what a girl wants

this is a bit out of the norm of my blogging scene, but, having just read 5 consecutive entries / rants of girls complaining, i think it is my duty. nay, my obligation, to bring their asses back to the ground counter-argue their points.

1. if you can't get a guy, you're doing it wrong.
i don't know what world you come from, but here on earth, men are generally receptive to the thought of hooking up. you don't even have to play on the fact that they're horny, desperate and have low expectations. what's this you say? you're not attractive? you're too fat? you have emily rose tendencies in the middle of the night? there's the thing from aliens popping out of your belly button? no. these are not valid arguments. men are easy. they do not care of your flaws and do not worry about your shortcomings. if you approach a man; no, if you even hint that you are interested to a man... bam! you're set. not even kidding. males may be the more superficial of the genders, but that doesn't mean the prospect of getting laid won't negate any and all things going through his mind.

sweet phallic-shaped alien jesus, it's going for my eyes! (i'd still tap that)

2. those jeans do not make you look fat.
okay, i'll say it up front, some girls are going to be skinny ass b*tches, and you have your right to hate them. especially those who eat 3 tubs of haagen dazs, a dozen double whoppers and 7.82 pastries per day. with a side of fries. and some girls are going to be downright fat. not big boned. not horizontally challenged. not chunky. just fat. and there's obviously going to be girls who fall in between the two extremes. most of you complaining about waist size are going to be in the lattermost group. because it's a normal distribution. and you are probably normal. now, if you're fat, well, are you happy being fat? if yes, then stfu and move on. if no, then exercise. and stop eating a hippo every other day. it's not rocket surgery.

it's a fat chick. get it? well i couldn't find a picture of a real baby chick, because when i googled fat chick... what has been seen cannot be unseen omggggggg.

now, i'm not here to lecture you on being fat or healthy or whatnot. but i am here to say that you should be happy with your body image. you're probably not fat. in fact, you're probably that close to being underweight on the bmi scale, but you complain as if you borderline the obese. just be happy with what you are. or who you are. whichever. that jeans is gonna look great on you, irrespective.

3. your life is not the oc. or desperate housewives. or sex in the city.
yes, i know our lives are pretty much boring. everyone wants a bit of drama in theirs. that bit of spice to make the smorgasboard of daily existence that much more bearable, instead of the dry, sinewy crap that we forcefully swallow every fsckn day. but, that doesn't give you, or anyone, the right to blow every single thing out of proportion. guy blew you off on a date? welcome to a guy's world. suck it up and move on. boss being a d*ck and sexually harassing you? sue that sucka's ass and make bank. mom on your case and demanding you pop out some grandchildren from between those hips? ummm. yeah i can't help you with this one.

even if you have the face of a horse hybridised with the ass of a baboon, you can still be hot. and lead a non-drama-queen-ish life. i think.

i guess it's a woman's prerogative to be a bit emo at times. at least once a month. but know that everyone has their woes and i think the world would be a better place if we were open and constructive about that, rather than turning into a hurricane of amy winehouse drug-and-alcohol wreck, with the annoyance of 13.8 on the hannah montana richter scale. wait, what? nevermind.

4. you do not need to get those pair of shoes. and even if you do, your guy does not need to pay for it.
honestly, i don't get feminists nowadays. back in the day i could see fighting for 'equal rights', but now it's more like 'equal treatment when it's convenient, but when it's not, then we're still the fairer sex'. what the what is this, guys? we should call it unequal-treatment-in-favour-of-feminines-all-the-time-ism.

wait, this is thin ice on a slippery slope of melting ice caps and thinning ozone layers. i don't have it in for feminists. i don't hate that some people want more rights where they deserve it. i do hate little poodle-princesses (or princes, for that matter) who want stuff done their way, in their time, with my money. or your money. or the people's money. with great power comes great responsibility. and all that jazz. just stop right there.

and no, you still don't need those pair of shoes.

peter, your aunt may is sucking me dry of my hard earned moolah. so, i've decided to take all my money and run away to ibiza. with that stripper, molly. just tell her i died in some freak accident involving some petty crook and you've gained super powers. thanks, kid, i owe you one.

5. having a penis is not the sign of the devil. no, really.
contrary to what you may believe, 666 is not written 'penis'. this is very counterintuitive for many of you, i know, and it baffles me, especially when we just discussed point number one. what, you can't get a man, but you don't want a man? whattttt.

now, i'm not going to lie, guys have it wrong all just the same. especially in the post break-up scene. oh, boo hoo, all women are b*tches. but i can't get a woman to love me. that's like saying 'omg this ice is cold. but i'm too hot out in this desert sun, so i won't even go near that ice'. or something like that.

ahem. anyway, not all guys are jerks. serious, cross my heart and hope to die in green fire. what's this you say, all your exes are stupid, jackasses, retarded, emotionally detached, crazy, or a combination of the aforementioned? then you're probably choosing the wrong guys. no, i'm not making this sh*t up, and no i'm not quoting some feel-good movie. i'm dead serious. dead like elvis presley.

just because he has a penis, he's not necessarily the devil. well yeah he has horns... and that freaky beard... wait a second.

stop going for the eye candy and the jocks. you criticise men for being superficial? well, have you ever tried giving that nerd a chance? did you actually listen to that emo kid surreptitiously serenading you between his hellos and asking you about internal audits? did you ever spare a smile. no, a real smile, not that plastic barbie one. for the pizza guy who's been stalking you for the past 3 years coincidentally delivered your pizza every time, like he's the only one working at that place? well, there's your problem.

6. when you're happy, everyone else is, too.
now, i'm not saying you should put on your game face every time, all the time. if you're sad, you have a right to show it with running mascara. if you're angry, you have the right to punch that ballsack ex-boyfriend in the face. if you are ecstatic, you have the right to sing out to the world like you're in the sound of music. but that still means, i don't want to hear your screaming in the throes of passion, especially when it's 3 a.m. and i ain't gettin' none. know what i'm sayin'?

look at how stupidly happy she is. she doesn't give a flying fsck if you're out to get her firstborn child. she's just. that. happy.

there's this arabic expression i learned way back when, thanks to mufasa:

husnu-zon

it means something like, to think the best of the situation or person. in my book, this goes a long way, both personally and socially. and it portrays a very amiable image, not just of you but for you. and when you're (superficially, at the very least) happy, it rubs off on others. which makes getting things done, wayyyyyy easier. and the world goes round faster. and unicorns prance in the meadows and sh*t fanciful rainbows and glitter.

god. effing. fricken. damn it. if i had known my brother was going to kill me, i wouldn't have been so husnu-zon. circle of life my shiny metal ass.

and if you can't even do that... then maybe it's time we sat down, had a little pow-wow, pass 'round the peace pipe. and smoke some green. man, those hippies in the '60s knew what it was all about. free love, y'all.