Blog entries for Shcro1

The one

Shcro1 — Mon, 10 Nov 2008 19:13:08 GMT

Dating is harder than I expected. Trying to find that "perfect match" seems somewhat unattainable. My friends have started to settle for less, because they feel the best no longer exists. Perhaps they're right. Part of me hates to admit that, but I've seen what there is to choose from and it's scary.

I've decided that I will no longer find "the one", and maybe I too will someday settle. I recently tried my luck with a new man. We went out on a couple dates, and although I didn't feel that spark for him I gave it one last shot to see where we stood. I went over to his place to watch a movie (I am Legend). The first thing I noticed when I walked in his front door was that his whole apartment had been consumed with the smell of cigarette smoke. I was no stranger to the fact that he smoked, but I figured that he stepped outside to do so.

The second thing I noticed was how untidy his place was. If a man has a clean apartment that is a huge turn on. When I have a guest over for the first time I clean like a mad women. Clearly this was not a priority for him. His cream colored couched had adopted black arms from all of the cigarette smoke. His garbage was full and spilling out which prompted the response "I guess I should take out my garbage" (he never did). His carpet was filthy and he was growing tomato plants on his old gym equipment.

I tried not to let the overwhelming disgust deter me from trying to have a good time. He offers me a beer and I accept. He puts on a beer cozy and when I take a sip I noticed that even the beer cozy smelled like smoke! He pops in a mexican style pizza and turns on the movie. He dims the light for "movie effect", and I move closer to my end of the couch. Clearly this isn't working. So we're sitting there and he starts to crack his knukles and the bones in his feet! Now I'm not only disgusted but annoyed.

He has a smoker's laugh (you know the kind... when a heavy smoker laughs they sorta wheeze and you can hear all the phelgm in their chest). Still I sit there and try to salvage what is left of the night. The pizza is ready and he serves it up. I noticed on one piece the cheese was hanging over the plate and he picks it up and loops it around his finger (I forgot to to mention that he didn't wash his hands before playing waiter). I'm one of those weird people who can't stand the sight of someone fingering their food.

I force him to take that plate. I figured that was strike number three. There is no point in leading this man on any further. I know this will not develop into a long and meaningful relationship, and I might as well rip off the band aid now. Around 9:30, I tell him that I'd better get going and he looks genuinely disappointed. Surely he must of known from my body language that I wasn't feeling the same way.

He offers to see me out, and I tell him that's ok. When I get home he texts, telling me how much fun he had. I tell him thank you for inviting me, but I really don't think there is anything there romantically. He says no hard feelings, and best of luck. I'm now back at square one, and after being on a few bad dates maybe that's where I should stay for a while.

Hating at its finest

Shcro1 — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 21:54:40 GMT

You lurk on OMC waiting for your "favorites" to write a blog or post a comment only to give it a rating of "1". Clearly I, (and a few others you have stalked) have said something that you didn't quite agree with, and now you make it your mission to share the sentiment. Of course not everything I say is worthy of a "5" and sometimes I am very deserving of a "1", but to follow me around the site hap-hazardly giving me the lowest score possible is juvenile at best.

Me telling someone where to find a hockey bar (worth a 1). Me saying "thank you tool shed for moving closer to my area (worth a 1). Me saying "who is the d-bag going around giving everybody a "1" (worth a 1). I understand that writing this blog will only encourage you and make you feel important. It will also compel you to reach for the number 1 on your keypad shortly after reading this.

This site is an open forum, and people have a right to score your blogs or comments the way they see fit, but I think the scoring system is in place to actually add some constructive input, not just for the sole purpose of being a jerk.

I imagine that you must be an annoying little pest who can't stand it when someone disagrees with them. For that I feel sorry for you. You don't win this one my friend, I do. For I have pissed you off to the point of cyber stalking my work here is done. I am not bitter, in fact I find it amusing (maybe even a little flattered) that you would go to such great links.

I'll actually beat you to it this time, my friend, and give myself a 1.

The sex offender and me

Shcro1 — Mon, 20 Oct 2008 18:12:49 GMT

I am a single woman who lives alone. I thought about having a roommate for a while, but figured we would get on each other's nerves after about a week or so. I like having the run of my apartment without hearing someone blast their radio, or engaged in sexual activity at 2am. I figured that by living alone, I have no one to annoy but myself (I can be a "bear" to live with, admittedly).

