Shit Happens When You're Single

One Saturday night in Portland, three friends convince a reluctantly single girl to head out on the town. Having been single for a few years now, I’m feeling pretty discouraged and definitely not hopeful about meeting anyone special, especially at a bar…

That night, we decide to go to a local whiskey bar with cheap shots and greasy tater tots. And since I’m not anticipating meeting anyone, I get my own basket of tots with a full dish of 50 ingredients “special sauce.” Although I’m pretty sure that 49 of those are mayonnaise and the 50^th is most likely Tabasco sauce.

Meanwhile, the girls are off playing darts with three charming twenty- something hipsters in flannel shirts. After the game they come over to the bar where I’m sitting and order us all a round of Elijah Craig. My three friends have already paired off with the three flannels and I (again) am the odd man out. That is until their friend Brian showed up. Brian is tall, dark, handsome and seemingly normal. We make slightly awkward small talk for a few minutes as our friends around us make goo goo eyes at each other. It turns out that he’s not only dreamy and funny, but he’s also kind, intelligent, and successful. He has to be too good to be true. So rather than wasting our time, I cut to the chase and ask him about any potential psychosis or strange fetishes. He’s wondering the same about me. Then we bond about all the weirdoes and psychotics we usually attract. “It’s so refreshing to meet someone who isn’t a crazed maniac,” he says to me. One of my girlfriends winks at me and then heads to the door with her new beau. It’s now last call but I’m having such a great time with Brian that I’m not ready for the night to end. We’re just starting to get into some good flirting when the bar is shutting down. I’m not usually one to go home with someone I’ve just met but I haven’t felt this way about a guy in such a long time that I decide to let my guard down. He invites me back to his place for a glass of wine and to show me some photos from a recent trip to Argentina.  

His place is nice, really nice. He’s not like the typical bachelor who has a dented old beer keg as his coffee table and a stack of Taco Bell napkins in place of toilet paper sitting on the bathroom counter. He clearly has a good job and a keen sense for design. I’m impressed, and pretty drunk. Brian opens a bottle of wine and we get settled in on the couch. It’s too tempting not to jump in bed with him. He’s such an interesting guy and I’m insanely attracted to him so after we have the “Oh my God I never usually do this” speech we have sex. And probably the best sex I can remember. He was incredible. How did I land such a catch?! He’s even a good cuddler. I fall fast asleep in his big strapping arms and sleep like a baby until his alarm goes off at 10am. It’s Sunday but he has a meeting with a potential new client who has just relocated to Portland. He kisses my arm up and down and gushes about what an amazing time he had with me last night and how he can’t wait to see me again. He tells me to stay as long as I like and starts apologizing profusely for running out. Then he pleads, “Please, pleeeeaaaase make sure to leave your number on the way out. I want to take you out to dinner tonight.” He continues to tell me that there is a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen, a clean towel for me in the bathroom and that all I have to do is shut the door when I leave and it will lock itself. I watch him leave…wow…just wow…

I go into the kitchen to pour myself a cup of coffee. I have a pretty wicked hangover but the night was so perfect that I don’t even care. As I’m freshening up my friend Sadie calls and asks me to meet her for breakfast so she can tell me about the guy she met last night. I tell her that I also met a guy and can’t wait to tell her about Brian. It’s been forever since I’ve met anyone actually worth sharing about to anyone so I’m super excited brag to my friends about him. All I need to do is drop the kids off and I’ll be on my way. I’m not sure if was the coffee, the three hundred tater tots or the 6 shots of whiskey and wine but my stomach is not happy with me. Thank god Brian left because I just took a dump the size of Rhode Island in his bathroom. Luckily there is plenty of ventilation in here so it should clear out by the time he gets home this evening. Oh crap, one more major problem – the toilet won’t flush!!! WTF! What am I gonna do!? I can’t leave it like this, he’ll come home and think Godzilla came in and desecrated his toilet. I’m in panic mode. There’s no plunger and the toilet is still running. The water level is continuing to rise at a steady pace so I have to do something quick. I found a plastic Target bag under the sink and swiftly scooped the obstruction into the bag with a cardboard toilet paper roll. The toilet finally flushes and the water goes down. Phew! I’m still left with a bag of crap but I’m so grateful I was able to fix the situation before I flooded his bathroom floor with poop water. Now I’ll I have to do is take the evidence with me when I leave and throw it out outside his apartment.

