How A Panicky Lemming Prepares For Major Disasters

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

We interrupt our regularly scheduled post on my Match.com Misadventures to provide you all with much needed disaster preparedness information. You’re welcome.

I'm sure this is what California will look like after THE BIG ONE.

I'm sure this is what California will look like after THE BIG ONE.

As y’all know I can be a bit panicky at times, while simultaneously possessing a tendency to do stupid things, much like a lemming would hurl itself off a perfectly good cliff for no apparent reason, or like when I ran from Martin Sheen when he was trying to rescue me.

You know, like normal folks wouldn’t.

After the massive explosion (caused by a faulty PG&E pipeline) in nearby San Bruno took out a whole neighborhood, I decided I needed a real, up-to-date emergency preparedness kit.

I know, I know. You think someone as panicky as myself, and also a Red Cross volunteer, would already have that covered. This is the point where I prove to you folks I don’t dye my hair.

Blond is the real color, people. But, wait! There’s more…

Blond Lemming Becomes Homicidal Without Carbs

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

Blond = Me, Kernut the Blond

Lemming = A small, hamster-like rodent with suicidal tendencies, known for throwing themselves off cliffs for no apparent reason. I have lemmicidal tendencies.

Homicidal = Self explanatory. Does anyone know the statue of limitations for homicide? Why? No reason.

A lemming, probably preparing to throw itself off the cliff.

A lemming, probably preparing to throw itself off the cliff.

First, I apologize to you all for being MIA lately. I promise to finish replying to your comments and comment on your blogs as soon as I dig myself out from under my habitrail.

I’ve been in a serious funk for about a week. Just want to sleep all day. No energy, no motivation, and vacillating between feeling a tad homicidal or very depressed with lemmicidal tendencies. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me.

I’ve been eating super health, taking all my vitamins, and working towards Tim Ferriss’ The 4-hour Body’ diet. In a nutshell, it’s no sugar, dairy, carbs, fruit, etc. Pretty much no eating of anything that’s not meat or vegetable. Beans are ok.

It started with giving up sugar for Lent. I went three days without sugar before I wanted to punch some random bitch in a parking lot. Classy, I know. I’d given her a nice courtesy beep when she kept sitting at the green light. She had the nerve to bird-dog (see reference #4) me. Unlucky for her, we were going the same place. I said some things from my car, which she may or may not have heard, but she got my meaning. Probably from the “I’m gonna F you up” look on my face. Just a guess. But, wait! There’s more…

How Not To Match.com

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

<rant on> (That’s code for “the following is more rant than post”, thankyouverymuch. That’s also a disclaimer. I just need to get this out so I can move on with the dating. If you’re new here, I Joined Match.com. I blame the cold medicine is the first in this series, and continues with Adventures in Online Dating, then Match.com The Odds Are Good That the Goods Are Odd, and Time To Light A Match.com. We are now at post number five, a rant. The others are better.

You are under no obligation to read further, but your assistance with the question at the end is greatly appreciated.)

This is terrible.

Just terrible.

I’m becoming jaded. Jaded by the lack-luster, creepy, freaky, sex-starved oddballs who contact me on Match. Very few bother to read my profile. Very. few.

Where people look for a mate.

Where people look. (Totally borrowed from a site that also borrowed it. Unfortunately, I don't know the origin.)

How Not To Match.com

First off, just don’t join. When I started this it was to honestly find someone to date, and with whom to hopefully form a nice, long-term relationship. Now I’m fighting becoming jaded. And I’m not sure I’m succeeding.

While it takes a LOT of weeding through garbage to find the nice guys in the mix, it seems hardly worth it when you have to contend with the buggy, glitchy software, and the crappy Match.com interface.

  • It automatically sends “winks” as if they’re from me! To people at whom I would not choose to wink.
  • Match selects a “Daily 5” and also emails another set of so-called matches, supposedly based on your preferences. Not. The only thing these “matches” have in common with my preferences was the fact they were male. Many are not even in my desired area. But, wait! There’s more…

Time To Light A Match.com – UPDATED

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

It’s time to light a match – it’s starting to stink on Match.com.

