Monday, March 19, 2012

24 Year Olds

Apparently everyone with whom there is a mutual attraction is 24 years old. Yep, 24 years old. It doesn't matter that you're 33 (almost 34). You meet someone and hit it off and then find out that they are, in fact, the fantastical, magical age of 24.

You can be flattered that you're attracting 24 year olds and smugly move on with that knowledge or you can go ahead and let it be taken to another level. CCBs would be wise to choose the latter but we go typically choose the former. Of course. Why not? It could end well. MAYBE!

They're just so darn cute so it's really OK.

You become convinced that they are mature for their age despite them still being in school, living at home, constantly playing video games, and leaving their shit strewn around your place.

But really, he is getting his shit together. Really! He said so in his intellectual ramblings in between his puffs from the joint.

Sex is all fine and good for a few weeks. The only area where he actually does act like a man. But after a little while you'll come to realize that you're tired of babysitting and so you're forced to send him back home, permanently. Bai little one!

Monday, January 30, 2012

The Library Thinks I am Fat



I learned today that my borrowing privileges at the library have once again been suspended. Whoop tee do. And this time—perhaps because it happened so close to the last time, which was 2 weeks ago—it wasn’t just hurtful. I have to admit that it was also a little eye opening. I realized that I am not a good listener.

I knew the suspension was coming. Their automated system warned me a few days ago with the usual email that provides some info about why they hate me including the name of the offending book. Despite this courtesy, though, I found myself offended and shocked (as always) when I received the suspension notice.

I am a selective listener
I only hear what I want to hear. And out of the things I hear, I only believe the parts I want to believe. And then inside of the parts I hear AND believe is a smaller select group of things I will actually do something about. So, about 1/3 of 100% equals 33.something, minus probably half, equals .... wha?

The amount of things I act on is a small complex number that is unknown because it requires dividing odd fractional numbers by 2s. I don’t do that.

I use selective listening in many aspects of my life. Obviously with libraries and loans, but also with things like dating. Which is probably why I am single and no one wants to take me on dates. Well that, and the fact that I am fat. But I find in dating, I often ignore comments that do not support what I want.

Stop yelling.
You criticize me too much.
I wish you would stop badmouthing my friends.
Let’s do something besides watch tv.
Let’s talk about something besides tv.
Do you even like me?
This is not working.
I would like to date other people.
I am dating other people.
I have a girlfriend and she is not you.
You’re fat.


Bliss
Selective listening can sound like a bad thing, but by using it in dating, I have ultimate control and I can have the exact relationship that I want to have. This is one in which my boyfriend is in fact my boyfriend and he loves me and wants to have sex with only me forever and always despite how fat I am, and he also wants to spend all kinds of time doing fun things with me like planning our tv schedule for the next 24 hours, or however far the onscreen Comcast Guide will take us. Plus I am always right.

To achieve this high standard of relationship quality, I simply filter out anything I see or hear that does not support the relationship I wish to have.

O-M-G
With selective listening, anything my boyfriend does to contradict this picture of bliss—anything that makes it through my filter, that is—hits me out of the blue and is therefore confusing, hurtful, shocking, and way unfair.

Because of this obvious injustice, I can then get mad and blow up his phone and email leaving messages filled with curse words. I can also gain the pity of all of my friends, and sometimes even his friends, or at least the ones who weren’t already avoiding me. If I see him out in public, I can throw fits and everyone will support me because I am right. It does not matter what he said before. Those comments do not exist because I did not hear them and therefore any references to them are LIES. ALL LIES.

I learned this from my boyfriends
I am not the only one in my relationships who uses selective listening. My boyfriends also use selective listening. Their reasoning is a little different from mine, though, and is for selfish purposes. They use selective listening because they just don’t give a shit about what I have to say. (But it’s ok, I didn’t hear that, la la.) MINE is because I am self centered and busy thinking about what I want truly love them and want what is best for both of us.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Kewl Chicks



CCBs are the kewlest chicks around!

We are fun, attractive, fit, witty, sexy...you name it! And most importantly, we don't have any needs. That's right guys, we have NO needs (a.ka. expectations, a.k.a. demands). We are whimsical and spontaneous and we are there for YOU!

Picture: Attractive chick laughing at your lame jokes while handing you a beer that she was able to open using her vagina.

