** CRAIGSLIST ADVISORY — AVOID SCAMS BY DEALING LOCALLY
** Avoid:  wiring money, cross-border deals, work-at-home
** Beware: cashier checks, money orders, escrow, shipping
** More Info:  http://www.craigslist.org/about/scams.html

 No matter how far you are, I’m near .  Secret moments shared in the heat of the afternoon.
How’s it going? my new friend! I am lonely girl, looking for a man!
I cam accross your email on some website. Don’t remember exactly which one.
I am coming to your area in just few days and I need to find a male parnter overthere.
I hope we can go out together and you could show me around.
Drop me few lines at clementkusachromatic@gmail.com so we can stay in touch This is my personal mailbox I use for correspondence.  Please reply to my personal addie only, as I constantly check it.
I will show my  cute picture If you decide to reply.   You, you gave me love.  Everyday I will devour you I love you always forever.

——Reply——
From: Ms Pissy Pants <XXXXXX@yahoo.com>
To: clementkusachromatic@gmail.com
Date: Wed, Jul 8, 11:04 AM -0400
Subject: RE:sweet, smart and fun wanting guy

Hi lonely girl looking for man.  It’s going good over here in my area.  You probably have NO idea where the fuck I am though.  Oh wait - you have no idea that I’m a….wait for it……WOMAN.  I have this sneaking suspicion that you might be a man though, so this may just work out wonderfully for the both of us. 

You came across my email on some website huh?  This has obviously been sent to me through craigslist.  Wow, I feel sorry for the poor sap who falls for this shit.  Some lonely goofball who’ll undoubtedly be showcased on Dateline NBC for giving up his life savings to a scam artist, most likely based out of Nigeria, whom he thought was a hot European model with bad grammar and big fake boobies. 

Every day you will devour me.  ROFLMAO!  I wish this was a telemarketer and not an email. 

All bullshit aside, I am enclosing my address, If you send me a money order for $5,000, I’ll be able to close all of my bank accounts and write you a check in the full amount of the combined funds.  Remember I won’t be able to do that until I have  the money order.  

Waiting patiently in my area.

One of the big inside jokes we ladies have revolves around how big Poca’s hands are, especially when compared to BK’s.
And Poca trying on BK’s shoes
lol, but in Poca’s defense, her 8 year old son can fit them joints LMAO! So that says a lot too about BK’s Fun Sized-ness.

So anyway, when I walk into the spot on Friday afternoon for Happy Hour, Poca’s already there with drink in hand and an origami flower. O-Kay.

Esq: So what’s up with the flower?
Poca: That guy across the bar bought me a drink and Bartendaroni #2 brought it over to me with it.
Esq: So that biker looking dude made you an origami flower and sent it over with your drink?
Poca: LOL Yea.
Esq: OMFG I totally need a picture of that.
*Poca poses with the rose across her chest*
Manager Dude: Let me hold that for you. *thinking to himself* I can get a cheap feel…yea boiiiii!

Esq: LMFAO! That really looks almost like your hand Poca. A big ol’ man hand!
Poca: STFU! lol. Take another one.
*Plays with positions in a way to make her hand look nice and feminine.*

Although, all I really noticed in the picture is how bright her bra was, which was offset by the redness of her tank. LOL! Yes, the very same bra that her phone was in.
And since I’m cleaning up the pictures on my cell phone. Here’s one of my favorites of Poca, aside from the hyperglow highlight joint on my wall. It’s from the last cookout we had and she’s sporting her official Mickey Mouse apron:

“There was one awkward moment during the seventh inning stretch. Her daughter was knocked up by Alex Rodriguez.”

To which Sarah Palin responded by alleging that he was making jokes about statutory rape…… *crickets*

Comment by: TableNine
10:48 AM

She should at least raise Willow’s allowance. Those Wasilla rape kits are expensive.

Source

I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard in my life! +10 for you!

On a side note, Letterman also commented that it’s wrong for conservative Republican voices like [Limbaugh and O'Reilly] to assert that the black community’s “baby daddy” culture is indicative only of the one subsection of society, using Bristol Palin to highlight this point. I’ve been saying this all along so it’s nice to have someone hit one for the home team….. lol no pun intended.

From CHEATERS® surveillance cameras, you are about to view actual true stories, filmed live, documenting the pain of a spouse or lover caused by infidelity. This program is both dedicated to the faithful and presented to the false-hearted to encourage their renewal of temperance and virtue.

