Online Dating: The Saga Continues

Believe it or not, I've still got an online dating profile up on OkCupid. I have yet to run into anyone I know yet, but I assure you that as soon as I do I will take my profile down out of embarrassment. Until that day, however, I shall continue to torture myself with the depressing online dating world. 

It's fine. I just avoid the whole dating part of things and life goes on. You know. 

It's been a couple of months, so I thought I'd grace you with some of the nuggets of joy I've discovered and received on this site. It's so great when I stumble across these sorts of things because most of the site is just one big depressing and boring pot of genericness. No one knows how to write about themselves so they all just blend into one, personality-free blob of "man-profiles." I feel so sad because I think some of them are probably genuinely very nice or interesting, but I have no idea and thus will never talk to them because of it. Not that it really matters because even when I do start a conversation with someone who has managed to make themselves interesting, if I get even remotely excited or like "I could maybe stand meeting this person," it always somehow dies out right then. But I will talk more about this in an upcoming blog. For now, just sit back and enjoy this ride. 

First of all, I've noticed there are two main types of guys on OKC. One being the poetic, dramatic, and emotionally complex guy: 

And then this guy: 

They are both such gems! How would I ever choose? 

Honestly, I kind of have to swing towards the emotionally complex men. They are just more fun. Less predictable. Take this guy, for example.

 I mean gee. A dreamer. A social experiment. EYELASHES?!? Hold the goddamn phone. It's almost like he is a 13 year old female unicorn. Or something. I don't know. I do know I am fascinated. 

(Do you ever look at someone and immediately notice their eyelashes? I don't think I've ever looked at someone and noticed their eyelashes) 

Actually, there are an AMAZING amount of men who claim that they spend the majority of their time thinking about philosophical questions and concepts. Like, A LOT. 

We all know this is bullshit because men really only spend their time thinking about two things: sex and food. They're human. It's natural. Actually, women do too, it's just less socially acceptable for us to talk about it. I actually had the balls to admit to these things in my "I spend a lot of time thinking about" section. Because I am a real man. 

While we are still talking about poetic drippy men, I'm just going to leave this here. I found it one day and spent the next 45 minutes smiling with glee. It was the only thing on the profile. 

I bet he gets a lot of dates with this bad boy. I have something similar written in a notebook I kept when I was 14 years old. 

Oh! And speaking of men who like poetry: 

 I can't decide if I like the fact that there is a typo in "Iambic Pentameter" OR the fact that he randomly capitalizes OR more. Also just the material in general. I like movies and music! We're probably meant for each other then, huh?

This guy really had his priorities straight.

Needless to say, I did not message him. Because I clearly think of myself as god's gift to man. I'm glad I didn't waste HIS time. 

Here are some men that did message ME, though. 

LOOL. How funny that he asked me what I was up to in broken english. Hilarious. 

I love this one. It's like he forgot he messaged me something crude and offensive two weeks earlier. Yea, I am sure he thinks I am just chalk FULL of style and class. 

Also, note the username. A wee bit terrifying if you ask me. Just a little. 

THERE ARE ONLY TWO KINDS OF ART AND YOU MUST DO ONE OR THE OTHER AND I HAVE TO KNOW THE FATE OF THE WORLD RESTS ON THIS. 

He actually had a really good point. 

If I was also in Dubai I'd probably be thrown in jail for pole dancing or just wearing booty shorts in public... But at least I'd have a boyfriend?

I don't know why. But I just love this. Like, so fucking much. 

I do like "macaronies," stranger. No one ever asks me that. How thoughtful of you. I am touched.

Multiple men comment on how I look like some chick from Game of Thrones. I was first told this when I worked at Nerd Camp last summer and we were all sorted into Quidditch Houses or something and everyone was like "Oh, you're that wild-thang girl who hooked up with a snowman. She has red hair and you red heads are basically all the same, right?" 

Or something like that. 

I don't watch Game of Thrones, so yea. 

Actually, one guy on the site rejected me because of this. No joke. The transcript is below: 

I would have been offended, but after getting multiple messages like this: 

I dunno, I guess your standards just go down. Like, at least he is speaking to me like I have values. Kind of. 

Some guys try really hard to make this sort of thing ok. 

