Because: Boys

I stopped by this local boozery called simply The Beer Cave to buy, well, beer. Which – for those of you who are puzzled by this, I drink SOME beers (Boulevard’s Bourbon Barrel Quad and Lindeman’s Raspberry Lambic, and Dragon’s Milk, for example).

ANYWAY – so at the checkout counter, the two cashier dudes are talking about how two female workers have both left early, in tears, over the last two days. One explanation was “Bethany, because: boys.” I cocked my head and raised a single quizzical brow and decided to join the convo, with appropriate matter-of-fact sass, “Well, if you dudes would just stop with being ALL the confusing-nonsense-stupid, then we’d be FINE, you know?” And the dudes start trying to EXPLAINIFY dudeness!

The dudes looked at me for a moment, shrugged, and nodded. But then they started trying to EXPLAINIFY dudeness! Bless their hearts.

Dude One: See, my girlfriend hates me. But she knows that I’m there for here when the chips are donw. So it’s cool. You know? I mean, I may suck, but I suck LESS than other dudes, and I will totally take care of her.

Dude Two: Yeah, I feel ya, but my girl does NOT hate me. She digs me. And she knows I’m there for her. *suddenly worried look* I think….

Me: Yeah. See? Even you don’t know for sure. *does ‘mind blown’ gesture*

 

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That’s Not Right…

So I made a discovery about myself.  All because of a movie.  Well, technically several
movies – but it all started with one.

A friend at work has been giving me movies to watch.  Most recently he gave me a “mix DVD” of like six – including Bad Moms, Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, The Nice Guys, and Rock the Kasbah – which were all really entertaining. But not the subject of this post.

When I finished with those last week, I decided I wanted to keep watching movies, and I stumbled across Mr. Right, with Anna Kendrick and Sam Rockwell and Tim Roth.

That movie….THAT MOVIE!

The first part of that film is eerily similar to my life. To me.  In fact, Anna Kendrick is sort of a weird spiritual doppelganger of me throughout.

  • She has a moment where she drunkenly screams “I’m wearing my favorite socks!” followed by “ONE OF YOU HUSSIES IS GETTING FISTED!”20161204_205503
  • She asks her friend Sophie “Why does this keep happening to me? Do I just suck? Am I just suckball McGee over here?” And Sophie replies (like my friend Karen or Lynn or Erin) “No, you’re not Suckball McGee. You’re just a work in progress, babe.”
  • She confesses to having a fantasy to be the crazy old woman in the neighborhood who drives around and “dead-eyes teenagers.” I have OFTEN said I want to be the crazy old lady with a big fuck-off hat shouting at teenagers to get off my lawn.
  • I don’t want to spoil a kind of special moment for you, because you NEED to see it – everyone does.  But the picture I’ve included here will make sense when you do. That’s me -in the picture, by the way, age five – as a T-Rex. Mom and dad made that costume for me.

In the movie, the love of Martha’s life turns out to be a government assassin.  This is important.  It’s important because, well, I realize that I liked this movie slightly better than my NEXT favorite romantic comedy, Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

I was talking with a friend about that, and he asked me to rank them – my favorite rom-coms.  So I did. Here’s my list:

  1. Deadpool
  2. Mr. Right
  3. Mr. and Mrs. Smith
  4. RED
  5. Grosse Point Blank
  6. Sweet Home Alabama

Do you see it? Do you see the pattern?  I’m pretty sure SHA is the exception that proves the rule – the rule that I am MESSED UP.

Some women get accused of having these crazy, unrealistic standards as set by the likes of Mr. Darcy or Captain America or even Doctor Who (David Tennant, naturally).  But me? I apparently also have equally unrealistic standards – but I toss in near-psychotic trained killerhood. Because THAT’S normal.

Marth’s friend Sophie nails it when she says “At some point you’re going to have to start noticing these red flags…”

Yeah. Okay. I do… Red flag seen.  But I don’t want to DO anything about it. Except to find that crazy bastard.