Currently Chasing: Skinny Bitchdom

I bought a book today. Skinny Bitch. And wouldn’t you know, I have to stop doing everything. In fact, even this blog may be against the rules.

Let me put it to you this way. I watched Saw III yesterday. If you’ve never seen this movie, there is a part where a woman basically opens a mans head and removes part of his skull. Reading portions of this book were even more graphic. Believe it or not, there were a couple things I just had to skip totally for fear I may throw up. (Another weight loss method perhaps.)

However, it did its job. After reading this book I have no cravings. None. They disected every single thing I put in my mouth. Sugar. Sugar substitute. Milk. Cheese. Chicken. Red Meat. Flour. Juice. Everything.

They showed me how it’s made, what’s in it, who died for it, how they died, the process in which they lived before they died. And for what? So I can be a Fat Friend.

Chapters in this book range from topics like ’pooping’ to ’stop being a pussy.’ The ladies who wrote the book are indeed ’Skinny Bitches.’ And the advice they give in the book will no doubt, turn you into a skinny bitch as well. And I’m willing to give it a try.

No dairy. No meat. No sugar. No diet soda. Nothing but fruit for breakfast. And lots and lots of shitting. Think about it. How much food are you putting into your body...and how much is coming out? The rest is just sitting inside your body decomposing and marinating in acid and other chemicals.

If I feel hungry, all I have to do is read a page or two from the chapter labeled ’you are what you eat’ and trust me, I will not be hungry anymore. I think the part about transporting the animals through the snow via truck with no protection, which sometimes causes them to actually become frozen to the vehicle, and then upon taking them out of the truck, they sometimes end up ripping them from their legs, will be enough to keep me from the double quarter pounder with cheese.

At least for that moment.

They say to give the process 30 days.... 30 days of eating healthy. No meat, no dairy, no sugar, no substitutes, no diet soda....just organic. Wheat, fruit, nuts, veggies, beans, soy, tofu and stuff like that. Can I do it?

They also say to get off your ass and go to the gym. But not forever. Just 20 minutes, five days a week. I think I’m going to try it. What do I have to lose? I should consider myself blessed actually....

I don’t really like cheese, and I don’t smoke or drink a lot and I hate coffee. The book requires ending all of those addictions. No more coffee! No more cigs! No more beer! No more cheese! None. Nada. Zip. Zilch. So already I’m at least a toned down twat, on my way to skinny bitchdom. And of course the bitch authors live in LA! Fucking Skinny Bitches.

I bet they are sitting on their fat wallets sucking down a diseased steak, laughing while the rest of us give up all that is right with the world.

Currently Chasing: Blast from the Past - Fuck with Manners!

*Originally posted in January*

So last night I'm in bed, which is usually where I am at night. Around 2 a.m. I begin hearing some commotion. At first I think it is someone knocking on my neighbor’s door, but then I realize it is actually her knocking on my bedroom wall - with her fucking headboard!

Now don't get my wrong. I'm all for loud superhero sex that leaves you too tired to even bother getting up to pee (which I don't recommend due to the agonizing bladder infections that can usually occur after such an episode) but geez!

I mean honest to blog, it's a Monday night! Seriously? I could hear her moaning and groaning and I mean, let's be honest, was it THAT good? Anyway, everything died down around 3:30. And then out of nowhere, like something out of an old batman mini-series...

Bam! Boom! Clap! Superslut strikes again. Headboard and all. I enjoy having sex as much as the next person, but I don't feel the need to make it a neighborhood main event. This chick was all over the damn place. And from the intensity of round two, I can only imagine there was a player three. I could smell the herpes from my bed.

These walls are paper thin, and the last thing I want my 6-year-old hearing is someone's massacre next door.

And what ever happened to good ol' fashioned making love. Where people kissed and whispered little nothings and weren't getting mock raped? I mean this guy was stabbing her with his pork sword so hard I thought they were going to fly right through the fucking wall.

