Superman Punch

Overtime is, well it's a load of crap but a necessary load of crap.  Domina and I just so happened to get the chance to work together for it.  By the time 6am rolled around she and I were so very over it.  Every last second of it.  So naptime was a blessing and as tired as we were, I conned both she and The Pirate into heading out to the movies.  Ahh the sweet stench of 'the public' is a reminder as to why the three of us like our homes ever so much, and yet we did laugh.  We did have fun, and we did stay till the end.

Glass was not their favourite, but they endured it all for me.  Bless their collective hearts.  We, after The Pirate hustled me at pool hunkered down and endured the 30 minutes of bloody commercials.  The highlight of the evening, other than the copious amounts of popcorn we threw at each other was the "Superman Punch".  It was a moment that left all others in the theater glaring at us and quite possibly deciding that we three heatheans were certainly well upon our way to damnation. 

I find it Funny

Sometimes I kind of laugh, okay I really laugh hard.  Generally at the most inappropriate moment; in a manner that is least expected.  I've said it, well I say it often, "if your mother had have been pro choice, then maybe she would have made the right one."

In an attempt to be hurtful? harmful? helpful? humourous?  Someone repeated it back to me.  I laughed.  Hard.  My mother was.  My grandparents being staunch roman catholics weren't.  So madre would have lost out on her million dollar trust fund and any inheritance; had she followed her dream of aborting me and backpacking through Europe.  Life's full of tough choices.  Hence after my liquored up debut into this cold world, I went to live with my grandparents and madre went back to work.

Thus she is also a liberated woman, a pro choice supporter, and a capitalist.  Capitalist being the most notable of all in point of fact. 

I find it funny because it's all true.     

But its legal

So how long do you think it will be before Mandarin and other buffets have one of those "how high are you" pupil dilation charts that the police carry at the hostess stand?. "No sir, we cannot let you access the buffet, you are way too fucked up and will cost us too much in lemon chicken!". Hahahaha

Capture This

If you press you temple and your taint at the same time, you can screen capture your soul.

True story bro.

My soul seems to require a tad bit of attention.

The Nerve

Our Smoochable just told me to “leave this driveway” because I’m “getting on her last nerve.”  I had a few errands to run and a few extra groceries I wanted to get but I cancelled that shit to park my ass home and stay all up in her face for the rest of the day.

 I’m not above being spiteful and petty with an attitudinal three year old who doesn’t even pay the rent or offer me foot rubs and was just picking her nose and noshing on those boogers.  Little shit trying to tell me I’m being annoying.

 Hell to the nawz.

She ‘bout to learn who run this mother.

 Her Glama!

Sexy Skeletons

It's almost that time of year again; where the ghosts, goblins, and ghouls come out to play.  Which also means that the retail stores are all up in my grill trying to sell me a ton of teeth rotting candy and a fuck-ton of plastic bullshit that'll break before the veil thins completely.  I do however still have a great deal of fun with all the crap while I'm in he stores.

The children like to read me the riot act and say I can be embarrassing this time of year, all because of that one-ish time I set up two skeleton's to make it look like they were fornicating in the Halloween section at Walmart. These are the very same children who would then ask me to take them to Taco Bell because they had coupons. However the tip of the proverbial iceberg was when they told me to change the radio station and turn the volume down so that my “ridiculous music” wouldn't harm their bleeding eardrums any longer. 

 Exactly just WHO IS THE ADULT HERE? I guess I’ll go ahead and schedule their blood pressure and colonoscopy tests and find a local bocci ball team accepting new members.

Sometimes it's memory loss

Sometimes it's just disinterest?  I've shared a fair amount already about my memory loss and the calamity that can occur thanks to it.  But sometime's, okay quite often it's just a sheer desire of not wanting to engage with others while I already have so many rumblings running through my mind. Of course there is always the question dancing through the back of my mind, "do I know this person?  Have I actual history with them, or are they just rambling on because I am so damn approachable?"

