Tag Archives: Phone Sex Operator

Getting funky

Tear the roof off, we’re gonna tear the roof off the mother, sucker. Tear the roof off the sucker…

I’ve found my blog posts that mention Mexican hookers seem to have great stats. This story is not about Mexican hookers, but I promise that if you indulge me and read on that I will find a way to include Mexican hookers in this story somewhere, somehow. Seriously…

I haven’t written a lot lately. Maybe you’ve noticed. Maybe you haven’t. Either way, I haven’t written a lot lately. I just haven’t felt like it. For me that’s weird. Oh well.

I guess you could say I’ve been in a funk the past couple weeks. I like being funky, but I hate being in a funk. The words are different by only one letter, but elicit two totally different feelings in me. One feeling I love. The other? Not so much.

I guess you could say that my funk is mutli-faceted. There’s a reason for that. I don’t easily get in a funk. I’m generally a pretty happy person, so it takes a lot to get me off my game. I guess I’m just going through that “funk phase” right now. I’m sure that it’s just a phase. I hope it’s just a phase. Please be a phase!!!

Why I’m in a funk: Part one

My job sucks. I get up every morning and go to work with a positive outlook. I really do. Once I get there, however, my outlook becomes less and less sunny. Sometimes the sunny disposition goes away quickly, while other times it takes hours for the fun to go away. I try to make my job not suck, but it does. I work for a guy who changed my pay plan, but never really made it clear that he changed it. I happened to notice it one Thursday when I opened my check. Nice.

The owner and I were supposed to sit down and have a serious talk about things before Christmas. He kept pushing it off and pushing it off and the couple times we did sit down, all he did was recap the last time we sat down, then say, “I need to get going. Let’s finish this tomorrow.” But tomorrow becomes next week, which becomes next month. The bottom line? The full extent of our conversation has yet to happen.

The owner of my company is very old school in the way he does business. He brought me on because I know automotive Internet sales very well. I set up and ran a very successful Internet Sales department at the dealership I worked at in California. He acknowledges this fact to other people. When we have conversations they typically start like this, “I brought you in because you know what to do and you’re the guy who can get this going the right way. We’re way further ahead now that we were in October when you got here. So…here’s how we’re going to do this…” WTF, yo?

I need a better job for Drama Queen (D.Q.) and myself and I’m looking for one. My problem is two-fold. Part one is that there are not a ton of decent jobs available in the Buffalo area right now. The second part is that I’ve done the car thing so long, that it’s hard to get potential employers to see past that.

I’ve got management, sales, customer service and communication skills. Why is it so hard to get those skills across to employers? I sure as hell don’t know. I also hate having to work every Saturday. It sucks for Drama Queen to be alone on Saturdays and I wish I could find something where I could be around more.

I’ve found one potential job, although it will require weekends, which I’m not thrilled about. It will pay substantially more money, which I am thrilled about. I guess we’ll see what happens. If I do get it, I will have to be gone Mon.-Fri. for two weeks to do some training. That could pose a problem, as I have no clue what I would do with Drama Queen those two weeks. I’m not going to worry about that until I actually get the job offer, which is supposed to come next Friday. Please keep your fingers crossed.

My funk: Part two

O.C.B. (Drama Queen’s mom) dropped me a line a couple weeks ago. It’s been a year without any contact and to say that it surprised me would be an understatement. She asked about talking with Drama Queen and said that she has seen the blog and that she’s happy that I’m happy in my relationship with The Phone Sex Operator (P.S.O.). I believe O.C.B. when she says this but I’m a bit concerned about her tracking me down and she’s been pretty much MIA since right after we talked. I’m obviously concerned about D.Q. and how she will react. When I told her about her mom, she said, “I guess I could talk with her.” She didn’t seem too enthusiastic, but I think she kind of wants to.

My funk—The Final Piece:

Part three of my funk has to do with P.S.O. She’s had a lot going on in her life. I’m not going to go into any of it because frankly, it’s no one’s business but hers. I will say that she’s got a ton on her mind and she’s not feeling well. It’s not something as simple as a cold or the flu, but it’s not anything that seems like it will be serious.

Combine her stress with the not feeling well and she too has been in a bit of a funk lately. She needs some space right now to get to where she needs to be and where “we” need to be. I get that. I really do. I’ve been trying to give her the space she needs, but I guess it hasn’t been the easiest thing for me to do. Why?

I’m living in an area where I don’t know a lot of people. I knew two people when I moved here in September, but they were only acquaintances and they have their own lives already in full swing. I don’t do much with either of them and I really haven’t met many other people to socialize with. These two are now my friends, but not what I would call “good friends”.

I know the parents of one of D.Q.’s friends, but the dad is going to school full time and working, so between school, homework and work, they really don’t have much time to do anything. That pretty much leaves P.S.O.

