Monday, September 28, 2009

Something that's been bugging me...

Why does Katie Cassidy keep getting cast in films and TV shows? Just because her daddy is David Cassidy? It's certainly not on talent. Her smug smile and shiny hair ruined season 3 of Supernatural for me, and frankly she couldn't die soon enough on Harker's Island. Now I see her in the trailer for the, sorry, reimagining (eyes rolling, can't type) of Nightmare on Elm Street, and apparently she's playing a bisexual PR agent on the reimagined Melrose Place. Big deal--who hasn't played a bisexual PR agent on an Aaron Spelling show?

Actually, wait, that's not what was bugging me. It's trying to figure out how many guys are lying on their profile. Because if as many guys were into hiking and kayaking as they say they are, the Yadkin River wouldn't even be able to flow for all of their "athletic and toned" or "average" or "a few pounds overweight" bodies. Where did they get the idea that this outdoorsy Paul Bunyan crap is appealing? Maybe if these were frontier times and I needed my fella to go out and bring down a 10-point buck so that our malnourished, shivering children would have roast venison to eat and buckskin coats to wear and a rustic antler coat hanger for their jaunty newsboy caps. But no, this is the 21st century. Dude, I don't need you to go out and bring down anything other than a carton of milk, extra batteries for the camera and some Chinese take-out. I'm not interested in climbing hills or fording streams with you. Now get out from in front of the TV; it's Saturday and I'm trying to watch college football.

Then you have the guys who are "laid-back" and "easygoing" and "have no time for drama." And I'll grant that the majority of my guy friends are indeed laid-back and easygoing, as long as their team is winning and the IKEA cabinet assembly is going smoothly and the car/game console/grill/random appliance is functioning properly. But no time for drama? Come on. Anyone who's seen an episode of Bridezilla knows that you boys are lying through your uneasily-clenched-in-a-smile teeth. Sure, your girl's not gonna' disrespect you in front of your friends or make you ask permission to go to the pub or force you to take her side against your mother. Or maybe she will ... if she's hot. The hotness is directly proportional to how much crazy a guy is willing to take. That's why moderately attractive women like me have to work so gorram hard to be understanding and accommodating and maintain our great personalities. Because if we dared to pout or disagree or throw a hissyfit while having the audacity to not look like a Brazilian supermodel, you'd be making a beeline for the door. And it sucks. I wish I were pretty. With a little...okay, alot of reconstructive surgery, life would be so much easier. Instead I have to be a good listener and empathetic and articulate and handy with a lint brush to get up all the cat hair.

Oh, and to the guy who said he has fine tastes and nice shoes, you just labeled yourself an asshat and that'll be a no. Have fun with your glass of Riesling and Gucci loafers.