It's probably not ideal that I embrace this double standard...

You guys, Waffles Guy is trying to cocktease me! We're going out again tomorrow, and I've been flirting, but he's all "We'll see," and "Time will tell."

Oh! Oh, honey! That's adorable! But...hm, how can I phrase this politely...?

I look like Tina Fey's and Zooey Deschanel's chubby love child. (I call it "Fey-schanel.") I have big boobs and bigger daddy issues. I'm pretty sure I can catch a dick anytime I want.

That's not bragging, because it would be the wrong dick -- there's no ego trip in knowing a random dude would shove himself into me halfheartedly in a townie bar's restroom. But I believe it's within my scope of feminine wiles if I were so inclined. (Even better, lemme take my cleavage to Comic-Con and quote "Firefly." I'll be married by the end of the day.)

Besides, I'm not hinting at SEX, Presumpty Dumpty. I would just enjoy some kissing. I'm actually terrified to have sex, because it's been so long I'm worried I'll be terrible at it, or freak out mentally. So I'm perfectly happy to put off intercourse, but it's pretty important I know I turn you on, and that your hand gets in my panties pretty soon, 'kay?

Good talk. I'd high-five you, but I shouldn't be able to, because WHERE have we just decided your hands should be...?

A man with no face validates mine.

First OkCupid message: "Hi smug, how r u? U r so gorgeous"

Well, look at you, answering your own question! I'm "so gorgeous," is how I am. See, you don't need me! You just need to believe in yourself! Good for youuuuu!

He has no photos, and as a general policy I don't reply to men with no face. You're on a dating site. If you're too dumb to know your face might be important, too lazy to upload at least ONE photo (or to type two the extra letters to make REAL words), and so selfish that you're clearly talking to me on the basis of MY photos because "gorgeous" is all you had to say...

*deep breath*

No.

Waffling on Waffles Guy

So, Friday night I had a first date -- waffles! -- with an OkCupid guy. After waffles, we walked around New Hope, and he seems nice and likes standup comedy. I didn't feel a huge spark, but he's cute, and...like...he's fine. He's a dude. *shrug*

He walked me to my car and we agreed to a second date later this week. Then for the goodbye, I thought he was just aiming for a hug, so I leaned my face toward his shoulder, but then he kissed my cheek while I did that, so I thought, "Crap, did I just dodge a kiss on my mouth? I didn't mean to do that. I like kissing."

So because I'm a dipshit, I texted him at a light on my way home and said, "Don't know if I inadvertently dodged the kiss or if you're just a gentleman, but next time..."

And his response was, "First and foremost a gentleman."

You guys? You know how I know he's too nice for me? Because after he said that, my brain thought, "Aw, that's sweet," and then my ladyparts were all, "We would fuck him senseless right this minute." 

Even just from a hug, I keep smelling him faintly on me. GOD, I love that.

I don't think I've ever NOT kissed a guy on a first date. So before Friday, I'd officially gotten my ass spanked in a Ford Focus on a first date more times than I've not kissed someone. (That is to say, once. And also, shut up.)

But again, I texted my friends after the date and said, "I'll go out with him one more time, but from his texts and this first encounter... I don't know, I don't think he's One of Us." 

I know I don't want a relationship just yet, but it's not terribly promising if I don't think we even click well enough to be friends. But we'll try one more time. At a minimum, I must kiss.

"Greasy-Haired Douche Lightning" wasn't as catchy.

Watching #GreaseLive, and just thought it was worth remembering that Danny Zuko was a total fucking douchebag.

"Say 'crack' again."

It's weird, I think I'd remember smoking crack. Especially since I don't even know HOW to smoke crack. 

I guess maybe I Googled it? 

Because it seems at some point I agreed to go see my family for Easter, and now that the time is upon me, crack seems to be the only rational explanation. 

You know the drill, guys: Family = wine = Jesus. May your battle wounds be minor, your chosen numbing agents effective. 

And may you also have candy.

Godspeed.

Perfectly rational excitement tally: Waffles, 55%; Man, 45%

Perhaps my new favorite sentence ever: "I have an ice cream & waffle date tonight."

Hee.

