Thursday, May 23, 2013

Facebook Stereotypes Part I

I had big plans for what I was gonna do after I got off work today. I was gonna work-out, I was gonna take a shower, I was gonna eat some food. Instead I just drank beer and watched youtube. On a positive note, I also came up with this blog about the things people do on Facebook.

I was probably about ten when I realized that people really only talk about a handful of things (the most common topics being who they fucked, who they want to fuck, how much beer they can drink, what they would eat if they weren't so fat, and how they wish they weren't broke - that's what I talk about 95% of the time anyway. The rest is books and jellyfish). Facebook amplifies this by isolating a single person's single thought in status form, often without context and often without dialogue, discussion, conversation or whathaveyou.

So I decided to exaggerate that, and then make fun of it, and then post it on facepage because that seems like a really good idea. Without further ado, here are some of my favourite Facebook Stereotypes.
(P.S. I found most of the pictures on google. Some of them pictures may be copyrighted to somebody. If that somebody happens to be you, drop me a line and I will apologize profusely.)

This person - usually female, I'm sure there are some dudes who do this but I haven't seen one yet - really loves their kids. They're always posting updates about how their kids are doing in school or extracurricular activities, or pictures of their kids, or inspirational images about parenting.

Some people also do this with their pets.

- The kids' lives are waaaaay more exciting than anything I was up to at that age
- The kids often have modern and/or unusual names and even stranger nicknames
- Bonus points if this person has, like, forty children
The Upshot:
As stated before, Momma posts tons of pictures of her/his kids, a lot of which are almost unbearbly cute. Since I am unwilling to have my own children, I like to live vicariously through my friends' facebook shit.

This kid is under the delusion that they are some kind of ultimate badass (I can't make too much fun here coz I more or less used to think I was a female, not-dead Kurt Cobain (this is me circa 2008), but I respected my parents damnit). They are either rambling on about how much they hate school, or how they are doing some sort of illicit activity. I never understood this. If I'm going to smoke a doob - which, for the record, I'm not, thankyou very much - I'm not going to brag about it on facepage. For one thing, that shit is, for whatever reason still techincally unlegal in this country. For another, everybody and their grandpaw smokes a doob now and then, get over yourself.

You're twelve, dude, what the fuck
- Profile picture involves backwards hat, faux-gold chains, mom's bathroom mirror and a thug sign. Bonus points for a handful of twenty dollar bills.

yeeeeeeah bro
- Doesn't understand that everybody knows that they are twelve.
- Extra bonus points if s/he is friends with his/her parents and gets called out.
The Upshot:
One, I'm glad I wasn't quite this bad when I was a kid. Two, I will recognize the advance signs in my own hypothetical children. Or my friends' children. And then I will be forced to.... correct them.

Again, this one is usually a girl but can probably be a guy as well. Generally 19-20 years of age, if they are any older it's not gonna be by much. They are only active from about four PM on a Friday until 10 AM on a Monday. The rest of the time is nothing but drunkenness and debauchery. I'm somewhat in this category but I'm going to set myself apart because contrary to statuses updated in jest, s/he is not: "a toooootal alcoholic" because s/he apparently only seems to drink on weekends. Unlike myself. I drink every fucking day.

In all fairness, I have been here and her spelling is WAY better than mine ever is
- Profile picture was taken at a bar or nightclub or party or whatever it is the young folks do these days
- If they post anything during the week (AKA "sober time) it's going to be song lyrics
- Uploads or is tagged in 174 pictures on Sunday from the Wicked Party!!! Bonus points for garish make-up, obviously fake tan, or duck face
- Uses way more letters than necessary in any given word.
The Upshot:
If you need to know where the party's at, ask this chick.

