Cricket Luck Pants

In my hotel, I was sitting on the bed, writing... And I saw something move from the corner of my eye. Creepy shadow? I jumped. Not a creepy shadow. But, it didn't jump. Just curious, do creepy shadows jump? It sat there... Staring at me. Creeping along... One little leg at a time. Antennae twitching back and forth... like it was just there to say hello. It was a cricket. A cricket, in my hotel room, chillin on my bed... On the fourth floor... Staring at me. 

I smashe it without hesitation. Whaaaat?! I thought it was a roach! You would have done the same thing. I put him in the sink and when I walked back, completely forgetting about it, there he was... Sauntering around the sink. Walking right up the sink and staring at me. What do you want Mr. Insect?! A hug? Nerve endings? Well... I scooped him up and let  him out. He we as clearly meant to live and it got me to thinking... Maybe he's trying to send me a message? 

So, I had to google it. And after I was just venting to my mother for three hours on dating, work, life... And, the order of which -those things- should be rearranged. Turns out, the spirit animal of the cricket sends a message of extreme luck! Uh, totally awesome. Bring it on. It also represents strong intuition AND coupled together with a belief in ones self... Anything is possible. Cotton candy-eating pegacorns! Like, I needed anymore persistence or confidence. I had to go and read about the damn cricket spirit animals. 

...and now, with no stopping me, I dance along every path I encounter, with my cricket luck pants on!  

Second Hand Funny

I tend to find most conversation terribly boring. Borrrring.... Did you watch last night's episode of who cares? Nope. But, I did find that series of please kill me now (and quickly) doing a marathon though...  

Your on a date. Boring. Is this your mother you brought with you? You're at the grocery store. Boring convo with strange man. Hey, strange man conversing with me in the salsa isle. No, thank you, I'm in binge mode. Bugger off. 

He's texting you and his texts are just plain, unimaginative, and.... Oh yeah, boring. Yes, I'm hot. Thank you again for noticing. And commenting about it... A hundredth time. Not that I expect to chat about quantum physics. Is that science? Because I know nothing about that. That's science, right? But, if someone knew about that, try taking that angle... At least I might learn something. Quantum what? At least you're saying things that NO ONE has ever said to me. Astro...physi... Huh? It would let you stand out above the rest. Molecularly? I'm not the dullest crayon in the box, I can handle it. Not sure if it's in the most positive way possible, but, I'd take it with much interest. Better than the, hey lets hit the bar.. And drink. And... play darts? Well... I don't know, darts might be fun. I stink at that game. And bowling. I hate bowling. I kick as at wii bowling though... 

With that in mind, I start to make fun of the people I'm talking to... In my head, of course. Relax, I'm not that rude. I save those rants for you guys. I call it my second hand funny. Funny, crass humor, intended for me and my crazy mind alone. It's the kind of humor that only an asshole would enjoy... Second hand, of course. 

Miniature Moo Moo

There are many different sides to me. Not in a multiple personality disorder, kind of way; But, in more of a... I have vast interest on a many varied plane, kind of way. I love dressing up and going out. I also love just hanging out in my sweats. With my hair knotted up, high on my head. Like, in a dorky, kind of way. I love the city. Vroom! I love the country. Pass the banjo. I was raised around animals -both domestic and farm. I'm not going to say I left the gate open... But if there are sheep missing, it wasn't me. Or maybe it was. Either way, my insane allergies are now a problem; But, I'll still hug a cow on a tight rope to get in some animal love. Squishy Moo Love. 

My sister is babysitting a miniature calf. Miniature Baby Moo Love. Literally, a miniature breed of cow. Gets about three to four feet tall. Baby Bovine Love. Costs around 2000$ to 4000$. Pricey Bovine Moo Love. And the most adorable little nuggets you ever did see! Eyes like glassy marbles. Poos like a Newfoundland. You choose the nuggets of interest here. Last night I was privy to meeting one who couldn't stop sucking on my fingers. A little slobbery much? And licking my legs. How's that shower curtain taste? But adoring as all get out. Moo Hug Love.

