ANY PORT IN A STORM

"In times of danger, any shelter is better than none. In an emergency, we have to accept whatever solution presents itself (for the time being)."


Ok this makes sense when you're on a ship. But when you are out there dating, it is not a good idiom to follow. There are two kinds of storm-porting I would like to address. 


The first being the most common: Using someone to fulfill a sexual need. We all know that people use other people for sex, no need to rehash that subject. 


The second type is emotional. Using someone to fill an emotional emptiness. People need people. And when you are going through a life storm, or a funk, or a job change, or boredom, etc., you want someone to be there for you. When you are sailing through life solo, you have no one to go home to. No one to call after work. No one to cushion the blows. No one to help you see the lighter side of a situation. No one to share a life with, no one to make you feel wanted and/or needed. Trust me, it sucks when you laugh at something funny on tv and realize that you're talking to yourself. Loneliness alone can force people to head for a port, any port! 


I've been the port. And I've been the ship. Neither produced a husband. 


When you're feeling lonely, it is so easy to just give in and hang out with/date/have some fun with/screw that person who makes himself available to you. And when you're desperate to find love it's just as easy to hang out with/date/have some fun with/screw that person who habitually makes himself unavailable. But it's wrong. If he is not the one, you know it. Deep down you know it.


And if you're the ship, most likely you're stringing along that "nice" guy because you didn't want to show up to your work party alone again this year. He's that guy with the good job, great family, who treats you like a queen, but when people ask you, "Ooooooh so how's it going with Mr. Good On Paper," you shrug your shoulders and say, "It's good," bothered that this Noserella interrupted your daily horoscope reading. And you're probably planning on dumping him right after the work thingy. But then there's the holidays and who the fuck wants to go that alone!? So maybe after the New Year. Who knows, right? We'll just see what happens. Bad girl! This "port" has feelings. You're going to hurt him...badly. He's picking out your diamond and thinks the 311 remake of "Love Song" would be perfect for your first dance. It's not right. End it. Let him go find a girl who also thinks that song is perfect and burns him a cd of it for Sweetest Day. You can call your mom after work.


If you're the port, you're probably waiting by the phone for him to call you as we speak. While checking your email and creeping his facebook page. He probably keeps you guessing, and you make excuses for it, telling people you like the chase. We're on to you, sister! You hate that he breaks plans and leaves you to attend functions alone and has you buying a killer outfit you can't afford for the next "date" he may or may not take you on. He's the ship. And you know he's got a storm brewing in his life right now. Whatever it is...family, money, health, boredom...you know he's on choppy water. But you think if you let him dock there with you, he'll eventually want to winterize that shit and stay forever. Not a chance. The second that storm clears, he's out and you know it. So do the right thing. Send him off and wish him luck. Keep the dock open for that perfect ship.


So ladies...are you a port? Are you a ship? Have you been either in the past? Or are you the storm!? Give it to me!

GIRL CODE, PART DUH!

Let me first say that I am not in the business of hurting people's feelings. That has never been the purpose of this blog. But I am also not in the business of keeping quiet when people hurt mine. 

So! That said, I think "Girl Code" has become unnecessarily complicated. With all the rules and degrees of friendships, no one would ever be able to keep track. "Well she dated him in high school so it doesn't count...she's a friend of a friend so it shouldn't matter...she has a man, so she shouldn't care...I babysat for her three times so she owes me." 

Girls, it's so simple. Girl Code is knowing the difference between right and wrong, and choosing right. If you find yourself in a predicament involving a man and another woman, you need to ask yourself one thing. If I do this, will it hurt her feelings? If you even have to hesitate or debate the reasons why it shouldn't hurt her feelings then the answer is an automatic yes. If you answer yes then you need to ask yourself one more question. Is it worth it?

We become so focused on landing a man that we sometimes lose sight of who really matters in our lives. That guy you're going to fuck is probably going to be out of your life as soon as the drama from the situation dissipates. That chick you screwed over could have been a source of love and friendship for the duration. 

But we've all been there. No one is perfect. And I know that at our age, we are going to step on some toes trying to find our perfect guy. But when in doubt, ladies, just ask. You owe her that.

"GIRL CODE"

I'm going to change it up a bit, ladies. I'd like to hear your take on this subject before I give you my humble opinion. Do you wear your "I Live by the Unwritten Rules of Girl Code" t-shirt proudly? Have you had a friend rip it off and wipe her ass with it? Or are you googling the term as we speak because you've never even heard of it before today? I want to hear your stories and feedback. Have at it!

