<?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' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4379100662689887617</id><updated>2012-01-30T15:13:00.154-08:00</updated><title type='text'>modern dating pool</title><subtitle type='html'>the findings of a single lady dating detective in nyc</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Ms. Lulu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16720580392344732901</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://armandfrasco.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/mkpux.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>24</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4379100662689887617.post-825067167466214869</id><published>2009-04-05T13:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-29T20:30:13.036-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Affair With Facebook: On The Rocks</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://blogs.smh.com.au/lifestyle/asksam/breaking-up.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 279px; height: 279px;" src="http://blogs.smh.com.au/lifestyle/asksam/breaking-up.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" &gt;Facebook,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God, how do I say this? It's not that I want to break up, it's just....FUCK!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember...when we were cool? When you were the shiny, new kid on the scene? You sorta flew under the radar at first, low-key, not the desperate type....just like, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" &gt;&lt;strong&gt;She'll come to me if she wants &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" &gt;&lt;strong&gt;to, &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;when&lt;/span&gt; she's ready&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;And I was all, &lt;strong&gt;Sure, seems a little bland, not really my type but I'll give it shot&lt;/strong&gt;. And then...I was hooked. I fell hard. I found myself checking in with you every day, sometimes a couple times of day, installing you on my Blackberry to keep closer tabs. Suddenly it was necessary for me to know in real time that Jackie was watching a kid projectile vomit at the Plaza and Lisa was picking up luggage with Catharine Keener at LAX. I felt &lt;em&gt;connected&lt;/em&gt; and in on the secrets (along with the rest of their hundreds of friends). And who can forget, during the election, people's&lt;/span&gt; Facebook status's were &lt;strong&gt;ON FIRE&lt;/strong&gt;. When Obama was officially declared our president, I will always look back and fondly remember the hundreds of ecstatic updates throughout the night.  It was also an immediate way for me to do a little profiling and identify all the Republicans (in the minority of my FB friend pool) who had less than enthusiastic status mentions and (even weirder) blatant omissions of the worldly event - Barry from Boise with his rote "Taco Tuesday" update apparently wasn't feelin' the love I had been deep in the heart of Brooklyn, yo.   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" &gt;I can admit it now. I became addicted to you. How could I resist? I mean, when we first got serious, you were blowing my mind on a daily basis. Forget the Top Friends and murder-inducing Super Poke applications (VIRTUAL martinis?  Are you fucking kidding me?  I'd rather have you throw a virtual sheep at me, at least I wouldn't be thirsty and pissed off it wasn't real). Those are superficial attractions to lure in those who truly don't understand you, Facebook. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" &gt;I'm talking about the PEOPLE I was finally able to reconnect with!  Friends I hadn't thought about in years were suddenly coming out of the woodwork.  I was thrown back into various life stages of elementary, middle, high school and college. Because it had been 10-15 years since I had seen people, it was like I was able to get in a time machine that blasted me into the future and I was able to see what people had grown up into. Some of it made total sense - Of COURSE Shanan is a born again make-up "artist" married to a military man in the Carolinas and no-DUH, Brian is a fireman in Fresno with the whitest kids I've ever seen! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" &gt;And everyone I thought was probs gay in high school, totally IS!  Except one.  Well, not to his wife and kids, at least.  Or Congregation.  Ugh.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;Near the beginning I got over the fact that you sent a broken heart out to the newsfeed of EVERY freakin' person I knew after I changed my relationship status.  My former boss didn't need to be contacting me about that, thanks.  That was a hard one for me to get over and it was nearly a deal breaker but I hung in there...and learned not to have any mention of my relationship status on my profile to avoid any of that bullshit for future break up protection.   But to be honest with myself, I was already under your spell, Facebook.  I &lt;strong&gt;needed&lt;/strong&gt; the challenge to dig up the most remote, yet meaningful friendships that had some sort of impact on me.  It was a delicate balance - people who had drifted but would be happy to hear from me.  And when I found them, it was insta-access to their lives - or what they would allow to fit within their profile, which could be &lt;em&gt;pretty&lt;/em&gt; revealing.  This new kind of allowed voyeurism was a great way to be re-introduced to people who had become unfamiliar.  And super appealing to my nosy side.  I was finding myself looking at complete strangers photo albums!  And THEN the WHOLE WORLD joined at once.  Seriously.  Didn't the whole world join at ONCE??&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" &gt;That's when I took a step back and &lt;em&gt;really&lt;/em&gt; evaluated this relationship.  The thrill of finding people is gone...Everyone's been found.  I've been chasing that same high for months.  Now that the mysteries are no longer, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" &gt;I just don't feel that original connection to you any more.  Yes, I still like checking the status updates from time to time (now that I've blocked out the most boring of the status abusers) and seeing people's pictures still gives me a thrill...I don't know, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;maybe it's me.  Maybe &lt;strong&gt;I've&lt;/strong&gt; changed. It's not like I want to completely break up. I mean, I NEED you in my life still. I just think we should take a little break.&lt;/span&gt;  A little breather.  Reassess this thing between us and see where we are at in a few months.  And no, I'm still not taking a goddamn quiz to find out which &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Eight is Enough&lt;/span&gt; character I am.  I'm serious about that one.  Shut up.  I'm serious. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt; (Update:  I'm &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Nancy Bradford) &lt;/span&gt; fuck it.  I'm done for. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4379100662689887617-825067167466214869?l=moderndatingpool.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/feeds/825067167466214869/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4379100662689887617&amp;postID=825067167466214869' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/825067167466214869'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/825067167466214869'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-affair-with-facebook-on-rocks.html' title='My Affair With Facebook: On The Rocks'/><author><name>Ms. Lulu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16720580392344732901</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://armandfrasco.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/mkpux.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4379100662689887617.post-7280094061619039064</id><published>2009-02-13T20:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-14T08:07:15.138-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Things I just discovered about myself:</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://scienceblogs.com/zooillogix/simpsons_CrazyCatLady.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 293px; height: 336px;" src="http://scienceblogs.com/zooillogix/simpsons_CrazyCatLady.gif" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;I am majorly addicted to a retarded game on my Blackberry called BrickBreaker.  Like seriously.  I'm embarrassing myself on the train.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I can be totally satisfied with a box of lemon tea cookies and an $8 bottle of wine for dinner.  More than satisfied.  It's kind of my favorite meal of all time (at the moment).&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I am more interested in design and home decorating mags than fashion-y ones right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;If I don't have plans on a Friday night and I get to hit the hay before 11, it's kinda dreamy.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;And&lt;/span&gt; I discovered all of this tonight.  A Friday.  One of the two sacred, going-out nights of the week and I am destroying bricks on my phone with a laser, ingesting my weight in cookies and marginal wine and getting off on throw pillows I can't afford.  I might as well just gain 50 pounds now, adopt 13 cats and give up any hope of ever getting laid again.  All I need to complete this anti-make-out solo-palooza night is the addition of some good/bad lady porn and then start sucking face with my pillow (I know pillows don't have faces).  Alas, I already sent&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);" href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0199626/"&gt;In The Cut &lt;/a&gt;back to Netflix.  &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;However&lt;/span&gt;, I haven't sent back my &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;memory&lt;/span&gt; of those steamy scenes.  Boo-yah!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I mean, this isn't the picture of my EVERY Friday night...but I have to say, it was actually &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;pretty&lt;/span&gt; awesome.  No one called, no one e-mailed or texted or harshed my buzz with a Facebook friend request.  And I luxuriated in the indulgent, time wasting activities that ate up my evening....all the while increasing my knowledge of African textile trends, waxing poetic on the religious pairing I created with tea cookies and red wine (over and over) and getting to level 13 on BrickBreaker.  &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Level&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;13&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;bitches&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK.  I'm scared.  I admit it.  I enjoyed this evening a little too much and I fear I will be tempted to replicate some semblance of it when I should be dolling myself up for a night on the town, honing my craft of &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;the small talk&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;hair flirting&lt;/span&gt; and putting that "&lt;a style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);" href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/15198199/"&gt;women are more attractive while ovulating&lt;/a&gt;" theory to the test - you know, regular dating detective duties.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fuck it.  It's one night.  A gal needs a break from that nonsense to concentrate on more important things in her life.  Like getting to level 14....I gotta go.  Pray for me.  I might need a BrickBreaker intervention if I keep this up. I can't get enough of that shit!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4379100662689887617-7280094061619039064?l=moderndatingpool.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/feeds/7280094061619039064/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4379100662689887617&amp;postID=7280094061619039064' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/7280094061619039064'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/7280094061619039064'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/2009/02/things-i-just-discovered-about-myself.html' title='Things I just discovered about myself:'/><author><name>Ms. Lulu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16720580392344732901</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://armandfrasco.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/mkpux.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4379100662689887617.post-4384897835822464216</id><published>2009-02-06T09:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-08T12:35:43.002-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ms. Lulu's Monthly Investigative Report</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eDzCQG9ivG4/SYx7PLZA8uI/AAAAAAAAAAs/8w2ecuWaU9Y/s1600-h/LibrarianPinUp.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299746362194195170" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 235px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eDzCQG9ivG4/SYx7PLZA8uI/AAAAAAAAAAs/8w2ecuWaU9Y/s320/LibrarianPinUp.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The upDATE&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;HIGHLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;Getting asked out on a date by a very sweet boy 8 years my junior.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;LOWLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;Attending a small birthday dinner with a former &lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;(&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" href="http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/2009/01/beard-im-over-you.html"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;not so long ago&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;)&lt;/span&gt; hook-up, his new t.v. star girlfriend and three other couples....Guess who got drunk?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;HIGHLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;Getting whisked away on a snowy eve to a lovely wine bar by Sweet Boy and charmed by his "no game" approach. He was so extremely complimentary and sweet and over-the-top &lt;em&gt;gushy&lt;/em&gt; over me....ok, he just HAD no game. Maybe that wasn't a choice, but it was kinda refreshing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;LOWLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;Learning over said date that Sweet Boy had JUST given up painting graffiti. Ok, fine. Still skateboarded. &lt;em&gt;Kinda&lt;/em&gt; cute? Lives in the depths of Bushwick with a roommate. Ouchy. &lt;em&gt;And&lt;/em&gt; has only been out of college for four years. What? Really?? All of these ah, youth! life-realities combined to make me feel like an &lt;u&gt;old lady&lt;/u&gt;. Which is NOT a highlight, my friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;HIGHLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;Deciding to go on a second date with Sweet Boy because, well...he was just so upbeat and fun. His enthusiasm was infectious and besides, one date is always hard to gauge &lt;em&gt;much&lt;/em&gt; unless it's &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);" href="http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/2007/05/there-is-such-thing-as-too-much-tongue.html"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;horribly wrong&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;. Plus he kept telling me I was pretty. I'm a sucker for that. Did I mention he's a twin? Could be hot...