James and the Giant Breach

Disclaimer: I am aware that everything I’m about to say makes me a complete asshole.

Still with me? Excellent.

First OkCupid message:

“Hello Smug! I think I love you(r) amazing sense of humor, sarcasm, and snarkiness.”

*hyperventilating* Oh, OK. Apparently even a JOKE about love gives me a tiny anxiety attack.

“Can we please go people watch together, because you just might be my match. Like when you’re holding hands and your fingers fill the spaces in the others persons hand. I bet we’d have fun in Wal Mart!”

…Wait, what?

“My name is James. Let’s just start with the basics… Favorite color, beverage, food (Just kidding, let’s do this over a drink! )”

I don’t even know my favorite color because I am neither 8 years old nor Buddy the Elf. My favorite foods/drinks are in my profile because OKC asks for them. The profile also says I’m not meeting anyone immediately because I’m not becoming a Lifetime movie when you axe murder me.

“P.S. did I mention that I LOVE your sense of humor? The smile isn’t all that bad either…”

Jesus Christ on drums, James — stop saying “love.”

Somewhere over the rainbow, innnn myyy paaants…

Email to Male BFF: “I need a ruling on behalf of your people: A guy sent me an OkCupid message Wednesday night. I was going to answer, and then I got anxious, and then I was going to answer, and then I got anxious, and now it’s almost a week later. How much of an asshole am I if I answer now? (Bear in mind there might be pussy at the end of this rainbow.)”

His response: “I wouldn’t be thrilled about a weeklong wait, but I’d be even less thrilled about no response. And pussy solves a lot of problems.”

P.S. I wish I could take credit for that rainbow line, but I stole it from a comedian named Christian Finnegan.

“Sounds like somebody’s got a case of the ‘go fuck yourself.'”

Sometimes I check a calendar and realize I can’t pin my unusually vehement annoyance on PMS.

This is even MORE irritating because it means I am not awash in hormones and perhaps over-sensitive. It means everyone is just an asshole.

Or I am. Hard to say. Except, you know, statistically.

“And that’s just one small fraction, of the main attraction…”

Let the record show, for all my whinging about guys on OkCupid who only write “Hi” in their first message, now I’M trying to write to a man and can’t think of a damn thing to say.

This is supposed to be easier for women, right? Just be myself? Are you insane?! Myself is an ASSHOLE, you guys. I have NO game.

“Good day, sir. You seem cute and literate, like I could eventually handle wriggling around on top of you without hating myself after. But first let’s talk and meet for coffee and then you tell me I’m funny and then nudity? It won’t take long — I probably want it more than you do. Just don’t say anything stupid.”

*deep breath*

Self-esteem crisis over. Let’s go get me under someone… Under. Over. Sideways with… Not really caring at this point. The only time I’ve ever hated men is when I realized how integral you are to really good sex. I can make myself come, and it’s…fine. It’s just WAY better when you people do it. Curse y’all for being so much fun to play with.

P.S. Yes, obviously, I’d prefer the vanilla’d-down Glee version of this song. Shut up. I loved Emma and wanted to ride Mr. Schue like a bike. I want his hand on my tummy, and to pull him on top of me by that tie. UNF.

Visine Vigilante

OK, so…I’m glad Joe Biden wrote this. Really. I’m not trying to make light of the gesture in any way.

But, um…

You’re the Vice President — you’re kind of a big deal. If you feel that strongly about it, couldn’t you…DO something? Yell at someone? Kick that entitled douchewang rapist in the ‘nads? Throat-punch the judge, or maybe just pay one of his clerks to sneak some eyedrops into his coffee?

Don’t even tell me Biden can’t make some shit happen on the DL.

Via Buzzfeed: Joe Biden Writes An Open Letter To Stanford SurvivorScreen Shot 2016-06-09 at 5.13.50 PM

I’m about to go high-five this woman’s vagina.

I was debating what to post today but couldn’t decide. And that was CLEARLY because the Lord Baby Jesus knew I’d see this 5 minutes later and laugh so hard my stomach hurt:

“Jesus be a fence around this baby’s mother’s Love Pocket. May it recover, in His MIGHTY name. I IMMEJATELY started doing kegels upon seeing the picture because I got stressed by proxy.”

