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How To Hit It And Quit It: One Night Stands 101

21 May


I never took myself for the kind of person who would enjoy this type of thing. For one thing, I’m a woman, which affords me the amazing opportunity to wildly over invest myself emotionally from the beginning. Another thing, would be that I’m not a huge fan of doing that whole “boom boom pow,” hit it and quit it type of deal. But I understand that many people are a huge fan of what I like to refer to as… the “Drive-Thru” version of a relationship.

You pick out what fast looking joint you want to spend some time inside of, then roll up to their window, make your demands and then pull around. Maybe at most you pay five bucks to pump one lousy drink into them before shouting your “order.” AND…it never looks clean. Seriously. You eat there anyway, because you’re “starving” and “desperate” but it definitely looks like it’s been a long time since someone took
some time to clean this place up.

Regardless, my gentleman friends refer to this as “vagenomics,” and my ladies refer to this as a Friday night.

What is “vagenomics?” It’s the principal that for every “X” amount of women you try your bad lines on, dance next to them when they don’t want it, or do other things that most women in 2011 would deem “whack,” that “y” amount will take your bait and reel you in.

Granted, this “y” amount is a small margin, men do not care. They will try and try until they can prove that “y” is a factor (in their evening).

Need some help identifying if the person you’ve been talking to is ready to head to “the big show?” Here are some good ways to identify the perfect partner for a one night stand.

Prospect: You look over on the dance floor and see a girl who’s dancing sexy with her girls in the middle of the dance floor. Her friends are sort of humoring her, chanting her name, or “get it sexy!” She is whipping around like she’s trying to shake the sadness out of her, and is holding on to her drink in one hand while she knocks back a shot with her friends with one long “woooooooo!”

Probability: If prospect is holding “X” amount of drinks, multiplied by the number of ALL women surrounding her and factoring in her dancing which is divisible by how likely she is to roam free from the group….your chances are pretty good.
1.Women drink for two reasons. Either we’re out celebrating (something as little as a girls night out), or we’re mourning something ( a relationship, friendship, loss of job etc.). Both are extremes, and both really factor in to our decision-making process.
2.If she’s the one in the center being surrounded, that’s your target. She’s out dancing, trying to harness all of the attention which showcases her desire for…MORE attention. And what do you bring as a suitor to this pathetic party? Oh, you guessed it…one night of nothing BUT attention.
3.If she’s pounding a shot and a drink, her friends are trying to liquor her up past reason and she isn’t fighting it…she’s looking to make some bad decisions. You could be that impulse!

Prospect: You’re with your boys, but not really paying attention to anything except the prim and proper hottie in the corner that refuses to make eye contact. At some point, you turn to see a quieter girl hanging in the corner, but she’s admiring you. If you’re not looking for long-term, simply a one night…outta sight….feeeeeeling is sooo right type of deal; you need to keep your eyes peeled. The right signs of body language can let you know whether or not things are going down.

Language to look for:
1. Watching you, but trying to make it look nonchalant

2.Gazing away periodically then giving you those “Do me…right here…” eyes

3.Nonsensical giggling=flirty laughter…if someone is laughing a lot, it’s to show you they are “fun” and “easy going.”

4.Sexy dancing, especially up on their girlfriends. If it’s a guy, look for a lot of “hype” dancing…or…the complete opposite. They may want to come off cool and too refined to dance like Flavor Flav on crack….more crack?

5.Playing with objects that may not have a sexual connotation, but the way they’re playing with it makes you think they’re trying to subliminally tell you something. Women who let their tongue flop onto their straw and take a lonnnnng sip, men who use their fingers to stir their drink than sip it seductively. Kinda gross, no? But it works for some!

Now that you’ve identified your prey, here are a couple of lines that will totally work on whomever you’re after, if they’re looking for a little “Drive-thru lovin’!”

1. I’ve never done this before, but with you…I feel like this is something different.
2. I’ve never done this before, but I’m just going to let it go and have a good time
3. I’ve never done this before, but you’re amazing and I can’t let the night end like
4. I’ve never done this before, but you’re here…and we’re only young once.
5. I’ve never done this before.

How to artfully get out of turning your “Drive-thru relationship” into a full-fledged sit down, five-star, restaurant…and how to do that too, if that’s what you’re into!

It’s not you, it’s just that…

1. You live so far from me, it’s hard to see you as often as I’d like
2. My job is so crazy; I just can’t take on anything else right now.
3. I don’t feel like I can truly offer you what you want right now and what you deserve
4. I’m damaged goods, you don’t want anything to do with me
5. I’ve been hurt so badly before, and I know you have too…let’s not have to worry about hurting each other and just have fun.

NOW….if you’d LIKE to turn your McDonald’s into a Capital Grille situation, here’s how you’d use the same phrases as above to transition into something more substantial.

I’ve been having such a great time with you that…

1. I know we live far apart, but we can share the driving and meet up on the weekends to get to know each other better.
2. Although my job is completely nuts right now, if you can be patient and understanding with me…I’d like to see you again…in the daytime…with your clothes on.
3. I’m not sure I can be what you’re looking for, but I’d like to try.
4. I know we did things backwards by sleeping together so fast, but let’s see if we have chemistry other places…besides the bedroom.
5. I know we’ve both been hurt before, so let’s keep it light and fun until we can evaluate whether it’s worth investing into.

Here’s the rules though…if you decide to just let it be one night, then let it be one night. If you’re going to keep it consistent and keep enjoying each other’s company, make sure you’re both available for the other one. If one wants it, the other should comply if possible. Not fair at ALL to be in a one-sided sexual relationship. “But who would turn down amazing sexy times they claim has been the best they’ve ever had?”
Actually…some do. If you both can’t enjoy it, the “buddy system” fails.

And if by some miracle you two decide to keep the fun going and turn it into a relationship, go for it and truly explore all aspects of the person (clothed, this time!).

Obama Calls Twenty-Something Singles A “Disgrace to America” and “Lepers!”

21 May


Alright, so that’s not quite true, but it does get you guys to open this! (Don’t sue me, Obama!) Are you finding that everyone around you is practically married and you’re alone? Are your friends all in committed relationships and you can barely commit to what to make
for dinner tonight? Then my friends, I welcome you to “the club.” Our members are comprised of twenty-something’s who for whatever reason have been unable to find their special someone to share life’s joy and misery with.

