But He’s Gay!

Have you ever had one of those nights when you ask yourself the following day, why did I do that?  

Not only did I have one of those, but so did my favorite bartender.

“He just didn’t seem like your type, Celebrity.”

No, he wasn’t my type.  But, not to worry, because the only thing I was found guilty of was talking to someone for too long at my favorite Irish pub.  I know it must be hard to watch the owner’s sister walk in and sit at your bar and not feel responsible for her. Therefore, I apologized for making my friend and bartender (The Belfast Bartender) worry about me that one night.

I confess, I was bored that night and of course there was beer.  Did I mention I was bored? It was just one of those evenings when I had nothing to do and I didn’t want to go home and sitting next to me was a young guy who was also alone.   It happens, because in an Irish pub, it’s customary to have a conversation with perfect strangers.

I know how to handle myself.  When the guy pressured me for my phone number, at least I’m smart enough to maybe accidentally on purpose given him the wrong phone number when I left.


“I know. I was clearly a little bored that night.  I know you have my back and that’s why I like coming here. Moving forward, in case this ever happens again, I’m telling you right now that I’m giving you full permission to break up anything you think is out of character for me, okay?”

Which leads me to my next story….


“You look great tonight, Celebrity,” Belfast Bartender said as he walked around the bar to give me a hug.

I felt great.  I was happy to be out of the house and it was a perfect autumn night to slip into my favorite pair of jeans and break out my favorite tall boots. 

Plus!  I had JUST washed my hair.


I ordered my beer from Belfast and stood at the end of the bar near the waitress station.  To my right, half way down the bar, I couldn’t help but notice a group of people.  I didn’t recognize any of them, but it was hard to see with the lights being turn down so low — you know, for ambiance.

(Who wants to be in a brightly lit bar?  Not me.)

“Oh, geez,” I said to the waitress. “We have a Stage 4 cling-on situation at three o’clock.  Do you know who that is staring at me?”  

“I’ve never seen him before. But he is definitely starting at you.  Good luck with that,” she said and walked away. 

The fact that I was there by myself, and my friends hadn’t showed up yet, made me feel just a teensy-weensy bit uncomfortable.  I reminded myself that as long as the Belfast Bartender was working, I knew he’d have my back.

There’s never anything one can do about someone staring at you, so I decided to have a seat at the bar.  Just as I started to walk towards the stool I had picked out, the man who was staring at me yelled over to me with a thick accent, “My God, baby.  Come over here.”

It was more like a pur than an accent.

But, whatever it was, it was sexy as hell.

So, I played out my response for a second.  

You know the, who me?

Oh, you meant me? 

As if I didn’t know…

With my best model walk, I slowly moved past the few people standing at the bar and walked toward the man.  

He greeted me with a huge smile and perfect teeth.

“Yes, baby…hello….where are you from?  My God you are gorgeous!”

I was gorgeous? 

He was gorgeous! 

But it was his sexy-ass accent that totally had me captivated.  And, even with my 3.5” high heeled boots on, he was still slightly taller than me.


“You are too funny,” I smiled coyly at him. “Where are you from?”

With a twinkle in his eyes, his velvety voice purred, “I’m from Costa Rica, but I live in Florida now.”

We stood there smiling and admiring each other.  It was one of those rare instances where you meet someone and just like that you click. 

Call it chemistry, mutual admiration, or what you want, but it was definitely there.

“My God, baby.  Are you married?  Single?!  Whaaaat?” he said eyeing me up and down like a flamboyant artist who just unveiled his masterpiece. “I can’t believe someone like you lives here…”


“Yes, yes, well thank you.  I grew up here,” I started to explain, which probably sounded more like an apology than a reason.  “But, I actually really do love living here.” 

“You don’t look like you are from here.”

“Thank you.  I used to live in New York City and Los Angeles.”

“Why would you leeeeeave, baby?”

But the real question was, what was he doing here in my small New England town?

I didn’t get too far contemplating a reason why this gorgeous man was in my small town. My thoughts were quickly interrupted by the short woman standing next to Mr. Costa Rica.

“Hello,” she said while extending her hand toward me, “I’m his realtor.  He and his husband are looking to buy property here.”

And there it was, the potential fun-factor had just been dialed down to a big, fat zero. 

….or so I thought.

Having a husband and being gay apparently wasn’t going to stop Mr. Costa Rica from flirting with me.  Instead, he laughed off his realtor’s announcement and continued to make my night by making me feel like the most gorgeous creature on Earth. 

“Yesssss, my husband is a doctor and we’re looking at investment property up here…..my God, you are gorgeous!”

Gay or not, one thing was for sure, he had an air and style that only came from living in a big city. 


I turned to look at Belfast Bartender standing behind the bar. “Would you like another beer?  Everything okaaaay?

“Everything is great,” I said beaming back at him. “And, I’m great with the beer I have now, thank you.  I don’t think I should have another one.”

I turned my attention back to Mr. Costa Rica who was still admiring me.

And just like that, it happened. 

Our eyes locked.

I felt his strong hand slip around my waist.

He stepped in closer to me…

….then he looked down at my mouth…

….and looked back into my eyes…

….slowly, he tilted his head…

….and looked back down at my mouth….

….leaned in…

….just like in the movies…

….parted his lips and put his beautiful mouth on mine…


….and it was fantastic!!!!!

In the middle of this slow make-out session (mind you) in the middle of my brother’s bar, I heard the slam of Belfast Bartender’s hands on the counter and my nickname yelled out loud, “Celebrity!”

“Hey!” the realtor shouted, as if trying to break up two dogs in heat.

Reluctantly, I pulled away from Mr. Costa Rica and with my head swirling with the surge of endorphins, I managed to say, “Oh my God that was fantastic.”

“But he’s gay!” the realtor shouted at me. “And he’s maaaaarried!”

She made me feel like a child being scolded, but I figured that as long as my brother was nowhere in sight, and not working, I didn’t really care.   As far as I was concerned, I was in the clear.

(Look, I’m not one to makeout with a stranger in a bar–that’s definitely not my style. However, not having had a proper makeout session with a man in months….possibly years, I figured the slight embarrassment that I had just caused myself, and possibly my brother, was well worth it.)

As we stood there smiling at each other and taking in the moment we just had, I could tell the realtor was about to do damage control. 

Because as fast as it started…

It was over. 

Looking pretty damn miffed, the realtor grabbed her client’s hand and quickly dragged him out of the bar. 

I was left standing there feeling speechless…

….and warm all over.


Dazed, I looked over at Belfast Bartender who was leaning on the bar with both hands, slowly shaking his head in disapproval, as if to say, what am I going to do with you?

“I’m sorry!” I blurted.  “He just grabbed me and started making out with me.  How is this my fault?!” 

If Belfast Bartender knew anything about me…he knew that was code for: Please don’t tell my brother!



How to Handle a Break-up

I just started seeing a therapist.

There, I said it.

I think it’s been a long time and coming.  It’s not that I’ve been opposed to it, it’s like everything else that’s important to me (like writing, which I’m working on), I didn’t make it a priority.

The Universe, however, knows better and set things in place and in motion, which is probably why it felt like everything happened all at once.  Ultimately, this left me feeling like my hand was forced to actually call a therapist and make an appointment.

Normally, I would just called a girlfriend.  But I was feel like I was on overload and I didn’t want to do that to one of my girls.  No offense to them, I also just wanted a neutral party to explain why certain events were making me feel so bajiggity.

(In Carrie terms that means “anxious.”)

