Friday, December 16, 2011

I'm Baaaaack!

Hello all!  I'm back after a super busy November and a sleep-filled December, and I have some great stories for you!

Check back soon to read about Shit-Stain Sven, Drooly McGee, updates on my Stage 4 Clinger, Johnny Softcakes, and a whole lot more!

Monday, October 31, 2011


Happy Halloween, Merry Samhain, and Happy Celtic New Year!

A friend of mine had a Halloween party this past Friday night.  It's a tradition for her and her hubby to throw this party, complete with an ice luge for shots (I want to be her when I grow up - she's so cool).  The last couple years I wasn't able to go, but this year, finally, I made it!

Besides the drinking, Rock Band, boob flashing, and crazy costumes, one more interesting thing happened. I met a guy.

He's different from the type of guy I usually date (meaning he's employed, he's smart, and he's kind), but we have a lot in common and we spent a good amount of time talking  Friday.  But, because this is my love life we're talking about here, of course there's a catch.

He didn't ask for my number.

As I said, we talked during the party a few times.  At the end of the night, it was me, him, the hostess and her hubby left.  The hostess went to bed, and her hubby told us we were welcome to hang out at their house as long as we wanted.  He graciously informed us of a couch that opens to a bed in the basement in case we wanted some privacy, as well as let us know we were welcome to watch tv, or put on a movie or some porn.  Yep, he said porn.  Love that guy, lol.

So, me and the cutie went into the living room and sat there talking for a while.  We held hands.  He had his arm around me.  I had my head on his lap, and he was stroking my back.  It was very innocent, but very sweet.  After a couple hours we fell asleep like that, and I woke up with my head still on his lap in the morning.

When we left, he gave me one of those really long hugs that's more like someone holding you than hugging you.  We both did the procrastination thing, where we said "Well, I should go..." a couple times without actually going.  Told him I was really glad I had met him; he said "Me, too."  And then we left, in separate directions.

I was doing the procrastinating thing because I was waiting for him to ask for my number, or at least say "I'll friend you on Facebook," but nope.  Nothing. Nada.  A big fat zilch.

I'll admit it; I'm confused.  I really don't know why he didn't ask for my number, at least as a new friend.  I'm disappointed, too.  I like him.

The part that's killing me though is that normally, I would have said something about us hanging out, or getting his number, but I decided to not be the aggressive one this time, and let the guy do the "guy" thing.  And then he didn't.

What the hell?

Tuesday, October 25, 2011


I never thought I'd be the type of person who used sex as a way to feel important or special or loved.  Used to roll my eyes and talk down about women who did that.  Never thought I'd be that "pathetic".  Apparently, I am.

The hard thing now is not to do it anymore. Just because I know it's not good doesn't mean I'm not going to want to do it.  It's like a really destructive bad habit. I know why I do it; it's because my self-esteem is shit.  I know all that when I repeat that bad habit, I feel like shit.  So I go and do it again, with someone new.  It's a nasty cycle.

Do I feel like all I have to offer someone is sex?  Absolutely not.  Do I feel like I have zero good qualities and I have to make up for it by being easy?  No way.  So why this lack of self-esteem?

I think a lot of it is just from the shit I've been through with guys in the last 2 years.  I mean, yeah, I've had some awesome dates and met some great guys, but in between them there has been a lot of getting my hopes up and having them squashed.  A lot of feeling like I'm just not good enough.

Good enough for what?  Well, that's the zillion dollar question.  Because I'm not really sure anymore.  Feeling not good enough has been a recurring theme in my life, going back to my childhood.  I was bullied and picked on, alienated and teased, and left out.  It didn't help than my grade school was 1 class with 20 kids and we spent K-6th grade together.  Once you were label "uncool" you were fucked.

In Jr. High I felt the same way.  Less because I was getting bullied (although there are a few girls from Jr. High that I plan of beating the living fuck out of if I ever run into them), and more because I just didn't fit in.  I was fat; I was awkward; I had three-inch thick over-sized glasses; I listened to heavy metal like my older sister instead of Paula Abdul, Madonna, and Michael Jackson.   By the time I was in high school, I'd gotten used to putting my head down and hoping I could make it from one class to the next without running into someone who wanted to loudly inform me I was a fattie (as if I could ever forget).

College would have been great - if I hadn't gone to a private, preppy, small college where you were an outcast if you didn't go to the bars on the weekends, have an unlimited amount of spending money from Mommy and Daddy, and parade around in the latest Gap clothes every day.  I didn't fit it, and by then it had gotten stuck in my head that it was because I wasn't good enough, thin enough, normal enough, fill-in-the-blank enough.

