The beer garden did not meet my very high expectations. It was beer in an open space. Like beer on someone's apartment patio. LAAAAAAAAAME.
The flowers have continued.
My faithful readers know about the digestive aerobics that belong to my dad. He's had mud butt for about 20 years now and the tales of his trails (of the shit persuasion) are legendary in my family and in my circle of friends. Well lately he hasn't been feeling very well and it has stretched beyond his inability to eat anything spicy, fatty or salty.
My dad called me a few nights ago, which he never does. Apparently he went to the doctor several months ago and the disagnosed him with colon cancer. He went back again a few weeks ago and it has spread to his small intestine. It's bad. And he hasn't told my mom or my brother.
I don't like serious things
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
Friday, October 02, 2009
flowers in her hair....flowers down my drain
If I have to hear one more asshole at work jokingly say "You don't feel well? It's probably the Swine Flu" and then actually chuckle afterwards like they just made a funny I am going give them a giant wedgie and spit down their ass crack.
I work with a bunch of goobers. They're not funny. They're all a bunch of nerds. Stick to what you know. Testing for semen, cutting people open, and runnign blood through computer databases. Thanks.
I've gotten flowers every day this week. From who, you ask? That's an excellent question and if I knew I would gladly tell you. However they're all delivered without a card. And they've all died a sad and tragic death. Death by garbage disposal. Run over by my car. Eaten by my dog.
I don't know who the creepy fucker is that thinks he's wooing me with flowers, but whoever he is obviously doesn't know me. If he really wanted to get into my heart (aka my pants) he would buy me booze, dark chocolate, give me money, and give me a back rub without complaining.
So EX and I have been communicating only through texts and only in regards to the pup. He sends me a text that simply says "leaving". I go over to the house, spend time with the dog and text him an hour or so later saying "leaving dickface".
No closure. I need a full blown argument. His avoidance is only further enraging me. I've had to fight the urge to tell him I'm leaving and just wait for him to come home so I can throw boiling water on his face or something.
I'm going to a beer garden tonight. Don't know what that is but I'm hoping it's some kind of Willy Wonka situation, but with beer.
I work with a bunch of goobers. They're not funny. They're all a bunch of nerds. Stick to what you know. Testing for semen, cutting people open, and runnign blood through computer databases. Thanks.
I've gotten flowers every day this week. From who, you ask? That's an excellent question and if I knew I would gladly tell you. However they're all delivered without a card. And they've all died a sad and tragic death. Death by garbage disposal. Run over by my car. Eaten by my dog.
I don't know who the creepy fucker is that thinks he's wooing me with flowers, but whoever he is obviously doesn't know me. If he really wanted to get into my heart (aka my pants) he would buy me booze, dark chocolate, give me money, and give me a back rub without complaining.
So EX and I have been communicating only through texts and only in regards to the pup. He sends me a text that simply says "leaving". I go over to the house, spend time with the dog and text him an hour or so later saying "leaving dickface".
No closure. I need a full blown argument. His avoidance is only further enraging me. I've had to fight the urge to tell him I'm leaving and just wait for him to come home so I can throw boiling water on his face or something.
I'm going to a beer garden tonight. Don't know what that is but I'm hoping it's some kind of Willy Wonka situation, but with beer.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Seriously, do LL Cool J and that douche that played Robin seriously have a new tv show? I saw previews for this yesterday and almost pissed myself in laughter. You've got to be kidding me. Apparently the economy is effecting everyone. You can't live off of Batman money forever I guess. Mama said....get ready to be cancelled.
The bro was in town this weekend. Now that he's a full on pussy fiend every day with him is an adventure, and a health hazard. I've had to inform him that he will not be bumping uglies in my apartment. I'm not interested in listening to my brother have sex and even less interested in cleaning up whatever mess might be left behind. I'd have to move for fear the crabs might walk on over to my side of the apartment and jump into the first warm, moist crevace they find. No thanks. I pride myself on my uber clean vag and have no plans on changing that.
We drank way too much and I had to sit in a bar for over an hour listening to him struggle to have a conversation with one of the dumbest bitches I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. I seriously feel dumber by association. And everything that came out of her mouth was a question.
"I think puppies are super cute?"This is a sentence that actually came out of her mouth. I am not shitting you.
And of course my man-whore brother banged her in the bar bathroom.
See, I may be a slut but at least I'm a choosey slut. I refuse to fuck a dumby. I won't bone anyone who smells, is an idiot, is a douchebag or has a douchebag job. I don't fuck people in relationships. I won't ever fuck someone with a name like Chip or Chet or Slade. And he has to be good looking. And I will never ever hump anyone who can't hold a convo and make me laugh. I just won't do it. My vagina is very sensitive to bullshit. I don't want to make her angry.
My brother, on the other hand, will fuck anyone at anytime anywhere. Dirty bar bathroom? Sure! Back seat of a moving cab? Absolutely. On the hood of a strangers car? Why not? Gross. He's gross.
The bro was in town this weekend. Now that he's a full on pussy fiend every day with him is an adventure, and a health hazard. I've had to inform him that he will not be bumping uglies in my apartment. I'm not interested in listening to my brother have sex and even less interested in cleaning up whatever mess might be left behind. I'd have to move for fear the crabs might walk on over to my side of the apartment and jump into the first warm, moist crevace they find. No thanks. I pride myself on my uber clean vag and have no plans on changing that.
