Unavailable

This post isn't exactly timely, but it's something I meant to talk about for some time. And well, no time like the present right?

Anywayyyyyyy,

I've always had a knack of attracting unavailable men. I don't like it this way. Don't scoff. I don't. I prefer to date men who are very much available, but these are not the men who find me. Something about my pheromones must call to men who are absolutely and completely unavailable.

But don't worry, ladies, I wouldn't lock up your men just yet. I don't go there. Celibacy stint aside, this is an ongoing problem for me. I'd like it to go away. Maybe I need antibiotics or something.

I don't know what it is, but I must emit something that makes taken men think that I'd be okay with a little side action. That I'd be okay with being "that girl." Well I'm not. I don't mean guys who are dating other women casually. I mean men who are clearly tied down. They find me. I don't know how they do it, but they do.

And it's not like they give me a chance to be disgusted. It's not like these guys are ever about full disclosure. They don't mention their girlfriends or fiancées or wives. No they do not. They flirt. They get cozy. They act like it's perfectly okay for them to behave as if they're completely unattached single gents. So what's a girl to think?

It never comes out until later (But don't worry. I've never actually kissed or slept with these roving men. I wouldn't do that.) that they're in committed relationships. And it ALWAYS takes me by surprise. It shouldn't. It really shouldn't. With my track record, I should just ask every penis I meet if he's single at the outset, though I really don't want to do that because I don't know that I even like a guy at the outset and I wouldn't want them to think I'm interested if I'm not. Does that make sense? 

But I ask you: what would you think? I think these guys have no business flirting. I think I wish I had all their gals' phone numbers so I could make courtesy calls letting them know how flirty their men are.

I don't think it's right. I don't. And I'm not naive or dense. I do know the difference between flirting and being friendly. I do. I have plenty of great guy friends who don't flirt with me. I know it's possible for these guys to dial it back.

Maybe these dudes think it's harmless. Maybe they know the flirting will never go anywhere (I hope) so it's a free pass to have a little fun.

But what about me? My feelings? Do they think I like feeling a little led on? That I like meeting a nice, interesting guy who acts really into me only to find out they're taken and have been behaving like a douchecanoe? That's not fun. It's exhausting. And I'm never, ever interested in being "that girl." Nope. Not ever gonna happen. Noppetty nope.

Or what about their ladies? Do they even think about how it will make them feel to know their partners are flirting it up?

What about me makes these guys think I think that's okay? That I'm game for that?

*shudder*

Dial it back, guys. Dial it back. 

And don't even get me started on the emotionally unavailable men. The commitmentphobes. THAT'S a blog post for another day.

rabid beasts

The other day, my friend Krissy told me that it seems like all the women of the world are syncing up their periods right now. I think she's right too. Ladies, by a raise of hands, who is about to start, is currently on, or just finishing their periods? That's what I thought.

Men should just hide now. It's for their own good.

I started my period Monday. So on Saturday, I found myself very much PMSing. Now, I'd had a very good, girly day with my new friend Sonja. She's awesome, bee tee dubs, and I'm sure I'll talk about her much more. But between the whole celibacy thing and PMS, I felt like if a man touched me I might just maim and dismember him.

So it's interesting that at karaoke on Saturday night, I kept getting accosted and literally and physically molested by more than a couple men.

I don't know if guys can smell the pheromones and turn into rabid beasts or if they're just that douchey, but it was out of control. Now, I'm used to getting flirted with. I also put up with a lot less than I did when I was, say, 21, but I've never liked being hit on. Never. We all know how much I detest getting hit on, but I typically get one guy making a move on a night out.

Never have I felt so hunted than I did on Saturday. I felt like a lone Wildebeest who had wandered into a pride of lions. It was incessant.

One guy asked me to dance, which I accepted politely, and then he proceeded to place his hands all over my body which I kept asking him not to as I dodged his penis being thrust into my hips. When I told him I wasn't interested and I was celibate, he said, "I'm celibate too!" Horseshit. Not getting any and being celibate are entirely different things. 

