I'm making a list
of some things I'd like this year
George Clooney, you're first.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Sunday, December 20, 2009
New Year Haiku
New Year's brings out guilt
People make resolutions
No more porn at work
Economy sucks
Maybe things will look up soon
Obama's trying
Healthcare bill a mess
Sarah Palin interferes
An ignorant skank
People make resolutions
No more porn at work
Economy sucks
Maybe things will look up soon
Obama's trying
Healthcare bill a mess
Sarah Palin interferes
An ignorant skank
Cockle-warming
I recently came across the expression "warm the cockles of my heart." Of course, it's not exactly a new expression, nor am I the first to ponder its obvious implications.
However, I became curious as to what a "cockle" actually is, and looked it up. I learned that a "cockle" is a hairy plant with a purplish flower, commonly found in grain fields and on the side of the road. John Bobbit immediately came to mind at this discovery, though his anatomical mishap was not, of course, in any way connected to the word's origin. The cockle is also a type of sea creature (as in, "cockles and mussels"), which is, apparently, somewhat heart-shaped.
Invariably, this also led me to speculate on the origin of the word "cock," and found that its origin, not surprisingly, doesn't have anything to do with the heart (or the brain). The original meaning was "a male bird." The word was also used to represent aggression in connection to fighting birds. Apparently, because birds have upright posture, the word also came to mean "something that sticks up." Well, okay then.
However, I became curious as to what a "cockle" actually is, and looked it up. I learned that a "cockle" is a hairy plant with a purplish flower, commonly found in grain fields and on the side of the road. John Bobbit immediately came to mind at this discovery, though his anatomical mishap was not, of course, in any way connected to the word's origin. The cockle is also a type of sea creature (as in, "cockles and mussels"), which is, apparently, somewhat heart-shaped.
Invariably, this also led me to speculate on the origin of the word "cock," and found that its origin, not surprisingly, doesn't have anything to do with the heart (or the brain). The original meaning was "a male bird." The word was also used to represent aggression in connection to fighting birds. Apparently, because birds have upright posture, the word also came to mean "something that sticks up." Well, okay then.
Monday, December 14, 2009
My Online Dating Saga - "Horny yet Intellectual"
One guy described himself in his profile as "crazily oversexed...with the highest intellectual standards."
Most of us (women) understand that one of these two things does not necessarily preclude the other. I found it amusing that Horny Intellectual Guy was compelled to add the "intellectual standards" part to maximize the possibility that the women reading it would say to themselves, "Ah, he cares about my MIND, too - he's the perfect man!!" Or perhaps, taken literally, it means discussing existentialism between thrusts.
I suppose the "crazily oversexed" part is meant to pique our curiosity. How, one wonders, would "oversexed" actually be defined? If "oversexed" implies the desire (and, we'd have to assume, the ability) to do it more than, say, three times a day, then might "crazily oversexed" refer to three times an hour? Of course, it could refer to content, rather than quantity - maybe only once a day, but involving Saran Wrap, a Barbie doll and a toy giraffe. One can only speculate....
Most of us (women) understand that one of these two things does not necessarily preclude the other. I found it amusing that Horny Intellectual Guy was compelled to add the "intellectual standards" part to maximize the possibility that the women reading it would say to themselves, "Ah, he cares about my MIND, too - he's the perfect man!!" Or perhaps, taken literally, it means discussing existentialism between thrusts.
I suppose the "crazily oversexed" part is meant to pique our curiosity. How, one wonders, would "oversexed" actually be defined? If "oversexed" implies the desire (and, we'd have to assume, the ability) to do it more than, say, three times a day, then might "crazily oversexed" refer to three times an hour? Of course, it could refer to content, rather than quantity - maybe only once a day, but involving Saran Wrap, a Barbie doll and a toy giraffe. One can only speculate....
Thursday, December 3, 2009
My Online Dating Saga - "Nipple What?"
I got a message from a guy with the profile name "Nipple Bender." My curiosity got the better of me, and I peeked at his profile. Yes, he meant it literally.
I can't help but ponder the logistics of this procedure. Bending? Not tweaking? I get tweaking, but bending actually implies that said nipples have more flexible capabilities than one would normally assume. In fact, nipple contortionist would be a more accurate description. I've heard of people who can bend their pinkie finger back over their wrist. Perhaps it's a similar phenomenon.
Of course, in terms of the human body, since the elasticity of pretty much everything is adversely proportional to age, the nipples of a mature woman may in fact bend more easily. Regrettably, however, the same could not be said for their ability to spring back to their original location. Therein lies the paradox.
Would, then, the poor woman's nipples be forever askew, pointed in opposite directions? Or, even more disturbingly, in the same direction, both pointing to the left or to the right, like those flares on airport runways that lead the planes safely to the gate? Hmmm....
I can't help but ponder the logistics of this procedure. Bending? Not tweaking? I get tweaking, but bending actually implies that said nipples have more flexible capabilities than one would normally assume. In fact, nipple contortionist would be a more accurate description. I've heard of people who can bend their pinkie finger back over their wrist. Perhaps it's a similar phenomenon.
Of course, in terms of the human body, since the elasticity of pretty much everything is adversely proportional to age, the nipples of a mature woman may in fact bend more easily. Regrettably, however, the same could not be said for their ability to spring back to their original location. Therein lies the paradox.
Would, then, the poor woman's nipples be forever askew, pointed in opposite directions? Or, even more disturbingly, in the same direction, both pointing to the left or to the right, like those flares on airport runways that lead the planes safely to the gate? Hmmm....
Saturday, November 28, 2009
My Online Dating Saga - Sexually Ambiguous Guy
We were to meet in a bar. When he stood up from his barstool and walked toward me, I thought, Gay. We moved to a couch, and he casually draped his arm around the back, behind my shoulders. I thought, Not gay.
We chatted for awhile. The conversation turned to movies, and he said one of his favorites was "Kiss of the Spider Woman," and that, in one particular scene, he admired Raul Julia's shirt. I thought, Gay. He added how sensuous Sonia Braga was in the film. I thought, Not Gay.
He excused himself to visit the men's room. I watched him walk away and thought, Gay. When he came back, he sat very close to me and touched my knee. I thought, Not Gay.
This mental vacillation went on for awhile longer, and then he drove me home. By the time he kissed me, I decided that even if he wasn't confused, I wasn't attracted to a man whose sexuality was so enigmatic.
We chatted for awhile. The conversation turned to movies, and he said one of his favorites was "Kiss of the Spider Woman," and that, in one particular scene, he admired Raul Julia's shirt. I thought, Gay. He added how sensuous Sonia Braga was in the film. I thought, Not Gay.
He excused himself to visit the men's room. I watched him walk away and thought, Gay. When he came back, he sat very close to me and touched my knee. I thought, Not Gay.
This mental vacillation went on for awhile longer, and then he drove me home. By the time he kissed me, I decided that even if he wasn't confused, I wasn't attracted to a man whose sexuality was so enigmatic.
Friday, November 20, 2009
My Online Dating Saga - Mr. Clusterf*ck
I've never been particularly good at multitask dating myself. Not that I wouldn't message more than one person at a time, or arrange to meet more than one guy a week, but two at a time is my limit (probably not in the same night). The difference between me and the guy who pretty much stood me up twice - let's call him Mr. Clusterf*ck - is that I am aware of my limitations, and would not attempt to juggle so many potential dates simultaneously as to end up dropping balls.
Mr. Clusterf*ck apparently has no such self-awareness. We had plans to meet several months ago, at a place that necessitated my waiting for a bus in the rain, and he didn't show. After I had blow-dried my socks, I sent him a message to the effect that if he had been run over by an SUV or held hostage at gunpoint by a recent Harvard grad overwhelmed by student loan payments, he had my sympathies, but if that wasn't the case then he was incredibly rude.
I didn't get a response for several days, which wasn't particularly a surprise, but then he sent me a message telling me that he had a family emergency out of town and, amazingly enough, his computer was simultaneously malfunctioning. All that was missing were a dying grandmother, a broken-down car and a rabid dog.
