Tuesday, February 13, 2007


Sometimes you eat the bear, and sometimes the bear eats you. (now see, in my head that sounded all profound and deep. but in writing? Just dirty. sigh.) Yes, ladies and..., well pretty much just ladies, things are all sorts of familiar now! I'm wrapped up in that most well-worn of beach towels: rejection. In less than 24 hours Monty sent word my presence was not required.

I know what you're saying now. "24 hours? Well hell, you could have told this 2 days ago!" You're right. And I started to a bunch of times, but each time this same thing happened. Everything came out all bitter and hissy. See, this is what put out my fire to pursue this kind of stuff in the past. I got danged tired of the rejection, and even more tired of the nasty little bitch I become in the face of it.

(Woah, this is becoming another very real and bitter post. Allow me to break things up with a random tangent, shall I?)

Tangent: tomorrow (today already for some folks) is that most commercial of holidays, Valentines Day. This year I think it's being brought to us by Target, Coke and the letter P. This holiday is one that really separates the boys from the men, I say. Or more accurately the single boys from the dating men, and same goes for the ladies. If you're doing the wove thing when this day wheels around it's all about "do something or don't? If I do something am I just pandering to society's insistance that I choose today to be romantic? If I do nothing am I being an ass-hat?" Here's your answer, dating/mating world: yes. Yes, yes, a thousand chocolates over yes! You are pandering, you're letting the rest of the world dictate your romantic schedule and you're a complete and utter bastard if you don't. So suck it up, buy a single wed wose or a teddy bear holding a box of inedible chalk talking hearts or those truly classy silk boxers with the big, red lips all over them and get to it!

And then there's those like moi, who have to decide if they'll shun the day (usually with much bile and self-pity), take back the day with the tried and true "hey, why don't all we single friends get together and do something!" plan or pretend that the 14th of February is no different than the 13th (like anyone's buying that.) Me? I used to celebrate with as non-romantic a movie I could find (Platoon, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, most things starring David Spade...) and eating an entire pizza by myself (using the traditional "hell, if I'm not dating anybody then there's no one to care if I gain 5 pounds in a single sitting!" rational) but that seemed like giving the day more oomph then made sense. Now I just look it as the day before the day when all those boxes of candy go on big-time sale!

So Sunday night I come home from a rollicking evening of Grammy-tastic action to an email from my very good friend, Yenta.com, assuring me that I shouldn't give up hope just because oh yeah, by the way, that dude what I winked at reacted with something along the lines of "yeesh! Are you high?" and beat feet in the away direction. I really appreciated that Yenta was there for me in that, my time of need. There with generic encouragement to get back on the e-horse and go find someone else who can reject me tomorrow! But in all honesty what I felt like doing was, in my opinion, a very reasonable and balanced reaction. It was a plan of two steps:

  1. write an email apologizing to him for the mistake wink, as I had no interest in him whatsoever and that the wink was actually due to my cat messing with the computer while I was on the john -- "she winked at no less than 17 different guys while I was taking a dump. I'm so glad that you're not interested, because you couldn't be further from what I was looking for if you tried. For instance, I'm looking for a straight guy..."
  2. copy his picture and paste it into all sorts of doggie-porn chat rooms under the moniker "poodle-poker"
Tangent: Dooce.com posted a link to a list of bad gift ideas from Amazon.com which I couldn't have loved more if I'd compiled it! It had not just one, but multiple creepy sex costumes included, which has me wondering what is the DEAL with sex in costumes? I know my sex experience is limited (much in the same way that the number of minorities allowed into the KKK is limited) but is there such a large population of folks who get hot and sweaty at the idea of knocking boots dressed as a 5-ft baby? Seriously? (shudder.) Also, it has really been a long time for me, because I don't remember for the life of me where the wolf urine, the tick nipper and the 4 lbs of cow crap come in. Would that be the "foreplay" I keep hearing about?

I did try to follow Yenta's advice and check for anyone new out there at whom I could wink. Apparently the pickings are sticking to their strict diet of parsley, red ants and criticism (which is the same diet that Nicole Richey is on, by the way.) In other words, they are still slim, these pickings. Am I being too selective? Perhaps. How do I tell? Based on the small amount of info I'm provided and these akward, sketchy and sometimes frightening pictures I'm not finding anyone I want to open a door to. But correct me if I'm wrong: that's what I'm supposed to do, right? I'm supposed to look for someone who interests me and make contact. It's just the first part I'm having trouble with.

Tangent: Valentines for friends - for 'em? Agin' em? What say you guys? Because I've received a ton (sorry, should have been T-U-U-U-U-H-N) of valentines cards and gifts from friends. And it's a three-part process. First there's the reaction that you show your friend: Wow, that's so nice, thank you so much! Simultaneously there's the reaction in your head: great, another box of pity candy, another lovely poem about how good a friend I am where a dirty limerick about my boobs should rightly be, another friend worried that I might finally OD on Mad Dog 20/20 and Firefly reruns because I'm unloved on Feb. 14th - how pitiful am I? And then there's the internal struggle: should I have bought something for this friend too? I figured they'd be celebrating with their spouse/main squeeze; oh crap-a-doodle, are all of my friends expecting cards from me? Am I now officially a bad friend on top of a kaka significant other? Don't get me wrong, because I know that these are truly coming from a good place. My friends are all really excellent people who are just thinking of me. But I gotta be totally honest here (thereby taking me off the hook everywhere else) and state that I'd rather skip it, thanks all the same. Spend the money on the silk boxers!

Anyway, if you look at my scorecard so far I've got Mr. Eloquent of the non-sequitor pipe pics and the "I'm stealing my own soul" self-portraits AND a big "Wow am I out of your league, sweetie" rejection from Looks-good-on-paper-but-probably-would-have-sucked-his-thumb-and-called-me-mommy-Dude. I'm pretty sure that means I'm losing. Time to start figuring out how I can cheat.

Happy Valentines Day, everybody!

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