Big, Strong Men

Oh, no!  What will I do?  I’m just a little woman in a man’s world and I can’t possibly compete, or take care of myself, or just plain old get by without some big strong man’s help!  …  Oh, wait.  Actually, I’m fine and I don’t need your help and please get away from me you condescending jerk.

This must be what goes on in some people’s heads.

I was carrying a box from one side of the building to another.  It was not a heavy box, and I was clearly doing fine.  Now, I’m not going to complain about someone simply offering their help; if someone is offering to assist you with genuine generosity, it’s actually quite nice and polite.  However, I was approached by a smirking gentleman who said, “Are you sure  you can handle that, little Miss?” 

In my head, I was thinking, “LITTLE MISS?  LITTLE MISS?  Am I 12?!”  (Ensuing rage.)

Instead, I said, “Yes, I’m fine.  Thank you.”

To which, he replied, “Here, let me get that for you.”  Then, he reached for the box in my hands.  The smallish box, next to my heart and other body parts.  I pulled back a little, trying to maintain a polite demeanor even though he was creeping me out. 

I said (with a smile), “Oh, no really, I’ve got it just fine.  It’s not heavy at all.”

“No.  I insist.  You should let a man do the heavy lifting.” He smirked again.

Now, at this point, he had stopped me and was blocking my path, thereby increasing the time it took me to perform this very simple task and increasing my annoyance at his insistence.  I didn’t think it should take this long to say, “No, thank you.”  I could have explained that I was carrying sensitive documents and that I didn’t know who he was.  I wanted to also mention that it would be weird to have a stranger walk into my boss’ office assisting me in carrying a 5-10 lbs. box.  I also was just mad because he couldn’t seem to take a hint.  So, I finally replied with some force in my voice, and a stern, school-marm voice, “Sir.  Thank you, but no thank you. This box is not heavy and you’re going to make me late.”  With a swift maneuver, I  spun around him, slipping into the hallway with a pace near a run.  I couldn’t have been happier to get away from him.

Now, I have to wonder, why couldn’t he just let it go that I could carry this little box and that he should let me go on my way?  I’m sick of men acting as if it’s not just unlikely, but unhealthy and impossible that I can lift things, know something about cars, understand hockey, can do mental math, know how to punch and many other things.  Don’t be surprised by women’s knowledge, skills or power.  If a woman turns down your help, let it go.  If she gets hurt or fails without you, she brought in on herself.  Let her live with her pride.  Chances are, if a woman turns down your help, it’s because she doesn’t need it.  Dudes, just settle it down.  Ladies can handle themselves just fine.

The Pursuit of Palin-ness

While it is true that Sarah Palin and her worldview annoy me, I promise that this post is not about political affiliations or policy, or really all that much about Sarah Palin herself. It’s about the circus act that is 24 hour cable news and their obsession with Palin.

Recently, we have heard about Ms. Palin’s family vacation–on a giant, constitution-wrapped megabus–to a variety of the country’s historical sites of interest. Okay, it sounds like a cheesy, hokey attention-grabber to get herself in the news. Unfortunately, the rabid pack of reporters following her seem to ignore the hokey, the cheesy, and focus on what is not even really a newsworthy news stunt to begin with. But let’s face it–it’s Sarah Palin, and Palin draws viewers.

I watched an interview with one of the reporters following her, and this person was complaining that the reporters were not given an itinerary and as such must follow Palin like lost dogs all over the nation. They must alert and do some leg work to “report” on her whereabouts. I’m not sure if this reporter is feeling like I’m feeling–Where’s the story in all this?–or if she’s just whining, but either way, all they’d have to do is stop following her. Then, suddenly, she is no longer news. The only reason Palin is newsworthy is because she’s hounded by the media and blasted all over the airwaves when most people with an IQ over 70 are tired of hearing about her. She is hardly relevant; she holds no office, she is not running for anything. She just happens to work for Fox News. She better watch out or Sean Hannity is gonna get mad that he doesn’t have a million people watching his every move.