Yesterday I stopped into Starbucks for a long awaited treat.  My signature stimulant, designed by me for me way back in the days of green aprons and plastered on smiles topped with whipped cream.  While I waited for my cup of bliss to be completed, the woman behind me broke into a long winded rather detailed story about her latest experience in Longo's.  What that experience was, I am not entirely sure.  It had a few heights and a very significant low if her body language and tone were any indication, though I cannot be certain as I really wasn't that focused.  It all went something like that:

- 10 to 20 seconds in: Alright this isn't too bad.  She's got a hair that keep flopping every time she nods, oh I should nod too! 
-  15 seconds in: Hrmm she shoelaces aren't even.  Did she tie them herself?
- 18 second in: Oh that's my coffee!  Come to momma Venti dark and delicious.  Crap, she's still talking.  Inch away and nod again...why is se touching my arm?  She's impeding my caffeinated pleasures. 
- 30 seconds in: Crap nod again, smile and look convincing...oops less teeth.
- 35 seconds in: Attention waning rapidly.  Did she just say she just say she rode a donkey? WTF? How did this go from Longos to a donkey?  Does she mean Eeyore? 
- 40 seconds in:  Eeyore, hrm; Winnie the Pooh?  Oh I need to buy honey after. 
- 50 seconds in: How long have I been tapping my hand against my leg?  Where is she in her story? Huh...wtf she laughing?  Should I laugh too? Haha ok that wasn't stupid sounding at all!
- 60 seconds in: Alright I've played along, but I'm gonna loose it in a moment if she doesn't just shut up. 
- 65 seconds in: Okay lady this rides been fun but I want off now.  I have no clue what shes said and I cannot pretend any longer and if my caffeinated cup of bliss is cold now I'll have to rip off her eyebrows...

Being the non awkward people person I am, I reached past her, wrapped my clawed hand around my drink and said "See ya" without a backwards glance. 

Totally nailed it!     

He let's me touch his beard

My new work husband is a viking.  Now safe to say that may just be a fantasy on  my part, but it's a workable fantasy so, go me!  Eric is loud, brash at times, dark humoured, hard working, rather smart, and a really bad manservant.  I've told him as much on a few occasions; much to HR's dismay.  Like most of those closest to me at work, we are an HR nightmare.  We make jokes we aren't supposed to, we blurt of things that would have the faint of heart seeking medical attention, and we make wholly without remorse or shame sexual comments on one another.

I happened to forget my lead hand was standing next to me, while making some inappropriate comments.  He's kind of forgettable.  My bad!  Eric was fixing my robot and getting dirty.  Seriously, a dirty viking with his tools in hand; right there in front of me and I'm not supposed to say anything?  Right.  It seemed perfectly fine to blurt out, "this could be far more enjoyable if Eric took his shirt off and flexed a bit."  While maybe saying things like, "I have just the tool you need."  I thought nothing off it, and Eric let out that dark laugh and winked.  My lead hand?  Well he turned an interesting shade of puce and began coughing heavily.  I think he has asthma and being near the weld cells is bad for him.  Or maybe, maybe it was me?  Hard to tell.

One of our more strict lead hands seems to take my harassment of Eric better than most.  I was mentioning that the company needs to do a far better job of hiring manservants.  Kroup shook his head and gave me the same look many parents give small daft children.  He attempted to correct me with, "Millwright, he is a millwright not a manservant."  Millwright, manservant...looks and sounds all the same to me.  I am still coming home to no dinner in the oven, no half naked man folding my clothes, and no foot rub.  Millwright, manservant, whatever it is this place is hiring; they're all slackers!

Kroup dropped his now shaking head while Eric dared comment that my cheque didn't clear.  So on top of hiring better manservants, I informed Kroup that we also needed a better class of peasant while scowling at said peasant, which sent Eric and the other manservant next to him into peels of laughter.  Kroup tried his best not to feed into my all too common bad behaviour, but lost the battle when Eric still laughing said "I can't tool your machine right now, but you can come sit on my tool box and stroke my beard."  I threw my arms up in the air and offered tribute like Jen in the hunger games.  Kroup looked me dead in the eyes and said, "I understand why the HR team chews antacids when you walk by." 


