Monday, August 13, 2012
I am single. Yes, at my age. Shut up.
Being single, however, isn’t the end of the world because I was never the girl who was desperate to get married. I don’t have a dream wedding (okay, I say it’s Rabbi Elvis in Vegas, but mostly because I honestly don’t care about that crap). I never put a towel on my head and pretended it was a veil. And at weddings, when the bride throws the bouquet? You can find me cowering in the corner, rocking like an autistic child and chanting, “They’re just flowers. They can’t MAKE me get married. They’re just flowers.”
But I AM dating. Which, as I get older (not old, older. Call me old and die), gets harder and harder to do because I’m starting to think that the guys left in the dating pool are the crazy weirdos who no one else wanted.
That or I am just somehow a magnet for psychos, who have smelled my blood in the water and are circling me like rabid sharks moving in for the kill.
For example, I got dumped this weekend.
By a male stripper.
Who I had never even gone on a date with.
Yes. For real.
I met this guy about three weeks ago. He was hot. He was tall. And despite the first two qualifications, he was Jewish! AND he wasn’t even related to me (I’d begun to believe that the only tall Jews on the planet are in my family. We are generally a short, hairy, gold-loving Hobbit-like people). Clearly he was soul mate material. This was fate. Beshert, if you will. So I gave him my number.
He calls the next day (which I now recognize as a sign of crazy. Normal guys wait a day or two. But following the How I Met Your Mother Hot/Crazy Scale, we were still in the acceptable range).
We start talking and he mentions a photo shoot that he needs to leave town for. I laugh and ask, “What? Are you like a model or something?” He tells me yes, I crack a Zoolander joke, conversation continues. But he’d mentioned a law degree, so I ask what his real job is. I mean, he was cute, but I wouldn’t think he was cute enough to be professionally good looking.
At which point he tells me he’s in “entertainment.”
Now I’ve been around the block a few times. I once dated a guy who told me he was in “sales,” which actually meant that he was a drug dealer. So I hear “entertainment” and a little warning bell goes off in my head.
“Entertainment? What does that mean exactly?”
“Actually, I’m a stripper. And, in the interest of full disclosure, most of my modeling work is nude.”
Okay, so he wasn’t going to be my soul mate. Yes, I’ve been offered jobs stripping. And yes, I’ve had guys ask me to do nude modeling. The difference here is that I laughed in those people’s faces because I have ZERO desire to do either of those things. You want to see me naked? Buy me dinner and, at the very least, feign interest in my books, Bruce Springsteen, and Rosie. Sticking cash in my underwear isn’t gonna do it for me. Sorry boys.
But I’m pretty open-minded. I was willing to keep talking to the guy. Strike two came when asked me to come watch him strip that night. Um, no. And when I said that I had plans (which, okay, I didn’t, but sitting at home with Rosie and Netflix ranks higher than going to a male strip club. Seriously. Not my scene), he asked for my email address.
Why did he want that? Oh, because he wanted to send me nude pictures of himself to use for my “private girl time.” Yes. He actually said that. Guess how long I stayed on the phone for after that? Did you guess less than 10 seconds? If so, you guessed high!
I got off the phone, texted my seven favorite people on the planet and told them the story in all of its hilarious glory, and thought that was the end of it. (Note: almost all of my girl friends wanted to know why I didn’t get the pictures to show them. Sickos. I love you, but you’re dirty, dirty girls!)
But no, that’s NEVER the end of it in Sara-land! I live in a world where people will drive down from New York City just to call me an inappropriate name in a record store (happened last month and let me tell you, it was SUPER fun).
So Friday night (three weeks after our one and only phone conversation), he called me and I got an earful about what an awful person I am. Apparently I’m fake and dishonest for ignoring his phone calls (he never called between that first call and Friday’s call), not answering his emails (never got any emails either, even checked my spam folder), and for leading him on when I never had any intention of being with him. Then he told me that while I may look good, he’s done with me and we’re over. Which confused the hell out of me because I didn’t realize we were under. But okay. Peace out, crazy stripper dude.
I’d love to say that it’s them, not me. But getting dumped by a stripper who I never went out with was so not strange to me that I’m starting to realize it has to be me who is attracting the crazies. I don’t know exactly what it is about me. Maybe there’s a crazy pheromone and I just give it off. Maybe there’s some Statue of Liberty like sign above my head that says, “Give me your crazy, your unbalanced, your huddled masses yearning to stalk me…”
Whatever it is, I think I’m going to start requiring a full psych evaluation before I give my number out to the next guy. So if you want to take me out, but see the axe-murdering monkey demon that lives in your closet on every card of the ink-blot test, don’t be surprised when you get a fake number from me.
It makes great fodder for my blog and all, but I’m getting tired of getting dumped by guys I’m not even dating.
Monday, August 6, 2012
I know everyone is sick to death of this Chick-Fil-A scandal, which really only means one thing: it’s time for me to stop slacking on my blog and mock the hell out of it! Woohoo!
