I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggonnit…

Texting a friend about therapy:

Me: “We ended up talking about why I don’t consider myself ‘beautiful.’ She showed me a fucking Dove commercial. I’m never going back. (Kidding.)”

Friend: “No one should be forced to watch a Dove commercial.”

And by the way? I don’t consider myself beautiful, and I don’t see a problem with that, so fuck right off, Dove. But I am a middle-age American woman who mostly thinks I’m cute, sometimes pretty, so I do think I’m a goddamn miracle.

Besides, “beautiful” doesn’t even crack the top 100 on my list of issues. When I think about my last pseudo-breakup, my appearance isn’t what keeps my brain spiraling. He once got hard while we were taking a walk because I made a JOKE about wearing high heels during sex — it’s easy enough to believe he found me attractive. So can we focus on this weird haze I get into where I think I’m not smart or interesting enough to keep a dude around AFTER we have sex, even as a friend? That seems to be the dominating self-esteem weirdness here.

Wow. How are you still single? OH, WAIT…

A series of OkCupid messages from a man, ostensibly introducing himself…

1:00 p.m.: “Hello”
1:02 p.m.: “My profile is empty cuz I just signed on today.. and I rather talk and get to know better thru convo like normal people do… Not just read a profile that I can write anything to make more people pay attention … But rather be honest and talk to someone like people do.. not robots”
1:41 p.m.: “Guess I’m just too pretty…”

Um…or maybe I have a job. Maybe I’m carefully crafting a clever yet sexy response to your irresistible approach. Maybe that fifth ellipsis turned me on so much that I had to go tend to this situation in my panties. OR maybe just generally I have more important things to do with 40 minutes.

Do you feel as entitled to everything as you do to a reply? If we end up dating and I don’t text you back within 40 minutes, are you going to keep texting until I do?

And has being a passive-aggressive bitch-baby ever worked? Has a woman ever said, “OMG, ha ha, ‘too pretty,’ so funny, I MUST suck your cock this instant”?

How are you still single, bro? Lemme jump right on that.

Putting the “men” in “entitlement.”

A 27-year-old on OkCupid sent me an intro message the other night, and I wasn’t interested, so I deleted it without responding.

This morning he sent a followup message: “You’re too pretty to give up on. I’m very persistent!”

Sweetie? This brand of “persistence” does not end with you getting the girl. Please don’t make me get all J. Lo in Enough — no one needs to see my midriff, I’m too lazy to learn boxing, and I would look absurd with that haircut. So maybe just quit being a dick.

I’ve also noticed many profiles that say things like, “If I send you a message, it’s rude to just ignore it and leave me wondering. The least you can do is write back to say you’re not interested.” Um, no, actually. The LEAST I can do is ignore you. It’s one click to delete a message. Writing you back adds the effort of keystrokes, so… that’s more I’d have to do, not least. See how words work?

And boo hoo, a stranger finds me “rude?” Not polite and acquiescent like a proper lady should be? I’m sad. No, really. This is my sad face.

If a guy doesn’t respond to my message within a day or two, I don’t wonder — he’s not interested.

Via Body For Wife: She Doesn’t Owe You Shitowe

“Let me work it, put my thang down, flip it, and reverse it…”

Email to a male coworker: “I almost feel bad every time they bring a new male employee in, because my eyes automatically check his left hand for a wedding ring. But I DON’T feel bad, because at least I check.”

Then again, when I tell my other friend a man is married, he always asks, “Well, sure, but…happily?” But investigating that involves too many potential emotional landmines for me.

Another male coworker is married and just had a kid, and a female coworker (also married) told me earlier she thinks he’s “so sexy.” And I agree, I want to nibble his lower tummy — don’t judge me, that’s what comes to mind. And this woman said, “I’m married, not dead.” Damn straight, lady. Respect. Dude is STUPID good-looking — like, I don’t even understand how he’s walking among us mere mortals.

And there’s another guy who’s SO cute, and he has NO idea. Like, I met him and expected him to be a total pretty-boy douche, but he’s super nice. (And also probably below my age bracket, but… I mean, there are always exceptions… “And when I clock black hair, blue eyes, I drift off, I fantasize…”)

The Smug Singleton Projection

See, look at me, understanding a bad workweek is influencing my inclination to say, “Fuck this, I’m going home, and why is this New OkCupid Guy getting all bitchface at me? [He’s not, at all, my brain is just breaking.] I’m never dating again. No one’s dick is worth me having to get Date Pretty, what with the showering and the shaving things and the being charming — I have no charm, I hate everyone. I am officially OK dying sexless, peach fuzzy, and alone with my blankets and books.”


Ahem. I feel better now.

You use your words, I’ll use your penis.

I can’t stand first messages on OkCupid that only say, “Pretty.”

You obviously think I’m pretty. The subtext of every online dating message is, “Hello. I find you attractive enough that I’d like to apply my penis to you in some way.” You could’ve shouted “pretty” from a moving car — it’s an online catcall. What else ya got? 

Similarly, messages that just say “hey” or “hi.” What am I supposed to do with that? You may as well have just grunted at me.

I don’t have many dealbreakers, but the ability to construct a half-decent sentence is a big one. In the past 5 years I’ve known three men I could’ve easily dated and gotten naked with for at least a year. The only thing they had in common was that they were quick-witted, smart, and good conversationalists, which made them IMMENSELY sexy. (OK, fine — they were also all adept at fingering.) I don’t need a writer, I don’t need flawless grammar. But I’m turned on by words, and men who use them, especially behind a keyboard, where you have time to craft. So I’m not settling for “hey.”

Addendum: As I was writing this post, a first message came in that said, “Hey baby. Mmm” — sweet merciful shit, are you kidding me? I AM A LADY, MOTHERFUCKER!

Not half-ass. FULL ass.

I’ll admit, most days I half-ass my appearance for work. I’m generally OK looking, so I let my hair air dry and don’t give a lot of thought to my clothes or makeup. I’m going to work — they don’t pay me to be pretty, and there’s no one here I want to get naked with.

But today I’m going out after work, and my God I’m cute when I give a damn. (And when my more fashionable friends hand-picked my entire outfit when we went shopping that time.)

Is it worth it, lemme work it…

I have to give a presentation at work today, so I came in all pretty. The last time I looked this good at work was when I was trying to get a coworker to fuck me, so here’s hoping they’re more receptive to my ideas than that guy was.

Narcissist for narcotics.

If there’s not already such a thing as a definitive height of narcissism*, I may have created it this morning when I took a selfie outside the therapist’s office.

In my defense, I looked really good — I wrapped up my Crazy all pretty.

* I assume the actual definitive height of narcissism HAD to have been established at some point in the Kim/Kanye merger, or surely by Presidential Candidate Who Shall Not Be Named.