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Two Free Birds

Shit happens and sometimes sharing it with strangers is better than therapy.

Category Archives: Men

Girl meets boy.  Boy flirts with girl.  Boy and girl become friends on Facebook.  Boy and girl never talk again.

I’m thinking I just don’t need to know that much about people before getting to know them in real life.  It’s a major buzz-kill—like finding out the guy you’re crushing on has three cats and plays Farmville.  The worst is when his profile makes him seem like he could possibly be gay—does he want to do lunch or does he just want to do me?  Does he like Barney’s the department store or Barney’s the bar across from ASU with 50 cent beer night?  Hopefully it’s the later because I could create a whole separate Facebook page with my drunken updates titled “Posts from 50 Cent Beer Night.”  I haven’t even begun to analyze what that might say about me—what’s worse, having an entire Facebook album devoted to your cats or having too many drunken posts?  Either way, I’m starting to think Facebook is ruining dating all together.  I think this, but I can’t deny it’s usefulness in the vetting process.  So which is it?  Is Facebook a dating killer or a dating savior?

For example, take the case of a friend of mine.  Last night we continued our tradition of Man Monday where we drink beer and watch football in a manly fashion, except we wear things like camel ponchos and lace leggings (you know, so as to be really approachable).  We sat at the bar, drank locally brewed beer, and she explained things like “San-chize” until the subject of her current crush came up.  That is when we used her iPhone to creep his book, and thus stumbled upon the best case of the “Facebook Dating Killer” I have ever seen.  You see, her crush has this tattoo.  Not just any tattoo, it expands across one side of his rib cage—two giant black letters, D.A.  Guess what they stand for… wait for it… wait for it… Dumbledore’s Army.  That’s right, DUMBLEDORE’S ARMY (you better believe I have a picture of this).  We are talking a full on, larger than life, permanent tribute to Harry Potter.  At first glance we thought it was a joke because it’s just so flat out hilarious.  Come on, this would be the best joke tattoo ever.  Almost as good as the time a friend of mine pretended he was going to get a mermaid tattoo because it looked “fierce.”  The best part?  My friend with the crush loves Harry Potter.  She even said, “You’re looking at the girl who was upset she couldn’t play Hermione in the movie.”

We still can’t decide if his tattoo is a good thing or a bad thing because let’s face it, some things are just so bad they’re good.  This, my friends, is one of those things.

Judge for yourself…





Cropped for privacy but the full picture really makes it, trust me.



P.S.  You know how they say you should imagine the audience naked when you give a speech?  Well, the next time you’re nervous about talking to a cute guy, just imagine he has a giant tribute to Harry Potter tattooed on his chest.  Better yet, imagine him buying Harry potter jewelry from one of those Skymall catalogs.


Man Monday attempt number one.

Remember when I said I was going to start watching football?  Well, attempt number one was last night.  I met up with a friend who knows a surprising amount of sports gossip—it’s impressive.  Although, really by gossip I just mean accounts of infidelity (duh).  We sat at the bar for hours and the whole time I joked that my car was going to get towed because I parked in my “secret spot” (joked because I’d never been towed in that spot before)—still haven’t decided if I have magical powers or if the universe hates me.  As I was getting ready to leave, in what I assumed was an attempt to hit one me, the guy next to me said, “Should I hope your car gets towed?”  In hindsight, I’m thinking maybe I wandered onto a movie set last night and we were supposed to bond or something in one of those “meet cute” scenes.

I’ve never had my car towed and I’m not sure what I was expecting but it wasn’t this:

Me: “Where are you located again.”
Impound Lot Guy: “Turn East on 3rd and look for a white truck with the lights on, bring cash.”
Me to friend: “We are getting raped tonight.”

Pretty sure that operation isn’t legal, also thinking I should start up one of these little businesses myself.

When I arrived to make the transaction, it was literally just a guy in a truck, on a dark street, in front of a gated lot.  He asked me if my car was towed often because my name looked familiar.  I told him that I was a virgin hoping to get some sort of first timer discount… not so much.

Little tip:
Those signs that say your car will get towed are not just empty warnings, but maybe you’ll meet your dream man… or bond with a random creeper, whatever.


