Building Your Roster

Every team keeps a roster -- in essence, a list of their top-tier players. To stay on the roster, you have be the kind of player that they know they can pull off the bench and you perform -- no matter when they need you and no matter what they want you to do. How do you get on the roster? Come to practice, work your ass off and perform when you're played.

Yes, I'm a sports nut, but this is actually unrelated to sports. As a single girl, you need a roster of men. You need your guys that you can call upon in a pinch to perform - in whatever role you need them to perform in.

A roster with depth is vital to a single girl's survival in this cruel, cruel word of dating. You can't rely on a relationship with a guy to feed all the needs that you have, so you rely on your roster. This is (and should be ) a varied list that can consist of current lovers, former lovers, friends with benefits, guys you take to events because they're appropriate, guys you only flirt with via text and never get together with.

The amount of attention that you need to pay to keep your roster solid and deep (ahem!) can be overwhelming, but you need to make the effort, ladies. I made the terrible, terrible decision to ignore my roster for about 5 months while I dabbled in monogamy, and when that was through, my phone was quiet. HORRIBLY, SOUL-CRUSHINGLY QUIET. So pay attention and put a little effort into this and you will have a guy for what you need, when you need it.

As I said, it's a rebuilding season for Team Rita, but here's what I've got right now on my roster:

Current Lover: The guy who I call when I want to have sex, who is most available. He's not my boyfriend, but we enjoy each other and have sex fairly regularly. It's the best of all worlds if you actually like to talk to this person, but not completely necessary. Mine right now is Race Car (he's a driver). While he's not the brightest tool in the shed, he's sweet enough. I mean, he doesn't make me want to claw my eyes out when he speaks.

Potential Lover: This is the guy I met last weekend, henceforth to be known as The Experience, is off the charts in skill and size, so I'm trying to play this fairly cool. He has the potential to become my LeBron James, my team superstar. (Note to reader: If you haven't figured it out yet or been told, men don't like to be chased. In fact they love to be told no and ignored. Please write that down.) We've exchanged a couple of messages and have a plan in place to see each other again.

Former Lover: This guy, Heart Attack, was a formerly rostered player. He stayed on the roster in the past due to being extremely enthusiastic and very available (not surprisingly, he was also sort of chubby, which was very cute). He moved to Chicago about 8 months ago and still tries to see me when he is in town. Depending on the availability of the rest of my roster, I throw him a bone occasionally. But I also still enjoy sending dirty texts to and flirting with him.

Company Guy: I met this guy (no nickname yet) when I did on-boarding for my new job. He was one of the employee-instructors. He's 29, smart as hell, a former college baseball player, and really funny. Unfortunately he also lives in Philly. We had some mad chemistry when we met. He threatens to come visit me and spend the weekend in bed, but has yet to materialize. He's another one who's fun to flirt with though, and I'm sort of getting determined to get him here.

Some other recommendations for rostered players:

Current Ex: I know some single girls that are ok with occasionally fucking one or more of their ex boyfriends. They are able to just be friendly, and, on occasion, enjoy some fantastic familiar sex that has somehow also become Strange. I am not of this school of thought, though - I refuse to acknowledge the existence of exes as residents of earth. I'm pretty sure they just evaporated into the atmosphere.

Gym Guys: Stoney has a bit of a problem when it comes to trolling the gym - she'll tell you herself. (I have the same issue with bartenders, no judgment.) She's right that there is a veritable buffet of men that you can take home and then not give much thought to. They are the man equivalent of a chicken sandwich - it does the job, but you don't really have a strong memory of it, and one is pretty much like the next. I am on the fence about gym trolling however - there's the whole "don't shit where you eat factor" and I don't like to have to constantly avoid people where I work out, since I'm there a few days a week. But if you're able to compartmentalize that carry-on, then have at it.

Married Guy: Yes, lots of girls take this road as well. If you're not emotionally involved, married men are safe because they don't take up a ton of your time and they usually aren't needy or clingy.

Appropriate Guy Who You Really Don't Want to Fuck: This is likely someone that you met through friends who is really interested in you, but you just don't feel it for him for whatever reason. However, he responds to texts if you're up for some chatting and flirting, and is usually is good for a date when you're feeling like getting out. He's also great to take to functions where having a date is appropriate, because he'll go and act like a grown up and be nice just to get the chance for some making out in the car later on. He's usually ok with you not calling again for a month or so, but watch out - these guys tend to be very interested in relationships, so if you let a month go by, you could find him responding to your text with "Sorry, just moved in with my girlfriend."

The moral here (I use that term loosely) is to not be so quick to delete someone from your phone because the sex was bad or they said something stupid. Keep an open mind and remember that the hot guy you slept with isn't contacting you for 3 days because he's talking to enough other girls to not need your witty repartee that much. Build your team with some thought. And make sure those guys attend practice enough.

