exitstrategy

So it has become painfully clear that there is a major gender divide at my job.  We even had an expert come and gather information to prove it.  The men thought her visit was unnecessary.  They thought she was needlessly drumming up controversy.  I mean why fix something that ain’t broke.  Well, the obvious answer is that it IS broke.  But, these d-bags were threatened.The statistics are pretty bad.  They get better work, more hours, more money, and more respect.  Like last week, this partner asked me to do a super important task.  He asked me to tab stuff.  You know, like how Cher highlighted those phone conversations for her dad?  But, oh yeah she was in high school and I graduated law school.  Why was I tabbing?  Well obviously, that is women’s work.So, what does it take to be successful as a woman?  I am reminded of the conversation I had with Mr. ATD.  He suggested that I dress the part by wearing suits.  In other words, dress more like a man.  But, how far will that really get me?  My suits, like all my clothes, are tight.  Oh and they come with skirts.  So, no one will be fooled by my drag.  What else is there?  Victor/Victoria aint gonna work.There were those broads in my women’s group at the old firm.  Their recipe for success was to mimic the work habits of a man.  So, they got themselves stay at home husbands (or live in nannies who stayed in servants quarters in a closet in their house and refrained from eye contact) and worked all the time.  I mean I have more of a chance of imitating the dress habits of a man than the work habits.  I don’t want to work around the clock.   Those bitches were crazy.So what do I do?  Its not enough to dress like a man and I can’t act like one.  Well, the answer is obvious.  There is really only one way to be taken seriously at this law firm.  You need a penis.  So, I guess that means taking huge doses of testosterone a la the pregnant man.  I can grow a little guy and just sit back while the opportunities for advancement present themselves.  After all, I don’t want to make all those men uncomfortable with my woman parts.  Its a win-win.

The Spinsta was in rare form.  Or, should I say, the Spinsto - the Spinsta’s evil twin.  So this past Friday was a charity event for another of my boards.  The event was long on booze and short on food.  More specifically, it was open bar and with a few dishes of cashews.  As you can imagine, I was blitzed.So there were the stairs - I think I fell down a few.  And there was the delish wine named “truck.”  And then there was more truck.  Oh and then I threw a clip board.  And then there was more truck and then there was the afterparty.  This was where things went seriously awry.Picture this: one cab, two people and one barely coherent Spinsta.  To the left of Spinsta, is a guy.  To the right, a gal.  Spinsta decides to set up the guy’s brother with the gal on the right.  So, she says that the girl will “tap that ass.”  And then apparently she licks the guys face.  Not getting the result she desires regarding the set up, the Spinsta ups the stakes.  ”She likes it up the a**.”  I mean what guy wouldn’t jump at that offer.  Both guy and girl are stunned.  Spinsta licks guys face again.  The cab arrives at the destination.Spinsta and her friends and the guy arrive at a bar where guy’s friend is having her bday.  Spinsta has a small split in her skirt.  Then, Spinsta has a HUGE split in her skirt.  Luckily, Spinsta is wearing tights or else she would have been arrested for public indecency and sent to “dry out” in a cell.  So, Spinsta and her exposed bum go into the bar.  Spinsta says again about the friend and her desire for rear access.  Then, the “friends” leave - I use quotes because who would leave Spinsta alone.  (I am not serious.  I would have ditched me too.)  The Spinsta goes to the dance floor with the guy.  The Spinsta freaks the guy.  Mind you, the bar was playing blues music.  So decent folk were sitting listening to the blues and the Spinsta was there on the dance floor, exposed skirt, and made it clap.Because where do you go from there - I mean clearly one cannot get better, the Spinsta went to some dank area in the back and ordered herself a Shrimp Po’Boy.  Followed by a taco.Note - the above tale is second hand.  To preserve her fragile sanity, the Spinsta’s psyche blacked out the whole sordid affair.  But I did wake up with a head ache as if I had been over by a truck.  A ha - I see where the name comes from.

