You may find me offensive, but I find you irrelevant.

It's been a while since I had the time to sit down and put my thoughts into writing, and I've sure missed it. To be honest, I seem to have the urge to write in the most inopportune times, like when I'm driving to work, or at the grocery store. Once I finally have a moment of silence in my A.D.D brain, the thought has left or I get writer's block, which is a real bitch. I want to steer this blog in the direction that my old blog from back in the Malevolent Moni Myspace days was headed...shorter postings, and more frequently. Bare with me while I attempt to make that transition.

I need to get some shit off my chest. 

On the first day of November, I started the most successful diet to date. It's the leftover Halloween candy diet. My flabby ass and cellulite have never been more happy, and I've never felt so guilty. Even my spawn have been surprised by my utter lack of self control when it comes to those little bite size Snickers bars. I could literally feel my blood sugar soaring to a level that a give-no-fucks diabetic would be proud of. 

The gym will be my home away from home this week, fo sho.

At the ripe old age of 31, I feel something stirring inside of me. I feel a very strong need for change and dare I say, an urge to completely rock the boat and cut a lot of people out of my life. I'm just tired of the negative energy that people put out and the drama that comes with them. I'm sick of fake people and their stupidity. Honestly, I just may be sick of YOU.

Let's talk about RESPECT.

Call me old fashioned, but if you and your hubby or significant other invite me over for dinner, or out for drinks, the last thing I want to do is bare witness to your relationship issues that should be handled in private, at home, behind closed doors. It's really fucking rude and uncomfortable for everyone involved to have watch you belittle and berate your partner. So, you think your husband is a pussy? You think he's stupid, or an idiot? You think your girlfriend dances like a slut, or says awkward things at the wrong time and it makes you uncomfortable? That's fine, think what you want. Whatever your opinion is of your mate, it is just that, your opinion. Don't you dare subject my partner and I to your utter lack of respect for them and your relationship. You won't ever see us behave in that manner because I have respect for you as my friend, and respect for my partner. Even more so, do not expect me to sit quietly by and tolerate your bullshit. I WILL tell you that you're acting like a cunt sac. If you truly can't stand the person YOU HAVE CHOSEN to spend your life with so much that you feel the need to put them down and make them the butt of every joke when we hang out, why don't you just keep your ass at home? Better yet, here's a novel idea: GET OUT OF THE RELATIONSHIP, YOU MISERABLE FUCK. I'm over it, and you.

Let's talk about LOYALTY.

I know some pretty nasty secrets about some people, and to be frank, it makes me feel downright sick. As many of you know, my last relationship was very unhealthy and tumultuous for many reasons, but mostly because my ex didn't know how to be faithful and loyal to one person. Due to the mental anguish I went through both during, and after that time in my life, I have a very "black and white" view of how I believe one should behave when in a committed relationship. I find it very easy to be loyal to the man I love and I genuinely don't understand how someone can utter the words of love to someone and still have the need to wander and dabble in intimacy with someone outside of the relationship. It disgusts me to know that some of you feel the need to have a side piece, or backburner bitch, all the while you post nothing but lovey-dovey shit on your partner's Facebook for all of us to see. In case you were unaware, sneaking off on your lunch break to "just make out and chat" with an old flame THAT IS MARRIED, WITH CHILDREN is unacceptable. Sending dick pics to a married woman while your girlfriend is at work is not only trashy and immature, but downright ignorant and disrespectful. If you have a crush on someone and feel the need to comment "Damn, you're so sexy. Your man is one lucky dude. Too bad he tamed you before I had the chance to" or some other lame shit like that on every photo they post on social media, just stop. It's inappropriate and unnecessary. Chances are, their dude knows how lucky he is. He certainly doesn't need your pathetic, pussy vulture posts on some photos to confirm any bit of it. If you are doing anything that you feel you need to hide from your partner, you should stop. No matter how innocent you may believe it is, if you wouldn't approve of your partner doing it behind your back, you shouldn't do it either. It's that simple. If you're reading this and you just swallowed a big lump of guilt in your throat, I'm glad. In fact, it makes me clappy happy. You're nothing more than a whore to me and I have no respect for you. Think about what you're doing for a moment, and if for no other reason, consider what you will inevitably do to your children and the values you will be instilling into them. I know one thing that is certain; I'm ashamed to know you, so much so, that I will no longer call you my friend.

Let's talk about INTEGRITY.

