Note to Self (189) How to be funny as a woman

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My ex used to say to me all the time, women can’t be funny. They’re supposed to be cute, the nice accessory that goes along with a car or a spaceship, depending on what kind of man she’s matched with, but their role pretty much stops there. And if the girl doesn’t look good, well, maybe she can be funny because she’s fat, or has an interesting set of facial features, yet again, her impact on society as a funny person will be extremely limited.

Logical question: why can’t women be as funny as men?

According to a writer I’ve just discovered (and I’m officially a fan of since 5 pm today), Dave Wong, Editor on Cracked.com, and author of two bestsellers, men’s physical appearance doesn’t play the same role as for women. His example being that men are driven by other attributes, and if they compensate for their lack of good looks with a strong sense of humor, or a fat wallet, they can go away with pretty much anything. Women, on the other hand, are bound to their physical qualities. Boobs, legs, hair, face, eyes, you name it, every part of a woman’s body is scrutinized by men on a regular basis (should I say 90% of the time, if not 99%) because men’s brain is not located inside their skull. Contrary to women, who don’t think about sex all the time, men are doomed to fail. And yes, I understand women look like juicy pieces of meat ready to be devoured any time of the day. I guess Mother Nature made it that way so that we could all have babies in the end. But Mother Nature didn’t think things through, and prevented women from actually developing their other attributes to counter-balance their lack of good looks (for the ones who weren’t lucky at birth) by being funny (the big wallet not really playing a huge difference in how men treat women anyway since they’re constantly blinded by the looks).

Shame. Honestly, I feel deprived of something great. I’d love to be funny, and even if I already make men laugh, a little bird tells me they laugh not because I’m hilarious, but because they want to get in my pants. Which again, makes me feel like a useless piece of equipment.

Writing a blog as a woman and trying to be funny is therefore one of the hardest thing to do. I can’t even guarantee to be funny without sounding like a bitter condescending bitch half the time, or the chick who thinks she’s so smart she can beat men at their own game, because after all, men have owned that turf for centuries, like they own baseball, football, hockey, Jackass, six packs, secret handshakes, writing their name with pee in the snow, nice pats on the back and cozy talks by the fire about how sometimes hair gets stuck between their ass cheeks after a shower and it takes them three days to realize it was hair and not something else because seriously, that stuff itched like a motherfucker, and it prevented them from concentrating properly on other important stuff… like boobs and new vaginas and such. Maybe that sense of humor thing is also written in the Bible, I haven’t checked, but it wouldn’t surprise me.

Is it totally hopeless for women to be funny?

I can’t make dick jokes without sounding vulgar. I can’t talk about how I’m craving hot pockets and I want to hump my next door hot female neighbor every time I hear her turn on her TV on the other side of my living room wall. I can’t relate to the hair stuck between the ass cheeks because it doesn’t take me three days to realize it was hair and not a zombie alien stuck down there. I can’t cry with my bros about not scoring chicks on Saturday nights because the competition has become too tough, and women in general have become too picky. I can’t get a boner just by thinking of a double quarter pounder with extra bacon. I can’t spend ten hours drinking forty Bud Lights and play beer pong on my kitchen table. I can’t look at another girl and think how much I’d like to bury my face between her boobs.

None of that applies to me. So I have to be the smart funny chick, who jokes about… hot guys? Meh. Food? Um. Shopping? Boring. Life? Sigh. Yep, I guess men really own that privilege after all. To my disappointment, but why should I worry about being funny anyway? I’m convinced I don’t need to even say a single word and I’ll still be viewed as the juicy piece of meat on the rack.

There’s sincerely nothing more perplexing than feeling so dehumanized. Then again, men hold the answer to how their brain functions only because Mother Nature programmed them to think like stray dogs. Does any good come out of this blatant injustice?

I’ll keep trying on my quest to be funny no matter what Mother Nature tells the rest of mankind, because it’s utterly sexy to make a man laugh, and yes, I agree once again that I’m probably not funny and he only wants to get in my pants, so what!