First of all, I don’t know why anyone is surprised that Chick-Fil-A took a homophobic stance on this gay marriage thing. It’s the only fast food restaurant that’s closed on Sundays for god’s sake! (No pun intended.) Seriously, when a company is willing to lose out on the hungover fast food crowd of Sundays just to force the Sabbath on people, are you REALLY surprised that they took the most right-wing stance possible here?
But with that said, isn’t freedom of expression so all-encompassing that privately owned companies are perfectly within their rights to support organizations that seek to deprive citizens of their rights based on sexual orientation?
Does that make it okay? Oh hell no.
I’ve heard people who are fans of Chick-Fil-A’s food argue that they don’t care about the politics, they just want the delicious chicken/waffle fries.
Personally, I don’t give a crap about that because I don’t eat fast food anymore. Yay for being a borderline anorexic size 4 health nut! Go me!
|Yup, got to a size 4! You can't do that by eating chicken that's fried in hate and homophobia!|
But, unfortunately, Chick-Fil-A didn’t give you a choice. Eat there and you’re giving money to organizations that oppose gay rights, whether you support those viewpoints or not.
Yup, you know that special seasoning that makes their chicken taste so good? It’s called homophobia. Enjoy that.
It’s an issue that hit close to home for me. No, I’m not gay. And like I said, I don’t eat there anyway. But I had a Chick-Fil-A University of Maryland stuffed cow that my dad gave me years ago. And because I love my Terps and because my dad gave it to me, it’s been on my dresser for more years than I care to admit. But now, that stuffed cow just reminds me of how annoying it is to have to read all about this controversy every time I log into Facebook or Twitter. So I had to take action.
Actually, I let Rosie take action and show how SHE feels about Chick-Fil-A. My little piggy LOVES chicken, but even ROSIE is anti-Chick-Fil-A as this video clearly proves.
She’s so cute.
But there are a few things about this whole controversy that make NO sense to me.
Completely irrational issue #1: Why does ANYONE give a crap if two consenting adults of the same sex want to get married?
If anything, gay weddings are probably a LOT less painful than straight weddings. I can’t picture lesbians turning into major bridezillas, and two guys getting married means I DON’T HAVE TO BE A BRIDESMAID AGAIN! WOO-FREAKING-HOO! (Have I mentioned how much I hate being in weddings? Seriously, it’s horrible. It costs thousands of dollars, the bride owns you for like a year, you have to wear an ugly dress that the bride CLAIMS you’ll be able to wear for everything but in reality, you never want to wear that crap again, and you’re practically required to make drunken bad decisions with a groomsman, who, OH WAIT, you’re going to have to see every time the married couple has a get together FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE. Straight weddings ruin lives.)
If we’re going to ban marriages, or at least weddings, we’re targeting the wrong demographic here.
Completely irrational issue #2: Why didn’t the president of Chick-Fil-A donate his OWN money and keep the company out of the scandal? I mean, okay, yes, gay marriage is illegal in most of the country. But did Dan Cathy REALLY think that meant that most of the country would rally around Chick-Fil-A and be like “YEAH! Let’s eat some homophobic chicken and sing songs about how awesome straight people are!”? Cause honestly, if he just gave his own money, I’d still think he was a prick, but I wouldn’t object to anyone wanting to eat there. But if he’s literally taking company money and trying to deny American citizens of their right to the pursuit of happiness, he might as well be running an ad campaign for KFC/Popeyes/Every other fried chicken joint in the country. Not your best marketing ploy, Danny boy.
Completely irrational issue #3: Regardless of your political/religious views on homosexuality and/or gay marriage, why are you eating at a fast food restaurant whose ad slogans are built around poor spelling and grammar? Really? If they can’t spell Chicken, I don’t think you should eat what they’re serving.
But here’s what it boils down to folks, gay people deserve the same rights as everyone else. As my dad puts it, if straight people have to suffer through marriage, why should gay people be exempt? There’s a certain logic in that.
Anyone who claims otherwise is going against the basic foundations that our country was built on: the idea that all men are created equal. Yeah, the founding fathers had slaves and didn’t really mean ALL people when they said that, but it’s 20-freaking-12. Get over it and let people do their thing. There’s no need to make chicken political.
Although, there’s a perfect opportunity for any business people out there who want to jump on it: open a PRO-gay rights chicken chain. Chick-Fil-A would probably sue if you called it Chick-Fil-Gay, but there are plenty of other choices. Chicks ‘n Chicks? El Pollo Homo? Homo-Chick-Sual? The possibilities are endless. (And I didn’t even make any cock jokes! Keepin' it clean, ma, keepin' it clean!)
Of course, my motivation in wanting someone to open an anti-Chick-Fil-A chain is purely selfish. No, I still wouldn’t eat there, which isn’t a political statement, I’m just a psycho about my diet these days. But I REALLY want to see if all of these people who are posting about how evil Chick-Fil-A is on my Facebook timeline are actually passionate enough about the issue to eat at someplace called El Pollo Homo, or if they’re just all talk.