Let’s start off with the first guy who made me feel bajiggity.  He’s married to one of my girlfriends and they are my neighbor.  I know I’m a little naive sometimes and, therefore, I think that guys can actually…..Just. Be. My. Friend.

I love to hike and so did he. Several times he suggested that we should go hiking together. I knew going by myself wasn’t a good idea, so I took my friend’s husband up on his offer.

It was during the second time we went hiking that he confesses to me that he loves red heads and also mentioned a few times how great I looked in shorts.  I laughed it off like it was no big deal, because you know, he’s married, right?

The next time we go hiking, he tells me that we shouldn’t mention anything to his wife about hiking together.

That was the last time we went hiking.

Where I come from, I’m pretty sure that if you are saying or doing something that you wouldn’t want your spouse to know about, then maybe you shouldn’t be doing it.

But, that’s just me.

A week later, I see the Married Hiker at my favorite Irish Pub. I’m out for a pint because I’m in the midst of trying to get over my break-up with the Lumberjack, who I had been dating for the last 9 months.  Needless to say, I was a wee bit of an emotional wreck and just wanted to have a damn beer, or two and get my mind off of things.

But, no.

The Married Hiker is sitting at the bar with another guy.  He summons me over to come sit with him at the bar.  I go because he is after all my neighbor and I figured what can happen in a bar, right?

Well, if I wanted any consolation about being down in the dumps, it wasn’t going to come from the Married Hiker.  He saw my break-up as a good thing, like it was no big deal. However, when I care about someone, I have a hard time with breakups.

“Carrie, you are so lucky, you could have any guy here in this bar.  You should just go have some fun.  You’ll feel better if you do.”

I’m not sure what Married Hiker meant by that, because looking around the packed pub, there wasn’t anyone who I would even think about dating.  He had met the Lumberjack a few times and I knew he wasn’t a fan of his, but he was never a fan of anyone I dated–not even my last boyfriend, who I dated for a year and a half!

It was suspect.

Just when I had convinced myself that his comments were harmless and he was just talking to me like a guy would talk to a guy friend, he announces that he was leaving, and insisted that I should leave with him.

You know, for “safety” reasons.

“I can’t leave.  I’m waiting for one of my friends (Mr. Popular) to come here and meet me.  He’s just down the street and is on his way…”

“Carrie, the last time I checked, any guy who is already out drinking and is coming to meet you, only wants one thing.”

Wasn’t it just 10 minutes ago that he wanted me to just go fuck someone?

I felt confused, so I tried to clarify the situation. “Look, he’s my friend, we go out all the time.”

But he wasn’t having it. “No, Carrie, I don’t feel good about this….”

He doesn’t feel good about it?

It wasn’t his to feel!

And just like that I went from confused to pissed off.


The fiery red head that takes no shit was now wide awake.

(It could have been the beer).

I leaned towards him and spat out, “Would you stop trying to live vicariously though me, please?!”

I wasn’t going anywhere with him and there was no way in hell that I would ever be alone with him again, either.  I knew what he was doing.  He was trying to manipulate me somehow and to convince me of something, I’m not sure of, but I knew it wasn’t good.

“This is ridiculous. Go home. I can do whatever the fuck I want.  This is getting weird.  You’re being weird and now you are making me feel uncomfortable!”

He wasn’t happy about it, but he left — just as Mr. Popular walked in with two friends.

And, by the looks of it, someone was half in the bag.

Mother fucker…here we go again…

Less than a week before, I had met Mr. Popular at Buffalo Billiards.  It didn’t dawn on me until after that day of beer and football that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to be meeting him for a beer anymore.


What I quickly discovered, was that when Mr. Popular drank too much, he would start putting his hands all over me, which makes Carrie *pointing at myself* feel very, very uncomfortable.

Especially because I have already had “the talk” with Mr. Popular that we are ONLY friends.

Sensing I was going from one bad situation with Married Hiker to another one, I watched Mr. Popular walk up to me all smiles and acting giddy.  Considering my Spidey sense were on high alert after telling off the Married Hiker, they were now sensing that Mr. Popular had an ulterior motive other than to just meet me for a beer.

Naturally, I was right.

First he slipped his hand around my waist.  Then, he introduces me to his friends, with his had still around my waist, as if we were dating or something…


Next, Mr. Popular leans and puts his face in my neck.

“God, you smell sooooooo good…” he said pulling back with a drunk shit-eating grin on his face.

That pretty much was the end of my night.

I left shortly thereafter, officially feeling bajiggity.

The following day, I get hit up by another guy friend.  He also knew I was newly single and so was he.  He texts me that he felt lonely and invited me to come over to his house, so we could “watch TV” together.


I politely decline.

Two days later, I’m downtown again, at the pub, trying to make up for the last time.  As I’m sitting at my favorite Irish pub talking to another friend who is sitting on my left about politics, this guy that I’ve known for about a year, leans in on my right and suggests that we go somewhere else together.

What?  In the middle of my conversation with my friend?

Again, I politely declined.

The following morning, he texts me:

DUDE:  I hope you had fun last night.

CARRIE:  I did.  Didn’t expect to stay out so late!

DUDE:  Glad you had fun. We could have left the bar early and had more fun 😉  Keep it in mind for next time.

CARRIE:  All I really want is to go out and enjoy a beer.  That’s all.  I just got out of nine months with living with someone…and I’m just trying to get my footing back with going out again.

DUDE:  Pause. I’m not trying to move in. I like going out and doing my own thing. You wanna do your own thing too. Thats cool.

CARRIE:  I didn’t imply that…but you were hitting on me pretty hard and I just want to be clear that I’m not into “hooking up” or the “hanging out” thing.

DUDE:  Well that’s good to know.  A wise woman once told me it’s ok to be free with your body. I was just expressing my desire for innocent adult fun.

Yes, I could have been that “wise woman” that told him that, but believe me, it was taken out of context.  If I wanted to get with him, it would have happened already.   Let me not forget to mention that I live in a small town and this guy was also very friendly with the Lumberjack.

Wasn’t there such a thing as Guy Code?  Or is that just a thing of the past, too?  Whatever the case may be, I reached out to my brother for some advice on how to just make guys understand that I just wanted to be friends.

CARRIE:  Is there any way to tell a guy that I’m not into them without them getting all fucking defensive?

NATHAN:  I would think the ‘straight-up-tell-it-to-his-face-and-be-honest’ method, is best. If he can’t handle it, then he is a boy.

CARRIE:  I would think that in this day-and-age, guys are fully aware of when you are into them and when you are not.  When they flirt with me and I don’t return the flirting, isn’t that enough?  I hate men who just are incessant and make me have to spell it out, because I’m always the bitch in the end.  I don’t want to be a bitch!

NATHAN:  There are more boys out there, than there are men.


And there was more to this story…

If Married Hiker wasn’t leaving something on my front door, right after I told him I wanted my space, then he was texting me completely inappropriate creepy songs that just spelled out “stalker”.

That was basically the straw that broke the camel’s back.

As I sat on my therapist’s couch, I noted the two boxes of tissues on either side of me.  I wouldn’t be needing them, because I had already decided before my appointment that I had already cried enough.  I was just going to sit there, and explain why I felt I needed a therapist.  You know, like an adult.

“So, tell me what’s going on, Carrie.”

What’s going on?  What wasn’t going on?

“Okay, I’ll just start off with the most recent stuff that has been bothering me, and making me feel really anxious.   I’m at a low point right now.  I’m no longer seeing someone I was dating for the last 9 months.  He means a lot to me and it’s just a really messed up situation.  It’s a messed up relationship that I’m not ready to explain yet, but I’m trying to move forward.  It’s been really hard.”

