Dry Fuckin' Bitches and Sushi Faces

Thanks to my insatiable need to create and Pinterest, I believe I'm ever so slowly turning into a 30 year old version of my grannie. The amount of glass jars and wine bottles in my "crafting area" is asinine. My love of things dainty and lace covered, is beginning to scare my wild side. And then there's the paint. Fucking gallons of paint, that I plan to splatter on SOMETHING, SOMEDAY... Jesus Tits.

Where is the rest of your cock, BRO?

As of late, I have come to the realization of a lot of things in regards to men, their stereotypes, and dating. I recently went back to my swiping shenanigans, and let me tell you, LEFT SWIPES ALL FATHERFUCKING DAY LONG. Could dudes be any more full of themselves? Does that selfie of you and your dog actually get you laid? It genuinely saddens me to think that there are actually broads out there that willingly spread their lips for some of these men. My gal pals give me shit because of how quickly I swipe "nope" and say that I don't give any of them a real chance. Well, I have a system, and I'm picky. Plus, it's not like I really believe I'm going to meet my soulmate on a dating app. Most of these fuckos are just DTF, and maybe looking to wine and dine a gal to see what sort of substance she's got for the long haul and most of the time, when the situation gets serious, they bail. As they probably should. Tickity-tock, let's just skip straight to the cock and determine whether your ass is even worth all the nonsense, shall we?

Let's be honest, the line "size doesn't matter, it's the motion of the ocean, blah, blah, blah..." is fucking horse shit. It absolutely does matter. Broads that say that have just flat out not gotten fucked right. An itty, bitty, short thang isn't hitting my g-spot any better than some dipshit that dry fucks my Mons Pubis in an attempt to hit my clit.

Homegirls, if you don't know what I'm talking about, it's time to make an upgrade in your arsenal, whether it be a new dude, or a shiny new rubber fuck stick. Trust me, take my advice. You won't hate me for it.

In all seriousness, I believe there are legitimate ways to size a man up. It's not always accurate and sometimes I find myself surprised by my miscalculations. At times, I catch myself looking at women and actually thinking, "Either you have a very low standard for what you consider good sex, or you just don't hump at all, because I know that man of yours can't be packing more than 4 inches, solid." 
I judge these bitches hard. I can't help myself. I've got nothing against broads that like a little Vienna sausage, but please keep it real with your dude. We all like to make our men feel good when they're poking around in our guts, but don't make your dude believe that he's got some magic dick that's going to waller you out. It will do nothing for his self-esteem when a gal like me gets a hold on him and samples his slim pickins. I will let him know that your ass was lying to him when he was told he was knocking the bottom out...because he's coming up way short of my finish line. Unwarranted inflation of a man's ego does nothing good for any of us. I can't stand a man that has more cock in his attitude than his chonies. It's such a fucking let down.

These type of men are usually pretty easy to pick out of the crowd. I recently dated one for a brief period, and he fit the stereotype in nearly every way. He was an average sized guy, about 5'10, 175 lbs. He wore a size 10 boot, and had short, stubby fingers. I knew he was going to be packing minimal heat well before we even got to the rubbing and smooching part of our first hot-n-heavy make-out sesh that inevitably leaves me with sushi face. He was all about the foreplay and trying to please me. Don't get me wrong, I'm also all about pleasing me, but I've learned through time that when a man is super insistent that he's all about eating that pink taco and he doesn't want you to fondle his dong at any time during that process, it's because he's trying to hook you with his tongue flickin' game. It's so obvious. Fellas with smallcox have to learn at an early age that in order to keep a female sexually satisfied they need to pick a specialty skill and learn to excel in it. In other words, if homeboy was only packin' a 4 incher, he had better learn to lick a pussy clean and make his woman twist the bed sheets while begging for more, otherwise she's going to go beat buns with a dude that can actually hit that spot with his cock. 
Ladies, fast forward a few years, and you've got yourself a man that can make you cum lickity split, and you haven't even unhooked his belt, and by the time you do, you're so hot and bothered, you let him take you to his version of Poundtown without so much as a pout of disappointment because he just ate your ass raw. 
And THAT folks, is how a basic bitch gets stuck with a basic dick.


Moving on...

So, last month, I celebrated one year of being single and living alone. {I know, it almost seems absurd that this would be an occasion for celebration, considering my views on dating and how picky I am, alas, it's true} I still have yet to find someone with some territory worth marking.  
I do however, get asked quite often, "Why is a woman that's as sexy and smart as you single? What's wrong with you?" 

Listen up, FUCKFACE.... There's not a damn thing wrong with me. I'll tell you why I'm single, and why I love every goddamned minute of it.

When I get up in the morning, I only have to make half of the bed. I rarely sleep on the other side, so it's always tidy. 

I can eat nothing more than peanut butter sammies and Count Chocula with vanilla almond milk for days, and no one will say shit. 

I can soak in the steamiest bubble bath my hot water heater can possibly allow, all the while getting wine drunk and belting out some Lana Del Rey at the top of my lungs and cry if I so damned please, and no one will hear me. 

I can fart at my leisure. Yeah, it happens.

I spend my days off doing whatever I want. If I feel like poking around in an antique mall for 7 hours straight, guess what? I don't have to listen to some dick whine about being bored. 

Dinner is always what I'm in the mood for.

I never have to hear, "Why don't you wear a top that shows a little less cleavage?" and then in turn have to rebuttal, "Why don't you eat a dick?"

I can go Victoria's Secret and buy an obscene amount of panties, all the while knowing that more than likely, the 20-something-year-old cashier is going to be the last person other than myself to see them, and I couldn't care less. 

I wake up in the morning surrounded by pink ruffles and lots of lace and flowers, and I just smile. 

When I get a wild hair and decide to hop on a plane and have an adventure, I do it, and it feels damn good.

I'm the girlfriend my committed gals live vicariously through and perhaps even reminisce with at times, and I enjoy it. 

I can participate in No Shave November, in April.

I can keep dead things in the freezer, forever.

No one points and laughs at me when I find an 8-legger that makes me scream and run like a little sissypants.

EVERYTHING can smell like lavender and vanilla, and no one complains.

I can read or write for 12 hours straight, uninterrupted, which is super important to me.

I never have to sleep in the wet spot.

I eat my cookies in bed.

