Bitch, please, edition: I AM EXHAUSTED

My friend Melissa sent me a link to this book on Amazon.com today and asked me to blog about it…in a bad way. Um, challenge accepted.

The book, Get Married This Year: 365 Days to “I Do”, is just a pile of nonsense and preying on the girls who think they have to be married by a certain age (i.e. me, five years ago).

Here is the description:

Forget waiting for Mr. Right! You can go out and find “The One” yourself when you follow this plan. Celebrated relationship expert Dr. Janet Blair Page has distilled the very best of her acclaimed dating class at Emory University—the one covered by CNN, FOX, Good Morning America, and The Early Show—into this one-of-a-kind book. She’s helped bring thousands of singles true love—and now it’s your turn!

Your To-Do List This Year:

  • Today: Get to know yourself.
  • Next Month: Figure out what you really want from your man.
  • Month 3: Learn how to get out of your own way.
  • Month 6: Take the field and find the right guy.
  • Month 10: Make the big decision.
  • Month 12: Get married!

The power is yours—and with Dr. Page’s guidance, you’ll use that power to meet and marry your Perfect Guy. From designing the ultimate Spouse Shopping List to getting the right guy to commit, this tried-and-true method gives you the blueprint you need to take charge of your love life and find love that can last a lifetime—in only 12 months or less!

BITCH, PLEASE: You think that someone can get to know themselves in a day/week/month? I’ve been in therapy for eight fucking years (on and off) and I still don’t know myself. I do stupid things, and fall for the wrong people (as much as I don’t want to), and how the fuck do you suggest I can fix that in 30-fucking days?? FUCK OFF.

Not only that, she only factors in six months between finding the right guy and getting married. Planning a wedding can take more than six months, let alone finding someone and knowing within in four that you want to marry them. What the FUCK is your problem, lady? All your stupid ass book is going to do is increase the divorce rate when people rush to the altar after taking your stupid fucking advice.

And what is with the shopping list? Men are not avocados, and you cannot hand pick the perfect one, you stupid bitch.

But, there’s more!

There are three main sections to the book, what you are doing wrong, beginning the search and on the road to happily ever after. There are numerous worksheets, self-assessment quizzes, lists such as the spouse shopping list and numerous suggests for self-reflection included throughout the book. There are also short “Love Notes” and “Love Stories” that are fun and interesting.

BITCH, PLEASE: You honestly think a fucking worksheet is going to solve my problem? I ALREADY KNOW WHAT I AM DOING WRONG AND A WORKSHEET IS NOT THE ANSWER. I hate you.

One of the most unique concepts Page describes is the “Love Resume” used to create a catalog of past relationships. Each chapter begins with a myth and a truth phrase. One sample is that the right person will complete you, the myth. The truth, the right person will be a good match for the person you happen to be.

BITCH, PLEASE: A love resume? Really? I mean, okay fine, I am writing a book of “love resumes” but it is to make fun of myself for being a dumbass, I’m not using past fuckery to use towards future happiness. The past is the past and we know what we did wrong, and we don’t need a fucking worksheet for your fucking truth vs. myths.

It is no surprise that people who bought this book also bought Patti Stanger’s, which basically has the exact same title.

Now if you will excuse me, I am off to chug some vino.

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Bitch, Please – the “why do you exist?” edition

Yesterday, this post, Female ‘Purity’ Is Bullshit from Jezebel was making its rounds – I skimmed it, because while I do like the site, they tend to sometimes be very wordy and wax a bit too philosophical for my taste. However, I understood the rage, so decided to read the original piece that Lindy West was (rightfully) ranting about.

So basically some anonymous dude too scared to attach his inane ramblings to a name said that all women are worthless sluts. I think. His piece is titled Why Good Girls Have Become As Extinct As Unicorns. We haven’t even gotten to the text before the first Bitch, please. (Also, the grammatical errors – discuss)

Bitch, please: For something to be extinct, it needs to have actually existed and I BELIEVE that unicorns are mythical creatures. So, basically, you’re a fucking dumb-ass.

PointSure you can call it generation YOLO and women seizing the moment and just living life and having fun like they like to call it, but it just leaves me hoping I never end up with a daughter. nowadays values are corrupted and it’s seems its all about having fun: the quick sex, the quick thrill and the terrible Facebook photos that you get tagged in the next day, but there has to be some sort of a line.

