March 26, 2013 § 1 Comment
First Posted March 7th 2011
Oxytocin. Have you heard of it? They say it’s the cuddle hormone. It triggers labor pains, it’s also the reason why new moms love their babies so much even though they look like little alien things from another planet. Men produce far less oxytocin than women, which is why we occasionally cry at fabric softener commercials. Guilty as charged. Oxytocin levels rise as bonding encounters increase: touching, caring, experiencing an orgasm, experiencing multiple orgasms etc. You’re hooked, you’re attached, you want to glue him to your hip and feed him chocolate.
I don’t like to admit this, but I’ve had a couple of boyfriends who I have absolutely hated the first time I met them. I hung around them for one reason or because I was forced to and they literally grew on me, we were feeding off each other’s oxytocin. It’s funny how quick shameless office flirtation leads to sex. Bam, I am hooked.
Riddle me this. I’m not a hugger, so when I get a surge of oxytocin from sex I am in love with this doofus. I have hormone-goggles on. I was broken up by the Polar Bear because I was finally getting the oxytocin I normally deprive myself of when I don’t let my hairdresser give me a hug. This is why people tell me to get a cat! If I had a pet I would feel sufficiently cuddled. And if I were sufficiently cuddled maybe every casual relationship wouldn’t feel like an arranged marriage. Or every guy who just isn’t that into me wouldn’t seem like he’s the last man on earth with a good pair of testicles.
But damn it feels good to be in love, or think you’re in love, or just be high on oxytocin. Maybe I will get a cat.
March 18, 2013 § Leave a comment
You know you’re a bachelorette when…
- Your main hobbies are men and bars.
- The mere sight of a wedding dress has you searching for a paper bag to breathe into.
- You call making out with a random guy “practice.”
- Your mom tries to hook you up constantly. She’s proactive in the quest for a son-in-law.
- Sometimes you go days without getting a call from anyone but your boss.
- The only things in your fridge are condiments and alcohol. The only thing in your freezer is ice cream.
- You have a bartender for every night of the week and are a regular at at least four places.
- People encourage you to get some sort of pet, a goldfish will lend an ear so they don’t have to.
- You prefer the term “sliver fox” to “older gentlemen.”
- The more expensive, shiny, and fast the car, the more likely you are to get in it.
- You go to the farmers market just to flirt with the flower vendor.
- You carry around a condom in your purse, just in case. For you or for a friend, free love for everyone.
- Every time you go to the store you buy a bottle of wine so you never have an “emergency.”
- Words of encouragement are often phrased, “it will happen when you least expect it,” and “there is some one out there just perfect for you, you just haven’t met him yet,” and accompanied by a sympathetic sigh and head tilt.
- The songs, “All the Single Ladies” and “No Scrubs” combined together would be your anthem.
- The term barfly just doesn’t do you justice.
- You still provoke arguments with your ex because, frankly, you like the banter.
- You’ll make excuses for excessive chest hair and lack of a personality if he’s paying for dinner and rumored to have large pleasure rod.
- You never see the inside of your apartment because you are either at work, at the gym, or at the bar.
- You broke down and paid the 30 dollars to get on Match.com, but by the 50th question you gave up. You don’t need a man THAT bad.
- Brunch is another word for gossip. You’ve got to keep your Rolodex updated on who’s gay or taken.
- You have a pair of heeled boots in your car. You never know what can come up before happy hour.
- You eat ramen noodles three times a week.
- You believe in the notion that everyone should get laid, but don’t take on charity cases yourself.
- You go into perky-chest mode when around groups of men.
- You become adept at checking your appearance in any reflective surface.
- You think your “number” is under 20, but you cannot actually recall all of them.
- You give your dates a height requirement.
- You aren’t afraid to throw a punch or kick some nuts. A girl’s got to protect herself.
- You are concerned that you’re getting too dependent on your vibrator.
- In retaliation of your most recent rejection, you give out his number to random guys at the bar. Wish you could see his face when he gets those texts!
