An Open Letter to Wil

Dear Wil,

I feel there are a few things I have a hard time discussing with you in person. Things that are causing me great distress. And I feel the only healthy way to share my concerns with you is to blog about it so that hundreds of strangers can be all up in our personal business. It’s how healthy people deal with issues. Trust me. And so here it goes…

Let’s start with the fridge situation. When it comes to your refrigerator, I know there are important things that I should be concerned about: the five year old pizza boxes, the poor choice in cheap beer, the lack of any fruits or vegetables, that bag in the back with its mystery contents that has been there since I first started sleeping with you and thought you might actually have bottled water but discovered that the flammable tap water was your only source of hydration. But alas, these things do not upset me. What I find most distressing is your lack of any dairy products. How can you drink coffee without creamer? How do you eat cereal without milk? How can you get through the week without devouring at least one block of cheese? Where do you get your calcium? How are you still alive? Do you take supplements? Or do you just hate the idea of healthy bones? I really want to know. I need to know.

But let’s move on, shall we? I am well aware that if I were a good girlfriend I would clean your apartment for you. Maybe even vacuum and dust. Possibly mop your floors. Pick up the condom wrappers. Throw out the gazillion empty cigarette packs. But as you now know, I am not a good girlfriend. I am lazy, easily distracted (you have cable, so you are partly to blame) and your apartment would take days to clean. I understand why you don’t do it; it is exhausting to even think about. But can’t you just go to the bar, manipulate some poor drunk girl into cleaning your house and then toss her to the curb? I mean, what is the point of your brilliant deviousness if you do not use it for the greater good, like a clean environment for us to play video games and have sex in? Please consider this option before I swipe your credit card and hire a maid for you. I don’t want to steal from you this early in our relationship. It never ends well when I do.

More importantly, I am deeply concerned about your Sriracha sauce hoarding. When you first ordered three GIANT bottles of Sriracha, I thought, “Wil really loves hot sauce. He must eat it constantly.” But then I saw the five drops you put on your chimichanga and, well, I was shocked. If you had Sriracha for every meal that means you would have 15 drops a day. According to my calculations, each bottle holds 7,865,992 drops of sauce. That’s enough to last you 524,399 days. That’s 1,440 years, Wil!! Per bottle!! Do you know something the rest of us do not? Is the apocalypse upon us and we are all going to be living in a world where Sriracha is the new currency? Because, honestly, that is the only reasonable explanation for the massive amount of hot sauce you now own. Either that or you’re a vampire. And as your girlfriend, apocalypse or vampire, I think this is something I deserve know.

Finally, we really need to clean that sex towel. And soon. Because at this point, I think the towel itself could get me pregnant. But thank you for always leaving it on my side of the bed. And you say you aren’t romantic!

Your Concerned Girlfriend,

Seeks

A Brief Understanding of Women

After a long talk with my friend Justin the other night, I finally came to the realization that men are completely stupid when it comes to women. Oh, sure, they blame us for this. We use women language, we never say what we mean, we expect you to read our minds, blah blah blah. But, honestly, assuming you have an IQ over 75, it isn’t that difficult to figure us out. We’ve been the same way for thousands of years! Same way!! All you have to do, boys, is open your fucking ears and pay attention and maybe, just maybe, you will understand what we do and why we do it.

The problem with ‘paying attention’ for men, however, is that it takes away time from where they would rather be investing their energies in. Football, TV, beer, sleeping, thinking about food, thinking about sex, robots, preparing for the zombie apocalypse, and so on.

But don’t worry, guys, I’ve created a seven point list on understanding women that should help you safely navigate your way through your marriage, relationship, one night stand or hooker. Okay, maybe it’s just the basics but it’s better than nothing. Trust me. Now listen close.

1.      If we aren’t having sex with you, it’s because we have serious issues with you.

Remember how in the beginning of the relationship, your woman was putting out every day? It’s because we actually like sex. No, we LOVE sex. We want to please you, make you happy, turn you on, try new things. And guess what? We NEVER get bored of this. We could do this forever.

But piss us off enough, make us bite our tongues, no longer put us first, stop romancing us and our sex drive shuts the fuck off. We never do this without warning, though. We always try to address our issues with you, it’s in our nature. But if you have ignored us or brushed us off or not listened to us, the issue will never be resolved and our vagina will dry right the fuck up.

So, gentlemen, if you want a lot of sex the rest of your life, keep your woman happy. And the second sex starts slowing down, you better find out what is going on inside her privately pissed off mind and repair it. Immediately.

2.      Be very afraid of the word “whatever”.

If you ever here this word come out of her mouth, you are in some serious shit. Translation: Go fuck yourself. Nothing good, and I mean nothing good, ever comes after this three syllable word is uttered. You have crossed some crazy line and all the hellfire and fury that she has been trying to keep under lock is two seconds from spewing out of her. Your only courses of action are to start apologizing, start running, or figure out what you just did and fix it.

3.      We really are scared of spiders.

We aren’t trying to be cute. Those things are assholes. One look into their beady little eyes and we can tell they are going to try to kill us. So when we start screaming, you better be ready to start slaying. And don’t toy with us!! “Oh look how little he is.” “It’s just a harmless spider.” “You do know you are capable of killing it yourself?” Oh yeah? Well, we don’t give a shit. Just take two seconds, play the hero and kill the son of a bitch. We’ll love you for it. We’ll go to bed thinking of nothing but your bravery and valor. Oh, and whatever you do, don’t show us the dead body. Just flush the damn thing. Twice. So we know he’s really gone.

