The “Nastyass Honey Badger” in Me

I know I can speak for a lot of women out there who have been caught up in a guy.  You know, the guy who still makes your heart flutter when you think about him.  The one that left you hanging.  The one that took you weeks months to get over.

Ya – that one.

Somewhere in our lives, we’ve all experienced that guy.  And, hopefully, by now you got over him.  You’ve finally learned your lesson, because after the first couple of times he disappoints you, you finally see the light.  And, like me, no matter how rattled you get, no matter how fucked up the situation is – or how many questions you had left swirling around in your pretty, little head – there eventually comes a time when you finally know when to quit.

You make a conscious decision to cowboy up, dust your shoulders off and keep your chin up.  You continue to look forward, and when you have moments of weakness, you channel that Nastyass Honey Badger deep inside of you with all of your might!  Your inner Honey Badger helps you beat off any temptation to call, email, text or use up any more of your precious time thinking about the guy who took you for granted.  Or, who just wasn’t that into you…

Take your pick of whatever you want to call it, but regardless of what it really is, or is not…

Honey Badger don’t give a shit…

The Nastyass Honey Badger

You manage to stay strong.  You’ve moved forward.  And, you continue on with your life, because life goes on, and so do we.  You do this until he’s not even a blip on your radar.  Nothing.  Just silence.  You have forgotten him.

(You got that my little Honey Badgers who are reading this?!)

Glory hallelujah!

You praise Jesus, Allah, God, your girlfriends, yourself, your Mamma – or whomever/whatever helped you get through that tough period of time when you just wanted to call him.  You are finally free.  You are finally over him.  Congratulations!

And that’s exactly where I was.



Still single and not giving a shit.


…and happily sitting at my favorite Irish Bar one cold December night.

December 20th to be exact.

The Belfast Bartender had just poured me my third Pumpkinhead beer (with no rim), and I was sitting next to an uber-cute guy, who I had just met: An ex-Marine who had tats, muscles, dreamy blue eyes and a mouth that I couldn’t stop staring at.

He had a great smile.

And lips.

And you know what? It didn’t even matter that he was only 5’6″.

Ya – it was like that.

My buzz was being fueled by the great conversation I was having with my hot 25-year old ex-Marine.  Way out of my age range, but hey!


Eventually, I had to use the ladies room and, while I’m in there, I check my cell phone.

What the??



DC Dude?!

There goes my fucking buzz.

DC DUDE:  Two years ago today the DC dude snowstorm…ha.

Did he forgot how we left off last time, seven months ago? Was this supposed to be a joyous moment for me?  Oh, and let’s not forget how he made me cry and the fact that he never even acknowledged it.

Nobody makes me cry.


It actually took me about 48 hours to reply to DC Dude’s text, only because my knee-jerk response was, “Go fuck yourself,” or “The only thing you should be saying to me is, ‘I’m sorry. Please, can we talk?'”

Clearly, our last texting conversation had escaped his mind.

I decided that I needed to phone a friend.

I picked P.P.D., because she knows how to put my train back on the tracks whenever it derails.

My train was definitely off the tracks again.

She gave me two options.

I picked option #1, which was just to be cool.  Don’t flip out, like I wanted to, and “just be cool.”

And breathe.


CARRIE:  Thanks.

CARRIE:  It’s nice that you remembered.

DC DUDE:  How could I forget?  I sent a thank you note to Pressfield and got a nice reply.


As in, Stephen Pressfield – the author of “The War of Art”?   The very book he suggested that I read, which made me like him even more?  The book that moved me so much that I slept with it in my bed and carried it with me for months?!

That Pressfield?!

That mother fucker…

He’s kicking tires and throwing out the ol’ fishing lure…nice, big, shiny fishing lure out in my pond…


I almost fell for it.  I wanted to know what his thank you letter said.  Maybe he would even let me read it, but that was me projecting and getting my hopes up, so I stopped myself.

Instead, I thought  about the last time we had contact, you know, when he left me crying.


The fact that there was no mention of an apology or acknowledgement about my feelings, I was able to channel my bad-ass Honey Badger with no problem.  I didn’t care about satisfying my own curiosity about his letter or Pressfield’s response.  I didn’t give him credit for thinking of me on a very important day.  Nope.  Instead, I remained calm – just like the Honey Badger did when it got bit by the King Cobra and passed out.

Honey Badger gets bit – it blacks out.

But then, it gets backup.

Just like me.

So, I replied…

CARRIE:  Super cool.

And that was the end of that…

I’m getting better at this!


Where Do You Want to Meet?

In the last week, I have had four dates. Yes, four.  Not with the same guy. With different guys.  Four of them.  One week.


I mentioned this to Nathan, he said I was like the guy on the baseball team with the most at-bats per season.

(Wait until tonight, when I arrive at the bar with another guy…)

Ya, I’ve had a lot of interest lately, which is good, but I wish I could find someone I was attracted to, without using an on-line dating site.  I swear, on-line dating is like the kiss of death.  But, I go back to it every time, because I never meet guys when I’m out and about.  Maybe they are to shy?  Am I that intimidating?  But, I’m so nice!!!

Not that I don’t ever see anyone who doesn’t catch my eye when I’m out, but as my luck would have it, they end up being married, off limits (Rule #2)…or gay.

Dating in general is so damn disappointing. First, let me just say, what the hell is wrong with men these days? I go out on all these dates, and it seems like everyone is so lackadaisical about putting together a proper date.

