Tuesday, November 22, 2011

I’ve got 99 problems, but being someone’s bitch ain’t one

Found yet another amazing blog: http://sexliesandbacon.com

I dated this guy a year ago that was the complete opposite of the type of man I’m usually attracted to. I should stop right here and clarify that “dated” basically means I had sex with him, or at least intended to. We never did get around to the sex part and you’ll understand why a bit later in this post.

We met one evening when I played co-host on my friend’s podcast. Mr. Potential Lover Lover happened to own the studio it was recorded in and had decided to sit in on my guest appearance after hearing so much about me. At first glance I didn’t have much interest in him. He was a geek. He was overweight. He was bald. But as we talked I found myself insanely attracted to him despite his exterior. Why? Because he made me laugh and was ridiculously witty.

Humor is my kryptonite.

During my guest appearance we flirted on-air. By the time I left the studio that night my mind was made up about wanting to have sex with him. We exchanged numbers and talked for several weeks afterwards, meeting up a few times at public events but never getting time alone. That is until we made plans to have a sleepover at his place following another appearance I was making on my friend’s podcast.
A few hours before my arrival he’d told me he went out and got me a gift.
“I can’t wait to slip this on you…” he’d said.
From his clues about it being red and something I could wear I thought it was a piece of lingerie. My mind began to fantasize about what it looked like and what his expression would be when I finally tried it on for him. The more I thought about it the hotter I got. I couldn’t wait to get him inside of me after I pranced around in that lingerie.

I arrived at the studio that night with condoms and a grin, but before we could be alone I had to record the podcast with my friend. He sat beside me in the studio the entire time, periodically teasing me by slipping his hands under my skirt beneath the table. The threat of someone else noticing turned me on immensely. By the time we finished recording that night I could hardly contain myself. I wanted my gift and I wanted him even more.

After everyone left we made our way up to the bedroom above the studio. I pressed myself against him as we kissed and in return he placed his hand between my thighs, using his fingers to push my panties to the side. He stared at me and gave a devilish grin, as he now felt just how much I wanted him.

He removed my clothes, tasting every inch of my skin with his tongue as it became bare, until I stood before him completely nude.

“Now about that present,” he said. And with that he reached beneath the bed and pulled out a small red bag filled with tissue paper.
“Go ahead, open it.”

I looked at him with a girlish smile and kissed him in appreciation. I’d never been gifted a piece of lingerie before and couldn’t wait to see what he’d picked out for me.

I took out the tissue paper and peeked inside. I could see something red, but couldn’t quite make out what it was in the dim lighting. That’s when I placed my hand inside and pulled out the gift. Two gifts actually. Only what he got me wasn’t the satin teddy or raunchy pair of crotchless panties I had hoped for.

What I found instead was a red dog collar and matching leash.

Please note: I do not own a dog.

This gave a whole new meaning to the term doggystyle.
At first I thought it was a joke, but from the way he was panting and attempting to place the collar around my neck I quickly realized he was serious. Like a dog caught in headlights I wasn’t sure what to do. I giggled nervously while my mind quickly formulated a plan.

I had two choices: I could allow this freak to parade me around the room like a toy poodle or I could get the fuck out of there.
I chose the latter.

“Sit,” I said.

As he sat on the edge of the bed I straddled his lap, lowered myself on top of him, and wrapped my legs around his waist. I then kissed his neck as I slipped the collar out of his hands.

“Stay,” I said.

I slowly placed the collar around his neck and told him to close his eyes. I then grabbed the leash and quickly looped it through the slots of his headboard, creating a makeshift knot as I clipped the other end onto the collar.

“Good boy.”

And with that I hopped off of him, grabbed my shit, and ran.
I’ve got 99 problems, but being someone’s bitch ain’t one.

Liar Liar Pants on Fire

At work right now dying laughing reading this blog.... http://jwundersworld.blogspot.com


Some are good. Some are bad. Some just need to shoot themselves in the fucking face because they are soooo goddamn awful. According to J-Wunder statistics...44.583% of the people you are either friends with or encounter, will be the worst fucking liars and story tellers you will run into during your lifetime. No bullshit.