She leaned forward and handed me a tissue box.

As the betrayal of tears started to roll down my cheeks uncontrollably, one by one, reluctantly, I took a tissue and dabbed my eyes.

“This is me not crying, okay?”

Why was it so hard for me to tell my story, without sounding like a blubbering idiot?

“I’m really trying to move forward and I realize these things take time.  I get that, and I’m okay with it.  But, on top of that, it seems like every guy out there that I’m friends with is trying to come at me and it feel like it’s all happening at once.  What I need is friends.  Just friends.”

“What do you mean by coming at you, Carrie?”

“I don’t mean it in the literal sense,” I said, “but for me that’s exactly how it feels.  And look, I realize that the best relationships maybe based on friendship first, but I can assure you, all these guys just want is just sex.  All they see is this pretty girl, but they don’t see me.  I want someone to who wants to get to know me,” I said, pointing at myself.


My therapist nodded her head in an understanding way and continued listening.

“There are no dates being planned.  I’m not being asked out.  Nobody is asking me how I’m doing.  They know who I was dating.  They know we just broke up.  Yet, I get this creepy sense that they are all just trying to give me the hard sell.  I get it.  They want to get me naked and in bed, but they don’t want to date me.  And, if I’m being honest with myself, that in and of itself just really hurts my feelings.

My therapist leaned back in her chair, nodded as if to agree with me, and summed up in simple terms what I had been feeling all along.

“I’m sure they can’t understand that you are feeling objectified here.”

He made me cry

“No,” I replied in my little girl voice. “They don’t, and just when I become single, it’s like all the guys can sense it.  Even the last guy I slept with, over three years ago, starts texting me again. All my male friends start hitting me up, and I know they all want the same thing.  I like having guy friends.  I like the male energy, but, seriously, is there something in the air men can tell when a woman is single again?”

My therapist nodded her head and smiled at my comment.

“You know,” I said helping myself to another tissue, “I’m just feeling like I’m on overload right now.  Nobody understands that having beauty is like a blessing and a curse all at the same time.  It’s really a double-edge sword, you know?  All people can see is what’s on the outside.  I’m so much more on the inside.  It just hurts.  On top of all that, I’m hurting right now over my break-up.  I really miss him and it just seems like nobody cares.  They’re not asking me how I’m doing, because they all have an agenda.   It’s not about me.  It’s about them.  I’m just tired of it.”

I will say this about going to a therapist, she made sense, and she did make me feel better about my situation.  She validated everything I was feeling. I guess that’s all everyone really wants, right?  To be seen, heard, and validated?

At the end of the session, she booked me for the following week. “Does eleven o’clock next week sound good, Carrie?”

“Yes, eleven o’clock is perfect.”

LESSON LEARNED:  Guys will be guys, I get that.  I also get that we all become, at some point, so needy, so vulnerable, so lonely, so everything, when we are at our most vulnerable that I know many of us have made convenient concessions.

Sex is not the answer, no matter how great we may think it is, it’s still not the answer.

Guys flirting with me is not the answer.

I want someone who will protect me when I’m at my most vulnerable, not take advantage of it.

Going through a hard time such as a break-up is difficult.  There is no easy solution.  I’ve realized now that sometimes you just have to ride it out–alone.

Lastly, to those guys who circle like a damn vulture, when I’m at my most vulnerable, can go take a hike.

Without me!



Top 5 Dating Deal Breakers

My Mamma always said that in every relationship it’s important to make concessions.  You have to be willing to accept some things you don’t necessarily agree with, because nobody is perfect.

Let’s face it, I’m picky, as my girlfriends like to point out, and frankly, I have every right to be picky.  I like what I like, and that’s that.

At the encouragement of said friends, I have loosened up my strict list of “I would never’s” because as I have learned, you should never say never.

Like ever.

Why?  Because if you have a rigid check list, like I once did, eventually, you’ll be eating your own damn words.

Hey, I like to believe that it’s the Universe playing a joke on me, when I say “I would never date a guy that _______” and then I end up dating said guy.

Luckily, I like to think I have a good sense of humor.

I have a good sense of humor

Here is the short list of some of the things my girlfriends have reminded me I have said in the past:

“Oh, I would never date a smoker.”


“Oh, I could never date someone who doesn’t drink.”  

I don’t know where my head was on that one…check!

“Oh, I would never date an older guy.” 

It was only 11 years, but it felt like 20…check-check!

“Oh, I would never date a younger guy.” 

Age is just a number, right?  Check…

Oh, I would never sleep with someone on the second date.” 

Don’t judge.  And, let’s face it, sometimes hormones can take over all rational thinking.

“Oh, I could never date someone who had two kids, and never married the mother.” 

Guilty, but I wasn’t happy about it.

However! Out of all the, I-would-never’s, which have been heavily discussed among my girlfriends (and of course, my mother), there are certain deal breakers, which we all agreed that nobody should ever make concessions for.

Like, everrrrrrrrrrr…..

These are not red flags.  These go way beyond the cautionary bell that goes off in your head.  These are the ones where your conscience should be screaming the following:

  • Pack up your shit and leave!
  • Hit the eject button!
  • Bang the gong!
  • Sound the alarm!
  • Run for your life!
  • Stop, drop, and roll right the eff on outta there!

Unfortunately, yours truly *pointing at herself* has experienced all of these except, thankfully,#1.

(Thank you baby, Jesus.)

For the record, I really wanted to name this blog post:

“I am Not Desperate Enough for You, Mo-Fo”

…but people like lists…so here they are…



I once dated a guy who proudly shared with me that he nick-named his penis, Woody.  He actually talked to it.  It was weird.  I felt like I was dealing with a 5th grader, instead of a man who wanted to date me.  It was juvenile, and all I could think about was if he would be talking to “Woody” during sex?

Not cute.



I once had dinner with a extremely good-looking guy, who was suspect for just being that good-looking, but I went on the date with him anyway. We were in the middle of swapping dating stories (a big no-no on a first date) and for the hell of it, I shared with him that I found a guy I was dating, on http://www.DontDateHimGirl.com.  Without hesitation, my date reached for his cell phone and Googled the website and said…and I quote…

“Hold on, I’m going to look it up, and see if my name is on there.”

Did he really think that I hadn’t done that already?  Silly boy.  Apparently, he was all looks, and no brains…but it sure was fun to watch his reaction.


If any guys does this, he’s not a gentleman, and has no self-control.  Who needs to date someone with a grade-school mentality?  Not me.  And, not you.

He is a pig and who wants that?

I can assure you, most likely he also has a nickname for his penis.



(I apologize to all the pigs out there, you get such a bum deal here.)


I’ve asked guys this very question: “Why does your profile say you’d date between the ages of 18-?  Aren’t you a little old to be dating an 18-year old?”

Time, and time again, the response is, “I don’t know how to change it. I’ve tried,” which, as we all know, is total bullshit.  (See #3)

Cruising teenagers, is a deal breaker.  The only thing a guy in his 20’s, 30’s, 40’s or 50’s would have with an 18-year old, is emotional maturity.

See ya!!!

The #1 spot is not something I have experienced personally.  I did, however, happen to two of my friends on separate occasions and different guys.  I thought it was a fluke that it happened to my friend in New York, but when it happened to my friend in California, this is probably something guys do, which girls are not aware.

Therefore, it take the #1 spot.


As my NY friend, so eloquently described the moment she discovered her guy’s “piss jar” next to his bed:



“It’s the moment when you realize that the ‘I’m with stupid’ t-shirt is pointing at you.”

