Okay, so my grand plan with this whole online dating thing was that it was going to be this big gigantic social-network-internet-dating-experiment kind of thing, and I would have a variety of different posts that would start out with "Date #1 with Guy #1" and "Date #2 with Guy #4" and "Date #4 with Guy #2" and such and such. In fact, my girlfriends and I even joked that I would end up needing a spreadsheet to keep track of the emails, chats and dates and such. Sort of a mathematized DFL, but without me screwing all of them because that would be kind of trashy.
Has not worked out quite like I planned. Had Date #1 with Guy #1, and he became Guy #1 because he was the first guy who asked me out. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not just going out willy-nilly with anyone, but after emailing and chatting with about five different (maybe more, I can't fucking remember because I had only visualized the spreadsheet at this point) men, none of them had asked me out. Huh???? Okay, why are we emailing and chatting endlessly then? Let's get to the point and go on a damn date. Geez. So Guy #1 asked me out, and well yeah, I said yes. I mean, that's what I'm on this dating site for, right? To meet men that I would not normally meet and to open avenues that I might not travel down in my normal day to day life.
Date #1 with Guy #1. I am intrigued by his personality. This man talks more than I do. Holy shit. But it's all good and like I said, I'm intrigued. So this led to Date #2 with Guy #1. My plan is that I am still going to date other guys, but still... no one is asking me. Okay, come on, fellas, I don't want to have to be the one asking. Chivalry is not dead in my book. Take the lead on this one. Date #2, even more intrigued. We have a lot in common and I'm pretty sure he likes me for me. Hmmmm, strange. He doesn't know me yet, because that's all this can be, is confusion on his part. This led to Date #3 with Guy #1, because I'm even more intrigued and attracted at this point.
The spreadsheet plan has fallen by the wayside because at this point, I'm thinking that I really like this guy, he's very nice to me, still talks as much as I do, and hasn't been scared off by my tales of woe and marital separation and panic attacks. Veeeeeeery interesting. He might get the essence that is Steph.
So this is where I stand right now, and this is why I've been neglecting my blog to death. It's hard to blog and troll around on the internet for freakshows when I'm gabbing on the phone late at night like a little high school girl, or holding hands in the movie theater. I've looked at my blog wistfully, and read a few snarky comments left by my loyal friends and family screaming about needing their blog fix... and I'm thinking, FUCK! Let a girl get laid!
I know I said stay tuned sometime last month, and by God, I meant it. While I've been running around with Guy #1 (and the only guy at this point), I've also been dealing with Mrs. Second Grade Teacher, cheerleading (oh my god will this shit ever end?), The Ex and life in general. My oldest daughter's birthday is coming up this weekend, and I've planned a family dinner with at our favorite Japanese steakhouse with the soon-to-be-ex-laws, my children and one of their little friends, The Ex and his girlfriend. I'm going to start calling her The Girlfriend. She deserves her own special capitalization at this point. So yeah, I'm doing that whole family dinner thing this weekend, because I need to prove to my children that Mommy is okay with all of this shit and whatever Daddy has told them is a bunch of shit. Cue the soundtrack to The Twilight Zone.
Stay tuned, bitches. I will be back.
Showing posts with label Freakshows. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Freakshows. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Friday, October 15, 2010
Freakshow of the Day
This is a good one. Thank god for men who have some creativity.
Well today is Thursday, but I am nevertheless still feeling religious. I have started my own church in which I spend time on my knees paying homage to your panties as well as what hides behind them. This is somewhat of a non-traditional church service as you might imagine, but the good news is no plate is passed so you won't be required to leave a donation and I guarantee that at the end of the service, you will have communicated to the Lord the fact that you are coming. My preference is for parishioners who are HWP and also older than 30. I will provide the chapel and this church will be available all this week for those women who weren't able to attend mass on Sunday
Nice. That's all I have to say, which is really unusual. Actually, that's not all I have to say. His sentences are well formed, the message is communicated in a very succinct manner, but yet still descriptive, especially regarding the message that will be delivered unto the Lord. No misspellings, no textese, no foul language. This guy is stepping up the craigslist game. I am suspicious that one of my readers may have posted this, just to see if I'm up on my game. Nevertheless, I nominated it for best-of-craigslist. Every now and then, I'll find something absolutely awesome that deserves a nomination, but I never see them on the best-of. I don't know how many nominations you have to get to make it on the best-of list, because I've seen some absolute tripe on there that I don't think is that funny. Did I ever mention I made the best-of-craigslist one time? It was fucking awesome. That might have been what really got my writing jump started. I'll do the old cut-and-paste on here sometime just for shits and giggles. It's about my co-workers, who could also be your co-workers. I just went back and re-read over the whole thing and I'm pleased that my writing style is still pretty much the same. Yes, bitches, still on my game! But the best-of thing always makes me wonder how many nominations you have to get to be on the best-of list. Exactly how many people liked my shit? Right now, it's all about my ego. I've never posted anything on craigslist since, other than some stuff I was selling. I figured I had gone right to the Superbowl after my first scrimmage game. Why try to top it?
I've had to lay off of craigslist for the last two days, because I've been busy trolling around on dating websites, so I had some catching up to do. It didn't quite qualify for the trifecta, but honorable mention to the guy who wants to share genital warts (gag) and the other guy who calls himself Cockzilla. Only the second guy posted pictures, and I'd have to agree with his assessment.
Well today is Thursday, but I am nevertheless still feeling religious. I have started my own church in which I spend time on my knees paying homage to your panties as well as what hides behind them. This is somewhat of a non-traditional church service as you might imagine, but the good news is no plate is passed so you won't be required to leave a donation and I guarantee that at the end of the service, you will have communicated to the Lord the fact that you are coming. My preference is for parishioners who are HWP and also older than 30. I will provide the chapel and this church will be available all this week for those women who weren't able to attend mass on Sunday
Nice. That's all I have to say, which is really unusual. Actually, that's not all I have to say. His sentences are well formed, the message is communicated in a very succinct manner, but yet still descriptive, especially regarding the message that will be delivered unto the Lord. No misspellings, no textese, no foul language. This guy is stepping up the craigslist game. I am suspicious that one of my readers may have posted this, just to see if I'm up on my game. Nevertheless, I nominated it for best-of-craigslist. Every now and then, I'll find something absolutely awesome that deserves a nomination, but I never see them on the best-of. I don't know how many nominations you have to get to make it on the best-of list, because I've seen some absolute tripe on there that I don't think is that funny. Did I ever mention I made the best-of-craigslist one time? It was fucking awesome. That might have been what really got my writing jump started. I'll do the old cut-and-paste on here sometime just for shits and giggles. It's about my co-workers, who could also be your co-workers. I just went back and re-read over the whole thing and I'm pleased that my writing style is still pretty much the same. Yes, bitches, still on my game! But the best-of thing always makes me wonder how many nominations you have to get to be on the best-of list. Exactly how many people liked my shit? Right now, it's all about my ego. I've never posted anything on craigslist since, other than some stuff I was selling. I figured I had gone right to the Superbowl after my first scrimmage game. Why try to top it?
I've had to lay off of craigslist for the last two days, because I've been busy trolling around on dating websites, so I had some catching up to do. It didn't quite qualify for the trifecta, but honorable mention to the guy who wants to share genital warts (gag) and the other guy who calls himself Cockzilla. Only the second guy posted pictures, and I'd have to agree with his assessment.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Freakshow of the Day
Ahhhh, love gone bad.
Ladies.. This is my Xboyfriend [insert poor guy's name here].. He has a Little Baby Dick.. and He still thinks he is a stud!!! I thought i was stepping up, and being a better person by over looking his short cummings.!. Until i found out he was trying to find another Woman on the side..as he answered a friend of mines CL Personal post!! He confessed everything (unbeknowing to him!) and contintued to insit on meeting her and even sent her these pictures, stating he was quite the 'stud"! ..... I know it sounds too funny, but it hurts too!! So i decided to share.. or rather expose! Ladies Please Enjoy a Laugh on him and his 4 inch errection!! Ladies Lets stick together.. Call the little Dick, and laugh at his shortcummings and let him know everyone in town knows!!Have some fun, scare him abit.. We need to call out these perverted pindick cheaters.. and let our fellow Sisters know whats up! So PLEASE Ring him anytime, and don't be shy, no holding back ;) Feel free to mention his premature ejaculation issues..lol his cell star 67 blocks caller id [insert phone number here]. Thanks and have a wonderful evening! ps. Please FORWARD this email on to Everyone!
The four pictures attached to this posting were moderately embarrassing, especially because the guy was taking himself so seriously. A young Fabio, if you will. Honestly, is there anything more painful than this for the guy? It's not that painful to the girl, other than having to admit to her friends that she was dating someone who had a junior sized tool. Having to admit this is then immediately followed by, "But, he was so nice... " or "But, he could do other things really well..." or "But I didn't really mind. That much..."
The real problem here is the propensity of people to take nekkid pictures of themselves. And videos. When I was growing up, back in the day before digital cameras and stuff, the only nekkid pictures that would be taken would be with a Polaroid. And when you were digging through your parent's bedside table, being nosy, trying to see if they really did smoke pot late at night like the cool parents on Poltergeist, and saw one of those pictures... You immediately knew that your eyeballs had just melted into the back of your skull and life would never be the same.
That actually didn't happen to me, because we didn't have a Polaroid, but I knew other kids who did have that happen, and of course, it kind of served them right for snooping in their parents' shit. And let that be a lesson to all of us that if we can't handle what we might find, then don't go looking for it to begin with. As for the nekkid pics, I didn't understand it then, and I don't understand it now. I mean, why take nekkid pictures of each other if you're RIGHT THERE? What's the pic going to do that you can't when you're laying right next to that person in bed every day? Or every so often? I kind of understand if your guy or gal isn't around, like in the military or prison or something (is there much difference? Six to eight years, either way.) But really, why do this?
I've never allowed any such pictures or videos to be taken of me, and I never will. For one, you never know when you'll end up getting divorced. Or when you'll end up trying to hook up with your girlfriend's girlfriend on craigslist. And secondly, I'm so awesome that the sheer image of me will be burned into your brain forever and a picture won't do it justice. Or something like that, but that's really just me talking shit. Plus, my stretch marks will never, ever see the light of a camera.
Ladies.. This is my Xboyfriend [insert poor guy's name here].. He has a Little Baby Dick.. and He still thinks he is a stud!!! I thought i was stepping up, and being a better person by over looking his short cummings.!. Until i found out he was trying to find another Woman on the side..as he answered a friend of mines CL Personal post!! He confessed everything (unbeknowing to him!) and contintued to insit on meeting her and even sent her these pictures, stating he was quite the 'stud"! ..... I know it sounds too funny, but it hurts too!! So i decided to share.. or rather expose! Ladies Please Enjoy a Laugh on him and his 4 inch errection!! Ladies Lets stick together.. Call the little Dick, and laugh at his shortcummings and let him know everyone in town knows!!Have some fun, scare him abit.. We need to call out these perverted pindick cheaters.. and let our fellow Sisters know whats up! So PLEASE Ring him anytime, and don't be shy, no holding back ;) Feel free to mention his premature ejaculation issues..lol his cell star 67 blocks caller id [insert phone number here]. Thanks and have a wonderful evening! ps. Please FORWARD this email on to Everyone!
The four pictures attached to this posting were moderately embarrassing, especially because the guy was taking himself so seriously. A young Fabio, if you will. Honestly, is there anything more painful than this for the guy? It's not that painful to the girl, other than having to admit to her friends that she was dating someone who had a junior sized tool. Having to admit this is then immediately followed by, "But, he was so nice... " or "But, he could do other things really well..." or "But I didn't really mind. That much..."
The real problem here is the propensity of people to take nekkid pictures of themselves. And videos. When I was growing up, back in the day before digital cameras and stuff, the only nekkid pictures that would be taken would be with a Polaroid. And when you were digging through your parent's bedside table, being nosy, trying to see if they really did smoke pot late at night like the cool parents on Poltergeist, and saw one of those pictures... You immediately knew that your eyeballs had just melted into the back of your skull and life would never be the same.
That actually didn't happen to me, because we didn't have a Polaroid, but I knew other kids who did have that happen, and of course, it kind of served them right for snooping in their parents' shit. And let that be a lesson to all of us that if we can't handle what we might find, then don't go looking for it to begin with. As for the nekkid pics, I didn't understand it then, and I don't understand it now. I mean, why take nekkid pictures of each other if you're RIGHT THERE? What's the pic going to do that you can't when you're laying right next to that person in bed every day? Or every so often? I kind of understand if your guy or gal isn't around, like in the military or prison or something (is there much difference? Six to eight years, either way.) But really, why do this?
I've never allowed any such pictures or videos to be taken of me, and I never will. For one, you never know when you'll end up getting divorced. Or when you'll end up trying to hook up with your girlfriend's girlfriend on craigslist. And secondly, I'm so awesome that the sheer image of me will be burned into your brain forever and a picture won't do it justice. Or something like that, but that's really just me talking shit. Plus, my stretch marks will never, ever see the light of a camera.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Freakshow of the Day: Another Trifecta
Sometimes, there's nothing unusual on craigslist, just the normal tripe, which really isn't that interesting. And then other times... I hit the jackpot. Another trifecta tonight.
Looking for a females make friend with between 30 to 40 with some cultural heritage with the exception of American. A person who like and respect other cultures, bilingual, outdoor enthusiast and is bored like me. No stupid girls or spam please….
This post was titled "Females hipanic, indian, asian, cuban except american". Okay, if that's what this guy needs, then he should probably move to South American, the Caribbean, India, Asia, somewhere like that. In fact, he should join the military and they might just send him there for free. If he doesn't end up in one of those exotic locales, he'll certainly end up in Germany or the Middle East, where he can develop an affinity for Arabic women. But he's not going to do that, because that would probably require he do some work. Instead, he's just going to be lazy and put himself out there on craigslist and wait for the women to come to him. And really, he's not looking for a woman who is truly Hispanic, Indian, Asian or Cuban, he's looking for an American woman who is perpetrating to be something else because he's had such bad luck with American women and because he's just a typical lazy jackass American man who likes to drink beer and look at porn. Wait, this could be The Ex. Nah, can't be. He's too much of a close-minded asshole for this.
I'm SWM looking for a SWF that is looking for a great guy. I'm 5'9", dark blonde hair, blue eyes. I'm not the type of guy that is going to be all over you, and have to know where you are at all times. I'm not a control freak. I like my independence just as much as you do. I have my self together. I have my own vehicle, I have a job, and I have my own house. I have a life that I like living, and I'm just looking for someone to share it with. I can't tell you what type of person that I am because there is no way to define it. I have a very wide range of likes and dislikes. If you are interested in getting to know a really unique and very caring guy, then email me. I could go on and tell you how I treat women, but all they are are just words. I like to let my actions do the talking. What am I looking for? Someone who will care for me as much as I will them. Someone who is attractive in my eyes. Good conversation. The most physical things that can draw me in are beautiful eyes, and a smile that can light up a room. Please send a picture so that I know who I am addressing. I will send you back a picture in return. Also, please put the phrase "Just A Dream" in the subject line so that I know you are not a bot. Thanks. PS - Don't be afraid to email me if you have a child. I love kids.
And what we have here, ladies and gentlemen, is a child molester. Seriously, what man without kids seeks out women with kids? The child molesting type, that's who. I was going to cut out all of the shit in the middle of the ad, but I thought that would detract from the whole package that is this child molester. Watch out, girls, this guy will be your best friend. He'll suck you right in, love you, love your kids, show up to do yard work for you, fix stuff around your house, will want to do weekend daytime dates with you so the kids can come along, will wine you and dine you, will offer to babysit, become your dream man, so on and so on. It's called grooming, and he's off to a good start.
Of course I saved the best for last.
Titled "How much do you like your dog??" The title says it all babe... I want to watch and play with you as you play with your best friend...Yes this is real, for those of you that know what I'm talking about get back to me?
