Monthly Archives: November 2011

Want to Eat More? Be a Dinner Whore: A Look at the Financial Benefits of Modern Day Dating

I once had a date at a Waffle House. I know what you’re thinking. Waffle House is the perfect mixture of class and trash, with the type of dreamy atmosphere only a true romantic like Scott Peterson could appreciate.  Nevertheless, I was living in Tennessee where I knew few people and was somewhat desperate for any peer-to-peer interaction, outside of the confines of my apartment complex’s laundry room. I had been up all night, solitarily working through a bottle of wine and watching “Superbad” on FX for the second time in a row. So when “he”, we’ll call him Bernard , contacted me to see if I wanted to go out, my slightly inebriated self, agreed. We texted for awhile and determined that there are not many reputable establishments still open at 4am. So he suggested Waffle House.

We met around 4:30, where I had a single order of hash browns, and he a sausage concoction with a yellow substance, hardly recognizable as eggs. We laughed, we talked, he told me I was sassy, I told him he talked funny. Great times. But when the bill came, things got…awkward.

Discount-Dining with Bernard                                                                                                                                                                          A Dramatic Scene

Stunningly, beautiful twenty-something woman, LENA sits at a booth, with below-average twenty-something man, BERNARD. They are laughing and flirting, enjoying their spontaneous date. STEREOTYPICAL SOUTHERN WAITRESS approaches.

STEREOTYPICAL SOUTHERN WAITRESS:  Ya’ll best be payin’ this here bill. Ya’ll holler at me when ya’ll got ya’ll money ready, ya’ll.

In all of his Southern manliness, BERNARD grasps the bill. LENA begins to dramatically shuffle through her purse, making evident her lack of gold digger intentions, while pretending to search for her wallet.

LENA: How much is it?

BERNARD: $4.17.

LENA: Now that’s a cheap meal!

BERNARD, LENA, and CHORUS: Hahahahahahahahaha

BERNARD: Yeah, you gotta love Waffle House.

LENA: Absolutely.

Taking notice of BERNARD’s concentrated stare, LENA stops her phony search.

LENA: What?

BERNARD:  You got this right?

LENA: The bill?

BERNARD: Yeah.

LENA: Are you serious?

BERNARD: I don’t have any money on me.

BERNARD shrugs, as if on cue for a sitcom laugh track. But no laugh track comes, and the CHORUS is unresponsive.

LENA: What do you mean you don’t have any money?

BERNARD: I left my wallet in the car.

LENA: So you didn’t have to pay?

BERNARD: No…

LENA visibly ponders her next move, scratching her chin, and squinting her eyes.

LENA: You said it’s in the car?

BERNARD: Yeah, but…

LENA: I’ll wait.

LENA crosses her arms and leans back in the booth. BERNARD stares at her, forehead wrinkled in shock. Awkward silence prevails, and LENA, in her lack of shame, allows it to continue in the direction of discomfort.

BERNARD: You have money right here. You really want me to go get it?

LENA: Yes.

After another minute of increasingly uncomfortable eye contact, BERNARD sighs, angrily, and exits the restaurant. A minute later he returns and pays the bill. As BERNARD and LENA part ways he said he would call, she laughs, and they never speak again.

End Scene

Now, to clarify. I am not the type of girl, who thinks a man always has to pay, though I do appreciate the tradition. I am however, the type of girl, who thinks a man who intentionally goes out of his way to avoid paying, is the type of man who should. I have never gone on a date without my wallet, with the assumption that the man will pay. But let’s face it, he always does. In fact, unless I insist on splitting it, I don’t think I have ever gone on a date where the guy didn’t insist on paying. My brother, a man, once told me to “take advantage of being a girl and enjoy free meals.” This is what I, and many girls, generally do.

However, today while sitting at a local bistro drinking a self-purchased coffee, I scoured a Yahoo Article about a woman who used match.com to secure enough dates, to pay for her meals for a month. My initial reaction was something like “damnnnn gurl, straight up trippin!” But after fifteen seconds of consideration, I was more like “dammn &*%$@#, straight up &*%$@#!!!!”