Um, no, YOU have a Giles fetish.

Seen in an OkCupid profile: "I am definitely a stereotypical academic in the sense that I love wearing corduroy blazers and holing up in ivory towers."

*blink* OMG. Take me, sir. Take me hard.

The only things we have in common are burritos, mushroom hatred, High Fidelity, and grammar, but let's be honest, I've based relationships on less. I dated a guy for 8 months because we could both quote George Carlin.

Plus, another of his favorite movies is Josie and the Pussycats, so he clearly also enjoys dumb, fluffy things.

Hello, Professor. I will be your dumb, fluffy thing.

I hate everything except Samantha Bee

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Ladies and gentlemen, my soulmate...

First OkCupid message from a man without a profile pic: "hi i am greg lets have dinner"

OMG! Greg! Absolutely, let me accept this invitation from a faceless man! Despite the fact that if you read my profile even a little, you'd see me say I'm sure as fuck not meeting a stranger without messaging and texting until I feel comfortable doing so. Especially one without a face.

Good work, Greg. In fact, forget about dinner -- let's move in together and have 14 babies right now. Do you want, like, a scripty font on the wedding invitations? I always think those are hard to read, so I think we should probably go with something a little more simple, right? I know Times Roman is basic, but I'm SUCH a sucker for it.

And, listen, my flowers are going to be dark purple with pops of white, so make sure the accents on your tux coordinate, OK, sweetie? Luuuv youuu.

Elbows Guy: The Final Chapter...I think...

Email to a female friend, subject: "Be proud."

Me: "When I wrote the email telling Elbows Guy I don't want a second date, I revised a few different ways, but each time made myself remove the words 'I'm sorry.'"

Friend: "I am VERY proud of you. Well done."

Me: "I didn't even lie and say I met someone. I just said I didn't want to."

I ran the email past a male friend first to get a man's perspective, to ensure it wasn't douchey but didn't leave room for debate. He said the email would be fine for a normal guy, but told me with this dude, I may get asked for an explanation.

Five minutes after I sent the email, I got a text from the Bitches Get Shit Done group: "You will survive being uncomfortable. You may even be better off for it." Kelly Sue DeConnick is the aunt I've always wanted.

P.S. I just saw that he looked at my LinkedIn profile yesterday, which is not at all disconcerting. I think it's locked down to just my network, though... Probably... 

P.P.S. I underestimated him. He replied politely and even thanked me for NOT doing The Fadeaway. I mean, he said it in a way that made it sound as if all women do that (and maybe they do, to him), but I'll still give him a point for it. Only one, though -- he'd lost 50 points for heckling my dry elbow skin while all the moisture he needed was IN MY VAGINA, so he's still netting out at -49.

Vaginal Illumination

A friend sent this to me, and...

OK, Sephora, whatever you need to tell yourself. But we all know "phthalate-free, body-safe silicone" is code for "You can totally also put this in your vagina."

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."

I KNOW WHEN I'M PROJECTING, SHITDICK ELBOW HECKLER.

Ahem. I feel better now.

The 40-Year-Old Fadeaway

I just realized turning down a second date (Elbows Guy asked) is completely outside my skill set. Apparently even with someone I don't think likes me very much, what with my hideous dry elbow skin and my terrible grammar and my relationship projection issues. Wait, why DOES he want a second date? I must be an amazing kisser. [/ego trip]

Have I REALLY never done this before? If I have, it's been about 13 years. And why do I care about being polite?

I'm trying not to be a big, fat coward who does The Fadeaway, but it's hard to argue its lifelong proven efficacy. And I don't want to bitch out and say I met someone else. Even if it would make it easier, it's not true.

"I'm going to pass on a second outing. I had a nice time until I realized I don't like you. And you don't like ME apart from my shortness, the fondling, and your superiority. I don't want to waste our time or my makeup, and I certainly don’t want to get your douche all over me, you Summer Rain motherfucker…”

Great, now I need to be sedated.

Guys. Guys. Help. I'm having a seizure. Send pie. (Pie helps seizures, right? That's medicine?)

For context, my OkCupid profile does reference axe murderers and a dress I should've bought. What? What do YOU say to prospective suitors?