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;LOWLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;Panicking after Sweet Boy friend-ed me on Facebook after our first date. Are we at that level yet?? Do I have to be FB friends with ALL my first dates?? I fear this will start affecting my status updates. I already have enough stress over FB with Smarty Pants being in my circle of friends. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;Speaking of which...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;HIGHLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;Regaining contact with Smarty Pants after months of minimalistic, haiku, check-in notes to each other over Facebook. We finally had a light exchange that made it seem like we could probs be friends!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;LOWLIGHT&lt;/strong&gt;/&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;HIGHLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;/&lt;strong&gt;LOWLIGHT&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;Meeting up with Smarty Pants for a casual, friends-only drink. Drink turning to drinks, casual turning romantic and friends-only degrading into a heart pounding, ten steps back danger zone of coupledom in a single evening, including an emotional break-up after breakfast. ugh.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;WE CAN'T BE FRIENDS. apparently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;HIGHLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;Seeing the epic Eugene O'Neill play &lt;strong&gt;Mourning Becomes Electra&lt;/strong&gt; (all 4 1/2 hours of it!) where various characters use the term "Fancy Lady" to refer to an immoral woman/mistress. It's now my new favorite term of all time. So much better than skank. I'm even considering renaming this blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;LOWLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;Feeling the immense guilt over Smarty Pants all over again. And the mind fuck that night had on me. I was doubting everything I was so sure about 3 months prior...We are NOT pam &amp;amp; tommy, we are not pam and tommy...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;HIGHLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;Making the decision, after having a second date with Sweet Boy and realizing that we had no real sexual chemistry, to nip it in the bud before it progressed any further. After we kissed and made plans for a third date, of course. baby steps. Before the third date was suppose to happen, I sent him this: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;I had a lot of fun with you on thursday and wanted to thank you again for springing for the tix and picking up the tab that night! You're a true gent, ____! A girl should be so lucky to have you on her arm. Speaking of which....I may not be that gal. I'm coming to this conclusion mainly because the times we've hung out, it's been so great but I keep thinking of cute girls that I want to set you up with...not necessarily what you SHOULD be thinking on a date but it is a complement and I hope you don't take it like it isn't. You're adorable and charming and so super sweet, I can barely stand it. But I guess I'm feeling more of a friendship vibe between us. It may also be the fact that I've just come off of a relationship and I haven't really been interested in entering another one for now. So to be cliched and boring...it's not you, it's me. That said, I really DO think you're awesome and super fun. If you'll be my friend, I would be thrilled. If not, I totally get that, you may have already filled your friend quota and we can go back to pre-__-and-__-on-dates every day life. It's up to you.&lt;br /&gt;i know that we set a date for this tuesday so you can let me know what you want to do. I'd still be up for doing something..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;Granted, my friend K Lo, upon first glance said there were too many exclamation points. But all in all, I think it came off nice, honest and grown up. Big leaps for me. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;LOWLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;This e-mail back from him:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;Im disappointed. But I totally get where you are coming from. Iappreciate your honesty, and think its cool that you brought this upbefore anything else developed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;lets hold off...and call me if ever just want to fuck ;)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;u&gt;Not&lt;/u&gt; such a Sweet Boy, I guess. OK - I highlighted that last part but I just wanted to make sure you didn't miss the delicate subtlety in his words there. He certainly went for it, no? To say that I was shocked from his response especially after I poured my heart out into that rejection e-mail is an understatement. The sound that came out of my mouth (whilst at work, mind you) upon reading this was something like: "omigwhaaathewhodoeshethink...baaaaaahhhhh!" Then I laughed. Then I was shocked all over again. Did I mention we were Facebook friends?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;HIGHLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;Laughing over that e-mail over the next couple of days. And then getting &lt;em&gt;this&lt;/em&gt; e-mail from him a few days later:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;em&gt;You know ____, I DO understand where you are coming from. I thinkyou are so thoughtful to even consider my feelings at this point. Ofcourse I am looking for a relationship...down the road, but I am alsojust looking for good people I feel comfortable around. Its tough inNY to meet really cool women. I like you and have fun talking withyou. Plus I wouldn't mind if you introduced me to someone...althoughthey wouldn't be as cute as you!! Anyway, I really enjoy your companyand would want to be your friend if nothing more.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;Oops! Did he accidentally send that douche-y e-mail reponse before he had a chance to think to send this REAL one that is more in character with the guy I met those few times? Is his twin brother an evil one who logs in as him and sabotages all communication with the opposite sex? Because sending an e-mail like the first one will guarantee you'll NEVER get laid. It's what my friend A refers to as an ANTI-Boner. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;So now, I'm a little torn. Should I respond at all? If he regretted sending that first response, he didn't really refer to it the second time around. Was that just his attempt at humor and he was trying to make an awkward situation....more awkward? Should I just lighten up??&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Key Learnings from this past month:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;don't assume you can be friends with your ex (esp after loads of wine)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;don't date boys who were 9 when you moved into your first apartment&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;use "Fancy Lady" whenever it seems appropriate, which is every day I'm sure.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;Till next time, this Fancy Lady is signing off.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4379100662689887617-4384897835822464216?l=moderndatingpool.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/feeds/4384897835822464216/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4379100662689887617&amp;postID=4384897835822464216' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/4384897835822464216'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/4384897835822464216'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/2009/02/ms-lulus-monthly-investigative-report.html' title='Ms. Lulu&apos;s Monthly Investigative Report'/><author><name>Ms. Lulu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16720580392344732901</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://armandfrasco.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/mkpux.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eDzCQG9ivG4/SYx7PLZA8uI/AAAAAAAAAAs/8w2ecuWaU9Y/s72-c/LibrarianPinUp.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4379100662689887617.post-4623912598461754726</id><published>2009-01-05T02:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-05T03:55:52.628-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Beard, I'm Over You</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KYgjpL1TYxQ/SC_vErMZ2uI/AAAAAAAAAc4/WLaElbYoLcw/s1600/AndrewGold.jpeg" alt="[AndrewGold.jpeg]" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had a nice run, Beard.  But I think I'm done.  Oh yes, you charmed me at first when you sprouted up on the myriad of faces of young men all over town, there was a kind of manly mystique about it all.  God knows I prefer a man to a boy and there is nothing more virile than a thick down of fur on a gent's mug to man up the proceedings.  From Seattle to Schenectady, you, Beard were a major player. Before this point, I had no idea I had the hots for the sexy professor/bad-ass lobster fisherman/'70s rock star combo.  But, there it was.  I was smitten.  Looking back on it all, I think there was something comforting and familiar about it for me....a child of the late '70s and '80s.  Perhaps there was my very own Kris Kristofferson ala &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore&lt;/span&gt; out there to play guitar for me and drive me around in his pickup.  I gotta say, Beard, I feel a little conned.  Just when I was one of your biggest fans you had to go and become a cocky mother fucker.  Not cool.  You've gotten so full of yourself, men are starting to think of you as a super power and are growing you out to disturbing proportions!  Have you seen sweet-faced Joaquin Phoenix lately?  Yes, he's bat-shit crazy but wicked talented and a babe.  You have single handedly made him look as crazy as he is.  Also, not cool.   When you are long enough to braid, I guarantee you, that's NOT HOT.  And most importantly, REALLY hard to make out.  There.  I said it.  I want you gone.  Making out is more important. And it's damned near impossible when you're around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a recent make out with a beard attached to a man's face and I gotta say, it wasn't easy.  It &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;looked&lt;/span&gt; like it had gotten out of control from the last time I had seen him but I really didn't know the extent of the madness until I went in and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;really&lt;/span&gt; investigated.  With my face.  It wasn't pretty.  I got more beard inside my mouth than I care to discuss.  The beard to lip ratio was entirely unfair.  I think HE was kissing his beard.  Not like I pictured it.  So I've come to the conclusion that I prefer my men to be less hirsute in '09.  Dating is hard enough.  Let's make it easier on everyone and make our mouths accessible during a make out.  Thank you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4379100662689887617-4623912598461754726?l=moderndatingpool.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/feeds/4623912598461754726/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4379100662689887617&amp;postID=4623912598461754726' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/4623912598461754726'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/4623912598461754726'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/2009/01/beard-im-over-you.html' title='Beard, I&apos;m Over You'/><author><name>Ms. Lulu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16720580392344732901</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://armandfrasco.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/mkpux.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KYgjpL1TYxQ/SC_vErMZ2uI/AAAAAAAAAc4/WLaElbYoLcw/s72-c/AndrewGold.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4379100662689887617.post-4618128040514899419</id><published>2008-12-31T00:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-31T01:20:47.978-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Breaking News: These Two Can't Stay Away From Each Other.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img alt="http://dietrichthrall.files.wordpress.com/2008/06/pam-tommy.jpg" src="http://dietrichthrall.files.wordpress.com/2008/06/pam-tommy.jpg" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;I know what you're thinking:&lt;br /&gt;1) Who Cares? 2) Really? 3) Again, Who Cares? 3) But seriously, Really??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I realize that this isn't breaking news.  Not close, (they were spotted last June swapping spit with their boys in the backseat, no less) but I still think it's kinda amazing that these crazy kids &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;always&lt;/span&gt; seem to come back to each other.  It's kind of romantic, no?  I mean, who doesn't like a good comeback?  But, seriously, it's to the point where it's kind of expected that these two will just end up together.  Perhaps it's destiny.  It could be chemical.  No one else seems to measure up?  (In Pamela's case that might very well be true - have you seen that video??  Dayum, Tommy)  Knowing these two, it's probs the S.E.X.  No doubt these guys have hang-from-the-rafters-monkey-sex on a daily basis when they're back on.  Maybe they just need those couple of year breaks in between to have widely speculated, very public relationships with other rock stars, low lifes and porn ladies to keep things fresh.  On a VERY small, un-public and VD-free scale, I can kinda relate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every adult relationship I've had, there's been a break up and then a return to see if it could work out again period.  Some of those were multiple returns.  In the case of my early 20's, I think I thrived on that up and down misery and drama (and S.E.X. of course) but when I got a little older, I really believed that getting back together in that relationship was going to end up at the alter.  In my most recent case of re-relationship do-overs, Smarty Pants showed up at my work and over drinks made a total case for US and our FUTURE and was braver than I'd ever seen him before.  I was hopeful, swept up in the romance of it all and genuinely missing him.  And turned on.  So.  Smarty Pants 2.0 was born just 3 months after we had decided to call it off.  But despite the fact that we were both heading into our "new" relationship reinvigorated and willing to work on things, the truth was that we coasted on the fumes of that initial, over the top, romantic eve he decided to win me back and by the end of nearly 5 months of &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;that,&lt;/span&gt; we lost all fuel to drive us further.  We were again on empty and I was feeling like we just weren't meant to be.  It was MUCH harder the second time around breaking things off, though.   We were both more invested and it had also spanned over a year when all was said and done.  When you are in your thirties, a relationship that lasts a year is like 5 in pre-thirties years.  People are on a clear path.  I know he was, and again, I was feeling the pressure of that and not wanting to waste his time if it just wasn't right.&lt;br /&gt;So here I am again, single for three months now and....doing ok!  It's exactly where I want to be.  