Signs Indicating You Were, in Fact, Raised by Rabid Wolves

I can be a bitch, not a surprise to most people who have had any amount of interaction with me, cyber or otherwise.  But, the ire of my bitchiness is generally focused on those who have breached a personal boundary.  I very infrequently devolve into actual rudeness…every 28 days there is an increased potential for this if I am deprived of access to greasy, disgusting food.

My parents did their best to raise us all with manners and consideration for others so it irks me endlessly when people display an utter disregard for not only social convention in manners…things most people learn by kindergarten…or show a complete lack of concern for the health/safety/comfort of their fellow human beings.

Some recent samples of behavior which had me saying, “WTF?”:

• A man on a train coming up and accusing me (wrongly, obviously) of being the person who turned the bathroom into an experiment in bacterial and viral growth and proceeding to tell me that I was disgusting…I just pretended I did not speak Italian in response.
• Watching a man just walking past me and two other people waiting in line and trying to jump directly in front of me…I put a stop to that one.
• Being offered the fantastic, once in a lifetime opportunity to be a whore in response to an innocuous advertisement which I had placed.
• Listening to a woman talk shit on foreigners directly in front of me thinking I was Italian.
• Watching a group in a restaurant eat as if it was their last chance to nourish themselves for a week…with open mouths, Hoover-worthy consumption speed and basically the table manners of a two-year old.

Seriously, if your parents did a not-so-brilliant job of teaching you the basics, then educate yourself and take 2.47 seconds to think how you would feel if someone did the same thing to you.

Alternately, read Robert Fulgum’s All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten and Emily Post’s website and books.  Because the most important aspects of manners are not about displaying your education or social class, they are about showing consideration for your fellow human beings.

Now, put your napkin in your lap and chew with your mouth closed and always wait your turn.

Thanks.

That is all.

Facebook Youtube Virus Generators

To the rat bastards who wrote that damn virus and are getting their rocks off knowing that millions of people are having serious computer issues and more, here is a little input from the peanut gallery:

YOU ARE CERTIFIABLE ASSHOLES!!

Some people actually earn their living from their computer.

Thanks for costing me and countless others a boatload of cash.

Thanks for unleashing something incredibly negative into the world to prove just exactly how much of a twit you really are.

Thanks for not doing something positive with your obvious intelligence, the world is in serious need of further douchebaggery.

Thanks for reinforcing the idea that creating havoc/anarchy/discord are stepping stones on the path to computer geek coolness.

Please have your mother travel back in time and have her not spread her legs for your father.

Now, go rot away in that putrid basement of aforementioned mother in which you are living, fondling your life-size, blow-up rubber girlfriend and never venturing out into the real world with real human beings.

Public Transportation

Can't We All Be Polite Commuters?

HBB is a believer in public transportation.  It cuts pollutions, commute times and traffic congestion.

HBB is NOT a believer in acting like you have never participated in any of the basics of civilized society whilst using public transportation.  Haven’t mastered the use of a tissue, handkerchief or ability to keep your bodily fluids and cooties to yourself?  Then stay off vehicles which transport large numbers of people who actually are civilized and have no interest in sharing whatever viral or bacterial menace you have picked up and are endeavoring to assist in an exponential growth curve.

People want to go to work, or go home, not become a participant observer in a human size petri dish.

Please pay to use this service…if you are desperately poor and just need to get home, fine.  But the little brat rocking the iPod and designer everything can contribute to society by forking over the 1,20€ to ride the damn bus.

When getting on a bus, train or subway let the people who are getting off do so first.  The shoving to get on an immobile vehicle is something I have never been able to grasp.  Stop.  Think.  The damn thing is full.  If you let people get off first it is less full.  Then there is more room for your inconsiderate ass to actually get on the bus.  Keep.  Thinking.  The vehicle is not going to leave without you.  The driver actually is not blind, that is why he is trusted with operating a vehicle which ports dozens to hundreds of people around at any given moment.

Seating.  Some basics.  Your purse, shopping bag or laptop case did not pay for a seat, therefore when others are standing take the damn thing off the seat.  And don’t put your dripping wet umbrella on a seat…that is made for a human butt.  If you are an able-bodied person, give up your seat to the person who is obviously not.  This includes the elderly, the injured, a bustingly pregnant woman and yes, jerkface the dude with the prosthetic leg.  Courtesy would also tell you that the mom or dad with the six month old baby probably needs that seat more than you as well.