I don't have to pick up crusty, smelly man socks all over the house.

I never fall in the toilet when I go pee in the middle of the night because some asshat left the seat up.

The only dragon breath I have to smell in the morning is my own.

I can have hoes in different area codes, and no one gets butt-hurt.

BEST OF ALL- I depend on me, so I never have to worry about disappointment or someone not following through. I appreciate everything that I work for and all that I can provide for myself and my spawn and not a single person can hold a thing over my head. I live in my own house, with my own shit, and it's a glorious feeling.

There's nothing wrong with an independent woman that knows what she wants and chooses not to settle, and you should never, ever water yourself down for anyone. 


-Random fact: Did you know that the majority of mascara on the market contains bat shit? I also recently read that on average, women absorb 5 lbs of makeup a year. It's no wonder half of you broads are bat shit crazy. 

Tinderitis and the Flame Throwing Sword Swallower

As a single chick, I have had the luxury of learning a lot of things in life the hard way, that most broads never have to think twice about. For example, tonight I finally had a night to myself that I didn't have to run errands immediately after work, so I had time to mow my jungle of a yard. I checked my fluids, and I was low on oil. No problem! I'll just fill 'er up! Apparently, when you put oil in a mower, you can actually put in too much...Who knew? Obviously not me, so with a couple of tugs on the string, I start up my shiny red mower and IMMEDIATELY fill the neighborhood with smoke! Ooops! I guess nearly a full quart is too much. 

Now I know.

Pink Tacos with Rainbow Sprinkles

A few months back, I had a client tell me about this dating app called Tinder. She and I have swapped dating stories for several months and I swear, I don't know how the fuck there are so many dimwitted men in this city, but she and I seem to have encountered the motherload of them. Any-who, she showed it to me, and told me about a few of the fellas she'd actually had luck with and I figured I really didn't have anything to lose, so I downloaded it. I signed on, and gave it a go. It links to your Facebook, so you can see what friends you have in common with a potential suitor, and all of your common interests based upon pages you've mutually liked. It's pretty simple. A dude's picture pops up, it says his name and his age. If you think he's a looker, click his pic and you can see whatever lame shit he has written about himself and other pictures he has decided he looks studly in. You may ask yourself, "Is that a face I could sit on?" If that little voice in your head says, "Perhaps it is!" Swipe right. If it's a nope, swipe left. Easyfuckinpeasy.

I ran out of dudes to left swipe daily. Sometimes it would only be a matter of minutes. There are some serious creeps out there, and why waste time on someone that doesn't tickle your fancy? Life's short, ya know? Once you swipe left or right, dude is gone. The only way you ever see that face again, is if you swiped right in hopes of making a love connection, and he also gives you a right swipe. Otherwise, homeboy may as well never have existed. I would say that on average, I would right swipe 1 dude to every 75 I'd swipe left. It was like a game for me, and the little "ding, ding, ding" my phone would make when I got a match only made it more entertaining. Most of the time, when I actually got a match, the dipshits would send me a cheesy message and I wouldn't even bother to respond. 

After playing for a couple of weeks, I finally decided to take a fella up on his offer to meet up for a drink. We'll just call him "Peter". On a whim, I told him to meet me at the little bar next to my work, and we could just go from there. He was 6'4, blue eyes, nice smile, and a physical therapist/masseuse. Hello, backrub buddy! I got off work a bit early, and was excited to get a good spot at the bar, so I could see him when he walked in, just in case I needed to dodge and ditch. Unfortunately, he foiled my plans. I walked towards the front entrance, and there he stood, dressed in a pair of loafers and a pressed sweater vest with chinos that were so tight they made my nonexistent balls ache. Sigh. I put on the best smile I could muster, and introduced myself. As soon as he spoke, I knew it was over before it had even begun. Since I'm not a complete asshole, I decided to at least try to enjoy myself, and the free drinks Peter was going to provide me, while I pretended to be interested in whatever nonsense he had to say. 

I asked him some probing questions about his life, and let him flap his gums. His hobbies included playing tennis, watching Inside Edition and Entertainment Tonight, shopping, and apparently being rammed in the ass. (not admittedly, I must add) You see, I'm not opposed to these things, but "reality" tv is just not my cup of tea, and I honestly couldn't care less about what's going on in Kim Lardassian's life. Peter was all about it. You may be asking yourself, "Well, how do you know he likes his poo pushed?" As if his hobbies weren't a little iffy...

Here's how:

In the hour or so we sat across from one another, he glanced at my tits one time. They were looking pretty fabulous and very much on display, and he looked ONE FUCKING TIME. The piano player across the room looked at them more than he did. 

The more he drank, the more he talked, and the more that overly feminine lisp of an adolescent girl most gay men have came out. He even started doing the hand gestures.

He checked out our waiter. And the bartender. Also the door greeter fella, and the table of men that got sat next to us. The lonely breasts on the table across from him still had only received the one glance. This guy was throwing flames so hard, I was waiting for him to combust. 

This was all just astounding to me and by the time I had finished my second martini, I was literally having to bite my tongue in an attempt to refrain from asking him why the hell he was wasting our time pretending he enjoyed snackin' snatch.

When the waiter came, he started to order another round, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted to go home, eat some Cheez-its, and sit in my underwear and pin shit on my Pinterest. I told him some silly excuse, and tried to make a run. He insisted on walking me to my car, and tried to make a move. Can you believe this dude actually went in for a kiss?! Holy shit balls, can you say AWKWARD? I did the weird, side-hug-back-pat-thing, turned, and jumped into my car as quick as I could. It was horrifying. 

Now, before ya'll start to criticize me, I do realize that I could have misjudged Peter entirely, and he may have just been an ultra feminine dude. That's totally fine, and I know there are chicks out there that dig that. For me, it comes down to one simple thing, and one thing only; In a relationship with me, there can only be one cock sucker, and I prefer to be the one that takes on that particular role. As for Peter Puffer, I sincerely hope he finds whatever it is he's looking for.