So with that being said, let me tell you a story I heard from two friends of mine. Both bitches. Both funny. Both keep it real. There's only one problem...a friend of theirs (lets just call her an acquaintance now) ended up crossing the line with, what do you fucking know...her GODDAMN LIES. Basically, I heard this story, and of course, there was only one thing I could do about it. Write a fucking column, right? Damn straight.

See, it all starts off with a few funny stories. Nothing big...just something to strike conversation and get peoples attention. Because we all know...compulsive liars LOVE attention. But as time goes on, stories become...how do I say this - over the fucking top. For instance:

"My aunt was the Pink Power Ranger". Ummm bitch, ain't no Pink Power Ranger I know, is fucking Hispanic. How do I know? Well, unless you know a Hispanic with the last name Chang, then I'll shut my fucking mouth. A useless fucking fact to try to act cool, but come the fuck on...we all know your poor, 4 teeth missing, Mexican ass, don't have any relatives that live in Hollywood. The only family you have down south, live in Tijuana and are strippers at Adalita's night club sucking donkey dick for a buck fifty. Fool me once you dumb twat...strike one.

"I was a flight attendant during 9/11...that shit was so tragic." Back-up-the-mother-fucking-truck here sweet tits. If we do recall, on 9/11/01, your ass was 14 years old, getting tea-bagged by the older high school kids for menthol cigarettes. How in God's name were you a mother fucking flight attendant? Did they all of the sudden take 14 year old 6th graders (yes, she was the oldest fucking 6th grader in U.S. history) on as interns or something? Get the fuck outta here biz-natch! Wasn't it you, who thought 9/11 was the east coast version of 7-11 (true goddamn story). I think you did, you lying sack of shit. Fool me again...strike two.

"I'm going to Italy for a wedding tomorrow but will be back the very next day." Wait, what?! Unless they brought Italy to the mother fucking Olive Garden in Modesto, CA, just know that you're a goddamn, mother fucking, toothless ass, cottage cheese vaginal fucking liar. Wow! You planning to teleport there too, bitch?! *shaking my goddamn head*

Fool me three times...strike fucking three.

"That bitch, A.G., slashed my tires and I have proof. The cops have her fingerprints on the box cutters she used. Wait, I mean, we have her on a surveillance camera, slashing my tires with her box cutters then fleeing the scene. All in black. With a mask on. I think. Wait, um...yeah, that's right. She was wearing a cape too. Anyway, thank goodness I got my tires fixed within 2 hours of getting them slashed by this mean girl, but, could have possibly been the old lady from Titanic if I had to second guess it. Now who needs a drink?"

That's all she wrote, bitch.

For some reason, you literally had to make up this goddamn story and bring this girl in the middle of it:

Box cutting, tire slashing, cape wearing, bitch.
First off, who uses box cutters nowadays? Mother fuckers at U-Haul? Is our suspect a goddamn terrorists? For fuck's sake, of course not, goddamnit. She's a friend (was now)...who apparently (on this faithful night) wore all black, a mailman mask, Louis Vuitton cape, had a ninja sword AND AK-47 strapped to her back while running away because she was in a jealous fucking rage because you wouldn't tell her the secret on how you get your eyebrows looking like bent ass coat hangers. Lets not forget to mention she was angry that you wouldn't take her advice on getting dentures, since you felt men were more attracted to you by losing your teeth one by one. BTW - congrats on the 15 teeth you have left. It's a good look for you, fuck face.

