02.04.13

Ode to the Desperate Housewife

Stop. Look again, Storyteller.

Rising from the ashes.

Salty & sweet.

Rediscover books--where dreams go.

Piece of cake.

Start playing.

One color goes with everything.

Keep walking.

Zig

When

They

Zag.

Where does your inspiration come from?

Relief.

& for our next trick…

Romeo, Romeo, where for art thou Romeo?

The “good guy” almost never has a beard.

Make a wish… say goodnight.

Playing by the rules lets

You

Down.

Where will you stand?

…on sunshine.

Don't it feel great?

J

  U

M

P.

Learn from that mistake.

Call their bluff.

Make your mother-in-law believe you can cook.

You could use a bet.

Get creative.

Keep quality time.

One

Step

Ahead.

Believe.

Welcome pure imagination.

Recipe for a happy kitchen.

Long live the revolution.

Resolution #035: Break the mold of whatever stereotype you have been assigned by society. Dare to be boldly unique and surprise the hell out of everyone else when you shine and they are left to burn out...

02.05.13

Love The Way You Lie

I'm sick of the beating

I won't take the hating

Nothing but tears in these hands I am weeping

Too much to handle

I rock and I cradle

Frozen memories

Just photos on a mantle

The glass that's been shattered

All beaten and battered

My heart's been torn open, not that it mattered

Your silence is screaming

Your eyes they are gleaming

Slowly you kill me

Is this life worth living

Without you I'm strong, I'll come back, won't take long.

(I miss you, I love you, you left me here bleeding)

One day, you'll need me, you'll beg for me, Baby

(I'm crying, I can't breathe, please just stay with me)

Threw it away, knew what to break, just watch now, I'll forget your name

(I need you, a drug, I crave you, addicted)

Desperately thriving in these words I've encrypted

I'm better than this

Just a two sided fence

Pulling and tugging

This game I can't win

You want it, you got it

I give up on you now

Letting go of this hold

Just let me figure out how

You said that I'd never get my time

Hear me now as I sing and I rhyme

Too afraid to let anyone close

Let me have just one last dose

One day you'll see

The beauty in me

The one you will miss

You can't have me like this

Take these tears that I've cried

And drown out all your washed up lies

Feel the same pain

You'll cry out my name

I'm the one you threw away

I'm the one who said I'd stay

This is how it must feel to be let down

I had big dreams before you came around

Once or twice I let it by

Your sweet nothings, my sacred lullaby

I've seen this before

Heartache's endless war

Timeless routine

Sickly pristine

It's pathetic really

Seeing you here before me

Nothing but empty promises you're selling

How did I not see this coming?

Almost gave in

Those eyes I get so lost in

My hope in you will soon decay

Don't worry, hunny, you'll be okay

Each tear you shed, just play this track

Hear as I walk and never look back

Resolution #036: Do not be the reason for someone else's misery. Do not hold someone back from achieving their fullest potential as an individual. If being with you is not making someone happy, the best thing you can do is let go.

02.03.13

Ask The Sexpert!

     I did this research assignment for one of my classes and I thought I would share it with you. Of course, as a warning, it is more female oriented, and most guys will probably get grossed out just by the mention of the word period. But I implore you, this is information of which I think every human being on the planet should know about. And I made incredibly comical. So.... Read at your own risk. :)


    
     It’s that time of the month again. Where mother nature has just become your worst enemy and
all you want to do is chow down some Ben & Jerry’s ice cream and a bottle of Pamprin. Your “girly
mess” is in full swing. But here’s the kicker, you’re also feeling a bit like a cat in heat. You and your
partner are getting hot and bothered, and you’re not sure if getting physical is such a great idea.
    
     Nevertheless, the massacre in your pants should not hinder you from having a good time.
     
     Since the dawn of time, even when women first realized that this monthly phenomena did not
make us evil witches and werewolves, the “period” has been a dreaded routine hated by all vagina
owners. We stock up on Playtex Tampons and Dove chocolate, hibernate under our covers, and
embed ourselves into the very fabric of our dark colored sweat pants. Worst part of it all, we have to
hang that sign outside of our bedroom door that lets our sexual counterparts know that we are
“temporarily out of order.”
     
     In the likelihood of sounding like a Kotex commercial, I say, don’t fret! Your period does not
have to mean that you have to hang your kinkhat or put down your magic sexytime wands. Here’s
some vital information you should probably know. There are actual benefits in engaging in sexual
intercourse during your menstruation. Let me repeat some of those key terms from the previous
statement : benefits, intercourse.
     
     There are two basic phases of a menstrual cycle. The follicular phase and the luteal phase.
(AskBaby.com, 2007) The follicular phase is the phase where all the blood and gore take place. This is
the phase people are most terrified of. Both you and your sex partner steer clear of this phase once a
month because of the age old myths about how awful it is. The “house of horrors” contains the mostly all
of following: bloating, cramping, mood swings, bleeding, fatigue, irritability, headaches, backaches,
everything aches, spontaneous crying, laughing, and/or screaming, and an intense craving for junk food.
     