Slut Strut vs. Pride Stride

After my experience with Peter Puffer, I can honestly say, I was getting to the point of just swearing men off entirely for a while. Dudes can be so over the top with their bullshit it's just exhausting. I think the majority of single ladies would agree when I say that I don't want to hear your lame excuses for anything and I don't have time to deal with your drama. Get your shit together, gents. I have always had a backburner bitch for my backburner bitch, so don't think you're special, unless, I tell you otherwise. I can guarantee you that there is always going to be some hunk just waiting to throw his hotdog down my hallway, and all I have to do is ask. With that being said, I have recently deleted my Tinder app, after connecting with someone that makes me smile, and is a heck of a lot more entertaining than swiping left all day.

I'm not going to lie, this dating shit is scary and confusing. There's so many stupid, fucking rules that I don't even begin to try to understand, little alone abide by. I've never been good at following guidelines when it comes to this stuff, so I mostly just do what feels right at the time, and makes me happy. That may be why I'm single, and possibly destined to die with my dad's last name. I couldn't shrug my shoulders any harder. Right now, I'm smitten. Next week, I could be writing about how dude tried to shit on my chest...who knows? 

Eventually, during your cupcaking phase, you get the point where you start staying overnight at one another's place. As a chick, it doesn't matter if it was just a random come over, watch a movie, and let's bang until we pass out type of situation with a dude you've been dating for a minute, or just a one night stand that you thought was a 9 through your whiskey goggles, but in actuality was closer to a 6, the next morning can be a fucking nightmare. You wake up with cotton mouth in someone else's 250 thread count, in some form of sticky, nakedness and all you can think about is how to make yourself look less like a freshly fucked bag lady while trying not to breath your dragon's breath on your fuck-friend. IT'S BRUTAL. As much as we all hope for the scenario we have in our heads that our penis pal is in the kitchen, making us some delish breakfast and brewing us some coffee, the reality is he is most likely laying next to you, holding in his morning fart, with a morning wood, and waiting for you to show some sign of life. 

You have two choices, ladies. You can either lay there in a panic, and think about the fact that your makeup is likely smeared all over your face, your hair is a rat's nest, and you have the joy of wearing last night's clothes home, OR you can just roll over, and flash your pearly whites at him while giving him a little reminder of what he had the night before. If the sex was good, why waste the wood? Any dude would be a fool not to give you a clean shirt and shorts after some morning ass, right? I know, not everyone is like me, so I think it's only appropriate to have a prep bag for these instances. 

Pack your bag, bitches.

1. toothbrush 
2. mascara
3. face powder of any sort, (blush, bronzer, etc)
4. bobby pins and/or hair ties
5. phone charger
6. cash
7. clean panties
8. ibuprofen
9. perfume 
10. sunglasses

I have found that having this list of items on hand has kept me from taking a very sad looking slut strut home after a night visit to Poundtown. I just have mini versions of most of these things and I rarely leave home without them.

What do you do when you find yourself spending regular intervals of time at a dude's house? That's when shit gets tricky. When is it too soon to just leave some of your stuff there? It's seriously stressful as a gal to pack an overnight bag sometimes. For me, there's so much thought that has to go into it, especially if you have to work the next day or look presentable. You should already have your essentials bag ready, but then there's this process:

"What am I going to feel like wearing tomorrow? This, or maybe this?"
"...but what if I feel bloated?"
"This dress needs a belt."
"What shoes?"
"This necklace and these earrings, or those earrings and no necklace?"
"Panties and a bra."
"Shit, I need a white bra. Where the hell is my white bra? Fuck it, I'll wear something else."
"Now these earrings don't match."
"Where's my flat iron?"
"Makeup, and face wash."
"Should I bring shampoo? Oh, he only uses that Axe shit, better bring body wash too. And a razor."
"I hope I don't have to poop while I'm there. Better take wet wipes."

4 hours later:
"Damn it!!! I forgot my fucking shoes!"

I know I'm not the only one that goes through this process, right? This shit is ridiculous. Dudes have no idea what we have to go through just to come hang out with them. All I know is that dude had better make me a fatty sammich or sling me some amazing tube steak after all that prepping and planning, otherwise it's not even worth it.

Now, let's do something completely random...Google search "figging" and entertain yourself for about 30 seconds. Yeah, that happens, folks.

Fucking a Fucktard, 101

I'm going to get straight to the point. I see quite a few of my friends in relationships that remind me of the relationship I had with the last assface to several degrees. That shit makes me real sad. If for some reason, you're just as DELUSIONAL as I was, and actually think it's going to get better, I've got news for you...It's NOT!!! 

I'd like to think that everyone I know is aware 

of the situation they're in, but sometimes bitches need a reality check, and I just want to see your asses happy again, so I'm going to throw my two cents in your bowl and see if we can make a happy cake out of some shit. Don't hate.

When you wake up in the morning, think about the first ten minutes of your day. What do you think about, and what is your temperament? Bitch, if you're not happy to have another day to breath and celebrating the fact that you do, change your life, NOW. Take your groggy ass to the mirror and smile at yourself. (pick out your eye boogs while you're there, because that shit is nasty) If you wake up and immediately feel dread about your partner or have puffy eyes from crying all night, you need to do a serious overhaul in your life.

When was the last time you did something together as a couple, with your friends? Can't remember? He/She doesn't like so and so? Too fucking bad, bro. Maybe you don't like the way their creeper ass friends look at you, or the way his rude-ass sister rolls her eyes when she thinks you're not looking...If you're dealing with that kind of bullshit, and they can't hang with your peeps for a couple of hours occasionally, tell them to go hang with their creepin' assholes and give them the boot. Healthy relationships work when both parties compromise and sacrifice. 

If you know that your partner is fucking around, or that they have "a flirty personality", please do yourself a favor and GET SOME SELF-RESPECT. You deserve better than that, and until you believe this yourself, you won't get treated any better. I promise you that. Someone that can't be loyal to you isn't worth wasting a single tear on, nor the energy it takes to listen to their justification for their behaviors. If you wouldn't do it to them, why would you allow them to do it to you? It's as simple as that.

I see your bruises, girl. We all see them. I know you think you're disguising them and that we bought into your lame story, yet again. I'm no fool. I've had my ass beat by a boyfriend or two, and I can see it in your face and it takes every ounce of will power I have not to walk right up to your piece of shit "man" and blast him in his dickhole as hard as I can with a tire iron. The only reason no one says or does anything is because we all know you're not ready to leave him, and it would just make your situation worse. Get the fuck out of there. I don't want to do your hair for the last time when you're cold and stiff, ya dig?

