Preface – I’m sorry for the name of the post if it offends you, but sometimes things just have to be stated.

And if you’re reading this blog, please take your passive aggressive attitude and piss off.  If you message me or leave a comment here I will publicly name you. Leave me ALONE! Quit stalking my blog, this is my blog and you’re not going scare me into not writing what I want to write. Go get your own and call it Anna Shoshan is a Bitch. I don’t care but back off!!!!


I suck at dating, especially blind dating.

Like everybody else, I have my issues.  Poor self-esteem at times (shocking I’m sure),  I talk to much and say whatever pops into my mind without thinking,  and a nervous twitch (ok not really). I’m a dating disaster or I  date disasters, either way.  Enter the Douche Bag.

To be fair, he seemed normal and even really nice on the phone.  Nice, educated,  you guys know the drill.  I do my homework. I ask single girlfriends if they’ve dated him, I google, and I check on LinkedIn.  A very good friend told me that she knew him, because a FEW of her friends had dated him (red flag number one).

He agreed to meet at Frishman which is my mind is always a plus.  I was actually nervous, silly me.

So I drag my butt down to the beach in,  and this is how stupid I am, boots with 6 inch heels. I could barely walk.  But you know, got to invest a bit.  At least this time I recognized him, underneath his fisherman’s hat.

So we sit down, it’s 16:30. He orders beer, I order wine so far so good. I was kind of thinking maybe I’d be able to make the last bus back if this goes bad.  I will give credit where credit is due, he had table manners.

Conversation starts well, and then starts to spill out of control.

Him: “So ask me anything you want.”

Me:  “Are you serial dater  (this is where the thing with saying what’s in my head, may not be to my advantage)?”

Him (Getting really nervous, leaning over the table):  “Why would you ask me that?”

Me:  “Because I asked good friend if she knew you. She said she didn’t but that a FEW of her friends had dated you. Made me kind of think that you date A LOT”.

After a few minutes:

Him: “Call your friend now and ask her who her friends are”.

Me: “I’m not going to do that, she won’t tell me”.

This goes on for a few minutes, he becomes more and more aggressive. Finally I call. I know this is going to upset my friend, but the dude is getting madder and madder. Then he reaches for the phone to talk to her. Finally I tell him that she’ll tell me tomorrow to get him to relax and calm down.

Douche Bag Point Number One.

Conversation continues OK, not as great as before. Then my blog comes up.  So does the Bad Choices entry, pun intended (on all kind of levels).  At one point he asks me:

Him: Define a long time.

Me: 5 to 6 months  (thinking my bedroom doesn’t have a revolving door on it).

Him: That’s not normal. I couldn’t live like that, I hate sleeping alone. I have a list of girls I can call that will come sleep with me. Sometimes they just sleep.

Me: Great (if you say so).

Douche Bag Point Number Two.

Finally the killer of all subjects, why’d you get divorced.

Him: “She wanted it”.

He continues with a lot of stuff, she’s horrible, attached a lien to his salary. My question, um why?. She took everything, left him broke, etc.  My single thought, what did you do to piss her off that much.  A continuing theme throughout the conversation was that it was all her fault. Sure it was.

Then ladies and gentlemen, the clincher. The one that awards him the Final Douche Bag Award Point.

Him: “She even called the police on me”.

Now folks, even if she did, why in G-d’s name would you tell that to a first date. It’s like screaming to the world that you have a fresh outbreak of Herpes.  I mean really dude, TMI.

I suppose the evening could have recovered if I’d tried. I wasn’t in it. I’d checked out at the police, and I’d received a message from the one person I really actually wanted to be with (this is a dead subject not going to happen). But by this point too much wine and I was a mess. It was time for the check.

Ah yes the check.  Now we’d sat there for four hours, I’d had four glasses of wine and he’d had the four 1/2 liters of beer. There was a check, but it wasn’t that BIG.

I didn’t expect him to pay, but it would have been nice if he’d made the offer. Instead he just stared at the until I opened it.  A fake “here let me get that” would have been nice. I would have coughed up my half anyway, but you know not even a gesture.

He did offer my a ride home, which was nice, as I’d left all my cash on the table and didn’t have my card with me (it would have been a long walk in those boots).  I did get out a few buildings early and acted like I went upstairs. I couldn’t get the police thing out of my head.

The next day I blocked him on FB and thought that’s got to be the end. He sent me a nasty SMS.  And then he left me nasty mean comments here. Guess what he just earned Extra Credit Douche Bag Points.

If nobody hears from me, you’ll all know who did it. But hey, at least I’ll finally be getting some rest.