"I just want to have meaningless sex with you because I think you are hot but don't value anything else about you like your personality or your intellect or anything that you have accomplished or basically are except for a vagina, some boobs, and a nice round ass. I'm not going to give you any respect or any of my valuable free time. Let's just hook up so I can use you for your body and nothing else. BUT NO DISRESPECT OR ANYTHING." 

It's like when two guys suck each other's dicks and then say "no homo" afterwards to make it all ok. 

No. Just no. 

I like this one because he gave me so much to respond to:

He greeted me four slightly different ways. I mean, how could I not say hi back?!!?

If you could write children's books, you could also probably spell "meals" properly. 

Actually he was the first. And so far the only. 

Definitely a serial killer. Or maybe just a plain ol' rapist. If you're lucky. 

He sold himself so well. It's like walking into a job interview, sitting down and saying, "To be honest I have no experience in this field or have ever had a job in general. I am awkward and smell weird, I don't know how to interact with people, and don't have the slightest clue as to how to use a word processor. But I think this job would be fun! Will you hire me?" 

Um. What. 

The commas. Oh the commas. 

I am scarred for life. 

(Also what does it mean that my personality is "inclusive??")

I asked him if he used this line on multiple women. He admitted that he did. De-nied. 

Last but not least, this was one of the best. This is only just a paragraph from a several page long "proposal." It was copy and pasted from a man who admitted to sending it out to thousands of women in hopes that the right kind of woman would see it and go for it. It went on about who he was, his relationship history, and what he was looking for. It was his fourth version of the proposal, by the way. Yea, he'd sent it out that many times. It even had a FAQ section. I kid you not. It has been far and away the most fascinating thing I have seen on the site yet. 

So yea. I've gotten quite a few, uh, interesting messages and most of them I do not respond to. Especially the scary ones. But sometimes, I just can't help myself. Like this time, for example:

Or this one: 

And finally, I shall leave you with a collage of only a fraction of the guys who ask me about pole dancing and what got me into it. I am sure it a fascinating subject for them, but you can only give the "I was bored and wanted to work out and I took a class and liked it a lot" speech before you just want to scream and punch things in the face. 

I should make it a game and start making up a different story for everyone who asks.

"Well, I was hunting savage dildo-monsters in the jungles of Sweden when..."

Our Dearly Departed Bras

Dearest friends and family, 

We gather here today in memory of the dearly beloved clothes and lingerie that have left us all too soon. It was a great tragedy that I moved into a house in Lake Forest, California and stumbled across a most evil and wicked clothes dryer that obliterated these pure, loving souls long before they were meant to go. Not that clothing really has a soul. But you know what I mean. The point is we are sad. Because I said so. 

They told me I should not have put my bras in the dryer. Didn't I know?? Wasn't I taught?? No! Home-Ec is considered outdated and politically incorrect in our public schools! I was taught to do my laundry long before I had bras to worry about and thus never learned. Besides, no dryer had ever harmed my precious bras and jackets in such a way before. This dryer was malicious. This dryer was cold. Metaphorically, anyway. If it was actually cold it would not have actually dried my clothes. Which it did. Most of the time. When it wasn't MAIMING THEM.

I am removed now from the presence of this dark dryer and contemplate the lives which it took from me and look now upon my greatly reduced underwear collection. (I did not have much to start with, ok?) And so I must host this memorial, as it is the most I could ever do for those who did so much for me. Join me in remembering the beauty of these bras and jacket, and the tragedy that is truly our great loss. 

 

Our dearest blue kind-of-weirdly-lacy-but-not bra, 

You were purchased for $10 (plus tax) in Wal-Mart, which I never even would have gone to if it hadn't been for my Austrailian co-workers who were so fascinated with the place in the summer of 2011. Or was it before then? Was it in early 2010 when I was attempting to put together a dinosaur costume for the Sadie Hawkins dance senior year, which I never even attended but instead that evening watched half of Paranormal Activity at my friend Emily's house and then went to a random house party to get drunk? I can't remember anymore. In any case, when I saw you hanging on the rack, so cute and so affordably priced, I knew it was love at first sight. You were different then my other bras. You stood out. No, literally, because when I started exercising a lot, my boobs got smaller and your cups became too big. But I wore you nonetheless, because you made me feel fancy and girly, even if you were like a cave on my chest. You weren't even that large, just a simple 36A, but your unique shape was so wrong for me. But so, so right. 