So why is our nation so obsessed with Palin? Is it her nonsensical, “folksy word salad” (As Jon Stewart put it) that draws us in? Perhaps it is the glasses? Or maybe it’s the bear lurking behind the mom-facade (or behind the entire facade as pictured). At any rate, it seems that 24 hour news is so hungry for ratings that they’ll put just about any and everything on air as a breaking news story if they think it can garner more viewers. Ms. Palin romping around the eastern seaboard in a giant “We the People” bus is funny. It’s the kind of material that makes Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert’s jobs way too easy. But it isn’t a top story, it isn’t worth my time to play guessing games about where it’s going next, and it has virtually no relevance to my life. It’s not news, it’s Infotainment. I’m starting to wonder when I can get back to watching the news instead of a poor, lackluster, unfunny imitation of the Daily Show every day on every cable news network.

I’m Not Fat.

A group of strangers called me fat last night.

I should mention that I’m not a skinny girl, but I would also like to point out that I am not fat.  I think most people would call me “curvy” since I am quite voluptuous.  Yes, I have giant boobs and though I’m no Kardashian, I do have a booty situation that I’m quite happy with.  It just bothers me… NO, actually it upsets me, hurts me and drives me crazy that girls like me get called fat when 50 years ago, we were the ideal.  I will never be skinny.  In fact, I look bad skinny.  I was basically anorexic in high school, so I know.  My ribs stick out, my boobs look fake, my body just looks weird when it’s skinny – I’d rather have a little stomach puffiness than a creepy, tiny butt.  Bodies are meant to be lumpy, not flat.  So, my point is: I’m not fat.  I look great, bitches.

The big thing about this whole fat thing is that these guys didn’t know me; they couldn’t have even seen me.  They were mad because my insanely intimidating friend John was drunk and he asked them a not-so-nice question.  I didn’t say anything, but they looked at our group, which consisted of a giant man, a skinny guy, and short girl, and they chose their target: the short girl.  It’s not fair to pick on a person who isn’t doing anything wrong.  It also is just downright mean to go for the jugular.  Every girl feels fat, worries about being fat, worries about her body, and I hate that people think it’s okay to attack that universal insecurity.  Normally, I’m incredibly sassy and if someone is mean to me, I’m mean right back.  But when a stranger calls me fat, I’m down for the count.  My weakness comes through and I lose my cool.

I am a very normal girl in that I am insecure, but I wish I wasn’t.  I wish that even in the face of my biggest insecurities, I could stay sassy, smartassy and generally kickassy.  Someday I’ll be able to be awesome all the time.  Right now, I’m only awesome when I’m not being called fat.

I’m not fat.  I’m not skinny.  I’m Patty.

Screw you guys!


Bathroom Etiquette

If I asked you what were the three things you must do before leaving a public restroom, what would you answer? My bet is this: flush, wash your hands, and throw away the paper towel (if there is any). If you eat at a lot of nice restaurants, you may answer “tip the attendant.” Or, if you’re a guy and you frequent select bars with piss troughs, you might skip “flush.” But I think we can all agree that these three things are pretty important.

When to Flush

ALWAYS. EVERY TIME. NO MATTER WHAT. ARE YOU KIDDING? I don’t know how many times I’ve gone into a public bathroom to find that someone has forgotten or declined to flush the toilet. And I take this very seriously. To all you non flushers, listen bitches: I’m tired of seeing your pee–or worse–lingering long after you’re gone. You not only interrupt the flow of people because, let’s face it, no one appreciates the present(s) you’ve left behind and no one wants to go anywhere near that, but you are the epitome of rude. If you’re going to use a public restroom, do the public a favor and don’t make your business public. That is private, always, always, always!

When to Wash Your Hands

Again, ALWAYS. Gross! Didn’t you learn this in Kindergarten or Pre-School (if not at home)? I don’t want you to leave and do something like, I don’t know, cook my food? Make my latte? Thanks, but keep your germs to yourself. And yes, when I’m in the stall and you’re supposed to be washing your hands, I can hear that you didn’t. You didn’t even bother to run the faucet! From now on, I’m going to look at your shoes and make sure I don’t go anywhere near you, you dirty, dirty woman.

