Friday, May 29
I have quirks (don’t we all)…on the first day of Spring I call up my close friends and sing a song to their voicemail announcing my new season happiness.
In the summer I create a flirty beat-filled, Let’s get it On Playlist on my Ipod. It’s great for spirited walks on hot summer days, or for a quick plug into the sound system at a party. But ultimately I think about getting it on with cute guys while I make it.
I feel comfortable enough to share an abbreviated version with you. Listen to it, make fun of it, steal it for your own Ipod – I don’t care. Just promise me that if it helps you get some you’ll say thank you to ‘moi’ in the comments.
My line up:
Yelle – Je Veux te Voir
It’s in French and it’s fun…need I say more.
Yeasayer - Sunrise
It’s still innocent now. I’m starting to get that great summer feeling. I’m stealing glances at you from across the room, pretending to listen to current conversation.
White Rabbits – Percussion Gun
I’m ready for my first glass of red wine, I’m feeling like the party is really getting started.
MGMT- Electric Feel
Chillin’ feeling the vibes in the room, finishing off that wine.
Yeah Yeah Yeahs – Heads Will Roll
Now I wanna dance. I’m turning the flirt up to high grabbing you by the neck of your t-shirt drawing you closer to me as we dance.
Anjulie – Boom
By the time the track gets to 00:55 oh it’s on…I’m the spider and you’re the fly.
Death Cab For Cutie – I Will Possess Your Heart
Longest intro ever…but imagine all the kissing and groping you can get in before a word is even uttered.
Thursday, May 28
WANTED: The perfect woman for me.
Can be anything from light-skinned to just below bronzed. I like dark women but not so black that they're BLUE. And depending on maturity, she can be as most as 10 years my junior and five years my senior.
As far as the body is concerned (and I AM concerned): Slightly voluptuous, but certainly not huge; long, smooth neck; nicely sized, firm breasts, shapely legs and an ass that makes other HUSBANDS look. Most guys are T&A. I'm a legs and ass man! And TIGHT!
Her eyes, whatever shade they are, should penetrate not only deep into what she's looking at, but into herself as well.
My woman should also be smart, and a bit sassy. Without that last one, I'm afraid, I'd have to take Serena Williams over Halle Berry (not that it would be a bad thing, but I'd be robbing the cradle).
And above all, her HAIR, when we go out it has GOT to be TIGHT and DONE.
NO split ends, brittle strands, dry, cracking, moisturizer-lacking, conditioner-deprived, knockoff weave-wearing hairdos! And there you have it, the perfect woman for me.”
Wednesday, May 27
Each time, something inside of me would be screaming bloody murder - my skin got too tight, my pores too small - their words were suffocating me. I conveniently lost their numbers, never hung out at the same spots we went to together so I wouldn’t accidentally run into them; basically I tried to forget we’d ever met.
It wasn’t that I suddenly stopped caring for them, but my mind couldn’t adjust to the change. A creature of habit does not like to be moved out of a cozy environment to one that doesn’t suit its needs. That may sound crass, but believe me, if they could have seen what little wheels were cranking in my head as they were telling me how they felt, they would have stopped mid-sentence and retracted what had been uttered before I began to suspect that it wasn’t a joke.
In my defense, I’ve never been much for confessions. Matter of fact, I hate any kind of confession that involves me having to deliver unsavory news. Nine times out of ten, chances are you don’t feel the same about the other person. I don’t want to hurt my friends but no matter what you say, if the person doesn’t reciprocate your feelings, you’re going to be wounded. Once I’ve known someone for years and we’ve established boundaries, telling me something that huge is tantamount to driving on the other side of the highway, jumping the median, and rushing into my lane head-on.
But now…now I’ve got a friend whom I’m not exactly feeling sisterly towards. My mirror is reflecting back a hypocrite, the worst kind, the kind who justifies their actions with barely plausible situations, borderline justifications and semi-sane answers to questions they’ve made up themselves in order to answer them with their own crazed sensibilities.