4.      Most of the time, we are smarter than you.

Think you fooled us into believing you had the stomach flu and that’s why you couldn’t have dinner with our parents? No, you did not. Think you pulled the wool over our eyes when played too tired to go to the wine tasting event you promised to take us to last week? No, you did not. All the little tricks and games you have up your sleeve, we have most of them figured out. Oh, we let you continue thinking you are clever, it’s called choosing our battles, but you are most certainly not clever. And we never forget. Which leads me to number 5….

5.      We Never Forget.

Be careful what you say. Be very very careful. Because we remember almost everything. Unlike men, who very conveniently forget most of what comes out of our mouths, we have collected and stored 90% of the information you have handed us. It’s innocent enough. We do it to everyone and everything. It’s how we remember phone numbers, birthdays, shoe sales, and so on. But that one time when you have formed a perfectly sound argument about what-the-fuck-ever and it completely contradicts something you told us five years ago… we will let you know. Loudly and confidently. That’s why I always say I like my men quiet, it makes them look less ignorant in the long run.

6.      We want to be romanced!

Notice how none of the great romance movies show the guy doing nothing and the girl falling head over heals in love with him? Yeah, because no girl falls for the ‘doing nothing’ guy. We want to be romanced! Oh, we will pay you back in great blow jobs and clean kitchens. We’ll actually do whatever it takes to keep you happy. Why? Because we fucking love romance. See how we swoon over Sixteen Candles? How all of us love The Princess Bride? It’s because that is what every girl dreams of. We want a man to sweep us off our feet and make us feel special. ALL OF US DO! If your woman has ever said, “I don’t need romance, I just need you” she is fucking lying her face off to you. Jesus. How do you guys not get this?

7.      Don’t assume we know how you feel just because you tell us.

“Geesh, I tell her I love her all the time and she acts like she doesn’t believe me.” Probably because she doesn’t (flashback to my last relationship). Sure, you will babble on about how she is acting insecure and not trusting you. Shut the fuck up. Women believe what they see, not what they hear. Actions, fellows, actions. See how we do it? We cook for you, clean up after you, get your beer for you, go out of our way to make you happy. That’s called showing you we love you. You guys should try it sometime. Maybe then your wife/girlfriend/secret-lover will believe the words coming out of your mouth. Trust me on this one, if a long period of time goes by where we don’t believe you, we’ll usually move on. (I say usually because some of us hang around for way too long. O_o) Why will we move on? Because we have no idea how you really feel and we aren’t going to stick around and assume.

There is so much more I would love to tell you about us, but at this point I am beginning to feel a little male-bashy. Don’t fret, boys, women are just as big of asshole as you are and need a similar list to understand you. I’ll work on one.

Hasta La Pasta Kiddies!!

Zen Morning and My Two Vibrator Reviews

I woke up this morning in a very odd mood. Not odd in a bad way. Odd in the most fascinating and refreshing way. I felt content. Like all the emotions and anxieties I have felt over the last few days that have been bubbling up and finally came bursting over Sunday morning, have subsided leaving only a singular feeling of… peace. Ah, look at me being a hippie. It’s annoyingly brilliant, isn’t it?

Let’s start with my boring anxieties and realizations.

Anxiety number one. I’ve been struggling with whether I should get a second job, go back to school, or move and start over. This has been gnawing at me for days, burrowing itself deep inside my brain to the point where every half an hour I am demanding an answer from myself. But why do I always see these as my only options? What is it that I really want out of life? Where does my happiness lie?

The answer is in writing. In all my terrible writing. Take everything away from me, all of what I have, and this is the one thing that can make almost anything bearable. So this morning I broke out my half-finished novel (on a flash drive, of course), shoved it in my pocket and decided that this is where I will focus my energy. No starting over, no second job, no college classes. Just me, words and rolling the dice.

Anxiety number two. Ugh. I tend to get way too close to the people I care about. I want to know everything I can about them. It’s like when you find a great book and you want to reread it, understand it, be a part of it. But people aren’t books and sometimes wanting to be close to someone only serves to drive them away. At least everything in my history has taught me that. The problem is that when I think I’ve crossed that line, I shut down. In fact, I have never NOT shut down. But didn’t I promise myself not to fall back on my old ways? Yeah, I’m ridiculous like that. And if I were to be truthful, my first thought was, “I don’t want to pull away.” Sounds like a great idea, right? Face your fears and change your behavior (saying this in my best Oprah voice)! No, it was a terrifying course of action. I was left standing in the most unfamiliar territory. Jesus. What did I do, you ask? I did what all confused women do. I acted a bit nutty. In my heart everything was telling me to stay away, go home, get out. In my head everything was telling me to shush up and calm down.  What came out was, “Aren’t you tired of me?” Which translated in my mind as, ‘please be tired of me.’ Why? Because all of this would be less confusing and then I’d have a solid reason to shut down. Make it easy on me! Don’t make it easy on me! Of course, this only served to leave the poor guy standing there going, “What the hell happened to Seeks? Has she lost her mind?” Yes. Yes, she has.