I mean, what is wrong with fucking between the hours of 8-11 pm. Or fuck all day while I'm at work. Or fuck in the morning while I'm taking a shower. But don't fuck in the middle of my beauty sleep. Don't fuck so loud it wakes me from a coma. Don't fuck before my alarm goes off. Fuck with manners.

Currently Chasing: Texters

Have you ever returned a phone call to someone who you know is going to drive you crazy, only to want to shoot yourself in the head two minutes into the conversation? And then it still lasts another hour and thirty three minutes?

And no matter how many times you say you gotta go, it just doesn't happen. Like, "Alright so it was nice talking to you .... "
"Yeah, it was nice talking to you as well, you know I had kidney stones last year, man it was crazy, I was in the hospital and then your uncle Mike told me that I could come stay there and the worst thing in the world is kidney stones but morphine is cool and that is what they gave me because I was in so much pain."

"I'm really sorry to hear that, but it's about 10:30 at night and I really have to get my kid into bed .... "
Yeah, how is she by the way? You know that rose bush I planted for her is sprouting up, I should send pictures of it. It is so beautiful. Does she still sing? What is she getting for Christmas? How old is she now? when was her birthday? I knew it was in October. I told your Dad it was in October. Did he remember your birthday this year? You know I remind him every year. If I didn't, he would forget.

"Yeah, my dad is so forgetful. Whew, look at the time, I miss you, I'm going to go ... "
"I miss you too. We don't talk enough. It seems like we just lose touch so easy. the last time I talked to you was a year ago this time. I know you were out to visit in May, but I didn't get a chance to see you. I was in the hospital. Man, what a crazy time that was. I think you knew I was in the hospital. I'm fine now, things are going well. Except I'm miserable. I really don't like my life and I'm just not happy. What about you? Did you get out of the military? I talked to your brother and he told me that you decided to get out. It's the right choice. Your dad is worried, but I told him you are making the right choice."

"Yeah, I talked to my brother about it. He agreed I was making the right choice. But I'm going to go now ..."
"Yeah, your brother is going through a tough time right now. His daughter was skipping a lot of school and then one day she skipped and he found out so he went home to catch her and found her in bed with someone. And it was a woman! I guess that's what happens when you raise your daughter to be a boy. We wanted to put her in dance class, but he wanted her to play baseball and soccer. And she doesn't believe in God. So what do you expect?"

"Yep...godless lesbians are all around us. But Damn bitch I gotta go!"

In the end, I guess I didn't have to go too bad, seeing as though I got off the phone and wrote this damn blog. But jeez....you know? Some people and their War and Peace Telephone calls. That's why I text.

Currently Chasing: Competence

I have a feeling I'll be on this chase forever.

The staff at the McDonalds by my house must actually have a running bet about who can fuck up the most. Start with the fact that the drive through runs through the parking lot. So if you park when it's busy you are basically fucked because the drive thru cars will block you without guilt for the entire rush hour.

If you decide to take what seems like the lesser of two evils (the actual drive thru) then be prepared. The credit card machine is never working. But they don't tell you that until you are actually placing your order. When you order sweet tea, the screen reflects unsweet tea. When you confirm that it is sweet tea, they say yes like you are a dumb ass, but it never fails ... when you take a drink, that shitty tea is missing one thing. THE SWEET!

No matter how many times I order an egg mcmuffin with no cheese, I always get cheese. When I order my daughter a cheeseburger with extra pickles, I get chicken nuggets, and when I order a diet coke I always get a bottle of water. It gets worse. At the first window, where they take your money, there is a sign advertising a military discount, but I've been told twice that I can't get the discount unless I mention it at the time of the order. But the sign is by the window where I pay... after paying for the order, I pull up to the second window, and that person always looks like they are trying to make up for everyone else's incompetance.

They lean out the window with head shaking like, can you believe these clowns. Then they ask you matter of factly...so what exactly did you order. At that point you can say whatever you want. "I ordered a big mac, large fries and a diet coke." That person will look confused as they look around for your stuff, like it should magically appear. Then they will yell to the back, hey, why is there a quarter pounder up here, she ordered a big mac. No, not a big and tasty, a big mac!

