I want candy

Since my last post, nothing but good things have been happening for me. Not only was I able to stick up for myself in a situation where I would usually be passive, but I did it with assertiveness and grace. But mostly, this blog is about the men that have been flocking to me lately. For that past week or so, every time I turn around a new guy is making eyes at me. I'm not trying to brag. Actually, I am stunned. I haven't been this magnetic since I was a teenager. Guys I've just met, guys I have known for a long time, guys who were just "friends of a friend" that have gone out of their way to make my acquaintence, guys who have apparently held onto secret crushes on me for years. What's the deal? Is my new shampoo giving my hair extra bounce? Do my boobs look especially big in my new clothes? Maybe I'm putting out an entirely new vibe now that I love and embrace myself in a way I haven't since I was a conceited youth. All this unexpected attention feels good, but is slightly overwhelming. And then, of course, is the arduous task of deciding who is interested in sexual relations alone, and who may be in it for the long haul. I think I have a pretty good idea which is which and who is who, but let's not make any hasty decisions yet. Let's sit back and enjoy the fact that now that I love myself again, others want to love me too. So many, many options! Time to concentrate on making the right choice, perhaps for the first time ever.

Wild horses couldnt drag me away

Arguably one of the Rolling Stones most famous song, Wild Horses has a slow, building rhythm and mournful lyrics that stick with your soul long after its over. This song has always had a special place in my heart, since I equated the chorus (Wild horses couldnt drag me away...) with my habit of sticking with men who were undeserving of my love. I saw myself as the hopeless lover who perservered in the face of infidelity and drinking binges. Surely, I would be rewarded because of all the crap I put up with. I was due a partner that would realize that no matter how bad he screwed up, I would be there to help him pick up the pieces, and my selflessness would inspire him to become a better person for my sake. Unfortunately, real life does not work out that way. The bad boy remains that way, because he knows that he can continue to be a jerk and I will suffer his shit with a smile in the name of love, and he can continue to do as he pleases with little to no consequences. I deal with these behaviors for years at a stretch, and when I've finally had enough, I walk away not angry with him for not caring enough about me, but at myself for not being able to make him want to change.

My last boyfriend was the kind of guy I never should have been with in the first place. That was evident in the numerous times I went through the make-up, break-up cycle with him. I couldnt stand the crap he pulled, yet that tenaciously stubborn part wouldnt let me let go. Yes, he hurt me and lied to me and even made me fear for my own well being, but wild horses couldnt drag me away. He was mine, and damned if I wasnt going to save him from himself, despite the fact that he didnt want my saving. This particular mess was so hard to let go of because admiting defeat meant that the horses had finally won. I gave up the fight and let myself go, and who knew which of us would end up worse for the wear. It was the hardest pill I ever had to swallow.

But things feel different lately. I'm not sure if its because I'm starting to trust my own instincts more, or because I've found more fulfilling things to occupy my time, or if I'm just plain over him. I can finally see that me not being able to "fix" someone doesnt mean that I failed. It means that they didnt want to be fixed, and that's their problem to live with, not mine. I feel stronger, happier, prettier, and more confident than I have in years. Finally, its all about me again. I can now listen to that song and not think of my self-sacrificing missions that have gone toe up, but sing along in my strong, off-key voice and know that now I mean that wild horses couldn't drag me away... from loving myself. Because I deserve it.

Crappy Drivers, unite!

Originally posted February 3, 2010

It's a slow Wednesday and I have no work, so instead of being a bum in pj's channel surfing all day, I decide to be productive and run some errands. Being late afternoon in the middle of the week, one would expect light traffic and cautious drivers. Not so, at least not in this town.

