The Kinsey Report Redux (OkCupid Edition)

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My brain snapped. It was palpable, I felt it happened some time last month. I have barely set foot on Facebook, my usual internet stomping grounds, in weeks!  And you know where I’ve been all day and into the wee hours of the night: Scrolling the ho stroll on the OkCupid, I am obsessed. I can’t stop reading profiles and I have all new friends, we don’t just “like” each other’s profiles, we give them stars! And we don’t post pictures of our breakfast burritos, we take our pants off (proverbially and actually) with each other and show our junk. It is awesome.

My brain is so sexed up, I am like a teenage boy. Everything is innuendo, it’s ridiculous. Remainder man came over this morning and installed a new back liftgate handle, if that’s not porno plot right there, I don’t know what is. He took the broken one off with some great effort and grunting, “It’s so tight.” of course it is, and put the new one on, with a SCREW and kept muttering, “I can’t find the hole,” and I’m like, RIGHT HERE, MY MAN. I’m a teenager with an urban vocabulary of a seasoned pervert. My handle works like dream, by the way.

Scene:

I’m at a Farmer’s Market on one of those days that have passed recently, it’s been a blur. I’m eating a sausage, of course, watching one of those couples who walk around these places with their reusable bags filled with mystery chard and beets and radishes for what? You know all that shit will rot til next Tuesday but they still try even though they are both probably bored. It’s a heroic effort, coupledom is.

“What should we have for dinner tonight?” he asks in a politically correct way. My vagina cringes when men say things like that. YOU (man) can go out in the woods and hunt a deer and come home with it and I will cook it up on the fire YOU made and then WE will eat it with the chards of shite I, by myself because I don’t want you dragging at my heels, went and got at the fucking Farmer’s Market.

And she replies, all diplomatically: “Well what about the snapper with a tossed salad?”

And I, with my teen boy boner brain, translate: “Yes! They’re bringing in a lady pinch hitter for a threesome and they’ll be engaging in rim jobs! They are not so vanilla after all!” And they drive off in their Volkwagen Toureg and my faith in humanity was restored.

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So I am justifying my vast time suck on OkCupid as social research, kind of like a modern-day Kinsey report, that includes the wide world of interwebs, texting, sexting, dick ‘n’ pussy pics, hookups, booty calls, dates, and all the emotional discourse you would think would be masked in the anonymity of the internet. But isn’t. IT IS SO AMAZING.

I have some notes thus far, that I think I’ll just bang out randomly and maybe at some point it will all make sense…or maybe it’s not supposed to, who knows? Are you with me? Here goes:

I found my 99% match. What is that? Who cares? I do, I take these things seriously because I’ve answered so many fucking questions in the last few weeks, I have to respect the system. They match you somehow, based on how, not just what you answered in the thousands of questions they provide. I think they also use keywords from your profile and spy on you over a webcam. This dude, 99, I excitedly messaged him, he lives in the 50 kilometre radius. He’s cute and really funny. I say “,”Hi, blah blah blah, I like your profile, 99 blah blah” he messages “Thanks” and goes on my profile and writes more: “Your profile is fan-fucking-tastic! But you might want to tweak it if you want to meet some quality men but if you’re DTF then don’t change a thing.” I don’t really know what he means by “quality” as I love all my Cupidlings, they are dear in my heart. 99% says his dance card is full but he’ll put my on his bucket list. Oh lol. I have since cast my net wider and found more 99%’s and I’m seriously going to need to dust off my passport to GGG all of them. I don’t know what that means either.

Where does the jizz go? That’s one of the questions they ask. It’s not a rhetorical question like where time flitters away, it’s for practical purposes. I know precisely where I want the jizz to go, and I am answering the question from another one of my 99%’s profile, if I say an answer and he says some other answer and feels it is very important I that I answer a certain way, THIS MAY JEOPARDIZE OUR RATING! I’m sweating over this, IT’S REAL LIFE, PEOPLE, NOT A GAME! WHERE DOES THE JIZZ GO????? I answer with honesty and figure, if he answers differently then oh well, HE LIVES FUCKING ILLINOIS ANYWAY! So I answer, gingerly: The Face. Hit “Answer” button, hold breath…..And his answer? The Face. OMG, if I wasn’t smitten already, I was OVER THE MOON. And yes, the jizz goes on the face, do not judge, I am a grown ass woman and that’s where I like it. I’ll explain later when we get to why I don’t date vegans.

Moving your conversations over to Kik: This means only one thing: Powder up your decollete, because you are going to be sending pictures now. When they ask: “Let’s swap pics” they don’t want your face, they mean release the hounds and take off your panties. I am of two minds about this: I DO NOT LIKE DOING THIS AND I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS. There’s no real pay off here. I learned the hard way, I sent a pussy pic to a dude who wanted it soooooo bad, whatevs, I really don’t care about disembodied parts out in the ether or nudity in general for that matter. There’s a vast array of cold cuts out on Reddit GoneWild, I could have just sent someone else’s but no, I spent a half a day fluffing my cooch up, getting just the right angle, talking to it, glistening it with Elizabeth Arden’s 8 Hour Cream, smoothing out the lips just so, twisting my arm around my thigh so I could snap the picture head on and finally got a shot I was satisfied with and sent it. Here is how the conversation went:

Me: Here is pussy  ((:))

He: Ohhhh…what’s that?

Me: What do you mean?

He: On the top part?

Me: The pubes you mean?

He: Oh pubic hair! I haven’t seen that!

Me: I’m a 70s child, they’re totally groomed as a small triangle and bald on the sides, WTF?

He: No, no, it’s okay

Me: Why did you want me to send it anyway?

He: Because I like your personality.

See what I have to deal with?

