I had a good day today. Actually, since I was released from prison early on Friday I've been having a really fucking good couple of days. I mean there have been a few things happening that aren't great...but in the scheme of things I didn't hate my life for a hot minute. Oh don't worry ya'all, this isn't about to get all positive and warm and fuzzy. We're not going to have an Oprah moment and hold hands and thank some dude named Jesus for all of the great things in our lives. Reality donkey punched me. And then anally fucked me with no warning, and definitely used no lube. Not even a little spit on the hand. Let's start from the beginning.
I jumped back into dating almost immediately after my last break-up. It seemed like a good idea at the time since I'd been over the dude for a month or more and judge me if you want but I'm at my best when I'm being consistently penetrated. I don't require love, just a heavy rotation of naked wrestling. The kind of wrestling where I really don't have to do a lot if I don't want. That's my jam.
Anyway, I met a dude and we started hanging out. He was funny, attentive, family-oriented and we liked the same music, art, both had some style and all of that. I don't know why it happens but I usually end up dating people I have nothing in common with besides drinking or having genitalia that fit together. It was cool to hang out with someone that played music I was super into and had style that I could appreciate. But after a few weeks I had to admit that I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to be someone's date to their family member's wedding and meet the parents and help babysit the nephews and nieces and double-date with the best friend and his girlfriend of 5 years. I didn't have it in me to try to impress anyone and be someone's everything or even something. Yeah, I get it, I'm a fucking asshole. So I told dude I wasn't into it, I was sorry, he was great and he'll find someone else blah blah mother fucking blah.
He tried to convince me I was wrong and did what we always wish a guy would do and kept texting me and calling me and trying to remind me that he was still there and into me. I ignored all of his attempts and eventually even deleted his number and blocked him so I wouldn't have a drunken moment of weakness and show up at his house pretending I just really needed to pee and then let him put it in my ear because that doesn't count. After months, he finally gave up. The power of the pussy is real folks. No fucking joke.
I guess I didn't think he would ever think about me again. Apparently he does. Or he drank a lot of whiskey and aimed all of his anger at the bitch that wouldn't love him. I got a text from him tonight saying the following:
"i still think about you and i fucking hate you because your not even that great and you only brought the cheap whiskey over and you had to leave early because you work stupid times and the only good thing about you was your ass and i hope all the fucks you meet leave you because thats what you want to happen"
The grammar is atrocious. Seriously. Siri must hate you because she ALWAYS makes sure my "I"s are capitalized.
But real talk, what the fuck do you even say to something like this? The fact that it came from a different number and I still knew exactly who it was, was like being punched in the cervix. I'm honestly not out here trying to ruin people's lives. I've had my heart stomped on to where I thought I was going to die and there was no way my body could survive without any of my internal organs working. Obviously, since corpses aren't as witty as I am, I survived. And I've never felt the need to unleash on someone months later. Yeah I might bash my exes a little in my blogs, but I consider them more like meningitis that could have killed me but I survived it and I even still have enough liver usage to continue my heavy drinking. No permanent damage here!
I guess it makes me realize that people pleasing doesn't get you anywhere. If I had been completely honest with myself I would have never hung out with someone I knew was looking to wife up when I was only looking for someone to distract me from the things I hated in my life. And maybe I should stop assuming that I'm forgettable and people won't even notice if I phantom and disappear. I haven't gone B. Spears circa umbrella vs. van crazy and assume that everyone loves me and wants to put a ring on it. But I guess I need to use my vagina instead of my heart and let people know when I'm not feeling it. Or restraining orders, that could be a good tactic too.
Now I'm going to drink a box of wine and try to think of something to say to this kid so he doesn't hate women forever and anger bang some hookers outside of a Denny's at 6 a.m.
Anger bangs happen between 12 p.m. and 2 a.m. Get it together people.
Saturday, August 30, 2014
Monday, August 18, 2014
a face a mother doesn't even love.
You'll be very happy to hear that yesterday I had the worst date ever. I should've just given up when I was not that far behind and married the date rapist. But no, because I am a fucking masochist.
So I sent this bearded, Viking looking creature a message on okcupid about a month ago. The message only mocked his dislike of Mexican food and unkempt face bush. It should have been a red flag that he thought my insults were charming and admitted he was excited that I had messaged him. Clearly he didn't read my profile thoroughly enough to identify the daddy issues that require men to withhold all of their emotions so I lose my fucking mind trying to make them love me. What an amateur.
