My dear friend has been going on so many internet dates, I don't have anyone to hang out with anymore. Such thing there isn't a lot we don't share, I started a page on the same site. If I go on dates, I'll just talk about her experiences in life, all while wearing her socks, jacket and back pack... like I don't do or have anything of my own. It's either that or talk about my ex.
My internet dates will ask me about what I like to do and I will say "Rachel speaks Spanish."
Here is the difference between Rachel and I; She is doing things with her life that will help low income people and I want to meet some one who has money. It's not so much that I want to meet someone who has money, as I don't want to do anything for the poor. My ex doesn't have any money and all I've wanted to do are things for him, to help him realize his own potential and feel good about who he is... then he can get it together enough to realize that we would be so happy together in San Francisco. However, my efforts were squandered and now I just end up yelling at homeless people because he isn't around anymore.
HOMELESS GUY: Spare some change, Miss?
ME: [screaming] I can miss you, but I can't change you! [sobs into scarf]
HOMELESS GUY: [to himself] It's a numbers game, Pete.
It's a numbers game... dating and consequently (for me), loving. It's like Scientology invented romance and while everyone else is getting on that space ship of love, I'm locked in limbo with Captain Xenu. So I have decided to surf the international house of hot cakes AKA "OKcupid"....
SIDE RANT:
"OKcupid" is the name of the internet dating site I joined with my friend and I think their ad campaign should go something like this:
"OKcupid- you fix it!"
"OKcupid, what's the deal?!"
"OKcupid, your arrow better be dipped in something fierce, because I have developed a tolerance [the chorus line to Robert Palmer's "Addicted to Love" plays in background]"
"Oh- Okcupid, like some cherub is going to crawl inside of this shriveling uterus and give me a legacy."
END SCENE.
I created my account, answered some questions and went over to Rachel's a day later. She has been going on so many dates lately, she called in sick (to her date), so she could hang out with her favorite person: sweat pants. I came over too. She and I pulled up our accounts and went shopping (our favorite!), but because we are both pretty broke we went shopping for men (shoes wont put a baby in this barren wasteland 5 years from now). Her quick match brought up all sorts of dark, beautiful men, albiet a bit young for my taste. My quick match brought up HUNDREDS of dorky, ugly men. One guy (ironically, the most attractive of my entire brigade) called himself "Atractus" and when I quipped "more like UNatractus" Rachel and I laughed so hard, we realized we don't need men. Besides I can't ask a date to wax my ass crack and Rachel is more than down (pun?).
The reason she is getting more viable hits than me is because she has beautiful hair and isn't a gold digger. I'm not a gold digger, I'm just not open minded. I think, ultimately, I prefer that kinetic spark of seeing someone in a coffee shop, yoga or through their car window as he speeds by and thinking "what if?". What if I see him again? What if he asks me out? What if he turns around? What if I get mugged in front of him and I end up laying out 3 bad guys while he films it so he can tag me on Facebook later?
Soul Mates.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Fly The Friendly Thighs
This girl went to Denver a few days ago and had a blast. So much of a blast that she only got two hours of sleep before she had to fly back. "That's okay," she thought "I picked out my seat next to the window." However, when it came time to be the one person holding up an entire aircraft of people, she pushed past the exit row demonstrations to row 19 (coach, no chicken bus for this princess) only to find herself seated in a middle aged sandwich. Frontier Airlines asked her to pick her seat out on-line and it didn't matter because they put her somewhere awful.
[end of third person narrating]
I was sitting there, waiting for the minute I could put my tray table in the "I don't have to explain myself to old people" nap position. I realized it was weird to be exhausted for a noon thirty flight and I felt a little trashy. That was, until the gentleman to my right took chivalry to a whole new altitude. He balled up his denim patchwork Carhartt and offered it as a pillow. I politely refused explaining I did not want my face to smell like pastrami and cigarettes. He insisted and I declined to the point I got irritated. I didn't want to lay on his clothes. I really just wanted him to put his meaty arms inside his own jacket so I wouldn't have to feel the red hairs of his functional bulk brushing against my soft skin. He was a little over my arm rest and his distressed jeans were finding analogous position, placing themselves as if we were on a date. His body language set to "rape" and I haven't even had my coffee... ok, I have had my coffee, but I wasn't ready for this. He kept trying to talk to me like I was going to giggle and say "your arm hair tickles, let's go to the potty."... I found a lull (pretty quickly in the middle of his sentence) to put in my ear buds and finally lay my head down on my own god-dammed jacket (thank you) and took a nap.
