First things first. I am temporarily not answering OkCupid messages, because

• I have my pan in enough fires. Or my finger in enough pots. Or my- I think I should stop with this line, or- nope. When have I ever stopped? I have my boobs in enough hands at the moment. Not that I’m settling down. Don’t you worry about that. I’ve tasted married life, and it’s like a cup of blue cheese soaked in bleach. No, I’m just happy with the people I am currently dating. But, I love OkCupid, and I love updating my profile. Still, some things annoy me. Like this guy:
  Listen, pal. If you already know you’re unattractive enough to hide the bottom of your face from the world, and you already sent me three messages, and I still haven’t replied to you, please. Move on. But before you do, include your whole damn face in that profile picture of yours because what is the point? Are you trying to trick people into looking at your profile, in hopes that they can get past your neanderthal jaw and be bowled over by your vague, trite self description and overtly sexual blathering? Because as you know by now, I already did look at your profile, and I was pretty pissed off, Mr. 51% match. I personally have been into some pretty ugly dudes (sorry, dudes I’ve been into, if you’re reading this and think it’s you. it’s probably you), but hiding half of your face only makes me want to reject you harder once I see that massive overbite and spend two minutes reading your tremendously boring representation of yourself.
   

  Moving on.

  • There is a person in my life who is making me absolutely batshit bonkers with his level of stupidity. In case he exceeds my expectations and can read, I will omit certain details. Just know that this isn’t someone I can easily just cut out of my daily life. This person recently told me that I “seemed just fine” and should “shake it off”. If there is anything more annoying than being told that I should rely 100% on holistic medicine, it’s someone telling me, directly post high doses of radiation (WHICH, by the way, doesn’t turn you into a superhero, unless vomiting jello is a superpower, in which case, get the Justice League on the phone and sew me a uniform) that they should “shake it off”. I wish he were a baby, so I could shake him. And Trast says to add that this guy is so annoying that even JarJar Binks would be like “Great. Who invited that guy?”,
    

    I'm supposed to be the annoying one!

     

  Moving on.

  • We have flies. Little, irritating fruit flies. One of my housemates left plastic bags with fish juices from thawed fish in them in the recycling bin and now? The house is about to be lifted off the ground by these filthy little jerks. We’ve created traps for them using cups, plastic, cider vinegar, and rubber bands. And voodoo. I hate these disgusting little creatures with all of my being, because once you’ve had MRSA, you begin to see everything as a potential for having your flesh eaten.

  And finally.

  • I’m on an increased dose of prednisone. Again. And while I am pleased as punch that my hair is growing back, I am very displeased that I have the desire to smash the fuck out of everything. Seriously, I want to bust shit. And bust faces. And bust a move. So, pardon me for a few posts, which may not be filled with sunshine and moments of deep reflection, because there’s a rage happening. Huh. Mayyyyybe the radiation did turn me into a superhero?

   

I talk about Tim’s rock solid abs writing all the time. I’m a Tim’s Writing pimp. I link to the guy, I go on about the brilliant things he says and does, and I mention him irl just as frequently. It’s a bit sick, really, because I’m running out of things to say when people ask why we’re not together. The best I’ve got is, “If you have to ask, you’ll never know.” and then I stick out my tongue. I was trying “I know you are but what am I?”, but that didn’t work as well.

Anyway, Tim Tim Tim Tim Tim! Do you hear me? So, this time, Tim did something pretty fantastic. This time, other than just tell me I’m not fat, tell me I’m brilliant, go to the beach with me, go to the movies with me, go to a strip club with me, or teach me his recipe for fried chicken, he linked.
Linking.
Is Not.
Anything Sexual.
(Yet)

On Delicious Tacos, Tim has a sidebar. I hadn’t noticed the sidebar before. You’d think my eyes would have been drawn directly to it. However, I was so taken by the beautiful writings about hipsters, Chuck Berry filming ladies making doo-doo, and Kenny Rogers that I never looked at his stupid sidebar.

So, yesterday, I’m catching up on his stuff, and I always read the comments, because there is where you find the groupies, throwing their blog panties at him, offering him pats on the back, or defending him. But within this, I found a comment from someone whose user name was “Unleash the Beef”. And this guy was sharp. This guy was funny. This guy could write a comment.

