tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73761420932091099532024-03-12T23:38:36.304-04:00No, seriously, you probably shouldn't read this.Ida Clayerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03992789244488090308noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376142093209109953.post-38848103249640089922022-01-03T10:33:00.000-05:002022-01-03T10:33:22.610-05:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I woke up to a text from my friend Mug. I got up, peed, then called her. I could hear in her voice she was an emotional wreck. I listened and tried to console her and when I got off the phone, I felt pretty okay. But later that evening, my true feelings found a way out through alcohol.<br />
<br />
Kim was always a whirlwind. She thrived on drama. She rescued dogs from cruel owners, she wore her heart on her sleeve, and she drank like she had a vendetta on her liver. I loved her like she was family. And she totally broke my heart.<br />
<br />
I met Kim on Twitter in 2012. It was a volatile year for me. My dad died in May and I lost my job in August. I used Twitter as an escape into a male character I created: IdaClayer. Kim was PuddingBoobs, a funny account with a cute donkey avatar. We hit it off right away and I was reluctant to tell her I wasn't a dude. I felt like I had been tricking her into imagining me as a funny, flirty guy, but she thought it was awesome that a woman ran that account. We kept in touch everyday after that.<br />
<br />
Kim was smart, funny, and a weirdly over/underachiever. She worked on getting her medical degree as a single mom, but she hated her fellowship position and missed the days she'd worked other jobs like realty underwriting and cutting hair. She wanted to be a real life House. But at the same time, she was horrible at diagnosing her own issues.<br />
<br />
Some days she didn't get out of bed. Her friend Happy would check in on her to make sure she showered everyday. When she had a work-call-off-no-shower day, she was always wearing a shabby old bathrobe with snacks in the pockets. Sometimes there were tissues and dog treats in there when the cookies were gone.<br />
<br />
There was a specific few weeks where Kim couldn't make herself get out of bed. She felt like she was going insane. She texted me and told me she had been crying in the aisle of the liquor store because she wasn't sure if one handle of vodka was enough. I remember kind of shaking my head when she told me she thought she needed electroshock therapy, that it was the only way to get back on track. Turns out though, she had a blood infection. Probably from when she'd been in a hot tub on a tweet-up telling her southern belle friend to make up with her husband because she and our friend Gary were only happy maybe 10% of the time as single folks. Maybe House was always shit at self-diagnosis, too, but she was pretty good at couples counseling.<br />
<br />
She always tried to diagnose me, too. She was absolutely convinced that I needed treated for aplastic anemia. My blood tests confirmed that I did not in fact need a bone marrow transplant. She still stood by her assessment.<br />
<br />
I saw her go through some pretty radical and spontaneous phases. She would use our shared love for Wranglers as a metaphor for her love life: They are gas hogs, expensive, can't haul shit in them, can't drive them above 95mph, and they rust like mad, but the accessories are fantastic. This is why I love pretty men. If he's pretty and he makes me laugh, then he can be broke, unemployed, an alcoholic, a weirdo, and on and on. She wasn't kidding.<br />
<br />
The first time I met Kim in person, I drove to Baltimore because she'd hooked up with a Twitter guy who lied about coming back. Text after text, he cited excuse after excuse of why he couldn't make it back to the hotel. She called me crying and I told her to hold on, I'd be there. We snuggled up in that hotel room while she cried into my shoulder until she fell asleep. She sent me a clip from the Sex and the City movie where Carrie walks all the way to Miranda's house downtown so she doesn't have to spend New Year's Eve alone. "You're my Carrie," she'd tell me. "You always come to my rescue."<br />
<br />
He was the first tragic Twitter hook-up, but not the last.<br />
<br />
She'd been engaged to a man who cheated on her before I met her. It seemed ever since then, she looked for younger men. Pretty men. She slept with an absolute asshole the first time she stayed at my house. She'd met him on Twitter and invited him to my house. He made all the other guests nervous with his inappropriate talk of addiction to "tranny porn" and his story about how he got an STD from a waitress. Totally unfazed and undeterred, she fucked him on a mattress in the spare room. The mattress he soiled when he passed out drunk after.<br />
<br />
She had a few long distance emotional affairs with the who's who of Twitter. They always ended in absolute disaster. The last one I knew of promised to marry her. His name was Josh. She brought him to my house for Thanksgiving one year. After he heard I didn't drink coffee, he bought a coffee maker to my house so he could keep up his 20 cups a day habit. We watched midget porn over turkey dinner among other things.<br />
<br />
Would I design her wedding invitations? Sure, I told her. I never even started them. I knew it wasn't real. They'd only been around each other four or five times total. He didn't even buy her the cheap birthday gift she'd asked for: a turtle necklace. Instead, he had to make it up to her by renting a motel room with a hot tub that she gave him a foot job in. I'm sure he bought her dinner, too, but he just seemed a lot less into her than she was into him.<br />
<br />
She traded her Wrangler (a neon green one named HulkSmash) for a boring blue Ford Fusion and she sold her house in preparation for her long drive to Illinois to live with her betrothed... that had never actually bought her a ring. The closer the date got, the more distant he became until he finally admitted that he hadn't yet kicked his roommate out. This was the same roommate that had brought bed bugs into his apartment, but Josh told her he must have brought them in himself from my house. Fuck you, Josh, by the way.<br />
<br />
Eventually he fessed up to not wanting to marry her. On one hand, he could have told her earlier before she went to all those lengths, but on the other hand, why was she doing all of this for a man she barely knew in real life? She was a hot mess and when the fall out came, I was her crying shoulder (and not the only one, I'm sure) again.<br />
<br />
I took some serious stock of my life. Was I lying every time I told her I loved her or did I need to step up and help my best friend. I honestly thought it was a bad idea, but the right thing to do, if that makes sense. I offered to let her move in with me. She packed up her dog, Butters, her shit she couldn't live without and she drove from St. Paul, MN to Fairmont, WV in the Ford Fusion she despised.<br />
<br />
It was an adjustment for both of us. Still reeling from her breakup, and now living in WV with a woman that only made 40k a year, Kim fought with depression and struggled to get out of the ditch in this highway of life. We were both struggling in that respect. I could barely afford the bills as it was and now I was responsible for another person. Pretty soon, my meager savings were completely drained and I was in the red. My anxiety kept me worried about an emergency that I wouldn't be able to recover from. Appliance breaks, car breaks, anything. I wasn't going to be able to fix anything if it broke. I couldn't even afford to fix the broken dishwasher or the leaking pipes under the sink.<br />
<br />
To make matters worse, I had started dating a man Kim despised. He and his wife separated two years prior and lived in different houses, but it wasn't good enough for Kim. She saw it as morally wrong. "He's. Married." We went out for my birthday and she wouldn't engage. She sat at the bar and stared at the shelves. When Michael went to the restroom, I turned to her and said calmly but firmly, "Can't you at least pretend to be having fun? It's my birthday." Instantly, she burst into tears. She went outside to smoke a cigarette and pull herself together. Not long after, I got a text from her friend, Johnny. He wanted to know why I made Kim cry, why I yelled at her.<br />
<br />
This became the dynamic from then on. Kim never told me anything was bothering her. She'd text her friends, usually Johnny, and he'd demand to know why I was doing what I was doing to upset her. <i>Why are you throwing it in her face by practically having sex with your boyfriend in front of her? </i>We were just watching Archer on the TV in the living room. Not even touching. <i>What did you do now? She's crying again. </i>Nothing, just asked if maybe she could put money toward the bills since she's got a job now.<br />
<br />
It wasn't long until the passive aggressive measures became more visible. Making plans with me, then ditching me for new ones. Lying to me, telling me I had fungus on my toenails to make me feel gross. Making dinner for only herself. Leaving the juicer in the sink a mess under a swarm of fruit flies when I told her I couldn't afford the extra $200 a week in groceries it was costing to juice twice a day. It got to the point that I hated coming home. Something I promised myself I'd never have to do again.<br />
<br />
I had tried to tell her honestly how I was feeling about things, but she always took it as me criticizing her unfairly. Every conversation ended with her in tears. I tried to tell her I really needed help with the bills and she only heard that she was a burden. I tried to tell her she made Michael feel unwelcome in my house but she only heard that I loved him more than her. And when I told her my new birth control was causing me to bleed so much I could barely function and I needed extra help, she heard that she didn't do enough around the house.<br />
<br />
I used to think she was my ride or die, but I watched her become someone who hated my guts. She couldn't understand why I would sabotage her attempt at weight loss by not throwing money in on fresh produce every week. Her credit score was dismal and she made payments on everything she owned. I didn't want to sink into that. I stood fast at saving what money I could so that if there was an emergency, I could afford to take out a loan and wasn't ruining my life by getting trapped in endless debt. She didn't care about those things.<br />
<br />
One day she announced she was moving out the next week on Thursday. She'd gotten her old boss to give her back her job at the real estate office. 75k a year. I didn't realize she was so ready to go. It was never a conversation previous to that. She moved out a few days early so she didn't have to give me the third and final $250 she promised me every two weeks.<br />
<br />
I hugged her and cried and watched her drive away. Michael dumped me not long after and my gyno told me I seriously needed to be tested for cervical cancer after my last pap. I texted Kim and told her Michael had left and I felt so alone and I was afraid of the future. She told me I got what I deserved because he was married and what did I expect? It wasn't like I wouldn't be dating someone in two weeks from now anyway. It was the last time I ever heard from her.<br />
<br />
I realized I didn't have a Carrie. I didn't have a Miranda either. I was alone and terrified. If I had cancer, could I afford it? Was I going to lose my job? Michael didn't care. Kim didn't care. Even Johnny popped by in text to tell me Kim was right and I got what I deserved. A man who paid to go down on hookers was scolding me about life choices. A woman who upturned her entire life for a man she barely knew but planned to marry was telling me to reap what I sowed.<br />
<br />
