAAAAAAAus/e5c8sEn886c/s1600-h/time+for+a+change.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SQC_tRLfd_I/AAAAAAAAAus/e5c8sEn886c/s320/time+for+a+change.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260415149195360242" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recently I decided that the men I meet on MySpace and similar sites are not going to produce the desired results for me. I want to date a man with long-term potential who has a job, doesn't live with his mother and is not married. Sounds simple enough, right? Boy was I wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is a brief summary of the last 5 men I connected with online:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;Code Name: Stalker&lt;br /&gt;Pros: Owns his own home, easy to talk to, seems caring&lt;br /&gt;Cons: Lives in his own home with his wife, has a part-time job&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Code Name: Boston&lt;br /&gt;Pros: Has a great job, easy to talk to, incredibly witty, makes me laugh&lt;br /&gt;Cons: Lives on the other side of the country, probably makes his wife laugh too&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Code Name: New Guy&lt;br /&gt;Pros: Is sweet, loves talking to me and spending time with me&lt;br /&gt;Cons: Has no job, has no money, never wants to do anything but sit at my house and watch movies&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Code Name: JonJon&lt;br /&gt;Pros: Has a job, owns his own home, enjoys talking to me&lt;br /&gt;Cons: Lives 1500 miles away, acts strange, suddenly stops talking to me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Code Name: Fucktard&lt;br /&gt;Pros: Talks to me, has an accent (how sad that my standards have dropped so low)&lt;br /&gt;Cons: Lives with his mother, has no job, is prone to violent outbursts, misunderstands almost everything I say, is certifiably insane&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;I have learned so much from these men. Mostly what I don't want (like dishonesty, deceit, wives), but some of them showed me things I do want. I want someone who is witty and can participate in an interesting conversation. Someone who enjoys being around me and talking to me. Someone who has made his own path in life and is successful at what he does.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately although I view these experiences as educating, they all resulted in the same thing. Me crying into a pillow after he disappoints me yet again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I decided to try eHarmony. I know that it's not a perfect solution. And I know that there are still jerks and psychos and married men on there, but hopefully men who are willing to pay $30 a month for a dating site are a little more mature.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm just setting myself up for failure, aren't I?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-4665744552227954260?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/4665744552227954260/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=4665744552227954260&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/4665744552227954260'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/4665744552227954260'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/10/time-for-change.html' title='Time for a Change'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SQC_tRLfd_I/AAAAAAAAAus/e5c8sEn886c/s72-c/time+for+a+change.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-8018153611079464159</id><published>2008-10-22T07:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-22T07:46:25.698-07:00</updated><title type='text'>FT is Dead</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SP85Jen3O2I/AAAAAAAAAuk/rQ350Omhxtw/s1600-h/he+is+dead.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SP85Jen3O2I/AAAAAAAAAuk/rQ350Omhxtw/s320/he+is+dead.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259985724793895778" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the past 7 days FT and I have been trying to be friends. Well, I tried to be friends and he tried to get me to change my mind and sleep with him. It was a continuous struggle for power. He was saying more and more outlandish things to try to shake me. I kept trying to be clear that I was not interested in a romantic relationship, but would like to continue being friends.  This lead to many disagreements that I would say were more like fights. He yelled and cursed and basically threw a tantrum when I didn't say what he wanted me to say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally he ran out of ways to manipulate me directly, so he tried to manipulate me through my friend. He sent her a friend request on Myspace and said they had a mutual friend. Then he sent her messages saying he was concerned about me because I seemed down. My friend (who knows all the dirty details of things between FT and myself) told him I was fine and had moved on from him and that he should move on too. As you can imagine, he didn't like that so much. He got very angry and took it out on me. He said things about my friend that I cannot forgive. No one calls my friend shit like that to me. I got angry back at FT and told him what he said was unacceptable and that I was too angry about it to talk right now. He said OK and to call him when I was calm (which made me even more angry).  I went home, forgot about the fight, went to bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning I checked Myspace and I have been deleted as his friend. I believe it is finally over.  Assuming I don't pick at the scab and call him. I really want this to be over, but at the same time it gave me something to focus on. However negative that energy was. I may be as crazy as him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-8018153611079464159?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/8018153611079464159/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=8018153611079464159&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/8018153611079464159'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/8018153611079464159'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/10/ft-is-dead.html' title='FT is Dead'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SP85Jen3O2I/AAAAAAAAAuk/rQ350Omhxtw/s72-c/he+is+dead.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-6803805580148040791</id><published>2008-10-17T12:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-17T12:09:33.915-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bitch, Party of 1</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SPjhnS7f7mI/AAAAAAAAAts/cPf36cHaOiQ/s1600-h/Bitch.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SPjhnS7f7mI/AAAAAAAAAts/cPf36cHaOiQ/s320/Bitch.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258200630167596642" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following is an actual Yahoo chat with FT:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: ummm  what if i told u something. would u think i was crazy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: depends on  what you said&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: mmm maybe i fallen for u&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: you have not&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: are u sure. think about it&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: if you honestly think you have fallen for me, then it's not me. i don't think you know me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: lol i was teasing u. one of these days i wanna watch ncis with you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: why would you tease me? i don't understand&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: i dont want to manipulate u&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: i just don't understand. why would you say something like that? either you honestly feel that way and only said you were teasing me to make yourself less vulnerable or you were teasing from the beginning and didn't mean it which means you were trying to get some kind of response from me. which is it?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: huh. just never mind. i  just wanna watch a ncis with u. my friend&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: i don't understand you at all&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: just please i want u as a friend. i can accept u dont want a relationship&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: ok&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: u do owe me a ncis lol&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: i don't owe you anything.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is his obsession with telling me I owe him? How exactly did his brain figure that out? Is that his way of controlling me? What happened to working on the control issues? Apparently trying really hard isn't working. Shocker.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes I took the express train to Bitchville. I realize I was not particularly kind in my responses to him. Why am I just playing with him? I know that a clean break would be best so why am I allowing this charade called "friends" continue? Maybe I just don't want to be the bad guy any more than I already am. Maybe I want him to decide he doesn't want to be friends with me. I might have succeeded. I don't think this friend thing is going to work. And I really think he's probably done now. What more is there to say? I don't think I will be hearing from him again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-6803805580148040791?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/6803805580148040791/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=6803805580148040791&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/6803805580148040791'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/6803805580148040791'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/10/bitch-party-of-1.html' title='Bitch, Party of 1'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SPjhnS7f7mI/AAAAAAAAAts/cPf36cHaOiQ/s72-c/Bitch.