Retail…how the hell has no one written about this horseshit yet?
…let’s get one thing straight. I hate people…with the exception of whoever invented porn/mayo/zingers….and you…dur.
However, retail has definitely destroyed my hope in humanity…well honestly, I never really had any to begin with…but now I just like to fart (silently) when a customer is bitching for no real reason.
…and the moment my scent hits their nostrils…priceless.
Everyone in retail hates people. We all know it. We all except and respect that fact…but for the few out there who like to pretend this is a fallacy…
Riddle me this:
Has an associate at any retail store said, “I’m sorry,” to you?
…exactly.
In the mere month I’ve been working in retail, I’ve quickly learned that “I’m sorry,” translates to, “I really don’t give a shit.”
…”You forgot your coupons? I’m so sorry.”
Yeah, I don’t give a shit.
…”You’re mad that you have to wait in this big awful line on Christmas eve because you procrastinated…I’m so sorry.”
I really don’t give a shit…bitch.
…”Oh no, now because you procrastinated we are all out of boxes and now you’ll have to scour this town for the only Dollar Tree open that may be open, but will inevitably be sold out as well…and will probably smell like a constant fart cloud is slowly sprinkling into your mouth…I’m so sorry.”
I’m…I’m not.
“You’re trying to return the shirt that you are wearing…without any tags…or proof of purchase…I doubt that’s going to happen…I’m so sorry.”
What the fucking fuck???! You’re trying to return the shirt you are wearing? The shirt that is on your body at this very exact moment as I openly mock you?!
Hmmm…how do I put this politely?
Yeah…I don’t give a shit.
Lloyd.
Writing has always been very cathartic for me. Usually, my funniest writing comes from my darkest moments…well… as dark as you can get for a cute upper-middle class suburban white girl.
But try as I might, I’m experiencing my first real bout of writer’s block…and that shit is a bitch….
So instead of the previous post I was working on… I’m going to tell you a story…
In college, I worked at a Jimmy Johns. It was one of the greatest jobs ever… honestly, I don’t know how the fuck I didn’t get fired…
…Let’s just say I sexually harassed many a customers…whatever, I’m cute…they liked it… but that’s beside the point…
The store was right next to campus so we had a parking attendant to make sure students weren’t “illegally” parking….and that man’s name was…Lloyd.
He was a funny man, never missed an opportunity to hit on me, or any other female that passed that parking lot.
He called me Red… I’m pretty sure he never really knew real name… I worked there for a over a year.
He also thought my best friend (who also worked at JJ’s) was a boy….she wasn’t...she’s really pretty actually…and I was the one with adult braces…he was an older gentleman…maybe his eye-sight wasn’t what it used to be.
She was the only girl he wouldn’t hit on…one time he called us the Bobsy twins (or some shit like that)…so naturally we Googled it and it turned out to be some old-time stories about these twins that got into mischief…. a boy and girl twin.
Also…I may or may not have said (on more than one occasion)… “I’d bone him…”
I swear to God I was joking, but like I said I don’t know how I didn’t get fired…
Well I just found out Lloyd died last night…he had massive blood loss from a surgery, then broke his hip and got a bad infection and slipped into a coma.
I never really said goodbye…the last time I saw him was October/November? The only thing I can remember saying was… “Oh Lloyd…” as we watched him hit on another random passerby.
…and it warmed my heart.
It was one of those moments that you naively believe would never change, you’d come back years from now and the same scenario would be playing before you once again.
…and all would be right in the world.
He was a good man…who always stood on that sidewalk… rain or shine…in a bright orange vest labeled “PARKING ATTENDANT”…. He was happy.
We were happy.
I was happy.
…and thankful for that jack and coke you slipped me at work, Lloyd.
I’ll make sure they retire your vest, and hang it up in JJ’s so everyone can know the legend of Lloyd.
It wouldn’t be right any other way.
But try as I might, I’m experiencing my first real bout of writer’s block…and that shit is a bitch….
So instead of the previous post I was working on… I’m going to tell you a story…
In college, I worked at a Jimmy Johns. It was one of the greatest jobs ever… honestly, I don’t know how the fuck I didn’t get fired…
…Let’s just say I sexually harassed many a customers…whatever, I’m cute…they liked it… but that’s beside the point…
The store was right next to campus so we had a parking attendant to make sure students weren’t “illegally” parking….and that man’s name was…Lloyd.
He was a funny man, never missed an opportunity to hit on me, or any other female that passed that parking lot.
He called me Red… I’m pretty sure he never really knew real name… I worked there for a over a year.
He also thought my best friend (who also worked at JJ’s) was a boy….she wasn’t...she’s really pretty actually…and I was the one with adult braces…he was an older gentleman…maybe his eye-sight wasn’t what it used to be.
She was the only girl he wouldn’t hit on…one time he called us the Bobsy twins (or some shit like that)…so naturally we Googled it and it turned out to be some old-time stories about these twins that got into mischief…. a boy and girl twin.
