Tuesday, December 8th, 2009
So, Tiger Woods has been getting a whole lot of ass. Are you surprised? I am. And not for the usual ‘I can’t believe a guy in a high profile position would take such a liberty and cheat on his nice wife’ type of reason. Mainly because the guy is about as exciting as toe nail clippings. I’m having a hard time getting my head around the fact that he managed to a) get married in the first place and b) actually have the conversational skills to be able to talk another woman into the sack.
Predictably, as is usually the case in these high profile cheating scandals, everyone is coming down on Tiger and passing moral judgement. His name is ‘Tiger’ for God’s sake. And his last name is WOODS! The man was pretty much born to cheat. But his wife tried to beat what little remaining personality he has out of him with a golf club – rest assured, he’s suffering at home.
What isn’t being talked about really is these women he slept with. Oh sure there’ve been discussions about how they all seem to fit a certain mould (white, work in the hospitality industry. Ladies, take note; never let your man eat at a restaurant alone. These heifers will be exchanging numbers by the time he gets to the entree). But no one’s talking about how low down and dirty they are.
This isn’t one of these scenarios where the woman had no idea he was married. It’s not like she was all ‘Tiger Woods, you say? Nope, doesn’t ring a bell.’ Bitch please! And this is what I don’t get about women who happily play the mistress. Sure, you may not know his wife, but where is your respect for her, just on a basic human level, as another woman? You’d be pissed if another woman took up with your husband, knowing he was married. So, how and why are some women OK with that behaviour?
‘He’s Tiger Woods,’ people are saying. ‘They were attracted to his money and fame.’ Yeah, no shit Sherlock. It’s not like they’re attracted to his personality. This is a man who looks like he colour-codes his sock drawer. I can’t imagine he’d be all that thrilling in the bedroom. One of his mistresses is complaining that he didn’t even buy her dinner. Who in the name of an 18-hole golf course sleeps with a man who doesn’t buy you dinner first?! And she’s complaining about it, why? It basically shows how much of a whore she is that it didn’t even take so much as a Chicken McNugget to charm the pants off her.
People are saying Tiger better have a good pre-nup. Why? His wife won’t leave him. She has too much to lose. And even if she does, Tiger will lose half his fortune. Even with that, I doubt we’ll be seeing him on the bread line at a Salvation Army near you anytime soon.
They’ll get counselling and Tiger will promise to be a good boy. He’ll stick with his wife to try to maintain/restore his squeaky clean image. His wife has his nuts in a vice as you read this and she tightens it every few minutes.
Stay tuned: which high profile celebrity will be the next to fall victim to some skanky waitress’s charms?
Tuesday, October 27th, 2009
Every girl loves a bad boy, or so the saying goes. But what started as a fairly innocent concept has gone from a girl dating a boy from ‘the wrong side of the tracks’ to a woman marrying a man in prison. Clearly, this crap has gotten out of hand. So where do we draw the line?
When girls say they like a bad boy, by and large, they mean a guy with a ‘bit of edge’. This on the most basic level, can be broken down into the Alpha Male and the Beta Male. The Beta Male is always available to you, cries in front of you, always wants to cuddle, he’s Mr Reliable, never makes a decision, always does what you want – basically, he’s a bit of a pussy. The Alpha Male is the quintessential hunter/gatherer, he beats his chest, he’s aloof, protective, sturdy, a Man’s man, he’ll ravish you and take care of you, but he’s no push over. Most girls want this guy. The problem is that the definition of Alpha Male has now been morphed into a guy controlling his woman/women (in a mind fuck kinda way) and basically getting as much pussy as possible.
This leaves women in a strange position. Because we want that guy, but now we’re expected to accept that his inherent ‘manhood’ dictates that he must go out and spread his seed as wide as possible or push the limits of his manhood. For some men, that manifests itself in criminal activity, for others it’s multiple girlfriends, for more it’s the quest of eternal singledom and never being tied down, or ‘living the life’ as they call it.
And that’s where these men go wrong. They all make out like they want to be single for the rest of time. The way they speak about women is like we’re the devil/enemy – but yet they spend an awful lot of time chasing us. They don’t want to commit to us, yet their life is basically a prolonged exercise in the number of ways they can pursue and conquer us.
