<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4073005348898926015</id><updated>2009-11-11T07:32:06.031-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Rant du Jour by Dateless in Detroit</title><subtitle type='html'>Go ahead.  Read about my everyday life hilarities and mishaps in life, love, jobs; in rant form...sometimes, most times.  I hope you enjoy.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25'/><author><name>Dateless in Detroit</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18302191523617085967</uri><email>deigodiva@yahoo.com</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>148</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4073005348898926015.post-5267934045530851125</id><published>2009-11-07T20:51:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-07T20:55:56.770-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I miss you</title><content type='html'>A few notes about what I've been up to.  I have had zero time to keep up my blog, and I do appologize-- if I have any readers left.  I've been working on a site called &lt;a href="examiner.com"&gt;examiner.com &lt;/a&gt;as a Dating Advice Advisor. &lt;a href="http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/09/my-new-gig-as-detroit-dating-advice.html"&gt;(I wrote about it here)&lt;/a&gt; I'd LOVE for you to go to my page and click the 'subscribe button' so that you can get alerted on every new article I write.  It would help me grow and also you can read my articles!  Score!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.examiner.com/x-22732-Detroit-Dating-Advice-Examiner"&gt;http://www.examiner.com/x-22732-Detroit-Dating-Advice-Examiner &lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've also just recently joined Twitter as well.  You can find me at Stacey__D  We'll see if that's fun.  Not sure yet.  LOL!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cheers!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4073005348898926015-5267934045530851125?l=rantdojour.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/feeds/5267934045530851125/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4073005348898926015&amp;postID=5267934045530851125' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/5267934045530851125'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/5267934045530851125'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/11/i-miss-you.html' title='I miss you'/><author><name>Dateless in Detroit</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18302191523617085967</uri><email>deigodiva@yahoo.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00113423003867004796'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4073005348898926015.post-1755664604547618490</id><published>2009-11-07T20:47:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-07T20:48:39.802-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Another dope video by my future husband, Jon Lajoie</title><content type='html'>Oh this is so funny.  a la Lajoie style.  digg.  Love him?  More at &lt;a href="www.jonlajoie.com"&gt;www.jonlajoie.com&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="480" height="400" classid="clsid:d27cdb6e-ae6d-11cf-96b8-444553540000" id="ordie_player_8a06440a68"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://player.ordienetworks.com/flash/fodplayer.swf" /&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="key=8a06440a68" /&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed width="480" height="400" flashvars="key=8a06440a68" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" quality="high" src="http://player.ordienetworks.com/flash/fodplayer.swf" name="ordie_player_8a06440a68" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div style="text-align:left;font-size:x-small;margin-top:0;width:480px;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/8a06440a68/wtf-collective-jon-lajoie" title="from Jon Lajoie"&gt;WTF COLLECTIVE (Jon Lajoie)&lt;/a&gt; - watch more &lt;a href="http://www.funnyordie.com/" title="on Funny or Die"&gt;funny videos&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4073005348898926015-1755664604547618490?l=rantdojour.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/feeds/1755664604547618490/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4073005348898926015&amp;postID=1755664604547618490' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/1755664604547618490'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/1755664604547618490'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/11/another-dope-video-by-my-future-husband.html' title='Another dope video by my future husband, Jon Lajoie'/><author><name>Dateless in Detroit</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18302191523617085967</uri><email>deigodiva@yahoo.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00113423003867004796'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4073005348898926015.post-7055155102391571545</id><published>2009-10-26T00:19:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-26T00:37:31.755-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='environmental activism'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dive bar'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Whiskey in the jar'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='repower america'/><title type='text'>Repower America while shooting whiskey</title><content type='html'>There is this well known little under-rated hole in the wall bar called "&lt;a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?hl=en&amp;source=hp&amp;um=1&amp;ie=UTF-8&amp;cid=0,0,2683829437831357846&amp;fb=1&amp;hq=whiskey+in+the+jar,&amp;hnear=hamtramck,+mi&amp;gl=us&amp;daddr=2741+Yemans+St,+Hamtramck,+MI+48212-3278&amp;geocode=2834649186264454014,42.397782,-83.059110&amp;ei=Y8jhSvOMAo76sgOc5ay8Aw&amp;sa=X&amp;oi=local_result&amp;ct=directions-to&amp;resnum=1&amp;ved=0CA4QngIwAA"&gt;Whiskey in the Jar&lt;/a&gt;" in Hamtramck.  It is a place for the neighbors of 'The Whiskey' and for lovers of the dive bar from the burbs.  The Whiskey is a place where you feel comfortable and everyone knows your name.  Literally.  Sometimes they even scream it out as you walk in; a la "Cheers".  If you have been there even once before, the bartenders know your drink and have it poured before you even get to the bar.  If you’re a newbee, you are blessed with a complimentary shot of Jezy.  It’s just tradition.  Along with all of the charm of a dive bar with a Jukebox that plays everything from New Edition to Incubus, environmental activism has become an integral part of one bartenders quest to save the planet.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Augie, the activist bartender, has been working for an environmental group, &lt;a href="http://www.repoweramerica.org/#"&gt;REPOWER AMERICA&lt;/a&gt;, writing letters and getting petition signatures.   He has turned the bar crowd into a great resource for petitioning, letter sending, and as a base of operation. He always has his clipboards ready for you to write a letter to your senator asking for support of clean energy. Augie brings new patrons in and makes new friends by telling everyone he meets to come see him at the Whiskey, and they always do. He mixes activism with shots of Jezy....match in heaven right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Augie has used the bar in a positive way to get people involved in the political process in a way that is so easy and takes hardly any involvement, all in less time it takes to drink a Jack and Coke.  Augie mans the bar at the Whiskey on Thursday and Friday nights if you want to get involved and do something simple to save the planet.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4073005348898926015-7055155102391571545?l=rantdojour.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/feeds/7055155102391571545/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4073005348898926015&amp;postID=7055155102391571545' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/7055155102391571545'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/7055155102391571545'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/10/repower-america-while-shooting-whiskey.html' title='Repower America while shooting whiskey'/><author><name>Dateless in Detroit</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18302191523617085967</uri><email>deigodiva@yahoo.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00113423003867004796'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4073005348898926015.post-3792826865128299471</id><published>2009-09-22T23:00:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-22T23:09:21.206-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dating advice'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='examiner.com'/><title type='text'>My New Gig as Detroit Dating Advice Examiner!</title><content type='html'>Hey hey there Dateless readers. I have some news. I haven't written in a while, but I've been writing. I am now a writer on &lt;a href="http://www.examiner.com/x-22732-Detroit-Dating-Advice-Examiner"&gt;Examiner.com&lt;/a&gt;, Detroit edition. I have the title of Detroit Dating Advice Examiner. I've been busy at my other jobs, yea, and been trying to write on topic articles for this little gig I picked up. Its a bit challenging since I am so used to writing in blog form, and being sassy and upfront about things, so I'm getting used to something new. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wanted to share the link with my readers. This is a pretty cool gig for me. Its a little less sassy, and I'm trying to find my way into classy sassy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It pays, but not well, and where I get paid is from you. My readers. &lt;strong&gt;Please, please please go to my site often and subscribe to my page.&lt;/strong&gt; The subscription button is right by my picture, which, by the way, is going to be changed soon. I don't like what it looks like on my site. so please, please, help a sister out by spreading the word to all of your friends. My advice is pretty unbiased in regard to gender so its for everyone. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also ask that if you have any topics you'd like to see me write about, please, please drop me a line or comment and let me know. I'm in search of ideas all the time, and could use your help as well. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's the info! let me know what you think!!! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.examiner.com/x-22732-Detroit-Dating-Advice-Examiner"&gt;http://www.examiner.com/x-22732-Detroit-Dating-Advice-Examiner&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CHEERS!!!!  &lt;br /&gt;~DiD&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4073005348898926015-3792826865128299471?l=rantdojour.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/feeds/3792826865128299471/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4073005348898926015&amp;postID=3792826865128299471' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/3792826865128299471'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/3792826865128299471'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/09/my-new-gig-as-detroit-dating-advice.html' title='My New Gig as Detroit Dating Advice Examiner!'/><author><name>Dateless in Detroit</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18302191523617085967</uri><email>deigodiva@yahoo.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00113423003867004796'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4073005348898926015.post-8449513166370418499</id><published>2009-08-24T23:16:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-24T23:51:03.825-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Last Standing</title><content type='html'>I just realized as I got my laundry together that in the past week or so, I've gone nowhere and wore nothing but work clothes.  All of my jeans are still clean, and all of my 'good' shirts are still clean.  I did enough going out for the first 3 weeks of August to last 5 months. It was my birthday then HNK's birthday right after, and there were several outings.  This past week, none.  I've had a lot of time to sit and think, which can be a thing I wish I didn’t do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am the last of my friends.  The last to be single.  FINALLY!  I have been waiting for this to happen, and now, I am wondering what my role really is.  What do I do?  What should I do?  I am not certain.  I am at a crossroads if you will, that won’t last long, but here I am.  I am so happy each of my friends has found a love, a love I can say is great, because I can feel it radiating off them.  I feel things like that.  Take it as you will, but that is something I possess, a gift or something else.  It’s well known in my close knit circle of friends that when I give my "Stacey Stamp of Approval", it’s for real.  I don’t give it very often nor lightly.  I have a certain penchant for the 'vibe', and I take it seriously, which is how (I think) I can eliminate dates before they get too involved.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For those who know me, you know (or maybe you don’t) that I am oblivious to people who think I am attractive.  I have no concept of it.  I don’t know if it’s because I just don’t think about it or if I just assume that no one does.  This is something yet to be determined.  I was given a good piece of 'self advice' recently.  They said "walk into a room as if at least one person thinks you are hot, because the truth is, at the very &lt;em&gt;least&lt;/em&gt;, &lt;em&gt;one&lt;/em&gt; person thinks so".  I never thought like that before, and was taken aback by the mere though that that would be true.  I honestly, just go about my business and don’t even think about it...but fact is, if I 'know' there is someone in this room that thinks I am the cat's meow, then a certain vibe will radiate from me, and make me more 'available' if you will. I realize, I tend to shy away from the looks in the eye and the compliments, except for those who typically find me attractive.  I roll my eyes, and say "here we go again" either out loud or to myself.  I WANT to find someone to love and who loves me equally (or more) BUT, I am not actively looking for it.  I do not want to look.  Do. Not. Want. To. Look. I am tired of looking.  I am tired of trying.  Is that wrong?  No, I don’t think so.  As I've stated before, I feel like looking is just interrupting the natural process of the unexpected.  I want the unexpected, and I want the extraordinary, but I cannot actively seek it. It goes against all odds.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Extraordinary.  What does that mean?  I don’t know. I attribute that to how the person will make me feel.  