Nothing ever seems to be going this person's way. Whether it's work, their social life, bills, relationships, health problems, everything is horrible, all the time and it doesn't look like it's going to get better. Ever. And, you know, it's never anything really serious. Like, the people who have cancer or just lost a family member or something always post stuff like: "It's all in God's plan, I'm going to live what's left of my life appreciating the beauty in all things" or "RIP Aunt Rachel, can't think of anybody who lived life more freely than you, love you always" or something else uplifting and - no sarcasm here what-so-fucking-ever - without fail makes my eyeballs leak. Meanwhile, this person's all like, "oh my god I stubbed my toe this is the worst thing that ever happened to anybody".

Alternates between self-censoring foul launguage and writing out the most obscene things on hand, probably depending on their level of ire.
- Inexplicably talks shit behind peoples' backs, then shares pictures with captions about how they don't want shit spoken behind their backs. And calls out anonymous people behind their backs about talking shit behind everybody else's back. What the fuck?
- Bonus points if they state how much they "hate drama".
The Upshot:
No matter how bad my life gets, no matter what bullshit gets thrown at me, it is clearly nowhere near as bad as whatever this person has up their ass.

This post is getting kinda tl;dr and I'm getting kinda drunk so I'm going to break it up into parts. More to come.

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

What I Should Be Doing

I just realized that I have been dicking around (which, in this case, means watching Jenna Marbles and eating stuff) for approximately the last six hours. I also realized that there is nothing more terrifying, more soul crushing, or more depressing, than thinking about the things I should be doing. Because there really are a lot of them. And, like everybody else, I have a habit of putting them off til tomorrow, or the next day, or, well, not that day coz, ya know, I'm working and stuff and I couldn't possibly do any of the things before noon. That would involve getting out of bed before eleven. Instead, I'll just do all the benignly self destructive things I normally do, and claim to be trying to get out of the habit of doing. Scary stuff. And, since I hate to suffer alone, I'm gonna share my procrastinative dread with y'all.


Take my clothes off the line before they get rained on. Again.
Shower - and actually clean myself in the shower rather than standing under the water, looking at the bar of soap and thinking about how rubbing soap and hot water on your skin doesn't really make it cleaner at all.
Put on clothes, other than the pyjamas and work boots I have been schlepping around in for the last (x) days.
Make myself something nutritious to eat, such as a salad, or chicken.
Wash the dishes in the sink.
Start inking the comic I pencilled a week and a half ago.
Write something other than inane blog updates, shopping lists, and the word "kill" over and over again in my journal.
Come up with a responsible budget so that I can pay my debts off this summer.
Do something nice for somebody (yeah, this is never going to happen but it's staying on my list coz it makes me feel good).
Be a rockstar.


Think about exercising.
Eat a block of cheese.
Take a nap.
Drink coffee.
Obssessively research whatever it is I'm interested in at the moment.
Smoke 20-30 cigarettes while staring at the road and contemplating the subjective nature of reality.
Drive around aimlessly, listening to music and looking at people's houses to see if anything has changed since yesterday. I like to call this 'neighbourhood watch'.
Make a half assed attempt at looking presentable so I can go to the store and buy more cigarettes.
Check my phone seven hundred times in the hopes that maybe, just maybe somebody texted me (it should be noted that most of the time when somebody does text me, I'm too fucking lazy to text them back).
Read comics.
Look at pictures of shoes, food, men, clothes or sharks online.
Worry about my lack of productivity.
Open a case of beer and call it quits for the day.

Thursday, May 9, 2013

How to Get This Girl

In my last post I made it pretty clear how a guy can go about making sure I don't want him anywhere near my pants, at any point, ever again. By analyzing what I definitely don't want from a man, I can extrapolate the things I do, in fact, want and compile an instruction manual of sorts for anybody who's interested. Why bother, you may ask?

Because I look like this. Also, I can cook, just sayin.
Furthermore, though this guide is specific to me, seeing as I have more experience being me than anybody else, people are  all pretty much the same so with a little tweaking it could apply to almost anyone, the only difference being that I am a little more blunt about my thoughts and feelings than most.

