Men suck.
All I Want Is For One Guy To Prove To Me That They’re Not All The Same
Men suck.
Guys are assholes.
Here’s a thought – maybe it’s not men who suck.
Maybe it’s your taste in men that sucks.
Maybe the problem is you keep dating men you don’t really like, so you’re constantly trying to fix them,
which turns them into an asshole
and you into a nag.
You become obsessed with changing them –
instead of waiting for a real man, you settled for a real hobby.
But then you don’t want to leave them because you have so much work invested in fixing them up –
nobody wants to find out they just put new tires on a rental car.
So you stay.
And get bitter.
And resentful.
And become convinced that all men are assholes.
And you start forwarding e-mail jokes to your friends:
Why do women always have to be on top during sex?
Because all men know how to do is fuck up.
No.
The reason you’re on top during sex
is because you always fuck men who are beneath you.
And why do you keep settling?
Maybe because you don’t know how to be alone.
Some people can only handle themselves as a plural –
Me is terrifying.
Us brings security.
Us brings shared responsibility.
Us brings shared blame.
If we is miserable, there’s someone else to blame.
If me is miserable, me has not one to blame but herself.
Me has to make herself happy.
Much easier to expect we to magically do it.
Monday, November 30, 2009
You Raging Alcoholic
You don't drink too much.
Sure, you enjoy a little wine with dinner, and an evening cocktail, the occasional early mimosa or bloody mary. Maybe a beer or three with your movie. But you don't think you drink too much.
Then it comes time to carry out your recycling.
Holy Sweet Mother of Dussledorf, that's a lot of bottles.
There's a walk of shame that puts your drinking into perspective - the long trek to the curb with your recycle bin. And regardless of how gently you walk the bottles clang like a prayer-bell calling all to come offer up their sorrowful laments for your sad addiction.
After a good weekend there's too much for the orange bin (after all, it only holds about 15 gallons) so you have to line the overflow of empty bottles up on the sidewalk like a funeral procession for your liver.
The one redeeming factor is that you do entertain a lot - in our numbers we are mighty, and our guilt is dispersed among us all.
Thank god condoms aren't recyclable. The disparity between the fullness of my alcohol-bottle recycle bin and the emptiness of my condom recycle bin (like new - still has the wrapper on it!) would paint a very heartbreaking picture of my world.
Sure, you enjoy a little wine with dinner, and an evening cocktail, the occasional early mimosa or bloody mary. Maybe a beer or three with your movie. But you don't think you drink too much.
Then it comes time to carry out your recycling.
Holy Sweet Mother of Dussledorf, that's a lot of bottles.
There's a walk of shame that puts your drinking into perspective - the long trek to the curb with your recycle bin. And regardless of how gently you walk the bottles clang like a prayer-bell calling all to come offer up their sorrowful laments for your sad addiction.
After a good weekend there's too much for the orange bin (after all, it only holds about 15 gallons) so you have to line the overflow of empty bottles up on the sidewalk like a funeral procession for your liver.
The one redeeming factor is that you do entertain a lot - in our numbers we are mighty, and our guilt is dispersed among us all.
Thank god condoms aren't recyclable. The disparity between the fullness of my alcohol-bottle recycle bin and the emptiness of my condom recycle bin (like new - still has the wrapper on it!) would paint a very heartbreaking picture of my world.
Your Flip Flops Make Baby Jesus Cry
Among males, flip flops should be the purview exclusively of Young Gay Men.
First, the term ‘flip flop’ is faggotty. Straight men don’t wear intransitive verbs. Sure, there are ‘hiking boots’, ‘running shoes’, ‘welding masks’, but those are all actions we do to shit, not things they do on their own. Flip flops tend to both flip and flop of their own volition, heedless of our desires. Straight men, tending to be insecure, are not comfortable with autonomous footwear. Sadly, many straight men are still adjusting to the concept of women being able to vote and drive trucks, much less sandals whack-smacking their soles. (on a sidenote, “faggotty” is not a homophobic word – it refers exclusively to those things that even a man dressed as a pink Care bear on a Pride Parade float would find to be a little over the top.)
Second, the pedicure – or lack thereof. I know metro men get pedicures, but we’re not talking about those line-blurrers here, we’re talking about traditional Budlovers who rank pedicures somewhere on the gay scale between melon ballers and karaoke-ing Stevie Nicks songs. Thus their toes look like they’ve been busy rebuilding engines or wrestling small, hairy dogs. Those are not display toes.
