Let's Get (Meta) Physical, or The One Where I Reveal Just How Crazy I Really Am

Okay, so I am gonna get all weird on you guys here.


Alright, fine...




Weird-ER. 
Whatever.

True, true, true.

Yesterday, I went to work considerably more dolled up than I have been as of late.  Normally, I just put my hair in some random configuration to minimize the puffball nightmare that is engendered by all of the water that keeps coming out of the sky NONSTOP. 
I usually wear minimal makeup.  Mascara, eyeliner, powder, and some tinted lip gloss. 




If I don't wear makeup, I look like a dude. 


Which, unless I am wrong about Rufus (I'm never wrong, BTW, my gaydar is spot on...are we even allowed to say gaydar anymore?  I feel like I should be allowed to since my GBF is the one that taught me that word in the first place), is not gonna help me.






So, to prep for my inevitable run-in with Rufus, now that he has been identified as prey, I curled my hair, so that my natural curls would not frizz, but just go limp if the evil-sky-faucet opened up over my head.  I slapped an extra coat of war paint on my face, spritzed some perfume on, and headed to work.






No Rufus.






This isn't surprising to me in retrospect, because I realized that, although I said  I was going to get my Ginger on this year, I never actually asked.






Are you confused?








Here's the deal.  So far in 2017, some really bizarre things have been going on in my sparkly little square of the universe.  I joined this one group on FB, and we are all kind of working our way through this 30-Day project.  It's super fun, and words like 'manifestation' and 'abundance' and very touchy-feely sort of thoughts about the law of attraction are passed around all day, every day.






Clap if you believe in faeries.






I am sure some of you are rolling your eyes and saying, "Oh, it's that 'The Secret' bullcrap, isn't it?".




Yes, yes it is.








I loved The Secret when it came out.  I love the idea that we can create our ideal lives through visualization and vision boards and gratitude and intention. 

It's that simple.

LOVE IT. 
The reason I love it, is that it happens to me all the time, and always has.  Over and over in my life, I have asked the universe, God, Charlie the cedar tree (yes, I talked to a tree when I was little.  surely, if you know me at all, this does not surprise you), whomever/whatever for certain things, and I got them. 


They were always things I really wanted, always things I had really visualized having, and things that I simply felt belonged to me.  This has happened with people as well.  People I have wanted to meet, or people I admired and wanted to be closer to, etc. 


So, with this group, all these magical things keep happening  -- so quickly and specifically that it's impossibly to call it serendipity or coincidence.




I can give you one VERY specific instance that occurred a couple of weeks ago.  One of my 'things' I have been wanting to work on is my procrastination.  I have allllllllll these things I want to do today, but usually end up getting to them tomorrow....or later.


I blame this on Scarlett O'Hara, naturally, but it is still super inconvenient and has cost me time and money and a lot of headaches and hassle.






Anyway, I tried a bunch of little tricks and tips from numerous Google searches, and nothing was working!!!


Super frustrating.  I was working out and literally said out loud, "I wish I knew what the answer is to this psychotic procrastination, seriously Mary, this has got to stop" (yes, I talk to myself out loud--all the time.  Expert opinion and all that).




I was sipping some post workout warm-lemon-water-with-apple-cider-vinegar, and scrolling through FB (of course), when a link showed up in my news feed.
It was LITERALLY the answer I was looking for.  Totally and completely.




This is the link. 




CLICK ON IT, I DARE YOU!!!!




It will change your life, seriously.  The last 2 weeks have been super productive, personally and professionally, and I have the 'Rolling 9' and the 'First 5' to thank for it.  What's even better is, there is a section, which he refers to as "Controlling the Narrative" which is literally exactly what our group was doing, but he takes all of the touchy-feely language out, and explains it so it is straightforward AF.  That way, even skeptics like you will have to buy into it.


Seriously, if you have any common sense, you are nodding your head as you read this sentence because you already clicked the link and read that amazing article.


