Monthly Archives: May 2012

Somebody Save Me

I find myself to be relatively independant. I have lived on my own and (mostly) paid my own bills since I was 18. I do not mind going to movie theatres alone, (mostly because I prefer no witnesses when murdering the offending Popcorn Crunchers) I have never once xpected a man (or any other human being) to pay my bills, and I can be (if necessary) completely content with providing myself with satisfactory sexual stimulation.

That being said, it may surprise you (or it may not) that there have been quite a number of people who have described me as “princess-like”. This is not in the looking- down -my -nose -at- people way, no; it is in the Disney somebody-needs-to-kill-the-dragon-and-wake-that-bitch-up-because-she-ate-an-apple way. What I’m trying to say is- apparently I’m a damsel in distress and didn’t even know it.

The fact that I have been accused of lacking common sense may have something to do with this. A prime example is the fact that my car tabs needed to be renewed in October, yet I would rather go drive around slowing down when police are spotted in hopes that they will overlook this fact than actually go in and purchase the required tabs that I will have to buy eventually anyway. It is things like this that irk my Rockstar.

My parents raised me to believe that no one owes you anything in this world, and it is wrong to expect people to help you for no reason. (Which actually mkaes no sense considering that they are Baptists) The kicker is that they in no way prepared me to be able to take care of myself; I had to figure it out all on my own. I think I did ok.

As of late, I have been growing increasingly frustrated with many aspects of my life. I am trying to cope the best I can by trying to be positive, but yesterday I was told once again I give off the aura of someone needing to be saved. I took a shower yesterday, so I’m pretty sure that had nothing to do with it. Anyhoo, I cannot imagine being one of those women who marry for money expecting to be taken care of for the rest of their life, and I hate admitting that I need hugs more frequently than the average person. However, if someone would like the opportunity to save this damsel from distress, I’m feeling open to the idea. I would love to be that heroine that slays her own dragon, but GODDAMN, it would be nice if someone supplied me with  a flamethrower so I could do so. Hello? Is anybody there?




Filed under Humor, Life, Uncategorized

Menage a’ Trois (Almost)

I awoke and found myself if a completely empty room. I didn’t know where I was or how I got there, but oddly enough, I felt completely calm and unpanicked. I looked to my left and saw an open door nearby that, from what I could tell, led down a bare hallway. I realized then that I was unable to move from the spot where I lay; it was as if I had no control over the muscles of my body, yet this failed to alarm me. I had the subconcious feeling that I was waiting for something, and so I continued to do just that.

After a few minutes, a gorgeous woman walked through the doorway. I kid you not when I say she was the sexiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. Her raven hair fell in gentle waves to her waist and was only shadowed by even darker eyes that looked at me hungrily. She wore all black, which made her impossibly long legs look even lengthier. I didn’t know what to expect, but  a flood of Spanish words coming out of her mouth certainly wasn’t it.

I didn ‘t have a clue what she said. I was actually so struck by her utter perfection that I couldn’t think of anything to say anyway, so I remained mute. I found enough strength to struggle to a sitting position, and was a bit taken aback when this beautiful creature crouched down right in front of me. I remember admiring her balance, because she was wearing these stellar sky-high patent-leather shoes. She placed her perfectly-manicure hands on either side of my face and looked deeply into my eyes before she said a few more foreign words.

Then, she kissed me full on the lips. I instantly sunk into the kiss, and it was like a switch was flipped. She sunk to her knees and moaned as she began to devour me. I shivered as her hands slid down my arms and fumbled with my shirt. Her tongue parted my lips and my tongue met it hungrily in a sensual dance. I could feel my panties growing wet, wetter than they’d ever been; after all, when had anyone this gorgeous (nevermind that she was a complete stranger) ever embraced me with such need? She seemed to know what she was doing to me, because her long fingers slid down and over that heated area, and she pulled away just far enough for me to see the smile that played on the corners of her mouth. She spoke a few more words I couldn’t understand, and then, just as smoothly as she had slid to the floor, she rose and left without a backward glance.

A whimper of need escaped me when I realized she wasn’t coming back. I would have followed her, but my body once again had become immovable. I trembled with desire and frustration as I willed my legs to do their job, and then embarrassment when I looked down and saw the wet evidence of my longing smeared on the concrete floor. It seemed like an eternity that I sat there paralyzed, wondering where the hell I was and what the fuck was going on.

