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Honest Tuesday’s: I Can Do It! … ?

Hello and welcome to Honest Tuesday’s. A place to be honest about shit that you would not or can not normally be honest about to anyone in your “real lives” for one reason or another.

Today mine is involved with some self worth … insecurity issues.

Most of you know that I am an aspiring writer. I have written many a poem and eleventy million blogs where some have had a teeny bit of editorial content to them. My biggest accomplishment was last August when I published my book all by myself.

It took me almost 2 years and the death of a new friend to build up the confidence to do that. It wasn’t perfect enough. What if no one likes it? Blah Blah talkmyselfoutofit Blah. But then I just fucking manned up and did it.

And I am so damn happy that I did.

Especially considering the fact that, after countless publishing companies that I have submitted my work to, one finally said yes. YES! A 365 day contract. 1 year. *grin*

My confession on this Honest Tuesday is that I never really thought that I would ever be published. Just like every day when I go to work I have to self talk my way into believing that I can actually make a successful mark at this new job. Just like I have always just kinda flew under the radar of excellence. Not because I am incapable … but because it has always just been easier to be average.

The let down is much less of one in the long run. Or at least in my experience anyway.

I am sure many of you read my blog before back on the space about my most embarrassing moment. Looking back now at who I was … and who I have grown to be … it wasn’t just an embarrassing moment for me. It was a moment that has essentially defined the last 13 years of my life.

For those of you who aren’t in the know … … in a nutshell … …

I spent my entire youth being the best at what I put my effort toward. Make fun of me all you want to but I was a band geek. I spent years in 1st chair in my wind ensemble and in my free time played in symphonies where I was one of 2 or the only flutist in the organization. I won awards and competitions and played many a solo. I was the best of the best.

So when I made the decision to join the Navy, I wanted to continue my journey as a musician in the Navy band. I was required to compose my own piece. As in write it out full score. Then I was to memorize it and play it in front of the judges at the Naval base in Everett.

So I did. I wrote an amazing piece and practiced my ass off. I knew every fucking note as if it was my second language. The day of the audition, my mom came with me. I was ready. Just like every other God damned solo I had ever played in my life. Just like every other God damned audition I had ever aced. I was calm and collected and confident that I would handle business.

I entered the stage area and was faced with 5 decorated officers in a panel in front of me. (Knowing what I know now about military decorations … they are waaaaaaaay more intimidating than they actually are in real life.) Seeing them and being under the spotlight … shook me. I froze. I forgot my piece. I forgot how to fucking play the instrument that I had been playing for 10 years of my life. Meaning, when they allowed me a chance to play what I had written, the notes swam across the page. No longer was it my second language. It was instead a completely foreign language in some dialect that I had never heard before in my life.

I motherfucking blew it.

The reason I say that it was a defining moment of my last 12 years is because looking back on them, I have never really accomplished excellence. I literally have done exactly what I needed to do to remain successful enough. Not overly anything. I just didn’t give a fuck enough about any of it to really push myself. That, and I would rather expect to blow it than think I was gonna nail it and save myself the heartbreak when I did. I always have found myself questioning my excellence. Questioning my self worth. Questioning whether or not I am good enough.

The fact is, average is not me. Because of one stupid moment of weakness, I have made it me to save face in my own little pity party of waaaaaaaaaaah. When instead, I should have known it to be an everything happens for a reason moment and learned from it. As I have approached and entered my 30’s … I have really been working on practicing what I preach. You know, owning my words as if I were my own reader. Taking this new job has really pushed me to work outside of my element as well. It is unacceptable to be average. It is completely unacceptable to fly under the radar. Furthermore, being successful and striving for excellence is so rewarded and recognized that it is stupid to not want to be a part of it.

Never before have I been surrounded by more motivated and inspiring people, which has allowed me to not get discouraged at all of the “No’s” I have received. There is always a “Yes” following somewhere… you just have to push through all of the “No’s” first to get to it.

So instead of asking myself whether or not I think I can do something … I am working on reminding myself that, when I really put my mind to something … I absolutely with no doubt CAN and WILL do it.

Because that is what awesomeness and excellence and success is all about.

Now it is your turn. Get all HONEST up in this bitch. I promise I won’t judge you. :)

If you could inherit one extraordinary talent in one of the arts … what would the talent be?
Would you rather have an orgasm every 10 years OR every 10 seconds?

