I'm going to warn you all now that the picture that comes along with this post is gross, and not for the faint of heart. Actually it's attached to (whats left) of my body and it kind of makes me want to chuck, so don't say I didn't warn you.



Ive been absent the last, ever, because I'm dying. And don't give me that shit about how we are all dying every day blah blah blah, because right now I am almost positive that I am dying at a faster rate than you are. Ive even been to the doctor who decided that he didn't know what was wrong, and in turn referred me to Doctor Kevorkian who decided that a punch biopsy in my side is the best way to figure out why Im dying.

Simple in house procedure, my ass.

That procedure has rendered me with a Zombie Hip.

This is the ultimate result of that simple procedure. This is my zombie hip.

The black line is where the bruise was marked to see if it..ahem...spread.

In case your wondering, that hurts alot. That's where I've been.

Now theres a big problem. I have this gross ass zombie hip and Ive only thought of 2 things to do with it.



1. Go up to all the people I have had sex with and show them. Explain that its a rare STD I picked up, conveniently right before I had sex with them. Then tell them that they ought to get tested.

2. Wear something revealing to the bar. Tell an outlandish story about my run in with a zombie. When they inevitably call bullshit, show them my side and then chase them out of the bar.



Its a sad day when I can only find 2 ways to fuck with people.

I am all sorts of stressing out.

I need a vacation. I also need money to go on that vacation.

I feel like I'm 3 seconds away from a nervous breakdown.

What started this?

I got mail at work. Trust me, if it's from someone I want to hear from, they know how to find me.

AND it's at the wrong office, so I get to wait until it gets here to figure out what sort of fucked up trouble I'm in now.

Fuck.

I am up and it is past my bedtime.

You may be wondering why I'm up. Or not, but I don't see anyone else writing on this page so pipe down.

I love the people I work with. I do.
However, I hate the job so much that it is now offically keeping me up at night.
Im turning into the person who sleeps through their alarm.

All 4 of them. Any reason to stay in bed with the blankets over my head.

Right now, it's 11:30. I have to be up in 6 hours.
I'm still here writing this, because the thought of going in tomorrow has stressed me out so badly that I can't sleep.

I love the people, but the job is wearing me into the ground.

Get another job. Easy, right?
Well, my credit is in the shitter. It's getting better, I'm in the process of trying to build it up, but it's still bad.
That coupled with the fact that no one seems to want to give me a job, well.

I've never been this miserable, and I have no idea what to do about it. I can't quit, I have bills, and although Netscape is helping significantly with those, I can't live off of that.

Despite what you think about the glamorous life of a writer, people aren't exactly beating down my door to give me money (bastards).

The thing is, I don't want a million dollars.
Ok that's a lie. I want oodles and oodles of money and fame.

But I'm realistic. I just want to live comfortably and have a job that I don't mind going to.

Any ideas?

Wow. A friend pointed out to me this morning that I haven't updated all month.
Sorry, I'm a shitty person.

My life really isn't all that exciting.

I'm writing a book...no idea yet when it's coming out.

Despite that, it's the same old shit.

I called Com Ed to see when my bill was due. I pay about 50 bucks a month, and I'm totally fine with that. So you can only imagine the minor stroke I had when they told me my total balance was $700.

Yea. Seven hundred one dollar bills.

They "mis calculated" my billing.

By a fuck ton.

$700? For that sort of bill I should have a lucrative methamphetiamine ring running out of my apartment. But since I don't, I'm sort of screwed.
It's a good thing I look good by candlelight.

I woke up today on the very pissed off side of the bed.


Perry claims that I work magic with my lists, so here's an Intelligent Humor Exclusive.



Things That Piss Me Off.

1. Being broke. Things are a little tight for reasons entirely out of my control. I was also a psychology major. Meaning: I can't add or subtract worth shit. Well, that's a lie. I can't add or subtract worth shit once I open my check book. I know that writers are supposed to have glamorous lives and all...but until this shit starts paying off, Chase is going to continue to rape me with overdraft charges. Yes, I accidentally bounced a check. But somehow, I don't understand how charging me $200 is going to prevent that from happening in the future. Hopefully there is some super rich man reading this, thinking "Yes, I have entirely too much money! I should send some to that TweekerChick so she can do things she likes to do...like eat." (Oh, and if you ARE that rich guy, I'll totally let you touch my boob)...

It has been awhile since I wrote anything after an entire bottle of wine and a few beers.
It's been one of those weeks.
I'll spare you all the gory corporate bullshit you don't wanna hear about.

Instead I feel like talking about Dan.

You know those people that you automatically like?
The type of guy that you want to hug and kiss because right off the bat he reminds you of someone that you trust. That you love. That is always there with a smile no matter what.

That's Dan. He's a big kid. On Saturday, we were going to get a glimpse of him helping him sing Gloria Estevan,Shania Twain, and Natalie Imbrulia.

He was always up for the challenge and that's part of what made him awesome.

As far as "real people" go in the Chicago Area....they tend to be few and far between. That's what made Dan so special to so many people (besides his inflatable guitar). He was the type of guy that always made you feel right at home.

My favorite memory of Danimal was when I showed up for karaoke my second time and demanded someone sing "Smooth" by Rob Thomas/Santana.
He rolled his eyes, but he was shaking his ass anyway.

He didn't care who you are, how much money you made, what you did for a living or any other of that superficial bullshit.
If you were cool, it's cool.
As far as anyone can tell, if Dan didn't like you, you are most likely a huge douchebag, and no one else does either.

Underneath everything, what he did, who he was, Dan was an amazing person and someone I am glad I got a chance to know. If you were his friend, you were his friend. No ulterior motives, no dramatic bullshit.

I haven't been hitting the scene as hard as usual since I've moved here, and being friends with Dan was one of things that made life a little bit easier.

Sadly, Danimal passed away unexpectedly on March 30. Leaving behind Andee, 5 kids (including Andee's little girls), and a lot more people who loved and cared about him.

Anyway, everyone will miss you Dan. Just don't tell anyone I actually cried.
In honor of Danimal, "Come Sail Away" (the Cartman Version) has been retired.
I know that God has a plan for everyone, but sometimes it just doesn't seem fair the ones he decides to take away.

So, I'm getting shitfaced in the ridiculous pushup bra he used to tease me about.

This ones for you Dan.
I'll miss you.
We'll miss you.

I am a tired girl!

But things are crazier than usual.

For whatever reason, all the sudden everyone wants a moment of my time. It's insane.

Everyone seems to want to talk with me about sex and love and relationships and all that shit.

So I finally caved.

You can hear me tonight, discussing love, sex, women, men, etc. Live. In my own voice.
Tune in!

You can actually HEAR me talk shit for once!

I am pissy today.

So instead of my usual witty and informative post, I am going to give you, quite simply, a list of things that suck.

1. Blisters. Especially ones you get on the inside of your calves. Yes, I could stop wearing hooker boots. But I'm not going to. So fuck you.

2. Insomnia. I like sleep. I get to do things in my sleep like pull off heists and sleep with movie stars. Ill take a threesome with Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt over being awake any day.

3. Student loan payments. Had I known I'd be broke until roughly the end of time because of them, I never woulda gone. I wonder if they'll give me a refund.

4. Insurance Companies. Give me my $150 you tight wads.

5. Writing. Dont get me wrong, I like it. But with my real job and deadlines for writing, I work about 14 hours a day. That's a lot. I wouldn't mind as much, but the same people who have deadlines don't want to do nifty things like pay me. People like to read my writing. Because people like to read it, people publish it. Now if those same people would write me a fucking check, I'd be a happy monkey

6. Getting paid. Normally this is good. Because money buys me things that I like to eat. However, the first paycheck of the month always sucks because without fail I wind up back in negative numbers. How this happens, I don't know. I don't shop. I don't go anywhere. I don't pay for porn and I don't really eat anymore. So why the hell am I $100 in the hole before I pay rent? Oh yea. Refer to #5. Gah.

7.PMS. Would someone KINDLY remind my skin that I am not 14 anymore?

8. The 300 pound black lady in my office building. Shes cool and all, until we're all crammed in an elevator. It stops, and there she stands in all her tubby glory. And somehow she finds 8 square inches of space, and says "there's room!" and proceeds to wedge herself into the elevator. I wouldn't be suprised if she took a running start.

Bah.

If anyone knows a dermatologist with an Ambien prescription who wants to be my sugar daddy, let me know.

I dunno.

I'm having some serious writers block.
I'm not sure what the deal is.

I thought maybe I'd sit down and write a blog and get it all off of my chest.
About the emo, about the lack of sleep, about the fact that I'm overwhelmed and I can't deal without it.

But I sat down to write, and it's like my words won't work.
Every sentence I string together seems wrong.

It's all forced and so much more bitter than I thought I was.
A few times I considered walking away from it entirely, but unfortuantely for me, I'm not like other people. It's not that easy for me.

I'm not sure what to say.

I'm fine?

I'm always fine.

So.

Life has gotten slightly weird.