Where to Put the Paper Towel

In the TRASH CAN. Not in the sink. Not on the floor. Are you three years old? You know what a trash can is. Use it!

As a post script to this section, let’s talk briefly about tampons. Put. Them. In. The. Trash. And if you’re going to flush them, for the love of god, actually FLUSH! And if you’re dumb enough to do that to begin with, at least have the decency to let management know you’ve clogged the toilet when that plan backfires, instead of leaving it there for fellow patrons of the establishment to discover, you jerk.


Remember what your mother used to say when you didn’t shut the door? “We don’t live in a barn.” Yeah, well, you don’t pee in an outhouse, either. Get it together, ladies!

WTF is all I’ve got for this one.

Who steals from a nine year old girl scout? These dumb bitches. And then complain about getting charges while you twirl your overdyed hair and sip your Starbucks’ frappuccino?  Oh. My. Gawd. I, like, can’t believe I can’t take other people’s money! I mean, really, I’m SO pissed cause like I NEED a new necklace and like another coffee–Starbux only plz lolz! And I know I have an iPhone already but you just like don’t understand, I need the white iPhone4 otherwise, I’m, like, going to kill myself and stuff. OMG! Lol, I need gas for my new car that my parents bought me too!

ARE YOU KIDDING ME? At first I thought this had to be fake, but now I’m just terrified that it’s real.

If this is the future, please buy me a one way ticket to the moon colony I’m sure someone is planning to build after watching this video. No bitches allowed.

Dang! Be THIS Girl!

You go girl! Let’s all pray that this little child grows up to make records like Adele and Carole King. You’re on the right track, baby.

Her name is Julia Dale and she’s 10 years old.  Uh, she rules.

To see the original video from Yahoo!Sports and the NBA, check the link below:

Tats for Tits… Or Not.

Ahh, yes… The boob tattoo.  This phenomenon has been warring with the women of the world for many years, and now I have to say something to my peers, my elders, my youngers, my sister, my frenemies and even to Megan Fox.  I have to say: STOP IT.  Stop getting tattoos on your boobies.  Your boobs are beautiful, sacred and often on display – they are definitely not a good place for you to store your boyfriend’s name, your favorite flower, or even a sweet hippie sun tattoo.  Every boob deserves to be treated with respect, just like every woman.  If you wear a lot of cleavage shirts, people are going to see part of your boobies a lot, so that boob tattoo is going to star in your life story.  And, should it?

I just think that no matter how much you like your tattoo now, but do you really want to be feeding a baby with a cartoon booby?

And I know that there are big-name celebrities out there to look up too with their fancy boob tattoos, but I just don’t know that Eve, Christina Ricci, Miley Cyrus and whoever else are going to look back on their lives at 80 thinking, “Yes, I’m glad I got that boob tattoo.”  Eve has actually come out saying that she wanted to have it removed, but her mother told her not to “mess with her trademark.”

Boob tattoos are trashy, always.  Boob tattoos are asking for creepy attention.  They are desperate and always regrettable.  I don’t know if it’s supposed to be sexy, or edgy or alternative…  but I think the meaning gets lost when it’s mixed into cleavage.  Mixing art into sexuality is usually good, but art only meant for sexuality?  I don’t know…  I mean, I’ve even seen under-boob tattoos which freak me out.  I guess the idea is that when you’re 80, you won’t be able to see it…  But that isn’t sexy, that’s just asking for sag.  I just don’t get why such lovely people do such not lovely things to themselves.

I should also mention that I’m not anti-tattoo.  I actually have one and plan on getting a couple more.  I just think that they are better places, subtler things to do.  Come on, ladies.  Do better things to your bodies.

I’m just sayin’, don’t be “that girl” with the boob tattoo.

Why is this on Facebook? Pets, Babies, and other things I don’t care about

Facebook can be great for a lot of things: getting or keeping in touch with old friends, networking, and even facilitating social change (see Egypt, for example). But there are a lot of other things you really should keep off Facebook…

Facebook is going to the dogs
Nearly all of us have one picture or another of us and our pets on Facebook. Not that out of the ordinary. But I don’t want to see an entire album of your Pomeranian in sixteen different outfits with matching hats. Why are people dressing their animals in nicer clothes than I can afford for myself?! Does your cat really understand that its wearing a Gucci collar with matching diaper, and not just a fucking uncomfortable thing on its ass and neck? Keep that shit outta my newsfeed.

