tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14319339848845981692024-02-18T23:20:53.861-08:00The Frog BlogA blog about funny, bad, or downright ridiculous dating stories; advice; and snack packs of wisdom gleaned from being a single gal kissing frogs to get to the Prince.The Big Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622249236473568100noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1431933984884598169.post-32750115016966078872011-09-14T10:27:00.000-07:002011-09-14T10:27:46.825-07:00Reality BitesOK Y'all, <br />
So I was reading this article the other day about what makes men and women 'undateable.' It had your standard answers of, 'too much baggage,' 'bad kisser,'etc. It also had one choad who said, 'a woman who farts in her sleep.' Wow. First of all, this ass clown doesn't have the sense to realize that women don't actually KNOW that they fart in their sleep. We have no control over bodily functions when we are REM-ing it up, so I place the onus squarely on the other party when it comes to taking responsibility for dealing with odoriforous emanations during slumber. Anyhoosle, this article got me thinking about my own situation and what qualities I have that make me dateable or undateable. I chose to focus on the positive, so I compiled a list of the traits I possess that I think make me a swell gal and the traits that I felt men took into consideration. I call them :<br />
Things I Think Make Me Dateable<br />
<br />
1. Quick witted sense of humor that is very rarely offended<br />
2. Ability to cook and bake <br />
3. Awesome trivia skills<br />
4. Good skin, hair, teeth, and overall health<br />
5. Enjoyment of a variety of activities that guys partake in, like hiking, sports, and chicken wing eating contests<br />
6. Physically low maintenance so it doesnt take 10 years to get ready<br />
<br />
Things That Men Think Make Me Dateable<br />
1. Big Tits.<br />
That's pretty much it. If I'm wrong, please tell me in the comments, but I doubt it. Happy dating!The Big Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622249236473568100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1431933984884598169.post-43432884477723417402011-06-16T08:50:00.001-07:002011-06-16T08:50:38.736-07:00Cool It NowOK Y’all,<br />
So I just read this article online about a guy who is willing to donate half his salary as a gift to a charity of your choice, if—and here’s the kicker—you are a lady of age 18-49 who is willing to marry this chump. Yes, you read that right…he’s breaking the cardinal rule of the Beatles and trying to use money to buy love. This fellow has a blogger site just like I have here, and he has posted 38 reasons why single women should love him but don’t. Let me just give you a few examples of these ‘reasons’ and you can tell me what you think after I tell you what I think (Granted, many of these reasons are meant to be tongue in cheek, but I find it a fatally flawed approach on several levels. I like humor as much as the next girl, but this guy is not funny, he’s just sad). <br />
1. He says he has bad skin so he will ‘grow a beard for you.’ I understand that everyone gets a zit now and again, and some get them more than others. But you do not, I repeat DO NOT, need to advertise this fact if you are trying to attract ladies. Even if you think it is funny and disarmingly honest, I am here to tell you it is TMI and you will not profit from it. Guaranteed the first thing any gal is thinking when she reads that lil tidbit is, OMG this dude is a walking Proactiv before picture—Abort! Abort! Chicks don’t want to sit and think about all your grody comedogenic issues and reminding girls about it is certainly not helping your case. In this instance, being self-deprecating is not winning you any points, it’s just grossing out your potential mates who would have otherwise not even noticed or chosen to overlook your dermatological maladies.<br />
2. He says he has never had a girlfriend, ever. Now, this fellow is 38 years old, and he looks a lot like Andy Torres on Cougar Town. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, look it up. Seriously, do it now. I’ll wait…..ok, great. Now, I’m sure there is a segment of the female population who digs that look. I am not one of them, but there is somebody for everybody. He has tried multiple methods of procuring a date, including online dating, and has done some stupid things for women he was interested in. So I therefore find it a bit odd that he would not have at least dated a girl here and there for a month or two until she opened the medicine cabinet and found all of his Clean and Clear products. But, assuming that he is not trying to be humorous and he really hasn’t had a lady companion, I have to imagine the sole reason for that is a little thing we call Desperation. Chicks can smell it on you a mile away, just like dudes can. Best case scenario you might get someone to take advantage of your pathetic situation and throw you a pity lay here and there, but if you’re serious about acquiring the company of a honest to god woman, you can’t come off as even slightly desperate. Women like self confident men; guys who could give two shits if they have a date on Friday night as long as there is a sporting event and beer nearby. Women like to feel as if you have chosen their company over all others, not like they are being trailed by a stalker who has nothing going for them. <br />
3. He took a picture of himself without a shirt on and then makes fun of how hairy and chunky he is. Again, I cannot reiterate this enough, WE GET IT. I have dated plenty of guys who were not exactly Dash Riprock in the physical fitness department and I had absolutely no problem with it. In fact, I like my dudes a little chunky. And I am not Miss America either. I have ‘problem areas’ that I could work on. But I am also not willingly posting photos of said areas and telling men that I have more to love. I sometimes get caught in photos during the summer in my swimsuit and that is mortifying enough. So keep it covered, buddy. Any self respecting gal is not going to look at that photo and think, ‘wow, what I really need is an acne riddled Wookiee in my life to keep me company.’ <br />
Those are just a few of the reasons he gives, and there are many more. Some are very heartfelt, like his penchant for rescuing animals and being reliable. But if you are trying to present yourself in the best light possible, some things are best left to the imagination, or at least to the third date. There is such a thing as being too honest and too self-deprecating. It makes you look like you have zero self-esteem, and that is not attractive. Calling yourself “Handsome Paul” and saying such things doesn’t help either. <br />
Ok, that’s all I’ve got—give me your thoughts, rants, raves, comments. Just don’t tell me about your skin care regimen.The Big Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622249236473568100noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1431933984884598169.post-60156010028180516062011-04-13T13:44:00.001-07:002011-04-13T13:44:51.440-07:00Ground Control to Major Tom...OK Y’all,<br />
There is a serious problem affecting 99.9% of the general population of people ages 18-45. It’s a disease that is easily prevented and commonly discussed, but rarely do people know they have it until the infection has cleared. It affects the neurological pathways of the body, eating away at precious brain function, and it’s high time we banded together and did something about this devastating malady. That’s right, I’m talking about Parked Up Socialization Syndrome, or PUSSy. Some FAQ’s about this travesty of an ailment are listed below. Please, read up on this horrible disease so you can prevent it in your own life and help those who have fallen victim to it before it’s too late.<br />
<i>What are the signs and symptoms of PUSSy?<br />
</i>The number one sign that someone is developing this disease is the sudden and permeating presence of a member of the opposite sex in the victim’s daily life, aka becoming ‘parked up.’ This parasitic relationship causes the victim to lose the ability to call, text, email, or otherwise contact their friends and family whom they used to see on a very regular basis, aka ‘pitching them in the river.’ Doctors believe this sudden change of neural function is due to the victim’s head becoming lodged in their partner’s rectum at a very deep level, thus suffocating the areas responsible for rational thought and feeling. The victim now solely socializes with the partner of the opposite sex. Victims lose the ability to think for themselves in the singular, and use words like “we” and “us” when describing their day to day activities. The victim will also be unable to host or attend social functions, and on the rare occasion that they do, they will leave early, isolate themselves from the rest of the group with their opposite sex partner, and be unable to be tolerated by those who enjoy keeping their food down, as nauseating public displays of affection are common with the victim and their partner. Additional symptoms include a complete 180 in behavioral tendencies, again due to the loss of neural function. These tendencies can range from minor idiosyncrasies to major turns of events, such as a sudden affinity for pets where there was none before. <br />
<i>What treatment is available for PUSSy? Is it curable?<br />
</i>Unfortunately the only cure for PUSSy is the eradication of the opposite sex partner, either by forcible means or by the partner’s detachment to find another host. This detachment or eradication is hard to predict and in some cases never happens at all, leaving the victim as good as dead to their friends and family. Traditional treatment options have had limited success at best, and have historically only proved to intensify the disease in the victim. Traditional methods have included verbally bashing the victim for their lack of contact, teasing, disengagement by friends and family, and overt insults to the partner. All of these methods simply serve to isolate the victim and their partner even further, thus deluding the victim into thinking that the partner is the only source of socialization, relief, and understanding from the disease. Alternative treatments are being investigated at this time, but unfortunately the best method is still to allow this disease to run its course and hope the victim can clear the infection on their own. <br />
<i>How do I know if I have PUSSy?<br />
</i>As mentioned previously, many times the only way to know one has this horrible infestation of the mind is to clear the infection and retrospectively diagnose oneself. Rarely, victims will come to the realization during an uncommon moment of clarity, usually when their heads are not attached to, or inserted in, their partner’s rectum. If this happens, immediate steps must be taken to alleviate the symptoms. Remediation includes spending copious amounts of time with the abandoned friends, reduced contact with the host, and resuming daily function as a singular entity as much as possible. Alas, many victims experience a difficult and serious withdrawal from their host and ultimately relapse multiple times or even for good. <br />
So folks, please don’t let this happen to you. As you can see, it’s ugly, and it just gets worse. Prevention now!The Big Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622249236473568100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1431933984884598169.post-10409742701946404762011-01-26T13:12:00.000-08:002011-01-26T13:12:36.572-08:00Lovin, Touchin, Squeezin...OK Y’all,<br />
So it’s looking like The Big E is ridin’ solo this year for Valentine’s day again…and really, I don’t mind because it sure beats getting a non-committal gift for someone you only sorta like but just started dating and don’t want to look like an ass for not getting them anything type of situation that I had last year. I mean, there are potholes galore when you have any type of dating situation going on anytime from January 1 through February 13, so I find it best to just avoid dating if you can until Feb 15. You have at least a few months to figure out if they’re worth shelling out some ducats before you have to commit, and if they’ve had a birthday in Jan or Feb, then you’re golden til December!<br />
So in honor of my singlehood this year, I have compiled a list of my favorite songs that glorify the best love there is—self-love. Really, where else can you have two dates for Friday night? Hello, left hand! Hello, right hand! Let’s have a party! These songs are in no particular order, just the order I happened to think of them. <br />
1. Billy Idol—Dancing With Myself: oh Billy, you of the bleached coif and snarled lip, how rough and ready I’m sure you treat your poor drug addled self when you’re down and out. And as a girl who loves to dance, I can’t imagine a better partner than moi. Good choice, Billy. At least you’re not getting the groupies pregnant.<br />
2. Prince—Darling Nikki: Errbody knows Prince is one filthy little androgynous man, and picking songs about doing it from any of his albums is like shooting fish in a barrel. This particular gem is about doing it, with yourself, and letting Prince see what he can come up with lyrically to encapsulate such an experience, interspersed with his squeals of delight. He truly is the Prince of All Things Carnal.<br />
3. Cyndi Lauper—She Bop: I have to admit, when I was a kid, I really liked this video. I thought the mouse and Cyndi had a thing for Lennon glasses. I didn’t know they had gone blind from touching themselves too much! I was 5! I didn’t know what ‘the danger zone’ and going south to get you some more meant. Now that I’m a big girl, I get it…and then I get it.<br />
