S-M-U-A-C-K!!!!!!!!!

I know I know I suck but I’m back with more stories than ever. While I’ve been gone I decided to try online dating. If you’ve never done it and are single, it’s so worth it and so much fun. If you’ve done it before and had a bad experience, you should be doing what I’m doing and writing about it. A lot of my stories in the next few blogs will be about my dates…but you’re gonna love them!!!

Disclaimer: I will be going to hell for writing this entry.

Match.com being the wonderful site that it is, allows me to cross paths with the Italian Colt, cause he’s really not a stallion. But I digress…the guy’s been in the US for 4 months and is doing his international MBA at FIU. Bad choice but hey that’s none of my business. Anyway…he starts out emailing me a dissertation on his life (see below) and rather than have to answer all this crap I just send him my number and pray his text messaging skills are better than his email skills….I was in for a treat.

Italian Colt:

RE: Knock Knock, there is anybody alive out there?

Hi Mel,
thanks for the welcome!!! It has been great to live Halloween in US, it was my first experiennce. In Italy we copy from this holiday, just and excuse to have masked party and for the kids to have their treat o treating!!! For our today is national holiday, 'everysaints'....

But here in US Halloween is crazy, the kids (and thei parents...) are cute, really cute!!!!! I spent a lot of money for their treat or treating, eh eh; so sweet and beautiful. Miami was crazy saturday night, i crossed Miami Beach and it was amazing!!!! You love this celebration, and i think i will love too soon :-)

You are the Halloween's owner all around the world we just copy; the copyright is yours...

I chose Miami and the IMBA at FIU to have the chance the meet a beautiful smile like yours..., eheh! Mission accomplished, or almost... eheh! Good job Lory...

Eh eh, the MBA is as step to find here a job oopportunity in some yours sport's asscociation (my dream is the NBA), i can have some connesction with the HEAT (mahybe also for a intnership on May..); i have always worked in sport's environment in Italy. Because cameback to study (very very hard job!!!, work is ten thousand time better...)i was working in Italy in a Communication Area of a University Sport's Organization, a Basketball Manager and a sport writer.

Sport is my life so far and i hope it will be forever, after a bachelor in communication (many years ago..., sob!!!!) i had a Master in Sport's Management and ......

And you??


Good Afternoon beautiful smile,

also from a friend of mine....

I hope to have soon your news :-) I am not a big utizator of Match.com (the reason i m here is very fun.., i will tell you...).

WTF? Was that English? Please please be better at texting!!!!! The week following this email…he texted me to stay hard, that he lived in my condom (he lives in my condo complex), tells me that the horoscope for the day is rainy, and he sent a virtual text kiss (which he so endearingly did like this S-M-U-A-C-K!!!!) to my forehead…not me. But still I agree to go on a date with the Italian Colt. Why you ask? Because that’s the funniest sh!t I’ve gotten from a guy in a long time!

He meets me on Lincoln Road and we start to walk to Rosinella’s because I love that place and I figured I’d take an Italian guy somewhere where he would feel comfortable and at home. We arrive at Rosinella’s and much to my appetite's dismay, he is not happy…“Malisa! No Italian food, I cooke dat for ju!” Alright Italian Colt, let’s go somewhere else. So we get to Nexxt Café and sit down at a perfect people watching table right at the edge. I of course sit with my view to Lincoln Road for added entertainment in case I start to get bored. Anyway, in the ordering process which took 45 minutes because the f*cking guy wouldn’t shut up and look at the menu, he told me why he doesn’t eat shrimp. Apparently, Italian Colt got salmonella poisoning in Singapore and has bowel issues…had some of his intestines removed…got hepatitis as a result and lost like 80lbs. I promptly changed what I was going to order once he finished telling me the story, my appetite just wasn’t the same anymore. He then proceeds to order a jambalaya that was so spicy he couldn’t eat it without having sips of water in between. Really, Italian Colt? Won't your sensitive intestines suffer with all that spicy goodness? Thankfully I had already made up my mind he was walking me to my door and not a step further.

Dinner conversation topics included but were not limited to his father’s infidelity, more bowel issues, inability to make career decisions, hatred for his sister in-law, and his ex girlfriend whom I still think he’s in love with.

About an hour into him talking…I start to yawn…uncontrollably.

About an hour a half into dinner I’ve had two glasses of wine and I’m starting to think there is chemistry.

15 minutes after that, the wine is wearing off again and I realize I was kidding myself.

2 hours of him talking (because I barely got a word in the entire time) I start to yawn again.