Why do people send dick pics anyway? As a woman, do you find they help or harm their owners’ causes, or is it only the…notable ones which can help?  My very favourite Cupidling asked me this the other day. I never really ask for a dick pic, they just somehow insist on sending them. I know when I get one, and I praise it, I will get another one in an even more erect state shortly thereafter. This happens 100% of the time. One can conclude, the reason they send dick pics is they want you to praise it. That is all. I feel there is no more cause after the sent button is pressed. Nice HUGE dick, the end.

Booty Call Protocol: I have no hard fast rules on this! I am a free bird! I have never felt so empowered in my entire life! What makes a booty call come into fruition? I have no idea. Some of the Cupidlings I just want to wait for, milk it out in messaging. I know dudes hate that (“I don’t want to be penpals”) but the art of wooing a lady is to get in her head, that is where is the juice comes from! Seriously, be patient. On the other hand, there are certain times where I can just let it happen. I’m always all nervous with that fight or flight conundrum but! THERE WAS A FULL MOON TWO WEEKS AGO AND I HAD ORGASMPALOOZA. I’m so glad I chose fight both times. I appreciated the simple details that were involved, one guy wore elasticized waist track pants and the other guy answered his door in a towel so there was no outfit I could judge harshly. Like pointy shoes and an Ed hardy tshirt would be a deal breaker. Flight!

And here is a cautionary tale: This weekend, one dumb dude who pretends to read Chomsky, messaged me as he does every second weekend when he doesn’t have his kids, I recognize his pattern already. I almost caved. His give zero fucks attitude toward wooing me or even bothering to read my profile and understand its subtle nuances, almost charmed me. His face was that kind of white guy face I hate, I could totally hate fuck him and it would be awesome, I’ve read his pretentious asshole profile before but I looked closer and noticed he was a vegan! I can’t with that! I messaged him quickly before I completely caved in: “You are a vegan, your jizz lacks the essential meat enzymes I need for my face :( ” And then he said: “But I have the meat!” And an hour later, he sent me a dick pic. And I did not know what to say. His junk was all splayed and mangled out over top of his boxers. IT LOOKED LIKE BUTTERMILK BRINED CHICKEN PIECES BEFORE THE PANKO BREADCRUMBS. My vagine might be a lot of things, but it isn’t a deep fryer, there was no way that was going in me. FLIGHT!

All I can say is the full moon can’t come fast enough….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mastering the Art of Conjuring Up Bone (OkCupid Edition)

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Okay my furry friends and cuddling comrades, I finally got a job last week which I’m not going to tell you about at all EVER. We know what mayhem happens when one blogs about work, I am the social media poster child of What Happens At Work Should Not Be Blogged About Because We At The Dusty Box Have No Sense Of Humour Whatsoever. One week in and I have so many juicy little nuggets that I’m busting to talk about, so stay tuned, they might slip out disguised as fictional characters.

Also I am on Week 3 of my adventures on OkCupid. I am still completely obsessed, my hermit lifestyle is in peril. Last post, for the new arrivals take note: if you want to  scroll down further, we went over some tips on how the menfolk should woo a lady on-line. I am very so pleased at how many Cupid dudes took the time to read my blog, even though they had another option. They have all been so very nice and gentlemanly. I love them all! Their ethereal boners and their solid dick pics mean a lot to me. And especially the poetry.

Lately, however,  most of my Cupid time is spent scrolling through the other women’s profiles. It’s smart marketing to check the competition, am I right?

There’s zillions of them and their pictures are all so promising, there are a Costco-load hot of MILFs out there, but! what is up with their written profiles?  AM I THE ONLY ONE AROUND HERE INTERESTED HAVING SEX? Aren’t every single one of these women suffering from a post-divorce, post-cougar-rampage dry spell? Their profiles are so boring, how do they expect some dude on his laptop in his underwear, scratching his balls, to respond? Even the chick with the whip lists her “loving family and her great friends” as her things she cannot live without. Maybe she ties them up? That is what your audience is hoping for, just so you know, they do not give a fuck about your Friday night yoga class or that you read some fucking book, I cannot even be bother to think of a title, it’s so boring.

Most of these women are doomed to be future cat ladies. It’s true. Seriously, tell me what you would think of someone who answered the following question:

What are you doing with your life?

 I AM LOVING MY LIFE AND LIVING IT TO ITS FULLEST!

What the ever loving fuck does that even mean? 9 out of 10 women have that response in their profile AND YET somewhere else if you scroll down, they will inevitably say they enjoy “jazz, cooking, and really good wine”….REALLY GOOD WINE…really, sister? I am so on to you. Admit you have a box of L’ Ambiance white plonk in your fridge, and by cooking you mean you put a brie wheel in the oven and the only jazz you are listening to is the riff in the opening credits of Sex and the City that your watching on your laptop in your stained yoga pants.

The real tragedy is that the wine guzzling househag you really are would be way more fun to date than the pretentious twat you portray yourself in your  profile. If you said, for example, that on your typical Friday you are consuming an entire brie wheel to yourself, do you know how many men would be lining up in your in-box , scratching to get in? They will come in droves. Men love cheese, and ladies, let’s stand together and forget all these man vegans who actually righteously fill that in on their profile eating habits. Digressing a bit, can you imagine actually boning a man who is a strict vegan? I feel like his peenie would like a little sprite sprig that would take way too much effort to spew out a tiny shot of bitter green fluid, barf. Swipe these dudes to the left, move them along. No sister, you want the pussy-eating cheese loving A-team in your box.

Oh wait, let’s scroll down your profile, you actually don’t want that. No hook-ups. You and your vagine are far too precious for casual bone, you know that’s a penis in a polo shirt. No “casual” sex for you. You are looking for a “long-term relationship.” On the internet, no less, and yet you have the colossal nerve to dismiss a perfectly good dude based on your criteria which is:

HE IS NOT TALL ENOUGH!