As you may recall, I just mentioned that she has been going through things in her own life and needs a bit of space, which makes it kind of difficult for me to talk my stuff out with a local good friend/best friend type of person.

The two good friends I have back in California are great guys, but not the kind of people that are into a lot of “sharing”. The few times we’ve had deep conversations, booze has been involved and it’s been face to face.

Please don’t take any of this as bitching or complaining because it’s not. This is just a statement of fact and some cheap therapy for me. Getting this out on virtual paper helps me see things as they are and will hopefully help lift me out of my funk. Plus it has the possible added bonus of reminding P.S.O. that I really do get it and that I’m not just an insensitive douche bag. I may be a douche bag, but I’m not insensitive. I love her a lot and I’m sure that she still feels the same way.

As far as I can tell, the relationship with P.S.O. is good. We both still have “in a relationship” on our Facebook pages and we’ve recently made mention of things that we want to do together in the coming months. We’re going out tonight and I’m looking forward to that. We’ve only seen each other once in the last couple weeks and I know that I’m looking forward to a big hug and a couple nice kisses.

At the beginning I promised you Mexican hookers, so here goes. Once P.S.O. and I get out of our funks and back to us both being crazy happy in love, I would really like to take her to Mexico for a few days (with the money I make from a new job). She’s never been to the Pacific side and I’m thinking that a few days in Cabo would really do us some good.

If and when we do that I think that we should definitely hit a couple of the hooker bars and keep tabs on a ho or two so that we can come back with some fresh new stories of Mexican hookers for you, the loyal reader. I have no need for the services of a prostitute, but in the name of research and entertainment I will observe them from a barstool.

J.R.

P.S. What does my opening bit have to do with my funk? Absolutely nothing. The words are the opening lyrics from Give Up The Funk by George Clinton and give up the funk is exactly what I want to do right now!!!

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For more Mexican hooker stories check these out:

Tijuana with The Kings Fan

Drinking in Cabo San Lucas

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Filed under General, Phone Sex Operator

Breaking up: “How To” & “How Not To”

I was rocking the argyle and in the 1980’s that may have been enough to push me over the top.

The Actress was my first girlfriend and my first breakup.  And my second breakup.  And possibly my third breakup.  I don’t remember for sure if we broke up two times or three times.  I was kind of a douche bag back then and I’ve tried to push some of those douche-y memories aside.  What I do know is that I was stupid for ending the relationships with her.  I was young and stupid. That’s my story and I’m sticking with it.

I said that I was a douche bag back then, but the reality is that I can still be a douche bag now.  If you don’t believe me, when you’re done with this, go read I’ve Seen Better Days.  But back to my story about The Actress…

The details are fuzzy but I remember that she was very cool and she was totally into me.  I was into her, but not in the literal sense of the word.  We never had sex.  I’m just saying…

I’m not totally sure why she was into me, because I wasn’t overly smooth and I was a bit of a dork.  I did dress nice, so I had that going for me.  I was rocking the argyle and in the 1980’s that may have been enough to push me over the top.

I don’t remember why I broke up with her the first time.  I know that it wasn’t for someone else because between The Actress and the Actress again I didn’t date anyone.  Maybe it was a fear of getting close or maybe it was my lack of self-esteem.  Maybe I though that I wasn’t going to give her the chance to dump me.  All I know is that I was stupid for doing it and that I basically just disappeared with no explanation.  Then magically I reappeared a few months later and wanted to start dating again.

We dated again for a while and just like the shampoo bottle says, it was just lather, rinse, repeat.  The Actress is a smart chick, so I’m not sure that she would have stood for a third time after I broke it off the second time for no good reason.  All in all, it was young love at its finest.  And it its worst.

The Actress was my first breakup but she certainly wasn’t my last.  My latest (and hopefully the last breakup I ever have) was a woman I dated in Canada for about five months.  I haven’t written about her yet, but in the near future you will start hearing about Teacher.  Her breakup story is interesting to say the least.

Teacher teaches violin and runs a music school.  She also plays violin and viola professionally.  She is a very talented woman and I thought that we had a pretty good time together.  Obviously not.  After dating for five months I received an e-mail at 11 PM basically saying that she was no good at long term relationships and that we could go on and date for another year, but because she was no good at long term relationships that she would probably just end it anyway, so she was just going to end it now.  Good luck.  Have a good life.

I had just crawled into bed that fateful night when my iPhone buzzed with a new e-mail.  Suffice it to say that when I grabbed the phone and put on my glasses, that is NOT what I expected to see.  It all worked out for the best because I moved back to the United States and I ended up meeting and falling in love with The Phone Sex Operator.

In between The Actress and Teacher there were many breakups—some where I was the breaker-upper and others where I was the one getting the shaft.  One girl comes quickly to mind, but I don’t think you can really call it a “breakup” since we had only gone out twice.