I thought that was that until he called me on my cell, at a time when I was unable to talk. I called him back and left a message. Never heard back. Right after that his profile, the third he'd had in the few months since I'd joined, was deleted. Hmmm.
Last week, Mr. Clusterf*ck popped up again, sending me a message that he seemed to remember he owed me a beer. Ya think? Anyway, by this time I was kind of curious as to what the hell this guy was really like in person, and thought I'd give him the benefit of the doubt. I agreed to meet him. He suggested a day he was free. I sent him a message suggesting a specific time and place, and of course, I didn't hear back.
That is, until I checked my cell and found a message from him asking him to verify a time and place we hadn't discussed, on the day BEFORE we were supposed to tentatively meet. Apparently, he had confused me with someone else.
Good luck to her.
Mr. Clusterf*ck apparently has no such self-awareness. We had plans to meet several months ago, at a place that necessitated my waiting for a bus in the rain, and he didn't show. After I had blow-dried my socks, I sent him a message to the effect that if he had been run over by an SUV or held hostage at gunpoint by a recent Harvard grad overwhelmed by student loan payments, he had my sympathies, but if that wasn't the case then he was incredibly rude.
I didn't get a response for several days, which wasn't particularly a surprise, but then he sent me a message telling me that he had a family emergency out of town and, amazingly enough, his computer was simultaneously malfunctioning. All that was missing were a dying grandmother, a broken-down car and a rabid dog.
I thought that was that until he called me on my cell, at a time when I was unable to talk. I called him back and left a message. Never heard back. Right after that his profile, the third he'd had in the few months since I'd joined, was deleted. Hmmm.
Last week, Mr. Clusterf*ck popped up again, sending me a message that he seemed to remember he owed me a beer. Ya think? Anyway, by this time I was kind of curious as to what the hell this guy was really like in person, and thought I'd give him the benefit of the doubt. I agreed to meet him. He suggested a day he was free. I sent him a message suggesting a specific time and place, and of course, I didn't hear back.
That is, until I checked my cell and found a message from him asking him to verify a time and place we hadn't discussed, on the day BEFORE we were supposed to tentatively meet. Apparently, he had confused me with someone else.
Good luck to her.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
My Online Dating Saga - More Prize-Winners
Occasionally, among the banal, I come across some genuinely funny and original stuff. Here is some more of the most notable:
"I love dogs, cats and children - they taste just like chicken."
One of the first things people notice about me: "My remarkable likeness to my picture at the post office."
"I am a practitioner of Karma Sutra II...." (otherwise known as Tantric Sex, the Sequel - I heard it was better than Rambo II)
"Let us form an orderly line, preferably three wide - blonds left, redheads center, brunettes right, and all others can simply intermingle."
"I am the meat-puppet of the God flute of the universe." Huh?
"I love dogs, cats and children - they taste just like chicken."
One of the first things people notice about me: "My remarkable likeness to my picture at the post office."
"I am a practitioner of Karma Sutra II...." (otherwise known as Tantric Sex, the Sequel - I heard it was better than Rambo II)
"Let us form an orderly line, preferably three wide - blonds left, redheads center, brunettes right, and all others can simply intermingle."
"I am the meat-puppet of the God flute of the universe." Huh?
Sunday, November 15, 2009
My Online Dating Saga - and the winner is...
In my online dating travels, I've come across a few answers to profile questions that deserve recognition.
The best answer to the question, "What is the Most Private Thing You're Willing to Admit Here?" is, hands-down, "I paid $2000 for a photo of Mr. Rogers beating a nun to death on a pile of dead puppies." Now that's a guy I want to meet....
First runner-up: "I was once molested by a covey of Catholic Nuns" (the nun theme seems to be a popular one).
Second runner-up: "I do it alone on a regular basis."
Winner of the Mr. Subtle Award for the answer to the question, "What are 6 Things You Couldn't Do Without?": "Sex, Sex, Sex, Sex, Sex, and a blow job."
The winner of the In-Your-Face Award is for the profile name, "Biggest Cock Ever" and the accompanying instruction to "click the pink link in my profile."
The best answer to the question, "What is the Most Private Thing You're Willing to Admit Here?" is, hands-down, "I paid $2000 for a photo of Mr. Rogers beating a nun to death on a pile of dead puppies." Now that's a guy I want to meet....
First runner-up: "I was once molested by a covey of Catholic Nuns" (the nun theme seems to be a popular one).
Second runner-up: "I do it alone on a regular basis."
Winner of the Mr. Subtle Award for the answer to the question, "What are 6 Things You Couldn't Do Without?": "Sex, Sex, Sex, Sex, Sex, and a blow job."
The winner of the In-Your-Face Award is for the profile name, "Biggest Cock Ever" and the accompanying instruction to "click the pink link in my profile."
Saturday, November 14, 2009
My Online Dating Saga - on the nose
There is a phrase screenwriters are familiar with called "on the nose." This does not refer to an unfortunately placed wart, but rather dialogue that states the obvious in a manner that generally makes the audience wince with its lack of subtlety. The following are excerpts from profiles that are, clearly, not written by screenwriters.
"...I am looking for a nice woman with a nice rack..." "I have an insatiable appetite..." "...in case you were wondering, I am 'well-endowed' and regularly use 'Extends' (excuse me, but isn't that statement a contradiction??)..." "If you are a woman seeking great loving and absolute discretion, I'm your man...I like single, divorced, widowed, engaged, or married, and can swing if required...." "The first thing people usually notice about me is my enormous penis or my sense of humor, whichever cums first (okay, that one is at least somewhat clever)."
One message I received in my inbox contained a photo that, at first glance, looked like the head of a penis. When I investigated further (of course I did, what do you think??), it turned out to be, in fact, his nose.
"...I am looking for a nice woman with a nice rack..." "I have an insatiable appetite..." "...in case you were wondering, I am 'well-endowed' and regularly use 'Extends' (excuse me, but isn't that statement a contradiction??)..." "If you are a woman seeking great loving and absolute discretion, I'm your man...I like single, divorced, widowed, engaged, or married, and can swing if required...." "The first thing people usually notice about me is my enormous penis or my sense of humor, whichever cums first (okay, that one is at least somewhat clever)."
One message I received in my inbox contained a photo that, at first glance, looked like the head of a penis. When I investigated further (of course I did, what do you think??), it turned out to be, in fact, his nose.
Friday, November 13, 2009
My Online Dating Saga - Kevin, is that you???
Here's a weird one. A guy's profile came up in my matches whose photo was a dead ringer for Kevin Spacey. Not as in he just looked like Kevin Spacey. This actually appeared to be Kevin Spacey's photo on this guy's profile. Could anyone really look that much like him, I wondered? And if not, why would someone put his photo up on their profile? I mean, Kevin Spacey is attractive and a wonderful actor, but if you're going to put an actor's pic up on your profile, why not, say, Brad Pitt?
And if you were doing it as a joke, wouldn't it be funnier to use someone like Woody Allen, or Weird Al Yankovic, or maybe Howard Stern? Why Kevin Spacey?
I had to find out. I emailed the guy and asked if he could be Kevin Spacey's identical twin brother or if that was, in fact, Kevin Spacey's pic on his profile and did he just put it up there to see if anyone noticed?
Since the guy identified himself as bisexual and I wasn't comfortable with dating a bi guy (when you've had the inevitable single-woman misfortune of falling in love with a gay male friend, you get a bit gun-shy about this), I decided to be upfront about that, not wishing to give the wrong impression as to why I emailed him. Big mistake.
Pseudo-Kevin sent a scathing email back, clearly having taken offense at my query. I didn't mind the insult, the nature of which was rather absurd (he pretty much referred to me as fat, which at size 8 could possibly be true in the Bizarro World, but not anywhere else) as much as I minded the fact that he didn't answer the question. I guess Kevin Spacey's face will continue to float in the online dating dimension, forever a mystery.
And if you were doing it as a joke, wouldn't it be funnier to use someone like Woody Allen, or Weird Al Yankovic, or maybe Howard Stern? Why Kevin Spacey?