Where do you see yourself in 5 years? Are you on track to achieve that dream, or are you drowning in debt, living paycheck to paycheck, while your lazy ass partner sits at home in sweat pants, eating Doritos and watching the cable that you just worked 40+ hours to pay for all the while sending me Candy Crush invites on FB? Fuck that shit. Bills don't pay themselves. Why should you be the only one bustin' ass every day while they reap the benefits? They want some new shoes? Guess what? Little Ceaser's is hiring...go sling some dough, and pay some rent, motherfucker. There's no reason why ANYONE over 20 should not be able to support themselves. I've lived on my own, and fully supported myself since I was 16, so there's no excuse. If you're stressing about money and your bitch can't contribute, move 'em out, and move on!

So you miss the sound your headboard used to make when it would bang against the wall, huh? If you can't remember the last time you and your partner went "heels to Jesus", you need to ask yourself, "why"? Do you not desire your person anymore? Are they rejecting you? Intimacy is serious, and I am a firm believer that as a couple, you need to be able to connect physically, on a regular basis to stay in tune with one another. It's very much a key element to a healthy relationship, in my opinion. I don't believe that the mentality that sex should become less frequent, or more routine just because you've been together for 5 years is acceptable. You should know one another inside and out at this point and it's your duty and your partner's duty to make sure you not only appeal to, but satisfy each other. If your dude would rather yank on his cock to porn, or your chick would rather fuck a dildo, it's time to reevaluate your lives together.

Wise words to remember:

-Only dead fish go with the flow.

Back Burner Bitches and Mommy Dearest

Out of all the talented musicians in the world, why is it that I got Lou Bega to be the only one to sing a little jingle about me? Thanks man, you shouldn't have. Really...

 

Bitch, please go fuck yourself with a cactus.

When I left my most recent ex, I had initially decided that I wasn't going to waste another moment speaking of, or even thinking about his worthless ass, and just be the better person. After healing from his triflin' bullshit, I think it's only fair that people should know what sort of monster opened my eyes to just how shitty people can be and why I have the "Fuck you" mentality when it comes to men. So, here you go...

Our little love story started a ways back and in the beginning it was everything I was looking for. He was adventurous and fun. I loved the way he looked at me and how his face would light up when he saw me. You know, the typical lovey-dovey shit. Then things got weird. He started snooping through my phone and Facebook, reading my emails and rummaging through my shit. I had nothing to hide, I'm an honest partner. I'm not the jealous type, so at first I just laughed it off, but then he decided he needed to start dictating who I was friends with, and who I was talking to. Uhhh, no... Naturally, I got annoyed and a little pissed that he was being so distrustful, so I went through his shit, too. I found a few little things, but he had excuses for all of them, and to be honest, what's the point of worrying about it? If a dude wants to step out on me, I will show him the way. I'm secure enough to know how badass of a woman I am and if you won't appreciate me, guess what? There's plenty of dicks out there just chomping at the bit and waiting for you to fuck up, in hopes that they can have a shot at this ass. Holla!

Anyways, at the start, he had told me about this whore he used to date that was so obsessed with him she had tattooed the day they met on her arm. He said she just wouldn't leave him alone. She would call and text him all the time and "randomly" pop in at places he would be. He claimed that he had asked her to stop because we were together, and blah, blah, blah. I dealt with her calls and antics for about 5 months before I was ready to snap the tramp's neck. She wasn't taking the hint and I had told him many times he needed to handle the situation, or I would. One evening she text him when he was with me, so I called her from his phone and nicely told her to fuck off. She was being pathetic and needed to move on. Hahahaha, joke was on me. Secretly, they were still fucking, and I was so naive I didn't see it. He wasn't telling her to leave him alone, he was having his backburner bitch for an afternoon snack and then bringing his dirty dick home to me every night so I could wash his crusty underwear, tainted with her rotten pussy remnants. I can't even begin to tell you how DISGUSTED I feel. Of course, I knew none of this, and for two years I put up with his mind-fucking, all the while wondering where I was failing and why I couldn't make him happy. Hindsight is a motherfucker. To think, our relationship could have been so much better if I had just kept a dick on dial all along. If I had known that he felt it was justifiable behavior to text "I miss you" and talk horribly about your partner to someone always at your beck and call, then go fuck them at leisure, don't you think I'd have been a little more cheery? I'd have been riding all sorts of dicks. Fucking jerk.

I finally packed up my car and left his repulsive ass the night we were supposed to celebrate our second anniversary. That was the BEST thing I have ever done for myself. Liberated at last! I got myself a house and tried to live as though he was dead. I blocked his calls and texts through my phone company and on all social media. I was determined to move on.

It worked for a few weeks, but he's a persistent dude and after countless emails and drive-by attempts I gave in and talked to him. It started again. This time it was different, though. I wasn't emotionally into him like I'd been before. I just wanted to bang him and get my own gratification. To be honest, new dick can be scary when you're fresh out of a relationship that tears you down, so he became my backburner bitch. Keep in mind, I still didn't know he had been screwing the horse-faced trollop all along. Fast forward a few weeks, and I caught him up in some lies and that's when I knew. To be truthful, I always knew, I felt it. It's one thing to suspect, but when you have confirmation, it will crush you. This whole time he had been begging me to take him back, he was lying through his teeth. He had moved her in the weekend after I moved out. He had even taken her to Thanksgiving dinner after I declined his invite. It's funny really, because she and I swapped roles. She now had the pleasure of washing my juices off of his clothes and got to deal with his constant negativity. I just got dicked down at my leisure and could send him on his way. In reality, he was now cheating on her, with me. That's some serious Jerry Springer shit, and I'm just not down with that.
 
I'd call you a cunt, but let's be honest, you don't have the depth or the warmth.
The inevitable finally happened recently, and I had the pleasure of seeing the two of them together for the first time at a place he and I shared a good chunk of our time. I can honestly say, the moment I saw them, I felt nothing negative. No sadness. No anger. No jealousy. I felt good. Damn good. The look that came across her face did nothing more than make me smile and put a little more pep in my step while holding my head high. I watched as sheer panic flooded that ratchet face. Ohhhh Skankenstein, I'd be worried about my man too, if I were you, because when you begin your relationship as the other woman, you will never be the only woman. True talk.