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Recent Entries

Guess What’s Back … Back Again? Pillow Talk … Tell a Friend

Happy Monday! Guess who won the Superbowl? Psh like I give a fauxck.

I have had some emails wondering why there have been no Pillow Talk blogs as of late. Not to be a sarcastic cunt or anything but I guess I am wondering how Pillow Talk would be possible when the person (D) on the other pillow is not around to share a conversation with.

Just saying.

So, for your enjoyment, here are some recent conversation between the infamous D and myself.

(This convo took place after last weekend’s shenanigans where some random douchebag thought my name was Nicole … and all of my LOVELY friends played into it by screaming “NIKKI” as I attempted to drunkenly convince him that my name was NOT in fact Nicole or Nikki)

D: “Whatever Nikki.”
Me: “You must want to get stabbed.”
D: “I must admit, you could pull off Nikki if you really wanted to.”
Me: “Is that right?”
D: “Yeah. I mean, Nikki is a slutty name. And well … you are kinda slutty.”
Me: (Pondering)
D: “And, I mean Nikki is a bitchy name too. Like ‘I cant STAND that bitch Nikki.”
Me: “You just have it all figured out, don’t you?”
D: “Hey. I am not the one who thought your name was Nikki. I am just saying. If the slutty shoe fits… call her Nikki.”
Me: “I am going to murder you.”

Approximately 10 minutes later…

Me: “You have to wake me up at 7:30 tomorrow.”
D: “What am I, your personal alarm clock?”
Me: “You are my personal more than that and you know it.”
D: “Psh.”
Me: “Mmmmmhm. That is why you answered like that. Cause you know.”
Me: “7:30. Alright? And you better wake me up nicely.”
D: “I know how I am gonna wake you up. HehHehHeh.”
Me: “NO! I am NOT A MORNING PERSON GOD DAMNIT!”
D: “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
Me: “Really? Have we just met?”
D: “What I was GONNA say was I would just wake Charli up early and let HER deal with your non-morning person ass.”
Me: “That would be stupid on your part.”
D: “Why?”
Me: “Because she isn’t a morning person either and I will be getting ready for work, so you will have to deal with her bratty ass.”
D: “Fuuuuck.”
Me: “Yep. Better stick to just waking me up nicely.”
D: “Thisdick.”
Me: “You are a 6th grader.”
D: “Deeeeeeznuttts.”
Me: “I often find myself questioning why I even talk to you.”

Because he takes care of me so well when I am sick…

Me: “I feel like shit right now. My throat and ears feel like sandpaper on the inside.”
D: (smirking)
Me: “I wish I could shove my hands down my throat and scratch them. Blah!”
D: “I think I might have a cure for that itch.”
Me: “Idontwantit.”
D: “I am just trying to help you scratch the deepest parts of your throat baby.”
Me: “I swear to Christ I hate you.”
D: “Why such hatred? Here I am fixing the problem and you are so ungrateful.”
Me: “Whatever.”
D: “Fine. Don’t come crying to me when your throat still itches. That is, unless you have made the decision to allow me to *ahem* scratch that itch.”
Me: “Idontwantit!”
D: “Such ungratefulness these days.”

Would you rather fight Mike Tyson, or permanently talk like him?
If you had to assassinate one famous person still living, who would it be and how would you do it?

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YGWM & Friday Eye Candy

Hello and welcome. Happy motherfucking FRIDAY to you all!

Blind yet? Heh.

Alright. Let’s get on with the open lettering.

Dear IDIOTS,

Idiot #1: You are so fucking stupid. I feel sorry for your kids who have to grow up in an idiot filled environment. Because of you, there is now a clan of idiots roaming the state of Oregon freely and idiotically.

Idiot #2: You are totally unaware of the level of idiot you possess. To have to be near you on a regular basis is fucking paaaaaaaaaaaaaaaainful.

Idiot #3: Really?! Lies? All of them? No one feels sorry for you anymore. In fact, it is the opposite. What happens after, is going to be well deserved for all of the lying.

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Dear Everyone,

I don’t give a fuck about the following:

1) The Olympics
2) Your issues.
3) Lost
4) Twilight
5) Avatar

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Dear Sickness in my Throat and Sinuses and Ears and Bodyaches,

FUCK THE FUCK OFF. I am not submitting to your nastiness. I refuse. GET OUT OF MY AREA.

