17 posts tagged “stupid girls”

Dear Women at the gym,

Hello. I know we haven't properly met, but I wanted to take this opportunity to reach out to you, considering we've been seeing a lot of each other lately.

(Yes, once a week is 'a lot' to me.)

 I'm sure you must know who I am, as you have spent plenty a minute observing me. See, I'm the girl on the Elliptical machine next to you only going for 10 minutes at a speed of 6.7. I know you enjoy how slow I'm going because you keep looking over to make sure you're going faster than me.

I assure you, you are. You're the fastest Ellipitcal machine rider of all time. You win.

(Plus, it's my WARM-UP!!!)

And yes, that was me next to you on the treadmill ranting to my husband that I can't, "FUCKING believe I have to come to THE GYM and then am forced to stare at some dancer's FUCKING ass JIGGLE all over the place!!! This isn't a music video! THIS IS SOFTCORE PORN!!!" in between sweaty pants as I power walk because I "don't do running."

And just because I know you heard it, yes, that was me who farted next to you while you were taking up the whole floor doing your pilates exercises. It slipped. I'm sorry.

I can imagine why this was so alarming for you because clearly, you don't have gas. That would require eating.

I also just wanted you to know that YES, that's me in the lime green bikini from Old Navy two years ago that walked past you while you were perched on the jaccuzzi wall.

And,yeah, I could totally seeing you staring at my ass in horror as I walked by.

Our eyes met when I purposely turned around to catch you staring at my ass, and I have to say I thoroughly enjoyed how startled you were that OH MY GOD THE WOMAN THAT THE ASS IS ATTACHED TO HAS EYES.

I know it must be quite alarming, that I dare turn around and catch you in your sneaky past time of staring at other women who dare display the fat on their bodies IN PUBLIC and critiquing them and reassuring yourself that No...My ass is definitely smaller. Thank God. If I ever get that fat, I'll just kill myself. Ugh.

I know I have some nerve obstructing your view of the hallway to the steam room with my stretch marks.

And my cellulite.

And that ingrown hair on my shin.

Dude, I'm totally sorry. I know.

I'm, like, tooootally nastified.

But here's the thing. I'm going to the gym for a reason. And it's probably not why you're here.

I'm here, ladies, for my mental health. I'm here, for my physical health. And yeah, I'm to stay a bit more toned so I can eat my pizza and cupcakes and not have to keep buying a bigger pair of jeans every fucking 3 months.

To the girls in the pink track suits afraid of going any faster than 3.2 on the Elliptical because you're afraid of sweating, GOD ALMIGHTY GO HOME.

If you have nothing better to do than stare at other women and their fat in the pool area, why don't you go busy yourself with a session with a personal trainer, or go suck on a popsicle?

I may not be as dedicated as you are on the Power Plate, or lifting as much weight on the abduction machine, or be afraid of walking around in my bathing suit because everyone will see my thighs jiggle but that doesn't give you any more right to be here than me.

So, ladies. I just wanted to cut you a deal.

If you happen to be one of those women talking in the steam room about the £1million home in Cobham you were just looking at and how crazy you are because you forgot to tell your husband you were going to be at Yoga until 10pm last night I'm going to make you as uncomfortable as possible.

Yes, that was me who farted in the shower. (Again. It slipped.)

That was me standing there naked as long as possible while you and your gal pal Sandy discussed preschool prices and low fat salad dressing.

It may not seem like the most clever revenge I can get on your rudeness and irritating way of breathing, but being all offensive with my size 14 ass, and my offensively large tits, and tattoo, and stretch marks, and PUBIC HAIR (because, sorry, I'm not down with some chick waxing that shit all off) is the best I can think of.

I enjoy that when I do this y'all clearly get really fucking uncomfortable with having a naked chic who clearly doesn't do Yoga at 7:30 every Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday night standing 2 feet away from you.
 
Ladies, I am comfortable with myself and comfortable with my body and CLEARLY that makes you uncomfortable.

Do me a favor and stop staring at my "flaws". If you're staring because you're impressed with my magnificent tits, than just say so. (I mean, you have every right to be. Let's be real.)

Otherwise, if you're staring at me with disgust and I catch you, you're going to get The Stare, and possibly a nipple in your eye if you happen to have a locker near mine.

You have been warned.

Kisses!!!

See you next Tuesday....

-Cate

xx

A mildly-wise man once said, "Opinions are like assholes, everybody's got one."

Perhaps this is why everyone is so scared of other people's opinions.

Assholes can be pretty scary.

However, this doesn't explain why people are petrified of sending back their Cowboy Burger at Applebees because it had a hair in it.

("Well, I could just eat around it. It was just one hair...and it was short.")

We all know that opinions are the sources of all international conflicts.

Religions, philosophies, morals, and beliefs all can be boiled down to naked opinions.

What I think, what you think. Neither one is technically wrong, but neither of us is technically right.

Life's a fucking bitch like that.

However, this doesn't mean that all of us just can't accept and respect that we have different opinions.

Why is that so fucking hard? Because you HAVE to be right?

I do not understand why despite the fact that we're in a day in age where we're apparently free to be you and me, express ourselves, and are given free outlets where we can blab and yack and rant all we want...why are people still fucking breaking out in hives and telling us to SSSSHHHHUUUUSSSHHHH!!!! when we voice our opinions in their presence.
 
It's like, okay everyone...

You can be unique, tattooed and pierced all you want OUT THERE, but just don't bring it to the dinner table.

We love that you're opinionated, but could you please tone down that opinion column that we hired you to write? You're offending one of our sponsors.

I love that you're so honest and blunt about things...but just don't be like that when I ask you for advice, ok?

I respect your culture and think that it's beautiful, but just don't let me hear you speak your native language anywhere around me, ok? It's offensive because I can't understand you, and you might be saying something bad about me. And that's so not okay with me.

I'm totally okay with the fact that you're gay, and that you're the most happy you've ever been...but just don't rub it in my face. Like, I don't want to see it or talk about it. It creeps me out, but I'm totally supportive of you.

What the fuck is wrong with people?

Why is it okay to be different out in lala land, but why when it gets a little too close to home for people, they fucking flip out.

Is that not hypocritical? Is that not fucked?

I do not expect everyone to paint each other's toe nails, roast smores on clothes hangers together, and giggle politely at everyone else's opinions and lifestyle choices, as then I would have nothing to complain or write about (and a world where I have nothing to bitch about is a scary, scary place.)

However, I do think that it's pretty fucked up when the people in your life that claim to be supportive of you and love you but then get all bent out of shape when you say or do something in front of them that contradicts with the Virginal Candy Land Princess image they've have of you in their head.. Out of sight out of mind.

Sally, in front of Uncle Bill and Aunt Jen you are not a lesbian! This is just your special pal from college! We talked about this!

I am aware of the fact that a lot of people of smaller IQ lesser maturity like to run around desperately trying to let everyone know how fucking smart and unique they are.

I'm different! I'm angry! I'm rebelling! See? See me? I'm unreasonably unruly! I defy the rules! I'm a rule breaking maniac!!

(Why don't you just throw on a neck tie and a wifebeater and wear tube socks on your arms and run around a mall  just so everyone knows what a unique rebel you are.)

More often than not, this is just rude. And even more often than not, people are just going to think you're a douche bag, not an incredibly intelligent rebel.

 It's one thing to be honest and give your opinion, and just be who you are

...Its completely different to go out of your way just to test people, forcefully spew your opinionated diarrhea all over your friends, family, co-workers, and well, anyone who makes the unfortunate accident of making eye contact with you.

And if they don't like it, well FUCK them. They just don't GET YOU. They're just ignorant. Hella ignorant.

Things such as tact, manners, and etiquette seem to be incredibly underrated lately. Etiquette and manners do not just consist of which fork to use and minding your "Please" and "Thank You"s.

Knowing how and when to state your opinion is incredibly important.

Yes, you and every other asshole out there has the right to your own opinion.

Example: Rosie O'Donnell is probably one of the most infuriating women in the world, but she unfortunately has the right to state her opinion...

But just saying whatever you want, whenever you want is annoying as shit.

People often think that using the disclaimer "This is just my opinion" frees them from the consequences of "just their opinion" offending anyone, and pissing people off.