Third, straight men wear flip flops because they’re quick and easy to put on. Young Gay Men wear flip flops because they’re quick and easy to take off-- and they have a much better chance of needing to get undressed in a hurry. Always have their eyes on the goal posts, these boys.
Accept it, my fellow breeders – gay men can pull off casual much better than we can. Tank tops, flip flops, half-shirts, sleeveless shirts, no shirt… the reason they can make it work is because we all know that if they want to (and are willing to ignore any standards) they’re going to get laid tonight, and you can’t argue with success.
First, the term ‘flip flop’ is faggotty. Straight men don’t wear intransitive verbs. Sure, there are ‘hiking boots’, ‘running shoes’, ‘welding masks’, but those are all actions we do to shit, not things they do on their own. Flip flops tend to both flip and flop of their own volition, heedless of our desires. Straight men, tending to be insecure, are not comfortable with autonomous footwear. Sadly, many straight men are still adjusting to the concept of women being able to vote and drive trucks, much less sandals whack-smacking their soles. (on a sidenote, “faggotty” is not a homophobic word – it refers exclusively to those things that even a man dressed as a pink Care bear on a Pride Parade float would find to be a little over the top.)
Second, the pedicure – or lack thereof. I know metro men get pedicures, but we’re not talking about those line-blurrers here, we’re talking about traditional Budlovers who rank pedicures somewhere on the gay scale between melon ballers and karaoke-ing Stevie Nicks songs. Thus their toes look like they’ve been busy rebuilding engines or wrestling small, hairy dogs. Those are not display toes.
Third, straight men wear flip flops because they’re quick and easy to put on. Young Gay Men wear flip flops because they’re quick and easy to take off-- and they have a much better chance of needing to get undressed in a hurry. Always have their eyes on the goal posts, these boys.
Accept it, my fellow breeders – gay men can pull off casual much better than we can. Tank tops, flip flops, half-shirts, sleeveless shirts, no shirt… the reason they can make it work is because we all know that if they want to (and are willing to ignore any standards) they’re going to get laid tonight, and you can’t argue with success.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Obama prize...
I'm sure I'm not the first, nor will I be the last:
“YO OBAMA, I’MA LET YOU FINISH, BUT I JUST WANNA SAY THAT JIMMY CARTER WAS THE BEST NOBEL PRIZE WINNER OF ALL TIME.”
“YO OBAMA, I’MA LET YOU FINISH, BUT I JUST WANNA SAY THAT JIMMY CARTER WAS THE BEST NOBEL PRIZE WINNER OF ALL TIME.”
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Drunk Monkeys!!!
Besides being an adorable video of moneys stealing drinks, it's also a fascinating examination of the genetic links to alcoholism. The same percentage of moneys and humans are alcoholics, casual drinkers and teetotalers.
We are something like 98% genetically identical, after all.
We are something like 98% genetically identical, after all.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Why women don't hump nice guys...
In response to my earlier blog about men who fear commitment/women who are addicted to commitment, several women pointed out that it's often the man who wants commitment when all the woman is looking for is a good time – or at least a sane time. This brings us to “The Nice Guy."
The Nice Guy just wants to find a woman who isn't afraid of opening her heart, a woman who is willing to give him a chance, a woman who will love like she's never been hurt. Sure, she's been hurt before, but that's because she's always dating Assholes. He'll be different. He's a Nice Guy. But she won't give him a chance, because women don't like Nice Guys.
Bullshit.
You're nice, but you're also a needy, clingy, spineless sycophant. "Nice" isn't the reason they won't sleep with you, "nice" is the excuse they give for not sleeping with you. The truth is, you're a boring, bland dud… who is ALSO a nice guy. It's not the "nice" part of that equation that's keeping you lonely. You’re quiet and unassuming, but only because you have nothing to say – you’re like a walking parenthetical with nothing between the parentheses.
And the main reason you are so nice is because it's the only way you can get people to hang out with you. Because you're boring. Stop offering to drive people to the airport and start reading books so you have something to talk about. Stop being a shoulder to cry on, and start being hands that cook and feet that dance and legs that bike and eyes that hunger and a heart that seeks.
Just because you lack negatives, that doesn’t make you a positive. It just makes you a zero. You gotta earn it.
