Ring a ding dong

Well kids, for a minute there it looked promising. It looked like this dried up vagina might get some life breathed back into her yet. Just when she was packing her ovaries and getting ready to hit the road there was penis at the end of the tunnel. And I didn't even meet him at a bar!

We met at some ridiculous "convention" (and by convention I mean 60 nerds in an outdated ballroom in a shitty hotel all talking about the latest ways to test semen and hair follicles at a crime scene). He's a lab rat like me and while I usually am disgusted by men in my profession, he didn't make me vomit in my mouth.

Let me tell you, guys I work with are hideous 93% of the time. I wish they were as hot as all the lab crew dudes on tv but sadly, they aren't. They're old, balding, have beer guts, and most of the time spit food out of their mouths when they laugh. Ugly Asians or middle aged men. That's what I have to work with every day.

I hope little girls out there aren't aspiring to be lab rats in the hopes of meeting some bio mechanical hottie because it ain't gonna happen. You'll have better luck settling, becoming a receptionist at some corporation and having an affair with the married CEO. At least then you can convince him to buy you a car and a condo to keep you from interrupting Sunday dinner and showing his wife and kids the nudie pics he took of you last weekend.

My new goal in life: A realistic career counselor.

Anyway, dude was pretty cute and he seemed just as bored as I was. We ditched the last half of the "convention" and went out for a beer at some overpriced yuppie bar where every drink has a homo name and fruit in it.

As I do in all social situations, I drank....alot...too much to drive home without killing a small child or retarded pedestrian who isn't smart enough to stay out of the way of swerving cars. He called me a cab and slipped me his card.

I normally have a rule about going out with guys who actually give out their cards. But I think I'm turning over a new leaf and becoming a more forgiving human being. Or maybe I smelled dick in the water and my shark pussy needed to be fed.

I called him the next day and he suggested we grab some food and beer. Two of my favorite things. Afterwards we came back to my place and started some rather heated making out. It was like being a teenager and making out in the back seat of your boyfriend's car. The anticipation was building...

Then my cell phone rang. I didn't answer it of course. I don't care if someone is on their death bed. If I'm in hump mode I can't be bothered.

Then my cell rang again. And Again. And again.

He stopped and looked at me expectantly.

"Aren't you going to answer the phone?"

"No" I tried to keep the kissing going. He literally pushed me away.

"Seriously? Maybe it's something important. Obviously they really want to talk with you."

"I'll call them back."

"What if someone is hurt?"

"I'm not a doctor. Why would they be calling me?"

Silence.

"That's cold."

"Um...ok?"

"I can't believe you wouldn't answer the phone when it's so obvious someone is trying to get ahold of you."

"I can't believe you give this much of a shit."

Silence.

"I'm bored with you and now I think you're kinda weird. You can leave."

He called me a crazy bitch, and left.

Guys, don't put in your two cents. We don't care about your opinions. We want the lips shut and the pants off.

Oh, and the oh so important phone call? My mom. My mom telling me the check out girl at Target only charged her $6.99 for a sheet set when it should have been $69.99.

Jeb

I actually met a man with the name of Jeb this weekend. This was a first for me. And he was everything I ever wanted a Jeb to be. He was even wearing a John Deere shirt, and not in the douche bag way that same assholes wear it, like it's a fashion statement. No, he wore it because he owns a John Deere tractor and actually uses farming equipment for more than hillbilly races.

He chewed tobacco and spit it into a clear cup from QT.

He smelled like hay and horse ass hole.

He said "Little Lady" alot.

He talked about his ex wife and his daughter, who just turned 17, and how he wished he could see her more but they live "in some damn Yankee state now". (Side note, we live in what I would deem a Yankee state, but I wasn't going to argue with him)

He bought me shots of Patron and PBR.

He wore overalls and went into a 30 minute diatribe about how comfortable they are.