4. Faith No More—Epic: I first heard this song when hanging out with my cousin, who is 4 years older than me, back in the early 90s. She was a headbanger of sorts and listened to a lot more rock music than I did, so I was quite intrigued by this particular song as it was not quite metal but not quite rap. I listened to it many times and enjoyed watching the video with the fish in it. And then years and years later someone informed me that the subject of this song was not, in fact, world domination as I had thought. DUH. <br />
5. The Vapors—Turning Japanese: Basically all this guy didn’t put in the song was how he licked all the color off the first picture he had of his girlfriend, so he had to turn to x-rays. Oh, wait….<br />
6. The Divinyls—I Touch Myself: The most blatantly obvious of all the entries, this song pulls no punches about its subject, which is apparently a good thing for me because I don’t read between the lines very well. <br />
7. The Georgia Satellites—Keep Your Hands to Yourself: While this song may not be outright a song about self-love, it is in theory. Because I ask you, gentle reader—if this young man is constantly turned down by his paramour, what devices is he left to employ? His own bad self, that’s what. Guess who’s milking that cow now, sweetie??<br />
8. Tina Turner—What’s Love Got To Do With It?: Again, not outwardly about self love, but ol’ Proud Mary is getting pretty worked up over this boy that causes her pulse to react. I’d venture a guess and say that she didn’t spend her time thinking of him trying to keep her hands occupied with knitting. <br />
9. The Violent Femmes—Blister In the Sun: this guy is staining his sheets and doesn’t know why? I got two words for you buddy—dirty socks. They go straight in the laundry when you’re done and you don’t have to worry about your sheets being hard anymore.<br />
Alright! That’s all I’ve got. Leave me your comments and favorites! And HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!!The Big Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622249236473568100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1431933984884598169.post-79461972273656187632010-12-16T13:24:00.001-08:002010-12-16T13:24:52.748-08:00Young GunsOK Y’all,<br />
So I’ve noticed a trend lately in the dating scene that is a little odd to me. You see, growing up, Big E was the youngest or one of the youngest in her group of friends. It was not uncommon for her to be ostracized for her nubile status either. Naturally as she grew older, she made other friends, but even they were older or around her same age—then a strange thing started happening. As Big E got older, the boys she met started getting younger. She was no longer the youngest bird getting her fly on at the club. She was starting to be the puma prowling the dance floor, fist pumping to MJ because she actually remembered when he was black, while all the young’uns stared at her. So what did she do? She embraced it and started giving these lesser aged fellas a second look. And that brings us to the present. <br />
I don’t know what it is, but here lately I’ve gone out with at least two boys who were significantly younger than me. I’m not talking jail bait, because I’m not THAT old myself, but young enough to where if we were really old we might die at the same time. I met these boys through random encounters with friends, and it wasn’t encounters where you would typically find much younger people in attendance like, say, a Justin Bieber concert. So I went with it, and in my handful of dates with these fellas, I realized that there were advantages and disadvantages to training a pup as opposed to trying to teach an old dog new tricks. My take:<br />
1. Younger guys may not have the “experience” you’re looking for. Especially if you are a gal like myself of seasoned tenure and this ain’t your first rodeo. Younger guys have sometimes not had the opportunity to really develop the skills necessary to make your time together worthwhile. This is mainly because their opportunities have generally come at frat parties when severely inebriated and/or with young women of the same inexperienced ilk who probably have only heard the term “g-spot” in a really bad R&B song rhymed with “bedrock” (don’t ask me how I even know that). <br />
The upside of this lack of know-how? You can train them to do what YOU want them to do. So if you’ve got a few tried and true favorites in your pantheon of moves, you can share them and make sure they are perfected with frequent practice. However, this does require your willingness to train, and willingness to be an encouraging coach. If you don’t feel like putting the time in, I understand. But just think—those young men are going to get older, and they’re STILL not going to know what to do, and then they’ll end up dating me and making me really unhappy. <br />
2. Younger guys may lack comprehensive knowledge of iconic events from the decades past, because they weren’t alive yet. This happens to me all the time even with guys who are the same age as me, because I’m basically an 80’s music idiot savant, but it’s especially evident in the Gen Y set. If you weren’t born by the time the first Back to the Future came out, then there’s going to be a weensy generational gap to bridge for yous and me. It’s hard for me to feel comfortable making reference to Hall and Oates when you think that I’m describing a way to transport grains. And quite frankly, there is no upside to this. I think everyone should have at least a working knowledge of decades prior to their existence no matter what decade that is. I’m a huge fan of Andy Gibb. Granted he was hosting Solid Gold by the time I ever laid eyes on him, but I believe he and Victoria Principal had what it took to make it. Damn that cocaine! He could have been your everything! He WANTED to be!<br />
3. Younger guys may not be as pecuniarily flush as you would like them to be, i.e., they’re broke. That’s extremely common these days amongst any age of person, but it does seem to skew toward the less aged rather than the more aged. And if you are interested in having a date paid for, this may not be your best route of affection. I have worked very hard over the past 15 years, supported myself for the past 10, and I’d really like to not have to support someone else. Or pay for his books. I’m not saying that I don’t appreciate someone who is really trying and maybe just doesn’t have the cashflow they need right way. I’m just saying those guys should maybe get some money from dear old Dad before attempting to take me out to dinner. <br />
4. Younger guys are not as interested in commitment. I know, I know….NO guy is interested in commitment. I get it. Hell, I have plenty of women friends who aren’t interested in commitment. My point is, younger guys tend to want to play the field a lot more. The world is their oyster, and we ladies are but pearls. Many, many pearls of all shapes and sizes that these boys want to make sure they shuck right out of our shells. And this is why if you’re looking to get serious, you may be looking at the wrong fisherman. Because if he’s not done oyster trolling, you’re going to get shucked over. The upside, though, is that if you are a lady who is not interested in commitment, or you’ve just come off of a bad breakup and need an ego boost, there’s nothing like some young meat to set you right. You’ll feel like the sophisticated older woman for the night, and he will revere you as the experienced hottie that showed him a thing or two. As long as he’s not the young man in #1 who isn’t quite up to par in the horizontal mambo. <br />
Alright, that’s all I’ve got…let me know what you think!The Big Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622249236473568100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1431933984884598169.post-50508831556764136452010-11-08T14:01:00.001-08:002010-11-08T16:32:38.665-08:00The Business of Minding Your Own BusinessOK Y’all,<br />
So it’s been a while since I’ve posted, and that’s mainly due to the fact that I ain’t got squat to write about. This is what is known in common parlance as a proverbial “dry spell” for the ol’ Big E, and I gotta say, it’s been alright so far except for the fact that I cannot for the life of me get my Mater Familias off my back about being a SINK (Single Income, No Kids). See, I used to be quite proud of my immediate family because they never hounded me for a son-in-law or grandkids. They never said things like “when are you going to give me some sweet grandbabies to play with?” so I never had to reply with things like, “after you die” or “why should I when the rest of my family is so busy procreating out of wedlock?” So it worked out pretty well for the most part and I went on living the single life, blogging, and generally enjoying myself. Then suddenly the idea of being a DINK or a DICK (Dual Income No Kids or Dual Income Couple-a Kids) became the unflinching, laser focus of what I was lacking in my life by dear old Madre. Why, you ask? Because the two of us are thinking about starting a business and me being single is being singled out as the ONE reason why it’s not practical. Forget the fact that we know nothing about being small business owners, or that my dad has to approve all long term capital outlay that involves family money, or any of that. It’s the fact that, “well, honey, I just worry about you being able to pay your bills…if you had a husband this wouldn’t be a problem at all….” Right. So what if I did have a husband? Let’s entertain some scenarios for a minute. Scenarios that are all too common these days. <br />
1. What if he was a big fat piece of shit who sat on his ass all day sucking up government funds while feigning and illness that’s incurable or permanently debilitating and I STILL couldn’t support myself because of this dead beat parked up on my couch? What then??? Yeah. Exactly. <br />
2. What if he’s a guy who seems fine on the outside, and me being too proud to say anything, is secretly a wife beater or strung out on prescription pills all day and I struggle to cover up for him day in and day out while he acts like Gary Busey after a hard night on the Vegas strip in board meetings and ends up unemployed and living on my dime?? Ok. Great.<br />
3. What if he’s a complete slimeball who cheats all over the place and ends up getting some bimbo preggers while I’m at the office slaving away trying to earn a buck to get him something nice for Christmas, and he comes home and announces he’s moving to Boca with Big Tits Betty and I am left holding the cards, the mortgage, and the car payment?? Would you be happy then? Fine. I’ll get right on that.<br />
Long and short of it is folks, I’m not getting married any time soon. I’d have to meet Mr. Right immediately after you read this post and proceed to fast track it to a picket fence, and even then it’d be at least 6 months. So, let’s focus on what we can do—save up some money, get a nice little equity loan, find a business partner—and most of all, lay off Big E and her singlehood. There’s nothing I can do about it, and really nothing I want to do about it at this point. And that’s all good with me.The Big Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622249236473568100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1431933984884598169.post-26188102108733062572010-09-10T07:45:00.000-07:002010-09-10T07:45:16.505-07:00Paging Cupid...OK Y'all,<br />
So a friend of mine emailed me the other day with a proposal (and not one of the indecent ilk). He wanted to know if I would be interested in meeting a gentleman he works with. Of course I said yes, because everyone knows that you don't meet new people by sitting at home with your cats watching King of Queens re-runs at 6 and 6:30 on TBS--not that I would know anything about that AT ALL, but still. My friend gave me a basic description of said fella, and I inquired about a few other things, and this guy sounded like he might be a winner. I'll keep you posted on that. But what got me thinking was this idea of the "fix-up" and the process behind it. Allow me to pontificate for a moment.<br />
The first thing that comes to mind when you think of someone is of critical importance, because that right there either puts them in the "Inbox" or the "Recycle Bin" of dateable prospects for your friends. It seems over the years I have earned the reputation, and deservedly so, of being a funny girl with a bad attitude and a penchant for the menfolk, gaudy jewelry, and glitter--a hooker with a heart of gold, if you will. And really, I'm good with that. It's a helluva lot better than being the one who has a giant mole on her face and got knocked up on purpose to try and trap her ex-boyfriend. Again, not that I know ANYBODY like that, just an example I'm throwing out there. So when my friends et al think of me, I am sure the image that comes to mind is of me at Studio 54 with some sort of glittery dress and even glittery makeup on, dancing with a swashbuckling younger gentleman as we laugh at my jokes and sip our martinis. In fact, I'm positive that's what they see now that I've written this. Go ahead, I'll give you a minute to marinate and let it really play out...<br />
Ok, back to the blog in 3...2...1...<br />
The point of this is, when these friends meet eligible bachelors in their every day dealings, their opinion of you has to be positive or they wouldn't bother trying to fix you up with said bachelor. Obviously if they are your friends they like you to a certain extent, but I believe it really says something extra about your character that they are willing to subject another stranger to you. <br />
