When You Find You, Come Get an Ass Kickin'...

I'm generally an optimist...OK, more of a realist, but when I hear cry baby songs on free radio like this mess that David Cook has just released, I want to vomit and then punch his mother for having him neutered.

He sings, "When you find you, come back to me..."

Really?

Seriously?

And men say that women are nuts?

Dude, man up.

Likely your semi-psycho girlfriend gave you the "It's not you, it's me" speech and you didn't see it for what it was.

...or...

You caught her doing your best friend and in a last minute attempt to keep you from slitting your wrist, she told you that she was confused and "lost" and being the whipped assclown that you are, you bought it.

Honestly, I realize that true love does exist, but this scenario isn't it.

What kind of nutless candyass waits around for some unbalanced cuckoo (who likely has 3 or more cats) to "find" herself?

She isn't leaving to find herself, bro. She is leaving because she has likely gone out of her ever loving mind from you serenading her with that sappy ear poison you call music as soon as she walks through the door from a long day at a real job.

Likely she is tired of your whiny neediness and simply wants you to throw her on the bed and ride her like a Pinarello.

You're going to "keep your things right where you left them...I'll be here for you..."

Yeah.

OK.

You may just be nuttier than she is.

Some dude tells me he's keeping my stuff like a shrine and I assure you, I'm moving to another state.

Your friends won't tell you this, David because they are all afraid to hurt your "sensitive" feelings while you are in this "fragile" state, but I'm here for you.

...but, ummmm...do NOT come back to me. I'm all stocked up on cuckoo.

However, I heard Daughtry just dumped his bitch and needs a new one...

CHiPs and Rocket Science

Stupid Cupid

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Those Adorably Incestuous Pals of Mine

Let me just say (once again) that if you don't want to see stuff that you cannot deal with, you should probably not visit my page or read my blogs. I am not changing my blogs to accommodate your consciences. You're not changing your behavior to accommodate society's opinions.

If you cannot find the humor in the fucked up, pull the trigger, swallow the pills, slit the wrist. Don't come down on me for your shit.

If you cannot READ when a tag says "humor", dial 1-800-ABCDEFG. You are a soup sandwich.

Additionally, if you are also one of the people who want to "advise" me to "let it go" you may also want to advise the people that I am poking fun at to stop being insanely moronic.

If that is the case and that is your mission, start with the Bible y'all claim to follow. Those 10 Commandment thingies? Yeah. Not merely a suggestion. (I told you people not to follow that organized religion nonsense!)

You just can't fuck thy neighbor's wife and call me the asshole for shaking my finger at you while you claim to be a devout Catholic/Christian/Whatever. Do I look like futher mucking Moses to you?

Look, if people are fine with acting a fool in public, they must expect that people will have opinions on it. You. Me. Everyone. Deal with it or keep that shit behind closed doors where intelligent losers keep their lying and cheating.

Let this be the notice, I will not bring up the old and rehash shit from long ago, but if people continue to wear their stupidity like a badge of honor and flaunt that shit in people's faces as new and exciting events, I'm going to make fun of it. So what?

If you are one of the chicken-shit-futher-muckers who must hide behind an anonymous comment to tell me to "let it go", then I will assume you are either just an idiot, a coward, or are someone who engages in the act that you would like me to not make fun of. Possibly a combination of all of the above.

Let what go? Something of many things reported in 2 sentences during a weekend re-cap? 2 sentences in a paragraph in a section about modern dating?

Although it wasn't in the movie, if the person you are "dating" has a spouse, things are also not looking very optimistic for you regarding the likelihood of a "serious relationship". If you have not learned that after say 3 years (as a completely random example) of fucking the married person, you are dumber than soup and deserve to be pointed and laughed at.

*yawns*

That's hardly a rant, people. I've had farts last longer than that statement.

Here's the deal, a fair number of you are either fucking married people, have fucked married people or are married and fucking other married and/or single people. If you think that I am the asshole, you are dumber than soup and should be trampled by goats.