I've never given much thought about living alone, because I've never considered myself to be a "jumpy" person. I'm a horror movie buff, and I have been known to watch the most shocking, horrific movies in complete darkness, and sleep soundly just moments after. Not much frightens me.....Until I came across the sex offender registry.

A woman whom I work with was curious and wanted to know what kind of heathens lived in our area. She also lives on the eastside just a few blocks from me, so her neighbors are mine. I decided right then and there, that I was also curious. We were stunned to see how many men (and a few women) popped up. I was especially horrified to discover that one of them lived in my building!

He was convicted of second degree sexual assualt back in early 2000. I didn't recognize the name right off, so I made a mental note of it and searched the mailboxes for his name when I got home. There he was! His apartment was right by the front door. I pass it every morning when I leave for work and every evening when I come home. I use to walk by his door carefree, now my whole body stiffens.

He had his door open one afternoon and heard me talking to my building manager in the hall about fixing some plumbing in my apartment. I guess the sound of the female voice was enough to drive him out of his apartment to investigate. He stood there watching us, saying hello to my manager and giving me the "once over". Now women are very familiar to this look. We get it while walking down the street, jogging, grocery shopping etc. We shrug it off as men being men, but when you know that the man giving you that look gave it to some poor woman just before violating her in the most disgusting way imagined, it makes you sick to your stomach.

I quickly ended my conversation with the building manager, bolted upstairs to my apartment and locked myself inside. A few weeks later I was coming home from the grocery store and just barely made it into my building before having to drop my bags from sheer exhaustion. He must of heard the rumble, and came out to ask if I needed help carrying my bags to my apartment. I froze!

The thought of me opening my front door, being pushed inside, and crying out for help was terrifying. I told him "no thanks, I'm good", mustered up the last ounce of energy I had and hopped on the elevator.

I thought for a second that maybe I was being a bit dramatic, but then again had every reason to be. Had I not looked on the website, I'm sure I would have thought he was just some nice guy who lived in my building. That feeling of being invincible has vanished and now I find myself double even triple checking to see if my doors are locked before I go to bed. Every creak is enough to make me pull the covers over my head, as my heart pounds.

I'm glad I found out, but I feel like I've paid a price for that information.

I do have a question for you the reader.....do you feel that you should be notified of a sex offender living on site by the building manager when you apply for the apartment? Or do you feel these men have paid their debt to society and deserve some privacy like everyone else?

Out of sorts

Shcro1 — Thu, 09 Oct 2008 18:15:43 GMT

There is a certain bar on the eastside, that whenever anyone mentions going there, I cringe. This bar's reputation is less than stellar. I"ve heard countless stories of women going there and having the date rape drug slipped into their drinks. Now for legal reasons I can not divulge the name of said bar, but chances are most of you reading this already have some idea.

I can't speak from personal experience, but I did work with a girl who was at this particular bar on New's Eve and ended up having to be carried out by friends after a couple of beers. This girl could drink most men under the table, and was in perfect health just an hour before. One is lead to believe some a-hole considered his options of either being a gentleman and getting to know her, or not willing to work too hard for something he probably wasn't going to get anyway. My guess is she left her drink unattended while using the restroom and he took advantage of the opportunity.

Friends and I were thinking of a place to hangout a few weekends ago, and someone yelled out the bar's name. Before I had a chance to object, someone had beat me to it. Saying "don't you know about that place"? Clearly the word is spreading, and women are discovering that a night there may end with them in a hospital gown hours later. Now to be fair there is no guarantee that your drink won't be spiked at any bar you're at, but this one seems to increase the odds.

The horrific stories of all the shady doings goes back years. I'm sure not every night there ends with a woman being violated in some way or another, but I'm willing to bet that it happens more often than not (based on all the stories). Not only do we as women have to worry about some jackass trying to cope a feel while trying to squeeze by us in a crowded bar, but now we have to clutch our drinks for dear life and never let them out of our sights.

I can't say how many of the stories are true, but I think I've heard enough to not want to find out personally.

Only me

Shcro1 — Wed, 01 Oct 2008 18:15:48 GMT

I've often been told that my life plays out like a sitcom. I've been in every embarassing situation known to man. For instance last weekend I was taking out the trash and noticed a few bees hovering around the dumpster. I am highly allergic to bees and usually go out of my way to avoid them.