("What? Why are you mad!?! It's JUST MY OPINION!!?!?!")

Just as saying, "I don't mean to be rude" or "I really hate to hurt your feelings and be a bitch BUT-" is a load of bullshit. You obviously know that you're being rude and if you really didn't meant to be rude, you would just shut the fuck up. And if you really didn't want to hurt someone's feelings, then you wouldn't say anything.

(And for the record, saying, "I'm sorry you feel that way" in apology is a load of shit. You're SORRY I feel the way I do? That's not an apology. Saying, "I'm an asshole for hurting your feelings, I'm sorry I hurt you." IS an apology. Jaysus!)

Look, I understand and appreciate that people are not going to love, accept, and respect everything that I do.

Duh.

However, what I don't appreciate is people who say that they're here for me, love, and support me, but then shit themselves when I open my mouth and am honest.

Don't say that you think it's great that I'm opinionated and love my views on things, and then turn around and ask me to not make waves.

Don't say that you think I'm strong and independent, and then not understand why you can't pin me down.

Don't say that you appreciate how honest, and straightforward I am, and then try to make me feel bad for giving you my honest opinion when you ask for advice.

I'm sorry that you'd like to have only bits and pieces of me at a time.

But it doesn't work that way.

I never promised to feed cupcakes while I called you on your bullshit.

I never said that I would decorate my honesty with gum drops.

Real friends shouldn't have to serve their love drizzled with maple syrup. If it's real, its sweet enough on its own. It's not always fun and its certainly not always easy...but why can't you just have it the way it is?

I'm not saying that you have to either love it or leave it...

I don't even think that you need to agree with my opinion.

I just need you to not tell me to SHHHHH through a clenched smile, and jab me in the ribs  if I speak up.

Do not try to counteract my opinion with some bullshit excuse and try to erase what I said, and say that I'm wrong.

How can you call advice wrong? It's what I think. That's what advice is!?

ad·vice  /ædˈvaɪs/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[ad-vahys]  –noun

1.	an opinion or recommendation offered as a guide to action, conduct, etc.: I shall act on your advice.

My opinion and advice in itself cannot be wrong. Out of all the advice you've received,you can assess mine as being the wrong advice for that situation, the wrong advice for you. But alone, it's not wrong, it's my opinion.

Why does my voice make you uncomfortable?

Why is it that some people just want you to keep quiet. Keep the peace. No matter what. Don't rock the boat, sit still. Just enjoy the fucking view and shut up, right?

Calm down. Let it go.

Please? For me? Just don't say anything?

While some stuff does need to just be let go...there are also times when you absolutely must speak up.

And in those times, who's right is it to ask for your silence?

To me, that shows distrust. That shows embarrassment. It shows shame. Weakness.

Just because I say something, why do you think that reflects badly on you?

Because you're supposed to be able to control me? Like I'm your responsibility? Like it was your job to have tamed the shrew...and they can't understand why I'm talking?

I'm a grown ass woman. I understand the consequences of stating my opinion.

But do you understand the consequences of your silence?

If little girls are to be seen and not heard....

...Then I am what happens when the 'little girls' grown up.

(We get therapists, turn our lives upside down, and then write about it in blogs...duh.)

Inspired by Ruthypants, I've gotten down with the poem writing, lately. If you have bongos, feel free to bust them out now.

"Be Mine!"

"Be My Valentine!"

"Kiss Me!"

"I Got You Babe!"

Just as the thought of a white, pouffy, wedding made me want to throw myself into a pit of 100,000 burning copies of Martha Stewart: Martha's Wedding Ideas...I'm guessing you can take a wild stab at my feelings toward Valentine's Day.

I was all set to write a "All of My Hilariously Disappointing Valentine's Day Experiences" post, straight Bridget Jones style, yo...

But then I came across this tit of an article, entitled: "Why I Hate Valentine's Day: 6 ways the holiday wreaks havoc".

Before reading, I was like, "Oh awesome, this should be interesting!"...

And by about half way through, I had already broken out into hives, and was desperately searching the flat for a paper bag to breathe in.

According to this article, the  "6 Reasons" that Valentine's Day is so horrible are:

1) Valentine’s Day makes people afraid to start dating someone

2) Valentine’s Day can wreak havoc for those who date around

3) Valentine’s Day can bring a couple to make-or-break status

4) Valentine’s Day can cause a relationship to linger... too long

5) Valentine’s Day ratchets up the pressure to have a perfect night

6) Valentine’s Day forces you to play Kreskin on the gift front

Some of these are just obvious, and very "OMG. Waaah. I'm single. My life is miserable." But JEEZUS, some of the things that were written in this article made me want to hunt down the writer and interviewees, beat them over the head with a copy of He's Just Not That In To You, and raid their homes for whatever "You Must Be In A Couple To Be Worthy Of Living & How To Make Your Crappy Relationship Work At Any Cost!" book that they're clutching to their bosom every night whilst they cry them self to sleep.

The article is just filled with the contradictions and the gaping holes that are in women's "logic" of what Valentine's Day and romance should be, and is just further proof that when it comes to VDay, MEN CAN'T FUCKING WIN.

One of the women interviewed, Heather, said:

“I hate seeing girls carrying home flowers that their boyfriends sent them, because I know that’s never me, even when I have a boyfriend—that’s just not how I am in a relationship. All of the expressions have just become formulaic—why bother if you know what’s coming?"

The writer (whom I'm so stoked to rip on I'm practically foaming with anticipation) went on to talk about Heather's idea of Valentine' Day and said,

"She says she’d rather her boyfriend did something nice for her unprompted than something “romantic,” just because it’s a day when he’s “supposed” to. So much focus on one little day can actually make people start to second-guess the hearts and candy they do get—is he really that into you, or did he just pick up the generic be-a-good-boyfriend package on his way home? "

So far, we've established from this article that "women" don't want their boyfriends to do anything just because they're "supposed to", but don't want to be left out and hate seeing all the "other girls" with the "formulaic" gifts such as flowers or chocolate. And if your partner does feel compelled "be a good boyfriend" and chooses to get you some flowers or whatever, you end up questioning his sentiments?

Well, what I take away from this, is that maybe women don't want the typical romantic Valentine's Day bullshit gifts, but still want effort and romance. Maybe their boyfriend can tell that, and think that he'll get her something thoughtful that she'll actually use! Ya know, not just flowers that will die, chocolate that will get eaten (probably by himself), or a necklace that will get worn once every 7 months...

The author of this column wrote about friend's boyfriend who "had a knack for giving her exactly what she needed" like, for example "a toaster, a rolling pin, a hot-glue gun". That seems thoughtful isn't it? Maybe those are things she always says she wants, but will never go buy. However, apparently these gifts had "so little romantic quotient" that her friend quite frequently ended up spending VDay night "in the bathroom sobbing". Her friend's reasoning?

“I mean really, how could I not take those gifts as a sure sign that he thought of me as a pal he happens to sleep with rather than the sexy woman who rocks his world?”

For fuck sake! Seriously? Would you rather lingerie? Oh no, I imagine that would make him out to be only interested in sex, in your body, or that he wished you looked more like the girls in FHM.

What does a boyfriend/husband get the lady of his life to make her feel like she's "the sexy woman who rocks his world" without having her in the bathroom crying over a gift.

While a toaster or a hot glue gun isn't typically romantic, I can see the thought behind it. It shows that he was listening to her when she said she wanted on. That he remembered. That he wanted to her to have something she could really use! I could understand if he bought her a useful gift that she didn't actually need, but fuck! What do you women want?!!?

I loved how the writer also used women's own blind fantasies of Valentine's Day as "proof" that this holiday is bad because it "causes" couples to "make-or-break" their status. Her proof? Sophie, a lawyer in Putnam County, New York's sad little Valentine's tale.

"'I did the whole bed and breakfast suite in the country thing—very storybook,'she says. When her honey got there, he took one look at the overwhelmingly romantic (some might say stifling) set-up and decided that he really wasn’t ready to move in with her, as they had been discussing. Everything was seeming too couple-y, too fast for him. 'Lovely timing, right by the fireplace,' she recalls."

