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.











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

Trixie and the Long Distance Dude

Have you ever met someone, and just instantly clicked?  That’s exactly how I felt about Trixie when I met her.  Just like that, we clicked.   Okay, there might have been some alcohol involved, as we did meet one night at a trendy bar.  We were introduced by a mutual friend, who had wanted the both of us to meet for months.

I knew a little background on Trixie before we met.  First and foremost, she was single, and had been for a long time.  Of course, that piqued my interest and I knew that somewhere during our evening our evening together, I was going to find out why.

It just happened to be within five minutes of meeting.

“Why do you think you are still single?”

The suspense was killing me, because after spending five minutes with Trixie, I couldn’t understand why she didn’t have a boyfriend.  What was there not to love?

Trixie had a beautiful sparkle in her eyes (it might have been the alcohol), a gift of gab (also could have been the alcohol), and she was a very talented floral designer and had a good job (nothing to do with alcohol).  Plus, she was attractive and very easy-going.   Why she was single?  What guy didn’t want a fun woman with a good career?

I watched her gaze out into space, as she struggled to come up with an answer.  I knew it was a hard question and one that a lot of single women couldn’t answer, so I lobbed her an easier question.

“I realize that’s a difficult question.  So, let’s start with the last guy you dated.  What happened to him?”

Of course there was a guy.  There always is, and, in fact, he had been a friend of the family.

Sounded like a good start to me!

He grew up in the same area as she did.

They share the same roots.  Good-good!

 He was a little older.

Never a bad thing…

 They hadn’t seen each other in over 20 years.

It could be a good thing.  It could be a bad thing.

 “Go on,” I told her, feeling extremely curious as to where she was going with her story.

She had a crush on him as a teenager.  He was friends with her older brother, so she admired him for years, from far away.  Then eventually got reunited on Facebook.

Ah, good ol’ Facebook!

But he lived in Florida and she lived in Connecticut.

Uh, oh.  He was geographically undesirable, which meant the odds were going to be stacked against them from the get-go.

But, despite the distance, they spoke every day for several weeks, until he finally announced that he wanted to come to Connecticut…


…so he could “take her out for coffee.”



Take her out for coffee???



“Stop right there, Trixie.  That was your first clue.  Why was he willing to travel all that way from Florida, but only to take you out for coffee?  What the hell, chick?  Is that a new code-word or something?”

“I know, I know….”

“Listen Trixie, what he should have been saying is that he wanted to spend some quality time with you, or something to that effect.  Coffee?  Are you kidding me?!  I’m sorry, I interrupted you.  Go on.”

Hadn’t we all been there before?  The newness of a relationship sweeps in, and woosh!  There goes all of our common sense and sensibility, just like that.  So, who could blame her?  She was just like me, and you, and everyone else out there, single and struggling to find love.   Trixie obviously was getting caught up in the attention she was getting from this guy and wasn’t thinking with a clear head because she let him come to Connecticut.

She goes on to tell me that it had been years since a guy had struck her fancy, and even longer since she had sex.  In fact, she was so starved for affection that any tender touch would send her reeling.  Poor, poor Trixie.  She was just like the rest of us:  Overly sensitive and starved for affection.  It was so bad in her case, that she even put her hot yoga instructor on notice when she could no longer even handle having him adjust her yoga poses.  Even that was sending her hormones into overdrive.

Speaking of hot, our bartender came over with our second round of drinks and placed them on the bar.  With his velvety, Costa Rican voice, he asked if he could get us anything else.  For a split second I wondered if it would be worth pulling him into the conversation, and get his male perspective on our conversation, but it was a short-lived as Trixie continued along with her story right after she took a sip of her Martini.

“You’re not going to believe this, Carrie,” she said, gently putting her drink back on the bar.  “He said to me, ‘I thought we are both adults…’”

“He said what?!” I was clearly irritated with this guy already.


That line had really made its rounds in the dating world, because I distinctly remember, a few guys saying the same thing to me.  Was this the latest and greatest way to get laid these days?  “Hey man, use this line if a woman starts pulling away when you are making the moves on her.  Women can’t say no!”

