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Dear Guy Who Feels The Need To Yell At Me From Inside His Dodge Pickup Truck With The Trailer Hitch Ballsack As He Drives By Me, And Also To Men Everywhere Who Think Catcalling Is An Acceptable Way To Pick Up A Woman And Holy Hell I Am Six Hundred Millionty Years Old Because I Just Used The Term “Catcalling”:
Look. I realize I am one hot piece of ass. You should be so lucky to get a bite of all this deliciousness.
(Apparently, not only am I elderly, I am also a Choco Taco.)
(I know what you’re thinking, and you have a dirty mind.)
(Pervert.)
(PS: I like you.)
Ever since I grew a badonkadonk (yep, I’m a white girl with an ass—and by the way, I am loving the way Urban Dictionary defines “badonkadonk”: Women who possess this feature usually have a small waist that violently explodes into a round and juicy posterior) and shed my braces, you have made a semi-regular appearance in my life. And ever since, I have been completely and utterly baffled.
What, exactly, are you trying to accomplish?
Do you want me to run after you, screaming, “Wait! Come back, dream man of mine! I can’t wait to run away to the trailer park with you and get started on becoming barefoot, pregnant, and domestically abused!”
Do you want me to return the favor and yell “right back atcha, hot stuff!”?
Or do you just want to pay me a compliment?
I will give it to you. Your efforts don’t go unnoticed.
But I don’t think you’re going to be pulling any broads with your method.
Still?
Don’t stop doing it.
The ego boost is nice.
Shakin’ that ass just for you,
LRC
——
Dear My Best Friend Claire’s Boyfriend Who Won’t Actually Admit To Being Claire’s Boyfriend Even Though Y’all Have Been Dating Oh Around Six Years Now And I’ve Told Her A Bajillion Times To Dump Your Ass Because You Two Are In A Go Nowhere Relationship And Claire Does Actually Want To Be Happy At Some Point In Her Life:
Facebook messaging me that the pair of pants I wore the other day looked good on me was completely inappropriate and a little bit creepy. I will now feel uncomfortable around you pretty much every time I see you.
Keep your eyes to yourself,
LRC
—–
Dear Guy Who Randomly Started Calling Me On The Phone In Middle School And Asked Me Out On A Date Which Never Came To Fruition Because Supposedly He Was Trying To Play A Cruel Joke On Me But How Do You Play A Joke Like That On Someone Who Doesn’t Even Like You Like That And Obviously This Was A Poorly Executed Joke Because Seriously What The Hell Dude You Can’t Even Do That Right And You’re Not Even Cute, To Boot?:
I saw you the other day. Nice double chin.
Karma’s a bitch,
LRC
Anyone there?
Look, I know I’ve been scarce around these parts. But there’s a reason for that.
The central idea of this blog is my conflict with men and relationships. I’ve had some bad luck with Those With Penises in the past year and for a while, it seemed that the crazy didn’t stop.
But my conflict? For now at least? Has been resolved.
I have a man who makes me want to simultaneously bitch-slap and shin-kick the old me. The me who put up with all that nonsense. All that flakiness. All that confusion.
My conflict has been resolved. At least for now.
I will continue to write here. I’m not giving up the blog. I mean, my relationships with men aren’t the only interesting thing about me. They’re just the most consistently insane things about me.
But right now? I’m happy. The calm has descended. I’m not constantly agonizing over men and their bullshit.
Plus, I’m getting sex on the regular now.
Which is pretty awesome.
You’re getting bullets. Deal with it. I’m leaving work in four hours and I don’t have time for B.S.
- After watching a Sex and the City episode involving Samantha, the guy of her dreams, and his tiny penis, I began to worry. Oh God, I thought, What if The Lawyer has a tiny penis?!?!??! because seriously? I can’t be havin’ that. I don’t need a Dirk Diggler or anything, but sex shouldn’t be like throwing a hot dog down a hallway. Not that I have a hallway down there or anything, I mean, oh God. There’s no way I can talk myself out of this one. The hole has been dug. So I will conclude with this: The Lawyer does not have a tiny penis. Praise Allah.
