Tag Archives: women

The Female Perspective

If you have to ask for a woman’s opinion because you need a “female perspective,” know that the only thing that’s different from my standpoint is that I can look down and see my tits whenever I feel like it.

When compared with John’s view of the world, what makes my position more interesting/special/important than Charles’s?* Nothing. Sure, I’ve birthed humans, and yeah, I’ve been forced by society to wear makeup every day, cross my legs when I sit, wear a bra no matter what, deal with subtle and blatant sexism, wear pantyhose, thank men for holding doors open (even though they only did it so they could check out my rack as well as my ass), curb my sexual appetite so as not to appear unladylike, and be heartily accepting of the “boys will be boys” mentality… 

Hold on. If I had a penis, I wouldn’t have to deal with all of that? People wouldn’t tell me that I was good at something for a girl? Maybe there IS something that separates my life experiences from those of men. …Maybe.

But I can stare at my tits all day if I want to. 🙂

Your move, gents.

* Yes, it’s Charles’s (with an apostrophe followed by an s). Don’t try to cross me on this.

Pizza Entitlement

If you have to make fun of a class of people, please make sure you’re right about every single one of them.

As an example, let’s take a look at a recent incident in which, on a popular social media platform, an individual derided those who had never ordered a pizza… He commented something along the lines of that he couldn’t believe an actual adult human had never picked up a phone and ordered delivery… because obviously not having ever ordered pizza is the lament of the social pariah.

Okay, folks. As you may have already guessed, I have never ordered a pizza. I may have eaten pizza, but it did not arrive in my mouth due to my ordering of it from a restaurant. My reasons are threefold:

  • I was allergic to milk (and therefore, cheese) until I was 24 years old. (I’ll give you a moment to let that sink in…) Therefore, I would have had no reason to order a pizza for well over half my life, but even so…
  • I suffered a traumatic room service incident when I was 23. I was on my first honeymoon (shut up), and I wanted to order the conch chowder. That was all well and good, but as soon as the order-taking person answered the phone, I realized that I didn’t know how to pronounce the word conch. What was I to do? Should I say I want the chowder, and hope they realize I don’t want the clam chowder? Do I cough as I’m trying to say the word, and hope they say the word, and I can just say, “yeah, that’s it”? Nope. I hung up the phone and told my ex that he’d better order me my soup and a few more bottles of the resort-standard champagne. Which brings me to my next point…
  • Boys are supposed to order the pizza. And the wine. And the everything. To be clear, I’m not a feminist. I’m a strong, iron-willed woman. I’ve been fiercely independent and self-reliant for most of my adult life. However, I need to be with a man who is strong enough and who knows me well enough to tell me what I want and who also has the wherewithal to give it to me. And that includes ordering the damn pizza. Just as long as it’s not (yuck) pepperoni.

Does this make sense? No. Should I be able to order a pizza? Yes.* What am I scared of, really? Okay, what if they ask me what kind of cheese I want on the pizza? I mean, what am I supposed to say? Pizza cheese… normal pizza cheese? What the hell is pizza cheese? What if they ask about what kind of sausage I want? I don’t know. The good kind? WHAT IF THEY ASK IF I WANT THE BLACK OLIVES ON THE RIGHT HALF OR THE LEFT HALF OF THE PIZZA? HOW IS THIS SUPPOSED TO GO?

In conclusion, and I’m not ashamed to admit it… I probably could order a pizza, but my silly, entitled ass feels like I shouldn’t have to do it myself.

* Disclaimer:  I can “order” a pizza at Little Caesar’s by grunting and pointing at a box right behind Randy’s** head.

** All Little Caesar’s employees are named Randy.


If you have to deal with women, know that there are varying levels of what I’ll call #girlbrain.