The movies has a LOT to do with this.  I love romantic comedies, but I hate them at the same time.  They may paint an unrealistic picture of how falling in love is really like.  Wait, might?  They DO!  I mean, how many times have you heard a story about how two of your friends got together and you said, "That is JUST like 'Bridget Jones', 'He's Just Not That Into You', 'The Notebook', or whatever.  Never, right?  Great.  I live in a dreamworld.  But, I do know that I want the extraordinary, the greatest thing possible, for ME.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4073005348898926015-8449513166370418499?l=rantdojour.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/feeds/8449513166370418499/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4073005348898926015&amp;postID=8449513166370418499' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/8449513166370418499'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/8449513166370418499'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/08/last-standing.html' title='The Last Standing'/><author><name>Dateless in Detroit</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18302191523617085967</uri><email>deigodiva@yahoo.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00113423003867004796'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4073005348898926015.post-2721122485225469820</id><published>2009-08-03T22:49:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-03T23:22:01.894-04:00</updated><title type='text'>eSmarmony Installment #3—The End of the eSmarm Regime</title><content type='html'>It’s been a long time coming, but here is the last installment of the eSmarmony series.  If you don’t know what I’m referring to, here is &lt;a href="http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/06/esmarmony-installment-1.html"&gt;Install #1&lt;/a&gt;  and &lt;a href="http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/06/esmarmony-installment-2-date-and-bee.html"&gt;Install #2&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;My eHarmony membership lasted a total of 3 months.  That is quite enough for me, thank you.  I have not been a member now for 1 month.  1 glorious month.  Even though I had been on more dates through eHarmony than I had in the past 2 years, I kind of wish I hadn’t.  As you’ve read, my dates were horrid, boring, and downright weird.  I’m now done.  Done with the online dating service thing.  There are some who mistake my ‘giving up’ as giving up on matters of the heart all together, and that simply isn’t true.  I’ve just told someone that I am done ‘looking’.  If it happens it happens, and that I am completely open to that.  I want something ‘by chance’.  I don’t want to have to search it out.  I want the unexpected and I want extraordinary.  I’m not apologizing for that either.  And extraordinary doesn’t have to mean model good looks or rich or whatever someone may think it is.  For me extraordinary will be how that person makes me feel.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I took out of the experience is that I, as a woman, want to be pursued, courted, and know that you are interested.  In turn, I am more apt, or comfortable, if you will to pursuing you as well.  (You, meaning in general, men, not anyone in particular)  If you don’t make the effort, then clearly “you’re just not that into me”.  That is totally fine, because nothing is lost except maybe my respect for you depending on the manner in which you let me know “you’re just not that into me”.  I’m not sure if these men or some men in general don’t seem to understand that this is still a process that actually works.  I actually had to explain what ‘courting’ means to one date.  This date abruptly stopped communicating with me after our first date, and 1.5 months later, contacted me again wanting to start it up again.  (Start what up?  We went out on one ‘OK’ date?)  I obliged because I am a nice person and he wasn’t a terrible person.  In the second ‘first’ date, he had asked why we stopped talking and that we shouldn’t wait so long to go out again.  Me, being the honest Abe that I am, told him why we stopped talking.  He abruptly stopped communication a day after our date, and that I like to be courted, pursued, showed interest in.  This is when I had to tell him what courting was, in the most primitive sense, and that in present day, it’s not so ‘primitive’ but still exists.  He really didn’t know what it was, it’s not like I gave him schooling unsolicited.   I never heard from him again.  Maybe it could have been because of his awkward holding me tight hug and disaster of trying to kiss me thing, but still.  And again, nothing lost.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Summing up, eHarmony didn’t really work for me.  It was a tiring long process of weeding through people or waiting for them to send you ‘matches’.  Process from 1st stage to date could take a month, and I’m a little too busy to sit and weed through undesirables all day.  I don’t know about you, but I have a job (3 of them) and don’t have that kind of time.  I know you know someone whose sister’s friend met her most wonderful husband on eHarmony.  That is fabulous for them.  But for me, I’m done with it. But I am not done with wanting to be ‘swept off my feet’, snuggling, and falling in love.  My heart is still open, but to get to it, one may have to cut away some cobwebs or crack the secret code.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4073005348898926015-2721122485225469820?l=rantdojour.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/feeds/2721122485225469820/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4073005348898926015&amp;postID=2721122485225469820' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/2721122485225469820'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/2721122485225469820'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/08/esmarmony-installment-3the-end-of.html' title='eSmarmony Installment #3—The End of the eSmarm Regime'/><author><name>Dateless in Detroit</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18302191523617085967</uri><email>deigodiva@yahoo.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00113423003867004796'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4073005348898926015.post-3988815093235454384</id><published>2009-07-22T23:31:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-23T00:15:55.012-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Meanie!</title><content type='html'>I am pretty mean.  As I get older I become openly mean.  It started out in my younger years as mere thoughts I kept to myself that I spoke to myself when I saw someone, something, or heard a comment/story.  In my older years, things are starting to slip out of my mouth that I am actually thinking.  Like my filter is getting larger and larger holes in it for mean thoughts to fall out of.  It’s like my grandmother.  She was honest, not mean.  Let’s be clear.  And I would like to think I am just honest, but I am pretty much on the verge of mean.  And anyways, I am not near the age where it’s 'cute' to be that honest, like Gram was.  I am getting older, but let’s not get out of control.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can only attest I get this from her.  My mother...not mean.  Rarely has a bad word to say about anyone.  Me...total bitch about people.  Usually-- in my head.  Lately-- coming out of my mouth.  I seem to not be able to help it, and I'm worried I may offend or hurt your feelings.  Maybe not that much, but kind of.  There is a social norm/requirement thing that if you speak your mind and it’s the least bit snarky, your mean or a bitch.  I guess-- so be it.  I don’t WANT to be mean.  I just am.  Things just come out of my mouth sometimes, and I cannot help it.  At some point in life, recently, just before turning 32, I must have decided to fuck what everyone thinks, and just say what is real.  I find it refreshing.  People 'claim' to find it refreshing, so why the whiplash and flinching when words come out of my mouth?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For instance, a couple weeks ago. (This isn’t that mean, in my opinion, but an example of how I size people up).  I was Downtown at a wine bar celebrating a friend’s birthday.  I was people watching outside at the passers on walking through Campus Martius.  This group of men were walking across the street.  There were 3-5 of them, dressed similarly and urban trendy.  In my head played the Boyz II Men song "Motown Philly".  As the song was playing in my head watching these men, the part of the song where they harmonize "Boyz II Men, ABC, BBD--The East Coast Family" was up.  OUT LOUD, I said BBD.  Just that part.  Of course at this time, no one at the table was talking, so everyone looked at me.  The only person who got it, was my bestie, who started laughing hysterically, whereas I, had to explain I was singing in my head, and out blurted a part from the song.  Not mentioning why.  Although Bestie, knew.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For instance, the other day.  I was driving down 14 mile like at 45 miles / hour.  Someone was creeping from a side street like they were going to turn left, but not sure.  Then at the last possible second they...slowly...pulled out...right in front of me, to turn left.  I had to slam on the breaks, and I screamed through my window.  "I HATE YOU!!!!"  and when I saw it was an old man, who really shouldn’t even be driving, probably, and I didn’t care.  I felt no remorse that I told this old man who might die in a month, that I hated him.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another instance, the other day.  A friend has a family member in the hospital.  I've been given play by play email updates on the condition.  Don’t worry, I am not so mean, that I said rash things about this, because seriously, it is tragic, and thankfully they will be ok.  But at the end of each update it said "thank you for all your thoughts and prayers".  While talking about it to a friend, it happened to slip out of my mouth (kind of snidely) that "I didn’t pray.  I thought".  My God/Higher Being/Darwinism..What is wrong with me?   My friend looked at me like "whoa!”  I apologized immediately because that is what society sociology tells us to do, and I was given this reply.  "You are just honest".  And she meant it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another:  "Do you like this dress?"  Me--"no".  Turns, walks away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does honesty = mean?  I have my friends for a reason, because I really really love them.  My friends are friends with me, hopefully, for the same reason.  The reason I keep the friends I do is because they allow me to be myself.  I dont have to be a censored version of myself.  They "know how I am", however that can be taken, and love me for it (I hope).  A great majority of my close knit friends, I have known for many years.  I've never had to sensor, and they know I never will.  I don’t have to, and neither do they.  I've in a way always been like "this", and only recently I've been outwardly honest like this to mere acquaintances, which is what takes those people aback, and makes me think, "shit, I need to learn to control my mouth".  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been really trying to control my mouth, opinions, and snark with my co-workers recently.  I just transferred to a new store where no one knew me until I got there.  At my 'home' store, they knew me...for however brief of a time it was (9 months), they still knew me, and accepted me for my snark, opinionated self, and tactless humor.  What I love about each and every one of them, is they allowed me to be myself, just like my true friends, and for that, I will always consider them my true friends.  But this controlling myself at the new gig has been hard.  A few things have slipped and I need to remain 'socially acceptable' for professional reasons, of course.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don’t want to be mean.  I really don’t want to be cynical.  I am in a mood tonight especially, so I feel like it’s in front of my face even more.  Stress is a due factor, and the fact that I severely need a vacation.  Imagine if I were a celebrity.  I would be the hottest shit to hit TMZ.  "What did she say now!".  Thank goodness I didn’t pursue an acting career.  Well, maybe I should have, even though I'd be cussing people out left and right, at least I could pay my bills, and feel 'entitled' to tell everyone off, because social norms do not apply to the celebutants.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4073005348898926015-3988815093235454384?l=rantdojour.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/feeds/3988815093235454384/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4073005348898926015&amp;postID=3988815093235454384' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/3988815093235454384'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/3988815093235454384'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/07/meanie.html' title='Meanie!'/><author><name>Dateless in Detroit</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18302191523617085967</uri><email>deigodiva@yahoo.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00113423003867004796'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4073005348898926015.post-5998202319472939955</id><published>2009-06-30T00:24:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-30T01:04:49.735-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Deep Thoughts from the Insomniac's Club</title><content type='html'>I am holding out on you, I know.  I am holding off on eSmarmony Installment #3 for a reason.  Mainly because of every time I write it, something happens where I can’t post it because it simply isn’t true anymore or I am proven wrong in my thought process, because you should know if you don’t, that what I write is pure truth on what happens to me and what I am thinking.  There is a lot of stuff going on, and I just want to see how it pans out before I go all Dateless on you or them or him or it.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today’s post may be a little reflective or ramble-some.  Find it boring if you will, but it’s what I need to do right now.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most times, I would be pissed if I didn’t get a returned phone call after a date, or if something kind of fizzled out by way of communicating after a date.  But I realized something recently when I took some advice from myself and from the late Tupac.  I just don’t care; I have no reason to at this point in the game, right?  I mean, really why should I?  I go out on one date and talk to someone for a week and I think I am entitled to daily calls and if you don’t ask me to go out the very next day then it’s over?  