Driving down Highway 14, I come across The Road Warrior. This hot shot in a minivan is coming up behind me fast. Thinking he would move around me into the left lane was just silliness on my part. Dale Earnhart Jr. proceeds to practically spoon my vehicle as we drive. I stay at my normal pace since I've seen tons of highway patrol on this stretch as of late, and to passive-agressively piss this dillhole off, I let off the crusie control and go a bit slower. I check my rearview and sure as shit, the dude is mouthing probable obscenities and gesticulating wildly like he's having a seizure. Surely, you think, he's not switching lanes because of all the traffic in the left. Actually, we seemed to be the only two vehicles on the road at the moment. When I take the desired exit, Speedicus back there was finally able to kick his rusted-out shitbox into 80 and drive away.

I turn off Madison Ave into a parking lot when low and behold, I'm cut off by a fat guy heaving his ginormous penismobile of a truck into the Taco Bell drive-thru. I slam on the brakes and am rewarded with an eye-to-eye stare down. Now I'm not here to judge. Perhaps in your haste to ingest soggy burritos and deal with the accompanying bouts of the runs, you forgot that a turn signal and slowing down are tantamount to making a hard left. Or maybe you're diabetic and needed food in your guts NOW. Or maybe youre just an inconsiderate douche who cant be bothered to watch where he's going. Whatever the case, I was undoubtedly impressed that you were able to flip me off and hold a Twinkee with the same hand. Bravo, bitch-tits.

Nearing home, I come across the chick-who-can't-drive-but-thinks-she-can. To be fair, she could be a prefectly adequet driver if she were to focus on that task alone. But this girl was gabbing away merrily on her cell phone, not bothering to notice the light she was stopped at had turned green and a line of impatient motorists was forming behind her stagnant ass. Multi-tasking is not for everyone, especially people who are stupid and uncoordinated. And good for you if you try... just do it when you arent crammed behind 2 tons of metal death in a crowd seething with road rage. Bad things can happen to you. After a howling symphony of horns, Chatty Cathy finally remembers what she was doing and drives off, but not before fixing the people behind her an evil glare in her rearview mirror.

Home safely! I pull into my garage and notice that my parking space is douched with snow, since the plow guy is apparently unaware that spot is a place where someone genereally uses for parking, and decided it would be an excellent idea to unload a mountain of snow there. What a perfect end to a perfectly craptastic day

Mad Girls Love Song

Originally posted April 3, 2005

Day by day we're no further then 50 feet from each other, yet sometimes the distance feels light years away. We've never spoken, though we communicate perfectly. When I watch him move, the rest of the world drops dead. My God, he's beautiful. We glance over at each other shyly, in shifts. Every so often our eyes will meet, and our gazes will stay locked for sometimes up to 45 seconds. I always look away first. We send out our silent messages that the other one apparently misinterprets. During these stare-downs, I become keenly aware of my respiration, my heartbeat and the blush in my cheeks. I feel my lips part as I breathe heavier, my chest rise and fall in that slow, langerous rhythm, my pupils dialate beyond my control. Always, I nervously fiddle with my hair, and the sudden movement of my hands seems unnecessary and exaggerated. I remember the time he was walking behind me, so close I could feel his breath lightly on the back of my neck. I wanted to stop so abruptly that he bumped into me. But I couldn't, because then my arms would have snaked around his shoulders and I would have kissed him and have been unable to stop.
We pass each other in slight, deliberate ways. When I'm in the room with two doors opposite each other, I'm always leaving through one as he enters through the other. In my peripheral vision I catch sight of his shirt; I somehow know that he sees nothing more then the thick, windowed door closing after a blonde head. Once we were walking towards each other; steadily and with a definate sense of purpose. Our eyes fixed squarely on one another. We were so focused I thought that we just may crash right into each other. We got so close we could see the whites of each others eyes, then suddenly, in perfect unison, we each veered to our right and kept on going without looking back. What a rush; better then sex and we didn't even touch. Speech is out of the question. We're locked in a silent battle of wills, one that I refuse to lose.

