Random Rim Jobs
I swear. True story.A Wee Crazy
Posted on March 08, 2012I just spent way too much time looking up my ex-husband and his baby mama. I went so far as to create a fake identity – some 20-year-old dude named Greg – so I could see more of their Facebook pages than I, as myself, would normally be able to access. They’ve blocked me, as well they should.
I should have blocked myself. I kind of did. I didn’t look much. Tonight I saw that she thinks her kid – that looks a wee retarded and a lot stupid – is her reason for living or some such bullshit. The kid looks like it’s gonna be a combination of its parents – dumb. I’m happy I didn’t reproduce with the moron. I am happy I’ve not reproduced (with anyone) to leave behind people who won’t contribute shit to society, as I’m sure guy little guy will. Er, won’t. I’m glad I don’t have to worry about running into Mom, Dad, or Retard since I don’t live in San Francisco any longer.
I can’t see my ex-husband in this little fucker. It’s not just me being a bitch, I really can’t see his genes in the kid. I guess I wouldn’t see the resemblance until the kid’s hairline – which already looks like it’ll never fully cover the pate thanks to Mom’s giant forehead – receded farther and hair began to grow on its back. The kid will be able to comfort its hairy self with its large cock – unless, heaven forbid, it inherited small cock from Mom’s side of the family. Thankfully I have no clue as to the size of the cocks in Roomie’s family.
I don’t know why I looked. I’m obviously a shitty person. But then I re-read what Roomie wrote about me (in a blog post back in early 2010) and I realized that she deserves absolutely no sympathy or discretion.
The first time we met – knowing full well that I was her boyfriend’s ex-wife – she told me that she had had five abortions. This was the information I got after she had to come to my place because her boyfriend (my ex-husband) had abandoned her after getting in a bar fight – complete with brandished broken bottle – with her ex-boyfriend. Drama!
Drama doesn’t do it for me, and it definitely didn’t then. I remember thinking how glad I was that I didn’t have to deal with my ex-husband’s bullshit.
She told me that she had had five abortions and I feigned nonchalance but I was freaked the fuck out at the sheer number of abortions the bitch had had. How the fuck can anyone justify five fucking abortions when there’s so many forms of birth control out there‽
So I’m sure that the interpretation of this tirade will be that I’m jealous of Roomie because she had a child with the Ex. I’m so not. I’m glad that I don’t have to deal with that shitty guy who is my ex-husband. I’m glad I don’t have to deal with his passive-aggressive bullshit.
We could have had a kid together, the Ex and I, but he was too busy going out to party every weekend. Now that I’m with someone who actually likes me and cares about my opinion I know that the Ex was going out all the time to avoid me. Sad but true.
I swear. True (bitchy) story.
[If Roomie thinks this blog post is grounds for anything, she should just calm the fuck down because there is a difference between libel and slander and because everything I've written here is either my opinion or based on information that I believe to be true. So she can fuck off.]
Courtney X (Epilogue)
Posted on February 28, 2012[Continued from "Courtney X."]
We had talked a couple of times, and it did seem as though we could be friends again. At least for me, it felt as if we’d never stopped; it was all cliché and felt like, to me, that we hadn’t lost any time at all in the three-plus years we hadn’t spoken. It was how I’d always felt with my step-sister after having not talked to her for a while.
Only my step-sister and I had never had any falling outs (fallings out?) where we had told each other what we really thought of each other. And we were family, even if it was by marriage.
Courtney told me that after our first conversation (after several years of not talking) she cried because she had missed me so much. One of the reasons I was friends with Courtney in the first place was because she was so open with her feelings. She was always complimentary and quick to tell her friends what it was about them that she liked so much. That’s nice to hear. One of the other reasons we were friends in the first place was because I was so proud of her bravery.