So, here it is, the big red flag that should have stopped Trixie in her tracks and should have felt like a big slap upside her pretty, little head.  Instead of coffee/dinner/getting-to-know-one-another/let-me-invest-some-time-into-this-relationship, they had sex.   And you know what happens when you have sex without solidifying the relationship first?


And wouldn’t you know that dude flew back home to Florida and Trixie didn’t hear much from him after that.  Shocker, right?

From an outsider, I realize that it’s wicked easy to see all the warning signs.  But when your hormones are ruling, not only your head, but also your heart, nothing is going to stop you, unless you have super-human self-control.  Which, most of us don’t have.  At least, when it comes to sex.

“So, how did you guys leave it?  Did you hear from him again?”

“Oh, yes.”


“Yes.  We finally spoke and he told me he needed some time to think, and needed some space.”

And there it was, the “I need some space” because I’m full of shit line.

“So, I gave him space.  And, you know what else?  About two weeks later he changed his Facebook status from “Single” to “In a relationship.”

“Interesting.  I wonder if his new girlfriend knew that he had his dick in you just two weeks earlier.”


“Dammit girl, I was just about to tell you that guys who say, ‘I need some space,’ usually have someone else already in the picture.   What a douche bag.”

I didn’t want her to feel like she was alone, so I quickly gave her the cliff notes on DC Dude.  “We had reconnected after a year or so.  Things were going well.  Plans were made that I would fly down to see him for a long weekend.  Only a few weeks before my scheduled visit, he went on a 10-day trip to Florida and didn’t even tell me about it.  The only reason I found out, is that he answered his phone while he was in Florida.  Not quite sure if there was another girl on his radar or not, but for those 10 days, I sure as hell wasn’t.  Shitty, right?”

MORAL OF THE STORY:  If there is one thing I know, it’s that when a guy anyone says they need their space, it’s never good.  You should consider the relationship over.  Finito. No explanation needed, because there are only two reasons why a guy would say they need space  and let me point out that only cowards use that line.  The cowards who do use that chicken-shit line, say it because they don’t have the balls to say, “I’m just not that into you and I don’t have the balls to tell you,” or “I’ve been seeing someone else and I still don’t have the balls to tell you.”

Again, keep your dignity intact.  Always take the high road and just gracefully bow out of the relationship.  Shut the door.  Delete their number.  Block them.  Whatever it is, save face and, for the love of God, don’t do anything you’ll regret later!  Just gracefully wish the other woman luck, because she is the one left in the dark…



….and you, my dear, have seen the light!



Next Time I’ll Pass on the Percocets

The summer of 2012 was an interesting time for me.  There were two contestants on board, the Painter and the the Smoker.

The Painter was hot, but he wasn’t asking me out. That was a problem, because I didn’t want a hook-up, I wanted a boyfriend.

Considering that the Smoker had asked me to be his date to a wedding, the Painter got put on the back burner, and put on simmer.

Despite the wedding date with The Smoker was as long as it was, I still enjoyed myself immensely.   It even made me feel what it was like to have a significant other again.

~ We mingled.

~ We canoodled.

~ We held hands.

~ We laughed.

And even though we enjoyed our date together, whatever we had quickly went down the drain as soon as he read the blog post about our awesome date.

I couldn’t understand why he would be mad.  I kept him anonymous, as I always do with anyone I write about, and I thought that the blog post was fun, positive, and kinda flattering to him.   Wasn’t it?

But besides that when his brother first introduced me to him as “the girl who blogs about all her dates,” wasn’t that a giveaway that I’d most likely be blowing about our date?

When me and the Smoker discussed the fact that I blogged about him and why, was the very moment I realized he didn’t get me.

He wouldn’t get me, either.

And if he didn’t get me, then it would never work.

That’s when the Painter got put back on the front burner, where my lust for him once again started to come to a boil.

But I knew that having lustful thoughts, would only mean trouble.  On top of that, the Painter told me I couldn’t write about him at all.   I couldn’t win!

Painter was a bad boy and as Oprah Winfrey always said, “Bad boys are bad for a reason.”

Instead of going with my intuition, I kept reverting back to that first time me and the Painter took an afternoon walk in the woods, where he opened up to me and I thought it was the beginning of a friendship.  He even praised me for being so easy to talk to.

I kept hoping for that day to repeat itself, but it never happened.  He only wanted to hook-up and nothing more.  How do I know this?  Because he told me so.

