Hop on my Rascal, let’s go for a spin

My new boyfriend and me.

I think I’m breaking up with you, Match. I'll just make Clancy Wiggum my new boyfriend.

It was all fun and games and online shopping for boys in the beginning, but a few recent setbacks have shown me the light.(I winked at a guy I’d already gone on a date with, and hated, and totally forgotten about. It took a lot for me to admit that.) Apparently I’m a huge wink slut. It’s also come to my attention that I’m actually out of single guys in the nation’s biggest city.

But the nail in the coffin has to be this tale of woe and bewilderment (and anger! Lots of anger!)

A year ago this guy and I had been emailing back and forth and had agreed to meet up for coffee. He seemed totally normal. But then he got concerned that my fat ass was going to not be worth 15 minutes of his life. Our exchange went a little something like this:

Him: You only have face pics, no body. That's not fair. What does your body look like?

Ah romance.

Me: (My hackles raised with ten kinds of indignation): I’m 800 pounds and ride around on a Rascal. Didn’t you see me on Maury last week?

Him: This obviously isn’t going to work. You’re the most passive-aggressive person I’ve ever met in my life.


So after a few days of retelling the story - my outrage and arm gestures getting more out of control with each telling - I went on to date someone else. After the breakup when I started up with Match again guess who was waiting for me, I assume not remembering our little exchange?

He winked at me four times in the span of a few weeks so I finally wrote:

Funny story {recount story here}. So how’s this for direct: Never contact at me again.

So then he like totes passed a note to Sarah in study hall and Mrs. Hamilton intercepted it and made him read it in front of the whole cla…zzzzzzzzzzz. What?

He sent me Match’s form rejection letter, which says something condescending like, “I’m sure you’re great for someone, just not me. We don’t match based on (fill in the blanks) physical attraction. Good luck in your search!”

Aw hells naw, son.

I blocked him, but he’s back with a new screenname! And he winked at me again today.

Me: I’m still 800 pounds, but you clearly want me. Let's do this.

An open letter to the FCC about the old ladies at my gym

Hey there, old ladies! I'm not clear how your mother, Vogue, religion or society in general dropped the ball in filling you with a healthy self-loathing about your body, but where did we go wrong here?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m really excited about being as old as you someday and no longer giving a flying crap about who I insult or whose toes I crush with my Rascal. But here’s a rule of thumb: If your body looks like you spend your days writing letters to the FCC about the foul mouth on the little boy from Two and a Half Men, perhaps you ought to not frolic about the gym locker room .

I know I should be applauding you for being all active at your advanced ages, but I promise, there’s NO NEED for you to parade around naked. It seriously challenges my ability to keep my food down when I turn from getting stuff from my locker and I’m face to droopy boob with you. Call Dr. 90210, become a recluse or just take a page from the rest of us and put a damn towel around your offensive self.

In honor of what I presume you do all day, here’s my letter about you to the FCC about you:

Dear FCC,

As a concerned citizen, I applaud the many censoring moves you’ve made to improve airwaves. America’s children do not need to see breasts before their wedding night. (This goes for young men and young women.) Likewise, they do not need to be saying the F word, the S word, the R word or h-e-double-hockey-sticks. It’s best to ensure they never hear these words at all.

Can we have another Depression please to teach them about life?

And also, can you please start using your powers in real life as well? It’s all fine and well if primetime is cleaned up, but what good does that do if we just hear these words and see offensive images in our daily lives?

Please start with the old ladies at my gym who walk around naked. They are offensive on many levels. That form of nudity should not – must not – be celebrated or encouraged. It diminishes my quality of live and concerns me for my own future when I look at all that appalling sagging.

American flags!

Sincerely,

Kate
P.S. These colors don’t run!

P.P.S. Good job with the whole Janet Jackson thing. Truly your finest hour. I was disgusted when I saw her flash us the first time, but when I relived it on cable the next 9,000 times, I got progressively less appalled each time.