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Mending a Broken Heart

27 May

I’m typing this with Flamin’ Hot Cheeto-dusted finger tips.  Life is hard.  Relationships are HARD.  Especially when they’re imaginary relationships with secret boyfriends who are busy dating other people because they don’t realize that they’re in a relationship with you.  Ugh, I freaking swear.  How hard is it to get a little attention from your secret boyfriend??

So as I wrote earlier he’s off on a date – probably with the woman of his dreams – while I’m busy on the couch dissecting EVERY SINGLE interaction we’ve ever had to see if I can determine what it all means??

Last night I may or may not have sent him a message on Facebook.  And then I may or may not have checked Facebook every 15 minutes for like ALL NIGHT waiting for his response.  And did he?  No, he did not.  And did he read it?  Yes, he did, approximately 20 minutes after I sent it.  WTF?  I mean, I know hard to get and all, but seriously?  This is bad, right?  This means we’re breaking up, right?

Listen, living life as a 15 year old angsty insecure teenager in the body of a 34* year old woman is totally getting old.  I think life was just easier when I didn’t have a crush on someone who is young enough to be my son (assuming I got pregnant when I was 11), and was busy catching up on all the “Game of Thrones” seasons (Hodor).  But, no!  I just had to start talking to this hunky dreamboat with green eyes and now I’m torturing myself.

This morning I went running to a friend of mine to tell him EVERYTHING.  He was super ecstatic and informed that this dreamy dreamboat with the green eyes was totally interested in getting in my knickers.  He was, however, playing the LONG game.  Apparently, the reason that he didn’t respond to my Facebook message is that he doesn’t want to seem to eager (bullshit).  And also, apparently, the ball is in his court.

Fuck his ball.

And fuck his court.

But also, I totally hope he stops by tomorrow and tells me how horrible his date was and that he totally wants me and then he touches my boob.  That could happen, right?  Or, you know what’s probably going to happen, because this is what happened the last time I really liked someone?  He’s totally going to hit it off with her, then in 2 years they’ll be engaged, and in 3 they’ll be married, and she’ll be pregnant.

And I’ll still be sitting on this couch eating Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and wondering why I’m still single.

*Or 41, whatever.


Light the Spark

26 May

Light it up, people.  Light.  It. Up!!

What the fuck does that even mean?  I don’t know.  Who cares??  Because you know why?  You know why??  Because my DREAMY secret boyfriend with the bedroom green eyes came to visit me at my desk today.

I mean, yeah, whatever, he may have actually been stopping by to see someone else and then just popped over to say hello, but whatever!!  AND he confessed to stalking me on Facebook.  That happened.  He just mentioned a picture that I posted in October of 2014.  Um, hello, we’ve only been Facebook friends for like a month.  You know what this means, right?  It means he wants in my knickers!!

And you know what else??  He is single!!  And employed!!  And have I mentioned how dreamy his green eyes are??

So what if he’s a little bit younger than I am.  In the grand scheme of things 11 years isn’t that big of a difference.  I mean, sure, he was 10 years old when I graduated from college.  But, you know, whatever.  He has a penis, I have somewhere for him to put it.  It’s like a match made in heaven.

And who cares if like technically it would be sexual harassment if I asked him out since I’m considered “senior” and he’s very (very) “junior”.  We don’t need to tell anyone about it, right?  RIGHT!!

The writing is on the wall, people.  We all know exactly what’s going to happen next – I’m going to pursue him LIKE MAD (but not really, more like I’ll just kind of happen to cross paths with him as often as possible), and then he’ll start dating someone and I’ll end up alone on my couch with a pint of ice cream and my fat pants.

Is it wrong…

3 Jan

…to want to show your nipples to your boss? Because if its wrong, I don’t want to be right.

Hot damn he is FINE!!

Be Still, My Teenage Heart

21 Jan

Twilight is one of the stupidest franchises in the history of ever.  I hate everything about it.  Everything.  I tried to get into it, I really did.  Love the whole Vampire thing.  “True Blood” is one of my favorite shows, I rarely miss an episode.  The first “Underworld” movie is one of those that I could sit through over and over again.  So when I heard about “Twilight” I thought I’d give it a shot.  Yes, I knew it had been written for teenagers, but I had read and loved the entire “Harry Potter” series and loved every single word.

Here’s the problem with Twilight: it’s written from the point of view of a whiny teenager who just mopes around.  Nothing happens in the first part of the book.  Nothing.  A friend of mine had read it and loved it and I kept asking her, “when does it start getting good.”  She should have said, “never” because that would have been the right answer.  As soon as I got to the part where his skin is glittering in sunlight when they’re in a meadow, I shut the book and though, “Fuck this, I’m out.”

Fuck you, Stephenie Meyer, you write drivel.  Also, your name is spelled wrong.

My inner teenager died a little with that whole Twilight thing.  It cried, and then committed suicide for having been exposed to it.  The last thing I ever expected was to give another shot to stuff intended for a much young audience.  Yeah, yeah, I know I have an unnatural fascination with Big Time Rush (I blame my nephew).  And it’s not like I’m buying concert tickets and putting posters of Logan Henderson on my wall.

You can imagine my delight when a friend of mine recommended The Hunger Games, and I took her advice.  Obsessed.  Totally obsessed.  Yes, it’s totally like a teenage version of The Running Man, but who the hell cares.  Peeta Mellark is in it and I heart him.  You can bet your sweet ass I’m going to buy myself a mockingjay pin and I’ll see the movies when they hit the theaters.