Fact: We are alone
Fiction: We are lepers
What’s up with that? Why is it we can’t be single and fabulous, single and awesome, or
single and so amazing it’s frightening and people not look at us with pity and disgust?
Fact of the matter is, just because we’re single doesn’t mean we’re sad about it. It’s
less to do with the fact we CAN’T date someone, but rather that we choose not to. The
reality is everyone can date “someone” but maybe we’re single because we don’t just
want to date anyone. While it would appear we are desperate and alone to those “on
the inside (our friends in relationships),” we actually are quite content with hangin’ and
bangin’…chillin’ and killin’….hittin’ it and quittin’ it.

How are these puns doing?

Not to say we wouldn’t date people, but we’re selective.

Alright, so maybe the reality is we don’t meet the right people. We meet people who are afflicted (mainly mentally) in one way or another. Maybe, it has to do with the fact we listen to our married friends complain about their relationships so often that we’re so grateful that we have don’t have to answer to anyone at any time…for any reason.

If your married buddy is telling you his old lady sniffs his pants every time he comes home, wants him to give up poker to stay home and watch the Kardashian Circus on repeat and checks his phone to make sure his ex-girlfriend from 1995 isn’t texting…would you be listening on the other end like, “Man, when is this going to happen for me?”

When I have a girlfriend call me and say, “Listen…if Dan calls you, we were together last night watching Bridesmaids. Don’t tell him Tim came over though, because he hates him and he’ll go ballistic.”

Things change when you’re in a relationship and everything and everyone feels the effects. Your plans change, your hobbies change, your attitude changes.

“We love to rollerblade now. We go all the time to our favorite spot where the sushi is
just the best.”

What? What the hell just happened?

Now you “rollerblade?” I can barely get you take a three-minute walk to Walgreens, but you’ll rollerblade 30 minutes to the beach? And you said “WE” three times in two minutes…and I just threw up in my mouth.

When do your thoughts meld as one?

When do you start liking cats although you’re deathly allergic and are wishing for some virus to freakishly wipe out all domesticated cats.

You start doing things you never envisioned, sacrifice the things you once loved because you’re self-conscious your partner may not like it. Sometimes your plans change. Maybe you don’t move somewhere because you met this incredible person, or you move somewhere for some incredible person. Either way, shit changes.

Beyond that, friendships change. We, the single, have to stand there and smile and act happy. It’s not that we’re not happy for you…it’s that we would like the following things to happen when we’re with you and they’re not.

Do not spend the whole time talking about them. ONE minute for each month you two have been together. That’s enough.
Do not answer the phone when they call and talk baby talk and coo and carry on a twenty-minute convo with them while we’re in the car unless it’s an emergency. We, your friends, only get to see you a limited amount of time so pretend like you’re excited to hear about our cats new outfit, or how we got a new outfit, a new fling, or a new poker tournament going on for singles…only.

Lots of friends have significant others that live out-of-town. The hardest thing is when they come into town, because it’s like we suddenly don’t exist anymore. You know why it’s hard? We get used to not having to share you. Then your significant other comes into town and not only do we take a back seat (which is understandable), but it’s like we’re in a car….four cars back…in the trunk, perhaps. This is more our issue, but it
doesn’t feel good regardless!

When you dress alike, it makes me want to punch small animals. When you groom each other in public, it makes me want to punch babies ( who
are already on my shit list to start with).
Fact: Being in a relationship is awesome
Fiction: Being in a relationship is awesome

It goes both ways! This may sound like a rant from a “hater,” but guess what? It’s not. Each of us is guilty of this when we get into a new relationship and go ga-ga for the new significant other we can’t wait to explore. Everybody else matters less than them, because we KNOW everybody else already.

Why being single is awesome:
1. We do what we want

2. No one to answer to

3. Come home as late as we want and climb in bed with whomever we want

4. Getting drunk and naked, as well as crying publicly are more accepted

5.Life is exciting and unpredictable! You never know who you’ll meet, have a little
spontaneous fun with, etc.

What’s awesome about a relationship?
1. Using a 2 for 1 coupons without feeling weird
2. Operating a paddle boat correctly
3. Riding a two-seated bike
4. Can own walkie-talkies and always have someone to talk to
5. Comfortably ride a see-saw

Fact: As we get older, more and more of our friends are getting married
Fact: There is an ass-load of pressure to catch up to them
Fiction: It makes us less awesome that we’ve not “taken the plunge” down the
marriage or baby slide

Like I said above, there is a bit of pressure, right? And here we single people are, standing in front of our refrigerators before dinner thinking…chicken…or fish? Meat…? Then you realize, “I’m single! I can have it all!”

Lots of our twenty-something’s friends have already found their soul mate…or the person they have chosen to torture and make miserable for a certain amount of years before divorcing and taking half their stuff. What is the rush!? Why are people so ring hungry and baby hungry? Don’t they read statistics? If you rush into something, there’s a distinct possibility that you don’t know who these people are. Also, the more TIME
you take to know someone, the better foundation you build for a lasting, successful relationship (duh?).

On a scary note, look at some of these people who are married 25 years before they get murdered by their spouse! Just sayin’…you never fully know someone, but you have a better chance of knowing someone after multiple years rather than months.

“We met and we just knew. We fell in love six months ago and we’re engaged and if I could marry them tomorrow, well…dang-nabit…I would. They’re amazing, they emanate rainbows and ponies and all things sugary and wonderful!”


It’s been six months! Wait another few months and they’ll gladly peel back their skull, slowly but surely, to start to reveal themselves. But by the time they start to reveal, you’re balls deep in that relationship and suddenly, single life starts to sound pretty, PRETTY appealing.

To my friends in relationships, don’t kid yourselves…enjoy your honeymoon phase for sure, but sooner or later…you’ll be on the phone with us single folk going, “Oh…you’re going to the movies? That’s cool; John and I haven’t been out in weeks. Well, with his mother in town and the cat having explosive diarrhea, we’re sort of stuck. Plus, he starts to hyperventilate when we leave the cat alone for more than an hour anyway, so a three hour movie is totally out of the question.”

America, listen up. We’re not lepers…we’re alone, but while you “couples” progressively
grow more boring, guess what we’re doing? Growing more awesome day by day!

Facebook to Shut Down, Millions of People’s Heads Explode in Fear!

