Beyond Humbug

Merry Fucking Christmas.

The overwhelming sadness looming over my head and possessing every inch of my thought process is only a mere reminder it's that time of year again.  Holiday time.  The time of supposed joy filled giving and family love and all that holly jolly bullshit. 

I'm quite a cynic (I know you couldn't tell) and for me this is the biggest slap in the face time of year.  People fighting in stores over a stupid toaster, shopping until your account explodes, baking, entertaining, and faking a smile for the so called loved ones. 

Deep down it's a bitterness in everyone, a dreaded event, a false joy.  No one is truly happy until the event is actually arrived so they can witness their pride gift wrapped bow and ribbon, be shredded open to give 10.25 seconds of joy to someone who then proceeds to rip the next pride filled box.  We beam with joy at our glorious bounty while we wrap ever so carefully what we hope is happiness in a box.

Then there is the overzealous Christian-Christmas keep Christ in Christmas debate, blindly yelling about the birth of their sweet fairy tale baby, still not realizing this is a pagan holiday, even more so exaggerated by the amount of gifts we buy, not the amount of "praise" and "hallelujah" bullshit it's claimed to be about.  It's not about Jesus, folks.  It never was.  Get over it, and don't get me started on Jesus, or religion or the idea that a magic man is supposed to save me for being exactly how he created me - a spiteful, unlucky, bitch.

My happiness doesn't come in a box, nor from giving, since I've become so broke and in debt these days I can't afford my light bill much less giving other people what I cannot yet find myself.  My sadness however, sits around a beautifully lit tree, with sparkles and baubles strategically placed.  It lures in the couples strolling arm and arm two paces behind the shopping crowd while they enjoy their evening.  It sits empty under my tree I regretfully put up.  Its stronger, harder, and more intense like the bionic man of emotion.

It's the loneliness I feel when I bake my most delicious of creations, only to cut myself one slice and throw the rest away.  It's the pain in my heart when I wake to find the hopeful companion I brought home the night before has left.  It's the regret I feel missing out on my twenties.  No socialization, no friends to call, just a bitter old late twenty something woman and her dog.

It sneaks up on me at work while I sit with my plastic face that fakes a somewhat normal happiness, breaking my train of thought and sending me spiraling into a whirlwind of red-faced emotion.   It never leaves, it's always here, that sick reminder that I'm alone and have yet to even remotely find someone to talk to, but during the holidays, it's plastered all over every single shiny ornament, every neatly wrapped gift, and every fuzzy blanket I'll sit under alone.  It's worse.

Today is my company Christmas party.  People are walking around with excitement for the feasting and socializing.  Their loved ones and children will be here.  There's gonna be gifts and Santa and families.  And me, holding up the wall watching everyone else as I wallow in my self-loathing.

Hopefully there will be alcohol. 

I wish everyone a Merry Christmas, a safe holiday, and all the joy I know I will never get.  I also wish you'd stop rubbing it in my damn face, because it's cold and tears burn more in the winter.

I'll wrap my drear miserable existence up in a bow and I'm gonna press on, and I'm gonna have the hap, hap, happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny fucking Kaye. And when Santa squeezes his fat white ass down that chimney on Christmas, he's gonna find the jolliest neurotic manic depressed mess this side of the nuthouse.

Hallelujah!  Holy Shit.

Where's the Vicodin?

thoughts on overcoming my sadness....

"Don't just live your life, build one."

This was said by Ashton Kutcher at the Teen Choice Awards this year.  Now as I don't watch said awards, and it's been quite a while since I have, I did, however, come across this on the internet, on a forever a child type website, ironically.  

It stuck out to me, and I really liked the quote and the meaning behind it. I was semi proud of Ashton for making said quote as well, seeing as we all view him as some suedo stoner/dumbass.  The "Jobs" biopic must have really got to him.  Either way, I started to reflect inwardly and decided it was time to get my hammer and nails.

Three years ago, is when my life came tumbling down on me.  Fresh Prince of Bel-Air style, got flipped turned upside down. (I know you just sang that in your head, I did as I wrote it.)  It's been the hardest thing I've ever had to go through in my life, and has been an unintentional crutch for me as well.  While most things were directly related to that, I always seemed to fall back on it, not even for the negatives going on in my life, but the lack of positive things, and that's where it got me.