I thought that damn though was dead and buried, but it turns out I hadn't actually killed the monster, just sedated it for a while.  And apparently all it took to wake the beast was a couple years of bad relationships and asshole guys.

So now I'm single, pushing 34 years old, and feeling like I'm not enough.  Feeling like I don't have enough good things about me to keep a guy interested past the first few dates.  Feeling like sleeping with a guy before there is an emotional connection is the only way I'm going to keep that guy interested long enough to form that emotional connection.  But fuck, we all know it doesn't work that way.  All I've managed to do is make myself feel worse and let a couple guys use me for sex.

Fuuuuck, that was a hard thing to write, hard to admit, but it's true.  I say some guys are dickheads because they used me for sex.  But the truth is, they pretty much had my permission to use me.  I was offering it up, and all they did was accept it.  Can I really blame them? 

Well, yeah, I can, but only to a certain extent.  The rest is my fault, and something I have to change about myself.  I have to kill that self-esteem monster once and for all.  And this time I'm going to behead that motherfucker.

William Gibson

My therapist says I have low self-esteem, and that by continuing to try and and make guys like me through sex, all I'm doing is setting myself up for disappointment, more hurt, and ore negative feelings about myself.  But I wonder, could it be that I really AM awesome and that all the guys I've met are assholes? 

Friday, October 21, 2011

Internet Guy

My BFF Amy found this at The White Sade and I had to share:

The man of my dreams. <3
I died when I saw this.  I was very tempted to find a way to contact this guy.  I mean, not only is he 100% real (which is a huge plus since we all know what an embarresment it is to be caught making out with a life-size Ken doll, not to mention the unsatisfactory fact that he's missing his love stick), but he has a big TV (because you know what they say about a man with a big TV, don't you? Oh, er, me neither.), knows 15 of the 24 major guitar chords (that's more than half, bitches!), and he'll totally enjoy my favorite past-time: having a man eat tacko's off my big boobs while I watch cartoons!  I mean, he really is perfect for me.

So if anybody out there knows who this guy is, please, please, give me his number.  Because while some women dream of marrying a US President, all I want is a man who's touched one...twice!

PS You can find the original post from Sade here.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Clinger Update

Cpl. Maxwell Klinger from M*A*S*H
So I got the chance to meet my Stage 4 Clinger, and I'm very happy to report he's not creepy or stalker-y or anything clinger-y at all. He's not even Klinger-y! Double bonus!

In fact, he's just a sweet guy.  He missed me in the way Misty suggested in the comments - he missed talking to me. Everyone together now: *awww* 

We had a great time together, and have been texting every day since then.  He texts every day just to say hi, and we've been talking a couple times a day.  We're planning to get together again soon, and as corny as it sounds, when he said this morning that he missed me, I didn't heebie-geebie-creebie out because I kind of miss him, too.  I miss him in the way that I had an awesome time with him, and I can't wait to see him again, and it's been 3 damn days already, and I'm probably the most impatient person you'll ever meet.  I want to see him again, and I don't want to wait, but I have to, such is life, blah blah blah. 

So yeah, I kinda miss him, too.  And if that makes me the heebie-geebie-creebie inducer, well then, hand me a pair of night vision goggles cuz I'm gonna embrace it!

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

I have been noun'd!

I have always wanted my name to become a noun in relation to me and my awesomeness.  You know what I mean, like "She's gave me The Haylah," (The Haylah being a kick-assey and un-fucking-believable sex move or a tough-ass-bitch take-no-shit move).  And today, my dream came true.  Today I was noun'd.

Woke up to a text from a guy friend (Mr. Tongue) that I've hooked up with in the past.  We're not dating, we've never dated, but we have had some great sex.

Mr. T: Hope I didn't wake you. BTW could really use some haylah
            right about now.
Me: You did, but that's OK, needed to get up anyhow. BTW what does
        "need some haylah" mean?
Mr. T: Well, sorry it was morning and things are usually filled with
            blood... haha in other words I needed some haylah.
            Some sweet tasting haylah.
Me: lmao Nice. I've always wanted to get to a point where my name
        was synonymous with sex!
Mr. T: Well if any name would be synonymous..your's would be it!
           haha Psst.....wanna haylah? haha I can picture it now! xerox
           is synonymous for copies. haylah is sex.

It's a proud day for me. And I'm sure Mom and Dad would be bursting with pride if I shared this news with them. In fact, maybe I should take out an announcement in the local paper. Ooh, better still, anyone got the number for Webster's?

