"Put the fucking lotion in the basket!"

Or also known as, 'A Love Letter To My White Trash Neighbors'.

Dear White Trash Neighbors,

I'm sorry, do you prefer the term Appalachian American?

Anywho, it's your neighbor. Yes, the crazy single girl who does her laundry at 11:00 on Friday nights. You know, the one you always run into because you're smoking in the laundry room in a non-smoking building? Yeah, my kid's lungs really appreciate that, you pricks.

I'm pretty sure that between the scent of the ammonia from your eternally unclean cat litter boxes, the pot I can tell you've been smoking (and really, if someone who has never smoked a j can tell, it's strong) and your apparent lack of personal hygiene that you're probably both mental ward escapees. Congratulations on chewing through your bonds, I hear they're a bitch.

I wanted to write you this letter to tell you how much I appreciated your rendition of Bag Full Of Cats Being Beaten With A Sharp Stick in high C. It really was wonderful. I'm almost speechless at it's beauty. Who wouldn't want to hear a tinkling chorus of, 'FUCK YOU's and 'GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!'s? It's not like nails against a chalkboard, I swear. It's like the giggling of magical mermaids under a rainbow waterfall.

But in all seriousness, at 11:00 at night? Really? I was sitting in my living room, the farthest place in my apartment away from yours, and I could still hear every word you said. I have a five year old. You social rejects, please mainline some Drano. Immediately. Honestly, if I could I would toss your asses in pits in the ground and tell you to put the lotion on your skin or else you'd get the hose again.

Please run back to the mental hospital from whence you escaped. Go enjoy the wonderful drugs they give you. I'm pretty sure you'll get something that will make you go catatonic and forget about how daddy beat you and took away your Christmas money from grandma so he could buy another line of nose candy and forget all about that time the condom broke and all he got was this whiny little bitch of a kid.

Oh, and while you're at it, please surrender your cats to the local shelter. Those poor animals didn't do anything bad enough to deserve living in an environment of that quality. No one should ever abuse pussy like that. And maybe make sure the men in white coats give you a shower. With bleach. And Comet. And a stainless steel scouring pad. And a dose of Penicillin. Maybe two for good measure.

Sincerely,

The really annoyed and pissed off girl with the big rack that you're constantly oogling whenever you see me. Seriously, it makes me want to shower in water hot enough to sterilize medical equipment.

Whew, one big holiday down, one to go!

And thanksgiving this year began much like thanksgiving last year did. With me dropping something.

Thank god it wasn't the apple pie, like it was last year! No, this year, it was a heavy glass candle holder. And I broke the fall with my foot. Sweet Baby Jesus, did that hurt! I still have a curve-shaped bruise from that sucker.

So I suppose I should actually update on what's going on in life lately, as it's pretty much been, date-date-date-food porn lately...

On the dating front: Jason is now in a relationship with another girl. But it's good, they're good for one another. We are still friends, and this is what's important. Travis and I stopped talking, I'm not heartbroken by this. Still haven't heard from the hot waiter. I've got a few guys I've been chatting with that want to take me on dates. So in other words, all is busy and well. :)

On the work front: Things have been going pretty well. Been getting lots of training in other areas of the store. And except for stupid dramz, which we all know I fucking HATE WITH THE FURY OF A THOUSAND BURNING URETHRA, it's good.

On the family front: My family is excellent as always. A few hits on the head with the crazy stick here and there, but otherwise good. :)

On the me front: Bought myself some Beavis and Butthead pajamas. I am more than pleased with this. It's probably one of the most epic purchases I've made since my pink glitter stilettos. I'm also going to a Christmas-themed drag show this Saturday and debating wearing them to the show. Because really, if glitter-coated pumps aren't appropriate at a drag show, then where, I ask you?

On the Erf front: Proudly, we haven't fought in a few months. We are getting along really well, and I think we really are becoming friends again. It feels good, I hated having to guard everything I said. And this can't be anything but good for Erflet.

On the Erflet front: He's lost his first tooth! He's getting so big, and I'm in total disbelief that he's almost six. Fuck, where does the time go? He's doing great in school, and reveals more and more tendency towards my personality every day. This is both awesome and horrible, as I'm a huge smartass. It's gonna suck until he learns how to control this magical power he has inherited.

So all in all, things are going great. Little bumps and hiccups in the road, but nothing serious. :) I'm so glad, it's such a 180 from what my life was like a year ago. Further proof supporting that sometimes what's bad in the short term can be good in the long term.

Food porn is back, kittens!

I know it's been a shamefully long time since I last posted food porn. Please, hold your produce.

Seriously? Who threw that?

Anywho, you all have my lovely momma to thank for my bringing you this food porn. Because I'm terrible daughter and I'm about three holidays in baking debt, she demanded nothing short of excellence for her birthday this year. I could tell there was no fucking way I was getting off the hook...

She asked me for entremet. Not that particular one, but it's basically a multi-layered dessert with contrasting flavors and textures. My only response to her was, 'why do you hate me?'

She replied with some blah blah blah about challenging my skills and demanding excellence and I wasn't really listening.

So I look up recipes for entremet. Fuck me gently with a chainsaw, all these damn recipes are in metric form. I'm too lazy to convert them. Eff that ess. I'll do what I do well. I'll make something up.

Her primary request was that it be chocolate. Easy enough. Without further ado, here is my version of entremet (I apologize to your bandwidth):

I decided my stable layers would consist of Ghirardelli devil's food cake. Four layers, to be precise.

Oh yes, bitches. I went there. I made an ICE CREAM ENTREMET. My mom loves coffee, so I figured this should have an interesting texture, and you can't go wrong with Ben and Jerry!

One layer of devil's food cake sprinkled with coffee, then Coffee Heath Bar Crunch ice cream. It looks fabulous already!

For my middle filling layer, I chose to go with chocolate mousse. Something light to contrast the heaviness of the ice cream. Forgot to take a photo of the spread layer though. I fail.

What contrasts coffee? Peanut fucking butter, kittens! And I thought the pretzel would be pretty cool to add some extra crunch.

Yes, this was as time consuming as it looks. But pretty, so worth it. :)

I used a springform pan to hold it together while it set in the freezer. I used one that was too big. Oops. Whatever, it worked.

It's the leaning tower of Cheeza! (Bad Goofy Movie reference)

Was I done? Oh, no, kittens. I wasn't done. My mom loves dark chocolate, so I made Ghirardelli 60% bittersweet chocolate ganache to cover the whole thing! It ended up being too bitter with the devils food cake, so next time I'll use milk. Still, MOAR CHOKLIT!

So pretty and shiny...

Very impressive looking, no?

My dad's verdict: "It's like 1,000 pornographic orgasms". My mom loved it.

I'm fucking screwed for her birthday next year...

I'm creating a new tag...

Dating is decidedly becoming less and less of the bullshit variety with every date I've gone on lately.

I went on a second date with Travis, and I have to rant and rave about his mad skills... In the kitchen.

Seriously, trying to figure out something to do in this godforsaken town on a Sunday night besides the tired old 'dinner and a movie' schtick is damn difficult. So he invited me over to his place for dinner and said he would cook for me.

I will never say no to food, kittens. Then, he one-upped himself. He told me what he was planning on making.

Bacon (!!!) and goat cheese stuffed chicken with homemade mushroom risotto. Bacon, cheese and risotto? Dear sweet baby Jesus, I was drooling like mad. It was on like Donkey Kong, bitches. So we made plans for Sunday evening. I told him I would make him dessert, and finally decided on Oreo Butterscotch cheesecake.

This is already shaping up to be an amazing evening, no? Then I offered to bring the movie I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell as Travis hadn't yet seen it... With vernacular gems such as, "If you ever speak ill of the pancakewich again, I will force feed you one while I fuck you in the ass using the wrapper as a condom, and then donkey punch you when the infused syrup nugget explodes!" and "I'd rather fellate a hot curling iron than drive 250 miles because Tucker breast-fed until he was nine." What's not to love?!

I show up at 6 with cheesecake in tow. He wrapped his arm around me, put his hand on the small of my back (which is seriously a huge thing for me, I love it) and kissed me hello. Boy, it was warm in his house...

Then I got to watch him cook. He's pretty damn adept in the kitchen. Everything smelled absolutely amazing, and most everything was done or well on it's way to done by the time I arrived. I offered to help, was there anything he needed me to do? Oh, grill the asparagus?