I find myself getting a lot of attention that I can't handle by myself.

I simply don't have the time to respond to 300 some comments about why I'm a whore.

So, I am creating a new policy.

Comment away, I encourage it. But because I can't respond to every post, I'm leaving Angry Ken in charge of dealing with ruffled feathers.

Simply because he's such a sweet guy.

Keep commenting, and emailing me though. I love hearing from you guys!

I am so homesick that it's sad.

So I called my friend Jayme to let her know what's going on in my world.

Me: I miss you guys.
Jayme: Why?
Me: I just do
Jayme: Well, Deannes a bitch, I think Shawn is gay and I'm a little bit off.
Me: I still miss you though.
Jayme: How sweet, I think I might puke.
Me: Im not sure why I miss you, now.
Jayme: Its cause of your lesbian tendencies
Me: I hate you. I write for FHM now.
Jayme: Seriously?
Me: Yep. Apparently my writing is awesome.
Jayme: For what it's worth, we still think you suck.

God I miss home.

I would do anything for Sesame chicken and crab rangoons.

I don't get paid till Wed.

That sucks.

That is all.

I’ve never been a huge fan of rules. I’m sort of stubborn, and I don’t like being told what to do ever. But rules are a necessary part of being a functional member of society. There are even designated places for people who choose not to follow those rules. We call that place prison. Although our everyday lives are tempered with regulations about what we can or can’t do in certain situations, there is a serious lack of any sort of guidance when it comes to relationships.

Instead of following the normal model of society, and having a set of expectations to abide by, we are allowed to go buck wild and do pretty much whatever the hell we want. Which means that no one, especially the people in these relationships, have any idea what on earth is going on. This eventually becomes a problem. Eventually, the relationship will go sour for one reason or another. It could be something complex, like the fear that the sex tape with you and the goat that you made while she was on vacation will hit the internet. Or something a little bit easier to explain, like that rash you got from that hooker in Tijuana. Regardless, I propose the following list of rules for breaking up, if only to make life a little bit easier for those of us who don’t have the slightest idea what the hell is going on.

Rule #1: You will not dump her within 2 weeks of any holiday that Hallmark makes a card for. Really, what’s worse than being dumped on Valentine’s Day? Being dumped on Thanksgiving or Christmas. It doesn’t matter what day you dump her, it will be seared into her brain as the day that you broke her heart and completely destroyed her life. I don’t care if you are the best man on earth. The day you dump her is the day you become the lowest form of life to her and anyone she’s ever had any sort of contact with. Try not to do this on her favorite holiday. Thanksgiving was my favorite holiday. A day of sloth and gluttony, it was a thing of beauty to me. Until I was dumped by the love of my life on Thanksgiving. What was once a glorious day of overeating and napping is now a day marred by my uncontrollable urges to hunt him down and punch him repeatedly in the face after drinking half a bottle of tequila.

Rule #2: You will not dump her at her place of residence. Why you would want to do this in the first place baffles me. She lives there. Which seems like a good idea, less of a commute for her and you can dump her and then leave. It seems like a good idea. But so did parachute pants. This is her home. She knows where all of the knives are, and at this point in time she would have very few reservations using them on you.

Rule #3: You will not dump her at your place of residence. She will probably cry, and you will probably want her to leave. And if you want to win an award for being a heartless bastard, dumping her and then telling her to “get out” would win you the gold. Plus, if she’s smart, she would make it a point to destroy anything near and dear to you. Nothing says “I think we need to see other people” like having to replace your TV because she threw your cell phone through it.

Rule #4: There will be an arranged meeting time in a neutral public setting so you can each return the other person’s rightful property. This should happen no later than one week after the breakup. After two weeks, you relinquish ownership of that property and your ex has the right to do with it as they see fit, including but not limited to: selling it on the internet, giving it to the person they cheated on you with or burning it. The property should be packed carefully and returned in the best condition possible. This is an important part that should prevent you from getting a garbage bag that contains the shattered remnants of your wardrobe and DVD collection. Nothing that was given as a gift shall be returned, as those are things that belong to you and a major part of the healing process involves destroying them or giving them to your next significant other.

Rule #5: Saying patronizing or condescending things to the person you are dumping is strictly prohibited. After telling someone that you didn’t really mean it when you said forever, you have no right to say things such as “You’ll be fine”, “You deserve someone better”, or my all time favorite “Time heals all wounds”. If you feel the need to say something comforting, you also deserve to know exactly how long time takes to heal a kick straight to your gonads.

Rule #6: If you aren’t capable of staying friends after things have ended, keep your trap shut. Friendships are relationships and take a great deal of time and effort to maintain. If you are going to try to remain friends and then at some point down the line (probably when she gets another girlfriend) freak out and bail, stating reasons such as “This isn’t healthy for you”, “You still have feelings for me” or “I have reasons and they are personal”, you’re a jerk. Being dumped is hard enough. Being dumped by your significant other and later on losing a friend is worse. Friendships after relationships aren’t easy but they are possible if both parties are capable of acting like adults. It tends not to work so well when one party cries like a little girl with a skinned knee when the other moves on.

Rule #7: You can still have sex as long as there’s an open and honest dialogue about it. Let’s face it, good sex is strikingly hard to come by. When you find it, keep it. This is a dangerous thing to do, and requires a great deal of willpower on both sides. Both sides need to acknowledge that the relationship is simply physical and there is no implied reconciliation. I strongly suggest having a lawyer draft up some sort of contract to ensure that both parties can agree to the conditions of this arrangement, otherwise things are bound to get messy.

Rule #8: Both parties will agree to destroy any copy of any sex tape they may have been stupid enough to make. After the Paris Hilton debacle, I have hard time trying to figure out why people still think it’s a brilliant idea to tape themselves doing the horizontal mambo, but they do. And these people inevitably break up, and a few months later find out that their sex tape is being shown on a website that also streams movies that have plots that involve foreign pool boys and rich slutty white women. If you don’t want the world to see you naked, don’t take pictures of it. Be sure to follow through with regards to this, so that someday your parents aren’t surfing the internet and come across your extracurricular activities in a stray pop up window. On the other hand, I could be totally wrong and destroying your chance at becoming a celebrity. It worked for Paris.

Rule #9: You will not spill dirty little secrets about your ex partner on your website, through your friends or any other medium. I’m going to be honest here, the chance of any female that has just been dumped listening to this rule are slim to none, so prepare for your humiliation. In a perfect world, both parties would be understanding to the fact that being in a relationship gives you a unique opportunity to see the other person in the way the rest of the world wouldn’t. However, this is not a perfect world, and hell hath no fury like a newly single woman. I suggest heavy drinking, because pretty soon everyone you’ve ever met will know that you get depressed when the baseball season ends, that you watch Sex in the City, and that you cry a lot, especially over your dog that died when you were 19.

Rule #10: You will not call the day after you rip her heart out and stomp on it to see how she’s feeling. It should be pretty self explanatory how she’s feeling. She’s feeling one of two ways. First scenario, she’s curled up in bed crying into your old t-shirt, trying to figure out what she did to make you not love her. The second scenario is the one in which she’s actually fine. She’s happy. Because she’s now sleeping with your best friend, everyone in your office, and your barber to get back at you for what you did to her.

Rule #11: Try not to trash talk. This is by far the hardest rule to enforce. Simply because it’s fun. There’s something therapeutic to revenge. There’s some sort of catharsis in turning your ex in for unpaid speeding tickets, having their car towed, or dragging their parents into things. After being dumped for not being pretty enough, nothing made me happier than dragging his parents into things. There was something almost cleansing about telling his father that we didn’t work out because he was exploring his sexuality and I just couldn’t be supportive of my boyfriend being with another man while he was dating me. It was one of my meaner moments and I’m almost positive that his mother still thinks he is attracted to men. (Not that there’s a thing wrong with being gay. He was from a Republican family and it was quite the hot button issue).

Breaking up a relationship is never an easy thing for either party. It’s not supposed to be. Saying goodbye to a promised piece of ass is something that is hard for anyone to deal with. Sometimes, rules make things easier for people to go about their daily lives. Unfortunately breakups are rarely easy, and aren’t particularly enjoyable for either party involved.

The big problem with rules is that they are made to be broken. There really should be a protocol that people follow when ending a relationship in order to make things easier for everyone involved. I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t want this process to be a little less painful. Unless you happen to be my boyfriend. In which case all bets are off, and you can kiss that sweet little DVD collection you left in my apartment goodbye, after I tell your gay roommate that I think you have a little “thing” for him.

So, I've been doing some soul searching the past day or so, and I decided it was time to revamp and older post of mine and give it new life.

A few years ago, I did a post that is now featured on intelligenthumor.com titled "Defining the douchebag".

It was great and relevent, when I was in college.

However, I am no longer in college, I am now an adult in the corporate world.
Which is full to the brim with all sorts of douchebags.

So I bring you, Defining The Douchebag: The Corporate World Edition.

