Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Another One Bites the Dust

Yes, that's right folks yet another temp job has gone the way of a Hollywood romance. And when I type Hollywood romance I don't mean romances we see in movies, but rather the romances that occur between people who live in and about Hollywood--movie stars and crack addicts alike. We thought it would last a month but it turned out to last 2.5 days. It's funny how my life so frequently parallels Brittany Spears. She had a marriage that didn't last a week and I had a temp assignment at an investment bank that didn't last a week. It's like we're the same. Plus she has big breasts and I wear bras. Crazy I know.

This time to my credit I did not get fired. I used yoga to stay out of trouble. I utilized the bunny position. Basically, I'd go to work sit in my chair and stay very very still like a frightened bunny. Bunnies are wise and know if you don't move then the predator or your supervisor can't see you. And if they can't see you they can't eat you or give you work. I then had to use Jedi mind tricks to surf the internet all day. I'll tell you with all my skills like yoga, and user knowledge of the force you'd think they would have kept me on longer. But instead they decided to hire a human being, otherwise known as a permanent worker.

-------
When a temp assignment ends before you thought it would it's like dating a boy you weren't that into. Who then stops calling and emailing. The thing is you didn't notice he stopped making contact until someone asks "What's up with that guy you're seeing?"
"What guy?...Oh... Yeah, that's not happening."

Friday, January 27, 2006

Logically

I feel cold today. I must be internally bleeding.

You done broke the Deal

Someone asked if I had ever witnessed a deal breaking moment while on a date? Below is the answer I supplied.

I went on a date with this kid that my mother had set me up with. No, my mother never met him either so it was a blind date squared. She had, however, met his mother and found his mom delightful. My mom discovered the delightful lady had a single son. Using her own theorem my mother figured if A + B= Delightfulness (where A and B represent my mom and her new friend) then it stands to reason that a + b= grandchildren (where the lowercase letters represent the offspring of the capital letters).

The young man called me one day asking to get together. I told him I was going to see Tito Puente at S.O.B’s that evening and he was more than welcome to join me. He told me he didn’t know who Tito Puente was but was game nonetheless. For many the disparity in our pop culture knowledge would have broken the "deal" right then and there, but I figured he was only 22 and Irish American he was allowed not to know of the Latin Percussionist. Really he got a pass because he was down with girls who didn’t wear make-up.

I picked him up at his parents’ house and drove us to the show. As we’re driving he said it was cool that I was a girl but I knew where I was going, and he didn’t have to give me directions. I thought it odd, but wasn’t ready to throw him out of the car. When we arrived I must have had a look of longing as I watched the dance floor because he decided to inform me on his dancing policy, “I don’t dance unless I’m wasted.” Now, this should have been the deal breaker, but Tito was too good for me to pay it much mind.

The deal breaker occurred after the show on our drive back to NJ. As we drove along the Hudson River I stated that the river at night is serene. He replied, “Serene that’s a big word.” I looked at him and said, “It’s six letters.” “Yeah, ah well it’s a word not often used.” And that’s when I knew my mother had to be killed lest she fix me up again.

Thursday, January 26, 2006

Food Exercise

Eating sugar gives us energy and then leaves us worn out. It is the same effect we feel after exercise. Therefore consuming sugar and sugar products is just another way to get in shape.

Skating the Comedy Half -Pipe

I recently contemplated quitting comedy. Then, last night I got a call to temp for a month (or until I get fired-tee hee hee) and I realized I'll never be able to temp again, therefore starve, if I didn't think that one day I might actually be doing something else. I can't quit comedy because I need a pipe dream to keep from starving or drowning in my own salty tears.

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

Stormy Weather, I Think Not

This NYC winter has been pleasantly mild for the most part. Many of the days have been over 45 degrees, and I'm loving every minute of it. Environmentalists don't worry it's not a sign of global warming. We all know global warming is a slow warming trend that can only be detected decades at a time. The fact of the matter is my boyfriend Jack developed a weather machine in hopes of controlling weather patterns in NYC. Last winter, when he read emails of my suffering through bitter cold days brutal month after brutal month until Mid-April, his heart ached. At the time he resided in a far off land providing hankerchiefs to the runny nose tribes of Glandenead. He couldn't even offer up his body to help keep me warm. He vowed upon his return that I shall never suffer a full month of freezing temperatures again. So he taught himself meteorology, physics, biology, and mechanical engineering on his flight back to NYC. It was a long flight.