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Do Not Disturb

I went away with my BFF Amy over Columbus Day weekend.  We stayed at a chain hotel called La Quinta, which was really nice and really cheap (and even cheaper if you have a Sam's Club membership).  Free Wi-Fi, indoor pool and hot tub, free breakfast spread, and the best Do Not Disturb signs I have ever seen in my life:

Do Not Disturb, No Molesting!

Now, I took 7 years of French in Jr High and High School, and I grew up and now live in areas that are predominantly Portuguese, so I never learned Spanish.  So when I first saw this, my twisted mind read

Do Not Disturb
I'm Being Molested
(and I like it!)

Then I realized it said 
Do Not Disturb
Do Not Molest Me*

and as a friend of mine said, "Well, that's no fun."

I almost brought it home with me, I mean, it was too damn funny not to have.  But seeing as how it sat in the key-card lock on the door, and didn't actually hang on the doorknob, and I didn't currently have a key-card lock on any of my doors at home, I figured I'd leave it behind for the next occupant to enjoy as much as I had.  (Although I did price out installing a key-card lock on my apartment door before I left the hotel, and, much to my disappointment, found that while they only cost about $100, my landlord was going to charge me an extra $1,000 for ruining the original-to-the-house antique door.  Not quite worth it to me.) 

*Yes, I am aware that No Moleste is Spanish for Do Not Disturb.  But thanks for telling me anyways, in case I really was that dumb. ;)

Monday, October 17, 2011


You cannot take me anywhere.  Case in point:

Went to the grocery store this afternoon.  When I was checking out, the cashier was a very cute guy named Andrew who I had seen and talked with a little before.  He was helping me bag my groceries, and he asked is he could put my eggs in a separate bag.

My reply: You can do anything you like with my eggs.

As soon as I said it, I realized what it sounded like.  The woman behind me started laughing and I paused.  Andrew blushed, and put his head down on the counter, laughing.   Then  I had to swipe my card three times because both him and I were so flustered that we kept hitting the wrong button when trying to chose what type of card it was.  

I swear, if I had been trying to flirt with him, I wouldn't have ever thought to say that.  Ahhh, at least I'm amusing.

Sunday, October 16, 2011

Stage 4 Clinger

A few days ago a guy emailed me through my online profile and we began chatting.  Seems nice, he's cute, so far so good.  We haven't met yet, and we haven't had any really long phone conversations.  we've talked enough to decide we want to meet, which we are planning on doing this upcoming week.

Today, when he was at work, I got a text from him that gave me a hint of the heebie-geebies.  It was along the lines of Things are slow here.  Ok, not heebie-geebie-ish on it's own.  It was the last sentence that did it: Miss you.

Sweet? Yes.

Flattering?  You betcha.

Premature Affectuation?  YES!

When I read that the little man in my head pulled the alarm and suddenly the red lights were flashing, the sirens were blaring, and that always-calm British computer voice was repeating 

Stage 4 Clinger!  
Repeat: We have a Stage 4 Clinger!

I mean, what exactly does he miss about me?  My texts?  My stuffy nose voice on the phone (damn seasonal allergies)?  Or does he just like the idea of missing me?  You know, like when people are in love with the idea of being in love but not so much in love with the person they are in love with the idea of being in love with.  Shut up, it did too make sense.

I love to tease my Mom and my sister because both my father and my brother-in-law said "I love you" on the second date, and both my Mom and my sister kind of rolled their eyes and laughed nervously at them.  But they both ended up marrying them, too.  Could this be karmic retribution?  Or is my love life just this much of a joke to the gods?

Whatever it is, I'd love to believe there is something magickal about me that this guy honestly does miss after barely knowing me.  I might even let myself pretend it's true, at least, until the heebie-geebies attack again.

My point is, that while I'm searching for someone to miss me when we're not together, it makes me nervous and gives me a heebie-geebie attack when that happens before we've even met.


I know, I know, I know.

It's been almost a month since I posted.

I am shamed.

I will be back soon, my bitches!

Friday, September 23, 2011

The Few, The Proud, The Marine

Last night I got a fucking awesome phone call.  It was The Marine, and he was with some of his friends.  I guess he had told them about this blog and showed it to them, and they didn't believe he was The Marine.  So he called me so I could verify it for them.  Ha!  I'm sure it's because there's nothing negative about him on here, but it cracks me up that not only was he bragging about being The Marine, but that when his friends didn't believe him, he felt the need to call me at 2 in the morning so I could confirm it.