She must have made a stink about my presence, because dipshit eventually came up to me and said some crap about it being awkward and yadda, yadda. Dickface was obviously just feeling guilty because he got caught up. Just a few days ago he was trying to get me to go looking for morels with him and go to dinner, while telling me he just uses her for her money and to help fix up his shack. He feared I would tell her that he still refers to me as "his woman" and tells me that he plans to marry me when I finally stop being so angry and stubborn. Hysterical, right?! I don't even want to be your friend, so what makes you think I'd ever want to marry you? Obviously homeboy is not only a narcissist, but also delusional. I'm not going to tell her a damn thing, she can figure it out on her own. I prefer to just sit back and chuckle.

Please understand this:
I will never willingly stoop to the level Skankenstein did and be someone's backburner bitch or side chick. I have self respect and dignity. It's not my fault he believes we have some "magical soulmate" shit between us and he "can't live without me in his life". I'm not sorry that my insides feel better than hers and he has to tenderize his meat to the naughty pics he has of me on his phone to feel satisfied. I'm a better woman in every fucking aspect, so I'm not surprised when he tells me these things. Those lines may have worked on a pathetic, lesser woman, but not this gal. Maneaters don't share, honey. We get our fill and then we upgrade and let what comes around, go around. I genuinely hope he knocks her ugly ass up and they have the dumbest, most hideous offspring imaginable. That would be the absolute best Karma I could hope for.

 

Thanks for not aborting me, egg donor.

Since Mother's day was this week, I feel it's only appropriate to give a shout-out to my mother, although she will probably never read this. I haven't spoken to her in well over two years, and most likely that streak will only continue. I cut her out of my life because she's a train wreck and sometimes in life you just have to let go of toxic people. I will always love her, but she's just too fucked up as a person to have a relationship with.

Come take a trip down memory lane with me...
My parents met in juvenile when they were 16 and 17. Match made in Hell. They were married the next year, and I was born a few months later. To say my mom wasn't ready to be a parent is an understatement. She was young, and she loved to party. I spent the majority of my time with my grannies and aunts while my parents continued to get fucked up and wreak havoc on the world. Once, mom was so high leaving K-Mart she apparently forgot that she had a 4 month old baby and left me in a shopping cart in the parking lot and went off to her party. Mom of the millennium!

My folks fought a lot, and from what I know, my dad was a bit of an asshole. They were split up by my 3rd birthday, and I just bounced back and forth between whomever had time for me. I went weeks without seeing either of them and when I did see my mom, she was too wrapped up in her own shit to really be a mother. I was like that little baby bird in the Dr. Suess book asking everyone "Are you my mother?" Luckily, my aunt never minded being my mama and I will forever be grateful of her love and generosity.

The summer after I turned four, I remember sitting on my grandma's couch and my aunt answering the phone and immediately looking at me as tears streamed down her cheeks. I knew it was something terrible before she even said a word. My cousin had found my dad in his bedroom, with his brains splattered across the walls. He was 22, and strung out on all sorts of dope. He was a coward. When my mom found out, I can only imagine it broke her heart. She loved my dad and I could always see the heartache in her eyes when I would ask her about him as I grew up. He fucked her up and she was never the same.

My grandma had custody of me when all this took place, and my mom was shacked up with the dude that is now her current husband. We'll call him "Craig".  She had made it clear she didn't have time for me, that is until she realized that my grandma was getting social security money for me from my dad's passing. Cash money, muthafucka! She fought with my granny until she eventually gave in, and I ended up moving in with my mom and her abusive boyfriend. 

Mom worked at Wendy's for a while, and then a dry cleaners. Craig didn't hold a job, he just smoked a lot of pot and sold dope. Way to pick a fucking winner, mom. This little charade lasted about a year before my mom started getting reported for child abuse and neglect. She hadn't even enrolled me in kindergarten when I was supposed to start school. I just stayed at home alone eating ketchup and sugar packets while my mom worked and her dipshit went out and partied. Social workers came and inspected our trailer, and found that I was malnourished and neglected, so the state took me away and put me in foster homes.

I did the foster home thing for almost two years, and in the meantime my mom was supposed to be getting her shit together. She earned her custody back and I got to move back into the trailer. She really fooled them! She was still partying and getting high. Craig was regularly beating her ass, so that was a fun, new element for me to learn. I would hear him punching her and slamming her head into the walls and I would scream and cry for him to stop and try to get in between them. He didn't like that, so then I got my ass beat too. My behavior also earned a lock on the outside of my bedroom door, so the majority of my days I was locked in unless he was gone or I had a bathroom break. Life was fucking tough, I'm not going to lie. I was unbearably shy, and always felt like everyone knew how fucked up my home life was. I was in first grade, and completely humiliated when my mom would pick me up from school with a fresh wallop on her cheek or a fat lip. I knew it was going to be another night of sliding my empty dinner plate under my bedroom door and holding my pee until my bedtime bathroom break.

The week of Christmas in 1991 I recall them having a couple over, and they all got coked out and wasted. Mom and her boyfriend got into a fight and he started smacking her around in front of their company. The other guy tried to defend my mom and Craig pulled a gun on him and made them leave. I then listened to my mom getting her ribs broken, and her face punched in for hours. He finally passed out and she came to me a bloody, beaten mess, and just cried as she held me. I remember waking to hearing him yelling again, and my mom crying some more. I watched as he threw her down in the hallway in front of my bedroom door and kicked her in her ribs and vagina until she bled. He had kicked her so hard, so many times, that he broke her pelvis and pubic bones. Her face was so swollen and bruised she was unrecognizable. After he satisfied his rage, he got high and left. I thought my mom was going to die right there on the floor. I panicked and ran to a neighbor's house and she called 911. We went to the hospital and mom pressed charges. On Christmas eve, we left most of our belongings behind, and secretly moved in with my grandma. I thought life was going to get easier.

Mom got us a place a few months later, right next door to my aunt. Mom dated a few guys, and some of them were nice enough to buy me a Barbie occasionally. Craig found out where we had moved, and got a job a block down the street from us and started putting his charms on. Of course. she took him back and he moved right in. He was nicer than he had been, at first, and he would pretend to give a shit about what I had to say. Once he won me over, he became the same dick he'd always been. He started slapping her around and got her hooked on meth. I decided It would be a good idea to just pack a bag, and run away. So, that's exactly what I did one Friday after school. I ran miles and miles all the way to one of my old foster homes. I repeated this behavior many times, perhaps in hopes of it actually making a difference. As a teen, my state juvenile file classified me as a high risk for being a runaway. Well, no shit! 