And I start to IM Tim.

me: Who is Unleash The Beef and when can I (CLEARLY I TYPED SOMETHING HERE THAT WAS WHOLESOME) him?
It’s a him, right?
Is he you?

(Then Tim takes FOREVER to NOT answer me)

me: I know you have a job, but this is important.

T: he is not me
add a comment on his site
let’s become a community
me: What’s his site?
T: he lives in Ohio
me: Ew
T: unleashthebeef.com
you could also find him in the sidebar of delicioustacos.com
me: He’s funny
T: right next to you
me: I don’t look at your stupid sidebar on your stupid motherfu-
oh
there he is
and thanks for mentioning me on your site. I appreciate it, dicksuck
me: Well. I bet he’s ugly. He must be ugly. I mean, nobody who writes that well is good looking. Except for you.
T: there’s a pic
he has a killer bicep
his twitter is pretty funny
“Your daughter’s name is Jenna? That’ll go well the first time she Googles. At least she has her brother Adolf to look out for her. ”
“Just dealt with a hot Asian postal worker. The line between reality and reality porn has never been so blurry. ”

me: Very good stuff. And he isn’t ugly.
Commented on his site
T: good work
glad i could bring you two together
*i printed your stupid bank statements
want to just get them saturday morning or do you need them sooner?
me: Saturday is ok
Thank you
T: cool
i didnt even look at them

And it turns out, not only can this guy write a comment, this guy can just straight up write. At the top of the page was this fantastic post about a woman with unjustifiable road rage, and a parking lot confrontation that I wish I could have had. I never could. I’m not that witty and when it comes right down to it I am a total pussy and if someone says mean things to be I’m a huge baby about it. No, if I were approached in a parking lot by someone barreling forth with such cuntery, I’d have skittered under something and yelled apologies. (unless, of course, I was drunk, in which case, I would have punched her. But I don’t usually pre-drink when going to Target.)

So, I started to read more, and I really love this guy. He is everything I wanted Tucker Max to be. And by the way, yes, I get it that Tucker Max is supposed to be the enemy. But, that motherfucker is a lot more amusing than most people you’d talk to about their drunken womanizing. And, shit, pay attention. He’s not exactly making himself out to be a hero. But, the thing about Tucker is that all of his stories are about drinking and screwing. And that’s just fine when I want a good drinking and screwing story. (Which is maybe more frequently than you do. I don’t apologize for who I am.)

Unleash The Beef is endlessly amusing. (I don’t know if that’s true. Like, if the guy stopped writing or died or whatever, there would be an end. I just wanted to use a book review kind of term. Endlessly amusing.) Just today he managed to brilliantly sum up a thing I’d failed at saying during my days of answering emails for MTSS:

I’m not smart. I don’t know shit. But I’m at least smart enough to know that I don’t know shit. There’s way too much shit to know. Which makes my next point all the more frightening. Of the few excremental droppings I’m confident claiming knowledge over, one is this: I am smarter than every person I’ve ever received negative feedback from. Are there people far more intelligent than me that, if exposed to my ramblings, would react negatively? Without a doubt. But do you know why I’d never hear from them? Because they’re fucking smarter than me. Smart enough to not burn calories trying to enlighten the guy with the impaled face logo. They would do as any other rational being would and move the fuck on.

I’m not saying that I want to move to Ohio (ew) or wherever he’s from and make him pies every day, but I really love this guy. He’s an easy read, he’s really funny, and he’s just fucking honest. Who knows, I could find out that he’s some bored youth minister, and just a fantastic fiction writer exploring his alter ego. Either way, I know I’m going to keep reading.

*And by the way, yes. I had Tim print out my bank statements. I’m trying to show the doctors hard evidence that I can’t pay them. I will also be rubbing a bit of dirt on my nose and carrying a moldy crust of bread around with me.

“You’re beautiful.” He says. He usually says it when I’ve just entered the room, when he’s just entered the room, or when I look over at him. Every time he says it it’s like he’s taken by surprise. I realize he most likely says this a lot, to a lot of women. He’s the sort of guy that understands how to properly charm. But, I’m not all that used to hearing it.

“Now just stick around forever and tell me I’m beautiful every day.”

“If I did that, you’d get a big head.”

