Random Rim Jobs
I swear. True story.Staycation (Part 1)
Posted on February 07, 2012I get alerts from various “deal” sites like Groupon, LivingSocial, PopSugar, and so on on a daily basis. Most of the deals I pass up, but the ones for Brazilian waxes, manicures and pedicures, and neighborhood eateries I usually buy. Every once in a while I go for an inexpensive tooth cleaning or a massage. For the most part I pass up the “getaways” because, well, that sort of lifestyle, even at discount prices, currently eludes us.
So it must have been when we were feeling flush that I saw a deal for a newly remodeled local hotel and asked the Viking if we should spring for a staycation. We did. The deal was for a single night’s stay between January and March, a slow time for tourism in most of the Northern Hemisphere, and especially slow in Chicago since that’s when it’s fucking cold, snowy, and generally miserable.
There the “coupon” sat waiting for me to make a plan for some time between January and March. I had plenty of time. One of the things I had to iron out was arranging for someone to take care of the animals. Well, the animal. Joaquin would have been upset but fine for one night. Probably quite upset. Joaquin, you see, is a very needy kitty. He has a litter box, so he doesn’t have to go outside, and he doesn’t overeat so dry food can be left out all the time. However, Joaquin likes company. He likes company to the degree that every time I take Isis outside he cries at the back door. At least that’s what the Viking has told me. I know he cries from the living room if we’re in the bedroom and all the lights are out. He’s dumb but sweet, and would survive a single night on his own, albeit unhappily.
Isis, on the other hand, needs frequent care and can never be left home alone overnight. She’s not nearly as energetic as she was just a year ago – I guess her 11 years of life have caught up with her quickly – so she usually sleeps through the night, but she has a lot of needs. She needs to go out last thing before she goes to bed and first thing when she wakes up. She needs medication twice a day. She needs wet food mixed in with her dry food at least once a day, though I sometimes do it for her twice a day because I spoil her. The food, by the way, is high-calorie puppy food because though Isis a senior she is also a skinny girl who seems to be a gourmand who only likes her dry food if it’s mixed with fancy canned food. I really wish she had gotten her slender ways from me, but it just seem she’s not that into food. (Yes, I do understand that my dog did not inherit my slow metabolism or my proclivities for overeating; I’m not a moron.)
I had asked my friend Viola – who had puppy sat for a whole week back in late April 2011 when the Viking and I had gone to California and Nevada – if she could stay over for a night. Her living situation had changed so that staying at our place on weekdays was no longer possible. That meant I had to plan our staycation on a weekend. I worried. I figured the coupon deal had the sort of blackout dates similar to airlines even if it wasn’t explicitly noted.
What was explicitly noted – but which I had not noticed – was that the reservation had to be booked by November 1, 2011. It was some time into November 2011 that I bothered to take a look at the small print of the “coupon” and first saw the single caveat. Crap! I didn’t want to forfeit the value of the deal just because I was too dumb to look at its limitations.
I called the number on the voucher and asked to make reservations. I said I was using the deal. I did not preface with an apology for calling after November 1. My plan was to play dumb if I was told that it was too late to make a reservation.
[To be continued ….]
I swear. True story.
I’m Blogging For Choice
Posted on January 22, 2012
Since I’m being political lately, I decided to join NARAL Pro-Choice America for Blog for Choice Day, January 22, 2012. The date is important because it’s the anniversary of Roe v. Wade.
Right wing nut jobs – hello, Rick Santorum – think that court decision and all the hoopla since has been all about killing babies. There is nothing a “pro-abortion” activist likes more than killing babies. I know one of my favorite pastimes is watching piles of dead babies burn as worthless medical waste. The scent of incinerating souls makes me feel a little high, which is how I know I’ll have a great time in hell.
I’d like to think that no one is truly “pro-abortion.” I know I’m not. In my perfect world abortions would not be necessary because everyone who got pregnant would want to be pregnant, and would be able to afford to raise the kid into a productive member of society and all that. In my perfect world there would also be plenty of sexy sex, both potentially procreative and otherwise. In my perfect world everyone who wanted fail-safe birth control would have access to it, thereby preventing any oopsie pregnancies.
Alas, the world is not perfect and sometimes the sperm swim towards eggs without asking if that’s what they should be doing. And sometimes the sperm fertilizes the egg and that egg implants in a welcoming uterus. Then that fertilized egg in its cozy home goes to work splitting and so on. Zygote. Fetus. Birth. Baby. Which is all well and good if the goal is Baby.
