Me: I just want to tell him to fuck off and die.
Me: Wait, you know what? That’s TOO MANY STEPS. Forget the fucking off. Just die, OK? DIE!
Friend: Your time management skills are awesome.
Just a small suggestion to improve Facebook.
I saw an old high school friend liking something posted by one of my high school enemies. I clicked on “I don’t want to see this.” Facebook asks why.
On the dropdown menu, “She is a cunt” would have been a more-fitting option than “This is spam/annoying.”
Hop to it, k?
I don’t need to rehash the news but if you missed it, the Twitter hashtag #YesAllWomen has all you need to know.
The best thing I’ve read is that it’s not that all men have been total douchelords to women, but rather that all women have endured some form of degradation, abuse or humiliation at the hands of a man.
I try not to go too deeply into my memory banks, or too specifically into detail. But yes, the latter part of that earlier statement is definitely true.
I think what’s been most-pervasive in my day is that men who are unattractive, underearners, underachievers or otherwise not exactly anybody’s dream come true have seemed to think I owed it to them to want to be with them, for the mere fact that I am not a skinny girl.
I’ve had a few even dare to say to me that I should be lucky to have any man look at me.
Some have also been fortunate enough to endure my left hook. Which, is pretty kickass, considering I’m a righty.
I wouldn’t say I am a vestal virgin by any means. But I remember some incidences throughout my long-gone youth where I settled, shall we say. Amy Schumer delivered a brilliant speech at the Ms. Gala into which you could insert my name one or three times.
That didn’t last long, though. I realized early on the power I wielded. They were LUCKY to have me. I was GIVING THEM time with me that I could have been spending alone or with someone else.
Do not DARE to even TRY to make me feel lesser than your lesser ass. That I am LUCKY to have you and you could do better but you’re slumming it with me.
KISS MAH PUDGY PORK ROAST ASS if that’s the attitude you dare to have around me.
So, yeah. Single and newly 40. And guess what? I never settled another day in my life after THAT revelation.
The thing is, there are enough people trying to make you feel stupider, slower, less “in” in all areas of your life. I rule my bed and what limited personal time I have.
And frankly it amuses me when men approach me like I should be rolling out a red carpet to have garnered their attention.
Like, really? Let me whip out my Facebook and introduce you to the high-quality guys I DID attract, thank you very much.
Anyway, no details. But memories, I haz ‘em. Recent ones, too. VERY recent. I don’t need anyone to love me. But I also don’t need anyone who wants to tell/treat me they can do better.
THEN BY ALL MEANS DO SO. Because, I sure as hell will. It’s not that hard, actually.
The thing with granting yourself peace, it’s just like cleaning or eating right.
You can’t do it once and be good for life. You have to make the conscious choice to do it every single minute of every single day … or at least enough to make your body or house inhabitable, but on a cognitive level.
What I have loved about the type of job I’m in, is that I bond with top experts. They do their thing, I make them look better. They fuck up, I cover it up. I earn their undying gratitude, and we all live happily ever after. Whenever I need a favor, I gots the hookup.
And then there are people who suck the air out of the room and who throw you under the bus and back up over you a few times while never acknowledging how many times you lifted up that same bus and helped them out from under it.
I’m not looking for a parade for all I have done for them. God knows it doesn’t work like that. But escalating every little thing to crisis levels and trying to make me look like a slacker in public? Deserves a nice hot cuppa “shut the fuck up” dumped all over their pointy little heads.
It’s already hard enough most days to scrub my butt and toss on some clean scandalous gutchies. Pantyhose and makeup on top of it means I’m REALLY trying hard to keep it together. And to constantly be on the defensive is really, really messing with the inner peace I only catch fleeting glimpses of.
Karma may be a bitch, but I’m here now and I can be a MUCH bigger one. In case anybody missed THAT memo.
Peace out … the window once again.
“You stole my sanity
Now you are the enemy
Are you sure you wanna play this game?
Are you sure you wanna play it?”
– Daughtry, “Traitor”
Saw Daughtry last night at SunFest. I showed up for The Bangles’ set at 2 p.m. (fucking fantastic) and stayed the whole time till he took the stage at 9 p.m. And OMG, fabulous.
Anyway, the lyric above stuck in my head in a way it hasn’t in my casual listening to his newest album.
I realized someone declared war on me a long time ago, and only now did I realize, hey, how many times do you really think you can dick around me with me and I’m just going to keep squirting lube in my ass to make it more-bearable?
It sucks when friends become the enemy. But it sucks far less that I spied it with my third eye a long time ago and, really, it was just a matter of time.
It’s been a while since I declared, “Fuck me and I will FUCK YOU BACK.”
It kind of feels good actually.
Even though I have no idea how to win at this juncture …