In some places, the method of punishment for adultery is stoning to death. I made a comment about it in a blog. Put things into perspective, people. I made a joke of your adultery. You are making a joke out of your marriages. I win.

If you think that I am the only person who thinks you people suck, you're wrong. I'm just the one who doesn't say it behind your back.

May all of your garbage dicks fall off and your rotten vajayjays be eaten by maggots.

And yes, if it even crosses your mind for a second that I may be talking about you, I probably am.

*smirks*

Weekend Re-cap

1. Every "single" person who is looking to "date" or for a "serious relationship" and who cannot fathom the idea of possibly not being in a "relationship" should watch "How To Lose a Guy In 10 Days" for starters. (Other stuff like common sense may be a little over some heads, so pretty actors and actresses may help.) This applies to males and females.

Hint 1: Stalking and/or calling the person repeatedly will almost never endear you to the person whose affection you seek. If it does, RUN!

Hint 2: Although it wasn't in the movie, if the person you are "dating" has a spouse, things are also not looking very optimistic for you regarding the likelihood of a "serious relationship". If you have not learned that after say 3 years (as a completely random example) of fucking the married person, you are dumber than soup and deserve to be pointed and laughed at.

2. Men who come to the Costume/Anniversary party of your gay friends, dressed as a woman and act gayer than the gay hosts, are likely gay. No matter how many times they insist that they "like the vajayjay". They do...to shop with; not to have sex with. When all of your gay friends also doubt that said man "likes the vajajay", believe them...then go shopping.

Hint: If talking to alleged "straight" man suddenly makes Rupaul, Boy George, Elton John, and George Michael seem butch, your man likes the penis. Deal with it. Go shopping?

3. Thongs on men with pimples on their asses is just wrong. Taking pictures of it and making a game of it was funny until the 3rd pimpled, hairy ass.

*shivers*

Hint1: If you do not know the state of your ass, spare the world the photographic evidence that you lack manscaping skills and a gym membership.

Hint 2: Pictures that make women throw up on their keyboards are not particularly adorable.

Hint 3: At our age, it really has become more important that you provide us pictorial evidence that you are capable of an erection and lacking of a wookie bush. Spare us the ass pimples and ingrown ass hairs. Shave that shit or cover it up. Mmmmmkay pumpkins?

Hint 4: If your stomach is larger than your chest, no thong. Period.

Hint 5: If your stomach is larger than your penis, cry...then hit on that one chick who is dating the married dude. She's not at all particular.

4. If you are a waitress at a lake-side cafe on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, learn your job and the menu. Getting snippy with 4 chicks who just rode in the heat with head-winds and like a gazillion grasshoppers and crickets jumping at them are possibly exhausted and little freaked out. (Have you EVER seen so many effing jumping grasshoppers outside of a Hitchcock film?!?!?) Seriously. Your cafe is on a bike trail and the water is 20 steps away.

Hint 1: Telling us that we may have to "wait a while for our refills" is the wrong answer. You have 5 tables. You are in the service industry. We have all done your job. SERVE. You are not salary or union.

Hint 2: Working in a bar and rolling your eyes while claiming to not know the drink list because you usually "work weekdays" is a quick way to get your average looking, snotty ass back on the less-profitable weekday lunch shift. Get happy. Be nice. Wear mascara and a friggin' smile.

Hint 3: Sneering is not the same as smiling. Practice it.

5. Feet. Hmmmm...

Hint 1: That black stuff in the corner of your big toe nail? Yeah. It's supposed to be removed. Get on it.

Hint 2: If you have black stuff in the corner of your big toe nail, either A) you need to clip those futher muckers or B) you have stepped in poo. Either way, take care of it.

Hint 3: Bare feet on the inside windshield is effing gross. We don't want to see that shit. If your feet are so spectacular, get a dazzling pair of Blahniks and prove it. Putting those clammy, sweaty things on the glass is not only disgusting and redneck (despite the Lexus), but it is really rude to the owner/driver of the car...unless it is "that one dude", but then you'd be driving, now wouldn't you?

