Archive | dating

oh my gawd, valentine’s day is lurking…

…and i have no valentine.  who will send me flowersssssssss……………………….. i think it’s important that i completely freak the hell out over something as inane as not getting flowers on feb 14. 

bear with me as i freak the hell out for a bit



oh no!

woe is me!

what will i do?

no one loves me!

i should dye my hair red.  no wait, i was freaking out…





now that i’ve gotten that over with, let’s think about this: i can’t be loveless on valentine’s day! i can’t! how will i fix this?  what should i do? how can i find a beau who offers flowers AND fine chocolates in less than a month’s time!?!?

in the words of LL Cool J, I Need Love! hey, is LL free on that day?


so whatcha whatcha whatcha want?

Chiquita suggested that I spell out some rules for dating me, the uber hott Katster, so would-be lotharios bearing gifts get it right.

1.  Pretty much I can date as many people as I want at a time, but you can’t.  You can only date me.  “Date,” by the way, is not a euphemism for “bed.”  Just because I date you doesn’t mean I will bed you.  Get over yourself.  You’re lucky I’m even acknowledging your existence.

2.  I deserve gifts and flowers ALL the time, and I require them to put up with your nonsense.  One of my ex boyfriends was so fabulous at this.  He never appeared at my door empty-handed; even if it was just a pack of my favorite gum, the boy brought gifts every time.  He knew how to pay homage to She Who Must Be Obeyed.  Good boy.

3.  I will only tell you I despise red roses one time, and this is it.  If you bring them to me, I will hit you with them.  If you enjoy that, you are too bizarre for me.

4.  Don’t lie to me.  Don’t make up random crap.  I have no tolerance for lies. NONE.  Ask Mr. Kat version 2 if I have patience for that.

5.  I get to remain friends with as many of my ex-boyfriends as I want.  Your ex-girlfriends should fall off the edge of the planet and be snapped up by piranha from outer space.

6.  You should buy me dinner, at least the first date; I’m not looking for a sugar daddy, but I need to know you at least have the means to provide a meal or two…it’s a manly, good thing to do.  You should hold open doors, and you should let me order first at restaurants.  Didn’t your momma teach you any manners?

7.  You should smell good, but manly.  A manly, rugged scent is not sold in the bathroom at any bar, bowling alley or gas station.  I should smell your goodness only when I lean in, not when I’m leaning away, gasping for air.

8.  Compliment me.  I am looking extra especially glamorous in your honor.  Tell me I’m hotttttt, but please don’t say that directly to my cleavage.  I’m up here, thanks.

9.  Hold up your end of the conversation.  My last date was very good at this part, so good I was quite charmed by his company, pleased to spend time with him, not planning my escape.  On the other hand, I have had numerous dates with gents who couldn’t come up with anything, anything, anything to say, so it was an exercise in pulling teeth to get them to talk.  No fun!  You should also be the one to follow-up after  the date with an email, phone call (I probably won’t answer) or text; this shows you are undaunted in your passion for me, even after I’ve been a diva all evening.

 10.  If it doesn’t work out, no harm, no foul.  Don’t talk nasty untrue nonsense about me around town.  You want me to hug you when I run into you at Stella Blue, not enlist one of my posse to beat you up in the men’s room.

 I think these 10 rules are a really good start.  If you can make it beyond the first 10 hurdles, the rest is a cake walk.


I posted this on myspace, but I’ll post it here, too

Why not? It’s my world.  I posted it on my usually neglected myspace blog, but I’ll put it here too…

so it’s a weird time in the life of your beloved katster.  i’m broke, i’m tired and i think i might be lonely.  when i find myself contemplating people i haven’t seen in 15 years–gosh, wonder what ever happened to tamim? or kooky mahala? or all the bitches scott slept with?–then i suppose it’s pretty safe to say i’m a little lonely.

i thought very briefly in a moment of weakness that i might be ready to date again.  and when my ex announced he was oh-so-dateable-and-he-thinks-i’m-just-jealous, yep, then i felt like i’d better have a date for every night of the week and a few extra just for lunchtime giggles.

in reality, ack, no, i really can’t handle dating and being rejected and rejecting other people and all that right now (“now” being a little after 11 PM on a Fri night, i can change my mind about this at any point).  what i really want is someone to just send me flowers (gerber daisies please) and fabulous gifts and leave me the hell alone.

“but kat, didn’t you just say you were lonely?”

oh yeah.  i did.  and i am.  but i think being lonely sometimes is healthy.  gives you room to think about the kinds of people you do and don’t want around.  for example, there are a couple numbers in my cell phone i think i could call (well, text, you know i don’t actually call anyone EVER) right this instant, and voila, there would be a companion on my doorstep.

but i don’t want that.  i don’t want a booty call.  and i don’t want someone who wants me to take care of them.  and i really don’t want to listen to an earful of problems.  and most importantly, tonight i don’t want a wet spot on my side of the bed, and since it’s ALL my bed and thus all my side, well, there ya go. sorry, i am known for oversharing at times, my bad.

i do want attention.  i want to be lavished with gifts and then i want to be left alone.  i want to wear mismatched flannel pajamas and read books and eat ice cream for dinner.

but by tomorrow, i could want a line of eligible bachelors at my door…in addition to oversharing, i’m also ridiculously moody.  i think the best thing for everyone to do is go ahead and send me gifts, you can just leave them on the doorstep and scamper away, and also pull together lists of eligible heterosexual employed bachelors in the asheville area that shower with regularity and don’t live with their moms.  thank you, and good night.

***in a PS to this blog, someone on myspace pointed me in the direction of my former roommate mahala’s myspace page after i posted this.  so now i know where she is these days!  the internet is a cool thing.  i am still, however, looking for all the eligible bachelors to line up at my door.


I’ll admit I’ve looked into the online dating thing…

Alright, alright, I’ll admit to some looking into the online dating thing again.  I poked around at it a few years ago and was absolutely traumatized by one online stalker in particular, so I’ve left it alone.

But time has passed and surely there are some normal people out there, right? RIGHT?!?

I’ve browsed some profiles, read some ads on different sites, and I’m mostly just perplexed by the whole damn thing.  Why do some men feel it’s a good idea to take pictures o’ their weenies to post with their personal ads?  It’s never been a dating criteria of mine in the past.  “Oh, thanks for offering to set me up with Brad, Sally.  He sounds super, but…  Do you have a photo of his package I could check out before I commit to dinner?”

Frankly, gents, if I could lay it on the line for you, your private package is the least of our worries when we womenfolk are checking you out.  We want to know if you have a criminal record, and we want to know if you have a real job that you go to with some kind of regularity.  We want to know if you still live with your mom 7 years after your divorce.  We want to know if you listen to Journey on a daily basis–it could be a dealbreaker.  We want to know if you are still married and does your wife know you’re on  Once we know all those things and still more, only then do we really give a crap about your package…and even then, we really only care if your package is clean and well-maintained with a doctor’s note, and if you know what to do with all that stuff you’ve got.  We don’t need to see a photo of it.  REALLY we don’t.

I was randomly scoping out and found that a man has posted that he would like to astral project into a nice Asheville woman’s boudoir to have, umm, astral relations…and a snack.  Nevermind the relations thing, how the heck do you get a snack on the astral plane?  If I knew refreshments were being served, I’d be out of body all the frickin’ time noshing on velvet sin truffles from the Chocolate Fetish.

I don’t know if I need a date…or if I just need a good out of body snack.