Weinergate... Keep it in Your Pants

Thus far it’s a pretty slow summer so I’ve been thinking a lot about Weinergate. I mean, I haven’t been thinking specifically about Weiner’s wiener; more it’s been about where we draw the line between online flirting and straight-up infidelity. And what about any associated “privacy issues?”

Now, I know we all want to stand up and wave the freedom of speech flag – even those who are completely appalled by Weiner’s behavior. Certainly none of us wants the government legislating what we do – however inappropriate – in our private time, assuming of course we’re directing this to the activities of consenting adults. Hey, I’m in the front row with a placard of my own, crawling onto some stranger’s shoulders to scream through my megaphone, “No one is going to tell ME what I can and cannot write, say, or photograph! I will not be silenced by The Man!”

Here’s the thing: that’s not really what we’re talking about – or more specifically, not talking about. The penis in the room isn’t about freedom of speech or what consenting adults can or cannot do. No, no, no. The penis in the room is about what consenting adults should or should not do.

*senses guilty people shifting uncomfortably in their chairs*

I’m sure I’m not alone when I say that the appropriateness of sexting or the exchanging nudie pics is pretty much dependent on your relationship status. If you’re single – single as in you don’t have the same person regularly sleeping next to you – I say do what you like! Go craaaazy! Sow your wild oats! Take all the photographs or sex videos, and send all the racy text messages you like! Grab life by your balls! Who cares?!?!?

[Caution: your current or future employer might care should these surface so I’d think this through without the throbbing sexual desire before proceeding. Also note that the ban on “bad naked” has not been lifted.]

Now that we’ve established I’m not from the Christian right, or any kind of prude for that matter, let’s get to the meat of this. Here’s a primer for those of you who apparently can’t function within the general confines of decency:

1.     If you are married; if you are in a “committed relationship,” or if your part-time partner thinks your liaison is monogamous, you’re just a skeevy asshole for sexting, emailing, or taking “self-portraits” with or for someone else.

2.     That’s it. Re-read number one.

I’m sure by now a few of you are mentally composing what you believe to be a compelling yet scathing argument, albeit “anonymously,” to leave in this post’s Comments. Compose away, I say! But before you click Submit ask yourself this: are you going to share it with your significant other? No? Chickenshit… What do you suppose that says about you? That, oh I dunno, maybe you shouldn’t be doing what you’re doing? If you have to hide it, you know it’s wrong. And don’t go trying to hide behind lame excuses, attempt to make it less than it is, or turn the tables on the person you’re supposed to be sharing a relationship or your life with by flinging accusations about invasion of privacy.

First, if we’ve learned nothing else from Tony Weiner, it’s that when you lie or make excuses to cover-up your behavior, you will be caught and the fallout will be even more dangerous to life, “limb” or reputation. You never really know how crazy or vindictive someone can be until they’re the last to know they’ve been being made a fool of – publically or privately.

I’ve recently heard this kind of Weiner-tastic carrying-on referred to as “flirting.” Are you fucking kidding me? I have an idea, how about we take a moment to look that word up.

According to Merriam-Webster online, flirting is:

a.     To behave amorously without serious intent

b.     To show superficial or casual interest or liking

c.     To come close to reaching or experiencing something

Behavior check, anyone?

Now, because I rarely take a position based on one resource, I pulled out my Webster’s Third New International Dictionary, and my trusty old Webster’s New World Dictionary of the American Language (college edition and yes, it’s just that old) and nowhere did I see any mention of sexting or bawdy photographs discussed or described in those additional definitions of flirting. So what have we learned? We’ve learned this: no, jackass, you do NOT get to call your behavior “flirting!”

As for the privacy portion of your wheedling, what the hell kind of “relationship” are you carrying on if you’re worried about what your spouse might uncover if he or she were to use your computer because it’s right there, or use your cell to send a text to a mutual friend? Or! Even if he or she was just being nosey, the point here is that if you’re having an honest relationship, there’d be nothing to hide and privacy would not even be an issue!

Maybe reality television has skewed the public’s definition of appropriate relationship behavior. All those loud-mouthed girls chasing after whore-boys; people sneaking around doing who knows what with it doesn’t matter who… When did it become “acceptable” to partake in extracurricular activities? And why are those who are the most hurt by it – the spouses and significant others of the offenders – be expected to get onboard with the idea that this isn’t infidelity? That no apology is necessary because there wasn’t actual sex?

