Tag Archives: grindr app for cougars

How To Turn That Frown Into A Raging Boner

magazine6610fbbd27f123650915b7f2e7101dc4303f9d7bPeople are always telling me that men are simple creatures. As a woman, to keep a man in a holding pattern, all you have to do is know how to crack open a beer, make a kickass sandwich, and put out in a timely manner.  Do it in that order and if you are lucky he will stick around for the weekend and grout your tub.  There’s a rule in the “timely manner” aspect of it all.  Ironically, if you put out too early, he thinks you are a big ho and won’t stick around to do some chores. You have to fool him into thinking your vagina is a precious place, like a lush, secret garden that only he knows, or an out of the way fish market in a remote coastal town where the catch of the day is so fresh, it melts in your mouth and doesn’t have that fishy odour.  If your vagina is busy like Six Flags in the summer time, he might want to ride that roller coaster once, but he’s not going back if there is gum on the seat and the floor is sticky from cotton candy vomit.

This is a hard trick for most women and especially those who have birthed out some babies, such as myself.  If I’m going to make a metaphor out of the state of my cooter, I would have to say it’s like an old comfy couch that has been reupholstered in a brand new sleek fabric and is just waiting for someone to park his tired old ass on it and create his own dented imprint on the cushions, I don’t care how he does it. The waiting is driving me crazy but what can you do? All the fish in the sea are gay or married, and all the streetcars have short turned.  THERE IS NO GRINDR APP FOR COUGAR SLUTS…maybe that is this my million dollar idea?

In the meantime, as I wait, I have decided to become proactive but not on internet dating! No way, Jose, it’s too soul crushing.  Every on-line dude says the same thing:  No game playing and no drama.  What does that even mean?  Everybody plays games, it’s how we evolved as majestical text messaging, Grindr app playing beasts.  Your parents met, played the game of courtship, and you were born.  Your mom had to pretend she wasn’t interested in her super cool crush so he would think she was a challenge and he would ask her to the prom…But she was so good at being aloof, he asked another girl, who was the town trollop and she ended up pregnant with had some other baby, not you.  Your mom got really jealous so she ended up going out with her best guy buddy, Duckie, and although he was friend zone material, a brilliant game was being played and she fell in love with him anyway and they got married.  And yes, that is the way “Pretty in Pink” should have played out but it didn’t because test audiences didn’t like it!  But that’s the way these stories happen in real life for everyone else.  It’s all just a big game.  And the drama is the icing on the cake.  Without the drama, there are no boners, haven’t men figured this out yet?

So I’ve been telling everyone I know to set me up with their local divorced dad-type, I think I need my male counterpart so we can understand each other’s trials and tribz.  The problem is that there are two kinds of divorced dudes:  The first kind has not even let the ink dry on the divorce papers as he has already put the light on his cab and has hooked up with the first passenger that comes along who he is going to spend eternity with and get his vasectomy reversed for, etc.  He will jump through hoops in order to remarry because he can’t handle being alone.  This is not the type guy I would like to have sitting on my brand new reupholstered couch, if I was actually fast enough to catch one, he is too needy….and probably a premature ejaculator…no.

Then there is another kind of divorced dad who is a whole other animal, all full complexities and emotional issues. All the damages come out after the age of forty.  Which I don’t have a problem with as I am all about the fascinating case studies. There is nothing simple about these guys, they are up and down drama kings, all in desperate need of therapy.

Case Study #1:  I have a Facebook friend who is not a contender for my comfy couch because he doesn’t know I exist as he is one of those 5,000 friend hoarder-types. He would never bother reading this blog because he is too busy blathering on about himself…yes, I know I blather about myself BUT I READ ALL YOUR STATUSES AND POSTS, whatevs, let me have my little blog.  This dude SHOULD have a blog because he writes a diary as a status. Most of the time he is pining away for his ex-wife and children, which would be sort of noble except that she is in therapy for the fact that she has 8 kids. She hates him, she was probably in an oxytocin haze for their whole marriage while they had all those kids and now she no doubt prolapses when she sneezes. And all this guy wants is to have her back and plant more seeds in her bomb blasted womb.  He’s like a honey badger, just plowing away wherever he wants, and if she doesn’t take him back, he’s going to find himself a nice girl and make even more babies.  The only thing I will say is that there are not enough gingers on the planet and I do love a ginger so maybe he is doing a good deed for the greater good of diverse world population.

But seriously, this is a dude without any self-actualization at all.  This guy will pine away forever until he cures his misogyny.  IT’S 2013, YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO KEEP A WOMAN BAREFOOT AND PREGNANT ANYMORE.  Grow up, read a self-help book, and get a haircut. And a vasectomy.

Case Study #2:  I have some friends who heard my plea and invited me over to their house recently for drinks on a casual setup with their newly divorced dad friend.  This divorced dad’s ex-wife has a blog (!) and I perused it before I met him.  This was not one of those blogs that make me jealous with its amazing content because it was crappy, boring stories of children and hair.  I’m not even kidding, it was pictures of her kids getting haircuts but for some reason every post had hundreds of comments, seriously really? That pisses me off seeing dumbass blogs with loads of traffic for no good reason. When I met him, I thought he was very handsome and! he wore plaid shirt which is one of my fetishes left over from Grade 9.  But! All he talked about was his ex-wife.  What a bitch she was. Drinky, drinky, drinky:  “Selfish whore.”  More drinkies:  “What a heinous cunt.”  I told him I saw her blog and said it was kind of silly…I thought we were having a bonfire-style bitchfest where we could all throw a log in the fire, but no, he ripped me a new one for being disrespectful of her journalistic integrity, or something to that effect.

Talk about a whacked out attachment disorder.  You just know he stalks her on the Facebook and in her driveway.  There will be no moving on until a certain someone realizes you can’t find happiness in another person.  In order to move on, one needs to strategize a game plan and this guy is just too addicted to his own misery.  Until then, I probably would let him on my couch, if he could get his mind off his ex-wife for twenty minutes or so, something about him protecting her shitty blog got me all hot and bothered, he’s got some spunk in him.   I ❤ spunk.

 

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