Inside voices please.  The idea that you can actually hear a person less than a meter away from you without speaking so loudly that a hundred people are aware of your impending visit to the doctor for a ingrown toenail is lost on one too many people.  Also, it is not cool to try to rub up against my girlie parts, just not cool.  You are not being subtle when you do this.

Personal grooming. Do it beforehand. Please shower.  Do not clip your fingernails on public transport.  Do not shave on public transport.  Keep your finger out of your nose if you are over the age of three.  If you must stick your finger in your nose then do not follow that by putting the same finger on ANY object which other people will touch.

Please do this all by tomorrow when I again embark on public transportation.

How to Turn Off a Man

Now, sometimes you end up in a conversation or on a date with someone who really just isn’t doing it for you but isn’t actually doing or saying anything wrong.  In fact, he actually seems kind of sweet, but you just aren’t that attracted to him.  You don’t want to offend him or hurt his feelings, but you don’t want to go out with him again.

What are some things you can do or say to turn him off in a subtle and believable way without coming across like a cold-hearted bitch? First you must evaluate his susceptible  points…then play to them.

• He is independent and has not had a history of long-term relationships? Feign clinginess even if you are the Bounce dryer sheet of daters.
• He is ready to settle down and start a family?  Talk about all the world traveling and jungle trekking you have lined up for the next five years.
• He doesn’t like to travel? Ditto the above, plus talk about all the places you have already been and how you would love to move to another country at some point.
• He is a picky eater? Regale him with your collection of recipes for offal and tales of pig carving.

My experience has been that men are less forgiving of women’s “faults” then women are of men’s “faults” so these tactics are slightly more effective when used upon men.  A lot of women will just think they can “fix” men who do not agree with them.  Men who are perfectly happy with who they are.

This tactic only works (for me) when the person is generally fairly nice, but just doesn’t have that “it” factor that makes you think about them that way…basically the nice guys who get the “let’s be friends” speech.  For guys that are just jerks I either tell in so many scathing words to go do unnatural things with other species (still working on this skill in Italian) or I pull the guy maneuver and just don’t respond (the technique being used on Nipple Boy.)

When NOT to use this technique—when there is a good possibility that Mr. Not Right has friends who could be Mr. Right or if the chances of frequent encounters with mutual friends will make your efforts at trying to spare his feelings all for naught.  I normally suggest straightforward honesty for almost all situations, but I just hate hurting a guys feelings when he has done absolutely nothing wrong.

Dynise’s Algorithm for Putting Out

Step Two on the Path to Nakedidity

Freshly back into the dating world, HBB is encountering her fair share of generally attractive males who have the desire to disrobe me and engage in activities of a physical and sexual nature.

BUUUUUUUUUUUT, I am not terribly interested in pursuing said activities with the speed and lack of discrimination in partner selection which Italian males have come to expect.  Thus, I sleep alone, with the thoughts of hopefully finding a one which I actually want to invite to disrobe me.

Now, there is actually an algorithm attached to the Velocity and Probability of Dynise Putting Out. Like Google’s algorithm, it is veiled in secrecy and understood by only a select few.  For purposes of brevity, potential nookie obliger, boyfriend, aspiring love/lust slave, husband in training is abbreviated to NOBALLSHIT.

Some of the components involved are:

1. IQ of potential NOBALLSHIT
2. Sexual desirability of NOBALLSHIT
3. Volume of available candidates
4. Presence of restrictive clothing (many times this is purposeful)
5. Time lapsed since last sexual encounter (on the part of HBB)
6. Amount of inebriating liquid consumed in the preceding hours
7. Number of previous encounters with candidate and the nature of their progression.

The perfect storm level of algorithm is reached at the point of:

1. Third Standard Deviation from the norm (to the right)
2. Italian underwear model hot
3. Zero (this generally happens when heartstrings have been sufficiently tugged)
4. Bikini or lacy, frilly things (the presence of many extraneous clothing implies lack of desire)
5. In excess of 90 days
6. Apertif, vino, limencello (served with candles and large quantities of meat products)
7. These should start with coffee or lunch…then both parties have an escape…after sufficient encounters (um, no, one is not sufficient) Facebook/LinkedIn adding, awareness among friends that the desire to disrobe this individual is creating that burning sensation in one’s loins…then we proceed to nakedidity.

