It Is That Simple

Have you ever been in a situation where you'd rather gouge your eyeballs out with a meat thermometer? Has a situation ever made you feel like plucking your eyelashes out one by one while singing "My Country Tis Of Thee?" That would be me last night. I don't know what it is about poker night with the girls that eventually has me wanting to run upstairs and hang myself with my bedsheets, but it does.

It probably has something to do with the "guy talk" that always seems to come up. It's usually a bunch of bitching and complaining about how all men suck and when I ask my friend what she's doing to better the situation, she comes up blank. For the love of Peter, Paul, and Francine! It isn't rocket science.

Ladies, if your relationship just isn't working, you have two choices: you either address the situation with him (not me, I can do nothing) or you let him go. Yes, it's that simple. If you think he's worth your time, talk to him about what's going on and give him a chance to make adjustments. If you realize from the get-go that he's not worth another precious minute, send him packing with a beautiful parting gift of a kick in the ass.

I was also guilty of complaining about my ex, but I woke up and realized no matter what I said, this motherfucker wasn't changing. I donned my biggest boots, threw on my big girl undies, and said enough was enough. Of course I still bitch and complain (that's just me), but I don't waste my time on a man who doesn't matter. Not when there's much more important things to do -- like finding out who started this "have a happy period" bullshit and forking them relentlessly!

The Bitch Is Back!

It is official -- I either need therapy in the worst way or I've become the ultimate bitchy man-hater. I'll let you decide:

I have a new hobby (no worries, I haven't given up the forking and burying of the poor deceased bodies of the ignorant). You see, I recently signed up for a dating service. After receiving some interest and a weekend of binge drinking to get my courage up, I decided to jump back into the dating pool. I didn't sign up to meet the love of my life, but to pass the time in a way in which I'm sure will send me straight to hell.

(Yes, this is what happens when a bitch gets bored.)

I begin by weeding out the potential good guys and stick with the clear-cut pieces of shit. We set up a date and the party is on! I begin as if I'm actually interested in what he has to say. I let him talk first to ensure I have a self-serving, so not deserving of any decent woman douchebag on my hands and then I kick him right in the balls (no, not literally). I point out all his flaws and all that his poor soul is lacking. I inform him of why he can't seem to find a good woman. I basically tell the tool he is worthless and send him crying back to mommy.

So far, I feel as if I'm succeeding in making it a little easier for the women out there. Sure, it may send me to hell, but the look on the guy's face is priceless and almost addictive. I'm sure I'll get bored with this new hobby at some point and find a new way to amuse myself, but for now, I'm just enjoying being a bitch.

Bag Lady Brawl

I know you’ve seen them – those women walking around with what looks like a damn suitcase draped over their shoulder as if they are on a backpacking journey from coast to coast. If you are anything like me, you’ve been hit several times while walking through the crowded malls by those same oversized bags. Can someone please tell me what in the hell is up with women and their huge purses?

What could you possibly carry that needed a bag that big? Maybe with it being around the holidays and the crime rates being up because of it, these women have packed their purses with bricks in order to ward off would-be attackers. One smash from their purse would send any robber running for the hills.

Perhaps my way of doing things has caught on and they have even upped the ante. Not only are they carrying forks in their purses, they are carrying a way to dispose of the body as well. Simply stab the fucker, stuff him in your bag, and drop the package into the nearest dumpster on your way out.

Or could it possibly be women today actually need that much shit to get through the day? I’m not sure the logic to carrying something so big and I doubt I ever will, but I do know this – if I’m ever hit by one again, I swear I will punch the lady in the face, shove her ass in the bag, and toss it in the restroom trash bin.

Damnit, I bruise easily and those bags hurt like hell!