This blog is no stranger to controversy.  I mean some of my blogisodes have elicited heated responses from all kinds of people - even John McCain not too long ago.  But, I was not prepared for the firestorm that came from Macho Man.  Given that the Spinsta is not one to run away from controversy, I am prepared to address Macho Man’s comments head on.In short, Macho Man you are wrong.  Let’s talk this line by line:33 is too old for group dates period.  If he wanted to go on group dates, then he should meet random tator tots at a bar and ask them to all hang together.  Don’t go on a set up.  Period.Asking a set up to bring “hot chicks” on a group date when you are 33 is even worse.  Whether or not he thought my friend was a hot chick and so hung around with other hot chicks, it is beyond douchey to request she brings along the hot chicks.  And, under NO circumstance, can a 33 year old man use cutesy abbreviations.  LOL is the catch phrase of a douche.  Other forbidden terms:  ttyl and omg.  And don’t get me started on douches who combine the abbreviation with an emoticon - it is too much.Someone with plans who makes exception to go out on a Sunday shows up at 2 on a Bears game.  The cheap skate did not offer to take us to the game.  We were just going to watch it while scrunched together with hot chicks in a booth.  It was clear that whatever goes.And yes, anything did go on that hellish “date.”  I find it hard to believe that the tator tots approached the table of jokers.  Remember, I saw them and Macho Man you did not.  They are not the type of crew that would cause random tator tots to throw themselves at a booth full of dudes.  If he is desired - which is unlikely - he can be desired when he is not expecting a date.  And yes, the group date is all in it together.  No random tator tots for his friends.  Remember, Macho Man, my friend was told to bring her own hot tots.Why did we go to another bar first?  It was a passive agressive move to tell The Douche that these tator tots did not appreciate his other tots.  Maybe it was not the best idea - I grant you that Macho Man.  But, curiosity is a valid reason to go on a date (in fact, it is a great reason) and showing up drunk to meet someone is always a good idea.  The drunks are more interesting and the prospective dates are more attractive.  It is a win - win.Now, clearly I schooled Macho Man.  But, for those of you who are not convinced, here are a few more details that I left off because I did not want to come down too hard on The Douche.  Given that my journalistic integrity is at stake, however, I must divulge:The Douche had injured himself by falling off a go-cartTo deal with the pain, The Douche was taking narcotics.To enjoy the Bears game, The Douche also drank while taking his pain meds.The Douche is renting out his home.  He told us about the tenant who got the “sweet pad.”  ”He was wearing a hooded sweatshirt and was not wearing designer jeans, so I assumed he could not afford my sweet pad.  But, turns out he is will to spend ___ on the place and he has some serious money.”  That phrase needs no explanation - DOUCHE.The Douche took several pictures with the random tator tots.  The Douche flirted with the tator tots, and he got the phone number of one particular tot.Enough said.  The Douche was a real douche and Macho Man is wrong.  The Spinsta is right.  Since I do not want to alienate any readers (I still love you Macho Man, please continue to read), I am going to write about less controversial topics.  I will stop writing about group dates, and instead I will start writing about gay marriage, abortion, and other similar topics.

I don’t know what it is but it has become painfully clear that there are a lot of really awful dudes.  Like more than usual.  I mean I know you are supposed to kiss a lot of frogs - and I have kissed more than a lot of frogs, including one dude who actually was a human frog hybrid and ribbotted at my throughout the date - but I think the numbers are on the rise.  Maybe it’s the economy or the fact that I am getting older, whatever the cause the effect is quite disheartening.  These jokers can be categorized into several groups.  The predominant groups are:1.  The Clueless DudeNow I have dated the clueless dude.  In fact, a few months ago I went on a date with a clueless dude who ordered himself liver and onions and talked about his dog’s loose stools.  I mean really?  Clearly these are bad choices, but the brother did not have a clue.  But my clueless dudes are nothing compared to a clueless dude with whom my friend was going to be set up.  He apparently got her number from his dad who was friendly with her dad.  To arrange the date, this clueless dude sent her an email entitled “Surprise, its me.”  Um, scary.  But it gets worse, much worse.  