We managed to get through the week, people! Do you also feel a strange sense of accomplishment every time you drag yourself to Friday, without losing your mind? I do. It’s not easy, being out there. Life resembles Hunger Games now days, don’t you fell like it? Everything is competition, struggle, craziness, intenseness; is there anything or anyone calm and normal, chill and relaxed anymore? If you know them, direct them my way.

Last week we talked about ‘situationships’, and you guys seemed to love that one. You shared it more than any of my posts so far! I feel like we’re on to something here. Should we get that trending? Go! Do! Share! #Situationship for the win, if it already isn’t!

Seriously. This blog is becoming a sort of feminist bitch-about! What can I do, men are just dubious. And I don’t even like women that much; I always leaned towards guys friends in life, but just…..I’m seriously struggling to find the sense in what they do or say (or send you unsolicited naked photo), these days…

This bitch-off (aka post) is not really a ‘Situationship, The Sequel’, but close. It’s about the taste, a preference, a choice, a pick. And how annoying it is that men allow themselves the liberty of it, and blame the women that do the same.

Last week I got hit on by a 50-something year old guy so persistent, I wanted to suffocate myself with the paper bag right then & there, to end it all. I have never seen such determination, I’d actually be impressed with it, if I wasn’t royally annoyed. He was not terrible looking, possibly rich-ish, in a suit & tie, retarded shoes, all in business like manner; you know those dudes that care about their watch collection, what car they drive, and the frigging cigars they inhale thinking they are Tony fucking Montana? That ones.

My friends always tell me I create my own trouble, and why can’t I just say I have a boyfriend or a husband or 6 kids, say I’m not available, and go on my merry way. I could do it the easy way, I agree. But I don’t want to. I want to tell you I’m not with anyone, but I will not go on a date with you, because I’m just not interested. I don’t like you. End of story.

Women deal with rejection all day frigging long. Not texting back, not calling, not this or that. And we all DEAL with it. The fact men act like little bitches when rejected, it’s beyond me. We are all slaves to something or someone that doesn’t really want us, and it’s just the circle of life. My choice is my prerogative, and the fact I’m so specific in what I like gives the ones I do like – sort of specialness. And looking for that something special, picking what you like, not taking just any shit that comes your way; that is the ultimate point. And the highest respect you give to the one’s you do like. The exclusivity in choice is the sexiest thing in the world!

My guy then calmed down a bit (I have that effect on people. Not.), and asked me what I like then if I don’t like him? I said – I don’t like men, I like boys; I like young guys (not necessarily in age, but in dress and attitude), the suit and ties and classical shit is a just about a serious nightmare to me; I like boys in jeans, boots, leather jacket, washed out tee, with great frigging hair that is my anchor, my lighthouse, my purpose of godamn life; I like them to be tight and buff and I need to bounce of them when I touch them. Tall dark, handsome, blue eyes? Nah. How about blond, and whatever the fuck tall. How about normal, not into money, cars, cigars and crap; how about the ones that read, learn, feel, comfort, give, lust, love, think? I want them to start me off with the intelligent shit they’ll throw my way, and THEN finish me off; power of the mind – power of the body; not one without the other.

He looked at me in such confusion, anger, bitterness, despair. It was just unimaginable to him. And it is, most people. He continued – “But don’t you want someone to take care of you, a man, man with money, with resources, why do you want to work and struggle, I just don’t understand it”. And where he was most insulted, maybe even called me shallow, when I explained what I like physically in a man.

So let me get this straight: Men are allowed to pick beautiful women, they are allowed to want butts, the breasts, the most beautiful face; but when a woman wants a beautiful friggin man; well then we’re shallow?

Scuse me.

Not this moody bitch.

Women need to be soooo many things. Man HAS to be tight. Sorry. Can you do that one thing? Working out for a man is like going to a grocery frigging store for women. It just needs to be done. Confronted with the lack of time, do the damn push-ups/pull ups at home. I mean I will not demand you do the Salmon Ladder at this point in our relationship, but hey. Work your way up! I’m reasonable.

Sex with a man who’s not firm is not sex, it’s some weird fusion interlude attempt, resembling nothing, really. What are we, jellyfishes here? NO. When you bounce off a man, you need to have a rock hard surface to bounce from. Aside from that, men with lots of money make me nervous. Its something to do with the accessibility that just annoys me. No one likes to suffer financially, duh, but there’s one thing having enough, and completely another being a lame prick who’s trying to make up for lack of inches with the bank account. I’m not into money. I’m into success. Having a career. Talent. A skill. Using it to make a change in someone’s life. I’m gravely not into those who picked some random business because it makes them money. Ew.

The funniest thing happened right at the end of our conversation, my 50-something pursuer and me. Some guy comes over, bleached hair, cute, dressed in black deconstructed pieces, asks for chair. My 50-something pursuer gives him a dirty look, the boy leaves. The pursuer says – “I can’t believe he just came over like that, and he was looking at you, God, doesn’t he see you are out of his league?! Is he like a bum?” Why, because he doesn’t have a dumbass suit on, and the watch he worked half a year for? Clueless! It never ever ever gets old.

And how ever many times you directly tell them never ever in hell, dude; those in suits, ties, with cigars, expensive watches, dumb jobs, and even more idiotic attitude always think they are the top dogs; they are CONVINCED they’re God’s gift to women, specially ones like me. That’s how they see me. Without realizing i’m everything but; i’d rather be with a cute bum, than have them give me the world. The puzzle on their faces, every time I blow off, if I have a dollar for every time……you know the rest.

The type of man I like and the one’s I don’t; that exclusivity of my choice = is something I’m most proud of in my life.

After my 50-something dude, I also got hit on by 75-year old that invited me to dinner and I’m not fucking with you – date; and about 60-ish producer who seriously motherfucking thinks I’d want to hit that. Because he made one of the most popular TV show of all times. Dude, I’ll do your entire cast before I’ll do you!

What is wrong with these men? Are they realistically thinking that I’d go there? I see a bicep not flexing as quite as last month and I get nervous, I lose the sight of a defined side ab-crotch thingies, and I get a seizure; are these men serious? Where is the realism? Logic? Sense of self? I get one wrinkle and I think I should move to an undisclosed underground location; but these fucks? Falling apart but hey, they honestly think they have a shot? 

As you can tell, I had a tough week.

And all those young, beautiful women that actually do these guys, I want to write the obituary for them. They are not even alive. The zest of life they are missing, is infinite and indescribable.

Hot as fuck. Sexy as hell. Chill. Smart. Educated. Talented. Down to earth. 

All or fucking nothing.

Step aside.