What the hell? Did they not notice the tall red head with a great smile in the profile? I would think that would be something to get excited about, and yet…


Maybe these guys have been out on so many dates that by the time they get to me, they just don’t have anything left to give.  At least, that’s what my friend Pam thinks. And, I have to agree with her.  But I feel the same way these guys do, but I still put in the effort every time.  No matter what.

So, why can’t they?

What ever happened to trying to impress your date (me)?  We have all heard the saying, “First impressions are lasting impressions,” right?

I guess I need to spell out the obvious.  Here…this is what I expect on a first date and I don’t think I’m asking for too much:

  1. If you need a hair cut, get one before the date.  (Date #4 was in need of a hair cut.  How did I know? He had that back of the neck fuzz going on.  Gross.)
  2. Make the arrangements of where and when we are meeting.
  3. If we are having dinner, make reservations.
  4. Decide if we are meeting for just drinks, or if we are doing dinner and drinks – and let me know before the date.  (Date #4 offered dinner an hour into date, but I had already eaten.)
  5. Offer to pick me up, and if you do, make sure your car is clean.   Inside and out. (None of the 4 contestants offered.)
  6. Shower, shave and dress appropriately.


See?  Not asking a whole hell of a lot here.  Just the basics.  You think I’m wrong? OK – go ask you mother or father if they think my list is asking for too much.

Getting back to my four dates this week:  Three out of the four guys asked me where we were meeting.  And what time.


What happened to all the real men?  Where did they all go?  Can’t a man make a decision anymore?

Even Hot Dog Guy was smart enough to put in the effort on our first date.  Not only did he get a hair cut, but he also had his truck detailed – inside and out.  He picked me up at my house. He wore a sports coat with a nice button-down shirt.  He brought a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Not a huge bouquet.  Just four simple roses wrapped nicely and they were from the florist.  And, as we all know, he didn’t pick out a restaurant or make dinner reservations before our date, but he still scored big points.  He was a gentleman and he took charge.


And the guys I went out with this week?


Did I mention that one of the guys arrived in a hoodie sweatshirt?

I rest my case.

Fucking next!


Remember When All Ya Had to Do Was Just Sleep with a Guy and He’d Be Your Boyfriend?!

I was out at my brother’s bar the other night and ended up talking with a few single women about their dating experiences. It was the same discussion: I’m still single, because it’s so hard to find a decent guy who is boyfriend material.

Like me, these women couldn’t understand why they were still single.  What were we all doing wrong?  Was it us? Or, was it the lack of quality men out there?

I stood there sympathizing with their stories.  How could I not?  I had been a part of the dating rat-race for far longer than I ever like to admit. Then, I threw out a suggestion that dating was so much easier 10, 15 – even 20 years ago.

Was it not?

*The crowd cheers*

All the women I was talking to agreed with my statement, so I repeated something my best friend Mary said to me one day that made me laugh.


In her lovely Nashville accent she said, “Remember when all ya had to do was just sleep with a guy…and he’d be your boyfriend?!”


Back then, it was just that easy.  No conversations.  No questions asked.  It was a done deal.  You slept with a guy, and then it was mutually understood that he was your boyfriend.  For months!  Maybe even years!

But not now.

Not these days.

These days you are not exclusive unless it has been discussed with your guy or unless your he goes and changes his Facebook status to “In a Relationship.” And then, you have to hope that hope that you are the one he’s in the relationship with!  (Hey, I’m sure it’s happened.)

So, in moving forward with the new year, I’ve decided to take Patty Stranger’s advice from “Matchmaker Millionaire.”  From here on out, I will have a full-on conversation with whomever I am getting serious with that there will be no sex before monogamy.  Because, I’m not going to make that mistake I made with Hot Dog Guy ever again!

Do I hear an “Amen”?!


Please, Don’t Make Me Say It!

I’m not a mean person.  I’m not.  But, when someone corners me, sometimes I feel like there is no other option but to just give it to them straight.

It makes me uncomfortable when I have to do this, but, apparently, I need to, because some people just can’t take a hint.

Here, I’ll give you an example:


ORPHEUS:  Hey there. I really enjoyed your profile…and you hve great taste in outdoor beauty! I would like to talk with you and learn more about you. Do you use AIM or yahoo IM? Or can you use the chat feature on here? Please let me know. J.


ORPHEUS:  hey there. are you able to chat on here?

I decided to go with the canned I’m-not-interested response.

CARRIE:  Thanks for your interest, but we are not a match.

Now do you see that?  I was being nice.  Vague, but nice.  NICE!  But then, he has to push it…and you saw his picture right?  Does he look like my type?

I didn’t think so.

ORPHEUS:  I just figured that both of us have a passionate love of the outdoors, and also I found your photos very attrative. Hey…red hair and tall is a rare but very nice combo. I also laughed at your headline. Good kissers enquire within. I actually view that as a lost art. I can explain in detail what I mean with that later on.

If there is something wrong with my profile, or something in there that makes me seem like a turn off… please let me know. I would like to fix it…. maybe it will help me in the future if I wind up never talking to you. I hope you would take the time to at least say that.


CARRIE:  I’m just not attracted to you – sorry to put it so blunt, but that’s the first thing that we all look for and, if that’s not there, then the rest of whatever you have on your profile really doesn’t matter.

He’s lucky I didn’t add in there that one would think that a person with a master’s degree would at least know how to spell – or at least be smart enough to use the spell checker before he sends an email.