Also…I may or may not have said (on more than one occasion)… “I’d bone him…”
I swear to God I was joking, but like I said I don’t know how I didn’t get fired…
Well I just found out Lloyd died last night…he had massive blood loss from a surgery, then broke his hip and got a bad infection and slipped into a coma.
I never really said goodbye…the last time I saw him was October/November? The only thing I can remember saying was… “Oh Lloyd…” as we watched him hit on another random passerby.
…and it warmed my heart.
It was one of those moments that you naively believe would never change, you’d come back years from now and the same scenario would be playing before you once again.
…and all would be right in the world.
He was a good man…who always stood on that sidewalk… rain or shine…in a bright orange vest labeled “PARKING ATTENDANT”…. He was happy.
We were happy.
I was happy.
…and thankful for that jack and coke you slipped me at work, Lloyd.
I’ll make sure they retire your vest, and hang it up in JJ’s so everyone can know the legend of Lloyd.
It wouldn’t be right any other way.
I probably should't tell people this...
I’m cute… but I’m disgusting….and lazy…and weird…and kind of an asshole…and a smidge pathetic….
And for a second I thought maybe that with the New Year nearing the corner that I should reflect on my lesser qualities/philosophies/addiction to mayo and you know…fix that.
…yeah…um…nahhhhhhh.
I started making a list of all my weird shit and it’s bad… like really bad (and sadly all true) ….pretty much… I’m literally wiping out any chance I have of getting laid with this one blog post.
…you’ve been warned.
1. I shave my big toes…they just have these 3 hairs that drive me crazy…and are a bitch to pluck.
2. I hate, hate, hate brushing my teeth…. I really do.
3. Mayo…dollops and dollops of mayo….enough said.
4. KFC Double Down…filled with dollops and dollops of mayo…
5. I’m convinced one day I’m going to be possessed by the devil…or maybe I already am…
6. My dream is to be famous based solely on all the disgusting shit I do… it’s a valid life choice.
7. I often ask myself…. “Why am I not slutty…er?”
8. Fuck flossing.
9. I think all jeans should have an elastic waist-band/spanx/a portable McFlurry maker installed in them.
10. My favorite dessert…hostess mini donuts topped off with a shit ton of vanilla icing fresh out of spray can….but, like 12 of them…in my mouth…at once.
11. My feet smell like fritos (when I don’t wear socks)…I don’t plan on fixing that.
12. My feet also sweat….like…all the time.
13. What does Grade D meat stand for? Damn Delicious meat…that’s what!
14. “Oh…it’s extra, extra, extra mayo girl again…”
15. In the winter I legit don’t shave my legs….it’s the closest I can get to feeling like a man.
16. On second thought… I’m pretty sure I do have a penis….
17. So what exactly is wrong with porn?
18. Fuck fruit.
19. If I had a penis…I wouldn’t wash it….deal with it.
20. One day some dude was staring at me in a truck when I was walking to campus…I screamed…”What the fuck are you looking at?!?”… it was my cousin.
21. I love the smell of chloroform.
22. I use my macbook to write/shield my food boner/conconct mayo masterpieces on….oh and watch porn.
23. I probably won’t care if you thought I was racist…as long as you think I’m pretty.
24. I have dandruff…I don’t plan on fixing that…
25. I like the taste of iron.
26. I just farted.
27. My soul mate is named Bell…Taco Bell.
28. Usually when I think my cell phone is vibrating…it’s just my upper thighs jiggling.
29. I hate nature…like legitimately hate nature.
30. Stereotypes are my favorite pastime….
There’s more…but you know I don’t want you to vomit in your mouth too much…
And for a second I thought maybe that with the New Year nearing the corner that I should reflect on my lesser qualities/philosophies/addiction to mayo and you know…fix that.
…yeah…um…nahhhhhhh.
I started making a list of all my weird shit and it’s bad… like really bad (and sadly all true) ….pretty much… I’m literally wiping out any chance I have of getting laid with this one blog post.
…you’ve been warned.
1. I shave my big toes…they just have these 3 hairs that drive me crazy…and are a bitch to pluck.
2. I hate, hate, hate brushing my teeth…. I really do.
3. Mayo…dollops and dollops of mayo….enough said.
4. KFC Double Down…filled with dollops and dollops of mayo…
5. I’m convinced one day I’m going to be possessed by the devil…or maybe I already am…
6. My dream is to be famous based solely on all the disgusting shit I do… it’s a valid life choice.
7. I often ask myself…. “Why am I not slutty…er?”
8. Fuck flossing.
9. I think all jeans should have an elastic waist-band/spanx/a portable McFlurry maker installed in them.
10. My favorite dessert…hostess mini donuts topped off with a shit ton of vanilla icing fresh out of spray can….but, like 12 of them…in my mouth…at once.