The Nice Guy just wants to find a woman who isn't afraid of opening her heart, a woman who is willing to give him a chance, a woman who will love like she's never been hurt. Sure, she's been hurt before, but that's because she's always dating Assholes. He'll be different. He's a Nice Guy. But she won't give him a chance, because women don't like Nice Guys.
Bullshit.
You're nice, but you're also a needy, clingy, spineless sycophant. "Nice" isn't the reason they won't sleep with you, "nice" is the excuse they give for not sleeping with you. The truth is, you're a boring, bland dud… who is ALSO a nice guy. It's not the "nice" part of that equation that's keeping you lonely. You’re quiet and unassuming, but only because you have nothing to say – you’re like a walking parenthetical with nothing between the parentheses.
And the main reason you are so nice is because it's the only way you can get people to hang out with you. Because you're boring. Stop offering to drive people to the airport and start reading books so you have something to talk about. Stop being a shoulder to cry on, and start being hands that cook and feet that dance and legs that bike and eyes that hunger and a heart that seeks.
Just because you lack negatives, that doesn’t make you a positive. It just makes you a zero. You gotta earn it.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Fadish tattoos, and the insecure lot who get them
Disclaimer: If you are insecure about your body art, this post will offend you. Not in the way that Kid Rock's existence offends the entire cosmos, nor in the way that Olive Garden offends the entire nation of Italy. More like the way that getting his ass slapped by a teammate offends the football player who then gets an unwanted erection. If you're secure, this won't bug you. And for the record, I was totally thinking about a chick when i got that erection. A female chick.
Tattoos:
I just don’t get it.
And I used to hesitate saying anything about tattoos because people take offense and see it as a personal attack. But then I realized that if they give a shit what I think, then they got their tattoos for the wrong reason. If you love your tattoos, more power to you!!! Revel in them, love them, and don’t give a fuck what anybody else has to say.
I don’t like tattoos. I know it’s a generational thing – when I was young (ssssoooo long ago) the only people who had tattoos were marines and bikers. And thank God(dess) for that, because I came of age during the late 80s. If tattoos had been popular then I shudder to think what images would be speaking their inky heresy from my flesh – a Duran Duran album cover (hello Nagel )? A scrap of Spandau Ballet lyrics? The phoenix from a Trans Am hood? The moon wearing a pair of Ray Bans (“Dude, you don’t get it? Sunglasses at Night! That song ROCKS!”)
There’s a certain arrogance to the act of getting a tattoo, because not only are you saying that this is a great idea, you’re saying that you believe you’ll always think it’s a great idea. A tattoo doesn’t just say “this is what my taste is”, it says that you’re confident that this is what your taste will always be. It’s an assumption that your tastes will never change, develop, evolve, or mature. “Grenades on my biceps – now and forever!” It’s like decorating your college dorm room and then sticking with that exact same look for the rest of your life.
Some people’s bodies become like scrapbooks for fads – a permanent record of things meant to be temporary.
Ooooo barbed wire! I remember 1998!
Cherries?! Oh, 2001, what a magical year you were.
Chinese characters?! 2003, that takes me back.
And do you ever get the feeling that one day in 2007, 10 million women simultaneously said “You know what, I’m going to get a star tattoo. No one has star tattoos!” And then the next morning they all looked at each other and said “Oh, well son of a bitch. Wait, what time did you get yours done? 10:45? Ha! Got mine done at 10:30… I was so far ahead of you.”
The problem is you have no control over who else gets the same tattoo as you-- remember when you first saw a guy with a tribal tattoo on his arm and you thought “Ya, that looks kinda cool"-- now you see a guy with a tribal tattoo on his arm you're like "douchebag! DOUCHE BAG!!!" Congratulations, you are now part of a tribe you never wanted to belong to – “We are the Tribe of Poor Decision Makers. We have a Tribal Tattoo, a rowing machine in the closet, the DVD box set of Friends, several pairs of Crocs, and a “W. 04” bumper sticker. So many mistakes…so many, many mistakes”
There are the more original ‘statement’ tattoos, which I never understood either. “This tattoo says a lot about who I am.” Oh. I thought who you are was supposed to say a lot about who you are – I didn’t realize you could just put a label on yourself:
“I’m sexy! You can tell, because right here it says “Sexxy!”
Oh, ya. Right above where it says “classy”. Nice.
