I rather miss my boxxy. This is the closest I could get…
Seemingly endless days where the sun is shining, a breeze is blowing, the clock is ticking slowly, the coffee is flowing freely, strong and dark. The music keeps me company while I sit outside, keeping Taylor company while he tinkers with the bike.
It seems like every time I try a new massage oil I go a little bit gaga. I can’t help it. I like massage oils, especially good ones. This time, however, I’m beyond gaga and am somewhere close to… mooning. Swooning. Calf-eyed love. Flower Power Teasing is the best massage oil I have ever tried.
“I disagree . you’re a cunt biscuit. FUckity duck licker whoredoodle. yes yes yes! shut up, dog breath”
It shades me from the sun and allows me to sit out here with the laptop during the day, getting off my desk so I don’t feel all trapped and stuck in the same place, day after day, hour after hour. It gives me a place to sit, like tonight, in candlelight with a glass of wine and type away.
I am just a girl, in love with her man, addicted to coffee, blogging and all things pink, wrapped up in her own little world, her own little family. I like to type. I like to write. I am not a writer.
t’s the buzzword these days. It’s something I’m constantly being accused of not being. It’s, basically, being accepting of other sexualities, genders, kinks, preferences. It’s not ridiculing others for their sexuality, it’s…
No idea what’s on the agenda for tomorrow. Possibly a thermos full of coffee and a day under my awning, typing up reviews.
Yanno what I hate? I mean really fucking HATE? When people try to tell me I’m saying something I’m not. When they refuse to hear what I’ve actually said and, instead, decide what they think I said and then try to tell me they’re right and I’m wrong. Dude. Shut the fuck up. *I’m* the
People are all spacey and smiley when they’re done playing or giggling and comparing bruises. My fantasies and needs run more toward a torture scene than “The Secretary”.
Let’s start remembering it’s about being equal, not the same. Choice, not force
Today has been a productive day, in the laziest sense.
I mean, I really didn’t go anywhere or do anything and yet I accomplished a lot.
And that, I think, is why I have so little sympathy for those who let the shit in their lives make them into someone they don’t want to be. I can empathize, to a point, with the horrors and bad shit people go thru but I have no sympathy for letting it turn you into a nut.
I was kinda pissed off.
I kinda yelled at her.
Kinda a lot.
And then I went and told her boss.
BET SHE NEVER TOUCHES MY SHIT AGAIN!
Ok I get: You didn’t want to be humped in a bar. The guy had the impression it was ok to hump you in a bar. You feel the need to bitch about it. I understand all of the above. What I don’t get: How it went from dancing to humping. What gave him the
My most recent Twitter status: The voices are hollering at me for eating an entire 5 oz of Twizzlers. Must stab Twizzler in ear to shut them up.
I’ve found that utter laziness and do-nothingness makes it seem like wasted time so I’m interspersing the lazy with some fun and some productive
There is always the risk, the risk that this one thing or this cumulative pile of things will be the one that hurts too much, that breaks me – body, heart, mind… me.
You’ll feel a hell of a lot better if you stop trying to be better and just… be yourself.
And there you have it. The cure for I’mbetterthanyouitis.
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The one where I say I’m losing my mind at least four times…
Shouldn’t it be gone by now? And me in a happy place, drooling on myself?