Thankfully he finally got the picture that I was tired and bored and he tells me, “Dose beautiful ice want da bed! Let’s go!” Ok, Italian Colt…(Mel in her mind, “Thank you, little baby Jesus”)

On the way to meet me, Italian Colt had texted me that when we got back to the apartment condom…he he he…that I needed to come up to his place because he had something for me.

We get back to the apartment complex and I go into his apartment and he tells me to turn around and close my eyes. When I open them, he’s handed me a Winn Dixie shopping bag with some stuff in it. I open the bag and thrown in this little care package is a package of penne pasta, a can of Parmesan cheese, and a bag of risotto rice. I feign gratitude and excitement and promptly start fake yawning this time.

He walked me home which was a total of 10 steps…I’m officially going to be stalked now.

He hasn’t stopped texting me since. I think he’s in love. I may go out with him again.

Mel’s Blog is Back!!!!!!

Unicorns: The Magical and Mystical Creatures That Can Never Be Caught

So I know I had said in my last post that I would be writing about the sleeper cell, but this weekend’s occurrences warranted a post about the Unicorn. What you might ask, do I mean by “Unicorn”? It’s that person at the bar, whether guy or girl, that EVERYONE is interested in. Usually this person will stand out because they are so tremendously good looking that you have to stare. It’s hard to lose them in the crowd because after 5 minutes you’ve memorized what they look like, what they’re wearing, who they are there with, and what they are drinking. You know, just in case you bump into them at the bar and want to offer to buy them a drink? Oh and the only people they will ever talk to, are the other Unicorns at the bar and you’re hopes of getting to know that hottie are usually frivolous and pathetic. Well, this past Friday, Mel managed to land the Unicorn. I will admit that it was out of pure coincidence and not because of my extraordinary good looks or my mastery in the art of the pickup game. But low and behold I arrive at the bar and this is the first guy that me and all 4 of my girlfriends spot. Of course, since I was the least shy out of all of us, Pegasus was automatically identified as an ideal conquest for me. I took on this challenge although I must admit I was a bit intimidated and felt like he was totally out of my league. I mean, come on, even I know my place in the pretty people totem pole of Miami.
So I start the Unicorn dance of love. My first step is to do the “across the bar eye contact/smile” move. That goes poorly since I’m obviously not a Unicorn myself and of course Pegasus hasn’t noticed me so I try my next move. The “bar is too crowded so I need to walk super close to you to get by” move. Usually this is a good way to get eye contact with the person and hopefully break the ice and start a conversation. Pegasus is clueless and doesn’t notice me walking by or purposely bumping into him. The night continues to progress and I’ve already noticed that he’s only interested in other Unicorns in the bar and I’ve started to admit defeat when I all of a sudden notice that his friend is talking to some other friends of mine from kickball. Woot!!!!! I’m in!!!!! Score!! I immediately go say hello to my kickball friends. Pegasus finally comes up to us after getting a drink at the bar and I introduce myself. Fortunately there was something to talk about since we all had kickball and flag football as a common topic. However, slowly but surely, Pegasus goes from unicorn to race horse. He’s kind of dumb and his teeth are not at all what I’d sign up for, even if I was living in the UK. I now start to realize why Sea Biscuit is still single. The playing field has started to level out and actually tip over in my favor. My girlfriends are practically squealing with pride while they’re trying to eavesdrop on what we’re talking about. (They still haven’t realized that Pegasus has now transformed into Sea Biscuit.) However, by this point I’ve had enough beer that when my friends decide to leave and he asks me to stick around, I decide to do him the favor.
To make a much longer story, short…I continued to hang out with Sea Biscuit for the rest of the evening and we ended up talking into the wee hours of the morning. I got to see his place, he serenaded me with his guitar (God he was really bad), we bonded over ex stories, did some making out and at the end of it all, as I was driving home, I realized that Pegasus was indeed Mr. Ed and that unicorns are indeed mystical and magical creatures that are overrated and get more attention than they really deserve. It’s all in your head, people. So next time you see a Unicorn and you feel that unattainable desire to make the conquest, bide your time and wait around for the incognito stallion or check your contact lenses prescription because it may be time to go back to the eye doctor.

