22 October 2009

Holy Starbucks, Batman.

Little Wayne has pled guilty to possessing an illegal gun -- I'm not especially surprised. What does throw me off, however, is how he looked walking out of court. A cashmere scarf and black rimmed glasses really can make anyone look smartly dressed. Who knew?


18 October 2009

Please prove to me you aren't a tool

Craig's List + snark = a match made in heaven. The more I think about it, the more I realize that Craig's List was custom made for a person like me, and a blog like this. Granted, it occasionally offers up someone that is not a giant douchebag -- see Contest #542 about the Kiwi -- but on the whole, CL is overrun with men who are more likely used to find their women via the grapevine known as the bar bathroom wall and women who are on an elusive search for a green card.

That group, however, isn't where the snark lies; as far as I'm concerned, the humor is in the men who look to CL as something more than just a toss of the dice, who actually attempt to lay out their perfect mate within the confines of a free web site whose look is reminiscent of a mid-sized city's newspaper classified section. Those are the guys you want to grab, shake and ask, "really, guy? Did you think you'd find perfection here?" And if that's not bad enough, the guy offering up this laundry list is always an unquestioning tool.

Like, always.

Take, for example, Mr. PLEASE PROVE TO ME SHE ACTUALLY EXISTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Given the headline, you know damned well I only clicked on this for comic value. I could scarcely bring myself to do it, given the exclamation assault. I mean, really -- is it that necessary? Are you that excited about asking this question? This has been an ongoing debate within my circle, and I will forever and always be adamantly opposed to excessive punctuation. Couple that with the screaming all caps and really, what you've got is a tool of absolute epic proportions, one whom has undoubtedly spent more than his fair share of time in AOL chat rooms without ever stumbling across anyone who would share with him the understood rules of chatting.


But enough of that -- let's meet Mr. Eager, shall we?
Well, there we go. He's actually not a bad looking kid, provided he shuts his proverbial piehole and stops screaming at me over the Interwebs. If he'd just included this one photo, I might have actually reconsidered my decision to label him a tool, but, again, in what can only be described as a blackout of bad decision making, he decided to include photos of random bullshit no one cares about -- his vehicles and his friends. What, I ask you, can be gleaned from a photo of a guy's car? Answer: not a thing that any actual woman wants to know. The broad who's attracted to a guy because of what he drives isn't actually a woman you want to be with.  It's such an perversely twisted way of thinking, in that this guy is probably first in line to complain about all women being materialistic. If that's the case, broham, perhaps you ought not upload shit like this:

These photos do not make you look cool, guy. They make you look like a giant douche with a very small penis and massive issues related to your gender and level of self-esteem.




For the record, I know some pretty awesome chicks, and I'm pretty positive not a one of them would be into a guy who (a) had a blue sports car, and (b) posted images of it. And what're you doing over there on the left, guy, wanking your tool jewel on the seat of the motorcycle there? If this is actually an attempt to show women that you're into bikes or fix bikes or race bikes or what the fuck ever, then maybe you should consider actually including a photo that shows you doing something other than standing next to it. You look like you're at some wack ass car show and have been restricted to the kiddie section. And worse yet, is that a sport bike? You're not even man enough to be into something classic?

Not sexy, broham. Not sexy in the least.

After you work through the hot Abercrombie mess that are the photos, it's time to pick your way through the minefield that is the post itself. This is how he begins:


Is there such a girl out there that is:

attractive
spontaneous
well educated
non smoker
non married/divorced
no kids 


First off, WTF is up with dudes and bulleted lists? Are we in a marketing meeting watching a fucking powerpoint? If you can't form a paragraph, I don't want to know you. And if you actually believe you can make a connection with anyone based on a random assortment of adjectives, then again sir, you're a tool. Formatting aside, however, the beginning of the list is actually fairly standard. Single guy wants single girl to be a cute, single, non-smoker with no baby daddy drama and a modicum of a thought process she calls her own.

And let's not forget spontaneous... not unlike writing this blog, come to think about it.  Hmm, maybe he is the man for me.  