According to the article, the “woman” is receiving both praise and criticism for her sleazy, backhanded approach to personal finance. While as a woman, I can see the appeal of doing this, as a feminist who also happens to love men to a fault, I find it obnoxious and totally arrogant for the following reasons:

  1. Tradition is not an opportunity for freeloading. When a man pays for dinner, he is gambling on getting something in return, whether it be sex or just a second date. While you don’t necessarily owe him this just because he paid for dinner, it is understood that he isn’t paying so you can maintain your generic, twenty-something female lifestyle of weekly spray tanning and daily $8 Starbucks purchases.
  2. Tradition is not an opportunity to pay off debt. According to the article, this woman was a twenty-three year old New York City resident, with credit card debt and high rent. She developed this plan so she did not have to pay for meals and could pay off her debt sooner. While I appreciate her reasoning, I don’t appreciate the fact that she is leeching off of other people to do it. Though I have no qualms with actual prostitution (work it girl), I find this approach unapologetically scum-sucking.  They are your bills. If you can’t pay your bills, get a second job. Don’t just give them in Olive Garden parking lots.
  3. Don’t use dating as a guise for your dinner whoredom. Call it what it is. If you are looking for a “sugar daddy” just say that. Don’t pretend you are dating. Don’t drag other people into it, with their baggage, financial troubles, and evident desperation for actually wanting to date you.

When it comes to dating, there aren’t many advantages of being a woman. Women are expected to look good all the time, with razor burn and waxed eyebrows, while pretending the biological clocks in our heads are not bombastically ticking in our ears anytime we have a decent conversation with a single man. It’s exhausting. Why must certain women deteriorate the only perk we still have? Nobody, without a serious fetish, enjoys being used. When women use men for money or free meals, it is no better than men using women for sex. You can’t praise one and criticize the other. The more men think they are being used for money, the less they are going to spend on us. This is a growing epidemic.

So ladies, before you start filling out excel spreadsheets of the poor suckers you plan to stealthily rip off, I ask you to consider this. What if it was your brother, friend, or funny uncle attempting to woo a woman who was only in it for the free breadsticks?  Think about that.

Love,

The girl who wants more than free breadstricks

Happy Thanksgiving to All the Assholes I Know

In my family, giving thanks is a pressure-packed experience.  No matter which side of the family I am visiting, I feel unreasonably burdened to announce some profound reason to be thankful, that will on one hand encapsulate my intelligence, wit, and probability of getting to heaven, and on the other, not come off as cliché, mind-numbing, or worst of all “hack.”

You may be asking yourself, why? Why, Lena, are you concerned with coming off as a holiday hack? The entire purpose of giving thanks on Thanksgiving is to make up for a full year of not appreciating anything or anyone in your life. No matter what you claim to be “thankful” for, it is going to sound original and unique, since nine times out of ten it’s the first time you acknowledged it this year. And to you I say, true.

But this year, I am visiting my Dad’s side of the family. They are thoughtful, they are insightful, they excel at games like Taboo and Scattegories. They aren’t going to be impressed if I say I am thankful for NBC’s hit show “Parenthood” airing Tuesdays 10/9 central, or the giant one pound container of Sabra hummus now being sold at Wal-Mart. They will scoff. They will throw strawberry jam in my face and ham loaf in my eyes as they laugh me out of my grandparents’ house and into the cold, icy, atmosphere of a world where people say thanks for stupid things and Mitt Romney is a Presidential frontrunner.

But I don’t want to be in that world. Not when there are other options, like gracious appreciation and Ron Paul. No. This year I am going to blow their minds with thanks that are so original, so poignant, so “non-hack,” they will have no response other than to weep tears of joy for the fact that I exuded such wisdom during the fifteen seconds of floor time I have when going around the table.  Don’t believe me? Read on, suckers. Tell me this doesn’t make you cry:

Lena’s Thanksgiving Speech (to be read verbatim) at Thanksgiving Dinner

Family, friends, and relatives I only see once a year. We have all gathered here today, to show our appreciation and our thanks, on this loveliest of all fall holidays.  I am sure you are all anxiously awaiting the unveiling of my reasons to be thankful on this Thanksgiving 2011. So please, kick back, take a load off and put the load right on me, as I regale you with unnecessary descriptive detail of the number one thing I am thankful for this year.

