And If You Don't Know...Now You Know...

I hate dating. No...I despise dating. Quite a few of my friends have been getting on my case lately because I am 'mean to men' and 'not even giving the nice ones a chance'. In fact, even my mother is putting in her two cents. So...as a response...I'm going to remind us all of a few of my 'shining dating moments' that illustrate WHY.

In no particular order.

*If you cheat on me with five (yes...count em..FIVE) women, I will leave. I mean honestly, if you cheat on me with ONE person, I will leave. Your feeble attempt to woo me back with chocolates and stuffed animals on my parent's doorstep everyday for a few weeks can't even begin to 'fix' this. Oh...and a love letter a week for a year (or longer, who knows...I moved...) isn't gonna do the trick either. Get. Out.

Quick note to men: Once I am done, I am done. You cannot get me back. Furthermore, I am the LEAST sentimental person you will ever meet. Love letters and stuffed animals make me feel like putting a stillettoed heel through your skull and shaking your brains out across the pavement while I laugh. The chocolate...I'll eat it...because only idiots let perfectly good chocolate go to waste.

*If you call me from jail (or prison...yes...both have happened)...we are done. I am not your 'boo'...I am not going to accept that collect call...I am not going to bail you out...I am not going to wait for your sorry ass...and I sure as hell am not going to show up at night court and 'stand by my man' when they let you out . Stop calling. And good lord...stop writing me letters.

I'd like those of you who know me, even a little, to keep in mind as I lay this next one out for you, how opposed I am to having children (and how nearly impossible it would be for me to carry a baby even if I wanted to). Also...lets keep in mind the number of feminist based classes I took in college, and how rooted much of my work is in feminism...

*I semi-recently went on a blind date. A friend of mine said that his friend and I would 'TOTALLY hit it off.' I bedgrudgingly agreed. I'd just cut off a Wall Street guy who turned out to be totally bizarre, and is the reason I have a 'no Wall St' policy at this point in time. But I digress. This guy picks me up, we go to a restaurant and order dinner. Now, I'm not really sure how he managed to do this, but he simultaneously insults me for eating too much and not eating enough at the same time. I then come to find out that he wants four children. At least. And somehow it comes up in casual conversation that he truly believes a woman's place is at home in the kitchen. I'm not really sure why he continued to talk (persuasively at that...because I OBVIOUSLY want kiddos...I just don't realize it...). Or try...because he did... Next.

*If we are long distance...do not come to my home for Christmas, give me pearl earrings (do you know me?), break up with me December 30, attempt to give me a New Years kiss on the 31st/1st and then wonder why I kicked you out and made you spend the rest of your time in 'hometown number 2' in a hotel steps from the airport.

*If we've been hanging out for awhile and you invite me over to watch a movie at your apartment and I fall asleep on your couch because it is late...here's something that's probably not going to work: poking me with one finger and whispering "I think we should have sex." Really? As a VP at a prominent BANK, I'd have thought you'd be more creative...and less stupid.

*All good things must come to an end. Just like we all die, at some point, all relationships end. When I break up with you, man in your 30's, do not come back two months later with random texts at all hours explaining that I am "the biggest bitch ever", that "anyone who dates me is fucked" and telling me that I will "never become the things I want to do in life" (that doesn't even make sense, dude...). Grow up, please...for the sake of humanity.

Alright. I just realized what time it is (2:13 am) and I have to be AT work at 6:30am. So what prompted this post even more than my friends and family getting on me about dating? Tomorrow's another blind date. I'm making this (poor) man take me to the Guggenheim to see the 'Haunted' show...a collection of terrifyingly cryptic, dark and, well...haunting...photographs, videos and performance pieces (obviously this event is 100% in my court and most likely 0% in his). I gave him the 3pm slot in my day. What. A. Biiiiiitch.

Oh...and here's a song for the road.

Homicidal Maniac

Saturday was a page out of a nightmare. I haven't been sleeping well lately (as in I'm sleeping between 20 and 90 minutes at a time), so that definitely could have been a factor. But believe me you, it was not the ONLY factor. I think the general consensus between my compadres and myself was that there were only two options upon leaving work...cry, or murder.

I walked home from work in my funk, took a nap (60 minutes. Not bad. At this point I'll just take what I can get) and woke up in time to put in a nice two hours at the gym.

I enter the bathroom in my apartment to grab my sports bra which I have a bad habit of hanging on the doorknob 90% of the time. The shower curtain is pulled back. I am NOT alone. I'm still in my funk and a not-so-nice term flies out of my mouth towards my unwelcome guest. I am faced with a crossroads here. Cry. Or murder. Now...let me give you some background on my relationship with roaches:

-First and foremost, I owe "Chris in Apt. 17" (as I refer to him) a cup of coffee, a drink, hell...a whole bottle of the finest liquor after apprehending him IN THE HALLWAY as he entered the building still in his super nice business suit with the question "are you afraid of bugs??" He handled my first roach issue in New York by chasing one around my shower for twenty minutes while I stood in my kitchen and hyperventilated.

-As you may recall from a post awhile back, I cut myself with the broken shards of a glass that lost it's life because I was startled by a roach early one morning before a shoot.

-About two months ago, after seeing three roaches (that's three too many) over the course of three weeks, I called the building exterminator. He told me in no uncertain terms to 'man up.' I kid you not.

-Last week my roommate found a roach lying on its back, appearing to be dead, in her room. I was bold and put a cup over it. A couple hours later I went to scoop it up (paper under the cup, transport to the toilet, flush, woes over). I didn't hear it fall, and upon 'dropping' it in the toilet, I found my little friend was NOT DEAD AT ALL and let out the most impressive Hollywood/Psycho scream I've ever witnessed. It put Janet Leigh to shame, dear readers...

And that brings us up to Saturday. I'm at a turning point: cry or murder. I vehemently deny myself the option to cry. Crying over a roach seems tantamount to crying over a boy. I don't cry over boys. Guess that leaves us at murder. I grab some Lysol and spray. The sweet smelling stream follows that bugger all around the tub, but he doesn't die. Fine. Two can play at this game. I've got some off-brand glass cleaner (ShopRite Glass & More, as pictured above! I'd recommend this for all your roach killing needs, not so much on glass cleaning needs though...) within arms reach, so I go for that. I spray and spray and spray. I'm getting lightheaded...this stuff is potent. And then all of a sudden something happens, the roach kind of stops and tips over. He wiggles his disgusting little legs for a moment (I am still spraying) and then...he's done. Based on the latest experience with a 'dead' roach, I am NOT convinced. I give him a few more blasts with my weapon of choice and then put a glass over him and go to the gym. This is my way of letting all his roach friends know that I have the upper hand here.

When I got home two and a half hours later (I'm fanatical about the gym), little buddy is truly, 100% dead. Success is mine as he is sucked into a watery grave.

I think I'm growing as a person.