Moving along:
smart enough to find better things to do in life besides drink at bars every chance they get 

I'm obviously not drinking every chance I get, or I wouldn't be stumbling across this bullshit ad you've posted, broham. I'm always intrigued when guys jump on their moral highorse and begin to espouse how uncool it is to be a woman who drinks at bars. Ignoring the big picture for a moment, would it be better if I was drinking at home alone? Or would you prefer I not drink at all, but spend four hours a day on my ass with an XBOX? Oooo, wait. Maybe I need to be trolloping around taking photos of my super awesome sports car. That's it.

no dirtied up with tattoos 

We won't even open this Pandora's Box of nonsense, because I could blog about this jugdment-laden phrase for a month. I'm pretty positive tattoos could be overlooked, but something like the herp is forever. That's not on your list, though, so can I suppose that you'll be quite content the first time it burns when you pee?

great since of humor 
But a great sense of spelling is obviously optional.

not easily offended  
I'm sure she'd be cool with your implication that she was a dirty, tattooed whore.

As usual with these types of things, Tool saved the best for last.  


looks great in pigtails
Errrr, excuse me? What the fuck did you just say? Of all the things a woman could be, you need her to look great in pigtails? Could this glaring inability to properly prioritize be the reason you're single, broham? Maybe your match is a non-existent orphan with an affinity for cleaning and singing.




Maybe, good sir -- juuuust maybe.

It should be noted that the bullet just before that one was 'Christian.' Nice. Nothing says 'live as Christ did' like hitting a hottie with tight ponies.






Ooooooooo yeah.

16 October 2009

Contestant #542

With all the snarky blogging I do -- and plan to do in the future -- I thought it would at least be nice to throw some positive things into the mix, so as not to portray my existence as a house of cards anchored only by acerbic humor, crazy parents and industrial strength toilets. So, at the risk of future regret, I've settled in to talk about the Kiwi, the newest object of smit.

Smit, smitten, smote. Or something like that.

The same night I found Thin Creepy Guy, I also found a post titled "bag of sand."  With a headline like that, which -- for those not in the know -- alludes to a fantastic scene in the 40 Year Old Virgin, I thought the guy was either extremely funny or extremely preoccupied with breasts. Or worse yet, with sand. But I clicked through and found myself in a spot I don't often inhabit: I was surprised, pleasantly so. I can't quite pinpoint why; it's not as if his post is particularly long or informative. But maybe that's what it was -- it wasn't a laundry list of subjective adjectives as a means to describe himself or who he was looking for. He just seemed... genuine. Unpretentious. The opposite of douchey, which is something I'd feared no longer existed.

So, I dashed off a few lines about me and clicked 'send.'

Bing bang boom, we're 48 hours past that and Kiwi and I have undeniably clicked. From the start, he's been dropping phrases like, 'I'm bewildered -- you seem really amazing,' and 'I'm incredibly lucky you stumbled over my post.' You know, all that really great shit that men never say to women. Normally, that would set off my alarm bells that he was an extra special sort of douche, but call me crazy... the guy actually seems genuine about it.

And as we all know, I am pretty f'ing amazing. It's just a shocker someone with a penis has actually realized and vocalized this fact.

I am, for the first time in a minute or two, un-guardedly giddy. I'm not inundated with tons of 'what ifs' or terribly concerned that something I say might scare him away. I am fully aware that he could have a host of douchey qualities lurking just under the surface, and they could very well explode all over me at an unexpected time, thus forcing me to cut him lose as I have so many others. But in this moment, I'm content  to enjoy getting to know the guy. The giddiness is nice -- I'd forgotten what it felt like, quite honestly. Quite unexpectedly, I've run up against that elusive combination of chemistry (where I'm eagerly anticipating every new email and text message) and attraction. That's right, people, he is not only presentable, he's flipping handsome!

For reasons I've never been able to figure, the fly-by-night sorts who have rotated through my life have always been pretty damned good looking, but the men I've given my heart to have always been, at best, average. Based on the photos he's sent -- which, of course, could have been taken prior to some hideous industrial accident that he's not yet informed me of -- the man is a hottie. And even better? He has no idea he's a hottie.

I know, I know, I can scarcely believe it myself. But I have proof!

 This is Napier, the Kiwi's hometown. How could someone douchey come from a place so gorgeous?


 Common sense says yes, but the John Hughes-esque mindset that I currently wish to maintain tells me no, it's just not possible.

Here is the Kiwi in his natural habitat. I'm a fan of seeing sports live for a very good reason...



I actually first thought this photo was of him playing rugby, but I realized it was soccer. Then, I actually realized that it really doesn't f'ing matter. Why, you ask?