Bitch, please: So, we’re not allowed to have fun? And what do YOU, Mr. Fuckwit, know about values, given what you’re writing? I already have a headache. Did you write this as some sort of parody, or was it supposed to be serious? If it was supposed to be serious, I suggest that you go back in time to live with apes and unicorns. Also this “line” that you speak of…what would you know about lines? As Joey Tribiani once said, you’re so far over the line, the line is a dot to you.

Point: For men, it’s great that these women have decided to become just like us. They’ve taken the male approach to sex and the way we treat the other gender. It is almost like they have become a mirror image of men in our love for a multitude of partners. This is great, because it cuts out a lot of the hard work that men used to have to go through to woo a woman to get what they ultimately want.

Bitch, please: Your logic is so mind-numbingly non-existent, I actually think I lost IQ points reading this.

You don’t want us to be sluts without morals, but your only goal is to sleep with us – that’s kind of a conundrum for you, yes? Blow up dolls exist because of guys like you. Go buy one.

Point: Sure women have become independent, which is a great feat and should constantly be encouraged, but that is the positive side of women rising to power in our society. With every pro there happens to be a con, and the con here is that most of these women have completely lost all respect for themselves, and their morals along the way.

Bitch, please: Praising us and then bashing us in the same breath. You should be more concerned about YOUR morals rather than ours. I suspect that your penis is the size of a golf pencil and having sex with you would be like bumper cars, so now you’re all bitter. You’re being so extreme with the offensive stereotypes, I thought I would have some fun and do the same.

Point: They’ve become thirsty for attention, from posting half naked photos on Instagram to having their whole lives exposed on the internet, through the course of hashtags. Then you have drugs, cocaine and molly being predominant, and many women addicted to prescription pills to help their “anxiety.” In short, women have become easy, but they have also become broken — and eventually become undesirable because no one stays hot forever.

Bitch, please: This is oddly specific. I am not addicted to drugs, nor are any of my friends, nor are we posting half-naked duck face selfies on Instagram. And no one stays hot forever, huh? We’re back to those elusive morals you speak of. If you had them, you would realize physical beauty has nothing to do with anything. You’ve seen Beauty and the Beast, right?

Point: Sure we men are to blame for this as well, but that is because we are idiots. It all comes down to perception. Women see us drool over that hot girl that is standing half naked in her default picture or see us go wild when we easily get the number to a hot girl we just met on the street. To a man’s perception this seems “right” because it’s exactly what we want: sex without much effort. But for women from the outside looking in, they think that this is what we want, and it skews their perception.

Bitch, please: Wow, your admission of stupidity is the first smart thing that you’ve said! And then you go right back off the rails. Contradicting yourself in back-to-back sentences. Let me try to pretend you’re in kindergarten (though that is an insult to a 5-year old’s intelligence) and spell this out for you in a way you can understand. FIRST, you said all you ever want to eat for snack is apples (all men want is sex without effort). THEN you said you couldn’t understand why girls share their apples with you, which they are doing because you said you liked them (we’re all sluts). NEXT, you threw the apple into the garbage disposal because you don’t WANT our apples (you don’t understand why we think all men want is sex without effort when in the previous sentence you said all men want is sex without effort – BUT NOT FROM A SLUT). You get an F- in logic, and in life.

Point: Good girls gone bad, the city is filled with them to paraphrase the great Jay-Z. The problem is that it’s not just the city, but society as a whole. Men are to blame for this because we encourage such behavior and give these girls the attention they want when they are dressed up like complete retards at EDM shows and when they are in their bikinis on Instagram. But women are also to blame in giving this artificial persona of what men call hot or not.

Bitch, please: You’ve lost me. Furthermore, what city do you live in? You should also know that you are coming off as more bitter than I am, and that’s hard. Some girl did a number on you. You’re fooling no one (except maybe yourself).

Point: Sure I’m an asshole that loves to take advantage of women who are willing to bang me without me having to offer too much, but at the same time I am also a gentleman that knows how to treat a lady with respect and compassion just like any other true lady should be treated.

Bitch, please: My eyes just rolled so far back I think they fell out. You…I can’t….I CAN’T EVEN FORM COMPLETE THOUGHTS. What is your definition of a true lady? How have you demonstrated that you’re a gentleman? If you want to just fuck around, fine, but don’t then come at us with the, “I have no other choice,” logic, since you apparently have girls flinging themselves at you left and right. Do not try to convince us you are a gentleman – just own the fact that you are a horrible person with no intelligence or morals or intelligence and get on with your life.