[she drifts off to St. Vincent]
I am awakened about 15 minutes into my nap with a gruff cough from our favorite rapist in seat 19C. I jump a bit and sit up to orientate myself. With a suggestive pat, he implies I should use the balled up jacket of his, but this time it's in his lap. I don't know how they do it in Minnesota, but here- over where ever we are, men get lynched for less than that (right?). When the same refusing response came from my purdy mouth, I could hear his teeth chip- no doubt fighting the urge to shove my head onto his "pillow".
[alternative ending]
Him: you can lay your head here, in my lap, Miss.
Her: Why thank you, there aren't a lot of men out there willing to let an attractive (relatively) young thing like me get my face anywhere near their lap. This is very big of you.
Him: uh-oh!
Her: What? Did I forget to wear panties under this skirt? [reaches down and feels exposed vagina] Oops!
Him: Oh that, yeah... but you said "big" and that word that awakens Thor.
Her: [vagina excreting unusual amounts of interest] Who's Thor?
etc.
They end up in the potty, fucking over the smell of stale farts and she has never been so satisfied.
The End.
[end of third person narrating]
I was sitting there, waiting for the minute I could put my tray table in the "I don't have to explain myself to old people" nap position. I realized it was weird to be exhausted for a noon thirty flight and I felt a little trashy. That was, until the gentleman to my right took chivalry to a whole new altitude. He balled up his denim patchwork Carhartt and offered it as a pillow. I politely refused explaining I did not want my face to smell like pastrami and cigarettes. He insisted and I declined to the point I got irritated. I didn't want to lay on his clothes. I really just wanted him to put his meaty arms inside his own jacket so I wouldn't have to feel the red hairs of his functional bulk brushing against my soft skin. He was a little over my arm rest and his distressed jeans were finding analogous position, placing themselves as if we were on a date. His body language set to "rape" and I haven't even had my coffee... ok, I have had my coffee, but I wasn't ready for this. He kept trying to talk to me like I was going to giggle and say "your arm hair tickles, let's go to the potty."... I found a lull (pretty quickly in the middle of his sentence) to put in my ear buds and finally lay my head down on my own god-dammed jacket (thank you) and took a nap.
[she drifts off to St. Vincent]
I am awakened about 15 minutes into my nap with a gruff cough from our favorite rapist in seat 19C. I jump a bit and sit up to orientate myself. With a suggestive pat, he implies I should use the balled up jacket of his, but this time it's in his lap. I don't know how they do it in Minnesota, but here- over where ever we are, men get lynched for less than that (right?). When the same refusing response came from my purdy mouth, I could hear his teeth chip- no doubt fighting the urge to shove my head onto his "pillow".
[alternative ending]
Him: you can lay your head here, in my lap, Miss.
Her: Why thank you, there aren't a lot of men out there willing to let an attractive (relatively) young thing like me get my face anywhere near their lap. This is very big of you.
Him: uh-oh!
Her: What? Did I forget to wear panties under this skirt? [reaches down and feels exposed vagina] Oops!
Him: Oh that, yeah... but you said "big" and that word that awakens Thor.
Her: [vagina excreting unusual amounts of interest] Who's Thor?
etc.
They end up in the potty, fucking over the smell of stale farts and she has never been so satisfied.
The End.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Mostly Stuff That Happened
Okay... I saw a psychic last night. I paid $20 for a reading. Do you know what she told me? That I need to start having more sex. I told her that she should make more money because that's such a wonderful idea! "How do I do it?" I asked. She looked a concentrated look into my energy field and replied "have fun- you're young." I thought it was a little trite, being that she was 16 years old and pregnant, but okay. "Hopefully I don't have too much fun [pointing to her stomach]... What did your mom say?". "She don't OWN ME!" Bitches be trippin', right?