I mean I think that's what he said.  I couldn't hear much of anything while stroking Eric's beard.

     

Drinking Games

Much to many peoples surprise, I am in fact not a big fan of drinking games.  I never have been.  I prefer to note that as an adult I don't need a game to drink, just a glass and enough scratch to buy the bottle really.  Plus I must admit that being that out of control, and possibly vomiting on myself isn't my idea of fun. 

So now here I sit after hours of research and combing new sites, and reference sites.  Amidst collecting all of the required data for my paper, noting that I have read so many political blurbs, reports, and full on articles that a drinking game sounds like a smashing idea.  I say we make it skill level expert and you must be politically inclined to play.

Here are the rules:
Open your browser
Hit feeling lucky in Google
Every single post you see that is political, about Donald Trump, Justin's duckie socks, or has you wanting to become a pirate and make them all walk the plank... take a drink or a shot. 

Now if you are playing this game correctly, your home if not already on fire should be on fire within the hour.

Cheers

Swipe Left?

It's time to get your head out of the clouds and your legs in the air!  This consequently is the motto of 90% of the men on dating sites.

Oh you're..still... single?

What’s a Queen without her King? 

 Well, historically speaking, more powerful.

Depending upon who's asking this can sound as though the asker is surprised, or if related to me, and in a position as my blessed very Jewish, very princessy God mother much like eternal disappointment/shame/and condemnation.  Tauntie is this tall lithe figure, who just so happens to always be well put together.  Hair, did, nails did, you know how the song goes. 

Next to Tauntie, I look like a schlub.  A homeless schlub, possible with alcoholism.  Should you ever feel as though your self esteem has reached new heights, come see my Tauntie and we'll have that issue cleared right up.  For those of you whom have been reading , well a long while you may remember that Tauntie is also my Godmother.  I like to call her my Fairy Godmother, to her face and she in turn slaps my ass in this loving yet reprimanding manner which is somehow supposed to remind me of my place and that while she adores me I will forever remain a disappointment.

Oh the subtle nuances of having a Jewish princess for a Fairy Godmother.

So this morning, Tauntie decided to surprise me with a very early visit.  Like she knew I'd be home...alone.  Now the fact that she was right isn't important!  I mean I'm a grow woman, she should have called to see if I was up, or had company, or was busy.  Alas no, Tauntie and her knock, a knock that is at once alarming and yet filled with disappointment alerted me to the fact that I was only wearing a wifebeater that had a glaring wine stain on it and no pants, with day old makeup and smeared lipstick.  Life as a grown single woman is ever so glamorous.

Now there will be those of you whom woke up refreshed, greeting the day, and possibly family members with a smile and song in your heart.  I however opened the door to those pursed lips and the once over glare.  "What have you been up to?  Are you entertaining?  Darling you look like an old stripper!  That's no way to keep a man!  ..where are your pants!"   These were the rapid fire statements that hit me like a bucket of cold water before I could even say good morning.  So as I found pants, a bra, and something resembled a clean shirt Tauntie, being Tauntie pointed out all of the things that I needed to clean while lifting my freshly filled wine glass and eyeing me over the rim of it with a look that spoke volumes.

Whatever happened to sleepy Saturday mornings filled with cartoons and staying in your pj's till 3 in the afternoon? 

Tauntie in her effort to aid my 'barren love life' began to impart her particular brand of wisdom upon me.  "Darling, now listen to Tauntie...  Men, all men love three things.  Food, sex, and a woman who can be quiet."  My arched eyebrow and subsequent smirk were derailed when she added, "we both know you have a gift with the first two, but that last one needs work darling."  How any one person can sound so proud and filled with total shame at the same time is beyond me.  I of course not having a grasp over that last one; cannot be blamed for my smartassed response. 