There are so many categories of the douchebags you will run into in the corporate setting that I definately don't have time to define them all for you here. So this will most likely be a first of a few installments.

If this offends you, it's probably because I'm describing you and exactly why your coworkers hate you.

1. This Isnt College Anymore? This specific douchebag drives me fucking crazy. They have a tendency to stumble into work every day in wrinkled, dirty clothes, reeking like rum and pot. That's fine, I've committed that particular sin more times than I'd care to admit. But the major difference here, is while I'm still too drunk to function I sit quietly at my desk. You choose to talk, often times loudly, to very important people. These people don't give a flying shit that you did body shots off a strippers tits. No matter how cool your boss is, there's a time and place for that shit. Also on that note, check your hormones at the door. Theres nothing creepier than hearing you discuss the hot chicks you're trying to get with, the amount of vicodin you took with your stash of Coors Light, or whatever other stupid thing you did. This is not a fraternity house, we will not give you a special shirt for this anymore.

2. How the hell did you get hired? This person is usually very very nice. And very fucking dumb. How they've managed to retain employment through this point in their life is baffling to everyone they associate with. These people are most likely kept on staff due to their ability to keep everyone else busy with important questions, such as "How the HELL did you graduate college?", and "Has it ever occured to you that Darwin was wrong?".

3. The pretentious moron. Every office has one of these. They are easy to spot by the way they wander aimlessly with a sense of self importance that rivals that of the CEO. They have their nose in everyone elses buissness, simply because they have no idea what the hell they are doing. This is the person who will ask you the same question. Over. And Over. And Over again. And then they will ask someone else. They will argue trivial points with you, simply because they can. They have time to do this because they have no idea what the hell they are doing otherwise.

4. The snitch. There's always one. The corporate world is more cutthroat than most professional sports. This is the person who will download porn with you on your work computer, and then turn you into HR. The easiest way to identify them is to wander into their cubicle someday. They will close out the window they were working in. Why? Because they were sending someone an email. About you.

5. The Life Isnt Fair Kid. This kid was a load better off swallowed. They tend to be young. Very young. They argue company policy like it's their job, simply because it's "not fair". Fuck the dress code! Why should I have to tuck my shirt in? Fuck the dress code! That's unfair! Why did I lose this account? Because I didn't sell it? So what? That's not fair! The best part about these guys is when they start realizing that they might actually have to do things such as work. They will constantly whine that it's so much easier for other employees. Management obviously favors them. It has nothing to do with the fact that they've worked here for 5 years. Nope. The world is conspiring against them. For some serious office fun, do what you can to make this person's life harder. Tell them that you saw the account first, even if you haven't.

More later. I'm off to pretend to work.

I've been distant lately.
Which makes me a bad, bad blogger.

The new site should be up and running soon.

Where have I been?

Swimming in a big vat of emoness.

One of my best friends decided that he can no longer be my friend because it's not healthy for him and it interferes with his agenda of behaving like a scared little boy.
As much as I like to pretend I don't care, I do.
I got over it when he dumped me, I'm sure I'll get over this. But it hurts, and that's just not fair.

Top that with the fact that I'm retardedly sick, and I am so much fun to be around that it's unreal.

Anyhooter.

I'm working on a few new articles (YAY!)

Expect articles touching on her friends and how to make them make your life easier, a run down of the types of people you date and how to work them, and a list of people you should cut out of your life.

Be sure to check out my new place, sit tight, and hit the donate button.

I have a best friend to try to drink away.

I feel like a grown up! I have my own website.

It's by far the most awesome thing ever.

Pretty soon you'll be able to find a bunch of good stuff there.

Be SURE you click here and sign up.

Go visit my new site!

Or I'll cry.

The only thing that is starting to piss me off about this whole blog thing is people fucking stealing my shit.

Seriously.

Is it that fucking hard to write your own shit?

Someone on myspace even stole my disclaimer. Upon further investigation, she also stole my last article. Which is going to be published. Which puts her in some deep shit if she doesn't take it down, considering it's likely that I will sign the rights to it over.

People who do that shit make me want to fucking puke.

Here's a thought. Come up with something original to say, or go fuck yourself.
I am aware that this blog is public, and for whatever reason getting a lot of attention.
Which is awesome.
On the same token, it's kind of overwhelming and infuriating to see people too unoriginal and pathetic to provide their own content leech off of yours.

These are my words, and my thoughts.
I'm aware that the internet is full of assholes who can't think for themselves, but Jesus Tapdancing Christ.

Maybe I'll start ripping off content from someone more talented than me, like Tucker Max.

So, I just got off of a great conversation with Carlos Xuma.

At first, I thought the same thing you were all probably thinking. It's just another guy on the internet who is trying to get in my pants.

We had a great conversation, and you will most likely be seeing more of me around his site.

And about him wanting in my pants: he didn't outright say he did, but who could blame him?

My pants are cute.

And for all of you still wondering: I am still waiting on the scans from FHM.

How to be honest and still get laid

A general problem I find when talking with my guy friends is the one of honesty in relationships. Now, don’t get me wrong, the men in my life are smart people. They know for an undisputed fact that honesty in relationships is key to success. They also know that if they are honest, they will never, ever, EVER get laid.
So what is a guy to do? How do you bring up something sensitive while still maintaining a sex life that consists of more than just your right hand?
I consulted a few of my favorite horny bastards and came up with decent solutions to some of your more pressing issues. You can thank me later when the sex is over.

What you’re too much of a pussy to say: I don’t want to hang out with your girlfriends.
This is a pretty easy one. Tell her that you love spending time with her. Now, lie through your teeth and compliment her friends, especially that one femi-nazi who makes your nuts shrivel and retract. Explain to her that you feel that you monopolize enough of her time and that you think it’s unfair to her that you intrude on her time with her friends. If she argues, smile and thank her for being considerate of your feelings, but you know how much that crazy man hating bitch means to her, and go have fun, you’ll go watch the game with someone.

What you’re too much of a pussy to say: You have a bushier mustache than I do.
Tread gently here guys. No girl in the world wants to know that you noticed her mustache. This is one topic that’s better not to approach at all, but I don’t know a single guy who is comfortable kissing Burt Reynolds. Sit back and assess how much this means to you. Then get off your ass and high tail it to the nearest spa. Buy her a gift certificate for a facial and find the person who is going to do it. Explain to her how beautiful you think your girlfriend is, but you want to spare her feelings, and if she could kindly suggest it to her. Then pay extra and bribe the aesthetician into pretending it comes with the facial.

What you’re too much of a pussy to say: You left your toothbrush here, I know you did it on purpose, I don’t want to marry you and commitment scares the shit out of me.
Good one, Corky. She’s moving her shit in. One piece at a time. Unless you want this to get ugly quick, you need to get her shit out of there before she takes over half your closet, your bathroom, and she starts bringing in things like throw pillows and towels that are only there to be pretty. When you’re done vomiting from the sheer panic of your situation, mope around for awhile. Act like something is really tearing you up inside. She will eventually ask what’s wrong. Tell her that you need to talk to her.
Now is the time where you conjure up images of your pet turtle named Binky who was murdered horribly by a bird. Tear up a little bit. Tell her that you don’t know how to tell her this and you don’t want her to be upset, but the reason you love her is because every time you see her you get butterflies in your stomach. That the world feels like it stops for a minute. And that you noticed she left her shit there, and you’re scared that if she starts moving her stuff in, it will take away from that feeling. Then put that shit back in her purse, and explain to her that you never ever want to get used to her so that feeling never ever goes away.
Then wander around scratching your ass and drinking beer in your underwear, as you have now reclaimed your castle.

What you’re too much of a pussy to say: You’re getting fat.
This is one you’ll have to suck up. Honestly, suggesting that she try Slim-Fast because it’s “really good” isn’t gonna cut it. This time, you’re going to have to bite the bullet. Even if you’re built like Adonis, you should pat your beer belly and tell her that you are very self conscious that you’re getting fat. Tell her that you signed up for a gym and you want her to go with you because you need the support.

What you’re too much of a pussy to say: You’re a fucking bitch.
Chances are, if she’s being a bitch, she doesn’t want to hear it from you. The minute you open your mouth with that phrase, you can count on the fact that you’re not getting your dick wet. Run her a bath, book her a massage, something. Then tell her that you did that for her because she’s seemed really stressed out lately and you think that she needs some alone time to relax. Then book it the hell out of there and hide at the strip club.

What you’re too much of a pussy to say: Yes, I think that actress is far hotter than you will ever be.
She knows the answer to this question. This is a test, and your stupid ass is going to fail. The right answer is not “No baby, you are far hotter than Angelina Jolie”. Because that’s a dirty lie. Angelina Jolie is proof that god is just and loves us. I’m a girl, and I’d fuck Angelina Jolie.
That being said, the answer to this is simple. You concede the fact that Angelina Jolie is, in fact, the hottest creature to roam the planet. And then tell her that you really prefer your women to be something that she is not. A few examples:
“I can see why people think Kate Moss is pretty, but I prefer that my girlfriend eats once in awhile”.
“Yea, Pam Anderson is pretty, but I think natural girls are beautiful”.
Then take a mental note of whatever you’re watching so you can jerk off to it later.

