It's Friday, we should break up - Marriage

I would assume that most of you know that I'm not really a big fan of the marriage idea. But if you don't...well, I'm not.

I think it's a silly concept and completely unnecessary. Making a legal contract with someone else for the rest of your life? No thank you.

It's not that I'm against celebrating your love for someone else. I just don't understand why you need a little piece of paper in order to do it, why you want the government involved in it, or why you need to spend thousands upon thousands of dollars on it.

Aside from this, I would like to separately breakup with engagement rings. I didn't realize this until a couple of days ago, but engagement rings are wrapped up in all kind of legal bullshit. Legal bullshit that basically means, "If you're a woman, please to bend over so we can shove something in your bum."

It seems that an engagement ring is an offer in a contract of marriage (It's a nasty word, isn't it? Contract...ugh). And as such, if the marriage doesn't take place for any reason, the man is legally entitled to the ring.

I always thought that this was just a matter of protocol. Generally speaking, my opinion was always this: If you're the girl, you should probably give the ring back. If you're the man, you should probably expect that the ring is gone. I don't know, it just seems shitty, especially if you're the one who ended it, to go to the woman and say, "Yeah, I know I hurt you and stuff, but that ring I gave you as an everlasting symbol of my love? I'm going to need that back."

Um. Douche.

Generally speaking, it's equally douchey to keep the ring, if you're a girl. Though the common consensus seems to be that if the guy did something shady, the ring is yours.

But the law says no. Because we still live in 1637.

How is an engagement ring not a gift? Albeit a stupid one. And this whole spending two months salary on a ring, if you're the guy? Um, no. Especially not if you make any amount of money. And why is it that if two people are both gainfully employed that only the MAN should buy the woman something? It's just lopsided and wrong.

Instead, I propose this: Go on a "we're getting married" vacation! Split the cost, everyone has a good time and instead of a ring, you have pictures to show everyone.

Or buy each other something.

Or don't buy anything.

Or don't get married. Just have a mature, long-term relationship, based on mutual respect and trust that either party can leave without calling a lawyer. Because everyone knows that lawyers are the devil. Right, Princess?

So that's it, Marriage. And everything that goes along with it. I'm out. I'd like to be happy and continue to have sex, thanks. And those are two things it seems most (NOT ALL, I know) marriages are without.

In other news, tomorrow is HALLOWEEN! I'm so excited. I love you, Halloween. You are the best holiday. Everyone have a fun and safe weekend!

UPDATE: I do know that there are logical, rational reasons to get married. All of Erin's points (in the comments) are valid, even if she did sign in using her husband's name (which I think is pretty funny, considering). And for those very reasons, and pretty much only those reasons, I may one day get married. But an engagement ring holds very little interest to me, either way. Unless, of course, the government we now live under decides to come to its senses and stop supporting so fiercely what is essentially a religious institution and institutes civil unions for all with equal rights to everyone. Which would be great.

TMI Thursday - I guess you could call it a submarine.

Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen. It's time for LiLu's TMI Thursday!

Today's TMI post is brought to you by...my childhood in East Tennessee. Oh yes, we lived in the STICKS.

I used to have this cousin. I say "used to" for good reason. She was probably never really my cousin in the first place. See my mom married my sister's dad (not my dad) who had a brother who used to be married to her mother (but who was not her father), but wasn't any more. So basically we're like twice removed by divorce at this point.

She wasn't always terribly nice to me. I was younger and new and my mom wouldn't let me do anything fun. I will say though, that she's the reason I saw Dirty Dancing at the ripe old age of eight, when my mom probably would have chosen for me to wait until I was married. Sorry Mom!

Dirty Dancing: It's where I learned all about pre-marital sex and awesome dancing.

So anyway, when I met this sort-of-cousin, I was four, I think. She was five. We hung out a lot. I spent the night at her house all the time, which was cool because her mom let us do cool things like build blanket forts with chairs in the basement and listen to Michael Jackson records and dance until past my bedtime.

One evening, we were taking a bath together. I have no idea why. Probably it was just more efficient. Possibly we had made a mess of ourselves in the mud. There's really no telling.

We were in the tub, playing and splashing and I'm sure being ridiculous. Just by the way, this cousin is the reason you will never hear me pick dare at Truth or Dare, which I have still never played to this day because I was so scarred from her trying to get me to do or say things. Now I'm not scared of the truth, but I'm still a little scared of the dare.

Anyway, we were in the bathtub and all of a sudden, I looked down and saw something weird in the water. It wasn't floating, just sort of...sitting at the bottom of the tub. It was brown and kind of log-like in shape.

Yeah, you guessed it.

She pooped in the bathtub. WHILE WE WERE IN IT.

Hi, my name is Shine and I don't know how to deal with nice people.

As you possibly know, or maybe you don't, I started dating someone. An actual person. A guy, even. I call him Princess.

He's nice. I'm not. Obviously. What kind of nice person nicknames her boyfriend Princess? (But seriously, he takes longer to get ready than I do, which he claims is because his clothes are fancier. And okay, yes...he has to wear real live suits to work and I could show up in my pajamas and no one would care, but STILL.)

(I'm pretty sure his suits are dead. Sorry for the misrepresentation. Don't come after Princess PETA!)

And I'm in "oh, you're doing nice things what do you want oh you're just nice why are you so nice just say something shitty to me dammit!" mode. Because that's how I roll.

I don't recall having these issues in the past, but my last relationship wasn't exactly the stuff that romantic comedies are made of. So here we are. I live in horrible fear of being my last boyfriend.

The thought of taking advantage of someone's giving nature or of walking all over someone terrifies me. COMPLETELY.

So now I'm doing this new dance in which I've been complimented so much I feel like I'm about to puke rainbows and butterflies.

How messed up am I?

