Friday, January 21, 2005



I am in a stinky-bad mood. My right ovary hurts, and I do not, repeat, do not want to do "Girl's Night Out" this weekend.

It can only go terribly wrong. For one thing, it's all a ruse. Women misuse "Girl's Night Out" to complain about men. Gah. There is nothing I would rather not do right now, at a time when all the (I thought) hopeless saps and MC Hammer-pants wearing losers I once knew are marrying off and/or getting knocked up left and right.

Why would I want to spend an evening reminding myself of where I went wrong, and analyzing what things aren't working, and when, where, why, and how I need to change, birth control pills, whether we wear a pad, our hair, blah blah blahfucking blah?!?

Unsolicited advice is not my favorite thing in the world. Solicited advice is not much fun, either. Should I even listen to a bunch of women who are no better off than me...? I think not.

Plus girls can be very competitive. I'm lucky, for once, to know a group of gals who are fairly career-oriented and not so male-centric that it becomes all about he said this and he bought me that, but still...even comparing notes on sex peeves me off (and makes me fucking horny, which is frustrating, which pisses me off more, etc. etc.) And I have a feeling the guys wouldn't appreciate most of what is under, eh...the microscope, as it were. They probably think we're wearing pink babydoll pj's, painting our toenails, and pillow-fighting naked.

Bleggh. Yet, there is something to be said for the few, the proud, the People Without a Penis Who Do Not Suck.

I think I'll kidnap Jerky and go on a bender, instead.



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