Check please…

Several months ago, I decided to go to dinner with a guy I had never met. I knew it was probably a bad idea, but I went anyways. I made sure to let a friend know where I was and checked in with her throughout the dinner. I seriously cannot make this shit up, but I am glad I can laugh at the shit that happens in my life.

My gut kept telling me to cancel. There were red flags in the messages leading up to this dinner, but I still said fuck it and went. I was parking my car near the restaurant when I got a message from him saying he was running late. Fine, whatever. I didn’t really want to be there anyways.

I wasn’t even nervous. I just wanted to get this over with. We walked around for a few minutes talking. More red flags. Fuck my life. Why me? Maybe if I tripped and fell flat on my face, I could head home…my luck I’d break something and end up in the ER.

Can we just go eat already…

I normally do not like to sit facing the tv screens, because I think it is rude when someone pays attention to the tv and not the people they are with, but this night I made sure I took the seat facing the tv screens so that I could watch the baseball game throughout dinner. I didn’t even feel bad. At this point I just wanted my food, to eat, and leave.

He sat there across the table from me stuffing his face as he spoke. The food was rolling around in his mouth like a clogged toilet it just kept swirling in the same spot, as he mumbled something along the lines of what a great guy he was. Somebody please help me!!! I could not scream loud enough in my head to drown this guy out. Thankfully with the baseball game on in the background I could easily distract myself from his disgusting chewing. Oh shit?! What did he just ask…ugh. This was the longest dinner ever. “I’m this and I’m that, blah blah blah..” got it dude, you’re Mr. Wonderful every woman’s dream guy. Riiight…except the fact that he legit showed enough red flags in ten minutes flat to send any chick running…stupid ass. And my dumbass was still sitting there…omgoodness, save me!! I think the manager heard my cry for help, because he came and checked on me…

As we sat there, he continued to talk about himself and how great he was at this and at that as I watched the baseball game. I really should have just left, but I didn’t want to be rude. Sometimes I can be a little too nice…

Outside in the fresh air I could breathe. I didn’t have to watch him eat anymore. Thank goodness!!! I wasn’t sure how much more I could handle without losing my shit. But then he decides to tell me I would be lucky to have a man like him, because he is nice, helpful, etc., and not one of those assholes all women go for.

Breathe, just breathe. Stop. Think. Before. Word. Vomit.

Ummm, excuse me? Word vomit happened, really bad word vomit. First of all, nobody tells me who is right or wrong for me, I make my own damn decisions fucker. Second of all, you just spent I don’t even know how long talking about yourself and how great you are in bed…what in the actual fuck…newsflash, I have hands and toys that I can use that will get me off better than your dick ever would, and the hell if I would ever let you near me. And third, just because you say you are nice doesn’t mean jack shit to me, the nice guy is usually the biggest asshole to mankind, because he is trying to prove something to everyone or has something to hide. So, take your nice, helpful you need me attitude and shove it up your ass.

And maybe these ”assholes” are assholes to him, because he’s jealous? Most women I know want someone who treats them with respect, not someone who is going to look down on them, and this guy, well he made it obvious that he looks down on women.

I do not understand why some people think that because you are a single female means you are helpless or that you need someone “nice” in your life. Maybe we are single because we meet people like this douche. Or how about we are just single, because we choose to be?

I can take care of myself. I can please myself. I can buy myself flowers. I can pay my mortgage. I have an amazing job. I have a great family and wonderful friends. If I need help with something, I will ask one of them. The list goes on.

I do not need a red flag toilet swirling douche bag chewer in my life to “help” me, because he thinks women can’t do shit on their own. I got news for you dude I am fucking powerful and I can accomplish most anything I put my mind too. And I will not hesitate to knock you on your ass with my words. Especially once you tell me I need a man, because I am a female.

Guess what?? I did knock him on his ass. Knocked him flat on his ass.

batteries. a single girls bff

A couple of years ago I told a close friend of mine “if I ever tell you I want to be in a relationship again smack me.” I was not being serious or maybe at the time I was. I was full of all kinds of different emotions when we had this conversation. Who really wants to be single for the rest of their life, especially in their thirties? Apparently, me!! And by saying this, I feel like the world listened, because I feel cursed, jinxed, whatever you want to call it. And why? Oh, you know just to prove a fucking point…like haha eat your words Heather!!!

