September 9, 2014 § 7 Comments
I am a feminist. I support any and all efforts to create a society where the social, political and economic rights of women are equal to that of men. The reason I start with that declaration is because I could see how a woman expecting a man to purchase the first round of beverages could be interpreted as a bit sexist. And in a way it is, but in another way I don’t give a shit.
Also, I think it’s important to recognize feminism can come in many different forms, which is why I promise to revisit my stance on this subject once the 30% pay gap is closed.
Some men may be hesitant to buy a lady a drink. Maybe they think thirsty bitches (their words not mine) will take them for everything they got, one pinot grigio at a time. Usually these are the same men who use a woman’s every move as an excuse to talk to her. Call me old fashioned, but I’d be much more likely to talk to a fella who bought me a drink. Call me old fashioned, but I’d judge the fuck out of one who didn’t. Maybe that’s just me?
Anywho let’s get started:
#1 Googly Eyes
Googly eyes is when you hold the gaze of your selected dude a moment longer than the socially accepted standard. I’m sure the majority of you are now eye rolling like you’re stuck in gif purgatory. Well, duh right? It seems like a total no-brainer but, like a lot of things in life, timing is key. To demonstrate the perfect amount of time I’m going to use a visual metaphor, because that’s how my mind works, like an illiterate child’s.
Imagine you are hiking, and you approach a field of wildflowers. There in the close distance you spot the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen, a young fawn. It senses your presence. Its head pops up. Its eyes focus on yours, long enough for one exhale, long enough for your souls to merge. You blink and you’re back in the bar. Your fawn is now a girl. She smiles. She turns back to her friends.*
#1 Section 2 – The Bar is a Safe Place
What if you gave him the perfect amount of googly eyes and he’s still not approaching? Well there may be a few variables working against you. Are you in a co-ed group? Are there any girls with resting bitch face? If your male of choice is introverted, these factors may give him room for pause. Which means you’re going to have to lure him to the bar. The bar is a safe place. In order to do this you must slam your drink, separate yourself from the group and head to the bar, and while en route you give him a look.
And now we wait…
Ninety-eight percent of the time your selected dude will just happen to also need a refill and will just happen to saddle up right next to you at the bar. Oh hai, fancy meeting you here.
The two percent that don’t respond to this move are either not interested in females or taken. And it doesn’t matter if that’s true or not as long as you believe it. That’s the beauty of delusion.
#2 Fake Bachelorette Party
Give a group of women the license to ‘let loose’ and you will get a drunken tidal wave of the horniest, sloppiest, screechiest girls imaginable. But you don’t have to wait for an actual bachelorette party to enjoy a penis-themed night of semi-questionable decisions.
How to throw a fake bachelorette party:
You’ll need a group of girls, a boa and/or tiara, and of course some penis-shaped items. Then choose your bachelorette. I suggest switching off. Because here’s a fun fact – guys want what they can’t have (what?? groundbreaking isn’t it??!) which means the “bachelorette” will get hit on ten times more than everyone else. Regardless of who is playing the part. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, people.
Now all other party participants choose an alias and make up an awesome backstory. You can be whoever you want. Why? Cause bullshitting strangers is fun! Although I’d avoid accents. Once you get drunk it’s hard to maintain consistency.
- Pros: no lines for you, lots of free shots, role playing awesomeness
- Cons: too many free shots
#3 Let’s Make a Deal
You’re at the bar. The bartender is busy. Everyone impatiently tries to get his/her attention. You and the dude next to you share a ‘god-this-is-so annoying’ look. You say, ‘Hey dude, let’s make a deal. You get his attention first, put in an order for me. If I get his attention I’ll put in your order.” Now you simply avoid eye contact with the bartender. Dude orders for you. You offer dude money. Dude says no cause his mama raised him right. Awww, that is so nice and totally unexpected. Thanks dude friend.