First message:
"Hi Smug! I'm Bill. Just wanted to Drop a little Hello read your Profile you sound like a Sweetheart. I wanted to tell you I'm Not a Axe Murderer lol. Love your Music taste Especially the Country thing gotta Love It!!!! Your Photos, Yes you should have bought the Dress you look Really Good in it! Go back and Buy it you look Confident and Proud. Hope your having a Good day if you'd like to say hello Please feel free I'd love to Chat. Enjoy the Rest of your Day!!!! Thanks for your time!!!!!!
Bill"

What in the name of the actual fuck?

This is what I get for liking country music, isn't it?

Elbows Guy III: The Reckoning

As I mentioned, Elbows Guy emailed me back after I'd told him his comment bugged me.

Here's what I'd said, between other things we'd been discussing, one of which was a second date:
"You tell me if you end up free Tuesday, and I'll tell you if my ashen elbows and I can join you. Sound good? (Can you tell I took that far too seriously and now wonder if you're a. Mean, or b. Will think/say things about the rest of my body if ever you see it?) :)"

His response, also among other topics:
"You definitely are reading too much into the elbows thing. It was just a simple observation since your skin is really soft and your elbows were a little rougher (I suspect from resting them on your desk while in hardcore writing mode). It's the little details like that which I find fascinating in people, especially women, since they usually have a story to tell.

"Your (a) vs (b) question is actually the same question - 'is this guy a judgey asshat who's going to make fun of me and my quirks in order to make up for his own insecurities and fragile ego?' And the answer to that is no. I have a very thick skin and will occasionally say something without thinking how someone not similarly thick-skinned will take it, but I'm not a judgey asshat. I have a sneaking suspicion that was not the case with one or more of the guys you have recently dated."

Ahem...

1. I pay a nice lady to be my therapist. I don't need you and your degree from the Lifetime Movie School of Emotional Trauma.

2. I HAVE projected from previous men I've known, but I'm usually self-aware enough to recognize it. (Like when you called me "Miss" the other day and my brain spasmed because that's what That Guy called all the faceless, interchangeable women in his harem -- THAT was projecting. I knew it, and I shut it down.)

3. I don't lean on my desk while I'm writing. My elbows are just shitty. (And way to double down on telling me so.)

4. "I'm not a judgey asshat, but I'm gonna point out your faulty sentence construction." (I know he's right. Shut up.)

Sometimes my brain goes all River-Tam-batshit-banana-pants-at-the-end-of-Serenity -- swinging weapons around in a circle to fight off whoever comes near her. Whenever I've stuck that feeling out because, "I might be overreacting," I really can't remember a time my brain was wrong.

Buffy the Dry Skin Slayer

Elbows Guy emailed me back yesterday about the Elbows thing, and when I didn't answer, he emailed again this morning to ask if I was "still alive?"

No, I am not alive, sir. My elbow skin overtook the rest of my body and I collapsed in a pile of ash like one of the slain vampires on Buffy.

(It's Monday. I'm irritable. His initial response will be reported in detail later today, because it borders on brilliance.)

Hell no, elbow...

OK, this post is long, but a guy I was kissing after a first date took a timeout to mention the dry skin on my elbows, so I think it merits further analysis...

We're at the end of a decent first date. We're kissing. It's not great, but not bad. I like kissing. I like being against a man, even it wasn't quite the physical fit I enjoy. (Ever just FIT with someone? Isn't that the best? It's like two really dirty puzzle pieces.)

I'm wearing a tank top, so he's been touching my neck and shoulders. His hands go under my shirt (because I put them there), and graze the curve between my ribs and hips. He'd mentioned that's one of his favorite parts of a woman, and it happens to be one of my favorite/best physical features.

Then he runs his hands down my bare arms and says, "Your skin is so soft... Well, except your elbows."

*blink*...Sorry, what?

I pull away from him, gesture up and down at my body, carefully outfitted in form-fitting jeans, low-cut tank top with subtle but effective cleavage, lacy bra peeking out if I shifted the right way (which I did...often), and I say, "Really? Allllll this, and you're gonna heckle my ELBOWS?!"