I hate women like this, and I know so very many who are barely over 5 feet and yet they insist on going out with men who over 6 feet. Tall men love diminutive chicks because they make them manlier. THINK OF THE BLOOD FLOW THO!  It takes a long time for the Mississippi to go from Minnesota to the Gulf of Mexico. This is why short men are better, they have blood gushing every which way, it’s instant boner erectus, even if you just tap their shoulder for a half a second. You know there will be a time, after your ridiculous 3 month dating rule, when you will finally have to put out for your giant internet trophy to stick his dick in you, and you will be all like, what the fuck? when he can’t get it up and it’s because he’s stuck in Tennessee, his navel had a hernia waiting for you, and that’s all because you gave him blue balls with your ridiculous rules. This may have been the worst metaphor I’ve ever made but my point is maybe stop with your strict criteria. Short men are as hot, if not hotter, they often have that arrogant personality that is really important when you are a submissive (me). Just saying.

I just don’t get what is wrong with casting a wide net when you are looking for dudes on-line. Why not check the “casual sex” box on your profile? I know every dumb ass stupid man thinks this means you are a hooker doing pro bono work on a Tuesday night, as if. Direct them to  Craigslist then. I learned this one the hard way, I thought the guy was joking when he said COME OVER at 7 a.m on a weekday morning. So I entertained him as I got ready for work. By the way, I’m one of those people that has to allow leisure time in the morning rather than sleeping until the last minute, that’s just me, I am a big proponent of the morning wood project. Note to self: I should mention this in my profile along with my prowess at logrolling. Anyway that dude actually thought I was coming over for a nooner (I take the blame entirely for that because I thought why not? as I was trying to put on that wretched winged eyeliner I still have yet to master, so frustrating!)…so when I didn’t actually show up, he was seriously mad! Apparently I wasted his time as an unemployed self-employed person. Yes, fap fap fap, sorry you skipped a fap, there’s always the afternoon fap you can make up for, fap fap fap. Too bad, he was kind of a cute weirdo, with a soft furry head like puppy. Sigh.

What is casual sex anyway? It’s the sex you have on the couch while watching tv. That’s my definition anyway. It means you may or may not put out after the first date, possibly the second, maybe the third, likely the fourth, pretty much a sure thing after the fifth but without some weird idea that we are exclusive and heading for some boneheaded delusion of long-term hit-my-head-with-a-frying-pan commitment. And I want to go on dates with different dudes. Why am I the only female animal who wants to be in the dinghy beside the proverbial Noah’s Ark? Catching the rogue lions and bears who fall off the boat, no giraffes for me though, they’re just too goddamn tall.

You know where my in-box is, call me.

 

 

 

 

 

Mastering the Art of Wooing a Lady (OkCupid Edition)

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“What is a beautiful lady such as yourself doing on this website?”

LOL

I re-activated my OkCupid profile last week. It’s been 7 whole days and I’m still on it! Last time I lasted less than 24 hours and the time before 5 whole days which led to that hilarious cub encounter buried deep in the archives, here let me pull that up for you.

I am having the best time ever! I tweaked my profile to display my sardonic wit which I thought would separate the men from the boys but it does not: “Message me if your dick is pointing in my general direction” separates the cobras from the turtles and that is alright by me. Age is just a number, right? OkCupid is a free for all. It’s a dick salad! Why are these people only on the internet? Where is the dick salad in real life? I don’t get it, but whatever, I AM GLUED TO MY COMPUTER AND I NEED A BREAK.

There’s a fuckton of dating sites out there and they all have their own flavour. I told you before I get mailings from match dot com, the morning scrolling of scrotum of middled age losers seeking breeding possibilities, gross. Then there’s LavaLIfe, so complicated and segregated: What if I am looking for Prince Charming AND an awesome Hate Fuck (more on this later)? I have to fucking write two profiles and think of more than one user name (the hardest part of joining any dating site). Also there’s Plenty of Fish which I think your mom is on. I guess I am your mom so I should shut up but I just don’t want to be part fish culture, it’s so fishy.

OkCupid is like a big giant sports stadium cum (lol) refuge centre after Noah”s Ark sank and everyone needed a place to go to change their underwear and grab a hot dog or whatever. Plus it’s a place where you can find out a lot about yourself and your inner desires, especially when you have to answer all those inane multiple choice match questions (which you can do at your leisure bits at a time). I do value intellect and a sense of humour and hopefully they get that random math question right because otherwise they will never find your Gspot. Some of the questions make no sense when you think about matching with someone, for example: Do you wear underwear? YES, EVERYDAY, I’M A SNAIL FFS. What if HE went commando? I don’t care. Does it bother him that I wear underwear? It shouldn’t. Does he like to keep his furniture clean? Stupid.

My week started out in a civilized manner. I re-activated my old profile with some CURRENT pictures PLUS my Instagram feed AND a link to this blog so you know I’m not a bot, I got nothing to hide. I got some nice cordial responses and an offer to go for drinks with asuper hot young dude who looked like post-modern Jesus as shot by Mario Testino who would probably be able to walk down any given street and every man, woman, and child (over 16) would want his number. They come and then they disappear into ether of the internet as though they are just a dream. Sigh.

Then on Sunday I tweaked my profile. I added some things and I answered all the bondage questions. Now I can’t breathe. So many messages AND I WANT TO ANSWER THEM ALL BUT I CAN’T!

So I have tips for y’all when responding to an ad, they are me-specific but they could be applied to anybody really, and please if you have any of your own, leave a comment below.