There comes a point where it’s all just a bit sad. In men’s minds, they think they can play the bachelor for the rest of time. They think they’re George Clooney. But in the real world, they’re really the old guy with the beer belly perving on girls in a night club he has no business being in. And we are not attracted to him. We pity him. Unless you have huge amounts of money, the 22-34 year olds these men seek have zero interest in them. Women are, when they reach a certain point in life, attracted to stability, commitment and trustworthiness. If you can’t bring any of those qualities to the table, what exactly is the point of you?
When you’re the guy who won’t return phone calls, who doesn’t hold down a regular job, who disappears, is evasive, elusive, lies, cheats, drinks too much – and you’re over 35? Well, it’s just sad. You’re not James Bond.
What’s worrying is that there’s a whole movement, both online and off, devoted to this ‘man culture’. Endless websites by ‘Pick Up Artists’ that teach you how to be an Aplha Male (read: a wanker) and watch women fall into your lap. Fellas, if you have to be taught, you ain’t got it. If your natural instinct is to be a nice guy, you probably shouldn’t fight it. Women over the age of 30 appreciate it. And I know you’re looking to date 19-24 year olds, but you yourself are over 30, so you should probably get to grips with reality and do it soon.
We as women need to require more too. We’ve gotten so used to this lame behaviour, we’ve come to accept it as part and parcel of the package. At a certain point, the ‘bit of edge’ we’re looking for really just boils down to, we want him to be able to fight should anyone step on our foot or such like. All that additional nonsense that goes with it is for the 19 year olds who don’t know any better.
Bad Boy Bad Boy, whatchu gonna do? Whachu gonna do when they come for you? I’m gonna walk the other way and go date a priest.
Tuesday, July 28th, 2009
We women like to feed each other some bullshit at times. Especially when it comes to men. During my recent break up, my girl friends rallied around me and dropped nuggets like; ‘He’s scared of his feelings for you,’ ‘He’s intimidated by you,’ ‘Give it time, he’ll be back.’ Ladies, respectfully, I ask you, what kind of horse shit is that?
You know why my fella broke up with me? Because he didn’t want to be with me. Did I need him to say it twice? No. Did I call him and beg him to work it out? No. Am I sitting around strategizing ways to get him back? No. Why? Because I happen to think I am entirely too awesome to waste my time chasing after someone who has explicitly said they don’t want to be with me.
So, for those ladies who need to hear it, don’t fear, I’m here to give you a no nonsense guide to breaking up and keeping your dignity in tact.
If a man tells you/shows you he doesn’t want you, he has the right to do that. You don’t need to know the reasons why. Just hear he isn’t into you. Logic has to overcome your emotions at some point. Why would you want someone who doesn’t want you? It just doesn’t make any sense.
Men, you’ve got to be forthright in what you’re saying. Just be honest and say you don’t want to be with her. If you drop the ‘I don’t see long term potential in this’ or ‘I can’t see myself marrying you’ some women take that as a challenge, dig their heels in and set about trying to change your mind. That one sentence just bought you anywhere between 6 months and 4 years trying to get out of an already bad situation. Good luck!
Ladies, just because you elected to ignore the fact that he said he doesn’t want to be with you, doesn’t make it any less true. Don’t take the fact that he is still willing to sleep with you to mean that he still wants to be with you. He does not. He is merely a red blooded male and if you lay it out on a platter, he will chow down. He is sleeping with you for three reasons a) because you let him b) to avoid having to deal with your crazed phone calls/emails/text messages and c) for something to do until someone better comes along.
On that note, once you are just sleeping together, please don’t try to keep up the pretense that you are in a ‘relationship.’ There is no relationship at this point. You are fuck buddies.
Where is your dignity God damnit?! Bottom line, you’re just embarrassing yourself for someone who doesn’t want you. Isn’t it just a tad cringeworthy to have to ‘prove’ to someone that you are worth it? You may think he is perfect for you and you’d make a great couple, but I’m pretty sure, by definition, the perfect partner is someone who actually wants you.
Just my humble opinion, of course.
