go directly to jail; do not pass Go; do not collect $200

Last night my loving cousin uttered probably the dumbest grouping of words ever to be assembled and repeated by millions of pathetic guys all over the country in attempt to somehow justify their unacceptable actions. Now, my cousin is a smart man. His wisdom ages my own by a few years, and I've trusted him to give me sound advice when it comes to the wayward and illogical ways of the opposing sex. Since I suppose he was just doing his job, it was almost his duty to remind me of the key lesson they want us women to take away from their stupidity: Don't hate the player, hate the game.

I have a lot of beef with this phrase. First of all, excuse me. I can and will hate whomever I please, especially if you're absolutely deserving of it. When you're 16 and your mother disapproves of your boyfriend, do you immediately break up with him and ask your mom to become your own personal matchmaker, or do you continue to date the loser out of sheer spite? Exactly. You ignore that his band is really just a mix of random powerchords and screaming, and you love him that much more because the authority told you not to. Same thing here; I go all teen angsty and hate the player 10 times more. Besides, if you're a douche with commitment issues, just own it and invest in a sign for your forehead to spare us unsuspecting women instead of blaming some illusive game that only exists in your mind.

Secondly, who the hell gets off running around calling themselves a "player"? Are you Chingy? No. Do you have grills? Not the last time I checked. Since you've been so busy playing the..."game", when was the last time you even liked the person you hooked up with? Was she sober? Does it make you feel good to know you'll die alone?

Which brings me to my last point of beef. I don't understand the rules of this game or why it's necessary. It's like I just purchased a highly complicated board game and the manufacturer left out the instructions. What happened to just saying what you really mean? Recently I have totally disregarded all traditional dating rules, and I seem to be doing just fine. Hell, I am doing great. I see no real reason for them other than maybe as means to hide behind and avoid your own insecurities and fear of rejection.
Since when am I more of a man than most I've been meeting these days?...playa please.

not so silly putty

Last night I had a discussion with someone about my readability. This wasn’t the first time that someone has told me that when it comes to talking, I can do some damage. The only problem is that I somehow defy all logic and never say anything during my ramblings. I am the master of taking the simplest sentence in the world and caking on the foundation and false eyelashes until it’s so fancy that its original identity is unrecognizable. That sentence could have started as a boy and ended as a…well…a drag queen. The point is, even getting to my point has taken me 7 lines and an unnecessary reference to a group of men who embrace self tanner and panty hose. I always mean what I say, but I rarely actually say what I mean...excluding my dreaded Napoleon Complex under which I am plagued with asserting my assertiveness on anyone who’s done me wrong, perceived or otherwise. But when it comes to the real stuff…that ooey gooey part inside of me that laughs when you tickle it and cries when you abandon it…I keep that behind a brick wall.

The ooey gooey is just that…it’s soft and vulnerable and I can’t just put it out there on its own! I bring along my padding of words and jokes to ensure my ooey gooey’s safety. I like to call this technique self-preservation, but maybe a better term would be stupidity.

I’ve always thanked my parents for allowing me to be whomever I wanted. When I was 3 years old and watched Aladdin for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, my mother hand sewed my Princess Jasmine Halloween costume. When I was 12 and convinced I would someday be a scientist, my father drove me all over 2 states to find materials just so I could go on to win the 6^th grade Science Fair. And when I was 18 they let me move across the country on my own to continue creating myself ... Not as a scientist due to an acquired allergic reaction to math, but whatever else I wanted. I haven’t been giving myself the same opportunities or credit by over protecting my feelings. Sometimes ya gotta risk it to get the biscuit and let your ooey gooey do the talking, or people will never know you. Taking down my brick fortress may prove to be difficult … and maybe I’m still not exactly sure what I want to be when I grow up… but I sure as hell know that I don’t want to be a chemist OR a wall without windows. Princess Jasmine still sounds pretty good though…