P.S.  When I was alone, car-less, and desperately trying to get a hold of my friend (who had just left) on a phone seconds away from dying, I realized I only had two numbers memorized—my mother’s and my ex’s.  Not sure who would have been more fun to call.

If this is any indication of how much my mother hates being inconvenienced, I actually would have called my ex.  Poor guy…  “Hey, it’s 1 am… on a Monday (Tuesday).. and you’re still my in case of emergency because I am too lazy to memorize any more numbers.”

Hmm, I think I’m gonna design a friendship bracelet with an engraving inside of all my best friend’s phone numbers.  That way if my phone dies I will not be forced to choose between my ex or my mother.  It will also come in handy for identifying my body should something really go wrong.

If a man has an oiled up torso shot of himself in his phone… he is gay.


If that is you.

But it’s only a matter of time before you meet another boy pretty enough to make you question your sexuality.

How can I make such a claim?  Have we met?  My gusband is gorgeous.  He gets hit on by men claiming to believe he is a girl all the time.  Sure, he’s pretty, but for god sake’s people he has stubble!  And man-sized feet!  And manly, although well manicured, hands!  Straight men look at him and may get confused for a second (except on Halloween when he was JLo) but they figure out he has a penis eventually.  Closeted gay men never figure it out until he tells them.  We are not talking about a passing glance, we are talking they flirt with him non-stop all night and never even question his gender.  You would think my laughing would clue them in.

This little gender phenomenon has led me to believe there are a lot of men out there who are secretly gay (duh) and all of those men have oiled up torso shots of themselves taken in the bathroom mirror with their cell phones.  You see, all these men who claim to think my gusband is a girl eventually ask for his number.  He’s hot, I don’t blame them, but after they get his number every single one sends him an oiled up torso shot.  Every. Single. One.  I’ve never received an oiled up torso shot (and if I did, I would run in the opposite direction).  Sure, I’ve received torso shots, but not oiled up ones used as an introduction—like, “Hello, nice meeting you last night, wanna see my glistening torso?  I saved it in my phone just in case.”  I’ve only received semi-nude pics from guys I’ve actually seen in the nude and only because we couldn’t physically be in the same place to enjoy each other’s nudeness (nudeness, god I make up some legit words).  My point, straight men, the ones who only touch their own penises, don’t send oiled up torso shots to you right after you exchange numbers, let alone at all.

I could be wrong, but I doubt it.  Maybe when girls search through their boyfriend’s phone in search of scandalous text messages they should look for the oiled up torso shot instead?


The other day, my gusband said to me, “You know, we don’t have to do everything together.  You are not going to find a man if you’re always doing gay things.”  He may have phrased that differently, but that is what I remember and memory is infallible, especially when influenced by liquor, so it must be an exact quote.  I live with my gusband—gay husband, best friend, better looking than me—and he has been my plus one since my ex’s therapist gave him the courage to break it off with me over a year ago (by therapist, I mean that lady he went to see like three times).  It’s come to my attention—both of our attentions—that we our killing each other’s love lives.  They say you need to go out alone in order to meet men because a group is intimidating, but I’m going to guess a group of gays is even more intimidating.

When I go out, I am usually surrounded by no fewer than two gay men and lately that number has increased to three (okay, five).  I love them, but I guess I can see how this factor might keep men from hitting on me.  Sometimes I even push one aside and yell, “Stop looking like my boyfriend (I’m talking to you, Anthony).”  I even joke that one of them is eventually going to have to do me a solid and touch my boobs every now and then if I never find a man (again, I’m talking to you, Anthony).  Serious dry spell going on over here, but I’m not the only one struggling.  My gusband gets hit on by straight men—all.the.time.  Only straight men, actually.  Well, men who refuse to believe they are gay, anyway.  Point is, he doesn’t need straight assholes looking for an experiment and I probably shouldn’t sequester myself off inside a ring of gays.

Actually, what I really want to know is—if my life is so Will & Grace, where the hell is Karen?  She’d have the answer to this dilemma… and a boot flask.



P.S. If a man is going to be afraid of my gay friends, I’d rather just be single…  cause I am never giving them up!

Also, I think I overdid it on the long dash and dot dot dots, but I never said grammar was my forte.