11. My feet smell like fritos (when I don’t wear socks)…I don’t plan on fixing that.
12. My feet also sweat….like…all the time.
13. What does Grade D meat stand for? Damn Delicious meat…that’s what!
14. “Oh…it’s extra, extra, extra mayo girl again…”
15. In the winter I legit don’t shave my legs….it’s the closest I can get to feeling like a man.
16. On second thought… I’m pretty sure I do have a penis….
17. So what exactly is wrong with porn?
18. Fuck fruit.
19. If I had a penis…I wouldn’t wash it….deal with it.
20. One day some dude was staring at me in a truck when I was walking to campus…I screamed…”What the fuck are you looking at?!?”… it was my cousin.
21. I love the smell of chloroform.
22. I use my macbook to write/shield my food boner/conconct mayo masterpieces on….oh and watch porn.
23. I probably won’t care if you thought I was racist…as long as you think I’m pretty.
24. I have dandruff…I don’t plan on fixing that…
25. I like the taste of iron.
26. I just farted.
27. My soul mate is named Bell…Taco Bell.
28. Usually when I think my cell phone is vibrating…it’s just my upper thighs jiggling.
29. I hate nature…like legitimately hate nature.
30. Stereotypes are my favorite pastime….
There’s more…but you know I don’t want you to vomit in your mouth too much…
What to do...what to do...
So I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place and I want your opinion…
While as hilarious my pathetic self can be…some days (when I’m being a little less gross/whorey/socially awkward) I just really want to write about… my parents.
And yes, my parents do know I have a blog…and I have told them that in fact, yes, it is kind of raunchy (baby steps people…baby steps).
But they have yet been given the permission to read my blog…I think you can understand why.
Here’s the catch. My parents do expect me to get famous and thus have put a price on their net worth…
… “We get 30% of your profits if you write anything about us.”
Come on! Thirty?!?! That’s a shit ton of money mom and pops.
Now don’t get me wrong, I love my parents and all…but 30 percent… love….? Maybe 15 percent like…?
…it’s not like I’m going to let them live out of a box or anything when I’m rich.
I plan on buying them the two most expensive matching wind suits from Sears for Christmas…thank you very much.
But in all seriousness I really do love my parents and would never want to hurt their feelings with anything that I write…but they are a fucking GOLDMINE.
If you think I can joke about sex/porn/taco bell you should meet my mother.
Let’s just say, the phrase, “National porn league” has been thrown out on more than one occasion.
Oh, and let’s not forget… “I farted today…and I’m pretty sure the cashier heard me.”
She’s the future me…in every way possible…it’s really scary to watch actually…
This shit cannot go unwritten. In fact it hasn’t… I have a shit ton of these mom quotes written in my handy dandy notebook.
…But is it time to post them on the interwebs?
Is it worth 30% of all my net profits…?
I mean seriously I’ve made, what? Ten bucks from this blog already…that would be a whopping three whole dollars. Three! Count em’. One …two…three. (Right? I don’t do math…) But that seems like a lot.
So what do I do? Do I make the deal?
Would you guys even want to read about my parents?
Or should I just stick with writing about my unnatural consumption of mayo?
It’s a tough choice I know. Some have even likened it to “Sophie’s Choice” and by some, I mean me…and by me… I mean Mark Walhberg.
Yeah. That’s right…Mark Fucking Walhberg.
While as hilarious my pathetic self can be…some days (when I’m being a little less gross/whorey/socially awkward) I just really want to write about… my parents.
And yes, my parents do know I have a blog…and I have told them that in fact, yes, it is kind of raunchy (baby steps people…baby steps).
But they have yet been given the permission to read my blog…I think you can understand why.
Here’s the catch. My parents do expect me to get famous and thus have put a price on their net worth…
… “We get 30% of your profits if you write anything about us.”
Come on! Thirty?!?! That’s a shit ton of money mom and pops.
Now don’t get me wrong, I love my parents and all…but 30 percent… love….? Maybe 15 percent like…?
…it’s not like I’m going to let them live out of a box or anything when I’m rich.
I plan on buying them the two most expensive matching wind suits from Sears for Christmas…thank you very much.
But in all seriousness I really do love my parents and would never want to hurt their feelings with anything that I write…but they are a fucking GOLDMINE.
If you think I can joke about sex/porn/taco bell you should meet my mother.
Let’s just say, the phrase, “National porn league” has been thrown out on more than one occasion.
Oh, and let’s not forget… “I farted today…and I’m pretty sure the cashier heard me.”
She’s the future me…in every way possible…it’s really scary to watch actually…
This shit cannot go unwritten. In fact it hasn’t… I have a shit ton of these mom quotes written in my handy dandy notebook.
…But is it time to post them on the interwebs?
Is it worth 30% of all my net profits…?
I mean seriously I’ve made, what? Ten bucks from this blog already…that would be a whopping three whole dollars. Three! Count em’. One …two…three. (Right? I don’t do math…) But that seems like a lot.
So what do I do? Do I make the deal?
Would you guys even want to read about my parents?
Or should I just stick with writing about my unnatural consumption of mayo?
It’s a tough choice I know. Some have even likened it to “Sophie’s Choice” and by some, I mean me…and by me… I mean Mark Walhberg.
Yeah. That’s right…Mark Fucking Walhberg.
Screw you....
I hate people who think I’m mentally inept to accomplish anything just because I’m cute.
