Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Why Your BFF Should be a B*tch

My Friday morning couldn't have started out much worse last week, hungover, alone on the couch because boyfriend was on a guy's trip, and being woken up by panicked texts from my best friend who was in a level 10 meltdown because she'd just found evidence of her boyfriend cheating on her, with intent to continue. Having just met him over a couple's V-Day trip, I can honestly say this bit of news surprised me. Yes, even me, the Prophet of all Douchery. Usually between my sister and I we can call it like we know it before anyone else usually sees it, but this guy didn't strike me as that kind, and at first his act of betrayal of my bestie's trust truly shocked me like running aground in the middle of the Indian Ocean. To my friend (a VERY cool, easy-going awesome chick who loves sports and has huge boobs, p.s. she's single if you're hot) he fit all of the little boxes you check off in your head when you decide you're with a loyal dude, and despite relationships issues they were in the progress of working out (nothing irrevocable like this had come out yet), she assumed she'd been told his whole story. I could paint the picture in gross detail of how it built up to a boiling point but that really isn't the pinnacle of my post, because while my best friend's little relationship world was taking hit from a giant meteor, I was emanating enough heat to raise the sea levels on Earth. 

It's a good thing a few thousand miles separate me from her, because in that head-pounding moment I was seriously calculating the cost of a plane ticket, bail money and legal fees for assault, arson, and drunk-in-public charges (the first two would be acts against her boyfriend, the last one because, what else are we going to do after I beat up her cheating ex? Party, duh). The crucial fact in her point of discovery was that he was at work, and she was in the house where they live together... with all of his stuff. Naturally, being a Miranda Lambert fan and just an all-around crazy bitch, I told her that she had enough time before he came home to buy lighter fluid and matches, and make sure his shit was mostly burned to ash by the time he drove up. But she's a kinder (and more sane) person than I, so it looks like our bonfire will have to wait. The way I emotionally responded to what happened with her kind of surprised me, and then I thought back to another great girl friend of mine announcing, "I love how I could call any one of you up and say 'we need to get rid of a body' and you all would be like 'who's car are we taking?'" 

Chicks. Officially the most fickle creatures on the planet when it comes to interacting with each other. Put ONE hot, single guy in the room none of them have hooked up with and watch them claw, and talk trash about everyone until they get the guy they want, but the second that guy does any one of them dirty, it's Man vs. Boobs, and guess who loses that game every. Single. Time. That one guy will never stand a chance and they'll burn him alive. On the other hand, put one girl amidst a group of guys? None of them care if she's the town bicycle, if she's the only chick, they're not going to treat her any differently no matter who or what she does. I will be the first to tell you that chick drama is not for me. It doesn't take me 2 hours to get ready unless I'm going to the Oscars, I don't religiously get my nails done, and I don't enjoy having air-headed debates about wedges vs. espadrilles. I don't drink apple-freaking-tinis and I yell at the TV during a game more than any other man I've met, for these and other totally awesome reasons, I can safely say I am not a regular chick, but when it comes to one of my best girl friends (who are all very similar to me because I do need someone other than my sister and this blog to hear me complain) when absolutely necessary, we are the meanest, craziest, Lorena-Bobbitt-loving Wiccan you will ever meet. All men who just read that name shuddered in fear, I know, she's like the Voldemort of male genitalia, and for those who don't know who she is, she is the Patron Saint of Crazy Bitches... she caught her husband cheating on her so she waited until he was asleep and then she cut off his-- I'll let you google it. 

For serious though, guy friendships are great, you're friends for your whole lives, you get over any dumb disagreement with ease, and you never snap at each other for wearing something similar. Congratulations, you've found the most passive form of interaction you could ever achieve with a relationship tying it together, good for you! But when your person commits an act of betrayal, there is no level of loyalty you'll find like that of a lady, bloody clean-up crew and all. 

So, if you're gonna love someone who has your back, love your Betchy Bestest the mostest, because your girlfriend is thinking that if you ever do her wrong, her BFF is who will be helping her go all Dexter on you later. 

Laters, lovers. xoxo

Thursday, December 4, 2014

Movie Seen

The other night perusing the Netflix with the boyfriend, I noticed that whenever he pauses on a title, he asks, "Have you seen that?" Usually, my response is "no," but I will admit to either having heard of the movie before, or seeing bits and pieces of it at some point. Regardless of my answer, he usually responds with his short like or dislike of the movie, and then moves on. So, its been 3 years of Netflix cruising, and of all the titles that have come and gone, and all the movies I've been asked if I've watched- the majority of which my response has been "No"- I'm just wondering... Why the hell have guys seen SO MANY MOVIES?