He's not a moron, so he quickly says he was joking, and we get back to kissing after a few minutes of me being Cool-Girl-pseudo-outraged and teasing. But it stuck in my brain.

I mean, he's not wrong. I could stand to loofah. But...

A. Who the fuck thinks of ELBOWS in ANY situation, particularly THIS one? Is this yet another part of my body I'm supposed to angst over and tend to? Should I add this to the list that already includes more extensive maintenance than my fucking car?

B. That's your choice on a first date? A woman is giving your hands free reign all over her body while she makes little noises near your ear so you feel all manly and virile, and you pause to say that out loud? So if we're ever naked together, are you going to point out that I don't wax? That I have cellulite? That I basically have no ass?

Related: Is every inch of YOU gonna be all Beyoncé "Flawless?"

C. Oh, sorry, I must've left "dry elbow skin" off my OkCupid profile. Much like YOU left out that you're 5'6" only if I don't understand how rulers work -- I'm 5', and when I raised to tiptoe out of habit to kiss you, I noticed I didn't need to. Do you exaggerate size often...?

D. If you have enough blood in your brain to notice and form comments about imperfections while your hands and mouth are roaming a woman's neck, shoulders, and waist -- all of which, by the way, are naturally soft and smooth like a baby's ass -- we have bigger issues.

Too bad, too, because up until that point, you had plenty of moisture where it mattered.

I didn't realize in the moment how much it bugged me, but...no. I mentioned today, briefly and nicely among other topics in my response to his most recent email, that I may have taken it too seriously, so I'll see what he says.

The beauty of this is, I really don't care if some dude I've met once thinks I'm crazy, especially since we seemed kind of "Eh...you'll do for now" about each other.

And I know I'm overreacting, but consider The Elbow Heckle in the grand scheme -- FIRST date, you not only have a negative thought about my body, you tell me? Am I going to have to bring my A++ game EVERY time I see you or you'll point out my "flaws?" (Yes, I did just extrapolate a likely innocuous comment into a portent of future emotional abuse... What, like you've never?)

I'm not Perfect Girl, sir. I DO have dry skin. I use lotion on my hands and legs, but apparently skip my elbows, and my feet. I also have a pudgy belly, enough thigh fat to make another pair of thighs, and if you spank my ass during sex, you'll see reverb. My forehead is showing signs of early-onset Worf syndrome. I have pale, weak eyebrows if don't fill them in with pencil, and you'll know it's time for me to go back to the hair salon when you see glints of gray growing in.

If you're expecting perfection in any aspect, you're not getting it from me. Go hit on Gisele. No, really. I BEG you to let me know how that goes.

In which I equate my vagina with a Slip 'N Slide

There's a "self summary" section at the top of each OkCupid profile. The end of mine says: "I'm attracted to friends and romantic prospects who use their words. I don't know what to do with first messages that only say 'hey' or 'hi,' and will delete them immediately. But getting them at least helps me quickly discern who's reading about me as an actual human, versus who just looks at photos and wants to do naked things to me."

On average, I still get one "hey," "hi," or "hello" each day. Almost always lowercase, no punctuation.

Since no one reads it, anyway, I might as well include the REAL explanation: "I am incredibly turned on by wit and language, and you can transform my ladybits into the world's best/worst Slip 'N Slide just by giving good email. Just 'hi' not only keeps my panties ON, it makes me want to go to JCPenney and buy some of those high-top beige cotton draw's that, on a person as short as I am, can be pulled up far enough to tuck the waistband under my bra and fashion a really upsetting onesie. Use your words, be nice to servers, nibble the back of my neck, tend to my vagina with gusto, know what 'gusto' means, get yourself laid."

I'm really not a difficult puzzle to solve.

The Landmark Case of Penis v. Doughnut

Texting with a friend in California:

Friend: "The guy who owns the doughnut shop by my house looks a bit like Shaun T."
Me: "Right, then. So I'll hop a plane out there first thing tomorrow?"
Friend: "He sells Fruity Pebbles doughnut, too."
Me: "What?! SHIT. I need that in my face. (I'll leave it up to you whether I'm referring to the man or the doughnut. I haven't quite decided myself.)"
Friend: "Both?"
Me: "I think it'd have to be, yeah. Man first, though -- I'm gluttonous, not stupid."
Friend: "You could try the infamous Cosmo suggestion of a doughnut on a penis."
Me: "I was thinking that, but didn't want to be weird."