I should have been done with him right then and there.  Instead, I justified a hook-up by listing in my head all the reasons why it wouldn’t be such a bad idea and why I shouldn’t feel guilty:

  • It would be a good way to pass the time while waiting for Mr. Right, as it was turning into a long, drawn-out daunting experience.
  • I missed having sex.
  • I am a grown woman who can make her own decisions.
  • Sex is fun.
  • SEX!

Why couldn’t I just go and have sex?  I always practiced safe sex, so why not?

I needed help with this question so who better to ask than my friend PPD, who had given me the nickname “Sex and the City.”   Her advice was exactly this:

“Girl, I’m going to change your name in my phone, because you can’t be ‘Sex and the City,’ if you ain’t getting none.”

Little did she know, I hadn’t been getting any in a while.  I wanted to change that, but first I had to stop the constant battle with myself in my head.

And just like that, my decision was made for me:  I needed knee surgery–and I needed it like yesterday.

Was I starting to see a pattern here?

Was there a common theme to all of my dating madness and frustrations?

Oh, you want to have a summer fling with Mr. Hot Painter Guy? 

How about a tall order of knee surgery instead?  

For two years, my knee had been giving me problems and causing me a lot of pain.

Fortunately, after seeing a few specialists, they there was a simple solution to making my knee pain go away.

All I needed was surgery.

The moment I booked my surgery, my priorities on dating and hooking up changed.  All of a sudden, the excitement of having a summer fling quickly faded and meaningless sex was, just meaningless, and pointless.

What I really wanted was my boyfriend (who, clearly, didn’t exist) drive me the day of my surgery and take care of me.  That’s what mattered.  Not some hot guy, who I knew would never in a million years be there for me.

I kept thinking to myself, didn’t I deserve better?

Wasn’t a hook-up just setting myself up for more disappointments and frustration?

The idea of having surgery made me feel a little panicky.  Anyone who had been single as long as I have, will understand that facing something like this alone, completely and utterly sucks.

Who would drive me?

Who would take care of me?

Who make sure I am okay when I’m all hopped up on drugs and uttering nonsense?

Who would take off work for 24 hours and watch over me?

Who could I trust?


The day of my surgery, I quickly found out that it would be my brother Nathan.

The day was pretty easy–at least for me it was.  I checked in, kicked Nathan out of my hospital room, changed, and I passed out as soon as the nurse administered my drugs.  I don’t remember anything after that.

When I woke up in my recovery room, Nathan was there waiting for me.

“Nathan, how long have you been waiting here?”

“A while,” he said looking at me like he saw something he didn’t like. “Umm….you’re starting to look a little green, Carrie.”

I felt green and very nauseous.  I looked over at my nurse, who was also in the room with us, and before I could barf all over the place, she administered something into my IV which made me instantly go back to sleep.  Unfortunately, for Nathan, it also made me go back to sleep for another hour and a half.

It was a long day for Nathan.

Once I was awake and talking again, the nurse showed me and Nathan how the inflatable ice-pack contraption, Velcro’d around my knee, worked.  The ice-pack wrapped around my knee connected to a long tube that ran from the blue cooler sitting on the floor to the Velcro ice-pack.  The instructions were easy.  If I felt my knee starting to heat up, all I had to do was raise the cooler above my knee.  It was a brilliant invention.

When I got home, I quickly found out that the hassle of walking around with a water cooler was actually well worth it.  The feeling of the ice-cold water settling in and around my hot knee was incredibly pleasant, but in a weird way.  I remember telling Nathan that it felt like a peeing-your-pants sensation every time I raised the cooler.

It was the only analogy I could come up with.

The first few days following my surgery weren’t all that bad.  I was taking my pain killers as directed; every 4-6 hours to avoid feeling any kind of pain, not that I was actually having pain.

My doctor encouraged me to walk as much as possible and, as long as I had my trusty ice-cooler attached to my knee, I didn’t have any problems.

Until day four.


Day four, my knee was feeling pretty good, but the rest of me was not.  I felt horrible and sluggish. In fact, I didn’t even want to be in my own skin.  I felt like crap.


Four days of pain killers apparently will do that to you.

How was I to know?