I ever so delicately informed my always correct Tauntie that in this case she may in fact be wrong.  Her indelicate snort told me just what she thought of that, yet I pressed on having already had wine and still reeling from my chocolate cake hangover.  I agreed that no I was not always the shy quiet type but I had my moments, and that yes I can cook and bake up a storm with the added gift of drizzling it all in a shiny tempered chocolate but that my sexual prowess may be ever so lacking in my...maturing years. 

You see I cannot be so blase and say "been there seen all that" when it comes to traveling the world over; but I have traveled a far amount.  Now in my travels, I have come to take note of one very common face and sound; that being of the tongue out/gagging/almost vomiting noise with wrinkled nose and eyes watering being a sign of clear distress and dislike of something. 

As I explained this Tauntie knowing me as well as she does crossed her arms over her chest and and waited with a perfectly arched eyebrow and a cautious, "continue darling.".   

"...well having come to that well informed bit of information Tauntie, I must confess that I feel as though I am unlikely to please most men.  For those troglodytes all seem to think that face while accompanied with those sounds mens put your hand on the back of my head and push my face down harder which has me thinking they are all seriously fucked and I'm having none of it!"

For a brief moment I was certain I could visibly see her xanax stop working.  So I did the next best thing, I lied like a rug....

So T, were having a June wedding; Tauntie isn't liking the idea of haggas a a main dish or of you wearing a kilt.  In turn I say go for it and sorry for dragging you into my fresh hell, but appreciate you going the distance with me on this.  Hope your Saturday is fantastic, text you soon.  xo 

“Sorry, I’m not Adele. I don’t wish the best for you, nor do I want to find someone like you. I do, however, want to set fire to all of your stuff.”   

Not an ounce of makeup sex either

If I’m a sarcastic asshole when I talk to you, it’s either because I really like you and feel comfortable teasing you, or I really hate you and don’t care if you know it. Good luck figuring out which one.

Today I got my fifth,"I'm sorry" message.  I don't know what the hell is going on.  Suddenly the punk that was once a part of my life has decided to temporarily grow a conscience.  Now this isn't the first time he's attempted to do something like this.  It's as empty as his head and heart if truth be told.  Long ago and in a far away land I was as big a fool as my shapely ass.  Today however I am far bolder, wiser, and self assured.  The Punk, he's a manchild with anger issues and an abusive streak a mile wide.  When called out on his abusive nature the Punk likes to play the victim, when confronted face to face he likes to threaten with physical violence and horrifically vulgar language.  It's a tedious as it is pathetic.  He would see this post as an insult, while I firmly stand by the fact that I am simply describing him in accurate detail.     

I just think it'd be nice if there were no need for these surprise "I've been such a shit, and I miss you" messages.  If maybe we all valued each other a bit more, and you know if he would accept that he needs to get actual help in taking responsibility for his abusive nature.  I am however not the person to help him with that particular issue.  I couldn't care less if he died screaming.  Yes, people screw up.  People do the wrong things.  However not taking responsibility for your bad behaviour and seeking to actually change said behaviour, then turn around six months to a year later with,"Hope [you] will forgive [me] and don't hate [me] I miss you".  Of course his version of the aforementioned apology also includes, "Do you miss me and my huge ....?  I'm sorry for the things I said but you made me..."

It makes me want to write back and say, "Forgive you?, nope.  I do forgive myself for being such a twit and ever having given you the time of day.  Lesson learned, you are still a goof and I'm not going another round."  Then I remember the promise I made to myself of never, not ever going down that road again and simply blocked his damn number. 

When in doubt of how to respond, remember the rule: "Don't feed the monkeys.  They'll only throw shit at you for it."

No poles at the Inn

Tauntie called to ask how my new job was going and to ask what it was that I actually did at work.  I told her all of the pertinent details and how thus far everyone was quite welcoming.  She being true to herself and wanting me to be far more ladylike insisted that I should really be working something more befitting my womanhood.  I told her that my only other option was either being a stripper or going to work at a hotel as a maid. She drew a breath in sharply at that in shock, and told me how many diseases I could get, or "What if you find a dead body?" and "You would have to clean up other people's excrements!"

I'm not sure which possible job she was referring to...possibly both knowing how her mind works.