I'll never forget you, blue kind-of-weirdly-lacy-but-not bra. You were getting old even when your time came. One of your metal hooks was already screwed up, so when it was your end I was not surprised. But I still mourned. Never again would I feel your ill-fitting cups caress me (not that I did much before). Never again would your black and blue stitching peek above my slightly lower cut shirts. Never again would I let your loose straps fall off my shoulders in the most awkward of moments. 

You were a good bra. Rest in peace. 

Sweet, loving strapless black bra, 

You always had my back. And my boobs. I picked you up in Kohl's when I was only 15 years old, knowing that you were soon to be an important asset to my womanhood. While we only saw each other occasionally, whenever I needed a friend to come to my aide in times of formal parties with strapless or off the shoulder dresses, you were there for me. I'll never forget how loyal you were to me. From homecoming dances to fancy garden parties, you always were such a faithful bra. And you never let me or my breasts down. You held fast to your duties, a sturdy bra through and through!

And look what horrors fell upon you! Your strap, ripped clean in half at the most random of places. I found the small end in my pile of laundry and was so confused until I finally came across your scorned body and wept. How could such a thing happen! How could a dryer do this to you! No really--how? How the fuck did that happen?  I am confused. 

Gone, but not forgotten. 

Especially now that I don't have a strapless bra and will probably eventually need one again for some reason. 

Oh! The black bra that hooked in the front! 

Your life was ended all too quickly!

I had only just purchased you at the end of last summer with part of my day camp paycheck. You were on the clearance rack in Target and I scooped you up along with several others and took you into my arms-- and chest. For a pretty reasonable price, I may add. You were a little small and cut into my ribs and armpits a bit harshly, but you held steady and strong. Plus it was worth the $3.50. And you were such a cute addition when paired with my way-too-big red bra during GoGo auditions and pole performances, making my boobs look ever so slightly larger.
How dare the world take you from me. How dare the dryer rip your clasp off and wrench your underwire almost magically out of you. I can't even figure out how it came out. It just did. And it was unfair.

Our love was so brief, but beautiful.

"Your end, which is endless, is as a snowflake dissolving in the pure air." 
-Buddhist Saying 

(It's ok. We don't get the quote either. Just go with it.)

Alas, poor paisley Onzie sports bra, 

I think I mourned you most of all. I had only just received you from Boulder Body Wear as a Christmas present in late 2012. I was so thrilled to have an exciting, colorful bra to dance in. You made me more beautiful than I could have dreamed as I swam on the floor and flew through the air. I felt like a legit fancy pole dancer with you around me. So simple, but so beautiful. You were truly an elegant sports bra. 

What a tragedy that you, too, befell the horrors of the wicked dryer. I found you, caught at the top of the door and wrenched you from the crack between the barrel of the dryer and its face, only to find you mangled and destroyed, your strap was in the most irreparable state. Oh how my soul wept in that moment. You were so fancy and expensive, and your print was no longer available for purchase! I would never have you again, especially not while I was unemployed. It was a dark, dark day when you left me. 

Lord, carry me through a life without you, for I am unsure of how I can go on. 

And you. My beloved sporty jacket. 

What became of you was so terrible. While you were not rendered fully destroyed, you were maimed and handicapped in a way that we both knew things would never be the same again. For how could I have known! You were just a simple jacket! Simple sleeves, simple pockets, simple zippers. When I first received you, also in Christmastime of 2012, I thought you were so delicate and fragile. You were from a fancy store on the 29th Street Mall, where everything is priced for middle aged white yuppies, and I knew in my heart you were too good for me. I was afraid to wash you for the longest time, but considering I did work out with you on, I kind of had to. 

Why did it have to be you? You were one of the most expensive jackets I owned! One of the newest! One of the most well made! You had cool designs and reflective thingys like I was headed for outer space with hot astronaut dudes! You had these really cool things I could put my hands in if they got cold, but I could still use my fingers. You made me feel cool, sporty jacket. You made me feel sporty, sport jacket.  You were super comfy and warm, but still light-weight. You were everything my heart ever wanted. 

Until the dryer came. 

And it ate your zipper. Ripped it right off. The remains were nowhere to be found. I would never zip you up again, sporty jacket. You would never be any good at what you were intended for again, just like a true athlete who gets a life changing injury and has to go back to normal school and become an accountant or something lame. It was the worst kind of irony. 

I still have you. I still occasionally wear you. But it is not the same. It never will be. And we both are forever broken by it. 

Why, why must the world be so cruel? 

