Pic(s) of the week: Cat Fancy

Happy Hump Day, guys and gals. Don’t worry, I’m not going to bring up that Geico camel, tempting though it may be, but I would like to discuss another controversial animal: the common house cat.

Unlike my co-blogger L, whose hatred for felines has been well covered, I happen to like cats. I grew up with them and I never understood why they get such a bad rap, especially from smug, superior dog owners (you know who you are, guys.) Cats are clean, adorable, quiet, and soft. I enjoy them.

So I’ve established that I like cats. And that I’m single. I’m sure now (logically) you’re probably assuming that a typical night in my apartment looks a little something like this:

For your information, I actually don’t currently own any cats, Nor do I own a recliner. But show me someone who doesn’t enjoy vanilla frosting and Goldie Hawn portraying a deranged shut in with a death wish for Meryl Streep, and I’ll show you a liar.

Now, why am I going on this cat tangent before 10 am on a Wednesday morning? GREAT question. Last weekend I was lying in bed after a night out, waiting to get sleepy, and passing the time (naturally) by cruising Okcupid on my phone. I’ve recently discovered the app’s semi-new location feature, which is basically Tinder. In other words, Okc finds your location and shows you the profile pics of other dudes who are close by. Pics only. And you either say nope, not interested, and trash their pic, or say yes, I’m into that. When you pick someone, Okc will then let you know if that person, while scrolling through their local matches, picks you as well. This is a pretty senseless concept as I’m pretty sure most people on Okc aren’t even using the feature, and mama needs more than a pic to decide if I want to go out with someone.

Having said that, scrolling through these pics and tossing them into the yay or nay column has become one of my favorite ‘bored and playing with my phone’ pastimes. Take this night in question, for instance, when literally in the span of four minutes I happened upon three amazing/terrifying/creepy profile pics featuring men and CATS. Please note the time on each screen cap; when I say one right after the other I’m not joking. And please. Enjoy.

Creepy Cat Profile Pic #1:

cat1

Well that is… a face that not even a cat lover, and dare I say not even a mother could love. Terrifying. Also made me immediately think of this wildly racist, infinitely creepy little jaunt from a seminal Disney classic that yes, I’ve already referenced on the blog:

I was going to get all high and mighty about the cats being the villains in every movie but actually, looking at that creature perched on Beardsy McHipster, I totally believe that it’s an evil killing machine. Like, I’m assuming our man friend took it into the bathroom because he’s afraid if he leaves it alone it will figure out a way to kill him? And you know how I feel about bathroom selfies… a bathroom selfie with a terrifying animal perched on one’s shoulders is some next level shit.

Creepy Cat Profile Pic #2:

cat2

Ha. This one actually cracks me up. That kitty is adorable and I’m pretttyyyy sure this gentleman is driving. So wait, actually I’m a little alarmed… and come to think of it, he’s smiling for the camera, not looking at the road. That can’t be safe. Also, who’s taking the picture? Why is the cat out of a carrier and just like, straight chillin’ in the car? Where are you guys going? You’re not one of those creepy people who walks his cat on a leash, are you? Because even I’m scared of that.

cat leash

Creepy Cat Pic #3:

cat3

If this find doesn’t call for a mic drop, I don’t know what does.

beyonce drops-mic-o

Boom.

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Hey, boys. I have a dating blog. Want to go out with me?

One of the first questions I’m asked when people learn that I co-author a dating blog is: do you tell the guys you go out with about it? The answer, to many people’s surprise, is yes. Have I actually allowed my dates to read our blog? No, no I have not. I struggled with what to do about this in the beginning. Common sense told me that revealing to a near stranger that I have a dating blog on a first date might not be the most stellar addition to my five year “Operation: Do Not Become a Crazy Cat Lady” plan, but over time I changed my tune. Here’s why:

1. It’s something to talk about. Dear God, it’s something to talk about. I’ll talk about the Taft Hartley Act if it means we can avoid awkward silences where we both take huge gulps of our drinks and glance nervously around for the nearest fire alarm we can pull.

2. It’s something (sort of) interesting about me. Real talk: I don’t have many “hobbies”. Sure, I have interests. I do things with my friends. I read and keep up on the news and see movies and go to bars and restaurants and cook and take trips and bla bla bla, but so do most people. Things that can actually be classified as true hobbies, though…I kind of come up short.

chelsea handler sit on my ass

I’m not a DJ or local acting sensation. I don’t run marathons (ha! I’d rather be killed). I’m not a classically trained pianist (incidentally my neighbor downstairs actually is, and I feel like I’m living out the plot to Anna Karenina every night when I get home and Rachmaninoff is coming through my floor).

My point is, sometimes dating feels a little like that first job interview after college when you’re basically trying to convince a potential employer that you’re totally qualified and skilled and amazing, even though you’re also not providing them with a tonnnnnn of evidence to support those claims. It’s hard to find a happy medium between selling yourself like a Billy Mays infomercial (oh man he’s dead isn’t he? Whoops.) and coming off as the girl who legitimately spends 80% of her life watching DVR (FYI, it’s really more like 30% when you factor in work and sleep). So this is something interesting about me. And I want to share it, however much it may potentially horrify or scare my date. Mind you, I don’t shout at the first possible moment: FYI I HAVE A DATING BLOG. I try to let it happen more…organically. E.g:

S: So, you’re a journalist? Very cool. I like to write, too. What do you typically write about?