If you haven't read it yet, go do it now before you make me mad!!  Here it is again, just in case you are too lazy to scroll back up to it




"SHORTCUT TO SUPER DUPER LIFE-CHANGING ARTICLE"






You will thank me for it I am sure.




I'm totally fine with that, because gratitude = tacos.  So if you try the stuff in the article and you feel like you want to thank me, rather than the genius that wrote it....send tacos.




Anyway, I say all this because I realized, that in order to really get the ball rolling on this Ginger-Hunting-Expedition, I should probably use the "Controlling the Narrative" exercise on it , and see if it worked like it did with the coffee, the Subway card, and the rusty nail in the parking lot. That probably doesn't make sense to you, but I will explain it in the blog where I tell you all about my first date with Rufus. 




It will make sense then.




Cross your fingers for me, though, it can't hurt!!!

Okay, so MAYBE the Universe doesn't give me EVERYTHING I ask for ^^, but I'm guessing Eva Mendes' manifesting mojo is better than mine!  :)

Dreamy, Steamy, or Screamy?

So, I am doing this writing experiment for 30 days. #500WordsADay.

One of the comments on a post really got me thinking.  So much so, that I scrapped my planned post about plastic surgery and how Vanna White is, like, and alien or something because she has only aged about 5 minutes in the last 20 years without having so much plastic surgery she looks like a Muppet (ahem, Courteney Cox, Donatella, John Travolta). 

Seriously...she must bathe in Virgin blood.

The comment was about how random people (hello boy who went to Oak Tree for 3 months in the second grade!) pop into our dreams.  The second part of that comment was wondering how often we pop up in other people's dreams.....and that is pretty. dang. interesting.

I seriously have dreams about people from my past all of the time.  And not past boyfriends or anything like that (well, except for TC -- dream about that one roughly once a month and it's alternately fabulous and depressing), but about someone I sat next to in Freshman English at NU, or a coworker from 1994.  Totally random people who would probably not recognize me if I passed them on the street (mainly because of my eyebrows---I had very bad eyebrows from 1990-1996, seriously).


But now I have to wonder, do I ever pop up I random people's dreams?

Clearly, there are people who I would prefer were dreaming about me...ahem, you two.

But I also shudder to think of who might occasionally dream about me, and what exactly I might be doing in my dreams.....ew.  When I was 24, this dude offered to buy me breast implants if I would take a bath with him.  He was, like, 60.  Short, rotund, greasy, with oddly feminine, plump, little hands.  EW!!!  Double ew!  I wonder if he ever had a dream about me giving him a bath....triple ew!! (which, by the way never happened--I have never had fake boobs OR taken a bath with him or anyone over the age of 40.  pinkie swear)

Look, if any of you have been reading this blog for any length of time -- or since yesterday--- the issue of my promiscuity has come up a couple of times.  Well, I know what I am like in real life, and I can only assume Dream Mary is out there whorin' it up, giving obese, rich, old men baths and hand jobs to random cashiers and hobos........

Oh. Holy. Fuck.

I don't edit these things, guys, besides a rudimentary pass with the ol' spell-checker and some fun with font colors.  What I type is what you see which is what you get. 

So I am now stuck with the horrifying (whore-ifying?) mental image of every random dude that has propositioned me (lookin' at you, Bob, with your gold chains and ponytail, trying to make me drink a Viagra Martini--not a fancy blue concoction, ya'll...vodka martini with 2 Viagra dropped in the bottom--yikes!) having at least one dream where I give up the goodies.

So, yeah, this ended well.  I'm off to bed....to sleep perchance NOT dream!

I would sleep so much better if I had this.  How do I not have this yet?

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

Except not an iPhone.  Fuck iPhones.

Oh. Em. Gee.  You guuuuuuys, I flippin' HATE technology.

I'm serious.

Or maybe it's just cell phones.

And computers.

And the internet.

Facebook.

Google.  (who is spying on all of us, guys, for serious!!)



http://www.msn.com/en-us/news/technology/google-eavesdropping-tool-installed-on-computers-without-permission/ar-AAc1CpO



Tumblr, Twitter, Flicker, blah, blah, blah.
(Random thought--maybe there should be a website called Dickr where dudes post pictures of their junk and you can decide whether or not you want to date them based on their manly bits. Too much?)



