Archive | June, 2014

Applauding the Fame Whores

26 Jun

famewhoreYou know what I hate? The word whore. Seriously, it makes my grind my teeth just to see it. To me the word signifies every ounce of separation between the sexes that still exists. What was once used to condemn, is now used as a commonplace word in social interactions. It goes so far beyond the whore vs stud debate, the word itself is defined by Websters as a woman who engages in sexual acts for money. To be fair, the second definition does state a male who engages in sexual acts for money.

We both know that’s not the only time the word whore is used. Anytime a person puts their business out for the world to consume, they’re a whore. Kim Kardashian, has been called a whore because she made a sex tape and capitalized on it. Farrah Abraham had a kid as a teenager, screwed a porn star, and wrote a book, yes by golly, she’s a fame whore. My personal favorite female villain is Kate Gosselin. This woman pops out a bunch of kids at once, and suddenly there is no worse mother on the planet. Her name is synonymous with fame whore.

famequoteStand and behold what we of a society as created. You know why these women are famous? Because we made them that way. So get off your high horse and stop vilifying them. I applaud each of them. I hope they continue to do what works for them until the well of adulation is dried up and the public no longer has an interest in their insane lives.

We as women should not be so quick to judge another on the choices they’ve made with their lives. So she fucked someone in a video. Pretty sure some of the things I’ve done is still illegal in some states. So she puts her business on television for the world to see and is ‘exploiting’ her children. News flash, it takes a heck of a lot of money to raise a kid. They’re clean, well dressed, have a home, and probably access to therapy. They’re fine. I’m poor, a single parent, and raised my kids as best I could and they probably STILL will need therapy.

I’m going to get off my soap box here shortly I promise. Just think about something before I go. Why do you hate them so much? Me? I could totally care less about any of them other than I respect that they’re doing what they need to do in order to make a life for themselves. Beyond that, I wouldn’t know they existed. So kudos to the Kardashian family, to the Gosselin family, heck even to the Dugger family for making a life for themselves with what they were born with.



And You Thought PMS Was Bad

23 Jun

quitsmokingIn case the chronic bad mood, or short tempered fuse didn’t give it away. I’m attempting to quit smoking. I’ve cleaned the bad people from my life, it’s time now to clean the habits that I’ve spent a lifetime developing. This upcoming birthday has me freaked out thanks to a rather backhanded comment my son made. He said mom, you’re going to be half of 70 on Friday. I started reviewing my family history and realized that I can name more than a handful of people that share my DNA that didn’t live to see 70. I don’t know why this thought freaked me out, but it did, enough to make me look at myself in the mirror and discover that I both loved and hated what I saw.

On the positive side, I found that I’m stronger than I ever gave myself credit for. That I honestly could give two shits what someone thinks of how I look, which as a female, is a pretty big deal. I can honestly say that I have no fear getting naked. It took me hella alotta years to say that. I’m also unapologetic in my ambitions. I want what I want and I’m willing to work toward it. I’m more accepting of my mistakes. I go big or go home when I am having problems. I’m so used to being in control that when things spiral, I don’t know how to handle it. I had to learn this the hard way.

smokingquit I hate that I smoke. Its not sexy, it’s not fun, it’s not attractive, and for fuck sake, I have asthma. I mean seriously, how dumb do you have to be to carry your cigarettes and your inhaler in the same damn pocket? Yet I’ve done this faithfully for years. What kind of example am I setting for the little people who look to me for their decision making process?

Here’s to quitting, let’s hope for all our sakes’ that the anger doesn’t override my common courtesy.


Verbal Bondage

22 Jun

bondageAs I drove home today, I got the urge to let out a primal scream. Just something to release the frustration that is housed so deeply in my body today. I’m all over the map emotionally, so I thought that it would make me feel better to let it all out. Only, it turns out I can’t. I was crippled by the perception others would have if they heard me. Never mind that I’m in my car, going 60 miles a highway, on a fairly deserted stretch. I literally couldn’t scream for fear of being heard. Fear has silenced me.