In other news, I went on my first grown up date (I even had to dress up a little! Hello little black dress, nice to see you.) a couple of weeks ago. Since I'm so fancy now, I'm going to write you a restaurant review (and not tell you how many tries it just took me to type "restaurant").

Without further ado, I present you with a review of Local (click the link, damn it):

Local, located in Deep Ellum, transformed the face (and guts) of Dallas's oldest standing hotel, the Boyd Hotel. While retaining the charm and coziness of the structure, built in 1908, Local has transformed the space into a modern restaurant. Chef Tracy Miller's menu of upscale American cuisine will certainly make your mouth and belly smile.

The amuse-bouche was a broccoli soup that nearly brought tears to my eyes. Seriously, broccoli should start using this soup as an advertisement. (I've just been informed that it was, in fact, broccoli rabe soup, which is an entirely different vegetable, so I guess broccoli is still out of luck unless it wants to get sued for false advertising.) It was creamy, but not heavy and full of simple, yet luscious flavors. None of which I can identify because I took one bite and my entire mind went blank save for the thought, "Get this soup in my mouth now PLEASE THANK YOU." So that's what happened. Only I continued to use my TEENY TINY SPOON, so no one would notice that I had reverted to caveman status.

Next we ordered an appetizer of lobster cakes. Hello, delicious! They were just the right amount of lumpy and crumbly and (god, it pains me to write this word because I HATE IT, but there is no other word) moist. I calmly forked my cake into my mouth at a slow enough speed to not cause alarm. I refrained from licking my plate, but don't even think that I didn't contemplate it. I did. About a dozen times.

Our server spouted off the specials and one of them involved cheese grits. Yes, please. When my entree arrived, I almost cried (again) it was so beautiful. Fresh, lightly sauteed spinach on top of a Fillet Mignon marinated in something blah blah vinaigrette, all of which sat on a love seat of cheese grits. It couldn't possibly taste as good as it looked, but I gave in, after staring at it lovingly for five minutes, and sunk my knife into the steak. This was the most tender steak ever to be put in front of me. On my fork, I assembled the perfect first bite. A piece of spinach, a small cut of the steak, covered in cheese grits. I brought it to my mouth and closed my eyes and...FOODGASM. This was possibly the most delicious bite of food to ever enter my mouth. Cue tingling in my lady parts. I put my fork down on my plate, both hands on the table, eyes still closed and just savored the moment. I wanted to make slow sweet love to this plate of food. I'm pretty sure I proposed marriage. What?

I was stuck between a rock and a hard place at this point. If I continued to eat my food, it would be gone. It, the new love of my life, the apple of my eye, the mac to my cheese. But I wanted to inhale it like a hoover vacuum because it was so delicious. I went back and forth for a while, but I finally managed to eat Every. Last. Bite. And I did so without yelling, "GET IN MY BELLY YOU DELICIOUS PIECE OF MEAT." It was close, but I made it.

You know that scene in When Harry Met Sally where Sally shows Harry that all the women he's been sleeping with have been fakin' it by fakin' her own in the middle of the diner? Yeah, it was like that, but FOR REAL. I'm pretty sure the lady at the next table said, "I'll have whatever she's having" and everything.

At this point, I was so full, I didn't think I could eat another bite. Possibly for the rest of my life. But oh no, dessert was upon us.

One scoop of homemade "mint chocolate chip" ice cream. It's in quotes because it's not the same ice cream you buy in the store. Chef Miller steeps the mint leaves in the cream for the ice cream for a completely explosive flavor of pure spearmint. The chocolate isn't too bold. Basically, in the words of Goldilocks, it's just right.

Then the banana Bundt cake, which was topped with roasted banana ice cream and chocolate ganache. I don't like ice cream and cake together. Ever. But this? Was heaven on a spoon. The cake and the ice cream went together perfectly. I almost jumped up on the table to hump the plate. I think ice cream smashed on my crotch would have made the perfect addition to my little black dress, thankyouverymuch.

And then it was over. And I didn't even make the sex with any of it. But I'm pretty sure Princess got a how-do-you-do kiss on the cheek later that evening. Our only wrong step was to go see Where the Wild Things Are after eating all of that delicious food, instead of going somewhere and having bourbon on the rocks, smoking a cigar, and humping like rabbits staring deeply into each other's eyes.

So this, my dear readers, is what happens when I get taken on a date. I nearly do the horizontal mambo with all my food and then force you to go to the movies afterward. Oh, and I leave on a jet plane the next morning at 6:45 am to go to #pbandtuna, so you don't even get to sleep in. Okay, that probably doesn't always happen.

Is it too soon to ask to go back? I should mention here that I put up a fuss like you would not believe when Princess said he wanted to take me to this, his favorite restaurant in Dallas (the man's got good taste...OBVIOUSLY). I don't accept dates to places I can't afford and friends and lovers, let me say that this was no McDonald's. I've had too many crappy dates and I just don't go places where I can't afford to pay at least my half of the check. But he convinced me that he wanted to take me, so I should shut my face. And after my orgasmic eating performance, I suspect he might not even mind taking me back there.

It's not a World Series if yours is the only country competing, assholes.

So the Yankees are in the "World" Series. Color me pissed off.

Not that I'm an Angels fan. I'm not. Pretty much anything Disney related can kiss my grits (What? I'm from The South.). Well, except The Little Mermaid and Mary Poppins. Okay okay, there are probably others I like. But still. This whole Disney Vault thing? Blows horse penis. And I think we all know it. (Sorry, family. It's Monday. I'm not in a censorship mood.)

Since my Dodgers couldn't pull one out (TWSS), I'm stuck with a Phillies/Yankees "World" Series. Frankly? I couldn't care less about it.

But let's talk about this for a second. A WORLD Series? Because the United States of We're More Important Than You encompasses the whole world? No. You people kinda make me sick.

I guess it's too late to change it now. Just make a note: I think this is complete jackassery.

