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.