1. You need to actually read someone profile. I know that it hard in the world of ADHD mobile apps where you scroll and swish to the left and you have to keep fingering to til you get to your favourite OCD number (mine are sets of 12). But if you are going to message someone, you should read what they took the time to write. YOU SHOULD WRITE ONE OF YOUR OWN. I would rather see someone’s boneheaded list of 6 Things You Can’t Live Without be: 1. Beer, 2. my dick, 3. pussy, 4. more pussy, 5. your mom’s pussy 6. my cat than left blank. It’s not hard (that’s what she said).

2. When you leave your first message, don’t just say “Hi ;)” YOU NEED TO KNOW YOU WILL BURIED IN THE VERY BOTTOM OF DICK SALAD LIKE A SLIVER OF RAW ONION. Read the lady’s profile. Then you write: “Oh hi, I like your profile. I love fried chicken!” And trust, the lady will write back and before you know it, you will EATING fried chicken. Yes.

3. If the lady does not respond right away, wait. Oh my God, just because the green dot is on does not mean she’s a cable rep. She might just be eating her dick salad slowly, maybe she’s enjoying sucking on a kalamata olive, DO NOT TAKE IT PERSONALLY. Try again tomorrow.

4. Just because the result of answering all those questions yields a low result of an under 50% match, does not mean you should dismiss that person. There is one question that got me thinking which was: “Could you have sex with someone you hated?” And I thought about it and YES.! YES! YES! YES! And now that’s what I want. I found someone I could tell just by looking at his face that I would HATE him and now I can’t stop thinking about him. He would totally NOT get me and think I was sloppy and ridiculous and I would think he was boring and tedious and would tell each other to shut up and we would look at each like, BLARGGGGH I HATE YOUR GUTS and then some jolt would come out no where and in an instant we’d be pounding each other in a rhythm that only the darkest jungle has ever felt. Five stars I gave him. I have yet to hear back.

5. Married dudes, let me redirect to Ashley Madison dot com. There’s a whole bunch of them with faces obscured, scrolling, trolling like they belong here. Some of them say they are in “open relationships” and their wives are cool with this. No judgment to any of you but this lady has no fucking interest. Literally. Nothing more boner-killing than a grown man who gets his kicks from sneaking around from his “mommy.” It’s just not hot. I don’t run on an appointment schedule, THAT IS WHAT A RUB N TUG IS FOR.

6. Setting up a date. This is the tricky part! Once you’ve had some clever back and forth banter, it may be time to move over to exchanging phone numbers. I made a rookie mistake by giving my phone number out too early and I like sleep at night with my phone on because I have kids might be calling from the police station. I DO NOT WANT PENIS PICTURES IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT! I know what it looks like and it’s not a visual thing for me. It’s the velvety tactileness that keeps me coming back. DO NOT BE IMPATIENT WITH THE LADY. Don’t forget she is a lone wolf, she probably hasn’t smelled a man in a while, she spooks easily.

7. If you say to the lady at ANY time: “Would you like to go for coffee” you will be promptly taken out of the dick salad and thrown directly in the compost bin. Lady does drinks. Not. Coffee.

8. If the lady disappears into the the internet ether, then let her go. It’s a fish stew out there for you, go get some.

I haven’t actually gone on an OkCupid date since that last one, two summers ago, so I don’t have any good tips of how to conduct yourselves, that’s up to you and your instincts. Also I promise not to blog (without permission of course, and I had permission that last time) about anything that goes on, as I am a lady. But the one thing I wanted to say, was THE BEST RESPONSE EVER was a gentleman who wrote me the most beautiful poem based on my profile that I will forever cherish. Who says the internet is not a romantic place?

 

 

Mastering the Art of Being a Mistress

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I’m so bored this summer I could totally bone your husband but RELAX I won’t, I’m also way too lazy to put in the work. I’m living vicariously through a friend who is newly single and is finding her mojo everywhere her usual daily grind takes her: She sends me photos from dudes and chicks on the street she finds hot: PANTY CREAMER ALERT! A cop on a horse! A MILF-type in the park with wind in her hair! SHE IS ON FIRE WITH LUST IN HER LOINS and I am drowning in my own morning wasted panty sludge. If I stick close to her, I can get some of her contact mojo, maybe.

She’s having some great epic sexting with a married man. I’ve had a few of those myself, whatevs, usually ends with some lunchbag letdown Skype session where all I can do is obsess about finding my good angle when scrunching my bra down. I AM THE WORST SEXTER EVER, a real boner killer, trust. But my friend has it all going on and it’s like they are both writing Harold Robbins revival novel. I still love my Harold Robbins and learned every trick I need to know from The Lonely Lady and The Carpet Baggers. I might be bad at sexting but I’m good at holding my breath with water in my mouth and you’d have to take me a porterhouse steak dinner to find out what that’s all about. Call me.

I feel like I could teach a course at the Learning Annex: How to Be the Post-Modern Madame Pompadour and Live Your Dreams. Even though I am a failure at love and all relationships in general, I have observed y’all doing the mating rituals like zoo animals with no regard of any superfluous and confining nuptial agreements. I have many case studies even though I have no clue whatsoever how the male mind works, I know the ladies and I have seen your mistakes aplenty. Take notes:

1. The first and most important hard and fast rule when embarking on this mistress lifestyle is: DO NOT GET ATTACHED TO THE OUTCOME. In fact this is the most important rule of life, it’s the Buddhist credo. It goes for playing a game of tennis to buying a house to the mastering the art of mistressing. You more or less just have to live in the now and not get hung up on the fact that at some point, somebody is going to get hurt real bad. Spoiler alert: It won’t be him.

