Posts Tagged ‘girlfriends’

They’re always the ideal, picturesque, most perfect women we ever see; the supportive girlfriend. So many films and television shows have this woman in them. I honestly can’t think of a single example other than Sloane from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. I know there are more out there though. They’re the girls who are there when their men need them. They’re the girls who are a man’s rock and remind them to never give up or else they’ll end up like their imprisoned father. Supportive girlfriends are great and we can all agree. Something we may not agree on is sometimes supportive girlfriends can go too far.

ferris buellers day off:2F2

(Is there a more perfect girl in the world? All a guy wants is for a girl to cut class with him. Everything else is extra)

I only have the male perspective on any gender issues because I was only a woman for one year of my life. It was a crazy year and involved a lot of undercover police work. It’s better I not get into it. I believe though that men are either 100% supportive of their women or 100% out there to belittle and convince them to give up on their dreams. Men really are extreme creatures. We either want to be the best or not bother trying. Second place is the first loser. Even knowing how barbarically dumb this logic is, I go by it often too. But I’m not supposed to talk about how lazy so many men are and why they all get so fat when a little effort could really improve their chances of not dying young or alone. I’m supposed to talk about girlfriends supporting their men.

I’ve found in any relationship whether dating or simply friendship that it’s important to me for whomever I keep around to be supportive. Unfortunately that’s not always the case. We don’t get to pick everyone we encounter on a daily basis. If we did I’d make my mailman Malin Akerman. I’d still probably hide from her whenever she dropped off my Super Coups. I always hide from the mailman. Anything to avoid socializing. Supporting those I care about has become the single most important thing in my life. It’s something I felt I never really got much. And there’s a big difference between someone saying “Go ahead, do whatever you want” and “Go ahead, ask me if you need anything.”


(If Malin Akerman became my mailman I would never sent an email ever again and this blog would no longer be online. I would mail everything out to you guys and you’d have to return your comments to me. I’d make sure I had to sign for every package just to be around her a little longer. I’ve thought this out too long)

The supportive girlfriend is important for a man because let’s face it, girlfriends are nags. They’re always saying things like “I’m hungry” or “Don’t hit me.” When a girlfriend isn’t supportive she becomes an annoying wife except you have no legal attachment. The only reason you don’t leave this terrible girlfriend is because you’ve already spent so much money on her and you’d hate for it to be for nothing. Plus, she has blackmail photos of you from that year you were a woman. You don’t want those getting out if you want a future in anything other than winning a Ru Paul sponsored contest.

I think a supportive girlfriend crosses the line when she allows her boyfriend to be an idiotic waste of space. Let me explain. Love is conditional. If you love someone you should support them no matter what they do. You should also love someone if they tell you you’re not as good at something as you think you are. You can hate them for telling you that and you probably should, but more often than not they’re telling you to protect you. Notice how this made-up girlfriend said this made-up boyfriend is not as good as he thinks he is. She didn’t tell him to give up. She told him he needs to get better. He needs to put forth a larger effort.


(This stock photo says it all. Don’t humor a guy and tell him it’s great he has a high score. Tell him to use his hand eye coordination for something better like having a job)

Supporting someone has one key element that goes overlooked, honesty. Often times we don’t tell people we support or care about how crummy their idea was because we don’t want to hurt them. Here’s my proposition, tell those people their ideas suck, but add in how you think it could be improved. Say for instance you spot an ugly girl walking down the street Running up to her and saying how ugly she is can come off as extremely mean. Running up to her and telling her to lose weight, get contact lenses, get a new hairstyle, change her fashion sense, and clean the rat feces off her eyelids is much more constructive. You’re also supporting this random bitch by helping her improve. Okay this was a bad example, but you’re smart enough to get the point.

How can you be a supportive girlfriend? Don’t be a girlfriend, be a partner. The best way to ever support someone is to get involved. As much as guys pretend we like cheerleaders we really don’t. They’re annoying. Pep is fine in small doses but Christ, tone it down. The team isn’t even good. Don’t be one of those lame girlfriends who sit back and lets her guy just do whatever he wants and watch on from afar. Men are weak. Ladies, we need you to not only be our biggest fans; we need you to help us achieve the greatness you think we have.


(I’ve got a good feeling about this couple)

Of course if you’re dating a complete loser then you wasted your time reading this. As far as blog “pieces” go where my motivation was passive aggressive comments toward people I’ve never even met, this one was pretty long.

