On a scale of 1-10, how hot would you rate…

Yea, I’ll admit it…I was recently rated a 3 — I didn’t argue. Maybe that’s why I have deep-seeded dating issues because I’m aiming for a 6, 7, 8…the bread that’s wayyy out of my league. I should go dumpster diving and slum it. Do you think I can find good bread while digging through the trash? Because the saying goes: One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. And I am a diamond in the rough, like a piece of coal.

There’s a quirky theory that runs rampant through the streets of San Francisco — that at best, only 6’s & 7’s exist here. The belief is if you transplant a San Francisco “10″ to any other place (Las Vegas, Los Angeles, etc.) they’re only really a 7. Gee…that grass sure looks greener on the other side…Good thing I’m a 3, so I don’t even have to deal with those calculations! I just find it disturbing that people even rate others, like some review on yelp. Stop complicating your life because you’ll get stuck in the decimals. Honestly, there are more important things to spend my time on — how to increase my net worth.

However, even though I’m a 3, I’m actually “hands down the best kisser EVER” …urbandictionary said so.

Dear Mr. Right (or Mr. Right Now),

We haven’t been properly introduced but I’ve dreamed about you ever since I was a little girl and old enough to wish on stars. You’re my star — knight in shining armor coming to rescue me, your damsel in distress. When we meet, I’ll know it’s you because I’ll be overcome with emotion equivalent to an asthma attack and you’ll sweep me off my feet, tossing me over your shoulder like a fireman…or pirate. I’ll exclaim to my girlfriends that, I’m gonna lasso that man, and marry him! because you give me goosebumps, heart palpitations and even come with joint healthcare!

You won’t need lines, or gimmicks, or routines, because you’ll have me at “HELLO” — actually words won’t be necessary at all. You’ll look deep into my eyes and fall head over heels where you’ll promptly whisk me away to our own private island / chateau in France / winery in Napa. Not only will you be rolling in dough from saving the lives of starving children in Africa, you’ll have made it big during the dotcom boom but have the sensibility to pullout before the Great Recession.

You’ll understand that when I say, “Do you want dessert?” what I really mean is “I want dessert, but I’m too much of a pig to eat it on my own.” But even if I gain 5, 10, 50lbs, you’ll still think I’m sexy and F*able. But please, never when I’m not in the mood…

You’ll throw rocks at my window in the middle of the night to capture my attention and hold a boombox over your head, professing your undying love in the middle of a thunderstorm. You will not be gay. You’ll burst in the chapel and save me from marrying the douchebag standing to my left, because you have the sixth sense to help me even when I don’t know it myself.

And I’ll wait for you because I’m a princess — my daddy told me so! From the moment I could comprehend, I’ve been force-feed feeble tales of Cinderella, Snow White & Pocahontas. The Little Mermaid ain’t got nothin’ on me because I already have both my feet. No flipper babies for us!

So, what do you say, Mr. Right? Let’s go get hitched and ride off into the sunset together…

Yours Forever,
A douchette baguette

My brother used to lament that Asian men were the plankton of the dating totem pole. He was constantly griping about how his slimmer physique = less masculine = perceived gayness. At 5′8″, he’s average height but would never be considered tall by American standards and social norms dictate that the boy should be taller than the girl. He blamed it on the portrayal of Asians by mass media. According to his theory, I fared marginally better because Asian girls = exotic = sex fiend nymphomaniac.

There’s a term for bread obsessed with Asian girls and after moving back to the Bay Area, I run into this type of boy a lot. What’s even creepier is when I’m given a passing grade by his parents based on my ethnicity! Because somehow my chinky eyes = I’ll take care of you forever, even when we’re old and gray. That type of comment should be reserved for an individual’s character & personality; never race or background.

Racial profiling exists — especially in the dating world. I understand that people have preferences, but limiting yourself to ONE type of bread means that you’re closing yourself off to the other possibilities of carb-laden goodness. And bread is always much more inviting dressed up in butter / cheese / nutella — think of the possibilities! Yum.