All summer long, while I thought he was practicing zen meditation in Prospect Park, actually, he was building a weather machine. It has worked pretty well thus far. Granted, there have been some mishaps like last week with the 60 mph winds. Oopsy. And then the batteries died during the transit strike, so I had to ride my bike to work in 27 degrees. It was too cold to go riding around New York to scrounge up 40 AAA batteries the machine needs to operate, but without those batteries we couldn't warm up the city to get the batteries. It was all very Josesph Heller.

Jack felt frustrated that week. But I laughed at the absurdity. I told him "I have your love to keep me warm, " The weather machine that's just a bonus.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Sing my Amore

There is a song lyric, "I love you more than life." Is that a compliment? Only if the person singing it has an amazing life. If Jeff Magnus, writer of said lyric, is a friggin crack addict living outside of a dumpster then his sentiment doesn't say much. If that's the case he better love me more than life. It'd be a compliment if he sang "I love you more than crack." That's love. Though, I must commend him for finding the wherewithall to write a song considering his living conditions. In fact it's amazing that he's able to stop thinking about crack long enough to write a song. From that perspective it's pretty sweet. "I love you more than my shitty downward spiraling life, but I was able to stop hussling for a half hour; put down the stolen television I was about to fence; pick up my guitar; and, write you a song."

I'm all a flutter just thinking about it.


**please note I do not mean to imply that Mr. Magnus is a drug addict, I don't know the man. I know people who know him because I'm that cool. Those people I know never mentioned crack. Yes, they did mention crack but not in regards to Mr. Magnus. Nor did those people show any signs of crack use. OK they were kind of skinny. Pretty skinny and never worked out. But I doubt they did crack as these people live in Portland, OR and we all know that meth and heroin are the drugs of choice out there. Not to say they did meth or heroin they never mentioned any such use, again though they were thin and in bands and living in Portland. My father once told me that more people die of drug overdoses than heartattacks in Portland, OR. I thought that meant that most Oregonians were just incredibly fit. Though these muscians were hardly. However, they also aren't dead so who knows.

Just don't sue me**

Monday, January 23, 2006

You Must Stretch

I pulled a muscle. My heart is killing me. I guess I'm not going to be able to use it for awhile. I dont' know exactly what happened. I think it was all the vacillating. I left a situation prematurely and then I tried to re-engage and next thing you know, ouch! I'm not as young as I used to be and I can't just particpate in activities without stretching first.

Art and Life

I saw the "Broke Back..." this weekend with my mother, and my grandmother. Lovely, little flick. I don't know that it lives up to the hipe, but a satifying movie experience nonetheless. After the movie I returned to my parents' abode to finish my laundry. While my clothes were drying I parked myself on the sofa next to my mom where she was watching the "Notebook." I have to admit tears began to stream down my face and I had to continually swallow hard to keep from balling. And I only saw the last 7 minutes of this movie.

Here's my question. Why can I feel such empathy and warmth and even sadness to fictional lovers in movies, but when I see my friggin roommate and his girlfriend all lovey dovey on my couch I wish for their death? I look at them and think they don't deserve love. They deserve to be dropped in the Sahara with no water miles and miles away from any other human. Granted, the Brokeback Cowboys don't leave dirty dishes in my sink. James Gardner never used the last roll of toilet paper and then didn't replace it. Heath Ledger hardly seems like a pendadict pseudo-intellectual.

I guess I'm correct my roommate doesn't deserve love.

Friday, January 20, 2006

The Truth Could Wig Everyone Out

Have you ever been lied to? Then, while hearing the lie you knew the other person was fibbing? However, you couldn't call them out on their mendacity because the way in which you know the truth is uber creepy? You can't just say, "Italy. Really? You weren't in Italy. There is no record of a plane ticket purchase on your credit card. What did you swim, Mr. Edward Harry Temme? (1st guy to swim the english channel.)"
They would then respond, "How do you know I didn't purchase a plane ticket to Italy?"
Then you'd be forced to admit, "Uhh. Well, umm. I kind of hacked into citi-bank's computer system to see what you were buying." And once the flood gates open you'll wind up admitting, " See, if you weren't buying anyone else gifts then I wouldn't feel bad that you weren't buying me gifts."

You can't have that so you have to sit there and pretend that they are getting one over on you. "Sure, you didn't call me back because you were in Italy. Fine. Did you enjoy your trip?" And then they would say, "Yes, I found the Italian food in Italy very Italian tasting." Which leads you to take your pen and jab it in your eye. Which somehow is less creepy and disturbing than admitting how you know the truth.