I find it ironic to see so many people so quick to jump onto a bandwagon and have such a strong opinion about something that they have no real concept of what the truth may actually be. People are so quick to change their profile pics to certain flags or symbolism "to show their support" and stand for a cause, yet they don't change a damned thing in their day to day routine. I don't mean to make light of the tragic events that go on in the world around us, it makes me just as sad as the next person. My view is that if you truly care about people that are oppressed, tortured, mistreated, etcetera, stop and think about what you as an individual can do today to make someone else's life a little better. So, you want to help make this world a better place for us all? Why don't you start by doing something so small and selfless as to go out of your way and compliment someone you know may not being feeling too hot today. Better yet, hold the door for someone, even if it may inconvenience you for a mere 13 seconds. Smile at complete strangers, even when they may give you a dirty look.   

As a mother, I consistently insist that no matter what the situation may be, you should always be honest and do the right thing. It's a very simple set of principles. 

I'll give you an example:

A couple of months ago, the spawn and I got caught in the front line of a nasty storm that was moving in on our way home from school, so I decided to stop at Target until the worst of it passed. I parked the car, and just as I was beginning to say "The wind is really strong, don't fling your door open when you get out", I hear the unmistakable bang of my car door hitting the shiny red Dodge parked next to me. There was a pretty good ding in their door and my paint was chipped off, onto their red paint. At that moment, I had two choices. I could say, "Oops, it was an accident, and there's minor damage, so no biggie" and go inside and about my day like nothing happened, OR I could do the right thing and leave my info for the owner of the car just in case they wanted to get it fixed, because it was indeed my fault, regardless of the circumstances that caused the damage. At that moment, my decision not only affected that individual, but also my children. What lesson did I want to teach them? I obviously chose to leave my info and explained to my spawn why I did so. My son felt bad that I could be held financially accountable for something he had done, and I made sure to explain to him that even though it was done unintentionally, there were still consequences to those actions, and it's important to do the right thing. The lady that owned the car called me that evening, and thanked me for being an honest person. She appreciated that I could have very easily banged her car up and never said a word, but chose not to. She was also kind enough to not hold me liable for the damages. 

The point I'm trying to make with this is simple. Every single day, we have the choice to make this world a nicer, gentler, more loving place for us all, yet some people choose to leave their moralities and ethics behind and do what suits them and benefits them most instead. If you truly want to make a difference, start right here, in our community, and in your home. Stop posting pointless links to stories you haven't even bothered to read and memes highlighting how one particular race or religion is fucking this country or those people, and educate yourselves on what's really going on. Show kindness and try a little empathy for once. Be respectful to the people you choose to surround yourself with. You'll be amazed at the impact you can have on not only the people around you, but within yourself. Please remember that people of all genders, race, and creed are fucked up. We see it every single day.  Ask yourself this; Are you one of those people? What have you done today to make an attempt to change things? Do a little soul searching, and for fuck's sake...DO THE RIGHT THING. 

On an end note, I'm going to have myself a Snickers and then go do some Yoga. Enjoy the rest of your Monday, fuckers. 

Self-Entitled Pussies and Alabama Hot Pockets

First and foremost, I have to say that I am so sickened and annoyed by what I see on a daily basis when I log into my social media, I want to scream! All anyone is posting as of late is how so & so is offended by what this or that person said, and how some dumbfuck posted something that was racist or prejudice against them or their sister's husband's late-great uncle Fucktard Fred. WHO GIVES A RAT'S ASS??? Seriously, why does everyone feel the need to look for any opportunity they can find to be pissed off and create drama over something so menial? When did our society become so self-entitled? Just because everyone else is jumping on the "I'm offended and my pussy hurts" bandwagon, doesn't mean you need to, too. Don't these people have lives? 
Let me give you a different perspective: What if someone very dear to you, let's say your child or your husband, found out that they were terminally ill, and you had a limited time to spend with them...Would you be so inclined to get your panties in such a wad over this stupid shit? Likely not. Your energy would be focused on what's truly important and actually relevant to sustaining your life and happiness and spending quality time with the people you love. You would be worried about things that matter, not the opinions of others and their actions. Here's a news-flash, we all have limited time here, so I suggest that you GET THE FUCK OVER YOURSELVES, YOU NARCISSISTIC DILLHOLES! You and your opinions are not as important as YOU think they are.