She's only three weeks old and probably needs to be fed more than she's being fed by the owners; But, she seemed a happy cow nonetheless. Happy Moo. Anyone ever seen an angry cow? That's a fight for a hill I don't want to be on. Angry Hostile Moo. Sometimes all a cow needs is a trapeze and a dream...  

Shower Leg

Finally! I have a shiny, new shower curtain. Gone, the ever-annoying, plastic drape that continued to assault me and my wet body parts. Confused? Let me break it down. 

Every time I would get in the bathtub, there was a draft that would come up from around the backside of my hind quarters... from the rush of water on the shower head. How? I don't know. Stroke of luck, I suppose. With each gust of water wind, this damn factory made curtain of death, would envelope me with it's wet and sticky grocery bag feel. It's my fault really for purchasing it from the .99 cent store. What did I think I was getting? A silk tapestry... No.  Hand-woven with love and tenderness.... Nope. Designed with a uniqueness all it's own. Not a chance. Thanks Dollar Tree. I feel so individual. So diverse. There wasn't even the magnetic pieces inside at the bottom part where the trim should've been to help it stick to the side of the basin. 

Finally, with my new cloth shower curtain with silk stripes in tow, I'm checking out of my favorite Ikea store. Lassoing it up on it's rings and I'm ready to try it out. Its goodbye to my Stage Five clinger of a leg sucking shower curtain and on to a stick-free plastic suffocating existence... Ah, the freedom! 

Badliar.com

Meet me... THE. WORST. LIAR. On the PLANET. I have no smoke screen. No soshi filter. No room divider. I don't entertain lying when I witness it happening. I will out you. And more often than not, I tend to open my trap and call people out on it... In my own passive aggressive way.  Welcome to the insanity. Apparently, this is an admirable but perpetually annoying quality. Is it? I was at a bar hitting on the waiter. No I wasn't. I went to the grocery store to find a pony. They didn't have one. Damn my honesty. 

I can't tell white lies. Bold face lies. Little lies. Big lies. Green lies. I just absolutely suck at it. I don't know what green lies are either. Let's keep moving. What I don't understand is when someone tells you to be honest... You honor that request. Then they get upset. Wah. Hungry hippo anger. It's not like I was honest by way of Sheldon, on The Big Bang Theory. Hooked on this show now. Thanks, nerdy friend, who introduced me to it.  Ah, to learn how many more ways to insult people. Without them knowing it. Im sorry, were those words too big for you to process? The words I used to  defile your character. Oh, well... Get a dictionary. Yes, there is a better one than Webster's. I'm so turned on. 

I don't know if BADLIAR.com is a website or not. But it should be. And, if it were, I should be a guest host on it. Slap up a wardrobe malfunction and an order of insults. Oh! And let's not forget the helping of wit and my charming smile to go please. 

Reality Carriage Ride

So my mouth was full. Shocker. And I couldn't stop talking. Who me? You don't say? With an obscene amount of Italian bread blocking my airways. If I'm not careful, I am going to choke on this fluffy chunk of yeast. I couldn't help it. My pupils were dilated with joy! I was super excited. With more joy! But my sister said, if I kept it up, she was going to pummel me with the bruschetta we ordered when it arrived at our table. I wasn't afraid of any tomato appetizer. I was hopped up on life! And chianti. 

At the shoving of a dear friend, she messages and says there's a guy she wants me to meet, whom I'd be perfect for... Oh God, not again. Please not another jerk. Please not another jerk. How do I get out of this?! I can't. And away we go. There's a catch. Really? Of course there is. It's through a televised reality show... Crap. Those idiots never find true love. It's reality tv. It's on air existence is for monetary gain at unsuspecting applicants who go for the shrug of it. Alas, amidst all my refusal... And since I'm out of ideas of my own AND failing miserably at dating -who knew so many men were married just looking to hookup secretly behind their wives backs?! Don't be naive. His marriage is NOT purely a business arrangemenT, with a short life expectancy. He's lying. Ugh, I threw up a little! Hashtag douche bag.  Or, is it just that so many people are out in the field-without a helmet- and really aren't ready to date at all and essentially, just wasting other love's nuggetry of time. Trust me. I'm waist deep in this menagerie. This is why I submerge myself in work. Yup. Bury my nose in it. Ha! Would love to bury my nose in something else! Wocka! Wocka! 