Thursday, January 19, 2006

Press

Hey everyone. There is a change to the performance calander. My appearance at Rififi tonight has been postponed until next week, I think there is a comedian very very intimidated by me and was scared to perform on the same stage as me in fear that he could never follow me. People, it's hard being a comedy powerhouse. Some say I'm being paranoid and having delusions of grandeur. To them I say, "You're lucky I'm the only one who can hear you otherwise, I'd give you such a smack."

However, if you really need a Parenta comedy fix check out Timeout NY this week. They've printed my picture and a joke in there. Hopefully that will tide you over until next Thursday.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

God is a Rock He is an Island

I've heard many times after awfulness has occurred in the world, "God works in mysterious ways." "God is testing your faith." Really? Is that the God you people believe in? Is God so emotionally insecure that he has to push people away constantly? He has to leave you before you leave him. Did he have a tough childhood? Did his parents abandon him at early age which led him to create this tough outer shell keeping people at arms length--forever, testing your loyality like a movie mafia boss. And only after you have endured his torture will you finally gain his trust. Of course he always loved you, he just has a really difficult time expressing it. Is this the God you subscribe to?

If the answer is yes, then let me be your god. I can be mean one minute and loving and kind the next. And without the messy earthquakes, well there will still be messy earthquakes but unlike your current god I won't take the credit. And I'll have a rational non-mysterious answer on why the messy earthquake happened.

When you pray to Rachael a threat of a baseball bat to the head is the worst you can expect from my wrath. I probably won't actually ever hit you in the head with the bat but I'll definitely threaten it. On the flip side, I won't save your premature baby, but I will listen to your troubles and unlike the other guy, I'll give you advice-- not cryptic advice written, for the masses thousands of years ago.

Also note that no one speaks for me but me. You'll know that I was pissed at you because I told you I was, or I'm being uber passive agressive, or I'm chasing you with a bat. I dont' need Pat Roberston speaking for me.

So if you're looking for an emotionally stunted god, but don't want the messy natural disasters, r the beuracratic red tape leave Yaweh behind and give me a try.

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

Riddle

What's the difference between an optimist and someone who's full of shit?

The optimist smells better.

Monday, January 16, 2006

More Life lessons from Millionaire

On October 4, 2005 I relayed a life lesson to my journal. I now type it to the blog so that the internet literati do not have to my death, when my journals will be published post-mortem, to benefit from my great wisdom. Do not fight the erudition I impart. According to that astrology book Destiny my life rambles down the path of "Instructor." According to the Birthday book, I was born on the day of the "Persuader" so if you do fight me you will loose.

Back in October I watched an episode of "Who wants to be a Millionaire" because that's the way I roll. I eat vegetables in my scramble eggs while watching morning game shows. Stop feeling inferior one day you may also achieve such greatness. Just keep working hard. On the show a contestant had to tell an anecdote. This contestant told a story of a bad blind date. The contestant did not in anyway seem scarred by the experience. Meredeth, the host, then consoles our non-traumatized yarn spinner by saying, "You don't need him. He's not worth the effort."

Meredith, of course she doesn't need him. Proof: she does not have him and she is not dead. She needs a more interesting story. Well, not need, perhaps use a better story-- that's a different topic. The only things she and any of us need are water, shelter, and food. And if you really, think about it, Meredith, those so called necessities won't prevent us from eventually dying. No matter what you eat or who you date or who you eat you will eventually die. We as people need nothing, or conversely we need something none of us have ever gotten. Or perhaps we have this mysterious something but someone we all screw up, wind up loosing it, and then of course die. Or that something isn't even on Earth. It sure as hell isn't a million dollars which this contestant didn't come close to winning.

Further, I don't think you, Meredith, telling this young woman that she should not bother to put effort forth toward a young man she never did put effort towards will keep her alive indefinitely. Basically she doesn't need your cliched advice. But what if she did put forth effort towards courting this young man, then surely it was worth it, even if it wasn't needed. If she put effort forth then obviously she liked him. And if she liked him she should put effort forth. I'd I agree that if she put effort toward this young man and didn't like him that would be foolish. But who does that, Meredith? Besides Barbara Walters. We all know Barbara is a sociopath who would do anything to string someone along just for the attention. I don't have to tell you that Meredith, you work with that heartbreaker. You're contestants, however, are not so cruel and crushing.

Lesson: You need love like you need a whole in the head; like you need water; like you need food or shelter; like you need to tell a lame blind-date story to that Meredith.

