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The Psycho Sisterhood.

I will admit that I am not the most normal girl out there. Like the majority, I am highly contradictory in nature, I have my girly moments, suffer from raging PMS and will pout until I’m asked “what’s wrong?”. That being said, I am fairly certain (unless proven otherwise, and I want documented evidence) that I am not a psycho chick. (Yes, this post is in follow up to the earlier “Casual Sex, Crazy Bitches“.)

Oh, we all know at least one of these psycho chicks. By the way, some of these do apply to loony men too. We know you’re out there.

The Caller

This is the girl that never stops calling. She knows you’re busy. She knows you have other plans. She knows you’re out with the boys. But she still keeps calling. She’s like Ghost Face from the Scream movies. Hang up, and she’ll still keep calling you back. The Caller usually has trust issues and you need to decide if it can be, or is worth, straightening out. Either way, prepare for a massive phone bill.

The Pop-Up

This is the girl you didn’t make plans with but just turns up. Like that unexpected “you’ve won an iPhone” pop-up on your browser! Except you’ve won absolutely nothing but a stalker. She seems to always knows where you are and will mysteriously appear, with the illusion of having a good time. If she’s alone, it’s actually not that bad. If she’s with a bunch of people, this is more worrying. It means she took the time to get friends together for a group-stalk. She’s putting effort into tracking your ass down. In this scenario, stop revealing your location on Facebook, Foursquare and public Facebook events.

The Friday Night Texter

Girls seem to get ridiculously emotional over weekend nights – although there is a burgeoning trend for guys doing this too. I’m sure every guy has experienced this. It’s been weeks since you communicated and there it is. That little buzz buzz. That profession of love. That “I need you”. Now, some guys fall for this while trying to capitalize on a sexual opportunity but beware! There’s deep-seated emotional drama below so copulate at your own peril and enjoy the praying mantis situation in the morning.

The Over-Stayer

This is the girl that never seems to want to leave you. She doesn’t appear to have any plans or life of her own. She spends the night with you and stays till you need to make fake plans the next afternoon just to get her ass out of there. By the way, the chances of her leaving wearing a t-shirt you own is high. She wants to have something with a return policy. I suggest keeping a supply of cheap t-shirts you are willing to part with.

The Green Hornet’s Nest

The classic psycho-girl move: induce jealousy. She’s obviously madly in love with you – and will call upon “the pop-up” move, and jealousy. So she will pretend to have a grand ol’ time without you, usually with an unsuspecting male companion (some of you aren’t too bright) in an effort to catch your attention and show you what you’re missing or that she’s moved on. If her eyes are more on you than her companion, don’t fall for it! She’s still the same psycho chick you got rid off a few months ago – just with a better outfit. Once that’s stripped, she’s behind your shower curtain with a knife.

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Moral of the post:

Men, your penis is not a reliable thought-generating organ. Stick to your brain and logic on this one and stay the hell away from these psycho chicks. They will cling to you, so you have to man up and pry their cold claws from your skin.

Ladies, get your shit together. If it’s not working out, move on. You’re only embarrassing yourself in the most unrecoverable and tragic way possible. And you’re dragging the rest of us non-psycho girls down with you. Take a hint, take a break, take a pill, take a lover – do what you have to do to sort your own life out.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VBmMU_iwe6U&ob=av2e]

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Casual Sex, Crazy Bitches.

 

It’s no big secret that I watch a lot of TV. I was watching a re-run of Cameron Crowe’s “Vanilla Sky” recently when this thought hit me. One of the fundamental differences between men and women has always been their responses post-sex. Men are infamously touted as being void of emotion and women are accused of secreting oxytocin, a hormone that causes them to emotionally attach after sex. This behavior has existed for a long time and will continue to exist as long as we need to procreate and over-populate the Earth. Now, we’re not talking about relationship, baby-making, put Brian McKnight music on, kind of sex. We’re talking about grown (seemingly) adults engaging in casual sex. Strictly casual.

Of course everything I’m saying are sweeping generalizations but generalizations exist for a reason.

So what happens? Everyone starts lying. Men pretend to care and women pretend they don’t. It’s inevitable that at one point, the lies meet in the middle and everything gets exposed and falls apart. But here’s where the gender difference comes to play again. The men, with the auto-detachment ability, get to walk away with no cares in the world (much like a hero walking away from an explosion in a movie). The women, on the other, became raging, psycho, obsessed lunatics. Now, I feel sorry for the man. He can’t tell from the beginning whether a girl could become crazy even after just one sexual tryst – in fact, majority of these crazy girls are doing their utmost to convince them otherwise – that they in fact, love sex with no strings attached. They harbor the great hope that the sex becomes affection, which could in turn, become love. Not to say it couldn’t, but c’mon girls, get a grip. As for you men, Hollywood has been trying to warn you that casual sex is never casual and in fact, things can go very wrong for you and your pets.