So here I am at a coffee shop "having fun". They have the music on a Beatles station and I have sat through at least 6 songs now... the fun couldn't get more penetrable (grrrrr)! One of my favorite activities is flying, but on an airplane, not with my super powers (I get motion sickness). I like flying on commercial airplanes and packing a little snack to tide me over until I arrive at my destination. I usually steam some broccoli and hard boil some eggs- then, halfway through my flight, open the Tupperware and look around the cabin like "who farted?!". Maybe I do need to get some dick in here to fuck all these unattractive thoughts from my hamster head.
I am sitting in Philz coffee shop, which is a famous local chain in San Francisco. I am at the original one and Phil is just walking around- (doesn't this guy work?!) mingling with the female clientele. He sells his "signature fedoras" and pounds of coffee. He has all sorts of pictures of himself all over the walls. Phil creeps me out. He reminds me of a Rat Villain in a kid's movie. He always looks at me like I should be so excited to see Phil of the coffee dynasty. I feel for his employees and I just wish he'd go home. Does the NFL let their mascots bumble around the field when the team is playing? Phil is in the way. I am sad for his children... not really, but I wish there were somewhere to put this guy!
That's all.
So here I am at a coffee shop "having fun". They have the music on a Beatles station and I have sat through at least 6 songs now... the fun couldn't get more penetrable (grrrrr)! One of my favorite activities is flying, but on an airplane, not with my super powers (I get motion sickness). I like flying on commercial airplanes and packing a little snack to tide me over until I arrive at my destination. I usually steam some broccoli and hard boil some eggs- then, halfway through my flight, open the Tupperware and look around the cabin like "who farted?!". Maybe I do need to get some dick in here to fuck all these unattractive thoughts from my hamster head.
I am sitting in Philz coffee shop, which is a famous local chain in San Francisco. I am at the original one and Phil is just walking around- (doesn't this guy work?!) mingling with the female clientele. He sells his "signature fedoras" and pounds of coffee. He has all sorts of pictures of himself all over the walls. Phil creeps me out. He reminds me of a Rat Villain in a kid's movie. He always looks at me like I should be so excited to see Phil of the coffee dynasty. I feel for his employees and I just wish he'd go home. Does the NFL let their mascots bumble around the field when the team is playing? Phil is in the way. I am sad for his children... not really, but I wish there were somewhere to put this guy!
That's all.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Girls Don't Poop!
My housemate reminded me tonight that girls don't poop. I almost forgot until he told me! How silly of me to be hoping to excrete all this food I'm eating through my anus, I guess it's back to the old purging board! Some women have been known to poop up to every nine months! I ate such a big meal tonight, with my housemate... I had to wait until he went into his room and then... I pooped. I pooped so hard. I felt guilty, knowing it makes me less of a woman. I had an impulse to yell down the hall "I'M POOPING! I'M POOPING!" part of me felt like Scarlett O' Hara... when she found all those carrots and was excited to eat. I was excited too! However, no one can know. Should I give it up for adoption or just throw it in the dumpster? Tell me quick because poop's getting all over my keyboard and is only minutes from becoming self-aware.
I often feel like Ms. O'Hara, but sometimes I feel like Malcolm X- all free at last, free at last... but the kind of "free" that makes me want to change my given name to a new Muslim name. Malcolm X was Martin Luther before he became King of the Panthers. True story, I teach history... or I dated a history teacher, he cheated on me, so I will cheat history. Who wins that battle? Me.
Some people think I am insensitive or racist. I don't know about that. Why, just today I was standing next to a black man on the bus and I didn't vomit or gush blood... I couldn't really have done anything because I was so worried about my purse! You know who is racist? This 2.5 year old boy I help take care of... He calls every black man he sees "Obama". What a little turd! However, we get along pretty well, I call every fat black woman I see "Precious".
There was a lot of poop talk in this one, plus more typical race stuff, then I threw a spin on it with a kid story, but brought it back with fat black ladies. I want you to see what else happened today:
I often feel like Ms. O'Hara, but sometimes I feel like Malcolm X- all free at last, free at last... but the kind of "free" that makes me want to change my given name to a new Muslim name. Malcolm X was Martin Luther before he became King of the Panthers. True story, I teach history... or I dated a history teacher, he cheated on me, so I will cheat history. Who wins that battle? Me.
