Be Vewy, Vewy Quiet

If you’re expecting scale numbers, learn to live with disappointment (at least for today). BUT…

I took a good look at myself in the mirror as I was working out and…DEFINITE HOURGLASS (not sexy yet, but dammit, I’VE GOT A WAIST!!!!!!!!).  And the new skinny jeans? Yeah, the waistband is just a wee bit loose already. I was headed out the door yesterday afternoon (dropping off the too big clothing) and caught a look at my face in the mirror. I liked what I saw. Now, I hesitate to say (or think) I look good or I like myself; I’ve just always figured that was egotism. But, like I said, I caught a look at my face and thought, “I’m pretty.” I don’t look bloated or tired anymore. I have to sit down with someone to rework the makeup because (and this is serious) my previous look was designed to minimize a fat face. I don’t have a round face anymore (I have the webbed throat that is the “genetic betrayal that is my legacy” – Janeane Garafalo as Heather Mooney in “Romy & Michelle’s High School Reunion”). It’s a pleasant problem to have.

A tall, good-looking guy APPROACHED ME at the gym today. Okay, okay, I know him from yoga class (he hasn’t been there in ages. Knee issues. Gee, that sounds familiar). But he wanted to confirm that I would be there tomorrow. Hells frickin’ yeah!

This brings me to today’s sermon…I mean my blog post. As this is actually text for stand-up FOR ME, consider it copyrighted material, off limits for theft (unless you want to pay me) and MINE, MINE, MINE.

You’ll have to imagine me at a microphone stand and since the jacket I used to wear for my stand-up gigs was stolen, I’m having a hard time visualizing it myself. (Somewhere in Portland, OR, there’s a homeless transvestite asking “Does this make me look fat?”)

Ah, yes, the mating ritual.  You know, in the animal kingdom, the males are the ones who have to do all the work and the girls get to decide. Human race? Rulers of the planet, top of the food chain and (if you’re to believe the Bible given “dominion over all”) we’ve got it ass backwards. Women seem to do all the heavy lifting (and tucking, Botox,bulimia, implants, you get the picture) to attract the male of the species.

I’ve seen it up close and personal in the bar scene. For starters, women generally don’t go to bars by themselves. In what can only be a holdover from the cave days, they work as a hunter/gatherer groups. Those women who DO hit the bars alone are considered rogues and not to be trusted (The memory of “Fatal Attraction” lingers on). Anyway, if she can take down the big prize by herself, then she’s considered an outcast and probably a bitch. The rest of the hunter/gatherers will destroy her behind her back. Mammoth/investment banker, same thing. And she should have at least introduced him to the other girls. Selfish bitch; she can’t even dance.

Look at the terminology for starting and building a lifelong romantic partnership. “Husband hunting,” “He’s a great catch”, “trolling”, “on the prowl” or the dreaded “shotgun wedding” (bridesmaids in camouflage taffeta).  It’s a big game hunt or sport fishing; either way it’s the “American Sportsman” with Curt Gowdy (Yes, I’m that old) If someone got sharp enough, they’d come up with a hybrid of “ Modern Brides” and “Field & Stream.” Or sell husband hunting licenses a la New Hampshire and the annual moose lottery (if you’re lucky, you can shoot the biggest, dumbest deer in North America).  Open season all year round. You could even make a show out of it, like the aforementioned “American Sportsman.”  Commentary by Martha Stewart and Ted Nugent.

“Who’s our first contestant tonight, Ted?”

“Well, Martha, it’s Andrea Stokely of White Plains, NY. She’s playing the long game tonight; got a Bachelor’s in Computer Science from NYU,  6 months savings and a 780 credit score, making her ideal for starting a life together.  Parents are solid upper middle class, with a comfortable stock portfolio, vacation home on the lake and they own their home outright. She’s never sexted anyone and no psychotic ex-boyfriends. Let’s see how she does.”

“Ted, I see she’s caught the eye of a junior associate at a Wall Street law firm. He’s got a law degree from Columbia, an AMEX Platinum card that he pays monthly and his parents are divorced (and dead). While he wants to get married eventually, he’s not looking tonight. This is going to be a real challenge for Andrea.”

“Martha, she’s making her move, “accidentally” bumped into him while trying to get the bartender’s attention, apology with a giggle and…and… YES, she is going for the hair flip!”

“The gambit seems to have paid off, Ted. He’s focused, leaning in and …what’s this?”

“Uh oh, we’ve got another contender, Martha. This is Britney Suggs of DeKalb, IL. She’s a high school dropout who works as a dental receptionist during the day and two nights a week, supplements her income with pole dancing at a local strip club, one of the seedier ones. She’s developing a coke habit, got a case of the crabs and owes money to 3 different loan sharks, but our boy seems to have forgotten Andrea completely.”

“And why is that, Ted?”

“Look at the sweater cows, Martha. She’s packing Double Ds and that’s a slam dunk every time. She traded sexual favors with the dentist to get them, but they’re getting the job done. Looks like Andrea will be going home to her vibrator tonight.”

And so it goes. As for me, I’ve been more in the “catch and release” program.

Lest anyone think I’m just bitter and Mother Theresa got more action than I did, I have dated. It’s just never been particularly good.

Thinking I should be open-minded and treat others as I would like to be treated myself, I agreed to go out with a guy who was old enough to have voted for Roosevelt. Teddy Roosevelt. It was a dinner date, so I was home after the early bird special.

And speaking of old men, I’d like to bitch about something for a moment: women going through the hormone depletion that is menopause are the butt of jokes. Hot flash humor, ha ha. Why is it, on the flip side, when Mr. Willy doesn’t snap to on command, it’s cause for national panic. Seriously, I hear a local celebrity on the radio boasting about how he’s undergone “hormone replacement.” And I’ve seen ads for something called (I kid you not) “Andro Gel” to deal with “low T.” If they advertised female menopause remedies as much, the GOP would hold hearings (no women invited) decrying it as warping the moral fiber of America. Do we want our children to see ads about (gasp) FEMALE HORMONES??? It might lead to uncomfortable questions about what females are and why they need hormones. And then dancing. Look, Y Chromosome owners, quit your bitching. When you  have to remove facial hairs by yanking them one by one with a pair of tweezers instead of a Gillette Mach 4 and Old Spice aftershave, then you tell me about how difficult aging is. And back down on the Old Spice. Your sense of smell may not be working, but my nose is fine. Actually, just limit it to Dial deodorant soap. Metro sexual or not, the girls are the ones who are supposed to smell pretty.

But I digress.

At the other end of the bad date scale, we had the possible virgin. Youngster (truly ugly nerd sweater) and didn’t seem to know what he was doing. If not an actual virgin, then definitely a candidate for remedial sex ed. And I wasn’t interested in playing teacher to this clown; clearly he had sexual ADD – he was more focused on pleasuring himself than a living, breathing, WILLING woman. At least he didn’t steal anything.

These are just examples, glaring ones. Let’s say they are the reasons why I’ve had less experience at my (ahem) age than Britney Spears did by the time she was 25. If that’s been the best offered to me, I’ve been happy to do without, in a manner of speaking.

And yet, I’m still willing to try. I keep hearing “men are visual, men are visual, men are visual” (Hey, Ray Charles wasn’t visual and he had a LOT of girlfriends). Fine. I’ve been working on improving the bait. I have a friggin’ waist, okay? For real!

Let’s see what I can catch…