It’s like, “ooohhhh…ahhhh…she’s adorable….I doubt she can read.”
…Fuck you.
Some people just have so much baggage from middle school/high school/yesterday when I called that chick fat, that their subconscious won’t even allow them to believe someone could be cute and smart, or god forbid cute and funny.
…Fuck you!
You know I’d might even sympathize with you…or feel some version of pity…but you know what? I used to fucking be you.
Yeah that’s right, whore (or asshole).
I used to be fat/ugly/socially awkward/wear brightly colored leggings because I couldn’t fit into jeans like a normal person… for a whopping 14 years. I paid my fucking dues so you can shut the fuck up.
And guess what….fuck you!
Get over it… .and get off you fucking high horse, bitch (or dick).
And here’s the thing, I’m not even that cute. Put a picture of me next to Angelina Jolie and people would be like “Who’s the dude?”
I’m a solid 6.5 if you don’t catch me shoving mayo in my mouth.
So… let’s be honest, if you’re getting this bitchy (or dicky) based on the way I look…you may never want to turn on a television/read a magazine/ eat Taco Bell…because they have these things called…."models".
… and just in case you did not know what a “model” was…”models” are what mundane people call very pretty people (boys or girls) who get paid based solely on their looks.
I know I know…you could never be one.
Oh wait you think you could?
Stop it…stop it! You’re going to make me go!
…oh…wait…I just peed a little.
You, my friend, are a riot.
Oh wait…that’s right…I’m the riot…not you.
Suck on that.
Bitch (or dick).
It’s like, “ooohhhh…ahhhh…she’s adorable….I doubt she can read.”
…Fuck you.
Some people just have so much baggage from middle school/high school/yesterday when I called that chick fat, that their subconscious won’t even allow them to believe someone could be cute and smart, or god forbid cute and funny.
…Fuck you!
You know I’d might even sympathize with you…or feel some version of pity…but you know what? I used to fucking be you.
Yeah that’s right, whore (or asshole).
I used to be fat/ugly/socially awkward/wear brightly colored leggings because I couldn’t fit into jeans like a normal person… for a whopping 14 years. I paid my fucking dues so you can shut the fuck up.
And guess what….fuck you!
Get over it… .and get off you fucking high horse, bitch (or dick).
And here’s the thing, I’m not even that cute. Put a picture of me next to Angelina Jolie and people would be like “Who’s the dude?”
I’m a solid 6.5 if you don’t catch me shoving mayo in my mouth.
So… let’s be honest, if you’re getting this bitchy (or dicky) based on the way I look…you may never want to turn on a television/read a magazine/ eat Taco Bell…because they have these things called…."models".
… and just in case you did not know what a “model” was…”models” are what mundane people call very pretty people (boys or girls) who get paid based solely on their looks.
I know I know…you could never be one.
Oh wait you think you could?
Stop it…stop it! You’re going to make me go!
…oh…wait…I just peed a little.
You, my friend, are a riot.
Oh wait…that’s right…I’m the riot…not you.
Suck on that.
Bitch (or dick).
I Just Had Sex ...
The world must see the new SNL Digital Short...genius...Akon's best song ever...never thought I'd say that.
God damn, Jorma, you are one jew I would do.
God damn, Jorma, you are one jew I would do.
I probably should be embarrassed...
My sex dreams are always shameful. I usually wake up drenched in a sin sweat questioning out loud…
“Was I drunk in my dream?”
“Is my subconscious more of a whore than awake Natalie?”
“Did I eat a whole package of bologna slathered in mayo before bed…again?”
And I must admit, this makes me really worry about subconscious…well to be frank…it’s not like I wasn’t concerned before…it’s just the past 13 sex dreams I’ve had have been kind of a red flag. A huge fucking red flag.
Sex dreams are not supposed to be embarrassing.
It’s like my inner psyche has lower standards than my only reality…and that’s really low…
…dreams are the one place that Catholics can hide their sinful thoughts from God/Santa/the assistant manager at Taco Bell…
Whatever don’t act like he isn’t a god. Did Jesus give you 89-cent taco Sundays? Um, no he didn’t…all he did was die for you sins…big whoop.
…and I just proved my point.
Anyways, I’m convinced that my local pizza delivery boy has pulled an Inception shenanigans on my dreams because I wake up way too many mornings crazy deep dish pizza and sex.
…That or I watch way too much amateur porn.
…or I eat more than the average consumption of bologna…I also just had to sing the Oscar Meyer Wiener song out loud to correctly spell bologna.
God damn you, original speller of bologna…god damn you.
So is this what my life has come too? A plethora of meat/mayo/porn/shameful sweating… sprinkled with a few SNL marathons every Tuesday and Thursday?
And yet boys still want to boink me with their man junk?
It’s the riddle of the sphinx…I swear to god.
“Was I drunk in my dream?”
“Is my subconscious more of a whore than awake Natalie?”
“Did I eat a whole package of bologna slathered in mayo before bed…again?”