LOL Yea I watch the show a little too much. Back to the point, Mr. Married and I met at an upscale Cuban bar not too far from my job. There was nothing particular about him other than his penchant for buying drinks and actually holding a conversation. 30/30 works well for free dranks and snacks and sometimes you go just for the perks. In addition to all that, he promised to gift me an umbrella since it was raining and I didn’t have one. I thought it was a nice gesture and told him that I would hold him to it for the next time we saw each other.

Anyway, we agreed to go to a bar one night for more of the same. I frequented this particular spot several times that year and grew very comfortable with the bartenders so when he didn’t show up on time, I wasn’t too bummed. I just chatted up the other patrons and harassed the staff until he finally got there about 45 minutes late. His excuse? Well, he got held up at work. And that should’ve been clue #1 that he was married and a cheater, but I was a too blissfully tipsy to notice.

We had a good time, all things considered. I mean it wasn’t a love connection, but he didn’t scoff at my silly choices on the jukebox (Mariah, Prince, Belinda Carlisle..yea all over the place) so I was happy. Before long, the bar was closing and he was paying our tab. As we’re walking out, he says that he has something for me in his car. Naturally, I looked at him like he was crazy, but he laughed and assured me that it wasn’t like that.

So, I’m sitting in the passenger side of his SUV that’s lifted a few feet too many off the ground. He reaches in his backseat and pulls out a gift bag with pretty glittery tissue sticking out. To my surprise he had brought me the umbrella he promised. I thanked him with a hug and was reaching for the door handle when I see a woman standing there looking through the window. It scared THE CRAP out of me!

She then started pounding on the door and screaming for me to open it “RIGHT NOW!” I didn’t… I’m no fool. I just looked at him and asked him what the heck was going on. By the time I saw the deer in headlights expression on his face, she was on his side with his door open and a mouth full of obscenities for him. The only words that I could clearly make out were “Who is she?” and “wife,” which was more than enough for me. Neither of them noticed as I inconspicuously walked to my car and jumped in. My engine starting in the empty parking lot drew their attention to me and as she started walking over, I gunned my car in the opposite direction and got the heck out of dodge.

Predictably he called to explain less than an hour later, but by then I was at home on the phone with Dunkley telling him what happened. When the phone rang the display read “Do Not Answer” (yea I’m quick with it) so I didn’t know which one of the other losers it could’ve been and didn’t answer. The message was lame, something about being separated from his wife and happy that he at least got a chance to spend some time with me even if I never called him again. Riiiight.

So for all my trouble, I didn’t get my umbrella (I left it behind in my mad dash to get out of the car) and I didn’t get to meet Joey Greco. Oh well…

For the Love of Ray J seemed slightly different from the other “I want to slob some hoes down and pretend to wife one” reality shows. He actually treated these girls with a modicum of respect which is more than we could say for other “of Love” headliners.  I’ll take this moment to pretend to pour out a little champagne to yet another celebrealtity TV couple and at the same time offer cheers to the awesome new season of FTLORJ! 

…sidenote: Danger is a pre-med student?Nevermind the wack ass publicity stunt. LOL. She’s more like a medical PATIENT than anything, but whatever!

The first time that you tinkled on the toilet, I had no clue if it was really you.  It’s possible that you decided, like I, that you refuse to touch another woman’s pee.  On the other hand, this morning before anyone else had a chance to go to the restroom, I noticed that you left the stall and that there were tinkles on it again.  No I’m not stalking you, but it seems we have the same schedule.

I also notice that your pants are damp right around the behind the knee part where your pants would be if you squatted. That tells me that not only do you tinkle, but you also drip on yourself.  I don’t care what you do with your pants or if you’re not as embarrassed as I’d be if it were me, but could you do us all a favor and wipe up your splatter?!

I used almost a whole roll of tissue trying to clean up after you the last time. UGH! You’re too grown for this. I’m ashamed for you.

Sincerely,

Esq.

6 Guages stats?

From the VH1 Blog:

Also, I highly doubt that those are 6’s stats. He’d have the shape of a post-gum Violet Beauregarde, if that really were the case.

Mr. Ghetto, #13:

Towards the middle of my dating, I started to expand my horizons a little and include guys that I probably wouldn’t normally give the time of day to. This one happened to be a little more hood and definitely more gangsta than any of the other dudes.  Keep in mind that during this time I was working in a very metro area with lots of single young, educated types. Anyway, Mr. Ghetto needed to be picked up, which was against the rules, but fearing nothing I picked him up from his dilapidated house anyway. On the way to restaurant we had some conversation though nothing too earth shattering just babble about life and his many exploits.

