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.

What Google Thinks About You

Hey there! Are you a snoop? Would you consider yourself “nosy”?  Do you share a computer? Do you enjoy invading people’s privacy and/or learning things about them without their knowledge? Or, failing that, do you want to know more about yourself based on the ramblings of a crazy random Internet girl (me)? Well, then, this is the post for you!

What Your Google Searches Say About You (You Sick Freak, You)

If you commonly search things like: bars with no covers, beer, mixed drink special at Blarney’s Pub, how to make own mojitos, cheap vodka, my x-byofriedn’s neumbr becux heis nit nioce

Then it means: You’re probably a raging alcoholic, typically college-aged, but you don’t realize it because everyone you know is also a raging alcoholic! You might also be a slut.

If you commonly search things like: boobs, Asian girls, jugs, girl-on-girl, ostrich porn, live sex videos

Then it means: You’re really into ostrich porn. Oh, and maybe also other kinds. You’re probably a seventeen-year-old boy, or a twenty-seven-year-old boy, or a thirty-seven-year-old boy.

If you commonly search things like: The Wild Hearts WordPress, stupid blogs, blogs where girl talks about dumb things

Then it means: You’re awesome.

Also, this is the "pictures of people with animal heads" post. Just in case you were wondering.

Wasn’t that helpful? I hope you have learned all about yourselves, People of the Internet. As ever, I’m happy to assist you.

 

Girls Just Wanna Have Pun

This is pretty:

Also, there are no puns in this post. I should just tell you right now. The title was a blatant lie.

Now, can I just say, I love being a girl. I FUCKING LOVE IT. Boys really drew the short stick (well, not boys I mess around with, but you know what I mean). You know why? Because I get to do pretty makeup like that, and I get to wear dresses (so freeeeee!), and I get drinks–gratis!–when I go to the bar.

I mean, there are other good reasons, obviously. Like, um, blah blah blah something about female empowerment. But seriously, dressing up and getting all hair-done-nails-done-everything-did is pretty fun. Especially since there are just so many options. What can a guy do to change his look? Grow a beard, cut his hair different, maybe switch it up with some man-jewelry (gauges, not bling, for God’s sake). But girls? You can practically paint on a whole new face if you’re so inclined. Which is always a good time.

In fact, my makeup skills are so good that I robbed the same bank three times in a row thanks to just a tube of mascara and a lipstick! (No, not really. It was four times.)

Going Lesbian

So, I love guys. A lot. Mostly what I like about them is their guy-ish-ness–stubble and arms and tallness and that guy smell that is so delish. But sometimes, I think it would be so much easier to be a lesbian.

I mean, I know it wouldn’t, in the civil rights/getting married/telling Mom sense, but seriously, sometimes it just seems like guys and girls don’t go together.

Take lingerie, for instance. Women wear it for men, but every guy I’ve been with has expressed appreciation before promptly ripping it off a second later. Which is nice, but still, maybe they could actually just look at it for a second before it gets tossed on the floor. And whenever I asked why, the guy responded, “Well, ’cause I like you best naked.” Le sigh. I feel like another girl would appreciate all the pretty bows and thigh-highs a little more.

Also, as far as touchy-feely bullshit goes, I bet that’s easier with someone else who’s also on the mushy side. Someone who also appreciates the distinction (because there is one, God damn it) between, “Love ya,” and “I love you.” And then I wouldn’t feel like such a tool for crying at The Notebook. And Moulin Rouge.

Plus, if I was gay, I could coordinate with my girlfriend:

Sadly, I just can’t bat for the other team. I appreciate girl prettiness the way I appreciate a nice dress. Er, wait, no I don’t. ‘Cause when I see a nice dress, I want to get inside it. So no. Like…a work of art. I guess the simplest way to put it is that I can objectively see the attractiveness of a girl without feeling any attraction to her. Whereas I can objectively see the attractiveness of a guy, but then objectivity falls out the window and I want to jump him.

Oh, lucky lucky lesbians. We straights have it hard. (I kid, I kid.)