Right after that exchange they hand you a bag with a reassuring look and, of course, a filet o' fish and an apple pie. WHAT THE FUCK? You would think I would just stop going there, but truth is, I hold out hope that no one can fuck up 100 percent of the time. And I'm proven wrong 100 percent of the time. Minimum wage just went up ... Do your damn job.

The baskin Robbins by my house is not much better. They never have any of the items they advertise. Typical Conversation.

Me: I'll have a banana split.
BR: We are out of bananas.
Me: Ok, how about a Heath bar crunch.
BR: We are out of Heath bars.
Me: Wow, ok, uh, can I get a scoopy of Cotton Candy ice cream.
BR: That is no longer available.
Me: It's on the menu.
BR: Uh, yeah.
Me: Can I get a strawberry banana shake.
BR: We still don't have bananas.
Me: Give me a scoop of Vanilla.
BR: Great, will that be all?
Me: Do I have a fucking option? Maybe really spice it up with another scoop of Vanilla?

There are tons of these examples. I'm sure you are chasing something similiar...tell me about it! we can bitch and moan and do nothing about it together.

Currently Chasing: Reliable Directions

So I drove to North Carolina to pick up my daughter this weekend. I wasn’t alone though. A huge bug committed suicide on my windshield about a half hour into the trip. My wipers were not strong enough to remove the body, so he rode with me the duration of the trip. He wasn’t alone out there for long. By trip end hundreds of bloody carcasses lined the glass.

And why wouldn’t they want to throw themselves into oncoming traffic? Think about it. Even your briefest appearance in any well lit area becomes a life threatening encounter. Humans name the most annoying of their kind after you. All the girl bugs just want to be friends or are fucking your friends, because face it, you all look alike. There really aren’t a lot of options when you’re a bug.

Anyway, bugs weren’t my only problem with this trip. The other problem was my damn wack-ass GPS! I swear - if cars are females then GPS’s are dudes! How do I know this? Because most cars are reliable, and most GPS’s are damn liars! They may have the voice of a female, but that is just another part of the lie! They act like angels and saviors, but they are really the Devil!



Now granted, I didn’t decide to leave for the trip until 9 p.m., which I know is a little late to embark on a 5-6 hour trip, but I had to squeeze every last second out of my two weeks of freedom. So that included making last minute plans to attend a Charm City Roller Girls event.

These girls are hell on wheels. They have cools names like Judy Boom and Esy Ex. They wear tight clothes and skate round and round knocking chicks right the hell out. Why not me!? I want a cool name like Scary Terri or Brittany Smears. I want to skate around in multi-colored, Punky Brewster inspired garb. I want to knock out a roller skank or two! However, I could probably live without the revenge punch to the gut. And this really isn’t a good year for tight clothes. And I prefer flip flops to skates. So basically I don’t want to be a roller girl, I just want to be referred to by a bad-ass name.

So anyway, I leave the event at 9, plug the ending address into my GPS and am shocked at the results. It tells me I will arrive at a convenient 6:30 a.m! What the fucking fuck?! I’m freaking out, but figure it will recalculate the time once I actually get on the highway. So my trip begins, as does my conversation with my GPS, which goes something like this:

GPS: Make a right turn at Lincoln Street.
Me: Yes sir, I am now making a right turn.
GPS: Updating Route.
Me: What the fuck do you mean? You told me to make a right and I made a right.
GPS: Make a U-Turn in .2 miles.
Me: I can’t. There is a no U-Turn sign there.
GPS: Updating Route.
Me: Well hurry the fuck up because there is a fork in the road.
GPS: Turn slight left .4 miles ago.
Me: FUCK YOU.

So there you go. It took me 45 minutes to get out of Baltimore and find the 295. Then it told me to take the 395 for 10 miles and merge onto the 495. I was waiting for it to tell me to take exit 666 then start spinning and spewing green junk and then ultimately explode like an Austin Powers HoBot!