No.  And before you go all feminist on me, I just want to say that of course, I deserve someone who wants to spend every waking moment with me.  I know all about the 'he’s just not that into you rules', and stuff.  I know this, but I cannot expect that from everyone or immediately.  Let’s be F'in realistic here.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've realized I've grown up in that respect, because guess what?  Aside from the &lt;a href="http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/06/esmarmony-installment-2-date-and-bee.html"&gt;date with the guy who brought the bee&lt;/a&gt;, I am not pissed at any of the others who stopped calling, didn’t request a second date, or have contacted me sporadically or started contacting me again weeks after our date.  Because I have no reason to be mad at these people.  What did they do to me?  Nothing.  They didn’t stand me up at the altar; they didn’t even stand me up for a date.  And before the conversation I had tonight, I was not mad at all, and still am not.  I was just kind of like WTF for a while.  But because I am an honest person and so is this person, we were able to just be candid and say it.  &lt;a href="http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2007/11/dating-advice-for-men-and-women-part-2.html"&gt;Remember this post?&lt;/a&gt;  But then I realize people have shit going on.  Life happens and we don’t want to involve someone we just met, rightfully so, and I have no reason to be mad about that.  I certainly wouldn’t spill the drama or stress of my daily life with someone I just met.  To this person's credit, even though we haven’t had the exciting conversations we'd had previous to our date and on our date, he has made an effort to contact me each day, no matter how brief.  And with the candidness and honesty that we both openly possess, just seeing where the chips fall while stuff is going on is a decision we agreed on.  So either way, can’t be mad.  Can only just live and see what happens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don’t know why the sudden less 'hard ass' approach I am having to dating, but maybe that was my problem all along.  I wrote many a dates off for mere things.  Why?  Because I don’t know what’s going on with their lives?  Why do I need to be mad?  It is NOT about me that they haven’t called, or maybe it is.  I don’t know that, so why be pissed for no reason at all.  It makes no difference in my daily life, so let’s just live.  The hard ass approach is easy, too.  It’s easy to write someone off you just met. Why?  Because you have no emotional ties to that person.  It’s not even worth it.  What is not so hard ass is that I assume it’s about me.  How selfish.  I mean, yes, let’s be honest, it could be about me, and probably is most of the time, but it’s not always.  Sometimes the person is having a shitter of a time with work, their dog ran away, and they are reflecting on their past experiences while relating to these life stressors and withdrawal.  Wouldn’t you withdrawal?  I sure as hell wouldn’t feel like chumming it up and pretending to be positive and happy while trying to get to know someone.  Shit.  That is harder work than just stepping back for a minute, a few weeks, or forever.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I probably spilled a little too much of things in this post, but it is what it is, and you can’t be mad at me right?  You just read my post about not being mad, so stiffen up that upper lip and get over it.  ;)  Cheers.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4073005348898926015-5998202319472939955?l=rantdojour.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/feeds/5998202319472939955/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4073005348898926015&amp;postID=5998202319472939955' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/5998202319472939955'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/5998202319472939955'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/06/deep.html' title='Deep Thoughts from the Insomniac&apos;s Club'/><author><name>Dateless in Detroit</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18302191523617085967</uri><email>deigodiva@yahoo.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00113423003867004796'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4073005348898926015.post-6691414351412037869</id><published>2009-06-09T23:43:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-10T01:38:51.028-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='eSmarmony--installment #1; dating; online dating'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dating'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='eSmarmony--installment #2'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='psycho'/><title type='text'>eSmarmony--Installment #2  The Date and the Bee</title><content type='html'>eHarmony was going ok; I was trekking along with communications from several potential men.  I say potential men, because you never know what you’re going to really get.  The first one to get through the entire process so we could finally email each other real words was Chris.  He lived near me, and seemed pretty cool, normal.  So the exchanging of numbers happened after a few emails, and then the call.  We talked on the phone I think 2 times before we decided to make plans to meet up.  The phone conversations were pretty good.  They lasted a long time, like hours, which I DONT do, so I was looking forward to meeting him.  I realize a lot of things after the date that were clues to who he really was, but how would I know?  I didn’t.  This account is probably the worst date I've ever been on, and I have been on some doozies.  Get ready and try to keep up.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A little background.  On eHarmony, (er, smarmony), your profile consists of some things they pull from your personality profile, and a few things you can type in to tell the world.  There is a question there that asks &lt;em&gt;"What is something only your best friends would know about you?”&lt;/em&gt;  My answer is &lt;em&gt;"That I have an irrational fear of flying insects...but you'd know that if you were around me when something flew by".&lt;/em&gt;  When me and Chris were having our conversation, he had asked me about it.  I simply told him that I am extremely afraid of bees and wasps and the like.  Not flies, but if one flies by and buzzes me, and I don’t know it’s a fly, the same uncontrollable run/arm flail combo and probably a shriek happens.  It’s something I cannot control, and if I am--God help me--trapped in an enclosed space with a bee or wasp, I freak out.  So, he asked and I told.  He thought it was humorous as most people who do not have nor understand this fear do.  He mentioned in the same conversation that in the fall, he wants to take me to the cider mill.  Awesome, right?  I haven’t been in many many years except for the haunted hayrides, so I was game.  When I said that, he mentioned that it is swarming with bees and I'd hate it.  Well, considering I'd only been to a cider mill at night in several years, I couldn’t remember bee swarms, but he's correct, I'd freak out.  So he said again, he'd want to take me because he thought it would be funny.  Ok, ha-ha, that was funny, but no, now I'm not going.  /end conversation about that.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;During our conversations, I had asked him if he played sports, and he mentioned he used to play ice hockey, but now only plays roller hockey because of an injury.  The injury was that he was slammed so hard into the boards that his retina, or something, became detached and he had to have surgery and he is almost blind in that eye, and if it happens again, etc, he would go blind.  Ok, hockey injury.  No problem.  Well, this got me thinking.  After the conversation I went back to his profile and looked more deeply at the photographs.  I am not the shallowest person in the world, but now that I looked harder, I think he has a google eye.  Like, a lazy eye that looks in one direction while the other looks at you, and you have no idea where the person is actually looking.  I'm freakin out, right.  That is something I am really uncomfortable with.  I don’t hate people for it, but it’s like..where do I look?  What do I do?  If I look in the direction of the other eye, does it make them feel bad?  Do they know? Does it hurt?  Well, I talked myself into the thought process that if he has a kick ass personality then it won’t matter, it really only looks like a drooped eye a little, and not full blown directionally challenged eye, and it is a cool sports injury.  (I'm not shallow, but am a little bit at the same time, aren’t you?  Come on.)  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fast forward to the date.  We plan on meeting up at a local pub for some drinks.  When I get there he is in his car in the lot waiting, and we get out and I say hello, etc.  He really isn’t facing me, so I can’t see the eye, which of course is the first thing I am looking for, because I can’t help it.  But I say Hi, and am my nice sweet self.  I catch a glimpse of him give me/himself a "humph, yup, just what I thought" kind of look.  I crinkled my brow for a moment, and moved on, let it go, because that couldn’t be possible.  So, we find a seat in a booth in the corner, and here's how it went for 10 minutes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Me: "So!  How are you?"&lt;br /&gt;Him:  "Good".  .   .   .   .   .   .&lt;br /&gt;Me: .   .   .&lt;br /&gt;Me:  "Why did you have to stay late at work?"  (He worked in an attic all day and supposedly his co-worker did nothing)&lt;br /&gt;Him:  "Why do you have to bring up something that makes me upset"&lt;br /&gt;Me:  "oh, um, ok...I was just trying to make conversation because there is awkward silence"&lt;br /&gt;Him:  .    .    .    .    .    .    .&lt;br /&gt;Me:  "So....hmmm.....were you nervous to meet me?"  (thinking that this might be why the sudden cat gotcho tongue thing is going on)&lt;br /&gt;Him:  "..um..no"&lt;br /&gt;Me:  "oh, ok, well I was, its normal when you meet someone for the first time" (Me thinking that because of the eye situation)&lt;br /&gt;Us:  .    .    .    .    .&lt;br /&gt;Me:  "Wow, its hot in here” waving my menu at my face"&lt;br /&gt;Him:  "no"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I will stop that convo, because if I have portrayed how uncomfortable this was, you’re probably hating my life for me right now.  It was like that for seriously like 10 minutes, probably more.  I almost kissed the waitress when she came over to take our order.  And to answer the big question.  Yes, he had the google eye.  It wasn’t the most terrible google eye, but it was one, and it could have been dealt with, if the rest of this date didn’t happen and it had gotten better instead of waaaaay worse than what you've already experienced.  Moving on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a two person high top table next to our booth with two women who looked like they were in their 30's were sitting.  See, I wouldn’t notice that except he brought them up several times in our "conversation/date".  The first was "That blond looks like a bitch".  I looked around like 'who??' (table next to us).  He said something like they look like they are divorced and looked older than he thought.  Awesome, because I care about the women next to us.  They probably were creeped out because he kept looking at the TV above them (wings game) and because obviously he was staring at them, but maybe they couldn’t tell because of the eye situation going on.  Anyhow, we finally get into some sort of 'conversation' which led him back to asking me more about my fears.  So I'm scared of bees, and we went through that again.  He brought up the cider mill for like the thousandth time.  I finally said to him &lt;em&gt;"Why would you want to take me somewhere where I’d have an anxiety attack?  I don’t think that would be fun or funny, so why on earth would you want to take me there?" &lt;/em&gt; His answer was simply &lt;em&gt;"because I'd laugh really hard and find it so funny".&lt;/em&gt;  Awesome.  This is going well.  I couldn’t escape because when I went to the bathroom, it was right in his eye shot, and he was ,like, watching whenever I’d come back, and he'd even see if I asked the waitress to let me out the back door.  I don’t know why I didn’t just say "ok, bye" and leave, but I endured through hell and back, and lived to tell about it.  After the bees, we covered my fear of sharks, water, seaweed, roller coasters, and heights.  I mean, this was lengthily.  When I asked his, he had no fears.  At all.  Oh, poisonous snakes, he guesses.  Oh really?  I'm pretty sure everyone is afraid of those except the Crocodile Hunter (RIP).  I didn’t quite realize his unhealthy obsession/satisfaction in my fears.  He got off on them, and this my friends, was the most interesting thing about me to him.  He didn’t care about what I did for a living, he didn’t care about my family, he didn’t care about my interests, he cared and loved talking about my fears.  What is that when you get off by playing on someone’s fears?  Sadist?  That could be a total exaggeration, but the closest comparison I can think of.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this point I was getting pissed.  Besides that we talked about his job (of course, not mine because he didn’t ask or even talk really) and how mean he is to his customers that he does house calls for.  If he were my electrician, that came to my house, and called me stupid to my face, I would slap him across his face so hard his other eye would turn google, and call his boss so fast and refuse to pay.  &lt;br /&gt;Now, I just sat there.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Me:  "Sooooo..............."&lt;br /&gt;Him:  .    .   .   .   .   &lt;br /&gt;Me:  staring&lt;br /&gt;Him:  "Why don’t you ask me some questions?"&lt;br /&gt;Me:  "Why do I need to ask you questions?  Why can’t we just have a conversation?"&lt;br /&gt;Him:  .   .   .   .  .&lt;br /&gt;Me:  (looking around, find golf on TV) unenthused--"do you play golf?"&lt;br /&gt;Him:  "Why would you ask me that?"&lt;br /&gt;Me:  roll eyes "uhhh, because you wanted me to ask you questions and it’s on TV"&lt;br /&gt;Him:  --boring answer of sorts then silence&lt;br /&gt;Me:  "Who’s your best friend?"&lt;br /&gt;Him:  "Joe"&lt;br /&gt;Me:  silence, as to continue&lt;br /&gt;Him: "what? you want his whole life story?"&lt;br /&gt;Me:  "at this point, yes, I do"&lt;br /&gt;Him:.    .    .    .&lt;br /&gt;Me:  rolling my hands as to express, let’s get it going "how old? how did you meet?"&lt;br /&gt;Him:  blah blah blah&lt;br /&gt;Me: &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;oh forget the rest of that convo, you can see how it went.