First of all, I feel lucky to have stumbled across this one, because it's ripe for the flagging. I mean, are you fucking kidding me? A girl and her best friend? Ohhhhhhh myyyyyy godddddd, that is so disgusting. So this jackass wants a threesome with eight legs. Yeah, work that out in your head. I rock second grade math! I only have to use my fingers to subtract half the time! Hell yeah! I almost can't even believe this got posted, but then I wonder if it's some kind of joke posting from an afternoon of football drinking gone awry in the waning night that is Sunday. I feel like this might have originated in a dorm room and it's all about the laughs and seeing if you can get an action picture out of whatever sorry ass woman responds or seeing how far you can take this thing before you just get grossed out and insist to your dorm buddies and suite mates that chickening out on a girl and her dog isn't being a pussy, it's being grossed out and they just need to shut the fuck up or call her themselves.
Shit talking amongst friends is a bitch. It's more of a bitch than date-shit talking, because you can remove the date person from your life if that shit talking goes bad. It's harder to eliminate your friends from your life if the shit talking goes bad, because they just keep popping up randomly to remind you of your shit talking epic failure or to engage you in with a new topic (and that person would generally be me). Kind of like a buddy of mine at work who brings his girlfriend's lunch bag to work. It's one of those neoprene kind of lunch bags, except it's super cute and obviously designed with a girl in mind, considering the amount of pink on it and the fact that it looks like, well, a purse. The look that he gives me when I stroll into his office and see the lunch bag, and then make the inevitable comment, "I see you brought your purse to work today. Nice." And then I duck out of his office real quick-like, once the cursing has begun, and if I'm feeling extra cocky and full of caffeine, I'll make that one last comment. Because like all cocky shit talkers, I need to get the last word in. Getting the last word in is like shit talking crack, what you really talk shit for to begin with. So I might get the last word in, and if the response is either "Fuck you" or "Shut the fuck up", then I know I've won. No further conversation necessary. And I'll say, having lost my share of shit talking battles, having to say either of those phrases is physically and psychologically difficult, as it's the verbal equivalent of throwing in the towel. Either way, both parties are probably going to laugh, one sheepishly and the other confidently. There can only be one winner when it comes to shit talking. So regarding the guy who wants a bestiality-tinged threesome, either this is one sick dude, or this is some shit talking that's getting ready to go awry but he can't cry uncle yet.
Looking for a females make friend with between 30 to 40 with some cultural heritage with the exception of American. A person who like and respect other cultures, bilingual, outdoor enthusiast and is bored like me. No stupid girls or spam please….
This post was titled "Females hipanic, indian, asian, cuban except american". Okay, if that's what this guy needs, then he should probably move to South American, the Caribbean, India, Asia, somewhere like that. In fact, he should join the military and they might just send him there for free. If he doesn't end up in one of those exotic locales, he'll certainly end up in Germany or the Middle East, where he can develop an affinity for Arabic women. But he's not going to do that, because that would probably require he do some work. Instead, he's just going to be lazy and put himself out there on craigslist and wait for the women to come to him. And really, he's not looking for a woman who is truly Hispanic, Indian, Asian or Cuban, he's looking for an American woman who is perpetrating to be something else because he's had such bad luck with American women and because he's just a typical lazy jackass American man who likes to drink beer and look at porn. Wait, this could be The Ex. Nah, can't be. He's too much of a close-minded asshole for this.
I'm SWM looking for a SWF that is looking for a great guy. I'm 5'9", dark blonde hair, blue eyes. I'm not the type of guy that is going to be all over you, and have to know where you are at all times. I'm not a control freak. I like my independence just as much as you do. I have my self together. I have my own vehicle, I have a job, and I have my own house. I have a life that I like living, and I'm just looking for someone to share it with. I can't tell you what type of person that I am because there is no way to define it. I have a very wide range of likes and dislikes. If you are interested in getting to know a really unique and very caring guy, then email me. I could go on and tell you how I treat women, but all they are are just words. I like to let my actions do the talking. What am I looking for? Someone who will care for me as much as I will them. Someone who is attractive in my eyes. Good conversation. The most physical things that can draw me in are beautiful eyes, and a smile that can light up a room. Please send a picture so that I know who I am addressing. I will send you back a picture in return. Also, please put the phrase "Just A Dream" in the subject line so that I know you are not a bot. Thanks. PS - Don't be afraid to email me if you have a child. I love kids.
And what we have here, ladies and gentlemen, is a child molester. Seriously, what man without kids seeks out women with kids? The child molesting type, that's who. I was going to cut out all of the shit in the middle of the ad, but I thought that would detract from the whole package that is this child molester. Watch out, girls, this guy will be your best friend. He'll suck you right in, love you, love your kids, show up to do yard work for you, fix stuff around your house, will want to do weekend daytime dates with you so the kids can come along, will wine you and dine you, will offer to babysit, become your dream man, so on and so on. It's called grooming, and he's off to a good start.
Of course I saved the best for last.
Titled "How much do you like your dog??" The title says it all babe... I want to watch and play with you as you play with your best friend...Yes this is real, for those of you that know what I'm talking about get back to me?
First of all, I feel lucky to have stumbled across this one, because it's ripe for the flagging. I mean, are you fucking kidding me? A girl and her best friend? Ohhhhhhh myyyyyy godddddd, that is so disgusting. So this jackass wants a threesome with eight legs. Yeah, work that out in your head. I rock second grade math! I only have to use my fingers to subtract half the time! Hell yeah! I almost can't even believe this got posted, but then I wonder if it's some kind of joke posting from an afternoon of football drinking gone awry in the waning night that is Sunday. I feel like this might have originated in a dorm room and it's all about the laughs and seeing if you can get an action picture out of whatever sorry ass woman responds or seeing how far you can take this thing before you just get grossed out and insist to your dorm buddies and suite mates that chickening out on a girl and her dog isn't being a pussy, it's being grossed out and they just need to shut the fuck up or call her themselves.
Shit talking amongst friends is a bitch. It's more of a bitch than date-shit talking, because you can remove the date person from your life if that shit talking goes bad. It's harder to eliminate your friends from your life if the shit talking goes bad, because they just keep popping up randomly to remind you of your shit talking epic failure or to engage you in with a new topic (and that person would generally be me). Kind of like a buddy of mine at work who brings his girlfriend's lunch bag to work. It's one of those neoprene kind of lunch bags, except it's super cute and obviously designed with a girl in mind, considering the amount of pink on it and the fact that it looks like, well, a purse. The look that he gives me when I stroll into his office and see the lunch bag, and then make the inevitable comment, "I see you brought your purse to work today. Nice." And then I duck out of his office real quick-like, once the cursing has begun, and if I'm feeling extra cocky and full of caffeine, I'll make that one last comment. Because like all cocky shit talkers, I need to get the last word in. Getting the last word in is like shit talking crack, what you really talk shit for to begin with. So I might get the last word in, and if the response is either "Fuck you" or "Shut the fuck up", then I know I've won. No further conversation necessary. And I'll say, having lost my share of shit talking battles, having to say either of those phrases is physically and psychologically difficult, as it's the verbal equivalent of throwing in the towel. Either way, both parties are probably going to laugh, one sheepishly and the other confidently. There can only be one winner when it comes to shit talking. So regarding the guy who wants a bestiality-tinged threesome, either this is one sick dude, or this is some shit talking that's getting ready to go awry but he can't cry uncle yet.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Freakshow of the Day
Three separate posts on the same topic - yes, that got my craigslist-trolling attention.
1) tuesday nights aren't usually the most exciting, but as i was walking home with my two roommates, you definitely made this past one memorable. You ran up to us, completely naked, and proceeded to say hello and "shake it" because "your roommate dared you." you had a great body and you must have been freezing, but you didn't show it ;) thanks for shaking up our night.
2 - same night) I think I've had a couple of encounters with that guy... he ran up to my girlfriend on [insert street name here] a few months ago, completely naked, just jerking himself, it's kind of weird and creepy, he had a weird smile to whole time. He also claimed it was a "dare" from his roommates... a couple weeks later he reappeared, completely naked again, but was promptly chased away by this guido who lives in my building.
3 - the next night) Holy shit! totally know who you are talking about. White, bald guy with good physique. My roommate and I were just smoking a cigarette on our porch around 3AM, and this guy walks up. He says hi, wants us to take picutres with him naked and takes his camera out. "Oh man, my roommates won't believe this. I did it for a dare," he says. We laugh because it's the strangest thing, so we take pictures with him. I go inside to get my camera to take pictures of him too. As I went inside he asked my roommate to show her boobs. She did because he just seemed drunk and stupid, and she didn't really care. I come outside with my camera and he asked me, a guy, to "show my boobs". I showed him my nipples cause wtf...why my nipples, I don't know. So we all three take pictures with him, swapping cameras and shit and he leaves. Strangest night ever, but the funniest.
Well, trolling around in downtown Richmond is a flasher. This is funny, and yet, not-so-funny, because I know how people like this think. I'm pretty sure the flasher doesn't have a roommate, he just needs a cover story to make him not seem like a future rapist. I wonder if he was completely-completely naked, or was he wearing shoes? Personally, I wouldn't walk around naked in public, what with my stretch marks and stuff, but if I were to walk around naked in public, I wouldn't go traipsing barefoot through the city of Richmond. Good god, the stuff that's on those sidewalks. So whenever I see one of these posts or something, I always wonder, what kind of shoes was he wearing? And that's a weird thing to think, but bear with me. I've walked around my house naked (blinds closed, mind you) and I've done this barefoot and with shower shoes on, and I don't even know why I had the shower shoes on. Yeah, I looked stupid, but I was home alone, so it was fine. It feels really odd to walk around naked with shoes on, even if they're just shower shoes.
And here's where the third post doesn't make sense. and this guy walks up. He says hi, wants us to take picutres with him naked and takes his camera out. "Oh man, my roommates won't believe this. I did it for a dare," he says. So was he naked when he walked up, and if so, where did his camera come from? Or, did he strip right there on the sidewalk, which seems like it would be even more awkward than just walking up to someone completely naked with a camera slung on your wrist with a little wrist strap? Or maybe it was a cellphone camera and he was just carrying it. That makes a little more sense. I'll have to assume the two dimwits who agreed to this were drunk, because WHAT THE FUCK? Who other than two drunk dimwits would agree to this shit? And what dude would show his nips to another man?????? Unless he's gay, but this guy doesn't sound gay. So again, what the fuck?!?
I get the whole streaking concept, and I must admit, I find it to be hilarious. Just like mooning is hilarious. Which I've never, ever done. Flashing, on the other hand, not so hilarious, because of the other activity that's usually taking place in hand. Literally. Although you don't normally see these people bare assed nekkid, because that's hard to explain when the cops show up. Flash with some clothes on and you can at least claim you were just taking a leak or some other story that no one will believe.
I guess we can call this guy flashing-in-the-streak, which has a kind of English ring to it, kind of like Goring-on-Thames or Knuckle-of-Moose. I've come up with my own male variant of moose knuckle--giraffe tongue. They're both long, purple and warm. At least, we hope for long. Anway, I'll fix it up even better. Flash-the-Steak. There. Oops, that's a typo. But I guess he is flashing the steak. Flash-the-Streak. There, fixed.
Freakshow of the Day. Thank you, craigslist, for this never ending supply of stupidity and perversion.
1) tuesday nights aren't usually the most exciting, but as i was walking home with my two roommates, you definitely made this past one memorable. You ran up to us, completely naked, and proceeded to say hello and "shake it" because "your roommate dared you." you had a great body and you must have been freezing, but you didn't show it ;) thanks for shaking up our night.
2 - same night) I think I've had a couple of encounters with that guy... he ran up to my girlfriend on [insert street name here] a few months ago, completely naked, just jerking himself, it's kind of weird and creepy, he had a weird smile to whole time. He also claimed it was a "dare" from his roommates... a couple weeks later he reappeared, completely naked again, but was promptly chased away by this guido who lives in my building.
3 - the next night) Holy shit! totally know who you are talking about. White, bald guy with good physique. My roommate and I were just smoking a cigarette on our porch around 3AM, and this guy walks up. He says hi, wants us to take picutres with him naked and takes his camera out. "Oh man, my roommates won't believe this. I did it for a dare," he says. We laugh because it's the strangest thing, so we take pictures with him. I go inside to get my camera to take pictures of him too. As I went inside he asked my roommate to show her boobs. She did because he just seemed drunk and stupid, and she didn't really care. I come outside with my camera and he asked me, a guy, to "show my boobs". I showed him my nipples cause wtf...why my nipples, I don't know. So we all three take pictures with him, swapping cameras and shit and he leaves. Strangest night ever, but the funniest.
Well, trolling around in downtown Richmond is a flasher. This is funny, and yet, not-so-funny, because I know how people like this think. I'm pretty sure the flasher doesn't have a roommate, he just needs a cover story to make him not seem like a future rapist. I wonder if he was completely-completely naked, or was he wearing shoes? Personally, I wouldn't walk around naked in public, what with my stretch marks and stuff, but if I were to walk around naked in public, I wouldn't go traipsing barefoot through the city of Richmond. Good god, the stuff that's on those sidewalks. So whenever I see one of these posts or something, I always wonder, what kind of shoes was he wearing? And that's a weird thing to think, but bear with me. I've walked around my house naked (blinds closed, mind you) and I've done this barefoot and with shower shoes on, and I don't even know why I had the shower shoes on. Yeah, I looked stupid, but I was home alone, so it was fine. It feels really odd to walk around naked with shoes on, even if they're just shower shoes.
And here's where the third post doesn't make sense. and this guy walks up. He says hi, wants us to take picutres with him naked and takes his camera out. "Oh man, my roommates won't believe this. I did it for a dare," he says. So was he naked when he walked up, and if so, where did his camera come from? Or, did he strip right there on the sidewalk, which seems like it would be even more awkward than just walking up to someone completely naked with a camera slung on your wrist with a little wrist strap? Or maybe it was a cellphone camera and he was just carrying it. That makes a little more sense. I'll have to assume the two dimwits who agreed to this were drunk, because WHAT THE FUCK? Who other than two drunk dimwits would agree to this shit? And what dude would show his nips to another man?????? Unless he's gay, but this guy doesn't sound gay. So again, what the fuck?!?
I get the whole streaking concept, and I must admit, I find it to be hilarious. Just like mooning is hilarious. Which I've never, ever done. Flashing, on the other hand, not so hilarious, because of the other activity that's usually taking place in hand. Literally. Although you don't normally see these people bare assed nekkid, because that's hard to explain when the cops show up. Flash with some clothes on and you can at least claim you were just taking a leak or some other story that no one will believe.
I guess we can call this guy flashing-in-the-streak, which has a kind of English ring to it, kind of like Goring-on-Thames or Knuckle-of-Moose. I've come up with my own male variant of moose knuckle--giraffe tongue. They're both long, purple and warm. At least, we hope for long. Anway, I'll fix it up even better. Flash-the-Steak. There. Oops, that's a typo. But I guess he is flashing the steak. Flash-the-Streak. There, fixed.
Freakshow of the Day. Thank you, craigslist, for this never ending supply of stupidity and perversion.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Freakshow of the Day
Yep, i'm a clean but not too sober musician. I work in the health medical field. i social drink and smoke. 420 friendly but currently out. 170lb, looking for same or smaller cause larger women scare me. blu eyes brown hair. I don't have kids this week so i wanna play. I wanna get to know ya then maybe we can see where it goes. I'll meet you half way for a beer. send me a pic i'll send you mine.
Well, I feel a huge sense of relief to be on my way to singledom. Because this is yet another fine example of what's out there waiting for me. I kind of like what I did last night with the deciphering, think I'll try something similar to it tonight, but from a woman's point of view (as that's my only point of view). Oh, wait, that's my entire blog. But yeah, I haven't done this to death yet, so I'll go with it.