     In short, it’s five days of pure hell. Oh, the joys...
     
     Sex is good. So why not have it on your period? Let’s start with bloating. You know that feeling
you get right after an orgasm that makes you feel like a frisky little feline stretching in the sun? That same
feeling happens even when you are bleeding out of your cervix. So if you don’t feel sexy because you
have intense bloating on your period, the moments right after an orgasm will make you not only feel
pretty, but also less gross. (Rodriguez, 2009)
    
     Moving on to cramping and anything else that could possibly hurt. Without getting all kinds of
technical, an orgasm is simply a release of pressure and feelgood chemicals in your brain. These feelgood chemicals are called endorphins. Orgasm can ultimately relieve strain in muscle tissue because
the amount of dopamine released in the brain during orgasm relaxes your body. A study done in the
European Journal of Neuroscience actually analyzed orgasms in women, saying that the chemicals
released during orgasm seemingly temporarily shut down the temporal lobe. “The deactivation of the
temporal lobe is directly related to the level of sexual arousal.” (Georgiadis, et al.) They also bring up
the French, who call an orgasm, “Le Petit Mort,” which in English is translated as, “Little Death.” Since
their findings show that the temporal lobe is shut down during orgasm, it lives up to its French name.
     
     The act of sex comes with its ups and downs. The act itself is tedious and full of effort.
    
     Sometimes some extra stuff has to be added to the mix just to get going. But if you happen to be on
your period and you find you really don’t want to break open the tube of lube sitting on the nightstand
waiting for you to get your naughty on, don’t worry. The mess downstairs is actually a good form of
lubricant. Getting it on has just become one step less.
     
     According to an article by EverydayHealth.com about having sex on your period, it actually
does shorten the stay of your Aunt Flow, “Sex during your period could also help to shorten your
period by a few days. You will still have a normal, healthy period, but the additional contractions that
your uterus experiences during orgasm might help shed your menstrual blood faster, therefore ending
your period a bit sooner than usual.” (Rodriguez, 2009)
    
     So when the days are as dark as the pants you’re wearing, and you feel like no one could even
think of looking at you let alone touching you, think again. Having your period is sexy. And in regards to
sounding like an Always commercial, yet again, have a happy period. It may come with a lot of terrifying
symptoms, and people may scatter like cockroaches to a beam of light, but get your hopes up. Showers
were invented for a reason.






AskBaby.com. (2007, August 06). The menstrual cycle. Retrieved from
http://www.askbaby.com/themenstrualcycle.htm

Georgiadis, J. R., Kortekaas, R., Kuipers, R., Nieuwenburg, A., Pruim, J., Reinders, A., &
Holstege, G. (2006). Regional cerebral blood flow changes associated with clitorally
induced orgasm in healthy women. European Journal Of Neuroscience, 24(11),
33053316.doi:10.1111/j.14609568.2006.05206.x

Rodriguez, D. (2009, January 21). Having sex during your period. Retrieved from
http://www.everydayhealth.com/sexualhealth/
sexduringyourperiod.aspx



If you were thoroughly grossed the fuck out, oh frikkin well, man the fuck up. This isn't something to be a baby about. Eventually, we all have to face the facts. But other than that, you're welcome for the ever-flowing fountain of knowledge that is me. 

Resolution #034: Embrace Mother Nature. Shit happens. Just deal with it and move on. No need to get emotional about it. :D