I will always love you. 

...

Laundry will never be the same for me again. 

"The song is ended, but the melody lingers on." 

-Irving Berlin. 

How to Make Functional Friendships: The Gameplan

Now that I am all moved back into my hometown where I grew from the happy, ecstatic child I once was into the morose, cynical, and depressed adult that I am now, one of my goals is to work on improving how I interact with people.

I've been keeping a journal (a real one, where everything is genuine and stupid and written on paper so I don't *accidentally* share it with everyone) and trying to work through my social anxieties and issues with dealing with other people being close to me in my life. Even though I've [stupidly] taken on two jobs, I do hope to spend more time with other people and create friendships that I am not constantly stressed about losing.

So I brainstormed a bit and here are some parts of my How-To-Make-Friends Gameplan that I thought you might benefit from being forced to read about. Enjoy!


1. Be more selfless.

Make people cookies, give them rides, invite them to expensive concerts on my dime, or offer to trade clothes or shoes to garner closeness. Or underwear. This also garners closeness.

Or should I say garters closeness.

Eh, eh? Anyone?

It will bring us together, really!

If I am feeling really selfless, I will offer them my first born. If I happen to get pregnant way earlier than I ever desired, this could be really useful. Also I might accidentally be friends with Satan.

Hm.

2. Communicate what I want and need from them. 

I am just going to be up front about who I am and that I want them to be my friend. There is nothing better than blatant, uncomfortable honesty. In order to avoid the awkward conversations though, I think I will just wear signs around my neck, kind of like those allergy bracelets. I went on a date with a guy who had an medical/allergy bracelet recently. I didn't notice it until he showed it to me. Good thing I didn't order the brownie with the nuts. So mine will have to be much more colorful and large so no one misses it and is accidentally not my friend or something.

 Here are some examples that I think will work really well for me.

Ironically I got this idea from the kids novel "Stargirl" 

3. Throw wild parties at my house .

I learned this trick in high school. People will definitely like me better/want to be closer to me if I am willing to put my ass on the line to allow them to get wasted as fuck and throw up in my parent's bathroom sink. I will invite everyone I know and bank on at least a couple of them showing up and letting me be a part of their special "friend club" or whatever bullshit people manipulate their friendships into these days.


4. Call people at 3 AM with all my problems.

This will bring us closer. Especially if I am sobbing wildly. Then they won't be able to hang up on me right away. At least not without feeling like a really awful person. So if they do hang up on me anyway I can use that against them later. Like the really great friend that I am.

5. Get pedicures together.

We shall bond over shiny nail polish colors, awkwardly not understand the asian ladies who are talking shit about us and our bunyons right in front of us, and I will pretend to love hearing about their boyfriends and boring relationship problems


(...I just want to get my feet rubbed by Asian ladies.

I don't mean that in a perverted way.

I really don't.)

It just feels really good ok?!

6. Find things to do in common. Like exercise!

So I can beat them and win and feel good about myself.


If, in turn, they are more in shape than I am and beat me, then I will refuse to talk to them and they will no longer be my friend.

7. Get drunk. Play Mario Kart--the ultimate fun time friend activity. Then, to find out who my real friends are, play Mario Party. 

I am pretty sure drunk Mario Kart at 4 AM is better than sex.

It's all fun and games until someone takes out Mario Party though.

That is when shit. gets. real. 

8. DO NOT sleep with them.

Repeat after me:

Sex does not cure loneliness nor will it make people want to hang out with me more.
Sex does not cure loneliness nor will it make people want to hang out with me more.
Sex does not cure loneliness nor will it make people want to hang out with me more.
Sex does not cure loneliness nor will it make people want to hang out with me more.
Sex does not cure loneliness nor will it make people want to hang out with me more.



(Well, most people.)

This one is a big problem with me. Apparently.

Actually, every time I think about legitimately dating someone, I want to vomit from the stress. I also can't imagine anyone that I would actually want to date. Everyone. Totally. Sucks.

I just really miss spooning.

That is the Sexless and Cynical way, I guess!

I may or may not be a closet exhibitionist. If that is even possible. 

Although to be honest if a male friend asked me to split a churro I'd be pretty suspicious about his ulterior motives.



FRIENDSHIP FOREVER HERE I COME.

What is a Perfect Man Really Though? (A Retraction)

ATTENTION.

I'd like to post a retraction.

Well, I don't know if a retraction is quite the right word.