That poor girl! Just look at what that evil St.Valentine caused her boyfriend to do! Never mind that she clearly wouldn't be able to identify a red flag if it beat her over the fucking head, or that she obviously hadn't clearly gauged her boyfriend's readiness to move in correctly, OR that they obviously had communication problems...It's that Stupid Cupid's fault. This holiday is pure evil.

Just as most weddings and engagements that are fuelled purely by the Bride/Fiancée's psychotic plans and expectations efforts; a Valentine's Day that is planned and organized only by the female half of the relationship is, clearly, not a good sign. Take more of the "proof" that Valentine's Day is evil, this time from another interviewee, Suzanne, a copy editor from Boston:

"One year, I decided to treat my guy, and I made a really fancy dinner—red, heart-shaped lobster ravioli, champagne, chocolate soufflé,” she says. For all her hard work, the one thing she skipped buying was flowers, assuming that her guy would at least pick those up out of instinct. “Nothing, nada,” she says. “Here I thought I really didn’t expect anything, because I’m not into that as a holiday, but I was still wondering if this guy even knew me or cared about me at all."

Can we all pause for a moment to reflect on the aroma of bullshit that is seeping from this quote? Who the fuck spends all day to "treat" their boyfriend by making fucking HEART-SHAPED LOBSTER RAVIOLI and MOTHER FUCKING CHOCOLATE SOUFFLÉ if they're "not into" all the Valentine's Day bullshit? Are you serious? And then to go on to say that you "didn't expect anything" is fucking bullshit! She clearly didn't get flowers to TEST her boyfriend to see if he "knew or cared" about her "at all"!

I can just picture her earlier that day, on the phone with him while she delicately cuts ravioli shells into little hearts telling him,

"No, really sweets, I don't want anything for Valentine's Day. I hate that stuff. Seriously, don't you worry! You know me, babe...Me? Oh, I'm not doing anything. I'm just reading a magazine!" ...Really babe, I'm not preparing Chocolate Soufflé or anything! And I'm definitely not secretly hoping you'll propose tonight or nothin'!

Perhaps the worst of all this, was when the author uses the excuse of "Valentine’s Day can cause a relationship to linger... too long" as one of her 6 reasons VDay sucks a big fat one.

Her proof? She once stayed with a guy who "didn’t even have a TV, for starters" but was "nice enough" and "that all my friends thought he was way hot" because she DID NOT WANT TO BE SINGLE ON VALENTINE'S DAY. She said she knew their relationship was over earlier that winter, but "obviously I wasn’t going to break things off during the holidays" and then stayed with him until after Valentine's day.

"It would have been easier to call the relationship DOA earlier rather than stretch it out unhappily in the hopes of being coupled-up on Cupid’s special day. In my case, it seems, St. Valentine's was the patron saint of emotional inertia."

Oh holy Jesus on rye. Really? Are you REALLY blaming Valentine's Day for your idiotic, pathetic relationship behavior? GAWD! I don't even know where to start with her...

However, things start to make more sense after reading the small print at the bottom of the column. The writer of the article?

Laura Gilbert.

Laura Gilbert who was once the Senior Editor for Maxim magazine. I have no idea why she left the magazine, however, all I really found was a collection of articles she wrote for Maxim while being the Senior Editor.

Articles like: " Take Her Home…Guaranteed!" where Gilbert gives advice to Maxim Men about how to trick a woman into having a one night stand,

"Whether or not we’ll admit it, a night of anonymous debauchery is often exactly what we want!"

Her "we" meaning just women in general. Obviously, her insight into the female psyche is uncanny.

Or perhaps you'll enjoy her "Sexy Coeds Confess" article where she let's Maxim readers in on how "university hotties really get down".

She's like, the nerdy looking "GV behind the curtain" who's the Queen of Female Chauvinist Pigs . Okay, maybe not the Queen...but definitely a Duchess.

So, what's my own personal take on Valentine's Day?

I used to be a Valentine's Day whore.

Prior to being with ye old idiot (aka Spencer) I had only been on one Valentine-esque date with the elf-like lead singer of my second favorite punk band at my high school.

He gave me a mixed tape, and a card, and I was like, soooo totally excited when I got home. I actually had a Valentine!

Cut to 20 minutes later when my phone rings, and it's The Punk Elf, letting me know that he got back together with his ex girlfriend, and advised me to not listen to the tape he gave me...as he had recorded San Dimas High School Footbal Rules for me, and had -so romantically- replaced the name Whitney with my name.

Awesome.

Somehow, over the years, I would manage to morph into a "bitter, single girl" every February 14th, even while I had a boyfriend. I would spend so much time fantasizing about the gifts I could receive, or what my boyfriend might have planned, that by the time the damn day actually came, anything other than a pair of glass slippers and a horse-drawn carriage would caused me to end up sobbing in the bathroom.

There is nothing wrong with wanting to be wooed, swept off your feet, or be so drunk on romance that it's a struggle to not puke on your lover.

I just think that too many women are so starved for any form of romance or happiness in love, that they use this holiday as a "sign". Like, if he can't get his shit together and be romantic enough on VALENTINE'S DAY, then he really doesn't love me.

In some cases, he won't because -you're right- he doesn't really love you.

But there's also the fact that he may really love you, and you just have your head shoved so far up Lifetime and Hallmark's ass, that you wouldn't appreciate his gifts, no matter how heartfelt or thoughtful they were.

I'm not saying that you need to settle in order to be happy...

But, at least for me, I've found that once you have the "Omg this is so great I think I'm seriously going to throw up on your shoes" love...you won't be secretly longing for gifts and heart-shaped lobster raviolis.

Iain and I are staying in. We're cooking curry, using the £14 that's left on a HMV gift card from Christmas to buy a new DVD, gettin' drunk, and maybe we'll go all the way, but we'll just leave that to drunken chance, no?

The thought of roses, or flowers, chocolate, and a candlelight table for 2 doesn't gross me out.

It's the thought of doing that stuff while every other couple in the world is, and for the same reason every one else is, just seems a bit weird.

Plus, anything that is elaborately planned out and arranged simply because of a random date on a calendar isn't nearly as romantic as going to celebrate something simply because you want to...not because it's expected.

Romance is what you make it.

The other side of this is that, when asked, "What are you doing for Valentine's Day!?!!?" you're either supposed to sob and chug wine because MY GAWD you're SINGLE ON VALENTINE'S DAY, or squeal in delight if you have a boyfriend because your man has something super duper special and neat-o planned.

BUT, if you're one of those couples who could give a heart-shaped, organic chocolate-dipped fuck about Valentine's Day...No one believes you!

Valentine's Day isn't supposed to be evil, but over the years, I think our own romance-starved relationships have fueled the wide-spread epidemic of unrealistic expectations of what Valentine's Dya is supposed to be about.

I'm not going to let it drive me nuts or  wear black and I'll even try to resist the urge to pelt every couple I see that's pretending to like one another and trying not bicker for a full 24 hours with those "Fuck You" candy hearts...

It's just a damn day.

Sure everyone is being more disgusting, and fake than usual...and it can, understandably, rub your own unpleasant romantic situation in your face..
.
But why not just take some personal responsibility for your life, and stop placing blame on half naked,arrow slinging cherubs, or on clueless boyfriends who can't read your mind and magically know that that YES YOU WOULD like him to buy you some flowers.

PLEASE do not end up crying in the bathroom tomorrow over an electric shaver your boyfriend bought you, or pointlessly slaving away over heart-shaped lobster raviolis hoping it will beguile your boyfriend into being a grateful lover, when really, romantically shaped pasta cannot, and will not ever change a miserable twat into the loving, appreciative man of your dreams.

Just say NO! to heart-shaped ravioli, this Valentine's Day....

...And just say YES! to alcohol and the possibility of going all the way.

Alright. So I've been tagged by Idle, LeendaDLL & TheBitterLinguist...

 I'm more of a "hide & seek" girl, but I shall play a long this once.

Well, kind of. But only because this little "5 things" quiz plays right into the next post I had in the works, so we'll retitle it the:

"5 things or more you probably didn't know about me that I will indirectly explain in the following post".

I say that counts.

So, you may have noticed I write a lot about the stupid things that girls do.