The Steph translation and commentary:
Yep, i'm a clean but not too sober musician. - I'm a whore. All musicians are whores. As for the clean but not too sober, I'm not sure if he means that he's in recovery but fell off the wagon, or if his ass is clean but his brain is drunk.
I work in the health medical field. - As a janitor, because I hope there's no one out there in the medical field with this level of illiteracy. Or, this is a drunk posting.
i social drink and smoke. - As opposed to work drink and smoke? Church drink and smoke? Chores drink and smoke? Anyone who says this means that they are drinking and smoking on the regular.
420 friendly but currently out. - Read this as very specifically that either he's out and he wants you to provide the bud, or he just doesn't want to share his, but will share yours. I'll have to assume he smoked it all prior to posting this ad.
170lb, looking for same or smaller cause larger women scare me. - Jackass.
I don't have kids this week so i wanna play.- Nice. I get the impression that he probably does this when he has his kids, too.
I wanna get to know ya then maybe we can see where it goes. - He wants to find out what you'll share. If you share drama and heartache, it's a no go. If you share ass and herb, all is well.
I'll meet you half way for a beer. - That he will want you to buy.
send me a pic i'll send you mine. - Let's hope it's a better pic than the one he posted.
Geez, I am suddenly not feeling to optimistic about what's out there (but was I ever, really?). I have an 8 ball at work, you know, the old black cue ball looking thing with the floating thing in it, and you ask it questions? Sometimes I go to work and just decide to let the 8 ball dictate my day. Because we should all be so free spirited, or lazy, or unable to access a Ouja board at work (or too scared to, in my case), or unable to explain said Ouja board at work. I probably need to limit this 8 ball thing to one question per day, and just see what happens. I should probably also write my questions down, because I generally forget the question in about ten minutes and end up asking a similar question, thus probably fucking up my mojo. I probably shouldn't be so superstitious, but we've all got our weaknesses. I think that my superstitions usually end up screwed up, though. I was hanging out at my girlfriend's house on the Fourth of July, waiting for the neighborhood fireworks, and was gazing upon the star that I always wish on, thinking about all of the wishes over all the years I've sent to that star, kind of being nostalgic, thinking to myself where I've been, where I might be going, what's down the road for me. My girlfriend's husband pulled out his handy phone with all the handy apps and held the phone up to the star to determine exactly which star it was. Mercury. I've been wishing on a goddamn planet for all these years. No wonder none of that shit came true. Thanks for bursting my bubble, girlfriend's husband with the handy-dandy phone apps. Now my star-wishes are half-assed, because maybe I'm wishing on Saturn or something, and that doesn't count. Same thing for me asking the same question to the 8 ball. I think I'm cancelling myself out.
I don't even know how I got on this topic. Freakshow of the Day. Some half drunk dipshit posting stuff on craigslist. I don't know this guy, but I know a few guys like him, sadly. Yeah, that's what's out there waiting for me. No wonder I have no motivation to go rushing out into the dating world.
Well, I feel a huge sense of relief to be on my way to singledom. Because this is yet another fine example of what's out there waiting for me. I kind of like what I did last night with the deciphering, think I'll try something similar to it tonight, but from a woman's point of view (as that's my only point of view). Oh, wait, that's my entire blog. But yeah, I haven't done this to death yet, so I'll go with it.
The Steph translation and commentary:
Yep, i'm a clean but not too sober musician. - I'm a whore. All musicians are whores. As for the clean but not too sober, I'm not sure if he means that he's in recovery but fell off the wagon, or if his ass is clean but his brain is drunk.
I work in the health medical field. - As a janitor, because I hope there's no one out there in the medical field with this level of illiteracy. Or, this is a drunk posting.
i social drink and smoke. - As opposed to work drink and smoke? Church drink and smoke? Chores drink and smoke? Anyone who says this means that they are drinking and smoking on the regular.
420 friendly but currently out. - Read this as very specifically that either he's out and he wants you to provide the bud, or he just doesn't want to share his, but will share yours. I'll have to assume he smoked it all prior to posting this ad.
170lb, looking for same or smaller cause larger women scare me. - Jackass.
I don't have kids this week so i wanna play.- Nice. I get the impression that he probably does this when he has his kids, too.
I wanna get to know ya then maybe we can see where it goes. - He wants to find out what you'll share. If you share drama and heartache, it's a no go. If you share ass and herb, all is well.
I'll meet you half way for a beer. - That he will want you to buy.
send me a pic i'll send you mine. - Let's hope it's a better pic than the one he posted.
Geez, I am suddenly not feeling to optimistic about what's out there (but was I ever, really?). I have an 8 ball at work, you know, the old black cue ball looking thing with the floating thing in it, and you ask it questions? Sometimes I go to work and just decide to let the 8 ball dictate my day. Because we should all be so free spirited, or lazy, or unable to access a Ouja board at work (or too scared to, in my case), or unable to explain said Ouja board at work. I probably need to limit this 8 ball thing to one question per day, and just see what happens. I should probably also write my questions down, because I generally forget the question in about ten minutes and end up asking a similar question, thus probably fucking up my mojo. I probably shouldn't be so superstitious, but we've all got our weaknesses. I think that my superstitions usually end up screwed up, though. I was hanging out at my girlfriend's house on the Fourth of July, waiting for the neighborhood fireworks, and was gazing upon the star that I always wish on, thinking about all of the wishes over all the years I've sent to that star, kind of being nostalgic, thinking to myself where I've been, where I might be going, what's down the road for me. My girlfriend's husband pulled out his handy phone with all the handy apps and held the phone up to the star to determine exactly which star it was. Mercury. I've been wishing on a goddamn planet for all these years. No wonder none of that shit came true. Thanks for bursting my bubble, girlfriend's husband with the handy-dandy phone apps. Now my star-wishes are half-assed, because maybe I'm wishing on Saturn or something, and that doesn't count. Same thing for me asking the same question to the 8 ball. I think I'm cancelling myself out.
I don't even know how I got on this topic. Freakshow of the Day. Some half drunk dipshit posting stuff on craigslist. I don't know this guy, but I know a few guys like him, sadly. Yeah, that's what's out there waiting for me. No wonder I have no motivation to go rushing out into the dating world.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Freakshow of the Day
Because I feel like being a total catty bitch, I'm going to decipher this personal ad so everyone will really know what women really mean.
Here it is, in totality:
I am an incredibly younger looking 35 years old gal, no one ever is convinced I'm a day above 19, that is the benefits of taking care of myself (don't drink, not a smoker, or ever taken drugs, take my nutritional vitamin supplements, avoid the sunshine, never engage in self-destructive activities)... searching for someone for some nsa entertainment! I am taller, Slim, beautiful, 36d, brownish wavy head of hair, green eyes, light skin tone, confident, lovable, interesting, ruthless, dominating when need be, humorous, smutty, and witty. I'm not hot in a very golden-haired brown barbie doll kind of way, but wholesole and organically sexy.
And now, deciphered:
I am an incredibly younger looking 35 years old gal - She wants someone younger than her.
no one ever is convinced I'm a day above 19, - Much, much younger than her. In fact, she wants you to be just a few days past your 18th birthday.
that is the benefits of taking care of myself (don't drink, not a smoker, or ever taken drugs, take my nutritional vitamin supplements, avoid the sunshine, never engage in self-destructive activities)... -Superiority complex because she doesn't drink, doesn't smoke, doesn't do drugs and will take whatever the TV says is good for her. She avoids the sun because it might make her look, oh, I don't know, maybe 30 or so? This woman clearly never engages in self-destructive activities like trying to get a hookup with a complete stranger from the casual encounters listing on craigslist.
searching for someone for some nsa entertainment! - Commitment issues.
I am taller - She's an Amazon.
Slim - Because every woman over six feet tall looks slim.
beautiful - Her lack of a picture should not throw you off at all. At all.
36d, - Honey, we all are after we leave Victoria's Secret. Remember the water bras? They were awesome, until one side sprung a leak.
brownish wavy head of hair, - Her hair is frizzy, but wavy sounds so much better.
green eyes - Okay, I'll give her that point.
light skin tone, - Oh, god, we're all going to die at some point. Let's go out with at least a base tan.
confident, - Brash?
lovable, - And that's why she's on craigslist looking to have sex with a complete stranger.
interesting, - Interesting to note she didn't mention educated or professional. Hmmmm.
ruthless, - Uh oh. Run for the hills, boys. In women-speak, this means one thing. Ball buster.
dominating when need be, - Yep, a straight up ball buster. Verified. And, she's going to spank you.
humorous, - Hey, so am I! We should be BFF's.
smutty,- She actually wrote slutty but then changed it because it sounded kind of bad and she was scared to own it. Chicken shit. Okay, even that made me laugh outright.
and witty. - This really means she talks back during sex, to the tune of, "What's my name, bitch?"
I'm not hot in a very golden-haired brown barbie doll kind of way, but wholesole and organically sexy. - Ohhhh, fuck. She shops at Whole Foods and doesn't shave. And I think wholesole is supposed to be wholesome. Wholesome and smutty?!? I didn't know that was possible.
So there you have it. What women really mean when they say shit like this.
Here it is, in totality:
I am an incredibly younger looking 35 years old gal, no one ever is convinced I'm a day above 19, that is the benefits of taking care of myself (don't drink, not a smoker, or ever taken drugs, take my nutritional vitamin supplements, avoid the sunshine, never engage in self-destructive activities)... searching for someone for some nsa entertainment! I am taller, Slim, beautiful, 36d, brownish wavy head of hair, green eyes, light skin tone, confident, lovable, interesting, ruthless, dominating when need be, humorous, smutty, and witty. I'm not hot in a very golden-haired brown barbie doll kind of way, but wholesole and organically sexy.
And now, deciphered:
I am an incredibly younger looking 35 years old gal - She wants someone younger than her.
no one ever is convinced I'm a day above 19, - Much, much younger than her. In fact, she wants you to be just a few days past your 18th birthday.
that is the benefits of taking care of myself (don't drink, not a smoker, or ever taken drugs, take my nutritional vitamin supplements, avoid the sunshine, never engage in self-destructive activities)... -Superiority complex because she doesn't drink, doesn't smoke, doesn't do drugs and will take whatever the TV says is good for her. She avoids the sun because it might make her look, oh, I don't know, maybe 30 or so? This woman clearly never engages in self-destructive activities like trying to get a hookup with a complete stranger from the casual encounters listing on craigslist.
searching for someone for some nsa entertainment! - Commitment issues.
I am taller - She's an Amazon.
Slim - Because every woman over six feet tall looks slim.
beautiful - Her lack of a picture should not throw you off at all. At all.
36d, - Honey, we all are after we leave Victoria's Secret. Remember the water bras? They were awesome, until one side sprung a leak.
brownish wavy head of hair, - Her hair is frizzy, but wavy sounds so much better.
green eyes - Okay, I'll give her that point.
light skin tone, - Oh, god, we're all going to die at some point. Let's go out with at least a base tan.
confident, - Brash?
lovable, - And that's why she's on craigslist looking to have sex with a complete stranger.
interesting, - Interesting to note she didn't mention educated or professional. Hmmmm.
ruthless, - Uh oh. Run for the hills, boys. In women-speak, this means one thing. Ball buster.
dominating when need be, - Yep, a straight up ball buster. Verified. And, she's going to spank you.
humorous, - Hey, so am I! We should be BFF's.
smutty,- She actually wrote slutty but then changed it because it sounded kind of bad and she was scared to own it. Chicken shit. Okay, even that made me laugh outright.
and witty. - This really means she talks back during sex, to the tune of, "What's my name, bitch?"
I'm not hot in a very golden-haired brown barbie doll kind of way, but wholesole and organically sexy. - Ohhhh, fuck. She shops at Whole Foods and doesn't shave. And I think wholesole is supposed to be wholesome. Wholesome and smutty?!? I didn't know that was possible.
So there you have it. What women really mean when they say shit like this.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Freakshow of the Day
Something a little different tonight.
you stole a bracelet from my estate sale this morning
i know u took it
u asked how much it was and no one was here between when u inquired about it and when i saw it was gone
u can bring it back no harm no fowl.. its tuff times i get it.
if u dont bring it back ... well lets all pray u never have to find out.
Im here all day, if ur to embarrassed leave it in at my door and go
thanx
Because this is the most effective way to get your shit back, right? I think that we can assume that this was not a for-real estate sale, because then it would have been managed by a company that specializes in estate sales and so the bracelet probably wouldn't have been stolen. What this more likely was, was a yard/garage sale and the person was either too lazy or had too much stuff to move outside and so they just threw open the doors to their house and had complete strangers walking through their house. I've been to a few of those, and it's weird walking through someone's house looking to buy shit when they're still living there. About as weird as the time The Ex and I were shopping for the house he has now, and we went up in one house and I swear, I absolutely swear, the person who lived there, was hiding in the house somewhere. Almost like they didn't have enough time to get out by when the realtor said to be out. The TV was still on, there was still fog on the bathroom mirror... Yeah, I'm pretty sure they might have been hiding in a closet or something. I got so weirded out by that whole thing that the fact that the whole house smelled like cat piss took second place. I remember telling The Ex, "Someone is still in this house. Right now. I can feel it." He told me I was being stupid, but I know what I know.
I didn't do any yardsaling this year. I had all summer, basically, or at least every other weekend to go out and troll around in other people's yards and driveways looking for unusual shit for really cheap. I wanted to, had a girlfriend all lined up to go trolling with me, but then decided that fuck it, I didn't have the extra cash to spend, and I needed to just work on getting my house squared away without lugging more shit into it. So no yardsaling for me. A few years ago, there was one yard sale I went to, not much there, and this old guy was kind of wandering around in this squirrely kind of way, looking for something specific, but I can't remember what. I do remember that he was thin, tall, graying and had his hair combed over with a little Nazi-ish kind of mustache. Strangest guy, but you see some strange people at yard sales. Since yardsaling was such a mindless yet kind of productive activity for me, the kind of activity that was really designed to get me out of the house for a few hours without needing to have a fucking chaperon (although I had to come home with at least one useless item or I would most likely face the Spanish Inquisition about where the hell was I and what was I doing), I always tried to figure out where some of these people had come from. If you haven't figured it out by now, I have an overactive imagination. I liked to imagine that this old guy, well, maybe he's the same guy who showed up at the German embassy in New York a few months later looking for asylum when he was sneaking around trying to get out of the country because The Man was looking for him. It would certainly make for a good story. Same thing with the guy at the old rundown flea market, out selling knock-off jeans and purses and shit. Yeah, that somewhat attractive 30 something year old guy. In the trunk of his car? A rape kit, because that's how he rolls. And somewhere under the hood of his car? A little satellite thingy, because The Man knows how he rolls, too. But I digress, and let my imagination get away from me sometimes.
The Ex used to hate that I did yardsaling, and I think this was either because he ended up having to babysit, or because he thought the whole thing was beneath him. Probably a combination of the two. As a sidebar, I absolutely hated that I felt like I had to get him to babysit so I could get out of the house for a few hours. I mean, if they're your kids, it's not babysitting. It's being a fucking parent. I realized the other day that in ten years of marriage, I went away for a beach weekend with a girlfriend exactly once, and went out of town to spend the night with another girlfriend exactly once, for one night. I'm pissed remembering this, because all of a sudden, that doesn't seem normal. I have girlfriends who do the girls-weekend thing all the time, and I was always envious of them. The weekend I went to the beach? He was standing in the driveway waiting for me to get home, and then yelled for an hour that I was late and blathered on about how inconsiderate I was, blah blah blah. Sorry, I got home at one o'clock in the afternoon instead of eleven o'clock in the morning on Sunday. Please, divorce me. I hate that motherfucker. I know I've said this before, but I really do. I hate him for how he treated me, and I hate me for letting him get away with that shit for so many years. What's worse is the realization that knowing all of this now can't make up for so much wrong for so many years. Ten years of my life, completely controlled by an arrogant and insecure bastard who treated me like shit and guilt tripped me into believing the stupid shit he had me believing.