I saw some online friends shrink away. I knew what was happening and I decided I was done with all of it. No more would I look to Twitter to connect with people. I got out, I met the man I would marry, I found out I was cancer-free, and I blocked Kim on every platform I could so I wasn't letting her in in any form. I stopped thinking about the hurt until that text that she was dead. Suddenly, I had all the proof I'd ever need that she was never sorry, that she would never reach out and try to mend our relationship, that she got what she needed from me and didn't need me anymore. And it's tough. It's tough to see all the condolences and platitudes. It's hard to remember the good times after a betrayal. And it's hard to accept that she's gone forever. I think I'll always love her just as much as I'll hold onto the grudge that she wasn't who I thought she was.<br />
<br />
She was a deeply broken person and self-centered, shallow, weak, and cruel. And she was kind and loving and brave somewhere in there, too. But that's harder to believe and it's harder to remember. Maybe some day I'll forgive her. But not today. Rest in peace, Kim.<br />
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Ida Clayerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03992789244488090308noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376142093209109953.post-45682876156844743132016-12-19T11:42:00.001-05:002016-12-28T14:59:38.844-05:00Best of Craigslist 12-19-16<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><h2 class="postingtitle" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; clear: left; color: #222222; font-family: "Bitstream Vera Serif", "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 1.4em; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: 1.4em; margin: 10px 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="postingtitletext" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span id="titletextonly" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Real massage (Uniotown area)</span></span><br />
</h2><br />
<br />
<section class="userbody" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #222222; flex-flow: column wrap; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.5em; padding: 0px 0px 0.5em; vertical-align: baseline;"><div class="mapAndAttrs" style="border: 0px; float: right; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0px 1em; order: 1; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: top; width: 300px; z-index: 1;"><div class="attrgroup" style="border: 0px; clear: none; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0.3em; margin-top: 1em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; border-radius: 0.25em; border: 1px solid rgb(204 , 204 , 204); font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.9em; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: 1.85em; margin: 0px; padding: 0.15em 0.4em; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: nowrap;">compensation: <span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: bolder; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">40 an hour cash</span></span></div></div><section id="postingbody" style="border: 0px; clear: left; font-family: "Bitstream Vera Serif", "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1em; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;"> Lookin 4 lady 2 give real massage nothing weird pat 40 an hour have back and leg prob don't have 2 b professional as long as ur good at it need deep tissue</section> <ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-size: x-small;">do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers</span></li>
</ul><hr /><h2 class="postingtitle" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; clear: left; color: #222222; font-family: "Bitstream Vera Serif", "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 1.4em; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: 1.4em; margin: 10px 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="postingtitletext" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span id="titletextonly" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Gospel singers wanted (Clarksburg)</span></span><br />
</h2><section class="userbody" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #222222; flex-flow: column wrap; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.5em; padding: 0px 0px 0.5em; vertical-align: baseline;"><div class="mapAndAttrs" style="border: 0px; float: right; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0px 1em; order: 1; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: top; width: 300px; z-index: 1;"><div class="attrgroup" style="border: 0px; clear: none; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0.3em; margin-top: 1em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; border-radius: 0.25em; border: 1px solid rgb(204 , 204 , 204); font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.9em; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: 1.85em; margin: 0px; padding: 0.15em 0.4em; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: nowrap;">compensation: <span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: bolder; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">no pay</span></span></div></div><section id="postingbody" style="border: 0px; clear: left; font-family: "Bitstream Vera Serif", "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1em; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;"><br />
Starting a gospel group. Talent wanted. No pay to offer but the retirement plan is Heaven.</section> <ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-size: x-small;">do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers</span></li>
</ul><hr /><h2 class="postingtitle" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; clear: left; color: #222222; font-family: "Bitstream Vera Serif", "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 1.4em; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: 1.4em; margin: 10px 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="postingtitletext" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span id="titletextonly" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Dance 3 Songs Naked-$100</span></span></h2><section class="userbody" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #222222; flex-flow: column wrap; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.5em; padding: 0px 0px 0.5em; vertical-align: baseline;"><div class="mapAndAttrs" style="border: 0px; float: right; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0px 1em; order: 1; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: top; width: 300px; z-index: 1;"><div class="attrgroup" style="border: 0px; clear: none; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0.3em; margin-top: 1em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; border-radius: 0.25em; border: 1px solid rgb(204 , 204 , 204); font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.9em; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: 1.85em; margin: 0px; padding: 0.15em 0.4em; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: nowrap;">compensation: <span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: bolder; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">$100</span></span></div></div><section id="postingbody" style="border: 0px; clear: left; font-family: "Bitstream Vera Serif", "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1em; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;"><br />
Just what the ad says. Would like to see some nudity and don't want to go out to a club. Will pay $100 if an attractive female would show up and perform a 3 song nude strip-show. If you're interested please send me a pic (clothes on) and when you're free. This is a serious ad and im looking for nothing more than the ad states. So please do not respond just to ask questions and only if you're serious.</section> <ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-size: x-small;">do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers</span></li>
</ul><hr /><h2 class="postingtitle" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; clear: left; color: #222222; font-family: "Bitstream Vera Serif", "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 1.4em; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: 1.4em; margin: 10px 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="postingtitletext" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span id="titletextonly" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Looking for guys with BIG stomachs (Morgantown, WV)</span></span><br />
</h2><section class="userbody" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #222222; flex-flow: column wrap; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.5em; padding: 0px 0px 0.5em; vertical-align: baseline;"><div class="mapAndAttrs" style="border: 0px; float: right; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0px 1em; order: 1; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: top; width: 300px; z-index: 1;"><div class="attrgroup" style="border: 0px; clear: none; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0.3em; margin-top: 1em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; border-radius: 0.25em; border: 1px solid rgb(204 , 204 , 204); font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.9em; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: 1.85em; margin: 0px; padding: 0.15em 0.4em; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: nowrap;">compensation: <span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: bolder; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">TBD</span></span></div></div><section id="postingbody" style="border: 0px; clear: left; font-family: "Bitstream Vera Serif", "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1em; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;"><br />
Do you have a big stomach? Like big BIG? We need you. Email us a picture of your stomach as proof.</section> <ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-size: x-small;">do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers</span></li>
</ul><hr /><h2 class="postingtitle" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; clear: left; color: #222222; font-family: "Bitstream Vera Serif", "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 1.4em; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: 1.4em; margin: 10px 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="postingtitletext" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span id="titletextonly" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Ticklish? Make bank to be tickled!</span></span><br />
</h2><section class="userbody" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #222222; flex-flow: column wrap; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.5em; padding: 0px 0px 0.5em; vertical-align: baseline;"><div class="mapAndAttrs" style="border: 0px; float: right; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0px 1em; order: 1; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: top; width: 300px; z-index: 1;"><div class="attrgroup" style="border: 0px; clear: none; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0.3em; margin-top: 1em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; border-radius: 0.25em; border: 1px solid rgb(204 , 204 , 204); font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.9em; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: 1.85em; margin: 0px; padding: 0.15em 0.4em; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: nowrap;">compensation: <span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: bolder; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">5000</span></span></div></div><section id="postingbody" style="border: 0px; clear: left; font-family: "Bitstream Vera Serif", "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1em; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;">Thank you!<br />
<br />
This post is a serious add to find local girls that are both pretty, ticklish and want to make money. Welcome to tickked4cash, a company catering to just that the casual hiring of local girls for nothing more then casual non sexual or adult tickling. You can work from home come to one of many studio locations and be paid cash money to be simply tickled. You can bring friends, tickle others all with a safe environment with no stupidit. A fun easy way to make some extra money for nothing but laughing.<br />
