3.5. Letter To The Boys (An Online Dating Rant)

If you’ve ever stumbled upon any of my “random guy messages,” you knew this was coming. This is definitely a big middle finger to the typical, those who play the game, those who scheme with false advertising, those who make it damn near impossible for a girl to hold out hope for a good catch to come along.

And before you decide to judge any of the following and manifest some “epic rebuttal that will not this girl off her feet” about how women are no better…I don’t deny that girls play games, enable the ridiculously crude garbage spewed, and are highly capable of being overly sexual in order to get what they want. That being said: I’m a woman who is attracted to men and so I don’t feel the need to address the sex I’m not aiming to attract. That is a rant all its own but this one is for the boys.

Don’t get me wrong…I know for a fact that no guy will read this and be epically changed. It doesn’t work that way. I don’t think this post is going to move anyone. It’s a rant (see the title), which means I’m writing this for me to vent. I’m getting out all of the garbage that’s racing through my head. If one woman reads this and attempts to raise her baby boy to be a better man in the process…hell yeah, I won! That’s about as much hope as I can have for this thing.

I’ve been on a dating website for just about two years. In those two years, I’ve gone on less than a handful of dates and have never had a second date. I’ve had phone conversations, texting, skype conversations, and singular dates. 99% of my online interaction have been me hitting delete or “block user.”

Yes, I’m picky. A girl needs to have standards and though I will no deny I have, in fact, lowered my standards at times out of pure boredom…they always return. I read messages on a daily basis in which a guy shoots straight for the sexual innuendos, carries one conversation before asking me to come over, or wants to talk marriage and babies after a week. There is no middle ground. There is no courtship. There is no actual dating process.

Less than five dates in two years? What’s wrong with me?

A LOT!

I am messy. I have a very chaotic mind. I get bored easily. I have trust issues. I have a temper. I am territorial. I want someone who will give me attention when I want it but go the hell away when I don’t. Mentally, I am sexually driven but physically, I have little desire to actually have sex. I am always attracted to the type of guy that doesn’t want me. I’m loud. I’m far too outspoken for my own damn good. And that’s just what I can think of off the top of my head at 1am.

Well, no wonder I’m single, huh?

You’re right. I’m not going to argue with it. But pause. I asked a guy, the other day, what his flaws were and his answer: nothing. Nothing. NOTHING! That’s a crock of shit and that just made a list of flaws for you boo-boo.

I’m a bitch. I own it. I embrace it. Is it an awesome personality trait? No. But it’s a part of me. I can turn bitchmode on in .05 seconds and slap you so hard with some venomous words…ya damn head will spin, make you cry and curl up in a ball while you internally question why you weren’t aborted. Yes, I can be a viper.

This is probably detrimental to whether a guy will talk to me. Well fellas…so is swearing “I’m a good guy.” “I’m different.” “I’m not like other guys.” Do you know what all of these things say to me? You are a douche bag. You are exactly the same as all the rest. I’ve seen your type before. Call it pessimism. I call it experience. A good guy doesn’t have to say what he is. He just is and it’s undeniable.

Why are you clearly a 3 and you’re messaging someone who is definitely a 7+? I know this sounds superficial (search for that post in which I address the hypocrisy of guys saying what they want physically but girls saying the same things and being considered shallow) but I could care less. You might be a 5 on a good day. A 6 if I’m intoxicated but you seriously posted some pictures of yourself looking like a convict. Not an ex-convict. Current. Present tense, sweetie. No and thank you.

Also, feel free to shave your face, clean your mirror for that selfie, stop shooting all your pics in hats (do you have hair), stop shooting group shots so I can’t tell who you are, no club shots with five girls on you (are your slut days over yet), and stop checking fit/athletic with your keg and four chins. BE HONEST!

If you’re looking for a hookup/friends with benefits – don’t message a girl who clearly states she’s looking for a relationship. It’s a waste of time and though you may be fine as all hell…you want something different. It’s asinine to be upset with the girl when she doesn’t want to talk about her favorite position if she was honest about her intent. I get it. We’re single and we’re shopping. Some people want discount material, some people want BOGO deals, some people are bringing coupons, and some people are holding out for the best quality stuff. If you buy cheap – you will have to return to the store sooner rather than later for a replacement. Some of us want to make one trip and be done with it.

Try consistency. Try chivalry. Try honesty. Try being genuine. I know it sounds simple but it works. There is someone for everyone and though your honesty may not draw in every girl…it will attract the one for you.