——————————————————————————————————————–

Dear Self,

You need to stop letting your own doubt prevent you from success. What are you so god damned scared of? What do you have to lose? Just ASK for it. The very worst that can happen is that the answer is no.

Stop giving yourself roadblocks. It is unnecessary stress that you do not need.

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Dear Charli,

Please leave me to sleep alone for like 3 nights a week. That is all I am asking. I love you to death but seriously?! I would like some sleep without you in my personal space. I am over your feet in my back. I am over your face in my face. You are a kicker and a bed hog and I would really like a night of sleep in peace.

I am | | <--- this close to begging for it.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Writers Block,

Seriously? Get the fuck out of my life. I have the ability to write an entire manuscript of poetry and another SC, which is what everyone is waiting for ... but when it comes down to actually putting content on paper, you are there ... COCKBLOCKING my creativity.

FUCK YOU. FUCK OFF AND DIE.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear You,

Blah. Why is it that half the time I hate you and the other half I dont?

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Dear Tarable,

I am glad you are being an adult. I am proud of you and I love you and I am here for you always.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Sunshine,

I miss you. Can we catsup soon?

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Inner Fat Girl,

If I could reach inside of myself and stab you to death I would. You are counterproductive to my goals.

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And now for some Friday Eye Candy... Thanks to Cass's recommendation I present Mr. Taye Diggs!

Annnnnd … Ms. Cameron Diaz :)

There you have it folks. You know the drill … purge your weeks in open letter form, so you can go and thoroughly enjoy your weekend!

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Wicked Disorganized.

I am so unorganized. But I am not. When it comes to work and school … and blogging … I am overly organized.

At work especially. I am suuuuuuuper organized. I have files and labels and places for everything. My desk stays clean 95% of the time. I cannot function in chaos at work. Same with school. Being that my time is so limited, I really cannot waste any minute on trying to find some shit I need for school.

At home though? Fuck. I could really use some help.

I have bills upon bills upon papers upon random letters and cards and shit that I do not need all over the place. My closet is a hot mess 95% of the time. I swear I go and get it all organized … and the next day it is as if I never even put forth an ounce of effort. My dresser drawers do not have any order what so ever. There are the most random fucking things in every single drawer. I have clothes that I know for a fucking FACT that I will never wear again because they are mostly 200lb clothes and uhm I don’t weigh 200lbs anymore, (YAY) nor will I ever be again because I stay working on my health and fitness. (most of the time anyway.)

Annnnnnnydisorganized…

My linen closet is hilarious. I don’t even know where to begin … and don’t even get me started on the boxes in the coat closet.

I have no idea why this is. I am not the hoarding type, with the exception of paperwork. I am a fucking w e i r d o with a capitol W when it comes to paperwork. Bills, letters, bills, statements, letters, cards, pictures, school shit for me and Xavier… yet there is no system for it. None. Like, if you were to come over and open a random drawer or box, you would find all kinds of shit that was completely unrelated to one another. They might be in a box with like … I dunno … some board games, or VHS movies that I will never watch again but cannot seem to get rid of to save my life.

Fuck. Am I a part-time hoarder? WTF is wrong with me?

No. Nope. Nuuuhuhhh. *shakes head*

I am making a late entry resolution. Not a “New Years Resolution” but more of a life resolution. I am going to take baby steps to get myself organized. First step is to rid myself of shit that I do NOT need. Second? Get a file cabinet with file folders to implement some sort of bill/ppwk filing process in my house. This means that I am going to have to start actually opening them when they come in the mail.

Fuuuuuuck.

I may or may have forgotten to mention that I am notorious for simply tossing a bill that I don’t feel like paying or that I know I cannot afford to pay. Or simply putting it off and saying I will “deal with it later” and then never dealing with shit.

If I am going to ever pay down my debt and fix my credit … I am going to have to stop pretending that my debt isn’t there. Truthfully, I am a great pretender. Not in 2010 though. This is something that I absolutely must do this year and in order to do it, I need to be focused and clear minded and ORGANIZED.

So that is precisely what I will do … tomorrow … heh.

What is your organizational style?
Am I alone with this?

Would you rather … Run your tongue down ten feet of a New York City street or press your tongue into a strangers nostril?

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It Started With a Simple Question …

… that led to this blog.

Do you ever wonder what other peoples “pee faces” look like? I pee a lot lately, and sometimes I know I make the most ridiculous pee faces ever. Especially when I should have peed like 1 hour prior… so I reeeeeeeeealllyyyy have to pee. It is probably closer to an orgasm face than a pee face.