Years passed, and we eventually moved into a bigger house and they both seemed happier. They fought less, and they even started making enough money selling drugs that my mom didn't have to work anymore. Livin' the dream!  That dream came to a crashing halt one March evening a couple weeks after my 13th birthday. The ATF and SWAT kicked in our front door, and busted my parents for a growing operation and meth lab. I was getting ready for a slumber party. Instead, I got to sit in the backseat of a squad car as all of our things were being rummaged through and Carlton Houston from Channel 9 reported the most recent meth lab bust on the 10:00 news. Needless to say, the Monday following was the most embarrassing day of school in all of 6th grade.

After a few months, we moved to a new town, and I started at a new school. I made new friends and tried hard to hide just how fucked up my life was from them. I never had bothered with that task before, everyone already knew. Craig went to jail for a bit, and mom went nuts from going through withdrawals and my grandpa passing from Cancer. We fought constantly and I began to understand how pathetic she really was as a woman. I had lost respect for her and had really begun to resent her. When Craig got out of jail, he started drinking Wild Turkey heavily to cope with his withdrawals, and he'd get mean. They did their dance like they'd always done, and she'd just take his shit. When he'd get done smacking her around, she'd be pissed off, and take it out on me. I never so badly wanted to kill two people in my life, as I did then. It was a sick cycle.

At 14 I ended up back in foster homes because my friends had finally seen me come to school fucked up one too many times, so they went to the school counselor and principal. I spent a week in Juvenile while the state decided what to do with me, and I ended up moving back in with my original foster parents from my childhood. That lasted almost a year, before my mom had convinced me to come back home, she was going to leave him and it was all going to get better. She would buy me cigarettes and let me drink beer. She was cool now. Liar, liar, pants on fire!

It was a few months before we were just getting into full on fist fights again. The final straw was when all three of us got into a full on ass-kicking contest in the front yard for of all the neighbors to see. So fucking white trash... After he fucked me up, my mom made an attempt to whoop me too, and that's the only time I can ever remember hitting my mother in the face. I ran to a friend's house, and called the police. The cops came and picked me up, and took me back home to "talk it out". When we arrived, all of my clothes were in trash bags in the yard. My mother told me verbatim, "Before he took off, he told me that it was either you or him, and I can't lose him again, so I hope you can find a place to go."
I was 16 years old, and out on my ass.

I moved in with my boyfriend and got a full time job. I got emancipated from my mother, and I juggled work and school as best as I could. The scholarship program I was in got to be too much and I was stressed out so I started making bad choices and getting into trouble at school. I ended up getting suspended the week of finals my sophomore year, and got zeros on all of my finals. That caused my GPA to go down so far that I would be kicked out of my program, so I just didn't care anymore. I lost my temper with the principal, and ended up getting expelled. I got my GED through the community college and decided to just get a better full time job.

Throughout the years, I have had a strained relationship with my mother, and after having children of my own, I really tried to maintain and strengthen our bond. She quit doing meth and put forth some effort at being a grandma, so I let her in our lives a little bit at a time. She still was not dependable, but she tried. I won't go into all the details of why I finally cut ties, because some shit just should remain private, but she did enough throughout the years that I finally just had to shut her, and all of my family like her out. I had to rise above them and realize that until someone is ready to change their life and help themselves, there's not a thing you can do to help them. Last I knew, she and her abusive hubby are both unemployed, and selling dope to make rent. I feel sadness for her.

That's some heavy shit, huh?

To be honest, I don't know what really inclined me to share some of these life experiences with you. It has been a hard journey, and I have learned a lot along the way. I never thought I would be a single mom, and I constantly fear that any day I may become like my mother.  I could write a novel with the things I haven't shared, and even though statistically I should probably be way more fucked up than I am, I'm far from perfect. I just wake up every single morning and choose to be thankful, and humble. I bust my ass, and I choose to try to be happy. I hope that the next time you're feeling like your road is too tough, you can think about me and the struggles I endure and find strength. Life is too short to live it unhappily.

Have a great Monday, motherfuckers. <3

Dating Site Perverts and Tuna Casseroles

Let me just say, for the record, I love tuna casserole. All kinds of it. I can, and have eaten it by the pound. I would eat it right now. This blog has absolutely nothing to do with tuna casserole, I'm just hungry.

Baahhh means no, sucka.

Every other Saturday, I drive past the same abortion clinic on Central Ave, and I see the same dudes in their denim and flannel, holding up signs of what is apparently aborted baby stew. These dudes stand there cocked, locked, and ready to shame any female that walks into the building in question. To be honest, I'm typically more fixated on these dipshits than the printed bloody mess they're holding up as signs in protest. It's kind of gross, and I hate that my spawn have seen these signs. 

So, here's the thing...I can appreciate that these men take the time to put this little sham of a show together to demonstrate their disgust with the choices complete strangers have made for themselves. I can also applaud their dedication to the subject, and their ability to stand united. Nice assembly, fellas. What bothers me is that there is a bunch of dudes standing outside a medical building judging females for making a choice that those motherfuckers couldn't even remotely begin to understand, nor handle. Who the fuck are you to tell ANY woman, what to do with her body, little alone shame her for making the decision she has made? Ohh, is that a vagina under those bibs? No? Then shut your fucking slop-hole, pal. It's that simple. When a man can mangle what used to be an impressive six pack to grow a human in his guts and actually birth this creation, he can yap his trap about whatever his opinion may be. Until then, just sit there and be a man. Mmmkay? Would I personally get an abortion? Nope. Do I believe anyone else on this planet should have the right to tell me that I can't, if unforeseen circumstances were to take place? HELL NO! I most certainly don't want the opinion of some backwoods-hilljack that probably fucks his sheep behind the barn to have any bearing on my right to make such a choice.

Speaking of no futures, lets talk about some shit that has me annoyed.