If the goal is not Baby there are medical procedures called abortions. No, I don’t think abortions are birth control. I think birth control is birth control. The goal, at least for me, is to make sure a fertilized egg does not find a cozy home in my uterus.
But I like knowing that if the precautions I have taken fail, that I have one more option to assure no Baby. Because I’m way too old to change my selfish, lazy, alcoholic ways now. Besides, my genes are shitty and I probably only have about 20 years of lucid thoughts left.
Due to my diligence with hormonal birth control I have never been pregnant. There was a very short time when I was married that I considered trying to get pregnant but the timing never worked out with the finances or the maturity of the proposed father. It was around then that I had to reassess whether, if I got pregnant through birth control failure, I would have an abortion. For a short time the answer was no, but at all other times it’s been yes.
You see, us ladies have to ask ourselves, “What if?” every time. Not every time we have sex (if we’re using reliable forms of birth control) but every time our life’s circumstances change. Would I have a child now? No fucking way. If, by failure of my IUD I got pregnant, I’d march my ass to my local Planned Parenthood and talk to the folks there about terminating the unwanted, unplanned, and unaffordable pregnancy.
While I’ve never been pregnant, I’ve known plenty of women who have been. Some had babies, some had abortions. Some have done both. Not one person I’ve ever talked to who had an abortion thought it was a pleasant experience or one they wanted to repeat. One called the post-abortion communal recovery room the Room of Sadness. Why would anyone want to hang out in a Room of Sadness?
That is why I am pro-choice. It’s not because I like dead babies (though they can be funny), it’s because I don’t want to have to deal with any sort of Baby thoughts whatsoever, and because I never want to hang out in a Room of Sadness. I choose to avoid Rooms of Sadness by choosing to use safe and effective – and legal – birth control. Of course I’m not the only one. There are lots of us out there.
Which brings me to the “mandate” of Blog for Choice Day: How will you help elect pro-choice candidates in 2012? Fuck, I don’t know.
Yes, I’m lazy, but I’m not that lazy. And I’m not apolitical. When I lived in California it was easy because access to abortions is in the state constitution; NARAL gives the state an A+ in choice-related law.
Illinois, however, gets a B-, which means I have some work to do in my new home. Seems both of Illinois’ US Senators – Richard Durbin and Mark Kirk – are pro-choice, as is the US Representative representing my district, Danny Davis. Of course I know that those folks don’t have anything to do with state laws because I went to public school and learned all about that.
Illinois’ current governor, Pat Quinn is pro-choice, but who knows how long until he’s in prison. (No, I’ve not heard anything, but going by past Illinois’ governors’ track records, I wouldn’t be surprised.) My State Representative Ann Williams is pro-choice. I had some trouble finding out whether Illinois State Senator John Cullerton was pro-choice, and had some doubts considering he’s Catholic. Then I saw that “Illinois Review: crossroads of the conservative community” (Click at your peril because it made my skin crawl.) called Illinois a “pro-abortion” state and said Mr. Cullerton consistently “opposed protecting unborn humans” and I knew he was ok. (Helping my opinion was that he voted for medical marijuana, same-sex civil unions, and stem-cell research.)
What I’ll do to elect pro-choice candidates in 2012 is … vote for the incumbents. See, I am lazy. And that may not be all I’ll do, but I’ll do at least that. Before research for writing this, I had no clue what the voting records or choice-stances were held by the people purporting to represent me. Hell, I didn’t know who represented me. I know now.
Do you know who represents you? Are you happy with their voting records on choice?
Still not convinced you need to do something? Take a look at this easy-to-read infographic provided by NARAL Pro-Choice America:
I swear. True story (that needs to change).
Two Years
Posted on January 19, 2012The Viking and I have been living together for two years as of yesterday. I didn’t post yesterday because my site was dark for SOPA/PIPA protest reasons. We moved in much earlier in our relationship than would probably be advised, but it’s been working. Working quite well.
We lived for nearly a year in San Francisco and now for just over a year in Chicago. It’s all been pretty damn nice.
I get worried sometimes that things will go shitty but the Viking told me to stop being fatalistic. Of course he’s right.
So it’s been two years of happy times, two years of great sex, two years of fun outings (restaurants and museums and such). And two years of gooshy love stuff to which I wouldn’t subject you readers. Suffice it to say that we say things to each other that, if said by another couple, would make me nauseous.
I’m really happy and I hope the Viking and I continue to be happy together.
I swear. True story.
I Know He Loves Me
Posted on January 08, 2012We walked. And walked. The Viking was carrying a box that was pretty heavy. It contained our old “home theater system” that had recently been replaced with a new, sleeker version.