Sub Lesson: Barbara Walters will cut you just to watch you bleed.

Friday, January 13, 2006

One Random Old Joke

I have a friend who is just way too supportive. No matter what I say I'm bad at he's there to help boost my confidence. I mentioned how I’m such a bad liar. And he was like, “don’t say that about yourself.” You are a great liar. Hell, I never trust a word you say don’t sell yourself short.” What? And this other time I was talking about how I couldn’t give blood cause I didn’t weigh enough. He’s all, “sure you do, you’re huge. I barely thought you’d fit through the door.” Pete, I don’t feel bad about my weight. “And you shouldn’t you’re big boned and beautiful.” I’m so bad at one night stands. “Now how could you say that? You’ll sleep with anyone, remember that small handed fellow you were with?”
yeah but we were dating and it took us a like a month before we slept together. “Please you’re the biggeset whore I know. Don’t sell yourself short.” You’re just Fat lying whore and don’t let anyone tell you different.
Thanks, Pete.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

Myspace

Several months ago whilst temping I met another temp. As we took apart human resource files she told me how she met her last boyfriend on myspace. "What?" I thought. "People meet dating prospects on myspace?" I forgot before myspace was a place for bands, and now comedians, to harass people about their shows it was a place for regular humans to meet one another and possibly connect for some sex or a cup a coffee.

I recently got myself myspace space. You could stop by and listen to a joke and an older version of my song "Sober" feel free add me as a friend, the goal for an artist on myspace is to have as many myspace friends as possible, so that you can prove to some booker or something you are popular. Of course we can always negotiate the sex and coffee.

my myspace profile

Don't worry Friendster you'll always be my favorite even if you I can't upload audio.

Self Promoting not My Bag!

I have an electronic mailing list. I send out notices about once a month to inform those who requested info on my performing where abouts where about I'm performing. Most people on my electronic mailing list are males who I've met in social situations. Instead of asking me out on a date they instead ask, "Where are you performing? Put me on your mailing list?" Which I do.

Here's where I fail as a self promoter. Last night I did a show at Mo' Pitkins. The producer of the show asked me to get the word out on the street about the show. So I sent off an emergency, last minute mass email to the contacts on my electronic mailing list. Here is an excerpt of my message regarding the show, "... Also did I mention the bartender is Hotty Hot Hot. Hot. Like Gabriel Byrne hot except younger like 30 years younger and in incredible shape. He's hot. So come on down to the free comedy show." Needless to say none of my electronic mailing list people stopped by. However, today I did recieve an invitation for drinks to ring in 2006. Here's an excerpt of my response to the invite. "I'm on the wagon!!! I can't believe you would ask me to drink alcohol with you. And by the way you might want to look at your own drinking habits. You are an alcoholic. Ever since I started the program I've been able to spot an alcohol abuser a mile away. Turns out most people on the planet are alcoholics...." See I'm a comedian and I figured if they were unable to attend a show I should bring the show to them. Do you think he knew I was kidding?

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Pat Benatar is not My Guru

Pat Benatar once sang the very dangerous phrase, "Love is a Battlefield." Its destructive power increasing exponentially when set to a catchy pop tune because now it's branded to our brains. A blog can not compete with a catchy 80's tune, but I've always been one to take on the impossible.

Love should not be a battlefield. Stop the battling against people you love. I know you're scared. I know all you want to do is post pictures of yourself on the internet making out with Jake Gyllenhaal to drive the dude you're casually seeing nuts. And I know that the married guy in the suburbs feels neglected by his wife, so all he wants to do is neglect her back. Stop! Stop now. Love should be less like a battlefield and more like golf. You and your partner should play against the course not each other. When you land in the rough don't take you're two iron out and just hack away destroying the fauna and everyone's patience. Take a moment and take a breath. Ask your partner what club you should use- ask sans the sarcasm. If you need to take a drop and loose a stroke, that's not weakness, it's playing within yourself. Yeah, I hate golf too. Let's move on.