<br />
If you want to get started please apply now email with contact info and photo and I will get back to you to schedule a time!</section><ul class="notices" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; list-style-image: initial; list-style-position: initial; margin: 0px 0px 2em 10px; order: 1; padding: 10px; vertical-align: baseline;"><li style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.8em; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers</li>
</ul><hr /><div><h2 class="postingtitle" style="border: 0px; clear: left; font-family: "Bitstream Vera Serif", "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 1.4em; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: 1.4em; margin: 10px 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="postingtitletext" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span id="titletextonly" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Live in trophy girlfriend</span><small style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> (Charlottesville VA)</small> <span class="js-only banish-unbanish" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="banish" role="button" style="border: 0px; cursor: pointer; display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="icon icon-trash" style="background-position: 0px -192px; background-repeat: no-repeat; border: 0px; cursor: pointer; display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; height: 16px; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: middle; width: 16px;"></span><span class="screen-reader-text" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; height: 1px; left: -10000px; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; position: absolute; top: auto; vertical-align: baseline; width: 1px;">hide this posting</span></span></span></span></h2><br />
<section class="userbody" style="border: 0px; flex-flow: column wrap; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.5em; padding: 0px 0px 0.5em; vertical-align: baseline;"><div class="mapAndAttrs" style="border: 0px; float: right; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0px 1em; order: 1; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: top; width: 300px; z-index: 1;"><div class="attrgroup" style="border: 0px; clear: none; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0.3em; margin-top: 1em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; border-radius: 0.25em; border: 1px solid rgb(204 , 204 , 204); font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.9em; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: 1.85em; margin: 0px; padding: 0.15em 0.4em; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: nowrap;">compensation: <span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: bolder; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Allowance per month</span></span></div></div><section id="postingbody" style="border: 0px; clear: left; font-family: "Bitstream Vera Serif", "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1em; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;">Looking for an attractive young female to move in as a girlfriend. All expenses included. Pool and gym at my condo. Willing to give allowance for the right person. Willing to help relocate to VA.<br />
<br />
Please reply with a pic and info about yourself: age, what you do for fun, age, etc</section><ul class="notices" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; list-style-image: initial; list-style-position: initial; margin: 0px 0px 2em 10px; order: 1; padding: 10px; vertical-align: baseline;"><li style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.8em; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers</li>
</ul><div></div></section></div></section></section></section></section></section></div>Ida Clayerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03992789244488090308noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376142093209109953.post-7098922112794374622016-12-16T17:01:00.003-05:002016-12-16T17:01:40.045-05:00That Time I Saw a Hooker at a Sports Bar<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2>
A Horror Story</h2>
Gather around, children, I want to tell you about the time I saw a hooker at Kegler's. It was after a WVU game and I'd finished having dinner with the fiancé's family at Los. I remember it well, because Eric had just told me that there were people that wanted to meet me (and that is a pretty rare occasion, so I figured I'd go and see how things played out before I shat on someone's expectations) and we headed over to <i>Kegler's Sports Bar and Lounge</i>.<br />
<br />
Now, Kegler's isn't a high class place, so I had no trouble getting in, but the place was packed post-game with already drunk people looking to get drunker and the staff was not having us crash a table when other people were waiting, so we had to take turns sitting in chairs in shifts so I could meet Eric's long-time friends, Jacob and Andy.<br />
<br />
Usually it takes me three beers to slip into my charming mode, so I worked on that while anxiously noting how awkwardly quiet the table was and how the staff was not happy we'd skipped the wait line. But come on, it's a sports bar with shitty food and shitty beer, so I didn't really care that much that we were cheating considering Eric sees these guys so seldom.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I'm sipping beer number three when I see her. She was wearing six inch stiletto heels, black pleather skinny jeans, and a broken-in cotton crop top that showed off her stomach's rose vine tattoo and silvery stretch marks. Her wig was the color of straw you'd find in a horse stall and just as matte and kempt. It cascaded down her shoulders like vomit dripping down a stairwell and blended in to the light, blond-colored faux fur coat she wore like a desperate hooker stereotype she was trying to fulfill. Her eyes were rimmed with black kohl liner that looked on at about hour 22 and her lipstick was a matte burgundy that leached out from her thin snarled lips.<br />
<br />
Jacob broke the awkward silence by leaning over to me, "You think she's a stripper?"<br />
<br />
"No way; strippers have more class. That's a hooker."<br />
<br />
She was leaning against the doorway adjacent to our table, unable to make up her mind about her next move. Her face grimaced like some kind of forced Tourette's twitches as she licked her front teeth and scanned the room in a fog. She ambled over to the booth beside us.<br />
<br />
Jacob watched her the whole time. "You sure?"<br />
<br />
She reminded me of Jackie from <i>Reno 911!</i> with her messy, cheap wig and her disjointed, aggressive demeanor. She pulled a second purse out of her metallic tote purse and rummaged through it frantically.<br />
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I watched her while I worked on beer number four. She dug through her purses, one then the other, for at least half and hour before screaming at Eric's back, "GIVE ME YOUR PHONE!" I know he jumped a bit at her shrill caw. "I NEED TO CALL MY PHONE!" Jackie's voice was a verbal barbed bat colliding with baby seal skin. He mumbled something to her about having run out of minutes and she bought that excuse, but honestly, I wish one of us had loaned her our phone to see if she could even remember her own number. The things I could do with a hooker's phone number...but I digress.<br />
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Jackie rummaged in her purse some more. A member of the staff came over, and in hushed tones, asked if she was bothering us. A collective yes hissed out of our (now sprawled unapologetically to two) tables.<br />
<br />
I sipped on my beer, trying to conceal my excitement of being in Jackie's presence. She was a sight to behold, like an accidental, yet perfectly timed shot to a stranger's balls or seeing a kid in crutches fall into a puddle. I felt a little guilty at the good time I was having voyeuristically watching this train wreck sizzle like damp poetry-in-motion before me. I couldn't take my gaze off of her as I tried to guess what influence she was under. Could be that she was just extremely drunk, but maybe it was meth, too. Goddamn I was so giddy.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure how long it took for Jackie to realize she was surrounded by three employees wearing black tees that read "STAFF" on the back. "Ma'am, we're going to have to ask you to leave."<br />
<br />
"I CAN'T FIND MY PHONE!" She'd turned her purses inside and out several times. Makeup, napkins, wadded receipts and unopened tampons littered the tabletop. Her hand snaked back and forth in her smaller purse. She never slowed her pace. She was a machine.<br />
<br />
"Ma'am, you can't bother the other customers; we need you to pack it up and leave."<br />
<br />
Our table sat transfixed on Jackie and the bouncers. It was a real-life soap opera.<br />
<br />
Back and forth the hooker and the staff bickered. When Jackie finally stood up, she was huffy and clutching her purse inside her purse and shouting something unintelligible. She stomped off in her six inch heels, clunking down the tile walkway.<br />
<br />
"Shit....MA'AM! MA'AM...YOU LEFT....AN ARTICLE HERE." The bouncers looked at one another in a "not it" expression. Jackie turned around and stomped back, her body unable to bounce, jerked up and down with each step with her cushionless joints. One of the staff members pointed to a pair of orange panties she'd left in the booth. She swirled back around and stomped in the other direction. Jackie had made her decision and she wasn't taking those panties with her.<br />
<br />
You could almost hear a collective "sonofabitch" in the way the bouncers stood around Jackie's now vacant table. The guy behind the booth used a napkin to pick up the discarded underwear. It wasn't what I'd pictured a hooker to wear. Instead of holding a lacy thong, a pair of tagless Haynes bikini hipsters dangled from his grasp. He tossed them in the trash like they were Jackie's unwanted children.<br />
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Before the seat could even be sanitized, some neckbeard sat down quickly and pulled out his pink cellphone. I wondered if it was Jackie's and I sadly turned back to my table.<br />
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Ida Clayerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03992789244488090308noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376142093209109953.post-91007461793770567762016-09-07T13:10:00.000-04:002016-09-07T13:10:10.834-04:00White Woman's Burden<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Self-employed to avoid seeing my credit destroyed<br />
But my transmission needs a technician to put her into remission<br />
So the decision is given on the condition the acquisition of taxes<br />
be evacuated and my W9 allocation eradicated<br />
Unplanned but three grand quickly turns into cash-in-hand<br />
And I had just brand a piece of land, you understand?<br />
Now shit's getting tighter than your sisters before rough riders<br />
No pedicures, no obscure liqueur, no couture, register your check with your creditor<br />
I assure, the allure in the brochure for breadwinner is non-sequitur<br />
<br />
Wear and tear got zephyr in my underwear<br />
IRS don't care<br />
Gotta snare coupons just to cut my hair<br />
IRS don't care<br />
Price compare to save on bus fare<br />
IRS don't care<br />
<br />
Well now I'm moved but my mood's not improved as my ego is bruised<br />
Get a post office paper makes me a most nauseous neighbor<br />
911 mapping got me done spun and gasping, undone my signed wrapping<br />
of address changing madness ranging from AmEx and 401K to IRS and Lincoln National Corporation<br />
New driver's license in the box now is this rider's crisis walks in how priceless these cocks been<br />
Exam time off requested bye bye to vacation vested damn jerk-offs got my patience tested<br />