My favorite statement tattoo – someone had the phrase “This too shall pass” tattooed on her wrist. A laudable sentiment, but is there no small irony in the idea of having a philosophy of impermanence recorded in permanent inks? “This too shall pass” seems a sentiment more appropriate for a transitory medium, like an Etch-A-Sketch or a GM warranty.
Seriously, just think about it first. If your first thought is “I want a tattoo” and then your second thought is ‘Now, what should I get…” then you probably shouldn’t get a tattoo. Talk to someone who has a lot of tattoos, and ask how many of them are covering up older, even shittier tattoos. Notice the trend: if someone at 25 has to cover up the mistakes of 20, chances are they’re going to be back there at 30 wondering what the hell they were thinking at 25.
Regret should live in your heart, not on your flesh.
Tattoos:
I just don’t get it.
And I used to hesitate saying anything about tattoos because people take offense and see it as a personal attack. But then I realized that if they give a shit what I think, then they got their tattoos for the wrong reason. If you love your tattoos, more power to you!!! Revel in them, love them, and don’t give a fuck what anybody else has to say.
I don’t like tattoos. I know it’s a generational thing – when I was young (ssssoooo long ago) the only people who had tattoos were marines and bikers. And thank God(dess) for that, because I came of age during the late 80s. If tattoos had been popular then I shudder to think what images would be speaking their inky heresy from my flesh – a Duran Duran album cover (hello Nagel )? A scrap of Spandau Ballet lyrics? The phoenix from a Trans Am hood? The moon wearing a pair of Ray Bans (“Dude, you don’t get it? Sunglasses at Night! That song ROCKS!”)
There’s a certain arrogance to the act of getting a tattoo, because not only are you saying that this is a great idea, you’re saying that you believe you’ll always think it’s a great idea. A tattoo doesn’t just say “this is what my taste is”, it says that you’re confident that this is what your taste will always be. It’s an assumption that your tastes will never change, develop, evolve, or mature. “Grenades on my biceps – now and forever!” It’s like decorating your college dorm room and then sticking with that exact same look for the rest of your life.
Some people’s bodies become like scrapbooks for fads – a permanent record of things meant to be temporary.
Ooooo barbed wire! I remember 1998!
Cherries?! Oh, 2001, what a magical year you were.
Chinese characters?! 2003, that takes me back.
And do you ever get the feeling that one day in 2007, 10 million women simultaneously said “You know what, I’m going to get a star tattoo. No one has star tattoos!” And then the next morning they all looked at each other and said “Oh, well son of a bitch. Wait, what time did you get yours done? 10:45? Ha! Got mine done at 10:30… I was so far ahead of you.”
The problem is you have no control over who else gets the same tattoo as you-- remember when you first saw a guy with a tribal tattoo on his arm and you thought “Ya, that looks kinda cool"-- now you see a guy with a tribal tattoo on his arm you're like "douchebag! DOUCHE BAG!!!" Congratulations, you are now part of a tribe you never wanted to belong to – “We are the Tribe of Poor Decision Makers. We have a Tribal Tattoo, a rowing machine in the closet, the DVD box set of Friends, several pairs of Crocs, and a “W. 04” bumper sticker. So many mistakes…so many, many mistakes”
There are the more original ‘statement’ tattoos, which I never understood either. “This tattoo says a lot about who I am.” Oh. I thought who you are was supposed to say a lot about who you are – I didn’t realize you could just put a label on yourself:
“I’m sexy! You can tell, because right here it says “Sexxy!”
Oh, ya. Right above where it says “classy”. Nice.
My favorite statement tattoo – someone had the phrase “This too shall pass” tattooed on her wrist. A laudable sentiment, but is there no small irony in the idea of having a philosophy of impermanence recorded in permanent inks? “This too shall pass” seems a sentiment more appropriate for a transitory medium, like an Etch-A-Sketch or a GM warranty.
Seriously, just think about it first. If your first thought is “I want a tattoo” and then your second thought is ‘Now, what should I get…” then you probably shouldn’t get a tattoo. Talk to someone who has a lot of tattoos, and ask how many of them are covering up older, even shittier tattoos. Notice the trend: if someone at 25 has to cover up the mistakes of 20, chances are they’re going to be back there at 30 wondering what the hell they were thinking at 25.
Regret should live in your heart, not on your flesh.
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