Thursday, June 25th, 2009
So, the past few weeks, I’ve been coming to terms with the ending of what was a pretty decent relationship with a kind of awesome fella. That adjustment from having someone in your life one minute and them being gone the next, obviously has its ups and downs. But I’ve surprised myself with how well I’ve coped. I guess when you’ve been in as many shitty relationships as I, you become a master of the break up.
But it was just a few days ago when it dawned on me: I’m now officially single again. I’m ‘out there.’ I’m on the scene, in the circuit. Christ. That’s the last fucking thing I wanted. Oh, the being single part doesn’t bother me. In case you hadn’t realised, I’m pretty frikkin’ awesome, so I don’t mind spending time with myself. What bothers me is trying to navigate the murky waters of relations with a new member of the male tribe.
I’m getting too tired to dance the dance. The smiling, the flirting, the pretending to give a shit, the endless stroking of the male ego, the low cut tops, the constant pedicures, the deciding what kind of bikini wax to get, the resentment of having to get a bikini wax at all, the ‘who pays’ debate, the ‘who calls who’ debate, the ‘where are we going’ talk – Give me strength! I just cannot be arsed to dip my toe in those waters.
Let me give you a little insight into my relationships of yore:
Pretty self explanatory. He was a crackhead. Our delightful journey can be found here.
A rather annoying fellow a couple of years my junior. He was into mixed martial arts, but didn’t know how to keep it inside the ring and one day, beat up some kid so badly the kid ended up in a coma. He went to court for that and was sent to jail. But he neglected to tell me any of this, so he basically just disappeared for three months and then reappeared like nothing had happened, telling me he’d been on holiday. Yeah, seriously.
The Short Dude
Nice enough guy, but had a severe case of Napoleon Syndrome. He pretty much solidified what I’d known all along: never date a short dude.
Cheated on me (or I should say with me, as I was unknowingly the ‘other woman’) our whole relationship. When I found out the truth, he came to my house, assaulted me, stole my computer and my watch and spent 48 hours attempting to blackmail me to drop the charges.
So, can you see why I might be a bit jaded? All of the above assholes seemed like perfectly normal chaps when I first met them. But you know, for the first month or so, you’re really just meeting that person’s representative. The real guy makes an appearance a few months down the line and before you know it, you’re with a crackhead or filing police reports or about to whoop some short guy’s ass.
Clearly, I need to make better choices (ironically, the most recent break up? That guy was my better choice), I know this.
Right now, I would like a nice, lighthearted summer fling. That’s it. Nothing more. Leave your police record, drug habits, kickboxing choke holds and whatever else at home. Please just bring your sanity. And stunning good looks. And 6’4″ height. And baby oil.
Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?
Thursday, June 4th, 2009
OMG you guys. So, by now I’m sure you’ve heard the crushing news that Jon and Kate’s (of Jon and Kate Plus 8 fame) marriage is on the rocks.
In case you’re unfamiliar with these reality TV whores, they had twins and decided to have fertility treatment to have ‘just one more.’ ‘Just one more’ turned out to be sextuplets and a reality TV dream was born.
If anyone has ever watched the show, it’s not much of a mystery why the relationship is over. Poor Jon hasn’t been able to finish a sentence in ten years.
It’s been reported that Jon’s been having an affair. If that’s the case – more power to him. He should be rewarded with a gaggle of virgins for putting up with that madwoman wife.
I’m not sure which of them came up with the bright idea of having fertility treatment after having two kids (but I’ll take ‘Bitchy Women Named ‘Kate’ For 100′). Greedy buggers. Are you trying to show off exactly how much a human stomach can expand? We all saw it Kate and we were all equally disgusted.
But I think we all know the real reason Jon has stepped outside the marriage: Kate’s hair. What the fuck is going on there? That long sweeping bang at the front and the short, spiky punk party at the back? There’s entirely too much going on. Short, long, highlights – arrggghhh make it stop!
So Kate, the key to saving your marriage clearly lies in a good hair stylist.
Monday, May 4th, 2009
So, a couple of weeks ago, as I was strutting down the street, I pass by a group of fellas. The token white boy in this multicoloured ensemble, stepped out of the crowd, looked me up and down and as I breezed passed him said, ‘Damn! She’s sexy as hell, for a white girl.’
Let me tell you, never have I felt so complimented. This guy had truly found the way to my heart. I turned, threw my arms around him and we’ve been dating ever since.