What you’re too much of a pussy to say: I want to have a threesome with you and your best friend/my best friend/that hot chick at work/that girl down the street.
Tough one. I understand that threesomes are something that most guys dream of, however I am a female and I’ve been approached on this subject numerous times by my past boyfriend. Our conversation usually went something like this:
Him: Hey Clare, want to have a three some with someone infinitely hotter than you will ever be?
Me: No.
Him: You’re a bitch.

The problem with most threesomes is this tendency of men to want to have them with attractive members of the opposite sex. Most of the time, very attractive members of the opposite sex. This in turn creates some sort of cognitive dissonance for your girlfriend. If she has dark hair, dark eyes and a huge ass, and you want a threesome with someone who looks like Pamela Anderson, your girlfriend is going to feel unattractive. I know I did. This request carries serious implications of “you’re not good enough”. The best way to suggest this is to watch a movie that has a reference to a threesome in it. Bring it up then and tell her that you think it could be a lot of fun for both of you. Understand her hesitation, and respect her feelings on this one. Make this about her, and stress the fact that you think she will enjoy it. And keep holding your breath, Fabio, because it probably isn’t going to happen.

What you’re too much of a pussy to say: I know you had a bad day, and I'm sorry, but I don't want to hear every inane detail about it.
This is a common one I hear from just about every guy I talk to . Their girlfriend has a bad day, and they are subject to listening to every single detail about it. This one, I am eternally guilty of. I can’t help it. When I’m really upset, I just start babbling about every aspect of the interaction, down to the type of shoes the bitch who pissed me off was wearing. The entire time I ‘m pissing and moaning, I am more than well aware that he doesn’t care.

Being told that my significant other doesn’t want to hear about it is simply not an option. This is not a good time to tell her that you don’t want to hear about it. Let her vent for a good few minutes. You’re a big boy, you have the attention span that lasts longer than three minutes. If you don’t, try Ritalin, it works. After that three minutes, she will eventually stop her bitching to take a breath (even on bad days, she has to breathe). You need to pay attention and look for it, because if you miss your opportunity you’re stuck. When she takes a pause that is your time to shine. Wrap your arms around her waist, kiss her once right on the lips, and say “Baby/ Sweetheart/SugarTits, I’m sorry you had a bad day. But you’re home with me now, and that’s all that matters. Don’t let that stupid bitch* ruin our night. Come on”. Then take her to do what you originally planned.

* The stupid bitch line only applies if the person who has enraged your girlfriend is not her mother, sister or best friend.

What you’re too much of a pussy to say: Brush your teeth before I vomit.
This is a tough one. On one hand, if you know she needs to brush her teeth, you’re already in a delicate situation. On the other hand, no one wants to make out with someone that tastes like left over garlic chicken. I had an ex who used to love to taste like stale beer and cigarettes, and I’d rather take a punch in the box than kiss that. So what do you do?

This is another one of the many times in your relationship that you need to nut up and accept full responsibility for something that is in no way, shape or form your fault. Pull away from her, try to act embarrassed if you can. Tell her that you’re so sorry to ruin the moment, but you had garlic/onions/something stinky for lunch and it’s making you uncomfortable and you want to go brush your teeth. Most girls will think “I had stinky stuff too, maybe I should do the same”.

What you’re too much of a pussy to say: I want to poke you in the butt.
This is an easy one. I tackled this one with a friend of mine awhile ago, and he said the results were brilliant. While you’re sitting with your girl, tell her that you read an article about anal sex. Run down the details of this article and tell her the truth. The orgasms from anal sex are supposed to be far more intense than the orgasms from regular sex. Tell her that nothing would make you happier than watching her get off that hard. If you want extra credit, actually find an article that substantiates your claim and read it with her. Make sure that it isn’t this article, and be sure that it’s from a women friendly website. (A women friendly website is one that doesn’t feature girls with huge boobs doing strange things to animals, in case you needed that cleared up). Suggest you try it. She’ll say no. Automatically. Tell her you understand, but you promise you’ll be gentle, and if she doesn’t like it, you’ll never try it again.

The problem here being, if she actually lets you do it, you can’t just slam it in her butt unless you want her to have a surprised look on her face for the rest of her natural life. You actually have to do what you said you were going to do this time.

What you’re too much of a pussy to say: I am exhausted, and this will never happen again, but I am too tired to have sex please leave me alone.
It would figure. The one time you really don’t want to have sex is the one time she’s all fired up and ready to hop on and ride you like a Harley on a bad patch of road. This will never happen again, until the next time you are too tired to have sex. So realize what you are doing. Now is the time to be honest. Tell her that you love her. That she is your world. All of that shit. And then tell her the truth. You are exhausted and feeling very vulnerable and right now what you’d really like is to just snuggle for awhile. She will be touched that you were so candid with feelings that are considered traditionally taboo for men to discuss, and she’ll most likely stop trying to get on your jock. The key to this is honesty, while still maintaining physical contact with her. If you push her away completely, you’re not going to get laid for awhile. Kiss her, wrap your arm around her and try to manage your best content smile when you snuggle beside her.


All you need for a successful relationship is open lines of communication. Provided you lie through your teeth and tell her the truth in a way that will ensure Little Elvis gets paid some attention. Before I get flooded with email about condoning lying to your girlfriend…that’s not what this is about. There is a stark difference between lying for the sake of lying, and presenting relevant information in a way that won’t hurt someone’s feelings. One is a lie, the other one is the key to successful human interaction. This is about being honest with your partner without calling her a fat bitch with horrible friends and a mustache.

Merry Christmas!

I hope you all got whatever it is you wanted.

This has been an awesome few days. You might be seeing more of me in FHM if they cave to my demands for a pool boy named Raoul, my own private jet, and a country named in my honor.
I really think they'll cave on the jet.

It's weird seeing my writing all over the internet.
Some of my favorite bloggers of all time are giving that stinking list some really positive feedback, which is really kinda cool.
Even

So, in the spirit of my life turning really fucking cool really fucking fast....

I made the cover of FHM.

For those who don't speak Croatian (I think they speak Croatian), the "Politika Seksa" is mine.
I can't wait to get my copies, I will probably sleep with it under my pillow in hopes that the FHM fairy sends me that model in my article. She's hot and the guys at the office would appriciate it.

Ill try to update more frequently, but right now I am absolutely rocking out with the fact that Comcast just shut my internet and phone off, limiting my access to the internet to when I'm at the office.

And as much as I love you guys, I do enjoy my job and if HR saw half the shit I wrote on this page, I'd be fired.

Anyway, buy FHM. Learn Croatian. Check out that REALLY hot blonde.

(I'm seeing if they'll let me post the PDF files of the article on this, more later if they will).

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

A general problem I find when talking with my guy friends is the one of honesty in relationships. Now, don’t get me wrong, the men in my life are smart smart people. They know for an undisputed fact that honesty in relationships is key to success. They also know that if they are honest, they will never, ever, EVER get laid.

So what is a guy to do? How do you bring up something sensitive while still maintaining a sex life that consists of more than just your right hand?

I consulted a few of my favorite horny bastards and came up with decent solutions to some of your more pressing issues. You can thank me later when the sex is over.

What you’re too much of a pussy to say: I don’t want to hang out with your girlfriends.

This is a pretty easy one. Tell her that you love spending time with her. Now, lie through your teeth and compliment her friends, especially that one femi-nazi who makes your nuts shrivel and retract. Explain to her that you feel that you monopolize enough of her time and that you think it’s unfair to her that you intrude on her time with her friends. If she argues, smile and thank her for being considerate of your feelings, but you know how much that crazy man hating bitch means to her, and go have fun, you’ll go watch the game with someone.

What you’re too much of a pussy to say: You have a bushier mustache than I do.

Tread gently here guys. No girl in the world wants to know that you noticed her mustache. This is one topic that’s better not to approach at all, but I don’t know a single guy who is comfortable kissing Burt Reynolds. Sit back and assess how much this means to you. Then get off your ass, and high tail it to the nearest spa. Buy her a gift certificate for a facial and find the person who is going to do it. Explain to her how beautiful you think your girlfriend is, but you want to spare her feelings, and if she could kindly suggest it to her. Then pay extra and bribe the aesthetician into pretending it comes with the facial.

What you’re too much of a pussy to say: You left your toothbrush here, I know you did it on purpose, I don’t want to marry you and commitment scares the shit out of me.

Good one, Corky. She’s moving her shit in. One piece at a time. Unless you want this to get ugly quick, you need to get her shit out of there before she takes over half your closet, your bathroom, and she starts bringing in things like throw pillows and towels that are only there to be pretty. When you’re done vomiting from the sheer panic of your situation, mope around for awhile. Act like something is really tearing you up inside. She will eventually ask what’s wrong. Tell her that you need to talk to her.

