Say Goodbye to Sophie: A Short Story about Frustration

    Sophie stood in front of the bathroom mirror, an array of supplies spread before her on the crowded counter top. Even the sink was occupied by small tubs of mineral face makeup, which she had earlier applied to create a smooth complexion and angular contours. She squinted and leaned close to the reflective surface, scrutinizing the dramatic, smoky eye she had just created. For good measure, she added a crescent of cheap, heavily glittered black powder to the outside corner of each eye. She brushed several layers of mascara onto the upper lashes and puckered her lips at herself in satisfaction.

     Next, the slim young woman took a step back from the mirror and admired her body. She wore only matching black lace panties and bra. Her breasts were pushed inwards and up, creating cleavage that would not otherwise be so pronounced. In the depths of this decolletage, Sophie brushed a generous amount of shimmering body powder. After inspecting the effect, she liberally swiped the glittering powder brush along her clavicles and down her arms. She then sprinkled loose body glitter over her shoulders and rubbed it along her lower back. She rummaged through a drawer filled with half-full perfume bottles and settled on a tall, frosted glass container. It contained a sharp, citrus scent that Sophie had been told on several occasions was uniquely suited to her. She spritzed this scent onto her chest, lower back, and neck. On second thought, she added dabs to her thighs, stomach, butt, and shoulder blades-- anywhere that may end up pressed into his 800-thread-count sheets.

    Her long, raven hair still hung loose around her shoulders, and while this was the look Sophie preferred for herself, she knew it would not do, today. She swept the thick, dark strands into a loose pony tail on top of her head and fastened it with a hair tie. Then using tens, hundreds of tiny bobby pins, she secured the long, loose hairs into a perfect princess bun. The short hairs that framed her face were swept back behind her ear and pinned into place. She tilted her head this way and that, ensuring that every angle looked just right. She sucked in her cheeks and placed a makeup brush from the counter between her teeth like a cigarette holder, fake inhaling. She blew imaginary smoke into the mirror, doing her best Holly Golightly impression.

    Glancing at the cell phone she had placed on the back of the toilet, Sophie realized it was nearly time to go. Quickly, she shrugged into a black cocktail dress and stepped into worn, red pumps. She sprayed one last cloud of perfume in front of her and stepped through it while she gathered her things from the bathroom and threw them into a small Coach handbag. Finally, running only a tiny bit late, she strolled out the door, slithered into her beat up old Honda, and began the familiar drive to his uptown condo.

   The sex was the same as always; Sophie spent much of the time with her face pushed into a pillow as he sweated and grunted above her, but ultimately she felt mostly satisfied. Now, they lay naked in bed as he smoked a cigarette and she slowly pulled the bobby pins from her now-ruined bun. She was stacking the pins on the nightstand beside the bed, many slipping into the shadows of the woman's articles that clearly lived there full-time.

    "You really don't need all that makeup," he was saying patronizingly as he watched the hair fall around her smudged face. His penis was draped over his thigh revoltingly, looking as if it would make a mucky noise if you tried to unstick it. Sophie looked away. "You're a really beautiful girl," he went on, craning his head over his shoulder to blow smoke towards the window. "Mira didn't need it when I met her, either. She hardly ever wore it. I like natural beauties, I guess." He turned his back to ash in the coffee mug on his nightstand as Sophie shook her long dark hair out and let it fall down her back.

    "She needs it now though, right?" she asked sardonically.
    "Oh god, yes." he replied. "And tits swinging like you wouldn't believe. At least blondes go gray somewhat gracefully. I can still pretend she's not practically a grandma in the dark." He himself had gathered quite a bit of gray hair on the sides since Sophie had begun seeing him, and his hairline seemed to have receded.
   "You're not so fresh, either," she said, but he ignored her as he lit another cigarette.

   Sophie was now occupied with combing her fingers through her long locks. Strands of near-black came out in her fingers and fell onto the sheets and pillowcase. She watched with mild interest as many fell between the mattress and the headboard. One snagged in the ornate detail carved into the bedpost and fluttered softly in the gentle breeze of the ceiling fan. His phone vibrated jarringly and caused them both to snap to attention. He looked at the screen and sighed as if he had just learned that he was being called into work on a Sunday morning. Placing one finger to his lips, he swiped the screen to answer.