It's become a barrage of dickheads hopscotching on a sidewalk of who can play game -with which- the rules constantly change. Pass the salt. There are snails abound. And I don't want to play. Although hopscotch does sound fun. 

So... I say, sure. With a half-hopeful enthusiasm. And go for it. I've seen the show, I can tell a lot of these hoes are out here just for "exposure." And even some of the guys, sickening enough, want their television time as well. Hit an audition jerk. Take an acting class. Jerk. Call an agent. Jerk. That's what the rest of us are doing! Get with the program! Some people actually want to find love. Wait a minute... Is that? Could it be... It must be... Yes! It's Prince Charming! And if it can be found on the reality show white horse, based on embarking in the fairy tale forest of embarrassing neurotic behavior... Then who's to judge the kingdom of singles out there just aching for some human interaction?! 

Well then, by golly, get out of our way! Yeehaw! I've got a prince waiting with my glass slipper to lasso in before my carriage turns into a pumpkin! 

Game Deathery

I will be either turning you boys away quickly with this post or merely just confirming what you already assumed how we feel about stupid ass video games. I hate them. I can't speak for all women, only for me, but my loathing for video games is never more prevalent than when I  am dragged into a fucking Game Stop. Hate them, A LOT. The kids stare at the walls of endless games like zombies. H-A-T-E. The dads are doing the same lame ass thing. Hey dad, isn't there a lawn to be mowed?The moms are tapping their feet wishing one of their idiot children -dad included- will please pick out a game so he can get this show on the road and high tail it out of there! Kill me. I can read mom's face now... Where's the bar? 

I know what you "gamers" are already thinking... Dumb broad. Games are good for coordination. Shut up. They help you problem solve. Not really though. And they make you think. Oh, I'm sure those building blocks and slaughtering little lambs for your flesh-eating wolves solved many a real life problem. Blah. Blah. Save it. They make you lifeless, useless and fat. Go outside! Play hide and seek. Tag. Row a boat across the Los Angeles sewer. Fucking ANYTHING. If you let your kids play this crap, they will play from the moment they get up -who needs cereal?! Play through dinner time-or dinner?! And play while sleeping. Sleep gaming? It's the most ridiculous time waster... EVER. Read a book. Crochet a scarf. Play the bongos. Criminy... Learn to make homemade potato chips! 

There are so many other productive things you could be doing with your time. Build a wooden Pegacorn? When my son is on them too much... I unplug the cords. Oh bummer, there must be a power outage. And change the password on my computer. Sorry kiddo, guess the computer reset itself... They'll be no cactus shooting, toon toting bad guys to babysit you today. Make your bed. And here's an idea... Take a shower! You smell like an accumulated video game funk of three days...

No Baby No

Im definitely going to start licking the table to stop this lady -and her three screaming children- from sitting down at the table attached to mine, with the ONE outlet, in the whole restaurant. Slurp. Slurp. She must be socially inept since it's prevalent that she doesn't see I'm enjoying my solitude. Excuse me... Uh, lady? One of your hellions seems to be shoving a cake pop in his ear.... Ah, Not so silent solitude. Sigh. This has gotten me to thinking that my sister has had the right idea all along... She had her tubes tied. Or cut. I don't know exactly what it is called; But, she can't have any more kids. Hooray!  I love kids. Sure do. Don't get me wrong. But I find them best if served, uhhh... seen and not heard. Aw, what an adorably quiet child reading War and Peace while listening to Bach on his Dre Beats headphones.... 