In my defense, if you’ve only known the person a short period of time and it seems like the relationship was never solidly set up for the rules of platonic play shouldn’t you have the right to flip the script while it’s still written in non-permanent ink?
This new situation I find myself in leaves me only one option. So this is my apology to all the guys who I abandoned ship on, just because you decided to follow your heart, just because you wanted to be honest with yourself and most of all with me. I over-thought things, perhaps, at times, over-reacted. Only now do I realize what strength must be mustered up to unload feelings of that magnitude. I will in the future put what you say in a safe place so that I can't analyze it, but instead, empathize with emotions that I have now come to realize should be validated and not victimized. Unfortunately - even though I understand now - it doesn’t mean I won’t get unglued…but I can try.
Tuesday, May 26
I was in Paris a little while ago consuming large amounts of food & red wine (which I'd like to blame for the giggling you'll hear, but if you've watched past video's you know that's really just my nervous sex/love talk thang). I decided to whip out the video cam and interview some locals for the blog - things got really interesting, it'll take a while to share them all. But let's start off with this one; here I am by the Eiffel Tower talking to two French Women about their thoughts on American men (BTW, yes, she does say "they hit women").
Friday, May 22
What I want instead is a man who is normal most of the time. A man who isn’t more concerned with his career than he is with me, who knows how to live a life rich with quality not quantity. More than anything I would for once, like to meet someone who doesn’t put out feelers without intentions of ever following through, or break my heart and then act like it was all some unfortunate misunderstanding.
In the beginning I perceived the problem to be about age – everyone knows women mature faster than men so I tried dating up. To my great disappointment I found that men are simply men no matter how many extra digits you try to round them up to. While patching up from yet another painful freefall to despair that I made this discovery, I find that the guys that lift my spirits, the ones there when you need them are not the majority in the dating game but instead the minority – so how is it that I’m just now catching on to that? Oh yeah, my pre conceived notions…those have been demonizing the men I used to label the ‘Average Guy’.
The description of an average guy depends entirely on a woman’s perception. I used to think the average guy lacked ‘flava’, that X factor I needed to keep it spicy. He must, I imagined, wear classic yet safe clothing choices ala, Gap or Abercrombie & Fitch. They love flip flops and man sandals, wrap around sunglasses and typically gather together at sports events or Jimmy Buffet/Dave Matthews concerts holding the never out of style ‘red’ plastic cup of beer. He doesn’t dance (at least not well), wears those God-awful hip sacks on vacation and only has sex missionary style.
Getting hit on by a so called 'average guy' would make me look at them in digust, thinking that he was looking at me imagining me in dress that looked like a table cloths, coming out of a suburban home handing him his briefcase as he kissed me goodbye and then I'd proceed to load our 2.5 kids into a minivan for soccer practice.
Yes I am this dramatic.
Now I’m hearing and witnessing women I know, dating or marrying the guy.
Most women say they overlooked him for so long but in the end they realize he was the one that always came through for them. My girlfriend remarked, "I’ve had guys care for me, but not on this level; in the beginning of our relationships I'd question the niceties, the compliments, the concessions minus the drama. I slowly began to understand that what I’d benefit from was a simple acceptance of these gestures within myself. I'm witnessing first hand the fullfillment in having what I’ve known I’ve deserved along but hadn't been getting out of my prior relationships. I simply want to enjoy him without making him pay for past dummies. Now reached the place where it’s ok if we don’t work out I’m just overjoyed that he's serious enough to think of us as having potential.”
Cute boys…you better step up the game, the tides are turning against you.
Tuesday, May 19
Everyday, seemingly normal women are walking around cloaking their superhuman powers. Right now as you read this a woman is receiving a overpriced designer token gift of affection and love has nothing to do with it. Love has no rationale here.
Oh sure, love may be a higher force in your world but I have discovered that breast have a power all unto themselves.