I think I'm in love

It was a good night and he was a gentleman. Despite his looks he was the best guy I've met in awhile

Hello God, are you there? It's me, Steph

I think God is trying to tell me something. I think he's trying to show me a path for my life. Yes, God has spoken to me and I now know what my purpose is. I am meant...to clean up the vagina stink in this world.

Yes, God has put another rotting cooch stink in my path.

I was standing in line behind a girl today and I could literally smell her vagina. I am not kidding. This has never happened to me before. Though I have often joked around about local sluts having stinky slits I have never been so misfortunate as to actually smell one.

There was no mistaking it. It wasn't like she had a tuna fish sandwich for lunch and her breath was kicking. This was the scent of a not so fresh pussy. It smelled like fishy (obviously), sweaty armpits that had been sprayed with Frito dust and put in the hot sun for about an hour and then rubbed in Star Jones' ass crack.

I am obsessively clean when it comes to my body and my lady parts in particular. It's summer time. It's hot outside. That's a dark, dank place that doesn't get alot of fresh air when you're going about your daily routine. So I think it's incredibly important to pay extra close attention to it at all times. I give her some special attention in the shower. Ok, so it doesn't hurt that I have a pulsating shower head and am fantastic at the art of masturbation, but it's also because I like to get her squeaky clean. I carry around wipes. This may sound silly to some but if it's good enough for a baby's ass, it's good enough to keep my summertime hooha in tip top shape. I don't understand why every woman doesn't do this.

Naturally I had to share my misfortune with someone else. This was too good, and too horrifying, to keep to myself. I had to send my friend a text message just to fully document the event:

The Chosen One: There is a smelly pussy in the building and I am down wind.

NON Blonde friend: Like a cat? Where are you?

Target bitch!

( I imagine she's chomping gum and twirling her hair, while doing her nails and reading the latest US Weekly update on John and Kate)
And there's a cat in there? Did it just run in?

(Annoyed and wanting to murder)
It's not a fucking cat! Who calls an actual cat a pussy?

(She's still dumb)
What are you talking about?

(I'm practically yelling at this point)
A pussy! A vagina! I am behind a woman with a vagina that is malodorous. Is that better?

(Lightbulb)
Ohh. That's gross.

I didn't say I had smart friends. I prefer being the beauty and the brains in the bunch.

I'm pretty sure stinky vag heard me. She turned around as my volume got louder and then stayed pretty still, only moving when it was necessary. Probably so the stench didn't waft up anymore.

I have the day off tomorrow. This is my first non-weekend day off in 7 months. How do I plan to spend this time you ask? Beer. Pajama pants. Porn.

Happy Hump Day!

It's Hump Day! This used to be a joyous event on my old blog. We'd talk about gratuitous sex, I'd make fun of people's weird fetishes, and someone lonely perv most likely stroked his trouser snake to everyone's funny sex stories. It was my favorite day of the blogging week. Sadly my new blog doesn't have the following it used to and until things pick up and others discover my delicate genius I will keep Wednesdays as just another shit sucking day plopped in the middle of the shit sucking week.

I will, however, tell you that I have not had sex in 7 weeks. Let me say that again so it really sinks in. I. HAVE. NOT. HAD. SEX. IN. SEVEN. WEEKS. This is officially the 2nd longest I have gone without getting my hole filled by something actually attached to a male.

I don't enjoy this. I'm ready to start humping inanimate objects. When I see a chair and think to myself "Wow, he's kind of cute. Wonder if he works out?" I know there is a problem that needs to be addressed. However, I'm not willing to let just any fuckface with a penis penetrate these pussy walls. I'm getting a little more selective in my old age. 4 shots and a decent looking guy don't do it for me anymore.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not interested in finding a serious relationship. I'm not saving myself for the next Mr. Steph. I'm just not willing to throw pussy around like it's confetti and see what it sticks to. No matter how hard up I am I am not willing to give my shit away to those who clearly don't deserve it.

Apparently asking for a good looking, single, stench-free, somewhat sober, halfway intelligent (or at least has the ability to fake intelligence), kinda funny dude is a tall order.

My vagina isn't happy and when she's not happy ain't noone happy.