And I must admit, this makes me really worry about subconscious…well to be frank…it’s not like I wasn’t concerned before…it’s just the past 13 sex dreams I’ve had have been kind of a red flag. A huge fucking red flag.
Sex dreams are not supposed to be embarrassing.
It’s like my inner psyche has lower standards than my only reality…and that’s really low…
…dreams are the one place that Catholics can hide their sinful thoughts from God/Santa/the assistant manager at Taco Bell…
Whatever don’t act like he isn’t a god. Did Jesus give you 89-cent taco Sundays? Um, no he didn’t…all he did was die for you sins…big whoop.
…and I just proved my point.
Anyways, I’m convinced that my local pizza delivery boy has pulled an Inception shenanigans on my dreams because I wake up way too many mornings crazy deep dish pizza and sex.
…That or I watch way too much amateur porn.
…or I eat more than the average consumption of bologna…I also just had to sing the Oscar Meyer Wiener song out loud to correctly spell bologna.
God damn you, original speller of bologna…god damn you.
So is this what my life has come too? A plethora of meat/mayo/porn/shameful sweating… sprinkled with a few SNL marathons every Tuesday and Thursday?
And yet boys still want to boink me with their man junk?
It’s the riddle of the sphinx…I swear to god.
You have to admit...
It’s like there is no good way to reject a boy anymore.
You act like a bitch and they think you are flirting with them. You act like a jackass, and they text you…”Why did you leave without saying good bye to me?”
Hmmm…er….well… “You disgust me.”
And there’s something you have to respect about a girl that’s a complete jackass.
So let’s get one thing straight….I’m a jackass. Not a bitch…oh no no no. A total jackass.
…respect me.
It’s a curse really. You’d think being a jackass one would be able to narrow down the amount of men one has to come in contact with…however…it has the complete opposite effect.
…I’ve been at my job…two…count em two weeks…and I’ve already been asked out by two guys.
And I’ll say it again… I’m a fucking jackass to these guys….A FUCKING JACKASS… cause here’s the thing…I don’t hide my disgust for other people very well…or at all…
Majority of the shit I say…I’m not trying to be funny.
“You’re really funny.”
No, I’m just being brutally honest and you’re lack of experience in a situation like this is mistaking it as sarcasm.
“…I really am.”
Look gentlemen, if I’m being a jackass to your face then it means that I am disgusted by the sight of you…or that I want to have sex with you.
…okay, okay you have like a 50-50 chance of getting laid.
…75 % chance if I’m drunk.
…99.3% chance if I’m drunk and high.
…but that’s besides the point.
Maybe I just look too nice. Maybe that’s why my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.
I try to even it out with my jackassyness, but obviously I need to concoct a plan that’s a little more foolproof.
Like lies…and lots of them.
Oh, don’t act like you haven’t done it before.
I’m currently in three fake relationships to ward off unwanted boy attention.
Oh hey Matt…I forgot to tell you…if this dude at work who won’t stop asking me out facebooks me…like he says he’s going to too…we’ve been dating for the past year…we met in our feature writing class…and you said you couldn’t resist my cankles…
But let’s be honest…no one can resist my cankles.
You act like a bitch and they think you are flirting with them. You act like a jackass, and they text you…”Why did you leave without saying good bye to me?”
Hmmm…er….well… “You disgust me.”
And there’s something you have to respect about a girl that’s a complete jackass.
So let’s get one thing straight….I’m a jackass. Not a bitch…oh no no no. A total jackass.
…respect me.
It’s a curse really. You’d think being a jackass one would be able to narrow down the amount of men one has to come in contact with…however…it has the complete opposite effect.
…I’ve been at my job…two…count em two weeks…and I’ve already been asked out by two guys.
And I’ll say it again… I’m a fucking jackass to these guys….A FUCKING JACKASS… cause here’s the thing…I don’t hide my disgust for other people very well…or at all…
Majority of the shit I say…I’m not trying to be funny.
“You’re really funny.”
No, I’m just being brutally honest and you’re lack of experience in a situation like this is mistaking it as sarcasm.
“…I really am.”
Look gentlemen, if I’m being a jackass to your face then it means that I am disgusted by the sight of you…or that I want to have sex with you.
…okay, okay you have like a 50-50 chance of getting laid.
…75 % chance if I’m drunk.
…99.3% chance if I’m drunk and high.
…but that’s besides the point.
Maybe I just look too nice. Maybe that’s why my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.
I try to even it out with my jackassyness, but obviously I need to concoct a plan that’s a little more foolproof.
Like lies…and lots of them.
Oh, don’t act like you haven’t done it before.
I’m currently in three fake relationships to ward off unwanted boy attention.
Oh hey Matt…I forgot to tell you…if this dude at work who won’t stop asking me out facebooks me…like he says he’s going to too…we’ve been dating for the past year…we met in our feature writing class…and you said you couldn’t resist my cankles…
But let’s be honest…no one can resist my cankles.
Do I want to be a crazy bitch or just a whore?
It has come to my attention that crazy girls never win in the boy department. We don’t and it seriously sucks. Yeah, we’ll be ridiculously successful and potentially become famous, but some days it really sucks.
