Why Nicholas Sparks is going to take away my vagina license

I’m just going to come right out and admit it – I don’t like sappy, sobby chick flicks.

The formula is always something like this:

Girl meets boy of her dreams. One of them is always from the wrong side of the tracks meaning that right side of the track’s people vigorously object to the relationship. “He/she wants your money/status/good name.” This causes tension for the girl and the boy, but try as they might, they just can’t stay away from each other and boy is the most romantic person ever.

Halfway into the movie tragedy strikes and a seemingly insurmountable obstacle appears. Perhaps boy moves to Virginia to become a personal aide to a crazy, racist governor causing someone to put out a hit on him, so he has to go into hiding. Maybe girl is in a horrific zoo accident where a wild ocelot escapes from its enclosure and eats off girl’s face, and she has to have an emergency face transplant that makes her look like Freddy Kruger or Pete Burns from Dead or Alive after the 87th plastic surgery.

Of course, in true sappy, sobby chick flick fashion, they will overcome these things that would make the rest of us jump off a thousand foot cliff to our smashed deaths. They will run to each other in slow motion, lock lips, and live happily ever after with their 2.5 kids in a house with a white picket fence. Everyone will adore the girl and boy and their perfect life together.

If I have actually made it to the end of the movie, the happily ever after crap is where I start begging for someone to rip out my eyeballs and stab me in the heart with an axe and beg for the return of the two hours of my life I just lost to pure crap.

Real boys are not romantic like they are in chick flicks. Sure, maybe they will be at first, but once they get laid, romance sort of dies unless they did something wrong like screwing your best friend while you were in the kitchen making him pb&j. And they might be romantic for five seconds if they want something from you like a blow job with swallowing, or to have you prepare a six course meal for his boss who will be arriving in 15 minutes, or if he wants to go to Vegas with his friends to party with one-legged hookers and sheep.

Chick flicks imply that if a girl doesn’t find that perfect boy, her life will suck forever. She’ll never be happy. She’ll never be fulfilled. She’ll never find true love again. She may as well run off and join a convent or go live in a cave as a hermit. And even that might be too taxing, because without the perfect boy, she’ll probably not even deserve to live. It would be better for all if she just stopped eating and wasted away until one day POOF – she just disappears.

Crap, even just thinking this long about chick flicks makes my insides go into knots that won’t be cured until I watch something actually entertaining like an infomercial on foot care while I chew off my own arms.


I need someone to make me angry

On of my friends always comes up with really good insults. She has one that I have been absolutely dying to use. It’s so hard to work into a conversation though. It goes something like this:

festering cuntbubble on the labia of Satan’s whore

I hope I get to use it on someone someday. I’ve been waiting and waiting for just the right person to piss me off enough.

***Spell check does not think cuntbubble is a word. Crazy.

Do you ever have a secret girl-crush? Me either.

I hear it from friends and all over the internet – “I have a girl-crush on so and so.” I don’t know if I should feel left out or not, but I just don’t seem to get girl-crushes. Now that’s not to say that I wouldn’t totally tongue kiss Angelina Jolie if she came over and cleaned my house, but I’d tongue kiss anyone who came over and cleaned my house. I’d probably even tongue kiss a large, sweaty woman with a mustache and lip warts if I didn’t have to scrub pee off the bathroom floor. (Please note ‘probably.’ I have all sorts of food texture issues and licking sweaty, hairy warts is pretty likely to make me violently vomit.)

On my list of things I’ve never admitted to my husband is the type of person on television or movies that I DO find crushable. When he asks, I bring out the usual suspects for so many women…George Clooney, Brat Pitt, etc. But really it’s not them at all. In fact, I don’t even think that close friends who’ve known me for years could say the type of guy that makes me drool.

It’s tall, skinny, geeky guys. Really. Although I should make it very clear that I mean tall, skinny, CUTE geeky guys, rather than the tall, skinny, pimply, asthmatic, geeky guys. Inhalers are just not sexy. I have absolutely no idea why I’m drawn to tall, skinny, geeky guys. Maybe I like big brains? Maybe it’s because I assume they’re not all that strong and I could totally take them in a wrestling match? Maybe it’s because I’m married to someone who’s kinda short and round-ish?

I could so get into the fantasy of a tall, skinny, cute, geeky guy pushing his microscope and petri dishes off the table and ravishing me right there. And please let him be wearing a lab coat and maybe some horn-rimmed glasses. Jeez, I’m kind of all hot and bothered just thinking about it.

I can definitely never tell my husband about this obsession of mine, because then he’d know why I DVR every single crime show around – it’s the lab guys. To be clear, it’s not all of the lab guys. The ones that look like they dress up as Captain Kirk and go to Trekkie shows don’t do a thing for me. Do they do a thing for anyone, except their Trekkie dressing counterparts? Ok, see now I just ruined all my hot and botheredness picturing Trekkie sex. That’s the problem with being attracted to the tall, skinny, cute, geeky types. It can just too easily go the wrong way.

Shit. Now I have to go and watch some Oprah or something and think about her and Steadman and Gayle and John Tesh all doing the nasty so that Trekkie will get the hell out of my head.