My First Real Date. Unfortunately, It's E-bag.

So, yes, I went on the date with E-bag.  Even after the ridiculous three days of pouting and not speaking to me (he refers to this as Three Day Crickets during the course of our date and he was, in fact pouting).

First, I feel I should tell you that this man is good looking.  He's tall, dark, built and has a great smile.  We met a local (and delicious) restaurant, ordered drinks, an appetizer and some fish tacos.  As the hostess sat us, I noticed him do a corner-eye check of her ass.  Charming.

We talked about the normal stuff:  what I do, what he does (sales), how awesome he is at his job and how all of his co-workers are jealous of his productivity. Keep in mind, I met him at the gym.  If you aren’t familiar with “the gym,” get there!  It’s rampant with self-absorbed toolbags and you are single so get your happy ass to the gym and work off some sexual frustration and some love handles.  (More gym stories in later blogs.)  Anyway, I find out he is mid-thirties, never married and has an 11-year old son.  He looked at his phone a couple of times during dinner because we both had plans elsewhere after (Note: I did not look at my phone).  He said he was going to call his friend and proceeded to do so.  WTF? I decided I was NOT going to sit there like a dolt while he talks to someone else on the phone.  FUCK that!  So I went over to talk to the fabulous gay man that I happened to know at the next table, who tells me I look lovely and inquires about the man I am with, of course.  Ladies! If you don’t have yourself a gay…pick one up on the way to the fucking gym! They are fabulous and they want to tell you how fabulous you are too. They’d be the perfect mates if they only liked pussy.

E-bag and I chatted a little more and decided to grab a smoke at the bar (neither one of us wanting to tell the other we did, in fact, smoke).  After that, I kind of felt like there was a connection and he wanted me to stay but…alas, I had plans.  We go to part ways and E-bag plants an unexpected peck on my lips and I think I licked him inadvertently. 

Three glasses of wine in with Rita, I text him.  Bad idea.  He’s still out and asks me to stop by the bar on my way home for one more drink.  So I meet E-bag and his buddy (a super cute, but married guy, with a charming and fun personality (Probably why he’s married, right! That bitch snatched him up!)) who have both clearly had a few drinks themselves. And E-bag  is being a total doofus.

 “Oh my god, you have to hear my wedding song! It’s the song I want played at my wedding. If I ever have one.” (Puppy dog eyes were employed here).  It’s fucking, Tesla.  Really?  (Just is case you need a Tesla fix, here’s the song he played http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9vwHuCC6nP8).

He then proceeds to then sing along with the song…TO ME!!! He gets irritated when I start talking to his friend while the song is playing and not listening to him. But he’s sweet, he thinks I’m wonderful, and wants to touch me (not like dirty touch – ok, well maybe dirty touch, but just have his hands on me).  I’m so fucking starved for male affection (and slightly drunk) that I find this wonderful!

E-bag asks if he can come home with me. “Not for sex or anything”, just to sleep next to you.”  I inform him that I have dogs that “sleep next to me.” E-bag seems put off by the fact that I let my dogs sleep in my bed and asks me to his place.  Um, no.  I have dogs that I will be going home to.  So he walks me to my car (almost) and we start kissing on the curb.  He’s a good kisser, but there’s this thing I have about the whole procedure. ..You know when a guy goes in for the kiss and they close their eyes and come at you?  Something about that just weirds me the fuck out.  Well, I guess that’s not entirely true. Some guys are really good at this, E-bag just reminded me of Anthony Michael Hall’s character from Sixteen Candles. You know?  That geeky, awkward kid that has zero moves or tact. The kid that wants Molly Ringwald’s panties?  Anyway, we kiss. We part ways. And then he texts me to make sure I get home safely. I respond that I did and thank him again for a fun evening.

2:30AM E-bag: A blast. Loved that last kiss btw

2:36AM E-bag: Crickets L

2:38AM Stoney: Nope. Dogs.

And then my phone rings! Ok folks. Know this… unless we are related (or you are Rita) I’m not answering my fucking phone after midnight for your stupid ass! It’s just not happening. 

2:45AM E-bag Voicemail:

Hey babe. Just wanted to let you know that I had a great time with you tonight. Ummm… You just texted me, but ummm I’m getting um full on crickets once again from you.  Seems to be a… uh staple with you. ummm. Anyway…just fuckin with you a little bit. …um… cause I have to. Anyway uh I wanted to let you know I had a fantastic time at dinner and I am so glad you showed up… at OPTs with me and Nate. And uh (pause) Awesome mulligan kiss by the way. I didn’t mean to be too aggressive and try to come back to your place. It wasn’t to have sex or anything like that. It was just because, I dunno know,  uh I‘m a little older so I don’t actually have people that I go to dinner with and I have a lot in common with and I enjoy my time with and sometimes I just don’t want that to end and uh and that’s just me being a little FUCKIN baby. I apologize for that and I hope that we can get actually together again sometime. Have a great night sweatheart.  Well talk to you later.

