Random Rim Jobs

[Continued from "My Buddy Ozzie (Part 2)."]

I want to make it clear, dear readers, that I was having fun with Ozzie.  I liked correcting him because he didn’t like it.  I liked going through his emails point by point because he did the typical asshole thing of equating singleness with loneliness, calling single women “cat ladies,” resorting to insulting a woman based on her looks, and generally showing himself to be an asshole.

I am still writing to you.  You, Ozzie, amuse me.  I find your poor writing comical so I’m glad I am able to give back by amusing you and your coworkers.

I am not a lonely cat lady.  Actually, we haven’t even established that I am a lady.  I will now establish it:  I am a lady.  I am also a woman with just two X chromosomes and the appearance and plumbing that goes along with that genetic gift.  I do have a cat; you got that right, too.  Congratulations, Ozzie, you’ve made two correct guesses.  But here is where you go terribly wrong.

According to UrbanDictionary.com‘s definition of “cat lady,” I am not one.  A “cat lady” is old.  I am not old, Ozzie, I am younger than your stated age of 42, and we’ve all heard that people are living longer all the time.  According to this chart, a woman my age can expect to live to be about 75, and since I’m not even within 30 years of my 75th birthday I do not consider myself old.  I can see how someone much younger than me would consider me old, but we needn’t address that since, as you said, you are older than me.

The other reason I am not a “cat lady” is that I have only one cat.  Every “cat lady” definition requires said old lady to own multiple cats.  I have just one.  His name is Joaquin and he’s quite cute.  I’ve attached a photo of him enjoying some fresh air.  I hope you like it.

Ozzie, you and your coworkers keep getting things only partially right, and that’s just a shame.  I do not have several Hitachis.  By “Hitachi” I assume you mean Hitachi Magic Wand, the so-called Cadillac of vibrators.  Because Magic Wands are so great, I have only one.  It’s trusty and always at the ready to provide me not only with back massages, but also with stimulation of a more … shall we say … intimate nature.  When it breaks, I’ll happily replace it, but until it does, I am a one-Hitachi girl.

I assume “100 responses my ass!” was your way of scoffing at my claim that I have received hundreds (Plural, buddy, read closely.) of responses to Craig’s List ads I have placed.  I have no way of proving it to you, and for that I’m sorry since you clearly won’t take my word for it.

Ozzie, one of my pet peeves is when people use the wrong your/you’re.  Since we’re just getting to know each other I realize you didn’t know that and that is why you’ve written to me so carelessly using the wrong one.  Please don’t do that again.

As for me being homely, I am not.  I would send you a photo of me, but with facial recognition software and such I’m worried that you, Ozzie, might become a little stalkerish.  My mother did not raise a fool, and I do not wish to invite you to gaze upon my lovely countenance.  I know you will take this to mean that you are right, that I am unlovely, but please know that I have not once lied to you in any way whatsoever.

It’s funny that you say my ass couldn’t get a date.  It’s funny because it is precisely my ass that got me a date (and a lot more) with my current partner.  I know you’re curious, Ozzie, so I’ll tell you.  My ass – well a picture of it – was on a website of an adult nature.  I had entered a fun contest of, yep, asses.  My current partner, then stranger, was so taken with my ass that he did some research (he’s good at that) and found my Online presence.  We happened to live in the same city and he asked me out for lunch.  The rest is history.  I swear.  True story.

I do not surf Craig’s List all day, Ozzie.  I happened to be bored in the wee hours of last night and thought I’d take a look.  Sometimes the ads provide amusement.  Sometimes the ads compel me act.  Yours did both.  I am not on Craig’s List right now, Ozzie, I am writing to you.  I am taking the time to write to you.  Like I said, you amuse me.

Ozzie, dear, you did not hear me say anything, and as I am not a retard, I did not find it necessary to say out loud what I was typing.  Ozzie, you and I have never met.  You have no idea what my voice sounds like.  If, by chance, you have heard me because, say, you happen to be my upstairs neighbor, please, for all that is holy, stop with the noisy wrestling matches on the weekends.

I’m not sure why being up at 2am – or 2pm for that matter – has anything to do with whether someone is a “loser” in your mind.  Not everyone has the same schedule as you.  I looked, and there is no such thing as Ozzie Time.

Who do I think I am?  Again, Ozzie, I would tell you exactly who I am, but I really have absolutely no interest in you coming around my way.  Why?  Well, Ozzie, I get the distinct impression that while you may want to have sex with women, you don’t especially like them.  It seemed very easy for you to attack me (calling me a lonely, fat, homely, feline-obsessed, masturbating bitch) after I said that your writing made you look like a moron.  I have no idea if you are, in fact a moron, but I do know that what you’ve written both in your Craig’s List ad and your emails to me make you appear as though you have the brain power and social skills of a drunken high school jock.

I find it lame, Ozzie, that you, a white man in his 40s, has adopted the vernacular of urban youth.  Really, “beeeyotch”?  Come on, Ozzie, you’re an adult.  Act and write like one.

You keep calling me a lonely loser, but you’re the one who placed the Craig’s List ad.  Are you projecting, Ozzie?

No, I didn’t think I’m going to change this guy’s mind in any way, but he was providing me with material and I had been a little behind on posts.

To be continued ….

I swear.  True story.