Turn on the Alanis Morisette, cuz this bitch is ANGRY

Ladies and gentleladies, friends and enemies, gather round because I have some exciting news to share.
It turns out that Mr. Cartier is indeed, yes, you guessed it, a COWARD!
He had us all fooled with the Prada glasses and his ability to make homemade bread but it turns out Mr. Cartier was his alias.
He is in fact, Mr. Vagina.

You know how Dr. Jekyll had his bad ass violent alter ego, the one and only Mr. Hyde?
Well it seems my daddy dearest had his own alter ego; the boy who cried love.

Mr. Vagina is actually a distant cousin to Mr. Volcano, the boy who declared once that he loved me but he just couldn't be in love right now and instead fled to the mountains of Alaska where he still resides to this day.
I was given a clue as to this relation when one day, weeks or so ago, I shared the story of Mr. Volcano with Mr. Vagina and when I repeated how he'd said he loved me but just couldn't be in love, Mr. Vag simply replied, "What's wrong with that?"

Hoh hoh hoh.
What's wrong with that?
What's WRONG with that?
You mean because you're doing the same thing you apron wearing green fairy!
Get your own bloody script!
Be an original, for Christ's sake.
I've been in this story.
I've STARRED in this story.
Your version is so much less romantic.

It's like this sad, drawn out Chekhov play and you're just screaming at the stage, Oh just DIE already! For the love of Anya, make SOMETHING happen! This inaction is making me fall asleep in my program.

He sent me a cute kitty picture.
He'd blown me off all day when I'd tried to address the uncertainty of us and I'd written that if I didn't hear from him that night, I was assuming it was the final nail in the coffin that was our romantic relationship.

Fairly simple instructions.
Interested? Respond. Not interested? Continue blowing me off.

So what does he do?
He sends me a fucking kitten.
Which was always his childish way of saying, I love you! Here's a smile!
Then he made sure a couple hours later that I understood him correctly.

"I don't want to get back together, but I wanted to send you that anyway."

Hi, Passive Aggressive?
Have you met your uncle, Mr. Vagina?

I'm sorry.
What was that?
And why, pray tell, did it take you so many months to admit this?

"I hadn't decided yet."

Awe.
Uh huh.
I see.
But now you have.
And why, because of me?

"Yes."

Right.
Because the whole "this has nothing to do with you, I keep trying to tell you, this is about me and what I want in my future..."
Blah blah BLEH.
Hairball.
That was all a L.I.E?
Or is this all a L.I.E?
What about when you called my Daddy and told him how much you wuved his wittle daughter and how you wanted her in your future?
Was THAT the L.I.E?

Wait.
I get it.
You're a fucking coward and never are honest when it comes to your feelings.

THAT'S IT!

I've been jerked around.
For loooooooooong enough.

But what a relief to know that I have the power to sway a grown man's mind.
A mind, that for three months was so overwhelmingly uncertain about what it wanted.
How fucking magical I am!!

Eve, move over, honey.
I am capable of turning the indecisive to decision.
You see, all you have to do is share with it the fact you're moving on and kissing another man and just clarifying that you really don't care if I date other people because this guy really likes me and he seems nice and I'm gonna give it a real shot so speak now or forever hold your peace.

So here's a fucking kitten.
Oh, but I don't want to be with you.
And you're the reason I finally made up my mind.
It's your fault.

Because obviously I take no responsibility in the decisions I eventually make.
I do have a vagina for fuck's sake.

Thank God I'm no longer a dike.
Bring on the next penis!

Match dot I seriously paid money for this?

A co worker told me I should join match.com.

These couples are always coming in to our work, looking at engagement rings, with stories of how they met online.
"I really think you should give it a try," she encouraged me.
"I think it will really take your dates up a notch."

Then, another co worker joined the site without even knowing the conversation we'd been having.
I couldn't take the peer pressure.
It was like 7th grade homeroom all over again.

Actually.
I just don't feel ready at ALL to meet someone new.
(Did I mention I'm still totally in love with my ex boyfriend who I broke up with?)
So I thought now was the PERFECT time to join a dating website.
Or rather, PAY for a dating website.
The timing is wrong.
And that's always when they say you meet your dream boat.
So bring it.
Just try and charm the pants right off me.
(Oh, like I'd even be wearing pants on a date. Pssh)

I've been on Okstupid for years.
Mostly for entertainment.
Every woman should have an Okcupid profile if only to feel pretty on those days she's feeling undesirable.
There are always world of warcraft trolls writing you poetry about what a goddess you are.
"You're hot enough to melt something unmeltable."
How fucking sweet.
And as clever as you are handsome.