In other news, I, too, am a jackass. For an entirely different reason, though, don't worry. And this isn't an interesting story. I'll just warn you now.

At the office, we have this printer, copier, scanner, fax machine thing. We all hate it. For months, it printed all white backgrounds blue. Which is fine, except we print A LOT of maps. So it looked like everything was underwater.

We lease this machine from a company and that company pretty much refuses to give us a different one. So we're stuck with this one.

Well, it's a laser printer, so it uses toner. LOTS of toner. And of course, the excess toner has to be stored somewhere. They give us a little reservoir thing which has holes that correspond to each of the toners. When the reservoir fills up, I have to change it out for a new one. All of this sounds pretty simple, right?

Removing the completely-full-of-excess toner reservoir is where things get a little tricky. See, it has a bunch of holes in the top, for the toner. No problem, right? But when it's full, I have to do something with it. This is usually on a day when I've actually gotten ready for work and/or am wearing something white. Cue disaster.

I pull the reservoir out of the copy machine; carefully trying to put it in the plastic baggy that the new reservoir just vacated (with my help, of course). Inevitably, I spill toner all over myself/the floor/someone else's face whatever. ALWAYS. Then came the day I realized that the little baggy? It has a HOLE IN IT. Oh good!

Last week, I was changing the toner reservoir when I noticed all these little plastic knob looking things taped to the front of the container itself. They are oddly the EXACT size of the little holes in the top. Like so:



Now, I've been doing this toner thing for nearly two years now. And I've never noticed this before. I'm supposed to be using the little plastic things to PLUG THE HOLES (TWSS?) in the toner reservoir before I dispose of it. You know, so I don't get toner all over the damn place.

Hi, my name is Shine, and I'm an idiot.

It's Friday, we should break up - Pretty much everyone on any airplane, including you Mr. Turtleneck Sweater Airline Flight Attendant.

As you well know by now, M and I went to DC last weekend to celebrate in the love and festivities for our darling dears LiLu and Maxie.

As you also may have noted, we were grumpy bitches on our flight home. I had clearly caught whatever plague was floating around the party and M, well she was doing the major hangover dance. I was a little hungover myself, but mostly I was suffering from allergies (to CATS, Tony, not just elusive "allergies.") and plague.

And on both of our flights home we encountered...SCREAMING, WHINING, ANNOYING CHILDREN.

M actually likes kids. I don't. I mean, some kids are okay, but only the ones who are smart enough to act like grown-ups. These were not those kids.

In the row across from us, there was a little girl sitting on her mother's lap. Every once in a while, for no apparent reason, this child would let out a wail that nearly made my ears bleed.

Let's talk about this, airlines. Why oh why would you make it CHEAPER to fly with children by letting them sit in their parents' laps? You're killing me here. There should be a premium on seats for children. And they should have to have their own. The plane is crowded enough due to you trying to cut costs and therefore squeezing as many seats on every plane as you possibly can with no regard for how you're going to actually fit people into them.

So, new rule #1: Children should be required to have their own seats. And a seat for a child should cost more than a seat for a reasonably intelligent adult.

Next, in the row across and in front of us, there were two little girls, sitting on each side of their dad. One of them kept staring at us. The other pretty much screamed and wailed and whined and cried for the duration of the flight.

To which I have to say this: Parents? Get a fucking grip on your children. They're kids, so they're going to be bored on a plane. Bring some activities. Knock them out with some Benedryl. Gag them, if you have to. But do NOT let them disturb everyone on the plane. Take a road trip instead, please.

Just because you decided to have children doesn't mean I should suffer. Which leads us to rule #2: If your kids are obnoxious cretins, don't bring them on my plane. Or I will be forced to start performing retroactive abortions. (Hey, it's not murder! It's retroactive abortion! Yes, I'm offensive.)

Rule #3 should really be "STOP HAVING KIDS!" But I know that's not going to happen, so I'll just leave it at two rules for now.

And to everyone else on the plane: really, stop being ridiculous. You know you can only bring one carry-on bag and one personal bag. You know you can put one of those in the overhead bin and one under your seat. You know that if you're sitting in the back, it's stupid and a pain in the ass for you to fill up the overhead storage in the front. You know that if you're already in your seat you should wait until everyone is seated before getting up, blocking the aisle, to get your book out of your carry-on bag. You know that I'm going to curse at you if you get in my way doing any of these things.

Flight attendants in turtleneck sweaters are just assholes, as far as I can tell.

That is all.

Oh, I wrote a blog today.

Yes, yes I did.

Go find it.

Wednesday Wipeouts

Well, folks, I told you to enjoy them while they last!

Here's your last installment of Wednesday Wipeouts.

~~~~oOo~~~~

Subject: Hi

Hi, I love to get know, looking for new friend to hang out with and have good time.



I'm pretty sure this guy is from the United States, and therefore should speak English.

~~~~oOo~~~~

No Subject

you look fun,and i want a new friend.what do you say


Translation: I'd like to make the sexy time with you, wanna do it?

~~~~oOo~~~~

No Subject

that firey red hair, those sparkly green eyes, an unquenchable thirst 4 guinness - I think I'm in LOVE!

seriously, u want to elope? dead serious, just try me!!

Um...no. Also, I'm pretty sure my eyes aren't green. But whatever.

~~~~oOo~~~~

Subject: We are not alike and I like that!


Hello!

I love your picture! That first one which you label as the face you usually make in pictures! What a delightful image. If you don't reply to this, at least know that you gave me a nice smile at the end of a hectic day.

OK... we're not a lot alike, but I think that might bring out better things.

For instance, I know almost nothing about sports... but if you like sports (especially football), I wouldn't mind having you tell me what's going on... or simply sit along with you and watch you enjoy the things that have meaning to you.

