Tag Archives: fail

Cupid Fail and Other Stupid Things I’ve Done

Have you ever had a decent bachelor friend who is also the pickiest guy on earth?

Enter Brad.*

Brad and I used to work together at one of the car dealerships where I did stock photography.

He’s very upbeat and financially responsible, never married, not even engaged, lots of mostly short-term girlfriends, great sense of humor, and had recently quit smoking.

Brad was turning 50 and was thinking it might be time to settle down.

Guys were always picking on me at that job, where picking is synonymous with hitting on me.

Brad would come in like a pelican shoos away seagulls.

He practically obligated all the other guys to respect me on his watch.

So you’re thinking, Brad sounds like a fairly decent guy, right?

We exchanged guitar picks on one occasion; I gave him my business card and he started texting me.

I was naive enough back then to think he was just being his positive flirty self, but in time it became clear this man is very bed-driven.

And by bed-driven I don’t mean driven to sleep.

It was obvious our “friendship” made my husband uncomfortable.
‘All the more reason for me to continue it,’ I thought.

One day he broke off his lunch with me because this ‘woman from out of town was coming to visit’ and he’d rather spend the weekend with someone he had a chance with.

I got very offended.
It had been very hard for me to convince my husband to let us have lunch in the first place.
I was really putting my marriage on a ledge to be his friend and here he was being this insensitive asshole (well he was) indifferent to my efforts.

I didn’t care that Brad was having lunch with another woman, (which according to his public Facebook page, was actually a guy friend from out of town).
It was his choice of words that really hurt me.

Consequently, I also chose a series of words that would hurt him, and what he intended as a gag ended up being a sore point in our relationship- the Crossroad of Dissent.

Later on, at my current job, I had an annoying single female coworker (Gail*) whom I thought would make a great match for him.

I told them about each other and he asked for Gail’s picture.
I sent him a link to her Facebook profile.
“I don’t like blondes,” he said.

Days later- “What did he say about us having a blind date?” Gail asked me.

“You know, he’s really hard to get a hold of,” I replied.

Brad and I became friends again but not like before.
I was looking for a new job and seeing as how my other ex-coworkers have an undeniable linear pattern of sending my messages to spam, I needed him as a reference.
I decided to stay on his good side, sans the flirting.

Then my current coworker’s (Liz’s*) husband passed away.
A month later she started wondering what kind of guy she could date.
Yeah. You read right. A MONTH.
That’s how long it’s gonna take for your wife to start seeing other men if you kick the can.
So put a clause in your will.

Brad had told me he likes Latina brunettes with thin bodies, and here I knew one, who in turn likes well off white men who work out.

Logical match, right?

Liz texted me a nice picture of herself to forward to him.

My hot coworker Liz, new on the widow scene.

“I’m just not feeling it,” texted Brad to me.
“I want a woman like you.”


“But Liz and I have tons in common!” I pleaded on her behalf, “She’s even sweeter than I am!”

“When have you ever been sweet?”

“Yeah you’re right. I was hoping you wouldn’t catch that.”

I tactfully texted Liz that Brad was seemingly already in love with another woman.

That was a few months ago.
I have since blocked Brad’s number.
Liz stopped talking to me because I technically took her job, though I would argue she conceded it to me.
Last week she apologized for “being a bitch,” -her words, not mine- and things are starting to go back to normal.
(With the exception that I’ll never trust another coworker again.)

Liz and I are both being sent away on a business trip for a few days to a city where Brad happens to have a lake house.
This morning, in a very perky voice, she asked me, “Hey! Doesn’t your friend live over there where we’re going?”

Me: “Oh you mean Brad? I blocked his number.”

Liz: “Too bad your husband’s going with you, otherwise you could meet up with him.”

Me: “That’s why I’m glad my husband is going. I was afraid I’d run into Brad and he’d start hitting on me. The guy just can’t take No for an answer.”

Liz: “I thought you said he was seeing someone.”

Me: “…He’s just an idiot. That’s why I blocked his number.”


Yes, yes, dear, avid reader!
I’m also an idiot, for trying to set up anyone with anyone else.
I wish I knew a Shakespeare who could make a comedy out of my relationship mishaps.
This is the last time I ever try to play Cupid.
My next blog post will be, “Things That Are Better Left to Chance.”

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent. In this case, me.


Owning Up to my Flash Fiction Fail

I’m Ave.

You might remember me from such memorable blog posts as “I Shaved My Bikini Line” and “I Shaved My Bikini Line, the Aftermath.”