On this wonderful journey of finding the one, I have met some dudes that have had me temporarily smitten at various points. It happens. Whether it's the nice dinners, or the way he made me laugh, or perhaps it was just the way he laid the pipe, somewhere along the way it got to that level. Scary shit, for real. It makes a gal think about her life. As I'm sure you can tell, I have dated some real prizes in the man department, and I have to be honest when I say that the thought of a serious relationship right now absolutely terrifies me.
The pet names and expectations. The compromises and inevitable "love" bombs.... and God forbid, the feelings.

Eeeek! Check please!

You see, it's not that I don't want all of these things, because every broad does and ultimately that's why you date. It's just that when you cupcake around with a dude long enough to figure out that he isn't the one, you have the task of trying to get dude to get off the hook. I'm not one of those bitches that will just straight up ignore you and toss your ass to the side like a used cotton pony, I try to be nice about it. I don't want to run into your bitter ass down the road and have to feel your glare burning into the back of my fabulous skull. I'd rather be able to say a quick "Hey!" and go about my day. So, I try to break it to 'em gently.

Please,
Don't rebuttal every point I make when I tell you why I don't want to bang you anymore. I JUST DON'T WANT TO FUCK YOU. It's really that simple.

Don't try to guilt trip me for not putting forth more effort. I'm just not feelin' it, bro. I'm not trying to waste my energy on a dead end.

Raw Dick Doug, AKA Cowboy

While in the midst of heartbroken stupor a few months back, a dear gal pal of mine convinced me that it would be entertaining for me make a profile on a dating site. I was reluctant, but I put up a pic from fb and answered some questions to aid in finding my mopey ass a love connection. I had 35 messages in less than 5 minutes. Hello, esteem boost! I was hooked. It was like shopping for shoes online, only it was dudes. I entered in my criteria, and started scrolling.
Too short. Scroll.
Too many kids. Scroll. 
Too old. Scroll. Scroll. Hey now, he's cute...oh, is that a Disturbed shirt he's wearing? Uggh, nope. Scroll.

Who are these dudes?

I got chatty with a few guys on the site. I also ignored a lot. I went on a few dates, and I happened to see several people I know pop up in my searches. Most of the time we just exchanged some "haha's" and kept shopping. Even my cuntbag ex found me on there. That was awkward. He tried to get me to reconcile through a dating site. The irony was just too much. Anyhoo, I met some strange characters along the way and one of my most infamous is a guy I like to call "Cowboy".

Cowboy was a redneck from the sticks. He was aged 37 years. He stood 6'4, and was 220 lbs of solid muscle from running cattle on his farm. He certainly was nice to look at. Dude seemed to have had a good sense of humor and was a bit old fashioned, which I dig. On his profile he had said he liked to drink beer around a bonfire and eat steak. Well, shit the bed! Those things happen to tickle my fancy as well, so I sent him a message. I told him he should take me out for a steak and some beers, and that's precisely what he did that very evening. 

I met dude at Outback (meh). I could tell which truck was his as soon as I pulled into the lot. It was a tan Chevy dually, dirty as fuck. I had to look by the hitch to make sure there wasn't brass balls hanging back there. That'd have been a deal breaker right there, folks. He met me at the door when I walked inside, and escorted me to our table. 

We yapped and we grubbed. He gave me bites of his lobster and we laughed and yapped some more. It was all very enchanting. I said all the right shit dudes like to hear, and he acted as though he was hanging on my every word. Dating is super fun.

Cowboy told me a story of when he had first started dating his ex and how he should have ran right then and there, but he enjoyed seeing how far her crazy would go. That should've been my cue to ask for the check, but I was intrigued by the way his lips formed words, so I continued to bat my lashes and nod at all the appropriate times. He proceeded to tell me about how crazy girl had suddenly pulled a Hulk and ripped open a Burger King bag in his floorboard and tried to beat him with it while throwing cold fries at him. Entertaining, right?

At the end of our date, he walked me to my car and we decided we should hang out again soon. We hugged, and I hopped in my ride and drove away with a smile.

Throughout the next few days, we talked on the phone a bit and sent a few texts back and forth. Nothing too crazy...until one particular evening. He had been chatty Cathy all day, and decided to call me from the parking lot of a bar he had gotten kicked out of for getting rowdy. Red flag! Dude was hammered and slurring like a buffoon. He was rambling on about their little dispute and so forth and I tried like hell to be interested. It was taking serious effort. I think he finally clued in that he was taking me to Boredom City, so he flipped the switch and started to plan our date for the next day. While we were yapping and planning, I was preparing my spawn's uniforms and what not for the next day and he inquired as to why my spawn had to wear uniforms to school. (they go to Catholic school) He says, "Ohh, so you're a Catholic girl, huh? I guess that means I'm gonna have to wear a rubber with you. Uggh." 

Ummm...What the fuck did he just say? Does he actually think I'd bang a complete stranger, raw dick? That's laughable.

To make a long story short, he hung up on me, then flipped his wig through text because he doesn't wear condoms and proceeds to tell me that I obviously have trust issues. Total nutcase stuff. I was appalled and he was super disrespectful. I may have said something along the lines of him being a presumptuous asshole, and any chance he may have had to ever get near my lacy goodies was now going to be nothing more than a mere fantasy for him to tenderize his sad lil' meat to. I also told him I could clearly see why his ex had tried to beat him with fries and shit, I'd like to beat him with a bat, real hard.

Apparently he found me amusing, because he then asked me to marry him. He said "I made his uncut dick rock hard and he wanted to punish my sassy ass and filthy mouth." He was as serious as a heart attack.

Whaaaaat?! Holy fucking fishdicks, who says this shit after one date? This dude was on a whole different level and definitely not one I desired to get on. You know, like chop your ass into chunks and serve you for dinner type level of crazy? Fuck that noise! Needless to say, I told him to eat dicks and blocked him. Back to scrolling.

Question:
     ~Why is it that uncut dicks make me think of Bush's baked beans? It's always that damned "Roll that beautiful bean footage" that pops into my head.
Beanie weenies; delicious, yet disturbing all at once. You're welcome.

 

I need to vent.

So, here we are.
I've typed the random thoughts that have popped into my head, and now you're reading them. Congrats, and welcome to the jungle, baby.

I have a lot to say, and I don't filter. I'm a bit vulgar, and downright crude at times. You may laugh, and you may get offended. Either way- no apologies.