- Earlier in the week, The Lawyer and I were exchanging e-mails, and he mentioned coming over to my house after eating dinner at his grandpa’s house. About 30 minutes before I left work, he mentioned that there might be a slight change of plans. His grandpa wanted to meet me. Immediately. So I did the good girl thing and agreed. It actually wasn’t terrible. The hilarity of it all was the fact that they served boxed red wine, chilled, with hamburgers. There were two awkward moments in the night . . . the first was when The Lawyer’s grandpa said, “Hey we’re selling this house, y’all should get married and buy it” (WHAAAAT????), and the second one came when there was a misunderstanding about my age, and The Lawyer’s uncle thought that he in fact was dating a 19 year old. Okay, I look young, but I don’t look that young.
- New York , in true NY fashion, decided it had been too long since he sent me a random ass text message, so he sent me a message that said only, “corn bread!” I, of course, replied with the obvious response, “turnip greens!” and went back to my NY-free routine. Then, Wednesday night while I was playing bar trivia with The Lawyer (we won first place, by the way, and all our drinks were free), I received yet another text from NY. The gist of it was that his car had died on the way to the airport (which is 2.5 hours away from where he lives) and he had a 10am flight the next morning and no way to get to the airport. He never out-and-out asked me to give him a ride, but honestly? Why the fuck would he be texting me about it if he weren’t trying to hint toward it? So he more or less tells me I’m not important enough to him to make me his girlfriend, goes over a month without seeing me, then all of a sudden wants me to offer to make a 5 hour round trip drive at 10pm on a weeknight so he doesn’t miss his oh-so-important flight to Who The Fuck Knows Where so he can blow his inheritance even more on sushi and promotional materials for his “band”?
No thanks. - I’m pretty sure I heard Murray’s name on the radio this morning for getting arrested for DUI. It may not have been him because his name isn’t terribly unique, but the person in question was arrested on the street right next to a bar where one of Murray’s favorite bands was playing last night. If this was, in fact, Murray, whose money management skills are atrocious, then he may not be able to fund the refinancing of the house after this. Also, if he gets his driver’s license taken away without a permit to drive for work (his job requires him to drive around in a truck and watch other people work), he may lose his job. Balls.
- I got a mani/pedi with Ma yesterday and my toes are all smooth, painted, and ready for the beach! I leave at lunch time to head south with The Lawyer.
We had this e-mail exchange yesterday:
aaand I think that about sums up what we’ll be doing on our trip. Have a fabulous weekend, freaders! Mwah!
I would make this a bullet point post, but knowing me, the bullets would probably end up really long, and well, what’s the fucking point of a bullet post if each bullet is several (fun-filled!) paragraphs long? There’s no point, that’s what.
Just like those last two sentences.
Remember a couple weeks ago I got that text from Glen that said “I want to lick u from head to toe“?
Well, I neglected to mention my response to said text. I didn’t recognize the number, so I responded:
Who dis?
I like to get ghetto from time to time. I’m so ‘hood it hurts.
After his text confirming his identity, I responded with this:
You better be glad my baby daddy dint see dis
You know, to keep the ghetto vibe going. And also to ease the tension of the fact that, hello, you have a girlfriend and you texted me at 9:30 on a Sunday morning that you want to drag your tongue all over my body. And also because, hell to the no.
He sent about two apology texts, and that was the end of that.
Until yesterday.
When Glen called me at work.
He told me that he’d been driving and when he passed my neck of the woods, he decided to call me.
To ask me if I was pregnant.
Because I’d said something about a “baby daddy” in that last text.
These are the kind of people that roam the streets of my hometown. The people that vote in elections, bear children, and run for local office.
They’re all fucking idiots.
I assured him that no, there would be no mini LRC coming into the world anytime soon, and that’s when Glen told me that—WHAT DO YOU KNOW!— he, in fact, WAS expecting a mini-Glen in the future. He’d knocked up Amy and they were now engaged.
THEY’RE REPRODUCING!
She of I Like To Scream At Other Women In Bars And Snort Coke Off The Back Of The Toilet In The Ladies Room fame, and he of I Like To Text Women Other Than My Girlfriend At Strange Hours And Tell Them That I Want My Saliva All Over Them fame.
If you’ll excuse me, I have to go cry in a corner now, because the apocalypse is near. It’s only a matter of time before my town is overrun by worthless parasites, suckling at the teat of society. Snorting my tax dollars up their noses and puking all over the sidewalks.