I meant is there anything I KNOW how to do? No? Alright then. I'll stand here and watch. :)

Dinner consisted of bacon and goat cheese stuffed chicken, mushroom risotto and fresh grilled asparagus with lemon butter sauce. It. Was. Fucking. Amazing. He is such an excellent cook. We brought our plates into the living room and ate dinner. After we finished eating, we cuddled on the couch and just relaxed. (Yeah, yeah, get the, 'awwww' out of your system)

After Tucker Max was done, I sliced and diced the cheesecake, drizzled the slices liberally with butterscotch, and Travis made fun of my springform pan. It was fancy, or so he said. He seemed to be thoroughly impressed with my baking skills. He accused me of buying the cheesecake and trying to pass it off as my own. Um, no... Totally all me. I rock in the pastry department.

Then we watched Talladega Nights and cuddled some more. All in all, a very fabulous, relaxing evening.

My son is also apparently well on his way to becoming a nudist. Seriously, we're in the door less than ten minutes and his monkey ass is stripped down to his underwear. What is it with children parading around nearly nude?

My tummy loves Blackwater.

I had a date last night. Yeah, that's been happening a lot lately. Dating is bullshit, but it also is not. Seeing as I've only had one bad date, I'm kind of digging this whole dating thing.

Last night was my first date with Travis, the guy I blogged about texting with the other day. Seeing as how our text message conversations have been riveting and full of hilarity, I was very damn excited to meet him in person. He has a thing for old-fashioned military pinup girls, so I decided to go with something to accentuate the hourglass figure. :) I wore a fitted black pinstripe pencil skirt that hugs my curves, a green button up shirt, a black lace camisole, black pantyhose and black peeptoe pumps.

Yeah, he's 5'9". I'm so cruel.

We agreed to meet at one of my favorite bars, the one where I used the best pickup line ever. I ended up getting there a little early, luckily, because so did he. He looked adorable in jeans and a button up shirt, and was far cuter than his profile pictures. We picked a table and sat down. There were some fun awkward silences... He was a little quiet, but he found me to be entertaining. Which, hi? Awesome.

There was definitely an attraction in the air... Even though we both joked about how we were incredibly ugly and stupid, lol. The conversation flowed better as the night progressed, and the sexual innuendo was rampant. It was really fun, I was actually disappointed it had to end.

He walked me outside, and cracked a joke about how he needed a stepladder... And then he kissed me. And it was lovely and wonderful. He's a good kisser.

We talked for a while again last night and today. We've got plans to see each other again, just trying to figure out what we're going to end up doing. :) And I'm very pleased with this plan.

Chalk one more in the 'decidedly NOT bullshit' column for the dating tally.

Breathe... Just breathe.

Breathe really is a funny looking word, isn't it? It seems like there shouldn't be an 'e' on the end of it.

I really have the urge to write something. I'm not sure exactly what that is yet, but keep hanging with me and I'm sure I'll spark something witty and hilarious. And if not, you're welcome. This will be a few minutes of your life you'll never get back.

Yesterday was an interesting day... Hung out with Erf and Erflet, had our family time. As we were walking around Target, I got some texts from Jason. The long and short of the story is that I ended up urging him to get back together with his ex-girlfriend. Yeah, that stung a little. Mostly the lost potential. But I am trying to keep reminding myself that things work out the way they're supposed to, and if Jason and I are meant to have a relationship things will work their way toward that eventually. And if he's meant to be with his ex, then I did the right thing.

Still hurts. Oh well. Feelings are bullshit anyways. As long as he's happy, and we can still be friends. Because really, he's far too awesome to let go of as a friend. I need someone to finish watching Firefly with. :) I've already made good progression toward talking my girl brain down from her crazyness. I'm sure by tomorrow I'll be back to normal for the most part. And of course I'll behave myself, because I don't pee in another girl's litterbox.

Both literally and figuratively.

Today is Halloween and I'm pretty damn pleased to say that I am crafting a pretty fun costume this year. I found a homemade blue dress at Savers for $7, made iridescent sequined shoes, and I'm going as an Ice Queen. I'm pretty excited, because ice means covering myself in sparkly stuff. And I love me some sparkly stuff! :)

Oh my dear lord...

This was just too funny not to make into a blog post. Here is a conversation I had this afternoon with a guy I met on OkCupid (texts are typed verbatim):

Me: Perhaps. I don't kiss and tell. :)

Guy: LOL but do you swallow :p

Me: It is the difference between like and love... ;)

Guy: Really that's how you let a guy know you love him lol

Me: No, otherwise I would be in love a lot...

Guy: LMAO your such a smartass

Me: Usually... Few can keep up with me in a battle of wits.

Guy: Good thing I fight with sarcasm

Me: I sense a challenge. Don't think I won't kick your geriatric ass, old man.

Guy: You must have me confused with your other men

Me: Probably. You're all so interchangable.

Guy: Just like women

Me: Playing the 'lump the gender into a stereotype' game, huh? lol

Guy: LOL one hole is the same as another ;)

Me: Very nice, that was pretty good. But the fetus cannon doesn't talk.

Guy: Neither should the cum dumpster

Me: Agreed. Women spew forth such worthless drivel.

Guy: You are hilarious

Me: Thank you, I agree. :) You're doing a decent job keeping up with me.

Guy: I think we will get along just fine

Me: I think so, too. Thus far you've kept my interest.

Guy: I have a penis I'm sure it's not difficult

Me: That was brilliant.

Me: But is it enough to keep my attention beyond giggling?

Guy: It's not porn star quality but it gets the job done as long as your not as big as the grand

canon (I think he meant canyon, lol)

Me: It's like fuckin a bucket, just so you know...

Guy: So I can stick my head in and wiggle my ears

Me: Sweet, my own personal gspot tickler.

Guy: LOL

Me: Hot dog down a hallway? Wrench in a closet?...

Guy: Hear an echo

Me: Hell yes. It comes with it's own spiderwebs...

Guy: Now I know thats bullshit cause it gets WAY too much action to build cobwebs

Me: You're assuming the guys are large enough to hit the bottom.

Guy: I'm sure you have a midget to clean it out

Me: OMG, no. That's a great idea. It's hard to get my hand up that far.

Guy: Gues I'm gonna just have to stick to using your ass

Me: Let's just say I could shit a Lincoln and not feel a thing.

Guy: Damn your just all stretched to hell

Me: Yep. You picked the used car of whores...

Guy: Well I hope your bj's are amazing cause you're going to be doing them a lot then

Me: They're best when I take my teeth out...

Guy: Awesome never had a gum job

Me: Sweet. I love gumming a hairy nutsack.

Guy: Too bad I shave my balls

Me: Less hair to cough up later.

And checkmate.

I really do turn a lovely shade of merlot when I'm embarassed...

Today I went out for lunch with my mom and a few of her co-workers... We went to Applebees. Because, duh, 2 for $20? Of course!

I gorged myself on boneless wings and ate 1/4 of my salad, but whatever.

We had a really cute server. Really cute. Of course everyone at the table comments on it, and I agreed...

I smiled, held my glances a few times, being generally flirtatious, but trying not to be overly so. He brought us some plates for our appetizers and asked if we needed anything, and I said something along the lines of no thank you, but I didn't look at him. My mom comments on how flirty I was.

Um, huh? Wha? I didn't even LOOK at him! Apparently the flirt was in my voice. Huh.

So then he commented on her nails, and I kind of struck a conversation about how I designed them and he was smiling and flirting, and I was smiling and flirting back.

After he walks away from the table and we THOUGHT he was out of earshot, my mom and I turn to each other and say, "Now THAT was flirting!"

He walks back and says, "Yes, it was!"

I turned such a lovely shade of deep red at that point. It was still nice to have our suspicions confirmed. :) Luckily he was really cool about it and it didn't really get awkward, but I just had to write a blog post about it. It was too funny.

Yes, I left him the link... Clever, no?

Alright, back to Castle to distract myself from my piece of shit phone being a total douche canoe and not working. AGAIN. Less than two months until I'm eligible for upgrade... Less than two months until the archaic motherfucker gets it's ass traded in for credit...

I will have a replacement coming in, but it doesn't get in until Wednesday. Until then, I can only make phone calls. FML. *sigh* Oh, well.

It's all about the Yamslam.

I'm sitting here with a huge grin on my face.

OkCupid, you have redeemed yourself. Seriously. I'm happy to know that not all the guys on there are creepers. Matter of fact, I met one who has thus far been pretty damn awesome. (Referencing a previous post, he's the one who is slightly older, witty and smart)

Messaging was slow at first, but excellent conversation nonetheless. Then we began exchanging texts, and the conversations got exponentially more fantastic. It takes a lot to stimulate me on both an intellectual and humorous level, and this guy hits both of those in just the right way. We start talking on the phone. Like teenagers. It has been refreshing, fun and exciting. Topics range all over the map, and he gets serious bonus points for being a Nathan Fillion fan.