Now, I have one thing to say regarding all of the Confederate flag mumbo jumbo and the Supreme Court's recent ruling on the ban of same-sex marriage: I DON'T GIVE A SHIT. There. I've said it. At the risk of sounding insensitive or callous, it truly is how I feel. Take a moment and ask yourself why it's so important to you, personally. Do you even know? What ever happened to people just minding their own business and handling their affairs, without having the need to vocalize every opinion they have just because they have one? Why choose to be a judgmental prick? There's so much more going on in this world, why give a second thought to what someone else views as right or wrong? The way I see it, a flag that was first made well before my lifetime has absolutely no bearing on my day to day grind or personal life. It's a fucking flag, folks. While some people may see it as a painful reminder of their ancestor's past, and dumbshit hilljacks may still use it as a symbol for their backwoods frame of minds that they've had born and bred into them, the truth is, that unless you allow yourself to take on some sort of emotional attachment to it, it's still just a piece of fabric. You are the only one that controls what your thoughts are about it and the feelings that come from your personal points of view. Don't try to put that blame on someone else, or for fuck's sake, a flag.

As for equal rights for marriage- I'm happy for all of my friends that are positively affected by this. To see so many people thankful and full of joy, is a wonderful thing. In my opinion, I don't think that I, nor anyone else should have a right to say that someone can't marry the person they love. I'm a heterosexual woman and I have absolutely no idea what it's like to be told that not only is it wrong, but that I CAN NOT marry someone I love so, once again, this is completely irrelevant to my life, so why the hell should I care? And for those folks that say this has single-handedly ruined the sanctity of marriage, Uhhh...have you looked around? The truth is that the mass majority of our peers these days don't take the commitment and their vows seriously and I'm genuinely shocked when my friends make it to their fifth wedding anniversaries. That's so, so fucking sad and to be honest, just one more reason why I have never chosen to marry. At the end of the day, I don't care who marries whom, I just think that when you say "I DO", you should mean it with every ounce of your being. To say that 'the gays" have ruined it is by far one of the most asinine statements I've ever heard. People have ruined it, period.

And one more thing....for those of you that have so excitedly embraced Bruce Jenner as a woman and prefer to call him Caitlyn- that's totally fine, but don't you dare attempt to be condescending and correct me when I refer to him as a HE. As far as I'm concerned, no matter how many tits you put on a man and how many beautiful gowns he decides to wear, he will never be a woman, The day that doctors effectively flip, nip, and tuck a cock inside out and make a man menstruate and give him the ability to GIVE BIRTH TO A LIVE HUMAN BEING, I will nod my head in agreement and say, "Why yes, you are indeed a woman."  Until then, he's just another dude rockin' a set of perky tits, with some fabulous heels, and red lipstick, while tucking his cock up next to his turd cutter.

On a more disturbing note, ponder this: if Jenner did in fact decide to go through with trading his twig and berries in for a vag, do you think he would let his partner give him an Alabama Hot Pocket or do you think he'd just stick to a Porky Piggins? I know you're going to Google it, and that's some sick shit right there. 

The LOVE Connection

Since my last post (I know, it's been ages!) I have acquired myself a boyfriend. As shocking as that may be, I finally met a dude that meets my standards, and we met on Tinder, nonetheless. It took me a minute to really open myself up to the thought of taking myself off the market and settling down with just one penis, but thus far it's been worth it. To say that I'm not completely terrified and skeptical of how things will turn out and the thought of risking getting my heart broken and trampled on again makes my stomach turn, is a lie. Trust is a major issue for me, and old habits die hard. Through the process of getting to know this fella, I've practically had to relearn how to be in a healthy relationship and I consistently have to remind myself of a little saying that goes something along the lines of  "If you carry bricks from your old house into your new one, you will only end up with the same shitty house." I know that if I constantly go back to my old frame of mind pertaining to relationships, I will never successfully build a strong foundation for a lasting and happy partnership. Instead, I choose to look forward and enjoy the little things in the present. I have decided that the only way to truly be happy and to make this dude happy is to give myself to him 100% and hope that in turn he will do the same for me. Thus far, I have no complaints.

Now, let's roll this lil train back a few months and blab about this hunk and how amazingly wonderful and crazy my life has been since our little ding-ding notification. 

Our first date was on a chilly, Thursday evening in Westport. We met for a drink, with no more intent than to just see where it would go from there. I was sitting at the bar, sipping on my Moscow Mule when he walked in. He had on some nice slacks, a cardigan over a button up, and a tie. A fucking tie! I was impressed by his threads, fo sho. And that smile...boom! He was off to a good start.