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-5303808439391450505</id><published>2008-10-16T11:20:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-17T11:50:51.827-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Negotiation</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SPeNvntEkpI/AAAAAAAAAtc/XDJzDE2QTgU/s1600-h/Reality+Check.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SPeNvntEkpI/AAAAAAAAAtc/XDJzDE2QTgU/s320/Reality+Check.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257826939229737618" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following is an actual Yahoo chat with FT:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: okay i am sure ur gonna freak out when i tell you this, i cannot hide from my emotion. i still want to have a relationship with you. i will change my antics, so u wont feel so odd. you got to my head, and yesterday when u gave me the news it made me feel bad.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: i dont know what to say&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: i dunno either other than it makes me think if i didnt screw up i wouldnt be feeling bad and i can have u in my arms. i am genuinely sorry. i want u&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: there is nothing to be sorry about. it just didn't work.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: damn, negotiating is hard with u&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is that how it works? I say we're done and he thinks it's time for negotiations? Do all men think this way? I don't understand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No. I take that back. He doesn't understand. He had 3 months to show me his true colors and unfortunately I didn't like them. Don't men usually act on their best behavior in the beginning? Try to control the bodily functions and what not. I know I do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If he had taken the time to get to know me instead of trying to get into my pants he would have realized that I can be stubborn and don't like people telling me what to do. Most of all, when I make up my mind about something there is no negotiation. He had 3 months to get to know me, and unfortunately he didn't even start.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think maybe he's realizing it's over. I might not hear from him anymore.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-5303808439391450505?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/5303808439391450505/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=5303808439391450505&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/5303808439391450505'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/5303808439391450505'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/10/negotiation.html' title='The Negotiation'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SPeNvntEkpI/AAAAAAAAAtc/XDJzDE2QTgU/s72-c/Reality+Check.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-7217014005300775016</id><published>2008-10-16T10:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-16T10:59:20.835-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Can We Be Friends?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SPd-hf8pZ0I/AAAAAAAAAtU/e4_eQIaVzY0/s1600-h/crazy+friend.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SPd-hf8pZ0I/AAAAAAAAAtU/e4_eQIaVzY0/s320/crazy+friend.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257810203954997058" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following is an actual Yahoo chat with FT:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: we need to talk&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: why. what did i do wrong&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: you didn't do anything wrong. i just did a lot of thinking last night. about my life and where i want it to go and what people i want to surround myself with&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: its me being too rough, or because i do different stuff&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: i need people in my life that encourage me and genuinely care about me. i think you are a nice guy, i just don't think this is going to work&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: grrr. all right.  if that is how u feel u do what u gotta do&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: i appreciate that&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: but i am putting u on the spot to find me a mate, who wont hurt me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: you want me to find you a girlfriend? i can't pick anyone for myself. i can't pick for anyone else&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: gawd i think i will be depressed. we can still be friends?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finally decided enough was enough. FT is never going to be the person I want him to be. And that's all my fault. You can't uncrazy someone no matter now much you want to. Especially if he doesn't think he's crazy. Although I think I might be crazy for allowing him to think for a second that we can be friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How do I get myself into these situations? Why can't I just say what I really feel? Maybe because it would be too mean. No man wants to hear "You are insane and you are making me insane. You cannot seem to grasp even the slightest bit of sanity to recognize that you are treating me badly. I am a person who deserves respect and courtesy. If you cannot manage to treat me at least as civilly as the gum on the bottom of your shoe then please leave me alone."  I'm just guessing that might be a bit much for the ego.  So now I'm stuck with the friend thing. Maybe. Who knows. Maybe he doesn't want to be friends. Maybe it's just his way of easing the blow. We will see.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-7217014005300775016?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/7217014005300775016/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=7217014005300775016&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/7217014005300775016'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/7217014005300775016'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/10/can-we-be-friends.html' title='Can We Be Friends?'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SPd-hf8pZ0I/AAAAAAAAAtU/e4_eQIaVzY0/s72-c/crazy+friend.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-4510438239346756356</id><published>2008-10-16T10:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-16T11:11:41.457-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Firecrackers</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SPd4W7mM2WI/AAAAAAAAAtM/TuT5lqeovKo/s1600-h/firecracker.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SPd4W7mM2WI/AAAAAAAAAtM/TuT5lqeovKo/s320/firecracker.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257803425328716130" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following is an actual Yahoo chat with FT:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: most bodyguards each  feel a firecracker go off in their rigs&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: Why?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: psychological purposes and to get rid of fear&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: I went to the eye &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Dr&lt;/span&gt; last week. No matter how many times they blow that puff of air in my eye, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;I'm&lt;/span&gt; still afraid of it. Maybe it only works for firecrackers&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I claim complete ignorance in all things bodyguard-related. My knowledge is limited to the movie "The Bodyguard" which means that I assume all bodyguards are horrific actors who are incapable of showing even the slightest emotion even during the "I Will Always Love You" song, which should make any grown man weep for at least 20 minutes. Clearly I am not tough enough for the secret service. Bummer!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-4510438239346756356?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/4510438239346756356/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=4510438239346756356&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/4510438239346756356'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/4510438239346756356'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/10/firecrackers.html' title='Firecrackers'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SPd4W7mM2WI/AAAAAAAAAtM/TuT5lqeovKo/s72-c/firecracker.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-7333382897764404904</id><published>2008-10-14T12:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-16T10:17:49.021-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Anger Management</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SPd2J7n6gGI/AAAAAAAAAtE/NUNHJITR50M/s1600-h/anger+management.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SPd2J7n6gGI/AAAAAAAAAtE/NUNHJITR50M/s320/anger+management.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257801002974347362" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following is an actual Yahoo chat with FT:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: i been working on my anger management issue. now i found out i have a control and possessive issue. it bums me out some&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: what are you doing for anger management?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: talk and productive ways. but the control and possessiveness is something else i have to fix soon otherwise i will have no girlfriend&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: so what are you doing for the control and possessive issues?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: try very hard not to be&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to try very hard to win the lottery. I'm not going to actually buy any tickets, but I'm going to try very hard. That works, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I applaud his ability to recognize a serious character flaw in himself, I wonder if he is sincere. Anger management doesn't seem to be the kind of thing you can just wish into existence. I also question his motives for telling me about his journey to self-improvement. Why do I constantly feel I'm being manipulated by him? Maybe that's just my own issue.