Archive | February, 2011

Kissing Frogs (Repost)

28 Feb

Sometimes I am amazed by the awesomeness of my own blog.  I mean, really, I’m awesome. Not all the time, but most of the time.  There’s some pretty deep stuff on this blog.  And some funny stuff.  And sometimes, sad stuff.  I just think I’m cool.

Man, I should have been a writer or something!  Here’s a little post about the magic of making out which was originally written on 11/20/2008.  You’re welcome.


“You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you’ll find your prince.” That’s what a friend of the family used to tell me when I was a teenager. Here I am some 15 years later, and I’ve made my way through quite a large number of frogs. Yet I keep going back for more in hopes of finding that prince of mine. We’re raised to believe that that there’s someone out there waiting for us. Scratch that, not someone, but THE ONE. Our better half. Our soul mate. But how do you know when you’ve found him or her? There are some people that believe that you just know when you’ve found THE ONE. You will feel it! The the planets to align, the Heavens to open up, the angels to sing, the seas to part.

There has only been one person (so far) that I thought was THE ONE. He was it, I was certain of it. I dated Mr. Big X for nearly 2 years. He’s the one that I would describe as THE ex. He’s the one that set the standard, the one that each new potential beau is compared to. I thought we would end up married. I thought he was the father of my children. Alas, things didn’t quite work out as I had anticipated. Perhaps I should have known from that first kiss how things would wind up.

By the time the first kiss came along, we had known each other for about 18 months, and I had been crushing on him for about 18 months. I would pine away for him and clutch my pillow at night pretending it was him. I’d find stupid reasons to walk past his desk during the day at work. We would hang out at happy hour and I would flirt with him. I guess sometimes he’d flirt back with me, but I could never tell if he was being nice to me or if he was interested. I clearly remember one occasion when we were out at a bar, and there were 4 of us talking about hot female celebrities. His friend had mentioned some young starlet with a rocking hot body. Mr. Big X turned to me and said, “I don’t care for those girls. They’re too skinny. I like full figured girls.” I had to walk away because all I could thing to myself was, “He just called me fat.”

On the fateful day of our first kiss, we found ourselves with my sister and a friend on a boat enjoying the fine summer day. The day had been perfect! We had spent the day flirting with one another and I had a feeling that he might ask me out. When he drove me home that night, and asked if he could come up to my apartment, I was positive that he just needed to use the bathroom. Once upstairs, something changed. Gone was his cool confidence-in its place was some kind of false charm. It’s kind of difficult to describe. Kind of like when you first meet someone and they seem very nice, then the second they find out that you’re in the market for a car, they suddenly transform into the stereotypical cheesy car salesman. That’s what it was like with him. He fed me cheesy lines like: “You’re such a great girl,” and “You’d be so fun to date.” I half expected him to pull out a chart showing a graph of the features and benefits of dating him. After about 15 minutes of him feeding me cheesy lines, he asked me out. Without making a scene, or wetting myself from sheer excitement, I said yes. I’m happy to say that he didn’t notice my voice shaking; at least I’m pretty sure he didn’t.

He then placed his right hand on my left thigh and asked, “Can I kiss you?” He tried to make this sound natural, but it came across as so awkward. Who the hell asks that question these days? I struggled to control my eyes from rolling. ”Sure,” I answered casually. I didn’t know what to do; he was sitting kind of far away from me. In my experience, when I was about to kiss someone, our faces were already near one another’s – not 2 feet apart. I leaned down and placed my glasses on the table, not knowing whether I should move closer to him or wait for him to close the 2 feet of distance between us. When I straightened up, he began moving his face towards mine. In the 5 seconds it took for him to bring his lips to mine, I remember feeling so nervous, and not knowing where to look or if I should just close my eyes.

I was expecting fireworks. I was expecting trumpets. I was expecting the planets to align, the Heavens to open up, the angels to sing, the seas to part. Instead, I got a wah wah wah. The kiss was not what I had imagined – what I had hoped for. BAM! Our lips met and he was suddenly darting his tongue in and out of my mouth like a snake. He was moving it in and out so quickly that I started to get nauseated. I backed away for a second to see if I could somehow get him to take it easy, or to try to kill his little snake imitation. No such luck. He grabbed the back of my head, and proceeded to shove his tongue half way down my throat. I’m surprised I didn’t choke and die right then and there.

