Why I don’t understand the catcall

A couple days ago, I was startled by someone in the metro station when he decided it would be a good idea to bark at me. Yes. Bark. You know….like a rabid dog. I was really confused. What exactly did he mean? Well, my answer was questioned when he followed up his series of barks with: “looking good!!!”

Really? That’s what that meant? I’ve always had a hard time understanding the catcall. Or in this case the dogcall? It’s a really bizarre way to court someone. But is that really even the point of it? I mean, have you ever given your number or gone on a date with someone who has whistled, barked, meowed, or shouted at you from across the street?

My favorite is when you’re walking and a guy is driving down the street and does a u-turn and then what I like to call a drive-by catcall. I guess I just want to know what sort of gratification men get out of this. Is it like a public service to boost egos and confidence? I highly doubt that’s the case, but let me tell you, it is doing no such thing. All it does is confuse us.

So if you actually want to talk to a girl, maybe just approach her and tell her she is beautiful. The catcalling is not your best tool, so it’s best just to keep it locked up.

Why is my stomach making that noise?!

You know what noise I'm talking about...the one that sounds like your stomach is eating the rest of your internal organs, but it isn't quite a hunger growl, and it isn't quite a...well, you know. It's almost a whiney neglectful noise. So the worst thing ever is when this noise creeps up on you at work. You know, small office, you, three other people, and the growl. The awful, weird, strange, bizarre, growl.

It's awkward for all parties involved because no one really knows what it is or where it's coming from. They just know WHO it's coming from. And that who is you.

So what do you do? I've tried everything, from cracking an awkward joke, "man, I don't know what's going on with my stomach today, crazy, huh?"...fade into awkward silence....

Or you can always try the reliable cough over the growl technique. That seems to work, except for when people catch on. I mean it's like the start of a growl and then you start coughing up a lung. And at this point you're coughing so loud you have no idea if your stomach is still growling because you sure as hell can't hear it over your monster cough. So you just keep coughing until you're blue in the face which really isn't fun for anyone.

Or do you just ignore it and pretend that you have no idea that this awful noise is coming from your body. I've chosen the ignore route many times, but I think that when you choose that option your co-workers go home and tell their friends and family about your growl issues.

I kind of feel like maybe this kind of thing only happens to me and you are staring at your computer screen right now thinking that I'm a total weirdo with really messed up gastrointestinal issues. Or, maybe you're elated because finally - finally someone is addressing the growl. I mean let's face it, we've all been there, so why don't we stop judging. Just embrace it. The growl happens. Let's not be embarrassed anymore.

Next time you get the growl at work, or on a first date, wrap your arms around it, hug it, and thank it for reminding the people around you that you're human. A human with gastrointestinal issues, but you know, still a human.

Wham, bam, thank you ma'am.

There are three words in the English language that always send a chill down my spine, and not in a good way. The mere thought of saying them aloud actually makes me want to vomit. It's strange because they are words that I didn't mind before a friend brought them to my attention, but from that moment, I really can't stand them. You can see how I am avoiding even typing them out right now, but I'm just going to have to suck it up...here it goes...are you ready?

In 3...2...1...

Wait. I can't do it. Must stop.

I will give you a hint though: M**ST, P**SY, P****ES (I'm sure you can figure out the rest)

I thought my phobia would stop with those three words, but today, as I was walking out of a restaurant, the friendly greeter at the door yelled, "have a nice day, MA'AM."

Really? Really? You had to throw the awful M word to the end of that statement? Are you happy with yourself right now? Did throwing that in really make you feel like a better person?

We need to set some ground rules here. When is it OKAY to call someone ma'am? I mean if I had my way I would delete M**ST, P**SY, P****ES AND MA'AM from the English language. I really don't think that's too much to ask for. I don't why you crazy people out there think that the word MA'AM adds respect to a statement, but I'm here to tell you all it screams to me is: old, frumpy and fat. Since I don't have the power to delete it from the English language, why don't we come to some sort of understanding instead? Next time you feel like calling someone MA'AM - take a step back. If she looks like she is under 65, don't do it. I mean really, it's THAT simple. Would it kill you to leave it at "have a nice day"?

*Writers note: If you ever call me MA'AM, expect a slap across the face, even after 65.

I wish Lindsay Lohan would disappear

A couple weeks ago I posted this image on my facebook mocking the LA Times for sandwiching celebrity wacktress Lindsay Lohan between the Dalai Lama and the California State Budget.

I know the California State Budget may not be the most exciting thing in the world, but can we at least keep some distance between Dalai?! (yup, we are on a first name basis, don't hate.)

I'm going to be the first to admit that I love my fair share of celebrity gossip. I frequent perezhilton.com (even though I'm more into cocoperez.com, the fashion arm of perez). I can tell you who is dating who and who has dated who in Hollywood, I'm really good at that game, try me. But I only want that information when I seek it out, not when I'm trying to get actual, legitimate news.

The press coverage that Lindsay got over her court appearances was absolutely sickening. She basically turned her strut from the car to the court room into a runway show - which worked really well since all the clothes she donned ended up selling out in a matter of hours. I expect that if I want to hear about Lindsay Lohan's court room drama, I can jump on tmz.com and get extensive live coverage. But I don't want that from CNN, the LA Times, or the evening news (wait, don't even get me started on evening news, that needs a separate blog post).

I usually know things have become too main stream when my parents start talking about them. I'm already upset that I have to stare at Lohan's spray tanned orange mug all day, the last thing I want to do is talk about her at the dinner table. But let's face it, Lohan is the best water cooler convo starter. Let's forget about that little dispute over in Libya, or you know, the fact that there is still a war in Afghanistan.

The problem is that people demand coverage of Lindsay Lohan. By clicking on that link between the Dalai Lama and the California State Budget you're basically telling the LA Times: "I want more". So, I beg you, the next time you're watching CNN and someone who gets paid entirely too much to do the shitty ass reporting they are doing starts talking about Lindsay or any other waste of space, turn off your TV. Or the next time you're on the internet looking at what you thought was a legitimate source of news, try your best not to click on that horrendous link between Dalai and Budget. Please? Take one for the team. Celebrity news awaits you around the corner at TMZ.

That girl

You know who I'm talking about. We've all seen her, and we've all been her. The girl that's limping out of a club at 2 in the morning pretty sure that her shoes are filled with blood. Or the girl that's getting carried through a Vegas casino at 5, 6 or 7 in the morning in the arms of a stranger, with her shoes hanging from her fingertips because she just couldn't take another step. Why do we do this to ourselves?

We try on shoes that are uncomfortable from the moment we stand up (but man do they look hot). I've worn them all, from 4 inch heels to 6 inchers with a 2 inch platform. There isn't a shoe in this world that is too high or too uncomfortable, as long as it looks just right. I've tried every shoe insert to make those bad boys more bearable, and after a night of dancing, none of them have worked.

Until last week. I went to Nordstrom for guess what...more shoes, and the girl at the register convinced me to buy Foot Petals. And let me tell you, they are amazing. I haven't gone dancing in them yet, but I've been able to conquer the train, subway and stairs in these:

So you know I'm not messing around. The next time you want to hit up Drais after hours in Vegas, and you don't want to step out of your hot Louboutins, get yourself some foot petals and I'll meet you on the dance floor.