Cucumbers before bed

I saw Maunie, Myles, Dave, Keith, Tieg and Eric on Jerry Springer.  Eric had blue spiked hair and Tieg was yelling wildly "You know she don't wanna have no more damn kids!!" 

I'm never eating cucumbers before bed again.

It's like rocket science

I'm interrupting my jubilant to do list making ... okay I'm finally doing what I should have done days ago, why don't you just go fuck yourself? ... to tell you a few things that came to light for me whilst on the toilet:

1. I'm done with this red hair.  I'm going way dark again.

2. I am wearing underwear called,"Barely There". Only it's everywhere. From upper thigh to above the belly button. Perhaps if I painted some sort of thong pattern on them they would have the appearance of being sexy while still being the most comfortable thing on my ass since pumpkin pudding.

3. My hair is sort of sticking up in the back but not in my cool mohawk pattern, but more of a "whoohaa who scared you?" type array. The question then is,"Is it worth the effort to actually brush it out when I am still in my thong and wifebeater?" 

4. This toilet sits way low to the floor when I'm wearing heels.

Waltzing into Hell

Did I ever regale you fellow readers of how I lost the most overtly religious friend I’ve ever had because she insisted I was hellbound over a pair of panties?  It's true of course, we are all keenly aware that if you believe in a place like hell and have come to understand me keenly enough that there will be a point where you will utter, "my god you're totally going to hell."  Come to think of it, stranger's utter it to me rather often.  In any case, I the queen of Pagan ways had one of the most overtly religious friends.

How was this even humanly possible?  Yes I am aware of the absurdity of it all too, but nevertheless I liked her.  She was in many way very kind.  Plus she was an animal lover so she couldn't be all bad right?  And then there was the fact that as different as my views can be she still wanted to be my friend, up and until the panty issue arose that is.  Now for all that I say, do, and believe; one would think that she'd have taken issue with who I was far sooner and over something far more substantial than a pair of barely there skivvies.  Alas no, it would be a scantily scarcely there set of skivvies that broke the christians moral dilemma of befriending me.

I remember laughing so hard that my sides hurt and tears ran down my face at her reaction to them.  To this day I cannot help but grin when remembering the look upon her face.  It was as though I had said to her that there was indeed no god and that her mother was once a junkie whore all rolled into one.  Her disgust was palpable, her rage tangible, and her shrieking...it was legendary.  You'd have thought that would have been her reaction to my pro-choice stance and not a pair of oh-la-la undies, but no I was setting trends and swinging for the fences.

I do wonder how the uptight young woman is every now and then, and wonder if her panties are still in a twist.  Then I picture her in granny panties and just smile.

The Beer Guy

I starting talking to TBG almost two weeks ago.  He was direct, upfront and open about his interest in meeting and getting to know me in person.  Something I hold in high regard.  We had some great phone conversations and thus set up a time to meet and enjoy some live music.  TBG was shorter than I typically go for but over all a decent looking man.  Within 5 minutes of attempted face to face conversation however, it was clear that keeping the conversation going was going to be up to me. 

Now I always take into account that someone might be nervous on the face to face meeting and happily try to take away the stress.  I will however try to get the person to open up and to also see if they can handle me.  I'm not for the faint of heart as you are all aware.  There are a few items that I do like to get out of the way before either of us waste anymore of our time.  Knowing how someone handles stress, what their thoughts are on racism and LGBT right, and of course are they actual animal lovers.  I have to give TBG credit for landing two out the three without batting an eye. 

While I did my very best to keep everything light and friendly, through the entire conversation TBG made little to no eye-contact, and when another paid me a compliment he was visibly annoyed.  The stranger had said nothing more than he adored my hair.  Noting that not many could pull off a mohawk and still look soft.  It was a compliment, nothing more and nothing less.  It was sweet and made me smile.  TBG was openly jealous.  Yuck.  Insecurity is so unattractive, and such a huge warning bell for me.  It was becoming more and more obvious that between the two of us I was the one who had the bigger penis.  Ha!  This of course annoyed me, so I stopped being subtle in my conversation.  The kid gloves had to come off and it was time to see what he was really made of. 

