Buy one here from Etsy. http://www.etsy.com/listing/72558380/ceramic-mug-with-fingers-contemporary?ref=market

I ran across this “Fairy Tale” that clearly describes how a single guy lives it up with No Ring On This Thing. So I decided to write one of my own for all of us “Princesses” out there who are doing the same! Enjoy your freedom and wave your naked fingers around with pride!

FOR THE DUDES

FOR THE LADIES! WHOO HOO!

I wondered what kind of guy this one would be and crossed my fingers he wouldn’t give me the Creepy Tingles. (You know, the ones you get when you watch those kids perform on Glee.) Actually, if you look up the word “date” online, it describes how to find the best one…

When selecting dates, look for plump, evenly colored specimens. All dates have a single long seed, but they can range in shape from oblong to round. The date should not look dry or withered, and no crystals should appear on the exterior of the date.

Ok, so he should be fat, tall or just plain squatty, infertile, not old, and should not do crystal meth. Got it. That’s doable. I realize this definition refers to dried fruit, but none of my own guidelines have served me well thus far, so I’ll try anything. However, even after taking the previous description into consideration, I still wanted to know if he had the most important quality to a gal like me.

“Is he funny?” I asked.
“Humor was never really his strong point.”
“What is?”
“He did go to Harvard. So he’s super smart.”

Ok, so that means anytime his parents have to listen to their annoying friends talk about their kids, all they have to say is…”Well, our son went to Harvard.”  Endless years of bragging rights for them. But for me, intelligent people just make me break out in hives. What the hell am I supposed to talk about? I did recently try and up my exposure to smart people stuff by listening to podcasts of This American Life. I was feeling good about that, until one day on my drive to work the subject matter was about how someone came up with the formula to accurately predict prime numbers. I found myself miming the jerkoff motion in my car. Do people with high IQ’s do that? Probably not.

My date called me to arrange a meeting place so I chose a restaurant/bar that was within walking distance of my home. Looking back at my most recent dating history, it was a solid plan seeing that I could make a run for it if it took a turn for the worse.

I arrived early and ordered wine wondering what my night would entail.  Would he still be in love with his ex-wife? About to have a baby in 2 weeks? Or perhaps a serial dater/manwhore who was just looking to “hang out?”  These scenarios have happened to me. And you wonder why I am skeptical?

Thankfully, he was none of the above because when he greeted me, I was pleasantly surprised. He seemed polite, soft spoken and had kind eyes. I thought he somewhat resembled Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Hey, I liked his last movie 50/50. Cancer is depressing, but he found love in the final scene. And everyone loves happy endings. (Yeah. Go ahead. I know you’re thinking it.)

I tried to remember all the advice people have given me about how to conduct myself on a date. However, it usually just ended up with them saying…”Just be yourself.” I always wanted to respond with…”Have you met me?” But, they have. And while they thought I was generally likeable, they’ve also never been on a first date with me.  So here’s me just “being myself.”

He was so mild mannered that he was ok with waiting 20 minutes for someone to get him his first beer. I, on the other hand, stuck my hand up in the air, got the bartender’s attention, and questioned why we ever stopped using this gesture post college. It does seem rather efficient and it’s way better than snapping or saying “Hey lady,” or whatever creative nickname you think will get you quicker service.  I was already acting like a dude. Oops. I didn’t order for him though, but I did harass the servers for my amusement.

I poked fun at the waitress’ disappointment in her lack of knowledge concerning the restaurant’s charcuterie plate. Even though I can’t even pronounce that word and prefer to call it like it is…a plate of cheese. I told her not to worry and essentially they were all a bunch of flavored mold anyway. She said she wouldn’t be losing sleep over it.

Also, when another waiter mentioned he was from France, I challenged my date’s aforementioned knowledge of being fluent in French and made him converse with said waiter. He spoke with ease and passed the test. I told him I could speak Russian.  Or at least I had a Russian handyman grope me earlier in the day. Just as impressive. Overall, he may have found that humorous, but a tad innappropriate. My date, not the waiter. He found me icky because he was clearly gay.

Then, when sassy Asian cocktail waitress started throwing furniture covers over the chairs to signal it was closing time, I threw my hands over my head in a teepee-like formation and told her to just “Go for it.” She rolled her eyes and said…”Oh yeah. You’re a real funny one.” My date mentioned that he didn’t think she had much of a sense of humor.  I thought she seemed like she would be horrible in bed and would probably just ask you to “Get it over with.” On second thought, encouraging your date to imagine what another woman’s bedroom skills would be like is probably not the best idea.

The night came to an end and overall I would say:
Fun conversation. Loved the hard cheeses, the soft ones made me gag. He didn’t use his phone, which for me would’ve suggested he was possibly texting his friends to meet him for another drink to help erase the evening from his memory. (Or at least he didn’t in front of me.) He paid, which puts him in the 20% of guys who actually do that on a first date these days. And, since the bar was within walking distance of my apartment, I wasn’t forced to experience that awkward ride home, which usually ends up with a premature and questionable make-out session while I wonder if my dog is whining and staring at the door because he thinks I am about to come home for the night.