I have a yardstick of sorts I use when I’m not really onboard with my own behavior. I ask myself whether my grandparents would be ashamed of me. Feel free to consider that your takeaway.

Blank Pages

I’ve recently self-determined that I’m not funny anymore. Oh sure, there are still the occasional snarky one-liners, but where anything more than that is required, there are pet shop parrots with more interesting things to say.

It occurs to me that maybe I ought to try something new. Something … exhilarating.

It’s no secret that I like to limit my physical activity to things that give me immediate results - like hauling the giant vodka bottle down from its cabinet. Don’t judge. This exercise also employs the use of extreme bicep strength in order to remove the freezer-burned ice cubes trapped in their trays.

Safe to say that there’s no situation whereby I’ll find myself jumping out of an airplane naked like my girlfriend JG, swimming with actual sharks, or freezing my ass off in an Iditarod. I thought briefly about rock climbing… the kind you do indoors with thick mats and a super hot trainer. I just worry about how my ass will look squished out the bottom of a harness. That view can’t be good from below… So where that idea is concerned, I’ve decided that perhaps the only rocks I’ll be conquering will remain those in a 4oz glass, ungraciously blocking me from the last of my liquor.

I think the problem is that I’m unbearably bored. I’ve gone from having entirely too much, to having only a moderate amount to occupy my days. I suppose I should work on The Book That Will Never Be Finished, or refresh my political point of view, but really? Why? To either. I’ve never actually finished anything – which obviously isn’t a record I plan to break this late in the game; and outside of Weinergate, the wind has left my sails now that Washington has gone home for summer vacation.

[sidebar: you can bet that given the events of this week, many a Republican and Democrat of both genders is giving their computer and cell phone a good “scrubbing.” Here’s some food for thought: if you’re hiding it, you know you shouldn’t be doing it.]

I feel a privacy rant coming on so I think I’ll collect my rocks see if that thought takes us somewhere exhilarating.

Invisible Ink

Bet you thought one of the elephants from the circus of my life ate me, eh?

I know, I know... It's been a long time between entries. I am writing, but for the moment my "talent" is being abused... I mean used... for pay. Yeah. I'm whoring myself out to The Man for mortgage money. Don't judge. *glares* Anyway, by the end of a day full of corporate nonsense and forcing my mouth shut for a paycheck, I can't string three words together coherently, let alone scare up any snarky reparte. Mostly I just blink...

The "good" news (though for whom I'm unclear) is that I'll be out of a job and back on the dole in just a matter of weeks, so there's bound to be a flood of words you can actually see coming soon. Of course, if you'd like to employ me, I'll happily shift the blame for my continued shunning of this site... and I'm okay with that!

I need a sign...
Will compromise morals and jounalistic integrity for cash.

Crazy

The first thing we need to remember is that you can’t fix crazy.

Take a hard look at your Crazy vs. Not So Crazy Relationship Ratio. Are you trending toward “what the hell is wrong with my decision-making processes?” I don’t know about y’all but I’ve been with Crazy and, as thrilling a rollercoaster as it is, eventually you have to get off and head for a 3-day bender to restore your sanity. Stay with Crazy long enough and it starts to resemble Normal – whatever that is exactly.

There are varying degrees of Crazy; some you can live with, some will suffocate you while you’re passed out drunk on the sofa. These two ends of the spectrum aren’t really what I’m talking about though. The crazy that will make you crazy is the bit in the middle; the bit that makes you wonder if you’re imagining it. The bit that you ignore when you wanna get laid.

In my ongoing effort to convince some of my guy friends to step away from the crazy, I’ve developed the following scale for determining whether or not having sex is eventually going to get them killed, or just damage their reputation a little more. Remember, crazy doesn’t wear an identifying t-shirt.

Crazy Range 1-3:
Every woman has a little crazy in her somewhere. If you think yours falls into the 1-3 category, perhaps you should take your eyes off her boobs and watch her face when there are other women around. It's possible she doesn't lean toward crazy behavior at all. It’s also possible that this one is a master of deceit. I wouldn’t lay poker with her.

Crazy Range 4-6:
Women in this range are probably as close to “normal” as you’re going to find. Sure, she may occasionally exhibit meltdowns or manifest moderate amounts of random craziness, but I would venture to say that these are manageable and most likely the direct result of scheduled hormonal fluctuations... if you know what I mean.