And if it didn't get any worse, you decided to blame two more people who YOU claim were friends of your "Pink Power Ranger" aunt that were accomplices of the tire slashing homicide (please note these two ladies don't even know WHAT THE FUCK a Power Ranger is):

Ex Black and Red Power Rangers who worked with Chang during 9/11 on the Titanic

I wouldn't lie to you fucking people when I heard those words come out of my friends mouths. I'm 32 years old. A grown ass fucking man. So when I heard that some toothless bartender decided to tell a bunch of other degenerate drunk fucks about her tire slashing incident regarding Jackie Chan's niece (who's Mexican) and two Ex-Power Rangers who were involved, I froze. Froze because what I heard was something so unheard of, that I actually almost believed it. Can you actually believe, horrible fucking liars (like this) actually go to this extreme to get all the attention?!?! For fuck's fucking sake almighty of Jehovah Mahatma Ghandi King Jr.?!?!?! What the fuckety fucking shit mother fucking horse cock ass fucking cunt face?!?!?!?!?!

I have no words other than, whoever this broad is, needs to be hugged a little more. Please lay off the Charcoal Filtered Tequila. And quite honestly, check yourself into the loony bin. I realize people lie, but come the fuck on...Power Rangers, 9/11, 24 hour trips to Italy???? Get the fuck outta here you raggitty ass taint goblin. That shit ain't right. If you need attention that fucking bad, go to a strip club and flap around your saggy ass titties. Trust me, there are enough degenerate fucks to give you the attention you need.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a flight to catch with Osama Bin Laden. We're gonna go see Tupac in concert on my uncles island. You might have heard of the place...CANADA.


Satan's Way of Distracting U From Making Dinner

Bitches Be Crazy: The psychosis fueled by obsessing over relationships statuses

I've said it before, I'll say it again....http://the-momfia.blogspot.com

Bitches be crazy, this is pretty universally understood, but social networking has taken this to a whole new level with the Relationship Status. While Myspace had the opportunity to list your status, it didn't set-up for the anxiety of waiting for someone to approve or deny your request. Of announcing to your friends and family that you were seeing this one person. Forget whether or not you two have spent a sizable amount of time together, have met each others family, or have tagged photos with you both making that horrible smoochy-face. Prepare for the moment of building pressure where you wait for someone to "Accept you're in a relationship with:"

That's where the anxiety and pressure begins in a relationship: Am I ready to accept I'm only seeing this one person? Am I ready to send him/her this request and have them shoot me down? Here's a fucking idea, WHO GIVES A SHIT. Someone is spending their free time on you. Someone is (possibly) spending their money on you. Someone makes you laugh. Someone is hopefully at least decent in bed to keep you coming back for more. Why are you putting all this pressure on yourself and this status imposed by the fucking geeks behind Facebook who probably couldn't get a woman to suck their dick if they didn't have so much money? Does a Facebook relationship status change the person you're dating? No, it changes the way you THINK they feel about you. It creates doubts, suspicion, fears, and finger pointing. And I like to keep fingers exactly where they belong; inside of me.

That's the problem with making so much of our lives on the internet. We're so obsessed with Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, and being "plugged in" that we let it dictate our relationships and happiness. Who the FUCK cares if so-and-so unadded you from Facebook? You probably barely remember them from High School or that drunken hook up anyway. Yet because we're so "plugged-in" and obsessed with social networking we find ourselves feeling unworthy by someone simply fucking removing us from a generic list of assholes they're "friends" with online. Is your relationship any less valid because it isn't Facebook Official? If it is then you're an asshole who doesn't deserve whatever fuck wit is giving you a portion of their time. Actions make a relationship a relationship, not left-clicking the approve button on an imposed idea of what makes your feelings valid.

Why not take all the energy you're spending bitching and obsessing over Facebook and put that toward fucking? In my experience it has never mattered how batshit insane I am, if the sex is good the man is happy to openly label me as anything I damn well please. Less bitching on Facebook and more fucking, ladies.

What a Period Feels Like In case U Were Wondering

If you can't beat 'em, fuck 'em

hahaha I cannot stop reading this girls blog...http://the-momfia.blogspot.com...hilarious!!!