DMV lines are packed with mouth-breathing jaws slacked and chimes say the wait times capped<br />
Sorry, bro, you need utilities to show you pay the bills at that address though<br />
What? The utilities can't find the old one, even thought my facilities might be stolen<br />
Well while you remedy that, clear the isle, no clemency here, scat<br />
<br />
Address is broken insurin' my accounts are frozen<br />
Post Office don't care<br />
Back taxes are defaulting and my groceries are halting<br />
Post Office don't care<br />
New ID I just got was all for naught<br />
Post Office don't care<br />
<br />
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Ida Clayerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03992789244488090308noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376142093209109953.post-50045093012438136772014-10-17T13:52:00.000-04:002014-10-17T17:02:04.151-04:00Getting to Know your Penis<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
A Practical Guide for the Adolescent Male</h3>
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;">circa 1953</span></h4>
<br />
Hello and welcome to <i>Getting to Know your Penis</i>. This is where we'll be introducing you to your penis and the magical things that allow your penis function not only as a sex organ, but also expel waste! Pretty cool, eh? Your penis is terribly efficient!<br />
<br />
<h3>
Section 1: Boners</h3>
Now, you're probably wondering about boners. You've probably heard your mom mention them when she talks about work. <b>What are boners?</b> Are they made of bone? No, friend, the human body has 206 bones in its body, but the penis does not contain any bones. When you're born, you had 270 bones in your body, but most of those fused into other bones and some were removed at your bris by Glenda the Snake Woman. Isn't that fascinating?<br />
<br />
So if your boner contains zero bones, what makes it rigid when you rub it against teen girls on the bus? Well, scooter, the answer might surprise you: no one really knows! There are just some questions that science can't answer. Some scientists speculate that boners are conjured up by demonic forces that are triggered by exposed female flesh. Another popular theory is that women cause boners with their minds to either mate with or humiliate males.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IzOuj0vwRHQ/VDg7Xi2dBHI/AAAAAAAABMQ/3f1HxmZv8hg/s1600/Succubus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IzOuj0vwRHQ/VDg7Xi2dBHI/AAAAAAAABMQ/3f1HxmZv8hg/s1600/Succubus.jpg" height="152" width="200" /></a></div>
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<br />
<h3>
Section 2: Gay Boners</h3>
Sometimes when you shower with the boys, you get that stray boner that you can't for the life of you figure out. Don't worry, champ, that's totally normal and doesn't make you a gay. It's only gay if your coach tells you it is. Always listen to adults!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xTm6zazJnbE/VDg8ZhrMdsI/AAAAAAAABMY/luegzHiLKJc/s1600/077565cabefe2e9c0fba11d8a4de0967.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xTm6zazJnbE/VDg8ZhrMdsI/AAAAAAAABMY/luegzHiLKJc/s1600/077565cabefe2e9c0fba11d8a4de0967.jpg" height="200" width="194" /></a></div>
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<h3>
Section 3: Spermatozoa</h3>
As you may have noticed, sometimes boners may cause thoughts of touching yourself until you have an eruption of cloudy liquid. What is this liquid, you might ask, and what is this eruption? Well, tiger, this is <b>spermatozoa</b>, the sacred, life-giving, egg fertilizer flowing in your <i>ejaculate</i>. The <b>spermatozoa</b> is the male reproductive cell. And when <b>spermatozoa</b> isn't placed into the correct receptacle (the vagina), it turns into <i>ectoplasm</i>.<br />
<br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">ec·to·plasm</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">/ˈektəˌplazəm/</span><br />
<br />
A supernatural viscous substance that is supposed to exude from the body of a medium during a spiritualistic trance and form the material for the manifestation of spirits.</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
Ectoplasm is formed when God is angry you wasted your precious seed. The liquid you see is the remains of the baby you killed and sent to Limbo, where all dead, unbaptized babies go.<br />
<br />
Each <b>spermatozoon</b> is precious. It's also shaped like a tadpole, with a head and a flagellate tale. Each ejaculate contains 300,000,000 to 400,000,000 <b>spermatozoa</b>, but only one <b>spermatozoon</b> will fertilize the female ovum. There are no prizes for participation here, just like in gym class! Only the strongest win. <br />
<br />
* It's important to note that you should never, ever get any <b>spermatozoa</b> in your mouth or anus. When <b>spermatozoa</b> can't find the ova, they consequently release an enzyme that has been proven to cause the gayness. <br />
<br />
<h3>
Section 4: Balls</h3>
Sometimes we sit on them, sometimes we get them stuck to the insides of our thighs after an intense game of hoop-and-stick, but just what are these fleshy mounds that hang pendulously between male legs? You guessed it, sport, they're balls. The penis gets most of the attention in this presentation, but don't overlook the importance of your balls. Inside each wrinkled ball sack, two chambers are housed. These chambers keep the souls of all your unborn children in the form of <b>spermatozoa</b>. <br />
<br />
Always protect these keepers-of-the-souls by wearing the appropriate gear during practice and game time. You don't want to kill babies, do you? Of course you don't, kiddo. <br />
<br />
<h3>
Section 5: Waste</h3>
The first thing you ever did with your penis was urinate with it, so you might be wondering why your waste is expelled in the same orifice as the sacred spermatozoa and ectoplasm. Fear not, friend, urine is sterile. Nothing in that urine can hurt baby souls, and we have the scientific data to prove it! By combining two processes to one orifice, you are the more efficient machine compared to females with separate holes for peeing versus accepting <b>spermatozoa</b> and birthing babies. This is why we only pay them 53¢ to our dollar!<br />
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<h3>
Section 6: Sex</h3>
<div>
<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-size: x-large;">< Redacted due to questionable immoral content by the Censorship of Teaching Materials Committee by Advocates of Senator Joseph McCarthy and Friends ></span></div>
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<div>
So, in conclusion, you now know the basics of your penile functions, and additionally, how to please your partner, whom you married in the eyes of God. </div>
<br /></div>
Ida Clayerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03992789244488090308noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376142093209109953.post-22425535957010414452014-06-04T14:21:00.000-04:002014-06-04T14:21:10.836-04:00In response to #YesAllWomen<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A few years ago, in an attempt to be more active while also leaving my house (I lived in a particularly toxic and volatile situation), I decided to walk a couple miles in my neighborhood every day. This was short-lived, not because I was lazy, unmotivated or because I lost interest, this was because I was consistently harassed while simply keeping to myself and walking through the main drag of town.<br />
<br />
The first day was the least scary, since I only had to endure having garbage thrown at me from a passing vehicle.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O7Z-e2V0hq4/U44rbm5c5mI/AAAAAAAABJk/BEr4crH1ohQ/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-06-03+at+4.08.58+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O7Z-e2V0hq4/U44rbm5c5mI/AAAAAAAABJk/BEr4crH1ohQ/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-06-03+at+4.08.58+PM.png" height="191" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fucking tossers.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The second day was worse, when a guy stalked me in his car, circling me and pulling in to parking spaces to shout and whistle at me. He drove up and back a few times, as he was optimistic/persistent/scary/forceful/threatening. I didn't even acknowledge his presence, and the third time he tried to turn his car around to give it another go, I ducked down two parallel streets just to avoid him, knowing full well that if he found me again, this time it wouldn't be as well-lit or populated. Not that it really mattered; I didn't really feel safe under the street lights and business signs, nor did I count on anyone to interfere if it escalated.<br />
<br />
The third time happened after I tried to shrug it off, telling myself that this was just a coincidence and that if I didn't try again, I was letting fear shut me in, so I gave it one more go. This time, I was stalked by yet another man in a car. He pulled into a parking lot and kept shouting at me, "Hey... hey... hey, I'm talkin' at you!" He got out of his car and proceeded to chase after me, "Hey, baby girl! I think you look nice, I just want to talk to you!" I couldn't even see his face, just his silhouette in the car's headlights.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dr2bVLlPUOg/U44pY58yPsI/AAAAAAAABJY/PkRTh1vlcaU/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-06-03+at+4.00.14+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dr2bVLlPUOg/U44pY58yPsI/AAAAAAAABJY/PkRTh1vlcaU/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-06-03+at+4.00.14+PM.png" height="200" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Yes, officer, he looked just like this."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
I'd met my threshold and I lashed out, "JUST ONE TIME, I'D LIKE TO WALK DOWN THE FUCKING STREET AND NOT BE FUCKING ACCOSTED! FUCK OFF!" He didn't like that one bit and he countered with, "Yous a fuckin' bitch! Someone oughta hang you!" <i>That's right, I was told I should be lynched because I didn't want to talk to a weird guy at dusk that was chasing after me. </i><br />
<br />
I did all my future exercising in my basement.<br />
<br />
Of course, these aren't the only, or even the worst run-ins I've endured, they are just an example of how ridiculous it is for women just to walk down the street and not feel safe. We are taught at a very young age that we shouldn't talk to strangers. As we get older, we are taught that how we dress or what time we're out evokes rape monsters. While I'm on hold with my gyno office, I have to listen to tips on protecting myself from molestation. "Ways to prevent sexual assault," blasts the helpful message on loop:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TDLakyLdyH8/U44uMZzD_GI/AAAAAAAABJw/Wi89gHR6Ifo/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-06-03+at+4.20.43+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TDLakyLdyH8/U44uMZzD_GI/AAAAAAAABJw/Wi89gHR6Ifo/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-06-03+at+4.20.43+PM.png" height="291" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">NEWSFLASH: failing to follow these rules doesn't make it your fault!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
Imma 'bout to break these down...</h3>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Be aware of your surroundings...</b></blockquote>
No one plans to be raped, and statistically, more people are sexually assaulted by people they know. If that's not fucked up, well, I don't know what is.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Try to avoid isolated areas. It is more difficult to get help if no one is around.</b></blockquote>
Ok, this is where I have to disagree. Being around other strangers doesn't guarantee that you're safer. Just look at the "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Just_Yell_Fire" target="_blank">Just Yell Fire</a>" theory:<br />
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