So, barring the proper combination of pheromones, good looks, alcohol and desperation (I might think I want anybody temporarily if they're nice and I'm drunk), this is the surefire way to get - and, more importantly, keep - this girl.

This one is really, really important, which is why it goes right at the top. There is nothing more depressing than somebody with no ambition to work. It doesn't have to be anything spectacular - I don't care if you work as a fry cook at McDick's or a plucker at the turkey plant, just as long as you have something to do with yourself besides loaf around on the couch all day and bum money off me.

It might seem like a nice gesture seeing as I'm broke most of the time but if you start handing me cash - or worse, paying my bills - I'm going to be insulted. I don't want to feel like I have to depend on you to get by. If you want to buy me a coffee or something, that's cool, but don't straight up give me money. I'm not a prostitute.

"Smart" is even better than that.

I don't mean to sound arrogant here but, in the spirit of honesty, I don't have any problem finding guys who will fuck me. I have standing offers from dudes I could call up any old time to get laid, no word of a lie. Even if that wasn't the case, if I go out to the bar I am guaranteed to meet at least one dude who would gladly take me home. But I don't want that. I want you. I like you. You're great. Respect that.

I have friends. I like to hang out with them. They've stood by me through all kinds of unspeakable shit and they'll still be around if you leave. Don't ever try to compete with them for my attention because you will lose. Some of my closest friends are guys and I understand that there is a whole testosterone things going on there but try not to start shit if you can help it. Also, to return to the previous point, if I wanted to fuck them, I wouldn't be with you.
My family is sort of like that (not the fucking thing obviously, none of that now, but the other stuff) but more so. I love my parents and my brother more than anything or anybody else. You can say virtually anything to or about me, but if you talk smack about them I'll take a bad one. There will be blood.
To that point, once you get into my heart I will defend you with the same fervour.

So do you. So does everybody else. I have a certain propensity towards erratic mood swings and a tendency to try to self medicate with alcohol with varying degrees of success. Normally, when I am in one of my moods (depression or rage being the worst of these), I do what I can to stay away from everybody. If you come into my space when I am avoiding everything with a pulse, well, don't be surprised if I'm a little morose or short tempered. Just remember that it's not you that makes me like that and if I accidentally do unleash on you, it doesn't mean I don't like you or anything like that. Plus, I'll go out of my way to make it up to you later.
This also means that I'll go out of my way to understand and accept whatever issues you have. Everybody's got them and trust me, I can deal with a lot. My ex was an emotionally abusive, clinically depressed alcoholic with a criminal record, serious jealousy problems and an intellect just slightly below that of the average tractor. He also killed one of my cats. And he was the one who dumped me. So unless you compulsively murder people or smuggle drugs in your butt just for fun, you're probably not that bad.

Just because I am emotionally capable of shouldering a lot of shit doesn't mean I have to, or that I am going to. If you ever start thinking that you can do whatever you want because you own me, or because I "can't live without you", just remember that I got by for over two decades without your help. I'll be just fine.

Like, you know, something you can do on your own in your downtime. My schedule will probably not synchronize perfectly with your schedule so instead of calling and texting me constantly while I'm working, or worse, sleeping (there is nothing which makes my blood boil more than being woken up by my phone), go build a model train or fix your guitar or organize your stamp collection or whatever.. Also, I am fascinated by everything but only to a point. Once you go beyond that point, don't expect me to feign interest. Really, do you want me to just pretend to care about what you're doing? If you're not interested in how I draw comics, or Norse mythology, or how many different kinds of cheese there are, just walk away. I won't be mad. I'm pretty damn independant, if you haven't got that picture by now.

If I'm not impressed by the person you are, I'm definitely not going to be impressed by the person you make yourself out to be. No amount of bragging or bullshitting is going to change that.

