‘My Pussy Tastes like Pepsi-Cola’
Because, who wouldn’t want to read an entry with that headline?
“My pussy tastes like Pepsi-Cola
My eyes are wide like cherry pies
I gots a taste for men who’re older
It’s always been, so it’s no surprise. …Come on baby, let’s ride
We can escape to the great sunshine
I know your wife, and she wouldn’t mind.”— Lana Del Rey, “Cola”
I heard this song for the first time on the way to work this morning and I’m like, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE?
I try not to be *too* crass. Especially since I see the type of people it attracts. But every once in a while, I rather enjoy an innuendo … as long as it’s an intelligent one.
Someone’s name has been in the air lately and it’s not a good one. He was full of disgusting comments. And it made me stop saying sexual things pretty much altogether.
And after moving on to spend too much time dating a damn choirboy, seriously, I need to find my sense of humor again.
I’m reclaiming it today.
Anyway, I was telling some colleagues how guilty I feel … like I unleashed that disgusting beast. I told him it was OK to talk to me that way. The guy was a big ol’ nerd and I’ve always had a soft spot for the “talk nerdy to me” set. I figured, they were all learning how to treat a woman on the off-chance one would talk to them. They were practicing and studying, right?
Well not this one. He learned all his charm from porn, apparently. But I didn’t mind. What I do for a living can be pretty damn boring. And I used to work with one of the biggest horn-dogs on the planet. Of course, he actually knew his way around a woman, I can tell you that firsthand.
Ahem.
Anyway, so this clown started sexually harassing one of my people. And I said to her, I need to talk to this guy. She said no, it’s OK. She can handle him.
And now to this day, I have generations of people I meet in this world who have been offended by this character. Men too. Hell, men ESPECIALLY.
I feel like I should have contained it. Not that I could have, I know that now. But it’s fun to think about whether, if you’d just cut their dick off early like they deserved, generations of *squick* could have been avoided.
Anyway, no wonder I went for choirboy. (Or Catholic Boy, as one of my girls called him. Which is appropriate given that he cancels plans with me all the time supposedly to go to church.) Of course, I figured he’d be somewhat of a tiger. Never dreamed he’d be a pussy … cat.
Nah. Just plain pussy.
I am feeling all gangsta-like, throwing that word around. Sweet release!
I realized something today. Most of these yahoos aren’t good enough for me. I spend all kinds of time thinking I’m too “whatever” — not skinny, not pretty, not smart, not whatever — for them. And today I realized in a big way I’m too vibrant/cute/funny/successful for most of THEM.
Christ, I’m never going to find anybody, am I?