Have you ever had someone in your life who you seemed to develop your own language with? No? Well then you’re a lonely person who will die alone. Yes? Well then you’ll probably die alone anyway, but you will be able to relate more to today’s hilarity. Today I will teach you how to speak the language that my girlfriend and I have created. It has no name to it, but what’s in a name? Shakespeare said that and we all know how amazing a writer Shakespeare was.

(“Shakespeare is an asshole” – Sir Francis Bacon, creator of most of what Shakespeare wrote)

The first and most important words you should learn are “mah” and “meh.” Those words translate from the English “my” and “me” respectively. These will be used in such phrases as “doin’ mah hair” or “hand meh mah needle.” My girlfriend is a heroin addict so she’s always asking for me to hand over her needle. She’s really clumsy and always dropping it. Butterfingers! The origin behind these words comes from me making fun of how she said those words by their correct pronunciations. You see, I notice things like that and like to make sure I don’t let you forget your flaws. I think that’s her favorite thing about me. My ability to notice every little blemish.

The word mean is something we always say. If you have nothing to say, use the word mean. The problem with this is that sometimes we do say really mean things to each other and it’s tough to tell when the other one is joking. We probably are pretty mean to each other. I say mean things and she does the mean things. Actions speak louder than words so she’s a louder version of mean. I’m not sure when or why we started using this. Actually I might and if it’s true I won’t say it because it’s too private. I don’t need the world knowing our safety word.

(My girlfriend and I deciding if we should use pears or an apple)

Oof! If you want to speak our language, say that every time you get punched in the stomach. Believe it or not, we get punched in the stomach a lot. One time I was punching her in the stomach on the corner of a busy street. A taxi driver honked his horn at me. I like that he not only thought I was abusive, but thought honking his horn would get me to stop. Of course I wasn’t really trying to hurt her, just wanted to leave a little bruising. Chastity belts are expensive and the smell of urine doesn’t last very long. Have to mark my territory somehow. You can also say “oof” when walking up stairs or any time you suffer any sort of pain. For some reason walking up stairs hurt our feet a lot. That’s why we like handicap people so much. They allow us to use their ramps.

Some of the things we say aren’t necessarily words as much as they are the way we say them. The best way to describe it is the way a white person like me would imagine a black person like you talking to a baby. We say things like “thonk ya” instead of thank you. Again, this comes from me making fun of the way she talks. She insists I say bagel weird, which I don’t. I don’t say “bag-ull” like people in New York. I think my girlfriend is just deaf or stupid. We tend to drop the g’s in verbs endin’ in “ing.” This adds to the ghetto baby talk dictionary we’re putting together. No offense to any ghetto babies or anything. I would hate if you were well-read and apologize if I’m completely out of line righ’her.

This wouldn’t be a complete post if I didn’t at least make mention of the legendary McGwire the Dog. I guess he’s not so much a legend as he is sitting near me. I’m sure there are plenty of legends jealous of his current position in the universe in relation to myself. McGwire can actually talk. He doesn’t say much but our favorite thing that he says is “bahroo.” I determined that this means “hurry up stupid” because he only ever says it before a morning or evening poop. Lady Moose also had a teacher named Mr. Bahroo which is pretty freaky to think McGwire could possibly know this. The proper time to say bahroo is whenever you damn well please. It’s fun to say and it could help you become the next Dr. Doolittle. And by that I don’t mean your career will completely tank like the last guy to play him.

(Strange, he has done very little ever since playing a character of that name)

Probably the strangest or most normal thing we do is call each other by our last names. When we use our first names we know we’re mad at each other or have slipped up. I’m starting to even forget what her first name is. Like I sort of know, but I’m not sure how it ends. If it wasn’t for emailing each other or hacking into her Facebook account for spying purposes, I probably would have forgotten her name by now. I’m sure we’re not the only couple who call each other by our last names. It makes us seem like buddies more than a couple. We’re like Mulder and Scully except I don’t have a long face with tiny eyes and she’s worked in this decade.

(Aww that’s not fair for Gillian Anderson. She works hard at the pen factory testing the caps)

It has come to my attention that one of my girlfriends has retired and returned home. She never knew that she was my girlfriend. We didn’t talk enough for that. I don’t think we talked at all. She was snide, cocky, and a bitch. That’s why during her return home to Rhode Island, I hope she gets mugged in Connecticut.

