Breaking up is hard to do. That's it. That very sentence says it all.
Life is funny, you know? You can be going on about your shit happily and completely content, then BAMMM!! All of the sudden this person walks in and totally changes the course of your entire life. They change you. You can try to fight it (God knows I sure as fuck did) but it's of no use. All it takes is that one moment, with the right look, at the right time and then it happens...you fall in love.
Although I resisted, inevitably I fell hard. I just couldn't help myself. It was the way he smiled. The way he held my hand, or brushed my hair off of my face. He would chuckle and sigh, "Oh babe, I love you" when I would say something completely asinine or just flat out silly. It was the way he smelled when he came home from work, and it was the way his hair stood up in a disheveled mess when he crawled out of bed in the morning. Goddamnit, it was the way he fucking inhaled and exhaled his breath. Now, I'm here, crying my puffy, bloodshot eyes out, after four solid days of no sleep or appetite, while he's smashing away on his Xbox controller and loving his life...WITHOUT ME.
I can't tell you what went wrong, because I honestly don't know. We were planning for our futures together. I allowed my children to get to know him slowly, and surely they grew fond of him, too. We talked about moving in together and how we'd arrange their rooms. We started planning a vacation for all of us to go on, per his suggestion. It was all WE! Everything was US! Now, I'm stuck here wondering what the fuck happened to us? Where did I go wrong? What could I have done better? Just Why??? I thought we were happy. He assured me and reassured me time after time that I could trust him. He was my person. He was my rock. I could fucking count on him and lean on him when I needed strength. I needed to take a chance and let my guard down with him. Bullshit. He waited until I did just that and then Poof- he was done.
When the man you love with every ounce of your being says to you in the same breath that he loves you, BUT he has to be honest with you...When he went to happy hour with his colleagues one Friday night in February (also the evening prior to the day he blew off a commitment he made with you and your children) he met someone and he really felt a connection. "They had chemistry." He really enjoyed flirting with her all evening and didn't want to stop. It made him regret that he wasn't single. So, this vanilla-looking bitch with a six-finger-forehead from Loan Processing obviously gave the man I was sure I was going to spend the rest of my life with such a fucking hard-on, that he was willing to throw away 14 months of happiness. What a fucking joke. And sadly, this joke's on me.
He tells me this, while we're laying in bed and I have my head resting on his chest. This man shatters my heart into a million shards, while I lay my fucking head on his. At that moment, I was numb. I was in total disbelief and shock. I couldn't comprehend the words coming out of his mouth. I sat up and picked at my chipped nail polish and fought the urge to allow the screams of anguish in my heart and head to come out of my mouth.
A part of me died.
This man that I love tells me that he doesn't feel anything for this plain Jane and that he's not wanting to pursue anything with her, or anyone else for that matter. He claims that he wants to just figure things out in his head and be single for a while. He states that he knows it's hard for me to believe, but he does love me, and has been happy the whole relationship. I was the best girlfriend he could ever hope for, and the last year was one of the happiest in his entire life. This is hard for him, too...He just started having doubts. It's not fair to string me along and blah, blah, blah.
NO! YOU JUST WANT TO GET YOUR DICK WET ELSEWHERE WITHOUT GUILT.
This isn't my first rodeo, cowboy. This is day four. Day five could be easier, and day six may be the worst yet, but one thing I do know is this; I'm a tough broad, and I may not always have the highest self-esteem, but I know my worth. I was loyal and dedicated to you. I gave you everything I had to offer with passion- mind, body, and soul. I was honest and took you and all of your faults into me, and loved you fiercely. I desired you when you couldn't even look upon yourself in the mirror. I cherished everything about you. In return, you threw me away like I'm nothing, and that is something I will never understand, nor will I ever forget.
That last night together, I laid quietly crying next to this man that I love, physically unable to leave his side. In my mind I silently begged for forgiveness for whatever I had done to deserve this. I silently pleaded that I would wake up and it would just be another shitty dream. I silently prayed that he would roll over and just hold me and tell me that he made a mistake and he couldn't live without me. I didn't want to let him go. I lay there awake all night long, and watched the minutes pass us by. I listened to his roaring snores, and for once didn't even mind them. I just wanted to soak in every moment with this man that I love, because it would be the very last.
I'm fully aware that this may make me sound bitter and maybe even a little crazy. I know that sharing my feelings in such a public manner may be tasteless to some, and perhaps even unforgivable to a few, but this is how I take the steps I need to get the pain out and to begin to heal. This is how I move forward with my life, without the man that I love.
If you, this man that I love, should ever happen to read this -please just know this to be true:
Even though you've shattered my heart and soul into a million pieces, I still love you with each and every one of them, and I will forever miss you.
Monday, March 28, 2016
Monday, November 16, 2015
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.
Monday, July 20, 2015
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.
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?
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?
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
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.
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?"
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.
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.
Saturday, July 19, 2014
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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