We drank way too much and I had to sit in a bar for over an hour listening to him struggle to have a conversation with one of the dumbest bitches I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. I seriously feel dumber by association. And everything that came out of her mouth was a question.
"I think puppies are super cute?"This is a sentence that actually came out of her mouth. I am not shitting you.
And of course my man-whore brother banged her in the bar bathroom.
See, I may be a slut but at least I'm a choosey slut. I refuse to fuck a dumby. I won't bone anyone who smells, is an idiot, is a douchebag or has a douchebag job. I don't fuck people in relationships. I won't ever fuck someone with a name like Chip or Chet or Slade. And he has to be good looking. And I will never ever hump anyone who can't hold a convo and make me laugh. I just won't do it. My vagina is very sensitive to bullshit. I don't want to make her angry.
My brother, on the other hand, will fuck anyone at anytime anywhere. Dirty bar bathroom? Sure! Back seat of a moving cab? Absolutely. On the hood of a strangers car? Why not? Gross. He's gross.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
My mouse has gone retarded and I'm too lazy to buy a new one so I just slam it against my desk and scream horrifying curse words at it. I personally think that's a great problem solving technique.
Someone sent flowers to my office today. No idea who it was. They didn't leave a card. I hate flowers.
My brother is coming to see me this weekend. For those who read my old blog, you know about my brother. For you newbies I'll give you the abridged version...
My brother is a few years older than me. We've always been incredibly close, but we are polar opposites. He's shy, quiet. mellow. He's the good boy who always says and does the right thing. You would think he shit rainbows that tasted like chocolate chip cookies.
I, of course, am nothing like that and happily so. I shit bile and it smells like aborted babies and homeless people.
My brother married young and his wife was definitely a foot soldier of Satan. This woman was a cunt. She treated my brother like shit and was a horrible human being. I normally enjoy mean-spirited people but she took bad attitude to a new and alarming level.
She and I never got along and it caused a lot of friction between my brother and I.
Then he FINALLY let his balls drop and divorced the beast.
He never sowed his wild oats, to use a ridiculous cliche, so a few months after his split I encouraged him to enjoy his new found freedom. I believe my exact words were "Go get your some clean, young pussy!"
My brother not only took my advice and ran with it, but he flipped it over, stripped it down, oiled it up and fucked it raw. He's been banging anything within grabbing range. To see my mild mannered brother go from Clark Kent to some vagina hungry fuck beast is hysterical, and disturbing, to me.
When I moved I only moved a few hours from him. So every other month or so one of us makes a weekend trip over to see the other. We drink, we party, we play cards, I try to keep him from humping my friends. Good times. I have my brother back and life is good.
Someone sent flowers to my office today. No idea who it was. They didn't leave a card. I hate flowers.
My brother is coming to see me this weekend. For those who read my old blog, you know about my brother. For you newbies I'll give you the abridged version...
My brother is a few years older than me. We've always been incredibly close, but we are polar opposites. He's shy, quiet. mellow. He's the good boy who always says and does the right thing. You would think he shit rainbows that tasted like chocolate chip cookies.
I, of course, am nothing like that and happily so. I shit bile and it smells like aborted babies and homeless people.
My brother married young and his wife was definitely a foot soldier of Satan. This woman was a cunt. She treated my brother like shit and was a horrible human being. I normally enjoy mean-spirited people but she took bad attitude to a new and alarming level.
She and I never got along and it caused a lot of friction between my brother and I.
Then he FINALLY let his balls drop and divorced the beast.
He never sowed his wild oats, to use a ridiculous cliche, so a few months after his split I encouraged him to enjoy his new found freedom. I believe my exact words were "Go get your some clean, young pussy!"
My brother not only took my advice and ran with it, but he flipped it over, stripped it down, oiled it up and fucked it raw. He's been banging anything within grabbing range. To see my mild mannered brother go from Clark Kent to some vagina hungry fuck beast is hysterical, and disturbing, to me.
When I moved I only moved a few hours from him. So every other month or so one of us makes a weekend trip over to see the other. We drink, we party, we play cards, I try to keep him from humping my friends. Good times. I have my brother back and life is good.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Is that a baby in your uterus or are you just happy to see me?
I managed to get out of babysitting. My too-nice-for-her-own-good fro-worker came to me Friday morning and said "I don't want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable so let's forget about this weekend. But for the record, you need to give yourself more credit because you are going to make an amazing mother someday." And I immediately got diabetes.
This seemed to be the theme for the weekend.
I made the mistake of answering the phone when my mother called and after the first 10 minutes of "how are you" smoke screen bullshit was over she immediately dove into marriage and babies, as always. My mother has been wanting me to get knocked up for at least 6-8 years. She continually reminds me of my age and tells me I am in the "use it or lose it" state of my life. "You eggs aren't going to be good forever. They have expiration dates, you know."
Then, I went out for drinks with the girls who ended up running into a few old friends from highschool one of which just had a baby a few months ago. Of course that was all she could talk about.
"It's so different when you're a mother. My whole life has changed."
Why do people say that? Isn't that a given? You squirt a human being out of your vagina and you're no responsible for a life other than your own. It's not like you can strap the kid on and take him to the bars with you. Of course your life has changed. That's not shocking to anyone. You aren't telling me something I didn't already know. Why do you think I don't have a kid?
Of course this convo led into my baby hungry friend Marissa whining about how much she wants a kid and my already mother-ized friend Jess chiming in with how much she loves her daughter. BFF Danae and I just sat there.
