i had major reservations about this. i really don’t believe in this stuff. but i’m an open-minded chick so i thought why not give it a whirl.

i signed up for match.com.

now i know a lot of people have met their mates on online dating sites. and i do just about everything else online but somehow the buck stopped with meeting that special someone.  i’m of the belief that finding a person who makes you blush and gush is more of an organic thing, not a data thing.  that chemistry (pheromones, endorphins, dopamine, oxycontin and the heart racing chemical) is the thing. and to get these chemicals surging you actually need to be near the person, not looking at their picture, facts and figures. and definitely not reading about them “in their own words.”

well…

i guess i should have lied about my age. i can’t tell you how many men are looking  for women younger than they are. ok, i can tell you. EVERY FUCKING ONE OF THEM. here’s one funny example. i saw this guy who works at my company on match. he stood out because a week ago i went to a meeting and this vp i had never met before was checking me out to the point where i became uncomfortable. what’s his status on match?  “44 y.o. man looking for women 30-42.”

what the fuck is wrong with women your own age or a few years older? in person, i’m eye candy, but on match, you wouldn’t even consider me. seriously!?!? that’s ok because i thought you looked way too uptight anyway.

which brings me to another problem i had with match.  i don’t want people i work with seeing me try to find a fucking date. omg that’s awkward. i saw the profiles of a few people i know and just giggled with embarrassment. i can’t tell you why, but the whole thing seemed so silly. and i wasn’t reacting well to the selling of oneself as a suitable suitor.

i’ll tell ya what else i wasn’t reacting well to. fucking creepers winking at me, liking my photos, or emailing me a sales pitch. EEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwww.  the email system is within match so it’s not like they invaded my personal email, but the exposure made me recoil with fear and loathing. i wanted to poke at all of them with a virtual stick and say, “go on, geeeeet out of here.”

for a match based on data, why doesn’t the actual data mean shit? i indicated in my profile that i love summer, sun, warm weather and water sports. winter bums me out something fierce.  so why did mr. avid skier hit on me?  i’m not saying i wouldn’t do a long weekend in vail, but i know what i like.  i also indicated that my political views are very liberal and mentioned being a recovering catholic. and conservative church-going protestant dude emailed me? we all know that mary matalin and james carville have pulled off being happy with opposing views, but they sir, are the exception.

then when i was in public somewhere, at the gym, train, grocery store, i kept seeing the faces of people on match. if my eyes met with a stranger, i was sure he was looking at me because he recognized me from match.  i’m paranoid by nature, but that site fucking haunted me!

some of you may have read kernut the blonde’s blog posts about her match.com dating experiences. the posts were hilarious. well, i didn’t get that far.

i gave it the old college try, but i quit my 3-day free trial before getting charged. it turns out match.com and me are oil and vinegar.  

i’ve done a very bad thing, punkers. i went to mcdonalds today. boy, was it fucking good. normally i try to hide my guilty little pleasure because most people i know would be appalled to learn that i like to eat mcdonalds. “i’d never put that shit in my body.“  but you’d drink a coors lite?

so not only was that shit tasty, it was cheap. i’m a quarter pounder with cheese girl (although i recently discovered i like the angus bacon and cheese snack wrap when i just need a little something). a QPC extra value meal is only $5.79 and includes the world famous fries and an icy cold soda. now if i went to a pub or a fancy steak place for a burger and fries, we’re talking $10-$20 plus tipping some wait person with too much flare.

and the calories would be like doubled. here’s a breakdown of my meal:

quarter pounder with cheese: 510 calories

medium fries: 380 calories

bottled water: 0 calories (i get the water because soda is too many calories and it’s only good the first couple sips, unlike franzia, which is well worth the calories. see that’s the thing about my calories…i’m all for racking em up as long as there’s flavor involved. nothing worse than consuming calories on something that doesn’t taste great.)

back to the math. if i ate a fancy burger and fries at 2x as many calories, that’s over 1700 calories. so i get my fix and don’t do too much damage. you say whatever, i say brilliant.