The two dates we had were pretty good and we decided to go out on New Years Eve.  This was sometime in the late 1980’s—1988 or ’89 probably.  I had tickets to go see Barry Manilow at the Universal Amphitheater and I invited this girl to go.  (I’ll pause momentarily while you snicker at the fact that I had Barry Manilow tickets…)

So, I invited this chick to go see Barry Manilow and she accepted.  She was going to school at a small local college and she was living in the dorms.  We spoke on the phone December 30 and she was looking forward to going out the next night—or so she said.

I don’t remember what I was wearing that night, but I’m sure it was pretty stylish—after all we were going to see Barry and he was hot at the time.  Plus it was New years Eve and looking good is just how I like to roll.

I drove to her dorm to pick her up, went into the lobby and hit the intercom button for her room.  Her roommate answered the intercom and was quite surprised to hear me on the other end.  She was even more surprised to hear that I was there to pick up her roommate.

Why was she surprised?  Her roommate had moved home that morning.  Apparently she had known about it for quite a while.  She was transferring schools and when we were talking on the phone the night before, she was in the midst of packing her stuff in boxes and waiting for her dad to come get her.  What a bitch.  I even brought the chick flowers.  Did I mention that she was a bitch?

Mine aren’t the only decent breakup stories.  I hit up my fans and readers via Twitter and Facebook and a few of you were nice enough to send yours along.  Thanks to those who did.  Here are a couple of good ones that I received.  My friend The South African (who actually lives in South Africa) sent me this one:

I used to be a soldier for the previous government. In later years I met a girl and we started going out and at some stage I showed her some confidential military material, which, may I add, was not confidential anymore.

After a couple of months I had enough of this nympho.   I wanted a normal girlfriend but she wouldn’t let go, even though I said it is not going to work out.  Eventually I had to do something drastic in order to get rid of her.  When somebody accidentally broke my car window, I told her she must sit down and listen to what I had to say.   I told her the broken window was a warning sign.  I explained that I’ve done some ‘special work’ in the forces and there is a price on my head.

By that stage the new government was in full swing, which was perfect timing for me! I told her she might be in danger if she keeps hanging out with me and I needed to go away quickly and that she could have no contact with me!  After a lot of crying she finally let go.  Oh I felt like a dog!!

I must add that she eventually met Mr. Right, but she still tells me on Facebook that she loves me til this day. Maybe she was my Mrs. Right.   I will never know.   Young guys will be young guys.

So that’s how they roll in South Africa.  Blame the government and call yourself a secret military operative.  Nice work bro!  He’s not the only one with a good story.  My high school buddy, Sir Lancelot, threw me this gem:

A buddy and I used to practice what we called the “Witness Protection Program”, which was to just completely disappear. The girl(s) would eventually figure it out. Although it was tense, it had a 100% success rate.

One example: I called my buddy to go out drinking on a Saturday night – his answering machine came on, but it wasn’t his voice. It was the recording “I’m sorry, but the number you reached has been disconnected..” He put it on his answering machine as a “Witness Protection Program” dump. I saw through it, but the girl didn’t.

Other acceptable ways to use it: Unplug your answering machine and don’t answer the phone. (This was waaaaay before caller ID) It worked within a few days and you could go back to your old ways quickly.

Oddly enough, the only woman I got a story from was The Phone Sex Operator.  Hers was good.  So good in fact, that it deserves a blog post of its own.  I’m going to save that for another day.

If you have a good breakup story that you want to share, please feel free to do so.  One of these days I may just get a case of writers block and can use them!

J.R.

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Fat chicks in bikinis

What I saw that day made me seriously not want to have sex…

I am so glad that I don’t have to online date anymore.  Life with The Phone Sex Operator (P.S.O., AKA my girlfriend) is awesome.  We have a great relationship and I seriously believe that she is “The One”.  My love life wasn’t always awesome.  It used to suck, and not in a good way.

Once upon a time I was looking for love online and if you’ve ever done it you know that it’s a crapshoot at best.  I’m not going to mention which site I met P.S.O. on, but I will say that if things keep going well, one day you may just see us on TV as one of their success stories.

Let me start by saying that I’m absolutely not a shallow person.  I’m not George Clooney or Brad Pitt and I wasn’t looking for Barbie.  What I ended up with was a beautiful, funny, charming, intelligent, loving woman.  I wouldn’t trade her and who she is for anyone in the world.  Seriously.  The people I saw online before I met her were a mix of good and bad.  More bad than good.  W A Y more bad than good!

This is not a diatribe on weight and size.  I don’t need to hear from the BBW chicks saying I’m slamming on them.  I’m not.  What I am ranting about today are people who view themselves in a way that’s not realistic.  If you’re big, you’re big.  That’s cool.  I could lose a few pounds, so I’m not judging.

Before we met in person, P.S.O. told me on several occasions that she had “a little junk in the trunk”.  I think she looks amazing.  Did I mention how lucky I am to be with her?

