Normally I would complain about having to spend Valentines Day in Austin, Texas, with the likes of Tucker Max. But considering he's helping me prepare my book for publishing, it's the best Valentine's ever.
Well, kinda ...
Friday night I was sitting alone at a coffee shop/bar in downtown Austin, drinking a spiked coffee while entrenched in the edits Tucker assigned me, when a guy plopped down in the extra chair at my table. In a deep English accent he introduced himself, I'm Eddie, whats your name?
I peered over my computer screen, Ummmm Brittney.
"What are you working on?" he asked.
My train of thought was completely ruined, and I was irritated that he'd so boldly interrupted me. What do you want, dude? I'm just working on the biggest project of my life and have five minutes to finish it. I'm not busy or anything.
But I tried to be friendly and threw some closed-ended answers at him: Some writings.
"Oh really ... what are you writing?"
He sat there for five minutes asking random questions that I responded to with one-word answers. Soon, a buzzer goes off I assumed it was coming from the noisy downtown streets beyond the open doors 10 feet from me.
OK, nice to meet you, he said, getting up from the chair he invited himself to sit down in.
Oooo K then, you too, I responded, rolling my eyes at him as he turns around to sit at another table where another girl sat alone. Maybe she'll want to talk to you weirdo.
The chair still warm from Eddie's ass, another guy moseyed on up and copped a squat. What is up with the guys in Austin? Is this standard procedure down here? The place is packed so maybe he just needs a seat. But he didn't even have ask. Chivalry is an endangered species, I swear.
Hey, Im Jim.
Apparently writing this blog makes me some sort of relationship expert, because it inspired an invitation from ESPNU to host a a Valentine's Day segment to school boys in how to survive Valentine's Day.
You can watch the segment here, but in synopsis, here are some words of wisdom to get gentlemen through D-Day. I mean, V-day ...
1. Well for starters, don't forget! Though, jewelry commercials certainly make it hard to forget about Valentine's Day. But help the economy (and yourself by making your woman happy) and partake in the Hallmark holiday.
2. Don't get a gift from a drug store or a gas station. Make us feel classy and get our box of chocolates from the grocery store at least.
3. No stuffed animals! ... unless you're shopping for a 10-year-old girl, which in that case would make you gross. Women make their beds with throw pillows as adults, not teddy bears.
4. Be creative when setting up the date. Besides, the more creative you get the cheaper the date gets. And be tactful don't take her to an expensive steak house if she doesn't eat meat.
Valentine's is typically a holiday geared toward couples and florists, but in all honestly, single men seem to actually reap most of the benefits from it. They can go out on Valentine's Day with the unavailable women already weeded out for them, leaving an assortment of single women looking for a little love, or loving whatever. And they don't even have to buy a present.Thus the single guys seem to be the ones who score the most on Valentine's Day. Pun intended.
According to the best-selling book by Tucker Max, Assholes Finish First because we all know the nice guy finishes last. The nice guys in the back of the line can confirm.
And according to another best selling-book, by Sherry Argov, Men Love Bitches. She even goes so far to tell you why.
So does this mean nice girls finish last, while bitches finish first?
I dont think either gender is exempt from this distorted phenomenon while the good girl goes after the bad boy, the nice guy likes the bad girl. It makes total sense.
When a person lets someone walk all over them, they will, whether they intend to or not and then lose respect for said person as theyre digging their heels into their heart.
I'm not even running in the race anymore you'll find me just driving around in circles, spinning my wheels while assholes like Kyle Busch keep winning. Why? Because Ive been too sweet to the guys Im sweet on. I translate into a welcome mat for them to walk all over.
And not just in the dating world either. People will ungratefully abuse my generosity, preying on it like its a weakness. Since when has being a good person made you a victim for bad people? But maybe theyre not the asshole for taking advantage of us were the assholes for letting them.
Speaking of assholes, Tucker Max actually makes an excellent point in his book, that men will give women as much respect as they demand they be given. If they care about you, they will meet those demands. If they dont, they wont. Simple as that.
I know I was way too nice to him, and he played me like I was a saxophone. I know I shouldnt have submitted to the situation of not being his priority, I shouldnt have pretended like it didnt bother me when he wasnt consistent, I shouldnt have stayed in the game when he was making then changing the rules. I shouldnt have answered his texts because he didnt pick up the phone and call. And I shouldve said, Fuck you very much, rather than thank him when he pulled a make-up sample kit out of a goody bag he got for free from an event, which was two shades lighter than my skin and said, I got you a Christmas present.
By caring about a person too much you give them leverage not to care. There's a thin line between nice and naive, and when walking it, it's easy to lose your balance just try not to lose your dignity while you're at it.
You dont have to be mean in order to show strength, but you can be more selective about who youre kind to only people who are kind to you. So no more giving more than you get, especially from someone who is selfish with your selflessness. So no more Miss Nice Girl! but Im still not going to be a bitch.