Date: Blablabla small talk. So, you mentioned you like to write?

S: I do.

Date: What do you write about?

S: Well actually, my two friends and I started a blog earlier this year.

Date: That’s awesome! What’s it about?

Which brings me to…

3. It’s a test. If you follow this blog, you may recall that I’m a huge fan of tests. Basically I like to administer small social experiments on my subjects (I’m sorry, dates) and make conclusions based on my data. These may or may not be accurate conclusions, but let’s not ruin the fun by worrying about that! Here’s what I tell my date (in my own brand of breezy hilarity):

  • My two friends and I have an online dating blog
  • We have a lot of fun writing it
  • it’s totally anonymous. We don’t use our names or the names of our dates.
  • We do it because we’re interested in sharing our experiences and talking about all the funny, crazy things that happen to us.

Once I’ve laid out those basic facts, there’s no need to freak out. Because frankly, it’s really not that big of a deal. I’m not revealing to you that I’m Gossip Girl (also can we talk about how Gossip Girl was Dan Humphrey and not Dorota? What’s that, you say? I’m literally the only person in my age bracket who watched that awful show til the bitter end?)

dorota

After I drop the “blog bomb”, most guys are a little taken aback at first but quickly recover and then want to know every detail. A brief Q&A with my date typically follows:

Date: Can I read it?

S: No, sorry, I don’t think it’s a good idea at this point.

Date: What’s it called?

S: Again, nope.

Date: Can you tell me a funny dating story?

S: Sure. (*Insert dating story*)

Date: Wow that is pretty funny. Are you trying to turn it into a book or something?

S: Absolutely. Mindy Kaling is our spirit animal.

mindy eat pray love

Date: Are you going to write about me?

This is my cue to sassily (and somewhat gleefully) say:

Only if you do something worth writing about.

To soften that blow, I follow it up by letting dudes know this policy: I try not to write about anyone in real time. In other words, if I’m going out with you, I’m not going to run home after every date and immediately spill all the dirty deets to the internet (unless we’re working on a post about who pays and my date asks me to split the sushi. Sorry, K). In general, though, I’ll wait until I know I’m definitely not seeing the guy again to dish to you lovely readers.

shoshanna classy

I know. Thanks, Shoshanna.

4. Calm down. We’re not exactly famous. Yet. Yet, damn it. Give us time. This is certainly not a slight against our excellent and loyal readers who for reasons beyond comprehension keep coming back three times a week to hear us complain about boys (you guys are the best!). But let’s be real. If we took away our family, friends and the people reading who are directly connected with our family and friends, oh and let’s not forget the pitchfork wielding people of Reddit, we’d have what? Four readers? Maybe? So it’s not like this shit is being published in Vanity Fair (again, yet). Although my mom, ever our biggest cheerleader, seems to think we’re mere moments away from getting our big break. A few months ago L and I were at my parents’ house and the following exchange occurred:

Mom: I think you guys should write for a magazine.

L and S: We’d love to.

Mom: You should get that going soon. Maybe Vogue (Vogue. Omg she’s my favorite).

S: How, mom?

Mom: Who do we know in publishing?

S: …No one?

Clearly my mother was having a Miranda Priestley moment (happens to the best of us):

So unless my mom is spreading wild rumors to the men of OKC that Stucu is being courted by major publishers, which let’s be honest she may actually be doing, our humble little WordPress blog should not send grown ass men into a tailspin.

5. If you’re a nice guy, I probably won’t talk about you. Well, that’s not exactly true. The guy who couldn’t find his car was technically a nice guy, but he also lost his automobile in broad daylight and suffered from crippling social anxiety, so my hands were kind of tied with that one. What I’m trying to say is, I’ve been out with a number of nice, normal dudes who I’ve never mentioned on this blog, because there was nothing worth mentioning. But if something goes down on a date, pretty much the first thing that pops into my head is ‘Yup. This is definitely going on the blog.’

In fact, this has become a running joke with more than one guy I’ve gone out with. If something awkward or weird happens, multiple guys have been like, “Uh ohhhh, this is so going on your blog, I know it is!” One guy even called me out on our first date when the check came. He looked at me and said, “I bet you and your friends talk about who pays on your blog. I bet there’s a right and a wrong way for me to handle this….hmmm what to do, what to do.” I actually enjoy this reaction the most… it should be something we can joke about. Because come on, it’s funny! Guys who show me that they’re cool with it earn major points in my book (I told you it was a test!).

I do wonder sometimes if any of the guys I’ve told have found the blog. They’d have to care an awful lot, and be pretty good sleuths, but I guess it’s possible. In fact, I was going out with a guy recently who called me to tell me that he’d started seeing someone else (music to a single 28 year old’s ears), and after dropping that bomb on me he proceeded to smugly predict that I’d write about the whole experience (what a narcissist! although obviously yes, he was correct). Here’s what he actually said:

H: I’m sure you’ll write about this whole thing on your blog, and I’m sure it will be really funny and great. I can’t wait to read it.

Me: Except I never actually told you my blog’s name.

H: Oh, I’m really good with computers. I don’t think I’ll have any trouble finding it.

Me: It’s anonymous. So I think you will.

H: Oh. Damn it.

Me: Yeah. This exchange is also going on there, FYI. Have a nice life, dickweed*.

*I didn’t say dickweed. I should have said dickweed! Because what a jerk. As always, Mindy says it best:

mindy kaling gestures