So I stand several feet away and contemplate my options. I could hurl the trash for the dumpster and hope that it makes it in, or I could calmy walk over, place the bag inside and slowly walk away without feeling the sting of death. I try option one first, but soon discovered that the bag was much too heavy and would probably fall to the ground releasing all of it's contents. I opt for the second option, carefully making my way to the dumpster all while keeping my eyes peeled for my deadly little friends.

I get about halfway there and like something right out of any predictable comedy, I was under attack. One rather large bee took it upon himself to make my life a living hell for the next five minutes. I see him coming and go running in the opposite direction. As I look back to see if I "shaked" him, I tripped over an old sofa cushion that someone left out. My trash bag flew out of my hand, opened up and spilled yogurt and old hummus containers.

My little friend was no longer in sight, but was replaced by two young men who instead of helping me up, decided to laugh hysterically. Had it not happened to me, I probabaly would have joined them. So I let the sheer embarassment roll off my back and picked myself up. I got about four steps to my back door before I slipped yet again on the yogurt that should have been in the dumpster. So I'm lying there asking GOD why, and hear "holy f**k" followed by another round of hysterics.

The two young men were now doubled over crying tears of delight. I slowly (and cautiously) make my way back inside after picking up the contents of my trash and finally placing them in the dumpster. One of my neighbors comes out and asked if I was ok. "How did he see what happened" I wondered, since his apartment didn't have a window that faced the back of the building.

Then horror sets in as I remembered we have security cameras all around the building that are easily viewed on channel 93 by anyone who lives there. I can only imagine how many people were watching that day. I tell him that I was fine and limped my way up the stairs to my apartment. My shirt is a little torn and I have yogurt on the back of my pants, but it's nothing compared to my bruised ego.

I make it to my front door, insert my key just in time to hear "did you guys see that girl take a header not once but twice? It was the funniest thing I've ever seen". Another fan who just happened to be watching channel 93. I opened my front door, hobble inside and look through the classifieds for apartments to rent.

The 2am phone call

Shcro1 — Wed, 20 Aug 2008 17:37:07 GMT

I have this friend who is intelligent, attractive, kind and just and overall good person. She (like myself) is single and claims (like myself) that there aren't any good men left in Milwaukee. To that I had to raise my glass. Most of you who have read my blogs know where I stand on men, so I'll spare you the reruns.

However, she is a little more patient and tolerant. Almost to a fault. She recently broke up with her boyfriend and like most of us who have been down that painful road, was a complete mess. She lived for that man, and felt like there was no "her" without "him". After many nights of good food, good movies and great wine, I finally brought her back into the living.

She was doing great for about a month and a half. Flirting with men, giggling, and not checking her phone compulsively (come on, you've done it too). I was really proud of her. At 2am we called it a night, and as we were walking out of the bar, she gets a phone call from her ex. She started feeling light-headed. I tell her not to answer, because we all know what the 2am phone call means. We're women in our 20's, and no stranger to that familiar scene.

Plus she was very drunk, and not in the right frame of mind to make logical decisions. She pays no attention to my best "mom" impression, and hits the talk button on her phone. He sweet talked her right to his apartment and the rest is history. The good fight of getting over him that she fought for so long, had come to an end.

She will go back to checking her phone every five minutes, sending him texts (and not hearing back), calling me crying about how he totally used her, and swearing off men forever....until he calls again for another roll in the hay. What is it about the ex calling at 2am that will make an otherwise intelligent, relatively sane woman lose her head? I'm no exception to this either. I had an ex who knew just the right time to call (and by right time, I mean after I had a few beers).

I've since stopped taking his calls, because I was tired of feeling like the only reason I existed was to wait for a phone call from him. Sadly my friend will need a little more time to realize her self worth. I feel like if I'm good enough to be intimate with, then surely I'm good enough to have the pleasure of your company while the sun is still shining, and I don't mean as I'm fumbling for my shirt at 7am while you roll over into a comfy spot in bed.

So if it's 2am and you get the urge to phone me, I hope you have a good message lined up, because you'll be getting voicemail!

A day at the beach

Shcro1 — Fri, 08 Aug 2008 16:39:24 GMT

The string bikini when worn the way it was meant (on thin, tanned bodies) is a thing of beauty. When worn like it was right out of someone's nightmare, is just that....a nightmare.