“No, I wouldn’t. I’d get a normal sized head.”

And that evening, after he leaves, goes back to his life, I am left thinking about what it is I really want. Some guys believe that a woman would get sick of being treated well. They believe that I would lose interest if they were good and kind and adored me. Those guys are wrong. I like to be told I’m beautiful with such sincerity. Maybe I should give up on dating and just get a parrot.

I’m headed out for a breakfast date. A friend of mine went on one of these recently and he swore, never again. A sober, well-lit date that ends after breakfast pretty securely says you’re not taking anyone home with you. No way, he’ll stick to his standard of taking them to a beautiful, ambient bar with a patio all lit up pretty and soft like chic fireflies are lounging around. And at the bar he’ll order a whole bottle of wine, and by, I think, the second cigarette, he’ll swoop in for the kiss and see how it goes from there.

Me, though. I fucking rock the breakfast date. I have these extremely bright, well shaped eyes, and when the sun hits my eyeballs it turns me into a pretty exotic looking creature. Plus, in the sunlight, the freckles on my nose stand out. At breakfast dates there is zero protocol on what to wear. I could show up in my pajamas and that would make total sense. (Have I mentioned that I love Los Angeles? Pajamas in public is one of my many reasons for this.) So, I get to be comfortable, which then leads to me at my best for conversation.

Also, in the mornings, that’s when the whole damn day hasn’t distracted me with it’s lists and messes and conversations and updates. That’s when I am at my mouthiest, quickest, when I say the first thing that comes to mind and it’s sharp. I love breakfast dates. I am good at them. Bring on the eggs florentine and iced tea.

However, I am reminded this morning of a breakfast date I had back in November. It was early in the morning and I was wide awake, sorting through messages on OkCupid. I came across a guy with a big, bushy beard and hipster glasses and took a chance, sending him a message telling me he should come out right then and meet me for breakfast. He was awake, we worked out the details, and I made a rule.

“No showering. No combing your hair. Just find the nearest clothes and throw them on. I’m not putting any make-up on. You better look good and mussed up because you’re about to get an eyeload of what I look like when I don’t put in any effort.”

When I got to the place, he was already seated. Short guy, kind, good conversation about Michelle Williams and movie making. It was a good breakfast date. He asked to see me that night, saying we could do the whole date thing in reverse, starting with the morning after breakfast and at night, dinner and drinks. And the thing was, at first I wasn’t all that into the guy.

Actually, the first month we dated he was alright- a decent person to grab a meal with. But nothing overly special. But then one night he showed up at my house with flowers wrapped in newspaper, and after that I went kind of stupid over him. I was in serious like with this guy. I stopped dating anyone else. I thought about him all the time. I talked to him every day. I was sad when I couldn’t see him. All because of some goddamn flowers.

Yet, there are things about me that tend to intimidate a man. And that came up a lot in our relationship. I’m highly flirtatious with the entire world, I have dated a lot in the past, and I’m very open with my sexuality. He was also baffled by my Facebook connection to the point that it bothered him. He said, “Most people say something, a few people give it the thumbs up, maybe someone comments. But you have a whole world on Facebook. You could say what you ate for dinner, and people are honestly paying attention.” I still don’t fully understand why, but that bothered the guy.

And eventually, when I asked for things to be more serious, he bailed. To be fair to him, he really tried to be friendly and supportive. But I don’t deal with being bailed on very well. If you think hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, hell trembles in terror when I am rejected. So, the best thing for him to do was to cut me out of his life completely. And the best thing for me to do was to delete him from mine. I knew if I kept his number I would continue to call him, to text him late at night when I was sad and lonely or turned on and missing him.

That happens sometimes, and I think it’s okay. We’re not all good for each other, even if we once were. Which makes me think of this really great song. This song happened to come on last night while Tim and I were at a strip club having a boys’ night out. Interesting stripper music choice. I hadn’t heard the song in a while. Listen. Watch. It’s pretty spot on.

Wish me luck on my breakfast date. No assumptions of how it’ll go, but I’ve got a good feeling about it.

I made a joke recently to one of my roommates about how I didn’t want to watch some guy’s videos of his cats. My roommate then went on to compare this to me always showing the following video to anyone I ever meet.

