Well I have to disagree it should be:

Don’t hate the player, hate the education system** for failing to prepare the vast majority of boys*** for creative communication and management skills that are  needed to navigate through life.

** outside education and inside (home) education

*** notice I say boys

SIDEBAR: Yeah I know I didn’t do the follow up post from last monday…I know….

I’ve said it before but I want to repeat it again is that these pickup lines I have been collecting for eight years. EIGHT!  That’s along time. I have three note books / journals filled with these and therefore I have my Sunday posts set for years, even if I have nothing else to say I’ll always have my Sunday post.

I get a lot of messages, twitter replies, and DMs about these incidences. Most people think they happen recently even that week.  Although some are recent with many since I’ve been in NYC, most haven’t happened in the last few months.

I have not really been “picked up” “been hit on” or had creepers talk to me in a while.  Now one could say it’s cause I’m taken, but then again there is that age old argument that when you are taken is when people show the most interest: and I’m a firm believer in that idea.

So I’m going to tell you why I’m not getting hit on, and it’s very true.

I get hit on far less because I frankly have gotten fat.

Like more then I’ve ever weighed in my life plus 46 pounds.

I am kid of pretty. I mean let’s be honest, I’m not hideous. But I have got fat.

And guys don’t hit on fat girls.

They just don’t.

Now yes yes yes there are those guys that love them some thing to grab onto, I’m not arguing that. But those aren’t the majority.

And yes there are just straight up creepers out there who hit on anything with boobs, but when you are overweight female (especially in NYC) your chances of being picked up go way down.  They just do. It has nothing to do with confidence, or how you put yourself out there, or any of those relevant but bullshit answers.

I had this conversation with a bunch of girl friends whose weight has fluctuated, and they all agreed with me. Fat is less desirable. That’s just a fact of life.

Again I’m not saying fat girls don’t get hit on, or shouldn’t get hit on.  We’re all deserving of love, but some just aren’t shown it as much as others.

But then again, maybe they should, wouldn’t some say they are an easy target?

I’m the same person I’ve always been just with a bigger waistline, and guys don’t hit on me as much as they have in the past.

And I’ve become highly suspicious of any “fat girl” who claims to be hit on all the time.

What say you?

And I’m telling his “story” the details, you know how girl-friends talk.

I’m not talking very loud, as I tend to be soft spoken, if you can imagine that!

We’re chatting away about “baby boy” and all of a sudden this girl from the table next to me leans over.

SIDEBAR: tables in NY tend to be very close together, and sometimes you feel like you are dinning with strangers.

“Are you talking about “baby boy”?”

“Yes” I say with my mouth, but my eyes were totally saying “nosey bitch”

She gives me this look and says with some terrible white girl attitude, “Good luck with that.”

My friend of course jumps in “what the fuck bitch…first off you’re the one in need of luck that we don’t…”

I of course can only giggle at the situation, as my friend is ripping this chick a new one.

She trails off as the girl and her friend sign their cheque and exit.

I could let this situation run for hours in my head, and I’d probably be lying if I said I didn’t want to know what that lanky bad nose, bad teeth chick was talking about, but more likely I just kind of laugh at the ridiculousness that is life, and more likely women…we are crazy sometimes!

Who does things like that?

A friend of mine was in the city filming a movie. She and I aren’t as close as we used to be, and don’t talk all that often, but we had done dinner one night, and talked about being single (she had just broke up with her boyfriend and I was as always single).

Two days later she called me. She had met this guy who worked in locations on her set. She thought he seemed nice, and he was single, and she was setting us up on a blind date.

Now I’ve never had the best luck on blind dates, they usually make me question my friendships…basically I would sit there looking at some guy wondering how what I thought was a good friend would think anything about this person was “right” for me.

But against my better judgment I agreed to meet this guy for a drink. He and I exchanged a few phone calls, and had our after work drinks planed with the option of seeing how it goes and maybe grabbing dinner. He actually said that which I thought was a huge turn off, but I let it go.

He picked this very posh cocktail lounge in Lower Manhattan, which frankly was alittle to stylish for my liking on a first date. He sent me a text saying he would be about 10 minutes late, I was surprising on time, so I texted back saying no worries I’d wait at the bar. I settled into the bar and ordered my very delicious but completely over priced drink.

Upon his arrival he seemed normal. Tall and in a business suit, dark featured, but nothing really to write home about, just seemingly normal. He smiled, I smiled, and we started into the usual blind date get to know you banter.

And then about 10 or 15 minutes into our seemingly ok date (there was nothing really there but the company was nice and the drinks were delicious) He says the following to me, “ I’m glad you sat at the bar and not at a table” “ Why is that” I asked him. And then he said the following as if it was second nature to him,

“ Cause at least at the bar we only have to deal with the one black bartender.”