Dr. Facebook
Keep your xrays, ultrasounds, and scope photos and videos off Facebook. Hell, off the internet. I’m glad you want to show the whole world your baby (or your asshole; or maybe one in the same) but can you at least wait until you pop it out of your vag? Are you really that impatient? Have not enough people come up to you and rubbed your belly and oggled/made goo goo sounds at it? Pregnant women already get an ass load of attention, whether it is desired or not. Stop being even more of an attention whore. As for your asshole/gullet, I’m really, really happy you’re healthy. But do I really need to see the lining of your colon or esophagus? No. In fact, I often hop on Facebook while eating dinner. Thanks for making me vomit on my laptop. That will be $900, please.

Good Mourning, Facebook
I know the intention behind Sympathy Messages/Remembrance Statuses is often good. I’m not saying it isn’t, but I will venture that it seems, or can at least come across as, insincere. It takes little effort and little thought to type a quick “I’m sorry!” on someone’s Facebook wall. Is it really that difficult to go and buy a sympathy card or mail a note? Another thing you should never do: Update from the Funeral Home. Don’t be that girl. For the love of all that is sacred, don’t be that girl on your Blackberry updating your Facebook status during the memorial service at the funeral home. It is disrespectful and completely UNNECESSARY. Additionally, you don’t need to list “going to the funeral home for so-and-so” in your status updates next to the hours you’re working and the fact that you’re going to the bar that night. Nor do you need to run home from the funeral home to get on Facebook and broadcast that you went. Have some respect!

The first rule of Facebook Fight Club is you don’t talk about Facebook Fight Club.
Getting divoriced? Found out your boyfriend is cheating on you? Caught your fiancé with a transvestite stripper? Great, but I don’t need to be privvy to the minute details of said event, nor do I need your fights being transcribed on my newsfeed. Couples, keep your dirty laundry off Facebook. No one is sympathizing–everyone is, however, laughing. At your expense. As for you folks who are married and have children over the age of fifteen who have Facebook? There’s no reason your kids need to read transcribed parental fights online, nor do their friends. Knock it off and grow up.

I just want everyone to know: “Call/Text it!”
Listen, asshole, if I wanted to get in touch with you by phone, I surely don’t need a command from your Facebook profile to do it. I also don’t need to know that you “OMG LUVZ MY BOYFRAN &&& FAMILY!!!`~~`1!<3333<3<3” STOP. CROWDING. THE. NEWSFEED. YOU. ATTENTION. GRUBBING. WHORE. You need to hangout with Preggo Lookit MyUltrasound over in paragraph 2.

And today from 2-5 I’ll be getting my asshole bleached at 21122 S. Sherman Ave..
Yep, don’t need your daily schedule. Really unnecessary. And frankly, I just don’t care. On top of that, who knows if one of your 1200 Facebook friends that you met once when you were plastered at that sketch house party is actually a serial killer. You just made his efforts to stalk you a WHOLE lot easier. Might wanna check your backseat before you leave work.

Jesus is my personal Lord and Savior, and he’s tagged in 499 of my photos!
I can deal with people posting psalms or verses. Sometimes it annoys me, but most of the time I just ignore it. But when every single status update you post is about how AWESOME Jesus is and how everyone else just *doesn’t understand* the sheer kick assness of the lord, and how you’ve been having such an AMAZING time at your 650 church meetings a week, you begin to sincerely make me angry. Stop trying to Evangelize via Facebook. Take that shit to

No, did you really just water your farm? Plant some seeds? Good, cause I’m imagining a 60 foot hungry rabbit coming and eating all of it. Don’t care about your virtual field and STOP INVITING ME AND CROWDING MY NEWSFEED, DAMNIT!

In conclusion, dear Reader, I pose this question to you: What is the most annoying or crazy thing you’ve seen on your own newsfeed?