The PERFECT man

Mutha Fuckin Cats

A single girl in her 30's: go ahead and dig a ditch and throw me in it.  Wait, what?  What the hell am I thinking?!  Oh, I know, I'm thinking women are crazy because men are idiots and all those years I thought my older friends were nuts, well, turns out they are fuckin nuts - but with good reason.

Pimpin ain't easy but for fuck's sake - being an unattached woman in this schizophrenic city is fucked, too.  I see tons of young men running around, looking dapper, looking for trouble.  I see tons of young women, sauntering to and fro, waiting for trouble to find them.  How the hell is it all these folks aren't meeting up?  One theory is that only the tiniest segment of people - the incredibly attractive - have enough confidence to actually speak to the opposite sex.  The other 98% of us are so grossly aware of the possibility of rejection that we keep our eyes lowered and immediately look away in fear, when we do accidentally make eye contact with other humans.  This protectionist tactic does make it rather difficult to meet those of the opposite gender.

My assortment of female friends runs the gamut, from the average, pretty girl next door, to the exotic "where are you from?" to the tall and malnourished modelesque type that turns all the heads in the bar.  It's not just the average of us having trouble meeting men...it's all of us.

Do you know there's nothing interesting on Missed Connections tonight?  I mean, at least a ridiculous Missed Connection makes you feel like there's the possibility of romance - that men do actually have souls beneath their stoic, lifeless demeanors.  But even the Missed Connections is a sad and lonely place tonight.  What's a girl to do?  I'm gonna start buying some mutha fuckin cats.

That's right world, I tried.  I was nice and kind and silly and unique and what?  Oh, everyone's unique and wonderful?  I'm not a diamond in the rough with charming nicks and chips that someone might love?

More likely, and similar to the remaining 98% of us who are pretty average, I'm just having a rough day.  I'll go to bed, sleep in then make a nice, hot cup of strong coffee.  And then I'll wonder where the fuck all these cats came from.

As Scarlett said, tomorrow is another day.

The Buddha in the Yellow Cab

There are some tiny, miniscule moments that are more than enlightening.  When a stranger manages to warm your soul you feel the world is right.  You forget about cruelty and wind and rain and feel only the sun.

Getting into a cab, which didn't completely pull over, making it unclear if the driver was actually picking me up, I noticed the driver was occupied on his phone and paused just long enough to allow me to offer my destination.  I pulled out my phone to amuse myself, assuming there was no polite chit-chat to be had, when the driver ended his call.  He was at least 65 but could have been closer to 95 and originally from Pakistan, which I found out later in our conversation.

"Fifth and Market, ma'am?"
Yes, thank you - Fifth and Market.

{Long Pause}

Has it been a busy morning?
"Oh yes, good this morning."

{Shorter Pause}

It looks like it's going to be a beautiful day - the sun is actually out this morning!
"Yes, beautiful today"

{The Pause that Turns into Silence - Yet Didn't}

"Ma'am, I must say, you are very beautiful woman - very beautiful."
Oh my gosh [uncomfortable laugh], thank you...?
"Yes, you are!  You are very beautiful, not just in your face but the way you stand also.  Your color, your nose, your lips, it is all...it all makes beautiful.  You have a soft face and with your color, very beautiful."

All this time I am awestruck, and slightly nervous - the driver is talking to me in the mirror, not really watching the road...

You're very kind, I say, as I try to laugh off his kindness, "I'll have to tip you very well - I'm happy to pay for compliments!"

"No, no!  I say because is true.  Look (as he pulls out a receipt to show me the tip on a $95 fare), I don't talk to this customer.  He tips me well anyway.  Some are beautiful, and we are saying "is beautiful", but not all are beautiful, and we are not saying..."

He then slowed down to point out a women, who I believe he was saying wasn't beautiful, but without saying so - it was more a comparison of two dissimilar objects.  He said, "See...that color...eh...and we are not saying is beautiful.  But you are!  Go home: in the mirror for 10 minutes...you will see each part: nose, cheeks, color, and then you will see all is beautiful.  You will see it - you will see it yourself."

I wish I remembered more of what he said because it almost made me cry and certainly makes the top ten list of kindest things anyone has ever said to me.  And perhaps I'm easily scammed - for a few dollars more in a tip?  Seemed like so much effort for so little - for him.  I like to think he saw something I don't, and he saw even more deeply to tell me to look in the mirror.

I've heard there's a little Buddha in every one of us, but today I saw him in someone very clearly - and very brightly.  From those kind words I burn a little brighter today, tonight still, and the world is right.