I am pleased to now bring you the video version: “I Shaved My Bikini Line” with optional director’s commentary.

The proceeds from the sales of this video go to fund my Ave-is-Lying-in-Bed-Sick-SoSheCouldn’tGoToWork fundraiser.

Me right now.

As many of you (1 or with a little luck, 2) may know, I recently vowed to do a flash fiction project in which I would write a little bit every hour for seven days straight.

The truth is I find it very hard to stop myself when I’m writing something good.

I mean, let’s be honest, I even have trouble stopping when I’m writing something bad.

The result was very long short stories that could hardly qualify as flash fiction (bad or good) and migraines from spending too much time typing into my cell phone screen.

Deep inside, though, I have that fighting spirit, (deep, deep inside), so I refuse to let my reader(s) down!
Despair not for I shall rise from these ashes of self-loathing and try once more!

This will be my new approach, so soon as I feel like it:
I will write one full day, ONE SENTENCE per hour.
I will upload the story that night, regardless of whether or not it has a conclusion, even if I fell asleep half way through the last sentence.
I will let my eyes rest for two days and then write another story on the fourth day.
I shall do this first for two weeks and if I like the result perhaps make it into a regular (hahaha) section on this blog.

That is my once-a-week Daily Update on my personal projects.
Thank you for your audienceship.
You may be excused.

Oh! And for the first ten people to request the video, I have a special audio-book: “The Organ and the Malfunctioning Blender and Other Fun Tales for Your Teenage Daughter’s Sleepover.”

Awkward Work Moments

Awkward Work Moments is when you are making small talk with a customer who works where you used to work and you casually ask them questions about their coworkers to see if you can find out anything new about your old crush and it turns out they work very closely with the mother of your old crush, after which your face turns red, the customer peers her eyes at you, and you try to pretend you just wanted information about continuing education, that is when you know you’re living another AWKWARD WORK MOMENT.

prompt du jour

Daily Prompt: Saturday Night

Don’t judge me- I’m getting old.

Saturday night is supposed to be gym night except not today cause I went on a really long hike.
Which almost killed me.
Thanks to yesterday’s prompt on risk-taking.

I usually go all out for dinner and heat up a frozen pizza.
I choose from a variety of fresh or not fresh toppings we have in the fridge.
Tonight’s special was tofu-turkey.
I find the pizza tastes better when I remove it from the cardboard before sticking it in the oven.

Later, if I’m in the mood I go on Tumblr and look at porn.


Actually I read whatever we’re gonna study at church the next day.
I check my email and if I have none, I check my spam folders just in case.
Then I archive my old photos by more specific categories than the previous Saturday night.
If I got any pageviews during the week, I modify my pie, line and bar charts.
When I have time, I google myself and update my husband on me accordingly.

Sometimes I do laundry.
On good Saturdays, I arrange it back in the drawers by color and texture.
Oooooh yeah. That feels warm inside.
I like to rub the lint against the drier screen with my lips.

Now and then I sprinkle cat litter on the floor and then sweep it just to pass the time.

Ideally though- Ideally I play guitar.
And my husband offers to wear headphones while watching YouTube without me asking him to.
My cats stay in the room when I start to sing.

On a really bad Saturday night, I end up blogging personal details about myself that nobody really needed to know.

Oh Gawd my life is boring someone come shoot me pleeeeeheeeeheeeeze.

In response to WP Daily Prompt: Saturday Night

wtf Sexist Pulse Ad

wtf pulse recommends

So the other day I am scrolling and I get this ad targeted at me, “Pulse recommends this news for you: So You’re Interviewing and Pregnant.”

Why? Because I’m in my early 30s and female? So Pulse just naturally assumes I am bound to get pregnant soon, and not only that, since I am female I must also be in want of work…?
Or did they target me because I’m Latina and most Latina women at my age have 2 kids and are working on their third?

And what is it with so many of my Facebook friends having kids lately, they get like thousands of likes, and for what?
So you had successful intercourse, big deal.
That doesn’t mean anything as far as what kind of parent you’ll be.
Babies are pretty common and most of them smell bad and cry a lot.

Don’t get me wrong, I love kids, four of my favorite people on earth are children. But that has more to do with how they are than with the fact that they’re kids.
Which brings me back to my first point- I am not interviewing nor pregnant, nor nowhere near making a 7-figure salary, so Pulse, next time please just send me a step-by-step how-to video.

Career Choices

This is why I'm not an architect.
This is why I’m not an architect.
And this is why my friend Reyna is not a photographer.
And this is why my friend Reyna is not a photographer.