A fun casual day at the beach can turn into mayhem when a large woman who refuses to accept the fact that she is not a size 4 strolls onto our sandy haven wearing a suit that was meant for someone half her size. She will be completely unaware that while she shakes and jiggles her way down the beach that mothers will be shielding the eyes of young children, dogs will be howling, babies will be crying, and straight men within eyeshot will be questioning their sexuality.

The gasps and screams of those who are unfortunate enough to witness the "event" will be heard around the world. Sentences turn into fragments as we try to make sense of it...how could she...why didn't someone tell her...doesn't she know that...I just can't believe...I mean...seriously...?

We feel betrayed by our eyesight. Not only that but we feel betrayed by the company that gave the "ok" to manufacture the string bikini in a size 16. Shame on you. Now we're held hostage by the trainwreck of strechmarks and cellulite on her backside.

Listen, I think there are big beautiful women out there, and this is not an anti blog against women who are overweight. I just think that some things are not meant for eveyone to enjoy, and the string bikini just happens to be one of them (in my opinion). There will be some of you who will comment and say that these women should be applauded for not being ashamed of not being a size 4, and that I would agree with.

But I am a very frank individual, and try not to keep my voice quiet because something might not be totally PC. I suspect that there may be others who feel like I do, but are just to shy to say it. So when the question is posed "who says big women shouldn't wear the string bikini" I'll always say,um....I do.

An (almost) perfect night

Shcro1 — Tue, 05 Aug 2008 17:15:37 GMT

When it comes to dating, I am by my own admission a cynic. Bad first dates and my overall contempt for most men have afforded me that title. Whenever a man staggers over drunk and high off of "liquid courage", I have only seconds to deflect his efforts. I've used the line " I have a boyfriend", but this only encourages them. They'll say something like "well he's not here tonight, so maybe it's time to find a new man". I've also used the "I'm only in town for one night, and have to fly back to (insert state here) tomorrow"..line. Again this does no good because they'll just say "well let me give you a night to remember".

Oh don't worry, you have. Being subjected to the sweat running down your face, your hot breath on my neck and your awkward pick up lines, is something I won't soon forget. After countless weekends of this "cat and mouse" game, a girl loses hope and resigns herself to becoming jaded. Since I don't like to admit defeat, I decided that if I want to meet a nice quality man, that I have to remain open to that idea. I decided to change my cynical ways, and try being a little more open.

So a few weekends ago I went to my old stomping grounds (Mcgillycuddy's), ordered myself an MGD, and waited for it all to begin. After sitting there alone for thirty minutes, my girlfriend shows up, and we spend the next hour laughing, drinking and sizing up the competition. I thought to myself that this was the first night in a while that all seems to go well. Then he appeared.

He was very unassuming. Casually dressed, seemingly sane and by all accounts a gentlemen. He stood about 6'1 sandy blonde hair and green eyes. Very cute. He had offered decent conversation and wasn't "grabby" with his hands. I was impressed. Maybe my luck was starting to change. I looked over at my friend, and she gives me the thumbs up. Alright.

At bar close he asked me for my number. I, still in my cynical ways was a bit hesitant, but decided to take that all important leap into possibility. He called me a couple days later, and asked me out to dinner. I was actually excited. He told me the night before that he worked for an accounting firm, so I knew he would be intelligent. No worries there. Dread was replaced by school girl giddiness.

He picked me up at seven, and we headed for Sabor (a fantastic brazilian steakhouse). Dinner was great and conversation flowed with each glass of red wine. After paying our bill, we decided that we enjoyed each other's company enough to continue the night. We headed to Bar Louie and settled in at the bar. We flirted and talked about nothing and everything. I noticed that he kept checking his phone, and I figured it was just one of his buddies trying to get the scoop on how his date was going.

After text message number four, he nervously looks up at me and says that "he was sorry for the interruption". "Don't worry about it" I said, "I have crazy friends too". He gives me a gorgeous smile, and our almost perfect night goes on. A short time later we noticed a group of people walking in. Among them was a woman who seemed to enter with a purpose. He catches sight of her and under his breath says "oh sh*t". Before I could ask what was wrong the woman had spotted us and was moving in at high speed.

She reaches us and says to my date "what the fu*k is this, no wonder you couldn't answer your phone". He looks up at her like a deer caught in the headlights. She was seething, like she wanted to rip his heart out and serve it as a bloody mary garnish. He says to her "oh hey, well I didn't know that you texted me". "Oh really", she says pulling on his arm. I don't know what to do at this point, so I decide to go along for the ride, saying nothing. It was clear who this woman was, I just wanted to hear it from him.