Anyway, after hours of text harassing that I found somewhat entertaining, I thought what the hell and asked him if he wanted to hang out. Plans were made to go to a little brewery so even if we hated each other at least I could shove my feelings into a pitcher of delicious craft beer. Below are exact quotes from this dude and my reactions. I hope you have booze and snacks y'all because shit is about to get REAL!
1. "I hate my mother."
In my head I heard, "I hate my mother so I'll eventually hate you when you're old and remind me of her." I get not everyone loves their parents. But maybe reveal your Menendez brother fantasies when I'm on beer three. Maybe even beer 7 so I won't remember a word you said and therefore cannot testify against your psycho ass in court.
2. "Here is a picture of the last girl I took on a date. I think she's a lesbian."
Who the fuck does that!? I don't need to know that I'm way more attractive than the last girl you tried to penetrate. I already knew I was. And now you just forced me to pretend that I'm not disgusted by this face you shoved in my face. Sunday is not my day for pretend. Give me a fucking break. Also yes, she is a lesbian.
3. "My sister is a bitch. I live with her."
Cool. That rules out boning at your house because I don't need your sister judging me and trying to blame pubes in the tub on me because bitch I don't have those! (Thanks Raj!)
4. "My best friend is obsessed with me and tries to fuck me all the time. Look at all the texts she's sending me right now."
It was at this point that I just chugged my beer and hoped my heart would explode. I don't even want to fuck the Viking but suddenly, because this skank is all up in my business, I feel like I should pee on the dude or something. If some dude is obsessed with me and trying to penetrate me constantly, I'm tired. I'm locking that shit down and doing yoga pants and beers in bed. WHY ARE YOU HERE!?!
5. "I've turned down sex from a lot of drunk girls."
Then proceeded to tell me about each and every one of them while I tried not to barf in my beer. Drunk girls trying to get laid, those are my people. How dare you mock them. Also I have a hard time buying this, show me the fucking receipts.
6. "I'm already drunk."
After 1.5 beers. There are no words.
7. "I always bubble wrap so I don't get AIDS."
AIDS might not get you but a Yaris driven by a crazy blonde bitch might run right through your god damn bubble wrap.
8. "Gay men want to fuck me. They like my eyebrows."
Apparently I was on a date with the guy everyone wants to get plowed by. Good to know.
9. "I don't play video games. I play board games. All the time."
Oh, well that's way better! Get me a fucking gun.
And then the final gem that really got my downstairs damp...
10. "I dated a married woman for four years. It really fucked me up."
So now we're both rolling up with a uhaul full of mommy, daddy, drunk girls, married women issues? Aw hell no. There's only room for one disaster in a relationship and that title remains mine. ALWAYS.
Moral of the story is, shut the fuck up. No one wants to hear everything about you on a first date. You talked your way right out of a parking lot HJ. Congrats and give your penis my condolences.
But guess who reactivated their okcupid account? Let the next shitshow begin!
So I sent this bearded, Viking looking creature a message on okcupid about a month ago. The message only mocked his dislike of Mexican food and unkempt face bush. It should have been a red flag that he thought my insults were charming and admitted he was excited that I had messaged him. Clearly he didn't read my profile thoroughly enough to identify the daddy issues that require men to withhold all of their emotions so I lose my fucking mind trying to make them love me. What an amateur.
Anyway, after hours of text harassing that I found somewhat entertaining, I thought what the hell and asked him if he wanted to hang out. Plans were made to go to a little brewery so even if we hated each other at least I could shove my feelings into a pitcher of delicious craft beer. Below are exact quotes from this dude and my reactions. I hope you have booze and snacks y'all because shit is about to get REAL!
1. "I hate my mother."
In my head I heard, "I hate my mother so I'll eventually hate you when you're old and remind me of her." I get not everyone loves their parents. But maybe reveal your Menendez brother fantasies when I'm on beer three. Maybe even beer 7 so I won't remember a word you said and therefore cannot testify against your psycho ass in court.
2. "Here is a picture of the last girl I took on a date. I think she's a lesbian."
Who the fuck does that!? I don't need to know that I'm way more attractive than the last girl you tried to penetrate. I already knew I was. And now you just forced me to pretend that I'm not disgusted by this face you shoved in my face. Sunday is not my day for pretend. Give me a fucking break. Also yes, she is a lesbian.
3. "My sister is a bitch. I live with her."