My mantra has been The Greater the Power, the more dangerous the abuse ever since mine were pimped out for free food by a good friend who for the sake of my kindness will remain nameless. But know this, Keri (oops), ‘sending your well-endowed friend into a fast food joint in order to get a few extra pieces of chicken carries a certain shame factor’, it’s a definite misuse of the power. Strangely, as small that victory was, I was left with a craving for larger battles to best. I blame her for starting me down this path of corruption.
Once you notice other people being beguiled by your breast there’s no ignoring the possibilities that they offer. Who could resist the temptation to spread their wings after trying out this new wonder? Suddenly you’re a comic book hero using them for justice, to right wrongs, solve crimes, or maybe you just enjoy employing them for evil deeds.
OK, even I have to laugh at that last line.
Honestly, they have never to my knowledge had the ability to solve crimes, but something tells me if Angela Lansbury had had a better rack it wouldn’t have taken an entire hour to make the villain confess.
Guys…don’t email me saying that it’s unfair that women can use a god-given creation to manipulate because we both know it’s just another golden opportunity for you to dream about being able to get closer to our breasts.
I’m sure women will write to me and complain about my condoning the use of breast to obtain some sort of upper ground voodoo like possession over men. You’ve probably never had the privilege of seeing this power made a sport worthy of Olympic medals. I have watched in amazement as women have procured tables at booked restaurants on a Saturday night by simply unbuttoning a few buttons.
It’s not as if I’m encouraging women to run out to high-priced, snobby stores that otherwise ignored them, press their boobs up to the window just to get some service! Honest.
Maybe to just …push them up a bit; heck, if you’ve got the goods, why not use them?
Come on…you know that even if you hid them underneath three sweaters their power would burn through the material. It’s as if they had hypnotic disc attached to them.
Kissinger said Power is the great aphrodisiac. True. But this is the part of the story where I blame the misuse of god given talents on those that give us the power. Whether it be men or women; the way I figure it, if you hadn’t turned them into such a big deal there’d be no power to harness.
Frustrated and fed-up I say, why not? I personally am sick of men having conversation with them instead of me. How many times have I had to use these lines: “I’m sure they can hear you, but I can’t.” “Um, if you hadn’t noticed, my eyes are up here.”
So why not let the breast work for me? Why should others get enjoyment out of them and not me? They have already been exploited, over used, over-worked, and highly underpaid by society itself. In this day and age, most women use what they can in order to make it in a man’s world. We have so little leverage that surely this one thing that God obviously wanted us to have should be put to good use. Let’s face it, soon time will pass and they will lose their perkiness. It’s a sign. It’s like that old saying about youth…get it while the getting’s good.
Well I guess I’ve sufficiently used my writing power for evil today. Here I stop, knowing I’ve reached too far, shot too high, flown too close to the sun. It’s all gone to my head as I was about to start blaming the makers of high-quality pushup bras.
So excuse me.
I think I’ll just cool off, go sit the girls, the twins, and the team on the bar and have a free beer.
Until next blog, please enjoy my favorite episode from that old show Designing Women - Mary Jo's new breast.
Friday, May 15
I don't like being couped up inside on beautiful days, so I decided when the sun comes a calling I'll grab my video camera and hit the streets in search of more sane advice than mine.
First up, three friends shopping around New York's South Street Seaport - though you'll only see two guys on the clip. The third was a bit shy and decided to just shout out his answers off camera.
BTW, when they laughed and pointed, saying "you wanna do those" they were talking about the sailors walking across the street - boys...
Thursday, May 14
Guy: It’s my icebreaker question. If you had to pick a panty to describe yourself, which would it be? Each type of underwear represents a different type of woman. Your choices are: boxer, white cotton, thong, Victoria’s Secret, or granny panties.
Politic’s Chick: If she chooses boxers, what's she saying?
Guy: Your boxer chick is the more masculine, athletic type. Nine times out of ten, she may run a bit on the lesbian side but not really know that about herself yet.
Politic’s Chick: Ok, what about your white cotton panties?
