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Friday, April 29, 2011
She Said / Don't Do This Bad pick-up lines, and even worse responses
Posted By Brittney Cason on Fri, Apr 29, 2011 at 11:29 AM
The only thing worse than bad pick-up lines are my responses to them.
Dude: We should chill sometime.
Me: How does one chill? Do you want to hang out in a walk-in fridge or something?
Dude: Can I text you sometime?
Me: Whatever happened to talking? Like back in school when you use to say you were "talking" to someone. No one talks anymore.
Dude: If you were a booger, I'd pick you.
Me: Oh, do I have a booger? (lean head back) How's the weather — sunny, or cloudy?
Dude (with Coolio): That's my future baby mama! (pointing at me)
Me: Did you just call dibs on my uterus?
Dude: I saw you on Facebook.
Me: And I think I saw you on America's Most Wanted!
... and that is why I'm single.
What are some of the worst pick-up lines (or responses to them) you've heard?
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Dating and Mating / Don't Do This 'I'm like Tucker Max'
Posted By Brittney Cason on Thu, Apr 28, 2011 at 4:57 PM
I’m like Tucker Max …
… That’s a line used all too frequently by guys as either a conversation starter, or worse, a pick-up line.
Like the guy who approached me at The Liberty the other night.
Guy: Miss Cason, I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I wanted to introduce myself. I’m like Tucker Max.
Apparently he doesn't have his own name.
There’s somewhat of a burden in being Tucker Max’s protégé. Not the fact that people always assume that we’re sleeping together — because we’re not — but I have to put up with guys who actually use that line … on me. As much as I love Tucker as an author and mentor, I want a guy who is his own person … and especially not my big brother-boss.
This is typically how the conversation goes:
Dude: I’m like Tucker Max
Me: So you graduated Suma Cum Laude from University of Chicago and played basketball with Obama?
Dude: …No
Me: So you got an academic scholarship to Duke Law and went on to write two bestselling books?
Dude: …No
Me: Soooo, you pretty much just get drunk, fall down, shit on yourself and others, and then sleep with a bunch of women?
Dude: HELL YEAH!
Me: So, you’re just a douchebag?
Or worse … there’s the Tucker posers like this one …
From: [redacted]
Subject: Milwaukee TM Stop
This mail is sent via contact form on Brittney Cason http://brittneycason.com
Message Body:
I was at the Milwaukee Tucker Max book signing. I got to take my picture with you, which was almost as awesome as TM. I grabbed your ass, which you thought was funny once, but not twice lol. Sorry for pushing it, but I follow Mr. Max’s advice of living in a moment, and I doubt you actually remember this, a tons of guys hit on you every stop I’m sure. Well, just wanted to say hi, I’m a fan of yours now too! E-mail me back if you’d like haha
I showed this e-mail to Tucker …
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Happy Hump Day That sounds dirty ...
Posted By Brittney Cason on Wed, Apr 27, 2011 at 2:26 PM
Last week I had a little incident with some debris on the track — or the unpaved Lake Norman roads rather.
You don't need that line of plastic under the fender do you?
I took my car to my mechanic friend, whom I barter baked goods with in exchange for helping me take care of my car emergencies, since I don't have a boyfriend to. I had him look at it to make sure I didn't damage more than the fender part I still have yet to determine the usefulness of. He suggested I get new studs for the rear axle, and if I went and got some, he'd replace them for me.
So I went door to door from Auto Zone to Advance Auto Parts to NAPA, but no one seemed to have the right parts for my foreign vehicle. Or, they got confused when I strolled in stating, "I need some studs for my rear."
I need to take my dirty mind through the car wash apparently. But if you think about it, a lot of innocent expressions sound dirty.
"I prefer hard wood to carpet."
"I'm coming!" (Whether it's spelled with an o or u, it sounds the same.)
"Bangkok."
"I won a math debate" ... when it say it five times really fast.
So watch and/or wash your mouth!
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
He Said / She Said Gold diggers: It's not always the wife
Posted By Brittney Cason on Tue, Apr 26, 2011 at 9:54 AM
Girls that date "men of status" are labeled gold diggers — or jersey, cleat, racer, or some form of chaser. But what do you call a guy who only chases after models or women with status and a bank account?