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moving on...and no, I'm not even done.  you think it’s bad now?&lt;br /&gt;I go to the bathroom for like the 10th time.  Mind you, I actually had pee'd every time, but also texted people like mad as well.  When I come back, he has a 'look' on his face.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Me: with my blank stare, "what?"&lt;br /&gt;Him:  "I shouldn’t tell you"&lt;br /&gt;Me:  "ok"&lt;br /&gt;Him: "no, really I shouldn’t"&lt;br /&gt;Me:  "ok, what, did that bitch blond do something else?"  (remember every time I came back from the restroom, something new was going on with these women)&lt;br /&gt;Him:  "oh ok, I'll tell you.  I killed a bee.  I struggled a little, but I killed it."&lt;br /&gt;Me:  "Excuse me?"&lt;br /&gt;Him:  "I killed a bee."&lt;br /&gt;Me:  "No you didn’t.  There is no bee in here." (Tt was cold outside and no bees yet, plus, I'd know if there was a bee around us ever...because..I just know.)&lt;br /&gt;Him:  stare.  "Yes there was."&lt;br /&gt;Me:  "No there wasn’t.  I'd know if there was an F'in bee in here."&lt;br /&gt;Him:  looking at the folded specials menu that is in the middle of the table like something is wrong with it&lt;br /&gt;Me:  "Oh really? what are you saying?  The bee is under that paper?" (paper was not crinkled at all, nicely folded in half)&lt;br /&gt;Him:  "yup"&lt;br /&gt;Me:  "It's not a bee, it’s probably a fly, and if in fact there truly is a bee under that paper, why the hell would you leave it in the middle of the table and not brush it off onto the floor so I wouldn’t see it?"&lt;br /&gt;Him:  Shrugs and takes away the paper.&lt;br /&gt;Me:  Leaning in to look. aT. tHE. DEAD BEE!!!!!!!!!!  "OH MY GOD ITS A BEE GET IT AWAY" is my uncontrollable reaction in shriek form.&lt;br /&gt;Him:  Looking very satisfied with himself, swishes it off the table, and laughs, and says very calmly "I think everyone heard that.  Huh, that was funny."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok, are you thinking what I am thinking?  Mother F-er.  He totally brought that bee.  How do I know?  Because from the depth and bowels of my gut I know he did.  He was OBSESSED with my fear, kept bringing up how funny it would be.  He also, if you remember reading, he worked in an attic all day.  We all know that there are dead bees on the floors of attics or window sills.  Plus, a struggle?  Give me a damn break.  I was in shock.  I was just staring.  This is why I didn’t immediately get up and leave, or rather; poke him in his crazy eye, and leave--  Because he got up before me and said this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Him:  "I'll be right back; I have to go to my car"&lt;br /&gt;Me:  Thinking.. please leave, I don’t care, I'll pay for your beers "ok"&lt;br /&gt;Him:  "Here, I will leave my coat so you know I am not leaving.  I just have to go to my car and do some drugs"&lt;br /&gt;Me:  Blank stare and also thinking.. damn, LEAVE!  And I can’t because you’re parked next to me.  "ok, why are you really going to your car?"&lt;br /&gt;Him:  "Drugs"&lt;br /&gt;Me:  "Yea, ok"&lt;br /&gt;Him:  "Oooh, no, I didn’t tell you, but I'm diabetic"&lt;br /&gt;Me:  "Ok.  sSo insulin.  Go"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He went.  I was praying he didn’t come back, but also fearful to go out there by myself to find the nutcase waiting for me with a beehive or an insulin needle or something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, goodie, here he comes.  Back to the table.&lt;br /&gt;Waitress enters scene, get our bill please.  Yes!  She's getting it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Him:  "You don’t seem upset that I'm diabetic."&lt;br /&gt;Me:  "No, why would I care?"  (Mind you, I am talking in the most monotone bored voice I could probably ever possibly have.(&lt;br /&gt;Him: "Most girls do."&lt;br /&gt;Me:  "I can’t see why on earth they would." thinking, oh ya right, like those girls you told me about who stalked you?  Mmm hmmm&lt;br /&gt;Him:  "Yea, there were cops in the lot and they told me I couldn’t have needles out there."&lt;br /&gt;Me:  “Why would you be out of your car doing that? And oh really? There was a cop in a bar parking lot?  Last I checked unless they were called, that’s entrapment, but whatever.  He leave you alone after you told him it was insulin?"&lt;br /&gt;Him:  "Well not exactly, someone was walking drunk to their car, so he went after them"&lt;br /&gt;Me:  "Mmhmm, right.  Where’s the bill?"&lt;br /&gt;Him: "So, are you afraid of needles too?"&lt;br /&gt;Me:  Here we go again.  "Nope, not at all."&lt;br /&gt;Him:  "Really? So, I could poke you with my needles?"&lt;br /&gt;Me:  "Ummmmmmah!  NO, I'd DIE, WTF???!!!!"&lt;br /&gt;Him:  "No, with plain needles!"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh. MY. GOD.!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our bill came, he freakin paid, and we got out of there.  He was walking soooo slow in the parking lot.  And I kept his pace, because I was NOT about to turn my back to this psychopath.  I got in my car and sped the F out of there making well sure he hadn’t even started his car yet.  This is my first eSmarmony date folks.  This will go down in history as the most weird, horrible, hellish date EVER.  Oh, this was only a snippet of weird.  I didn’t even tell you how he kept telling me he wanted to get me drunk so that I couldn’t drive and we'd have to go watch Wolverine at the movies.  Oh ya.  This was a total gem.  This is why I waited so long to tell you my story.  I wanted to let that sleeping dog lie and not awaken any beast if they were to somehow find my ramblings.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, with this being installment #2 of my eSmarmony series, you may be able to understand better one of the reasons that I am not thrilled with my eSmarmony experience.  I've had two other dates since this (with different people of course!) and they were normal uneventful dates, but this....this has scarred me.  I mean, I even ran into a friend and her boyfriend, whom I’ve met once a year ago, on this night, and he told her (I find out later) that he was worried about me, because of the vibes this crazy mother F'er gave off to him.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like I said, if he had a rockin personality, I could have looked pass the eye.  But his personality sucks, he is mean, and he is a sadist, so the google eye is as creepy as he is.  I think I'm scarred.  I also believe now, that I am put on this earth to go on the most horrible of dates, and live to tell about them, nearly escaping death by insulin needle.  Cripe.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4073005348898926015-6691414351412037869?l=rantdojour.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/feeds/6691414351412037869/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4073005348898926015&amp;postID=6691414351412037869' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/6691414351412037869'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/6691414351412037869'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/06/esmarmony-installment-2-date-and-bee.html' title='eSmarmony--Installment #2  The Date and the Bee'/><author><name>Dateless in Detroit</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18302191523617085967</uri><email>deigodiva@yahoo.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00113423003867004796'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4073005348898926015.post-1607878072266321832</id><published>2009-06-08T22:10:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-08T22:59:13.226-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='eSmarmony--installment #1; dating; online dating'/><title type='text'>eSmarmony--Installment #1</title><content type='html'>Here it is, the long awaited post for some.  For others, this is a first you've gotten a whiff.  This is going to be a series.  The "eSmarmony" series, because a lot has happened to talk about.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About a month and a half ago or so, I joined eHarmony.com.  I am not even going to link to them, because it’s not even worth it.  You've seen the commercials with the people ever so in love; I don’t need to tell you what it is.  If you live in a rock, it’s an online dating site...another one... but this one promises a different way to find you everlasting love, that is supposed to really work.  I've kept this pretty secret because I've sworn off internet dating sites.  I removed and deleted my profile from every single online dating service I'd ever used.  Poof!  I don’t exist.  Phew.  Gawd it was tiring, and irritating, and low quality.  But...one day, Dr. Warren of eHarmony.com was on the TV telling me for the millionth time, that there is love for me out there.  "Millions of users!  Personality compatibility!  Look at this couple in love!"  I decided begrudgingly to give this one last shot.  I'd never used eHarmony because it is REALLY expensive.  So, my last shot entailed the rationalization that it’s more time consuming than the others, and its expensive, that must mean people on this site are serious about it.    &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So off I went typing and answering the questions in the personality profile.  I took about 30 minutes and answered numerous questions about myself, about my likes and dislikes, and about what I want and don’t want in a man.  After I was done, my info was regurgitated in the form of a personality profile.  This profile was to be used to match me with people they feel I am compatible with.  For the first few weeks, I had not joined just yet, and I was getting a TON of matches.  Once I got my discount deal because they were just so desperate to have me, I joined.  Then I went through all these matches.  I deleted all of them from Canada.  Yes, Canada.  My search distance was set on 30 mile radius from my home, and well, Canada is in fact within 30 miles, but no thanks.  If I can’t find love in this country, I have bigger problems than I think.  I deleted all those without pictures.  Sorry.  This might seem shallow, but look here...If I am displaying my picture, you better display yours.  Don’t give me that bull that you don’t have a camera.  Guess what, almost all cell phones have a camera now, or one of your friends has ONE picture of you.  Dig it out and put it up.  And lastly, I deleted all of those who didn’t bother to write anything in their profiles.  You can’t take the time, you don’t deserve mine.  Well, this got rid of a little under half of them.  Now the next task was going through the ones that didn’t get cut, and reading more, and seeing if they were in fact someone I could connect with.  The list got a little smaller, but it was a decent size.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since, I get 0 to 1 match per day instead of the 10 I was getting when I hadn’t yet paid.  The ones I get are Canadians, no pictures, and not complete profile.  It was suggested to me by eSmarmony customer service, I expand my search distance.  OK, the next option is 60 miles.  That is FAR, and I am not going any further than that.  I am not about to go or make someone else drive 1 hour just to meet halfway to see if, in fact, the person is A. who they say they are, B. Shows up, and C. Not a nut job.  Now I get more matches, in Sarnia, Canada as well as Windsor, in Flint, in Flushing, and in Port Huron. WAY far away from me.  Whatever, I still look and read and see if it could be worth it.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The difference in eHarmony is that you cannot search through profiles.  You must wait for eHarmony to send you matches that they pick for you based on the personality/psychological test/survey you take when you join.  Now, as you will read in other installments, people can answer the questions in any way they want.  There is no real truth to these unless the person answering is totally honest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With all of that being said, this was a total waste of time and money for me.  It is so time consuming for little benefit.  I know, I know, "it takes time" blah blah blah.  Yes, it does take a LOT of time to wait for the other person to answer AND send the 5 pre-determined questions with multiple choice answers that you sent them.  Really?  It takes you 3 weeks?  Anyhow, I know I stand in my own way a lot of the time with my cynical attitude towards dating, but eHarmony has in fact validated my belief that online dating sites do. not. work. for me.  The good thing about it is that I am open to it; I've put myself out there, and not sitting on my ass complaining about it.  I've been on 3 dates.  Three 1st dates, no second ones yet, nor do I want with any of them, but I went and was open.  That’s more than I've given myself credit for, which was brought to my attention in an email from a friend today. I will just continue to wait to be the exception, not the rule.  Just like the movies, or as similar as you can get with this being real life and all.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next up:  eSmarmony--Installment #2&lt;/em&gt;  &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;The Date with the Bee&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4073005348898926015-1607878072266321832?l=rantdojour.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/feeds/1607878072266321832/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4073005348898926015&amp;postID=1607878072266321832' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/1607878072266321832'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/1607878072266321832'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/06/esmarmony-installment-1.html' title='eSmarmony--Installment #1'/><author><name>Dateless in Detroit</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18302191523617085967</uri><email>deigodiva@yahoo.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00113423003867004796'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4073005348898926015.post-3340458139731187545</id><published>2009-05-13T12:18:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-13T12:46:26.477-04:00</updated><title type='text'>UNorg Chart</title><content type='html'>I hate unorganized events.  I mean, really hate that.  If you are going to have an event, it should be organized.  Every T crossed and every I, dotted.    I worked at a "Quote--Unquote" women’s trade show last night at a local bar.  They do this thing like every 6 months, where they have vendors set up, drink specials for ladies and drawings for free stuff from the vendors.  The sign hanging from the ceiling saying &lt;em&gt;"Ladies Night, Ladies Only"&lt;/em&gt; was handmade with markers and what looked like a plastic table cloth.  