So I call my daughter’s aunt and she tells me to just take the 95 to the 85 to the 40 and I’m there. I went ahead and left the GPS on of course, because really it was the only conversation I had going for me. Of course he only wanted to talk about himself and his immediate plans for the future, and the directions his life is taking. He paid no mind to my attempts to break out of his seemingly complicated, but actually simple, useless and annoyingly bright box!

I wanted to throw the damn GPS out the window, but despite my self-proclaimed idependence, I am even less confident in my abilities to find my way without a man. I mean GPS.

Needless to say, be the time I arrived to N.C., me and my GPS had broken up. But we got back together 30 minutes later when I needed help finding a Dennys.

Currently Chasing: What I seem to be

I went out last night. Basically my last hurrah before Dev comes back from visiting her Auntie and Grandma. First stop, a Third Thursday event where local PA professionals gather and mingle and discuss what’s new in the community; next stop, a fabulous party where I almost suffocated and died.

We took a cab to this party. Karaoke Cab DC! Who knew. This man has his cab totally set up for Karaoke. He films his singers, while also driving...(very safe to do in DC traffic, because essentially you never move.) He then, with permission of course, posts those vidoes on youtube...Look em' up.

Anyway, J took me to a blog anniversary party. Only in DC are there formal parties introducing, re-introducing or refurbishing a blog. The dress code was ‘fashion forward’ so I spent the entire night leaning forward. I was the only one. Obviously these people do not follow codes.

The thing about it is that the thermostat for the room read 80, and my iphone told me that the temp outside was 76. Someone might have wanted to open a window, but there was a fear of someone ‘not on the list’ getting in. Thank God the cupcakes didn’t melt. DeeLish!

What did melt? Faces. Once fresh faces. One man spent the entire night looking like he had jumped into a pool. Meanwhile, I could literally feel each bead of sweat make its way down the back of my legs and right into my very high, very uncomfortable, shoes. The shoes were a must though, they gave me that forward lean I mentioned earlier.

The party was held in a boutique of some sort. I almost knocked a $900 bookshelf down a flight of stairs. There was a scary Styrofoam-ish lamp available for $700. It looked like a glowing alien of sorts. It would surely scare the crap out of you in the middle of the night. Clothes were for sale in the back, and at a very reasonable price. I saw a beautiful coat and at first I thought it cost $0, but that was the size…it was merely a mortgage payment away from being mine!

I spent most of the evening talking to a great local photographer. He was very impressed with my Iphone picture taking skills. We were both taking pictures of a drunk guy laying over all the furniture, eating the fake fruit on the tables, who only had a few buttons left on his shirt. I think his extreme amount of frontal body hair must have popped the others.

And then I saw the most confusing thing of the night. A sign on the wall that read, “Be what you seem to be.” Hmmm. This place seemed to be a very ventilated and air conditioned boutique, but actually was a lava pit of death. Not as easy as it seems to be, to be what you seem to be. And shouldn’t it say, be who you seem to be?

After that, J and I seemed to be two hungry thirty somethings in crazy high shoes, walking down a cobblestone sidewalk (not a good combination) searching for some popular DC hangout called Me and You. We ended up at Johnny Rockets. Good or bad, that place is always what it seems to be.

Best conversation of the night…

Me: He used to date a blind girl.
Someone else: I thought you said she was Asian.
Me: Are the two mutually exclusive?

Currently Chasing: A blast from the past...

*Every now and then you will see a 'blast from the past' post. These are funny past blog posts I will share with you from time to time.

