Venn diagram of dating

Inevitably on a first date the guy will look at me near the end and say something along the lines of "You're so normal! And cute! Why are you still single?" which just shows how perceptive most men aren't.

I've decided to make this handy Venn diagram of dating to whip out when asked this stupid question. Seriously, I am going to print it out on cards. The tiny red dot in the middle represents the intersection of required attributes. On the cards I will add a caption that says "Are you here? Probably not, if I have to show you the card."

You're welcome.

Clouds of Evil

So, I'm about as even-tempered as as a grizzly bear. Well, imaginary grizzly bears - I don't spend a lot of time with scary ass wildlife so I may be projecting here, but I imagine grizzly bears are either happy or pissed off, which is pretty much how I roll. My emotions are pretty freaking far from complex. Here's a pie chart!

That's me up there. Usually I'm in the pink, rarely am I blue, but sometimes I am red hot. I know how to deal with all of these states. Every once in a while, so rarely that it doesn't even register on the Mood Pie, something else happens - and it always confuses me. This happened to me last week.

The day started normally enough - with me waking up to my demon cat in my face, standing on my boobs, and yelling at me.

He's really sweet actually, he's just a complete asshole in the morning. So I got up and wandered into the bathtub, totally happy that it was a work from home day. Work from home = bubble bath before the calls and drama start. Work from office = flailing around with makeup, packing food for the day, trying not to step on demon cat with heels, and suck ass commute. I should draw that later, it will be cathartic. Anyway. Bath.

So nice! After a bath I'm usually awake enough to make coffee without burning the house down. Unless, of course, the kitchen has managed to COMPLETELY REARRANGE ITSELF overnight.

The cabinet knobs were totally out of reach. I couldn't find the cinnamon. The coffee had been sucked into an alternate universe and replaced by inexplicable and illegible symbols. And the asshole cat was starting to get on my nerves. I convinced myself the housekeeper was to blame.

Coffee-less and crabby, I started to work. This didn't go well. Everything everyone said was irritating, like nails on a chalkboard or bees in your clothes, all at once. Nothing on the internet was working. BFF was instant messaging me gibberish (she really wasn't. Everyone was innocent. Except the clown babies).

The world was just all wrong. What was happening here? I started getting irritated with everything. All the irritations built up until I was surrounded by a Miasma of Rage.

While demon cat tried to sharpen his claws on my ankle I realized that everything couldn't have started to suck all at once. Something must be going on here, some evil force was at work. I stopped grumpily messaging BFF and tweeting assy nonsense and decided to figure out what was causing my panties to get so twisted. I took a deep breath and looked outside....

And found the problem. Cloudy days do not make me blue, they make me PURPLE. Like stinging insects are invading my skin. I'm not talking about pretty white fluffy clouds in a blue Texas sky, either, or the kind of clouds that bring rain and thunderstorms (mmmm thunderstorms). I'm talking about heavy, oppressive, completely pointless fucking clouds that produce NOTHING but pain and misery. They screw up the air pressure, they refract light, they turn the sky weird colors and make the grass all wrong, they STAB MY EYES and invade my brain with irritation. Their sole purpose is to ruin my day and make everyone tense. Maybe they are tense because I'm grumpy and stressing them out or maybe they are susceptible to the gas of irritation these clouds put out - what the fuck ever. All I know is, on a day like this, do not talk to me. Everything will sound wrong.

I closed my curtains, took some advil, put in a Buffy dvd, and shut out the sky. After that I could function again.

On Friendship

I have two friends who don't get along anymore. Let's call them Taco and Cake.

I love them. Taco is crunchy, spicy goodness. When I first met her I was drawn by how crazy intense she was. Taco is really smart and loves to party.

Taco introduced me to cake. Cake is lush, and sweet, and quiet. She is chocolatey awesomeness. If you're sick, cake will bring you a treat and rub your back for you. Cake listens to your problems and is always on your side. Cake is always there for you.

One day Taco was having some serious personal issues. Like most of us, she is a normal taco person, trying to find her way in the world. She may have a hard outer shell but she's not impervious. She started talking about some of her difficulties.

