Selectively Bitchy

…hormonally-controlled and ranting about it…

Moving Day!!!

So I’ve decided to ‘re-brand’…my new blog address is now

Comment and read away!!! I’ve lost all my cool comments, so please feel free to leave as many as you like and spread the word!


Christian Bale and our abusive relationship

Its not yet a known fact, but I love Christian Bale.  Ok, now its known. I’ve enjoyed him ever since I laid eyes on his gorgeousness in American Psycho, though I did take a brief break from him and enamored myself with Eric Bana in Munich. Then he started looking a little too mouse-like for me and I went back to Bale.

Until that recording of him going on his PMS ranting streak got leaked.

I listened. I was a bit suprised (and I also enjoyed it–his Welsh accent is sooo sexy when he’s angry). But my love for him continued (hey, we all have our bad days and I, of all people, totally get the whole being-a-bitch-while-you’re-PMSsing-is-okay-because-it’s-PMS thing), just like the wife who makes excuses for her wifebeater husband. The first blow always has some justifiable reason. Afterall, it wasn’t Christian, it was John. John Connor. Heck, it may as well be my fault.

Then today, I read that Bale had forced a rewrite of Terminator, and the director McG,  has gone on record before to talk about the process of re-writing the script with Bale. At a Toronto press conference in January, he said, “I went to see him… He reads the script and goes, ‘I hate this, it’s sh*t.'” Even after hearing that McG’s visuals would be informed by everything from Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, the works of Philip K. Dick and video footage of the Chernobyl nuclear disaster, Bale still told the filmmaker: “That sounds great but until it’s on the page: f**k off. Get it so we can read it in a room, without special effects and explosions and still have it be engaging, then I’ll do your film.”

And while I do feel strongly about douchebags and how to identify, label, hunt and kill them, I just can’t quite do the same with Christian Bale ( Colin Farrell, yes, any time and I don’t care how good he was from behind the other day). Surely he was ovulating, feeling bloated and moody or craving chocolate and couldn’t find quite the right type of chocolate bar to satisfy his menses-induced hormonally-controlled musings.

Any other man and I would’ve turned and ran the other way, but not Bale. No. He could do no wrong (with the exception of his role in The Machinst where I almost did run as far away as I could from his 90lb withering frame). Speaking of which, i just realized another man on par with Bale is my boyfriend.

After spending some time digging around for pics of Bale and his awesomeness, I started to notice how similar my bf and Bale look. Interesting. Maybe that’s why after almost three years of dutch ovens, burbs, slurps and other sweaty gross things (sweaty dutch ovens included), I’m still around.

Manwich with a side of Colin Farrell

I’ve always thought of Colin Farrell as one of the biggest douches of my generation but for whatever reason (and a big lack of touching and all-things-sexy this past weekend), I found myself in a staff kitchen break-room leaning over the sink while dirty bastard Colin had his way with me from behind.

And it was quick and I didn’t really remember too much of it (probably better that way, or else I’d have to take a scalding hot shower and shave off a layer of epidermis just to feel somewhat clean again).

And it was after I woke up from  sleeping with Justin Timberlake in a white sleeping bag  on the scratchy carpet of an office.

And that was after I had wonderful romp with Hugh Jackman in another sleeping bag, which was conveniently placed beside Justin’s sleeping bag.

And I still woke up this morning, feeling completely unsatisfied.

Aeroplan thinks I’m a dumbass

I get regular promotional newsletters from Aeroplan and their newest promotion was like, completely thought of by a retard I’m sure. Typically if you spend $1 you get one Aeroplan point. This promotion says “hurry into Esso–for a limited time, you’ll earn 3 Aeroplan miles for every $3 spent…”. Uh yeah, so how is that different from your usual policy?

You know who I think is a dumbass? My bf’s friend, Mr. Boring-In-Bed (BIB). No, I didn’t find out on my own nor would I ever fantasize about doing so (although, I must say, my bf’s got some decent sexual fantasy fodder amongst his masculine clan), but this guy is so square and boring and boring and square that you just KNOW he’d be a sucky lay (by sucky lay, I mean like, at the end of it you realize you should’ve f&^%ed a zucchini from your produce bin because even a vegetable knows how to have more fun than this guy).