The best part of all of this? It hasn't felt awkward at all. The only phrase I can come up with to encompass the way it's felt is that everything has just flowed naturally. When you can talk to a stranger for 2 1/2 hours four nights in a row, you click.

The conversation of course progressed to the discussion of meeting in person. He stalked me and found my blog (Hi, Jason!), and was even sweet enough to give me his personal info so I could quell any worries by Googling him. He was worried that I would censor myself when writing about our date... Oh kittens, you know me well enough to know that isn't the case.

Fortunately the thought of censoring myself never needed to flit it's squicky fingers against my mind, because there is absolutely nothing I would not be willing to say to him about our date. We ended up sort of combining both of my other first dates into our date today, and blew them both right the fuck out of the water with our combined awesomeness. We met for coffee and breakfast, and that was relaxed and fun. Lots of silences staring into each other's eyes and smiling. Yeah, go get your barf buckets kittens; I'm waxing poetic and feeling the uterus taking firm control. Shut UP.

I'll rein the bitch in, but for tonight I'm enjoying it. Just go with it.

We walked around Canal Park and browsed the local shops, particularly the antique shops (which, hi? Sparkly old fashioned jewelry?)... Jason found the gasps of happiness I frequently made when seeing sparkly things very entertaining. I'm a girl, it's sparkly. And sparkly is one of my favorite colors. We did see the bottom half of a mannequin hanging from the ceiling by chains in one shop at the Dewitt-Seitz Marketplace (sort of a mini mall with local businesses), and he took a photo of it. Awesome.

We held hands. We browsed art galleries. We were followed everywhere by photos and paintings of scary and homicidal-looking clowns. Like Pennywise, eat-your-motherfucking-brain-scary clowns. It was damn funny. Lots of paused glances where we would look into each other's eyes and both totally chicken out about kissing each other.

We went to lunch and had some of the most delicious pizza I've ever had... Margherita base pizza with mozzarella, goat cheese, prosciutto and arugula. See also, eating arugula without pizza is not the best idea I've ever had. That shit burns. I felt like I had the vagina of a woman of ill repute replacing my mouth. The restaurant plays some of my favorite music, and pretty much every song that came on was a song I love. Baby It's Cold Outside, La Vie En Rose, Sway... I so wanted to get up and dance. La Vie En Rose makes you want to have someone's arms wrapped around you, moving to the rhythm of the music...

Luckily neither one of us minded the garlic breath from the pizza. :)

Yes, to answer your question, we are going to get together again. Yes, my insides feel like I have the thoughts of a giggly little 15 year old girl replacing my own. Yes, I'm squealing internally at the thought of spending more time with him. Yes, I'm aware that I am a huge pink beaver. No, I'm not ashamed of it.

This date? It was decidedly NOT bullshit.

Holy mother of crack, guys are squicky.

Seriously though!

So as many of you probably already know, I've joined OkCupid to try and score some dates and meet new people. Of course, you'll always run into creepers.

My first creeper was actually before coffee date guy, a guy who messaged me simply asking, "Do you ever let that heel dangle off the end of your foot?"

Um, I'm really not into foot fetishes you weirdo. I'm sure there are women out there willing to flog your log with their feet, but I'm not one of them. Nor will I take a dump on your toes.

Then there was coffee date guy. Nuff said.

There was a guy who did nothing but respond to everything I said with some comment about how cute or hot he thought I was. Then it progressed to him telling me he thought I looked 'toned' (see also: WTF?) and that he thought I could probably lift him. And would I lift him cradle or piggyback? He didn't think I could sling him over my shoulder. But he was nice enough to say he hoped that I wouldn't fall carrying him. Then he told me he wouldn't mind kissing me.

Flirting: you're doing it so wrong.

Then came the mother of all creepers... The married guy looking for a mistress.

It started off with the typical innocent, 'what are you up to tonight?'

It progressed into him telling me he was looking for some adult fun and that he can't send me pics (his profile was ass blank, which was my first red flag) because he's on the 'downlow'.

Downlow? Really? Is this a fucking drug deal, you retard?

Second red flag. This is looking like a bull fight.

Eventually I ask him why, if he's banking $100k (also: yeah fucking right!), is he on here. He could easily be getting girls pretty much anywhere.

He's married and unsatisfied in bed. Looking for a fuck buddy and some occasional conversation. Yeah, even I can't keep up the prodding at this point. I was done.

Honestly, this is when, 'does this smell like chloroform to you?' isn't just a cute and quirky pickup line. It's for real. That's the sort of shit that gets you stuffed in a trunk then eventually tied up in a torture chamber.

And not the good kind.

Also, I'm not the kind of girl who is willing to be a knowing party to a cheater. I can't bear the guilt of knowing I'm causing someone I don't know pain. There's just no call for that. If you're that unsatisfied, you should work it out with your wife.

Besides, if I'm going to have casual sex with a rich guy, I want it to be a single one so I don't have to worry about pretending to be a telemarketer if I call him and his wife answers the phone.

Just one more thing I have in common with Debra Morgan.

If you don't know who Debra Morgan is, well, I just feel sorry for you not having experienced the wonder that is Dexter. I heart him like whoa, and I would so marry him and make Harrison a good mama.

Anywho.

So Sunday night was my date with drywall guy, and this date actually went rather well! I met him at a local brewery/pizzeria owned by a couple I know (sending business to the locals, ftw!) around 7. Yes, I texted my mom to let her know when I got there. Apparently by 9 she was beginning to get worried. Good thing beer has a direct line to my bladder, because I texted her when I was peeing and she relaxed a little.

We had a good date, it was low key, and there was beer and pizza... Which, hi? Awesome.

I told him I thought he sounded surprised when I called him last week, and he said that he was. He told me he was driving and thought it was a client calling, and had to pull off to the side of the road because he was so shocked. Yeah, I was totally 'awww'ing on the inside. :) So sweet.

I'm pretty sure he's around 40, which is what I have in common with Debra Morgan. He's kind of like my Special Agent Lundy. Except I haven't slept with him. The night ended in a hug, which was nice. He hasn't called yet, but I'm not too stressed out. If I don't hear from him by tomorrow I'll call him. There was some confusion, he may be waiting for me to call. I'd feel a little bad if that's the case!

I've been talking to a few guys from OkCupid, and they're all pretty cool so far. One in particular is hilarious, one is sweet, and the other is also a little older but witty and smart. So I've got a little rainbow of flavor going on.

God it's good to be keeping busy! Except this motherfucking cold that's creeping up on me. I wanna kick it in the taco so hard it's great grandchildren will be born walleyed.

Alright, I know it's a short post but I'm heading to bed now to try and whip this cold's ass. Tomorrow calls for vitamin C with a strong chance of hot tea.

Wow, 100 posts already!

Too bad I'm such a dipshit about writing new blogs. But at least I usually write about something entertaining! Right?...

*crickets* Ahem.

I have a complaint, kittens. I recently joined OkCupid for fun, hoping to meet some new people and maybe score a few dates. I have learned a hard lesson about dating websites. Because of course my first date from an online source would be stereotypical. Jesus. My complaint isn't about OkCupid (though some of their 'match questions' are seriously lame. WTF.), but about my first date.

I was messaged by a guy who had a nice, original message complimenting my profile and how he thought I put a lot of thought into it and thought I was funny. I already knew that. We started IMing, and his picture was cute and his profile was nice. He asked if I wanted to meet for coffee.

Well, I was sitting at home with nothing to do, so I figured why not. I told him I had to take a quick shower, then I'd be happy to meet him at a local coffee place. It's public and busy, so no real risk. I texted my mom letting her know my whereabouts so she could send the fuzz after me if I disappeared. Bases were covered.

I show up and I'm waiting for him, and not seeing anyone who looks like his profile picture. (Yeah, make your jokes about this sounding like a bad rom-com) A guy walks up to me and says, "Ashley?" Um, hi... You look nothing like your profile.

I now ask any guy I'm messaging with to send me a recent pic.

He's a fluffier than his pic, which wouldn't have been a problem. The problem was that he showed up unshaven (WTF, dude?) in a zip up hoodie sweatshirt and jeans. Seriously, I get it. It's a coffee date, I didn't dress up by any means, but would a nice t-shirt have been to much to ask? Or shaving? He had an hour and a half from the time we agreed to meet! Who is okay with letting that be their first impression on a first date?!

WHAT THE FUCK.

He was nice and funny, but I picked up a little of that clinger-ish vibe. He kept touching me, so it was very obvious that he was into me. I didn't feel any connection whatsoever. What really put me on the fence about the whole thing was when he reached down and stroked my leg (I wore a skirt), saying he was checking to see if I shaved my legs. Um, hells to the nos. Don't even be all critical over whether my legs are Sasquatch-y when you couldn't even shave your face or brush your teeth.

