2009-07-09 - 9:48 p.m.

GIGGADY GIGGADY GOO IS ONLY FUNNY ON TV

Interesting exchange with a man today. Led to a rant. I've had enough.

Those Disney movies aren't far off, you know. Corny as it is, women want to be adored. Feeling like you're number one in someone's heart is a better aphrodisiac than anything, anywhere. Know it, guys, and stop being so fucking nonchalant.

My ex husband couldn't put the bottle down and wouldn't provide for his family, but he adored me. Despite his flaws, his constant sweetness toward me held me all those years, and I was able to overlook way too much for way too long due to it. I'm single 6 years now, and other than one brief stint with a complete nutbar, I haven't been in another relationship.

It's not that I don't want to be with that man out there who will adore me...it's that finding him means I have to come in contact with you, Sex Guy. Sex Guy wastes no time with formalities. He gets right to the business of his pants with innuendos and propositions. He makes ridiculous requests that he must think are turning me on when really I'm thinking, "YOU DOUCHEBAG!"

Worse yet, he doesn't seem to notice that I am not enjoying it. He doesn't pick up the subtleties, like my refusal to pick up the gauntlet, my lack of participation, and my obvious attempts to turn the topic to things that are not way too personal and inappropriate.

This isn't my first experience with you, Sex Guy, and now you're showing up more and more, and I'm starting to think you and your ilk may be the only ones out there. God, how depressing. I'm dreaming of a man who loves my laugh, who wants to know about me, who likes the smell of my hair, who appreciates my humor, the way I am raising my kids, and the curve of my hips...I'm finding only Sex Guy, who could give a rip about my children, doesn't care about my laugh, and is only appreciating the curve so he can bring up the crevice.

He doesn't seem to GET that if he approached me with respect and made like he cared a little, if he took time to talk to me and listen, too, without bringing up "what I think about when I'm alone" or "whether or not I have "the urge"... if he'd just spend a little more time trying to find out what makes me tick instead of constantly turning the conversation to his earnest (and tiresome) dick, that I would be 100% more likely to find him irresistible, and could fall deeply in love with him even if he were hair-lipped with Marty Feldman eyes? Clearly, he doesn't get it, because when we talk it's three sentences before he gets to the thing that matters to him: ass. It doesn't turn me on, it insults me. It tells me you haven't got the interest to get past what I can do for you, and it lets me know just exactly how cheap you hope I am.

Carry it, Sex Guy. I'm waiting for the man who will make an effort, go the distance, make an overture that he doesn't consistently try to split down the middle like a fucking dutch treat. He'll have time to listen, he'll open doors and bear gifts and whisper sweet things. If he isn't interested he will FAKE it to spare my feelings. He'll be considerate of me to a fault, and he'll by-god watch every damn video clip I send him to it's end even if it's stupid as hell. And he'll like it, or at least make an effort to pretend to like it. THAT man will be able to bring up any sordid topic he likes, and he'll get just exactly what he hopes for in return, because there's not enough dirty talk on the PLANET when the right man makes the right moves to earn it. That man will receive the best and dirtiest sex, and sex talk, that he can imagine for the rest of his life. And if he never materializes, I'll just get another cat, you fucker.

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