I had to find out. I emailed the guy and asked if he could be Kevin Spacey's identical twin brother or if that was, in fact, Kevin Spacey's pic on his profile and did he just put it up there to see if anyone noticed?
Since the guy identified himself as bisexual and I wasn't comfortable with dating a bi guy (when you've had the inevitable single-woman misfortune of falling in love with a gay male friend, you get a bit gun-shy about this), I decided to be upfront about that, not wishing to give the wrong impression as to why I emailed him. Big mistake.
Pseudo-Kevin sent a scathing email back, clearly having taken offense at my query. I didn't mind the insult, the nature of which was rather absurd (he pretty much referred to me as fat, which at size 8 could possibly be true in the Bizarro World, but not anywhere else) as much as I minded the fact that he didn't answer the question. I guess Kevin Spacey's face will continue to float in the online dating dimension, forever a mystery.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
My Online Dating Saga - Boy Toy Time?
In the spirit of being open to whatever romantic adventures might come my way, no matter how potentially embarrassing, I decided to actually meet in person one of those 28-year-old guys with possible Oedipal issues who often send me sweetly suggestive messages. I won't be doing that again.
The lack of mutual interest was obvious from the first three seconds, but we both had to play nice and chat for a brief period before politely escaping. On his part, he was probably paying too much attention to my boobs to really look at my face in the photos, so seeing me in person was probably a bit of a shock for the poor kid.
As for my lack of interest, it was due to the fact that the guy talked in a complete monotone, like Steven Wright without the comedy. For half an hour of conversation. No vocal inflection whatsoever. I suspect meds were involved.
I couldn't help but flash back to another half-hour date, with a guy who stared at the bartender while slinging back shots of bourbon, his nose dripping down his face the entire time. Just when I was about to offer him a Kleenex, he wiped his nose with his hand.
Maybe the next one will be better....
The lack of mutual interest was obvious from the first three seconds, but we both had to play nice and chat for a brief period before politely escaping. On his part, he was probably paying too much attention to my boobs to really look at my face in the photos, so seeing me in person was probably a bit of a shock for the poor kid.
As for my lack of interest, it was due to the fact that the guy talked in a complete monotone, like Steven Wright without the comedy. For half an hour of conversation. No vocal inflection whatsoever. I suspect meds were involved.
I couldn't help but flash back to another half-hour date, with a guy who stared at the bartender while slinging back shots of bourbon, his nose dripping down his face the entire time. Just when I was about to offer him a Kleenex, he wiped his nose with his hand.
Maybe the next one will be better....
Sunday, November 8, 2009
My Online Dating Saga - Oh Please, Let it Not Be Him
Somehow there seems to be a disconnect between what the person looks like in their photo(s) and what they look like 3-dimensionally. When there's more than one photo, the chances are greater that you won't be too surprised when you meet them in person, but there's still no guarantee that the reality won't be at best disappointing and at worst horrifying.
Several times, I entered the coffee shop where I was to meet a quasi-blind date, looked around, saw someone sitting by himself and thought, "Oh God, I hope that's not him" - and, of course, it was. One particular guy, who seemed very attractive in his photo, in person appeared mentally challenged. In fact, when I saw him, I thought to myself, "That can't possibly be him, because that guy is mentally challenged." Of course, he wasn't actually mentally challenged, nor did the illusion manifest itself in any way other than visually, but nevertheless a mentally challenged appearance is not, in a general sense, sexually appealing.
Of course, a mentally challenged appearance is better than getting a response to my message and discovering that the guy is, in fact, actually mentally challenged. Apparently he had considerable assistance in writing the profile. I mistakenly thought the goofy expression in his photo was his attempt at being amusing. I realized it wasn't when he responded with a childishly worded statement that his favorite T.V. show was "Flipper."
Then there was the guy who looked like an anorexic teenaged girl, without an ounce of testosterone in sight. Not much more you can say about that. And the one who wasn't bad-looking in person, but seemed to have a creepy quality I couldn't quite put my finger on, and the entire time we were chatting I couldn't help thinking, "Serial killer." When he left, I watched him disappear into the night, possibly to find his next victim....
Several times, I entered the coffee shop where I was to meet a quasi-blind date, looked around, saw someone sitting by himself and thought, "Oh God, I hope that's not him" - and, of course, it was. One particular guy, who seemed very attractive in his photo, in person appeared mentally challenged. In fact, when I saw him, I thought to myself, "That can't possibly be him, because that guy is mentally challenged." Of course, he wasn't actually mentally challenged, nor did the illusion manifest itself in any way other than visually, but nevertheless a mentally challenged appearance is not, in a general sense, sexually appealing.
Of course, a mentally challenged appearance is better than getting a response to my message and discovering that the guy is, in fact, actually mentally challenged. Apparently he had considerable assistance in writing the profile. I mistakenly thought the goofy expression in his photo was his attempt at being amusing. I realized it wasn't when he responded with a childishly worded statement that his favorite T.V. show was "Flipper."
Then there was the guy who looked like an anorexic teenaged girl, without an ounce of testosterone in sight. Not much more you can say about that. And the one who wasn't bad-looking in person, but seemed to have a creepy quality I couldn't quite put my finger on, and the entire time we were chatting I couldn't help thinking, "Serial killer." When he left, I watched him disappear into the night, possibly to find his next victim....
Friday, November 6, 2009
My Online Dating Saga - He Must be Someone's Type
I try not to categorize humans, but when you've been doing the online dating thing for awhile, men's profiles do occasionally seem to settle into distinct types.
There's Arrested-Development Guy, who's an avid comic book collector and is looking for a woman to "teach him the magic." A.D. Guy has apparently either gotten bad advice from his fellow A.D. friends or has, all by himself, decided that to elicit responses he must include as many blatant references to his anatomy as possible, such as his "large crotch bulge" and allusions to the multitude of tissues he goes through on a daily basis.
Then there's Maniacally Optimistic Guy, whose exuberance overflows the profile page. He can't contain his enthusiastic expression of how fabulous his life and the lives of everyone in the entire world is, or could be, if they only saw all the incredible and delectable morsels of bounty the universe has to offer. Is anyone really THAT happy? And if so, could any of the rest of us cynical optimists actually stand to be around them?
M.O. Guy actually has some traits in common with Cliche Guy, who uses such platitudes as "I love to laugh." Come on. How about, "I hate to laugh. Laughing makes my balls explode." Or "I'm a "glass-is-half-full kinda guy." Full of what? Does that mean you're an alcoholic?
There's Arrested-Development Guy, who's an avid comic book collector and is looking for a woman to "teach him the magic." A.D. Guy has apparently either gotten bad advice from his fellow A.D. friends or has, all by himself, decided that to elicit responses he must include as many blatant references to his anatomy as possible, such as his "large crotch bulge" and allusions to the multitude of tissues he goes through on a daily basis.
Then there's Maniacally Optimistic Guy, whose exuberance overflows the profile page. He can't contain his enthusiastic expression of how fabulous his life and the lives of everyone in the entire world is, or could be, if they only saw all the incredible and delectable morsels of bounty the universe has to offer. Is anyone really THAT happy? And if so, could any of the rest of us cynical optimists actually stand to be around them?
M.O. Guy actually has some traits in common with Cliche Guy, who uses such platitudes as "I love to laugh." Come on. How about, "I hate to laugh. Laughing makes my balls explode." Or "I'm a "glass-is-half-full kinda guy." Full of what? Does that mean you're an alcoholic?
Thursday, November 5, 2009
My Online Dating Saga - and speaking of full disclosure...
...there was the guy who confessed in his profile that he was a recovering drug addict who had robbed a bank and spent 4 years in prison, and been divorced several times. I think he was going for the world record for how many red flags one guy could wave. He also appeared to be addicted to exclamation points, as he used them at the end (and occasionally the middle) of every sentence. Although you gotta give the guy credit for honesty, I'll be moving on, thanks.
I wonder how many responses he got. After all, Ted Bundy (serial killer of young women, in case you're not familiar) had women proposing to him in letters they sent to him on death row. Maybe Prison Guy has the right idea....