A friend of mine has been talking about having her... Um, personal party space... Well, cauterized. Yikes. Right! What?! Yes, there is a procedure that women can have that will not only stop the monthly visitor but also stop the free flowing eggs we have up for baby grabs. This has piqued my interest a bit because I have a NO MORE BABIES clause in my closet! Pass the Burberry scarf please. The baby doesn't match my shoes. Thanks.

Believe me when I say that having my son was a beautiful blessing in my life. I had him young and he probably had a hand in keeping me grounded on a variant of levels; But, doing it all by myself? Not fun. Oh holy hell that has been a struggle! Every single mom knows this all too well. Like dragging a grand piano up a hill with floss. I wouldn't wish single mom-dom on anyone. Not even my worst enemy. Well, maybe I'd wish it on Siri. Ok, I would wish it on my worst enemy. Siri. 

My roommate sees babies and her uterus just bounces with joy and glitter. She gets a huge smile on her face. All goofy and grinning. But me?   Noooo ma'am. My uterus cringes and tries to jump out of my body. I end up going on a scavenger hunt for my egg popper and find the heffa trying to jump off the Brooklyn bridge. 

Champagne Setback

Maybe it's just me; But, nothing is more annoying than setbacks. Setbacks in my professional life. Setbacks in my personal life. Setbacks when I've been waiting in line at Six Flags for two hours and a hoard of teenagers with their flash passes jump in front of me making me wait another forty minutes. Dammit. Setback.

I get it. Setbacks are a part of life. But some setbacks aren't necessary. Like wasting a week of rescheduled hearings because I'm a witness in a court case. Time killing Setback. Rascally Rabbit, tsk tsk, fibbing about your unregistered guns. You shouldn't lie about gun ownership, by the way. And If you own guns and aren't a responsible owner... Then you deserve what's coming to you. Clink. Clink. Was that S.W.A.T at your door last week? 

Or when your hanging out with someone all day and you haven't eaten and when you point out a Jack in the Box they pass it up and say we will stop later. Food setback. I don't know why i said Jack in the Box-being A) I'm a vegetarian and B) my being allergic to lettuce ... doesn't leave me much for options; But, I see them on every corner. Either way, I guess androids dont eat. Robot setback. And I'm a person, so I need sustenance. Feed me! I'm starving now. So, you might want to reconsider...FYI, I found a spork in your glove compartment. And I'm not afraid to use it on your plush seat covers. 

Or when your GPS says it will take only and hour to get somewhere and right after you hit the road and get your estimated time of arrival... You hit bumper to bumper traffic AND your GPS now says it will take an extra hour and forty-five minutes. Road rage setback. Since my GPS is most likely friends with Siri, I'm sure she has something to do with the fuckery that can sometimes impede my progression. Siri setback. 

I find adventure in My setbacks. Nothing can ever be perfect. So I live in the moment. As annoying as any setback can be, if you ride your wild pegacorn through rainbows, you're bound to leap past any setback thrown in your face. And I don't know about you; But, unless it's lemon merengue pie... I don't want anything thrown in my face. Lemony Merengue-y Pie with a glass of champagne setback please! 

Apple Wars

My sister loves the Macintosh. I'm a fan of Fuji. My son is obsessed with Granny Smith. My roomie adores Pink Ladies. My friend has an apple farm -chock full- of Summerfields. A breed I'm not too familiar but would love to get to know. Which got me to thinking. Crap. There's goes the my mouse around the trap. Damn, my thinking. I know... It happens. Often. I can't help it. I'm like a child. An annoying one. How many species of apples are there? Can we mix them together in a pie and stick our thumbs in it?  

What if people were like apples? If I love Fuji apples so much, how am I then similar... Am I sweet with a refreshingly crispy crunch? But let my Fuji booty sit out too long and I bite back? Will little bugs eat away at me from the inside out? Ew. I digress. Horrible to imagine my robust and savory tiddles to relinquish to such rottenry. Yes, I made that up. Quite adorable, I'd say. To the rottenry! Away with you... "Red Delicious." You're neither sweet nor tasty. Nor crunchy. More kind of bland really... Oh how I know those that resemble that type of ambrosial. 