Cake jumped in and offered some unsolicited advice.

Taco, like me, is NOT a fan of unsolicited advice. She was also having the kind of trouble where she really needed reassurance that it is OK to be herself. Tacos are awesome. She need a Taco hug and some affirmation...it wasn't a tough love moment.

Taco got pissed off.

She put her shell back on and geared up for war. I watched, horrified, as Cake and Taco battled it out. Things were said, actions were taken. It was awful. Taco entrails and cake crumbs went flying.

Cake and Taco don't talk any more. It's over. I still hang out with Cake, and Taco and I are buds, but they don't get each other at all. Taco can be a little prickly but sometimes that is what you want. Other times your sweet tooth demands chocolate cake. But now, if you put them together, it just ends in a giant stomachache. I don't want them to be cranky that I still see the good in each. I wouldn't be able to choose between them.

Because friendships are complicated. Your friend is never going to be exactly who you think they should be, they won't act all the time like you want them to act, and they aren't always going to be, for you, exactly what you need in a friend. That's why we need multiples of them. I need the one who is always going to tell me the truth, and the one who will give me a hug when I'm blue, and the one who challenges me to make me think or to be a better person or to stop wearing the same fucking nail polish color all the time. I need the friend that makes me know it's ok to be me and the friend that makes me feel safe enough to get crazy when I need that too.

It's not ok for friends to damage each other, but sometimes that happens. We brush up each other in this life and hopefully it enriches us as people, but sometimes it leaves bumps and bruises and chips in our armor. I don't think friends should be cruel to each other. A true friendship is one in which you can be honest and open and know how to say true things when the other person is ready to hear them and in the way they need to hear it. One thing I've learned in my years of friendship is that it's my job to try to BE the best friend I can be and give my friend what she needs - and it's also my job to accept her for who she is, flaws and prickly bits and mushiness and all.

Too High

The summer between high school and college was one big party. Friends, partying, boyfriend, working, etc. The only problem I had was trying to figure out the logistics of having sex with boyfriend since he lived with his parents and I was living with my best friend's family (long story). One night our friend invited us over to where he was housesitting for the weekend. I told my temporary family some obvious lie about sleeping over at a friend's house and started planning for sessytimes. I pictured a sultry scene with me lounging around and boyfriend getting ready to pounce on me.

But, of course, our friends were not on the same page as far as expecting me and boyfriend to use this opportunity to have crazy monkey sex as soon as we got there. We had to socialize. These were boyfriend's friends, and they all had something in common - something I had never tried before.

Our friend came out with some snacks. Everyone perked up at this.

I looked at the pot brownies and thought to myself - why the hell not. If I'm ever going to try drugs, it might as well be with boyfriend and friends of ours that I can trust. I mean these guys were high all the time, they were way too stoned to ever lace the drugs with anything or try to do anything icky to me. I wasn't a big drinker and I'd never been drunk or even tried cigarettes. So I grabbed a brownie and took a tentative bite.

The next hour was a blur, a hazy montage of deep throating brownies and doublefisting joints. I'd been rolling joints for bf for months so I was a pro at that.

Oh yes - OH HELL YES. I suddenly became ravenously hungry and crazy horny.

I begged boyfriend to get me a burger. I was going to DIE if I didn't get a bacon cheeseburger RIGHT THE FUCK NOW. And then have sex.

So boyfriend saddled up and drove to the nearest Burger King. I went up to the room we were supposed to sleep in and started fantasizing about both my upcoming bacon burger and the crazy wild monkey sex. The excitement kept me going for about three minutes, and then....

I passed out. HARD. So. Hard. Boyfriend appeared with a bag of fast food and a giant erection and found me drooling on the borrowed bed. I woke up long enough to take two bites of burger and then fell back asleep. He went downstairs and continued to get wasted with the guys. I ended up with no burger, and no booty.

The moral of the story:

Fun with roommates!