The other thing that strikes me about this situation is that your friends have to know what you are looking for in a potential partner before they set you up, and that can be a tricky thing sometimes. If you're really close friends, then they know you better than you know yourself, which, if you're anything like me, is a whole other blog to write about why they are still your friends. But if your friend is a new one, or one that you don't see as much of as you'd like, they may have to do some homework. What I like about my fix up is that my friend asked me if I had any interview questions before he set things into motion, and asked if I would like a group date or just a one on one. I appreciate this tactic and find it wise. You don't want to be on a solo blind date with a Marilyn Manson impersonator at the local rave when you are more of a football, beer and wings kind of lady. So if you're going to set up your friends, be sure to get the dealbreakers and provide support. They will thank you later, even if the date isn't a huge success. And you will thank yourself for being such a stand up matchmaker. It's common courtesy and that's something we are in short supply of these days, people! <br />
So, what do you guys think of fix ups? Good, bad, ugly? Let me know. And wish me luck. I'm going to go find my best glittery eyeshadow.The Big Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622249236473568100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1431933984884598169.post-29415279492886704162010-08-05T08:40:00.000-07:002010-08-05T08:40:41.132-07:00Propositioning For DummiesOK Y’all,<br />
So I was out on Facebook getting my social network on when I came across an article a friend of mine posted from Yahoo. It was about a woman in Ohio who supposedly discovered her husband had married another woman in Florida and they had posted all the pictures up on the ol’ FB for the world to see. Obviously feeling a little disappointed, she took her side of the story to the national news media (because isn’t that what we all want to do when we’re hurt and angry?). Of course Hubs denied that they were ever technically and legally married, and said she knew about the other woman and the marriage. To which I reply, “DUDE. Who gives a shit if you’re ‘technically’ married or not, you went through with a huge to do with pictures and video to prove that you did in fact marry ceremonially at least, proceeded to have 2 kids, and then went and got yourself another ‘wife.’ The technicality of your first marriage should be the least of your karmic worries!” And that got me thinking even more about some recent events (over and above what happened to inspire my last post) that have transpired in my own life that have left me at a serious loss for not only words, but my lunch as well. These things are truly vomit inducing and make one doubt the future of the human race. <br />
First off, I incurred a new dating prospect. A guy I had met briefly a while back who got in touch with me (again with that marvel of modern technology, Facebook) and asked for my number. Great! I thought. Perhaps this will be a fun adventure. Sure enough, this fella called me and we talked on the phone. We discussed fun stuff like work and going out. We joked around about drinking beer and sitting in a kiddie pool on my deck. He mentioned taking me on a date. Even better! I thought. I went to sleep feeling pretty positive. I woke up to a text request from ol’ boy asking for a naked picture to get his day started off right. Yes…you need to go back and read that again. The messages just got worse from there. One even mentioned sending me a picture of a very sensitive area of my anatomy in exchange for the servicing of said area. Now, gentle reader, I will tell you I am a very open person who is not easily offended and is usually the one doing the offending if the truth be told. But I find it not only tacky and tasteless but downright rude to say such things to a gal that you don’t even know and haven’t even been out with yet—in other words, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? Obviously my sense of humor was sorely misconstrued the night before, or this guy is one Penthouse Letter short of a compendium. So what did I do? I advised this young man to calm down and see if he even liked me first before professing his undying devotion to Mrs. Peabody and the Lotus of Love. Needless to say I won’t be answering his calls anymore.<br />
Second on my list was an email exchange with a co-worker. Let me preface by saying that in all honesty, I didn’t think this young man really liked me that much. He hardly talks to me at work functions, and though we have joked around on occasion, he really does not seem to want to be part of my extended network. I saw him the day before the email exchange at a work training thing, and we shared a joke and that was it. No other conversation. I had congratulated him a while ago on his recent fatherhood, but before the work training, I had not spoken to him in weeks upon weeks. This was fine by me, as he lives in another state, is married, and did I mention JUST HAD A BABY. So when I get an email that starts out innocuous enough—it was about the joke we had been chuckling over—I of course replied and started what I thought was a discussion about an upcoming work trip. Things quickly turned to a not so platonic tack and requests for pointers and personal instruction on “indoor sports” became the topic. Again, I am not the one to talk to about appropriate conversations most of the time, but friends, this was uncalled for. I tried to steer the conversation back to safer ground and fortunately signed off for the day before I ended up in a loss of consortium lawsuit.<br />
Last but not least was another email exchange with an old friend. This fella was what we would call in common parlance a “hook up buddy” who in recent months had acquired himself a lady friend, and by lady friend I mean a serious enough one to have changed the—yep, you guessed it—Facebook status to “in a relationship with.” I simply dropped him a note just to say hello since we don’t usually talk when either one of us is parked up with someone else. I promptly receive an email asking how I am as well, and could I give him my phone number again since he’s lost his contacts recently? I obliged, as it seemed to be a simple enough request, and he then proceeded to promise to call in the wee hours very soon to procure some sweet sweet lovin’. I was a bit taken aback, as I thought he was still hugged up with his bird, what with it being on his page and she also still having a picture of the two of them as her default profile picture. I asked what had happened to the “in a relationship” status, to which he replied “yeah, yeah, yeah.” I’m not sure if you know what that means, reader, but I do—that means he’s trying to get his creep on and hoping I’ll drop trou with no questions asked. Unfortunately for him, I was born at night, but not last night. He can call me all he wants, and text me, and whatever else, but these gams are glued shut until further notice. <br />
In all of this, I felt two things—disgust and pity. Disgust at what these guys are (failing at) trying to do, and pity for the women involved with them. I understand that everyone has extenuating circumstances from time to time, but there’s no gray area here. It’s cut and dried and out there on Facebook for Pete’s sake. I was appalled at what lengths these men would go to just for the possibility of a temporary fix and how ridiculously stupid they were acting to get it. I know I’m a pretty lady with a lot to offer, but I don’t offer it to just everyone, and it offended me that these men would even attempt to obtain what I’ve got without regard for anyone else. Part of me says I ought to know by now, but part of me still wants to believe that good guys exist. So please, for the sake of everyone you know, be a decent person. And for the sake of me, don’t do that shit, because I will rake you over the coals in a public blog without mercy.The Big Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622249236473568100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1431933984884598169.post-45665927802492195772010-08-03T11:14:00.000-07:002010-08-03T15:07:55.045-07:00Hallmark? We Don't Need No Stinking Hallmark!OK Y'all,<br />
So the Big E has had a tough time recently, boy trouble as it were, and she's been pretty upset about it. And like all red-blooded American females with a creative streak, she decided to channel her pain and anguish into a more productive outlet instead of sitting around stewing over revenge tactics (though if you're ever interested, let me know, I've got a ton of 'em). So what did she do? She came up with her own little set of greeting cards that would express her sentiments in a fun and exciting way! Doubtful that these will ever make it to the shelves, but honestly, it's Hallmark's loss. Because creativity is something that is not in short supply for Big E, and she is more than capable of printing these little ditties herself. Holla if you see one you need! Here goes:<br />
<br />
1. OUTSIDE: Congratulations!!!<br />
INSIDE: You tossed your yogurt in the wrong girl! Enjoy Fatherhood!<br />
<br />
<br />
2. OUTSIDE: Dinner for Two: $60<br />
Drinks after dinner: $20<br />
Box of condoms: $7<br />
INSIDE: Forgetting to use them : PRICELESS.<br />
<br />
3. OUTSIDE: Pearls are white,<br />
Like the load that you blew,<br />
INSIDE: Here's hoping the baby<br />
Actually looks like you! Congratulations!<br />
<br />
4. OUTSIDE: You've really started something in my heart!<br />
INSIDE: too bad you already started something in another woman's womb! Congratulations!<br />
<br />
5. OUTSIDE: Baby, you touch my heart in so many ways--<br />
INSIDE: Unfortunately you only had to touch her cervix once. Have a happy 9 months!<br />
<br />
6. OUTSIDE: Darling, you gave me butterflies in my stomach--<br />
INSIDE: You'll also be giving her child support! Have a great life!<br />
<br />
7. OUTSIDE: Honey, you give me hope--<br />
INSIDE: That there will be one more Assistant Manager of the Month at Waffle House in 18 years! Congratulations!<br />
<br />
8. OUTSIDE: You make my heart skip a beat!<br />
INSIDE: Too bad you decided to skip birth control when you cheated on me! Best wishes!<br />
<br />
9. OUTSIDE: Sweetheart, I'm really falling for you--<br />
INSIDE: It's too bad you fell into her vagina first! Hugs and kisses!<br />
<br />
10: OUTSIDE: Recipe for a Family: <br />
INSIDE: Start with 12 beers<br />
1 narcissistic asshole<br />
1 Unassuming Ditz<br />
2 tsp. Baby Batter<br />
Combine with a complete lack of self and birth control and a dash of gut wrenching guilt and bake at 98.6 degrees for 9 months. Voila! Instant family!<br />
<br />
11. OUTSIDE: We're really going to miss you<br />
INSIDE: By we, I mean me and your dignity. Happy Trails!<br />
<br />
12. OUTSIDE: If I could change one thing...<br />
INSIDE: I would've had you pull out of her as fast as you pulled out of our relationship. Mazeltov!<br />
Alright! that's all I've got! Share your ideas and comments!The Big Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622249236473568100noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1431933984884598169.post-3844471367365482582010-07-15T13:13:00.000-07:002010-07-15T13:15:12.170-07:00Six Degrees of SeparationOK Y’all, <br />
So I was laying on my couch drinking an entire bottle of pinot grigio and incoherently babbling to my cat in an attempt to figure out what went wrong in my last dating foray when I had an idea. No, it wasn’t that I shouldn’t have had the whole bottle of wine, or even that I shouldn’t be talking to a cat, but this idea of Degrees of Dating. It’s not degrees as in education, but more degrees in terms of measurement—temperature and distance. Just to make it fun, I’ve come up with my own Six Degrees of Dating (not to be confused with Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon, though I’m sure if I trace it back far enough I’ve probably dated him by association at some point). <br />
<b>1. 0 degrees (or 32 degrees if you are keeping it strictly Fahrenheit)--</b>this is sort of a double duty degree—it could represent the freezing point of a relationship, where one or both of you decides to throw in the towel, hang it up, dump or be dumped, etc. It could also represent the lack of interest when one party is interested in the other but the feeling is not mutual. You decide. Either way, baby, it’s cold outside.<br />
<b>2. 65 degrees</b>—I’m a fan of this degree for many reasons. I see it as the point to where you’re not really sure about the new person you’re dating and you’re trying to keep it a little cooler than usual before you haul off and get into the deep end. It could be that he/she has a reputation about town and you’re still doing your research, or it could be that they have a few things you need to inquire about before you decide to give it your all, like habits and what have you. 65 is the perfect temp to idle for a while and check out your situation, and it’s also a smart strategy so you don’t go from 0 to boiling too fast and end up blowing a gasket. You could also consider this the “time out” degree, as in, cool off, take a step back, and re-evaluate before you do or say something stupid. <br />
<b>3. 75 degrees</b>—Most people are comfortable being outside when it is 75 degrees relative to the humidity, and this is the point in the relationship where you start to get comfortable with each other. You’re going out more, learning all the things you have in common, and meeting each other’s friends. You’ve decided that at 65 everything checked out so you want to turn up the heat a little. Just make sure you don’t stay at 75 forever in the beginning stages of a relationship, because that spells doom. You get too comfortable and you never raise your temperature, you’re going to be sitting around 5 years from now wondering why he/she hasn’t proposed. It’s like the 75% rule—you’re ¾ of the way there, but where’s the other 25%? Is it ever going to make a complete pie chart? Of course after your relationship is on solid, committed ground, 75 is pretty good. You don’t want to be too comfortable here either, so make sure you do something to bring it up to boiling every now and again, but you can spend a lot of time at 75 and be perfectly happy in the long run. You like 75% of what this person’s about, and the other 25% is tolerable. <br />