Point: The truth of the matter is that you can’t change women that are already broken, so those are the ones that men use for exactly what we want: sex with no strings attached. Because it’s easy and it’s right in front of us. But at some point in time, through the course of our lives, we are going to grow out of chasing someone that has been with everyone. Sure being a bachelor is fun and all, the stories are great, bragging to our friends is epic, but we are eventually going to want more out of a female than just sex.

Bitch, please: Oh PLEASE. Since when does not being a virgin (it’s all or nothing with you, isn’t it??) equal being broken? Also, as West puts it: Everyone makes unhealthy choices sometimes. Life is long and complex. Everyone has sex with partners they regret, and strays out of their comfort zone for the wrong reasons, and enters into self-destructive relationships with the best intentions. But those choices are unhealthy for the person making them, not for anyone else. And those choices have no bearing whatsoever on anyone’s worth as a human being. Sometimes perspective, born out of pain, can actually make life richer. Your good choices are yours and your bad choices are yours too. You’re trying to justify being a giant man-whore by blaming us for making the idiotic choice of sleeping with you. Yes, I definitely think you are who I would go to for love advice.

PointThat is when we want to settle down, but with a lady who has respect for herself, morals — and there isn’t one guy out there that can have a bad story to tell about her — like the time she had a threesome in a London hostel while studying abroad.

Bitch, Please: Again – oddly specific to the point where I think you were fine until your girlfriend had a threesome in a London hostel and broke you. Which means you are beyond repair. Check fucking mate.

Point: Because of the double standard that is in place between men and women, finding a girl of this nature wasn’t that hard decades ago because women actually held high standards for themselves and demanded men to treat them properly before they gave them what they wanted.

Bitch, Please: So you want someone with no bad stories or experiences? You might regret that decision when this becomes your sex life:

Point: The truth of the matter nowadays is that good girls, as we like to call them, don’t really exist. They are unicorns. You are lucky if you come across one that is actually who she says she is. We sometimes even joke that our future wives are currently in Kindergarten because it is comforting to know that she is currently playing with blocks and not swinging from dick to dick because they sell her a good enough story. And when she’s 18 we’ll snap her right up and she’ll have no exposure to being a slut.

Bitch, Please: At least you have finally admitted unicorns don’t exist. Other than that…I hate to break it to you but not all 18-year old girls are virgin and the farther down you knock the age you want to snap them up at…well, I don’t even want to go there.

Point: Men are going to want to settle down with a good girl, a girl that is respectable and not someone that has been with everyone — as that is every man’s fear. The older you get, the more you realize that it is a fantasy that doesn’t actually exist. When you actually meet one, you will refuse to admit she’s real anyways.

Bitch, Please: What is your definition of “everyone?” Is one too many? This brings me back to the blow up doll. Please just get one and promise me you will never reproduce. I am begging you. Otherwise, you will end up like this:

Point: My question is what happened to a girl impressing us with her intellect and being able to hold a conversation past: do you come here often? Why has it become the standard that women have to impress men by flashing their tits or dressing up half naked? Sure we may seem dumb when we are chasing smuts, but when we do actually want to settle down with a female, she has to meet the standards that we have for a girl with whom we want to settle down.

Bitch, Please: I’ve lost the will to argue with you anymore. You cannot be saved.

Point: Through my experiences, as well as the experiences of many other men, it’s hard to come across a good girl or a unicorn. We’re not asking for much here, just a girl that respects herself and is smart to the point where she would understand us.

Bitch, Please: No one will ever understand you because you make no fucking sense!

Point: But then there is the other side of the spectrum, that when we do actually find a unicorn and settle down, our ego gets a bit ahead of ourselves and we find them a bit too boring for our liking, so we decide to cheat. It’s like a double-edged sword. You realize it wasn’t getting the unicorn, but rather attracting something you thought never existed. It always is about the chase and never about the perfection of the woman. And that is the mindset of men in the 21st century.

What we look for is a lady on the street and a freak in the bed, as Ludacris once explained. The problem is that most girls are freaks everywhere, which leaves us with fewer options when trying to settle down. Unicorns are tough to find, and if you do stumble upon one, do everything in your power to hold onto her, as the chase is only fun for so long — and we do have a sense of compassion and companionship we like to share with a partner.

Those are the natural instincts of a man. Ladies, men are not going to respect you if you don’t respect yourselves. It’s that simple.