The worst thing is wondering if this is now my norm. Wondering if this is all that I know, and I'll just end up with another asshole just like him. And then another asshole. And another. I wonder if he did such a bang-up job on me that I won't be able to be in a relationship where it's not like this. I talk a lot of shit about a lot of shit, but I wonder if I'm destined to live the rest of my life with just a bunch of first dates, because I'll be too scared for more than that because he might end up being The Ex all over again. That's what's really scary to me. I might end up doing this shit all over again.
you stole a bracelet from my estate sale this morning
i know u took it
u asked how much it was and no one was here between when u inquired about it and when i saw it was gone
u can bring it back no harm no fowl.. its tuff times i get it.
if u dont bring it back ... well lets all pray u never have to find out.
Im here all day, if ur to embarrassed leave it in at my door and go
thanx
Because this is the most effective way to get your shit back, right? I think that we can assume that this was not a for-real estate sale, because then it would have been managed by a company that specializes in estate sales and so the bracelet probably wouldn't have been stolen. What this more likely was, was a yard/garage sale and the person was either too lazy or had too much stuff to move outside and so they just threw open the doors to their house and had complete strangers walking through their house. I've been to a few of those, and it's weird walking through someone's house looking to buy shit when they're still living there. About as weird as the time The Ex and I were shopping for the house he has now, and we went up in one house and I swear, I absolutely swear, the person who lived there, was hiding in the house somewhere. Almost like they didn't have enough time to get out by when the realtor said to be out. The TV was still on, there was still fog on the bathroom mirror... Yeah, I'm pretty sure they might have been hiding in a closet or something. I got so weirded out by that whole thing that the fact that the whole house smelled like cat piss took second place. I remember telling The Ex, "Someone is still in this house. Right now. I can feel it." He told me I was being stupid, but I know what I know.
I didn't do any yardsaling this year. I had all summer, basically, or at least every other weekend to go out and troll around in other people's yards and driveways looking for unusual shit for really cheap. I wanted to, had a girlfriend all lined up to go trolling with me, but then decided that fuck it, I didn't have the extra cash to spend, and I needed to just work on getting my house squared away without lugging more shit into it. So no yardsaling for me. A few years ago, there was one yard sale I went to, not much there, and this old guy was kind of wandering around in this squirrely kind of way, looking for something specific, but I can't remember what. I do remember that he was thin, tall, graying and had his hair combed over with a little Nazi-ish kind of mustache. Strangest guy, but you see some strange people at yard sales. Since yardsaling was such a mindless yet kind of productive activity for me, the kind of activity that was really designed to get me out of the house for a few hours without needing to have a fucking chaperon (although I had to come home with at least one useless item or I would most likely face the Spanish Inquisition about where the hell was I and what was I doing), I always tried to figure out where some of these people had come from. If you haven't figured it out by now, I have an overactive imagination. I liked to imagine that this old guy, well, maybe he's the same guy who showed up at the German embassy in New York a few months later looking for asylum when he was sneaking around trying to get out of the country because The Man was looking for him. It would certainly make for a good story. Same thing with the guy at the old rundown flea market, out selling knock-off jeans and purses and shit. Yeah, that somewhat attractive 30 something year old guy. In the trunk of his car? A rape kit, because that's how he rolls. And somewhere under the hood of his car? A little satellite thingy, because The Man knows how he rolls, too. But I digress, and let my imagination get away from me sometimes.
The Ex used to hate that I did yardsaling, and I think this was either because he ended up having to babysit, or because he thought the whole thing was beneath him. Probably a combination of the two. As a sidebar, I absolutely hated that I felt like I had to get him to babysit so I could get out of the house for a few hours. I mean, if they're your kids, it's not babysitting. It's being a fucking parent. I realized the other day that in ten years of marriage, I went away for a beach weekend with a girlfriend exactly once, and went out of town to spend the night with another girlfriend exactly once, for one night. I'm pissed remembering this, because all of a sudden, that doesn't seem normal. I have girlfriends who do the girls-weekend thing all the time, and I was always envious of them. The weekend I went to the beach? He was standing in the driveway waiting for me to get home, and then yelled for an hour that I was late and blathered on about how inconsiderate I was, blah blah blah. Sorry, I got home at one o'clock in the afternoon instead of eleven o'clock in the morning on Sunday. Please, divorce me. I hate that motherfucker. I know I've said this before, but I really do. I hate him for how he treated me, and I hate me for letting him get away with that shit for so many years. What's worse is the realization that knowing all of this now can't make up for so much wrong for so many years. Ten years of my life, completely controlled by an arrogant and insecure bastard who treated me like shit and guilt tripped me into believing the stupid shit he had me believing.
The worst thing is wondering if this is now my norm. Wondering if this is all that I know, and I'll just end up with another asshole just like him. And then another asshole. And another. I wonder if he did such a bang-up job on me that I won't be able to be in a relationship where it's not like this. I talk a lot of shit about a lot of shit, but I wonder if I'm destined to live the rest of my life with just a bunch of first dates, because I'll be too scared for more than that because he might end up being The Ex all over again. That's what's really scary to me. I might end up doing this shit all over again.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Freakshow of the Day
Okay, this is going to be a little different than my normal freakshow commentary. This will have to be a visual description, because I would do a cut-and-paste on the picture, but I've decided that all pictures on the internet probably have thousands of images of child pornography embedded in them, and if I download anything I will then infect my computer with child pornography and then I'll end up on the news, like the 76 year old grandma who the RIAA went after when the whole free music download thing blew the hell up. Sadly, this fear will probably keep my blog picture free, but I've been a little worried about polluting what I write with images that might or might not be mine, stolen, embedded with other less desirable stuff, etc. And then, I don't know if what's in my brain, and therefore on the screen, could translate well to a picture. Some things should remain pure. My body is not one of those things, but my words might be.
Reading and writing, that's serious stuff to me. I have a whole bookshelf full of books, not as many as I've read, because that would just be impossible to keep up with, but my bookshelf is full of most of my favorite shit, my shit I re-read every few years, or my books that have some kind of sentimental value. And yeah, some of it is complete tripe, but I'm just not going to apologize any more for reading Jackie Collins. There's just something incredibly comforting in standing in front of my bookshelf (especially when I've alphabetized it and categorized it, which I'm saving for a winter panic attack, I think) and touching all the spines, getting the books out, thinking about how many times I've read them or how many times I haven't read them yet. I'm that person who will open a book, and I have to smell the pages. A book smell is a good thing. I do this in my favorite big box book store, when I want to go and read for free and the library is too cheesy. There is nothing quite as calming as pulling a fresh book off the shelf, flipping the pages, reading a paragraph here and there, feeling that this might be the book I want to quick read for free. And then... I commit a heinous book crime. I crack the spine. Cracking the spine of a book is like taking the first sip of someone else's ice cold canned drink that they just popped the top on. Yeah, bitches, I just stole the best sip of the whole drink. Gotcha. Cracking the spine to a book is just like that. So I crack the spine to the book, feel the crisp pages flutter between my hands, inhale the essence of the book... and damn, are those pages stuck together? Holy shit! Is that what I think it is? Goddammit, this is a public store. People are nasty. No, seriously, it never happened there. But this one time, in a prison library...
Man, I really got off the topic there. Freakshow of the Day. Here goes. Remember, this is a little different for me.
Hi,
I would describe myself as kind,warm,intelligent,cute,classy,and funny. I am a single white guy.
I am looking for a daytime weekday intimate relationship with a attractive white woman. My main interest is to orally service a woman. I can host at my place. I am disease/drug free, and you must be also.
Okay, the written part is a little cheesy, but not the worst I've read. Not the best either, but this is craigslist. Standards are low here. Mr. Man is 35, and he's included two facial shots. He looks normal in that dweeby kind of way. But then, there's another picture. This would be the full body shot. Well, at least he included more than just his genitals. This is the picture I want to put on my blog, but I can't, what with my fears of embedded shit and all. He's balding, but not completely chromed out up top. He's got the ring around the head, and then, on the top, where he's balding, he's got a little fluff of hair that's the shape of a mohawk, but the consistency of a Rogaine commercial. Bushy eyebrows. Straight nose, normal mouth. He's standing up, obviously wherever he might live, and this is his laptop cam or something that's taken his picture. He's naked, except for the pair of white cotton underwear that look like boot camp issue. Since no genitals were exposed in the taking of this picture, I feel okay in sending this link to all of my girlfriends, even the married ones. And one other friend who will probably unfriend me tonight. Because he's a guy. So here's the emailed conversation that subsequently ensued between me and one of my girlfriends, who also has no life.
The original email was entitled, "Oh my god I'm so glad I'm single" and the body of the email, immediately on top of the link said, "Because this is what's out there waiting for me."
Girlfriend: Ha, now that is one hell of a birthday present to give yourself. are u sure u r ready...u may want to pace yourself.
Me: I've been laughing about that since I've seen it. I even sent it to one of my guy friends.
Girlfriend: i am just not believing he posted it...poor thing has no idea that he is the butt of a joke tonight. (He also has no idea he's going to the topic of most of a blog post)
Me: Did you show [insert her husband's name here]? Because that's just hot and I know you want [insert her husband's name here again] to be just like that guy.
Girlfriend: well i am waiting for him to get home. he is on evening shift and got called out so u r my entertainment for the night. u and that hunk of a man u found. i bet he is hung like a mule. (Yes! Women really do discuss this)
Me: I can't tell because he's squeezing his legs together so tightly. (Yes! Women really do discuss this in GREAT detail)
Girlfriend: he is trying not to crap his pants when he took that pic.
Me: I think he might have had to go pee-pee because he was so excited. Kind of like [insert other girlfriend's name here]'s dog when it breathes.
Reading and writing, that's serious stuff to me. I have a whole bookshelf full of books, not as many as I've read, because that would just be impossible to keep up with, but my bookshelf is full of most of my favorite shit, my shit I re-read every few years, or my books that have some kind of sentimental value. And yeah, some of it is complete tripe, but I'm just not going to apologize any more for reading Jackie Collins. There's just something incredibly comforting in standing in front of my bookshelf (especially when I've alphabetized it and categorized it, which I'm saving for a winter panic attack, I think) and touching all the spines, getting the books out, thinking about how many times I've read them or how many times I haven't read them yet. I'm that person who will open a book, and I have to smell the pages. A book smell is a good thing. I do this in my favorite big box book store, when I want to go and read for free and the library is too cheesy. There is nothing quite as calming as pulling a fresh book off the shelf, flipping the pages, reading a paragraph here and there, feeling that this might be the book I want to quick read for free. And then... I commit a heinous book crime. I crack the spine. Cracking the spine of a book is like taking the first sip of someone else's ice cold canned drink that they just popped the top on. Yeah, bitches, I just stole the best sip of the whole drink. Gotcha. Cracking the spine to a book is just like that. So I crack the spine to the book, feel the crisp pages flutter between my hands, inhale the essence of the book... and damn, are those pages stuck together? Holy shit! Is that what I think it is? Goddammit, this is a public store. People are nasty. No, seriously, it never happened there. But this one time, in a prison library...
Man, I really got off the topic there. Freakshow of the Day. Here goes. Remember, this is a little different for me.
Hi,
I would describe myself as kind,warm,intelligent,cute,classy,and funny. I am a single white guy.
I am looking for a daytime weekday intimate relationship with a attractive white woman. My main interest is to orally service a woman. I can host at my place. I am disease/drug free, and you must be also.
Okay, the written part is a little cheesy, but not the worst I've read. Not the best either, but this is craigslist. Standards are low here. Mr. Man is 35, and he's included two facial shots. He looks normal in that dweeby kind of way. But then, there's another picture. This would be the full body shot. Well, at least he included more than just his genitals. This is the picture I want to put on my blog, but I can't, what with my fears of embedded shit and all. He's balding, but not completely chromed out up top. He's got the ring around the head, and then, on the top, where he's balding, he's got a little fluff of hair that's the shape of a mohawk, but the consistency of a Rogaine commercial. Bushy eyebrows. Straight nose, normal mouth. He's standing up, obviously wherever he might live, and this is his laptop cam or something that's taken his picture. He's naked, except for the pair of white cotton underwear that look like boot camp issue. Since no genitals were exposed in the taking of this picture, I feel okay in sending this link to all of my girlfriends, even the married ones. And one other friend who will probably unfriend me tonight. Because he's a guy. So here's the emailed conversation that subsequently ensued between me and one of my girlfriends, who also has no life.
The original email was entitled, "Oh my god I'm so glad I'm single" and the body of the email, immediately on top of the link said, "Because this is what's out there waiting for me."
Girlfriend: Ha, now that is one hell of a birthday present to give yourself. are u sure u r ready...u may want to pace yourself.
Me: I've been laughing about that since I've seen it. I even sent it to one of my guy friends.
Girlfriend: i am just not believing he posted it...poor thing has no idea that he is the butt of a joke tonight. (He also has no idea he's going to the topic of most of a blog post)
Me: Did you show [insert her husband's name here]? Because that's just hot and I know you want [insert her husband's name here again] to be just like that guy.
Girlfriend: well i am waiting for him to get home. he is on evening shift and got called out so u r my entertainment for the night. u and that hunk of a man u found. i bet he is hung like a mule. (Yes! Women really do discuss this)
Me: I can't tell because he's squeezing his legs together so tightly. (Yes! Women really do discuss this in GREAT detail)
Girlfriend: he is trying not to crap his pants when he took that pic.
Me: I think he might have had to go pee-pee because he was so excited. Kind of like [insert other girlfriend's name here]'s dog when it breathes.
Girlfriend: could be....maybe he had to get drunk in order to get his clothes off to have his mommy take his pic (Ahhh, she threw out the mommy comment - nice addition to the shit talking that women do)
Me: She should have waxed his chest. That is disgusting. All that hair. Ew. (No man who looks like a bear shall ever get between these legs. Again. Because my standards are raised)
Girlfriend: your cat may like him
Me: Neither of my cats will ever meet this guy. (My girlfriend's a little slow and totally did not get this comment)
Girlfriend: well then looks like you are back to the drawling board or calling the one with the lysol can (That would have been a link last week that I sent her with some guy holding a Lysol can up next to his junk)
Me: I think I can just do without.
Girlfriend: awwww
Me: Please. If that's what the available male population looks like out there, I'm better off. Would you want to date some dude in tighty whitey's with his legs squeezed together, looking like he skinned a bear and put it on his chest? I think not. Don't cry for me, Argentina. (She didn't get that last comment, either)
Girlfriend: i think i would stay single, buy sex toys and drink (This is the exact same girlfriend fucking hassling me to have sex toy party. I'm resisting because I'm good with what I've already got, thanks, but now I'm rethinking it because that would be one hell of a blog post)
Me: What do you think I do every night? (She doesn't know about my blog and I'm not giving that little detail up, either)
Girlfriend: oh, that explains the early morning moods. (That's because I kind of made it to work on time on those days)
Me: I thought my mood had much improved since I left dickhead. Someone told me other day they don't hear me yelling as much in my office anymore.
So that's it. My Freakshow of the Day. All of a sudden I don't know if it's the guy in the saggy underpants or me.
37
I had my training thing today. I drove right up into the depths of Northern Virginia (okay, the outer depths) and made it in about two hours. I take back all the bad stuff I said about the traffic, because it wasn't that bad. Traffic in Short Dump is way worse. I was late, but only by a few minutes. I figure that I'm egotistical enough to feel like the party wasn't going to start til I got there, anyway. I knew a few people in the training thing, but I didn't like any of them enough to sit and socialize, basically because I'm pretty sure that none of them are as cool as me.