2:57AM E-bag: Called u got multi crickets

7:52AM (yea, I was kind of hoping this would wake him up. Whatever, I’m vindictive like that)

Stoney:  No crickets. Don’t over-read me please. I had a great time. Went home. Took care of my dogs and put my phone on silent and passed out.  I rarely have my phone on after midnight usually and if I do I probably won’t answer it that late unless it’s family.

11:19AM E-bag: I know I was kidding babe J I feel like doody right now ugh

Ok. So many things are wrong with this communication stream, I think a bullet list is best used here:

1.       As Rita will attest, I never turn off my fucking phone.  If my phone isn’t on, it’s because I’ve died and asked Rita to destroy it so that all evidence is lost.

2.       My phone is rarely ever on silent unless I am at work.  It’s my alarm clock for god’s sake.

3.       Why the hell is this grown as man seemingly whining on my voicemail at damn near 3AM after one date? And why did I feel the need to defend not answering my phone at this asinine time?!!

4.       Doody?  Really, how old are we? Doody?  I’m still not over this one.

Realistically, there will probably be a second date but strictly for research purposes.  This stage 5 clinger would only stifle this blog and we can’t have that now, can we?

-The Fox

Adventures in Texting

Having recently become single, the idea of using texting, sexting and picture messaging was a completely foreign concept to me.  Shit, the last time I dated, I had just gotten my first Nokia flip phone and thought I was pretty fucking cool.  Now I have far too many media streams at my polished little finger tips and am completely overwhelmed.  Take me back to the days when you sat with your pager (yea, that’s right, I had a pager) in one hand and your cordless phone in the other, doing your best to figure out what the fuck “43 5453 86 36 34789 844647 86 968” translated into.  These messages were, of course, followed by a code one assigned himself so as to identify his person.  (By the way, don’t piss away an hour at work trying to figure out that it says “I’d like to do dirty things to you.”) 

With that, at least once a week (perhaps more frequently depending on the level or frequency of general texting douchebaggery), Rita or I will post a text conversation that we’ve had with a ________ (fill in the blank here with any of the following: current lover, dude-who-wants-to-fuck- you-but-won’t-just-come-straight-out-and-say-it, guy wanting to date, random bar wanker, married guy, etc).  Some of these text conversations will display our awesomeness in text communication, while some make us look like complete jackasses that have no idea what we are doing.

Key: (  ) = what we are actually thinking while reading his response, but are far too kind to actually type back.  We like to fancy ourselves in possession of some manners and couth.

Also note:  All texts will be transcribed as they were written by both parties. Even though Rita and Stoney both abhor the use of such stupidity as “LOL” and “K.”  K!!!! You can't even take the time to type O before that??? But I digress.

Preface: E-Bag is a guy I met at the gym.  He’s probably in his late 30s.  Possibly a divorcee…really, I have no idea…I’ve talked to him in short spurts twice.  I’ve never been on a date with him. Prior to this text conversation, he asked me to hang out with him once or twice but always waiting until it’s completely last minute (as in 11pm or later on a weeknight).  Also, note the times on this text stream.

Wednesday

12:24AM E-bag: Wassup (yeah, he's so gangsta)

12:25AM Stoney: Just headed to bed. Whatchu doin?

12:27AM E-bag: Coming over

12:35AM Stoney: Ummmm? To come over and chat? ;)

(I was totally being a smartass, but trying to be charming while doing it hence that stupid wink face bullshit)

12:36AM E-bag: Yep

12:37AM Stoney: At 12:38 in the morning?

12:38AM E-bag: I guess not

12:30AM Stoney: Sorry, I have about 5 mins of awake left in me

12:47AM E-bag: Call me

12:58AM E-BAG CALLS ME!! (Are you fucking kidding me? 1AM on Friday morning! Seriously…)

Needless to say, I did not answer this phone call.  So the next night:

Thursday:

10:55PM E-bag: Come meet me for a drink

10:56PM Stoney: Unable to drive. Too much wine & Rita is here. Where are you anyway?

11:13PM E-bag: Name of Bar

11:13PM E-bag: Cab it I will pay

11:15PM Stoney (mildly intoxicated): Oddly, a cab just passed my house.  I need to go to sleep…I have a b’fast meeting.

12:21AM E-bag: Well im done asking u to do things

(Really?  In general done asking me to do things or specifically after 11PM on weeknights?  I have no earthly comprehension of how he can be crappy that I don’t want to go out with him for the first time at midnight on a Thursday!)