*snickers*

She's Just NOT That Into You

Raquel and I were at one of our favorite wine spots last night.

We had some time before other members of our party joined us, so we discussed business and life all the while sipping a bit less than slowly.

Needless to say, by the time that our various parties had come and gone and we were seated with two male acquaintances, we were more than giddy and relaxed.

Having talked sex and relationships all night, this poor guy knew not what he was walking into by joining in.

The topic had turned to blow jobs. And where Raquel and I were discussing our various opinions and how common it is that women just don't do it, Glen adds that he feels no need to perform cunnilingus on a chick if she's not going to blow him.

(Awwwww, right at this point you can tell just how precious I think Glen is, yes?)

"So Glen what you're saying is that you inflict revenge on your sex partner in the form of withholding if you don't get what you want? Isn't that a bit of a temper tantrum?"

He is already defensive because I apparently said something that made him feel fat while discussing a former runner now huge alcoholic who clearly has some liver damage in that swollen gut of his. Glen looks nothing like that dude, but in his mind I guess he does. He mentioned that he was a "performance athlete" no less than 5 times.

I feel that that is much like with "that one brand of Christians"...if you have to say it a bunch out loud to people, it probably isn't true.

Eh-hem.

So Glen wants to defend his sexual tantrum and says, "No. I mean when you've had sex with the girl like 7 or 8 times and she won't blow you, that's just wrong."

I responded with, "She probably was just not that into you."

He blinks.

I know he is wondering if I really just said that out loud.

I did.

I can see the wounded look on his less-than-precious face and I continue.

"Glen, that doesn't mean that there's anything wrong with you. It just means that maybe that one girl wasn't as into you as you were into her."

He says, "I mean we were dating for a few weeks. It's not like I was in love with her."

"Right. And maybe she reserves blow jobs for when she is more comfortable with someone."

He looks at me like that is just the most ridiculous thing he has ever heard. All I can think is how the conversation with the girl regarding the lack of blow jobs may have gone with Glen.

I shiver.

"Glen, the thing is that when a chick is into you and wants a deep intimate relationship with you, she will do the things that make you happy. If she doesn't, she just isn't that into you..."

"Great. So first you make me feel fat and now I am unwanted. Thanks." He pouts.

"Glen, it's ONE girl. Who cares if ONE girl isn't into you? You said you weren't in love with her. And I didn't make you feel fat. I wasn't even talking about you and you don't look like that dude."

Jeezus! And guys say that us chicks are difficult?!?!

Fucking whiner.

I don't like blow jobs. In general, I don't do them. In general, I'm just not into that many dudes enough to sleep with them, let alone blow them.

However when you are into someone...really into someone, you do things that will bring them pleasure. You learn what they like. You don't revenge fuck them and punish them for what they are not doing to you. Where the hell is the communication?

...and honestly, Glen is no prize. He is a man who NEEDS to learn and DO what a woman wants in the sack. He needs to put her cookie in his mouth if not just to shut him up.

Ughhh...

I didn't even want to address the wookie bush topic with him. I thought he might cry.

In the end, Raquel and I left Mr. Weepy-Purple-Stained-Teeth-No-Blow-Job to cry into his vino as we giggled our way to the car discussing our fondness for vibrators and how they don't talk.

The Lazy Indifference of a Would-Be Stalker

I have been pondering lately whether I am lazy or just completely indifferent to certain things.

I guess the fact that I am now writing about it may point to a lack of laziness, but truth be known, I am sitting on my keister as I type this. (Though I am told that that is quite common and in most cases, preferred.)

I mean, who types in Tree Pose or Downward Facing Dog? (That would be a real bitch to accomplish.) I'm just saying. What? It would.

Anyway, back to my original point. I often do not know the changes that my friends have made to their MySpace pages. I often do not know which friends they have on their friend list. I often do not know if someone has replied to a comment I have left on a blog. I often don't read pages of people I see or who friend request me. I read their emails and that's pretty much it. Sometimes I look at their pics. Sometimes I "steal" their pics if we were all at the same event. (I seem to have gotten lazy about taking pictures. And honestly there are usually 5 cameras at any given event. Who needs another?)