After ten minutes of her giving me and him the evil eye, he finally confesses that she was his girlfriend. My almost perfect night was over. He tries to apologize all while being pulled out the front door by this very angry woman. Another jerk whom I've wasted time and energy on. I could feel my cynical side struggling to come out. As I sat there sipping my drink and waiting for my cab I couldn't help but think....at least he paid for dinner.

Ode to my blogs

Shcro1 — Mon, 28 Jul 2008 18:28:31 GMT

I was recently turned on to author Charles Bukowski by this guy I dated (briefly). I wasn't sure how I would feel about this author because Brad ( the guy I dated) had some very scary views about life (he thought that the south "had it right, when it came slavery"... again we dated briefly), and spoke very highly of Bukowski.

After weeks of him telling me how I was missing out, I decided to give it a read. At first I was put off by the content. Here was this self righteous a-hole, who by all accounts seemed to be mad. After giving his second book another shot, I decided that I hadn't been completely fair to Bukowski. He was an average man who wrote about his very complex life. He didn't make any apologies for being a drunk, a smoker, a pervert and womanizer.

He (in my opinion) wasn't a great writer, but an honest one. I respected the hell out of that. It made me think of my blogs, and how at first glance some of you may be put off, but hopefully you find me to be honest, and give me another shot. I, like Bukowski, don't apologize for my material (although I don't think I've put anything out there that has been terribly offensive). I simply write about my life, and hope you the reader find some humor, enjoyment or if nothing else a little more insight about this girl.

Putting your ideas out in an open forum, you subject yourself to ridicule. We as bloggers and writers understand that, but that doesn't stop us from saying what is our given right to say. My blogs are my way of trying to connect to the nameless faces out there in cyberspace. My blogs however are not meant to offend, or shock, but if you the reader take it that way, that I have no control over. I'm just a typical girl, with not so typical ideas.

Some of you read these blogs and are so quick to leave a comment without fully understanding what I'm saying. When I say that girls who flirt with men for free drinks are tramps (they are), I get a reply saying "oh so what about the men, and they're behavior, we are so quick to demean the woman, and what she does". Well no, the women who do that are demeaning themselves, and the blog wasn't about the behavior of men. Of course men are vultures when it comes to a pretty lady in the bar, but again the blog was about the women.

Or when I say that the bus I take is full of strange people (it is), I get people leaving comments like "how dare you, I take the bus, and find it rather enjoyable". Well good for you, but I wasn't blogging about your experience, I was blogging about mine. Your route may be laid back and pleasant, mine I assure you isn't.

I guess what I'm trying to say is I write about my observations, and I don't expect you the reader to always identify with them, but I hope that you'll at least take them for what they're worth (just this girl's opinion).

Why are people on the bus so strange?

Shcro1 — Wed, 23 Jul 2008 18:03:17 GMT

I live on the eastside and work downtown. My commute back and forth is only a few minutes. I don't own a vehicle (by choice), because I just feel like parking downtown and on the eastside is ridiculously expensive. Not only that, but the rising gas prices are enough to make those of you who do drive, scream. Since I don't, my alternative is to take the bus to get to my destination. While it's not my favorite mode of transportation, I don't consider myself one of those uppity individuals who wouldn't be caught dead on it...yet!

Now with that said.....I find alot of the people who also choose to ride the bus a little....how do I say this nicely....freakish! My intent is not to be mean I assure you. There might be people out there who find me rather unpleasant (I can live with that). One particular evening, I was riding the bus, headed home after a long day at work. I was very tired and just wanted to decompress from the rigors of my job. This guy gets on, and sits in the seat next to me. I instinctively move closer to the window, because of course he sits inappropriately close. My whole body is frozen in an awkward position, trying not to let our bodies touch.

He sees my frustration, and stupidly asks if "he's sitting to close". I think to myself "no, I just like contorting my body into a very tight space so you can be comfortable. That is my number 1 concern after all". What I actually said is "a little, do you mind moving over a bit". He does and I breath a little easier. I figured "great, that's it, my contact with this person is over". Not so my friends, not so. He proceeds to ask me if I had a good day at work (now I know that he's just being friendly, but I find it wildly annoying to ask someone whom you've never met about their day). I say "yes", but never make eye contact. I figure he would get the hint that I really just want to keep to myself. Nope, he proceeds to annoy..."so what do you do" ?

