Pole-itical pandering.

WOW. Can you just...stop saying things?

Sometimes I shut my goddamn mouth specifically to avoid saying something stupid. You know, like THAT.

Via Huffington Post: John Kasich Is Seemingly Baffled By Young Women Who Get Politics.  

Like... HOW? HOW? HOW are you at a mic in front of a crowd, thinking, "Oh. OH! This'll be great, I'll say THIS!" And then he trots offstage all, "You guys! Did you see? NAILED IT!"

They DO let women vote now, Governor. I know, right? I was shocked, too! But I watched "Suffragette" the other day and apparently it's a thing! Obviously I'm not 100% sure because there's so little room in my brain for facts next to Taylor Swift and rainbows, but..Votes from the Vaginal WOULD add to your bottom line, no? (And I do mean "bottom," because you're totally fucked here.)

Any politician worth electing would at LEAST give us pretty little ladies the ILLUSION that he gave a shit. Bernie Sanders has effectively assembled a goddamn army of ride-or-dies, with a shit-ton of Millennials ready to do his bidding, at least until their Adderall wears off. And Donald Drumpf has found his niche of angry middle-class (read: po') white folk ready to make America great again. Whatever disagreements I have with them, those guys know how to work that pole.

Jesus Christ, Kasich -- who the fuck taught you how to pander?

We're both too awkward for sexual harassment.

My (male, straight) boss just emailed me with the subject line "available?" and asked me to do a work thing.

I replied and said I'd do it, and then he wrote back, "I also just realized that my subject line could get me in some HR trouble… ha… I’ll be more specific next time."

Oh. It actually didn't even cross my mind that my married, just-had-a-baby boss might be soliciting me for...whatever, until you pointed that out, but...well, NOW I'm uncomfortable.

I mean, aside from the "married, just-had-a-baby, boss" bit, I totally would, but all things considered, I'm incapable of perceiving anything you do as flirtation. Obviously don't grab my ass or anything, but as far as hitting on me, you'd have to be pretty explicit for me to pick up on it. I can't tell when eligible dudes are flirting with me.

Plus he has like five kids, so his sperm are far too industrious to be allowed anywhere NEAR my bits.

If I were a single-issue voter, that issue might be dildos.

A friend sent this to me: "Cruz wanted Texas sex to mimic assembling Ikea furniture: a dutiful, results-oriented process enacted without the assistance of substantial tools."

Via Slate.com: Ted Cruz Once Argued That Selling Dildos Should Be Illegal  

Which is super weird, because he looks so enthusiastic in that photo, like he's all, "Yaaay, dildos!"

(Again, this is not about politics, so don't argue with me -- this is about dildos. You find me an article about Sanders or Clinton trying to outlaw my vibrator, I'll post that, too. Dildos transcend politics. Dildos reach across the aisle. Dildos are something we can all come together on. [I'm done now. I think... Wait, one more time -- dildo. OK, now I'm done.])

"No worries. If you miss the O train, it'll come again in 5 minutes or so."

Pro tip: If your OkCupid username is "fun_not_long," my brain goes to the filthiest and most unflattering place possible for you.

Yeah, yeah, "size doesn't matter" -- tell that to the guy I dated who was SO secure in that notion that he brought a compensatory Magic Wand* to our FIRST (and only) sexual encounter.

Digression 1: I was not at all displeased with the Magic Wand -- it's named that for a reason. If I didn't already own two pricey sex toys that get the job done just fine, with a portion of my forthcoming (heh) tax refund earmarked for a third because it looks SUPER fun, I'd be all over (heh) the Magic Wand.

Digression 2: Now my brain is wandering to memories of that Magic Wand experience (my first), during which I learned about orgasm denial, and why it's a thing. A thing that man was impressively skilled at doing to me. A thing I wish he hadn't just decided to DO to me without warning the first time we slept together, because I was ready to murder him, but a thing that worked out incredibly well for me in the end. I have no idea how he could tell when I was JUST about to, or if it was just a lucky guess, but damn. Dude was like the Orgasm Whisperer.

Digression 3: This is not a good train of thought at work. Though my mental image of said train barreling full-speed through a tiny, tense tunnel is a hilarious metaphor.

 

*I linked to the Walmart site only because I am infinitely amused you can buy it there.

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!"

Reading too much into Goodreads

I checked out the profile of the OkCupid guy I wrote about earlier, and I'm not interested, so the name thing won't even be an issue. (If I met anyone cool, I'd likely get over a name pretty quickly.)

Weirdness factor, though: In his profile, the OkCupid guy linked to his Goodreads page. I clicked it, and it took me directly to a Goodreads page that asked me to accept a friend request from him. I didn't know that was a thing. I declined the request, but then noticed it also had him "following" my reviews, which I also didn't know was a thing. So I went to find who else follows my reviews -- and it's him and That Guy, plus two other people I don't know. 

Fucking Internet. 

I don't write reviews, so it's not as if there's anything to follow, but I locked down my Goodreads, anyway. 

I'm almost positive That Guy friend-requested me on Goodreads a million years ago, and when I declined, Goodreads automatically did the "follow" without him even realizing; he's likely never noticed because I don't post anything there. So I'm not implying that he's, like, stalking my reading list -- that would be dumb. The sequence of events was just freaky.

Blow me, Shakespeare -- EVERYTHING is in a name.

I never mentioned that Elbows Guy had the same name as my ex.

But let's say my ex's name is John -- Elbows Guy was a grown-ass man who chose to go by "Johnny." That was enough of a departure to clear him for a first date, but in hindsight I don't know what I was thinking. Moaning "Johnny" in bed was not gonna work for me, just generally. But also, my ex's family called him Johnny when he was a kid, and occasionally as an adult at family gatherings. So in any sexual context, Johnny has "ick" all over it. (Johnny Castle notwithstanding.)

So of course today I get a nice enough first message from a different OkCupid guy, and I'm thinking, "Huh. This is pretty good, I'll probably respond," but then toward the end he says, "By the way, my name's 'That Guy.'"*

Of course it fucking is.

I gotta stop screwing around with guys with common names. Next guy I get naked with has to be named, like...Moonbeam.


*If you've just followed recently, That Guy is the pseudonym I assigned to a guy who hurt me pretty badly, and when I used to talk to friends about him, they'd be like, "Oh, THAT guy..."