Was there some secret portion of your lives where you lived like a troll, in a cave under a Blockbuster Video? How is it humanly possible to have seen all of the shitty movie titles I have been asked throughout my dating life if I've seen? Because truth be told, Boyfriend is not the only guy who has quizzed my cinema knowledge.  And to further the Stockholm syndrome effect of failing movie quizzes, I wonder what the hell I was doing with my life instead of watching these dumbass movies. Oh, I was just taking classical piano lessons, and years of Balanchine Ballet training, but dammit I sucked at making sure I took in a constant stream of mediocre film ranging in genre from action, to horror, to sci fi.

I have made an interesting observation when it comes to movies and TV series though. Most men will sit down and watch a movie with no problem, no matter how good or bad. Their level of focus and patience for what is obviously going to be a more and more ridiculous plot line never waivers. But the second a long-running TV series is suggested, they usually don't buy into it. My Freudian explanation for this actually has way more to do with commitment than anything else. Women have the patience to watch YEARS of a TV show, only to be pissed about the way it's poorly ended (True Blood... WTF was that?). Men, much like in relationships, don't enjoy being tied down unless they're completely all about it. So you'd rather dabble in your one-night feature showings than buckle down and see a series through... alright, I get it. But what about the guys who just watch series but don't have girlfriends? Do they actually crave the commitment they aren't achieving? Sorry, I was trying on my Carrie Bradshaw writing hat for a minute where she asks insightful questions before one of her friends endures a demoralizing dating experience.

So, I don't really have a point here, I'm just bringing up some observational points I've noticed that you're probably wondering by now, as well. But the next time you ask your girlfriend if she's seen some kind of obscure kung fu movie, she's probably thinking "Why the hell would you even wonder if I've seen this?" Seriously. Snowball's chance in Southern California.

For now, I'm going to go catch up on my latest committed addiction "How to Get Away with Murder."

Later, lovers.


Wednesday, October 1, 2014

The Naughty Football League

I think Chris Rock said it best with "Everything is a distraction to keep your mind off the war." In my personal opinion, no truer words were spoken than when he asked "have you ever gone to the ATM for $300 at four in the morning for anything positive?" but that's another story. The easy public target of distraction lately, has been none other than the most American of all topics... the NFL. It's no secret that rosters are filled with wife-beaters, child-beaters, rapists, thieves, murderers (..."allegedly"), and even dog-beaters, but thanks to the media's push on this topic, we're all aware that our fantasy rosters could easily double as some kind of super team on Prison Break. Nonetheless, business is business, and for the NFL, come fall, business is usually good. Had it not been for the reincarnation of Ike Turner's tactics with Ray Rice in that elevator, it wouldn't have been so shockingly obvious to us that there is a glaring issue.

Saturday Night Live even poked fun at the NFL this weekend by replacing the previously attended schools with criminal charges. My favorite? "I'm the punter... tax fraud!" But seriously. Criminal activity like this among public figures shouldn't be more rampant than Chlamydia on 90210. These are the people we cheer for to do well? Excuse me, but I don't find that so easy to stomach. I've heard in other countries, when you do something shameful or criminal, you're disowned instead of glorified. You're not allowed to create reality shows and fashion empires after your sex tape "embarrasses" you with its release, or get to continue playing a professional sport because you were declared "Not-Guilty" of your murder charges, the public in other countries doesn't take to it, and by the way "Not Guilty" and "Innocent" are 2 very different things in and out of court.

The punter for the Vikings was released after being publicly noticed for his outspoken support of homosexual marriage, but Ray Rice wasn't released from the Ravens until the video of his Tyson-style knockout hit TMZ.

I have been a fan of the energy and passion found in college football for quite some time now. There is nothing on earth that I have experienced like being in Bryant-Denny's 100k+ seat Stadium and hearing the crimson crowd scream with joy for a blocked kick vs. Tennessee to win the game. The players aren't on the field "for free" but they're certainly not paid in cash and given free will without curfew, rules, and codes of conduct. The ONLY thing keeping collegiate athletes (basically) within the code-of-conduct box, is the fact that their scholarship would be immediately revoked, and they would be sent home without a degree, or any money to pay for one. But let us pave the path to the NFL in gold grills, on spinning rims, with cash as confetti for someone like Jameis Winston to conveniently have his rape charges dismissed just before the Heisman ballot would've counted him out, or after he stole crab legs from the grocery store, or was finally penalized within recent weeks for heinous sexual comments yelled on campus that were offensive enough for his own 'Noles family to finally have him take a seat. The message that college is setting up for the potentially pro-athletes is: its fine, if you play well enough, we'll take care of the problem for you.

