Notes on a Scandalous Life

I just thought about this tonight, although it happened a few weeks ago, and realized that I have some things to say about it.

Once upon a time, when I went to John Brown, I was acquainted with this guy, by which I mean we saw each other in the cafeteria every once-in-awhile, and had about two mutual friends. We never hung out or really talked, but I saw him at a party once-in-awhile, so, at some point, one of us must have added the other to our Facebook, because there he was, a few weeks ago, IMing me. I ignored him, because I never really knew him, and he seemed pretty boring. He kept on IMing me though, so eventually, I was bored enough/drunk enough to listen to whatever it was that he had to say, so I IMed him back. You know, "hey," or something like that. And then it's like:

Him: "I saw your pictures, and it looks like you're a lot of fun."

Okay, well, this is a fair assertion, and not a completely weird thing to say. I'm thinking to myself, maybe he graduated and moved to Dallas, and is looking for someone to hang out with. So I reply with something like "Yeah, I'm more fun than you or your grandmother can handle." or something equally inane. And then...

Him: "So, do you drink?"
Me: "Uhm. Did you fail to notice the staple beer in my hand in almost all of my Facebook pictures?"
Him: "No. I wasn't looking at that (totally creepy winking face)."
Me: "Uhm, okay."
Him: "Well, as I said, I wasn't looking at the beer. So, do you drink?"
Me: "Yeeeah."
Him: "Are you wild?"
Me: "Define wild."
Him: "You know... with guys."
Me: "You mean, do I have sex? No. Of course not. I'm 22. I spend most of my time at home, knitting potholders."

There are SO many things wrong with this conversation, I don't even know where to start. First of all: nice way to point out that you were looking at my tits, asshole. Yeah, I know that my Facebook pictures are hot, but I also have, you know, a profile. With information about myself. That you could at least GLANCE over, before you make the mistake of going straight for the boobs. But, whatever. On top of that, the whole issue of wildness really confused me. Did he mean Girls-Gone-Wild wild, or just plain getting-wasted-and-passing-out-in-strange-places wild? No, apparently he meant a kind of wild I've never heard of - the kind where you have SEX. Since when is sex wild? Since you are lonely, horny, and newly-graduated from John Brown, I guess.

Anyway, for some reason, I allowed this conversation to continue. I basically asked why he was IMing me and saying this shit, if he wasn't even in the area (I had recently gained knowledge of the fact that he was currently located in San Antonio), to which he replied: "Do you not think I would drive up to Dallas for a good blow job?"

Um, yeah. Where did the whole blow job thing come from? Oh yeah, it must be because I'm a woman. We LOVE to give blow jobs. Especially me. The fact that I'm in a bikini in some of my Facebook pictures just automatically means that I must be a penis-hungry slut, and will totally suck any dick that takes the trouble to drive to Dallas for me. Or, you know, NOT.

And so, the conversation ended with him asking for my number, and me deleting him from my Facebook.

This is the moral of the story:
If you are a guy (or, hell, a girl!), and you think my Facebook photos are hot - great! Leave a photo comment. One that is at least a little appropriate, though, cuz, hey, I'm not fully-naked on there or anything, which means that it's not the best venue for you to discuss how much you want to teabag me.

But if you want to take it further and actually talk to me, you could at least bother to feign some interest in something other than my "wildness". Read my profile and talk to me about my favorite books or something, or, hell, ask me how my day was. Just remember that Facebook is not a DATING website, nor is it an adult-friend-finding website, and I am not there to solicit sex from you. So don't bother. And, if you do, at least be smart enough to tone down the creep factor for me at least a LITTLE bit, and avoid jumping straight to the conclusion that, because I have had sex with another guy before, I must therefore be willing to do it with you - ESPECIALLY if you drive all the way to Dallas.

Some of the filler I made for this week's paper:

October is National Poetry Month!
To celebrate, try your hand at a Haiku. It’s a Japenese poem consisting of three lines, with five syllables in the first and third, and seven in the second. For example:

Seeking solitude
Carl’s ex-wife Tammy files for
Restraining order


Sometimes, I love my job.

This morning, on my way to work, I got my car stuck. This is one of the hazards of living in a rural area and not owning a truck, and also of feeling free to park and drive in people's yards, rather than in their driveways. I was late to work, but, fortunately, not too late for donuts. Donuts are not a commodity I have ever purchased of my own volition, but when they're free, they seem to taste really damn good, for some reason. So, I had a donut. Then, I found out that Obama won the Nobel Peace Prize. I'm not sure exactly how I feel about this, because I haven't been keeping up with politics like I should. Everybody seems to have an opinion, and my only opinion is that I'm tired of hearing everyone else's opinion. Granted, he probably wouldn't have been awarded the prize, had it not been for the fair comparison his trigger-happy predecessor cast upon him, but, meh.

So, my workday's highlights, again. I:
1. Ate donuts
2. Didn't care about politics or the Nobel Peace Prize


I think this qualifies me as a true American patriot. Where's my free gun?

I'm watching Intervention, and I noticed that there's a change in this commercial for some kind of lap band that I've seen a million times. Before, obese lady said: "I want to kiss him under the Eiffel Tower." and now she says "I want to fly to Paris with my husband."

You have to wonder why they changed this. I googled it, but I didn't get anything other than speculations. My guesses would be that:

1. We have to be sure that this guy is her husband, otherwise, it could be implied that they're living in sin. Oh, noes!
2. Kissing is almost as scandalous as not being legally bound to the person with whom one is living.
3. Flying is something that's hard to do when you're overweight, as opposed to kissing, which, I guess, is not.

I don't really care why they changed the commercial, in fact, because her fatass husband is standing right there, seeming to have no intention to get a lap band, try Weight Watchers, or put down the chips. Ugh. Maybe I should stop watching TV.

This blog has been toned down here, because it's totally public - if you want to read the full version, check it out on my Facebook.

Tonight, I've been rabbit-trailing the internet, looking at blogs, articles, and books that deal with this problem that I've been having with this guy lately. Without describing the situation in great detail, let's just say that this particular guy is a total creep: he has pursued me relentlessly, which makes me very uncomfortable, for a long time. Every time I'm firm with him, he blatantly sulks (which also made me really uncomfortable) until I gave an inch and was a little nice to him, and then it starts all over again.

Normally, there's no way I would have allowed this to continue to occur. Unfortunately, though, I'm trapped in the situation. I have more sympathizers than I used to, but, in the beginning, I almost always got responses like: "Why don't you just go on a date with him? You might like it." and "You're just too mean."

Of course, that's what women always hear when they are honest when they turn a guy down. Instead of "No way. You're old and creepy and have a muffin top." We make the mistake of saying things like "You're a nice guy, but I just can't." In her article in Salon, Kate Harding points out that it doesn't work to be a nice guy, therefore, the correct approach to scoring a chick must be to morph into a total asshole. This isn't the worst result of not being direct, though. Harriet Jacobs points out in her blog (which you should REALLY read) that women are cultured to be passive and docile when approached by men, even when they are not interested. This, in turn, leaves men a toehold to continue pursuing a woman against her will, and even to rape her, without any resistance until it's much too late. Because, if we express the fact that we are uncomfortable, a man will just default to "I was just kidding/trying to be friends/some other lie. You're such a bitch!"

That's why I've said relatively little about my situation, until now. I know that, if I say anything about what a creep he is, he'll just play it off. But, fuck it. I would rather suffer the consequences than continue to put up with this bullshit. I would rather be a bitch than be taken advantage of because I'm a woman, and I'm supposed to be "nice".