Too Many Women

Dating in big cities, why does it have to be so freaking hard? I mean we all watched years of SEX AND THE CITY, giggling over the girls struggle to date, find love, or even a regular sex partner. It is hard. Really hard.

I have thought about the what the problem is, explored therapy to learn about the overall mental issues effecting the city (we are a collective conscience), and obsessively discussed the conundrum with countless friends, colleagues, and well whoever will listen. Until today, I was having a very causal business breakfast with a totally off the market hottie, when it happened, I had an epiphany of what the problem is! There are too many women and not enough (good) men, who are willing to settle for one girl rather than a string of hit and quits. :(. Almost any man can find a (gorgeous) woman because we ladies are so outnumbered that we have completely lost the upper hand.

OMG, this is worse than calling the guy before he's had a chance to call you first. Or late night drunk (dirty) texting that total sweetie you had two dates with and haven't let him shoplift the booty yet.... This could be permanent. Meaning the pain of sexless months is only starting now.

The competition is high. At some point rather than bitch slapping each other over the last pair of Manolo's at the Bloomingdale's Semi Annual sale, we're going to be doing it over the last (emotionally) available guy.

What do we do about situation overload? Does China have laws about how many girls can be born to each family? I know - totally insensitive of me, I mean I am a liberal... but seriously... I need a good spanking from a big, strong, (gorgeous), man sometimes.

Polygamy. No. I'm not good at sharing my favorites pieces of clothing, much less the good fuck I like to enjoy at least twice daily.

Ugh, I just hope that I don't end up with some hobosexual man who doesn't know how to dress, barely ever brushes his hair, and can afford dry cleaning but chooses to not even iron. (Ops, already had that guy!).

Perhaps, I'll just have to save myself and be

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a second wife. I guess missing out on being a starter wife will only lose me money... and that I think I can afford.

Rom Con

The Rom Con - For years we have seen Romantic Comedies portraying love as if the warm and fuzzies exist everyday, on a happily ever after level. Like it's the moment that he finally proposed, that made everything all perfect. That's moment that made you forget that his feet stink, he farts at you, and he hates your dog. Yea, there is a tad bit of old fashioned girl meets boy, boy chooses girl to be with forever, and of course, no self respecting girl will say no. "Shut up and say yes the audience screams, he picked you."

Is Hollywood tricking us? Are they playing a vicious joke on us? It's a conspiracy crafted for Studio Execs, (the Jews), that has kept us believing in the dupe of decade.

It is the moment that he drops to his knee that we can finally look in the mirror and see what every day for the rest of our lives it going to be. Eventually, your dream mate will grow tiring, boring, and maybe even repulsive. And then when you thought he could not get worse, he'll get fat, and lose his hair.

Feed the kids. Drop them off at school. Go to their soccer game. Shut your mouth when I come home late. But don't forget to have dinner on the table. Ladies, I thought that we had evolved. But I keep seeing the same pattern. The only difference is now we get desperate to snag a man 37 rather than 20. OK. We have afforded ourselves 17 mores years.

That can't be all burning bras has done for us.

Oh wait, you know what else we have going for us now. We can now work 50 hours a week, and make more money than our fat ass, football watching hubby. And feed the kids, drop them off at school, attend the games, and keep our mouths shut. Oh great. That's exactly what I was hoping my fore ladies would rally, and protest for.

Now the only thing that I have is the freedom to leave my man when I feel like I'm doing all the work. And fuck, of course I am doing all the work. It is what we have "evolved" to. No honey, you stay home and watch basketball, I know how much you love Kobe. I will work my ass off so that you can be a lazy asshole. I'm totally OK with that. Smile.

Romance. Hum. The rapidly rising divorce rate, I'm sure will vouch for me here. There is just not much gained in the women's rights moment. Not yet at least. We need to wake up women, and smell the much needed morning coffee. We trained them to let us go out into the world, make our own way. We're even training them to accept us dating men half our age. There is a rising stat to prove that one as well. Clearly, they listen to our demands. Why can't we insist on more. Honey, can you get the baby, there's 15 more minutes left in Desperate Housewives, you know it's really important for me to know what going to happen before it hits the blogs.

Hell, I would start watching basketball and yelling at the TV if it meant the man would give birth, and raise the kid. I would even carry the kid for 9 months!

