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.