Mostly my curiosity on the topic of lazy v. indifference is specific to men and dating.

*yawns*

Here's how it started...or at least how I started to figure it out...

A friend is moving from Hotlanta to Chicago. I love Chicago. It is pretty close to me and I go there quarterly. It is as close to my hometown of NYC that I can get at the moment. It's a bit like "NYC Lite". So of course I was excited by having another excuse to go up there. Something was mentioned about the yummy males of the city and I made a joke by saying, "...Ughhhh...I LOVE Chicago men! I can't wait until you move there so that I have another reason to stalk...errrr...I mean visit them..."

Then it hit me.

Dammit. I wish I had the energy to stalk. Or the interest.

I tried to think back to a time that any person had held my attention enough for me to want to find out anything about them.

I searched my mind...

I looked at my Google history...

(This gets scary...)

...Longview Farm Park...

...images for "manginas"...

...Sarah Silverman...

...800 pound gorilla...

...Alessandra Ambrosio...

...area code 208...

You get the point, yes?

Very sad.

Why do I not care enough to stalk?

I think men are hot.

I think they are sexy.

Why do I yawn about it more than not?

I met a nice guy on Saturday. We exchanged numbers. He called me 4 times in 6 hours. I have put zero effort into pursuing that. I don't know why. He is cute. He has a dog, a bike, and a kayak. He has his dog's pic on his phone. This makes me happy. He photographs well. Yet, I yawn, stretch and do nothing.

Am I really this bored by people?

A cute guy who is a friend of a friend sent me a friend request. He is balanced and sweet and lives in Colorado and rides a bike.

*yawns*

I am not actually yawning at him. Those things actually all appeal to me. Yet I have made zero effort in communicating with him.

Zero.

I know I am shy around the opposite sex sometimes, but come on. Gimme a friggin' break.

I literally almost never flirt anymore and actually come across a guy that I am attracted to in person very rarely. So far this year I have been physically attracted to TWO (yes the number 2) males who were non-celebrities.

One of those physical attractions got quickly watered down and flat out extinguished by the fact that the dude drove a red Porsche Boxster (yuck) and fucked a friend (now former-friend) of mine.

The other was the guy I met Saturday.

When I consider it, I realize it really wasn't a physical attraction. It was more rounded. I've gone back and looked at the photo he took of us. He's cute. The bike, dog, and kayak made him smokin'. Much like when a hot guy opens his mouth and is a complete assclown and is rendered immediately "un-hot", this guy was made hot by the other factors.

Be that as it may, I still have done nothing. Nothing.

Have I been brainwashed by Greg Behrendt?

Or am I a fan of Greg Behrendt because his philosophy has long been mine?

I just do not pursue men.

Period.

I rarely get giggly.

I assume that if the dude likes me, he'll let me know.

Women who stalk men are oft called psychos, bunny-boilers and loons, yet is there something wrong with me for having no inclination to stalk?

Why am I so disinterested in these men?

I explored whether it is possible I switched teams and no, I have not. (Much to the displeasure of my aunt who was hoping that I too would put on the Beaver Liquors team jersey.)

Nope.

Am I just bored of the game?

Fed up and discouraged by the ridiculousness of it all?

What does that mean?

Why do they all seem so very similar?

Are they?

Are these not the same men that I was once attracted to?

Does it mean that I have decided that I don't like them or that I simply could care less?

I want to be attracted to a man to the point where my stomach turns and I feel nauseous.

Instead, I feel nothing.

Not even a slight rumbling of gas.

I want to blush and sweat and giggle.

I want to be nervous.

I want to get goose-bumps.

Not that I want to be Kim Nowak and slap on some diapers and drive cross country for some dude who is just not into me, but I would love to feel passionately about maybe going to dinner and having a glass of wine perhaps.