"<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.399999618530273px;">The film's title references a point made in the video: that yelling "help" or "rape" may frighten potential witnesses or rescuers away, while yelling "fire" tends to draw a crowd."</span></h4>
Maybe it's just as difficult to get help with others around. How is that OK?<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Walk with purpose...</b></blockquote>
In other words, don't look weak or like possible prey...? So like don't look like you're asking for it??<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Trust your instincts...</b></blockquote>
Which part is instinct and which part is paranoia taught to us during sex ed? Just err on the side of caution and fear all men?<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b></b><b>Try not to load yourself down with packages...</b></blockquote>
Hope you don't eat much a week or need to do laundry outside your apartment or home. Better not take the trash out or donate old clothes to a thrift store just to be safe. You should probably never move, either. Packed boxes are a bitch.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b></b><b>Make sure your cell phone is with you...</b></blockquote>
And a cell tower.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b></b><b>Don't allow yourself to be isolated with someone you... don't know...</b></blockquote>
Well shit, this means no elevators, buses, taxis, job interviews, open houses, public restrooms, ordering delivery...<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b></b><b>Avoid putting...headphones in both ears... </b></blockquote>
Enjoying music is a bad idea, too. Always be vigilant. You never know when you're gonna get assaulted by a guy in tap shoes.<br />
<br />
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
Does anyone else take issue with this advice at all?</h3>
<br />
Fear is the key to safety. Be afraid! Be very afraid! Oh, and while you're afraid, and you tell a guy to fuck off because you're afraid of him, be afraid he'll take offense to that and double his efforts to hurt you! All I had to do was tell a guy that was acting like a threat to fuck off and he then said things that made himself even more threatening! I didn't have any packages, I wasn't listening to music with my headphones on, I wasn't walking down a dark alley (in fact, there was another guy there who witnessed the whole thing and just ignored us), I didn't walk meekly or act afraid, in fact, I was on the phone the entire time, talking to my boyfriend (real, not imaginary) and this guy pursued me like I was prime catch. And because I asserted myself (albeit rudely, but fuck off), it was like he was offended for being threatening to me. How dare I not flirt with this strange man whose face I can't even see, who is chasing after me even when I've ignored being shouted at? How dare I feel unsafe? Bitches like me should be hanged, obviously.<br />
<br />
So be afraid in order to stay safe, but don't be afraid if you're accosted, because that's cuntish behavior. Where is the advice for males? Where are the "Don't Rape Anybody, OK?" guidelines? Where's the innocent bystanders' etiquette pamphlet <i>Helping Women in Distress</i>? We have tips on staying afraid, that's it. And for any guy to retort, "not all men are rapists," could you kindly point out the part in the tips where it describes the difference in which males to avoid? 'Cos it looks like a vague "all of them" to me.<br />
<br />
OK, good talk. </div>
Ida Clayerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03992789244488090308noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376142093209109953.post-51380451544798932012014-02-11T13:52:00.001-05:002014-02-11T15:38:52.636-05:00Presenting "Alternative for Amazon Prime Air"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<h3>
A guest post by <a href="https://twitter.com/joedonbaker" target="_blank">@joedonbaker </a></h3>
<hr />
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
I'm going to change it up by featuring some fellow authors from the Twittersphere for the next few posts.</h4>
Remember, kids, this guy <i>will</i> cut you.<br />
<h5>
*He submitted this to me 12/8/13, so I'm pretty terrible at posting things quick enough to keep them current.</h5>
<hr />
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
Alternative for Amazon Prime Air </h2>
I love Amazon Prime. For just pennies a day, I can have things delivered right to my door in two days. For a few bucks per item, I can have things sent OVERNIGHT. I could have this amazing <a href="http://www.google.com/url?q=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.amazon.com%2FMulti-speed-Blue-Vibrating-Anal-11-5CM%2Fdp%2FB00DF9OEPK%2Fref%3Dsr_1_7%3Fie%3DUTF8%26qid%3D1386516230%26sr%3D8-7%26keywords%3Dbutt%2Bplug&sa=D&sntz=1&usg=AFQjCNEo-dLKnJv4Cotxwb-QykhinvbsDA" target="_blank">multi-speed blue vibrating anal plug</a> at my doorstop TOMORROW. The future truly is now. Amazon is a pretty ambitious company. They now sell consumer electronics at competitive prices. Of course their hope is that you’ll sign up for Prime and dive balls deep into their ‘ecosystem.’ Amazon is currently trying to solve their biggest demand: Same day delivery, because I just have to have that vibrating anal plug RIGHT NOW. Shipping companies like UPS and FEDEX just aren’t setup for this sort of rapid delivery. Amazon’s latest idea to solve this is to use UN-MANNED AERIAL DRONES to deliver parcels right to your doorstep. There’s one huge problem with that that I’m sure you thought of as well:<br />
<br />
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
DECAPITATION</h2>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="222" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/Apv8vfmMKTKZpVLXWp82vtRJO2yy591kucyXeHMR-4wvsiVmzucGF1Eah-EjxEewT3Kg8kP3_OVyRaDhzliCGiWVlCLdbLxP3s7N1IckRy3O0QhCZGfaQao6JreoIL9NH8E" style="border: 0px solid transparent; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Come out to the coast, we'll get together, have a few laughs...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I do not want to keep checking the skies above me for a drone because my retarded neighbor just had to have <i>The Big Bang Theory: The Complete Fifth Season</i> the same day. This is a pretty big deal breaker and I’m not sure how they would solve this. Even a 1% failure rate is unacceptable.<br />
<br />
This is of course where I come in with a few alternatives to drones. These are either safer or more cost effective ideas for near instant gratification Amazon style.<br />
<br />
<h3>
Homeless People</h3>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="215" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/KBLcbcpB_JWKkrB2Kf_MNEr2Rr_R76TJBM06sH4iT8NcgvfO3nFkyr-FrZoCKd-OkLj864q28xdBjPeqvvjaeTwCe-2MwmOMh6JjzC4vHM7zERwTAsA7d6rTGBGj-ppAP4c" style="border: 0px solid transparent; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sale at Macy's!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I like this idea for a few reasons. It helps stimulate the post-recession economy by providing jobs. The number of homeless people in a given city is proportionate to the population of said city. In theory a town already has enough homeless people to properly cover it properly. Homeless people also come with shopping carts included so they can deliver more than one package per delivery run. Homeless people know their respective cities well from years of living on the streets. They can quickly deliver parcels as they know the best routes. The only downside to homeless people is alcohol. Once they get that first paycheck it will no doubt be blown on malt liquor which will cause them to be late for next day’s work. I’m sensing a pattern here with homeless people. <br />
<br />
<h3>
Project Thor</h3>
If you’ve played the *latest* installment of <i>Call of Duty Brown People Killing Simulator Part 21</i> you’ve seen a common weapon used in sci-fi movies: orbital bombardment. The idea is to construct some sort of weapons platform in space that shoots a projectile at a super high speed. At such high speeds said projectile can cause catastrophic damage. Turns out, THIS SHIT IS REAL. Instead of using this to kill terrorists taking away <i>mah freedum</i>, couldn’t we use these satellites to deliver packages. It’s easy. Amazon just needs warehouses in space, which I’m sure is on their drawing board somewhere. Once the satellite is positioned above your house, the package can just be ‘shot’ to your doorstep. Of course, one simple miscalculation and the package could literally destroy your house or wipe out humanity as the impact plunges Earth into the next ice age.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="320" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/B-_Stqh6uqkrY9ITr-vwJe5_MSI20HbikAWvsP3dnJVISX-0dgzykjHhQtghgyOXDZuxxaWzPj6_UvrEtdqRjR80XnMIVNzuNcz8XD1Kwa_Y73DSVuAvEfrF8k9Wtm2jdQY" style="border: 0px solid transparent; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="310" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hey, I can see your house from here!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h3>
Strategic Artificially Intelligent Nuclear Transport (S.A.I.N.T.)</h3>
You might know these better as ‘those cute murder robots from the Steve Guttenberg vehicle Short Circuit.’ While the original project was aborted because one of them had to go ahead and gain sentience, there’s still a huge amount of potential in these laser cannon wielding robots. Their treads will let them traverse even the harshest terrains. Their batteries appear to last forever so they could conceivably work 24/7 to deliver packages. The built-in weapons will keep packages safe in transit, a worry I have with Amazon Prime Air. One big problem is how to solve the problem of lightning strikes turning them into awful joke telling robots who refuse to be disassembled.<br />
<br />
Once that happens, no doubt they will refuse to deliver packages and they’ll demand some sort of rights. Hell, if they let one become a U.S. citizen I guess they’d have to let them all. Figure that one out, NOVA Robotics, and Amazon will make you rich.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="320" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/ipFqH7caqWENSMFp3tEa0UKRc9i42FVgxdAXc-PBjF0KaLMcz8k3GrFV_NjbPWtwcQfTRn3VOf3kFfz2JJOEIBp_9DgTlWV7ia6uCK-iTh7Uoczx25xPHyjGIMZHb8LmqhM" style="border: 0px solid transparent; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="231" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What do we want? Rights for robots! When do we want it? KILL ALL HUMANS</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-7b4294d0-0e56-408f-4d91-f52fc392fcf0"><br /></span></div>
Ida Clayerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03992789244488090308noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376142093209109953.post-76853757142469277672014-02-04T15:44:00.001-05:002014-02-04T15:45:13.555-05:00Presenting "...a time to dance"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h3>
A guest post by <a href="http://justmug.tumblr.com/post/61840212874/a-time-to-dance">JustMug</a></h3>
<hr />
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
I'm going to change it up by featuring some fellow authors from the Twittersphere for the next few posts. </h4>
The following is a guest piece submitted by the talented, lovely and charismatic <a href="https://twitter.com/JustMug">@JustMug</a>. Enjoy!<br />
<hr />
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
...a time to dance </h2>
<br />
Mom passed away in September that year. She ultimately lost a long, painful battle against cancer. The mind was willing, but the body was not.<br />
<br />
In the weeks leading up to her death, she continued to remind our family and friends to have faith, and not be sad. She believed in something greater. Like the caterpillar that transforms into butterfly, she was ready for the next stage of her journey.<br />
<br />
As a woman of faith, my mom was brave for us when we were most afraid. She accepted death gracefully and even planned her entire memorial service down to the last detail. She refused to call it a funeral, because she wanted us to celebrate her life, not her death.<br />
