Featured Blogs that Get More Views Than Mine: Finding French Charming

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So my homie K-squared gave me a shout out on her blog Finding French Charming  Normally, I’d play along except I have exactly 3 people’s blogs I follow.

…and she’s one of them.

So the whole pay it forward idea is a bit moot, but I’ll play along for the for the “lulz” as the kids would say but only after I thank her my way, with a blog review.

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I’m not entirely sure when I started following Finding French Charming. I’m pretty sure I was getting cozy with some Makers Mark, and saw a beautiful women holding “Mis Amor” posters and liking something I wrote. I clicked over and read the tagline:

Finding true love…. Even after forty.

HOLD

THE

FUCKING

PHONE!

There is no way she is in her forties.

NO WAY!

Sweetheart if you’re over forty, then I have a 14 inch dick. I’ve seen a lot of bull shit on the interwebs but I’m not buying that one. At some point if you could comment your doctor’s name and phone number that would be great. I would love to have a long chat about what I need to be doing upkeep wise.

Anyways, I started reading her story and could instantly relate. Lived in Texas, been on a shit ton of online dates, looking for someone who doesn’t suck. Okay nothing new.

…But wait a minute, she actually found someone? Like found someone, found someone, from the internet? What the fuck?

Holy shit, that is fucking amazing to me! A normal person (at least I assume from your writing), finding that in the crap shoot that is the internet. Wow!

I don’t mainly talk about my background much, especially when it comes to that scene. But If I’m taking stats, They’re probably in the ballpark of something like this:

-Been in the online game for only 3 years, only dated girls I knew in person before that.

-Hundred of dates,

-Age range 18 to 54

-All different backgrounds, races, nationalities, and even a few that didn’t speak English.

-Most of them ended in either sex, drunken make outs, awkward conversations were be  both said fuck it, the girl being crazy or weird and me not pursuing, or the opposite, me acting like a jackass and the girl taking off.

-I’ve probably only been on a handful of second dates, mainly because I was either self loathing around the holidays, she was a good fuck, or I genuinely liked her.

-All and all, I can think of three I would like to see again.

-So at the end of the day, we’re talking a 3% success rate for me (in multiple states mind you) when it comes to some type of actual connection.

So I have to say it again, that shit is fucking amazing to me. I bitch a lot about online dating because it really doesn’t make sense. Let’s judge someone solely based on how they take pictures and how witty their 500 character bio’s can be, and whether or not they are in close proximity to me. It’s like the retarded lottery, except for whatever reason I keep playing, which makes me wonder who’s really the retarded one.

But I digress…

Here’s the thing I dig the most about the K-money’s blog. It’s her tenacity. This journey isn’t all sunshine and roses. Shit happens. Literally. She clogs the toilet the first time she meets her French boyfriend’s mother. She has to deal with douche bag lawyers with fancy drink orders, Micro-manager motorcycle riders, fireman Hoarders, and many more cringe worthy stories in which I’m sure she hasn’t talked about yet.

And through it all, she keeps her head up, and goes forward. I like that. A lot of her writing is humorous, with a “it’s not a big deal” vibe to it. I’m sure she didn’t always feel that way but the fact she can look back and joke to random readers around the world about her life in this way is pretty awesome. I got to say this French Charming sounds like a lucky guy, cause who doesn’t find that sexy?

Overall the blog is an 8 out of 10

If you’re ever bored in the Chicago area, shoot me an email. We’ll grab a drink and trade shitty date stories. I have a good one just off the top of my head, where a bartender rack jacked this girl from OKC that I was convinced was a catfish, at a packed bar Saturday night in Texas. Can’t make that shit up.

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So as promised my two quotes about love:

“Love is all right for those who can handle the psychic overload. It’s like trying to carry a full garbage can on your back over a rushing river of piss.” – Charles Bukowski

“Love is where you find it. I think it is foolish to go around looking for it, and I think it can be poisonous. I wish that people who are conventionally supposed to love each other would say to each other, when they fight, ‘Please — a little less love, and a little more common decency” – Kurt Vonnegut

Drunken Photo Shoots

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*Click *Click*Click

The shutter on the Nikon went off as the back patio of the bar. The flash poured on the two while the rest of the group was oblivious around them.

“Just one more, this time a little closer together,” the camera woman said. She was excited to use her camera on someone other than her husband and dog for a change– a statement she made many times throughout the night.

The redhead grabbed me closer while I pretended this was the Royal Wedding shoot. I stared at her and made jokes that I looked like blonde Prince Henry with less hair.

“So you’re prince William?”

I glared at her and moved her chin.