Dancing with myself

Originally posted June 12, 2006

So the whole "dating Hasher" situation is over. It lasted only over the weekend. That's a new record for me. And the end came about in the most unexpected way... my own head actually made the decision, not the advice of my friends, or remembering how things turned out last time. In fact, I came to the same conclusion about boys in general. Why should I be out there, trying to impress and giving but not receiving when ultimately, I'M the one who gets to decide whats going to happen? It's so simple and true I feel stupid for not getting it before. All I really need to do is look cute, be my usual sweet self, and sit back and let THEM do all the charming, because the whole goal (sex) so obviously rests in the woman's hands. It was stupid to try so hard to please one guy, rearrange my entire schedule for another guy, and set a boyfriend trap for yet another. THEY should have been the ones willing to accommodate ME. I'm definately worth it. Not that I wouldn't have been willing to compromise, but come on! And I'm not berating these guys, because they're all good people, but I gave off the vibe that I was willing to compromise myself and bend to their will, which is pathetic and useless.

 It helps that I'm friends with all of them again. When i reread my journal entries since New years, I realized that since then I've had 17 pseudo-relationships. 17 and nothing to show for it, except a few new friends and a lot of wasted effort. And after sitting with Hash at the hospital all day Friday after his scuffle with the cops, I decided that I did NOT want to spend the rest of my days as someones nursemaid. Yes, he is exciting and dangerous, but with all the time he spends in trouble, I will be lonlier then ever. So Hash is donzo. And instead of being panic stricken, I feel more confident about myself than I have in months... its like I'm dancing and twirling in the middle of an empty stage, and instead of feeling lonely I feel alive and beautiful and free. I usually can't be satisfied unless I have an audience of adoring fans. But now I don't care if there's anyone out there at all.

Lauralee and Me

Originally posted October 7, 2006

Today I seem to have settled a score with one of my enemies, thus making my shit list even shorter. Forgiveness has never been my forte, but in this instance I'm glad to be back to good since we're co-workers. Those remaining on my list (now only Megan M. and Heidi T.) deserve to be there, and shall remain indefinitely. Those now exempt from my wrath include Brooke (whom I just grew weary of hating), Klarissa (as of 10 this morning), and poor, poor Laura, the first frenemy I ever ecnountered. Laura, an amalgamation of what I wasn't, what I wanted to be, and what I would become.


Lauralee Eve Terrell. Sounds angellic, doesn't it? That's exactly how she wanted it. I wonder if she felt that I was dogging her every move. I moved here immediately after her, dated the same boys (and in the same sequence), and was virtually the same girl; her blonde counterpart. But I had the edge; I was newer, thinner, and in wide-eyed wonder of everything going on around me. The boys, her boys, came to me immediately, escorting me the mere 100 feet to and from the bus stop each day, hanging out with me at my mothers office, sprawling around my bedroom as if it was their own. How angry she must have been; how angry I would have been. She was dethroned after less than a month. She was no dummy, though. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. And we did become friends, in that fake, overly eager way that boys could never understand. We held hands as we walked, brushed stray hairs from each others shirts, puffed on the same cigarette. To everyone else we looked normal. Two cherubic girls surrounded by boys, giggling and  trading lipsticks. No one except us understood what was underneath.


She wasn't the only one faking innocence. Beneath my wide smile and shiny eyes, I sent and received hostile undercurrent of my own. Back home I was nothing; Jacquie's tomboy shadow. I was invisible. But suddenly I got to start fresh, with no leader to follow, no role to play. I started wearing makeup, picking my clothes with the greatest of care, and memorizing all those flirting tips in teen magazines. My boobs appeared overnight, I got pretty little curves in all the right places, and added a slight wiggle to my walk. I was a girl, and a cute one at that. The moment I saw Laura, though, I knew. Two girls such as we could never be equals. One becomes the alpha, the other the beta, and I'd be damned if I was to be condemned back to side-kick status so soon.


Our power struggle was silent and epic. For our audience we would play the "youre-so-pretty, no-you-are" game, while not informing the other one about the obvious makeup lines on her face, or the toilet paper stuck to her shoe. She tried to convince me that each of her exes that i dated weren't good enough for me; when I broke up with them, she would immediately swoop back in. I would make sly remarks about how I felt soooo fat that day and pat my stomache, forcing her to make the inevitable comparison. These games made us both feel like crap, and yet the first one to stop would become the loser. And neither of us would stand for that.