<br />
Mom chose one of her favorite bible passages from Ecclesiastes III to be read at the service:<br />
“To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die: a time to mourn, and a time to dance.”<br />
<br />
She also requested we play the song “Turn, Turn, Turn (To Everything There Is A Season)” by the Byrds at the service, because it was adapted from the Book of Ecclesiastes. We promised to follow her instructions. Once everything was in order, she requested to stop treatment on a Friday afternoon. She passed away the following Monday evening.<br />
<br />
So many people showed up at the church the day of the service that there wasn’t enough room for everyone to sit. It was a beautiful memorial. A lot of people spoke, sharing their memories of my mother, including myself. We laughed, we cried, we honored her life. And then it was over.<br />
I remember that song by the Byrds playing over and over in my head for the following weeks. I hardly ate and barely slept. I was so numb and everything was surreal. I had lost my confidant, my protector, my best friend.<br />
<br />
Still in shock weeks later, my friend John called me. He said we were going to see Madonna in concert at Madison Square Gardens in NYC. He had bought the tickets to try and cheer me up. I’ve loved Madonna since I was a little girl and John knew this. Admittedly, it was the first time since before my mom died that I felt a little bit of happiness.<br />
<br />
The night of the concert arrived and John was running late as usual. I recall he sped almost the entire way there, but most of the ride was a blur. When we arrived John suggested I eat something. I had no appetite, hadn’t for weeks. He finally convinced me to have a quick bite to eat before we went to the concert. I remember trying to hurry & finish my slice of pizza so that we might make it on time.<br />
After running late and our dinner detour, we finally made it into Madison Square Garden. Our seats were “nosebleeds” up on the 4th tier. It didn’t matter though, I was about to see Madonna and was happy to be there.<br />
<br />
John led me to an elevator and we got on along with a man and a woman. While on the elevator John asked the woman if she could upgrade our seats. I didn’t understand at first. John then went on to say he knew they worked for Madonna’s road crew. The man asked him how he knew this to which John explained he goes to all her shows and recognized the badges. The man laughed and the woman said we’d enjoy the show no matter where we were sitting. So we said goodbye to them as we all exited the elevator.<br />
<br />
We finally found our seats after a few minutes and sat down. <br />
<br />
While waiting for the concert to start we saw the same two people from the elevator again. The woman smiled and said it looked like we found our seats okay. John told her the view was much better on the floor 3 days prior. She seemed surprised and asked him why he had returned a second time in one week. He explained that I recently lost my mother and he knew seeing Madonna would cheer me up. I felt a little uncomfortable that John had just told two strangers my heartache. Their reactions were sincere and both gave their condolences on my loss. They walked away and we took our seats once again.<br />
<br />
After about 10 minutes the man and woman returned. She came directly up to me and said “I truly am sorry for your loss. We’ve upgraded you both to front row.” I was speechless. I couldn’t believe what was happening. John thanked them for us, as I was too choked up to respond. The man then came up to me, put his hand on my shoulder and said “You have to promise me something. You have to promise you’re going to dance.” It was all too coincidental. Ecclesiastes III rushed into my mind immediately. “…a time to dance.” <br />
<br />
My eyes teared up and I promised the man that I would. John hugged me close. The man and woman told us to enjoy the show and handed us our tickets.<br />
<br />
At that moment I felt a powerful connection to my mother that I hadn’t felt since before she died. Something bigger than myself was at work and suddenly I found the faith she spoke of so often. I knew she was still with me and that she would always be with me. As the music began to play, I cried tears of joy. And I danced.<br />
<br /></div>
Ida Clayerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03992789244488090308noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376142093209109953.post-76886315970646492862013-09-27T13:51:00.001-04:002013-09-27T14:24:58.757-04:00Dating is hard<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
Harder than a boner.</h4>
Remember when you were in your twenties and dating was hard because you had a huge list of non-negotiables? You had so many expectations and hope and dreams because THIS WAS THE REST OF YOUR LIFE! It was before you had a mortgage, when you could miss a day because your other job of selling drugs would cover it anyway, when drinking wasn't just a coping mechanism, right? You wanted a man who could keep up with you, make your mother livid and make you feel alive. You were vibrant, skinny, cute and ready to take on the world! You had tons of friends, too. You were living life to the fullest!<br />
<br />
Let's take a look at the progression, shall we? This was my list of dating requirements at 18 in no particular order:<br />
<ol style="text-align: left;">
<li><b>he must love dogs</b></li>
<li><b>has to make me laugh</b></li>
<li><b>must have a job</b></li>
<li><b>doesn't want kids</b></li>
<li><b>doesn't live with parents</b></li>
<li><b>doesn't know what D&D is</b></li>
<li><b>has to have own car</b></li>
<li><b>must love my music</b></li>
<li><b>not a smoker</b></li>
<li><b>must be attractive</b></li>
</ol>
That list kept you from getting into a clingy relationship with an ugly loser with no goals. Let's flash forward to after my first real relationship and heart break...<br />
<ol style="text-align: left;">
<li><b>he must love dogs</b></li>
<li><b>has to make me laugh</b></li>
<li><b>must have a job</b></li>
<li><b>doesn't want kids</b></li>
<li><b>doesn't live with parents</b></li>
<li><b>doesn't know what D&D is</b></li>
<li><b>has to have own car</b></li>
<li><b>must love my music</b></li>
<li><b>not a smoker</b></li>
<li><b><del>must be attractive</del></b></li>
<li><span style="color: red;"><b>can't be a stoner/drug addict</b></span></li>
<li><span style="color: red;"><b>must want to go out more than once a year</b></span></li>
<li><span style="color: red;"><b>has to have a healthy relationship with his mother...and grandmother</b></span></li>
<li><span style="color: red;"><b>can't be an obsessed gamer</b></span></li>
<li><span style="color: red;"><b>must have a sex drive</b></span></li>
<li><span style="color: red;"><b>must be supportive</b></span></li>
<li><span style="color: red;"><b>must be honest</b></span></li>
<li><span style="color: red;"><b>never cheats</b></span></li>
</ol>
Yes, the list got longer in some ways, shorter in others. I was still in my twenties. But I had less friends, I was less vibrant and less skinny. I don't really come into a lot of available men my own age. The ones my age I knew were heavy into role playing board games or had serious anxiety issues that they either self-medicated or just got stoned on prescription pills. Did I mention that was when I was younger? Yeah, well, I'm fucking thirty now.<br />
<h3>
Thirties.</h3>
Let's talk about options. When you are thirty and single, you will most likely come up against these types of available men: divorced, single dads, divorced dads, twice-divorced single dads, she-cheated-on-me-I'll-never-trust-agains, gamer addicts, swingers, Christian virgins, I'm-probably-moving-soons, and my favorite, I-also-post-on-Craigslist-desperates. Oh yes, you better believe I fucking check. It's easy, just look under the guys looking to feed from lactating women.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-evY__5huFk0/UkXBvR1ul6I/AAAAAAAABBU/nv405OdAIlQ/s1600/Screen+Shot+2013-09-27+at+1.34.09+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="297" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-evY__5huFk0/UkXBvR1ul6I/AAAAAAAABBU/nv405OdAIlQ/s400/Screen+Shot+2013-09-27+at+1.34.09+PM.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep. Somewhere around this entry.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
I'm just going to jump right in now and tell you about my last date... </h4>
I'd gone out that afternoon to meet some dumbass for a late lunch, but he ended up getting lost... by like 40 miles. Apparently it really hurt his ego, too, because he turned into a gigantic ass about it and to up the ante, started sounding rapey. I don't deal with rapey, so I told him to get himself a hooker, but simultaneously, in spite of this drama, I was messaging another guy who seemed less rude. He wanted to make sure I didn't "lose all hope in humanity" after the last fiasco by extending an invitation to a casual dinner. I accepted. <br />
<br />
Sidenote: I was also talking to a nurse at the bar who was studying a "heal through Jesus" type of homeopathy called Bio-Energy healing. I had to sober up a bit, so I listened to her intently and even let her do a demonstration on me. Say what you will, but I got TWO HUGS. I FUCKING GOT HUGGED TWICE OUT OF IT. She smelled like cigarette smoke, but hey, beggars can't be choosers. Two. Two hugs. Suck it. Back to the story...<br />
<br />
He was pretty, by the way. Really pretty. And of course he'd traveled the world. They all have. Because we're all out of college now, and I'm the only one who hasn't. I'm the only poor person on that damn dating site that can't say how beautiful my time in Istanbul was. But moving on... He had a great job, he had a good sense of humor, was polite, had a decent job, was pretty, had a beard...why did he give me the awkward side hug before running (yep, pretty sure he ran) to his car and never speaking to me again? I was charming and witty and held my booze... maybe he had to pee? OR probably because at this age guys suddenly <i>develop a fucking list, too</i>! It's not just about getting laid anymore. You have to have more than just a well-kept vagina and boobs; you have to meet his requirements regarding family, credit history, goals and maybe even political views. I think his list wasn't matching my life's CV. I look back and now I see I had some red flags come up: I don't have family since they're either dead or estranged; I own my own home and have a career job, which roots me and makes me less likely to move; I'm an extrovert, so I'm less likely to let him make all the decisions; and I'm harder to impress since I don't really <i>need</i> him for anything. <i>Now</i> it's appropriate to be a uterus with maternal needs and I'm terrible stock for starting a family with. Family values? Isn't that a tour with Korn headlining?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lsDITh8avsI/UkXHgO-gmnI/AAAAAAAABBk/svmWi-EhdVI/s1600/5378957.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="The Manson family" border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lsDITh8avsI/UkXHgO-gmnI/AAAAAAAABBk/svmWi-EhdVI/s1600/5378957.jpg" title="Manson family" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We are fam-i-ly. I got all my sisters with me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The whole thing felt like a waste. I mean come on! I'd laid some of my most charming shit down-- There was an elderly lady attending her grandson's second birthday party at the table behind us. Her arm was in a sling. She looked like the poster-child for MedAlert bracelets; the epitome of "I've fallen down and I can't get up and this happens a lot." I told him I'd give him ten dollars if he'd go up to her in front of her husband and whisper, "It's none of my business, but I think you should leave him." <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C-2n7qH629g/UkWXWh3AGpI/AAAAAAAABBE/xa3mlgZkJ7k/s1600/Woman-in-wheelchair-e1362351819368.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C-2n7qH629g/UkWXWh3AGpI/AAAAAAAABBE/xa3mlgZkJ7k/s400/Woman-in-wheelchair-e1362351819368.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Come on, Mom. You can't keep rolling off like that. <br />
