Boys.

•October 19, 2008 • 4 Comments

I promised more than one person that when I started a blog I would write something about cute boys. I wracked my awesomely clever brain trying to think of something super witty to write about how cute boys are and such, and could only come up with an ironic list of “real men criteria” that are hot. Real men are far and few between these days. I know only as many as I can count on my fingers- or less! This is a compilation of real man traits. Enjoy!

1. Men who can build stuff. Building stuff is hot because it means that a man knows how to a) use tools, and b) use his hands. Both of those things are hot.

2. Men who can fix stuff. When I was an angsty pre-teen there was an older teen guy who lived down the street and I would watch him fix his car from a distance. People say you can pinpoint the beginning of a sexual fascination, and boy are they right! He would wear dirty jeans and old school metallica t-shirts and I would cut thumb holes into my sweaters. Sigh, not meant to be, but boy, was he cute fixing things! My point? Oh, that fixing things, be it a leaky faucet or a 1956 Chevy Bel Air, is hot. Fixing things denotes a certain type of knowledge, of figuring things out and being as good with your hands as you are when you’re building things. Oh. Man.

3. Men who read. I once met a boy who was soooo cute and had perfect hair and very white teeth and seemed interested in me (!) but then said he didn’t read because “he didn’t get all the hoopla over books.” Talk about killing an attraction buddy. Men who read are hot because they actually know things besides the stuff you see on tv and can interesting conversations with you. Men who read and are intelligent without being pretentious are the best kind of men. Bonus points if they write, because writing well is one of the hottest things ever.

4. Men who have opinions and stick by them. Real men do not change their opinions because of yours. They sinply respect that they are not the same and then argue their points all efficient and solid like and then catch you as you swoon all over their eloquent arguments and carry you into the bedroom. Or so I imagine.

5. Men who dress like men. Sure, those indie boys in skinny jeans and scarves can be hot sometimes, but how often is that true, really? And how often do they want to date a girl who doesn’t wear ironic Weezer glasses, or art school jeans? And would we call all of them real men anyhow? Give me a man in plaid with scuffed shoes, or a man who takes care of his appearance but does not nearly approach metrosexuality and I am happy. This of course relates to everyday wear, and not to “dressing up.” Every man looks better in a suit, and some men should never take them off. I believe that is what we call a “true science fact.”

6. Men who can cook. Sure, not every man can cook, and that’s ok because I can cook quite well, but it’s major bonus points when a man can cook. Think of the meals he could cook for you! How romantic.

7. Men who fight. Now, I don’t mean agressive frat boys who pick fights all over town, or fighting over nothing, but sometimes a fight is necessary. When violence really is the answer, nothing is hotter than a well-thrown punch. Men who can throw a punch are hot. Many women will tell you this is not true. They are liars. A man who throws a punch over you, well that’s enough to make any women worth her salt a little bit flushed, even if she is a tree hugging hippy who hates violence.

Real man bonus points for knowing how to fish, hunt, fire a gun, chop a tree, build a fire, or tie a really solid knot.

There you have it! Good luck recognizing real men out there in your neighbourhoods. They have been being attacked by society in general these last few years, so they may be a bit shy, but I have it on good authority that you can coax them out of hiding with baked goods or candy!

Four Things

•October 19, 2008 • Leave a Comment

A lot of people claim that we use the word “hate” too much. Hate is too strong of a word, they say, and there is no way you can hate as much as you claim. Maybe they’re right. I prefer to think that I am right and that I am perfectly capable of hating pretty much everything I want to. Maybe not “hate” them in an epic or biblical sense, but hate them well enough to make lists of them. Here are 4 types of people I “hate” today.

1. People with non-ironically popped collars (again).

2. People with ironically popped collars.

3. People who I overhear on the bus saying they didn’t vote because “it’s just not worth it, man.”

4. People on the bus who have popped collars and didn’t vote because “it’s just not worth it man.”

Oh, I tricked you there didn’t I? You thought this wasn’t going to be poltical, didn’t you? Well, it’s not…technically. I just find myself angry today over how many people I have overheard lately (on the bus and elsewhere), who didn’t vote because “it wasn’t worth it”, or “the polling station was, like, really far from my house and I was super tired.” These quotes are not even paraphrases, but actual snippets of conversation overheard at my large university where more people should have voted, but instead chose to stay home, or go out for a beer, or wax their chests instead.

I’d better not hear any of those people complain about the way our country is being governed.

I will choke them with their popped collars.

Silliness

•October 17, 2008 • Leave a Comment

Lists are pretty much my favourite thing ever that is not connected to boys or whiskey. I write lists of almost everything, be they important tasks to complete throughout the week (these rarely all get checked off), or lists of things on a silly topic that I think up while half way through a three hour grad lecture. This list falls into the former category.

Popular Titles in Chick Lit

1. One Day You May be a Cutlet.

2. Cute & Fuzzy? Yes I am! The Chick’s Big Book of Confidence.

3. Mommy was an Egg Factory: How to Come to Terms With Your Origins.

4. What Came First? Philosophy for Chick Beginners.

5. Cheep! Cheep! Cheep! How to Stand Out From the Yellow Masses.

(or the equally best selling)

6. The Yellow Masses and You: A Chick Communist Manifesto.

7. White Feathers Where There Used to be Yellow Down? Puberty Explained.

Beginnings

•October 16, 2008 • Leave a Comment

Oh, hello. How’d you end up here? Maybe I gave you the link, or maybe you stumbled upon me. Whatever the case, you might as well read some stuff while you’re here. No, I don’t particularly care if you’re not into it. Blogs are complete mastabatory forums for those that create them, so as long as I am pleased, I am…well, pleased. Until I figure out how to organize all of the stuff I plan on putting here, it will be quite chaotic, so bear with me. You don’t want a preamble? Great, I don’t want to write one. Let the blogging commence.

These are a few pieces I’ve been working on:

Questions

What’s this I spy with my little eye? Something to make us moan and sigh?
Something that makes me want to try, my oh my, you’re the reason why.
You did the deed with a look obscene, and me, I licked my fingers clean.
What’s this I feel when here I kneel? Something with which I have to deal? Something to make me want to appeal, with your skin to make a deal.
You touched me with your hands calloused and rough, and sighed in my ear with a voice so gruff.
What’s this we share with your hand laid there? Something to make me want to care? Something that makes me want to tear you apart with my mouth so fair.
You touched me neck with heavy meaning, and I bit my lip to keep from screaming.
What’s this I spy with my little eye? Something to make us moan and sigh? Something that I can’t help but try, and my oh my, aren’t you a dangerous guy.
You finished me off with a look obscene, and me I licked my fingers clean.

A Lover’s Lament

Oh no, here I go, back and forth and to and fro.
Oh gee, what’s with me? Touch of the hand and jerk of the knee.
Oh great, I can’t wait. I have an appetite you’ll never sate.
Oh shit, this just won’t fit, but I don’t care, not a little bit.
Fee fi fo fum, I smell blood, how’s you like to come?
Along with me to this feeding frenzy,
Where the prey is the heart and the hunter can’t see,
That there’s blood in the water. Adam’s son and Eve’s daughter,
In an age old dance, and it starts with a glance,
Where we hurt and maim, and the outlook doesn’t change.
But oh no, here I go,
just a drop of blood and I can never say no.
Oh gee, it’s not just me.
It’s the ball and the chain and we’ll never break free.