I'M "RANDY," WHAT'S YOUR NAME?

OK girls, enough of my whining. Let's have a little fun, shall we?! 

Believe it or not, I love guys. I love looking at them, listening to them, touching them, smelling them, pressing up against them, handcuffing them to my...whoa. Never mind. Anyway! Seriously, I happen to be a tad boy crazy and every one of my friends can attest to this. So let me share with you some things that make me lose my cool around a guy. Things that might make me abandon my morals. Here are some things that make me weak-kneed, hard-nippled, have to cross my legs and hold onto my seat so I don't fly across the room and rip that boy's clothes off, turned on.

#1. Curly hair. Oh God.

#2. An "I'm not trying to impress anyone" t-shirt. Preferably one that he got back in the day, that's still cool but a little worn...that ever so slightly hugs his upper back and arms.

#3. A really good fitting pair of jeans. No splitting the butter, fellas! I don't need to see what yer momma gave ya that clearly! Leave something to be desired!

#4. Manly hands. You know what they say, ladies!

#5. Dark socks, work boots and khaki shorts on a pair of tan muscular legs. I heart landscapers for this reason.

#6. Baseball caps. The t-shirt rule applies here. And if there are a few curly cues peeking out, all the better!

#7. Dirt + sweat. Sweat alone doesn't do it for me. It's the "I've been working hard all day dirty sweat" that kills me!

#8. A hearty laugh. That's a deal-sealer for me. If he has one of the qualities listed above PLUS a great laugh, I might as well run out the door, put on my birthday suit and strap myself to his bed. "Go ahead, finish your dinner, I'll wait."

#9. Broken noses. I know, I know...it's weird! But there's something about it that gets me. I just can't explain it.

#10. The stare. When a guy knows how to give that stare, I'm mush. And you know what I'm talking about, girls. It's definitely sexy but not over the top or creepy. It's confident but not cocky. It's an "I like who you are as a person, but right now I just want to ravage your bod" sort of look. It's not the look they give you after a few too many. That's different. It's the look they give you after you tell them that your favorite band is the Beastie Boys. When I get that look I'm donezo.

I could go on and on, ladies. So why don't I let you have the floor. Tell me the things that make you have to move "laundering your lingerie” to the top of your to-do list. I'll be waiting!

RESPECT IS LIKE A BRA

...if a girl isn't wearing it, boys will notice and act accordingly.

In my last post, I spoke of the antics of one Girls Gone Wild film star, remember? If not, read "Carnie is as Carnie does," because now I'm going to explain to you how her antics are affecting my dating life.

Let's talk about the girl on the pole, taking off her clothes, letting all the boys touch her mushy parts. If she and girls like her allow boys to treat them like pieces of meat, boys will. Because it's easier than getting a girl the old-fashioned way. Why would a man pay all that money for dates and flowers? And spend all that time talking on the phone? Or opening car doors? Or sucking up to her friends? When there are girls out there who will skip all of that and get right down to "bidness." It's a direct means to an end. Because let's face it, what a guy really wants at the end of the day is someone to stroke his ego and his penis. Why would he work for it when it comes free with a $2 cover charge? Ladies, the guys out there are becoming accustomed to this behavior and chivalry is dying a slow, painful death. 

It's the difference between a lion in the zoo and one in the wild. The zoo lions have it easy. They don't have to work for their food, it's thrown at them. They get lazy. A big cat in the wild gets to hunt his prey, work for it, feel accomplished when he catches it, pleased to be the male lion taking care of his pride.

Let me give you an example: I met a guy recently. Cute, funny, smart...quite a package. We had a lot in common and really hit it off. But it quickly fizzled out. Why? Because I was just too much work for him. He was used to the free meat. I wasn't the only one who thought he was a catch. There were plenty of chickies who set their sights on him. I chose to go the old-fashioned route. They squeezed themselves into tube dresses, threw on a few glow bracelets, got wasted, and let "the catch" have his way with them. 

We are all drinking from the same watering hole, ladies! This "getting the meat for free" phenomenon is tainting the men and it's affecting the dating life of every single woman out there. When I expect a guy to call me when he says he will, or take me out on a respectable date, or not taste "my meat" until I know the relationship is going somewhere, he thinks I'm high-maintenance. When it's really just a little thing called self-respect. 

We have to stop throwing the meat at them, girls. We need to make them work for it. Men are hunters, they like a chase. If you want a guy for the long haul, you need to make him stalk you and run you down. If you lay down and let him have you, he's just gonna eat and run.