But trying to blend in with bar furniture didn't work for us. We were roped into the conversation.
Not my friend 1-"Do either of you have kids?
Me- "Nope"
Not my friend 1- "Really? How old are you?"
Me- "I'm 57 and am menopausal now. But don't I look damn good for my age. An apple a day really does work. Make sure you tell your kid that."
(Danae immediately laughs and Jack and Coke comes out of her nose.)
Not my friend 2- (ignoring my hilarity )"When do you plan on having kids?"
Danae- "Sweet Jesus"
Me- "I was thinking never, but I might need to push that plan back a few years."
Desperate for baby friend Marissa- (recognizing that this convo is about to get snarky) "Who needs a new drink?"
Not my friend 1- "Never? Really? Why? Why wouldn't you want to have children and bring a new life into this world? It's amazing!"
Me- "Well, I hate kids. I think they're whinny and needy and I don't want my entire life turned upside down just so I can say I have a kid. I have no desire to take care of a child."
Not my friend 1- (offended )"It's the most rewarding job in the world."
Not my friend 2- "It's what we as women are meant to do."
Me- "Just because you have a uterus in which to house a child, doesn't mean you should actually do it."
Danae- "Steph doesn't have that motherly instinct. And god damn i love her for it."
Not my friend 1- (bitchy) "Someday you'll change your mind and I'm afraid it will be too late for you."
Me- "I doubt it, but should that day come I'll just adopt one of the hundreds of thousands of children who's parent thought just because they were physically able to have kids meant they should. Then they found out what a pain in the ass it is and now their kid doesn't have a home. That's awesome!"
Not my friend 2- "It's really unfortunate you feel that way. I'm sad for you."
Me- "Don't be. I get to fuck whoever I want, drink as much as I want, spend my money on myself and not once do I have to think about anyone else while I do it. I feel sad for you. Having to spend your entire life catering to someone 1/3 your size is a real downer. But it looks like you at least make time to pawn your kids off on someone else and go out and get tipsy. Good for you. Don't let those babies hold you back! Get your drink on!"
Some people just aren't meant to reproduce. I am one of those people. Isn't it a good thing that I recognize that I'm not meant to have kids instead of popping out 3 kids and then living off of the government and bitching about how much I hate my life? Having a kid just because you can is fucking selfish, and stupid. I don't like kids. Therefore I don't want any of my own. I don't want to be responsible for ruining some else's life just because I feel some sort of obligation to use the uterus I was born with.
And I hate all of these self righteous parents who not only bombarded everyone with their inane "my kid is awesome" bullshit every chance they get, but who also feel it's their responsibility to make sure EVERYONE reproduces.
Hey, mom of the year, stop sucking back those martinis and go home and be with your kid if you're so keen on motherhood. Leave the bar scene to people like me who just want to get drunk and get laid.
This seemed to be the theme for the weekend.
I made the mistake of answering the phone when my mother called and after the first 10 minutes of "how are you" smoke screen bullshit was over she immediately dove into marriage and babies, as always. My mother has been wanting me to get knocked up for at least 6-8 years. She continually reminds me of my age and tells me I am in the "use it or lose it" state of my life. "You eggs aren't going to be good forever. They have expiration dates, you know."
Then, I went out for drinks with the girls who ended up running into a few old friends from highschool one of which just had a baby a few months ago. Of course that was all she could talk about.
"It's so different when you're a mother. My whole life has changed."
Why do people say that? Isn't that a given? You squirt a human being out of your vagina and you're no responsible for a life other than your own. It's not like you can strap the kid on and take him to the bars with you. Of course your life has changed. That's not shocking to anyone. You aren't telling me something I didn't already know. Why do you think I don't have a kid?
Of course this convo led into my baby hungry friend Marissa whining about how much she wants a kid and my already mother-ized friend Jess chiming in with how much she loves her daughter. BFF Danae and I just sat there.
But trying to blend in with bar furniture didn't work for us. We were roped into the conversation.
Not my friend 1-"Do either of you have kids?
Me- "Nope"
Not my friend 1- "Really? How old are you?"
Me- "I'm 57 and am menopausal now. But don't I look damn good for my age. An apple a day really does work. Make sure you tell your kid that."
(Danae immediately laughs and Jack and Coke comes out of her nose.)
Not my friend 2- (ignoring my hilarity )"When do you plan on having kids?"
Danae- "Sweet Jesus"
Me- "I was thinking never, but I might need to push that plan back a few years."
Desperate for baby friend Marissa- (recognizing that this convo is about to get snarky) "Who needs a new drink?"
Not my friend 1- "Never? Really? Why? Why wouldn't you want to have children and bring a new life into this world? It's amazing!"
Me- "Well, I hate kids. I think they're whinny and needy and I don't want my entire life turned upside down just so I can say I have a kid. I have no desire to take care of a child."
Not my friend 1- (offended )"It's the most rewarding job in the world."
Not my friend 2- "It's what we as women are meant to do."
Me- "Just because you have a uterus in which to house a child, doesn't mean you should actually do it."
Danae- "Steph doesn't have that motherly instinct. And god damn i love her for it."
Not my friend 1- (bitchy) "Someday you'll change your mind and I'm afraid it will be too late for you."
Me- "I doubt it, but should that day come I'll just adopt one of the hundreds of thousands of children who's parent thought just because they were physically able to have kids meant they should. Then they found out what a pain in the ass it is and now their kid doesn't have a home. That's awesome!"