She had been with the same guy for years. They were engaged. The destination (Hawaii) wedding was planned. She had the wedding dress. And then she broke it off. It was so brave and smart and self-aware an act that I couldn’t help but be drawn to her. Most people say years later, after they’ve been married to someone they probably shouldn’t have married in the first place, that they knew on their wedding day but by then it was too late. Well, Courtney knew and while many would have considered it “too late” considering the investment that had already gone into the wedding, she called it off. Her finacé was devastated but she was absolute. She moved into her own apartment and embraced single life with gusto.
It was years later, when she was in an emotionally and physically abusive relationship, that I realized she wasn’t as brave as I thought. I encouraged her to leave the asshole. My then-husband and I offered to help pack the asshole’s crap and change her locks to help protect her. Except for spending the night at my house a few times when she was truly scared for her safety, she didn’t take our advice or offers of help. She actually told me that being single was worse than being with the asshole.
So she wasn’t all that brave and she was stupid. Then she got pregnant. Holy fuck, so fucking stupid! Just as all her friends had been telling her to leave the asshole, we told her to move the fuck out of the state so it would be that much harder for the asshole to have any parental rights. In the mean time the asshole was still living with her and still being abusive.
We talked – she in Florida, me in Illinois. She asked for my address. Eventually a package from Harry & David came. The amount of packaging was fucking ridiculous because the chicken pie was shipped on dry ice to assure freshness. I still have the Styrofoam ice chest because I thought it should get more than one use before sitting in a landfill for eternity.
The chicken pie is not the chicken pot pie Harry & David now sells. The chicken pie that Courtney thought I would enjoy had a very rich, buttery top- and bottom-crust, chicken, and gravy. That is it. Absolutely no vegetables. The Viking and I ate it, for sure, but because it was so fucking rich that pie lasted the two of us over five separate meals.
Why did she think I’d like it? I think I remember cooking for her, and I would have never made anything like that. I remember one time having dinner at her house and helping her out cooking some sort of chicken-breast-in-tasteless-sauce dish so I think the chicken pie was something she would have liked. Yes, the gift was a nice gesture, but it also highlighted how little she knew me – in 2007 or in 2011.
Nonetheless, I thanked her for the gift and I thought all was good. We talked a few more times. She always talked about her kid as if I was supposed to give a shit, and I pretended to give a shit.
One night I was up very late imbibing in alcoholic beverages. I got to drunk dialing. It was so late that I assumed I’d just leave a message and that would be that. I called a few people that night, and all but Courtney took it for what it was, simple drunk dialing. I’m one of those happy drunks for the most part so I probably said something about how happy I was that we were friends again, in a drunken drawl, of course.
The next day I was walking Isis when I saw there was a message on my phone. My phone is always on silent so I wasn’t surprised that I had missed it ringing. I was surprised when I heard the message. It was Courtney sternly telling me not to call her at 4-something in the a.m. ever again. I was surprised because I had forgotten I had made the call in the first place, and also because she sounded so upset. Who doesn’t like to wake up to a message from a friend making a drunken fool of herself?
Apparently Courtney, that’s who. My call had actually woken her up because she left her ringer on at night and she was “worried” about me because I was up so late. What the fuck‽ I’m a big girl and I can stay up all night if I want to, dammit. I don’t need her to worry about me, and I certainly don’t worry about her. She thought my call was some sort of cry for help. “Hey, friend who lives 1000 miles from me, please help me, I stay up too late.” I don’t fucking think so.
I called and left a message. I told her that I was sorry that I woke her up, that it wasn’t my intention, that she needn’t worry about me, that I’d take her off my drunk dial list. I thought that was that.
She had also written me a message on Facebook telling me that her kid was sick (don’t care) and that she was genuinely worried (don’t bother) and felt bad because she thought I needed her. Then I remembered how Courtney was.
Courtney was the kind of friend who said she’d do something and then flaked. She flaked because she had overextended herself and didn’t have the balls to say no to anyone. She thought a friend “always” helped out a friend so she had to say yes to everything. I would much rather someone tell me they can’t do something then expect them to do it – because they said they could – and then flake.