When I first started this blog, and yes, let's be honest, the accompanying book that's been in the back of my mind for months now, I was torn between using real first names and nicknames.  For some of the douche-fucks I met, I really wanted to use full names, and also supply emails and phone numbers.  But that whole pesky possibility for a slander lawsuit got in the way, so the fucktards simply remained fucktards.  And for the good ones (and yes, I'll admit, there have been very few good ones over the last year), I thought why not use their real first names?  After all, if some guy was going to praise me in his blog, I'd want my real name in it so I could brag show everyone how kickass I was.  But maybe some of these guys wouldn't want their exploits, well, exploited (yeah, I know, dumb thought), so I went with nicknames.

Besides, reading about The Marine, Johnny Softcakes, and The Grim Reaper is a lot more interesting than reading about Joe, Bob, and Steve (no, those are not their real names, either).

But I obviously failed to take into consideration one very important factor - the male ego. Particularly, it seems, the male ego of a 20 year old who is being publicly declared as the best sex I've ever had.  So, this is for you, my proud Marine Sex-Machine:

The Marine's real name is Andy.  He has 2 tats (one on his shoulder one across his clavicles) and a scar at the top of his sternum.  He can be crazy and sadistic and fucked-up in the head, but when he lets his guard down, he can be a like a big teddy bear (offer him a back rub and I swear he purrs like a lion).  And yes, he really is the best sex I've ever had.

Monday, September 19, 2011


Been hiding away tying to recoop and get some energy back.  That hospital stay took a lot more out of me than I thought.  Add to that my daily fatigue from MS, and some crap-tastic personal stuff I'm dealing with, and I just don't want to come out of my bed and blanket cave.

But I've been reading my favorite blogs, and they've been making me laugh and feel better, so I want to return the favor.  To get your Halloween juices flowing (only 42 days left!!), here's one of my favorite videos.  And yes, I have been infected with Zombie-Love.  I'll have to show you my matching Zombie shoes and wallet sometime! :)  Until then, enjoy and shake your ass off to a little Zombie Woo-ing. xoxo

Friday, September 16, 2011


Yesterday's Gone
by Angels Fall

Yesterday's gone and tomorrow is almost here,
and I don't want to leave you here.
The candels burned down
and melted everywhere,
what a mess we've made here.

I watch her as she sleep
silently she dreams
as I run my hands through her hair.
I think, how did we come to this
I think I found it by the way we kissed.
Should I let go or should I stay?

Where do we go from here?
Why do I need you near?
What if I was to say 
I never felt this way?

Shes layin in my bed
as the sun kisses her skin
I feel the warmth deep within.
I wish tomorrow never came
cuz I'll do it all again
just the same every day.

I think how did we come to this.
I think found it by the way we kissed.
Should I let go or should I stay?

Where do we go from here?
Why do I need you near?
What if I was to say
I never felt this way?
I never felt this way.

Can I keep holdin on to you
or should I let go and fade away?
Can I keep holdin on to you?
or should let go and fade away?

Yesterday's gone and tomorrow is almost here,
and I don't want to leave you here.

Where do we go from here?
Why do I need you near?
What if I was to say
I never felt this way?

Monday, September 12, 2011

Oh my!

Backdoor sex, not for everyone.  But for those who enjoy it:

From one of my Mom's country-themed home decoration catalogs.  Ha!

Friday, September 9, 2011

Things I've Done I Should Be Ashamed Of, But I'm Not

The Marine - Ha, yes, he's number one on the list.  I know I should be a little ashamed that I (a 33 year old woman) had wild, uninhibited, wicked, hot, wild sex with a man who was barely into his 20's.  But he's so hot, and it was so good, there's just no room left for shame or guilt.  Besides, I love having a Puma notch on my lipstick case, and I'm hoping that I'll be married by the time I reach Cougar age.

Cheated - and I don't mean at Poker.  I mean on a long-term boyfriend.  Not my finest moment, not something I'm proud of.  But, as it is, not something I'm ashamed of either.  Neither of us was really happy in the relationship, and when the chance to get some fulfilling from someone I'd lusted after for years came along, I barely hesitated.  Not an excuse, I know.  I was wrong.  If I could go back and do it all over again, I wouldn't do it.  Not because I'm ashamed of my actions, but because it was wrong, and it didn't solve anything.  It was a pointless and useless action.  Except for the lesson learned.  Which was that cheating is a pointless and useless action and it doesn't solve anything.