I'm all about supporting small, local businesses any way I can, you guys.

Mommy's Special Dinner

Gin & waffles for dinner at 9 p.m. 

One of many reasons I can't be trusted to have children.

There Will Be Alcohol.

I have dates. Two dates, with two different guys. Dates I probably won't end up canceling when I find out the guy has an STD or wants to take out his fake teeth before he goes down on me.

As I told Therapist and my friends, I understand this is a good thing. Aside from just testing my capability for interaction on a date, the last person I kissed was during The Year of Poor Life Choices (2013), so it's been FAR too long. Therapist tells me if I end up kissing one of these dudes, that may be good, because maybe I'll no longer be giving Bad-Life-Choice Guy mental significance as "the last person I kissed."

But Jesus Christ... DATES...Plural... 

You can die of anxiety, right? 'Cause I'm going to. Just so you know. Kissing won't be an issue if I have a heart attack. Hopefully the kissing will come first.

If I die, it's been a pleasure writing silliness for you all.

"Did your dick get stung by 90 bees?!"

Sometimes I forget how much porn (erm..."erotica") I follow on Tumblr until I open the app at work and "OMG, that's a vagina. Gahhh, shut it down, shut it down!"

See also: wang. Giant, scary, first scene of "Trainwreck" wang.

“Your dick doesn’t end! Why doesn’t your dick end?!”

My reading list seems fun.

I just remembered my parents gave me an Amazon gift card for Christmas, so I'm sure they'd be thrilled to know I'm using it to buy a copy of The Bell Jar.

Also ordered The Life-Changing Magic of Not Giving a Fuck, which, oddly, will likely instruct me to spend less time with my parents. ("Keep only the things that spark joy" was the original premise, so...)

Judge not, lest ye be an asshole

One of my OkCupid photos was taken in a pin-up-inspired boutique I went to with friends. I tried on a dress that fit better than any glove, accentuated all my best bits, and looked STUPID-good. But I couldn't rationalize spending $130 on it, so I asked my friends take a photo. 

I added the pic to OKC, captioned: "Taken in a fitting room. I didn't buy the dress. Because I am an idiot." 

Today I get a first OKC message from a guy saying, "Yes you should have bought that dress..." That's the whole message. 

I go to his profile, because he's attractive enough, and his FIRST sentence is, "Only thing that seems to matter is how one looks on here." 

Oh, OK, so you're saying you don't like being judged only on appearance? So despite my completely-filled-in profile with many non-appearance-related conversation starters, you went with...commenting only on my appearance?

You do that math, dearie. I'll wait...

And dammit, I SHOULD have bought that dress. I can't even believe that's my body -- I am cute as fuck.

P.S. He sent a followup message 20 minutes later, saying, "That was a compliment. .. you're gorgeous. ... "

Um, I KNOW it was a compliment, or at least I know that's what you were going for. Do you think I'm too pretty to know how words work? Do I owe you a "thank you?" Go fuck yourself with your ellipses, and why the SHIT are you ALSO using periods? That's not how any of this works! 

*pant* *pant* *pant*

...Ahem. What mood swing?

Fat-armed and dangerous

I'll give my self-hatred credit: sometimes it gets really good with specifics.

I put on a sleeveless shirt, because whoo hoo, nearing 80 degrees in Philly today! Suck it, seasonal depression!

But then I got a gander at my upper arms, and... Jesus Christ, can you get arm lipo? I bet you can. I should look into that. Arm lipo sounds much easier than hoisting my fat ass off the couch, popping in a Shaun T DVD and actually, um, WORKING on it. Pfft. This IS America, isn't it? Suck out my fat and then give me a snack.

Joking. FINE. I'll do a pushup. FINE.

P.S. If I could do those pushups on TOP of Shaun T, I'd be far more enthused. I know, I know -- he's gay, and married. Like I'd have a shot if he weren't. LET ME DREAM, people.