So in between the training thing and me feeling like I'm going to skip bronchitis and head right into pneumonia, I was calling my mom and my older daughter's cheer coach to find out if the football game was going to be cancelled tonight. At first, when they announced continuous downpours and flash-flooding, the information came down from the football coach that it didn't matter, because unless it was thundering and lightening, the game would go on. Geez. What a nutjob. These are children, not NFL players. Come on. So the cheer coach was out buying rain slickers, and the girls had permission to wear sweatpants under their uniforms. Finally, some common sense prevailed and some jackass cancelled the game, which actually would have been three games, but we were leaving after the first one. Why have kids running around on a football field at 8:00 at night on a school night? That's just stupid. The cancellation call came, and yay! Now my mom can just skip the football game, go straight to the grocery store formerly known as Ukrops and buy me a cake by the bakery currently known as Ukrops. My children shall eat cake and goldfish for dinner! Life is good! For them!
And then, after the sugar high had hit and the children had crashed back down, time for homework. My older daughter got a progress note sent home, which is apparently what they call bad behavior reports now?!? So we discussed that, and of course it's everyone else's fault. She just can't help what she blurts out of her mouth at any time, because she just can't. We discuss personal responsibility, and that she has to control herself and her mouth, and she decides that if another note is sent home, then no TV or computer for a week for her. Wow! That was way harsher than I was thinking, but we can go with that. It'll be easier for me since she picked the punishment. In the middle of all of this, The Ex calls for his nightly phone call (on the nights he remembers or isn't busy with the girlfriend), and god only knows what he told her. Probably that it's all Mommy's fault. I got on the phone to discuss the situation with him, and he says he's on a break from his part-time "gig" and he doesn't really have any time. Too bad, motherfucker. I guess you'd better make some time. Then he goes into what his part-time "gig" is, and I really don't care. I don't care about you and your stupid music. I'm not impressed and I never will be. I'm just sorry that he can't get paid for jerking off, because then he'd be rich and he could pay for both daughters' yearbooks.
37. I don't feel 37. I just decided a few months ago that I was okay with being 36. 37 feels old. 37 feels like I'm too old to be writing some blog about freakshows and stuff. I'll keep on with the blog, but this just feels weird. However, this is what I do every birthday when I decide that I don't feel my new age. I'll just keep telling people I'm 36 until 37 feels right, which will probably be next June. And then I'll be 37 from next June until the June or so after that. I had convinced people a couple of years ago that I was only 28. I mean, I still felt 28, and from their reactions when the truth slipped out and they discovered I was actually 34, I guess I still looked it. So I think I can still pass for 36. Maybe I'll go back to 34. I think I can still pass for 34, too. Thus far in life, I have resisted botox, plastic surgery, teeth whitening, ionic hair straightening, hair coloring, vajazzling, a minivan and tattoo eyeliner, but have succumbed to a couple of dumb tattoos, a piercing, Brazilian waxing, stretch marks and one divorce. I can definitely still pass for 35.
So in between the training thing and me feeling like I'm going to skip bronchitis and head right into pneumonia, I was calling my mom and my older daughter's cheer coach to find out if the football game was going to be cancelled tonight. At first, when they announced continuous downpours and flash-flooding, the information came down from the football coach that it didn't matter, because unless it was thundering and lightening, the game would go on. Geez. What a nutjob. These are children, not NFL players. Come on. So the cheer coach was out buying rain slickers, and the girls had permission to wear sweatpants under their uniforms. Finally, some common sense prevailed and some jackass cancelled the game, which actually would have been three games, but we were leaving after the first one. Why have kids running around on a football field at 8:00 at night on a school night? That's just stupid. The cancellation call came, and yay! Now my mom can just skip the football game, go straight to the grocery store formerly known as Ukrops and buy me a cake by the bakery currently known as Ukrops. My children shall eat cake and goldfish for dinner! Life is good! For them!
And then, after the sugar high had hit and the children had crashed back down, time for homework. My older daughter got a progress note sent home, which is apparently what they call bad behavior reports now?!? So we discussed that, and of course it's everyone else's fault. She just can't help what she blurts out of her mouth at any time, because she just can't. We discuss personal responsibility, and that she has to control herself and her mouth, and she decides that if another note is sent home, then no TV or computer for a week for her. Wow! That was way harsher than I was thinking, but we can go with that. It'll be easier for me since she picked the punishment. In the middle of all of this, The Ex calls for his nightly phone call (on the nights he remembers or isn't busy with the girlfriend), and god only knows what he told her. Probably that it's all Mommy's fault. I got on the phone to discuss the situation with him, and he says he's on a break from his part-time "gig" and he doesn't really have any time. Too bad, motherfucker. I guess you'd better make some time. Then he goes into what his part-time "gig" is, and I really don't care. I don't care about you and your stupid music. I'm not impressed and I never will be. I'm just sorry that he can't get paid for jerking off, because then he'd be rich and he could pay for both daughters' yearbooks.
37. I don't feel 37. I just decided a few months ago that I was okay with being 36. 37 feels old. 37 feels like I'm too old to be writing some blog about freakshows and stuff. I'll keep on with the blog, but this just feels weird. However, this is what I do every birthday when I decide that I don't feel my new age. I'll just keep telling people I'm 36 until 37 feels right, which will probably be next June. And then I'll be 37 from next June until the June or so after that. I had convinced people a couple of years ago that I was only 28. I mean, I still felt 28, and from their reactions when the truth slipped out and they discovered I was actually 34, I guess I still looked it. So I think I can still pass for 36. Maybe I'll go back to 34. I think I can still pass for 34, too. Thus far in life, I have resisted botox, plastic surgery, teeth whitening, ionic hair straightening, hair coloring, vajazzling, a minivan and tattoo eyeliner, but have succumbed to a couple of dumb tattoos, a piercing, Brazilian waxing, stretch marks and one divorce. I can definitely still pass for 35.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Freakshow of the Day
ladies, I'm seeking a woman to join m efor a little adult fun in an adult theatre booth.
Oh my god, do people still do this? Every time I come across something like this, I think about what complete naive moron I must be. I didn't know there were any of these places left in Richmond. I know there are a couple of adult bookstores left, but I didn't think they had those adult theaters in them. I mean, I always assumed that the internet would slowly be the death of those places. Kind of like how Amazon is slowly but surely knocking out the big box book stores.
One of the adult bookstores in Richmond, I think it's still open, is niftily named the Triangle Bookstore. Get it? I like the pretend the person who named that place will also open a little dive diner and name it The Y, or even better, The Why. Because that would be funny as shit to the people who get it, and those would probably be the people who remember the old Lee Theater, which was an adult theater on a block of Grace Street right next to VCU, so they had the element of maybe a little bit more high-falutin' clientele, or at least being able to claim they were right next to a major university. Of course, back in the day, Grace Street was grimy as shit, but it was part of the college, for better or worse, kind of like that one slimeball cousin everyone has who might end up on America's Most Wanted someday.
But back to the post of discussion, I don't know why anyone would want to go and hook up at one of these places. Disgusting and nothing but disgusting. Maybe the guy who posted this has been watching the news and knows that this is apparently a bumper crop year for bedbugs. I don't know. I saw a post on craigslist one night, imagine that, right in the middle of the casual encounters section, and it was the bedbug alert. Nice! Someone had been kind enough to link to a website where all of the hotels with bedbug problems are listed. I checked that website out, too, and some of them were pretty nice hotels. I spent a few minutes hoping that The Ex would end up at one of those places on his business travels, but that might mean that the bedbugs would immigrate to the children's bedrooms, and then hitch a ride over here, and then, uh oh. So maybe I'll just hope his girlfriend ends up at one of these hotels on her business travels. I guess if I add an extra link in the chain that will make it harder for the bedbugs to reach me. My grandmother used to tell me stories about when my grandfather was stationed in the Aleutian Islands, and they lived in a Quonset hut, and how bad the bedbugs were up there. I don't know if she was talking about actual bedbugs-bedbugs, or just bugs in general, but I always think about that when I hear about bedbugs.
I just went back and re-read the whole post on craigslist. I didn't cut-and-paste the whole thing, because it got a little explicit, and I figured the first sentence was all the ammunition I needed anyway, but this guy is available up until five o'clock today. Because that would be what time he needs to get home to his wife and kids in suburbia, I assume. Geez. I probably need to stop looking at this crap, because this is what's going to make me never date again--fear of ending up with one of these jackasses.
Oh my god, do people still do this? Every time I come across something like this, I think about what complete naive moron I must be. I didn't know there were any of these places left in Richmond. I know there are a couple of adult bookstores left, but I didn't think they had those adult theaters in them. I mean, I always assumed that the internet would slowly be the death of those places. Kind of like how Amazon is slowly but surely knocking out the big box book stores.
One of the adult bookstores in Richmond, I think it's still open, is niftily named the Triangle Bookstore. Get it? I like the pretend the person who named that place will also open a little dive diner and name it The Y, or even better, The Why. Because that would be funny as shit to the people who get it, and those would probably be the people who remember the old Lee Theater, which was an adult theater on a block of Grace Street right next to VCU, so they had the element of maybe a little bit more high-falutin' clientele, or at least being able to claim they were right next to a major university. Of course, back in the day, Grace Street was grimy as shit, but it was part of the college, for better or worse, kind of like that one slimeball cousin everyone has who might end up on America's Most Wanted someday.
But back to the post of discussion, I don't know why anyone would want to go and hook up at one of these places. Disgusting and nothing but disgusting. Maybe the guy who posted this has been watching the news and knows that this is apparently a bumper crop year for bedbugs. I don't know. I saw a post on craigslist one night, imagine that, right in the middle of the casual encounters section, and it was the bedbug alert. Nice! Someone had been kind enough to link to a website where all of the hotels with bedbug problems are listed. I checked that website out, too, and some of them were pretty nice hotels. I spent a few minutes hoping that The Ex would end up at one of those places on his business travels, but that might mean that the bedbugs would immigrate to the children's bedrooms, and then hitch a ride over here, and then, uh oh. So maybe I'll just hope his girlfriend ends up at one of these hotels on her business travels. I guess if I add an extra link in the chain that will make it harder for the bedbugs to reach me. My grandmother used to tell me stories about when my grandfather was stationed in the Aleutian Islands, and they lived in a Quonset hut, and how bad the bedbugs were up there. I don't know if she was talking about actual bedbugs-bedbugs, or just bugs in general, but I always think about that when I hear about bedbugs.
I just went back and re-read the whole post on craigslist. I didn't cut-and-paste the whole thing, because it got a little explicit, and I figured the first sentence was all the ammunition I needed anyway, but this guy is available up until five o'clock today. Because that would be what time he needs to get home to his wife and kids in suburbia, I assume. Geez. I probably need to stop looking at this crap, because this is what's going to make me never date again--fear of ending up with one of these jackasses.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Freakshow of the Day: A Triumvirate
Yes, motherfuckers. I said triumvirate. Because I am a Word.Smith. I debated for a few seconds between troika and triumvirate, but I've always liked triumvirate better. Sounds more latinish, and not like the Spanish kind of latinish. Obviously, this is a hott night on craigslist.
1) Seeking a sexy granny for hot fun tonight just make sure you can hang on responses with pics get first service wanna make sure you really are a gilf and female this is a real ad so you should be to it was 94 in richmond today thanks for reading
Okay, the guy who posted this was 31 years old. Ewwww, grossssss. Are you kidding me? I'm a little annoyed that he didn't put an age range for the grannies on his post, because sadly, I know a few people I went to high school with who are now grandparents. And I'm only 36. Okay, on the tail end of 36, but still. He really needs to specify. Does he want to do a Stifler in American Wedding, or he is just looking to hook up with a 40 year old woman who had her first child at 16, and her first grandchild at 39? Somehow, I feel like he's looking for a granny-granny, with saggy bat-wing arms and stuff. Actually, I call those arm flaps bingo wings, because that's really more appropriate. I laugh now, but I'll have me some bingo wings myself in another 20 or so years. Of course, that'll be cool, because my husband (if I ever get another one) will have himself some goat nuts that hang down to his knees, so we'll be a good match. I've never understood why men's testicles hang so much when they get older, other than it's the same concept as a woman's breasts. I worked with this old guy a few years ago, and I really think his nuts were a separate entity that were just attached to his body. They just bounced along in his pants. We'd see him coming down the hall or wherever we were, and I'd be like, oh, god, here comes so-and-so and his nuts. He sat down, his nuts sat down. He stood up and went back to his office, and there went his nuts. It's a hard concept to actually put in writing, which is really something for me, but all the women I worked with that I pointed this out to, they all agreed with me. Maybe it had something to do with this man being Italian. I don't know.
2) I would like to drink from your breast. I hear it is very comforting and a womans milk is sweet.
This might be kind of similar as the guy looking for an older woman with saggy breasts. I don't think he's posted again, so he might have just found him a hookup. For some reason, I keep reading this post with an Indian accent. You know, the kind of Indian accent you hear when you call American Express for assistance and you end up talking to some guy named Bob who has quite obviously never left Bangladesh. That outsourced Indian accent. Seriously, try it. Read this post out loud, and do it in an Indian accent. It's funny as shit. In fact, add to the beginning, "Hello, my name is Bob..." I always get pissed off when I call AmEx and end up talking to someone across the ocean. I then yell at them and tell them that dammit, I called American Express and I want to speak to a damn American, so can they patch me through to New York? When they refuse to patch me through to an American, or at least an Indian with an American accent, I get even more annoyed and remind them that I didn't open an account with Indian Express, I opened an account with American Express and I want to speaking to a fucking American. This is my obverse way of fucking with telemarketers, because I called them instead of them calling me. The best telemarketer screwing with I ever did, though, was to explain a few years ago to the Comcast telemarketer who called to sign me up for HBO was that no, I don't want HBO because it's too dirty, but can you see about getting me the CPN channel? She said she's not familiar with the CPN channel, and what is that? I tell her it's the Christian Porn Network, and my pastor has recommended that to me. In fact, not only did my pastor recommend it, but he said that he'll come over and guide me through some of the viewings during a confidential in-home one-on-one counseling session. So can you get me that channel? And on the Comcast end of the phone, complete silence. Because I said this with all seriousness and this lady isn't sure if I'm screwing with her or if I'm being serious. So I ask her again if she can arrange to get me that channel and how much extra will it cost, because this is really important and my pastor says that my salvation is dependant upon it. She says she'll have to check on it, but wouldn't HBO be just as good? I tell her no, it absolutely wouldn't, because my pastor said it's way too sinful. She says she'll have to check on it and call me back, which she never did. Imagine that. Ultimately, I won that battle. Best telemarketer screwing I ever got? My father decided to start giving out my number when telemarketers called him, at the height of the whole telemarketer thing before the Do Not Call List. Gee, thanks. One point for dad, zero points for me.
3) Looking for adult fun with couple or select SWM. We have herpes, you should have it too, or be prepared to deal with it. Respond with local reference in title. No picture, no reply.
Okay, this is just extra gross. I'll give this couple, or whomever (brother and sister) credit for being honest about the STD, but this is just gross. Now, I'm no brain surgeon, but I thought that once someone contracted a disease like this, and it gets in your body and your DNA gets mixed up with it, and you take medication (or stop taking your medication against medical advice) then the disease might change or mutate ever so slightly, and that your specific disease might then mix with someone else's disease and that's how we end up with medication resistant diseases. I mean, if we've got medication resistant lice out there, god only knows what else might be medication resistant. Again, gross. Yet another example of why craigslist is look-but-don't-touch. For god's sake, people, use a jimmy cover. Some shit doesn't wash off.