He messaged me asking for my cell number again (I had sent it to him in case he needed to reschedule for some reason) so I gave it to him. I figured I'll give him another chance, go on another date and see what happens. So he starts texting me and is getting more and more creeperish with every text. "You've told me what your pet peeves are, now I want to know what makes your heart melt" is not really appropriate after one date. Just, no.

So I bit the bullet and told him I didn't think it was such a good idea for us to see each other again, because really, it isn't fair if I'm not into it. A free latte and a few hours of good conversation are one thing, but knowingly going out with a guy for dinner when I'm not feeling it isn't something I can do. I can be a bitch when the situation calls for it, but I'm not a mean spirited person. He was less than pleased, of course. I felt horrible, but I refuse to lead a guy on.

So I got my first first date out of the way, let's hope the drywall guy date tonight goes a little better! :)

I've got a few other guys I've been talking to that seem nice. I'm going to message them for a while before meeting them though. Especially because one is from a town about an hour away and I would feel pretty shitty if he drove up here for a mediocre date. :)

Dating really is bullshit, but it's fun sometimes too.

The evolution of the girl formerly closed off from social interaction

It started back in May with a flirtation from a hot guy.

It progressed to making out with a guy I had just met (and nothing more).

Now, it will all culminate in the event I've been waiting for... My first date.

Yes, I've officially been invited out on my first real date. Jilly and I were out at the local Irish bar again last night, and a guy behind us told the bartender he would like to buy us a drink. Well fuck yeah, of course! We had a delicious shot made into a drink called the Ugly Betty, which is a specialty of theirs. And it is orgasmically good.

We got our drinks, turned around, cheered, introduced ourselves and continued on. I was, of course, totally flattered because I've never had a random guy buy me a drink before. Smiling like a fucking idiot working her diaper.

Speaking of crotchitals, I wore the most gorgeous 5" stilettos EVAR (Yes, I'm six feet tall and love wearing sky high heels). For your drooling pleasure, may I present my newest love, in pink. I had to pee (I swear beer is a damn diuretic), and when I sat down to pee I almost fell off the damn toilet because I forgot to account for the extra 5" drop. Not a mistake I made again the rest of the night, but it was funny as hell to sit on the toilet and have my knees come up to my knockers.

So after we finished our drinks and were waiting on a friend of Jilly's to show up so we could hit the titty bar again, the guy who bought the drinks came up behind us and asked if we were still thirsty. We politely declined, explaining that we were getting ready to leave. He turns to me and said something along the lines of, 'I don't normally do this but here is my card. I'd like to maybe take you out for drinks sometime. You have really beautiful eyes.'

I am pretty sure I turned purple, I blushed so hard. For being a dirty perv, I sure do blush like a prissy prude. Very annoying.

I took his card and we thanked him and went on enjoying the rest of the evening. I had my ass grabbed by a hot stripper, it was great.

When I got home, I Googled him... Sort of odd, but in this day and age it would be stupid not to take advantage of the opportunity. Nothing odd showed up, just a few blurbs about the business he owns - which I already knew from the card. So I figured what the hell, everyone deserves a fair shake, right? (Not that kind of shake, dirty kittens.)

I called him.

I have no idea if I broke some unspoken rule about how long you should wait to call a guy who gave you his card because zomg he'll think you're a desperate tramp if you call him right away but I'm pretty sure that might only apply to girls who call the guy like a half an hour after they last see them because that would be really stupid and if I don't know what the social rules are does it really matter if I've broken them because I can just sort of make up my own and I mean at least I waited until the following day right?

*deep breath down into the diaphragm*

Whatever. I did it. He sounded kind of surprised that I called, and it was a little awkward being all, 'So, um, you said you wanted to take me out for drinks... Are you still up for that?' I actually said something along the lines of, 'I wasn't sure if you were drunk enough not to remember me...'

Motherfucking linguistic master, that's me.

So anyways, he had me pick where I wanted to go and I picked a local pub that makes their own microbrews and some awesome pizza. Pizza and beer is a pretty low-key, casual first date. And what guy doesn't love a girl who likes pizza and beer? If nothing else, it will hopefully be a nice way to spend an evening. And it'll boost my ego into nosebleed territory.

My first date. Wow. Times, they are a'changin.

Fresh beginnings...

After a few hours of meaningless web surfing, I finally found a new blog template. I figure the refreshed availability of blog posting opportunity deserves a new design. And this one isn't nearly as dark as the old one and fits me much better. Pink diamonds? Hello? Yes! Plus, it looks sassy, and this is Sassy Pie after all.

This past week I had my first strip club experience. I know, right? I can't believe it took me until the age of 26 to hit a strip club either. I wanted to go much, much sooner, but Erf never wanted to go. I met a my friend Jilly out at a local Irish bar Tuesday night, and let me just say that apparently Irish bars are the places where hot guys hang out. Oh dear sweet baby Jesus, it was a veritable meat buffet in there. We decided to go to a local strip club that Jilly used to waitress at, and I was, of course, super excited. We walked in, and it was fairly tame. It was a Tuesday night, of course, so it was pretty much a bunch of regulars. We met a few of her guy friends there and hung out with them. They paid for our drinks, which, hello? Awesome!

Then I got to get a little dance from a cute stripper named Myth. She had a nice ass, a tight body and small tits. First she wrapped her leg around the back of my neck (hot!) and slapped my face with her thigh and ass. Then she got down on her knees and proceeded to praise my boobs... It was awesome. "Oh my god, these are Baywatch boobs! You could just see them running down a beach!" And then she snuggled into them, and told me they were so soft and comfortable she could just fall asleep on them. Yeah, that pretty much describes my rack. Next time I'll have to make sure I wear a really low cut shirt so I can have the stripper's face in my tits.

And holy mother lover, am I ever enjoying being single. It all began with the most interesting pickup line ever, and it's been nothing but fun (and sometimes awkward) times since then. From finding a talented friend with benefits to making out with a guy I've never met before, to getting free drinks at the bar, I've been loving every minute of it. I've always been a social creature, and during my years with Erf I became progressively introverted and someone who wasn't herself. It was like that chick from Titanic. I felt as if I was in the middle of a crowded room screaming, and no one even looked up. That feeling of being trapped inside someone who isn't you, it's terrifying. I'm returning more and more to myself, and a lot of that involves finding out new things I never knew. It's wonderful and scary, but necessary. I can't be someone I'm not.

Not anymore. :)

The little girl is growing up...

I've got big girl internet now! As in totally and completely mine, no one else can kype it. And I shall call my network, '404 Error'. I figure anyone in my apartment building that has any idea what it means will get a chuckle out of it.

And the sweet Southern technician was kind enough to give me the hookup of free basic cable. So now I also have 70 channels instead of the basic local channels. Which means I can freaking watch CAKE BOSS!!! Fuck yeah.

I have had a post in my head for quite some time now, the thoughts they have been bubbling and colliding and usually it just ends up with me getting a fucking headache. But now, my kittens, I can freaking post it!

This all began with a status update on Facebook. Something asking why, when people are asked what they would bring to a desert island, does no one ever respond with, 'a boat'? I proceeded to respond with a long rant about how stupid people can be. Because really? Why is it that people always respond to that question with something stupid like, 'OMGZ!!1 I can't live without my iPod!!!'

Honestly, a fucking mp3 player? For real? I mean I get that you want some form of entertainment, but how in the hell do you plan to recharge that iPod? You get to choose anything on the planet to bring with you, and you're choosing four or five hours of entertainment. And if you do manage to create some bastard child coconut invention that will recharge it, you're not ever going to have anything but your current playlist. Eventually you will be one of those crazy Castaway fuckers who is dancing about the island in a horribly assembled coconut bra and nothing else, dancing the 'Vogue'. And if by some chance you are encountered by rescuers, you'll probably run into the brush, curl up in the fetal position, and softly sing, 'Like A Prayer' to yourself in a soothing manner. Moral of the story? Life isn't a mystery. Pick something a little more realistic and sensible than temporary satisfaction.

The other people who entertain me are the ones who decide to bring their Chanel lipstick. Or whatever the fuck brand name crazy expensive tube of mashed up bug carcass they're attached to. Who the hell do you need to impress out there? The vultures who will surely be gnawing your rotting body? Because if you're going to be stupid enough to choose lipstick as your 'can't live without' item, you're definitely going to be dead within a month. Be practical and bring a water filtration system. Really.

Where are the practical people who choose things like water filtration systems, radios, boats, fat people to eat, solar charged vibrators, etc? I get that it's a metaphorical question, but why answer in a way that makes other people question your intelligence?

Well ain't that the shit?

So wow, I have once again fallen into the land of the Intarwebz-less. Whoever my fabulous neighbors were who had unlocked internet, I miss you. Come back.