let’s talk fries. i add salt that comes out too fast from those little packets they give you. yeah i add salt to that shit. you eat chinese food. druthers. i like to eat my mcdonald’s fries one at a time. this way you really savor the flavor. eating them a bunch at a time is like chugging a good tequila. protocol. now truth be told mcdonald’s fries actually used to taste better awhile ago when they fried them in a mixture of about 7% cottonseed oil and 93% beef tallow (you come here for the thorough research, don’t ya?). but then all the people who really want to eat them but torture themselves by not complained about the high cholesterol in the fries so MickeyDs switched to pure vegetable oil. sacrilege.

and before y’all go asking me if saw supersize me or fast food nation, no i purposefully did not see these movies. why would i take my own grease sunshine away? i don’t want to know what ingredients are used, or to examine the meat packing industry, or any such nonsense. you say irresponsible. i say lighten the fuck up. i’m not eating 3 meals a day at the golden arches for 30 days in a row and consuming over 5000 calories a day without exercising. so stupid.

i get that there are better foods for you that taste just as good, and even mcdonalds offers healthy food options (although i don’t konw why anyone would go to mcdonalds for a salad when there are burgers, nuggets and fries on the menu. besides that’s what saladworks is for.) but i think a little self-indulgence is healthy. denial will be the death of you. if you’re down with this premise, you might also want to read my diets are dumb post.

i’m tired of doing the walk of shame from my beamer into a mcdonalds hoping no one will see me. (oh btw i dine in because, i forgot to mention above, my world famous fries must be hot.) from now on i’m going to hold my head up high, get my QPC on and hope mcdonalds is doing the monopoly game. it’s back by the way and 1 in 4 wins!

how do you eat your fries?

do you dine-in or drive-through?

what are you ashamed of?

do you also eat at yo quiero taco bell?

ps: you can blame this silly post on denny delvecchio who commanded i write a new post. bet you’re wishing you hadn’t, huh denny? anyway, thanks for the encouragement.

i’m upset about this weiner business. not because tweeting a photo of your moose knuckle to a hot chick is all sleazy and salacious and the dude is married.

that shit happens all the time and the emotional repercussions are between him and his wife. and hilary clinton probably. besides relationship stuff is thick, layered and very complicated. that kind of analysis is best left for someone with credentials. or credibility. neither of which i have.

now don’t get me wrong if anthony weiner used any official resources to talk dirtay with his dianas, i think he should be lynched. (and i really hope john edwards goes down in a flame of silicone lube for soliciting and secretly spending more than $925,000 to hide his mistress and their baby during his campaign. fucker!)

what i am upset about is that no one ever tweets pics of their package to me.

don’t get all excited. this isn’t an open invitation or a “tweet your meat” contest announcement (although that’s not a half bad idea, i think the contest would be huge – TWSS), but it’s just the idea of it.

i like junk.

i embrace technology and new media.

i adore pop culture. (damn i’m punny)

i want in!

yet no one is sexting me, sending me dirty pics, leaking sex videos of me, or tweeting me their massive male muscle.

what am I chopped tuna?

hear this men: the 20 somethings, college students and nubile porny stars aren’t the only chicks wanting men to flex for them. in fact, they may well be among the least engaged in your brand promise. you’re missing targeting your message to a key market segment. that is, over 40 with a hungry, open mind and discretionary time for play (our children are grown and our careers are established).

campaign fail!

well we all know this was a big power trip and men in power pull these kind of shenanigans because they think they are getting away with something and are reaping satisfaction by imagining some trophy girl will perceive them as hip, badass and well-endowed. so silly. try to impress a woman who is savvy, has discriminating taste and sophistication. a woman who can’t be bought and sold. in other words, take on a real challenge, ya numbnut. then it might be impressive.

the other reason i’m upset about this weiner stuff is because he tried to delete the tweet. i feel his pain here. i can’t tell you how many time i’ve  responded to a twitter message notification text on my iphone thinking i was responding as a direct message only to have my response appear as a tweet for all of my followers to see.

when i would delete the tweet, it would disappear from my timeline, but it wasn’t getting removed from everyone else’s timeline! this is from the twitter help center on deleting a tweet:

“Hover your mouse over the message (as shown below), and click the “Delete” option that appears. Voila! Gone forever… almost. Deleted updates sometimes hang out in Twitter search. They will clear with time.”