I'm just a chick that's in constant search of my path and I will never be satisfied. I'm 30, and still don't have my shit figured out. I think I have gypsy blood. I fear commitment, yet I crave it. I like makeup, and I like men. I probably drink too much, and definitely don't exercise enough. Mmm, a pint of Half Baked would be excellent right now. I have a short attention span. LIKE, really short. Everything bores me eventually and I lose interest. Did I mention I'm single?...yeah. I like peanut butter a whole lot. The crunchier, the better. Creamy for crackers and snacky shit. I just don't like nuts all over my celery.
Obviously, I need a snack.
 

Dipshits or Dildos

I fairly recently got out of a toxic relationship. He was the narcissistic, sociopath type. The sex was good. Not the best I'd ever had, but I had fun. It was like glue for me and I will never understand why. Long story short, he cheated and I felt betrayed so I told him to eat shit and I moved on. Some days, I struggle with the "How could that motherfucker do this to me?" thoughts, but most days I'm happy. Free. He's but a fading memory. He turned out to be like all the rest...just another dipshit.

As a single gal,when you get all gussied up and have a night out on the town, you want to catch a couple eyes in hopes of meeting someone that might be interesting enough to talk to through the drink they're inevitably going to buy you. Let's be real here...In the rare case that this fella actually has a nice smile, free of food debris, no visible boogs,  and is just maybe a little cute....he has to go and open his mouth and say something cheesy. Fantasy RUINED. Thanks for the drink, now fuck off and don't creep on me from across the bar, please. Don't send your lame ass friend over to attempt it either. He's not as cute as you are, and obviously has even lower self esteem than you. That pathetic ass isn't even worth talking to for a free drink. I find myself in that same place at the end of the night with the same choice to make as the time before. Dipshit, or dildo? Lately, dildo has been leading in the polls.

 

Thanks for reiterating why I choose to be single, fuckface.

I have a whole lot of standards when it comes to the type of man I like to share my time with. My time is fucking precious, and if you want to hit this, you will show your appreciation or move on down the road. I keep my standards high, but my expectations low. I'm prepared for you to suck in pretty much every aspect, so bring your best game, Bud.

We all have our list of deal breakers, and here are a few of mine.

1. You're a self-proclaimed "grower" and not a "shower". Dude, please. You just have a small prick.

2. A lack of manners will not suffice. You had better say please and thank you. It's not about chivalry, it's about not being a fucking asshole.

3. The phrase "chivalry is dead" is not acceptable. Open my door. Pull out my chair. Ladies love this, and you dudes know it.

4. Don't show up planning to get your freak on with me wearing some lame-ass boxers. I don't want to see Homer Simpson by your dick. Not sexy.

5. Your fucking face. That is the most awful "O" face I've ever seen. I can't even stay wet if you look like you're having some sort of retard seizure. I don't want to have to keep my eyes squeezed shut, so fix that shit.

6. You're how old, and still working a shit job? Seriously? I need a go-getter with a plan, Stan. If you're slinging drinks or flipping burgers, you're not man enough for me.

7. My, what a soft and slightly feminine voice you have. Barf.

8. Wow, your hands are almost as small as mine. And soooo smooth. Nope.

9. Your ride...clean it, fix it, or upgrade it. I don't drive a clunker, and I won't ride in one either.

10. Are you a hyena by chance? That laugh is fucking annoying!

11. Are those titties under your shirt, dude? I wear the tits in a relationship. Period.

12. So, you've got a man sweater under that argyle sweater? Too bad you have more body hair than head hair. I'll wax that shit, but no thanks on the little bump and grind situation.

13. You like to get wasted, and act like a bitch. If you can't handle your liquor, how are you going to handle me? I don't want to babysit a grown man.

14. You have a horrible haircut, or just don't bother to cut it at all. I won't be seen with a dude with shitty hair. That's a direct reflection of me and my profession.

15. Your primary jammage is rap or bullshit I can't stand. I like it hard and heavy with some melody, and prefer not to hear, "Fuck you niggas, you'z a hoe" shit. That's not music. That's talking to a beat about shit I don't relate to.

16. I have a potty mouth, so if you're more vulgar than me, or say some crude shit at an inappropriate time and embarrass me, I will verbally castrate you.

17. If I'm giving you head, guess what? Your ass had better reciprocate. Ohh, you don't eat snatch? Later, hater.

18. Those are some busted kicks you're trying to sport, homie. I bet you can take your ass to Payless and get yourself something real fancy. Anything would be an improvement if your soles are flopping with every step.

19. You have a hairy ass pet that just HAS to sleep with you. I don't want to choke on your dog's hair and fight for bed space with the four-legged bastard. Also, if we are fucking in that hairy bed, I don't want your kitty's hair all over my kitty. Ya dig?

20. So you had Chipotle for lunch today? I can tell because you still have remnants of it in your grill. I won't let that dirty mouth anywhere near me. I can't even look at you right now. No, rubbing your finger across your teeth didn't help. That big piece of cilantro is still there! Ugggh. You disgust me.

21. So, we're friends on Facebook now. Swell. You like that picture? Neat. I do look pretty in that one. Ohhh, you like those other 270 pictures as well? Hmmm...you just liked my picture from 2008? How far are you digging through my shit? There's a fine line between a crush and a straight up stalker. You're taking the cake, homeboy.

22. A dear male friend of mine said, "A man doesn't text smiley faces as communication."
I have to agree. It's rather annoying, and I want to beat you with all of your smiley faces.

23. I think tattooed men are hot. I think men without tats are equally as hot. If you're one of those dudes that needs "Ink Therapy" or got full sleeves to look more hardcore, get the fuck out of here. I don't date poser pussies.

24. Are you seriously wearing a fucking beanie in June? It's 85 degrees outside. No beanies after April, no exceptions. Douche.

25. You want to take me out for an expensive dinner? Awesome! I will get my fancy panties on, and we will have a ball. ARE YOU SERIOUSLY PULLING UP TO FUCKING OLIVE GARDEN RIGHT NOW? Jesus, fucking tits, no.


These are just a few, obviously. I could go on and on all day, but this girl has bills to pay, and currently, no sugar daddy. I've got to wash my 'giney and my hiney, so I'll catch you on the flipside. <3