Almost all women operate in 100% girlbrain mode, so you need to be really damn careful with what you say to them. Allow me to provide examples to elucidate my point…

  • Guy says:  “You look pretty today.”  Girl thinks:  If he’s saying I ‘look’ pretty, he must think I’m not actually pretty; I just appear pretty at the moment. And why do I only look pretty TODAY? Do I normally look bad? And wtf is ‘pretty’ anyway? I’m not sexy? I’m not hot? I’m just pretty??
  • Guy texts:  “Luv u”  Girl thinks:  Why didn’t he say ‘I love you’?? Can he not commit to owning his ‘luv’ by adding an ‘I’ to the beginning of that? Does he not actually LOVE me? Was he typing in a hurry BECAUSE THERE’S ANOTHER GIRL THERE?!?!?!!!
  • Guy says:  “[Female celebrity name] is attractive.” Girl thinks:  He’s obsessed with Sandra Bullock. Why the fuck is he obsessed with Sandra Bullock? She’s brunette. I’m blonde! She has brown eyes. Mine are blue! She never shows her teeth when she smiles. I grin and show my teeth! Oh no! He thinks I’m ugly!
  • Guy texts:  “You’re fun.” Girl thinks:  I’m fun?? Does he not take me seriously? Do I need to be more serious? Oh no… he thinks I’m stupid. No guy wants to be with a girl long-term who’s just ‘fun’ and nothing else. He thinks I don’t have any depth. OH NO! He caught me watching ‘Keeping Up With the Kardashians’! How can I recover from this?!?!

Gentlemen, let me tell you… Girls will give themselves complexes about this shit. Want to give a girl a compliment? You have to be unambiguous. More than that, you have to be insanely, specifically, ridiculously clear. Don’t mistake brevity for clarity, but at the same time, you have to know your girl.

A select few ladies can take things as they were obviously intended, like, 97.2% of the time… but sometimes… even the best of us slip. We hear that we’re “fun,” and we go into full-on girlbrain, drawing spurious conclusions and mildly flipping the fuck out for no reason whatsoever.

For the love of all things holy, gents, have a bit of patience. Tell her something she can’t misinterpret. I’m going to stop short of telling you exactly what to say–because every woman is a special snowflake (*eye roll*) and responds differently to certain words.

Oh yeah, and watch out for those 100% girlbrain broads. They cray (and they’re also 99.4% of the women out there, so good luck, I guess).

Sourcing Credibility

If you have to get advice, get it from a credible source. Want to know about the weather? Ask a meteorologist. Want advice on meat? Don’t get it from a vegan. 

I was just watching a presentation on tv in which an impeccably dressed woman in heels used the term “marathon gaming sessions” to describe some aspect of some computer. I don’t buy it. That chick has never been on an energy drink and Twizzler-fueled bender, playing some MMORPG until 5 AM and passing out in a pile of Corn Nuts. It’s just not believable. Get some fat guy named Kevin whose Star Wars t-shirt is just a little too tight and who speaks in internet slang to tell me about the gaming-ness of this computer, and I’ll believe whatever he has to say. He comes off as a credible source.

Want to know why I’ve never read/seen Fifty Shades of Grey? …Well, first of all, I’m not a sad, desperate yoga mom. But also, have you seen how gosh darn fugly the author is?! She is not a source for sexy, credible, plausible-sounding banging stories! Want a good story? I guarantee that a hot person will have better quality (and more believable) sex stories.

In summation… talk to a plumber about your pipes, see a doctor about your medical issues, and don’t read sex books by ugly women.

What Women Want

If you have to be in a relationship with a woman, gents, know that she will never be 100% pleased with you and there’s no magic formula to making her happy.

Women are fickle, mercurial, and will tergiversate without a moment’s notice. They’re whiny, emotional, and petty–and they are easily annoyed by you, other women, the world, that blade of grass over there, and perceived injustice.

If you want a woman, and I mean really want a woman, you’ve got to be willing to fight… for her, for yourself, and for your relationship. Women need champions.