I wonder how many responses he got. After all, Ted Bundy (serial killer of young women, in case you're not familiar) had women proposing to him in letters they sent to him on death row. Maybe Prison Guy has the right idea....
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
My Online Dating Saga - Freak Me Out
My scariest date was with a guy with whom I shared something pretty rare in my online dating experience - mutual chemistry. We met for coffee and seemed to really be connecting. As I was reluctant to suggest dinner at a restaurant because my budget was tight that week, we ended up back at my place for some leftovers.
I heard him make a phone call when I was in the kitchen, but didn't think much of it, until we were making out a bit in the living room. Apparently wanting to lay it all out there, he stopped kissing my neck to tell me that the call he made was to his parole officer. He then proceeded to tell me that he'd just spent a year and a half in prison because he'd tried to strangle his girlfriend. He didn't actually say the words, "I tried to strangle my girlfriend," but that was the inevitable interpretation of a lot of hemming and hawing about a volatile relationship, a fight, and his hands somehow ending up around her neck.
He hastened to assure me that he had had anger management training and that he understood if I wanted to think about whether or not I wanted to see him again. He was sweet about it, actually, and I didn't feel at all threatened by him, but nevertheless I politely saw him out and, I admit, locked the door a bit more hastily than usual.
I heard him make a phone call when I was in the kitchen, but didn't think much of it, until we were making out a bit in the living room. Apparently wanting to lay it all out there, he stopped kissing my neck to tell me that the call he made was to his parole officer. He then proceeded to tell me that he'd just spent a year and a half in prison because he'd tried to strangle his girlfriend. He didn't actually say the words, "I tried to strangle my girlfriend," but that was the inevitable interpretation of a lot of hemming and hawing about a volatile relationship, a fight, and his hands somehow ending up around her neck.
He hastened to assure me that he had had anger management training and that he understood if I wanted to think about whether or not I wanted to see him again. He was sweet about it, actually, and I didn't feel at all threatened by him, but nevertheless I politely saw him out and, I admit, locked the door a bit more hastily than usual.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
My Online Dating Saga - Get a Pair
Okay, if you haven't actually met someone in person, what level of communication do you owe them? If someone isn't interested, I'd much prefer a lack of response than a rejection letter. I once received an irate email declaring me a bitch because I didn't respond to the guy's initial email. Of course, he was clearly over the edge of the sanity line, but it got me thinking about this whole response issue. If someone emails you and you aren't interested, it's my understanding that it's perfectly acceptable and expected to just not respond. No response is the response. Otherwise, you have to send a canned thanks-but-no-thanks to everyone who messages you. So either you have to lie and say you met someone, or it doesn't look like you have much in common, which may be so obviously not true that the person knows you're lying. The only other option would play like the film, "The Invention of Lying." How would that go? "Thanks for your kind email, but even though we seem to have much in common I find you physically repulsive." "Thanks for your message, but you remind me of my dead grandfather." "You seem intelligent and funny, but I can't imagine ever even thinking about wanting to having sex with you." Usually we wouldn't want to know the reason why someone isn't interested in us; it falls under the "some things are better left unsaid" category. Just chalk it up to personal preference and move on. Come on, now. Be a big boy.
One guy actually said he felt "abused" because I didn't respond to his email. I was tempted to subsequently respond to Mr. Sensitive by suggesting that perhaps he should consider continuing his therapy for awhile longer before attempting online dating, but I figured that, if no response at all made him feel abused, this response could put him over the edge. Of course, then it would prove my point that no response is often better than a truthful one. Still, I wouldn't want to be the one responsible for his breakdown....
One guy actually said he felt "abused" because I didn't respond to his email. I was tempted to subsequently respond to Mr. Sensitive by suggesting that perhaps he should consider continuing his therapy for awhile longer before attempting online dating, but I figured that, if no response at all made him feel abused, this response could put him over the edge. Of course, then it would prove my point that no response is often better than a truthful one. Still, I wouldn't want to be the one responsible for his breakdown....
Monday, November 2, 2009
My Online Dating Saga - What's the Deal?
There are some features on these dating sites that don't quite make sense to me. One site actually has a "stalker" function. This is supposed to be a good thing? If I wanted stalkers, I'd find some hunky wackos to go out with. And what about those compatibility tests, to match values, interests, preferred sexual positions and favorite fetishes? Supposedly the higher the match percentage, the better. If I wanted a male me, I'd just have sex with myself. Oh wait, I do that already.
Based on the match percentage, the site informs me, "We think you would get along well with this person." Why not just be honest and say, "We don't have a f*cking clue who you'd get along with, but our guess is as good as yours, so just go with it."
And what is the purpose of a "wink?" Basically, that means the guy is too much of a wuss to actually email me - kinda like those construction guys who yell and make pseudo-f*ck-me gestures at female pedestrians out for their morning bagels. And then there's the "favorites" function. Translated, it means, "I'm not interested enough to actually send you a message right now, but I'll save you for later in case I'm not having much luck getting laid sometime in the near future."
Based on the match percentage, the site informs me, "We think you would get along well with this person." Why not just be honest and say, "We don't have a f*cking clue who you'd get along with, but our guess is as good as yours, so just go with it."
And what is the purpose of a "wink?" Basically, that means the guy is too much of a wuss to actually email me - kinda like those construction guys who yell and make pseudo-f*ck-me gestures at female pedestrians out for their morning bagels. And then there's the "favorites" function. Translated, it means, "I'm not interested enough to actually send you a message right now, but I'll save you for later in case I'm not having much luck getting laid sometime in the near future."
Sunday, November 1, 2009
My Online Dating Saga - Opening Line Don'ts
I've been doing the online dating thing for awhile, and though I've met some interesting guys, I've had much better luck with getting writing material than with the actual dating part.
There are some common-sense unwritten rules that many would-be daters don't seem to grasp. Here are some pointers for the marginally, and not-so-marginally, clueless:
Chances are, you won't get much of a response if you email a potential date with these opening lines:
"Nice rack. Want to chat?"
"Yummy." How do you really respond to that? "Thanks?"
"I'm looking for someone to f*ck. Could it be you?" Subtlety isn't exactly your strong suit, is it?
"I'd love to twist you around like a pretzel." I'm not even sure what that means, unless the guy has a fetish for contortionists. Sounds more painful than erotic.
"I'm looking for an angel like you to make peace my lonely nights." Okay, obviously English isn't his first language, but still pretty hokey. And obviously a mass email that he sent to probably 50 women, hoping to hit the jackpot.
One guy just IM'd me with a photo of his dick (iphones do come in handy, don't they?). A dick-and-run, as it were.
More to come....
There are some common-sense unwritten rules that many would-be daters don't seem to grasp. Here are some pointers for the marginally, and not-so-marginally, clueless:
Chances are, you won't get much of a response if you email a potential date with these opening lines:
"Nice rack. Want to chat?"
"Yummy." How do you really respond to that? "Thanks?"
"I'm looking for someone to f*ck. Could it be you?" Subtlety isn't exactly your strong suit, is it?
"I'd love to twist you around like a pretzel." I'm not even sure what that means, unless the guy has a fetish for contortionists. Sounds more painful than erotic.
"I'm looking for an angel like you to make peace my lonely nights." Okay, obviously English isn't his first language, but still pretty hokey. And obviously a mass email that he sent to probably 50 women, hoping to hit the jackpot.
One guy just IM'd me with a photo of his dick (iphones do come in handy, don't they?). A dick-and-run, as it were.
More to come....
Say What?
There are some phrases and buzzwords that have sprung up in the last few years that I find immensely irritating, and I sincerely hope they will soon meet their collective demise:
"Have a good one." One what? Night on the town? Drive home in gridlock? Orgasm?
"Skilled at multitasking." Does that refer to those people who drive while shaving their legs, eating breakfast and talking on their cell? Or maybe someone who does threesomes.
"It's all good." Is it really? Tell that to the guy who lost his job and his health insurance a year ago and is preparing to stake his territory in the alley behind his soon-to-be-ex-house.
"Think outside the box." But how big is that box, anyway? And does anyone actually know what's in it? If not, then how could anyone know if they're thinking outside it or not? I guess if you get thrown in jail for being unpatriotic, you know you were thinking outside the box.