She was taking on the responsibility of worrying about my well-being but I hadn’t even asked her. What I did ask her was for the song lists of all the “Courtney” CDs I had ever given her.
I had asked many times. She said they were in storage. Then she moved. I gave her plenty of time to unpack and asked again. Still nothing.
My drunk dial “incident” happened in early December 2011. In early January 2012 I told her what DropBox was and that if she wanted any more music from me that was how I was going to share it rather than burning CDs and mailing them. By late January, when I still hadn’t heard from her, I sent her a message, “I’m assuming you’re not communicating w/me again. That’s fine. Could you just do the minimal and let me know the song lists of the ‘Courtney’ CDs you have? It has literally been years since I asked.”
All I wanted was for her to put the fucking CDs in her fucking computer and let iTunes tell her what songs, and in what order, were on each of the CDs I had made for her. There were less than ten CDs and all she had to do was copy the lists and paste them into an email. When I had made the CDs the song order was very important, as I had crafted the songs to flow into each other.
Though I hadn’t heard from her since early December 2011, on the very same day in late January 2012 that I sent my final request for the song lists, she responded, “Well since you asked so nicely. I do not know the song lists of CD’s you gave me years ago.”
The next message I sent to her was nasty. I told her exactly what I thought of her. I knew that I was burning a bridge and closing a door and it felt fucking fantastic. As a final fuck you I sent her a post card reiterating that we can’t be friends but that I learned from the friendship we had had.
I no longer keep the “Courtney” music in CD-length groups; they’re just “Courtneys.” There’s a lot of good music, but sadly it’s still not all the songs I ever put on the “Courtney” CDs. If you’re interested in getting 175 songs that range from heartbreaking to funny to rocking to plain ol’ bad and you have a DropBox account, let me know and I’ll happily share with you.
I swear. True story.
April 1, 1992: A Diary Entry
Posted on February 17, 20127:37 A.M.
I’m only up because someone called before seven to wake me up. He had to prove to me that he does get up as early as he says he does. Now I know, O.K.? He’s going to come over to get ready for work. Oh, he told me that he “Doesn’t get an erection like other people.” Isn’t that sweet? Of course I already knew but I’m glad he told me in his own words. Now he just has to tell me what he does in Covina at night. He jokes, saying it’s the mafia but who knows, maybe it is. It could be. Tonight is a show at English Acid. I’m going with Jeff and his buddies from school. I don’t know if I want to ride in a car with people I don’t know who are reputed to drive under the influence of various drugs. But I guess we do what we have to do to get what we want.
Staycation (Part 1)
Posted on February 07, 2012I get alerts from various “deal” sites like Groupon, LivingSocial, PopSugar, and so on on a daily basis. Most of the deals I pass up, but the ones for Brazilian waxes, manicures and pedicures, and neighborhood eateries I usually buy. Every once in a while I go for an inexpensive tooth cleaning or a massage. For the most part I pass up the “getaways” because, well, that sort of lifestyle, even at discount prices, currently eludes us.
So it must have been when we were feeling flush that I saw a deal for a newly remodeled local hotel and asked the Viking if we should spring for a staycation. We did. The deal was for a single night’s stay between January and March, a slow time for tourism in most of the Northern Hemisphere, and especially slow in Chicago since that’s when it’s fucking cold, snowy, and generally miserable.
There the “coupon” sat waiting for me to make a plan for some time between January and March. I had plenty of time. One of the things I had to iron out was arranging for someone to take care of the animals. Well, the animal. Joaquin would have been upset but fine for one night. Probably quite upset. Joaquin, you see, is a very needy kitty. He has a litter box, so he doesn’t have to go outside, and he doesn’t overeat so dry food can be left out all the time. However, Joaquin likes company. He likes company to the degree that every time I take Isis outside he cries at the back door. At least that’s what the Viking has told me. I know he cries from the living room if we’re in the bedroom and all the lights are out. He’s dumb but sweet, and would survive a single night on his own, albeit unhappily.