You can act however you want, do whatever you want. We'll always leave the door wide open for you. COME ON IN! Here, I made you a key! Hungry?

You want to hang out? Great!
You don't want to hang out? Great!
You don't want anything serious? EW, NEITHER DO I!
You enjoy farting? OMG, ME TOO!
Headaches!? What are those? We are open like 7-11, baby!

Seriously, it's those other chicks you need to worry about. The wolves in sheepskin clothing. A.K.A., the bitches that pretend they are cool with the situation and then BAM, they begin demanding where you both stand, why you aren't spending more time together, [insert more nagging BS here].

CCBs would never pull that kind of silly stunt with you. We totally won't mess with your freedom to be 'wid ur boyz' or see other 'bitchez.' We will ignore ALL the red flags (even and especially the ones where you don't follow through with plans and ignore us) and continue merrily along.

You can count your sweet farty ass on that!

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Once you go black...



Um no, stupid ass. I'm talking about elastic, which helloooo, is the new black. I guess I should be more specific for you perverted fucks and sacrifice any creative license. Once you go ELASTIC, you never go back. There, happy?

Oh, I used to do regular waist pants. I've been around that block more times than I care to count. But then I woke up and realized ::thump:: [brick hitting me in the face] that shit was never going to change. Regular waist pants would always be regular waist pants. And if you think you've somehow found the unicorn of regular waist pants, look again. Surprise ::smash:: [your brick] they are still regular waist pants.

Wake the fuck up. Accept reality, bitches. You can't ifs ands or buts them into anything else.
  • If only the waistband had a little give. Um, aka, if only it could... stretch? I don't care how much "give" it has, if it's got a button, a zipper, or any other kind of closing contraption hardware, they are still regular waist pants. And if they don't have those things, then guess what. Yeah, you got it--those bitches are elastic.
  • If only I could lose 5 pounds. Yeah, lots of things would be awesome if only you and I and the WHOLE FUCKING WORLD could just lose 5 pounds. But come on, lose that shit for yourself, not for some stinking pants that don't care whether you're coming or going. And fyi, even if you do lose 5 pounds, they will still be regular waist pants, and therefore uncomfortable by their very nature. Thin buys you many things, but not lasting comfort in regular waist pants.
  • If only I weren't pre-menstrual. Sure, you and every guy you have ever known wish for that. Sorry to break it to you, but there are only two states of being for women: menstrual and pre-menstrual. There is no non-menstrual. So this "if only" bullshit isn't getting you anywhere. Unless of course you've gone through menopause, in which case you are now a man and you can wear whatever the fuck you want (and welcome to a whole new world, by the way!).
  • And and and. And nothing. Stop being such a whore.
Yes, regular waist pants are hot. Check. They are refined. Check check. They are classy. Check check check. They come in all kinds of complex shapes and sizes and styles and cuts that STILL GIVE YOU GAS AND CUT OFF YOUR CIRCULATION CHECKCHECKCHECKFUCKINGCHECK.

It's just not natural. Clothes should allow your body to exist as it truly is, allowing it to move and grow and change, without holding this part in or making you feel like that part is wrong. Clothes shouldn't be telling your body what to do. Noooo that's not right. Your body tells CLOTHES what to do.

You've got to know when to hold em. Know when to fold em. Know when to walk away. Know when to run. (Thank you, Kenny, I admire the elastic in your face).

The regular waist isn't something you have to conform to or conquer. You win by just walking away. You are good enough for the regular waist. The problem here is: the regular waist isn't good enough for YOU.




Wednesday, January 11, 2012

What's hot: Part deuce


Rescuing cats is always a CCB's priority as well as keeping returned foster cats (hence the 2 + 2 cats I currently have).

Speaking of cats, vacuuming cat hair with your powerful vacuum cleaner is a form of therapy and a healthy form of control over your life.

Speaking of vacuuming, finding new things to clean is IN (i.e. the crack between the sliding door, under the couches, WALLS).

Speaking of cleaning, gently used paper towels are a must. Get Viva or Bounty and those babies can last longer than CCBs' boyfriends! Just rinse with hot water and set aside for future use. The paper towels, not the boyfriends, stupid.