I could feel the white hot anger sweeping over me. How could this person not see that I'm very irritated, and don't want to engage in conversation. Or maybe he does see it, and decides to have a little fun at my expense. I figured if I wanted this to end then I would have to speak up. I calmly say "you know I don't mean to be rude, but I typically don't engage in conversation with people on the bus". He looks at me trying to make sense of it, and says "well I was just being friendly", and needless to say, he doesn't speak to me for the rest of the trip. Mission accomplished! I felt bad for all of five seconds, I mean he was just being friendly. Then I thought "should I have to suffer just to spare a complete stranger's feelings"? I decided that I didn't.

On another trip home I witnessed a mother and her teenage daughter sitting together. They seemed very close, they held hands and giggled at each other jokes. It was all very sweet. A couple minutes later things took a turn for the bizarre. Mom started lecturing the daughter about using birth control, and how she was too promiscuous. Now...call me crazy, but that is not really a conversation you should be having with your teenage daughter on the bus. Everyone stops and all eyes fixate on them. Of course we don't want to listen, but heck we feel like we have no choice. The daughter then says very emotionally "mom, we only had sex 4 times, and I'm not pregnant, ok".

No it's not "ok". I feel ill. How did this happen? Where did that sweet mother daughter couple go, and why are they putting their dirty laundry out for all of us to witness? They had turned into Roseanne and Becky Connor. I decided that the bus, and perhaps myself had gone completely mad. People don't care about boundaries and privacy anymore, and that makes me nervous. Whether they're kissing in the back of the bus, telling us how Jesus died for our sins on the front, or talking very loudly on their cell phone, they truly are freaks to me. I might need to buy a car!

The girl who wouldn't go away

Shcro1 — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 18:14:31 GMT

I don't know exactly when or under what circumstances I met her, but my life has been forever changed. Gone are the carefree days of answering my phone with excitement. What's replaced is a mountain of fear the size of Texas, everytime the phone rings.

She's the kind of person who level jumps on your friendship. Thinking that you two are good friends instead of casual acquaintances. I'm foolishly optimistic everytime the phone rings. Perhaps it's that guy that I met last night, or maybe it's my ex asking to get back together. Heck, I would even take a telemarketer at this point. Alas it's none of those people, only her.

I don't answer and she leaves a message (she always leaves a message). "Hey you, just seeing what you're doing. I had a horrible day, and just felt like grabbing a drink. Call me back". Of course I don't call back, and subject myself to another ridiculous phone call 30 minutes later. Out of sheer insanity, I answer. "Hey, you wanna go to the Nomad"? I just feel like getting out of my apartment for awhile". Now, of course I would like to go to the Nomad, I would love to, but not if it means being stuck sitting there with her, slowing dying from overwhelming contempt, disgust, and mild hatred.

Out of sheer stupidity I say yes.

She drains every bit of energy that I have. Not only is she a pest, but she is so self involved. She talks about guys that she's dated (and there have been plenty) and what their sex life was like (with each and every one of them), but worse of all she expects me to know who these people are (I've never met any of them, and I'm not so sure they even exist).

She is completely oblivious to the fact that most people can't stand to be around her. One of her "friends" (I put friends in quotes, because the girl is much like I am, an unwilling acquaintance) said that the pest broke her ankle in two places just to get attention. If you knew the pest, you would understand why we weren't so quick to dismiss that theory.

She talks way too loud, she sings in your ear (off key), she's gross (she can burp her name, and she does it...often). She has questionable hygiene, she wears shirts and pants two sizes too small, and she's convinced she's a 10 (she's not, trust me). I know what you're thinking...just don't hang out with this girl anymore if she bugs you that much. Believe me I've tried, I really really have, but she knows where I hang out, live, dine etc. Her presence in my life I assure you is unavoidable.

So we're sitting at the bar having our drinks, and she invites me to her place tomorrow for a bbq! Now.. I have no trouble hiding my emotions when we're on the phone, but hiding my horror in person takes a little more skill. My eyes grow wide, my mouth opens and my hands are sweaty. The thought of the two of us alone in her tiny aparment watching "Lost" season 1 on DVD, while she tends to the bbq on her small balcony was too much to bear. I would be trapped my friends.