Wow. What a rush! That was the best cardio workout I’ve had in months. I’m seriously sweating. Luckily, Brian will never have to know about this. Or maybe I’ll wait and tell him after our 50^th wedding anniversary when he’ll be too old to remember it the next day anyway. And now that it’s over I begin to think I could eventually look back on this and laugh…eventually.

I gather all my stuff together, bag ‘o poop in hand and head towards the door. Right as I’m about to leave I remember I never wrote down my number for him. I’m so flustered by the toilet disaster that I almost blew it by not leaving him my contact info. I see a pen and paper laying out on the dining table so I walk over to leave him a note. But there’s already writing all over the paper. It’s a love letter…addressed to ME, from him! How sweet! I’ve never had anyone write me a letter like this before. It’s so romantic. At the end he says to leave my phone and address. He’s gonna pick me up at 7p for dinner at his favorite restaurant that he spoke of the night before. My cheeks are literally getting sore from all this smiling. I’ve been waiting for this man to come along for a long time. But I put in my time and I know I deserve this, and he deserves a nice girl in his life too. Feeling the happiest I can imagine, I write down my contact info and leave to go meet Sadie. As I’m walking down the hall towards the stairs I suddenly feel very anxious and panicked. I check to make sure I have my phone, purse, wallet…all there. Then it hits me, the bag! Shit! I don’t have the poo bag! Ahhhhh! Where is it??? I recall holding it in my hand as I was leaving but then I went back in to write the note. But I was still holding on to it…until…I set it down on the table to write my number…NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I left the bag RIGHT NEXT TO his love letter! Are you kidding me! Fuck my fucking life! This cannot be happening. What do I do? I’m breaking in, that’s it, that’s the new plan. There is no way in hell I’m leaving a bag full of smelly tater shit on his love note. Out of all the crazy psychopath girls he’s met before this would definitely trump all of them. How could I do this? I’m kicking myself as I walk back towards his door and then it hits me… It’s an apartment…on the fourth floor. There are no windows to break or potted plants with a hidden key. I turn the doorknob vigorously but it’s no use. There is no way in, or out of this dilemma. Realizing that I am completely defeated, I sullenly walk away. This is going to be the worst case of PTSD my therapist has ever seen. Of course it was too good to be true. Ugh.

I don’t think I need to mention that Brian never came to pick me up for dinner that night, or that he never attempted to call or contact me ever again. And every time I went to a bar I feared that I would someday run into him. Six months later, I see him at a gallery opening downtown. Just seeing him makes my heart sink into my stomach and makes me break out into cold sweats. After re-living the tragic event in my head I remember how well we connected and what an amazing night we shared together. Is there anything I could possibly say to him to convince him to hear me out? I already lost him. I can’t lose him again so after my fifth glass of wine I decide – what the hell – I’m gonna go right up to him and explain what happened. I only got within twenty feet of him when he sees me walking towards him. He vehemently puts up his hand, stopping me in mid-tract and shouts “NO! Nooooo!” then races for the door, flings in open and storms out. Everyone in the gallery turns to look at me as if I have the plague. I burry my head, turn, and leave. I guess it wasn’t meant to be. But couldn’t the universe have told me that in a less cruel way?

Take one for the Team

I'm out with a girlfriend, Kia. This evening is simply a prelude to tomorrow night's planned clubbing venture. We meet friends at a hipster bar down in the Tenderloin. Definitely one of the sketchier neighborhoods of the city that we aren't as keen on gracing with our presence. Walking in, we are well aware we are over dressed. The girl behind is rolls her eyes and comments loud enough for us to hear, "where do they think they're going?" Kia turns to me and replies, "it's better to be overdressed than underdressed, don't you think?" I smile at her remark and as she called it, all eyes are on us. We stand out like a sore thumb in our knee high boots and stilettos. (We're looking good. Baby prostitute good!) We meet up with our friends who wouldn't expect anything less from our attire and laugh about past mishaps and ventures.