What the hell was my response supposed to be to such a weird compliment? Was it even a compliment? I can’t even tell. If nothing else, this is a clear example of a man who does not engage brain before talking. If you are trying to express interest in a girl, I’m assuming her reaction shouldn’t be complete befuddlement.
But of course, it was the ‘for a white girl’ part of the statement that had me particularly riled. I’ll have you know, fellas of every ethnicity have expressed interest in my pasty white Irish, cinnamon on whipped cream, freckled lovliness. I have arabs getting at me on a daily basis on Myspace, the occasional Japanese man while I lived in Tokyo and I was recently hit on by a 93 year old Bulgarian. None of the aforementioned gave me the ‘for a white girl’ speech. Given, none of them can speak English very well, but that is not the point.
The point is, I am one hot piece of ass, damnit! And while I guess it’s flattering that you consider me to be among the upper echelons of attractiveness when compared to my fellow caucasian bretheren, may I just take a moment to remind you, that you are white, you fool!
Not only that, you are really rather ugly. The kind of ugliness that knows no racial bounds. Women of all ethnicities will concur on your distinct breed of unattractiveness. The United Nations come together in agreement on that one. So please, I do not crave attention from ugly people with mullets, so kindly keep your half wit opinion to yourself.
Tuesday, March 24th, 2009
Hi. How are you? Uh huh, yeah, listen. I’m gonna need for you to stop. Stop everything. Like seriously, drop everything you’re doing right now and take a vacation.
That’s right. Drop that giant chip on your shoulder and your gargantuan attitude and just go to a deserted island somewhere to reflect on your douchbaggery.
The schtick is getting old. You are beyond annoying. You don’t have to mention how you are the savior of music/mankind/fashion/endangered species/the universe every time you open your mouth. We get it. Your ego knows no bounds and you are proud of that. 10-4. If you’re not going to progress and find something new to say, maybe you should just stop for a while, or you know, forever.
What is kick starting this latest rant, you ask? That fucking ridiculous afro-mullet you’ve taken to rocking. That’s what. I don’t doubt that you have a wholehearted defense of how you are a pioneer in the fashion arena and how you don’t care what people think because you ‘start’ trends blah blah blah. Whatever. You look like a wanker. Which is actually pretty appropriate, because you are one. There’s no need to disguise yourself with a normal hair cut. It’s probably best that you package the goods in an honest way.
Also, you’re not really pioneering anything at this point. Your Heartbreak/808 whatever album? You just used a vocoder, which in case you hadn’t noticed, was used by every other artist in your genre last year, before you did it. In case we’re not clear, that would make you a follower, not a leader.
I rebuke it all Kanye. I rebuke it! Take your denim-on-denim with leather gloves combo and shove it. Take your overpriced sneaker collection for Louis Vuitton and shove that somewhere too. Take that vocoder and, if there’s any room left, shove that too.
That is all. As you were.
Tuesday, March 10th, 2009
So, my friend Nads and I were at the Raptors game on Sunday and the topic of Chris Brown and Rihanna came up.
“Speaking of abusive douchbags,” I say to Nads. “I have to give evidence in that case against my ex tomorrow.”
“Ohhhh,” says Nads, followed by a long pause. “So, have you decided what you’re going to wear yet?” Some people just know me too well.
Let me give you some background:
Last year, after I discovered that my then boyfriend (let’s call him Prison Break) had actually been seeing and living with some other chick (let’s call her Dumb Ass), a little drama ensued. He found out that I knew about Dumb Ass and decided to come to my house to deny the whole thing. Here’s what happened:
-He stood on my doorstep for approximately 20 minutes to half an hour, completely denying Dumb Ass’s very existence.
- I asked him, several times, to leave.
- When the sound of his voice became more annoying than T Pain’s auto-tune, I decided it was time for me to close the door.
- He put his foot in the door, pushed it open, got a little physical with me to get me out of the way and went upstairs to my apartment.
- On his way up the stairs, I told him I was calling the police, which I did.
- While I was on the phone to the police, he came down the stairs with my computer, shoved past me and walked out (stealing said computer).
- Police showed up, took my statement.
