Donations

https://www.paypal.me/ellepersephone

Friday, July 27, 2012

Getting Your Way Through Your Vagina






This is not a real post, this was just too good to pass up. A man – upon learning about my job – asked if it was true that women slept their way to the top in my industry. I assured him in the affirmative;

“Totally true!” I gushed. “I am sleeping with my boss right now! I just hope her wife doesn’t find out!”

I wasn’t sure that he would get the subtle jest I was making; in that, I work for mostly women and so sleeping to the top is something of an outdated concept. In addition to that fact that she was gay and I am not – the irony being that I am on a dating website to meet men - but I digress. He replied:

I knew that it is true. I know also a woman where I work, believe me she has not skill sets, she just went out with guy executives and within 3 years she got 4 promotions. Well what can you say, woman get their way through their vagina.

Indeed, Dear Reader, indeed. The phrase “woman get their way through their vagina” was blogger gold deeply offensive. What can you say? Only this: They guy may sound like a paranoid maniac but the kind of person he is talking about actually does live amongst us. There are female psychopaths too – and they don’t just drive men insane, they can seriously fuck a sister up. And it leads to an important point that I have been thinking about for some time: that of the Train Wreck. Women who “sleep” or flirt or fuck or lie, cheat, steal their way into your lives and elsewhere actually do exist.

Let's begin with a quick primer:
A Train Wreck is the Lindsay Lohan of the everyday world. She will often be very physically attractive. She will be young, or still look young. You will know her because she will be the loudest woman in the room, she will also be the shiniest. She will be a very good mimic – what you like, she LOVES and will be crazy knowledgeable about. She will be very forthcoming in just a few minutes. If you feel like you have made a very deep connection with another woman in less than 3 minutes, you may have met a Train Wreck.

Caution, Single Girl!

A Train Wreck will want something from you. If the train wreck was a man, he would want to fuck you and leave you and we would call him a Player. But the female Train Wreck will be even more damaging: She will want to fuck what you are fucking.

The Train Wreck is ALWAYS in a rocky relationship with another woman’s man (see: Charlize Theron's character in Young Adult). Famous Train Wrecks include Monica Lewinsky, Reille Hunter, and Marilyn Monroe. (sorry, darling, the truth hurts). Whether he is President, looking to become President, or actually President (again) he will be successful, handsome and already yours. Train Wrecks do things like call a man’s dead wife a “vindicitive bitch”, they steal small items from peasants like fur coats and diamond necklaces and do not serve time in prison once convicted of the crime. They eventually commit suicide. Let me repeat that for all of you who buy the new People magazine every Thursday morning: Train Wrecks – the same ones on the cover of the tabloid – eventually commit suicide. Or die violent deaths.

{Did you know that the rate of suicide triples – not doubles, triples – among women who have had breast enlargement? Yep, that little factoid was published by that dirty rag known as the Annals of Plastic Surgery in August of 2007. You know who else has big fake tits? Train Wrecks.}

The point is, getting your way through your vagina is a short-term prospect. To be valued for your beauty or sex is a limited time offer. If you make any money at all, it is usually eaten up servicing the Cult of Beauty; $300 face creams, laser microdermabrasion, yet more surgery. The people around you know that this is happening. They do not respect you for it. It’s like performance art: relevant but still only transitory.

As a parasite, will need to re-invent yourself under a new persona as soon as the host has died. This means that you may assist a boss in hurting people, but he will turn on you just as quickly. Train Wrecks are always surprised when they are re-assigned to a different job after being used as the hammer. It's kind of like being replaced with a new, younger Trophy Wife when you start to get old and fat. If you are in the business of selling yourself to the highest bidder, you do not get to act shocked when there is market volatility. This is why Train Wrecks have trouble forming beneficial relationships. They have no self-esteem. They have trouble forming relationships with men who have good values, because they can not see past his looks and/or bank account. They explain this as being “picky”, right up until he chooses someone else. Then they know exactly who they want.

If you are getting your way through your vagina, I applaud you. Just not with my lady lips.

Friday, July 20, 2012

Blame the Heat wave





Caution: Within in this blog post, there is a very small (heh) picture of a penis. Actually, two penises (penii? penium?). If you are at all skittish about full frontal male nudity, please do not read this post. Or read it and do not look at the pictures. Please consider yourself warned.

There is a very clear warning at the top of my online dating profile. It reads:

Do not send naked pictures.