1) Seeking a sexy granny for hot fun tonight just make sure you can hang on responses with pics get first service wanna make sure you really are a gilf and female this is a real ad so you should be to it was 94 in richmond today thanks for reading
Okay, the guy who posted this was 31 years old. Ewwww, grossssss. Are you kidding me? I'm a little annoyed that he didn't put an age range for the grannies on his post, because sadly, I know a few people I went to high school with who are now grandparents. And I'm only 36. Okay, on the tail end of 36, but still. He really needs to specify. Does he want to do a Stifler in American Wedding, or he is just looking to hook up with a 40 year old woman who had her first child at 16, and her first grandchild at 39? Somehow, I feel like he's looking for a granny-granny, with saggy bat-wing arms and stuff. Actually, I call those arm flaps bingo wings, because that's really more appropriate. I laugh now, but I'll have me some bingo wings myself in another 20 or so years. Of course, that'll be cool, because my husband (if I ever get another one) will have himself some goat nuts that hang down to his knees, so we'll be a good match. I've never understood why men's testicles hang so much when they get older, other than it's the same concept as a woman's breasts. I worked with this old guy a few years ago, and I really think his nuts were a separate entity that were just attached to his body. They just bounced along in his pants. We'd see him coming down the hall or wherever we were, and I'd be like, oh, god, here comes so-and-so and his nuts. He sat down, his nuts sat down. He stood up and went back to his office, and there went his nuts. It's a hard concept to actually put in writing, which is really something for me, but all the women I worked with that I pointed this out to, they all agreed with me. Maybe it had something to do with this man being Italian. I don't know.
2) I would like to drink from your breast. I hear it is very comforting and a womans milk is sweet.
This might be kind of similar as the guy looking for an older woman with saggy breasts. I don't think he's posted again, so he might have just found him a hookup. For some reason, I keep reading this post with an Indian accent. You know, the kind of Indian accent you hear when you call American Express for assistance and you end up talking to some guy named Bob who has quite obviously never left Bangladesh. That outsourced Indian accent. Seriously, try it. Read this post out loud, and do it in an Indian accent. It's funny as shit. In fact, add to the beginning, "Hello, my name is Bob..." I always get pissed off when I call AmEx and end up talking to someone across the ocean. I then yell at them and tell them that dammit, I called American Express and I want to speak to a damn American, so can they patch me through to New York? When they refuse to patch me through to an American, or at least an Indian with an American accent, I get even more annoyed and remind them that I didn't open an account with Indian Express, I opened an account with American Express and I want to speaking to a fucking American. This is my obverse way of fucking with telemarketers, because I called them instead of them calling me. The best telemarketer screwing with I ever did, though, was to explain a few years ago to the Comcast telemarketer who called to sign me up for HBO was that no, I don't want HBO because it's too dirty, but can you see about getting me the CPN channel? She said she's not familiar with the CPN channel, and what is that? I tell her it's the Christian Porn Network, and my pastor has recommended that to me. In fact, not only did my pastor recommend it, but he said that he'll come over and guide me through some of the viewings during a confidential in-home one-on-one counseling session. So can you get me that channel? And on the Comcast end of the phone, complete silence. Because I said this with all seriousness and this lady isn't sure if I'm screwing with her or if I'm being serious. So I ask her again if she can arrange to get me that channel and how much extra will it cost, because this is really important and my pastor says that my salvation is dependant upon it. She says she'll have to check on it, but wouldn't HBO be just as good? I tell her no, it absolutely wouldn't, because my pastor said it's way too sinful. She says she'll have to check on it and call me back, which she never did. Imagine that. Ultimately, I won that battle. Best telemarketer screwing I ever got? My father decided to start giving out my number when telemarketers called him, at the height of the whole telemarketer thing before the Do Not Call List. Gee, thanks. One point for dad, zero points for me.
3) Looking for adult fun with couple or select SWM. We have herpes, you should have it too, or be prepared to deal with it. Respond with local reference in title. No picture, no reply.
Okay, this is just extra gross. I'll give this couple, or whomever (brother and sister) credit for being honest about the STD, but this is just gross. Now, I'm no brain surgeon, but I thought that once someone contracted a disease like this, and it gets in your body and your DNA gets mixed up with it, and you take medication (or stop taking your medication against medical advice) then the disease might change or mutate ever so slightly, and that your specific disease might then mix with someone else's disease and that's how we end up with medication resistant diseases. I mean, if we've got medication resistant lice out there, god only knows what else might be medication resistant. Again, gross. Yet another example of why craigslist is look-but-don't-touch. For god's sake, people, use a jimmy cover. Some shit doesn't wash off.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Freakshow of the Day
Here we go:
I am seeking an attractive 18-25 year old female who enjoys shopping and being worshipped. I am the type of guy who will kiss my girls feet and do almost anything to make her happy, seriously. I would drive my girl and her friends around wherever she wants to go, out to eat, to a movie, whatever. I would come clean her house, wash her car and do her laundry. I will kiss her feet in front of her friends. I have my act together and all I need is the company of a sexy young lady. I am interested in something long term or just hanging out sometime. Please send me a picture and tell me about yourself.
Okay, so this isn't really a freakshow in the true meaning of the word freakshow, but more just sad. Oh my god, what is wrong with this guy? It's no wonder he can't get a date or anything. I think the title of this post should have just been "Really Clingy and Needy". Because that's what this is. Either this poor guy is so desperate for some female attention that he'll resort to this, or he's got some really serious issues. And the woman who ends up with him? Oh my. What a hot mess this could be. I want to email him and say, dude, grow a set. Please. If a woman wants to date a man with no balls, then she'll find a nice dyke.
I am seeking an attractive 18-25 year old female who enjoys shopping and being worshipped. I am the type of guy who will kiss my girls feet and do almost anything to make her happy, seriously. I would drive my girl and her friends around wherever she wants to go, out to eat, to a movie, whatever. I would come clean her house, wash her car and do her laundry. I will kiss her feet in front of her friends. I have my act together and all I need is the company of a sexy young lady. I am interested in something long term or just hanging out sometime. Please send me a picture and tell me about yourself.
Okay, so this isn't really a freakshow in the true meaning of the word freakshow, but more just sad. Oh my god, what is wrong with this guy? It's no wonder he can't get a date or anything. I think the title of this post should have just been "Really Clingy and Needy". Because that's what this is. Either this poor guy is so desperate for some female attention that he'll resort to this, or he's got some really serious issues. And the woman who ends up with him? Oh my. What a hot mess this could be. I want to email him and say, dude, grow a set. Please. If a woman wants to date a man with no balls, then she'll find a nice dyke.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Freakshow of the Day
It's taking more and more work to find my freakshow of the day. I've checked out the craigslists in other areas and I must say, not much better than the Richmond craigslist. I mean, I haven't ventured far beyond the men for women, but I might have to start. Of course, I could just be getting numb to this tripe.
Anyway, here goes:
"Hey ladies im not going to waste your time, so please dont waste mines.. Im a single male thats in the swinger lifestyle. I had a partner that i use to attend parties with. But she moved. Im looking for a mature sexi drama, clean female for some nsa fun that like to attend parties or who wants to give it a try."
Ahhhh, a swinger's party. Good stuff. I've never been to any swinger's parties, and I never will. Not my ball of wax. But I know a couple of people who have done that, and I probably know a couple more people who have done it but I don't know they've done it. Anyway, one guy was a friend of The Ex's, and the way The Ex explained it to me was that this guy's ex-wife sucked his friend into it because the ex-wife wanted to screw around and not get in trouble for it. This was the explanation given years before I realized The Ex tends to blame everything on the ex-wife. Thanks to me, he'll soon have two ex-wives to blame. The other person that I know, we used to work together, and she said that while she and her husband were stationed at this military base (god, there's always a military base in one of these stories, right?), her next door neighbors used to have dinner parties quite frequently, and she was somewhat insulted that she and her husband never got invited. So she said something to the neighbor one time, and the neighbor fessed up that the dinner parties were actually swinger's parties. Dinner of a different sort. But that was the cover story, a dinner party. My friend said she would have never known, because everyone going in the house always had some kind of casserole dish with them. She and her husband were in the Air Force, thus explaining the nifty cover story. If we were talking about oh, say, the Marines, the cover story would have just been it's a swinger's party.
Since I've never been to a swinger's party, I have no idea what happens. I don't know if it's just one straight orgy in the living room, and everyone is just going at it, or if they split up, or what happens. I am left to my imagination, which is really a scary thing. I wouldn't get involved in this because, like I said, it's not my ball of wax, but what if you get stuck with someone who isn't that attractive? How do you decide who gets who? Draw names out of a hat or something? Is it like picking teams for middle school kickball (which we all know was excruciating)? Who picks first? What's the order of the picking? How does this work? Do you switch in the middle or something so you get more variety? Who decides that? So many questions, so few answers. I'm obviously not up on the swinger's etiquette, as you can tell.
The dumbest thing about all of this is what I can't get out of my mind. This would be that there's some kind of swinger's ref kind of running around the party, and after about an hour (I guess?) this person - and this is the absolute dumbest part of my imagination - blows a whistle or something and yells "Switch!" and then everyone switches. I don't know how I've got this association stuck in my brain, and this bothers me, because I remember where most of my brain associations come from. I wonder if this is the remnant of some drunk ass conversation I had with someone sometime, and this is what's left. I remember one drunk ass conversation I had when I was in high school at a party. I was talking to this guy I knew only very remotely who went to the private school, and I was on this uncircumcised rant, and I blathered on for about a half an hour and finally this guy looks at me and tells me he's not circumcised. Oops. Anyway, back to swinging. I can't listen to the Will Smith song "Switch" without thinking about this. I can't hear someone say this word without cracking up. And then they look at me, and I just shrug and say, "Swingers". But they don't get the humor in it, because they aren't in my brain, and so it just takes too much time to explain what's in my brain and the humor is lost by the time I try to explain the whole thing. So I don't explain anymore.
If you know how this whole thing works, feel free to drop me a line to explain it. But be warned, I'll cut-and-paste the email onto the blog, because I think everyone should know this. So at least make sure it's grammatically correct.
Anyway, here goes:
"Hey ladies im not going to waste your time, so please dont waste mines.. Im a single male thats in the swinger lifestyle. I had a partner that i use to attend parties with. But she moved. Im looking for a mature sexi drama, clean female for some nsa fun that like to attend parties or who wants to give it a try."
Ahhhh, a swinger's party. Good stuff. I've never been to any swinger's parties, and I never will. Not my ball of wax. But I know a couple of people who have done that, and I probably know a couple more people who have done it but I don't know they've done it. Anyway, one guy was a friend of The Ex's, and the way The Ex explained it to me was that this guy's ex-wife sucked his friend into it because the ex-wife wanted to screw around and not get in trouble for it. This was the explanation given years before I realized The Ex tends to blame everything on the ex-wife. Thanks to me, he'll soon have two ex-wives to blame. The other person that I know, we used to work together, and she said that while she and her husband were stationed at this military base (god, there's always a military base in one of these stories, right?), her next door neighbors used to have dinner parties quite frequently, and she was somewhat insulted that she and her husband never got invited. So she said something to the neighbor one time, and the neighbor fessed up that the dinner parties were actually swinger's parties. Dinner of a different sort. But that was the cover story, a dinner party. My friend said she would have never known, because everyone going in the house always had some kind of casserole dish with them. She and her husband were in the Air Force, thus explaining the nifty cover story. If we were talking about oh, say, the Marines, the cover story would have just been it's a swinger's party.
Since I've never been to a swinger's party, I have no idea what happens. I don't know if it's just one straight orgy in the living room, and everyone is just going at it, or if they split up, or what happens. I am left to my imagination, which is really a scary thing. I wouldn't get involved in this because, like I said, it's not my ball of wax, but what if you get stuck with someone who isn't that attractive? How do you decide who gets who? Draw names out of a hat or something? Is it like picking teams for middle school kickball (which we all know was excruciating)? Who picks first? What's the order of the picking? How does this work? Do you switch in the middle or something so you get more variety? Who decides that? So many questions, so few answers. I'm obviously not up on the swinger's etiquette, as you can tell.
The dumbest thing about all of this is what I can't get out of my mind. This would be that there's some kind of swinger's ref kind of running around the party, and after about an hour (I guess?) this person - and this is the absolute dumbest part of my imagination - blows a whistle or something and yells "Switch!" and then everyone switches. I don't know how I've got this association stuck in my brain, and this bothers me, because I remember where most of my brain associations come from. I wonder if this is the remnant of some drunk ass conversation I had with someone sometime, and this is what's left. I remember one drunk ass conversation I had when I was in high school at a party. I was talking to this guy I knew only very remotely who went to the private school, and I was on this uncircumcised rant, and I blathered on for about a half an hour and finally this guy looks at me and tells me he's not circumcised. Oops. Anyway, back to swinging. I can't listen to the Will Smith song "Switch" without thinking about this. I can't hear someone say this word without cracking up. And then they look at me, and I just shrug and say, "Swingers". But they don't get the humor in it, because they aren't in my brain, and so it just takes too much time to explain what's in my brain and the humor is lost by the time I try to explain the whole thing. So I don't explain anymore.
If you know how this whole thing works, feel free to drop me a line to explain it. But be warned, I'll cut-and-paste the email onto the blog, because I think everyone should know this. So at least make sure it's grammatically correct.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Freakshow of the Day
Here it is.
"Hey there, I'm a college student from [deleted because I feel like being somewhat considerate tonight]. Work and school have really taken their toll on my personal life over the past few years and I'd really like to meet a fun woman to spend time with. I cannot provide everything a woman deserves in a relationship whilst completing my studies. Everyone deserves to have fun from time to time, though. Hopefully there is a real woman out there who is seeking a similar situation. I'm real, attractive, fit, healthy, fun, and I love to please my woman. If you're seeking someone to spend some time with once in a while, truly feel relaxed, and be extremely pleasured... send me a message!"
Okay, if you're a regular reader of my blog, or even semi-regular, you might have picked up on the fact that there are a few near-obsolete jackass-y words I use on a somewhat regular basis, because I think it's fun to mix stuff up. Old words, new words, that's the joy of what's in my brain. Did you pick up on one of my favorite words in his post, one of the words I like so much it's even a label? It's simply labelicious, which sounds kind of vulgar although for once, it's not meant to.
Oh my god, he used the word whilst. And the whole post is grammatically correct and free from spelling errors. This might be the man for me. Except (and there's always an except with me), he's only 20. That would mean that while I was out running around naked in pastures charging willy-nilly into electrified barbwire fences, in a little crossroads named Darlington Heights, this guy was... being born. Uhhhhh, Beavis. Yeah, unfortunately, he might be a little too young for me.
One of my girlfriends, this woman, she is a hot mess. And when I say hot mess, I mean in a supercharged, supersonic kind of hot mess way. She met a guy on x-box (I'm not making this up, I swear), fell into like with him (on x-box), met him at the beach and immediately moved him into her house. He's only 22. She's 42. Like I said, a hot mess. So now she has fallen out of like with this guy, but he moved into her house from Florida and can't move back for whatever reason. He is now living on her sofa and she's out running around with some other guy who is... 26. She was bitching and moaning about the whole situation and how immature this 22 year old guy is (duh), and another woman got involved in the conversation, like we tend to do, and tried to intellectualize the whole thing. Personally, I thought this was such a dumb move on my girlfriend's part that it really couldn't be intellectualized. The buttinski was discussing how frontal lobes don't even develop completely until a person is around 25, so that's why this 22 year old guy is acting like a complete child. It's his frontal lobe. I didn't bother to add that it could also be mommy issues, because I thought that was so apparent that it didn't need to be verbalized. We were talking the other day, and she was discussing all of these younger guys that she runs around with, and I'm just like, how in the hell are you snagging all of these guys? I mean, I know the answer and all, but it was more of a theoretical kind of question. I'm sorry, but I just think someone who just got alcohol legal in the past few years might be a little too young. I do have some standards.
So my freakshow of the day isn't really a freakshow, unless you count using proper grammar and spelling on craigslist to be so highly unusual it qualifies as freakshow just because it's so out of the ordinary. I just got so super excited that someone else used the word whilst I couldn't help but to share.
"Hey there, I'm a college student from [deleted because I feel like being somewhat considerate tonight]. Work and school have really taken their toll on my personal life over the past few years and I'd really like to meet a fun woman to spend time with. I cannot provide everything a woman deserves in a relationship whilst completing my studies. Everyone deserves to have fun from time to time, though. Hopefully there is a real woman out there who is seeking a similar situation. I'm real, attractive, fit, healthy, fun, and I love to please my woman. If you're seeking someone to spend some time with once in a while, truly feel relaxed, and be extremely pleasured... send me a message!"