I'd like to add a disclaimer. Dating is one thing. If you are both in it for the sex alone, discuss it up front and are both ok with it, then I'm all for that, periodically. 

Anyway! Happy hunting, gals.

CARNIE IS AS CARNIE DOES

What the HELL is going on out there, people!?

OK, I was at a little place called GOTL this past weekend. People in my area will know what I'm talking about. I'm being discreet because I don't want to upset the locals. Well, I don't want them coming after me, actually, but that's neither here nor there. My friends and I set up tents at a quaint little campground, rode around in golf carts, laughed, drank beers out of cans wrapped in NASCAR koozies and ate pizza off a picnic table. It was a blast! So what started off as a fun mini-camping trip with friends, would soon turn into a scene from the porno version of Deliverance. 

After nightfall, we decided to go into "town" to see how the GOTL peeps do it. Let's just say that GOTLs are a different breed. At one point I wondered if I was super drunk, or if these people were really THAT ODD. For example, we were approached by a man wearing velcro sneakers that were probably white back in the 80s, and a Hawaiian shirt which was left open to flap in the breeze of his overzealous fast-walk. As he trolled alongside us, closely, his arms flailing wildly, he warned us to be cautious of all the men walking around "downtown GOTL," other than himself of course, because they were only after one thing. He tried convincing us that he was one of the good guys who finished last, got the short end of the stick, etc. We were almost convinced that he was just a harmless guy who probably didn't know how to button his shirt because he took the short bus into town, until he asked us where we were staying, how we were getting back there, and if we were staying there alone. We tried ditching this dude with the, "Hey let's check out this little tchotchke shop (while YOU keep walking, crazy man)" technique, but he stuck with us. So finally, we had to tell our little "Polynesian" Reebok-wearing friend to hit the road. 

We continued on down the street of dreams, when my friend and I spotted a "Girls Gone Wild" bus parked outside one of the more popular establishments. So we giggled and decided to check it out. GGW cameramen were roaming around, shining their lights on those who were willing to give them a show. At first we laughed it off, until we looked over and saw a girl who was grinding on a pole and taking off her clothes while a pack of men surrounded her with whiskey on their breath and intent in their eyes. Men flocked like jackals to a carcass. The wall of boys got so thick and fierce that the only thing that could have saved her at that point would have been the fire department. The more she danced, the more aggressive they became, until one was pressed up against her, another was playing with her fun bags, and yet another was pawing at her skirt. And all the while, she had her hands on any and every male body part that was within grabbing/stroking distance. Had I not been completely terrified, and protective of my own reproductive parts, I would have snatched the whistle off the barely-covered bartender's chest, broke up the action and thrown a flag on that play! Instead we set down our beers and got the hell out of there! But not before dodging a tsunami of scrappers and bitch-slappers.

GIRLS! Seriously? At what point did you lose your self-respect? What happened to going out for a little fun and flirting? Now you let boys give you breast exams and Pap smears at the bar? 

And BOYS! Really!? When did you become all scary and predatory? And who said it was normal to hunt women in packs? Is this how your mother raised you?

I'm at a loss here. I hope and pray that these kinds of things only happen in small carnie towns known for their funnel cakes and meth labs. Or is there some sort of twisted cultural shift taking place in our society? If that's the case then I'm moving to Canada. Seriously, I have a real problem with this kind of behavior. These antics have a trickle-down effect on my dating life (which I'll explain in my next blog post)! I want your feedback...

I'M RUBBER, YOU'RE A JACKASS

When a relationship ends, the best of us will get down on ourselves, especially if we were the dumpees. But I make it a rule to use a break-up as an opportunity for growth. I take stock of my life, I try to work on things to better myself, and I see to it that I don’t make the same mistakes the next time around. So when a guy points out my character flaws, I listen.


This guy I dated told me often that I was one of those "needy" chicks. There were many times I felt like he used it as an excuse to evade responsibility, but then he'd convince me that I was doing it again...being all needy! He reminded me one last time about my neediness when I asked him why he was breaking up with me...over the phone. It hit me hard. I didn't understand it. I didn't think I fell into that category so I really took it to heart.


