Is D for Dating, or Debauchery?

Well, after the recent blatantly obvious conclusions that hint towards the fact that I might just have the worst dating luck on the planet, I've decided that rather than sulking about it and questioning the karma gods, I would have a sense of humor about it, enjoy the ride (minds out of the gutter!) and write a blog; chronicling all of the ToolBags whom I encounter along the way. And, who knows?... Maybe I'll meet a non-detriment to society along the way? Either way, at least I'll get a hell of a story out of it, right? Thanks for the good times, Douchebags of America (and England: inside joke). This one is for you. Cheers!

-Emily

P.S. For those of you who think this is some sort of Superiority Complex (c'mon, we can't BOTH be bitter!), please know that my definition of a D-bag has nothing to do with a man's annual earnings (unless of course he's in Finance: that screeeeeams D-bag), his ethnicity/culture (unless of course, he wears a do-rag), the label/brand of clothes he wears, or the type of car he drives (but let's face it-- we all know what a lifted truck amounts to....). 


I'm not here to hate on men. I'm simply here to anonymously document my dating stories and make you laugh; or think to yourself, "where is a hit man when you need one?"

Stay tuned, folks!