I have waited 3 and a half years for Ed, the painter in our building, to say something to me. We have never spoken or even exchanged glances. Ed’s job is to paint 6 floors of flat, chalk-white walls and then restart at the beginning and paint them again. How dull.
I used to feel bad for him so I would say, “good morning” or “have a good evening,” but he never responded. I gave up and figured that he’s just an impolite dick with a monotonous job. Sometimes when I pass by, I catch him in the window reflection checking out my ass. Boys really will be boys.
Today I came into work a different way so I could spend a little more time dreaming up things in the sunshine. Beautiful days always put my head in the clouds. As I approached the building, I saw Ed coming in from the other side. We walked in together and waited in silence for the elevator. Once we were on, the door closed and he looked up at me and said, “Whatever is making you smile like that, hold it close and never let it go.”
I was taken aback. “Oh I won’t,” I replied firmly. He smiled. We got off the elevator and before we went our separate ways he said, “Good girl. I’m glad we understand each other–now go be happy.”
Now, before you click ‘unfollow’ or start to hurl abuse, hear me out.
Isn’t there something wrong with our societies if we need to remind ourselves to celebrate our respect, appreciation and love of women, and then, only for a single bloody day? Aren’t women’s economic, political and social achievements something we should celebrate every day?
Only in a man’s world would there be such a thing as a women’s day.
I think this century will belong to women, I think it should, I hope it does, and all those that follow. If this carries on being a man’s world for much longer, then we are fucked. We have had our go and we have literally cocked things up. We live on a planet that is dying and where the threat of terrorism and nuclear armageddon loom over us like retarded demons. Our economies are falling apart, leaving a wake of poverty and…
My long-lost sister at pigeonheartponderings was kind enough to include me in her top 7 favorite blogs. She is a favorite of mine, too! She was the first one I followed and to follow my blog, and I am grateful for her humor and insight. She has asked me to answer the following questions and then share some of my favorite blogs! So..here we go.
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1. What is the best thing that happened to you in the last 36 hours?
My mother forced me to go to the Pennsylvania Dutch Amish market. There, among the many treats, was a hot dog in a pretzel bun. It was fucking delicious. Thank you, jesus, for inventing hot dogs. They are the reason I live.
2. What are your pet peeves?
When someone removes a bottle cap from a beer bottle and just leaves it out on the counter (hi men, this is for you). I am not a collector of bottle caps, sir, nor am I your maid. Clean it up.
3. Did you have an imaginary friend growing up or did you want one? Tell us all! When did you part ways? Was it gradual? Im so jealous! I always wanted one but never got one!
I had 2 imaginary friends. They were a mermaid and a turtle that lived in the sewer. Every day during the summer, I would bike down the street on my hot pink Huffy to the sewer drain and call down to them. The mermaid was named Adonna Rainbows and the turtle was named Turtle. Appropriate. We had lengthy conversations about all kinds of crap and we sang many songs. One might say this was before I found friends–so…basically we parted ways last November. Naaah, just kidding, we still chat.
4. If you had the power to declare a national holiday what would you declare and why?
I’d like to declare every October 1st “kick a douchey guy day.” This also happens to be my birthday, and I’d love nothing more than to walk around seeing douche bags getting kicked. Happy Birthday to me. Feel free to spill something on his Ed Hardy shirt while you’re at it.
5. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be? (You have the capital for this one, don’ worry)
London, England. That place makes me think I was born in the wrong country. I could go on and on about why, but I won’t bore you.
6. What do you think of celebrity gossip?
Unless it involves naked photos of Daniel Craig, I care not.
7. What’s the theme song of your day, week, year, or life?
8. If you came with a warning label what would it be about?
Caution: May cause excitability and restlessness.
9. Favorite quote or joke that you made up?
When Will Smith walks in the snow, does he leave fresh prints? (ok fine, I didn’t make that up)
10. OCD?
Hair on things drives me absolutely insane so I walk around with a lint roller like a damn hair nazi. I torture myself by having long hair and owning a dog with long hair, too. Together we shed enough in a day to create wigs for an entire doll army.
11. Best pick up line anyones’ ever fed ya?
Guy: I was just talking to my brother and we’re wondering if you have any greek in you?
Me: No..
Guy: Do you want some?
12. Tell us something embarrassing about your brain.
Sometimes when I am out in public and there is an unexpected mirror, I will look in it and honestly think, “oh I know that girl!” and then I realize that girl happens to be me. Yikes.
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Here are 5 more blogs that I enjoy. These are all wonderful ladies. Each is witty in her own way and they all inspire me. I invite you to check out these bitches:
1. sweetmotherlover.wordpress.com – Original, funny and honest. I enjoy following her life and I really feel like I am getting to know her. Yup, in a creepy way.
2. richfulllife.wordpress.com – Rachelle (like the Seinfeld episode!) recounts some very funny experiences, has great ideas, and I enjoy her local homeless man. It is likely that we were sisters in another life. Props.