18 May


Because sometimes, Facebook can make things “complicated”

Ahhh, I got you bitches good! It doesn’t even feel RIGHT how nervous I probably made a significant group of people feel! Happy mid-year October…fools…day?

But now that I have your attention…

Facebook has it’s way of starting out as a social media tool and then slowly but surely…taking over your life. When I signed up for Facebook it was basic, posting was still fun and hardly scrutinized, and de-friending wasn’t an actual term yet ( which means it was still acceptable).

The larger Facebook and other social media sites continue to get, the more digital drama seems to be happening. What’s the protocol for Facebook? Let’s explore!

Friending and De-Friending (<–both are not actually WORDS, p.s.)

Think back to when you first signed up for your account and who you were friending. At first, it was for people to reconnect to others, right? Those we went to school with when we were kids, people we go to school with now, college friends and classmates.

From there, it spiraled into a debate of…do we friend co-workers? Do we block co-workers? What about teachers? Then it became…block certain information, take down damning pictures and posts and proceed at your own will.

THEN, parents and family members got involved! At that point, I thought…how could this get any more ridiculous? We’re OUT of people to friend. Who do we friend now?

Isn’t it obvious? Why, if you’re a creepy, desperate individual…you sift through your friends, friends, uncles, cousins, college roommates friends and WHAM! It’s like a free dating service!

Why on earth are you friending me with the intention of getting to know me? This may sound completely absurd, but it happens.  Today I’ve been poked three times, by people I do not know, have not known and would prefer to keep it as such.

I just got finished talking to a guy in his late 30′s who friended me and I thought…no big deal. We may have some mutual friends in the community, may be good to network, etc. At no point in time did I think I’d wind up involved with him in any way. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure what his preference was…married…kids….weird…who knows.

Regardless, it appeared like Facebook had started to turn into it’s own sick version of  Plenty of ( What I call My friend receives (not kidding) HUNDREDS of pokes from random strangers, a TON of messages and friend requests with messages that say, “Hai. You come kiss me I makes wery wery good sex for you. Oh- you haive boifrann?” Not kidding…I saw it!

So here I am, trapped in this bizarre situation. I’m flirting with a stranger, no different than a dating site…I’m being manipulated or wooed or whatever you want to call it and I’m letting it happen. Let’s just say…things go on for a little while…and I do mean a little while, and then I cut it off because it’s clear that while he may be an “adult” by age definition…he’s a manipulative, non-following through jackass who was clearly looking for a little tang tang and found it online…as (I believe) he’s (probably) done before.

Idiot I am, thought “Wow, the way we found each other was so bizarre, maybe something good CAN come from Facebook!”

Clearly…things did not turn out that way, and so I decided ( with the help of everyone in my life, who also can’t stand him) to de-friend him and move forward. On to the next one! Isn’t that the normal thing to do? I figure, he won’t even notice ( since he has to now find another silly woman to replace his Wednesday nights!)…right?

Four days later, I respond to a Facebook post in a group we’re both a part of. A few hours later, I get a phone call where he proclaims he’s a “good guy,” and he “told me upfront what he was capable of.” He then says, “Weirdly enough, I thought we’d set a time to talk (lies) and get things cleared up (mm hmmm) once I saw you online. After I don’t see you online for a few days, I think…maybe  should check and see if her profile says anything. IMAGINE MY SURPRISE when I have to RE-friend you!”

To be honest? I think being in the mutual group and seeing my post made him go…”Oh yeah! That girl I scammed. What’s that hoe up to?”

After we “talked,” nothing was resolved in my opinion. I wound up accepting the friend request, because I’m an idiot, and because I wasn’t sure what the protocol is there? He thinks things are resolved, I feel a lot of anger for what Facebook helped him get (me). And for what I allowed of course.

When is it ok to de-friend? Not accept a friend request? Or block?

As far as using Facebook as a dating site? Stop it. It’s more pathetic than JDate,MatchE-Harmony AND Plenty of Fish rolled into one sleazy ball of GROSS.

Some terms do NOT have an alternative meaning!

Commenting on Statuses  (PAY ATTENTION, older community!)

There’s something to be said for having people of all ages on Facebook. It can be wonderful, but disturbing when someone who doesn’t understand a comment…wants to comment on top of that for all 1,000 of your friends to see.

Take this example:

Last week, an  older gentleman (who is awesome) in my apartment building had his 21 year old son coming to visit and wanted to hook me up with him. Legitimately, my status erupted into a Cirque D’ Facebook and suddenly I had 25 comments on whether to “do it” or not.

Among them, a friend of mine says, “OH do it. Being with a younger guy is amazing, and they can teach you how to do things…like new fun drinking games! Then, they’ll still go out, party and fist pump with you!”

My mother’s friend and my stand-up comedy teacher (also older) reply:

“Fist pumping??????” and “Is fist pumping code for an obscene act!? If so, please describe it and please be graphic!”


My MOM texts me…

“Hi honey. Looking at the thread on Facebook! How funny! But…isn’t fist pumping a gay thing!?”


If you’re lost in translation, stay away from the status. Seriously. While it made for an extreme amount of entertainment, it was also mildly embarrassing.


“So keep on flexin’ and your arms t-rexin’ and do the creep!”

In Regards to Being a Creep

Just stop it. You stop it already! I don’t want to have a phone conversation with you and hear, “Ah yeah bro. I saw that on your status last week. Too funny man!” or “How’s that weird rash coming along?”

No one likes a creeper. No one….seriously.


Tighten up, America. It’s time to get our Facebook guidelines in check! Go out and mingle with people, stop trying to be digital sexual predators and live your life one time!

Can I Holla? They Had Dumps Like a Truck, Truck, Truck.

18 May

Dumps like a truck, truck, truck…yelling like what, what, what?


I’d love to sit here and give you a reference point of a website, person, professional relationship expert or otherwise that has mentioned the top worst place to pick up women. However, since I’m both too lazy to find the site, and feel as though I can provide a more apt list…here we go.

Among the worst places to pick up women, I’d say few are worse than the following:

1. A funeral:  Despite what Will Ferrel did in Wedding Crashers, picking up chicks at a funeral is a big fail.  Nothing hot being surrounded by death. “Grandmas stiff…and so am I”

2.  A rest stop:  Actually, any kind of traveling stop…ever. Mainly, because you’ll never see them again.  Unless you’re looking for a little temporary boom boom pow, stay away from “love on the run.”