"Wellness." Come on. Can we all just agree to put that word out of its misery? Can anyone really tell me how that word is different than "health?" I dare you.
"Have a good one." One what? Night on the town? Drive home in gridlock? Orgasm?
"Skilled at multitasking." Does that refer to those people who drive while shaving their legs, eating breakfast and talking on their cell? Or maybe someone who does threesomes.
"It's all good." Is it really? Tell that to the guy who lost his job and his health insurance a year ago and is preparing to stake his territory in the alley behind his soon-to-be-ex-house.
"Think outside the box." But how big is that box, anyway? And does anyone actually know what's in it? If not, then how could anyone know if they're thinking outside it or not? I guess if you get thrown in jail for being unpatriotic, you know you were thinking outside the box.
"Wellness." Come on. Can we all just agree to put that word out of its misery? Can anyone really tell me how that word is different than "health?" I dare you.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
Birthday Haiku
I'm liking this haiku thing. Here's a few I wrote for a friend's 50th birthday:
So you're fifty now
You can start to forget that
What was I saying?
Half a century
Sounds depressing, doesn't it?
Depends on which half
The older you get
The less you will care about
Who thinks you're a bitch
Fifty brings freedom
To really be who you are
And not give a crap
So you're fifty now
You can start to forget that
What was I saying?
Half a century
Sounds depressing, doesn't it?
Depends on which half
The older you get
The less you will care about
Who thinks you're a bitch
Fifty brings freedom
To really be who you are
And not give a crap
Sunday, October 25, 2009
The Parent Trap - the Dark Side
Okay, does anyone else find the whole concept of "The Parent Trap" profoundly disturbing?? Maybe it's because I lost my father when I was eight, but I find the whole idea kind of warped. You've got two parents who each not only effectively abandon one of their children, but keep two sisters - twins, yet - separated without telling them that the other one even exists. I'd like to write an alternate version of the story entitled "The Parent Trap - the Dark Side. Separated in infancy and left without conscious knowledge of their loss, the twins develop severe attachment disorder and become serial killers." I could see it as an SNL episode....
Actually, writing alternate versions of films could be interesting. How about "Saving Private Ryan" as a romantic comedy. Or "Godfather II - The Musical."
Or how about incongruent screen couples: Vanessa Redgrave and Pauly Shore. Or Emma Thompson and Sylvester Stallone. Judi Dench and Woody Allen. These are the things I think about when I can't sleep at two in the morning....
Actually, writing alternate versions of films could be interesting. How about "Saving Private Ryan" as a romantic comedy. Or "Godfather II - The Musical."
Or how about incongruent screen couples: Vanessa Redgrave and Pauly Shore. Or Emma Thompson and Sylvester Stallone. Judi Dench and Woody Allen. These are the things I think about when I can't sleep at two in the morning....
FUN WITH GOD
I have always found religious rituals somewhat bizarre. The bar mitzvah – Now there's an interesting tradition. "Today, you are a man. Yesterday, you got in trouble for giving someone a wedgie in gym class, but today you're a man. If a 20-year-old woman tried to have sex with you she'd get arrested, but you're a man." I guess when the custom first started people only lived to about 35, so 13 was a grown-up. You got toilet-trained, threw spitballs, had wet dreams, tried drugs, got married, had kids, found a gray hair in your crotch and died.
The bar mitzvah's kind of like a one-man show. You've got your props, the Torah and shofar, which is made out of a ram's horn (and when you're talking about 13-year-old boys, any kind of "horn" is apropos). Your relatives are stagehands; they hop on and off stage to help with the props. This is to make sure no one dozes off for too long. "Wake up Grandpa, it's your turn to unwrap the Torah." The kid stands up on stage and recites prayers for two hours. As long as he's up there, why not have him tell some jokes? "A priest, a rabbi and a nun were sitting in a boat..." The kid sings in a foreign language, kind of like an opera in Hebrew. As long as he has to sing, why not do some tunes from Fiddler on the Roof? Or maybe a Barbara Streisand number. Why does religion have to be so serious, anyway? Have fun with it. Priests should all wear big red clown noses. You go to church, have a few laughs, you get a balloon animal on the way out.
I give Catholics a lot of credit. How do they keep track of all those saints? How do they decide who becomes a saint? I guess if you suffer enough, you can be a saint. In that case, all Jews should be saints, since we're good at suffering. Suffering's our thing. Yeah, Saint Goldfarb, patron saint of PMS. I think they should have a patron saint of hospital food. Saint Barf.
By the way, what does it really mean to take the Lord's name in vain? You stand in front of the mirror and go, "Goddamn, I'm good-looking."
Religion does have its good points. The lure of heaven is certainly tempting. Heaven is like the prize dangling there at the end of the endurance contest. You enter the contest, you jump over all these hurdles, and if you don't kill anyone along the way you get the prize.
But it's a mystery prize. No one really knows what the prize is. What if it turns out to be like those holiday gifts from your aunt, like bunny slippers? Can you pretend to like it? Sure, you can fool your aunt, but if there is a God of some sort, he or she is probably less gullible.
Some people say whatever you want heaven to be, that's what it is for you. My idea of heaven would be the men I wanted to sleep with but couldn't, all lined up next to a six-foot-tall hot fudge sundae. Now that's heaven.
I have always found religious rituals somewhat bizarre. The bar mitzvah – Now there's an interesting tradition. "Today, you are a man. Yesterday, you got in trouble for giving someone a wedgie in gym class, but today you're a man. If a 20-year-old woman tried to have sex with you she'd get arrested, but you're a man." I guess when the custom first started people only lived to about 35, so 13 was a grown-up. You got toilet-trained, threw spitballs, had wet dreams, tried drugs, got married, had kids, found a gray hair in your crotch and died.
The bar mitzvah's kind of like a one-man show. You've got your props, the Torah and shofar, which is made out of a ram's horn (and when you're talking about 13-year-old boys, any kind of "horn" is apropos). Your relatives are stagehands; they hop on and off stage to help with the props. This is to make sure no one dozes off for too long. "Wake up Grandpa, it's your turn to unwrap the Torah." The kid stands up on stage and recites prayers for two hours. As long as he's up there, why not have him tell some jokes? "A priest, a rabbi and a nun were sitting in a boat..." The kid sings in a foreign language, kind of like an opera in Hebrew. As long as he has to sing, why not do some tunes from Fiddler on the Roof? Or maybe a Barbara Streisand number. Why does religion have to be so serious, anyway? Have fun with it. Priests should all wear big red clown noses. You go to church, have a few laughs, you get a balloon animal on the way out.
I give Catholics a lot of credit. How do they keep track of all those saints? How do they decide who becomes a saint? I guess if you suffer enough, you can be a saint. In that case, all Jews should be saints, since we're good at suffering. Suffering's our thing. Yeah, Saint Goldfarb, patron saint of PMS. I think they should have a patron saint of hospital food. Saint Barf.
By the way, what does it really mean to take the Lord's name in vain? You stand in front of the mirror and go, "Goddamn, I'm good-looking."
Religion does have its good points. The lure of heaven is certainly tempting. Heaven is like the prize dangling there at the end of the endurance contest. You enter the contest, you jump over all these hurdles, and if you don't kill anyone along the way you get the prize.
But it's a mystery prize. No one really knows what the prize is. What if it turns out to be like those holiday gifts from your aunt, like bunny slippers? Can you pretend to like it? Sure, you can fool your aunt, but if there is a God of some sort, he or she is probably less gullible.
Some people say whatever you want heaven to be, that's what it is for you. My idea of heaven would be the men I wanted to sleep with but couldn't, all lined up next to a six-foot-tall hot fudge sundae. Now that's heaven.
