Pork Sword Fighting

Like this, but with penises.

Ok, so people getting hit on at the airport is totally a thing. I used to think that it was just something that happened in movies sometimes but it’s actually something that happens in real life. I know because I witnessed it and it was glorious.

I was sitting at an airport restaurant with my fella grabbing some nom-noms before our flight and I noticed a woman sit down at the table right next to us and I also noticed the man at the table across from her eyeing her from head to toe with a lot of eye-pausing on her boobies. Then, right before my eyes, this happened.

Man: Chloe?

Woman: Yes? 

Man: It’s me, Donovan. Remember?

Woman: I’m so sorry! You look so familiar though. 

Man: Just kidding, you don’t know me. 

Woman: Oh! Um…how did you know my name?

Man: It’s on your luggage tag. 

Woman: Oh! Haha! That’s a good one. 

Then the woman sat down and my boyfriend kept trying to talk to me but I kept shushing him, because he was being very rude while I was trying to watch this disaster of a pick-up. Then, the woman’s HUSBAND came and sat at the table and the woman told him what was going on and the two guys started talking to each other.

Man: Yeah, I’m a major stock-broker. 

Woman’s Husband: That’s cute. I sell multi-bajillion dollar homes because I’m smarter than you and also my penis is way bigger. 

Man: Isn’t that special. I played in the NFL and also I’m pretty sure my penis and my bank account are bigger than yours. 

Woman’s Husband: I get to bang this hot piece of ass across the table from me anytime I want. 

Man: Oh yeah? Well, I get to bang lots of chicks I never have to call again anytime I want. 

I may be paraphrasing a bit. My boyfriend had totally gotten sucked in by this real-life reality show of a situation and he leaned over to me while the men were talking to one another and said, “Those guys are sword fighting right now.” to which I replied, “No honey, they’re pork sword fighting.” 

The Pressure Of Attending A Wedding.

I love going to weddings, really I do. I think they are alternately sweet, hilarious, awkward, bizarre, sentimental, depressing, weird, and precious. And sometimes all of those things at once. It’s kind of hard to identify your exact feelings. Especially when the person getting married is someone you’ve known for a long time, maybe all your life. It’s such a weird feeling to see someone you’ve know for so long make this huge commitment and bond themselves to another person, presumably for life. It’s just sort of….weird.

But, you know what’s even weirder?  Being at the wedding of someone you’ve never met before. And also you’re meeting everyone there for the first time and they are judging you because you’re their good friends girlfriend and so you have to be gorgeous and have a sparkling personality and all of your jokes have to be wedding appropriate and OH MY DAMN, NONE OF MY JOKES ARE WEDDING APPROPRIATE!!!

I may be freaking out a little bit because I’m going to a wedding where I don’t know anyone. And not in a hilarious Wedding Crashers type of way. And when I say I’m  freaking out, I mean compulsively shopping for the right outfit and trying to prepare witty yet wedding appropriate banter ahead of time, and dreading the inevitable outcome, which is lots of drinking to calm my nerves except it only leads to inappropriate jokes and pelvic thrusting someone’s grandfather on the dance floor.

Remember when I said I loved weddings? Me neither.

Any tips? Besides drinking copiously because I’ve got that one covered.

You Can Keep The Pretty

I have been pretty all my life.

If you ignore that one dreadful experiment with blunt bangs in 7th grade, I never had a truly awkward phase. Mine was not an adolescence plagued by glasses or braces. It’s not like I was drop dead gorgeous or anything, but old women always greeted me with cries of “Oh, aren’t you a pretty thing!” and relatives declared I’d break hearts when I grew older.

All this is to say, I have a love/hate relationship with the word pretty. If you grow up being told you’re physically attractive, it becomes an expectation. Despite my zealous feminist views, I religiously wear make-up, get regular highlights, and dress with a strong retro, girly vibe. I love a good floral dress and red lipstick. I love leaving the house with a bounce in my step, because – damn! –  these shoes look awesome. However, I am starting to hate pretty.

There’s something those old women don’t warn you about and your well-meaning aunt doesn’t prepare you for. Pretty is a double-edged (s)word. As a woman in this country and in this age, my looks are constantly up for discussion. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard this sentence starter: “Yeah, I guess she’s pretty, but…” Fill in the blank as you like. The specimen in question may have thighs just a bit too big or hair that curls when it should straighten. For every woman, there is someone, somewhere who thinks she’s just not pretty enough…and, worse, that it makes her less valuable as a person.

Despite the various children’s books and encouraging Mom maxims I grew up with, this hit me hard in high school. Suddenly, pretty became a debate prompt. The boy I’d laughed with in my TAG English classes now felt the need to inform others that he didn’t see what the big deal was about me, because my boobs were just fat that I pushed out too far. Now, of course, I find this somewhat hilarious because A – all boobs are fat and B – why, yes, I have always had excellent posture, thank you for noticing. But as a 14 year-old? I wanted to hide under a sumo-sized sweatshirt for the rest of my life, so that nobody could ever again notice that my boobs had somehow been deemed sub-par. All it took was one comment about my ranking on the great spectrum of pretty to completely change my relationship with what had, up until then, been two perfectly fine mammary lumps.