Cool. That rules out boning at your house because I don't need your sister judging me and trying to blame pubes in the tub on me because bitch I don't have those! (Thanks Raj!)
4. "My best friend is obsessed with me and tries to fuck me all the time. Look at all the texts she's sending me right now."
It was at this point that I just chugged my beer and hoped my heart would explode. I don't even want to fuck the Viking but suddenly, because this skank is all up in my business, I feel like I should pee on the dude or something. If some dude is obsessed with me and trying to penetrate me constantly, I'm tired. I'm locking that shit down and doing yoga pants and beers in bed. WHY ARE YOU HERE!?!
5. "I've turned down sex from a lot of drunk girls."
Then proceeded to tell me about each and every one of them while I tried not to barf in my beer. Drunk girls trying to get laid, those are my people. How dare you mock them. Also I have a hard time buying this, show me the fucking receipts.
6. "I'm already drunk."
After 1.5 beers. There are no words.
7. "I always bubble wrap so I don't get AIDS."
AIDS might not get you but a Yaris driven by a crazy blonde bitch might run right through your god damn bubble wrap.
8. "Gay men want to fuck me. They like my eyebrows."
Apparently I was on a date with the guy everyone wants to get plowed by. Good to know.
9. "I don't play video games. I play board games. All the time."
Oh, well that's way better! Get me a fucking gun.
And then the final gem that really got my downstairs damp...
10. "I dated a married woman for four years. It really fucked me up."
So now we're both rolling up with a uhaul full of mommy, daddy, drunk girls, married women issues? Aw hell no. There's only room for one disaster in a relationship and that title remains mine. ALWAYS.
Moral of the story is, shut the fuck up. No one wants to hear everything about you on a first date. You talked your way right out of a parking lot HJ. Congrats and give your penis my condolences.
But guess who reactivated their okcupid account? Let the next shitshow begin!
Monday, July 21, 2014
is that my biological clock ticking or my liver screaming?
Let's be completely honest here. Being almost thirty fucking sucks. Thirty is mocking me like Regina George telling me she likes my bracelet and I really just want to punch her in the vagina.
What's mind fucking me is that ten years ago, when I imagined being thirty, I thought my life would be awesome. Like Justin Beiber getting shipwrecked on an island full of horny monkeys kind of awesome. Instead, it's not. My life is typical and normal. And that makes me want to take a Whitney Houston bath.
The worst part is the desperation I feel. I'm so desperate for a job that I don't hate that I sit at work and fantasize about sticking my hand down the garbage disposal at work and then making those cunts pay for me to go back to school to learn a trade that only requires one hand. But the jokes on them because of course I'd pocket the money and go into fetish porn. I'm almost thirty, not a moron.
Also dating has seriously caused me to up my meds. It seems irresponsible to troll on the 25 year olds with hopes and dreams because I left mine at a bar somewhere in 2008 and no one bothered to return them. But the 40 somethings wanting someone to procreate with or at the very least adopt a puppy with aren't going to appreciate pulling me out of a gutter at 6:30 pm on a Sunday. Also that ain't puppy vomit in your bed...my bad.
The worst part is that I feel like I have to try. Actually brush my hair and wear my bra that nails it and get the cat and dog hair off my clothes before I meet disappointment number 87. Also in the middle of writing this I discovered a water bug in the bathroom, completely list my shit, sprayed Raid everywhere and screamed until my roommate disposed of the body. Proof that I am completely undateable. But I digress.
So now that I've accepted I have to put some effort into it, I've also discovered that I am an acquired taste. It's been rough to accept but I am not everyone's jam. My first huge bitch slap of reality came on a date with singularly the most attractive male I've ever shared a close space with. He works on a boat, has sailor tattoos, drives a Harley he custom built, and did not want to penetrate me. That mother fucker. His disinterest was infuriating and also made me want to super ugly cry in front of strangers so everyone felt as bad as I did. But because I'm classy, I pretended I didn't give a shit and flirted with a guy at the bar who smelled like milk. WINNING.
It's also weird when I'm not into the date but Mr. Enthusiastic has already named the golden retriever Dave and is trying to hold my hand under the table. Jesus take the wheel and drive this god damn thing off a cliff. The 25 year old me would've laughed and walked out. But now I get all weird and try to give people a chance and kumbayah and all of that bullshit.
The truth is I'm a hot mess. I have a horrible temper, I say whatever pops into my head, I'm withholding but I need a lot of attention and I don't trust anyone. But once you get past all that, you should probably know that I make some life changing chicken and shrimp tacos, I know how to pour a beer correctly and open a bottle of wine while walking , and I like to solve arguments while naked.