Yes, I write about bad dates. But this time, he was a good guy. A really, solid guy. Albeit, he wasn’t the right guy for me. If I were to guess, I was a little too “wacky” for him. He seems like he would date the kind of girl who would never say the word fuck, and I think my count is somewhere near six…and that was before lunch.

All my friends just love my dating recaps and try and ease my disappointment regarding another dis-connection with…”It’s ok. You just haven’t met the right one yet.” Really? That’s pretty obvious. So, thanks? And hey…You are a person. Now take that advice and see where that gets you.

Shockingly, I felt really good after that date even though I never heard from him because it’s almost like I reached the end of a relay race. I usually have a lot of fun on first dates. Second dates are the biggest challenge. Mostly, I guess because being funny and a tad wacky may be a little too much for most dudes to handle. So I finally cancelled my Match.com account, stopped looking with envy at the photos of smiling couples on Facebook, and returned to writing my book. Most importantly, I again reminded myself that a life with No Ring On This Thing® is an amazing one. I don’t have to go see Yo Gabba Gabba Live! Or have to argue over why I don’t want to go to my man’s hot, ex-girlfriend’s BBQ. Or even have to sit across the table from my boyfriend’s mother this holiday season as she scowls at me because my Mac N’ Cheese kicks her version’s ass.

I have plans for my life and the possibilities are endless. Dating takes up so much of your time and now I can actually just start having fun. To those of you who are reading this and saying…Hell yeah!  Hold up those naked ring fingers with pride and be thankful for the freedom you have. And seeing that the time is especially right. Happy Thanksgiving to all you single people!

For the past several years, I haven’t been too psyched about celebrating my birthday…and this one was definitely not going to be an exception.  However, I decided that maybe this time, closing my eyes and pretending it wasn’t happening was not such a good idea.  I’ll keep that tactic for bikini waxes.

Now what?  I need a plan.   Because usually my birthday is spent sitting awkwardly at a bar wondering why “That Guy” didn’t show up, or if next year I’d be so blissfully happy I would be giggling like Anderson Cooper talking about giving an airplane aisle a golden shower.  I knew a girl who had a Pole Dancing/Pool party for her birthday, and another dude who rented out a bowling alley for his. However, since I dance like one of those windsock guys outside of car dealerships and I am not into having stinky fingers, those were not options for me.  I decided to do the only thing that made sense to me in my current mental state…and that was to run away and bury my head in the sand.  But in a good way…on a beach somewhere far away.

I asked my friend Karyn, who I’ve known since college, to see if she wanted to celebrate like old times….albeit without the Cosby sweater.  (I wore that outfit thinking I looked hot.  Why am I still single again? Oh yeah.)  I met Karyn when we were pledges together in a sorority.  And before you laugh at the thought of me singing songs in unison with a bunch of girls…Karyn and I both deactivated.  No one was going to make us pay fines for not showing up to house meetings when it was 10cent beer night.   We agreed that celebrating “like old times” would surely no longer include shots of Jagermeister, searching Frat guys’ rooms to see where the other passed out, or waking up wondering how we got home…and who is that guy on the couch?  But we knew we would have a lot of laughs anyway.

So we booked a trip to Cabo San Lucas (not Cantina…the bar on Wilshire where the vomit on the floor sticks to your shoes.)  No way!  We are classy broads now!  It’s all about the 5 star resort and its no kids under 16 allowed policy.  Not to begrudge those of you who have them.  They’re lovely, cute, and smell like carnations.  But this weekend is all mine and 2 single ladies are wanting to be surrounded by…well let’s hope they’re not all honeymooners.

Now that the problem of my impending doom was solved, all I needed were a few days off.  So I sent this email to my boss.

I need to take Sept 1-2 off for what some may call a “vacation,” but I’d like to call an “Intervention.”  You see…it is my birthday, and I am now incredibly old.  Yes, the time has come for me to sign up to receive my yearly supply of Ensure, crates of Depends, and test drive my Lil Rascal electronic cart. Therefore, in order to prevent me from leaping off the “D” on the Hollywood sign or joining Scientology, I am going to a place where margaritas make me forget and cabana boys give me foot rubs.  I appreciate you understanding and will see you when I return.

Our Cabana boy will more hetero and we will not be wearing heels with our bikinis.

My boss knew a woman on the edge when he saw one…so he wished me a good time.  And that is what I intend to do.  I must remember having No Ring On This Thing means no accountability, except to the Mexican Law…because I hear they don’t mess around.

I’m really good with a gun.  So don’t burn my toast B*#@%! 
(Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame.  Darling, you give love, a bad name.)

I’m the shirtless guy.  Yeah. The white one, in swim trunks.  That one.
(Group shots are ridiculous.  Unless you are standing with a bunch of dudes who are incredibly less attractive than you are.  Hey, whatever helps.)

Do you like homoerotic fight scenes?  Cool.  So, you don’t mind if my hot boyfriend joins us for dinner then?
(May I suggest another website called Rentboy.com?  It’s for gay dudes.  Ain’t no shame in your game though.  Good luck!)