But then this morning came with all its zen-like calmness. What the shit, me? Who cares if I go off my rocker every now and then? I’m allowed to go crazy once in a while. And who cares if someone is tired of me or not? If I really think they are I'll stay home… problem solved. Want to understand someone? Don’t. Pick up a good book (a real one) and forget about it. Most people don’t even understand themselves so your endeavor is doomed the second you open your mouth. Furthermore, most people don’t want to be understood. And let’s get real; shouldn’t you be investing that curiosity in yourself? Self-understanding does not come from interest in others; it comes from discovering what makes you tick. Trust me on this one, kiddies. If someone wants you to know them, they’ll lay it out there for you. If your interest in what is going on inside their skull rears its ugly head and comes slithering out of your mouth, they’ll have no idea what to tell you. It’s not their fault. You shouldn’t pry and it shouldn’t matter.

Okay, enough of my boring morning. The point is that somehow last night I put myself on reset and woke up feeling more grounded than I have in days. I also joined the yoga studio, bought a new yoga outfit at lunch and have a top secret meeting with someone important about something important (shhh). Anxieties gone… check. Emotions properly buried… check. Champagne in the fridge… check. Batteries in vibrators… check. Yay, me!

Oh! Speaking of vibrators!! I finally got the two I ordered and I am both horribly disappointed and pleasantly surprised. Let’s start with Mr. G Spot Finder.

G Spot Finder

It ran okay for two seconds. And by okay I mean it  barely vibrated and you had to hold down the dial to get it to work. After hours of flipping batteries and shaking the damn thing I gave up. It is now a dildo. And we all know how pointless dildos are. In fact, I was so angry at that device that I refused to name it. That’ll show Mr. Find-Your-G-Spot-But-Does-Nothing-Else! Wait, did I just name it? Damnit!

The Rabbit

Holy shit! First thing I did was throw in the batteries in order to see if it would at least turn on and vibrate. After the G Spot Finder debacle, I was worried. Oh, it vibrated alright. It also did something very surprising. The whole thing spun! Spinning penis, spinning beads, vibrating bunny ears. Obviously this thing was made from fairy magic. I just sat their holding it thinking, “Dear god, who is the genius that came up with this idea?” Time travel? Pshtt! Tele-transportation? Bah! Quantum computers? Boring. This mother effing thing spins! And, in the first time in vibrator history, it took all of 30 seconds. Rabbit and I, we are now best of friends. Oh, this one is definitely getting a name!

Traveling Sex Toys

This year I will be traveling for work. A lot. There will be times that I may not be home for days, other times I may only see Dallas on the weekends (and we all know how much I love Dallas).

Today, two things about this travel situation hit me. I’ll start with the cheesy.

The Cheesy

I actually like spending time with Wil. I know, I know. This isn’t a healthy situation. I’m not supposed to enjoy being around a boy. That’s how you set yourself up for heartache, that’s how they hook you, that’s the point of no return, blah blah blah. But it isn’t just a doey-eyed, little school girl thing. I actually enjoy his company. We can watch movies until our eyes bleed or play videos games or surf the net or just lie there in a perpetual state of hung over-ness. It’s like (dare I say it) hanging out with one of my best friends.

And he doesn’t mind me in fuzzy pj’s sans makeup. I can go over to his house, never move from the couch, be amazingly comfortable and drink wine from clean-ish glasses. Does it get better than that? No. No it does not.

My point is, I will miss him. Incredibly.

The Not So Cheesy

I will miss sex. I’ve gotten spoiled in this area. My three times a week quota has not been a problem. My average is now five to six times a week. Yay, sex hungry me!! So what in the shit am I going to do if I'm gone for five days? This is a very serious problem. One that requires a very serious solution.

Thank god I think ahead about these things. Thank god I can come up with brilliant solutions. What exactly is my brilliant solution, you ask? To amass a large vibrator collection immediately. IMMEDIATELY!

 

Okay… back to Amazon we go. I know what you’re thinking. Why amazon? Why not Adam and Eve or some online sex shop that specializes in all my masturbating needs? You know, you ask a lot of stupid questions.

The first reason is the reviews. Amazon sex fiends are awesome reviewers. I can easily find out if the vibrator is too small, too loud, breaks down easily, blows up after five uses. In fact, if you want to see the most thorough reviews on a product, just look at any sex toy on Amazon. It’s serious shit.

Second is the prices. My $129.99 purchase today ended up at $24.99. Beat that Adam and Eve! You can’t? Why’s that? Oh, because you aren’t the magical price slaying giant that Amazon is. Hmm.

Okay. Let’s get down to the fun part. I didn’t buy just one toy, kiddies. No no no. There were sales. There were deals. There were cheap vibrators galore. So two it was. (I will probably buy four more by Sunday. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you posted.)