Tell all your friends.
What's mind fucking me is that ten years ago, when I imagined being thirty, I thought my life would be awesome. Like Justin Beiber getting shipwrecked on an island full of horny monkeys kind of awesome. Instead, it's not. My life is typical and normal. And that makes me want to take a Whitney Houston bath.
The worst part is the desperation I feel. I'm so desperate for a job that I don't hate that I sit at work and fantasize about sticking my hand down the garbage disposal at work and then making those cunts pay for me to go back to school to learn a trade that only requires one hand. But the jokes on them because of course I'd pocket the money and go into fetish porn. I'm almost thirty, not a moron.
Also dating has seriously caused me to up my meds. It seems irresponsible to troll on the 25 year olds with hopes and dreams because I left mine at a bar somewhere in 2008 and no one bothered to return them. But the 40 somethings wanting someone to procreate with or at the very least adopt a puppy with aren't going to appreciate pulling me out of a gutter at 6:30 pm on a Sunday. Also that ain't puppy vomit in your bed...my bad.
The worst part is that I feel like I have to try. Actually brush my hair and wear my bra that nails it and get the cat and dog hair off my clothes before I meet disappointment number 87. Also in the middle of writing this I discovered a water bug in the bathroom, completely list my shit, sprayed Raid everywhere and screamed until my roommate disposed of the body. Proof that I am completely undateable. But I digress.
So now that I've accepted I have to put some effort into it, I've also discovered that I am an acquired taste. It's been rough to accept but I am not everyone's jam. My first huge bitch slap of reality came on a date with singularly the most attractive male I've ever shared a close space with. He works on a boat, has sailor tattoos, drives a Harley he custom built, and did not want to penetrate me. That mother fucker. His disinterest was infuriating and also made me want to super ugly cry in front of strangers so everyone felt as bad as I did. But because I'm classy, I pretended I didn't give a shit and flirted with a guy at the bar who smelled like milk. WINNING.
It's also weird when I'm not into the date but Mr. Enthusiastic has already named the golden retriever Dave and is trying to hold my hand under the table. Jesus take the wheel and drive this god damn thing off a cliff. The 25 year old me would've laughed and walked out. But now I get all weird and try to give people a chance and kumbayah and all of that bullshit.
The truth is I'm a hot mess. I have a horrible temper, I say whatever pops into my head, I'm withholding but I need a lot of attention and I don't trust anyone. But once you get past all that, you should probably know that I make some life changing chicken and shrimp tacos, I know how to pour a beer correctly and open a bottle of wine while walking , and I like to solve arguments while naked.
Tell all your friends.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
there goes my amber alert...
A few weeks ago my friend texted me that he had a friend he wanted to set me up with. Two emotions came over me; diarrhea inducing fear and the kind of curiosity that gets you raped and murdered or syphilis. The fear mainly stemmed from the fact that my matchmaker friend is a fucking pervert. Trying to pee on someone is a Tuesday night for this guy. He tried to woo me once by plopping his penis on my shoulder and saying "He likes you" in a voice that mimicked every child rapist on Law and Order SVU. Fortunately to keep my STD count to 0, I slapped it off my shoulder and smiled while he flailed around screaming like a toddler. Long story short, this guy is an awful human being.
The curiosity stemmed from trolling his instagram and noting he has some smoking hot friends who look employed and bathed. Pretty much the only two standards I have left at this point. Thirty is sneaking up on me God dammit and I've had to cut things like "motivated" and "kind" out of the equation completely. Bring on the lazy assholes!
Against my better judgement I agreed. But I asked what the dudes name was so obviously I could internet stalk him to see how slutty I should dress and if I had to shave my legs all the way or just do a half ass job and show more boob. Yes, girls think these things. That's why we're better than you.
So I get the guys name, a completely uncommon name, which was rad so I didn't have to wonder if he was a 14 year old Mormon or a 59 year old Asian man. The very first link that comes up is for a sexual predator website. Fucking awesome. I prayed to any God that wasn't busy that this was the wrong guy. Clearly they were all involved in a group gang bang because this was my rapey Prince fucking Charming. My friend wants me to be penetrated against my will. I'm a lucky girl.
The curiosity stemmed from trolling his instagram and noting he has some smoking hot friends who look employed and bathed. Pretty much the only two standards I have left at this point. Thirty is sneaking up on me God dammit and I've had to cut things like "motivated" and "kind" out of the equation completely. Bring on the lazy assholes!