Not my friend 2- "It's really unfortunate you feel that way. I'm sad for you."
Me- "Don't be. I get to fuck whoever I want, drink as much as I want, spend my money on myself and not once do I have to think about anyone else while I do it. I feel sad for you. Having to spend your entire life catering to someone 1/3 your size is a real downer. But it looks like you at least make time to pawn your kids off on someone else and go out and get tipsy. Good for you. Don't let those babies hold you back! Get your drink on!"
Some people just aren't meant to reproduce. I am one of those people. Isn't it a good thing that I recognize that I'm not meant to have kids instead of popping out 3 kids and then living off of the government and bitching about how much I hate my life? Having a kid just because you can is fucking selfish, and stupid. I don't like kids. Therefore I don't want any of my own. I don't want to be responsible for ruining some else's life just because I feel some sort of obligation to use the uterus I was born with.
And I hate all of these self righteous parents who not only bombarded everyone with their inane "my kid is awesome" bullshit every chance they get, but who also feel it's their responsibility to make sure EVERYONE reproduces.
Hey, mom of the year, stop sucking back those martinis and go home and be with your kid if you're so keen on motherhood. Leave the bar scene to people like me who just want to get drunk and get laid.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Karma is a mean, nasty cunt and I hope she dies a slow, STD induced death. While it felt amazing to get back at EX and hit him where it hurts, his friend's penis, I am now finding myself in a bad position.
I always knew my vagina was magical. It's like the rabbit hole in Alice in Wonderland. It takes you to amazing places you thought you could only reach with the help of hallucinogenic drugs. 15 minutes in there and you're seeing giant mushrooms, singing flowers and having a tea party. I suppose I underestimated the power and goodness of my own hooha.
EX's friend will NOT stop calling me. He calls me at least 3 times a day. He's emailed me. He even sent flowers to my work. They met a quick demise when I introduced them to a little hydrochloric acid. He stopped by my house on Wednesday. I pretended like I wasn't home. He's a borderline stalker at this point. He got a taste of that pussy juice and doesn't know what to do with himself. Steph cooch is the best cooch.
I'm not interested in a boyfriend, at least not this guy as a boyfriend. It was simply a way to get off and piss someone off. Had I known it was going to go this way I would have held out for another few weeks. As much as I love me some penis it's so not worth this Glenn Close bullshit.
On another note; funniest thing to happen to me in awhile; I was asked to babysit. A human baby. One that is still living.
Who would ask such a thing of a person like me? What kind of borderline retard would think entrusting me with the safety of their child sounds like a smart move? Well, she's not retarded. Just hopelessly sweet and trusting of everyone, obviously to a fault. She's a coworker who works in the insurance office and is always trying to convince me I'm a good person and when she hears the tales of my debauchery she always says "Oh, Stephanie, you're too good for that." It's like she's on a mission to prove me wrong about myself. She always tells me that I have a kind soul and refuses to believe I hate people as much as I do. Plus, she brings me dark chocolate and tells me I'm pretty so automatically I'm a fan.
Her kid is 4 and she and her husband haven't had a single night alone together since she had the thing. They had a babysitter all lined up and she suddenly cancelled on them this morning. So she thought I'd be a good choice.
Let me tell you a few things about me. I hate kids. I think they're all brats. I don't care if I used to be one, I was a brat too. They whine. They're messy. They smell weird. They're missing teeth. They throw fits. Their voices are high pitched an annoying. I don't have any kind of motherly instinct in my entire body. Not even when I was a kid. I tried my hand at babysitting and hated them just the same when I was 13 as I do now. I'm not meant to be around children, let alone birth them. But for some disturbing reason kids love me. They flock to me like flies on shit. And that just further proves my point that they're stupid. Why would a kid want to be around someone that couldn't care less about them? Dumb kids. I explained all of this to my fro-worker who laughed it off a chalked it up to what she likes to call "tough Stephanie complex". I might get roped in to watching a kid out of pity. That's right. I'm capable of pity now
I always knew my vagina was magical. It's like the rabbit hole in Alice in Wonderland. It takes you to amazing places you thought you could only reach with the help of hallucinogenic drugs. 15 minutes in there and you're seeing giant mushrooms, singing flowers and having a tea party. I suppose I underestimated the power and goodness of my own hooha.
EX's friend will NOT stop calling me. He calls me at least 3 times a day. He's emailed me. He even sent flowers to my work. They met a quick demise when I introduced them to a little hydrochloric acid. He stopped by my house on Wednesday. I pretended like I wasn't home. He's a borderline stalker at this point. He got a taste of that pussy juice and doesn't know what to do with himself. Steph cooch is the best cooch.
I'm not interested in a boyfriend, at least not this guy as a boyfriend. It was simply a way to get off and piss someone off. Had I known it was going to go this way I would have held out for another few weeks. As much as I love me some penis it's so not worth this Glenn Close bullshit.
On another note; funniest thing to happen to me in awhile; I was asked to babysit. A human baby. One that is still living.
Who would ask such a thing of a person like me? What kind of borderline retard would think entrusting me with the safety of their child sounds like a smart move? Well, she's not retarded. Just hopelessly sweet and trusting of everyone, obviously to a fault. She's a coworker who works in the insurance office and is always trying to convince me I'm a good person and when she hears the tales of my debauchery she always says "Oh, Stephanie, you're too good for that." It's like she's on a mission to prove me wrong about myself. She always tells me that I have a kind soul and refuses to believe I hate people as much as I do. Plus, she brings me dark chocolate and tells me I'm pretty so automatically I'm a fan.