What is it about people and their inability to be honest about who they are?  I think these dating sites should have guidelines as to what “athletic” means and what “average” really is.  The dictionary lists average as “being intermediate between extremes”.  To me that means that you’re not fat and you’re not skinny.  You’re not the Olson Twins, but neither are you Mama Cass.

I’m not saying I have anything against fat chicks.  I’ve dated a couple of women who could lose more than a few pounds.  I’d like to say that they were both nice people and that their personality made them fun to be around.  I’d be lying if I said that because one of them was a straight up bitch.  The other was moderately snotty.  I used to not have good judgment.  Now I do.

Back in the day, I knew that when I was filling out my dating profile I shouldn’t call myself athletic.  Just because I play ice hockey does not mean I have an athletic physique.  Likewise with some of these women, just because you do some sort of physical activity you are not automatically “athletic”.

Here’s a message to the women whose profiles list bowling as a sport they play:  Bowling is NOT a sport.  It’s a recreational activity.  Anything you can do with an alcoholic beverage in one hand isn’t a sport.  There’s nothing wrong with bowling, but you can’t seriously think that bowlers are athletes, can you?  I mean, when was the last time a bowler was nominated for Athlete of the Year?

People need a dose of reality and if they can’t admit who they really are, they need to watch the beginning of the movie Back to School.  Rodney Dangerfield’s character, Thornton Mellon, has a great line:

“Hi there. Are you a large person? Pleasantly plump? A little on the hefty side, perhaps? Well, let’s face it: Are you FAT? When you go jogging, do you leave pot-holes? When you make love, do you have to give directions? At the zoo, do the elephants throw YOU peanuts? Do you look at a menu and say ‘OK…’”

After deciding to write this today I bumped around one of the bigger dating sites (PlentyOfFish) to do a bit of research.  I did an advanced search and put in women between 35 and 45 within 25 miles of my zip code.  I left every criteria open except for body type.  I put “average” in as the body type I wanted.  I didn’t care how much money they made, what sign they were, what they were looking for (dating, long-term, etc…) all I wanted to see were pictures of women who considered themselves to be average.  I got more than 700 results and here is what I found:

The first one to pop up in my list had only one picture, and it was from the shoulders up.  The face was pretty plump, but since I couldn’t see the body I’ll call this one a draw.  On to the next profile.

This one had a head shot with a very round face and a full body shot, but the full shot was taken from a distance.  It showed no facial features and it appeared as if she was a bit on the hefty side, but still not sure.  Time for number three.

Three is “looking for a blk male”.  Obviously she needs a spelling tutor.  Her lone picture is from the waist up and suffice it to say that she is far from the dictionary definition of average.  She is carrying a lot of weight and it appears that it’s not all in the chest area.  Let’s call her #1 on the “Wrong Category” list.

As I went through page after page of these women I came to two conclusions.  The first is that try though they may, animal prints do NOT hide the fact that you’re a big woman.  My second conclusion is that I am a very, very lucky man to have found P.S.O.

Today wasn’t as bad as some days that I’ve viewed women’s profiles online (I haven’t searched since we started dating.  I believe in something called monogamy).  Maybe it’s because today was just for pure research.  In the past there have been many days/nights when I have gone online, clicked on a profile and quickly shut my eyes and yelled “holy crap!” at what I saw looking back at me.

I vividly remember (too vividly in fact) going online a year ago, opening up one profile in particular and seeing a really fat chick in a bikini.  She was trying to look cute, but the reality is that there was no way in hell that this one should have ever been within 150 pounds of a bikini.  When I go to the beach I don’t take my shirt off.  You know why I don’t?  It’s because I shouldn’t.  No one wants to see me with my shirt off (The Phone Sex Operator says she does, but that’s a different story).

What I saw that day made me seriously not want to have sex—not that I was in any danger of getting laid that night.  Before I went online I remember thinking that I would spend a little quality time alone later on (if you know what I mean), but the picture of the chick in the bikini killed it for me.

This was not the first picture that made me shudder and I thank God that I no longer have to subject myself to filtering through profile after profile of women who can’t get a handle on who they really are.  Guys are into all kinds of women but women have to be in the right place to find the right guy.  If you’re still doing the online dating thing, take a long look in the mirror and put yourself in the right category.  If you don’t like what you see, put yourself in the right category anyway and start working towards getting yourself where you want to be.

If you’ve got any good online dating stories of people not being who they say, please let me know.  I would love to hear them…

J.R.

Related Post:  Truth in Advertising

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Hey Soul Sister

Hey, hey, hey…

“Have you heard Hey Soul Sister by Train?”  She asked as she was driving into work this morning.  “I have,” I replied.  “I think it sounds like us,” she continued.  I told her that I liked the song and that I would check it out again.  And I did.  As soon as we hung up.

I listened to the words and got a smile on my face because she was (once again) right!  The song ended and I quickly Googled the lyrics and listened to it again, this time following along.