For those who believe they are good candidates for nakedidity there are further qualifications which I seek:

• Age…not too much younger, not too much older.
• Height…I am a giraffe, please be a boy giraffe.
• Politics…I am fiscally conservative, socially liberal…I want to attend my gay friends’ weddings.
• Sociology…I believe in the merits of an individual. I merit a sexy boy.
• Cooking…if you don’t like my cooking we can not be more than friends…and no, we can not be “special” friends.

Please submit your NOBALLSHIT application with a headshot, full length body shot and IQ score.  Do not contact us, we will contact you.

A Brief WTF?

After a simple afternoon coffee date which ends in a kiss on both cheeks it is most definitely NOT ok to IM the female party of the date to point out to her that she does indeed, have nice cleavage and the chilly temperature made her nipples “as hard as hammers.”

Really? How can this shit possibly ever get anyone laid?

Where in the twisted logic of an individual does it seem sensible that if I only want to meet you for coffee and I do not kiss you that talking about my nipples will suddenly make me want to mount you?

*shakes head in dismay*

That is all. Carry on.

Definition of Dating

Nice way to show up, but too much on a first date.

So…a little over a week ago I started doing the dating thing again.  Despite the fact that I am still completely enamored with a certain tall, sweet and ever-so intelligent professor.  If it ain’t working, ya gots to move on. *She says with still a glimmer of hope that it will, in fact, work*

I put a toe warily into the dating pool, checking for proper temperature before diving in.  As a rule, I hate dating. Absolutely hate it.  I know that as a reasonably attractive and semi-normal woman this is not typical.  I am supposed to like dating.

Now, the more skeptical males say, “well, at least you get a free meal out of it.”  As if getting a plate of pasta and some crostini are worth listening to inane drivel all night.  I would much prefer to eat at home, thank you very much.  In many cases I would prefer to do laundry. Or iron. Or stick burning hot pokers into my eyeballs.

Nothing personal against most men…but I have a very specific type that I like.  I am a giraffe (5′ 10.5″) so tall is pretty much mandatory…only pretty much…my ex-husband was 5’9″ but he is also smarter than 99% of the general population.  I also need an IQ in the stratosphere because I refuse to dumb down, despite being told it would be easier to find a man that way.  An even temper, a certain degree of neatness, a lack of political correctness but an empathy for others, an avid adoration of my cooking, timeliness, no desire to control everything, a natural scent that makes me want to inhale his essence.  And lots of hot, sweaty monkey sex when we get to that point. Lots.  As in, “unless you have to actually be at work, get in this bed, on the kitchen table, into the shower, up against this wall or hanging from this chandelier. Now.”

What would he get in return for offering all these fine qualities one might query?  A tall, long-legged, wickedly intelligent, even-tempered, clean, searingly politically incorrect, empathetic, good-cooking, punctual, relaxed girlfriend who smells good.  And is as horny as a 13 year old boy who just found his dad’s stash of porn.

Chances of me finding all of those characteristics in one live, breathing and unattached male…close to zero.  Thus, the reason I hate dating.  I have red flags that eliminate most people immediately from my potential dating pool and most men have at least one.  This does not mean that said flagged men have something innately wrong with them.  It means they don’t work for me, and I’m kind of a freak so that may be a compliment.

There is a needle in the haystack that is Tuscany…I just want to find it without dating.  Because, to me, the definition of dating is: torture.

The Internet and Stupidity

The interwebby allows just about anyone with the ability to push an on button to express their thoughts to the world in all their grammatically incorrect, horribly spelt and illogically argued glory.

As an online scriber I frequent a number of online forums for writing.  One is completely private and our Pinky and the Brain style plots to take over the online universe are never exposed to the eyes of others.  The two others are on sites which I am using for income, Suite101 and Elance, so I am semi-kinda professional and stuff when I post there.

Now, there probably aren’t too many blog readers who have never visited an online forum…but just in case…basically people ramble on about whatever verbal diarrhea they happen to be spewing that day with amplified personalities due to the anonymity of the internet.  You know the formula: computer+access to audience=instant douchebag.

Now many of these forums actually offer constructive advice and feedback.  The vast majority are fairly normal people…I only consider myself “fairly” normal, so that is intended as a compliment.

