Prologue

Hey, My name is Mimi… Well, Marie but people who know me call me “Mimi”. I prefer it as Marie makes me sound REALLY old. I’m 38 and single. Insert laugh track here…

I’ve been single for a few years now. Seems like I have probably THE worst luck finding a man to date in the entire metropolitan Milwaukee area. Guys here just seem to… I don’t know, think either their shit doesn’t stink (Believe me guys, it does and it’s REALLY bad.) or they think living with their mommies in a basement watching wrestling is a great thing. I freely admit that I watch wrestling myself BUT I don’t sit there and masturbate to Alexa Bliss’s fake as all hell Harley Quinn hairstyle or Mickie James’ old ass. I, for one thing, don’t go that way. For quite another, I appreciate the whole finesse of a four hundred pound man’s agility. That and the epicness of when the ring implodes or something else so purely phenomenal.

Anyway, I was saying. Men around here… yeah. They all think that posing in old man tighty whities are great for Facebook. (Starts gagging) uhm… honey, do us ALL a favor and get either dressed or get a stylist. I can’t handle the reflection of Archie Bunker panties in my face.

So… I have made it my defining mission to find the perfect man (for me) however possible. In the meantime, I’m going to regale all of you with my adventures (or misadventures as the title of this blog would make more sense.)

I hope to have you reading, laughing, crying and overall relieved that you’re not the only one feeling like you do. Trust me, you’re not.