Here are 3 great cautionary tales that you guys really need to start paying attention to!

 

Vanilla Sky

Tom Cruise plays the quintessential playboy, thinking he’s got it made with his “fuck buddy” (God, can we get rid of that phrase already?) Cameron Diaz. She’s up for anything, sensual and wants no strings attached. Sounds great, doesn’t it? Now, here comes the warning signs: she wants to start spending more time with him, keeps asking him when he’s going to call, turns up uninvited for events and all the time, puts her sexuality up front. So he’s torn between his hard place and his brain and of course, picks the sex… and what happens? She runs the car off the road, killing herself and permanently disfiguring him. But not before saying “Don’t you know when you sleep with someone, your body makes a promise whether you do or not?” It was a great line that completely released her inner voice that she had been stifling by trying appear like everything was copacetic with their casual relationship. It also perhaps revealed more about the female psyche than most are prepared to admit.

Play Misty For Me

I’m a big Clint Eastwood fan, I think he’s super hot. This story is a classic caution against one-night stands. Eastwood, a radio DJ, meets Jessica Walter (yes, Lucille Bluth) at a bar and with the sparks flying, goes back to her place where she reveals she’s a fan of his radio show, he’s flattered, they get it on. The end. Ha! Warning signs again: She shows up the next day at HIS apartment with groceries to cook dinner (she followed his ass home) and still this idiot continues to have sex with her. Frankly at this point, Eastwood is just asking for trouble. And the stalking continues. She turns up at his place constantly, naked (see, the lure of sex is always upfront), with teddy bears and once he goes apeshit on her, she attempts suicide. Then everything goes rapidly downhill to Psycho Town and you get the point. The signs were all there. Hell, she followed him home! That’s damn creepy enough, so I think he deserved what he got playing with fire like that.

 

Fatal Attraction

Ahh, the mother of all casual sex gone wrong. You can’t do a psycho bitch post without Glenn Close. Started out simple enough – a one-night stand affair with a willing, attractive female. One night became two nights and that was it – she had her claws stuck in him and wants to go to the opera. Now he’s trying to shake her off (triggers attempted suicide), trying to keep it from his wife and what’s next, she’s pregnant! Man, anything that could go wrong for Michael Douglas certainly did. And Glenn Close delivered one of the best, most truthful lines of the movie, “Why? Because I won’t allow you to treat me like some slut you can just bang a couple times and throw in the garbage?“. It perfectly summarised what his intentions for her were. That was literally all he wanted and he never stopped to consider what her intentions might be. He was portrayed as the stereotypical man – the kind that becomes incapable of coherent thought once the option of sex is on the table. Granted he didn’t deserve to have his daughter kidnapped or their rabbit boiled, but he was selfish. And that had to reap consequences.

 

 

The moral of this post is:

Men: 90% of the women who tell you they can keep things casual, cannot. (That percentage is completely arbitrary.) If you are lucky enough, you will get the 10% that are actually cool with casual sex and usually that means they’re not that into you to begin with. Pay attention to the warning signs: crazy eyes, insistence of sexual abandon followed by emotional conversations, mysteriously turning up wherever you are (and promising sex), aversion to rabbits… Don’t take “casual” for granted and give a minimum of 5 minutes to actually talk to her – find out her modus operandi, relationship history and read her body language (overly defensive, overcompensating).That being said, there’s no foolproof way to knowing if you picked crazy from the pile. If it starts to get nuts, just put your razor blades and pets in storage.

Women: Get your shit together. Mean what you say, and say what you mean. If you want to be in a relationship, don’t sell yourself short and try to “trap” a dude with casual sex. All that does is turn you into a loony nutball that no-one wants to be around with anyway. You will become the ugliest version of yourself, with a Google-abuse problem. And also possibly homicidal.

Now, are there any movies out there where the men go nuts after casual sex?

(The writer will neither deny nor confirm her oxytocin production) 

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2011 Things.