After holding out for 15 seasons, I broke down and started watching The Bachelor for the first time this season, merely because I know two of the girls on it Kim and Emily, both from Charlotte. And after DVRing the season thus far and even attending a Bachelor viewing party for the first episode to support Team Kim and Emily, I am still rather confused. Can someone please explain this show to me?
So let me get this straight There are 25 girls living in a house like sorority sisters, but are all fighting over the same guy? And he goes around making out with each of them until he decides which one he wants to marry?
Since when has winning a mans affection become an audition where you vie to make the cut? Do we like a challenge so much that were willing to make dating into a game show, literally?
A harem of women competing for one man on national television gives him the power to say, Any many miny mo, catch a ho with a rose.
The Bachelor is everything that is wrong with the world of dating.
So, I kinda freaked about turning 30 when it occurred to me that not only was I 30 years old my skin was, too. And it was showing its age far more so than my attitude.
I bought into the whole commercialized beauty is youth cultural confusion and started fearing age like it was a terrorist ready to attack. And I got brainwashed into thinking I needed to combat it.
When a commercial came on TV and asked, Are you tired? of having big bag under your eyes? I said yes. And then it told me to Stop the signs of aging! And I said OK, how much?
So I went to Sephora in SouthPark Mall to gift myself some magical youth creams. I convinced the woman at Sephora to give me like five sample tubes of the various eye creams laid out like tools in a chemistry lab, settling on a $75 five-ounce bottle of eye cream that I got because it made my eyes tingle. That means its working, assured the sales clerk.
I also got some Loreal AM and PM wrinkle filler and some fancy collagen eye gel while in Jamaica.
I tossed over $200 into the fountain of youth 2,000 pennies worth of wishes to retain my youthful glow and elastic skin. That was like investing in insecurities. And just like that, my paranoia of aging has turned into vanities.
I have a new-found empathy for bridezillas.
You spend all this money, time and effort into planning the perfect party. You coordinate it like a production, buy a new dress, and even put on fake eyelashes ... and then something goes wrong and your expectations became disappointments. You cant help but get pissed and being the center of attention makes it hard to disguise the fact that you are.
Well, my 30th birthday party was like my wedding and got to be so big it felt like it was, with the pressure of turning 30 bearing down on me like cold feet. I had 90 people joining me to the Bobcats game, and then we took a party bus from the arena to Butter, where I spent a week trying to coordinate everything from decorations and deliveries of party rentals.
My phone blew up the entire dinner from all the people from the game calling and texting asking me where Front Court is or that theyre running late and to leave their tickets at Will Call versus meet up with me before.
I spent my entire night making sure everyone else was having fun and then realized, I wasnt.
Thirty years ago today, I was being squeezed out of my mothers vagina. Well, actually I was being ripped out of her stomach via emergency C-section. Hence, I woke up this morning the big 3-0.
And I just discovered some new wrinkles under my eyes. Happy Birthday to me.
I dont really mind exiting my 20s, or physically aging even what I do mind are the people who put pressure on me to act my age.
Youre turning 30! You going to get married or become an old maid? are the birthday sentiments I seem to be getting.
For some reason, the age of 30 is viewed as some sort of relationship deadline especially in the South where Im like an endangered single species attending church every weekend to attend weddings, that is. What is the rush to the altar at 30? Our eggs do not have the shelf-life of dairy the expiration date extends beyond 30 years. Hell, my mom had me when she was 40 30 years ago, before fertility was a scientific experiment.
Turning 30 is such a big deal, apparently it's newsworthy and warrants the cover of the Living Section in the Charlotte Observer: Breaking News: I'm 30 and still single. Even Kim Kardashian did a feature in People Magazine about how she thought shed be married with kids before 30. But life doesnt always work out as planned does it, Kim. I figure Ill just play it by ear life that is.
Maybe I am missing a few screws, but there is no clock ticking (or eggs rotting) in my body. Im not going to put the settling in settling down just because I am a few years short of cougar status.
Now that Ive conquered all my adolescent fears, Ill do it better in my next 30 years wait, now Im just singing a Tim McGraw song. Well, Im going to enter this new decade with the intelligence and worldliness of a woman who has 30 years of life experiment. The 20s were just practice and the wrinkles on my face are from my laugh lines. They are just proof that I smiled a lot in my first 30 years.
So to me its not the dirty 30; its the flirty 30. And that means it's merely an excuse to throw a big party.
Recently, I received pictures of my niece from Christmas in Houston. And they got me thinking I remembered how excited she had been about making cookies to leave out for Santa. I thought about her tossing in her sleep with images of fairies and sugar plums dancing in her head, anticipating the next morning to see if shed garnered Santas approval.
That reminded me of how I felt before I learned that Santa wasnt real, and came to realize my parents had lied to me to make me believe in some fairy tale. I was heartbroken.
It then occurred to me: The thought of Santa Claus pisses me off much like the thought of my ex does.