Baby boys – stop messaging a woman 10 years your senior bragging about how you could sexually satisfy, provide, blah blah blah…I’ve already stopped listening. That shit might work on the Beverly Hills housewives or the ragged but the smart ones are unimpressed and have no desire to be your sugar momma.

Older men – stay in your lane and don’t assume every woman younger than you wants a sugar daddy. Shop age appropriate and stop looking for arm candy or the next incubator for your seed.

Online dating didn’t work for me. That’s not to say it doesn’t work for other people. It’s 2014 and more people are meeting their future partners online than you think. Maybe the pickings are slim everywhere and I’ve just observed the best of the worst  online. Either way, I’m over the game. I’d rather not play and just say I did.

P.S.  A special note to the guys with kids who immediately act like a complete and utter piece of trash – you should be ashamed of yourself and I hope your child learns what a man should be from SOMEONE ELSE!

Here’s to being single.

I’m out.

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2.14. ATTN:Stupid People – Stop Breathing

This is a rant. This is not meant to be nice or sweet or even thought provoking. This is me venting because I feel like it.

So, I’ve (very) recently come to the conclusion that I need to work on my positivity, my outlook on the human species, and my inability to give people a chance to show their good side instead of insinuating there must be something wrong.

I hung out with a group of people last night and actually allowed myself to enjoy peoples company without focusing on what could be negative. Went out to play pool and avoided blowing up on a sleazy, dirty old man…two points for me. This is going to take a lot of time and a lot of practice but I’m willing. Yay me.

And then I go to work.

And I listen to the tirades of a old angry woman. I listen to her curse and yell about the conspiracies against her. I listen and even advise her to speak with our manager (yes, she’s a co-worker). And then, she slips in some little dialogue about the favoritism that I have received. Because I have not been scheduled to work at 5am in the past several weeks. And how that is unfair in relation to the fact she she has in fact worked all morning shifts. That someone else has been denied a guaranteed day off to pursue college courses…and here I am getting to sleep in.

Well, fuck me running.

Furthermore, I find out from MULTIPLE co-workers that she has gone on several little tirades about me and the fact that I don’t work morning shifts. She had the audacity to BOLD FACE lie and say I have an arrangement with the manager so I don’t have to work mornings.

Oh no, bitch, oh no.

“Don’t you think it’s messed up that she doesn’t have to work morning and we do, that you can’t go to school but she gets a special schedule, isn’t that upsetting, I should make more money than she does, I wish I could come to work to sit on my ass and be pretty.”

Sit on my ass and be pretty? Because according to this haggard old cranky ass…that’s what I get paid to do.

Let’s see…

Tomorrow, I will be at work at 7am. I will work until 1pm. I will drive to my second job and work from 1:30 to 9pm. I will then go pick up my son and spend time with my boy until he is good and ready to go to sleep. I will sit on my pretty little ass on Monday since it is my off day, which entails me chasing my son around the house, reading to him, playing with him even though I am exhausted, and attempting to clean our hell hole. Somewhere in there, I will devote 3-5 hours at the welfare office in which I will apply (under the advisement of my attorney) for food stamps since, despite working two jobs, I still fall below poverty level. I will also attempt to fathom how I will pay all of my bills and give my son something remotely resembling a Christmas without losing my mind or focusing on the fact that for the past 20 months, my son has been shortened over $8000.00 that he will never get back and 8 grand that could have spared me a lot of fucking tear filled nights. I will rinse and repeat for Tuesday and manage to include a divorce mediation session that will emotionally rock me to the core. Wednesday, I will sit on my pretty little ass for 9 hours, the same Thursday and on Friday I will chase my son around yet again until he leaves for his fathers house. I will then take my pretty ass to bed and sleep (BECAUSE I’M FUCKING LAZY) and get as much rest as I can in before I go to work at 5am and get off of work at 9pm. That is a 16 hour day. WHICH I WILL DO AGAIN ON SUNDAY BEFORE PICKING UP MY SON AND PREPARING FOR ANOTHER FUCKING WEEK.

Sounds like a walk in the park.

So…in short – the next time some droopy old cunt decides to talk shit on me and questions my integrity as a worker, I would just like to give a shout out reminder that my work day does not start or end when I walk through those doors. That my work stress is the LEAST of my fucking problems. That there is NOTHING she could do in the entirety of her meaningless existence that will remotely compare to what I do in a day.

Fuck you very much.

Goodnight.

 

1.166 – Pool Rant

I took my son to the pool today. We enjoyed the sun, the warmth, the water, some snacks and bonding time. But there was definitely plenty to not enjoy. So here’s my letter to the dumbass’ of the pool.