Of everything I’ve done, said, or thought, you’d think that I wouldn’t let a little thing like embarrassment guide me, but truth be told, once I’m embarrassed, I’m done. I simply cannot handle the ridicule I feel when someone is staring at me, or God forbid, laughing at me. The worst thing you can do to me is make me the butt of a joke. I have such an off sense of self that I crave respect like most people crave air. I need it to feel justified in my accomplishments.

fucksocietyIt is these same fears of social guidelines that keep me from doing so many of the things I would probably enjoy. I love to dance, I’m lousy at it, but I enjoy it. I so rarely do it because I just don’t want to look foolish. I don’t know when I became this person, this woman who lets what others think guide her. The twenty year old me would kick the thirty four year old me’s ass.

This blog is about my thoughts, my humor, my fears, and my aspirations. I stopped blogging a long time ago because someone told me that they thought the idea was stupid. Well, here’s my little rebellion against other peoples perception of me. I’m going to write what I damn well please, and encourage anyone who wants to comment, share, forward, or point and laugh. I need to break free from my shell, and stop going out of my way to conform.

Me and my accomplishments are telling you and your criticisms to fuck off.



The Power of Shame

20 Jun

peanutsSo, I’m not the most compassionate human in history. The thoughts in my head would leave me ostracized and possibly hunted with torches and pitchforks. I’m annoyed today, so therefore my thoughts are a little on the harsh side. I’d really like to march up to the person that I’m annoyed at and tell them how rude they are. I hate rudeness, there is never a call or a reason for it. Have common courtesy in life or don’t socialize. Its just that simple to me. But instead I will secretly tell them in my head that their ugliness is not welcome in my world.

Except a part of me has this need to fix things. If I think I have wronged someone in some way, I have this deep need to fix it. The expectation of my life is that if someone has done the same to me, THEY should feel that way too. This is where my crazy gets really interesting, not only do I hold people to my standards, I expect them to hold themselves there too. This is why I spend Friday nights alone. Or because most of my friends work weird hours like I do. One of the two. Ugh, I’m driving my own self crazy today. All because one person didn’t have the decency to hold to my standards.

So what have I learned from this?

1. I truly am the bigger asshole because I judge others by standards they don’t even have.

2. My perception of reality is skewed.

3. If I don’t start opening my mouth when something happens, that I perceive as rude, I’m going to drive myself crazy.

4. I need a stronger backbone.

5. I really like making numbered lists.

Today I went back to the dating website and responded to a few of the people that only sent me an email because my boobs look hot in that picture. I thought about updating the picture and removing it, but then thought eh, if nothing else, the attention is like a bandaid for my boredom. I’m going to go on ten first dates, and blog about each one.

Life amuses me greatly.




Series of Unfortunate Text Conversations

19 Jun

peoplemakesenseThis new adventure that I have found myself on has let me in on a few little secrets I’ve been keeping from myself. The first being that deep in the cockles of my heart, I’m a shallow mean girl. I had no idea that I had anything in common with the plastics of our society. Below are a few examples:

Meet “Ted”.  Ted is 40, works in a restaurant and does lawn work on the side. Ted also uses phrases like cupcake and sugarbaby when texting me. Ted, I’m sorry but its hard to take a man seriously when he uses childish endearments and works at entry level establishments.  Seriously, who uses the term sugarbaby?

Meet “John” – John is a 30 year old socially awkward male who happens to have a complex where he believes the world is inferior to him. Now John has a decent job, but not something that would earn him the title king of the universe. John also thought it was a great idea to send me cock pictures. I sent him back advertisements for penis enhancement drugs and a toy ‘guaranteed’ to make it grow.

Now, meet my personal favorite. Meet “Alex’. Alex is an attractive male, good job, pays his child support AND does community service. (Not even because he’s court ordered, he volunteers!). Sounds good right? Alex is the epitome of sexist asshat. He actually told me that women would enjoy life better if we let our men take the lead in our lives. I told him I’m pretty sure Hitler said the same thing to the Jews.

seriouslywtfNow, I readily admit to my imperfections. I’m 34, neurotic, demanding, bossy, and generally like to have things my own way. Seriously though, when did it become okay to be an asshole? It would never occur to me to send random naked pictures, give people I don’t even know overtly affectionate monikers, or tell them basically they are too stupid to run their own lives.