2. Rationalize that his wife is a murdering shrew and you are saving him from a life of disparaging henpecking and of course, celibacy because they haven’t had sex in months or years. This is probably actually true by the way. I will never forget how last month I was at St. Louis Bar and Grill and I watched a husband and wife having wings and beers and he was blithely chowing down and she was staring at him, not eating, just staring with hatred of a raccoon stuck in an empty garbage bin, you could actually see a cartoon thought bubble appear over her head and in capital Comic Sans: I HATE THE WAY YOU CHEW! I SWEAR TO GOD I HOPE YOU CHOKE ON THAT DRUMSTICK AND I WILL MAKE GODDAMN SURE I WILL FAKE A HEIMLICH ON YOU, SO DIE, MOTHERFUCKER!  

It was palpable. And you really had to feel sorry for the dude and at one point, he and I locked eyes for the last second, his gaze pleaded “Help Me.” And after when they finished and he walked by my table, I made the finger in the hole hand gesture which he probably mistook for me mocking him which I guess I was because fuck him and his chewing chicken wings with his mouth open and licking his fingers, ugh. Anyway, you can have him, he’s probably ripe for Mistress 101.

3. Prepare yourself for loads of free time. Once this mistressing thing starts to happen, even during the sexting foreplay phase, these married dudes have a habit of disappearing for days at a time. One minute you’re sending hot sexy messages (whilst you are watching Netflix of course) and the next minute, nothing. It’s like your phone has died but it hasn’t because later you get a message from your best friend who is having a crisis and you ignore her because sexting comes first. But you end up watching two episodes of Hannibal and he still hasn’t responded so that was a waste. GET USED TO THIS SPOOKED HORSE, SISTER, AND DON’T EVER IGNORE YOUR FRIEND BECAUSE YOU WILL NEED HER TO GLUE YOUR DUMB ASS HEART BACK TOGETHER BECAUSE YOU FORGOT RULE NUMBER ONE.

4. Have you ever watched Roger Federer play tennis when he was at the top of his game and even at this year’s Wimbledon match? No? Well dude is in control, it’s like he loses the first few games on purpose to make his opponent think he is the one dominating. And then, after his rival is too tired to be all cocky, he knows how to place that ball so his opponent will have to scamper across the court to return it like a passed out drunkard. Take a page from Roger’s book, this is what you have to do as a Master of Mistressing. Make him feel like a boss in the beginning so he can maintain reasonable boner erectus AND THEN hit him cross court with some wack-a-doodle drop shot that makes him remember not to chew with his mouth full.

5. You have to compliment him on his penis. I KNOW! They are all the same to me, too. You have to make his seem special and they all are, yes indeed. To have a penis is like having a puppy around all the time. I wish I had one. A puppy, I mean.

6. Time management is tricky with some of these men. What is up with a grown middle age man who claims to have only a window of time or has to wait for his wife for whatever? Dudes: Why can’t just say “I’m going to Banana Republic to check the sales” and then take your sweet time about it? And then HOURS later come home and say they didn’t have any 34 Long in those stupid Dawson fit that makes your ass look boxy? Mistress, you are going to have to teach him to lie without his pants actually setting fire. And make switch him over to slim fit Aidens because you can. You have the power.

7. Ignore your friend when she tells you at the nail salon: “They never leave their wives you know.” You yell back: “YOU SAY THAT LIKE IT’S A BAD THING. I DON’T WANT A HUSBAND, LET  HIS WIFE WASH HIS SOCKS.” And then when you are home alone drinking a 1.5 litre bottle of wine to yourself because he is incommunicado with some family function, don’t get all caught up in that laundry fantasy you have where you sort his socks from light to dark and fan them out in his top drawer. Are you crazy?

8. Assume everything he says is a lie.

9. Know when it’s over. Seriously, sister, that could even be before it ever begins. But if you stretch it out for months and even years, you will know when it’s time and when it comes, you will walk away with all  the dignity you can muster because that is what Madame Pompadour would do. And then she got her hair did.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mastering the Art of Winged Eye Liner

 

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June is my favourite month. It has its laundry list of problems though and here are some:

Mystery air fluff that makes you sneeze, mystery tree goo that turns your car into a caramelized apple, glaring white cellulite splattered with teeny weeny blue spider veins on your upper thighs, the compulsive need to go and sit on a patio and drink $80 cocktails, maggots in the kitchen compost, the conundrum of what to wear underneath a skirt if it isn’t long johns, having to go buy new Birkenstocks because you stepped in dog shit last October and your old ones are still underneath the rotting wicker love seat on your front porch, buying your first watermelon because ’tis the season and it is heartbreakingly and disappointingly flavourless (probably because it came from a truck along with those gross white GMO strawberries), sweaty bra smegma, that plantar wart you got in the winter from not wearing flip flops in the steam room is no longer a cute little friend and needs to be lanced otherwise you can’t get a pedicure OR YOU WILL BE TREATED LIKE A LEPER AT 5 STAR NAILS and you absolutely one hundred percent need one if you insist upon wearing those fug-ass Birkenstocks all summer… AND the list goes on.

I’ve been having some health issues recently which I will not burden you with except for the fact that I am quite possibly DYING OF BOREDOM on top of it all.

“Only boring people get bored,” says Dr. Phil when he is yelling at an insolent teenager on one of his shows.

It’s fucking true. I am so boring, it’s like a disease. I am a human Birkenstock. Today, Freddy, my parents, and I went to a mall to actually buy “Baby’s First Birkenstocks” as is our Spring tradition. Baby is 18 now and going off to be a counsellor at camp for the summer as is his destiny and needs to wear giant ass cork paddles on his feet because that is what they all the kids wear. I realize I am in my glory in sensible shoe shops. Yo, I picked up a Croc in “Soft Mocs” and said out loud to no one in particular, “I need this shoe in a size 10.” IT HAPPENED TO ME. I didn’t get them as a sense of shame took over but! These Crocs had a jute wedge, a leather strap upper body with a faux-Burberry underlining. They were genius.