**everyone rolls eyes and groans**

The stupidity of women/girls in relationships and in their general behavior makes me want to pull out my hair. It drives me fucking nuts.

 For fuck sake, I've pretty much based an entire blog on analysing and picking apart idiotic behavior.

I'm not just a judgemental wench that thinks she knows everything because she has a Psychology degree.

(Because I don't. I ain't got no proper skoolin'.)

And I don't think I'm a relationship expert or "know men" because I own all the seasons of Sex and the City have read He's Just Not That Into You, or am married.

I don't just observe these behaviors and let them get me all up in a tizzy because I just "don't understand" them.

It goes back to the whole childish "takes one to know one" comeback.

Idiotic, self destructive, blind, foolish, naive female behavior, urks me to my very core because I used to be the dumbest smart girl in the world.

Okay, maybe not the world, but certainly in my apartment complex.

I used to be a cell phone checking, Myspace hacking, paranoid, jealous, insecure, naive, blinded by "love" TWAT.

Or, very much like some of you out there, I assume.

Look, I know why you're making excuses for your boyfriend. Why you're unhappy. Why you feel that way. Why you're always fighting. Why you pretend. Why you lie. Why you want to stay with him. Why you check his phone. Why you check his Myspace. I understand why you hate it when his Ex calls. I understand even MORE why you pretend it's not that big of a deal. I understand why you beat yourself up over it. Why you pass it off as you being "jealous",

I was in an incredibly unhealthy, psychologically destructive relationship for over 2 years. I let myself be lied to, cheated on, passive aggressively manipulated and lead on. I let my personal progress to better my physical and mental health be sabotaged.

I was THIS CLOSE to letting this life that I write about, and this love that I have found NEVER HAPPEN.

The behavior and excuses and stupidity that I cannot stand, used to be my way of thought, and way of life.

Now, being on the 'not so stupid' side of that and being in a truly healthy, loving relationship not only with myself, but with my partner...It disgusts me how complacent and foolish other women/girls are with their mental stability, heart, and body in relationships.

Why is "being psycho and jealous" so ACCEPTED by us?

Acting like a crazy ass? It's okay! Your BFF feels the same way. "Dude, I'm totally psycho, too!" so you just brush it off. You're justified acting that way. Jealousy is normal. You're just insecure. "I just need to get over it, and then we'll be perfect."

Um, you couldn't be more wrong.

Well, yes, you're wrong and really need to stop torturing yourself and exhausting your precious energy by being a double agent with your boyfriend...However, you're not just "insecure" or "being psycho".

There's a reason behind all of that.

And the fact that you're crying all the time, fighting, and acting like god damn Sidney Bristow and checking your lover's cell phone the minute he steps into the shower should be a RED FUCKING FLAG to you.

RED FLAG. RED FLAG. RED FUCKING FLAG.

That's not normal. That's not healthy.

Look, we all know what I'm talking about. And it's one thing to Google his Ex's name or refer to her as "The Life Sucking Vortex of Death"...It's completely different to be hacking into his Myspace account while he's at working or ripping open his cell phone bill the minute it comes in the mail, comparing dates and times he said he was "at lunch" or at his best friend's house.

Yeah. Again, RED FLAG.

..So....

Basically, I was in a relationship for over 2 years with this guy named, uh, we'll call him Spencer. (Because I hate that name.) I loved him. I had a promise ring. We moved in together after 3 months. He bought me a dog. My family seemed to really like him. We talked about getting married. His friends all loved me.

This is what everything appeared to be like, and these are the reasons I thought we would be together forever and ever.

The reality was...

Spencer had cheated on every single one of his girlfriends, and had a very slutty, concerning past. When we met he still had a girlfriend, and I was his excuse for finally dumping her. He refused to stop talking to her until a year and a half into our relationship. The entire time we were together, he still talked to the girl he had cheated on his ex with, and refused to stop. Flat out REFUSED. Even after I saw a text from him to her that said "Why didn't it work out between us?"

 Never mind all of the other girls that were just "his friends" that he had either gone out with, slept with, or at one point had a crush on.

He never wanted to go out, and lived on the Xbox. I'd sit for hours and hours alone while he'd play games online, or read, or play Halo. He'd secretly text and always make a phone call if I took a nap or went out. He'd check out and stare at waitresses and other women directly in front of me and claim, "What, I'm a guy?!" or "Oh, I thought I knew her from somewhere."

And that brings us to the other problem. Spencer was a sex addict.

That doesn't mean that he had a really high sex drive, liked to have sex a lot, or was just a very sexual person. The BBC gives a pretty good explanation of it: "A sex addict feels compelled to seek out and engage in sexual behaviour, in spite of the problems it may cause in their personal, social and work lives."

In Spencer's case, this manifested in a number of ways, but mainly in his addiction to Internet Pornography.

Before I go any further, I just want to clarify that I'm not writing this to damage Spencer. There are only a few people who may even know who I'm talking about, but, I write this because I hope it might help someone else.

When I went through this, I was very alienated, and very, very alone until I got help for myself....and even then, I didn't tell my therapist for 5 months about this problem that I was dealing with because it was that embarrassing, and that difficult to speak out.

Plus, this is not really talked about.

It's been on Dr.Phil once.

There are many religious websites reaching out to sex addicts, claiming they can help them find Jesus and cleanse them of the "sin and shame".

There are books about sex addicts, that only briefly touch on addiction to Internet porn.

Maybe things have changed in the past couple years....But when I was going through this, I didn't get any support.

So. He was addicted to Internet pornography and refused, and even lied about getting help.

His sexual addiction problems, along with many other problems, were the main reason for his inability to stay faithful to any one of his girlfriends.

His favorite line upon breaking up is always, "You're the only girl I never cheated on."

Oh. Then I guess I must be super special, huh? "Special" enough to believe that crock of shit.

It was also the reason he couldn't cut ties with girls he had inappropriate relationships with, because that would be getting rid of a potential fuck buddy, or sexual escapade, or source of flirtatious banter.

He couldn't help but stare at women because MY GOD. There were tits and ass in his view, so it must be looked at. And it's not just "I'm just looking"...It was "I'm looking, and I'm also wondering what she'd be like in bed."

There is a difference between this, and a healthy, normal way of looking at other women. This alone did not make him a sex addict. Just like occasionally looking at porn can be healthy and normal. But his habits with it were very, very unhealthy and destructive.

At first it didn't bother me. It was fine. He was a guy. Guys do that.

However, I started checking his computer more and more, because I noticed that EVERY time I'd use his computer to check my mail, "hotXXXMILFS" popped up right along side "hotmail.com"....

I started noticing that every time we were apart, even every HOUR we were apart he would be looking at porn.

Even right before I would come over.

So, I told him it made me uncomfortable, especially when our sex life was so, um, quiet.

So he said he'd do it less often.

Less often....

It got to the point where the "less often" would be every single morning, while I was at the grocery store, while I was at work, or WHILE I WAS IN THE SHOWER.

I FLIPPED OUT the day he didn't have time to come see me at my work before he left for the day, because he had spent 2 hours looking at porn.

I had become a detective. A crazed, obsessed, psycho detective that knew every way to check what he'd been looking at. What time. What he said he was doing.

I told him it needed to stop....And it seemed to....But mostly because I stopped checking.

But then I found out he'd just been using Netscape instead of Internet Explorer for the past 3 months.

I would cancel plans with friends just so I could be home by the time he was home. I would leave my mom's house to be there the minute he walked in the door. I would lie to switch my work schedule around just so I could be home, babysitting, making sure he didn't "fuck up" and look at porn. If we did have to be apart, I couldn't think about anything else. I'd text him just to make sure he wasn't too preoccupied to text me back. The panic and anxiety I felt leaving him home by himself was crippling.

Who was he talking to? What was he doing? Was he looking at porn? Wacking off? Talking to his ex? Is he even really at home???

I tried being patient. I tried not getting mad at him. I tried yelling at him. I tried sobbing. I tried not looking...But....

I was always the bad guy. I was always a "snoop" or he felt like he was "being spied on in my own home".

And he was. But I wasn't wrong.

I was wrong for staying and making everything be okay at all costs just so I could still be with him...

But HE was WRONG.