Isis, on the other hand, needs frequent care and can never be left home alone overnight. She’s not nearly as energetic as she was just a year ago – I guess her 11 years of life have caught up with her quickly – so she usually sleeps through the night, but she has a lot of needs. She needs to go out last thing before she goes to bed and first thing when she wakes up. She needs medication twice a day. She needs wet food mixed in with her dry food at least once a day, though I sometimes do it for her twice a day because I spoil her. The food, by the way, is high-calorie puppy food because though Isis a senior she is also a skinny girl who seems to be a gourmand who only likes her dry food if it’s mixed with fancy canned food. I really wish she had gotten her slender ways from me, but it just seem she’s not that into food. (Yes, I do understand that my dog did not inherit my slow metabolism or my proclivities for overeating; I’m not a moron.)
I had asked my friend Viola – who had puppy sat for a whole week back in late April 2011 when the Viking and I had gone to California and Nevada – if she could stay over for a night. Her living situation had changed so that staying at our place on weekdays was no longer possible. That meant I had to plan our staycation on a weekend. I worried. I figured the coupon deal had the sort of blackout dates similar to airlines even if it wasn’t explicitly noted.
What was explicitly noted – but which I had not noticed – was that the reservation had to be booked by November 1, 2011. It was some time into November 2011 that I bothered to take a look at the small print of the “coupon” and first saw the single caveat. Crap! I didn’t want to forfeit the value of the deal just because I was too dumb to look at its limitations.
I called the number on the voucher and asked to make reservations. I said I was using the deal. I did not preface with an apology for calling after November 1. My plan was to play dumb if I was told that it was too late to make a reservation.
[To be continued ….]
I swear. True story.
I’m a Dummy
Posted on February 06, 2012I have many epic dreams that involve my family members. I figure it has something to do with my subconscious need to connect with them.
I’ve realized that I am the one who has made the point to connect with each of my siblings and they’re the ones who’ve not bothered to contact me in return. I last had contact with my (step-) brother when I called him on his birthday in November. I last saw my step-sister when my father (and step-mother) were at her house at Christmas and my step-sister’s daughters had gotten iPads with FaceTime. I can’t remember the last time I’d had a conversation with my sister.
No one in my family makes a point of contacting me. We’re not a particularly close family. Years ago my step-sister told me she regularly talked to her mother – my step-mother – about once a week, which shocked and surprised me. It shouldn’t have been considering it was a mother and daughter. By that time I’d already stopped communicating with any regularity with either my stepmother or my mother.
I had, for a few years when we both lived in Southern California, been very close with my mother. I had house- and puppy-sat when she was out of town. I had cleaned her place (for compensation) when she couldn’t be bothered to clean up the clutter. She was a slob, but she wasn’t a true hoarder until later. You see, people who grow up with nothing but abusive fathers and “purposefully” ignorant mothers and poor as shit don’t see a point but to be slobs. More likely, they simply don’t know what clean is.
By the time I cleaned for my mother I had been educated on “clean” by my step-mother.
* * *
The above was written whilst under the influence of alcohol. I have no clue to what, in particular, the title was referring, and I have no idea where I was meant to go with the story. But there you go, a glimpse into my alcohol-addled brain.
badcowboy-2
Posted on December 27, 2011[Warning: This post will come across as bitchy, catty, snarky, and, some will think, just plain mean. Too fucking bad. It's my blog and I'll do what I want with it. Some people are so dumb they don't even know they're being made fun of. Yes, I pick on those less fortunate than myself.
This is the second time writing this because fucking WordPress signed me the fuck out and didn't let me save the draft. Consequently, I'm a wee bit pissed off. That means it might be even bitchier than I originally envisioned.]
I recently received a message on OkCupid, “Nice attitdue and mouth at the bottom. Loved your profile till then. Omg some people actually own a car and might dribe the 20 minutes too you.”