I still am not feeling the internet dating thing but I am allowing myself to be open to any and all possibilities.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the greatest news of ALL, is that I am &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;back on this blog&lt;/span&gt;.  I know, it seemed like I broke up with MDP for good...but it's not like I was cheating with another dating blog or anything.  I just needed a little break.  Tommy and Pam would understand.  The truth is, I missed it terribly.  So, if you'll have me back....I promise, it'll be worth it. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4379100662689887617-4618128040514899419?l=moderndatingpool.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/feeds/4618128040514899419/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4379100662689887617&amp;postID=4618128040514899419' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/4618128040514899419'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/4618128040514899419'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/2008/12/breaking-news-these-two-cant-stay-away.html' title='Breaking News: These Two Can&apos;t Stay Away From Each Other.'/><author><name>Ms. Lulu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16720580392344732901</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://armandfrasco.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/mkpux.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4379100662689887617.post-1990210291941494276</id><published>2008-04-16T14:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-18T07:15:36.834-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Spring Is For Lovers!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.orizamartins.com/casal-spring.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.orizamartins.com/casal-spring.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Something special seems to happen in New York this time every year. I wouldn't go so far to say that &lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;love&lt;/span&gt; is in the air...more like &lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;lust&lt;/span&gt;. It's like we're all walking around with a dirty little secret and we're none too good about hiding it. The energy is palpable in condensed areas like, say, the long B train ride from Brooklyn to Manhattan where you find yourself gazing a li-tt-le too long at that strapping hunk of man's bicep gripping the subway pole (I mean, was he &lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;trying&lt;/span&gt; to flex and show off?? Sheesh!) or in that nutso-busy Starbucks in the morning where waiting for your coffee with a group of strangers now somehow feels a little naughty and slightly uncomfortable and why not chat up that double tall latte for a brief moment before the nice guy who serves you coffee everyday noticeably pulls the undressing-with-the-eyes move? As he hands you your Americano and his eyes skim over your body, your heart thumps a little harder, a flush rushes to your face, beads of sweat form at the top of your brow - there is something awakened in you... It might just be the anticipation of that sweet, sweet caffeine but I'd like to look at it in a more romantic way, thank you. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the reasons why it's so blissful this time of year is because we know it is so fleeting. It has been a loooong road for New Yorkers (Winter) to get here and we are damned well going to enjoy every minute of it. Spring in NYC doesn't even really start until mid-April (right now) and we will be lucky if it stretches past mid-May before the stickiness sets in. March totally doesn't count.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's like if March were a boyfriend, he'd totally be the headtrippy kind who is warm and sweet one day and cold as ice the next. You wouldn't know what to expect from him and he'd be playing GAMES the entire time....blowing you off with his pissy attitude all week and then sucking you back in with sugar, sweet sunshine and a bunch of flowers. A March dude is a prick. And you should leave his ass. Yeah, you think he will change...we all do....every year. He's just so chock-full of potential.  But the fact is, that fucker is a player! Hey - as long as you know what you're getting yourself into...I just say, you're gonna get hurt. An April man on the other hand really comes through. He's the type who may be a little reserved at first, a little reticent to completely open up but once he does....BAM! He knocks it out of the park. Man, is he worth it. Yes, you've got to hold out a little for him to fully blossom, but if you put in the work, girls, he's a winner. Rarely does an April man disappoint. Every day just gets better and better.  Then there is May. Now this fella is a LO-VER. It's woo-city nearly every day with this guy. He just knows how to romance a lady and does everything right. He's always in a &lt;em&gt;great&lt;/em&gt; mood and he smells AWESOME. He's the kind of guy you have a hard time leaving to go to work in the morning or the store or the bathroom. A May man can hypnotize you willingly, have all your friends wondering where you've disappeared to all month, charm your neighbors and still come off like an upstanding gentleman. Even on those few days where he might be a little off, you can easily forgive him because you know not &lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;every&lt;/span&gt; day can be PERFECT. It doesn't get any better than that! No wonder there are so many weddings in June.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, it's no coincidence that this is the time of year I have typically met people. But for some reason I'm still not fully there. I still have no desire to go back to Internet dating (partly because I'm a little shell-shocked from my last experience) regardless of some recent responses. I should really update my profile if I did decide to do that anyway...I noticed Smarty Pants has. (hey - he checked mine out too!) I was trying to figure out if he had changed some of his answers in response to our relationship, like - "looking for a woman who knows exactly what she wants" and "willing to talk about the future" and "enjoys being emotionally available". That's what I'd do. But he just added some recent pics and changed up his book preferences. I'm fairly certain he's thrown himself back in already, as he should. It'll take me a little bit more time. Maybe May is my month. Too bad May doesn't last all year. But then it wouldn't be so special, I suppose. Yeah, I could really use a May man. There's nothing like getting swept off your feet in Spring.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4379100662689887617-1990210291941494276?l=moderndatingpool.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/feeds/1990210291941494276/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4379100662689887617&amp;postID=1990210291941494276' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/1990210291941494276'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/1990210291941494276'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/2008/04/spring-is-for-lovers.html' title='Spring Is For Lovers!'/><author><name>Ms. Lulu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16720580392344732901</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://armandfrasco.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/mkpux.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4379100662689887617.post-2199549355524735781</id><published>2008-03-04T16:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T07:43:17.823-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Deal Breakers</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eDzCQG9ivG4/R9r1pB212tI/AAAAAAAAAAc/44xD8GMOLYE/s1600-h/2-kate-moss-pete-doherty-425-0816.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5177720806837705426" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eDzCQG9ivG4/R9r1pB212tI/AAAAAAAAAAc/44xD8GMOLYE/s320/2-kate-moss-pete-doherty-425-0816.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Some people's relationship standards are, um....questionable.  But for the rest of us, we tend to have &lt;em&gt;some&lt;/em&gt; things that we just can't tolerate from someone we are going to potentially share saliva, let alone an intimate life with. We all now know these as &lt;strong&gt;Deal Breakers &lt;/strong&gt;and they are everywhere on Internet dating profiles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; On the site I've used, some of the initial biggies are even conveniently created by the site themselves in the form of basic questions located to the right of every one's profile page. They are impersonal, just the facts, ma'am but extremely important. This is often where the Internet-dating-trained-eye goes first (right after the posted pics, of course) to make the very first rejection. If the pictures pass the 'sufficiently attractive test', the right part of the page is where you go to find out everything from whether he's taller than your boobs, just interested in 'playing' or if he's a recent divorcée.   One of these answers might warrant a DB arrest from someone or the combination could amount to a click to the next profile.  It really depends on your priorities.  Some people only go to two spots: job description or the &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;BABY&lt;/span&gt; question.  But besides that, everyone has some sort of 'wish list' in the body of their individual profile citing exactly what they are looking for in a prospective mate. Often-times these are littered with DBs for that particular person.  Guys tend to be less creative (or specific) than women about their  DBs.  I think almost every dude I've checked out mentioned something about not being interested in dating a crazy lady. Good luck!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Of course many times it's not until you meet the person that you find out what your DBs really are. Some are revealed right off the bat ("I believe in splitting the check on the first couple dates...") and others come to light when you're 3 years in ("I think I might be gay").   An inordinate amount of nose hair, an affection for homophobic slurs, Republican leanings and a pack a day habit are usually (DBs for me) made known pretty early on but then there are the ginormous DBs that aren't fully revealed until one has already gotten &lt;em&gt;involved &lt;/em&gt;- like discovering your partner has decided they don't want babies....ever. That one is the quintessential DB because it's pretty definitive. Minds can change but don't count on it, sister. Alcoholism, drug addiction, mental instability, an unnatural addiction to porn - all pretty much no-brainer DBs but kinda hard to spot early on. These are the DBs that can be the most painful...and drawn out. So, Kate, I feel ya. It must have been pretty tortuous to be in love with a junkie, especially when EVERYONE was telling you to drop him. I'm not sure what finally did it for you (maybe he left the toilet seat up one too many times).  I'm just glad you came to your senses...for the time being. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; Our relationship priorities do shift as we age and learn what we can and cannot tolerate in a partner.  At the top of my list of requirements is no longer that my best friend thinks he's cute or his mom is cool or that he has an appreciation for the movies Heathers and Say Anything.  And my number one deal breaker no longer involves chest hair or whether or not he has a car (on the West Coast I know that's still a major DB but in New York, no biggie).  But some things have still remained intact.  He must be nice to me (and my friends) and still reeeeally like me and tell me so regularly.  And he must be a good kisser.  You also learn as you get older that it's a fine balance of compromises.  So if he refers to Target as Tar-jay EVERY time or says "that's how I role" a little too much - it's mildly annoying, yes but not a DB because he's actually very smart and can be clever and thoughtful and generous.  But if he has tattoos on the face/neck (called job stoppers in the tattoo biz) and lacks&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;em&gt;actual&lt;/em&gt; employment AND spends a little too much time on Facebook, I'd say he'd better be awesome in a number of other ways that balance out those potential DB doozies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Smarty Pants and I discovered some personal DBs recently and have unfortunately come to an end.  Apparently his stopping point has something to do with having his girlfriend be emotionally unavailable and not willing to talk about the future.  And mine is having someone who resents me for not wanting to go there right now.  But I totally get it.  It's been almost an entire year and he deserves someone who can commit in every way.  It's still a total bummer and I'm trying not to be down in the dumpers about it...or contact him (because apparently that's confusing). What I've found from this experience is that some deal breakers aren't so cut and dry...it's sometimes just a feeling that somethings not right and may never be.  And he wasn't even a junkie.  Man, we are all crazy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4379100662689887617-2199549355524735781?l=moderndatingpool.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/feeds/2199549355524735781/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4379100662689887617&amp;postID=2199549355524735781' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/2199549355524735781'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/2199549355524735781'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/2008/03/deal-breakers.html' title='Deal Breakers'/><author><name>Ms. Lulu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16720580392344732901</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://armandfrasco.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/mkpux.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eDzCQG9ivG4/R9r1pB212tI/AAAAAAAAAAc/44xD8GMOLYE/s72-c/2-kate-moss-pete-doherty-425-0816.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4379100662689887617.post-6221329198401167151</id><published>2007-09-19T08:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-20T11:24:48.911-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Coming up for air...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://static.flickr.com/111/297588570_5046234e58_o.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://static.flickr.com/111/297588570_5046234e58_o.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sooooo, it's been a &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;millennia&lt;/span&gt; since my last posting and I blame the boy, smarty pants (and my fear of him finding out about this blog) entirely for my absence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is it about the all-encompassing, life-taker-over, no-sleep, weight-gain-of-it-all with a new relationship???  I think there is some mail sitting on my desk I still haven't opened from June.  And forget about the contents of my refrigerator.  I believe that fuzzy, brown, lumpy concoction in the tupper-ware container (the lone item occupying the space) is a Weight Watchers bean dip recipe that I optimistically made before my diet consisted of chocolate, wine and pulled pork.  (Boys.)  It's been there for about as long as that unopened mail.  I'm afraid to open either one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really hadn't anticipated this.  Getting into a hot and heavy relationship, that is.  