Over the years, I compensated. I wore a dress or skirt almost every day of high school and diligently curled my hair each morning. Since the age of 14, the number of times I’ve left the house without make-up can be counted on one hand. I shave my legs every other day. I rip extra hair out of my eyebrows. It’s all become part of the routine. I’d like to blame it on that one too-immature boy, but it’s not him at all. It’s society. Society expects me to do these things. To be a woman, one must primp, one must pluck, and never ever ever let on that she actually uses the restroom!

And now, at the ripe old age of 26, I’m fucking sick of it. Why do I have to do all this again? Why, when I have three degrees under my belt and the ability to save a human life, do I care if you think I could stand to lose 10 pounds? It’s just all too much. The amount of time spent on how I look is just exhausting and I’m not even doing all I supposedly should. If I prescribed to every beauty recommendation, whole hours of my day would be devoted to deep conditioning and matching my nail polish to my handbag. Here’s the thing: I just don’t give a crap about any of it.

I see the point in deodorant, regular showers, and well-fitting clothes. The rest of it seems like utter nonsense. Why was my makeupless face pretty at 12, but something so repulsive it must be hidden from society at 26? Why exactly do I have to remove all of my body hair? Last time I checked, we didn’t even start shaving our legs until the 1920s, so how can it now be A Mandatory Facet of Womanhood? Don’t even get me started on the Hair Down There. If you’re lucky enough to ever see Down There, what gives you the right to judge its trimmings?

I understand that physical attraction is a big deal in dating. I get that attractive people can get ahead, thanks to their looks. I’ve read the research. It makes the whole human race sound like the cast of Mean Girls. Because, let’s be honest, it doesn’t last. The picture of young Hollywood loveliness today is going to grow old. She’s going to get wrinkles, she’s going to fluctuate in weight, her magnificent breasts will someday – horror of horrors! – sag. Because that is what we humans do. It’s how Mother Nature rolls.

The older I get, the more pretty begins to seem worthless. I’m never going to win this game. There will forever be someone on the sidelines suggesting that I whiten my teeth or shrink a few inches or magically stop aging. No one is universally pretty. It’s unattainable, like passing the Kobayashi Maru without cheating. If my guy friends can seriously pro/con the attractiveness of Natalie Portman, then we’re all screwed. This ship is sinking, no matter how often I curl my eyelashes. Pretty isn’t a good adjective to identify with. It’s just too transient. Give me smart; give me funny. Give me excellent at board games.

You can keep the pretty. I don’t want it anymore.

– Grace

If You Want Love, All You Need Is Voodoo!

Vintage Dating Advice

Ladies. Men just want to dance. Let the men dance.

Straight up y’all, I love getting spam comments. They tickle me pink. I absolutely adore reading through all our Spinster spam and just laughing and laughing for hours….and also there is wine involved. But last week, we got a spam comment to rule them all! The first line was “How to get a man without looking desperate.” Obviously, they had me from hello.

Apparently there are several things we woman do to scare the men away. Ladies, I’m going to repeat that again. You. Are. Scaring. The. Men. Away. How? By being too fabulous. Your fabulosity (I put the full blame on Sex and the City for me using that word) is like looking straight into the sun- it blinds men and sends them running for their very dark man caves. So, what should you do? Well, according to this I-swear-I’m-not-making-this-up spam comment there are 7 things every woman looking for her soulmate should do.

1. Make a plan. Apparently, you can force life to stick to an action plan. If I were y’all, I would go ahead and make a plan to bump into your soulmate at Trader Joe’s tomorrow morning. Otherwise, it will never happen. It’s all about planning.

2. Do NOT have sex with them until you are married. If you sleep with him, he will think you’re a Slutty McSlutterson and will only continue seeing you to get at your ladyparts. Then, when he has used your ladyparts up, he will leave you and marry a virgin. Those are the breaks kid.

3. Dress better. If you aren’t wearing a ball-gown, then you are a slob and no one will ever want you. Business casual? Might as well call it single-for-life casual.

4. You must never get angry. Ever. If you get mad at anything ever then you are failing as a woman. The second you stop smiling is the second you lose out on love for all eternity.

5. Do NOT be smarter than the man. In fact, don’t even be only slightly less smart than the man, you must always be the dumb one. Didn’t you know that men hate intelligent women?   You are there to look pretty and be petted, like a shih tzu. If you say something intelligent or witty or even moderately bright then the man will lose his ability to get a boner for you forever.

6. Be skinny. If you aren’t in supermodel shape then don’t even bother trying. Your best friend should be your gym membership.

7. Try voodoo.

Seriously. The last and most important thing a woman can do to get a man is voodoo. But, when you compare it to all the other bullshit in this spam comment, voodoo seems by far the most legitimate advice. Make of that what you will.