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-7333382897764404904?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/7333382897764404904/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=7333382897764404904&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/7333382897764404904'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/7333382897764404904'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/10/anger-management.html' title='Anger Management'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SPd2J7n6gGI/AAAAAAAAAtE/NUNHJITR50M/s72-c/anger+management.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-3847100027503374204</id><published>2008-10-14T12:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-14T12:55:32.733-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Size Matters</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SPT4Plnky4I/AAAAAAAAAs8/wiVd8Cw1iRw/s1600-h/little+coffee+cup.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SPT4Plnky4I/AAAAAAAAAs8/wiVd8Cw1iRw/s320/little+coffee+cup.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257099611728038786" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following is an actual Yahoo chat with FT:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: i need coffee today. water isn't waking me up&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: drink fifteen cups lol&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: i don't think i need more than 1&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: ok well get one. me i had too much coffee. 12 cups&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is it possible to have 12 cups of coffee in one morning? Here's another question. Is it possible for someone with an ulcer to drink 12 cups of coffee in one morning?  I think maybe his cups are extra small.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bigger issue is that if he's comfortable lying about his coffee consumption, what else is he lying about. Perhaps something else size-related?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-3847100027503374204?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/3847100027503374204/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=3847100027503374204&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/3847100027503374204'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/3847100027503374204'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/10/size-matters.html' title='Size Matters'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SPT4Plnky4I/AAAAAAAAAs8/wiVd8Cw1iRw/s72-c/little+coffee+cup.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-4937542216788040144</id><published>2008-10-10T13:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-10T14:17:50.137-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I Love You</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SO-7SMznQII/AAAAAAAAAsk/-qYEYloqB3E/s1600-h/ILoveYou.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SO-7SMznQII/AAAAAAAAAsk/-qYEYloqB3E/s320/ILoveYou.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255625211514404994" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got a call from FT last night. He sounded depressed and I think he called for a little pick-me-up. I'm not sure why he thinks I'm the person for that. We don't really have that kind of relationship. Oh that's right. We don't have any relationship. And the last month of severely limited contact has helped me to be less invested in the aquaintency thing we do have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So he droned on about family problems and people giving him grief. I listened and tried to summon the emotion necessary to pretend to care. He really did sound unhappy and I don't like when people are depressed. Probably because I can fall into that pit so easily and I know how hard it can be to get out of it.  I listened to him and tried to be supportive, but at the same time not lead him on. I thought I was doing a pretty decent job of being nice and caring without actually caring (too much).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until he hit me with this bomb:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;"I'm falling in love with you."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WTF? Where did that come from? Can you fall in love with someone you have only met once? And who you talk to for a few minutes a week? How does that work? Is he just more open to love than I am? Am I just an old, bitter spinster who will never know love?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or is his use of the L word just a ploy for sex?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah I think so too. And I'm not sure I care that it's a ridiculous manipulation just to get me into bed. Dammit! It might be working.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course I discussed this issue with my friend D.  She's so full of wonderful advice. When I told her what he said, D responded with "Wow he's gay."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning, I got an IM from FT. He didn't sound so depressed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: how ya doin today?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: better than the other day lol&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: that's good. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: i just need to see u again thats all &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I immediately informed D about this update.  Here is my convo with her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);"&gt;D: is he still falling in love wit u&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me:  don't think so. must have been a temporary thing&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);"&gt;D: HA! ask him on a date!!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: why?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);"&gt;D: jus kuzz sum1s gotta b getting sum action since i'm not....ur turn&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: thanks&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);"&gt;D: its the truth. we gotta keep the stories going 4 entertainment&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: good point. so i should sleep with him so we have stories? good enough reason for me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);"&gt;D: if u must&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: 1 problem. where do we do it? if we go to my house then he will stalk me and break into my house. his house? he'll chain me up in the basement. can we use your house?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);"&gt;D: ummmmmmmm negative&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyone have a place we can use?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-4937542216788040144?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/4937542216788040144/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=4937542216788040144&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/4937542216788040144'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/4937542216788040144'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-love-you.html' title='I Love You'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SO-7SMznQII/AAAAAAAAAsk/-qYEYloqB3E/s72-c/ILoveYou.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-7771297615307215542</id><published>2008-10-06T10:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-08T09:47:29.836-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I Miss You</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SOpSX_qWEKI/AAAAAAAAAqE/PSWAkdgaZU0/s1600-h/miss+you.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SOpSX_qWEKI/AAAAAAAAAqE/PSWAkdgaZU0/s400/miss+you.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254102487460614306" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a very long absence, the following is an actual Yahoo chat with FT:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: i miss u&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: ur back online?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The answer is no. He's not online. OK yes he was, but only for about 10 minutes (thanks Starbucks for the free wifi).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't talked to him in a week. We are now averaging 1 thirty minute phone call once a week. This might not seem that bad, but we only live about 20 miles apart. Why aren't we going out? Doing things? I wish I knew.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He doesn't do texts and doesn't return my phone calls for days (so I stopped calling him). I suppose I would call him a friend at this point, but really he's more like an acquaintance. Someone I only met once (2 months ago) and doesn't seem likely I'll ever see again. Let's be honest here, if he wanted to see me again, he would have. I obviously like him (against my better judgment) and want to spend time with him. But it's clearly not reciprocal. I accept that. I'm trying to at least. After our last phone conversation I pretty much decided I was done with him. Not that it was a bad conversation, it was just a catching up kind of call. There was no forward movement. I so decided I wasn't going to call him. I'm no longer interested (and if I tell myself this enough times I might believe it).