Crazy Range 7-8:
She’s broken. Broadly speaking, she’s wholly aware of this and in her defense, she’ll make every effort to hide it from prying public eyes. If you have a hankering to jump out of a plane or train lions, she’ll not only agree to go with you, she’ll probably suggest it first. Still, she’s likely to go off the deep end when least provoked so be sure to check your parachute.

Nutcase 9 or above (because there is a 12… I’ve met her):
There’s no telling what could happen on any given day, in any given hour. She “seems” like a 4 or 5 when you first meet her… and that should scare you. The real trouble with this one is that she’s almost always a freak in the rack. This is why you keep going back. But what does it get you, my friend? I’ll tell you. It gets you weeks and weeks of 1,000s of text messages, “coincidental” meetings out, messages left in shaving cream on your car, and calls to your mother even if they’ve never met. Dude, walk away… quietly. Consider witness protection because you’ll never really be rid of her. Ever.

I suppose I should probably attempt to deflect the hate mail by saying yes, I’m fully aware that crazy comes in the form of penis owners, too. The thing is, their attention span is so freakishly short that the episodes of crazy rarely last long enough to be worth writing about. And of course, it’s rarely inventive or fresh because, again, the short attention span.

I wish I had the answer to dealing with crazy. I’d write a book, make my millions, and retire to some place sunny. I can only suggest that you take solace in the fact that there are plenty of nearly crazy-free women in the world. I think I met one once…

What Did You Just Say?

And then there’s the deceit...
Here’s the thing about that; let’s just call it what it is: lying.
Whether by omission, distortion, or boldfaced storytelling, it’s all the same.

I know this girl (though not very well I suppose), who lies about pretty much everything. From what she’s doing, to what she ate for lunch. I can only assume this is a defense mechanism to keep from facing the fact that she’s basically miserable. Or maybe she knows, but she’s trying to hide it from everyone else. Whatever the reason, it’s totally transparent… to everyone…which is embarrassing. One of her friends should talk to her about this…

*looks around*

So, I was chatting with some girlfriends, trying to sort out why so many people give lip-service to “loving everyone just the way they are” then behaving in such a way as to prove that’s total bullshit. We got sidetracked with margaritas so there was never a resolution reached… but the drinks were fantastic, no one lied about anything, and we nearly managed to solve the Libyan crisis.

Still, out of that tequila-fueled conversation came our humble opinion:
Most non-cover-story lying is based in some distorted sense of competition. I have to admit that, given my completely fucked up life (hey, I own it… leave it alone), I’m always caught a little off guard when it happens to me. Y'all are already one up on me... no need to compete for the Most Fucked Up Life title! Besides, if there were something here to compete with, I’d be exploiting the hell out of it.

Here's what I want to know:

Whatever happened to The Sisterhood?
What about supporting one another, instead of belittling another's accomplishments or happiness with a misguided, self-congratulatory tale of superiority?
Where is the kinship that ties us together in mutual love and respect?
Where is the genuine happiness for something good that happens in someone else’s life?
When did all of that get replaced with lying about how you did the same thing only better?
Do those women understand how little the rest of us want to be around that behavior?

It’s a special relationship among women who have the kind of honest communication that sisterhood deserves, free of competitive bullshit and “what are you wearing so I can be sure to look cuter” crap. I’m very lucky to have a few girls in my life who are, like me, too busy, grown-up, disinterested, or damaged to make time for that behavior. Gesh, imagine how unnerving it would be to discover one of “those girls” within your inner circle of confidants.

We should probably consider a stricter friendship application form...

We Don't Talk Anymore

Oh, there are words leaving mouths at breakneck speed, but no one seems to be saying anything of decipherable relevance.

I think we have two very opposite social groups participating in this phenomenon. One seems to be so afraid of ruffling feathers or being perceived as actually taking a stand in opposition of someone else, that nothing is being said when the words are finally uttered. I’m exhausted from trying to figure where these people stand; trying to ferret out meaning from a stream of “politically correct” euphemisms and random acronyms or abbreviations.

The other is compiled of sneaks, schemers, and social-climbers who are talking non-stop about anything and everything that has absolutely nothing to do with them. Gossip, innuendo, half-truths, and brazenly made up bullshit fabricated or passed along in an effort for the teller to feel or appear important in their crowd. Sadly, from time to time you will discover a supposed friend in this mix. I did. It sucks.

*sighs and shrugs*

I do not gossip. Oh I enjoy a laughter-filled round of speculation over a shared bottle of wine as much as the next girl, but I’d never try to pass it off as truth.