Like when you’re on the bus and you “accidently” overhear someone stupid asian chick start talking about her boyfriend right after saying such a profound statement, and I quote, “I ate so much gummy bears...like...so much...”
Really asian chick, really?! Maybe you should should put some grammar in your head before you give some head again missy.
And it’s days like these that I refer to my favorite bible excerpt: from the Book of Tina Fey:
AP: There are a lot of girls who look at you as a role model. Maybe they're really smart and funny but aren't quite getting a lot of boy attention, and they're stressed out about it. What would you say to them?
TF: You know what? Let the boys practice on other girls. Let them treat other girls like crud, let them learn how to French kiss for, like, 10 years, let them give some other girl a bunch of crappy Valentine's Day gifts, and then you just move in when they're fully formed.
Never fear crazy ladies, let them silly whores be used and you’ll just swoop in later.
For the full bible verse:
http://www.marieclaire.com/celebrity-lifestyle/celebrities/interviews/tina-fey-amy-poehler-interview
Like when you’re on the bus and you “accidently” overhear someone stupid asian chick start talking about her boyfriend right after saying such a profound statement, and I quote, “I ate so much gummy bears...like...so much...”
Really asian chick, really?! Maybe you should should put some grammar in your head before you give some head again missy.
And it’s days like these that I refer to my favorite bible excerpt: from the Book of Tina Fey:
AP: There are a lot of girls who look at you as a role model. Maybe they're really smart and funny but aren't quite getting a lot of boy attention, and they're stressed out about it. What would you say to them?
TF: You know what? Let the boys practice on other girls. Let them treat other girls like crud, let them learn how to French kiss for, like, 10 years, let them give some other girl a bunch of crappy Valentine's Day gifts, and then you just move in when they're fully formed.
Never fear crazy ladies, let them silly whores be used and you’ll just swoop in later.
For the full bible verse:
http://www.marieclaire.com/celebrity-lifestyle/celebrities/interviews/tina-fey-amy-poehler-interview
If men are from Mars and women are from Venus...
Then why the fuck do guys love doggy so much?! Alright guys, it’s time to chat. Let’s settle this never ending argument about doggy style.
Now, as far as I’m aware most men love doggy and most girls don't. Why? The men ask. Is it because it’s not emotional? Is it because girls can’t make love to us with their eyes as I pork them from behind and make awkward grunting sounds?
Um.... no.
Let’s look at the facts, boys, or really the one and only fact. You are screwing us from behind. And maybe I’m alone on this position, but my ass is not my greatest asset.
My boobs are. I’m so pale I could be an extra on Twilight, so do you think the body part that the sun don’t shine on, is looking hot. Yeah, I didn’t think so. Let’s not forget to add the cottage cheese factor to it, either.
There’s a reason why girls never look at their butts in the mirror. There is a reason we ask our girlfriends how our butts look in new jeans, because we know they will lie! Just like that whore who says she loves doggy, that bitch is lying (or not she may really like...I guess)!
It’s not about some stupid “emotional connection.” Fuck that.
And the greatest argument guys use is “that way I can touch her tits.” (Real quote, I did research for this blog post.) Oh, but wait, you can grab a girls boobs in ANY position. (Well…most.)
Obviously, I’m not a fan. And yes, obviously I will still partake. But let’s get one thing straight, gentlemen, next time you’re porking your lady friend from behind, make sure you don’t stare to closely at the pastey-white cottage cheese jiggling very closely to your man package, because you may lose your cottage cheese all over her back.
And that’s just icky...
Now, as far as I’m aware most men love doggy and most girls don't. Why? The men ask. Is it because it’s not emotional? Is it because girls can’t make love to us with their eyes as I pork them from behind and make awkward grunting sounds?
Um.... no.
Let’s look at the facts, boys, or really the one and only fact. You are screwing us from behind. And maybe I’m alone on this position, but my ass is not my greatest asset.
My boobs are. I’m so pale I could be an extra on Twilight, so do you think the body part that the sun don’t shine on, is looking hot. Yeah, I didn’t think so. Let’s not forget to add the cottage cheese factor to it, either.
There’s a reason why girls never look at their butts in the mirror. There is a reason we ask our girlfriends how our butts look in new jeans, because we know they will lie! Just like that whore who says she loves doggy, that bitch is lying (or not she may really like...I guess)!
It’s not about some stupid “emotional connection.” Fuck that.
And the greatest argument guys use is “that way I can touch her tits.” (Real quote, I did research for this blog post.) Oh, but wait, you can grab a girls boobs in ANY position. (Well…most.)
Obviously, I’m not a fan. And yes, obviously I will still partake. But let’s get one thing straight, gentlemen, next time you’re porking your lady friend from behind, make sure you don’t stare to closely at the pastey-white cottage cheese jiggling very closely to your man package, because you may lose your cottage cheese all over her back.
And that’s just icky...
Ok, hear me out...
There’s nothing hotter than a boy that’s got his shit together.
Seriously, I’d totally get naked (with the lights off) for a dude that’s got a college degree.