I heard clicking footsteps and my heart quickened. Was my Spanish queen coming back? I thought that it was perhaps her closeness that warmed my body enough to move, (a ridiculous thought, I know) and I promised myself that when she was close enough, I would grab her and not let her escape; I planned to make her desire me as much as she had made me desire her. The thought disipitated when a petite blonde entered the room.

I have never been partial to blondes, and she was not as stunning as my foreign female, yet she was in every other way perfectly tailored to my tastes. She was tiny, yet still possessed those curves that drive men wild. She wore a powder pink nightie that hid nothing of what was underneath, and she grinned coyishly as she bent down and placed a kiss on my upturned forehead.

“Relax, love. I’m here to give you what you want.”

I felt my shoulders unbunch, and my body loosened as she gently pushed me back to the position I had started when I’d woken up to this whole fiasco. Her touch seemed electric; even the innocent nudge on my shoulder sent currents of  want through me. I bit my lip, embarrassed that such a simple touch would create such a reaction. The blonde smiled, and I was mesmerized by the dimples that appeared.

 Her small hands carressed my body, finishing the task of removing my shirt which the brunette had started. Her arm inadvertantly brushed my erect nipple; my back arched and this time I could not hold back the moan that came. My eyes met those of this tiny woman, and I realized the stray touch hadn’t been an accident at all. She ran her finger down my belly, causing goosebumps to appear.  My hips began to move of their own volition, and when I felt her warm hand on my crotch, the movement became more noticeable. She ran her hand over that spot a few times, as she used her other hand to continue creating gooseflesh by running her nails down my sides.

The next second, this diminutive woman had torn my panties away. My eyes widened in surprise; sure, I’d had a man or two do the exact same thing, however, these had been strapping, muscled men, of whom behavior like that was expected. Yet, this angelic-looking girl had just exihibited the behavior of a lusty, animalistic male. If I hadn’t been soaking wet at that point, I certainly would have been now.

I started to speak and she placed a perfect finger on my lips to stop me. Then she lowered her head and ran her tongue around my nipple before she bit down, just slightly. I shivered again, and I heard a laugh come from her throat. Then she was stroking me; expert fingers playing with my clit, before she slid a finger inside me. I was dripping, and her fingers so tiny, that I barely felt it, and she knew that, so she slipped another finger in. I sighed as my eyes rolled back, and she continued to work her fingers. I felt her slip a third finger in, and I thrusted my hips against her; this was the equivilant of having a perfectly- sized dick in me. She wasted no time in adding a fourth finger, though, and I cried out at the unexpected feeling. So much! Yet my body amazingly accomodated, and I was even more turned on. The blonde looked straight into my eyes, and I shook my head  because I knew what was coming, yet my body screamed “Yes!”, and the next moment she plunged her entire fist into me.

I had had a man once try fisting me, but his hands were so large, and my pussy so tight, that he hadn’t even been able to get three fingers in. Yet, this woman had been able to do so.

I sucked in a breath, shocked at the mixture of pleasure and pain. The woman smiled triumphantly, and I came, hard.

Don’t you wish you could have a dream like this every night?  😉 XOXO

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Filed under fiction, Humor, Life, Sex, short story, Uncategorized

A Childish Antiquated Love

Have you ever had something tiny and seemingly insignificant happen that just makes you instantly happy that you woke up one day? I will tell you what that thing was for me today.

I was at work today minding my own business, (and the business of others by asking how their food was) when an antique couple walked in to dine. (By antique, I mean a couple well into their seventies, or perhaps even older.)  The woman was one of those tiny adorable Grandma-types, but the kind that still takes great pride in her appearance. (i.e. hair perfectly coiffed and permed, cheeks sufficiently rouged, and eyes covered by giant designer sunglasses) The man was unstooped by age, towering over his lovely wife and I by nearly a foot, and stylin’ in a vibrantly colored paradise blue dress shirt and shiny New Balance sneakers. I greeted the two of them and led them to a nearby uncomfortable booth that I’m sure in no way cradled their aging spines.

They ordered immediately, opting to share a personal pan pizza (because apparently old people don’t eat alot) and choosing to wash down their dinner choice with just water. I returned to their table with the desired water and two straws, and that is when the real fun began.

(I had just placed two wrapped straws on the table to aid in their agua-drinking experience.)

Elderly Gentleman: Uh-oh. Uuuuuh-oohhh.

(I look around to see if I have in some way silently offended.)

Elderly Gentleman: Uh-oh. You know what this means! (He reached for a straw simultaneously with his wife)

Me: (My eyes widen in suspense as I whisper) What? What does it mean?