We took a seat on a couple of bar stools away from all the other patrons and started chatting. I honestly wasn't sure what kind of vibe he was putting off, which drove me nuts. He seemed to be interested with all my yapping, but I couldn't get a solid read on him because he was a little fidgety. One drink turned into a few drinks, and I was starting to feel pretty loose. I figured my PBJ from lunch was long gone and my ass was starting to get super sore from sitting on that bar stool, so we moved to a table and I suggested some we grab some grubbage or he was going to see an entirely different side of me that wasn't going to be quite so pretty. There was nothing appealing on the menu, so we decided to walk a couple of blocks and grab a bite elsewhere. We ended up shutting the place down. The staff had started stacking the chairs on the tables around us, and we were so entranced in our conversation, we hardly noticed. 

Somehow, our leftovers ended up in my car, and we ended up sitting at the bar in Buzzard Beach until the lights came on and they gave us the boot. I seriously couldn't believe that I met this guy at 6:30 and here it was 3:00 A.M. and I wasn't even remotely sick of him. Major points, buster. He walked me to my car, and there just so happened to be a delivery truck blocking me in, so I was stuck. We decided to just sit in the car and ended up having a pretty spectacular make-out-sesh right there in the illumination of Panera Bread's overhead sign. It was definitely one of those moments when my Diva Cup was my will power, and I was thankful I didn't just rip his buttons right off of his trousers and let him have his way with me, because I fucking wanted it, bad.

We had our second date a few nights later, and then a third and so on. To say that it has been perfect bliss, would be a stretch, but it hasn't been far from it. I think having a serious boyfriend has some killer perks, and as you may have noticed, I like to make lists of shit, and I know your ass reads them daily on Buzzfeed, so we may as well indulge one another. Enjoy, fuckos.

Signs your boyfriend just may be a keeper:

1. He makes you laugh when you're in a shitty mood.

2. Although he loathes coffee and all things coffee related, (weirdo, right?!) he purchased a coffee pot and coffee for you so that you could enjoy your morning cup of happiness at his house when you stay over, and he even kisses you with coffee breath. Wowzers.

3. He does the helicockter whenever you ask him to, with zero hesitation and always with a smile.

4. Although he laughs at your ridiculous fear of eight-legged freaks, he promptly kills them in your presence...Sometimes he even does it with a blow torch just for your sadistic entertainment.

5. When you work late, he almost always cooks you dinner, and you enjoy every bite of it, even if that chicken breast is more like chicken jerky.

6. He tells you that you look sexy or beautiful every time he sees you. And he's honest when you don't.

7. You can make fun of people together without uttering a single word, and know exactly what the other is thinking.

8. You never get tired of fucking him. Every single trip to Poundtown is purely ecstatic and leaves you excited for the next round and craving his touch and the way he looks at you when he's rammin' dat ass.

9. He holds your hand in public, and he grabs your ass, whether people are looking or not. You love that shit.

10. You have someone to change your oil and listen to the weird noises your car makes. 

11. He gives killer foot rubs, and doesn't complain most of the time.

12. He has a very gifted mouth...and not just linguistically.

13. He has the same sick and twisted sense of humor as you, so you can send him your most obscene pics and memes and know that you're going to get something equally crude or offensive back.

14. He never speaks to you in a disrespectful or demeaning way, but he also doesn't hold back or sugar coat anything, and he always lets you know when you're being "fussy"...AKA in major bitch mode. 

15. He carries the heavy stuff.

16. He knows that the majority of your family is white trash and all the emotional baggage that comes along with your past, and he accepts it, rather than judging you and every mistake you make along the way.

17. He makes a solid effort to build a relationship with your spawn and understands how important it is to you that he is a stable and positive influence in not just your life, but theirs as well. 

18. He never leaves the toilet seat up, so you never fall into the toilet when you go pee in the middle of the night.

19. He takes care of you when you're sick and goes out of his way to make sure that you're always comfortable at his house.

20. When you take a bubble bath at his house and run the bubbles out of the tub and all over the bathroom, he just laughs and joins you in the tub for a lil rub-a dub-dub.

And last, but certainly not least...

21. He lets you stop in the middle of a toe-curling blow job, so that you can remove your bangle bracelets, and play ring toss with his penis, and he even applauds you when you make a ringer.

How could I not love this dude? 