Add on top of this disturbing addiction everything I had mentioned above....Me constantly checking his cell phone to find messages from his ex girlfriends and ex mistresses..."I miss you" or "How are you Sweetheart?"...Add on top of that we didn't have a sex life...Add on top of that I felt ugly, and fat, and insecure, and insane, and jealous, and CRAZY because it would always, ALWAYS make me out to the be the snoopy, insecure, jealous girlfriend who was feeling the way I did for NO REASON.

"WHY DON'T YOU TRUST ME??'

Every. Single. Day. I would throw myself into a whirlwind of guilt, and depression, and self doubt, and shame...And then try to pick myself back up again and be a loving, forgiving, proper girlfriend.

By this time my depression (that I didn't really know I suffered from) had caused me to call a therapist. I had never been to therapy, but knew that I needed help.

 I felt empty. I felt insane, because of Spencer's passive aggressive manipulation, addiction, and lies.

At this time, I didn't know about sexual addiction. I didn't know all I do now, about psychology and my depression, and or even about myself.

After about 5 months of therapy, I opened up and explained how my relationship was REALLY. The porn, the texts, the confusion, and the blame....

I didn't want to tell my therapist for so long, because I knew she would "make me" break up with him....

I already knew it. I already knew, deep down, that it would never work. And that I wasn't wrong or crazy...

But god I wanted to get married. I wanted to live happily ever after with our dog. I just wanted him to love me back.
I wanted him to love me enough to stop talking to those girls. Love me enough to stop with the porn, and find me attractive enough to sleep with.

Love me. Make me worthy of your love. Why am I not good enough for that?

....And for the whole 2 years that we were together that I had it completely wrong.

He wasn't worthy enough for my love.

I confronted him one night, and said that if he had a problem. He was addicted to porn. And if he didn't get help.

That I would leave.

Amazingly, he said that he would go. He would go to therapy to get help.

I was relieved, and was so pleased that everything could be perfect, now. I was so surprised that he had agreed, and so easily understood that he needed to get help.

He even put the books on sexual addiction in his car, and said that he would read them on his lunch breaks.

The next day he made an appointment, and said that he had found a male doctor that would see him, and talk to him about it.

He went to the appointment one day while I was at work.

He went to his next appointment "on his way to work".

He said the doctor was really nice, and that they talked about his mom's control issues and that his therapist was going on vacation for three weeks and couldn't see him again until he got back.

After three weeks, Spencer didn't think he needed to go back because he got "control" of everything.

It never occurred to me that he was lying. Or that I never knew the name of his doctor. Or where the office was. Or what time his appointments were..

During the next 4 months of my own therapy, I had learned how blind I had been. How self destructive, and horrible I had been to MYSELF.

It got to the point where I realized that Spencer "not being able to keep the dog in the bedroom" long enough for her to leave me alone while I was in the living room trying to do yoga (as part of de-stressing and lifting my depression) wasn't just him being lazy. It was just one of the many ways he tried to subconsciously sabotage me getting better.

Because all the while I was going to the gym to heighten my endorphins and feel better about my body, and started to feel less depressed...I started to question him.

I was getting better....And me getting better, meant that I could see beyond his bullshit.

Cate not sick, meant Cate no longer ignoring the fact that your texting your "friend from work" while we're "on a date".

I realized I couldn't have the person who was supposed to "love me for the rest of my life" refuse to STOP talking to his ex mistress. Or make me feel horrible and disgusting for being upset that he had one of his ex girlfriend's bras hidden in our closet.

Realizing all of the lies and sabotage is very shocking. Once you SEE and SMELL and WAKE UP from the dozy, dramatic coma that is an unhealthy relationship...you realize and can see just how ugly everything really was.

For example, I never went out with my friends. So, one night, right before our 2 year anniversary I went out to one of my friend's barbecues. I brought Starbucks ice cream and got all dolled up for a night with the girls.

Then, 2 hours into the BBQ I check my phone, and I have 10 missed calls from Spencer.

He was at the pet hospital with Bug, because she "somehow got into something" and mysteriously wouldn't stop throwing up.

Now, in retrospect, I wonder what the fuck must have happened to my poor, 12 week old puppy to have let her get so sick she had to be taken to the pet hospital and be pumped with liquids just so she didn't get dehydrated.

I hate to think the worst. I hate to think he was "preoccupied" and let her get into something....or that she was allowed to get into something so that I would have to come home....

Spencer had an awful childhood, and troubled adolescence. He had demons that were larger than mine.

And the worst part, is that he didn't even acknowledge it.

He picked his fear of therapy and getting better, over me.

I screamed and sobbed and yelled until I was so exhausted I couldn't yell any more for a week straight.

I would plead, "Don't you realize that I will walk out of here? That I will take our dog and leave? That you will LOSE ME if you do not suck it up and go get some help for yourself???"

He said he was was too scared. He wasn't ready to get better.

The choices were to either stay with him, and be his therapist, and deal with his bullshit...Or leave.

And so, one afternoon, after having my first panic attack in my therapist's office, I came home and said that I was leaving...

The first thing out of his mouth was, "You mean I have to be alone?"

...Which pretty much summed up why he was with me, I guess. It was better than being alone.

But, it turned out he wasn't exactly alone. He had already started a relationship with a woman 11 years older than him. A woman he worked with. A woman I had met, and was always so nice to me. A woman I was, strangely, always suspicious of.

"...You're really the only girl I've never cheated on."

Sure.

...So.

While I have aquired quite a bit of knowledge in the psychological, emotional, and relationship departments through a slightly more unique way than most...The point is, that I have been there.

That is why these red flags seem so much more obvious to me.

That is why I am so enraged by these "stupid girls" and even girls I know that come to me and ask for relationship advice, and then don't even fucking listen to me.

It's so difficult for me to be a good listener, and not preach at both men and women who talk to me about their troubled relationships, yet don't want to hear the honest truth.

I just wish women would dig deeper, and examine WHY they're checking their boyfriend's phone/Myspace/email, and not be so afraid of breaking up and WAKING UP.

I don't hate these GVs, and women, friends,and men who are still blinded to the truths of unhealthy relationships, as that would make me no better than preachy, judgemental "Christians" who hate simply because they know that they're "right" and you're "wrong".

I just feel for them. I feel for myself when I think of all of the rage, and misery I put myself through almost 3 years ago.

This is a huge part of why I care so much about "women's issues" and topics about women in relationships.

I've been in relationship hell. I've been emotionally abused.

And I've gotten out. And grown. And blossomed.

I'm not a therapist. I'm not "Dear Abby".

I've just lived it

.

Please enjoy this little gem from Galaxy Radio.

Some poor guy bought his girlfriend of 4 years an engagement ring and was planning on proposing on Christmas...

But she decided to blow her boss at her office Christmas party, and well, needless to say, it didn't work out.

Listen as she gets called out on the show called "Danny Dumps".

Hilarious. A GV caught live on air.

Gaping Vaginas of the world, greetings.

We haven't really talked in a while. 

I've documented you here in "The Vagina Blogs". 

And also here, here, and MY GOD! Take a real hard look at the first part of this little ditty.

I even wrote about you HERE, GV.

It's like we have our own little blog affair going on!

So, don't go gettin' all butt hurt when you read this.

I've got a big ass tag with your name on it,  STUPID GIRL...

We've had a long, troubled road, GV. You've had it comin'.

So wipe that innocent, shocked look off of your lycra, thong laden face and listen up.

Girls, get your shit together.

I'm not saying this to hurt your sensitive little heart, stomp on your soul, or tamper with your fragile ego...But really?

COME ON.

Now, look, "Gaping Vagina" isn't the greatest name for you, I know. It's not PC. And it automatically gives a negative connotation to the word "Vagina". However, I feel that you, in turn, are giving all the real women out there a bad name with your pathetic antics, so let's just revel in the irony, okay?

So, for those of who are not a GV, or are just to blind to see that you are, let me explain.