He failed horribly.  Not only was he insecure and jealous.  TBG was homophobic.  Double yuck!  His rigid frame and looking directly ahead, no eye contact form was a wall of ugliness that made me laugh.  I've come to a point in my life where I'm not even surprised by these things, I just find them and the person one big dumb joke.  We finished off our appetizers and called it a night.  As I changed and got comfortable TBG actually texted me to ask if I wanted to have a "sleep over" stating that he was hoping I would come back home with him.  Once I had stopped laughing and showing my daughter the text, both she and I sat with tea chuckling about how damn difficult it was for me to find a man of substance, but who was still open minded enough to also accept that I think a little more outside the box than most.  We've come to the conclusion that while my dating is necessary, in the end it is probably best that I accept the likelihood that I will remain single forever. 

I might need to change my stance on fuckboys.  I won't have to talk to them will I?

Here's Your Sign

We're a motley crew, with a humor that would make any HR department head vomit in his mouth, repeatedly.  Some work like they were built for such things, while others; well we apparently keep them around for comic relief.   Kenny, if the name was indication enough is a grand bit humorous antidote.  For a time he rode his bike to work.  A bicycle, not a motorcycle to be clear.  A bike that he used in good measure until it and he met with a sign from above.  A big red STOP sign that is.  To date we are unsure how he ran over the sign; on his bicycle.  But run it over he did indeed.  Hit it hard enough to leave the entire twisted mess on a 45 degree angle.  Seriously.

How does one run over a stop sign on a bicycle?  We've hypothesized, sketched out the path and trajectory, pondered, and laughed until the tears flowed like a heavy rainfall.  Kenny for his part cannot seem to explain in any further detail than what we can come up, not how this event occurred or how he came to be missing so many fingers.  Then again, maybe he likes I our theories better.  Suffice to say the only real evidence we have is the mangled stop sign, and the vast amount of heavy bruises mottling Kenny's entire physique.  To the naked eye, I can state that the stop sign for all it's wreckage of cold metal, won. 

Fast forward a few months, and Kenny had saved up enough for a truly stellar heap of potentially heinous vehicular man-slaughtering junk.  It's as though anything involving metal would ultimately be Kenny's downfall.  Or maybe that was just my take on it all.  Still I cannot say that I was far from the mark when I first laid eyes on the...car?  You see Kenny found public transportation disagreeable.  Even more so than the physical damage he did to inanimate objects, not to mention himself when he was in control of the wheel.  Thus the heap of what can only be described as scrap metal was purchased.  Unseen.  Yes, you read that correctly. 

Kenny saw an ad you see.  An ad that offered a "running beater" for best offer.  He offered $200 and was told that he could have both sets of tires for that fine amount.  This to our minds; those minds unencumbered by repeated trauma that is; found this to be a massive warning.  Kenny however whooped and cheered his good fortune.  A fortune I am still awaiting the arrival of.  The car? of his dreams was delivered, yet unseen via tow truck.  This did nothing to dissuade Kenny's elation at having a four wheeled chariot that was now all his own.  That was until he popped the hood; for a brief moment I saw Kenny's joy falter but was soon replaced with a renewed happiness.  Not only did Kenny have a car, but he had a project. You see Kenny's new chariot had a dust problem.  If by dust you understand it to mean an engine full of sand.

Oh boy.  

It took Kenny a few weeks, but remove all, or almost all the sand he did.  As the engine sputtered roared to life so did Kenny's spirit.  For all his quirks and oddities, I must give the man credit for unending optimism.  In no short order Kenny was driving himself to work.  Proud to have wheels all his own.  A man of the road once more.  I, for all my optimism gave Kenny and his car a very wide birth; never taking for granted that being upon the sidewalk was to be a safe haven.  Need I remind you of his track record thus far?  Not to mention I still have nary a clue as to why he is short so many digits upon each hand. 