The flyer advertized &lt;em&gt;'roving appetiz&lt;/em&gt;ers' which I believe to mean, strolling apps...there were none.  They did advertise the chocolate fountain, which was there.  They put two jewelry dealers in the same small room, instead of splitting them up in the separate rooms.  And I think I got roped into doing a pampered chef party while visiting the other vendors.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, the dance studio asked me to work it.  I was available, so I did because I am in desperate need of students at this point. We are also doing an entire weekend of free classes to raise money for MDA, and it’s a good cause, so I wanted to spread the word about that.   So, I get there, I find my table, set up my stuff and wait.  It’s not anyone’s fault that no one hardly came to this event.  Oh wait, I totally take that back. It’s the bars fault for not advertising correctly, and having their sh*t together.  So I sit through 4 hours of nothing and am ready to leave.  Well, back up.  First I am told I will be teaching a short lesson, however, NO ONE who works there can tell me what time this lesson is happening and where in the bar this is happening.  The DJ is announcing this a few times, so I go ask him.  He says, "I have no idea".  UMMM?  OK?  So I say, "Where is this lesson happening?  Are you moving those tables right there?"  He looks at me and says "Um, &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;I &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;am not moving anything".  I just stare at him like F off, and he points to someone to go talk to.  So I talk to the owner(?) with a sour ass puss look on his face.  He has no idea either, he points me to the woman selling purses who is the organizer of this lovely affair.  Earlier she didn’t know either, so I go back to her.  She isn’t really sure.  10-15 minus maybe, is her answer.  Um ok.  So now I am pissed I look at my friend who so graciously came up there to keep me company and we go sit back down.  As I am looking around, I realize that there are no more 'ladies night' patrons here.  I haven’t seen a 'customer' come through the 'trade show' area for some time now and looking around the bar, it’s all dudes who think dancing is 'gay' and like 5 chicks.  UMmm, yea...no one here is going to want to take this lesson.  So needleless to say, I told the chick running this thing, that we're not doing the lesson.  There is no one here to take it, and the regular bar folk are not interested in taking a salsa lesson after listening to Ted Nugent and Guns N' Roses.  I am not willing to look like an A-Hole for this.  She agreed, and we went back to our post.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few minutes later I notice the other vendors packing up, so I take that opportunity to pack up myself.  I pull the car around to hoist the TV I have on the table out to the car.  As I am carrying it through and out one door, my friend is trying to get around me to open the second door to get out to the parking lot.  Mind you, a man came through the door, scooted to the side to let me through while my friend is trying to get to the door before I drop the TV on my 3 inch heeled toe.  WTF.  I say "NO, Maybe this MAN could open the door for us".  I said it as snotty as you know I can, and that is when he realized he was a douche and opened the door after saying "ohhh?!"  Yep.  I'm surprised he didn’t try to trudge on by me nearly knocking me over.  Oh ya, and the door guy?  Conveniently walked away.  Nice chivalry.  I should just say nice 'everyday politeness' you people have.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should mention that my waitress was very nice and personable.  You wouldn’t think so considering they make the girls dress like this is a fancy nightclub in tight silk dresses and stuff, but she was adorable.  There was a guy (boy?) who worked there as maybe a bar back or something, who was very very nice and wanted to make sure I talked to the correct people while hunting down the owner(?) and kept asking me if I found him and if I settled everything. Those two are the ones who probably should have run this thing.  They were the smartest most 'customer service' friendly people there.  I wish I had his name; I'd totally call and praise him.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, really the moral of this story is...have your shit together when planning events, and open doors for people, not only women, you see with their hands full or with heavy objects like a normal polite person.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4073005348898926015-3340458139731187545?l=rantdojour.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/feeds/3340458139731187545/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4073005348898926015&amp;postID=3340458139731187545' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/3340458139731187545'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/3340458139731187545'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/05/unorg-chart.html' title='UNorg Chart'/><author><name>Dateless in Detroit</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18302191523617085967</uri><email>deigodiva@yahoo.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00113423003867004796'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4073005348898926015.post-5897517267015736321</id><published>2009-05-05T21:52:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-05T21:52:25.405-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Maybe I am Paranoid, but....</title><content type='html'>Today started off really good.  I got up, got things done, worked out (finally!) and went to work.  At that point it went downhill.  I didn’t want to go to work.  Which is rare these days because I actually like my jobs, and like to go to them, but I have a really big feeling I will be in severe need of a vacation by midsummer. So, traffic was of course horrendous going to work, at 2 frickin 30 in the afternoon, and I started to get the "have to eat" headache at work while helping someone.  So finally, I get to go home, and I pull into my spot and pop my trunk.  I get out of my car and some idiot (man) talks to me from out of nowhere.  I jump, say "Jesus!"  and he said "do you need help"  UMMMMMMAH.  After I jumped he realized he scared the crap out of me, and apologized.  I said "ok then, I’m fine"  and he kept going on and on.  "I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, I was just trying to help"  and I am all like, (and say)  "ok, but byeeee!  Get away"  Even though he was sloooowly continuing to walk.  So he continues to say "I just like to brighten every girl’s day and show them their beauty"  OK freak.  So at this moment, I accidentally, or maybe in involuntary defense mode, set off my panic button on my car.  This in turn scares HIM and he says "omg, that is loud, is that you".   I say  "yep it is, it’s my panic button, so byeeeeeeeeeeeeeee".  At this point, I grab the litter, walk quickly to my door, saying "OK!  OK!  OK!" as he continues to walk and talk (not by me).  I feel a bit at ease, seeing my neighbor peeking out of his door wall at the commotion, and I get in and slam the door....safely.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What in the F!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4073005348898926015-5897517267015736321?l=rantdojour.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/feeds/5897517267015736321/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4073005348898926015&amp;postID=5897517267015736321' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/5897517267015736321'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/5897517267015736321'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/05/maybe-i-am-paranoid-but.html' title='Maybe I am Paranoid, but....'/><author><name>Dateless in Detroit</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18302191523617085967</uri><email>deigodiva@yahoo.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00113423003867004796'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4073005348898926015.post-4709399405848062363</id><published>2009-05-05T21:36:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-05T21:37:14.996-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dreams'/><title type='text'>You’d think I took a Hallucinogenic last night</title><content type='html'>What my dream consisted of last night: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To start, was with Vera and Ang. We were visiting Vera’s home town which for some reason was Kalamazoo or something. So, we were going somewhere there, and to get there, we had to kick paddle through a “no wake zone” kind of canal thing on pillows. You know, like boogie board kick paddling, but on pillows. Then every time I hit a small wave, I fell in. So, instead of getting out of the no wake zone and into the lake, we came to a sidewalk/neighborhood/walking area. Don’t ask me, I’m just regurgitating. So then we get onto the walk and I see a sign. High School 16 miles. So, I get really pissed asking Vera…”are we SERIOUSLY going to go to your old high school. This is so lame.” They were like “yea, um, we’re running/jogging there”. Oh awesome, because I do not run anywhere. Sooo, I snottily say “well, are you going to wait there for me since I will be miles behind both of you?” And I start to jog. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am jogging down this 16 mile road of trees, shops, businesses, and such to get to this ‘dumb’ high school and left them behind. So meantime, every now and again there is a checkpoint or a resting stop for water, or Jon Lajoie merchandise. Apparently he is the feature or hometown hero of this town or is performing there and everyone is either excited or doesn’t care. I can’t be sure, but I know I’m pleasantly surprised because I stop to purchase my Jon Lajoie water at the first rest stop. So I keep jogging and I make it to the mile mark, which seems like the 5 mile mark, and go in the shop and purchase my Jon Lajoie Bicep coin holder. (?!). Yes, it wraps around your arm to hold coins. Like when you’re working out and you can strap your MP3 player on your arm, it was for coins. So, at this point I have to go back home for something, so I get in the car and drive home. Car? I thought I just kick paddled on a pillow, and ran to get there. But no, I went to my home which was some way different apartment that what is actually mine, and my mom and dad are there. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They have just decided to have a renewal of vows ceremony in 2 weeks. So, I panic and have to go to work, to tell my boss, and see who will cover for my shifts for that weekend. The kicker is, the store where I work, (it is supposed to be the store I work in real life), is creepy, has crazy haunting things happening there, and I hate going there (in my dream). Also the manager at the store, in my dream, is not my store manager, but the spa manager where I also work in real life. It was flip flopped. The store looked like an old funeral home. Open floor, windows all around with big heavy curtains darkening the store from the sun. The haunting was the part where the ghost or whatever would shut and open the curtains at its leisure, or slam the safe shut. It was frightening stuff, folks. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So then, in the midst of some unnecessary stress over my parent’s renewals, I had to deal with estranged family members and finding out I am related to the Kardashians. I found them working at a drycleaners down the road, and that we have all kinds of cousins we didn’t know existed. So there was a teary reunion. Mind you, I have no idea who these people were, since they weren’t the real Kardashian's. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have no idea how this treat of a dream ended because I woke up in a sweat. Good god, where did all THAT come from??&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4073005348898926015-4709399405848062363?l=rantdojour.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/feeds/4709399405848062363/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4073005348898926015&amp;postID=4709399405848062363' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/4709399405848062363'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/4709399405848062363'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/05/youd-think-i-took-hallucinogenic-last.html' title='You’d think I took a Hallucinogenic last night'/><author><name>Dateless in Detroit</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18302191523617085967</uri><email>deigodiva@yahoo.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00113423003867004796'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4073005348898926015.post-9207272881256768466</id><published>2009-04-23T19:47:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-23T22:15:35.710-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Excuse me?  MAAAAA'AAAAM??</title><content type='html'>I hate when people call me &lt;em&gt;Ma'am&lt;/em&gt;.  I mean, I hate it.  I cringe, and actually swear at that person in my head.  I was talking with a co-worker and somehow I mentioned that someone just called me Ma'am, and I hated the guts of the word.  He was curious as to why because he says it all the time, and doesn’t think anything of it.  I promptly schooled him.  Women do not like to be called Ma'am.  At least most of the women I've had this conversation with.  Call them Miss.  You will be loved.  It will make them feel good, and not like an old biddy.  I remember when I was in line at Blockbuster and the teenage boy running the register, said &lt;em&gt;"Miss?  I can help you over here."&lt;/em&gt;  I blushed.  I felt such happiness that this young man was polite, and that his parents taught him well.  I was flattered.  Maybe not all women feel this way, but I HATE being called Ma'am...and that is my side note on the word.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4073005348898926015-9207272881256768466?l=rantdojour.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/feeds/9207272881256768466/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4073005348898926015&amp;postID=9207272881256768466' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/9207272881256768466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/9207272881256768466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/04/excuse-me-maaaaaaaaam.html' title='Excuse me?  MAAAAA&apos;AAAAM??'/><author><name>Dateless in Detroit</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18302191523617085967</uri><email>deigodiva@yahoo.