Aries Chick: Sign of the “Single”?

There are questions in my heart which I don’t have the answer to:

-”Why does my hair look best when it’s greasy?” Part II: “Since my greased-up hair looks wonderful, is it socially acceptable to leave it unwashed?”‘

-”Where are these alleged chicks who fit into “size zero” pants?”

-”If the socially awkward (and gross) Starbucks dude starts leaving notes and pictures on my cup, does that mean he wants my sex?”

And then, the ultimate question, the one surrounding the “big-bang” (or lack thereof) theory:

“Why am I still single?”

If I had an answer for that, this blog would have never even started. 

In moments like these, when my brain cells are painfully stretched to the limit, I look to the outer world for some answers.

In this case I’ll need some divine intervention (since the question of being single is not exactly a simple one).  

I guess that leads me to organized religion, which leads me to my lack of faith in organized religion.

If religion’s out, then the next best thing is…Astrology! 

Ah yes, the wisdom of the Zodiac, maybe that’ll send me in the right direction…

..My current knowledge of the Zodiac goes as far as hanging out in the Astrology section of the bookstore (when I’m absolutely sure that no one is watching).  As fun as that is, there’s not a lot you can learn about Astrology (or anything) in paranoid 15-second increments.

And so I turned to the glorious (and private) Internet…

It didn’t take long for me to come across an audio-recorded rendition of ”Aries”, performed by some sort of Barry-White-wannabe.

Naturally I gave it a listen, and you can too:

 

If you didn’t have the pleasure of hearing it for yourself, there was one glaring line that stood out from the rest:

“The Aries’ one big problem, their big, big problem, is their love life.  Because of their aggression and destructive nature, it is very very hard to find a mate”.

Excuse me?

So basicially…the universe puts me in the “difficult to handle” section of the classroom?!?!?

Not only did I think that this was a big mistake, but I also thought that maybe it was a joke…maybe ALL the horoscopes had an ominous tone.  So I gave another random one a listen (Libra). 

Here’s a summary of Barry-White-wannabe’s “Libra”: “lovers of love, and compatible with ANY sign in the Zodiac”.

So now I know which girls are stealing all the guys, it’s those loveable ethereal Libra-chicks (they should all be extinguished).

So here I was, thinking that the Zodiac would offer some advice, but what do you say to the girl who is ruled by planet Mars, representing “God of WAR”?  Or the girl who was described by Barry-White-wannabe as being “aggressive” about 86 times in the span of 4 minutes?

Maybe I need to take some estrogen pills…do you think that would cure my violent tendencies?  Or maybe I need to bake some goddamn cookies, or pat some cute little children on the head…

In other words I have no idea how to cure my aggression.

All I’ve learned today is that the pool of men who can handle my flame (yo, Aries=fire sign) is smaller than I ever imagined…

I suppose I could remember to take the musical horoscope with a grain of salt, but the bitch of it is, Barry-White-wannabe also happened to mention a couple other things, namely:

-I’m full of creativity, and I’m literally “Number 1″

If that ain’t right, what is?

Form an orderly queue gentlemen, you’ll get your chance.

I Want A Robo-Boyfriend

Game, set, match for the lonely guys: Sega has created a robot girlfriend. 

For a mere $100, “Ema” will sing you a tune, dance it up, kiss your face, and maybe even slip you some robo-tongue.

This is great news…for guys.

But what about the lonely women of the world?

Everytime a woman cries “desperate”, the love gods throw her a pity box of chocolate (and maybe an eclair if she’s lucky). 

It’s a delicious “Plan B”, but not so tasty when you consider what’s available for men:

-Busty torsos, cascades of horse hair, heated hoo-haas…there’s something for everyone!  And hey, you can even combine all the features into one: that’s right, the all-emcompassing $6,000 silicone girlfriend (google “realdoll” if you’re feeling curious…)

And the male equivalent?  Well there once was a fella named Charlie, a malleable “man” who could do it all, but surprise, surprise, he’s been discontinued!  So now we’ve got an extensive gallery of options for men, and one de-funct silicone dude that I can’t even get my hands on.

Oh well, I probably couldn”t afford a $6,000 man-doll anyway, especially when you consider that most of my cash is tied up in pursuing “young dudes”.

Depending on how the “young dude” pursuit nets out, it’d sure be cool to have a mini-robot-dude as a back-up.

So are you listening Sega?

I applaud you for creating Ema, with her jutting hips and “sixty programmable moves”(?), but how about a little somethin’ for the ladies?  You don’t even have to take it global; just round up some “Ema” scraps at the factory, and meld together a mini-fella for me, oh won’t you please?

I await your response.

Regards,

 

 

PS: I actually sent this letter to Sega; I’ll let you know if they respond.

Can I Buy You A Bunch Of Crap?