However, because all women are snowflakes, there’s no one way to keep any or all of them happy. Naturally, however, I’ve got a list of some general guidelines for you that will help keep you in your woman’s good graces:

  1. Remember that whole chivalry thing? Don’t let it die, whether it’s you’re first date or you’ve been together since before AOL. Open doors for her, offer your hand or your arm when you cross the street together, carry her heavy-ass suitcase for her, and let her order her dinner–or her supper (that’s a whole other blog post)–first.
  2. Be [semi-]predictable. It throws women when you do something out of character. Do that very often, and she’ll become very wary of you. Wary women get jealous. Jealous women get suspicious. Suspicious women get paranoid. And paranoid women murder you in your sleep. You probably don’t want that.
  3. Have a skill. A hobby. Be good at something. It doesn’t matter if it’s playing basketball, creating beautiful spreadsheets, or making the perfect cheese dip–just do something exceptionally well. She’ll respect you for it.
  4. Don’t look at other women when they walk by. As sly as you think you’re being when you leer at other women, we always see it. And we hate it. And we hate you a little bit for doing it. So fucking stop it. Don’t say it’s instinctual. Nut up and fight your natural urges, caveman boy.
  5. Tell her you love her. She needs to hear it. Yes, you just told her yesterday, but she needs to hear it again. And again. But just telling her isn’t enough…
  6. SHOW her you love her. You have to be a little bit thoughtful. Chivalry shows her. Making a pot of coffee and pouring her some when she walks in the room shows her. Tucking her hair behind her ear so that you can see both of her eyes while she’s talking will floor her and score you like a bajillion points.
  7. Tell her things. I don’t mean that she needs to know how much you paid for gas this morning or anything about gas in general. Give her a 30 second recap of your day. Tell her what you had for lunch. An informed woman is a trusting woman, and you don’t want her to get wary. See #2. Don’t wake up dead.
  8. Be respectful. Hang up your towel instead of throwing it on the floor, put your dishes in the sink, keep the temperature a little warmer in the car so she doesn’t freeze after having gone through the trouble of wearing something revealing for you, and slow your pace a tiny bit when you’re walking together. And when it’s her time of the month, just do your best to not be an asshole.
  9. Though it flies in the face of what I believe in regular social interaction (and of course it’s not actually true, but you are allowed to lie here), tell her she’s beautiful. Listen up. This is important. Your woman lives in a world where she’s expected to look perfect all the time. She’s constantly comparing herself to other women, always trying to fall on the correct side of the attractive/getting-the-wrong-kind-of-attention line, and she keeps getting those creepy, leering looks from men (see #4) who haven’t read this list. Tell her she’s beautiful. She needs to hear it.
  10. This one’s a little out there, but it’s ridiculously effective. Pay attention when she’s talking. I don’t mean you have to listen to everything (because women talk all the damn time), but make an effort to remember just one thing she said. Bring it up later in conversation. (“Oh yeah, I meant to ask earlier… When you and your dad picked lilacs in Illinois, was it in a garden or out in the wild?“) Boom. The conversation turns from mind-numbing drivel into how sweet you are for asking a thoughtful question. Win-win.

Winning the +1 Game

If you have to be the +1 at a work event for your partner, follow the damn rules. They are enumerated below for your convenience.

  1. Be charming. (Google that and use the second definition:  polite, friendly, and likable.) Convincingly feign interest in the boring shit you’ll be listening to all day. Alcohol helps with this.
  2. Don’t drink too much as you’re trying to accomplish list item #1.
  3. Just as important as #1:  step down and let the person you’re accompanying be the one who shines. Be the stunning arm candy who contributes only a tiny amount to conversation. Defer to your mate. This doesn’t make you look weak; it makes you look like an excellent complement, and it makes your partner as well as your bond with him/her appear strong (though we all know you’re the one who wears the pants).
  4. Everyone understands checking your phone occasionally, but don’t be that wad who just sits there and plays Candy Crush and/or whatever the fuck it is that you Facebook people do all day on your phones.
  5. Overdress. Seriously. You’re there to make your significant other look good. You should look appropriate together, but it should be your goal to make sure that office gossips Kayla and Ann have something to talk about at the office on Monday. (And they will, because you’re damn sexy.)
  6. When your significant other tells you at the last minute that you don’t have to go and that he’ll just go by himself, don’t worry. He probably didn’t just find out that his girlfriend will be there.
  7. Don’t be offended when your mate doesn’t introduce you to anyone. He’s probably embarrassed by you and/or he doesn’t want you to meet his girlfriend (see #6).
  8. When someone at the event does something abhorrent like sitting on the table right next to you, with their ass only inches away from your arm and clearly in your personal space, do nothing. Pretend that it’s not the most disgusting thing that’s happened to you all day. Smile and nod.
  9. Remember that any sense of humor you might have won’t be appreciated here. Making jokes will just make everyone uncomfortable. You’ll find it best to continue to smile and nod, just like when that ass was on your arm.

