Confessions About Poop, A Very Mature Post

Usually, pooping is untold relief. Sometimes pooping is absolutely dreadful. It may be that morning after a night of drinking. It may be coming home after eating Hooter’s hot wings. It may be the absolute worst one…post baby delivery first poop or as I like to call it third birth.

Actually, this guy has a scratch and sniff picture of Ke$ha

So I comprised a list of the most dreadful poops in life:

The New Relationship Poop at the House.

There’s something I’ve got to tell you…maybe show you if it’s impressive enough

Despite the obvious truth, everybody poops, it’s really difficult to let a new partner know this. When you progressively spend more time together you inevitably spend enough time for the digestive system to need evacuation. That first time you are at their house and you go to the restroom, it’s terrifying. I personally get anxiety, and don’t want to admit to myself what is about to happen. It’s time to take things to the next level. I go ahead and embarrass myself by announcing, the impending deuce I’m about to drop. Because by not telling and letting said person go in the restroom directly after me only to smell what the Rock is cooking is horrible. Much more embarrassing.  So I usually say, “Um, don’t go in that bathroom, give it like five to ten…just sayin’…love that shirt…look a unicorn on TV!” However, once that initial earth shattering monumental step has been taken, it’s over forever and pretty soon your opening the door while your duking just to say what a stupid bitch Jill at work is and her new haircut looks like she was infested with lice while in an eighteenth century British prison…fuck her.

Public Poop

I think she has to poop too, so the problem cancels out autonomously

Pooping in public is intimidating and scary. The private bathrooms offer some solace. The chances of the person following behind you in a one person restroom being someone you know aren’t very likely, there being like billions of people on the planet. However even strangers are troublesome in a multiple stall restroom. They walk in, and they know that your pair of feet is the cause for the hearty aroma. They know you had to poop and couldn’t finish shopping at Micheal’s, you had to put aside the glitter, yarn and beads to go work on a new project. Now, if I’m finished, I’m too ashamed to come out if it was indeed me that was pooping. I’ll wait the other person out, thinking, come on, how long are you going to stand in here? However if I’m done and the restroom is empty, I have no problems with someone walking in. It’s a crime with no perpetrator then. See, anyone else could have left that phantom poop. It’s not always the person applying lip gloss at the mirror. I’m not caught at the scene of the crime, now I’m just and accessory after the fact. Or maybe I think this because I don’t readily accuse the person still in the restroom. That’s unfair. The suspect could have fled minutes ago. Either way, I try to make it home.

I am ashamed of nothing.

Well, those two scenarios are probably the worst I can think of. Sometimes I ask God if he’s real, then ask if he’s listening, then I just ask him why do we poop and why did I drink so much coffee? I don’t really get answer, and I don’t forget to courtesy flush.

Business Proposals and Nudity, Nudity…Nudity

Greetings readers, lovers, lovers of men, lovers of women, lovers of Chaz Bono. What shall my topic be today? Today I want to talk about failed romance, broken dreams and ca$h fuckin’ money.

I’m Chaz!

I have recently started a new relationship and so far I’ve been really happy and very excited about it (I am doing a shrilly girl scream as I type thisssss!) This is good, good for me. Sorry Gavin Rossdale, our adulterous affair must end. It’s over. Stop calling me. Or, just send me nude text messages.

555-4415

Well, I’ve ranted against exes in the past. I’m far enough removed from the hurt feelings (and there were a lot) to not really get nasty in this post. Who wants to hear goddamn Morrisey the entire forty minute car ride with the singing along. Hint: not me. Reality check; one time someone said you look like Bruce Willis not fucking true, stop thinking that. Today. Okay, that’s it, I’m done.

You see, I’m twenty-eight. That being said I’m at the age where you can either date a romantically dysfunctional person or you can hope with fingers, toes, and eyes crossed someone awesome will have been dating someone who sucks…and here they are post break up or divorce and ready to be good to you. I’m hoping that’s the case.

Walgreens ran out of cards…

Now, about eight months ago, in the depths of post break up despair, I had the support of some wonderful friends. One in particular that listened to the tear-filled angst. She sat patiently as I did this, a lot, because who likes to feel played and foolish? Not me, probably not many people.

We talked of course about her exes and mine and how crazy they act sometimes. Then there was a light bulb.

