Nicknaming the Dating Contestants

I don't know about you, but it seems as though I've had a lot of dates over the years.  It's not like I'm some sort of serial dater, who has a date every night of the week, or even every week for that matter.  It's just that I've been single for a while (which seems like forever), so it feels like there have been a lot of guys...or as I call them, "dating contestants."

My dating life can be very much up-and-down.  One minute, I'm going through a dry spell, and then all of a sudden it's raining men.  Literally!

Too many guys at one time is not good for Carrie.  Yes, I know, you're probably thinking I have men lined up for every night of the week, but give me more than one guy to date at a time, and I get over-whelmed.  And I even get a little anxious! It's silly, and I don't know where it comes from, but that's how I get.  Lord knows that most women would love that kind of attention, but not me - because I'm not most women. (Just please don't tell anyone.)

So, since I have been single, the upside of it is that I have lots of juicy stories for my girlfriends.  They love hearing about my dating disasters - I'm just glad that something positive is coming out of it!  And the way I feel about it, if it entertains my girlfriends and makes good blogging material, then so be it. I guess it's the payoff I get for having all those callous boys hurt my feeling. But, I'll live.  I like to think that it's a learning experience - for all of us.

I usually don't get to see my girlfriends all of the time, so sometimes they get the stories and guys mixed up. It never fails, I'll be mid-sentence, giving an update, and someone will say, "I'm sorry, which guy is this you're talking about?"

Which guy?

Let's face it, nobody remembered Chris, Michael, Kevin, Tom, John or James.  It's a problem, and because I found myself constantly repeating how I met a guy, his stats, and how our first date went over and over...I had to come up with something.  I was tired of repeating myself. So, I started using nicknames.

Nicknames!  What a brilliant idea! I mean who could forget names like these?

Hockey Boy

Harvard Scorpio

The Marine

Lenny Kravitz

Cousin Vinny

K9 Cop

Undercover Brother

Crooked-Dick Darryl

The Architect

 

The Noocher

Anaconda Dick

The Senator

The Guy from Survivor

The Sociopath

Conan O'Brien

The Swedish Psychologist

The Good Doctor

Power of Now Guy

 

DC Dude

6'7"

Mortgage Guy

Beef Cake

(This is horrible to say, but please don't ever ask me what their real names are, because I don't remember most of them!  Oops!)

When dating, here's an interesting rule to keep in mind...

You don't name the puppy unless you plan on keeping it.

I have to give credit to my dear friend, Becky, who told me about that concept.  She's smart like that. Beautiful, funny and smart.

In Becky's book, naming the puppy before you are ready to keep him is apparently a big no-no. Think about it, because she is right.  Why would I use a boy's real name and confuse all my girlfriends if I'm not sure if I'm going to keep him?

Would you bring a guy home to meet your parents, if you weren't serious about him? Well, it's the same concept.

And, God forbid, you date more than one Michael, like I did.  Then you are *bleep*! You wanna to see some confusion?!  Date a guy who has a common name!

"Hey, did you you get back together?"

"I thought he was a jerk - you're dating him again?!"

You get the picture...

Nicknames are the way to go, and trust me, it works. No longer do my girlfriends get confused who is who anymore.  Everyone is happy.  No more confusion.

*DING!*

And no, the boys do not know their nicknames, well, except Undercover Brother, DC Dude and The Senator.  Those names are harmless and rather flattering...unlike Crooked Dick Darryl's nickname.

Well, it was crooked and shaped like a summer squash.

Nicknames have worked thus far, but I do foresee a problem in the future when I finally do decide to "name the puppy" and bring him home to meet the Hen House. I can just see it now.  One of the chicks will probably end up saying, "I'm sorry, I know all about you, but I just don't remember your name.  What was it again?"

*smacks head*

But, until I cross that bridge - let the nicknaming continue!

~Carrie

The Supreme Court of Mom

I've learned over the years that whenever I have a problem, or a dilemma, there are various levels of advice.

As with all court systems in the United States, there are different levels.  In the Federal Courts, we have the following:

It's pretty simple. You start at the bottom, and if you don't like the ruling you can appeal and have your case heard by a higher court. The highest court, being the "Supreme Court.”