Against my better judgement I agreed. But I asked what the dudes name was so obviously I could internet stalk him to see how slutty I should dress and if I had to shave my legs all the way or just do a half ass job and show more boob. Yes, girls think these things. That's why we're better than you.
So I get the guys name, a completely uncommon name, which was rad so I didn't have to wonder if he was a 14 year old Mormon or a 59 year old Asian man. The very first link that comes up is for a sexual predator website. Fucking awesome. I prayed to any God that wasn't busy that this was the wrong guy. Clearly they were all involved in a group gang bang because this was my rapey Prince fucking Charming. My friend wants me to be penetrated against my will. I'm a lucky girl.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
that's a bad idea. I'll take two.
I'm the worst person when it comes to listening to and following advice. I hear what you're saying. My way just seems so much better.
While I'd agree for those of you that watch Girls, Hannah is a self-absorbed twat, I think she's my kindred spirit. Almost every time I watch that show I cringe and ask my boyfriend Hercules, "What the fuuuuuck is she doing!?!" But then when I listen to her explain herself, I totally fucking get it. When she talks about letting people sexually demean her, just for the experience, I get that. I mean if we all want to take an honest look at ourselves we can probably think of at least one encounter where we did something or considered doing something bordering on sexual deviance, just to see what it would be like. In case your prudish side just came out, something I haven't seen since sometime in the late 90s, I'll share. Only because you're pretty though.
When I was 22 I met Chris. He was a tall, skinny, vegan with huge plugs, weird piercings and I was immediately obsessed with him. He was every thing my mother warned me against. He was 32, lived with his parents, unemployed, and gave zero fucks about anyone but himself. Hi, my name is Hannah Horvath and this is Adam. I was completely in love and he was amused by me. After a few months of our fucked up humpfest, he broached the topic of things we were into but didn't know how to bring up. I immediately assumed this would be the "let me put it in your butt" conversation. I found myself scooting back until my asshole was firmly protected by the headboard and cleared my throat to scream rape if necessary and hope his Mom hadn't taken her meds yet. Instead he asked if I would pee on him. Uhhh...how's that? I was completely surprised. As he explained himself I realized that I was actually entertaining the thought. Like trying to plan out the logistics of it in my head. Then I realized that I was on the verge of agreeing to pee on someone so they could live out their reverse R. Kelly fantasy. Who does that!? Ultimately I decided to forego the golden showers. As a compromise I just let him put it in my butt. Ha. I kid.
When I told my gay BFF about Chris he immediately hissed and gave me the mom eyebrow. And I have to say that every guy since then has elicited the same response from him and my other bestests. But still, I shrug my shoulders, make a noncommittal noise and proceed without caution. I'm not saying I don't see the shitshow coming my way. I definitely see it. I could play out the whole Courtney Love and Kurt Cobain tragedy word for word. But for some reason I can't walk away from it. I have to let it play out. Even if it's going to lead to Whitney Houston baths and Miley Cyrus twerk and cut Friday nights.I'd rather lose big time and have the story then never experience anything and have the most boring match.com profile ever.
I also think my need to ride the train wreck train comes from the fact that past pounds don't excite me. I've had a few past anatomy study buddies say they masturbate while thinking about someone they've already had sex with. I mean obviously they mean me. And you're welcome. But I can honestly say that I don't think about anyone I've already boned when I have a romantic evening with myself. I do wonder what Chris is up to sometimes when I'm peeing. Probably prison is my best guess. And sometimes when I'm aborting a burrito I laugh about my ex who shit the bathroom floor. There's nothing sexy about any of that. My theory is why would I fantasize about something I've done? Sorry I'm not boring. Now that I think about it, maybe I should've just peed on him.
In my older, almost old age, I'm trying to brake at the yellow lights more often. If a guy starts singing "Trapped in the Closet" softly in my ear I'm going to walk away. However I make no guarantees that if a guy on a motorcycle with a face tattoo offers to give me a ride home from a shady dive bar I won't get on that bike. Because I will. Fuck yes I will.