What did Santa ever do to me? He never existed, thats what. Learning that he wasnt real was my first encounter with disappointments with men. And I think Ive been jaded ever since. Because while Santa wasnt the first fat old man to put me down, he certainly wasnt the last.
Two Decembers ago, I learned my boyfriend had another girlfriend and finding out that our relationship wasnt real took me back to that same feeling I had as a kid when I discovered the man I spent my childhood trying to impress was a phony. So are all men phonies?
Why do we project that Christmas hoax on our children? Is it to prepare them for disappointments in life? First comes the Santa discussion, when we ultimately learn that a man can disappoint us. Then theres the birds and the bees talk, when were warned a guy just wants to have sex with us. So what were Santas intentions for spoiling us?
As a child, I put my guard up, from the moment I learned the truth about Santa, and I havent really found a reason to put it back down yet. I fear the deceit of Santa has scarred me from believing that a good man really exists. Are they just figments of our imagination? But then again, toys did always end up beneath the Christmas tree.
I was having dinner one evening at my married friends house where the entertainment was listening to them argue.
Wife: YOU DIDNT FEED THE DOG! Youre so worthless! I went and got dinner for us and you cant even remember to feed the dog!
Husband: Im so sorry, I forgot. Ill do it.
Wife: I have to do everything around here (bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch)
And from there, the argument escalated, until I slyly interjected, Ill feed the damn dog!
Ive often noticed that some of my girlfriends treat their men in a way that they would never treat me: like a bitch-er. They bitch about the most insignificant things, such as taking out the trash or hoarding the remote basically that his head isnt inserted far enough up her ass. What I really want to say is: You have a man who loves you, and comes home to you every nigh. Who cares if he wanted to feed himself before the dog. By the time you sat there and bitched at him for it, you could have fed the dog yourself!
Perhaps Im just jaded from being cheated on and lied to so much that I dont really see chores as a relationship offense punishable by bitching. Like a survivor of a heart-attack, I dont take anything for granted, especially not a man whos loyal.
I wouldnt care if he pees all over the toilet seat, never washes one dish, and farts in his sleep, as long as he doesnt cheat on me everything else is compromisable. So here are a few things women should definitely not bitch about
1. The toilet seat. Men dont complain about us leaving it down, so therefore, we dont have the right to complain about them leaving it up.
2. Guy time. Just like you need your folic acid and calcium, he needs his dose of testosterone and if you trust him (which you should if youre with him), then why wouldnt you want some space to hang out with your girlfriends or yourself? Absence makes the heart grow fonder, so let him miss you for a few hours. And who cares if he comes home drunk, as long as he comes home to you (and didnt drive to get there).
3. What he wears. How he dresses is how he is. You try to change a man and hes going to change girlfriends. Imagine if he told you that dress made you look fat; same thing.
4. Money. ?If you complain about him not making enough money, well, then why dont you just cut his balls off while youre at it. Men often feel like they need to be the provider in the relationship. As long as hes providing you with love and loyalty, dont complain about whats in his wallet.
Remember, he is a guy after all. So we should try and limit our bitchiness to once a month when were menstruating. Were at least entitled to it then.
Why do folks say cut a rug? Most dance floors are hardwood. Shouldnt they say, "cut a wood"? Just saying. And speaking of wood and dance floors dance floors are for dancing, not poking. Holla if you hear me ladies.
As a former choreographer, NFL cheerleader and dance teacher, I would be remiss not to share a few dance tips with the fellas so that they don't confuse dancing with sexual harassment.
Rules of the dance floor, so you can be the ruler of the dance floor ...
1. You should get down on the dance floor, not up. I get that dancing is a vertical expression of a horizontal wish, but no boners should be permitted on the dance floor! When you are grinding behind us to Baby Got Back we can feel it, on our back. The only time its appropriate to poke girls you want to flirt with is on Facebook.
2. Please refrain from humping our legs. We are not dogs. You dont sniff our ass to see if were in heat.
That is one major difference in men and dogs men dont want their mates to be in heat.
3. Like Will Smith said in the movie Hitch, This is where you live. Alcohol does not give you rhythm but you dont need to be able to dance. Chances are if you just stand there, some woman will come up to you and start grinding on you like youre a stripper pole.
So, what have we learned?
Now I get why they made you dance ruler length at middle school dances. Otherwise, it'd be a bunch of 15-year-old boys walking around with boners with 13-year-old girls not knowing what they are. I actually learned about the birds and the bees at my first middle school dance when this 7th grader gave me my first kiss while we were slow dancing to Boyz II Men. He went to slip me some tongue with his mouth wide opened and BURPED in my mouth! He effin' burped in my mouth; I almost choked on the bubble. I can still taste the Spaghetti-Os he had for dinner.
Consider that another dance floor rule. Actually that is more of a commandment: Thou shall not burp in a girls mouth.
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