Another guy grabbed my ass as I walked up to sing. After I was done, I told him, "don't grab my ass again." He said, "It wasn't me!" I said, "Do I look stupid? I never thought I looked stupid, but maybe I do."

Another guy asked me to dance and then proceeded to pick me up. Literally. I screamed at him to put me down and then he threw me around, his version of dancing I suppose, and just about pulled my arm out of its socket. I stopped and he went to push the hair out of my face. I backed up and said, "Don't touch my face." He goes, "Are you scared?" Um, what the fuck?

That's weird, right? Touching some girl's face? That's a really intimate act, if you ask me.

And these guys were untiring hunters. If one of us turned them down, they moved right on to the next one. Sex sex sex sex sex.

I have a tiny secret to let you in on, boyos: if you didn't act like assholes, if you would back off and not molest us and treat us with a little respect, we might have sex with you. Well, I won't because I'm celibate right now, but that's how I generally feel. Most girls I know feel the same way.

Look, you want a hooker, hire a fucking hooker.

But I have never experienced such primal hunting. At first, Sonja thought I was just that pretty, that the dudes here in Portland aren't used to a pretty girl.

Well with all due respect to my lovely friend, that's just not right. I get that I'm pretty. But I've seen many pretty gals here in the land of port. I'm not exactly Claudia Schiffer wandering into an Eskimo village.

But even if I was that unusually pretty, which I highly doubt, no way should men just go mad and turn into rabid beasts at the sight of me. Yeah right. No way. That's just bizarre at best.

So that left us thinking it was just the location. Maybe something about that crowd and maybe the cold weather and whatever is in the beer at our fave little karaoke bar turned the guys into horny sex werewolves.

But whatever the reason, it's not okay, guys! NOT OKAY! You don't get to assault women. You're not a fucking caveman. You might be as stupid as one, but knocking a gal over the head and dragging her back to your cave will land you some jail time. And rightfully so.

Back the fuck off. Talk to us nicely. Ask us our names. Remember our names. Try your best to be smart and interesting. And for the love of all things legal, do not fucking touch us unless we indicate it's okay to do so!

You'd think it wouldn't be so hard.

Yet Saturday night found me utterly exhausted from fending off the animals and rubbing my sore shoulder from my "dancing" experience.

And then they wonder why I'm celibate. THIS is why.

Can't a girl just go sing on a Saturday night without having to bring her mace and rape whistle? Fuck.

Public Service Announcement

Baby talk. Women who talk the baby talk to their boyfriends and husbands make me die a little inside. Every time I hear a woman make goo goo sounds to a grown man I want to slap her so hard her botox squirts out. But that scares me that the back splash might hit me and freeze my face. Which is...you know,,,terrifying. The kind of thing that happens in an episode of the Twilight Zone.

"I ca moo ma fae. Is fro-en. Hel me." 

"Well, you shouldn't have struck that alien pincushion. Everyone knows that's dangerous. What were you thinking?"

"I couln stan da ba-ay tal!"

Ladies, why are you making the baby talk? WHY? It's heinous. It is. You should not be talking baby talk with a grown ass man. Why? Because he is a grown ass man and he deserves to be spoken to like a grown ass man. (Is ass man starting to sound funny to anyone else?)

Look, I get the temptation. Maybe you want an infant (fuck, do I know) and your man seems to fill some of that space in your life. But I have news for you: THAT IS WRONG. Wrong. He is not your infant. No. No he is not.

If you really and truly must make the baby talk, get a pet. The more cute and cuddly the better. Might I suggest a hedgehog?

Or a bunny?

Or perhaps a pile of puppies and kittens?

Your boyfriend needs to be spared the baby talk. Trust me. Even if he acts like he likes it, I guarantee you he does not. He is LYING. 

It is no longer acceptable to call him pookie or snookums or cuddlebear. He is NOT a cuddlebear. He is your boyfriend. THIS is a cuddlebear:

No. Wait. No, that's not a cuddlebear either. No that is a very angry real live bear. Who wants to eat you. He's angry because you made the baby talk.