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So today I get back to my desk from a break and I have a flashing light on my cell. I grab the phone to see who texted me and discover that it's really a missed call and voicemail message. Yup. He called me. At 10am. While I'm at work. It's good that I wasn't at my desk when the phone rang because I'm not sure I would have answered. What is there to say? And what do I want to say with a room full of nosy co-workers salivating over every syllable? Within 15 minutes he was online talking to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why? I don't understand. Can't we just let this thing die? We do not have a relationship. And when he pretends that we do every time he calls he just annoys me. He has no right to be angry or jealous if I have a platonic male friend. Even if I have a non-platonic male friend. Or a non-platonic girlfriend. Whatever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just wish he'd make up his mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shit or get off the pot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You either like me and want to spend time with me or you don't. Clearly he doesn't.  So now he needs to stop calling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm really going to miss FT. Just not as much as I thought I would.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-7771297615307215542?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/7771297615307215542/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=7771297615307215542&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/7771297615307215542'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/7771297615307215542'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-miss-you.html' title='I Miss You'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SOpSX_qWEKI/AAAAAAAAAqE/PSWAkdgaZU0/s72-c/miss+you.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-3839666764872049320</id><published>2008-10-02T13:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-02T13:18:31.093-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Razor Blades</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SOUsWD97bGI/AAAAAAAAAp8/OBAQ3RTjtYs/s1600-h/razor+blade.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SOUsWD97bGI/AAAAAAAAAp8/OBAQ3RTjtYs/s320/razor+blade.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252653297931349090" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following is an actual Yahoo chat with BB:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;BB: hi sex&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;y&lt;/span&gt; (1)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: hi&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;BB: how is my girl doing&lt;/span&gt; (2)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: ok. how are you?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;BB: i am good i miss u did u miss me&lt;/span&gt; (3)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: um&lt;/span&gt; (4)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;BB: i want here ur voice&lt;/span&gt; (5) &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;i really i talk to u on the phone&lt;/span&gt; (6)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(1) Sexy? You've seen one tiny grainy pic of me and we've IM'd 4 times. How desperate are you?&lt;br /&gt;(2) I am not "your" girl. I will never be your girl. Which begs the question, why am I even talking to him. Short answer: FT is incommunicado and I'm starved for attention.&lt;br /&gt;(3) How is it possible to miss something you never had? Never even came close to having? And how do I answer "no" without sounding like a complete bitch?&lt;br /&gt;(4) I guess this is how. Say something vague and guttural and let the man interpret it any way he wants.&lt;br /&gt;(5) Am I the only person who gets irrationally annoyed when people can't use the correct version of hear/here?&lt;br /&gt;(6) Holy hell! If he talks anything like he writes I'll have to stick razor blades in my ears just so I don't have to listen to him. Or just never give him my number. That might work too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-3839666764872049320?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/3839666764872049320/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=3839666764872049320&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/3839666764872049320'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/3839666764872049320'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/10/razor-blades.html' title='Razor Blades'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SOUsWD97bGI/AAAAAAAAAp8/OBAQ3RTjtYs/s72-c/razor+blade.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-7766033276535291973</id><published>2008-09-25T14:57:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-02T13:19:36.194-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Who are these people?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255); font-style: italic;"&gt;Me- I'm a 32 year old single woman. I have a decent-paying job, my own place, and am independent and responsible. I've been out of the dating scene for a while. I'm testing the waters now and finding that men can be confusing and infuriating.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255); font-style: italic;"&gt;FT- This is Fucktard. He's incredibly sexy and I am inexplicably drawn to him. Despite his verbal diarrhea, compulsive lying and blatant manipulation to try to get me into bed. He is the inspiration for this blog. Him and all the moronic and insulting things he says.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);"&gt;BB- Big Boy is a new acquaintance. Within the first 2 minutes of chatting he asked me what I was looking for in a man. I told him I wasn't looking for a man. I guess he doesn't bel&lt;/span&gt;ieve me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-7766033276535291973?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/7766033276535291973/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=7766033276535291973&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/7766033276535291973'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/7766033276535291973'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/09/who-are-these-people.html' title='Who are these people?'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-2721708165660451931</id><published>2008-09-22T15:14:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-22T15:58:43.268-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Good Man</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SNgiAn96SJI/AAAAAAAAAn0/0qaawWJjzLY/s1600-h/good+man.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SNgiAn96SJI/AAAAAAAAAn0/0qaawWJjzLY/s320/good+man.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248982759824312466" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following is an actual Yahoo chat with BB:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;BB: so what do u think about me?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: i don't know you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;BB: do u want to get to know me better?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: i already told you i'm not looking for a man&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;BB: i know i want to fix that. u need a good man too. u do and i want to be him&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am I being unclear? Am I sending mixed signals? All of our conversations go like this. I sound like a psychotic bitch and he keeps wanting to latch onto me. I really am a sweet person. I'm not always bitchy and psychotic. Sometimes I'm just whiny and neurotic.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-2721708165660451931?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/2721708165660451931/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=2721708165660451931&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/2721708165660451931'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/2721708165660451931'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/09/good-man.html' title='A Good Man'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SNgiAn96SJI/AAAAAAAAAn0/0qaawWJjzLY/s72-c/good+man.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-4403357083094145066</id><published>2008-09-22T15:14:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-22T15:48:20.394-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Babies</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SNgga3vslHI/AAAAAAAAAns/oQRhr2cRuV8/s1600-h/babies.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SNgga3vslHI/AAAAAAAAAns/oQRhr2cRuV8/s320/babies.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248981011713004658" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following is an actual Yahoo chat with BB:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;BB: have any little ones?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: nope&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;BB: why not?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: because I don't want any. I'm not interested in having children and raising them alone. If I had someone in my life, maybe I'd want kids, but for now I don't&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;BB: we need to fix that&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HOLY SHIT! I totally sound like a bitter old spinster. I'm really not. This man just seems to bring this out in me. First of all, why the fuck do you think I don't have kids? Not that it's any of your business. I guess I could have made something up. "I'm infertile" Maybe that would get him to stop asking why. I thought if I sounded a little harsh he would back off. No such luck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there is no "we" here. I don't see my childless situation as something that needs to be fixed. Especially not by someone I just met.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-4403357083094145066?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/4403357083094145066/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=4403357083094145066&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/4403357083094145066'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/4403357083094145066'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/09/babies.html' title='Babies'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SNgga3vslHI/AAAAAAAAAns/oQRhr2cRuV8/s72-c/babies.