We could actually start a dating service for people who are already couples but have troublesome exes. Maybe only one person does. Maybe they both do. Either way, we know the best way to get an ex of your nuts is to get them on someone else’s right?

So it’s only logical to set up the ex with someone who is single, looking and tragically co-dependent! You see, the screening process is simple, applicants will be asked general questions about relationships and the one’s most cuckoo for cocoa puffs will be set up with your totally unaware ex, with “clandestine” meetings.

This means that the crazy ex can then have a crazy fucking new boyfriend or girlfriend and probably won’t call or text because for the eleventh time their phone has been smashed to bits because a female cousin asked for grandma’s new number.

On paper this seems pretty awesome. My friend is a genius. I think perhaps we’re really on to a possibly successful business venture. Either way it made for great laughs at times when, admittedly, I didn’t feel much like laughing. Now, well damn that’s old news. That dude can take so no less that one thousand dicks in his mouth.

Besides, losers and jerks make you appreciate the smallest of genuine sincerity as you embark on a journey with someone new. Those are not fun life lessons, but if they are learned, they become valuable tools in all relationships. Meaning friends and family, not just the person you have sexy time with…unless that’s your thing. Which, I suppose is cool.

Familial Related and Hated Movies and Music

I grew up the eldest child in my household. That means I was a totalitarian and fascist supreme ruler of the siblings. My reign of terror only defined by at the time larger body composition which adversely was no longer a threat when my “little” brother began to outweigh me by the equivalent of freakishly large tumor (one of those that contain teeth and hair…freaky).

Being the oldest child can make you mean for different reasons. You usually have to forfeit your needs so your younger sibling doesn’t cry. Meaning mom and dad usually say “Oh my God just let him/her have it, or just turn it to that channel, or sweet merciful shit Sheena just let him/her win.” Not that I blame parents or step-parents for this. The sound of a child crying without good reason is painful as hanging out with an insecure ugly girl who fishes too hard for compliments by insulting herself. Sorry, but that shit is awkward.

So as the oldest you have to give up toys that are in turn broken by carelessness. You must share any confectionery treat of any kind, even if that asshole ate their’s already. You have to bring them along with you to hang out with older “cool” kids, so you also have to be on best behavior. You have to play crappy during a game because their wee little legs won’t run as fast.  You NEVER get to play dodge ball with a younger sibling, learned that the not so good way. Lastly, you have to stand up to bigger kids because they pick on your brother or sister even when they are in fact scary (even though you’re way meaner to them).

Out of all of those things the only thing I really resent is the movies I had to watch and music I had to listen to on constant repeat with my siblings. All else is forgiven. Here’s a list of the most abused;

4. Home Alone

“Look what ya did ya little JERK!” admittedly, that was an awesome line delivered by Kevin’s uncle. The movies itself not so bad. My brother watched this movie so many times that subconsciously I absorbed every line and even to this day can repeat lines in sync with characters. Still. Mom had to rent this movie all the time from Kroger. Ya’ll remember that? When Kroger rented VHS? They did. THEN my brother got the movie for Christmas. I never wanted to sabotage a piece of electronic equipment more in my life.

3. Buffy the Vampire Slayer

I loved Paul Reubens aka Pee Wee Herman, aka Public Display of Self Affection (nobody forgets anything, ever) in this, I really did. Again, not the worst movie ever, but on a steady repeat it’s horrible. It’s not a serious as Home Alone because this movie was a five-day rental. Once it was returned the perpetual cycle was broken as my mom refused to get this one again.

2. Land Before Time Part One through Infinity

That was my sister’s favorite movie series. Okay so the absolute worst part of these series, and for crap sake there were no less than 1,000 of them, was the screaming. Like, I get it dinosaurs, you are in danger from “sharp tooth” the T-Rex and various predators. I understand it’s a hard knock life for baby dinosaurs on the brink of ice age and extinction, but why all the screaming. My brother and I would count each scream by each dinosaur and each movie had well over 30 on average. Land Before Time IV or V had over 70 from fucking “Cera” the triceratops alone. It was torture. The ongoing joke was for my brother and I to grab a plastic dinosaur and say, “Look I’ll play Land Before Time Ahhhhhh! Ahhhhh! Why do I scream so much? Ahhhhh!”