My Purchases

The First Selection: THE CURVED G SPOT FINDER

 

What? No twisting the thing around trying to peg that ever elusive g spot? SOLD! Oh my god. This is better than Christmas. If all I have to do is lay back, turn it on and jam that thing up there, then me and Mr. G Spot Finder are going to become very good friends. Here is the description (my comments in italics):

Get in tune with your environment. (I had no idea that vibrators had that power.) As tension is relaxed, you feel better physically, emotionally and mentally. (It’s like a hippy, a therapist and a boyfriend all in one!)  Double the power, triple the fun. (I have no idea what you mean by this.) Designed for the ultimate clitoral, g-spot and anal sensations. (I am not putting this in my ass but thank you for the option.) This Galactic Finger is sure to please your every desire. (I’m not sure I believe you. I desire to be 22 again and live solely off of wine and cheesy puffs. I’m pretty certain this vibrator can’t deliver all that.) Shaped for G-Spot pleasure especially (swoon), but it can also be used however you please. The silicone material makes this toy soft and firm at the same time and the built in nubs will provide clitoral pleasure all at the same time.

The Second Selection: THE RABBIT

 

What the hell is all that? Beads, clit stimulators, a penis shaped thingy? Did I just die and wake up in masturbation heaven? I must own this! As soon as possible, please. Here is the description:

 

A rabbit vibrator that's perfect for satisfying your every desire (Again with the desire thing?), the 10X (10X? Holy shit!) Dual Stimulator Vibe features easy to use controls (Because some vibrator controls require advanced technical knowledge?), a dual-prong clitoral stimulator (Did you just say dual?), and lots of texture that will make you shiver with pleasure. This sexy adult toy is waterproof for fun in the bath or shower, too! (Oh, you know what to say, don’t you?)

The realistic shaft is topped with a flared penis head, and is covered with a raised vein texture beneath for more sensation. (Strangely, I find that a little disturbing.) On the front, the ribbed clitoral stimulator tickles the clit with two soft, flexible antennae for incredible waves of erotic enjoyment.

The rounded base is easy to hold in a palm for self-use (The most common form of vibrator use, so thank you.) and the four-button control pad turns each feature on and off independently. Both the clitoral vibrator and tip of the shaft have powerful motors that deliver ten functions of vibration, pulsation, and escalation you can mix and match for the perfect combination. (Mind. Blown.)

Sexless travel problem officially solved. Can’t wait for the airport security checks!

(Test runs happening in five days if we are to believe Amazon’s tracking. Stay tuned for my reviews.)

The Missing You Lie and Dick Pic Update

 

I don’t know what it is about my exes, but at some point after my break ups, 90% of them have either texted or called me to say they miss me, they made a mistake, or that they want me back. Or all three. You would think this would be a great ego boost. Ah, but you are sorely mistaken. If anything, it makes me wonder what the fuck is wrong with me. Why is it that the men I choose to be with never see what they have when they have it? Am I too unassuming? Do I seem like a ‘go-look-around-and-I’ll-wait-for-you’ girl? Because I am pretty sure that I have told all of them that I am amazing at fucking off. Break up with me and I will gracefully fuck off forever. Well, gracefully to your face. At home I’ll call EVG, down a bottle of wine, cry my stupid heart out and make plans to move as far away from you as possible. Don’t worry, it doesn’t last long. I’m too egotistical to do the self-pity thing for an extended period of time.

 

The crazy thing is I still get these texts/calls years and years later. Still! From people who live across the country from me. From people I haven’t seen or dated since Buffy was canceled. Usually they are drunk and it is well past midnight but either way… what the fuck is wrong with men? I am all for nostalgia but has this crap ever worked? “Oh, I know you cheated on me and it’s been so long that I have no clue who you are today but, god, I really miss you too because, let’s face it, I have no self-worth and I would love to revisit a shitty relationship as soon as possible,” said no stable woman ever.

 

Oh, and let me share my favorite one with you. (Only because it is the craziest break-up/try-to-get-back together story I got.)

 

I dated a guy I worked with (broke the ‘don’t shit where you eat’ rule) who turned out to be bipolar and a sufferer of PTSD due to his time in Iraq. I didn’t find out this important bit of information until a few months into our relationship when he had a complete fucking melt down, left me in a bar, ran through the streets hiding from the enemy, and called me up to tell me he was sorry but he could no longer be with me and that he was going to have to kill me. I was okay with that. Not the death threat but the break up. I did the ‘It’s ok. I understand. Plotting my murder is a bit too heavy for me so it was just a matter of who said it first. Please piss off but in a nice way so that you don’t put a bullet in my head.’

 

This guy went a bit further than calls or texts (as crazy people usually do) and showed up at my apartment, got on one knee and pulled out a diamond ring. What the hell? What did he expect me to say to that? “Oh, honey, of course I’ll overlook the fact that you have lost your fucking marbles. I’d love a lifetime of murder and madness.” What did I do, you ask? I told him no, of course. And I think I told him to see a shrink. I might have slammed the door on him. I might have threatened to call the cops. It was not a pretty proposal.

 

Back to normal land (since most of my exes were mentally sound)…

 

My Advice to Men:

Here’s what I don’t get, guys. Why would you ever tell a girl you ended things with that you missed her? You ended it, move on. Trust that she has moved on. It’s really a very weird thing to do.

 

First, it’s pathetic. Here’s what we think… you went out into the dating world, failed and got lonely. Or you realized that the whole ‘never bitching at you’, being loyal, taking care of you, loving sex thing was kind of a good gig. Either way, you look like a pitiable sorry ass when you text us such things.