Some people think I am insensitive or racist. I don't know about that. Why, just today I was standing next to a black man on the bus and I didn't vomit or gush blood... I couldn't really have done anything because I was so worried about my purse! You know who is racist? This 2.5 year old boy I help take care of... He calls every black man he sees "Obama". What a little turd! However, we get along pretty well, I call every fat black woman I see "Precious".
There was a lot of poop talk in this one, plus more typical race stuff, then I threw a spin on it with a kid story, but brought it back with fat black ladies. I want you to see what else happened today:
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
My Yoga Boat Needs A Skipper!
I wish my friend were back from Costa Rica because I have a fancy crush on my yoga instructor… I need her there with me to help me giggle every time he touches me during class. If we giggle uncontrollably, I will seem easy going and he’ll want in on the joke, plus maybe she’ll fart (knowing her) and I can console her as she cries her embarrassment into a child’s pose. I’ll say “shhhh, it’s okay, it’s totally natural… I’m so comfortable with the human body and my body- which is why I can cum like 7 times while boning.” He should hear this (I’ll be shouting) and run over to ask me out.
In an ideal world, a man will ask you out when you shout about orgasms. However, in San Francisco, I’m told the men are notorious for not asking ladies out. I wasn’t aware I moved into a gigantic vulva, but that would explain all the pussy. Fuck. I will tell you this: I’m not pursuing another man- again. I have taken initiative too many times and I was only lucky they were potty trained... There is a story about one guy who wasn’t, but he was also like 3 years old, so I try to be compassionate… also before you go thinking “oh my God, she dated a 3 year-old?!” You should know he was a dog, so he was more like 18 years old. (This last paragraph was mostly parenthetical)
I don’t get why men are intimidated by me… Is it my personality? I mean, I am a powerful woman, but that shouldn’t… is it my looks? What- the 6 inch stilettos? The latex leggings? The high powered- portable fan I wheel in front of me to keep my perfectly coifed do out of my precisely made up face? Can they tell I’m waiting to change them? Better them than me, that’s what I always say (in my head), out loud I talk about letting the change begin within. Oh, if I were only a minority… I don’t know why, other than I wouldn’t seem so racist when I opted to only date my own race. White boys are so dreamy. I digress.
I hope that me talking, earlier, about how my friend farts, isn’t a trespass on our confidentiality, but she (or he) farts sooooo bad. I miss him or her.
In an ideal world, a man will ask you out when you shout about orgasms. However, in San Francisco, I’m told the men are notorious for not asking ladies out. I wasn’t aware I moved into a gigantic vulva, but that would explain all the pussy. Fuck. I will tell you this: I’m not pursuing another man- again. I have taken initiative too many times and I was only lucky they were potty trained... There is a story about one guy who wasn’t, but he was also like 3 years old, so I try to be compassionate… also before you go thinking “oh my God, she dated a 3 year-old?!” You should know he was a dog, so he was more like 18 years old. (This last paragraph was mostly parenthetical)
I don’t get why men are intimidated by me… Is it my personality? I mean, I am a powerful woman, but that shouldn’t… is it my looks? What- the 6 inch stilettos? The latex leggings? The high powered- portable fan I wheel in front of me to keep my perfectly coifed do out of my precisely made up face? Can they tell I’m waiting to change them? Better them than me, that’s what I always say (in my head), out loud I talk about letting the change begin within. Oh, if I were only a minority… I don’t know why, other than I wouldn’t seem so racist when I opted to only date my own race. White boys are so dreamy. I digress.
I hope that me talking, earlier, about how my friend farts, isn’t a trespass on our confidentiality, but she (or he) farts sooooo bad. I miss him or her.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Sans Continuity
You might be asking yourself... what happened to your last post? The one where you're having so much fun at the expense of others? Well, I deleted it. There are limits and lines you shouldn't cross, people and if people keep crossing them, well then a wall goes up. I am living in a self-imposed cell block and I don't want any company... sad? sure. I have been forever, but I will try to have some fun with it now.
I was on the bus, lonely and cold... the bus got crowded and a large woman sat next to me. I was irritated for two blocks because I like my space, but after a little while I warmed up against her protesting skin, stretched beyond reason to house the extra helpings of love she didn't receive as a child. I began to care for this woman, where she came from, what happened to her... then she left, just like everyone else in my life and there I was, colder than before. Her seat was filled by some other poor person and I just couldn't bring myself to love again... not so soon.
