Overanalyzing Dating Profiles #1

IMG_9477“Water sports.”

“Sees me at least once a week.”
At some point, you’ll totally end up going out of town for a few days and he’ll be blowing up your phone every five seconds wondering where you are, and if you really cared about him, you’d be making the effort to narrate your life via text message–but not because he’s asking you to. For the joy of it.

Wow, People Really Love Penises.

The most popular post on this blog BY FAR is the one about seeing “The Golden Penis” in Prague. I’d really love to know if that post inspired anyone traveling to actually seek out The Golden Penis for themselves.

And because you guys all love phallic imagery so much, I thought I’d deliver a positive message in the form of a drawing. JUST REMEMBER, you get to decide who you are in this world. No one can tell you who or what to be. Only you can define yourself.

"I'm not a dick!"(And for anyone thinking, “Good lord! What would your mother say if she saw this?!” If my life up until this point is any indication, she would take the tablet stylus away from me and say, “Come on, Pug. You can do better. That’s not how you draw a penis. I’ll show you how to draw a penis.” Then she’d hover over my shoulder until I got it right.)

I Am Meow Open to Finding My (Cat) Soulmate

cat soulmate valentine2Sometimes, you need to put positive energy out into the world acknowledging that you are—at long last—ready for a deep and meaningful commitment. With a cat.

I have decided that I am now ready to share my living space with a cat. But not just any cat. I don’t want to adopt a cat for the sake of getting a cat. What I’m looking for is a spiritual bond. Love at furs sight. I’m ready to find a cat that looks at me and says, “You. You are my human.”

My soulmate cat may find me, one way or another. But I’m not above putting myself meowt there. Going to adoption events. Hanging out at shelters.

Know a good cat(ch) and want to play matchmaker? My ideal cat is female, small, preferably not orange—I’m a sucker for unique-looking cats—with a passive, calm purrsonality. Not a kitten, maybe an adult cat that’s one or two years old.

If you’re also looking to adopt a new furry best friend, the best online cat match resource I can recommend is Petfinder. It’s a great way to see all of the cats in your area that need a good home. (Just in my area, there are SIX THOUSAND cats up for adoption. That’s insane. On a completely unrelated note: How much space do you think I would need to adopt six thousand cats?)

Even if you’re looking for a specific breed and you think you’re just going to need to shell out cash for a breeder, try Petfinder first. Scottish Folds? On Petfinder. Russian Blues? On Petfinder. Siamese? Petfinder. ONE-EYED CATS? THIS IS NOT A EUPHEMISM, MY FRIEND. PETFINDER.

Not big on internet dating—I mean “cat finding?”

On the off-chance you’re in the DC-area, check in regularly at PetMAC in Friendship Heights. They work with a rescue in Virginia to have adoptable cats just running free around the shop.

Not in DC? Check and see if there’s a cat café near you! If they work with a rescue, that’s a good way to meet an adoptable cat in purrson to see if you mesh.

30 Days Has September (April, June, and November)

September 2When I was in elementary school, we used to have to memorize a poem every week and recite it to the teacher for a grade. For someone like me, this was super easy. I’d memorize the poem immediately, go recite it, and then instantly purge everything I’d just memorized from my short-term memory.

Except one poem that stuck with me.

30 days has September,
April, June, and November.
All the rest have 31.
Except for February which has 28,And in the Leap Year has 29.

I actually use this poem in my everyday life. “HOW many days are left in January? Well, let’s see…” However, it’s such a stupid poem. It starts off all rhyming and sing-songy. 30 days has September, April, June, and November. But then at the end, you’re running words together just to cram it all in. ExceptforFebruarywhichhas28andintheLeapYearhas29. It’s like the poem version of those quickly mumbled warnings during drug commercials. Anti-depression pills may cause side effects suchasdiarrheaheadachesconstipationsleeplessnessdepression

If you google the poem, there’s actually a Wikipedia page about it. And the Wikipedia page reveals that there are about 543895798983 different versions of this poem where people wanted SO DESPERATELY to both make it rhyme and accurately explain why February was different.

Thirty days has September,
April, June and November.
All the rest have thirty-one,
Except for February: It is done
At twenty-eight, but leap one more
When the year divides by four.

No. Just give up.

Thirty days has September,
April, June, and November;
All the rest have thirty-one,
except for February alone,
which has four and twenty-four,
’til leap year gives it one day more.

You’re trying too hard.

Here’s my version:

30 days has September,
April, June, and November.
All the rest have 31.
Except February.
February don’t give a fuck.

January? Jam-uary.

Ah, Jamuary. The month when we all create bear-like hibernation caves out of blankets, woolen socks, and sweatpants. Fresh fruit is like a fond, brightly-colored memory. A pale imitation of fresh fruit appears in the grocery produce aisle, costing $4.98 per shriveled berry.

But we still have jam. Or preserves. Or jelly.

What’s the difference, you ask? I actually have an answer. One time, at an apple orchard, I found a handy chart and took a blurry, poorly-angled photo. Which I will share with you now.

Difference Between Jelly, Jam, and PreservesBoom. Jam that knowledge all up in your brains.

So what’s your favorite jam/jelly/preserves? Mine is Bonne Maman because it seems fancy and French, but I can buy it at Giant.

Success is Hard. But Half a Sheet Cake is $40.

Sometimes I worry that success is like a small birthday cake at a huge party.

The people who are the most assertive get there first and cut the biggest pieces. And then a line forms. The line is totally random. I’m at the back of the line, and I can’t help but wonder:

“How did she get ahead of me?”
“How come he has cake, and I don’t have any cake?”
“I’ve been here just as long as they have!”
“Will I get a good slice of cake?”
“…Will I even get any cake?”

Like there’s only so much success to go around. And if I were just more aggressive or well-liked, I’d have cake already. I wonder what other people have that I don’t. (Besides cake.) Why them, not me?

But mostly, I’m afraid that I won’t have this thing I want so desperately.

And in a way–it’s fine. I won’t die if I don’t get cake. But I will still be hungry. There’ll be this big empty pit, right at my core. With the ability to fill it taken completely out of my hands and left up to chance.

Fortunately, you can buy an entire non-metaphorical cake at every chain grocery store and eat it alone in your apartment. None the wiser.

Success is harder to come by than cake.