The email reads as follows:I was told you were expecting this email, so I will try not to be embarrassed (:I was given your email from my dad, and since I am a spontaneous guy, and did not want to let him down, here I am!It’s so great having parents try and set you up isnt it? (:It would be great to chat when you get a chance..I hope all is well, and look forward to hearing from you.How can these jokers not realize that this is not the way to woo a woman?  2.  The Clowny DudeI think the majority of dudes I have come into contact with could be grouped in as Clowny Dudes.  The latest clown was from a month or so ago.  We were supposed to see a movie but Clowny was like an hour late.  When he told me he was going to be late he asked me “Are you cross with me?”  Um I was not “cross” until you invoked my grammy.  Who says cross??  Oh and when he arrived late as the movie was playing he again asked if I was cross.  I think the answer was obvious.3.  The Douchey DudeOf course the worst type of dude is the douchey dude.  Yesterday I met the douchiest of dudes.  Like this guy needs a poster warning women against him.  So, he was being set up with my friend Rose.  Rose’s sister knew (barely) some woman who was going to rent Douche’s home.  She and Douche talked once on the phone and decided to set up a date for last night.  Yesterday morning at brunch she got a text from him asking if she was a Bear’s fan.  ”Sure.”  ”Ok I am going to watch the game with some friends at a bar.  Why don’t you come with some friends.”  Um, a group date?  The guy is 33 years old and had been set up with her - not some random meeting at a bar late night while hammered.  I think drinks (alone) are appropriate.  But she is less devoted to The Rules than I so she said sure.  And, of course, she made me come with.  ”Who are your friends?  Are they single?”  I requested the information - I mean it is already awkward enough to come along on someone else’s date but hanging with married couples might just push me over the edge.  ”Yes.  Bring some cute chicks, besides you of course.  Lol.”  I mean there were so many things wrong with his text.  Starting with the hot chicks comment.  Gross.  And worst of all “LOL.”  Men should not use abbreviations or emoticons.  No exception.  ”Are you sure about this?”  I ask.  ”You never know.”  So, Rose texted “we will be there at 1:30.”  ”You should try to get their earlier.  The game starts at 12.”  Bossy Douche.  Fast forward to 1:25.  Rose and I were in the cab heading towards the bar for our group date.  She texted him that we were on our way.  ”Perfect.  We are sitting in a booth across from the bar and I have on a Yankee’s hat.  There are two girls that sat down at our table.  I will get rid of them.”  WTF??  The Douche invited his own “hot chicks” on our group date?  This is just too much.  ”We are getting a drink somewhere else first,” I demanded.  So we went to a bar down the street.  ”Actually we are going to get a drink first down the street.  See you after.  Hopefully there will be room in the booth for us,” she texted.  ”We may be gone by then,” he responded.  I mean this guy just kept getting douchier.  He may be gone?  You asked her on a date.  You can wait until she arrives or you can meet us at the other bar.  ”I don’t think we should go,” I said.  ”We are a block away.  This way we wont be curious.  We will just get one drink.”  We finished our drink and headed over to the bar with the gang.  Sure enough the “hot chicks” were seated at the table.  This chicks were obviously not hot and they were eating tator tots.  His friends were lame.  We squeezed into the table and talked to the Douche.  The Douche talked exclusively about the Douche.  Oh, until he told me that I should not twirl my hair.  ”Are you nervous?”  Oh yes Douche, being in your presence takes my breath away.  ”No I always do it.  It’s subconscious and I think it’s genetic.  My whole family does it.”  ”Hmm.”  Apparently, the Douche was not convinced because later when I was twirling he hit my hand.  Um, Douche, don’t touch the Spinsta.  I mean I don’t like people who I like touching me.  Oh and at one point, the Douche was telling us his view on life:  ”I know its a cheesy phrase, but I really believe in it.  You know work hard party hard.”  That is NOT the phrase you Douche.  It’s live hard play hard.  And obviously you live by cheesy phrases.  I am sure his home is decorated with Successories posters - you know the pictures of a mountain that say “There is no height you cannot reach” or some other cheesy phrase.  That was the last straw.  2 minutes before the game was over we told him we had to go get lunch and we were free.I don’t understand what is wrong with these dudes.  Is it so much to ask that there be the male equivalent of the Spinsta?  You know, perfect.  Oh, and for those of you wondering if my “friends” are really me - they are actually my friends.  I mean come on - I told the world I had a rash.  Clearly I have no shame nor any problem with telling embarrassing tales about myself.  I guess the message is be warned.