I, on the other hand, love movies. All kinds of movies. I love chick flicks and zombie movies and science fiction and drama and action and super hero and period pieces and... well... I can't always explain what I'll like in a movie. Sometimes... badly written movies will turn me off utterly... but sometimes, I'll see a movie that's badly written, but something about it will be charming and BANG... I'll have a good time.

I'm overweight, sure... but I'm trying to exercise and be more fit... and I imagine that someone with a more active exercise program might help motivate me to work harder... though right now, what I'm doing is taking its toll... but I know it's all for the best.

I'm not an outdoors person at all... but I would NEVER be the sort to hold you back from the things you enjoy...

However, there's hope here. I also hate smoking, I love to laugh... and while I try to be very polite in public, I can swear like a sailor as well. I like to read, though I'll admit my mind wanders and it takes me longer than I'd like to get through the books I enjoy. Currently, I'm reading a collection of Lovecraft short stories, "A Clash of Kings" by George R. R. Martin, and Obama's book about his father.

My musical tastes are all over the place. I've got indie, alternative, punk, classic rock, classical music, pop, even one or two rap songs, blues and so on and so forth. I would never want to be in a place where there was no music.

If you'd like to talk more... maybe even get together for a movie... please contact me here or at [obviously, I'm not going to let you see his email, but it had "uncle" in it.]

I hope to hear from you!

-[Name]

Truth? This is probably more sweet than anything else, aside from the ellipsis situation. But this is A LOT of information to vomit up when sending a first email to someone.

~~~~oOo~~~~

And my PERSONAL FAVORITE:

Subject: You

oh, man, you are a nerd of the highest caliber. That whole thing about next gen, well I got you beat on that but I'm not bragging. Oh yeah, and I wanted to call you a poopface. There. I did it. I called a perfect stranger a poopface! Haha!


[weird name that surely wasn't his name, but also didn't match his username]


He called me a poopface. I hope he's proud. His momma clearly raised him right.

~~~oOo~~~

So, as Porky Pig would say, Th-th-th-that's all folks!

This girl is actually dating a man. And it just feels weird to continue to receive emails from strange men all the time, so my dating profile is now disabled. Also, he's been reading my blog (and somehow still likes me...I think his favorite so far was my assplosion), so he's probably reading this. Everyone wave!

I'm not posting today.

Because if I post today, I'm just going to go on a complete bitchfest rant about men (my boss, the crazy drunk Jesus-loves-you man in the bar last night). And no one wants to hear that.

Also, I'm sick. WTF? Was there a plague in DC?

So instead, I'll just direct you here (Seriously, click it or I'll punch you in the vagina) for a much needed recap of the weekend's festivities. There's a picture I completely don't remember taking.

A lesson in what not to do. And an awesome time at #pbandtuna.

So this weekend, the fabulous M and I put our asses on a plane to fly to DC for LiLu and Maxie's wedding, AKA #pbandtuna.

There are some obvious logistical and practical problems with this plan. Mainly that we spent a total of 12 hours on planes to go to a party for less than half that amount of time.

TOTALLY WORTH IT.

If you'd like to read about the ticket purchase, please click here. It was a bit of a disaster.


We managed to get to the airport at 5:45 AM and get on our 6:45 AM flight. We were more than a little giggly, but we soon PASSED THE FUCK OUT. We slept so much that we didn't realize that the flight was actually over two hours long.

Once we finally made it to DC, M headed off with LateNight Drama Queen to have lunch with her Grams in Baltimore, while I was picked up by the lovely PQ and we went to snuggle the faces of GingerMandy and Just a Girl (and JP, of course).

I? Was in blogger heaven.

What no one bothered to mention is that people in DC don't stay home on the weekends. They drive. IN MY WAY. We sat in so much traffic, I was sort of concerned that my ass was going to permanently attach to PQ's front seat. Why weren't these people home having sex?!? Having said that, I've never had so much fun in a car, sitting in traffic.

And then it was finally time to go to #pbandtuna!

I would list all the lovelies I met, but...well, I was a little too drunk to remember. But I will say this: LiLu (and B), Maxie, Alexa, Lexa, Rachel, Alice, Just A Girl, GingerMandy, PQ, JP, Matt, Katie, Restaurant Refugee, fB, katierose, LateNight Drama Queen, and too many more to name. You guys are all amazing.

I can't even tell you what happened because...what the fuck happened? A bunch of awesome, that's what.

The worst decision? To fly home with a massive, angry hangover. On two planes with screaming children. I almost died. Scratch that. Children almost died. And I know exactly what I'm breaking up with this Friday. I'm looking at you kids on airplanes.

It's Friday, we should break up - Using tax terms to define your relationship.

DISCLAIMER: I completely understand why taxes are filed this way. You do NOT need to explain to me the difference between paying taxes as a single person and paying taxes as a married person. I promise.

Now that we've gotten that out of the way...

When you're filling out your W-whatever at your place of employment, you must choose how to file your taxes. In general, there are three boxes (yes, seriously, I understand that there are really only two choices):

Single

Married

Married, but filing as Single

In terms of taxes these choices make perfect sense. But relationships have far more grey area. You could be dating someone, you could be sleeping with someone, you could have a purely platonic relationship based on a mutual love for shopping, you could be engaged, you could be dating a dozen people, you could be polyamorous.

In all those circumstances, when the IRS asks, you are single.

When anyone else asks, however? You better the hell state your business. Claiming to be "single" when you're actually in a relationship with one person is just jackassery.

Furthermore, following that up with "I'm not married to you," when your girlfriend or boyfriend questions your response is really unnecessary. I'm guessing that as long as that other person can at least eat solid foods, he or she probably knows that a marriage has not taken place. And in that moment, he or she is probably very glad to be "single." Maybe even Single.

Also, that "Married, but filing as Single" relationship could get a little tricky.

I don't want to hear it. Hell, I don't even want to see it. But yes, I did it.

Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen. It's time for LiLu's TMI Thursday!

When I was on the drugs a couple of weeks ago, I might have decided it would be a good idea to record a video of myself.