I blamed my failed relationships on it, my inability to succeed, my lack of friends, bad days, etc.  You see, I cannot trust myself to find another man, I'm too afraid.  If I didn't see such an awful thing right in front of my face, how will it be better next time?  I've started believing that I didn't deserve love, or happiness.  Mind you, I've been very emotionally traumatized, and have had a series of unfortunate events that preceeded my husband's going to prison, it was still no excuse to NOT fight for it.

The bitter pill I swallowed those three years ago has left an awful taste in my mouth, and I radiated pain and hatred with every spoken word.  It wasn't until my stepmother confronted me and my dad chimed in about my needing divorce recovery that it finally hit me.  I need to move the fuck on!

I didn't and still don't agree with their thoughts on it, I know it won't help, because I know myself and my thoughts.  I will sit there pissed because people can't get over being cheated on, or abused.  Hell my ex boyfriend smacked me around, and it was my first relationship I tried after my husband. It wouldn't help because my problem would always be worse in my mind, and no comfort could come from any of their advice.

I had to find solace in my own damn actions.  No man will bring it to me, and I don't expect them to.  Step one in my recovery, check.

I'm ready.  It's been a long shitty road, and I've made some of the worst decisions in my life following this sick turn of events.  I am going to fight for my happiness, because dammit, I do want it, and I do deserve it.  I'm building the life I want.  I'm doing it my way, and I'm going to love every tear stained, laugh filled, passionate moment that comes my way.  I refuse to let him and his lack of human decency dictate my future and/or emotions any longer. He's dead to me, and I'm letting that pain die with it.

I'm making a new journey, and the only bags to check are my clothes and my sweet, sweet Bella Magoo (my furchild).  It's already begun.  I've got a new, adorable apartment to start, and I am going to build it into my little sanctuary...I'm going to dance, I'm going to drink, and eat and love.  No looking back.

Here's to the life I'm going to build, the people I'm going to meet, and the goals I'm going to accomplish.  I refuse to sit back and let all the fun and joy pass me by while I weep silently in the corner.

It was a hard lesson, but I've finally learned it....

No one wants to hang with that girl, hell I don't want to hang with her.  I'm learning, and I'm finally evolving past the bitter, sad woman I had become, and that's the best thing I could have asked for.

It's Back

"The prettiest eyes have cried the most tears..."

What I've held to be mind numbing, has haunted me over these past few years.  It's a feeling like no other, something so awful, words seem inadequate when trying to put it together.  I've buried it deep within myself and locked it away, hidden it behind a facade; behind eyes that have lost their luster, behind a smile that's lost its meaning.  It's buried in the deepest depths of my soul, and hidden behind the person I've managed to fake becoming.

I remember it, so painfully overwhelming that it knocked me over.  I fell to the ground unable to stand and face my new fate, and the enormous feelings it was bringing along with it.  The world around me crumbled as I quickly withdrew from the reality surrounding me.  I laid there, crying for the world to see, not caring, not understanding, just breaking, rapidly.  I broke into a million pieces, and it was there, right then I lost my grip on everything I believed in and held true.

From then on a whirlwind of emotions ensued.  Over the next year, I would eventually grow to feel nothing.  It was the nothing I welcomed, the nothing I wanted.  I didn't want to feel or allow myself to feel that which I could not comprehend.  I allowed myself to be consumed with the nothing, like a warm liquid covering my body, drowning me and eventually snuffing out the very source of who I was.  I had become the nothing.

I've lived in my comfortable nothing for a good three years.  Dead to my memories, to myself, to anything remotely painful, or joyous - anything that could hurt me again. I continued by living life on auto pilot, and I was ok with that.  Up until this past weekend - where everything would come crashing down upon me, all over again.

It comes with a smell, or a sound.  Memories flash flood your brain whether you want them to or not, no matter how you've suppressed them, they will haunt you again.  For me it was a song that caused this mental rape of my carefully constructed reality. Half way through this particular song, I had managed to transport back to that broken little girl lying on the concrete, three years ago.  I was there right back in the horrific thing I've focused so hard on killing with my all consuming nothing.

It was everything - the loss of my husband, it was the memories of what I thought we had.  The six years I wasted on a man who never loved me. The feeling of being thrown away by someone who didn't want you.  The fact that you were a decoy in his sadistic adventure, it was all real, all happening - all at once all over again.  I was right back in that pit of despair looking up, waiting to be pulled out by someone who would never show up.