There are days when I wake up believing in pumpkin-carriages, princes with tight round asses, and kindly rats who will make me a dress for the ball.

And then there are other days..

…Today was certainly the “other” kind of day, one where the application for “princess” seemed way too hard to complete (”please write a 3 page essay on why you deserve to live ”happily ever after“”…). 

So with little motivation to dream about a fairytale life, I drop-kicked my “Enchanted” DVD, and started to think of alternative options…

…There was one that struck me immediately:

-Courting a younger man.

Let me explain…

…At 27, it is not insane to consider man-boys who have lots of mileage left in their “junk”. 

And what would a “fully-loaded” man-boy want to do with me?

Lots of things.

For starters there’s that natural attraction to a financially secure older woman who wears the pants.  This doesn’t mean my pants will be fully buckled at all times (ahem), but I’ve often read/overheard that guys like a little dominant authority; it’s that whole teacher/corporate boss thing…you know?

And no I’m not a corporate boss, but I’m professional enough to seem like a CEO in the eyes of a late-teenager/early 20’s scholar (in other words my “target customer”).

But once the initial “dominatrix-seeking” pheromones wear off, what then?  Won’t Mr. Man-Boy turn the other cheek and run right back to the gum-chewing whores of his own generation?

Perhaps, but here’s the saving grace:

-I can buy him lots of stuff.

Already I can hear the cries of ”money can’t buy you love!!”

That’s a perfectly valid “sing-song”, but who said anything about love today?

At the moment, I am not too impressed by the “fairy-tale” dream; it feels far off, it feels too cheesy, and it feels too impossible to execute.

Who knows, maybe I’m just in a mood, and maybe tomorrow I’ll be back at the window sill, waiting for the pumpkin-carriage.  For now though, let’s talk business…

…I’ve been saving a good chunk of money for the last 6 months.  This resulted from buying fewer clothes than ever before  (as I still won’t acknowledge my current pant-size).  So with a big wad of cash firmly installed in my push-up cleave, I shouldn’t have trouble finding a younger man.

But let me clarify: I won’t just be handing over bills in exchange for “lovin’” (for fear of getting caught in that Hugh Grant kind of way), but I’ve still got a good idea or two…

…For one thing I could sneak into a college and smash up a student’s XBox 360.  Then I could randomly walk past his room with a brand new XBox, discover him weeping and explain the following:

“I was going to drop off this XBox 360 for my brother, but I’ve only just realized that he lives in another country.  The shipping costs to send it to his house (in Zanzibar) are astronomical, and damn, I lost the receipt.  Maybe I could leave it for you instead, you know…my good deed for the day…”

The collegiate man-boy will wipe away the tears and cast me a glance.

From there, he will have fallen for Romi, in that magical monetary way…

…There’s also another plan where I hang out at a high school parking lot, with ten pairs of brand new basketball shoes.  This plan is ideal for women who prefer to order buffets, so they can sample a little bit of everything.  I’m not really sure if that woman is me, but hey, it’s a plan.

Needless to say, I’ve got the cash, I’ve got the modest wrinkles and slightly damaged hair…I can do this!

Now where’s the nearest puppy mill?

A Closet Full of Memories (And Terror…)

So far for me, the best thing about being single is “time”.  Time to read books, time to paint nails, time to watch Meg Ryan flicks, all kinds of time.

Some might view the preponderance of time as a negative thing, but it all depends on how you use it.

For example, spending an evening wallowing in the fact that no one’s parking their “car” in your “garage” whilst eating slabs of Baker’s Chocolate ’cause it’s all you could find in the cupboard = BAD.

On the other hand, using the added time to become hard-working and efficient in several areas of life = VERY GOOD.

I went with option #2 on the weekend, and boy did it have potential…

…It was Saturday afternoon and I was picking out my clothing for the upcoming week at work (that may seem weird, but hey, I’ve got lots of time!).

As I rifled through the shirts, I couldn’t find anything I didn’t hate.

My mood became foul.

Things weren’t any better on the trouser-front, and eventually, my room became a state of emergency: 

It was time for a self-appointed closet-intervention, something I hadn’t done in ages.  Though I was ready and eager to cut out the “textile-fat”, I wasn’t too keen on the emotional part, since every piece of clothing comes fully equipped with memories (good, bad…and ugly).

And so I walked down memory lane, one vintage piece at a time…

The first thing I saw was a greenish slut-top, so slutty in fact that there were glittery sequins which formed an outline of “boobage”. 

I loved this shirt at the time; it was one of those shirts that could pick me up (or “get me picked up”) on even the “zittiest” of days. 

The funny thing was, I hadn’t worn this “pick up” shirt in ages, and yet here I was, lonely and single. 

Contradiction? 

So it seems.

The truth is, I gained some weight my back bones got bigger or something, so now it’s not wide enough to fit me anymore.