Rich Bitchface

Amazon user review on Rich Bitch, by Nicole Lapin: "Having worked in finance for years, I know how dry and masculine conversations about money can be – but this book, on the other hand, is totally refreshing and entertaining. It offers a ton of empowering, insightful, and practical advice and is one of those books you get for every woman on your Christmas list."

Ohhhhh... Go fuck yourself. Hard.

I almost don't want to buy it now, but I do need a For-Dummies-like primer for my finances. But that's not because I'm a woman, it's because I'm a dumbass. Dicknuts.

I know I'm not a dumbass, I just have a hard time with numbers. And I wasn't traumatized by gender inequality in my youth when the boys started dominating math -- my parents are also shit with money, so the ineptitude is genetic.

I'm trying, but it's just SO difficult with all the MANLINESS, you know? All those penises on the forms... How is my tiny lady-brain supposed to understand?

 

Please don't give me the ick before I'm caffeinated

Woman near the office coffee: "Oh, I like your sweater, it's so pretty!"

Me: "Aw, thank you!"

She leaves the room.

Man near the office coffee: "I can't say anything about your sweater because that would be creepy."

Me: "Thank you, I appreciate that."

Though, um...if you didn't want to be creepy, maybe don't bring it up at all? What with the wedding ring and all...maybe just shut up?

Also, I am apparently an asshole before I've had coffee.

Who put this Jesus in my vagina?

So today I did the annual gyno exam, which is generally annoying as fuck. I really don't appreciate anyone touching my vagina if it doesn't end in orgasm.

Got put on a birth control pill so I can be a fatter, moodier, assholier asshole. ("What's the Lamictal for?" "It's for Crazy, so make sure I get Pill Lite so we don't make that worse.")

Then went downstairs in the same building to an on-site lab -- SUPER convenient, but the lab is more free about being part of a Jesus-y hospital system. So there are crosses on the walls, presumably so I can pray to Jesus to forgive me for fucking, and also pray while the lady jacks four vials of my blood to make sure my vagina doesn't have any biblical plagues.

This better be the best goddamn sex I've ever had. 

The bitch of it? He's starting to annoy me so I don't think that's even going to happen. But these are all good things to have done in general.

Still, fuck everything. I am dizzy, and getting tacos on my way home. Hmph.

Don't call it a flashback

Heading to dinner with friends in the town I used to live in. The town in which I'd kissed/gone out with/done things with my ex, and then with That Guy, in various locations. 

*deep breath*

"Lamictal be with you."

"And also with you."

$3 margaritas will probably also help. 

The "P" in "PMS" stands for "pugilistic"

Apparently I'm so much of a flirt that men think it's my default setting?

I've been texting with an OkCupid guy for a couple weeks. Today's conversation began with him saying he hadn't texted yesterday because his work life had been turned upside down, and then he found out his friend had been diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic.

I told him I was sorry, that sucked, and  I hoped the weekend treated him better. He asked how my week was going, and I said, "Pretty good, no complaints," because that is the answer to that question.

Then he asked if I was "still being a proper lady," a joke I've been making about trying not to flirt too much before we actually meet.

Uh... Sorry, my bad. Didn't know "paranoid schizophrenic" was supposed to affect my panty places. Should I have said, "Bummer. So, hey, how's your dick doing?"

I told him it seemed odd to respond with smut, and he seemed pissy and said, "I was just explaining why my attentions had been elsewhere. But the turbulence has cleared and I'm back to blue skies now."

OK. Well, sorry again. I didn't notice the sun shining out of your ass, and didn't know I was obligated to taste your rainbow whenever you feel like flirting.

I started composing a response, but everything I typed just sounded cunty. I put the phone down so I could think before I spoke.

My level of irritation caused me to go do the math on my menstrual cycle, because this bitchface felt prescient. And yep, should be any day now.

When I hadn't answered an hour later, he followed up with, "Did I offend?" Yes. Yes, you did, but I don't know if it makes sense that you did, or if I'm projecting issues from a previous "relationshit." I need a minute. Plus, hi, there's this new thing called work? I waited a day, you can't wait an hour? No. That's not how this is gonna go. <-- Oof. Yeah, now that I write that, it's related to past events, for sure. Doesn't mean I shouldn't be offended, but I should take it into account.