Guy: White cotton are females that aren’t really worried about getting a man, probably because they’ve already got a man; they’re content.
Politic’s Chick: What happens if she says she is all of these panties? Every girl has a different panty for a different mood.
Guy: True, each chick has at least one of each, but each woman generally leans toward one particular type.
Politic’s Chick: So what your really asking is, ‘What type of panty do you wear more often?’.
Politic’s Chick: What if she's a thong kind of girl
Guy: Oh, she’s your looser girl. Nine times out of then, I have a good chance of getting with her on the first night. Thong girls are really into themselves, they feel sexy all the time.
Politic’s Chick: Do they carry condoms?
Guy: Again…nine times out of ten.
Politic’s Chick: Ok, on to the granny panty girls.
Guy: Granny panty girls, sad to say are your more lackadaisical, lazy, couldn’t care either way. This girl doesn't feel comfortable with her body.
Politic’s Chick: I hate to ask, but is she a certain weight?
Guy: Its’ not a weight thing. It could be that she’s lacking self confidence and that’s why she doesn’t have the sex appeal. If you don't feel it, we won't either.
Politic’s Chick: How does the Victoria’s Secret girl differ from the thong girl?
Guy: The thong girl thinks she is sexy and she wants you to know it, she oozes sex appeal when she steps into the room whereas the Victoria’s Secret girl feels sexy on the inside. Victoria’s secret is more content in her sexuality. One thing we notice is that older women walk around like they’ve been sexy all their lives, you can see her confidence in her sexuality because of the way she handles it, younger girls however are just realizing that their cute, their still feeling themselves out.
Politic’s Chick: But do they both wear the same panties?
Guy: No. The younger one will walk around in the thong because she just realized she is sexy and she thinks she’s bigger than the system. But your older woman goes to Victoria’s Secret to compliment the sexy she already possesses for herself, not for you.
Politic’s Chick: Any combination that doesn’t go together?
Guy: I know what combination doesn’t work for me.
Politic’s Chick: (laughter) and what’s that?
Guy: Granny panties/boxers. You can keep them!
Politic’s Chick: What type of panty do you think I am?
Guy: I’d have to say…hybrid white cotton panty.
Politic’s Chick: What’s a hybrid girl like?
Guy: They wear the nicer styles, they just jumped out of the Hanes her way, you’re trying to heat it up…but you are still the good girls at the core.
Politic’s Chick: (insert eye-rolling) Let’s have it on record – what type of panty do you prefer?
Guy: Actually I like an assortment, but I’ll take that Victoria’s chick any day!
Thursday, May 7
We’re at the bar when Tristan causally says, “…oh, by the way, I saw him.” Now, I know what this means. This isn’t just another “…oh, by the way…” moment; she meant to bring this up. That’s why she’s got me here surrounded by all this booze. She wants to talk about IT: her sort-of, kind-of relationship, with her almost, could-have-been boyfriend. I’ve just been hoodwinked; for the rest of the evening I have to play The Blame Game.
And for those of you who don’t know the rules, I’ll state them:
·The best friend (you) must agree with the said girlfriend in any conversation that involves placing blame for unfortunate accidents that have resulted in the ending of a relationship with the said boyfriend.
· Never insinuate that it is the girlfriend’s fault in any way shape or form, even if you know her account of the events to be untrue. If consoling words cannot be thought of, it is appropriate to nod your head in agreement or roll your eyes, it is never however acceptable to use the phrase “ok if you say so”-this can only cause confusion and mistrust.
· Any nasty remarks you aim at the aforementioned boyfriend can be recalled into later conversations by the girlfriend once they get back together.
Ok, so now you know how the game is played. However, if you are still at a lost on how this works, please refer to National Geographic’s documentary on the eating habits of the female praying mantis.
And now, to start with, let’s see how well you can pick up the principles of the game:
I’m going to give you a synopsis of our conversation as an example. Take notice of all my responses in quotation marks these will help guide you should your girlfriend pull a Blame Game on you. During the conversation I will refer to her male friend as ‘Bozo’. When mentioning the ex- in conversation, remember to coin an unfair-yet-humorous new name for them. This will ensure you ‘brownie points’, which are vital in this game.