02.02.13

Dear Mrs. Lonelyheart,

     Though you may not know me, I am a complete stranger to you, I may not be as foreign to you as it may appear. I know you. I am you.
     Not in a physical realm, of which would place us both in the same corporeal body, but in soul, the way we feel and think and love.
     I know you feel so small, so completely insignificant and so utterly invisible. I know you feel like you need to be someone, but feel like maybe being no one is all you'll ever amount to.
     I know you feel frustrated with the world, its ever-present pressure weighing on your shoulders. The need to be perfect, the pressure to be beautiful. I know that society has told you how to be, who you should be, and what you should aspire to be. But I also know it lied.
     I am fully aware of all your insecurities, because they are mine. You are conscious of your fears, and more often than not, allow them to guide you. I do too.
     You are afraid of being alone, of being abandoned. You do not attach yourself to any one person for this very reason. People always leave.  You are afraid to love, for your heart cannot bear the pain of loss. Not again. You are afraid to fly, because if you do, you are afraid you might be the only bird in the sky. You can stand on the edge of this cliff held above the rest of the world so high, but you are afraid to keep still, because if you stay in one place, enjoy the view, you know eventually someone or something will come up behind and push you over. And in that retrospect, you fear the fall. You are afraid to speak, afraid to form words, sing, because if you do, your breath might be stolen away.
     The people in your life pay no mind, hold no concern, care not at all, your fears are kept to yourself. If they knew how you felt, they might pull away. It's okay, I am afraid of this same outcome. Because it's happened before.
     You are afraid to fail, because your future depends on your success. The story being written for you isn't finished, but you fear the ending. What if this story turns into a tragedy? What if I don't ever get my happy ending? I ask these same questions.
     The relationships you hold are fleeting, temporary. If they even come close to being something else, the walls go up, you keep them all out. Getting close is risky, feeling love is scary. Your heart knows not to take the chance, it has learned its lesson well. It, in cooperation with your mind, hold everyone at arms length, because rational thinking takes control over your sporadic emotions.
     I relate to you in the most intimate ways, Mrs. Lonelyheart. I feel what you feel, I fear what you fear, I keep the same distance you do. I wash my pain away by painting a picture in words on a page, and create characters who are much braver than I. I create stories that I know have a happy ending, because I know my ending is not yet determined. I have an outlet to live vicariously through. Do you?
     I feel helpless in this world, feel so unimportant. My words will go unheard, my thoughts forever lost in a history of writers much more known than I. I know I am looking toward the future, my future, with apprehension. Because I fear the most of the people who will never read, never see, what truly lies beneath. More than just skin, more than just this shell, I know I have more to give. But will others accept me? I know you ask this question again and again, trying to find the answer in anyone you can. But the men you waste your time with do not know what acceptance means. They can't give you the answers you need. Your friends are so wrapped up in their own problems, their own doubts, they don't have time to console you.
     My message to you, Mrs. Lonelyheart, is not to give up. This is not a pity letter; these here words are that of love. I love you. I need you in this world. I appreciate the air you breathe because that air is mine as well. I give you hope, not because I have some to give, no. But because I find hope in everything around me. There is hope in the trees, as they sway, standing tall, just like we should. There is hope in the ocean, its vast expanse of life, roaring up to shore, washing away the solo set of footprints of which we have walked. There is hope in the stars, the same stars that I know billions of others, all around the world, view every night. That hope revives me, reminding me that happiness is possible. There is someone out there, standing under the same bright sun, who was made for me. Made for you. Made for us. And they will, some how, some way, some day, find us. They will resurrect all that has died within us, those butterflies we thought were gone for good. They will love us unconditionally, they will never judge, and they will make us feel safe, as safe as we deserve to be. They will hold our hearts in their hands and guard it as precious gems, as our hearts deserve to be guarded.
     I am telling you to find your strength. In the little things that make you happy. In the bigger picture of life itself. You are not alone. You never will be. Because you have me.
     I know you, Mrs. Lonelyheart. Because I am you. I am fighting for you. Because that means I am fighting for me. I am keeping my eyes locked on the sky, conversing with the stars, hoping you will hear my pleas. Because these times are excruciating. And when I feel like I am on the verge of collapsing to the earth from the exhaustion this world has laid on me, I talk to you. I know you can't hear me. I can hear me. And that's enough.
     Though you may not know me, I am a complete stranger to you, I may not be as foreign to you as it may appear. I know you. I am you.

Sincerely,
Mrs. Lonelyheart

Resolution #033: Hope is something to be found in everything in we do, see hear, feel, smell, touch, and discover. Hope is precious. Hope is vital. Hope is forever. Have hope, give hope, be hope for someone who needs it. Chances are, everyone does.

02.01.13

Fundamentals

In being a single hot female, I have come to terms with the fact that guys will probably only ever talk to me for one thing in particular. Which isn't all that horrible, at least, until said guys see me without makeup. Then they run for the hills. But anyways, guys are very transparent and incredibly basic when it comes to their needs. 

Need beer now. Need sports now. Need woman now. (insert classic caveman impersonation here.)

With women, it's a whole different story. We're like a fucking jig saw puzzle with a million little pieces waiting for the right man, or men, to put us together. It's exhausting and complicated and this is why men think we're absolutely out of our minds. Well, they aren't wrong. Men probably have to beg their girls to tell them what it is they want directly, beating around the bush being the only response they get. It's like pulling teeth. But women are just as basic as men, at least, in retrospect.

I need chocolate. I need wine. I need new shoes. I need a new guy. 

That's about it. 

Just kidding! 

Women find that they need a lot of shit just about all the time. I should know, I need a bajillion things right now. A massage, a million bucks, new brakes on my car, a good grade in Black American Lit, breakfast.... I could keep going, and that whole sentence was strictly me. But since this world is 6 billion or so and counting, there's a fuckload more needs than just mine. No matter how special I think I might be. 

The moral of the story is, not all needs, small as they seem, should go unheard. I am an insignificant human being in this world and do not have the fine priviledge of being in a relationship. I do not have a man who is there to cater to my needs. I cannot cater to a man's needs. Mainly because the only man in my life right now is Lucky, and his needs are simple enough: eat, shit, sleep. Oh, the life of a dog. 

But since I am me, I attract those guys who only seem to have that one specific need. 

I am not obligated to fulfill a man's "need," but yet they feel as though, for lack of a better term, women owe them the fulfillment of that need.

I have tried this online dating crap, and I don't know why I thought it would be different than meeting people face to face before stalking profiles, but it's not. Every other message I get, no matter where this guy is located on this green earth, asks me to hook up. They ask me how big my boobs are, comment on my bedroom eyes, and make note on the fact that I fill out a Batman tee shirt pretty fucking well. 