I decided to tell Nathan.

“Nathan, I haven’t pooped in four days.”

“Oh, God…..”

“And I had Chinese food two days ago.  I feel like crap, Nathan, but I can’t take one.”

Big lip

“Okay, I can bring something over for you.  I have some supplements that will definitely make you go.  Or, better yet, I can steal some of my roommate’s tea, which is called ‘Ballerina Tea’.” ballerina-tea

“I’ve never heard of it.  Whatever you’ve got, just bring it over,” I pleaded.

“Well, I don’t know if they call it Ballerina Tea because you’ll be thin as a ballerina or because you’ll be tip-toeing to the bathroom like one.”

   Sometimes life hands you an unfortunate event to bring us clarity.  In my case, it was having to go through something scary, like having my knee surgically Roto-Rootered.  The recovery time would take weeks, therefore, any hopes of having a summer fling got ruined.

I thought I was having bad luck again in the Dating Department.

But I wasn’t having bad luck.  Actually, the surgery was a God-send. In the nick of time, I received some much needed clarity on what was truly more important in my life.  It  wasn’t having a temporary fix on my love life.  What I wanted, and have always wanted, was to find someone who, like my brother, I could really count on and who really loved me, for me.  I also realized that counting on something unnatural just to make myself feel better, like pain killers and hooking-up, would only cause unpleasant side effects that in the end, would only make me feel like crap.



Nice Guy: He Clearly Wasn’t Over His Ex-Girlfriend.

Don’t date someone who isn’t over their ex.


I went on a date with someone who said, “I don’t want to talk about my ex,” and then they make their ex the subject of the entire night.  If this happens to you, run.   Don’t accept a second date because it’s a damn trap.

Case and point…


Don’t worry; I’m just a little annoyed.

Tracy Flick in “Election.”


…I really didn’t think this “good guy” would give me anything to write about, but here it goes…



So, basically, one of my friends kind of set me up with her brother.  I had known her for many, many years, and yet I thought it was kind of odd that I had never met her brother.

My first introduction to her brother was a year ago at my friend’s son’s 1st birthday party.  I happened to sit down at the same table with the brother and introduced myself because I had recognized him from pictures.   We exchanged pleasantries, but it didn’t lead to a full-on conversation, so I turned my attention to his mother, who was sitting across from me with the adorable birthday boy on her lap…and that was that.

This year, I got invited to the birthday party again.  The party was great, although, I have to admit that I got a little schnuckered because the fruity lime-green drink concoction that was served, went down like Kool-Aid.  I’m exaggerating a little here because it didn’t go down easy at first, as I remembered it curling my eye-lashes when I had my first cup.

Clearly, it didn’t stop me because I had three.

Yupper, three cups and you can bet your ass that I was chatting away with everyone –  except her brother, of course, who seemed to keep his eyes on the ground.

Oh, well.

The next day my friend called me.  I thanked her profusely for inviting me to the party and told her I had a great time.

“Ya, Carrie, about the party yesterday…”

Oh, God.  What now?  What did I do?  Did I drink too much and say something out of line to someone at her party?  If I did, I wasn’t sure if I would be able to deal with it.  Oh, the humiliation…

“What’s up?  Did I say something out of line to someone?”


“No, no, not at all.  It’s my brother.  He saw you at the party and wanted to know if you’d be interested in going out on a date with him.”

“Your brother? You mean the only person who didn’t speak to me at the party?  That one?  That’s so weird.  Why would he want to take me out if he couldn’t even approach me at your party?  Besides, I thought you said he was in a relationship.  Isn’t he still with that blonde twit?”

“No, they broke up.  He’s really shy, Carrie, but he’s a nice guy.  I wouldn’t try to set you up if he wasn’t a good guy.”

“Okay, just give him my number.”

Naturally I was excited about the possibility of a date and needed to share it with a girlfriend, so I texted my friend Bill:

CARRIE:  My friend’s brother wants to take me out on a date.  I have known her since I was 15.  Never knew her brother. I saw him at her son’s 2nd birthday on Sunday.  I guess he was impressed and I wasn’t too drunk! 😉

BILL:  And how does he look?

CARRIE:  French.  Tan.  Not the tallest…

BILL:  He’s good looking for his age, I guess.