Being a Tease - There was a time when I was struggling to find my kick-assedness. (Yes, it's a word.  Shut up.)  This mostly centered around finding guys to tell me I was hot, and keeping a backup or two.  Not the most horrible things, but not the best personality traits either.  And then there was the day I let a boy think I was going to fuck him, just so I could fool around with him.  What was so bad-ass about fooling around with this guy?  He was a good amount younger than me, and I needed to prove to myself that I was kick-ass enough to get a young piece of cute ass like that.  And I was.  Am I ashamed I was a tease to this poor guy?  Nope.  I got a great confidence boost in a time when it was much needed and he learned a valuable lesson: some women are all talk and no action.

Being a Puma - Yes, I'm referring to The Marine.  However, I'm also referring to a little kiss and fondle session that occurred not long ago - with a teenager!  OK, before you go getting all, "Ew, that's gross, you should be locked away for molesting kids, you dirty whore" on my ass, let me explain.  Yes, he's still a teenager.  But, he's a 19 year old teenager, so he's legal.  I've dated a man 14 years older than me (Marc, I was 23, he was 37, and goddamn was that man yummy!), and now I've gotten a little action from a guy who is 14 years younger than me.  Is it a big age difference?  Hells yeah.  Do I want to date this guy?  Hells no.  But fuck, it was a great way to pass the afternoon!  Oh yeah, the best part?  In the middle of the fun, I realized I couldn't remember is name, and I still don't remember it.  Ha!

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Back. The Fuck. Up. (part 2)

The following is a scene from the biographical movie of my life, working title: Back. The Fuck. Up.


Haylah is sitting on the bed in her black lace nightie, towel drying hair.  Johnny Softcakes walks in, still naked, from the kitchen with a beer.

JOHNNY SOFTCAKES: So you'll get the morning after pill tomorrow.

HAYLAH [tensely]: Yes.

JOHNNY SOFTCAKES: OK. Good.  And, look, I don't think this is gonna work with us.

Haylah stops moving and slowly looks up at him.


JOHNNY SOFTCAKES: I just don't think we're sexually compatible, you know? I mean, that was a workout, and it took a long time. I like you, and I'm just being honest. I think you're cool and I want to be your friend, but we're just not sexually compatible, ok?

Haylah, too stunned to speak, just gets up and begins getting dressed. Not sexually compatible? He couldn't have told me that before he fucked me for two hours?



JOHNNY SOFTCAKES: Are you sure? You seem mad.

HAYLAH: No, I'm not mad. Just...disappointed.

(Because, sadly, despite the sexual incompatibility, Haylah had actually really started to like Johnny Softcakes.)

JOHNNY SOFTCAKES: Then what are you doing?

HAYLAH: Packing my stuff so I can go home.

JOHNNY SOFTCAKES: You don't have to go home. You can stay.

HAYLAH: I don't want to stay.

JOHNNY SOFTCAKES: I was only being honest. You don't have to leave. It's late. You can still stay. I still want to be your friend. We're just not -

HAYLAH: I know, sexually compatible.

JOHNNY SOFTCAKES: So you gonna stay?

HAYLAH: No, I think I'm gonna go home.

JOHNNY SOFTCAKES: Well, if you're sure, but you don't have to.

HAYLAH: I'm sure.

JOHNNY SOFTCAKES: Ok, well, as long as you know you don't have to leave, and as long as you're not mad.  But if you do go home, it's cuz it's you choice, ok? I'm not making you leave, or even asking you to leave.  You can stay. We can hang out and watch a movie or just go to sleep. I still want to hang out with you. You're a cool girl. I just don't think the sex is going to work. But as long as you know I'm not asking you to leave in the middle of the night. I wouldn't do that. I wasn't trying to hurt you, I was just being honest with you. And if you go, it's your choice, I want you to know that. I want to make sure you know I'm not kicking you out in the middle of the night, and make sure you're not mad. If you want to go, you can go, I won't stop you. But before you go, can you help me make the bed?

HAYLAH: .....[open mouthed stare].....

And then, in a Zombie-daze, stunned into silence for the first time in 33-years, Haylah actually helped make the bed.

EDITOR BFF KELLY: Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.  Back. The Fuck. Up.  He asked you to help make the bed before you left?!

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

...and Sour

I got 3, count 'em THREE, messages from a guy on a dating website today.  Here are the contents.