He didn’t seem to like the fact that the final paragraph of my profile is written in all caps and that it says – for the third time in the profile – that I have no interest in anyone who doesn’t live in the city of Chicago, even if he has a car and is willing to come to me. Not that I need to justify my desires, but if a guy lives in the burbs where the fuck are we supposed to fuck, if we want to fuck? I’m sure as shit not going to the burbs. Chicago has great public transportation so there’s no good reason to drive in the city. And the environment and all that.
Even if the guy wasn’t on about a car, he had misspelled four words in three sentences including using the wrong to/too/two. It’s in my fucking profile that spelling, grammar, and punctuation matter to me. Many have complained that those things are unimportant, that the chemistry between the people is what matters. That’s true, but I’ve been doing this long enough to know that I won’t have any chemistry with someone who doesn’t know the difference between “til” and “till.” I suppose all his misspellings could be attributed to typos – he was so angry at seeing that he didn’t qualify for me that he was typing really hard and really fast, mixing up the letters in “attitude,” typing too many letters in “till” and “too,” and missing the V for the B in “drive.” If that’s the case, then he’s careless, something to which I am not attracted.
I’m also not attracted to pointless lashing out. He saw that we weren’t a match but instead of moving on he felt the need to send his carefully worded message. I had one for him as well, “So you went out of your way to send me a misspelled message because you like your car? I would think that with all the entertaining options out there you’d have something better to do.”
That would have been that, but he couldn’t let it go so he sent another message, “And your still complaining[.]“ That’s it, motherfucker. I was being nice before, but then he sent me a message without the courtesy of a fucking period (or the correct your/you’re).
“And you still don’t know how to spell. Lame shithead.”
Then I took a look at his profile. So many gems all in one place!
This is his main profile picture. The quality is astounding!
In the “details” section he indicated that he was a basic white guy with a college education. That, and that he claimed to be fluent in English both surprised me, but I guess education isn’t what it used to be.
He had recently updated his profile including wishing readers a Merry Christmas, and asking for suggestions on how to have better luck on OkCupid. Because I’m all generous and shit I decided to read the rest of the profile so I could give him some advice.
Under “What I’m doing with my life”:
I am tired, so many projects so little time.. I just redid my whole front of my truck,I was all over the road before this. N Good for another 300k
I try to eat healthy as much as possible but not a freak about it. Still need my coke. Sorry folks ya need some taste aka fat. No fat = no taste.
I walk often and been doing that since I was a kid. Always to this day walk around my neighborhood almost everyday. Sundays at the flea market much walk 2 – 4 miles.
I have some nice plants in my back yard that came with the house and trying to improve upon every year. My butterfly bush is so big and flowery should see all the butterflies I get. Also threw some tomatoes out last year in the yard for the animals ( as I love animals even find spiders in my house and let them outside instead of squashing )and some how they sprouted plants this year. Cool
Of course it’s just plain poorly written. Though he indicated that he never did drugs, I guess he’s unwilling to consider his daily cocaine habit; he needs it so it must be medicine. My absolute favorite – every time I read it I laugh out loud, literally – is “I walk often and have been doing that since I was a kid.” Really, you’ve been walking since you learned how to walk? How amazing. Basically, the guy just seems really fucking boring, and not too smart.
He’s “really good at”:
Shooting stick, golf, tennis, bowling, air hockey, darts, computers and restoring older cars. Love riding Quads Chevelle. Can fix almost anything and have the second largest tool box sears makes to prove that. It is cheaper to do the job and buy the tools to do it then have it done. When you buy good tools they last forever too. I have my dads tools and maybe some of his dads. Got some big tools and always wanting bigger ones. Craftsman tools and Chevy cars / trucks.
Real men don’t need instructions. (seen that one a T-Shirt at Sears and loved it fits me well)
Interesting facts:
I haven’t had a credit card in 10 years.
I haven’t had a full time job in 10 years or so.
