I guess Autocorrect got a thesaurus feature...

What I was trying to text to a friend: "I would have to punch you in the nuts."

How Autocorrect tried to help when I typed too fast: "I would have to punch you in the bird."

Then: "I would have to punch you in the bits."

I mean... both of those DO work, even if "bird" is one I've only ever heard my grandfather use. Way to have my back, Autocorrect.

My friendship with Internet science is decidedly NOT magic

Well. That is excellent.

I mean, I already knew, from that clusterfuck with That Guy and a few experiences since -- I'm going through one now, actually. I am clearly a shit judge of friendship, but knowing there's science afoot doesn't make it any less depressing.

Thanks, Internet. You are NOT my friend. At least I know that.

Sad Study Shows Most of Your Friends Don’t Actually Like You

Word to ya Moms

I debated being a jackass and posting that I'll be spending Mother's Day making it rain disposable, childless income on fancy brunch cocktails and new Lush products. And, don't get me wrong, that IS what I'm doing today.

But also: Serious, non-snarky props to all my mom friends. I hate most children because I hate most people, but your kids are the best because YOU'RE the best. So thanks for raising a new generation of non-assholes. 'Cause we all know if *I* were the one endeavoring to "teach them well and let them lead the way," my kid would be a complete dick -- he'd be late for school every day and have unexplained Cheetos in his unwashed hair. 

So, as for us fruitless non-multipliers... Y'all wanna go get hammered at noon and then go buy some motherfuckin' high-end soaps? 

WE RIDE!

Freudian slipstick

Email to a friend...

Me: "I am juvenile. But damn, there are a lot of jokes here. "

Friend: "I mean, how are you supposed to NOT make jokes at that? They may as well have named the shades 'John Holmes' and 'Ron Jeremy.' 'Yeah, rub it on your face, baby.'"

Me: "HA! Aaand THAT is why we're friends."

Followup thought: "Gargantuan Golden SHOWERS." Hey-o!

 

Cameron Frye is my spirit animal

You know what's probably a bad sign leading up to a first date?

When your friend asks to hang out Saturday and you say, "Dammit. I have a date. But I think I'd have more fun hate-watching Fear and eating takeout with you."

In the words of Cameron Frye, "OK, I'll go, I'll go, I'll go, I'll go, I'll go...I'll go. SHIT!"

Whoring for whiskey and melted cheese

Emailing a friend who's been to this bar with me a bunch of times...

"This guy's OkCupid profile says he owns a 'craft beer and whiskey bar in Philadelphia.'

[screenshot pic of guy wearing bar-branded t-shirt]

"DUDE. Will fuck for whiskey and nachos!"

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.

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. 

STI-TMI

Sage advice from a friend on the STI front: "You're already going into this with your eyes open; now it's just if your legs are open, too."

I told the guy I couldn't meet him until I got tested, with a remarkable number of apologetic qualifiers for telling a man that sex with him may not be worth the risk of going the rest of my life with a disclaimer on my vagina. ("Not a big deal" depends who you ask. I will ask a doctor and go from there.)

I said if he didn't want to meet me, I'd understand, but he said HE understood and would meet me when I was ready. Later, he called me sexy, smart, and quick, so you can see why I'm trying so hard to ride this particular unicorn.

He's actually so good on paper that I'm worried it's a trap. Like, am I the only woman who didn't immediately say "no" to this? How is he saying everything I need to hear? Is that instinct honed from years of practice on various conquests he's humped and dumped? Is he, like, 70 years old? (He's not, I stalked his Facebook. Don't judge me, that's HIS fault. There's a reason MY personal account is locked down -- all you get is photos of sunsets and the profile pic they make you leave public.)

But in the meantime, another friend sent me this article/podcast, should you wish to read/hear more on the matter.

On casual dating, STIs, and "Chandlering."

I may have to cancel my other date, because as it turns out, I may not be sexually frustrated ENOUGH to hook up with an open-married man with herpes simplex 1 (the cold sore kind). 

Womp, womp.

I'm actually bummed about this. He was my first online dating spark and I was looking forward to meeting, kissing, and eventually sleeping with him. Understand how MUCH I was looking forward to it, because I'm actually debating, "What are the odds I already have/will get this?"If this were any other guy, it'd be a Fadeaway tout suite. But Dude was willing to go out to dinner with me, fuck me, then LEAVE, and he's not an idiot. THAT'S THE DREAM.

Obviously I'm glad he told me, and I'm going to get my own full STI screen. Who the hell knows, maybe I already have it -- you can get it a million different (non-sexual) ways and never show symptoms. If I DO...well, the bright side is that sex is on. But if I don't, I don't want to go through the rest of my life disclosing this to potential partners and boyfriends because I had casual sex with a married guy.

It's interesting: I polled a few friends about this and got divided responses. Some people said, "Eh. No big deal, everyone has it," and others were like, "No. That's some soulmate shit, not something you want to get from a married fling."