I also joined Match because I'm so afraid of being a doormat.
My ex told me he needs some time to figure things out and he doesn't know if we're over for good.
How very reassuring.
But he hasn't said I Love You in two months and I have no idea what the hell I'm waiting for.
Nothing is going to magically change if I hold my breath and spend every night with my girlfriends.
I am not the kind of woman to wait for any man.
Good things come to those who wait?
How about, he who hesitates, loses.
As in, me.
Minus one buxom redhead.

Do you have any idea how many idiots are drooling over the chance to get me drunk and french me?
And I realized something.
The only reason to put up with shit like this, the indecisive, wishy washy uncertainty of my ex, is if the sonofabitch is your husband.
And son, this fool ain't my husband.

So, with timing seeming terrible and my co workers ardent faith that the caliber of people on a site you're paying for therefore being so much higher.....
P.e to the r.t compounded continuously, if I invest this many dollars into this many months then I'll have......
a true blue dreamy mcprince charming!

Right....?

Except there seem to be just as many undesirables on this site and possibly even FEWER desirables.
I actually paid for this??

Let me fill you in on a little secret.
The only time that money actually buys beauty is when you're a chick in Sephora.
I hate online dating.
Hate it hate it hate.
Men are such flakes.

I have a hard enough time trying to find a man with a stronger temperament than me.
Behind a computer?
They are spineless Mcjellyfish.

But don't think I'm not gonna get my money's worth.
These suckers are my blog fodder waiting to happen.
If I can't find Prince Charming then I will find his idiotic cousins.
And be nothing, if not entertained.

Cheers.

I'm weird. And fucking fabulous.

I like to write.
I'm emotional and always write what I feel which is usually a bad idea.
I don't have a filter.
I speak my mind and my mind is sassy.
I'm messy.
My bedroom floor has been covered with clothes since I could walk.
My car is not much better.
I love cats.

I hate the color orange and women who are always on diets and dogs and cowards.
The movie 'Tangled' always makes me cry.
So does 'Steel Magnolias.'
I once made a date with a guy just because the other guy I was dating talked to another girl.
I'm irrational and passionate and jealous.
Possessive would be an understatement.
But I need my space.

I've never stayed friends with an ex and I always wish I could.
I'm loyal to a fault.
I don't understand how people can just never talk again.
It still makes me sad that the last thing my longest relationship ever said to me was Fuck Off OK?
I'm terrified of my current ex boyfriend being as mean.

I want to get married.
I don't want kids.
I want a man who tells me I look beautiful every day.
I want him to take pictures with me and hold my hand and give me presents just because he thought of me.
I want him to like my Dad.

I don't like being judged.
I like being held.
My ex told me he didn't want to be with me because I was bad with money and I wasn't clean.
My weaknesses should be safe under your strengths not isolated and scrutinized.

I want to travel.
I want to use my passport.
I want to meet a man who means it when he says I love you.
I'm so tired of men who run away from their feelings.

I sleep with stuffed animals.
And I like to eat in bed.
I have an insatiable appetite when it comes to sex.
And if he doesn't hold me afterwards it really hurts my feelings.

I don't like knowing my guard is up again.
I know it's gonna take a lot of work from this next guy to get my wall down. Even a brick.
But I'm tired of being sad.
And I'm ready to make memories with someone who wants me there.

I don't like rock climbing.
And I don't like japanimation.
I only like cooking if it's with someone.
I love God.
I pray he orders my stumbling footsteps.
Even though I'm bound to muck them up again.

I feel guilty after I'm mean.
And I am usually the first to apologize.
I'm a sucker for a good hug.
And a man in a three piece suit.

I miss my friend.
But I hate inconsistency.
I want honesty.
I want someone who loves that I'm so weird and so wonderful.
And who writes me back.
Loving words.
Always.

The Great Fast

I'm having an Eat, Pray, Love kind of Spring.

Is it even technically Spring?
I know it's almost Easter and the beautiful cherry blossom trees have been making me sneeze for weeks.
Allergies. Pastels. Yep.
Most certainly sounds like Spring.

I'm reeling from a break up.
Except that really isn't accurate.
Because it's not like we hate each other or never want to see each other again.
It was actually my doing.
I initiated the breakup.
And he sent me roses the next day.
The first time he'd ever bought me flowers.

He at least has a wicked sense of humor, no?