Going out tonight, which I don't normally do so maybe I'll get lucky in more ways than one. Wish my coochie luck. She needs it.

Swimming upstream

Some asshole brought in fish for lunch, microwaved it, and now the entire break room and hallway smell like the Rock of Love bus. The sweet scent of rotting vagina is even started to seep into one of the lab areas.

Who the hell brings fish to work to eat for lunch? And why does said assdick MICROWAVE IT??? You might as well just bring in a bunch of hookers, tell themto whip their coochies out, line them up along the wall and let fans blow their crotch stink around the room.

Twist and shout

I twisted my ankle last night. And not even in a cool way. It wasn't like I was stumbling out of a cool bar at 2am, stepped on a diamond as big as my fist, fell down a flight on stairs and landed head first into Patrick Dempsey's lap. No, I just tripped up the stairs in my apartment building at 11:30 after doing not a god damn thing all fucking night long. I did however scream "God tits!" Really loud. Don't know why. Was the first thing that popped into my head. Some dude down the hall opened his door and was nice enough to just shut the door and keep what I'm sure would be retarded comments to himself.

Now I'm hobbling around. I will attract a whole new breed of men. Guys who like to sport fuck cripples.

I just found my old blog and can't remember the email or password I used. Read the whole thing. God I'm a funny muthafucka. Wish I could remember my shit. I wouldn't even know where to start

Is that a seeing eye dog or do you just have peanut butter on your balls?

I got tricked into agreeing to a blind date. More like lured. Went out for drinks with some peeps from work last night and my froworker "just happened" to see some guy she knows at the bar and this guy "just happened" to be totally by himself at said bar. I find that utterly creepy unless you're there to meet people, and even then wait in your car dude. You look like a sex offender stalking the bar for your next rape victim. This guy "just happens" to be a guy she hasn't shut up about for 3 weeks. "Oh Steph, he's REALLY cute" "Oh Steph, he's intelligent and has a great job, owns his own condo." Ohhhhhhhhhhh....Steph doesn't care.

I have gone on blind dates before. They always end in horrible disaster mostly because...
1.) you have absolutely no idea what you're getting into. One person's Brad Pitt is another person's bloated Marlon Brando in The Godfather. I don't trust anyone when they tell me someone is good looking.
2.) the hype. This guy has been built up to be the most amazing human being on the planet. Hot, funny, smart. And they never are. They're always mediocre at best. Too self aware, slightly moronic and socially retarded. Then you're forced to spend a few awkward hours with someone you wouldn't even piss on if they were on fire.

So my froworker bypassed the whole asking and me saying no bit and decided to just push me right into the shit pool and watch me drown.

I'm not good in forced situations. It takes all of my energy to behave somewhat socially acceptable in my every day life so to put me in front of some guy who's expecting a love connection while I'm 2 beers and a strong martini deep is a bad move. I have no filter. I have no verbal catheter. A thought goes in, the words come out and I don't even know it's happened until someone gives me a shocked look and I realize I've verbally pissed the bed.

His name was Rod. It's 2009. No one should be named Rod. That's for bad 80's movies only. In order to be named Rod you need to have feather hair, drive a camaro and only listen to Foreigner and Cheap Trick.

He was wearing a silk shirt. I literally said "Is that silk? I didn't know they still made silk shirts. Is that your 'goin out' shirt? Seriously, is this a joke? Is that shirt a joke?" You would have thought I just told him his grandpa molested him or something.

He asked if he could sit next to me. I told him only if he bought my drinks for the rest of the night. He didn't even buy my next drink and I immediately told him to get out of the booth unless he was going to follow the rules.

At the end of the night I really did feel bad. This poor guy didn't stand a chance in Hell. And I blame my friend. She knows me better

The carpet matches the drapes

I need some good blogs to read. Suggest some to me if you know of any I might like.

It doesn't matter how much you love your job, Mondays suck donkey balls. There's nothing fun about getting your ass out of bed and staring down the beginning of another 5 straight days of work. I didn't want to get up this morning. It took every ounce of effort I could muster to even roll over and shut off the alarm clock.