If you think that you’re too cool to have something you call “our song” or if you think that sort of thing is all high school, then get over yourself.  That stuff is cool.  Love is cool.  To me the coolest people are the ones who have been together forever and are still crazy in love.  That’s what I want—to be 75 and crazy in love with the same woman I fell in love with 31 years ago.  I want to be Adam Sandler singing on the plane to Drew Barrymore as Billy Idol goes all Rambo on the douche Drew’s supposed to marry.  I just want to keep being happy and making her happy.  Does that sound lame?  Maybe.  I don’t care.

Your lipstick stains on the front lobe of my left side brains…

So far there have been no lipstick stains with the Phone Sex Operator (P.S.O.), although there have been several occasions where she has laughed at me because I’m wearing her lip-gloss.  I have no problem with that because I know how it got there in the first place and that means that I get to transfer the lip-gloss back to her and there is only one way that I know to do that!

I knew I wouldn’t forget you, and so I went and let you blow my mind…

She is always on my mind.  Not in an obsessive way or in a way that distracts me from my work.  It’s hard to explain.  She’s just there with me, even when I don’t physically see her for days at a time.   P.S.O. constantly blows my mind.  It blows my mind that there is someone out there that is so right for me.  It blows my mind that we can communicate the way that we do.  I have never met someone that I connect so strongly with as a friend as well as on an emotional level and I have never been in love like I am with her.  That last thought blows my mind.  I fully believe that both of us going through the bad relationships and broken marriages that we did only makes us appreciate what we now have all the more.

I knew when we collided, you’re the one I have decided who’s one of my kind…

No offense to The Kings Fan, The Carpenter or Spicoli—three guys that I have known forever and three guys that know me better than anyone and are my closest friends in the world—but P.S.O. is a best friend, albeit in a totally different way.  I can tell her anything and know that she will listen, not judge me and will support me and be there for me.  She has been so supportive of my writing and of my desire to get back into radio full time.  She refuses to read and “approve” anything in here before I publish it, even though several of her staff read this blog religiously.  That says a lot.  Even when she knew I was writing I’ve Seen Better Days, she told me to say what I wanted to say and that she would deal with any fallout from the troops.  You don’t do that unless you really believe in that person and unless you really love him/her.

You gave my life direction, a game show love connection we can’t deny…

My life was good before I met P.S.O. Now it’s better.  We were already dating when Skunkpost.com gave me the green light for doing Sex and the Single Dad as a featured blog on their site.  That means that people all over Western New York will see this when they go to the site.  She grew up in Western New York and knows lots of people.

In the past I would have been leery of approaching someone I was dating with a project like this.  The typical reaction from someone I’ve dated would be “I don’t want people reading about me and about us”.  Totally not the case with P.S.O.   She was so excited when I told her about it and she was genuinely (and I emphasize the word “genuinely”) happy for me.  She isn’t looking to be a minor celebrity or a rock star of some kind.  She told me that it sounded like something that could really take off and go somewhere and that she wanted to be there to support me and help me in any way that she could.  She does help me.  P.S.O. gives me ideas and then steps back and lets me take them wherever my creativity takes it.  She is my Selma Hayek from Dogma.  She is my muse.

You’re so gangsta, I’m so thug, you’re the only one I’m dreaming of…

OK, so I’m the one who’s gangsta and thug—not her.  But, she is the only one I’m dreaming of.  My friends have heard me say (too many times) that Snoop Dogg and I are just a couple of gangstas from the LBC (Long Beach, California).  I met Snoop once.  In the press box at a Ducks game.  He was dope.  I digress.

You see, I can be myself now finally, in fact there’s nothing I can’t be.  I want the world to see you be with me…

I believe in myself.  That hasn’t always been the case, but it has been the past few years.  I’ve written for more than 30 magazines and newspapers across North America and Europe.  I’ve had the opportunity to interview some very famous people.  I’ve stood next to Wayne Gretzky and done a radio interview.  Alex Ovechkin too.  I’ve interviewed Penn & Teller, had a beer near the first tee at the Wynn Resort with John O’Hurley and chilled with Jesse James.  The list goes on and on.  I don’t throw out these names to brag.  There are writers with much better credentials that have done way more than I will ever do.  I don’t care.  I like me and that’s good enough.  She likes me too.  That is so cool!

It’s nice to know that I have someone in my corner.  Someone who will support me and someone who will encourage me on the discouraging days.  Someone who is there when it’s rough and makes me think, “Because you believe in me I believe in me”.

Finally, I want the world to see us together.  Not in a “Brangelina” sort of way (I am NOT adopting third world babies just to keep my name in the spotlight), but rather I want the world to see what I see.  I want the world to see that a moderately successful writer / pretty decent radio guy can be with a very successful VP for a major corporation.  (You didn’t really think that she was a phone sex operator, did you?)  I want to be somewhere, have someone hit on her and proudly say, “Excuse me.  She’s with me.”