A lot of people, the Viking included, would have put the old system – the amplifier base unit, five speakers, and a subwoofer – out with the trash. Here in Chicago folks don’t pay (directly) for their trash to be collected so people put out a lot of stuff that should not end up in a landfill. I got spoiled in San Francisco where not much ended up in the trash at all since the city also collected recycling and compost of all sorts. Things like home theater systems could be taken to any number of electronics’ recycling days at various public schools since the state gave the school funds based on how much got donated.
It was to one of the schools that the Viking and I carted both the first TV, and last VCR, I ever owned. The TV had been lent to me by my roommate, Gloria, when I moved out on my own when I was 17. She felt sympathetic when she realized I would be living in a tiny studio apartment without a television. It was a 13″ Montgomery Ward model with off white housing I eventually stickered with Dirt Magazine, Sunset Strip Tattoo Parlor (where I got five of my tattoos), and KROQ stickers. I had lived with Gloria and D.J. for a few months beginning literally the day after I graduated from high school, but it was time for me to move on since I had a job and all.
Gloria had only lent me the tv so I endeavored to buy one for myself in a sort of layaway program since I didn’t yet have any credit. Just when I was two payments from getting the new TV Gloria told me I could keep the Montgomery Ward version. I got all my money back from the TV I never got and had the 13″ jobber as my primary television until I bought the Ex a 25″ TV around 2001 (probably because I felt guilty for having cheated on him so damn much). We kept the smaller TV and put it in our bedroom. Problem was, the Ex and I never lived in a place large enough for one TV to be tuned to one show and another tuned to a different show without the sounds competing with each other.
When I was finally free of the Ex and with the Viking I realized that there was no good reason to have a TV in the bedroom. I had stopped watching TV there because usually I had better things to do, like sleep or fuck. When I was married I had watched it a lot when I waited for the Ex to come home from his nights out, but I no longer had an interest in being the kind of person who waited up for someone who had no interest in spending time with me.
The VCR was a basic VCR without much history. I don’t remember when we got it, but I remember when we stopped using it, when we got a TiVo. It had been put in the TiVo box when I got the second generation of that device after I returned a phone to Circuit City. Their very liberal return policy that allowed me to take back a broken phone I had had for over a year in exchange for a device with new television show recording technology (my only “early adopter” move ever) was probably one of the many reasons Circuit City went bankrupt.
It was a nice day that the Viking and I marched my old electronics up the street to the public elementary school on 22nd Street and Caesar Chavez. Thinking about it now, there are few days in San Francisco that aren’t “nice.” After we dropped off the VCR, and the tiny television, and a few other obsolete random electronic devices (I believe an answering machine was in the mix.) I felt good. It felt good to be free of things that had been unnecessarily cluttering up my life, and knowing that they would be recycled properly. I didn’t much give a shit that some public school would get much-needed funds, but that was one of the benefits of responsible disposal.
Knowing that old electronics can be disposed of properly so internal parts that are still useful can be recycled, and internal parts that are toxic don’t end up in landfill, I endeavored to find a place in Chicago where we could get rid of the 10-year-old system that emitted an obnoxiously distracting buzz from the front left speaker and no longer played discs of any sort. It was too far gone to donate to a charity or give to someone.
A Google search led me to the City of Chicago’s website, which, while not too attractive, did provide me with the information I needed. Not the information I wanted, but the information I needed. I would have wanted to read that the city has a fleet of trucks peopled by knowledgeable “recycling specialists” who will come to any home within Chicago’s borders to pick up whatever needs to be discarded in a manner not fit for landfill. Instead, I saw that the city has a recycling facility where anyone – not a business, despite Citizens United – is welcome to drop off items deemed appropriate, please see list of appropriate items.
The drop-off facility wasn’t too, too far away from our place. We’d need to take a bus, but only one bus, and the walking at either end was just a few blocks. If I had to do it alone I’d've taken a cab to the facility and a bus back, but the Viking said he’d help out. Which he later regretted, I’m sure.
The box was just slightly too large for the Viking to be able to hold it comfortably. Before we made it to the bus stop he had to lean the box against a wrought iron fence, a tree, a wall, a fire hydrant so he could readjust his grip. There was only one box so I couldn’t do much more than wait for him while he readjusted again and again. I was able to make his entrance onto the bus easier by tapping his Chicago Card, but otherwise I was just along for moral support. Also, there is no way the Viking would have done it on his own.