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-1624886612717046816</id><published>2008-09-22T15:13:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-22T15:37:52.177-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Come Home To Me</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SNgcA7tDJtI/AAAAAAAAAnk/JEgLjfR8XGk/s1600-h/jesse.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SNgcA7tDJtI/AAAAAAAAAnk/JEgLjfR8XGk/s320/jesse.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248976168052532946" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following is an actual Yahoo chat with BB:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;BB: don't u wish u had man to come home to?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: why would i want that?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How do you tread lightly when you have every fiber of your being telling you that this guy is just asking for a minuscule opening and he will insinuate himself into your life like a parasite?  I don't want to be unkind, but I already told him I wasn't look for a man. I'm OK with being friends, but do we really have to have this conversation so soon? I just met you. No way in hell am I telling you where I live. You won't be coming anywhere near my house. Ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And who decided that I can't have a happy life without a man at my house? If he doesn't have a job and is just hanging out there waiting for me to get home then we have a problem. Unless he cleans and cooks. And looks like Jesse Metcalfe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't get me wrong. I would absolutely love to find someone that makes my life better. But I refuse to accept that I have a shallow or unfulfilled life because I don't have a man standing next to me. And I'm really getting tired of men who suggest this as a means to get to know me. Offending me isn't going to make me want you. Unless you are FT.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-1624886612717046816?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/1624886612717046816/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=1624886612717046816&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/1624886612717046816'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/1624886612717046816'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/09/come-home-to-me.html' title='Come Home To Me'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SNgcA7tDJtI/AAAAAAAAAnk/JEgLjfR8XGk/s72-c/jesse.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-4635369253395453371</id><published>2008-09-19T12:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-19T13:23:27.602-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Screw You</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SNQFHG2iRwI/AAAAAAAAAnU/dFS1ebfqAUU/s1600-h/screw+you.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SNQFHG2iRwI/AAAAAAAAAnU/dFS1ebfqAUU/s320/screw+you.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247825085450045186" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since FT is going through a sane period (damn him), I've had to borrow material from my friend D.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**Backstory: D and The Wiz had seen each other at a club a few times. He finally asked her out and yesterday they met for coffee. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following is an actual txt convo between D and The Wiz today:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;The Wiz: i like u and i think u like me too&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;D: lol&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;The Wiz: u wanna know whats weird? i think i miss u.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;D: Why do you feel like that?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;The Wiz: just feel like i can't wait to see u again. so do u wanna go steady with me?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;D: um... i don't really know you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;The Wiz: well then screw you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What a gentleman. And I thought chivalry was dead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am so out of the dating loop. I'm starting to think the dating manual for men goes something like this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#1. Go out on a first date with a stranger. You might have seen each other around a little bit, but you never had any contact or even knew each other's names so this is a first date.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#2. Casually mention in the same sentence that you have been to prison and that you have 4 baby mamas. The issue she asks about first is the touchy one. She's ok with the other. Besides you can always tell her you were joking later. Women will believe anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#3. Wait 16 hours and send a text expressing your deep and sincere interest in other person. Be sure to include something that tells her how she feels. Chicks love that shit. They can't think for themselves anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#4. Ask for a level of commitment that was out of date on the Brady Bunch. She will think you are old-fashioned and safe. WAAHAAHAA! (evil laugh)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#5. Be rejected. How dare that bitch say no. Even if that really isn't a no, but a stall tactic, she's toast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#6. Express your frustration so she knows what she's missed out on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Makes me want to start all over with FT. Really do things right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No wonder D has a "no touching rule."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-4635369253395453371?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/4635369253395453371/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=4635369253395453371&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/4635369253395453371'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/4635369253395453371'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/09/screw-you.html' title='Screw You'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SNQFHG2iRwI/AAAAAAAAAnU/dFS1ebfqAUU/s72-c/screw+you.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-9136556847243014665</id><published>2008-09-19T08:48:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-19T09:05:59.504-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Take Your Pills</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SNPNEgKJ8WI/AAAAAAAAAnM/6FsPS547GEg/s1600-h/taking+pills.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SNPNEgKJ8WI/AAAAAAAAAnM/6FsPS547GEg/s320/taking+pills.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247763468052459874" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm confused.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've had several conversations with FT in the last few days and none have contained blog-worthy tidbits. Is he evolving? Growing up? Taking his meds? He's in the process of moving so maybe he's just exhausted by the time I talk to him. Does it work like that? Does the crazy take a nap when he gets really tired?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is it sad that I miss his craziness? I don't really miss it. I just like having something to blog about. Hopefully he will be back to giving me new material soon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-9136556847243014665?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/9136556847243014665/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=9136556847243014665&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/9136556847243014665'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/9136556847243014665'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/09/take-your-pills.html' title='Take Your Pills'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SNPNEgKJ8WI/AAAAAAAAAnM/6FsPS547GEg/s72-c/taking+pills.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-8463250448285904306</id><published>2008-09-15T11:53:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-15T17:59:28.199-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Do you want a skull?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SM8Ce2lTTII/AAAAAAAAAj4/WcezQ935YPQ/s1600-h/human+skull.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SM8Ce2lTTII/AAAAAAAAAj4/WcezQ935YPQ/s320/human+skull.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246414819981216898" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following is an actual Yahoo chat with FT:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: would you like a animal skull?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: no thank you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: its cool it has red lite bulbs in the eyes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: i'm still gonna say no. but thanks for the offer&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WTF! Whatever happened to giving a girl flowers? A skull? Are you kidding me? How did he even acquire a skull? Probably the remains of some poor woman who ended up at his house in the middle of the woods. I'm sure it went something like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Oh he's a nice guy. He's just misunderstood. He needs someone to care about him and he'll be a wonderful man. I can help him. Wow he really lives out in a remote area. Must be nice to live around all this nature without any annoying neighbors.  Hmm. His house smells a little funny. Maybe he's cooking something exotic. I think I just heard him lock the door. That cautious. Keep the wild animals out. Good thing he's so strong and brave. He'll protect me from anything bad. Oh he's back with a drink for me. That's so sweet of him. It tastes a little off. Maybe he ..... WHACK!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah I'm sure that's it. I honestly can't think of any other explanation for the skull right now. Unless he's Indiana Jones. And I haven't seen him with a whip.