Definition: Enty (Enties)

The Enty is almost always a woman, usually one with an aggressive behavior. I came up with the term "Enty" about 20 years ago when I was stuck on coming up with funny sentences based on word spellings.

I had a girlfriend at the time (I was in my teens, she was 20) and she was a real bitchfest of drama. I have no idea why I stayed with her, she was bitchy, PMSy constantly, and loved to blow things way out of proportion. Most items she moaned about were not even important: "Why did you leave your closet light on this morning? Don't you know it kills people!" or "I really don't like rye bread" So why did you order it? "I don't want to make a fuss." Then she'd moan about the rye bread she ate for the entire day.

After about 4 months of dating, I had enough. I didn't really like her, and every moment I spent with her I found her less and less attractive. I had decided to break up with her that weekend, and worked hard not to make any plans with her. This made her even more bitchy, which was almost a positive side effect. "Movies?" I'm not sure. "Dinner?" We'll see. "Come over to my place?" If there's time.

Friday rolled around and I hopped over to her place. She was bitching to me the night earlier on the phone about how we didn't make any plans. This taught me how to be adaptable, so I learned at least one positive thing from the short term relationship. When I was in her place, she nagged at me for clashing my shoes with my belt. Yes, mother.

I never argued with her, I never fought back. There's no purpose, it's useless. I'd just nod, not really agreeing with her verbally. Eventually she calmed down.

I think this relationship is getting worse by the day. "What do you mean, worse?" I don't think we should be seeing each other. "Am I ugly? Fat? Boring?" I wanted to say yes, yes, yes but the fact was that she was none of these things, not in reality. In my mind, she was all of them. We just don't click when it comes to managing our feelings. "That's because you're cold!" I had just had a bad week 2 weeks ago, and almost had reduced myself to tears. When she saw it, she said "Don't be a baby."

So she ranted about why I was wrong, why we were fine, why things were only getting better (mostly because she taught me to shut my trap and I never talked, ever). I listened. Then I said I appreciated her thoughts, but I wasn't happy and it was obvious that she wasn't happy either (this part was a lie, but it worked). She thought about it and asked if we'd be friends. I said maybe, but not right away. In reality, we were never friends again until many years later, after she took a poor sap of a husband and introduced me to some of her gal pals (who generally hated her, but put up with it).

We hugged. She cried a little bit. I told her she's beautiful and the right guy will come along, and I'm glad she understood. I was a little sad myself, but I can't think to this day of WHY I was sad. It wasn't that serious, and I didn't like her much. Maybe it was because she was pretty (I don't fall into that trap again!).

As I turned to leave, she said "See you around, Sane." I repled "See you, Enty."

She never got it.

Now, whenever I meet a woman who is a bitch of a woman, I'll call her Enty to my friends. I know two women who are roommates, and they're horrid people. I call them the Enties.

For those who don't understand, highlight below the lines:

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See You, Enty = C U N T
See You, Enties = C U N Ts

Get it, now?
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So be it.  It works for me.

Definition: The Comerag (a female douchebag)

I feel I need to set up some definitions of terms I will use in the future. Here is the first one: comerag.

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I hate douchebags, douchebaggery and fake confidence in men. They abound in Chicago, and run the whole gamut of scenesterism: hipsters, dudes, rock stars, playahz, frat-things and worse. You can usually tell who the douchebag is by his company of followers, but if he's traveling solo, it can be a bit more difficult to detect.

While douchebags are a-plenty, there is a secret society of female douchebags which I have coined the come-rag. I think it should have the same flow as douche-bag. Douche bag, come rag. Douchebaggery, comeraggery. They both sort of have the same game plan: meet lots of members of the opposite sex, pick one to go home with, repeat within 48 hours.

I have no problem with casual sex. I try to get to know my lovers sober before I'm in their bedrooms, but at the very least I do agree that sex can be a necessity for many people. The problem I have with douchebags and their female counterparts is how inappropriate their lives are beyond just getting plastered and hooking up.

I like Estelle's bar in Chicago. It's a 4am (5am on Saturdays) pub in the heart of hipster and trendsters central: Wicker Park. When the douchebags/comerags are unsuccessful at getting the hookup before the 2am bars close, they're all off to Estelle's at 2:30. It's a great place to watch monkeys mating. Some of my friends are douchebags or comerags. Yes, I call them these titles to their faces. They're oblivious to it. No one will get in the way of them leading the pack of vermin on the hunt for a haggard, sloppy lover.

The female douchebag has worse problems: she gets VERY pretty as you drink. I don't get beer goggles (actually, women get far uglier as I drink, which is probably why I don't hookup drunk), but most people do. In the daylight, the comerag looks quite average, but as the night progresses, she gets more and more attractive. Once that "I'm drunk" look hits her face (after the 7th PBR), her eyes start scanning the room, trying to find the next new boy in the scene that she hasn't bumped uglies with.

It's annoying, which is why I try not to hang out with ANYONE who goes out just for the hookup. I'm an exceptional wingman because of my strong peripheral vision. I can see everything around me without obviously looking. For a friend who hasn't gottne any in awhile, or is actually looking to meet someone to date, I'm all in. For my friends who have slept with more people in 3 months than I have in my entire life, I'm out.

I made the mistake last fall of going out with a douchebag and comerag I know. Together. They had slept together once or twice (they're not sure), and we finally landed at Estelle's at 2:30am. Instead of being able to talk to friends and possibly make new ones, I was fielding the same damn questions from both: "She's cute, is that her boyfriend?" or "I wonder if he has a big dick, what do you think?" It was incessant communications with no amount of real banter, comedy, sadness or even diligence other than "I need to get laid."

When they were out of PBRs, they asked me to cover a round. No, thank you. I won't instill support for this horrific way of life. When sober, they have nothing. They hate their jobs, hate their lives, hate their useless degrees, their families. Their ties to friends seem fleeting. They throw people and possibilities away.

I used to have sympathy for them, even empathy, but that is long gone. Like the bipolar who don't seek help, or the sociopaths who ruin lives behind them, the douchebags and comerags in my life are more wasted time than I can acknowledge. Get drunk, have sex, miss rent by 10 days, cell phone gets disconnected monthly, borrow $3 for a beer, check out that dude/chick for me, repeat. Why do I bother?