Why Mean Girls Suck

The other day, my friend, Dave, and I were in his big man-truck talking about my dating life.

We were on the topic of how I’m old-fashioned and that I believe the man should ask out a woman and not the other way around.

“What?!”  Ah, c’mon.  Why the hell not?”  Dave suddenly got really frustrated. “Carrie, do you understand how hard it is to ask a girl like you for her phone number?  Approaching a girl is so difficult.”

“No it’s not.  It’s easy.  I’m so approachable…”

Bursting with laughter, he slapped the steering wheel with his hand and said, “Look, you have no idea what it’s like to be kicked in the teeth by a girl.  No idea!”

“What?!  Oh my God.  I think I need to hear about this one.  So, go on.”

“We have a hard time approaching women because, well, have you ever been given the fuck-off look?  And, better yet, there’s nothing worse than going up to a woman and she actually says, ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ to ruin a guy’s ego.”

It was a good thing Dave was driving, because, had I been driving, I think I would have ran right off the road.  How could women be so mean?

“What! Are you kidding me? Someone actually said that to you?”

“Oh, ya,” he said nodding his head up and down with conviction.  “And it took me a long time to approach another woman after that.”

It took him a long time to approach another woman after that…

Such a shame that someone felt the need to be so cruel to someone they didn’t even know, because honestly, Dave is truly one of my favorite people on this planet and a genuine good guy.  He’s  got a big heart and is always the life of the party.  His wonderful sense of humor and can-do attitude is something you don’t always see from a man who works as a Correction Officer, but you’d never know he’s a CO, because he’s always happy and always in a great mood.

Now, to even think that some twit actually said this to Dave is beyond reprehensible.   But, I know she is not the first woman to say something like this to a guy, nor will she be the last.

So, when I say women have ruined my chances at finding a decent guy, this is a really good example of my point.  Look at the ripple effect that just one woman caused; and how many more men do you think she has done this to?

I knew a girl who did this to a guy right in front of me one night while me and my friends were at a bar.  I remember seeing first-hand this girl who used to roam in my group of friends just walk all over a guy’s feelings.  I’ll never forget it.  Not only was she rude, but she was down-right mean.  First, she gave the guy false hope by talking and carrying on with him and his friend, and then when he showed up to the next bar (she told him where we were going), for whatever reason, she had a change of heart and came right out and said something along the lines like, “You’re ugly, so just go away,” to the guy.

What the eff is that?

This girl has no conscience, obviously, and I can only imagine what happened to her to make her so mean to men.  Because, trust me, mean people don’t come out of their mother’s womb like that.  Something that happened to them in the past makes people mean, but it’s still no excuse.

So, no only did this twit shrug it off like it was nothing when I confronted her, she carried on with her evening without giving it a second thought.

Ya, we’re not friends anymore.


Anyway, the point of my little story is…please be kind.  To everyone.  Because words are powerful, and people tend to remember hurtful words.  Words can shape people’s attitudes towards themselves and everyone around them.  Ladies, your words can ruin a man’s ego for years , maybe even forever.  And you know what happens then?  Women, like me, don’t get asked out by great men whose egos have been crushed by insecure, male-bashing twits.

So, please, be nice to everyone.


The Dog is a Problem

My dog’s name is Campbell.  His full name is “Campbell Soup.”  If you met him, you’d understand why he’s got such a goofy name.

I first met Campbell when I was living with my roommate, Anthony, who had two dogs: Campbell and Agnes, as in “Agnes of God.”  (Yes, that was her real name. I’m not lying.)

After Agnes died, Anthony decided he didn’t want Campbell anymore and was going to try to find him a new home.  The dog was crated all the time, so finding a new home for Campbell was a good thing.  I offered to help Anthony and told him my friend, Beth, recently said she was looking to acquire another dog.

Perfect.  This should be easy.

On the day I brought Campbell to Beth’s house, things were looking good.  Not only did Beth like Campbell, but he got along great with her other two dogs.  But, at the end of the day, she said she didn’t want him.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because, look at him.”

We both looked down at Campbell who stood next to me, leaning up against my leg.

“Carrie, he thinks you’re his Mamma.”

“What? Oh, no,” I said waving my finger at her.  I’ve been a dog owner before and I don’t have time for a dog.  Beth, I do not want a dog.”

She let out a little chuckled, “Maaa-Maaaa…  C’mon, just look at him.”

Campbell sat there, staring at me with his big, brown eyes,  as if to say, “Don’t leave me.”

“Mamma!”  Beth started singing, pretending that she was the dog.  “Mamma, Mamma, Mamma, Maaaa-Maaaa…!

“Shut up, I am not his mother.”

Irritated with her observation, I walked away from her and the dog.  Without missing a beat, Campbell was right on my heels.

 “Mamma!” Beth yelled, “Look at him follow you.”

That night, as I was up in my bedroom getting undressed to go to bed, I looked at Campbell sitting on the floor looking at me with his big, sad puppy eyes.  His crate was all set up in my room and ready to go, but I decided that he could sleep on the floor for the night.

But, as I got into my comfortable bed and pulled up my cozy, down comforter, I looked down at him laying on the floor.  It just didn’t seem right that he had to sleep on the floor  when I got to sleep on a big, fluffy bed.  There was plenty of room for the both of us, right?

I gave the bed a pat with my hand and said, “Campbell, up.”

That was 2.5 years ago.   Life is ridiculously more fun now that he is my little companion.  We go for long walks during the day and at night he spoons with me – gently waking me up in the morning, sneezing in my face or kicking me as he stretches across my bed.  Those are hard kicks, too, but how can I be mad at this puppy face?

Campbell has been a welcomed addition to my single-girl life and I’ve never had a problem with him until the other night…

I am out and about, looking all kitty-kitty meow-meow and chatting away with some really great people.  Where else?