There must be someone out there who will appreciate my twisted sense of humor. I should launch a bunch of date nights with my readers just for the sake of it. If I can get a nice dinner out of it, why not, right?

In any event, I’d be serving my purpose. 😉

Note to Self (188) #Children

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I confirm I got a call from Mother Nature, and my biological clock is ticking so hard it’s impossible to ignore the obvious. The same thought is on my mind all the time. I go to bed with it, wake up with it, walk on the street and constantly wonder what my life would be like if I was a mother.

And I must say over the years, my reaction has changed from totally appalled to absolutely excited.

I hated children from age 0 to 29. I’m 29. Simple enough. I didn’t know what to do with them. I didn’t grow up with siblings, never experienced another baby in the household, and later on, didn’t have girlfriends who had babies early. The few pregnant females in my vicinity didn’t catch my interest at all when I attended law school. To me, I wasn’t even supposed to be a mother.

Once I got married, the repulsion didn’t go away. There was no way on earth I would get pregnant. Some of my ex’s friends married girls who were obsessed with kids, and logically, turned me even more off to the idea. Just not my thing, I would always say. The people I hung out with in NYC were all in their 40s, miserable as hell because they couldn’t find a suitable relationship, and they never talked about having children either. The dating scene in NYC is horrible enough, let’s not add kids to the mix. One of these former acquaintances even claimed children didn’t bring anything but lots of love handles, sleepless nights, and cranky days. I didn’t necessarily agree with that statement, but I didn’t have any counter example in my environment either to really understand the role of children in an adult’s life. So I let it slide and forgot about the whole thing.

And yes, sometimes you feel something that is overrated by the media and society in general might not get your full attention until you’re truly put face to face with it, and make your own opinion about it. This is what happened to me this year during Memorial Day weekend and truly changed everything.

My good friend and talented author Krystal Wade has three adorable children. My publishers Lisa Gus and Eugene Teplitsky have also now two awesome kiddos. These little bundles of joy proved I could be happy surrounded by them, and I wanted them in my life too. There isn’t one day where I don’t think about them. There isn’t one minute where I don’t want to hold them, hear them laugh, and watch them grow.

Children are awesome. There’s no other word. Despite the tears, the temper tantrums, the angry fits, the frustration, and all the bad that comes with the birth of a little one, there’s this beautiful feeling that their existence is bound to ours, and without us, they’re nothing. We mold them into adults, intelligent beings who become friends, and make us proud. It’s going to sound cheesy, but I cannot wait until I can have one of my own. And yes, this means I will have a child – remarried or not, in a relationship or not – and I’m not going to jeopardize such an amazing adventure just because I’m single, or too busy, or my apartment is too small.

Life doesn’t end with the birth of a child. It begins in a different way. The world doesn’t revolve around us anymore, it focuses on them. What can I say, I’m totally in love. And yes, Mother Nature just made me realize the clock was ticking a little too hard not to be heard…

All in due time of course.

Note to Self (187) Fake Online Relationships

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On my learning adventure through all the TV shows made available to me out there (and yes, I watch the good and the bad), I came across a show on MTV called Catfish. The host experienced love but it was an online relationship, only to discover a few months later that all the things said with the girl of his dreams happened to just be a big fat lie. After confronting the person he called “the love of his life”, he decided to use his experience and film a documentary called “Catfish” that won a lot of awards.

MTV is now following the stories of people who are in a similar situation. People who have found love through an online portal, but have never met the person they claim they fell in love with. Too crazy to happen to you? Would you ever fall for someone you’ve never physically met?

Well… I know it sounds crazy, but I relate to this experience. I, too, fell in love with someone online, and was ready to leave everything behind to make my dreams come true. It happened on a chat room, in 2003. I started talking to someone called Tyler, and we connected right away. Tyler pretended to live in New York, only I found out later he was living in San Antonio, Texas. Tyler was twenty-one, had a bad break-up, was going through a lot with alcohol and drugs. Dropped out of school. Had a girlfriend who got pregnant, then lost the baby, who then cheated on him with his best friend… And to top it all off, Tyler committed suicide a week before my twenty-first birthday.