In the weeks that followed, I analyzed my failed relationship while drinking cabernet braless on my couch watching Matt Damon movies. I agonized over the fact that he broke up with me because I was needy. I'm needy? Something didn't sit well with me. When we were dating, this guy told me frequently that he was perfectly content being by himself. I liked that about him. Even though "uber-independent-guy" would disagree, I am also perfectly happy being by myself (please see my drinking cabernet braless on the couch watching Matt Damon movies reference). But then as the relationship went on and he told me over and over that he didn’t "need anyone in his life," I started to notice that the opposite was true. This guy wouldn't go to the grocery store without an entourage. He couldn't go five minutes without texting someone off his contact list. He'd cut off his fingers before he spent a night at home alone reading a book. Then, I figured something out. The boy who said he didn't need to be in a relationship, who was perfectly content going through life solo, who tried to convince me that I was the needy one, couldn’t stand to be alone with himself.


Many people tend to jump from relationship* to relationship*. They don't take time to chew the cud. They just keep plowing through fields unaware of the trampled flowers left behind. If you go through life without taking stock, without thinking about what went wrong, accepting responsibility, forgiving yourself and others, or growing as a person, you just stagnate. And then you start making excuses for the stench.


I love having people around me. Especially ones I like. But, I also love being by myself. And that is because I like myself. I can sit alone with my thoughts, look at the things I’ve done, forgive myself for the mistakes, pat myself on the back for the accomplishments, and know that I am a good soul. I don’t lie. I don’t cheat. I am honest about my feelings, good or bad. I forgive people who have the balls to come to me and ask for it and I have the balls to go and ask for forgiveness when needed. I’m no saint, but with the plethora of traumatic events I’ve been through, and the growth processes that came after, I think I’ve become a well-oiled human being. I like who I am and it took a lot of hard work to get here. 


Maybe this guy was right, maybe I am needy. Maybe he was projecting. Maybe he was jealous, who knows? What I do know is that I don't mind being alone with myself and that's more than I can say for him. So as the saying goes, "I'm rubber, you're glue."


*"Hanging out" is the same thing as dating, people. If a person of the opposite sex is spending time with you, texting you, calling you, giving you oral on a regular basis, and you are allowing it to happen, you are in a relationship with him/her, my friend.

TERI HATCHER'S ONLY HOT B/C SHE’S RICH

Why are all these younger men hitting on older women? What is going on out there? I see it all the time...women who are in their 30s and 40s getting attention from boys in their 20s. It boggles my mind. Remember that game Boggle? I betcha they don't! We were entranced by a dice-popping board game. They have iPhones.

What do they see in us? 

I knew older men when I was in my 20s. Of course they wanted to date me; I was in my prime! I could out-drink a frat boy, I wore cut off denim shorts that showed off my tanned little bod, and I made it very clear to anyone who could decipher my slurring that I had no intention of settling down anytime soon. The 40-something bar crawlers couldn't keep their eyes off me. I was just what they wanted. I was in the larval stages of becoming a bar fly. So, I can understand that scenario. But younger men wanting to date older women?

Why?

Boys who are in their 20s can have whomever they want! At that age, they're full of testosterone, and bar larvae love testosterone. And you have to admit, the bar larvae of my day was an inferior species compared to the bar larvae of 2010! Look at the young, tight, too-many-hormones-in-the-meat bodies these boys have circling around them...half-dressed, boozed up, more than willing to partake in morally devoid sexual escapades! And there we are, at the table in the back, wearing capris and Silpada jewelry, with our extended pinky drinks, talking about our married friends' children. 

What do they want with us? 

I will admit, I look good for my age, but I certainly don’t have the ass of a 22 year old. Nor the desire for stringless sex. Well, maybe not every weekend, but you know what I mean. And I know I have a lot to offer a man. A man, not a boy. So I'm perplexed when I go out for drinks with my friends and have some 22 year old asking me for my digits AFTER I tell him my age.

So, ladies, I want some feedback on this one. Why do you think this phenomenon is occurring? Have you experienced it personally? Am I insane for asking why rather than enjoying it while it lasts? In the meantime, I'm going to do some investigative work on this subject. Once again, stay tuned....

QUANTITY...NOT QUALITY

I've been thinking, ladies...I'm starting to believe that living in the same town for 37 years, minus my 4-year college stint, is preventing me from finding a decent guy. This town is small, more in attitude than in size, really (you know what I mean…it’s the kind of town where everyone knows immediately if you've been dumped, or have just taken a dump, for that matter), but small none-the-less. Thinking back on the men I have dated, would I have given them a shot at love had there been better prospects in the picture, and/or more of them?