Key word: “SUPREME.”

I like that.

In my life, there are various levels of courts that I can go through as well.  I've got problems that I can't seem to resolve on my own, but my “cases” are a little different. They are never over a dispute, but rather a dilemma that I feel I need seek out other opinions.

Level #1: “The Independent Judge.”

Depending on the problem, depends on which friend I call. These are friends who are non-judgmental, who know me better than anyone else, and they always give diplomatic opinions. These are my closest girlfriends:  Mary, Beth, and Pam.  Long-time friends, who know me, better than I sometimes know myself. They see things that I usually can't, or in some cases – I don't want to see. Opinions are brief, firm......and on-the-money. 

Level #2: "The Hen House."

When individual opinions are not enough, then it's time to take it to the next higher level:

The Hen House

This is my New Hampshire support team.  No roosters.......just chicks. We all went to school together, so they have known me since my look-alike Peg Bundy days!

(Ya...that's me on the far left....Lisa, Christie, Kelly and Brigitte are missing, but that's basically the crew.) My long-time friends who have been there through the good times and the bad – and unfortunately, there have been a lot of "bad."  Thankfully, that's what they are best at....lifting my spirits, picking me back up, dusting me off, and quickly reminding me of what's really most important in my life…..THEM!

We've been through everything together - boyfriends, marriages, babies, divorces, very drunk nights - and even getting arrested together.

(We were only 17.) 

So, ya...it's like that.

No matter what I may face in life, they have an answer for it. If I lose my job, Justine, Julie and Gail would be quick to find me another one.  If I was broke, Julie would feed me with her home-made cooking. If a boy broke my heart - Christie, Kelly, Denise and Lisa would be quick to remind me that my Mr. Right is still out there - that he’s just right around the corner; it's just a matter of time.

If I was out of town, and my mother was in a full-blown diabetic insulin reaction and needed assistance, Gail and Julie would be racing to her house, getting the orange juice out....or getting ready to pull a "Pulp Fiction" on my Mamma!  (True story by the way.)

Regardless, they are always there to give me support - whether it comes in the form of advice, a shoulder to cry on.

Or, a refill on my Jack & Coke!!! 

Woo-hoo!

But sometimes that’s not enough, and I have to go to the next higher level.  He’s the judge and jury, and I call upon him when it comes to understanding guys. The door to his chambers reads:

The Honorable Nathan (big brother)
Specialty: A Cold Hard Slap of Reality

Nathan gives me the low-down on how guys think. I get the first-hand perspective from a guy's point-of-view.  He's a professional when it comes to removing all emotions from the equation, and just dealing with the cold, hard facts.  Unlike me, who gets her emotions all tangled up in a rat's nest, so much, sometimes, that I can’t even see straight. (Ya, I know.  It’s the Cancer in me….I can’t help it. I was born with high intuition, and I tend to feel more things than most people.  It's not easy being me!)

Here's a recent ruling from Nathan after asking for advice:

You have to treat life as a comedy, not a tragedy. Getting mad doesn’t really get you anywhere. Laughing, however…..

Laughing however......he's got that right.  

Yes, thank you Nathan!  He reminds me of what I already know. That’s Nathan. No fluff…..no fuss. It works for me.

Next level up is my "Supreme Court."

The Supreme Court of Mom

Yep, that's right.  My Mommer has a great judge of character.  It takes a really authentic person to win over my mother.  She calls it, how she sees it - without regard to whether or not her opinion is going to hurt my feelings.  I could be in mid-sentence describing a new boy, and without even meeting the person, she'll say that she doesn't like him.  BAM!

I once dated a guy for 3 years, and she always called him a “sales man,” from day one. She never liked him.  She said he was always trying to sell himself - always trying to impress me, and anyone else who would listen. I didn’t agree with her at the time, but now looking back, I realize that she was dead-on. He ended up pulling the wool over my eyes, breaking my heart, etc.....etc. I won’t go into detail, but at the end, it wasn’t pretty.

Damn, Mamma…..why do you have to be right all the time?