This is part four (I think, but I’m starting to lose count) of my Match.com Adventures. Part three is Match.com: The Odds Are Good That The Goods Are Odd.

Here are the latest two guys from Match.com:

Chatty Guy, is in high tech, has four kids, and likes to dominate the conversation. We had a first date, lunch at a local chain restaurant. There are no big pluses in his court, but he does have a few minuses: He bashed his ex on our two dates, he talks over me all. the. time., and he lied about his age (said 49, but is 52).

Normally, lying about age is grounds for immediate disqualification in my book, but I’ve since began to wonder if perhaps I’m still single at my ripe old age because I might be a tad too picky. With this in mind I polled my friends and readers on Facebook and here’s what they said:

Lied About Age Guy 1

Lied About Age Guy part 1

But, wait! There’s more…

Lies My Parents Told Me

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

(This post was inspired by Oh Noa’s on lying to her future children. It reminded me of the many lies my parents told us.)

I don’t know about you, but I need some humor while I sort through the Match.com adventures. So today I bring you Lies My Parents Told Me.

1. If you don’t behave I’m going to trade you in for new kids. My Dad said there was a catalog of kids he could trade us for. A catalog of good kids. Chickenbone and I believed this. We were cuter than we were smart. After my father threatened to do this one too many times, we got really worried. We told Mom that Dad planned to get rid of us by trading us in for good kids. After she stopped laughing, Mom told us that he couldn’t do that. Then she laughed some more. When we told Dad that Mom told us the truth, he laughed, too. That is, until he realized the threat was no longer valid.

2. This is going to hurt me more than it will hurt you. Yeah, I’m an adult now and I still don’t buy that crap.

3. We’re divorced. They weren’t. Then they got back together. Then, years later, they got divorced. For real. This time they waited until the minute my father was leaving with suitcases in hand to tell us. Not much time for us to get used to the idea. No time to learn that divorce meant Dad wasn’t going to live with us anymore. A heart-breaking moment for sure. I’m still scarred. And you wondered why I blog. It’s all starting to become clear now, isn’t it?

4. If you don’t eat your vegetables, kids in Africa will starve. Since we really didn’t want the vegetables and the kids in Africa needed them, we asked if we could send them our vegetables in the mail. Mom said no. So we said she shouldn’t buy so many. But, wait! There’s more…

Match.com: The Odds Are Good That The Goods Are Odd

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

If this is your first time here, Welcome! And also I’m Sorry.

This is post number three in the saga of my online dating experience. You can start crying for me anytime. Read these to get caught up: First, I joined Match.com , and second, Adventures In Dating Part 1.

No, you're not a stalker, you're just lonely and looking for an instant girlfriend.

No, you're not a stalker, you're just lonely and looking for an instant girlfriend.

How do you all like my new Match.com slogan? “The Odds Are Good That The Goods Are Odd”

And boy are they odd.

Biker Boy is a Jekyll and Hyde. He’s either all clingy with me, sending me tons of emails and calling me several times the same day, whining I’m dating others while we get to know each other, or completely selfish, controlling, and downright rude. After turning down his last minute request for dinner the morning of Valentine’s Day, he proceeded to email me several times and call me twice that evening. The evening I said I was going to be out.

As if this wasn’t enough, the next morning when I check email for the first time since the day before, I find several emails from him, and this one: ‘Wassup? You pissed? insulted? Done? Or none of the above? How are you today?’ All because I didn’t respond while I was out???

In my reply I asked if he’d forgotten I had plans (did he not remember I turned down his date that very morning??). I explained being out with a friend means I don’t answer the phone – unless it’s important. My mother taught me it’s impolite to your guest/present company. But, wait! There’s more…

My Zombie Ate Your Honor Student – UPDATED

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

First, my undying love and gratitude to those of you who purchased items from my “Zombie Life Is Good” store.