Like I said, the Viking would have been happy to put everything out with the trash. The only reason he was taking the trip to the recycling facility on Goose Island was because he knew it made me feel good knowing the thing was properly disposed of. He doesn’t give a shit about the environment. Frankly, I don’t know why I do considering when I die that will be it; I don’t have any kids that’ll inherit the shitty planet. (Nope, I don’t give a shit about the future and I don’t care if your little snotty brats are supposed to be it.)
The 8 Halstead bus has been traveling on a detour for some time since the Halstead Street Bridge is undergoing repairs. We knew this, and were happy that the detour actually took us closer to our destination than did the original route. What we did not realize was that the detour had undergone another reroute as of December 23 so when the bus turned left, away from the recycling facility, rather than right, toward it, we were surprised. We got off the bus and walked.
We walked. And stopped so the Viking could readjust the box. And stopped some more. He was sweating. Sometimes he’d hold the box on one shoulder, sometimes he’d hold it in front of him, but at no time did he have a comfortable grip on the box. When we walked over the Chicago River he said he wanted to chuck the box over the bridge.
He was only partially kidding. If I wasn’t with him he probably would have. By the time we walked over the river the Viking’s back had begun to hurt and he had to stop to readjust even more often. I kept telling him that I was sorry I couldn’t help and that he must really love me if he was going through all that.
On one of his many stops he opened the box and handed me the subwoofer to carry. The subwoofer wasn’t that heavy but the Viking did seem to have a bit of an easier go of it after that. It might aslo have been that he could see the light at the end of the tunnel since we were almost to our destination.
Chicago is a very industrial city. And, surprisingly since the public transportation is so good, a very car-friendly city. It is expected that people have cars. A lot of people do, and they were driving on Goose Island that evening for some reason. Lots of cars, hardly any pedestrians. Except for that one guy who got in the Viking’s face despite the buffer of the big box he was carrying. The trip was turning out to be extremely unpleasant for the Viking but he kept going. Because he loves me.
We turned down the street with the recycling facility and suddenly we were out of sidewalk. There was, of course, plenty of room for cars to park, drive, pollute, annoy, pester, endanger.
Finally we saw some temporary signs indicating where to pull in to the facility. Pull in, in a car. We walked from the street, up a long driveway, and turned before we saw a building that looked like it was the right place. We walked in and happily deposited box ‘o home theater system and subwoofer. The three guys who worked at the facility asked if we walked “all the way from the street;” I guess they thought we had parked on the street. No, guys, we walked a lot farther than that – half a mile (yes, I did the math) from where we got off the bus.
Finally, I was free of the Sony Dream System! I had bought the thing with my ex-husband and then replaced the amplifier with the exact same one some time after Jesus died. Jesus had coincidentally had the self same home theater system which the Ex got when he died. When the Ex and I were still getting along, we switched things around so we both ended up with working home theater systems and big-ass televisions. Well, my TV was smaller than his, but I was perfectly happy with 42″ of high definition viewing pleasure.
The next day, and the day after that, the Viking said his arms were sore from carrying the box. He wasn’t complaining, merely letting me know that his love for me is pretty fucking great.
I swear. True story.
So That Was 2011
Posted on December 31, 2011It was a good year, a very good year. A year of living in Chicago. A year of living with the Viking. A year of taking care of the animals, Isis and Joaquin. A year of taking art classes. A year of meeting new people. A year.
When we moved into our current apartment on January 1, 2011, we saw a lot of beer, liquor, Four Loco, and other assorted alcohol-related receptacles discarded in the “green” space between the sidewalk and the curb. What the fuck is that called? At first I was upset that we’d moved to a neighborhood that had so much litter, but then I realized it was New Year’s Day so the amount of trash was unusual.
Only it wasn’t. Our neighborhood has a lot of litter all the time, year round, thanks to being in a college neighborhood. Those irresponsible drunk fuckers are always tossing aside various things and being general shits. Then there are the sale fliers for various stores close by that come in condom-like bags that hang from doorknobs – there are a lot of those, probably once a week. And there are the restaurant adverts. I always assume that if I place is trying so hard to get business that they must not be that good. I give ‘em a try, but so far I’ve experienced only mediocrity, and a whole lot of trash, from those places.
So we live in a litter-strewn neighborhood. Which is not to say it’s a trashy neighborhood, because it’s anything but. It’s kind of a snobby neighborhood, which is why it’s strange that there’s so much trash that seems to be acceptable. It is.