After a cocktail (or two--okay 4 really), we're on a mission to go dancing. We make it to a bar on Polk Street knowing the dance floor is calling our name. There's a line out the door about 20 people long. Kia and I start out in line only to be followed by a group of four young men (aka fresh meat). They small talk with us and ask us what college we go to. I tell them we just graduated and walk away towards the front of the line, leaving Kia with the "be right back" look. There are two bouncers at the door, one who looks more in charge than the other. I make eye contact with him and acknowledge the 3 girls who walk up behind me. "Hey", I say to him. "Our friend John bartends here". He looks at me and smirks. "No one named John works here". "That's what he said his name was, " I laugh and look over to Kia. She gives me the what gives look. "How many?" he asks. "5 girls," I respond as I point to Kevin and give her the signal to come over. She looks back at the boys behind us and as she turns to walk away, "We're really 30 and it looks like we've still got it". Kevin and I make our way in, only to pause to thank Gabriel our newest bouncer friend. "Looks like it's seniors night tonight", she laughs.

Let it be known, that I am not to thank for my ways. Trouble is called Trouble for a reason. She taught me confidence and the power of persuasion over many countless nights, the first being one of our first annual Vegas trips. While we always "know" the bartender or are always "on the guest list", Trouble made sure we always add a closer. The closer is designated girl in the group who gets assigned to "take one for the team". She knows its her job to stand in line behind Trouble when we're walking up to the bouncer. She knows not to talk and most likely shouldn't due to her recent consumption of liquid confidence. She's the one who is designated to wear the clear heals or the drape neck dress ever so strategically placed to keep from exposing the goods. "Take one for the team" was not only our nightly outing requirement, but on the "big nights out", you bet there was a pinch hitter on board. What defines a big night out you ask? A night signifying a recent breakup for one of its members. Usually the pinch hitter is the most recent single who despite the girl designated to "take one for the team" is the one who is actually expected to take one for the team. Usually the sluttiest girl in the group is the biggest prude. It is important to have balance among your team players!

Mind you, rule #1 in Vegas for Trouble and I, is No Sex in Vegas (especially after the first incident). #2 What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Rule # 3 Make sure not everyone in your group adheres to rule number 1. Variation is good.

The pinch hitter is expected to win the game. It is her job at any costs to make the night a memorable one. And what could be more memorable than being escorted to the VIP tables, being offered to take shots in exchange for "cannon balling" into the pool, ending up in John Meyer's suite and finding out he kinda has a thing for his fat boy guard, hanging out back stage, dancing in the DJ's booth, hanging out with the Pacers, the Chargers, the Rangers, the Barcelona Football Team, the WWF wresting team or finding shelter with the Canadian Hockey team? 

A Girl Scout is Always Prepared

Greedy Greedy's Girl Scout Survival Guide.

The first most important thing I learned: A girl scout is always prepared.

A. Find Shelter
B. Pitch a Tent
C. Sell your Cookies



More so, at the end of the night, make sure you have a place to stay come closing time. Sometimes that means going home with someone with the nicest bachelor pad or room in Vegas. If you haven't found any suiters or more likely they haven't found you, sometimes you just gotta sell some cookies to get the ball rolling.

For the record, no I was never officially a girl scout. I watched as an outsider as my younger sister earned award after award for her accomplishments. I too deserved a patch to sew on my vest.

My advice to Trouble on her first few days as a newbie single, "Pack some clean panties with you when you go out. You never know where you'll end up". I personally go beyond that now. Despite how small my purse is, you can fit quite a bit. The essentials: Toothbrush, Phone Charger, Eyeliner, Light Fabric Dress, and if it's summer, a swim suit. Don't forget the clean underwear!! That's the most essential if anything to always being prepared.



Trouble's taken the red eye to NYC this weekend, curtesy of her new man, Meat. I'll be meeting him soon come Valentines Day. He's either part of the Puma Escapades or the inner workings of her future ex husband. I'm not sure if the fates have decided that yet. Either way, Trouble is around the corner.