4. kourtneyheintz.wordpress.com – A talented, aspiring author and cool lady… as long as you don’t mention ketchup.
5. carrierubin.com – Carrie is publishing a novel this year! Congrats! She is a very funny healthcare professional gone writer. She keeps me going an I love reading about her writing journey.
Hi, ladies, this one is for you. This is one of my favorite articles. It discusses the use of “gaslighting,” which is manipulative behavior used to confuse people into thinking their reactions are so far off base that they’re crazy. It is worth the read because we aren’t “crazy.” Okay, maybe a little bit crazy, but not crazy crazy.
Last March I adopted a puppy and named him Porter.
Recently, we were playing and I realized just how ridiculous the things are that I say to him. For example, this morning when I woke and saw my dog, I changed my speaking tone and said, “Ooohh, look at hiiiiimmm! Hims a widdle boy here! Hims a boy here with me and I love hiiimmmms face!” Then, I kissed his little nose and hugged his sweet head. I don’t know why I say those things, but I am acutely aware that applying this to any other situation would make me absolutely nuts. This is him by the way:
My cuddly, sweet fwiend and his cutest puppy face!
This, I learned, is called pet-directed speech and there is research that investigates features which differentiate the two speech registers, neutral and intimate, within different constellations of speakers and addressees (such as infant-, pet-, foreigner- and lover- directed speech). Usually we change the way we speak without even thinking about it, but it’s only acceptable in certain situations and is a very funny concept.
This is how Porter responds when I speak with a silly voice:
He either loves it or it’s driving him insane–I can’t decide. I have a friend who used to make a high-pitched sound and iterate something that sounded like “SQQUUEEEGGIIEE!” whenever she saw her dog. Most girls I know do the sounds and/or say nonsense things when it’s a small or baby animal. I imagine that if there was a show that consisted only of baby animals playing with each other, that millions of ladies would be in their homes just making sounds. I would get nothing done. I would watch and clap and jump like a damn idiot, despite being a sarcastic, grown ass woman. I try to hide this side of myself, but if you were to hand me a puppy and a cookie (I like cookies), I would absolutely lose it.
Men are a different story. If they choose to talk to animals with voices, it tends to be a dumb or dorky sounding voice that is meant to be the voice of the animal and it is often accompanied by sound effects. Men really are just large kids, after all. Out of context, how funny would it be to see guys doing that kind of crap? You know, like in the workplace? Or while watching football? I’d pay to see that shit.
So, I’m curious, do you talk to animals in a silly voice? What do you say? Does the animal have a goofy nickname? Porter’s nickname is “honey bear” and when he is wet he is “little baby seal.” I did not choose these names, they just came out of my mouth one day.
Baltimore is just not turning me on these days. Look at this mundane, lifeless lab. I’m editing a paper about T cells. The only sound I hear is the humming of a centrifuge. This feels like the longest day of my life.
This science lab does not turn me on.
I’m sick of dead grass and brown buildings. I’m tired of seeing prostitutes, crazy people and sidewalk syringes.
I could use a stimulating conversation. Switch me on. Give me visuals. I want colors and life.
This is where I was 7 years ago….
Scotland turns me on.
Now that’s sexy. Even just the memory of this place flushes my cheeks and fills me with light. It makes me want to run as fast as I can and use the full capacity of my lungs. I want to scream loud and hear my echo. I’ll be back for you, rolling hills, and you better ravish me just as you did upon our last meeting. Or else.
Until then, I guess I’ll just have to use my imagination while I search ever so desperately for some Charm City inspiration.
Two years ago, I decided to join the Baltimore dating scene. I didn’t know what to expect. I met a lot of strange men that summer, including the male version of myself, an extreme racist, a horny firefighter, a douchey baseball coach, a comedian, a dude who looks exactly like Kevin James, and a guy who actively uses dollar signs to replace the letter “s.” However, the weirdest date was with the hottest, tallest one of them all: Matthew.
We met for happy hour at Brewer’s Art. He was a tall, dark and oh so handsome lawyer. Throughout the entire date he stared at me intently, listened to everything I had to say and was quick-witted. It was sexy. He had such an interesting life and we talked and laughed for hours. However, around drink number 4 or 5, the mood began to change slowly and the atmosphere got intense. He pushed my hair behind my ear and whispered, “like Helen, you have a face that could launch a thousand ships.” I laughed nervously. What an odd thing to say. Then he asked me to “make him immortal with a kiss.” Was he being serious? “Heh, maybe later,” I responded. He started petting my head. Things were getting weird and I decided it was time to leave.