Virgin Mugger
A couple of years ago I was coming home from a Steve Almond reading (if you don't know who he is, check him out - he's hilarious, not to mention very cute) and was about to put the key in my front door when I heard a voice behind me. I thought it was a neighbor - I turned around, and some guy was standing behind me on my front porch. He said, "Give me your purse and you won't get hurt." I said, "What?" He repeated himself. I stared at him, thinking, I'm not giving this asshole my purse, and trying to decide if I should just screech in his face and scare the shit out of him. He said, "I'm not kidding." He had no visible weapon of any kind, he wasn't touching me or trying to grab the purse, and he was so amiable about the whole thing that I didn't feel particularly threatened. If he was high on anything, it was probably weed, he was so mellow. I said, "I don't even have any cash," which happened to be true (I had thirteen cents in my wallet). He just stood there and looked at me like, shit, what now? I then yelled at him, "Get the hell out of here!" and he left. Didn't even run; just kind of sauntered away. He was probably the most lame-ass mugger I've ever heard of. I can't help but be grateful that, if I had to have an attempted robbery experience, I was lucky enough to have one with someone who was such a model of gentility. Was he a mugging virgin? Perhaps. Maybe just a Cambridge native. I speculate that maybe that one unsuccessful mugging attempt caused him to re-evaluate his life path and decide to go to college after all and follow his dream to become a marine biologist. But probably not.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Phone Therapy
Hello. Welcome to Phone Therapy. If you're depressed, press one. If you're trying to work through childhood traumas, press two. If you have multiple personality disorder, press three and four. If you have an eating disorder, press pound. You have pressed two, working through childhood traumas. If this is correct, press star. If you are the adult child of an alcoholic parent, press two. If you are the adult child of a parent addicted to twelve-step programs, press three. If you are the adult child of a Republican, press four. If you are the adult child of sixties love children who named you after a plant, press five. You have pressed five. If you are a woman who loves too much, press one. If you are a woman who reads too much about women who love too much, press two. You have pressed one. If you are drawn to men who are emotionally unavailable, press two. If you prone to affairs with married men, press three. If you want to have an affair with a married man, hang up and call 555-2123. If you remember why the hell you called in the first place, hold on and someone will be with you shortly. Have a wonderful day.
Is That a Squirrel on Your Head, or Are You Happy to See Me?
The toupee was invented in 1572, when bald Prince Comb-over slid across the floor and injured himself while attempting a headstand. At this crucial turning point in history, men decided (apparently oblivious to most women's attraction to elongated foreheads) that even bad hair was better than no hair. The first toupee was made out of pig whiskers. However, this was not only excruciatingly uncomfortable, but had the unfortunate consequence of causing the men who wore these hairpieces to snort at inopportune moments.
Cat hair was the next material to be attempted, but this was abandoned after the wearers began coughing up hairballs on the carpet. After the cat hairpieces lost their popularity, hairmakers graduated to dog hair. Regrettably, not only did the wearers develop a flea problem but also a rather disconcerting penchant for fire hydrants.
From dog hair, toupee-makers resorted to synthetic materials such as polyethylene, which they shaped with scissors and fitted onto the scalp. However, this material was quite flammable, and gentlemen's heads frequently ignited when they attempted to light their dates' cigarettes.
The next attempt was with polyester fibers similar to those used in carpets, which were also shaped with scissors – hence the term, "cutting a rug." Dust mites made these hairpieces unbearably itchy, and the rug shampoo used to clean them caused any real hair underneath to turn green and fall out.
Hair artists, as wig makers preferred to be called, then went through several other materials, including dyed plant leaves. Not only did these hairpieces look incredibly ludicrous, but the men wearing them developed a fear of cats, as the animals would often pounce on their heads and chew the leaves.
Subsequently, the practice of using real human hair was developed by a funeral director. Sadly, the wearers of these toupees often took on the characteristics of what later became known through popular films as the "living dead," much to the consternation of their loved ones.
At this point, bald men began the horrifying practice of flinging their side hairs across their scalps, as if this were fooling anybody. Unfortunately, this practice is still used today, for some unfathomable reason. Hairpieces, however, have been perfected to the point where one almost can't see the seams, although occasionally one may be compelled to ask the wearer, "Is that your real hair, or did an otter die on your head?"
Cat hair was the next material to be attempted, but this was abandoned after the wearers began coughing up hairballs on the carpet. After the cat hairpieces lost their popularity, hairmakers graduated to dog hair. Regrettably, not only did the wearers develop a flea problem but also a rather disconcerting penchant for fire hydrants.
From dog hair, toupee-makers resorted to synthetic materials such as polyethylene, which they shaped with scissors and fitted onto the scalp. However, this material was quite flammable, and gentlemen's heads frequently ignited when they attempted to light their dates' cigarettes.
The next attempt was with polyester fibers similar to those used in carpets, which were also shaped with scissors – hence the term, "cutting a rug." Dust mites made these hairpieces unbearably itchy, and the rug shampoo used to clean them caused any real hair underneath to turn green and fall out.
Hair artists, as wig makers preferred to be called, then went through several other materials, including dyed plant leaves. Not only did these hairpieces look incredibly ludicrous, but the men wearing them developed a fear of cats, as the animals would often pounce on their heads and chew the leaves.
Subsequently, the practice of using real human hair was developed by a funeral director. Sadly, the wearers of these toupees often took on the characteristics of what later became known through popular films as the "living dead," much to the consternation of their loved ones.
At this point, bald men began the horrifying practice of flinging their side hairs across their scalps, as if this were fooling anybody. Unfortunately, this practice is still used today, for some unfathomable reason. Hairpieces, however, have been perfected to the point where one almost can't see the seams, although occasionally one may be compelled to ask the wearer, "Is that your real hair, or did an otter die on your head?"
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Garbled Apostrophes
I find garbled apostrophe usage extremely irksome. "Your" is NOT the same as "you're." To illustrate, if I may: if you write "you're an asshole," you are calling someone an asshole, but if you say "your asshole" you are, in fact, directly referring to their actual asshole. Notice I said "their," which is possessive, and means the asshole in question belongs exclusively to them; rather than "there," which refers to a place their asshole might be, somewhere in the vicinity. Of course, technically "his" or "her" asshole would be correct, unless I were referring to a collective asshole.
I realize that, although most of us learned grammar and spelling in elementary school, not all of us retain all that info after a certain point. I suppose it depends on the kind of info your brain tends to keep, and the kind it discards. I learned algebra years ago too, but now I couldn't calculate an equation for all the hunks in Hollywood. And for some reason, my brain has hung onto grammar and basic sentence structure, but I find myself needing spellcheck more than I used to. Spelling is apparently one of the first things to go after 40 or so, soon to be joined by one's lips. We seem to lose our lips after 40. Where do they go? Do they get swallowed up by our teeth? Perhaps they go to that mysterious place where lost underwear goes. Somewhere in an alternate universe, there are all these young body parts floating around with someone's boxer shorts.
I realize that, although most of us learned grammar and spelling in elementary school, not all of us retain all that info after a certain point. I suppose it depends on the kind of info your brain tends to keep, and the kind it discards. I learned algebra years ago too, but now I couldn't calculate an equation for all the hunks in Hollywood. And for some reason, my brain has hung onto grammar and basic sentence structure, but I find myself needing spellcheck more than I used to. Spelling is apparently one of the first things to go after 40 or so, soon to be joined by one's lips. We seem to lose our lips after 40. Where do they go? Do they get swallowed up by our teeth? Perhaps they go to that mysterious place where lost underwear goes. Somewhere in an alternate universe, there are all these young body parts floating around with someone's boxer shorts.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Barbie Envy
Do we still aspire to Barbie? To be blonde, svelte, perfect, with a tall dark man with thick hair and a perfectly muscled body by our side? Barbie manufacturers have come up with revised versions of the original Barbie, that more accurately reflect the current reality of most women’s lives. Barbie can now be found in various sizes, shapes and ethnicities, and wearing business attire.
I say they haven’t gone far enough. How about PMS Barbie – Barbie with her hormones run amok? Or Bleary-Eyed Barbie – at six in the morning after a night on the town. Or how about Erotically Challenged Barbie – just not interested anymore. Or her alterego, Nympho Barbie. Then of course, there’s Self-Validated Barbie, who doesn’t need a man to feel good about herself.