I had planned on dating for a while and having many more sordid, funny, crazy dating stories to spill on this dating expose I've created.   And for fear of turning this into a blog about relationships - budding, changing, getting serious - I haven't posted anything.   I don't think people find talk of a monogamous relationship half as fascinating as hearing about multiple disastrous dates, idiot dudes, sloppy make-outs and regretful, drunken nights.  I know I don't. We all get a kick out of hearing about (other's) cringe-worthy pain that meeting (and making out with) strangers can induce.  Living it, for reals, on the other hand, isn't as fantastic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here I am....in a quandary about whether or not to continue this little experiment since my life is suddenly boring (meaning, not looney tunes).  What I am thrilled about through all of this is that I have been responsible for encouraging some dear friends into signing up to do a little online dating of their own.  Maybe I'll have some of them contribute to future postings so we can all live vicariously through them.....any takers?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4379100662689887617-6221329198401167151?l=moderndatingpool.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/feeds/6221329198401167151/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4379100662689887617&amp;postID=6221329198401167151' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/6221329198401167151'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/6221329198401167151'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/2007/09/coming-up-for-air.html' title='Coming up for air...'/><author><name>Ms. Lulu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16720580392344732901</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://armandfrasco.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/mkpux.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4379100662689887617.post-1934387724503290361</id><published>2007-07-18T15:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-18T18:29:32.341-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dude Looks Like a Lady</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: -moz-zoom-in;" alt="http://library2.usask.ca/srsd/pulps/full/half-F.jpg" src="http://library2.usask.ca/srsd/pulps/full/half-F.jpg" width="392" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure exactly when it happened, but somewhere in between me pining after Ryan Castro in the first, second and third grades (until I realized he couldn't go to birthday parties because he was a Jehovah's Witness - which kinda made me love him even more - because he had to be a little tortured, right?) and my romantic exploits as of late, somewhere along the way....I've turned into a dude. Which totally took this girly girl by surprise. I don't know if it's because my heart has turned to stone (which isn't to say men are stone-y hearted) or if I've just gotten older or more pragmatic (not to say that men are more pragmatic) or what. But I'm pretty certain dudes don't feel this &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;massive&lt;/span&gt; amount of guilt about behaving the way they do. They don't know any other way. I'm sorta cursed with the knowledge of how girls feel at the same time.  And it's awful.  I can't even fully enjoy acting like a dude!  Geesh. I'm so &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;complex&lt;/span&gt;....or an asshole.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But my point is - I've never experienced this kind of role reversal - and it's tripping me out.  I am not &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;really&lt;/span&gt; interested in getting into a serious relationship and I bristle at the idea of talking about my feelings and I'm just content hanging out, having fun and not getting too deep.  You'd think this would be the ideal girl for some guys.  Apparently, Smarty Pants isn't one of those guys and feels this laid back, whatevs approach isn't cutting it and has expressed as much to me recently.  Granted, we've been doing couple-y things lately and I guess it might have been sending the wrong kind of message.  Like going out of town for the weekend together, reading the New York Times real estate section over egg sandwiches and coffee, spending multiple days throughout the week at each other's apartments and slowly introducing some friends along the way....oh man.  I already feel myself having a mini panic attack over what I've just typed.  My sense of feeling trapped, however, didn't really set in until he wanted to talk about "where this is going" and "what I want out of it".   He's really gone out of his way to open himself up and talk about what he wants and what he won't put up with in a relationship.  I've totally turned him into a girl. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think it may be harder for women to express that they don't want to be in a committed relationship.  We are somehow made to feel more embarrassed about this.  I believe it is easier to accept that a guy may have commitment issues and that he just wants to date and not be all that serious, especially after getting out of a relationship.  But when a woman says that, she is regarded as a little damaged or that she wants to slut it up all over town....or she is not really believed.  'Sure you want to be in a relationship!  Every woman wants to get serious and settle down, right?'  Well...maybe eventually but certainly not right now. The thought actually sends me into one of those little panic attacks I had a paragraph back and I start hyperventilating a little and then looking for a brown paper bag to breathe into. When I say things like - 'I'm not sure if I want to get married or maybe I wont ever have babies,'  I get the reaction from friends like a look of pity and then an encouraging comment like - 'Don't say &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;that&lt;/span&gt;, of course you will get married.  You're still so young.'  That's not really the point.  I may not actually want those things for myself.  I'm still figuring it out...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I do know (because he's told me already!) is that Smarty Pants does want those things for himself.  And I know I can't be that for him right now, if ever and I'm having the hardest time telling him because I don't want to give up hanging out with him and the intimacy that we do share...and the &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;sex&lt;/span&gt;.  God.  I'm not ready to give that up yet.  Whatever happened to the dirty librarian role play and the naughty dewey decimal system references?  Why does it have to get all emotional?  I just wish it could stay shallow and hot.  I'd be fine with that.  See?  I am a dude.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4379100662689887617-1934387724503290361?l=moderndatingpool.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/feeds/1934387724503290361/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4379100662689887617&amp;postID=1934387724503290361' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/1934387724503290361'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/1934387724503290361'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/2007/07/dude-looks-like-lady.html' title='Dude Looks Like a Lady'/><author><name>Ms. Lulu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16720580392344732901</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://armandfrasco.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/mkpux.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4379100662689887617.post-807695332538652672</id><published>2007-06-20T14:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-20T21:55:23.796-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Welcome to Man School</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.foreignmego.com/plaid/flaherty.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://www.foreignmego.com/plaid/flaherty.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Class, I'd like to introduce myself.  I am Professor Cal Doowright.  PhD in &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Manology,&lt;/span&gt; world's foremost expert on opening doors for women and scholar in the field of attending to lover's needs.  Oh, and also celebrated Sears model circa 1978.  But never you mind that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have come to Man School for various reasons. There are a lot of first timers here, I see.  And then again I do recognize some return pupils.  Yes.  You may just need to brush up on some courses in Man School or you may be a man who needs to enroll full time.  I will be the judge of that, gentlemen.  I understand some of you have come here out of your own free will and others have been gently nudged to try MSU out.  In any case you have made it, brave souls.  These are important steps to guarantee your happiness and most importantly, the happiness of those loved ones suffering from your lack of 'education'.  Now, my courses can only do so much.  Unfortunately, some of you will never be able to retain these priceless lessons but I guarantee if you are willing to put the work in, you will come out on top...or bottom or both or however you like it, you naughty devils!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Many of you may already be familiar with some of the training at MSU but we have added some new and exciting classes this semester that I think you're going to like.  Our deck building course, for instance, is not to be missed, my friends.  An invaluable skill and one that is a requirement in order to graduate from Man School come Spring.  Here are some of the other required courses you have to look forward to:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;li&gt;Stepping Up in the Event of a Crisis&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Hard to Open Jars - And Hard to Reach Shelves&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;General Handyman's Course&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Understanding The Little Things&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Intro to Heavy Lifting&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Communication/Listening Like You Mean It (even when the game is on)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Advanced Gift Giving Techniques&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;The Essentials to Admitting When Wrong&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Complements:  The Way to Get Laid&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Giving Her Space to Sort Out the Crazies&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Taxi Etiquette:  Take Charge - You Know Where You're Going, Right?!&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;An Introduction to Catching Critters&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Eye Contact - Even When The Boobs Are Out (a lesson in control)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Art of Lovemaking Studies&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Relinquishing Control (without Pussing out)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Support, Encourage, Support, Encourage&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Moustache Maintenance&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;I realize this is a heavy course load and some of you may very well waive certain courses you've already mastered....depending on how you were raised.  Gotta give it up to the good parents out there raising proper men.  Can I hear a wha what??  But seriously, we have a lot of work ahead of us, gents.  So roll up your sleeves and show me what Real Men are made of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" &gt;Special shout out to my bitches - karen and erin for filling me in on &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" &gt;Man School&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" &gt; &amp; Professor Doowright's teachings.  His principal field of research is in the study of &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" &gt;How Best to be a Man&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" &gt;.  I think you can tell by that picture, he knows what he's talking about.&lt;br /&gt;xoxo&lt;br /&gt;Ms. Lulu&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4379100662689887617-807695332538652672?l=moderndatingpool.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/feeds/807695332538652672/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4379100662689887617&amp;postID=807695332538652672' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/807695332538652672'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/807695332538652672'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/2007/06/welcome-to-man-school.html' title='Welcome to Man School'/><author><name>Ms. Lulu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16720580392344732901</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://armandfrasco.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/mkpux.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4379100662689887617.post-2679590287177239051</id><published>2007-06-11T13:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-14T07:15:36.440-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Internet, a Stalker Makes</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.livescience.com/images/060809_first_pc_02.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://www.livescience.com/images/060809_first_pc_02.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ah, The Modern Age.  Amazing isn't it?  Or increasingly creepy - you decide.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can order Pampers, Porn and Harry Potter with a few clicks of your mouse and put those goodies to use the very next day.  You can have the entire third season of The Office sent to your doorstep the &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;minute&lt;/span&gt; it's released on DVD all the while clogging the message boards with your side of the Pam and Jim love story arc and your passionate defense of the American version versus the BBC one while simultaneously waiting for &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;the&lt;/span&gt; most adorable photo of John Krasinski to &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;finally&lt;/span&gt; upload so you can have a new screen saver/virtual fantasy boyfriend.   This is, of course, in between illegally downloading some embarrassing pop songs to your i-Pod (purely for the elliptical gym mix, of course) updating your MySpace page to add more friends than you actually have to appear super popular and finally settling a drunken bet you made the night before with a quick Google and IMDb search.  Damn you, Lindsay Lohan.  I refuse to come to your defense again.  You always let me down, sister.  With this never ending source of valuable (and invaluable) information, you can also become a &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;stalker&lt;/span&gt;. Unknowingly.  But a stalker, nonetheless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember when you went out on a date with someone you didn't really know and actually found out about them through &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;conversation&lt;/span&gt;, more dates and more conversation.  Weird, I know.  But now all you need to do is Google someones name and you can easily find out way more information than you should know about someone without their permission.  