Now is the time where you conjure up images of your pet turtle named Binky who was murdered horribly by a bird. Tear up a little bit. Tell her that you don’t know how to tell her this and you don’t want her to be upset, but the reason you love her is because every time you see her you get butterflies in your stomach. That the world feels like it stops for a minute. And that you noticed she left her shit there, and you’re scared that if she starts moving her stuff in, it will take away from that feeling. Then put that shit back in her purse, and explain to her that you never ever want to get used to her so that feeling never ever goes away.

Then wander around scratching your ass and drinking beer in your underwear, as you have now reclaimed your castle.

What you’re too much of a pussy to say: You’re getting fat.

This is one you’ll have to suck up. Honestly, suggesting that she try Slim-Fast because it’s “really good” isn’t gonna cut it. This time, you’re going to have to bite the bullet. Even if you’re built like Adonis, you should pat your beer belly and tell her that you are very self conscious that you’re getting fat. Tell her that you signed up for a gym and you want her to go with you because you need the support.

What you’re too much of a pussy to say: You’re a fucking bitch.

Chances are, if she’s being a bitch, she doesn’t want to hear it from you. The minute you open your mouth with that phrase, you can count on the fact that you’re not getting your dick wet. Run her a bath, book her a massage, something. Then tell her that you did that for her because she’s seemed really stressed out lately and you think that she needs some alone time to relax. Then book it the hell out of there and hide at the strip club.

What you’re too much of a pussy to say: Yes, I think that actress is far hotter than you will ever be.

She knows the answer to this question. This is a test, and your stupid ass is going to fail. The right answer is not “No baby, you are far hotter than Angelina Jolie”. Because that’s a dirty lie. Angelina Jolie is proof that god is just and loves us. I’m a girl, and I’d fuck Angelina Jolie.

That being said, the answer to this is simple. You concede the fact that Angelina Jolie is, in fact, the hottest creature to roam the planet. And then tell her that you really prefer your women to be something that she is not. A few examples:

“I can see why people think Kate Moss is pretty, but I prefer that my girlfriend eats once in awhile”.

“Yea, Pam Anderson is pretty, but I think natural girls are beautiful”.

Then take a mental note of whatever you’re watching so you can jerk off to it later.

All you need for a successful relationship is open lines of communication. Provided you lie through your teeth and tell her the truth in a way that will ensure Little Elvis gets paid some attention. Before I get flooded with email about condoning lying to your girlfriend…that’s not what this is about. This is about being honest with your partner without calling her a fat bitch with horrible friends and a mustache.

There are some things in life that just suck.
Money problems are definitely one of them.

However, money problems when you are stuck in a whirling vortex of stupidity is another topic altogether.

I'm holding my eviction notice. I've discussed this with her. My car broke, I had to get it fixed, I get paid, here's a post dated check, seriously.

Apparently she forgot to take her meds. Basically gave me a "give me money or your out" speech. So unless my donation box blows the fuck up I find myself in quite a spot.

There was the towing of cars. That was fun too! Parked illegally, my ass.

But the one thing that really set me off in this entire cluster fuck of retardation was the people at Pearle Vision. As far as being the most incompetent, difficult people to work with these dillholes win hands fucking down.

After the first incident with the contacts, I still haven't gotten them. These people have had my money since before Thanksgiving. I've been nerding it up in glasses that make me look like I should be wearing a black hoodie and writing poetry about how my parents didn't hug me enough since two weeks before Thanksgiving.

They finally called and told me that the trials were in. Great! Then I was stupid, and decided to see how the rest of the order was coming along.

"How long until the boxes get here."

"Oh, we haven't ordered them yet".

If I could've reached through the phone and strangled the life out of this worthless vagina, I would have. I somehow managed to keep my composure and ask her why.

"What if you don't like them?"

So I bit the bullet and told her that I was done. I was done with this mess, I was done with them cancel the order, I want a refund.

Then this lady said the one thing that spun me into a level of pissed off that I have never been or will ever be again.

She got very quiet, and simply said, "Nope".

Nope. Nope was her answer.

I am a world class bitcher. I spend my work day on a telephone. I have a response to every objection, every statement, everything, and I had absolutely nothing to say back. This bitch had rendered me absolutely speechless.

She proceeded to tell me about the contracts that they had with the companies that apparently are more important than the one she entered into with me when I gave them my money. But she was kind enough to offer me a receipt for contacts I haven't received so I could submit it to my insurance.

For some reason, I felt the need to ask.
What if I liked the new contacts, the order is still placed for the old ones...

"Oh, we can just cancel that one"

"But you can't cancel it and give me my money back"

"Nope."

Never has a single word infuriated me so much.

So, fuck you Pearle Vision.

Fuck you for making my financial situation worse than it already is for charging me for something that I never received.

Fuck you for your shitty customer service.

Fuck you for your inability to get my address right after the 4th time I requested you change it.

And fuck you for telling me to calm down. I'm broke, I'm being evicted, and I'm stuck in emo glasses. So unless I find a donation in that box for enough to solve my problems, you can tell me to calm down all you want.

My response to you?

Nope.

So this entire thing has been a little bit ridiculous.
It's great!
I've had over 150,000 hits to this little thing since someone discovered my list.
A quick thanks to everyone except for my landlord who can take her eviction notice and cram it up her ass.

Every day when I get in the office, I do the same thing. I throw my coat across the back of my chair, open up a few million internet browsers and pretend to work while I read my horoscope.

Here's my horoscope for today sent to me from MSN.

Success in a creative field, and possible acknowledgment from the public, could be coming your way, Clare. Close friends and romantic partners are likely to be very happy for you, and might even schedule a little celebration of some kind. Phone calls sending congratulations may come from distant states or even foreign countries. This is likely to be something you've been working towards for a long time, so relax and enjoy it.

I think they are stalking me because it looks like my list is going to wind up in FHM.

I suggest you all look for it around the 18th. Fly over seas if you have to, because this is pretty fucking cool!

I've gotten a zillion requests and questions about my "50 Mistakes Women Make While Having Sex" Post.

Let's see if I can answer them so you all will leave me alone.

1. Yes, I wrote that. All 50 of them came out of my little head. Thus they belong to me.

2. If you want to reproduce them, that's fine. Leave my name on them and don't you dare edit my content or I will hunt you down myself.

3. I'm well aware that not every guy is against snuggling. I don't think that most of them are. I am aware that most of them have a hard time sleeing when their girlfriend is laying on top of them because they don't want to move and wake them up. I'm not saying don't cuddle, but let the man move.

4. Say what you want about my political beliefs, I was a womens and gender's studies minor in college. I wasn't a major because my school didn't offer one. So stick that in your pipe and smoke it, you worthless hippies. Go shave your legs or something.

5. All marriage proposals must come with expensive jewelry or a hefty donation to my paypal. I'm scraping this month, and you want your woman to be happy, don't you?

Another Amendement:
6. I am not married. I'm not even dating. Single as they get.

Another Amendment:
7. I do not get paid for this. At all. Which is why I have the tiny donation button in the corner.

Another Amendment:
8. I'm not trying to win some popularity contest. Where the guy who wrote the first article was all about sex being one sided, I'm very not. None of it is really meant to be taken seriously, lighten up.

9. My profiles are incorrect. I'm 24, I don't live at home anymore, and you need more to do. I had no idea that a little post would have this sort of response, but thank you guys so much!

10. I'm a chick. I'm not some 35 year old guy on the internet pretending to be a woman.

11. Stop taking everything so seriously.

12. I don't use drugs. It's a nickname that sort of stuck from highschool. No meth, no pot, no nothing. I'm just hyperactive.

13. I'm not opposed to the idea of TV, but I strongly believe there is a reason I'm on the internet, not on television.

14. I understand my post was very one sided and feeds into alot of stereotypes. That would be the point.

15. Leave my parents alone. Say what you want about me, but my parents are awesome people, and fuck you for dragging them into anything.

16. I'm not a slut. I just think its silly that a list like 50 Things Men Do Wrong During Sex doesn't have a counterpart. Sex is a two way street, if you're doing it right.

17. For. The. Last . Time. Any Tweekerchick or variation there of on any sites about meth use, rehab, or the like aren't me. They aren't even affiliated with me. I hope they get the help that they need.

18. I don't feel like posting a picture. Long dark hair, dark eyes, big ass. Really, that about covers it.

So. A buddy from TJNR found this little gem.
It's called Fifty Mistakes Men Make When Having Sex.

Ive never met the author, but I don't like him.
If he wants to speak for all women and assume we all want some nerdy little pussy whipped sissy, that's fine.

I'd like to take this opportuity to post my rebuttal, for those of you that don't read the forums I frequent.

The Politics of Fucking
aka
50 Mistakes Women Make When Having Sex.

1. Assuming he can get a raging hard on when it suits you. Contrary to popular belief, men can't just flip a switch and get it up because you decided to stop being a frigid bitch. Getting it hard is your job. I suggest you figure it out.