As a fan of the SPORT of football, I enjoy watching the athleticism, feeling the energy of the crowd, watching my Crimson Tide win, and of course, the random clips of Nick Saban very obviously swearing up a storm when a play doesn't go right, but I don't applaud letting the business overshadow the sport, and the character of its players, and frankly, I don't even watch it. So, until we start putting good players with good causes on a pedestal, and immediately revoking the playing privileges of those who abuse others, I'll be hanging out with your girlfriend at a spa, or the mall, or mimosa brunch, or basically anywhere other than in front of a TV contributing to the ratings of this Sunday shit. Light on the orange juice, heavy on the champs.

xoxo


Thursday, September 11, 2014

A Boyfriend Named Gym

Just like any other girl in the universe, I'm aware of my shape & physical appearance, and because I'm also aware of the price of new pants and it's effect on my funemployed bank account right now, I've begun using my gym membership a lot more. Most women echo my feelings, and aside from the leering eyes of men, a gym is a pretty inexpensive, logical place to make that happen. It's also more cost efficient than paying for monthly yoga classes, Day spa passes, AND buying cardio machines. 

So, I enjoy the amenities my gym has to offer, from the obvious equipment and classes, all the way up to the hotter-than-hell sauna. While I've experienced every end of the spectrum of membership behavior, from overly aggressive steroid guy who makes sure to ask you EVERYTIME if your "murderin' it, bro?", To the completely useless taken-space in a way-too-advanced-for-her hip hop class (she just stepped back and forth the entire time, blocking my mirror window , the former ballerina in me almost kicked her). But by far, the majority of my weirdo gym experiences lately have taken place in the most holy place of all nicer gyms... The dry sauna. First, let me say I've never been in a co-ed sauna (because... Ew) and second, I never had P.E. In school... Ever. So walking into an eyefull of large, naked, and unsurgically tucked breasts is just mildly uncomfortable for me. I love and appreciate the female form, but I'd rather leave your form up to my imagination if need be, ya feel me? 

After a treadmill 5k and some weights one day, I wandered into the ladies locker room for a quick sauna-sitting session and a last minute ditch of some water weight. When I walked in, I could tell from my peripheral vision that a completely naked younger girl was laying on her back on one side of the L shaped wooden bench. I distanced myself as far as possible and buried my eyesight into my phone with my noise-canceling earbuds jammed as far into my ears without touching the drums. I don't want to make conversation with you while your boobs are out in any scene unless we're on a premium cable show film set and there's a union rate bump for that. So in the muffled silence while I choose my playlist, this girl (albeit, my peripheral vision noticed she was in good shape) I can hear this chick loudly sigh/squeal/moaning.... If I knew how to insert a sound clip here I would. Every 15 seconds or so, she was exhaling like her Vivid auditioned Roller Girl role depended on it... And it was disturbing me more and more by the second. 

I chose a song and turned the volume up and attempted to ignore the floating idea that this chick was trying to get my attention. It became impossible to ignore, however, when she stood up with her towel barely held around her and began stretching and sighing in front of me. ...Um. I didn't consider the idea that I was being punked on some hidden camera show, so I just got up and left. Later, when I recalled this story to the predominantly male customer base of the shit-hole dive bar I was working at, I realized this story was only confirmation of their delusional female-locker-room gym fantasies. Fail. 

I'll agree with one thing, this girl had a pretty unnerving, high-level of confidence, and I don't know whether to respect it or wonder if she was nuts. I'd love to know, guys, does it make you uncomfortable when another dude is just wandering around with his junk hanging all over the place while he's stretching in front of you in a small sweaty room? Yeah- now you see my POV from that of a person made uncomfortable in a gym instead of a 14 year old boy with a Milk Money fantasy. My other awkward moments have just involved some bad sauna etiquette, but Vivid Entertainment girl, by far, took the cake. 