"But how can I move on, Rachael, I think he still might like me." So call and ask him if he does. "My friends say that's a bad a idea. Then I'll loose 'hand.'" You're friends are stupid. Vulnerability isn't weak and foolish. You asking them to dicipher someone else's actions is foolish. They don't know what he thinks and feels. You know why? Because they're not him!!! In all likely hood he doesn't like you, but you don't know for sure until you ask. So ask so he can crush all the hope out of you. Hope ruins lives. Right now you think there is a chance, that he's big a Pat Benatar fan who just walks around his home singing "Oo Ee Oo Ee OOo. We are strong no one can tell us we're wrong...something something I don't know this part... Love is a battlefield." Which could be true, probably not, but could be true. So go find out. Call and call and call somemore until he calls you back. Or just call two times. You have to balance bravery with social norms, I guess. Something about harrassment laws. Though, if he refuses to give you a straight answer show up at his home and wait until he gets back from work. Then cry like a baby when you emotionally get kicked in the solar plexus. Next, try to force yourself to like that really sweet accountant. I mean your friend thought he was cute.

Happy Birthday, Pat, though we're not invincible.

Monday, January 09, 2006

Misspeller Unite

I have a sitetracker so I know you're reading, don't even try to pretend you're not. The site tracker informs me of how people found the smallhands_ick. Whether you got here from a link on Will McKinley's blog

or some other website or blog. It also let's me know if a google search got you here. Such as "Gabriel Byrne's girlfriend." But other searches have been much more fruitful for smallhands_ick. Did you know that if you google search the word "oozies" my blog is the first site listed? I know this because of the number of Canadians that have clicked on over here from that search. Now if I had used the proper spelling of the automatic machine gun, which I think is Uzi, I doubt I ever would have been found by my Canadian non-spelling bretheren. There are quite a few people out there who also spell a certain serial killer's name this way, Jeffery Domar.

I think this is the way it should be. I don't know that my writing really speaks to those spelling bee champs. My audience consists of people who will not be confined by the English language's spelling rules. No, we are freedom fighters. We are the none spellers.

Saturday, January 07, 2006

She's Happy about It

My best friend Anna called me this afternoon ecstatic. She elated through the phone, "It quit. It's given up. Finally, my libido has packed it in. Retired. Realizing there's no work, the company has gone under, it's cashed out it's 401K, retired to sunny Florida, and gone fishing! Woo hoo!"

I questioned, "This is a good thing?"
"You better believe it. For months and months all I could do was think about sex and I wasn't getting any. The constant thoughts keept my up at night. As much as the thoughts were pleasurable the whole thing was torture. But the last couple of days and nights I have been able to think about other things. About songs, and traveling to Egypt."

"You're going to Egypt?"
"No, but I'd love to go. And until this week I never knew that."
"I guess this is quite a break through."
"Yeah. I'm scared to date ever again, because I think relations with a boy might bring old libido back from the shores of menapause."
"You're only 29."
"Rachael, it's a metaphor, come on."
"Right. But are you sure you don't want to date."
"Well, If I date again I'll make sure to wrassle me up a fuck buddy to wait in the wings, for the inevitable break up."
"Well, there's a positive attitude."

Thursday, January 05, 2006

Like Dating a Boy

I got fired from my temp job last night. No, I didn't like the job, but it sucks anyway. Kind of like when a boy, who you weren't that into, breaks up with you.

"You're breaking up with me? YOU, breaking up with ME? Who are you to break up with me? So what if I'm a ball of apathy. Yeah big deal I make long distance phone calls on your phone and play free cell instead of going down on you. You get the feeling I don't like you that much. OK maybe I don't, but I really like the meals and a place to sleep.

And then if that wasn't enough. The gym called today to inform that due to poor attendance of their kickboxing class I wouldn't be subbing the next few weeks for which I had been scheduled. I explained to her the last time I subbed that class in October the people really enjoyed the class. She said she knew it wasn't me, but they had to hire a heavy hitter to try to remedy the situation. This one is kind of like getting dumped by a guy who you do like but weren't really dating.

Him: "Listen, you're great, well maybe you're not. I really don't know, but I know I want something else. Sure, I haven't given you a chance. But why should I waste my time? I know we haven't gone on date ever so perhaps this conversation isn't really warranted, but better to be safe than sorry. It's not you. Not that it's me. No. It's defintely not me. Maybe it's us."

And putting these two situations back to back is like you're dating a boy; and, that boy is the universe; and, the universe punches you in the stomach really hard; and then says, "I had to punch you in the stomach because you're going to have no money for food, and I don't want you to feel hunger pains."

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

Can you tell I don't have Cable?

Jack came over the other night to hang out.

