Monthly Archives: April 2012

Letters of Desire- The First


I found a key while I was digging through the recesses of my mind. I looked around wondering what it unlocked when I saw a wooden trunk with ornate carvings appear before me. I tried the key in the lock, and it slid perfectly in as though it were Cinderella’s foot in the Glass Slipper. With a click, the trunk popped open and I discovered an entire world  of memories hidden inside. Atop the pile of collected life, I found a stack of letters that was enwrapped in a satin ribbon. I looked through them and saw that they seem to have been written from a lover to a lover. This is the first…

To the One I cannot live without,

I’ve just returned from a tryst with you. In all honesty, I should be terrified that we will be found out, but when I recall the desire in your eyes as our bodies carressed, I can think of nothing else. Ay, me! Even now, just the thought of your skin against mine heats my blood so that I tremble uncontrollably! I thrill at the way your delicate hand touched my face and slid down my throat . Such an innocent gesture, and yet the way it raised gooseflesh on my body is a wonder indeed! The softness of your skin is unlike anything I’ve ever felt.

When you removed your gown and your shift- what a glorious sight I beheld! It is no wonder King Solomon wrote about the beauty of his lover, though I cannot imagine she was as lovely as you. My heart races at the thought; if I were overcome with blindness at this very moment, I would live content, knowing that I have seen God’s finest creation in all it’s splendor.

Do not mistake my words for vain lust, Love. Aye, ’tis true Lust’s presence follows you wherever you go, but it is your soul that makes you truly beauteous. Not a touch from your fingers would I need if only I could  bask in the aura of your amazing presence for all of eternity. A million reasons I could give for my unending adoration, but suffice to say that it is the whole of you that has me in shackles at your feet.

I dare now to request another meeting, my Fair One, because I cannot breath without you, and every moment we are apart brings me one step closer to death.

Your Servant Forever

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Down to Earth


So it seems that I am growing increasingly popular in my circle as of late. I suppose this makes sense since it is MY circle, and I am at the center of it. However, because I consider myself a bitch, it is surprising to myself how many people actually seem to genuinely LIKE me. There are even a few crushes in there, but since those individuals are in other ways attached, I digress.

One of the recurring themes that seems to be quite evident when people are speaking of my general awesomeness is the fact that I am “down to earth”. Since the only definition of this phrase I actually comprehended was the literal one- as in, gravity it keeping me down to earth- I decided to look it up and further feed the Knowledge Monster in my head.

The first place I looked was Dictionary.com, only to find that their definition of “down to earth” was : practical and realistic.

At first I was confused. These two words are almost completely foreign to me, and are certainly not two words that anyone in my entire life has EVER used to describe me. (Is it strange that I feel relief at that?) I decided to search further.

Where to go to find the answers I seek? How about Answers.com. There I found the following:

Down to earth:

    1. Not pretentious or affected; straightforward.
    2. Not overly ornate; simple in style.

Now I was getting somewhere. While I would not necessarily call myself non-pretentious, I would most certainly agree that I am straightforward, and evidenced HERE with the Butterface incident. However, the second definition had my head spinning. While I believe simplicity is beautiful in it’s own way, (just as a Butterface is to her boyfriend) I simply have never understood it. My style has been described as flamboyant, crazy, and Halloween-ish, but never simple. To prove my point, I shall redirect you HERE.

My next stop on the quest to define my Self was Urbandictionary.com. (My go-to place for pop knowledge)

Definition #4 caught my eye:

a vague, meaningless expression that a wide variety of people use to express an undefinable positive quality in an other

Well, They don’t seem to know what It is, but it seems some people think I have It. I guess that answers the question I asked HERE. At least It’s a positive thing.

Here’s their #5 definition:

Someone basic, attached to day by day issues, ruled by the common sense. Not a dreamer or idealistic, not into the creative field or the Arts. Usually connoted with one either without studies or a especial knowledge or intellectual skill.

Considering that I am into writing and ooze intellectual skill and especial (is that a word?) knowledge while dreaming of living in a castle and believing in love at first sight while my Rockstar is yelling at me about not having common sense, I think that this definition does not suit me well.