While I appreciate all efforts of any gender, size, or race attempting to better their physical selves, I can't help but wonder what circumstances of events led to the rando-single dude struggling for air next to me in Yoga class. Really, bro? My brother-in-law goes to Yoga with my sister, but I'm not so sure he would've just started that party all by himself if my sister wasn't around. He also pays for it, so he might as well get something out of it. But seriously, if these lone wolves are taking it seriously, good for them. Just a bit of advice... if you're not there to lurk, get closer to the front of the class. We're not stupid, guys. My best guy friend in college snuck into the back of a spinning class, at first out of shame and embarrassment for wanting to try a "chick's" workout. He quickly realized his good ignorant fortune when the teacher instructed everyone to stand on their pedals and said, "Ok, butts up!" He recruited several male friends within days as workout buddies for spin class afterwards. 

So, guys, If you'd like to use these classes as a way to better your chances of meeting a girl, I actually don't think its a bad idea, but you HAVE TO TRY THE WORKOUT THE BEST YOU CAN DO IT. If you don't take it seriously and you're just spending the entire class in a back-and-forth of Table Top and Child's Pose with your head up and eyes glued to every Lululemon covered ass, we'll know you're just in there to creep. And if you're taking the yoga class because your girlfriend asked you to join her, she's probably thinking that she LOVES you for trying it, even if you're hating every minute in Downward Dog, supporting her taking this class will hopefully keep you out of the Downward Dog-House.

XoXo

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Teammates

Usually the sassy posts and thoughts come with ease while commenting on relationship wins and woes, but lately a matter of heart has taken precedence over everything in my life, and I feel it is worth learning from. Every girl's relationship with men will forever be affected by her relationship with the first man in her life, her Dad. Mine has been nothing short of amazing, and I have had the privilege of being the daughter of an All-American collegiate football player, a successful lawyer, a faithful husband, a great singer and guitar player, and most importantly for me, a great Dad. The last 4 years I have also had the challenge of being daughter to a dad who has continued to be all of those things, in addition to becoming a cancer fighter. My boyfriend and I met in the middle of what has felt like the longest battle of our lives, a time when the words "No Evidence of Disease" were being used, a lull in the fighting, if you will. My boyfriend of 2 and a half months sat in the waiting room when the oncologist told us that 2 blood test numbers that were "slightly off" had revealed a scan showing "too many spots to count" and the metastases of colon cancer into both lobes of my Dad's liver. Chemo began right away, the side effects soon followed, but my boyfriend held tight. Always appropriate and never faltering in stride with me, he kept pace at family functions, held tissues for tears, and visited during every hospital stay. I couldn't have imagined the night we met that he would be so wonderful, but I'm certainly glad he's been so.
 
One year ago, a large surgery resected my Dad's liver that removed the remaining 5 spots left after a year and a half of chemotherapy. We enjoyed 6 amazing months without chemo, instead just healing time, holidays, and fun. But cancer lurks like no other kind of knowing something horrible exists once you've known it's threat. A high chance of recurrence didn't spare us, so we began fighting again 7 months ago.
 
There are two types of people when it comes to cancer, the people who say "I can't even imagine," and the people who just know, and I realize sometimes that if it weren't for me and my family, my boyfriend would have remained on the blissfully ignorant side of the coin, a place I would search heaven and earth to have back for me and for him. I have tried my damnedest to be the best girlfriend and the best daughter to the 2 most important men in my life, and both have been so wonderful to me.
 
This fight is getting to a place of purgatory now, a place where we do everything we can to make my Dad comfortable, and wait for when and how our fate is decided. Every day I wake up I am weighed down by the perpetuity of it, the emotionally shackled feeling of knowing another day has begun that we fight. It's exhausting, but my Dad is still here, so I snuggle next to him while he naps and pray for more days I have this privilege. They're not easy, but they're the best moments of my day. In order to have them, my boyfriend has taken a backseat, slept in our apartment alone, and fended for himself in the kitchen on most days when I'm not there. The days of reprieve with him and me walking around our city and enjoying a normal life of a 20-something couple are the happy bursts that keep me going on days I'd prefer to curl into a ball and flip the rest of my day the middle finger. He says I'm handling it better than he would but I'm honestly only holding up because he is the keel to my ship as we brave this horrible sea. Even though I may lose my Dad on this earthly plane I know he will never, ever leave me, that comforts my spirit but it doesn't make me less sad right now. He has shown me what it truly means to fight, and given me the pleasure of moments I will always hold precious to my heart. He loves my boyfriend like one of his own, and I love knowing I have found my person who meets his highest standard.
 