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00113423003867004796'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4073005348898926015.post-4745704900359009089</id><published>2009-04-23T17:59:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-23T18:54:47.377-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Blogs'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='matchmaker'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriage'/><title type='text'>Matchmaker, Blogmaster, Make Me a Match!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://s58.photobucket.com/albums/g247/deigodiva/?action=view&amp;current=victorian.gif" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g247/deigodiva/victorian.gif" border="0" alt="Photobucket"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven’t told you yet, but I am responsible for a wedding.  This blog is responsible for a wedding.  This dateless beauty is the reason two friends of mine are getting hitched.  YEA!  I am so excited!  I was excited when they were dating!  Now they are engaged, the date is set, the place is booked, and I got a save the date invite!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;During the heyday of this blog, when I posted every day and I had interesting things to say, I received a comment from one &lt;a href="http://blog.schmen.com/"&gt;schmen.com&lt;/a&gt; blog (linked to my home page).  She had found my link through "&lt;a href="http://thisfish.ivillage.com/love/"&gt;This Fish Needs a Bicycle&lt;/a&gt;" blog, (which is linked to my home page), where I had left a comment for the writer of &lt;em&gt;This Fish&lt;/em&gt;.  &lt;em&gt;Schmen&lt;/em&gt; read a few of my entries, and liked my stuff, and left the link to her blog along with comments.  I read, and liked her stuff, and left comments.  Comments turned to email and email led to what I like to call a &lt;em&gt;'Femme Date'&lt;/em&gt;.  Me and this cyber blog stranger met at Gus O’Connor’s for dinner and some drinks because we thought we had a lot in common, and hey, fellow snarky bloggers unite, right!?  We had a very nice Femme Date and talked for a while.  She had specifically asked me about a male commenter/reader to her blog, who said he knew me, and found her link through my blog page.  She said his first name, which, I never called him by, just the short version, and she told me his screen name.  I told her he is a friend of mine and that I used to work with him, and that &lt;a href="http://amandawantsahugnkiss.blogspot.com/"&gt;HNK&lt;/a&gt; (who couldn’t make the 'Femme Date' that night) was good friends with him.  She asked a few questions, and mentioned nothing more.  Come to find out a week later, give or take a couple days, that her '&lt;em&gt;reader&lt;/em&gt;' had asked her out on a date, and she was gathering info (I gathered. :) )  Apparently they had hit it off so well through comments on &lt;em&gt;schmen.com&lt;/em&gt; that they were off on a blind date!  I was like, whoa!  So, of course, I snooped through her blog posts to see for myself.  And low and behold, there it was.  The comments back and forth in such a flirty fashion that would make any car lover blush (if you know them, you know what I'm saying).  It was the cutest flirting by written word, ever.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Long story short, they became inseparable.  I got to grow closer to my new blog buddy and they announced their engagement on February 14th!  Just today, they announced the date of the celebration!  The minute I received the notice, I plugged it into my calendar.  I truly have to say that they are meant to be.  I am confident that if they didn’t find each other through my measly blog, that they would have run into each other at the grocery store or through a fender bender on the corner while admiring each other’s car.  They deserve the happiness they bring each other and the differences between them that make them better people.  I am so happy for you both, and I cannot wait to help celebrate your love!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, my blog has created one love match.  I still am so in awe by this.&lt;br /&gt;I have about a 100% success rate.  Maybe I should take over eHarmony, or start my own matchmaker show.  It could work!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4073005348898926015-4745704900359009089?l=rantdojour.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/feeds/4745704900359009089/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4073005348898926015&amp;postID=4745704900359009089' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/4745704900359009089'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/4745704900359009089'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/04/matchmaker-blogmaster-make-me-match.html' title='Matchmaker, Blogmaster, Make Me a Match!'/><author><name>Dateless in Detroit</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18302191523617085967</uri><email>deigodiva@yahoo.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00113423003867004796'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4073005348898926015.post-958080181317563694</id><published>2009-04-10T22:56:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-10T23:19:01.751-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Incident Report</title><content type='html'>I had recently sent out a request to friends asking for ideas to write about, since my life seems so utterly boring these days.  Someone said to write about my customers.  Truthfully, most of my customers who come in the store are great.  There are a few wacky people, and who isn’t, and there are some who are horrible people.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I take her advice, and will write about a customer I had on Thursday.  I might warn you, that this won’t be pretty because I really hope this guy gets the book thrown at him to the highest degree.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A man and wife with their 1 year old child came into the store.  There were some bills and paperwork and he told me why he was there.  From the get go, I knew what he was telling me was a lie, but I looked at the letter from corporate, the bill and began trying to understand why he was there.  While I was looking down at my paperwork, the woman had set the baby on the chair in front of my computer.  The man said something to make me look up, and the minute I did, he hauled off and smacked the baby across the face.  I mean he slapped him like an adult would smack another adult.  I honestly don’t know how I can put how I felt at that moment into words.  I gasped extremely loud while my hand involuntarily went to my heart and my eyes were as wide with shock as they possibly could have been.  I stared in disbelief for what seemed like a million years.  When I looked at the mother and still without being able to speak, she just shyly looked down.  I could not speak.  I was seeing red.  The baby did NOTHING.  I mean didn’t even make a sound.  WHY?  Why did this man do this?  I couldn’t ask, I couldn’t speak.  When I looked back at this cowardly piece of shit, he continued to talk to me about his problem and why he was there, as if NOTHING had happened.  He very obviously didn’t think he did ANYTHING wrong!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in shock, and didn’t know what to do.  I got him out of the store as quickly as possible.  I know what you’re thinking.  Why didn’t you say something to him?  Why didn’t you tell him to leave?  Why didn’t you smack him across the face or kick him in the balls?  The fact is, I was on autopilot, and had no idea what I was doing or saying and truth be told; if you told ME this happened, and that you couldn’t say anything, I totally would say "if that were ME, I'd say&lt;em&gt;___ fill in the blank&lt;/em&gt;"  I would think I would too, but it didn’t happen, I couldn’t function and I had to make him leave the store as fast as possible.  I have been struggling with this since.  Why didn’t I tell him off?  The point is, no one knows what they'd really do in this situation.  But I did do something..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When he left, I immediately contacted a manager from another store in my market.  My manager had the day off and I needed answers.  What is our policy for this?  What should I say?  What do I have the 'right' to say?  He was amazing, and got on this immediately.  I spoke with the head of security and loss prevention for our market, and he found the incident on video camera.  My co-worker who was working all the way at the other side of the store, and heard the slap down there, got his license plate number.  See, we didn’t have HIS name, because he was in the store trying to close out his 'cousins' account.  Can I tell you what the baby did to "deserve" this ghastly smack?  The Loss Prevention manager while reviewing the tape told me.  The baby touched his father’s belt.  That’s it.  That’s all.  The baby cried for a millisecond like he was used to being smacked and if he continued to cry, he would get it again.  I am horrified just writing this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I talked more to the manager assisting me, because I was so upset, distraught, and horrified.  He insisted that I did the right thing and that I handled myself appropriately and commendably.  As I'm sure you gather the rest of my shift, I was a mess, and couldn’t wait to leave.  On my way home MY manager called me.  He read the email string that had been going back and forth with the other manager, security, and myself and wanted to make sure I was ok.  Thank you for that.  He as well, assured me I did everything right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can’t even put into words how I feel.  You hear about these things, and you see them on TV and in the movies, but it’s so different when you see it in front of your face.  I am terrified for this child.  I am terrified for this woman.  I am grateful for security cameras and that the LP manager was able to transfer the incident on a disk and will be handing this off to the proper authorities.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4073005348898926015-958080181317563694?l=rantdojour.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/feeds/958080181317563694/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4073005348898926015&amp;postID=958080181317563694' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/958080181317563694'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/958080181317563694'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/04/incident-report.html' title='Incident Report'/><author><name>Dateless in Detroit</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18302191523617085967</uri><email>deigodiva@yahoo.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00113423003867004796'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4073005348898926015.post-1578596931332746063</id><published>2009-04-07T19:19:00.013-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-07T19:50:02.641-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work pranks'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='april fools day'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jokes'/><title type='text'>Hey, the Barn Door is Open...Made Ya Look!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://s58.photobucket.com/albums/g247/deigodiva/?action=view&amp;current=prank.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g247/deigodiva/prank.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got to play an April Fool’s Day prank this year!  Oh the joy it brought me.  I love to play little jokes on people, and this was perfect.  I worked in the store on April Fools Eve.  Myself and my co-worker decided to get our manager good.  The best part of the prank is to see the persons face.  I didn’t work the next day, so I missed out on the shock and awe and confusion and awesomeness.  Me and my co-worker were talking and texting all morning waiting for the call of laughter, but alas, it never came.  I figured out that part of the revenge to us, was to not 'acknowledge' the prank.  As fellow pranksters know, most of the gratification comes from the response and the shared laughter.  I was denied this, but I still feel amazing, and snicker to myself whenever I look at the pictures.  I know my day will come, and I am frightened of what revenge will be bestowed upon me.  I'm sure I'll get it good, and to tell you the truth, I look forward to it.  Baahahahahhaha.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The story in pictures below:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DATE:  April 1, 2009&lt;br /&gt;Place:  The desk of Manager Jon&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;This is just the beginning&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_mj393aKnFv4/Sdvi9wPJWSI/AAAAAAAAAEU/trEofY-oAOw/s1600-h/1238547084212.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:none; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_mj393aKnFv4/Sdvi9wPJWSI/AAAAAAAAAEU/trEofY-oAOw/s320/1238547084212.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322096935216699682" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_mj393aKnFv4/SdvjM-O3UqI/AAAAAAAAAEc/6ODtxD2-IdY/s1600-h/1238547075631.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:none; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_mj393aKnFv4/SdvjM-O3UqI/AAAAAAAAAEc/6ODtxD2-IdY/s320/1238547075631.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322097196671652514" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_mj393aKnFv4/SdvjZgXVBPI/AAAAAAAAAEk/8GC1lSgXxF8/s1600-h/1238547067500.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:none; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_mj393aKnFv4/SdvjZgXVBPI/AAAAAAAAAEk/8GC1lSgXxF8/s320/1238547067500.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322097411992388850" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_mj393aKnFv4/Sdvjn-rXmqI/AAAAAAAAAEs/JAU9I7EASlo/s1600-h/1238547057857.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:none; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_mj393aKnFv4/Sdvjn-rXmqI/AAAAAAAAAEs/JAU9I7EASlo/s320/1238547057857.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322097660647676578" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The Finished Product&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_mj393aKnFv4/Sdvj7wgYdlI/AAAAAAAAAE0/AiZ8foOzRhA/s1600-h/1238547793545.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:none; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_mj393aKnFv4/Sdvj7wgYdlI/AAAAAAAAAE0/AiZ8foOzRhA/s320/1238547793545.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322098000440882770" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_mj393aKnFv4/SdvkEOE0xqI/AAAAAAAAAE8/gJt0n4eodaw/s1600-h/1238547786789.