--UPDATE--- Meat has "moobs" ( = man boobs, RETREAT!). We decide that Trouble has bad judgment. Moving forward we agree she needs to feel up every potential candidate. She does. Candidates don't seem to find it odd or question it. We are pleased.

Gone Phishing

Phishing, a variation on "fishing," the idea being that bait is thrown out with the hopes that while most will ignore the bait, some will be tempted into biting.


It's New Years Eve, 2010 and for or the first time ever, I've decided to try Spanks. Spanks, a form fitting slip you wear under your clothes that just pushes it all up and brings it all in. It's fucking amazing. My ever so perky boobs are twice the size and my ass is looking as tight as ever; back to if not better than my college athletic days. Any sort of insecurities I had are now all tucked away in my spanks.


I'm prepping in the bathroom with my college girlfriends. We're drinking mimosas, curling our hair and accenting our assets. I've already got two burn marks on my left shoulder and a second degree burn on my left wrist which I'll refer to as my war wounds. Trouble is home not so coupled up for a couples night. I hate leaving her, but at the same time, I'm in no place to be spending my first week out single at home with other couples. We have VIP tickets to New Years Eve at Fort Mason with DJ Steve Aoki, a half million dollar production with a guest list of 4,700. (Who is Aoki you ask? I don't know either, but when you Google him, his name is as popular as the late DJ AM. According to Wikipedia, he's the third son of former Japanese Olympic wrestler Steve Aoki. UCSC Alum and founder of Dim Mak Records, I guess he's kind of a big deal? The thing about being a big deal, like myself, is that I guess not everyone has to know who you are.)


Before I return to NYE 2010 ventures, let me give you a little background. I've only been single from infancy to age 16 until I met my first boyfriend and for a little over 9 months from age 23-24. I'm 27, newly single after having been with my ex for 7 of the past 10 years. It was in that 9 months that I learned one of the most important things that every single girl should know.


David, Trouble's not gay model friend, sat us down and said what I've taken with me from that day on Lesson #1 "Keep your numbers low. If you're not going to sleep with some more than once, it's a waste of a number. You girls are too pretty to be slutty". So it was in that moment, entering single life, it was clear to me. I was going to be the girl who fucked instead of a girl that got fucked. Which brings us to lesson #2. It's always good to be friends with Promotors.


Having moved to Cow Hollow or whats also known as the Marina, I met my neighbor Bad News Bear. We made out a couple times and I left him with a hard on night after night of simply trying to decide whether or not he was worth a number. Number 4 to be exact. It was one night that I met up around the corner with him at his friends house. Mostly East Coast transplants all of which despite their drunken escapades where still of the utmost charming and polite nature. Bad News Bear and his friend walk me home. I'm wearing his friends coat that he's offered me on that crisp February night 4 years ago and it was then that I decided to make him number 4. After fucking him (good but not the best if I'm being honest), I tell him my decision was based on his friends. "I like your friends. They seem like honest decent people. And although I haven't decided what I think about you, you're getting laid because of how much I like them, not how much I like you". I laugh and he wraps his arms tightly around me. The best spooning I'd yet to come across at that point. All in all, 4 years down the line, I've got myself comped VIP tickets to NYE 2010.


So coming back to NYE and the title "Phishing".... how are the two related? As a single woman, whether or not you're out on the prowl, we're always phishing. NYE and entering into 2011, it's the start of a more conscious effort to play the game and see what's biting. And so begins my tale of a single girls guide to hunting and phishing.

Floppy Disk

Nick and Jadge. Vegas Bartenders aka sponsors of the Crotch Shot on Troubles Wedding Night.

For me, Trouble, the inspiration for this blog started many years ago after a slue of bad dating mishaps, a couple restraining orders, a wedding in Vegas, and some really hilarious encounters. I initially began my written account of these stories so long ago that they are now stuck on a floppy disk never to be retrieved. So in 2011, my best friend and I decided to pick back up and share our journey on “The Hunt.” This is also the first time we have both been single together in 14 years! Our goal for 2011: to have 5 ridiculous stories, 3 of which need to be with each other and two on our own.