I could complain about it, bitchfest and all that jazz, except then I will get the most obvious question from everyone... why does your profile say you are looking for casual sex if those messages bother you?

Okay, one, these guys don't even say hello or anything to introduce themselves. They just dive right in with "want to fuck...?" Sure, dude, let me just get on that whole sleeping with strangers from a dating website thing. Um...no. I don't know you! I have no idea who you are as a person! Except, well, now I know the fact that desperation has no limits. But seriously, that proposition for sex isn't going to work. You could a serial killer or some batshit crazy stalker. Rude.
Secondly, and this is the main reason I write this whole thing, is to clarify that my definition of casual is probably different than yours. So I am here to define, for you, what casual means, to me.

I do not want a serious relationship. But that is not going to stop me from liking, or maybe even loving, someone. I have sex because I enjoy it, but most importantly, I enjoy those of whom I choose to have sex with. I have no expectations, romantically speaking, but I do have standards. And I am picky. I need to trust you and you need to trust me. I sleep with guys I can openly conversate with about any topic, because sex is more than just a physical pass time for me. I am friends, some best friends, with most of the guys I have been with. 

I don't know if this casual sex definition plays well with my previous posts, but I hope it clears shit up. At least a little.

I have needs too. They're just customized to fit me better.

Resolution #032: Figure out what it is you need. If it is a need that can be met right away, go ahead and knock yourself out. But if it will take time and energy to meet your need, whatever it might be, just make sure you are meeting that need in the exact way it needs to be met for you. Only you can know what you need. So make yourself happy by fulfilling them accordingly.

01.31.13

 Zero to Sex in 60 Seconds…

In re-reading my last post, I feel kind of embarrassed. I think I portrayed myself more like a slut with a vengeance rather than a seriously concerned vagina owner. And this fact scares me. My mind and my blog have no filter; I spew on here exactly what I think in my pretty little head. Which may be my first problem.

I don’t care about what people think of me. This is a fact. But I do want to get some shit out in the open and clear the air.

I am not a virgin. Okay, this one might be a little too obvious, but some people are just dumb as rocks. So, there you go. My written words to your eager eyes as proof of my promiscuity. Congrats.

Next, I have slept with a handful of men. I am kind of nervous about brushing up against this subject because it feels like I am trying to molest a cactus rather than something warm and fuzzy. Sex is a taboo topic that people, for some reason unknown to me, are so afraid to talk about. And I honestly have no idea as to why, I mean, it happens. Sex happens. People are having sex everywhere, right this very second. Not I, obviously, since I am finger fucking my keyboard, and that does not count. And in regards to sex being a non-approachable discussion, more specifically so, is the number of people you have actually had sexual interactions with. My number, if you must know, as of this exact moment in time, is 25. I have slept with 25 men. To some people, this number is absolutely, inexcusably inappropriate for a woman. I would, in their eyes, be labeled a slut. However, since no fucks are given on my behalf about what other humans think of me, fuck them. I care more about what my yellow Labrador named Lucky thinks. And he loves me. Anyways, since I’m writing a post here, I will give you my personal opinion about what a slut is. And it ain’t me. My number has nothing to do with the slut scale factor.

Slut- (as taken from urban dictionary) Someone who provides a very needed service for the community and sleeps with everyone, even the guy that has no shot at getting laid and everyone knows it. She will give him a sympathy fuck either because someone asked her to or she just has to fuck everyone she knows. These are great people, and without them sex crimes would definitely increase. Thank you slut, where ever you are.

 My definition goes something like this: a person, male or female, who gives no fucks about where their genitals spend the night, so long as it isn’t in their own bed. And if it is in their bed, they aren’t alone. A slut does not feel an emotional attachment to anyone he or she bones, and neglects even common courtesy, forgetting names and faces altogether. This person does not care whether the person they sleep with already has a significant other, they only consider it a game to be won. Sex means nothing, and will forever mean nothing. Pity fucks be damned.

Now, I am going on the record, right here, just for you, to say that, I, Atomic Cupcake, have had, to at least some extent, some caringly warm and fuzzy feelings for every single person I have ever slept with. I have never had a one night stand. I have never forgotten a face, and certainly, never a name. I have actually fallen in love with several of them; CD, IC, JS, JJ, and DB being the major ones (full names will not be disclosed, just initials. You know why.). I have held some sort of labeled relationship with majority of them, whether serious boyfriend/girlfriend or friends with benefits. I am still really good friends with roughly all of them. And I have never been the one to break things off (except once, for abuse reasons). I have had my heart broken, ripped right out of my chest, thrown to the ground, and stepped on over and over again. The emotional blender and I have become well acquainted through the years. And I have cried, a lot. These things do not make me a slut. In fact, they make me the exact opposite. I am human, and I may come off as this bad ass chick with a give-no-fucks attitude, but at the end of the day, my instincts still kick in. I ache for comfort. I want to be wanted. I hate being lonely. Just like everyone else on this motherloving planet.

But just because I talk about sex… a lot, does not mean that I am this ginormous slutbot with daddy issues. My father and I have an excellent relationship, fuck you very much. I write my posts as a way of getting shit off my own chest, while also entertaining the hell out of you. It’s an undeniably awesome package deal. You’re welcome.