AND, I listened to a phone conversation between him and his mom on Mother’s Day and it involved  the following words — “you’re sick eh? oh yeah mom, you’re totally gonna die, you so deserve to”, “yeah yeah you’re so full of shit” and after he hung up, “good riddance”. Mind you, I’m a firm believer in the expression “it’s not what you say, it’s how you say it”, and sure, his tone of voice wasn’t vicious (he talks like a slow, friendly farmer only more eloquent and a spectacular use of vernacular when he’s not speaking to his mom) but for f*&^’s sake, it’s Mother’s Day!

I couldn’t help it.

“You’re sooo mean to your mom! Dude, she sacrificed her life and body for YOU. She gained 60 pounds for you!”

“Well, she hasn’t stopped eating”, Mr. Boring-In-Bed retorted.

RED FLAG #1 – The way he treats his mom is probably the way he’s going to treat his girlfriend.

I couldn’t come back with anything, I was just too shocked. And tried to stifle a laugh. He’s a funny guy too, but if I ran my body through the mill for some ungrateful little bastard shithead, I’d probably stifle his breath with a pillow.

I decided to give Mr. BIB another chance.

“Hey, lets go for a walk! It’s really nice out and you’ve been indoors all day”.

“Yeah, I’m good thanks. I prefer to walk as little as  I possibly can”, Mr. BIB tells me, while on his third hour of playing some video game on his laptop. Mind you, this guy’s athletic and regularly plays hockey, but he also puts in a decent 40 hours a week on the video game consoles.

RED FLAG #2 – He plays video games for more hours than he actually works (and he doesn’t have millions sitting in the bank)

That’s fine, I tell myself. What else can I do to get you the f*&^ outta my place so I can have some alone time!? My bf asked him to go to a poker game with him that night, the perfect male bonding pleasure, all boys, all wahtever-the-hell-guys-do-at-poker-night.

“Yeah, no I’m not into playing Poker…”

What guy doesn’t want to play poker? What’s wrong with this guy!? The combination of no sex all week “because we have a guest staying with us, so shut up and stop bugging me for sex and go to bed!”, no making out all week because “look at you, you’re sniffling and I have a sore throat, aren’t you grossed out?” and this boring dud of a Mr. BIB was driving me nuts.

Thankfully, last night he told us he was leaving and heading back to his hometown in the next province.

Fabulous, I think to myself. I won’t have to deal with him until the next time we need to mooch a quick overnight stay en route to the Dominican Republic.

“Oh yeah? That’s too bad, we had so much fun with you staying here with us!!” I lied through gritted teeth.

“Well, thanks a lot for your hospitality. I just signed the rental agreement for that place right behind your apartment, so I’m just heading home to grab all my stuff and will be moving in, in two weeks. I’m relocating permanently”.

Annnnd scene!

No really, this was all an act right? None of this is actually happening right? Someone?!?! Hello!?

Drama-loving guys and the girls who loathe them

A really close gf of mine who’s on her way to sports entertainment superstardom in the US (literally) is unfortunately, currently bogged down by a case doucheitis.

Why is it that some guys just love to create drama? It’s rare, non? I thought it was more of a girl thing to do than for a guy to make up rumours about how a girl got him drunk and forced him to do this and that, and drink some more (a GIRL got him drunk) and lalalala. Douchebag has gotsome  serious issues, especially when he can’t even take responsibility for his own actions and has to blame a GIRL for his teetotalling behaviour.

How does that, at all, make any sense!? It’s like a guy telling his buddies he didn’t actually want to have sex with that hot chic, she forced him to.

But I guess it’s just proof of the gospel of Anthony Robbins…”unsuccessful people major in minor things”…. this douche is actually one of the bottom feeders of this superstardom company my gf works for and is clearly trying to bring her down because he knows she’s going to succeed.

*Sigh*…it’s lonely at the top, but I hear the view is amazing.

Unstoppable RAMming

It’s Wednesday, I feel like crap and its raining outside. I know I got what was coming to me — my boyfriend’s cold/flu thingy (which he was sooo paranoid about it being the Swine flu).