Next thing I knew I was on my back, he was climbing on top of me, and he had 8 hands – 2 of which were up my shirt as I struggled for breath. I managed to wedge both my hands between us and shove him off of me. Unfortunately, I shoved a little too hard and he ended up falling off the couch, and smacking his head on the table. He managed to stay conscious and I managed to keep his tongue out of my throat for the rest of the evening. I considered backing out of the date, until I went to work the following day. There was a single white rose on my desk and a note from Mr. Big X. And that was the beginning of our relationship. A relationship that ended in tears and 2 broken hearts.

To this day I wonder if I should have known from that first kiss that he was actually a snake. Can a first kiss tell you whether the journey you’re about to embark on is something significant or just a booty call? Can it tell you if the person you’re with is THE ONE or just someone?

It’s Broke and it Needs Fixing

28 Feb

You know what I love?  Having $7.39 to take me to my next paycheck.  It really rules.  My breakfast, lunch, and dinner this week will consist of dry cereal, Ramen, and wheat crackers.  Perhaps this will help me gain the 20 pounds I’ve put on since last summer.  Hmm…perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise.

This is what happens when you decide it’s a good idea to own a house, not sell it, and use it to store furniture and junk you don’t even want all while renting a lovely new house in a great new neighborhood.  Oh, and let’s not forget going out and pretending like you have money to spend on drinks which are too expensive.  Oh, and buying coffee, breakfast, and lunch everyday.  Yeah, doesn’t turn out so well.  Here I am with $7.39 until Friday and I’m trying to figure out how I will spend it this week.  My guess is it will go to coffee and sodas I won’t finish.

If I were smart, I’d probably use some of it to pay for nail polish remover.  I got a pedicure last month and the pain is finally peeling.  The state of my toes right now is more reminiscent of someone who lives in a trailer park and shops at a Walmart than of a fine, upstanding, and sophisticated young lady who rents a house in one city, and has a vacation home (read, my primary residence) in another city.  People, I can’t afford nail polish remover??  This is bad!!  What makes it even fucking worse is this means I can’t afford a god damned pedicure.


I’m not going to be able to afford alcohol this week!  All I have is 1/3 of a bottle of Arbor fucking Mist in the fridge!  What the fuck am I going to do??

A Conversation Between Me and You

27 Feb
  • Me: Hey, you!  How’ve you been??
  • You: I thought you were dead…
  • Me: You what?  No, no!  I live.  I’m alive.  Still here.  You know, living the exciting life of a single girls in the suburbs of Pennsylvania.
  • You: Yeah, well.  You haven’t written in awhile so I imagined you having choked on something and then rotting in your house for a few days before anyone found you.  Something along those lines.
  • Me: Sorry to disappoint you.  I just haven’t written in awhile.
  • You:  Remember when you sued to post all the time and bore us with all the details of your mundane life?
  • Me: Come on, now.  It hasn’t been THAT long since I posted.  And my life isn’t THAT boring.
  • You: Yes it has and yes it is.
  • Me: Well screw you then.
  • You: No, wait.  That’s not what I mean.  I mean, I kind of miss hearing about all your stupid shenanigans.
  • Me: Oh, in that case…thank you?
  • You: Life’s just not the same without Just the Tip Tuesday and without knowing how your search for peen is going, or hearing what your mom’s been up to.  It’s just not the same. [wipes away tear]
  • Me: Hey now, kiddo.  [soft punch to the shoulder] Don’t cry now.  I’ll write more.  I promise.
  • You: And will you tell us fun stories about all the new guys you’re dating?
  • Me: I’d love to, but you know I have less than zero luck with men.
  • You: Oh, we’ll maybe you can tell us about how you’ve got a cool new trip planned and you can go and get wasted in that new city and then something fun can happen!
  • Me: Uh, yeah, I don’t have any trips planned any time soon.
  • You: Oh, well.  How about any fun drunk stories?  Can you please tell me that you’re still drinking?  Please!
  • Me: That, my dear, I can do.

I’m back, bitches.

  • Me:

The “Joys” of Moving

15 Feb

I bought my house just a month shy of my 30th birthday.  At the time I had gotten back together with Mr. Big X and had dreams of it being our starter home.  That’s where I would live when I got married, my husband would move in, we’d do some work to the house, and then we’d have kids.  In a four bedroom, two bath house, with a HUGE yard, there would be plenty of room for a little family.

Um, yeah, so that didn’t quite work out like I planned.

I go home to Baltimore pretty frequently and make attempts at packing.  Usually this means I pack a box (that’s what she said) before I give up and decide going out to spend money on drinks with my friends is a far better idea.  It’s been over nine months since I moved out of the house and I still haven’t put it on the market.  Finally, I have a new place in Pennsylvania and the time has come to say goodbye to my first little house.  Easier said then done.  Packing a house and preparing to get it on the market makes me want to slit my wrists with a very dull blade.  It is sheer torture.  Kind of like listening to someone tell me about their kids dirty diapers. Painful.