Hey soul sister, I don’t want to miss a single thing you do…tonight.  Hey, hey.  Tonight.  Hey, hey.  Tonight.

J.R.

for some reason the video takes a few seconds to load.  Please be patient…

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I’ve Seen Better Days

Now if I could just find the rewind button…

Tuesday ended on a high note and Wednesday started with a ton of promise.  The day ended poorly, but as you continue to read, you will find that it was mostly my fault.  Here’s the deal…

Tuesday night The Phone Sex Operator (P.S.O.) came over for dinner.  She moved into a new house last weekend and it was stressful on her.  She arrived about 15 minutes after I got home and I was putting the finishing touches on some Cuban roast pork, black beans and lime rice.  I had a cold Corona waiting for her when she walked in the door and after a nice hello kiss, she hung out with Drama Queen (D.Q.) for a few minutes talking about this and that.

After dinner (which she said she really enjoyed) we all chilled on the couch watching American Idol and soon it was time for D.Q. to go to bed.  She said good night and P.S.O. and I finally spent some much-needed quality time alone.  It was really nice to snuggle with her on the couch.  When it was time for her to leave I asked her what time I needed to be at her place in the morning and she told me a little after eight.

I offered to help P.S.O. by staying at her house Wednesday morning to wait for Time Warner.  She had a short week at work since Monday was a holiday and she was taking Friday off to run me to and from some minor surgery I’m having.  I knew that my waiting for the cable guy would help her out and I was happy to do it.

I woke up early Wednesday morning in a great mood.  I was still on a high from our time together last night and I was looking forward to seeing her, if even for a few minutes.  After making sure D.Q. was up and getting ready for school, I hopped in my car and headed down the Thruway.  I rolled into Tim Horton’s near her house and grabbed some coffee just the way she likes it.  So far so good.

When I arrived, she was in the bathroom drying her hair and getting ready for work, so I headed into the living room and was looking around a bit.  The last time I saw the house a lot of things were in boxes.  She now had pictures and knick-knacks on the shelves and I was checking them out.

Remember at the beginning I mentioned that I was a complete a-hole?  Well, here it comes…

She came out into the living room and I kissed her and asked her how much flexibility she had in the time she had to leave for work and what time she thought the Time Warner guy would really show up.  She told me to behave and that she really needed to get ready to leave.

She walked over to the bookshelf and was showing me some pictures of her family and explaining the significance of each one and I put my hand on her back.  As I rubbed her back I noticed that she had no bra on and I made a comment about “The twins not being strapped in.”  She wasn’t thrilled at that comment (nor should she have been) and continued to show me things.  That wasn’t the only crappy thing I said that morning and it was far from one of my better moments.

We looked at a book of pictures from when her daughter was a baby and I did enjoy looking at her things and I do want to know more about her and her family and about what’s important to her.  I certainly didn’t show it on Wednesday morning, but I am interested and I do care.  I was just a complete douche and an utter tool at that moment.

I ruined her morning and I really hurt her.  I wasn’t intending to hurt her, but I did.  When she left the house I knew she was upset and that made me feel like crap.  I sat on the couch trying to read the book I brought, but it was slow going.  I kept beating myself up for what I had done, so I whipped out my BlackBerry to send an e-mail apologizing.  We traded a few  more back and forth over the next couple hours and I told her that her feelings are very important to me and that I didn’t want to add to the stresses and pressures of her life, but rather I wanted to be an enhancement to her life.

She e-mailed back that she loved me but that she was hurt and that this would not be THE defining moment in our relationship but rather A defining moment.  We traded a couple more e-mails that morning and the long and the short of it is that I am apparently going to do a strip tease for her at some point in the near future to Crazy Bitch by Buckcherry.  I guess I need to get practicing!  I think that’s the least I can do to make up for hurting her.

The Time Warner guy came and went and I headed to work to deal with a myriad of stresses there.  After work I went home to Drama Queen.

D.Q. has a school orchestra concert tonight and needs to have black pants and a white shirt (or a black dress) to wear for it.  She doesn’t have anything that fits her, so last night we went out to get her something.  The long and short of it is that she was being extremely snotty and rude.  After trying on a couple dresses, I handed her a pair of black pants and a white shirt.  She started to get really snotty about them and I told her that if the ‘tude continued that we would just go without getting anything and that she would not play in the concert, which BTW accounts for 25% of her grade.  I did tell her that if she doesn’t play that she was going to go watch and that I didn’t care how embarrassed she was.

She got snotty again and I walked out of the store.  I sent the teacher (and her counselor) an e-mail explaining the situation.  D.Q. is pissed at me and told me that she wants to go live with someone else.  She’s also been telling me that she hates me, to which I respond, “Get in line”.