CARRIE:  He’s older than me, but I don’t know how much older. He’s divorced with three or four kids.  The youngest is still in high school.

BILL:  So, he has baggage.  What is important to you?

CARRIE:  I love kids. I don’t consider it baggage at all.

BILL:  Yeah, but I was a child of a broken marriage. You are the intruder. LOL

CARRIE:  He’s been divorced a long time and has/had girlfriend. Not sure if she is still in picture or not.

BILL:  Aha so there is another girl. Protect yourself.  I don’t like seeing you hurt.  But just write all about it.  It makes good reading.

CARRIE:  I don’t think she is around anymore…we’ll see! I heard about her through friends of mine.  They labeled her a gold-diggin’ blonde twit.

BILL:  Will you be labeled the red headed vixen? LOL

CARRIE:  Sounds about right! 😉

BILL:  What about recording your dates?

CARRIE:  Are you crazy?!

BILL:   Sometimes, but you edit them down to a few minutes with some blurry faces. Okay, it would be nuts.

CARRIE:  It’s hard enough getting a date with guys knowing I may possibly write about them, let alone to record them. They would kill me.

BILL:  Maybe. Hehe.


And then because telling one friend isn’t enough, I decided to tell another one of my friends:


CARRIE:   I might have a date with my friend’s brother soon…

JOHN:   THAT sounds promising, he said sarcastically…..

CARRIE:  I know.   Wheeeeh…*crying*


A few days later, my friend’s brother finally called me.  It was one of those easy conversations that flowed so easily that we spoke on the phone for over an hour.

The following day, I had a little pep in my step, as it’s always nice to feel a little connection and know that someone was thinking about me.  Now I just needed to come up with a nickname.  I decided on “Nice Guy.”   After all, he was sweet, sincere and just wanted to be in a long-term relationship.

Within a week, we went on our first date, and like a gentleman, he came to my door, even though it was raining out.  Most guys would have texted me from the car and expect me to walk out to their car, but Nice Guy was living up to his newly acquired nickname.

We ended up deciding on a new bar in town that neither of us had been to before.  It was brand new and beautifully done on the outside with cedar shingles, but when we walked in, the inside looked like a fraternity house.  It even included a rebel flag.  No joke.  Maybe they were going for the eclectic look?  One thing for sure is that a rebel flag doesn’t “fly” here up north.

Two drinks later, and many long conversations, I gathered he liked talking about himself.  Nice guy was indeed nice, but he was actually kind of dull, too.


JOHN:  So ya he was a gentleman blah blah blah….what’s the REAL scoop on the date?

CARRIE:  He really has old school values, which I love. But he didn’t ask me any questions!  None.  We did talk quite a bit and even agreed on many discussions; especially child rearing.

JOHN:   How does someone go through a whole date without asking ANY questions?

CARRIE:  We were talking local politics and the changes to my home town where he now lives. We were both disappointed with our bar selection. It was gorgeous on the outside and then looked like a frat bar on the inside.

JOHN:  I guess your favorite watering hole isn’t really on the list of eligible bars for a first date?

CARRIE:   God, not any more. And the place had really high ceiling, which made it loud in there.

Let’s face it, I can have a conversation with just about anyone.  I know I’m inquisitive, thoughtful, engaging, and smart.  Plus, I know not to talk over people during a conversation.  That’s a big no-no in my book, but apparently it wasn’t in his, because he did it a few times to me–okay, a lot of times.  Normally, I’d describe conversational hogging to be a red flag, but I let it slide.  Maybe he hadn’t been out with someone in a long time? Maybe he felt comfortable talking to someone who could be a good listener?

I should have listened to my first instinct.

A few days later, two thing kept coming up in our texting and phone conversations.  First, was his shitty ex-girlfriend.  Second, was his concern that I was going to write about him – even though he knew about my blog and had taken the time to read some of the stories.  I had to remind him that my blog is about me.  Let me repeat that:  This blog is about me And, if I write about someone, I give them the common courtesy of being anonymous.  Nobody knows who I’m writing about, unless you personally know me.