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dammit! I turned myself on. I just thought about him killing someone and within 10 seconds I'm back to wanting him. I need to get my head examined. Hopefully before it's just a skull.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-8463250448285904306?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/8463250448285904306/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=8463250448285904306&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/8463250448285904306'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/8463250448285904306'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/09/do-you-want-skull.html' title='Do you want a skull?'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SM8Ce2lTTII/AAAAAAAAAj4/WcezQ935YPQ/s72-c/human+skull.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-6176709822042338352</id><published>2008-09-14T11:21:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-14T17:46:38.653-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Crash on my Couch</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SM2tO2QFQLI/AAAAAAAAAjo/TMCXnF4oCKE/s1600-h/deadly+couch.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SM2tO2QFQLI/AAAAAAAAAjo/TMCXnF4oCKE/s320/deadly+couch.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246039611549237426" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following is an actual Yahoo chat with FT:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: what r u doing this afternoon&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: nothing i guess. you?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FT: i have a surprise in store for you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: what?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FT: hehe. i wanna see u. when i call you this afternoon be ready&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: be ready for what?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FT: well if i don't get busy this afternoon would you like to hang out&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: yes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FT: sweet. i'll give you directions to my pad then, for dinner. and u can decide if you wanna crash on my couch&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#1. Why ask me out if you are going to include the phrase "if i don't get busy" because that's just rude. Either shit or get off the pot. It's one afternoon/evening. Are you really that much in demand? This also tells me that I'm clearly not any kind of a priority for you. I really should have immediately said no. Yet in my stupidity I've managed to rationalize this comment. Oh he just wants an out in case I turn him down. Less damage to his fragile little ego. Yeah right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#2. If we've only met once, is it really appropriate to go to his house for dinner? He lives 40 miles away in the middle of fucking nowhere. Exactly the type of place serial killers like to prey on their victims. I'm assuming. Since I haven't seen his place I can't say for sure. But I have feeling it's the perfect place to dismember and bury a body.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#3. Is dinner just an invitation for sex? Is he really making dinner or is it just going to be mac &amp;amp; cheese? Or pizza? Why can't we go to a restaurant? Some place with lots of people. I might need witnesses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#4. Why in hell would I need to stay the night? Is he planning on drugging me? Getting me drunk so I can't escape? If this really is just about sex, then why would I sleep on the couch? Would I get kicked out of bed after he's finished? He's not even gentleman enough to give me the bed? Maybe I wouldn't want to sleep on the bed anyway, what with all the cum stains.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-6176709822042338352?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/6176709822042338352/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=6176709822042338352&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/6176709822042338352'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/6176709822042338352'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/09/crash-on-my-couch.html' title='Crash on my Couch'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SM2tO2QFQLI/AAAAAAAAAjo/TMCXnF4oCKE/s72-c/deadly+couch.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-5706001269507093482</id><published>2008-09-12T19:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-12T19:51:48.789-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Male Friends</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMspEYV9FFI/AAAAAAAAAjg/B-ZFGIBTXXM/s1600-h/male+friends.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMspEYV9FFI/AAAAAAAAAjg/B-ZFGIBTXXM/s320/male+friends.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245331346233824338" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following is an actual Yahoo chat with FT:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: so what did u do when i was gone&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: talked to a friend&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: which one&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: my friend in long beach&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: male friend&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: no&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: alright&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: i can't have a male friend?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: nope. i am. and soon to be &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;ur&lt;/span&gt; best friend. u know i want u&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: you think i can't have a guy friend without wanting him?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: sorry i get jealous at times&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: jealous is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;ok&lt;/span&gt;. no reason to be though. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;i'm&lt;/span&gt; not talking to anyone else the way i talk to you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: please &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;dont&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: why would i? &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;i'm&lt;/span&gt; not like that. how many woman do you talk to? many? are you keeping your options open?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;ur&lt;/span&gt; cute. marry me one day&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I almost fell out of my chair I was laughing so hard. Let me try to figure this one out. You want me to think you want to marry me so that I won't talk to any other guys, but you can talk to whomever you want? You do remember that we've only met in person once, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you think he knows that the reason he's the only guy I talk to is because there is no one else to talk to right now? The moment someone sane comes along, I'm dropping him like a non-supportive bra. I hope. Please God. Let me drop him.  What I really should be praying for is for that sane guy to come along. Although to be honest, I'm starting to doubt there are any sane ones out there.  Hence why I'm stuck talking to this piece of social retardation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Yay&lt;/span&gt; me!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-5706001269507093482?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/5706001269507093482/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=5706001269507093482&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/5706001269507093482'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/5706001269507093482'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/09/male-friends.html' title='Male Friends'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMspEYV9FFI/AAAAAAAAAjg/B-ZFGIBTXXM/s72-c/male+friends.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-911519033042310063</id><published>2008-09-12T19:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-12T19:38:47.536-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Negotiation Techniques</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMsnGkvgZ0I/AAAAAAAAAjY/_AHdrPWTwEU/s1600-h/negotiation.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMsnGkvgZ0I/AAAAAAAAAjY/_AHdrPWTwEU/s320/negotiation.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245329184898705218" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following is an actual Yahoo chat with FT:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: my way of negotiation is kick ass, kill, cuss out then find the answer&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: hmm. maybe that's not the best technique in all situations&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you really need to cuss someone out after you kill them? That's gotta be worse than kicking them when they're down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps I should be cautious when it comes time to decide what we watch on TV. Surely a little Sports Center won't kill me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-911519033042310063?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/911519033042310063/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=911519033042310063&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/911519033042310063'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/911519033042310063'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/09/negotiation-techniques.html' title='Negotiation Techniques'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMsnGkvgZ0I/AAAAAAAAAjY/_AHdrPWTwEU/s72-c/negotiation.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-6582065414968534263</id><published>2008-09-12T19:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-12T19:23:51.842-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Big Foot</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMsi_KDa4-I/AAAAAAAAAjQ/H5th8sSt4sQ/s1600-h/Sasquatch.