2. Thinking that kissing needs to be this sweet romantic thing all the time. Sometimes pressing your lips against your partners mouth while you get off is the hot. It depends on the situation.

3. Leaving him responsible for your orgasm. You know what gets you off. Tell him. If you don't, it's your own fault when he's snoozing and you're all wound up.

4. Expecting him to cuddle. Men and women are wired differently. Sex makes most women want to talk and bond and all that shit. It makes men pass out. It's a biological thing. Stop fighting it, and stop holding it over his head, it's not his fault.

5. Expecting him to fall asleep with you in his arms. That shit is uncomfortable after awhile. A little snuggling isn't unreasonable, but when it's time to actually sleep? An arm draped over you should suffice.

6. Expecting him to always lay on the charm and romance. Sometimes, that's nice. Sometimes. But expecting him to be all roses and candles all the time is like expecting you to act like a pornstar all the time. If you're not willing to do that, don't expect him to switch for you.

7. Being selfish in bed. Regardless of the shit that Cosmo forces down our throats, sex is NOT just about us. Get over it.

8. Using Cosmo as a sex bible. I dont know who comes up with half that shit, but I'm pretty sure they need counseling.

9. Whining when he pushes your head down on his cock instead of stroking your hair. Know why he's pushing, skippy? Because you aren't doing it right, and have apparently ignored the other clues he's given you. Pay attention to the signals that he's sending you.

10. Not moving at all. Missionary is not an excuse to do nothing.

11. Expecting him to undress himself with any amount of grace. He's about to get some pussy. Be glad he bothered to take his pants all the way off. If it concerns you so much, undress him yourself.

12. Not shaving your legs. Im pretty bad at this myself. But if you want your guy stubble free, you better get out the razor.

13. Allowing your crotch to resemble the amazon. Yes, waxing hurts. Yes, some people don't want to go bare. Thats fine. If you like bush, great. If you have sensitive skin and can't shave, I feel for you. But for the love of Christ, trim that shit if you want him to spend any time down there.

14. Assuming that sex means a relationship. The only relationship you have is that he has now stuck his hoo hoo dilly in your cha cha. That's as far as it goes unless otherwise noted.

15. Withholding oral sex just because you're ragging. He didn't do it. Unless you want him to withhold oral sex because he's hormonal, I suggest you get some kneepads.

16. Expecting him to figure out what you like by what noise you make. Use your words. Have you ever actually heard what you sound like while you're having sex? If you heard yourself on tape, and someone asked you to explain what was causing you to make that noise, 67% of women would respond with answers like "I stubbed my toe" "I ran up the steps" or "I was putting up drywall".

17. Leaving condoms up to him. If you're sexually active and insist that he uses a condom, I suggest buying a box and keeping it by your bed. Not all men keep them on them, and it's just as much your responsibility as it is his. If you think that makes you a slut, you shouldn't be having sex anyway. Go back to Jr High.

18. Getting your undies in a bunch when he talks dirty. A little fantasy can be fun. If he treats you with respect all the time, you shouldn't be offended when he calls you his dirty little slut. When he calls you a whore and tells you to come, its his way of showing that he cares if you get off. Stop being a sissy.

19. Refusing to be spontaneous. I know this is shocking, but sometimes sex OUTSIDE of the bedroom is fun.

20. Dissing quickies because it's not some slow sensual ordeal. Sex is a dynamic thing. Theres an awesome raw energy when you only have 20 minutes but having to have someone so bad that you do it half clothed against the wall. Readjust your thinking.

21. Being too much of a pussy to tell him what is or isn't acceptable before you start bumping uglies. Be honest. If he asks if he can poke you in the butt, and you giggle and say no like it's an invitation, don't look surprised when he "accidentally" sticks his cock in your butt.

22. Expecting him to undress you. I put a bra on almost every day. I know for a fact that getting them off isn't always easy. Help a brother out.

23. Undressing in the dark. If youre shy, dim the lights, but give the man something to see. No ripping off the clothes and diving under the covers, either.

24. Refusing to get on top. Theres no reason men should have to do all the work.

25. Getting that bored look on your face. Men are more visual than women. Give him something to look at. Get on top and arch your back a little bit. Move. Do something to indicate that you 1) are not dead and 2) didn't suffer a minor stroke rendering you unable to move.

26. Expecting him to do all the touching when you're riding him. It's your body, you're used to it. Play with your tits, rub your clit, do something to make his job easier.

27. Being too afraid to guide your partner's hand when hes touching you. Don't like the way he's doing it? Gently take his hand and show him how you like it.

28. Getting into bed, getting naked, fooling around and then deciding that you just want to cuddle, then getting offended when he doesn't. Its your choice to stop, but don't look all fucking surprised when he's confused. You got him naked in your bed, what else did you think was going to happen?

29. Refusing to let him take control. So your a feminist. Big fucking deal. Letting him call the shots doesn't make you any less of one.

30. Refusing to take control. Its ok to crawl across a bed to him on all fours, push him down and crawl on top. It's not his responsibility to start things all the time.

31. Forgetting that he has a body that likes to be touched, too. Men have things like backs and shoulders and stomachs and other parts that are fun to kiss and touch. You miss a lot of good places by concentrating solely on his penis.

32. Ignoring his balls. Seriously, they are there. Kiss them, lick them, suck on them, make a relationship with them, just don't ignore them.

33. Leaving him to his own devices. Nothing is worse than a girl who gets you most of the way off and then bolts because she doesn't want to deal with the mess.

34. Launching into some speech about not being an object for sex when he tries to titty fuck you. Jesus Christ, just push them together and enjoy yourself. You get a great view.

35. Expecting him to handle you like a porcelain doll. I'd hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you're not going to break, sister. So doing it against the wall gives you a bruise on your shoulder. Look at it later and giggle at the memory.

36. Refusing to try things in the name of "making love". You're not making anything. You are naked. With another person. Making strange faces and weird noises. Stop romanticizing it.

37. Taking things way too seriously. Sex is funny. Actually it's hilarious. Somewhere along the line, someone is going to fall off of a bed, hit their head on a lighting fixture, accidentally kick a midget or trip over a goat. It's how you deal with it that really matters.

38. Throwing a bitch fit when he asks for a 3 some. Its the American dream. (I know my ex is reading this right now, so a quick interjection. One request for a 3 some is ok. Every 5 minutes, not so much. Know the difference).

39. Continuing a blow job knowing that you have god awful cotton mouth. Really. Grab a bottle of water.

40. Nails. Its one thing tracing them up and down your partners back. Its another when you snag the goods with a claw.

41. Bitching when you get jizz on you. You're having sex. That will happen. Thats the entire point of sex. Establish where he can and cant jizz and be done with it. Remember, it tightens the pores.

42. Not making any noises at all. Moan. Scream his name. Something so he knows he's the best you've had, even if he isn't.

43. Faking orgasms. Just. Don't. By faking (IF he believes you) he thinks he's doing everything right. And if he doesn't know its not working, he's not going to change it. Starting a vicious cycle of unfulfilling sex which will eventually be very damaging to his ego.

44. Not washing before sex. I know that sex is spontaneous, this is more of a general statement. If you haven't showered that day, and things smell a little...fishy...perhaps demanding oral sex is a little ridiculous of you.

45. Anything that involves inserting anything into his body that he has not specifically approved before hand. I don't care what Cosmo says, some things are simply not pleasant surprises.

46. Refusing to use oils/whipped cream/other messy but fun things because you have 541510630 count Egyptian cotton sheets that were made by hand by the only person alive capable of sewing that pattern. They'll wash.

47. Doing all of your before bed things before sex. Yes, sleeping with makeup on is bad. Now is not the time to remove it, you can do that later. And really fucking you with your hair in a ratty scrunchie with acne cream on your nose is not all its cracked up to be.

48. Cleaning up after sex. Wiping the splooge off is one thing. But changing the sheets immediately so you can get the other ones in the washer and then sanitizing everything your naked body might have possibly passed by is not the way to do it.

49. Making a big deal out of it if he loses his hard on. This is not an interrogation, or 20 questions. It happens, he's probably mortified and you are NOT helping. Refrain from using phrases like "it happens to every guy". Just move to other activities until it gets hard again, and if it doesn't, get off another way with him. He's still capable of getting you off. Mumbling "Forget it" and rolling over are not ok.

50. Asking questions right afterwards. The woman equivalent of "was it good for you?". Now is not a good time to ask "What this means". Right now, it means he probably needs to take a drink, a leak and a nap, perhaps not in that order.

That is all.


QUICK EDIT:
Ive gotten massive traffic to this page lately...check out the rest of the place while you're here!

I know it's been awhile since the last post.

My apologies.

Thanksgiving kind of kicked my ass all over the place.

I noticed before I left for Indiana that my car only had heat if I was going 45 miles an hour or faster. I figured, no big deal, lets get that thing flushed out, not a problem.

I called my mechanic in Indiana and explained to him the problem and he said, probably needs flushed, about $400, no big thing.