3. Mowing the lawn/ working in the yard/ crossing the street: When you’re in front of your house or walking about town and  a car drives past you hollering ridiculous things…it’s annoying. “I see you plowing those flowers, girrrrrrrl. I’m jealous! Come over here and plow me!”

4.  Getting a massage: They’re wrist deep in your muscle tissue…but they’d like to be deeper and more “in touch.” Nothing is more bizarre than being stark naked, getting a rub down, and having someone try to holler at you by whispering in your ear as they massage your neck and tush. (Actually, sounds a lot like my Saturday nights).

The worst, and most recent encounter I’ve had is the fifth most offensive place to be hit on…the gas station.

It’s 8am and I’m rushing to get to work, only to hop in my car and discover that I need gas. I pull into the station, and start to pump my gas and lean against my car. I had a meeting that day, so I’m dressed in a long-sleeved button down and long pants, completely covered.

All of a sudden I hear… “AY…GUHL”

Are they talking to me, I think? No…I’m crazy.


Shit. They’re talking to me…ok, don’t panic. Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic…and don’t turn around.

“GUHL YOU FINE AS HELL, GUHL. Turn around, boo! Turn around.”

I’m not responding, and I’m shocked this is happening…so I keep my hand on the gas nozzle. I guess my ignoring them is frustrating, so they start getting more specific…

“Yo..lissen…guhl, in the pink and white shirt, with the green car…on the real…you fine. Look at that booty! YOU STACKED LIKE A SISTAH!”

Is this happening? I’m trying to coax the pump to dispel the gas faster…so, like an idiot…I’m SHAKING the hose.

“GUHL, OH GUUUUUHL…I bet you handle that black hose well! Would love to see just how well, GUHLLLLLLLL.


So I turn around for maybe 2.5 seconds, to get a look at whomever has been screaming at me for the past 5 minutes and it turns out, it’s 4 men in a dump truck!


They drive off and I wonder…does that ever work? For anyone? Have you ever heard of a story where you ask, “Oh, where did you two meet?” And someone replies, “Well, funniest thing. Chad was stopped at the stop light while I was pumping gas and he just “hollered” at me and I thought, WOW…that takes a lot.”

Seriously, if you’re a “Can I holla?” success story, please let me know!

Another Lesson in Common Sense: Respect!

17 May


“Re-spek it…befoe you re-gret-tit!”


About a month ago, I was in line at Starbucks and I overhear this lady turn to her friend and say… “And I told him…you better respek it…befoe you re-gret-tit.” Her enunciation, the emphasis of each phrase…I was both seriously amused and on her side from that moment on.

And why not? Clearly, she was right.

Whomever it was, should respect the proverbial “it” or they are bound to regret it. My friend and I were discussing our most recent situations, and what seems to happen to us as women when we enter into a new experience. Last night on the phone, I said, “You know…it’s not that we’re dumb girls. I actually like to pride myself on being relatively smart about most situations. Yet, as I relay the series of events to you…it dawns on me, that I am the champion of the ‘Bad Decision Olympics.’ Gold medal champion, to be specific…and you my friend are the runner-up.”

Our stories:

(Hers first, and let’s call her Jen)

Jen was a college roommate of mine, completely by accident. Someone whom I was introduced to and we just gelled. After college, I moved home, she moved to ATL and now to D.C. Our exteriors appear similarly rough, we come off impervious to pain that relationships with others may cause even though if you break through our façade of an exterior, you’d see our interior is really marshmallow goo. The past few relationships for Jen have been men who are between their 40’s and 50’s. She’s 27. Clearly, not ok and we’ve had a conversation about that.

For someone her age, the maximum without being creepy is around 35-37. No more than 10 years apart, or it’s seriously too large of a generational gap and just plain gross…to be honest. This new guy, he’s our age…which was a good start, until, she starts divulging the rest of the story…

1. He works with her.

2. He’s her superior (one of them).

3. He has a girlfriend.

4. His girlfriend WORKS at the restaurant.

5. He’s a known, arrogant douche.

6. Please see numbers 1-5 and repeat until the obvious question of, “WHAT is she doing?” washes over you.

As soon as she told me that, I became Homer Simpson, slapping my forehead with a resounding… “D’OH!”

One step forward, six steps back.

So the story continues, and I won’t lie…at points, this sounds kind of sexy. He’s a wine sommelier; they work at an important upscale Washington, D.C. restaurant. Each shift they work together, they give each other flirty stares, do things to entice the other…and then when everyone goes home for the day, they act on those passions in the back room while people could be around. Sounds like a fiction based romance novel a little, no?

I told her…just as Eleanor Roosevelt once said (Wu-Tang Clan maybe?) you have to “protect ya neck!”

Something happens to women when they start a new relationship, and maybe to be fair to men…the sensitive ones may feel this too. It’s like we put these huge blinders on and get all gaga, seeing nothing but rainbows and sunshine pouring out of these people’s rear ends! We regret to see that this is doomed from the get-go.

We can reform, we can remold…we can rebuild, we have the technology!

People…let me give you a piece of advice (I never follow, clearly or I wouldn’t be telling you my story). No one changes. They may modify themselves, tweak something here and there…but overall, people do not change. Find someone who likes/love you as you are and likewise, because everyone deserves to feel as loved as possible as often as possible! SO…one night, they’re having relations in the office and someone finds them. Shocking. Jen also recently broke her finger, and is unable to work, which means she has been home. Where has Mr. Romantic been? M.I.A. Why? Because…he has gotten what he wanted, they’ve fleshed out their physical attraction while he’s been able to keep his girlfriend, his life, and his job…barely.

I love talking to Jen about our situations, because we’re both so incredibly hypocritical. We KNOW that these situations aren’t going anywhere, know they are doomed and yet we forge on. Why is that?

My situation is less severe, and could seriously take its own post to describe what’s been going on. Basically, I met someone in a strange way, that I was not anticipating liking.