Because quite honestly, I can think of about three dozen different things that are infinitely worse than watching this man run around a field in shorts -- what he's doing really takes a back seat to the mere fact that it's happening.

Am I being shallow in objectively this seemingly sweet, unbelievably genuine divorced father of one? I probably am.

And it's about f'ing time. I'm going to enjoy this as long as I can.

13 October 2009

Oh, silly girl

I woke up this morning to a story about 'compensated dating' on CNN. I'd venture to say the agreed upon term for this sort of thing is prostitution, but ok, whatever; maybe the columnist decided to split hairs for the sake of the subject's very compact sense of dignity. Then again, it seems whores were quite dignified in the 1800s with their fancy hats and petticoats, so maybe instead of an intervention, maybe these broads need a time machine.


Just sayin'.

So, the jist of the article is that young female teens in Hong Kong want money to buy an assorted number of non-essentials -- clothes, make-up, new shiny cell phones that make neat noises. Their parents impose limits and either can't or won't purchase such things for them (imagine such a horrendous life!), so these little tarts turn to the Big Bad Interweb, and chat rooms, to find men to 'date.' They find a man, arrange a price, time and place, and there you have it -- and mysteriously, the dinner and conversation portion of the evening nearly always is replaced by naked sex. But as I said, whatever.

Let's skip over the discussion of moral implications and societal consequences to get to the meat of the topic -- the horror story. According to CNN, none of these girls even bat an eyelash at their hooker ways, despite the story of a 16-year old who was murdered by a 24-year old 'date,' who likely wouldn't have passed her parents' radar had she been looking to actually date him, rather than support a ravenous desire for Cover Girl True Blend.

My initial thought: she dissed Happy Valley in favor of TSW Pegasus and that sent him into an uncontrollable rage.


Whatever the case might have been, here's what -- no pun intended -- kills me.  The man, Ting Kai-Tai, killed the teenager, dismembered her body and flushed the remains down the toilet. 

He flushed her down the toilet?! Are you fucking kidding me? I've got to flush twice -- if not three times -- after I have Mexican for lunch, but this guy can flush a friggin' body and it's all gravy? What in hell sort of installations do they have in Hong Kong? I've heard of Asians being far more industrious than the United States, but this is ridiculous.

Really guy... really?


I've been doing it all wrong, I realize. When I chat with men online and/or throw my money at yet another online service, I do so whilst working under the guise of finding someone immensely dateable... and well, real. But I am apparently one of only a small handful,  which is made abundantly clear by this guy. ---------------------->

In a casual perusal of Craig's List (it's late, I'm bored and I needed a couple of late night guffaws), I stumbled across Mr. 26 Year Old Grad Student. Now, anyone who knows my tastes knows full well that had I been looking seriously, I would've stopped after his third listed attribute, "Long dark brown hair and a thin black beard and mustache." Maybe it's just me, but I'd actually prefer to not date someone who describes himself as a weasily version of central figure from V for Vendetta.

That being said, I couldn't pass up his post without comment. It seems this guy isn't looking for a date, or even a girlfriend -- he's apparently likened the internet for a build-a-bear store, a storefront depot wherein it's advisable to list every attribute you would ever want in your partner until the end of fucking time. He can't possibly be looking for a real human female -- at least, not anyone who exists outside of his undoubtedly vast collection of manga and anime. You know the worst thing about this post, though? Before he goes all warp speed into Crazyville, he actually sounds fairly normal. Fairly.

Let's review.

What I’m looking for in a woman:
Requirements:

* Be female. 

This is so important as to require an asterisk, rather than a simple numeral... and you know, with the internets the wild west that it is nowadays, I support the man for being upfront in his request for a fully formed, non-surgical vagina. He's not one to settle for Thai ladyboy substitute. You can't argue with a man who knows what he wants -- or can you? 

1. No children
2. Not taken
3. Non smoker
4. No 420
5. No drugs
6. No STDs
7. Limited or no alcohol
 

Ok, ok... his first eight (counting the gender stipulation) are fairly standard, though being the uncloseted lush that I am, I'd certainly put up a fierce fight over number seven. That being said, that's one of those things that separates the wheat from the shaft, as they say; if I hadn't already been repelled by the long thin hair and pre-pubescent facial scrub, his desire to find a woman who is hops deficient would certainly turn me off.  Still, I was thinking things were fairly normal until...
10. Will call or contact on own initiative 2-4x per week on own initiative
11. Will plan dates at least 2-3x per month, on own initiative
12. Will drop by (calling in advance) at least 2x per month on own initiative 


Errr, ok. I suppose what he's trying to say here is that, as the man, he doesn't want to always be the one calling, planning and visiting. He wants a woman with some initiative. Initiative is fantastic, but stipulating visiting hours like you're a stand-in for Kramer vs. Kramer seems a bit, well, strident, does it not? Is he keeping track on his big ships of the Navy calendar? Will I receive a friendly card or voicemail at the end of the month if I've forgotten to call in advance of a visit?