Anywho, I've had a plot in my head for a post since Amy told me about a very innocent (and hilarious) comment her niece made.

Her niece asked her mom, "Do princesses poop?"

Yes, I cracked up laughing. Cause poop is fucking funny, ya'll.

Of course we all know that real princesses poop. It's not like Kate had her poop chute sewn up because it's not ladylike to lay a deuce. Nope, she sends a log right on down just like everyone else.

(At this point I'm wondering how many euphemisms I can come up with for pooping before I run out and need to turn to Dr. Google for help.)

My belief, however, is that a three year old mind is fairly unfettered when it comes to real life princesses. She more than likely was referring to princesses of the Disney variety. This led me to ask my co-workers their opinions on pooping princesses. (Dudes, that would be the funniest band name ever. The Pooping Princesses. I claim royalties. Ha! Get it? Royalties, princesses?)

Let's break it down, shall we? The first princess mentioned was Jasmine. Tony made the astute observation that, 'she's hot'. Yes, yes she is. But the real question is, does she poop? Can you imagine her looking at Al and being all, "Um, honey? Can you turn Carpet off the next exit? I need to drop the kids off at the pool. No, I'm not going for an abortion, you asshole. I just have to take a crap."

Then we pondered Ariel. That bitch has no identifiable brown eye. I don't see how she could poke a turtle head. I mean, really. Is there a colostomy bag inside that tail? Is that why she's got so much junk in the trunk? Because real fish have poopers. You always see at least one fish in the aquarium swimming around with a little string of doody.

How about Belle? I can't see her looking at Lumiere during a rousing rendition of, 'Be Our Guest' and telling him to pause the music because she's gotta take the Browns to the Superbowl.

And Sleeping Beauty? That bitch lives in the woods and eats a lot of fucking berries. You KNOW she goes #2. does Aurora shit in the woods? I bet she does.

Snow White... She lives with 7 little men, and you know those disgusting little bastards take some dwarf-sized dumps. She probably didn't have to worry about what they thought when she was collecting her thoughts.

What's your opinion, kittens? Do Disney princesses poop?

Why Helen Keller would not make a good girlfriend...

So everyone has heard the bemused meandering thoughts of the general male population about how someone like Helen Keller would make the perfect girlfriend. She's blind, deaf, and mute! Cut her off at the knees and every guy in the free world will be chasing after her.

Except, you know, she'd probably run into a wall attempting to run away from the hordes of admiring cock-wielders.

However, due to a conversation I had with a friend, I began thinking about how terrible of a girlfriend she really would make. No really, kittens; hear me out.

I assume that unless you're over the age of 50 or have been living in a goddamn cave, you've heard the phrase, 'bitch, get in the kitchen and make me a sandwich'. Now do me a favor, and imagine someone who is blind, mute and deaf making a sandwich.

How would she know the difference between turkey, ham, roast beef or salami? Between swiss and havarti? What the hell would happen if she cut herself? I mean, it's not like she can scream for help. She'd sit in the kitchen slowly bleeding to death, running into the wall in panic with an amputated thumb while you sit on the couch hungry.

And can you imagine how much of a pain it would be to have to either stomp your feet or throw something at her to get her attention? It's far too much of a pain in the ass to deal with. I mean, really, who has time to learn that sign language bullshit? Maybe you could create an abbreviated sign language. A slap on the ass means, 'on your knees, bitch.' A slap on the hand means, 'I'm hungry, go make me some food.' A slap on the face means, 'you're drooling, knock that shit off.' You get the gist of it...

And if you enjoy dirty talk in bed, fuggedaboutit.

No more, 'Oh yes, harder! Deeper! Fuck me with that huge cock, you porn star!' or 'Dear sweet jesus, no, not again!' or even, 'Rrruff, rruff... *whimper, whine*"

All you will be getting, good sir, is a bunch of muffled moaning that sounds like a zombie with a mouth full of pantyhose.

Enjoy that, along with your thumb-less, drooling sexual partner. Don't say I didn't tell you so.

The most interesting pickup line ever.

I was in top form this Monday night.

It probably didn't help (or maybe it did) that I was in a semi-pissy mood from yet ANOTHER GODDAMN MACHINE breaking down... Or at least, that I thought it had.

I was describing to my father (the same man who exclaimed, 'look at that gorgeous crushed velvet dress!' and, 'oh my god, that's a real Tiffany lamp!' watching Auntie Mame) the house my coworker rents a room in. The man who owns it has a house full of gorgeous antiques, and he can talk about them and their history like he's an appraiser. I was creaming my panties listening to the history of all these beautiful pieces. My dad can obviously appreciate my appreciation.

This somehow leads to this:

Me: "Dad, you are so gay."

Dad: "I'm not gay, I'm just happy."

Me: "Yeah, happy to have a dick in your mouth."

Mom: "She's in peak form tonight!"

Yes, I really do talk to my parents like this. And they're all for it. And things like this are just a few of the many reasons I love them and am so thankful I can be myself around them. So many of my friends have to censor themselves and put on a face for their parents. And it's not that I don't respect them, because I really do. I only make remarks like this in good humor.

Later on that night we were discussing my dating post, and my dad asks, "What's the worst pickup line ever?"

To which I respond, "Does this rag smell like chloroform to you?"

He cracks up laughing, because that's exactly what he was going to say.

The reason this is pertinent information, kittens, is because I actually used this line last night. It wasn't a real come-on, but I used it all the same. Felt like a douche the entire time.

My friend and I went out for apps and drinks at one of my favorite (and expensive) local bars last night. They have a fun drink menu, they play lots of old swing like Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra, and the atmosphere is just fabulous. As we're drinking, her coworker texts her telling her he is at a nearby bar. She invites him over for a drink. He shows, but doesn't see us snuggled in the comfy armchairs in the corner, and heads to the bar with his friends. My friend is blocked from his sight by the piano, but I am not. I'm laughing watching him scan the bar for us. I asked her if I should go get him using my 'chloroform' pickup line. She dares me.

Kittens, I cannot back down. I've got a mad dope street cred rep to uphold, yo.

I should be hanged, shot, drawn, quartered and dipped in boiling oil for typing that.

Anywho, I grab my napkin and walk over. I linger behind him as if perusing the bar contents, because I'm all blushy and nervous. My heart was pounding. I'm such a goddamn pussy.

I walk around to his side, and say, "Hi."

Motherfucking linguistic master, that's me.

He replies, "Hi there." But it was like one of those drawn out, "Hiiii there..." replies. Keep in mind that I am wearing a gorgeous dress that totally highlights copious amounts of cleavage. And I had on a pearl necklace. Not that kind, you dirty whores. One that dipped into said cleavage. And gorgeous 3 1/2" stilettos. Even my thick skull was registering that he found me attractive.

I blurt out something retarded like, "I am coming over on behalf of a friend who dared me to use this pickup line on you."

He tells me to go for it.

I hold up my napkin and say, "Does this smell like chloroform to you?"

He laughs. Women with him look annoyed. It's obvious neither is his girlfriend, and if they can't take a joke, fuck 'em.

Then I tell him friend and I are sitting over there *gestures to where friend is peeking over the top of the piano laughing* and he's welcome to join us.

He stops me and says, "Is that all you've got for me? No more pickup lines?"

I reply, "I'm not very good at the pickup lines, I'm better at witty comebacks."

He begins firing off hilarious lines like, "Is that a keg in your pants? Because I'd like to tap that ass." and, "Do you wash your pants with Windex, because I can see myself in them."

Thinking back, I should have fired back with something witty like, "Nice pants, they'd look great on my bedroom floor." But I was trying to gather my synapses to keep from turning into a giggly pile of girly jello simply from being flirted with, so I was understandably preoccupied.

He did end up joining us for a while, and he had the whole geek thing going on that I fall for. I have no idea what it is about men in (well-chosen, appropriate) glasses that makes my panties wet, but it just is.

Thus I had my first recognizable flirtation with a guy I've never met before. It was sort of like heroin... Now I can't shake the craving for it. :)

Dating and other random bullshit.

So remember how I said my parents would never set me up on Match.com?

Well, now I'm not so sure. Probably not on match.com, because they apparently don't want me to find someone to love... I was having my weekly Castle date with them on Monday, and we were talking about my blog and the entry where Amy threatened to set me up a profile. We began discussing my re-entry into the dating world -

Or, let's face it, it should be entry into the dating world. Erf and I met and began dating when I was 16, I've never really 'dated' anyone before.

- and I told my parents that I don't plan on getting married again anytime soon, and therefore I am not looking for someone to be in a real relationship with. I want, like any other sane (or insane) woman who finds herself single after being with one person for so long, to date. I want to be asked out on dates, I want someone who will buy me dinner, I want the confidence boost of knowing that I'm wanted by someone. If I ever do settle down again, I don't want the nagging fear and doubt following me wherever I go...