However, I seem to repeatedly find myself involved/infatuated with/stalking a man of the complete opposite of someone who, how do you say “has his or her shit together.”
You know the type…losers/fuck-ups/boys who ask “Who’s Chevy Chase?”
So now after years and years of following the same toxic pattern I decided to do some research on the Google machine and found this:
“Women who follow a specific toxic pattern with fuck ups/losers/assistant manager’s of McDonalds suffer from an insatiable need of dominance,” according to a clinical study that I just made up for this blog post.
This makes sense to me.
…I would also like to point out that I have played with my boobs five times while writing this post. Why, you ask? Well honestly, anytime I get writers block I play with my boobs. And two they are sublime…really…they are…
Seeing as women will never get to experience the insurmountable bliss followed by a sexual facial or as I like to call it “dude jizzing on a hoe’s face.”
Overpowering a man with sure brainpower is quite obviously the next best thing.
For women, the only way to really dominate a man nowadays is by finding one of equal or lesser value, publicly humiliate him…repeatedly, then throwing globs of mayo on his face.
So until America discovers the female equivalent to a facial, I think every woman has the choice…NO…the right! To only choose men who are easily embarrassed by math equations/general social norms/uncontrollable flatulence.
…and still be allowed to throw mayo on their faces.
It’s only fair.
Why shouldn’t I be able allowed to socially demean men with my figurative penis?
…exactly.
Seriously, I’d totally get naked (with the lights off) for a dude that’s got a college degree.
However, I seem to repeatedly find myself involved/infatuated with/stalking a man of the complete opposite of someone who, how do you say “has his or her shit together.”
You know the type…losers/fuck-ups/boys who ask “Who’s Chevy Chase?”
So now after years and years of following the same toxic pattern I decided to do some research on the Google machine and found this:
“Women who follow a specific toxic pattern with fuck ups/losers/assistant manager’s of McDonalds suffer from an insatiable need of dominance,” according to a clinical study that I just made up for this blog post.
This makes sense to me.
…I would also like to point out that I have played with my boobs five times while writing this post. Why, you ask? Well honestly, anytime I get writers block I play with my boobs. And two they are sublime…really…they are…
Seeing as women will never get to experience the insurmountable bliss followed by a sexual facial or as I like to call it “dude jizzing on a hoe’s face.”
Overpowering a man with sure brainpower is quite obviously the next best thing.
For women, the only way to really dominate a man nowadays is by finding one of equal or lesser value, publicly humiliate him…repeatedly, then throwing globs of mayo on his face.
So until America discovers the female equivalent to a facial, I think every woman has the choice…NO…the right! To only choose men who are easily embarrassed by math equations/general social norms/uncontrollable flatulence.
…and still be allowed to throw mayo on their faces.
It’s only fair.
Why shouldn’t I be able allowed to socially demean men with my figurative penis?
…exactly.
I'm a bitch but it's cool cause I'm funny...
I’m a bitch, but whatever it works cause I’m funny. I think. However I have come to realize this bitchiness has sneaked its way into my sexual bedside manners. Not good. No guy wants a saracastic two-thumbs up, during your fake orgasm. Believe, I’ve tried.
So to save you, my 4 readers, from awkward before, during and after sex moments, I have ranked my top five bitchiest moves via sex, that you should never ever do when you are in a loving and sweet relationship… now if it’s just sex and you actually sort of hate the guy, then by all means, go for it.
5. AWKWARD 2 THUMBS UP.
Now, I know some guys think they are the shit in bed and yes, they do need to be knocked down a couple of notches, but this technique is just lazy women, and yes, quite unoriginal. Maybe you did have to get on top when you were a little too drunk and, maybe yes, doggy isn’t your favorite position. But being lazy just makes you look like a bitch. Just throw in a sarcastic, sigh, or a classic “you’re awesome at this…not!’’ Or even a classic, “Really? Really? You think that’s what you should be doing now?”
4. “DID YOU ‘O’?” “YES.” “HOW MANY TIMES?” SILENCE… “SO MANY…”
Okay, now obviously lying works. It really does. It has gotten me so many places. But lying works only when you commit to that lie. Remember what Costanza said, “It’s not a lie, if you believe it.” But when you don’t believe your own lie, you may inadvertently forced your man to stifle back tears as he cries in the back corner of your bathroom.
3. “DID YOU ‘O’”? “YES.” “REALLY?” “NO.”
The truth never makes people happy. It’s a gold mine for broken spirits and battered souls. Can’t take the criticism men, then stick to your hand. No more of this Cosmo, ‘This is how you make your man happy’ shit. We ladies want an orgasm, and if you can’t give it to us. Next please.
2. THE CLASSIC POINT TO THE SKY AND MAKE NO EYE CONTACT.
Is he gross? Does his sex face, look more like a rape face? It’s okay if you answered yes, we’ve all been there. Whatever, goes through a guys mind during sex, is beyond me. How am I supposed to know you like it, if you put a bag over my face? Anyways, this classic move is a win-win. You don’t have to watch the sweat drop from his beat red nose and he doesn’t have to watch you lie to yourself as you try to mak love with your eyes.