Catch-Up Part 2: Tony Horton is my New Boyfriend

It is only fair to write this blog right after completing the P90X Plyometrics workout which is said to put the X in P90X. My feet are pounding and I can’t feel my leg muscles. Thank goodness for the warm hum of my laptop battery to keep my quads from slapping me in the face. When I last left my loyal readers (because yes they are already loyal), Nacho Libre had told me he liked me just the way I was. Of course, my fat ass took that as, “Sure, Mel…keep eating McDonalds and an entire Papa John’s pizza about 25 times a week, he’ll never notice an extra 10lbs.” (He didn’t, but you need to go back to Catch-Up #1 to understand Nacho Libre and his cluelessness) Well now that I had woken from the Nacho Libre Man Coma, and we were no longer dating, I found myself about 30lbs overweight and miserably undesirable. Not kidding, my face looked like it had been pounded in with a frying pan and rounded out with extra pieces of fatty cheeks. Yum! Well, not totally…I was still getting plenty of action, but I decided to set my goals a little higher than usual. (The sleeper cell is always god sent…stay tuned for an entry on the sleeper cell)

Before I continue with my relationship with Tony, in case you don’t know, he is the creator of P90X, the most horrid form of torture for human beings that has ever been invented. If I’m not mistaken, it’s what they use in Guantanamo Bay on the terrorist prisoners (are they even there anymore?). Of course Mel can’t pick a normal workout, like going to the gym and jumping on the treadmill for 45 minutes. Everything has to be hardcore.

My hooking up with Tony though, had nothing to do with maybe making myself a bit more of a catch for a good guy. (Bullsh!t, but I’ll tell myself that until I meet someone) I decided to trick myself into thinking that this wasn’t about weight or about conforming with the 99.9999% anorexic and plasticly enhanced Miami population. I’m way too proud and much to cool to have to be skinny, but Mel was going to get “healthy”. You know what they say right, “it’s harder to stay fit and keep off the weight once you start getting older.” I’m almost 30, it was time to get off my ass and “change my lifestyle”. Fast forward two months…I’ve never hated 29 more in my entire life! This is torture for me!! I love to drink and smoke. I like to party as many nights a week as possible. However, if I did this, (and I learned the hard way) Tony Horton leaves me worshiping the porcelain God instead of feeling good and energized! So I self-grounded myself into going out only one night of the week. (For the record, 2 months later, and this has proven fruitless. I have NO self control.)

2 Weeks Later…it’s now 12/29/09…

Still no sleeper cell…I had dropped about 10lbs of the excess 30 that I started off with…but of course the holidays have come and are almost gone and me and Tony have decided to take some time apart to work out some of our differences. So I don’t know if I’ve gained any back and I don’t think I’ll be looking at the scale any time soon! I plan on getting back on the wagon on January 4th. I did however get a new haircut today…maybe I dropped a pound there? Fingers crossed…

Stay tuned for the sleeper cell entry…ladies…you will want to take notes.

Catch-Up Part #1: Nacho Libre Man Coma

Note: All names have been replaced with much funnier ones that either I or my friends came up with. This blog was not set up to make friends. If I talk sh!t about you, deal with it. I’m here to tell the truth like I see it. HA! (A bit long, so read it over your lunch break.)

So I turned 29 a couple of months ago and felt that it was only fair to catch my readers up on the significant misadventures of the past 2 months. There are really 2 significant events that happened in this short period of time that any of you would really care about and the first of these is the Nacho Libre Man Coma. This story of course will explain the reason why I am still single and why the guys in Miami seem increasingly lack luster with each one I date. I will preempt this entire story with the fact that this guy is so clueless, he probably won’t figure out that this story is about him.

This story begins at our 2nd or 3rd annual No Pants Party (my 2nd), where the ladies so sheepishly wear nothing but tops and skimpy pairs of underwear with slutty stilettos. Myself included. I wasn’t planning on attending since I had spent the entire day at a giant tailgate and was pretty much done (as in drunk, toasty, buzzed) for the night but then I thought to myself…”Just go! It’s the days you don’t want to go somewhere that you end up meeting someone.” Which by default should jinx your outing automatically, however I was pleasantly surprised when I met Nacho Libre. It was love at first sight, or at least I thought so in my drunken state. He seemed like a nice enough guy, called me that same night, stressed how much he wanted to see me the day after…etc etc. This was very exciting for me because the love at first sight had proved to be very rewarding the last time it had happened to me. I fell in love with the sh!ttiest human being alive (who will now be referred to as S.H.B.A. as long as this blog continues) in the same way. Could Mel have found love again? Not even close. But the stories that follow about Nacho Libre will render you unable to ever eat nachos again without thinking of this story.

Sept 19, 2009: Mel & Nacho Libre meet, first kiss, could it be love?

Sept 25, 2009: Nacho Libre show’s up for my Birthday BBQ, we don’t get much of a chance to talk but he seems nice enough. More kissing.