Am I with this person because I don't think anyone else could possibly want me? Is there anyone else who finds me attractive?

Not that I particularly find either of those statements to be in the resounding negative, but I've always wondered.

(Here comes the self-centered retrospective where I sound pathetic... FYI.)

Back in high school (which, in the words of a friend, high school fucking sucked anyway), I was hardly ever hit on. I had two serious boyfriends and one not very serious boyfriend. Maybe I radiated that oh-so-sexy, 'serial-monogamist' vibe. I have no idea. But whether the guy-like glitch in my brain just didn't pick up on it or it just wasn't there, I never saw longing glances. Never saw myself get checked out. Never noticed flirtation. There was a guy I was and still am good friends with that indicated interest, but he was pretty obvious about it. I couldn't have missed it if I tried.

So all of this planted that seed of doubt. Why didn't guys seem to check me out? Why have I never once been asked out since Erf? Not that I would have said yes while we were together, of course, but the sentiment would have counted. I would have been flattered. My head would have tilted from the inflation. Alas, nada.

Perhaps that guy-like glitch causes me to miss anything less subtle than a sledgehammer to the cerebral cortex. Or maybe I'm just over paranoid. I think I'm pretty, (and I'm not looking for reassurance here) and I see no reason why I shouldn't have been at least asked out once. I know I can be quite intimidating, but I've got a great rack and nice eyes. What the hell, guys?

So anywho, I want to know I'm wanted. That a guy found me and my charisma attractive enough to ask out. That my brash exuberance isn't a deterrent. Jesus, I sound like a fucking nutjob. I want to slap my own face and tell myself , 'Stop being such a fucking douche canoe!'

So my parents tell me that I should get married again... But this time, I should marry for money. Because dammit, someone needs to take care of them in their old age.

I responded that they should be nice to me, since I'll be the one picking their nursing home. And if they're nice, I'll put them in one with nice big rats they can chase down to eat.

Also, I'd like to give my awesome, fabulous parents a shout out. They gave me the coolest birthday gifts I never would have thought to ask for...

A bottle of Silver Patron and Jagermeister, and a coupon for $100 toward a new mattress that I've been needing since I moved in.

As they eloquently phrased it, 'Something to make you pass out, and something to pass out on.'

I love my parents. They are wicked awesome.

Erflet and I went hiking on a local trail, and my back and leg muscles are still a little stiff. I haven't done any real hiking since the fall, and I missed it so much. There were a few gorgeous scenic overlooks that we stopped at, all of them overlooking the bay and harbor of Lake Superior, the Aerial Lift Bridge and Ely's Peak. I can't wait to take him hiking again, I'm hoping that this Sunday it's gorgeous out. Or maybe next Wednesday, if I my new tech is comfortable enough to close alone.

I'm thinking of starting the Superior Hiking Trail at a different trail head, or perhaps wandering around Gooseberry Park up near Silver Bay.

Either way, its something fun, healthy, and a great bonding time for me and my son. I love that little guy so much. He's the love of my life... :)

Holy mother lover, another damn birthday already?

Birthdays. I have a serious love/hate relationship with them.

Not that stupid, 'Oh em gee, I'm getting older this sux!' sort of love/hate. The love of being adored for the day, of having people pay some miniscule amount of attention to you (cause if you can't tell by the fact that I, oh, BLOG, I am a bit of an attention whore), of everyone being curious 'what you're doing for your birthday'...

And the hate that for me, birthdays just never seem to pan out. I think it all began with my 18th birthday. Up until that 'magical' (read: bullshit) year, birthdays were pretty okay for me. Then my grandma died. And when the discussion for when her memorial was going on, my aunt suggested Thursday.

Any day but Thursday, I pleaded.

Why, they asked.

It's my birthday...

And I think that kind of ruined birthdays for me. My family felt terrible and did what they could to make it up to me. (Also, Molly Ringwald; fuck you and your sixteen candles) Of course I forgave them, and I hold no ill will, but my birthday track record kind of blows goats.

My 21st birthday was spent not being wished happy birthday by my fiancee, then cleaning the house and cooking dinner for my aunt and cousin.

My 25th was spent cleaning and cleaning up vomit. (Though I did get a job a few days prior - the one that made me a manager in less than a year - so that was a good gift)

My 24th had a great beginning... Met my parents for drinks at a local bar that I love, went to Applebees for dinner and was in the process of doing blowjob shots with my dad... Then my sister fell asleep babysitting and I had to rush home to make sure everything was ok because no one could reach her. Obviously I did not go back out after I got home.

This year, I have no idea what's in store for me. Tonight I picked up Erflet at my grandparents' house, and my grandpa had baked me a cake, and spelled out, 'HB' (for happy birthday) in Jelly Bellys. It was a lovely surprise. :) It's supposed to be in the low 60s and sunny, so I'm hoping to take Erflet for a hike. I haven't gone hiking since the fall, and I think we both need a dose of vitamin D. Besides, it will be a lovely way to spend the day with my little love.

Then I'm going to come home and bake chocolate bacon cupcakes. Fuck you, work people, it's my birthday and I want chocolatey pig for my birthday.

Also, on a similar note, I'm apparently trying to fatten up my co-workers. I brought a huge batch of homemade salsa (read: YUM. My salsa rocks) in to work on Wednesday. Monday, I'm bringing those bitches cupcakes. Bitches love cupcakes.

Why I will never, ever meet Amy in a dark alley...

My co-worker Amy and I were talking today. She was telling me all about how Match.com worked for her and her boyfriend, they've been together five years, and so on and so forth.

Then she asks me what I would do if my parents set up a profile for me on Match.com. I inform her that my parents would never do that to me. She retorts that Diane Keaton did it to her daughter in some movie I can't remember the name of but Ashley you need to see it because you'd think it was really funny and I think it would be hilarious if your mom and dad did that to you.

I reassure her that they wouldn't. Mostly because they know I'd be pretty upset if they did. I'd maybe consider not talking to them. Or maybe not. Whatever.

She then informs me that she is going to set up a profile for me on Match.com to see if I get matched with anyone. I then tell her that there is no way I would be going on any date she set up for me...

"What makes you think you'd have the option?"

Well, I am in control of my own body and if I don't want to go on a blind date, I won't go, thankyouverymuch.

This is where I am apparently in the wrong...

Amy proceeds to tell me that she is going to duct tape my hands and mouth shut to get me to go on the date. This, however, does not satisfy her craving for torturing me. She is also, she says, going to push me out of a moving vehicle toward the restaurant.

This progresses between the three of us to this status:

Amy is going to chloroform me to get me to cooperate, and also to be able to duct tape my hands and gag me.

She is then going to push me out of a moving vehicle (something I think she'd make up a date just to be able to do).

I am going to lay on the sidewalk with a bloody face, but since my knees should be fine, the date should be able to un-tape my mouth and face-fuck my unconscious mouth.

The people I work with might just be as demented and twisted, if not sometimes more so, than I am. I'm pretty frightened. And if I wake up after being chloroformed, I firmly resolve to bite ANYTHING in my mouth when I come to. Hard. Guys on Match.com: consider yourselves forewarned. Don't say I didn't tell you so when you have to explain why the head of your penis is in my stomach to the ER doctors...

Hours like whoa.

So as I'm sure all of you kittens might have guessed by now, I've been working like crazy. I always appreciated the time Sam put in, but they say you can't really understand until you walk in another person's moccasins.

My very first day, our newest and most expensive machine broke. It shut down the busiest part of the lab. Then another machine broke the next day. Then another on Friday. By that point, all I could do was laugh to keep from crying. I logged 64 hours last week trying to play catch up, and the next day the store would open and pretty much wipe out all the progress I'd made. Fun, fun.

My district manager came to do some training this week, and with his help we finally got caught up... But I've pretty much been working like a madwoman. 69 hours this week.

Anyone who says I'm not working hard can kiss my lily white Wisconsinite ass.

Sadly, I think I must have gone crazy, because I'm still enjoying it. I've never been in a management position before, and I hope I'm doing it justice. I have a serious issue with letting people down, and I'm now in a spot where if I mess up it doesn't affect only me.

But on the same token, I'm thrilled because I'm doing something I can be proud of. I'm working hard and being rewarded and recognized for it. My parents are proud of me, and their approval is like a nice wine; delicious, and going straight to my head. :)

Today I'm going grocery shopping, hoping to make some homemade salsa... It sounds delicious.

Speaking of delicious, I made the most fantastic thing ever known to man last weekend... Chocolate Bacon cupcakes. Chocolate and bacon = massive win.