That's A Worn Out Slogan, Wannabe Hulk Hogan

It was 8:07 A.M. and I was on my commute home from dropping my spawn off at school a few mornings ago, when I happened to pass by a fella in a little beat up Ford Ranger just going to Chowtown on an ice cream cone. It was soft serve in a sugar cone. Just where in Hell do you get soft serve ice cream at that hour of the day, AND WHY THE FUCK IS THIS DUDE EATING A TWIST CONE FOR BREAKFAST??? Seriously, I'd like to know, in case I ever decide I want to kick my obesity into high gear.
God Bless America.

New Year, New Me Bullshit

Well folks, its a new year, and as much as I'd like to claim that I'm working on changing into an all new me, alas, I am not. Last year was pretty damn awesome, and I feel as though I grew a lot as a whole. I set a financial goal to make a certain percentage more than the year before at my job, and I nailed it. I had decided I wanted to travel a bunch and see cool shit I had only ever imagined since I was a child, and I did. I had striven to make new friends, and push myself well beyond my comfort zone on many levels, and I succeeded. I had a remarkable year, and there's not a thing I would change about it, or the person I am evolving into because of it. Today, it feels good to be me.

I have however, been doing a lot of personal reflection, and really analyzing where I need to make some self improvements both mentally and physically. It's never an easy task to truly look at your life and your actions and admit your faults and own up to your failures. Sometimes, that's exactly what we need to do to find our balance. 

As for the mental side of things, I've definitely been a bit hard on myself lately. Sometimes the stress of being a single mom really beats me down. I'm my harshest critic most days, and sometimes I feel as though no matter how hard I try, I will never get ahead of the game. I worry constantly that I work too much, and that when I'm not working I'm too busy doing laundry and all the domestic shit that has to be done, to really have the quality time with my spawn they deserve. It's a never ending cycle, and I honestly don't know how to make it any easier. I just keep pushing and pulling my way through and try to remain positive.

Lately, I find myself worrying about my health and what would happen if something tragic were to happen to me. In September, I had to rush myself to the ER after laying in pain for two days, thinking I was dying, to find that I had a golf ball sized ovarian cyst rupture. Let me tell you, it's depressing as fuck to have to drive yourself to and from the hospital when you feel like you just had a near death experience. It's even more so when you get asked multiple times if there's anyone they can call in case shit goes haywire and a decision has to be made, and your answer is "No, I don't have a person that's authorized to pull my plug if I turn into a veggie." I had never felt more alone in my entire life. Luckily, I have some amazing friends that are always there for me when I ask them to be, but there lies the issue...I have the hardest time asking for help, from anyone. I hate being vulnerable, and most of all, I loathe feeling like I'm a burden to someone. I'm too stubborn for my own good and it's all a huge mind fuckery that I've had since I was a young girl. Ultimately, I have learned through the years that the only person I will ever be able to count on and trust is myself, so it's difficult for me to open myself up to the possibility of someone else actually wanting to step up to the plate, and help lessen my load. This is obviously an area I need to work on, and I attempt to every single day.

A few years back, when all of my girlfriends started warning me about how much your mind and body changes in your thirties, I didn't take them very serious. I just looked at my tight ass and smooth skin and shrugged, like it was never going to happen to me. HA!!! I took my youth for granted. Now I look in the mirror and cringe when I see the wrinkles on my forehead and the cellulite on my thighs. I look at my breasts and remember what they were like before child bearing and gravity started to take hold. I pinch my mom belly daily, and reminisce about my old six pack and belly ring. It makes me want to fucking vomit. Just a couple of years ago, I could just cut carbs for a couple of weeks and jog around the block and lose 10 pounds lickity split. Nowadays, I just look at a fucking cupcake and get a new dimple on my ass cheek. So, I decided to take my jiggly self back to the gym and work at being less of a tub of lard. I know it's what my body needs, and my mind craves it. And let me be honest, we all know I enjoy some muscled eye candy when my endorphins are pumping and I'm dripping with sweat. Wink, wink!

Random pet peeve of mine: 

I find it so very annoying when a man with long hair constantly strokes and pets his hair. We get it, dude. You have long hair, and I'm sure you think it's pretty. However, twirling it and flipping it over your shoulder like you're Fabio doesn't appeal to me. I think you look like a feminine bitch boy and I want to shoot you in the face with a rubber band in hopes that you'll at least pull that stringy shit back into a pony tail. 