1.I’M ON MY PERIOD.
Don’t want to have sex with the guy? Screwing another guy when you get the 3 AM sexual text. Nothing is scarier to a man than blood, let alone blood out of your who-hah. One swift “I’m on my period,” text, and you just bought yourself 5-7 days to think of a new excuse to never have a sexual experience with that man again.
So to save you, my 4 readers, from awkward before, during and after sex moments, I have ranked my top five bitchiest moves via sex, that you should never ever do when you are in a loving and sweet relationship… now if it’s just sex and you actually sort of hate the guy, then by all means, go for it.
5. AWKWARD 2 THUMBS UP.
Now, I know some guys think they are the shit in bed and yes, they do need to be knocked down a couple of notches, but this technique is just lazy women, and yes, quite unoriginal. Maybe you did have to get on top when you were a little too drunk and, maybe yes, doggy isn’t your favorite position. But being lazy just makes you look like a bitch. Just throw in a sarcastic, sigh, or a classic “you’re awesome at this…not!’’ Or even a classic, “Really? Really? You think that’s what you should be doing now?”
4. “DID YOU ‘O’?” “YES.” “HOW MANY TIMES?” SILENCE… “SO MANY…”
Okay, now obviously lying works. It really does. It has gotten me so many places. But lying works only when you commit to that lie. Remember what Costanza said, “It’s not a lie, if you believe it.” But when you don’t believe your own lie, you may inadvertently forced your man to stifle back tears as he cries in the back corner of your bathroom.
3. “DID YOU ‘O’”? “YES.” “REALLY?” “NO.”
The truth never makes people happy. It’s a gold mine for broken spirits and battered souls. Can’t take the criticism men, then stick to your hand. No more of this Cosmo, ‘This is how you make your man happy’ shit. We ladies want an orgasm, and if you can’t give it to us. Next please.
2. THE CLASSIC POINT TO THE SKY AND MAKE NO EYE CONTACT.
Is he gross? Does his sex face, look more like a rape face? It’s okay if you answered yes, we’ve all been there. Whatever, goes through a guys mind during sex, is beyond me. How am I supposed to know you like it, if you put a bag over my face? Anyways, this classic move is a win-win. You don’t have to watch the sweat drop from his beat red nose and he doesn’t have to watch you lie to yourself as you try to mak love with your eyes.
1.I’M ON MY PERIOD.
Don’t want to have sex with the guy? Screwing another guy when you get the 3 AM sexual text. Nothing is scarier to a man than blood, let alone blood out of your who-hah. One swift “I’m on my period,” text, and you just bought yourself 5-7 days to think of a new excuse to never have a sexual experience with that man again.
What has the world come to...?
I watch porn. Shocking, I know. And not the girly type either, with these ridiculously unbelievable story lines.
You know, the ones with the banging hot farm-boy, and the banging hot farmer’s daughter, and the farmer’s daughter comes out of the farmhouse looking for milk, and the farm-boy says a perfectly timed one-liner, “I’ve got some milk for you.” And they start banging immediately.
No. I don’t watch that type of porn. I’m too distracted by all the fallacies flying around my head to enjoy the entertainment value.
Like, first of all, in the real world these two people are NOT going to be hot. And even if they were semi- decent looking, farm-boy over there was just shoveling pig-shit. So, I doubt he smells good, at all.
And farm-girl, don’t even get me started on her, and her perfectly symmetrical boobs. Where’s the cellulite? Where’s the missing teeth, porn-making people?
I am paying decent money for these free online videos. I want some goddamn realism. I thought that was the allure of porn, you know “sex-type situations” that could actually happen.
You can’t even rent an adult film with a man and a woman and a man and two other men in an intimate moment together, without all this salty language. Where’s the integrity?
I don’t care if you’re getting rammed in the ass missy, what would your mother think if she heard you say, “Fuck me harder”?
You know, the ones with the banging hot farm-boy, and the banging hot farmer’s daughter, and the farmer’s daughter comes out of the farmhouse looking for milk, and the farm-boy says a perfectly timed one-liner, “I’ve got some milk for you.” And they start banging immediately.
No. I don’t watch that type of porn. I’m too distracted by all the fallacies flying around my head to enjoy the entertainment value.
Like, first of all, in the real world these two people are NOT going to be hot. And even if they were semi- decent looking, farm-boy over there was just shoveling pig-shit. So, I doubt he smells good, at all.
And farm-girl, don’t even get me started on her, and her perfectly symmetrical boobs. Where’s the cellulite? Where’s the missing teeth, porn-making people?
I am paying decent money for these free online videos. I want some goddamn realism. I thought that was the allure of porn, you know “sex-type situations” that could actually happen.
You can’t even rent an adult film with a man and a woman and a man and two other men in an intimate moment together, without all this salty language. Where’s the integrity?
I don’t care if you’re getting rammed in the ass missy, what would your mother think if she heard you say, “Fuck me harder”?
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