I asked this on Facebook and got over 50 comments. Here are a few, separated by He Said, She Said:
She Said …
• Claim to fame douche mcallister
• Short
• Divorced
• Lonely
• Insecure
• Annoying
• Pathetic
• ”Beauty Diggers”
• Chester the Model Molester
• Football Players, Race Car Drivers, and Basketball Players
• Victim Pimps
• Alimony men
He Said …
• Normal
• Wealthy
• Smart
• Kevin Federline
• Grave diggers
• Ambitious
• David Spade
• "swinging for the fences"
• A man with a plan
• Dad *SMART!!!
... sadly, "smart" seems to be a reoccurring theme from men in this poll. Why do male "status seekers" get praised when women get deemed legal prostitutes?
Such as from the woman who left this comment: "These woman wouldn't be called gold diggers if they would quit looking for a free ride and pull their weight, more than just in the sack!!! How about being domestic and taking care if ur man?????? "
... apparently this women didn't understand the question.
What about men who only chase women for their looks or status — isn't that the same thing as a woman chasing after a man for his money? Can we just stick these booty barterers in the shallow end of life's pool and be done with it?
So, what do you call them?
Monday, April 25, 2011
Blind Leading the Blind / Sex and the Queen City From douche bags to chocolate cake: Why do we always crave what's bad for us?
Posted By Brittney Cason on Mon, Apr 25, 2011 at 10:49 AM
Cason-Point: Last weekend I was craving McDonald's ... and an ex-quasi-boyfriend I hadn't seen nor talked to in months. Both are equally bad for me. And both things I don’t think about unless I’ve hit my head, been trapped in a building with a gas leak, or been drinking while PMS'ing. One of those must have occurred because not only did I think about it, I thought it a good idea to walk through the drive-thru at McDonald's to get bad food, and then call bad boy.
He answered, disappointed I'm sure, that I was calling out of the blue at 2 a.m. just to say "hey" and see how he was doing, not booty-calling. Apparently he had moved while I was moving on.
“Want to come over and see my new place?” he asked me … which is code for “Want to come over and see my penis?"
For Lent, we’re supposed to give up a vice of some sort. I gave up vegetables and douche bags. I tricked myself into forbidding vegetables, so I’d actually want to eat them. Because not being able to have something makes you want it even more. But why? Why do we crave what’s bad for us, especially when we know we can’t have it?
Men are like chocolate cake. At least the ones that we know are bad for us, but want and crave anyway.
When it’s in front of us, we want to eat it. When it’s not, we don’t even think about it, let alone crave it. Unless we’re pregnant or on the verge of menstrating.
Speaking of cake …
Last week I was only able to manage to squeeze in about 20 hours of sleep in between working on various projects from this blog to my book to Brad Paisley’s new music video. I can’t believe I use to complain about 8 a.m. classes in college — they seem like a cake walk now. Especially because that’s all I did in college … walk around and look for cake. I still do that. As you can see, I made sure to find some on set at the video shoot. And my model friend couldn’t even take a break from cake-eating to pose for a picture. We have our priorities.
Overall, I was good for Lent … but I think some celery and broccoli did sneak into my diet. And that cheeseburger from McDonald’s had mushrooms on it.
Now that Easter’s passed and the delicious Easter candy such as peanut butter eggs and chocolate-covered Peeps will no longer be available, why not stick to the no vice policy. Isn’t self-improvement motivation enough? No? … OK, well pretend it’s still Lent.
I wish it were easier to give up things that are bad for us, and that we didn’t instinctively crave them — like Eve craved that damn forbidden apple that is the alleged source of my monthly cramps and weird cravings.
It’s not a piece of cake to deprive ourselves of our naughty cravings… no pun intended. When I start craving spinach the way I do chocolate cake, I’ll let you know how to stop craving what’s bad for us. Until then, just don’t order dessert.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Sex and the Queen City Acting your way through life won't win you an Oscar
Posted By Brittney Cason on Fri, Apr 22, 2011 at 1:03 PM
I wish the art and entertainment industry had a butt, so I could kick it.
I consider myself a writer first and foremost, but throughout my life I've done many things to support my writing habit. Among those I was a dance teacher, which somehow transformed me into an NFL cheerleader — as well as a commercial and film production assistant turned coordinator. Then one day someone threw me in front of the camera, and now I have an agent and manager.
