Navy Seal My Foot

I’m a fairly tall woman. Runway tall. Occassionally, I wear heels if my date is much taller than me. My date was taking me to see the movie Get Out. Honestly, I didn’t know much about it. He chose the movie.

I was pretty nervous about this one. Not the movie but my date. My insecurities were kicking into overdrive. You see, my date was a retired Navy Seal who looked like Dwayne The Rock Johnson and was built like him too. This was my unicorn. You know the ultimate mate that you dream up but secretly don’t think exists. Yea, I scored a date with my personal unicorn.

So I’m trying my best to look drop dead gorgeous and yet I’m thinking I am not good enough for this man. I’m fluffy. Not like Stay Puff Marshmallow Man fluffy. I’m simply not toned. My arms aren’t flapping in the breeze but I could be mistaken for a Jello Jiggler.

So I mustard up the courage to go and I meet my date in front of the local movie theaters. He pays for the tickets and buys an large cherry icee. How cute, I think. My butterflies were all over the place. Nothing for me please.

So we find our seats in the back row of the theater. The previews start. I’m doing a sideways glance at his ginormous arms. My gosh, what does this man bench?

And all of a sudden he grabs my foot, with my heels still on and starts massaging it. We have barely hugged and now I’m getting a foot massage with my shoes on. Huh?

And then it happens….he starts using my heeled foot to rub himself. I think they call this a footjob. Granted he still has his clothes on but his pants are getting more snug by the minute.

What the heck is going on? I’m baffled. My heel is practically digging into his junk. That can’t be pleasant.

I politely remove my foot from his behemoth grasp and place it back on the floor where it belongs.

I finished the movie because it was a mind trip….but my mind kept going back to him. Do Navy Seals have a thing for flippers?

Rogue Rose

Paint It Red

I was running late for a lunch date with someone new. He was an older Jewish man, who had a fascination of Catholic women. I was raised Catholic, but I don’t go to Mass as much as I should. So I pull into the parking lot of Mimi’s Cafe, a cute New Orleans inspired chain.

He recognized me before I even got out of my car. As I open my car door, he goes in for the kiss. Granted, we are just meeting so this is forward.

This wasn’t a little peck on the lips. No, this was a full on inspired suck face. Ooh la la. Holy shit. Excuse my french.

I’m stunned but manage to walk into the restaurant. We are seated towards the front in a booth. I noticed the hostess is giving me a funny look. I shrug it off.

Our waiter comes around and takes our order. I’ll have the brie, apple turkey sandwich on a croissant. It’s delicious with an apricot chutney. Again, the waiter gives me a look as well.

What is up with these people?

Lunch is served and the conversation goes well. When the bill comes, my date breaks out a two-for-one coupon and proceeds to argue with the waiter who won’t accept it because he had to order a drink, not just water. So grudgingly, he pays the full amount.

I thank him for lunch as he walks me back to my car. As I go to leave, I check myself in the mirror and Holy Paint My Face Red Batman. When he kissed me at the beginning of the date, my red lipstick smeared all over my lower face. I’m talking clown-like. No wonder the staff was looking at me funny. He didnt have red lipstick on his face. They were probably wondering where it was on him.

I banned myself from that restaurant location. Time to go to confession.

Rogue Rose

It has a nice ring to it

I’ve been married before and divorced. My quest to find my soulmate has taken me down many avenues of life. Some more hilarious than others.

I’m having dinner in South Orange County. Small talk is going well. First date jitters are getting out of the way to comfort. Laughing comes easy.

The way my date chews slightly annoys me. It’s not open mouth see-food chewing but it slightly reminds me of a cow chewing curd. But I like him. He seems nice and he is good looking.

him: we should get married

me: yea right

him: I’m serious. Let’s run off to Vegas.

me: yea right

He is joking, right? Tell me he is joking.

Dinner ends and no more talk on marriage proposals and Las Vegas. He asks if we can walk off dinner. Sounds like a plan to me.

