Ah, pets. People do love their pets, don't they? Not like I'd know firsthand as I've never had any pets. No cats. No dogs. No gerbils. No hamsters. No nothing. I was never responsible in my youth for some furry creature. I never dated anyone who had any pets, either. So, you might understand why I'm having a hard time coming up with stuff for the Demystifying Divas and Marvy Men's Club topic of the day, which is, ahem, what do the pets of potential partners tell you about him or her? And how do pets affect the relationship?

See, I'm at a complete and utter loss, so I shall make shit up. Work for you? Ok, good. It's not like you mind, right? Because if you're a devoted Cake Eater reader you're obviously fond of bullshit, so this isn't really a big leap.

Have you seen those commercials for some allergy medication, where a woman is narrating about her woes with allergies? Then, miraculously, once she starts taking this medication her woes are over with. The entire background starts out full of people and things, these people and things disappear (obviously because this woman has allergies) and then once the woman starts taking the medication, all those things that disappeared reappear, replete with a neato popping sound effect. One of the people who disappears is a "boyfriend with cats." Are we all on the same page here? We are. FABULOUS!

What I don't understand is why this dude reappears.

There's two problems here: the dude still has the cats, which apparently affects the very essential ability of the young woman he's dating to take in the air she needs to breathe, and why on earth would anyone subject themselves to heavy duty allergy medication just to get their boyfriend (and his cats) back? The dude apparently wants her, but still wants his cats too. That sounds pretty selfish to me.

Cat allergies are a pretty big deal, of you didn't know. There are varying degrees of sensitivity, but as I'm married to a man who can walk into a place and tell if there's been a cat in the domicile sometime in the preceding five years, I'm just going to assume everyone's like him. (Work with me here, people.) If I had had a cat when I started dating the husband, he never would have become the boyfriend without me getting rid of the cat. And it would have been selfish of me to keep the damn cat when things started getting serious. I can understand not wanting to jettison a much-loved pet after the first date, but come on. This chick in the commercial was obviously beyond the first date. Yet, she apparently loved this selfish cat owner enough to go on daily allergy medication which probably came with the requisite warning advising against heavy machinery while drugged up. How dumb was she, too, while we're at it? This dude is apparently insensitive to the fact she needs to breathe, yet he refuses to get rid of the one thing that causes his girlfriend agony: his cat. And she goes along with it. Duh.

I think that tells you rather a lot regarding this one cat owner and the girls he dates. He apparently likes them willing to do his bidding, to put his priorities and needs first, even if it's not the best option for their health.

Why, I'll even bet he's asked her to clean out the litter box!

The NERVE of some people!

I suppose the lesson of all this is that if the object of your affection has more consideration for the needs of their pets, that means they think their (and we're talking about the pet owner here) needs are more important than that of their signifcant other. Which means they're selfish and you should probably dump them. It's just not going to work.

Ok, so now that I've bloviated authoritatively on a subject which I know nothing about, go and read what the other daring demystifying divas---Sadie, Chrissy, and Silk---have to say. Ruth at Chaos Theory was supposed to be our guest diva today, but since she's occupied with something else, she has, in one fell swoop, shifted the Diva/Men's Club operational balance by---gasp---asking a man to chime in. It's supposed to be five girls to four guys, hence ensuring we always win, but alas this week the boys have a chance at gender equity. If you're in favor of that sort of thing, Men's Libertation, that is, go and visit Tincanman to see what his take on the topic is. And while you're at it, go and visit The Wiz, Phin, Stiggy and the Naked Villains for even more testosterone blogging.

Posted by: Kathy at 07:51 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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In a somewhat Brit-like effort to get along with things, I am commencing my latest Diva essay, despite the news coming out of London.

Today's topic: Most embarrasing dating moments and how to avoid them.

I find myself somewhat at a disadvantage here because, quite frankly, it's been almost thirteen years since I've dated anyone. You, of course, are tut-tutting and saying in a whisper so no one else can hear you talk to your computer, Kath, you obviously remember OTHER incidents from your dating past, no matter how long ago it was, why not this one? Well, you see, here's the deal: I'm very good at blocking out embarrasing things that happened to me in the past. Because there were lots of embarrassing moments when I dated. I experienced much mortification. And I've blocked it out. I've shoved these memories into a trunk, which was subsequently shoved into a back, dusty corner of the attic that is my brain, and, for the most part, has been all but forgotten about. Sorry. You're SOL.

Well, for the most part. An overriding theme comes to mind.

My main problem, it seems, looking back now, was never recognizing when some dude really liked me. I was a clueless heartbreaker it seems. I was always more interested in chasing after the guys I liked, rather than paying attention to the men who wanted me. Sigh. A while back I found a stack of letters a guy friend from high school had sent to me when I was living in Austin, Texas for the summer, nannying for my sister's kids. This being the age before email and cheapola long distance, he'd sent me a letter a week, sometimes twice a week, saying how much he missed me, how much the summer in Omaha was sucking without my presence, etc. At the time, I took it at face value. Even though this guy had previously asked me "to be his girlfriend" in a pathetically sweet sort of way, and I had refused him, I thought he'd gotten over it and was still just being my friend. Nope. I was taking the letters as I wanted them to be, not as they really were. Not surprisingly, he finally took whatever hint I was giving off and moved on.