Let's say I had 5 prospects to choose from: "Captain," a guy who constantly sports polo shirts, plaid shorts and boat shoes; "mountain man," the healthy, granola-eating guy you see wearing socks and hiking boots in mid-July; "winer and diner," the well-dressed guy who sends back his food and has money falling out of his suit pockets when he walks; "intramural man," the one who plays every sport known to man and is rarely seen without a baseball cap; and finally, a "what's-his-nuts."

Each of these guys would have a one in five chance at scoring a date with me. Now instead of having the cat in the bag, they would have to put more effort into winning me over. And I would be four-fifths less focused on any one of them at any given time. Can you see where I'm going with this?

So, Monday, "captain" (which I would pronounce, "cap'm") could take me to his boat club for a sunset drink or three. Boat people like their cocktails. I would listen to his sailing stories and pretend to be interested since he is so easy on the eyes. We'd have a nice time and I'd agree to another date.

On Tuesday, "mountain man," who lit a fire in my panties the first time I laid eyes on his tight, tanned bod, could take me kayaking on the bay. We'd laugh and paddle along, checking out the scenery and I'd lag behind to check out his deltoids. He'd wink at me, and I'd be impressed by his knowledge of the native plant life. I'd be totally into him...enough to ask him for a second date.

"Winer and diner" would pick me up for a fancy dinner on Wednesday. I'd be excited about a little chivalry and lobster. But as he droned on about his trust fund and $300 shoes, I'd be nodding politely while picturing "mountain man" and "capt'm" in a canoe race. "Capt'm" definitely has the boating experience but he's no match for "mountain man's" well-developed lats. "W&D" would sense my distance and never call again. Plus, I’d probably swear too much for his taste.

Thursday I'd get a call from "mountain man" saying he thought it would be a perfect night for a hike with a special lady. I'd have to call "intramural man" and tell him that I've developed a horrible headache and my cat just started throwing up hairballs, so I'd have to reschedule (via voicemail, of course, since he'd be at his softball game). I'd have a super time with "mountain man," who I would soon come to find is not only attractive, tight-abbed and vegetatively knowledgeable, but also reeeeally funny. 

Friday I'd call "intramural man" to see if he'd like to meet me for happy hour drinks. He'd probably pound aluminum bottles of Bud Light, which he'd purchased from the bartender wearing a half-shirt, standing in front of a tub of beer. No doubt I'd be put off by his lack of depth. Then a cutesy text from "mountain man" would pop up on my phone, sending me off into lat-land once again. But "intramural man" would barely notice since he’d be too busy making googley eyes at the half-shirted beer girl.

Saturday I'd take a break from men to hang out with my girls. Here, I'd run into "what's-his-nuts" and hear the same song he'd been singing to me for the past three months, "we should go out, I'll call you!" And I would have deleted him from my phone right then and there. 

You get the idea. The more (men), the merrier (I'd be). It would be a win-win situation. We all know guys love a challenge, so I’d only increase my odds of one or more of them being interested in me by increasing the number of prospects I'd have in the game. While at the same time, having all these options to keep me busy, I’d decrease my chances of falling for a “what’s-his-nuts” out of sheer boredom or loneliness.

So I think I may need to up the ante. Increase my odds. Play with a fresh deck.

Stay tuned…

SHARE THE WEALTH

So I have a question for you, ladies....where are you finding these guys!?


I have seen a slew of good-looking, sweet, intelligent, funny men lately and they are all attached. So I would like to know if I'm missing something because the only men I seem to find are throw-backs. Is there some secret society you all belong to? Do I need to perform some sort of freaky ritual to get inducted? I'll do whatever it takes. Eye of newt? No problem. I know this crazy old farmer lady who lives on the outskirts. She can get me any body part off of any mammal I want. If I need to complete some sort of endurance test, I can do that too. I'm small but you'd be amazed at the feats my little body can perform. I can write an essay, pass a test, say some Hail Mary's, just please, gals, let me in on this.


I cannot figure out where you are finding these gems. There are gold mines out there, and some of you know where there are. You got your nugget, now let the rest of us have a go at it. Please, I beg of you, tell me where I can find one of these rare hunks of man. My Garmin and I will be waiting.

A CHAMPION MAKES HER OWN EGGS

"Never a good egg? Are you just this unlucky or do seek out these bad eggs?"
-Anonymous

GREAT POINT, anonymous. I'm so glad you posted. Well, let's address this question in parts.

First off, yes, I was that girl who sought out the bad eggs. I did it without even knowing I was doing it. See my post, "This is just a test" about loving bad boys. This is why the blog exists. I'm learning to watch for red flags, listen to my gut, never trust a playa, etc.

