Ladies, have you ever noticed this pattern? You’re preparing to exit a social setting, ready to go home. You hug all the girls, make a round of waves, and head for the door and down the street alone. All of a sudden, a guy appears, offering to insure you get home safely.
“Let me walk you to your car” … “Do you need a ride home?”
But are guys doing that because they genuinely care about our safety — wanting to walk us through the dark parking garage, or drive us home safely (even though we’re more sober than they are?) — or do they just want to create an opportunity to make a move?
When you guys see a girl walking alone, do your chivalrous instincts kick in to run over and be her knight on a white horse who will protect her from the evil villains on the city streets? Or do you see an opportunity? An opportunity to talk to her in a more private setting, without competing with the high volume of the music or her friends. An opportunity to try and kiss her or convince her to go home with you.
Is there always an ulterior motive, or is our appreciation to you for our safety reward enough? Not to discredit the nice guys, but these days I’m having trouble telling the heroes from the hornballs.
Recently, I was helping my friend Jordan get all moved into her new apartment. We were moving furniture and spackling and sanding walls — home Improvements way beyond my “Tim the Toolman Taylor” skills.
It made me wish there was a service of men who came and lifted heavy things and fixed up things for single women — in exchange for pizza and beer.
For example, my new flat screen is just leaning against its box because I don’t have a boyfriend to hang it for me, and I cashed my guy friend’s favors in with helping me build a desk … following my emotional breakdown in the middle of Ikea.
CMT (Country Music Television) is seeking eligible bachelorettes for the Bachelor knock-off Sweet Home Alabama.
They've now found a bachelor in Alabama and are looking to cast ladies between the ages of 21-32 to compete for his love — and who can manage to get off work to for a four-week shoot at the end of August.
If you wish to fill out a national classified ad, then send the following to firstname.lastname@example.org (yes, they are really casting on Craigslist).
1. Name, Age, Career/Education
2. What is your goal / aspiration related to your studies or occupation?
3. Where did you grow up? City/Town and State. Make sure to include your parents names and occupations.
4. What traditions and values are important to you?
5. What qualities and/or characteristics make you a perfect catch? (Personality, Physical Attributes, Accomplishments)
6. What qualities/characteristics/values are important to find in the guy that you will one day marry?
7. Is marriage and starting a family a big dream or priority for you?
8. Be sure to include your Phone Number, Email, Facebook Page and any other web addresses you might have.
What are you waiting for ladies? Log off this blog and go apply to be the next Emily Maynard, whom I often see at the grocery store in Charlotte — on the cover of magazines.
I ran into Victoria's Secret in Birkdale to meet the deadline for my free cotton panty coupon. For a moment, I thought I had taken a wrong turn and ended up in the Catholic church when I looked up to see a nun shopping in the store with me.
A nun ... in Victoria's Secret.
I was out on a date with this guy from the financial world, and we were having basic first date conversations.
Him: What do you do for a living?
Me: Im a writer.
Him: I know, but like, what do you do for a living?
Me: "I am a writer.
Him: But like, how do you make money?
Me: I. Am. A. Writer.
is this guy stupid or just that corporate? I pondered on top of how I could end the date faster.
Him: So how much do you make?
Me: Do you want to know how much I weigh, too?
I told him, a mean estimate of my earnings as it varies month to month. His response
Him: That's it?! You could be making twice that if you worked in sales.
Oh. No. He. Didnt.
Have your pants ever been on fire? ... tell the truth.
I'll be honest: Though my pants have never actually been on fire, I have lied.
I was scheduled to work on a production for a show on USA filming here, starting early this Monday morning. But over the weekend, I was given an opportunity more important to me that would require me to quit this job, while the producer was traveling from L.A. to the East Coast. Not the most professional or polite thing to do, and normally I would have made up a lie to get out of it without looking bad or hindering this contact and connection.
But I figured it would be even more rude to lie, so I wrote him ...
Dear (dude from LA),
I want to tell you that I got some communicable disease, or that I need to get emergency surgery as that would be the only valid excuse for pulling out of the job last minute ... but that would be lying. Basically, I was offered a career and life-altering opportunity. But in order to actually attain it, I will have to leave town next week and thus not work on your job.
I am so, so sorry to do this to you, and I can only hope you can understand. I am as bummed about it as you are now inconvenienced.
Thanks Brittney, congrats on the opportunity and I do appreciate your honesty. I dont get enough of that in L.A.
And the truth shall set you free (and not make you feel like such a bad person)!