What Men Want

If you have to try to impress men, please realize that whatever you’re thinking impresses them probably, well, ain’t it. If you think that flawlessly applying eyeliner is going to make a guy magically look past your grating personality, your mind-numbing stupidity, and your almost unbelievable level of insecurity, guess again.

Guys don’t give a fuck if you spent $3 or $300 on a tube of lipstick. They don’t care if Stefon or Sergio cut your hair (though a guy with an ounce of class won’t be a fan of Jimmy at Super Cuts hacking at your mane). They’re ambivalent about brands. I promise that unless you’re into the most metro (and actually totes gay on Tuesday and Thursday nights) dude, he doesn’t care if you shop at Gap or Saks, just as long as you look good.

That being said, I’m not intimating that men are easy to please.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA… That’s a lie. Men are very easy to please. Just follow these simple rules:

  1. Don’t be a bitch.
  2. Wear just enough makeup that it enhances the way you look. If you’re wearing so much that you look like a different person entirely, remember that your guy will probably see you without makeup at some point. It’ll freak him out if his precious little Amanda is actually a Bertha, ifyouknowwhatImean.
  3. Be active. Don’t just sit on the couch all day and only get up to get the tub of chocolate ice cream. That’s disgusting. And by “that,” I mean both you and your damn ice cream.
  4. Don’t be a bitch.
  5. Stop whining, stop nagging, and stop being an unpredictable Play-Doh emotion factory.
  6. Smile. Make jokes. Don’t be so serious all the time.
  7. Check your sex drive. Okay, listen up. This is a big one and a solid truth. I can guarantee you 100% that your relationship will not work if you and your dude don’t have similar appetites for sex. That’s just biological fact. Think long and hard about how it’ll work if one of you is ready to go 24/7 and the other one is pretty meh about getting down and dirty. This is a fundamental, solid incompatibility for a lot of people. You can ignore it for a while, but it’ll come out and raise its ugly head sooner or later. And then you’re screwed (or not, ever).
  8. Don’t hate sports. I promise that you can suck it up and at least pretend for a couple of hours that you care whether or not his team wins. (Hint:  make excited sounds at the same time as the people wearing his team colors.)
  9. Know that men are men. They’re going to drink beer. They’re going to leave dirty socks on the floor. They’re going to smell bad sometimes. If you can’t handle that, consider dating girls instead.
  10. Don’t be a bitch.

On Politics and Property Lines

If you have to mow your lawn, there are some unwritten rules by which you must abide. I’ve learned this over the course of the last month or so–since I started mowing my own lawn (not a euphemism).

  • People with fences are apparently responsible for mowing one pass beyond the confines of said fences. I mean, it’s probably better that I don’t use a weedwhacker along my neighbor’s fence… because I don’t think the good doctor would enjoy my beating the hell out of his pristine wooden lawn enclosure. Where’s the actual property line? No idea. Does it matter? Probably not.
  • Speaking of the doctor, he’s better dressed while mowing his lawn than most other people are at a wedding. Or a funeral. Or prom. Do I need to up my yard work wardrobe game?! Is there a store for this?
  • Some people think it’s appropriate to just sit and watch other people mow their lawns–and by “some people,” I mean all my neighbors, and by “other people,” I mean me. Is that weird? I’m not sure, but I def don’t sit out and watch the guy two houses down while he’s sweating it out pushing his John Deere on a Saturday. (And to be clear, I don’t watch the doctor, either. I’m just saying.)
  • Um… women don’t mow lawns, which either means a) I’m a dude, or b) I shouldn’t be doing this.
  • Regarding the above point, I’m totes not a dude.

A weird thing happened when I mowed my lawn for the first time last month. There was something cathartic about moving that lawn mower (wtf–why does it weigh 800 lbs?!) in tight little rows. I was making my lawn pretty. I was doing something. As I pushed a loud machine that lobbed off the top 1/4″ of the blades of grass that comprise my lawn while listening to music that was nowhere near loud enough to drown out the drone of the mower, it all made sense.