almost? sometimes hang out? clear with time?

twitter has no real delete mechanism. this poor sap thought he would flash his physique to just one chick and it went to everyone. there is no way to save your ass (or your dick as it be) on twitter!

now that’s evil.

i’m back from my too brief winter island getaway. we went to jamaica, mon. and anyone who has seen my pictures can tell i had my period.

it’s not enough that i just look at water and become bloated. i was bloated when i arrived.

don’t ya hate having your period when you’re on vacation? you men know what i mean, right? first, there’s the bloating issue which doesn’t complement eating massive amounts of vacation food (meaning just say yes to everything) and drinking like arthur (meaning it’s noon, time for my first of 82 rum punches).

second, there’s the tampon issue. who wants to have to think about changing a tampon while on the beach? but if you don’t, you might get that dreaded toxic shock syndrome. what is that anyway? and has anyone ever gotten it? my mother acted like everyone got it if they didn’t change their tampon every 2 hours.

let’s just say i’m negligent when it comes to changing my tampon. i’ve definitely left a tampon in for more than 8 hours. in fact, one time i remember forgetting it was in all day. i even had the sex with it in, and neither my partner or me realized it. so maybe it was blotto sex, but still.

it’s all pretty gross i know. but even the design of a tampon is twisted. there’s this stupid string hanging out of the critical entry to your lady vessel just acting like a giant wick, able to absorb all sorts of nasty bacterials, yeasties, paper mites, bed bugs, and dare i say fecal matter. *twitching trying to shake THAT the fuck off*

so what the fuck tampon makers? couldn’t we get a little plastic handle or knob or something instead of the wick?

though it’s definitely better than the alternative: the frightful maxi pad.  i realize some people may have to wear them after a procedure or something, but why would anyone choose to sit in a pool of dismantled endometrium?  (<– omg laughing hysterically. i wish i could take credit for that but i copped it from wikipedia. i still get credit for realizing the disturbing impact of these two words.)

i’m no scientist but i think when your body expels something its a clear indication it should be kicked to the curb and taken away by tony soprano. not cushioned by a tempurpedic mattress and held touching your delicate skin.

i give one helluva vacation review, don’t i? 

oh ok, here are a couple of pretty beach pics to erase everything i just wrote from your mind. peace out, punkers.

the daily spot

Bathing

View from the chair

Solitude in Sound (my new agey title. so stupid)

Artsy sunset shot 1

Artsy sunset shot 2

some people are real scholarly bloggers like absence of alternatives, for the birds, or 20prospect. they use descriptive language and make compelling arguments. i’d like to be sophisticated like that, but you’ve probably noticed i’m not that fancy.

i try to make my goals realistic. i’d be happy even if i could write as good as missy elliot in this work it song:

If you a fly gal get your nails done
Get a pedicure, get your hair did
Boy, lift it up, let’s make a toast-a
Let’s get drunk, that’s gonna’ bring us closer
Don’t I look like a Halle Berry poster
See the Belvedere playin’ tricks on you
Girlfriend wanna be like me, never
You won’t find a bitch that’s even better
I make you hot as Las Vegas weather
Listen up close while I take it backwards
I’m not a prostitute, but I could give you what you want
I love your braids and your mouth full of floss
Love the way my ass go bum-bum-bum-bum
Keep your eyes on my bum-bum-bum-bum-bum
And think you can handle this gadonk-a-donk-donk
Take my thong off and my ass go boom

take my thong off and my ass go boom? that is some powerful imagery. you agree right?

i’m totally phoning this post in because holy tanuki balls i’m slammed at work. by the way that was a reference to the tom robbins book, villa incognito. you have to respect a book which opens with:

 ”It has been reported that Tanuki fell from the sky using his scrotum as a parachute.”

see tanuki’s scrotum is proportionately larger than the scrota of elephants, whales, and the jolly green giant.

so i declare that reference makes me literary and some shit.

i’m also trying to plan a trip to the carribean. which doesn’t exactly make me a starving and tortured writer person, but i can always drink excessively and take some happy pills to simulate the agony.