Bitch, Please: Annnnnd we’re back to the unicorns. Now you’re saying the woman you want isn’t good enough after a while and you’re going to cheat?????? YOU ARE LITERALLY THE WORST PERSON ON THE PLANET RIGHT NOW AND I HAVE ONLY ONE MESSAGE FOR ANY GIRL THAT COMES NEAR YOU:

I know many women who respect themselves  but I can most assuredly say not only do you not understand the concept of respect, you don’t understand the concept of life.

And now another BITCH, PLEASE segment, brought to you by Princeton (UPDATED)

Jezebel posted this story earlier about how a FEMALE Princeton alum wrote a letter to the editor of the Daily Princetonian wanting to share her pearls of Ivy League wisdom by telling “the daughters [she] never had” to know that they’re screwed for life if they don’t snag a Princeton prince by first semester freshman year.”

I am trying to access the DP’s site to read this gem in its entirely but legitimately think Jezebel’s post caused all of us doomed, irate, 30-somethings to head on over to the site and give them the what for and as of right now I am pretty sure the site has crashed. So I have to do this somewhat blindly based on Jezebel’s post unless the site miraculously starts working again.

Point: For most of you, the cornerstone of your future and happiness will be inextricably linked to the man you marry, and you will never again have this concentration of men who are worthy of you.

BITCH, PLEASE: This is what you’re telling Princeton students? Really? This is your advice. Can we TALK about the quality of boys I met my freshman year? The overly beautiful president of Kappa Sig, who went by Tennessee, had perfect blue eyes and a southern drawl and would not give me the time of day even though I tried and forced my friend in KKG to give me his AIM name (SHUT IT, IT WAS 1999) and when I tried to chat with him he was like I literally do not know who you are. Then there was the dude whose dad worked for United and was just using me for my Comm 101 notes because all our professor did was talk about his canary yellow Nissan XTerra so Bob never went to class and even though I skipped every other class, he thought something was better than nothing. OR we can talk about the guy who offered to help me study for my first EVER midterm and stupid naive me actually brought my notes and all HE wanted to do was make out – cut to me getting a D-!!! I don’t give two shits that I didn’t go to Princeton, and p.s. this is not 1973 and 18-year old boys are not interested in meeting a long-term girlfriend the minute their parents unpack them and then drive off to their Connecticut mansion in their BMW. They want to get drunk and plow everything in site and YOUR ADVICE is that we should marry one of them? Pffffft. Oh, and by the WAY, I found a MOST FLATTERING picture of you:

wicked stepmother

Point: (Talking about how she went to some event there): I attended the event with my best friend since our freshman year in 1973. You girls glazed over at preliminary comments about our professional accomplishments and the importance of networking. Then the conversation shifted in tone and interest level when one of you asked how have Kendall and I sustained a friendship for 40 years. You asked if we were ever jealous of each other. You asked about the value of our friendship, about our husbands and children. Clearly, you don’t want any more career advice. At your core, you know that there are other things that you need that nobody is addressing. A lifelong friend is one of them. Finding the right man to marry is another.

BITCH, PLEASE: But most of all they need a good therapistAnd, instead of steering them back to your accomplishments, whatever they may be, or perhaps offering that there is more to life than meeting your future spouse when you’re 18, you fed in to their petty bullshit questions? Furthermore, if that’s all they TRULY care about, I am concerned these girls are hogging admission spots at Princeton that could be used by people who ACTUALLY WANT AN IVY LEAGUE DEGREE rather than a rich man fishing pole.

Jezebel notes that: Her two sons are both Princetonians; one already married a classmate of his, although he “could have married anyone,” but, lucky for Princeton ladies, her younger son is still a junior — catch him while you can! — although “the universe of women he can marry is limitless,” as he is a man who aced his SATs.

BITCH, PLEASE: I truly pity your current and future daughter-in-laws because you sound like a delusional whack job.

Point: Here is another truth that you know, but nobody is talking about. As freshman women, you have four classes of men to choose from. Every year, you lose the men in the senior class, and you become older than the class of incoming freshman men. So, by the time you are a senior, you basically have only the men in your own class to choose from, and frankly, they now have four classes of women to choose from. Maybe you should have been a little nicer to these guys when you were freshmen?