Cats and cleaning aside, 80s movies and music is HAWT! CCBs tend to reminisce about the good ole' days. And by 'good ole days', I mean we filter out all the crap so that the past is oh so rosy! Just like with my ex. Wait, why did we break up again!?

::FRANTICALLY CALLING HIM NOW::

Ok, he's still drunk and just cussed me out, again. Anyway...

Dystopian future young adult novels are ridiculously hot and reading them in your bleach stained, slightly holey PJ bottoms, with a heater fan nearby, makes for some of the most blissful times. Sigh.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

He's just not that into you...OR IS HE!?

He's Just Not That Into You

CCBs will ignore this rule and date anyone! Yea, that's right. Because if they think we're pretty, they have a chance.

Excerpt from "He's Just Not That Into You"
Gigi: So, what, now I'm just supposed to run from every guy who doesn't like me?
Alex: Yeah.
Gigi: There's not gonna be anybody left.
Some days later...
Gigi: Hello?
Alex: Oh, hey, you're home.
Gigi: Where am I supposed to be?
Alex: Out, maybe? It's Saturday night.
Gigi: You won't let me go out with guys who don't like me. It's kind of limiting.


Oh and you can be sure that we will read signs into everything! EVERYTHING!!! Because every single thing means SOME thing.

Another favorite excerpt:
Alex: Hey, thanks for staying and helping me clean up. I really gotta go to bed, though.
Gigi: Is that an invitation?
Alex: What?
[Gigi laughs]
Gigi: Oh, God, that was cheesy. Oh, I'm not good at this.
Alex: What?
[Gigi reaches over to kiss him]
Alex: Hey.
Gigi: Oh, yes. I knew it. The best relationships grow out of friendships.
Alex: Wait, wait, wait. Gigi.
Wait, wait, wait.
Gigi: What?
Alex: Now you and I are in a relationship?
Gigi: Well, I'd say if we're not at relationship station-ship...we're at least on the track.
Alex: And why exactly would you think that?
Gigi: Because of the signs.
Alex: Really, like what?
Gigi: Like, it was good to hear from me...and you talked to me even when you were with a girl...and I felt something.
Alex: Oh, man. What are you talking about? Gigi, what have I been saying since I met you? If a guy wants to date you, he will make it happen, okay? He will ask you out. Did I ask you out?
Gigi: No.
Alex: Why would you do this? Oh, shit. Why do women do this? Build up this stuff in their minds...take each little thing a guy does, and then twist it into something else? It's insane.


Yea, "insane." Sounds about right.
http://lovemeow.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/medium-102.jpg

Monday, January 9, 2012

What's hot, part I




What's hot in 2012? Christmas trees. And three years ago I decided to leave mine up all year. These things are guy magnets--they are almost as hot as cats that need regular insulin shots. It's ridiculous, really, how predictable men are around them--the look of joyful surprise, then the approach followed by the study... In the midst of the rush, I do try to explain that it's not really a Christmas tree and that it's just a tree that I use to hang things on--I don't want them to learn this later and feel embarrassed for all the slobbering--but they don't care.

Not a lot of dates get to see the tree, though. The tree, in fact, is one of the reasons I'm very careful about having dates over. Aside from not knowing what to do with them (do they want to watch tv? what channel? can they hear it? is it too loud? coffee water alcohol? will they think I'm trying to get them drunk? do they need to use the bathroom? when are they leaving? should I ask or stand by the door? SHOULD I PLUG IN THE TREE??), I like to be a woman of mystery and keep some cards in my pocket. I don't want to show all the good stuff up front and give them the impression that I'm some cool ass chick--middle aged divorcee WITH a Christmas tree, hello, ch-ching-- only to disappoint them with my humanity later on. [You found me out. I am a real female person. I grocery shop, my body produces fat cells, and I like tv. Can I have yours? I am truly sorry.]

So the apartment, and thus the Christmas tree, are generally off limits to all but platonic friends. Well, and one guy I dated two years ago. But I was really drunk that time and thought it would be fun to paint ornaments.

Oh yeah, that. Ornaments. Painting ornaments might be hot in 2012, we'll see.

But anyway, what IS hot in 2012? Christmas trees. When the cats out of the bag, who needs milkshakes? My Christmas tree brings all the boys to the yard, hi.