speaking of agony, fucking pms. it’s killing me this week.  and why doesn’t anybody tell you not to go to the grocery store with pms? they tell you not to go hungry but it’s much worse to go with pms. guess what i ended up with in my cart?

pepperoni and cheese stromboli
cheesy scalloped potatoes
tater tots
strawberry toaster strudel

there is something wrong with me.

introducing my new line of valentine’s day cards: “voices in my head.”

i made them over at someecards because i don’t have a graphics designer and they give you these crazy ez templates to use.

if you happen to like any of them, you can vote for individual cards by clicking on the image or vote for all of them by clicking here. (if i get lots of votes, maybe i’ll win the editor’s pick, and then maybe they’ll want to hire me. a girl can dream big can’t she?)

happy valentine’s week punkers! xo♥xo♥xo♥

if you recently began a diet as your new year’s resolution, i’m not apologizing for this post. i’m telling you to stop. you’re welcome.

am i in any way qualified to talk about this? fuck no.

i’m not fat. i’m not thin.

i’m not a doctor and i don’t play one on the oprah network or infomercials.

i don’t read self, shape, women’s health or prevention magazines unless they’re the only choice other than time, sports illustrated or parents magazines in the doctor’s waiting room.

i have no idea what gluten-free, pro-biotics, pre-biotics, omega 3s, superfruits, and night shade foods are.

i’ve  never dieted except that once i tried atkins 20 years ago and almost passed out on day 3 because i was only eating bacon or maybe it was from my halitosis that resulted from the low carb ketosis. (i agree, that’s too many -sis words.) 

i just know what i see.

diets don’t work. if they work at all and the person doesn’t give up after the first week or month, they don’t work over the long run. maybe a successful dieter will keep the weight off for a year to two, but then the old habits creep back and BAM the dieter turns into a yo-yo dieter. i have seen it eleventy billion times over. show me one hard core dieter that hasn’t tried a dozen diets throughout his or her lifetime? all yielding the same results: weight loss. happiness. weight gain. depression. new diet eventually.

why don’t they work? self-denial. it causes a perverse obsession with that which the person denying him/herself is renouncing. it’s a fucking mental thing. (this is the synopsis for my new book but i’m guessing my book editor will probably want to revise my adjectives somewhat.)

as soon as you can’t have something, you’re going to crave it hard. then do something completely neurotic like binge on that shit as though you were a mountain lion that hasn’t eaten in days and has fresh kill in your claws. then you’re going to be all “fuck it, i suck” and eat everything that isn’t nailed down or you’re going to starve yourself which is going to cause real physical cravings because your body needs regular fuel in varieties like dark leafy greens, franzia, imported cheese and crusty baguette.

it’s the same concept as celibate catholic priests denying themselves the sex and then getting a perverse obsession with it and resorting to the wrongest, most mentally ill behavior out there: pedophilia.  now you might say pedophilia is more complex than this. so is weight and body image. but i’m here to break it down for you, remember? you might also say that it’s not celibacy that makes priests pedophiles, but that pedophiles just gravitate to professions where there are children around. but then i have to ask why the same high percentage of pedophiles isn’t found in the teaching profession. maybe i’ll leave this part out of my book.

self-denial. it’s not good for the human soul.

and you know another reason diets don’t work: portion control. i love this time of year when all of these jenny craig and nutrisystems people start advertising their programs by promoting a week of free meals. oh sure their menus consist of “all the food you love and chef-inspired creations–prepared by registered dietitians.” first of all, the meals are fucking tiny. denial! you’ll be hungry all the fucking time. second of all, they’re frozen foods. again, not qualified, but i thought one of the tenets of healthy eating was to avoid processed foods and eat fresh foods, not “fresh-tasting frozen foods.”

what does work? i’d have to say probably those stomach rubber bands. they remove the mental from the equation. they actually make it so you can’t eat too much. so if you’re craving a greasy pub burger, probably the most you can get down without getting sick is the snack-size burger in the mcdonald’s kid’s meal. which is a fucking tease.

if you’re not obese and don’t really qualify for the surgery or wouldn’t risk the possible complications, here’s what will really work, or the advice i plan to put in my book:

eat whatever the hell you want. 

