Sizzle Says

I have concluded that things might be a whole lot easier if we had warning labels for people. In this case, I am speaking about men in particular though, let’s face it chicas, we women are complex and mind boggling at times. I bet some fellas wouldn’t mind a warning label on us. Specifically if said warning label was adhered to our rack or ass. (Am I right? I know I am right.)

While speaking with my friend Saxman yesterday, I was struck with this idea. He definitely needs a warning label. I joked to him that I sure was glad I had never wanted to date him. Ok, that isn’t entirely true. Over the six years I have know him, I did want to date him when we first met. But then I got a clue and got over that right quick. It’s like that scene in When Harry Met Sally where Sally says to Harry, “You know, I’m so glad I never got involved with you. I just would have ended up being some woman you had to get up out of bed and leave at 3:00 in the morning and go clean your andirons, and you don’t even have a fireplace, not that I would know this. ” I could even follow it up with, “You are a human affront to all women and I am a woman.”

Not that there is anything wrong with that. It just isn’t what I am looking for. Sometimes you get to know a person too well and the idea of dating them is just . . . not a possibility. It’s like I already know his game so why would I play it?

So, in light of this, I’ve compiled a sampling of warning labels for men. I am sure you will have some to add. Please add yours about men or women.

Warning: Desperately afraid of intimacy. Will spook easily when approached too quickly or asked to talk about feelings. Proceed with caution.

Warning: Egotistical prick. Will make everything about him, even your PMS. Do not poke or prod though pandering to him works wonders.

Warning: Mama’s boy. Will make you rethink your desire for a “sensitive” man. Does not do own laundry nor cook anything other than cereal.

Warning: Embittered Angerball. Will fly off the handle at miniscule things. Do not mix with drama queens. Sporadically volatile with spurts of make up sex.

Warning: Noncommital Ninny. You will always have to be in charge and you will grow very tired of it. Unless you are a Type A classic control freak with boundary issues. In that case, you will get along fabulously.

Warning: Big Ol’ Flake. He will promise you the moon but never actually show up to deliver it. Gives good talk. That’s about where his talents end.

Warning: Passive Aggressive Depressive. You will feel like you are losing your mind and pretty much, you will be. Run, don’t walk.

Warning: Mr. Sex You Up. No matter what you might want to talk about he will always make it about sex. Do not fool yourself into thinking he wants more than that because, honey, he doesn’t.

I was on line chatting with OCG the other day and, lucky her, she was privvy to my annoyance. Here, see for yourself:

Ms: for the love of the baby jesus my cousin sent me yet another forward- ugh!
OC: hahaha

(a few minutes later. . . )

Ms: jesus lord ANOTHER FORWARD. i might kill her. that makes three just today.
OC: you should start sending her pictures of your cats and say “I noticed you love photos, so I thought I would share some with you too!” and everytime she forwards you some, then you send some to her…
Ms: ha ha, i should. . . but then what if she LIKES it?
OC: oh god… then your doomed
Ms: the worst of it is that they are demeaning lame forwards about gender disparity or sexist or about blondes. i think she is a closeted lesbian.
OC: oh god
Ms: i should forward that. dear cousin, it is apparent that you like girls. please stop trying to distract us with forwards. it is ok to be gay. sincerely, your cousin
OC: hahahahaha
Ms: i want her to be gay. we need a gay one in the family.
OC: hahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. you are killing me.
Ms: well we do!

Enough with the lame forwards, cousin! I don’t want the ones that threaten a lifetime of unhappiness if I don’t forward this story to 10 people in 10 minutes about a miracle baby who was born with no eyeballs and a second butthole. I don’t want the ones that talk about blondes or women or how men love to drink beer. I don’t want pictures of kittens or of spiritually uplifting quotes. Write me a real effing email or lose my email address.

Please?

And while we are talking frankly, cousin, can I just tell you that I am anxiously awaiting your unveiling as the lesbian I know you to be. I dated a gay man (ok, more than one, shuddup). I have gaydar. Your sporty clothes and borderline obsession with the Yankees.* Your housemate/friend/date, Paul, who accompanies you to all the family functions year after year but you two are never actually “dating.” The fact that you have never spoke of having a boyfriend and you are in your 30’s. Your complete and utter enthrallment with Grease 2 all those years ago. It was Michelle Pfieffer that did it for you, wasn’t it? You can tell me! She is super hot. I don’t blame you. You can do this. Ellen did it. Rosie did it. Queen Latifah is seconds away from it. Now you. Look, seriously, so far we don’t have any gay members of our extensive Irish clan and we need one. At least one. You are my one gay hope in a family of alcoholics and martyrs (God love ‘em).** Don’t let me down. See you at the reunion!

*Lizzie, this in no way indicates that any woman who has a love of baseball is indeed a closeted lebian.
**We are Irish. We can’t help it.

EDITOR’S NOTE: Tomato is the number one gay of our family. Forever and ever, amen.