When you read this, you wonder how I could ever have fallen in love with such a person. Tyler didn’t even exist. Tyler was a woman with three kids, a husband, bi-sexual, bored, and ready to fool the world into believing her lies. What’s even crazier is that I knew her, and she sent me pics of her kids. We talked on the phone. We exchanged letters, emails, and she sent me memorabilia! All a lie.

The love I felt was real though. Everything made sense. There was no doubt in my mind I had found the perfect person. I was completely heartbroken when I thought Tyler had really committed suicide. People around me thought the whole gig was a joke. I didn’t. Because I would never pull such an awful prank on anyone. But I was wrong.

Tyler didn’t exist. The love we shared was nothing but a story born from a cheap soap opera. I moved on from it the day I hung up the phone on Tyler’s impersonator, and decided I should just forget about the whole thing.

I don’t believe in relationships where there’s no physical contact. Talking on the phone, even through Skype, doesn’t replace the emotion you feel once you stand close to the person. I had a few other beginnings of relationships build that way after that insane experience, but I pulled the plug on each of them every time.

I can’t fall in love through a keyboard. I need the real deal. Especially as a writer, I can say whatever I want just because it reads nice. Online dating, please. I stay away from that thing like it’s the plague.

Hooking up with people you meet at a bar isn’t better, but at least, the physicality of it still exists. And I realized many times, people put up a facade that fades very quickly once you peel off the layers. Online relationships manage to keep the romance going for a long time, and cause heartbreaks. I’ve been there. Not only did I lose a beautiful dream, I also felt humiliated and embarrassed for being such a fool.

I know now love doesn’t come easy. Yet, I’d rather stay single that run after deceit. At least, I don’t get hurt anymore.

Note to Self (185) Crush

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Another interesting topic: crushes.

I remember crushing on a new guy every week when I was eleven years old. At thirteen, I fell in love for the first time. It was actually a huge crush that persisted. Nothing ever happened between this guy and me. I did his homework and tried to get his attention as much as I could, but nothing worked. He liked another chick. Broke my little heart.

I experienced a million other crushes after that. Movie stars, singers, classmates… Anyone who looked good became the object of my affection, although I never got to really know the person I was infatuated with. I was living a fantasy on a day to day basis.

My first and so far only love – I married him, and now divorced him.

No one else made me feel the familiar butterflies in my stomach. I had a few moments of weakness where I thought I could experience a new crush, but overall, nothing happened.

There’s this one crush I have now – and it feels different, because I am friends with the person – so I actually get to know him. First time we talked, we hit it off right away. Second time we hung out, I was definitely charmed. But we can’t do much more than just hang out. Many reasons why. Anyway, that person is in my mind but I’m fighting hard to push him out of my thoughts because I know I just have a huge crush.

I love to feel this turmoil of emotions, but my reason tells me it’s better to back off. First, I don’t date people I work with. Second, I don’t want to be in a relationship. Third, I’m afraid if something happened between us, our friendship would die. And I really cherish our friendship right now.

So I keep my crush a secret, and hope he finds a girl to fall in love with and I don’t have a reason to crush on him anymore.

Crushes are nice for a little while, as long as they remain fantasy. And I get to create my own romantic dreams, which is always a good thing to fall asleep. 😉

Note to Self (183) The Introspection Continues

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Today I officially broke up with my girlfriend. She didn’t come to rekindle our friendship. She just wanted closure. Knowing her other friends told her a lot of lies about me just because that’s what asshole people do when they have the right opportunity presented to them, she decided to rely on their judgment and kick me out of her life for good.

I don’t blame her. I punched her in the face. What no one talks about is why I actually punched her.

Our first violent fight dated back to New Year’s Eve. We had to get separated by bouncers otherwise we would have mutually punched each other in the face. The argument started on a misunderstanding. She had too much to drink, got emotional, I tried to calm her down, and she started just going nuts at me. That night was quite horrible. We eventually made up, but I wasn’t looking forward to fighting again.

