Stupid Chicks!

I have long loathed them... Stupid Chicks.  The women who hang out waiting for the next morsel to come their way from the man of the minute.  God I hate Dumb Chicks.

They say that you feel the strongest about that which you fear most.  I guess you could say I am scared of becoming one.. a Stupid Chick.   If I were to be honest, I would have to say I am petrified of it.  I have watched it happen to some really great women.   Always over a man.  Every time.  And it is so damn ugly and sad.  And it makes them all look fat.  I hate looking fat.


I have seen countless strong women taken down as if they were no more troublesome than a wet bag of kittens, or a bag of wet kittens, or some other pathetic simile.  And all by a damn man.

What is it about men that make us women go bat shit crazy anyway?

Now don’t go getting me wrong.  I love men and most everything about them.  They way they smell, how hard their muscles get when they are working, how their arms can be feel so safe.  And if they can fill out a pair of jeans well - damn honey.  How can you not love ‘em?

Well actually...

No!  This is not a story about the shortcomings of men.  It is a story about smart women who seem absolutely blind over the shortcomings of men in their quest to love them.  Or to have them.  Or to acquire them.  It is a story about the stupid things smart women do... over men.  It is the making of The Stupid Chick.

I belong to an organization where there are perhaps three times as many women as men.  Of the small population of men, a very small handful of them are worth a damn.  And of that, only about five total are “shit hot”.  All I can say when I see these guys.... surrounded by a bevy of hot babes is “Damn!  It must be good to be them.”  This thought is immediately followed by the thought “If I EVER become one of those chicks, shoot me dead!  Right away.  Between the eyes.”  I should really write that down and send it to my friends so that they can actually take care of this for me.  Actually, that should be past tense.  I should have written that down.

So Dear Reader, what do you think comes next in this story?

Yes!  ... I went and did it.  I became one of those hanger-on Stupid Chicks that I so loathe and often poke fun at.  I must say, there are not enough showers one can take to wash that humiliation away.  Believe me I have tried.

I fell hard.  For a charming guy... who said he wasn’t collecting anything, but that he just loved my smile.  And I gave him the ole “Cute.  Nice even.  No thanks.  I am not one of those women.  But you are cute.  Thanks anyway.”

But he followed me.  All over.  He just kept popping up everywhere.  Or I’d hear something that sounded like my name being sung to some really sappy love song.  Or out of nowhere, he’d appear almost accidental like.  And he would talk to me so sweet.  Well shit!  His smile was 100% disarming.  And damn could he fill out his jeans.

Always wondered what it took to make a smart chick stupid.  Now  I know. 

Hot men.  You think they aren’t so smart.  My girlfriends and I even have a rule.  When you see a really hot man, we look only and NEVER engage him in conversation.  He will have nothing interesting to say.  He will say something totally inane and trite, or else he will curse right off the bat while referencing some sports team, thereby forever ruining the illusion.  We found this to be true so many times it became gospel to my group of friends and me.


So when from this man’s mouth sprang wisdom, and words so beautiful that singing birds followed him around, I begin to see fireworks and picket fences and baby booties - STOP!!!  Please understand I am well past child bearing age -... baby booties.  Well gentle reader, I just sort of fell.  Right there.  On the ground.  Almost like when I trip up a curb, or walk into a wall when I am not paying attention.  I had one of those totally and completely ungraceful fallings.  Right there in front of him.  Know what he did?  Yeah!  He smiled at me.  Then he put out a hand and helped me up.  Fucker!

For a while it was really fun.  Then eventually, as it usually does, life came into focus in all of it’s clarity.  And as women do, I begin to question the reality of what we had become engaged in.  And as happens when you do that, the rest of the world starts to come into focus that is startlingly crisp and clear.  And I started to see stuff.  Stuff that I didn’t really want to see.

I began to see how I was there most often, but by myself.  Or how the tone of the conversation had changed from how beautiful I was to “make me a sandwich bitch”.  Yeah - OK that didn’t happen but it made for a better tell in the story.  Actually what happened was I asked him to share his feelings.... where whatever we had was going.

And in case you are wondering.... worst idea ever!  It was worse than that time I decided to cut my hair like Rod Stewart's during his Hot Legs1980's period.  Man!  It stopped hot dude right in his tracks.  All those pretty words?  Gone.  Vaporized.  Anything remotely interesting ceased to come from his mouth.  And he started cussing.

Well, needless to say - whatever I started to see then, I denied.  Just like the rest of the Stupid Chick idiots.  I just told myself I was imagining things.  Besides, by then I was "invested". Stupid fucking word.  I held hope.  I thought.... and here is the rub... I thought... well, maybe it will get better.

Fuck me!  It never goes from worse to better.  That is the biggest Smart Chick mistake ever.  Smart Chicks know this.  But Smart Women who are into hot men making them Stupid Chicks completely turn a blind eye to this simple fact.  And they hang on.  And then hang on more.  And then they hang on a little bit more.

In my case, I think while holding on and being dragged along during my “it’s gonna get better phase” I passed by a mirror.  Not one of those skinny fun house kind either.  A mirror that was really super big, and sat in front of about 45 super white florescent tube type light bulbs.  Not only did I look ridiculous bumping behind this guy while holding onto his shirt hoping for him to change, I had a zit on my forehead.  Also, the angle that I was bumping along at made me look super fat.  And my mascara was smudged. 

And I knew right then and there what I had become.  I had become “Dumb Chick” (da! da! da! dum!)

And so what did I do?  Well I cried of course.  And then I did what every Stupid Chick does.  I went to him to tell him how I felt about it all.  Dumbest Stupid Chick Move ever after hoping worse goes to better.  Well - what do you think happened?  Show of hands how many thought it got better.  (Wow!  Only one dolt in the audience today.)  The rest of you are right.  He called me a crazy bitch.  ( He was sort of right by that point.)  I found the only recourse available was to either stay right there and be lumped in with the rest of the Crazy Bitches (some stupid some not so stupid) or to walk away.


Eventually I was able to locate my self-respect and I did walk away.  But not before I laid down some really embarrassing Smart Chick Being Stupid  words.  Words like “Please stop me from doing this” and “I will always love you.”  I'm a fucking idiot!

So there you have it.  The story of how I, yes me, was for a brief moment one of those cursed Stupid Chicks.  To this day, when I pass by a pair of blue jeans in size 34W 34L,  I swear I can smell the stench of Stupid Chick Desperation.  That should really be bottled and sold as an preventative cure for middle aged premarital sex.