Her kid is 4 and she and her husband haven't had a single night alone together since she had the thing. They had a babysitter all lined up and she suddenly cancelled on them this morning. So she thought I'd be a good choice.
Let me tell you a few things about me. I hate kids. I think they're all brats. I don't care if I used to be one, I was a brat too. They whine. They're messy. They smell weird. They're missing teeth. They throw fits. Their voices are high pitched an annoying. I don't have any kind of motherly instinct in my entire body. Not even when I was a kid. I tried my hand at babysitting and hated them just the same when I was 13 as I do now. I'm not meant to be around children, let alone birth them. But for some disturbing reason kids love me. They flock to me like flies on shit. And that just further proves my point that they're stupid. Why would a kid want to be around someone that couldn't care less about them? Dumb kids. I explained all of this to my fro-worker who laughed it off a chalked it up to what she likes to call "tough Stephanie complex". I might get roped in to watching a kid out of pity. That's right. I'm capable of pity now
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Revenge is a dish best served...with cock
I accomplished alot this weekend. I managed to break my sex drought AND get back at EX all in one weekend! I really am an over achiever.
Friday night some of the girls and I decided to class it up a bit and venture outside of our usual dive bar routine. We headed to some new yuppie bar in the snobby part of town in search of new penis possibilities and a change of scenery. I love my seedy bars, but I was tired of being hit on by 50 year old bikers that look like a member of ZZtop and starring at a homeless guy with one arm who likes to have conspiracy theory conversations with the beer he paid for with beggin' money.
I even wore a skirt. My wardrobe consists of shorts, sweats and jeans. Lots and lots of jeans. This skirt business is a big deal. I even worked heels. I'll allow you a moment to truly let that sink in..........
We're drinking $12 martinis and discussing what fake names we plan on giving out tonight when I see a familiar face; EX's friend Miles.
Miles reminds me of Patrick Bateman from American Psycho. Incredibly good looking, built, totally self obsessed, snobby, tries way too hard, and I could absolutely see him chasing hookers down the hallway with a chainsaw. He's a weird dude and on more than on occasion has driven me absolutely nutty with his "I'm a stock broker. I make lots of money. My cock is 10 inches long" bullshit.
But, there were also moments of decency. I remember a poker game where he was actually funny and mildly charming. He even bought the booze and didn't rub it in everyone's faces like he usually do. He's the cheapest rich guy I've ever met.
At first I was going to ignore him. I wasn't in the mood for small talk that was going to make me want to shove a swizzle stick in my eye. But once he came over and started being someone entertaining I changed my mind.
He bought me drinks, made me laugh and his presence kept away the other suit clad douche bags.
Eventually my friends got bored and he said if I wanted to stay he'd give me a ride home.
We went back to my place and at first I had no intention of doing anything sexual with him. I may have been drunk and he may have been hot, but I didn't want to be THAT girl. But, as he poured me some wine and started telling me how sorry he was that EX had fucked me over my mind began to change. Apparently everyone knew about Porno Barbie and EX. Everyone but me.
"I never thought he'd cheat on you. We all loved you. We all thought you were really cool and he's not the cheating type."
I don't know how it got started. Given my state of hyper hornyness I most likely threw my panties on the floor and started humping his leg. That wouldn't surprise me. But either way I decided I didn't care about crossing the line and doing a bitchy thing. Why should I worry about someone's feelings when they obviously didn't worry about mine? I have no obligation to this man now.
So I got mine, 3 times that night and again before he left in the morning. He may not have had a 10 incher, but however big it was worked out just fine. And while he did try too hard to sound sexy while we were fucking, it was good. Really good.
What was better? I called EX in the middle and made sure his voicemail picked up every moan and grunt of our 2nd time around.
I finally got an email response Saturday night:
You're a cold bitch. I hope you're happy.
You're right, and I am :)
Friday night some of the girls and I decided to class it up a bit and venture outside of our usual dive bar routine. We headed to some new yuppie bar in the snobby part of town in search of new penis possibilities and a change of scenery. I love my seedy bars, but I was tired of being hit on by 50 year old bikers that look like a member of ZZtop and starring at a homeless guy with one arm who likes to have conspiracy theory conversations with the beer he paid for with beggin' money.
I even wore a skirt. My wardrobe consists of shorts, sweats and jeans. Lots and lots of jeans. This skirt business is a big deal. I even worked heels. I'll allow you a moment to truly let that sink in..........
We're drinking $12 martinis and discussing what fake names we plan on giving out tonight when I see a familiar face; EX's friend Miles.
Miles reminds me of Patrick Bateman from American Psycho. Incredibly good looking, built, totally self obsessed, snobby, tries way too hard, and I could absolutely see him chasing hookers down the hallway with a chainsaw. He's a weird dude and on more than on occasion has driven me absolutely nutty with his "I'm a stock broker. I make lots of money. My cock is 10 inches long" bullshit.
But, there were also moments of decency. I remember a poker game where he was actually funny and mildly charming. He even bought the booze and didn't rub it in everyone's faces like he usually do. He's the cheapest rich guy I've ever met.
At first I was going to ignore him. I wasn't in the mood for small talk that was going to make me want to shove a swizzle stick in my eye. But once he came over and started being someone entertaining I changed my mind.