And because it is available on the Internet they have granted their permission, right?  Then there are the zillions of networking sites that seem to be growing daily - MySpace, Facebook, Friendster (yep, that one's still around, grandma).  It's difficult NOT to find incriminating information about someone on the net.  And now, some morons are even getting fired or never hired at all right out of fancy biz school due to their careless nipple shots on Flickr or declarations of love for pussy and beer on Twitter.  I stopped dating a dude when I found his band's website with the most god awful improvisational "music" I ever forced my ears to listen to.  Sorry ears.  I'm still apologizing.  The Internet is powerful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like that moment after we all got cell phones and couldn't remember what life was like before we all had one, now it's almost reckless NOT to find out more deets on a person before going out on an Internet date.  I mean these are strangers after all.  No matter how much you've bonded through e-mail over the latest Modest Mouse release or your similar 'vegan lifestyles' or the fact that you both like to have cocktails outside (duh), you are meeting with someone who could be a bona fide cuckoo pants.  Best to see first if they are involved in some furry fetish or right wing social group or book club that looks suspiciously like a front for some furry fetish republican swingers organization before knocking back a couple Mojitos with that potential prospect, am I right??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But how far do you go before turning that stalker corner and heading straight into crazy town?  It's hard to know.  Your idea of stalking, could be my version of good, investigative research.  But seriously, we've entered some creep out territory with this new feature of Google's map service called &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Street View&lt;/span&gt;.  It allows for you to see the street (and all of the buildings, of which you can zoom in to get a better view) of the address you type in.  Say, your favorite dog run or perhaps your local playground or maaaaybe outside that apartment of the pretty lady you've recently taken out on two (kinda expensive) dates who hasn't returned your phone calls or e-mails because maybe she moved or something and you just want to check out if she is still there....you know, to make sure she's all right.  Because you had a...connection....and...what the?  That Bitch!  You know where this is heading....right?  Somewhere bad.  Somewhere not good.  There needs to be a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;little&lt;/span&gt; mystery still.  We didn't all sign up to be Paris Hilton.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Smarty Pants is out of town but knows that I went on a walking tour around Brooklyn over the weekend.  I actually called him during the tour, knowing he would have appreciated the architecture.  ok - don't fall asleep - we're not that geeky all the time. But the next day he sent me a link of Flickr photographs that someone had taken and posted of that day's tour and I actually saw one of the people I was with in a shot!  It kinda creeped me out.  And the title of his e-mail was 'keeping tabs'.  It wasn't his e-mail necessarily but the fact that you can get that kind of immediate information on such an intimate level clearly from across the country by just typing in a few words in a search engine.  In no way do I think that he's a stalker but I know from personal experience how an innocent gets sucked into this kind of technology purely out of curiosity.  Normal people get obsessive.  And already obsessive people get on the verge of manic.  Sometimes it's good just to turn off and keep that mystery going.  I know that's not very &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;modern&lt;/span&gt; of me but I think it's clear by now that sometimes I can be an old fashioned kind of gal....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;who just figured out what a &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;widget&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt; is to add music to her blog.  What do you think? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4379100662689887617-2679590287177239051?l=moderndatingpool.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/feeds/2679590287177239051/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4379100662689887617&amp;postID=2679590287177239051' title='20 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/2679590287177239051'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/2679590287177239051'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/2007/06/internet-stalker-makes.html' title='The Internet, a Stalker Makes'/><author><name>Ms. Lulu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16720580392344732901</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://armandfrasco.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/mkpux.jpg'/></author><thr:total>20</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4379100662689887617.post-4848323454513229745</id><published>2007-06-04T07:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-06T20:48:18.608-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ms. Lulu's Perfect Date</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://images.etsy.com/all_images/8/8b0/dea/il_430xN.5449731.jpg"&gt;&lt;img alt="The image “http://images.etsy.com/all_images/8/8b0/dea/il_430xN.5449731.jpg” cannot be displayed, because it contains errors." src="http://images.etsy.com/all_images/8/8b0/dea/il_430xN.5449731.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Recommended Activities To Do On a Date:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;See how many star tattoos you can count while walking around Williamsburg, Brooklyn.  You can compete against your date or work as a team.  Each star counts as a point.  This tattoo choice is especially difficult because there are so many in that neighborhood and people tend to get multiple stars on their body for some reason.  (Hint: take a look at their feet and wrists too!) Advanced techniques include Tramp Stamps (lower back) on girls and Gaelic arm tattoos on guys being negative points.  It's always a great laugh to poke fun at people that may be cooler than yourself.....and it'll bring you closer.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Go to the Brooklyn Botanical Garden for the Cherry Blossom Festival and see what happens to your date dynamic while sober, surrounded by pink flowers, a cajillion strollers, old people, tourists and Japanese Anime characters.  Guaranteed to weed out a weakling in this 'survival of the fittest' date test.  If he passes this not so natural selection, take him back to your apartment and prove there's more to you than a lover of botany.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Have a Ms. Pac Man Challenge.  (a bar's status immediately goes up when they have this awesome game.) It's the ultimate feminist video game.  Ms.Pac Man totally rulzz over the inferior boy version.  It'll get your adrenaline pumping as you chase after the ghosts, gobble up the dots and go after the banana.  Plus it's super romantic.   That part where they meet and chase each other around and have a Pac Make-out after Act 1 gets me every time.  If you've been dating for a while, try to get to Act 3 where a little Pac bundle is dropped by a stork.  See if your date gets uncomfortable.  &lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Activities NOT Recommended To Do On a Date:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Going to see mellow Jazz music.  At least not on a first or second date.  These are crucial "getting to know you" sessions that really require actual conversation.  And unless you get totally worked up by a moody jazz piano or just enjoy taking naps in the middle of your dates, I wouldn't recommend this activity.  I'm just saying, if the majority of the date consists of you gazing into the eyes of a scraggly-faced saxophone player &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;instead&lt;/span&gt; of the guy who took you there....you may be in trouble.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Coffee. or Lunch.  I'm a huge fan of both of these activities but not for a date.  There is absolutely nothing sexy about eating in the middle of the day. (UNLESS you've slept in past noon with your &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;lover&lt;/span&gt; and after little sleep and lots of late night activity, you are just FAMISHED and it's your first meal of the day......But never mind.  Because then that's brunch.  And brunch is terrifically sexy.)  And coffee &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;can&lt;/span&gt; be sexy too......if it's raining outside. And you've just narrowly escaped a massive downpour and as you breathlessly shut the cafe doors behind you you spot the handsome gent in a corner table where you strip off your damp, outer clothes in a flurry and toss your bedraggled hair off your bare shoulders and slip into the seat he has waiting for you along with a steaming cup of java he's already ordered for you with two perfect lumps of raw sugar and a little container of cream next to the miniature spoon with a dark chocolate truffle nuzzled at the end and he then tells you how &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;gorgeous&lt;/span&gt; you look when flushed.  Oh. And you're in a foreign city - preferably Paris.  But &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;otherwise&lt;/span&gt; - it feels a little college study partner-y or has the 'I have to meet up with my mother's friend from out of town who I'm forced to entertain for the afternoon' effect.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Attending a wedding together.  Unless you are an established couple who has actually had the "marriage conversation" and have come out unscathed and comfortable where your relationship stands, this could be an especially tricky one to navigate.  I've gotten a little nervous lately because I know that Smarty Pants has a wedding this summer for some friends and has mentioned it a couple times.  Lord knows I love getting all dolled up and getting free food and drinks are at the tops of my favorites list but I just don't think I'm ready for something like that just yet.  Plus - weddings are for hooking up.  Duh.  Everyone knows that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;P.S. the picture above is an ACTUAL cushion cover that someone lovingly crafted.  Check out the description below.  Sorry guys - it was sold already in January '07.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="orange_text" style="padding: 0px 0px 0px 15px; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Description&lt;/td&gt;             &lt;/tr&gt;             &lt;tr&gt;              &lt;td style="padding: 15px 0px 0px 15px; font-size: 13px;"&gt;Cute applique in felt of Pacman and Ms Pacman in love. Contrasting stitching and a yellow back to match the Pacman pair. Zipped at the bottom for washing - hand wash only though!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Be sure to check out my other listings as I've also listed Inky, Binky, Pinky, and Clyde (the ghosts that feature in the Pacman games).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fits a cushion of up to 14"x14". The cushion isn't included, although I can include one at an additional cost.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm constantly working on additional designs, so keep an eye out. If you'd like a set of two covers let me know and I can create another one for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;             &lt;/tr&gt;             &lt;tr&gt;              &lt;td class="dark_grey_text"  style="padding: 15px 0px 0px 15px;font-size:13px;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" &gt;I love that she makes the ghosts too.  That only seems right.  Hand wash only though!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4379100662689887617-4848323454513229745?l=moderndatingpool.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/feeds/4848323454513229745/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4379100662689887617&amp;postID=4848323454513229745' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/4848323454513229745'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/4848323454513229745'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/2007/06/ms-lulus-perfect-date.html' title='Ms. Lulu&apos;s Perfect Date'/><author><name>Ms. Lulu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16720580392344732901</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://armandfrasco.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/mkpux.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4379100662689887617.post-5473330952663564267</id><published>2007-05-27T13:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-03T12:15:35.251-07:00</updated><title type='text'>DANGER!  The Side Effects of Dating</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img alt="http://www.rainfall.com/posters/images/pinups/PINUP067.JPG" src="http://www.rainfall.com/posters/images/pinups/PINUP067.JPG" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are some great things one can get from a relationship - even a failed one - benefits that include expanded skill sets and knowledge that four years of college could hardly touch.  We often don't even realize all we've gotten from a relationship until we are well out of it and into the next one.  And it's often that next relationship that highlights what we've gained.  An expanded art collection, for instance.  Or a better understanding of fiber-rich foods.  How to properly cook an omelet.  An appreciation of Scandinavian design.  Not to mention what you learn in the sack after being with someone for a while.  Those are skills that can be most useful, some may dispute. Some people learn whole other languages, travel to the far reaches of the earth for one another or network through their partner to advance their careers before deciding to finally end it all and move on to the next relationship.  I know I never would've hiked the Rockies, learned to careen myself down the treacherous hills of Central Park on Rollerblades or found the profundity in zombie movies had I not been in my last relationship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then there are the things you can get from a relationship that aren't so great: A regrettable tattoo.  A venereal disease.  A coke addiction.  50 pound free weights in the back of your closet.  An extreme visceral reaction to Obsession For Men....and &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;FAT&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yep.   There is something that happens when you are dating someone you dig.  It's all about indulgence.  You drink way too much, make out until your lips are raw, sacrifice nights of sleep because you can't stop 'doing it' and eat dessert after every meal. Chocolate never tastes better than when you pair it with wine and a good make-out...in bed.  It's easy to pack on the pounds and not realize what's going on until you're well into the relationship and both of you realize you're chubbier than you were when you first met....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm dating someone regularly now and noticing us already falling into a pattern of  food worship.  I always seem to date people who love food as much or more than myself. (which is saying something since I really flippin' &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;love&lt;/span&gt; to eat).