Gaping Vagina: (gae-PING vah-JI-nah) noun / plural - ji-NAZ / abbr: GV 

1. a person, usually a woman, who behaves in a manner comparable to that of a twat, and of an idiotic, bitchy nature. The term, in this definition, is reference to a "vagina of large size" implying that the GV behaves, also, in  the way a "slut" or "Hooker" would. The Gaping Vagina will stop at nothing to receive the pathetic amount of gratification it needs for it to feel satisfied. It will cheat, imitate, lie, and steal to reach a false sense of satisfaction and their overwhelming need to be adored. The GV pays not attention to those who do not present a direct benefit to their selfish wants and desires. 

2.a person, okay a woman, who has no real thoughts, ideas or opinions of her own. In this definition, the term Gaping Vagina implies that the woman is acting like "a pussy", slang for  "cowardly" and "without courage". The GV enjoys what everyone else likes, and is so scared of not being liked, that it cannot reveal its true self. The GV will follow, and mimic. Whatever works for everyone else, works for them, too. They are a blind follower, and GV1's biggest fan. 

Synonyms: twat, cunt, Paris Hilton 

Now, GV1, what the hell happened to a self respect?

You hide behind your "I'm just one of the boys" act.

Why can't you be more proud of the fact that not only are you a woman  but you're a smart woman.

I'm not just talking about the fucking morons on TV and in your US Weekly or HELLO!

I've been disgusted with this for a long time. I don't think it's just up to celebrities, and authors, and actresses to portray what a real woman should be.

WE, you and I, make up the REAL world. The world that we all have to play nice with each other in.

 I'm talking about the adult women in my life, in your life, and all across the fucking world who apparently that can't get their shit together.

They can't get their shit together to respect themselves, get their life in order, and be a good wife, sister, daughter, mother, or friend 

Not even a friend to them self.

I'm talking about GVs in the workplace, online, in your personal life, in your face, in your ears, and fucking with your head.

What the is wrong with you, GV?

Why are you so obsessed with competition, and acceptance, and attention? Why are you willing to do whatever it takes to get that sad gratification from someone giving you a pat on the back or inviting you out for drinks next Thursday.

You are exclusive, not inclusive. You have half hearted friendships that are only based on your pathetic need to keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.

You smile at everyone, but don't have the balls enough to snarl.

You must be liked. You must get invited everywhere. You can't miss anything, you need to know everything, and you need to know more, and be better, hotter, funnier, thinner, bustier, and smarter than EVERYONE.

Your friends. Your "best friend" (all 34 of them). Your family. Your coworkers. Your acquaintances.

If there is someone out there in your radar that is "competition" in your eyes the Green Lights go flashing and you zone in:

There's a fresh one. A live one

. Someone naive to your trickery and lies.

She must know that you are higher than her.

Or that you think she's so awesome.

You pose as a follower, or a leader, whichever works best with her. You smile. You giggle.

You have SO MUCH in common.

Best friends!

But the guys like her better. She's smarter than you are. 

And why is she so funny? Gawd. Why aren't YOU that funny? Why doesn't everyone laugh at YOU like THAT?

That bitch.

So you become more like her.

Not just friends with similarities. You take whatever she does, sex it up and dye it "envy emerald green", and pass it off as your own.

My god you try hard. And you're sneaky, not everyone sees.

You're like the female Gollum.  Except you drink Gin and Tonic instead of live, raw fish...

You've got a split personality so deranged you don't even know what your real name is anymore. 

(It's Sméagol! SHMEEGLE! SHHHMMEEEGGGLLLEEE!!!!!)

Your laugh becomes louder. Your shirt gets tighter and lower. Your skirts rise up while your dignity plunges.

Why are you suddenly sipping pink cosmos instead of your usual one olive martini? 

But you're just one of the guys, right? So we can't get mad at you if you hug our boyfriends just a little too close and a little too long because,

A) Oh my god, we're like brother and sister! Do you really think I LIKE your BOYFRIEND? EW!

B) That's just the way I am. I'm naturally flirty.

C) I'm so innocent and lovable. Everyone just loves me, so you better not say anything bad about me.

It's near fucking impossible to call a GV on their bullshit, and if you do she'll claim you're just "threatened" by her or she'll pull the "I'm Sensitive" card and make it seem like your the jealous bitch.

You're a smart one, GV. You're crafty.

But you could be so much smarter if you would just would put all of the energy you're spending manipulating and coning others, into yourself.

From the bible one of my absolute favorite books, Female Chauvinist Pigs by Ariel Levy, comes the quote,

"Why is it still the case that if we have a series about women on television, it has to be about their bodies and sexuality?"

Yes, sexuality and our bodies are a big part of who we are, but that is not all we are.

We all know this, right? Or were you sick the day they went over that in school?

Why is it that if women want to be popular or stand out, there are so many of us that will still mock society's rules and put breasts before brain? 

And why is it when so many women are losing, and their success and popularity is on the line, they panic and, ,

 "Um, ah, Um...God..Wow, I'm uh. So, erm...Geez. TITS! Me so horny! Look at me guys! I'm liberated and sexual! You like me! You liiiiiiike meeee!"

Don't have the wits or the energy to 'win' any other way?

Hey! Be slutty! It seems to work for everyone else!

But you're not being a stereotype or anything, oh no, because you're what Ariel Levy would call, "A 'loophole woman', an exception in a male-dominated field [or group] whose presence supposedly proves its penetrable."

You're sexy! You're putting you and your sexuality out there because "that's just how you are". You have guts! You're so crazy! Right?

In Susan Brownmiller's words,

"You think you're being brave, you think you're being sexy, you think you're transcending feminism. But that's bullshit."

And it is bullshit. And the women around you that you try so hard in every which way imaginable to "beat" and "use" and "be like" will look at you like how I LOOK AT YOU.

And that is with a disapproving, raised eye brow, as I take a sip of my double, Absolut Better-Than-You cocktail and think to myself, "What a god damn Gaping Vagina."

As will every single other woman, and hopefully, man in your life because it is too difficult to keep up all those lies and shows at once. You will burn your own bridges. They will from both ends and turn to ash.

I just hope by the time you are stranded on your own lonely island with nothing but a bunch of fishnets and "Lip Venom" left will you have finally figured out what your problem is?

Or will we have a new TV program called "GV and the Island" where you sit on your laptop and video blog about the trials and tribulations of masturbation and how horny you are all by yourself on that god damn island.

And as for the Gaping Vaginas in Definition #2 (GV2) ....

Stop being so fucking scared of everything! Stop being afraid people won't like you, or you'll make people mad.

GV, why must you just jump on the bandwagon and throw caution to the wind?

Don't you realize we can see how awkward and out of place you are, standing there in someone else's skin?

Why are you sweet as Splenda to all of these people, just for the sake of being liked?

 You know who you are deep down, so why have you become such a fucking sell out?

These are the girls in your life that live to be exactly like their heroes, and exactly the same as their friends,

"Oh my god, I love Victoria Beckham because she's so beautiful. Oh wait....you don't like her? OH, yeah she's such a slut. So anorexic. Wait, you like her book?  OH! Me, too! It's so awesome. I love her clothes."

It is because of the 2nd type of GV that the 1st kind is so prevalent.

GV2 worships GV1.

GV1 feeds off of her because OH MY GOD SHE ADORES ME. She gives me all the attention I need!

The GV1 doesn't mind being copied because it is OH so flattering! She has a precious follower who buys into her bullshit.   

GV2 thinks GV1 is wonderful not because of HOW she gains attention and adoration, but simply because she HAS attention and adoration.

They mimic and copy anyone and everyone that the masses appear to like, without using judgment. People like them, therefore they must be good, right? 

For example...

• Paris Hilton.

She cannot sing. She is not intelligent. She is NOT sexy. She is famous for her sex tape, being stupid, and for being rich.(Did I mention her wonky eye?)

Why do girls try to be like her, dress like her, and fuck like her?

Aren't we over this? Over her? Why do so many girls still like her?

• "How To Make Love Like A Porn Star: A Cautionary Tale" by Jenna Jameson

I find it hilarious that highly intelligent women out there, are reading and buying this book.

Do you realize you're reading an author who was simultaneously selling a best selling memoir, and a real life model of her "ass and vagina"  with complimentary bottle of lube at the same time?

 Inspiring? Impressive? Worthy of imitation and praise? Hardly.

• The "Girl With A One Track Mind" phenomenon.

This was actually the sex blog/book behind the "Vagina Blogs" post I linked to.