It's more than just a big old sack of goo taking up space in your cranium. It is - hopefully - the most exciting and attractive thing about you. I'm not necessarily talking about intelligence, and I'm not saying you have to be on par here - I am trying to sound arrogant here, but I'm an intellectual and have met maybe a few people who can keep up with me. It's okay if you don't. I'm not going to think you're stupid. What I want is someone who has a few thoughts bouncing around in his head different from my own, with the capacity and inclination to contemplate things beyond just acting on basic biological impulses "because I felt like it". That shouldn't be all that taxing but most people seem to have trouble with it.

Because you can't. In the most dramatic example, suppose that you, O Hypothetical Boyfriend, were to hypothetically cheat on me with another hypothetical woman (or man, for that matter. Equal opportunity). This has never happened to me but from observing others and watching television, I have ascertained that it's pretty bad. If something of that ilk (or anything really. I'd honestly be more distressed if a man was stealing from me, or lying about his feelings towards me, or secretly beating my dog. At least I understand the biological impulses behind cheating) happened, just tell me. For one thing, you'll feel a lot better getting that off your chest. For another thing, I will find out (I'm pretty sharp, see) and I'd rather find out from you than someone else. Yes, I will be upset, angry even, but that will pale in comparison to the mythic fury that will be witnessed upon you should I find out you've been trying to trick me. Seriously, the Erinyes ain't got shit on me when I've been crossed.
I will forgive all sins but one and that is being made to feel stupid.

Monday, May 6, 2013

Online Dating, Pick-up Lines and the Artlessness of Modern Romance

Something happened to me today (queue the suspense) that inspired me to write one of my lists. The list required a rather lengthy preface though, and I ended up getting a wee bit carried away and rolling with something kinda different and only tangentially related so I broke it up into two separate posts. Who would've thought one stupid text would have been such a goldmine of material.

Anyway, I'm sure I've mentioned this in previous posts but, unless you count the boys I had playdates with when I was five, I have only had the one boyfriend. I've done the "friends with benefits" thing (or as I like to call it, "sad, misguided attempts to get dudes to like me"), which invariably ended in carnage. I figure it's only fair to state my background, if you will, before going on a feminist rampage.

For the record, this is me. And (some of) my cats.

After almost a year of being single and months of trying to figure out whether the dude I was into was into me or not (he wasn't), I decided to give online dating a whirl. It seemed like a great idea, a little bit too much like online shopping at times, but efficient and to the point. It says right on your profile what your interests are - which saves a lot of questions and talking and shit - as well as what you're looking for, be it a one night stand or something more long term.

At first I got a whole bunch of messages requesting slightly distasteful sex acts (the really classy ones were just pictures of turgid wangs with queries such as "u like it?" or "u want some" or variants thereof), but I quickly figured out how to set my account so that I could only get messages from dudes supposedly looking for a relationship, whatever that means (I also restricted guys who were listed as married and/or over fifty - a girl has to have standards).

Despite my precautions, most of the guys I "met" on there were pretty awful. On the plus side, when I got irritated, bored, or disgusted with the conversation I could just block the fucker and I never had to see them in person at all. Ever.

I did meet and go out with a few guys who were really nice and interesting people but just didn't really do it for me as far as potential boyfriend material for one reason or another. Then I met this guy, who we'll call Bob for the sake of kindness, who did kinda seem like the type of fella I could get with.

For starters, the "About Me" section of his profile, as well as the introductory message he sent me, were clever, sarcastic and self-deprecating. We went on a couple of dates, he was funny, educated and reasonably good looking, we had similar interests, liked the same kinds of movies, smoked the same brand of cigarettes and, according to his profile, he was looking for something long term and steady. Ka-ching.

Buuuut in the words of my friend who we'll call Liz because that's her name, "people lie". A month and a half of frustration, late night booty calls and terrible sex later, Bob told me he only ever wanted a fuck buddy. Great. That was a colossal waste of time. It was then that I realized that people go on dating sites for a reason. Bob's reasons were arrogance and unavailability. Mine were that I drink too much and hate to leave my house.