- Following morning, I discover that Prison Break has also stolen my lovely D&G watch. I called police to let them know of that little development.
- Over the next 36 hours, Prison Break, called me a few times to try and bribe/intimidate me into dropping the charges. He professed several times that he wasn’t scared of jail, yet mysteriously, my stolen property showed up in a Happy Birthday bag in my back yard the next day (you can’t make this shit up).
- What Prison Break failed to realise is that there was still the little matter of assault to deal with and those charges cannot be dropped, along with the charge of unlawfully in a dwelling. And so, we waited for a court date.
That day came yesterday.
The Victim/Witness Officer told me to arrive early so she could talk me through what happens in court . Then I waited. Then the Crown (prosecuting lawyer) came and told me what to expect. Then I waited. Then the court officer came and told me that Prison Break’s lawyer wasn’t there yet so it’d be a while longer. So I waited. Then the court officer came back and told me that Prison Break was making his way up to the court now, that he’s in custody, because apparently, he’s currently being held on fraud charges. I found it hard to muffle a smile. And I waited.
Eventually, it was go time. I was taken down to the courts. The hallway outside the courts was an absolute zoo. Fifteen year old girls with their screaming babies, accused men sitting around waiting, arguments, lawyers roaming around. I was told to wait outside the court room. The court officer waited with me for about five minutes, then got impatient and went to see what was going on, leaving me with Toronto’s riff raff. Finally a victim/witness officer showed up to keep me company. She gave me a speech about keeping calm and remaining focussed. Meanwhile I’m sitting next to a huge guy with a shaved head and a tattoo on his neck. I did not feel comforted.
Eventually, I’m called into court and take the stand. I’d like to direct the rest of this post directly to Prison Break, if I may:
- I’m glad I didn’t have to look at you through the whole thing. By the way, were those handcuffs a little tight? Cry me a river , bitch
- Next time you want to bring a friend into the courtroom to try to intimidate me with the hard stares, can you make sure it’s a big Mr T-looking dude? The friend you chose is about two feet shorter than me. I could drop kick him in the throat and puncture his lung with my stiletto, no questions asked. I am not scared of you or your weak ass boys.
- Did your lawyer think we were on Law and Order? His whole ‘I suggest to you that Mr Prison Break never entered your apartment that night, isn’t that right Ms Carey-Campbell?’ thing was weak/bordering on hilarious.
- Did you really think I would drop the charges?
- I saw Dumb Ass come into the court. She’s still with your lame ass? You should really get her tested to see if she’s ‘special’. She’s entered an entire new league of stupid that I didn’t know existed.
- Even though you were found not guilty, I don’t even care. You’ll most likely be in and out of jail for the rest of your life, I don’t doubt, since you are clearly truth-deficient. This was more about me seeing this through and not letting you bully me. It is not OK to try to get what you want through force, fear and intimidation. I will not be the chick to just lie down and take it. That’s what you have Dumb Ass for.
So when you finally do go to jail on those fraud charges, always remember: don’t drop the soap, motherfucker!
Tuesday, September 30th, 2008
Woman dates guy. Woman finds out that guy is seeing another woman. Woman calls the other woman to give her a piece of her mind.
If you’ve done this, first and foremost, your mind isn’t big enough to be giving pieces away. You need to hold on to that shit.
I don’t get why women do this. What useful purpose does it serve? There are a few different situations that lead to the girlfriend’s crazy choice to pick up the phone:
a) guy is cheating with a woman who has no idea he is in a relationship (because some men ‘forget’ that they’re sleeping with someone else when they meet someone new)
b) guy is cheating with a woman who knows he has a girlfriend (so the chick is a skank who makes stupid choices, somewhat like you for still being with a man who cheats – doesn’t really warrant a phone call)
c) guy is cheating with a woman who is a friend of his girlfriend (oh no they di-ent! Yes they did. Again, doesn’t really warrant a phone call)
The common denominator in all these situations is the dude. How about throwing a little anger in his direction?
Let’s take situation A. Trust me, the other woman in this situation really doesn’t want to hear from your crazy ass. She didn’t even know you existed and, generally speaking (if she has a moral compass) will have no further interest in your loser boyfriend, especially now she knows he associates with a psychopath like you. You need not worry that she will continue their torrid affair. Why are you speaking to this other woman? Unless your man’s penis is made of a pure cut diamond, nothing is worth this embarrassment.