 Blunt sex talk. 

Where do you draw the line behind pornography and 'blunt sex talk'. You can be sexual. I'm sexual. I just don't really talk about my sex life. My choice. It's also your choice to talk about it. But I don't think you're talking about it because you want to. Or that's just "how you are". 

You're talking about it because you enjoy the hard-ons and wide-ons from your fellow GV friends and stupid followers get because of it.

I believe being sexy is the same as being funny.

It has to be subtle. It's an acquired taste. Not every technique or approach works for everyone all the time...but everyone is funny to somebody else out there.

When a joke is forced, obvious, and has to be explained, it's not funny.

When you have to constantly say, "See? Did you see what I did there? I'm mad I am!" that's not funny.

The same goes for sexiness.

And sexy isn't "So I was fucking this guy yesterday, god it was so fucking good. Oh my tits. Did I tell you about my tits?"

That's just stupid. That's the same kinda 'sexy; as porn: Hard. Cold. Emotionless.

Real 'sexy' is intimate. Passionate. Heat.

When a GV2 uses sex for attention, or tries to pass themselves off as being just "naturally sexual", it sounds and looks like a person with no rhythm attempting to do the tango. It doesn't fit. It's not natural, therefore, not sexy.  

Look, ladies.

Just because you are not willing to hop on the pathetic bandwagon that is the GV's way of life does not make you 'out of touch', or prudish.

Just like me calling out the GVs on their behavior doesn't make me jealous.

I LOL @ U!

I don't have a problem with anyone who flexes their freedom to CHOOSE and makes a CHOICE that I disagree with as long that it is based on honesty, truth, intelligence, and for them self!.

Be ORIGINAL.

Be HONEST.

You would not talk about your sex life, have your tits on display, or use overly sexual language if it didn't get you attention.

You would not befriend certain people if you didn't think their friendship, or associating yourself with their name, would get you somewhere higher than where you are.

Your vocabulary, choice of drink, choice of music, and persona alter, change and distort change simply depending on who is praising you with attention at the moment. 

STOP IT.

Not everything is a competition. 

Not everyone is out to get you.

Not every woman is jealous of you.

Just because not every woman likes you, isn't because they are jealous of the attention you are getting. It is not even because "girls just don't like other girls".

There are just some of us who work hard to be ourselves. We work and keep our eyes and tits focused and pointed on our own passions, goals, and our own lives.

You just have yours focused and pointed on everyone else, seeing if they're staring at yours. 

So, Miss.Gaping Vagina.

Stop faking it.

It's like, so much fuckin' hotter when it's, like, real and shit.
 

 

So how are the Christmas parties going everyone?

Are they good?

How's the free bar that your boss is paying for?

Are you enjoying the crackers and powdered sugar mince pies?

How about the dancing afterwords?

Do you enjoy the dancing?

How about the music you're dancing to?

Isn't having a DJ at your: Hanukkah/Christmas/Holiday/Kwanzaa/Winter/Pagan/Birthday/Wedding/Satanic Sacrificial Ceremony nice?

There's no better feeling in the world than being drunk out of your mind in front of your coworkers, wearing a paper crown, and humping your project manager to Wham!'s "I'm Your Man"...is there?

Suuuuure you had to ask that silly little man behind all the DJ equipment, like, a thousand fucking times to play it...But he finally did!

What's wrong with that silly little man?

God, like, everyone was dancing to that rubbish Kylie Minogue song he put on, but you just know, KNOW that all of the old people sitting in the back of the room, slouched over their coffee would TOTALLY get up and dance if ONLY he played some GOOD MUSIC.

I mean, suuuure, you kept asking and hinting and guiding him through what you thought would get EVERYONE up, but the bastard kept putting complete SHIT on.

Fuck all those people that were actually having a good time and dancing. YOU can't dance to anything other than Rick Astley, so why won't he just PUT IT ON RIGHT NOW?

Everyone will dance to it. Everyone will love it. You PROMISE.

Sound familiar?

Does this happen to you a lot?

Here. Let me hold you.

Let me help you wrap your tiny, fragile brain around why this keeps happening to you.

Are you ready? Are you calm...Okay sweetie...

It's because you're a FUCKING TWAT.

I know this may be hard to understand, but here.

For all of you DJ haters and "frequent song requesters" and "frequent 'hey you forgot to play Avril Lavigne's Sk8er Boi' request reminders" here is a helpful guide, coming straight from the DJ's Super Hot Assistant Whose Breasts You Leer At While Make Your Song Request. (Me).

Part 1:  "How to get your request actually played"

Tip #1- Be specific. Do not say, "Do you have any '80s??" or "Can't you put anything good on?" or "Have you got any Madonna?" If you'd like to hear songs from a particular time period, please have a song in mind. We're not fucking mind readers. Have artists names handy, song names handy. And asking " Ya got any Madonna" is like asking "got any beer" at fucking pub. Hello!  

Tip #2- Licking your lips, thrusting your hips, and icing your nips will not help you get your request played faster. Do NOT come up to the DJ, no matter how hot he is, and put your mouth really close to his face or ear to request your song. It appears that you're licking him instead of talking.

 You are invading his space. You're drunk and smell. You have cigarette breath. You're YELLING and possibly damaging his hearing. Oh, and about your song? It will get played if it fits into our time frame, play list, or if it's not shitty.

Tip #3- Actually be ON the dance floor before you request a song. You can't just waltz in the room and demand to hear a song. Participate. Enjoy. Don't just give orders. For all we know you were in the toilet taking fun MySpace photos with your friends and didn't hear the fact that we JUST PLAYED the song your requested.

Tip #4 DO NOT come up and say, "My friend wants to hear" or "The bride wants to hear". Get UP AND ASK YOUR FUCKING SELF! Are you that lazy? Are you scared? If you want to hear a song bad enough you'll somehow muster up the courage to go ask the big scary DJ for a wittle song just for you...Plus, unlike you, we're not raging idiots. We know that "your friend" that wants to hear Westlife is really YOU, you big fruit cake.

Tip #5 "Can you play _______ NEXT" will never happen. NEXT? Do not ask for something to be played NEXT! Have some fucking patience. If the disco is planned to last 3 hours, and you come up and ask for a song, you may not hear it for 45 minutes if we don't think it fits into the mood. This isn't your own special time to jam out to your favorite songs. This guy was hired and is getting paid to get y'all TO DANCE. If we have a packed dance floor and you ask for "Some slow songs" so you can finally get your lame, rhythm-less date to come dance with you, it's not going to happen, Sally, sorry.

Part 2: "General ways to NOT piss us off"

Tip #1: If you are standing in front of the deck, talking shit about the DJ and his assistant calling them "rubbish" or complaining that "the idiot forgot to play my song!" here's a hint. I know you're drunk. I know the music seems to be deafeningly loud..BUT WE CAN HEAR YOU.

If you're trailing behind your boyfriend whilst he makes a request and turn up your nose in disgust for the song playing, I CAN SEE YOU. You're not invisible, bitch. I can see you rolling your eyes, and pouting that the last song just ended and the 4 Shania Twain tracks you requested didn't get played.

Tip #2  If you're sitting within 3 feet of the speakers, are over the age of 60 and use a hearing aid, it is probably within your best interest to FIND A NEW SEAT and not ask us to keep turning down the music. Or turn down the fucking hearing aid, Auntie Em. 

Tip #3

 If you and your gal pals have formed a special dance routine to "My Humps"...we don't want to see it. If you're in "the winter" of your life and joined a "45+ Dance Class" at your local YMCA to rekindle your sex life, we do not want to see how many different songs you can manage to do the same routine to all night. 

Tip #4 Stop asking to make an announcement over the Mic to make everyone "get their thang on". The mic is not for you. No touchey. Also, don't try to touch me. You touchey, I will not only breaky, but I will screamy and cutty. Okay?

Tip #5 Use some god damn manners. If we played your request, say thank you. Say thank you at the end of the night as we're lugging all of our gear out to the car! For fuck sake, you could even BUY US A DRINK if you're really enjoying the music. Smile, say please when you request a song. Try to not be so twattish.