Dear JerkFace Parents: When you pick up your yearly pool pass, you sign a contract that specifically says: NO ALCOHOL AT THE POOL. Why the hell are you morons carrying around bottles of Budweiser? You trashy alcoholics couldn’t wait until AFTER you take your kids to the pool to get wasted? Couldn’t hold off your typical display of neglect as you chug at the booze while your child dives into two feet of water? Seriously? I hate your face and I hope you die.

Dear Children of The Above JerkFace Parents: I pity you since you were born to inbred future DUI cases BUT I’m not your momma. You are not allowed to take my sons toys for your own pleasure just because your parents didn’t bring anything for you to play with. This is a pool. Play with the fucking water. And the next time you snatch something from my son, I will pick you up, take you to a very dark corner and explicitly explain how Santa Claus ass rapes the Easter Bunny until you shit yourself into a coma.

Dear Teenage Girls: If you cannot afford a bathing suit – feel free to stay home. I do not wish to see dental floss covering your bits. And if you’re going to wear dental floss: SHAVE. Pubic hair is not sexy at the pool. Invest in a Bic and save everyone the horror of seeing your nappy carpet-crotch.

Dear Teenage Boys: Stop doing back flips into the pool to impress the girls in dental floss. They are not impressed now and they will not be impressed when you crack your face open. I’m just saying.

Dear Clouds: You are evil. Do not wait until I get into the water to cover up the sun. This causes me to be cold. And I don’t like being cold. So cut that shit out. I’m not kidding.

Dear Bugs: DIE.

Yep, that’s it. I’m not going to say Happy Memorial Day because I think we need to remember those who have fallen for our freedom EVERY DAY. Making a BBQ and getting wasted sure as shit doesn’t equate to a thank you for the sacrifices so many soldiers have made. Whether you believe in war or not; someone has died for your freedoms. Don’t take that for granted.

1.120 – Keep Your VDay

Every year, just about this time, flower shops are flooded with last minute orders, boxed chocolates are flying off the shelves, hallmark is selling out sappy ass sayings, and diamonds glisten as they are set into an abundance of settings. On the flipside – Victoria Secret and every other lingerie chain is swarming with anxious woman.

Yes, I’m one of those people who highly dislikes Valentines Day. I disliked it growing up, I disliked it through the two years of courtship that led to six years of marriage. I dislike it as a single woman and I will, undoubtedly, dislike it as a grown ass spinster.

Lets be real – Valentines Day is a glorified day of prostitution. Guys cough up money for chocolates, flowers, cards, teddy bears, jewelry, and expensive dinners. In turn, women slip on the slinky undergarments (or go without them), the high heels, the skimpy attire, get into beauty mode, and turn into the tigress of her mans dreams.

Fair trade?

Maybe.

But not really.

Are we so fucking programmed that a man can’t do for his woman unless a date is set? Why is the value of a mans love measured in the expense of some shit the girl will care less about this time next year?

Are we so fucking programmed that a woman can’t be a sexual, primal temptress without bribery? She can’t tell if her man cares 364 days of the year? She cant want to be his Aphrodite…just because?

I know guys who will only treat their woman like the queen that she is on Februrary 14th because the world tells him to – instead of showing gratitude, adoration, honor and loyalty all year round.

I know girls who save sexual positions solely for anniversaries, birthdays and Valentines Day. REALLY?

I’m serious about this…For reals reals?

Screw Valentines Day. Magic lives outside of a box on the calendar. He will run a bath for her because he knows the days been hard. He will bring her orchids because he knows she hates roses. He will create something for her because diamonds are not every girls best friend. He will take her to a chill spot with a live acoustic band while they share divine niblets of various cuisines because he knows pretentious “high-end” restaurants make her nervous. He will leave post it’s reminding her of their love the morning after a fight. He will touch her like she is the softest of clay, the smoothest of glass, the swell of her inner thighs being the most precious divine inspiration to have ever blessed his shoulder blades.  He will make her turn into a waterfall with a whisper and rage like fire with a growl. He will be lathered in masculinity, romance, artistic intuition and a charisma in his nervous banter that could never be matched by a perfectly penned card.

Screw Valentines Day. Magic lives outside of a box on the calendar. She will listen to him as he banters on about nothing, massaging him from head to toe. She will stimulate his funny bone, his heart, his soul when she puts aside all of her qualms and truthfully attempts to understand his passions. She will seduce him with her eyes, her lips, the mystery in her smile from across the dinner table…as if it were the first glance. She will remind him why he is her puzzle piece. She will say thank you for being the man that you are…because he needs to hear that truth. She will be his lady in the streets and his freak in daydreams because what she did to his body in between the sheets was that fucking delicious.