More perplexed than ever, I sought out other people who were just as baffled as I. Here are some answers they recieved when they asked the mind-boggling question- What does “down to earth ” mean? :

when a person is “down to earth” they are humble and do not put on any airs or flaunt their fame or fortune.  They would be someone you feel you could talk to, open up with, ask advice from and you could trust what they say and their opinion

Everyone talks to me. However, someday, when I’m famous and fortune-ate, I may have to interrupt them to squeal, “Look at me, bitches! I gots my Mustang and by the way, that was my dead body on Law and Order SVU.”

Non-metaphorically, the “Down-to-earth” person is easier to understand and concerned with things more likely to be what others are concerned with (not, for example, the importance of the Urantia book to religion or the validity of Ubuntu operating system.) This person is also, therefore, more likely to be sympathetic to another human being. Over-educated folks tend to be sympathetic to other educated people. And standard human sin and pride being always present, over-educated folk become egotistical towards less educated folk, making them all but useless and very unsympathetic.

A “down to earth” person is concerned with things more likely to be what others are concerned with- Um, sorry, when I was concerned with the outcome of Wrestlemania, no one else quite seemed to be. As far as books go, I get “There you go, blabbing about silly books again,” quite frequently.

over-educated folk become egotistical towards less educated folk- I would never look down upon less educated folk. It’s not their fault they aren’t as smart as me.

Usually such people seem to be high quality, intelligent, classy, or in some way gifted or privileged, yet seem to relate well to ordinary folks and the less than fortunate in a very amicable manner – and are not pretentious or haughty.

Thank you, I strive to be a high quality product. Being in some way gifted with excess boobage helps a bit. But I try to expose only a small amount of cleavage, therefore remaining classy.

It means your grounded. Your head is not floating up in the clouds so people can actually relate to you because you are on the same level.

My head is firmly attached to the rest of me, but I cannot say for sure that the rest of me stays on the ground. After all, I AM a superhero.

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The End of Abuse


I have a confession to make.

I’ve been in an abusive relationship for the past 16 years.

In the beginning, I couldn’t see it, despite the fact that I had my friends and loved ones urging me to open my eyes and see the truth. I began questioning my self-worth when my damaging relationship constantly reminded me I had a weight problem. I had nowhere to turn when several of my aquaintances began ridiculing me about my weight.

I tried to stop the abuse, exercising endlessly, trying to lose the disgusting poundage that caused me to hang my head in shame when out in public. It mattered not. I lost 37 pounds, and was still told I was fat. It was only later that I found out I was being lied to, when the fact that I had only 88 pounds on my 5’3″ frame was staring me in the face.

It’s gotten better, on and off, in more recent years.

As in most relationships, I’ve noticed I receive better feedback when I’m stark naked. When I’m wearing clothes, I’m reminded, “You’re fat! You’re ass is the size of Manitoba and if you go out in public in that, people will be gawking at you in disgust!” There are a few good days, though. Usually, it’s in the morning when I’m commended- “You’re doing better today. That 1200 calorie coffee you had yesterday hasn’t plastered itself on your ass just yet. Keep it up.”  On those days, my confidence is elevated, and nothing can touch me. It lasts, though, only as long as I can restrain myself from snarfing down that large french fry from Mickey D’s, or until the 12 glasses of water I drank completely bloat me. Then it’s back to- “Yeah. You weigh the same as 4 ten-year-olds full off of Doritoes and Ding Dongs, you slob. You might as well park your fat ass in the back of a two-wheel drive F-150 so it doesn’t fish-tail during a rainstorm.”

This morning, I decided enough was enough.

No longer will I subject myself to such hurtfulness. No. I will never have the sleek and slim form that graced Audrey Hepburn. I cannot let another 16 years go by with the voices saying, “Just hurry up and die, you repulsive tub of lard. Make room for someone more worthy.” I will no longer be controlled by one with such cruel and malicious intentions.

It’s time to throw the bathroom scale away.

 

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A Pre-Management Meeting Meeting


If you’ve noticed, I haven’t exactly been mentioning alot about my life as a Pizza Slut. This is mainly due to the fact that about a month ago, the shit hit the fan and we are, until further notice, in limbo. But to keep myself from incriminating myself, I plead the fifth on that subject.