After the break up The EX stayed in the house and I moved into a nice apartment complex. He offered me the house but I think there's something very covert lez about a single woman living in a suburban subdivision alone. To me that screams "I'm a dyke and will most likely be adopting some kinds from Kenya soon to soothe the sting of lonliness." What does a single person need with 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, and a finished basement?

So my apartment complex is very nice. It's expensive. So much so that I might need to start giving handjobs at red traffic lights to make rent money. You'd think in such a nice place there would be an abundance of yuppie business men and young families. No, no, no. I have the weirdest hodge podge of God's forgotten children in my building. Maybe they put me in the retard's wing to keep me away from the real people? My across the hall neighbor is an old bag who constantly has a cigarette in her mouth, old, ratty slippers on and no bra. She's got to be pushing 70 and she dyes her hair construction cone orange. She likes the black dick and surprisingly gets it on a regular basis. She gets piss drunk at least once a month and knocks at my door at ridiculous hours slurring her words and asking me for something random, like pepper. The conversation always ends in her telling me something disgusting inappropriate. Like "I dye my pubes red (side note: it's not red. Seriously, it's orange.) too. Men don't care if you have a bush as long as its the same color as the hair on your head." Thank you for the mental image of you spreading hair dye on your 1970's style porno bush. This morning, while I was leaving for work, I saw her outside walking her rat of a dog. She was sucking on a cigarette like it was giving her money and shuffling along in those slipper that were probably pink at one time. She barked "Hey honey, you have any ricotta cheese?"

How more ADD can I possibly be? I see something shiny and I'm off the reservation for YEARS. I'm not dead. I wasn't sold into sexual slavery after shooting my mouth off to some Thai drug lord. It just wasn't doing it for me. I didn't have that same drive and passion for typing about my daily life anymore. I felt the need to perform and felt like a limp dick on prom night. Too much pressure.

Beyond that someone had stolen my pictures and made a blog on wordpress or something of the like. She wasn't nearly as funny as me but it was definitely a surreal moment in my life. Half the time I don't even want to be me. So I got her shit shut down and then even MORE didn't feel like blogging.

But now I'm back. For how long, not sure. Could be days, could be years. I'm restless. You all know this.

A lot has happened during my absence. One day I got a wild hair in my hooha and decided to move. I just packed my shit and moved to a new city without a friend, without a job, without a place to stay. It was a scary month and I was literally living out of a Super 8 motel that I'm pretty sure doubled as a brothel when the sun went down. I have seen some shit, let me tell you. But I finally found a job that I actually love. I found an apartment that didn't smell like vagina blood and urine. And I met a boy. A cute boy with dimples who wore polo shirts and had dinner with his sick grandmother once a month. A good boy who was honest and romantic and who could hump like you wouldn't believe. Eye watering sexual skills this man had.

So we flirted. And we dated. And we had amazing sex in every imaginable place. We held hands. We started dating eachother exclusively. We met eachother's parents. We bought a dog together. We bought a house together. He got down on one knee, asked me to be his forever and I said yes.

That's right kids. Someone gave me a big sparkly and I promised to be with him for the rest of my life. Never did I ever think I would do something like that. Can I just tell you that my mother was beside herself with glee. Actual glee. Like squealing with delight.

And now it's over. Come on, you saw it coming. We were together for almost 2 years and it just got boring. We were both bored. So instead of being bored and miserable for the rest of our lives we called it quits.

I'm not meant to be married. This of course destroyed my mother. She didn't speak to me for 2 weeks. I might as well have brought Jesus back to life and stabbed him in the testicles. She might have treated me better had that been the case.

So I have been back on the singles scene for almost 3 months. And now I'm remembering how painful and annoying dating is. Every guy irritates me. No one is interesting or original. They're all copies of eachother. Paper cut out douche bags who think they're cute and funny but they're soooo wrong. And I'm soooo not afraid to let them know.