The Rebel Princess Coalition Sans Two

This weekend is now a blur.

In 3 days I relived fears I had thought I was long ago over, some of my darkest high school bully nightmares, awkward adolescence moments long abandoned, black eyeliner/too much make-up/too much jewelry, teen aged angst and insecurity, emotional torture inflicted by parental units, sorrow, pain, happiness, excitement, anger, frustration, and my ability to always find time to squeeze in some needless shopping.

Two friends with whom I attended high school came to town for a much needed get-together.

We were at least two fabulous females shy of a perfect get-together, having not planned ahead far enough, leaving the other two with practically zero notice.

The 80s party that was planned for Friday night proved to Weirdo and me that we could still have fun and be completely inappropriate in a paper sack. Not the party itself, but the shopping at the Goodwill and other little shops while we searched for vintage treasures to adorn our less-than-80s-bodies.

Weirdo and I had never shopped together in high school. That was a treat shared by Goofball and myself. Instead, in high school Weirdo and I exchanged talk about nails. Mostly, I would give myself French manicures with Liquid Paper on the drive to school and she would bite her nails while I bribed her not to.

Goofball and I were shopping goddesses. We knew the ins and outs and could teach a class on the topic. The current irony being that she now loathes shopping and is married to someone who has a career firmly rooted in women's fashion. She hit the goddammed husband lottery, other than diamond broker, when it comes to fru-fru shit. I won't even mention that he is also a more than decent human who actually loves her. If I didn't love her and like him, I would trip them both. I married a rocket scientist. I'll let you know the next time I need an effing fighter jet.

Saturday was spent from sunrise to almost sunrise again with the three of us (plus 2 male offspring) giggling, snorting, comparing, constructing, climbing, posing, cackling, crawling, and crying our way through The Lou.

It was a blast!

It was absolute glory to be surrounded by two fab chicks who knew and loved me when I was an awkward, insecure, damaged little brat with Flock of Seagulls hair and a shitty attitude...regardless of my imaginary fantastic fashion sense.

It was fantastic to be surrounded by these girls who still do not give a crap what I have accomplished and/or what I have not accomplished either personally or professionally and only care what I have accomplished with regard to our friendships.

We sat there, the three of us, reveling in how we were and are so different and so alike and how none of the latter was abundantly obvious until we were deeply ensconced in discussions about the bowels of our personal hells.

We are all pretty introverted in personality. Oddly, that picture is very different for each of us. Weirdo being the most verbal in her thoughts was both astonishing and exhausting. And although my frustration at the lack of silence I have incorporated into my little world was at times palpable, I knew in a very short time her excited and animated voice would be gone.

Over the weekend I had found myself wishing that we were the women we are today back then and how much we could have supported each other or even simply been the silent comfort in the corner of each others' conscious.

As it was, none of us knew of the others' private hells and we became who we are. Mothers, teachers, healers, comedians, leaders and advocates.

As I arrived home early in the morning after dropping Weirdo off at the airport, I stepped into a room thick with sorrow at the loss of her presence. The silence I had thought that I had wanted exposed itself for the truth it was like a mule kick to the face. They were gone.

I was alone again in the scary world that wanted me to be things that I am not.

I was again without the friends who knew that I was more the punk than the cheerleader. More the shy little girl than the outgoing social butterfly. More Liquid Paper than eraser. More Suzanne Vega than Madonna. More alive than dead.

There is no way to sugar coat or minimize it. I miss them.

The Trembling of a Lost Emotion

I had been aware of his presence for quite some time, having spied him upon his arrival. I intentionally stayed out of his line of vision, as I had no desire to engage in even the most elementary of conversations with this man.

I had never met him in person, however we shared acquaintances in common. This fact alone was disturbing to me.

I had interacted with him briefly, to extend some condolences regarding the pain he was suffering at the termination of his marriage. He had expressed this pain on my friend's blog and was confusing his pain and anger at his wife's abandonment with the topic of the day which involved inequality among the sexes.