Apparently, this guy picked up this disgusting idea of using a mason jar as a late night “piss jar” from his elderly father.   Who does that?  If you can’t walk down to the bathroom in the middle of the night because you are that lazy, then you sure as hell don’t deserve a girlfriend.

Ladies, if this ever happens to you, this is when you tell the asshole to open up the window, so you can jump out.











I Was Just Called a Unicorn, What Does That Mean?

MR. POPULAR:  You watching the game out?

CARRIE:  What game?


CARRIE:  What time?

MR. POPULAR:   1:00pm is kick.

CARRIE:  “I did not plan on it, but I might join you.”

I knew I needed to get out, and the idea of going somewhere, besides my brother’s pub, sounded good to me.

Mr. Popular was set on going to “The Scaryfield.” (That’s town lingo for the country-club/bar/lounge/restaurant that turns “scary” when the steroid freaks show up on the weekends, turning it into a meat market.)  The Scaryfield wasn’t my first pick, but I figured nothing ventured, nothing gained.

It turned out it wasn’t so scary during the day.  I was blown away by all the beautiful outdoor Christmas decorations.  There was real evergreen garland strung everywhere, and the flower boxes were filled to the brim with greenery.  I was so in awe with the decorations that I almost got myself knocked out, by the front door, when it suddenly swung open.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the man said as he realized that he almost clocked me with the door.

“No worries, I wasn’t paying attention,” I said smiling and walked through the door he was held it open for me.

That will teach me a lesson.  Look where I’m walking.

Being highly sensitive to my surroundings, I notice everything, and because of this very fact, I wanted to take in as much as possible, all that was pleasing to my eyes.  It was like a quick fix of beauty before entering into a room that would look like a sea of football jerseys.

Mr. Popular had arrived early and saved me a seat at the u-shaped bar.  Under my breath, I cursed at the fact that he had picked a seat all the way at the end of the “u,” which meant I had walk through the gauntlet of men and their football jerseys, who surrounded the bar.  I’ve walked down a few catwalks in my lifetime, so walking through this crowd shouldn’t be a problem.  Just keep my head held high, shoulders back and to gently swing my arms and sway my hips…easy-peasy…just had to remind myself not to get overwhelmed at everyone staring at me.

Why would this even matter to me?  You see, what the local men here don’t understand (and I can say this because I’ve lived all over the US), is that they make it very obvious that they are checking you out as you walk past them.  It can be unnerving, but I think it’s their way of trying to make eye contact with you.  In New York City, it’s rare that you ever make eye-contact with anyone, because they know it’s rude.

But, not here!

I’m sure you’re wondering, who is Mr. Popular?!

Mr. Popular and I met a couple of months ago, and have been out together a few times, as friends.  We met because, well, he’s “Mr. Popular” for a reason.  He’s usually out and about somewhere in town, and has owned a few businesses in his time.  It was really only a matter of time before we met, as we have a lot of acquaintances in common, and naturally, he also knows Nathan.   He’s smart, fun, and so far, he’s been a gentleman — so he gets to hang out with me.

The afternoon was going well at the bar, until Mr. Popular’s friend and girlfriend showed up and she started blurting out completely inappropriate comments.  Anyone who knows me will tell you that I try really hard not to be judgmental.  We were sitting at a bar.  We were all drinking.  It was Sunday Sunday. But this chick was making a spectacle of herself.  Every comment she made was loud and boisterous.  She could be entertaining at times but, nonetheless, annoying.

After my first pint of beer, I excused myself to get a break from the girlfriend.  When I walked into the ladies room, I apparently interrupted someone taking a selfie in the full-length mirror.  I laughed to myself, because she looked a little ridiculous standing in middle of the bathroom, with her coat on, and her fur-trimmed hood over her head.  I knew what she was doing.  She had found a full-length mirror and thought she looked a sexy little Eskimo in her fur hood, and wanted to capture the moment.  But who goes to the bathroom wearing their coat?  Oh, let me not forget to mention that she also had her fake L.V. bag slung over her shoulder.  Believe me, it was fake.  Not too many people around this town can afford a $1,260 bag and, even if they could afford it, they certainly wouldn’t be taking a selfie in the dang bathroom.

People who have that kind of money don’t do selfies in the bathroom.

As soon as she left, I had a good look around the room.  I couldn’t believe my eyes. The Scaryfield had finally got rid of their horrible mauve and forest-green bathroom decor, and changed it up to something much more appropriate for a country club.  I took out my phone and snapped a picture, and tried my best to get the richness of the gold and purple colors that my was so pleasing to my eyes.  I knew right then that I would definitely be coming back in the future, and I might have to possibly reconsider their nickname.

Who knew the redeeming qualities of beautiful wallpaper?  I was completely enthralled.Bathroom wallpaper purple

When I came back to my seat, I asked Mr. Popular if the  men’s room had wallpaper like the women’s room.  He said he didn’t notice.  How could he not notice?  As I showed him my picture I had taken, I explained that my camera really didn’t do the beautiful, purple and gold wallpaper justice, and maybe I needed to send him back to the men’s room on a recon mission…?

“Hey, Unicorn!”

I looked at Mr. Popular and asked, “Why is she calling me Unicorn?”

“I don’t know, but we were talking about you while you were gone.”

I figured that would happen, but really?  She knew my name, so why was she calling me Unicorn?  Mr. Popular assured me it was a compliment, but I wasn’t so easily convinced.  It wasn’t the name she called me, it was more about the tone she was using that, to me, was totally suspect.

“So, are you guys a couple or what?”

Oh, here we go…

“No, we are just friends,” I replied trying not to make a big deal of it.

“Well, obviously, you two are and you just need to get over it.”

I need to get over it?  Oh, that’s right, because I am sharing a pitcher of beer with my friend, watching football, and discussing wallpaper –that makes us a couple? Got it.

Did I ask her for her opinion?  Did this chick have no boundaries?  What about my boundaries?  More importantly, why did she feel so entitled to inject her opinion, when I sure a hell didn’t ask for it?

I leaned over to Mr. Popular and said smiling, “Is it me, or is she really annoying?”

“Don’t worry, she thinks they are in love.  She won’t be around much longer.  My friend has commitment issues.”

“Well, I don’t know how any guy would want to put up with someone like that.  The sex must be great, because her voice, alone, makes my ears bleed.”

After the game, the four of us went downtown to a popular restaurant that is known for their sushi.  We sat all sat at the sushi bar.  Mr. Popular and I order two Stella’s, but his friend and the girlfriend ordered two martinis.

Like they needed more booze…

To me, more booze could only mean more PDA, coupled with more inappropriate comments.

I could hardly wait…

About half way through her martini, the girlfriend proclaimed to her boyfriend that I had “a nice rack.”

I turned to Mr. Popular, “Did she just say I had a nice rack? I don’t even know how to respond to that.”

If the mood wasn’t weird before, it was officially weird now.  The Crass Chick and her boyfriend looked pretty hammered and I could hardly wait to leave.

Mr. Popular just laughed it all off.  He explained to me that he had seen girls like her come and go and again assured me that this chick’s days were numbered.

And again, came the unsolicited comment:  “Next time, don’t wear a turtleneck.”


zcavaricci (2)

This picture not taken the night of this event, but these are indeed the jeans I wore that night.

Sure. I’ll make a note of that, considering I was wearing a very nice, steel-gray French Connection turtleneck, with my Z. Cavaricci jeans.

(Can you believe they still make those jeans?!)