I am so nosy. I would totally be a fly on the stall wall, observing other people’s pee faces; giggling uncontrollably at them squint, and silently sigh as they finally let it all out.

I don’t want to be a fly on the wall for poo faces. No No No. Grunty faces aren’t interesting to me, especially because the present left after the grunts and groans and poots is stinky. I am not interested in being a part of another woman’s poo funk.

I would also be that proverbial fly on the wall during sex.

All sex. Gay sex, bi-sex, old people sex, group sex…. You wouldn’t really get a true idea of what other people’s sex behaviors are if they knew you were watching.

People fart. Unattractive noises are made sometimes during position change. The moaning is not necessarily as pretty sounding as the little girls on the movies. I would perch my nosy, horny ass on their smoke stained wallpaper and watch them go at it.

I have had people watch D and I have sex… which was weird at first, but now that I think about it…. triple rawwwwrr. Watch me! And while you are at it, touch yourself while you are doing it. Why haven’t you joined in yet? I wanna make you call MY name out.

What?? Too bold??

Porn = a bunch of bullshit if you ask me. These sluts know that a camera is on them, so they absolutely put on a show. That is what they are paid for, right? I am inclined to say that porn doesn’t necessarily turn me off… but it isn’t really what I need to get the mood going. Well, with the exception of more than one girl going at it… and then really, it just makes me more mad than anything—because I really would rather just actually be with more than one girl, rather than watch them have all of the fun.

Wouldn’t you?

Sex makes me curious.

How does sonso give head? What is her secret technique to drive hubby over the edge? Does whatsherface like it in the butt? I wonder if thatonedude likes to really get into eating pussy? Or does he half-ass it? How many times does Ol’girl call out my name when she masturbates? Does she use a toy, or is she fingers only? Would thatonebitch really make out with me, or would she chicken out last minute??

I honestly have had at least one sexual thought about each and every one of you little minxes. I have also pictured myself on top of each and every one of you as well… or were you on top of me???

Anysnatch….

Sometimes, when I masturbate I don’t think about anything. More often than not, I am not me… I am in someone else’s body, with their husband… or with more than one person. Sometimes I am the pleaser… sometimes I just lay there and let my fantasy take over and please me.

I am a toy kind of girl; a no-nonsense, get down to business girl who doesn’t waste anytime sending me to that optimum climax. Sometimes I make myself cum more than once in a session. I have sent myself to that point so many times in one session that I cant even pee or wipe or touch it without a pleasure-filled pain involved.

So yeah. One question in my head led to this blogtastrophe. You are welcome.


Would you rather … Be trapped in an elevator with wet dogs or with three fat men with bad breath?

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Meant to Be … ?

I was in a conversation with one of my girlfriends the other night about Meant to Be.

Does it exist?
Are we all pawns in fate’s chess game?

Any one of you who knows me already know what I think. I am a firm believer in karma and fate and all things happen for a reason. That if you are thrown under a bus (figuratively of course … this isn’t some Final Destination deal people) in life … you were thrown there because it is supposed to teach you something.

Which is why I tend to take the realist approach when it comes to life and relationships. When I say relationships, that means every single kind of relationship. Not just romantic ones. In my opinion, we are all in each others lives to serve a purpose. It may be a forever purpose or it may only be a 5 week long purpose. No matter the length of time, there is a lesson in the relationship that was formed.

For example, if D and I were to part ways at some point in the future … for whatever reason, as heartbreaking as it would be for me to let him go … I would remind myself all of the lessons that we taught each other in the time that we shared together. Strength, persistence, dedication, patience … true unconditional love … all of them.

Our time together, be it 10 years or forever was meant to be that way.

It is hard trying to help someone see this who has blinders on. Blinders make normally grown, mature folks do stupid shit. It is what it is, but if we all could just remove them and really look at the situation at hand … we would realize exactly what steps to take to make the right decisions. Not necessarily meaning that if we took them off that we would know the duration of time that relationship was going to be for … because really knowing that is like simply leaving all of the presents under the Christmas tree unwrapped every year.

I am more or less saying that if we all just wrapped our head around the fact that it may or may not end tomorrow … and embraced that relationships for exactly what they are in that moment … we might hurt less and love more. Because in all honesty, if I was unsure that I would wake up tomorrow and not have any of my most important relationships anymore … I would be more apt to embrace them that much harder.