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMsi_KDa4-I/AAAAAAAAAjQ/H5th8sSt4sQ/s320/Sasquatch.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245324659428877282" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following is an actual Yahoo chat with FT:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: i like a man with a hairy chest&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: i love a hairy body like &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; cursor: pointer; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(51, 102, 255);" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1221272060_2"&gt;Sasquatch&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt; but i don't like hairy balls or a hairy head&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Should I be concerned? It sounds to me like he's more interested in Steve than Mary.  Who likes that much hair? Yes it's manly, but come on. And his biggest concern is hairy balls? OK I might agree with him there. But all things in moderation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If he's talking about himself, then he shaves his head and his nuts. If he's talking about what he likes in a significant other? Well, then I can stop plucking my chin hairs. Score!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Down side, I might have to grow a penis.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-6582065414968534263?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/6582065414968534263/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=6582065414968534263&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/6582065414968534263'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/6582065414968534263'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/09/big-foot.html' title='Big Foot'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMsi_KDa4-I/AAAAAAAAAjQ/H5th8sSt4sQ/s72-c/Sasquatch.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-3436295786417442112</id><published>2008-09-11T20:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-11T20:38:45.064-07:00</updated><title type='text'>You Hurt Me</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMnjLHEUCmI/AAAAAAAAAjI/TbhURUUVMHw/s1600-h/BM1131%7EMe-Want-Hurt-You-Posters.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMnjLHEUCmI/AAAAAAAAAjI/TbhURUUVMHw/s320/BM1131%7EMe-Want-Hurt-You-Posters.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244973021064858210" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following is an actual Yahoo chat with FT:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: u hurt me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Me: how did i hurt you?&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;FT: u made me feel like u used me to get close to u then you dont even make a effort to meet again when i gave you plenty opportunity to hang out again&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Me: how did you give me opportunity to hang out. Did you ask me to do something?&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;FT: i gave you suggestions and, you were like nah giving me excuses. yet it was cool, that you decided to drink and got busy when i was giving u hints to hang out&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Me: hints? why don't you just try asking me&lt;/p&gt;I must not be aware of how this whole "dating thing" works. I thought one person asked the other person out to do something. Dinner, movie, sporting event. Something. I guess it's now SOP to just say "hey, what are you doing" and interpret that as an offer for a date. Call me old fashioned, but I like to know what we would be doing before I commit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unless he just wants to hang out at his house and have sex. I can see how that would be a difficult thing to articulate. "Hey, what are you doing? Wanna come over and watch the mirror on my ceiling?" Yeah, it just doesn't quite flow off the tongue.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-3436295786417442112?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/3436295786417442112/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=3436295786417442112&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/3436295786417442112'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/3436295786417442112'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/09/you-hurt-me.html' title='You Hurt Me'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMnjLHEUCmI/AAAAAAAAAjI/TbhURUUVMHw/s72-c/BM1131%7EMe-Want-Hurt-You-Posters.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-825741408899913288</id><published>2008-09-11T20:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-11T20:31:05.522-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Love Me</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMnhOV1jx0I/AAAAAAAAAi4/x7xPewvH1ZM/s1600-h/love_me.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMnhOV1jx0I/AAAAAAAAAi4/x7xPewvH1ZM/s320/love_me.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244970877545858882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following is an actual Yahoo chat with FT:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: u forgot to call me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Me: lol did you want me to call you?&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;FT: yes you told me u were going too. That’s ok that u forgot&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;(NOTE: I did not say I was going to call)&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Me: you could have called me&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;FT: what for, if you told me u were gonna call me&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Me: sorry&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;FT: next time don’t forget&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Me: sure. What did you do today?&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;FT: i went to the art supply store for that drawing seminar. and it was the reason why i expected u to call me last nite. nope u thought i wasnt worth &lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:city st="on"&gt;ur&lt;/st1:city&gt;&lt;/st1:place&gt; time&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: that's not what i thought. i'm sorry.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;FT: u could have called me. i stayed up purposely to wait for &lt;st1:city st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;ur&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:city&gt; call to invite you with me this morning, instead you had a blonde moment and, decided not to call me&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Me: i'm sorry i upset you&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;FT: you could have called me. Anytime. it would be ok if u woke me up. just call me&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Me: sorry&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;FT: instead i ended up looking foolish. That’s okay&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Me: how many times do you want me to say i'm sorry? if it was that important, you should have called me&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);" class="MsoNormal"&gt;FT: love me&lt;/p&gt;Do you think he's bi-polar? Is he on meds? Should he be? Should I be? He makes me crazy and I still talk to him. Who's the nutzo one now? Huh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How can I like someone who is so clearly unbalanced? Or is he sane and I'm unhinged? He's made my whole world go upside-down. And I kinda like it. On the days when I'm not trying to gouge my eyes out with spoons.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-825741408899913288?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/825741408899913288/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=825741408899913288&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/825741408899913288'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/825741408899913288'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/09/love-me.html' title='Love Me'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMnhOV1jx0I/AAAAAAAAAi4/x7xPewvH1ZM/s72-c/love_me.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-8331292517111397392</id><published>2008-09-11T20:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-11T20:21:54.141-07:00</updated><title type='text'>You owe me</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMnffIaMvEI/AAAAAAAAAiw/px8qMq_t8o0/s1600-h/jinx_you_own_me.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMnffIaMvEI/AAAAAAAAAiw/px8qMq_t8o0/s320/jinx_you_own_me.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244968966975962178" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following is an actual Yahoo chat with FT:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: you still mad at me?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);font-family:georgia;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;FT: no. but u owe me a relationship&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;How in hell do I owe him a relationship? Because I talk to him? If that's the criteria, then I owe lots of people relationships. Normally he seems to be under the delusion that we already have a relationship. Maybe relationship is code for sex. Is he saying I owe him sex? Still doesn't make sense to me. We talk so I owe him sex? Again, I'd owe lots of people sex. This is confusing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-8331292517111397392?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/8331292517111397392/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=8331292517111397392&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/8331292517111397392'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/8331292517111397392'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/09/you-owe-me.html' title='You owe me'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMnffIaMvEI/AAAAAAAAAiw/px8qMq_t8o0/s72-c/jinx_you_own_me.