- You can’t manage to save money because you exercise too much retail therapy.
- You might admit to spending too much time crafting the perfect Facebook Profile Picture.
- Somehow you always have a piece of chocolate on reserve somewhere in your apartment.
- You think pregnant women are smug, married people are bitter, newlyweds are stupid and engaged people should just shut the hell up.
- You never kiss and tell. Unless someone asks twice.
- Everyone you meet has a really great guy for you, that’s just your type (even though you swear up and down that you don’t have a type).
- You refuse to believe that you will meet your soulmate at a bar or on the internet, yet those are the places you most frequently look for men.
- Motorcycles and musicians are attainable fantasies that can last anywhere from one night to a few weeks.
- Dinner may be too much of a commitment.
- Your mother has given up hope on having grandchildren so she’s sponsoring five kids in Africa.
- You think life is too short to date a balding man.
- You’ll have a conversation with anyone if they will buy you a drink.
- The “shoe pile” in your closet starts to resemble Everest.
- You have no shame in Googleing a guy on your phone right in front of him moments after meeting. Weeding out false advertising from the get go is essential.
- One of your holiest guilty pleasures is watching The Bachelor/The Bachelorette just to reaffirm that you aren’t THAT desperate.
- You may have burned several prized possessions of your ex, but his lawyers really can’t prove anything.
- You give prospective boyfriend types nicknames and pair them up like boxers; Tall Musician vs. Karate Kid, Ginger Haired Bartender vs. Future Husband, Mr. Blue Eyes vs. Italian UPS Stallion, Tattoo Boy vs. 9er… and so on.
- You think that if a guy looks good on paper he’s probably bad in bed, and you learned this from your online dating experience. Whoops.
- If you start referring to your pet or any inanimate object as your boyfriend.
March 12, 2013 § Leave a comment
There comes a time when we use our adult tendencies to decide what we are going to do next with our lives as human females. I guess males do this too, but sometimes I have trouble relating to them. I think it’s because I think penises are like built-in compasses and I don’t have one of those, so I have to think harder when I make a decision. Anyway, onward with my thought…
I made a decision about 3 years ago to start this blog in an effort to spew my ideas about the modern woman dating in the digital age. Mid 20s, single, fancy free (actually, not fancy at all, I ate Top Raman 5 nights a week), I was really disconnected with adult life. Shortly after I began to document my electronic conquests of love, or lack there of, I met Mister Red. Way to ruin the future memoirs of a single lady.
I kept things at bay, believing that I simply had a summer boyfriend and washing my hands of any serious feelings. This backfired. I got distracted, fell in love, then I was terrified. Still terrified actually. Apparently I’m a bit skittish when it comes to romantic feelings. No sudden moves please.
Anyway, I played a little make-beleive and kept the readers about 6 months behind the progression of our actual relationship. Partly because I was taking vigorous notes while living through the discovery of “the one” and the other half was that Mister Red took some time to warm up to being my muse. He got so sensitive when I referenced his shirtless midnight snacking.
Today, I feel our relationship has matured to that fine tune of going to bed early and catching up on television we missed during the years we didn’t have cable. It’s a daily grind of, “is this what it’s going to be like when we’re married?” Yeah, probably. Fantastic, because we can unload a dishwasher in under 60 seconds.
I believe my bachelorette days are numbered, and I’ll save my crippling anxiety and silent freak outs about it for another time. Right now I’m doing what everyone with a blog and limited readers should do, I’m writing a manuscript. Hopefully some day it will turn into a book (actually it will, if no one publishes it, I’ll do it myself and all 6 of you can have a copy).
Over the next few weeks I’m going to be putting together the story of Mister Red and how he accidentally became Mister Right. After I’m finished I’m going to take this blog down. Don’t worry, I’ll start a new one as a more mature Smarty Snatch and let you know what and where it is.
In the meantime, as I clean out this blog, there will be many many posts that will not make the cut and I’ll repost them here on Tuesdays.