Ironically enough, as I was typing the last paragraph, the orchestra teacher called me to tell me that he wants her to come play and to wear whatever she can.  He said that the orchestra is a team thing and it’s almost exactly what P.S.O. told me in her e-mail to me a half hour ago.  I love that she can tell me when I’m wrong and isn’t afraid to share her opinion on things.  I totally need that.

Yesterday was a crappy day, but today seems to be getting off to a better start.  I didn’t sleep well last night but I heard from P.S.O. this morning and she ended the e-mail with “xoxox” so I’m guessing that she still loves me.  I continue to feel crappy about the way I treated her yesterday and I’m not going to forget it, but I won’t dwell on it.  D.Q. is going to play her concert tonight and that’s probably a good thing.

I’m heading to Tim’s for some coffee (and maybe a few Timbits).  I also think that I’ll throw on Sunny Hours by Long Beach Dub All-Stars.  That always seems to make me feel better.  Tomorrow will be a good day.  I have my surgery and I get to spend the day with P.S.O.  I promise that there will be a very good story about the surgery down the road.  A really good story.  Now if I could just find the rewind button…

J.R.

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My Facebook Status

Who knew it would be such a big deal?

It was a dark and stormy night.  Actually it wasn’t, but as a writer I’ve always wanted to start a story that way.  Snoopy used to do it and he was pretty cool.  I figured if it worked for him then it could work for me.  Apparently I was (once again) mistaken.  Let me start over…

It was dark and had just finished snowing.  As I gazed out the window I saw a soft layer of powder covering the walk where I had recently shoveled.  The Sabres had just beaten the Maple Leafs and I grabbed my laptop and hopped on my bed to see what was happening on Facebook.

It was the usual stuff, The Skater Chick was talking about wanting to lick the sweat off of Bono and The Edge at the U2 concert, The O.C. Vodka Queen posted pictures of butts on her page and my colleague The USC Guy posted something about Pete Carroll possibly going to Seattle and how cool it would be if Matt Leinart, Reggie Bush and LenDale White could all join him there.

I (of course) replied to his comment with this line:

“Matt Leinart is a douche. He’s lazy and with his work ethic the only way he’s gonna score is with some skanky Baby Mama. He used to be good, though.”

To which a holier-than-thou friend of his replied:

“JR do you know Matt Leinart personally? Do you know 1st hand his work ethic? I would say NO then you should speak ill of people. Whatever we do to others in life will eventually come back to you. So tread lightly my friend.”

Now do you really think that I could let that slide?  Hell no!  I read his reply a second time (for motivation), cracked my knuckles and said, “It’s on!”  I though for a moment about how I wanted to start it and came up with this:

“Do I know him personally? As in do I hang out at his pool parties? No. But I am aware of what his coaches (AKA his bosses) and his teammates (AKA his co-workers) have to say about him and his lack of work ethic. As to “whatever we do to others in life will eventually come back to me”. I’m not the one who was drafted by a team to be their future then spent my time knocking some chick up and staying out partying instead of studying his playbook and learning his job. For the record I didn’t DO anything to Matt Leinart, but in my opinion he “did” the entire Cardinals fan base. I’m just saying….”

I posted that at 9:37 PM Eastern time last night.  It is now 2:52 PM (still Eastern time) on Saturday and no one has bothered to reply back.  I have to say that I’m a bit disappointed.  But on to the story of my status…

After dropping the hammer on the President of the Matt Leinart Fan Club I returned to my page where I happened to glance at my relationship status.  It was set as “Single”.  I reclined on my bed and thought about that a bit.  Yesterday P.S.O.’s cousin broke her off a call and said that she wanted to go out “with you and your guy”.  I think that if family members refer to me as “her guy” that it’s safe to assume that we are in a relationship.  In all fairness I should point out that the cousin has an ex-husband with my name, so she will never call me the J word.

After my moment of contemplation I went ahead and changed my status.  Now if you go to my Facebook page (www.facebook.com/jrreedradio) you will see that I am “In a Relationship”.  I really thought nothing of it, but not three minutes later I receive this from The Little Ustin (a colleague from KLBC):

“Please tell me you’ve had phone sex with her.”

An hour later the O.C. Vodka Queen wrote:

“whoa….now that is a HUGE step in a relationship…to change your FB status to “in a relationship”..it’s almost like getting married….should I send you a card? I’m sure Hallmark has a card for that!!!…. : D
You know I’m really happy for you two!!”

Do you really think that Hallmark makes a “I’m glad you’re dating The Phone Sex Operator” card?  If so, I’ve never seen that one!  Nothing against the authors of the first two comments, but my favorite ones have to be from my boy Hockey Dawg, a friend, colleague and former hockey teammate.  He and I went back and forth a few times:

H.D. You ain’t “in a relationship” playah ! Whomever it is, ya’ll just met. Slow ya’ roll . . .  Pump ya’ brakes . . . .

