The Computer Girls

M+K: Bestie Librarian Duo in L.A.

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Ghost-Faced Cleanah

Recently, I completed two major team projects at work that had previously taken up a huge chunk of my time, causing me to work late evenings, weekends, and the regularly scheduled Friday off in my usual 9/80 schedule (thank you, government). Finally removed from the stress bubble that had previously enveloped my entire existence, I was able to step back and see my apartment (and life) for what it had really become: a huge garbage pile. I consistently joke that my apartment regularly looks as though a depressed person has trashed it for weeks (that depressed person being me), but the situation had seriously reached a critical point. Like, it had reached a point at which, were I to die unexpectedly in said garbage pile, Ghost Me would be mortified that others would be able to witness such levels of utter filth. I would haunt this world forever, never having reached my human goal of having a beautiful living space. If such a situation were to pass, as discussed and promised, my local best friend and ½ of the Computer Girls, K, would arrive at my apartment prior to authorities to tidy up a bit. I mean, what are friends for, right? But even though this is the deal we have struck, the apartment mess level had reached such a breaking point, that I literally imagined K, sobbing, dragging my body to a clean corner of the apartment, but also periodically stopping here and there to gag, completely grossed out. I mean, enough is enough. It had surpassed even best friend level tolerance.

Thus ensued the Deep Clean of Spring 2016. I cleaned the shit out of that apartment and returned it to its former minimalist, scented candled, Mid-Century aesthetic glory. Regularly seeing the floor of your bedroom is a beautiful thing, I tell you what. I am filled with clichéd Spring rejuvenation. Apartment haven is risen. Sometimes you have to take care of yourself and your living situation with the same care and dedication of that of a devastated best friend, cleaning your scene of death. It’s the cleanliness you and your West Elm items deserve, girl. Amen.

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BUMBLING ABOUT TOWN

It’s a truth universally acknowledged that online dating is one of the most abhorrent activities one could voluntarily take on in life. Where do we even begin with this one? So intricately fucked up and disgusting is this pastime, it’s hard to even dissect the deeply unsettling nuts and bolts of it all. I was urged by my peers (you should never listen to other millennials, just as a rule) to “check out” the online dating “scene”. Well, I’ve been scoping out the scenery a bit, and it’s not an Icelandic wonder or anything. I’m not falling over with the life-changing arora borealisness of what heterosexual online dating has so far shown me. 

Everyone is familiar with the various platforms for this sadistic activity, such as Tinder, Hinge, Coffee x Bagel, and Bumble. I stuck to Bumble mostly, as the interface pleaseth me mucheth and many a heterosexual dude friend had recommended the "feminist Tinder” app to me. Fancying myself a feminist and having survived nightmarish Tinder (which to me, kind of just feels like a vast catalog of humanity’s worst), I gave it a go. Truth be told, Bumble is dece. If I had to pick a favorite, I would have to go with the Bum. But picking a favorite dating app is like picking a favorite Republican presidential candidate. Like, do I have to?

TOP THOUGHTS ON [MY] BUMBLE DATING

01. For many, it’s a game of Hot or Not. People swipe and you match and they never respond. You just have to move on. Many of these Hot or Not-ers are also recently single, on the rebound, and looking for some kind of digital self-validation. I get it, but odd nevertheless.

02. Heterosexual dudes really like to quote Zoolander in their About Me’s. The same quote. Every time. So many of you out there.

03. Heterosexual dudes also really like to make mention of personal point systems for qualities that they like in women. E.g. “points if you know what X is” or “points if you __”. It’s unclear what one is supposed to do with these “points”. Like I fucking need your arbitrary points. Is this Chuck-E-Cheese? Am I cashing them in? 50 tickets for 1 second of non-douchebaggery?

04. They say it’s a statistics game. “You have to dig through a lot of coal before you find that diamond”. Are all of these bad dates supposed to make me appreciate an actual good one when it comes along? Can I just skip dating altogether and remember to appreciate a decent interaction when I recognize one? Who actually WANTS to be good at surviving terrible dates and reapplying the same get-to-know-you process again and again? It’s a soul-sucking journey and if I enjoyed repetitive, dull torture, I’d take up running. I’m just not cut out to be a coal miner, guys. Please bring me a diamond when you find one. Please refer to James Corden’s Carpool Karaoke segment with Chris Martin for my ideal mate’s personality. Either Corden or Martin will do nicely.

05. I’m not good at online dating. And I’m not sure I want to be.

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B-rad sucks.

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just say no to the bro

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About a Bro

When a dude who once went soul searching in the mountains to decide on which LA Fitness location to invest in dumps you, it reminds you of all the circumstances you had to overlook to get to that point. In no particular order, here were some of those things that I chose to pretend didn’t exist.

Trucker hats: When a dude unironically wears trucker hats, you might want to delve a little deeper into his past to try and understand why something like a serious trucker hat would manifest in his adulthood. First of all, was there abuse in his childhood? Or was his sense of irony stunted by something else, like organized sports? Was he homeschooled? These questions are good places to start, but ultimately you need to come to terms with fact that this is an adult male wearing a Deus ex Machina trucker hat in the world. Did he mention that he studied abroad in Australia?

Pickup trucks: Pickup trucks have forever been a mainstay of the classic low maintenance dude who owns at least 8 different vehicles and spends thousands on camping every year but insists that women’s shampoo expenditures are frivolous. These men are usually balding. Pickup trucks can easily be ranked by size, the smaller the truck the less likelihood of a leather tribal necklace lurking under his heteronormative blue collared shirt. The larger and more F-150 the truck, the less likelihood there is of any semblance of humanity, these men have become diesel-fueled extensions of their vehicles. They live only to haul and listen to conservative talk radio while hauling.

Southernism: While the south isn’t inherently the absolute worst, when combined with bro qualities it becomes a noxious gas that reeks aggressively of a Nicholas Sparks character on military leave. A common downfall among women is the southern accent, but let us also hear the words that are being spoken and remember how stupid Paula Deen is.

Cringe worthy texts: While texts such as “I promised my hot tub I’d be inside her all night” and “Finally… found a beauty who doesn’t care how hard I ride her…” in reference to a motorcycle made me want to lay down on a mattress in an underpass and inject a syringe full of puked up heroin into my arm, I was still able to put these horrifyingly lame sentiments out of my mind and have sexual relations with the author. If you suddenly feel like you have morning sickness after reading a text about a sexualized vehicle or tub of water, please tell someone.

Camping: Unlike sailing and fencing, which require pretention and Masshole affectations, camping is often thought of as simple and down-to-earth. Unless, of course, a balding Southern bro with daddy issues and a pickup truck decides to camp. Then he can ruin camping for literally everyone by talking about the most boring idea since collecting quarters from every state – hiking to the highest point in every state. On the surface this sounds like maybe it’s a thing. But dig a little deeper a la google maps and you realize that the highest points in most states are rando hills in exurbs… that this dude drives to. Worse yet, this bro is so self-important that he thinks he will be sponsored to do this. BY A COMPANY.

As I write this I am filled with grossness, but I also know that I came out of this bro-y, lame relationship as a person less likely to date another bro. At the same time this dude was such an unbelievable douche that he had to be experienced in order to transcribe. So, while I am sad for the extraordinarily uncool situations I exposed myself to, ultimately it was hilarious.

If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s just say no to the bro. Unless he’s like, real hot.

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L I F E.