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:none; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_mj393aKnFv4/SdvkEOE0xqI/AAAAAAAAAE8/gJt0n4eodaw/s320/1238547786789.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322098145817314978" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_mj393aKnFv4/SdvkLJviHqI/AAAAAAAAAFE/xZe4u7OzlIU/s1600-h/1238547793545.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:none; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_mj393aKnFv4/SdvkLJviHqI/AAAAAAAAAFE/xZe4u7OzlIU/s320/1238547793545.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322098264913354402" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AND.....Taped over the toilet&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_mj393aKnFv4/SdvkakP51BI/AAAAAAAAAFM/jPU9u5bAHUs/s1600-h/1238547096288.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:none; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_mj393aKnFv4/SdvkakP51BI/AAAAAAAAAFM/jPU9u5bAHUs/s320/1238547096288.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322098529726485522" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4073005348898926015-1578596931332746063?l=rantdojour.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/feeds/1578596931332746063/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4073005348898926015&amp;postID=1578596931332746063' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/1578596931332746063'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/1578596931332746063'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/04/hey-barn-door-is-openmade-ya-look.html' title='Hey, the Barn Door is Open...Made Ya Look!'/><author><name>Dateless in Detroit</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18302191523617085967</uri><email>deigodiva@yahoo.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00113423003867004796'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_mj393aKnFv4/Sdvi9wPJWSI/AAAAAAAAAEU/trEofY-oAOw/s72-c/1238547084212.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4073005348898926015.post-1046372126803576873</id><published>2009-03-21T22:11:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-21T23:10:44.322-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='religulous'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jesus'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='religion'/><title type='text'>Rant du Jour--Saturday Evening Church Session</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://s58.photobucket.com/albums/g247/deigodiva/?action=view&amp;current=lent_3.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g247/deigodiva/lent_3.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can I express to you how much I loved the Movie &lt;em&gt;'Religulous'&lt;/em&gt;?  I honestly thought it was hilarious, brilliant, and asked all of the questions I ask to myself anytime I hear someone talk about a religion.  Religion is one of those things that people get so passionate about, and most times up in arms about.  As we all know, it’s a topic not to be discussed on first dates, first time meeting the parents, and numerous other occasions.   I think that is just silly, but people take their beliefs so seriously, that they think you are belittling or degrading them personally when you question what they believe and why they believe it.  So, I will approach it here, because basically, I dont care if you disagree with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are lots of people who can’t tell you why they believe what they believe.  This case, usually, in my own opinion, is because it’s how they were raised, and they never questioned why so it must be true and the only way to think.  Others find 'the truth' through their journey in life.  It could have been a near death incident, or a circle of friends, or enlightenment of some kind, or even 'the calling'.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whichever however you came to believe, I don’t fault anyone for believing what they believe.  What I fault, however, are those claiming to be living 'the word' of their "God", yet criticizing others for believing or doing things against 'THIER word'.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had recently made a comment in response to a comment on a social networking site, regarding President Obama.  It was originally about his Leno spot, and turned into a dispute of his "supposed Christianity".  Look, he claims to be a Christian, believe him, and if you don’t, who really cares?  He isn’t berating YOUR religion.  The comment was in response to his Special Olympics snafu on Leno (by the way, get a grip, like you never slipped and said something like that?).  So this was a perfect time for someone else to mention that President Obama claims (in quotes) to be a Christian, yet is pro abortion, bla bla bla, and this person will stand before God and give to him a list of sins.  Ok.  Here is my problem.  I know MANY Christian people who are pro-choice and/or have had an abortion.  If everyone's God is a forgiving God then these people, whether or not they think they have sinned will ALSO stand before the 'gates' and account for their 'sins'.  It’s not 1856, its 2009.  Christians, whatever your definitition, can be prochoice or Pro Life.  So can Jews, so can Muslims.  It happens.  It happened.  Because of the growing times.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know people who do not believe in abortion. That is OK.  This is their view.  They don’t however, put down and tell those who are pro choice that they are immoral and basically horrible people.  They have their view and accept others views.  As I do, EXCEPT when it’s thrown in faces like above.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, in response to my comment basically saying they shouldn’t judge people for doing or believing in something other than what they do, and they aren’t really being 'Christian-like', I was done.  But no, this self righteous stranger went further but to stand on a web box to quote (or so I think) scripture that makes no sense to me.  Fine, you rebutted, and I left you alone, except writing this blog that you will never see because I have no idea who you are.  The original posting was a friend of mine who has strong religious views, but is respectful, mature,  and intelligent about it.  That I accept and that I appreciate.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are so many different beliefs and 'truths' out there.  I have no idea which one, if any are the real truth and there is no way of knowing.  We all know I'm not religious, if you didn’t; now you do.   Your own faith in what you believe will get you where you go and help guide you through your life, but some people need to let other people live their lives the way their faith guides them, without criticisms.  What would Jesus do? I've never met the guy, but I'm guessing he probably did or would not criticize people...at least from what I've heard of Jesus. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now, I step off my web box.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you haven’t heard of &lt;em&gt;'Religulous'&lt;/em&gt;, The Documentary, here is a preview.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/XdkyLrDpaUg&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/XdkyLrDpaUg&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4073005348898926015-1046372126803576873?l=rantdojour.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/feeds/1046372126803576873/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4073005348898926015&amp;postID=1046372126803576873' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/1046372126803576873'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/1046372126803576873'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/03/rant-du-jour-saturday-evening-church.html' title='Rant du Jour--Saturday Evening Church Session'/><author><name>Dateless in Detroit</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18302191523617085967</uri><email>deigodiva@yahoo.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00113423003867004796'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4073005348898926015.post-5802619722643672034</id><published>2009-03-02T21:40:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-02T21:53:21.886-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='attacker'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='robbed'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crimes'/><title type='text'>Watch your Back, Always</title><content type='html'>I'd like to throw out a PSA, if I may.  This actually happened to my cousin, and I want to share with my readers, just to make you aware, not to scare you.  Although, to be honest, I myself, have become more aware, and probably a little more paranoid, but better than not.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple of weeks ago my cousin was attacked in her own driveway.  It was about 12:30am, and she couldn’t sleep, so she decided to run up to the gas station at the end of her side street.  When she came back, she locked the door to her pickup truck and someone grabbed her by the back of her hair, slammed her face into the bed of the truck, causing her to fall to the ground.  She was pinned down on the ground by the attacker with his/her knees, and was wedged in between the brick of her house, and her truck.  When she tried to move, he/she took her head and slammed it into the ground (face down) and ground her face into the gravel.  Her arm and hand with her keys were pinned underneath her.  This heartless person took her wallet.  She saw stars, and saw headlights pull into her driveway...and that was the last thing she remembered.  She has no idea how long she was there on the ground.  When she finally came to, and went in the house, and looked at herself in the mirror, is when she freaked out and called the police.  Because she didn’t see the person, there is not much the police can do at this point to find her attacker.   She lives in an area that is not well known for crime.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am not trying to freak you out, just to make you aware to watch your surroundings a little more carefully.  We all take for granted sometimes, when we are going into a store, or coming home late at night that we are safe in our own driveways.  She had a knife on her keychain, however, as I said, it was pinned under her, she couldn’t use it.  I heard this from her, right after I saw on the news, that there is a man in my city getting into women's cars and hiding (mostly this happened with this man in gas stations), and then putting a knife to their throats to drive, and then he robs them.  I already always lock my doors while in the gas station and prompt my passenger to do so if I leave the car.  But please, also always look in your backseat and lock your doors even when you’re in it.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you for taking the time to read this, and hopefully made you a little aware.  Share this with people you know.  This isn’t only for women, because Men could become victims as well.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4073005348898926015-5802619722643672034?l=rantdojour.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/feeds/5802619722643672034/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4073005348898926015&amp;postID=5802619722643672034' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/5802619722643672034'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/5802619722643672034'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/03/watch-your-back-always.html' title='Watch your Back, Always'/><author><name>Dateless in Detroit</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18302191523617085967</uri><email>deigodiva@yahoo.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00113423003867004796'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4073005348898926015.post-5391707885093289768</id><published>2009-02-15T12:09:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-15T12:48:06.598-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dreams'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dream dictionary'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='interpretation'/><title type='text'>Dream a Little Dream For Me</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="419" height="300"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://someecards.com/usercards/someEcards.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="false" width="419" height="300" flashvars="imgBasePath=http://mail2.someecards.com/usercards/images/&amp;amp;basePath=http://someecards.com/usercards/&amp;amp;cardId=b798d0750b407f790015872a8f9eef471fd4b38f&amp;amp;noLinkBack=false"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don’t know about you, but I love dreams.  I love to dream, I hope to dream.  My dreams are so interesting to me.  They are weird, they are scary sometimes, and they are also sometimes so real, which kind of freaks me out but is so cool at the same time.  I dream (no pun intended) of the day where I can record my dreams as I wrote &lt;a href="http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2007/11/sweet-dreams-are-made-of-this.html"&gt;HERE&lt;/a&gt;.  For now, I can only remember or write them down and search out the meaning to what I can’t stop thinking of when I wake up from what I concocted or foresaw in my slumber.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I dreamt in choppy nonsense as normal, but a few items stand out in my mind.  I have a dream 'dictionary' but usually, I am not happy with the interpretation.  You can only look up one word, not a situation.  But nonetheless, I looked anyhow.  The meaning of my dreams last night looks grim for matters of the heart, but ok for finance, and apparently I will find a lost valuable item.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dreamt of an estranged Aunt while driving in a car with her.  Apparently to dream of an &lt;em&gt;Aunt&lt;/em&gt; means "success in money matters".  &lt;em&gt;Driving&lt;/em&gt; apparently means "Discovery of lost valuables".  This doesn’t sound so grim.  But when I looked up picnic there were several interpretations.  It wasn’t quite a picnic, but I was eating lunch outside with someone who will remain nameless, and here is the interps of the vague &lt;em&gt;picnic&lt;/em&gt;.  "Danger through a secret.  False friends are gossiping about you. Doubtful results in love affairs."   There was nothing about holding hands.  When I put the situation into an online dream analyzer, it basically told me that the situation is actually just what I wish would happen and in fact doesn’t really mean much as far as diving into deep meaning.  Well, there you go.   The age old debate of dreams.  Means something?  Just unconscious thinking?  I don’t know either.  