There’s a phenomenon that happens during online dating, word of mouth dating and pretty much any type of dating where I’m not meeting them face-2-face in person during the round one bout. When hundreds of profiles are available at your fingertips, it’s common to sift through them like resumes — searching for accomplishments and passing judgement based on skill + qualifications. But if you’ve ever been on the hiring side of a job interview, candidates can be “good on paper” and bad in person.

I’ve met boys that go out of their way to tell me they’re “good on paper”. What is that suppose to mean?!? Is he trying to advertise his above average 5th grade reading level? Or is he telling me that he no longer lives with his parents? I can’t help but think that he’s actually looking for a gold-digger, but then becomes sufficiently miffed when the goldfish eats him out of house & home.

Boys tell me that padded bras are the devil’s incarnate because it amounts to a whole lot of false advertising. I hate false advertising too — there’s only so much guesstimating a girl can do with her hands.

Him: Filipino women are very beautiful.

Me: That’s nice…if I was Filipino.

Him: Ahh…well…mixed race women as well…

I’m entertained at his faux pas, and let him continue to shove his foot in his mouth.

Him: Are you a racer?

Me: No, I just pretend to be one sometimes, for fun.

Him: Oh well…I was asking because my friend is an Indy 500 racer. I attended this past year and sat in the $10,000 box. I also own property nearby, but I’m renting right now in Walnut Creek because I haven’t found new renters in this economy…I sell real estate for a living, it’s quite lucrative with all the foreign money from other countries.

I hold back the eye-roll moment at the explicit mention of a big number, high-roller lifestyle. My pause in conversation signals to him that he’s slowly drowning. He whips out the big guns:

Him: You know…you’re very beautiful.

Me: Thank You.

It’s difficult to purposely not smile when any slice of bread tells you that you’re beautiful. I know it’s generic, but they’re still magical words — effective when used once and insincere when used repeatedly.

Him: Do you have a boyfriend?

Me: I’m in between boyfriends at the moment.

Him: May I have your number?

Me: Another time.

Him: I sense you’re getting cold feet?

I examine my own breath, as I exhale deeply into the air:

Me: It’s a very cold night.

Him: I respect and understand your decision. It’s been wonderful chatting with you…

Even douchey lifestyle-dropping not-right-for-me bread can be respectful. I had no idea the two could mutually coexist.

It’s kinda interesting that eHarmony.com makes you take a gigantic personality profile test. I think it’s a fabulous idea to know what makes you tick before trying to find your better half. Recently, I had to take a personality test for work and I’ve been reading about myself for the past two weeks non-stop because it’s surprisingly accurate.

Apparently, I’m rare — 2-5% of the population kinda rare. I’m also a natural born leader (i.e. I have bigger balls than you do) with all the suave + charm of a cult leader. But in my defense, the people of Rome loved Julius Caeser! He used his power to make Rome a prosperous, open, and trustworthy place to live — that’s exactly what I do in relationships.

But then I noticed a very odd trend in my personality profile. Of the 10 notable personalities that I fall in line with, only two are women. One is a lesbian, and the other took various stands against her own sex. I’ve been told that I’m intimidating by both boys + girls. It’s because I’m not afraid to bite and most people don’t really want to date someone that intimidates them. So, unless I want to go into the dominatrix business, I’m screwed. Wait. On second thought, I wouldn’t even be screwed properly IF I was a dominatrix because it’s all about keeping the slave an arm’s distance away.

And in case you were wondering, if you’re breaking skin when biting you’re doing it all wrong.

I landed myself a seriously crazy blind date. However, a half-hour before our scheduled coffee date I received an urgent text message: “Call me, please!” It’s never good sign when the first words out of his mouth are: “I’m sorry…” I was being stood up by a boy that had never even met me! He apologized profusely and pushed for rescheduling everything one week later. I accepted because deep down, I believe everyone should be given a second chance.

When he called a few days later for a “getting to know you” phone conversation, I started to believe he had gentlemanly potential. There are several taboo subjects that the majority agrees are “off-limits.” Typically, it’s a good idea to stay away from the heavy hitters: sex, politics, and religion. After cordial pleasantries were exchanged: “How was your weekend?” He launched straight to the meaty stuff: “I believe Americans are a sexually conservative people. In Sweden, it’s common that children talk about their first sexual experience with their parents…”

I thought the topic was an odd choice, but I played along until: “Americans should travel to other countries because they’ve really got it together…and San Francisco isn’t as creatively conscious as…Los Angeles. If you really want to do creative work, you should move to Los Angeles. It’s a socially stifling atmosphere up here in the Bay Area, girls who dress provocatively are labeled as sluts, whores, and hootchie mamas.”