So if you know me, you know I can't say no. Or at least I have a hard time saying no. And I'm not talking sex here, I'm talking door-to-door salespeople.
It got so bad that my former roommate used to have to answer the door, because if I answered it, no doubt, I'd end up buying something.
Magazines, a Kirby Vacuum, candy, a dick in a box. What the fuck ever. I mean, I bought the kirby, tried to return it, and fucking bought it again. That is how hard it is for me to just say no.
Ironically, I've never done drugs. But come to think of it, no one has ever tried to sell them to me. Who knows what would happen if there was a door-to-door drug dealer.
Anyway, today...for the first time...I said no. A girl came to the door and asked me if I get the paper. I don't. I don't read it. I get my news online and on the TV. And really just online. I have no time to read the paper. Sad, but true. She says, what about just the Sunday paper. No I say.
"You would be helping me out," she said. "I am a single mother and just for signing you up today I'm going to get a check for a thousand dollars. Even if you just get a couple of issues and then cancel, I'll still get the money."
I said, "Wow, I'm a single mother as well, and that sounds like a great deal. How about I sign and I get a thousand dollars?"
She didn't look amused. I said, "Look, I'm trying to make ends meet also. And paying money for something I don't need is not something I am into doing right now."
She said, "look, you don't even have to keep the subscription, just call in a couple of weeks and cancel."
I said, "I'm going to just say no now. I don't want to have to remember to cancel a service I don't want."
She said, "It's only a dollar per paper."
I said, "I'd much rather just give you five bucks, and you can give a subscription to one of my neighbors, or get it yourself. If we are only talking about a dollar per issue, and you are saying I can cancel after a few weeks, that is only three dollars. Why don't you just pay three dollars for five of your friends, and then collect the thousand dollars?"
Needless to say, she finally left. And I stood my ground. And I'm proud to say I am not the new owner of a lifetime subscription to something else I don't need. Now if I could just stop paying 50 bucks for the gym I don't go to, 20 bucks for the second phone line I don't use, 20 bucks for the needy kids that I never get updated on, 10 dollars for the travel program I don't even know how to use, 19 dollars for the tanning salon I'll die using, 14 dollars for the tax monitoring I accidentally signed up for and therefore do not know how to cancel, 13 dollars for the scholastic books Dev never thanks me for, and 10 dollars for the netflix membership that I never order from, I'd have 157.00. Which would be just enough to pay for the new Iphone I absolutely didn’t need.

Currently Chasing: A Superhero Costume

My super power? Having men in my past marry the very next girl they date after me! It is a power I could do without. It has happened numerous times in the past 10 years, and I’m about done with it.

Last night I got yet another invite to a wedding between an ex-boyfriend and the newest love of his life. It’s awesome, it’s romantic, it’s endearing, and it’s making me want to throw up my egg burrito.

The first time it happened, I was dating the guy for about a year. He was great. Very funny and loving. We got along very well and he was crazy about my daughter. But he got kicked out of the Marine Corps for some reason, and it all seemed shady so my friends assured me I should dump his behind. So I did. He ended up very successful, working in DC, still funny and loving, and oh yeah….married to the next girl he dated.

The next guy didn’t even have any shady circumstance surrounding him. We got along great and again, things seemed to be progressing nicely. We went on vacation but I really wasn’t feeling it. We broke up. Six months later he stopped by my office to show me the ring. The ring he had bought for someone else. The $10,000 ring that he made sure to add “could have been mine.”

The man I spent years and years chasing in San Diego has basically ended up in a committed, semi-monogamous relationship with the next girl he dated after me, and eventually they may graduate into marriage. However, for him, committed and semi-monogamous is maybe as close to marriage as he’ll get. So there you go.

The man I dated during initial training in the Navy?…married to the next girl he dated.
The man I spent months wooing years and years ago?…married to the next girl who wooed him.
The man I loved in Italy, married to the girl he met at home during his two weeks of leave.
The man I loved in Diego Garcia. Already married. But that’s beside the point.

If you want to get married, and you have a particular man in mind…send him my way. I’ll date him for a few months and send him right back, on bended knee with ring in hand. Complete with manners and amazing foot rubbing skills. Just call me Super Rejected.

Up, Up and away!

Currently Chasing: Mustard and World Peace

So last night I was in D.C. for the Miss DC pageant contest. It was taking place at the Lincoln Theater, which is neighbor to the famous Ben’s Chili Bowl (one of the places Obama has eaten and highly recommended.)

We find our seats and the pageant begins.