Because I originally viewed him as genteel, I wanted to make sure he stepped back and did not involve himself in the very intense debate that had arisen.

He verbally expressed his appreciation and little more was said. A few days and a few blogs later (after my debate opponent had sent him an email) he "friend requested" me. Having little worry about a man who seemed more of a pussy than a prick, I accepted. It was simply easier.

He continued to send emails and I attempted to keep the tone light and a bit dismissive. I was not looking for a mate.

Last weekend he extended several invitations to the same event. Although he could see that I had not opened the invitations, he continued to send them. He also sent them to my friend who writes the blog. She told him she was seeing someone, and it worked (or so we thought at the time). She advised me to do the same.

Having already had my fill of the multiple variables in this incestuous little MySpace world, I had already decided to delete my page and thought nothing of the unanswered invitations from this new contact. Mostly because I opened them after the event to which I had been invited.

I was not accustomed or comfortable with random invitations to join complete strangers out in any venue. Especially when there was no acquaintance who could speak to that person's level of perceived sanity.

I also never quite grasped why people would be anxious to spend quality time with complete strangers that they have not a thing in common with other than a pulse.

It mattered not, as my page was now gone and I believed that to be the end of it.

Fast forward a week to the same friend's birthday party.

She had extended an open invitation to anyone and their mother. Literally.

It was not my party. Not my deal.

She's my friend.

I attended the party.

And then I saw HIM walk in. The email guy.

*FUCK!*

I maintain eye contact with another friend as I see HIM notice me. I had already told her of HIM.

I ignore his presence and continue chatting with her.

He moves to stand in my peripheral.

He hovers awaiting a chance for me to turn and acknowledge him.

(Why do I need to? We have never met! This is not my effing party and he is not my friend!)

I can feel myself yet again getting pissy about people's lack of respect for another's personal space and general social etiquette.

I turn and he says, "Hi Cory."

*blood runs cool and hairs raise on back of my neck*

"Hi," I reply.

Feeling I have dismissed him, I say nothing more and scan the room for my high school friend who has flown in for the weekend.

He, being socially retarded and more than a mite obtuse continues to speak and confronts me about why I deleted him from my friend list.

I smile understanding the confusion and calmly explain to him that I didn't delete him, I deleted my page. I expect that to be the end of it. Nope.

"Why?" he inquires.

I look at him with a smirk.

"It was just a decision I made. I have a lot going on and it seemed unnecessary to keep the page."

Period.

Period.

Period.

I am honestly irritated at this point because I do not feel that I owe a complete stranger any explanations as to why I take a shit or the consistency thereof. I quite frankly don't think I owed anyone an explanation and feel that anyone who was afforded one was either quite fortunate or actually important to me.

He was neither.

I smile as sweetly as possible, considering that I am loathing the general environment and many of the people in it. I spot my high school friend and walk over to her.

Multiple times this man would seek me out and attempt to engage. I would always smile. Chat for a moment and move away.

I do not like strange men.

I do not like strange men who are so lonely and dysfunctional that they seek out a party of total strangers and expect to be accepted as if we too went "way back". We had already had ourselves such a poser in the early Spring. I felt our quota had been met.

At some point I wind down and relax on one of the number of comfy leather couches in this quaint little bar and make myself cozy by an open window.

HE of course hovers somewhere close by. The type of hovering where he is maintaining the visual contact and is very literally observing my every move.

It is my unfortunate luck that a friend sitting next to me on the couch leaves to fetch another beverage.

HE uses this opportunity to sit next to me.

*dammitfuthamuckersonofabitch!*

Having committed to keeping the birthday bash centered on my friend, I simply ignore HIS new position and gaze out the window up at the sky and over at the architecture of the tall building just outside.

I let my mind wander to the activities of the people inside and what their view might be...

He starts speaking to me.

He is asking personal questions.

Originally, I smile politely and say nothing. I look him in the eye. Smile. Say nothing. I am trying to silently convey to him that I am affording him the peace and respect that he is not affording me. He is however, on a mission.