Okay, if you're a regular reader of my blog, or even semi-regular, you might have picked up on the fact that there are a few near-obsolete jackass-y words I use on a somewhat regular basis, because I think it's fun to mix stuff up. Old words, new words, that's the joy of what's in my brain. Did you pick up on one of my favorite words in his post, one of the words I like so much it's even a label? It's simply labelicious, which sounds kind of vulgar although for once, it's not meant to.
Oh my god, he used the word whilst. And the whole post is grammatically correct and free from spelling errors. This might be the man for me. Except (and there's always an except with me), he's only 20. That would mean that while I was out running around naked in pastures charging willy-nilly into electrified barbwire fences, in a little crossroads named Darlington Heights, this guy was... being born. Uhhhhh, Beavis. Yeah, unfortunately, he might be a little too young for me.
One of my girlfriends, this woman, she is a hot mess. And when I say hot mess, I mean in a supercharged, supersonic kind of hot mess way. She met a guy on x-box (I'm not making this up, I swear), fell into like with him (on x-box), met him at the beach and immediately moved him into her house. He's only 22. She's 42. Like I said, a hot mess. So now she has fallen out of like with this guy, but he moved into her house from Florida and can't move back for whatever reason. He is now living on her sofa and she's out running around with some other guy who is... 26. She was bitching and moaning about the whole situation and how immature this 22 year old guy is (duh), and another woman got involved in the conversation, like we tend to do, and tried to intellectualize the whole thing. Personally, I thought this was such a dumb move on my girlfriend's part that it really couldn't be intellectualized. The buttinski was discussing how frontal lobes don't even develop completely until a person is around 25, so that's why this 22 year old guy is acting like a complete child. It's his frontal lobe. I didn't bother to add that it could also be mommy issues, because I thought that was so apparent that it didn't need to be verbalized. We were talking the other day, and she was discussing all of these younger guys that she runs around with, and I'm just like, how in the hell are you snagging all of these guys? I mean, I know the answer and all, but it was more of a theoretical kind of question. I'm sorry, but I just think someone who just got alcohol legal in the past few years might be a little too young. I do have some standards.
So my freakshow of the day isn't really a freakshow, unless you count using proper grammar and spelling on craigslist to be so highly unusual it qualifies as freakshow just because it's so out of the ordinary. I just got so super excited that someone else used the word whilst I couldn't help but to share.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Freakshow of the Day
For your reading pleasure. Actually, not so much the ad, but my commentary that will surely follow.
"Hi hope everyone is good and thank for reading this . I am a married male who wife is unable to have any fun medical reason ."
He goes on for a few more lines, not even that explicitly, either. So maybe he's not that much of a freakshow, at least not like the guy last night, or the night before (god, they all blend in after a couple of months of looking at this SHIT) who wants a woman who will wear a black ski mask whilst performing oral sex upon his manhood. That gentleman was kind enough to post pictures of his last encounter with his lady friend wearing said mask, I assume to demonstrate exactly how high his standards are set. I'll go ahead and address this now. According to the pictures that I viewed, as I've never actually seen anyone wearing a ski mask in person, other than some dumbass high school guys while they were skiing (imagine that), but anyway, wearing a ski mask whilst performing oral sex certainly distorts a woman's features, and not in a pretty way. I am left wondering: was this guy involved in some kind of robbery gone terribly awry? And then I'm left with my sick imagination to try to figure out exactly how awry any such robbery could have gone and how that whole thing could have happened. Or, is this some kind of fetish he might have developed in prison? The prison thing wouldn't be that unbelievable to me, because stuff happens in prison. And not much of it is pretty. I also had to wonder about the woman in the pictures, because who does that? Unless she was receiving some kind of compensation. She certainly didn't look upset, but I couldn't see much of her face due to the ski mask, so I don't know. I know how deviant stuff works in people's brains, and I understand the psychology of it all. But understanding the psychology of it all still doesn't remove the next element in my brain, which would be the "what the fuck is wrong with people" element?
Anyway, back to tonight's selection. I promise you on the batteries in my vibrator, I have not edited or changed any of the wording. All spelling and grammar is straight off the cut-and-paste. I'm tempted to email this jackass from my anonymous non-blog linked asshole email and ask if his wife is unable to partake in fun with him because she's comatose from marrying a moron. Because that's what I immediately assumed from reading this post. Or, or, or... she's convinced him that she can't have any fun because of a medical reason. Women will do that sometimes, and if you know she hasn't given birth lately, had surgery or going through chemotherapy or radiation, it's probably a lot of bullshit. I've used this excuse myself to get out of sex, namely by refusing to have sex because I was wearing a hard cast on my wrist. Oh, the bitching and whining and pouting that ensued. I'll just say that it's damn near impossible to feel hot and bothered when you're wearing a hard cast. If you doubt me, well, let's hook up at my house (or yours) and I'll whack the shit out of your wrist with a hammer, thus causing you to be in need of a hard cast. You can then test my premise for yourself. Nothing can fix not feeling amorous when you have a cast, other than removal of the cast. Or removal of the husband. Check and check. What I really wanted to do was clunk him over the head with the cast. Just knock that bastard right out, and then we're done with the bitching and whining. But back to the matter at hand, the man with the wife who can't have fun due to a medical reason. I'll give homeboy a half a credit for at least being honest and admitting he's married. I'll have to assume that whomever answers him is probably as illiterate as he is, because only another illiterate person would not be scared off by that level of illiteracy. And I'm quite pleased that I managed to work in some variation of the word illiterate into one sentence three times. God, I rock out some wordsmithing.
"Hi hope everyone is good and thank for reading this . I am a married male who wife is unable to have any fun medical reason ."
He goes on for a few more lines, not even that explicitly, either. So maybe he's not that much of a freakshow, at least not like the guy last night, or the night before (god, they all blend in after a couple of months of looking at this SHIT) who wants a woman who will wear a black ski mask whilst performing oral sex upon his manhood. That gentleman was kind enough to post pictures of his last encounter with his lady friend wearing said mask, I assume to demonstrate exactly how high his standards are set. I'll go ahead and address this now. According to the pictures that I viewed, as I've never actually seen anyone wearing a ski mask in person, other than some dumbass high school guys while they were skiing (imagine that), but anyway, wearing a ski mask whilst performing oral sex certainly distorts a woman's features, and not in a pretty way. I am left wondering: was this guy involved in some kind of robbery gone terribly awry? And then I'm left with my sick imagination to try to figure out exactly how awry any such robbery could have gone and how that whole thing could have happened. Or, is this some kind of fetish he might have developed in prison? The prison thing wouldn't be that unbelievable to me, because stuff happens in prison. And not much of it is pretty. I also had to wonder about the woman in the pictures, because who does that? Unless she was receiving some kind of compensation. She certainly didn't look upset, but I couldn't see much of her face due to the ski mask, so I don't know. I know how deviant stuff works in people's brains, and I understand the psychology of it all. But understanding the psychology of it all still doesn't remove the next element in my brain, which would be the "what the fuck is wrong with people" element?
Anyway, back to tonight's selection. I promise you on the batteries in my vibrator, I have not edited or changed any of the wording. All spelling and grammar is straight off the cut-and-paste. I'm tempted to email this jackass from my anonymous non-blog linked asshole email and ask if his wife is unable to partake in fun with him because she's comatose from marrying a moron. Because that's what I immediately assumed from reading this post. Or, or, or... she's convinced him that she can't have any fun because of a medical reason. Women will do that sometimes, and if you know she hasn't given birth lately, had surgery or going through chemotherapy or radiation, it's probably a lot of bullshit. I've used this excuse myself to get out of sex, namely by refusing to have sex because I was wearing a hard cast on my wrist. Oh, the bitching and whining and pouting that ensued. I'll just say that it's damn near impossible to feel hot and bothered when you're wearing a hard cast. If you doubt me, well, let's hook up at my house (or yours) and I'll whack the shit out of your wrist with a hammer, thus causing you to be in need of a hard cast. You can then test my premise for yourself. Nothing can fix not feeling amorous when you have a cast, other than removal of the cast. Or removal of the husband. Check and check. What I really wanted to do was clunk him over the head with the cast. Just knock that bastard right out, and then we're done with the bitching and whining. But back to the matter at hand, the man with the wife who can't have fun due to a medical reason. I'll give homeboy a half a credit for at least being honest and admitting he's married. I'll have to assume that whomever answers him is probably as illiterate as he is, because only another illiterate person would not be scared off by that level of illiteracy. And I'm quite pleased that I managed to work in some variation of the word illiterate into one sentence three times. God, I rock out some wordsmithing.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Skeet
This is the word that brought forth the technological bubonic plague onto my computer yesterday. I was trying to wrap up an afternoon of blissful nothingness and get in one last blog before the children came home, and figured I'd troll around craigslist for a few minutes looking for my freakshow of the day. Now, I'm no dumbass, but every now and then I'll come across something and I'm like, huh? What's that?
That's what I came across yesterday. I was trolling through the women for men ads, because I want my freakshows to be equal opportunity. So I find this one ad, about three lines long, and the last line says something to the effect of "I skeet, and [some other bullshit I can't remember]." I immediately thought, why would she put something about skeet shooting in a personal ad that's on the casual encounters section? This is what happens when my country ass gets on craigslist sometimes. I don't know what some of these people are talking about. But never fear, because I know I can look this stuff up on Urban Dictionary. Everything you never wanted to know about our evolving lexicon - yeah, it's on Urban Dictionary. I knew that was exactly the place to look up skeet, because although I know about skeet shooting, and I've gone skeet shooting before, I really felt like that's not what this woman was referring to.
Off to Urban Dictionary. Look up skeet. It's there. Apparently this is the urban term for the Vatican approved method of birth control. In fact, I think it might be the only Vatican approved method of birth control, but for real, I'm not Catholic. I have to go on what I hear. Or maybe it's the Mormons. I don't know. So you get what skeet is, right? Technically, I guess this could also be considered skeet shooting. Or skeet dribbling, and I don't mean shooting at basketballs, although it just struck me how much fun that might be. Well, at least now I know what that means and I'll add that I felt kind of stupid for not knowing this. I mean, I listen to Lil Wayne and Drake. I should have already known this. What this means, if you haven't gotten my drift by now, is that home girl does not use jimmy covers and at the end of the show, all equipment must be immediately withdrawn prior to the big finale. I figured I had my freakshow of the day, because at this point, I just wanted to be able to enlarge the lexicon of whomever might be reading my blog. I should work to educate others periodically.
And. Then. It. Happened.
The. Virus. Got. Me.
All kinds of shit started popping up on my screen, and I'm thinking, oh my God, what's going on? What is that? I've never seen that warning before. And before I knew what to do, I was infected. I kind of figured that I had just gotten a virus, simply due to the vast array of misspellings on the "Purchase Now" webpage that I couldn't get off of, but I'm something of a moron when it comes to technology. I don't understand why my computer doesn't work faster. I thought that computers were smarter than me, so if I think it, and click it, it should happen instantaneously. I continue to be disappointed that it doesn't work like that. How is it possible for me to think faster than a computer? I'm smart and all, but I'm no genius. In fact, I only scored 129 on the last online IQ test I took. In fact again, I'll be honest and deduct a few points because I cheated on some of the math questions, so we'll knock it down to 123.67398. Obviously Mensa is not waiting on me, so how am I able to think faster than my computer? When I would ask that question to The Ex, in a theoretical kind of way, he would give me the dumbest look. He never would answer, but would just give me the look. I'll have to assume he didn't know, either.
So all this stuff starts popping up on my computer, and I immediately freak out because it won't go away, and thus, I can't do anything on the internet and the internet is my lifeblood. What the fuck is there for a separated woman to do besides sit around on facebook, blog about stupid stuff and troll on craigslist? Does this mean I might have to go back to my early summer plan of re-reading all of my books? How will I know what's going on out there? How can I obsessively check my email for what will never be there if I can't get on the internet? How will I know if I'm someone's missed connection if I can't log on? How can I pimp my blog out? Oh my god, I might lose my followers. All four of them. They might abandon me if I don't put up some post in the next couple of days. People today, we need our instant gratification and what if I'm not there to provide it? Oh, fuck, what will become of me?
To make a long story short, I went to work, looked up my virus and figured out how to make it go away. I am now smarter for knowing what a system restore is. Yay! for smart people in Microsoft who can make this happen in my computer but Boo! can't make the computer work as fast as I think. It really wasn't the bubonic plague, but it sure felt like it in my head. I spent a lot of time today thinking about skeet and how this virus basically skeeted all over my damn hard drive, and how ironic that was. Really, in more ways than one, me and my computer, we got skeeted.
That's what I came across yesterday. I was trolling through the women for men ads, because I want my freakshows to be equal opportunity. So I find this one ad, about three lines long, and the last line says something to the effect of "I skeet, and [some other bullshit I can't remember]." I immediately thought, why would she put something about skeet shooting in a personal ad that's on the casual encounters section? This is what happens when my country ass gets on craigslist sometimes. I don't know what some of these people are talking about. But never fear, because I know I can look this stuff up on Urban Dictionary. Everything you never wanted to know about our evolving lexicon - yeah, it's on Urban Dictionary. I knew that was exactly the place to look up skeet, because although I know about skeet shooting, and I've gone skeet shooting before, I really felt like that's not what this woman was referring to.
Off to Urban Dictionary. Look up skeet. It's there. Apparently this is the urban term for the Vatican approved method of birth control. In fact, I think it might be the only Vatican approved method of birth control, but for real, I'm not Catholic. I have to go on what I hear. Or maybe it's the Mormons. I don't know. So you get what skeet is, right? Technically, I guess this could also be considered skeet shooting. Or skeet dribbling, and I don't mean shooting at basketballs, although it just struck me how much fun that might be. Well, at least now I know what that means and I'll add that I felt kind of stupid for not knowing this. I mean, I listen to Lil Wayne and Drake. I should have already known this. What this means, if you haven't gotten my drift by now, is that home girl does not use jimmy covers and at the end of the show, all equipment must be immediately withdrawn prior to the big finale. I figured I had my freakshow of the day, because at this point, I just wanted to be able to enlarge the lexicon of whomever might be reading my blog. I should work to educate others periodically.
And. Then. It. Happened.
The. Virus. Got. Me.
All kinds of shit started popping up on my screen, and I'm thinking, oh my God, what's going on? What is that? I've never seen that warning before. And before I knew what to do, I was infected. I kind of figured that I had just gotten a virus, simply due to the vast array of misspellings on the "Purchase Now" webpage that I couldn't get off of, but I'm something of a moron when it comes to technology. I don't understand why my computer doesn't work faster. I thought that computers were smarter than me, so if I think it, and click it, it should happen instantaneously. I continue to be disappointed that it doesn't work like that. How is it possible for me to think faster than a computer? I'm smart and all, but I'm no genius. In fact, I only scored 129 on the last online IQ test I took. In fact again, I'll be honest and deduct a few points because I cheated on some of the math questions, so we'll knock it down to 123.67398. Obviously Mensa is not waiting on me, so how am I able to think faster than my computer? When I would ask that question to The Ex, in a theoretical kind of way, he would give me the dumbest look. He never would answer, but would just give me the look. I'll have to assume he didn't know, either.
So all this stuff starts popping up on my computer, and I immediately freak out because it won't go away, and thus, I can't do anything on the internet and the internet is my lifeblood. What the fuck is there for a separated woman to do besides sit around on facebook, blog about stupid stuff and troll on craigslist? Does this mean I might have to go back to my early summer plan of re-reading all of my books? How will I know what's going on out there? How can I obsessively check my email for what will never be there if I can't get on the internet? How will I know if I'm someone's missed connection if I can't log on? How can I pimp my blog out? Oh my god, I might lose my followers. All four of them. They might abandon me if I don't put up some post in the next couple of days. People today, we need our instant gratification and what if I'm not there to provide it? Oh, fuck, what will become of me?