First, the swimsuit category: Hello folks, this is Mandy. Mandy only eats once a week and donates all the rest of her food to the homeless. (While she walks across stage in sheer perfection, I vow to never eat again.)

Next up, the Q and A portion:
Q. Can you please tell us why arts and music are important programs that should be kept in our schools?

A. Arts and Music should be kept in our schools because … um, creating is creative and important. And children creating it are very creative and important. And schools are important and creative. And our children need this important creativity for the future.

Q. How important is the Green movement to world preservation?

A. I think moving on Green is very important. If you move on Red, you may get hit by a car.

And my favorite question of the night. What do you tell people who say that D.C. is Hollywood for ugly people?

A. Um, I’m beautiful and everyone loves me.

Next up, the talent portion: This is Linda. Linda is doing an interpretive dance about peace and this nation’s need for it. It was choreographed by two deaf people affected by the recession. Her outfit is made from recycled materials.

All joking aside, I was surprised by the talent portion. Who knew that Opera was such a popular talent? Four of the contestants belted out their Susan Boyle-worthy songs and I was pretty impressed.

The winner was announced. It was the beautiful blonde. Shocker! Before her tears of joy hit the floor we were out of there. We headed next door to Ben's to break a vow and eat our emotions. Two minutes into our chilidogs of death, a former Miss D.C. walks in. My friend J knows her so they talk for a few minutes and I just sit there trying to act thin. Then she goes to the next table with her friends.

They are all drinking water and discussing world peace … while sharing a french fry.

Currently Chasing: : (at a very rapid speed might I add) GAS!

So last night I head out to Mclean, Va., for a toy party. For those who don’t know what I mean by toys. I am talking about Barbies, and speak & spells, and oh yeah, fake dicks!

Anyway, traffic is a mess and I’m already running late so I figure I’ll just get gas on my way back. Halfway there I get a text that says, “we are all wearing sexy costumes.” I write back with “can I just come in what I have on?” she texts back…of course, come in whatever. In my head I’m thinking…maybe a few of them will have on a costume, but surely not everyone.

Wrong.

I walk in to a damn sexy Halloween store. Naughty maid, wonder woman, stewardess, and the list goes on. I’m feeling overdressed, and by overdressed I just mean dressed.

So we sit down for the party and I’m just trying to drink a bit and relax. We are talking about sex and blow jobs and our girl parts and that is totally comfortable when you are sitting around seven strangers wearing underwear. I assure you.

The only thing less comfortable than that is when I volunteered to put some kind of lava potion on my ‘girl’ and ended up almost burning my clit off!

After buying $120 bucks worth of edible products - that I’ll probably just end up eating while watching reality TV – I thank the ladies for a lovely evening and I leave.

Now, despite the burning clit, my sex drive was at an all time high, unfortunately the car I drive was at an all time low. And I mean low. Like Flo Rider Low!

Now, in my experience, (and by experience I mean my past irresponsibility) I have learned that when my car gives me the three ding warning, it means I have about 30 miles left. I have never tried pushing it past that 30-mile mark. So upon hearing the three dings, I push my mileage button and begin looking for a gas station.

Everything is very calm at first. After about 10 miles I begin to get nervous. Driving on the 495 at 11:30 at night looking through trees for a sign of life is not a good feeling. When I’m not looking for a gas station, those rapists are everywhere. Not now. So I program the GPS to take me to the first station on the list. It directs me off the freeway and takes me 12 miles through some small (seemingly haunted) town and drops me at a gas station. IT’S CLOSED! I go back to the GPS to find the next station…it says it is 0 miles away. I look across the street. Another gas station. CLOSED.

I’m freaking out. I just tell the thing to take me home and it finally gets me back on the scary, dark, secluded….495. Yes secluded. This is the same freeway that was hopping and jumping and bumber to bumper earlier. Now an entire family of deer could probably trek across the damn freeway and have a fucking picnic in the middle of the road.
Here is the thing. My counter says 32. Oh my God, I think to myself. This car is going to sputter into unconsciousness on the side of this road and I’m going to be raped and murdered.