 

Second, it’s demeaning. Do you really think we would rather be with an asshole than enjoy the perks of being on our own? Do you even know what it is like to come home to an apartment exactly like we left it, eat whatever we want, fall asleep on our couch and come and go as we fucking please? Well, it’s way better than dealing with your bullshit and your wandering pecker. And have you seen the choices in sex toys nowadays? Yeah, we’re all set on that end too. Plus here’s a secret… assholes are not nearly as good in bed as truly decent non-cheating men are. I’d much rather have passionate love-filled sex than empty ‘got a few good moves from the thousands of women I fucked’ sex. All women would. Except bar whores maybe. But they don’t count as real people. Do they?

 

My Advice to Women:

Please, ladies, wake the fuck up. When a man texts you that he misses you, you don’t go running back. Have some self-respect. He doesn’t fucking miss you. Repeat that to yourself. Because if you were worth anything to him, if he really loved you, he would have never left you in the first place. How do I know? Because men fight for what they love. It’s in their nature. Take football for example. If they love the Raiders and the Raiders lose (which they usually do, right?) do they walk away from that team and never root for them again? No. They walk around in black and silver every Sunday like a bunch of dumbasses because men do not give up on the things they love!

 

And for god’s sake don’t feel good about it or take it as a compliment. You chose an asshole. You sucked at choosing men. Sucked! Hopefully, now you are awesome at it (like I’d like to think I am). But this should serve to remind you how NOT to be. What NOT to look for. What to STAY AWAY from. “Oh, look. This shithead sent me a text. Wasn’t I completely retarded back then? Whew. Thank god I’m not that girl anymore.” That’s the ONLY thing that should be going through your mind.

 

 

DICK PIC UPDATE:

 

Conversation with EVG – I STAND CORRECTED

Me: You must have accumulated scores of dick pics in your career as a single woman.

EVG: I really have!

Me: And isn’t it a weird thing for a guy to do? I mean, do guys think we look at it and get all hot and bothered?

EVG: Uhm… I do.

Me: Are you serious? Even when they are attached to a man you don’t care about?

EVG: Especially when they are attached to a man I don’t care about.

Me: So you really do think “I want that inside of me”?

EVG: (long pause) Yes….

Me: You are the first girl ever.

EVG: I like dick. What can I say?

Me: Yeah me too. But in digital print? Up close and personal from a near stranger?

EVG: Yep.

Me: You are a very strange woman.

EVG: Speaking of which. I need to start collecting cock shots again. I deleted all the rest back when I decided to be a good girl.

Me: Didn’t work out did it?

EVG: No.

 

TEXT  FROM WIL

Wil: Want me to send you a dick pic?

Me: You know I’d love it!

Wil:

   

 

 

And now you know why I sleep with Wil. And date him. And do various naughty things to him.

 

In Unrelated News:

My new barista is amazing. She asked about my dog (how cute is that?), told me I looked pretty today (she has good taste) and wondered if she could take my dog’s picture next time she sees him. I even shooed away my old barista (he never gave a crap about my dog, so fuck him) just so her and I could talk. There is something powerful about being able to make people move out of your way by a wave of your hand. It makes me feel like, yes, I really am a wizard. Ah, I love my morning coffee trips.  

Dick Pics - The Unwanted Dating Trend

Back in the beginning of last year, when I was newly single and at least five years out of the dating world, I discovered a disturbing trend among single men. Dick pics. When did this happen? When did sending a digital photo of your member become part of the dating process? Sure, we had a nice dinner, shared some jokes, polished off a bottle of wine. You drove me home, hugged me good night. We made plans for next week. And… picture of your penis? What the fuck?

Ok, fine, one or two of the guys were polite enough to warn me first, to which my reply was always… please no. But there were an occasional few that felt the need to surprise me with a very unwanted cock shot.

Maybe… MAYBE… it would be understandable if we were sleeping together or dating exclusively. Even then, I’ll just swing by and take a look. No need to capture the image and interrupt my project meeting with a picture of your lady dagger. (By the way, boys, it doesn’t look any bigger if you zoom in; in fact, zooming in makes me think you fall in the 4 inches or below category. Not good at all.)

And here’s the deal about penises, you want to know when we actually like them? When they are attached to a man we give a shit about. And even then, we would never look at a picture of it and go “I can’t wait until that’s inside me!” No, we think, “He must not be busy right now. I never knew he had a freckle there.” That’s what we think. Don’t get me wrong, if you happen to fall into the ‘sleeping with me’ or ‘I’m very interested in you and we’ve been on several dates’ groups, I would probably love to see your penis. In person!

But if I only met you twice, you can be assured that I am sharing your pecker pic with my girlfriends and giggling. A lot. I promise you.

Me: So, we only went to dinner twice and look at this text. (forwards her the image)

Michigan Girl: What the shit? Oh, no! He’s one of those! And why is it bent to the side. Did he have an injury?
Me: No idea. It’s seems too small to be all crooked like that.
Michigan Girl: Indeed. (laughing)

Come on guys, is that what you want? Because that’s what all women do. And well, shit, you’re kind of asking for it.

Ok, I’ll give you some credit. Maybe you are doing it to try to entice a dirty pic response from me. Well, it looks like you were out of luck, weren't you? And why, you ask? NSA. Angry exes. Hackers. Internet. Me on a porn site. A few drops of class still left. That’s why.