I’m going to continue this neurotic little quest for first dates that end badly because it amuses me. If nothing else this has gotten me writing again, which is always a good thing. I’ve missed it.

So in a nutshell, I’m a shallow bitch swimming in a world of douchbags. Ah, dating in my thirties is indeed interesting.



The Power Of Boobs

18 Jun

exboyfriendThose of you who know me, probably know that I’m a serial dater. I’m 5 feet of hella picky with a dash of easily bored. I’d been on a dating website for years, when I’d get bored or wanted to meet someone new I’d skulk on over and scroll through men. I’d message fifteen or so, because then the odds are greater someone will message back. This is where I find my ex boyfriends. I really should just put up a sign, now seeking the latest ex in my life. The last ex was smart though, he had me take down my dating profile and declare my Facebook for all the world to see. Did I say smart? I meant paranoid and a little psychotic thrown in.

So on to today, I put a new profile back on that dating website. This time I had a picture up that has a fair amount of cleavage. It’s not like I can really hide it, my boobs are as big as my head. My phone has been blowing up with chats, and ‘Wants to meet you’ notifications. I literally am dumbfounded. There are other pictures up that have the same me in them as before, but suddenly because you see two balls of flesh with a line through them, I’m a hot commodity.

I would love to meet that special one someday who understands me and connects with me on levels that others don’t. Im pretty sure it will be pink with pearls and come in a discreetly covered brown box from Adam and Eve. For now i’ll continue my quest with dating. When I do actually meet someone I like, whether its through a friend, a website, or out and about, my inner social geek comes out to play. Its great for first dates, but usually not second date inclusive.

As my son told me, I’m about to be half of 70.

In nine days I will be half of 70.

Ugh, there goes my phone again. Apparently another person likes my boobs. I’m both personally flattered and irritated over this reaction. How unfair is life that I seem to only have one good asset.



Amusing Conversations with Myself

17 Jun

talkingtomyselfSince nothing says bat shit crazy as much as admitting epic conversations with yourself, not to mention that my bosses happen to be on my Facebook and I’d rather they not question my sanity, I’ll pretend that this is normal behavior. I’m worse in my car than any other place. I am going to blame this mad-hatterness on an overactive imagination due to writing, but the reality is this. I talk to myself. All the time. Did I mention its worse in the car? I think better out loud apparently.

So this week my insecurities are all over the map. I need constant reassurances in almost every aspect of life because of all the changes. I broke up with my boyfriend, didn’t get a position I wanted at work, then because I didn’t get that position, I got a new boss. My daughter left the nest, and my other daughter is spending her summer vacation away from me. This is a fair amount of crazy train change for someone who needs balance and routine.

Yesterday, I wanted to think about anything else other than my day at work during the drive home. It was a rough day, I wore shoes that gave my blisters, an agent that I thought disliked me went out her way to thank me for being her ‘boss’. I moved to a new desk in the back of the room that didn’t have drawers. I was too short to write #1 on my own board. All of these are microscopic problems in the grand scheme of life, but for me, change sucks.

drtalktomyselfSo there I am, in my car, on the way home, having the most entertaining conversation, with myself. I told the imaginary recipients of my ire what I thought of their shenanigans. I was smart! I was witty! Dare I say even sarcastic? Well, Okay, maybe not sarcastic. Even in my imaginary conversations, sarcasm eludes me. Why am I admitting this, you ask me? Because I’m bored, and have coffee, that is why.

All this because what I really didn’t want to think about was the little part of me who takes everything as a rejection, to heart. Silence, perceived lack of interest, or being left with the feeling of too busy makes me neurotic. Mind you, a majority of this is in my head, which makes me the epic basket case you see before you.

Or it makes me… me.