Towanda’s back!  You know, my older and wiser friend I bring up from time to time?  The one I named Towanda, after Kathy Bates alter-ego in Fried Green Tomatoes?  I know, nobody my age likes that movie but me, especially not any man who could possibly read this.  Whatever, her name is Towanda and she sent me a gem of a little message about her latest epiphany…

She was watching Reba (who doesn’t love Reba) and the episode brought her to the conclusion that men want, no need, to feel needed.  Her point made sense.  Let me explain.  Actually, I’ll just let her explain…

“Brock is over at Reba’s house.  As Brock is about to go home, Reba asks Brock, “Why her, Brock?” (referring to Barbara Jean for whom he left Reba). He just looks at her and says, “because she needs me”.  My point is this.  No matter how far we have come at claiming our independence as women, men still want to feel needed.  They will probably never lose the desire to be the hunters and gatherers.  This isn’t necessarily a bad thing.  How that need is played out is the key between men and women getting along.  While a man would probably feel intimidated coming home to see his partner/wife have the car up on a hoist as she is changing out the motor, they still want to have their feelings validated and know that they are needed and can come to a woman’s rescue.  That’s just the way it is.  As much as men complain about women being the weaker sex, they could be speaking out of fear of their value being diminished.  At times I get irritated with my husband when he tries to take over some project I have.  I’ve come to realize he’s doing it from his basic instinct of need/rescue.  Now I just assure him that I want to try to finish myself but to stay nearby in case I need his help.  I’m happy and he’s satisfied to know he’s my go-to guy.  Being needed is a good thing.  Being needy is unhealthy.  It’s all about balancing the two.”

Is this true?  Are men intimidated by women who don’t need them?  I’ve always feared that was the case.  Mostly because my male friends say things to me like, “Most men probably can’t handle you.”  One even said, “Men want to feel impressive around their girl and that is hard to do with you.  You’re the impressive one.”  Pretty sure my friend was drunk or high when he made that last comment.  When my ex broke up with me, he even said something to the tune of, “You’re just so independent, I got used to it.”  Seriously, what is so scary about not being needed?  I mean, everyone needs someone even if they are independent.  No man (or woman) is an island.  The other day I yelled for my roommate to come kill a moth because I am a giant pussy, see, I need a man for something.

Her message did get me thinking.  Am I doomed in the game of love because men will always know that I could make it fine without them?  That sounds like such a snotty thing to say, but I don’t mean for it to.  I just mean that I am not going to roll over and die just because I don’t have a man.  Life is about so much more and there will truly always be someone to enjoy it with… or someone else to “need.”  I can’t help it if I like the adventure, even when I’m on it alone.  I do think Towanda is right.  Men always complain about their girlfriends being needy, but nothing freaks them out like one who is completely fine on her own.  Eventually, where love is concerned, they all want you to need them and isn’t that only fair?  We kinda want them to need us too.  It’s human nature, to need the people you’re closest to.  I’m just not someone who wants to go about needing people aimlessly.  If that makes me more difficult to handle, so be it.  At least when (or let’s face it, if) I do choose to need someone, they’ll know it means a lot.  That counts for something, right?  At least I’m not so pig-headed that I can’t recognize the need for need.  I think I stopped making sense and have begun rambling (probably because I am home alone, bored, and drinking wine when I should really be unpacking all of my crap).


P.S. You can really learn a lot from “a girl like Reba.”

Oh, Esquire.  Much like your female counterpart, Cosmopolitan, I don’t know whether to love you, hate you, or just roll my eyes at you.  To be honest, it’s a little of all three and that is precisely why I can never resist reading you.

This morning, I came across this article, The Surprising Science of a One-Night Stand.  Here’s an actual snippet…

“If you appreciate romance with your casual sex — such as hugging and holding hands — a one-night stand is preferable to a long-term affair. If you’re feeling extremely horny, however, the latter is ideal. And if you can’t get enough oral sex, you belong in a loving relationship.”

This actually made me think about my own reservations towards the things that make me uncomfortable about love.  Like how awkward I feel holding hands with a guy unless I know I am never going to see him again (or during an actual relationship, obviously).  Turns out there is good reason for that and it’s not because I am neurotic (yay).  According to the latest findings of Peter K. Jonason, a University of South Alabama psychology professor, booty call partners don’t usually engage each other in the intimacy of things like holding hands because they are trying to keep emotional confusion at bay.  Whereas, during a one-night stand, intimate acts like kissing and hand holding are important in establishing a dynamic between two people.  So, all my resistance towards acts of faux intimacy have really just been attempts to protect myself against becoming emotionally attached in the grey area that is casual sex.    