I gave him a questionable look, in which he then proceeded to rant about how people of pretty much every race but ‘white’ were terrible serves in restaurant, and how he had no idea this place started hiring so many ‘black’ people since he had last been.

I sat there with what was most likely the blankest of blank stares on my face. My jaw may have actually hit the bar. I see from the corner of my eye, the two bartenders frozen where they were staring at us. I feel embarrassed to be with this guy, and sad for him at the same time.

Are these words really leaving his mouth? Is he really in the middle of this bar going on a rant about how he hates black people? And why am I not wearing my Obama T-shirt when I need it?

As he proceeded to continue on some racist banter about something I interrupted him in the only way I could think of at the moment.

“I think I should just let you know that my Dad is black”.

He looked at me as if a bus had just hit him.

“ But you’re white.”

“ I know. I look white, my brother looks black, that is how it works.”

Silence fell. It felt like every eye within a 4-foot vicinity of us had stopped what they were doing and watching the tale I was telling him unravel.

“So you could have a baby that looks black?” He asked me still looking at my ivory white skin in total shock.

“ Oh yeah of course, I could pop out babies black as night.”

This look of terror came over his face, as what I can only described as this fear that he could have gambled with having sex with me and never would have know what he was sticking his penis in unless I had said something.

“ I’m going to go use the ladies room, and when I’m get back I assume you aren’t going to be here” I said as I got up off my chair and walked to the restrooms.

When I returned he was no longer sitting at the bar, and I assume he used what little braincells he had to tell himself leaving was the best option for him.

I on the other hand was greeted by a round of applause from the bartenders and the two people sitting next to us when I returned to the bar area. He apparently had said the following to the one male (‘white’) bartender before leaving:  “she’s half black” with a confused look on his face.

I sat down and had another drink on the house, and the bartenders also picked up the tab that my date had so gentlemanly left me with, which included his $40 glass of whisky.

FACT: I might just be the whitest kid you know.

SIDEBAR: This was the last blind date I ever went on, or will ever go one for that matter.

I started to clean out my address book on my phone.  I began the daunting task of deleting numbers unneeded, adding to those I have further information for, and all the good head scratching that comes from filing through ones address book of 724 contacts.

I have friends, work contacts, old work contacts, restaurants, stores, doctors, old friends, and of course boys.

We all have our own version of the chick-ionary or in my case I guess my dick-ionary.  And we live in an age where such books, such contacts are usually on our phones (and consequently our computers).

And in the digital age t has allowed us to gather more information, or a greater vocabulary to add to our dictionaries.

My girl friends always tell me I’m crazy for keeping number of like ever guy I have ever exchanged numbers with in my phone.  They never understand why I don’t delete them. My response is always that then I know who is contacting me.  The response is always the same “Well I don’t pick up unknown numbers” and the way it is always said is sorta a dig. I’m not sure what type of dig but the tone is always there.

Of course I don’t pick up unknown calls. Who really does?! The real problem is those unknown text messages.  Those really throw me for a loop. I am always to intrigued to answer back.  Thus knowing and having numbers for almost everyone I have encountered in life is important. Or at least I used to think it was…..maybe that has changed, but then again maybe it hasn’t.

SIDEBAR: I always add little notes to every contact I have to help better recognize or establish who they are. These include “works with so and so” “from Texas” “the boyfriend” “reflexology” “so and so’s bitchy girlfriend” “mommy-moo” “my best Pal” and so on….

Regardless I’ve started deleting numbers. These at the moment are mostly composed of random guys numbers, which I’ve decided I don’t need because I frankly don’t care. But for your reading enjoyment I leave you with 7 favorites of mine thus far.

Dan ( the onion ring guy from bar) yuiy8

Hj ehBehn (guys friend food likes 22 years old)

BJ hater dude (two shirt)

Shawn (not sean! old married guy in pj pants at bar) I am drunk

Aussseeettin ( guyi who knows heather)

Mikee (madeout with at 6^th wrad)

Salor Halloween man sexy (matt?)

I spent my first week of holiday in my hometown.  Ah, Northern Ontario Canada in the summer, it really is one of the greatest places you can be this time of year.

SIDEBAR: I’ll challenge anyone to a duel that says otherwise, and my sword skills are amazingly good!

Wherever you happen to hail from it always holds a special place in your heart, even if you would cut off an appendage before moving back there. Your hometown can teach you many things. Some good and some ugly, but all in all there is always a lesson to be learned.

8 Things I’ve Learned from growing up in North Western Ontario Canada!

1~ Fish do and will bite you in the open water!! And I can most likely tell you what type of animal that squished up unrecognizable pile of blood and fur on the road used to be

2~ Drinking and operating any type of moving vehicle is not a good idea. If I even tried to count deaths I’ve known of as a result of drinking and driving/seadooing/ boating/snowmachining, and so on it would take years!