don’t skip meals. not even breakfast. feel full and satisfied.

you like a giant blueberry muffin for breakfast? eat it.

you like a roast beef special and ruffles with ridges for lunch? eat them.

you like a cowboy rib eye and loaded baked potato for dinner? eat them.

when the dessert is chocolate gateau? you better motherfucking eat it.

when you stop denying yourself, you’ll stop binging and overeating. you’ll start to realize you don’t need this shit all the time. you won’t eat like this everyday. and even if you do, just throw in a salad the next day. whatever you do, don’t beat yourself up or that dirty little cycle will start all over again. avoid the mental thing.

oh yeah and get off your motherfucking ass once in awhile.

ps: i promise to do real research for my book but not to offer any qualified advice.

pps: don’t you dare steal this book idea. i mean the outline and sample chapters are practically jumping off the page.

ppps: if you’re a book agent, i’m sure you’re interested already. you can email me at pattypunker at gmail dot com.

pppps: what should the title be: “diets are dumb” or ”the punker’s guide to losing weight” or something else?

since the holidays bring out the irreverent in me, i made a movie for y’all. 

mama always told me i could return panties, but she never mentioned that it wasn’t easy.

yep, bob dylan wrote this song, she belongs to me, where i am she. what, you don’t think so?

Bow down to her on Sunday,
Salute her when her birthday comes.
Bow down to her on Sunday,
Salute her when her birthday comes.
For Halloween give her a trumpet
And for Christmas, buy her a drum.

it’s just three days until my birthday so that’s proof that song was written about me. undeniable proof, bitches.

yes, i grow older, not more mature. i regress in maturity.

i got to thinking a drum wouldn’t be a half bad birthday gift. then dufmanno and i could rage on bongos on the beach with bones in our hair. stewart copeland would run across the sand and jump into place to join us. and bugginword would play me this song on her ukele.

jubilation!

i was born on friday, november 13, the day of the diva. and you thought it was a bad luck day? have i not taught you anything, punkers? well, this year my birthday is on a saturday so that’s still YAHTZEE!

and here are some of the people and moments that have made me happy to be alive. (it’s only 30 seconds long, so indulge me. it’s mandatory during birthday week.)

wicked shawn, you are conspicuously absent from this video which is just wrong. we need to remedy that and then all will be floating skulls and crossbones in my world.

kibosh is a weird word. so is kielbasa. but this post isn’t about sausage. sausage just isn’t as worthy as bacon. bacon is king.

back to kibosh.

know what you can put the kibosh on? i’ll tell you what because it’s my blog and i’ll kibosh if i want to.

you can put the kibosh on low back pain. that’s an imperative and not an auxiliary verb in case you were wondering. so, who can i count on here? (auxiliary)

i somehow injured my lower back and have a constant burning and radiating pain.  it’s got me all in a funk because i’m pretty sure it’s going to hurt for a year and a half. maybe two. which means i won’t be able to ever work out or play tennis. and then i’ll become fatty patty. i just know this is how it’s going to play out.

i sit at a desk and write for a living so it tightens up and gets worse everyday.  it’s got me so depressed, i’m losing it.

how do i know i’m losing it? i’ve been obsessively:

• picking the scab on my heel which means my boot blister is now open and raw again.
• clenching the steering wheel of my car like i’m choking it to death.
• twirling my hair like a school girl into an alfalfa like horn and tugging on that shit.

one thing i like about blogging is that you never know what may show up in your posts

i wonder what you’ve done for low back pain. keep in mind, i live near and work in a northeastern city so i need the remedy to be fast. i also can’t afford to get fatter. unless it all goes to my boobs. which it won’t.

by the by, i’d also put the kibosh on arm swingers. especially the ones walking slow, holding a cigarette or carrying an umbrella.

and hipsters. they’re so smug and unethusiastic. enthusiasm and passion are way more hip. besides they all look alike making them conformists and not really hipsters.

and boy scout popcorn. at $9 a bag it should have crack in it, like the girl scout cookies. i’m all for supporting the troops, but gimme a little buzz for my money.

i’m patty punker and i approve this message.