There is a 400 lb man-boy assuming I will bed him if he keeps flashing me his machismo. So, that's flattering. Say, do you know where my healthy body can get stuffed with chubby cock? What's that? Your dick has love-handles? I didn't know penises got saddle bags- I'm so intrigued- show me!
I'm super attractive, smart, employed, funny and together... where can a girl like me find a broke, swaggering, fat, cigarette-smoking greyhound bus to plow into my perfectly maintained vagina?! No, I'm not mad- I'm a woman, so I am just like this roller coaster of absurdity. I understand some women treat their vagina like they got it at an Enterprise and can just turn it in for another vagina once they run this one into a tree, but I take care of myself. I value my body and I resent so greatly when a man thinks that I should be responsive to his suggestions of us hooking up. You add 220 lbs to the mix and I get pregnant. Get me filled with obese fetus PRONTO! I can't wait... what does a fat man's dick look like? I'm dying [inside] to know!
Right now, I kinda feel like a man... like a happily married man who has an affair... How he has a loving wife and family, but wants to wet his dick on some fresh putang... because I took a shower earlier, but I might take a bath in a few... maybe I'll get my hair wet, but I shouldn't... people will know.
I have been sad about a boy. I have been so sad because he's like a little retard and I hate him, but I don't because I loved him so much once, but now I'm just going to not like him anymore because, he was terrible. He is also a retard and I don't like those people... taking all our jobs. I can say "retard" without being offensive because my brother is an alcoholic.
I told myself I wouldn't be happy about tonight if I didn't write... we'll see if this works.
I was on the bus, lonely and cold... the bus got crowded and a large woman sat next to me. I was irritated for two blocks because I like my space, but after a little while I warmed up against her protesting skin, stretched beyond reason to house the extra helpings of love she didn't receive as a child. I began to care for this woman, where she came from, what happened to her... then she left, just like everyone else in my life and there I was, colder than before. Her seat was filled by some other poor person and I just couldn't bring myself to love again... not so soon.
There is a 400 lb man-boy assuming I will bed him if he keeps flashing me his machismo. So, that's flattering. Say, do you know where my healthy body can get stuffed with chubby cock? What's that? Your dick has love-handles? I didn't know penises got saddle bags- I'm so intrigued- show me!
I'm super attractive, smart, employed, funny and together... where can a girl like me find a broke, swaggering, fat, cigarette-smoking greyhound bus to plow into my perfectly maintained vagina?! No, I'm not mad- I'm a woman, so I am just like this roller coaster of absurdity. I understand some women treat their vagina like they got it at an Enterprise and can just turn it in for another vagina once they run this one into a tree, but I take care of myself. I value my body and I resent so greatly when a man thinks that I should be responsive to his suggestions of us hooking up. You add 220 lbs to the mix and I get pregnant. Get me filled with obese fetus PRONTO! I can't wait... what does a fat man's dick look like? I'm dying [inside] to know!
Right now, I kinda feel like a man... like a happily married man who has an affair... How he has a loving wife and family, but wants to wet his dick on some fresh putang... because I took a shower earlier, but I might take a bath in a few... maybe I'll get my hair wet, but I shouldn't... people will know.
I have been sad about a boy. I have been so sad because he's like a little retard and I hate him, but I don't because I loved him so much once, but now I'm just going to not like him anymore because, he was terrible. He is also a retard and I don't like those people... taking all our jobs. I can say "retard" without being offensive because my brother is an alcoholic.
I told myself I wouldn't be happy about tonight if I didn't write... we'll see if this works.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Euthanarium®*!
Hey kids! Do you want to go to the aquarium? Yeah? How about the Euthanarium®*? Oh, you don't know?
You're so stupid at this age (6).
The Euthanarium®* is where families go to feel safe and see live action! Why should loveable/ aggressive pets be the only things put to sleep? I'm not sure if you know this, but to some people you're one sexy 6-year-old and you would look mighty fine with a wad of underoos in that tiny mouth. What is sexy? Well, it's debatable.