'Hello, Bronwen, this is an automated message from THIN CREEPY GUY. To hear your reprimand for failing to plan a date between the dates of OCTOBER THE 5TH and OCTOBER THE 12th, press one. To choose a date in November on which to make up the missed date, press two. To leave an apologetic message, press three. To hear these options again, press five. Para espanol, prima seis.'

After he relays the monthly requirements, it just begins to get frenetic and weird:

15. Has a sex drive but does not feel the need to explore that immediately. 
Sooo, what, she should be able to turn it off and on like a faucet? I wonder if he realizes that a woman who wants to 'explore that immediately' is pretty much the only one you want to have. Here's a secret, creepy thin guy -- if a woman does not want to sleep with you, then you are not her boyfriend and you never will be. But maybe if he knew that he wouldn't be leaking this bullshit on the internet like a weasel on a diuretic diet.

16. Not a vegetarian, vegan, or on any other strange life choice diet. Gluten, seafood, lactose, and other food allergies are fine as would be Diabetes type I. 
Well now, Doctor What the Fuck, so glad to know my food allergies are acceptable, but a freaky, off the wall like being vegetarian is taboo. He later mentions he doesn't want someone who is zealously religious -- but it seems zealously ignorant is quite okay. I'm wondering how often he's met women who are strangely and inexplicably allergic to his penis.

17. Leads a healthy lifestyle  
So long as that lifestyle doesn't include, you know, vegetables.

He goes on to request an individual who is either White, Asian, Pacific Islander, Indian, Middle East, or Native American who is at or under 5’7, intelligent, wise and not an atheist, who will sometimes come on to me... you know, once she checks her calendar and realizes it's time to explore her raging sex drive. The best part, however, is when he tries to be tender. His fembot will stand up to me when needed, but also for me, and be the type who ultimately inspires me to be a better person.

Awwww, and here I thought it would be years before robots would be able to display human characteristics; in his utopia, however, it all seems so possible. His is a world in which I want to live!


Just when you think you've exhausted his list, he gets into a shorter list of 'preferences.' Did you get that distinction? Calling him up to four times a week is a requirement, as is not exploring your sex drive. Spoken like a man who will never have a woman grab him by the shirt collar and drag him up the stairs... like that's at all surprising.


Preferences:

1. Thin
2. B-C cup
3. Shaves legs
4. Enjoys being manhandled. 


Ignoring his obvious request for a fembot who might well resemble a waif-ish, pre-pubescent monkey, I'm intrigued by the fourth entry. Manhandled... surely he doesn't mean sexually, because, well, yeah. Any man who lists as a requirement someone who will 'somtimes' come on to him has proven himself to be a man who wouldn't know how to handle it -- much less manhandle it -- if he was given an instruction booklet. Could he mean physically? Judging by the photo, I'm not sure how that's feasible, unless he's going to trip the poor girl then tie her to a chair and read this post to her. Hmmm.... maybe he means emotionally, as in "let me call you two to four times a week and read this post to you, as required by our aforementioned relationship."

5. Wouldn’t mind moving away from Austin if that becomes a topic for discussion.  

Under normal circumstances, I don't think too many women would mind discussing relocation for a truly wonderful person; it feels highly likely, however, that in this case, creepy thin guy would want to move away from Austin and burrow deep into the forest to home school the half dozen children he fully intends to 'require' fembot to have, so they can learn the fine art of crocheting potholders and proper gun cleaning. On the plus side, they would get to live off the land and learn about the cycle of life as they kill what they eat.

On the down side, though, they really wouldn't be too useful in building that asbestos-tinged fallout shelter and spreading word of an impending race war until they were ohhh, about eight or nine. But in the meantime, I guess those tiny hands would be good for digging wells, harvesting crops and sewing knockoff Gucci wallets to sell on the black market.