1. He’s older, near the borderline of too old, but nothing crazy.

2. He lives far from here, well…40 miles. Not that far.

3. I think he may live some sort of strange double life.

4. People who are mutual friends say terrible things about him.

5. He never follows through Ever.

Although anyone who knows me would think, “you wouldn’t stand for that!” Something about the aggravation of proving that “you should be loving me, following through and being awesome,” keeps me standing by. The whole point of this (it’s there, somewhere), is that respect isn’t something you should have to beg for. I think what happens, is that people forget that the people THEY are dealing with are also…people. Treat me kind, speak to me properly, and think about how you would feel if I treated you like a pig for having a girlfriend and trying to hit it with me. Or, how I SHOULD have treated you like a creepy old man who found me in a strange way, who hasn’t taken me on one respectable date, and who was so worried about my age and me being immature, yet it appears the other way around.

RESPECT the people in your life. RESPECT who they are and where they come from, or respect them enough to at least tell them the truth. Show a little honesty, be upfront and let them decide if they can handle it and be a part of it. Life can be a very lonely journey alone, and as the very wise woman said…if you don’t respect “it,” you may live to regret it.

An Open Letter To Rick Ross: PUT A SHIRT ON!

17 May



Dear William Leonard Roberts II (AKA: Rick Ross),

We the people of the World thought it was time for us to sit down together, as one, and intervene on a very serious situation that seems to be getting worse rather than better. Mr. Ross, we’re all here today because we’re either a fan of your music, your pubic hair-esque beard, the awful guttural sound you make when you “rap” (UH!) or we’re a fan of North American Grizzly Bears and clicked this page by accident ( I’m sure you can understand how we could make that mistake).

Mr. Rickity Rickity Ross, first question is first. Are you in fact a North American Grizzly Bear? If so, we’re cool with it, we just want to know what we’re working with. Like the North American Grizzly Bear, you’re a coastal animal, most likely pushing between 400-790lbs and like expensive watches and cheap bitches.

Wikipedia’s words, not mine.

If you are a North American Grizzly Bear, then…you being topless in your videos makes sense! Hell, it’s your nature. You can’t help it if the mood strikes you and in the moment you think that showing your jiggly, furry, tatted up tum tum is what the ladies like. We feel sorry for you, Mr. Ross, and want to see to it you get the help you need to overcome this stomach turning need to remove your top in your videos.

We, the people of the World, cannot grin and bear it anymore. We cannot sit by, while other awful, fat rappers keep their tummy’s where they belong…concealed. If it were a muffin top, Mr. Ross, we’d be like..alright, we’ll let the stylistic boo boo slide right on by. However, to be fair…your gut is an entire muffin store…maybe a shopping center.

It’s odd, because I was browsing YouTube when I came across your video with DJ Khaled ( who although terrible, at least keeps his ^%#@#$% shirt on!) featuring Drake, Little Wayne, etc called “I’m on one.” I was psyched, Mr. Ross. Totally psyched. Imagine my shock and upset to find you dancing around in an open red shirt like the Kool-Aid man…*&%^& topless!

You being topless in your videos affect us as a people negatively in the following ways:

1. Nausea and general gastric upset

2. You’d think it would detract from your silly ass beard, but you know what? It totally doesn’t!

3. You’d also think it would detract from the fact you’re a total phony, and your music is more offensive than what comes out of my dog’s rear…but it doesn’t.

4. It’s always alarming to be watching a video, and it will just focus on you for a second and there’s your big belly staring at me. Your gross, and we shouldn’t be encouraging that…get it together.

In addition, here is a short list of people we’d PREFER to see topless, over you:

1. Margaret Thatcher

2. Martha Stewart

3. Kevin Smith

4. Snooki

5.  Anyone. Seriously, pretty much anyone else.

Get the help you need today, Mr. Ross. We BEG you! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY…PUT A SHIRT ON!

Are You Illegible To Read This?

17 May




If you would have told me that my first job out of Ad School would be working for the company I started at, my first response would have been laughter. Yet, there I was, hanging out in the glorious advertising department of said company. Prior to beginning there, it’s mandatory that everyone attends orientation. Although I worked at their headquarters, everyone who’s hired does the same orientation at one of their stores in Miami.

I’m the only one from headquarters.

The rest of the people are training to be dispersed to varying stores throughout Broward/Dade County. A blond lady around the age of 40 takes a seat to my left, looking fidgety and as if she’s been around the block once or a thousand times. To my right, are a girl who will be working at the call center and gentleman who speaks NO English. Legitimately not one word, and the girl from the call center is helping him write and understand his forms, translating the important things he needs to know.

“Wish this thing would get started already,” the blond lady says.

“I know, right? Like we don’t have better things to do?” I reply, trying to seem cool and tough.

She nods, indicating she agrees and makes a “PSSH” sound before throwing her head back in sarcastic laughter.

This is going to be a long day.

The lady who will be leading orientation is short and Hispanic, with long blond hair and dark highlights, tight pants, too much makeup and long fingernails. As she takes the floor, I figure this can go one of two ways: really good (informative and quick) or really bad (waste of time and aggravating). My money is on the latter…should’ve bet the farm.

“Hey everyone, I’m Shannon, and I’ll be leading orientation today. Can everyone take their top folder and move it to the bottom of the stack? Also, can someone tell me anything about the company?”

What followed was a barrage of idiotic questioning, supplemented by thoughtless idiotic answers. Some of the riveting questions were as simple as, “What does this company sell? Can anyone tell me?” or “What are the company colors?” Yikes.

A brief moment of relief…lunch break! Sweet!

The blond lady follows me down to the cafeteria before uttering, “Mind if I sit with you?”

“Sure,” I said.

The conversation went on to discuss her father’s profession as a strip club owner, and how she got tired of working there. She used to have a wealthy boyfriend but he left her and while she loves photography and would work in the field, there’s just not enough money. Also, she hoped they wouldn’t make her cover up her BACK length Jaguar tattoo (not the car, the animal).

When we get back, the woman in charge is ready to discuss the company benefits.

“After three months of work with this company, you become illegible for your benefits.”

Wha-…did she just? No, she couldn’t have said illegible, I’m hearing things!

“If you are part-time, you are not illegible for benefits.”

Twice? Okay, this is not a mistake. Can it really be that someone this misguided is in a position to teach others?

I lean over to the blond lady and ask, “Did she just say…illegible instead of eligible?”

“Fuck yeah she did,” she said.

“That’s what I thought.”

In the process of the next two hours, this woman used that term several times, forcing me to wonder…am I not eligible for benefits, or am I sloppy and not understood well?