#4 I’ve Never Had That
You overhear a dude’s order. It sounds delicious. You say, ‘Is that good? I’ve never had that.’ Dude can’t believe you’ve never had (drink you’ve totally had). Dude insist he get you one. Dude says, ‘bartender make it two’. Awww, that is so nice and totally unexpected. Thanks dude friend.
#5 Game on bitch
Challenge him. Guys are competitive by nature. If there is a game nearby, most likely it’ll be darts. Approach him and say, “Hey, you up for a game? Loser buys drinks.” Then you just have to win. I kid, I kid, you don’t have to win. 90% of dudes are chivalrous enough to insist on purchasing the round regardless of the outcome. The other 10% are too short sighted to see the big picture win.
#6 Seem Really Bored
Guys love to swoop in and rescue a bored lil’ lady.
#7 Have Fun
Guys love to swoop in on a super fun lady.
#8 You Approach Him
I know, I know. Guys love a chase. Guys love girls who never give them the satisfaction of knowing they’ve been caught. I know that shit works but I also know it’s exhausting.
Which is why I’m a much bigger fan of the approach him method. There is a special power in not giving a shit. In walking straight up to a dude, tapping him on the shoulder and saying, ‘excuse me sir but I really like your face and well…buy me a drink or lose me forever.’
99.9983% of the time, that works every time. I picked up my dude in this very fashion which is why whenever he says something along the lines of ‘you are a crazy person,’ I retort with, ‘AH-DOYYY, pretty sure you knew that when you met me.’
But if that’s not your style then here are some more subtle approaches:
Ask for his expert opinion: Cheesy and transparent when guys use this approach but roles reversed, extremely effective. Guys are natural problem solvers, it plays to their ego. Start in with something like, ‘I’m sorry, this is so dumb, but my friend and I are having an argument and you look like someone who might know something about (insert anything this dude could have an opinion about).
Compliment him: Girls are constantly on the defense about compliments because they are used to getting hit on. Guys on the other hand are usually genuinely flattered. ‘Hi. You are very handsome.’ Thatsssss it.
Fall for him: Or rather into him. This is a total grade school move, but by god if it doesn’t work. Your friend pushes you, you trip, you accidentally hit him with your purse, any of those things. And then you’re like, ‘oh no, I’m so sorry. Are you ok? Did I spill on you? Bee-tee-dubs I’m Jamie.‘
Drop something: Yup, I said it. Go ahead and pull the most classic and utterly offensive of all female tropes – the damsel in distress. “Whoopsies, I dropped my purse. Oh no, it spilt everywhere. What’s a girl to do?” I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t put this out there in the world if it weren’t so astonishingly effective.
Say pretty much anything: Unless you say something horrifyingly creepy, what you say upon approaching really doesn’t matter that much. You have a vagina, remember? Here’s an example, ‘Excuse me, do you have a cat?‘ No, why? ‘Cause I’m allergic to cats so that would be a deal breaker. Hi, I’m Jamie.”
End of Lesson One
In all honesty, I feel real shitty about writing this post. Not only do I feel like I just set feminism back fifty years but these games we play with the opposite sex, although very very fun, they’re kind of assholey. But in my defense I never said I was a good person…
I Regret Nothing:
* I’m not comparing women to underage animals. It’s just a metaphor. Don’t ruin it with your logic.
June 27, 2014 § 4 Comments
Sometimes life likes to shove it in your face that you are aging. Happy Birthday, is just another way of saying, ‘Congratulations, you got fucking older’.
I used to neglect my birthday. I’d do my best to conceal the funeral of another year gone by. And if I got my way, it would come and go without so much as an intimidate dinner. It worked for me. (I don’t need to hand over a co-pay to acknowledge avoidance is a reoccurring theme in my life.)
But my feelings on birthdays have shifted. Maybe age has given me a nugget of wisdom because I’ve started to feel that if you are fortunate enough to survive another year you should celebrate it or at the very least acknowledge it. So for the past two years instead of avoiding my birthday like an unplanned pregnancy I’ve embraced my special day of acceptable narcissism.
