This week I listened to the cassette tape my astrologist gave me of my birthday session. She basically laid out the next year, giving me an idea of what to expect. Note to self: listening to what you’re going to be doing for the next year, seven months AFTER the fact isn’t very helpful. I took some notes and will be sure to do that earlier next year. It’s amazing how accurate the session has proved.
Some people think your (actual) birthday determines the next year. If I’d known that, I would have spent my birthday a little differently. It wasn’t BAD, per say, just nothing I care to repeat for an entire year. The Cliffs Notes version of my birthday…
· Spent most of the day in bed watching a Law & Order marathon, in deep procrastination.
· Had dinner with my family.
· Watched my mother try and con us into burning an old flag because it was the “respectful” thing to do. HOLY WHAT THE FUCK?! There are SO many things that are wrong with this…but let’s start with the fact that flags don’t freaking burn: they are fire retardant. To accomplish such a “respectful” task, an old flag requires soaking in lighter fluid (or some such bullshit) beforehand. My mother skipped this step in favor of lighters and candles. The only substantial outcome, other than a polyester fume high and a few small burnt spots (on the flag), was my poor sister having a piece of polyester burnt into her skin. (That’s what you get for trying to help your mother!)
· Started writing my paper around 9:30PM.
· Received a phone call from the guy I was seeing around 10:00PM, who I later discovered, just wasn’t that into me.
You can bet your sweet ass I’ll not be procrastinating on my next birthday or burning ANYTHING with my family. I will be having the best day ever. It will include being totally on top of my school work and lots of awesome sex with a man (not a boy, or guy) who respects me and worships the fucking ground I walk on. I am over the year of procrastination and boys who don’t measure up.
Categories:Club Celibacy, I have more batteries for my vibrators than Too $hort h, birthday, boys are the dumb, cobwebs in my privates?, emotional impotency is not hawt, hell is for single people, my milkshake brings all the hobos to the yard
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I am sick to fucking death of dating. Not that I’ll be stopping anytime soon, because I was raised in a (loving) dysfunctional household and I don’t know when to say when.
A few months ago I had an interesting conversation with my dad about dating. (Weird, I know.) He said the shitty part about internet dating is that you don’t have a “real” connection with the people you are meeting*. Well, except that you both pay to meet people on the internet. All you can do is cross your fingers people are genuine because you aren’t going to see them again through mutual friends, or run into them at some shared activity. There is no accountability. Don’t want to talk to someone anymore? Pretend they don’t exist. The end! I’m guilty of this, as well. Sometimes it seems silence is more kind…which leaves me wondering: what the fuck happened to make (insert name of anyone interesting I’ve dated since moving to stupid fucking God’s Country) disappear? I feel like I have been doing a pretty good job of not being the crazy girl. My boundaries have improved. I’m not fucking each dude within the first 20 minutes (I’m all way up to 40 minutes of conversation before sex in the Starbucks bathroom). And I wait at least 5 minutes AFTER sex before I profess my love for him, tell him I want to have a million of his babies, and that I can’t wait for him to meet my cat.
Communicating with men via dating websites the appropriate amount of time, graduating to personal email or phone, then eventually in person is exhausting. Especially when you meet and you immediately know it’s not gonna happen. Whether it’s because he’s educated to fucking infinity but has yet to discover the joys of deodorant, freaking you the fuck out by attempting to destroy all the boundaries you’ve set (HELLO! Red flag d-bag!), or you’d rather tongue kiss your cat. All of which makes it more frustrating when seemingly decent men disappear.
Does anyone know who Random Carol is? ? I’ve been receiving referrals from her, but her blog is private.
And to the person who is coming here by way of a “what to ask to my future husband” Google search, you are in the wrong place. (I don’t know why I’m the second result either.) If you continue to return, I may be forced to write a list of things to ask the lucky fucker.
*I hate it when my dad is right.
Categories:Club Celibacy, I’ve lost that loving feeling, The Crazy, boys are the dumb, cobwebs in my privates?, confession, emotional impotency is not hawt, fucking paradise, hell is for single people, it's called sarcasm, my milkshake brings all the hobos to the yard, obviously crazy to leave the bay area
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My sister and I are making August boot camp for granolas. We’ve committed to hiking four times per week and at the end of four weeks we will tackle a 15 mile hike! I am beyond excited about our collaborative health kick; it’s just what I needed. In addition to our hiking, I’m maintaining my regular cardio and weight routine.
After just one week I feel so much stronger! And I’m wearing a pair of jeans that haven’t graced my ass for quite some time. Granted, they’re damn bootylicious, but what’s a little cushion for the pushin’? (Not that I’d know, because I’m rocking Club Celibacy HELLA hard, yo. It just sounded like the right thing to say.)