You never know what kind of aromatic fruit you're going to get when you opt for a new tasty treat like an apple. Yummy goodness, that's what. Tangy. The party girl. Sweet. The sundress variety.  Flowery. Innocence abound. Blasé. Droll personalities encumber! And rotten ones? Beautiful distractions usually... Well, at least those have bumps and bruising all over them. Applesauce anyone? You can kinda spot them a mile away. Or at least in the fruit bowl on the table. And since a rotten apple can be seen from the kitchen, they're still useful... And fun to throw! Who's up for an Apple War?

Cinnamon Sand

Moment of impact. Where the fun, YOU, flies out the window... Like a dancing panther, stage right. And the old fuddy duddy, YOU, pulls into the station... Choo choo! All aboard! I have always been an old soul but I have always had that fun, wild streak inside. Hello, I'm trapped in here. Always screaming to get out. Let me out! I need to escape. Always dying to find excitement somehow. Knock knock. Is this where excitement lives? We're supposed to hang out. I have an idea! Let's scale a building... I feel like a superhero today. 

But I'm not talking about the momentary judgement calls of safety and moral parameters to your day. I'm talking about the moment when you think music is too loud, people drive too fast, and you just always want to relax? Turn it down! Slow down! Damn kids! It's like you have literally... Become old. Go granny go! 

I haven yet reached that mountainside. But, I see it around me within my close friends. Asleep at right o'clock. Lame. Relatives. In distracting, dysfunctional relationships. Lame. I'll tell you what happens. You become less curious to the unknown. I have no idea what's behind that door, Wayne Brady, but OPEN IT! Being scared to take a risk -that might blow up in your face- is more your personal mental block than a chance to grow. Water and sunlight please. To experience. Yup, that was me that fell out of that tree. To live. Me? Get lost? Try me. Let's take impromptu trips around the globe somewhere. Eat sand. And ride a whale! You only live once... And I intend to live it wholly! Do I need to saddle a whale?  I don't know... But this sand tastes gritty... With a hint of cinnamon. 

The Flip Phone Face

Recently, I was standing next to someone who pulled out their phone, incessantly, to check for -who knows what- and out came the flip phone. Does that kind of phone even receive texts? Do you get ringtones on that device? I always find it suspicious when someone is still using flip phones. Maybe you're a drug dealer and that's your "throw away" phone. Ohhhh, Maybe your a secret agent who gets new clues sent to that phone before it self destructs. 3, 2, 1....

All options.  Not likely. And every time I see someone pull out an old flip phone, my face rearranges itself. Like a monster. Or a muppet. You know.. The way your mom would always warn you would stick that way, if you kept it up. Don't flip your eyelids kids. 

I just can't wrap my brain around the flip phone. And thus... The Flip Phone Face was born. I can understand the Blackberry still sing in existence. Corporate dudes with the emails... I get it. It's still -somewhat- a relevant device. But a flip phone?! What dinosaur did you ride in on.. I bet you couldn't even get a signal to call for pizza. Listen, just chuck it. Use it as a paperweight. Avoid the embarrassment. And guys... It minuses dateable points. Subtract, five... majorly important- points. And some you need more than you think. Not an opinion. 

Oh geez... I'm out at the park. And out comes another subject... With a flip phone. And here comes my face....

Flip Flop Moans

The gym is not the time to moan aloud as if you are at home with the shades drawn and no witnesses to be had. All the treadmills were taken. The guy on the ONE stationary bike is moaning so loudly that's it's not only disruptive but counterintuitive to my own focus. Now I know what you sound like in an intimate situation. An NOW my minds eye cannot get the unsightly image out of my head! Or maybe adjust his oversized headphones so that they are on his head correctly. If he has one ear on and one ear off, it would seem to me that he'd hear his own sounds of... Wailing? I don't know. Somebody just make it stop. And why is he wearing flip flops? 