I’d love to sit here and tell you that was the one and only time something like that happened. There are two other favorite moments, however, that id’ love to share with you.

“P.J. Smoove” is the nickname for someone I used to work with. While insanely knowledgeable about the company, he had his own way of doing things…mainly, the wrong way.  To give you a sense of who he is, I’m going to tell you this story first.

About a year ago he went skydiving for the first time and decided he didn’t need anyone to jump with him. Moral of the story, he landed wrong, breaking both his legs. He’s incredibly stubborn and believes himself to be correct.

All day…every day.

“Allyson, can you please send me the un-complete list?”

Don’t correct himdon’t correct him….fight it!

“Um, sure P.J. I’d be happy to send the incomplete list over to you as soon as possible.”

I figured that was a decent save, right?

“Yes, the un-complete list would be great, thanks.”

The only time that has surpassed my experience with “P.J. Smoove,” has been with whom I affectionately referred to as “Oscar the Grouch” at the job I moved on to.

“Oscar the Grouch” was a special case. Everywhere you work has that one person who gets off on their power trip, feels like they’re never wrong, and they are essentially think they’re the end all be all. HE…was that dude.

I was still relatively new, but all this guy had done during my time there was attempt to make it as difficult as possible. Yet, unbeknownst to him, he was about to lose all credibility and make me fall in love with him simultaneously.

“Allyson, can you come here for a moment? When you’re writing for this product, you need to realize…this company…is SUPER in-no-vah-tive.”

I spell it phonetically so you see how he said it. Not innovative, like normal….in-no-vah-tive.

He then proceeded to repeat the word, several times and I thought well…I may not be illegible for benefits, but to think I’m not in-no-vah-tive enough? That just makes me feel un-complete!

The Tale of Smelly McNasterson

16 May


Don’t Leave Your Etiquette At Home!

So I’ve returned to this trainer of mine as I try to lose the leftover weight from college. Which they never properly warn you about at orientation. They give you this entire alcohol prevention and safety spiel, but the powers that be never slam an overweight dude in front of you and say, “Look at this man. He attended this school 5 years ago and guess what? 175 when he started, about 350 now (treeee-fitty). Why? He’d like to thank Jagermeister, Blue Moon and delicious mixed bar drinks that he was able to get for 3 dollars by the bucket.”

For all intents and purposes, I’m that “dude.” Except I didn’t start at 175 and end at 350… just to be clear for those who don’t ever see me in person. Either way, it’s time to get fit now that I have a bit more time to focus on “me.” SO I returned to my trainer, who is busy kicking my ass three times a week for the past month.  His gym is tiny, with a vitamin shop in front, a hallway leading to several cardio torture devices and then the open area full of machines and free weights.  For the past few weeks I’ve been coming in, there’s been a lady running on the treadmill who appears as if she’s been running for HOURS, drenched completely head to toe. Normally, I’d applaud this determination and express a twinge of jealousy for anyone with the patience and stamina. However, this situation is different. When I know I’m going to be working out for a prolonged amount of time, I ensure that the following things are in place: deodorant, socks, deodorant, comfy sneaks, deodorant, large refillable water bottle and the most important…DEODORANT. There’s no secret…you sweat at the gym, and if you’re like this woman, you sweat oodles and oodles. I have an overly sensitive nose…so it’s amplified for me perhaps more so than others. But I never, ever, want to be the “smelly kid” in the gym.

It wasn’t acceptable in elementary/middle and high school and it’s damn sure not acceptable now. My trainer’s store is set up as an organic haven and most of the patrons are purists or vegan or something along those lines. The first time I was on the treadmill next to this woman I assumed her smell stemmed from the fact she must not believe in all the chemicals in deodorant (even though they make a natural one…not sure if she got the memo). It’s one of those situations where you don’t want to stare as beads of sweat turn into buckets, dropping onto the treadmill with a putrid splat.  Note that I said don’t WANT to…more like…HAVE to.

My mind starts moving a million miles a minute…is she a dirty individual? No, she may just sweat a lot. Does her whole family sweat like this? Has she tried hyper-hydrosis treatment? Has she been on the treadmill for hours and hours?


Does she think it’s me?

This isn’t even the most important part.

As I’m worried about being smelly, I take a great concern in making sure I make good food choices prior to getting in there. For example, it seems like a poor choice to consume an entire BAG of green giant frozen BROCCOLI for lunch. We’re adults here…and as the book says, everyone poops and the same is true for flatulence. As I’m doing squats, I’m watching the lady on the treadmill in the mirror. Sweat is literally running off of her…and she just seems so unfazed. It’s truly amazing.  Squat number 75 and I start smelling something new. Less like body odor, more like rotting dirty diaper. It’s not close enough to me to think the trainer did it and clearly I know that I didn’t do it…there’s no choice. It’s my smelly little friend on the treadmill. At that exact moment, I watch her do a deep lunge on the treadmill and suddenly, a new waft of gross. I have what I like to call a “stank face” expression that says, “I saw you, and are you serious?” I’ve lost all concentration and wind up falling.

The thud from MY fall must have startled Smell-a-lotolous because the next thing I know, I hear her fall with a loud…THUD….AND THEN… she ends our gym experience with a… “pfffffffff…”

The loudest, sickest thing I’ve ever heard!

I guess she found herself a bit “winded.”

“Show Me Your Boobs”- A Heartwarming Tale Of Rosh Hashana Past

16 May

WAIT A MINUTE…these aren’t BOOBS!

See what I did there? Totally tricked you into reading a heartwarming tale of Rosh Hashona from 2010. And you thought it would be about boobs.

We are a week away from that  magical time of year ladies and gentleman! That’s right. It’s the Jewish New Year! A time to get together, eat apples and honey and gather around the dining room table while we laugh until noodle kugel comes out of our nose. What is it about the holidays that turn families into laugh factories? It seems to be the place where other family members cry out, “STOP! My sides! They’re killing me! You should really be a comedian!” Hardly. It’s the nature of family to tell inappropriate stories that no one in their right mind may find funny, except for the sheltered group of crazy people sitting before you, spraying green bean casserole every time a laugh escapes.