Though I was pretty sad that the glittery outline days were over (’cause it’s not like my back’s gonna shrink or anything), it was time to say goodbye to my Grade-A slut-top…

…The next thing I saw was my bright white pants.  I have never shunned myself for owning “white pants”, nor should I.  As a matter of fact, I specifically bought white pants for the purpose of attracting men, since I once heard a rule that goes like this:

-Any chick, no matter how reprehensible in appearance, gains ten points of hotness if she’s wearing white bottoms.

That’s a fact.

I was really hyped up about “white pant magic”, so I wore them to work immediately.  Before the day was over though, I developed an irrational fear.  You see…I became afraid that because I was wearing these gleaming pants, something terrible would happen to spoil the gleam (’cause God forbid I could actually be gleaming and happy).  More specifically, I was afraid that I would cough too hard, get my period, and ruin the pants with that special brand of “woman’s blood”.

This fear consumed me whenever I thought of the pants.  It didn’t even matter if my monthly crimson river was 2 weeks away, I was totally convinced that a “health mutation” would occur if I wore the pants, thus making my period flow, right out of the dam and onto my gleaming pants.

Even that day when I wore the pants to work, my fear took hold and I had to go home at 11am.  I then placed the pants in the back of the closet to keep the ”menstrual voodoo” at bay. 

I never wore them after that, but there they sat on the bed, torturing me all over again.

They had to go.

…Upon re-living the horrific memories of my blood-leeching pants, I became very fearful of the rest of my closet.  I didn’t know what to do, so I left everything where it was, drank some “cocktails for one”, and returned to the scene in a much calmer state:

(this will be my profile pic for Match.com)

I then proceeded to toss out 2/3 of my clothing.

I now have almost nothing to wear, so I’ll probably “repeat” Monday’s work shirt for a second run on Friday…do you think anyone will notice?

Or maybe it’s time to go shopping, but do I even have time in my busy schedule?  I better go check my date book…

Hoo-Haas: Latest Looks and Trends…?

I’ll probably begin and end this post in a nervous kind of state.

Not that what I’m about to discuss is such a nerve-wracking topic…I’m just one of those folks who approaches certain topics with a bit of trepidation (haven’t you noticed???).

…This time it started at the local gym.  Before I continue, I DO NOT hang out at the gym, local or otherwise.  In fact the only place where cardio happens is the basement…yes, the quiet, private, “no one to judge me/no one hotter than me” basement.  In this case though, a friend had offered me a “visitor’s pass” to her sweaty gym, so off I went..

…I drove to the gym, went inside, got on the eliptical, and broke a sweat.  I’d hardly call that “blog-post-worthy”, but when I entered the women’s locker-room, that’s when things got juicy…

…There I stood, in the middle of the women’s “group shower”, lathering it up in my self-conscious way (they had individual shower-heads of course, but as long as we’re standing in front of one another nude, I call it “group time”).  As I tried my best to look “naked awesome”, I couldn’t help but notice my surroundings. 

And by surroundings I mean…exposed “hoo-haas”.

At this important juncture, let me confirm (as appropriately as possible) that I am a fan of men, in all their “shlongy goodness”.  That being said, I was obviously doing the “I’m looking at your naughty bits when you’re not looking, and strategically looking away when you catch my eye”–thing…whether or not that makes me a confused heterosexual, I was doing it.

I wasn’t having a look for the purposes of excitement, but I was staring (and continuing to stare) for the reason of curiosity. 

I found myself feeling not only curious but puzzled, by the wide array of hoo-haa “looks and styles”.

What I mean is *ahem*, the varying extents to which “landscaping” had occured. 

It was rather intriguing, and it got me thinking…what’s the way to go, when it comes to the look “down under”?

Before my day at the gym, I hadn’t even thought that it was up for discussion; I mean girls are encouraged to wax it off from every other inch of skin…so why not there?  In fact my default logic had always been the arm-pit defense: “when was the the last time you shaved only half your arm-pit?”  

But then I thought: “Wait a minute…what if it’s not that simple?”

Like remember in the 60’s when it was cool to “hippie it up” and let it all grow, arm-pit hair included?…What if hoo-haa trends change with the decades too?

To add to the complexity of the issue, it’s easy to end up lost if you haven’t had a boyfriend for eons (who me?).  In other words, this is one area of the body where the b/f will certainly clear things up, if you’re wondering “stay” or “go”.

But without the boyfriend-test, what’s a chick to do?  I mean it’s not like they have any fashion shows which model the latest hoo-haa trends.  It’s all so very “hush-hush”, and yet we’re all supposed to know.

Well I for one don’t know, and if I ask my mom, she’ll simply tell me to make the landscape as treacherous as possible, in her never-ending quest to keep me untouched (ya mom, I think it’s time to give up now…).

So if I don’t have a clue what to do “down there” in 2008…who does?

A little help?