<b>4. 100 degrees (or 212 for you Fahrenheit-loving Red White and Blue Bleeding Americans)—</b>This is the boiling point—the point where the stars have aligned, all is right with the world, the birds are singing, and the sun is shining. Your amour is perfect in every way, right down to the adorable way he/she drools all over your side of the pillow. You want to share the drool eternally! You want to be there to share every experience, tackle every obstacle, and smell every fart! Good for you! The only problem is, when you hit boiling, you can’t stay there forever. You can only boil for so long before you boil over or you run out of steam. So be careful. Cool it back down to 65 and take stock. It’s hard to do, but it’s going to save you some hassle and possibly keep you from spending the next third of your life going from 0 to boiling and back again. That’s hard on a radiator and it’s hard on a heart.<br />
<b>5. 180 degrees</b>—Ah, the old 180. It’s a classic term used for a complete change in tack, as in “I thought we were getting along great, then he does a complete 180 and dumps me! As if!” Sometimes a 180 is a good thing, if someone’s really turned their life around, but a lot of times the 180 is used in a derogatory sense. I don’t have any words to explain how shitty a 180 can make you feel until you’ve lived it. Anybody is capable of it and you never know when it’s going to strike. But when it does, I bet I know the first words out of your mouth.<br />
<b>6. 360 degrees</b>—I like to use this degree to describe two phenomena—When you are stuck in a vicious cycle of breaking up and making up, thus bringing you full circle in your relationship over and over and never getting out; and when you have come full circle and are ready to stop doing what you’re doing because you see what’s coming and it’s getting you nowhere fast. I like it better in the latter sense, but not everyone has the sense to pull a 360 that way. It’s unfortunate because it usually ends up leading to another 360 of the former sense and then they can’t see the forest for the trees. <br />
Alright, that’s all I’ve got! Let me know what you think!The Big Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622249236473568100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1431933984884598169.post-82409910015647901902010-06-22T08:24:00.000-07:002010-06-22T08:24:09.766-07:00Wookin' Po Nub...OK Y’all,<br />
So I was in a movie kind of mood the other night, and I couldn’t find anything on the cable movie channels, so I turned to my DVD collection. I picked a classic—Urban Cowboy. For those of you not familiar with this lil’ gem, it’s about a fella named Bud who moves from a small town in Texas to a medium small town in Texas and meets a gal named Sissy at Gilley’s, the local watering hole. They get married, move into a trailer, get in a fight over mechanical bullriding, cheat, and get back together after foiling a robbery, all in the span of about 6 weeks. It’s a fun movie to watch if you are in the mood for some redneck intrigue, and it certainly makes you wonder whatever happened to Mickey Gilley. As I was watching it, I got to thinking about the kind of people Bud and Sissy were—simple, blue collar, poorly educated, and viscerally driven. They have no concept of what life is like outside of their tiny little hamlet; they essentially don’t know any better and don’t want to. And you know what? On a very basic level, their lives indicate that ignorance is bliss. If you don’t know that there’s anything better, if you believe what people say at face value and allow your thoughts and feelings to stay simple and naïve, you can be happy. And I think that’s where I’ve got a problem: I’m too smart for my own good, or at least I’ve learned the hard way too much for my own good. It makes me sad in a way, because I can’t ever take anyone at their word—especially when it comes to dating, and that’s exactly where trust matters the most. When I was younger and just starting out on my dating journey, I believed my boyfriend/date/whatever when he said he hadn’t called because he was out late with friends/stuck at work/whatever. He loved me—how could I not believe him, and how could he not be honest with me at all times? It seemed easy enough. I was always honest with him. When you’re in love, you’re always above board! Boy, did reality come crashing down around me and quick. Blindsided doesn’t even begin to cover it. And that was just the beginning of my difficult and painful education about the inner workings of the human heart. Since then, it seems like I’ve seen it or heard it all, and quite frankly, it’s made me a wary and suspicious person. It’s made me into someone who can’t take a compliment without wondering what the complimentor is hiding or trying to butter me up for. It’s caused me to suspect less than honorable intentions and subterfuge in even the most innocuous of missed connections. And unfortunately, it’s proven me to be right in a HUGE majority of cases. It's disappointing and more than a little upsetting that I am too self-aware to be happy. I would love to be that small town girl with wide eyed optimism who doesn’t know any better and has the myopic vision of a simple heart. It makes me wish I didn’t know now what I didn’t know then. But I do, and the force is strong with this one. I am working on how to deal with it--until then, I guess I can blog about it.The Big Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622249236473568100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1431933984884598169.post-49478107250201221972010-05-19T12:11:00.000-07:002010-05-19T12:11:47.309-07:00You Gotta Start 'Em EarlyOK Y’all,<br />
So there’s this problem I used to have, and I thought I had conquered, or at least calmed it down enough not to drive myself crazy. But it seems that though I have tried, it still comes back to haunt me from time to time despite the fact that I am all too aware that it’s happening. It’s the problem of “expectations,” or more specifically, “high expectations,” aka “getting your hopes up.” I don’t know why I have them anymore, at least not for other people, because years and years and YEARS of experience have taught me that the minute you put even the most infinitesimal expectations on someone, they inevitably let you down. And it’s only getting worse out there, folks. Not only have expectations become the stuff of myth when dealing with dating partners, but it’s seeping into our collective consciousness too. How many times do you say to yourself on a daily basis, “man, does anybody even CARE anymore?” when dealing with the customer service industries? I know! Me, too. <br />
I was pondering this latest bout of Am-I-Really-Crazy-Or-Do-People-Just-SUCK-itude when it occurred to me that my placement of expectations and the lessons learned by subsequent crushing of them happened quite early on in my life. Like kindergarten early. See, I used to be kind of a flirt at age 5. Seriously—I got in trouble more than once for kissing boys on the playground. So it was only natural that I would expect the boys to like me back. When they didn’t, it cut me, it cut me real deep. Two episodes stand out to me more than the others—picture it, Bristol, 1984. A cute-as-a-button Big E dressed in her tailor made finery (complete with tag reading “Made With Love By Mommy” sewn into the back) was out on the playground when she spies a kid named Andy. He’s got something in his chubby hand that he says is a present, and of course Big E thinks it’s for her. He walks toward her, coming closer, closer…and walks right past, to another girl named Amanda. He gives Amanda a ruby ring he had stolen from his mamaw’s jewelry box (hey, this is Bristol we’re talkin’ about here) and Amanda fawns over it with sickening glee. Big E stomps her tiny oxford clad feet and pouts the rest of the day. The next day on the school bus, Big E feels a tap on her shoulder. It’s Jimmy Yarber, her fellow kindergarten classmate. He says to her that he’s brought her something, and produces a gold metal ring with a red plastic jewel perched atop it. He says that he wanted Big E to have her own ruby ring so he got one for her from the chicken egg machine at the grocery store. He spent a whole quarter on it! Big E proudly dons the ring and walks into Mrs. Tauscher’s class feeling like the best girl in the world.<br />
Cut to first grade—Big E is still not only the cutest girl in her class, but naturally the smartest. She gets her work done, always has examples ready to demonstrate for her “letter of the day” presentations, and knows how to bat her eyelashes for an extra Oreo at snack time. Since she’s a good girl, she always gets to go to recess, but not all of the children are as good as her. Especially not a little boy named Wes Combs. Wes is incorrigible and seems to have a hard time staying in his seat, thus causing him to miss recess frequently and have to sit in the classroom and write sentences. One lovely day, Big E comes in during recess to get a kickball or some sort of game equipment from the room. There sits Wes in all his badassery, writing sentences and generally making a mockery of his education. The teacher assigned to watch him has her head down, reading a book. So what does Wes do before Big E goes back outside? He says, “hey, look at this!” and proceeds to show Big E his tiny, 6 year old wiener. Yep, that’s right—indecent exposure. Big E squeals and runs from the room, still scarred by the experience 25 years later. To this day I don’t know his motivation, but I’m 99% positive he probably saw his dad or his older brother do it and thought it was a good idea.<br />
So what lessons did I learn from these early life experiences? <br />
Lesson #1—there are still nice guys out there.<br />
Lesson #2—those guys usually have don’t stay in from recess because they were bad.<br />
Really though, what it taught me is that I can’t expect every guy to like me, and if I do, that’s my fault. Some guys just aren’t that into you, or they have too many hang ups, or all they want to do is show you their dong. And the minute that you get your hopes up that he’ll call, or take you on another date, or generally act like someone you’d want to be seen with in public is the minute that you can throw all that out the window. People are people, and they screw up. If you have your sights set too high, all you’re going to do is drown when it rains. You have to have a healthy dose of realism when it comes to dating. Trying not to expect too much while still keeping your standards where you want them to be is a tough thing, but it’s not impossible. Trust me, I learned the hard way.The Big Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622249236473568100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1431933984884598169.post-7966989455077833082010-04-26T12:49:00.000-07:002010-04-26T12:49:17.074-07:00Creating the Perfect StormOK Y’all,<br />
So I’m going to do a little exercise today, and not of the physical variety (though Lord knows I needed to get on THAT wagon a loooooong time ago). I’m going to indulge myself a little and be creative—all for the sake of l’amour. We all have the requisite “list” of things that we want in a partner; some people have a much longer list than others. So I thought, why not create myself a perfect man, piece by piece, using qualities I find in those men I admire, famous and non-famous? It sounded pretty good, so here we go: The Big E’s Perfect Specimen: Exhibit A.<br />
1. Face: Obviously face is going to be first, because let’s “face” it…you’ve got to want to look at this guy every morning and think, Boy howdy! I am one lucky cowgirl! So I will have to go with Paul Walker. He is soooo pretty. I mean, ridiculously blue eyes, sculpted jaw, and lips like pillows of marshmallow crème—what else could a girl want to look at when heavy breathing is involved? Bradley Cooper would be a close second, and though he has limpid pools of gorgeousness for eyes, he’s a little big in the snout for me, which could potentially hinder proper kissing technique. Paul’s got the perfect face for causing me to melt into my socks. I know a lot of girls wouldn’t want a “pretty” boy, they’d want a rugged man, and honestly I can see that. But like I said, if I’m going to wake up and want to shake my own hand for how well I’ve done, Paul can get it done every time.<br />
2. Body: Paul’s a very good contender for this category as well, but he’s a little lean for me. I’d want someone who’s built well but not too skinny. I’m going to go with Gerard Butler in his 300 days. He looks like a guy who would whoop Batman’s ass and still be able to lift heavy furniture without issue, but would certainly go wing for wing with you at the bar. I like how broad his shoulders are and he’s got a cute bum—perfect for squeezing when congratulating him on a job well done after moving said furniture. <br />
3. Voice: I would want him to talk to me like Matthew McConaughey. I love that Southern drawl that sounds like honey dripping off a graham cracker. He’s got to be a crooner too, and for that, nobody beats Michael Buble. That boy has magic in his larynx; I don’t know why in the world he would ever say regular words when he could sing them all and entrance hoards of women into doing his bidding. <br />
4. Sense of Humor: Hands down, Vince Vaughn. He’s dirty, he’s quick, and he will take it to levels you never considered before, all while you’re struggling to catch your breath from laughing so hard. It takes intelligence to be that fast on the draw, to make impromptu connections and non sequiturs that work perfectly. And I want it. BAD.<br />