    "Hello? Yes, dear. Home... I told you I was working from home today because Amir is out of the office all week because of San Francisco... Yes I did," he rolled his eyes spectacularly in Sophie's direction, but she was not looking his way. She was watching the way body glitter was falling into the cracks on a patch of mattress that had been exposed during their intercourse as she rubbed his sweat from her chest and shoulder. "I thought you said you wouldn't be home until later tonight?" he snapped into the phone. "Fine, fine. I'll see you soon then. Yes. You too." He hung up and sighed again.

   "Mira is coming home soon."
   "Yes, I figured that much out," Sophie replied as she gave her left arm a final brush and shook her hair, causing it to fall onto her chest. "I guess I better go, then."
   "Yeah, I'm sorry. I thought we'd have more time today. Next time we can go out and do something, your choice."
   Sophie slipped back into her underwear and slid her dress over her head. She steeled herself, turned to him, and asked one last time. "When are you going to leave her?"
   This time he didn't sigh so much as scoff. "I've told you a million times, Soph, it's not that simple. I have to protect my financial interests and my family. It's very complicated when you get marriage involved. If you'd just be patient--"
   "I know, I know. Just asking," she replied as she sat on the bed to slip on the old, red shoes. "Anyway, it was nice to see you. I'll see you around."
   "Listen, as soon as we can, we'll go out and get some drinks and see a show or something. K? Look, don't be mad."
   "I think I'm actually going away for a while, so I'll call you. Don't call me, ok? I'll see ya."

   And with that, Sophie gathered up most of her things and walked out of his life. As she drove home, radio silent, she found herself laughing uncontrollably; She hadn't felt so free in a long, long time.
   
 

 

Adam Carolla and Unfunny Women

The internet is abuzz right now over some comments that Adam Carolla (a man I don't find to be particularly funny) made regarding women's senses of humor, and I would like to briefly respond. Basically all he said was that women don't tend to be the funniest people in the writing room. While he admitted that some very funny women exist, citing Sarah Silverman and Tina Fey, he said that if you are playing the odds, you don't pick women out as funny people.

Other comedians like Doug Stanhope went on to defend him on twitter, claiming that men develop better senses of humor because they need to be funny in order to get laid. While this is true, it's not the whole story AT ALL.

Girls are funny TO EACH OTHER. We don't have to make men laugh in order to get to touch their dicks. They don't even have to like us to let us touch their dicks. However, we do have to use humor to disarm eachother, because women in our social structure are naturally aggressive and resistant towards each other. So, while we may laugh real hard at guys' jokes, we get each other's humor more, typically. Also, any time you see a girl claiming that women aren't funny, she is doing it for bullshit guys' benefit, i.e., "Look how much of a guys' girl I am! I like strip clubs and video games and don't think women are funny." These also tend to be the girls who will blow your boyfriend for a meal or a bottle of whipped cream vodka, or for fun.

Where was I... ok, guys feel threatened by the idea of funny women, because they view their own senses of humor as this super unique development they have achieved in order to get laid. Funny women threaten that. I guess they are scared we are all just gonna scissor if we become funnier than them, idk. So ladies, next time a guy tells you women aren't funny, just touch his penis and don't engage in the argument, because what's the fuckin point?

A Guy's Guide to Laying That Hot Bartender

I have run across several articles in men's magazines and similar, er, "developmentally challenged" publications that list the top five (or ten or whatever) most exclusive kinds of girls to bed. Let's ignore the ridiculousness of that premise and just move on to the part I want to talk about. Without fail, female bartenders always appear on these lists. As a lady who pours drinks for money, this makes me think.

Look, first things first: Bartender chicks, as a rule, are not hard to sleep with. I'm sorry, but these girls aren't nuns. They are typically girls who liked to hang out in bars so much they decided to get paid for it. Let's call a spade a spade.

That being said, it is really, really easy to completely destroy your chances with any bartender in one move. So, with the input of other lady bartenders I know, I have compiled a guide to help you fellows lay that hottie bartender you've been drunkenly lusting after.

1. Stop getting so goddam hammered.
I know you go to the bar to have some drinks and unwind, and your bartender knows that, too. She obviously wants you to drink because she wants you to pay her. She gets the deal. However, chances are that your sexy drink slinger is relatively sober. I don't know if you know this, but dealing with obliterated people when you are sober SUCKS. It it not fun or funny or anything but 100% sucky. So be less drunk than the other guys in the bar.

If your bartender is as hot as you think she is, a lot of guys are hitting on her on any given night. You have competition. If the other dudes are slurring and you're not, you've got a leg up. See how that works?