This year I am thankful for:

Assholes.

Yes, I said it. Assholes. Not physical assholes, but euphemistic assholes. The kinds who speed up to pass you and then proceed to drop 15 miles below the speed limit for 9 miles of one lane traffic just to be, you guessed it, an asshole. The kinds who you haven’t talked to for several months or years but email you at random just to tell you that you misspelled something in your Facebook profile just to be, you guessed it a condescending asshole. I think you grasp my meaning.

But the thing is I have come across a lot of assholes this year; and not just petty, douchebag types as described above. The assholes I know, don’t mess around when it comes to being an asshole. They are real, serious, no-nonsense, “I act like this year round, go swallow some lighter fluid if you don’t like it,” kinds of assholes. Assholes who give buckets of rotten fruit as gifts to people recovering from heart attacks. Assholes who get involved with you just to have their girlfriend text you a few weeks later. Assholes who leave their wife and screw around with someone else while their wife pays for the mortgage, debt, and marital costs on her own. Assholes who go to the doctor, just to ensure one more day of being an asshole. I think you grasp my meaning.

The only explanation I have for the abundance of assholes I know in my life, is that I too, am probably an asshole. But that is another issue, for another holiday. Probably Easter.

On this holiday, Thanksgiving, I say I am thankful for assholes. I am thankful because, if it were not for the assholes in our lives, we would not have any ability to appreciate all of the non-assholes we know.  Because of them, we always have someone worse to compare our friends, family, spouses, and co-workers to, who will make those freeloading jackasses seem like a good deal.

So this Thanksgiving, don’t give thanks for your mediocre husband. Give thanks for your previous asshole boyfriends who messed you up so much you are willing to settle and even be thankful for some second-rate toolbag, instead of someone awesome.  Don’t give thanks for your obnoxious but reliable friends. Give thanks for the asshole people you knew years ago who lowered your expectations so far that you are willing to tolerate some boisterous loser instead of someone fabulous. In short, give thanks that the people in your life, aren’t as bad as the assholes who aren’t.

So? Tears of joy? Tears of Rage? Tears of boredom? I don’t care! Because you know what?  I have achieved the impossible. For the first time, in all of my years, my Thanksgiving thanks is NOT going to be hack! It is going to be interesting! Funny! Insightful! In desperate need of censorship! Regardless, I have fulfilled my duty, now it is time you fulfill yours.

“What are you, dear readers, thankful for this year?” I ask aloud in bemused wonderment. Could it be me? The girl with the blog? I doubt it. I’m the only one thankful for assholes. But share with me and share with the world. Or don’t share at all. I don’t care anyway.

Love,

The girl who is thankful she managed to cleverly make two references to The Band in one blog posting.

PS: Find both references and I will think life is a carnival.

PPS: I just made three.

PPPS: Happy Thanksgiving, Holla.

Why Gay Marriage Should Never Be Legalized and America ROCKS!!!

Anyone who knows me in real life knows that I am quite the radical. I use Splenda in place of sugar, put away my socks without matching them, and call people fascists just for fun. But there are some societal issues so outlandish in nature, so ridiculous in sentiment that even I have to put my foot down.

I didn’t say anything when women got the right to vote or when blacks and whites were integrated. I simply turned the other cheek and accepted that evil can’t always be prevented. But now as I stand here today, on the precipice of change for millions of homosexual Americans, I bite my tongue no more.

The passion I share for beard conservation is no match for that I feel for the conservation of marriage as we know it in our hearts and Bibles. So please, before deciding to support the extremist notion that “marriage is about love,” read my four reasons and thorough explanations of why that has no merit in the U.S.A!!!!