You. Guys. Are. Awesome.

(I still can’t believe it’s not really my family buying stuff, but they swear.)

In a burst of creativity, spurred by a plethora of weird match.com men, cling-ons, and utterly dull coffee dates, I made a few new things. I told several I was too busy “working” to go out with them. I was making these t-shirts. Yup, totally busy working.

My Zombie Ate Your Honor Student

My Zombie Ate Your Honor Student

My Zombie Ate Your Honor Student - and he was tasty.

But, wait! There’s more…

Adventures In Online Dating Part One

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

My life has been nothing if not full of adventures.

The dating segment of my life accounts for much of that.

Remember that guy you all said I should go ahead and contact first? Most of you already know I did, and he wrote back. The funny thing is it turns out we have a few friends in common. He’s only lived in California six months so I just haven’t run into him yet. So I probably didn’t need to spend $60 on Match.com to meet him. *sigh*

He’s a year older, divorced, and he’s gainfully employed (whew, one of us should be). Of course, he has one of the aforementioned Harleys. A really nice one. I’ll admit, I have a fondness for Harleys. It’s hard not to notice a nice one, and to know a hot man wields all that power between his legs.

*time passes*

Oh, hello. What are you doing here? Right! I was talking about my dates.

Gees, I’m such a bike slut. I really do like other things about him and would be interested even if he didn’t have a bike. I’m not THAT superficial.

He at least took the time to read my profile. Not many others did… But, wait! There’s more…

I joined Match.com. Again. I blame the cold medicine.

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

Yes, I did. I joined Match.com. Again.

I’m not well. I blame the cold medicine that got me to join the Booty Camp to which I’m now addicted. Those two things are related. No, I don’t know how.

It’s been about seven years and I’d forgotten about this part: I’ve got more Match.com emails and winks than I can respond to. There are many sweet guys on there who’ve written me. It’s really nice. And about time I got some interested attention from an emotionally available man. At least I think they’re emotionally available.

I know it’s only because I’m the “fresh meat” on the market that I’m getting all this attention and it will level out soon, but Holy Horny Ones Batman! I feel such pressure to respond.

Thank you to those of you who suggested I email that guy who caught my eye. He’s already responded FOUR times to my one. I think he likes me. Or he’s desperate. Huh.

Some of you, ok ONE of you, expressed an interest in the details of my profile. (The rest of you are under no obligation to keep reading.) Here’s a snippet…

I'm on cold medicine in this picture.

I’m on cold medicine in this picture.

(I couldn’t decide on an opening line, so I chose both. I’m like that with restaurant menus, too.) But, wait! There’s more…

Relationship Rules: I’m The Special Needs Person In A Relationship

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

That’s the rule. There is only room for one special needs person in a relationship. In case you haven’t been here long, I’m it.

Mouse having sex with a mouse.

Uhh, I sure hope my matches are better than this. Now I’m scared. What was I thinking? Why am I doing this again? Oh yeah, to find a pigeon. Crap.

For all the self-help books I’ve read, group quasi-therapy, and blogging, apparently it’s still me.

I’m considering joining Match.com again and thought I should probably add to my dating profile a statement that aptly describes me. I suspect I might have tendencies towards childishness, emotional sensitivity, or grandiose behavior.

Well, DUH. I blog, don’t I?

I think that alone proves I’m probably emotionally sensitive.

Or could blogging make one emotionally sensitive?

Chicken. Egg. Don’t much care which came first.

So then, what does all this mean? It means I’m the special needs person in a relationship.

Also, this precludes attendance by anyone fitting the following descriptions. Do not reply to my ad if you can be described as:

  • The emotionally unavailable: Serial daters, those looking for a quick hookup, men half my age. Enough said.
  • Those trying to reclaim their misspent youth with a motorcycle. I do love a good Harley, but seriously? We’re not a match; I want to live. On second thought, Harleys are awfully hot. I might make an exception. Again. Crap. But, wait! There’s more…