Whatever. I don't care.

A few weeks ago I wrote about How To Get Over a Boy in 12 Easy Steps. At the very beginning of this entry I wrote that the first step was to "be realistic," or in other words to seriously nitpick all of the potential deal breakers in said man and thus feel better that he was a jerk and you dodged a bullet. One of my examples was freaky shaped moles and how they can mar even the most perfect of men. I illustrated this example to make my point. I still stand by this. You shouldn't let your standards slide ladies! Be afraid of the funky moles! Very afraid!

Ahem.

Previous Depiction. We at Sexless and Cynical are very embarrassed for our mistake.

The point being that SOME PEOPLE may have confused my illustration and/or example of a perfect man with a real life person who apparently (although I have no concrete evidence/memory of this) has a mole on his arm. It does not help that when I decided to draw what I thought was a totally stock and generically good looking man, my subconscious stepped in and fucked that shit up. It just decided that what I have been attracted to recently was, in fact, "generic" when really I guess it was kind of specific to one person. Sigh. Way to go brain for making me look like a hopeless idiot. Yet again. Another gold star for you.

Then I went and labeled this coincidentally reality-resembling character as a "perfect man," which I assure you, was just because of the included hot guy jeans. Hot guy jeans really do make a man perfect. Every woman knows this. Duh.

Well dear readers, I fear I may have mislead you. What I drew was not my perfect man, by any means. It did not even scratch the surface of the depths of what I require in order for a man to be "perfect." I was lazy. I did not deliver my best. I apologize for not letting my artwork live up to the very lofty standards that I like to treat this blog with.

...

Really, though. I should have tried harder. It was a lazy drawing. I drew it in about 5 minutes. Which is SO MUCH less time than the other drawings I do. For sure... So now I will grace you with my retraction/correction/redrawing of what is ACTUALLY my depiction of a perfect man, based on my much older post: Blueprints for my Ideal Boyfriend. But now with added updates!! Yay!

*Photoshop may or may not have been involved with this depiction.*

Ideal Man 2.0

Upgrades from Ideal Boyfriend 1.0:

The face of Ryan Reynolds, because he is so dreamy.

The ears of Jimmy Stewart, because they are so adorable.

REAL washboard abs. None of that fake stuff! We are all natural here. This one is all American, too.  Added bonus. (Not actually being racist here, though. For real).

Balls of steel. 'Nuff said.

Toaster Pectorals. In case I get hungry and need a snack. One can be a Hello Kitty Toaster because he knows how to be playful.

Chew toy skin now kong shaped and with peanut butter inside, for my post-workout protein boost! Also, peanut butter toast anyone? Yea. Best. Man. Ever.

Laser eyes! So badass! They will stare deep into my retinas and know my true soul, which also happens to now be blinded...by love.

A heart like a pole. NO, THIS IS NOT A PENIS REFERENCE. I mean that he is at the core sturdy and reliable, not going to take my shit but still always respect me and my capabilities, always willing to be my partner and work with me to make both of us better and more beautiful people. Also the pole knows how to be patient and shut it's mouth and let me be angry or sad or whatever for a little while and then be there to help me pick myself back up off the ground.  It's sappy but I base my idea of "love" on how I feel about pole dancing and it is THE PERFECT METAPHOR. I am never settling until I can meet a man that makes me feel the same way I feel about pole. The end. 

Confused about the rest? Read the old entry to find out more! 

Now add in the mole. Doesn't that just ruin everything?? 

Good girl. You have learned well. 

We will be back to our regularly scheduled (ha) blog posts soon. I've got one all written up but it's been taking forever to do the drawings because MEN ARE BUTTS and I HATE THEM and they make me sad and it distracts me from being functional. 

Screw this. I am just getting a dog.

----

I just wanted to take a minute to say this because I just realized it, but "perfect man" is actually an imaginary friend I have that I like to talk to whenever real life people disappoint me or are butts or do generally annoying male things. If I am feeling sad or letting my thoughts wander to hopeless-never-gonna-happen daydreams, I resort to perfect man to comfort me. He is really good at it, because he is perfect. And yes, I actually call him perfect man and imagine him to be pretty much like the above depiction. 

I know. My life is sad. In a really fun way. I just felt the urge to share that with you. 