It’s like this icky, muggy blanket of fatigue that’s washed over me, my throat hurts and all i want to do is close my puffy eyes, hide my equally puffy face and wake up next week. And NOT listen to my boyfriend’s  “ha ha I told you to stay away from me” taunts.Yes, I did bug him for sex the entire week he was (and still is) sick, and I managed to coerce  him into it a second time, only for about 10 seconds (no, it wasn’t a done deal, I just felt really bad as he pretended to cry and kept telling me to stop), and yes I know I was asking for it (no really, I was!) so yes, I do deserve my sicko status.

“I can’t believe  you…what’s WRONG with you! When you’re sick you…” my boyfriend suddenly stopped…looking utterly conflustered.

That’s right buddy. Even the biggest baddest sickness, flu, tsunami or earthquake wouldn’t stop me from having sex. Actually, it might be kinda fun to have sex during an earthquake. It’d be like, double the headboard banging (and consequently, double the first-pounding-on-the-wall from our neighbours…or not, it’s an earthquake afterall).

Speaking of which, ugh. The neighbours. We live on the 24th floor in our apartment and our bedroom is head-to-head with the neighbour’s bedroom. I like our neighbours, all 200+ of them but these guys, eh not so much. It’s a husband and wife and sausage dog team from South Africa. Sausage dog annoys the hell out of me and my very cool Staffy bull terrier. Everytime they meet, Sausage dog yaps his balls off and whoever’s walking him gets all sheepish looking but still doesn’t reprimand it. But that’s okay, because I also get equally sheepish-looking everytime i bump into either of them, but more so the wife because i KNOW for a fact she’s not getting any from her husband and he probably envies our sex life because those damn walls are paper thin. And I’m loud. And I never hear anything on their side.

This one time, I couldn’t fall asleep and I totally thought I heard moaning and was actually super happy for them until I realized it was my Staffy snoring outside our bedroom door. Had me fooled for a good 20 minutes. I also know for a fact that either occupants of the two bedrooms in question can hear the other occupants because a couple of months ago my bf were getting really naughtily loud (well, actually just me) and SOMEONE actually started banging on the wall!

So yeah, back to the sheepish look. Now that I think about it, the wife is more sheepish looking towards me than i am to her. It’s like she KNOWS that i know that she’s a sex prude. I get that vibe. And she’s probably jealous that her husband loves to hear us have sex.

Meh..whatevs. I’m no sheep, I’m a RAM! No really, I was born an Aries.

Have cock, will f*&%

Wouldn’t that be a great advertisement…succint, to the point.

Then again, that’s also a death-by-STD wish. But what’s a single, horny girl to do? My girlfriend’s been without for a decent handful of weeks now and I feel her pain. In fact, last week, my quest for sex and condoms left me high and dry despite my supersize pack of Trojan ultra-thins (0.05mm!) as my boyfriend came down with a cold.

“You’re crazy, whudz wrong wid you?!” he asked in shock + disbelief and super nasal congestion, as I insisted that we could still do it only I’d pretend he has a paper bag over his head and he wouldn’t have to do any work. I’ll stop at nothing for ‘penile penetration’.

Alas, after trying to keep me away with several gas bombs (literally), he gave in and I felt like a winner. Well, at one point during our romp, I kinda felt like a rapist, but was comforted by a flashback of my Crim 300 prof on the Criminal Code of Canada — if it’s consensual it’s not rape.

Back to my girlfriend and our deliberations on her ‘next steps’ towards penile penetration.

Solution #1: Dial-up an existing dude you’ve done

This is a good last minute fix…for a last minute fix. It’s stable because you already know what to expect. If it’s sex you want, that’s what you’ll get. And if it was amazing/mind-blowing last time, this is probably your best bet

Solution #2: Phone a friend

Not the best solution, but if you can keep it platonic after, why not? Though I doubt many girls (and some guys) can do that…hello, Zack and Miri Make a Porno?

Solution #3: The lurking cat

You know who he is…hits on you at the club, tries to pick you up again a couple weeks later at a function. Any opportunity he can get to get you, he’s there. All you need to do is wiggle your nose.

Solution #4: Hand-held heaven

It’s a lucrative industry for a reason — grab your favourite toy and get to it! No jerks, no herpes and no lameass bullshit drama to deal with after.

…he can keep the dog. Dildos are a woman’s best friend.