5. Intelligence: I’m not going to lie; I like to feel like the smart one, but not the one who’s so much smarter that it’s a struggle to hold a conversation. I don’t want some mook, I want a reasonably smart guy who appreciates my predilection for trivia and craftiness. So I am going to have to go with my pal Big Worm. He’s super smart, and probably the only one I consider to be as smart or possibly even smarter than me. He has a fantastic trivia recall, and like me, can’t stand math. If we were truly smart, we’d probably breed our own race of superhumans, but for now I’ll settle for being intellectual counterparts.<br />
6. Romantic Tendencies: I’m the kind of girl who likes attention, and who likes to feel wanted and needed. I like presents, I like compliments, and I like to be taken care of. I want someone who will share my interests, but still have some of his own. I need just the right amount of mush and thoughtfulness combined with a backbone. For that, I would want someone to treat me the way my Dad treats my Mom. He acts like my Mom absolutely hung the moon and the entire world revolves around her. He wants her to have what she wants and he always tells her how pretty she is and how impressed he is with her, but he isn’t a pussy. I really respect my Dad—he’s a man’s man who loves his woman. Paul-Gerard-Matt-Michael-Vince-Worm has big shoes to fill. <br />
Alrighty y’all! That’s all I’ve got. Hit me up if you have comments!The Big Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622249236473568100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1431933984884598169.post-19514089318750782192010-04-23T14:00:00.000-07:002010-04-23T14:02:01.280-07:00Wishin' and Hopin'...and Buildin' and Directin'...OK Y’all,<br />
So I was reading an article today online about a book this lady named Helen Fisher wrote about the 4 “types” of people and how they date. Apparently Helen did some research with a bunch of people looking for love on match.com and translated it all into these biological types that depend on the presence of higher levels of different chemicals in the brain: Explorer, Builder, Director, and Negotiator. If you’d like to read the article, just copy this link: www.yourtango.com/helenfisher. I read through the types and I realized that I am a combo of two of the types: I am a “Builder” and a “Director.” Here’s the article’s description for each and how they tend to date: <br />
“The second type is the Builder, who expresses with serotonin. These people are calm, social, popular, cautious, but not fearful. Very managerial, they're very good at networking, family's very important to them. They're traditional, conventional, often religious.”<br />
“The third type is the Director, expressive of testosterone. They're direct, decisive, tough-minded and often understand music very well because music is very structural. They're competitive, ambitious and very good at spatial relations.” <br />
“The Builder tends to follow rules and schedules, but you've got to take some risks when you're dating. They're also very social and very network-y so they'll take a new date to meet all their friends when the date might just want to spend the night with them.<br />
The Director often thinks dating is a pain in the neck. They want to get to the point. They also make up their mind too fast so in the middle of the date, if they realize this isn't going anywhere for them, they can be very rude. They've got to relax.”<br />
So I think what Helen is trying to tell me is that I am a hard-headed, dirty old man. And really, I’m fine with that. The thing that sort of got me, though, was that basically the article said that any of these types could date any of the others successfully as long as they thought each other were the shizz. I don’t know who wouldn’t think I’m the shizz, but for argument’s sake, let’s take a closer look. <br />
I’m part Builder, so I’m a rule-following, overly cautious social butterfly. Great! I’ll fit right in at the mixer down at the Moose Lodge with all the other virgins in the quilting circle. Then again, I’m part Director, so not only will I compete so viciously with all the other virgins for the last remaining man at the Moose Lodge Mixer that I will completely railroad them all, but when I acquire said man, I’ll find him absolutely abhorrent in the middle of the first date and proceed to point out all his flaws until he cries or runs screaming. And all he really wanted to do was take me home and give me a railroading of his own. Wow. What a future I have ahead of me! I can almost smell the faint stench of desperation that will certainly be oozing off of me in just a few short months of continuing down that path. So what’s a Builder-Director Girl to do? Helen says Relax. I’m just going to keep networking, socializing, and being popular. There’s got to be somebody out there ready to Build and Direct a life with me.The Big Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622249236473568100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1431933984884598169.post-55287570614582506892010-03-10T13:48:00.001-08:002010-03-10T13:48:55.575-08:00Plop Plop, Fizz Fizz...Oh What A Relief It Is!OK Y’all,<br />
So here recently I’ve been guilty of doing something that I hate when other people do. In fact, it’s happened twice in the last six months. No, it’s not the ‘dine and dash,’ though that is completely tasteless. It’s what I like to call the “Slow Fizzle.” It’s when you go out with somebody, and either you’re not feeling them, or they’re not feeling you, or you’re both not feeling each other (up or otherwise) and you’re both too lazy to call the other one and say “hey Bub, this is kinda bleh. You say tomato, I say potato…let’s call the whole thing off, whaddya say?” So you just don’t do anything, nobody calls anybody, you both go AWOL, and frankly neither one of you is all that put out by it. <br />
Like I said, I really hate it when people do that to me, but I have been a two time offender in recent months.<br />
The first guy seemed to be pretty interesting, and I was actually interested in him. He was cute, and smart, and we had people in common. I thought there may be something that came of it, or at least some fun to be had. But the more we hung out, I noticed that he didn’t seem to be all that wild about me for whatever reason. And the more disinterested and distracted he acted, the less interested I became. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but there were too many things getting in the way and I didn’t really have that much invested in the process. I decided to give him one last chance, just to see if maybe I was wrong, or just confused with the signals I was getting, but my gut was right. He was the firework in the 9.99 bundle at Crazy Al’s that just didn’t want to spark, no matter how many times you tried to light it. So I thanked him for our date, got in my car, drove home, and didn’t hear from him for weeks. I sent him a text at one point just to make sure he was in fact still alive, and he was. So I just left it at that. It didn’t really bother me because I felt like I was worth more than a lukewarm response. I’m sure he’s fine. I’m fine. It just fizzled little by little and didn’t end with a bang but a whimper.<br />
The second guy I wasn’t so interested in outwardly, but he had a lot of good qualities on paper. I thought I’d at least give him a shot, and he did impress me in a superficial sort of way. He obviously set out to do his best and he really gave it a nice effort. But I just couldn’t get rid of the nagging feeling that I would always be on the lookout for someone better looking. I really <i>wanted</i> to like him. So what did I do? I gave it the old college try. I argued with myself. I tried to talk myself into it. But when I went out of town for a week and didn’t even give him a second thought, I knew I had to let it go. I know that sounds really, really shallow and awful, and I admit that I am a really, really shallow, awful person sometimes, and even with that admission and realization I still couldn’t get past it. I just couldn’t imagine myself with him 10 years down the road. I’m not saying you have to be Dash Riprock, and I’m not saying I’m Hottie McHotness, but I’ve got to see something in your appearance that I like or it’s just not going to work. It’s a primal instinct. Fortunately for me, I think he took my lack of contact as a hint and he progressively slowed the contact as well. Sure enough, I never heard from him after a brief text exchange one evening. I was a complete coward and never bothered to get in touch with him again either. It all worked out in the wash I guess. I don’t condone the Slow Fizzle, but I suppose now I’m just as guilty as the rest of us who’ve done it. I suppose my sentence is to remain single. Fortunately it’s a sentence I’m used to.The Big Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622249236473568100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1431933984884598169.post-27208648025518950932010-02-06T08:31:00.000-08:002010-02-06T08:31:10.419-08:00Learn From My FailOK Y’all,<br />
So I was reading my newest ladies magazine the other night and they had a breakdown of different types of guys and how to spot them. It was pretty stereotypical, with the brooding intellectual, the surfer dude, and the well-dressed heartbreaker all making an appearance. Reading those descriptions got me thinking about the men I have known or dated in my own life, and led me to create some descriptions of my own. Here’s what I came up with:<br />
<b>1.The Goodyear Blimp:</b> I call this guy a blimp not because he is fat (though the one I dated was a total chubbo) but because he is full of hot air. This guy talks a good game, but when it comes right down to it, he’s got nothing to show for his peacockery. The guy I dated looked great from the outside—a sports career, nice car, good family, attentive nature. He seemed to be exactly what I was looking for as far as ambition and drive, and presented himself as a hard-working, moral person. I had visions of us making a life together and conquering the world with his business savvy and my creativity. What he turned out to be was a failure at life, relying on his parents for a job, a ride, and a place to live. He had no faith, no self-esteem, and he couldn’t give a compliment if his life depended on it. Unfortunately, it took me 2.5 years of my life to finally be done with him, and the humiliating part was, HE dumped ME. Ridiculous! <br />
<b>2.The Rodeo Clown:</b> This guy is a clown not because he’s funny, but because he makes an ass out of himself from all the drama he gets himself into or chooses to be a part of. He’s a rollercoaster of emotional turmoil, and dating him is much akin to riding a bull and trying to stay on for the whole 8 seconds. You’re trying to follow the dips and bucks, but it’s the most frustrating thing you’ve ever tried to accomplish. Well guess what friends? I’m not Lane Frost, and this guy is no good for you, especially if you’re more into pony rides than steer roping. He’s always pining away over some long lost love, or finding himself embroiled in some latent feelings from a “friend” or some mystery person from the past that only revealed themselves when you decide to go out with him. It’s not as bad as it seems, though, because eventually this guy will recede so far into his cocoon of emotional upheaval that he’ll forget to call or text you for weeks. And surprisingly, it’ll not even occur to you until you sit down to write your next blog. <br />
<b>3.The Wolf:</b> this guy is almost the opposite of the Blimp, because he actually does have the qualities you’re looking for and demonstrates them regularly. You get all comfortable being treated like you’re the best stuff on earth besides Snapple, and suddenly the rug gets pulled out from under you. The sweet, loving, well-mannered guy you were dating turns into a total cad. He stops calling when he says he will, breaks plans or makes them and doesn’t show up, and generally turns into a frat boy at midnight—he’s gone from the Sheep to the Wolf. It may take a little while to figure out the Wolf, as his deceptions begin somewhat innocently, with a little extra time elapsing between calls or dates, accompanied by what seems to be a reasonable excuse. But trust me ladies, the time to wise up is not the time that your friend that lives across the street from him tells you that some girl has a moving truck outside his apartment and is hauling all his furniture out. Just a little warning to prepare yourselves—don’t say I didn’t tell you.<br />
<b>4.The Rick Astley:</b> this guy is never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down…until he does it for the 14th time again this week. This poor guy has all the best intentions, and really does mean well, but he’s overextended himself to the point that having a girlfriend is only a theory and not a scientific fact. He’s working full time, into several hobbies, and has a passel of friends that always want to hang out. It’s easy to see why—he’s got personality in spades and is great at one-liners. But this guy is never going to have the time to really devote to your relationship if you’re even vaguely interested in spending more than 10 minutes with him, while he’s awake, and not working, and…..you get my drift. He tries hard, but he’s got too much going on to really make a relationship work, despite his many promises that he will do better. Do both of yourselves a favor and just let this one go. You can always be friends, but you won’t have to sit around for hours after he said he’d be someplace on Friday night. <br />
Ok folks, that’s all I’ve got this week. Hit me up and let me know what you think—rants, raves, comments, questions!The Big Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622249236473568100noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1431933984884598169.post-30749948638075861302010-01-19T14:01:00.001-08:002010-01-19T14:02:30.002-08:00Call 'Em Like You See 'EmOk Y’all,<br />