Matthew walked me to my car (which was of course parked about a mile away). During the walk he told me how beautiful I am. Repeatedly. He was just naming random parts of me that he thought were beautiful, such as my collarbone. Who says that? Then he complimented my “strut,” which was odd because I really had to go to the bathroom. He was complimenting my pee pee walk! The more we walked, the less I liked him and the more I had to pee. When we got to my car, it turned out that I was parked right in front of his apartment building. Perfect. I really didn’t want to pee my dress on the ride home. Thank god, I thought, I’ll go right in his apartment, use the bathroom, and come right out. No big deal. Friends, I was wrong.
We went upstairs and I ran for the bathroom. Heaven. Just as I flushed, I heard some sassy R&B music coming from the other room. My heart began beating rapidly and I looked at myself in the mirror. Just walk out there and say no thank you and leave. You’ve got this.
I took a deep breath.
When I opened the door, I was startled to find him standing right there, all 6’4 of him, completely naked and ready to go. Before I could even think, he picked me up and started kissing me in a way that felt like he was trying to suck my soul from my body. His tongue was everywhere, like even licking the air and stuff. It was so weird. Then, he grabbed a folder from the top of his refrigerator that was packed with magnum condoms. “PUT ME DOWN!” I yelled.
He put me down and frowned. He was out of breath from all that air licking. “Don’t you like what you see?”
That thing was huge and menacing. I have never seen anything like it. “Um, I have to go,” I said, and I turned and ran like the wind.
He ran out after me into the hallway. “Can I still take you to dinner next week!?” he called out. When I got to the bottom I looked up the spiral of the steps and saw him standing naked at the top. “No thanks!” I yelled back, and I never saw him again.
The lesson here, folks, is that if you are in a weird situation and you have to pee, fuck the unknown. Pee your dress.
Well, the good news is that I didn’t have to go to Medieval Times on Valentine’s Day. However, at 5:30 yesterday I received a text saying, “I picked up the tickets!” along with this picture:
So I put on a slutty medieval barmaid bodice costume that I have (that’s a whole other story), per the cleavage advice of Carrie Rubin, and sent a picture message saying, “Oh good, because I’m ready to go!” He then caved immediately and told me I needed to change because “medieval minx” would likely be frowned upon at a nice restaurant. Hooray! We weren’t actually going to Medieval Times! This wasn’t a competition or anything, but I’m pretty sure I won.
Ladies, I have some advice. The day before Valentine’s Day is not a good day to argue with the guy who has, for some crazy reason, chosen you as his Valentine. Why? Because I made fun of my Valentine during a heated argument and now he is threatening to take me to Medieval Times:
Really, Medieval Times, a $200 value?
Good god, is the person in the middle photo proposing?! I would be mortified. I could have just said sorry, but I’m stubborn and instead I yelled, “FINE, SOUNDS FUN, CAN’T WAIT!”
As I stomped out of the room he calmly said, “Okay, then I’ll reserve those tickets.”
So, of course now I am worried we are going to Medieval Times. Well, he would be the one going. I am not “too cool” for a lot of really, really dorky things, but this? It will be a damn cold day in hell when I go to Medieval Times on Valentine’s Day.
Allow me to get straight to the point. A number of women are sharing with me stories about receiving unsolicited penis pictures from a significant other or stranger. I would like to offer some advice and information on this subject.
See, guys, here’s the thing–if we don’t request a photo of it, then we don’t want to see a picture of your penis. Why? Because it’s gross. Your penis doesn’t photograph well, trust me–not even when you choose to go with a full body shot. Personally, I would prefer a photo of you clothed and smiling instead of that creepy gaze you’re giving yourself in the mirror as your pants sit awkwardly at your ankles. You look like a sex offender. You look like you’re raping yourself with your own eyes. Stop and ask yourself, “Am I trying to create/maintain chemistry with the recipient or am I trying to frighten her?”
Now, if you believe you are an exception, which you are not, and that it would be a true injustice not to send a photo of your junk, please consider the following:
1. Not sending the photo. A preferred shot would incorporate your smile and a cute pet or hobby. We find that stuff sexy.
2. Send a warning. No one likes a surprise penis.
3. If you send a picture of your penis, the reaction always will be “Ewwww!!!” followed by boisterous laughter.
4. By the next day, at least 1-5 of that gal’s friends will have seen your penis and the reaction will always be laughter at your expense.
5. Manscape. This isn’t the 70s.
6. Don’t send a picture of your flaccid penis. That’s creepier than a hard one.
7. If you’re sending the photo with intentions of sleeping with someone you’ve never met, you’re a complete idiot.
Gentlemen, please note that none of this means we dislike your dongs, we just prefer them under the appropriately inappropriate conditions. I hope you will keep all of this in mind before your next photo shoot.
On behalf of women everywhere, thank you for your consideration.
Dog lover. Storyteller. Urbanite-Suburbanite. Poet. Music addict. Editor. Explorer. Wine enthusiast (Malbec, please). Anglophile. People watcher. My dream job? Writer, or a Tom Jones back up singer. Well, not Tom Jones now, but Tom Jones in the early '70s...so let's go with the writing thing.
tales of a charm city chick 