Life Sans Sandals

Hey everyone.

Sorry for being so quiet. The last few days at the sofa lab have been insane, I had no time to think about eating, let alone women.

However, a gem of a gal on Twitter named Natalie gave me some grand advice to help push me along on my mission.

“Always ask for consent,” she tweeted to me before offering even better advice:

“Point out of you see things that are sexist.”

Wow, how simple. Or so I thought…

I’ve been spending my free time thinking about what is and is not sexist. Roads: not sexist. Trees: not sexist. Roof shingles: totally not sexist.

It was right when I got blue about not mastering the skill at identifying what is and is not sexist like feminists do that I looked down and realized the answer was right in front of me. One step at a time.

It was when I was sulking in disappointment that I caught a glimpse at the footwear I had chosen to wear at the bottom of my stocky gambs.

A pair of light blue thong sandals. How could I be so blind?

This pair of flip flops were incredibly sexist. Flip flops are for women and here I am appropriating culture of the opposite gender, and for what, comfort? Ease? Whatever it is, it’s not worth it and it’s time for change.

Today I am saying goodbye to flip flops and hello to tevas, birkenstocks, and anything else that screams “I’m a man.”

I’m done being a bad feminist and I won’t flip flop on this issue.



A Pleasant Surprise – Or A Sad One Man Show?

Hey all.

Date was last night. Unfortunately there’s not much to say about it. Especially if you ask her…

She barely said a word the whole night.

Now, don’t get me wrong. It was a pleasant surprise that for the first time in a long time I was on a date with a woman who wasn’t yammering on about some mindless nonsense that no one cares about like the Kardashians or make up or some other thing women like.

But quite frankly, I left wondering if she was mute and whether the few whispered peeps I got out of her were prerecorded phrases projecting from a tiny speaker in her mouth. I felt like I was on a date with myself.

Though quiet, I thought she smelled nice so I asked her if she’d like to go out with me again this weekend.

She murmured “ok.”

I’ll let you know how it goes.


Fielding the Inevitable – “Do you think I look fat?”

Big news guys. I have a date tonight.

I met her online and she looks very cute. She seems nice and says she likes to cook. That’s a huge plus.

However, something else about this girl is a huge plus.

Her size.

Now first, let me start by saying I think she’s beautiful and I love her honesty. Her profile pictures are very unforgiving and she is brave to show off her vivacious curves right off the bat. Guys don’t actually like those stick-thin models that society says we do. In fact, my coworkers and I down at the upholstery firm spend hours every week talking around the water cooler telling each other about our sexcapades, and more often than not the guys focus on how big certain parts of her body were.

The problem I have is fielding the inevitable question: “Randy, do you think I look fat?”

I’ve been asked this before and I panic. I know it’s the end to tell a girl she looks fat, but I’ve also been taught never to lie. This puts me in a terrible position.

The last girl that asked me if she looked fat told me I should become one of those panhandling street statues that move only when they’re thrown a tip because of how long I sat and stared at her when I couldn’t come up with a good response. Thankfully, she eventually went to the bathroom which gave me enough time to coerce the waiter into saying I went into anaphylactic shock due to cross contamination of shrimp with my lasagna in the kitchen. But, I’ll spend my whole life savings on tipping the wait staff if I keep having to rely on them to bail me out when thrown the fat card.

So far, my best plan is not only to not answer her question, but to give her no answers at all. When I hear the word “fat” I will only respond in question form, skirting the topic entirely.

“Randy, do you think I look fat?”

“Why would you say that, Jane?”

“I don’t know, I am just feeling a little bloated and chunky. Do you think I look okay?”

“Did I forget to tell you how lovely you look tonight?”

It should be foolproof. Wish me luck.


“Meeeeow!” – Catcalling

Hello folks,

Randy here.

In an effort to be a better feminist and to find a forever mate, I reached out to some people on Twitter who identify as such. I got some good advice.

One of which was Jen Ashley Wright who, for the upcoming holiday, calls herself Jen Ashley FRIGHT! Quite clever for a lady.

She mentioned that many men don’t believe women when they say catcalls happen. I didn’t believe her.

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“Just weighing in here,” Mrs. FRIGHT tweeted at me, “but I think the best thing my husband does is listen to me and believe me when I, say, tell him catcalls happen.”

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“This feels like it might be a low bar, but there are an awful lot of men who won’t believe women unless they see videos or recordings,” she continued.

I was shocked.

I couldn’t believe there was an epidemic of men who had grown up in such a society in which they had never heard a catcall. I was thinking about all of the kind people in my neighborhood growing up who were good, hardworking folks, that would come home after a long day at the office or factory and holler at their beauties that dinner was ready for them on the porch.

I immediately went searching for video evidence to support Mrs. Fright in her truth that this happens. It was only after my search that I realized what she meant by “catcalling.” I had to regather my thoughts.

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According to the world wide web, a “catcall” is a verb which describes the action of making “a whistle, shout, or comment of a sexual nature to a woman passing by.”

Once again, I was stunned. Stunned at the realization that I am a catcaller and that this way of appreciating women is found to be highly problematic.

I was unaware catcalling was an epidemic, and quite frankly, more unaware that it is one that is even noticed. Women never notice me when I do it.

“Are you sure those are supposed to be worn on your legs?” I told one woman in my neighborhood last week. “Because those pants sure fit like a glove.” Her perfect rear was ready to burst out the seat of her pants as if they were as fragile as Ken Bone’s olive suit. I wanted her to know I noticed.

But she didn’t even bat an eye.

Another lady with the most beautiful eyes I have seen since last May’s Playboy centerfold was the cashier at Panera while I was purchasing my usual Saturday afternoon Broccoli Cheddar Soup and Bear Claw Pastry combo.

“I know I’m supposed to be checking out my Bear Claw Bun but I can’t stop checking out those baby blue blinders,” I told her.

“That’ll be $8.74,” she responded. I gave her my debit card assuming she just didn’t hear me.

I’ve heard women like wit so I don’t see anything wrong with telling a woman I think she’s attractive as long as I do it with a little flair. How can I let a lady know I admire her appearance without being anti-feminist?

Thanks in advance,


Welcome to my journey. Hope it’s a short one.

Hey all. Welcome to my blog.

My name is Randy and I’m looking to get randy. Haha. Just kidding…

But not really.

This is why we’re here.

At 37 I am looking for love. Specifically with a woman, because I would like to procreate.

I’m a nice guy but have had trouble finding a nice girl to settle down with. I used to think it was the girls I was going out with, but then I thought….

“Hey…….. maybe the problem is me!”

Just kidding, I didn’t think that. Oprah did in a YouTube video I watched and I found it profound.

So… in an effort to be better at finding “the one,” I decided to try a few things.

1. Blog daily to get my thoughts straight and get feedback.

2. Be a better feminist. I appreciate women and want them to know. I’ve added “feminist” to my online profiles so ladies will know I’m on their side.

Will you join me on my (hopefully short) journey?