Misrepresentation of American Ideals – America is the greatest country on Earth. We love the apple pie that makes us fat, the baseball players who make more than our teachers, and the freedom to elect  lobbyist-abiding politicians. We have our priorities straight. Why cloud it with all this equality business? We already have a mildly black, foreign-born President. What more do these commy, bleedin’ hearts want? Think about it, people. If homos have the same rights as heteros, what’s to stop women from having the same rights as men? We are one gay wedding away from equal pay for equal work, and the deconstruction of the sociological structure of America. Is that what you want? To see our nation collapse? Yeah, I didn’t think so. So let’s forget all this equality nonsense and get sight of what truly matters in America; football, fake boobs, and apathetic citizenship.

allowed to marry

Sanctity of Marriage – Somewhere along the line, these “gays” got in in their bedazzled heads that marriage is something to be taken seriously. With all of the televised weddings and reality TV shows resulting in staged marriages, I’m not sure where they got this idea. But if committed gay couples are allowed to get married, what will that do for the dwindling sanctity of the union itself? After all, marriage isn’t about lifelong commitment, or taking a vow under God. It’s about TV ratings, million dollar paychecks, and image reconstruction after releasing a sex tape. If gay couples who value marriage so much they want to fight for it can actually get married, then how will American culture ever manage to diminish the meaning of the union altogether Do you want to undo all the hard work of Kim Kardashian, Britney Spears, and those two rabbits I saw getting married once on the local news, in deteriorating the meaning of marriage? I knew you’d come around.

not allowed to marry

Weakening family values – America is a traditionalist nation. Ask the majority of Republican politicians and they will say, from the comfort of their campaign hotel room, that family comes first. Family, as we know it in America, is a man, a woman, two and half children, a divorce settlement, and shared custody, with a few guilt purchases of rescue puppies thrown in the mix. This traditional, nuclear family model, is essential to seaming the fabric of our nation. You can’t just mess with it because a couple of bi-curious sorority girls decided to keep up the charade after the camera was turned off. Really, people. America is better than that.

Procreation – It may go without saying but, like, two dudes can’t procreate. Without procreation, what other purpose does marriage or sex serve for that matter? If you can’t contribute to overpopulation, you don’t deserve to go into debt for a wedding. While we’re at it, I propose we add sterility and fertility testing to heterosexual couples interested in saying “I do.” If they can’t have kids, they can get off the marriage bus and head to China where unwanted kids are plentiful and politically correct to adopt.

So there you have it, readers. All the reasons you will ever need to shun the rights of our homosexual neighbors. And if you ever run into one of those liberal SOB’s that support gay marriage, point them to my blog and remind them that this is America, where we like our businessmen fed, our children hungry, and the rights of our peers ignored.

Love,

The girl with a fake Facebook marriage to her dog

Bearding Out All Over the Place: A One Woman Effort For Beard Conservation

“If it weren’t for beards I’d probably be a lesbian.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           -Lena aka the girl with the blog (November 2011)

Beards. What is there to say about beards that has not already been said by me in a previous blog entry? Plenty. So today I am devoting the English language and my blogging efforts to beards. Why? Because I’m bored, unemployed, and considering taking testosterone injections just to have my own to play with. Join me on a journey of love, lust, and rabid devotion to the beard; the single characteristic responsible for my checkered past of dating Republicans.

In order to prepare you, dear readers, for the stimulating voyage of beard worship, I am going to share a few of my own, creative writings about beards, featured in my upcoming self-published literary debut “Strip down, you’re rocking a beard,” available now in my imagination.

I will start with two Insightful Acronyms Marking Profound Appreciation Toward Helping Erotic Traits Indefinitely Continue (IAMPATHETIC)

I cannot hide my love for Ryan Gosling or his beard

Basic

Essential

Attributes

Rugged

Dudes

Share

Beastly

Erotic

Armor

Rousing

Dames’

Seduction

Right, right? Not even a little creepy that I wrote these…eh hem.