So I get stuck on the elliptical. And it's an archaic model that is most likely possessed by evil. Level one is like level twenty. I'm an over-achiever. There are no other options.  So I go for it. Gosh, this is stressful. And I last an eternity! ...of only a third of a mile. This machine must die. Do you have a sledgehammer I could borrow? 

It's a smaller gym, so there aren't as many options with machines, weight sets, hand weights; There's only one big ball of blue to do sit-ups. And three women staring at it with intent to pounce. All in all, I enjoy my quaint, little workout spot. But, please, someone stuff a sock in flip flop biker's mouth before I roll him up in a yoga mat and stuff him in the sauna. 

Time To Book

Walking around Barnes & Noble, killing time, while also entertaining my nerdy self, I noticed, a gentleman kept perusing close to me in every isle I went to... That is, until He saw me pick up a copy of "Unleash the Power of the Female Brain." Ha! That's right, future prospect. My female brain is about to be unleashed! Can you handle it? And then he looked down to see my intent to purchase "All Men Are Jerks *until proven otherwise." Umm, no comment. Don't judge me. Whaaat... The excerpt was hilarious. I guess my copies of American songwriter and Pianist magazines was what reeled him in. I looked smart. And creative. Man-magnet stuff right there folks. But definitely watching his face misconstrue at the site of a -what appears to be-  man-bashing book was far too much for him to bear. Excuse me sir? Your face might stick like that if you keep it up. Hey, where ya goin? Why you walking so fast? Oh guess you will not be able attempt to manipulate me for sex? Oh, but it would have been so fun to manipulate you for for sex. In which case... Maybe I should follow him around the store. 

Sigh. Too many books. Too little time. So I'm trying to take a heyday to read through some of my favorite authors. It's summer. There's supposed to be time for this. I need more time. Theres suppose to be tons of time. There's never enough time. Dammit. But, the problem lay, where I just can't decide on what mood of book I'm in. Funny? I love to laugh. I Love Lucy-style books are the best. Mystery? Who dunnit? The maid with the candle stick in the barn, my dear Watson. Non-fiction? Eh, real life crap? Most likely not, I enjoy the escape of stories so much more. Pass. Which to choose. Eeny. Meeny. Miny. Mo. 

I would love to hear some suggestions from you guys and gals out there. Teen fiction? Romance? Not in that order. Just feels wrong. Wait. Are there teen romance novels? Study your geometry instead! I checked out the kids section of Barnes & Noble too... I figured I'd broaden my immaturity with a stroke of genius and I searched through kids humor books. But, my choice of Wimpy Chronicles was probably not a good look. Unless I've digressed. To age eight. Which is likely. 

Sleepy Castle

I'm going to invent a business that allows you to stop when you are tired and take a snooze. Not a hotel. Not a rest stop. But a sleepy castle type of rest stop. So you can take a nap. A kind of auberge... with which to stop.  A bonified conk out stop. It's so needed. I can't tell you how many times I've been waiting around for whatever to happen and I could have gotten in some zzzz's! Waiting to check into a hotel. Need a few winks. Checking out at hotel. Need a nap. Waiting for airplane. Neck pillow please... And an ottoman. 

Yesterday, I was falling asleep in a fast food place. I needed to charge my phone. No outlets. I needed a coffee. No coffee maker around for miles. Or coffee shop. I need a personal barista. Boom. I know, I'm a problem solver.  I needed a damn cot to rest my weary head! I couldn't check into my hotel yet.. So I was stuck. I could try to close my lids in my car; But, it being over a hundred degrees and all... It seemed I might be risking heat stroke in the environment. I can't carry my personal camel around with me everywhere I go. Moistening me in this wretched heat with his perfect aim of spit; But, it's because he's too big. And loveable. Everyone would pet Charlie - an exclusive edition, face wetting, spitting good time. He licks your ears too. But he'll blame it on the inanimate balloons hanging from the mailbox. 