I hate cell phones. 


Wait, let me re-phrase that.  I fucking hate cell phones.



I am pretty sure I was the last person in the world to even get a cell phone.  I had one for work for ages, but I resisted having a personal one until....I am pretty sure it was 2006.  And the only reason I got one then is that I was knocked up, and everyone insisted that it was a medical necessity. 

By the time my pregnancy came to its horrifying and messy conclusion, I was completely addicted to the Tetris and would no more consider getting rid of it than my child.

Yesssssssssssssssssss!!!

Sadly, I lost that phone.  And the next phone had an improved Tetris that I did not like the graphics on.
 But it DID have Zuma. 

Addicted.  Phone stays.

But then I lost that phone. The next phone got dropped in a bleach bucket at work. 
The next one got dropped in the sink while I was washing my hands and talking on the phone. 
Lost on a hike.
Dropped in the lake.
Dropped in the bathtub.
iPhone for Christmas repossessed by my ex and re-gifted to his daughter as a birthday present. (not kidding)
Thrown in a storm drain when said ex would not stop texting me after a year.  Changed my number when I got a new phone.
Left at the river.



So, yeah....................  Phones, it would seem, so not like me so much either.

I am wondering if I should even get another phone.  Or if I do, maybe I should pull a Joker and have it surgically inserted under my skin....sans bomb, natch!



The sad thing about losing my stupid phone this last time is that someone had access to my bank account, my Facebook, and my text messages for about 18 hours. 

MY TEXT MESSAGES. 



Mother of God.



I think there are 2 kinds of people in this world.  People who can let someone read their texts without total shame and humiliation, and people who can't.



Three guesses as to which category I am in......



I don't have naked pictures of me on my phone, cuz EW!



But a couple of my more friendly friends have been known to, on occasion, send me pictures of their junk.  Ususally I delete them.  Actually, I delete them all.





Except one person's.  Because TC, guys, T. fucking. C. 



I don't really 'sext' either. 

I totally do this!



Okay, maybe I do.  I just Googled 'sexting' and it would appear I may have.  I always thought that sexting was like phone sex.  I just talk about sex via text, but there is no gory "Oh, baby, spank me harder" messages.  So, I consider myself a non-sexter. 

 And also a cell phone loser.  In every sense of that word. 



I also can't stand ebooks and Kindles. 



Kindles are not books you guys.  NOT. BOOKS. 

Fuck. You. Kindle.

You can't walk into a Kindle store and smell that gorgeous, sweet, papery, tangy smell that old bookstores have.  You can't read the back cover of your Kindle to decide whether or not you want to buy the book, you can't ANYTHING.  Kindles just suck.  I never understand when a friend that I know is as avid (or obsessive, whatevs) a reader as I buys a Kindle and raves about them.  I always give them that look that Mace Windu gave Anakin Skywalker when he realized Anakin was not going to kill the Emperor, but send his purple-lightsaber-waving-ass out the window.

Seriously.  Boooo to the Kindle.

<3
 

I also don't like cars, driving, flying.  Or traffic.  Or airports.

I don't like living in the 20-whatevers, you guys.


I seriously should have been born in the 1800s.  Then I could be a happy, dirty, pioneer chick, farming and raising goats and riding my horse around.
Maybe I watched and read Little House on the Prairie too much, because I could seriously get behind some Walnut Grove living....

ME!  Except, rounder, of course!

No cell phones, airplanes, or traffic jams.  Just making my own jam and living out in the woods. 
Blisssssssss....


Until I got scarlet fever, went blind, and fell off a cliff. 
And I wouldn't be able to call anyone, because there would be no cell phone reception at my Little House (no phones at all, actually), so I would get eaten by wolves and my goats would starve or be goat-napped by natives.


On second thought, I think I will just go to Starbucks while I think about what kind of phone to buy, and whether or not I want to attempt to insure it.....




Okay, so THERE is a phone I want!



