Post with 4 notes
It’s one thing to flirt.
It’s one thing to be friendly.
It’s one thing to be social.
It’s another to talk to a person in the hopes of building a relationship all while you still maintain a relationship with someone else.
I probably wouldn’t even give a shit if the same privilege was allotted to me.
If I want to do more for myself than take a long shit, I have to have an entourage.
If I don’t remember to sign out of my accounts my messages get read.
Once upon a time I might think that was romantic, now I think it’s abusive.
Do as I say, not as I do.
Add to this a deep dissatisfaction that spans all aspects of who we are and running away sounds better and better every fucking day.
Post with 8 notes
When I was 19 I just wanted someone to take care of me.
When I was 23 I just wanted to take care of someone else.
When I was 26 I was just looking to not be lonely anymore.
When I was 30 I was looking for a soulmate.
When I was 35 I was just looking for someone to make a family with.
As I approach 40 I’m just looking for someone who doesn’t make me want to fucking kill them.
Post with 5 notes
Don’t tell me you want to fuck my pussy.
Don’t even say the word around me if you hope to get me naked.
It will just make me think of 1970’s porn vagina AKA full, hairy, fluffy bush..and uhm, that’s not fucking sexy.
Call it anything else. Call it cunt, call it box, call it slit, call it your aunt Marjorie. Just don’t say pussy.
Post with 1 note
He said tweetups just aren’t his thing.
He said if there isn’t gonna be anybody there for him to fuck, why should he spend the money.
I guess it doesn’t matter that I want to go.
I guess it doesn’t matter that I like them.
I guess it doesn’t matter that my friends are going to be there.
I guess it doesn’t matter what I want.
And so I won’t be going.
There may not be any one for him to fuck in Boston, but there definitely isn’t anyone for him to fuck here either.
Post with 3 notes
Once upon a time it was….
how are you?
how are you feeling?
what did you do today?
do you miss me?
did you get my flowers?
what do you want to do this weekend?
do you know how much I love you?
what’s for dinner?
did you get anything accomplished today?
did the laundry get done?
is someone going to take the garbage out?
did we get any mail?
did anyone call for me?
whose plates are in the sink?
Oh how the mighty have fallen.
Post with 4 notes
it used to be fun to watch. I used to sing along. I even looked forward to when it was on.
Now it’s one version of Girl’s Just Want To Have Fun away from being a Kid’s Bop CD.
And that shit is garbage.
Post with 2 notes
and disappointment. and resentment. and angst. and unfulfilled desires. and nightmares. and my shampoo. and broken promises. and loneliness. and half assed masturbation. and pity sex. and his cum but not mine. and anger. and tears. and wasted perfume he didn’t appreciate. and exhaustion from giving a fuck when it’s obvious he doesn’t have a fuck to give me.
Matching bras and panties are very 1987. Pink polka dot bras and pale pink dotted g-strings are one pair of white lace thigh highs and patent leather stilettos away from a Vivid Video shoot.
Mix it up. Keep it colorful. Be yourself.
And that’s one to grow on.
I know it’s baseball season. I know there is some strange, addicting allure to sitting in front of your 32’ TV and scratching your balls while balancing a bowl of Salt and Vinegar chips. I understand that some men lose themselves in the love of the game.
I get it.
I like Rachel Ray. I like the Food Network.
I just don’t like them more than fucking my partner.
If my man is standing in front of me looking sexy as hell in the boxers I bought him, inviting me to the bedroom so he can eat me like a bed of leafy greens, I will be damned if I am going to choose the boob tube over having my junk juicy.
DVR that shit. It’s not like you are going miss much. Turn your cell phone off so your friends can’t kill the surprise and go toss your partner a few minutes of your time so she doesn’t throw one of her stilettos through your plasma and start fucking all your friends behind your back.
What’s your name?
What’s your sign?
Can we talk?
Do you have the time?
Are you single?
Are you a Mom?
Do you have a girl for my friend Tom?
I don’t know what this means. Who says it has to mean anything?
I’m just putting stuff out there because the world can never have too much stuff.
Follow me if you like to read bad words.
Don’t follow me if you can’t read bad words at work.