BITCH, PLEASE: I seriously feel like my head might explode now. We’ve already addressed how most people do not marry someone they meet their freshman year. But college is about finding yourself and learning what you are and what you are not. Why the fuck would anyone want to latch on immediately to a relationship before they even have a chance to experience classes and all-nighters and roommates and adjusting to life away from home for the first time? Is this really what you’re condoning? Not only finding a husband before you graduate, but an older one? GOD FORBID A WOMAN DATES A YOUNGER MAN. God forbid ANY OF US graduate single and experience life and can do whatever we want, even if that means moving ten times in like a year and half because we are trying to figure things out and we don’t have to drag someone else around with us because some Princeton alum convinced us it was A LIFE NECESSITY to meet your future spouse above all else? And what if (GASP) someone decides they don’t WANT to get married? Are we doomed to fail in life because you’re still living in the 1870’s?

LADY, I am embarrassed for you and your poor son who is still there and will probably never get laid again because no woman in her right mind would want to marry into your family.

I can’t even form coherent sentences I am so mad.

UPDATE – Below is the letter in its entirety. Now the comments section won’t load. The fun never ends!

Advice for the young women of Princeton: the daughters I never had
Forget about having it all, or not having it all, leaning in or leaning out — here’s what you really need to know that nobody is telling you.

For years (decades, really) we have been bombarded with advice on professional advancement, breaking through that glass ceiling and achieving work-life balance. We can figure that out — we are Princeton women. If anyone can overcome professional obstacles, it will be our brilliant, resourceful, very well-educated selves.

A few weeks ago, I attended the Women and Leadership conference on campus that featured a conversation between President Shirley Tilghman and Wilson School professor Anne-Marie Slaughter, and I participated in the breakout session afterward that allowed current undergraduate women to speak informally with older and presumably wiser alumnae. I attended the event with my best friend since our freshman year in 1973. You girls glazed over at preliminary comments about our professional accomplishments and the importance of networking. Then the conversation shifted in tone and interest level when one of you asked how have Kendall and I sustained a friendship for 40 years. You asked if we were ever jealous of each other. You asked about the value of our friendship, about our husbands and children. Clearly, you don’t want any more career advice. At your core, you know that there are other things that you need that nobody is addressing. A lifelong friend is one of them. Finding the right man to marry is another.

When I was an undergraduate in the mid-seventies, the 200 pioneer women in my class would talk about navigating the virile plains of Princeton as a precursor to professional success. Never being one to shy away from expressing an unpopular opinion, I said that I wanted to get married and have children. It was seen as heresy.

For most of you, the cornerstone of your future and happiness will be inextricably linked to the man you marry, and you will never again have this concentration of men who are worthy of you.

Here’s what nobody is telling you: Find a husband on campus before you graduate. Yes, I went there.

I am the mother of two sons who are both Princetonians. My older son had the good judgment and great fortune to marry a classmate of his, but he could have married anyone. My younger son is a junior and the universe of women he can marry is limitless. Men regularly marry women who are younger, less intelligent, less educated. It’s amazing how forgiving men can be about a woman’s lack of erudition, if she is exceptionally pretty. Smart women can’t (shouldn’t) marry men who aren’t at least their intellectual equal. As Princeton women, we have almost priced ourselves out of the market. Simply put, there is a very limited population of men who are as smart or smarter than we are. And I say again — you will never again be surrounded by this concentration of men who are worthy of you.

Of course, once you graduate, you will meet men who are your intellectual equal — just not that many of them. And, you could choose to marry a man who has other things to recommend him besides a soaring intellect. But ultimately, it will frustrate you to be with a man who just isn’t as smart as you.

Here is another truth that you know, but nobody is talking about. As freshman women, you have four classes of men to choose from. Every year, you lose the men in the senior class, and you become older than the class of incoming freshman men. So, by the time you are a senior, you basically have only the men in your own class to choose from, and frankly, they now have four classes of women to choose from. Maybe you should have been a little nicer to these guys when you were freshmen?

If I had daughters, this is what I would be telling them.

Susan A. Patton ’77

President of the Class of 1977

New York, N.Y.

The 5 Stages of Grief: Chicago’s Transition to Spring

chicago_winter_by_gsyp59-d4j8xfr

Ahhh, spring. One of my favorite seasons as the bitter cold fades into warm nights; trees blossom, birds chirp, and… what the fuck is this, a Danielle Steel novel? Spring means warmth, and that’s all I care about. Apparently, however, Chicago does not believe in seasons. Many people joke we only have two here: winter and construction.