BUT

There are idiots that destroy others trust in humanity in the evolution of the genus Homo.  A few of the more memorable among these are:

• The Know-it-All: this person (generally male) knows everything about everything and must proffer his opinion on every post and every subject, being sure to point out that every opinion that is not in accord with his own is patently wrong.  Subject likely lives in mother’s basement and has never touched a naked girl not made of plastic.
• The Martyr:  woe is me …woe is me…poor little me, the world is so difficult. Yup, it is.  Now buck up, grow a pair and STFU.  We all have problems and likely if you can afford a computer, a home with electricity to run said computer and internet access to post your whining, it really ain’t all that bad.
• The Dimwit: (usually a female)…oh, hi…I just don’t understand…can you explain how to do 417 things to me because I am just a little confused and it would help me ooooh so much..*giggles and flips hair* Um, look it up, that’s why information on everything from “How to Build and Atomic Bomb” to “The Most Practical Ways to Dispose of Belly Button Lint” is on the internet.
• The Nutter: person who is honestly batshit crazy and has their entire trailer covered in tin foil and wears a special protective helmet that blocks the CIA’s thought extractor from functioning.
• The Attention Whore: everybody look at ME!  My parents didn’t give me enough attention growing up, thus I seek it from random strangers on the internet.  I also make a spectacle of myself at any social function, ramble on while not actually uttering anything worth hearing and basically make anybody withing earshot of my voice want to reach for the nearest weapon to put me out of their misery as soon as possible.

For those who frequent these forums to actually gather useful information or to offer help and guidance to others, the aforementioned douchebags create an environment that makes you want to pitch your laptop out the window and onto the heads of innocent passersby.

Please, if you are one of the above, have your fingers cryonically frozen to spare the rest of the world from your inane blathering.

Thank you.

My Fugly Fuzzy Boots

My Fugly Fuzzy Boots

Like many other members of the female gender, I have a love/hate relationship with My Fugly Fuzzy Boots.

Despite the common misconception, Florence in the winter is actually pretty cold.  Those Travel to Italy brochures don’t promote the sub-freezing temps we get at night in the winter and the cold rainy days.  The basil plant died from frost and my attitude gets chilled about as frequently as a penguin’s butt.

Thus, I frequently venture out of doors in the above pictured FFBs.  When I say frequently I really mean daily, because if you didn’t actually know me you would think I don’t have any other shoes.

Now, for the uninitiated, you’re like WTF?  Who cares?  Well, I live in Italy, where UGG boots and all their knock-off brethren have only recently appeared upon the feet of the alwaysmorestylishthanme residents of Florence.  Compared to the typical Italian shoe/boot/caresser of female ankles, these things are pretty unflattering.

Tottering over cobblestone streets in 3in heels is a skill acquired by the age of 15 here; along with glaring disdainfully at poorly dressed tourists with a cigarette dangling lackadaisically from the corner of your mouth whilst simultaneously texting on two different cell phones.  So the wearing of footwear that has a flatter factor of zero is hardly typical.  “Interesting” is the most common comment people have for them.

Now, they are not nearly as uncommon as they were only a couple years ago, but they still are not understood by most people.  Why, when you can select from some of the most well designed shoes on the planet would a person voluntarily choose to wear such things?  You can see it in the older women’s eyes when they look you up and down with the same look they would give you if you wore your pyjamas outside.

But, hey…my toes are warm.

Lesson of the day: being hot enough to avoid frostbite takes priority over looking hot

Do You Hate Your Bank?

Piggy Bank is Better than my Bank

If you haven’t figured it out by previous posts, or haven’t read previous posts, I am currently in Italy.

That’s cool, you think.  And yup, I pretty much concur.

Until I have to deal with my American bank account. (Not my online bank account with ING, I ❤ ING.)

So, I update my address about the time I am supposed to be getting a new card to replace the soon-to-expire card that is good until the end of the month.  I go online to their customer service chat to verify that my address is indeed updated.  I am greeted with a stock greeting and submit my info, including mother’s maiden name, name of first pet, blood type and favorite sexual position.  I then ask if the new card has been sent out.

Yes. To the old address.  Ok, this is my fault because I should have taken the 17 seconds to go online and change my address before.

So, can we send me a new card?  Sure, in syntax that indicates a non-native not 100% fluent speaker of English.

Intuition is telling me we have a problem, Houston.

“So you want me to send new card and cancel one that was sent to old address?”

Yes, I do.  Followed by: “but I need to make sure the card I physically have still works.”

And, you guessed it, she blocked my card that I need to use to get my money.

Me: You need to fix it. Her: I can not.

Three people later, the bank will Fedex me a new card arriving in about 12 days to Italy.  Cool, 12 days with no money because someone thought it made sense to cancel the new card and my current card when I am 10,000 miles away.

Awesome customer service, just awesome.