The least we can do, is let them split the raising the kids duties.

PS, I do believe love does exist, it's just in the small moments between annoyances!

Tick Tock. Tick Tock.

Goes the clock.

For the majority of my life, the idea of the "biological clock" seemed like a facade put in place by society in order to keep the women married and bearing children.

But I must say, I am starting to believe in it. My midnight sexual cravings, while I was one hundred percent sober, was the first sign. Then it was the sudden interest in holding other people's children, despite my typical indifference towards the little ones.

Who knew that I would go from the shiny happy single girl, to the near nympho manic who lusted for someone to slide themselves inside of me and pummel the fuck out of me! Nope, I am not ready for the rug rats quiet yet, but my strong need for the act of baby making is alive and strong.

Problem is, the men in my life don't quiet know where they fit into my lewd dreams. I call in for a booty call and they get scared off. They schedule, they postpone, and they cut me out of their lives, siting they love or care about me too much for a fly by the seat of your pants one nighter. How could that be the case, considering these lovers only wanted sex from me pre-mania days. They wanted champagne, condoms, and an empty bed the next morning. As soon as I came to the point in my life where I was OK with it, they fled the scene, leaving me once again, undersexed, and cranky.

Do I now need to go in search of a full timer in order to get it on more than once a month (or sometimes less than)? How do I find the "relationship" types, now that I am so well versed in finding the scared, commitmaphobes? Where will I find them?

I am assuming not in bars. I will have to start paying attention to my winks online, and take classes. Sailing and scuba diving sounds fun.

On the boyfriend rampage I go.

Wish me luck.

Baggage (Black Hat Guy)

I always knew I had baggage. Mine consists of an over active imagination, a strong desire to over analyze, occasionally I can be obsessive/compulsive and perhaps I am a little needy. But I am not high maintenance, or crazy, and I like sex (a lot). So it balances itself out.

I had a great understanding of my own unwanted personal belongings.

I didn't, however, understand other peoples baggage, until I met Black Hat Guy. This man has luggage, trunks full of excess shit in his life. Who knew that I would ever care if the man I was dating was divorced.... until of course Writer Chick brought something to my attention. She tells me after I brief her on the situation "I guess we're getting to the age now where we will have to start dating men who are divorced, but at least he doesn't have kids." Fuck, does he? I didn't know, and it never dawned on me to ask.

And when I did, disaster struck. Not only did he have a workaholic, emotionally whiped personally, he was even a little needy. "Kiss me. Hold me." That sort of emotional neediness. It certainly shows me how much of a turn off that shit it. Perhaps I have learned something from Black Hat Guy.

But the thing that causes me to lose the most sleep is Irish Boy, his five year old kid who lives with mama. That's all of the information that I could muster up the courage to get. That and I don't know enough about children to know what else I should ask. "Does he eat?" "What do you do with a him?" Ugh, these questions only remind me of why I will never be a stay at home house wife.

I don't want to bear your offspring and then chase the little mutants around the house all day for exercise. I definitely prefer pilates. At least it is a controled environment.

Believe me babycakes, if I wanted one, it most certainly wouldn't be someone elses. My participating in peek-a-boo will be a direct result of my own bad decision! Not yours. So I think it's safe to say this one is over. Sadly. I really thought you had great eyes. (And abs).

But the moral of this story is this:

There are all sorts of accessaries in our lives, more than ex-wives, babies, and mental issues, so I know this is the first of many I will encounter... other than of course, my own.

"Trying"

Anyone who knows me - or reads this blog is well aware of my rather crass mouth. Often times, I am scolded about the way I speak.

It sucks to be monitored. But I will kindly remind everyone of the first amendment and offer a particular situation where sex talk is not only "OK" but it is actually encouraged.

"We're trying!"

Yep, that it folks. Those two words say, we are either fornicating like wild animals, or we have scheduled "appointments" for sex. I know the latter is the most boring but if you say to me that you are baby making, I assume you jump on the washing machine every time it hits the spin cycle and pump your old lady with your man juice! But if it's the second choice (the boring sit on my penis until it erupts kind of sex), it is rather appalling.

If you are trying anything, you should try to be as vulgar and sexy as possible because once the deed is done, we all know you won't be doing it at all anymore. So you may as well enjoy it while you can!