I have 5 college degrees and two minors.
Associates in Applied Science
Associates in Arts
Associates in Computer Science
Bachelors in Computer Science with Certificate in Information Security
Bachelors in Interdisciplinary Studies with Minor in Management Information SystemsI have two certifications
Comp Tia A Plus
Comp Tia SecurityI have many cars and trucks.
I have never broken a bone.
I never owned a new car or new lawnmower
I can fix almost anythingMy last few cars and trucks were under $500 (my truck I currently drive has over 288k and not scared to take it anywhere. Love big tires and the noise they make down the road.).
I think he wants bigger tools because he wants a bigger tool in his pants. 
Mostly though the guy is a tool. Did he realize he was writing his profile to attract potential sex partners? Because it reads like he’s looking for a buddy. And he’s not even ambitious: Why doesn’t he have Sears’ largest tool box?
The guy may have five college degrees, but the guy is still a ‘tard. An associate degree is, in effect cancelled out by a bachelors degree. There’s no point in him mentioning the lower degrees after he earned his higher ones. As the Viking said, “It’s like saying he completed a four year program, as well as the first two years of that program.” (Or something like that, I wasn’t recording him.) I’m surprised he didn’t mention that he graduated from junior high and high school, or that he walked to school.
The Viking assured me that all the degrees and certificates make the guy one of those annoying IT guys you might have at your office, not a programmer or anything that would allow him to actually create things.
He has no clue what people first notice about him but guesses it’s his blue eyes. How the fuck can anyone tell what color his eyes are when he posts pictures like this? My guess is that no one notices him at all.
He mostly listens to country music and was nice enough to provide a link to a play list. Toby Keith, Garth Brooks, Lonestar, Keith Urban, and even Johnny Cash. I wonder if he knows that “Hurt” was not originally Johnny’s. He likes 80s and 90s music. Way to go out there and expand beyond what you listened to on the radio when you were a kid, buddy.
Like CSI shows, some sci fi and muscle car and 4 x 4 shows on Spike on Sat and Sun mornings.
Mexican and ItalianLike Pizzera Unio, Cheesecake Factory, Cracker Barrel and Northwoods.
A good home cooked pot roast w mashed potatoes is the bomb or even using the grill.
This guy is boring as shit. Why did he think we’d get along?! His most heinous crime is his taste in restaurants. Yep, I’m a food snob, which is one of the many reasons I don’t like the burbs, where the choices seem to be limited to shitty chain restaurants. At least he can cook, and even use a grill.
I may focus on sex a lot, but isn’t the point of meeting someone via OkCupid to eventually have sex? So I appreciate it when a guy’s profile says one of the six things he couldn’t do without is sex or women, or some combination thereof. Our cowboy, here, listed only five things, three of them being modes of transportation. The other two were computer and cats. Just. So. Fucking. Boring.
He spends “a lot of time thinking about” getting a masters, but what seems to be holding him up is that he’ll have to shell out about a grand for GMAT prep classes because he had a low GPA. Told you he was a dummy.
Then I began to feel kind of sorry for the guy because he said he spends a lot of time thinking about whether he’ll “find the one” for him, and he admits he’s no good at approaching women (though he wrote “woman”) “or understanding any of them.” Poor, sad, lonely, dumb, bad food eating, boring guy. I get the idea that maybe Mom wasn’t around. He definitely never had sisters. But surely by the time a person is 37 he’ll have figured out how to talk to the objects of his affection. From his messages to me I think he’s still in the elementary school stage of hitting girls and running away when he likes them. Yet he posted not one, but two, photos out of which he’s cut a woman. Yep, it’s true that he doesn’t understand women, or how not to be tacky. I especially like that he took the time to cut out the woman (or women) but then didn’t bother to crop the rest of the photo. This guy’s no visual artist.