1. Hanson

In an Mmmmbop I want to kill myself. This album was my brother’s favorite. So much so that every two weeks we listened to it entirely on the way to dad’s house. He lived a pretty good distance so if the album ended, well, we just played it again. Then at mom’s house it was on blast um, all the time. No wonder the antithesis being Marilyn Manson became so appealing to me. He was the voice for my hatred against all thing Mmmmboppy-like. You can imagine the sense of joy I got out of the SNL skit where the brothers were forced to listen to their own song over and over until they begged for mercy. I couldn’t find a good clip. Audible sigh.

It’s all good, I adapted, and headphones are the single best invention for teenagers all around. I suppose if Hanson is my only bad memories, well then I’ve got some awesome siblings and great parents. Love you all!

Even Rick Astley is Full of Shit

Promises to never; give me up, let me down, run around, dessert me, make me cry, say goodbye, tell a lie and or hurt me? Yeah, I doubt it but it’s catchy. I’ve heard these lines before, and I’ll hear them again. I have entered the dating world again about six months ago and realize it’s a tough. This is a far less bitter post about dating, because I’ve had an epiphany.

Check this out, if guys are going to put in copious amounts of ground work in order to get my goodies, why not capitalize on it. Now, don’t get it twisted I’m not a total fool. Some guys will put in months of groundwork only to drop me if I sleep with them, or don’t sleep with them soon enough.

I have decided that in order to remedy my hurt feelings, I’m going to make sure I make it worth my while. It’s time to experiment.

I want to see how far I can push the boundaries of what a man will do for my vagina. For starters, I think I will suggest a double colonic for our first date. I mean would a guy really be willing to get tubing shoved up his asshole and pumped full of water? I want us to get this done in the same room, no privacy curtain. It’s not like I find the idea of their impacted bowel contents running through clear tubes savory by any means, but I feel nothing could be more humiliating on a first date. You know, because it takes a while to poop in front of your significant other. In my opinion an open door poop is next level. It’s right up there with “I love you” and “Let’s bring other partners into our relationship, you down?”

Following this, and ten pounds of excavated feces, I am willing to bet he’s done. No? Well, then it’s time for a chick movie marathon. I hate romantic comedies, but I am willing to suffer through no less than ten of them just to torture this fool. I will be sure that all of them have a similar story line and even actors that look the same. This won’t be hard to do, most of them will have Jennifer Anniston and Drew Barrymore. I could probably pick them at random and pick pretty much the exact same fucking movie over and over again. Or, even better Titanic, seven times in a row. I will cry the whole time.  I’ll stifle my inward feelings of victory.

Perhaps dinner? Well, now it’s time to show off my table manners by getting trashed on several alcoholic  beverages. Now it’s time to unload all my baggage. I have a kid, so why not mention I am looking for a “daddy”. On a side note my kid has a fantastic father who couldn’t be better at taking care of him so it would be funny to me. I can talk about my knitting hobby, Precious Moments figurine collection and well old bloody band-aide collection. It’s perfect.

Yep, I have been letting the menfolk off too easy by being a level-headed girl that doesn’t blow up their phone. I am pretty self-confident but I think constantly seeking validation would be a better approach. Perhaps just to appear more reckless, I can throw in some daddy issues of my own albeit made up. It’s bullet proof.

I want to hear doves cry.

Why? Why Sheena would you put a man through the gauntlet like this? Well, instead of their smooth talk and lies, why not make them put in work. Talk is easy, why not? No more letting these boys off so easy. I mean how simple is it to buy dinner and give compliment or two (grandiose at that, I’m cute, but I’m not fucking Meagan Fox that’s why I work, dickface). If anything I can study this for scientific purposes, and we know scientists study a lot of stupid things that waste an inappropriate amount of funding. I simply want to see how far will a man go? Will he walk 5,000 miles, he will sing about it, will he do it? Stay tuned, I am unleashing pure hell on the dating realm. Insert evil laughter….here.

I kid, but it’s not a bad idea in theory!

Women’s “Fail” at Dating

I recently wrote about my generation and our absolute failure at dating. I got a lot of  great feedback, probably the most I have received since I wrote about my hate mail in one post. I wrote at length about why I think collectively, my age group give or take some years have become detached and incapable of forging meaningful relationships. I blamed our consumer mentality and the convenience of contraceptives and protection.