"I watched that cancer trailer", he says. (He is referring to "CrazySexyCancer". I had posted something about it.)

I look at him.

"I watched it for you, you know." He smiles at me in a way that seems as though he believes this will bond us much like Crazy Glue bonded that construction cap to that steel beam. Yeah, marketing is fun.

I smile. I thank him. I look away.

His voice and speech patterns make my skin crawl. He looks like the love child of John Mayer and Charles Manson, with the speech pattern of Billy Bob Thornton's character in Slingblade. This could not be any less intriguing or attractive...unless he were to defecate right there on the coffee table. (Is that a clear enough visual for you?)

He has no idea my fear of men who act this particular way. He has no idea how I do not like unfamiliar environments until I have made myself feel at ease. I would never feel that sitting next to this intrusive man next to an open window that was not at ground level. Never.

He was getting angry.

I was frustrating him.

This only served to make me more tense.

I had done this before to males and it did not work out well for me.

I started to get goosebumps. I felt nauseous and panicked. I had stood to hug another friend good-bye and knew my legs were not stable.

I was angry at myself.

*dammit!*

I knew I should not have come.

I searched in my head for a way to relax him without lying to him and knew that there was not one.

As he continued to ask penetrating questions that I quietly ignored, I finally looked at him, smiled and tried in my most joking tone to ask him, "You do know this is a party, right?" I softly chuckled and returned my gaze out the window.

My body language could not have been any more closed off without leaving a bruise.

I was noticeably and visibly nervous and freaked out by this man. Anyone who knew me saw this. I had started trembling. This alone pissed me off...at myself.

He finally got up and walked away, but continued to hover and continued to keep his eyes on me. He even went so far as to follow me to the restroom area. I was thankful that my friend from high school was tuned in to my frequency. She was my eyes when I could not be.

I ducked and hid from him a bit more, before finally going outside to the street below for some fresh air and a new perspective. My fresh perspective brought the new emotion of frustration.

I had watched him out of the corner of my eye once the red flags went up. I had observed him interacting verbally and physically with other women. This should have relaxed me. It didn't. Why were these women not holding his attention? Why was he seeking me out and following me around?

We spot a bar next door and duck in to relax.

I breathe.

I cannot simply leave as I am the designated driver to my friends. I have to stay close.

Another friend I had been awaiting the arrival of arrives and thinks I have left. I talk to her on the cell and get her up to speed. She has only moments before met this man and knows exactly whom I am speaking of. She texts me that HE is coming down.

Again I feel cold and shiver.

I move behind a wall and watch him walk past the restaurant window never considering that I am there and not on my way home.

I exhale.

We stay for a while and the friends that have trusted me with their safe arrival home come down to join us as does the other friend who had arrived late.

I am ready to leave, but have mentally regressed to that one day back in college. I am angry at myself. I am angry at this man. I am angry at my friend who keeps her filters open to so much dysfunction. I detach.

You never know what your words or actions will trigger in another. I have to be responsible for putting myself in that situation. I make conscious steps to avoid certain situations. Now I know that I cannot attend functions coordinated by this friend and will have to simply make separate arrangements to spend quality time with her, if our schedules allow it.

It was a fascinating experience for me, once I detached. Once detached I was able to explore my fears and emotions and the "why factor". I was able to consider what might be going on in HIS head as well as what drives the psyche of my friend to welcome such individuals into her personal space.

Happy that this was the last big "function" planned for the season, I concentrate on the road ahead and crash heavily in the comfort of my perfect little bed in my personal little room in my personal little space. I am home.

Buddha Ballbuster Bashes the Bullshit

I've got balls.

Figuratively.

This is a known fact.

I'm a little bit scary. Even to myself sometimes. Sometimes I am just completely incapable of bullshit, so I just grab my ankles, pray, and let the truth fly...

Not everyone appreciates a visit from the "Kick-To-The-Balls Fairy".

Some people like to receive the truth like it's a yummy Fluffernutter sandwich... Extra Fluff and light on the mashed nuts.