He bought me drinks, made me laugh and his presence kept away the other suit clad douche bags.
Eventually my friends got bored and he said if I wanted to stay he'd give me a ride home.
We went back to my place and at first I had no intention of doing anything sexual with him. I may have been drunk and he may have been hot, but I didn't want to be THAT girl. But, as he poured me some wine and started telling me how sorry he was that EX had fucked me over my mind began to change. Apparently everyone knew about Porno Barbie and EX. Everyone but me.
"I never thought he'd cheat on you. We all loved you. We all thought you were really cool and he's not the cheating type."
I don't know how it got started. Given my state of hyper hornyness I most likely threw my panties on the floor and started humping his leg. That wouldn't surprise me. But either way I decided I didn't care about crossing the line and doing a bitchy thing. Why should I worry about someone's feelings when they obviously didn't worry about mine? I have no obligation to this man now.
So I got mine, 3 times that night and again before he left in the morning. He may not have had a 10 incher, but however big it was worked out just fine. And while he did try too hard to sound sexy while we were fucking, it was good. Really good.
What was better? I called EX in the middle and made sure his voicemail picked up every moan and grunt of our 2nd time around.
I finally got an email response Saturday night:
You're a cold bitch. I hope you're happy.
You're right, and I am :)
Friday, September 11, 2009
There's a penis shortage
I understand alcoholics. I totally get the appeal. Because last night I rekindled an old flame. His name is Jose, and he's my smooth, dirty Mexican lover. I didn't even mind cuddling with him. He can rub his dirty stache on my cheek any time.
I got WASTED last night.
I'm a drinker and can drink most guys under the table. I'm pretty sure my liver crapped out somewhere between 20-23 years old. Now it just soaks up alcohol like a sponge. But last night was a very rare moment in total booze over indulgence for me. I haven't allowed myself to molest a bar tab like that in quite some time, especially on a week night.
I had to be carried home. That's not a metaphor. My friend had to call her boyfriend at 2:00am and have him come get me. And when I refused to get into his car, for a reason I can't remember, he literally picked me up and carried me the 7 blocks back to my apartment. I only know this because I had 6 text messages telling me so.
The last thing I remember, I was flirting with the grizzly 60 something bartender just so he would let me keep the bottle of Jose tucked nicely under my arm. The perfect place for cuddling and sipping. I woke up this morning to my alarm screaming in my ear and my cell phone playing "Rock the Casbah" (My drinking buddy's ringtone). I had a sock on (I didn't wear socks last night). My hair was matted to the side of my face by a glue that was some how created by my alcohol spit and maybe a little upchuck, though I don't remember throwing up. My bra was off (I DID wear a bra even though my 12 year old boy tits probably don't require it). I had raccoon eyes and a head ache that would drop a mule. The worst part is, I didn't even wake up with a dick in my hand or a used condom in my trash can. The streak continues.
I got WASTED last night.
I'm a drinker and can drink most guys under the table. I'm pretty sure my liver crapped out somewhere between 20-23 years old. Now it just soaks up alcohol like a sponge. But last night was a very rare moment in total booze over indulgence for me. I haven't allowed myself to molest a bar tab like that in quite some time, especially on a week night.
I had to be carried home. That's not a metaphor. My friend had to call her boyfriend at 2:00am and have him come get me. And when I refused to get into his car, for a reason I can't remember, he literally picked me up and carried me the 7 blocks back to my apartment. I only know this because I had 6 text messages telling me so.
The last thing I remember, I was flirting with the grizzly 60 something bartender just so he would let me keep the bottle of Jose tucked nicely under my arm. The perfect place for cuddling and sipping. I woke up this morning to my alarm screaming in my ear and my cell phone playing "Rock the Casbah" (My drinking buddy's ringtone). I had a sock on (I didn't wear socks last night). My hair was matted to the side of my face by a glue that was some how created by my alcohol spit and maybe a little upchuck, though I don't remember throwing up. My bra was off (I DID wear a bra even though my 12 year old boy tits probably don't require it). I had raccoon eyes and a head ache that would drop a mule. The worst part is, I didn't even wake up with a dick in my hand or a used condom in my trash can. The streak continues.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Have I told any of you that EX is a complete and utter pussy? Not a sweet, tight, clean pussy that glistens in the sun light and smells like lilacs on a crisp, Spring day. No, he's the kind of pussy that oozes herp juice and aborted fetuses. He's the kind of pussy who's stench could melt the skin off of your face. The kind the medical world will eventually need to study. The kind that has been so used and abused that you could fit a 747 in it's lips. The kinds that requires a weed whacker, protective goggles and a tarp. Have you picked up on the fact that he hasn't returned my calls? He hasn't commented on the utter destruction I left in his house. My emails, nothing there either. No, he's hiding. He's scared and that is the only redeeming quality he has at this point. Brains.
I love a good confrontation and I especially love to point out a spineless dick cheese when he slips up and reveals he's not the decent guy I've been given his credit for. I think that's what pisses me off the most. I'm irritated that he cheated on me with that blow up doll the state is allowing to pass as a real live woman. But more than that I'm pissed that he got one over on me.