I beg of you though, do not think of me as this poor sap now that I have shared with you my inability to be emotionally invincible. I am still this super bitch with a mean streak. Maybe. But anyways, I just needed to say my piece. As usual.

Resolution #031: Do not let your words mislead your actions. It is true what they say, actions speak louder. If you say something, brag of something, complain of something, etc., you best have the actions to back your mouth up. Quit talking out of your ass to people who will never know what, exactly, it is that you mean until you show them.

01.30.13

The Crazy Factor

I apologize in advance for the craziness that will be this post. I apologize for the explicit details from my own life that I incorporate as examples to further my rant. I also apologize for the crude and ridiculous amounts of vulgar language. Oh, wait, no I fucking don’t. Carry on…

It has come to my attention, not really all that recently, but over the course of my entire sexual experience on this earth, that men, although supposedly less emotional beings than women, are, actually, in fact, out of their ever loving minds. I kid you not; readers o’ mine, men are dramatic and erratic and out of control, an unhealthy, unorthodox combination.

Don’t get me wrong, women, in their own right, are absolutely bonkers. Raging mad. This is not a surprise to anyone.

But, and being a girl in our modern American society, I, just like all the other girls who have ever played with Barbie’s or watched the Disney princesses growing up, have been conditioned to expect the very manliness from those who own penises.

I take a quote from one of my favorite films, “He’s Just Not That Into You,” and explain this a little deeper, “A girl will never forget the first boy she likes. Even if things don’t quite work out… But usually someone is there with words of wisdom. (Do you know why that boy was so mean to you? Why he did and said those things? It’s because he likes you.) And there it is. That’s the beginning of our problem. We’re all encouraged… no, programmed… to believe that if a guy acts like a jerk… that he likes you.”

With this being said, girls are brought up being conditioned to be naïve when it comes to men. Boys don’t cry. Boys play sports. Boys are supposed to lift heavy things and get the lids off the pickle jars. Boys are supposed to like bugs and dirt, and save the damsel in distress from the spider in her room. Girls are supposed to just play dress up and accept the role of being some boy’s door mat.

Fact: Men are human beings too. Men have emotions. Men can have doubts and insecurities, broken hearts and wounded prides. And with these facts, this means, also, men can act insane.

I consider myself to be a rational human being. I still get pissed off, jealous, depressed, and all that other emotional shit, but I have learned to keep it in check. At least when it comes to men. The men in my life however, and maybe it’s just my poor judgment in character, but they just have no idea what to do with anything emotional. I’m not talking about my emotions, I am talking about theirs.

One guy I was seeing, who seemed to be normal, at least in the beginning, decides that he has developed some sort of feelings for me. He and I had been intimately on and off for maybe a good eight months before he said anything to me, but finally, and maybe a bit resentfully, confessed how he felt. Now, for some reason, because it is already presumed that I, being of the female persuasion, coerced him or manipulated him into spilling his emotional guts, but I implore you, this was not the case. I was very open with him from the get-go. I told him I liked him, probably more than I should, but that I held no grand expectation for him to return the feeling. I liked our friends with benefits routine just fine and I didn’t feel the need to be in a relationship with him. And that’s what I told him. So, he explains his feelings for me. Great. Except the next morning, after I went home with him, after an amazing night of not just sex, but talking as us about the idea of us, he acted as though nothing ever happened. As if the sun popped up into the sky and wiped the last 12 hours right off the calendar. We haven’t spoken now for almost two months. Blows my fucking mind.

So, I moved on to the next one, whatever. I had been kind of talking to him for a few months before we got physical, and everything seemed awesome. He was the friends with benefits package I had wanted. Someone I could hang with, but also feel completely comfortable being naked around. I was content. Until the motherfucker had the fucking nerve to call me crazy. What the fuck? In our entire time of talking to one another, hanging out with each other, and fucking each other, not once, not a single fucking time, have I ever acted crazy. Like I said earlier, I know how to separate my emotions from the greater scheme of things. But, apparently, Kayla can’t fucking win at this whole friends with benefits game. Either I just can’t pick them, or there’s something wrong with me. And honestly, there’s nothing wrong with me.

It all boils down to this, GUYS:

1. If there’s even a remote possibility that you want to be with me: in a physically gratifying way, a friend’s way, or even of the acquaintance variety, fucking say so.
2. Once you make up your fucking mind about me, which shouldn’t be too hard, don’t change your mind over night. And if you do, at least explain to me what the fuck happened. Dropping off the face of the earth is a good way to get your stupid ass drop-kicked.
3. If, maybe because I’m awesome, you want to pursue a kind of friends with benefits thing with me, don’t fucking assume shit.

