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Monday, February 14, 2011
Dating and Mating Do bitches finish first?
Posted By Brittney Cason on Mon, Feb 14, 2011 at 3:28 PM
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 don’t 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 they’re 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 I’ve been too sweet to the guys I’m 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 it’s a weakness. Since when has being a good person made you a victim for bad people? But maybe they’re not the asshole for taking advantage of us — we’re 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 don’t, they won’t. Simple as that.
I know I was way too nice to him, and he played me like I was a saxophone. I know I shouldn’t have submitted to the situation of not being his priority, I shouldn’t have pretended like it didn’t bother me when he wasn’t consistent, I shouldn’t have stayed in the game when he was making then changing the rules. I shouldn’t have answered his texts because he didn’t pick up the phone and call. And I should’ve 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 don’t have to be mean in order to show strength, but you can be more selective about who you’re 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 I’m still not going to be a bitch.
Friday, February 4, 2011
About
Posted By Web Editor on Fri, Feb 4, 2011 at 4:01 PM
This is an example of a WordPress page, you could edit this to put information about yourself or your site so readers know where you are coming from. You can create as many pages like this one or sub-pages as you like and manage all of your content inside of WordPress.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Dating and Mating The Bachelor is everything that's wrong with dating
Posted By Brittney Cason on Tue, Feb 1, 2011 at 3:12 PM
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 DVR’ing 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 man’s affection become an audition where you vie to make the cut? Do we like a challenge so much that we’re 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.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Shit Brittney Says I am 'birthdayzilla,' hear me roar
Posted By Brittney Cason on Tue, Jan 25, 2011 at 3:17 PM
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 can’t 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 they’re 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 wasn’t.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Shit Brittney Says I'm turning the 'Flirty 30' today
Posted By Brittney Cason on Mon, Jan 24, 2011 at 3:20 PM
Thirty years ago today, I was being squeezed out of my mother’s 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 don’t 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.
“You’re 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 I’m 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 she’d be married with kids before 30. But life doesn’t always work out as planned does it, Kim. I figure I’ll 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. I’m not going to put the settling in settling down just because I am a few years short of cougar status.
Now that I’ve conquered all my adolescent fears, I’ll do it better in my next 30 years … wait, now I’m just singing a Tim McGraw song. Well, I’m 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 it’s not the dirty 30; it’s the flirty 30. And that means it's merely an excuse to throw a big party.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Single-Taken-It's Complicated The bitch-her
Posted By Brittney Cason on Fri, Jan 14, 2011 at 3:30 PM
I was having dinner one evening at my married friends’ house where the entertainment was listening to them argue.
Wife: “YOU DIDN’T FEED THE DOG! You’re so worthless! I went and got dinner for us and you can’t even remember to feed the dog!”
Husband: “I’m so sorry, I forgot. I’ll 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, “I’ll feed the damn dog!”
I’ve 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 isn’t 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 I’m just jaded from being cheated on and lied to so much that I don’t really see chores as a relationship offense punishable by bitching. Like a survivor of a “heart-attack,” I don’t take anything for granted, especially not a man who’s loyal.
I wouldn’t care if he pees all over the toilet seat, never washes one dish, and farts in his sleep, as long as he doesn’t cheat on me — everything else is compromisable. So here are a few things women should definitely not bitch about …
1. The toilet seat. Men don’t complain about us leaving it down, so therefore, we don’t 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 you’re with him), then why wouldn’t 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 didn’t drive to get there).
3. What he wears. How he dresses is how he is. You try to change a man and he’s 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 don’t you just cut his balls off while you’re at it. Men often feel like they need to be the provider in the relationship. As long as he’s providing you with love and loyalty, don’t complain about what’s in his wallet.
Remember, he is a guy after all. So we should try and limit our bitchiness to once a month … when we’re menstruating. We’re at least entitled to it then.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Dating and Mating Dating defined by Charlotteans
Posted By Brittney Cason on Thu, Dec 30, 2010 at 3:22 PM
Define "dating."
When someone says "I am dating ____ (insert name)," it could mean they are boyfriend-girlfriend, they are going to the movies and out to eat on a consistent basis, they are going home together after the bars, or they're just doing the horizontal hump. Basically, dating could entail anything more than friends — without benefits at least.