While I'd agree for those of you that watch Girls, Hannah is a self-absorbed twat, I think she's my kindred spirit. Almost every time I watch that show I cringe and ask my boyfriend Hercules, "What the fuuuuuck is she doing!?!" But then when I listen to her explain herself, I totally fucking get it. When she talks about letting people sexually demean her, just for the experience, I get that. I mean if we all want to take an honest look at ourselves we can probably think of at least one encounter where we did something or considered doing something bordering on sexual deviance, just to see what it would be like. In case your prudish side just came out, something I haven't seen since sometime in the late 90s, I'll share. Only because you're pretty though.
When I was 22 I met Chris. He was a tall, skinny, vegan with huge plugs, weird piercings and I was immediately obsessed with him. He was every thing my mother warned me against. He was 32, lived with his parents, unemployed, and gave zero fucks about anyone but himself. Hi, my name is Hannah Horvath and this is Adam. I was completely in love and he was amused by me. After a few months of our fucked up humpfest, he broached the topic of things we were into but didn't know how to bring up. I immediately assumed this would be the "let me put it in your butt" conversation. I found myself scooting back until my asshole was firmly protected by the headboard and cleared my throat to scream rape if necessary and hope his Mom hadn't taken her meds yet. Instead he asked if I would pee on him. Uhhh...how's that? I was completely surprised. As he explained himself I realized that I was actually entertaining the thought. Like trying to plan out the logistics of it in my head. Then I realized that I was on the verge of agreeing to pee on someone so they could live out their reverse R. Kelly fantasy. Who does that!? Ultimately I decided to forego the golden showers. As a compromise I just let him put it in my butt. Ha. I kid.
When I told my gay BFF about Chris he immediately hissed and gave me the mom eyebrow. And I have to say that every guy since then has elicited the same response from him and my other bestests. But still, I shrug my shoulders, make a noncommittal noise and proceed without caution. I'm not saying I don't see the shitshow coming my way. I definitely see it. I could play out the whole Courtney Love and Kurt Cobain tragedy word for word. But for some reason I can't walk away from it. I have to let it play out. Even if it's going to lead to Whitney Houston baths and Miley Cyrus twerk and cut Friday nights.I'd rather lose big time and have the story then never experience anything and have the most boring match.com profile ever.
I also think my need to ride the train wreck train comes from the fact that past pounds don't excite me. I've had a few past anatomy study buddies say they masturbate while thinking about someone they've already had sex with. I mean obviously they mean me. And you're welcome. But I can honestly say that I don't think about anyone I've already boned when I have a romantic evening with myself. I do wonder what Chris is up to sometimes when I'm peeing. Probably prison is my best guess. And sometimes when I'm aborting a burrito I laugh about my ex who shit the bathroom floor. There's nothing sexy about any of that. My theory is why would I fantasize about something I've done? Sorry I'm not boring. Now that I think about it, maybe I should've just peed on him.
In my older, almost old age, I'm trying to brake at the yellow lights more often. If a guy starts singing "Trapped in the Closet" softly in my ear I'm going to walk away. However I make no guarantees that if a guy on a motorcycle with a face tattoo offers to give me a ride home from a shady dive bar I won't get on that bike. Because I will. Fuck yes I will.
Friday, February 7, 2014
congrats! it's herpes!
I've been doing a lot of reflecting on my life lately. What have I learned? I've learned that I'm my own worst enemy and I stand in my own way. I've learned that being 29 is depressing so I'm going back to 25 and you can't tell me I can't. I've learned that teenage angst is adorable and endearing; almost 30 year old angst is called a mid-life crisis and that's just fucking tragic and puts you right onto an episode of Hoarders. Also I've learned that people think I'm rad; though I'm still puzzled by that. Although I shouldn't be surprised. I have the same daddy issues that cause me to crave love from people that despise me. But the most important thing I learned is that thinking and feeling suck the big one. I've decided that the only way I'll have a chance of making it to my thirties is if I limit having thoughts and feelings to twice a week. Hence I will up my meds and keep my fridge stocked with boozy beverages. Cheers bitches!
On a real note though, I ran into an ex boyfriend's mom literally two hours ago at the store. I saw her and had that moment of panic where I immediately had awkward butt crack sweat and wondered if it would be overdrammatic to slam my cart into a display and run for my life. Unfortunately in my advanced age and due to the degeneration of my liver, my reaction time has significantly increased. Fuuuuuuck she saw me and doesn't see my enlarged, panicked pupils and the bead of sweat chillin on my upper lip. Exes mom comes over and gives me the most awkward hug of my life. It was the kind of hug where you realize your ass is pushed as far back as your pelvis will allow and you keep patting their back because your limbs have no idea what the fuck they're supposed to do. At this point my entire life was sweating and I half hoped I would have a stroke. The Real Housewives of Buena Park, set your TIVO.