“This baby walked out of his mothers vagina with a career and bills.”

“…My uterus just put up a ‘closed forever’ sign when I read this. Any eggs that were left over just scrambled themselves to save my poor lady bits from that type of destruction. I’ll be over in the corner with my legs crossed thinking about ice packs and Percocet.”

P.S. I am aware I’m a bad person. But some of the comments are so, SO funny.

Via Awesomely Luvvie: Whose Precious Giant Newborn is This?Screen Shot 2016-05-24 at 1.24.07 PM.png

I feel as though the Asshole Ratio is pretty even here.

I understand this goes against my general “do unto others” philosophy — I would NOT want this done to me. I feel bad about it, it’s a dick move, and makes me a GIANT asshole.

We all on board? Excellent, ’cause I’m posting this screenshot of an OkCupid message, anyway. There’s too much majesty in it to be confined by a mere retelling. You must behold the glory in its entirety.

Identifying information has been deleted/changed to protect the overly cheerful at 8:goddamn-13 in the morning.

Damn, that’s a lot of emojis when you’re 52. (Or any age, really. But 52 for sure.)

P.S. My profile mentions Carlin’s seven dirty words, but just generally, gentlemen — pro tip? Never lead with farts. I’m still a lady, fuckface.


Boosting morale and apparently also your dick

So, hey, Creepy Guy From Another Office in my Building to Whom I’ve Only Ever Said ‘Hi’ in a Small Talky Sense…

I have not “been on a diet.”

I have not “lost weight.”

I DO “look good,” but it’s pretty gross that you said ALL that while passing me in the hall. I realize I can’t get you to stop appraising my body, but it’d be SUPER great if you could stop reporting your findings aloud.

Worse, I said “Thank you,” because I’m an asshole, and am now wondering what kind of goddamn hambeast I looked like before. (I look fine, it’s just my dress — sundresses are very kind to my body.)

By the way, yes, I do think I’d be this pissy if it were an attractive man who said it. Because you brought my weight AND dieting into your “compliment,” implying my weight until today had been somehow suboptimal. So fuck you twice-baked.

P.S. By the way, dicknuts — depression, anxiety, and stress can also cause weight loss. In my case, so can being on drugs that screw with your appetite and hopefully prevent you from going crazy. But hey, I’m thrilled I’m able give you your Monday lunchtime semi. I’ll go find out who I speak to about adding “fluffer” to my business card.

Last words on Waffles Guy

I almost forgot to report that Waffles Guy texted me Sunday morning asking when we could get together again. And that is my fault. I did let him kiss me, and let him leave the last date thinking there’d be another. So…my bad. I did want to kiss him, and I’ll admit I didn’t have the balls to a) stop him from kissing ME, or b) sack up and say to his face that there wouldn’t be a third date.

I let the text sit for a day because I was busy and didn’t have time to think about a response. He texted again yesterday morning, asking if I’d gotten the FIRST text. I apologized for the delay, told him I had, but that: “I actually don’t think we should get together again. I had a nice time, but I don’t see it going further.”

I said essentially the same thing to Elbows Guy, and he was cool with it, so… brilliant, right? I’ve created The Line? Kind, but clear? I AM a real writer!

Yeah, no. Waffles Guy texted back and said, “Why, what happened?”

And for as much of a snarky asshat as I was when recounting what happened on that date…nothing really “happened.” It was all MY preferences and issues. There’s gotta be a woman who’d find him charming…no woman *I* know, but surely someone.

So I told him nothing specific happened, but I didn’t think we had “anything in common except for George Carlin. :),” and he responded, “Didn’t get together enough to really find that out…oh well…good luck :)”

…Um, how much more time do YOU need? I knew 30 minutes into the second date. Do your stories about diverticulitis or shopping for shirts get better?

I told a friend about this and she said, “You didn’t need to give him any response, but seriously, was he hoping you’d say, ‘Never mind. You’re right. We should date some more?'”

I gave him a, “Thanks, you too!” and called it a day.

Waffles Guy, we hardly knew ye.