The botanist never loved you

At the botanical gardens, under the creamy lotuses, pink roses and aromatic blue bells lies a carefully detailed description of each prized flower’s specific aesthetic and practical contributions to our natural world. Plus, their name, in Latin.

Underneath the faded green spruce trees, that pop up every now and again, awkwardly mingled with short patches of vibrant reds and violets, reads a sign that says simply this: “Required Plant.”

What it means, I don’t know, but I think if there ever was a time to consider a career in plant therapy, it would be now.

The Lady is a Tramp

Me: I really am starting to despise discussions about “what is art” or “what art is” or “what art isn’t”…all the pretense makes me a little nauseous.

Paul: So, when people have those discussions what do you do? You’re “educated” …you could chime in.

Me: i no longer have the desire to prove that I’m a classy, worldly dame. It’s never gotten me anywhere.

Paul: Oh, but you could prove to the exclusive men in such exclusive intellectuals that you’re desirable. That they’d be lucky to have a lady like you on their shoulder.

Me: Or I could shut up and silently imagine what men that pretentious and self-centered are going to look like when they’re 89 years old and they have no companionship aside from the live-in health assistant. (Pause) I’ll probably find more joy in that.

Paul: You’re really a quite a horrible person.

My rock candy of love

Today I saw 2 little girls and a little boy playing “Rock of Love” with each other. For those of you who don’t know, Rock of Love is a downright terrible (yet, somewhat appealing in the way a bad haircut with too much hairspray is appealing) game show on VH1.  Brett Micheals (everyone’s favorite washed-up rock “musician,” who is probably best known for his sex tape with Pamela Anderson).

The little boy (Brett) was standing outside with the two girls standing across from him.  As I walked by, the little boy pointed to the little girl to his left and said, “Amber, you are my rock of love.”

“Amber” jumped up and down and began to gleefully shout “I’m a rock of love!”

The little girl next to her turned to Amber and yelled, “I wanted to be Amber!”

Then she punched Amber in the stomach.

The great part about this is that it seems life imitates art a lot sooner than we’d expect it to.  The not so great part–”art” is now a cheaply shot, reality show on a stale music network.

Another reason I sometimes hate men.

Do you really need to yell as I’m walking down the street, bothering absolutely no one, lose weight/get a tan/ugly girl etc.

Seriously. I know people. People with very strong stomachs. And I will have you killed.

Al Gore: Most likely to make America wish it wasn’t so dang stupid.

Al Gore. He’s kinda like that plain girl you knew in high school. The one who wasn’t ugly, per say, but you’d never dream of asking out even though you knew she had a crush on you. Cut to eight years later. Plain Jane is a super model. She’s so gracious and stunning and articulate when you run into her again.

Dear god. What did you do? What were you thinking?

Now that cute little blond non-threatening cheerleader you were so into weighs 200 lbs. Her broken English and kittenish shrugs aren’t so adorable.

But hey, you got laid right?

Put a little love in your heart.

I love walking home at night. However, I don’t have so much love for the drunken idiots who I run into. One such run in last night went something like this:

Me: Please move.

Drunken fool: You’re cute.

Me: I have a boyfriend.

Drunken fool: I’m 21!

Me: I’m 26.

Drunken fool: No way. I mean really, NO WAY.

Me: Yeah, it’s surprising my face hasn’t fallen off yet, isn’t it?

Drunken fool: A little. How old is your boyfriend?

Me: 34.

Drunken fool: OMG.

I heart youth.

Facebook: From hell’s mouth I swipe at thee.

You know, I don’t know why I’m still with facebook. He hasn’t been very good to me. There’s been a lot of empty promises regarding newer better friends, boyfriends, shiny pictures and super fun games. But alas, these have never come to fruition. And yet I stay. Like a fool.

I have discovered that in the “compare your friends” application that I don’t remember downloading, which just appeared one day on my page, which I have never participated in at any point in time to my knowledge, which at one point voted me “most reliable,” has once again dealt me a fatal blow. Whoa. Is. Me.

No one has voted me funniest, prettiest, or most attractive. All the things that make you generally likeable. And I’ve been voted on several times.

I mean, ME? ME! I’m so….prickly adorable. You know? Can’t anyone see that?????? Does not the world hear my cries????? Has the god of social networking forsaken me?

Five things Women (who are into you) Never Want to Hear

1. I’m not really that into you, but I really like your friend.

2.  I love you like a sister.

3.  God, she’s (as in over there, not you, hon)  hot.

4. My ex-girlfriend was so cool.

5. You remind me so much of my mom.

Do I really want another Ex-Boyfriend?

Before I start dating anyone, I always need to ask myself, “do I really need another ex-boyfriend?”

I only say that because they always seem to stick around after we break up. And don’t get me wrong, I love them all, they are wonderful people, hold nothing against them, etc. etc.  However, how many ex-boyfriend friendships can one girl handle?  I’m already at…well more than one girl should have.

At this point I shouldn’t be asking myself, “Is he the love of my life?” The question should be, “how good of an ex-boyfriend will he make?”

5 things you should never say to a man while on a date

1. I love that shirt! My Father has one just like it.

2. I’ve been damaged by men.

3. I have approximately two good years left until my eggs start to die.

4. I have fantasies about a young David Hasselhoff.

5. Here let me get that for you, sweetheart. *spit on napkin and dab date’s chin*