All of the exes.

Taylor Swift recently released a new video called “Blank Space” in which she plays the crazy girlfriend/soon to be ex-girlfriend. If you are a (not so closet) Taylor fan like I am, you have probably watched the video a dozen times or sang along (terribly) in the shower.  Love her or hate her, either way the video is fantastic, and Miss Swift got me thinking about being an ex and what that entails.  Once a relationship ends, you can either be the bigger person and calmly move on or you could literally be the bigger person and let yourself go, and everything in between.

On that note, I thought it would be fun to explore the types of exes we all have, or have all been…

The ex who bangs all your friends.

While you two were together they couldn’t stand your friends, and you wanted nothing more than for everyone to get along. Well, be careful what you wish for because their genitals have now become besties, and you get to hear all about it from everyone else.

The ex who got super hot.

During the duration of your relationship you two collected enough pizza coupons to end world hunger so imagine your dismay when you broke up and discovered they had become even better looking than when you two first met.  Did she get new boobs?  Did he grow a beard? Yep, and they both got personal trainers who they are probably banging. Suddenly you can no longer see their flaws because you have become blinded by their hotness. Meanwhile, you are probably …

The ex who let themself go.

While your ex was hitting the gym, you were eating your feelings.  Although shacking up with Ben and Jerry was comforting, neither one will fill the void of a penis in your vagina. Get your ass to the gym, just make sure it’s not the same one your ex is frequenting or you will risk becoming…

The stalker ex.

Isn’t it weird how they keep “accidently” showing up everywhere you go? This ex  stalks your social media so hard, they end up back at their own profile. Stop checking into places and try to only post pictures where you look amazing and are surrounded by good looking people of the opposite sex. Really, really, ridiculously, good looking people.

The ex who has ruined a particular sexual act for you.

Ladies, did you see God when he went down on you? Guys, did she give you a blowjob so good you were wondering what the hell those things you had before were called? If your bedroom hosted the Olympics, they would win the bronze, silver, and gold. From here on out, it’s all a heaping pile of garbage, but if you play your cards right, maybe they will become…

The ideal ex.

Also known as the one you still get to bang but don’t have to deal with.  There is little to no conversation between you guys. In fact, the only thing you two exchange are orgasms. You don’t even have to pretend to like each other, which is just valuable wasted energy you could be using for sex.

The ex who marries the next person they date.

This ex was “never looking for anything serious,” but three months after your break up they are engaged. You’re just like “Good Luck Chuck” except you won’t get to bang anybody as good looking as Jessica Alba.

The ex who stays close with your family.

As if suffering through your second cousin’s baby shower wasn’t bad enough, now you get to spend it with your ex because that fucker befriended all of your relatives. If you are really lucky, you’ll get to hear all about their engagement after they have lunch with your mom (who let’s be honest, probably likes them better).

The ex on a bender.

This former homebody was actually in a relationship with Netflix while you two were supposed to be dating, but as soon as you broke up, they became the life of the party. Every. Single. Night. Funny, because you didn’t know they allowed sweat pants in the club.

The ex you’re still friends with.

Sometimes two people can be totally wrong for each other but come to the realization they still appreciate and love the other person as a human being so they remain friends.  How mature of you two huh? Keep in mind this ex can also be referred to as “the ex that will piss off every future significant other until the end of time.”

The crazy ex.

I know people hate the word “crazy,” but let’s face it, there is really only one word to describe the shit storm that ensues when you two finally call it quits. There are the hateful texts, even angrier voicemails, and the keeping hostage of your shit.  You probably never want to talk to this person again, but you really miss your favorite sweatshirt. Don’t make a rookie mistake, and get it back before you change your number.

The ex you hate with the fire of a thousand suns.

Everyone has that one ex you hope would get hit with a bus…you are driving. Maybe this person banged all your friends or perhaps they still have your dog…either way, you hope they come down with one of the random scary viruses all over the media. You aren’t picky, Ebola is fine. Bird flu will also suffice.

The one that got away.

Tear* Perhaps this was your first love. Maybe it was bad timing. For whatever reason, it never worked out according to plan, but you will always look back on them fondly and wonder what could have been…just as long as they didn’t let themselves go.

Feminism Smeminism.

Late at night when I can’t sleep, I like to scour my favorite internet sites and read random articles about life, sex, and however many reasons I should or shouldn’t do something. However, recently I spend more time rolling my eyes than learning awful sex tip number 86982301.

It seems lately every other article is promoting feminism, and even though I am a woman, I can’t help but think, yawn* is this is still a thing?