One particularly frigid evening as I was about to walk my way home, Kenny appeared keys in hand and smile brilliant upon his grubby face.  Jade, no need to walk hun, it's too cold!  Come, I'll drive you.  I am uncertain what cosmic events or sudden onset of cerebral apoplexy overtook me, but get in Kharon's ferry but get in it I did.  As I searched my pockets for the gold coins required of such a ride, as Kenny turned the key.  Doing my level best to ensure Kharon was paid in full lest I be swept away into the depths of the Styx.  I awaited the the tell tale whirl of the fan kicking in offering us some warmth within the safety of this, vehicle protecting us from the elements.  What came to pass had me quite literally gobsmacked. 

There was no whir to be heard or felt.  I reached for the knobs upon the dash to ensure they were indeed in the on position.  Kenny smiled at me like a parent about to tell their slightly daft child some truth that was yet unknown.  "The heater doesn't work.  Actually I don't even this there is a fan.." he continued.  I stopped listening somewhere between doesn't work, and the backfiring of the engine that followed.  I was going to die.  It was time for my heathen phatass to pray to my heathen gods.  I was so caught up in my thoughts and prayers that I didn't quite catch the following diatribe, but snapped my head back around as a lit candle was foisted into my rather numb hands. 

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

"This will keep you warm!" Kenny happily chattered away.  I did my best to retain the scarce eyebrows I possessed.  It was the first and last time I rode with Kenny.  Opting to flag down men offering candy from the half opened windows of unmarked white vans.  I've found that after 5 full nonstop minutes of 100 questions they are more than happy to drop me off anywhere I want to go.

A quiet man is a thinking man...

A quiet woman, that's probably an angry woman.  Not always the case of course but in many instances, yes sadly tis true.

There are a few things that help an angry woman, and there are a few things that do nothing outside of anger her further.

Do's:
- Listen when she speaks
- Remain calm!
- Remember this too shall pass

Don'ts;
- Say girl are you crazy?
- Say you remind me of my/your mother
- Ask if shes on her period

I laugh, you laugh, then I shake my head and walk away

That title pretty much sums up my interactions so with a great many people. I'm well beyond wasting what precious time I have on fruitless relationships, or weird men whom somehow think that a compliment is a contract.  Don't get me wrong a compliment is a lovely thing indeed. Be it in person or via social media. However complimenting me on my looks, well that will get you a polite thank you. Bring your A game and engage me in actual conversation that doesn't involve you gushing over how pretty I am and you're golden.

The fact is, I hold little to no value on looks. Mine or yours. Yes, we all have something about a person that we will find attreactive but that's just the eye opener to taking a chance on finding out more. I have in recent months recieved countless messages ranging from, "you are a goddess, how I could worship you for hours" to the "hi, I find you really hot care to snapchat or email?" Of course there's the ever charming, "wow you're cute! Have any more pictures?" Each of these messages causes one or two of the same reactions. 1: I roll my eyes and vomit in my mouth a little or 2: I laugh at the absurdity of it all and promise to remain single forever.

As has been noted many times, I do enjoy my own company. I feel no need to surround myself by those with superficial or stunted social skills. Engage my brain, be compassionate, love animals, be an advocate, have tattoos, have a well functioning brain, be circumsized, respect our service men and women. Don't be a simpering little duche bag. (Ie: grown men don't fucking whine.) I'm a simple gal really. The later is as big a turn off as the recent comments of, "omg I just can't look away..." repeated ad nauseum in 15 messages sent daily by someone I've never held an actual conversation with over one of my pictures.

One of the other questions that makes me shake my head is, "do you like big dicks?" And of course all of the other variations of that question. I tend to respond do with a snazzy comment like, "not if their attached to even bigger assholes." Both penises and vaginas are fabulous things, but if that's all you have to offer someone; well that's pretty sad. Seriously if the guy or girl you're dating opens with a greeting of "did you miss my _____" it's time to find a new partner. I don't think, no I know I wouldn't be able to hold my laughter in at the absurdity of such a question from someone whose supposed to value me as a partner.