All advertisements aside folks, I found myself telling a mom at the park today that I thought "pedophiles should be euthanized." I didn't know this woman, but somehow that's an appropriate topic of conversation in a liberal city where no one (but me) thinks the death penalty is okay... why didn't I follow it up with a gem like: "... I mean, pedophiles is one thing, but I think it's totally fucked up about abortion! What if that baby is the coming of Christ? Can you imagine?! Some rakish 14-year-old had the nerve to start wearing make up before marriage and seduces her uncle; now she wants salvation vacuumed out of her? What does she need? to make room for her teachers and cousins... [shrugs shoulders] kids today!" The woman was polite, but did not engage me further... that's okay, I wasn't getting paid to impress her ripe-ass anyway.
Why are pedophiles let back on the street with little more than a "tisk- tisk and here's some food/ shelter for awhile"? Does anybody get that this is a disease that spreads like wild fire? I work with kids and it's so scary, I can't even fathom having my own sometimes (especially girls because from about 14-27 they are pretty much worthless). The thing that sucks is that we can't just hang sexual offenders- or make a reality show out of it.
Euthanarium®* is a place pedophiles get sent to fight to the death. It's a 2,000 gallon tank that is slowly filling with water (there's a ceiling on this place people!), but only one can be fished out alive and only after all the others have died at the hands of one another! When we fish the "winner" out, we can try him for murder and seek capitol punishment!
Maybe you're a bleeding-heart-castration-advocate. Castration doesn't make sense because a lot of times they just use their fingers or tongue (maybe something laying around the kitchen). If they're over 25, they're stuck in their ways and if that way is fingering the asshole of a toddler- can't we get creative?! There should be something done. Killing is pretty extreme and despite my stance, I was never molested, but I am pretty sure my ex-boyfriend's new girlfriend was. Which makes no sense, because I am way prettier and she's super boring.
I'm sorry you read this, unless you liked it... and then I would have to agree with you.
*- ® is a lie... I haven't even registered to vote.
You're so stupid at this age (6).
The Euthanarium®* is where families go to feel safe and see live action! Why should loveable/ aggressive pets be the only things put to sleep? I'm not sure if you know this, but to some people you're one sexy 6-year-old and you would look mighty fine with a wad of underoos in that tiny mouth. What is sexy? Well, it's debatable.
All advertisements aside folks, I found myself telling a mom at the park today that I thought "pedophiles should be euthanized." I didn't know this woman, but somehow that's an appropriate topic of conversation in a liberal city where no one (but me) thinks the death penalty is okay... why didn't I follow it up with a gem like: "... I mean, pedophiles is one thing, but I think it's totally fucked up about abortion! What if that baby is the coming of Christ? Can you imagine?! Some rakish 14-year-old had the nerve to start wearing make up before marriage and seduces her uncle; now she wants salvation vacuumed out of her? What does she need? to make room for her teachers and cousins... [shrugs shoulders] kids today!" The woman was polite, but did not engage me further... that's okay, I wasn't getting paid to impress her ripe-ass anyway.
Why are pedophiles let back on the street with little more than a "tisk- tisk and here's some food/ shelter for awhile"? Does anybody get that this is a disease that spreads like wild fire? I work with kids and it's so scary, I can't even fathom having my own sometimes (especially girls because from about 14-27 they are pretty much worthless). The thing that sucks is that we can't just hang sexual offenders- or make a reality show out of it.
Euthanarium®* is a place pedophiles get sent to fight to the death. It's a 2,000 gallon tank that is slowly filling with water (there's a ceiling on this place people!), but only one can be fished out alive and only after all the others have died at the hands of one another! When we fish the "winner" out, we can try him for murder and seek capitol punishment!
Maybe you're a bleeding-heart-castration-advocate. Castration doesn't make sense because a lot of times they just use their fingers or tongue (maybe something laying around the kitchen). If they're over 25, they're stuck in their ways and if that way is fingering the asshole of a toddler- can't we get creative?! There should be something done. Killing is pretty extreme and despite my stance, I was never molested, but I am pretty sure my ex-boyfriend's new girlfriend was. Which makes no sense, because I am way prettier and she's super boring.
I'm sorry you read this, unless you liked it... and then I would have to agree with you.
*- ® is a lie... I haven't even registered to vote.
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