I’m in the middle of moving hell.  I moved into my new place a few days ago and have two chairs, a table, an air mattress and one billion boxes scattered around.  Meanwhile, back home I have even more boxes and another zillion things that need to be packed.  Last night I attempted to do some unpacking.  I managed to get through half a box before giving it up and going to my room to take a little nap.

Here’s the problem.  My air mattress has a bit of a leak.  On the first night it seemed fine, until I woke up about three hours later feeling like I was laying in the middle of a giant rubber taco shell with my feet in the air.  Slow leaks suck.  I took it back, got another one.  This one isn’t quite as bad, but I wake up smelling like a rubber band.  Not good.  Especially when I’m trying to seduce the waitstaff at the local bar.  Who the hell wants to date a girl with no furniture who smells like a rubber band?

Looks like the peen counter is going to be staying as is for a little while longer…


I love VD

14 Feb

Oh Valentine’s Day, I love how you remind me I don’t have a boyfriend. As if my empty vag doesn’t mock me enough. Well fuck you, Valentin’s Day. Fuck you.

Okay, not really. You know I love you. And look, I even got flowers AND candy today. A flower and a lollipop to be exact. And sure the flower was from my boss and the candy was from my work husband. But I got a little something-something.

Sure, I’d love to tell the world I got laid twice today and came three times. I’d also like granite counter tops and a bigger bathroom. And I’d like the government not to cut funding for public radio. While I’m at it I’d also like a firmer ass and better boobs.

Just the Tip Tuesday (02/08/11)

8 Feb

Bitches, I’m going back to robbing the cradle.

Boom Boom and I creamed our panties watching this on Monday night.  It was SO god damned good we watched it three times.

Oh, Darren Criss, I heart you even though I have eggs older than you are.  Yes, he plays a gay teen on Glee, but I’m happy to report he likes vagina.  And guess what??  I have a vagina!

Suck on This, Kelis!

2 Feb

I’d just like to throw it out there that my milkshake is 100 times better than Kelis’s ever was.  Yeah, hers brought all the boys to the yard, but mine makes them bust through the front door.  Why?  Because mine has Bailey’s in it.  Yeah, that’s right.  A milkshake WITH booze in it.  Take that, Kelis!!

Saturday night I had a romantic she-date with Jersey Belle.  It was a very refined date complete with a cheese plate from Wegmans and a very fancy and healthy tropical salad.  There was even pink champagne.  But the highlight of the night wasn’t when Jersey Belle hopped up on the couch and started belting out her own rendition of “Baby, I Like It” (her words include, “Baby I like it, the way you poop on the floor”.  No, no, my friends.  The highlight was the delicious milkshakes we made.  And the fancy part was we used 4 year-old Brown’s straws to drink out of them.  Nothing says klassy like drinking alcohol through a Mickey Mouse straw.

Bailey’s Milkshakes

  • 1/2 cup vanilla ice cream
  • 1/2 cup chocolate ice cream
  • 6 ice cubes
  • 1/2 cup milk (skim because you’re really trying to watch your weight)
  • lots and lots of Bailey’s
  • whipped cream to top

Throw it all in the blender and mix it until the ice cubes are crushed.  Pour it in a big glass, add the whipped cream, grab your kid’s straw and drink until you can’t feel your feet anymore.

Just the Tip Tuesday (02/01/11)

1 Feb

I’ve been fighting a nasty flu for the last few days.  It hasn’t quite gotten to the point where I’d take myself to the ER or make a doctor’s appointment.  It’s not like they can do anything for me.  What will they do?  Tell me to rest and drink plenty of fluids?  I don’t need a doctor to tell me that.  Now, if I knew the doctor would be hot, I might reconsider.  Then again, I don’t think I want some hot ass doctor looking at me when I look like ass.  Then again, the likelihood of being seen by Dr. Adonis is slim to none.

Ever notice how the doctors on TV tend to be far hotter than the ones you’d actually see in a hospital?  I mean, think about it.  When was the last time you walked into a hospital and saw a hot doctor?  My mom is a doctor and has worked in hospitals and not once did I ever meet one of her coworkers and think to myself, “I’d really like it if he took my temperature…rectally.”

Now, if the doctor looked anything like Eric Dane as McSteamy, you can bet your bottom dollar I’d let him take my temperature anyway he wanted.

I wish he would play my bongos.