Elderly Gentleman: You must have waited on us before. You knew exactly what we needed.

(I have, in fact, never set eyes on this aging couple before this day)

Me: Oh?

Elderly Gentleman and his Wife are struggling with arthritis-filled fingers to pull the wrappers off their designated straws, and it had just dawned on me what manner of chaos is about to go down. I wait in shocked surprise to see if I’m correct in my assumptions.

Elderly Wife: I don’t know, Honey. These wrappers may be just a little to tight!

Elderly Gentleman: Oh, no. They’ll work.

I watch in awe as two people in the late stages of their life pull their straw wrappers to the end of their straws far enough to blow them at each other in childish delight. The woman squeals in such a way that, for a moment, I can imagine her doing exactly the same thing 50 or 60 years ago on a first date with this man who is now her husband. The man grins boyishly, and I see without a doubt that he would be lost without her.

I think, “Damn. If that ain’t love, I don’t know what is.” Right before I tell them that they had better behave themselves and that our establishment does not condone such shenanigans. 🙂


Filed under Family, Humor, Life, Love, Uncategorized, Work

3 Questions

I was disappointed to find today that on my new email account, the Spam is not so blatantly advertised. In fact, I had to go searching for it. Searching for spam, you say? What a strange and demented habit, you say? (I must point out here that many things I do are strange and demented. That’s what makes me me.) When finally I found the hidden spam, I was delighted to see that the contents therein were enough to supply me with ideas for blog posts for weeks to come. One of the first was an advertisement that looked something like this:

Ask these three questions and women will love you forever!

Since it was spam, I could in no way justify clicking on these curiosity-inflicting words; however, this got me to wondering what mysterious three questions men could ask that would make women fall madly in love with them. These are just a few that I came up with:

Will you marry me?

It seems this is a question most normal women long to hear. I have no doubt this could be one of the three, though if someone were to ask me this exact question at this moment, my response would be, “Shut the fuck up. What is wrong with you?”

Do you want to see my twelve-inch dick?

This also seems a likely choice for one of the three mysterious questions. While I do not understand the allure of such a thing as a ruler-length schlong, I know that there are many women who would love a man forever simply because he possesses one.

Would you like to live in my castle?

I would have to say, “Hell, yeah!” to this one. It is probably pertinant for any man with a castle to follow-up this question with an explaination of what capacity he would wish you to live there. You never know, he may have a full S&M dungeon that you mightn’t be able to handle.

Do you want to meet Chris Meloni?

Again, this question may be especially tailored just for me. It is unlikely that most women would be impressed with the chance to meet Elliot Stabler…

Can I turn you into a vampire?

This would be the best way to ensure that a women would, in fact, love you FOREVER. What with the Twilight craze and everything, I have no doubt that there are masses of women willing to evolve to soul-less undead creatures.

Will you be my first?

This one is a bit tricky, simply because if you are to take a man’s virginity, you must plan on the probability that he won’t be the best. However, if he happens to be beautiful and innocent, I can see where this question could hook a few women.

Can I buy you an endless supply of shoes? Or Books?

One or the other would get women. I know it.

Can I love you forever?

Depending on if he’s an annoying butt-sucker or not, a woman might go for this. I would call bullshit.

Please let me know if there are any questions you know of that I haven’t thought of? I’m deeply curious to figure out what the “three” are.


Filed under Books, Entertainment, Fashion, Humor, Life, Love, Money, Sex, Uncategorized

Fashion Statement

I am composing this post to tell you all the truth…

For Women:

Skinny jeans do NOT, in fact, make you look skinny, unless you already are so. The truth is, if you possess any ass whatsoever, skinny jeans simply scream, “Look at this HUGE ass! We make it look even ginormouser by making these legs look smaller!” The only acceptable time to wear skinny jeans is when boots are paired with them.

Not everyone should wear a bikini. I realize that two-piece swimwear is all the rage, and has been so since the 60’s. However, unless you are vacationing in Mexico, (where a one-piece is the equivilant of advertising that you are a prude) I deem it perfectly acceptable to wear  unitard-inspired swimwear. I am speaking to those women buying the cutesy minute bikinis in a size 10 or larger. Just because they make ’em in that size does NOT make it ok to buy it.

Galoshes are made to wear in the rain. While I have, in the past, entertained the thought of pairing a set of patterned galoshes with a fluffy skirt and rock T-shirt, I have NOT actually done so. This may be due to the fact that, while sitting in the Denver airport, I witnessed a girl having done so. I also witnessed the reaction her choice of outfit provoked. Let me just point out- the reaction to Lady Gaga’s meat dress was very similiar.