Tip #6: You do not know what will get everyone dancing. No matter how much you think you do, you really don't. Your grandma won't dance to the Pussycat Dolls. That guy in the kilt doesn't seem like a big "Toxic" fan.

So, my friend. I hope this helps. You see, that silly little DJ man has a brain. He's experienced. This is a JOB for him.

He also has feelings and appreciates free drinks and food. So would his assistant.

Oh, and speaking of his assistant, do not say goodbye to her at the end of the night by saying,

"Goodbye DJ...Er....DJ's assistant...Or Girlfriend, I think. I assume." because I will respond with,

"God no, we're just sleeping together."

If you're drunk, harass the DJ and TOUCH me in anyway shape or form, I will respond by getting in your face and telling you to take your, "pansy ass back home to your Mummy, you fucker" or "if you ever touch me again I'll cut your fucking balls off."

...Just so we're clear, friend.

So, Padawan, go. Go forth into your disco and partying future with the knowledge I have given you.

Enjoy your future Christmas parties, and Bar mitzvahs.

The DJ and I thank you for you time, and wish you many ABBA filled evenings.

Hugs and Kisses,

 

 

Google me this, Google me that

Have you ever Googled your own name? How did you feel about the results?
Submitted by elen.

This is, -tada!- my second QotD. My first time went so-so. I was nervous, a little shaky. I wasn't quite sure what to think, or feel. Did I do it for the right reasons? Was I really ready?....I mean, there were no candles, no rose petals. And I certainly didn't' hear any Luther Vandross playing...

Well, QotD. I'm here again. You've called and called, and yet I never picked up the phone. I've been scared, QotD.

But now I'm feeling a little more experienced. I know how it will feel. I have a better idea of how you like it. So. Here. Just don't' expect me to call you tomorrow. It may take a while, until I feel ready again. I'm okay with this being casual if you are. Just, don't pressure me. Let's just keep it real.

So.

Yes. I have Googled myself. (I'm a self indulgent blogger, what did you expect?) I've even come to terms with the fact that 'Google' & 'Googled' have become verbs.

My real name comes up with nothing.

"CupCate" is a all Vox, comments I've left, people's neighborhoods I'm in, plus the occasion link from "dirty whore houswife fuck!" websites, etc, etc.

Every once and a while I'll find a link to my name, or a nice comment about moi in another Voxer's post.

And then, somewhere in Vox's dusty corner, where some little chicky thought she could hide...I found my first Hate Post.

An entire post (ok, it was like a paragraph) about your's truly, and how uninteresting I am. I laughed.

I laughed harder when my "all time favorite blogger" commented with some snarky remark agreeing with her.

Oh man. It's like, hello. The Internet is not some vast, unlink-able, bleak universe were you can say whatever you want and no one will find it.

 (ex: how Heather B. Armstrong coined the term Dooce. )

But ya know. It gave me a laugh, if nothing else.

And if I manage to piss people off as well as make people laugh, then I must be doing something right.

So thank you, angry blogger with nothing better to talk about than an old post I wrote, thank you for popping my Hate Post cherry.

 

Me: "How the hell am I supposed to know what size the fleas are?"

Iain: "...What size the fleas are?"                                     

Me: "Yeah...Small, compact, or large? I mean, they looked pretty small to me..."                       

Iain: "...It's the size of the COMB not the size of the FLEAS!"

Me: ".....Seriously?"

Iain: "Yes."

Me: "...Oh, fuck."

 

 I like to catalog the interesting images and super special overheard conversations in a little file in my brain I like to call:

The Stupid Parade.

 

During my current stay in sunny California, the past three weeks have provided many of these precious moments.

 Those crazy Californians.

 

 Location: Coffee Infested Pit of Hellish Flames (aka Starbucks I used to work at).

 Incident: Special conversation with random, bearded, NASCAR shirt donning Man

  "You gotta be careful with them!"

 I look down at my pink Crocs, "..Be careful with my shoes?"

 "Yeah, you best be careful going down them escalators!"

 "....Okay....."

 "You could lose yer foot! Didn't y'all hear about that guy who lost his friggan foot cuz it got caught in an escalator? It was cuz he been wearing those shoes!?!!"

 "....No, no I didn't hear about that."

 "You gotta be careful with those! BE CAREFUL on escalators with them shoes!!!!!"

 "Okay. Great. Thanks so much."

 "BE CAREFUL!"

 

· Location: Literati Cafe, L fucking A

  Incident: Overheard conversation between Fat Fearing Freak of a Female and Cafe Manager.

 

"Hi, um, yeah. Yes. What do you have that's fat-free?"

 "I have fat-free muffins."

 "Okay. Great. Um. What kind are the fat-free muffins?"

 "I have blueberry and apricot."

 "And they're fat-free?"

 "Yes ma'am."

 "You're sure?"

 "Yes."

 "Okay. So you have blueberry and apricot?"

 "Yes."

 "Now, you're sure they're fat-free?"

 ".....Yes."

 "You're sure they're fat-free? Because if they're not then I don't want them."

 "They're fat-free. I'm sure."

 "But you're sure."

 "Ma'am....Yes. The muffins are fat-free."

 "Fat-free?"

 "....YES."

 "You're sure they're fat-free"

 ".........."

 She stares at him accusingly, then stares at the muffins, and then stares back at him, back to the muffins, him, muffins, him, muffins, and back to him. She sniffs the air for calories and fat content....

 "Great. I'll take 2."

 

 Location: Between 11th and 7th headed towards the Pacific Coast Highway .

 As we drove along towards Highway 1, we observed a woman enjoying the sunny LA weather during her afternoon jog...With plastic surgery bandages still wrapped around her face. Who says you can't exercise right after a face lift?

 

Location: My personal correspondence

Incident: Precious moments between me and my totally awesome friends back home.

(Please try not to tear up. And, no, I did not steal these  from 'Chicken Soup for the BFF's Soul')

 

Phone conversation with a friend that says she, “like totally can't wait to see" and wants me to "call me right when you get off the plane!!!":

 

"Hey, it's Cate!"

 "Oh hey. What's up?"

 "Not much, just wanted to see what you're up to, ya know, because I haven't seen you in 6 months!"

 "Yeah, for sure! Um, well tonight I'm hanging out with my roommate..."

Doesn't this just touch your heart? I tear up a little.

 "....Oh, okay. What are you up to this weekend?"

 "....Not much. I'll call you!"

 ".....Erm....Okay."

 

It's cool. She doesn't get to see her roommate that often anyway. I totally understand.

 

Phone conversation with another friend that is like totally stoked and sooooo, like, freakin' anxious to hang out:

 

"Hey is Cate there?"

 "Yeah it's me! How are you?"

 "Good."

 "...Okay. So what are you up to tonight? I haven't been feeling well since I got off the plane, but I'm all drugged up and would love to see you!"

 "I know I miss you so much! Well, tonight I'm hanging out with Sarah because I won't see her all weekend, so that won't work. And tomorrow night is Sarah's birthday party, so that won't work either. Can I just call you when I'm free?"

 "......Yeah. Swell."

 

I mean, sure Sarah is my friend, too, and we keep in touch, and we ALL USED TO WORK TOGETHER. But I totally understand why you guys need to spend private time together. Awesome.

 

Email from same friend, 10 days later:

 

"Hey,

 You said you were sick, and so I didn't want to call and disturb you, plus I thought you were out of town or something? You never let me know when you were feeling better. Let's do lunch tomorrow!

xo"

 

Aren’t they the best?

 

They're so totally awesome, that I know they'll totally understand that I was too busy at a pumpkin patch yesterday to meet them for lunch. Or that I'm too busy staring at the visa they never asked about to call them. Or that I won't be able to see them at all while I'm here, because I'm too busy buying underwear at Target.

 

 And ya know, they're sooooo awesome, that I’m sure they’ll understand that I’m keeping the gifts I brought back for them from London . Thanks pals!

 

 Maybe I'll catch up with you next time I'm IN THE FUCKING COUNTRY.

 

But anyhoo. I'd just like to give a shout out to all the good citizens of California , my BFF's, (and my newly appointed majorette John Kerry) for providing these special moments, and making up my Stupid Parade.

 

Did I mention the Stupid Parade is actually the line leading up to my executioner's block?

 

Muahahahhaah.