I usually blog about the year ahead – resolutions, wishes, dreams and other girly shit like that – but this time, I thought I’d take a look back at the year past and hope that I learnt something useful*. (*Useful to me, probably completely useless to everyone else)

1. Never get your hair cut on a whim. 

In my unrelenting belief that minuscule things like a hair cut can change your life, I went to my hairdresser and told her words I will never repeat again, “I just want something different”. It’s all fine and dandy when you’re bouncing out of the salon, hair professionally teased and taking cute pictures like the one above. The first time you wash your hair AFTER the salon is the real test. I almost had a nervous breakdown trying to replicate the look and feeling of whimsy I had a mere day before. Alas, it was never to be. I tolerated it for 3 months, mostly tied it up, got it straightened and all is right in my hair world. Moral of the story: Don’t self-inflict bad hair days on yourself, especially when it’s already a given.

 

2. I have a great laugh.

Many years ago, a good friend and I were out and about, cackling away when a random guy said to us, “You girls look so pretty until you laugh”. (What a douche!) Ever since then, I had become very self conscious of my laugh. Ok, I’ll be honest, it’s not so much a “laugh” as it is a cuckoo, outburst of a cackle. There is nothing remotely ladylike about it but it is definitely real. In 2011, I had the luxury of meeting some lovely new non-douchey friends who told me they loved my laugh, that it was infectious and one even graciously kissed me right after I let one out. Brings the laugh confidence back to a girl and now, I’ve embraced it. Ok, almost embraced it.

 

3. Evan Shane

2011, I gained a wonderful godson from a dear friend. He’s got a wonderful disposition, can’t stay in one place for too long and frowns like a dude with serious problems. What’s not to like about that! In case you think I look wonderfully maternal in that photo, you should know I was shitfaced from Prosecco at the time. What a role model!

 

4. Work

That’s pretty much what working in 2011 has looked like for me. Ok, except with pajamas. It’s been a great year of freelancing, working from home – and I’ve enjoyed and appreciated every moment of it. I’ve had the luxury of working with great clients and friends who like my work and refer me to other great people. Every time I tell myself to wind down the freelancing and get back into a studio, I meet more good clients and things keep going from there. 2011 was understanding the value of time for myself and not having to justify it to anyone else.

 

 

Have a great 2012 everyone – may it be less shitty than the year before!

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Excuse me, but your biological clock is showing.

Oh, the inevitable has happened even to the most cynical and non-maternal of people. I blame my sister for this – she had her first child about 5 years ago and given how close I am to my sister, I am naturally, close to her kids. Five years of spending time with adorable kids (blood related) will break you down.

Let’s set the back story. I don’t like kids. I’ve never coo-ed at Anne Geddes babies. I don’t make small talk to kids in the elevator. Generally, they’re very small people, there for me to ignore. To me, they add no value to my life or my immediate moments so why even go there? Past the age of 25, I stopped naming my future kids and even in long-term relationships, the topic of “kids” is a big no-no for me. I make it very clear from the get-go that I’m not interested in having kids – they’re a bucketload of permanent responsibility and the idea of breastfeeding is absolutely gross to me. Milk comes out from there! Why!

However, and most unfortunately, nature finds a way. (Yes, I’m quoting Jurassic Park on this one). From the second half of 2011, my hormones have undergone some shifts and changes (all without consulting me, might I add) and all of a sudden there I am. Holding babies. Speaking to them in the elevators. “What a pretty dress! How old are you?”. My brain then tries to hold the words back, chastising my uterus, “What are you doing! Control yourself!”.

Research shows that a woman in her early-30s have only 12% of viable eggs left – eggs I have been steadily killing with copious amounts of alcohol every weekend. My eggs and I are literally in a “use it or lose it” Mexican standoff. The “biological clock” while metaphorical, feels strangely physical. It literally feels like phantom uterus – a tugging at your womb that can’t be just cramps. Stupid uterus. It is a completely involuntary reaction that I have no control over. It also raises a desire to have sex frequently – which I had just attributed to plain ol’ horniness. I feel somewhat gratified knowing this though, may I add.

So what’s a girl to do when the physicality of the situation takes over the mentality? I am aware a ticking biological clock isn’t necessarily the most attractive thing – it’s female equivalent of Flava Flav wearing a big clock around his neck. Are my hormones forcing me out of self-imposed bachelorhood? (Bachelorhood sounds a lot better than “spinsterhood”). Are my hormones basically telling, “Enough is enough, it’s time to grow up and be a woman already”? Do my hormones know something that I don’t? Can hormones emote to begin with?? It wasn’t bad enough to that I have my head and heart in a constant duel, now I have to add hormones to the mix?

And yes, I now have baby names. FML.

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Why I Date the 20-something Guy.

After years of shameless denial of my age, I am completely fine “admitting” my age of 32. Frankly, it’s not that damn old and I’m still kinda hot.