Before you ladies start lighting the torches, I am not talking about equality in the workforce. I am aware women make 77 cents to every dollar men do, (which needs to change), but not shaving your legs isn’t going to make that happen. Trust me. Every winter I go extended periods of time wearing high socks and avoiding human contact, and I never once received a raise because of it. Refusing to wear tampons because “menstruating is something that women shouldn't be ashamed of doing,” isn’t going to prove a point either…unless that point is you like to ruin your clothing and furniture.  Yes people, “Free Bleeding” is a thing; look it up, but not while you are eating.

Personally, I have never once felt inferior to a man because I don’t even acknowledge that we are really that different.  Sure, some men are bigger or stronger than I am, but so are some women. Personally, I know plenty at my gym who you wouldn’t want to run into in a dark alley, and plenty of men whose asses I can kick. I've met numerous men who are more/less successful than me, and the same goes for women. I’ve come across men who are smarter than I am, and some men I just want to pet while saying, “So pretty.” I have just always considered that a little thing called "life."

I came across an article saying women who let a man pay for the date or pull out their chairs are “pathetic.” Well call me Captain Pitiful because I believe in Chivalry. I also believe in common fucking decency and holding a door open for anyone regardless of their gender. If a man wants to buy me a drink, I will gladly accept it. Sure, I can afford my own drinks, but I won’t get upset with a man for offering to buy me one.  If a woman, dog, alien, or Sasquatch offers me a cocktail, I will gladly accept that too because FREE BOOZE  people.

Another article even tried to tell me I wear make up because men have put pressure on me to look beautiful at all times. Yeah, uh huh, that, or maybe I prefer people not telling me I look tired which everyone knows is the nicest way of saying, “You look like shit.”  Perhaps I like tricking people into thinking I slept a full 8 hours instead of watching “The Sandlot” for the 20 millionth time at 3 am.  *On a side note, why is that movie always on at obscure times? Get it together ABC Family!

Now I know someone, somewhere is burning a bra and reading this in disgust, but you know what? I like my bras.  They are pretty, and lacy, and they keep my boobs from punching me in the face. I have spent far too much of my woman salary to set them on fire. If anything, I would like to burn Victoria for charging so damn much for her secrets…

You know what else? I also love dresses, not because they were “created by a man to sexualize women” but because fuck pants.  Have you ever felt a warm summer breeze on your lady parts? Well it’s delightful.

I wear heels because I am 5’ 2,” and every now and then it’s nice to not huff armpit the entire night. I also love the idea of appearing to lose five pounds without having to cry into salads for weeks. It never once crossed my mind whether or not they were designed by a man. They had me at artificial slimming effect.

I enjoy cooking and baking because I love to eat, with no correlation to the stereotype that “a woman’s place is in the kitchen.” If that is where the food is, that is exactly where I want to be. Put a fridge in the attic, and that’s where you’ll find my ass.

I also like Disney films.  Does that mean I am giving in to the idea of women being “helpless victims who need a man to save them?” Fuck no.  I like singing and cartoons.

Everyone needs to relax.

If you want to go to work while your husband stays home with the kids, then do it. If you don’t want to give into gender roles/stereotypes, then don’t, but if I want to cook dinner for my future husband in a pair of high heels and nothing else, that’s my damn prerogative. If you want to braid your armpit hair, that’s yours. However, I’m willing to bet I end up with my happily ever after first, and you bet your ass there will be a sweet song about it.

The Worst Kind of People: Music Festival Edition

This past weekend was Riot Fest in Chicago which means music festival season is finally coming to a close.

Like most summer concert attendees, you probably feel equal parts sadness and relief that although you can’t view 15 minutes of every band you have ever enjoyed all at once, you won’t have to deal with the awful specimen of people sweating all over you.

Daylong music fests draw in people from all walks of life, but because my soul is filled to the core with sass, I would like to focus on all of the worst people you will encounter at every music festival. Some of these people are strangers while some you may have brought with you, but regardless, they should all go play in traffic.

The “cool” parents.

Did they wake up this morning and think, “Hey. You know what that loud, over crowded, smoky festival needs…my children and all their shit.” You know what would have actually been cool?  Hiring a sitter. Now take your double wide stroller off my foot, and shove it up your ass.

Your ex.

Aren’t you glad you introduced him/her to all your favorite bands? Now you get to relive the magic with them and their new significant other.  You will lose everyone you came in with and never find them again, but if one thing in life is certain, you will run into your ex every ten minutes for the entire weekend.