It hurts to watch someone I love misunderstand things. What hurts even more is when I try and offer my wisdom and it goes in one ear and out the other. I should know better though, right? I am the first person to admit that in any given situation, if I am going to learn anything from it … I absolutely have to learn the hard way. It is like written in blood somewhere. I never listen.

So why in the hell would I expect anyone else to listen to me? *grin*

If you are over thinking, over analyzing, reading into every single little “sign” about a current relationship with another person …. no matter what kind of relationship it is … knock it off. Wouldn’t you feel like an asshole if you spent all of the time you could have been spending immersed with them … worried about making sure it didn’t end?

I know I would.

Just some Wicked food for thought. Happy Monday!

Any thoughts on the subject? Any personal experiences?
Do you believe in “Meant to Be?”

Oh … and …

Would you rather be mechanically induced to scream at the top of your lungs for an hour, OR
have your eyes glued shut for a day?

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YGWM & Friday Eye Candy

Hello! Happy Friday! Without further ado, I shall open the floor for some much needed open letters.

Dear New Guy,

If you keep that attitude up, I promise you won’t last. When a person says hello to you, it might behoove you to fucking acknowledge them. Especially being that you are the new guy. The rookie. The green one. I don’t know and really don’t care if you worked here before or know someone who works here. We are family on this team. Find the place in it where you fit or get the fuck on.

Word?

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Dear Fucking Douchebag,

I am beyond disgusted with what you did to my friend. I am almost positive that I have never known of a more fucked up situation where a supposed friend takes complete advantage in a time of grief. You are going straight to motherfucking hell for this.

—————————————————————————————————————–

Dear Charli,

I had a crappy day and making silly faces with you made me feel so much better.

I love you.

—————————————————————————————————————–

Dear Courtni,

You need to get it together. Seriously. This lack of confidence is fucking bullshit and furthermore, it isn’t YOU to not have any. What is wrong with you? Figure it the fuck out already before I slap the shit out of you.

—————————————————————————————————————–

Dear Arch Enemy,

Everywhere I go, I am convinced we will meet face to face again. Then the communication between yours and mine on a more frequent basis nails yet another in the coffin of what is going to happen.

This time though, there will be no bitch moves. Nope. What is going to happen is that you are going to get yours for the fakeness that you are. Your fake happy little life is about to get revealed. I cannot wait to clown you.

And, once and for all you will be put in your fucking stupid fake place.

Know that.

———————————————————————————————————————–

Dear Henrysan,

You are hands down the sweetest guy I know. I can’t wait til I am able to spoil you a lil bit like you spoil your friends.

Thanks for being such a great friend to me. I don’t think I tell you enough.

Oh and PeeEss: OPEN EYE! ;)

———————————————————————————————————————-

Dear You,

God you are such a moody baby sometimes.

———————————————————————————————————————–
Dear Fat Girl,

Stop taking over my normal thought process. I DO NOT WANT A CHEESEBURGER. K?

Wicked
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Dear D,

I am so appreciative of you. I hope you know it.

———————————————————————————————————————–

Dear X,

Please keep up the effort. I know you aren’t perfect … but I am happy to have had no calls from the principal in a week. I love you no matter what but I like you that much more when you aren’t in trouble.

———————————————————————————————————————–

Now … for the Eye Candy

Jensen Ackles. Who IS this guy? I just started looking for hotties because I am out of ideas and NO ONE HAS SUGGESTED ANY (hinthint) and he popped up. Yum.

Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd Mila Kunis. I <3 her.

Alright ladies and gentleman … you know the drill!

Purge your weeks frustrations in the form of open letters so that you can go and thoroughly enjoy your weekends!

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TMIThursday: A Little Extra SAUCE w/ Her French … Kiss.

Hello my gluttons for TMIThursday punishment!

As always — check out Ms. Lilu for making this recurring day of nastyness that we all kind-of look forward to possible. She rocks, in case you didn’t know.

TMI Thursday

Today we have a guest TMIT’er. (I am thinking I want to have guest TMIT’s for a few weeks … so if you have a TMIT story to share on my blog … email me @ wickedcourtni@gmail.com) She is a fellow-ess PQNation Blogger … known as “Rise Again” on our site … but to me she is my Alanaface.