I know this is a short entry, but I'm just not sure what else to say... So, um, yeah.

Running interference, except not really.

So last night I went to a drag show at a local gay bar. Drag shows are pretty much full of win and awesome... No one judges you for singing along and dancing like a fucking retard on pixie sticks (both of which I love to do).

I met a few co-workers there and hung out with them all night. After a while it was just myself and another female co-worker standing and watching, shouting things into each other's ears over the beat of Lady Gaga and so on. She walked up to the bar to get another beer, and a kinda geeky looking guy comes up to me and this is the conversation that followed:

Guy: "Hey, I was just wondering. This is an awkward question, but you and your friend, is she your 'friend' and you're here 'together' or are you just friends?"

Me: "No, we're just friends, we're not together."

Guy: "Oh, ok. I was just wondering because I wanted to ask her if I could buy her a drink and I wasn't sure because this is a gay bar. I'm not gay, I'm just here for him- " *gestures to a chick who is obviously a guy wearing nothing but a wig and makeup and street clothes* "- but I wanted to know before I asked her."

Me: "Nope, she's not gay, she's straight."

Guy: "Okay, good. Well, here goes. The worst she can say is no, right?"

Me: "Exactly." *smiles*

I watch guy walk up to her and I see them talking. He walks over to me and says, "At least I tried!"

She comes back after getting her beer and says, "So this guy just asked if he could buy me a drink and I said no. I almost said yes, but then I was like, no."

Me: "I know, he came over and asked if we were 'together' or just friends. I probably should have told him you have a boyfriend."

Yeah, I'm that wingman. :)

Also, I GOT PROMOTED TO LAB MANAGER YESTERDAY MORNING!!!

I'm incredibly excited, which I'm sure will wear off eventually, but for now I'm basking in it. I was going to be doing the job for a while anyhow, so may as well get the title and pay bump, right? And that's what I told the manager that we were phone conferenced with who offered me the position. By the time I train someone else in, I'd be ready to just do the job myself. :) He said I'm not going to have as much time for baking and that it will be a shame. He's totally right, but it will be worth it.

So I have a 90 day probationary period where I'm considered 'Lab Manager in training', with bi-weekly training goals I'll need to meet, as well as some training in a few weeks with a guy on the expansion team. And we're getting more techs in the lab so I don't get overworked like poor Sam did.

Speaking of Sam, he had forgotten his CDs in the lab when he left on Friday and I thought I'd be nice and put them in my purse and bring them to the drag show since he was supposed to be there. He didn't show. After the show I decided to run to Walmart and pick up a few things I needed for baking cookies and Chocolate Bacon Cupcakes (wipe up the drool, kittens). As I walk in the door, I set off the fucking theft alarm. Guess what the culprit was?

The goddamn CDs. *facepalm*

I am so freaking cool.

Okay, as I'm padding back and forth down the hallway to check on the washer in the communal laundry room, I realize something.

My neighbors have to think I'm the coolest girl ever.

Seriously, who else is anally checking on their laundry at 11 pm on a Friday night? This girl, that's who.

Was today really April Fools Day? It felt more like Friday the fucking 13th. Today was Sam's last day, and due to a 'situation' of sorts, he ended up leaving very early today. Which, hi? Sucked.

Combine losing a good work friend with riding the cotton pony, and you have a very emotional, uterus-inclined, crazy fucking patchwork blanket of hormones blanketing my psyche. Jesus. Honestly, I cried today. Like, a lot. Like, couldn't talk about him leaving without crying. The worst part is I have NO idea why I'm so emotional about the whole damn thing. Sad I could understand. This emotional level has a big pink vagina all over it.

He and I went through a lot together at work and there were a few very stressful times it was just him and I working together in the lab. I guess I felt bonded or some other sentimental bullshit. Or it could be that he's the only person in that building I could really be myself with... With everyone else I have to watch everything I say and do, and even when I said something over the top he never seemed to care.

He made work fun. I'm going to miss that.

Now I get to take over his managerial duties. Let the fucking fun begin. The next few months are going to be really, really interesting. Guess I've gotta put on the big girl panties (don't worry, I'll wear a pantyliner so I don't get uterus all over them) and just deal.

Also, I hate when I want to eat and I'm not hungry. For a few reasons, actually. For one, nothing ever seems to sound good. Like, even if I were at a restaurant I have no clue what I'd order (besides a big fucking drink). And B, it's all unhealthy or some bullshit.

And on another note, I tried edamame the other day and holy hell is that delicious. Who knew legumes could be tasty?

Right now I'm stressed and upset, and I want to eat. Except I'm not hungry. Our boss bought us Dairy Queen (I got an Oreo blizzard, if any of you really care), so the pint of Ben and Jerry's in my freezer is totally unappetizing to me. Chocolate doesn't sound good. Tried having a few pieces of Laffy Taffy, and that's not working for me. Two strawberries and I gave up on those.

Christ, no wonder I'm not hungry, I've eaten a lot today. (Cause I also got an order of teriyaki boneless wings for lunch)(shut up, I was craving fried food and after the day I'd been having I deserved it)

In the words of Fairy Godmother from Shrek 2, "Someone bring me something deep fried and smothered in chocolate."

Ha, I said that to a coworker and she gave me a questioning look. I informed her I was riding the cotton pony and she just blurts out, "too much information!" hehe. Then she told me the state fair isn't for a couple more months, so I'd have to wait. Grr.

I'm going to attempt Chocolate Bacon Cupcakes on Sunday as a gift for Sam for helping me move last month. I hope they turn out well and that he likes them. I'll have to catch you all up on the food porn you've been missing, too! At least now I have some blog post ideas for when my stupid formerly bleach blonde brain is too fried to think of anything coherent beyond, "It's 5:00 somewhere, right?"

Blood red fingernails are such a confidence booster.

Okay, am I the only person that watches DWTS that is wondering what the fuck was going through their minds when they selected the music numbers for the couples to dance to? Are they making some crazy attempt to draw in a younger crowd?

Don't get me wrong, I adored Kirstie's Cha Cha Cha to Cee Lo's 'Forget You', but some of the songs are so unsuited to the dance style. A Foxtrot to 'Cooler Than Me'? What the hell is that?

And I thought the rumors were exaggerated; what the fuck is up with Brooke Burke? She seriously does look like a damned robot. The personality chip joke is getting a little overdone, but holds true. Sometimes the old ones are the best. Where is Samantha? Tell her to stop incubating crotch monkeys and come back to the show! She and Tom had wonderful chemistry; Brooke and Tom, not so much. Or, hell, just give the damn show to Tom! He's larger than life anyhow, and entertaining as fuck.

Erflet will probably kill me for telling this story one day (or, if I raise him right, be laughing his ass off at it), but I have to. It's one of those parenting moments that makes you realize just how resourceful one can become at 5:30 in the morning.

Yesterday at Erf's dad's, he apparently had an accident and pooped his pants. I didn't get details, just a tied up plastic bag of shit-covered clothes. This morning around 4:30 I hear the bathroom light turn on and a few minutes later I hear Erflet crying and saying, "Mama, I went potty in my pants!"

I figure no big deal, he just didn't make it to the potty in time. I go in to evaluate the damage and he tells me he pooped his pants. Oookay. No, he didn't really poop his pants.

He sharted them. For those of you unfamiliar with this term, it's when you fart and end up crapping instead. Shit + fart = shart.

So I clean up my son's shart-covered butt, get him into clean underwear, and ask him if he thought he was farting but pooped instead.

I get the cry-speak hybrid response, "ye-e-e-es..."

I tell him if he feels like he's going to fart again to come sit on the potty, just in case. We clamber back to bed and all seems to be fine. Until 5:30 when I hear the cry-speak, "Moooom, I pooped my pants again!" from the bathroom. Bloody hell.

Yep, another shart. I clean him up and am fumbling with what to do... I'm running out of clean underwear as Erf and I split up all his clothes after the move. I don't want to have to change him again if I can avoid it. So I made what I hope was a good decision, albeit unnecessary.

I lined my son's underwear with a panty liner.

What? Stop looking at your computer screen like that. Yes, I really did. I figured if he sharted again the panty liner would catch it and I could change that instead of his underwear.

Turns out it wasn't necessary as he went the rest of the night without sharting. (I love the phrase 'shart' if you can't tell) However, if the punishment of making me clean up crap wasn't enough, today he has had the NASTIEST silent but deadly farts.

I asked Erf what the fuck he ate yesterday. Pizza and cereal. I'm wondering if Erf's dad's habit of giving him regular milk is what has caused my past 12 hours to be full of shit.