Message 1
Wat u up to u want my number [he included his number]

Message 2 (received less than a minute after message 1)
I wanna meet you is that cool

Message 3 (received less than a minute after message 2)
O I'm real soft inside

Even if the messages didn't read like a brain-dead fuckwad on life support had written them, I wouldn't have been interested in this guy.  Too forward, too creepy, too desperate, too ew.  (Oh, and the soft inside comment, I'm assuming, was in regards to the title of my profile which says I'm looking for a badass with a soft side.)  Plus, he's not someone I'd be interested in anyways.  Nothing in common, and way too hip/hip-gangsta-wanna-be-I-think-I'm-cool-because-I-wear-a-gold-chain-with-a-60-pound-fake-diamond-encrusted-dollar-sign-hanging-off-it.  I refer you to exhibit A, his profile description:

hi my name is [deleted by me]. i am new to this site. i will finish this later. messsage me if you wanna. I am from the cape but living in norton ma right now. I am a good guy so feel free to message me if you are interested. I will mind **** the sh*tout of you and get that **** quick **** so holla at ya boy

And this was not the first time I got this triptych from this guy.  I got the exact same three messages from him two days ago. I had just deleted and ignored them before, but obviously I'm so fucking awesome, he wasn't going to take the hint.  So, I replied with this:

I appreciate your interest, but I'm not interested. And to let you know for the next girl you are interested in, sending 3 messages right after each other, the first one asking if a girl wants your number or giving out your number, isn't really a good first impression. It's a little creepy stalker-ish.
Good luck on your search.

His reply
Ur fuckin ugly anyways

Ha!  Ha ha ha!  Awww, I hurt his wittle feewings.  So, of course, I had to put Mr. Fuck-Nugget in his place and yes, I do get a perverse enjoyment out of putting dumbfucks in their place, lol).

My reply
[Subject of message] Aw, did I hurt your feelings?

Right, that's why you sent me 6 messages in 2 days, and gave me your number twice.  Cuz you think I'm ugly.  Dude, if you can't handle rejection, (and by the way, I was nice about it, no need to be a douchewad), then don't put yourself out there.  I was just telling you I wasn't interested and letting you know that you came on way too strong, so that maybe you could try a different approach with the next girl.  Because obviously THAT approach isn't working for you.  But it seems I was wrong.  It's not your approach.  You're just a little cunt.  Holla at that, bitch.

Monday, September 5, 2011


A very sweet guy messaged me today through my online dating profile.  His message:

You are beautiful. What are you doing today?

Everyone together now Awwwwwww…  Totally made my day. 

After I read the message, I checked out his profile.  Too bad, the guy is only 21.  Yes, I know that's legal.  And I know many of my married and settled down kickass bitches are screaming at the computer right now  "21?!  GO FOR IT!  I need to live vicariously through you!  My sex life is boring!"  Yes, you are.  Yes, you are.  Uh-huh.  Yup.  I know you are.  How?  Because that's exactly what you all said when I told you about The Marine.  Ha!  Gotcha!

But I have been the Puma (you're not a Cougar until you are 35) and as much fun as it was, I'm not looking to do it again.  Unless it's with The Marine.  I'll do anything with him again, ha! And if you're still pushing for me to stretch my Puma paws, let me share this little golden nugget with you.  On this guys profile, under First Date, this is what he wrote:  
 I would like it to be very casual, 
nothing crazy but then again no mcdonalds date lol 
...idk it would depend on the girl 
....mayb I can beat you in bowling or lazer tag ? Lol

Laser tag, while adorable, is something this kickass bitch is way too old for.

Sunday, September 4, 2011

The Friend Zone

So I sucked it up, bit the bullet, took one in the nuts (figuratively, of course), and said (to my cats and the voices in my head), if The Dark One isn't interested in me as more than a friend, fuck him.  Well, sadly, no, not fuck him.  I would very much like to fuck him.  All that long black hair flying around....his, not mine...yummmm...

Er, sorry.

Anywhore, as I was saying, I made the decision that if he isn't interested in more than a friendship, then I was going to clean the litter box and get rid of that shit word yet.  Scoop, scoop, plop plop, flush.  The box has been cleaned and the word has been flushed.

Wait, you have no idea what I'm saying?  I really have been talking to the cats too much.

Let me try again.

I told The Dark One that if we were only going to be friends and there was no chance of us ever becoming more, than there should be no problem with us actually hanging out and spending time together.  His response?  "Yeah, ok."  Such a charmer, that man.

So, there it is.  We've officially moved into the Friend Zone.  You all know the Friend Zone:

"The Friend Zone"  from Raising Hope
If you haven't watched this show, you need to.
I wanna be Grandma when I grow up.

It's the point when you are close enough to talk intimately, hug hello, maybe even cuddle a little on the couch while watching a movie, and freak the fuck out if you think of taking things any further because you don't want to lose the friendship you have.  The Fucking Friend Zone.  I hate that motherfucking place.