My New Years resolution was to become a bigger slut. Maybe that's not exactly a popular choice among the fake gym promises & carb-banning, but I was committed to having a resolution I could spread for. If you can't beat 'em, fuck 'em. Having made this resolution by 7pm on the last day of the year when I was already shit faced at a NHL hockey game, I decided in that moment of drunken clarity that this was going to be "THE YEAR OF THE SLUT"(not too unlike the Chinese year of the donkey). Having slept with a surprisingly low number of men and no lasting relationship to show for it, I decided to jump on the dick bandwagon and waste no time in kicking off my new whore year. As my Asian bestfriend and I stumbled out of the arena my night became a blur of shots, bad songs, and strobe lights. By the time the ball finally dropped I'd already been heavily drinking for more than eight hours and it was safe to say I'd surpassed down to fuck and entered can't stand up to fuck.

Somewhere in the chaos of this night I laid my sights on the cutest, small town Illinois, boy next door I have ever had the pleasure of corrupting. Mike was everything my mom has always wanted me to bring home, while I was everything his small town probably warned him about when they made dancing illegal. In my tequila haze I decided his actual name was fucking stupid and re-named him Matt, why I'll never give a shit.

At what must of been four in the morning, I realized in the bump and grind of my drunken attempts at dancing, I'd lost my Asian. Few things can I warn against like never going to a family dinner sober and never losing your Asian. Leaving the club, I drug "Matt" along on the widest Asian search since The Great Panda Adventure, instead of finding my Asian we stumbled into a backseat. My backseat. Which was good because I was rocking a very uncool mom-SUV that had just enough room for some decent sex, I know this because I've HAD decent sex in that car, this was not going to be that time.

You almost have to feel bad for guys with tiny dicks, they didn't ask for a three inch cock anymore than a woman would want to unwrap a three inch dick and pretend to be turned on. Well past drunk and willing to see if the size of the boat matter more than the motion of the ocean, I decided to take one for the team and go for the tiny gold. I don't think I've ever faked an orgasm drunk, but I should of won a god damn Oscar for that performance. Fuck Sophie's Choice, Emmerson's choice was deciding to give the small town boy the thrill he'd never have; the faint hope he ever pleased a woman.

I didn't ask for his number or give him my real name. I can only hope he Facebook stalked me & when he came up with nothing fondly jacked off to the memory of my amazing actress of a vagina.

Keep your Emotions Away From My Vagina

and yet another amazing blog I have found that I had to share...http://the-momfia.blogspot.com

The best part about FWB(friends with benefits) is that it is all benefit and not much friend, which is fine by me because the last thing I need is having to pretend to give a damn about someone else's problems. In the beginning its a big race to not only orgasm and get the fuck out, but prove who isn't going to be the one to get emotionally attached. Among orgasm's and late night hookups is an underlying competition: who's going to want more than just sex first?

Our culture typically depicts women as the emotional, needy, "I want more than just sex" types. While that's very often a valid case, it isn't always the situation. Men like to play aloof, but very often they find themselves caring about their FWD beyond a quick fuck. Feelings are complicated little bastards, unfortunately. What begins with calling your FWB over for an easy way to bang out your emotions with your personal life, ends with cuddling and someone staying over all night. Once breakfast starts getting made, someone starts sharing details, and before you know it you've found yourself in the worst hell possible; a label-less relationship.

The idea of FWB is an awesome one, endless blowjobs to the first guy who talked his best female friend into fucking without commitment. He's an innovator to relationships and fucking around the world(I say we dedicate Steak & a Blowjob day to him). However we have to be willing to improve upon his original idea(if we hadn't improved upon the phone we'd still not have sexting, NO THANKS Mr. G-Bell) of friends being perfect fucks and expand. We now have reach to the internet, which means MILLIONS of anonymous horny people we don't have to pretend to even be friends with(let alone give a shit about)!