One of the joys of having the Scepter of Pizza Power floating precariously without a king (or queen) to weild it is that I now get to partake in a weekly management meeting every Thursday night at the perfectly acceptable non-inconvenient hour of 10:30 P.M.  Before we venture to the Hut in our casual dress attire in the near-dead of night, my co-manager Awesome  and I have now deemed it necessary that we meet aforehand and partake of a Long Island-inspired libation to awaken our Managerial impulses. Last night, we called up our new (but experienced) co-manager Punk (so called because he is a member of a punkish band) to join us. Our pre-management meeting get together went something like this.

Me: Ooh! What do we get this week! My peachy drink last week was amazingly delicious, but we must needs try something new!

Awesome: Yes! We’re going to have to try everything on the drink list!

After having ordered our delicious 22 oz. foo-foo buzz-inducing drinks, the real conversation(s) began.

Awesome: So I made a beautiful ham and garlic mashed potatoes and Ceasar Salad tonight and Midget Poop (her stepdaughter) looks at it and says “I’m not eating that. I don’t like it.” I said, “Your fucking eating it, so shut up.” (She is very firm with her brood of young ‘uns.)

Me: Yes, the Daughter did that before and I said, “Fine! You fucking cook for yourself!” (For the record, I refrained from using the F word when actually proclaiming that she could cook for herself.)

Awesome: Kids are the devil.

Nods were seen all around after that comment, and a few moments spent sipping our deliciously fruity drinks.

Me: Punk is here! Punk! Come sit by meeee!” (I must admit that my liquid refreshment was surprisingly potent.)

Punk: What’s up, guys? I’ve been drinking all day.

Me: Yay!!!! Drinking! Good times! Try my yum yum drink!

Punk sips my drink thoughtfully, then shakes his head.

Punk: Yeah, that’s too fruity for my taste. I’ll have a beer.

Me: (In a gruff, manly voice) He’ll have a beer, because he is big strong man!

Awesome and I giggle incessently.

Awesome: So I decided that my 12 year old is much more informative than I would like. He comes out of the bathroom the other week and says, “Mom, I’ve got ball ‘fro! Wanna see? (At this time, I burst into peels of laughter while Punk’s shoulders shake with uncontrollable guffaws) I said, “No, no. I don’t want to see.” He’s like, “But MOM! It’s ball ‘fro!”

Further conversations were then touched upon concerning the puberty of young men, including something my Rockstar mentioned about orgasms and stuffed Easter rabbits. As the alcohol further kicked in, the subjects of conversation grew more erratic.

Me: Punk! You’re going to have a baby, right? Boy or girl?

Punk: I don’t know yet.

Me: Ooh! So what names have you picked out? Have you picked out any names yet?

Punk: I have a few in mind, but then I keep thinking that I don’t wanna have a kid with a normal white-kid name, so I’m thinking of Asian names like Sue or Betty.

(It seems that his Asia is not the same as my Asia.)

Me: PLEASE please don’t name your kid Madison. (I detest the name Madison, since nearly every little girl I meet is named such. The Daughter’s middle name also happens to be Madison, as is her niece’s first name.)

Awesome: Oh God! I hate that name!

Me: So, Punk, you’re in a band? Do you need like, a singer, or a dancer, or just some cute chic with huge tits to hand out CD’s? Because I could be her!

Punk: We’re actually going to need a bass playe-

Me:Ooh!!!!!! I play bass! Well, I don’t really play it, but I have one that is beautiful and purply and I am learning Run to the Hills on it, but I cannot play it fast.

Awesome: Frickin’ AWESOME song.

Me: I know!!!! So yay, it’s settled then. I shall be your new bass player.

Punk: (shrugging) Aright. I should get some scotch.

Me: Oh yes!!! Get some scotch so that I may smell it!

(At this point, Awesome and Punk both stare at me, bewildered.)

Me: I like to smell stuff, ok?

As the waitress came over, Punk asked about the different varieties of scotch that could be administered to him. I decided for him and ordered the most expensive kind. Soon after, I was sniffing scotch and Awesome and Punk were sipping it.

Punk: I don’t usually tell people this, but my friend and I started a record label.

Awesome: I love records! I have a record player, but the needle is broken.

Punk: Oh, I can get you a new one, easy.

Me: I think that I don’t know any punk.

The conversation then turned to punk music and the fact that Ronald Reagan was greatly hated amongst the Punk rock community. I surmised that this was due to the fact that Nancy Reagan guest starred on The Cosby Show. (For the record, this comment made perfect sense to my co-managers.)