That was the beginning of the year. We got used to a lot, and we’re still adjusting to some, but it’s been fun and interesting. Until we got our stuff and internet and all that, we hung out at the big, fancy Whole Foods just so we could go online. And eat. And sit on anything but the floor. Then we got our stuff and it was a process to unpack, arrange, donate, and settle. The Viking went to work and I wandered around. I walked Isis in an effort to explore. I took some classes, mostly art, but also film and archery. I kayaked. We had visitors. I had some trouble making friends. We met other people and even had sex with some of them. We had another visitor, my father, and the visit went surprisingly well. The animals are getting older and having ailments that are associated with that sort of thing.
Overall it hasn’t been all that eventful a year, which I like. It’s been pleasant, which I like. I feel so lucky to feel so damn happy.
I have hopes that 2012 will feel as wonderful.
I swear. True story.
badcowboy-2
Posted on December 27, 2011[Warning: This post will come across as bitchy, catty, snarky, and, some will think, just plain mean. Too fucking bad. It's my blog and I'll do what I want with it. Some people are so dumb they don't even know they're being made fun of. Yes, I pick on those less fortunate than myself.
This is the second time writing this because fucking WordPress signed me the fuck out and didn't let me save the draft. Consequently, I'm a wee bit pissed off. That means it might be even bitchier than I originally envisioned.]
I recently received a message on OkCupid, “Nice attitdue and mouth at the bottom. Loved your profile till then. Omg some people actually own a car and might dribe the 20 minutes too you.”
He didn’t seem to like the fact that the final paragraph of my profile is written in all caps and that it says – for the third time in the profile – that I have no interest in anyone who doesn’t live in the city of Chicago, even if he has a car and is willing to come to me. Not that I need to justify my desires, but if a guy lives in the burbs where the fuck are we supposed to fuck, if we want to fuck? I’m sure as shit not going to the burbs. Chicago has great public transportation so there’s no good reason to drive in the city. And the environment and all that.
Even if the guy wasn’t on about a car, he had misspelled four words in three sentences including using the wrong to/too/two. It’s in my fucking profile that spelling, grammar, and punctuation matter to me. Many have complained that those things are unimportant, that the chemistry between the people is what matters. That’s true, but I’ve been doing this long enough to know that I won’t have any chemistry with someone who doesn’t know the difference between “til” and “till.” I suppose all his misspellings could be attributed to typos – he was so angry at seeing that he didn’t qualify for me that he was typing really hard and really fast, mixing up the letters in “attitude,” typing too many letters in “till” and “too,” and missing the V for the B in “drive.” If that’s the case, then he’s careless, something to which I am not attracted.
I’m also not attracted to pointless lashing out. He saw that we weren’t a match but instead of moving on he felt the need to send his carefully worded message. I had one for him as well, “So you went out of your way to send me a misspelled message because you like your car? I would think that with all the entertaining options out there you’d have something better to do.”
That would have been that, but he couldn’t let it go so he sent another message, “And your still complaining[.]“ That’s it, motherfucker. I was being nice before, but then he sent me a message without the courtesy of a fucking period (or the correct your/you’re).
“And you still don’t know how to spell. Lame shithead.”
Then I took a look at his profile. So many gems all in one place!
This is his main profile picture. The quality is astounding!
In the “details” section he indicated that he was a basic white guy with a college education. That, and that he claimed to be fluent in English both surprised me, but I guess education isn’t what it used to be.
He had recently updated his profile including wishing readers a Merry Christmas, and asking for suggestions on how to have better luck on OkCupid. Because I’m all generous and shit I decided to read the rest of the profile so I could give him some advice.
Under “What I’m doing with my life”:
I am tired, so many projects so little time.. I just redid my whole front of my truck,I was all over the road before this. N Good for another 300k
I try to eat healthy as much as possible but not a freak about it. Still need my coke. Sorry folks ya need some taste aka fat. No fat = no taste.
I walk often and been doing that since I was a kid. Always to this day walk around my neighborhood almost everyday. Sundays at the flea market much walk 2 – 4 miles.
I have some nice plants in my back yard that came with the house and trying to improve upon every year. My butterfly bush is so big and flowery should see all the butterflies I get. Also threw some tomatoes out last year in the yard for the animals ( as I love animals even find spiders in my house and let them outside instead of squashing )and some how they sprouted plants this year. Cool
Of course it’s just plain poorly written. Though he indicated that he never did drugs, I guess he’s unwilling to consider his daily cocaine habit; he needs it so it must be medicine. My absolute favorite – every time I read it I laugh out loud, literally – is “I walk often and have been doing that since I was a kid.” Really, you’ve been walking since you learned how to walk? How amazing. Basically, the guy just seems really fucking boring, and not too smart.