I faced my birthday head on. I even celebrated by doing what we were put on this green earth to do – make beautiful memories. I’m so brave.
Plus, who doesn’t love a good excuse to party? In case you need some inspiration for party themes I’d like to offer a few suggestions.
Recreate a Childhood Birthday
- A 90’s Themed Roller Skate Party
Remember back when life was simpler? When all you wanted was for your boobies to grow in and for the lights to dim so your jr. high crush could take your sweaty hand in his and pull you out onto the rink for a romantic couple skate to Extreme’s More Than Words. This was my recent birthday theme and it was awesome. Truly awesome.
- A Sleepover
Play spin the bottle. Play 7 minutes in heaven, get felt up by a cute stranger. You could even make it truly authentic by asking your mom to bust in on you mid session. That rush of guilt and shame will be truly nostalgic for any fellow recovering Catholics out there.
Pick Your Favorite Thing and Make it a Theme
My favorite thing is drinking so last year I had a Drunker Than Jamie Party. Buttons were awarded to all those who succeeded. It was very classy.
Need additional examples?
- Favorite Thing: Dumpster Diving / Party Theme: a disgusting potluck followed by an evening of food poisioning.
- Favorite Thing: Sex / Party Theme: An orgy
I think you get the picture.
Which is really just an intervention without the offer of a free vacation. This is a great way to get all party-goers involved. Everyone you love can come together to point out all your flaws and laugh in your face. Yay! Everybody win!
Other Ideas for an Unforgettable Birthday
- Someone dies (not as a theme, it just happens, people would remember that)
- Be North West
- Reenact your day of birth by crawling out of your mom’s vagina while your dad video tapes.
In Other News
This is romantic:
This is also romantic: (NSFW)
Yes I’m Drunk But I Still Think You’re Perfect:
March 6, 2014 § 8 Comments
But I don’t know. I just missed you guys, I guess.
So little to say…maybe I shouldn’t have even written this post?
I did, though.
Ok, here’s the plan. We drink. And that’s the plan.
So, m’babes, let’s get together and pop open a bottle of wine. Just grab your Caloric Cuvee glass. Oh? You don’t have one?
Don’t touch me. Monster.
Fine. I’ll introduce you. Behold – the Caloric Cuvee wine glass. LOOK AT IT!
Maybe you should take a closer look. ENHANCE. ENHANCE. ENHANCE. And I’ll add a tiny model! Ok, now look!
You can fill it to the calorie marks, super helpful, or you can fill it so high that the feelings you usually reserve for your dream journal spill out into real life.
Pre-tay sweet. And I’m not just saying that cause this super cool company sent me some free shit. I am not above selling out. Trust. But these glasses are actually freakin’ adorable. And you can totally get in on this. Just leave a comment below letting me know why wine is your favorite beverage. And if it isn’t, lie.
Then I’ll choose my favorite (sexual favors encouraged) and Caloric Cuvee will send you a free glass to call your own. Boo-ya! Biz-natches! Don’t say I never gave you anything. AND EVERYTHING IS RIGHT WITH THE WORLD!
Now look at the pictures.
Someone Buy My Blog…
December 16, 2013 § 10 Comments
One summer during college I got a babysitting gig after answering an ad, “Seeking a reliable individual with childcare experience to watch a 7 year old boy, must be willing to do some light housekeeping.” The ad would have been much more accurate if it had said, “Seeking someone to clean my house who is cool with constantly being trailed by a 7 year old.” To be fair both sides padded the truth since I had also claimed to be reliable and to have had experience with children, neither of which were true.
Here are the order of events leading up to the incident:
A tiny field mouse ran across the kitchen floor. Immediately I leapt into action grabbing a large salad bowl from the countertop and placing it upside down over the small creature to contain it. The little boy, who we’ll call Ian because that was his name, screamed for me to ‘KILL IT!’
No I would not. Out of respect. For nature. And life. And because I’m not a serial killer you fucking psychopath.