It happened often enough that I needed to do this. While I am not entirely sure what thrill men get from this, I have to burst your bubble: they all look the same. And by the same, I mean “ugly”. Nothing photographs worse than an erect penis, and you can put that in the big book of declarative sentences I never thought I would publish online.

There is also disclaimer on my online dating profile, it reads:

Rude messages sent directly to me will be posted on the internet.

Sadly, most men do not read this far; and when they neglect to do so, hilarity often ensures.

Case Study #1

Subject presents with a nice message and a highly suspect photo. He was wearing sunglasses and a hat and a heavy coat and he was in his car. This usually means the guy is bald – why hide it? bald is beautiful – and so I asked that he send a “clear picture of your face”. That is fairly clear, yes? And is that what he sent? Hilariously, no…

He sent this:
Careful! There is an eraser down your pants!
Next to a clear picture of his face:
I love a man who matches his underwear to his suit.



Now, I do not know how stupid you have to be to send pictures of your crotch beside your face on the internet, I just know that it is below beating a stick on the ground and just above jabbing that same stick in your eye. At the time, I thought this would be the highlight of my week the only one, but then lightening struck twice…

Case Study #2

Subject presents with tame online message and asked for my number. He began to text and indicated that he was not actually single, that – in fact – he was married, or as he described it: “living with someone”. I abruptly terminated any further text messages by writing “Sorry. No longer interested”

Readers Note: Experts are very conflicted on the exact percentage or the statistics of married men who troll the internets saying they are single. To compound the matter, this is a completely different number from men who clearly state up front they are married and troll the internets looking for something on the side. Understandably, this causes women to be very suspicious and the lack of transparency is one the top reasons nice girls avoid online dating.

Personally, I have heard anywhere from 25% to 75% of all profiles are built my married men. To be safe, I round it out to 50%. This sounds high but it is no different from the men who take off their wedding rings and hit The Keg on King St on Thursday nights. My point is, single gals are meeting liars everyday. One way to avoid embarrassment is to follow The Rules. Never approach/write to a man first and never read his profile because it could be full of untruths.

In life, you are only responsible for your actions. If a man pursues you and follows through with a simple drinks date only to let it drop that he is actually married, then you have remained completely blameless; you have done nothing wrong. Once you learn that a man is married, be super cool. Make your excuses and leave. Or stay and hear what he has to stay and then leave. My point is, you are going to meet unhappy people everywhere, don’t start becoming a crusader for women’s rights while sitting across the table from a stranger because that is really one-sided and exhausting. You honestly do not know what that person is living through. However, married men who cheat with you will cheat on you. That is the 11th commandment and I hope you are never stupid enough to get involved in a fantasy relationship. This blog is not for stupid Train Wrecks, so let me show you to the door.

But back to my story, I wrote “Sorry. No longer interested” and deleted the string. Six hours later – while I was eating dinner! Ew! – he sent the following:


If you have lost this hairy penis, or you know the owner, please email me.

Friday, July 13, 2012

Match.com = Communists!



I know, I know...


This actually isn’t that good of a story, but everyone laughs at the punch line so I have to share it.

I went on Match.com. It went okay. I was tweaking my profile when I got the bright idea to write that I was open to writing to military guys stationed overseas and that I supported the troops.

Reader’s Note: My father was in the military before he died. And he was an American.

I think I even included that part. It was a fairly benign statement, like, I like being happy or I like eating ice cream when it’s hot, or I like when people are proud enough of their country to fight for it… blah, blah, blah...

And the next thing I know, Match.com kicked me off the site and refunded my money. Like, in less than 6 hours they did this. I sent an email asking why and they said that they would not tell me without a court order in the State of Tennessee. I’m not fucking joking. I have no idea what the State of Tennessee has to do with this, other than it is awesome.

This confused me for the longest time. I thought they had discovered this blog. Which is fine, because you can not separate me from my constitutional right of free expression. But then it dawned on my (Indonesian-American) friend; they thought I was looking for a green card. As if a Canadian looking to have a baby would ever move to the US – land of no universal healthcare. Get serious. Most Americans move UP HERE when they get a Canuck girlfriend. I can name five guys that I know personally that did this. Puh-leeze.

So here’s the punch line: When they refunded my money, I lost out on the exchange rate. I had purchased my subscription when the CDN was above par and when I got kicked off, my value was slightly less. So Match.com denied my right to life, liberty, marriage, babies and a fair exchange rate.