I quickly think of an excuse (my mom and I are going shopping or something), and the situation is diffused.. at least until the next one. Three beers and a worldwind of misery later, I decide to end our time at the Nomad. She quickly jumps up and says "k hun, I'll call you later". She then pulls me into a bear hug (she's a bigger girl, I'm all of 115lbs), and my face is smashed into her chest. A horrific end to a horrific day.

I leave the bar and walk the two blocks back to my apartment, trying to shake the memory that is her. An hour later, it happens. The phone rings, and I cringe. You guessed it, it's her. I answer out of sheer drunkeness. "Hey whatcha doing this weekend...oh you already have plans...well I've got nothing going on, is it ok if I tag along"...... Sigh!

Ladies, please..do you really need a drink that badly?

Shcro1 — Thu, 17 Jul 2008 18:11:33 GMT

Last weekend while I was out enjoying an MGD, I noticed something disturbing.....there were about 3 or 4 of them dressed in high heels, heavily coated makeup, short skirts and see through tank tops. Oh and all of them were blonde (nothing wrong with that, I'm just saying). It wasn't their style of dress or their ridiculously thick makeup that bothered me, it was what they were doing. They were hanging on this unsuspecting young man, flipping their hair and making pouty lips. Pretending to laugh at his jokes, and telling him how what he does for a living is sooo interesting. Dead man walking! He will fall for their lines, and ultimately the credit card will make an appearance. A round of shots for all!!

You see, these ladies came into that bar dressed the way they were all with one purpose, to deplete some poor sap who thinks he has a shot with any of them out of his money. No, the women weren't dabbling in the "flesh trade", but in the "I'll pretend I like you, and flirt with you a bit, only to leave you hanging 20 seconds after you've bought my drink..trade". Now being a woman myself I find this disturbing. Not only is it not fair to the guy who foolishly thinks he's going to get lucky tonight, or at the very least have the pleasure of conversation with you until bar close, but it also makes you, the woman look like a cheap tramp.

Harsh words I know, but I can't for the life of me figure out why women would come to a bar with little or no money with the hopes of flirting their way to a bloody mary. I guess in the same breath the men who buy these "ladies" their drinks would be foolish to think that anything other than a hug (which she will hate every second of) is insane for buying into it, but I guess he just feels that there may still be some hope (there isn't....well....wait nope not a chance).

Some of you women who flirt and scheme these men out of their hard earned money may read this blog, and say well obviously this person isn't attractive enough to get drinks from men, and she's just jealous. Not the case, ladies...at all. I'm what most men would consider attractive, I just don't feel that flaunting my sexuality only to get a drink from a man you have no interest in is the road I have to go down.

So I ask "ladies,please..do you really need a drink that bad?"

Water St bars wayyyy too ghetto

Shcro1 — Wed, 16 Jul 2008 18:17:38 GMT

Ok, so whenever I get the urge to go out on a weekend, I usually flock to Water St. It has been this way for the past 3yrs now. I don't find anything particularly exciting about the bars there, but it's just a matter of convience (since I live close on the eastside).

Most of my time is spent sitting on a stool sucking back an MGD in Mcgillycuddy's. I never worried much about the people who came in, because I had always known it to be a pretty laid back place. Lately though....something has changed. Now when I look up and see who's coming in, I cringe a little. What stares back at me is a mouth (grill) full of gold teeth, big shiny bling things, pants pulled down well below the buttocks, and the faint smell of a little green plant that's used to achieve euphoria.

Now before I start getting dozens of emails calling me a racist, let me just say that I am a half black female (crisis averted). I just feel like the melancholy that once was Water St has turned into a run for your life before you get shot type thing. I don't generalize all african americans to be this way at all, but the ones who have been flocking to Water St seem to fit the bill of thug.

Not only are they loud and rude, they also feel like they can touch women whenever and wherever they feel like. Of course I'm prime meat to them (considering being half black). Most of the women who go to "Gilly"s" are white, so they bypass them and set there sights on me. I've had my back rubbed, my butt grabbed, henious things whispered in my ears, all while being subjected to derogatory name calling moments after their efforts are shot down.

I can honestly say that "Gilly's" will be just a casual acquaintance to me from now on, and that goes for the rest of the bars on Water St. This blog is not meant to demean, but merely to point out behavior that really needs to cease. Let people go out and enjoy themselves without trying to start a fight, and pull out guns!