First: To the person who flatteringly signed my guestbook without leaving a name, who are you? Damn youuuuu!

Now that that's over with, onto the bitchery.

Boys suck.

The stereotypes are fucking WRONG. Wrong, I tell you, WRONG.

It takes me 12 minutes to get my ass ready to go out somewhere, tops. That includes showering, with soap, armpit-shaving, shampoo, AND conditioner, dressing, and hair primpery (of which there is not so much). Granted, if it's the morning, one must tack on some time for dog-walking. But that's not primping, it's dog walking, which is at least as much a masculine activity as a feminine one.

I will grant the world a certain amount of moodiness during my premenstrual state. But, at least I admit it, and warn those around me. AND, I can keep it in check if necessary, even if it will result in the grinding of my teeth and clenching of my fists for hours afterwards, nevermind the mumblings-under-breath. And this month I am happy to announce a mercifully short (we're talking like 6 hours here) pms duration, plus no cramps. The uteral gods were kind to me this time around.

Every SINGLE boyfriend I have *ever* had has required more time than I have to get ready. Been mood-swingy all the time, with no hormonal excuse whatsoever. And these have been the *stable* boys I have known (okay, well, not all of them. Anyway.) Cared more about primping before Entering the World. Hell, I walk the dog in pajama bottoms and tank tops with my hair sticking straight up and last night's mascara smeared all under my eyes. Because I DON'T CARE. I'm walking the goddamn dog at eight o'clock in the fucking morning, anybody who's looking for me to be a supermodel can go fuck themselves, especially before I've had my coffee.

THIS boy. Jesus. The sun would bleed, the world split, and tidal waves of dead bodies flood the house and set it aflame before *this* one would exit the front door without showering and putting the highly necessary Gel in his hair. I am constantly "hovering" (as he puts it) waiting to go because he takes so goddamn motherfucking LONG to get the fuck ready.

And what is spurring this little anti-boy diatribe, you may ask?

Erm. That would be Grand Theft Auto on the playstation 2.

Now, as I have mentioned before, I have nothing against video games. I will even play them myself as long as they only require the hand-eye coordination of a crippled portugese man-o-war. And in general, I am quite happy to sit next to the Boy and tell him what to do, which we both enjoy, especially when I have the spoilers.

And I will grant you, Grand Theft Auto was about as interesting to me as a dead cat. Actually I think a dead cat would be way more interesting. Especially if it had the Plague of Thucydides (see prior entry). But anyway. I tried. I looked at it. I attempted to become engaged. I failed. It is not engaging. It is stupid. Very. But THAT is not even the point.

The POINT is that there is one show that I like to watch. I mean, there are a few shows I will watch, sure. But there is *one* show that I really really like to watch every time it's on. The Daily Show. And Boy likes it too. In fact, Monday through Thursday, our usual late evening is easily timed by both of us watching the Daily Show, then feeding the kids, and then taking the dog out for her last walk of the night. And the BOY was playing the stupid game. And I wanted him to pause it so I could watch the show. Not *quit*, not stop for the evening (even though it makes irritating noises at me which I have not mentioned even once). Just pause the damn thing for a half-hour to watch a show which he also likes.

And he throws a fit. Storms off and shuts himself in his computer room through the show. Makes a great big FAT deal out of it.

Is presently back playing the game (not 6 inches from me) post-Daily-Show, having not spoken a bloody word to me since his Grand Theft Auto Snit.

...causing me the humiliation of writing an entire entry about a *video game* fight.

So, girls, think he's gonna have a baby or start bleeding or something? I don't see any other excuse. Not to mention the fact that I called him up right after therapy to see if he wanted to meet me on the subway and waited through *three* trains so I could meet him and walk home with him.

Boys SUCK.

onehanded