However, with 32 comes tremendous societal pressure to measure up assets to this age: Husband, child, mortgage. I have none of these items and frankly, I’m damn happy about it. Now, don’t get all antsy, your choices are your choices – don’t begrudge me mine. As I tend to go out with my more time-available single friends, this leads to typical single behaviour – which is clubbing like you’re 25 years old. Nothing wrong with that till you realise most of the men you meet are just that – 25 year olds.

In the beginning, I was shocked and near-repulsed at the idea of dating an exceedingly younger man. (Once you hit 30, anything under 30 is considered “exceedingly younger”). And one brilliant night, I simply thought, “Why the hell not?” And so I did. Between then and now, I’ve dated a mixture of both younger and older (read: 35 years old) men. And here are my meagre observations on why dating a younger guy just simply works out for me.

  •  Fun

Sweet and simple – they’re fun. Not to say a 35 year old can’t be fun but it’s usually manufactured, almost forced and let’s face it, anyone in their 30’s is sleepy half the damn time (myself included). They have no qualms being goofs (which I am), they’re not always conscious of their surroundings, they laugh their asses off when I trip (which makes me feel better), they smoke (who needs to worry about lung cancer when you’re 25!) and just generally know how to have more fun. And unfair as this seems, a 30-something trying to act goofy usually comes off as immature.

  • No Serious Conversations

On a first date with a 35 year old, it feels like a speed interview to get all the life details out as soon as possible to know what we’re dealing with and it’s usually always about relationships: Relationships with parents (good or bad?), when was the last relationship (when and how did it end?), do they date often now (track record?) and career plans (are they motivated?). It is literally, for me, the most dull 2 hours I can ever imagine spending, cocktails notwithstanding. And I automatically become like that too – once I’m on a date with a 30-something. I become the crazed information-seeking droid, where my brain is working double time to process the content to the ever-present question of “What does it all mean?”. Now, with a 20-something, all you do is Jagerbombs and laugh your ass off at the people sitting around you. Literally. That’s what happens. I don’t ask them about their life story, they don’t ask me mine. And none have ever asked for my age, till I bring it up. They don’t ask me if I like kids (I’m forced to admit I loathe them), if I ever want to get married (*choke*) or how to further my business plans.

  • No Pressure

Oh, the pressure of dating a 30-something! It’s not just the 2 people who are involved that put the pressure on – it’s the peripheral people. Once my friends find out I’m dating a 30-something, hope fills their eyes and the common sentence of “Sounds promising!” is uttered. Why? Cos he’s the same age as I am? He could be a total asshole but that’s still “promising” simply because of the age factor. It’s like I have to assume he’s viable lifetime partnership material because we were born in the same decade. The pressure is palpable sometimes and I’m so focused on looking out for the “good signs” that I’m not even enjoying myself. Every move I make, or word I say has to be weighed and measured in case I give the wrong impression and blow it too soon. Who wants to live this this! Now, when you’re dating a 20-something, there’s no pressure – we both know it’s never going to work out and when you already know, what else is there to do but enjoy yourself?

  • No Baggage

If you think the baggage women carry around is bad, trust me, man-bags are worse! I find women’s baggage (while more substantial) is usually open and out there. Men’s baggage is always shifty – you know it’s there but it’s dark – like those travel money pouches. You know the kind that fits in your pants and you have to surreptitiously lift it up to take out some cash… that’s male baggage. Most of the time, you have to dig for it and once you find it, you either wish you didn’t or wonder why you went looking for it in the first place. A 30-something would have had at least 2 serious relationships in his life and are almost always ready for the next one. No thank you, Sir… just this martini for me.

  • Music

While I’m a child of the 90’s and all the good music from that era, I also love music from today. A shocking amount of 30-something men have no clue that music existed past Tears For Fears and I’m left alone with my enjoyment of today’s musical pleasures. And… this one is a whopping big point for me… no 20-something has ever told me that I watch too much tv. And 30-somethings do. To that, I give them a big “fuck you and fuck off”. Which leads me to the next point…

  • No Judgement

The 30-something date will usually pass judgment upon me at some point during the evening. Either it’s about my choice to freelance, my right to watch a lot of tv, etc… There’s the inevitable “Don’t you…?” question. “Don’t you want to return to a full-time job?” “Don’t you ever want to get married?” “Don’t you think you watch too much TV?”. To the 20-something, I’m the coolest person around. I’ve made a big choice for my life and I’m living the 20-something dream.

Of course there are a plethora of points that don’t go in the 20-something’s favour, like money, experience, handling people etc… but I don’t fault them for these things. It comes with the 20-something territory. In the meantime, I just enjoy the ride. 🙂

(p.s. The photo of me featured in this post is courtesy of my 20-something youth)