You can also bet your ass that I’m totally team Peeta and I think Josh Hutcherson is a tiny dreamboat.

Yours, Mrs. Peeta Mellark.

Swoony McSwoonerton

18 Aug

Oh, Facebook, how you freaking complete me!  Let’s totally make out!

Technically, I should be working.  Mainly because I have a deadline in less than three hours and haven’t bothered to start the project.  Is it wrong to blame a slipped deadline on a sick brother-in-law?  Because I will totally do that.  BUT fuck all that, I have a story to tell!

It’s about the tall glass of water who I totally lusted after my entire college experience: The Italian Robot.  He was so dreamy.  Tall, dark, handsome, a smile which could disarm anyone (including Ghadafi), blue eyes, and devoid of any personality what so ever.  But let’s be honest here, at 21 who the hell cares about personalities.  All I wanted was to see him with his shirt off (breathless above me).  Dude was SMOKING hot!

Senior year we randomly became friends.  I walked up to him at a party and introduced myself to him saying, “I’m sure you don’t know who I am, but I live around the corner from you.”  He looked straight into my eyes and said, “I know exactly who you are,” and said my name.  Had it been a cool thing to do, I would have peed my pants.  From that night on we’d bump into each other all the time.  There was one drunken occasion when I blurted out to him that I had had a crush on him since sophomore year.  His was response was, “Oh you don’t even know!”  Too which, being the clever (and totally drunk) person I am I yelled, “No you don’t know!” and stormed out of the bar.

Slick move.  I know.  I then proceeded to get even more drunk and make out with his roommate at the bar.

A few days later we were at a party together and I asked him to take a picture with me.  He said he’s love to, and as we were posing I told him I was going to tell everyone he had been my college boyfriend.  “In that case,” he said, “let’s get another one because I wasn’t smiling.”  He then gave a stick of gum, and I told him I was going to save half of it and keep it always.  15 years later and I still have that piece of gum in a photo album.

The night before graduation he and his friends all through a big bash.  I decided this was the night I was going to throw myself at him and make my move.  My liquid courage was ready, all I needed was an opening.  Unfortunately, there was this whore faced girl who wouldn’t leave him alone.  Finally, with three hours to go until graduation I left the house – never having had the chance to climb him.  Sad state of affairs.

We lost touch, not surprising since our “friendship” was based on a series of drunken encounters.  Fast forward to today when I was looking through one of my Facebook friend’s recent photo albums.  There in the first picture in all his shirtless glory was The Italian Robot.

Let’s not talk about how his arm was around the waist of that whore face troll who cock blocked me in college.

It’s Cinco de Mayo, Bitches

5 May

Yeah, yeah, it’s totally a stereotype that my people celebrate today as a major holiday.  Guess what?  We totally don’t.  Today is like any other day in Mexico.

But guess what?  I live in the United States where today is totally a fake holiday and an excuse to drink – and you know how I feel about the booze.  I likey.  Guess what I had for dinner?  Two margaritas!  For an appetizer I happened to have a margarita.  And for dessert?  One more margarita?  Am I drunk?  Yeah, I’d say that I totally am.

And guess what else?  Some stupid skank whore bitch stole my sombrero today.  I cajoled the waitress into getting us some sombreros today.  She liked that I asked in Spanish so she found us the last two.  Then some stupid ass whore literally ran up behind me, grabbed it off my head and then took off.  My 25 year old dude friend – who is of course cute and also engaged – took off after her to try to get it back.  Her boyfriend wanted to fight him so he backed off.

Instead we stayed and finished our margaritas.

So I’m home now and sans hat.  Guess who called me to tell me he thought I was beautiful?

Yeah, that’s right, the 25 year old.  And I quote from his text messages this evening:

You’re incredibly beautiful and you’re really cool..if I were single, we’d be together.

Um, yeah.  Where are the single dudes when I need them?  Most importantly, does his FUTURE WIFE know he sent me that??

Kiss: Keep it Simple, Slut

9 Jan

Does making out with a bunch of people qualify as a slut?  Because if it does, I totally want to be a slut.  I wouldn’t say I’ve kissed a lot of people in my 20+ years of making out with boys.  I’d say it’s probably close to 30 or 40.  Really not that many if you think about it.  I’d like to think I have at least 10 more first kisses ahead of me, if not more.

I don’t remember all of my first kisses, though I wish I could.  I do remember that one took place in a yellow(ish) Mustang in a parking lot, one in a pick up truck after I lost a board game, one beneath a bar during happy hour, one in my college dorm room…actually several in my college dorm room, one on the floor of my trainee’s apartment, another in a hotel room at the beach, yet another in the kitchen of my junior year apartment, one in the living room of my first apartment, one in my TV room, and that’s about all I remember.  I know there are many more, but lord only knows where they took place or the circumstances leading up to it.

For some reason the other day I started thinking about my next first kiss and if I could plan it out, where would it be.  I’ll be honest with you, if a guy I like is going in for a first kiss, in all likelihood I’m not going to throw my hand between us and tell him it’s not the right place or the right time. More than likely I’ll be on his lap before he knows what happens, but still what if…

What if you could plan out the perfect first kiss?  Where would it be?

I’d kill for a first kiss on a summer night on Vineyard Haven beach under a full moon.  Or in the spring on Westminster Bridge as Big Ben strikes the hour.  I’ll even take one during a rain storm in the middle of Rittenhouse Sqaure Park.

Guess we’ll just have to see where the next one finds me.