I drove while trying to fight back the flooding of my eyes, my emotions, and trying to urge those thoughts back, trying to push that pain back into its cavern.  But it had erupted from deep within me like  a sea monster exploding from the ocean; tearing the ocean in two and taking it's unsuspecting ships with it back down to the murky depths of the waters.

It came back again today.  It's trying to escape, and I cannot let it.  I've grown to love my nothingness.  I fear that if it escapes again, it will take me over, and not let me go.  It was an all encompassing pain that destroyed my mind, and my spirit.  So strong a pain that nothing I did - no drug, no drink, no amount of sex, or attention could dampen the echoes that it caused.

Still it echoes. It's pain, in the simplest of expressions.  It's very real, and very much still alive. It's the reminder of the horrific reality I had to wake up to those three years ago.

 "My husband is a rapist, he's going to prison, I'm going to lose him, and my life will never be the same."

And it hasn't.

Self imposed censorship

I picture it something like this...

...And now, more from my book, "How to behave like a lady: Lessons in Submission to the Male Counterpart". 

Ch. 3 Stroking a man's ego 

There is, believe it or not, a wrong way to make a man feel superior.  I will tell you the proper ways to stroke his beloved ego, as well as ways for you to cope with the effects. 

Lesson one: He is right - always. 

The male is always right.  Make sure to let him know that you know, and understand that he is right.  Smile and nod accordingly, look lovingly, and intriguingly into his eyes with utter fascination as he talks.  Then always say, "You're right,."  Make sure to repeat his name back to him, it affirms that you are in understanding of who the boss is in this situation, and that he is most definitely, right.

After you've done so, make sure to pat yourself on the back and enjoy a candy or a xanax, something soothing to help you deal with the fact that you're faking yet another thing to boost the fragile, male ego.

Note: When entered into an argument that you know you just cannot win (this will never happen if you follow the book, women DO NOT argue with the male, there is no need - he is right, always!), just end it abruptly with "You're right." Follow it with an example of something he may have mentioned or hinted to. "You're right, insert male's name here, I am a bat-shit crazy bitch." Make sure to say it with force so he knows he won.

This reminds me of something John Gregory wrote A Father’s Legacy to his Daughters in 1821.

See an excerpt below:

“Be even cautious in displaying your good sense. It will be thought you assume superiority over the rest of the company. But if you happen to have any learning, keep it a profound secret, especially from the men, who generally look with a jealous and malignant eye on a woman of great parts and a cultivated understanding.”  

 (Read the article.  It is, quite awesome in helping you understand how to be awesome, as awesome as something without a  penis can possibly be!)

Don't think, ladies.  Don't be smart, educated, informed or opinionated, I mean, be those things, but don't let them  know you are.  Also don't be sexy, strong or anything, just be a naive, sickly virgin, because that's where it's at. Oh, and cook, or something.

I witnessed a slight crack in the male ego today, and then watched it get glued back together, two separate egos and instances, but still....

I proved my point, and his ignorance, and then it happened, the crack.  His face whitened and sank slightly, he quickly ignored the instance and moved onto other, more pressing matters that needed attention.

Jump to the glue.  I was in an argument with a man whom I've been trying to move on from.  I told him to leave me alone, basically, and that I was done hanging on to nothing.  After him going on and on about how I was "attacking" him, and then threatening me with his disappearance, (it was a serious threat, apparently, in my ladylike state, I would just wither away and die should this happen, he was sure of it.) I sarcastically said, "You're right insert jerk's name here". He then said "I know." Boom, glue.  Although I wasn't being sincere, he thought so, and it's all he needed.

You see, we can never be right, even when we are, still in 2013.  So to save my breath I just agree to disagree.  Plus, I could just care less at this point and really just want it all to be said and done!  I've also accepted the fact I will be forever alone.**

 **See forever alone/boyfriend pillow/ previous post, below:

Well back to work. Until next time....

Excuse me, ma'am, may I ask who is your long distance provider?

No, no you may not.  And here's an insanely ridiculous look into my reason why:

Paying bills is one of my least favorite things.  Not that anyone ever celebrated the occasion.  I mean, could you picture it? Crack open the champagne  Jimmy, the water bill came in!
I digress.  Like i said, I hate paying bills as does the rest of America, but what makes it worse? Paying them in person, when you're hungover, that's worse.