Don’t put my on the ice floe just yet as I am still enjoying my food.

Used to be that June brought on the promise of summer flings, that patio promise of becoming social again, wearing a summer dress and upskirting accidentally on purpose a pair of  neon pink lacy underwear underneath (that is what you wear in the summer FYI) especially after a winter of eating melted parmesan cheese biscuits with your boyfriend, Netflix. But then of course, “Orange is the New Black” came out in the beginning of June, stalling us all.

Anatomy of a Binge Watch, an ode to #OITNB, no spoilers ahead:

Day One: Watch the first episode…huh…what happened to Lori Petty and why does she look 100 years old? IMDB her and she is the same age as me, holy shit. Watch 4 more episodes that day. Order pizza, drink wine, fall asleep during episode 5.

Day Two: Wake up early to move car because tenants are having a yard sale and maybe I can put out some stuff, too, make a few bucks. BUT! First rewatch episode 4 (too drunk to remember) and definitely episode 5, watch also 6, 7, and 8, drinking coffee. Holy shit, it’s noon…too late to yard sale. Feeling a bit of ants in the pants, like no wonder I am suffering from Boredom-itis, I have just watched 4 straight hours of TV. I watch two more episodes. Eat a crumpet with jam and smear it all over the laptop keyboard and sneeze a bit of it all over the screen, it’s a sign. I decide to go to Shoppers Drug Mart and get BB cream because a) I can’t get Lori Petty’s wretched face off my mind  b) I need a raison d’être to get out of the house. The tenants are still having their yard sale. They made much money and sold a giant ass tv to the local crazy and I missed the whole transaction. I buy a pair of red converse because they are in my size and I feel like Cinderella whenever I find random shoes that fit, is that just me? I wear the Converse and go the Shoppers, buy a BB cream and yet another liquid eyeliner because I still hold on to hope. Have we talked about winged eyeliner yet or have I just been thinking about it obsessively all this time?

This:

It’s still Day Two: Go home, I HAVE 3 EPISODES OF “ORANGE IS THE NEW BLACK” LEFT. Evangeline is 4 episodes behind me and she is watching it on the main tv. I hunker down with her, re-running half heartedly, and practise my liquid eyeliner skills. Why is it so goddamn hard? I am an artist-type and I cannot master this. Do you notice Red from OITNB wears her eyeliner kind of in the crease in a strange way? I look this up on “reddit r/makeupaddiction” and there is an entire forum discussing the entire cast’s hair and makeup. It’s all Dolce & Gabbana and not actual windowsill soot and Kool-Aid which goes to show you. I hope they made Lori Petty look haggard on purpose because help me, I really hope my BB cream works. Also I need to wear lipstick, my mother keeps telling me. I WATCH THE LAST 3 EPISODES ON MY LAPTOP CLUTCHING MY EYELINER.

I need to watch the whole thing again but more slowly this time.

A scrolling of scrotum. What?

One of my closest friends is newly single and has been looking on dating websites to see what it’s about and is laughing her head off so at least there’s someone who is amused.  Every morning I wake up to a daily email of match dot com eligible bachelors for me, Smiles Pattycake (don’t ask) to choose from. I am not actually registered on this site because they want money and just kill me if I start paying for this, they just send me a scroll full of teasers so that I will join because these dudes are so hot. The other day, my ex-neighbour showed up, the Lillipution divorced sad sack who hired hookers on Friday nights and then moved to a condo with his dog that he was truly in love with, so much so that he fucking wrote about him in his profile. He also had his list of criteria for the perfect woman, including her height and hair colour and AGE. He and all the other middle-aged lumpen moobacious (self-described as “athletic and toned”) men in his age range are looking for women 10 years younger or more, ie. BREEDERS. I have been monitoring my match dot com dick list for over a year and the same inventory of losers show up in different formations so they don’t think I won’t notice I am getting the dregs of mankind. Here’s a tip, DingleDouche69, YOU WILL NEVER FIND LOVE WITH YOUR LIST OF CRITERIA, GO GET SOME SUSHI AND STIFF YOUR FINGERS AND CALL IT A DAY.

I thought I would die of boredom but instead I think I am going to die of despair. I need to unsubscribe from such things.

It’s World Cup Fever. There are lots of men to be found and yet no men who are interested even if you are wearing no underwear, never mind neon pink ones.

Seriously, if you want to find a bunch of dumb men, go to any sports bar right this moment. They are all huddled around talking about World Cup Soccer like they know what the fuck is happening. The other day I heard two men talking for what seemed to be the entire season 2 of OITNB about how the ball rolled off one guy’s shoulder and landed in the net like it was some strategic-inspired miracle of the holy Gods instead of dumb luck based on the wind and the goal tender having fluff in his eyes.  Ugh. So. Boring.

Although fun fact I learned today: The team from Netherlands wears orange jerseys because it’s the royal colour. That is all. Okay, I’m going to practise my winged eye liner now, and wait for this boredom to blow over and maybe see what else is on Netflix.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Attack of the Internet Trolls!

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Last week I had a kerfuffle with a stranger on the Internet. It was hardly anything worth reporting but it encapsulates a much bigger issue that bugs me enough that I can’t think of anyone better to share with than y’all, my interweb kitten pals.