Now, it's my wedding gift to LiLu and Maxie.

It's disturbing on more levels than one. Good luck.

Wednesday Wipeouts

Welcome back to another addition of Wednesday Wipeouts!

No subject on this one:

If I were to order off the menu of potential girl friends that would be good for both of us, I would order you. Let me know if there is interest on your part.

[name]

I have to admit, I'm a little confused about how he's planning to pick from a girlfriend menu to satisfy me. It's possible this is sweet, but it sounds a little creepy to me.

~~~~oOo~~~~

Frankly, this guy takes the cake. Not because of his message, but because of his profile.

Subject: I love your profile and we seem compatible.

You're smart and pretty and like to get around and have fun. I may be a bit older than you have in mind but please at least let me know what you think of my profile. I'd be honored to meet you someday.

[yes, he has a name]

Normally I wouldn't do this, but...I'm going to share a few excerpts from his actual profile. First, he's 55-years-old and looks everyday of it. I'd actually question his veracity at claiming to be so young. Second, I really dislike it when people tell me what I do and don't do. Third, while I don't personally practice polyamory, I have nothing against it. It's just not really for me.

In his self-summary: (This is only one of maybe six paragraphs.)

Note, some of you younger ladies (30's, 40's) may wonder why I'm interested, is it just the usual stereotype reasons? Actually, I think mostly not. Some ladies in their 30's have found me attractive and some have even become girlfriends, they seem to appreciate my maturity compared to the 30 something men they know who they say are like dogs or something... go figure... as for my own interest in women 30-60 who are in good health - having been widowed twice in 3 years gets old, I want someone who's not going to die on me this time - I'm not looking for pity and that may seem a bit selfish, and I'm not the healthiest guy around either, but I think I've paid my dues by now if you know what I mean. Besides, I'm in much better shape and plan to be around for a good long time, I've got too much to do before I go... ;)

What is he doing with his life?

Running my businesses, playing Dungeons & Dragons, playing bass and keyboard at jam sessions, working on various political projects, trying to save money, getting out to meet people and have fun.

The most private thing he's willing to admit here? (This section is INSANELY long. I'm really really really cutting down.)

[...] I'm polyamorous. I am NOT collecting a harem or anything like that but I am open to being blessed with a small number of high-quality loving Long Term Relationships that complement each other, I don't expect any one lady to meet all of my needs. Of course this is mutual, it works both ways, I don't expect to be your only boyfriend either. Polyamory is NOT cheating, it's the opposite of cheating, it's all above board and consensual. This is not about swinging or casual sex, it's about committed Long Term Relationships. It's about love more than sex, although of course responsible safe sex is required as with any relationship. To make poly work requires the same kind of commitment, honesty, understanding, and communication as in a marriage of 2, only more so.

Very few species are naturally monogamous, and humanity is generally not. Monogamy is natural for some people, polyamory for others. People have the capacity to love more than one person. Most people have multiple parents, children, siblings, or friends and love them all; none of them insist on being your only friend or whatever. Why should lovers be any different? Rules? Where do these rules come from?

If any of you think that this sounds immoral, I think that God would disagree with that idea; remember that many of the heroic role models of the Bible had dozens of wives and girlfriends. Of course that was in a sexist Middle Eastern culture; polyamory is the generic, non-sexist version of polygamy and is not oriented toward any specific religion. Just as I have enough love to share with more than one girlfriend, I wouldn't mind sharing you; you too should be able to have more than one lover if that works for you and them. Safe sex of course.

Jealousy is based on insecurity and the idea that if your lover falls in love with another, they'll leave and you'll lose them. With poly, this is not a problem, so jealousy gives way to compersion, in which you share your lover's happiness just as you would a friend's. Yes, it takes getting used to, but it feels so much better in the long run... with poly, you can be lovers and still be friends too [...]

[...] So here it is, yes, I'm poly, and I have a new girlfriend I met here on OKCupid. As I said above, I'm still available for dating, leading to friendships and ultimately, high-quality LTR's. You need not be poly but should be at least poly-compatible; it's up to you whether you also want or have other boyfriends or not (safe sex of course). For example, neither of my last 2 girlfriends wanted any other boyfriends besides me, but they didn't mind sharing me because they could see that I had enough love for both of them. They wanted to meet each other sometime, but never got the chance as one died and the other had to move away due to family issues [...]

[...] I've recently become aware of a possible further need for clarification. Opinions differ in the poly community about such labels as "primary", "secondary", etc. as people understandably don't like to be labelled, and who can really classify love anyway, right? Well, generally, these refer not to the relationship itself or how much love is involved, as these are not really quantifiable, but to the role of the relationship in the person's daily life. Don't get me wrong, my new girlfriend A. and I love each other very much, but this does not get in the way of her relationship with her spice (husband and wife), nor does it prevent me from seeking more relationships for myself. Indeed, her spice felt that her happiness would increase if she had another boyfriend, so they encouraged her to look, and we found each other here on OKCupid. They are happy for both of us. I feel that finding the right primary girlfriend/wife for me will enhance my own happiness (and hopefully yours as well, otherwise it would be pointless), and when I do, A. will be happy for both of us, just as a friend would be. Eventually you might want to meet her, but that's not required [...]

And finally, you should message him if...

[...] The more of these qualities you have, the more I want to meet you, but these are not all required, and close does partially count: white, Asian/Pacific, or Native American; 5'10" to 6'2"; 180# to 240#; voluptuous, soft and cuddly; IQ 130 to 160; religious minority (especially Pagan); libertarian/ancap; entrepreneur; techie; musician; D&D player; nudist; enthusiastic about sex (if and when the relationship gets to that point) and open to different things (not too kinky) [...]