Generation Y’s “Fail” at Dating

I am going to address why I personally think as a woman I am failing. I am holding grudges. I’m holding Kill Bill style grudge that influences absolutely everything about my dating today. It’s hard to recoup after a devastating blow to your pride and emotions. Perhaps because I feel like a fool? I do. I am mad that I didn’t detect the bull shit. I fell into the false intentions and pretend sincerity.
I’m supposed to brush myself off and act like it’s nothing right? I don’t think so, I can’t sing a sassy little song about it either. I think I am prolonging the need to deal correctly with bitterness by trying to date immediately after. The enormity of grievances are not being properly managed, they are being filed away in the wrong cabinets. What’s worse, as young girls (at least in the South I know for sure) we are taught anger is not lady like. It’s not okay to be mad, lest you want to be a bitch. I deny that need to bare my canines  and say a name with REAL contempt, not a deflective sarcastic joke. I avoid a very real part of the healing process because I’m too proud to admit I feel the full spectrum of emotions and that someone got the best of me this time.

On the rebound, I haven’t addressed what happened. I have enough anger to drift into the next galaxy right now. I want to punch a black hole in that mother fucker’s face daily. I realize it’s unreasonable, but I want him to hurt just as long as I do, though I know he isn’t sweating shit. People like him don’t, their self interest far exceeds compassion of any kind. I have to deal with the enormity of being wronged and also being wronged by someone unaffected by his cruelty to others as well. Therefore my rage is hard to deconstruct when it’s seems replenished so easily. There is nothing more antagonizing than disingenuous apologies and nonobligatory texts of well wishing ; “Just hope you’re doing okay and have a nice (insert whatever fucking holiday into this generic message)”.

I therefore have lost the ability to bridge first date to continued contact and following dates. I don’t know how to function. That’s not this last asshole’s fault it’s mine. I let it happen. I also tried to date too soon and brush him off like I wasn’t stressing him. My pride is counterproductive. I think a lot of women are the same way.

I should have been busy being a proud mother, employee, and woman. I should be doing my best and letting that be more satisfying, always enthused to improve too. I failed to do that before. Now, my pride is hurt in another way when it wasn’t on a solid foundation. I cope with self sabotaging dating behavior or well, dropping off the face of the earth so suddenly.

All of that being said, I feel like that’s my guilty part of the mess. I am sure that I have never acknowledged the hurt of other break ups. I carry the residual over, always meeting with crossed arms, guard fully up. I tend to let the instances where I got hurt rule my dating attitude. I in turn become another bitter girl who is a total flake. Then I’m sure it’s the next girl’s problem when the guy doesn’t put as much effort into their date because of my rude behavior. It’s a cycle.

The positive thing is, this last reckless hedonist cock-rocker (yeah, I know I’m going there) with no class, no shame, selfish asshole with self-important, arrogant, pseudo alfa male bullshit bravado has accomplished one thing; I got more introspective. Enough so I realize I need to put into action a way to counteract the self-destructive tendencies I have starting ASAP. I mean, shame on him, but shame on me for letting it bleed over into other parts of my present life and future life. I don’t feel alone, I think guys tend to agree most women walk around with too much old unresolved grief.

This was the most cathartic post written to date but I feel better. Funny stuff next time, I mean even dirty alcoholic clowns get sad, you have seen those creepy velvet paintings right?

Wait, Wait, Wait!  Totally off subject;

May I take the time to thank some fellow bloggers who have mentioned mine in some very cool ways via reblogging, award nominations or links….Be sure to read them I like these blogs in very different ways, but enjoy reading them all just the same.

Snarky Snatch

Warrior Poet Wisdom

Big Mike’s World

Toast a Day

Obsessions

Word Play

The Truth About Dating

Wild Geese That Fly

He is Sofa King Cool Part Two

If you chose to read my previous post about falling in love and lust, here is part two. If you didn’t read it and chose rather to pursue other interests please, pause your porn (I know, I know I want to see Dustin Diamond give a dirty sanchez to some chick too…chillax) and check it out; He is Sofa King Cool Part One. 
Alright so, the second time I fell in love at a karaoke bar was with a man who had all the smooth composure of Joe Camel and was probably just as hip as well as relevant to youth. I was already inside, no doubt talking about girl shit. You know like, “Oh my God, I think I’m getting fat. I cried seven times today. I am craving chocolate!” Right? That’s all girls talk about men, duh.