Intuitive…like she’s psychic, or something. She always knows how it’s going to end, if they are going to come back, if I’m going to grow tired of them……and on, and on. She likes to remind me of the theory that “whatever bothers you at the beginning of a relationship is usually the reason why you will break up in the end.”

She’s been right about 95% of the time.

Don't Touch My Superhero Ass!

Halloween.....the time of year when women can bring out the "Ho" in Halloween.  (Yes, I realize that there is no "Ho" in Halloween, but whatever - you get my point.)

My friend, Justine, suggests that we dress up as superhero's and not just any super hero's, but sexy superhero's!  Sure, why not?  She sends me a link to a website of all the costumes to pick from.  I pick Robin - the girl wonder.  That's me, right?  Girl wonder?

Pleased with my selection, until I took a closer look at the picture of my outfit.  How short is that skirt?  Better yet, exactly how tall is that model? 

I chuckle...Miss Five-Foot-Seven with a boob job?  She's maybe 5'6"?  Hell, you can never tell with these catalog models - they can be really deceiving and really, all I care about is how that costume going to fit on my 5'11" body?!

It could be a problem!

Stupid....petite....model!  Nobody is that size!

I figured I'd take my chances.  I bought the costume for $49.99 and crossed my fingers. God, please let the costume be long enough to cover my butt!

My costume arrives in the mail a few days later. Immediately, I tried it on with my high-heeled black boots. As I'm sliding it over my head and down around my body, I can't help but think that the model in the picture must have been a midget. Now I'm thinking the model was probably only 5'5"!

The size I ordered was a medium - and daum! Why can't they make everything in tall???? Maybe if I pulled it down... It's pleather. It should stretch!

The skirt was only 15" long.  It was the shortest thing I've ever worn in my life. I was worried if it will cover my butt or not.  God forbid it shimmies up by accident during the night without me noticing.

I was taking a leap of faith in the name of having a good time with my girlfriends - even the stitching was suspect. I prayed that the seams didn't start to unravel during the middle of my night...

Halloween night, I get ready at Justine's house - she is Batwoman and our other friend is Captain America. It was going to be a night of pleather - I could smell it!  Literally!  And knowing pleather doesn't breathe, I put on extra deodorant - just in case!

We go to a house party - it's a nice group of people.  Mostly everyone there is dressed up.  I pour myself a Jack & Coke and start mingling.  The night is going well - there's a lot of high school friends there, Catwoman, Wonder Woman, Danika Patrick, a Pirate, a Wench, and another Captain America.  I'm having fun. I love my girlfriends!

Life is good, and so far, no wardrobe malfunctions.

Around 11:30pm, we all decide to head over to The Wild Rover, where my brother was working.  I was hoping to score the $200 prize for sexiest costume.

Upon arrival, my brother is standing outside and tells me we just missed the contest.

Dammit, Nathan!

Didn't he know that on of his responsibilities, as my older brother, is to tell me about these things?  What kind of bar manager is he that he doesn't inform his favorite sister, and her hot friends, about what time the contest was?  I could have used that $200!

We all go inside the bar - I'm trying to nonchalantly pull down my tiny skirt, and really hoping that my brother doesn't freak out and notice that the skirt is way too short for me.  (It would be just my luck that he's the one to witness my superhero ass cheeks falling out!)

But, apparently I was covered, or maybe he didn't look. 

It would have been weird if he looked...

Ya, he wouldn't look. 

The bar is crowded.  We buy drinks.  Everyone I walk by is yelling, "Robin!"  That's right, my name is friggin' Robin tonight! I'm towering over everyone as I make my way through the crowd in my high-heeled boots. I'm looking to fight crime!!  (Or, at least score a free Jack & Coke?)

Yes, fight crime - that was my intention, until some drunkie-drunkard walked up to me in his staggering haze, stopped in his tracks when his eyes saw the girls and slowly inserted his index finger into my right boob.

Yes, he inserted his index finger into my right boob, as if he was testing it to see if they are real or not! 

I'm standing there stunned.  I'm shocked.  At that moment, my hair definitely got redder and my blood pressure sky-rocketed!