J.R. it’s all good G. We ain’t buying anything together or nuttin. Just dating. You know how I roll…..

H.D. Go on, Big Playah BigBallah Big Pimp . . . . So, does this mean the end of your column ?

J. R. no son! I’m still single. Ain’t no ring on dis fingah! Plus I still have the old school stories and tales to tell about my shorty……

There were some more comments made between Dawg and I about a hockey tournament in Vegas and how he and I ended up being the only two heterosexuals on the team.  He said, “What happens in Vegas STAYS in Vegas.”    I say that when two players were late for the first game and someone joked about them being in a hotel room doing each other, Dawg and I started laughing.  I’m not sure what my face looked like, but when I realized that we were the only two laughing, I looked up at him and the look on his face was straight out of a MasterCard commercial.  It was truly priceless!  Sorry bro, it had to be said.

I’m happy that my friends care enough about me to say nice things about my changed status, but the reality is (and P.S.O. will definitely verify this) that I am the same dumbass that I was a few weeks ago.  The only difference is that I have a bigger, goofier smile on my face now.

As I was writing this I went back to Facebook to look at something and I noticed that P.S.O. changed her status too.  Apparently she too is now “In a Relationship”.  That’s cool.  I wonder if I know the guy???

J.R.

BTW…you can become a Facebook fan of Sex and the Single Dad.  Check out the link on the right hand side of this page.  You can also become my friend on Facebook, www.facebook.com/jrreedradio

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My Daughter, The Drama Queen

I need to make a mental note to pick up a big bottle of Jack Daniels tomorrow.  Some Cuervo Black too.

So far I’ve spent a lot of time regaling you with some of my crazy dating stories.  I’ve introduced you to The Period One, The 36-Year-Old Virgin, The Bookstore Chick and my personal favorite, The Phone Sex Operator (P.S.O.).

I’ve briefly mentioned a few more people who play important parts in my life—there’s the Drama Queen (my 12-year-old daughter) and O.C.B. (A.K.A. Original Crazy B****, A.K.A. the Drama Queen’s mom) and The Kings Fan, who has been one of my closest friends since we met 15 years ago.  The Kings Fan came to the hospital when Drama Queen was born and he was there when she was a baby and we would play pickup hockey with her sleeping in her car seat in the penalty box.

This blog is advertised as “The world of dating and parenting from the perspective of a full-time single dad raising a 12-year-old daughter.  You will usually laugh, sometimes cry and often say, “What the hell was he thinking?” So far we’ve covered the dating, the laughing (sometimes laughing so hard that you cry) and we have more than covered “what the hell was he thinking.”  Now it’s time to get into some parenting…

Long story short, O.C.B. is bi-polar.  There’s not a joke in there anywhere.  She’s bi-polar.  Her doctor told me that there is always some event or circumstance in a bi-polar person’s life that brings out the sickness and for O.C.B. it was having The Drama Queen (D.Q.).  I held the family together as long as I could, but O.C.B. didn’t take her medicine and when D.Q. was five, it was time for mom to move out, thus ending an 11 year adventure.  Since then I have had full custody of her.  The judge gave mom monitored visitation, but she rarely went.  The bottom line is that in 7 years D.Q. has seen or talked to her mom no more than 20 times and even went through a 4-year stretch with absolutely no communication.

I know that I’m not the best dad in the world, but I do the best I can and I think that I do OK, all things considering.  I don’t have a sister, so I can’t look back on memories from my childhood and remember what my parents did in certain situations.  My mom is 2,566 miles away and can help via phone, but it’s not the same.  My goal is to maintain health insurance so that D.Q. can start seeing a really good therapist; one who can balance out all the mistakes that I make!

I’ve been told that the eye rolling and attitude are par for the course with a hormonal 12-year-old.  Oh yeah, I’ve also been told by P.S.O. that all signs indicate that she’s about to have a regular visitor.  Damn.

She needs to go and get a new type of underwear—one which I am happy to say I can take off a woman with one hand tied behind my back (or tied to the headboard), but a type of underwear which I have absolutely no clue how to buy for a 12-year-old.    I need to make a mental note to pick up a big bottle of Jack Daniels tomorrow.  Some Cuervo Black too.

What’s life like at my house?  Well, I’m making chili at this moment and it’s almost done.  I told her that I wanted it to simmer for another 20 minutes or so and then we would eat.  I took a small spoonful so that I could make sure it couldn’t use any more seasoning.  It needed a touch more garlic and some chili powder, so I put them in the pot and grabbed a spoon (not the one I just ate from) and prepared to mix them in.  At that moment the Drama Queen burst into the kitchen and asked if she could stir.  I told her that she could, but to be careful as I didn’t want to have to clean up a mess.  She looked at me and said with a completely straight face but more than a hint of eye roll,  “I think that I can stir chili without any parental consent.”    Oy vey!!!!

J.R.

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