Bee and PuppyCat: The Zooey Deschanel of Cartoons

So this morning I woke up all sweaty like I do when I sleep in all my clothes and also have a really bad sunburn covering the front half of my body in the summer time. I was all hot and moist and guh-ross. But then, because it was still early-ish and I am a wimpy California resident, as soon as I got out of bed I was really cold! Oh no! So I put on my gangster slippers and drank a chai to warm myself up, which I forgot has the caffeines in it. Then I went around running morning time errands and went to aerial hoop and aerial tissu class and was all like "BAM I'M ACTUALLY GONNA TRY TODAY." Which was great because that hasn't happened in awhile and plus the classes were small with only 2 or 3 people and I had no choice. Afterwards I realized it was my last class with my amazing instructor Alysia and I was sad but! By some miracle I left and went driving around doing afternoon time errands and was not ALL sad. This was amazing, because usually even tiny sad things in my life turn into big sad things somehow and I end up having emotional breakdowns all over the place like a pregnant whore cat has little kitten babies all over your kitchen floor.

(Actually, I have been having a lot less emotional breakdowns lately which is good I am pretty sure, but also a little worrying in a weird way, if you know what I mean. Which you probably don't. But I do so shhhh.)

The moral of the story is that the caffeines sometimes give me super-not-all-sad-powers, which lets me think about things other than the spiraling black vortex of doom that I am fairly convinced is my future. And today my replacement thoughts were about cartoons! Because I'm a mature person. I was so energized by putting off important things like packing my life away and making confirmation calls for storage units and movers and figuring out financial aid for my new replacement temporary college that I decided to write about it. Hooray!

If you are an artsy fartsy kid like I am or if you are just an [im]mature little child like I also am, you may have heard of Cartoon Hangover's latest web series/movie? Bee and PuppyCat. Here is the first episode, if you care to see it.

I don't know about you, but this show is all over my internet. And every artsy fartsy animation kid I know is talking about it. It is only on its second episode and apparently already pretty popular. The show is created by Natasha Allegri of Adventure Time and Fiona and Cake gender-bend fame (click her name to go to her magical tumblr page!) If you don't know what any of those things I said just were, I don't know why we are friends.

Actually I do. It is because I am lonely and non-judgemental and need all the friends I can get.

So if you don't know those things, that is ok. Just know you are probably going to be confused a little bit.

But Meri, how do these things about cartoons and the internet relate to your blog and its mission to complain write about your disparate sex life, fitness adventures, and depression fun times??

I've said it before. And I'll say it again: This is my blog and I can do whatever the hell I want with it. So HA.

Actually though, you may not know this, but I go to art school and spend a lot of time devoted towards being a part of the art world, animation in particular. I don't talk about art much because me and the art world have a lot of relationship problems and it is kind of like the retarded cousin we all just pretend we don't have. I know what you are thinking. This explains all the amazing pictures you have seen on my blog. No, I don't get those from a stock website. I make those bad boys all by myself.

Look, there is one now.

I made sure this was in line with 90% of what I write about. Isn't it amazing?  You can definitely tell I've spent thousands of hours figure drawing. And yea, I used a Cintiq for this masterpiece. 

It is actually something of a dream of mine to create a Youtube channel very similar to that of Cartoon Hangover where there are a bunch of awesome little animated web series, except mine will be ten million times better because I will lord over all the decision making and declare what will be created and what won't because I am no good at making things myself but I like being in charge and am definitely going to be really awesome at it. I will have all these little artist minions and their baby shows slaving away to make my channel the most popular channel in the cafeteria. All the web shows will wanna sit at our table. And I will rule with an iron fist! Bwahahaha!

Also if you had to classify it, I write within the "comedy" genre (supposedly) and that is a lot of what I want to talk about with this show. So yea, there is a relation here. Really.

Kinda.

Sorta.

Anyway.

I'm going to get to actually talking about this animated show now.

Bee and PuppyCat only has two episodes so far, so it is pretty hard to assess it as a whole at this point and I feel as if I cannot make any truly conclusive decisions about it yet. BUT. If you watched all two of these episodes, you probably a.) see the relation to Adventure Time and b.) notice how it fits in with the "trendy" humor that seems to be rampant among cartoons these days. I would know about these things because I watched some cartoons on Netflix this week. Yep. Totally an expert.