Apparently, today was the first day of spring, but you wouldn’t know it, because it was 3-degrees and felt like fucking February. Typical. So, this is pretty much the thought process I normally experience as a Chicago winter attempts to transition into spring.

1. Denial and Isolation – 

It’s not going to be this cold. This is a fluke. Tomorrow will be 50. The gym? What are you, nuts? I’m not going to the gym! I’m not doing anything but going home and putting on sweatpants. Not because it’s subzero wind chills at the end of March, but because IT IS SUBZERO WIND CHILLS AT THE END OF MARCH and I don’t NEED to go to the gym because I have mastered the art of turning a ten minute walk into a two-minute sprint to escape as quickly as possible the feeling that someone LIT MY FACE ON FIRE.

2. Anger – 

Who the FUCK do you think you are, Chicago? Three degrees on the first day of Spring? What is this, a test? You know what? I moved here from goddamn San Diego! That’s like trading in Tom Brady for Fat Bastard. And this is my reward? Frostbite and the urge to move to Florida? You know what? FUCK YOU!

3. Bargaining – 

Okay, that was rude. I didn’t mean it. 40. Can I have 40-degrees? That’s fair, right? I’m not asking for 70-degrees in March, I just want to walk outside without my eyes immediately starting to water and my entire body feeling like someone threw me in Lake Michigan. In January.

4. Depression – 

I just miss being outside! I miss my city! I miss the boat cruises on the lake and the lazy Sunday’s sitting outside enjoying a cold drink and the warmth. My god the warmth. I will never feel warmth again.

5. Acceptance – 

So, we can’t control the weather. It’ll be okay. Eventually it’ll be warm again. In the meantime, I’ll be sitting in front of the nearest fireplace for the next month.

Fun with G-Chat

google_talk_large-thumb-615x291-94195

Ah GMail – it is a wonderful thing. It auto-archives all my chats and between that and me keeping all e-mails, I now have about 400 million options of WTF to pick from for the book. Of course, not everything can go in there, but some chats are just too good not to at least talk about. So I now present to you, “Fun with GChat, 2009”:

Scene One:

Me: yeah he is definitely being shady

Anon: my friends are telling me to drop him like a hot potato. I don’t think that’s necessarily fair. I don’t think it’s a lost cause. I agree that he’s being an idiot and shady as hell, but I’ve been there, sort of, and if he ever gets his head out of his ass I think it will be worth the trouble. Just, you know, hoping that actually happens.

AND, SCENE.

Okay, what we have here is a lot of excuses and a lot of over analyzing. But what we DO NOT have is someone to say, “Hey, he’s being shady. End of story. Let’s go with: this is not and never will be worth the trouble.” Or if we did have that, we wouldn’t listen anyway.

Scene Two, a continuation:

Me: yeah. Then again you also don’t want to catch him on the rebound. Those never end well. For example, me & Dr. Evil.

Anon: true enough

Me: I love how at your party, in front of Beth, Ben was like, “we’ve both seen Dr. Evil’s Mini-Me”.

Anon: OMFG, that was hilarious.

Me: I know it totally was, but poor Beth was probably like this girl is a WHORE, and then with Ben talking about the strip club, all that’s getting back to John Doe, I would almost guarantee.

Anon: well so what?! Let it!

Me: well, you remember the game telephone, right? I whisper: I have a crush on Pat and by the end it turns into Turtle sex is funny. So this will be like an innocent story gone awry, by the time it gets back to him I will have done a body shot off a stripper’s cleavage before having a threesome in the back room.

AND, SCENE.

What we have here is a disaster. Let’s do this in bullets, it’s easier:

  • Issue 1 = Beth. Beth was a girl I met at a party John Doe and his roommates had one weekend. Because he was nice to her, I immediately felt that if I befriended her, he would in turn be nice to me and realize how amazing I am. False, false and more false. Plus Beth was a nice girl, but one of the most boring people on the planet.
  • Issue 2 = Our friend Ben talking about Dr. Evil (another story for another day) in front of Beth, which involved me going to a strip club with Dr. E the first night we met. BUT I THOUGHT WE WERE ON OUR WAY TO A BAR. Not to mention we were in the middle of nowhere, Wisconsin, so I was pretty much stranded. However, after that, I can say that strip clubs are not all that big of a deal. Yawn.
  • Issue 3 = Fearing and hoping at the same time this story would get back to John Doe. So many issues, so little time.
  • Issue 4 = See issues 1-3.