When I told him I was, "Just confused, and also working," he said, "You're supposed to stop working when I text you. I thought you knew that. :P Sorry if I confused you, though I'm not sure how. I hate text, you can't convey tone well." Hey, you know what didn't just help your case, even with that bullshit ":P" after it...? (<-- And that's different baggage.)

He asked if he should stop texting me, and I said, "I might not respond right away, but you're welcome to if you want." He said he was afraid to, that the conversation was "colder than the air outside," and that he was going to "retreat" and I could text him whenever I was free and felt like it. Again, the fuck? And again, Bitchface McMenses.

Also? I give ZERO fucks if you don't text for 24 hours. We haven't even met. You're under no obligation to communicate with me every day, nor to explain yourself when you don't.

I'll stop this saga now. I think I just need to get some sleep. And maybe take my Midol before I come to class.

Oompa, loompa, doopity doo...

I just read that Donald Drumpf is now publicly defending his penis size.

Bigger (heh) question: Is it the same color as his face? #cheeto

Mirror mirror...

I see a lot of guys on OkCupid who use selfies as profile pics. Sometimes mirror ones. Often the mirror is dirty.

I have questions.

First, don't you own Windex? Vinegar? A ShamWow? I can't get naked in your home if your mirror is all bedaubed with toothpaste remnants. I'm a lady, dammit. Plus it'll turn into that "Big Bang Theory" episode where Sheldon can't sleep because Penny's apartment is messy: "I couldn't sleep knowing that just outside my bedroom is our living room, and just outside our living room is that hallway, and immediately adjacent to that hallway is...THIS!" And I am damn sure not cleaning while you sleep.

Second, don't you have ANY photos someone else took? Do you have friends? Only two of my six profile pics are selfies: a really cute one taken post-haircut/color, and one mirror one I took after work so I'd have a really recent pic. The caption says: "With apologies for the mirror selfie, this is what I look like after work." (Not at all true -- after work I put on yoga pants and put my hair in a ponytail. But I'll never let any of these dudes see that.)

Some guys have like 10 selfies, but only ONE facial expression, so it's like Flat Stanley or the Twilight chick -- the same face in various settings. "Here I am at home. Here I am at work. Here I am in a bar. Here I am in a PUBLIC restroom mirror, just for a bit of added class. That's right, ladies... Behold."

Samantha Bee & the sorry state of women's healthcare in Texas

"I don't believe that. Where do you get those numbers?"

"Reality."

So...like a larger version of my closet?

Hm. I DO have a Southwest flight credit, and I've never been to L.A.

Via LAist: 

A plea for smarter sexism

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OkCupid's new fill-in-the-red-flag feature

OK, I'm pretty sure your wife doesn't know she's IN the "open marriage" you list on OkCupid if your profile reads: "Married guy with a Wife that's interested in sex as she is in taking out the trash. Need someone I can connect with."

And then under OKC's fill-in-the-blank prompt of, "I spend a lot of time thinking about," he writes, "I future with someone who appreciates me more."

Wow... Take me, sir. Take me hard.

Jesus, dude. Maybe take four seconds and spin that into something a little less angry and tragic? You need a publicist. And a proofreader.

Coital behavioral therapy

I guess it's probably sub-optimal to be attracted to the guy who was in the psychiatrist's waiting room for the appointment after mine.

But damn, dude. Does your brand of Crazy involve bending me over that couch? Mine totally does. 

'Cause...you know, I bet endorphins and serotonin or whatever would really benefit us both. Therapeutically, of course. *nod* #science 

Eventually someone will pay me to tell that story...

It sucks seeing a Social Media Specialist job I want to apply for, requiring experience with Wordpress and asking for samples. 'Cause... I HAVE the experience. Wordpress is my bitch. But it's not like I can send them that post about a guy from OkCupid wanting to take out his fake teeth and go down on me.

I should start another blog and call it Working Clean. :)

(This is also my problem with local blogger meet-ups. "Hi, I write publicly about my vagina. Let's connect professionally.")