My freshman year of college was awesome. AWESOME. You know that saying: "There's a time and a place for everything - and it's called college"? Yeah, that was me. I lived a very very sheltered life up until then, for reasons we won't get into right now, but I moved into this suite with four other girls, a bunch of boys next door, and tons of alcohol and weed and a roommate who used to trip balls regularly and it was nuts. I shared a room with a blond ROTC girl; in the second bedroom we had another blond girl (both blond girls were named Jenny. It was confusing.) and this awesome Samoan girl. In the 3rd bedroom was, again, a blond girl, but she was a super Northern California hippie with parents who worked in state politics. Her family had a big name in local circles, which of course meant they never had any money because they were always campaigning.

So, not blond roomate (Tepa) somehow picked up a boyfriend in another state. One of those states in the middle of the country? I don't know how this happened because chatrooms weren't real yet and online dating hadn't been invented - this was in 1993, kids, the world was a different place. She liked to call him and they would talk for DAYS. We had one phone in our dorm room and no one had cell phones yet. Think I'm exaggerating? Not so much. Check this out.

Tepa got on the phone with her boy. She sat in our living room, talking and glaring at us if we tried to sit out there. This was not a problem at first, most of us were in and out and doing someone.

We all eventually made it to bed and went to sleep...all except Tepa. She stayed up talking to Boy. I have no fucking idea what anyone has to talk about for so long, especially when they could be out drinking or getting a little bit high and experiencing the young virile males growing abundantly in the dorm halls like perky little party favors.

Eventually our hippie roommate wandered out and mentioned vaguely that she needed to use the phone. Her parents had screwed up some money thing but her next quarter's tuition was due, so she needed to call her politically hippie parents and wrangle some school cash.

Tepa was looking a little worn around the edges. She nodded at hippie roommate and gave some indication that she would be off the phone soonish and waved her off.

Hippie went into her room and smoked some substances. A short time later she remembered she needed to use the phone, and started to feel a little panicky.

Tepa flailed an arm at her, apparently to mean 'bitch, please, I will get off the phone soon if you leave me the fuck alone for a minute'. She had been on the phone for 15 hours at that point. I was wandering around with one of the other blond roommates (a Jenny) and thought, uhoh. This can't end well. Vodka?

Around 3PM hippie roommate tried again - for the last time. She had spent the last 2 hours sobering up and working herself into a cute little hippie righteous indignation and she stormed out, hair flying everywhere, and squeaked out a final demand for the phone.

Tepa flipped her shit and started screaming at her that she had to learn how to share the phone, that she would get off the phone when she was ready, and that spoiled hippie roommate would just have to learn to wait and like it. Hippie roommate said "Parents! Tuition! Deadline! Money!" and it degenerated from there. I was taking a 'nap'. I don't remember exactly but my 'naps' were always either alcohol- or boy-related, so there you go. I wasn't fated to 'nap' for long this time. Tepa flew across the coffee table like a deranged person and went after hippie roommate. I suspect that this was due, in part, to mental and emotional exhaustion for being on the phone for so long. Talking on the phone while eating, peeing, drinking, and not sleeping is not fun (I've had to do 3 day conference calls like this in my adult life - trust me - that shit will get to you eventually).

Tepa attacked poor hippie roommate.

I came running out with one of the Jennys and saw Tepa slamming our roommate's head into the coffee table. We were shocked and scared. People came running into our suite and the boys next door pulled Tepa off of her (she was a big big girl). The rest is a blur of ambulances and campus security but I remember that Tepa was still screaming about how 'that bitch needed to learn to wait for the phone'. It was surreal, and totally a Jerry Springer moment, and we were all ZOMG ROOMMATE CRAZEEEEE.

Summer was in the hospital but somehow her tuition issues worked out, Tepa was kicked out of the dorms and hopefully suspended for a quarter, and the story made it around campus.

Epilogue: Tepa called me 6 months later and tried to borrow money to pay an $1800 phone bill. She then called me a year after THAT asking for my credit card number so she could call a psychic to help her find her wallet. I moved into an apartment my senior year with two girls who said, after hearing what dorms I had lived in my freshman year: "OMG, did you know that girl Tepa?" Yes, yes I did. She was batshit crazy.