Do little boys aspire to G.I. Joe? Personally, I think perfect-looking men are boring as hell. Why a kid would want to play with a Hollywood-handsome action hero is beyond me. I think GI Joe should have a beer belly or a few long hairs flung over his balding scalp (not that I find either of these attributes particularly alluring, but at least they're real).
Of course, little boys don’t tend to obsess about how their hair compares to Aqua-Man’s, or care if their ass is bigger than Superman’s. But still, I would think that a chubby pre-pubescent boy with braces and glasses would feel some sense of inferiority when faced with the physical perfection of Batman. Even his sidekick is good-looking in a vanilla-Republican kind of way.
As far as inanimate role-models go, the glorious imperfections of a Barbie with a crooked nose and a bit of cellulite co-habiting with a bald Ken sporting a few acne scars would certainly be a refreshing sight. They could be marketed as “Reality Barbie and Ken,” and have their own show on NBC. I wonder what their ratings would be like.
I say they haven’t gone far enough. How about PMS Barbie – Barbie with her hormones run amok? Or Bleary-Eyed Barbie – at six in the morning after a night on the town. Or how about Erotically Challenged Barbie – just not interested anymore. Or her alterego, Nympho Barbie. Then of course, there’s Self-Validated Barbie, who doesn’t need a man to feel good about herself.
Do little boys aspire to G.I. Joe? Personally, I think perfect-looking men are boring as hell. Why a kid would want to play with a Hollywood-handsome action hero is beyond me. I think GI Joe should have a beer belly or a few long hairs flung over his balding scalp (not that I find either of these attributes particularly alluring, but at least they're real).
Of course, little boys don’t tend to obsess about how their hair compares to Aqua-Man’s, or care if their ass is bigger than Superman’s. But still, I would think that a chubby pre-pubescent boy with braces and glasses would feel some sense of inferiority when faced with the physical perfection of Batman. Even his sidekick is good-looking in a vanilla-Republican kind of way.
As far as inanimate role-models go, the glorious imperfections of a Barbie with a crooked nose and a bit of cellulite co-habiting with a bald Ken sporting a few acne scars would certainly be a refreshing sight. They could be marketed as “Reality Barbie and Ken,” and have their own show on NBC. I wonder what their ratings would be like.
Friday, June 26, 2009
HOLIDAY HAIKU
HOLIDAY HAIKU
Holiday snowflakes
Ice clings to silver flagpoles
The dog’s tongue is stuck.
Hanukkah Harry
Brings gefilte fish and socks
Dad faints from the smell.
Holiday spirit
Scents of pine and cinnamon
Cat barfs on the rug.
Scent of Christmas pine
Angels, stars dance on branches
Why big shiny balls?
Santa Claus legend
Endomorph delivers gifts
What’s with the reindeer?
Christmas lights dangling
The kids short-circuit the wires
Oops - the house goes dark.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
JOB INTERVIEW DON'TS
When the employer says, "Tell me about yourself"...
...tell him about how your divorce has made you a more spiritual person.
When the interviewer asks you about weaknesses...
...tell her you need to be jump-started in the morning.
When asked why you left your previous job...
...say your supervisor caught you loading office printers into the trunk of your car.
When asked how you handle stress...
...say you tend to hold it in until you explode.
When the employer asks you for an example of your problem-solving abilities...
...tell him you figured out how to sleep with your eyes open to appear awake during staff meetings.
When asked what you know about the organization...
...say, "I heard you have a lot of hot men who work here."
When the interviewer asks you why there's a 3-year gap on your resume...
...tell her you're going to plead the fifth on that one.
When asked about your greatest strengths...
...say you can bend your pinkie finger back 180 degrees.
When asked where you want to be five years from now...
...respond, "On a yacht in the middle of the South Pacific."
When the interviewer asks, "Why should I hire you?"
...answer, "Why indeed?"
When the employer asks you what you enjoyed the most about a previous job...
...say, "The Friday morning doughnuts."
When asked what questions you have...
...say, "Who was that cute guy we passed on the way to your office?"
...tell him about how your divorce has made you a more spiritual person.
When the interviewer asks you about weaknesses...
...tell her you need to be jump-started in the morning.
When asked why you left your previous job...
...say your supervisor caught you loading office printers into the trunk of your car.
When asked how you handle stress...
...say you tend to hold it in until you explode.
When the employer asks you for an example of your problem-solving abilities...
...tell him you figured out how to sleep with your eyes open to appear awake during staff meetings.
When asked what you know about the organization...
...say, "I heard you have a lot of hot men who work here."
When the interviewer asks you why there's a 3-year gap on your resume...
...tell her you're going to plead the fifth on that one.
When asked about your greatest strengths...
...say you can bend your pinkie finger back 180 degrees.
When asked where you want to be five years from now...
...respond, "On a yacht in the middle of the South Pacific."
When the interviewer asks, "Why should I hire you?"
...answer, "Why indeed?"
When the employer asks you what you enjoyed the most about a previous job...
...say, "The Friday morning doughnuts."
When asked what questions you have...
...say, "Who was that cute guy we passed on the way to your office?"
Saturday, January 31, 2009
IT'S MY JOB AND I'LL SCREW UP IF I WANT TO
When you think about it, it’s funny how baseball players’ records are displayed on a huge electronic board and seen by thousands of people. “Batting average .342, 18 home runs, 74 runs batted in.” Imagine if the media kept track of everyone’s job that way. “Dr. Goldstein removed the correct organ 256 times out of 260 operations. Made six incorrect diagnoses.” “In 1969, Joan Baez sang 684 notes without going flat. Bob Dylan, who was in a slump that year, sang three.”
In some careers, imperfections don’t really matter. You can often be an actor if you’re not that talented. If you’re good-looking, it’s okay. That doesn’t work for a pharmacist, does it? “He can’t see the labels on the bottles, but he’s hot, so we don’t care. We love coming in for those pills.”
You can’t screw up too much if you’re a surgeon. When you’re poking around in someone’s brain with a sharp instrument, you don’t have a lot of room for error. “Oops, my hand slipped. Oh well, he doesn’t really need the left side of his brain anyway.” Doctors sometimes leave the operating room during long operations. It must be scary to be lying there while the surgeon’s poking around in your intestines and suddenly hear her say, “Well, I finished reconnecting about half her mucous membranes. I have to go pee. Dr. Taylor, you could use the practice since you’re pretty new at this. Why don’t you take over.”
Some people have jobs that must be hard to disclose on a first date. “I work in a slaughterhouse. Nice to meet you.” “I’m in sludge removal. Can I kiss you?” “I work for the Serial Killer Task Force. Want to come over?” “I train telemarketers. Why don’t you give me your phone number?”
I always thought making balloon animals would be a fun job. Except your hands would smell like a condom factory. How did it occur to someone to make balloon animals in the first place? Someone must have been really bored to be staring long enough at a balloon to start thinking, “I bet I could make that balloon look like a rabbit.”
With some jobs, it’s hard to understand why anyone would choose it. What’s the thought process that leads someone to decide to become a prison guard? “Yeah, now that I made it out of high school, I think I’ll spend 40 hours a week in a gray concrete building with 200 murderers and rapists who’d love to kill me.” Yep, that would be a fun job. Although it wouldn’t be as bad as being President, especially during the last decade or so. Now there’s a great job. Working twenty hours a day for four years straight, people with guns following you wherever you go so no one kills you, being blamed for everything - kind of like that wimpy kid in third grade who always got in trouble because he was too dumb to know what was really going on (I am, of course, referring to our previous Idiot-in-Chief). And imagine turning on CNN and hearing about the blow job you had the night before. As far as career choices go, I think I’d prefer sludge removal.
In some careers, imperfections don’t really matter. You can often be an actor if you’re not that talented. If you’re good-looking, it’s okay. That doesn’t work for a pharmacist, does it? “He can’t see the labels on the bottles, but he’s hot, so we don’t care. We love coming in for those pills.”
