bonus!

just saying.

(super secret) #1 thing girls love: being called fat.

 

i had a special treat today.  it almost made me swoon right off my chair.  i was eating a granola bar with peanut butter (granted, i was dipping it in the full jar of peanut butter at the time, but if you pretend you've never done that before, you are a dirty stinking ape of a liar).  the kid next to me (i'll call him the "mensa mammoth") turns to me and says: "are you dipping that granola bar in peanut butter"?  i nod (my mouth was full of delicious granola and peanut butter, and i'm too effing polite to talk with my mouth full).  mensa mammoth responds with a (smooth) smile: "classic fat kid move".   ummm... please stop.  you had me at "fat kid".  

this is the face i made:

lesson for guys: i will make you sit in the corner and wear one of these... but instead, you will have to write a bajillion times: "i will keep my fat mouth closed".

does not compute.

i'm just going to start this "article" immediately with the lesson for guys: telling a girl that "your babies would be beautiful" does NOT make you less creepy.  it makes about as much sense as this:

and makes me feel like this:

i dare you to keep pestering me.  i know exactly how to equally creepify you.  i will demand one of these: 

but larger and more sparkly.

bonus lesson for guys: creepy is NEVER a trait women look for.

it can not be unseen.

for the record... THIS is the opposite of what i want for my birthday.  i would rather have one of these or even one of these.  but what i REALLY want?  is this!

is "garlic" code for crack?

i have a horrible addiction that i am deeply ashamed of.  if i were catholic, i would tell the priest in confession.  i'll tell you, but you have to promise not to mock me.  ok.  ready?

it's these.  cheese and garlic croutons.  holy mother.  msg isn't on the list of ingredients, but something in that bag makes me wanna mow through these like a cow with cud.  a horse with oats.  some other farm animal with some other farm animal food.  stop laughing and shut up, i'm serious.  i have a serious problem with these.  and then they went on sale.  i'll need a fat scooter soon if i keep up at the pace i'm going.  if msg isn't in here, i figure one of these other ingredients must have some addictive property.  i need help, but i haven't found a "croutons anonymous" support group yet...  if i don't manage to quit, i'm pretty certain of my fate.

you know it's love when...

 

always there for me.  never lets me down.  always effing delicious.  always makes me smile.  for my next birthday i would like a life-sized chocolate mold of a man.  (as one friend says - of easter bunnies - "EAT THE EYES FIRST!")

yes. my sweatpants have an elastic waistband.

as i write this, i am making every attempt not to swoon.  my heart is all a-flutter.  i believe it may have even... yes, it just skipped a beat.  being the ever giving fountain of compliments that he is, le cafard informed me that i "look good most days, except those days when (i) just don't give a fu@k".  hmm.

*newsflash* nine times out of ten?  i do not give a rat turd about how i look or what other people think.  i am not a complete slob, but i don't see the point in spending more than 15 or 20 minutes to do hair and makeup in the morning when i have a very physical job where i'm guaranteed to sweat and get nasty within an hour of the time i arrive on the job.  even drake in all his sagely wisdom said: "Sweat pants, hair tied, chillin' with no make-up on.  That's when you're the prettiest, I hope that you don't take it wrong"

come on now.  nobody is perfect allllll the time.  not even you, cafard.  i am holding out for a guy that thinks i'm a slamming piece of apple fritter regardless of whether i've spent 1.5 hours to get ready or just rolled out of bed.  remember what i said about the girls without eyebrows?  nobody can be made up all the time.  i'll give you a few minutes to recover from the shock of that shocking shocker.  seriously though... if you can't take me at my worst?  please, home fry, you can not take me at all. 

lesson for guys: wanna score points?  tell a girl she looks hotter than vindaloo even when she looks about as hot as a soggy french fry found on the floor of the car between the seat and console.  and you can't remember the last time you had french fries.

who brought the smart kid?

le cafard struck again today.  still asking me on a date.  when i said: "i don't think that's a good idea", he asked: "why not?  oh riiiight, you have a boyfriend".  i didn't have the heart to correct him.  in reality it had more to do with screws being loose, ever present fear of hepatitis a-z, enough offspring to start a moon colony, and competition with allie boobie and the star of "snow white and the seven dongs".  sigh.  THIS is the caliber of xy-influenced Homo sapiens that chooses to persist in my life.  pray for me.  light a candle.  cross your fingers and toes.  catch a leprechaun and make a wish on a falling donut.  i don't care, do what you have to, i need all the help i can get.

in other news: it finally happened - i got hit today.  by a delivery guy on a bike.  don't laugh, it really hurt.  it knocked me on my gluteus.  i ended up spending some time in one of the worst hospitals in the new york city area to find... i have a very minor concussion, which can only be cured by... tylenol.  sigh.

lesson: we are all in danger of hispanic dudes riding bicycles like bats out of hell, even if we can't see them.  be ever weary of this terrifying threat.  and i didn't even get any free delivery food out of the deal.  fail.