I hate this stage.
The trying to understand and make sense of it all stage.
Because it never helps and you never actually figure anything out.
You can speculate and postulate and maybe years along the line you'll have a mostly accurate objective gauge of it all.
But right now I just miss my friend.
And I miss the sex.

He's not ready for something serious.
Which makes it hard for my little girly brain to understand why he was so adamant about saying he loved me and wanted me in his future all those months.
We change our minds.
We're fickle.
And we lie.

The weird part of it all is that as much as I want to be back with him, I also just want a new relationship.
I never get to be the girl who jumps from one lovers arms to another.
I'm like a humpback whale.
I have one great love and then don't even get close for y.e.a.r.s.
Lord have mercy.

What I would give to be like those women who are so busy meeting some new fabulous guy that they don't even have time to process their last relationship.
I have a girlfriend who met the current love of her life while she was still living with her previous love of her life.
She just upgraded to a new and improved model and within weeks they're jetting off to Vegas and color coordinating their outfits.
No tears. No 'Why oh why' just out with the old, in with the new.

I don't think I'm built for that kind of transition.

I went out with a guy this week who kissed me at the end of our date.
And I should have been thrilled.
He's cute and we had fun and he thinks I'm the bee's knees.
But I just felt weird.
I felt weird being kissed by someone who wasn't the man I'm still in love with.

But I know I have horrible taste and no sense when it comes to men!
I found these old notes from a year and a half ago, when I was hung up on the douchiest of douchebags, before I met Mr. Cartier.
He was such an overwhelmingly obvious epic mistake and yet I still got my feelings in a twist over it.

So now, I've made an escape for myself, at a friend's beach house, thinking that somehow if the ocean was near, everything would magically piece itself together and life could make sense again.

But it doesn't.
And I told Mr. Cartier that we needed to have nothing to do with each other for awhile.
Because he "doesn't know what our future is" and I am not the kind of woman to sit and wait for any man.

So I'm using this time to move on.

But it's really fucking bittersweet trying to train your heart to stop loving someone who isn't strong enough to choose you.
He loves me, with a boy's love.
And I am longing for the love of a man.

Time does funny things to us.
I used to think waiting was romantic.
And now I know romance is a most inconvenient, ridiculous ruse stirring discontent in the hearts of those who'd truthfully be overjoyed with contentment just to lay in his arms, snores stirring their sleep.
But still smiling, that silly fool is mine.

A party just isn't a party without your boss

I actually wrote this a couple months ago and am publishing it now. But rather than edit what I originally wrote, I'm just keeping it as is. Timelines n such.


My work is throwing its annual company holiday party.
After all the holidays have passed.
Apparently we're too damn busy during the holidays to have time for a party so they wait til the year end inventory has occured after the New Year and then we all get together to "celebrate the holidays."
How grand.

I'm fixing to move in twenty-one days but I know if I tell my co workers I can't go to the party because I have to clean my room it will incite some hateful glares.
But truth be told I don't wish to spend time with these assholes if I'm not getting paid for it.

Let's see, there's the guy who daily tells me how much he wants to put one of my tits in his mouth and let's not get him confused with the manager who sexually harassed me.
Because it is perfectly normal to call you twelve times when you don't answer your phone.
When they're drunk.

And nothing is sweeter than the jealous caddiness of a girl whose way of winning your approval is to be a bitch.l

I told a co worker once who was wearing a berry colored blouse that all she needed was a berry lip to match and she'd be absolutely fabulous.
The next day the wannabe bitch showed up wearing a similarly colored blouse and though she rarely wore lipstick, she donned a matching berry lip.
I purposely said nothing about it all day just to piss her off.

Of course my caricatures are gross exaggerations.

I've learned my lesson from those cosmetics wenches, anything I write can and will be used against me, so of course, the entirety of this all is PURE FICTION, baby!

Any coincidences with truth are pure happenstance.
Naturally.


There are several fabulous freaks I do enjoy working with it's just, it's not like this is my birthday party and I can create the guest list.
Everyone's invited.
It's like having to pass out Valentines to everyone in class when you're in second grade.
"But I don't want to give one to Brandon! Brandon's GROSS!"

Sigh.
So I have no choice but to decline the invitation with some dulcid ladylike retort of, I just don't wanna.

I will probably spend my evening pretending to pack my messy apartment, repainting my nails or playing Bejeweled on my new Ipad.
That game is really fucking addicting.
It's kind of unnerving.

Of course, I may also ponder the complexity of the awesome new guy I've been seeing.
My ex boyfriend.
But that's another fucking story.