OPERATION: SLEEP CASTLE was born. Since I love pegacorns and the princess treatment. I thought a castle theme would be the absolute perfection in sleeperies! I already booked my gurney. Oh! Just a noteable mention for my fellow pervs out there...

No sex in the champagne bunk! 

Popsicle Hobbit

Some guys cloak themselves in Sheeps clothing so well that they pull one over on you, TOO well. Sheep smell. You feel proud of yourself? Wolves smell too. Hand a girl a Popsicle and your bound to get a smile. Who doesn't love a Popsicle. Or a Hobbit. But, in this case, here are three red flags he's a Popsicle Hobbit. 

#1 Sugar Packets... What kind of guy steals sugar packets and makes his date believe that this is what will bond us? What you deem as an endearing quality is most likely appearing like a precursor for future legal problems. No girl finds that desirable. Nor wants to bail you out later. 

#2 Hobbit Haunt... Since I recently had an encounter with a Hobbit hating date, I find it necessary to mention one last time. If you watch a fantasy film, enjoy it. Please don't find every opportunity to make disparaging remarks on accuracy and detail. Zip it sailor. Keep it to a dull roar. Meow. Or get a mute button. Aw, the duct tape will only hurt for a second when ripped off. I promise you, I have no F***s to give you. Not one. Have a shot. Drink up. Call your mom. Hi, mom. Whatever it takes. Knock it off. It's annoying. And by the way, I lied, I did see the movie. Twice. And I freaking loved it. Both times. But thanks a bunch, now that you've ruined my get-a-away-from-real-life film, I'm being stalked by Hobbit paraphernalia everywhere I turn. Journals tossing themselves at me in bookstores. Stuffed plush toys hurling their way into my shopping carts. Every time I pass a tree with a big hole in it, I want to climb in it an see if I can find the hobbit, borrow his invisi-ring, and come find you so I can slap your inconsiderate self. I hope your next date can't hear you dissect another film. Being alone forever won't be that bad. Elmer Fudd did it. Screw it, back to the lion, the witch and the wardrobe. 

#3 pillow pet... If you're a man that sleeps with more pillows than Bed, Bath & Beyond can carry, you may want to reevaluate your life. Not just a couple pillows two for the head. Or one in between your legs for back support. But, literally, hugging two pillows. Squish. Three pillows on his left side, four pillows on his right side and they're all around him like he's in a pillow casket. I gotta admit, that's a new one. Bedding Mush. How many does it take to get to oodles anyway? Hello death? Yes, I'd like to special order five thousand pillows for my lifeless body to lay on please. Oh, I have to ACTUALLY die before you can process my request? Well, gee, this is a pickle. You see I cannot sleep without a gaggle of pillows enveloping me to the point of suffocation. Still no? Gosh, may I speak to a manager? Thanks. 

So there you have it. Say no to a man offering Popsicle sticks. Did you order a Popsicle stick up the ass for one? Here you go. Ouch. Now you will be paraded around wearing a tutu and bells on your feet. But you don't get to ride a donkey. You gotta earn that. Ding dong. Thank you for participating. Nothing makes a woman feel more special than to get played. Come with honesty and get a tan. Powder. Look both ways before crossing the street. Skeezing twit. And ladies, keep your eyes open. Popsicle Hobbits come out from tree holes on the street: I don't know... 

Sanctioned Selection

I have been vetoed. I am not permitted to choosing my own dates from here on out. A new selection process has commenced. It has been brought to my attention - oddly enough, I'm already aware- that I cannot choose quality men. Or rather... I've just been a bit unlucky. My picker is off. I'm blind to seeing the guy with value and tend to -accidentally- opt for the sack of dicks. Or the dude with the sagging... Uh, nevermind. 