News flash:  Warm clothes are generally what you wear, when it’s only 37 degrees outside, Sweetheart…

zcavaricci jeans

This is why people fascinate me.  Her comments kept reflecting her own insecurities. Why do women do that?  Why did she feel it was okay to be so crass and annoying?  When did this become acceptable?

I had nothing in common with this chick.  She was short, petite and very loud to ensure she had the spotlight at all times.  Her cute boyfriend was very into her, or maybe, he was just as needy as she was.

Our next stop was my brother’s pub.  Thankfully, the PDA couple actually left and I could breathe a little easier not having to deal with her nonsense.

We approach the end of the bar by the server station and Belfast Bartender takes our drink order. When I asked for an ice water, I noticed he looked a little stressed.  Could it be something in the air?  Belfast Bartender was always in a good mood and always happy to see me.  Or, maybe it was the group of young female patrons, who had just sat at the other end of the bar.

By the time I drank my water, I was tired and ready to leave.  Mr. Popular was now mingling with the young group of women at the end of the bar.

I had gotten into a conversation with the 6’5″ guy sitting next to me.   I had seen him before, I thought.  I asked how tall he was. My question led us into a conversation about how the Norwegians invaded Ireland and how it could be why he was so tall. That sounded like a reasonable statement and I found the conversation to be interesting, until he started talking about how he had seen me before, and that he was awestruck from the first moment he saw me.

“Well, thank you.  That’s really nice of you to say.  Do you know Belfast Bartender?”  I said trying to redirect our conversation.  But it didn’t work.  He was giving me the hard sell and pushed for my phone number.  That’s when our conversation came to a screeching halt and that was my queue to leave.

thumb down

I politely declined said point-blank, “No, you cannot have my phone number.”

Mr. Popular was standing in the mix of girls at the bar when I approached him.  I told him it was time for me to leave.  As I was asking him if he would mind walking me back to my car, I notice a bit of a ruckus out of the corner of my eye to my right from one of the in the group, who was obviously vying for attention.

I ignore it, as I just didn’t want to deal with anything more, from anyone.

I walked back to my bar stool, past 6’5″ guy and grabbed by coat as quickly as possible and walked back towards Mr. Popular.  As I make my approach, I can hear the loud girl say, “Clearly, she doesn’t like me…”

In my head, I’m telling myself that her comment has nothing to do with me.  It couldn’t be.  I am just minding my own business, putting my coat on, and getting ready to leave.  Even if it was about me, I was going to stay the course.  My goal was to leave.

No sooner that I get my favorite red scarf tied around my neck, the loud chick approaches me with her hand jutting out…

As she introduces herself, I’m noticing that she has some sort of deer-in-the-headlights look.

I shake her hand.

I say the usual pleasantries.

I smile.

I look her straight in the eyes, because on a gut level, I can tell something was up.  God forbid I give her any indication that I wasn’t being sincere.

When I get to, “It’s nice to meet you,” she just stands there, staring bug-eyed at me.

Was I supposed to say something more?

It was weird, so I added, “I was just leaving…” and smiled again, and walked towards the front door.

It was very cold outside and made some small talk with the Bearded Bouncer *snort* by the front door,  while I waited for Mr. Popular was paying his tab.

“I don’t know what’s happening over there,” indicating in the direction of the group of girls.

“Ya, I don’t either.”

I shook my head and he just smiled at me.

“I feel bad that you have to put up with that kind of nonsense all night.”

Right on queue, the female whose hand I hand I just shook, let out a piercing shrill, loud enough for the whole entire bar could hear her. “Clearly, she doesn’t like me! I did introduce myself to her.  I don’t know what more I could have done!” 


She doesn’t know what more she could have done?  What more did she want?

I smiled.

I shook her hand.

I looked her in the eyes.

I said my name.

I smiled more.

I said it was nice to meet her….

I couldn’t wait to get home!

Oh, and it was so good to get home.  I jumped into my bed, turned on my electric mattress cover to #3 and logged into my laptop.  I felt that it had been such a weird night that I had to share the “unicorn” comment with my Facebook fans to get clarification.

CARRIE:  I was just called a unicorn tonight… What the hell does that mean?

PAMELA:  A unicorn is a beautiful creature that doesn’t exist.

CLAIRE:  on YouTube – look up “Crazy Hot Matrix.”

HEATHER: Magical and elusive?

JASON:  A magical beautiful creature of extreme beauty and purity, perhaps? Crap, I think I just spilled the beans that as a kid I played a lot of dungeons and dragons.

JULIE:   I’d rather be called a unicorn than a cow… Do you *poof* rainbows and pixie dust.

KENNY:  The personification of feminine transformative power…

LEIGH:  Fantastic, unique and horny…

Okay, I guess that settles that.  I’m a dang unicorn.  I get it, and now I can see why.

I wasn’t quite sure how to end this post, but as I sit here typing away, I noticed I had an email in my inbox on Facebook.  Dear Lord…it’s an email from the 6’5″ guy.  I guess he didn’t get that I wasn’t interested in him when I looked him dead in the eye and told him he could not have my phone number.  Believe me, I’m not playing hard-to-get when I say, “No, you can not have my phone number.”


Finding me on Facebook and sending me an email isn’t being creepy at all…[she says pouring on the sarcasm]

Here is his email:

“It was such a pleasure meeting you tonight, Carrie. I hope to see you again soon.”

Breakfast Club

So, on that note, I’ve had enough.

I’m going to bed.

Boundaries, people…boundaries!

Good night,


Moderate Drinker and My Small Town Problems

There’s a lot to be said about living in a big city.  I’ve been fortunate enough to have come from a small New England town and live in some of our best major cities.

Dating in a large city like Los Angeles and New York, has some perks.  For one thing, if I had a bad date, most likely I would never have to see that person ever again.  There would be no uncomfortable moments, like bumping into each other in the grocery store or at the gym.  Basically, there would be no reminders of that person or the bad date.  The memory of the date and the guy would simply go away as easy as deleting their phone number in my cell phone and,  somehow, in a very unhealthy way, that appealed to me.

We all do unhealthy things living in a big city, because it’s easy to get away with it.  I certainly had my fair share of them.  (However, none of them will be discussed here on a free blog.)

I would like to think that at least I was smart enough not to do something dumb like date a co-worker.  Actually, I was very careful not to let my private life get mixed up with my professional life.  That’s the golden rule of dating: Don’t Poop Where You Eat.   

Lord, don’t ever do it.  It is like playing Russian Roulette!  Instead of losing your life, you’ll lose your job.

I’m more of a planner than a gambler, so if ever I did think about doing something that dumb, you know the guy would have to be damn hot.

I’ve heard people say they have me their spouse at work, but believe me when I say, they are the exception to the rule and not the rule.

So, don’t date anyone at work…

…okay, so there was one time I did end up making-out all night with a very young, cutie-patootie intern from work.  In my defense, however, the making out did NOT happen at work.  Although, now that I think of it, there was a lot of flirty-flirty going on months before the rendezvous at the night club in New York City.  (And, if my former boss, Jason, is reading this right now, I’m sorry.  I realize it was the client’s nephew….but you can’t go hiring a cute guy, with great arms, and a contagious smile, and expect me not to notice.)  It was harmless and the only time something like that ever happened…with an intern.

I swear.

(Hey, considering I worked with all men, I thought that was a pretty good track record.)

Crap, okay, so there was this other close call, but nothing happened.  Before the cutie-patootie intern, there was a real cute Latino guy that came into my office for an interview one day.  I got no warning except, “Hey, Care, I have a guy coming in today for an interview.”  Literally, two minutes later, the guy walks in.

