Tag Archives: feminism

0

If You Could Leave Yelp Reviews about Your Dates

|

430

Howard
35, Programmer

A Real Catch (if you’re a dessert sharer)!

★★★★☆

Funny, Fresh and Fine! Easily one of the most eligible bachelors in the Pacific Northwest.

Despite terrible traffic, Howard showed up on time for our mid-week date, effortlessly chic in a casual polo tee, dark jeans and leather boots. His dinner spot location was well thought out. It was bustling enough to drown out any potentially awkward silences but quiet enough to hear each other take turns to humblebrag. Howard is certainly not a morning person so I’d highly recommend that you schedule any and all dates with him no earlier than noon. If you’re a Happy Hour hound, forget about your Monday night drinks sesh because this guy doesn’t consume a drop of alcohol. The upside to this is that he will drive you home as you drunkenly sob about how much you hate your co-workers. He has a sweet tooth so be warned that he will eat his slice of cake and reach out for yours while distracting you with his devilishly enchanting eyes. All in all, a fun evening and I would’ve definitely gone out with Howard on a second date but there are lines which should not be crossed and I draw mine at sharing dessert. That said, ladies who steer clear of sugar and/or those on the Keto diet, he won’t be on the market for long so go get it!

Highlights

√ Funny
√ Successful
√ Handsome
√ Respectful

Lowlights

× Conservative
× Will steal your sweets
× Not a morning person = not a brunch person
× Doesn’t drink (could be a highlight if you need a designated driver)

More Info

Fashion acumen – Smart Casual Chic
Real or fake profile – Definitely real
Good for showing off to friends – Yes
Good for Kids – Possibly
Age accuracy – Spot on
Photo accuracy – Spot on
Does real life personality match online personality – Yes
Chances of sending you unsolicited dick pics – Slim to none
Alcohol – No
Happy Hour – No
Smoking – No

Yelp-us-Out1_zps0282a352

430

Richard
32, Comic Artist

Bug-a-boo

★☆☆☆☆

It’s not you, it’s the germs!

I want to commend Richard for staying committed to showing up to a first date even though he was under the weather — I really do — but there is nothing attractive about sitting across the table from a man with a handkerchief in hand, blowing his nose like a trumpet.  Handkerchiefs are said to be old-fashioned, gentlemanly and sexy right? Wrong! “Would you like a piece of tissue?” I asked as I stared at his ‘kerchief and thought about all the snot it had been collecting like a germ bank throughout the evening.  I ended the evening within an hour or so, partly because sick people are no fun and partly because I thought it’d be best he rested. Here’s a protip, Richard: Next time, reschedule if you’re under the weather. We want to see the best of you on a first date — pocketful of personality — not a pocketful of germs!

Highlights

√ Hardworking, probably
√ Keeps promises
√ Old-fashioned

Lowlights

× Germ breeder and spreader
× Snot-on-handkerchief

More Info

Fashion acumen – Hobo chic
Real or fake profile – Real
Good for showing off to friends – If you’d like the to die from the flu bug, yes
Good for Kids – Debatable
Age accuracy – Spot on
Photo accuracy – Dated! Profile picture is at least 5 years old
Does real life personality match online personality – Hard to say
Chances of sending you unsolicited dick pics – Slim to none
Alcohol – No
Happy Hour – No
Smoking – No

0

The pursuit of undeserved happiness

|

Remember that scene in City of Angels where Meg Ryan’s character happily in love, rides her bike with her eyes closed and her arms wide open only to be fatally hit by a truck? Now, while I know the crucial lesson here is that operating any kind of machinery with your eyes shut and arms over your head generally results in death or some semblance of it, there seems to be a larger message at hand. Happiness is a precarious little thing and this scene in a nutshell summarises how I’ve often felt about most good things that happen to me, including falling in love. It is both exhilarating and terrifying, a blessing and a curse. It’s a constant reminder that everything in life that has been bestowed upon me is not something I truly deserve and could be snatched from my hands in a heartbeat at any time, but especially when I’m on a high.

“Careful, you’ll jinx it.”

This is something my sister and I often say to each other when we overtly express unadulterated joy or excitement over something, over anything really, from a job interview that went exceptionally well to a new blossoming friendship or even that new chicken stew recipe you think you’ve perfected. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Martha because there is a good chance you’re gonna fuck it all up.

Over the years, I’ve reminded myself many times to be grateful and to be happy but not too happy. Why? Self-preservation, perhaps? Inherently a negative Nancy? Or just superstitious? Maybe this is a product of my upbringing. Perhaps somewhere in there, lies a question of self-worth but that I’m certain is not a box I am inclined to open and take a peek into. I am trying to understand how and why we became so illogically cautious over voicing our happiness. Why do I assume, beyond reason and logic that articulating how blessed I am feeling (irl without the hashtag, of course), may lead to impending and excruciating loss? It sounds completely and utterly foolish, doesn’t it? And yet, this is my truth and I fail by my own damn complications.

As I hush the most recent obliterative whispers questioning my amour-propre and prerogative, I am trying to take chances, be recklessly expressive, be unafraid and live it and live in it. When life throws me a delicious bone, I am learning to gratefully (and boldly) accept it, place it on the silver platter that it rightfully deserves and chew on it, marvel at it and claim it. Why, you ask? Because I am flawed but I am also grateful, and loving something will always trump my own debilitating fear of losing something I love, regardless of whether I’m enough.

x.

2

This is what they don’t tell you about one night stands.

|

What they don’t tell you about one night stands

They tell you your body is a temple.
They tell you it’s 2015 and you ought to sample the goods.
They tell you about the teasing and how to do it right – when to laugh and touch your hair.
They tell you that promiscuity is a label reserved strictly for her.
They tell you to always show up confident and prepared, foil in your purse.
They tell you to stop and think twice, while he gets his chestbumps and highfives.
They tell you that post coitus cuddles are a faux pas.
They tell you that if one key unlocks a bunch of locks, it’s a master key.
They tell you that if one lock can be opened by a bunch of keys, it’s damaged.
They tell you to skip the smalltalk and show yourself out.
They tell you it’s a trophy pride for him and a walk of shame for her.
They tell you to celebrate female empowerment and take control.
They tell you about the value of self-preservation and pride.
They tell you everything, and yet nothing at all.

What they don’t tell you is how pleasure is a goal in itself and that for just one night you don’t have to worry about the size of your stretch marks. They don’t tell you that life doesn’t always have to be about sticking to the plot and giving yourself away strictly in the most idyllic scenarios. They don’t tell you how the streetlights flicker just before the break of dawn. They don’t tell you how liberating it is exploring the playground, at least until you get sand kicked in your face or thrown off a swing; Which is when they don’t tell you about the panic attack that hits you the day after, when you least expect it as you brush your teeth in your pajamas, rinsing off the taste of last night’s kisses lingering uncomfortably on your tongue. They don’t tell you about the involuntary physical reactions that ensue; They don’t tell you how to drown out the deafening silence of your own breathing; or how to manage the horrible surge of pain that spills out of you in uncontrollable tears. They don’t tell you that when it’s all said and done, all you really desire are fingers that will twirl the stubborn curls of your tresses, a freckled clavicle to bury your imperfect face in, the beating of a heart that will calm your nerves, and a warm body that will defy and stay the night.

—–

image