Chatty Cathy.

You have endured days of extreme weather, crowds, and vile porta potties just to hear that one song, and when it finally gets played, your friend just won’t shut the fuck up. You are literally just nodding and singing along directly into their face, but they keep going on and on about some ex or something.

Overactive bladder.

You will spend more time waiting for this person in the never-ending bathroom line than actually watching bands.  They are fully aware of their inability to hold it, but it still won’t stop them from consuming 14 beers, 8 cups of coffee, and numerous flasks of Jameson. Get them a package of Depends for Christmas or lose their number by next summer.

The drunk girl who “doesn’t give a fuck.”

She bumped into you violently several times, burned a passer by with her cigarette, and squeezed her way into a spot that didn’t exist, but don’t expect an apology.  After the rest of her group see the ‘I am going to murder your friend’ look on your face they try to reason with her, but her lack of common social decency went out the window with her morals half a dozen beers ago.  I like to let Karma (in the form of a crowd surfer kick to the head) handle this one.

The person who shits in the porta potty.

Yeah yeah, I read the book. I am aware that everybody poops, but that doesn’t make me hate this individual any less.  Riot fest smelled like a zoo because you had to eat Mexican food and wash it down with beer all afternoon.  Next year be smart, fast for several days, and spare us all the scent of your shit basking in the summer sun.

Captain Obvious.

Oh, is it hot outside in the middle of July? Tell me again about how crowded it is.  We are all equally as uncomfortable as you, but like adults, we mask our miserableness with alcohol so starting drinking more and caring less. And yes, we are already aware the beer is expensive, thanks.

Stage nine clinger.

All you wanted to do was find a hot random to suck face with for a few songs, but suddenly red pants guy is following you from stage to stage. You realized six minutes in to your make out session that he was not in fact your soul mate, but now you are having a hard time shaking him. Just tell them your friend has to pee again, and lose him at the porta potties.

All the single ladies, all the single ladies.

Recently at work, I was helping a mother plan her 20-year-old daughter’s wedding. Yes, you read that correctly; she was 20 and conveniently found her soul mate while sitting next to him on a bus. Personally, the only thing I have found on public transit was an overwhelming scent of urine or a guy having a heated argument with himself…

When her mom asked me to draw inspiration from my own wedding, I had to explain that all my ideas were piping hot from my brain oven since I have never been married. What I experienced next went something like this…shocked face, quick recovery, confused stare, head tilt, look of pity, offer to set me up.

I explained that while her nephew seemed like a lovely individual, I was not interested in having coffee with him directly after our meeting.  She continued to ask me if I was still looking for the one or if I was simply focusing on my career, and while her questions seemed to get more intrusive and extremely along the lines of “What’s wrong with you?!” I tried to direct her attention to mason jars and homemade mercury glass…”Ooooh, ahhhh…Have you been on Pinterest?”

In reality I felt like saying, “You know. I probably shouldn’t have drunk that vile of gypsy tears when I was 8.  Now I am cursed to die alone.  What can you do though? They triple dogged dared me…”

As she continued to eye me up and down looking for a tail or extra finger, I began to wonder why people assume there must be something wrong with you if you are over the age of 30 and not married. You can be in a committed relationship with someone, even living with them, but if you two don’t feel the need to define your partnership with a piece of paper, you might as well adopt a dozen cats and hang Cathy comics on your fridge.  

Her daughter was sure she had found her soul mate before she could legally drink or gamble and no one questioned her, yet if you are over 30 and un-wed, you get nothing but questions. I know when I was 20, I was making out with everything with a pulse while simultaneously losing shoes all over the city, but I get we are all on different paths…

Life is not always a Disney film where you wake up on your 16^th birthday and find the man of your dreams. Perhaps he shows up in your 30s or 40s.  Perhaps he is like a fine George Clooney wine and it’s better to wait until its reached peak potential before consuming. Maybe you have already met him but don’t see the point in spending your life savings/acquiring crippling credit card debt to prove your love because picking up his stinky socks and washing his underwear are proof enough.  If you are happy, and he is happy, don’t let Beyoncé’ bully you into thinking you need a ring to justify it.

Either way being over 30 and having to check a “Miss” box on an important document is not the end of the world. If I’ve learned anything from reality television it’s that divorce is much worse so don’t let anybody make you feel like a leper because your prince still hasn’t arrived on his magic carpet belting out show tunes. Plus, something tells me if he likes to sing that much, it wouldn’t have worked out anyway.