Sept 27, 2009: Mel meets Nacho Libre and two other guy friends at a bar to watch the Buffalo Bills play (I hate the Bills but whatever I go with it, he was enthusiastic about seeing me again.) Our friends leave and I stay with Nacho Libre at the bar, shooting the sh!t, taking tequila shots (on a Sunday), and thinking that I hadn’t had such a stimulating conversation in such a long time. I was so happy! (Little did I know that the tequila shots only made him seem 75,000 times more interesting than he really is…only TV show he watches is Man Vs. Food on the Travel Channel…I swear…THE ONLY SHOW HE WATCHES) Nice little scam session in the car, major chemistry (provided by the booz of course)…I proceed to fall further into the coma.

Week of Sept 27, 2009: We see each other a few more times during the week and of course sex comes into the picture. READ CAREFULLY…the sex at the beginning was spectacular!!!! I thought for sure I had found my next boyfriend. I can’t get enough of him and have practically moved him in. This leads to the Sunday Yardhouse Fiasco and beginning of The Nacho Chronicles. Here goes…The waitress comes up to us at the bar to take our orders. Nacho Libre orders nachos and tries to flirt with the waitress so that he can get more cheese (dude…cheese isn’t like liquor…they’ll throw it on there for free…just ask for EXTRA CHEESE). And of course much to my fatass dismay (as I’m chomping on the nachos), he proceeds to tell me how the nachos suck because they have cilantro. “For real, Nacho Libre? They’re supposed to have cilantro…they come with pico de gallo, which is of course mainly comprised of cilantro.” He denies this vehemently and then proceeds to embarrass me further and asks the waitress to toss his chicken fingers in a barbeque garlic sauce. WTF? “We’re not at the ale house, Nacho Libre.” Of course, no garlic sauce at the Yardhouse so the chicken fingers suck as well. By the way…out of the 130 beers that Yard House has the only effin beer that Nacho Libre drinks is Amber Bock. ALWAYS! GROSS!

Fast forward a few weeks where he stands me up for an event I was chairing because he thought I told him it was at night after I had sent him 45 text messages to be there at 2pm…but whatever I’m over that. I chucked it over to the same reason I mentioned in my first paragraph…clueless.

I forgive him for this incident and we continue to try and work things out. Fade in to the Sports Exchange/Duffy’s Tavern Debacle. At this point, you will note that the only times I really ended up going out with this guy was to go see the Bills play at random sports bars. Not as romantic as I would’ve liked but it seems tough to get him out of his routine…creature of habit? Whatever…let me not get into what I really think.

We arrive at Sports Exchange after he’s asked where we’re going about 45 times (clueless). By the way, my sister is with me this time around and she bears witness to Nacho Libre’s “shortcomings”. The waitress comes around to take orders and of course he tries to get an 80 ounce jug of Amber Bock for the table. “Nacho Libre…for real? No one else likes Amber Bock.” He then proceeds to place his order of nachos, “hook it up with the cheese, will ya?” wink wink. I look over, roll my eyes…can you say EXTRA CHEESE!?!?! The nachos come and my sis and I proceed to devour half the plate by ourselves, but once again, Nacho Libre is disappointed with the nachos…why? They have NACHO CHEESE on them instead of melted real cheese. They’re effin NACHOS, Nacho Libre…what did you expect!?!?

Wait…it gets better. We have some issues with the 80 ounce beer vats and decide to go to Duffy’s Tavern. My sis reminds us of the fact that they only take cash there. Nacho, of course, asks us to stop at an ATM about 10 times, to which my sister responds each time, “they have an ATM at the bar..don’t worry.” Order time at Duffy’s…Nacho Libre – “Yeah, let me get a pitcher of Amber Bock and do you guys have nachos, because I don’t see them on the menu.” At this point, I’ve lost all respect and start to laugh hysterically with my sister. It’s open season on Nacho!!!!!! Woot Woot!!! Sh!t, there goes the sex. Whatever ragging on him was more fun and that’s when I realized I needed to snap out of the Nacho Libre Man Coma. (The things a few good romps in the sack will do to your judgement…well that’s what my mother tells me at least).

But to continue the brief finale at Duffys…Nacho Libre proceeds to order chicken fingers tossed in BBQ/Garlic sauce…to which the waiter just nods and goes to the back to place the order with the kitchen. (Ha! Nacho really thinks he’s getting them.) Food finally comes and his chicken fingers are dry however, they do come with a squeeze bottle of BBQ sauce. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man look more deflated in his life…to which my sister responds with – “would you like me to toss those for you?” I’ll end the story with the moment the bill comes. Everyone pulls out cash and he pulls out his ATM card. Man coma over.