3~ I’m a great shot. Don’t mess with me.

4~ I have at least three major outdoor survival skills, and I know all the best ways to keep warm.

5~ Curling is hard. If you want to joke that it’s the easiest Olympic sport, I suggest you take a look at bobsledding, even the Jamaicans can do that! Curling is hard, and I think the only section I always failed in PE.

6~ I always dress appropriately and come prepaid for impending weather. I also know what “looks like” followed by any type of weather description is, and am pretty much always right!

7~ I can walk on ice with little effort, infact I can even run on it.

8 ~ It is possible to be friends with past lovers and old flames. In a small town people jump romantic partners all the time, but your social circles never really change. You learn to get along with the ex that is now dating your best friends little sister who used to date your old brothers best friend who you once dated as well who cheated on you with the girl who is now dating your brother. And all in all you learn to be civil and kind to others, and respect peoples romantic choices (I mean you might judge but still)

Right now, I’m home-home, with my parents for a week or so. Just relaxin’, chilln’, and doing lots of swimming with my puppies!

It’s peaceful here. It’s quiet, well except for those frogs outside my window that actually kind of make me miss honking cars and sirens at night. It’s the Northern woods of Canada, and it’s my home.

There aren’t many luxuries in my hometown. Nowhere really to shop, or go hang out, or anything really fun to do. No real cultural anything.

SIDEBAR: Today is Canada Day so that’s pretty cultural.

I like it here because it’s familiar, nothing changes and I know everything.  It’s special to my heart.

Much like a good relationship, a good home can’t be beat.  As I went to get ready for bed last night after a late night swim I got thinking about all the things I kind of dislike or “live” with when at home.  My own bathroom I’ve always loved. It’s big and has lots of light, and yet the water pressure just doesn’t cut it in the shower.  I have a huge sink area with long big sink top with a makeup area with a chair and everything, it’s almost perfect, but then I forget that the sink is very shallow and if you turn the tap on to far it splashes water all over everything! My bed is big and huge and tall and comfy good, but it’s kind of lonely being in a big nice bed like that all alone, and then they’re those frogs outside my window.

All that is good about home has little faults that we tend to forget or over look till they are right in front of us.  A relationship is like a good home. It’s warm, inviting, it shelters you and can be used for entraining. It holds memories and creates new ones. It’s a rock that we count on….only good thing is that the person you’re in a relationship with can talk to you, and a home doesn’t really do that, unless you count “house sounds”.

And then there are those little extras, or more like the hidden “gems” of a relationship.  Just like my shallow sink that splashes unless you turn it just right, everyone has those little things about them they bring to a relationship.  These added gems get overlooked, pushed to the side and sometimes ignored because the whole package or “the home” is just so wonderful. Maybe it’s the way someone laughs, or chews their food, or holds your hand in a funny way.  Maybe it’s the sounds they make in their sleep, or sounds they don’t make during “sleep”.

Just as we get used to a new house which eventually becomes our home, do the little things start to disappear as the larger picture unfolds in a relationship and if so then why do people always say it’s all about the little things in a relationship?

I’ve talked about commercials before. I’m bothered by a commercial that deal with “female issues”, I just am. I’ve talked before on how I don’t like the women in most of them, and then I talked about how some point out how stupid the female population is. But this one takes the cake on pointing out how stupid/dumb/ridiculous the female population can be.

Bayer has come out with a new ad champagne that encourages women to learn more about their birth control. This comes off the back of them being sued millions of dollars for apparently not adequately informing women about the health risks.

Ok first off, if you take any medications you should know what it is, how it works, how it affects your body and interacts with other drugs you take. Your health should always be number one. You need to understand how stuff works. That’s “Living 101.”

Anyways, so although I agree that it’s good of Bayer to let you know that you should take control of your health I have an issue with their commercials. A huge issue.

If you haven’t seen the commercial in question let me break it down for you. There are these women who are blind folded feeling a rhinoceros.  They touch the rhino all over and are trying to figure out what they are touching.

These women give the absolute dumbest answers that one could ever say while feeling up a living breathing moving rhino!  Answers given include: a wall, a rope, a pipe, and my all time favorite is the stupid chick who get’s ear slapped in the hand by a rhino and guesses… A BRUSH!

WTF?!  Where are all these stupid women coming from!  At least I’m glad someone is trying to make sure they all know how to use birth control correctly, cause God forbid these dumb ass chicks get pregnant and start procreating…..that is if they can read the pregnancy test.

Oh here’s the link to the commercial so you can watch for yourself.

***********

Oh and if you like, dislike, agree, disagree, or want to cock punch me over this opinion (or me in general) you should check LostPlum (that’s me) out tonight from 10-11pm EST. on Shivio.com because I’m going to be a guest on Abiola on LSD: Love, Sex, Dating. The show is hosted by the ever amazing, always funny, constantly sexy Abiola Abrams!  It’s going to be hot hot hot.  You can watch, listen, chat, and even beam in….with me!