This got me thinking about how often people use lies to repair the truth in order to avoid disappointing other people. How many excuses have you made up to get yourself out of something? Lying to parents, teachers, employers and the people we date to tell them what they want to hear, trying to paint the truth white with a lie. Sometimes lies have left my mouth before even filtering it, before my eyes could even gaze up to the right side of my brain to process the lie from the truth, making my lies believable, to even me.
Thats because the person I have lied to the most is myself.
"I am seriously considering getting a boob job. I am even saving up for one."
I originally said that as material in my stand-up act ... but I wasn't joking. Don't judge me I don't want new boobs so I can impress guys. I merely want them so I don't scare them. You see, when you take my bullet-proof-airbag-padded bra off, Victoria's real Secret is revealed: they can turn an A cup into a C cup with their bras. And as a result, men think I am a witch with the magic ability to make my tits disappear. I even took off my bra at the Comedy Zone to display my little magic trick.
I used to be completely against remodeling God's work and being au-naturale, but that was before I became a Panthers cheerleader and they made me lose 10 pounds. The first place it left was my boobs. And so went my natural handful-C cups.
That is so not fair when women lose weight, the first place it goes is their boobs. When men do, not only does their penis not shrink, but it appears larger.
When I stopped cheering and started eating again, my boobs grew a cup size, but left stretch marks.
That's right, I have an A cup with stretch marks on them. You see why I want to get a boob job?
On another, somewhat related note, the check engine light in my BMW comes on just for looking at it funny. Don't be fooled by the label: A Beamer is like buying a shirt from Neiman Marcus it's brand name, but it unravels in the wash just like a cheap shirt from Forever 21. Just because their parts cost more does not make it a better vehicle; it's just a lemon in nice clothing.
And while men's penises don't shrink, they also only have to worry about replacing car parts rather than parts of their bodies. We don't expect them to get a penis implant or a ball tuck.
So why do I feel so insecure to want a boob job to feel good naked?
Though my fancy lemon with a check engine light is much like my body, getting old and breaking down, unlike my car, my body still runs perfectly without the extra parts. But it is nice to know that they can just lift my hood and replace my insecurities ... physically.
I wish NAPA knew how to make body parts in addition to car parts. But I must commend their store employees: They didn't say anything perverted when I marched in there and requested "studs for my rear" ... axle.
As for my boobs, while I can't really rationalize spurgling on new parts because I had to buy car parts, I will be taking itty bitty tit tips. I certainly can't put them on layaway.
But seriously, what do you all think? Are boob jobs a bad idea?
She got it from her mama, and I meanwhile, got it from my daddy ... the random, unfiltered shit I say, that is.
While I was in town for the wedding in which I was nearly arrested for pedophilia (not really) after "catching" the bouquet and a 5-year-old caught the garter, I did some bonding time with my old man. As in my dad, not one of my older boyfriends. And here are some of the things he said Sh!t My Dad Says (I wish I thought to start a Twitter page and then have a book based off it, and then a TV show but I'm not that smart):
While walking through Costco:
"Why is it when black guys walk by you, they say, 'God bless your daddy?' I'm not sneezing ... and I sure as hell didn't give you that big butt."
"Brittney, wake up! I know you're tired and hungover, but I have bad news for you J-Lo and Mark Anthony are getting divorced."
"You lived with some hot football player and then went on a book tour with that dude famous for being an asshole. Maybe that's why you're single. You know you're not screwing 'em, I know you're not screwing 'em, but people can put the ass in assumption. Screw 'em."
After seeing an ad on TV for the new show Cyberbully:
"Cyberbullying? Who the hell cares? Just turn off your computer and be done with those shit heads."
"I don't know know what all this hoopla is about you and your sister's birthdays. All you did was be born, your mom deserves all the credit."
My phone vibrates loudly at midnight from a junk e-mail from Harris Teeter Vic card rewards I signed up for to get $10 off my groceries a week.
"Who the hell is calling you at midnight? ... a grocery store? You came up with better lies than that when you were a teenager."
And that is why I will always be daddy's little girl that's where I derive all my relationship advice.
I caught the bouquet at the wedding I attended this past weekend. Let me rephrase that, I was personally handed the bouquet that went over all the bridesmaids heads and onto one of the tables in the back of the reception tent. The bride has a good arm.
And look who caught the garter belt ... he's 5. He looks more horrified than my boyfriends when they take off my bra and my boobs disappear. Talk about awkward. Typically I prefer older men.
Is this all that's left for single women in their 30s?
In celebration of New York passing the bill that allows gays to marry, and get divorced, one of my sisters sent me the following card:
So I sent her this one in return:
Sisterly love. But congrats to NYC, I am gay as in happy for them.
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