She’s a man eater

Two disclaimers before I begin:

First, I am not a man-hater.

Second…oh fuck it. I hate them. I really do. Well, some of them. Some. Just like I hate some types of women. Like the kinds that have penises. So, you see, I’m equal opportunity.

Seriously, I have a problem with just a few men, particularly men that display three specific characteristics. Luckily, the majority of males don’t perform the terrible three – at least not at the same time and certainly not in close proximity to my face – which allows me to coexist peacefully with the opposite sex.

How did I come up with these three things? Well, it’s not like a kept a list over the years. Frankly, I never even thought about them until a recent plane ride I shared with the missing link and his trifecta of wrongness.

I’m going to dive right into the three things and then I’m out. I’m not even going to spell check this thing. Really. Think about the most disgusting thing you’ve ever seen until you make yourself gag. Now multiply that times a nice number like five. Feel the burn in your esophagus? Good. That’s how I feel right now.

Pick a winner, ‘cuz you’re a loser. The first thing I noticed about M.L. (my nickname for the pig, abbreviation for Missing Link) was his fuzzy ears. Like way fuzzy ears. The guy was young, too. This doesn’t bother me. It just screams to the world that (a) you are single and/or (b) you’re gross. It does. Just like dudes that wear a ring on their index finger are gay and dudes that wear a pinky ring are douches, fuzzy ears scream that this dude potentially has hygiene problems and quite possible can’t hear you when you mention it to him.

But, again, the fuzzy ear thing is not a problem. That’s just an indicator. And boy did I call it. For the portion of the plane ride that M.L. was awake, he was picking his nose. Not a swipe. Not a scratch. A full finger insertion with the quick counter- and clockwise, back and forth rotation of the wrist. Then he sprinkles his findings all around him, like if he’s garnishing a pizza with mozzarella. Really man?

I considered throwing up in his lap was when he pigged out on cookies and chips right after one of his pick-fits. But then I thought it might exacerbate his already existing problem of pulling the seam of his shorts out of his ball sack. This leads me to the second deadly man-sin:

With legs wide open. Why? Why is M.L.’s leg, which is almost as fuzzy as his ears, rubbing up against mine? Because he just happens to be straddling the seat, apparently making room for his huge package. Only, I noticed, while calculating where exactly to “accidentally” spill my coffee, that a Ken doll has, in fact, more bulge than my seat mate. Perhaps his frontal wedgie caused his privates to concave into his perineum, but from what I gathered, the only dick in sight was him.

Gentlemen, leave the leg spreading to women and bottoms. Especially if you have nothing to show.

You sock. If fuzzy ears are a warning, wearing white socks with dress shoes is an alarm call. Yes. M.L. hit the douche-baggery trifecta with this one. Wrapping your feet in white, athletic socks and then sticking your foot in anything that is not an athletic shoe means that you can’t read on purpose. Not a forgotten illiterate that will become an inspirational story of overcoming obstacles featured on NPR. No. Just someone who refuses to find information on their own. Like someone that played some sort of organized sport in high school and got to take a bus ride to a neighboring county and now touts themselves as a world traveler – and claims to know the difference between athletic, dress and casual shoes.

After the flight, M.L. and I parted ways. I considered talking to him about his life choices, but frankly I was too grossed out to open my mouth. So, instead, I’ve written this for his benefit. And for anyone out there who thinks that he could attract more flies with boogers than with good hygiene.

Wait a minute.

Oh, whatever, I’m too nauseous to fix the analogy now.

I've got nothing.


If you know me. If you know me well. You would know that one of the causes that is near to my heart is homelessness.

By taking care of our homeless and hungry, we take care of the elderly, gays, veterans, drug addicts, the mentally ill and intellectually challenged. We would take care of teens, women and minorities. Most of all, we would take care of our poor, which is a lot of people.

But, there’s a scary trend out there. One that I thought had long died in my college days. The trend of rich kids posing as homeless people. I know, I know, this may be a little hard to believe, but I witnessed it in the great city of Coral Gables this weekend.

Coral Gables, much like Miami Beach and South Miami, are known for its homeless, which makes it a great spot for an impostor to hang out.

There we were, reconnecting with friends, when the impostor drove up on her bike. Before I was able to reach for my purse to offer money, I noticed her. I mean, I took a real good look. Under the dirty finger nails and soot-soaked hair and face, I looked at her unlaundered clothes and her mangled shoes and her super expensive bike…

That’s a really expensive bike, I thought. It was shiny and new. And brand name. How could she afford it?

So I looked at her face again and I recognized her. I didn’t know her from the streets. I knew her from college. From my days as a chain-smoking, horn-dog, when all I did was repeat all of the big words I learned in class.  It was the seven-semester senior, who was  not only old enough to  drink, but was old enough to be a Freshman’s mother. It was her — in the dirty flesh.

She was still pretending to be a drifter, a bohemian, a panhandler. Still, after all these years.

It was awkward, to say the least. But what it did was piss me off. How could she go around pretending to be a mendicant? Her! A wealthy daughter of the revolution!

I tried to call her out on it by using passive aggressive sarcasm, only she responded with:

“Oh, Mari, your facetiousness, although it may fall viscerally on your friends, the lucidity of your facetiousness does fall upon my dirty finger nails and unbrushed teeth.”

Maybe not the last part. But, still, a very convincing speech for someone pretending to be a poor, unfortunate soul.