Archive | March, 2012

Story of my life

29 Mar

20120328-175417.jpg

A flow chart

28 Mar

Inevitably after a break up an ex always calls. It’s been several years since 3D and I broke up. I haven’t seen him since the last time I had his dick in my hand. BUT I know that I am weak and stupid and if I see him I’d sleep with him. Yes, he has horse teeth. Yes, he is annoying. Yes, he can literally charm the pants off of you.

Strangely enough, he still emails or texts me every two to four weeks. Like clockwork. I ignore 90% of his messages. The 10% I respond to end up with me telling him I’m sleeping with three guys at the same time and charging them for it. For some reason, this makes him angry.

For those of you who have a hard time resisting those booty calls from your ex, I’ve put together a little flow chart. I hope this helps you.

20120328-133608.jpg

An open letter to Peeta Mellark

23 Mar

Yeah, that’s right. I’m Team Peeta all the way. First, let me just remind you of my utter hatred for Twilight. AND let me remind you that The Hunger Games is no Twilight. There’s no glittery bodies in fields. Or stupid bitches yearning for vampires or werewolves. Fuck that shit. Right in its stupid ass. No no, people, The Hunger Games is nothing like that.

But look, this isn’t about the book. This is about my love for Peeta. I’ve taken the liberty of writing him a love note.

20120323-181620.jpg

It’s days like this…

22 Mar

Being a single chick it’s mandated I own a vibrator. If I didn’t have one I’d be arrested, or worse, walk around with cramped hands. It’s a sad state of affairs when the batteries die in the vibrator. Especially when I’m in the middle of…er…um…the moment. Awful. Tear worthy. Typically this requires I borrow the batteries from the remote control until I can get to the store.

But what happens when the remote has dead batteries? Do I borrow batteries from my “boyfriend”? Hell to the no. Instead I choose one channel and suck it up. Ain’t no way I’m risking running down the batteries from my best friend!

Further Proof That I’m an Idiot

1 Mar

I hate my own stupidity, I really do.  Beyond idiotic sometimes.  Hey, Oingo Boingo, this one’s for you…

I logged onto Google chat today for the first time in months and months.  A message immediately popped up saying, “Hey, stranger.”  I saw the message and the name and immediately started typing.  After all, I just love Claude!  He’s such a delight.  So we’re messaging for a few minutes and I casually ask him how his new dog is doing.  “Doggy?” He asks.  “Yeah, didn’t your folks get that puppy?”  To which he replies, “Do you know who this is?”

That’s when I look at the name and realize it doesn’t say Claude.  Oh, no.  No it does not.  It just so happens that it’s a dude who has the SAME fucking last name as Claude and who’s first name looks like Claude.  When I realize this, I immediately think, “Fuck.  FUCK!  Fuckity fuck fuck fuck me.”

Who is it, you want to know.  It just so happens it’s a dude who I totally ditched.  Ditched hard…

Several months ago this guy started chatting me up on OK Cupid.  He seemed fine, so I agreed to meet him for a drink.  After all, it’s not like I have dudes knocking down my door these days.  Plus I can actually feel my ovaries shrinking and each month I can hear my eggs weeping as they die.  It’s a sad sad state of affairs.

Shortly after agreeing to go out with him, I find out that he knows Oingo Boingo.  So like any other chick on the face of the earth, I immediately go into stealth mode and start peppering Oingo Boingo with questions.  I was out with his wife, Jersey Belle, and we started texting about it.  As soon as we started asking him, he started laughing at him.  As I recall his response was, “You’re going to hate him.  I can’t wait to read the blog post.”  I, of course, ran for the hills.

The dude would write to me and I would promptly delete all of his emails.  So months later, here we are again and he’s no IMing me.  Fuck me.

It would be really nice if I was mature enough to say, “I’m an asshole, sorry for doing that.”  Instead I took the cop out pussy way out.  I told him my brother-in-law had been ill, I’ve been in Baltimore every weekend, and I’m working a lot.  Lies.  I just lied to him.  Why?  Because I’m an ass.  It’s no wonder I’m single.  You know he had to throw out the “are you seeing anyone” question, and clearly I’m wasn’t going to tell him the truth.  Instead I went ahead and told him I had been seeing someone for about 2 months and we met at work.

I believe we’ve all learned a lesson here: and that lesson is to never ever allow people in your chat list unless you actually want to talk to them.

Fuck.