[...] Please don't be offended but we are less likely to be compatible if you: are racist, sexist, homophobic, a religious bigot, etc.; want to preach at me or convert me; are closed-minded or have to always have things your way; are extremely conservative; think that morality cannot exist outside of religion; believe that America is (or should be) a "Christian nation"; believe that Witches are devil-worshippers; are a devil-worshipper yourself; can't stand the idea of dating someone over 250# or over 50 or of a different religion than yours; have significant mental health problems, or severe physical health problems (I'm not cruel, I've just done more than my share taking care of people with these problems and already lost a wife and a girlfriend); are just barely making it from check to check or cannot support yourself most of the time (same as previous note, I'm not greedy, I just don't need another burden); believe that it's commendable to be poor or that it's a sin to be rich or that rich people must be greedy or evil or exploiting the poor; are an addict; are abusive or violent or dishonest or passive/aggressive, or think that "little white lies" are no big deal; are unable to discuss issues or disagreements calmly and rationally; expect me to read your mind; think of abuse as something that men do to women; think that polyamory or open marriage are just forms of cheating and don't want to learn the difference; don't believe in dating and want to quickly move toward a closed, exclusive, monogamous, possessive relationship; believe in no sex until marriage; or are a nazi, communist, fascist, or other totalitarian [...]

I didn't edit any of that except to remove stuff (A LOT of stuff). I would have posted the whole thing, but it made me sleepy to read it.

Who knew a purse could crash a plane?

This weekend, I traveled to Huntsville, Alabama for the wedding of two of my friends. It was beautiful. A bug flew in my eye and caused it to tear up, but I did NOT cry. Of course, I don't want to talk to you about that sappy stuff, though.

Let's talk airlines. As an experiment, I left my cell phone on for the duration of both flights.

The plane did not crash.

Has anyone ever contemplated what would happen if we all just refused to put our seat backs and tray tables in their fully upright and locked positions? If this actually affects the way the plane takes off and lands, someone please let me know.

I'm pretty sure this is all just an elaborate game between flight attendants to see what they can get a flight of people to do next. Or rather, not to do. Because they still have to give their oxygen mask/seat belt demonstration every time and no one has bothered to listen since 1982.

The latest? You can't even hold your purse in your lap while the plane is taking off and landing. So I was sitting on the plane, in the first row, where I couldn't put my purse under the seat in front of me because there was no seat in front of me and I was thinking to myself, "It's cool, self, just hold your purse." Then they told me I couldn't hold my purse. Unfortunately, it's the kind of purse that has no zipper. As you can imagine, I didn't really feel comfy putting it up in the overhead bin so things could fall out of it all over the place.

--You know what they never say any more? They never tell you to be careful opening overhead bins because carry-on items may have shifted in flight. You know why? Because overhead bins are now stuffed like sardines in a can because they've limited what you can bring on the damn plane while simultaneously deciding that the cargo space they already built into the plane for your damn luggage is now prime real estate, for which you must pay. Assholes. In other news, my hair is a frizzy mess without some kind of product in it and they don't make mousse in travel size. So yeah, I looked vaguely like carrot top for the entire weekend. I can only hope there are no pictures. But it was a WEDDING.--

Instead of holding my purse, I held my wallet, phone, two books (I was almost done with one, so I had to have the second to start before the pilot turned off the "Fasten Seat Belts" sign...which he never did), and chapstick. I feel sure that this was better than me just holding my purse. I mean, if I need my hands, I could just sit my singular purse on the floor or whatever and now I'm doing a juggling act, but I kind of wanted to join the circus anyway.

To sum up, fuck you airlines, for making my life as difficult as possible. Also, homeland security? Let's get rid of the pretty color system, shall we? Has the threat even GONE below orange in the last eight years?

It's Friday, we should break up - Dating Rules

Okay, so I know I broke up with dating a while back. But we sort of got back together.

I know.

I think what I really meant to do (aside from getting away from the crazy freaks I'd been out with) was break up with all the rules associated with dating. Maybe you love them. But I? Am done.

If you want to date me (and I'm sure none of you do), I'm not going to engage in some complicated ritual of waiting to call, trying to be mysterious, getting you to buy me things, and stressing over sex.

Coy: I don't do it.

I spent some time perusing the Internets for dating rules. I came upon a little gem at TopDatingTips.com. They have rules specifically for women.

Some of my favorites:

Never reveal information you don't have to. An enigmatic woman drives men wild. (I'm just bad at this. If I know something, it's going to come out of my mouth. Period.)

Keep dates brief, but your men interested. Less is always more. (No, sometimes more is more. What about that great date where you sit and talk for hours and feel like it's only been ten minutes? How can you have that date if you have to keep them all brief?)

Let your man pay. If he is interested, he is interested enough to ensure you eat well and get home safely in a cab. (This sort of disgusts me, personally. Why does his interest hinge on money? Why am I not capable of paying my own way? If both parties are gainfully employed, it's ridiculous to expect the man to always pay. Take turns. It's FAIR.)

Never ever sleep with a guy until he has fallen for you. Sex early in your dating game plan will ruin everything. (Ugh. Have sex when you're ready to have sex. Just don't confuse sex with love. They're not the same.)

Always keep a guy waiting and never turn up early. It is a lady's perogative. (I've killed people for less. Being late is just rude.)

Never be available when he wants you to be. Never be at the end of a phone when he calls and always let him leave a message or two first before replying. If he is available Tuesday, you are available Thursday. (REALLY?!? I would walk away immediately. If you genuinely have a challenging, busy schedule, there's nothing wrong with that. But don't just make it up to be difficult. Have the balls to be real.)