We were civil for the last few months of her stay, and when she left her foster home and went back to her mothers', we made a big, mushy deal out of her goodbye. We painted each others' fingernails while listening to the Spice Girls, and we traded rings. For reasons unknown, I kept hers, and for a while it was the center point to the shrine I made after her death. I saw her once after she left; she came back to the home, visiting my enemy number 2, Heidi. Lauralee refused to talk to me, stating that she heard through the grapevine that I was spreading rumors about her. I was estatic; the charade was finally over. We never spoke again, and a few years later her death made the news, local and national. As much as I loathed and feared her, no one deserved to die that way. My guilt, sorrow, and relief intermingled in an uneasy mixture inside my head and has yet to abate. There but for the grace of god and one crazy mother went me.


Jesse was and still is the strongest common bond between us; my first love triangle ever. I won him in life, but she triumphs in death. He will never be as happy with my living, breathing presence as he is with her perfect, immortal ghost. Back then I was the one he kept returning to. Now he cant let her go, even for a moment. You can still see it in his face. Since she died I know that he can only be my friend. We will never get married like he used to promise; his love was buried with her at the funeral I didn't attend.




For those of you who want to know Laura's story, copy and paste this link, or go to the Minnesota Coalition for Battered Women and Children
www.mcbw.org/files/u1/femicide2001.pdf

The Weekenders

Originally posted May 8, 2007


Last weekend was my baby sister's 21st birthday. FINALLY. No more fake ID's or sneaking her into bars or buying her liqour because she can't. And so, to celebrate her newfound adulthood, we took the party north to celebrate with the family. At first I had some reservations. A wasted, beligerent sister, one cousin I can fight with at the drop of a hat, another who I seemingly had nothing in common with except our bloodline, and a wild party girl who might as well be a sister. In the past we'd been ok in small doses, but we'd never spent three full days together in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. Anything could happen, and did.


Wisely, we girls decided NOT to stay at our family cabin out at the Fourty, but took a $165 per night abode on east lake Mille Lacs, about 10 minutes away from where our parents were staying. Nic and I left Kato Thursday night, me staying at Tony's, her at Jeanna's. The next day the girls picked me up early in a rental car and we headed for Den's, since I was going to ride up with her. While waiting by myself for Den to get off work, I wrote crazy post-its and hid them all over her house to drive her crazy. By 6:30 or so, Den and I were on the road, headed north in the twilight and the rain, her hyped up and crazy, me tired and cranky from having played the waiting game all day. We made it to the Fourty without fighting, though both of us later commented to others that it was "the longest car ride ever".


Upon reaching our destination, Den and I headed inside and all five of us girls sat around the dinner table, laughing and catching up while Uncle Don eyed us lovingly and served piece after piece of breaded fish fillets  while mom worked on what was probably her fourth drink and dad more or less ignored us until we said something particularly funny or interesting. Molly was already there, had been there for a week, visiting her father she doesn't see much since she moved to Alaska upon getting married. After dinner, us girls headed to our place on the lake in two cars to drop off our stuff and prepare for the night at hand.


The cabin was great. I ended up sharing a bed with Nic that night since Den was being gross in the car, and Molly and Jeanna had already claimed the two single beds. We all changed quickly, did a shot or two, shook our butts to the music, and headed to Hunter's bar, which was conveniently located across the street. All the local men gave us surprised and pleased looks as we entered, and Jeanna heard one man tell his friend, "That one's cute, that one's cuter, that one's even cuter..." We started off strong, and by the time dad and Don joined us, we were wasted and gave the "sexy Town men" loud catcalls when they entered. I'm pretty sure we embarassed them greatly. I slipped away from my family for about a half hour to have a drunken heart to heart with Josh, who had randomly called me and was drunk himself back in Kato. He asked me several times what has been up with me lately, and after several subject changes, he gracefully took the bait and talked about other, less pressing, things.


