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.