I was having a wonderful time, as I always do, schmoozing and chatting away until I noticed when he walked in:  The Painter.

Oh, holy hell.

I had met The Painter 6 months earlier.  We briefly talked to each other, but then I ran into him again a month later, only to end up having a three-hour conversation at the bar.  There was definitely *ZING-ZING!* going on between us, but, unfortunately, we never exchanged phone numbers that night.  Dumb, I know.  But, like Nathan always said to me, only desperate women give out their numbers first, and those phone numbers, at least for him, end up in the trash can.  I’m old-school, so I never give out my phone number unless asked for it first.


I figured that if The Painter was truly interested he’d eventually find me.   I mean, I only hang out at one place, which is where I met him, so how hard could it be finding me again? Apparently, it was pretty hard, because it took him the next five months to find me…


“I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve been thinking about you,” he said.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about you as well.  It’s been a while since we last saw each other.”

“You know, I did look for you.”

“Really?  I’m not that difficult to find and you know approximately where I live and what I drive…  Good thing you’re a painter, because you really suck at detective work.”

He laughed at my jab, then added, “I did find you on Facebook.”

“Then, why didn’t you contact me?”

“I didn’t want you to think I was stalking you.”

We continue to talk..talking, talking, talking…and after we exchanged phone numbers, we both realize we didn’t want the night to end, so we go back to my place.

My place…

Holy crap, when was the last time I had someone back at my place?


Oh, wait, I do remember.  It was September 8th, 2010 when one night out of nowhere DC Dude showed up on my doorstep.

I really need to work on my love life.

DC Dude.  Him.  Yes, well,  I won’t have to worry about him popping up into my life anymore unannounced and unexpected because, instead of changing my phone number, I blocked him from calling or texting me ever again.


Getting back to my story – so, there I am, racing back to my house to make sure I had left it in decent shape.  I get home and find that I left my curling iron out, make-up all over the counter and a few dishes in the sink.

What was I thinking this morning when I left the house?!

I frantically put things away and let Campbell outside to pee.  “Make it quick,” I tell him and I continue with my quick clean-up.

Campbell came back into the house and did his usual happy dance, which included excessive tail wagging and follows me around the house, no matter where I go, including the bathroom.   It didn’t take too much time after I let him inside that my cute, needy, furry companion, was probably going to put a big damper on my evening with The Painter.

“Crap!  What am I going to do with you?”

I thought about putting him upstairs in my bedroom, but then remembered when the hot fireman came to my house, the dog cried the whole time while the EMT’s worked on Mom.  So, that wasn’t going to work.

I never had to deal with this situation before.  Do I lock him upstairs and put some loud music on so we don’t hear him cry?  I couldn’t do that to my own dog, so I decided to let him roam around in the house and hoped for the best.

The Painter arrive about five minutes later and, remember, this is the guys who I had been pining for, for months.  And now here he was sitting on my couch.

The usual self-doubting suspects were swirling around in my head as I went into the kitchen and grabbed us both a beer.  It was obvious we both wanted to sleep together (it has been a long seven months since I last had sex), but did I even really know him?

I handed The Painter his beer and sat down next to him.

Just when our conversation gets going and both of us were getting comfortable on the couch, Campbell jumps up, right in between us.  Clueless that he is interrupting my time with The Painter.   Like as if it was any other time with me on the couch, Campbell does us usual circle and then lays down and adds a touch of cuteness by putting his head down on The Painter’s leg.

Yup.  That’s my boy.

Feeling a little embarrassed at my dog’s poor behavior by being on the couch, I said, “Um, does the dog bother you?”

“No.  Actually, it’s kind of comforting.”

I love my dog, but I knew he was killing my chance to have a make-out session with The Painter, which was long over-due.  The dog had to go.  I don’t even remember how the dog got off the couch or why, but the next thing I know, I was finally kissing and breathing in the man who I had been in my thoughts for months.

Kissing The Painter was great.  But, let me tell you something…as an adult, it is extremely difficult to stop the natural progression of tearing off each others clothes after having a passionate make-out session.

“What are we in high school?” he said as I stopped his hand from making its way my skirt.

Hey, I don’t blame him for trying, but this is the second time I’ve heard that line after stopping a guy from making the moves on me.   And, unfortunately, a comment like that only heightens my fear that the guy I’m kissing only wants to get laid.  As a rule of thumb, and this has been confirmed by many of my guy friends that, men in general, just don’t have any respect for women who sleep with them too soon.  Girls that do that are just a dime-a-dozen.


I may send guys away with blue balls, but at least I still have my self-respect and dignity still in hand.  To me, that means more to me, than getting laid.

Boring, I know.  But, like with the other guy who I had the heavy make-out session with in my car the other night, who I could have easily slept with, but again, I sent him away with blue-balls, too.  I figured if he was truly interested in me, I’d hear from him again.

Guess what the outcome of that heated make-out session was?  That’s right!  He never called. I was a little surprised, because this guy had a lot of enthusiasm for me, so I imagined that he probably had a girlfriend.  And that makes him a douche bag for making out with me.  Can you imagine how shitty I would have felt, if I had slept with him?

So, ya, I’m all set.  I don’t mind holding off on the sex…again.

Look, this is not easy, but saying “no” is a hell of a lot easier having the idea that no man would take me serious because I slept around a lot, and believe me, I live in a small town and everyone knows everything.  Besides, I’ve got all the time in the world and it will be time that will tell me if The Painter truly had an interest in me, or if he just had an interest in getting off.

Until then, I’ll be happily curled up with Campbell Soup every night…


And that’s exactly what I’m going to keep telling myself, as I think about what it would have been like to have crazy, wild sex with The Painter.