I love her. And her blogs. When she gets around to gracing us with her blogpresence anyway. :)

Show her some love. She is the bestest. :D :D

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I am the Puke Queen.

It doesn’t matter if it’s because I’m pregnant, drinking, eating something off the Chinese buffet or trying to cough back up the overload of carbs I ate for lunch, I puke. Anytime, anywhere, and the amazing thing is that it embarrasses me to NO end to throw up in front of other people.

It’s like a joke now to anyone who knows me.

Unfortunately, sometimes that shit happens at a really inopportune time, like, say, a first date. I mean, hypothetically.

This story is so typical, it’s ridonculous.

J and I started chatting online in September of 2008. Conflicting schedules prevented a real meet and greet until almost November, but when we finally found a day I suggested karaoke.

Now, don’t get it twisted. I can sing. It seems, however, that being able to sing doesn’t necessarily translate well to being able to sing karaoke on a first date. When you’re drunk. Also, nervous.

Solution to all life problems?

Wait for it…

Alcohol!

(I see you are paying attention. Good, we won’t have to go over this later.)

We started at a sports bar, general first date chit chat with lots of beer (read: cider. read: not SMRT) and some pool. I was nervous like Lady Gaga in a room of asexual androids. My first real date since separating from my husband.

It kind of felt dirty. ;-)

By the time we got to the karaoke bar, I was pretty lit, but J said he’d never had a Jagerbomb and I’m just so fuckin’ sorry but that’s like, a travesty.

What a waste! That shit didn’t even come in two separate glasses, but was premixed in a plasticmuthafuckincup.

Followed by another cider.

Do you sense a trend of drinks with too much sugar here?

I sensed it. I sensed it all the way up my sweet little esophagus.

So, I excused myself.

And then I got called to sing.

And then what?

I didn’t have a tooth brush. Or mouth wash. Or any of those nifty little breath strips that he always carries around. (Of which I am now VERY aware and use them often in just these types of situations. Well, and before morning sex. I digress.)

What I did have was a dude that I was totally into, who made a move, like, I dunno, two hours ago, sitting next to me in the booth. He RODE THE SCHOOLBUS WITH ME FOR FUCK’S SAKE! What guy will do that anymore?!

So what did I do?

Yeah, go ahead and puke in your mouth a little…it’s all the rage.

I let him stick his tongue so far down my throat it’s a wonder I didn’t lay it all out on the table right there.

And I don’t care. Yeah, I let him kiss me with puke mouth. Say somethin’, bitch.

There you have it. Feel free to share your own related or completely NON related TMIT’s.

Happy Thursday!

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Same Shit, Different Day, Etc.

I am bored of blogging.

Maybe because the same shit happens every day. Maybe because I feel like I repeat myself all the time lately due to sameshitdifferentdayitis.

Maybe I should quit. Whatever. Suggest some shit. KThx.

I mean, it isn’t like my same shit different day is bad shit … it is just the same. So when you are a daily blogger … and the same shit happens, it is like watching the same episode of Friends that always seems to play at 10pm on TBS. Yeah, that shit is funny … but pretty soon … you can regurgitate all of the banter between Phoebe and Joey or Ross and Rachel. You know when Monica is gonna freak out over a misplaced item in her OCD filled life. Funny? Duh … but same nonetheless.

I was thinking about things that I hate a great deal the other day … which then led me to things that I also like a great deal as well.

For instance:

I hate deadbeats. Not just “parents” … but deadbeats in general. To me a deadbeat is anyone who 1) doesn’t own their responsibilities 2) trys to abusively control another human being OR 3) has nothing in life but a negative ass mouth piece and tries to bring others down with their sorry deadbeat asses.

On the same token:

I like them. I like having them around to fucking clown on or bitch about when I want to feel better about my sameshitdifferentdayitis. If it weren’t for them, we would have no one to talk about. And to be honest, I like talking about folks who deserve it.

I also really really hate liars. Like for no reason bold faced fucking liars. They could almost be put into a deadbeat category … but not always. I happen to know for a fact that there are some bold faced fucking liars who are upstanding citizens in all other ways BUT their lies. The only time lies are acceptable are when you are telling kids that Santa/Easter Bunny/Tooth Fairy etc exists or when bill collectors keep blowing your shit up and you dont have any money to pay them so you act like “Alicia” and “just got this number yesterday so you have no idea who so’n’so is and stop calling.” “Alicia” may or may not be my fake name for bill collectors. Just saying.