There are two main characters in this story: Steve, a club-footed ex-janitor who is a “friend” of someone who lives in the same condo as my Mother. Steve loves to tell inappropriate stories or say inappropriate things while in front of large groups of people. It’s a lack of filter combined with a “who cares who’s listening” attitude. Anyone know someone similar?

I always have to refrain from being like… “True or false: you’re aware people can hear you right?!”

Michael is the other main character, a friend of my mom’s, who is a brilliant individual bored with his job as a computer programmer. He was raised Southern Baptist in South Carolina and over the years has turned into a straight up atheist. BUT! He is a Bible Blaster, a “Master of Biblical Disaster.” I’ve watched him shut down several conversations about Religion with ease. It’s quite impressive. In any case, we include these two as part of our extended family who comes for just about every holiday and have become “Jews by association.” He and my Mother ballroom dance as a hobby, and that’s actually how they met and became friends.

Final note would be that my Mother, who is not a drinker by nature…has had two drinks. Two drinks for my Mom is the equivalent of getting frat boy drunk…getting Lohaned up, if you will.

She is…drunk.

The night was already weird, and little did we know how weird it was ABOUT to get. While we’re sitting around, Steve begins discussing his latest vacation he and my mother’s neighbor took (they’re a couple, clearly).

Steve: “Oh YAH, we went to Freedom Beach”
MOM: “Freedom beach?”
Steve: “Yes, it’s a nude beach.”
He proceeds to grab himself before finishing his thought…
Steve: “I got to let it all hang out, if ya get me!”

As I mentioned, my Mom had two drinks that night, which is like, two drinks too much…so she’s literally rolling on the floor laughing uncontrollably.

MOM: “You’ve got to be kidding!”
Steve: “No! Don’t you want to be FREE?!”
MOM: [stands up on the chair and shouts] “I’m FREEEEEEEEEEEEE”

Then falls.

Steve is still caressing himself in a disturbing and particularly gross way. Just to the point where you’re not sure if they’re doing it intentionally or just kind of…resting their hands in the general vicinity? Gross either way.

Some of Steve’s other famous stories include:

“I went to the zoo last week and watched these two monkeys go at it for like an hour. Do you know turtles can have sex for over 7 hours? Crazy, right?”

And, as if this should shock you by now…

[We were at the pool, all together, and he says to his girlfriend…]

“We need to go upstairs now. Because I want it. A sandwich, then nap and if we don’t go now…there won’t be time for OTHER things. Get me? OTHER THINGS.”

He loves that phrase, “Get me?” NO Steve…frankly, we don’t.

Michael’s stories, on the other hand, tend to be more detailed yet equally as disturbing and unexpected. The best one from the Holiday evening has to be the one he told directly after Steve’s, regarding a Ballroom dance routine gone wrong.

It is a general rule in Ballroom Dancing for ladies to not wear a tube top while performing, as the chances of “foreign exposure” are at an all time high. With the lifting, tilting, spinning and twirling, a lady’s chance of exposing herself are probably 80-90%. Usually, you see a woman with some sort of strap around the neck or shoulders for that very reason! Apparently not all people know this, or perhaps just disregard it. In this case, it backfired in a BIG way.

Picture this: A lavish ballroom scene with lots of competitors, judges, family and friends who have all come to see you take home the trophy for “most awesomest ballroom dancer…ever.”

You’ve chosen a purple glitter dress with a high, right leg slit, illuminating your silver stockings. The dress is a tube top style, strapless dress but you’re not concerned! No big deal! The dance begins and you and your partner are off! You’ve gone through your choreography and are ready for the big lift!

Annnnnnd, you’re up!

But wait? What’s that breeze your feeling? Could it be? Uh-Oh! Your boobs are full on exposed, flapping around in sync with you as you are swept from one side of the stage to the other.

Apparently, the couple finished the entire routine and when they finally took their bows, the lady stood up and put her breasts back in.

The ENTIRE routine? YIKES! That is ONE proud dancer! The Holidays are always great, and I look forward to writing a similar post after Rosh Hashanah takes place next week! To all my He-brews and She-brews, enjoy the upcoming Holidays and let it all hang out!

P.s…open seats at our family dinner table. No? No takers? Bueller…?

Knock Knock: It’s Reality!

15 May

“I swear to God I’m going to burn down the building”- Milton, Office Space

It was a grab bag of mixed emotions as I entered the arena in Tallahassee where I had sat three years prior on Graduation Day. A weird feeling of pride, mixed with all of the extraneous feelings that I’ve felt since leaving there. The faces on the kids graduating were priceless, and evoked a sense of jealousy, frustration and sadness. Part of me felt like… “Ahhh…my Alma Mater….that I love.” Then the other piece of me wanted to be like, “Dear children before me. These people are about to lie to you, telling you that the previous four years you’ve broke your back to finish with a degree were all worth it and NOW…you can be whatever you want!”

The same gripe I have with movies that depict a brand of love that is harder to find than “unobtainium,” I share with our educators. From the moment I could recite the alphabet, teachers [and of course my mother] have been pumping me up with the notion I can be whatever I want. FURTHERMORE, not only can I be whatever I want, but NOTHING and NO ONE can stand in my way. Doesn’t that sound fancy? It seemed relatively simple, right? Go to school to the highest level and it pays off.

Well…here’s a newsflash kiddies…LIES…ALL LIES! [Said like Frau Firbissinau from Austin Powers]

On the jealousy aspect, here’s how I was feeling…my time at FSU was amazing. Period. In the beginning, I couldn’t envision myself being happy in a place like Tallahassee. BUT, after that, I met some of the greatest people and some of my closest friends whom I’ll remain close with hopefully forever [making me extremely happy]. Also, looking at the about to be grads, I just thought…wow…I’d like to feel THAT optimistic about ANYTHING these days. Their faces were glowing, their excitement was palpable and I just thought…damn you…damn you all…

After sulking momentarily, I collected myself when I realized that reality was about to bitch slap them…and hard. Life’s not as rosy as it’s necessarily always painted. Shit gets REAL. Wait until you are searching for a job and can’t find one. Then, after 600 resumes via Monster, Craigslist, CareerBuilder, LinkedIn, Smoke Signals, and you get a hit. You’re amped. Like…super, ultra, mega, fucking AMPED. “THIS IS MY TIME!” you confidently reassure yourself in the mirror, while shaking with that “just graduated undergrad” smell of fear and joy emanating from you. In your head, this job is locked up. YOU GOT THIS. And, why not? You’re smart, fearless [stupid?], and ready to work to prove you’re here and you mean business.