Don't squinch your face up and make googely eyes. And for the love of god don't pinch his fucking cheeks (unless we're talking ass cheeks, then by all means, squeeze away). 


Let's review. 


Baby:

Grown ass fine man:

Baby:

Grown half naked man:

Baby (dressed as a flamingo):

Grown man:

(Okay, that last one was a trick question, but that was to make sure you were paying attention.)

I think we're done here. I think I made my point. Men, you're welcome. Women, consider yourselves warned. 

random thoughts of a crazy cat lady

Today has been one of those muddly, weird days where I haven't quite felt myself. No reason I guess, maybe because I was sick yesterday or maybe because it's the end of the week and I'm just kind of punchy and a little cranky. I think I totally scared a friend tonight as I was completely pissy with some kind of survey boy. But, DUDE, when I need to eat, I don't have time for your little surveys. And you should pop those pimples.

So, at this point, if I haven't scared you off, congratulations! You have proven your worth at reading the frightening ramblings of a crazy cat lady with a mouth like a sailor on death row. You are a winner.

And in that vein, since you're clearly a glutton for punishment right now, I will bestow upon you the random cranky thoughts that have been swirling around my oh so frightening brain this week, well actually, in this lifetime really. But I digress.

Why do men feel the need to bathe in cologne? How do you do that? Do you hook it up to the shower head? And if that's the case, I think that is the real reason that the French word for shower is douche. And also, whoever invented that Axe shit should be shot.

The perfume stores in malls are just as hazardous as smoking. Or Agent Orange.

Muscle cars. Fancy rims. Sub woofers. Raised trucks. Mudflaps with naked hookers on them. The revving of engines and squealing of tires. WHAT is that about? Do you really think that is an effective mating dance? Has a girl really torn off all her clothes due to your ridiculously overly-accessorized vehicle? Ever? Do you think it's a matter of odds, that eventually one will give in? Trust me, that kind of girl? You don't need to spend that much money or time or dignity. Just get the whore drunk. Works every time. But wait...we all know the truth and it isn't about girls or sex or even all about your tiny penis. This is a pisisng contest between you and all the other douches with bad sideburns. But let me let you in on a little secret, boys. Are you listening? You all have small penises, at least all those other douches you're bumping antlers with do. The guys with big penises are all at home, cuddling with their boyfriends and watching Cake Boss. So, stop spraying your testosterone everywhere and take a hint.

Racists. Homophobes. Anti-whateverreligionyouaren't. Bigots. I don't get you. You don't have to like everyone else or even approve of everyone else. But I have news for you. There are lots of other people on this planet and you don't get to decide who is better or worse. No one is hurting you. Just live your life and stop wasting so much energy on hating others already.

Pirates. I love you. Moving on.

People everywhere seem to be living under the assumption that cats are easy to take care of, that they're low-maintenance. Who these people are, I have no idea, but I hear of them. They probably own dogs, lucky bastards. Cats are high maintenance. At least mine are. My cats are attached to my fucking hip. They cry in the middle of the night because they've forgotten I'm home. They eat better than I do (it's cat food not people food, but still, that shit is expensive). Don't get me started on how kitty litter runs my life. And when one decides to barf, it's like the goddamn exorcist in my house. Cats are high maintenance.

I am bad at liking my neighbors. Even if they're nice people. But once you get friendly, they're all knocking on your door and wanting to socialize. Dude, I talk to people all day and when I go home, it's quiet time. Shh. Quiet time.

Girl toy or boy toy? Now I haven't been to a fast food restaurant in years, but it will always drive me insane that these cesspools make kids get girl toys or boy toys. When I was a kid, all I wanted was that damn monster truck. Last I checked, I'm still a girl.

I want nice things, but I also like food and the ability to pay rent and bills. It's a conundrum. Plus I like to say conundrum.

Aaaaaand scene