The one thing that baffles me is the mountain biker uniform. Is there some sort of law requiring them to have shaved heads and big-ass goatees? Yesterday, we saw like eleventy-hundred of them. I’m not even exaggerating! We were surrounded by baldies with ginormous facial hair, running us off the trail. Not that I’m surprised a state that drives like utter and complete assholes (how Christian of them!) have bad manners on bikes; but how hard is it to say, “On your left?” instead of running over two girls with kid in tow? Seriously though, can anyone make sense of their uniform? Because I’m baffled.
Categories:Club Celibacy, Utahrds, big ol' butt, happy happy joy joy, love my sister, my milkshake brings all the hobos to the yard
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I’ve joined a new dating website, at the suggestion of a friend. It’s been interesting so far, but mostly because I’m forwarding things to my friend with messages like, “My milkshake brings all the oldies to the yard!” Or the ever popular, “I know it’ll be hard but try not to touch yourself when you see how hot this guy is (not).”
Since witnessing some of the horrific attention I receive on the internets my friend suggested I write a book about dating and the men (freaks) who are into me; he says it’ll be a best seller. Maybe if the dating memoir market is keen to the type of singledom details that make a person yearn for the simplicity of celibacy.
Some highlights thus far include:
Someone complimenting my green eyes, which is kind of weird, because my eyes are waaaaaay blue.
I am gold to the forty to fifty-something, snowmobiling, huntin’ crowd. If I were to move I could like totally be the Kelly Taylor of Ketchum, Idaho.
For the love of God and all that isn’t holy, stop posting shirtless profile pictures! Especially creepy shower shots. Welcome to my thought process:
The shower? Really? That is so weird. Did he take that nasty picture of himself all soaped up with a time delay and camera perched on the edge of the sink? Or is this the fruit of his most recent creepy love affair? Maybe his roommate took it? Ew. Next!
I got my first proposition from a married dude with an eight inch cock who is happy to send me “pictures” (choking back vomit). He’s free to meet “anytime morning, afternoon or evening and almost any day; even now.” Desperate much? There are so many levels of wrong it’s difficult to know where to start – but I’m going out on a ledge and begin with the fact that he’s MARRIED! And he did everything short of arrange a BDSM safety word. Disgusting much?
It’s a good thing I have a night stand full of batteries.
Categories:Assholes, I have more batteries for my vibrators than Too $hort h, hell is for single people, my milkshake brings all the hobos to the yard
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It’s been awhile since I have shared search phrases that bring readers perverted Google searchers here. There’s been an excessive amount of the weird searches below during the last week…I can no longer be the only one to know that I’m Google rated #2 for “diarrhea pickup line.”
stuffed Fetus (Rad!)
pants with Fuck on them (Almost confused.)
pants full of shit pictures (Totally not into this.)
extended pleasure condoms do they work (No comment.)
diarrhea pickup line (I’m almost #1!)
fat guys in dolphin shorts (Just told this story to a neighbor last week!)
Categories:All About Pants, Found, my milkshake brings all the hobos to the yard
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Too tired for a proper post. Have a list.
1. It might be time to give dating a try when Saturday night consists of quality time with your cat.
2. I refuse to become a full blown cat woman…even though my cat is more of a cat-dog.
3. Seriously, my cat growls when the doorbell rings. And he plays fetch. He. Is. A. Dog.
4. I consider my dating profile being rejected from a certain dating website a badge of honor.
5. Men with shirtless profile pics should be fined. Especially men who post photos of their armpits.
6. Winking is for bitches. It’s a sad world when someone is afraid to say hello from behind the safety of their computer monitor.
Categories:hell is for single people, my milkshake brings all the hobos to the yard
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September 28th, 2007 · No Comments
Last night I went to a singles event with Sarah. I shaved my legs and Sarah washed her hair…for absolutely nothing.
I thought the highlight of our evening was eating Mexi-Fries® (tater tots) in the food court, until I stopped at the gas station on my way home.
While standing at the cash register, a man ran to the back of the store so fast he must have had a fire in his pants. The cashier hollered to him that there were no public restrooms. Fire pants guy grumpily asked where there was a nearby public restroom.
As I was pumping gas, fire pants guy picked up on me. Turns out I didn’t wash my legs for nothing. Kidding! Sarah thanked me for not hooking up with mister fire pants guy, as did my healthy vagina.
Categories:I have more batteries for my vibrators than Too $hort h, Utahrds, cobwebs in my privates?, hell is for single people, my milkshake brings all the hobos to the yard
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Have you ever hoped that someone would call you after you stopped dating they dumped you? Or that maybe you would run into each other when you are fifty-five pounds lighter and all kinds of smoking hot?
Having recently experienced all of the above, I can safely say, “What the fuck was I thinking?!” I don’t want him to want me! Of course he didn’t deserve me. There was no need to speak with him to realize that he is a dope. I proved that to myself by seeing him from a distance and hiding on the toothpaste aisle.
Categories:ancient history, don't go away mad just go away, hell is for single people, life tastes better with Zachary's pizza, my milkshake brings all the hobos to the yard
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