I do not tell other people’s stories.

Just so we’re clear, there are many, many times I’ve been absolutely giddy with the opportunity to share a scandalous piece of verifiable information with the world because someone involved kicked my Universe in the ribs.

But I don’t.

Not because I consider myself above that sort of behavior or think I’m better than any other schmoe. Neither of these is true! My reasoning is more selfish.

1. I know that if I sit on something for just a little while, I’ll discover I really don’t care, so why get involved?
2. I don’t have much more than a passing interest in people who don’t affect me.
3. If they do affect me, it’s much more interesting to watch The Universe take out its own revenge rather than get all dirty myself.

In some respects, I’m a willing participant of my own complaint. It’s not that I’m concerned about ruffling feathers or seeming undiplomatic… obviously! I just see no redeeming value in the exercise of making my point to those whose agenda isn’t public. If I had that kind of time, I’d wash my car…

I used to wonder why so few people are willing to take a defiant stand in solidarity of truth and friendship; and the gross number who remain “neutral” when unfortunate circumstances befall their friends. Are these people so self-involved that they don’t see how in not taking a stand, they are taking one?

But I’m past the marveling.

Now I say, so what? The Neutrals have to live with themselves as spineless followers and that’s enough for me. As for the rest, I can’t change the weak-willed and silent conformists. I can only leave them behind.

TNR: Trap, Neuter, Release

You know how “they” say that death comes in threes? Well, apparently bad relationships do, too – though maybe that’s redundant.

Historically, I go three bad, then one so good I panic and fuck it up…immediately returning to the first of three bad. It’s a vicious cycle really. One would think I’d be dizzy by now and maybe, oh I dunno, get off the ride!

Speaking of threes, I also have three friends currently embroiled in relationships that are speeding toward Dead Ends-ville and not one of them will look it in the eye. I’m not judging. I’ve been there.

I think what we need is a new approach to getting involved in relationships altogether. I’m just spitballin’ here, but how about this…

TNR: Trap – Neuter – Release.

The premise is that we could save others from inevitable misery by identifying those who will mess with your head, or fuck you over because they’re all fucked up. We could do our brethren a solid by making these people readily recognizable, preferably to the naked eye.

Trap
It sounds worse than it is. This is the act of entertaining a relationship with the object of your affection/lust. Assessment should begin post-haste so that the “cute” things (read: crazy or sociopathic behaviors) don’t get overlooked early. This is an important phase in the project as you’re coloring the impression of your partner for all those to come. I recommend going with your gut. It’s better equipped to deal with the truth than your heart or throbbing genitalia.

Note: Even if you’re not particularly interested in an actual relationship, you’re welcome to participate in this objective for sport. Think of it as a community service.

Neuter
We need some boundaries here. I’m neither advocating nor suggesting the maiming or removal of actual reproductive organs… that would be illegal no matter how attractive the idea or how much it would benefit the world's gene pool. When I say “neuter” I mean to permanently identify as less-than-desirable, thus limiting the opportunities for reproduction.

Okay. So you’ve discovered some horrible personality trait or habitual behavior during your Trap Assessment that should not be inflicted on others of your gender or sexual orientation. As I ponder the execution of this step, it occurs to me that there are certainly plenty of options – from a drunken trip to the tattoo studio for the secret ink, to tagging the ear with your pre-registered Trapper number. I probably need to sort that bit out before wide release of TNR v1.1. All suggestions are welcomed.

Release
In theory, this should be the easy part; however, let’s remember what we’re dealing with here. There’s always the possibility that some of us might have to change our phone number, quit our job, or move to another state and assume an alias – so there’s that to consider before participating in this much needed social experiment.

Since you don’t want to send your newly neutered prey over the edge, I suggest implementing the liquor-lubricated band-aid Release methodology so as to delay any possible repercussions when you deliver back into the wild. No explanation for this action is required. If you’d care to offer up one though, might I suggest “it’s not me, it’s you.”

Once the bugs are worked out, I’m pretty sure that widespread use of TNR could be the next great advancement in dating. Ultimately, a National Registry with open online viewing access would be a useful tool, complete with a BOLO page for those slippery ones that get away without the requisite tagging.

*smiles contently*

How great to know that someone else has already determined a level of undesirable behavior or crazy significant enough to deem warning-worthy to the rest of the world. Of course, it’s subjective… I mean, one man’s crazy is another man’s delightfully kinky.