Just the type to score a date with me

I shall continue now with two traditional Haikus:

Whiskers in the Wind

Scratchy facial pubes

Bushy sexy jawlines please

Destroy all razors now

I’m in Stubble

Unemployed losers

Boring dates with nice goatees

Poor romantic choices

Now that I have sufficiently roused your shared passion of beards and frightened you to your core, I shall move on. Let’s take a look at:

Famously, Fabulous Beards Throughout History:

Early man rocking a beard

No one rocked a beard better than humanity’s common perception of early man. With that ravenous, facial frock, it’s no wonder cavemen and women hardly kept their clothes on.

Jesus

Jesus didn’t ‘eff around when it came to his beard. His constant access to fruity alcohol beverages wasn’t the only reason he was known as the LL Cool J of Nazarath.

(Ladies Love Cool Jesus, suckers!)

Abraham Lincoln

It wasn’t just his tall frame and “come hither” stare that drove the 1860 Electoral delegates into a passionate frenzy. It is a little known fact that after Abe’s 1865 assassination, Congress organized two memorial services in his honor; one for him, one for the beard.

George Harrison

Often referred to as”the quiet Beatle” George Harrison and his beard are the main reason I refer to him as “the sexiest Beatle.” I am so into his “Concert of Bangladesh” look, I found myself *gasp* waiting for Bob Dylan’s part to end, just to indulge on more of Georgie boy’s luscious facial locks. Myyyy Sweeeeet Lord!

Tom Hanks as Forest Gump

Tom Hanks knows how to sport a beard. He does a lot, frequently when vying for an Oscar. All I can say is this: Forest was a mentally challenged running enthusiast who scored a slutty chick like Jenny. One might question, how he could pull off such a feat? Exhibit A: Bearding out all over the place. And then we have Cast Away. Don’t know the character’s name, don’t care. What I do care about is his ability to manifest a loving relationship with an inanimate object. That takes a lot of finesse. A lot of skill. You know what else? A lot of beard.

 

 

Hope for a Bearded Future

As you can see, beards, both modest and unruly, have been a constant feature sexyifying men since the beginning of time. But as a young woman in 2011, I fear for the future of beards. With the constant feminizing of men, with chest waxing, mani-pedi specials, and bathing, I fear that men will rapidly decrease their beard harboring.  Frankly I don’t know if I want to bring my children into a world of baby-faced men, and if I can’t find an impressive enough beard, I probably won’t have the opportunity to!

So as a last stitch effort to promote the importance of beards, I ask all of you readers, who support my unhealthy obsession, to stand up now. If we are going to put an end to the fading popularity of the beard, everyone needs to chip in. Start by sharing this blog post with all of the non-believers of the world, promoting the conservation of the beard. If you know beardless men, particularly young ones in their 20’s, belittle their bare-face until they cry, followed by mockery of their tears and the reassurance that only growing a beard can secure their manhood once again. Do your part. I will do mine. And we can ring in 2012 with hairy faces and happy hearts.

Love,

The girl in need of psychiatric evaluation

42+ Days Since My Last Blog Post – Where for Art Thou Readers, Bitches?

Dear Literate Citizens of First World Countries,

The time has come for me to address you. I think it is safe to say I have lost all of the fans/organ donors I once had as result of this blog. It’s been a month and a half since I have posted something new and frankly I don’t blame anyone for jumping ship at my shoddy attempt at blogosphere stardom. I have let myself, my country, and my libido down.

I will not attempt to explain away my neglectful inaction; for there are no words sufficient in definition, or multisyllabic enough in pretentiousness to appease the disillusioned cries of my reader(s). I will instead use a method of defense learned only from experiencing the deeply trenched heartache of an abusive relationship: I will pretend that it never happened.

…So anyway, these past six weeks have been like, so totally, epic. I mean FAIL! What???? Oh no! Like everyone else I seem to have forgotten what those words meant before social media subculture belittled their worth and true definition. Are you lost? Get ready, suckers. I haven’t updated in 42+ days. Not much is going to make sense tonight.