This particular girlfriend of mine was a waitress at a hotel bar. She had achieved the goal of every child. The world was hers. That wasn’t enough for this greedy waitress. She needed more. She had to go blowing it by getting into bar fights of her own nearly every night when she wasn’t at work. Her reputation became that of an angry drunk in bar fights. Imagine that. You work a job and everyone finds out that you suplex women off of bar stools in your spare time. I think I could kill a guy and nobody I work with would be none the wiser. Nosiness is annoying. But not as annoying as the poor women my girlfriend had been going around slapping while they enjoyed “Girl’s Night Out.”

(Now I get it. Girls are annoying while in groups and drinking. I’d hurt them too)

My girlfriend’s name was Fez. That wasn’t her real name. I forget how my friend and I came up with it. She was named after recently ousted homosexual, nature boy, and radio personality Fez Whatley whose real name isn’t even Fez. Fez of course also being one of those tiny little red hats with the string that crooners wear. I’m not sure what a crooner is or why they must wear this hat. This isn’t about hats! Shut up already!

(Fez wearing a fez back before he was an outted homosexual…yeah)

The first time I encountered Fez was around November. She was tall, thin, small-faced, dawning a ponytail, and had a red napkin hanging out of the side of her pants like a flag football player. Many times I was tempted to run up and pull it out, you know, to be flirtatious. Slowly we grew closer. One time we made eye contact. Another time she stood close to me for 3 whole minutes. Rounding up to the closest minute of course. Really, in another circumstance, like her finding me attractive, we were made for each other.

My friend and I insisted that she was looking at us. She went with her friend in the backroom, Dr. Nathan, and got in trouble for slacking off. What were they doing in that backroom? Probably gossiping about us. Wondering which one of us was hung better. Then they decided both of us must be so incredibly large and that it didn’t matter. Too bad our muscles and million dollar smiles were too much for Fez to work up the courage to talk to us. Oh and the fact that she was dating an ex-marine. I’m as far from a marine as possible. There’s not one thing we have in common. Monkey bars scare the shit out of me. They hurt my sensitive hands and the second time I broke my leg involved falling off them. Marines and terrorists are the only people who actually enjoy monkey bars. And I guess monkeys do too.

(I once broke my leg during a game of 2nd grade Hang Tough. I really should sue Larry Csonka)

I never got to meet Fez’s boyfriend. He worked there. Our bartender said she set them up together after Fez asked about Stretch Armstrong. A bit of a crushing blow to my ego. Fez didn’t ask about me? Whore. Of course after we found this, jokes about how he wouldn’t be able to have sex with her because the loud snapping sound of his balls smacking thighs would remind him of a Gatling Gun and cause him to duck and cover due to his Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, followed. I’m sure he’s a good guy and all. I still hope he gets shipped out again for my own selfish purposes. We haven’t invaded Cuba in a while. Let’s do it!

Fez’s most lasting image in my head will be that of when I saw her in street clothes. Outside of that pasty birthmark colored uniform she wears, Fez was a lot better looking. Tight pants, a tight shirt, gum snapping in her mouth like a gay cowboy chews jerky–she was everything I hate yet lust over. I knew seeing her this way that she was unattainable. Girls who look like that don’t notice guys who look like me. At best I’ll be mistaken for the guy who is there to wax her vagina. But that wouldn’t last very long. Once she drops her drawers and I have only scotch tape to tear it off, I’m fucked!

(Scotch tape, is there anything you can’t remove or put back together besides my childhood?)

The story of Fez ends with her losing her job for all of the local bar fights she got in and having to move back to Rhode Island. Yeah I know, I’ve heard that story a thousand times already. Fez is the ideal story of regression. She was really making it in the world and it all came crashing down. She had to move back in with her parents and her boyfriend, who she chose over myself, only barely talks to her now. I imagine somewhere in Providence, Fez is lying in a princess bed crying. She’s alone. No longer will she have my eyes drooling over her. Enjoy your life. I hope your parents don’t snore too loud.

“Rhode Island here we come, right back where we started from. Rhode Island!” – opening theme song to the television program The RI a spin-off of The OC

P.S. I found out the guy wasn’t a marine, but rather a member of the U.S. Coast Guard. Same difference, right?