The job interview goes insanely well and you saunter out of there trying not to make it look like a victory dance. You nailed it! You nailed it SO HARD that no one else will want to even try, because that job’s going to be walking funny for WEEKS. BOOYAH! Good for you! Now, you wait…. and wait…and wait….

Waiting has to be the cruelest game ever. As time goes on, the waiting game has this funny way of chipping away at your confidence. I’m not sure what that’s about, but it gets serious. Where you started out thinking you basically took that job interview to a fancy dinner and made passionate, sweet love to it, you start thinking…uh oh…what did I do, what did I say? I shouldn’t have worn perfume, he was coughing…he was probably allergic. Maybe I was twitching; I do that when I get nervous. No eye contact? TOO MUCH EYE CONTACT? SWEATY ARMPITS? BLARRRRGH! Pretty soon you turn into a ball of insecurity, left alone to dwell within your own broken psyche. You whimper… “b…b…but…I’m qualified.” When the company has finally broken your spirits, that’s when they call you with the big news…you’re wanted. “IN YOUR FACE!” you scream…to yourself. “TOLLLLLLLDJA!”

The job process is like playing with a yo-yo. At some points it’s high and you’re enjoying yourself. Other points, it swings gracefully between confident and holy shit where did this go wrong. THEN…it stops. We’re about at the stopping point, where they tell you how much you’re worth. You take the job, because you need it and if you need to work yourself to the top, than by GEORGE you’ll DO IT! Enjoy this moment, for it’s the last moment you will ever feel that level of drive…ever…again.

The job starts out fine. You make peace with the fact you’re working for peanuts, because you have no loans to deal with and are planning to go back to school to get a Master’s degree because that’s where the BIG opportunities are…for “those” people with BIG degrees. You muddle through and eventually leave that job, after being convinced that “you’ll see how many doors open for you and how many people value higher education and the power of knowledge and blah, blah, blah, blahhhhhhhhhhhhhh…” Your last thought at that job is… “Whatever…I don’t need you guys. And you’re silly, because I’m going to be a Master and THEN you’ll want me and I’ll be like…no chance yo.”

Advance to “GO” and collect a small piece of optimism.

Enter Graduate School. It’s nothing like your Undergraduate experience and you wonder WTF you just signed up for. You don’t write a single paper past two pages for two years, and then on your last semester you write what’s called a thesis, A.K.A “jokes on you, bitch” paper. A nearly 100 page paper on something you care nothing about, but if you don’t keep your margins tight, your grammar perfect and don’t bleed your heart and soul into this rigidly formatted silly paper…you are, for all intents and purposes….le fucked.

Then, HUZZAH! You wait to hear if you passed! And wait…and wait…and…

YAY! You passed! You’re out of Graduate School and are a Master [of one thing or another] and now, that notion of “anything is possible” is being drilled into your brain. Yet, this time…it feels right. YOU CAN do anything. YOU ARE READY to take on this World and make a difference [throw a fist in the air, jump, and smile as I’m doing right now. Seriously…it makes it more authentic]!

And then…3 months later, no job…this happens…

Stranger: Knock, Knock

Optimistic Me: Whaddup! Who’s there?

Stranger: Reality!

Optimistic Me: Oh heeeey reality, I’m ready for you. You’re supposed to be awesome, and cookies, and ponies, and flowers.

Stranger: Eh…I don’t know about all that, but I did bring you a complimentary “I can learn to cut myself” kit. Yay? Also, my friend the economy is here to kick you square in your lady balls [if you’re a dude, clearly sub that for regular man balls].

Me: *gulp*

At six months, you’re disgruntled, frustrated, sad, angry, disappointed and it’s getting worse. This was supposed to be the answer, but you’re pretty convinced that the stripper off your highway exit with the superman tattoo on her face is bringing in more dough than you are. You repeat the process from Undergrad and start feverishly searching Craigslist, Monster, CareerBuilder, LinkedIN, Facebook, Smoke Signals, and still nothing comes from it. Luckily, you had a job while in school who thought it’d be a good idea to start paying you full time.  While the job makes you think that hot fire pokers in your eye would be a calming relief from the day to day, you’re grateful and you keep it. Sure, it’s not what you envisioned yourself doing.

Sure, it’s not what you want to be doing. BUT complacency sets in. Lots of other people don’t have jobs and can’t seem to find one. You’re lucky, you understand.

FACT: The economy blows.

FICTION: It’s “getting better.”

FACT: Job peeps are looking for the most experienced person whom they can pay the least and work the hardest.

FICTION: This is a wildly exciting notion to you.

FACT: You start using the term “FML” more than a 12 year old girl with back acne who bought a strapless dress for the dance.

FICTION: You’re thrilled that your brother, who just graduated with a Bachelor’s Degree, is making $40,000

FACT: He’s selling designer dogs, so the joke’s on him.

And then once again…SHIT GETS REAL! At this point, you’ve given up. You’ve become another corporate yuppie; exactly what you didn’t want, but you’re making SOME kind of money. Then…you realize…you have loans to pay back, a cable bill, rent, FPL, and bill, after bill, after bill…AFTER BILL.

One last FACT…none of those people above take “hugs” as collateral or payment.

Everyone wants a piece of you and not in a good way. They want money from you that doesn’t exist. You panic…but you can do nothing except bury your once perfect credit. And life is grand.

My point [it was in here, I swear]…is that I’m sick and tired of people fluffing up reality. Men wonder why women are insane and want prince charming? Simple. It’s a combination of Disney’s fault, and society allowing us to believe there is some level of perfection roaming around who will do whatever it takes to get us and keep us. If you’re perfection and you’re out there, show yourself…because I’m pretty sure you’re a mythical unicorn [meant to be told in legends, but never held nor seen]. MORE TO THE POINT…our educators and parents need to be real with us. They need to say, you’re going to get out of school and struggle. It won’t be fun, it won’t be cute, but eventually something will crack and you’ll be fine. Stop painting this picture that education is “the way,” or that it will solve all economic problems [meaning you’ll be paid oodles of money when again, there’s really not that much to be had]. Honesty can go a long way…and I should have ended this better, but honestly, I don’t care! HOW DO YA LIKE ME NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!?