So the boy previously written about (who left me for a grease-ball)  and I were power drinking at his house, as per usual. It was a wonderful Friday afternoon, followed by a wonderful Friday night, followed by the sunrise and a long nap.  Then realization hit that I had exactly zero time left to pay my cell phone bill, you see on Sundays, they are closed this was the last chance before, (duh nuh nuhhhh) line suspension.

As I mustered up the strength to get up and get dressed, I came to terms with the fact this day was going to be annoying. I had very little motivation, but I put on my sunglasses and hid my annoyed hangover behind the mirrored tint. I walk into the store, sunglasses still on, make no eye contact and proceed to the automated machine that eats my money. 

Doing my best to stand and insert bills one by one, I pay the bill.  As I'm a quarter of the way through this annoyingly slow process, a customer service representative glides his way over to me, and to this day, I'll have no idea why.

"Excuse me ma'am, do you have home phone serivce?"

I look around the store, the CELL PHONE store, then back at him.

"No." I replied with one eyebrow raised ever so angrily over my sunglasses. I looked away and before the next bill was to the machine......

"Are you interested in purchasing home phone service today?" He over eagerly asked me with a false sense of enthusiasm, and partial tone of shame.

As uninterested and annoyed as I could sound, I slowly turned my head to him almost stared confusingly, even, and replied, "No, thank you.  I have an iPhone."  

As if that weren't enough of an explanation (I mean they do everything- there really is an app for that) he continued trying to sell me, the hung over customer obviously not wanting to be bothered while hiding behind her sunglasses, other "services".

"Well who is your internet provider? Are you, or can I interest you in internet service today?" Super smiley faced annoyance man asked.

"No.  Again, I have an iPhone" now staring at him from my peripheral. "Believe it or not, this thing makes phone calls, and gets on the internet.  I mean honestly, you are trying to sell me a phone for my home, when I clearly have one attached to me at all times, the one I'm currently shoving a day's work worth of pay into this here MACHINE to pay?  The machine I came to so I wouldn't have to deal with people. While I'm in sunglasses, in the corner of the store obviously not wanting to be seen or bothered?!?"

I almost wanted to look for Ashton.  I thought maybe I was being punk'd.  I mean, is he a new guy? Are they hazing him?  I've done it, I once told a girl to empty all the hot water out the coffee maker, the ones with the hot water spout. The poor dimwit stood there forever spilling scalding water on herself wondering when it would run out.
Was he bored? Was he stupid? I mean at this point I honestly didn't know.  

"Sir, I'm a girl in my twenties.  Ok? I don't need a home phone, I'm never there, if I were this handy thing is too- imagine that PORTABLE PHONES. Holy flip!!  I don't need internet service, through your already shitty overpriced cellphone service company.  Because, again, I have an iPhone, it does both."

He stammered off, I continued to empty ungodly amounts of cash into this reverse twisted ATM style bill payment machine, scowled around at the other CSR's and began to leave.

I mean really? Really?!?! Are you really selling home phone service? What the hell is the point of your company?  Do I even look remotely interested? Don't sell me shit unless I ask about it.  

Selling something? Nope. Fundraiser? Nope, I have plenty of stale popcorn in tins, my ass is too fat for candy bars, and I don't need any fantastically overpriced wrapping paper. Girl scouts? no- yes of course, I'll take two - err three boxes of the samoas, sorry I yelled girls, I thought you were the Jehovah's witness again.

I'm not openly walking around like hey, try your sales pitch on me, please.  I mean it's not like I'm wearing sunglasses inside for christ sake.

Home phone service.  Jesus, I mean really guy, it's 2013. Get with it.


Point of this story?

Communication is key.  To pissing me off.

This is what obsolete looks like - a joke.  So much so we buy them to be silly to stick in our portable phones. Idiot. 

So there's this guy, he kinda stole my heart....ripped it out, and sold it on the black market.

Men are not my favorite of creatures.  I haven't had the best of luck in dealing with them.  Maybe I'm not sure how, maybe I am flawed, either way, the male species and I, do not get along.  I've found it hard to find a man who can appreciate me (or put up with me I suppose). My past relationship ended badly, and I had a prospective one that never even took off.