Problems come up when even if an emotional attachment is SOMEHOW magically unavoidable by all parties, when do things stop? What if one person starts seriously dating someone else, but the other hasn't? Then it's no longer "Friends with Benefits" and just becomes "I used to sleep with my friend Corey who still sexts me when he's drunk and my new boyfriend isn't really fucking happy about that". That's the problem with Friends with Benefits, when the benefits stop, what happens to the friends? Someone is always the "left over party" or the "one who got attached". It's nearly impossible to recover a friendship once you've been on top of someone, then every time there after you so much as attempt at hanging out without letting it all hang out you end up with enough sexual frustration to rival my mother.

Sex is fun. Sex [can be] good. Sex with a friend rarely works beyond three months and ends a friendship that may have lasted years. My advice? Fuck perfect strangers, don't ask questions, and don't talk about your problems. Need someone to talk to? Call your fucking friends who aren't responsible for making you orgasm. Don't have any friends? First ask yourself why you're such an asshole that no one wants to be your friend, then join Facebook and complain.

Always remember: Keep your emotions away from your vagina and out of your friendships.

iPhone Commercial That Didn't Make the Cut

The 3 people that can ruin Thanksgiving

I have a new favorite blogger so I'm reposting his stuff cause it's that awesome. If you want to see more of his stuff:

Thanksgiving…a time when families get together and everyone enjoys each others company. If only it were that easy, right? Wrong.

Call me mother fucking crazy, but as we get older, it seems that more and more adults dread Thanksgiving like we do with any other family holiday function. And it's not because we hate the holiday's, but because we get soooooo goddamn annoyed with some family members. For example:

The Bitch Ass In-law:
Getting together this Thanksgiving got you fucking excited. Well, until you found out your goddamn brother and his bitch ass wife were gonna be there. You know…the fucking cunt that thinks she “runs shit” and has went through more life experiences then a homeless man that once was rich and pissed it down the shitter because 8 grams rocks and hookers became his hobby.

They never shut the fuck up and talk to you like you’re listening. She thinks she’s "Mom of the Year" but seems to let her kid run around in a diaper that looks like it has about a weeks worth of shit in it. Yeah, you know who I’m talking about. That bitch. I would say something about the annoying ass brother in-law too, but all that mother fucker does is get fucking drunk, say some "awkward moment" shit and get bitched at by your sister. Moving on…

The Loser Uncle:
We all got problems. But this mother fucker got some goddamn problems. More than likely, he’s at Aunt Ethel’s house on a warrant that no one knows about. Drugs: he’s on them and he has them. Weapons: a shank is duct taped to his leg and he has a stolen gun in the car…which he stole too. He doesn’t say much about what’s new in his life other than, “Things are good. Just looking for a job and trying to stay out of trouble. Where’s your bathroom…I gotta blow my nose.” Keep your kids away from this crazy sack of shit...there’s a 79% chance they’ll be drunk or high if they get the chance to be around him.

The Annoying Neighbor:
This is the loneliest mother fucker on the block. Parents probably died some years ago. Relatives all hate him because he fucked his 1st cousin and they ended up having twins. Basically, this poor bastard has been black listed from his whole goddamn family. Lucky for you, grandpa invited his ass over because “No one should be alone on Thanksgiving”. Thank gramps...you mother fucking asshole.

If you’ve never felt awkward in a social setting, your ass does now. The annoying neighbor doesn’t shut the fuck up. EVER. They talk more then everyone in the house combined. Ever given an autobiography on your life? Well, have no fear, because this mother fucker is about to ask you in a very creep-dog way, all the details of your human existence. And just to add a little more fuel to that fire, they will tell you how fucked up their life is and probably ask you out on a date. Weird? What the fuck do you think jack ass? Fuck yeah that’s weird.

Honestly, there is a laundry list of the shit you'll encounter with your family every Thanksgiving. This is just the most common problem that roughly 82.6739% of us will encounter this Turkey Day.

So how do we deal with such shenanigan’s and horse shit? Simple. Do the one and only thing that will get your ass through the torture.


Bottom line: booze makes everything better. And tolerable. It also gives you the balls to tell a mother fucker that they got problems and they need to shut their goddamn mouth because a mother fucker is about to get bitch slapped in the goddamn face. Sorry, that was harsh. Actually, no it wasn't.