Stream of Consciousness or Verbal Hemorrhage?

Blah. Blah. Blah.

There really is no point to tonight's blog.  I haven't posted in a while because I am writing a novel.  Seriously.  A big, huge, fat, book-type-thing. 

Aside from that, I miss writing here.  Partially, because I love seeing how many of you guys read this and I love the comments and the PMs I get (although the comments and messages would be better served if you posted them here...money, yo.)


I have been really angry lately, and have avoided writing here because I want 'here' to be about the funny.


I am angry because I have been watching the news, and may I TELL you, I am so fucking sick of hearing about police officers gunning down unarmed citizens?  I come from a military background, and I married into a law enforcement family.  I GET why people become police officers.  I do.  But why the fuck don't they just taze and mace people...maybe smack them in the kneecaps with their sticks?  How the fuck is it even rational that a gun with bullets is the first option?  Seriously.  You bust a fool across the nose or throat, his thieving ass won't run away.  And you won't be on trial for murder.  And then the "protests" (i.e., riots by a bunch of uneducated jobless dicks that would send MLK spinning in his FUCKING GRAVE) would not be happening.  Just my 5 cents, yo.

THIS is what I want police to be like.....



 

Or this...I'm not picky.  PS - I just may need to be taken downtown, Officer.  In handcuffs.

Also angry because sometimes I just get SO DAMN TIRED of belonging to my family.  Literally.  In the last 2 weeks, the following has happened in my family----lies, destruction of property, breach of contract, stabbing someone with a PITCHFORK, conniving, drunkenness, drug-dealing, and a pepper-spray incident.  For reals.  All I want to do is make sure the children in our family are raised right, treated well, and taught how to function as adults....but the so-called 'adults' in my family can't see past their own craziness, so the kids are put in the background while the adults make Honey Boo Boo and Mama June look like the QUEEN OF FUCKING ENGLAND.  Seriously.  I just want to resign......move to Boston under an assumed name, and spend my life taking Lexi----I mean Gisele (her alternate-universe name)----to Red Sox games.

*sigh*

All this turmoil has me writing like CRAZY....my book is flying along.  The crazy thing about long-arc narratives is that these people suddenly take on lives of their own, and I am trying to figure out how to bridge the gap between where I planned them to end up and where they are ending up on their own....it's frustrating.

Also, I am having some major issues in my personal life since about 40% of my exes--all of whom are married or in long-term relationships---have been hitting me up for some sex.....Flattered or offended??  I can't decide.  2 of my exes are, like, my super duper BFF's.  Jimbo and That Fuckin Mooley are just friends....but a ton of other 'kicked dicks' are asking to hook up.  Not gonna happen, of course, but I have to wonder.....what is up with that?  Why am I being singled out for some major soul-sapping sex-with-the-ex suggestion?s  Not gonna lie... I have been sorely tempted----I have been celibate so long, I am pretty sure I have re-grown a Super-Hymen with a cape, tights, and a Kevlar vest.  But, no. Not. Gonna. Happen.

Smile, fuckers, you are on TV!!
 

Speaking of TV, Game of Thrones is back on TV, and I have to wait until my buddy Webster can come over to watch it with me.....a vow is a vow (AHEM.  Yes, you.), but that hasn't stopped me from doing Google checks for spoilers and predictions and fan theories.  Gettin' my geek on, allllll day, err day.

THIS guy......

Today marks a very sucky 'anniversary' of sorts.....if you read this blog post, you know that I lost a part of my soul 23 years ago today.  I aways think about what could have happened if the accident had not.  Where would she be, how many kids would she have, where would we fit in each others' lives......What. If........ 

3 Jaguars.....
 

I don't know, although I occasionally dream about it.  I am trying to write about her, trying to give her a story and a life - eventually I will get it right, and hopefully you will all read it and maybe I will be at peace with it.  The universe fucked THAT call up BIG TIME, so who is to say I can't do better?

Shine on, SES!!

I am so fat right now, you guys.....it is awful.  But, if you ever drank a 6-pack of 21st Amendment beer.....well, you would know why.  Oh, also because of enchiladas.

Heeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyy!

Just saying. 

This is kind of a weird post......no topic, no linear narrative, and no Ryan Gosling.  Wait, what?

Oh yeah, I smell awesomeness!!!

Okay, that's a little better.

Good night, guys.  Give hugs to people you should hug, cut devious scandalous-ass motherfuckers out of your lives, and above all.....practice good manners.  SERIOUSLY.  Manners matter.



'Night.  Love you Sara, Nicole, and Naiche.  Ties that bind, kids....Ties. That. Bind.

Enough is Enough. I. Give. Up. An Ode To Walking Away.

 

 

Helllloooooooo, there!

Yes, yes, I am back.  If you will notice, there was no "Day-Who-Gives-A-Fuck" title on my post.  The reason for that, if you haven't already guessed is that I gave up on that 30 Day Blog Challenge.

Now before anyone starts quoting Vince Lombardi at me....shut the fuck up before I throw a shoe at you. 

Or do this.....

I had perfectly good reason for quitting and it is this:


It was pissing me off.


And, yes, I know all the bullshit platitudes people like to mouth about quitting;  I get it.  But that only applies to quitting ignorant, destructive, or lazy behaviors.  It only applies if you are Thomas Edison, inventing shit that will revolutionize the damned world.  It only applies of you are an athlete, an author, or someone that is chasing a dream.



Except when quitting makes you win....

It certainly did not apply to me in regards to that 30-day blog challenge, and here is why:


I can only tell you guys my thoughts, my truths, and my stories.  I did tell ya'll the Story of the Three Bimbos; it wasn't entirely my story, so I used initials.  I also knew that the people the story was about would probably not mind.  Because it is a friggin' love story.

I can't tell you the stories that are not mine because it isn't fair, and it isn't right, and it could induce a motherfucker to up and sue me after I am famous and on the Today Show talking about how I wrote a hilarious screenplay and made sure there was a make-out scene between me and Ryan Gosling in it.



You will notice that I went flying through January, posting frequently and churning out posts like buttah.  All of a sudden....

Big. Huge. Gap.

 


The reason for that, was that I had to write a blog post about something that did not just involve me, but family members.  And it did not exactly portray everyone in the best light.  So, yeah, I struggled, prevaricated, edited, deleted, changed the 'angle', etc.  Eventually, though, I wrote it.  (And, I can assure you all, as soon as I can get someone from CAA, ICM, or WME to offer me a contract, that damn post is coming right down, because my family would have no qualms about taking me to court and asking for my money.  Fa realz.)  Then I wrote a few more.  Until....

Big. Huge. Gap.

 

 

Another post that wanted me to talk to, and thus reveal things about, people who are not me.  I decided to skip it, and re-visit it later.  The next post asked for the same thing.  And so did the next one.  So, I went and wrote other stuff and told myself, in the words of the magnificent Scarlett O'Hara

But I missed this blog.  And, apparently, some of you did as well which I totally appreciate.  BIG HUG.



I kept trying and trying and every time I sat down and logged in here, I got annoyed and stressed out.  So I logged back out and wrote something else.



During that time, something similar was happening in another area of my life.  You see, in January I took a part-time job.  The job paid enough that I could live comfortably and still have time to so some volunteer work and get a little more involved at Lexi's school.  After 3 days, part-time turned to full-time-plus-a-bit-more, and the nature of the job changed, and the fun level went down.  Weeks ticked by where, every morning, I though, "UGH!  I just do NOT want to go to work!".  Those of you that know me know how much I usually love my job, and how I spend too much time at work, and always have more fun than anyone at work.  This job was not like that.  Not one fucking bit.

Every. Day.