I've been sent on all kinds of auditions for various spokesmodel, commercial and talent jobs where I've learned that I am "too ethnic" ... "too old" ... "too young" ... "too curvy" ... "too short" ... "too girl next door" ... I've even been told I was "too sexy." I actually got cut from my first national commercial in which I was cast as a SAG principal because the client said I "oozed sex" (Note: I was wearing a firesuit in said commercial) ... how does one ooze sex? Do I walk around like a female dog in heat? Oh well, I still got paid ... and got to keep the firesuit, which comes in handy for playing Danica Patrick in sketch comedy skits for Rowdy.
But, no matter what, with or without the camera rolling. I've always been me. Short, ethnic, curvy, goofy ... and apparently really horny, or so I've been told. And that is all I will ever be for anyone, even the industry, and when this is my view ...
So what if someone thinks my butt's too big, my ethnic appearance is a mystery, and I'm the tallest midget. That is who I am. And I don't care who likes it.
Because I am not an actress in life. But sadly, a lot of people I've met both in and outside the industry are actors in real life. Those who pretend they're something they're not because they need the approval of others to love themselves. Or those pretending to be sincere with good intentions. And like a hollow vessel they wade in the shallow end of life — don't get on board with them.
Actors get paid, so why pretend for free? God doesn't give out Oscars to those who act their way through life. Not being yourself is like slapping your God in the face.
Besides, how can one care what other people's opinions are if they're not forming their own?
I have been thrown into a world where my income depends on what other people think. But I'm not going to try and stretch myself or bleach my hair and skin so I can get more customers. The only time you should make alterations to yourself is because you want to change, not because some random person disapproves of you. Why give a shit what someone who doesn't give a shit about you thinks? The inner dialogue is cruel enough — don't let the white noise of other people's judgment and insecurities affect your own.
And you shouldn't change because people do like you either. Having a big head will only make you a headache to others.
I am not going to sit here and pretend I'm not just a dork in a cheerleading skirt, and a goofball with a microphone. Or that I'm anything more than the girl next door to the girl next door sitting in front of a computer.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Dating and Mating / Happy Hump Day The best form of birth control ...
Posted By Brittney Cason on Wed, Apr 20, 2011 at 8:34 AM
Last weekend I went to a baby shower for my "lil' sis."
I call her my little sister because I adopted her in high school when she was a freshman and I was a senior, to protect her from the older mean girls and horny boys. And at Virginia Tech, I told all the bouncers that she was my little sister so they'd let her into the bar underage.
But no more under- or over-age drinking for her. She got knocked up by her hubby.
This makes for baby shower #24 that I've attended in my lifetime. I"ll be an aunt for the 6th time over.
That is better than any birth control on the market. I'm kidding ... kinda. Perhaps my four sisters were born with biological clocks and I wasn't.
At said baby showers, I've been made to play games that require me to wear maternity underwear, eat baby food, and inspect diapers to guess which smashed up chocolate bar is in it. And in listening to talk of how Bye Bye Baby is more overwhelming than Ikea, and the necessity of products like "pee-pee tee-pees" to prevent from getting urine shot into your eye when changing baby boy's diapers, it just doesn't make motherhood seem all that inviting.
Power to all you mothers out there — you have the toughest and most admirable duty in life. Being a mom is a job, and a hard one at that.
I like being an aunt. I have the joys of being around children, but can give them back when the pee starts coming at my eyeball.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Guest Blogger The Match(making).com continues …
Posted By Web Editor on Tue, Apr 19, 2011 at 8:34 AM
Weeks ago, acting as one sneaky intern, I went undercover and created my hectic boss a profile on Match.com. What? Brittney’s average week involves one stacked agenda and various time zones — like she has time to date? So, that’s where I come in.
But after weeks of sifting through this single guy database, I’m beginning to realize that online dating is the equivalent of online shopping: seems much easier, until you get what you paid for and discover you probably should have tried it on in the store first.
I’m not prepared to give up, just yet. Let’s get back to Brittney’s Match.com fans; after all, attention should be paid to those “winking” romantics. Insert player two: RangersFan10
This blissful guy stands tall at 5’9” and could be the poster child for any dentist office around town with a smile more gum than teeth. Donning a casual look, dress shirt and simple black tie, so far I’m impressed. And he’s a Rangers fan? A baseball guy, I dig that … or at least I dig Josh Hamilton. Wait, I’m doing it again. This is for Brittney, This is for Brittney, This is for Brittney.
OK, RangersFan10 — what’s your story? Turns out, this Texas native is relatively new to Charlotte. He enjoys daily workouts and exploring new venues for music and art. Two points for the RangersFan, and nine photos, much better than our last go-round with InvestorUptown93.