But we argued again. This time it was at the Hamptons. July 4th weekend. Again she had too much to drink. Got involved with a duper asshole, felt like he didn’t treat her right and got upset when he hooked up with another chick in front of her. I tried to be there for her, but she made things worse by stalking the guy, and becoming obsessive. I told her to stop acting so irrationaly. He wasn’t worth the time or the energy. I ended up being blamed for what happened to her and had to sleep in another room because she was about to kick my ass.

The whole drama with this guy continued for several weeks. She saw him in the City. Had a crush on him. Lived in total denial. I expressed my opinion I disagreed with what she was doing, to which she said I should have her back no matter what because that’s what friends do.

Ok. Maybe not in my book. But I still tried to keep things at peace.

Last weekend of August. Hamptons again. Same guy, same booze level, more drama. At this point I heard enough. I saw enough. I don’t want to deal with the bullcrap anymore. So I remove myself from the situation. She comes after me, accuses me of not being there for her. We argue, the fighting escalates and I end up punching her because I was too drunk to think straight.
The hurt that resulted from this nightmare made me wonder why I even cared about her so much. She didn’t listen to me. She did whatever she wanted and pulled me in her shit every time. I had no say. No opinion. I was her partner in crime but never did she show true empathy toward my situation. She didn’t think of what she put me through. She just acted out like a spoiled brat.

This person isn’t in my life anymore. And I’m quite glad she left. Because honestly, I don’t handle drama queens very well. But no one of her other friends saw this. And I end up carrying the blame for her demise.

Fine. Think whatever. I am not a violent and angry person. I stand my ground. I defend myself. Everything else is just a big fat lie.

But hey, good riddance. What goes around comes around.

Note to Self (182) Introspection (more of it)

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So here I am again. Dwelling on what I did right and what I did wrong.

Easy enough though. I never was a bad person. I’m a very nice chick actually. Always willing to help, always ready to be there and to give my trust. I don’t doubt anyone for their intentions, until I get stabbed in the back.

I had that problem in the past, already when I was a little girl. People would take advantage of me. They would abuse my kindness. I let them use me until I couldn’t take it anymore, and then I reacted with anger. They said I was a mean person. They said I was crazy.

But I’m not crazy. I react under extremely stressful situations. My anger is the outlet I use to let people know I have been hurt. I should react sooner, so I wouldn’t be so angry. My problem is that I absorb all the crap, let it cook for a while, and then explode.

I’m not perfect. No one is. I can’t tolerate hypocrites. I’m not good at playing games. When I got something to say, I say it.

The girlfriend who came to discuss the argument we had made the first step to fix a relationship that broke for a reason. She hurt me. I got angry, and I slipped by punching her in the face. Months and months and crap had accumulated, little things she did and said that pissed me off, but I remained silent because I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. Well look where it got me. I lost control and I became the bitch.

Same with my marriage. I got hurt, reacted with anger, and then got called crazy by my ex. No one can call me crazy. Especially not the people who break my trust over and over again.

I cried for nights and days, wondering if I really was the terrible person these people said I was. But then I prayed. I asked God to send me a sign. Let me know I was still on the right path.

And God showed me I wasn’t a terrible human being. I’m just too nice. Too sensitive. I get hurt and don’t want to tell anyone because I refuse to be a selfish brat, always focused on my suffering, but not caring about the rest of the world.

I won’t change who I am. I have to stay true to myself to be happy. So maybe I’ll lose more people who thought they could use me, but at least, I won’t forget what I’m made of.

Fuck the haters.

Note to Self (181) Apologies

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It’s good to apologize. At least I admitted I had a problem. Now if the other side just tells me to fuck off – well, that’s their problem I guess.

All I can say is I’m letting go of the past here. I don’t want to hold grudges. I don’t want to remain bitter until I die. It doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten all the shit I went through. But it means I’m able to move on.

I’m done dealing with the petty bullshit. If you aren’t, too bad.