Would you like to see my c#*k?
(Very funny.  Although, posting a pic like this doesn’t show me anything.  But THIS does!)

Brought to you by the makers of Extra Large Durex Condoms.  Because even guys with enormous ones should have no excuses.  

Some people are amazed at a beautiful piece of art or a well written novel. Others are fascinated at the pyramids or how the sun sets over the ocean. Me? I am always in in awe of a couple in a relationship. I will forever be perplexed as to how two people can fall in love with each other at the same time. It is mystery that is obviously beyond my comprehension.  My experience so far have been, I like him and he only wants a horizontal relationship with me. Or, he likes me and I would rather watch my Dad rub his feet together while he drinks wine and watches Televangelists on TV than go on another date with him. My recent series of dates proves as such…

My last online date called to make a plan, and described the “waning crescent moon” under which he was walking. Quite a lovely evening…he added. Already, I realized he was a bit too mushy for my sarcastic personality.  Unfortunately, I knew that our evening was not going to be as “lovely” for me and my excitement was waning. So already there was a theme.

Upon arrival, he looked around for the “hidden cameras” because he swore that since I worked in Reality TV this was surely a set-up for a dating show. He told me he practiced his big moment and was really looking forward to “ripping on my hair and make-up team.” But since this was a real date (too bad for me), he had to settle on normal conversation. Kind of. He wanted to know what the name of my nail polish was. Apparently, red wasn’t the answer he was looking for. “No! It has to have something really awesome. They all have cool names!” “I think it’s Cosmopolitan Red,” I guessed.  ”I knew it!” Cue the confetti cannon.

He then asked about my parents and when I told him they were happily married for over 44 years he started to cry. Not just welling, but crying with a handkerchief. I tried to make him stop by horrifying him with a story about how my parents recently called me from the parking lot of a sex toy shop. Horny bastards. He thought that was sweet. I decided not to risk pushing this weeper over the edge by telling him how after my mom has one too many vodka tonics, she breaks out her belly dancing moves from the 70′s. Furthermore, I don’t like to replay those memories myself. To end the evening, he bowed and saluted me as my car drove past him on the 3rd level of the parking garage, then on the 2nd, and ran down to the 1st to complete his trio of awkward goodbye gestures. I told him via text the next day we weren’t a match.

Then, a friend set me up with someone she thought would really be great for me. He was cute not pretty, had good ole Southern manners, and said he liked a girl with a big personality and sense of humor. She even warned him I could be a bit crass.  He loved it. But apparently, he didn’t love the date so much because he never called me back. He informed my friend that he thought I was “bored with him.” I feel that whipping out the LA Times during the date would signal being bored, but I didn’t think 4 hours of talking would. And yes, I tried to keep my portion down to a more reasonable 40% which is a big improvement. I do congratulate him though on crafting a polite excuse, but we all know if he thought I was bored he would try and prove otherwise. However, I will accept this fabrication because I am sure the real reason will make me cry like Mr Waning Crescent Moon from above.

As I sat one night, browsing through the emails from other online dating prospects, I found myself talking to their profiles with complete disdain. Wearing lots of man jewelry…next. Pic hugging some hot chick in a bikini…next. Mention of how he doesn’t like blondes but emails me to “give me a shot.” Sigh. What am I doing?!!!

The answer to my frustration came as I looked to cleanse my brain of dating disasters during a diversionary perusal of my Twitter wall. I know it seems lame to get inspiration from a re-tweeted quote on my celebrity crush’s Twitter feed, but let’s not judge. I bet you have tried to find meaning in a fortune cookie message or just added “In bed” after it to make it more exciting. The lightbulb in my head went on as I read Adam Levine from Maroon 5′s tweet. (Seriously, let me be a teenage groupie for a second…it makes me feel young again). It said…

“Life is wasted on the moments we spend waiting in lines, stuck in traffic, and searching for love.”

I couldn’t agree more. I realized I spend much of my time “shopping for men” in the succubus of online dating sites. Yes…sites. I was a multi-site user and even did JDate and I’m not Jewish. But I just love those Jewish men. I think it’s the scruff that gets me every time. But like a glutton at a buffet eventually, they too will say…I think I’ve had enough.

So I deleted my dating profiles, stopped reading people’s Facebook status updates about their amazing boyfriends taking them away to wine country and hunkered down with my sexy little beast, my dog The Edgar. (Pic at right.  Yes…he’s pretty awesome.)

I know what you are going to say…you always meet someone when you are not looking. Luckily, I will get to test that theory because unless the love of my life is a burglar who pries his way into my apartment, then that statement is just something you say to ease the sting. Kind of like when you tell a bride that rain on her wedding day is good luck. Rain will not make a better marriage, not sharing your private parts with people outside the marriage will though. So let’s go with that instead. Hey! Neither of you slept with anyone on your wedding day! That’s a great sign!

I am excited about this next phase of REALLY being single. What will I do with all my free time?! I can’t wait to find out! Although, I will need to get some more batteries.