I was very single when he walked in.  Naturally, my hormones got the best of me.


Surely, my boss wouldn’t subject me to someone so hunky, would he?  

If he hired him, I would have to exercise the Don’t Poop Where You Eat Rule, every day.

Every. Single. Damn. Day.

That would be exhausting.

My brain was telling me this was definitely conflict of interest.


As a single girl, with nobody taking care of me, except me, I knew I needed my job more than I needed a boyfriend.

I lived and breathed that very fact.

This was about survival.

He got hired and I suffered for a little while.  It sucked.  I was wound up tighter than a drum those first few weeks, but then the more I got to know that Latino Hottie, the more the attraction-factor fizzled.

It only took me a short while to figure out WHY he drove a big, fat Hummer–it was for his big, fat EGO.

A few afternoons of listening to his B.M.D. (baby mamma drama) he soon didn’t even show up as a blip on my radar.


Now that I’m back living back home, which is a small town, I have created a new rule for myself:

Don’t Poop, Where You Drink

Pooping where you drink, is a very, very, very, very easy thing to do.  Especially in this town.

I’ve already made the mistake of bringing a date to my brother’s bar.

Big, mistake.


How could I let that happen?

It happens because guys are lame and clueless on how to plan a date and they leave it up to me.

Speaking of which, I had two dates in one week, with two different guys.  This wouldn’t be a problem living in New York City, but living here, where the selection of places to go on a first date are kind of limited, I happened to end up at the same restaurant, being waiting on by the same waitress.  That was fun, getting that look from the waitress of, weren’t you just here with another dude last night?

Having a brother that owns the most popular pub in town, makes living here worth it.  It’s been one of the many highlights of moving back. I’ve made new friends, I get to help out with the holiday decorations and I get to see Nathan more now than ever.

Nathan is an excellent bartender.  The fact that he remembers not only your name, but your drink as well, makes for good business.

Everyone knows who he is and pretty much everyone knows my name:  “Nate’s Sister.”  Trust me, I’ve had it since high school.  Some things don’t change.

Lately, I’ve been joking with him that if he ever ran for mayor, he probably would win.

Keeping that in mind on how popular Nathan is, try dating in this small town…

…try being anonymous.

…try finding someone, who doesn’t know your brother.

…try finding some privacy.

Don’t get me wrong.  Nathan is a very supportive brother.  When I want a no-nonsense straight-up answer about a guy, I go to Nathan.

Here’s the thing though, I always feel conflicted.  Should I run a new guy’s name by Nathan first or should I just take my chances?

Because who else knows more about a man, than his bartender?  

But then I think, wouldn’t it take the fun out of figuring it on my own?

Did I just say that it was fun to figure it out for myself?

Legend has it, our cousin, and her date, walked into Nathan’s bar one night, a little schnockered.  Nathan had no idea they were dating and probably would have told our cousin it was a bad decision, had she asked him.  But instead, as soon as they walked in and Nathan saw them together, he looked at my cousin, looked at the guy, and then looked back at my cousin and in a very definitive manner said, no.

Stern look

In the words of our cousin:  “I’ll never forge the look of disappointment on your brother’s face when he saw me walk in that night with that guy.”

One thing about Nathan, if he says no, there is usually a very good reason for it.  He has a very good judge of character and fortunately, it didn’t take our cousin very long before she figured out the guy she was dating, was a train wreck.  Handsome, and athletic as hell, but such a hot mess.

In August, I met someone I decided not to run by the brother.

I met my date on a beautiful hot summer night in the middle of the week.  My date suggested a place where I hardly ever frequented.

(In my sweet, humble opinion, I don’t go there because the people are either stuck in the 80’s or steroid gym rats.)

“Moderate Drinker” was easy to nickname.  It was something that we joked about during our initial contact on Match from Hell.  (Yes, I know I vowed never to get back on there, but it was a free 7-day trail.)  I can sometimes be a ball buster, so I had to point out that he was the only person I’ve seen actually admit to being a “moderate drinker.” In fact, most people check the box, “social drinker.”

Not him.  He check the box “moderate drinker.”

The fact that he had the balls to say he was a moderate drinker, made me chuckle.  This made me think that he was somewhat of an honest person, plus I liked the fact that he was 6’3″ and had a great smile.  A little on the heavy side, but I thought, what the heck, there would be more to love.

We met outside of the restaurant/lounge and let’s just say his reaction was great for my ego.  He really made me feel appreciated.  Before he even got 15 feet of me, he exclaimed out loud, “Oh, my God!  I think I just won the dating lottery!  You’re gorgeous!”

(Points for him for showing such enthusiasm.)

Besides being a big guy, Moderate Drinker had a great sense of style.  He came dressed in a nice pair of dark jeans, beautiful shoes, and (from what I could tell) a pretty expensive button-down shirt.  His glasses were trendy and the whole ensemble made him look updated and sharp.


We took a seat at the outside bar overlooking the golf course.  It was a beautiful summer night during the week, so the regular weekend crowd was nowhere in sight.  That made me happy.

“I can’t believe I’ve never seen you out before, Carrie.  Where have you been hiding?”

Politely, I replied, “Oh, ya, well, I never come here.”  I figured I would be gracious and not mention the gym rats, or the fact that the bar had a reputation of being “meat market.”  I’m glad I didn’t, because it happened to be his favorite place to hang out.  (He lived on the 9th hole.)

“Oh, so where do you hang out then?”

I give him my usual spiel:  I grew up here, moved away for many years, moved home three years ago.

Then, like a complete idiot, I got ahead of myself and added, “I normally hang out downtown.”

“Oh, where?  I hardly go downtown, except when me and my buddy go to the cigar lounge.”

I figured I wouldn’t name names and mentioned casually under my breath that my brother owned a pub downtown.

It took a second for it to register in his head, what I just said, but as soon as it did, his mouth dropped and he slapped his head.  “Oh, my God, Carrie,” he said throwing his hands up in the air, “Is your brother Nathan?!”

And that’s how my plan of having an anonymous, new place to go out on a date, got completely scrapped.

Reaching for my cocktail, I maintained my uncomfortable half-smile, while Moderate Drinker got our bartender’s attention.

“Hey, Dennis!  You know Nathan, right?  Well, this is his sister,” he boasted.

Well, silly Moderate Drinker…of course the bartender knew my brother.  They used to work together.

cheers sex and city

While Moderate Drinker was making it known to everyone at the bar that I was Nathan’s sister, the guy sitting diagonal from us, also knew Nathan.  From the gym.

After we got that whole conversation out of the way, things started to look up.  I guess Moderate Drinker didn’t have a problem (or any hidden secrets, or buried bodies to speak of) and felt confident to take out “Nathan’s sister” for a second date.

“Hey, what are you doing Friday night?  I think I can get tickets to the Red Sox/Yankee game.  One of our vendors has a suite.  Would you mind going out on a double-date with me and my buddy I work with?  He is bringing his new girl.  It will be a lot of fun.”


Trust me, he didn’t have to ask me twice.

Especially, after the nice kiss good night…

This doesnt end here

Dating: We Are Doing It All Wrong!

I met “Handsome Irishman with a Dentyne Smile” a few years ago at a horse race called “The Hunt.” For those of you who have never heard of it, it’s an annual horse race in the beautiful town of Far Hills, New Jersey.  (Beautiful and très expensive!)  People come from all over, usually by train or bus, not to watch the horse race, but to be a partake in the posh see-and-be-seen tailgating experience.  (Think frat party with lots of Wellies, Beans, plaid shirts, checkered shirts, bow ties, critter pants, ascots, kegs, bottles and, of course, beer pong.)