To make a long story short, I went to work, looked up my virus and figured out how to make it go away. I am now smarter for knowing what a system restore is. Yay! for smart people in Microsoft who can make this happen in my computer but Boo! can't make the computer work as fast as I think. It really wasn't the bubonic plague, but it sure felt like it in my head. I spent a lot of time today thinking about skeet and how this virus basically skeeted all over my damn hard drive, and how ironic that was. Really, in more ways than one, me and my computer, we got skeeted.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Freakshow of the Day
It's my pleasure to bring you today's personal ad, straight from craigslist. I've combined the paragraphs because I don't want to give this jackass too much room on my blog.
"Mmm...delicious grilled swordfish topped with sauté of black olive, chopped walnut, onion, Roma, basil, minced clove, a little salt and pepper with Bertoli... I am having quite the mouth-gasm on my deck under the unseen stars and dribble of refreshing rain. But what should I drink? The Honey Moon, Killian's, Fosters, or Chardonnay? [New Paragraph] Hmmm, key words...: onyx, espresso, scarlet, bruised plum, brushed nickel or aluminum, antique bronze, iron, Rialto stone, marble, slate; functional modern, ancient or Victorian; painter, drawer, poet, builder, refurbisher, mechanically inclined; mostly extroverted, rather laugh than cry, a few beers or a bottle of good wine not a case; home owner, vehicle owner, decent job though not ' rich '; jeep or truck v. car; passionate, compassionate, animal lover, deep kisses; river rocks, caves, woods, mountains; technologically inclined, Apple smashes PC :) [New Paragraph] I would quite like to find a lovely gal to enjoy a dinner like this with me, go for walks, have just regular fun, laugh, just live in love and passion. I've been deeply hurt, but life is too short and I must move on now. Move on to more loving and happy things. I still have a bit of a wild hair but have been ready to settle down, indeed thought that I had, so there is an ongoing monogamy that I am seeking. I have my quirks and there are things, at thirty, that I like in the bedroom, so I am quite certainly not a straight edge by any means. I am, however, not into drugs, heavy beverage use, or STD's. It is quite a joy to take care of my woman and not in a sugar daddy sense. So no silly trollops misinterpreting that please. [New Paragraph] Yes, no picture. People know me. Once I verify that you are indeed real I would be happy to send you one. I am Caucasian, height weight proportionate, nonsmoker, ddf, single. [New Paragraph] Gosh, I am sickly sated with gastronomical pleasures...washed down quite well with Honey Moon."
Okay, is it just me or this douchebag also a pompous (although probably well educated) jackass or WHAT? Either that or he's gay and just doesn't know it, because what man cooks like that for himself????? Men scratch their nuts and eat raw meat when they're alone. I know this. Come on, let's be for real. And what is up with those keywords? Bruised plum? Huh? Why does that make me think of back door sex gone horribly wrong for the woman? Maybe this is his way of articulating that he's a renaissance metrosexual without just saying he's a renaissance metrosexual. I dislike his comment that it's a joy to take care of his woman. I'm think we might have landed in that gray area between chauvinism and sadism. Also note him saying he would quite like to find... this guy is either British or he wants to be. I don't have much more to say, because I think this whole ad pretty much speaks for itself. Consider it yet another shining example of why I'm a little scared to venture out there into the dating world.
"Mmm...delicious grilled swordfish topped with sauté of black olive, chopped walnut, onion, Roma, basil, minced clove, a little salt and pepper with Bertoli... I am having quite the mouth-gasm on my deck under the unseen stars and dribble of refreshing rain. But what should I drink? The Honey Moon, Killian's, Fosters, or Chardonnay? [New Paragraph] Hmmm, key words...: onyx, espresso, scarlet, bruised plum, brushed nickel or aluminum, antique bronze, iron, Rialto stone, marble, slate; functional modern, ancient or Victorian; painter, drawer, poet, builder, refurbisher, mechanically inclined; mostly extroverted, rather laugh than cry, a few beers or a bottle of good wine not a case; home owner, vehicle owner, decent job though not ' rich '; jeep or truck v. car; passionate, compassionate, animal lover, deep kisses; river rocks, caves, woods, mountains; technologically inclined, Apple smashes PC :) [New Paragraph] I would quite like to find a lovely gal to enjoy a dinner like this with me, go for walks, have just regular fun, laugh, just live in love and passion. I've been deeply hurt, but life is too short and I must move on now. Move on to more loving and happy things. I still have a bit of a wild hair but have been ready to settle down, indeed thought that I had, so there is an ongoing monogamy that I am seeking. I have my quirks and there are things, at thirty, that I like in the bedroom, so I am quite certainly not a straight edge by any means. I am, however, not into drugs, heavy beverage use, or STD's. It is quite a joy to take care of my woman and not in a sugar daddy sense. So no silly trollops misinterpreting that please. [New Paragraph] Yes, no picture. People know me. Once I verify that you are indeed real I would be happy to send you one. I am Caucasian, height weight proportionate, nonsmoker, ddf, single. [New Paragraph] Gosh, I am sickly sated with gastronomical pleasures...washed down quite well with Honey Moon."
Okay, is it just me or this douchebag also a pompous (although probably well educated) jackass or WHAT? Either that or he's gay and just doesn't know it, because what man cooks like that for himself????? Men scratch their nuts and eat raw meat when they're alone. I know this. Come on, let's be for real. And what is up with those keywords? Bruised plum? Huh? Why does that make me think of back door sex gone horribly wrong for the woman? Maybe this is his way of articulating that he's a renaissance metrosexual without just saying he's a renaissance metrosexual. I dislike his comment that it's a joy to take care of his woman. I'm think we might have landed in that gray area between chauvinism and sadism. Also note him saying he would quite like to find... this guy is either British or he wants to be. I don't have much more to say, because I think this whole ad pretty much speaks for itself. Consider it yet another shining example of why I'm a little scared to venture out there into the dating world.
Friday, September 10, 2010
New Category
Another follower! I must be on to something. I've decided that I'm creating a new category for my blog posts. Not like any of them have categories, other than my random iPod selections and random Wikiness, but anyone can do that. And I don't feel like doing that most of the time, although it's incredibly easy. If you're too lazy to do something that easy, then your heart really isn't into it. So my new category is going to be Freakshow of the Day. Yep, right off of craigslist. Since that's something that I'm already doing every day, I figure I might as well combine the two. The Richmond craigslist is always new and inviting, so I'm pretty sure I'll have new material until the coalition of state Attorneys General (I think that's the grammatically correct term for Attorney General gone plural) succeeds in getting the personal ads off of craigslist. But thank god for the internet and knowledge vacuums, because another site will pop up forthwith. Anyway, back to my freakshows. I might even mix it up and have non-sexual stuff periodically, or maybe I'll venture outside of the Richmond area (but I doubt that will really be necessary). However, I won't get too graphic or repost the pics, if there are pics attached to the post that I am critiquing. I don't want someone in bloggerdom to snitch me out to the blog police and then I'll inadvertently get bumped up to adult content. I googled myself the other day and found out I'm linked on an amateur porn site? Uh, thanks, I guess? Personally, I'd prefer intelligent erotica that really isn't either. Oh, wait, that IS porn.
I don't look at many blogs, simply due to the fact that I just don't have the time. It might cut into my craigslist time. Right now, I keep up with three of them, and none are linked on my blog because I can't figure out how to do that. I'll be working on that this weekend. I have, however, clicked "next blog" a few times just to see who my next door neighbors are, and I always end up with some touchy-feely woman who is really excited about writing her book or some family web/blog site with all the pics of the kids and how much they love their church and all that crap. This I find it to be hilarious, because for just that one moment in internet time, I'm their next door neighbor, waxing poetical about the freaks on craigslist, I was screwing around and got mulch in my hair, dropping the f-bomb with mad wordsmithing skillz, etc., etc., etc. I wonder if any of these people ever click their "next blog" button and end up on my page, and immediately begin to feel the burn of their retinas? Actually, I just did it and ended up on some gay men modeling pictures kind of blog.
So. Freakshow of the Day.
*I've edited some and cleaned it up a little* 49 year old white male in Richmond seeking the saggy breasts of an older woman of any race to do stuff with. In fact, that's all I'm going to say. I don't need to do any more editing or censoring because really, what else is there to say after that? I'm pretty sure this guy should have a full inbox at the end of the night, as I don't know many older women who don't have saggy breasts, unless they are of the well-to-do variety (or pretending to be) who have filled their boobs with implants and stuff. Implants never sag, unless the plastic surgeon was a complete hack and didn't do something right behind some muscle or something. Seriously, I get the impression that this guy was breastfed until he was about 16, because this is just weird. Maybe he grew up in the country and had a wet nurse? Except I don't think it's called that anymore. I actually think people still do this. When I was pregnant the first time and reading all these books about breastfeeding, there were chapters in a few of them about substitute nursing or something like that. Like, if you couldn't nurse for whatever reason, you could hand your child off to some other lactating woman and she could nurse the baby for you until you were able to. I don't know, I skipped those parts, because I was kind of like, what the fuck? Here we are, a completely industrialized nation, and we're talking about substitute nursing or co-nursing or something? If I can't nurse, then I will call upon the village of Similac.
I can say with the experience of a woman who has tried, breastfeeding is not easy. At least, it wasn't easy for me. I gave it a whole month with the older daughter, because her mouth was so small. That's really ironic for a child who turned out to have one of the biggest mouths around, right after me. Anyway, I was exhausted, trying to do the football hold on her (which most women can't do because we don't fucking play football) and figure out what was going on, is the milk going in, is it not going in, why won't she stop crying, oh shit it's time to pump. Yeah, so I gave that a month, since that's how long I had rented the pump. I was not going to buy a breast pump because I had no intention of using it for half of my life, and that's the only way you get your money's worth out of that investment. The end of the month came, and that was the end of the older daughter trying to breastfeed. Hello, formula. Although, I felt guilty for about six months, being that I was full of new mother anxiety and hormones, and because I had actually let some of the breastfeeding Nazis make me feel guilty. I'm sorry, I don't care how much weight it makes you lose, I don't want to suckle anything for years. Unless he's really hot and knows how to handle me.
The younger daughter, I'm a little ashamed to say, got exactly 12 hours to master the art of breastfeeding before I demanded the nurse to bring me a bottle. The second and subsequent children always get screwed, you know? We just don't seem to try as hard with them, probably because we know they'll live if we don't sleep with our eyes open while standing propped up beside the crib for about three months. I've compared sobriety to taking care of your children. I know that sounds strange, but sobriety is not easy. I know this and I'm not going to get into how I know this, at least not right now. Just take my word for it. So I try to tell people who are struggling with it, you have to nurture it, your sobriety. You have to nurture it, like you nurture a baby. Really, babies and sobriety are a lot of freaking work, especially if you're trying to do it right. But you have to nurture your sobriety like you did your first child, not your second child. If you nurture your sobriety like your second child, you'll be popping a top before you know it. You know that second child is fine if they sneeze a couple of times. You don't have a heart attack if they turn over in the middle of the night. You don't pass out when you see them chewing on something they found stuck up under the tray of the high chair. You don't agonize over how long they stay in the jumper, because you know it's not going to make them bow-legged.
Somehow I went from my new category of Freakshow of the Day to co-nursing to my own nursing experiences to sobriety to second child survival skills. This is just such an odd mix of topics I don't even know how to do a good wrap-up. So, like any conversation that I'm done with, even if you aren't done, I'll just walk away now.
I don't look at many blogs, simply due to the fact that I just don't have the time. It might cut into my craigslist time. Right now, I keep up with three of them, and none are linked on my blog because I can't figure out how to do that. I'll be working on that this weekend. I have, however, clicked "next blog" a few times just to see who my next door neighbors are, and I always end up with some touchy-feely woman who is really excited about writing her book or some family web/blog site with all the pics of the kids and how much they love their church and all that crap. This I find it to be hilarious, because for just that one moment in internet time, I'm their next door neighbor, waxing poetical about the freaks on craigslist, I was screwing around and got mulch in my hair, dropping the f-bomb with mad wordsmithing skillz, etc., etc., etc. I wonder if any of these people ever click their "next blog" button and end up on my page, and immediately begin to feel the burn of their retinas? Actually, I just did it and ended up on some gay men modeling pictures kind of blog.
So. Freakshow of the Day.
*I've edited some and cleaned it up a little* 49 year old white male in Richmond seeking the saggy breasts of an older woman of any race to do stuff with. In fact, that's all I'm going to say. I don't need to do any more editing or censoring because really, what else is there to say after that? I'm pretty sure this guy should have a full inbox at the end of the night, as I don't know many older women who don't have saggy breasts, unless they are of the well-to-do variety (or pretending to be) who have filled their boobs with implants and stuff. Implants never sag, unless the plastic surgeon was a complete hack and didn't do something right behind some muscle or something. Seriously, I get the impression that this guy was breastfed until he was about 16, because this is just weird. Maybe he grew up in the country and had a wet nurse? Except I don't think it's called that anymore. I actually think people still do this. When I was pregnant the first time and reading all these books about breastfeeding, there were chapters in a few of them about substitute nursing or something like that. Like, if you couldn't nurse for whatever reason, you could hand your child off to some other lactating woman and she could nurse the baby for you until you were able to. I don't know, I skipped those parts, because I was kind of like, what the fuck? Here we are, a completely industrialized nation, and we're talking about substitute nursing or co-nursing or something? If I can't nurse, then I will call upon the village of Similac.
I can say with the experience of a woman who has tried, breastfeeding is not easy. At least, it wasn't easy for me. I gave it a whole month with the older daughter, because her mouth was so small. That's really ironic for a child who turned out to have one of the biggest mouths around, right after me. Anyway, I was exhausted, trying to do the football hold on her (which most women can't do because we don't fucking play football) and figure out what was going on, is the milk going in, is it not going in, why won't she stop crying, oh shit it's time to pump. Yeah, so I gave that a month, since that's how long I had rented the pump. I was not going to buy a breast pump because I had no intention of using it for half of my life, and that's the only way you get your money's worth out of that investment. The end of the month came, and that was the end of the older daughter trying to breastfeed. Hello, formula. Although, I felt guilty for about six months, being that I was full of new mother anxiety and hormones, and because I had actually let some of the breastfeeding Nazis make me feel guilty. I'm sorry, I don't care how much weight it makes you lose, I don't want to suckle anything for years. Unless he's really hot and knows how to handle me.
The younger daughter, I'm a little ashamed to say, got exactly 12 hours to master the art of breastfeeding before I demanded the nurse to bring me a bottle. The second and subsequent children always get screwed, you know? We just don't seem to try as hard with them, probably because we know they'll live if we don't sleep with our eyes open while standing propped up beside the crib for about three months. I've compared sobriety to taking care of your children. I know that sounds strange, but sobriety is not easy. I know this and I'm not going to get into how I know this, at least not right now. Just take my word for it. So I try to tell people who are struggling with it, you have to nurture it, your sobriety. You have to nurture it, like you nurture a baby. Really, babies and sobriety are a lot of freaking work, especially if you're trying to do it right. But you have to nurture your sobriety like you did your first child, not your second child. If you nurture your sobriety like your second child, you'll be popping a top before you know it. You know that second child is fine if they sneeze a couple of times. You don't have a heart attack if they turn over in the middle of the night. You don't pass out when you see them chewing on something they found stuck up under the tray of the high chair. You don't agonize over how long they stay in the jumper, because you know it's not going to make them bow-legged.
Somehow I went from my new category of Freakshow of the Day to co-nursing to my own nursing experiences to sobriety to second child survival skills. This is just such an odd mix of topics I don't even know how to do a good wrap-up. So, like any conversation that I'm done with, even if you aren't done, I'll just walk away now.
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