My daughter has a friend named Marta who is 19 going on 35.  She is one of those girls’ girls who you want to hang out with and watch “Say Yes to the Dress” while doing your nails.  In fact, I have pilfered her as my own pal.  She is fun and laughs at my jokes.

She is also man-crazed which is refreshing because most women my age are casualties of love and have been dumped every which way and sideways,  They are bitter and jaded as they manically farm their match dot com profiles like the Daters’ Almanac is predicting a drought. They are not out banging for the joy of it.  They want to land a marriage contract.  The so-called lucky ones who have been married for twenty years are also bitter and jaded. To them, men are feckless fucktards and need to live in their own compounds, as far away from book clubs and yoga classes as possible.  I am divorced and my ex-husband is a good guy so I’m not so bitter.  But in the past, my heart has been through the meat grinder by more than one gentleman and used as an emotional diaper genie by one particular baby-man, I still can’t get a hate-on for all the mens.  I have hope!  I may not believe in love but I believe my next great fuck is just around the corner, the 8-ball says:  YOU MAY RELY ON IT.  The Magic 8-Ball has been my trusted life coach since I downloaded the app on my i-Phone.

Marta has been fluffing my wilting mojo all summer  She saw “Magic Mike” on opening day and then had to go to a male strip club in real life.  She and Kasey went to Remingtons on Yonge Street to check it out.  It was nothing less than spectacular.

“Kristin!” she squealed,”They put their pee pees right in your face and they even let you put it in your mouth!”

Now don’t get the wrong idea:  She did not pop one in her mouth (although I wasn’t there…??? Only Kasey knows for sure) but it was her enthusiasm over the fact that you could if you wanted to that made me laugh. As though it would be an honour and privilege, like holding the Olympic torch.  So cute!

When Marta rides in my car, she rolls down the windows and hollers at the boys on the street.  They wave back and howl, roar, and cock-a-doodle-doo.  They are hot, even when they are not.  Her attention shines their inner light.  To Marta, men are prey and she is the hunter.  A shameless hunter, too, she does not wear camouflage.  She is a hot Latina with hair and boobs.  And when the occasion calls for it, more hair and more boobs.  “I have a flat ass!” she complains, as though anyone would ever notice.  And if that was the case, it’s only fair.  “Do not hog all the mojo, Marta,” said the gods as they distributed the body parts, spanking her on the way out of the warehouse.

All men are targets.  Young, old, hairy, bald, fat, thin….She is the United Nations Ambassador of Penis.  “Cute Asian guy is working at Starbucks!” she texts as a head line, “Sikh guy is on the bus!  I tried to take his picture but just got the back of his turban!”

I took her to my manly butcher shop and she giggled until she stopped breathing, “Oh My God, Kristin, that butcher was so hot!  I almost died!”  Not embarrassing at all.

About my 16 year-old son Freddy:  “When he’s older, I can marry him, three years won’t make a difference when he’s 30…LOL!”

Marta and her mom went away for Labour Day weekend.  They left Friday and came back Monday.  Something bad happened with the wonky upstairs toilet and the entire house was flooded.

Even in a serious disaster, when life gives you lemons, Marta can make man-juice out of it.  The work crew that came to clean up the house had a couple of “hotties” on the team.  If something like this happened to me I’d be all like “Fuck!  My Fluevogs! My acid drawings! The Polaroids! ” (I knew that was a bad idea, making baby albums with a Polaroid camera).

But not Marta. No fretting about wet stuff.   Marta made a Facebook friend out of a Persian dude, while subtly flirting with Pakistani hottie on the first day.

“Kristin, dilemma!  The Persian is cute but I think I like the other one better.  He’s really tall and I’m pretty sure there was chemistry…but the Persian asked for my number…Oh God…what do I do?”  She brought a bag of flood soaked laundry to my house.  She is basically homeless.  And this is her concern.

“I don’t know…tomorrow is another day,” I said, loading up the washer,”By the way, you know I never use a dryer, I hang everything.”

“Oh, my God, Kristin, I hang dry everything too!”  We are laundry sisters and penis-loving soul mates.

The next day, Marta went back to her house, where the workers were pulling up carpet and taking down walls.  Pretty much the entire house was wrecked!

But:

“The Pakistani guy added me on BBM!”

Apparently while she was pretending to retrieve something from the basement where he was tending to the flood, he leaned over and asked her for her code. That is a significant step in social media mating rituals and only Blackberry people understand it. There was definitely chemistry, he’s 25, single, going to school and has a job…in other words, the Holy Grail of young men.

“You have to see his BBM profile, I’m coming over!” she texted.

It’s a twenty-minute bus ride.  When she arrived at my house, she was not happy.

“He deleted me from BBM!  He added ME!  And then he deleted me some time between when I left the house and got off the bus!  What.The. Fuck????”

Evangeline was reading the Hunger Games and did not even attempt to answer, she put her face into the book and completely ignored the following two hours.

Me:  Maybe he accidentally pressed a delete button…

Marta: You can’t do that by accident!  It’s step-by-step process!

Me: Maybe there was a glitch in the system.  Sometimes Twitter has glitches and you unwittingly unfollow someone…

Marta:  There are no Blackberry glitches!  I’ve never had a glitch! The fucking douche deleted me!  He added ME first!

Me:  Calm down…I am Googling and there are entire forums dealing with people who accidentally delete BBM contacts so it probably happens all the time….

Marta:  Those people on forums are mentally unstable!  Unless you are sleep walking you don’t “accidentally” delete people!

And so, like two dogs devouring a bone, we picked apart every detail and analyzed every nuance until our eyes started to roll into the back of our heads.  I am so down with that kind of thing, I never get bored. I can come up with a plausible scenario for every douche move that any dude can ever pull.  It’s actually a curse.  Normal people say:  Dump his ass!  But I say:  Maybe he had a bad childhood.  And then I will make up an entire biography from birth up until the time the toilet overflowed.

I conclude this is why you shouldn’t have a Blackberry. As if Facebook isn’t enough of a scourge to our modern communication, worrying about friend requests, liking statuses, deleting friendships, it’s all so terrifying.  BBM is a mystery world to me, like a secret underground social network of Masons….it can only lead to bad things. And Blackberry doesn’t have a Magic 8 Ball app so how are you supposed to manage your life effectively?  Best to dump that thing and switch to an iPhone or Android where all you do to waste time is play games.

And Marta is Marta and she has already moved on, of course.  Hunters gotta hunt.  And that is why I love her so.