It’s rare that I have to ask this question in the dating process, but I had to whip it out: “Do you LIKE America?!?”

Because not liking America, that’s a dealbreaker.

I moved…across town. That’s what has been keeping me über busy this past week. Technically I’m in the same city, but at least it’s a different zip code. You know how addicts sometimes have to move away from their addictions towards recovery? Well…

I have an addictive personality.

However, it tends to manifest itself in simple things: bread & coffee rather than jazz & booze. I also google obsessively — about everything. So, I try to keep the stalkerish habits to a minimum. But it’s really really difficult to break bad habits. I should know, I’ve been a nail biter for 10+ years. Addiction is a cycle and it’s time to break the cycle of bad boys, bad relationships, and bad bread. Because I found myself in the bakery yesterday, the last hour before closing and there was a 50% off basket full of bread goodies — things that were obviously being discounted because it was no longer “good”. I stopped myself from buying into the 2-for-1 deal because I’m better than that. I deserve fresh hot straight from the oven bread, damnit!

It’s time for relationship rehab. Sex addicts in rehabilitation have ground rules: no masturbation, no seductive behavior, and of course, no sex. What does this translate to for me? No relationships…at least for a day/week/maybe month, and definitely none with douchey boys.

Every generation is different and Generation Y (those born between 1978-1990) is no exception. We’re like Generation X on steroids. All the things that shaped Generation X: globalization & technology (Boeing 747), immediacy of information (internet), crumbling family structure (divorce) are reaching new heights. MTV has taught Generation Y to filter information at rapid pace and the iPhone not only gives us the power of google at our fingertips — we can take it with us in our pocket!

The prevailing parenting structure of Gen Yers had our elders letting us believe we could be anything we wanted to be. Many youth sports today incorporate a “no-cut policy“. We were winners if we just showed up for the game. People call it positive reinforcement. I call it bullshit.

The typical Gen Yer boy believes he’s the best thing since sliced bread. He’s a winner because he’s been told he’s special, different, and unique his whole life. And he probably is all of the above because his mother needed fertility drugs to help in his conception at age 35+. While growing up, he was coddled and cooed at as if he was the next Messiah. If I want to date him, I have to become Mary Magdalene. She’s the “penitent sinner” aka reformed whore, and the questionable wife of Jesus.

That must be why some girls dress like whores. They haven’t quite figured out the reform part yet.

I take for granted that you’ve read the “about this blog” link and understood it. Because when I started blogging last year, I read Penelope Brazen Careerist’s Guide To Blogging, chose a topic I loved to write about, and started furiously typing. At first, I thought it’d only be my friends reading about my adventures, but I’m slowly gaining ground — like a snowball in July.

The link between bread and boys evolved during my college years. It was the secret language created to gossip about boys without actually using names. There’s a bunch of types of bread out there in the world and there’s a whole lotta types of boys too:

• white bread – It’s exactly what you’re thinking…yup, he’s white, mainstream, All-American probably corn fed and plays football.
• wheat bread -  If you’re going to reach for carbs, at least devour the type that’s good for you. There’s also whole wheat disguised as white bread too!
• rye bread – Dark, dense, high in fiber (means it’s good for you and keeps the pipes moving) and usually stronger in flavor/personality.
• donut – Not only is this bad, this type has a hole in the middle; never trust bread that has a giant hole in the middle…

That’s just a small sample of terms but I’m sure you get the jist…

So while everyone else is making new year’s resolutions, I’m going to make one that involves YOU and this blog. I’m aiming to have 50 subscribers by the end of 2010. All you’ve got to do is press that cute little button in the top right corner. I’m letting you know exactly which button to push to make me the happiest girl in the world. Oh, and if you were one of my previous 8 subscribers…go ahead and press the button too (I switched feeds). If you really want to show some love; spread the word and tell your friends because I’m not just another sassy dating blogger — I can actually write!