Sweet!


Man, was I wrong. It was the head gasket and intake valve and a big shitload of other things. $400 turned into $1300. Shit.

As if that wasn't enough, I ordered contacts from Pearle Vision. About $200. I never got them. I finally caved and called them, and apparently they have been backordered.

Until fucking Feburary. They apparently couldn't be bothered to pick up the phone and let me know that although I paid, I wasn't getting what I needed until next year.

Because of the car thing, that leaves me in a huge financial spot. I have insurance but I can't submit the claim for reimbursement (Which I should already have, but god forbid people communicate) until I get the order, leaving me, shock shock, about $200 in the hole.

Thankyou, Pearle Vision, for helping to ensure that making my rent is another huge ordeal.

So, I'm making a constant effort to keep this silly thing up.
For whatever reason, I still have people who feel the need to read my random thoughts and ramblings and whatever else.

So, just for you guys, I updated my links. I didn't realize how many of them were dead. Next time, get on me about that. Take a look at this guy. I got a random email from him, and thus far he seems to be pretty consistantly entertaining. Nothing extraordinary...yet.

I'm currently at work and I've gotten fuck all done, and I'm not sure why. There's no valid reason or excuse, and the only thing that I can think of is that I burnt myself out really early in the week.

Thus, I present to you what I've done today.

8:17 Show up to work (late)
8:20-8:40 Attempt to actually work
8:40-8:50 Actually work
8:50-9:20 Talk about shoes
9:20-9:45 Work
9:45-10:00 Think about working
10:00-10:15 Coffee
10:15-Now Strongly consider working


If it wasn't for the fact that I'm 61% to quota, I'd be seriously concerned. I just can't get it together.

Honestly, with their new hire packet, (name removed) should offer a coffee maker, some Nodoz, and the number to 3 reputable drug dealers who have access to uppers.

Sorry!

Ive been busy getting it together at work.
I'm posting this on my lunch break, so this will be quick.

I am the most super excited person ever.

Because of this.

Easily amused?

Perhaps.

But this time the trip to white castle with the heterolifemate will be considerably shorter.

Yea, it's been a long time.
Alot has changed since the last post.

I now live in Bensenville Illinois. I actually got a real grown up job. Shocking, considering that Im me and I pretty much thought that it would never ever happen.

Im now one of those monkies working at careerbuilder.com. Its a good feeling. Eventually, Capital one, Providian, all the rest will no longer own my soul.
Someday.

For the time being, Im starving to death and missing home something awful.

Bad Things:
Im hungry.
Im lonely.
I miss home.
Im up to my ass in credit card debt.

Good Things:
I got a job that doesn't suck or consist of selling knives door to door.
Im so much closer to my heterolifemate that its awesome. Its like the Chicagoland equivalent of living down the street from her. Its fuckin sweet.
I have an awesome apartment with air conditioning. It's huge.


In a nutshell: I work at a website that doesn't require me to have a webcam and low inhibitions, I have a nice apartment, and Im starving to death.

Life is good.

So.
My ex sent me two videos, both of which I fell in love with.
One is catchy, the other is the cutest thing that ever was or will be.

You pick which one is which.

Happy birthday to me!

Ill be out in the distract getting schwazzled. Show up. Buy me booze.
And someone kidnap my heterolifemate and bring her to me. It's not truly a party without her.

Im having one of those days where my faith in humans is really starting to dwindle.
Having seen a bunch of insane protesters standing at a funeral, then seeing a murder suicide, I'm ready to throw in the towel and say fuck it.
What the fuck is wrong with people that suddenly it's ok to stand at a funeral and protest, claiming that God hates homosexuals, and dead soldiers is God's way of punishing us?
What the fuck is wrong with people that you can shoot someone in a crowded parking lot, infront of children, and then kill yourself like a big pussy?

Im just pissy today. It's been a long week, I want a bacon cheeseburger and job that doesn't make me want to kill myself.

Perhaps I was a bit harsh in my earlier post about the internet killing romance.
Romance is alive and well, in another fine example of spam.
I like to think that this was my doing, that my words so moved the countless idiots behind their keyboards that they changed their minds. They no longer want to fuck me silly, they want to hold me and love me.

In a world of speed dating, random hookups, and myspace it's nice to know that some unknown computer nerd took the time to write out a few nice things to say to a random selection of people who would kick his ass if they ever met him.

So now I bring to you my evidence that romance is not dead.

you are an angel come to earth.
you are the most beautiful woman ive ever seen.
i love you.
i would make you very happy and always make you feel loved.

I could be very happy with this guy.
Nothing says "I love you, baby" like a random spam message with incorrect capitalization.

I know it's been awhile.
I suck like that.
I've been busy busting my ass trying (unsuccessfully thus far) to get a job.

However, a nice company in Florida wants to fly me out there in a week or two. Nice!
I feel like I've been sucked into a porn movie.
The President of North American sales is flying the recent college graduate with great jugs to a place right near the beach. Someone named Fredrico is going to pick me up at the airport, which is driving distance from my gorgeous ex boyfriend's house.

I'm pretty sure I've seen a porn with that exact same story line.

Other than that, it's the same old shit, trying to survive on the 8 hours a week at work. My parents think it would be a great idea to make me move to Indianapolis, but there is nothing for me there. And I'd rather not have to hear their constant bitching in person.

Everyone cross their fingers for me!

I'm an excited little girl. Maxson is posting again. And not soon enough.

I also waste a lot of my internet time at this site. As much as I hate celebrity gossip, Perez Hilton holds my attention. It's like reading trashy tabloids with my gay friends. I just want to hug and kiss him all over.

As much as I hate RIBCO... I find myself going back there June 16th (This friday for those of you without calenders).
The boys from Swizzle Tree are going to be there with Pomeroy, and then partying their asses off for their guitarist's birthday.
It's always a fun time to go hear em, and then get completely fucking tore up.

I'll be the one at the bar doing shots of Patron, trying to keep my clothes on.

Romance is dead and the internet killed it.

I'm almost positive.

I was clicking through my email, most of which was general bullshit from people who wanted to help me enlarge my penis, when I came across this little gem.

Subject: OMG.

you are so hot!! I want to strip you naked,

eat your pussy until you come all over my face,

stroke your black hair while you wrap your sweet mouth

around my dick, then spread you open,

push my dick into you and fuck you until we both cum.

Now, as nice as it is that people think of me, how romantic is that? I know that I'm a girl with somewhat questionable morals, but come on.
Don't I atleast deserve a first name, maybe dinner, before you start sending me random email about fucking me six ways from Sunday?

I guess that's one way to cut through the crap in relationships?
Cut straight through the shit and get down the bottom line.
And they say romance is dead.

So.

I graduate on Sunday.
Which is strange.

I don't feel any different.

It's like, you go to college. All the brochures tell you that you'll be financially stable right out of school. You'll get a job. You'll know what you're doing with your life!

Bullshit.
Complete. Bullshit.

I'm in this perpetual state of having no idea what the hell I'm doing. Besides living off of Ramen and wishing things were different.
I'm just having a moment.
The idea of not being able to run into my friend Brian every single spring break whether or not we plan it sucks.
Not being able to drink until dawn with my best friends.
Knowing that I have to walk farther than a half a mile if I need them.
No one who understands margarita in class day, parties that start at 7 AM, and building a boat entirely out of beer cans, staples and duct tape.
People who understand the need to run to White Castle at 3 AM.

As much as I hate the stress, the bullshit and the drama, I'm going to miss the hell out of my friends.

I already miss the ones who left, but shit.

This sucks.


Emo, I know.

So, I'm stalling.
I don't want to read a 500 page book called "Bureaucracy".

So I decided to play on the internets, and came up with this, which I stole from everyone's favorite Rdog.

1.YOUR PORN STAR NAME: (first pet and current street name)
Oreo Hartford (Ok. I no longer live on Hartford, but I refuse to have a number as a last name. Fuck you.)

2. YOUR MOVIE STAR NAME: (grandfather/grandmother on mother's side first name, favorite candy)
Mary Skittles

3. YOUR "FLY GIRL/GUY" NAME: (first initial of first name, first three letters of your last name)
C-Fro

4. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite animal, name of high school)
Kitty Central (Shoulda specified which Highschool.)

5. YOUR OPPOSITE SEX NAME: (name of dad/mom, cell phone Company you use):
Richard Sprint

7. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (daily prescription medicine, make of car)
Ritalin Malibu

8. SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, street you grew up on):
Sue Harlowe. (I'll keep it. It's hot sounding.)

9. YOUR FASHION DESIGNER NAME: (first word you see on your left, favorite restaurant)
Pink Farraday

10. YOUR KUNG FU NAME: (favorite mineral, favorite animal)
Hematite Kitty

Heh. Now you guys get into my comments and kill some time already.

Yea yea yea.
It's been awhile.

Instead of lying to y'all about where I've been (Hitting the books! Voulnteering with disabled minority children! Teaching Indonseian kids English from a hut!)