“Stop moving my face.” she said through her grin.

“Stop trying to pose! We need to make this authentic for the readers of Teen People.” I said.

She looked down and laughed into my chest. The camera girl worked ferociously.

“Oh my god you guys! this is too cute! I’m feeling something here between you two!”

I knew just what she meant. I felt it too. I felt it the first time I walked into their party that afternoon and greeted my friend’s redheaded sister. The last time I saw her she was drunk and asking about this girl I was seeing. That was five years ago. She had outgrown her parent’s divorce issues, or so I thought.

It’s always a weird feeling when someone likes you. Your gut takes a hold of you, knowing you have this power over someone. In the past, it gave me a rush and I’d want to reciprocate. Now it happens more often, and it makes me wonder. Is this a curse? What do I want? When am I going to feel this way about someone else?

*Click*Click*Click

The redhead looked back up in my eyes. I knew that look, but ignored it. We posed in more ridiculous ways, ending on a vogue. The Camera girl and the redhead consulted among the pictures. I excused myself and went to the bathroom.

“Hurry back!” the redhead yelled.

“Ya! Hurry! You have to see these pictures! They’re soooo cute!” The camera girl said.

I walked into the bar, past the rows of empty stools. Typical for a Sunday night. The bathroom was dimly lit, yet I still make out my face in between the rust spots in the mirror. I splashed cold water on my face and took a deep breath.

Fuck.

 

The First Time I got Laid as a Writer…

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The first time I got laid as a writer, she smiled when I asked to smoke outside. I don’t think she heard me over the bar chatter. She just saw me leave into the patio and came with. I lit a Newport in-between October wind gusts while she filled the silence.

“So what have you been writing about?” she asked.

“Well, I applied for a non-paid writers position at a satire magazine on campus a few weeks ago. My friend told me about it. She gave me her editor’s contact and told me to send a sample of my work. Right now, I’m managing/designing a protection scheme for the school’s solar car. It’s my senior project, one of the most difficult Senior Engineering projects in the school’s history. Between that, not missing a game of the Cubs historic 2015 playoff run, and getting yelled at by my restaurant manager who hasn’t been laid in 20 years, I found time to write the sample,” I said.

The cherry on my menthol lit up my face as I took a quick break from my speech. I exhaled and continued.

“I showed it to every one I knew. I mean EVERYONE. My roommate, my lab partners, my fellow engineering nerds, my friend that worked at the magazine, the girl I had a crush on at work, the girl I had a crush on in my History class, and etc. I got a lot of notes. Some I implemented, some I didn’t. I re-wrote the damn thing four times. Waited to the last minute to send it over,” I said.

“Wow” she said. A piece of grey ash smeared on her blue dress. “So what happened?” she asked.

“Well, days went by. I’d check my email but nothing. I’d hear a ding on my phone, only to read flights from Chicago for only 79.00! Orbits bastards. I got asked by everyone that helped me if I heard anything yet, but I had to give them the same lame answer.

Then a week and a half later, I saw an email from an address I didn’t recognize. I quickly pulled it up and read it.

Dear Darby,

Although your piece was entertaining, we don’t feel you’re a good fit here.

Take care

“Oh I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, ” I know writing can be tough thing to get into.”

The wind from the maple leaves rustled and almost blew out my half smoked cancer stick. We took a couple steps back behind a side of the bar.

“You’re not kidding, I ran into my friend who works there. I asked her what the editor thought about it. Now we’d been friends for a while, but she didn’t come clean with me until later in the conversation. Apparently, they spent the first 20 minutes of their meeting talking shit about it. The word choices, the grammatical errors, the sad attempt to be funny. I became a running joke, ” I said.

“Oh my god!” she said. “Did they really?”

I slammed my butt on the ground and looked at her brown eyes. My head slightly nodded.

“Yea they did. I guess one guy kept calling me a no talent ass clown. He even got up and drew a picture of his interpretation of said ass clown. He scribbled the face with red marker and the hair with green. She took a picture and showed me.” I said.

“Wow,” she said. She swayed back and worth trying to keep warm from the chill fall weather.

“Yea I was pretty hurt but what can I do? I just need to get better. You know, work a little harder. I decided to open up a shitty blog. I’m also reading articles about the craft and asking questions daily on a forum.

So as of right now, that’s what I’ve working on,” I said.

She looked back at my wide eyes. Her words hesitated to exit but I already knew what she was going to say.

“Do you still have the piece? Like, do you mind if I read it?” she asked

“Not at all,” I said.

I grabbed her hand and we walked two blocks to my apartment.