One friend said I was "Chandlering," a nod to Chandler Bing from Friends, who used reasons like "mascara goop" and giant heads as excuses not to date women because he was afraid. I AM afraid, but truly believe I haven't rejected anyone for the male equivalent of "mascara goop." I'm waiting for a decent bit of chemistry, someone worth shaving my legs for, and genuinely haven't had it until now. Also, Chandler's romantic issues ended with one of the top 5 best marriage proposals in TV history, so if I AM Chandler, I'll take it.

In researching this, I've learned a lot of places don't screen for herpes as part of a routine STI test -- you can add it to the standard test, or you can test for it separately. So I've had "an STI test," but I think the woman said those screen only for chlamydia, gonorrhea, and HIV. So... "The more you know... *brrrrring*"

I've also learned that Googling "herpes" will make you never want to have sex again, and that getting tested for STIs is a tremendous pain in the balls: my insurance won't cover testing at Planned Parenthood, and I can't get a gyno appointment until April. Can't they add this to CVS's Minute Clinic services? It seems pretty important.

Also, it is not at all weird that my personal Facebook, not connected to OkCupid in any way, suggested I add Hot Married Guy as a friend. But damn, he's cute... Goddammit...

Slut Shame and the Blame Game

I had scheduled a date. I was going to meet an OkCupid person. We were going to go to a Philly taproom I've wanted to go to for years but never had time/company. They have fried PB&J, and I KNOW y'all don't think I'm above eating the HELL out of that on a first date.

Yeah... I can't. I started thinking about our conversations, the number of red flags I'd been letting pass because they were "just little things" that made me go "Hmm..." But when considered together, they make me really uncomfortable. I have a bad vibe I didn't get from the initial OkC messaging, but have had for the past few days of texting. I told friends about less than half of those "little things," and they told me to cancel, and cancel NOW.

But something in my brain felt guilty, like I should meet him because I said I would, because I said we'd at least be friends, because I flirted, because I took the flirting further than I should have, because I am a sexually frustrated attention whore, and because what did I expect would happen when I behaved that way?

Sound advice from a friend: "Don't help them think only with their dicks until you've at least seen their face."

On occasion it seems a self-proclaimed male "feminist" bloviating that, "Women should be able to express their sexuality without fear of being judged!" translates to, "I'm going to make demands on your time and behavior, and treat you like you owe me something, even when you're sick, or busy, or clearly don't want to." I guess I'm only free to express it when the whoring works in your favor?

But I am legitimately concerned, all bad Spidey Sense, and fuck that. I'm not gonna get axe murdered just so everyone at my funeral can remember me as NICE. (My friends wouldn't -- they'd be like, "GAWD, how was she such an accommodating asshole when her asshole never actually accommodated anyone?!" My mom would probably be proud I died polite, though... [Ahem. Too dark?])

Anyway. I should've known when I found myself telling him we had to go out Monday because I was "busy" on Thursday -- busy watching Scandal, but busy nonetheless.

It's possible I have more feelings than one normal person should, like maybe I evolved wrong, or missed a meeting. Because I shouldn't be blaming myself for being "slutty" here. ("Well, yeah, I feel like he's overstepping my boundaries, but how would he know I even HAD boundaries?") And if I'm actually worried about my safety (not a TON, but...a little), I REALLY shouldn't feel bad about either just saying "no" or blocking his number.

Putting the "surge" in "resurgence."

The bad news is, I am sick as fuck.

The good news is, depending on the minute, I either sound like Sick Phoebe singing her sultry version of "Smelly Cat" on Friends, or like I could successfully supplement my income by taking a side gig as a phone sex operator. (Is phone sex even still a thing? Probably not. I'm behind the porn ball. No, wait... Ew... But I could totally bring it back. Like flannel shirts. Porny ones...)

Right. So clearly I should be keeping an eye on my temperature, because delirium is setting in.

"Hi! My name is [huh?], my name is [what?]..."

My username on OkCupid is SmugWrites, but with my actual name.

The first line of my profile is, "Hi, I'm Smug." (Actual name.)

So obviously I get a message this morning: "Hi I'm ben,what's your name?"

Half an hour later, Ben sends a follow-up: "?" (Yep. Just the question mark.)

I reported this to a teacher friend who summed it up nicely: "Ben doesn't read for comprehension."

Walking around naked. Like ya do.

The other day, my amazing friend* ran a body confidence class at the sex shoppe (yep, shoppe). For "homework," she assigned us to go home and spend an hour naked, checking out our bodies, noting the good, disregarding the bad, and just getting comfortable seeing them.

So I just emailed her and said, "Just letting you know I'm walking around naked. Carry on."

Not gonna lie, I'm NOTICING the bad. ("Really? Those are my boobs? Huh...") But overall, I'm kind of adorable.

Also, the heat in my house is up to like 80 degrees because brrrrr.

Also, I may have strange friendships. But they're the best.

* FYI, the friend is the lovely and talented Yvette St. James, and you should follow her on Twitter and attend all her classes because they're super fun and informative.

Weight Loss, Crypt Keeper, Trainwreck, Lipstick, and "La-di-da"

A while back I asked y'all to come kick me if I didn't lose some weight, because my clothes didn't fit anymore and I hate shopping.