However, the Hunt has nothing to with this post or  how I became friends with Handsome Irishman with Dentyne Smile.  I’m writing this to illustrate how frustrating online dating can be and how it can make even the people with the best intentions, want to pull out their hair, or throw in the towel.

I’ve been there many times, but this is from my friend’s perspective and to give you an idea that it’s just not me.

Since I met Dentyne Smile, I have always thought he had all the traits and qualities women want. He’s handsome, educated, (obviously) a killer smile, smart, fun, very athletic, family-oriented, successful, and has great arms.

Why didn’t I date him, you ask?

Because he’s shorter than me, and you know how I feel about that.

So, why is he single?

Probably the same reason why I’m single.

Who knows!

It’s been the million-dollar question, we have discussed many times.  I even revamped his “About me” section in his online dating profile for him.  It seemed to help, but in the end, he is still frustrated and still single.

Recently I asked him how his love life was going.

DENTYNE SMILE:  Dating at the [Jersey] shore, post summer, is no picnic… LOL

CARRIE:  OMG…I’d be horrified if I had to date there.

DENTYNE SMILE:  It’s a little crazy.

CARRIE:  Superficial?

DENTYNE SMILE:  Locals are strange and they think they are normal…

CARRIE:  This is why our society is going right down the shitter.

DENTYNE SMILE:  True, being normal is our biggest problem… LOL   I have to say, the profile you wrote for my online dating was great.

CARRIE:  I had forgotten about that!  Sooo….?

DENTYNE SMILE: It’s been nuts, I tend to meet the crazies.  Either they want to move in ASAP or they want faster responses.  Or I meet really picky ones.

CARRIE:  Wow…are we talking about women in their 30’s or 20’s?

DENTYNE SMILE: Mid 30’s and 40’s.

CARRIE:  Really???  I’m a little surprised at that.  Can you give me an example of their behavior?

DENTYNE SMILE:  Hhhhhmmm… I had dated this one woman who was 36 and single.  After the second date, she wanted to watch a movie at my place.  We usually hung out once a week, and texted 3-4 times during the week.  She started to ask if I was busy every day and started making excuses to contact me.  She would ask me where I was going, and for what.  Then, she would text in the AM, “Safe travels,” then text, “Did you make it home safe?”  It got to be too much, too fast.

I took a 3-month break and then she texted out of the blue, so I figured she mellowed out, but it was the same mess all over again.  After we hung out, she texted and texted, and then texted…[that] we dated for 6 months, and she deserved better.  I almost pulled out my hair.  We hung out 1 time, in 3 months.

Dear Lord…if there anything I can teach my fellow single followers it’s, don’t be that girl!

Run Bro

I don’t know anything about this chick other than what Dentyne Smile wrote to me in his email.  But if she were to read this, this is what I would have to say:

I realize that Dentyne Smile is someone to get excited over, but let the man do his job!  You’re being too concerned, too nice, too available, too assertive, too nosey, too, too, too!  When he wants to talk or text you, you will hear from him.   I promise.

Chill. Out.

I get it.  We all get caught up in the texting.  We get excited when someone is paying attention to us, but when it comes to dating, slow and steady, is the rule of thumb.  Like tennis, texting should go back-and-forth.  For example, he hits the ball to you, you hit it back to him.  It’s called taking turns.  I think we learned about taking turns in nursery school.  Taking turns means waiting for the ball to be hit back to you.  It means exercising patience.  Don’t keep texting him, if he hasn’t replied to your last text.  Don’t be annoying and don’t be that girl.

Chill. Out.

Please do not overwhelm your prospective date with texts!  Especially the ones that make you look creepy and clingy.

Too many balls

DENTYNE SMILE:  Example 2, we haven’t even met yet.  We planned a date a week ago. Here is the text I got: “My ex informed me today that one of his daughters may need to be transported to CHOP for emergency eye surgery. I’m not sure if he will be taking Bryson. May need to play it by ear.  I’m at the hospital with my mom right now…will text later.”

CARRIE:  Holy crap.  Play it by ear? Get a babysitter. Was there an apology? How about a “Hey, can we reschedule this for Thursday?”  What is wrong with people?  Now I see why you are frustrated.

Can you see why he was so frustrated?  If she had to cancel in person, I’m thinking their conversation would have gone a little bit better than “let’s play it by ear.”

CARRIE:  You know…I think you are dating below your standards. I’ve always seen you with someone who is highly intelligent, more like yourself. A doctor perhaps?  I just think you are fishing in the wrong pond, my friend.

DENTYNE SMILE:  Thank you.  One women I dated, after my last breakup, was nice and cool in the beginning. Then over time she had all these family problems and medical issues.  Never said anything.  Then called me from the hospital and wanted me to say hello to her folks.Two weeks before that, I went to Canada for work, I said please don’t text.  She sent me 100 texts saying we would make beautiful children and how much she loved me.  After the folks call, I had to end it.

Three months later, she saw I was buying a house and asked if she could refer me for a loan. I said ok, she said she just moved in with her boyfriend and that she was happy.  Her bank took so long, I had to back out.  She sent me nasty messages and said, “I hope the tree that fell on your place was because of Karma.”  She de-friended me [on Facebook].

Six months later she re-friended me, and said she lost her job at the bank. Caught her boyfriend cheating on her, and had to move back home.  Then she asked if we could meet up for drinks as friends.  I never said yes, and that night, she sent 20 texts saying she still loves me and wants to have my children.

Move on with your life

And here I was thinking that I had it bad.

DENTYNE SMILE: Puts dating into perspective.

CARRIE:  I don’t even know how to respond to that…

Here’s my advice:

If you ever hear someone suggest to you, “Let’s play it by ear,” consider those words to be the kiss of death, and file it under “NEXT!”  Even if Dentyne Smile does get another date with this woman, I can guarantee you that there won’t be another date after that.  She’s just not that into him, and if she is, she certainly isn’t showing it.

People, who are into you, apologize.

People, who are into you, want to reschedule, because they don’t want you to think they aren’t into you.It’s really that simple.

The Ripple Effect:
How we get treated, is how we are going to treat other people.  Monkey see, monkey do.  Over time we think this is how it is, or the way it goes. We don’t care about the other person’s feelings because, most likely, we will never see them again.  This to me, seems like the root of the problem when it comes to dating, and especially online dating.  Across the board, I find people are generally frustrated.But here’s the real question:   What is it that really frustrates us?  Is it the lack of choices we have, or is it the way we have been treated, by those we have dated or tried to date?We all know how frustrated I have been over the years with the way people have treated me.  But regardless, I don’t let it stand in the way of doing the right thing by others.  Hey, I may not be able to say it immediately, but eventually, I will tell them that I don’t feel the spark or zing with someone.

Dentyne Smile should have told the clingy girl that she was being too clingy that he just didn’t feel the chemistry with her, and called it a day.  That would have saved him a lot of frustration.

…which leads me to another topic:  Dating is hard.  To this day, I sometimes still question whether or not I’m into someone, especially after a first date.  Yes, I doubt myself a lot.  But I believe that doubt was put there, by people who said to me over the years, “You never know, Carrie!”
Or they tell me, “Well, how are you supposed to know if you like him or not, if you don’t go out with him again?”
"Unless it's mad, passionate, extraordinary love, it's a waste of your time. There are too many mediocre things in life. Love shouldn't be one of them."  - Dream for an Insomniac

“Unless it’s mad, passionate, extraordinary love, it’s a waste of your time. There are too many mediocre things in life. Love shouldn’t be one of them.”
– Dream for an Insomniac

I don’t know, maybe it’s because I know better than the person who isn’t coming out on the dates with me?!  