This experience over the last 4 years has caused me to re-evaluate everything I ever thought about the person you marry. "In sickness and in health" rings in my head when I consider the fact that sometimes life deals you cards you have no other choice but to play through. My mother has unfailingly been at my Dad's side, and through every test, chemo appointment, side effect, surgery, procedure, or shitty day, she has been his teammate. I wouldn't have wanted anybody else through this, and neither would my Dad.
See, I don't think that finding your person is about finding someone who's perfect, it's about finding your ultimate teammate. The person who has your back and is willing to duke it out with you to the very end, the person who is your Left Tackle while you're QB, a person who blocks for you when Life the Linebacker is coming around your blind side to try and rock you. My Dad and Mom have given me many things, but most importantly it has been the confidence and ability to love myself by unwaveringly loving me, and the intelligence to discern the qualities to look for in the right teammate, just by being each other's.
 
The hardest part of this fight is knowing that no matter what we do, the score isn't going to change. I'm pissed. I'd rather watch that fucking kick-6 play in the Iron Bowl as my alarm clock every day than deal with the reality of this. There is no other way to put it, other than to say that it unimaginably sucks.
 
So if you have asked me how I've been, apologies, but I've lied. I forced a smile and said "good" or just refused to answer when you inquire "how are things"... the answer isn't great, and starting a conversation with "My Dad has cancer... how have you been?" isn't exactly kindling for happy conversation. I sarcastically mock your "horrible day" facebook updates about flat tires and jewelry store mishaps with your wedding ring. I am most jealous of your wedding day pictures with your dads you post on Father's Day. And I am beyond appreciative of your funny e-cards or random updates about eating your way out of a blanket made from waffles. I have lived every day of over 4 years hoping for the best, but being aware of the lurking worst, and it has changed me in ways I never anticipated. It has affected my relationships of all kinds, and dramatically changed the time I deemed "quality." I don't wish my heavy heart on anyone but I encourage you to seek the most important things to you, and hold on. I challenge you to find the teammate that is always going to fight with you, never settle for anyone less. And most importantly, I beg you to be kind to everyone, because you never know what kind of fight they're fighting.

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

While You Were Out... of town.

I was quietly cursing under my breath and aggressively tugging at my duvet cover a few weeks ago, because yet again, Boyfriend managed to Jet-Lee-Kung-Fu kick the covers completely off the bed and onto the floor (are you a ninja in your dreams?). A losing battle I will fight for, like, ever, but some cavewomen instinct in me demands the bed be made. Gathering laundry and cleaning things, I stressed out about helping my dude pack for a 2.5 week trip without me. I love him, he is my person, but holy shit I was really looking forward to star-fishing all over our bed, food lasting in the fridge longer than 2 days, and waking up to covers that stayed on the bed all night. For as much as I love sharing a place with him, I craved a tiny bit of space.

Like every girl who knows her boyfriend is going out of town, I had grandiose visions like that scene with Emma Watson partying her boobs off in The Bling Ring. I had plans of going out with my girlfriends (a hot mess and New-Orleans-post-Katrina, level-5 disaster in itself by 2AM), and hopes of fitting in workouts for random calorie splurges on the individual slices of cheesecake they sell at the grocery store. It wasn't even about "single" behavior or whatever the hell that is supposed to mean, it was about being able to live for a matter of days where I wasn't constantly considering the other half of me and how it relates to me, if he was hungry, tired, wanted to go out, or whatever.  I was going to consider only what I wanted to do in the days he was gone. I swear, I was gonna fit it all in and enjoy every second. 

So, not gonna lie, the first few days (or random select days throughout the time period) are cool. You get to do some of the things you wanted, spend time with friends for longer than normal, eat food your Person normally doesn't like to have (or eats all of), and get some things done by not having the sheer distraction of someone around. That's cool. But, here's the thing... after awhile it starts to suck. 

The reality of your other half being out of town is that once you get over the elation of not picking the covers off the floor every morning, you're tired of sleeping in the bed by yourself. Not to mention the fact that I seriously over-estimated the longevity of some leftover Dominos pizza, and ended up food-poisoning myself. Had boyfriend been here that pizza would have never seen the refrigerator light of day 2, so he literally saves my life by eating everything. Also, the idea of me, raging like its a re-make of my 22nd birthday? Yeah, there was an awesome party with bottle service... the service of the Rite Aid cashier who rang up my bottle of their $10 finest Cabernet, a box of Cheez-its, and a crucial bag of Dove chocolates. And every chick knows the irony of those fucking chocolates is the message they write inside the wrapper, like "Keep the promises you make to yourself." And I think to myself, Like how I promised myself I wasn't gonna eat shit like this anymore? 

