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D Is for Douche Bag

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I live in a bubble. I think most of the time I am overly naive and a magnet for the wrong kind of man. Do I sound like I am describing you? Well, one thing I can say is that others can find humor in my defeat, learn from my mistakes and perhaps see the red flags a little bit sooner than Miss, ”everything is sweet and nice in my world.”


It’s been a rough year. Some complain of drought, while I can say, “when it rains it pours.” Problem is, this last year has been more like a flood and frankly has left me water logged, soggy and longing for the desert. There has been a plethora of men since the terrible, earth shattering, break up and frankly I don’t know what was worse losing the ex or gaining bad date, after bad date. Not to mention some extra baggage to carry around (we are not talking about Louis Vuitton ladies). There was the rebound car sales men whose favorite line was,” Do you know who I am?” Ah, no honey, we don’t and frankly I wish I didn’t. Then along came the bald and beautiful, but extremely sweaty contractor who was supposed to rescue me. He was bit like a jack rabbit, not to mention he also came with baggage of his own (plastic surgery queen and highly, medicated ex wife). Oh, and I did the unthinkable and had a repeat offender and it was still offensive and tiny … much to my dismay and lack of memory. After that there was a slew of really awful, no pathetic dates and pseudo relationships, but nothing, no nothing to make my heart sing again. Well, unless you count the four month love affair I had with the twenty-six-year-old, tattooed (understatement), tire sales men that swept me off my feet, was madly in love and then decided to tell me he was a loser and I deserved better. As if I hadn’t questioned that after he smiled at me coyly behind a grease smeared face, and full sleeve tattoos when he sold me my tires. Ladies, love is blind and he talked the talk so I walked the walk right down Misery Lane. 


I tried to get over him quickly with Bachelor #1 , #2, and #3, but they ended up being more like the three stooges only not as amusing. Larry , who was a single dad and picked me up in line at Disneyland with his daughter in tow, seemed like a gentleman until his daughter was no longer in attendance and then he pulled the, “ just have one more glass of wine trick.” Now his contact in my phone is DoNotANSWDoucheBAG! Curly, was a blind date and also a very , narcissistic test pilot who wowed me with a helicopter ride on date number one, but by date number two was more interested in planning our life together, and talking about himself as well as making sure I could be, “seen and not heard.” Ah, but my favorite was Moe! Moe, was a gorgeous fireman, but problem was he knew it and frankly I knew he was a pompous ass, but imagining him shirtless with a fire boots on was more than I could handle and I excepted date after date mostly bored, but still wiping drool from my face as I stared into his dark , sexy eyes. I spent a month and a half stroking his ego and giving him back massage after back massage only to break up with him through text after he canceled our weekend getaway to do a pub crawl with his other firemen. Text read: You are gorgeous, but I am just not feeling it. Needless to say, I did not receive a response from Moe.  


After two years of this nonsense, I made a quick decision that California was just not the place to find a man. Sure, if you are looking for someone to compete with on who is prettier, who is more status quo or someone who’s number one will always be yours truly then you won’t have any trouble finding Mr. right now in the Golden State, but I am looking for Mr. Permanent, Mr. I will love you for what you have inside.  


 I may live in a bubble. I may even be accustomed to my bubbles popping on a regular basis, but I am not giving up! I packed everything into my car and drove myself across three states to have a clean slate. You know, I heard there is something in the water in Montana. I may be barefoot and pregnant in no time. Happy hunting Ladies!  

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