So please turn off the flash, set down your phone and put away your womb raider.  Because what you think is happening on the woman’s end (oh, swoon, what an enormous dick you have) is just a fantasy. In real life, we are judging you.

My advice: Expose yourself in person like a normal human being.  

Weekend Lessons and Crazy Girl Advice

Before I actually start this blog, I need to pass on the lessons I have l learned this weekend.

1.      Blowjobs are really difficult when your nose is stuffed up. Your will-to-live is like, “STOP! WE’RE DYING!” but your libido is like, “WHO NEEDS AIR?!?!” Very odd.

2.      Mix estrogen, six glasses of wine, half a bowl of cereal and five french fries and you get a completely bat shit crazy woman who thinks every man is a cheater. But has impeccable tastes in movies (see Sharknado shirt) and dances like a stripper. I try to avoid this girl at all costs.

3.      The best thing about alcoholic druggies is that they never remember who you are or that they hate you. Whew! They also call you beautiful, ask you for a threesome and smoke cloves. They are awful creatures.

4.      I always talk about deserving only the best. And it’s true, I really do. But once I have something good, I am incredibly talented at smashing it to shit and blowing it up for good measure. Healthy relationship? (kicking it to pieces) TAKE THAT! Decent man? (smashing it against the wall) NEVER!  Someone who makes you happy? (pounding it with a sledge hammer) MWAHAHA! So yeah… that all happened yesterday. But I’m a cute violently destructive bitch, right?
 

Ok! On to the Blog!

Confession:  I read Dear Sugar. Why would I ever do such a thing? Because, kiddies, it’s an advice column about masturbation and sex. My two favorite topics. Isn’t that reason enough?

Usually, I love Dear Sugar’s advice. She’s snarky and smart and in-your-face. Today, however, I came across this gem of a post.

 Dear Sugar,

I’m 29 and dating a man that I adore; we’re planning to move in together soon. I have a stable job that I hate, but I hope that I’ll one day find something I enjoy. I have family and friends and hobbies and interests and love. So much love. And I’m desperately afraid that I’m going to have cancer.

I’m terrified that sooner or later, I’ll be diagnosed. My mother had breast cancer when I was in college. She survived hers, but in some ways, she didn’t. It broke her, Sugar. My father died of liver cancer when I was in high school—he was never lucky enough to be counted “a survivor.” My grandmother had a brain tumor when I was a newborn; she didn’t live to see my first birthday. As much as I take care of my health, as much as I try to be careful, I have this niggling doubt that my genes are setting me up for failure.

I know you can’t tell me whether or not I will have cancer, and I know you can’t tell me when. But what I’m struggling with—what I need help figuring out—is how to make the decisions in my life while keeping this possibility in mind. You know the decisions I mean: The Big Ones.

How do I decide whether or not to get married? How do I look in to the face of this man I adore and explain to him what he might have to go through if I am diagnosed? And worse, if I don’t make it? I’ve already decided not to have children. How can I saddle a child with something that I don’t even think I can face myself? How do I plan for the future when there may be no future to plan for? They say “live your life to the fullest because there may be no tomorrow,” but what about the consequences of “no tomorrow” on the people that you love? How do I prepare them for what I might have to go through? How do I prepare myself?

Scared of the Future

How do you even answer this madness?  Well, Dear Sugar did it by trying to calm her down with the ‘no one knows when they are going to die’ spiel and some babble about all of us having a crazy lady living in our heads.

What a terrible bit of advice.  And not at all helpful. Here’s how I would have responded:

Dear Dead Girl Walking,

Whoa! You have so many problems that finding a place to start is overwhelming. I guess I’ll begin at the top your letter and work my way down.

I’m 29 and dating a man that I adore; we’re planning to move in together soon. – Don’t do it! You’ll lose all TV remote privileges, your laundry chores will double, you’ll have to shit in the same bathroom at some point, singing punk songs naked while standing on your couch will be out of the question, and all those dances you make up for your ever changing moods… he will only find them cute for about a week. Then the dancing is over. Oh, and you know how when you are finished with half a bag of potato chips and you put them in the pantry and come back later and the potato chips are still there? That will never happen again.

And I’m desperately afraid that I’m going to have cancer – You probably already do.  You should just lie on the floor and wait for death. Wear something cute (no one likes ugly dead people) and be patient. You can lie in bed if you wish, it is more comfortable, but floor death is much more dramatic and memorable. I know, I know. It sounds a little crazy. Why? Because it is fucking crazy! You know the best time to worry about cancer? When you fucking have it! For now, see a therapist and start drinking straight vodka. It’s your only hope.  

How do I decide whether or not to get married? – I’ll decide for you. Don’t.  Here’s what will happen… no. more. sex. I know what you’re thinking; you think it is the woman who stops putting out. No, ma’am. Guys just use that line to protect their sexual ego. The truth? Nothing makes a man’s dick repel at the sight of you like a ring on your finger. And romance... it dies at 'I do'. Remember those flowers and compliments and back rubs? Done. Trust me. Also, you’ll never agree on toilet paper and people will start calling you by a new name (even if you keep your old one). And nothing is worse than being re-named. Besides maybe ebola, or human trafficking, or genocide.

How do I look in to the face of this man I adore and explain to him what he might have to go through if I am diagnosed? – You don’t. Because that’s insane. You wait until you’re actually diagnosed and then send him a card like a normal person.