See-thru leggings are to be worn with something over them. I (and I’m quite certain other people) do not wish to have the opportunity to discover if you’ve manicured your pussy lawn just by looking at you.

Fat people and stretchy pants- NO! Just no.

A fashion math problem: Cleavage – leg= Classy.  Leg – cleavage = Sexy. Leg + Cleavage = Skanky. One or the other, girls. Unless your trying to make some dough on a street corner.

While I encourage the wearage of sky-high heels, I do not condone wobbling around on them in public. Practice, practice, practice!

For the Men:

Flannel shirts are acceptable at specialized times, such as: when chopping wood; when ice-fishing and/or hunting; and when dressing as Paul Bunyan for Halloween. There is no such thing as a NICE flannel shirt, unles you are speaking of it’s quality in sub-zero weather.

It’s best to wear a belt when belt loops are present. If you’ve not noticed, unless you are Chris Meloni, you probably don’t have an ass to hold up your pants.

Baseball hats are also acceptable at specialized times, and should not be worn during church, at the dinner table, or because you are simply too lazy to comb your hair.

Holey and/or stained T-shirts are an unacceptable outfit choice for a first date- unless you AND your date are homeless.

While dress shirts are meant to be tucked in, I would like to point out that a man possessing a beer belly in a tucked in shirt STILL has a beer belly. I’m not quite certain how that looks less messy.








Filed under Beauty, Fashion, Humor, Life, Uncategorized

I Am A Green-Eyed Monster

So you all know that I’m a happy girl who loves everybody and is extremely self-confident, right? Boy, have I fooled the shit outta you.

I embody the first two qualities perfectly, yes. However, I will tell you something now that you might not know yet- I go through life with a Jealousy Monkey fucking me in the ass every single moment. That being said, it may come as no surprise when I tell you that the constant butt-drilling I get leads to Jealousy becoming my dominant personality trait.

One of the things that makes my jealousy acceptable is the fact that I do not begrudge people for whatever happiness they receive from whatever it is that makes me jealous of them. I am jealous of those in perfect relationships, but I would never wish them to NOT have a perfect relationship just because I don’t. They say Misery loves company; the truth is- I prefer solitude.

I will give you just a few examples of the things that I am jealous of:

I am jealous of Carrie Underwood and her perfect face and her perfect voice, and the fact that she gets endless commercial deals despite the fact that she has the inability to choose good songs to sing with her perfect voice.

I am jealous of my friend Delightful, and the fact that she possesses one of those tiny bodies that make you want to stick her in your back pocket. She also has amazing sparkly eyes that are not poop colored, like mine are.

I am jealous of the people that own Mustangs, because I haven’t one; and I am jealous of the fact that these people have the dollars to afford the Mustangs in the first place.

I am jealous that deceased celebrities such as Michael Jackson and Whitney Houston are talked about more than I am. Why can they not have the decency to share the fame they no longer need?

I am jealous of all the excessively talented pianists on Youtube who can play Chopin’s Fantasie Impromptu, because no matter how much I try to practice it, my timing is off and my fingers do not carry enough dexterity and speed to play it properly.

I am jealous of Nicole Kidman and her porcelain white skin, because though I possess the exact paleness she does, I just look pasty and all my veins show.

I am jealous that  untalented writers such as Stephanie Meyer have become household names because they had the gall to write about such ridiculous things as sparkly vampires and werewolves falling in love with infants.

I am jealous of the fact that my Rockstar’s Daughter received cuddling so much more easily from my Rockstar than I ever will.

I am jealous of Taylor Swift and the fact that her unimaginitive choices of subject matter for her songs has made her rich enough to buy a castle if she so chooses.

I am jealous of the fact that my douchebag of a former boss gets to continue working in MY bookstore, despite the fact that he hates books, and hates customers, and ogles young women, and sexually harrasses his underlings, while I slave away as a Pizza Slut.

I get jealous of people flirting with other people when I am readily available to be flirted with. This one is a bit confusing, because yes, I get jealous of the girls who are getting flirted with by men I don’t even find attractive. It IS all about me, you know.

I am jealous of those people that go around being happy all the goddamn time. I try that and find it utterly exhausting.

I am jealous of people that live in all the places that aren’t here. Sadly, if I were to move to any of those places, I would probably be jealous of the people that remained here.