You know Dad gets testy when he can't smack you.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<i>I</i> fell in love with me; I thought I'd sealed the deal on a second date. Nope. Apparently he didn't run because he had to pee after all, because he didn't even respond to my obligatory thank-you-text. Which, if you've been counting, makes that <i>two</i> bullets I dodged that Saturday.<br />
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
OK, so now what the fuck?</h3>
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
There is a solution.</h4>
So if <i>men</i> have lists and <i>women</i> have lists, are we super boned now? No! There's good news, everybody! There's a solution to this problem I call <b>onset dying alone</b>. It's called <b>settling</b> and what it means is that your lists will become shorter the older you get. Doesn't that sound awesome? Let's take a look at my list now. I've color coded it because it now has a specific order.<br />
<br />
<div style="border: 1px solid black; box-shadow: 12px 12px 2px #ccc; padding: 10px;">
<b>Legend:</b><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"> </span> non-negotiable<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: red;"><span style="color: red;"> </span> </span> "rich/super attractive" override<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: orange; color: orange;"> </span> "makes me laugh a lot" compromise<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: #6aa84f; color: #6aa84f;"> </span> not necessary if he has a beard<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: #0b5394; color: #0b5394;"> </span> he thinks I'm cool, so whatever<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: #674ea7; color: #674ea7;"> </span> would be really nice</div>
<ul>
<li><b> Must love dogs </b></li>
<li><b> must have a job </b></li>
<li><b> must have all his teeth </b></li>
<li><span style="background-color: red; color: white;"><b> has to make me laugh </b></span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: red; color: white;"><b> can't be a virgin </b></span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: orange; color: white;"><b> doesn't have kids </b></span></li>
<li><span style="color: white;"><span style="background-color: orange;"><b> doesn't live with parents </b></span></span></li>
<li><span style="color: white;"><b style="background-color: #93c47d;"> not a smoker </b></span></li>
<li><span style="color: white;"><b style="background-color: #93c47d;"> has to have own car </b></span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: #3d85c6; color: white;"><b> doesn't want kids </b></span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: #3d85c6; color: white;"><b> must love my music </b></span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: #674ea7; color: white;"><b> doesn't know what D&D is </b></span></li>
</ul>
It's called compromising, kids. You decide what's really important to you. Or, to put it into perspective, <i>what's less important than dying alone</i>. Just take this weekend for example; I'm going to a movie I don't even care about with a 36 year old Jesus-adoring virgin. I know, right? But to be fair, he has really, really lowered his standards, too, because he's six years older than me and that means his list is even shorter than mine! To be fair, this isn't really a date date. It's more of a cry for help, I mean, a reason to get out and make a friend maybe. There is a silver lining, though. If it's one thing Christians know, it's other sinners. Networking. Maybe I can meet another sinner through this guy who makes it to even the blue requirements. Just remember--Hope; she is one cold-hearted bitch from Hell. Now, get out there and lower those inefficient standards. And don't buy cats. Those fuckers will eat you after you die alone.<br />
<br /></div>
Ida Clayerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03992789244488090308noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376142093209109953.post-81744600785699122622013-08-07T16:25:00.000-04:002013-08-08T09:35:43.786-04:00Not So FAQs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I get a lot of questions because I'm branded as a straight-shooter with no filters (this is my blog and I can say whatever the hell I want to). Considering that many people don't feel that they can ask questions because maybe it's a taboo subject, or just simply none of their business, we fail to learn as much as we can about the human condition. I'm going to post some of the less boring questions I've been asked.<br />
<br />
<h3>
Q:</h3>
<br />
If you were trapped in an elevator for days with a woman who had given birth recently, would you suckle from her to avoid dehydration??<br />
<h3>
A:</h3>
<br />
<h4>
Um, hell yes? </h4>
<br />
Do it for the story. You can tell everyone later she was hot, they'll never be the wiser. And I hear breast milk is sweet and full of vitamins. Unlike those vicious rumors going around about sperm. THOSE AREN'T NUTRITIOUS PROTEINS; STOP BELIEVING HIS LIES!<br />
<br />
<h3>
Q:</h3>
<div>
What's the weirdest thing you've ever had in your vagina?</div>
<h3>
A:</h3>
<h4>
...A dick?</h4>
Seriously, look at a dick. It's weird and veiny and sometimes it leaks. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vXhWU1Q_Tm8/UgKHHjyI_oI/AAAAAAAAA_A/lSIXwRpiGT0/s1600/cen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vXhWU1Q_Tm8/UgKHHjyI_oI/AAAAAAAAA_A/lSIXwRpiGT0/s320/cen.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LOOK AT IT!!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h3>
Q:</h3>
Ever trip balls?<br />
<br />
<h3>
A:</h3>
<h4>
Yesh.</h4>
I used to hallucinate on cannabis. My brain never could handle the small stuff. The visual hallucinogenic effects eventually became rare, but auditory ones lingered. I thought I was sitting on top of a mountain once when in reality, I was in the passenger seat of a Jeep Cherokee. I confused all that hotbox smoke for mountaintop fog. And later that same night, in that same Jeep, I was listening to Soundgarden's <i>My Wave</i>. You know that trippy part where he sings in rounds with himself? Yeah, when that happened, the windshield wipers stopped mid-swipe, and the bridge we were driving toward with the yellow flashing lights never got any closer. I started having an anxiety attack since I had suddenly found myself inevitably frozen in time. Someone punched me in the shoulder when I'm guessing I didn't respond to a question I couldn't hear and I snapped out of it. Probably should have deterred me from smoking pot, right? Not if you're fucking stupid, which I was. <br />
<br />
The next time I messed with hallucinogens was traveling to friends of a friend's with my shitty roommate and drug-dealing boss in tow. These friends of a friend's were two very unique individuals; I don't remember names, but the boyfriend had three first names and he kept his blonde hair straight and long to match his girlfriend's. If you came up from behind them, you could never tell them apart, especially when he was carrying her purse. I'd never eaten magic mushrooms before and I really expected to have a coronary from a t-rex tearing through the ceiling and eating my boss' head.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9wp3ir8BsP0/UgKRWkcncHI/AAAAAAAAA_Y/4d4cJNOFcBk/s1600/276066-6jj788_super.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="173" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9wp3ir8BsP0/UgKRWkcncHI/AAAAAAAAA_Y/4d4cJNOFcBk/s320/276066-6jj788_super.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Could I have a glass of water? No, I'm not thirsty; just want to be prepared.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
With this expectation in mind, I unwrapped the foil from a bar of chocolate covered 'shrooms, I settled in on the couch and politely requested that we stop watching <i>Faces of Death IV</i>. The hosts put on <i>Fritz the Cat</i> instead. Not interested in cartoon porn, I zoned out and convinced myself I was God, because why not? I truly believed I would live forever, never again would I be held back by human needs. I could see the planets revolving in space and found that I could manipulate time and physics. I felt so relaxed, so independent and warm. Again, I was punched in the shoulder and asked to snap out of it. As I looked at the shiny, gossamer toy I'd been handed, my roommate made her way back from the bathroom. Apparently she'd left during my contemplations to watch the goldfish swim on the cheap, vinyl shower curtain.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s9QemGAErpI/UgKSDUWdayI/AAAAAAAAA_g/Gt5Z2Y0_FiI/s1600/image11.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s9QemGAErpI/UgKSDUWdayI/AAAAAAAAA_g/Gt5Z2Y0_FiI/s200/image11.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But what if this had been the shower curtain??</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Hey, guys! I totally thought there was a guy in the bathroom floor! This shit is awesome!"<br />
"That's Rudy. He was our cab driver. He's sleeping off a hangover."<br />
"...Fuck. That's a real dude lying on the floor I pissed in front of?!"</blockquote>
<br />
Well, at least I didn't hallucinate hallucinating. <br />
<br />
I asked to be dropped off at my apartment so I could be alone. I had stopped visually hallucinating and the auditory was getting stronger and stronger. I couldn't get the crowd of voices to stop. It felt like I was in the middle of a company mixer. No words were discernible, it was just a crowded room sound effect turned all the way up. This had happened to me once before when my fever was above 103°. <br />
<br />
I woke up naked and on the floor. Probably should have deterred me from eating 'shrooms again, right?<br />
<h3>
Q:</h3>
What's the best revenge you ever got on an ex?<br />
<h3>
A:</h3>
<h4>
He slept face-first in another guy's splooge.</h4>
To be fair, he wouldn't get his ass in gear to refinance the house we shared so I could move out and on with my life. For over a year. If he didn't think it was realistic for me to expect him to let go, then it was not realistic of him to expect me to change the sheets and pillowcases post-coitus. <br />
<br />
<h3>
Q:</h3>
Ever meet any weirdos from the internet?<br />
<br />
<h3>
A:</h3>
<h4>
Does a bear shit in the Pope's hat?</h4>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mB9ylwqtqmU/UgKeR3Ob1jI/AAAAAAAAA_w/R1pcbK5xgiI/s1600/bear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mB9ylwqtqmU/UgKeR3Ob1jI/AAAAAAAAA_w/R1pcbK5xgiI/s320/bear.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Duh.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Sooooooo many. Let's see, one dude pissed in my guest bed after being a total ass to my guests while shit-faced and laughed it off, another guy sent me a dick pic where he'd drawn a smiley face on the head, one guy sent me a video of him air French kissing at the web cam (he also told me I was cheating on him with my boyfriend even though he and I had never so much as even exchanged numbers), and let's not forget the guy who DM'd me on Twitter to ask how much I'd charge to piss on his chest...<br />
<br />
<h3>
Q:</h3>
Ever poop standing up?<br />
<br />
<h3>
A:</h3>
<div>
<h4>
Not yet.</h4>
<br /></div>
</div>
Ida Clayerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03992789244488090308noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376142093209109953.post-37378889132484068472013-07-23T12:05:00.002-04:002013-07-24T06:45:08.263-04:00Why I have Bad Karma Part 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2>
Revenge</h2>
<h3>
Fuck You, Patty</h3>
Everyone asks themselves, "How did I get here?" Well, we are all assholes. Selfish, selfish assholes. We've avenged our bruised egos against ex-boyfriends, ex-bffs, and that merchandiser who wouldn't return our calls but went out with Patty, who had a pretty face, but a really uggo name. Seriously, "Patty"? Why didn't you just name your daughter "mound of meat" instead? But I digress...<br />
<br />