I’ve already decided not to have children.  – Thank fucking god.

How do I plan for the future when there may be no future to plan for? – Plan for a future? People still do that?

 

Hope this helps.

 

Yours,

Seeks

 

Jesus. I’d make dreadful advice columnist. All if it would be ‘dump him’, ‘drink a lot’, ‘don’t have babies’, ‘never trust people who wear orange’, ‘clean your sex toys regularly’, ‘move out of Texas’, ‘never have sex in a room with fluorescent lights’ and so on…

Wait, maybe I would be brilliant at this.

Estrogen Advice on Running

As anyone who has been around me this week knows, I have been bat shit crazy dealing with the changes in my hormones. That’s right. I have been full of estrogen. This means that my hours have been consumed with chocolate, tears and chick flicks. Which usually never ends well. Except this time.

Anyways, in my hormonal state of madness, I ended up watching ‘He’s Just Not That Into You’. Yeah, that’s the low I sank to. But as insightful awful of a movie as that was, there were some really good pieces of advice in it.

Here is a quote from Greg Behrendt:

Hey -- do you remember that movie when the girl waited around for the guy to ask her out, then made excuses when he didn't? Then she slept with him when they were both drunk, and basically just hung around until they were kind of dating? Then he cheated on her, but because she knew deep down inside that if she forgave him and kept her expectations low and was really agreeable, she'd get him in the end? He was drunk at the wedding, but they lived miserably ever after in an unsatisfying relationship that was built on a shitty foundation? You don't? That's because those movies don't get made, because that's not what love is like.

Where the fuck was this gem of a statement six years ago? Hell, ten!

So what does this have to do with my hormonal week ending well? During my emotional journey, I had several friends call me and ask me for relationship advice. I don’t have the brilliance of Greg with his movie analogy and in your face attitude. But I didn’t do too badly either. In fact, I realized after the third conversation I was telling all of them the same thing. RUN! Value yourself enough to get the fuck out of there!

Ah, Estrogen Me, you are so very wise.

Look, ladies. I’ve been through some bad relationships. A few good ones too but mostly I have sucked at picking men. However, what I have come to understand is that it isn’t about picking the right guy (he’ll actually pick you) but about getting rid of all the wrong ones. If you do not know when to see the signals that you are wasting your time, then you are in a lot of trouble. Running is sometimes the best answer for everyone. Mostly for you, though.

From my own experience, here are the signs that you need to run. And NOW!

(I will call my current ex 'Mr. Shouldhaveknownbetter'... 'Mr. S' for short; and my ex fiancé 'Tim'.)

1.      He doesn’t introduce you to his friends (or family)

Look, this is pretty simple. When a guy is with a girl he likes, he wants everyone to know. Especially his friends and family. If it’s been more than a month and you have met neither, it is because he doesn’t think you are worth being a part of his life or meeting the people that are important to him. Which means you are not important to him. Wake up and RUN!

2.      He’s a man girl

God damn, I learned this one the hard way. In fact, when I first started dating Wil the first question out of everyone’s mouth was, ‘does he have a job?’ Why? Because Mr. S and Tim did not have jobs. Instead, I went to work, paid the bills, managed the finances and paid for their hobbies or schooling. They were indeed my bitches. Oh sure, they cooked and cleaned, which was nice. But I was the reason we had a home and food. Therefore, they never felt the need to work or pay their half. They were the true meaning of man-girls. And the thing about man-girls, they never become man-men. Do what I should have done and RUN!

3.      His ex’s have ruined him

If his is still bitter about his exes and women in general, he will project that bitterness on you. Even if he doesn’t say anything out loud, on the inside he will be waiting for you to cheat on him, steal his money, fuck his brother, beat his children, max out his credit cards, stab his grandma. And when a guy is too busy waiting for the ball to drop, he doesn’t have enough free time to just enjoy the amazingness that is you. RUN!

4.      He’s a narcissist

I know, I know. They’re charming and fun to be around. They are usually amazing in bed. And let’s admit it, who doesn’t like a man with confidence? Ah, but there is a difference between confidence and being an asshole. RUN!

5.      The only time he makes plans with you it’s last minute

Oh god. Please please please don’t be this girl.  Asking a girl out at the last minute once in a while is okay but if it’s more often than not, you are in trouble. Here’s the thing about boys who ask you out at the last minute… they waited for something better to come up, nothing did, they settled for you. Why would you want to be that girl? Fucking RUN!

6.      He sees women behind your back

First off, let me start by saying it is normal and healthy for guys to have friends that are girls. And it is perfectly reasonable for them to go out to lunch or have drinks with them. If you can’t handle that, you need to be single and work on yourself a little longer.

However, if the guy you are seeing keeps these encounters from you, get out immediately.

Let me give you an example. I ran into a friend a year ago and the conversation went like this.

Me: Good to see you!!

Her: Hey! I just had lunch the yesterday with Mr. S.

Me: Weird. When I asked him what he did yesterday, he never mentioned it.

Her: Yeah. I was going to call you. He asked me not to say anything to you so I thought that was strange.

Me: Hmm…

Her: It was kind of uncomfortable. He’s been texting me a lot and wanting to meet up. I thought maybe you should know.