In less depressing news, I really am warming up to The Lawyer. In an e-mail exchange with Narm last month, I even used this sentence to describe what I want out of a potential suitor:
Right now, I kinda just want someone who will play Mario Kart with me, rub my bum shoulder, and tell me how awesome I am.
- I have already played Mario Kart with The Lawyer, and I kicked his ass. Then he kicked mine right back.
- He has not given me a shoulder massage yet, but has alluded to it.
- This is part of our conversation last night:
The Lawyer: “Have I told you how awesome you were today?”
LRC: “No.”
The Lawyer: “You’re awesome. *smooch*”
FYI — he didn’t say smooch. He, uh, smooched me.
I’d say that’s pretty effin close right there.
You know what else I’ve discovered?
There are men out there who like to make plans.
Sometimes days in advance!
Holy fucking shit!
Also? I’ve learned that it’s okay to leave my phone in the other room and not check it every five seconds because OMG What if he texts? WHAT IF HE CALLS? WHAT IF IT CAN’T WAIT? because you know what? It is possible to know someone is into you. Without wondering. Without worrying. Without fear.
And that is a pretty great feeling.
Also, phone calls > texting. And he agrees with me on this:
“I mostly only text when I’m drunk. Which is why I usually text you from work.”
(He’s funny.)
I accepted his invitation to the beach. And I’m really, really looking forward to it.
I told him last night, “I guess there really are men out there who give a shit.”
I found one!
Happy weekend, y’all.
I got a text from Murray yesterday regarding our home loan. The loan for the house I currently inhabit where he hasn’t lived or made a payment on in over a year.
If I was able to cover closing cost, would you consider refinancing? I need to get out from under that loan.
A few things:
- Yes, holy hell, if you cover closing costs let’s go ahead and get that fucker DONE. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it here, but I’ve decided to hold off on selling the house for the time being. I’m actually miraculously able to make the payments despite this recession, and I rather enjoy living there.
- What big purchase is Murray planning to make that he otherwise wouldn’t be able to make with his name already under a large home loan? Perhaps, another home? For himself, Mama Bear, and Baby Bear?
- If Murray is indeed planning on purchasing a home for himself and his recently acquired family AFTER THREE MONTHS OF DATING THIS CHICK, I am going to LOSE. MY. SHIT.
- Seriously, someone is going to get hurt.
Okay, I may be jumping to conclusions here, but why else would he all of a sudden need this done “quickly,” as he said in a later text? Of course, I would never actually physically harm someone, but if I do find out that he’s buying a house with Mushroom Head McTrampStamp +1, I am going to be so furious. Like, red-in-the-face-and-vibrating-out-the-door-to-throw-a-wine-bottle-in-the-driveway-to-hear-the-satisfying-sound-of-glass-breaking mad.
Not that I’ve ever done that before.
Not with a bottle that wasn’t already empty, of course.
Of course, it’s really none of my business, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be thoroughly pissed off.
Also, I unfriended Mushroom Head McTrampStamp on Facebook (I added her before I realized she and Murray were dating) so I didn’t have to look at pictures of the happy couple that she posts oh, every 3.9 seconds or so. Because it’s just another reminder that he took her canoeing. And he always refused to take me canoeing because it was “a guy thing.”
Paddling is for losers anyway.
—
In other news, Gonzo has sent apology text after apology text, written on my Facebook wall multiple times, and invited me back to his apartment (with the futon!) almost every day since the incident. I have only responded to let him know that I wasn’t angry with him, and left it at that.
He is obviously having some personal problems I can’t fix, and I just don’t have room in my life for that right now.
—
And last but not least, I received a beach invite from The Lawyer for next weekend. I’m pretty sure hotel expenses will be covered, as well as some other expenses as he likes to spoil me, so that’s not an issue (I AM A TERRIBLE PERSON), but it’s with his family. His mom and younger brother (who’s my age, incidentally, and because of this fact The Lawyer had jokingly said that he wasn’t planning on introducing us) are going. It’s one thing to have dinner with them, but it’s quite another to spend an entire weekend with them. What if they don’t like me? What if I don’t like them?
If I hadn’t been having some recent doubts about The Lawyer, I wouldn’t be quite as apprehensive. I mean, I’ve been dying for a beach vacation. Any other time I would jump at the chance. But I’m feeling sorta lukewarm for him still. It’s only been a couple weeks, so it’s still a bit early to tell. But he’s like this perfect combination of nice guy and asshole. He’s very considerate (something I am NOT used to) yet he’s not afraid of ribbing me. Plus, I’m pretty sure he adores the shit out of me.