Oh yeah, that's right I never told you guys, Jack found a place and moved out. He's the luckiest boy ever. He has a 1200 sq ft. two-bedroom apartment in Park Slope, Brooklyn for $300 a month. Completely renovated!!! And not fake Park Slope at 3rd avenue and gunfire but right in the heart of strollerville at 7th Ave and Union street. (For those of you who live in the middle of the country this is an unbelievable deal-- too good to be true.) We did discuss the option of us both moving into this place, but I don't know that we are ready to move into together, I don't care how good the real-estate deal is. There is always next year or the year after that or the year after that, as he signed a 5 year lease. We'll see. Life is long and there's no need to rush anything. It's funny for $50 more a month he could have rented a one-bedroom in Union square, but he wanted to be closer to me. I know I have the best boyfriend ever. Sorry peeps the Union Square place is gone. We told Anna about as soon as we heard, but even she was too late.

Anyhoo Jack came over to my place. I know he's got the amazing pad, but my roommates have been out of town for the last couple of weeks and we wanted to revel in their lack of presence. One of my favorite things in life is to lounge on the couch with Jack. While loafing we caught a glimpse of that show "Beauty and the Geek" In passing I mentioned that these guys don't seem so awful to date. Most of them seemed amiable, smart, and not unattractive. OK, there were a couple of guys who were unattractive, but the rest of them were fine looking, I don't mean FINE as if I were a large black woman, but fine as in completely acceptable.

Well, Jack flipped out, "Is that what you find attractive? Is that who I am to you some geeky geeked out Geeker McGeekerson?!"
"First off, honey you're not Scottish, so I don't know how you'd be able to be a McGeekerson. And secondly, you're hot--I'd even say Fine. Not only would I say the italicized fine I'd say it while doing a little head wobble and lasso snap. "
"Oh. So you're the geek in this relationship."
"How could you be a geek with that wit?"
"Hardy Har."
"Now sit back down so I can put my head back on your chest."

Then we changed the channel and watched "House." A show about a cynical, drug abusing, sarcastic, middle-aged doctor. Now he's attractive--Yum! But I'm a quick study and kept my mouth shut.

Monday, January 02, 2006

Boyfriend once Sought

In 2003 I broke my ankle and was on crutches for five months. This was the personal ad I placed at that time:

Single white cripple seeking mobile, automobile owning, male who needs to be needed. Will exchange physically awkward sex favors in return for laundry service.

Sunday, January 01, 2006

Defining the Drink

In my travels to bars near and far there seems to be a huge misunderstanding about why a gentleman might buy a lady he doesn't know a beverage at an alcohol serving establishment. Many a man will verbally discharge, "I purchased a drink for that fair young lass and then she didn't engage in intellectually stimulating conversation with me! I'm now perturbed." Other sometimes they even state, "I procured drinks all evening for that gentle-lady and she didn't reciprocate with sexual intercourse. How very inconsiderate of her."

The drink is not a purchasing tool. When you go to a dinner party and bring a bottle of wine do you expect sexual favors from the hosts and other guests? If you do I'd like to mention that the 70s are over, so keep those car keys in your pocket.

We've all been taught since we're 5 that we should not talk to strangers. They'll kidnap us, put is in a van, and next thing you know all we remember is that our first name is Steven. This is why you buy a woman a drink. The drink symbolizes peace and good intentions. She does not know you, so you need to let her know that you mean her no harm. It's hard to strangle someone when you have a wallet in one hand and a greenback in the other. "Yes, Rachael but we shouldn't take candy from strangers." That is why you send this token- this small gift-this symbol that you don't want to kill her via a neutral third party such as the bartender. In this way you may just get a chance to speak to a young maiden without any pepper in the eyes or tasers to the ribs. That is of course if she finds she has the time and energy to partake in conversing with a stranger.

"Yeah, that's great but I bought her drinks all night and no sex." Is that really why you continued to buy her drinks? Upon further reflection you might find a different answer. Perhaps during your conversation you discovered you both work in bio-chemical research. Can you say, ”kismet?" But then you also learned that you, the male make 30% more for the same job. Did that not blow your high IQ mind? Seeing the lack of logic in the situation you decided to do a little redistribution of wealth. Not that you are a Marxists. Not at all. You are a young-blooded, All-American, capitalist bio-chemical researcher. But it's a Friday night. You want to see how the other half lives, so you buy drinks for someone who makes less money than you. You wild and crazy guy you.

If it turns out she makes more money than you stop the conversation right there. You're a man! Do you really want to be with a woman whose mere existence castrates you? Exactly.

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Two notes:
1) If you buy a woman too many drinks she'll be too dizzy to even kiss you never mind take you home.
2) Prostitutes cost more than $6 plus tip.