For all of those who have been following me for all these years you know I am not a fan of commitment. Boyfriends make me nauseous and the mere mention of being a "couple" requires cream for the hives I inevitably get. I let this guy in, even got ENGAGED for a period of time. I bought a house with him. I let his underwear touch mine in the laundry. I listened to his sing Rush songs while he played video games. I gave voluntary oral at least 4 times a week. I allowed him to call me sickening names like "Honey" and "baby" and I didn't flinch once. That's unheard of in the world of Steph.
I don't care that we broke up. I care that I spoke so highly of him after the fact. I care that all this time a little part of me felt guilty for not being the kind of warm and fuzzy chick I thought he deserved.
Now I want slit open his ball sacks, let the contents spill to the floor and demand his big tittied girlfriend suck it up like she was getting paid.
I love a good confrontation and I especially love to point out a spineless dick cheese when he slips up and reveals he's not the decent guy I've been given his credit for. I think that's what pisses me off the most. I'm irritated that he cheated on me with that blow up doll the state is allowing to pass as a real live woman. But more than that I'm pissed that he got one over on me.
For all of those who have been following me for all these years you know I am not a fan of commitment. Boyfriends make me nauseous and the mere mention of being a "couple" requires cream for the hives I inevitably get. I let this guy in, even got ENGAGED for a period of time. I bought a house with him. I let his underwear touch mine in the laundry. I listened to his sing Rush songs while he played video games. I gave voluntary oral at least 4 times a week. I allowed him to call me sickening names like "Honey" and "baby" and I didn't flinch once. That's unheard of in the world of Steph.
I don't care that we broke up. I care that I spoke so highly of him after the fact. I care that all this time a little part of me felt guilty for not being the kind of warm and fuzzy chick I thought he deserved.
Now I want slit open his ball sacks, let the contents spill to the floor and demand his big tittied girlfriend suck it up like she was getting paid.
Monday, September 07, 2009
Someone is going to be ball-less....soon
As you remember EX and I bought I dog together during my period of domestic haze. Her name is Sally, she's a big, beautiful beast of a bitch and I immediately loved her more than EX himself. However when we came to our senses and split up it was illogical for me to move her in with me. My apartment is not equipt to house a 60+ lb dog and frankly, I'm afraid she'd eat my bras, piss on my porno dvds and eat all of my food. So EX kept her at his house and I go by several times a week to love on her, take her for a walk, that sort of thing.
This past week EX had to go out of town for business. Though this happens with some frequency this was the first time since we split that he'd be gone for an entire week and we both decided it would be a good idea if I stayed at the house with Sally.
It was weird being back in the house. I hadn't been in there for more than an hour or so since I moved out. I looked and felt like a completely different place, even though everything was still pretty much the same. It must have been the fact that my underwear wasn't strung out all over the place. And it didn't smell like vanilla and lube. But whatever.
The week was going fine. I was actually very respectful of his space. I flushed every time I took a dump and even replaced the toilet paper (something I don't even do in my own house. Yes, I have to run the 30yrd dash with my underwear around my ankles alot). I cleaned my own dishes, well, I just used paper plates but the result is still the same. I even kept my masturbatory endeavors to the shower only. This is a big step for me! Usually I diddle my clit on the couch with the blinds open.
Thursday night I went out for drinks with some friends. Again, being on my new responsibility kick, I only had 6 beers and NO shots and came home pretty early. I let Sally in and she immediately ran for bedroom, something she never does. Then I heard "Oh my god! Get off!!!"
I wasn't nearly drunk enough to think Sally had suddenly found the ability to speak, so I grabbed the closest weapon I could find (in this case my keys, perfect for stabbing eyes or assholes with equal effectiveness) and ran into the master.
There, half ass naked, was some blonde chick trying to push Sally off of here.
Once I called Sally away she looked at me, squeeled, covered up and asked me who I was and what I wanted.
"Uh, I could ask the same thing. What the fuck are you doing in here? And why is your crotch hanging out?"
"OMG! (yes, she actually said the letters. This is not a joke.) Are you _____'s fiance?"
"EX fiance, but yeah. Who the fuck are you?"
At this point she stood up, revealing a cheesy pleather bra holding up what can only be properly described as basketball tits. I have mosquito bites for boobies and I am an appreciator of those with an ample chest. I don't even care if you want to plunk down thousands to get your fun bags filled up with silicone. More power to you. But this is beyond anything I have ever seen in real life. It's like she couldn't afford a good plastic surgeon so she just flew to Mexico and paid some kid to cut open her chest, peel the skin as far as it would go and shove two basketballs in there.
She wasn't wearing any underwear and her landing strip was off center. Not to mention the bitch had some serious razor burn. May I reccommend a good waxer?
So she was walking towards me, vagina in the open air, in stripper heels, with her hand extended like she wanted to shake mine.
"I'm Nessa! OMG (still saying the letters) it's sooooo nice to finally meet you."
I shy away from shaking her hand. I have no idea who's dick it was just on. She could have palm herps for all I know.
"Ok? Seriously, who the fuck are you?"
"Nessa!"
"And who is Nessa?"
"I'm _______'s girlfriend! He hasn't mentioned me?"
No, he hadn't mentioned her. He hadn't told me he was dating a D rate porn star. He hadn't told me she might be stopping by to snooze pantyless on his bed while I was dog sitting. He hadn't mentioned any of that.
"No, I didn't know he was seeing anyone."
"Ohhhh, he probably didn't want to hurt your feelings. But he talks about you ALL the time! It's nice to finally meet you. I feel like I know you already."
Here's where she went in for a hug. She wanted her vagina to be in close proximity to my own.