He’s “really good at”:
Shooting stick, golf, tennis, bowling, air hockey, darts, computers and restoring older cars. Love riding Quads Chevelle. Can fix almost anything and have the second largest tool box sears makes to prove that. It is cheaper to do the job and buy the tools to do it then have it done. When you buy good tools they last forever too. I have my dads tools and maybe some of his dads. Got some big tools and always wanting bigger ones. Craftsman tools and Chevy cars / trucks.
Real men don’t need instructions. (seen that one a T-Shirt at Sears and loved it fits me well)
Interesting facts:
I haven’t had a credit card in 10 years.
I haven’t had a full time job in 10 years or so.
I have 5 college degrees and two minors.
Associates in Applied Science
Associates in Arts
Associates in Computer Science
Bachelors in Computer Science with Certificate in Information Security
Bachelors in Interdisciplinary Studies with Minor in Management Information SystemsI have two certifications
Comp Tia A Plus
Comp Tia SecurityI have many cars and trucks.
I have never broken a bone.
I never owned a new car or new lawnmower
I can fix almost anythingMy last few cars and trucks were under $500 (my truck I currently drive has over 288k and not scared to take it anywhere. Love big tires and the noise they make down the road.).
I think he wants bigger tools because he wants a bigger tool in his pants. 
Mostly though the guy is a tool. Did he realize he was writing his profile to attract potential sex partners? Because it reads like he’s looking for a buddy. And he’s not even ambitious: Why doesn’t he have Sears’ largest tool box?
The guy may have five college degrees, but the guy is still a ‘tard. An associate degree is, in effect cancelled out by a bachelors degree. There’s no point in him mentioning the lower degrees after he earned his higher ones. As the Viking said, “It’s like saying he completed a four year program, as well as the first two years of that program.” (Or something like that, I wasn’t recording him.) I’m surprised he didn’t mention that he graduated from junior high and high school, or that he walked to school.
The Viking assured me that all the degrees and certificates make the guy one of those annoying IT guys you might have at your office, not a programmer or anything that would allow him to actually create things.
He has no clue what people first notice about him but guesses it’s his blue eyes. How the fuck can anyone tell what color his eyes are when he posts pictures like this? My guess is that no one notices him at all.
He mostly listens to country music and was nice enough to provide a link to a play list. Toby Keith, Garth Brooks, Lonestar, Keith Urban, and even Johnny Cash. I wonder if he knows that “Hurt” was not originally Johnny’s. He likes 80s and 90s music. Way to go out there and expand beyond what you listened to on the radio when you were a kid, buddy.
Like CSI shows, some sci fi and muscle car and 4 x 4 shows on Spike on Sat and Sun mornings.
Mexican and ItalianLike Pizzera Unio, Cheesecake Factory, Cracker Barrel and Northwoods.
A good home cooked pot roast w mashed potatoes is the bomb or even using the grill.
This guy is boring as shit. Why did he think we’d get along?! His most heinous crime is his taste in restaurants. Yep, I’m a food snob, which is one of the many reasons I don’t like the burbs, where the choices seem to be limited to shitty chain restaurants. At least he can cook, and even use a grill.
I may focus on sex a lot, but isn’t the point of meeting someone via OkCupid to eventually have sex? So I appreciate it when a guy’s profile says one of the six things he couldn’t do without is sex or women, or some combination thereof. Our cowboy, here, listed only five things, three of them being modes of transportation. The other two were computer and cats. Just. So. Fucking. Boring.
He spends “a lot of time thinking about” getting a masters, but what seems to be holding him up is that he’ll have to shell out about a grand for GMAT prep classes because he had a low GPA. Told you he was a dummy.
Then I began to feel kind of sorry for the guy because he said he spends a lot of time thinking about whether he’ll “find the one” for him, and he admits he’s no good at approaching women (though he wrote “woman”) “or understanding any of them.” Poor, sad, lonely, dumb, bad food eating, boring guy. I get the idea that maybe Mom wasn’t around. He definitely never had sisters. But surely by the time a person is 37 he’ll have figured out how to talk to the objects of his affection. From his messages to me I think he’s still in the elementary school stage of hitting girls and running away when he likes them. Yet he posted not one, but two, photos out of which he’s cut a woman. Yep, it’s true that he doesn’t understand women, or how not to be tacky. I especially like that he took the time to cut out the woman (or women) but then didn’t bother to crop the rest of the photo. This guy’s no visual artist.