So why did I willingly enter into it with The Dark One?  Because unless I let go of yet and just be friends with him, I'm going to hang on way too long, and in all likelihood, end up missing out on someone.  Because outside of TV, chick flicks, and novels with hot pink covers and snappy titles, a guy doesn't wake up one morning and realize that his best girl friend that he's been confiding in, drinking with, and palling around with for the last couple years is actually the woman he's desperately in love with.  And shame on TV, chick flicks, and those obnoxiously covered books for making us think things work that way.

So, yes, I am now in the Friend Zone with The Dark One.  Does this mean I'll stop fantasizing about him when it's late at night and I'm lonely?  No.  Does this mean I'll be able to look at him without a wave of "Oh my Fuck" passing through my loins?  Hell, no.  Does this mean I'd still die for the chance to have all that gorgeous, long, soft hair draped over my naked body?  Fuck, yes.  

But now I can also let go and look for someone who says "Oh my Fuck" when they see me, too.  Because, as one of my loyal bitches recently said, in the fashion of a L'oreal commercial, I AM WORTH IT!

Friday, September 2, 2011

Back. The Fuck. Up. (part 1)

The following is a scene from the biographical movie of my life, working title: Back. The Fuck. Up.

INT. - 1 AM. A curvy and fabulous redhead (Haylah) lies naked in a tangle of sheets on the bed, breathing heavily, her face flushed.  A two hour sex-marathon has just ended between her and The Rock Star, aka Johnny Softcakes.  Johnny Softcakes has spent the last 40 minutes moving Haylah around, flipping her over, bending her in different contortions, and positioning her limbs like she was a Gumby doll in an attempt to get her into the one position he likes to have an orgasm in.  The one position, by the way, that even an anorexic midget gymnast couldn't hold for more than five seconds.

Half an hour after Haylah's last orgasm, Johnny Softcakes finally comes, then gets up from the bed and stretches his long, lean body, and walks towards the bathroom.  He pauses in the doorway and looks back over his shoulder. 

JOHNNY SOFTCAKES: We've gotta talk.

Haylah sighs.  She gets up and goes to the bathroom to take a quick shower.  Johnny Softcakes is throwing the used condom in the trash. 

HAYLAH: What's up?

JOHNNY SOFTCAKES: I think the condom slid off me for a second so you need to go get the morning after pill tomorrow.

HAYLAH: I'm on the pill.

JOHNNY SOFTCAKES: Yeah, but just in case.  Cuz I think the condom slid a little and I don't want a kid.

HAYLAH: Did the condom come off?

HAYLAH: Did the condom break?


HAYLAH: I think we're OK.

JOHNNY SOFTCAKES: But it felt like it slid, so something could have come out of it and into you.

HAYLAH: We used condoms.  With spermicide.  And I'm on the pill.  We're fine.

JOHNNY SOFTCAKES: No, you need to get the morning after pill tomorrow.  I think the condom slid.  I don't want a kid.

Haylah sighs and steps into the shower. 

HAYLAH: Fine. I'll get the morning after pill tomorrow.

JOHNNY SOFTCAKES: What would you do, you know, if you were?  Cuz I don't want a kid.

Haylah peeks out the shower curtain at Johnny Softcakes.  She can't tell if he's being an ass on purpose or if he really is that paranoid.  The look of dumb concern makes her think he really is that paranoid.

HAYLAH: I guess I'd take care of it.


HAYLAH: I know, you don't want a kid. [under her breath: Douchefuck]

Please refer to No Make-Believe Stories Here; It's All True for the background on Back. The Fuck. Up.

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

He's Just Not That Into You...Yet?

Hello, my name is Haylah, and I’m a clinger.

[chorus of Hello, Haylah.]

I’d like to share my story with you, not just because I like to talk, but because I’m hoping to get some feedback, maybe some insight, or at least an opinion that isn’t the jumbled on I’ve had on repeat for the last 2 and a half months.

A couple years ago that book and movie, He’s Just Not That Into You came out.  I read the book, saw the movie, and I hated to admit it, but it made sense.  There’s one message that kept being repeated over and over, and it’s stuck with me: 

If a guy is interested, he’ll call; If he’s not interested, he won’t call.

For those of you who refuse to hear this, let me repeat:  IF A GUY IS INTERESTED, HE’LL CALL; IF HE’S NOT INTERESTED, HE WON’T FUCKING CALL!