Let us just say that the rest of our conversation was completely random as previously proven, and that once we arrived at the Hut, the focus did not greatly improve, despite the fact that there was a sober manager added to our group. I do believe the question about bush on strippers in the 70’s came up. All told, it was a very successful meeting.

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Playing Tag


I awoke this morning with absolutely no idea in my head about what to write. This sometimes happens after working a 14 hour day. Luckily, Edward Hotspur must have been reading my thoughts across the miles, because he tagged me in his post. According to his rules, I’m only supposed to answer one of his questions, but that would make for a very short post, now wouldn’t it? As far as tagging other people, I am tagging every one of you, my Lovely Readers. You can link on back to my post if you answer any questions, and then we can both be more famous. And now for the question and answer part of this session:

1.What do you regret having done?

I do not regret the things I have done, but only the things that I haven’t. There are much too many of those things to list, so let’s just nevermind about that.

What would you change if you could go back and change it?

If I had that kind of power, I would have been born with blue eyes. Then my dad woulda been mad because neither he nor my mother have blue eyes, and THAT woulda been funny.

 Have you ever been scared of anything?

I used to be ascared of the dark not long ago, but I made friends with the monsters under my bed now. Now I’m only ascared of such things like going places where there are large groups of people and trying to get any kind of a loan.

 When have you been the happiest in your life?

I’m always fucking happy goddammit!!!!!!

 What is your favorite position?

Curled up in a ball reading a book. Otherwise, standing in a pair of heels. Oh, was that a sexual question? I guess my answers the same- standing in a pair of heels. That or having my hair pulled while I’m being done doggy-style.

 How many sexual partners have you had?

I refuse to answer on the grounds that answeringing honestly might make me look… frivolous.

 What is your credit card number, including expiration date and that three-digit code off the back?

My Victoria’s Secret card number is468957357. Feel free to try and use it, because for some reason it won’t work for me anymore. I think it may have something to do with the fact that I owe them $2800. If you are feeling philanthropic, you may pay it off for me.

 Who do you think you are?

I’m me. Duh. And you are you. In case you were confused about who YOU are.

 Do these pants make me look fat?

Wait, what pants?

 What is your favorite thing about yourself?

The fact that I’m alot smarter than alot of people, but still have alot to learn. You thought I was going to say my boobs, didn’t you? No, that is everyone ELSE’s favorite thing about me.

 Who in the blogosphere is your favorite person?

What a silly question. Me, of course. And then you. And just to clear up any confusion, I am YOUR favorite person in the blogosphere too, right? XOXO

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She’s Alive!!!!!


Today is a day to celebrate. I urge you all to stop what you’re doing and dance a jig, or clap yo’ hands, because today is Delightfulness‘ birthday! Ok, I can see where you mayn’t be as thrilled as me, but she is my special friend that I know personally, and I can assure you any dancing or clapping that is done for her is well deserved. If you have never paid a visit to her blog, you MUST! She is simply too funny and sweet for words, and she writes amazing poetry. Lucky for me, she lives nearby, so I get the honor of her presence on occassion.

Today, Delightful, I will gift you with everything you ever needed, and deserve.

A muzzle: To place on the faces of the adorable children you deal with every day that seem to think you are but something to eat. That’ll show them the next time they try to bite you. Simply place this muzzle on the next child that bites you  and scream, “NO BITING, DEVIL CHILD!” Yeah, I know. It’s prolly a good thing I haven’t children.

A Box of Kleenex: For the next time you walk in to your apartment and find your beloved watching Alien VS. Predator. Heeheehee!!!!!!

A Gluten-free cupcake: Technically, that would be me, since you call me Cupcake, and I contain no allergens for you, but this one was prettier, although I don’t know if there is a difference in the way a gluten-free cupcake looks compared to a regular deadly one. You’ll have to tell me about that.

Michael Gray-Gubler: Because you love him and he is almost as pretty as Chris Meloni. Sadly, I was only able to find a picture of him- it seems he and Chris also have that in common.

A beautiful pair of shoes: because every birthday girl needs a new pair of shoes!

A poem: I bet you didn’t even know you knew Maya Angelou, did you? Well, she knows you, because she wrote an entire poem that describes you perfectly. I have included it just here.