I stayed because I told myself it would get better, the job would be more fun, and because I kept hearing about these exciting new changes that were on the horizon.  Still, every day I had to force myself to go there.  Once I got there, I would have some fun, there were a handful of totally amazing people that I loved seeing and talking to every day.  But the job itself?  It sucked, and it was impossible to get anything done because there were no rules, no policies, no procedures, and my boss exhibited some behaviors that made me want to spike the water cooler with Xanax so she could be the same person for 8 straight hours.  For real.  I told myself, 'Wait until your 90-day review. Then you can talk about your job tasks, your hours, and the money you are(n't) making.' (I took the job for an acceptable amount of money for part-time work--not what I am worth!)



Finally, I thought about it and realized, why shouldn't I quit?  I have let people go when I felt they weren't a good fit, and these guys certainly would have let me go if I wasn't as completely awesome as I, in fact, am; so why should I stay?  I hated that job....

Would rather have done this.  

Putting in my 2-week notice made me feel like I had lost about 20 pounds (I wish!).  I started getting super excited about my new job and thinking about decorating my office and all the fun things we could get done there--which is exactly how you want to feel about your job, right?

Same thing with the Blog Challenge.  I can't tell stories or reveal details about other people's lives, especially if it makes them look like the totally phony, sanctimonious, criminally egotistical jerkoffs they are.  I can't tell you what the worst thing I have ever done to another person, because it would involve me telling you someone else's story and putting their life on display in a way they never signed up for.  So I said to myself, 'Fuck it!  I'm done with it, I am going to write what I want to write.', and **boom!** here I am, fingers flying over the keyboard totally stoked about writing this super-fun blog!

C'est moi!

As I was looking for quotes about 'quitting', and trying to find funny things to say about it, I started thinking about things we don't quit, things we do quit, and what causes us to refuse to walk away from things that no longer benefit us. 

I know people (I was one of those for two whole years, so no judgies, kids!) who will keep trying and trying and trying to make a relationship work because they 'love' that person, or they love the person's kids, or they can't accept that that they have spent years of their life with the wrong person.  I just don't get that.  I mean, I did that, but as soon as I made the decision to bail, I was like "Wooooo-hooooooo!", and I skipped off into the sunset. 

Bye, fucker!

I know people that smoked and smoked and smoked a million cigarettes until the day they decided to quit and *poof* they quit.  Said it was the best thing they ever did.  They never felt better.  Had no desire to ever smoke again.  I also know people that quit every month or so, get crabby and gain 10 pounds, then go out and cram an entire pack of cigarettes in their mouths, set it on fire, and just iiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaalllleeee.  (Don't effing judge me!)

All better!

I can use the same type of examples for people who can and can't quit drinking, drugging, smacking their spouses or children around, yet I really don't know what separates the people that can quit from the people that can't. 
It's not intelligence. 
Not entirely willpower. 
So, what is it?
For me, it was just enough.  E Fucking. Nough. 

So, maybe that's all it is.  Just finally getting to the point where you say 'My happiness is worth more than this.  I am worth more than this.  I'm out.  I quit.'


Let me tell you, it feels gooooooood!!


Probably not as good as this:

*sigh*

 



But you can't have everything, now can you?







Ya'll come back now, ya hear?



Stay tuned, ya'll, tomorrow I am going to be writing about how social media--Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and YES, blogging has turned everyone into fucking morons.  Also, I will be talking about being naked.

I will tell you all about it tomorrow!

Day Something Or Other - 10 Ways To Win Your Heart

10 Ways To Win Your (My, Apparently) Heart


Hooray!!!  FINALLY a post that asks for fun and games and not me ripping my soul to shreds for  about 30-odd people per post!!! (although I am immensely grateful to each and every one of you for reading them! xoxo)

;)

Now, hopefully, this ends up being a "How-To" manual for Ryan Gosling or similar super-hot scrumdiddlyumptious non-felon sex-maniacs with American Express Centurion cards .



Knowing my luck, scores of schmucks that currently reside in their mom's basement and strip while wearing one of their nephew's cast-off Halloween costumes will be blowing up my Facebook page with declarations of love, but whatever....just another Thursday, right?

That's how I look when I am turned on too, Pheebs!