I am the complete opposite. You can throw the shit at me for all I care, just get it over with.

I know I didn't always feel this way, but I think as you get older, you should not have to have people hold your hand through daily life. It gets easier to hear the truth and suddenly, there you are.

Now, there are plenty of people out there who have a lot more going on than me and there are plenty of people out there who have a helluva lot less going on than me too. And it is usually the latter mentioned fucktards who have the issues in developing their "coping skills".

I'm not going to lie, if you use your childhood, abuse, recovery, stupidity, etc. as a crutch, after so long I will tell you to shit or get off the pot. If you cry like a bitch about it and act like an emotionally crippled freakshow I will possibly crucify you.

No. Not literally.

And no, not intentionally. But the fact of the matter is that people should not have to pussyfoot around you and skirt the truth because you have been deemed incapable of hearing it.

Why should your emotional shortcomings be everyone else's problems?

Why should we have to "thin the truth" to make you feel better about your poor life choices and destructively unhealthy behavior?

You are an adult. You know the difference between right and wrong. Why should people have to explain it to you?

Saying that you know you are wrong but continuing to engage in the same behavior repeatedly is cute for like 2 minutes...

...if that...

Honestly, there are bigger problems in the world and universe than your perverse little issues. People need to seek their own happiness and stop expecting it to be gift wrapped and delivered to their door.

I fear there is not enough Fluff on the planet to deliver such a truth... but I have been known to be wrong.

I assure you, it is no one's fault that you lack the respect and self worth to make the positive changes you need to make in your life.

I assure you that no one will benefit more than you by making those changes.

Until you make the decision to do so, get a vibrator. They can't have kids, don't drink like fish, and will only fuck your friends if you let them.

Permission Not Granted: An Open Letter to a Cheater

You didn't grant me permission.

I know.

You didn't tell me that I could.

I know.

Guess what?

I don't need your permission.

I don't need you to tell me that it is OK to for me to feel as I do.

I don't need you to tell me that I am allowed to disagree with your behavior.

I just am.

You don't have to agree with me or how I feel. But why do I need your permission to express myself in my personal space?

I didn't go to your space.

I didn't go to someone else's space.

I came to my own space and put into words how I feel.

If you expect me to apologize that my opinion hurts you, you are nuts.

It is my opinion.

I did not hide it from you.

I did not sneak around behind your back.

I spoke to you directly about it. You and I.

I did not lie.

I did not ask anyone to believe as I do.

I am sorry that you are not open minded enough to consider that some people will not agree with you and your actions.

People disagree with me all the time.

So what?

You hurt me. You lied to me. Personally.

If you are now offended that I reported it, don't do it. Because you sure as shit take pleasure when it is someone else at the receiving end. And you sure as shit take pleasure when people give it back to me.

I personally watched you waiting for me to pounce on someone for your own
personal thrill.

It must have killed you when I didn't.

It must have killed you that I simply went directly to them.

You wanted me to say what I did. You told me you did. You said you were too weak. You were simply naive to think that you would come out unscathed.

Why should you?

I didn't.

I knew I wouldn't.

It was a decision that I owned.

You got hurt.

Your pain was your karma.

I kept a few people from getting hurt.

Their thanks was mine.

Be angry, but pay attention.

I just protected others the way that I had protected you.

This is how people stand up for what they believe in.

This is how people stop the cycle.

Sure as shit you'll never fuck with me again, now will you? You should have listened when I told you not to fuck with me. I am not you. I do not allow people to use me like a doormat.

It should make you angry.

It should make you angry that what I say is true.

If you don't like the truth, change it.

If you don't stand for something, you will fall for anything. Right?

Well, you fell. Hard. Repeatedly.

You're down now. Are you going to stay there or are you going to get up?

Are you going to run to the safety of those who will enable the same cycle you have lived in for years with their delicious, red and beautiful poisonous apples of comfort?

Or listen to the inner self who cried out that it wanted change?

It doesn't matter if I believe you to be wrong.

It matters only that you know that you are.