Short story long, I wrote the entire thing off as a learning experience, deleted my account and went back to more or less flying solo. The last time I communicated with Bob was nearly five months ago via text message while I was at a Christmas party, about a week after the whole "fuck buddy" conversation. I told him that I was going to go over to his place then evidently changed my mind, got drunk, sent him several incoherent strings of letters and passed out. In the morning, I sent him an apology and deleted his number out of my phone.

Honestly, I don't really know why I started texting him that night in the first place. I had, at that point, decided to cut my losses and moved on to bigger and better things (I didn't intend for that to be a sexual innuendo but it's true). My guess is that it had something to do with my dislike of sleeping alone. Also the beer, wine, rum, vodka, sour puss and jagermeister I was drinking at the time. Maybe, who knows.

Flash forward to today (or yesterday if you want to get technical). I get a text from an unknown number asking how I'm doing and what was up with the message I apparently left on his voicemail in my drunken fugue back in December. It was Bob (surprise!).

We exchanged pleasantries for fifteen or twenty minutes before he confirmed my suspicions regarding the reasons for his suddenly appearing out of fucking nowhere. Our conversation after that point is presented verbatim for posterity.

BOB: So if I invited you over for some wild face paced sex, would you get loaded and pass out again? Lol

ME: More than likely.

BOB: Lol, atta girl

ME: What can I say, I like to drink.

BOB: Even more than sex?

ME: Depends on the sex but in most cases yes.

BOB: Jesus, Thad [sic] dedication. Wanna get drunk and fuck?

ME: Not really no.

I hate to quote song lyrics in the middle of my blog, but a line from Ampersand by Amanda Palmer jumped into my mind: "Has any girl in history said, 'Sure, you seem so nice, let's get it on'?" I am very seldom surprised by how ignorant and gross human beings are, but I was shocked and more than a little bit offended by the sentiment. I hadn't made any effort whatsoever to get in touch with Bob in five months but he obviously thought there was a chance I would run and jump right back in his bed.

Then I took to thinking (which I always dangerous) - this particular case is an extreme one but it seems to me that people these days, both male and female, are getting really lazy when it comes to hooking up.

I understand that it's not the middle ages anymore, there's no such thing as courtly love, and I'm definitely not expecting anybody to pen a poem about my shimmering auburn tresses or stand under my window playing the lute. That would be kinda weird. I also understand that women, being human beings and not timid woodland creatures, do not need to be coaxed and lured and tricked. We want sex too.

However, saying things like "holy shit I'm horny", "let's make a sex tape" and "there's coke at my place if you want to come over" - all things men varying in relation from Total Stranger to Uncomfortable Acquaintance have said to me - are awful, awful ways to introduce yourself, and I really can't see them unlocking anybody's pants. One guy to whom I gave my phone number prior to deleting my account on the dating site texts me usually once every 4-6 weeks, same thing every time: "still single?" I told him I wasn't interested, told him I was seeing somebody, turned him down for a date I don't know how many times, but he still texts me.

One guy showed me a picture of his cock in a bar one night, while I was working no less. The weird thing with all of these guys is that they go about their bizarre wooing with such confidence and they seem to get angry when I'm unimpressed and/or repulsed. For some reason they genuinely think saying "I haven't got laid in seven months, you should come to my place tonight" is going to make me want to do anything besides walk away cringing.

It makes me wonder where these expectations come from. Is there an invisible sign over my head that reads, "I'm easy"? Yes, I am frank about my sexual tastes and experiences, I'm not a nun, and yes when it comes to hooking up or whatever I prefer people to be direct rather than taking the coy, fuckaround route, but holy fuck, there is such a thing as tact. And you know what, just because I'm uninhibited and do and say what I want doesn't mean I'm a slut. Learn about it.