Friday morning:

9:55AM Stoney: If you want to get together sometime, let’s plan it. I wasn’t going to “cab it” at 12:30AM last night due to my schedule this morning.

No response from E-bag until 4 days later.  Are you fucking kidding me?  Calling me at 1AM, waiting until midnight to ask me to hang out and grab a drink and then getting pissy when I don’t comply is COMPLETELY unacceptable.  In the name of blog research (and 'cause he's hot, I'm not going to lie), I decided to accept a date with him tonight.  Stay tuned.

-          The Fox

So

Who are Rita Danger and Stoney Fox?

So you want to know about us?   I know what you're going to ask.   No, neither of us are therapists, nor are we trained psychologists.   We simply wanted a forum.   A place to vent where we could maybe, just maybe, show other fabulous girls that their misery or confusion or disgust or elation is universal - we've all been there.  We're not talking about things here that no one else has experienced or lived through.  You've all done them.  And then spent countless hours dishing about it at brunch, with a glass of wine on someone's couch, or via text to your friend during a conference call that you should be paying attention to.  But we decided to not only continue to talk about this harrowing adventure, but also give it a great big voice - taking it off the couch (or out of the bedroom, even) if you will.  Consider this blog one giant glass of red wine on your friend's couch.

The beautiful and hilarious Stoney is a virgin to the world of adult dating, a newly minted single girl.  In the dating world, she's barely a fetus.  Three months ago, Stoney decided that she'd had enough of her long term relationship.  She had been in it for a loooong time, and now, in her very early 30's, she finds herself with a cozy new house, lots of free time and lots of male attention.  She charmingly assumed that dating was a boilerplate affair, that men and their intentions were very straightforward.  Fail!  She quickly realized that the gym guy is different from the work guy is different from the bar guy is connected to the knee bone.  She is the middle of a shitstorm right now, as you can imagine.

Three years post divorce, Rita, however, is a cynical but hopeful wealth of dating knowledge and experience.  She has fallen and floundered her way through a veritable sea of would-be suitors and lovers. She chews up men and spits them out like a wad of chaw in a seedy biker bar.  She's broken hearts and had hers trampled on, yet bounces back with reckless abandon.  Her fabulousity is trumped only by her witty yet realistic approach to men, dating, fucking, and… HELL, relationships as a whole.  Barely into her 40s, she provides constant tutelage to her wide reaching circle of friends who willingly (and sometimes begrudgingly) accept and embrace Every. Single. Solitary. Drop. Of  her seemingly endless bounty of insight.

So brace yourself, and read us at your own risk.  Or when you can't get one of your girlfriends on the phone.

 you want to know about us?   I know what you're going to ask.   No, neither of us are therapists, nor are we trained psychologists.  We simply wanted a forum.  A place to vent where we could maybe, just maybe, show other fabulous girls that their misery or confusion or disgust or elation is universal - we've all been there.  We're not talking about things here that no one else has experienced or lived through.  You've all done them.  And then spent countless hours dishing about it at brunch, with a glass of wine on someone's couch, or via text to your friend during a conference call that you should be paying attention to.  But we decided to not only continue to talk about this harrowing adventure, but also give it a great big voice - taking it off the couch (or out of the bedroom, even) if you will.  Consider this blog one giant glass of red wine on your friend's couch.

The beautiful and hilarious Stoney is a virgin to the world of adult dating, a newly minted single girl.  In the dating world, she's barely a fetus.  Three months ago, Stoney decided that she'd had enough of her long term relationship.  She had been in it for a loooong time, and now, in her very early 30's, she finds herself with a cozy new house, lots of free time and lots of male attention.  She charmingly assumed that dating was a boilerplate affair, that men and their intentions were very straightforward.  Fail!  She quickly realized that the gym guy is different from the work guy is different from the bar guy is connected to the knee bone.  She is the middle of a shitstorm right now, as you can imagine.

Three years post divorce, Rita, however, is a cynical but hopeful wealth of dating knowledge and experience.  She has fallen and floundered her way through a veritable sea of would-be suitors and lovers. She chews up men and spits them out like a wad of chaw in a seedy biker bar.  She's broken hearts and had hers trampled on, yet bounces back with reckless abandon.  Her fabulousity is trumped only by her witty yet realistic approach to men, dating, fucking, and… HELL, relationships as a whole.  Barely into her 40s, she provides constant tutelage to her wide reaching circle of friends who willingly (and sometimes begrudgingly) accept and embrace Every. Single. Solitary. Drop. Of  her seemingly endless bounty of insight.

So brace yourself, and read us at your own risk.  Or when you can't get one of your girlfriends on the phone.