And that, people, is why I’m still single. He was one of the nicer ones and was not only clueless but a little bit of a douche. (Who flirts for extra cheese?)

I will end this with one last thought…another factor for the man coma? He told me he liked me just the way I was. “Don’t change anything!” My heart was pounding incessantly! “Wow! A guy that likes me for me…just the way I am!” That’s when I gain 10lbs (on top of the 20 I was already over) and why P90X comes into my life.

Catch-Up #2: Tony Horton Is My New Boyfriend.

Without Further Ado…

While on my way home this past Friday from what is now my side-job (somewhat intoxicated and very very frustrated) I started to think about how lonely I am at the moment. Horrible thoughts about the ex-boyfriend begin to creep into my mind and the nostalgia kicks in. What if things would’ve been different? What if he hadn’t been such a douche bag? Why was I stupid enough to fall in love with a douche bag? Am I ever going to get married? Will I be too old to have babies by the time I get married, which is likely to happen after the end of the world? Why have I let myself get so fat? Why do guys in Miami suck so bad? Blah Blah Blah…As I slowly but surely brain f*ck myself into a mild depression, I also start to think that there HAS to be other women out there that are in my same situation…other women, that could identify with my current feelings and thoughts. No way…I’m the only loser thinking about this stuff…my depression increases…and I then decide to use one of the tools my old therapist told me to use…WRITE IT DOWN! But writing it down just for myself sucks…who goes back to read that stuff? Why am I wasting paper? But what if I put it out there for other women to read? Of course…my delusions of grandeur start to kick in at this point and I think that maybe I can be the female version of Tucker Max and start writing a blog about what really goes on in the head of a 29 year old SWF in Miami. I quickly erase this from my mind because I know that if I think about it too much, then it definitely won’t happen. So this brings me to my first entry and the beginning of what could be the most fruitless effort of my life or the best thing I ever did for myself. Either way, it will definitely save me some money on therapist bills for the time being. If you’ve stuck with me thus far, I thank you and encourage you to keep reading and to subscribe to the blog. It will only get better. I promise that this will not be a bitching session (well not always) or an I hate men rant (just sometimes)…I promise to deliver honest, witty, and real thoughts about what plagues a 29 year old single woman in this god forsaken city that is Miami, FL.

So here are the logistics about me and what you need to know about the woman whose thoughts you will be sharing in this coming year. My name is Mel. I was born and raised in Miami, FL. I went to high school at an all girl private catholic high school (if you’re from Miami then I don’t need to name the school) where I was miserable my entire 4 years (stay posted for blog entry about these years). I then foolishly decide to stick around Miami and not go away to school. What the hell was I thinking (another blog entry)? But that is neither here nor there…what’s done is done. I do try and make the best of it while I’m at school in the MIA…I even join a sorority!! An independent soul like me, joining a sorority…no way right? Uh yeah…I paid for my friends. I worked full time all through my bachelor’s and master’s degrees while I gained priceless experience throughout those years (which proved to be worthless later on). Moved out with my sister when I was 25 years old. She was returning from 4 years of awesomeness at UF and I had just broken up with my ex-fiancé. We were a match made in heaven (my sis and I)!!!!

Here are some other significant events throughout these years. Both Mom and Dad are diagnosed and survive cancer…I leave what could be the coolest CPA firm in all of South Florida for the crappiest corporate job a girl could ever ask for…manage to break two men’s hearts…consider Judaism (although my mother still doesn’t know it crossed my mind)…manage to fall in love for the first time with the sh!ttiest human being alive…and get my heart broken by that sh!tty human being…all the while encountering lots of worthless men…but making amazing girl and guy friends…selling sex toys like they do Tupperware…finding a job I love…trying internet dating…completely screwing up my credit…becoming a minor celebrity in the Miami kickball community…getting skinny…getting fat…getting broker and broker and the years go by…and the list goes on and on and on.

So these are the things I will talk about in this blog. It is my own personal psychotherapy and I hope that if nothing else, when you read this, you will realize there is someone out there that is definitely crazier than you are…and you’ll feel better about yourself or your situation. I’ll also talk about the various adventures I encounter throughout the last year of my 20s since my own close friends seem to find my shenanigans very amusing. I encourage you to stay tuned!!

For my friends who have always encouraged me to put down my thoughts and adventures on paper…I finally did it and this blog is dedicated to you. For those of you that don’t know me…sit down…grab a cup of coffee and let the brain f*cking begin.

So without further ado…let the adventures and musings of a 29 year old SWF in Miami begin!

Mel