Scene Three:

After discovering I correctly predicted two friends would end up dating:

Me: since I seem to be able to sense these things, I am going to speculate that John Doe & Amanda are something. When her number got called to race a turtle she like threw her arms up and he grabbed her hand and they walked over together with their arms up holding hands. I was like, “ANOTHER DRINK PLEASE THANKS.”

Anon: oh my.

Me: and they had dinner together

Anon: oh wow, yeah, you might be right

Me: all nice and fucking cozy

AND, SCENE.

First let me elaborate on the turtle. There is at least one bar in Chicago that has turtle racing on Friday nights. It is literally the dumbest, most boring thing you could imagine, but I went because John Doe was going. You actually can’t feel anything but bad for the poor things, they are so confused. I mean they don’t get hurt or anything, but it is still pretty lame watching them wander around and then having people try to decide which turtle won, since they are usually waddling around in circles.

Anyway. That night at the races was an emotional landmine for me – watching JD chat up and be normal with other girls while completely ignoring me. Eventually I’d had enough of my own sulking and just left, but not before convincing myself that he and Amanda were an item.

Nothing but a waste of time – and unfortunately, there is plenty more where that came from.

1+3=5

I have previously mentioned I am terrible at dating. There is nothing worse than having an awesome four-and-a-half hour first date, only to be no closer to a second date four weeks later. (It’s not you! It’s me! It’s too cold! I’m too tired!)

Oh, but how the times have changed. Even five years ago I would have moaned and obsessed and wondered. Now I’m sort of like, “if you don’t want to go out with me again, then stop being up my ass on Facebook. K thx bye.”

It’s very easy to hate things you are bad at, or be bad at the things you hate.

I genuinely HATE dating. When you meet someone online, the first date is usually your first time meeting them in person. If it’s someone you met drunk at a bar/party/on the street (if you’ve seen Clark St. during Cubs season you know what I am talking about), you go into the date wondering if you’ll like each other sober. There’s so much pressure. No one ever has the same end-result in mind. WE MAKE THINGS TOO FUCKING COMPLICATED. It’s not enough to like someone anymore. Now you need to have a fucking bachelor’s degree in texting, masters in body language and a Ph. fucking D in properly playing the game so you can come off as interested yet not crazy yet not TOO interested because that’s a turn-off, yet if you’re too aloof and they stop texting you back you’re all, hey WAIT a minute, I was playing it cool and now you’re fucking some random skank who was willing to put out while I wanted to build something meaningful so I lose either way and if this is what dating is like I’d just rather not – thank you VERY much.

Over the weekend I hit my limit with Mr. No 2nd Date and literally told him to have a nice life because I wasn’t an idiot and I can tell when someone is not interested. This was after the “too tired” excuse. Then of course the next day, he is whining on Facebook that he did nothing but sit on his couch on Saturday night.

Let me pull out my instructional manual and/or doctoral dissertation to decipher that passive-aggressive attempt at sympathy.

Was this lame status update

A) a non-apology apology?

B) fucking stupid

C) I told you that we have to have a Ph. D in this shit.

D) I could NOT care less what the meaning of that status was. I know five years ago it would have led to a two-hour phone call with my best friend trying to figure out the meaning behind it. Now I’m all, “you have no one to blame but yourself, dickwad.”

At least even the best daters sometimes still had problems:

It’s too cold and I’m too old

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Apparently, it’s too cold to go on dates. I was potentially meeting “Gordon Bombay” for date #2 yesterday but then he texted to say it was “too fucking cold” and we should do it another night. I mean, he’s right, it’s like -20 here, but still. “Too cold” is just another way of saying “not interested.”

I think I need to tweak my first date radar – over the summer I had what I thought was an awesome date with a guy who went on to text me but not ask me out again – I finally had to tell him to not text me unless he planned on asking me out again, and lo and behold, I have not heard from him since.

I used to be legitimately afraid of living alone and being alone. I was afraid I would be lonely and hate being by myself and I’d get bored. Well, none of these things have happened and I love it – and still have the same social life that I did when I had two roommates. So being alone is no longer a fear of mine. And I’d rather be alone than deal with this bullshit:

“Oh, I had a good time on our date, but I’m actually dating four other people and well, I’m just not really willing to commit, until you see me “In a relationship with Skanky McHoebag in about a month and then you’ll realize I actually DIDN’T have a good time and it was you not me.”

I will now leave you with the greatest movie scene of all time (as it pertains to this post, at least):