Anyway, Liars suck. The end.

Speaking of sucking, I really like sucking. Literally. Not like sucking at life sucking … but suuuuuuuucking. On lollypops or dripping ice cream or penis or … yeah that.

I also like lint brushes. Nothing says bad sameshitdifferentday than lint all over the place.

I hate when I get out into “natural light” and my outfit looks like my cat dry humped it all over the place. Orange hairs all over the place. That fucker waits until I get my shit set out to come and purr all on it like it is his special bed. Helllllooooo spray bottle … meet Jacksons in my business ass.

I like D fat. He is a fatty and I love every fat inch of him. He is not allowed to get skinny again.

I hate that Charli doesnt sleep through the night yet. It is all my fault too.

I hate processes.

I hate how it takes someone super quick to take your money but fucking forever to give it back.

I like getting paid every week.

I also like my co-workers. Especially the non baby ones. (heh.)

I like my job. When someone closes a deal and rings that bell … that shit rules. Why? Because we all rally and make that person feel awesome for their accomplishment. FIST BUMP!

So yeah. That is where I am at. I am also at LMFAO at this pic:

Does anyone else feel the sameshitdifferentdayitis? Tell me about it.

Also, would you rather be … born with an elephant trunk or born with a giraffe neck?

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Honest Tuesday’s: People are NOT Honest People Anymore.

There may or may not be angry in this blog. Just saying.

Iamanidiotandsomehowmisplacedmyfuckingpursewithmyentirelifeinit.

Entire life? Yep.

Checkbook.
BRAND NEW FUCKING DRIVERS LICENSE.
Xavier’s Gamestop Gift Card.
New DISCONTINUED MAC BLUSH AND LIPGLOSS.
ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL OF MY MONEY. Like LITERALLY ALL OF IT.
Chanel WALLET.
My motherfucking KEYCARD FOR WORK.
My kids photos. Photos of my family.
Business cards.
Credit cards.
The $5000 receipt for D’s entire studio.
2 jars of espresso. (WHICH I COULD REALLY FUCKING USE RIGHT NOW BECAUSE MY CARDS AND CASH WERE ALSO IN MY PURSE AND I CANT BUY COFFEE NOW.)

That is all I can remember but I am sure that there will be more added to this list. Don’t ask me how or why or what or who does that because I have already fucking been there. I have already racked my brain and called the places I need to call to cancel or stop or ask politely through gritted teeth if someone was AN HONEST PERSON and turned my bag in.

Fuck it. Take the money. Take the cards. But I bet that the rest of my shit is in a fucking trash can somewhere covered in Big Mac sauce with zero regard for who it belonged to. My purse was my very first Coach purse that I bought myself with my HARD EARNED MONEY. It may not mean shit to anyone else but me and no one else may understand that but I dont care. It is mine. My Chanel wallet was a GIFT from someone who I care about very much. I BOUGHT MYSELF THAT MAKEUP FOR CHRISTMAS BECAUSE I WORKED MY ASS OFF AND DESERVED TO TREAT MYSELF TO SOMETHING NICE. Like, JUST BOUGHT IT.

This is why I turn shit like this in. Because KARMA IS A CUNT. I don’t play around with karma one bit. If I find a purse or a wallet, I look for a drivers license. Some way to contact the rightful owner. Same with cell phones. I call every number in the book, looking for an owner or someone who can get the phone to the actual owner. These things have value. Not even monetary. Do you know how long it takes to replace shit like that?!

FOREVER. I still am missing numbers from old phones that have been stolen.

And, I get it. It is all just “stuff”. It can and will be replaced. And, I will get over it sooner than later. Know that. But right now, TODAY … IAMFUCKINGREALLYMADANDDISGUSTEDWITHGHETTOCLASSLESSPEOPLE who cannot seem to fucking get past themselves for FIVEFUCKINGSECONDS.

Yep. It affected my entire day. Shonuff did. Especially because I couldn’t do the things I wanted to do because someone else took that from me.

LIKE HAVE COFFEE OR USE MY MAKEUP THAT I TO USE BECAUSE IT WAS IN MY FUCKING PURSE.

So fuck you, ASSHOLE for anonymously ruining my and everyone else who was affected around me for being a caffiene-less, stressed out cunt all day.

The end.

Feel the need to rant about something? Go.
Who gets the Asshole Award in your life today?

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