They will relish in one another’s magnificence every day, all day. They will listen to the silence between them. They will laugh at themselves and put down all guards and laugh wholeheartedly. They will bask in the reasons chemistry and magic make everyone’s Vday seem like their October 7th. They will be a power couple – spiritually entwined, mentally erotic, emotionally fused, physically drawn, universally recognized as two stars living amongst us.

I want that. So keep your Valentines Day one act. I want the entire performance. Encore. Encore. Encore.

1.20 – You Know What I Hate?

Do you remember the guy on Mad TV? The one that came out in a bathrobe or a towel and screamed “YOU KNOW WHAT I HATE,” followed by things we all despise? I miss that guy. I wish that guy was still around because I would have a list of things for him to scream off right about now. But since he is just an actor who is probably doing other things at the moment – I’ll cover what I hate right here on my modest little blog.

YOU KNOW WHAT I HATE?

I hate prepubescent girls who carry around Victoria Secret bags. YOU ARE 10! You don’t have breasts. You haven’t even sprouted your first pit hairs. What the heck are you doing rocking thongs and lacy bras and garters? Who is looking at your underwear? And we wonder why Teen Mom is flooded with knocked up kids. Because their moronic parents drop them off at the mall in herds, for other people to babysit, and they swipe daddy’s credit card for panties! And then they go to school and show off those panties behind the bleachers and in hallways and BOOM! PREGGO CENTRAL! Buy your daughters grannie panties and a mismatched bra…just one. She will keep that under lock. I guarantee it.

YOU KNOW WHAT I HATE?

People who pass me money that is crumpled. Seriously? Unfold that twenty. Put that bundle of singles in your wallet beside the four bank cards you have and lay them out like a civilized little being. Do not toss your wad of stripper bills at me. If I have to touch your grimey money, the least you could do is present it in a reasonable manner. (Teens do this a lot and it makes me hate their faces. All of them. Forever).

YOU KNOW WHAT I HATE?

Teens swiping bank cards. You are the little sister of the cherry chested tween with the Victoria Secret bag. Why do you have a bank card? Do you know what an allowance is? Where the hell is your mother so I can slap the daylights out of her for creating a future bankruptcy claim.

YOU KNOW WHAT I HATE?

Guys who assume I don’t know how grimy they are. I know your game and I know your intent so lets spare ourselves the back and forth and let me make this crystal clear: I wouldn’t let you touch me if I was using someone else’s kitty. I am, in absolutely no way, interested in what anyone has to offer and if there was some odd chance in the universe I was remotely ready to be close to someone again, I wouldn’t waste it on a dull pencil like you. HAH! (No one will get that except one person). Now go cuddle up with your girlfriend and pretend you aren’t a low-down cheating prick.

YOU KNOW WHAT I HATE?

In-laws. In-laws are the work of the devil. Even when you are free of them, they lurk behind every corner and attempt to create difficult situations in an otherwise civilized experience. I’m gonna get really personal for a second and hope that a fat little gnome gets to read these words somehow: if you ever try to cause problems for my son by yapping that disgusting mouth of yours about me again, I will cause a hell in your world that not even your precious god could save you from. Period.

YOU KNOW WHAT I HATE?

People with superiority complexes. You might have a title next to your name. You might make more money than me. You might be a kinda-sorta-but-not-really successful writer. I do not admire your ugliness for one split second. I do not admire your sad little soul and your unnecessary need to try to make others feel less by publicly humiliating them. I should use this opportunity to teach you. But I won’t. I’m gonna let you make your grave and the next time you decide to be disrespectful – I pray I am a fly on the wall to watch you get socked in the mouth. It’s really easy to mutter something under your breath AFTER someone walks away. It’s really easy to talk down to someone you view as “beneath” you. That’s probably why you’re angry. A word of advice: Get a girl to lay down for two seconds and let the aggression go – I.E Get laid!

YOU KNOW WHAT I HATE?

Writing this. I hate that I’m so frustrated by people. I hate that I let some nonsense get under my skin. I hate that I considered walking away from people who show appreciation for my efforts because I hate dealing with stupidity. I hate that all I can think about is how much I hate things. I hate losing faith in the human species, in the ability to make progress. Do I want people to like my work? Of course. Does that mean I want people to like me/respect me? Yeah, I guess it does.

Today was a day filled with inspiration. None of it seems good. It may/may not find it’s way into my writing (outside of this post) but it was inspiration nonetheless. Of what not to be.