People Watching

I read this lovely post on the Hairpin, and decided to semi-copy it because I am so thrillingly original. In case you’re too lazy to click the link you love my blog so much you can’t bear to be away from it for one second, it’s all dreamy descriptions about girls the author remembers in these poetic little slices of time. Which is nice, and a good read. But since I’m me, I decided to ditch the poetry and the love, and write accurate descriptions of people I have noticed recently.

Bus Lady. I am waiting for the bus and a tall, thin woman is bouncing up and down and shivering. She asks a girl near her when the bus is coming, and shakes her head and laughs when the girl says it is late. I think she seems normal until we get on the bus, and she spends the next twenty minutes pulling chunks of hair and systematically ripping the ends off. I almost puke.

Stupid Bar Guys. I am sitting alone at the bar, waiting for the Man to come back with drinks, and two men sidle up. They “casually” move closer, then closer, like I’m a cat they don’t want to scare away, and then one of them finally sits in the Man’s now-vacant seat next to me. “Hey, how are you?” he says,and his friend leans in and whispers, “He’s a predator, watch out for him.” I almost puke.

Ghetto Mom. She is standing in front of the Laundromat with two little kids. They don’t want to go inside, and she shouts, “Fine, then stay out here, you little [racial slurs]!” I saw her two weeks before at Wal-Mart,and she said the exact same thing. I almost puke.

Awww, aren’t these sweet? What lovely people I run into! (No, you gorgeous city-dwellers, I do love lots of you, but I didn’t want to totally rip off the Hairpin post so I couldn’t say anything nice. Really, it’s that, and not because I’m a total bitch. No, REALLY. Fine, just to prove it I’m going to do one nice one.)

The Boy. He is sitting in the hipster coffee shop and I see him through the window, reading a Steig Larrson book in a cozy flannel shirt and faded jeans. I can’t tell what he’s drinking but I decide to pretend it’s hot chocolate. He smiles at a part in the book (which probably means he’s a psycho, since 90% of those books involve rape and murder) and it is nice. I don’t puke.

Do You, Unattractive, Take Handsome to Be Your Lawfully Wedded Husband?

I think everyone knows an “unattractive guy, pretty girl” couple. It’s just the way of the world. The Unattractive Guy is probably funny, and failing that, he is probably sweet, nice, and doesn’t mention his thing for BDSM choking on the first date. And the Pretty Girl is sick of hot douchebags, and so she goes for personality instead and lives happily ever after with Unattractive Guy.

If they turned around, you'd be shocked by how ugly he is.

It’s just life. Boys are shallower, and girls care about personality more. And there are exceptions and blah-blah-blah, but the general rule is that the dude is going to date the hot chick, and the chick is going to date the nice, funny guy. Every time some (usually hideously ugly) man posts on Facebook: “The good guy never gets the girl,” I think to myself, “Well, sweetheart, even she has limits.” I mean, a pretty girl will date a nice, plain-looking or even slightly-ugly-but-plays-it-off-well-with-a-beard guy, but if you’re fugly and fat (and nice), that’s a whole new plate of pie.

But the Unattractive Girl, Handsome Guy couple? That is way less typical. If you see a pretty girl walking around with a plain-t0-slightly-ugly guy, you probably don’t do a double take, unless you’re turning around to stare at her butt. But when you see a plan-to-ugly girl walking around with some handsome, muscular fellow, you think to yourself, “Whaaathefuck?” It’s weird. I mean, I’m happy for Unattractive Girl, although if I was dating way up I’d be constantly afraid someone not-ugly would swoop in and steal my man.

If you haven’t seen the UG-HG coupling in nature, well, you’re in luck, because last night I had the good fortune to witness the very beginning of an UG-HG relationship! That’s right, folks–The WildHearts strapped on her explorer hat and headed into the wild to witness this all go down. (Or, you know, I was at the bar casually sipping the world’s most expensive Appletini and saw it all play out.)

Handsome Guy was not my type, but he was definitely a lot of other girls’ dreamboat: tall, cropped blonde hair, handsome face and big muscly arms, one of which had a non-tribal tattoo on it. He was good-looking in that all-American Army boy kind of way, and he knew it. And all these little drunk sluts were flitting around him like whore-moths to a light, and what did he do?