I still have no clue why he bothered to get to the bottom of my profile considering he’s looking for women who are single. It’s probably that he’s dumb and doesn’t know OkCupid’s difference between “single” and “available,” something I’ve had to explain to a couple of guys.
I no longer felt pity for him when I read his “you should message me if” section:
Not looking for penpals. If you need more then a month of back and forth daily emails and not ready to get past the first meeting it will not work.Please send a personal emailnot something like “we have lots in common” . Tell me what made you reply, Else I know you didn’t read my profile.Your in good shape, not scared to get dirty and have no kids.
Live in the area not hours away unless its STL or AZ. .Must have a full picture not just your head. Must not be scared to meet. ;)Side note : If I save you as a favorite, its cause we like your profile but getting tired of writing long personals emails only to be deleted and sometimes never read just deleted. Yet you woman cant find a good man. So feel free to say hey.Thanks so much
Every fucking grammar, spelling, and punctuation mistake made me hate him more. And his demands made me know that he’s a fucking ridiculous loner who probably has never had an adult relationship.
And then I saw why he got to the end of my profile, “not scared to get dirty.” He saw that I listed myself as bisexual and thought I must be “dirty.” While I am quite dirty, not every person who considers herself bisexual wants threesomes and so on. Or maybe he meant he wanted someone to help fix things with him, who wouldn’t fuss when she got dirt under her natural (he hates fakes) fingernails. When his writing is so shitty it’s no wonder it’s not clear what the fuck his version of “dirty” means.
That he’s making such demands, they must be in shape and child-free, when he’s not provided that information himself just screams how clueless he is. Inexplicably he makes an exception to his rule that the lady should be close geographically with the city of Seattle and the state of Arizona. Huh?
I like how he thinks he knows what any of the women to whom he writes does with his messages. How the fuck would he know if the messages are 1) read, 2) deleted, or 3) deleted prior to reading? Since it takes him so much brain power to compose messages, he’s upset that they don’t get responses. I’m not the only one who cares about grammar, etc.
I like how he switched to the royal “we;” I’m sure he knows why he did it. “Yet you woman can’t find a good man.” No, she (cause he must be talking to a single woman) just finds you not a good man.
Notice that he’s not smiling with teeth in any of these photos? That’s a sure sign of some fucked up teeth. At least he knows enough to hide ‘em.
I was still nice enough to give him some advice: “You’re not having any luck on OkC b/c your profile makes you seem dumb and boring. Just a little tip for you. You’re welcome. “Coke” is the drink, “coke” is the drug.” Then I blocked him.
I swear. True story.
What’s the Worst that Could Happen?
Posted on December 13, 2011I was recently asked this. By a guy who wants to meet me. Based on reading Random Rim Jobs.
Men really are clueless. The worst that could happen? I could be raped. I could be killed. I could be tortured. I could be maimed. I could be scared. I could be terrorized. There’s a lot that’s not good that could happen to me, and all women, any time we leave the house. Men seem to easily forget this, if, that is, they ever knew it in the first place.
Men get to walk around in a privileged bubble. That’s fine. I don’t mind being a woman, and I don’t want to be a man, but there are some things that women have to think about that don’t even occur to men. Women have to be always diligent; we cannot relax when we leave our homes. Some women can’t relax in their homes.
So, guys, don’t ask a woman you want to meet because she writes about sex what the worst thing that could happen is. It’s pretty fucking bad. Not for you, but for her. Think of her and not your cock.
Why would a woman, even if she does write about sex, want to meet you? Since you now know that she is always concerned that she could be victimized in some way, what can you do to demonstrate you are not the victimizing type? Just saying you want to meet to see if you want to fuck is not it.
Even if she does write about sex does not mean she wants to have sex with you. Writing about sex, even as she does, does not indicate she is indiscriminate; one cock is not the same as all others. Those cocks are attached to people who have brains and thoughts and she likes getting to know a guy she fucks, even if she’s fucking him casually.
Sure, contact me if you think you want to meet me, but have more to say than that.
I swear. True story.