I am jealous of those women (and men) who have perfect straight hair that can just wake up, run a brush through their hair, and go about their day. The fact that they can run a brush through their hair without creating an afro irks me most of all.

I am jealous of the fact that no matter how good of a writer I become, I will never be able to write lyrics as excellently as the band Black Stone Cherry.

I am jealous of Chris Meloni’s wife, and the fact that she gets to booby squish him whenever she wants.

I am jealous of women with babies, and pregnant women, and babies, and little children that are still adorable and not evil spawn from Hell.

One of the things that you all can be jealous of, though, is the fact that I have awesome readers who actually want to read this shit. 😉 XOXO





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Filed under Beauty, Books, Children, Entertainment, Friendship, Humor, Life, Love, music, Uncategorized

Ballad to My Low-Quality Payless Workshoes

Oh my unattractive non-slip faux-leather work footwear,

I am sorely perturbed at your repulsive appearance. I cannot completely blame you, as you were designed for comfort, and not for looks. Oh that you were as comfortable as your ugliness deems you should be! Alas, it seems that the $24 I paid for thee was an utter waste of cash. Now, I am forced to vest my feet in your disgustingly smelly depths every time I venture to work. My peers say it shall be my 6″ alligator heels that are the death of my feet, but nay! I am convinced it shall be ye.

The grippers on the bottom of you not only keep me from slipping and hitting my skullage on the pizza oven at work- they are extremely adept at picking up an stray pepperoni, cheese, and other perishable pizza toppings that have made their way onto the floor. The treads of you are so full of mashed pork and beef toppings that just the thought of it makes my stomach churn. Woe is me, but there is no way to unsully the soles of my work shoes!

Sadly, you were not there to appropriately support my perfectly-arched feet yesterday when I needed you most. Nine hours I was scheduled; while my feet screamed at me for mercy from your death hold after only five hours, I further tortured them by having to stay at work for another seven hours after I was scheduled.  In return, my feet have decided to retaliate by refusing to fit into my gorgeous satin leopard-print booties. No amount of soakng or rubbing will deter them from dispersing their retribution.

I’ve considered replacing you, my Payless shoes, with a higher end brand of work boot, such as Doc Martens. Unfortuneately, I cannot justify spending $100 on a pair of shoes that will, in less than a month, reek of pizza grease and tomato sauce. And so, my homely companions, I pray that you will be kind to my feet just long enough for me to become insanely famous and rich from my blog.





Filed under Fashion, Humor, Life, Uncategorized, Work

Dear Anthrax Dude

Dear Dude from the band Anthrax,

I regret to inform you that you are not as famous as I’m sure you would like to be. I decided to compose this letter after having seen you on a Youtube video where you were once again sitting namelessly amongst a crowd of better-known celebrities. I apologize for my insensitivity in this matter, but your existance is really beginning to piss me off.

I must ask you one thing- what the fuck is your name? After having spotted you on numerous star-studded syndicated shows such as I Love the 80’s and the Zakk Wylde Celebrity Roast, I am disturbed to realize that I still cannot tell one person your name. Am I that completely un-observant, or do the producers of these shows triple-size the “from ‘Anthrax'” that is printed under your name in order to further push you into obscurity? Is you name so common- like Bob, or Joe- that it just glides through my brain and gets lost in the kerfuffle? I certainly wouldn’t doubt it.

I would like to point out another distressing fact- I cannot introduce you, Anthrax Dude, neither am I able to name even one song from your band. In my world, I am surrounded by music connisseurs who possess infinite musical trivia knowledge, yet not one of these Rain Man-ish people listen to Anthrax, as far as I know. Is your music so awfully hideous that it defies attention? I am afraid to find out.

Anthrax Dude, as I am unable to comment on the quality (or lack thereof) of your musical talent, I shall therefore have to comment on the things I know about you. I would love to shave or otherwise trim the horrendous beardism that is attatched to your chin. While goatees seem to be increasing popular, the only thing your frazzled whiskers seem to be doing is keeping you from getting you own Hollywood star on a sidewalk in California. While your choice in chin accessory is questionable, the fact that your head is shaven is commendable, since you sport a very nicely-shaped skull.

I realize my curiousity over your name and your band’s musical leanings could be easily enough put to rest; however, I believe that since I have not yet retained your agnomen, it is safe to presume that I am not meant to. And so, Anthrax Dude, you shall forever in my world remain that nameless dude from that musicless band who makes his living along with the other washed-up celebrities on those VH1 history shows.

Forever a Non-Fan,



Filed under Entertainment, Humor, Life, music, Uncategorized