I didn’t really know what to do next so I handled the situation the way I handle all my problems, I left it as it was and told myself I’d deal with it later. But Ian would not drop it. He kept following me around menacingly chanting, ‘kill it, you gotta kill it.’ It was pretty unsettling and to be honest I feared for that mouse’s safety.
As a distraction tactic I told Ian we could walk down to the corner store and I’d give him five dollars to spend on whatever he wanted. He wanted candy. His parents had mentioned he doesn’t “do well” with sugar but I’m very good at making terrible decisions so I kept my word and let him get whatever his little heart desired. It wasn’t until we got back to the house that I realized what a healthy budget five dollars is for corner store candy.
Ian ate his candy. He ate his candy like a motherfucker. Not long after, the sugar-high began to kick in and that’s when shit started to get REAL.
Before I knew it Ian was gripping a bright red lipstick and furiously painting his face. So furiously that it was borderline violent. I knew I should stop him but I was a little hesitant on how to go about disarming him. I didn’t want to shame him for playing with make-up. For once he looked happy and at the time ripping the lipstick from his young impressionable hand seemed like it could be a hate crime.
Ian’s next move was straight up rock n’ roll. He grabbed a small vase from a nearby side table, raised it above his head and smashed it to the ground.
Holy fuck kid. What possible reason could you have had for losing your shit on that vase? I was momentarily taken back. Part of me was thinking, TOTALLY INTO IT. LET’S DO THIS!! The other part did not feel safe.
The child had gone rogue.
He made a break for the kitchen. I tried to grab him but it was impossible. He was moving in a feverish panic like a tiny meth-head ninja. He stormed into the pantry ripping snacks open, shoving handfuls of whatever into his mouth. It was terrifying.
He shot from the pantry leaving a trail of cereal behind. I ran after him. This chase went on for what felt like hours. I’d lose sight of him as he darted in and out of rooms, then he’d pop up right behind me laughing like a fucking lunatic.
I was finally able to corner him as he paused standing on top of the couch. He stared at me. I stared back at him trying to read his expression. It was one I’d seen before. Was he surrendering? Nope. That wasn’t it? I knew this face…
We locked eyes both knowing what was coming. And for some god awful reason I ran towards him. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe somewhere deep down I thought, I deserve this. Either way it happened. The vomit. Projectile vomit. Everywhere. On me. On the couch. On the floor. Honestly I was surprised at how much sheer volume came out of such a small boy.
If you’ve never had another human being vomit on you. Including your face. It’s fucked up. It’s warm and pungent. It feels personal. It feels like a violation. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine myself somewhere far away. Somewhere safe. It didn’t work. The smell got the best of me and well, before I knew it I had to vomit too. And vomit I did.
At that moment I remember thinking, God help me. I need an adult. A real adult. And then his mother walked in the door. Shit. Not that adult. I scanned the room trying my best to quickly calculate a cost-analysis of the damage. ‘Everything is fine’ I assured her as I waved my vomit covered hand in her direction. But everything was not fine. In fact it was the exact of the opposite of fine.
She was, naturally, irate. After getting her up to speed on the situation. She let me know they would no longer be needing my services. Probably for the best. Then I went home and high-fived BC* pills into my face.
I’m Sure You Have a Lot Of Things Going For You But Your Child…Your Child is a Dick:
August 14, 2013 § 7 Comments
Ok. I’ve never actually had one but not for lack of trying. I tried to, really I did. You want to hear about it? Ok then. This is the story of an ill-fated attempt to have a spontaneous one night stand.
Let’s take a trip back in time, back to a time when I was lost in transition. I was fresh out of a break-up and spending my free afternoons wandering around the city, occasionally (all the time) I’d run into things that (for no reason what-so-ever) reminded me of my ex and I’d just start laughing and laughing. I couldn’t stop myself.
Oh. Did I say laughing? That was a typo. I meant crying. I couldn’t stop crying. Or it might be even more accurate to say weeping. I was walking around weeping in public like a big fucking asshole. Obviously I was in a very good place.