Me: Thanks.

I did confront Mr. S about it. Not that I cared he had had lunch with her or was texting her, all that really could be innocent. But to hide it from me? No guy hides something innocent. His excuse was that he ‘forgot’ to tell me and that he never told her to not mention it. No, he did not forget. He was an asshole. I should have peaced-out that day. As should you. If he hides hanging out with women… RUN!

7.      He cancels more than three dates

Cali Girl… I’m looking at you. Once, ok. Twice, maybe. Three times, RUN!

8.      He’s never been faithful to any of his past partners

You are not special and you are not the exception. He will cheat on you. RUN!

9.      He flirts with your friends

This is disgusting and I have been guilty of letting this slide in the past. If you have ANY respect for yourself, never stick around a guy who does this. I can actually use this as a gauge to tell if a guy is one of the good ones or not. Every healthy and good relationship I have ever had, the man was nothing but respectful with my friends and myself. Every bad relationship that I should have gotten out of (or never gotten into) the guy flirted with my friends. Real men don’t do this. RUN!

10.   He makes you feel bad about yourself… intentional or not

If a man makes you cry, makes you feel like less of a woman, makes you feel stupid or devalues you in any way, you need to move on. It seems obvious enough but sometimes we women excuse this behavior as unintentional. Here’s a secret, intentional or not, it is a terrible thing. Relationships should make you feel good. If they ever make you feel you are less than what you are, RUN!

 

Here is how Greg Behrendt ended the quote from above:

People are inspired to do remarkable things to find and be with the one they love. Big movies are made about it, and every relationship you admire bursts with a greatness that you hope for in your own life. And the more you value yourself, the more chance you'll have of getting it.

 

In Vibrator News:

I bought batteries today. No more using my TV remote’s. I see a very long shower in my near future.

A Slight Melt Down

Being one week late for your period when you are on birth control is completely normal. At least, that is what I told myself. I had cramps and sore nipples and had been binge eating chocolate for almost a week. All good signs of a barren pms-ing womb. Right?

But then it happened. It started with soup. While eating a bowl of Ramen (don’t judge), I kept thinking, "why does this taste like metal?" Then a banana. Still metal. Actually, everything I ate tasted like I was chewing on iron. What the hell?

Clearly, I was dying of cancer. I just needed WebMD to verify this fact for me.

Here was what I typed in the Google search bar: “food tastes like metal”

Here was the first thing Google recommended: “food tastes like metal pregnant”

Excuse me? Yeah. It seems metal mouth is one of the early signs of pregnancy. Let the melt down begin…

Sumo Baby: Are you busy?

Me: (sobbing) No. Yes. I’m on my way to the store to get a stick to piss on.
Sumo Baby: What?
Me: I’m late and my mouth tastes like iron.
Sumo Baby: Oh no! Those were my first signs with my daughter. Do your boobs hurt?
Me: Yes!
Sumo Baby: Oh no!
Me: Shit.
Sumo Baby: What will you do?
Me: I don’t know. I have to keep it if I am. I can’t run away either… long story. I guess get on WIC. Find a cheap two bedroom apartment near work. Get fat. Never sleep again. Start eating organic. What else do pregnant people do? Buy a tread mill and throw up a lot? Jesus. I’d make such a terrible mother!
Sumo Baby: No you wouldn’t. I know you don’t want to hear this but I know you. You’d give up your whole life to make your child happy. You’d make an excellent mom.
Me: (wiping tears) Fine. But I don’t want to. It’s too terrifying. I can barely take care of myself. Imagine me with a kid!
Sumo Baby: Stop. You’ll be fine. Just go get your stick and call me back. And quit freaking out!

The car ride home did not go any better. Here was my internal dialogue.

Freaked Out Me (FO Me): How much do diapers cost? Like a million dollars a week? I'm never going to sleep again!

Rational Me: Do they make Star Trek onesies?
FO Me: Nine months with no wine? NINE MONTHS!! NO WINE!!
Rational Me: Maybe a Firefly themed nursery with replica Serenity ship as the crib… hmm.
FO Me: This will destroy my body! I’ll never have a minute alone! I hate the sound of babies crying!!
Rational Me: Maybe I can start eating cheeseburgers again and justify my meat eating as ‘cravings’.
FO Me: Texas? I’m going to raise a child in fucking Texas?! Isn’t that enough of a reason to justify abortion?!
Rational Me: I wonder which cartoons are tolerable nowadays? Is Yo Gabba Gabba still a socially acceptable show for children?
FO Me: They shit and puke everywhere! They require constant attention! My traveling around the world days are over! I will know mommy language! Mommy language for god’s sake!!
Rational Me: I think I will teach this kid to speak Japanese and eat only with chop sticks. Maybe play the violin or build rockets.
FO Me: (sobbing) Children’s books are awful… (still sobbing)

Obviously, since I am writing this blog instead of being curled up in a corner losing my fucking mind, I pissed negative. No baby infestation for this girl. Whew!

You are probably wondering what lesson I learned from this terrifying experience. Well, I learned to trust in the magic powers of the ring, that birth control is awesome, to just be happy when I don’t bleed and that I actually like Yo Gabba Gabba. Weird.

Also, I celebrated by getting wine drunk and having sex. Happy No Baby Day to me!!