I had a friend who found out that the guy she was dating, actually had a girlfriend he’d been with for about 8 months before meeting her. The girlfriend found out about my friend, somehow tracked down where she lived (we’re not sure how – goddamn Google) and scratched the word ‘hoe’ into her car. There’s nothing worse than a woman scorned except maybe, an illiterate woman scorned.
I can understand that it’s an emotional punch in the gut to find out your fella is cheating. Believe me – I get that. But seriously, try to take a step back, some deep breaths, do some downward dog, whatever the hell you have to do to get your head around the fact that your man betrayed you. The other woman in the situation is irrelevant. Your man did you wrong. He lied to you. He cheated. The other chick doesn’t even know you and whatever she has to say, doesn’t take away from the fact that clearly you and your guy have some issues.
Now, with situations B and C, the girl clearly lacks some morals, but she still doesn’t need a phone call from you getting all Dr Phil on her ass. Situation C is tougher because there’s a double betrayal, but the world will not stop turning if these two individuals cease to be in your life. Once you weather the storm, you’ll realise that. But please try to weather the storm with some dignity and class. Through all the arguing and screaming, just pause to reflect on what you’re fighting for. A man who doesn’t want you and a shitty friend.
Think. Hang up. Pack your bags. Move on. No revenge sex with one of his friends. No slutting it up to prove a point. Just take a time out, heal and in due time, you might find someone who will not shit on you from a great height.
Ahhh, love is such a beautiful thing, ain’t it?
Tuesday, September 23rd, 2008
Last weekend I reluctantly went on a ‘date’. I didn’t really consider it a date, as such. My friend is dating this dude and her dude told his friend about me and said friend wanted to meet me. Following? Good.
My friend called me around 6pm, telling me she hadn’t heard from her fella all day. Great sign. She called again around 7.30 saying he’d text her and would be picking us up at 9pm from her house. So, I mustered up my pretty, threw on a nice outfit and made my way to her house for 9 o’clock. Our dates didn’t show up till 9.30.
I cannot abide lateness. I don’t care what your excuse is. And when my friend has been making a big deal about how you want to meet me, surely there is no excuse. I was ready to blow off dinner, go pick up a slice and take my ass home.
We all get in a cab to go to a restaurant. On the way, the fellas admit that they’ve already eaten.
What the hell is this?! Seriously, how do you invite someone out to dinner, arrive late and then break the news that you already chowed down at home? My stomach was eating itself for God’s sake!
We got to the restaurant, where just me and my friend ordered food. The evening itself was not unpleasant. I wasn’t attracted to my guy, but his conversation was nice enough. What was uncomfortable however, was the fact that my friend is dating a man who clearly bats for the other team and I can’t believe she hasn’t realised it. The more he drank, the gayer he got. It was kind of mindblowing. He’s also 18 years older than her, so it’s like she’s dating her gay daddy. Very strange.
We finish eating and the bill comes. I throw in $20 or $30 and my guy doesn’t even flinch.
OK, I’m always going to pay for myself on a first date, regardless, but if you requested to meet me and invited me out for dinner, it’s only good manners that you pay. Or at least play the game of telling me to put my money away and let me insist. But no, nothing. Even my friend’s gay daddy was dropping heavy hints, saying ‘there’s way too much there,’ when my guy was counting the money. And he said ‘no, it’s fine.’ I venture to say that it isn’t fine at all, my friend. It’s very far from ‘fine.’ I appreciate a gentleman. I appreciate chivalry and good manners. If you can’t afford to cough up $20 for your date’s meal, you should stay your ass at home.
We lived in the same part of town so we shared a cab. It was on this journey that I discovered that the guy is about to turn 41 years old.
OK, I don’t even know if you can get four strikes, but this guy is getting ‘em. I had been told by my friend that he was in his 30s. Early to mid thirties, I can handle, but 41? I don’t need to be anyone’s mid-life crisis, thank you. I’m not anti-age gap, but I think 13 years is a little much for me.
And there you have it. My waste of a saturday night. Moral of the story? Don’t let your friends set you up.