A few hours and several drinks later, us girls headed back to the cabin, turned on Molly's ipod, danced some more, butchered a pizza, and drank even more. Some of us slipped out onto the deck to smoke around 2 am and some of the drunks from the bar noticed us and came over to chat. After they left we went back inside, until out of the blue Kyle from Carlson called and I went back out on the patio to chat. I noticed another old drunk guy leave the bar and head our way. Instead of walking past, he comes up onto our deck, looks me up and down, says hello, then walks past me into our cabin. I freeze, then turn and follow him in. My family had turned unusually quiet and were all standing with their backs to him, facing the sink, making no eye contact. Dennie took charge of the situation and threw him out, following him to the door and blocking him every time he tried to duck around her and come back in to the party. He finally left, we locked all doors and closed the windows, Jeanna threw up a few times out the window, and we all went to bed.


The next day we were up pretty early and made it back to the Fourty in time for a big pancake breakfast. We hung out there for a while, nursing our hangovers if we had them, checking out Antie Betty's scrapbooks, sleeping and such. During lunch Jeanna and I had a debate about dinner vs. supper, and came to the interesting conclusion that "only Catholics eat Supper." Don't ask. Early that evening we went back to the cabin to get ready for that night's adventure. While Den was curling my hair we got into a minor scrap about God only knows what, and I figured we were overdue for a fight. It was minor, though, and by dinner we were sitting next to each other, best friends again.


First we headed to Carlzona's where we had beer with our dinner, got flirted with by some ugly thirty-year- olds in the booth behind us, and debated on whether or not to let them pick up our tab. We decided not. A guy old enough to be our grandpa came up then, singing to us, and Nic recognized him from last summer, when she saw him and all his daughters walking around wearing SWAMP DONKEY tee shirts. Him and a much younger guy, maybe 32, who was singing Alan Jackson, told us how pretty we were, then followed us to the next bar. We left Carlzona's when the drunks behind us became beligerent when we didnt respond to their questions, and Denn started to mouth off like she does. Jeanna started talking to some young guys who also ended up following us to the next bar. She collects guys like pennies.


At Barnacle's Jeanna did some Karokee, dad and Don eventually showed up, along with Swamp Donkey, Alan Jackson dude, and the young guys, Trav and Dan. Swamp Donkey told us to call him our fishing grandpa and gave Molly and I some awkward back massages as we sat at the table playing poker. A.J. zeroed in on me, telling me how pretty I am and buying me drinks, asking my dad if he could date me, though he was married and had a pregnant wife at home. Dan was all over the place, first hitting on Nic, then putting his arm around my chair when he switched places to help me play poker. I got some interesting conversation plus some tequila out of him, so he wasn't a total waste. Trav pretty much stuck to Jeanna, hoping for something that just wasn't in the cards.


At closing time the boys invited Jeanna and I back to their cabin across the lake, and were bummed when we said it wasn't happening. On the way back we had to pull over and let Nic barf in someone's driveway, and Jeanna hopped out of the car to take pictures. When we got home we were surprised to find our cabin decorated to the hilt by mom, who hadn't showed up at the bars either night. Nic was so drunk, however, that she just went to bed without noticing until the next morning. Den was up early Sunday and cut out before anyone else woke up, and the rest of us girls rode back in the rental after lunch. Nicole went out Sunday night, too, since that was her real birthday, and I stayed at Tony's in Burnsville and had him drive me back Monday morning. When we got here we saw that a huge tree in our yard had blown over in some storm that we missed. If it had gone the other way I would be homeless right now. After Ton'y left and B went to bed, I thought about our weekend and wondered how long it would be until we all saw each other again.

Not your Muse

Originally posted August 15, 2008

So after my last trainwreck of a relationship, I vowed to myself that this time I would go about things smarter. No more bad boys, no more handsome dunces, no more self-described "playaz". While they are fun short term, once you get to the stage of meeting parents and sweating anniversary gifts, their charms are long gone, and you question how you ended up living with someone who mysteriously disappears on a weekly basis, and has never read a book for fun. During my off season of serious dating, I tend to hook up with people who ideally would be great candidates as boyfriend material. However, I consciously pick these same partners for recreation BECAUSE I know things wont work out. They party too much, or live too far away, or in one hypocritical case, I decided that he had too much going on in his life to give me the time I would require in the periods when I am able to get away from MY chaotic schedule. So imagine my surprise when I meet someone with obvious potential... only to find out that despite his claims, that's not at all what he was after.