Another time, in college, I was working at the Econ/Soc Reading Room (which doesn't look as if it exists anymore) and there was this really nice guy, an Econ grad student, Ahmet, from Turkey who patronized the place. I liked Ahmet, because, unlike the Chinese grad students, he washed and shaved, ate food on occasion, and didn't reek of cheap cigarettes or body odor. I liked chatting with him about his country and his experiences going to school on the continent, living in Turkey, etc. Of course, my luck being what it was, he took my friendliness to mean that I had the hots for him. I didn't, of course. This led to one very uncomfortable lunch at the M-Shop in the Student Union. He thought he was taking me out. I thought we were getting together to eat. Whoops. Very uncomfortable that lunch was, because he was offended when I insisted on paying for my food myself.

Then there was Gary, who while a very nice guy, had a lot of notions about what a girl would consider to be romantic. Writing, "Kathy {insert maiden name here} is beautiful" on a chalkboard in the classroom where we met once a week for a seminar on South African politics and then writing "Do Not Erase" on the board next to it, meaning it was up there for entire week before I found out about it, well, was mortifying. But I thought it was just a joke on me. Hahahaha. Funny stuff, eh? Gary was a nice guy and all, but he was really short. About 5'2". I'm 5'6". I stared down at him every time I talked to him. I don't mean to seem like I discriminate against short guys, but...well, I guess I do discriminate against short guys. Sigh. Anyway, he wasn't my cup of tea, and once again, I got blindsided. Turns out his declaration on the chalkboard in Ross Hall wasn't a joke. He showed up one night, a bouquet of flowers in hand, an invitation to dinner at one of the fanciest (and priciest) restaurants in Ames on the tip of his tongue, and I had to let him down gently.

Hmmph. Well, I guess I remember more than I thought I did. Lucky you!

Why was I so clueless? you ask. {Insert shrug here} Beats me. Poor self-esteem? Who the hell knows.

As far as the second part of the essay is concerned, well, I don't think anyone should be asking me about how to avoid being embarrassed on a date. I haven't the foggiest notion. I would assume that you could avoid my mistakes and---ahem---actually PAY ATTENTION to what's going on around you and that might save you some grief in the short term. That might help.

Ya think?

Enough. Now run along and see what the other fabulous demystifying divas have to say on the matter. Make sure to check out what Michele of Meanderings has contributed to the discussion, since she's our guest diva this week. For the male perspective, be sure to visit The Wiz, Phin, Stiggy and whichever Naked Villian is chiming in this week.

UPDATE: The Kid has a couple of stories about drunken fraternity boys and singing cowboys to entertain you all with.

Posted by: Kathy at 10:43 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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So, an auspicious start to Thursday Diva action, eh? Hmmm.

It almost seems wrong to ponder on something so freakin' trivial as jealousy on such a day,but perhaps, even if I'm not in the mood to write something new, someone needs a pick-me-up and would like to read a golden oldie...sooooo, I'm reposting this bit I wrote back when we had Divas Sez, our incredibly successful attempt at starting an advice column.

What makes a Diva jealous in a good way. What makes a Diva jealous in a bad way. Is there a difference?

Now, personally, given how I feel after I've had a visit from the little green monster, I don't think it's possible there is such a thing as "good jealousy." It's all bad, and as I will explain, even the least likely thing can set me off.

The husband, God love him, is absolutely, 100% secure in our relationship. He doesn't worry that I'm going to leave him for someone who doesn't play MMORPG's. He doesn't worry when I start chatting with males, because he knows that, for the most part, I would prefer to chat with men because they're not talking about, well, men all the time, which is something I find a wee bit tiresome at this stage of the game. So, if we're at a party, he doesn't worry. He has no need to worry. And he goes on about his business, blissful in the knowledge that no man will be able to tempt me away. This, I believe, has something to do with the fact he is the King of Logic. Logic is always the bottom line. Emotions, he would argue, while nice, are a drawback because they get in the way of logic.

I, on the other hand, am a freakin' drama queen. (I am a diva, ya dig? This makes great sense in the scheme of things.) I love my emotions. I feel {insert Tony the Tiger voice here} they're grrrrreat! I feel they're the truth about who we are as human beings and logic, while it has its uses, is pretty goddamn boring. As such, I can get very jealous, at the drop of a hat, and, most of the time, it's for absolutely no good reason other than the fact I have a very good imagination. Picture the a couple at a party, split up, talking to two separate groups of people. The woman (me) notices something might be amiss out of the corner of her eye. He just touched her on the shoulder? What does that mean? Does he think she's hot? She's a blonde, for chrissakes. He doesn't like blondes! Goddamnit! What's she got that I haven't? What makes her so appealing that the husband, who is not mr. touchy feely, just touched her on the shoulder? Aiiieee. He's cheating on me! He's leaving me! I know it. I know it. Well, that's just NOT happening, ya hear? I'd better go over there and intervene!

And all of this is because the husband noticed a spot of lint on her black sweater clad shoulder and, living up to his worst OCD tendencies, couldn't stand to see some small bit of white marring all the blackness.

Jealousy is our insecurities at play in the fields of the Lord. It's the two-year-old inside of you who screams MINE! and starts hitting even though Mommy told them they shouldn't. It's your worst fears, laid out on the table, for all to see, because you're too angry and hurt to pull back and look at things in a rational manner.

Now, I'm not denying jealousy has its uses, because, ultimately, it does tell that special someone in your life that you do, indeed, care enough to send the very best of your own particular brand of insanity, but how healthy is that? Not very, in my opinion. Relationships are hard enough without a little green monster horning in and offering up its two cents worth.

Now, go and read what the other marvelous divas have to say. Make sure you give Divaesque Lady Joan of Seven Inches of Sense a warm "howdy." For the male perspective, please go and read what the marvy men's club---Stiggy, Phin, The Wiz and the Naked Villains---has contributed.

{Ed note: Yes, I did fiddle with the time stamp on this post.}

Posted by: Kathy at 05:15 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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