So we did the awkward "nice to see you" greetings. She made an unsuccessful joke that I looked much better than the last time she saw me. Sidenote: the last time she saw me I was storming out of her house at 3 am sobbing hysterically because her son mascerated my heart in a food processor. Then the awkward silence prompted me to ask the loaded question, "How is doucheface?". Anyone who says that they wish the best for the ex that butchered their insides is a dirty liar and I will punch you in the mouth. What you want to hear is that they were in an accident that made their penis unusable and they live in the basement watching old episodes of Carebears and sobbing. I see you nodding over your glass of wine.
As she geared up to answer my question the look on her face terrified me. I saw pity there so I immediately knew the words "hot wife", "adorable babies" and "beach house in Hawaii" were about to ruin me. I immediately looked into my cart and realized I was going to need a shit ton more booze. And Tapatio Doritoes. At least three bags. But as she started talking I discovered her pity was for doucheface. Turns out things didn't go so well for him. I wanted to want to run up and down the aisles highfiving strangers and kissing teenage boys. Instead I actually felt bad. I'd wished herpes, impotence, even death via car fire on this guy. Now I actually felt bad for him. Who the fuck am I?
Turns out I can't be mad at silly boys for my bad (typically drunk) choices. In fact, I should thank them all for helping me dodge a bullet. Better yet a mother fucking bomb! I mean I considered marrying someone who turned out to be one of the most awful people I've ever met. That one I won't thank. That one can burn in hell. Shit. There goes forgiveness.
On a real note though, I ran into an ex boyfriend's mom literally two hours ago at the store. I saw her and had that moment of panic where I immediately had awkward butt crack sweat and wondered if it would be overdrammatic to slam my cart into a display and run for my life. Unfortunately in my advanced age and due to the degeneration of my liver, my reaction time has significantly increased. Fuuuuuuck she saw me and doesn't see my enlarged, panicked pupils and the bead of sweat chillin on my upper lip. Exes mom comes over and gives me the most awkward hug of my life. It was the kind of hug where you realize your ass is pushed as far back as your pelvis will allow and you keep patting their back because your limbs have no idea what the fuck they're supposed to do. At this point my entire life was sweating and I half hoped I would have a stroke. The Real Housewives of Buena Park, set your TIVO.
So we did the awkward "nice to see you" greetings. She made an unsuccessful joke that I looked much better than the last time she saw me. Sidenote: the last time she saw me I was storming out of her house at 3 am sobbing hysterically because her son mascerated my heart in a food processor. Then the awkward silence prompted me to ask the loaded question, "How is doucheface?". Anyone who says that they wish the best for the ex that butchered their insides is a dirty liar and I will punch you in the mouth. What you want to hear is that they were in an accident that made their penis unusable and they live in the basement watching old episodes of Carebears and sobbing. I see you nodding over your glass of wine.
As she geared up to answer my question the look on her face terrified me. I saw pity there so I immediately knew the words "hot wife", "adorable babies" and "beach house in Hawaii" were about to ruin me. I immediately looked into my cart and realized I was going to need a shit ton more booze. And Tapatio Doritoes. At least three bags. But as she started talking I discovered her pity was for doucheface. Turns out things didn't go so well for him. I wanted to want to run up and down the aisles highfiving strangers and kissing teenage boys. Instead I actually felt bad. I'd wished herpes, impotence, even death via car fire on this guy. Now I actually felt bad for him. Who the fuck am I?
Turns out I can't be mad at silly boys for my bad (typically drunk) choices. In fact, I should thank them all for helping me dodge a bullet. Better yet a mother fucking bomb! I mean I considered marrying someone who turned out to be one of the most awful people I've ever met. That one I won't thank. That one can burn in hell. Shit. There goes forgiveness.
Sunday, November 3, 2013
Hi, I'm Jenn and I'm better than you.
Being single again has made me realize something really mind blowing about myself. I thought self-discovery was over after age 25, but apparently the fucked up journey continues. Thank god since I really needed something more to live for.
The other night, while sadly trolling okcupid and moving onto bottle two of the cheap wine I was judged about while purchasing at Fresh and Easy, I realized that I'm kind of an asshole. Ok, time to get real, I'm a huge fucking asshole. I laughed at people for describing how they were looking for the one and hoping to find someone to give them a reason to get up in the morning. I openly mocked the dude who might be a little cross-eyed for sending me a really sweet message and trying to compliment me. I literally looked at my dog and said "Look at this fucking guy! I mean, where is he looking? I can't bring a wonk-eye home to meet the family." Yeah, those words were put out into the universe by this bitch. Even my dog didn't think I was funny. And that little bastard adores me.