•             I am not going to suddenly flip a switch inside myself that turns my chill chick into a crazy bitch. Go ahead and do you, kid… I will be okay. Have your merry band of bitches, your little black booty call book, and your bro squad. I don’t care. I do not get jealous. Just because I have slept with you and/or still am sleeping with you, doesn’t mean I have staked claim on you. I will not, God forbid, act like your girlfriend. I am also not your bitch. This is not a one sided venture. You want to call me? Do it. But that means that when I call you, you do the same thing I would do for you and pick up the fucking phone. I am not a back pocket bitch, nor a back burner broad. We are hooking up for each other’s convenience, not just yours.
•             Take a look back and figure some shit out. I am a completely honest and open person. I speak what is on my mind. Hence the words you are reading right here. But, I expect the same kind of honesty, at least to some degree, with you. If you invited Tuesday Tina over when I text you to hook up, just say so. Have fun and wear a condom. Don’t make up some lame ass excuse about how your grandma needs to have her hip replaced for the third time and there’s no one else willing to drive the bat shit crazy woman to the hospital. Unless of course that is the case, in which I am sorry to hear that, tell her I wish her the best. Poor woman.
•         Do not assume I am crazy. You’re definition of crazy needs to be extremely modified if you ever, for any reason, beyond writing this whole fucking post, think that I am crazy. In any of our conversations, before and after we started hooking up, have I once, just a single time, ever brought up any of the red flag crazy words?
• Love
• Relationship
• Committment
• Marriage
• Babies

                     

No? Didn’t fucking think so. You’re welcome, douchebag. Until I bring up any of those words in the context of making you think that I might actually want any of them, especially with you, then you have nothing, and I do mean nothing, to worry about. Crazy avoided successfully. Really though, until I start asking you to run to CVS to go pick me up some fucking tampons, the word “crazy” should never be used to describe me. Or, frankly, any of the girls you are seeing. That’s just fucking rude.

The exception to any of this though is when we are actually exclusively dating. You are my boyfriend, I am your girlfriend. And right now, as it stands, being single is the life that is right for me.  I am focused on living a full regret-free life. School and work are my top two priorities. And I do not need any man to hold me back or bring me down. I am not about to get attached to some asshole with a God complex who thinks he can control my every fucking move. Been there, done that, fuck you.

I know this whole bitch-fest makes me look as insane as they all assume I am, but I really just needed to let this all out there. Off my chest. I needed a good ranting and I don’t give a damn if it contradicts what I am saying.

Okay, I’m done.

Resolution #030: Do not assume. Period. Not every person you meet is crazy. It is okay to talk openly about your emotions and your assumptions. Set your expectations to meet your standards. But do not jump to any conclusion before you open your mouth and use your words. That only makes you the idiot.

01.29.13

Douchebag

I have compiled a sort of list (I don't understand my obsessions with lists lately...) that allows everyone, both men and women alike, to spot a douchebag from a mile away. This list is comprised of everything from wardrobe to cheesy pick up lines. They're not in any specific order, but I have placed certain ones into categories. If you see a lot more male references than female, it's only probably because I own a vagina and therefore have to deal with the douchebaggery coming from the penis owners of the world. I will try to make it as gender neutral as possible, but no promises. Also, take note that this entire blog, not even just this one post, is from the point of view of a straight female. I deal with straight men, therefore I write about them. This list excludes a lot of everyone else, like transgender, gay, lesbian, drag queen, cross dressers, ect. I'm not even sure why I just put that as a disclosure. Seems obvious to me. Problems, comments, suggestions, alternatives, and additions can all be taken into consideration if you, the reader, chooses to actually speak up. But until that happens, enjoy!

WARDROBE
(Exception for the following: Halloween.)

1. Boys who live in any other place beside the country but wears cowboy boots.
2. Boys who wear jeans tighter than his girlfriend's.
3. If your pants hang lower than your crotch/junk.
4. If you have your own name tattooed anywhere on your own body.
5. Boys using more hair product than I do.
6. If your sunglasses are bigger your entire face.
7. Socks with sandals.
8. Boys wearing cut off jeans.
9. Uggs.
10. An entire outfit of the color white.
11. Boys who wear jewelry that is blingy-er than mine.
12. Bandannas out the back pocket of the jeans, unless you work with cars.
13. Animal print pants, unless you are at a LMFAO concert, which won't happen since they aren't even a legit group anymore.
14. Leather jackets in the middle of summer.
15. Your entire wardrobe consists of sports jerseys.
16. your entire wardrobe consists of wife beaters.
17. Cut off sleeves.
18. Porn mustache or the "douche strap"