Here I am, almost 36, and single. My toys and I have become great friends, BFF’s. In fact, I should probably add batteries to my shopping list. I have always been very independent. I am completely okay with being single, but sometimes the thought crosses my mind of “shit what if I live until I am 90”. That’s a shit ton of time to be alone and not in a relationship. So yeah in reality it would be nice to have that person to be able to snuggle up with at the end of the day, lay next to in bed, enjoy “streaming and chill” evenings, and of course have more than just my “BFF”.

So here I sit, asking myself, “did I jinx myself”? Or maybe I am just so independent I scare grown men away? Or the dating scene has just changed so much I do not know how to play the game? But dating should not be a game…but on a lighter funnier note I think my “prince charming” is just fucking lost, trying to navigate his way to me, but like me; north, east, south, and west are confusing as all hell and he needs landmarks instead…just follow the trail of toys!!!

Someday my prince will….nah, I just need to replace my batteries sooner than later.

rod filled flesh rocket

I often use my voice memos app on my phone if I am driving and I get an idea for my blog. The other day was beautiful outside, so I am driving with my sunroof open and windows down when I am recording ideas for this entry. I am sitting at a red light when another vehicle pulls up next to me with their windows down as well. I swear this was the longest light ever, but I enjoyed how much the female driver blushed as she obviously was listening to me. Enjoy!!!

The other night I was sitting around with family drinking margaritas, making tacos, and somehow, we started talking about sex changes, ball slapping sex, and strap ons.

Let’s back up to the beginning. Has everyone seen the meme with Bruce Jenner about calling him a Tranpa? (omg this makes me a horrible person, but oh well I am already going to hell) Okay, so now supposedly he is dating a female. So, we were trying to think about what that would be called, remember we were drinking, lol, and somehow this led to using vagina flesh to have sex changes possible.

Alright, so now, here we are, talking about sex changes out of vagina flesh, wondering how and the hell this new define penis gets hard…supposedly in the 80’s, not sure if this still happens, but you would insert a rod…ummmm….could you imagine your partner inserting a rod into your penis to make you hard? What if they got mad at you and decided to insert this rod all the way??? Ouch!!! Mother fucker would be calling 911 as your vajayjay penis is gushing blood. Or what if you decided to ride your partner a little too fast and hard and the rod went through and got you on the inside of your vajayjay?? Seriously, all I could see was the bad in this rod flesh rocket deal. I can not imagine this would be comfortable at all, but then again who knows.

At this point it might be safer to nix the change and just wear a strap on?? Idk. The thoughts were running wild at this point and they were ridiculous. We were laughing so hard I am sure my Apple watch pick it up as an exercise. Lmao.

So, I am assuming with the rod flesh rocket and the strap on there would be no ball slapping sex. People need some ball slapping sex in their lives sometimes. Right? Lol…of course while having this conversation I so made the sound with my hands…

Curiosity gets the best of people sometimes, add alcohol, a stressful week, and just some good old humor to the mix and the conversations can take an interesting twist. We were not even playing Cards Against Humanity to get this ball rolling. Guess we are just fucked up. Eh oh well. Loving life.

shoulda been a race car driver

I like to think I should have been a race car driver. I like to put the petal to the metal and fly. Zoom…away I go. I was always told I was precious cargo.

When that adrenaline rush starts to pump through my body as I watch the odometer creep up, 80 mph, then 90, my heart beat starts to race with it, I can hear the thump thump thump in my ears, as the rush overwhelms every inch of me. The sunroof and windows are open, the music is rattling the car as the wind rips through my hair, 100 mph.

I look up to see flashing lights…FUCK.MY.LIFE. The rush is gone. Party is over. I am now reaching for my information, searching through my suitcase of a purse for my driver’s license. Tap. Tap. Tap. I roll my window half way down. “Ma’am, do you know what you did?” I am being asked this question like I am a child being punished. I smile slightly blushing, of course I know what I did. I was full blown adrenaline rush having myself a grand old time…. “yes”. I hand over my information. UGH! This is going to be one hell of a ticket…

This great build up and for nothing…story of my fucking life. Always happens…amazing build up, hitting the peak, and BOOM! Crash! Airbags deployed, bumper falls off, I go flying then I must analyze the scene, and of course there’s no fucking fluids. FML!

The officer comes back to my vehicle, taps on the window to announce his arrival, ticket in hand with all my information. I turn my face to look in his direction. My eyes are full of tears, some sliding down my face at this point, and giant snot bubbles lingering above my upper lip. He looks at me and says “fuck”, hands me everything as he runs back to his vehicle while saying “have a nice day”, yeah, you too…

I may not be a race car driver, I may not have fluids leaking from any of the right spots…damn I need a sex life…hahaha!!!

 

Sunshine and Sparkles!!