Secondly, yes, I have had some good boyfriends. Let's talk about them. I'll tell you why I threw out these perfectly good eggs.

I had a great guy a long time ago. I've mentioned him a few times, "Good Ole Honky Tonk Boy." He was so good to me. He was the whole package...gorgeous, hard-working, generous, doting, loving, fun and I was head over heels for him. Then he went through a rough patch. Life does that sometimes. He asked me to give him some space to tend to his issues, so instead I clung to him like a velcro monkey on crack. He got spooked so he made a run for it and I don't blame him. It's safe to say I don't do that anymore. Lesson learned: people have their own lives which do not and should not revolve around me.

Another good egg was a younger fella I dated a year or two ago. We'll call him "The Egglet." He was a sweetheart. He would have lopped off his arm, marinated it, and grilled it for dinner if I asked him to. Then he would have done the dishes. But he caught me after a dry spell. My expectations were a bit over the top. I hadn't dated anyone in two years and I forgot that men weren't women with penises, or mind readers. Does every man say that, by the way? "I'm not a mind reader!" Anyway...So "The Egglet" made a few mistakes, as men do, and I pulled the rug out from under him. I made him feel like he had just come back from a baby-seal-slaughtering expedition...laughing. I still feel bad about that. I didn't want to admit that we just weren't right for each other, so instead I played the blame game and made an innocent guy feel terrible about himself. More lessons learned: No one is perfect, honesty is always the best policy, and karma is a bitch (see my posts regarding "what's-his-nuts").

When I was with the good eggs, I was pre-red-flag-acknowledgement, ladies. I had a lot to learn about dating. I had a lot to learn about myself. And I definitely learned my lessons. All of the eggs, good or bad, have taught me something about life and love. So it is because of them that I now seek out that one Golden Egg. And that is what it's all about, isn't it?  "Finding yourself" as they say? So, after all the eggs I've had in the past decade or so, I'm ready to grab just one last egg and give the rest up for good. I'm sick of eggs!

THE LABEL GAME

So I want to get some feedback from you gals. Tell me what some of your labels would read. I'll pull some of my favorites and post them in my next entry. Come on, ladies, dazzle me!

HELLO, MY NAME IS

I think everyone falls into a category of some sort. Every one of us is a particular type of human being. Whether you are an activist, a comedian, a drunk, a social butterfly, or a lying-cheating-asshole, one main characteristic will stand out in each of us. But pinpointing another person's type can be difficult at first. Even though a person may be "nice," that person may also be a "backstabber." And this is where dating gets difficult. 

For example, if someone is labeled a "catch," that could simply mean that he/she has a good job and calls his/her mom every other day. That person could also be a "gold-digger" or a "cheap-ass," who knows! 

So I'd like to propose a labeling system for dating. I think it would help tremendously in our every day dealings with each other! You wouldn't have to waste anymore time trying to figure people out. It would be right there in front of you. 

Here's how it would work: If you were directly affected by another human being in some way, shape or form, you can slap a sticker on their back, pointing out the type of person he/she is in your eyes. But since we can't just go around slapping stickers on each other all day, three people would have to vouch for you. They must sign a waiver stating, "Yes, I agree that this correctly describes said person, from the perspective of (insert your name here), who will be slapping this label on said person." Your name will appear on the sticker, so everyone will know that the information being put out there came from a reputable source...or not!

Oh man, wouldn't that be awesome!? I'd love to slap a "full of shit" sticker on "what's-his-nuts!" That's right, ladies at the bar, he is so full of it you can smell him walking in! So when he starts his puppy-dog-eye/you're-so-easy-to-talk-to baloney, you'll see that sticker and think twice about buying what he's selling. I'd also love to hit up an old friend of mine with a "do not leave your boyfriend unattended" sticker. And when I do I would like to wear one myself that reads, "I'm not a fool, you know." 

But not everyone's stickers will be accurate. I bet there are a few people out there who would stick some things on me that I wouldn't necessarily agree with. I bet "cry baby" would put a "devil's spawn" label on me. Good luck finding people to sign your waiver...and don't go smearing the ink with one of your inappropriate sob sessions. Rest assured I'd get a "she wants too much from me" sticker from more than one of my former flings. There are probably a couple clams out there who would want the competition to know that I'm "not as cool as she thinks she is." And of course we'd all get the typical, "crazy" labels from our exes and/or their friends, right ladies? As I said before, they all think we've got some form of mental illness.