Mercury Dreams in Retrograde

Fine.  I give in.  I'm so West Coast I blame my crazier than usual dreams on Mercury being in retrograde.

Admittedly, I'm a woman of a certain age: old enough to know better (but young enough to not give a damn). The inevitable dreams of childbearing were bound to occur.  The first such dream just occurred about a week ago, and that's where the true mystery of birth begins...

There was no husband around, I was to be a single mom.  I crouched over, old-school, woman in a rice paddy style; I reached down and held in my arms a beautiful, healthy 8lb...cocktail shrimp.  Yes - I had birthed a giant appetizer.

Generally one would be alarmed by giving birth to something non-human, however, I chuckled and held it in my arms proudly - because it was my jumbo cocktail shrimp.  I loved it so much.

Next Scene: I'm casually explaining to my mother how being unwed with a child - a monster cocktail shrimp-child - is totally fine because, as I rationalized it, "I always wanted a cat".  As I'm telling my mother not to worry about me and the future of my healthy baby I look over at it (it wasn't sexed, nor did it have eyes) and see my tasty bundle of joy morph into the cat I always wanted.  Again, instead of shock I was amused and laughed happily at my good luck - as I'd been saying to my Mom, "I always wanted a cat."

Final scene: I'm talking to a friend about my baby cat who's playing just outside my line of vision, again, maintaining that it was totally fine, that I was happy with having a baby crustacean that by some unseen power, transformed into a feline - and as I'm genuinely saying how happy I am I look over and my little kitten had blossomed into a beautiful little girl, with hair like mine when I was her age.

I laughed again at my wondrous luck.  And was happy.

Later, of course, I woke up wondering what the fuck!?

OK Cupid's Valentine's Day M*ass*acre

Yeah, yeah, it's Valentine's Day.

Lured in by foggy, sweet (sticky?) memories of the euphoric ecstasy of being love-drunk, I said fuck it and posted a profile on OK Cupid.

My hopes were not high but holy shit - what are you boys thinking with these fucktarded profiles?

It would seem there's a secret contest underway, as many of you appear to be vying for the title of World's Biggest Jackass.  But, for those gentlemen who are UNWITTINGLY contestants in this most epic of battles, I've come up with a helpful list - in the off chance that your goal is NOT to frighten off women and look like a total ass.

1. Webcam photos will, more often than not, make you look like a total creeper. 
2. Webcam photos taken in a basement will make you look like a total creeper who, more likely than not, has human heads stored in the freezer. 
3. While you might think a reference to sex in your user name is helpful, it's pretty unnecessary. Take a moment now to ask yourself if you have "69", "lick", "casual sex" or "ass man" in your user name. If the answer is yes, it's time to think of a new user name...or move your personal ad to Craigslist. 
4. Punctuation is good. Commas and periods prove you have some schoolin' (like, at least 6th grade schoolin')
5. You can leave your shirt on. We know you want to be naked but that happens later...much later. (Or realistically, in your case - probably never).
6. The drunk douche-bag photos are better saved for a third date - you don't want to lead with such compelling evidence from your mantastic nights out with your bros. Keep those aces in your pocket.
7. Of course you're looking for a "sexy chick" but are your man boobs and receding hairline worthy?  Realistic goals are more easily attained and let's be honest - a date with an average girl is way better than jerking off in your Mom's basement.
8. Creeper status will also be earned from photos taken standing in front of a mirror - do yourself a favor and learn to use the self-timer function. Mirror photos scream, "I'm stupid and vain." Worse yet, they whisper, "block me...block me hard."

Following these basic guidelines should help you feign normalcy, make more connections - and most important, it will repel fewer women (like me).

Happy Valentine's Day!

Lucky 27 - It's Written In the Stars

The magic of the season is in full effect - mix that with MUNI and here's what you get...

I'm getting on the bus and a guy says, " 'scuse me...I gotta ask, what size shoe do you wear?" I just repeat the question and then laugh in amusement.  He then sits across from me and I'm thinking, there's no way I'm going to get to ride home in peace and quiet.  I'm going to have a very odd conversation (in 3, 2, 1...)

"Ahh, I'm sorry - it's just that you have some really nice feet.  And you know, some people say that the size of your feet - or hands (Holy shit! Is he really going there? Do I look like a man?) - corresponds to their patience level.  So, I just noticed you have nice, small feet (yeah, tiny, sexy SIZE 9 feet - far more suitable for a hobbit than a human female) but, you know, your patience...it's kinda...(insert mental image of the "iffy" hand signal, also known as "ehh...", "so-so", and "kinda").  He didn't know that that instance was the most patient I've ever been with another human.  I laughed and just said, yeah you know, I don't really think of myself as being a very patient person.  "You know, it's those small (hobbit) feet you got."  That explains it.

