Reality Check: Males Do Not, In Fact, Wish for Miss Margo to Die

UPDATE Sunday November 20  12:15 PM


     Wow, that party was excellent.  Expensive, but definitely worth the price of admission.  The event space was lux, the people were overwhelmingly attractive by any objective measure, and somehow the planners managed to keep out the demonstrable weirdos and sketchy guys.  And the music wasn’t industrial, and it wasn’t too loud.  I felt like I was in a movie, actually.  


     I was hit on by a beautiful young woman and I was so friggin dense that I didn’t realize she was propositioning me until it was almost time to leave.  That was pretty funny, actually.  I thought she was just being outgoing and make friends because she was new.  Because I have zero interest in women sexually, I simply don’t see it.  I wish that I could see videotape of our interaction last night.  I bet it would make great comedy.  Here’s what it was like, basically:


Her:  My boyfriend doesn’t like to do any of these things, but I really want to explore it.  That’s why I’m here, to meet new people and see what this is like.  And maybe get to try things.


Me:  Well, you’re in the right place!


Her:  I noticed you right away.  Your outfit is so beautiful and you really have some presence.  


Me:  Aw, thank you!  Your clothes are pretty too.  I love your shoes!


Her:  And when I learned that you had experience, I wanted to hang out with you, because I’m new.  My boyfriend isn’t into this.  


Me (donning relationship therapist hat, trying to be helpful):  Hmmm, too bad about your boyfriend.  What does he object to, specifically?


Too funny!  I did a major facepalm in the cab on the way home.  DUH!  Well, if I see her again, or if she calls, I’ll point her in the right direction.  Too bad she wasn’t a boy.  I would’ve scooped her up in a heartbeat.  She was a real sweetheart.




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     I have recently received two much-needed reality checks regarding my attitude towards men.


     This morning I told my analyst that I was, in part, frustrated and angry with the fact that I’ve been getting a lot of attention from men recently (I mentioned it in this blog here).  


     “What?  Men are not allowed to like you now?”  She asked.


    I turned on her, eyes blazing.  “They like me when I am skinny because they want me to die!”  


   “No, they don’t want you to die! That is a projection.  You want yourself to die.  You are thinking that about you.  The men are not thinking that.”  


      Well, I’ll be damned.  She was right.  Men, I am sorry I accused you of harboring violent ill will towards my person.  I retract that assertion and I wish to apologize.  


    Earlier this week I was hanging out with a young woman I’ve become friendly with.  She has fantastic dark reddish-blonde hair that makes me sick with envy–I wish I could snatch it off her head and put it on mine.  Anyway, I was telling her about my date with Matt and my Prime Directive for guys that I date (“Don’t Bore Me.”).  


     She grasped my attitude immediately and completely, and said:  ” ‘Entertain me! Dance, Monkey, dance!‘”


     I laughed because it was funny as hell, but the joke’s on me.  Really.  When confronted with my cynicism, I was actually taken aback.  I mean, “Don’t Bore Me” is kind of low in the expectations department.  This is not exactly, uhh, getting my emotional needs met.  


     And let’s be honest: if I was a dude and I said something like that, I would be an asshole.  That’s a fact.  If I came across that post and it was written by a guy, I would think to myself, “Wow, that guy is kind of an asshole!  With that fantastic attitude, it’s no wonder he doesn’t have a girlfriend!”  


     Men: Sorry for being an asshole.  I don’t want to be a cynical, bitter person.  Really.  


    Now I have to hop in the shower because I am going out tonight and I need to start my feminine grooming and beauty rituals.  I got invited to a party.  A private party.  A special party.  And unlike the last one I was invited to, this one is happening as planned.  It’s a totally new venue and crowd for me–I don’t know any of these people and I have no idea what to expect, but I was asked to dress to impress, and I shall not disappoint!  Fake eyelashes, lipstick, steel-boned corset, absurd high heels, the whole shebang.  I will look more girly than a drag queen, and most of my clothing will hurt me!  Yes, I will happily participate in my own oppression!  Feminism?  What feminism?  LMFAO


     I’m going stag, too.  Maybe I’ll meet a nice dude!  Who knows?  


     Photos not allowed inside, but maybe I’ll get pics of my shoes.  I have a really great pair of heels just for occasions like this.

timestamp is incorrect.  I took this photo 5 min ago.

UPDATE: behold, my most beloved pair of bad-girl anklestrap pumps.  Because here at Miss Margo Manor, we keep everything classy–that’s how we roll!  And nothing says ‘class’ like patent leather!!!




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