Also I routinely delete messages from people for the most shallow reasons. The guy who wore a beanie that was a little too close fitting. I mean come on dude, everyone knows slouchy beanies are sexy. Otherwise you look like a dick, literally. Also the guy that seemed a little too excited to be posing with his furry fluff ball of a dog. I mean I'm obsessed with my dog, everyone knows this. Yet I kind of hated this dude for liking his dog so much. It doesn't even make sense.
I won't even look at someone's profile or read their message if the tiniest little detail about their profile picture or something they wrote seems less than awesome. Maybe it's because I think my profile is so rad, chances are I'm not going to mesh well with someone who didn't put as much effort into theirs. It is awesome though. Seriously, I'm kind of like a dating profile genius.
It's not even just the online rejections. Sometimes when a dude tries to hit on me in a bar, the grocery store parking lot, in the Taco Bell drive-thru, I roll my eyes so violently that I'm pretty sure I've made eye contact with my brain. I might even have hissed and/or growled at someone. I'm one plastic bag and a shopping cart away from being that crazy bitch with the smeared red lipstick that used to hang out near the freeway and assault people. Oh dear god, I've already looked my future in it's crazy-eyed face.
I can't decide if I'm such a twat because I'm attempting self-preservation and I'm trying to avoid being penetrated by another douchebag, or if I really just hate everyone and don't think there's anyone out there worthy of seeing how much I spaz out when I take Ambien and try to fight it. I don't want to die alone with a cat eating my face, but I also know I don't want to wake up every morning feeling disappointed by the person sleeping next to me.
Maybe I need to think less. Maybe I need to say "yes" more and stop making animal noises at people. Or maybe I need to take my friend Eric's advice and, "Go home with a 4, and let him have the win for once."
The other night, while sadly trolling okcupid and moving onto bottle two of the cheap wine I was judged about while purchasing at Fresh and Easy, I realized that I'm kind of an asshole. Ok, time to get real, I'm a huge fucking asshole. I laughed at people for describing how they were looking for the one and hoping to find someone to give them a reason to get up in the morning. I openly mocked the dude who might be a little cross-eyed for sending me a really sweet message and trying to compliment me. I literally looked at my dog and said "Look at this fucking guy! I mean, where is he looking? I can't bring a wonk-eye home to meet the family." Yeah, those words were put out into the universe by this bitch. Even my dog didn't think I was funny. And that little bastard adores me.
Also I routinely delete messages from people for the most shallow reasons. The guy who wore a beanie that was a little too close fitting. I mean come on dude, everyone knows slouchy beanies are sexy. Otherwise you look like a dick, literally. Also the guy that seemed a little too excited to be posing with his furry fluff ball of a dog. I mean I'm obsessed with my dog, everyone knows this. Yet I kind of hated this dude for liking his dog so much. It doesn't even make sense.
I won't even look at someone's profile or read their message if the tiniest little detail about their profile picture or something they wrote seems less than awesome. Maybe it's because I think my profile is so rad, chances are I'm not going to mesh well with someone who didn't put as much effort into theirs. It is awesome though. Seriously, I'm kind of like a dating profile genius.
It's not even just the online rejections. Sometimes when a dude tries to hit on me in a bar, the grocery store parking lot, in the Taco Bell drive-thru, I roll my eyes so violently that I'm pretty sure I've made eye contact with my brain. I might even have hissed and/or growled at someone. I'm one plastic bag and a shopping cart away from being that crazy bitch with the smeared red lipstick that used to hang out near the freeway and assault people. Oh dear god, I've already looked my future in it's crazy-eyed face.
I can't decide if I'm such a twat because I'm attempting self-preservation and I'm trying to avoid being penetrated by another douchebag, or if I really just hate everyone and don't think there's anyone out there worthy of seeing how much I spaz out when I take Ambien and try to fight it. I don't want to die alone with a cat eating my face, but I also know I don't want to wake up every morning feeling disappointed by the person sleeping next to me.
Maybe I need to think less. Maybe I need to say "yes" more and stop making animal noises at people. Or maybe I need to take my friend Eric's advice and, "Go home with a 4, and let him have the win for once."
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