I still have no clue why he bothered to get to the bottom of my profile considering he’s looking for women who are single. It’s probably that he’s dumb and doesn’t know OkCupid’s difference between “single” and “available,” something I’ve had to explain to a couple of guys.
I no longer felt pity for him when I read his “you should message me if” section:
Not looking for penpals. If you need more then a month of back and forth daily emails and not ready to get past the first meeting it will not work.Please send a personal emailnot something like “we have lots in common” . Tell me what made you reply, Else I know you didn’t read my profile.Your in good shape, not scared to get dirty and have no kids.
Live in the area not hours away unless its STL or AZ. .Must have a full picture not just your head. Must not be scared to meet. ;)Side note : If I save you as a favorite, its cause we like your profile but getting tired of writing long personals emails only to be deleted and sometimes never read just deleted. Yet you woman cant find a good man. So feel free to say hey.Thanks so much
Every fucking grammar, spelling, and punctuation mistake made me hate him more. And his demands made me know that he’s a fucking ridiculous loner who probably has never had an adult relationship.
And then I saw why he got to the end of my profile, “not scared to get dirty.” He saw that I listed myself as bisexual and thought I must be “dirty.” While I am quite dirty, not every person who considers herself bisexual wants threesomes and so on. Or maybe he meant he wanted someone to help fix things with him, who wouldn’t fuss when she got dirt under her natural (he hates fakes) fingernails. When his writing is so shitty it’s no wonder it’s not clear what the fuck his version of “dirty” means.
That he’s making such demands, they must be in shape and child-free, when he’s not provided that information himself just screams how clueless he is. Inexplicably he makes an exception to his rule that the lady should be close geographically with the city of Seattle and the state of Arizona. Huh?
I like how he thinks he knows what any of the women to whom he writes does with his messages. How the fuck would he know if the messages are 1) read, 2) deleted, or 3) deleted prior to reading? Since it takes him so much brain power to compose messages, he’s upset that they don’t get responses. I’m not the only one who cares about grammar, etc.
I like how he switched to the royal “we;” I’m sure he knows why he did it. “Yet you woman can’t find a good man.” No, she (cause he must be talking to a single woman) just finds you not a good man.
Notice that he’s not smiling with teeth in any of these photos? That’s a sure sign of some fucked up teeth. At least he knows enough to hide ‘em.
I was still nice enough to give him some advice: “You’re not having any luck on OkC b/c your profile makes you seem dumb and boring. Just a little tip for you. You’re welcome. “Coke” is the drink, “coke” is the drug.” Then I blocked him.
I swear. True story.
Is it (that) Hard?
Posted on December 19, 2011This week the book MWF Seeking BFF comes out. I don’t notice when most books come out so this book, about a woman who moves to Chicago because of her partner’s job (sound familiar?) and then spends a year looking for a best friend, must’ve struck a chord. I’m still not sure if I’m going to bother to read it.
I’ve been in Chicago a year and I don’t have a BFF here. I have a good friend whom I see about once a month when she comes into the big city from the ‘burbs. I’ve met a lot of people that I thought maybe could be my friend but so far nothing’s worked out.
I know that friendly relationships are like romantic ones in that you just have to keep cycling through them until eventually you find someone with whom you click, but it’s time consuming, nerve wracking, and heartbreaking. At least with romantic (read, sexual) relationships I can resort to sex if we don’t have much to say to each other.
I tried strictly platonic Craig’s List listings with no success. Of course I could go back and beat the dead horse some more but I just don’t have the energy to wade through oceans of stupidity.
Through Meetup.com I signed up for a group that seemed like it could be fun. The host said our activities were to truly bond, not just to meet acquaintances. To that end, she planned drunken brunches, Brazilian waxes, sex shops, and tattoo and piercing events for our meetups. Fun! I used to have groups of girlfriends with whom I’d go to spas and such, and I love me a drunken brunch, so I was in. Bonus was that the Meetup organizer was also new to Chicago so we could commiserate with each other over winter woes (she was from Texas).
The first time I met ladies from the group was a brunch of the drunken variety. We all started out sober, but that didn’t last long in a place where the mimosas were bottomless. The food was decent, too, especially considering it, too, was bottomless. Over buffet food and lots of mimosas we talked, but the true sharing didn’t happen until we started playing “Never Have I Ever.” Turned out one of the ladies at the table had never given a blow job and another lady had never kissed a girl. The one who hadn’t had cock in her mouth had been kissing only girls until very recently and had yet to get a taste for cock, and the one who had never kissed a girl hadn’t had the drunken coed experience despite having very recently completed Ohio State.