 The chemistry between us was crazy. Its not that he was particularly cute or built, but he just had an aura of goodness around him that I found irresistable. His perceived innocence was endearing to me, along with the fact that he was whip smart and we could banter back and fourth like Laurel and Hardy. And on top of that, he had great taste in music and movies, spent literally HOURS texting and talking to me, and made me feel as potent as any drug. I intoxicated him. It was a very flattering feeling, but also the crux of our problem.

 Most aspiring writers are brilliant and tortured, and always longing for the next bout of inspiration to take hold. That's where I apparently stumble in. Our pseudo relationship, which flowered and whithered before we even had our first kiss, was completely contingent on the feelings I was able to produce in him. The sexual tension of our first encounters. The all-consuming satisfaction of requited interest. The mental high of sparring with your intellectual equal. And the grating temptation to take flirting to the next level. Once we completed all these levels, its only natural to progress onto the physical. But this particular guy would rather feel the anguished longing of want, rather than give in to it. The mental and emotional feelings I unknowingly stirred inside of him outweighed any physical satisfaction I could offer, by far. In his opinion, at least. But than again, this is coming from a person who never even kissed my lips.

 Then, of course, I started to doubt myself. Am I not his type, physically? Is he secretly repulsed by my pretty eyes and soft skin, but showers me with compliments on my appearance to distract me from the fact that he's never made a move? Did I suddenly develope some bizarre strain of body odor that only presented itsself to attractive males? Did I somehow turn him gay? When I confronted him, he tried to turn it around on himself; that he was so "inferior" to me that I, in turn, intimidated him. He could not see himself with me because I was on a different plane of existance. In real life, Beauty never, ever choses the Beast. But he was willing to carry on with our technological romance since that was far more innocent, and it gave him something to write about. And I said no. I wasn't willing to become a reluctant muse for anyone, especially someone who jerked me around for weeks on end, with nothing to show for it besides some pretty prose about the majestic way I use my hands during a massage. I am so much more than that. While I'm glad I was able to help him through his writers block, worming his way into MY head just to help issue poems from HIS felt unjustified. I deserve a person who adores me for all my parts, even my faulty ones. In this particular case, I would have rather been used by this man for sex than for my personality. At least in that case, I could have been satisfied, too.

Misogynistic a-holes on Craigslist

The following blog is a reprint of I reply I made to some clueless buttwipe on CL who had the audacity to insult my entire gender because he's all butt hurt that his opposable thumbs haven't quite seperated him from the other apes. I am an avid reader of the Rants and Raves section, and sometimes respond when a post is interesting enough, but usually I just read and move on. On this particular day, a guy was bitching about how the hookup section of CL is populated by women who "just dont get it", when actually, HE, and men like him, are the ones who really don't get it. I posted this quaint little "fuck you" then promptly forgot about it... until I started recieving mass emails from people who thought it was hilarious, and that this douche got exactly what he deserved. Enjoy!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Male Poster on Craigslist,

While we females appreciate the honesty and straight forwardness of your post about what stupid, silly twats you consider all of womankind to be, I feel that you have some misunderstanding about the female species. Either that or you are an insufferable bore who can’t get a date, in real life or online, and therefore feel the need to bash females in the faceless forum of Craigslist. And while I did enjoy reading a post that was creative and well written, and not the usual crap about the Hanson’s and restaurant reviews, I feel the need to address your post from a female perspective.

1. Granted, all men are NOT 6 feet tall. But if we women are online looking for random hookups, we want to at least bang a stranger we find attractive. Who wants to screw someone who only comes up to our chins?