ANYway.....here are 10 ways to win the heart of a formerly adorable redhead, who is now a just-over-the-brink-of-middle-aged-chubby-Snark-oleptic-wrinkly-glitter-headed-single-mom (wow---what a catch; the Match.com ad writes itself!).



1.  Don't be a dumbass.  Smart ass, yes please; dumb-ass---thank you, drive through.  We all know -- or should by now -- that I LOVE me some geeks!!!  You gotta have something going on upstairs if you want me to hang out with you downstairs....or some other slightly less chi-mo sounding smart = sex analogy.  If you can't have an intelligent conversation with me about current events, politics, books, sports, or anything besides your net worth or how many calories you don't consume in a day, keep on truckin' Joe-Bob, I am sure there is some soap-fan waiting for you to sweep her off her feet.

No need to caption.....although I just did!

2.  Be funny.  And, I don't mean, 'dick-joke-funny'.  Yes, jokes about small dicks and ugly dicks, and guys that are hung like a tuna can are HILARIOUS, but if your sense of humor starts and stops in the 6th grade, well, you can go fuck yourself....if you can find it, that is.  A big fan of sarcasm, irony, and South Park am I.  And if you can't laugh at yourself, then you better grow a bigger penis (or self-esteem--aren't they the same in Man-ville?), because I will sure as hell be laughing your dull ass right out the door.

This will NEVER get you laid....N.E.V.E.R.!!!

3.  Be big.  And that, my friends, is no dick joke.  That is no euphemism, simile, or metaphor  (ps - if you had to GTS on ANY of those words, you may as well stop reading.  No, seriously, buh-bye!), that is literally how you must be.  I have a straight-up Napoleon Complex....or maybe a Dorothy Parker Complex (she was 4'11"!!!!), and I think I am 10 feet tall and bulletproof....I have only dated a few guys that were not 'stocky' or 'big-boned', and I seriously cant imagine doing so ever again....BTW, both of the numbskull-gobshites that I regret dating were under 5'8" and under 180 lbs....so there is that as well.


http://www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/news/a35545/reasons-sleeping-with-a-husky-guy-is-the-best/

 It would help if you were big AND Mr. Big!!!

4.  Like being outside.  I cannot understand city people, even though I tried being one for years, until I realized I am and always will be a hippie Ridge-girl at heart.  Every morning--rain, shine, below freezing, or baking hot-- I have to go outside and walk in the dirt and grass and leaves; barefoot, of course.  I have an absolute need to dig in the dirt, roam through the woods, climb trees, and lay under the great big sky.  I can't even fathom a life lived between an office, a high-rise, and a series of restaurants and cafes--no matter how much I wish I was Samantha Jones.  There is a part of me that is so at home baking on a rock by the river, or wading a freezing lake.  Chlorinated swimming pools and hot tubs make me want to throw up.  I need to be able to smell fresh air, get my feet dirty, and pick flowers for my hair....and if you can't at least hang for the hike....well, gg-gga-ggiga-gggooodnight, yo. 

This would have been bare feet in the woods, but you know how I feel about that.....

5.  Know how to fix shit.  If you have appliance repairmen, painters, roofers, landscapers, and carpenters that handle your problems, we cant hang.  I draw the line at plumbing and electrical problems---you are a dumbass if you try to DIY that--but, if you have to call someone to take apart your washer or dryer, call someone to unclog your garbage disposal because your mother-in-law ran potato peelings down it on Thanksgiving, call someone to level your backyard and plant grass, or call someone to repaint your house....well, I am not gonna respect you; in the morning or any other time of the day.  I am a self-taught Miss (Ms, at my age, I guess...booh!) Fix It, and I can't really respect (i.e., go shopping with) a man that has to rely on another man to keep his house in line.  YES, you could probably find better things to do with your time, but if we are stuck in the middle of nowhere and you have to call AAA because you can't tell a lugnut from your left nut, I can guarantee you are dropping me at my house and never picking me up again.  I can, and have, changed tires in the rain and snow, put chains on my own tires, and the tires of the lady next to me in the minivan, replaced a serpentine belt in the middle of the night on a road 20 miles from the nearest streetlight with a flashlight tucked under my chin, and I expect any man I hang out with to do the same....except the serpentine belt thing; that is SUPER hard, and man-hands do not help--trust me, I have 2 of them!