But some labels would be hard to ignore. If someone's got a "gave his ex the clap" sticker on, then that's all there is to it. No reasoning your way out of that one. And if someone's sporting a "swings both ways" sticker, you know that one person knows this to be true, and three other people signed off on it. Or if you see a "ran off with my cousin" label, well, that just speaks for itself. So depending on how specific the label is, you can make assumptions based on another person's (and three of their associates') opinion. We would just have to use our noodles when trying to decode these labels, ladies. 

I guess this would be the same thing as taking advice. It's a labeling system of sorts. You meet this new guy, he's sweet and funny and you develop an instant crush. You get excited and then a co-worker tells you he's a total pig. So you think about it, but her label doesn't hold water with you since you're only work pals. Then a bestie tells you she knows him. He used to hook up with some skinny broad she knows, until he dumped her for some skinnier broad. That voucher has been signed by your bestie...that carries a lot of weight. 

So I guess my labeling system already exists. The information about the people you date is out there. You need to look at the number of labels on this person of interest. Are they mostly good or mostly bad labels? Who slapped the stickers on in the first place? Are they from reliable sources? The labels are there for the taking, gals. Use them wisely.

EGGS AGAIN?

I want to clear something up. A lot of you who're reading this blog may be thinking, "man this chick thinks pretty highly of herself!" Well, you're right. I do, but that's beside the point. 

I know that this blog is written in my favor. I know that my arguments seem one-sided; like I'm not taking any responsibility for my failed relationships. But that's not the case. I do know that relationships are two-sided. I know that I have done things wrong along the way, and some of those things may have played a part in the demise of my relationships. 

But what I want you all to know is that the guys I have been dating aren't your average, everyday "good eggs." Guys who are "good eggs" have morals and would never intentionally hurt anyone. They're normal! They don't lie, cheat, or mislead you to believe they’re feeling something they aren't feeling. But unfortunately for me, no "good eggs" have been thrown at me. I've been stuck dating all the "rotten eggs;" the selfish guys who don't care who they hurt, as long as they get what they want out of it. 

For example, in my post about polishing turds, I speak of a guy who claimed that all of his exes were some form of crazy. But this guy wasn't a "good egg" who had a knack for attracting whacko broads. He was a "rotten egg" who used that excuse to get down girls’ pants.

And the guy who tried giving me a happy ending at Starbucks at one in the afternoon, would've appeared to the naked eye to have "good egg" qualities. But in the end, he turned out to be just another "horny old rotten egg."

All of these rotten eggs have put a bad taste in my mouth, gals. Thus, my one-sided blog.

On the other hand! Had I been dating "good eggs" all the while, we wouldn't have this hilarious blog, now would we ladies? Who the hell wants to read about my date with "Mr. Perfect Teeth" who picked me up on time, opened the door, took me to an exquisite restaurant, told me I was beautiful, had me home at a decent hour, and called the next day to say he had a nice time? Not you! This isn't a chick flick. This is real life. And sometimes, real life ain't pretty. But that's why I'm here, writing to you. Oh, I'm sure a lot of you are happily married, or cohabitating with "the one," or maybe you're just telling yourself that "shit for brains" is a "good egg." Regardless of your current situation, you’ve all been where I am now. You know what it's like to be hit in the face with "rotten eggs."

I'm not perfect, in or out of a relationship. If it sounds like I'm full of myself, rest-assured, I'm not. I have flaws, this I know well. My flaws and I have a love-hate relationship, but that discussion is for another day. This blog is my journal, in essence. It reflects who I am, and who affects me emotionally. My one-sided blog smells like a dead fart, I know. But, please don't think it's because I'm a self-righteous "negative Nelly." It's really because too many "spoiled rotten eggs" have been tainting my life with their sulfuric asses. "Whoever smelt it dealt it" doesn’t apply here, kids.

Trust me, I can't wait to start posting about my new man leaving the cap off the toothpaste, and how annoyingly cute I think it is. But until that “good egg with the hot bod and good job" finds his way into my life, I'll have to keep writing from experience. 

So, rotten eggs it is. Order up!

YOUR GUT'S NOT TRYING TO BANG YOU

I want to talk about trusting our guts. This is SO IMPORTANT, ladies. You have to trust your own instincts. We're mammals. We have these instincts to protect ourselves. A rabbit won't stand still and tell herself, "I can totally trust that coyote, after all, his mother really likes me."