2. You say that most men already have a wifey... we say they should go back to wifey, and let our random sex commence with other singles. We will have enough to feel guilty about once our clothes come back on anyway, without having to add home wrecking to the list.

3. You seem to be so put out by having to read a woman’s post that consists of more than hard core sexual fantasies. But women like to talk; it’s a fact. Why would that change just because we’re online? If you want to get laid anywhere, you are going to have to listen to us talk and pretend to be interested in what we have to say. Why? Because we are the ones who are in possession of the vaginas you are so desperately seeking.

4. Women who are apparently wasting your time making small talk are doing so because they are trying to decide whether or not the person they are communicating with is a creeper, or a rapist, or something even worse.

5. Those women who don’t want to “fork” are most likely posting under the LTR category, and since you’re having no luck in the Casual Encounter section, you make your way to an area where women actually hope to find a boyfriend, in the hopes you will find a random whore who miscategorized her post.

6.Seems that you have a problem with women being players...but its ok for men to be? Besides, it’s the female “players” that are the most likely to put out.

7. You tell us not to expect you to be Adonis, but your posts are pretty descriptive asking for “a hot blond with big knockers, between ages 18-22.” Hypocritical, much?

8.Granted, tits and ass are a highly interesting topic for men, but why describe ourselves in great detail when all we get in return from you is a blurry or dark picture of your unimpressive junk?

9. We won’t be offended if you ask about our physical credentials if you can accept the fact that women who post on here don’t look like Jessica Alba. Girls who look like that are at the bars, at least getting drinks bought for them before they make the mistake of going home with a stranger.

10. You urge us to “grow up and play the game by the rules”, yet you forget the fact that women hold all the cards here. We could go downtown and get sex in 15 minutes if we were so inclined. We dont need the internet. Maybe you need to follow the rules that have been set in place since cavemen stopped clubbing their partners over the head and dragging them off to their cave, and pretend that you're not a disrespcetful dillhole, at least until AFTER you get some.

11. Most of the ladies who DO post in the hopes of a casual hookup are NOT looking for “compensation”, because that is illegal, and it would be most embarrassing to explain to our parents that we were turning tricks to pay our rent.

12. Women are usually willing to only “play out of the box” with people we trust. If we have public sex with a stranger, anything could happen, including us unknowingly ending up on YouPorn because your friend was hiding nearby with a video camera.

13. It may be naïve of us to think that Prince Charming posted here, but it’s is equally naïve of you to assume that Jenna Jamison is looking for a hookup with a 40 year old balding man with a paunch.

14. The fact that men are sex animals hasn’t escaped us. But being dissed and dismissed on CL because her tits aren’t big enough doesn’t help your position, either.

15. We understand the sheer amount of spam that CL can deliver, and you trying to find out if we are real is understandable. Asking if we want to meet at McDonalds to hump in the bathroom is not. You have to put in a little more effort than 3 one line emails.

16. You admonish us to dress nice for a date... but I thought you we’re looking for a fuck buddy? I think what you meant was “dress like a tramp so I can get a boner the second I open my hotel door”.

17. Don’t worry if our ass looks fat? Ok, I have officially let go of all of my insecurities because a complete stranger who is objectifying me told me to do so. I’m starting to think that you have never actually been around a woman in your entire life. You clearly don’t understand us at all.

18. We won’t expect to get married because we posted a witty ad if you don’t expect to get laid because you posted a badly spelled, unpunctuated and possibly offensive ad. You want me to come over and suck your big hairy clock?

19. I sincerely doubt that any woman who actually answers these ads will enjoy their “date”, because if a man is too lazy to put on pants and get shot down at the bars like everyone else, he certainly won’t bother to worry about the woman’s pleasure.

20. And finally, if women are “one in a billion posters”, how come the w4m section of Casual Encounters is always bare?


While I enjoyed reading your witty post, I enjoyed it even more the first time I read it, in the Best of Craigslist section. Next time you have a gripe about womankind, try putting it in your own words, even though you probably aren’t clever enough to form a sentence. Thanks.