How to not die alone.

Recently I was having a conversation with a 30 year old male friend of mine about why he was still single. He was distraught that he simply couldn't find a nice girl and settle down. By all means, he should have a girlfriend. He is thoughtful, funny, intelligent, and good looking. 

I found it hard to imagine it would be difficult for him to meet a woman, until he described to me what he is looking for exactly. Pull up a chair because this could take awhile... 

Ideally he wants to meet a 23 year old (or younger), Mila Kunis look alike who is short (5'4" or smaller), weighs around 115 lbs, and is a non-smoking, vegan, yoga instructor. She has to be a "bit of a train wreck" meaning she has to have some sort of past issue he can help her through, but not baggage so severe he can't fix her. She also needs to have several tattoos, look hot both with and without make up, never age, and have a wardrobe consisting of mostly lace and knee high socks. She must make him laugh, not mind that he has a young son, have zero pre-existing medial conditions, and think that diamonds are stupid/not want one. She must also swallow and have beer flavored nipples.

I may have added in that last part, but I figured if you are training to go to the Olympics, you might as well go for the gold...

Let's pretend this celebrity look-a-like spinner type actually does exist physically (and by some miracle is single)...she still needs to fit the rest of his mental requirements and not like bacon (!!!!). In his mind, this was not too much to ask. Why should he "settle for anything less" than he was looking for?  

"But what about meeting a '7' who becomes a '10' in your eyes once you get to know them?" I begged, I pleaded.  He simply told me that was not how his brain operates, and he needs to find the whole package right off the bat.

It was that moment I realized my dear friend was going to die alone...and to be honest he probably deserves it. Shit, I will personally buy him a plethora of cats.

Sure, when we were all younger, my friends and I all made big plans to marry handsome, athletic, intelligent, hilarious, doctors with eyes as blue as the sky and the bodies of Greek Gods.  Nowadays, most of my friends should aim to find a guy without a drinking problem who owns a car...or a motorcycle. A bike. A bus pass? 

If you are a fully grown woman who is still expecting to meet Dr. McDreamy, then you might as well start covering your fridge in Kathy comics because the only men you are going to be intimate with are Ben and Jerry. Guys, if you don't want to end up with one really strong arm living in an apartment furnished with red leather couches, you need to lower your standards. 

Everyone you will meet has some kind of issue. If you can find someone whose imperfections or level of crazy coincides with your own, then you have hit the jack pot.  Basically, aim to find a person who loves your rendition of "Born this way" in the shower every morning and call it a day. 

Stop going for only "10s" because beauty fades, and eventually we will all look like shit. Usually the more attractive you are, the harder you will fall anyway. Just think of some of those people from your past who now look like they ate their former selves. I know personally, if I had married for looks, I would now be staring at a balding, overweight, used car salesman who once had abs that just wouldn't quit. 

Give it up. The idea of "perfect" does not exist. It will never exist.  Even the idea of perfection fades.  After all, I bet even Mila Kunis farts in her sleep.

Fuck exercise.

Every now and then I will notice something we all inevitably deny until the last minute possible...my pants are getting tighter. You can only blame the dryer (for shrinking them) for so long before you have to face the facts...the vodka/cheeseburger/cupcake diet is not working in the way you had hoped.

It's time to eat a bit better and work out occasionally because let's be honest...it's not that you want to try hard enough to lose any significant amount of weight but more so you don't have to buy pants with a larger number than before.

I have been so busy lately with work (and my new found Breaking Bad addiction) that I just don't have the energy to hit the gym for hours every night. Although, even if I was a Real Housewife of Trophyville who didn't have to work, I would still hate exercising.  I will however force myself to do it, usually crying the entire way through, but I would pretty much prefer to be doing anything else.

I am so exhausted and dreading any physical activity, I started to ponder all the things that currently sound more appealing than working out.

Instead of hitting the gym I would rather...

Eat.

Drink.

Sleep.

Die...but only if I get to be reincarnated as a Victoria's Secret Model.

Lose my wallet and make a Saturday of visiting the Bank, DMV, and Social Security Office...maybe Bed, Bath, and Beyond. I don't know. I don't know if I'll have enough time.

Go shoe/dress shopping...for your Chihuahua, Shit Zu, or any other "dog" you carry in a purse.

Start a Monopoly tournament and end up three days later with a meth addiction on Baltic Avenue.

Spend the day with my ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend engagement ring shopping.

Step on all of the Legos.

Visit the eye doctor, dentist, and gyno simultaneously.

Be referred to as the "Ugly Kardashian."

Attend your daughter's ballet recital, son's little league game, and both of their gluten/alcohol free birthday parties.

I would also rather watch your birthing video. No seriously, bring on the placenta, and I'll bring the buttery, delicious popcorn (just as long as we aren't burning it off after).

Stay tuned.

Hello friends, randoms, and stalkers. Sorry I have been missing but sometimes life gets in the way (and by life I mean I started watching Breaking Bad). I will be back to writing about sex, booze, and all the other ridiculous shit you love soon. See you next week suckers or this weekend if you're going to Riot Fest. Woooooo!

The Name Game

This past weekend was Labor Day so a bunch of us got together to eat our body weight in burgers and get white girl wasted. Later in the evening a friend and I were sharing stories and laughing about one of her ex boyfriends we refer to as "Buffalo Bill" because he was into really weird shit in the bedroom.  He had a bit of a sex dungeon in his apartment, and you couldn't help but wonder if he was going to bang you, kill you, and wear your skin afterword.

Unfortunately for him, he has now earned a nickname so solid, he might as well go to the DMV and have it legally changed.  He may have been born a "Joe," but he will die a "Bill," and there is nothing he can do to change it.  The poor bastard could cure cancer, and we would still joke about him having a Dexter kill room in the basement.

Men, consider this a cautionary tale...if you do weird shit in bed, we will tell our friends (and possibly strangers at a party) about it, and you will most likely go down in history with one of the following titles...

One of my best friends slept with a guy who tried to choke her out during sex. He nearly killed her and is now referenced as "The Boston Strangler."

In my mid 20s I dated a guy who said the filthiest shit in bed. When I met him he seemed so innocent, but over the next few months he got progressively dirtier earning him the nickname "Bob Saget." This deemed to be even more perfect when we discovered his best friend was Greek and rode a motorcycle.

A few years back a friend of mine was attempting to sleep with a hot mechanic. I say "attempting" since on more than one occasion he had too much to drink and couldn't get it/keep it up. Due to his love of Jameson and his collection of coveralls he will always be known as"Whiskey Dickies."

I had an ex boyfriend who asked if I would pee on him and/or he could pee on me. I was horrified, and he will forever be referred to "Coldplay," (since it was all Yellow...).

A friend from college was dating a dentist who she complained was very lazy in the sack so we would call him "Dr. Do-little." She married him, we still call him that, and she still wishes she kept her mouth shut.

Currently my friend is seeing a guy (who we are all positive) is gay…even though he doesn't want to admit it yet.  They haven’t slept together (shocker ), but he does give her lots of Eskimo kisses. We secretly refer to him as R. Kelly since he is clearly trapped in the closet.

I had a guy I briefly dated ask me to grow a full bush for him.  It didn't last long because we don't live in a 70s porno, so he only remains a memory. RIP "Disco Stu."