- 20 seconds of awkward silence -  

"Uh, hey - what sign are you?"  This is gonna be awesome.  "What sign am I?"  "Yeah, you know, what's your astrology sign?"  Like any self respecting fire sign, I told him he was going to have to guess.  First he guessed Pisces (totally logical, I've always wanted to be a mermaid), I said nope.  Then he thought about it and really studied my energy and said, with a fair amount of self-doubt in his voice,"You're not a Leo...?"

"Ha!  I am a Leo!  Good guess."  Turns out my new friend (who, I'm guessing, suffered a severe head injury at some point in his life) is super into astrology and gets vibes off people.

While clearly off, he seemed harmless enough so I went along for the ride, "So, you're into astrology, huh?".  "Yeah, I like to read about it sometimes and I can tell, from peoples' energy, what their sign is, and their patience level."  Again he makes the "iffy" hand gesture with relation to my patience level.  "But Leos, you guys can get bored easily.  You're always looking for something new to do, you know, like where's the party?!"  I admitted that I can get bored but said I wasn't a big partier.  He responded by saying, "well, you're not a big party person but when you're in the mood, you're in the mood - and people notice.  They're like, she's in a good mood and everyone knows because your energy is so bright."  Oh, really...

The sharing continues. "The good thing about Leos is you gotta get all the exercise you want (huh? who wants to exercise?) because you like to sleep in and can kinda, you know,..." Again, I'm getting the "ehh" hand motion.  I laugh, "Yeah, I can be pretty lazy...I definitely like to sleep in and just chill out..." "An' that's cool, an' everybody likes to spoil themselves but you have to be sure to take care of yourself, too.  But Leos do like the good things in life."

- 10 seconds of awkward silence -

"You'd be good with a Taurus guy."
"Really?  That's crazy, both my parents are Taurus' and they are the most stubborn people I know (well, other than me).  I don't think I've ever dated a Taurus."
"Yeah,  Taurus or Sagittarius - another fire sign - 'cause they'd keep you entertained and going out to check out new things..."  He then told me he was an Aries (another fire sign), although he didn't recommend I'd be good with an Aries. ;)

His stop was before mine and he wished me a good night before pausing and deciding to ask me my name.  I introduced myself and he told me his name was Lawrence and shook my hand.  Along with his name, Lawrence gave me laughter, inspiration, the desire to look inward and a silly smirk I can't wipe off my face.

It's funny to think where inspiration comes from.  It's just dumb luck really.  How this guy made me laugh so much, after starting the interaction by telling me I have no patience for people, and then, that I have a tendency toward laziness, is beyond me.  Perhaps it was the hit to the head he took, but despite the funny observations, he seemed rather taken with me, and just earnestly wanted to share his perceptions.  And I'm glad he did.

Who knows, maybe I'd be good with an Aries?

Blue Cheese & Honey

Many a time I've pondered the inner power I possess to attracts freaks - my freak magnetism, if you will.  Tonight, after devouring a gluttonous portion of blue cheese drenched in honey, one such freak pinged me on Facebook.  Said freak had pursued, pursued, pursued, was granted an audience, then cancelled via text an hour and fifteen minutes prior to the audience.  Nary a phone call was received to apologize or reschedule, yet said freak continues to ping me with ridiculously juvenile greetings like, "Hi cutie" and the even harder to resist (God, keep me strong!), "Hey."

How Honey fell across Blue Cheese for the first time, I truly do wonder.  Did Honey try Swiss?  Gouda?  Did she give it a go with Manchego before she met Blue?  Maybe she tried Swiss a few times.  Swiss is interesting, foreign.  Swiss has depth, texture - is slightly nutty (and who doesn't love a little nutty?) and makes her smile.

But before she could meet Blue, Honey must have gotten some good advice.  Someone must have said, "Honey, Gouda smokes - and you don't work well with smokers, you know this.  Swiss just isn't all there - and you need substance, consistency, you know this.  You're absolutely amazing - you're sweet and golden and you sparkle.  You've gotta learn to say, 'You don't deserve this much pleasure!' and save yourself for someone who deserves the delicious happiness you offer."  Honey was lucky to know such a ham.

Taking a lesson from Honey, I will announce (in the depths of my secret heart) to any freaks I attract, "You don't deserve this much pleasure."  I am sweet, I sparkle, I have a heart of gold.  And if I'm feeling bitter I may add that they have missing parts and smell like smoke.

You don't deserve this much pleasure, Gouda.  There's plenty of Blue Cheese out there.