My Type…

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For a long while I was unaware that I even had a type. “Boy is my type” I’d say. I heard Pamela Anderson say it back when she was Pamela Anderson Lee and they still aired new episodes of Bay Watch and I thought it sounded cool – she saved lives on TV it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Anyway, I always had a general sense of what I was attracted to: broad shoulders, scruffy chin, athleticism, Ryan Gosling – the usual. But it wasn’t until the past few years that “my type” fully emerged.

Let me begin with a brief description of myself in high school… Remember how in junior high there were two types of kids? One was kind of chubby and a little bit big for their age and the other was the saddest, scrawniest thing you’d ever seen?

I was the latter until I was about 18, but with huge sunken eyes, braces, and eyeliner with no mascara.

Here I am 1st Day Sr. Year

Here I am 1st Day Sr. Year

Needless to say I was the pick of the litter in those days, and had to beat the dudes off with a stick.

...And on my 18th Birthday...

…And on my 18th Birthday…

Not.

But it’s no surprise that my type bloomed as late as I did, and now that I’m about three and a half years out of my awkward stage it’s becoming clearer and clearer… My type…

Is:

Gingers.

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I love them.

I love the fiery armpit hair they have to offer, the one skin tone on this planet that’s paler than mine, and the fact that they freckle in the sun instead of tanning. They always have something else weird going on too like a speech impediment or a short thumb that I find adorable.

Now if you ask me, only three out of five men in my life worth mentioning were honest to God gingers but I guess the other two are grandfathered in on a count of their reddish facial hair and their:

A) freckles, or

B) Irish skin.

Potato, tomato – My mom never lets me live it down…

As a halfling, (they call me strawberry blonde but, in truth, I was a ginger baby)

Diva

DivaTotal DivaTotal Diva

I feel as though I need to stand up for my people and love them the same as if they weren’t a genetic abnormality. I honestly feel that I’m drawn to them as if fate brought our similar hair colors together. Either that or God really is playing the Simms with us and is purposefully trying to mate me with a pure bread so we make Him more little baby cupids.

Boom. Berry Blonde.

Boom. Berry Blonde.

 

Either way, here’s a list of hot gingers I’m throwing your way so you can catch my fire:

Jessica from True Blood

Jessica from True Blood

Owen from Grey's Anatomy

Owen from Grey’s Anatomy

Gettin' Some Ginger Lovin'

Work It.

Emma Stone - Duh

Emma Stone – Duh

Isla Fischer

Isla Fischer

Prince Harry

Prince Harry

Ron Weasley

Ron Weasley

Louis C.K.

Louis C.K.

Conan

Conan

The Cutest Irish Setter You Ever Saw

The Cutest Irish Setter You Ever Saw

 

And the list goes on my friends… The list goes on…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An Ungodly Affair…

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After much deliberation with the voice in my head on whether I was going to be a productive member of society and run after work today or be true to my American heritage and catch up on Dexter while eating potato chips; I decided that being skinny during beach season sounded like the best option. I begrudgingly covered myself head to toe in Lululemon and off I went.

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I’m pleased with my decision for several reasons:

1. Beach season

2. An old lady fell and I was there to help her

3. I was faced with a religious statement to ponder

As I rounded the corner of my first half mile and threw up in my mouth I saw her go down. I ran as fast as I could to get to her and took her hand to help her up. While this was going on a man driving by saw a seemingly capable young woman struggling for dear life trying to lift a tiny old lady. He pulled over and together we helped her get up and she was ok and on her way. Once she carried on, Mr. Man explained to me the proper way to lift someone up off a couch and the difference between helping someone off the ground. Thanks. Then instead of making small talk or simply shaking my hand and leaving like a normal person he left me with these words:

“Just because you’re a good Samaritan, doesn’t mean you’re going to Heaven.”

That’s a really weird thing to say to someone you just stumbled across doing something nice for someone else… A “God bless” would have worked… Perhaps a Mazel Tov or Lachaim, or good yontif would have also been accepted.

I was baffled by this statement so much so that through the entirety of my run I was deep in thought.

What does this man know about me to make such a statement?

  1. I selflessly help strangers
  2. I exercise
  3. I wear black eyeliner/mascara to signify the devil
  4. I wear spandex to lure men into the depths of my loins

I think the only reasonable conclusion I can draw from such a statement is that Mr. Man was questioning my virtue and purity as a woman.

Since when does wearing breathable, un-inhibiting work out apparel make me the modern day Mary Magdalene?

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I’m sorry kind Sir, but I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what being a good Samaritan means, and questioning someone’s biblical purity is certainly not what’s going to get you into Heaven either.

So I guess I’ll see you in Hell bro – Maybe I’ll be the Siren that lures you into the depths of Hades.

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Rude.