So I was just hanging out at home the other night when I got a text from a friend of mine who asked me an odd question. He wanted to know if girls judge guys on what kind of phone they have. He was a little worried and self conscious because his phone is sort of a POS and he’s too cheap to get another one, but he still wants to present himself in a decent light for the ladyfolk. I thought about it and honestly I could care less what kind of phone someone has, as long as they call me, you know? My friend was relieved, but it got me to thinking about what other little things I, as a woman, really do take into account when sizing up a guy. Granted, none of these things by itself has caused me to not go out with someone, but in the aggregate I believe it says a lot about a person and their tastes and predilections. Here’s what I’ve come up with off the cuff:<br />
<b>1.Shoes.</b> I’m sorry, but if you’re wearing the new Jordans with a pair of dress pants, you are probably A. Nelly or B. sartorially challenged. I’m not saying that you have to wear the best pair of Cole Haans you can get your hands on, but you have to have a little bit of style. Match your shoe type to the outfit at hand, and try to put a little effort into it so you don’t look like a goof. Same goes for pointy shoes. Men who wear pointy shoes run the risk of looking like they might be going on a date with another man, or they’re next in line for the elf tryouts at Santa’s Workshop. They’re a don’t all the way around, and personally I would rather you wore flip flops in the dead of winter than force me to look at those gawd awful brogans.<br />
<b>2.Fingernails.</b> I don’t understand why, when there’s a Walgreens literally on every corner that sells clippers, that guys can’t cut and/or clean under their fingernails. I have dated a few guys who got regular manicures from me, and they were quite grateful for it, but it always confounded me as to why I had to be the one to keep up with the grooming of their phalanges. So, a little hint, fellas—check your nails once in a while. Cut them, and clean them. It takes a couple of minutes that I promise you will give you hours of enjoyment from the opposite sex. <br />
<b>3.Facial hair.</b> This also falls into the grooming category. I personally find many guys very attractive with facial hair. Hell, my dad has had at least a mustache his entire life and I think he’s a handsome dude, but he’s also 62. Certain types of facial hair need to be reviewed before sporting. My thoughts: Guys who are under 50 probably should forego the ‘stache unless accompanied by a goatee. Beards I can deal with, but it has to be a tidy beard, not like a Joaquin Phoenix on crack beard (“Is there a frog on my head?”) or a ZZ Top type thing. Most ladies also don’t want some scraggly, patchy mess that looks like you got into a fight with a hot glue gun and lost. If you can’t grow it like a man, don’t try to go there. Sideburns are totally ok at any age as long as they are more Brandon Walsh than Elvis. There it is—now go out and get you some chin pubes.<br />
<b>4.Voice and diction.</b> Now, I know that people cannot help a lot of what happens during puberty to affect their vocal cords, but it’s getting ridiculous out there and I feel I would be remiss if I didn’t say something. It’s what I call the classic “David Beckham Syndrome”—a good looking dude that chicks drool over until he opens his mouth and sounds like he just sucked down an entire liter of helium. Not sexy! The same rule applies to guys with excessive sibilance—you just end up sounding like you need some of the aforementioned pointy shoes. Think Sean Connery, Harrison Ford, Matthew McConaughey—those dudes have some speaking skills. You want to have a nice, manly timbre with a pleasing accent. I’m not saying Southern isn’t sexy, I’m just saying there’s a difference between Southern and Redneck. I shouldn’t need an interpreter from the Blue Collar Comedy Tour to help decipher what it is you just asked me because you can’t form words properly. In fact, I love me a nice Southern accent (like Mr. McConaughey), especially when he whispers those 4 little words every girl likes to hear—“I’ll pay for dinner.” <br />
Alright peeps, that’s all I got! Let me know your thoughts, opinions, rants, and raves!!The Big Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622249236473568100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1431933984884598169.post-56065073902649001382010-01-07T08:08:00.000-08:002010-01-07T08:08:30.786-08:00Keep On Truckin'Ok Y’all,<br />
So it’s a new year and I think we can all agree that now’s as good a time as any to make some dating resolutions. It only makes sense that whilst I attempt to overhaul my diet and exercise regimen that I overhaul my outlook on wooing and being wooed by the opposite sex. Here’s what I’ve come up with:<br />
<b>Resolution #1:</b> I will not date out of boredom. There have been a few times in my life where I’ve been in a bit of a dating lull, and to combat the lull, I have made questionable dating choices out of sheer ennui. Now that’s not to say that my dates were not decent people, or that they did not put forth effort, just that I was not quite in the frame of mind to be working toward anything but a good time, or the person I was going out with had a few deal breakers that I knew were not going to be acceptable over the long-term. And you and I both know that can sometimes cause hurt feelings, especially when the person you are going out with is genuinely interested in you but you are not so interested in them. Obviously, being honest about your intentions for the date up front is preferable, but who’s going to want to take you anywhere if you blurt out, “Hey, dudarino, I’m only going out with you because, even though you are ridiculously wrong for me, I couldn’t stand another night of Golden Girls reruns and stale pizza”? I’ll take NOBODY for $500, Alex. But hey, if you’re both bored and just want to hang out with no expectations, then by all means, friends. <br />
<b>Resolution #2: </b>I will not settle for less than I deserve. I have been in several dating situations that were also less than ideal because converse to Resolution #1, I was the one who was more into the relationship. And it ended up causing me some heartache because I went over and above to prove myself to someone who couldn’t have given a shit less. I tend to be that person—trying to prove that I am helpful, fun, smart, whatever. And no one should have to work that hard. As a woman, I want a man who is going to be excited to see me and spend time with me, flattered to have me on his arm at a restaurant/theater/honky tonk/beer pong tournament, and totally pumped at the prospect that my lips might somehow touch his—just because I am me. I want to feel wanted, beautiful, and skinny. And this year I am not going to settle for someone who does not treat me thus. <br />
<b>Resolution #3:</b> I will be honest, but tactful. This one is probably going to be the hardest one for me to keep, because if you’ve met me or even read the last couple of posts, I’m not exactly Nancy Niceness. I tend to err on the side of being blunt with a side of “WTF did she just say to me?!?!” and it gets me in trouble. When I think back on some of the things I have said to boyfriends past, I cringe. And I know in my heart that if they had said those things to me, I would have punched them squarely in the wedding tackle. So this year, I’m going to be my creative best in crafting the harsh words I’m thinking into fluffy pillows of constructive feedback. Will I fail on occasion? Abso-frickin’-lutely. But I’m going to pick myself up and try again, after I apologize profusely and go buy some new lingerie.<br />
Alright, give me your dating resolutions, rants, raves, and comments! Happy new year and happy dating!The Big Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622249236473568100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1431933984884598169.post-15551159741896980702009-12-10T12:30:00.000-08:002009-12-10T12:30:28.073-08:00It's The Thought That CountsOK Ya’ll,<br />
So I was asked this question last year about this time, and I didn’t really feel like I gave a satisfactory answer. A friend of mine who had recently reconnected with an old flame wanted to know what to get him for Christmas. They’d only been seeing each other again for a few months, and though they had dated in the past, it had been many years since they had parted ways. She wanted to know what I thought would be acceptable gift ideas for a fledgling reconnection. I suggested several things—CD, book, DVD of a favorite movie, cologne—but I feel like when people ask me stuff like that, I never have a good answer. The only thing I really know is what constitutes a bad gift. I have been the recipient of said gifts, and also heard several bad gift stories from friends and in my “ladies light reading” periodicals. So here’s my list of what NOT to get for that certain someone you hope to impress, or anyone that has a vagina.<br />
<b>1. A six-pack of Diet Coke.</b> Yes, I read this in the December issue of one of my aforementioned periodicals. It was a story about the author at 16, hoping her adorable boyfriend would get her something rad like Bonne Belle Lip Smackers in Dr. Pepper flavor and a teensy-weensy diamond chip necklace or some shit, and instead he plops a six pack of Diet Coke in her lap like it’s the friggin’ Taj Mahal of Christmas presents. Because, he said, “he knew how much she loved to drink it.” She was crestfallen to say the least. I felt bad for her to have been in the unfortunate situation of getting such a craptacular gift, but also for the fact that she probably thought he was insinuating that she was fat. Poor girl. I will say when I was 16, I got roses. Classy move, High School Boyfriend.<br />
<b>2. A battery recharging station.</b> This little gem of a story came from my aesthetician, Charmin. She’s a whiz at hair removal and, I suspect, body part removal if things get hairy in the figurative sense as well. She said that the first Christmas she and her husband were together as a married couple, he was beside himself with glee at the prospect of her opening his present. It was rectangular, about 14x6, and felt somewhat heavy. Charm, being the girly girl that she is, had all kinds of wonderful things in mind when holding this Pandora’s box of opportunity, suspecting that it might be something in the way of a jewelry coffret with some sort of glittery bauble inside. She said Hubs kept telling her “it’s for both of us” (or bofus, to use common parlance), inferring that she would be happy and he would get laid. She eagerly ripped the paper off on Christmas morning to come face to face with a BRAND NEEEEEWWWW…Battery recharging station! To say that Hubs was in the doghouse for many, many cold nights to come is an understatement. <br />
<b>3. Anything you’ve already eaten or have no use for yourself.</b> My beautiful and cool Aunt Helen fell victim to myriad ridiculously vomitous gifts Yuletide after Yuletide, courtesy of her drunkard of a mother in law, God rest her soul. See, my aunt was not so popular with Mommy Dearest; and so the acrimony MD felt, coupled with her drunken shopping sprees ending in the consumption of half her purchases, left my poor auntie in the clutches of a dysfunctional round robin of horror. One year, she received a banana hanger along with a half eaten jar of cocktail nuts; another year, a base to a punch bowl, sans the actual bowl. There are a host of other poorly chosen trinkets on this list, but out of respect for the dead, I’ll let the above be a lesson to you all: Don’t drink and gift.<br />
<b>4. Chanel No. 5.</b> Now I know that it may sound silly to complain about something as nice as Chanel No.5, and granted, it is a pricey gift. I mean, even Marilyn Monroe said she wore it, and only it, to bed—which is why I wonder if perhaps JFK, and RFK, and Frank Sinatra, and Arthur Miller, etc. had no olfactory nerves, because that stuff STINKS. One spritz and suddenly you smell like the unwashed underpinnings of an 88 year old European woman. And good luck trying to get it off—I think the only thing that will get that smell off of you is skunk spray. So a word to the wise when choosing perfume (and using someone else’s bathroom)—just because you like the way it smells, doesn’t mean everybody else will. Let THEM choose.<br />
Alright, that's all I've got. Let me know what horrible gifts you've gotten in the past and let's all have a Merry Chrismakwanzakkuh!The Big Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622249236473568100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1431933984884598169.post-71687856371883465612009-11-24T17:16:00.000-08:002009-11-24T17:16:22.398-08:00Name, Rank, and Serial NumberOK Ya’ll,<br />
So I have to admit something—I love to watch certain reality shows. And one of those shows is about a bunch of crazy bitches who get together for a “bootcamp” with a professional match maker dude who breaks down to them exactly why they are a bunch of crazy bitches and can’t buy a date. Which got me to thinking, I wonder what this match maker would say to me? On the show, he gives each girl a nickname, the sort of moniker one doesn’t want to be saddled with on national television—ones like, Ms. Desperate and Ms. He’d-Rather-Gnaw-His-Own-Arm-Off-Than-Wake-Up-With-You. So I sat down and analyzed a little bit about myself to see what name would fit. Here’s what I’ve come up with as “characteristics” about my persona:<br />