He waltzes in with the grace of a fat man light on his feet and a great ballroom dancer. He had a cowboy vibe about him. Probably because he had a cowboy hat. He looked like he just left Sexy Time Ranch after a long day of acting out cowboy cliche’s. He started out his day shooting a crazed “Injun” trying to scalp him. Then he walked around with spurs on his boots so everyone would suddenly get quiet as he ominously approached the saloon. Finally, he turns a simple card game into a shoot out.

He has a posse. It seems he is friends with an MMA fighter. I will go ahead and make that hasty assumption because of his tight Affliction shirt and FTW body. They take the table next to my friends and I. I attempted to hide my desire by making fun of the “Sheriff” and his friend who was dubbed and his bodyguard “Leland”.

No sooner than the Sheriff arrived, there happened to be “trouble”. The next table over, I hear heated arguing. It seems like the group that was only moments ago doing shots were sanctioned into factions of who doesn’t want to fuck with who. I personally don’t know who I didn’t want to fuck with because both were so assuring no one wanted to fuck with either person. I tend to remain neutral on this subject.

Well, it seemed like the incident would go from boring to super uneventful without immediate intervention. The blonde chick really brought it when she started to point her finger, I mean now you are thinking about entering the danger zone right? Everyone knows that while you are warning the other party about what you are going to do…it’s only because you want to provide ample advisory prior to actually doing something, wouldn’t you agree? I thought so too. Tornadoes have sirens you know.

Well, luckily the Sheriff walked over to make sure the guy with the fuzzy adolescent like mustache wouldn’t “trouble the little lady”. Who is still warning   “Mr. Misstache” that she was just NOT to be fucked with. The Sheriff posted up, hands in belt loops, ready to take action. He sipped on his PBR with tactical calculation. His presence being first in the display of correctional application. Leland his bodyguard/road-dog was right hand side.

Misstache takes one look at the Sheriff and he realizes he’s got an alpha male standing by. He apologizes to the blonde girl who shan’t be fucked with. He told the Sheriff he didn’t want any trouble. The Sheriff was satisfied with this and returned to his table, so he could hate gay marriage, crush on George W., and support the second amendment for a while.

It's like this picture is a still image taken within my brain's fantasies.

Of course, by now, I am in love. I want him to herd cattle out west while I drink opium laced cough syrup and make baby after baby. I was feeling the vibes that resonated from his flattened Wrangler clad buttocks. He was putting them out or perhaps that was bison chili. I didn’t work up the courage to speak to him, it was much too intimidating. I wanted his penis on my Tombstone. He left suddenly, I’m guessing some horse thieves were reported to be lurking about outside. I really missed my opportunity to talk to the Sheriff. I probably missed out on true love. I know for sure I missed out on some good ass steak and the lynching of men who buy their salsa from New York City.

Stay tuned for part three or regret it.

Generation Y’s “FAIL” at Dating

Liberated women pee where they want!

Chivalry is not dead but it’s more than likely in hospice care unaware it’s pooping on itself. Yes, there are good guys out there, so many are taken or even worse their hopelessly trapped in the “friend zone” for reasons that make women deem them undesirable. This post isn’t really about me being jaded, jilted, and downright fucking hostile when it comes to the treachery of men. Women evoke their fair share too.

This is really just some commentary about how my generation and really, the one before mine, is inept in the dating realm.  We approach it with a consumer attitude of more is more and never enough. No delayed gratification. Extravagant sales pitches and limited time offers.  To obtain more, you often have to lie.
Birth control, thanks to baby-be-gone meds and condoms it’s a whole lot easier to have a casual encounter without the worries (making a pregnant into a pregnot). Don’t misunderstand me, it’s great we have healthy options at our disposal. You just don’t feel the need to wait for Mr. Right because Mr. Right now can bone pretty good. People don’t have to be married or in love they just have to run to the drug store for Trojans. Yet there are old standard that apply to a woman’s willingness to put out. The sexual revolution is diminished by this, sorry girls we aren’t viewed as enlightened we are still hos. Courting isn’t a means to begin something special, it’s a means to an end. Sadly,  when anything becomes more convenient it means more, more, more. It’s the assembly line effect.

