Mastering the Art of Conjuring Up Bone (OkCupid Edition)


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?


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:


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.






3 responses »

  1. Ah laffed and laffed: ” I am very so pleased at how many Cupid dudes took the time to read my blog, even though they had another option.” This was priceless.

    Men love cheese, and ladies, +5
    No sister, you want the pussy-eating cheese loving A-team in your box. +5
    I AM LOVING MY LIFE AND LIVING IT TO ITS FULLEST! -4 (WTF do you want a guy then for?)

    My impression is that too many OKCuplid ladies have seirously watched Beauty Pageants, and they figure if they speak, write, talk and walk like an air-headed do-goody-good eighteen-year-old virgin, then they are automatically taken for one of those by men. This, however, and very sadly, is not true.

    On the other hand, sista, some women lived too close to the strip, and watched not so clean, not so well cleaned up, not so well endowed with grace and beauty, not so well blessed with social graces, girls being picked up by several men wihtin a single night, make that several dozens of men. Yet, on a date, it helps if only the man has food stains down his shirt, into his shorts; if he is the only one who behaves cocotte-ish on the date; if he is the only one whose mind and body is unpure at the event. This is horribly sexist, I admit; and maybe too many of my personal likes and preferences are involved, and men are not the least bit as I describe them. God knows, I hadn’t dated many many men. They only leave me guessing.

    MEN and SEXUALITY: it’s like a joke, it’s all in the timing. There is no romance, but a lady and / or a lady-like lady or tramp always trumps a not ladylike lady.

    When the flow is almost there at the delta, Mother Theresa squeezing puss out of orphanages of the leprotically gifted Bombaiis looks incredibly sexy. When the rain just fell in a sporadic fall, and the waters trickle in the ass of the Missus (Missy Sippi), and I say ass because the mouth is where he kisses (or gives to) the salty, fishy-smelling water, you can show the river (Old man) any amount of harem girls or harem boys (if he is gay) and nothing will happen.

    Sometimes women take this personally, and personally speaking, I can’t hold back as a man, therefore I missed two great ladies in my life (but luckily I did not miss others.) They came into my life and into my man-cave a few dozen minutes too late. (You should have seen their faces.) It would be unfair to bring up at this time the toilet-hit-and-miss metaphor, but lo, he uses the same anatomy for either, so no big surprises there if you think about it.

    The upshot is to be suggestive, not whoreish. Don’t carry a barf-bag in your purse, right next to the condoms. Be a lady, but do not carry it to the extreme, where your long-term guy across the table at StareBucks is intimidated to bits when he realizes he is dating one of the Brit royals for an intro date. I mean, a princess is all a man wants, except when you are up close to one you realize that this is actually not someone you want at all for a lover. You have to learn how to drink tea, how to con-verse, how to polo, how to respond to a pirouette properly. Curtsy is what the upstairs maids do, don’t mix up the two.

    Again, this may be too personal, but a lady who gives and has to bee squeezed and wooed to give, is where it’s at. “The lady doth protest too much.” No real sportsmanlike fisher enjoys shooting fish in the barrel, unless of course he is in a U-boat conditition (full of seamen.)

    If you are too happy, no man will want you.

    If you are too depressed, no man will want you.

    If you are too smart, too stupid, too hot, too frigid, too dry, too tepid, too schizophrenic, too cupid, too cheap, too legit, too warm, too humid, nobody will want you. I uttered a lie: there is no such thing as smarts turning off men. The smarter the woman, by natural smarts and culturedness, the bigger the turn-on for the man, no exceptions, and I suspect it works the other way too.

    Unless they are near the point of needing to dispense big time, if the Old Man River says, “Son, get me outta here.”


    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 — HEHEHE, HA, HA, HA, HEEE, HOO, HAHAHA, AH, PLEASE STOP, MY SIDE IS SPLITTING. — HOOO, THIS WAS THE LAUGHTER OF THE WEEK.

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