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;You can't diet and date&lt;/span&gt; (at least in the beginning) - it doesn't really go together.  It's hard enough for people trying to date who don't drink.  But those who don't eat?  Forget it. How annoying is it to be out with someone who just picks at their food or isn't satisfied with anything on their plate or just plain has food issues?  It's a huge turn-off.   And it seems to me indicative of how they might be in the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Passion&lt;/span&gt; Department.  These are people who don't know pleasure, right?  Eating delicious food is one of life's great pleasures that's even better if shared. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And&lt;/span&gt; it's one of the greatest advantages to living in New York - the numerous amazing restaurants everywhere you look.  It's incredible we're not all 300 pounds here.  So you have to leave your Weight Watchers points calculator at home when you're on a date.  Good luck calculating the points in half a pitcher of Sangria, four olives, three slices of brick oven pizza and 6 bites of Tartufo.  And good luck trying to remember all that after the Sangria pitcher.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I might as well resign myself to gaining a half a pound a date or three dress sizes by summer's end or, wait a second...this may not work out after all.  I'm not sure if I'm willing to sacrifice my waistline with bikini season coming up and all.  We may have to reel this gastronomic affair in a little and replace it with a lot more fooling around.  That burns tons of calories, right?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4379100662689887617-5473330952663564267?l=moderndatingpool.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/feeds/5473330952663564267/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4379100662689887617&amp;postID=5473330952663564267' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/5473330952663564267'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/5473330952663564267'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/2007/05/danger-side-effects-of-dating.html' title='DANGER!  The Side Effects of Dating'/><author><name>Ms. Lulu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16720580392344732901</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://armandfrasco.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/mkpux.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4379100662689887617.post-5118996834881508901</id><published>2007-05-23T15:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-23T17:20:09.122-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's not you, it's......well, yeah.  It's you, jerkface.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img alt="The image “http://humanities.byu.edu/ELC/student/idioms/idioms/images/dear_john.jpg” cannot be displayed, because it contains errors." src="http://humanities.byu.edu/ELC/student/idioms/idioms/images/dear_john.jpg" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There really are so many life lessons you can take away from online dating:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;If you meet for a coffee date and you're bored out of your noggin, order a delicious avocado sandwich!  It'll really make the date so much better.  Plus you won't have to worry about lunch.  &lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;If someone describes themselves as dark and stormy, BELIEVE it.  And stay far away.  They are doing you a service and letting you know UPFRONT that they are cuckoo bananas.  That's sexy for about a half a second.  When you're 24 and a hot mess, yourself.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;If you want to get out of a date, there is an art to letting him/her down easy.  Lie.  I've found lying is good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;So the first time I had to get out of a second date, I found myself writing the most brilliant e-mail that I swore I was just going to cut and paste and use again and again because it got such great results.  The guy e-mailed me back to THANK me for being straightforward (ha!) and wished me good luck!   Really it couldn't have gone better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wrote about how I had a great time, happy to have met him but had done a lot of thinking and I really felt that I had recently made a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;profound&lt;/span&gt; connection with someone else and I didn't think I was going to make any other dates because I wanted to explore where that was going.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The actual e-mail was much better than that, really.  I came off a lot more silver-tongued, as you can imagine.  I'm just trying give you guys an overview of how....ok, it was pretty much that.  But like I said, he bought it and I didn't come off like an asshole or feel like crap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FULL DISCLOSURE:  I have huge rejection issues (even from people &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I'm&lt;/span&gt; rejecting) and I'm having to face these issues directly for the first time in my life.  Normally I would just not e-mail, call, communicate with that person again, not wanting any sort of confrontation.  Anything to avoid having to be uncomfortable or making someone else uncomfortable.  One of my greatest fears is to tell someone I don't like them.  I'd rather have someone tell me so.  How effed up is that?  So it was with great relief that this was a success.  But did I learn from my past successes?  No.  In fact I am still paying the price with the too-much-tongue dude, who can't seem to figure out what went wrong....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why didn't I just use my winning 'profound connection with someone else' line?  I thought maybe, I'd try something else for once.  Stupid!  In fact, I think I realized how easy I had gotten off in the past with my rejection (form) letter and I somehow wanted to punish myself or pay in some way.  I don't know what the fucked up psychology behind it all was but I certainly learned my lesson.    Stick to what works, Lady!  Don't ever say things like:  &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;I think we are looking for different things&lt;/span&gt;. or&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; We are on such different tracks in our lives. &lt;/span&gt;or&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; It's not you, you're great.  It's &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;me&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;  Those are all so cliched and big fat yawn-fests and most importantly, don't work.  Believe me, because I've &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;tried&lt;/span&gt; using those on the too-much-tongue dude (TMTD) and they all came back to bite me in the rumpus.  The TMTD is &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;still&lt;/span&gt; e-mailing me, asking me things like: "What IS it you are looking for?"  "Explain to me why we are on different tracks??" - and other junk like that.  The old me has surfaced and I'm just ignoring his e-mails hoping he goes away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Believe me I am tempted to be honest about what really went wrong and send him something along the lines of....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Well Sir, Here's the deal.   When we "kissed" I was seriously afraid for my pharynx, larynx and esophagus, not to mention my digestive system which had just taken in a fair amount of Moroccan tapas and a good liter and a half of wine.  And when I thought about it the next day I had a hard time NOT vomiting in my own mouth as the flashbacks were quite vivid.  AND I was then so inspired as to devote an entire blog entry about it because my repulsion could not be purged in any way other than to share it with the cyber universe I call friends.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;How do you think that would come off?  Not so delicate as that 'profound connection' letter, right?  I'm totally sending him that.....if he e-mails again.   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4379100662689887617-5118996834881508901?l=moderndatingpool.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/feeds/5118996834881508901/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4379100662689887617&amp;postID=5118996834881508901' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/5118996834881508901'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/5118996834881508901'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/2007/05/its-not-you-itswell-yeah-its-you.html' title='It&apos;s not you, it&apos;s......well, yeah.  It&apos;s you, jerkface.'/><author><name>Ms. Lulu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16720580392344732901</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://armandfrasco.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/mkpux.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4379100662689887617.post-8582604664321095025</id><published>2007-05-17T23:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-18T06:05:18.216-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Old Dudes Love Young Chicks</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i22.photobucket.com/albums/b309/BenTownsend/Brooke/dirty-old-man.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://i22.photobucket.com/albums/b309/BenTownsend/Brooke/dirty-old-man.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I can remember (not too long ago, thank you very much) that magical power-combo recipe that makes up&lt;br /&gt;a lovely, young woman in her early twenties:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;two parts&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;just&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt; dumb enough + one part overly confident&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt; yet&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt; insecure enough + a heavy dose of dew and a dash of sparkle.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's like old dude kryptonite.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Starting from the time I was 22 until my last relationship ended, I dated men who were 10 years older than myself.  It never seemed like that big a deal and in fact seemed like a no-brainer since the guys my age (I thought, with good reason) were infants.  Little did I know that they are all kind of infants...even the ones who are 10 years older.  Just more experienced and therefore manipulative infants.  Wow.  I don't mean to make this sound bitter because I'm not.  I love men.  It's all just matter-of-fact information, right?  Everyone knows, even men, that they don't ever really grow up in some ways.  Although I have seen some close guy friends in the past couple of years really step up to the grown up plate as soon as their baby momma pops one out.  That's the real test, I suppose, to truly become a man.  And then some, unfortunately, still do not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the first time in my life I decided that it's important to date someone around my age.  It makes sense.  We speak the same language.  We both slow-danced to Alphaville's &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Forever Young&lt;/span&gt; at a school dance (that was actually my successful suggestion as our prom theme - yep.  I thought I was a genius at the time), we were weened on the Muppet Show (I swear this shaped a majority of my humor) Fantasy Island and The Incredible Hulk (Wonder Woman really was my secret favorite....) and can remember when Pee Wee Herman was seriously the most hilarious character ever created.  Paul Reubens really has had a rough time of things these past few years.....ok, it seems I've digressed....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The point is, I can't date people 10 years older than me now because now that I'm older they REALLY seem so old.  And they ARE.  A guy in his early thirties is much different than a guy in his early forties.  I know I should be like "Oh, age doesn't matter.  It's just a number.  Can't we all just view one another like HUMAN BEINGS and not be so &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ageist&lt;/span&gt;?"  But I can't help it.  All the guys that have contacted me online or that I've decided to meet who are in their forties seem old and yet so immature.  'Why aren't they dating people their own age?',  I'm thinking for the first time.  I know what I'm going to get with someone closer to my age now.  Yes, they'll still be immature but there's hope for those fellas.  Those older guys, maybe not so much.  Call me a pragmatic optimist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm now changing my age range from 27-42 to 30-39.  It's a tighter net.  But I feel good about the prospects.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and as for the magical power-combo formula that makes up a woman in her thirties?  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Much&lt;/span&gt; superior to the one in her twenties.  Sorry, young things - but you have something to look forward to!  I'd never go back.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4379100662689887617-8582604664321095025?l=moderndatingpool.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/feeds/8582604664321095025/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4379100662689887617&amp;postID=8582604664321095025' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/8582604664321095025'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/8582604664321095025'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/2007/05/old-dudes-love-young-chicks.html' title='Old Dudes Love Young Chicks'/><author><name>Ms. Lulu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16720580392344732901</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://armandfrasco.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/mkpux.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://i22.photobucket.com/albums/b309/BenTownsend/Brooke/th_dirty-old-man.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4379100662689887617.post-7272591664766969509</id><published>2007-05-11T21:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-13T18:25:19.184-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ms. Lulu's Monthly Investigative Report</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;The upDATE&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://artfiles.art.com/images/-/Richie-Fahey/Pin-Up-Girl-Quiet-Please-Librarian-Giclee-Print-I10210400.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://artfiles.art.com/images/-/Richie-Fahey/Pin-Up-Girl-Quiet-Please-Librarian-Giclee-Print-C12043338.jpeg" alt="&amp;quot;Pin-Up Girl: Quiet Please Librarian&amp;quot; Giclee Print" border="0" height="425" width="319" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Total Views in the last 30 days:  732&lt;br /&gt;Total e-mails: 58&lt;br /&gt;How to calculate winks and hotlist amounts are still too confusing for me without going through the ridiculous list but it's averaged around 30-40 for each.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That doesn't even seem like very much considering the amount of people that have checked out my profile.  I either have a super foxy photo that draws them in or a pretty lame profile that turns them away.  