Please stop

The joy of dating sites - among other things - is the fact that you can message or wink at someone and if they are interested, they respond, but if they are not interested they can just politely ignore it. Most people understand this and just move on. Occasionally you'll get a real wacko who will berate you for not answering - because tying to force people to like you usually ends well - but 98% of the time it works out decently for everyone. If someone has really put a lot of time/effort into their message and I'm not into it, I might send back something polite but usually I hate to encourage someone if there is no chance. As most women have realized by now, some guys will take literally anything as encouragement.

Like this guy. Every time I've tried online dating I've had someone like this at least once. This guy takes your silence to mean 'please message me more, your attempts to woo me will eventually win me over IF YOU JUST KEEP AT IT.' I have no idea what he would do if I DID respond; possibly hunt me down and saw off my leg so he could hump it at home or, depending on how crazy he is, maybe lose interest entirely (yay)! More often than not, however, communicating just causes the crazy to escalate. As much as I enjoy a good confrontation, feeling as I do that it cleans out the pipes, I tend not to do so with clearly unstable males online who have access to my picture.

Anyway. Message #1 (remember, my OKC profile says You should message me if... "You aren't batshit crazy"). Also, I talk about bacon flavored popcorn, because if you've had it, you would too. This message isn't so bad:

"Bacon Flavored Popcorn!
Jul. 14, 2010 – 2:18pm No friggin' way!

I've heard of chocolate covered bacon but popcorn. Where do you get it? Do you have to meet some guy behind a convenient store? Hook me up!

:D,
(boy name)"

Slightly amusing, but the profile picture is creepy, not cute, and oddly lit. Like maybe his camera filter has been rinsed recently in blood (scary!). His profile is also really weird, and not in a fun way. So I ignore him.

2 days later, message 2:

"Watchadoin?
Jul. 16, 2010 – 10:18pm :)

(boy name)

I'm not Batshit Crazy. I know because I've dated Batshit Crazy and I'm not it. lol."

Thus proving that self-awareness is not a life skill he has managed to pick up along the way. More ignoring.

Yesterday, I updated my You Should Message Me section to add, underneath Not Batshit Crazy, the following: "You are an alpha male" and "You are not easily confused", because I am tired of the emails asking me what batshit crazy is.

Today I received message 3 from this poor misguided dude:

"So far I should still message you.
Jul. 20, 2010 – 7:56pm Batshit crazy. Nope
Alpha male. Check (but not type A)
And what was the last one? Uhh, wait, lemme look it up... Darn.

How 'bout two of three. :shrug:

;)
(boy name) "

AGAIN WITH THE MASSIVE FAILURE. You are batshit crazy if you continue to message a woman who is clearly, unequivocally, and adamantly ignoring the shit out of you. You are obviously confused if you think emailing her again is going to work. It won't.

I do not want to talk to you. I think it is horrible that I might have to respond to you to tell you that I don't want to talk to you. That feels all wrong and squicky and I don't want you to think that leg stealing/humping would be the next logical step in our non-relationship.

Please, just stop. Do not inflict your crazy on me because at some point I will be tempted to respond with MY crazy, which is a thing that you do not want.

Penis spam

Oh email spammers, why do you want me to take care of my penis? I do not have a penis. If I did, would I need your advice about it? Are they really so hard to take care of?

If I had a pet penis, I would keep it in a velvet box and take it for walks. I would never ever let the cats play with it



and I would keep it clean and train it as to appropriate penis behavior, such as not chasing cars or spitting up in front of company. I don't think I would get it any squishy friends to hang out with, mostly because they kind of freak me out.



Other than that? It would be on its own. Because if the penis needed any more care and feeding then it would be way too fucking high maintenance for me and I just don't deal with anything that needy. Also, penis email spammers, help me understand how people knew how to take care of their penises before email? Was there a secret snail mail mailing list before that? Smoke signals? Or did the penises just suffer in silence from substandard care?


Poor little guys. Sad penis! :(