At the restaurant, which was my family’s favorite at the time, he decided to order the cheapest thing on the menu. Okay this is a steakhouse!  Ordering stir-fry is like going to Hardee’s and trying to get a bowl of cereal in the morning. Only kids do that mess! Knowing something was up, I decided to dive into my Manhattan and talk about myself in an effort to get him to talk about himself. This always seemed to work before. You know, I give a little, you give a little—an even exchange of information.  As I’m trying to engage this brick wall in conversation, I’m also taking bigger and bigger sips of my drink trying to find some happiness in tipsiness.  By the time I finish my second drink, this guy had already finished his steakhouse stirfry, which must have been satisfying because, as he took his last bite, he put his fork down and proceeded to SPIT in his bowl and cover it with a napkin.

Okay so I spit when drink fruity drinks. This fool had a beer! And it wasn’t a pleasant dainty spit into a napkin, it was a HOCKED LOOGIE! Before I could even really react to this mess, I promptly took another swig of my drink and flagged down the waitress. There was no way I could eat my steak after seeing him do that. I was mortified and grossed out!  It was at this point that I realized that home training doesn’t come standard and that it was time to go. I tucked my perfectly cooked steak that was neatly wrapped in a doggy bag under my arm and high tailed it to the door. In fact, as I recall, I paid for the meal just because it was that dreadful and I wanted to be out of there faster.  It made complete sense to me and Mr. Ghetto did order the cheapest thing on the menu for a reason, I’m sure.

When I dropped him off at his place, he leaned in for a kiss. I could immediately picture his mucousy yellow spit in the bottom of his bowl and threw up a little in my mouth. I shook his hand and that was the end of that; he was now “Do Not Answer” in my phone with the rest of the dating rejects in my experiment who were never to be heard from again.

In the next installment, Mr. Married #26 shows why you should never think that Cheaters is only filmed in Dallas, TX.

Her decisions and the dumb ass men that she’s drawn to mirror my entire dating and relationship history.  It puts it all into perspective when I can see my mistakes being played out on the plasma display, I want to reach out and strangle that bitch, knock some sense into her.  She’s letting all of the good men go.   

Did you guys want to strangle me?  Damn.  I’d want to strangle me.  I’ve let some good ones go for stupid reasons.  Yes, strangle me now. 

How many signs does a woman need to let a loser go?  The signs are always there.  Esq, your words are emblazoned in my head as a scrolling LED sign with batteries that never die.  Guys tell you exactly what their playbook is the minute you meet them, you just have to listen.  It. Never. Fails.

It’s true.  Lesson learned.  I’m doing my best to not let the signs get away from me. 

Daisy, Fox is a TOOL.  He was a TOOL from day one.  Sure this is reality TV and ratings BLAH BLAH BLAH.  Whatever.  Fox is a TOOL.  In calling you a dumbass though, I am in essence calling myself a dumbass (minus the hot bod, fake boobs and fake blond hair) because we are one in the same, seriously.  So, in my reality, not celebreality, I really do love you watch your show.

Why me? am I a magnet for retarded ignorance?? How I can I get demagnetized????

*note to self* research demagnetification….

It’s the first day of the semester and I pick my seat wisely…not too far back because my eyes aren’t as young as they used to be and not to close because my germaphobeness won’t let me be that close to the professor in fear that he’ll spit in my vicinity.

Sure, school can be a great place to meet smart people but it was in my experience last night that whack, ignorant, cornballs are everywhere.

During the break I go down stairs to get some water from the vending machine because…well I was parched and they had Dasani….I love me some Dasani…it’s so crisp and clean tasting…anyway, I digress. So I got my water and start heading back up stairs when this guys comes to me and attempts to start a conversation….

Cornball – Hey…why are you drinking Dasani?

Me – What?

Cornball - Why you drinking Dasani? You like it?

Me – What?

Cornball - You like that shit?

Me – No, I actually hate it…it makes me painfully sick but i’m something like a masochist so….

Cornball - Well you shouldn’t drink that water because the company that makes it are racist fucks.

Me – What? Who? Coca-Cola?

Cornball - No, not Coca-Cola….Dasani!

Me – Ummmm (with one of my classic faces) Coca-Cola makes Dasani

Cornball - They do? man, and I had a coke today too…..

Me – OMG! you’d better go to the bathroom and make yourself throw up before you lose your smarts (clearly being sarcastic)

Cornball just looks at me with a confused look…..

Me – Later…I’m gonna go get another Dasani….can I get you anything? a coke maybe?

I thought i’d offer him a coke and a smile

Interesting enough…he refused and went back to class….remedial classes I presume.

Now, I’ve had stranger. more stupid, pointless wastes of time meeting in my life but this by far was one of the strangest….probably one of my top 10.