Wednesday, October 12, 2005

All that glitters

WARNING: this is a rare emotional post from a slightly inebriated Petstarr.


Seriously. Why are we SO FUCKED UP? Don't get me wrong - obviously, I'm a chick and I like being one and wouldn't want to change it (unless some SERIOUS deals were done...and I'm talking SERIOUS). But tonight, I finally caught a glimpse of what men complain about all the time, and ladies - I didn't like it one bit.

Here's the scene: I was invited to a fairly "swanky" event at the Art Gallery tonight, so off I went in my signature sequins (if you want sequins or glitter, come to Petstarr, baby) feeling pretty OK about myself. Sure, I probably shouldn't have had that schnitzel this week, and yeah, I could have done without that curry, and OK I agree, I look much skinnier in those photos from Thailand that were taken two years ago, but hey - I was looking OK and everything was basically alright.

Cue the speed dating. Yes, the event I was at this evening had planned a "speed dating" component, whereby lovely singles got to meet other lovely singles in an artistic arena, having opportunities to discuss the artwork in front of them for a short period of time. So if you didn't like the person you were stuck with, you could just wax lyrical about the lovely painting in front of you for 90 seconds before escaping.

All went well (apart from being stuck with two gay guys and a computer science student for the main part of the exercise) until I finally got to talk to the one decent looking bloke there. As soon as I turned up at his "station" I was unceremoniously cut off by Psycho Bad Roots Girl (hereto known as PBRG) - a crazy bottle blonde girl who badly needed a hair appointment (to address her underdone roots situation). She wrapped her arm around him and slurred "I'm his friend, I've known him for aaaaaages, so I'll just stay here and give him moral support".

Um, right. or you could just make everyone's life easier and FUCK OFF.

Having decided that a bitch fight with a fake blonde was way too much effort for this little black duck (considering there was free champagne afoot) I made a pathetic 90 seconds worth of speed-dating discussion and retreated downstairs to the bar, where I of course bitched at length about the psycho insecure bottle blonde who had cut my lunch.

But of course, it didn't end there.

After a few more champers I decided to give this bloke another go, PBRG or not. I located him across the courtyard standing with some other friends of mine, with PBRG drooling in the background.

I sauntered over with some mates, keen to make a friendly "Hi these are my mates, let's meet your mates" situation, but instead was greeted with TYPICAL PARANOID FEMALE AGGRESSION, which I have now decided is the most bullshit and unnecessary of all attack techniques.

Seeing me approach, PBRG says (under her breath, but not really) "Ohhhh HER. We met HER upstairs in the speed dating thing..... Desperate housewife."

Um... HELLO???? I'm twenty-fucking-five! (But frankly, if you think I look like Teri Hatcher I'm not going to complain.)

Firstly - when did you become so paranoid that you feel you need to put down someone who says "hello" to your "love interest" (I can only assume that's what it was about)? And why are you so goddamn insecure in the first place? Get over yourself for christ's sake.

With the benefit of hindsight (and a few extra drinks) I can say that I wish I had pulled up and said "Excuse me? Housewife? What did you say?" and really see how she dealt with a bit of confrontation. But of course, like the nice Libra that I am, I let it go.

Not only did I have to deal with this, but when I got to the Exeter afterwards some random in the toilet said: "Mmmm. Nice top. Very...sparkly." to which I replied "I had to go a function before this, it's not my usual get up."

"Was it a GLITTER theme then?" she said.


I've got my angry boots on and I'm wearing them to bed, goddammit. Women should just learn to get the fuck along.

End transmission.


  1. You rock, Ms P. And don't let anyone tell you otherwise (especially little girls with obvious hair and fashion issues). :)

  2. i dont rememeber writing this, but it sounds a lot like me.

    wonder if this is what i do when im asleep.

    ps. yr a genius

  3. Just feel secure in the knowledge that her overbearing, nasty and downright pathetic behaviour is going to impede her future relationships with objects of her desire.

    Or she'll be chattin' to a counsellor soon.

    Or she'll meet a girl who likes to punch on...

  4. Good call, Petstarr.

    Maybe there should be a support group for victims of TPFA.

    In my male-dominated workplace, the girls try so hard to 'prove' themselves that they are quite happy to hang shit on anyone that they can to make themselves look better.

    It's not a good look.

    Not at all.

  5. Well if you put on some black gloves, and take out ze chloroform, and smother the whores with wet chloroform sponge, and tie zem up and put zem in your car, and drive zem to wictoria square at midnight, you can make a wery nice bonfire, yah? I had a girlfriend like zat bottle face slutten once and I made a bowl out of her hip bones. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Yah.

  6. Anyone who makes us chicks wear our angry boots to bed is not cool at all. Great post. I always know I'm in for a good laugh when I come to visit here.

  7. Blah @ that chick. Nasty piece of desparate-ass. And hows HIS form?

    HE should have said 'look, PBRG, fuck off, I want to talk to this dazzling glittery sexy woman, Petstarr,ok?"

    Bah, Women can suck, but boys are also pretty gutless sometimes *ducking*

    Take off your Libra hat one day and let loose. Feels good, but make sure you have your friends ready to either support you (right or wrong) or make a fast exit with those angry boots.

    If you do want to see this guy again, contact the organisers of speed dating, and they'll pass your number to HIM, not his rottweiler.

    Great post!

  8. Better still, use angry boots to kick some bottle blonde arse.
    What the fuck is it with males who turn to jelly when their egos are stroked by some obviously desperate PBRG with a brain located somewhere between her ovaries and her cervix?
    If he's that dumb Ms P, then you're way way too good for him.
    Like Gossy says, you rock.