Sheesh!  Dating me really isn’t that difficult.  Why can’t men just man up?  Jesus…have some confidence. If you don’t have confidence in yourself and your ability to treat me nicely, then why should I have confidence in you?  I understand I may not click with everyone, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to write about you.  The only time I write about someone is when I feel the common courtesy has gone out the window, or you’ve hurt my feeling.  Usually they go hand-in-hand.

You don’t want to be written about?

Don’t hurt my feelings.

It’s as simple as that.

Over the next month or month and a half, we went out a handful of times.

(Five to be exact.)

He treated me well and was very considerate; I’ll give him that.  But the downer was that he kept telling me everything that was going on with his ex and all her silly little games she played to get under his skin.

I should have taken that as my queue to tell him that he wasn’t ready to date me, or anyone at that time.

It also took him three dates for him to finally plant one on me.

Before the kiss, the jury was still out on whether I was into him or not, but when our lips touched, I felt a little *zing* and I thought there might be some hope after all.

But, soon after our fifth date, he went radio silent, and surfaced about a week later.

You know what’s coming next, right?


NICE GUY:   How’s everything?

CARRIE:  Hey there!  I’m good.  How are you?

NICE GUY:  Good… I am sure you figured out that me and my ex are going to try it one more time … Not just for her son’s sake but we both realize that we were better together than apart… I know you will be disappointed in me but i have to follow my heart and give it one last try…

CARRIE:   Wow.  No, I wasn’t expecting that.

NICE GUY:    I am surprised you didn’t!  Her 7-year old son had been having a hard time in school, so the school asked us come in to talk about it… And my 17-year old son was missing both of them.  My ex didn’t think that we were a family and then we both realized that we actual became one…  So we have been talking for about a month and both decided to try one more time and she really missed me and my son.

CARRIE:  I’m pretty much beside myself, but nothing surprises me anymore. Good luck with her.

Seriously?  Pa-lease, let’s get real.  What she missed was his money and his big house.   She left and she couldn’t manage on her own; typical gold-digging behavior.

His excitement must have left him immune to my facetious comment, because he didn’t even acknowledge it.

NICE GUY:  Thanks…I just want to be happy and figure 4-yrs vested so why wouldn’t it hurt.

He just wants to be happy?  With that twit?  From I heard this woman alienated his whole entire family and made him feel like crap about himself, and he just wants to be happy?

My God…he’s clueless.


I felt a needed to vent, so I sent my friend, Amy, a quick text.

Amy, with my BFF, Jackie.

CARRIE:   Nice Guy just told me he got back with his ex-girlfriend who is seriously bat-shit crazy! I give up!!!

AMY:  Well, he is clearlyyyyy an idiot… Good luck to him!

CARRIE:  Exactly.


So, what?  So what that he went back to his ex-girlfriend, right?  What’s the big deal?  Certainly, he didn’t see a problem with it.  But, you know what?  Here’s my take on things…

I spent a LOT of time on the phone with this guy.  A lot.  In fact, I talked to him every day.  If we didn’t find time to talk, we sent each other several texts throughout the day.  Texting or talking…it’s all still very time-consuming and this chick came across as no prize and had nothing to bring to the table except undermine their relationship.

I’ve seen this happen to nice guys before, and I don’t have a clue where it stems from, but, for whatever reason, people like “Nice Guy” really get hell-bent on proving that they are “worthy” or “good enough” to unworthy people.  I mean, he might as well have “DOORMAT” written across his face or “PLEASE USE ME.”  So, for whatever it’s worth, the second he said he was back to his ex, all respect for him went out the door.

And to boot, here I am close friends with this guy’s sister.  I’m at her house all the time.  Is he really that naive to think that we are not going to bump into each other again?  It’s been over a month and I still haven’t heard from him.  One would think that the gentlemanly thing to do would be to at least to extend the olive branch, you know,  so that I wouldn’t like I just got used so he wouldn’t have to be alone.

Here’s a great suggestion for dialog:  “Hey, Carrie.  I hope you are doing okay.  I never said this, but thank you for all the advice.  I know it must be disappointing that I got back with me ex, but just know I appreciated your advice and the time we spent together none the less.”

That would have been nice.

That would have been the gentlemanly thing to do.

But, no, he disappears after he breaks it off with me in a text, no less.

Common courtesy out the window?


Feelings hurt?


Posting a blog about the guy?

You bet.