You can’t screw up too much if you’re a surgeon. When you’re poking around in someone’s brain with a sharp instrument, you don’t have a lot of room for error. “Oops, my hand slipped. Oh well, he doesn’t really need the left side of his brain anyway.” Doctors sometimes leave the operating room during long operations. It must be scary to be lying there while the surgeon’s poking around in your intestines and suddenly hear her say, “Well, I finished reconnecting about half her mucous membranes. I have to go pee. Dr. Taylor, you could use the practice since you’re pretty new at this. Why don’t you take over.”
Some people have jobs that must be hard to disclose on a first date. “I work in a slaughterhouse. Nice to meet you.” “I’m in sludge removal. Can I kiss you?” “I work for the Serial Killer Task Force. Want to come over?” “I train telemarketers. Why don’t you give me your phone number?”
I always thought making balloon animals would be a fun job. Except your hands would smell like a condom factory. How did it occur to someone to make balloon animals in the first place? Someone must have been really bored to be staring long enough at a balloon to start thinking, “I bet I could make that balloon look like a rabbit.”
With some jobs, it’s hard to understand why anyone would choose it. What’s the thought process that leads someone to decide to become a prison guard? “Yeah, now that I made it out of high school, I think I’ll spend 40 hours a week in a gray concrete building with 200 murderers and rapists who’d love to kill me.” Yep, that would be a fun job. Although it wouldn’t be as bad as being President, especially during the last decade or so. Now there’s a great job. Working twenty hours a day for four years straight, people with guns following you wherever you go so no one kills you, being blamed for everything - kind of like that wimpy kid in third grade who always got in trouble because he was too dumb to know what was really going on (I am, of course, referring to our previous Idiot-in-Chief). And imagine turning on CNN and hearing about the blow job you had the night before. As far as career choices go, I think I’d prefer sludge removal.
Friday, January 30, 2009
DO MEN HAVE MORE PHLEGM?
I'm fascinated by the habits of men. Why is it that they're compelled to expel their phlegm in public places? Do they have an excess of fluid above the waist? Perhaps they're marking their territory. And why do men grab their genitalia in the middle of a conversation? Do they need to reassure themselves the equipment's still there? Maybe it's a power thing. I wonder what a man would think if I grabbed my crotch while chatting. Women usually acknowledge our power in more subtle ways, though a woman with her hand between her legs would indeed be a force to be reckoned with.
Men have a tendency to sprawl. You're sitting on a train next to a man, he spreads out all over the place while you're squeezed into the corner. Hence the term, "spreading his seed" (imagine explaining that one – "It wasn't sex, it was the subway!"). Maybe because men come with three attachments, they need more space.
Colors are simpler for men. Their wife or girlfriend might say, "Honey, should we go with the mint green or the chartreuse drapes?" His response is, "Yeah, green's good." A lot of men have selective vision. They can see a tiny ball a quarter mile away under a layer of dirt, but they can't see a pile of clothes in the middle of the floor.
Men tend to be more visual, while women analyze and verbalize. Men don't seem to need closure. We need to say stuff at the end of a relationship. "Well, I guess it's better this way, since you don't like camping. I also didn't feel comfortable making a serious commitment to a perpetual adolescent who wears seersucker. I wish you the best, and I hope you have a good life. Maybe someday we can be friends." To which the man responds,"Yeah, bye." A man gives a woman a look, and she tries to figure out what it means, what he's thinking, and what's behind it, when what he's thinking is, "Wow, nice boobs."
Women say I love you by saying, "I love and adore you more than anything in the world." Men say I love you by cleaning the bathroom. Many communication issues can be resolved when a woman understands that she's rejecting a man's attempt to express his feelings when she complains, "Honey, why did you move my tampons?!"
Men and women handle the beginning and end of relationships differently. The beginning of a relationship for women is like wading in cold water. We inch our way in, and when we've reached crotch level we're committed to getting wet. Men plunge in, flop around on their bellies like spastic fish, run back to shore for awhile, decide to go for it and dive back in headfirst.
Men grieve differently than women when a relationship ends. They stagger around in a bathrobe, haggard and unshaven, with pizza stains on their beard stubble and beer cans piling up in the corner. This goes on for a couple of weeks, then they sleep with somebody, and they're over it.
Or so they think. In reality they're a blight on womankind. Believing they've tossed their emotional baggage out the window, they're oblivious to the fact that it's landed on some unsuspecting woman's head. Eventually they emerge, relieved everything still works. Women will go about our business as usual, squashing our feelings until we explode in a psycho-superwoman episode. We may build a bonfire with his discarded toiletry items. We may dye our hair blue. We may run for President. We may remain celibate for months, maybe years, afterward. We may even contemplate what life in a convent might be like. Then we say the hell with it, screw somebody's brains out, buy a douche and put it in his medicine cabinet, and we're healed.
Men have a tendency to sprawl. You're sitting on a train next to a man, he spreads out all over the place while you're squeezed into the corner. Hence the term, "spreading his seed" (imagine explaining that one – "It wasn't sex, it was the subway!"). Maybe because men come with three attachments, they need more space.
Men have to pretend to have big egos even if they don't. They might be as self-conscious as a redneck at a Maya Angelou poetry reading, but they have to act like they think they're hot stuff. Especially in a bar. "She's looking at me. "No, she's looking at me." "She thinks I'm hot." What she's really thinking is, "I wish those two assholes over there would quit staring at me."
Colors are simpler for men. Their wife or girlfriend might say, "Honey, should we go with the mint green or the chartreuse drapes?" His response is, "Yeah, green's good." A lot of men have selective vision. They can see a tiny ball a quarter mile away under a layer of dirt, but they can't see a pile of clothes in the middle of the floor.
Men tend to be more visual, while women analyze and verbalize. Men don't seem to need closure. We need to say stuff at the end of a relationship. "Well, I guess it's better this way, since you don't like camping. I also didn't feel comfortable making a serious commitment to a perpetual adolescent who wears seersucker. I wish you the best, and I hope you have a good life. Maybe someday we can be friends." To which the man responds,"Yeah, bye." A man gives a woman a look, and she tries to figure out what it means, what he's thinking, and what's behind it, when what he's thinking is, "Wow, nice boobs."
Women say I love you by saying, "I love and adore you more than anything in the world." Men say I love you by cleaning the bathroom. Many communication issues can be resolved when a woman understands that she's rejecting a man's attempt to express his feelings when she complains, "Honey, why did you move my tampons?!"
Men and women handle the beginning and end of relationships differently. The beginning of a relationship for women is like wading in cold water. We inch our way in, and when we've reached crotch level we're committed to getting wet. Men plunge in, flop around on their bellies like spastic fish, run back to shore for awhile, decide to go for it and dive back in headfirst.
Men grieve differently than women when a relationship ends. They stagger around in a bathrobe, haggard and unshaven, with pizza stains on their beard stubble and beer cans piling up in the corner. This goes on for a couple of weeks, then they sleep with somebody, and they're over it.
Or so they think. In reality they're a blight on womankind. Believing they've tossed their emotional baggage out the window, they're oblivious to the fact that it's landed on some unsuspecting woman's head. Eventually they emerge, relieved everything still works. Women will go about our business as usual, squashing our feelings until we explode in a psycho-superwoman episode. We may build a bonfire with his discarded toiletry items. We may dye our hair blue. We may run for President. We may remain celibate for months, maybe years, afterward. We may even contemplate what life in a convent might be like. Then we say the hell with it, screw somebody's brains out, buy a douche and put it in his medicine cabinet, and we're healed.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
THINGS NOT TO SAY AT WORK
"Man, did I get wasted last night. I jumped on the bar and danced in my jockstrap. Wanna see the pictures?"
"The CEO is so hot. I'd love to hit that, wouldn't you?"
"I just took this job cause my trust fund dried up."
"Wouldn't it be funny if I sprinkled some pot into the coffeemaker?"
"Hey, Jin got a raise. No fair! I bet it's because he's Asian."
"The boss is out today. Want to sneak out the side door an hour early?"
"Yeah, I always take the credit for Katie's ideas. She's banging the director, so what can she say?"
"I always delete my online history so the MIS guy can't tell I look at porn sites all day."
"Good, another meeting. I could use a nap."
"It's 4:59. I'm outta here!"
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