By "trendy" humor, I mean the kind of jokes that stem from nowhere. It is all about being random. And weird. And odd. And awkward. And kind of meaningless. The story line is kind of disjointed and the reality of the world doesn't really sell itself as, well, reality. This is of course expected from a cartoon. That is what cartoons were made for! When I watched the episodes, there were some really funny bits. I particularly loved the "crotch ice" moment and basically any time Puppycat speaks with his? her? adorably bizarre voice. Also this:

In short, I was entertained by the show, however, at the same time something about it bothered me. It felt as if at times it took the surreality too far. The show was conscious that it was quote quirky unquote. I know that it was super douche-baggy of me to literally spell out quotes right there, but I needed to make the point. Bee and Puppycat seems to know what it wants to be seen as--in this case, the cartoon version of Zooey Deschanel-- and goes there just for the sake of going there. It doesn't use the random humor to be humorous, it uses it because it simply can and then expects us to laugh because it is just there and that is the kind of humor that happens to be popular at this time.

I was talking to one of my super friendly friends about it yesterday and she seemed to make a good point about it. No one acts like the main character in the show. It went so far off the deep end that I could not connect with it. Even if you took out all the crazy fantasy/sci-fi adventures involved, humans/characters/life are not remotely like that. They don't speak that way, they don't act that way... with one exception.

Tumblr.

The show seems as if it was made by the internet for the internet. Well... It is a web show. So I guess it is. Duh. This is great if you really like the internet. But this reminded me of a quote I used to have as my desktop background and that is a part of the most inspirational poster that I've ever owned and keep over my desk at all times:

By Good Fucking Design Advice, which always provides good fucking motivation in times of need. 

I think the quote means to say that everything we see on our computers was already fabricated by someone else. It only has a limited means of expression. Just like a Lite-Brite board, what you can get out of it or create with it can only fit into certain peg holes. You are limited. The real meat is elsewhere.

Don't get me wrong. I love the internet. It is my life force. Then again, it is also my prison. It is probably the No. 1 reason why I feel disconnected to the people around me. And yes, that is "number one" spelled like "No. 1", which means it is officially legit. I could go on and on about the ways the internet has ruined my life and enslaved me (maybe in another blog?), but let me just ask you this: How often when you sit inside all day and look at mildly entertaining cat GIFs on the internet that make you chuckle for 12+ hours but then you go to bed at 3 AM and want to cry into your pillow about your life and how sad, unproductive, and miserable of a human being you are? And how often when you go out, spend time with friends and family, live life, see and experience new things, bask in the sun, and feel nature and society thriving around you do you feel alive and meaningful, even if you haven't necessarily done anything "productive," or maybe you have, you special little duckling?!? Which one really makes you energized to imagine epic possibilities and come up with new, original ideas that are like OH YEAH like the Kool Aid guy?? Yea. That's what I thought. Real life wins.

There is a lot of cool stuff on the internet, I know, but I think there is value in taking inspiration from real life and we tend to forget this. It is an important lesson to remember in an age where we can easily spend our entire day behind a screen and/or forget the real world exists outside our little dark box houses. Bee and PuppyCat has thus far failed to make me feel like it has much of a basis in real world humor (besides the crotch ice--that could totally happen to me, heh), which is why I think it bothers me.  It takes from what is already known in the internet culture. This speaks volumes in itself about society today in regards to how it functions in partnership with the internet, but I kind of want more out of it. Real life still exists. For now, anyway.

I have high hopes for it and will continue to watch Bee and PuppyCat to see what it becomes. But honestly, I hope this whole trend of random, "quirky," awkward humor I have been seeing in cartoons these days eventually moves on and just becomes a fad or a stepping stone in the progression of cartoons and comedy. Especially because sometimes I feel that because of my exposure to it, I fall victim to it as well. In times of doubt I will reach into my "random box" for a joke that isn't actually that funny, it is just random and awkward with the illusion of being funny. I feel lazy when I do that. As someone who sometimes refers to herself as a kinda sorta comedy writer, I should do better than that.

For now, I am going to go back to my good ol' humor stemmed from pain, which we all know is the best.

Classic comedy gold right there. 

Ok, that is all the non--completely-self-absorbed writing you get for now! I have to get back to complaining about my privileged white girl problems, stat! Otherwise I will melt. Into cheese.

Mmmm cheese...

If you are offended about anything I just wrote in the post above... well... WHAT DO I KNOW I AM JUST CHEESE.

Look at me. Totally random. No better than Bee and PuppyCat once more. I even used the Calarts face. For shame.