I was perusing through the job listings on Craigslist as I am wont to do, like 10 times a day. I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE THINKING: Why are you looking on Craigslist for jobs, aren’t the only people on that whack site crazy serial killers, like Buffalo Bill from “Silence of the Lambs” plotting to lure you into a dark lair to murder you and make a meat dress from your starved hanging flesh? Probably. Every so often I find a job that I think I would like and yes, I will send a resume and witty cover letter and I will inevitably hear the sound of interweb crickets. I often wonder if my applications are going straight into a SPAM box but then every once in awhile I will get a response. A couple of times even, I had interviews and thought everything went swimmingly well and would be perfect for the job(s) but then never heard from the prospective employers again. I can only assume they called me to check out the size of my ass to see how my hide would fit into their designs. Still crazy that I didn’t get hired because I have enough flesh to last for weeks in a hole in the basement. Trust.

I found a job title that caught my eye: STUDIO MANAGER IN LESLIEVILLE. Pretty generic, so I clicked on the description of requirements which was all check: Must have computer skills blah blah, social media, blogging, Facebook, blah blah, MUST HAVE RELIABLE CAR…$11 an hour, hours from noon til 5, MUST BE AVAILABLE FOR “OVERTIME” WHEN ASKED.

First of all, before we comb through the true crime of this ad, I really hate it when job listing don’t actually list the company’s name because then when you are writing your witty and personalized cover letter, you have nothing to research so you can throw in some inside knowledge. We are only going to have to assume that Buffalo Bill of Craigslist was placing the ad, and his “studio” is where he makes his meat dresses. Except Buffalo Bill is most probably female which I will explain later, so we will now refer to her as “Buffalo Billie” from now on. If you know it’s Buffalo Billie’s human meat dressmaking studio, you can write a little personal nugget: “And I loved your last year’s winter collection of wrap dresses made from the hide of Italian men, so luxurious!”

So I read the ad, even though it’s the kind of job I would want whatever it was, I let it go and kept scrolling on because part-time/minimum wage is not really going to work out long term for moi. Why would Buffalo Billie not just put “Internship” on the listing like everyone else? That way you know they are looking for university graduates desperate enough to work for shite pay, or no pay at all, or a hilarious “stipend” that you carry to the bank at the end of a term that can maybe cover your metropass, a can of Arizona Ice Tea and a lottery ticket at the corner store.

But whatevs, so what? Buffalo Billie can pay whatever she wants, it’s her business. Besides a lot of people have two jobs. They can work for Buffalo Billie in the day from 12 to 5 and then trot over to their servers job at night. BUT! Then I thought, how can you have a second job when Buffalo Billie wants you to work over-time at her whim? I did my maths in my head and calculated that at $11 an hour, which is basically minimum wage, and 5 hours a day, you are making $55 per day, $275 a week, a little over $1100 a month! AND she wants you to own your own car so you can fetch her some twine at Staples to topstitch her latest collection of Chinese Cheongsams made from the flesh of…well, you know. SHE WANTS YOU TO OWN YOUR OWN CAR AND WORK FOR MINIMUM WAGE! IS THIS CRAZY OR WHAT? Unless you won your car on “The Price is Right” and live in your mother’s basement, I fail to see how this is even possible.

Well, I let all that sink in and before I knew it, I had a bee buzzing in my bonnet, and when that happens, my fingers turn to scorpions and I will lay wrath where wrath is due.

You know I am a salty bitch and swear (in writing) like a longshoreman and I am unapologetic about it. The smartest people in the world (Louis CK and my friend Lorraine) will lay an “F” bomb here and there and it sounds highly intellectual. I’m just telling you this now because, I answered Buffalo Billie’s ad like this:

“I am responding to your ad on Craigslist for studio manager. I understand you are offering $11-12 per hour  for a 5 hour work day and require that the candidate “must have a reliable car.”
Are you high? Perhaps you should pull your head out of your asshole and realize the position and wages you are offering for what you offering is disgusting.
People are actually looking for jobs so they can live, not run their cars so they can suck your dick. You should be ashamed.”
I SIGNED MY NAME WITH MY PHONE NUMBER. I am not an anonymous internet troll after all. I know, it’s harsh, but when I get the feeling of righteous indignation, I will act upon it. I will sign your change.org petition about missing girls, I will kick a Sharpei off a Shiba Inu (what? long story but trust, the Sharpei had it coming), and I will go to court on your behalf to fight the douches of the world. This is what makes me awesome, if nothing else. So I wrote that email and pressed the send button and thought nothing of it because it is Craigslist after all and nobody ever answers back.
Well wouldn’t you know it, the one time I write a profanity-laced email is the one time I get a response. I can tell you for absolute sure if I sent Buffalo Billie my resume with a generic cover letter, I would have made the trash pile. But Buffalo Billie responds! And it is woefully and sadly disappointing. Let’s go through it together:
“Hi Kristin,

