Love can be so bloody complicated. It isn’t easy finding someone simpatico in aligning both your heart and vaginal needs. You think it’s easy finding someone that adores me as much as I adore myself? Believe me if I could run on the beach into my own arms I would.
Recently my dating landscape changed following a yummy bangover session this past weekend with Ryker. Laying on top of him in the dark our lips touching, his penis still inside me he whispers, “I love you, Kat.”
For a few minutes I didn’t make a sound. I just laid there blankly looking into the darkness of the room, then to the sky hoping for incoming asteroid to hit. Finally…..
Me: (Gulp) Aww… baby. That is so sweet. Hey, did I turn off the oven? I better go check.
So I won’t be working for Hallmark anytime soon. This we know. The funny thing is, I knew he was going to say “it” that night. For the past few weeks he has been looking at me the same way that I look at bacon. We have also hit our four month dating marker. It is typical dude code to wait three – four months before proclaiming undying love. Five months is anal.
There are so many ways a fella can let his woman know how much he cares. And if the past 20 years of sucking ball sacks have taught me nothing else, it is that sometimes men say “I love you” when they actually mean, “I think you’re wonderful.” Or, “right this minute I would trust you not to kill my cat”, or maybe they are really digging the blow job of the moment. They not MAY NOT FEEL THAT WAY A FEW HOURS LATER. I never fault them for it. I just look to see how often they say it out of the bedroom or when sober.
Saying I love you for the first time is like making hard-boiled eggs and dating 18-year-olds, it requires delicate timing. Too late and your eggs are hard as rocks, too soon and you’re arrested for statutory rape.
Before I say “I love you” to a gent I make it a rule to ask myself… “Can I poop when I’m over at his house yet?” (Please note that this rule has been field-tested for accuracy.) A guy may *think* he loves me after month three, but no dude should make that kind of statement until after he’s experienced the freshly scented aroma of one of my poo poo bombs or has a night of cleaning vodka & semen vomit out of my hair.
It isn’t like I’m not falling in love with Ryker. I have taken to him like a back alley hooker takes to crack and a “he don’t look sick” attitude. Don’t get me wrong, I can be romantic as the next gal in sharing my heart. When I fall in love I am loyal, compassionate, deeply devoted and altruistic.
It is more that I am cautious in the initial stages of a relationship. So my mouth tends to lag behind my heart in making those types of declarations of woo. I remember the first time my ex-beau Jake told me that he loved me. I had just moved back to Cleveland from NYC and wasn’t ready for a relationship yet. We had just came back from a romantic dinner when he gazed lovingly in my eyes and said: “Every time we have an opportunity to spend time together, I am drawn to you even more. I have a feeling I’m falling in love with you.” I replied with: “Maybe it’s gas?”
I know. How Juan Pablo of me.
For those of you without cable, internet access or a bucket to vomit in take note: For over a decade ABC’s The Bachelor has carved a tradition in bringing love to the masses of chiseled Ken dolls and silicone beauties with the sentient of a bottle of a Massengill douche.
What is it about The Bachelor that makes hos in high heels kiss their fists and brawl like they’re auditioning for a CNN reporter position in Egypt? Head pimp Chris Harrison must have a never ending conveyer belt line of sluts with occupations of “Dog Lover” and “Free spirit” willing to break a nail for an opportunity to marry the human equivalent of a question mark.
Say what you will but the show has a huge fan base giving it the shelf life of a cockroach or CHER. If ABC has their way, the last 5 people on earth will be found competing for roses (and potable water) on The Bachelor: Apocalypse.
Among a sea of vacant expressions and anemic apologies, Juan’s only redeeming moment was in him NOT saying “I love you” to the gaggle of gals who were willing to open their veins and legs in proving their unwavering adoration for him.
Five of the 27 women made their declarations of love from their Juan Pablo cum stained lips. But in a distant stare reminiscent of a toddler trying to learn quantum physics, Juan Pablo would respond to such overtures with a patronizing “eess okay, okay” or “you’ve been doing some thinking aye?,” then proceeded to initiate a session of tongue sucking. For a man who speaks English as a second language, he has an incredible vocabulary for evasion.
“Just know that I love so many things about you. That’s the reason I want you to be here. I love how much you care about other people. I love your honesty. So much. So much. Very honest. Very honest.”
“Don’t get cranky.”
“You want me to lie to you? I’m being honest.”
[Plays a romantic song on his iPhone.]
“I’m not gonna answer that question for you.”
“I loved fucking you.”
It is always jarring when a guy who ditches his daughter to dry hump a dozen drunk skanks in a hot tub turns out to be a selfish jag off. Sure, most reality stars are endless fountains of little malapropisms and mixed idiomatic expressions. But Juan Pablo puts the ass in ass cake. If slut shaming Clare (who he fucked in the ocean to make her feel better about herself), calling all gays perverts, and mocking the mentally disabled in a tweet, aren’t savvy life rules for all of us to live by, you’ll be happy to know…. he also parks in the handicap spots at the mall, spits instead of using lube during anal, and only tips 6% at Olive Garden.