Last night I got a bug up my ass to paint my nails. I'm a sparkly-loving girly girl who adores glitter and crystals and rhinestones and pretty much anything ostentatious, but I don't paint my nails on a regular basis. Actually, anything more than once every six months to a year is frequent for me. Last time I remember painting my nails was a month or so after I started working at Eyemart in May of last year. I was going to go for a nice pearly mauve (which is totally in my color wheel), but decided that in order to boost my confidence I'd go with blood red. It's actually called 'crimson creme', but blood red just sounds sassier.

Plus I'm going to a drag show Saturday night and I thought matching red lips and nails, paired with my dark hair, would look stunning. Not like I've really got anyone to impress at a gay bar, but one does want to look her best, yes?

As a result, I feel sassy and sexy and confident. I love how much something as simple as bold nail polish or lipstick can change your attitude. We girls are complex creatures.

Do you ever sit next to that annoying person?

So, my plans for today were pretty much uneventful. I got up around 9, made Erflet breakfast, made myself breakfast, sat down and watched Scooby Doo 2 with Erflet. Around noon, I took a shower and piled Erflet and my sister Katie into the car to drive to my grandparents' house to print off copies of our tax return for Erf's FAFSA... Then I brought Katie home and hung with my parents for a while.

My mom bought Dragon Age for PS3, and I watched her play that for a little while. It was hilarious; they kept saying something about 'beware the taint'. We are all thirteen year old boys in the sense that saying something like 'taint' will make us all laugh. Then they said it again and again. It was fabulous.

Last night I dyed my sister's hair blonde... After I put Erflet to bed, she started changing into PJs. I asked if she had a tank top with her to wear while I put the dye in, she said no. So I grabbed an old tie dye shirt of mine and told her to wear it. The conversation was as follows:

Katie: "Isn't this the shirt that I made for you?"

Me: "Yeah, but I only wear it as a pajama shirt. It's not like I wear it in public or anything."

K: *in a semi-rueful tone* "Mom and Dad wear theirs in public all the time..."

M: "Yeah, well, Dad used to wear zebra striped Zubas in public. I rest my case."

K: "Good point."

I'm talking with my parents about this today and my dad pipes up and asks, "What's wrong with Zubas? They're comfortable."

I replied that if he actually asked that question, he's too old to know the answer. :)

After hanging out with my parents, Erflet and I went to walk around the mall. My feet were equipped with these. While insanely adorable, the straps began to cut into my big toe right by the nail. That's a very fucking sensitive spot, mind you... So when Erflet asked to go to Barnes and Noble to play with their Thomas the Train table, I enthusiastically agreed. Please, yes, let's rest mama's weary, sore, adorably-suited feet. But on my way over, I stopped to grab Tucker Max's new book, Assholes Finish First. Sadly, B&N was all out of it as far as I could see (and let's face facts, my feet were anxious to sit down as it felt like my toes were about to be cut off), so I grabbed I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell and followed Erflet to the kid's section.

We walk over to the train table to find the two chairs were already taken. Fine. I'm a classy girl; I plopped my ass right onto the floor. I had Tucker Max and Caribou Coffee, what the fuck did I care? After a while I noticed the people occupying the chairs had left. Wow, shows how observant I am. I got to my feet and gingerly walked over and proceeded to plop my ass into a chair and resume my reading.

Erflet is happily playing with the trains, and another kid comes up and begins playing. He gave Erflet a train he wanted and Erflet, being a polite child (ha, yeah... That was a good one), said 'thank you'. The guy with said kid then starts yammering on about how it's so great that my son says thank you and yada yada yada. I look up from my book and make the polite response of, 'thank you very much' and resume reading.

Guy apparently thinks that because he's complimented my child-rearing skills and we're sitting next to each other, I want to talk. Pretty sure having my nose buried in a book with a guy holding a beer on the cover means I don't want to motherfucking talk to your ass. Really.

Then his wife/girlfriend/whatever comes over and takes the seat from him. She also feels that I want to talk. She asks me if the book I'm reading is good. I reply that it is, and it's a comedy. Nose dives back into the book. She walks over and looks at some books on the wall. During that time Erf calls me, and I had forgotten to turn my phone to vibrate. So loud and clear everyone in the kid's section hears Peter Griffin singing, "I like pancakes, I like pancakes, they make me a happy Peter. I am happy, I am happy, la la la la la..."

Yes, that's really what I have set as Erf's ringtone.

I talk to him and hang up. Chick walks over and asks me where I got my ringtone. I told her I downloaded a soundboard that allows you to save sounds as ringtones. She then pulls out her IPhone and reads off a list of her ringtones. Dude, really? Do I really want to hear some random strangers ringtone list? Seriously?

No. I WANT TO READ TUCKER MAX NOW LEAVE ME ALONE.

Was she done? Of course not. She then decides I want to hear all about how hard it is to train her son to say his 'pleases' and 'thank yous'. "He doesn't like to say it and we asked him why and he said it embarrasses him." Maybe it's because he has a set of idiot parents who clearly don't know how to read social cues.

Happily the phone call from Erf meant he was home and that Erflet and I could head over to his place so I got him packed up and left.

I trust that you kittens are not the type of people to strike up conversations with people who are reading a book. Unless you're telling me my hair is on fire or there's something wrong with my kid, I will fucking donkey punch you.

Or I'll blog about you. Cause, you know, I'm a huge pussy who has never seriously hit anyone in her life.

Growing up a little...

Change. That's what growing up is all about, isn't it? You change. For better, for worse, to adapt...

The bitch about change is that you rarely choose to do it. Life and situations will force it upon you before you realize it's happened.

My childhood made me grow up and become (emotionally, anyway) older, faster than I should have had to become. I keep finding myself in situations that make me grow up.

Yeah, yeah, that's life and quit my whiny bitching and blah blah blah.

My point (and I do have one) is that this is what I found myself on the outcoming end of this summer. Growing up. Being a changed person. Before I realized it was happening, it happened. And it was a big one. I realized that I was a different person. And I struggled with it. I didn't want to be a different person. Particularly because the person I became didn't love her husband as a husband anymore. I hated myself for this change.

I hated myself because I was hurting Erf. Things got really difficult between us. There was no intimacy because I lost all my libido. There were talks that basically consisted of me sitting there while Erf talked for (literally) hours. Seriously. Four hours is a long time to barely be able to get a word in edgewise.

And I thought about it. This new person was my constant companion. And I began to see things through her eyes. I began to see that everything was a constant struggle. And recently I've realized that it was because we were acting like kids playing house. It's a hard truth, but that's what it was. We had a child together, and we all deserved better.

He deserved someone who could love him completely. I can no longer do that, and I can't explain just why. I tried so hard to make myself believe otherwise. Perhaps I took the coward's way out, because I didn't want to try therapy. My reasons are because A) we couldn't afford it and B) I don't see how anyone can make me fall back in love with someone when, frankly, I didn't want to anymore. I realized that we were very different people. I love him as a friend, and I want him to be happy, but I wanted to be happy too.

That feeling of wanting to be happy? Felt like the most selfish thing I could feel.

Things were so strained. And they still are. There are so many things I want to say, that I wish I could say. Things that only my closest family and friends have heard. But in the wise words of Aunt Becky, "Sometimes, those words remained unwritten because they cut too close to home; because sometimes words, feelings, pain, reactions cannot be explained away by logic. The kind of criticism it would open up would pour salt into an already-festering wound. Others remained unwritten because I didn’t want to cause drama or pain."

To cause him more pain would be horrible. I can't cause him any more pain than necessary.

But I wonder how much of his pain I need to take. His hatred toward me, his lashing out - because of me. Where do you find that balance? When you hurt someone as deeply as I know I hurt him, you need to expect to be the proverbial punching bag for a while. But when do you get to stop it?

My wondering, I think, stems from the fact that I'm done simply reacting to whatever is thrown at me. The cheesy alliteration I'd insert here would be some dramatic comparison to being an actor on stage, waiting for my cues. But I have realized that I have totally been out of it, not paying attention to what goes on around me. I've been keeping myself out of it. And I'm trying not to anymore. I'm trying to be proactive instead of waiting until things can't go any longer without being dealt with.

And for the first time, I'm being as independent as I can handle. I'm asking for help when I need it from people I can trust, because I'm not a dumb enough former blonde to think I can do it all by myself. Particularly when I've got Erflet part time. But I'm doing things that are making me feel proud of myself for the first time in a very long time. The last time I remember feeling this pride was when I realized that I was a good mother... Because I worried so much that I wouldn't be.

Now I have my first apartment, I'm fixing things, I'm assembling furniture... I'm the owner of a coffee maker for the first time in my life! These little things are bringing me so much joy, because I can be self-sufficient.

I can handle this. I've got it. I really can do this, and I believe in myself. :)