Dude Part-ay

[Girl passes, says hello to Dude 1]

DUDE 1: (to girl) Hey.

DUDE 2: Is that [so-and-so]?

DUDE 1: Yeah.

DUDE 2: She’s pretty hot.

DUDE 1: Yeah.

For reasons I cannot justify, I found it comical, amusing to say the least. Dude watching is one of my favorite activities. Not literally, as though I stare longingly at men all day long waiting for them to say something remotely jocular — just — literally. I love watching dudes.

Which kind of makes me wonder, and at the same time, fear what dudes say when I walk away. 

[I pass, say hello to DUDE 1]

DUDE 1: (to me) Hey.

DUDE 2: Who was that?

DUDE 1: Uhh. Heidi’s sister?

DUDE 2: Oh. Her hair is fucking huge.

DUDE 1: Yeah.

This is why I stay home, and eat bowls of cereal in front of my computer, and make friends with cameras. I’ve been told that I’m “cute”; then again, kittens and Precious Moments figurines are cute, too. That makes me feel that I am worthy of being in the giveaway section of the classifieds, or have a twenty-five cent sticker slapped on my rear at a garage sale. Which is better than being un-cute, I suppose, and much better than being fugly. I’ll take it!

I was overjoyed to walk past the television yesterday and see that it was “Douchebag Boyfriend Week” on MTV’s Parental Control  — prime dude watching! I get cheap thrills out of pretending to act surprised when the ditzy, all-too-familiar grade-A cliché “girlfriend” goes crawling back to her weasel jackass boyfriend, especially after he has treated her parents like tools. I’m still trying to wrap my brain around what a woman finds attractive about her boyfriend leaving her to walk several miles home in heels on their anniversary, or dudes belching for that matter. In the words of my best friend in an angry state, “that girl doesn’t deserve parents that care about her.” That rings about as true as the show is painfully scripted. Ye-ouch.

On that note, the most exciting thing to the hour:

Now I be blogging nerdy. But typing really pretty.

Over, out.