I have polled, and trolled, and wondered, what my problem is, and I always get the same answer; "I don't know,  I think you're amazing." So if I'm so amazing is it them?

I once had a small romance with a beautiful man.  He was tan, muscular, cold blue eyes (like his soul, apparently), and had the cutest crooked smile.  We had a quick, amazing time together.  The sex was fantastic, the conversation was great, and the friendship was awesome.  We hung out almost every single day together until one day, he just decided to walk completely out of my life - forever.  I spent months questioning what I had done wrong.  We had future plans, he always spoke of "us" and "we", so what happened? I never got closure, and it still haunts me.

He's since moved on to a much younger, less attractive girl, who is pregnant with another man's child.

Heartbroken, frustrated, and a little pissed off, I decided to take my sorrows back to my ex-boyfriend.  I justified it! He was always pretty sexy, kind of stupid, but very cute. He promised me the world, which I knew was out of his reach, but damn it, that's fucking cute! He was going to fix everything, he was going to make it right and love the ever loving shit out of me.  So, hells yeah! A man that wanted me, craved me, and had something to prove...well saddle up this pony! 

He did, I suppose in his own way, treat me better.  He took me shopping and gave me loads of attention and tried his best to please me in the bedroom - took pointers, focused on me.. it was fantastic.  Until one day he decided to start drinking again, got belligerent and started to fight with me.

It ended with a restraining order after he mindlessly hit me in my face throwing me into a wall resulting in two broken rips.

Come to find out, the entire time we were back together, he was still talking to other girls, and professing his undying love for a single mom with two kids who wasn't that attractive at all.  I'm seeing a pattern here.

He and I had a mutual friend, whom I confided in, and sought out for comfort - mainly in the form of intense amounts of alcohol and cartoons. Turns out, he and I had a lot in common.  We became the best of friends, and went everywhere together.  Eventually, the friendship progressed, and what have you, we thought we liked each other!  Then we slept together, thankfully it was awful, so I have not much to miss there...but I got possessive, and attached, and wanted more...which he claimed to want to.

He has since moved to another state, stopped talking to me and found an oily faced girl with massive un-groomed eyebrows and wonky features to call his own.  This happened two days after he said he missed me and for me to stop ignoring him (which I did after I saw posts on FB about him on a date with a new and less attractive girl).

HOLY SHIT!

There is where my superficiality kicks in.  They were all less attractive, in my mind.  I never pranced about claiming to be a pageant queen, or a sex symbol, or the most beautiful woman around town.  Heavens  knows I am self aware but I am also flawed, and not perfect.  I never outwardly admitted I thought these girls were ugly, it's just in my mind, maybe because of wounds?

I've tried, honestly to see their appeal, I have. I usually have no problem admitting if a woman is more attractive than I, because I'll proceed to pout about it and get offended like their face meant to harm me with it's perfection.

Generally, I was always happy with each man.  I never demanded much, just sex and normal attention, maybe abnormal cuddling...I gave freely of myself, and my time, and I cooked, because hot damn I can cook! They loved my cooking, they loved my body, they told me I was pretty.  I was the "coolest chick" because I was one of the guys, I was fun to be around, their friends liked me - so on and so forth. SO what the fuck?!

I have angst.  Pent up rage if you will toward men.  The ones who adore me, are married, or hiding. I am no home wrecker, and I actually find it kind of offensive they talk to me like they do, because I know what it's like to have your man look the other direction, and I don't want to be that girl.  I want a normal dude to chill with me, listen to my rants, who lets me go without makeup, play video games with me, and let me cook for him...I'm not sure why that's so hard to find.

I have a theory.

But it's wrong, as most of my theories are, hell...I'm no science major, so I won't even get in to it.

As for now, I'm done looking, it hurts too much and I'd much rather sit on my pedestal and think about how amazing I am and complain that no one wants me...for now it's me time....more makeup, less emotions, and cartoons.  Lots of cartoons.

Maybe some junk food.

We'll see. My heart is dead, and until that man comes along and revives it...it's going to be a rigid little corpsicle inside my chest...rotting, and fading away.

I still like puppies though, puppies are flippin' awesome!