<b>1.Ms. Nerdy—</b>I LOVE trivia games, and my favorite TV show is Jeopardy. You will be hard pressed to beat me at Trivial Pursuit as I am an overachiever in almost everything I do. I am an academic slut. I have a favorite dinosaur and even know a song about it (the Stegosaurus, if you must know). I am fascinated by science (biological, not chemical), how things work, and used to read the dictionary for fun. I also have the Merriam-Webster word of the day emailed to me, and usually already know the meanings. I love dorky jokes and sci-fi movies, but refuse to dress up like Princess Leia until I drop 20 lbs. <br />
<b>2.Ms. Loudmouth—</b>I am ridiculously loud at times, and love nothing more than a giant, bohunkin’, gut-busting laugh. I have been accused of being too quiet when I first meet people, but only because I am observing before I unleash the madness. I will yell, holler, chortle, and generally make a fool of myself at a volume that is best described as “11.” It’s best not to compete with me unless you truly want to get kicked out for disorderly conduct.<br />
<b>3.Ms. Filthy—</b>I have also been accused of being “the dirtiest person I know” by many people, but it seems to be most shocking to the menfolk. I love an off-color joke, and I know a lot of them, and I usually tell them at the aforementioned volume of “11.” I also tend to think or act in a way that has been described as “like a dude,” which I think means that I am generally unapologetic for my crassness and tend to sneak out of a guy’s house at 4 am after sex. I realize that many people may find this unladylike, or uncouth, and it’s not that I am without my manners. I’m fully capable of putting on the good girl personality and hobnobbing with the high falutin’ crowd. But I also find that life is so much more pruriently enjoyable when you’ve heard my version of The Aristocrats.<br />
<b>4.Ms. Class Clown—</b>I make people laugh, end of story. I don’t care what it takes, I will make an utterly ridiculous spectacle of myself if it gets you to crack a smile. I also tend to have a mean streak a mile wide coupled with a quick wit that gets me in trouble a lot. But even though it might get me fired, or get me permanently kicked out of your house, I guarantee it was funny when I said it. If you don’t laugh at least once when I’m around you, then your laugher is broken. Or you have no brain. <br />
So there you go folks. Those are a few of my most outstanding qualities. I’ll let you decide what my Match Maker Moniker should be. I’m sure everyone’s opinion is different, or perhaps you have a combo for me. Let me know!The Big Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622249236473568100noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1431933984884598169.post-38914900257768990022009-10-21T11:41:00.000-07:002009-10-21T11:41:36.353-07:00Open Up and Say Aahh..OK Ya’ll,<br />
So it’s been a little bit, but I’m back. The Big E has been a busy girl, doing a world tour of sales knowledge and amazing feats of strength for the people of East Tennessee. While I was traveling the width of the Volunteer State, I got to thinking about a few things, and one of those was K-I-S-S-I-N-G. The long lost are of the smooch is something that I think is one of the most important aspects of a relationship. A bad kiss can ruin your mo faster than anything, and a really good one can turn an “ok guy” into “Holy Shit!” in a total ecumenical about-face. So let me expound upon some of the kissing techniques I find to be the most loathsome of the bunch. You know, so you can be prepared to NOT do these things the next time you go in for the kill.<br />
<b>1.The Jackhammer</b>—This person is of the mindset that if a little action is good, repeated, forceful, thrusting action in your oral cavity is even better. They have not heard the adage “less is more when frenching your friends.” Sometimes this person is so vigorous in their activity that they become The Hummingbird, causing one to feel as though they have been assaulted without even registering what happened because it was all over so quickly. So please, for your safety and the comfort of others, take it slow and take it easy. You do not, however, want to become:<br />
<b>2.The Dead Fish</b>—This person is the polar opposite of the Jackhammer. They feel that exhibiting their affection is best done through the placement of their tongue in your mouth and leaving it there. Their torpor could also be misconstrued as laziness, but in actuality, I believe this person is simply under-informed. Somewhere along the way they have grasped the notion that French kissing is all about putting your tongue in someone’s mouth, but they were absent on day two of the presentation regarding appropriate levels of movement and force. Thus, they employ the Dead Fish, and subsequently remove themselves from your dating pool in one fell swoop.<br />
<b>3.The Python</b>—This poor sap possesses a jaw that becomes unhinged when smooching their partner, and said partner feels that they are, in fact, being consumed by Kaa in the Jungle Book. Sometimes in the heat of passion, one feels the need to kiss a little more deeply or openly, but let’s try not to Hoover someone’s face off, shall we? Not only will it save you a doctor’s visit for TMJ, but it will also instill your date with the confidence that you are not a predatory cannibal with a penchant for herpetology.<br />
<b>4.The Slobberpuss</b>—This fine specimen has salivary glands that work overtime and the product of this hyperactivity usually ends up slathered all over your face. Sometimes the Slobberpuss even enjoys licking their prey to the point of pruniness. My advice to you? Swallow, and swallow often. Do not eat Sour Patch Kids immediately before kissing. And for Pete’s sake, do not let your tongue wander outside of the established parameters of the lips!<br />
<b>5.The Spelunker</b>—This Nightmare on Smooch Street has not mastered the power of retraction. They find that if your tonsils have not been properly polished, then their job has not been completed. Sometimes the Spelunker may just be in possession of an abnormally large tongue and it unintentionally chokes you, or they may just not realize that the mouth is an entryway to the digestive system and thus should be treated like a foyer and not a dining hall. Either way, Gene Simmons called, and he said you’re cramping his style.<br />
Ok peeps! That’s all I’ve got for you. Feel free to leave me your bad kissing stories or reprehensible kissing methods, along with other comments, rants, raves, and questions!The Big Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622249236473568100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1431933984884598169.post-49084828387190289202009-09-30T12:10:00.000-07:002009-09-30T12:12:50.247-07:00Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club BandOK Ya’ll,<br />So I’ve been researching a little bit about the subject of loneliness as of late. Everyone knows that there’s a difference between being alone and being lonely, and while it’s nice to be alone (especially when you have a stage 5 clinger on your hands), it’s not all that fun to be lonely. I know a little about both such feelings, seeing as how I live by myself and have ample time to be alone and sometimes that makes me feel lonely. Sometimes it just makes me thankful that all I have to deal with is two cats and a pile of dishes I don’t have to put in the dishwasher if I don’t want to. Anyhoosle, the more I thought about the topic of loneliness, the more I noticed a pattern of behavior that stems from loneliness in most people. Here’s my take on what happens when people stop being polite and start getting real—real lonely, that is:<br /><strong>1.Unplanned pregnancies skyrocket.</strong> Loneliness is simply a feeling of isolation and withdrawal from positive human interaction. And what happens when people who want some interaction don’t get it? They go looking for it at the closest establishment that serves up liquor and loosely moral-ed members of the opposite sex. And what does that lead to? Doing it! Doing it under any circumstances, including without the prerequisite blood test and prophylactic devices! And we all know that the result of such interactions is many times a single mom at the PTA meeting with an embarrassing story to tell when it comes around to signing up for the couple’s retreat. I’m not saying it’s wrong to go out and get you some strange when you feel like it, but for Pete’s sake, make sure you’ve got some form of birth control about you when your wits aren’t. <br /><strong>2.Feelings develop unexpectedly.</strong> I don’t know how many times I’ve seen it happen—people date someone out of loneliness and nothing better to do and end up mired in a ridiculous situation they would never have gotten into if they hadn’t been so tired of sitting on the couch on a Friday night. Before you convince yourself that Bud ‘just needs some inspiration’ to get a job but is otherwise a great catch despite living in his mother’s basement, try taking a good hard look in the mirror, Sissy. You’re lonely and you’re letting this whole doomed exercise in failure get started because you’re bored. Ask yourself—if I had a whole passel of eligible suitors, would I be looking twice at this dimwit, knuckle-dragging cretin? I doubt it. So get a cat instead—they’re a lot more company, and they don’t ever make you switch the channel to NASCAR when you’re trying to watch an America’s Next Top Model marathon.<br /><strong>3.The plug doesn’t get pulled.</strong> I’ve seen this one a lot, too—people let things go on and on and on because they’re afraid of being lonely. So they stay in a galactically stupid dating situation for months, sometimes years, on end. They think that “he/she will come around” or that the person will wake up one day and realize, “hey, I’ve really had an epiphany and I think I’m going to stop sleeping around on you, taking all your money, ignoring your pleas to spend time together, and be an upstanding human being that values your feelings!” Guess what, sweet cheeks? It ain’t happening. Like I always say, GOMO—Get Over it, Move On. There’s nothing left of this relationship but a hollowed out husk of a love story that never should have happened. What’s the worst that can happen? Oh yeah—they get half your stuff and joint custody every other weekend. <br /><strong>4.You show up on an episode of Cheaters. </strong>It is possible to be in a relationship and be lonely. Especially if one of the parties is not exactly home all the time or not attentive to the needs of the other. Long distance relationships are breeding grounds for cheating. If you don’t see each other at least once a month, there’s going to be some seriously pent up physical tension going on, and someone’s got to be on the receiving end of it. Let’s face it, you’ve only got two hands, and even that gets boring. So what happens? Sweetykins goes down to the very same establishment we mentioned earlier that serves liquor and loose morals, and comes home 9 months later to tell you something you don’t want to hear. I’m not saying everyone in a long distance relationship that doesn’t see their significant other very often ends up cheating or getting cheated on, but the odds are against you, friend. That said, cheating can occur when both parties are in the same town, in the same house even. If the relationship itself isn’t very solid, if emotional needs aren’t being met, then that can lead to loneliness. And if your honey isn’t getting what they need at home, they can stray. So let’s take a note from that and go home and do something nice for our significant others. Like the adage goes, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. <br />That’s it for this week! Send me your rants, raves, comments, and questions!The Big Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622249236473568100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1431933984884598169.post-19862104785137995982009-09-21T11:20:00.000-07:002009-09-21T11:23:30.180-07:00Call of The WildOK Ya’ll,<br />So I was at a party this weekend (I know, I’m a party animal!) chatting with a group of friends and one of the hostesses when the subject of communication came up. The hostess, a lady about my mom’s age, mentioned how she and her husband reconnected and finally married years and years after they had first dated. They had been high school sweethearts, gone their separate ways in college, and then got back together at a high school reunion. The hostess lamented the fact that it took them so long to find one another again, but she also indicated that a lack of communication was partly to blame. She talked about the “old days” when you had to put quarters in a communal pay phone in the dorm hall and had to write letters and postcards to keep in touch. I never had to deal with such arcane communication methods, but I did have a little bit of difficulty even in my college days, what with no cell phone and a dorm phone that didn’t have any calling features. So if a boy I really, really liked decided to call me and my roommate was on the phone, it was sorry Charlie. Line busy, call missed, dating life over. I had an answering machine, but a fat lot of good it did when your housing committee-assigned roommate from overseas answered the phone and took a message that was unintelligible at best because she didn’t speak “southern.” But I digress…<br />What this conversation sparked in my mind was a little question I have asked myself a few times about communication methods and what they mean. These days we’ve got voicemail, texting, caller ID, email, social networking sites…a veritable cornucopia of ways to stalk, be stalked, and ignore people. There’s a scene in the movie “He’s Just Not That Into You” where Drew Barrymore’s character uses every method available to flirt with guys and complains that she’s been dumped through every medium out there, thus making the heartbreak even more painful. Her (ridiculously gay) friends in the office