Have a lovely birthday, my friend! I loves you to pieces and I’m so glad you put up with me. XOXOXO

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19,107


I checked my site stats today and noticed that my blog has been viewed precisely 19,107 times. The more I thought about this, the more it floored me. It almost seems as though people like reading about my histrionic thoughts and the reactions people have from them. While there are many bloggers that have far exceeded the 19,107 mark, I must admit that this number far exceeded any expectations I may have had concerning the reading of my writings.  Since 19,107 is a perfectly beautiful un-even number, ( if you recall, I detest even numbers) I have decided to compose today’s post in honor of my growing popularity. Since you all clearly don’t know every intimate detail of me, it is time to feed your curiosity, and talk about my favorite subject- ME!!!!

When I was young, I became bored quite easily, which resulted in my favorite saying being, “I’m huuuungrrrrrryyyyy!” Instead of redirecting my focus on something productive, my parents fed me to shut me up, therefore contributing to the fact that I can now eat more than the inhabitants of a third-world country in one sitting. Before my stomach was sufficiently stretched out to do such, I would eat continuously until it all came back up. The most vivid memory of this happening is the time we went camping when I was 9, and I ate 3 hotdogs and an entire bag of marshmallows that had been sizzled to perfection over the campfire. After laying myself to rest for the night in my camper bed that was above my parents, I proceeded to regurgitate my healthful dinner over the side of my mattress, therefore creating a lovely splatter pattern of upchucked hotdogs and marshmallows in the tiny camper.  The resulting odor was wretched enough that thereafter I refused to sleep in said camper.

I was not always so fashionably inclined. In fact, when I was 15, I had two friends who were sisters who were quite vocal about my choices in granny shoes. This was around 1997, when chunky Spice Girl heels were in style. My two concerned friends brought me to the mall intent in ridding me of my antiquated loafers. They inticed me with a pair of black Mary-Janish chunky heels embroidered with flowers. (It was the flowers that caught my eye- I hated the chunkiness) After forcing my feet into the offending shoes, a sort-of spell came over me, and my feet have never been perfectly happy ever since unless they’ve been sporting a lovely pair of heels.  Sadly, my first pair of heels lasted less than a year because I wore them incessantly.

I may have mentioned in the past that I grew up going to a Baptist school and church. This resulted in every church service, chapel, basketball tournament, and music competition ending with a message imploring the unsaved to step forward and receive Jesus Christ. While I clearly recall my acceptance of God at a very young age, the constant mentioning of going to hell and having doubts about your salvation did, in fact, create doubts in my mind. Therefore, I am proud to annouce that I have accepted and re-accepted Jesus as my Saviour exactly 7 times. Yay me. He’ll probably send me straight to Hell anyway. Or at least give me a stern talking to before I enter the Pearly Gates.

There have been only two occassions when a stranger has bought me a drink. The first, I was at a hole-in-the-wall bar with my ex-husband (my boyfriend at the time) and his friend. Suddenly, a beautifully free drink was placed in front of me, compliments of the creepy dude who was ogling my cleavage at the end of the bar. What possessed him to buy me a drink when I obviously had my boyfriend in tow is beyond me, but I must say that you have to admire his balls. (Not literally)

The second time I was gifted with alcohol was at another hole-in-the-wall bar I used to frequent with my friend for karaoke night. It happened to be fishing opener weekend, and we were the only two gals in the joint. I went up to procure us libations, only to end up commenting on a rather plastered individual’s t-shirt. The tipsy man introduced himself as Ebner (which I exclaimed was an excellent name) and proceeded to buy me and my friend a drink. While Ebner was a surprisingly nice sir, the conversation was short-lived, since he was drunk and we wanted to sing. I will always be grateful that a man named Ebner saved me $3.50.

I suppose at some point you will be expecting a sex story. I would be expecting a sex story from me too. I shall try not to disappoint.

Hmmm, I’m thinking.

OK, I got it.

The first attempt I made at having the sex was on a 100 degree night when I didn’t have air-conditioning. While my partner was 7 years older than I, he had no more experience than I did. While no actual sex took place, a near-fisting did occur. That’s all I have to say about that.

Thank you for making my blog 19,107 views popular. I loves you all and hope you don’t get sick of me anytime soon. XOXO

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