A guy isn’t going to sit back and let someone he likes walk away or slip into the clutches of another for any reason.  Men are competitive by nature.  They like the chase.  They more than like it; they crave it.  When they see something (or someone) they want, nothing will stop them from trying to get it.  So if he isn’t calling, if he isn’t chasing you, he just isn’t that interested.

Now, this  does not mean that it’s your fault, fuck no.  Obviously that guy is a loser who needs to get over his issues and realize you are a god damn diamond!  But really, it doesn’t matter if he ever realizes it or not, because you are (or should be) long gone by then.


Yet, there are those of us who cling.  We cling to the idea that maybe he’s not calling because of some external factor that has nothing to do with us.  Like his job.  Or his family.  Or his wife.  No, no, no, scratch that last one.  The point is, the clingers among us need to realize that even if, yes, EVEN IF, he’s interested but not calling because of work pressures or exhaustion from waking up with his wife every two hours to feed the newborn, he’s no good for us!  

Repeat, please: NO GOOD FOR US!

[chorus of No good for us!]

We need, we want, we deserve a guy who has the time and the desire to call us.   I know, easier said than done.  Easier said than waiting for.  Easier when you don’t have the muddled thought that I keep having:

What about when he does call, but not in the way you expected?

No, I’m not talking about the Booty Call (“Booty, Booty, Where are you?”).  I mean the call where you talk, casually, as friends.  Hey, what’s up, how’s it going, how was your day, etc.  You’d say, ok, so he wants to be friends.  But, fuck, there’s so much more to it.

  • Met on a dating website
  • Started talking, getting to know each other, see if there could be anything there
  • Interest in each other, talk about meeting, then he pulls away
  • Comes back with an iron will not to meet because he’s “bad for you and you’re nice and [he’s] not and [he’ll] only hurt you so it’s for your own good”
  • Continue with intense conversations re: relationships, past struggles, how you’re both fucked up in the head, fears
  • Definite interest in you as a friend, sometimes seems like more, but then he pulls away, yet he continues to maintain friendship and initiate contact

So at this point, I ask, What the Fuck?  Is this a case of he’s only interested as a friend and I should accept it as that and forget about anything more?  Or is it a case of he’s not interested in (or ready for) more than friends yet?  Should I let things develop in their own time (by the way, I so do not have patience), or should I push a little more for the friendship to develop, like to us meeting and grabbing a drink (in friendship only)?

How long do you wait to see if a friendship can turn into more?  How many weeks does that little word, yet, allow you to cling before you become pathetic?  By no means am I saying you (or I) should put life on hold waiting for a yet that may never happen or stop looking for someone because of this one guy, but let's admit it: when you make a connection, no matter how small, you can't keep yourself from wanting to see if it can grow to more.  True, yet can be nothing but a shit word to keep you hanging on for too long, but sometimes shit can be the best fertilizer.

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Izz Jeremy Crazy?

Ahh, the joy of meeting someone new.  A time when you don't know much about them, but still feel a little flash of excitement when you see a new email from them.  A time when there are endless possibilities, and you are thinking that maybe, this time, this will be the last new guy you ever have to meet.

Then he turns out to be bat-fuck-crazy.

Case in point: a guy I "met" online not long ago.  His screen name is izzjeremy.  No, I don't know what it means, and fuck no, I don't want to know what it means.  I can guess, and it makes me gag.

I received a message saying he had indicated interest in me by sending a flirt that read "Hello."   I sent him a message that said "Hello" back.  I know, I'm a conversational genius!  Here's out chat...

izzjeremy: hows my baby doin today...and hows my home state treating her*

Me: OK, um, a little fast, lol.I'm good today, you? Cold and rainy here :P 

izzjeremy: um?,,,a lil fast? being sweet and playful, yet what a shocker another woman who thinks every man must have her...dude ur not even that cute, yet thats how u act? get u girls see why men r dicks to u cause when theyre sweet u treat em like a punk...sorry this convo is a lil too fast for me, i dont know u therefor ill have to judge ur worthyness before i talk to u...looks like 2 just played ur game huh bitch...fuck off

Me: Wow, dude, can't take a joke, huh?  Idk what type of girls you've been talking to, but we're not all like that, you know, just like not all guys are dicks.  I didn't judge you or your worthiness.  If I did, I wouldn't have bothered to ask how you were doing today.  You're not going to get any decent and loyal women like that.  Peace out.

And then I hit that nice little doo-dad called the BLOCK button.  As my secret celebrity crush would say, Winner Winner, Chicken Dinner!

*PS, his home state was actually NOT the one I live in, so that made that chicken extra crispy.