Thanks for taking the time to respond – I’m sorry you had such an emotional response to my posting and felt that a verbal attack was warranted.
Being a small business owner I wish I could offer more. The benefits that come with this position are pretty stellar but I choose not to make that the focus of the job posting online because I don’t want to attract people similar to yourself. The vehicle costs are also covered, in case you’re wondering.The wages do get increased as time goes on, depending on the level of commitment and dedication and hopefully not long after hiring, the person would become an integral part of a team of fantastic and appreciative people, hopefully with a full salary and a long-term, two-way commitment.”
There’s more but we’ll stop here and do some maths again:
THE BENEFITS ARE STELLAR!!! I have 32 teeth in my mouth, so unless you are paying for all them to get $500 veneers, 80% coverage (one of the better plans) on a  $200 dentist bill twice a year is not going to make minimum wage look like delicious gravy. AND who the fuck under-promises when advertising for a job and expects to attract people unlike myself, who I assume she means ugly internet trolls? Buffalo Billie places an ad for shite pay and crap hours and figures she will attract the cream of the crop of eager minions, like all her other employees who are grateful to work for a such amazing Her Majesty. They are probably all dead, hanging on hooks in her basement, turning into leather, and she probably uses the veneered teeth for her accessory line of earrings and matching necklaces. So appreciative of that kick-ass dental plan.
And then she writes:
“I’m not high, my head is atop my shoulders and not stuffed into any orifice, nor do I have a dick that needs sucking, but thank you for for covering all bases. I won’t be ashamed, but for you.”
She doesn’t have a dick that needs sucking, that’s why she is a she and not a he, because no man would write that sentence, am I right? And yes, I should have wrote “proverbial dick.” Oh my God, some people take things so literally.
The sad part was that she googled me and found my now-defunct career as a real estate agent and said that she would spread the word to everyone NOT to buy a house from me as my “personality is not classy.” Sweet Jesus, what does she think real estate agents do? The good ones fight tooth and nail to make shit happen for their clients. I have seen one of my very favourite agents push and shove another dude off a porch while swearing at the top of his lungs. It was epic and awesome and he has his own brokerage now. SIGH, those really were good times come to think about it.
Anyway, my sadness and disappointment lies in the state of employment in this city. I am afraid it is a place where milquetoast and mediocrity rule the game. And nobody wants to hire a salty old broad who is actually really quite sweet in person. And would make a really chic meat dress.
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What Ever Happened to All Those Van Pattens?

YOU HAVE TO BE A SEVENTIES KID TO GET THIS.

In between angry hot flashes, I had this major mind-blowing IMDb Trivia experience yesterday and I had no one to share it with because my kids grew up on Hannah Montana, so I’m just going to lay it all out here for us all to groove to, or not, but if you care at all about Salami from “The White Shadow” keep scrolling:

It began with John Slattery from “Mad Men” on “The Kelly and Michael Show” promoting his new first-time directorial film, “God’s Pocket” which by the way, has Philip Seymour Hoffman in it as his last completed project…so SAD! Okay, but let’s focus: They bantered on about Mad Men, which you probably don’t watch but I do but I never knew that in REAL LIFE, he is married to his TV ex-wife, Mona, played by TALIA BALSAM (pay attention, the Van Pattens are coming) here they are in civilian garb:

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And here they are as Roger and Mona Sterling:

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So awesome.

AND HERE IS TALIA BALSAM WITH HER FIRST HUSBAND, GEORGE CLOONEY, CIRCA 1990, HOLY SHIT:
george-clooney-4Why am I just finding this out now? Did you know this? Why didn’t you tell me?

And now comes the Van Patten tangent. I actually brought some post-it notes and created a Van Patten family tree on my laptop. I know, crazy.

Okay so TALIA BALSAM, born in 1959, is the daughter of the late great MARTIN BALSAM (1919-1996):

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Psycho, 12 Angry Men, super-prolific in the 1970s but yet, no epidsodes of ‘The Love Boat!”

and her mother is JOYCE VAN PATTEN (b.1934):

Unknown-1She did a whole whack of 70s tv, no “Love Boat,” but “Love American Style”…oh, how I loved that show…and she is the SISTER of:

BIG DADDY DICK VAN PATTEN (b.1928):
Dick_ClassicOh my God, “EIGHT IS ENOUGH” was my 70s jam, love love love! Dick was on a few episodes of “The Love Boat,” fun fact: He was supposed to play “Gopher” but changed his mind for “Eight is Enough” which was smart hockey, fo sho. He is married to Pat Van Patten and hold on to your titties, here comes the good part, THEIR MAN SPAWN! Again, if you watch tv in the 70s, you most probably have a pair of panties you wrecked yourself dedicated to one of these dudes:

VINCE VAN PATTEN (b.1957):

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I’m getting all retro swoony. Totally hot in the 70s (yes, appeared on “The Love Boat”) and became a pro tennis player! Married soap opera actress Eileen Davidson (blech, tacky ho) and now is on “The World Poker Tour.” I don’t know what to think about that but yes, I would still hit it. If I was playing Fuck, Marry, Kill with the Van Patten boys, this is the one I’d Fuck:

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Next up, JIMMY VAN PATTEN (b. 1956):

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He was in the original “Freaky Friday” with Jody Foster as a cashier. Hot. 66% of those Van Patten boys seemed to have gotten their start on “The Odd Couple tv show,”  interesting. Lately he has been in the “Saw” horror franchise. Would I still hit it? Why not? I have nothing else going on. Oh, and in the game Fuck, Marry, Kill, I’d Marry this one, he has kind eyes and seemingly zero douche-factor:

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And then the first born bro, NELS VAN PATTEN (b. 1955):

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I’m not sure I have any feels for this Van Patten but he is a Van Patten, so yes, yes, I’d probably hit it. He’s had an obscure 70s tv career, was also a tennis pro, and here is is now:

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I don’t know, on second thought maybe I’ll just pass on this one, and sacrifice this Van Patten to the gods of 70s Hotness.  I would Kill him, obviously.

Which brings us to the final Van Patten, TIMOTHY VAN PATTEN (b.1959). He is NOT a Van Patten bro, he is a Van Patten Uncle. Seriously! He and Big Daddy Dick are brothers from another mother. He is my very favourite Van Patten of them all:

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SALAMI FROM “THE WHITE SHADOW” OMG OMG OMG! To die for! Nowadays he is a director:  Sex and the City! The Sopranos! Rome! The Pacific! Game of Motherfucking Thrones! Boardwalk Empire! I watch none of these shows, except for SATC of course. Here he is now and he is so cute, I would Fuck, Marry, AND Kill him with my hot-flashing pussy:

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You know how I feel about beards. Sweet Jesus.