Around the corner we go, continue the small talk and I get steered into a jewelry store. Wait. What?!

him: You should take a look at these.

me: Nope….those are engagement rings. These earrings look nice.

salesclerk: Can I help you?

him: Yes. I would like to see these engagement rings

salesclerk: So how long have you two been together?

me: 45 minutes

That was it. She saw the look in my eyes. You know that look. Deer in headlights. I can’t be sure but I think she mouthed the word RUN.

And I did…

Rogue Rose


There is always a gameplan on getting date ready. Shower, expert contouring of the face, the right ensemble, perfect shoes and a snack. Especially if it’s a late dinner. Late for me is anything after 6:30pm. Yea I know what you are thinking, early bird special, but a girl has to sleep, right? So I’m meeting this gentleman for the first time. Dreamy, single dad. All of the text leading up to this first meet-greet, is intense. The man has passion and I’m enthralled. So dinner is at 6:45 at a little Mexican restaurant that overlooks Huntington Beach’s coastline. And what do I do? I grabbed a bowl of cereal before because I don’t want to be hangry. Raisin Bran. Not my first choice and not a very good pre-dinner snack so I look dainty while eating.

Date is going well. I’m picking at my tequila glazed salmon agave, and my stomach starts to rumble. Oh no. Gasp. It’s gas. Thank goodness my plate didn’t come with beans or else I would be apologizing to my date from inside a bathroom stall. Now he wants dessert. I can do this. I can literally hold in my flatulence until the date is over.

So after he has paid (yes, I don’t pay for dates….if they ask, they are paying) he mentions he would like to go walk on the pier. Wonderful I think, it will be windy and I’ll probably spend my evening avoiding a Marilyn Monroe on a subway vent…unless it will score me a second date.

So as we are walking out of restaurant, Mr Dreamy Dad says he needs to take a pit stop at the bathroom. YES!

I walk into that ladies room and let it go. Almost felt lightheaded after that.

Needless to say, he is a great kisser and a complete gentleman. And I didn’t have to crop-dust the whole pier.

Rogue Rose

Lackluster Love

Being a single mom today is not easy especially dating. Let me tell you, I am an attractive broad with a body somewhere between Kim Kardashian and Mama June before she dropped 34 dress sizes. A natural redhead and a classic Dita Von Teese look, I’m quite the catch.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not the typical South Orange County twit that graces your televisions on some bogus housewife show. I’m a real, homegrown, barely educated, blow-job giving woman with tits for days. Natural tits.

And I’ve dated everyone. Well, maybe not your husband, but certainly your brother and possibly your father. And maybe your sister too.

You see, this isn’t exactly how I envisioned my life at forever 39. I was married with three kids. Good kids. Beautiful kids. Lousy husband. So-called lousy husband decided he wanted an online social life and joined twitter. He fell in love in 140 characters or less. To her, whom shall forever be nameless, but lovingly referred to as Mrs Fugly. Yes, I used the title Mrs. She was married too, with children no less. They now live a miserable life together and he complains about her children. Ha! Good riddance.

So here I am dating again and what a trip it is. From an award-winning director to a twenty-one year old who still has spots on his face. I’ve been there and done that. Well, maybe not “done” that. I’m not easy….okay, maybe a little bit. I like sex. There I said it. Sex. Its fun, especially when I’m on top. On top of the situation and on top of the man.

So to kick-start this blog, I’ll tell you one of my dating adventures. Stop me if you have heard this one: a woman walks into a restaurant, meets a handsome man with a good reputable standing career (which I will not state because I’m not one to air dirty laundry), who use to play college ball. Tall, broad shoulders, pouty lips to boot. Small talk is going well, flirty hair tousle and he is staring at my breasts because they are practically grazing the table and it begins.

him: “I have a certain lifestyle.”

me: “Oh…”

him: “Yes, so from now on you are going to call me Master and I’m going to call you Slave. Got that?”

me: “Yea, that’s cute. You serious?”

him: “Slave, I’m thirsty. Hand me my glass of water.”

me: “Your water is right in front of you.”

him: “You didn’t call me Master. You will be punished next time.”

me: “Okay, Master, your glass of water is in front of you. Since you invited me to dinner, you are paying for dinner. Waiter, check please. I’m out.”


Rogue Rose