I wish I did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So as I was looking up just these couple of items my daily horoscope came through.  Here it is as it reads.  "You are more than intuitive enough fill in any blanks and connect the dots today."  So, the stars are saying to put down my dream book.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4073005348898926015-5391707885093289768?l=rantdojour.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/feeds/5391707885093289768/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4073005348898926015&amp;postID=5391707885093289768' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/5391707885093289768'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/5391707885093289768'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/02/dream-little-dream-for-me.html' title='Dream a Little Dream For Me'/><author><name>Dateless in Detroit</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18302191523617085967</uri><email>deigodiva@yahoo.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00113423003867004796'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4073005348898926015.post-5399026384071827274</id><published>2009-02-14T22:55:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-14T22:56:58.213-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Great Pot-Hole-io</title><content type='html'>All I have to say right now is, what is up with the roads in the Detroit area?  I mean, how are they all like mini dirt roads because they are all pot-holed up?  &lt;br /&gt;I'm just sayin...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4073005348898926015-5399026384071827274?l=rantdojour.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/feeds/5399026384071827274/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4073005348898926015&amp;postID=5399026384071827274' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/5399026384071827274'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/5399026384071827274'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/02/great-pot-hole-io.html' title='The Great Pot-Hole-io'/><author><name>Dateless in Detroit</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18302191523617085967</uri><email>deigodiva@yahoo.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00113423003867004796'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4073005348898926015.post-3840009533264613713</id><published>2009-02-03T21:39:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-03T21:52:19.870-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='wish list'/><title type='text'>Another List, Cause this Lady gots Writers Block</title><content type='html'>Things I am wishing for or thinking about right now:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  I wish I could control my cravings during PMS.&lt;br /&gt;2.  I wish that financials would be more comfortable.  Not only for me, but for   everyone.&lt;br /&gt;3.  I wish that my cat was not bitchy to visitors.&lt;br /&gt;4.  I wish that he was available. &lt;br /&gt;5.  I wish my salsa socials were a success.&lt;br /&gt;6.  I wish I could jet off to Vegas with my friend.&lt;br /&gt;7.  I wish I qualified for the First Time Homeowners Tax Credit&lt;br /&gt;8.  I hope my friend going through her ordeal at the hospital today is ok.&lt;br /&gt;9.  I hope Jared Jeweler comes up with a new ad campaign.&lt;br /&gt;10.  I Hope everything works out for the best with a situation that I am waiting on.&lt;br /&gt;11.  I wish that tax commercial for HR Block with the Cyclops' would never have aired.  It’s just creepy.&lt;br /&gt;12.  I hope I can sleep tonight, even though I am very tired.&lt;br /&gt;13.  I hope I am not too lazy to start using the free work out programs on the On Demand channel.&lt;br /&gt;14.  I hope I don’t have to see people in love on Valentine’s Day.  Or actually, I hope I forget its Valentine’s Day all together that day.&lt;br /&gt;15.  I hope you’re not bored with this post, cause I kind of am.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ni-Night.  Actually I'm off to watch Law and Order SVU.  I heart it, and I heart Detective Stabler.  Yup, I do.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4073005348898926015-3840009533264613713?l=rantdojour.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/feeds/3840009533264613713/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4073005348898926015&amp;postID=3840009533264613713' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/3840009533264613713'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/3840009533264613713'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/02/another-list-cause-this-lady-gots.html' title='Another List, Cause this Lady gots Writers Block'/><author><name>Dateless in Detroit</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18302191523617085967</uri><email>deigodiva@yahoo.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00113423003867004796'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4073005348898926015.post-2879854837875201234</id><published>2009-01-30T00:16:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-30T00:19:24.309-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='facts'/><title type='text'>25 Random Facts About Yours Truly</title><content type='html'>Since this is the newest Facebook trend, I thought I'd share here.  Have at it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I am uncontrollably terrified of flying insects with stingers. It’s an involuntary response for me to shake uncontrollably and run. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Even though I say I can care less about love, I really do want to know what that means and feels like from someone other than a family member or friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I have a fear of success for fear that I will fail. It’s been with me my entire life, and thankfully now, I am brave enough to know that even if I do fail, it’s not the end of the world. And actually for the first time in my life, I am incredibly comfortable at my jobs and do not second guess my work because I am genuinely appreciated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I don’t truly believe that a 17 year old should necessarily know what they want to be when they grow up and that it’s OK to take some time before enrolling in college if at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. I am Italian/Sicilian. I am fiery and hot headed at times. But that’s not really random because I’m sure you all know that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. I wish I spoke with a cool accent. And sometimes I talk to myself in my head in a cool accent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. I cannot sit still or pay full attention for very long in a seminar/meeting/classroom situation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. I wish that I could have an apparatus that would tape record my dreams. I am obsessed with remembering them, and I can remember F'd up ones for a really long time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. If I could, I would be a travel writer. I would like to write a script (I actually have a few ideas). I would like to write a book, and I would like to make comedy shorts with my video camera.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. I create nicknames for virtually everyone I know or don’t know and call these people by their nicknames to where my friends may only know them by that name. It’s not always necessarily mean spirited, although sometimes it is. It’s just what I do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. I love it when I can make someone laugh; it’s the best thing ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. I have an incredible knack for getting vibes off people. I know if your schiestery and I know if you’re a good person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. It is incredibly hard to surprise me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14. I can sleep all day if you let me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15. I still have my Christmas decor up and am too lazy to take it down. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16. I hate the sound of Enrique Iglesias’s voice. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17. I wonder if when you see the commercials for "Feed the Poor" or "sponsor a child" the crew in that country shooting footage sponsored or fed that community. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18. I can’t watch trailers for scary movies when I am home alone. I have to turn my head and distract myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19. I love bacon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20. I wish my face looked like Jennifer Lopez or Eva Mendez. I just think they are gorgeous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21. I hate baths. They gross me out and will never ever take one. Showers only.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22. I worked in Walt Disney World when I was in college on an internship&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23. I wish I could sing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;24. If I paid for my heat, my bill would be astronomical.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25. This random fact listing thing was harder than I thought it would be.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4073005348898926015-2879854837875201234?l=rantdojour.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/feeds/2879854837875201234/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4073005348898926015&amp;postID=2879854837875201234' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/2879854837875201234'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/2879854837875201234'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/01/25-random-facts-about-yours-truly.html' title='25 Random Facts About Yours Truly'/><author><name>Dateless in Detroit</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18302191523617085967</uri><email>deigodiva@yahoo.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00113423003867004796'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4073005348898926015.post-3088986396498700755</id><published>2009-01-19T01:50:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-19T01:51:20.388-05:00</updated><title type='text'>FYI</title><content type='html'>FYI...Tool Academy is still the best show ever!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4073005348898926015-3088986396498700755?l=rantdojour.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/feeds/3088986396498700755/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4073005348898926015&amp;postID=3088986396498700755' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/3088986396498700755'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/3088986396498700755'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/01/fyi.html' title='FYI'/><author><name>Dateless in Detroit</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18302191523617085967</uri><email>deigodiva@yahoo.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00113423003867004796'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4073005348898926015.post-4336995794750007153</id><published>2009-01-16T18:13:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-16T18:25:50.291-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Only Me</title><content type='html'>A customer came into the store last night.  It was another weirdo customer.  I actually thought it was a homeless man about to come in to warm up or ask for cocoa or slice us up, so I put a box cutter in my pocket.  I thought this because he rode up on a bike, and it looked like he had a dirty unkempt beard.  Turns out he was just a crazy weirdo riding his bike around in subzero dangerous temperatures, with a scarf around his face.  My co-worker M, had recognized him (?), and so she helped him out, bla bla bla.  Meantime, a regular customer came in, spoke to me for about 4minutes, and left.  Meanwhile, bike boy was a-hangin out chit chattin.  Great.  So, after the other customer left, he asked me if that was my boyfriend.  Odd.  So, I said no, and looked at him kinda strange, because I loudly asked that customer how his girlfriend was and to tell her I said hello.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyhoo, apparently without me seeing (which is amazing because I catch on to these things usually) he was trying to ask M, if I had a boyfriend because I am so gorgeous (his words, not mine).  She started laughing because it looked like I saw this transaction transpire.  I had went into the back room for a millisecond, came back out and she turns to me and says "So, How long have you been with Scott now?  10 years?".  I almost threw up.  My face wretched, and I could feel the involuntary distortion happening in my face in slow motion.  I finally caught on, that she was just saying that to make him get a hint.  For those of you who don’t know, Scott is one of my Ex's.  He is a nightmare and pretty much a stalker psycho, and I had gone through years and years of issues with him post break up.  Like 7 of them or so.  SOOOO&lt; you could imagine my horror and what my face did when she said THAT name!  But I caught on in time, and played along.  No wonder my stomach is still horrifyingly queasy today.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When he FINALLY left, I asked her why in the eff she would use THAT name of ALL names in the world.  It was the only one she could think of.  OMG, I about had a stroke in that store at that moment.  I so wish I had a camera to see how disgusted my face must have looked.  So, now every time he comes in, as far as he knows, I am married to that person.  Oh-My-Gawd.  Even the pretending thought makes me ill.  I think I'd rather make up a nasty divorce and let bike boy take me on a date.  I call the handle bars!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4073005348898926015-4336995794750007153?l=rantdojour.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/feeds/4336995794750007153/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4073005348898926015&amp;postID=4336995794750007153' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/4336995794750007153'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4073005348898926015/posts/default/4336995794750007153'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rantdojour.blogspot.com/2009/01/only-me.html' title='Only Me'/><author><name>Dateless in Detroit</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18302191523617085967</uri><email>deigodiva@yahoo.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00113423003867004796'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry></feed>