The saga began when Bozo invited Tristan over to his apartment to have a couple of drinks with him and his friends. Bozo then mentioned something about having run out of vodka and that’s where Tristan saw her ‘in’, so she offered to pick some up on her way over.
Now, the ‘in’ is an opportunity for women or men to make like a hero and save the day. The goal is to gain that person as an acquaintance - to hang out, get tight, become one of his or her favorite amigos without the person realizing that this is but a ploy to achieve the ‘more than friends’ status. You have to go on the campaign trail and make like the politician pretending to love eating in the neighborhood restaurant. In fact, you love it so much that you’ve invited camera crews to film it. Not unlike the spectacle you’re willing to put on in front of his or her friends to win them over. Problem is, the ‘in’ is hard to swing and there are rarely second chances.
Ok, now that I’ve explained that, let’s put Bozo back in play…
Once Tristan got to the apartment, she made drinks, drank drinks, drank some more drinks, joked around with his friends, drank more drinks, got sick and threw up in his tub. Now, notice my immediate response to having heard of this tragic incident:
“Poor dear…no, of course it’s not your fault. Remember you didn’t have anything to eat all day. Bozo should have offered more at the party then chips and pretzels, because, maybe if he fed people right, accidents like this just wouldn’t happen. Cheap ass Bozo bastard.”
After the hurling incident, Bozo drove her home; that was nice enough. According to Tristan, she thought so, too. So, in the car, in front of her house, she revealed to Bozo that she had ‘feelings’ for him. She says that he seemed receptive to that bit of information, but two weeks later when she saw him at a social function, he ignored her all night.
Now, one could say that she was ignored because she’d blown her ‘in’ by boozing it up and hurling in front of God, country and his friends, but watch how I chastise him in an effort to stick to the rules:
“What a dirty thing for him to do, just DIRTY. A person should never be judged by an accidental sin. It’s like overlooking all Tom Hanks good movies and judging him solely on the basis of Joe Versus the Volcano. It’s simply not fair.”
I won’t bore you with the rest of the story (her drunken rambling), besides, I’m sure you get plenty of that with your own friends. The last thing she said before the eventual alcohol driven loss of common sense was, “I heard Bozo got MARRIED last week; hasn’t even known her for 6 months and he didn’t bother sending me an invite!” I sat there wondering if someone would save me by taking the fork off my plate and stabbing it through my right temple, but with a job still left to complete I manage these last few words: “I’m sure that he’s miserable and that she’s a troll.”
Oh well, now you know the object of the Game: To live through it.
Wednesday, May 6
Why the pitiful look? Am I supposed to be ashamed of this, or feel like a failure because I'm not attached to anyone?
I ran into a old friend from school the other day and as we were catching up I find out that she's been married for almost seven years, has four kids and a great hubby all packed away in a huge house in a tiny suburb in PA. She rattled on about how unfulfilling single life is and how part of being an adult was accepting these mature responsibilities. I got curious about what this life of hers looked like so I checked her out on Facebook and there they were, mountains of pics of her baby showers, her wedding, and family vacations. For a second I started to wonder 'what had I been doing since college'? And as my pity party was about to collapse in on me, another girlfriend called and we couldn't get in 5 minutes worth of conversation before she was hollering at her kids - they sounded like they were running around her apartment like banshees. Once she walked out of the kids room to hear better she started in on her husband, the bills, the lack of sleep, etc... Suddenly I started remember whats so good about my life and rationalization behind my choices.
For the future ladies reaching out to stroke my un married pain away - if you think that the new accessories are husbands, kids, family pets, and houses in the burbs that's ok. But my freedom is my shiny new bauble and anytime its starts getting dull and I bump into one of you and succumb to thinking for one second that I'm missing out on something I'm gonna hurry and shine it right back up.