"Uh, I don't hug people. So, um, what are you doing here? He's out of town."
"OMG! That's right! He told me that. I totally forgot. I thought he was just out with his homies."
Yes, she said OMG and homies. Seperately it's horrific but in the same sentence it was about my make my ears bleed.
After a few more minutes of me awkwardly doding her attempts at physical contact I finally managed to get her towards the door and on her way out. That's when she said...
"I'm so glad we're cool. I really thought we might have some beef considering everything."
"Uh, yeah well ____ and I get along so I don't really care if he's seeing someone."
"No I meant since he and I were going out while you two were still together. I thought that would be awkward for us but I'm super glad it isn't."
And then she left. And I was speechless.
I'm not jealous. I don't love him and stopped loving him before we broke up. But come on! He came back yesterday and was welcomed home to a destroyed house, one nasty letter, 3 nasty emails and literally 42 biting voicemails. He hasn't returned my calls.
This past week EX had to go out of town for business. Though this happens with some frequency this was the first time since we split that he'd be gone for an entire week and we both decided it would be a good idea if I stayed at the house with Sally.
It was weird being back in the house. I hadn't been in there for more than an hour or so since I moved out. I looked and felt like a completely different place, even though everything was still pretty much the same. It must have been the fact that my underwear wasn't strung out all over the place. And it didn't smell like vanilla and lube. But whatever.
The week was going fine. I was actually very respectful of his space. I flushed every time I took a dump and even replaced the toilet paper (something I don't even do in my own house. Yes, I have to run the 30yrd dash with my underwear around my ankles alot). I cleaned my own dishes, well, I just used paper plates but the result is still the same. I even kept my masturbatory endeavors to the shower only. This is a big step for me! Usually I diddle my clit on the couch with the blinds open.
Thursday night I went out for drinks with some friends. Again, being on my new responsibility kick, I only had 6 beers and NO shots and came home pretty early. I let Sally in and she immediately ran for bedroom, something she never does. Then I heard "Oh my god! Get off!!!"
I wasn't nearly drunk enough to think Sally had suddenly found the ability to speak, so I grabbed the closest weapon I could find (in this case my keys, perfect for stabbing eyes or assholes with equal effectiveness) and ran into the master.
There, half ass naked, was some blonde chick trying to push Sally off of here.
Once I called Sally away she looked at me, squeeled, covered up and asked me who I was and what I wanted.
"Uh, I could ask the same thing. What the fuck are you doing in here? And why is your crotch hanging out?"
"OMG! (yes, she actually said the letters. This is not a joke.) Are you _____'s fiance?"
"EX fiance, but yeah. Who the fuck are you?"
At this point she stood up, revealing a cheesy pleather bra holding up what can only be properly described as basketball tits. I have mosquito bites for boobies and I am an appreciator of those with an ample chest. I don't even care if you want to plunk down thousands to get your fun bags filled up with silicone. More power to you. But this is beyond anything I have ever seen in real life. It's like she couldn't afford a good plastic surgeon so she just flew to Mexico and paid some kid to cut open her chest, peel the skin as far as it would go and shove two basketballs in there.
She wasn't wearing any underwear and her landing strip was off center. Not to mention the bitch had some serious razor burn. May I reccommend a good waxer?
So she was walking towards me, vagina in the open air, in stripper heels, with her hand extended like she wanted to shake mine.
"I'm Nessa! OMG (still saying the letters) it's sooooo nice to finally meet you."
I shy away from shaking her hand. I have no idea who's dick it was just on. She could have palm herps for all I know.
"Ok? Seriously, who the fuck are you?"
"Nessa!"
"And who is Nessa?"
"I'm _______'s girlfriend! He hasn't mentioned me?"
No, he hadn't mentioned her. He hadn't told me he was dating a D rate porn star. He hadn't told me she might be stopping by to snooze pantyless on his bed while I was dog sitting. He hadn't mentioned any of that.
"No, I didn't know he was seeing anyone."
"Ohhhh, he probably didn't want to hurt your feelings. But he talks about you ALL the time! It's nice to finally meet you. I feel like I know you already."
Here's where she went in for a hug. She wanted her vagina to be in close proximity to my own.
"Uh, I don't hug people. So, um, what are you doing here? He's out of town."
"OMG! That's right! He told me that. I totally forgot. I thought he was just out with his homies."
Yes, she said OMG and homies. Seperately it's horrific but in the same sentence it was about my make my ears bleed.
After a few more minutes of me awkwardly doding her attempts at physical contact I finally managed to get her towards the door and on her way out. That's when she said...
"I'm so glad we're cool. I really thought we might have some beef considering everything."
"Uh, yeah well ____ and I get along so I don't really care if he's seeing someone."
"No I meant since he and I were going out while you two were still together. I thought that would be awkward for us but I'm super glad it isn't."
And then she left. And I was speechless.
I'm not jealous. I don't love him and stopped loving him before we broke up. But come on! He came back yesterday and was welcomed home to a destroyed house, one nasty letter, 3 nasty emails and literally 42 biting voicemails. He hasn't returned my calls.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, August 24, 2009
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
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
Thursday, August 20, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
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.
Now I'm hobbling around. I will attract a whole new breed of men. Guys who like to sport fuck cripples.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Thursday, August 13, 2009
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
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
Monday, August 10, 2009
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?"
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?"
Sunday, August 09, 2009
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.
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.
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