After our adult bonding the whole group went to a sex shop where quite a few of us bought some toys. No one was freaked out by the store, and after our game of “Never Have I Ever” it would have been odd if anyone was. They didn’t seem phased at all when I bought a strap-on harness. I ran for the bus saying a fond goodbye to my new friends.
Well, “friends.” I didn’t have anyone’s phone number; any contact was through the Meetup.com page. I was excited that I had had a fun day with a group of ladies. I wasn’t concerned that everyone else who had attended the brunch seemed to already know each other; there has to be a first time meeting for everyone, right? The group had proved itself to be open minded, and alcohol-, queer-, and swear-friendly so I was in.
The next time we got together was at a tattoo and piercing studio. I had been planning a tattoo for a long time but had never gotten around to it in San Francisco so I knew exactly what I wanted. I showed up slightly early and set about getting the tattoo. I was going to get it whether the other ladies showed up, but a little social support would have been nice. When I didn’t see them I figured most everyone had canceled and the host canceled the Meetup altogether since the last time I checked out the site. But I was going to get a tattoo no matter what.
After the artist drew what he thought I wanted and I approved it, he set about getting his station ready. Just as he called me back, the Meetup host showed up. She said that she and the other ladies had met earlier at a bar in order to build up courage. I don’t know if the host thought I was some sort of teetotaler – and she shouldn’t have considering our initial meeting over many mimosas – but I told her that drinking before a tattoo or piercing is not a good idea since alcohol can thin the blood, which can be troublesome, especially for a tattoo.
As I began getting tattooed, the host went to retrieve the other ladies from the bar. Everyone else showed up just as my tattoo was getting bandaged so none of them saw it fresh. A couple of the ladies got tattoos and a couple other got piercings.
Afterwards we went to a pretty dead sports bar across the street. We chatted, and some of the conversation turned bawdy, but before too long someone wanted to get “supplies” for her new piercing and rather than stay by myself at a bar that was blasting whatever game was on, I opted to go home.
By this time the host and I had exchanged numbers. We texted each other some asking after our new body adornments, but that was it.
I RSVPd that I would go to several more of the group’s meeting, and I wanted to go, but then finances were such that it was silly for me to go out to dinner when there was food in the house, that it was silly for me to get a Brazilian wax when there was a beard trimmer in the house, that it was silly for me to go out drinking when there was booze in the house, so I RSVPd that I couldn’t go. The next time I was actually able to see them I would explain the situation.
I got a text when the ladies were out to Greek food (a thing here in Chicago) that they wished I had made it. How sweet! I was looking forward to the next drunken brunch at another place with bottomless mimosas. If nothing else, the Meetup group would allow me to survey bottomless mimosa brunches in Chicago.
When the brunch was still a couple of weeks off I got an official, do-no-respond-to-this-message message from Meetup.com letting me know the Meetup group was no more. Wha? The group’s site on Meetup.com said that the group was no longer active, but still noted the upcoming events. I was very curious so I texted the host. She didn’t respond. Well, I was sure I’d get a full explanation at the brunch.
And then the brunch was canceled. I never heard directly from the Meetup’s host so I have no idea why the group was dissolved. The insecure child in me thinks the group was dissolved just so the rest of the ladies could get together without the possibility of me showing up, but that’s silly, right? When we got together we had fun, I thought. Sure, I wasn’t into going out dancing at clubs, but I wouldn’t have been into doing that with anyone, no matter what their skin color.
Did I mention that I was the only white girl in the group? And I only bring this up because I brought it up to a couple of people who’ve lived in Chicago longer than I, and they suggested that that might be the reason the group was dissolved. They said Chicago is a very segregated city. Maybe I just live in a white privilege bubble, but I don’t see why if that is so that it has to go on being so. The things I felt I didn’t have in common with any of the ladies from the group – cock sucking experience, lady kissing experience – had absolutely nothing to do with race as far as I could tell. Or I’m just naive.
I’ve met a few ladies through OkCupid, but I guess that forum makes it necessary that there’s some sort of sexual spark if the “friendship” is to develop. And I would love to again have a friend with whom I like hanging and also fucking, but just the hanging part would absolutely be enough for me right now. One lady said I was too intense. One lady seemed as enthused to meet me as I was to meet her but then things fizzled out, I think because I’m not kinky enough, whatever that means. One lady I’m still not sure about.
I don’t have the fortitude to do a lady date a week for a year in order to find a friend like the woman who wrote MWF Seeking BFF, but I suppose I should keep trying.