This is when a very dear friend of mine offered up some helpful advice. She said, ‘Jamie, you know what you need? You need someone to fuck the sadness out of you.’ And she even added a – ‘Boom. Problem solved.’ for extra emphasis. While I was open to it I didn’t like the idea of having completely unattached sex with a stranger but after exhausting all other post break-up remedies I slowly began to come around.
Maybe my dear friend was right? Maybe I did just need the sadness fucked away. So I set my sights on finding someone to do just that. What can I say, I was simply a modest girl with big ambitions. I should also mention that I had been watching a lot of Sex and the City.
(Mom, please stop reading)
It all started when I met this cute boy. The kind of cute I can only really describe as blurry because at the time I met him I was drunk-as-fuck (but in a cute-classy sorta way). Was he charming? Funny? Totally could have been. I really couldn’t tell you. Either way we were speaking in cursive and talking with our hands, it was all so romantic. I won’t go into detail as to what happened next but insert a – heyo! – here.
Cut to: The next morning when I was like – ‘Ta-da! Rise and shine! Mission accomplished! And guess what mothera-fucka? Zero. Fucks. Given.’ And just as I was doing the full on running man (in my mind). Mr. One-Night-Stand says, ‘It’s such a nice day out. What do you think about going to the zoo?’
Uhm….. What the….??
If he would have asked me to go for pancakes I would have politely (as I had rehearsed) stared thoughtfully into his eyes and said – ‘Nope. Peace out, SUCKA!’
But the zoo? I mean, come on. What was his angle? Why was he trying to ruin this for me? Why couldn’t he just read my mind and get the fuck out of there? It seemed like a pretty fair expectation at the time.
Fuck you. Fuck you and your adorable invite to go look at animals. Yeah…obviously I want to go to the zoo. Dick. That’s a no-brainer. You should note that part I did actually say out loud and he not only laughed but he STILL wanted to go to the zoo.
I didn’t stand a fucking chance.
After spending a day at the zoo with Mr. Supposed-To-Be-One-Night-Stand I discovered he actually was funny AND charming AND pretty damn cute.
Oh and did I mention he had a puppy? HE HAD A PUPPY FOR GOD’S SAKE!!
Obviously after that we began dating. The days and months that followed were as blurry as the night we met but I do remember it was fun and effortless. Until about 8 months later when it stopped being fun and effortless and became clear that neither of us knew what we were doing with each other. It was a good run but we had reached our expiration date.
When I finally had time to breathe I noticed that during all of this I had completely forgotten to be sad about what’s-his-name-ex-boyfriend. The cloud had lifted. Even when I dared myself to search for it, I came up empty handed. I had been cured into complete and utter okay-ness. And this is something I can only attribute to Mr. Supposed-To-Be-One-Night-Stand’s capacity for keeping my attention. Although it was temporary it was exactly the distraction I had needed.
After things fizzled out we remained friends. Which was (and still is) a unicorn in my world. I do not do that shit. Eventually we lost contact but only after he sold all of his belongings and left to travel the world. Which is a charitable way of saying he was planning on being homeless (and taking a lot of selfies) for an extended amount of time in several different locations. I did receive a couple of postcards but after a while they stopped and I can only assume he was either murdered or sold in to the sex trade industry or both.
Moral of the story. If there is a moral to this story, which I can’t guarantee there is – You can’t always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, you might find, you get what you need.*
Rebound Chicka Wow Wow
*Rolling Stones (obvi)
June 24, 2013 § 6 Comments
I’m standing at the corner of E. Randolph and Michigan Ave. in a part of Chicago known as the loop. I’m waiting for the bus. It’s January. If you’ve ever stood on a Chicago corner in the dead of Winter waiting for public transportation and decided to make a bold scream-cry declaration to absolutely no one in particular that, “YOU ARE MOVING TO CALIFORNIA BECAUSE YOU AREN’T ABOUT TO DIE OUT HERE AND BECAUSE YOU HAVE SOME FUCKING SENSE OF SELF PRESERVATION!” then you may have an idea of what I’m talking about. Or if you’ve ever woken up in a bathtub full of ice missing your kidneys then you might also have an idea.