BEHAVIOR ISMS

19. Boys who talk openly and obnoxiously about how "awesome" their penis is.
20. Girls who talk openly and obnoxiously about how "awesome" their pussy's are.
21. Boys and Girls alike who can't be without internet social media outlets for longer than three whole minutes. This includes: texting, tweeting, facebook, youtube, and everything else in between.
22. Boys/Girls who brag about "getting it in" all the fucking time.
23. Boys who take longer than girls to get ready.
24. Boys who don't at least offer to pay on the first date.
25. Boys who automatically assume they are getting laid on a first date.
26. Boys having a conversation with a girl, and his eyes never leave her tits.
27. Anyone who makes fun of anyone else; doesn't matter if it's about hair color, religion, sexual orientation, body type, etc. Knock that shit the fuck off.
28. More for those in a relationship, but if you blatantly call your partner a derogatory term, ever. Bitch, cunt, asshole, douchebag, etc. Argument or not. Just don't. Have respect for the one your boning.
29. People who constantly interrupt you when you're speaking.
30. People who constantly correct everything you say.
31. If you ever call your partner by any other person's name during sex, or, well, in general. But especially during sex.
32. Bragging/ complaining about your job for longer than five minutes at a time. It's one thing to come home and explain how lousy your day was, but when you are in the middle of the bar, drink in hand, surrounded by good friends and good music, put your job shit to rest.
33. Boys who assume they know more about lady parts than ladies do.
34. Ladies who think they know more about boy parts than the boys do.
35. Those people who give away the end of the movie or the book when you're right smack dab in the middle of it. Fuck you. Really.
36. Those people who request the same song from the DJ more than once throughout the night.
37. Talking with your mouth full.
38. Chewing tobacco/ spit.
39. If he says he'll call/text, but never does.
40. Boys, if you walk with your hands gripping your junk.
41. Slamming doors in people's faces.
42. If you don't wash your hands after going to the bathroom.
43. Being more than half an hour late. To anything.
44. If the gym is your second home and you won't stop until your arms are thicker than your head. (I lift things up and put things down. Fuck meatheadism.)
45. If you ever, EVER, refer to yourself in the third person.
46. If you have named your genitalia.
47. If you do not tip your server/bartender/concierge/etc. 
48. If taking pictures of yourself is your favorite pass time.
49. If every mirror you walk by, you have to make sure you are decent.
50. DUCK FACE.
51. If a picture of you, solely you, is your screen saver, phone background. ESPECIALLY if it is you, half naked.
52. If you say things like, "Wasssssuuupp!?", "All that and a bag of chips...", or anything else that is s outdated, it should be retired to the Hall of Lame Phrases.

LIFESTYLE

53. If you do hard drugs. Crack, heroine, meth... really?
54. If you are a fan of any other sports team that is not the Patriots, Boston Red Sox, Bruins, or Celtics. (This one is just my own personal jab at everyone else. Don't take it too seriously.)
55. If you drive a Prius. (This one might just make you an outcast. Cuz you're weird. lol)
56. If drinking is preferred over anything else-- like paying bills, picking up after yourself, hanging with friends/family, or working.
57. If your favorite band is Nickelback.
58. If playing World of Warcraft, League of Legends, or any other online role playing game is preferred to actually having a life of your own.
59. If your sense of humor ceases to exist when it comes to you doing stupid shit. Laugh at yourself sometimes.
60. If your cooking skills is limited to Ramen noodles, ice, and toast.
61. If your trash strewn vehicle is actually cleaner than your bedroom/apartment.
62. If you are over the age of 25 and still living with Mommy and Daddy. (Exception: full time student)
63. If over the age of 18 and your main source of transportation is a scooter, moped, or skateboard.  
64. If you actually think using cliche pick up lines will work.
65. If a boy standing outside of Victoria's Secret actually thinks that is the best way to pick up chicks. Same for chicks who think their dream man is at the Home Depot.
66. If you put an effort into cramming your own personal beliefs about ethics, religion, politics, or any other taboo topic is in any way okay. EVER.
67. Cyber bullying.
68. If pushing your hoopdi vehicle to 100 as soon as you hit the highway makes you feel cool.
69. If he drinks his weight in liquor EVERY weekend.
70. If cheating on your significant other is an appropriate pass time for you.
71. Multiple children from multiple partners.
72. If you're regular sized car takes up more than one parking space at a time.
73. People who line their back window in their car with beanie babies, bobble heads, or other paraphernalia that is seemingly obnoxious to the eye.
74. If you believe every conspiracy theory ever told. Don't be so gullible.

OTHER RANDOM NONSENSE

75. If your name begins with the letter 'D.' It's one thing to be douchy Eric, another altogether to be douchy Derek. :)
76. If you are a ginger. Red heads have a freckle for every soul they steal. It's a fact.
77. If you're a female and you have to douse yourself in hair spray/ body spray/ or other obnoxious smelling shit.
78. Guys: Axe body spray
79. Mullets
80. Real fur/leather clothing
81. If you're reading this entire list and thinking, "none of this is true..."
82. If you borrow something from someone and then never give it back.
83. Blackmail of any kind.
84. Paying for something over three dollars completely in change.
85. Making the same mistakes over and over again.
86. Girls who complain about walking in high heels. You chose to wear them. Deal with the pain.
87. Facebook games. i.e, Farmville, Cafe World, etc. and their invites.
88. Taking up an entire isle at the grocery store with your cart. 
89. Silly String.
90. Bar brawls.
91. Procrastinators
92. Penny pinchers
93. The Governor (Walking Dead reference :))
94. The Welfare system.
95. Drunk hobos
96. Bands that scream but make no sense.
97. People who ask to bum cigarettes
98. People who stand with cardboard signs saying homeless and jobless. You can write those words on a sign? Go fill out a few applications.
99. This post.
100. If you make a list about what makes a douchebag a douchebag.