2. Don't be a pain in the ass.
Decide what you want to drink and stick with it. Make it something simple like a beer or a manly mixed drink. If you want shots, make sure you know how many you need before you fucking order. Don't ever, ever, ever give her shit about prices. This is common sense.

This gets a little bit more complicated when your bartender starts reciprocating your attentions. As much as you might want to, do not use this as an excuse to turn into a pain in the ass. Just because she flirted back does not mean you now get to monopolize her time. It does not mean you need to make her make a round of shots for just the two of you every 3 minutes. She still has a job to do, and if you fuck it up, you're out. Also, for the love of God, if she says she doesn't want to take a shot with you, don't pressure her! She knows she is at work, and she knows her limits, and let it go already!

3. Tip. Tip early and often.
Bartenders live and die by tips. You are not going to gain any favor by being a cheapskate. If you are paying cash, tip every round. A lot of times we hear, "Oh, I'm gonna tip you fat at the end of the night." While this may be true, your bartender does not know you or if you're a liar or what your definition of "fat" is. Meanwhile, some other schmuck is dropping cash on her every time he buys a drink.

If you are running a tab, run it up early. Start with a big order. Make sure she knows this is going to be a decent sized tab that may warrant a sizable tip. This may all sound like buying into your bartender's good graces, and it is to some extent. However, girls in general don't like cheap guys. They like presents, and presents require a man to separate himself from his hard-earned dollars.

If that turns you off, think about it this way; If your bartender thinks that you don't value her time at work, why should she think you would value her time in any other capacity?

4. Don't over flatter.
Dudes tell this girl all night how pretty/hot/sexy she is. It's all just noise. If you feel the need to compliment, at least be original. For instance, many girls respond favorably to compliments about their work. Everyone likes to be perceived as competent. Instead of telling your girl how fine she is, look her in the eye and say, "It's pretty packed in here, but you're working it out, girl." Say exactly that, but change all of the words to make it sound less like the gay sidekick in a movie.

5. Stay up late
Look, part of the reason bartenders are more difficult to sleep with than normal, daywalking human beings is that they work so freaking late. They don't get off when the bar closes; they typically have all kinds of terrible, exhausting nonsense to do after everyone else has tied a few on and gone to bed. You need to stay up late, and you need to do it without getting so drunk you either turn her off or render your dick useless. Not an easy task.

Obviously, different girls and bars etc. call for different game plans. In a perfect world, though, this is how it goes down. You show up halfway through the night looking hot and sober while half the competition is already sloppy and annoying. You have several but not dozens of drinks while building a rapport with your bartender. After she has responded and you have tipped her "fat", an exchange of numbers occurs. Then you make sure she knows you are going out and will be staying out late, and you GTFO.

Do not be the reason she cannot close as early as she would like. Do not try to hang out while she closes and wait for her. She doesn't know you like that and you're going to be in the way, and it will be awkward. Just let the girl know you'll be downtown/uptown/at a house party/whatever, tell her you'd like to hear from her, and go. Desperation is yucky and other social engagements make you seem cool. I promise this is your best shot. If some other douche ends up hanging out all night and making her drive him home and somehow gets it in, well, that's life.


Now go get 'em, tigers.

If the Earliest Christians Could See Us Today...

They would be surprised by how often we eat shellfish, how infrequently we beat our wives, and how few crimes we consider to be punishable by death.

They'd be super glad it no longer takes weeks to cross a damn desert.

They would be psyched that we allow our leaders to make decisions based on what it says in the Bible, even though we said we wouldn't.

They would be terrified of "The Passion of the Christ."

They'd be bummed Jesus didn't come back yet, saying something like, "I thought he meant in like fifty years or something."

They'd be like, "When I was your age, we only had one denomination, and we had to walk fifty miles to church, across a desert, up sand dunes both ways."

They would think Kirk Cameron is crazy.

They would be glad we haven't made a Jewish person president yet because of, uh, what happened with you-know-who.

They would be impressed by our strong, American hatred for them damn Muz-lems.

They would wonder why we say "Jesus" all the time when we aren't talking about Him.

They would go to zoos to reminisce about camels they once knew.

They would hate Lady Gaga.

They would not think Dane Cook is funny.

They would wonder where all the arks went but freakin' love yachts.

They would think Bono is a tool but be inexplicably drawn to Creed's Scott Stapp.

They would wear Uggs.

They would be completely overwhelmed by the sexualization of society, and probably, like, do it in the streets or something.

They would occupy the shit out of Wall Street.

They would all want iPhone5's.