People always inform me that they too don’t like birthdays and that infact no one likes getting older. In fact everyone always assumes it’s a “getting older” thing I dislike about birthdays. That that’s why I’m not out wanting to party it up with huge big exciting plans, as I guess people expect me to do.

And then when people push as to why I hate birthdays I get flustered and close up. Cause fact of the matter is I don’t dislike getting older. Although being one year closer to 30 (the last year before 30 I might add) is a little nerve racking, and I do feel like I’m getting old. It however, is not the issue.

I just don’t have good luck or good experiences when it comes to my birthday. And I guess I just project that out there, that I assume since I’ve had so many terrible birthdays that this will just continue to happen.

Now I’m talking birthdays in resent (in my 20s) memory.  My birthdays when I was younger were pretty awesome. I had rocking birthday parties as a child that still has people talking.  However as I approached and grew into my 20s the just seemed to go down hill.

I lost my virginity on my birthday and it wasn’t anything exciting.

I was in a bad car accident on my birthday.

I’ve had 3 very important people in my life die on my birthday, and 2 right near my birthday.

A Psychic told me on I wouldn’t live much past 25 the day before I turned 25.

I’ve walked in on my boyfriend at the time with another girl the day of my birthday.

I had everyone and I mean EVERYONE forget my 21^st birthday. (my parents, my boyfriend at the time, and my friends)

and so on….

Last year for the first time in a long time since moving to this city I surface from my room.  In a “hey I’ll be out at this bar if you happen to want to show” fashion I let friends know I’d be out. I ended up getting drunker then I can ever recall and maybe dying my friends sink pick from all the cupcake frosting I puked up in his sink. It was bad news. Cause although I had a nice time with some friends, I spent the entire time alittle uncomfortable. To many people and unknown intensions.  Did people really want to celebrate my birthday or just celebrate?

The thing is I think we all have ideals of perfect outings, gatherings, dates, and or experiences.  We want to feel loved, appreciated, and special on a certain occasion: this being my birthday.   You hear people say all the time that events are better when you’re in a relationship, that unless you have one special person to celebrate with then it’s just not as good.

I think I can admit that yes for once I’d love to have a day, this being my birthday where I am in a relationship with someone who truly cares about me and wants to make me feel special.  Wouldn’t that be nice?

I’ve never really had a boyfriend or guy I was involved with recognize or to be honest remember my birthday (unless you go back to the virginity story). I’ve never had a guy say this day is about you and let’s actually make it about you.

I was thinking about this last night. Thinking about how maybe one day someone will embrace me on the day my parents first embraced me, and maybe I’ll start to like getting older.

Here’s to Friday being just another year like all the rest…..

The subway system being one of the most popular, it’s usually always there for you (usually). It gets you places, it provides entertainment and it opens doors.

You could say it is the most constant relationship I’ve had since moving to NYC.

SIDEBAR: We did have that 3-month break but that’s another story.

Yup, I think the subway is my true NYC boyfriend. He’s usually on time, he smells sometimes, he’s cool, and always has someplace to take me…. oh and he’s a fun big long thing to ride on!

However, if it’s my one true relationship I must project my fears and hang-ups that I usually foresee in men on my beloved subway boyfriend.

And I do. I’m scared of the subway most of the time. I stand back away from the edge (see above sidebar), I get disgusted by others my boyfriend lets ride on him, I make comments about his smell and appearance, I worry when he’s not on time, and I get pissed when he’s not there for me when I need him, yet he seems to be there for others.

But like all relationships I’m prepared for what might go wrong.  See the subway has its emergency plan. It is in ever car, on every line: The, “what to do in case of an emergency” procedure plan.

The emergency brake is usually right above this list of procedures. The list of what to do in case of fire, evacuation, illness, police emergency and so on.  What does one do? Not what you think. In fact you don’t pull the emergency brake.

In all emergency matters you never pull the brake.

The brake is like a false security. Much like the false security you have in a relationship. If something goes wrong you can’t just push a button or pull a cord and all will be ok. You can’t always walk away unscathed.

In case of an emergency you need to turn to the procedures to handle the situation in the right manner. You need to calm down and walk through step by step.

In relationships we aren’t always prepared for the “emergencies” we face but we can’t always fall back on a false security that things will be ok.  Something or in this case someone isn’t always there to catch you, isn’t there to save you, and in most cases just isn’t there fore you.

Although, subway emergencies don’t happen often, relationship emergencies happen all the time. Whether it is a real fire, or just an irate passenger we need to learn to just breath and take the right steps in making things better.

Now if only there was a manual for that…..