I start yelling at the guy, but his two friends were quick to move in and make excuses - one of them even offered to buy me a drink - hoping that would shut me up.  (Like a drink was going to make up for that?!)  Then the apologies turned into, "Hey, you are really hot in that Robin outfit.  Forget about my friend, so what is your name?"

Wasn't it obvious that my name was Robin?  Hello?

I look over at Mr. Drunkie who is standing there staring at me - swaying.  He's testing me.  Yes, asshole, the boobs are real. My attention goes back to his friends then back at the perpetrator.  I make a fist - I'm still steaming mad. This fiery red-head is about to lose it! I pull back my arm and get ready to punch him in his face, but then I remember...

...I am in my brother's bar...and if you want to be treated like a lady, then you have to act like a lady.  God forbid, I am remembered as "Nathan's sister, who punched a guy in the face." 

Ya...not so flattering. 

At first, I was going to let it go - everyone was having a good time, and Nathan wasn't anywhere in sight. So, I tell Drunkie's friends, to back off and suggest that they all get out of my sight.

I turned back to my group of friends, grabbed my Jack & Coke and managed to calm down.  However, about 20 minutes later and wouldn't you know, Mr. Drunkie has managed to find his way back around the bar into our area. What's worse is that he's perched his sorry drunken ass on the bar stool right behind me. However, I'm determined not to let him bother me, so I just keep my back towards him and continue to chat with my girlfriends - I'll just ignore him. 

This theory was working until he...... 

GRABBED MY SUPERHERO ASS!!!!!!! 

(I'm talking full-on-grab.)

I spin around and yell, "Mother f******! Are you kidding me????"  I looked around to see if anyone else had noticed him grabbing my ass, but the only thing people saw was me cursing him out.  And, even as I stood there reading him the Riot Act, nobody stepped in.  I took a quick look around - trying to find my brother, or even the guy that I was kind of interested in, Writer Dude, who was standing at the end of the bar with his friends - too interested in them to notice that I was a damsel in distress!

(Buddy, you just lost points!)

Great, nobody noticed or they ignored it. People just don't care anymore. I'm convinced of this. Fine.

FINE! 

F-I-N-E!!!!!!!

I'm yelling at the guy again, but realize he could care less, and was giving me the "Whaaah?  What did I do?" look. 

*HMPH!*

I turn to my friends, "I'll be right back!"  I made my way down through the crowd towards the front of the bar, frantically looking for my big brother - and then I spot him and yelled, "NATHAN!"

He comes over to me. I'm five-years old again, as I try to explain what just happened.

"And, and, and...then he put his finger in my boob, Nathan!

*sniffle-sniffle* 

"At first, I thought I should just let it go, but then that fucker, I think you know him - maybe he's one of your friends?  Nate, he might be one of your friends. I don't know and I don't care!  He's a fucker! And I'm so pissed off right now!  And, and...Nathan, he grabbed my superhero ass!"

*big lip*

In an instant, I saw my sweet brother turn into a very, very, pissed-off man.  There wasn't any more explanation needed, because he growled, "Where...is...he?!"  I pointed to the area where my friends were standing and then I walked back through the crowd as Nathan followed.

And wouldn't you know, stupid Drunkie was still at the scene of the crime. I looked back at Nathan and pointed at the perpetrator who was about to get...WRATH OF NATHAN!

"That's him!  Right there!"

*pointing* 

Like the Leo that he is, Nathan roared over the crowd, "Matty, you are out of here!  That's my fucking sister you touched! You are out of here!  NOW!"

(Clearly, Matty doesn't know "The Rules")

I stood behind Nathan, trying to stay calm - the bastard apparently couldn't conceptualize the fact that he was being thrown out. He argued a bit, but left without Nathan laying a hand on him.  However! Deep down inside I really wanted Matty see him get tossed out - the hard way!

I was really hoping that jerk would get some of this:

(Nathan, you didn't think I had that picture, did you?!)

Nonetheless, my night was fun. I was trying to fight crime or at least score a drink, and my own brother had to come to my rescue! 

Later that night, via text:

Me:  Thank you for being my super hero tonight and coming to my rescue!

Nathan:  I'm your FB!

Yes he is!