Thanks For Playing, Now Fuck Off

When dating, if your partner suddenly starts acting distant and says they don't know what they want, they're lying. THEY KNOW. They just don't have the balls to tell you that it isn't you. It's that simple. They may throw some lame excuses your way, such as, "I'm just not ready for something serious right now" or "I really like you, but I'm afraid I'll hurt you" and my personal favorite, "I just don't know if it's a good idea for me to date a woman with kids because I don't want anyone to get hurt"- after the fact that you already knew I had kids and we had spoken in depth about the entire situation, multiple times. I will never understand why people can't just be straightforward and say what it is they feel. Why must you play games and be deceitful? Why waste the energy? 

I recently read an article by  Mark Manson titled “Fuck Yes or No,” about this very subject that really struck home with me. Many of you have likely read it, since I posted the link on Facebook, but for those of you that haven't, allow me to share. The gist of the article is to describe the all-too-common “grey area” of dating, where “feelings are ambiguous or one person has stronger feelings than the other.” You know you've been there, we’ve all been there. According to Manson, if you’re in the grey area to start with, you’re already setting yourself up for failure. To help assure you that you’re entering into an equally beneficial and enthusiastic partnership, Manson says you should apply “The Law Of Fuck Yes Or No”

To break it down for you, I'll give you an example.

I started dating a guy a while back that upon our first meeting, I knew he wasn't a good match for me. Our first meeting was supposed to be a coffee date at 9:00 AM at a little coffee shop of his choosing. I showed up early, he wasn't there. I ordered myself a frothy latte, and poked around on Pinterest while I patiently awaited his arrival. At 9:15 I text him and asked if perhaps I had gone to the wrong place. No reply. By 9:30 I had finished my drink, and I was livid. I couldn't believe I had been stood up for a fucking coffee date on a Monday morning. So, I walked out to my car, and just as I was getting in, I received a text saying he was sorry and that he'd be there in 10 minutes. I told him I had already left, and that my time was valuable and he had wasted it. I felt disrespected. Right then and there should have been when I cut it off, but we all know how dumb I can be sometimes, and much to my regret, I didn't. I left and went to a little shop a few blocks away to pick up some things on my list of shit to get. 

He asked me to come back, and he would make it up to me. He would buy me a coffee and breakfast. (Yippie!) I told him I would, but I took my sweet-ass time and made him wait about as long as he had made me wait. I arrived, drank more coffee, and we chatted for a short while. He invited me to come hang out with him later that afternoon for a bit if I was free, and I accepted. Fast forward a few hours and we sat outside on his deck and yapped some more. You see, I had already had my doubts about this fella because he didn't respect my time, nor did he genuinely seem to care that it had bothered me. The majority of the time we conversed, he did most of the talking and it was all about how great he was and all the great things he does and had done. He didn't seem at all interested in learning about me, he was more entertained with selling himself, to me. I flat out told him that I thought he was a narcissist, and he laughed. Boom. Right there it was. I knew the type of man he was from two conversations, and the red flags were beating the shit out of my brains, yet I made the conscious decision to continue on with him, with extreme caution. It was a laughable attempt on my part.

The point of this is that I knew before I even met this guy that he wasn't going to meet my standards and that I would have far too many reservations about him for anything successful to ever come from dating him. Sure, we had fun. He is a nice guy, he has a good heart. But, he's not the man for me. I knew at the very start that he wasn't a "Fuck Yes!" to me, and ultimately I was not a "Fuck Yes" for him. I want to date someone that when asked if they want to come to dinner at my house and eat a fat pot roast that simmered in my slow cooker all day, he responds, "Fuck Yes, I do!" I don't want a man that says I probably shouldn't because insert lame excuse here, and then an hour later tell me he's going to go eat tacos at some dive bar. I wasn't a "Fuck Yes" to him, I was just an option. Why didn't he just throw a fresh pile of shit in my face? He may as well have, because that's about how much respect and appreciation he gave me for my thoughtfulness and willingness to go out of my way to prepare a nice dinner for him to enjoy. It was damn tasty, and now I'M GLAD I DIDN'T HAVE TO SHARE.

The moral of all this mumbo jumbo is simply this, I personally have found myself repeating the same behaviors with the same type of men, over and over again. It's draining, and emotionally it begins to wear on my self esteem, even though I know from the start that it's a matter of self-sabotage when I allow myself to become emotionally involved with a man that's just not the one for me.

I just want to find a good dude, with a big ol' dick to just love me for me, and be there for me when I need someone to talk to and help ease my stresses. Isn't that basically in some form what we all want? So, why do we complicate shit? We will never know the answer to that. 

It looks like I will be making some changes in 2015 after all.

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