Keep your man standing on quicksand by shifting landmarks and goalposts constantly. (What does this mean? Are you traveling? Playing football? I'm confused.)

Ensure you receive flowers. If he doesn't know what a florist is, dump him. (Flowers are nice, I suppose. Until they DIE. And how do you ensure this anyway?)

If the guy in the corner is gorgeous, go get him and create the need in him for you. Never wait for men to come to you because you may watch him leave with someone else. (Okay, this one I mostly agree with. Create your own damn opportunities. I don't know about this "creating the need" business, though.)

Consider this: What if you just went out, acted like yourself (the you you are when you're with your best friends), talked about whatever felt natural (I suppose there are exceptions. He probably doesn't need to know about your indigestion right away, save it for date two.), did whatever felt right (aside from holding up a liquor store or murdering anyone), and had a good time? Why must there be all these jackass rules?

TMI Thursday - But she can't use tampons...

Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen. It's time for LiLu's TMI Thursday!

When I was 11-years-old, my mom moved me and my sister from Nashville, Tennessee to Honolulu, Hawaii. The whys and hows are long and boring.

We lived in Honolulu for a year. (I know what you’re thinking…no, it wasn’t really awesome.) During that year, my mom and my (now) step-dad tried their hands at a few tropical hobbies, like scuba diving.

This also happened to be the year that my uterus decided to start releasing eggs or whatever, so I could make the babies. Apparently my uterus thinks I’m Mormon or in a cult or something.

Dear uterus,

I do not want to make the babies. I certainly didn’t when I was 11. Please fall out and die and stop making me bleed every month. This is getting ridiculous.

Love,
Shine

Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way…

On the blessed day, I was home alone with my (now) step-dad. Let’s just say that he wasn’t on my list of favorite people. And here I am, bleeding from my tiny girl parts with barely a clue as to what’s happening to me.

I asked to call my mother, he asked why. I said, “I just want to call Mom, okay?”

I called my mom at the hospital (she’s a nurse) and explained what was going on in hushed tones. She laughed and told me it was just my period and no big deal. Turns out I wasn’t dying after all. I didn’t want her to tell my (now) step-dad because I was horrified about the whole thing.

She said she wouldn’t tell, but she would have him bring me to the hospital so she could give me some stuff.

Yes, I’m the only kid probably in the history of the world who actually had to go to the hospital for her first period.

I handed the phone back to my (now) step-dad and of course my mom proceeded to tell him what happened.

He turned to me with a big shit-eating grin on his face and said something horrible like, “I hear someone’s becoming a woman!”

Gross.

I immediately burst into tears.

The ride to the hospital was silent. We found my mother and she took me to the bathroom. Apparently the only “supplies” they had at the hospital were the, uh, GIANT PADS they give the pregnant women AFTER CHILDBIRTH. It was almost as tall as me, and nearly as thick as my arm. And I was supposed to fit it in my pants…

I waddled out and my (now) step-dad took me home.

Over the next couple of months, my mother suggested I try to use tampons. That was a no-go. At the ripe old age of 11, my vagina was a steel trap. And it did NOT want to be stuffed with cotton. So every month, when I got my period, I couldn’t swim.

One of said weekends, my mom and my (now) step-dad were going scuba diving. I went along to hang out on the boat. Some of their friends were there, and one couple brought their 18-year-old son.

Their drop-dead gorgeous (mind you, I was 12, at this point…) 18-year-old son. I fell in love on the spot. I had no plan, but I knew that we should get married and make many babies (And I could! I started my period!). I’m guessing he didn’t even really notice me. At first.

As we’re heading out on the water, the beautiful boy’s mom asked my mom, “Is Shine going to be snorkeling?”

Now, this would be a time when a simple “no” would suffice.

Instead, my mother said (right in front of the beautiful boy), “No, Shine is on her period. She hasn’t learned how to use tampons yet, so she can’t get in the water.”

Cue red face.

I don’t think I spoke a word for the rest of the trip.

Thanks, Mom!

Wednesday Wipeouts

Sit down, strap in, and hold on for today's edition of Wednesday Wipeouts!

Subject: Hello

You have a very nice profile and you're a very beautiful woman, I like the fact that you don't hold back on cussing sounds kinda crazy but I enjoy a woman who cusses and isn't afraid to offend. Smart ass women turn me on and so do redheads yeah I'm proly to crazy for you but I thought I would email you and find out I'm not looking to have any more kids I've got two that are half grown and I'm done LOL but I'm just looking for a honest, good hearted woman that cusses and speaks her mind when she wants, has her own opinion and doesn't just agree with me right away type, someone who can be my friend as well as lover, someone to walk holding hands with on the beach as well as play wrestle with each other over the last cupcake in the house :)
I laugh and smile all the time it's a brain problem people say...Well holla back if u want to ?

[I know you're surprised that I didn't leave his name here]

Every time you forget a period, someone kills a kitten. You don't want that, now do you?

And in another really fine venture into the creepy:

Subject: You're/your/ur :)

Hey [nope, you don't get to know that either]

Well, you're definitely sarcastic in your profile. And you must be smart since you abhor Nickelback. But I just don't get the feeling that you're very thirsty... Did the 3/4 glass of Guinness that you knocked back not do the trick?

You sound like a lot of fun. And you cuss like a sailor; five aborted attempts in the first 50 words is pretty impressive. I could definitely bring you around my kiddos (it wouldn't surprise me if they actually made you blush!) but how am I going to bring you around my mother? ;)

-[I wonder what his mom's name is, don't you?]

Talking about taking me to meet your children and mother is a good way to freak me the hell out. No thank you.

The Middle Man

Relationships have three basic parts: the beginning, the middle, and The End.

Most people love the beginning. The beginning is exciting. It’s new. It’s sweet and you stay up all night talking and making the sex and kissing (there’s actual kissing at the beginning, you know).

Graygrrrl hates the beginning. In her blog, L’amour in B flat, she says:

The other part of the problem is that I hate beginnings. Everyone seems to love them, movies are made in their honor, but for me- they can suck it. I much prefer the middle. It’s comforting. You already know where you stand. You have learned some of the bad habits, and good ones as well. Your friends are used to the idea and treat him/her in a respectable manner. Perhaps they even like him! Middles are where it’s at.

Gofahne feels like she can’t be herself in the beginning sometimes. It's like she becomes this person, trapped in her head, and even though she’s thinking all the right things, she can’t seem to say them. She’s actually a fan of the “casual hookup” that Nicole wrote up last week (GENIUS), though on a different level. (The casual hookup is a thing I loathe, at this point.) Gofahne would rather meet someone when she's out with her friends and not even realize that he likes her, so she's completely being herself. I get that, but I don't want to hook up with or date my friends, really (I've been there, The End of that leads to no boyfriend and no friends. Pass).

Recently, though, I’ve come to notice The Middle Man. The man who may not wow and get your panties all wet right out of the gate, but you know that he would be amazing in the middle. The gooey center of the relationship, if you will. He’s the guy who will take care of you when you’re sick. The guy who will let you know that he’s thinking about you. The guy who calls when he says he will call. The guy who will pick up some little trinket for you while he’s out because it was just “so you” (understand that this is not about money, and could even be a rock he found in the street). The guy who will make an effort with your family (even though they’re crazy). The guy who has seen you at your worst, and still thinks you’re amazing (and maybe he thinks you’re beautiful even when you wake up in the morning).

These guys are few and far between.

Most men are like the M&Ms in your ice cream. They seem like a great idea at first, all colorful and chocolate-alicious, but before you know it, all the color has run off in your ice cream, and they’re just cold and hard and taste like shit. The Middle Man is like molten chocolate cake. It may not be the most exciting dessert on the outside but once you break through the cake, the warm, gooey chocolate in the center is amazing.



(I assume it works this way for guys, too, but I have little experience with girls as M&Ms or molten cake.)

But the question is, how do you get past the beginning if it’s not all rainbows and sunshine and lounging around doing crossword puzzles on Sunday mornings (that's just me, then?), having sex all day and only getting out of bed for ice cream? Is it possible to start a relationship purely based on potential?

Trust me any post I wrote you today would be full of schmoop and unicorns and rainbows and flowers and stuff.

So instead, I leave you with this:



Visit Cyanide & Happiness for more funnies like this one:



And, as always, if you're not laughing at Natalie Dee, you're doing something wrong!



Hope the smile on your face is as big as the smile on mine. (I know, I'm about to puke too. Or punch myself in the face.)

It's Friday, we should break up - Scooters, Mopeds, Vespas, Motorcycles and pretty much all other forms of two-wheeled transportation.

Beckbee, Mike, HoHo, Big Gulp, Mouthful, and everyone else: I'm sorry, but...

I HATE TWO-WHEELED VEHICLES.

All of them.

Bicyclists? You're in my damn way. While I (generally) appreciate your spandex-clad physique, riding your bike in front of me on a two-lane road, so that I can't pass you because you "have a right to be there"? Is going to make me want to run you over. I can't blame all of this on you. Dallas? Please make some bike lanes so that these damn bikers can GET OFF MY ROAD.

Scooterers, Mopeders, Vespa-ists whatever you want to call yourselves, you're seriously pissing me off. Does your vehicle really need an entire parking space? In case you're considering the answer, it's no. It just doesn't. So when I get home at midnight and I have to park 37 miles from my apartment because I passed a dozen of you bastards in perfectly good, full-sized parking spaces, I kind of want to put a hole in your tires. Motorcyclists, you're in this category, too, but I have a separate bone to pick with you. Again, I can't blame this all on you, I suppose. But there are other choices of parking spaces, and I've come to notice that none of your two-wheeled vehicles ever actually move. If you don't even drive them, must you take up my parking spaces with them? Again, the answer is no.

Ah, motorcyclists. You might be the sexiest of all the characters lumped into this post. Not that you are actually sexy. But your motorcycle probably is. Here's the thing: You're an asshole. I'm almost positive of it. Yes, I'm making a generalization because surely all motorcyclists can't be assholes, but, well, I've never experienced that on the road. I know that your vehicle was built for speed and is actually more stable traveling at a faster pace. So maybe don't ride your motorcycle in traffic? Weaving in and out of lanes, cutting people off, and other general douchebaggery makes all of us four-wheeled vehicle drivers a little miffed. Stop acting like a jackass and follow the rules like the rest of us.

So I'm done with all of you. Pedestrians? Watch out. I might be coming for you next.

It's my turn to write some letters.

Dear Men in My Office,

Let's consider changing our diets, shall we? Your shit smells like death. Here are some interesting facts about poop. Let's ponder them together while eating more fruits and vegetables, hmmm?

I'd like to be able to breathe while sitting at my desk,
Shine

~~~~oOo~~~~

Dear Car,

I'm about sick of you. Please behave or I'll be forced to sell you for parts. Not that your parts are worth anything. Also, if you could buy yourself new tires since you just drained my bank account, that would be wonderful.

I don't like you very much,
Shine

~~~~oOo~~~~

Dear Twitter,

Please stop trying to be something you're not. Isn't it bad enough that I have to know which character from Friends all my Facebook friends would be? Do I really need to know this about my fellow Twatters? The answer is no. I just don't. Of course I also don't really need to know what they ate for dinner or that they've just picked up their dry cleaning, but that's a matter I'll take up with them.

Please remedy this quiz situation immediately,
Shine

~~~~oOo~~~~

Dear Life,

I've been handed enough lemons. I've made enough damn lemonade. In the future, please just send the lemonade. Or better yet, a milkshake. Actually, I think maybe you just sent me one. Don't worry, I appreciate it. But I'm still looking for the lemons.

Cautiously yours,
Shine

~~~~oOo~~~~

Dear Self,

Stop being so shitty about the news you got recently. A success for someone else does not mean a failure for you. Be happy for the other person. Even if it does feel like a kick in the teeth. You're working hard and you'll have your day. It will happen. See previous letter to Life, above.

That's enough missy,
Shine