This particular Chicago day was the coldest they had had in a decade. It was -9 before factoring in the wind chill and with the wind chill it was -33. Which is fucking cold, people. It’s real fucking cold.
Seconds before I found myself on that corner I had burst through the turnstile doors and ran for my mother-lovin’ life to catch the bus and I’d reached the stop just in time to miss it. The busses came in 15-minute intervals. Another 15-minutes, I thought to myself. Oh.God.No. I stumbled back into the corner of the bus stop overhang and huddled down, moving slowly to conserve heat.
15 minutes isn’t long if you are waiting at the bar for a late dinner guest or if you are paying for an awkward public massage at one of those mall kiosks but when you are freezing your fucking ass off 15 minutes is a lifetime. And the longer I waited the more the unapologetic wind that whipped off the lake to bitch slap me in the face felt less like the elements and more like a metaphor for my life.
A gentlemen sauntered up to the bus stop. He offered me a reassuring look of encouragement as if to say, ‘Don’t worry. It’ll all be ok…maybe.’ It was a welcome distraction. I returned his gesture with a nonchalant nod meaning, ‘Crazy weather we’re having but what can you do? Also, are we going to die out here sir?’ Only a few minutes had passed and I was already about to break.
Next a woman wearing a jacket made completely of luxurious dead animal fur joined us. Now I know killing animals for the sake of fashion is something that should be avoided but as I stared at this woman I noticed she looked slightly less cold than the rest of us. And I have to admit if a beautiful rare silver fox had suddenly appeared before me I might have slaughtered it for the sole purpose of warming my hands inside its dying carcass.
Somewhere in between my daydreams about murdering innocent woodland creatures and the bus arriving is where I made my scream-cry declaration to move back to California. Under normal circumstances my two fellow commuters would have most likely laughed politely and shifted away from the small psychopath who makes life decisions by yelling them to strangers but we had just endured the same cruel 15-minute fate which means we had bonded in a way that would typically have taken several months of forced awkward small talk. So my new friends were oddly reassuring and made an effort to make me feel as if I had correctly panicked.
And then the bus pulled up and just like that we were saved. Once aboard, it was clear I wasn’t going to die but it was also clear that I would be moving back back to Cali Cali.
Beautiful Cold Chicago. I Love You But You’re A Cold Hearted Bitch:
April 25, 2013 § 5 Comments
The fact that you clicked on this post after reading that title means you are my perfect target audience.
First off, let me start by saying I have no idea what the fuck I’m talking about.
Second, the following is a list of really good advice and my gift to you.
Although this ‘gift’ may be more like one of those pop-up ads that starts playing music when you have 80 tabs open. What I mean by that is, you’ll have to come find me before I’ll shut the fuck up. But until then…
Word To The Wise
- Sometimes when someone tells you they don’t want to be with you and you tell them they are ‘just afraid of love.’ You are wrong.
- If you go out to the bar and not one person notices you, you are not unattractive. You are a ninja.
- ‘Facebook friends forever’ a lot of times equals ‘real friends never.’
- Start being a vegan if you are too lazy to poop solids.*
- Drinking to the excess can really fuck you up but not more than feelings.
- If you love something set it free: except for people who might actually leave, your children and animals you’ve adopted.
- Your eharmony account is not the appropriate platform to showcase your food allergies.
- NEVER EVER make fun of Anne Hathaway to her face.
- Jokes you say in real life that include ‘hashtag’ are officially over.
- Wear something with the word ‘fuck’ on it if you are seeking high-fives from strangers.
This Is What Actively Disappointing Your Parents Looks Like. High-Five:
*Another version I thought of for this one became the title of this post.