Time after time I have been that rabbit. My mind was screaming, "Run you dumb ass, run!" But instead, I stood still, my gut in knots, chewing on grass, hoping to God that carnivore closing in on me turns vegan. If I had trusted my gut, right now I would be frolicking in the meadow with my man-rabbit, maybe a few baby bunnies with a nice hole in the ground to call my own. 

Trust your gut, ladies. You know exactly what I'm talking about. Something happens. He left his phone in the hotel room, that's why he didn't return your calls. He was afraid you'd be mad at him for staying out past 2am, that's why he lied to you about it. You feel your face heating up, your stomach tightens, your brow furrows and the lines in your face become all too obvious. The heat from your face starts to fill your entire body. You're thinking, "Is this guy for real?" And your gut is yelling, "Tell that a-hole to go eff himself!" Then you think about the consequences. It'll be over. You won't get to kiss those pink lips, or feel his hot breath whisper "I love you" in your ear anymore. You won't get to ride shotgun in his truck while he fingers through "your" songs on his ipod. You won't get to feel his hands on your skin. You won't be able to ravage that body of his anymore. Never again. The slow-mo movie of the two of you smiling, laughing, hugging, kissing and twirling each other around in the sunshine plays in your head. To a John Mayer song. Then your anger turns to fear and sadness. You tell your gut to shut the hell up and ask your guy, kindly, to never lie to you again. K, honey?

If I could go back to that moment, I would've ended the conversation and chewed on it for a while. Yes, the movie would have played, with the damn John Mayer song, and I would have wanted to call him and tell him it was all ok. But I would have continued to chew on it. Thinking about the fact that he lied to me. I would have chewed on it. And thought about the rest of my life, having to live in his shadiness, chewing on this tough grass when there are all these tasty dandelions and sunny spots out there for me to enjoy. And my gut would have calmly whispered, "Atta girl. Sunny spots. Dandelions. He LIED to you. Sunny spots." 

Your gut has nothing to lose here, gals. Your gut is your best friend. It knows you better than anyone else on earth. That guy who lied to you has a lot to lose! Your phone calls, your back rubs, your front rubs. His daily ego boost. The comfort of having someone to take to parties so people don't think he's just some loser who can't keep a woman. Your gut is just looking out for you. It cares about you, kid. So listen to it. Don't listen to that boy's excuses. If your gut is telling you that he lied to you because he may or may not have been getting a happy ending in some skanky basement massage parlor, thank it for being honest and take the advice being given to you. Your gut is your protector. It's your inner survivor. Don't just stand there and take it. Protect yourself! 

Two things I now believe in strongly: My gut is always right and John Mayer's full of shit. 

DON'T CROWD YOUR EGGS

I pulled out some of my old journals the other night. I am amazed at how clear things become when I read about them a year later. I look back at some of my entries and wonder, "Who is this girl and why can't she see that this guy is a douche!?" One thing in particular became very clear to me. I have a tendency to put all my eggs in one basket. 

After "what’s-his-nuts" was done dawdling around in my life, I saw what I had been doing wrong for the previous 7 months. I was putting all of my energy into the relationship. And the more eggs I put into his basket, the sooner they began to rot. I did this a lot in the past. I did it in my marriage, in my stint with "hairy balls," and with "good ole honky tonk boy," too. (Man I miss him.) I even did it with "cry baby." Poor thing. 

Now that I've seen the light, I have a lot of different baskets in my life. I have my friendship basket, my family basket, my art/photography basket, my blog basket, my pet basket, my volunteer basket, my work-out basket, my sit on the porch by myself and drink a bottle of wine basket, etc. And honestly, I'm happier than I've ever been. Truly happy. A little lonely at times, but that's what Boy Toys are for, right gals? (Boy Toy high five!) 

Now my eggs are distributed amongst all my baskets. They have room to breathe and tons of space to do whatever it is that eggs like to do. Sometimes, though, I'll take eggs out of one basket to visit another basket when that basket is feeling a little low. Like when my family was cleaning out my gramma's house on what would have been her 90th birthday. I pulled eggs from a few other baskets to put into my family basket for the day. My pet basket wasn't thrilled since he spent the day in the cage, but tonight I intend to put the eggs back into his basket and take him to the dog park.

Listen, I'm not saying that there should be a certain amount of eggs in each of your baskets all the time, ladies. But I do think that when you start piling the eggs into one basket, they feel smothered and that's when they start to go bad. So! I think you should go to Michael’s, take your 40% off coupon, buy some fun, colorful baskets and a label maker. Then let your "significant other" basket know that you plan to lighten his load, and let your eggs have a little fun in a different basket for once!