So, it has been decided. Without my input. Or vote. Or option to appeal. That my girls (friends, siblings, boyfriends of said friends/siblings, and the family dog too I guess) will be putting, any guy trying to take me out, on a chopping block. Hi, yes, I'd love to go out with you; But, not until I hand you over to the wolves. Good luck!  If he can get through the rigorous waves of interrogation, I will be notified when I get to go out on a date. Maybe I should learn to knit sweaters for mystical creatures. This may take a while. Which, I was told, will be supervised. What?! Ok, I know I have a shitty dating history... but geez. Isn't this extreme? Nope. No bending. Not a democracy. You've done enough damage. Now its our turn to break these poor saps down. Ah! I see it clearly now. Noted. 

Ok. Sort of... A Rita's boot camp for potential suitors. Oh crap. Can I at least watch through the two way mirror? Get a glimpse of what you guys are going... No. Dammit. That's it. Might as well hang up all my sexy hooker heels and become a hermit. An old maid. Better pull out ye olde pasta maker. It's all over and now I will have time to get back to my roots. I've always wanted to see if I remembered my cannery skills. Ah, just like Aunt Rose and I used to do in the summers. In the basement. I'm doomed. Apparently, I can pick the gentleman. I can talk to the gentleman. But after those initial meetings... I get bumped out of the way like a bad performer at The Apollo. Here kind sir, if you'd like to continue to talk to this fine beauty, please fill out an application. I see the cane. Hi handsome beau, it's your lucky day! You, fine courter, have been chosen privy to our sanctioned selection process. I see the jester on roller skates. Nary just any boyfriend can survive the challenge of our controversial tactics. I bob and weave. But trust us, aristocratic wannabe, our best interest is for this beguiling stunner... And we will annihilate you. Huh? What's happening? Why am I spinning? And where the hell did my date go? Shit. The natives have captured him. Its too late. Well... If Prince Charming can make it through my confidants fiery procession -shrugs- I guess he MIGHT, actually be the one. I knew they'd wamboozle me. I must give in to their demands and let them have at it. Bastards. 

On the plus side... My friends and family must really love me to put me through this. Or hate me. Or they just enjoy watching me squirm and this is paybacks. For all the poo poo I've put them through. Maybe I should have thought twice about hiding my sisters shoe in her glove compartment that one time... 

GFY

This is a phrase I find myself using quite often. I use it when someone takes my parking spot. I mumble it under my breath when I'm in line at hotel registration and someone jumps right in front of you citing "I just need to ask a question." I hate you. That's what the line is for. Get in it like the rest of us. Go fuck yourself.  "Go Fuck Yourself" has become my go-to phrase. It solves a multitude of emotional ranges all in three little words. 

Allow me to show you. I go out on a few dates with a nerdy scientist guy. At first glance, he's not really my type. He's not the "hot guy" that would normally catch my attention; But, his odd way of communicating is humorous to me. Where everyone else would find his awkward statements annoying, I found him unique and adorable. Let's watch a movie. Ok. It's The Hobbit movie. Why are you picking apart the scientific relevance of how a bridge would actually fall with an ogre on top of it? Damn fantasy films. I guess the scientific part of it flies out the window in a movie like that. But who am I to judge? Everyone Is entitled to be a little different. Or just a straight up oddball. And it was kind of cute. Back to the point. He walks me to my car. He opens doors. He made old fashioned new again. I had found a breath of fresh air. He didn't seem to be acting strangely. But beware of scrawny scientists, ladies. I leave for a trip, and he disappears off the face of the planet. GFY. Apparently, that breath of fresh air was contaminated. GFY. It's the umbrella for all emotions pointing south in this case. Inconsiderate jerk. GFY. Disrespectful little prick. GFY. Non-gentlemanly behavior. GFY. Android devoid of human feeling. You get the idea. Oh and by the way... GFY. 

I've gotta thank my hot canoli bestie, Evan, for this new phrase. I'm new to the acronym -even though I've kept saying it with a dash dyslexia- and having had a love affair already in full swing with telling people to go fuck themselves. I figured telling you guys about it would help me use the acronym much more effectively than outright saying the F-bomb. Which I do. A lot. In a bank. Or at a park. Or at some other high follutin function I may be privy. My filter needs work... But then again, would you want it any other way? Nah. You'd tell me to GFY.