Now follow me, with the courting factor now stuck in fast forward, guys want to get your attention in the limited amount of time they have. Really because you know, shorty on the other side of the room in the leggings might be leaving soon with her girlfriends.  She does have a big ol’ booty too. They have to advertise with all the emphatic salesmanship of a thirty-second commercial. They have to wear their expensive clothes, let you know their lucrative occupation and also that you’re the most intriguingly beautiful woman since five minutes ago. I am named after a 80′s pop star douche bag, my name isn’t exotic or inciting.  If I were a pretty as you claim, I wouldn’t be sitting here at Dirty Sanchez’s karaoke bar, I’d be in Milan wearing ugly “fashionable” clothes. (Like, for serious I could make a better dress out of scotch tape, legos and construction paper.)  Sorry dude, I suppose my sex drive is on 3G network still, you’re going too fast for my liking. I say good day.

Free Love looks...smelly

I am pretty sure that without the ability to control pregnancy and STDs people were just a little ( I use this term lightly though) more discriminating. I’m not being condescending, casual happens, and it’s healthy in my books if it’s two (or three or four) consenting adults. It just seems that with out the threat of syphilis being incurable and rotting your brain out anymore we have fewer consequences.  It seems like dating has gone into hyper active over drive and some of these guys have to be more extravagant than the next. They have to talk better game, appear more endowed with fuckable attributes than the last guy. They have to do it also because the last guy lied now they have to lie better. I feel I’m stuck in the game of waiting the guy out to see how quickly their true intentions manifest and still being fooled by a more tactful, exacting guy who is more patient but a fucking liar all the same.

Here’s a logical idea, just be direct. It’s perfectly okay to not be everyone’s ideal so stop adjusting yourself to what you think that particular woman wants. If she wants a one night stand she’ll have one. If she want’s a relationship and so do you then give it go. Dwindle your prospects down just a little and stop lying, perhaps crazy bitches won’t key your car and blow up your voice mail anymore. If it’s quantity of quality you’re after, don’t use insincere tactics and lies to get what you want. Don’t say what you think a woman wants to hear say what the fuck you want and let her decide that too. Then perhaps women won’t think men are lying bastards and good guys are still out there.

Go ahead thick girls make out with cherubs if you so desire.

Come on generation Y, I know we do everything fast. I think it’s intrinsically disrupted our development going from home phones and MS-DOS to cell phones that also have crazy fast internet on them. Like seriously, hold your fucking water Sybil, slow down, make your intentions apparent and let’s all make decisions based on information provided not false pretension. When we stop approaching dating like consumers with latent and irrelevant traditional values we can start enjoying our sexuality naturally, and how we see fit.

Noway V-day

I don’t care about Valentine’s Day this year.The only thing I have ever really liked about Valentine’s Day thus far is the Simpsons episode where Lisa gave Ralph a valentine, he fell in love with her, she broke his heart in front of Krusty the Clown. Classic episode.

To be honest I can’t help but be bummed this go round (I always am if I’m single). It really is the one day of the year I resent all things romantic only to return to normalcy the following day, and I’m once again happy for those in relationships that work. It gives me hope that I will eventually get a box of  lame chocolates (that I take a bite of and swear that one was diarrhea filled)  from someone who is adversely more awesome than that box of chocolates. Perhaps even better, a heartfelt acknowledgement of affection on days other than this ridiculously obligatory holiday.

Without running the risk of coming across as the ultimate C-word and being too negative, I just want to share with you, in my opinion, the worst Valentines Day gift.

Today I heard an advertisement on the radio for a four-foot teddy bear from Vermont Teddy Bears. I don’t think I would be happy with not only a stupid gift but a GIANT stupid fucking gift. So it has to take up the same amount of space as a fat child? The claim on the radio was that “she can’t help but think of you every time she looks at it.” Well, of course not, because it’s taking up half the room and it’s staring at me while I undress (furthermore I think I see it’s silhouette in the shower curtain…it’s going to kill me). I can’t help but think how out of touch a guy must be to buy this. I can’t help but think how I will get rid of it and what story will I tell when I do. How is this going to easily fit in the Salvation Army donation box? Or the dumpster? Can I use it in the carpool lane to scoot through morning traffic?  I think I outgrew teddy bears when I was a child, so why not buy a bigger one because I’m a bigger adult? I’m not being shallow, I am being genuine, that gift sucks.

I’m not going to listen to “You Oughta Know” by Alanis Morrisette on repeat. I’m not going to promise I won’t want to puke on my computer tomorrow when every one posts a mobile upload of their gifts and dinner. I think that not having a “valentine” this year cancels out the possibility I will get this stupid big bear.  I welcome this gift about as much as waking up tomorrow to discover I suddenly have androgynous genitalia.