Finally I see it. The gas station logo. I’ve never been more happy pay too much for gas in my whole life. And all I kept thinking while I was pumping was, thank God I’m not dressed like a slutty Alice in Wonderland.

Currently chasing: A husband

So I recently sent my best guy friend sprinting across the parking lot at the local Panera with my number in tow. I had convinced him to run out and give it to a guy I had made eye contact with moments earlier. How did I convince him you ask? I looked him right in the eyes and said, “That man is my future husband! Do not let him get away.” With that, he grabbed the number, which was written on the back of my Panera receipt with the disclaimer, ‘please do not use the information on the front of this receipt to steal my identity,’ and bolted out the door. He came back in a huff and I was satisfied that I would be getting a phone call. I didn’t. The last time I gave my number out, I was at the gym. Some guy was staring harder than a mall cop in the jewelry aisle. He wanted me. So I figured I’d make the first move. So I gave him my number. The next time I saw him at the gym he pointed to his crotch. Or at least that’s what I thought he was pointing to. Turns out he was pointing to the drawstring on his pants...And at the end of the string was his wedding ring. Dude, no one wants to see that shit, keep it in your pants…pocket! Don’t stare at me and expect me to hump you near the squat machine, but then try to give me the hint later by flashing your ring. Wear the fucking thing! Men are kings of mixed messages. I’ve recently been talking to this guy. Well, texting this guy. He finally tells me he wants to make things official between us. He’s tired of playing the field and he would be lucky to have a girl like me to call his own. Fine. Awesome. I’m all for it. So I write him and say, ok…game on. The next text he sends says, “Hey, my ex keeps calling…I have to fly to California this weekend and get the rest of my stuff. Let me take care of that before we get serious. I just need a bit of time.” What the hell is going on? Literally all of this text conversation took place in five minutes. There is a co-worker who consistently flirts with me. But then tells me he’s going home early to hang with his lady friend. I have a lady friend too…and I call her Mom. Mixed messages! Who uses the term lady friend? So the chase continues for someone slightly above average looking, who is smart and funny and not married…someone who is romantic yet sporty, but not wishy/washy. Someone who is emotionally available, but only to me. I guess that’s the point. I won’t ever catch this guy until he’s chasing me.

Currently chasing: Monogamy, or something like it.

So the other day I’m listening to the radio. They are talking about Steve McNair (may he RIP.) They are bringing up all the great things he’s done in the world. He was basically what they referred to as, the nicest guy in the NFL. But he was also a cheater. Which led to the question, if you are basically a saint in every other regard, does cheating on your significant other make you a douche bag no matter what?

After 32 years of dealing with both sides of the spectrum, I have this to say. No. Cheating does not make you a horrible person. It makes you human. We are not penguins. We may get into relationships, but we do not mate for life. We love and we sacrifice and we encourage and we cheat. We cheat on tests, we cheat on diets, we cheat on taxes and we cheat on lovers. It’s what we do.

Now I’m not saying I wouldn’t love to live in a world where you meet that person and they satisfy every need you have and consistently keep you wrapped in a warm blanket of chick flick kinda love. Of course I do! I want to be loved Notebook style. No doubt. I have the best of intentions for myself and my lover.

I try to believe him when he says he texting his friend about work. I try to believe his phone is just dead and not turned off. I give the benefit of the doubt when he smells like a walking vagina. (it’s a new cologne…of course it is.) But in the end guess what?? He doesn’t just smell like a walking Vagina, he is a walking vagina. And guess what else, if he looks in your purse, he’ll probably find someone else’s dick. Because that’s the way it goes. Everyone cheats.

And most people aren’t just cheaters…they are also horrible people in general, who don’t give to charity and don’t support causes and don’t even tip well.

So the moral (if you can even call it that) to this story is, sure, try to be the best person you can be to your spouse or significant other, but don’t be a total douche in every regard but expect to get into heaven because you kept it in your pants. Chances are no one else wanted to sleep with you anyway.