And I get it. People with kids don’t ever stop telling you funny stories, showing you pictures, and showing you videos. But to anyone who wants to try to tell me that this isn’t adorable, sit on a flaming stick. And anyone who wants to compare me showing this video to some guy showing me a bunch of videos of his cat playing with yarn? Well… let’s just say that those people might want to be careful about what they eat because I may or may not have spit in their peanut butter.

I love it when people write about me. Especially when they do it well. Take a look at this wonderful, extremely descriptive post about the superbug.

P.S. During that time, my teenage son also had to change quite a few bandages and carry me to the bathroom. I think he’s more than paid me back for the stretch marks.

Thanks a lot, Tim. Sure. Sounds good. I’ll just write every day. That’s really easy, as long as you’re Tim and you basically have wit spewing out of your finger tips.

Anyway, I was thinking about things I have written in the past, and I’m wondering, what would you like to see more of? Anyone want to send me any advice column questions? Any requests for me to write about anything in particular? Anything on here you like to see more than the rest?

Assign me some stuff. Because if I have to write every day, this site is about to get filled with me talking about how I don’t have anything to talk about.

The beautiful Ms. Seberg, before she decided to off herself with pills.

1. Jean Seberg as Lilith

While I fancy myself a bit of a Seberg, on account of my close, personal ties with the Black Panthers, it is her portrayal of a mental patient that really made me feel close to the gal. I came across Lilith a few years back, when I went on a massive Warren Beatty viewing binge, having decided that I was kind of in love with the guy. Hopefully Warren Beatty googles his name frequently enough that he will stumble across this blog and we’ll be very happy together. I don’t even need him to get a divorce. Annette seems like a pretty cool lady. But, let’s get back to Jean, whose madness in this movie isn’t anything compared to the raw power of turning men’s knees and brains to mush. By the end of the film, Beatty, who’d gotten a job working at the mental hospital, loses his own damn mind.

Wearing bathing suits is an art. Like everything, Sylvia did it well.

2. Sylvia Plath, naturally

“Dying is an art. Like everything. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say, I’ve a call.”
Sigh. Oh, Sylvia, from the moment my 13 year old eyeballs devoured that bit of literary awesome, I have loved you. And even though the movies tell us he was a jerk-face, I totally love Ted. I mean, yeah, he messed around. Yeah, he wasn’t always there for you. But you loved him, Sylvia. And you were no dummy.
What I love most about Sylvia and Ted Hughes is how much they loved each other’s writing. Basically, they’re like Tim and I. Yup. I just compared myself and my best friend to two literary geniuses. Because, duh, we totally are, and also, I once wrote a poem that was pretty good.

F Scott and his dear lady who always looked great in hats.

3. Zelda Fitzgerald

F. Scott loved that woman deeply, as she inspired every single one of his heroines once he met her. She was beautiful, and wild, and the two of them found each other in real life. That gives me hope that my own F. Scott may show up one day. It also gives me hope that if he does, I can be a flapper.

4. Mabel in A Woman Under the Influence

Man, Mabel is a goddam champ. All she wants is to make her husband happy, and she tries, but she’s too much of a wild card to fit in with all of these ridiculous ideas society keep foisting on her. Her stupid dingbat husband has her locked up, but then he gets a taste of what it’s like to be a housewife. Frrr-reallz, that shit would drive anyone over the edge.

5. Betty Blue

I’ll admit it. I love Jean-Hugues Anglade even more than I love Warren Beatty or Ryan Gosling. If presented with the opportunity to make out with Beatty and Gosling or to merely lick one of Anglades deltoids, get him over here because my tongue is ready. And in the movie “Betty Blue”, you see Anglade (in the role of Zorg) naked naked naked so many times. Full on, weinie wagging in the wind, beautiful naked.
This is really one of the saddest films I have ever seen. When Zorg says the the name Betty when he’s happy, bringing her gifts and flowers, it’s like he’s laughing her name. But near the end, when he’s running up the stairs and yelling her name right before finding out that she done gone and popped out her own eyeball, well, I start sobbing every time.

I miss you, bananagrams.

This is a photo taken by an especially toxic ex. He bought me the bananagrams and some bagels as an apology. But then he kept the bananagrams in the split. I miss them.