But these nine photos have a reoccurring theme — humor. They include, but are not limited to: guy drinking beer from a plunger, guy dressed as Allen from The Hangover, and guy donning same casual outfit from above — add coveralls and toy gun to the ensemble.
Alright funny guy, are you always clowning around? The way to Brittney’s heart may very well be through laughter, but you gotta get through the intern first, and this one’s looking for someone at least career serious.
Maybe I should give this comedian the benefit of the doubt. Looks like he works in finance ... nice. But wait a second … does this say you weave lines from your comedy into the work place? So what, RangersFan10, do your stand-up routines run from 9-5 also?
And moving on…
— Jordan Bullington
Monday, April 18, 2011
Dating and Mating / Don't Quote Me Training your man is like training your dog
Posted By Brittney Cason on Mon, Apr 18, 2011 at 1:55 PM
Men are like dogs.
No, no, I'm not saying men are dogs — just like them in the sense that they have to be trained. He's not like a puppy you have to house break because he knows how to hold his dick. And I'm sure he's not looking for a pissing contest (so don't give him one). But you do have to train him as to how he can treat you.
Just like a dog owner will train his puppy not to piss all over the carpet, you have to train a man not to piss all over you. Because if you let him treat you like you're a dog, he will.
Cesar Millan wrote in his dog training bibles that "there are no bad dogs, just bad owners." Just like there aren't bad children, just bad parents. Well, perhaps there aren't bad boyfriends, just bad girlfriends. Because why are you his girlfriend if he's bad? Men are even far more expendable than dogs.
Let's say for example, if he's used to living alone, he may be a little particular about you being around all the time. You don't want to piss all over his place to mark your territory. But you need to lay down your ground rules of what you will and will not accept in terms of how he welcomes you in his life.
Why is he a straying dog burying bones in someone else's yard? I hate to say it, but it could be because you let him get away with it. Granted, some men are just dogs. But most of them aren't, and they're looking for a loving home. Men need to be nurtured, like a puppy ... and fed like one, too.
Just like some dogs are difficult to tame, you can train a wild one to settle down. But you can't teach an old dog new tricks. Some guys just have bad role models for how to treat a woman ... it's not your fault, unless you put up with it.
Just like it's not my adult dog's fault he yanked his leash out of my grip and charged at another dog, only to end up getting bitten. It's my fault for letting him get away with everything when he was a puppy. He wasn't a bad dog, I was a bad owner. And I have comes to terms with the fact that my cheating ex-boyfriend wasn't the only bad one in our relationship. I let him get away with everything, leaving me with nothing ... except a big vet bill from my dog's surgery.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Dating and Mating / Shit Brittney Says In guy years, 22 is really 15
Posted By Brittney Cason on Fri, Apr 15, 2011 at 10:15 AM
The following exchange took place between me and a strapping young lad one night at Red Rocks in Birkdale. Emphasis on the word "young."
Dude: "You should let me take you out to eat."
This which he says, not asks, as I'm in the process of eating at a table full of my girlfriends.
His cock-blocking friend: "He's only 22!" (shouted from across the bar)
Me: "crunch. crunch. crunch." (I finish chewing my food to at least be polite enough to not talk with my mouth full.) "As much as I enjoy eating, I'm sorry, I can't go out with you. You're only 22. That's like ... 15 in guy years. And that's illegal."
One of my girlfriends burst out laughing and proceeded to spit her drink out all over the table (and my plate). I should have taken him up on that meal, right then and there. Meanwhile, another girlfriend tweeted my quote with the hashtag #sh!tbrittneysays.
... What? At least I'm not saying men are like dogs by making them age up. Women just mature faster than men, and therefore age faster as well. Sucks for us.
I really would feel kind of like a pedophile to date a guy barely legal to hang out with me. I didn't even go to frat parties when I was in college, let alone now.
Or maybe it was just the way the guy handled himself like a rookie — interrupting a girls' dinner to tell me he'd like to take me to do what I was in the process of doing while he interrupted me. Even last year's Panthers' offense had better game. I'm pretty sure his boys just double-dog dared him to come talk to the cougar. I am cougar, hear me roar!
But the best part of this whole story is Michael Waltrip's tweet in response to it ...
(Re-Tweeting) @mw55 Does that make me low 30s ish?..RT @BrittneyCason: I can't go out with you, you're only 22. That's like..15 in guy years. And that's illegal!
... I guess it does. Lucky dog.