Not to worry, according to the article, booty calls make up for a lack of intimacy with an abundance of freaky sex.  Also, strangers have more post-coital conversation, and girlfriends give more head.  

 Read more:

Food for thought.


More food for thought…

A Princeton study found that having sex can boost brain growth and decrease anxiety.  It also found that virgins experience high levels of brain stifling stress.   Tell that to the next person to call you a slut.

Can the real Sean please stand up?  I guess I can use his real name since it’s not actually his real name.  You see, one of my good friends dated someone who lived a double life… for an entire year.  Seeing as my mother was once married to a real life con man, I have a little experience in this territory.  I just never thought I’d be so close to something like that again.

I admit he seemed illusive and somewhat secretive and there were a few odd signs, but even I didn’t see this one coming.  For starters, he had four names- A first, two middle, and a last.  He switched the order around depending on who he was talking too.  He also purposely misspelled his last name in order to hide his true identity from my friend.  The biggest kicker, he had to lie about pretty much everything because he was hiding the fact that he was gay from his family while simultaneously hiding the fact that he was “in the closet” from his boyfriend.  Does that make sense?  He was one person with his family and childhood friends and another with his boyfriend.  He even had a girlfriend at some point during all of this mess (that girl needs to get a damn clue- case in point for having yourself a gusband… a gusband can spot an undercover gay a mile away).

So without getting into all the lies this guy told (they included his mother dying of cancer- nice, right?) I am instead going to offer you a warning.  More of a list really…

  The con man checklist:

1. Social networking sites are only for family.

If your boyfriend of one year is on Facebook and you’re not his friend- he is playing you.  If you actually hear, “Oh, my Facebook is just for family.  I don’t really keep up with it.”  Your guy is either living a double life or cheating.  I dated this guy who was in reality cheating on his girlfriend with me.  His Facebook was just for family too.  I’m sorry, but what is there to hide after a fucking year?  I’ll tell you what- he’s gay, married, or in a relationship.  No exceptions.

2. He introduced himself as something different from what everyone else calls him.

In the case on my friend (and his boyfriend “Sean”), his boyfriend’s name slip was outed by a run-in with a mutual friend who also happened to go to high school with his sister.  She was adamant that she knew him and that Sean was not his name.  His explanation was that he actually had 4 names (as explained earlier) and that since he and his father shared a first name he starting going by one of his middle names to differentiate himself.  Look, names should not be so complicated.  If it is, something is wrong. 

3. They try to buy  you off.

What better way to distract you than with shiny things- cars, iPhones, clothes, jewelry.  Obviously, sometimes the guy is just trying to get laid, but you better be on high alert if you have already checked off 1 and 2 (obviously, this excludes sugar daddies- those are okay).  An even bigger red flag: out of control, seemingly random spending.  Case in point, my ex-stepfather went through three new luxury cars in three months.  Just replacing one after the other.  Around that same time the FBI raided our house… surprise! 

4. You don’t exactly know what he does for a living.

My stepfather- “investment banker.”  Yeah, he invested your money all right, into his own pockets.  To this day I no longer trust anyone who claims to be one of those. 

My friend’s boyfriend- “oil money… wait, landscaping business… or pest control company.”  Whatever.

Another friend’s shady boss (who she is totally sleeping with- stop denying it)- “Sells dreams” and pyramid schemes.

5. He disappears for periods of time and it doesn’t all add up.

If your man gets “sick” for two weeks and refuses to see you, something is definitely wrong.  Nobody is that fucking sick and if they are, they want to see you… because they are going to die.

There you have it.  Avoid investment bankers and men with too many names*.  Also, watch out for pinky rings.  That’s never a good sign.


*I had a crush on Jonathon Taylor Thomas when I was a kid.  My mom said he couldn’t be trusted because he had 3 first names.  I pointed out that Thomas was his last name, but she said it didn’t sound like one.  Pure logic.



P.S. When I did a google image search for JTT, I found this.  Just thought I’d share…