It is November, for which I must say I am pleased. September and October were straight up bitches, headed for the must kill shelter. Here are just a few things that went down:

-I quit my job. Yeah, that’s right. The one I formerly bragged about with my great salary, private office, and increasing self importance. I quit. Why? Because when you live in a nation with a 10% unemployment rate, and you move 900 miles away from home and find a well-paying, professional job in three weeks, the only logical thing to do is quit without finding another one first.

this girl is clearly just a ho

-I left Tennessee and moved back to Pennsylvania. Yeah, that’s right. I threw in the towel on my Southern adventure right in time for winter. Why? Because when you live in one of the warmest regions of the country, the only logical thing to do is leave the everyday sunshine of a 70 degree fall

climate and move back to the north; the place responsible for your semi-annual contraction of bronchitis and daily weather-related depression. My tongue sticks to everything during a Pennsylvania winter and not just because I’m promiscuous, wink, wink ;)…sizzle.

-I found God in Kentucky. Yeah, that’s right. God resides in Kentucky and let me tell you, he is busy at work. Not only did he arrange to have several billboards of the Ten Commandments erected along the h

...as I cross into Ohio

ighway, but like the great debater he is, also followed up with a reminder of what is to come if we do not follow said commands with 10×10 billboard images of Hell and a “Welcome to Ohio” sign.

-I drove through Ohio. Yeah, that’s right. ALL of Ohio. First night I stayed in Cincinnati. Oh, Cincy. What can be said about thee? Cincinnati is like my waist: bigger than you would expect, but not something anyone is going to enjoy. Next stop Cleveland. For those of you who are not well-versed on Ohio geography, Cincinnati is in the southwestern corner of Ohio, directly diagonal to Cleveland in the northeastern part of the state. I had to drive five depressing, rainy, hours through Ohio, because I insisted on visiting the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

Now when I say I “insisted” I am lying. I didn’t insist. There was no one to insist to! I was alone, as I often am in life, love, and the bedroom…. FAIL! Lolz. What? Anyway. I arrived at the Hall o’ Fame, or “the hall” as the locals call it (no locals call it that). I spent 3 ½ hours there only to find an entire hallway dedicated to Jimi Hendrix and not a single window display for Bob Dylan. I am still composing a strongly worded letter to this so-called “establishment,” hoping to disembowel them of their title. Now don’t get me wrong, I like Jimi Hendrix. His seven minute career was very impressive. But Bob Dylan has penetrated the holes in my heart, impregnating my soul with his words. No person has ever loved another as much as I love him, not even Kim Kardashian and Kris Humphries. Fail!

Edie Sedgwick

-I have started to wear leggings, tights, or as I like to refer to them “fat highlighters.” Yeah, that’s right. I am “trendy.” However, before the unfashionable tar and feathering occurs, let me explain. I like to wear dresses. I wear them all the time, along with pearls, leopard print shoes, and 74 coats of mascara, so I can walk around pretending I’m a fat Edie Sedgwick. But during the winter months, my pasty legs can’t handle the elements. So I did the only logical thing – bought black tights! After all, nothing is more Edie than black tights, aside from highly toxic amphetamines and Lou Reed’s penis; both of which I am yearning to acquire.

As for the other 42+ days I was not writing, I can only account for some of them with the following activities:

-30 hours spent at Occupy Nashville

-2 hours spent watching “Kim’s Fairytale Wedding.”

-14 hours spent watching reruns of “Kim’s Fairytale Wedding.”

-Undocumented amount of hours spent smoking hallucinogen

-15 hours driving to Pennsylvania

-30 minutes eating a gas station taco salad in Cleveland.

-1 ½ hours a day watching Judge Judy with my mother.

-Infinite amount of hours regretting my TV watching and wondering how anyone could find me lovable.

But now that it is November, things are bound to change. I am applying to graduate school for next fall, have joined a gym, have rejoined the local writer’s group I rely on as my sole social outlet, am attempting to finish my novel before the year’s end, and spend my afternoon’s crying to reruns of One Tree Hill.

Still unbalanced, still writing, still the girl with the blog.

Love,

The girl with the blog that is never updated because the girl happens to be a lazy a**hole.