offer her advice, telling her that someone who only talks to her through social networking sites is definitely chasing other tail, etc etc. So that, coupled with the conversation this weekend posits to me the question, what does it mean when someone uses one communication method over another? If someone texts you but doesn’t call you, is it because he/she is not much of a talker but still wants to holla, or is it because they don’t find you chat worthy? If they communicate primarily through a social networking site like Facebook or Twitter, are they avoiding more personal, one on one contact or are they publicly declaring their affinity for your every thought? It’s a conundrum that I had to roll around in my head for a bit before I could really make a decision. I thought about what my communication methods mean, and why I choose one over another. For me, the best method is talking on the phone, but sometimes there’s a progression. It could start via facebook comments, to email, to phone. Or it could go from meeting at a party, to exchanging numbers, texting, then calling. But to me, the very end result, the one that says they officially like you and find you worth the time, is the phone call. Here’s what I’ve come up with to explain the other methods:<br /><strong>1. Texting but not calling:</strong> I’ve run into this quite a lot over the past couple of years with a few friends and acquaintances. Some people are more textually active than others, and though I resisted at first, I had to add texting to my phone plan eventually so I could keep in touch with certain friends who it seems would only text me, even if I had called them and left a message saying “call me back.” Other friends have become more textual, as have I, and for the most part I find it a handy method for when you don’t have much to say except “I’m on my way” or “good luck today!” or something relatively simple. My old pal Skip (he of mystery girl body language musings) texted me just last night with the question “do you think anyone has had sex in outer space?” These types of texts are ones I can appreciate, and don’t necessarily require a full conversation. My answer, by the way, was “Captain Kirk.” But what about when you meet somebody you like and want to go out with at some point? I think the answer is this: if they, or you, are using text as a primary communication source, it’s a method of protection—they’re feeling you out and deciding if they want to make the step up to calling. It’s a little less awkward to send a text and not get a response than to call someone and have to leave a message when they don’t answer. You never know what to say when leaving a message, and you don’t sound as stupid in writing. There’s a certain amount of nerves that come with a conversation, but texts help bypass that by letting you think about what you’ll say before you text. And honestly, it’s nerve racking to be the first one to call. You don’t want to let go of the security blanket, and you don’t want to cross the line if they’re still unsure. <br /><strong>2. Social networking sites only:</strong> This is the coupe de grace of stalking these days. If you can get a friend request accepted by someone on Facebook, you have access to as much personal info, photographic representation, and social circle commentary as you can handle. When someone “friends” you, and proceeds to comment, it’s sort of like saying, “hey, I like what I see and I wanted to say so.” Think about it—how many people do you friend and then never comment or even look at their page? You only comment on those you like, you know, or you want to get to know. Where it gets tricky is when the other party uses the social networking site as the only means of convo. If they email you on Facebook, then you can only email them back on Facebook if you don’t know their real email address, or see it on their page but don’t want to seem like a freak who’s stalking someone on Facebook, right? So it leads to a sort of false sense of insecurity. You both pretend you don’t see their cell number or other communication method staring at you from their Info tab and let it be because you don’t want to be “that guy/girl” who mistakenly thought someone liked you enough to move on from Facebooking to texting/emailing. And you most certainly don’t want to get burned by number three here:<br /><strong>3. Email/text/Facebook with a denied request to move to the call level:</strong> This one is the one I can’t stand the most, probably because it has happened to me before and it hurt my feelings. I was on a dating site and met an eligible bachelor that I thought may be a decent candidate for a free dinner. We emailed through the dating site a couple of times and then made the leap to personal email. I thought the progression was going well, and I felt comfortable enough to offer the digits after a few more days of emailing. The expectation was set that a phone call was imminent that weekend. What happened? An email on Monday morning explaining why he had not called over the weekend. Illness or something like that. So I gave it another shot, opening the call window in a subsequent email. And still nothing but emails. And then nothing at all. The way I figure it, he was chasing other tail, and I had taken the step out there for a premature call request. Ouch. So while I am not a fan of texting/emailing/etc. when I think calling ought to happen, I keep texting/emailing/etc. to keep myself from making a fool of myself. <br />So there it is folks. Let me know your thoughts, rants, raves, and comments!The Big Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622249236473568100noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1431933984884598169.post-83580117657907935222009-09-08T07:20:00.001-07:002009-09-08T07:20:59.963-07:00Let Me Hear Your Body TalkOK Ya’ll,<br />So I had a conversation recently with a friend of mine, we’ll call him “Skip” for now, who is staking out a lady. This lady is a patron of an establishment that Skip frequents (and by “frequents” I mean I think he secretly lives there) and he’s had his eye on this gal for several months (and by “eye on” I mean he tracks her every move like a hound dog in heat). I don’t blame him, she’s a cute girl, and God knows he needs to get himself a woman. Anyhooser, one night last week this covert operation of his came to a head and he actually had a brief, albeit enlightening, conversation with Mystery Girl. I was not present for said interaction, but he did text me to let me know that the jump had been made; I did what any other friend would do and insisted he call me after he left the bar to discuss in detail. I mean, I do write a blog about relationship issues and what have you, so who better to go over the minutiae of even the smallest of conversations with your intended amour? We broke it down like MC Hammer, analyzing the mannerisms, conversation, company kept, and body language. The funny thing about this whole scientific process, beside the fact that Skip and I are both firmly in the 30 and over category but we talked like two 16 year old girls after the school dance, was that he actually noticed things that I did not think men (well, straight men) were too aware of—specifically, the body language angle. Either he’s been stealing his friend’s Cosmo and reading “How To Subconsciously Trap A Dude” articles, or he’s smarter than I give him credit for. I’m voting for the Cosmo, but it still made me curious. As a woman, I read said Cosmo articles and other media regarding the entrapment of hapless gentlemen, and frankly I find it a little elementary; however, there are people who make their living off of reading body language, so I can’t completely discredit their research. These articles always say things like “don’t cross your arms and legs together—it makes you seem closed off” or “brush your neck with your hand and run your fingers down your arms to subtly show him your secret erogenous zones” or something like that. Personally, I don’t think that kind of body language is all that subtle, and I think it ruins the allure of an interaction if you’re constantly repositioning yourself like a GPS in hopes of drawing attention to the inside of your elbows or whatever. To me, body language is something that should be natural and reactive, and I don’t think it’s hard to tell if someone likes you or doesn’t like you without having to maneuver yourself too much. <br />But I digress, so back to the lecture at hand. Skip said that MG sat down next to him to have a chat and a smoke (insert anti-smoking propaganda here), and the conversation was good, but her body language was awkward. He said that she crossed her leg away from him, which is an indicator of uncertainty, but her upper body was fairly relaxed, which is a sign of comfort. So you can see his confusion—do you go off the convo alone, or is the body language that he’s unnaturally attuned to an indicator of her feigned interest to procure a cigarette? It gave me pause to go through and consider my own body language for a moment, specifically the leg crossing and it’s strength of schedule. In combination with the crossed arms or hands tucked under the legs, it could indicate a couple of things—disinterest, sure, but also perhaps that you should have brought a sweater because it’s a might bit nippy where you are. I cross my arms not so much to close myself off from someone, but because I’d rather them talk to my face and not my glaringly obvious nipples due to the chill in the room. Without the crossed arms, I’m banking that she just has a preference for one leg over the other when it comes to crossing them. The way you clasp your hands is hereditary—right thumb over left, or left over right—so perhaps you have an affinity for one leg crossed over the other for comfort’s sake. I tend to go left over right most of the time, because I’m a lefty all the way and my right side is only here for cosmetic purposes and balance. I asked another girlfriend of mine, and she said she crosses a particular way to make her legs look more comely and appealing. I even paid particular attention to my leg crossing when meeting a new gentleman for the first time, and I noticed that though my legs were crossed away from him, I liked him quite well. So, Skip, in my estimation, man cannot gauge interest from crossed legs alone. If it were me, I’d enjoy the conversation and hope that she runs her fingers down her arm later.The Big Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622249236473568100noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1431933984884598169.post-59915285819839168702009-08-24T13:37:00.000-07:002009-08-24T13:38:37.495-07:00Don't Dream It's OverOK Ya’ll,<br />So I did a quiz on Facebook today that was pretty interesting. It wasn’t so much of a quiz as an extrapolation of my profile data compiled into a statistical representation of how lame my life is, but it was still interesting. This EPD said I had a 90% probability of getting married, which sounds pretty promising at first. But then I got to thinking about it, and a couple of things occurred to me. <br /><strong>1.</strong> There’s no time line on this probability, so I figured I’m basically starting at 90 and going downhill rapidly from there. I mean, probability generally decreases over time for these types of events, so if I’m at 90 now, then I can’t help but drop a few percentage points as time marches on. But then I had another thought—maybe my probability wouldn’t drop, because the divorce rate is such that if I wait long enough, I’ve got a shot at a few fellas that may be off the market now. So this could work for me or against me depending on the dissolution of the matrimonial bonds in my area. Let’s hope by the time the divorce rate has evened out my chances, Vince Vaughn is still single.<br /><strong>2.</strong> (or maybe one and a half) Since there is no timeline, I could be 70 before this marriage occurs. Not promising. My great aunt Mildred was well into her 50s before she got married FOR THE FIRST TIME. I don’t even want to know if she stuck to her guns and decided to save herself for consummation *shudder* but she did end up marrying her freshly widowed pastor, so who knows. Then again, if I marry someone when I’m 70, they’ll obviously have a fantastic personality because very few people look all that hot at 70 (except Sean Connery), and pretty much nobody is attractive from the neck down at 70. And I’ll probably have had enough stories about bumpin’ uglies by then to get me through the next 15 years or so ‘til I shuffle off this mortal coil, so the personality angle will be that much more of a joy to me in my advanced state. But watch out—if he’s anything like me, we’ll have a ball swindling all of our friends at bingo and shuffleboard after the ice cream social at 4:30. <br /><strong>3. </strong>There’s still a 10% probability that I won’t get married. I could end up being the fun, good-looking friend with a killer sense of humor who people secretly think is a lesbian because I’m still single at 95. At first glance it seems depressing, but sometimes I think it may not be so bad. A lot of people just get married to have kids, and since I don’t want any, I’ve got nothing but easy sailin’ ahead. I wouldn’t have to change anybody’s diapers, I wouldn’t have to worry about my husband passing away before me, I could collect as many cats as I want with no one thinking it odd, I wouldn’t have to cut any ingrates out of my will…the possibilities are endless. And hey, if things get too crazy, Congress will send me off to pasture with the warmest of shoves. So I’ll take your 10% and make the best of it. I just need to make sure I don’t marry plenty of wealthy benefactors who insist upon financing the living out of my remaining years in comfort.The Big Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622249236473568100noreply@blogger.com0