"when your heart breaks it can grow back crooked."

leprechaun @$$

it's that time of year again! when edible leprechaun a$$ can be found on supermarket shelves across america!

who knew leprechauns tasted like delicious coconut, corn syrup, and chocolate?  mmmm the 3 main "C's" in my diet...

in other random observations, i saw a guy wearing a "johnson college" t-shirt today.  has anyone heard of this school?  does anyone know anything about it?  why don't they just call it "dick school"?

in even more random news, i mentioned that i signed up for a wax... no joke, i decided to spend a few minutes during my lunch break to look up how long a wax treatment should last, which bought me to a wikipedia article.  oh, naughty, devious wikipedia.  you will get me fired.  WHY OH WHY did you think i wanted to know about BIKINI WAXES?!  all i know is... i innocently clicked a link to what i thought would answer my questions about getting waxed, but NO!  my innocent eyes were traumatized by images of ladies in... various states of... naked girl parts!  how am i supposed to explain to human resources?  using company time to find naughty wikipedia articles.  egads. 

lesson for everyone: be careful what you google during your lunch break.  and if you can't resist, be sure the chatty cathy with the periscope is nowhere to be found.

no. i am not a masochist.

i assure you all torture mentioned below is self-inflicted.  and for the greater good.  so friends, when it rain, it pours... anytime i suffer through life's fun trials and tribulations, i either let myself go, or i get serious about self-improvements.  and i don't mean reading self-help books or seeing a therapist.  no... i don't put myself through the things some guys may put themselves through... like... drinking too much...

or crying about it (not that there's anything wrong with that)...

or put myself through some kind of lame/nuts self-torture such as self-flagellation like one of these guys.

no.  i choose a whole different and exciting method.  instead, i decide to make myself into THE ULTIMATE WELL-ROUNDED WOMAN!  i choose to learn new skills which were previously neglected.  like... acting like a girl.  or sexy lady type.  with this mindset, i signed up for my first waxing.

enrolled in a skanky dance "fitness class" (i plan to learn this maneuver in the first class)...

and learning to walk in these...

and perhaps most terrifying/troublesome of all... i have purchased this:

without owning one of these:

ahhhh yes, i feel like a more complete woman already.

lesson for guys: if we date, i will use NONE of the new skills i've acquired with you.  suck it.  after all... i'm doing this for me.  not you.

i have a feeling you're not kidding.

i mentioned that i was dating a legitimately nice, cute, sweet, funny guy, right?  it's true.  why is it when you're dating someone, you suddenly become a hot(ter) commodity?  is it because i'm "glowing"?  please, amigo, i always effing glow.  is it because they figure if i'm with someone, then i must be good enough to date?  please, compadre, i'm always effing awesome.  regardless, when i was dating mr. nice guy, some serious trolls came out of the woodwork.  and i wish i meant that figuratively.  these guys seriously crawled out from under bridges.  one of them tried to persuade me with horrible Z100 hip hop lyrics that he would be better for me than mr. nice guy, be able to do things for me that mr. nice guy couldn't, treat me better, make me feel like "more of a woman" (his words, not mine).  i'm not whitney houston, guy.  i don't need to be EVERY woman.  unless of course by making me feel like "more of a woman", you mean give me chlamydia.  oh wait, yes... yes... i will date you in all of your horribleness from the fact that you hit on everything with boobies (i swear his list of potential conquests would even include fat enough men), always have food in your teeth (which you are apparently too cool to brush more than once every 4 months), your derogatory references every woman in the known universe.  ohhh and the fact that you live with your girlfriend and have enough children to invade (and conquer) the ukraine... yes.  yes, i will break up with my mr. nice guy, and date you.  why?  because i looooove me a nasty man crap shoot.  sign me up.

lesson to guys: sweet mother of croutons, stop.  bonus lesson: if you use the phrase "dem titties" or "deez titties" or even "doze titties" (i can not even begin to imagine how to spell that) in seriousness, i will NOT take you seriously.  ever.

it's not you.

oh dear.  today while i was walking home, i saw a "dude" walking a very cute little puppy.  i couldn't help myself.  i said: "hello puppy!".  the dude turned to me with an insipid smile and said: "well, helloooooo".  sigh.  he thought i had said "hello, papi".

lesson for guys: papis are NEVER cuter than puppies.

bonus.

as a bonus/apology for not posting in so long... i hope to get a letter like this someday.  sigh.

it's you, baby, it's you.

hello everyone... i have been MIA for so long because i had a good boyfriend.  we broke up for a legitimate reason, but remained so very close... close to the point that perhaps i thought a reunion may happen someday.  perhaps after i destroyed my bucket list.  or became the bearded lady in the circus.  or perhaps catch a leprechaun and teach him to make me white russians.  alas... i have been given the brush-off.  for the next ten years.  i kid you not, my friends.  talk about a burn.  times infinity.  the only thing that could make this worse?  if he delivers this cake to my door.  so while i'm not dating right now, you can expect more posts soon down the road as i dig into the deep recesses of my cobwebbed, addled brain for more remarkable stories.  yeeeeehaw!

lesson to guys: assuring a girl that she will still not be right for you in ten years does not ease the sting of a break-up.