I've been doing the stupid things that seniors in college do. Like trying to get a job.
Getting suspended from the one I have (no fault of my own for once). And trying to avoid my landlord and all the people I owe money to. Basically, I've been trying to fix the fact that I am broke with a capital B and have no insurance anymore, which is a bad thing with my asthma. (Now is a good time to use my donate button if you are so inclined).

Here's to hoping people don't notice that I didn't pay them.

I had the worst job interview of my life.
I drove 4 hours or so both ways to meet with a man that I will refer to as Dickhead.
Dickhead doesn't even stand to shake my hand.

Fine.

After talking with him, he tells me how qualified I am, and how brilliant I would be at this job.
"However, Clarissa, I would like to keep you as an administrative assistant".

Now, if I'm qualified for a job, and you are keeping me as a secretary, there had better be a good fuckin reason.
So I nicely ask him why.
"You look like you could make a damn good cup of coffee."

So not only am I broke, I spent $100,000 to get a bachelors degree so I can have a life making assholes coffee.

I'll update soon. Until then, go play here.

So
God smiled upon me and wrote me a check for the amount of my tuition. And life was good.
He even wrote the check with enough extra to cover my rent.
Life was super good.

So I took said check to Valley Bank and deposited it in my account, with my cosigner (who lives in Minnesota)'s signature.
Life is good, right?

The lovely people at Valley Bank yanked the entire deposit for pending purposes.
I got a shitty letter i the mail "We believe the check you deposited will not be paid for the following reasons: We are unable to verify the endorsement of a joint payee".

Well, fuckers, she lives in Minnesota, so it's going to be a little difficult now.
At the top of this nice little letter. "We are delaying the availability of $11,000 from the deposit described above. These funds will be available on the 11th business day after the day of your deposit".

11 days. I am waiting ELEVEN FUCKING DAYS for a check to clear.

Are they counting it out in pennies?

Meanwhile, I'm broke. (Like, in the negative numbers again).

Fuck you Valley Bank, fuck you a lot.

It finally happened.
God finally smiled upon me.

The downstairs neighbor that nearly burnt the apartment building down, pounds on the door at 4 AM and continues to breathe despite my numerous (and polite) requests that she cease doing so immediately, is moving out.

Being the good neighbor that I am, I walked outside to make sure she was really leaving.

She comes running up to me.

"Oh my god, I'll pay you $2 for an empty beer or soda can".

Now, I've had a long few days and sometimes I'm awfully slow.
An empty can? I rarely drink anything out of cans. Thus I don't have empties around my apartment. I tell her this.

"FUCK! I've got nothing to smoke my weed out of."

I have only 2 things to say about this.
1. For $2, you can buy a FULL soda, dump it into a glass, and have it to drink for when you get cotton mouth. It even comes with a free can.

2. A soda can? You're smoking pot using an empty soda can as a makeshift bong? Have some self respect, take a teener off, and buy some decent paraphernalia. You are a disgrace to pot smokers everywhere. I'm sure if one of them wasn't too stoned to move, they'd kick her ass.
Or atleast eat all of her cheetos.

But atleast she's leaving!

I can get a good nights sleep again, and then maybe I won't be such a wench.


(A shoutout to Bligs for providing an accurate spelling of the word "paraphernalia". And a thankyou to thesuit for spelling it "Stuff".)

Fuck you, retail job.
Fuck you a lot.

I know if most people got a call from work saying "You don't have to come in all week, hours were cut",you'd do a little dance.

That lasted for 30 seconds.

Yay! No work! WOOT!

Then I remembered that I'm broke.

Shit.

Keep up production, they say.
Keep selling, they say.

Well, now we have nothing to do, so we will cut your hours.

Bastards.

A blind, retarded kid coulda seen that coming.

Today pretty much blew goats.
I'll spare you all the stories of the negative numbers in my bank account, or the fact that one of my best friends can lean on me whenever she needs something but if I'm not in top form she acts like a huge raging bitch (she's had a bad few days too..She's sick..But not too sick to ditch me to get laid).
Instead, I'll give you the icing on the cake.

I got a speeding ticket.
I may have been going a little fast.
Fine.

After getting shit from the cop as to why the car doesn't trace back to my name (it traces back to my dad's, we have the same last name and look exactly the same)this woman starts grilling me about why my car has plates from Minnesota.

I almost told her that it was because that's where I stole it from.

Tell them what they want to hear, that's my philosophy.

She then writes me a ticket for the speeding, the taillight that some asshole broke with a beer bottle, and get this.
Not wearing my glasses while driving.

Anyone who has known me for more than say, thirty seconds, knows that I am blind without some sort of corrective lens.
I don't mean "Can't read the bottom line on the eye chart" blind.
I mean, last time I was at the eye doctor, I couldn't even find the chart.
I'm not exaggerating.

So I told a woman with a gun, and a bright light in my eye that without my glasses on I wouldn't be able to even find the car to get in it.
She then asks me what I'm doing driving.

"I wear contacts".
She stared at me for a good fifteen seconds and said "Oh. I didn't even think of that! Contacts!"

Are you fucking kidding me?

And this woman has a gun.

She then followed me about 6 blocks up, and then passed me.
On the shoulder.
Without a signal.
Speeding.


Bitch.

So
It's been awhile since I posted completely wasted.
Thanks Cassie.
I think she wanted to get me drunk and take advantage of me.(yay for hot bartenders who are gonna come play with me cause I'm her girl!)

Boo.
I think I've completely lost my mind.
I don't know what my problem is.
But I just can't let go. And that bothers me.
I've never had that problem.
"Fuck you too, asshole" has always been a big part of my vocabulary.
And I've tried.

And Tried.

And tried.

And I can't do it.

I dunno. I'm having an emo night. I saw The Heterolifemate, and I miss her so much.
Which feeds into the rest of my emo.

It's a vicious cycle.

Once I start the emo, It's like I can't stop.

Sometimes I really miss having a chin to kiss and someone to scratch my head.

It'll pass.

"Time heals all wounds".

And emo was her name-o.

It was bound to happen someday.
You fuckers finally found me.

I hit the bar with the hetero-girlfriend.
You know, sling back a few beers at Mis B Havens, go home early and go to bed.
Which was horribly derailed with one statement. "You look exactly like this one chick from this blog I read".
Shit.
"Clarissa, right?"
Shit.
"Say My Name, Bitch?"
Shit.
So I let him buy me a few beers, figure it was a fluke thing, and let it go.
I had no idea how wrong I was.
I went to go take a leak, and in the bathroom.
There's a girl sitting there.
"You look SO familiar."
Shit.
"Do you write?"
Shit.
"What's your name?"
Shit.
"Clarissa?! OH MY GOD ITS YOU. I read your stuff all the time, all my friends love you. You're like, a celebrity".
Shit.
Wash, rinse and repeat.
Twelve or so different people recognized me last night.
Out of nowhere.
So here.
Me signing my first autograph ever in my life. On a boob.

Someone sang a song to me about sex and shampoo bottles in interesting places.

I didn't have to buy a single drink.
A nod to the big irish bouncer who takes good care of me, even if he does make fun of how my tits get in the way of things.

I didn't even think anyone actually read this thing.
Shows what I know.
It was a strange colliding of my worlds.

To the 15 different people who bought me drinks last night, thankyou.

It was fun.

However, next time we need to alternate between beer and water, because I was definately totally in the bag.

If I didn't know better, I'd think some of my loyal readers were trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me.

I feel like Tucker Max...
But without the talent and good looks.

I know it's been awhile.
I haven't had much to say, really.

I got a B on my senior thesis thingy. Yay.
Got my heart broken into a million pieces on Thanksgiving, which is my main reason for not posting.

He still wants to be friends, and anything I would say would ruin that.
But I'm trying.
It's just not easy to switch it on and off.

I wish he wouldn't read this. He will anyway.
He never listened very well.

"Maybe sometime in the future...".
Right.
And I know there are other guys. They all try to take me out.
I don't want them. I've tried.
None of them know how many olives I like on my Subway sandwiches.
Or which side of the bed I sleep on.
Or think its funny that I'm clumsy and kiss my owies.

I wish he'd stop reading this now. Again, with the not listening.
70/30 We work it out. Someday. Before I die. Maybe.
Like a horse race.
I'd rather play poker. Better odds.

I've been sick. The Prednisone isn't helping my emotional state.
I think I stole Seriously's writing style.
He does it better.
I'll give it back to him when I'm done using it.
It's not stealing if I give it back. I'm borrowing
I think I borrowed Seriously's writing style.
Not even borrowed. Butchered.

If there's another girl she's lucky.
Stupid other girls being luckier than me.
Stupid being illegal to run them over with the car.
More than once.
Makes it hard to look like an accident.
Lucky girl won't ever squeak as good as me.
My yawn will still be the cutest.


I'm super far behind in my classes now.
Can't focus.
It'll pass.
All of it will pass.
Still waiting for it assholes.

Anytime now would be great.