Turns out all I needed was a (prescription) drug that fucks up my appetite and makes me so thirsty I drink tons of water and always feel full, plus family, friend, and boy issues. I'm running on bananas, almonds, and kettle chips because that's all my body is accepting.

I feel like hell, I get wobbly, and my face looks like The Crypt Keeper, but I lost 5 lbs in one spectacular shitshow of a week.

I spent most of the past 2 days in bed (took a sick day yesterday), but eventually getting up, cleaning my house, then cleaning ME. It's remarkable how an irresponsibly hot shower and clean sheets can improve your outlook. (Plus watching "Trainwreck" again.)

I am going to be fine.

We're good, now, right, Brain? My family is still fucked, but you'll let me pine for just the ONE guy (the one who's actually worth even a passing thought)? And my friends are OK? And we'll be more mindful of eating at least enough that standing isn't so challenging and daylight doesn't hurt our eyes?

Right, then. Onward. Lipstick. Sushi. Power song!

Kelly Bundy, Kimmy Schmidt, and the "Grey's Anatomy" method of avoidance.

Wow. WordPress readers really love my anxiety, don't they?

More years ago than I care to consider, there was a show called Married with Children that probably wouldn't make it in today's infinitely-more-PC TV landscape. I remember people being offended by it at the time, but it was the late '80s/early '90s and most people didn't give a fuck.

So there was the dumb blonde bimbo daughter, Kelly (Christina Applegate). She's more appealing than her sports-fan father, so she goes on a sports trivia show in his place. But she knows nothing about sports, so he fills her brain with trivia before the show, and for every sports fact she absorbs, a bit of basic life knowledge leaves her brain, rendering her dumbstruck (seen here) when asked to recall everyday knowledge. 

That's where I am right now. For every bit of bullshit my brain has encountered this week, I've lost knowledge and patience. This morning I stood in the shower with conditioner on my hair, and for just a second completely blanked on what the next step was. And I just snapped at my brother because he's being a fucking asshole. (Though I do kind of love it when I finally give up on trying to be polite and just say what I'm thinking.)

Family issues, friend concerns, medication that's ruining my appetite and dehydrating me, not sleeping, and additional things with That Guy, all in those 3 days of spiked blog stats... I'm out. I spent my workday NOT FUCKING WORKING, but rather ensnared in a texting clusterfuck with aforementioned brother.

Also, I know my friends love me and will listen to me, but I'm sick of being the Needy Friend -- they've heard a LOT this week, I sent a goddamn list. (Subject line: "No advice needed; just FYI, everything is fucked.") I've talked to friends, a therapist, my personal journal, and you people. I am tired of thinking and talking about my fucking feelings. I'm not even upset, per se -- I just want to go home and sit there for a week or so and not talk to anyone or think about anything. Maybe just spend the whole week re-watching all of Grey's Anatomy in my pajamas.

So yeah. I'm currently at a Bundy Brain grade 4. I'm gonna pull a reverse Kimmy Schmidt and put my ass into the doomsday bunker.

In which my squad won't give me goals.

Email to Friend: "The therapist asked me to write about my accomplishments this year, and goals for the upcoming year and beyond. I've been struggling with it because I genuinely can't think of much. (I assume 'Keep breathing' and 'Stay employed' are implied. Maybe 'Don't sleep with anyone dumber than me?')

"But I'm finishing Judy Greer's book, and coincidentally she's talking about how she has an always-evolving list of goals, what's important to her, etc., that she reads and revises as needed.

"And then Kelly Sue DeConnick sent this text yesterday to the Bitches Get Shit Done list, so it's pretty much law now, right? List ahoy, Little Shark!"  

Friend: "I can think of at least three things you should be proud of yourself for, but I'm not telling you because you have to look back and be proud of yourself. You have to look in the mirror and see the good."

Me: "THREE?! Shit. I'm pretty rad. (I think I had two. Will continue considering.)"

Life Lessons from Small Ponies.

You could probably tell I didn't have the best emotional time over the weekend (fuck the entire Venn diagram of the holidays and PMS, seriously). Male BFF was concerned and invited me over for alcohol and merriment with him and his lady, one of my Female BFFs.

I declined but texted my thanks, and man, I tell ya, the My Little Ponies are right -- friendship IS magic: 

  

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.)

Vodka made me do it.

One more on this, and then, sweet baby Jesus willing, I think I'm done.

Possibly (erm, make that probably) inebriated conversation with a male friend...

Friend: "Does That Guy know you're the one writing these posts when he likes them on Tumblr?"
Me: "Yep. I told him about it before I fucked everything up."
Friend: "Before HE fucked everything up. Don't get it twisted."
Me: "Mutual destruction."
Friend: "That's weird, though."
Me: "What, that he knows? Or that he'll like posts about my body but turned down my many offers to do any naughty little thing he wanted to it?"
Friend: "Both. I mean, he made his choice, right?"
Me: "Eh. It's fine. He doesn't read often. If I don't want him to like the posts, I'll just keep writing about feelings. He never did like my feelings."