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-5656255508528004876</id><published>2008-09-11T20:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-11T20:15:51.188-07:00</updated><title type='text'>New Chapter</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMnb5OofskI/AAAAAAAAAio/2mu1WQHuJ6w/s1600-h/journey.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMnb5OofskI/AAAAAAAAAio/2mu1WQHuJ6w/s320/journey.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244965017276625474" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following is an actual IM comment from FT:&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: think of this as a new chapter in &lt;/span&gt;&lt;st1:city style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);" st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;ur&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:city&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt; journey&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;A new chapter in my book? A new leg of my journey? Why does my journey have to have chapters? How many chapters do I get for my whole life? I'm not sure I want to dedicate an entire chapter to this guy. How about a page? Maybe a paragraph?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-5656255508528004876?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/5656255508528004876/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=5656255508528004876&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/5656255508528004876'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/5656255508528004876'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/09/new-chapter.html' title='New Chapter'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMnb5OofskI/AAAAAAAAAio/2mu1WQHuJ6w/s72-c/journey.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-4463775907706634320</id><published>2008-09-11T15:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-11T15:25:34.825-07:00</updated><title type='text'>UPS is like fight club</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMmZUeITsEI/AAAAAAAAAig/CKYiN4nyV84/s1600-h/fight-club2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMmZUeITsEI/AAAAAAAAAig/CKYiN4nyV84/s320/fight-club2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244891818013995074" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"  &gt;The following is an actual Yahoo chat with FT:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: ups has their own internal system on seniority they hold fights during breaks. even for drivers. fist fights&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: i doubt that&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: ever wonder why union 396 is highly protective for their drivers loaders and unloaders. yes i know, i used to be a unloader when i was 17. and my friend tells me everything at ups&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: is it like fight club? i love that movie&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: of sorts. with politics&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: do they take their shirts off?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: sometimes. ups workers and ups drivers are a politically motivated gang. they're  gangsters hun. its a code of silence. its a reason why, ups is managed by corporate fucks, and gangsters its a social experiment&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: as long as they get my package delivered i don't give a fuck what they do&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am I drinking crazy juice? Is this common knowledge and everyone knows about this except me? And if I thought UPS drivers were hot before, now, knowing that they engage in Fight Club antics during lunch makes me drool even more.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-4463775907706634320?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/4463775907706634320/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=4463775907706634320&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/4463775907706634320'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/4463775907706634320'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/09/ups-is-like-fight-club.html' title='UPS is like fight club'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMmZUeITsEI/AAAAAAAAAig/CKYiN4nyV84/s72-c/fight-club2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-2660726729333958029</id><published>2008-09-07T10:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-07T11:14:49.471-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Claim Me</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMQaBPv3JNI/AAAAAAAAAck/DkVs-tlJo3A/s1600-h/simpsons-radioactive-man.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMQaBPv3JNI/AAAAAAAAAck/DkVs-tlJo3A/s320/simpsons-radioactive-man.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243344474875569362" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following is an actual IM comment from FT:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);font-family:georgia;" &gt;FT: my goal is to have u claim me as &lt;/span&gt;&lt;st1:place style="font-family: georgia; color: rgb(51, 102, 255);" st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:city st="on"&gt;ur&lt;/st1:city&gt;&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt; boyfriend&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What does this mean? How would I do this even if I wanted to? Does it involve a flag? Maybe a ticket? I don't understand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is this comment supposed to make me think he wants me as his girlfriend? Is it reverse psychology?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I figure out how to "claim him," can I disown him later?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does he want me to start thinking of him as my boyfriend so I'll sleep with him?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Does he even know what being a boyfriend is?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;And if this is his "goal" what is he doing to achieve that goal? Is he asking me out? No. Is he calling me? No. Maybe he's just an underachiever.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-2660726729333958029?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/2660726729333958029/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=2660726729333958029&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/2660726729333958029'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/2660726729333958029'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/09/claim-me.html' title='Claim Me'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMQaBPv3JNI/AAAAAAAAAck/DkVs-tlJo3A/s72-c/simpsons-radioactive-man.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2366313402286067052.post-8655300858555469603</id><published>2008-09-07T09:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-07T11:08:58.805-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Aliens Attacked My Computer</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMQYq7pA0wI/AAAAAAAAAcU/7px-h6SE6-U/s1600-h/Kang+and+Kodos.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMQYq7pA0wI/AAAAAAAAAcU/7px-h6SE6-U/s320/Kang+and+Kodos.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243342992009384706" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following is an actual Yahoo chat with FT:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p  style="color: rgb(153, 255, 153);font-family:georgia;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: are u there? i turned on my im and all of these logged messages were there. i didnt even get on last nite&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p  style="color: rgb(153, 255, 153);font-family:georgia;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Me: You didn't talk to me at all on yahoo yesterday? Is that what &lt;/span&gt;&lt;st1:city style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);" st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;ur&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:city&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt; saying? So I wasn't talking to you last night? It was someone else&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p  style="color: rgb(153, 255, 153);font-family:georgia;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;FT: nope and i changed my password six times. it wasnt me. the person almost hacked my pc&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:12;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"  &gt;Me: That's very strange. Whoever hacked &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:city st="on"&gt;ur&lt;/st1:city&gt;&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"  &gt; yahoo talks just like you. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The night before we had a lengthy discussion followed by a disagreement. He knew he pissed me off when he said I was almost 35 and needed to get laid. I'm only 32. Don't make me older than I am. And I'm sure I do need to get laid, but insulting me will pretty much guarantee you won't be the one to do the deed. I guess he had no choice but to say someone hacked his computer. That way he isn't accountable for what he said.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2366313402286067052-8655300858555469603?l=thingsmensay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/feeds/8655300858555469603/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2366313402286067052&amp;postID=8655300858555469603&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/8655300858555469603'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2366313402286067052/posts/default/8655300858555469603'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thingsmensay.blogspot.com/2008/09/aliens-attacked-my-computer.html' title='Aliens Attacked My Computer'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iRWu2WfMOBY/SMQYq7pA0wI/AAAAAAAAAcU/7px-h6SE6-U/s72-c/Kang+and+Kodos.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