The boyfriend pillow, I have found my solution! I can see the advert now:

"Are you forever alone? Is there something so wrong with you that no normal, attractive man will be willing to hold you at night? Do you often cry yourself to sleep? Well, have I got a deal for you (and a shoulder for all your forever alone tears)!"

Quick! Someone pass the alcohol before I start having feelings again. 

Let’s celebrate the gross, psychotic, majestic, fun-filled creatures we are

Woman.  Oh, what marvelous, mysterious creatures we are.  Say what you will about the female kind, but here’s my take on it.

 Ch. 1 

Call Me Crazy

Really, don’t. I may begin to cry and/or take offense to it, anyway, to my point. This wonderful thing we deal with, called hormones allows us to explore our emotions be bat-shit crazy for almost all of our lives, except that one time you were hopped up on coffee and had a miraculous moment of clarity to which everyone agreed.  It’s not like we enjoy what goes on, it’s just nature’s little gift to us to ensure that whoever decides to spend his life putting up with us, really wants to do so, or is borderline stupid, or hell, both.

Let’s run down what we go through.  There is an amazing thing that happens to us (the majority) every single month.  It’s a disgusting, painful, and emotional roller coaster of insanity, scientifically known as menstruation.  Before our bodies prepare to “clean” itself, it decides to throw us into an emotional whirlwind of self destructive eating, self loathing, and bouts of crying followed by unnecessary bitchiness.  Today, in fact, while browsing silly internet memes and funny articles, I stumbled across the best description of the female period:

“Seriously though your period is like coming home one day and finding that your spouse has constructed this entire new baby bedroom inside your house and you have to tell them “Sweetie we don’t have a baby” and then your spouse FLIPS THE FUCK OUT like “The FUCK do you mean we don’t have a baby I DID ALL THIS WORK” and then they spend the next week tearing the whole room apart and throwing it out into the street and screaming at you and then finally when the room is completely gutted they calm down and say “It’s okay hon we’ll have a baby next month” and then they start building the room again AND THIS SHIT KEEPS GOING FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE UNTIL YOU HIT LIKE 50 AND THEN YOUR SPOUSE LEAVES YOU BUT NOT BEFORE SETTING THE WHOLE HOUSE ON FIRE SO IT’S NEVER THE SAME AGAIN”

We aren’t really bi-polar, we’re just drawn that way. There’s a huge amount of emotional stress upon our weak little female shoulders.

Ch. 2

We Belong in the Kitchen

Yep.  I’m no bra burning feminist.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like certain freedoms, but I never picketed for a chance to spend the better part of my day wasting away in awful fluorescent lighting (which I’m pretty sure is aging me ten times faster than needed).  I’m actually pretty lazy in that I enjoy television, hobbies such as makeup, cooking, gaming, and general relaxation.  I don’t think we should have to work, and the funniest of all, is women these days want more time with their kids, and their families.  Well gals, if you hadn’t have thrown such a damn hissy fit about wanting equality and the ability to work, then you could be finger-painting with Jr. while doing laundry, scrapbooking, and color coordinating your husband’s socks. Nooo, you insisted, and since we had to account for paying women in the work force, by taking a percentage of the man’s salary, it now takes two people to support a family.

 Enough of my workforce soapbox…on to the “weaker” sex argument, ok? Seriously ladies, what are we trying to prove? Yes, we are strong, emotionally, vaginally, etc.  Physical strength was just meant for men, and I’m ok with that.  I’m ok with strengthening my body, but I’m not trying to surpass a man’s strength.

Now don’t think I’m taking the male’s side or that I’m all for men. Trust me, I hate those bastards, but that’s another post altogether..I’m just saying, as nice as it is to have a career, I’d much rather have a man that was willing and able to take care of me, so I could do other things I enjoyed, and focus on my hypothetical family, and cooking and what not.  

That being said, hot damn I make a mean sammich.

Ch. 3 

 We Have Vaginas (meeeeow)

Not only do we have to deal with emotions we can’t control, bleed monthly while the inner flesh is being ripped and shed from our uterus, we have to incubate another human life in our womb – for nine months.  Nine months of stress, stretching, pain, worry, joy, anger, and whatever else comes with it, as nature’s surprise deems fit for us. We sacrifice our bodies, and possibly our lives, for a chance to procreate.  Then the big day comes where we have to sacrifice our vaginas to shove that cute little meat sack out into the world. Let’s not forget the effort put in by the male.  That’s right, he oozed his life fluid into us, and possibly winded himself in the process.