How would they know when they are not in my shoes?

Attraction is this simple: If I don’t have any desire to climb over the table and make out with my date, then I’m just not that into him.  PERIOD.

And to me, attraction is a lot of things all joined together.  It’s their voice, their style, the way they treat me, they way they look, and they way they handle themselves on a date.

Oh, I know…most of you reading this are probably saying, “Oh, Carrie, love develops over time, and you could be passing on a really nice guy.

You know what I have to say about that?  Clearly, those who say that, have never felt “zing.”   It’s animalistic and doesn’t takes words or actions to know that you are attracted to that person.  You just feel it.  You know it.  There is no doubt.  There is no rhyme or reason.  It just happens.

They also have never had a man slide his hand around their waist, then around the back of their head with his other hand, through your hair, and get pulled in for a slow, deep kiss–a kiss that made them forget who they are, and where they were.  A kiss so deep, it made them dizzy with endorphins and slammed their hormones into over-drive.

In my Carrie way, I have gone all over the place in the post, but I’m going to end it with these last words, as a reminder to myself, my followers and to Dentyne Smile:  There are some people who have convinced themselves that the “zing” factor is only found in movies.  It might be true, but you’ll never find “zing” if you keep going after people who either are not that into you, or you’re not that into them.

Chemistry isn’t found in a two-dimensional profile on a dating website.

Chemistry is a person’s voice, it’s the way they walk, the sound of their laugh, they way they smell, and the way they smile at you.

You can’t experience those things online.

My two cents?  Get off the dating sites, stop hiding behind your computer, get out there, and go ask someone out on a dang date.

Life isn’t about playing it safe.  It’s about going after what you want, whether it makes sense or not.



Best Online Dating Tip – Don’t Play 100 Questions

Do you know anyone who loves going on job interviews?  Ya, neither do I.  But apparently, the 100-questions interview-routine is still alive and well in the world of dating.  If you are that person who insists on treating the dating process like a job interview, please keep reading.


First and foremost, dating should be fun, from the beginning to the end!  People get nervous, I get that. I used to get very nervous before, during, and after a date.  I would even get nervous just talking to them on the phone.  My palms would sweat, my heart would race, and I would get dry mouth.  Ever have a conversation with someone when you had dry mouth?  It’s not cute, or fun. No wonder I hated that step in the dating process, I was so focused on trying not to sound like I had a speech problem, that I couldn’t even be myself during the conversation.

Crazy, right? So, how did I get over my nervous dating jitters?  It was a long process.  I had figure out what was making my nerves go into overdrive and I knew that until I realized what my problem was, I wasn’t going to be able to change.

It took a lot of introspection, but I did end up discovering that I was my own worst enemy.  Why was this so?  Because I allowed my own insecurities to swirl non-stop in my head.  “What happens if he doesn’t like me?” and “What happens if I say the wrong thing?”  became my two best friends.   I was a professional What If’er.  I was also exhausted and stressed out.  In the end, I realized that it wasn’t the dating that stressed me out, it was my own thoughts.

So, I decided to make a drastic change.

Oh, it was hard at first.  I had arguments with myself.   I swore a lot.  I even found myself mumbling things out-loud like a crazy person, but I was determined to rid that useless negativity out of my head.  Eventually, I took control over what I allowed into my thoughts, and just like a muscle, the more I used my self-control, the stronger I became at kicking anything negative, to the curb.

I also didn’t project, and ditched any expectations I might have had about my date.  Was it hard?  Hell, yes it was!  And during those times, I narrowed down my thoughts to the things that brought me joy, like deciding what I was going to wear on my date, and what yummy cocktail I was going to order.

Easy for me to say, right?  But it can be easy for you, too.  Think of dating as if you are going to a cocktail party.  Think about the fun you’ll have and the great outfit you’ll wear.  Who doesn’t like dressing up?  Never been to a cocktail party?  Then think of it like you are going to a friend’s BBQ.  There’s no reason to get nervous about that, right? Everyone has fun at a BBQ, because that’s why you are there.  To. Have. Fun.

It’s the same concept with dating.

When you focus on having fun, you ditch desperate measures, like using the 100-question routine.  People who bombard the other person with questions during the get-to-know-you process, do that because they think that keeping you on the defense is going to give them the upper hand.  Why do the need the upper hand?  Clearly, they have insecurity and they really have no business dating.

My gorgeous, best-friend Mary, recently met one of those 100-Question people.  They had met on Match.com and during the get-to-know-you process, he used the 100-question routine with her.  Here is our texting conversation on how that worked out for him:

CARRIE:  Enough about my crazy life, I’m being rude.  I didn’t even ask you how your phone conversation went with the guy from Match from Hell.

MARY:  Convo with him was okay.  He was Mr. 100 Questions.  He’s a teacher, so he wouldn’t let up.  Every time I just gave a casual answer, he wanted to dig deeper.  I even told him at one point, I thought he was being a little too inquisitive and he apologized, and said it’s the teacher in him.  Needless to say, the questions led to the truth of the matter. I kept it as a positive outlook, but…we will see if I hear from him again. It was just another talk that felt like an interview.

CARRIE:  If it felt like an interview, why didn’t you just tell him?  Jesus, was he reading off a checklist?  What is wrong with people?

MARY:   That’s totally how it felt.  His last question was, “If I choose to go out with you, will you be able to make time for me?”

CARRIE:  That guy needs me.   He needs me to slap him upside the head with some of my advice!

MARY:   Why are you still single?

Do you want a relationship?

Why don’t you have kids?

Would you still have kids?

Why haven’t you been dating?

What changed in your world that you haven’t been dating?

Why have your priorities changed?

Those were all the ones I was skirting around trying not to say “I was diagnosed with MS.”  Finally, I just said it.  I couldn’t take that game any longer.  He does need you! Haha!

CARRIE:  Oh, he did not!  Major no-no!

MARY:   Oh, yes he did. Even asked when last time I had sex.  That’s when I said I thought he was getting too personal.  They’re all stupid.  Haha.  Well, no, I don’t really mean that.  But wow, most really have no clue.

CARRIE:  I would have hung up on him. How is that even relevant to a first conversation???????

MARY:  Technically, it was our 2nd talk, but first one was super short because he caught me working and I couldn’t talk long.  Anyhoo.

CARRIE:  It should never come up. Ewwww….girl, I wouldn’t accept another call from him. Like, ever.

MARY:  Dammit, he is so hot in his pictures…maybe I should just use him for sex…

CARRIE:  That wouldn’t be good, either.  Can you imagine him in bed?  He would still be asking questions:

Do you like this?

How am I doing?

How long does it take you to have an orgasm?

How long have we been doing it?

Am I doing something wrong?

Yuck!!!  I just had a horrible visual in my head…  He won’t even be worth it.  Girl, he was rude.  I have guys here who are interested in me and who would never even think about swearing around me.  You need to find a man who will honor you, not play 100 questions to see if you are good enough for him.   He’s got it all backwards.   HMPH!

MARY:  That’s sweet.

CARRIE:  It’s all about what you will tolerate and command.  First, second, or third conversation with someone you don’t even know, shouldn’t feel like a damn interview.  He should have been trying to get you to like him, not the other way around.  Welp…now you know why he is single.    Next!