Mack on the Plainest of Janes next to him at the bar. I mean, I am not exaggerating when I say that this girl could’ve stepped into a wallpaper and faded away completely. The only reason I was even aware of her existence was because it was so shocking that Handsome Guy was hitting on her. She had really lank, limp hair the color of mice poo, a plain, tired face, and a weak chin, which all matched her hideous grandma sweater and bad posture. I mean, she could be sweet as pie and all that shit, but that is what she looked like, before anyone accuses me of Level 10 Bitchiness.

And Handsome Guy LOVED her. I am not kidding; he wanted to drop to one knee and propose to her with a bottle cap. He didn’t even seem drunk. He laughed at everything she said, never so much as glanced at any of the twats screaming with drunk excitement a foot away, and basically looked like a little puppy wiggling at a new bone. In fact,  Unattractive Girl actually seemed less interested.

I guess my point is, it was weird? And everyone should date who they love, but if you’re so funky-looking that some bitchy blogger writes a post about you the next day, you should maybe not go to crowded bars in SalVo sweaters that probably smell like mothballs? And everyone should drink Appletinis if they have a $20 to spare?

Wow, They Really Straightened Up the Place

Last night, I went dancing at a fine establishment known as a gay bar. Now, for any girl who likes to dance and doesn’t like 400 horny guys trying to rub their dicks on her, a gay bar has always been the perfect solution (gay girls are a lot less pushy than straight dudes). You get to dress up, break it down, and have fun with your friends without having boners shoved everywhere.

Or so I thought, because apparently, some giant asshole TOLD STRAIGHT GUYS. Yeah, that’s right. Some giant douche decided to spill the beans and whisper, “Psst! Pass it on! Tons of straight girls go to gay clubs–it’s the perfect place to meet the ladies!”

I mean, clearly, if I am a straight girl at a club with rainbow flags everywhere and bouncers who look like they just walked off a gay bondage porno, I am there for a reason. And the reason is not that I love listening to gay icons blare through speakers at 5,000,000 decibels. The reason is that I want to dance all night without having to awkwardly reject people. Nothing against guys who mack on girls at clubs–I mean, it’s a club. That’s like going to an opium den and being like, “God, what a bunch of drug addicts!” But come on! Sometimes, I just want to dance like a slut for me, you know?

Instead, I was assaulted last night by 387 straight dudes asking me to dance and following me around the club and totally trying to rub their creepy penises on me. And I’m not a bitch–I didn’t say, “Fuck you,” I said, “No, but why don’t you dance with all of us?” and gestured to my lovely friends. At which point the straight-man infiltrator would then proceed to shake his head to that request and then superglue his crotch to my butt.

This happened the entire night, including guys who just kept. Coming. Back. I would let them do their exciting little boner grindy dance for about two seconds, and then very smoothy lift their hands over our head and twirl around so we were all dancing together. Which worked for a while, until the Ted lookalike (of How I Met Your Mother fame). But I’m pretty sure he was gay (maybe? Do gay guys get boners when they dance with girls, because that was not a wallet pressing on my ass), so I just went with it.

On one hand, I can’t complain. They were all actually totally decent-looking, and three of them could even be classified as something approaching “hot.” And they were all, with the exception of a seriously misguided lil’ dude, taller than me. On the other hand–listen, dolls, if I was single, I would rub against you like a kitty cat and then do something a little naughty outside the club, BUT I’M NOT. So go back to a straight bar where one of the girls you dance with might actually sleep with you (but she probably won’t).

Put This in Your Cookbook

How to Have a Good St. Patty’s Day: the Recipe

Ingredients:

  • Slutty green clothes (1 pair)
  • Alcohol (6 shots/3 mixed drinks; add more to taste)
  • Loud bar with grindy dance music and strobe lights (1)
  • Friends (any number; must be flavorful)
  • Money (a lot)

Directions:

  1. Put on slutty clothes with friends.
  2. Go to bar.
  3. Buy mixed drinks. Mix them liberally with friends and bar.
  4. Buy shots. Shake vigorously on the dance floor.
  5. Black out.

Seriously, it’s foolproof. Way easier than whipping up some souffle or whatever-the-fuck with Martha Stewart-level difficulty and weird foreign ingredients.