By the time Nikki Ferrell, made her way to Juan Pablo’s proposal spot, the entire audience had to be a little worn out. Still we all hoped for the best after witnessing that brutal dumping of Clare, whose face still smelled like sweaty balls and Pablo peen nectar. Surely, Nikki would receive all the love and adoration Juan Pablo had been saving all season, along with the Neil Lane box burning a hole in his pocket. Aye? Aye?
It has been cringe worthy to watch Nikki beg Juan Pablo for some kind (any kind) of loving affirmation. After all, she has been in love with him for four months and he wouldn’t so much as say “I love you” in a cough or conversation heart. But apparently last month all that changed when Don Juan Pablo uploaded Adventures In Loving You to his YouTube page, The song created from the words he wrote and romantic barf moments the two have had together.
So what can we take away from Juan Pablo other than a herpes outbreak? That when it comes to love gauging emotions are always difficult, unless you are both perfectly in sync at that moment. Some relationships will always remain one-sided, with one partner investing more emotional energy than the other. But how common is it for a guy to say “I love you” first? Let’s go to the internet and find out shall we?
According to research conducted by YOUGOV men take 88 days to tell their partner they love them, compared to a woman’s languorous 134 days. And some 77% of men say it first.
Now because my mother was one DNA strand away from being the perfect genetic composite of Joan Crawford and Edith Beale, she taught me that a woman NEVER says “I love you” first. For whatever it’s worth, I never had to. I was born with a bullseye target on my forehead that sends out love pheromones to tattoo wearing commitment phobes.
If you read enough Cosmo you’ll see that saying “I Love You” first is like getting vaginal thrush. You never want to say it first unless someone is on their deathbed. Societal rules in dating tells a gal that an “I love you” uttered too soon, before the man has processed his feelings and reached the same level of adoration, could end a relationship. When a dude says it first, he is declaring something to you. When you say it first, it will most likely come across as you forcing it on him. (Thank you ridiculous heterosexual couple gender roles!)
I’m sick of hearing how men can’t be mind-readers but women should never be honest. If you’re going to design a relationship making “power plays” and doing all sorts of facockta stuff to try and protect yourself from losing an imagined power, then you probably aren’t ready for a relationship anyway. A dude will only take distance from a gal playing games in attempt to protect himself from the manipulation.
I have a thing for a dude that opens up like fruit, like an orange torn open, all jagged and tender. You gotta give it up for a dude who supports a performing life he barely understands. A fella secure enough to not only accept my keen knack for the sexual over share but makes GIF’s to celebrate it. I know I am lucky to have found such a gent. Prior to Ryker all I got out of online dating was an empty bank account, broken sphincter, and a VaJazzle addiction. Ryker is different. He encourages me to soar higher than I think I can fly. He loves me in spite of myself and my wrecking ball tongue. There is strength in the differences between us. There is comfort in where we overlap.
We race to fall in love in our minds, yet most of us are afraid to execute the reality. I believe the best way to say “I Love You,” is to let it grow inside you and spontaneously jump out. It should take you by storm. Love should be an inspiration, not an obligation. Love means putting yourself out there giving someone the power to destroy you, but the trust that they won’t.
Are you on the fence contemplating telling someone you love them but you aren’t sure how they will take it? Grab your balls. If you were lucky enough to have the type of childhood that didn’t destroy you from feeling “feelings,” and you truly love someone, tell them. They might get hit by a cement truck when out of your sight, then how would you feel? You can be vulnerable and still protect your heart. Tell them the Snarky Snatch way: Right after she sneezes say “God Bless You! I Love You! Hey is that Juan Pablo?!” Point and run away.
Speaking of Juan Pablo…
Sweet Jesus, Mary and Jerome. I would rather have a 1,000 fire ants crawl out of my vagina than date a piece of broccoli who will fain interest in a group of ladies, then pretend to propose to one, then pretend to have a relationship with her, then pretend to dump her a few months later after their contract with “Dancing with the Stars” ends.
Why don’t you pair your hot pink gym shoes with a neon sign around your neck saying: “SUCK THIS, BITCH” complete with an arrow pointing down to your penis so we don’t have to hear you burp up anymore jackbag tripe from your broken English, dry butt, nugget mouth.
This post was brought to you by: FTD’s “I Don’t Fucking Love You” Bouquets. I bet you were expecting some cute sappy sentiment with a card. Well, that is too fucking bad. When you don’t care that much…. send the very least. Send flowers.
Men always love a woman with a good personality. Since I have 10 I leave it to them to choose. Come talk with one of them on Facebook. It’s like a box of chocolate. You never know which one you’re gonna get.