We have so much resting on our tiny little pie slice.  Men cannot fathom what we go through and yet they have the audacity to tell us to quit bitching or to quit being ‘such a bitch’.  We’re miserable! I’m sorry that I’m crying because my body turned itself against me and I can’t decide if I want chips, chocolate or a pickle, or all three in one.  I’m sorry that I was slightly moody while I carried your child in my womb and gained a shitload of weight! I’m sorry that I’m dealing with emotions I can’t control…geez..blame nature’s plan…I wish I could just crawl onto something and splooge out happy fun time volume 2 and not feel pain ever just for being alive.

The birth process is gross.  We are gross creatures.  We bleed, we tear, we have fluid sacs that burst, it’s all in all disgusting.  Amazing, yes.  Miraculous even, still it’s disgusting.

Hell, at least it stretches.  They should make tires out of it. And by it, I mean our vaginas.

Ch. 4

Our Sex is on Fire

Sex is fun.  For women who aren’t completely detached, or suffereing from daddy issues, it’s a pretty serious thing for us.  It can affect us emotionally more than we want it to.  That friend with benefits just accidentally became what we could possibly imagine as the love of our life, and then we’re sitting there eating a pint of ice cream wondering how the bromance was ruined. “Did I do something wrong? Am I not pretty to him? I thought that joke was funny, and the way I incorporated sports, oh god, it couldn’t be the fact I accidentally fell in love with him, and told him one drunken evening, could it? Damn, where’d the ice cream go? I swore I just opened this.”

Your man cheated on you? Holy shit.  Time for brain overdrive.  Let’s think of that slut - constantly, forever.  Think of her face, her body, her vagina, her past lovers, what she did to him in the bedroom, where it was, what time, temperature, and what was playing on the television.  Every single detail, every single moment, forever…

Why is that? Why is sex such a large influence on our hearts and conscience?

Well ladies and gentlemen, it’s like this.  Men have something they insert into things.  Anything.  Pies, blankets, shampoo bottles, fruit, trees, the crease between the couch cusions, feet, kneecaps… whatever they can rub it on – it’s happening.  Men will dig a hole in the ground and fuck it if it would feel good.  It’s so much easier to invade something than it is to be invaded.

Women have to allow something inside of their bodies.  Something has to physically invade us like France in 1940 (and ’44), and proceed to inject us.  It’s very pleasurable for both, but it’s a scary, exciting, and attachable thing, us allowing someone to enter our body. 

Ch. 5 

Multitasking

Our brains are so fantastic that we can multitask.  We can manage a house hold, a career, and our emotions.  I’m doing it right now, in fact.  I’m watching cartoons, blogging, hatemongering on a stupid boy that chose a bushy eyebrowed midget over me, and I’m mentally planning my Friday outfit/makeup/accessory combo. It’s a blessing and a curse…so much so in fact that I’ve forgotten where I was even going after that vicious relationship status graced my news feed and ruined my night.

I’ll wrap it up. Over 1400 words are enough to make my point.  We are majestic creatures.  Cursed, I think, but man, are we fantastic.  It’s been said to be a woman is the greatest thing ever. Although, she was hospitalized shortly thereafter because they feared for her sanity. 

We’re also vindictive, hateful, and catty creatures that hate our own kind while knowing how hard it is to grow up and have boobs and feelings.  This post is all over the place, but what can I say? I’m just a woman, after all….and I think my brownies are done.

Ding, bitch.

welcome, and such.

Hello world and welcome to my own little corner of fun.  My name is Fitz, and this is DOTS, or Diary of the Superficial.  Here is where I will share my life, ideas and obsessions with you, it's also known as a blog.  
A little about me...I'm over opinionated, and I enjoy a good rant, mainly by me. :) 

I'm into makeup, comedy, and general ranting about life and it's silly little quircks that drive me crazy.  I think I'm pretty normal, but people tell me I'm far from it...so here is my little place to let loose...a place I won't feel bad for letting my opionions out...

Hope you enjoy my ideas, and silly views on this wonderfully awful thing I call life...also, there may be some depression...it happens..oh, and cake.

Oh yeah, that's me...doing what I love..painting faces!!