So what in the hell is dating exactly? Is it how you coin a relationship, or just a PC way of saying "fucking"? Can someone please explain it to me so when I talk about my relations I know how to "DTR" (Define The Relationship) ... because that's hard to do when I can't even define dating.
I wanted to know what you thought dating is defined, so I asked via my Facebook page, and here are some of the responses I got from my request to define dating ...
Friday, December 17, 2010
Sex and the Queen City Toys for twats: Xmas at The Men's Club
Posted By Brittney Cason on Fri, Dec 17, 2010 at 3:24 PM
'Tis the season of giving ... and receiving lap dances apparently.
Every year, for the past 10 years, a group of gentlemen I know all congregate over the holidays at a gentlemen’s club for Operation X-mas Child — putting the X in X-mas.
At this “Toys for Twats” charity function, they bring gifts to donate to strippers who may have it rough. Depending on what club they're working at, some even have to pay to come to work strip shifts there, I’ve learned recently. Anyone who has to pay to work deserves donations.
Being a philanthropist (and one of the boys), I got an invite to this charity function held yesterday afternoon at the highly holiday festive Men’s Club. And shockingly, I was the only girl there … well, the only girl wearing clothes, at least. But there weren’t many without them either. In fact, there were so few strippers there I felt bad and offered to do a dance for the guys — the choreographed hip-hop routine I did for the TopCats at the CIAA tournament, that is.
Apparently there aren’t a lot of strippers on duty at 3 p.m. in the afternoon. You can find several on duty at t 3 a.m., on the other hand, when they’re serving a buffet of tits and grits. But this particular afternoon, there were quite a few guys there in addition to the group of 10 I was with. It was so bad (or not bad, rather) we had to relocate to Uptown Cabaret, where they charge $3 for tap water. Really? That’s three singles they’re depriving the strippers of. I felt inclined to go refill my cup in the bathroom faucet — that oughta show them.
But before we left The Men’s Club we donated our toys to the actual “Toys for Tots” box in the lobby – with the exception of the sex toys the guys got the strippers and one teddy bear, Wooly. He was the award for the best stripper. (What’s a Christmas party without a little dance-off?) Too bad there were no girls to dance for them … I’m the only one who got an offer at the Men’s Club. True story. But I was too busy stuffing my face with a filet mignon sandwich to accept.
On a side note, to the DJs at The Men’s Club: Why would you play "Holiday" by Madonna? … you can't strip to that! You had the poor girl on stage throwing her arms around like an '80s pop star. I almost expected her to have an '80s bush.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Single-Taken-It's Complicated Singled out in Charlotte
Posted By Brittney Cason on Thu, Dec 16, 2010 at 3:26 PM
Last week I threw a holiday dinner party that would’ve made a Johnson & Wales professor proud — or at least the deli person at Harris Teeter. So what if I served everyone on little kid zoo paper plates? They were on sale at Target.
As we sat there eating the brie ball, fruit pizza, and dates wrapped in turkey bacon washed down by skinny margaritas (which is pretty much the extent of my domestic repertoire), we realized that all nine of us girls were single.
Every. Single. One. Of. Us.
Where was everyone else I invited? Most of the other girls declined because they were cooking dinner too, for two, with their beaus. While they were all coupled up, we were singled out … that, or they just couldn’t find a babysitter.
And this is becoming a pattern I’ve noticed all too common.
As I sit here now, drinking my boxed White Sangria that was also on sale at Target in bed, alone, with a computer hoisted on my lap, I can’t help but wonder if that feeling of loneliness that comes from being single isn’t so much not having one special person, but not having as many girlfriends around anymore.
In the He Said, She Said column I wrote with Brotha Fred a while ago, we discussed how weddings are like funerals for friendships. Cason-point: I rarely get to see my married, or practically married, friends anymore … and when I do, it usually surrounds another friend’s wedding. And there I’m usually truncated to the singles table, or the kids table.
Where exactly is the division between singles and married?
It doesn’t just put you in a different tax bracket, but a different stage of life. Because as the circle of life turns, and you stand still, your friends cycle out around you.