Drink because you can. Drink because you will realize that your life isn't as fucked up as these three. Drink because booze is fucking delicious and it will make the time fly by. Just don't drink too much and cause a scene. You do that, your ass might be on this list.

Happy fucking Holiday's!

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Blonde Moments

Back to Halloween night we walked past this guy who was dressed like a scrabble board and he had a hat on that said WWF. My blonde girlfriend turns and asks me what he is supposed to be. In all of my own blonde wisdom I replied, Well his hat said WWF, I think that stands for World Wrestling Federation or something. Maybe it's one of the wrestling characters from that. We were about 2 blocks away before I turned around and started shouting Words With Friends!!! Words With Friends!!! Words With Friends!!! So anyways, speaking of being a complete idiot, I saw this picture and thought, this is so how I'm going to look on the autopsy table. Then I had to google whether your bones actually stay in the position of how you died. If your real quiet you can actually hear me getting dumber by the minute.

Where You Should Post Ur Status....

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

You's a Drrryyy Snitch

So this weekend I was visiting my girlfriend in San Francisco for Halloween. We wanted to get our dance on so we decided to hit up the Castro District aka The most FABULOUS gay area evahhh. Anyways what had happened was....we had gone out for coffee that morning and there's really no way to sugarcoat this....coffee was our gateway drink to cocktails. It's really simple math, our coffee got cold which reminded us that cocktails were cold and 12 hours later we find ourselves dressed in our Halloween finest dancing in a club full of sweaty guys who could give a shit about us. Perfect!

So there we are watching a male go go dancer in an assless Robin costume dance on top of a bar and my girlfriend and I are in full dance pants mode to my favorite Britney Spears jam when this black guy in a trench coat, do-rag and a Louis Vuitton handbag stuffed inside of a Victoria's Secret shopping bag comes up with his head moving side to side like a cobra pointing at us and says "You's a drrryyy snitch". We didn't even know what to get hung up on, the fact that he said You's or wtf a dry snitch was? We literally had to stop dancing to Urban Dictionary* that shit. Came the fuck up as you'd expect.

*dry snitching:
To indirectly tell secrets or offenses to a person of authority or any person meant to be kept away from a secret or offense, sometimes inadvertently.
If the telling of secrets or offenses is purposeful, minute details are usually left out as not to appear to be directly telling.
It is indirectly snitching.

Black guy in a trench coat? Unexpected. You should have seen my girlfriend and I standing there trying to take it all in. Token black guy....gay black guy.....token gay black guy in a trench coat??....and IF we are in fact a dry snitch then is there also a wet snitch? Deep thoughts for the inebriated.

This guy had set his bag on top of the controller for the lights to the entire club. Out of his purse (not a satchel, not a murse, his fucking purse) he pulls out a hand full of receipts, a full bottle of Merlot and one single blue latex glove. When he went to lift his bag he hit a switch and turned on all of the lights to the club at 11:52pm. Everyone stopped dancing and looked around trying to figure out why the lights were on so early. An employee finally came over and figured out the problem. Apparently Lil Miss....ter Trench Coat blamed us for telling through osmosis since we happened to be standing next to him the whole time. Little did he know that we had left for coffee that morning and 19 margarita's later we ended up there and when he turned on the lights we stopped drinking our vodka based hydration long enough to debate time travel. IF our drinks were still full AND our watch said midnight...BUT the lights were on....what was right? was this the weekend for time change? did we have to go home? would there be time to finish our drinks? WHAT WAS HAPPENING??? Pure panic and confusion on our part.I kid you not, the expressions on our faces were like we were trying to solve linear equations. Her and I were staring into a hot tub time machine (aka vodka cranberry) trying to make sense of it all, we had no time to "dry snitch".

Unrelated but equally confusing to us was trying to decipher between real cops and fake cops. Basically what we concluded was if they appeared to be in shape then they were definitely gay. Just cause your drunk doesn't mean your not right.