1. Sending Google calendar requests for sex.
I’m one of those people who likes to plan everything, and I won’t know that we’re having coffee until I see that you confirmed our appointment in our Google calendar. How will I know what I’m doing unless technology tells me? (If you’re judging me right now, think of four of your friends’ numbers. Couldn’t? Thought so. We’re all at the will of Big Brother.) Now, if they could also make a Google app to tell me how to be good at sex, that would also be helpful. According the Kama Sutra, there are more positions than “cuddling,” “kissing” and “watching The Voice together.” Apparently I’ve been doing it wrong.
2. Bringing sandwiches into the bedroom.
Maybe I’m weird, but I don’t find chocolate as erotic as the rest of the world. Yes, it’s delicious, but it always gets into weird places, and I don’t want to have to be reminded of chocolate when I’m showering. It just looks like baby poop, which combines one thing I hate and one thing I’m terrified of. (Yes, I have a babyphobia.) You know what I never hate being reminded of? Sandwiches. How awesome would it be to just pull out a 12-inch meatball sub while you’re going to second base (aka watching American Idol)? When I ask a guy how many inches he has, I’m not talking about a sandwich — except when I am.
3. Farting on the treadmill.
Look, everyone does it. This is what happens when you run for six miles at a time. During one of those miles, you’re going to have to fart, and you can’t control it. It shouldn’t be a big deal — because going to the gym in itself is disgusting. You’re going to sweat, grunt, fall down “accidentally” and look horrifying in front of a bunch of people who you might normally want to make out with. You have to give up looking at all sexy or cool, and farting is a major part of that. If you’re ever having a bad day and want to make yourself feel better, work out next to the exquisitely shaped, put together girl as she goes for a long run. Everybody farts. Deal with it.
4. Paintballing catcallers.
When you’re catcalled, they always say that you should catcall back and turn the heat on them. Tell them what a “sexy, three-inch penis” they have and how “no man has ever harassed them as sensually as they have.” I think that takes too much time, and I don’t know about you, ladies, but I’m terrible at coming up with comebacks on the spot. I’m a writer. I should be able to say ANYTHING, right? Instead, I’m usually good for a “Your Mom!” and that’s about it. Instead, I think we should just paintball the fuck out of street harassers. It saves time, and it’s just more fun. Haven’t you always wanted to paint the town red? Now’s your chance.
5. Being friends with your exes.
If you’ve ever read an article on Thought Catalog ever, you know that being friends with your exes is a bad, bad idea that leads to heartache, misery and eating your hair while you listen to Alanis Morrisette. It’s not “unacceptable,” but definitely outside the norm.
But am I ridiculous for thinking that we can be evolved enough to get past the drama? In extreme cases, where you genuinely hate each other with the fire of a thousand suns, you should definitely not see each other. But in most cases, you’re going to have to see this person socially at some point, and it’s better to be friends than have ten people ask you if you’re “sure” you’re okay with them being there. People might think it’s weird that you’re on such good terms, but wouldn’t you rather be the exception to the rule than the rule? The rule sucks. Make your own rules.
6. Having phone conversations on the toilet or the train.
I feel like everyone is going to instinctively turn on me for this one. “You want to poop and talk?” asks Mary Jane from Boise, Idaho. “I NO WANT TO HEAR YOUR DUMPING!” shouts Internet Meme from Reddit. And I get it, I really do! It’s gross, so I don’t do it unless I’m talking to my grandma — who doesn’t know what the echo sound of my bathroom signifies. I’m a bad person and find it funny, so I’ve told her that Chicago just has really bad reception. Sometimes when I call her from places that aren’t my bathroom I talk in “echo voice” to keep up the charade. It’s ridiculous, but I can’t quit at this point. It’s gone too far to turn back.
I’m a little obsessed with saving time — because it gives me more room in my daily schedule for the little things, like watching Archer or changing my outfit thirty times before I’m satisfied. (I still won’t be.) Thus, I really like multi-tasking and consolidating things, like eating in the shower or masturbating while I’m doing my taxes. That didn’t happen, but it could have. Because it wouldn’t be that I’m turned on by income data, it’s that having that extra free time is sexy as fuck.
7. Going topless in public.
No one will ever be able to explain to me why it’s okay for men to take their shirts off when women cannot. All I hear is blah blah blah sexism body shame. However, to be fair, that’s pretty much what I hear all the time anyway.
8. Hunting down and murdering people who don’t tip.
I’ve not tipped someone once in my life. It was because my original server forgot about my table, and another waitress helped us while Server Man was off saving the world — or wherever he went to that day. I’m an optimist, so I’d like to believe there’s a Server Signal of a lighted coffee cup in the sky, and he flew off to fill that cup for humanity. He likely just fell asleep in a closet or left early. So, I gave my tip to the other woman. She earned it by actually serving me. It was fair.
But under no normal, earthly circumstances should you ever, EVER not tip your server. Do you know how much those jobs suck? A man once stabbed himself so he didn’t have to go into work at a Blockbuster, which is a fraction of the shittiness of working in a restaurant. You shouldn’t just tip well. You should be aggressively nice. You should clean up after yourself. You should refill your own water when the pitcher is sitting right there. Because the waiter doesn’t just have to deal with you. They have to deal with the chef, the line cooks, the food runners and their house manager, all of whom are in a bad mood and wish they had stabbed themselves instead of coming into work.
If you aren’t nice, God knows what will happen, and your waiter can’t be held responsible. You asked for this.