Actually, if any attractive guys that happen to be gainfully employed and won’t make me listen to Morrisey all day EVERY day want to buy one of these this year…you’ll be single for me next year on Valentine’s day…I included the link above so get to it, they have guaranteed delivery for tomorrow.

I’m Like a Less Hot Dr. Ruth

image: squidoo.com

Women, there is no possible way you want to be alone, right? Do you want a big strong man to come and fill you full of babies? How passionately do you long for a penis having jerk bag of your very own? Well, I have decided to use my own expertise in relationships to help you. Not that I have successful relationships but none the less, I have solid and useful advice (you should not be not using ever always). I have provided two examples of what may seem to be cause for trepidation, but in fact should be a complimentary quality you should indeed look for:

RED FLAG #1

He has cheated in EVERY past relationship:

image: fyi-spy.com

You have somehow received this tidbit most likely from him because cheaters are honest and forthcoming.  Alright, so where does that concern you? Not at all proceed without caution! You are different and can convince him to be faithful just by being you (you’re that special, I mean it, like, reach for the stars special).  Guaranteed, you have the total package and more than enough to offer to curb such behavior.  Don’t worry about such silly things! Make sure you invest too much emotion,you won’t ever find yourself bitterly disappointed. Go girl, I give this a big thumbs up.

RED FLAG #2

His ex-girlfriends and/or wives absolutely hate him…all of them

image: currybear.com

What are haters gonna do? Hate! Especially playa hate! They are only mad because this guy is not emotionally, physically and romantically available to them. Why else would every woman this guy knows have such hostile resentment towards said Prince fucking Charming? Only total psychopaths. He will no doubt divulge you in their lack of mental stability and what are the odds that every ex he has is legitimately bat shit crazy; highly likely. Seriously, a thorough analysis by several professionals conclude that precise diagnosis: bat shit crazy. Don’t listen to those “hos” they just want what you have, they are sooooenvious.

image: break.com

Alright, well, mingle and meet the man of your dreams. I have provided a compass and you have your heart as well for guidance. Go ahead and thank me now, you won’t have to later.

I wish you the best, and remember caution is only for stop lights okay?

Granny’s Panties

There are a number of studies and written articles that address directly the benefits of sex. I have provided a few informative links should you feel compelled to discover all the reasons why you should be having sex. Right now you may be debating whether or not to call that distant cousin. I say go ahead from what I have read it seems like the health benefits far outweigh familial shame. Oh right, the links:

http://www.webmd.com/sex-relationships/features/10-surprising-health-benefits-of-sex

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/5263250/ns/health-sexual_health/t/not-just-good-good-you/#.Tv1wrzX2YfU

Neigh say you? The evidence is clear. I personally think the intimacy is crucial to a relationship. The vulnerability of being nude and the comfort of being that way with a partner is sacred. That being said should I see some dude cleaning a cat litter box naked I won’t find that so special.  Let’s not forget all the “cool” things guys like to do with their penis and or scrotum. “Helicopter” directly comes to mind but there are so many more.

There are a few reason’s sex may be bad: you’re too young or genetically faulty to breed, you don’t use proper protection, or the other party just got slipped a roofie (shame shame double shame on you!!!)

What is m0st disheartening to me is society’s strict constraints on acceptable sexual activity for geriatrics. I want to imagine that the reason those elderly ladies are in “Silver Sneakers” at the YMCA is because they need to stay limber enough to pull of a reverse cowgirl.

I fantasize about assisted living facilities being comparable to a co-ed dorm. I mean after 7:00 pm it goes down to Nastytown. Total debauchery with rooms smelling of camphor and secretions mingled with a touch of Avon fragrances.

The elderly should not be ashamed of their activities. I mean, why not celebrate what separates us from mammals until we die? Dude,  this is random, but, I bet monkey cooter smells awful. 

I know the elderly are just as in touch with their sexual side as young people,.why do you think grandpa wore the shorts that his balls slid out of when he sat down? Why do you think Grandma wears that pair of light yellow slacks that you can see through to her panties? I mean do you think it was really an accident that her house robe wasn’t properly buttoned when the UPS man brought her Liberty Medical packages? “Sundowners” my ass!

We should foster and environment that encourages the elderly to have sexual desire too.  They should never feel inhibited to express their needs because of an unfair taboo. Celebrate your golden years with golden showers, it’s time to empty that catheter anyhow.