No matter.  It's exhausting enough trying to manage the responses as it is....I just want to be popular.  What??  So sue me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Below you will find the highlights and, um, lowlights from this past month of on-line dating.    The learnings here are pretty remarkable.   I'm not even sure what my favorite take-away is just yet.  Send me YOUR favorites!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;HIGHLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Getting a ride home through Brooklyn from a cute boy on the back of a Vespa after a first date.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;LOWLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finding out that Vespa Boy really wasn't for me on the second date when he revealed he liked really snoozy jazz and was a bit of a know-it-all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;HIGHLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suggesting another dive bar for a second date with Smarty Pants and having that nixed and traded up for a WINE bar.  Class act, that one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LOWLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arriving for a coffee date and realizing that I'll never be able to accept an online date without a picture attached to the profile.  Turns out, I'm kinda shallow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;HIGHLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Realizing that I'm not as shallow as I thought when I couldn't bear to go out on a third date with a really rich, handsome gent with a killer SoHo apartment (it had a balcony, guys!) because I didn't think he 'got' me.  I guess that's a highlight...fuck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LOWLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Receiving a picture of a naked torso with the head cut off and a little pubic hair showing (obviously a self portrait) in an e-mail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;HIGHLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Engaging in a super steamy make-out session on a Fort Greene park bench overlooking the dog run.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LOWLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Getting a wink from Naked Torso Guy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;HIGHLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Having a guy order me Rum and Diet Cokes all night without revealing he was embarrassed about the stupid girl drink - when I knew he really was.  A champ, that one.&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LOWLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being notified that I was on Naked Torso Guy's Hotlist.&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;HIGHLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Turning a love of books and shared reading advice into erotic e-mail exchanges.  Bookclub has a whole new meaning for me now.  Meet the Dirty Librarian, bitches.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LOWLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Realizing that I was being stalked online by a creepy Naked Torso Guy.  He's probably looking at my profile right now.  He's there daily....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;HIGHLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Noticing a slight hickey on the neck of Smarty Pants well into our fourth date and realizing I was kinda jealous.  It was later revealed that I was indeed the one that gave it to him. Check me out!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LOWLIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Having a weird food binge that involved Water Crackers and Fig Newtons after an awkward exchange of half hug/half kiss on the mouth-cheek in a cab.  And we were sober.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yep.  It's been a mad, mad month in the life of this lady detective-sexologist in the making-budding sexpert....well, you get the point.  These important findings bring us all a little closer to breaking that romance code - all the while keeping this gal's dance card filled to the brim.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4379100662689887617-7272591664766969509?l=moderndatingpool.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/feeds/7272591664766969509/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4379100662689887617&amp;postID=7272591664766969509' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/7272591664766969509'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/7272591664766969509'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/2007/05/ms-lulus-monthly-update-erinvestigative.html' title='Ms. Lulu&apos;s Monthly Investigative Report'/><author><name>Ms. Lulu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16720580392344732901</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://armandfrasco.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/mkpux.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4379100662689887617.post-6242996433721348858</id><published>2007-05-08T23:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-10T12:29:33.503-07:00</updated><title type='text'>There Is Such a Thing as Too Much Tongue.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.petacatalog.org/images/200-CA160.jpg" alt="Humunga Tongue Dog Toy" align="middle" border="0" hspace="5" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Imagine, if you will, a lady (YES, that'd be me, I am a lady) having a perfectly lovely evening sharing a delicious spread of Tapas and getting a little boozy from a fancy bottle of French wine, reminiscing about a favorite outdoor concert at the South Street Seaport last summer and along comes a totally unsolicited four inch tongue.  Down my throat.  Really!  That is uncalled for.  The kissing part in the restaurant, I don't mean.  I'm fine with that as long as we keep it classy (meaning no boob action and not for too long, I have my standards).  But the crazy snake-like tongue gunning for my tonsils?  Gross out.  What's a girl to do in that situation?  Apparently, see if she can tame that tongue with her own into submission.  This mission was not accomplished, however and I believe the fella got the wrong idea and decided I was really into it.  Who can blame him?  I matched his moves and then some trying to make it work.  That could sober a girl up real fast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We all know there is an art to kissing but you never realize how much until you come across someone who really doesn't have it together.  I fancy myself pretty skilled in this area so I figure I can speak to this topic with some authority.  Kissing is powerful.  It's the precursor to sex and possibly representative of how one will be in bed.  How else can you explain that single, powerful make-out session that leads to the Deal being Sealed soon after?  I know for certain I can be seduced by a talented smoocher.  Who can't?  It'll either heat things up, stat or cool those jets....stat.  In this case, my jets were so, totally cooled.  And the night was cut a tad short.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(it has been brought to my attention that I need to include a little more background info for each date.  Here goes...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stats:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Charming Chap (not so charming after that weird tongue business, guy)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2nd Date - Moroccan/Spanish restaurant - English fellow, 42, hedge-fund blah di wah.  Handsome but a bit stuffy (style-wise) for my tastes.   Admitted veteran of internet dating.  A smidge too eager and pretty nosy about past relationships - why they ended, who ended it, etc.  He tried that on the first date and it was an extreme turn-off.  He also asked me if I ever tried heroin, which I thought was pretty odd.  I struggled with accepting a second date but wanted to give it chance...I think I fulfilled that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4379100662689887617-6242996433721348858?l=moderndatingpool.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/feeds/6242996433721348858/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4379100662689887617&amp;postID=6242996433721348858' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/6242996433721348858'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/6242996433721348858'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/2007/05/there-is-such-thing-as-too-much-tongue.html' title='There Is Such a Thing as Too Much Tongue.'/><author><name>Ms. Lulu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16720580392344732901</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://armandfrasco.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/mkpux.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4379100662689887617.post-2173861903417922001</id><published>2007-05-01T13:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-29T08:16:27.382-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I think I met my match......</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://mail.google.com/mail/?attid=0.1&amp;disp=emb&amp;amp;view=att&amp;th=112c8e394caaf2f5" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;This is totally my type.  Man....why don't I live in the Bahamas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;c/o my friends Kip and Lee (who met online, btw)  Boys after my own heart.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4379100662689887617-2173861903417922001?l=moderndatingpool.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/feeds/2173861903417922001/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4379100662689887617&amp;postID=2173861903417922001' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/2173861903417922001'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/2173861903417922001'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/2007/05/i-think-i-met-my-match.html' title='I think I met my match......'/><author><name>Ms. Lulu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16720580392344732901</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://armandfrasco.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/mkpux.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4379100662689887617.post-2742828600457096142</id><published>2007-04-29T06:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-29T08:07:04.148-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It is not LOL, motherf*&amp;%er!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img alt="http://news.bbc.co.uk/olmedia/1775000/images/_1778067_fonecash-bbc300.jpg" src="http://news.bbc.co.uk/olmedia/1775000/images/_1778067_fonecash-bbc300.jpg" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If your online dating 'handle name' is Right4U or SxyMan69 with a headline: Ready, Willing and Able - don't expect an e-mail response from this lady.  If you have misspelled more than five words and don't reference ANYTHING I've written in my profile but instead mention that you like my mouth and would I like to have a drink sometime....the answer is no and it'll be said out loud to my computer screen and not sent because I can't even be bothered with typing a response.  Oh - and if you write LOL at all in your e-mail to me, it'll be delete city, buddy.  I had someone send an e-mail recently with a minimum (i kid you not) of 4 LOLs.  Unforgivable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like everything in the virtual world - blogs, texts, boards, even e-mail messages to colleagues, people are much more brave, opinionated and larger than life.  Communicating in this way has become preferable for more and more people.  I now know some people who don't even use their cell phones to talk to human beings anymore - it is solely used for text message communication.  This is irritating for someone like me who is not so nimble with their fingers (when it comes to those freakin tiny buttons, that is) and about a zillion minutes that keep rolling over from Cingular (damned cell phone screw jobs.)  I also pay a fee each time I receive or send a text message because I've figured (in the past) that I would just pick up the horn when I'm running late rather than send a text: b there in 10 min, k?  Bad idea.  I was already getting a fair amount of texts before dating online but now I am totally forced to change my already effed up cell plan.  It's amazing how 10 cents adds up....when you are having full on CONVERSATIONS over texts.  Jesus.  Unbelievable - how we've distanced ourselves from one another.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4379100662689887617-2742828600457096142?l=moderndatingpool.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/feeds/2742828600457096142/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4379100662689887617&amp;postID=2742828600457096142' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/2742828600457096142'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/2742828600457096142'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/2007/04/it-is-not-lol-motherf.html' title='It is not LOL, motherf*&amp;%er!'/><author><name>Ms. Lulu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16720580392344732901</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://armandfrasco.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/mkpux.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4379100662689887617.post-4387380439513754190</id><published>2007-04-25T15:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-25T20:49:56.606-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm not a hooker, I swear.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img alt="The image “http://a3.vox.com/6a00c225258afc8e1d00c225279603604a-500pi” cannot be displayed, because it contains errors." src="http://a3.vox.com/6a00c225258afc8e1d00c225279603604a-500pi" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There seems to be a lot of RULES involved in internet dating:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;DRINKS not dinner on the first date (you may want to spend as little time and money and effort on that first meeting...) &lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;IF you want to see that person again, lose the secret squirrel  e-mail account and exchange your real world ones and &lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;THERE'S a minimum of at least 5 e-mail exchanges before arranging for a meet &amp;amp; greet, play-date, what have you.  &lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But when it comes to sex, there doesn't seem to be any hard and fast rules.  (it just came out that way, I promise - this subject brings out the minx in me.)  Some people make-out on the first date, some end with a hug and peck on the cheek (even if they're into each other) and others end up sloppy drunk and naked pretty fast (even if they're NOT into each other).  My gay boyfriends would say that sex is a pretty important element that they aren't willing to leave to the imagination for very long.  Sex on the first date is pretty common with the gay boys.  Even if they're looking for a long term relationship.  I would have to say that it depends on the couple involved, of course.  But according to my recent findings these last couple of weeks - now almost a MONTH (!) - I see that it makes sense on the third date. ...or, at least it did last night.  Does it change things?  We will soon find out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a second date on Saturday with a Cutey Pie and a first with a Charming Bloke tomorrow.  