Thank God for Netflix, and the syndication of the TV show House, M.D.. But, honestly I watched so many episodes while Boyfriend was gone I could probably get a decent score on the MCAT right now, and I may actually be considering trying to "Catch Me if You Can" on some medical board exams. Don't worry, I'll pick something easy like an Urgent Care physician so I can just throw cure-all antibiotics and glorified Aleve at you until you see your real doctor. If that doesn't work out, I'm totally prepared for prison thanks to the episode-binge-watching of Orange is the New Black... Lets just say its a good thing Boyfriend came home and pried the streaming remote out of my hand. 


So, truthfully, while we help you pack because we really can't wait to get you out of the house, your girlfriend is thinking that she misses the mess out of you while you're gone after about day 3, and she wants you back home ASAP to cuddle and eat all the maybe-un-safe food left in the house. 

I love you like, X-O-X-O.

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

R-E-S-P-E-C-T #yesallPEOPLE

DISCLAIMER: There are mentally-ill people in this world who have, unfortunately, created paranoia and hysteria among good people. Those people are ILL, SICK, and never received the proper or attention before their evil was inflicted on innocent people. This post does not pertain to them.

In light of social media posts regarding a gross generalization of male behavior, I'd like to give my 2 cents on the issue. Ahem...

Women fought HARD for other women to be able to vote, and buy property, and just basically not BE property. They fought for women to attend college, have careers usually dominated by men, and still fight for equal pay. It is no secret that women work twice as hard at obtaining something a man could have, so now I'm going to turn around and look at a larger percentage of women than I'd like to admit who are making all the Boss Bitches look bad.

While working a promotion for a sunblock company one day, this above-average looking, teenage girl asked me if she could have a better free promotional goodie "just because I'm cute, I tried hard." Um... what? For the sake of representing a brand that wasn't my own I couldn't lose my intellectual, femenist shit on her right there, but here's what I'd say if I saw her on the street: What exactly did you work hard at today besides your choice in wedges vs. flip flops and application of mascara? You believe your looks entitled you to something better than what the luck of a draw handed you, well little girl, life's gonna be rough for you.

We could blame men, and Darwinism, for the pretty girl becoming the biggest entitled brat in the room, but there is NO excuse for why she's also an idiot. It's not cute, and it doesn't get you further than the smart girl, so SACK UP and learn something, ladies. The issue of rape was set aside when social media began attacking male behavior, generalizing men into animalistic, rapist douchebags. If you ask me, this isn't about rape, this is about RESPECT, and I'm not on anybody's side but the Good Peoples'. I know for a fact that men form a binary-like opinion of women immediately called "Stupid or Not Stupid." Stupid girls get cheated on, lied to, left, etc.. But Smart girls... smart girls don't get f*cked with, so pick up a book and put down the remote and you might see a complete evolution in how men interact with you. To up the ante of the "respect" clause, it isn't about men learning to respect women first, its actually about women learning to respect themselves first, the dudes will follow in suit after they realize she's not dumb enough to fall for their crap. I'm not saying its a woman's fault a man didn't control himself, I'm saying its one person's complete lack of respect that led to a horrible violation of another. I also know a few chicks who've been known to rearrange the faces of a few guys worse than he ever thought about doing to another dude, so what would you say in their case? This issue is person-on-person, not men-vs-women.

While seeing Chris D'elia's comedy show this weekend with my boyfriend, the comedian called every man out in the room by stating that everything a guy does for a girl is just to sleep with her, its literally the ONLY thing he wants. Dates? HA, those are like obstacle courses for getting laid. I've said it before and I'll say it again, women could rule the world if they just held out. Politicians try and get rid of Birth Control? Cool, chicks will just stop sleeping with you because abstinence is the only other reliable kind... ohhhh The Pill is free after 5 days of this? Gee... didn't see that piece of legislation coming. Just because a man wants in your pants doesn't mean he doesn't respect you, but how he goes about the process of getting in your pants determines the growing level of respect he could have, depending on YOUR actions. This is a two-way street, girls, so lets stop using Twitter to demonize every guy like he's some sexually-driven maniac. If every woman had a better sense of awareness for this FACT we could get some shit done.

In case you don't believe me, ask your girlfriend what she thinks. You aren't with her, building a life with her, trusting her, and NOT respecting her. There's no way thats happening if your relationship is worth a damn and you're planning on making it past month #6, and she wouldn't have let you within a 12" radius of her lady parts if she thought you weren't going to treat her right, let alone keep you around and let you keep coming back for more. All I'm askin', is for a little respect, just a little bit... just a little bit.