Yes, please!




6.  Be good in bed.  Do I NEED to explain this?  I'm going to abridge this, because I am secretly a prude about some things (no, for real!).  Here's some advice, and I'm gonna do this fast because otherwise I will chicken out:

A-clitoris-is-not-a-worry-bead-don't-rub-it-into-oblivion-you-have-hips-for-a-reason-figure-out-that-they-go-more-than-two-directions-probing-tonsils-with-your-tongue-is-not-a-kiss-a-well-timed-smack-on-the-ass-is-a-good-thing-slow-and-steady-wins-the-race-but-sometimes-hard-and-fast-does-the-trick-we-like-nooners-and-quickies-as-much-as-you-do-and-being-on-top-makes-things-better.  Whew!  Got all that, 'cause I am not repeating it (unless you are Matt Damon, and then I am afraid I must keep you after class for Remedial Lessons!).

You're doing it right.....

7.  You can be sensitive, but DO NOT FUCKING CRY!!!  Good. Lord.  who was it that told men they should get in touch with their feelings and cry???  Look, if you are (ew!) watching a child come into the world, feel free to turn on the waterworks.  Lost a family member?  Cry away, my friend, I will even lend you a tissue, and cry along with you.  Pet crossed the Rainbow Bridge without you?  I will let you weep all over my shoulder.  However.   If we are having a disagreement and you think it's all over...well, you can be sad, sure.  If you are boo-hooing around the house, yammering on about how Mummy never loved you enough, if you are tearing up because you think it makes you look sensitive, or you are sobbing over some shit that won't matter in five years...well, in the words of the totally rad Richard Pryor (as quoted by the amazing Eddie Murphy), I am gonna tell you to have a 'Coke and a smile and shut the fuck up'.  You know how guys get all out of sorts when women cry and feel guilty and bad and ready to do anything to dry her tears and make it stop?  Well, it's the same thing for me.  Without the guilt and the doing anything.  I will hand you a tampon, a Kleenex, and show you the door.  The. End.

Ugly Cry Face Knows NO Gender.

8.  Read.  I don't care if it is instruction manuals (chuh! right!), Chilton Repair Guides, Playboy (for the articles, yo), or even Motor Trend.  Just. Read.  Because reading is rad.  And I don't really need to qualify this.



Truth.

9. DO NOT let me walk all over you.  I am an exceptionally stubborn, headstrong person....if you were too dumb to notice that, well, I can't help you.  I am smarter than most people, more articulate than everyone, and am a walking talking (but humble, obvi!) bulldozer.  Most men think, "Well, if I let her have her way and shut up, she will like that."  Wrong.  Dumb Ass.  I actually need to be shut down periodically.  I actually like being told to calm the fuck down.  I actually want someone to not say 'How high' when I snap my fingers and say 'Jump'.  Clearly, if it's important to me, I expect you to drink a long, tall glass of shut-the-hell-up and let me do me....If you throw yourself on the ground and say, "Yes, ma'am, I will do whatever you want, whenever you want", I will - of course - pat you on the head and coo over how totally adorbs you are.  I may also take you shopping a time or two.  In the long run, however, you will find yourself face-down in the dirt, with me carefully wiping my feet in your hair (if you expected me to say 'on your back', that is wrong, your hair is a much better medium than your T-shirt for getting the BS off my stilettos!!).  I don't want, need, or wish to waste my prodigious Kung Foo skills on some caveman that tries to impose his will on me....that doesn't mean I want some flaccid, spineless whelk blobbing around in my orbit, kissing my ass all the time.  Figure it out, you aren't an idiot! (See #1)


Yeah...that'll help....

10.  If this is you, below, (or you are TC) none of the above rules apply.  Line forms to the right......




Yep!

Uh-huh.

Of course!



              

*sssssssssiiiiiiiiigggggggghhhhhhhhhh* We have a WINNER!!!