I spend all day clicking a mouse and moving things around on a screen and reading stuff people send to me and printing papers and typing things and walking through the same halls I do every day. When I leave after eight (okay, let’s be honest, ten) hours at the end of the day, I’ve returned everything to zero. My desk is clean, the chaos calmed, and the office is back at baseline, ready to tackle the next day.

However, after I mow my lawn, there’s sweat on my forehead, there are what look like the beginnings of blisters on my hands, and I want to sit down, have a beer, and take in what I’ve done. I’ve accomplished something. I’ve completed a task. It looks nice. I did it.

I’ve never really appreciated manual labor for what it is:  a physical manifestation of accomplishment.

I could click my mouse all day (again, not a euphemism), but there’s no satisfaction in a visible, measurable, meaningful way.

There’s beauty in a freshly-cut lawn. There’s a deep and profound pride when the job is done. I get it now. I hunger for it. I want to do.

    Sorry, Fuglies

    If you have to do anything remotely out of the box, don’t bother doing it if you’re not easy on the eyes.

    Isn’t it amazing the way attractive people get a pass? …Like, for everything? We (*ahem* …I mean they) can wear sweatpants to the grocery store, kiss our significant others in public, excuse ourselves in the middle of conferences, and a million other things that would be unacceptable and/or disgusting if done by someone who wasn’t as blessed in the looks department. Think I’m wrong? I’m not wrong. And even if I was wrong, I’d just smile, and everyone would agree with me. (That’s what #blessed means. Look it up.)

    Example:  hot chick rubs her nose. Reaction:  ‘poor thing… that girl must be sick.’

    However:  large, unattractive woman rubs her nose. Reaction:  ‘omg… eww! make it stop! I can’t believe I had to see that! get that nasty excuse of a person away from me before I catch her cold or–worse–her ugly!’

    Cringe all you want to, but you know I’m right.

    Fuglies:  watch your manners, wear clothes that fit and cover your body, and try to keep your aspirations reasonable. Pretty people:  step out, be bold, challenge conformity, and you can do anything you want to do!

    The Burden of Beauty

    If you have to call yourself a diva, you’re not a diva. If you have to tell people how snobby you are, you’re not a snob. If you have to talk about how pretty you are, realize that you’re probably–well–not. The rest of what I write here is going to seem highly hypocritical, but please realize that I find myself to neither be an attractive nor an unattractive person.

    I just read an article entitled “People Judge Me Because I’m Pretty.” The writer went on and on about how men catcall when she walks by, some make comments, some point her out to their friends. …The poor, stupid writer doesn’t realize that all of those things are part and parcel of being a FEMALE HUMAN BEING ON PLANET EARTH. Sorry, you conceited little snot, but you included a picture of yourself with that article, and you ain’t that cute. All the stuff you mention in your article happens to every woman sometimes. Some of that stuff happens to some women more often. That crap happens to me literally every single day. You’re not special or cute or sexy or hot or foxy. You’re a girl. You’re a girl walking down the street.

    When I walk on the sidewalk by myself, I put in headphones so I don’t have to hear comments like:  “Damn, girl…” When I walk by the creepy little 5’5″ man at work, I make sure my skirt is hanging as long as possible and I slouch a little so he’ll have a little less real estate to take in while he looks me up and then down. When I walk into a meeting with coworkers, I pull the collar of my dress as high as possible because the two fugly ladies get all huffy at the mere suggestion that other women have breasts. I wear oversized cardigans so I can hide my figure from, well… everyone, actually.

    So shut up, you conceited brat. You’re a woman. This is what happens to ALL women. Look around. See the ugly woman with the three kids? Assuming that she’s not the adoption-obsessed Brangelina type and she isn’t producing kids in Petri dishes, someone (or sometwo or somethree) had sex with her. Really. Some dude found her bangable enough to reproduce with her. Maybe–just maybe–this guy hit on her at one point. …But you’re right, snowflake. Your self-proclaimed attractiveness is an affliction. You are so put-upon by the whole world because you’re just. so. cute. Quit kidding yourself and just shut it. You’re a woman. This is what happens to all women.