Match.com = Communists!

Friday, July 6, 2012

Date #63 - Behold The Omnibus Man! (Richard Crane The Second)



No, it doesn't, Baby. But I'm willing to pretend to discuss it if I get more oral and anal sex. And threesomes.

This man asked for my number online and then - despite my clear instructions - began texting. I got irritated and wrote back,

"As it clearly states on my profile I do not text strangers so either call like a grown up or get lost."

Reader's Note: This is completely against The Rules which advises that you can never "force" the relationship from email/text to phone. I just can't stand strangers text my phone. It makes me feel dirty.

He must like assertive girls because: Call. He. Did. Many times. Sadly, I never got the phone in time. He tried again a few weeks later and when I picked up the phone he actually planned a full date including day, time and location! Really rare. It's usually this never ending tennis match of,

"So, what do you want to do?"
"Gee dunno what do you want to do..." Etc. Ad infinitum

He picked Jack Astor's, which means he wanted to have a quick drink in the equivalent of an arcade. From my experience, meeting in this environment can mean that he is threatened by verbal intimacy. But The Rules advise that it is not up to you to judge, and I had already pushed my luck with the whole texting thing, so off I went on a beautifully warm June evening.

First off, Jack's has changed, Bra'! The place was the size of a soccer field with wall-to-wall TVs and a bar that was 40 feet long. Everything - including the waitresses breasts - was tastefully over-the-top; it was like an upscale Hooter's.

And sitting at the end of the bar was Rodger from Jersey Shore. Just kidding.

It was his 42 year old older brother. Or a guy just like him. He was powerfully built, he obviously worked out regularly (i.e. juice head gorilla). He had a Christian Audigier v-neck T-shirt and a giant silver chain around his neck upon which hung a large crucifx. We pecked in greeting and he began to talk. He talked for 55 minutes straight. He did not drink alcohol but was willing to buy me a glass of white wine. He started off telling me that he needed to lose weight. Then he moved to the meat and potatoes. He had many girlfriends, had never been married, no kids. He was currently dating up to 3 women and would I like to be added to the harem? It meant I would have to be open to threesomes. He wanted to be honest up front so there was no confusion. Without waiting for answer, he moved to the endurance part of the date where he regaled me with stories of former paramours.
Highlights included:
~How he had been to Cancun 17 times and his belief that the Mexicans secretly want to kill us all and he would never go again.
~How he usually dates perfect 10 models but for me he would make an exception.
~How every woman his age was divorced with kids. This seemed to surprise him.
~How every woman his age is a gold-digging financial train wreck. On this one point we agreed and spoke at length. He was very surprised that I saw it his way. On the topic of marriage and inevitable divorce, he said:

"I have never met a woman who was hot enough to give half my stuff to."

I told him how well-put this was and that from his perspective it made sense. Finally, he told me about the time he titty-fucked a woman with basketball-sized breasts. (This explains why we were meeting at Jack Astor's) At this point, I became seriously distracted and a part of me was dying for this sad man who lived in a sex-saturated fantasy.

I believe in God and Love and the Triumpth of the human spirit and that did not seem to fit anywhere in his world.

I lost my train of thought - I literally had no coherent response to the above-mentioned statement - and decided it was time to wind the date up.
He did not offer to walk me to my car, he told me to go and he would take care of the bill. His parting words were a request that I send him pictures of my pussy via the internet. I graciously declined and left him sitting there at the bar.

Full Disclosure: As per The Rules, I did not contact this man. Ten days later he contacted me with the following:



Batteries not included. Some assembly required.

Date #62 - Internet Psycho Alert

Answers to the name Jason
Guilty of being late and ...ahem ... how to say this calmly: UTTERING THREATS.

Yes, you read that right. This actually happened.

This man asked to me meet me at my local. When he finally arrived he was in a very angry state. I suppose traffic had been bad? Dunno. We exchanged a few words but there was no doubt he was angry... about something. Then he called someone a "fat whore".

I made my excuses and left. He followed me out the door and into the street. Then he made a move toward my body. I said "Don't touch me".

He said "I will beat the shit out of you".

And at that exact moment... a police car stopped in front of us. It was a purely coincidence! The police car was stopped in the same heavy traffic that had wound this guy up. I took a moment to drink in the irony (I actually do not like the police) and when I turned around, Date #62 was gone. Like magic.

Toronto gals, be on the look out.