I still haven’t given him an answer about the beach trip. I’ll probably do that this weekend so as not to leave him hanging.
—
In summary:
Murray is causing me heart trouble for unknown reasons because seriously, wasn’t I the one who broke up with him? I don’t harbor any feelings for him whatsoever. So why is this pissing me off so much? Oh yeah, because he and I were together for two years before we bought a house together. And we were pretty sure we were getting married.
Gonzo is being irritating as fuck, and as I type this entry, he just texted me again. Desperation is not becoming on him.
The Lawyer is a perfect gentleman and pretty much everything I have been missing in all my previous relationships, and I still can’t get it up for him. And I am considering turning down a beach invitation because of it. WAH, LRC. YOUR LIFE IS SO DIFFICULT. DID A $1,000 BILL HIT YOU IN THE FACE WHILE YOU RODE YOUR UNICORN TO WORK THIS MORNING?
I honestly believe that sunshine and warm weather have a direct effect on my psyche and general state of happiness.
Case in point.
This weekend, I went poolside for the first time since the weather forecast turned happy. I threw my body issues to the wind and braved the public with the teeniest bikini I have ever owned. I’ve had it for at least five years, but as long as it never gets too sun-bleached or it never allows my love handles to spill over the top like too-hot rice water in a tightly lidded pot, I am never throwing it out.
It has served me well.
Navy blue and polka-dotted with lighter blue circles, I purchased it from Old Navy for $25. I saw it in an Elle magazine and knew instantly that it had to be mine.
Its tiny-ness has the power to give me the gonads to do things I normally would never be able to get it up for. Yesterday, at the communal pool at an apartment building my cousin’s wife’s family owns, a neighbor brought his 4 foot long king snake out for some sunnin’. And I took that opportunity to grab that snake, put it around my neck, and pose for multiple photo-ops.
This may sound like peanuts to you, but for a generally non-adventurous person, this was a rush. It felt good to put that snake around my neck and let him make me his bitch. And I was surprisingly so non-fazed, the snake took to me rather easily. I wasn’t scared, so he wasn’t scared.
That action inspired me to do something today that I’d never done before.
My parents are at the beach for their anniversary, and I am house/dog-sitting for them while they’re away. They have a fabulous yard which is perfect for sunning, and a misting fan that makes the 90-degree heat somewhat bearable. Upon glancing down at my chest, I noticed how lobster-red my shoulders were, and how alabaster my ta-tas were.
“Well, that’s not good,” I thought.
So I untied the top of my itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny, BLUE polka-dot bikini . . .
and decided that just wasn’t going to be enough . . .
so I just took . . . it off.
I sunbathed topless today.
And it was glorious.
I felt very self-conscious at first, despite the fact that my parents’ house is situated on 25+ acres of wooded land and there would be no chance of anyone ever catching me in my naughty act. But despite having a pretty decent body, I’m always self-conscious of the way I look naked. I’m the girl that sprints to the bathroom after sex, hoping I ran fast enough that my body was a blur to the man I’d just gotten busy with.
So, naturally, when the clouds covered the sun at times, I’d shake the proverbial fist at the sun. “Come back! Otherwise, why am I sitting here with my tits out?”
Then, it all started to become more natural to me. A low-flying small aircraft flew overhead, and I thought to myself, “I wonder if he can see me?”
Even if the pilot could have seen me (and for purposes of this post and my self-esteem, I am going to assume the pilot had a penis), would he be able to tell what was going on? Would my nips look like those annoying black flecks in otherwise ivory sand?
Then I went to full-on exhbitionism, arching my back to achieve optimum sun exposure. A male cardinal (I know he was male because he was bright red. This is one of those random bits of information I store in my head and try to impress people with from time to time–the females are a more camouflaged brown color so they can hide from predators and protect their young. Damn male cardinals, stealing the spotlight) flew to a nearby tree, where he sat for a couple minutes.
Nearby, a chameleon was doing push-ups, a mating ritual.
Perverts.
This has been sort of a mini-breakthrough for me. I’m trying new things. I’m becoming more comfortable with myself. I’m lettin’ it all hang out!
Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that I’ve only gotten laid once in oh-nine.
Either way, my boobs look good.