The Smarty Pants (lucky fella last night) is still on the radar, however and is really the one I've been studying the most - or able to study since I have spent the most time with him.  I would say this experiment thus far is paying off on a number of levels....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4379100662689887617-4387380439513754190?l=moderndatingpool.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/feeds/4387380439513754190/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4379100662689887617&amp;postID=4387380439513754190' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/4387380439513754190'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/4387380439513754190'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/2007/04/im-not-hooker-i-swear.html' title='I&apos;m not a hooker, I swear.'/><author><name>Ms. Lulu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16720580392344732901</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://armandfrasco.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/mkpux.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4379100662689887617.post-7145685987637310187</id><published>2007-04-22T14:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-29T08:08:55.971-07:00</updated><title type='text'>drunk winking</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img alt="http://aejmcmagazine.bsu.edu/Testfolder/postercovers/Wink-Dec-52-men's.jpg" src="http://aejmcmagazine.bsu.edu/Testfolder/postercovers/Wink-Dec-52-men%27s.jpg" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;I've gotten myself in some pickles lately.  After a few (too many) glasses of wine I don't suggest logging onto your dating website and trolling through people's profiles who have been looking at you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Besides e-mailing someone directly, my dating site has the option of putting someone on a 'hotlist' or sending them a virtual 'wink' to express their interest.  I have a hard time keeping track of all the winks and hotlists that I've been put on (have I mentioned I've had over 550 viewings??) and it seems so overwhelming to go through the list.....when I'm SOBER.  Apparently, it's super fun when I'm three sheets...and I have been reciprocating those actions with some winks of my own.  I guess for those more passive guys that didn't want to send an e-mail to introduce themselves, this opens the door for one.  You know what they say about beer goggles....I think it's even worse over the computer because people can craft whoever they want to be, the best versions of themselves if themselves at ALL.   That's when that blurry guy with the handlebar mustache who's into dark Japanese animation and Morrocan food doesn't look half that bad.  Wrong.  He's a freak and if I were sober, I would have spotted that right away.  I didn't just do it once...I soon learned.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had an epic night of drunk winking a few nights ago.    And, Voila.  I wake up to 20 e-mails the next morning.  And these were all from guys that thought I was making some moves so they were totally justified.  Sorry guys!  No more drunk winking for me.   Otherwise I'll have some very confused and frustrated men rallying to crown me the biggest internet tease in  history.  I don't really want that title, thank you very much.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4379100662689887617-7145685987637310187?l=moderndatingpool.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/feeds/7145685987637310187/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4379100662689887617&amp;postID=7145685987637310187' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/7145685987637310187'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/7145685987637310187'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/2007/04/drunk-winking.html' title='drunk winking'/><author><name>Ms. Lulu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16720580392344732901</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://armandfrasco.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/mkpux.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4379100662689887617.post-7260367424665103597</id><published>2007-04-15T12:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-29T08:08:22.642-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Babies On The First Date???</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img alt="The image “http://www.bbc.co.uk/parenting/images/300/baby_crying_closeup.jpg” cannot be displayed, because it contains errors." src="http://www.bbc.co.uk/parenting/images/300/baby_crying_closeup.jpg" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Contrary to popular belief, there are a LOT of single men in their thirties (and forties, for that matter) in the New York metropolitan area looking for a love connection.  And not just a love connection but something serious, lasting, the ONE.  At least according to the many profiles I've perused in my week as an online dater.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A lot of these guys have done the dating thing for a while and had a great time in their twenties but are now finding themselves single in a sea of couples and wanting what their buddies have - a long term relationship (sex on a regular basis), a family (mini versions of themselves), a house upstate (just another NY right of passage).....It's like while I was in a relationship for four years the universe had somehow shifted and I've suddenly been plopped into Opposite Land and the roles have been reversed!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In this new Opposite Land universe, men bring up the baby conversation on the first date.  For reals.  I mean, I can go there and I realize that this is a deal breaker for a lot of folks in their 30's but I couldn't help thinking that if a lady even casually mentioned something about something with the word baby in the sentence on the first date, the guy would scare away faster than you could say "I still collect cabbage patch dolls and 100 stuffed animals share my bed."  Gals are taught this even before we START dating.  That's like dating 101 "though shalt not utter the words marriage or babies until well into the 35th date...." or something or other.    Again, many of us have been weened on Sex And The City but, damn that show was right on about so much shit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This Opposite Land is confusing for a girl like me who just wants to get out there and have a bit of fun.  I have a second date tomorrow (with last week's guy) and another first date later this week.   I've just begun and I'm already having some doubts.  Whatevs.  I'll  just roll with it for the purpose of this blog for now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4379100662689887617-7260367424665103597?l=moderndatingpool.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/feeds/7260367424665103597/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4379100662689887617&amp;postID=7260367424665103597' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/7260367424665103597'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/7260367424665103597'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/2007/04/babies-on-first-date.html' title='Babies On The First Date???'/><author><name>Ms. Lulu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16720580392344732901</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://armandfrasco.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/mkpux.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4379100662689887617.post-2191742465608745490</id><published>2007-04-10T19:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-10T20:09:49.904-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img alt="The image “http://www.rollerway.com.au/SF-Roller-skates.jpg” cannot be displayed, because it contains errors." src="http://www.rollerway.com.au/SF-Roller-skates.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4379100662689887617-2191742465608745490?l=moderndatingpool.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/feeds/2191742465608745490/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4379100662689887617&amp;postID=2191742465608745490' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/2191742465608745490'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/2191742465608745490'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/2007/04/image-httpwwwrollerwaycomausf-roller.html' title=''/><author><name>Ms. Lulu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16720580392344732901</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://armandfrasco.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/mkpux.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4379100662689887617.post-2970211190816605142</id><published>2007-04-10T18:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-29T08:07:47.936-07:00</updated><title type='text'>And it's an ALL SKATE....</title><content type='html'>Skateland was the name of my hometown's skating rink.  I spent the better part of the 80's at this den of disco, hair rock and Ms. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Pac&lt;/span&gt; Man.  And I was certain to spend every birthday from the tender age of 6 to (the little too old) 12 with a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Baskin&lt;/span&gt; and Robbins ice cream cake (topped with decorative skates, of course)  a handful of pigtailed, rainbow-ed out girls and the random boy or two.   The girl to guy ratio was always off but was pretty representative of my social circle at the time.  It inevitably broke my heart when  a slow song came on because that was the signal for the masses of kids to clear the floor to let the couples take over.  I would wait with the rest of my girls, leaning up against the brown shag carpeted side walls and pretend to enjoy the Air Supply song &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;stylings&lt;/span&gt; as I longingly stared at all the older kids and secretly wondered if I would ever be filled in on the mystery of love.   My life would be saved the instant the schmaltzy song came to a close and the DJ would put the needle to &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Off the Wall&lt;/span&gt; and announce very slowly and close to the microphone....."And...it's....an...ALL SKATE!" Hurray!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've since learned a thing or two about the sexes, love and men in general over the last 20 years or so since I retired my skates but sometimes I still feel like that girl leaning against the sweaty shag waiting for the slow song to end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm surrounded by couples.   All my close girlfriends are married, co-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;habiting or in serious relationships with someone.  Not to mention the onslaught of baby appearances in just the last two years.  The single guys I know don't count because most of them are single because they want to be and don't ever put any pressure on themselves to be otherwise.  It's rare to find women as content with their singledom.  I, for one, could count myself as such (content, that is) with my single status for this past year and a half.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was pretty inconceivable to imagine myself going out on a date again after being out of the game for nearly five years.  Dating in New York pretty much sounded to me like a slow torture that I wasn't willing to inflict on myself.  I've read the statistics, the male to female ratio in New York.  I've seen enough episodes of Sex And The City and known enough single girls that remain so and decide to move back to where they came from just to meet a fella.  It's terrifying out there, right?  I never thought  I'd be back in this position.  But here I am - not quite sure if I even believe in "the one" anymore or if marriage really can work for most people or if I even really want a boyfriend still.  I just know that I have a pretty fulfilling life and I'm pretty ok company and I don't want to put too much work into it.  That's where this internet dating thing comes into play......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took some pictures recently for a girlfriend who is on two different dating sites and wanted some new, fresh, hot (but not too hot) pics to put up on her profile.  She came over and we took some super cute shots and she uploaded them right then and there.  A couple of days later I wanted to check out how they looked and couldn't get onto the site without creating a profile of my own.  The next thing I knew, I was detailing what I was looking for in a man and editing down my I-pod collection of songs to make myself sound cool and diverse.  I knew as soon as I stopped editing my profile, it would be sent out to the boy universe and I would get looked at and judged in a much more thorough way than a dimly lit bar.  I didn't know how I felt about that.  Needless to say, I ended at 4:30 am and was a bit punchy.  That may actually account for how and why I decided to join the millions of other cyber-daters and dive headfirst into the modern dating pool....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was four days ago.  This is my profile activity since then:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" width="100%"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td valign="top"&gt;     Total views since 4/6/2007     &lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align="right" valign="top"&gt;     233  &lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;   &lt;tr&gt;&lt;td valign="top"&gt;                Times in Hotlists in the past 30 days           &lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align="right" valign="top"&gt;         24  &lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;       &lt;tr&gt;&lt;td colspan="2"&gt;     &lt;hr noshade="noshade" size="1" width="100%"&gt;     &lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;       &lt;tr&gt;&lt;td valign="top"&gt;   &lt;b&gt;Past 30 days&lt;/b&gt;   &lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;   &lt;tr&gt;&lt;td valign="top"&gt;  Matching Views             &lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align="right" valign="top"&gt;       82  &lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;         &lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;       Winks              &lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align="right"&gt;         10&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt; I responded to 5.  Last night I went on my first date.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4379100662689887617-2970211190816605142?l=moderndatingpool.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/feeds/2970211190816605142/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4379100662689887617&amp;postID=2970211190816605142' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/2970211190816605142'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4379100662689887617/posts/default/2970211190816605142'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://moderndatingpool.blogspot.com/2007/04/and-its-all-skate.html' title='And it&apos;s an ALL SKATE....'/><author><name>Ms. Lulu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16720580392344732901</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://armandfrasco.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/mkpux.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