Resolution #029: Everyone is a douchebag, in some shape or another. Remember that means you too.

Advice of the day: Don't be a douche.

01.28.13

Don't Fucking Drive!

     This post goes out to every single human being who has the incessant urge to throw something at the drivers they see on the road. To you, my fellow road-ragers, this rant is to serve a very distinct purpose. If I can clearly get my point across, I can only hope that most of those drivers who perform these degenerate actions can be encouraged to retire their licenses and/or return to driving school.
     I, myself, have a horrible habit of flipping the bird, cussing loudly, honking my horn stubbornly, and burning holes into cars around me with only my hateful stare. It's a bad, disgusting habit. But, on several occasions, at least once a day, it has been completely and utterly necessary. People are ridiculous, ignorant, and selfish beings. And they have gotten on my very last nerve, at least when it comes to poor drivers.
     So, here's my list:

     If you cannot, or do not even know how, to use a fucking blinker, don't fucking drive! No one else knows where you're going but you, dumbass.

     If you're perfectly normal sized car manages to somehow take up more than one whole parking space, due solely to your lack of parking skills and/or ignorance thereof, don't fucking drive!

     If you hesitate at a green light, for any reason whatsoever, don't fucking drive! Green means GO!

     If you find yourself stupidly sitting in the middle of an intersection, whether you have no idea where you are going, waiting for traffic, or just don't know how to stop at a stop light/sign, don't fucking drive! Do something with yourself, asshole, because you are in everyone's way!

     If you have to come to a complete stop or slow down to the point of nearly stopping before you turn onto a side street or into a parking lot, don't fucking drive! Learn how to turn your fucking vehicle, because, frankly, douchebag, you are holding up the rest of us who actually have somewhere they need to be. Get it together.

     If you are driving along and somehow manage to straddle the line, dotted or not, in the middle of the road, don't fucking drive! Pick a fucking lane!

     If you think going 10 miles under the speed limit is absolutely okay for any reason other than a major accident up ahead, severe weather, or you just have no idea where you are, then don't fucking drive! The speed limit is in place for a reason, respect that shit.

     For those of you who drive across the empty parking spaces in the middle of parking lots just to get to the opposite side, don't fucking drive! You're an idiot, period.

     If you ride your brake, everywhere you go, don't fucking drive! There are two pedals in your piece of shit vehicle. The one all the way to your right? Yeah, that propels your stupid ass forward. Use it.

     If you are so illiterate that you can't even read the road signs that don't even have words on them, just arrows, and you manage to find yourself going down the wrong way on a one way street, or turning right on red when the sign right in front of your face tells you not to, or entering the side street on the opposite side of the road, don't fucking drive! It's a fucking arrow! How difficult is it to fucking read an arrow with a red slash through it?

 

For those of you who cannot multitask to save your pitiful lives but you feel the impulse to use your goddamn cell phone while trying to drive, and yet, are to ignorant to see that you are fucking everything up, don’t fucking drive! Me, on the other hand; I’ve got that shit on lock, cigarette in one hand, cell in the other, while driving a stick. Figure you’re shit out. 

If you are over the age of 80, with cataracts, and you need the support of a cane or walker in order to even walk, don’t fucking drive! You’ve got kids and taxis and shit for that. You’re going to kill someone because your liver spots are also doubling as your blind spots. 

Girls who absolutely have to try to put on lipstick, mascara, blush, or anything else of the sort while trying to fucking drive, don’t fucking drive! You have a bathroom and a bedroom with mirrors in it for that shit!

For those individuals who must get home, or wherever, after a long night of heavy drinking, don’t fucking drive! You’re a horrible, stupid driver when you’re fucking sober, what in God’s name makes you think you are any better when you are obliterated?! Go find an AA meeting, Boozy.

If you are one of those guys who tries to race people at stop lights in your beat up Toyota Corolla, don’t fucking drive! One, you’re a douchebag just for trying. Two, look at your car, kid, you don’t even have rims. Thirdly, my piece of junk Mercury Tracer may not win in a drag race against you, Fast and Furious Douchebag Drift, but I guarantee I can have at least you and two of your bros lined up at the bar waiting to buy me shots. So, by default, I already won.

If you drive slow as all get out in the fucking fast lane, don’t fucking drive! Get the fuck over when I am right behind you! I’ve got places to be, and you’re in my way! Don’t think I won’t flash my high beams at your sorry ass.

Mothers with screaming children in the backseat who can’t drive and hit her kids simultaneously without swerving or breaking every two seconds, don’t fucking drive! Do like my mom did and pull the car right the fuck over, beat Jesus right into us, and then left us on the curb if we didn’t stop misbehaving. And if that doesn’t work and you still can’t control your demon spawns, at least control your stupid minivan.

Now, I have ranted long enough, and if there is anything that I haven’t covered, I am sure I will hear about it.

Resolution #028: Don’t be an idiot driver. Smarten the fuck up and learn how to operate your vehicle. Because in the end, your poor driving is reflected back on you. And if that turns out to be me flipping you off or you causing accidents, well, I warned you, douchebag.