Have you ever had that lull in conversation that preceded the infamous query "What's the worst thing you've ever done to someone and got away with?" Let's just pretend that this happens and it's not the line people drop on me to weed me out as a potential stalker. If you answer something like, "I ran out of toilet paper, so I wiped with Nana's bootie," I'll assume that living in her basement at age 32 is punishment enough.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
What's the best revenge I ever got away with? Well, to be clear, I'm not proud of it, but now that a decade has passed, I think it's safe to look back and shake my head about it.</div>
<br />
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
How it All Began...</h3>
<div>
To paint this picture in the right light, let's discuss how the variables that led to this huge dick moment collected. Anna* was my best friend. She was a year younger than me and just out of high school. She used my apartment as a parental-friendly misdirection while she went buck wild with her ankles behind her ears either in my roommate's unoccupied room (That's right, Tonya, that wasn't spilled milk, you home-wrecking bitch) or at some dude's place that she was currently infatuated with. This happened on the weekends and when she'd come back, we'd go eat Chinese food and tell her mother we had Subway (or whatever was kosher with the diet her mother had put her on). This was a pretty good arrangement for Anna. She got more dick than she could count and I got...well, the Chinese was pretty good.<br />
<br />
My other bestie was Aaron* and he had a pretty huge crush on Anna. They'd gone out a few times and he thought they were serious. She didn't feel the same way about him, but instead of telling him this, she dry rode him so hard she gave him dick burn while cleaning his brain through his ear canal with her tongue. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As for myself, I'd just broken up with my first real boyfriend. He was an alcoholic and I'd ended things when he went around the bar to "prove" he could find a better chick than me by hitting on every single girl there (and getting turned down miserably even though the Scott Stapp look wasn't a joke yet) after I told him he couldn't fondle me in public. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8V5h5WW4R7g/UdRKOMa9mxI/AAAAAAAAA9o/qidZ9bjWuVI/s251/stapp-mugshot-sized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8V5h5WW4R7g/UdRKOMa9mxI/AAAAAAAAA9o/qidZ9bjWuVI/s251/stapp-mugshot-sized.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He looked exactly like this. <br />
Only face-down in an alley.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div>
I wasn't too torn up about it since there was another guy who had come by and visited me a few times. We'd made out, but nothing got too serious since his name was Scott Peterson.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4PlRrcAQeC0/UdRNKTZLf8I/AAAAAAAAA94/Tk9HgYqXx2E/s389/po0vdtijw4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4PlRrcAQeC0/UdRNKTZLf8I/AAAAAAAAA94/Tk9HgYqXx2E/s320/po0vdtijw4.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just like this guy.<br />
"Are you a Laci or are you an Amber?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
The Betrayals</h3>
One night Anna was staying over with me. This time really sleeping over. Scott came over and we all had some beers. Anna was a light-weight and I always stayed sober around her since I usually had to pry guys off her (or vice versa). Scott was already drunk and insisted on joining us when we decided to hit the sack. I wasn't really into the idea of three people in my bed, but Anna insisted it was no big deal, we were just going to sleep, so we packed in. Scott laid on the left against the wall, Anna in the middle, and I teetered on the edge. About 20 minutes later, I was drifting to sleep when I heard, "Have you ever had an orgasm?" followed by a whispery, "no." I imagine in these situations a person has one of two reactions to laying in a bed next to two people who are fumbling with their zippers and then breathing heavily. One reaction would be to get sex nuts I suppose. Mine was getting out of bed and sleeping on the couch, or as I call it, beyond the splatter zone, while Scott's reaction was pleading after me, "Don't go, baby!"<br />
<br />
The next morning, they lumbered up the steps, hair mussed and clothes wrinkled. Scott bailed quickly, but Anna headed toward the bathroom, turning her head toward me as soon as he left and smiled, "He really likes you."<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NAUufIawwNo/UdR8dMr7GVI/AAAAAAAAA-I/11W6C6S0zvw/s232/wipe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NAUufIawwNo/UdR8dMr7GVI/AAAAAAAAA-I/11W6C6S0zvw/s232/wipe.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vicariously through me, of course.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Now enter Aaron, who is completely infatuated with Anna. He arranged a double date between he and Anna, and myself and my now ex. I vaguely remember Yukon Jack and monopoly, but I definitely remember Hannah leaving the party to go see Scott. That's right, she left to bang Scott while Aaron sobered up so he could go to work at 7<span style="font-variant: small-caps;">AM</span>. When Anna didn't come back in the morning, I even called Aaron to make sure she wasn't wrapped in plastic outside my window, but she eventually sauntered in around noon and we had Chinese.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-R2Jc5vVOZMg/Ue6o1kShKvI/AAAAAAAAA-w/ULoJ3hYoxis/s1600/308x308xdead-wrapped-in-plastic.jpg.pagespeed.ic.bw1XsxPKsk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-R2Jc5vVOZMg/Ue6o1kShKvI/AAAAAAAAA-w/ULoJ3hYoxis/s1600/308x308xdead-wrapped-in-plastic.jpg.pagespeed.ic.bw1XsxPKsk.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">To clarify, Aaron and I were HUGE fans of Twin Peaks.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
The Plan</h3>
</div>
<div>
Aaron was pretty torn up about Anna walking out on him and I was pretty pissed about her "no man is off-limits" policy, so the two of us teamed up and brainstormed ways to make Anna realize how dangerous her behavior was. Well, at least Aaron wanted to make her safer. To be honest, I just wanted to dole out some payback for her using my place and walking all over me. The conversation went something like this:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"What kinds of diseases can you get from being fingered?"<br />
"The first one that comes to mind is dysentery."<br />
"I think we found our winner."<br />
"If this goes well, she'll be putting a passcode on her zipper."<br />
"Right on. How's your mom doing?"</blockquote>
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
The Ruse</h3>
</div>
<div>
I called Anna the following weekend and laid the trap.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Hey, you never messed around with Scott, did you?"<br />
"No. We just talked."<br />
"Oh, good, because his roommate told Tonya that he and Scott had contracted dysentery. Smart move on your part to not let him touch you, because I hear they have a serious case of the bloody runs."<br />
"...what's dysentery?"<br />
"Well, it's this infection you get when someone doesn't wash their hands after going no. 2 that makes your colon explode. You should check it out, since you want to be a nurse and all."</blockquote>
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
The Pay Off</h3>
<div>
It didn't take long until Anna called me back. She'd worked herself up so much that she had actually <i>given herself diarrhea</i>. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Sarah! I'm so scared! What if I have dysentery! I looked it up, and I've had to run to the bathroom three times in an hour!"<br />
"Relax, you don't have anything to worry about. It wasn't like he had his hands on you or was close to your easily susceptible soft tissue."<br />
"I have diarrhea really bad and my stomach hurts! Maybe I should go to the doctor! If he gave me anything, I will kill him!"</blockquote>
<div>
Anna actually confronted Scott's roommate when she couldn't find Scott. As luck would have it, he had actually joked about dysentery and told her my roommate (whom I hope burns in Hell) must have heard him through the wall. What were the odds, amirite??<br />
<br />
I wish I could tell you this story ended on a high note, but the only happy endings in this story were the ones Anna was dealing out to near strangers. The fear subsided as soon as she found out it wasn't real, so it didn't really stop her reckless behavior. </div>
<div>
<br />
So yeah, that's probably the worst thing I've ever done to a friend, even if some faction was trying to get her to wake up. I hear she's married now and an RNA. I just hope she gets that flashback whenever she's dealing with a patient complaining of diarrhea...</div>
<div>
<br />
<br />
<h6>
*Names have been changed</h6>
</div>
</div>
Ida Clayerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03992789244488090308noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376142093209109953.post-4216174365501322692013-06-28T13:15:00.002-04:002013-06-28T13:32:48.404-04:00What I Learned from Online Dating<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2>
The Fear Sets In...</h2>
At some point in your life, if you're like me, you'll find yourself single and bored. Most of your friends are married by now and some of them have kids. The rest of your friends are busy with work or buying a home or still appealing that court conviction, I don't know. Who can keep up? The point is, when you find yourself in that situation, your options are super limited. You work with old guys, married guys, and too young guys. And who the fuck wants to go out alone? What if some weirdo approaches me at the bar? I barely have enough roofies for myself, thank you. Eventually you give in (or up, not sure) and try online dating. After all, it <b>IS</b> free, right? And you get to screen your suitors! Win-win, bitches, amirite? Well... not exactly. I feel like it is incumbent upon me to share my ups (there weren't any) and downs with my experiences. I sifted through the crazy so you didn't have to. <br />
<h3>
Men Think they are God's Gift to Me</h3>
<h4>
(Misogyny isn't a River in Egypt.)</h4>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mEOFaVCmH-I/Ucx4xVfkz0I/AAAAAAAAA7g/3iNMAsnksV0/s300/1176343_iman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mEOFaVCmH-I/Ucx4xVfkz0I/AAAAAAAAA7g/3iNMAsnksV0/s200/1176343_iman.jpg" width="132" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hey gurl, did you fall from Heaven? <br />
Cuz your face is all fucked up.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Not long after joining, I got a message from a guy who desperately wanted to know what made me special enough to get to know. That's right, he wanted to know what I had to offer him. Since this wasn't the Sudan, I certainly wasn't taking any shit from a dude who wears his t-shirt in the pool. I responded to him. I figured no one else would explain in such detail how stupid and self-entitled he was. It wasn't like he was hot or anything.<br />
<br />
The single guys aren't the only ones that are desperate, either. The ones granted an open relationship are just as bad if not worse. They've got a chick already and they are dying to know what makes you good enough to be their numero dos. Yes, you read that right. Maybe you are part Mexican.<br />
<br />
Numero dos?? Gee, I'm sorry, you must have confused me with some chick who is totally fine with being second chair, but I'm not looking for mediocre sex with a guy who has to leave right after to go pick up his wife from her shift at the pub. I'll let you know if I ever lose all my self esteem in a brain trauma related accident though, thanks.<br />
<h3>
Looking for Friends Only</h3>
<h4>
(Hint, it's a Lie.)</h4>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lYwL-JciRkw/UcyAsPc9TsI/AAAAAAAAA7w/w1KD8peEo6w/s300/600957_hulk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lYwL-JciRkw/UcyAsPc9TsI/AAAAAAAAA7w/w1KD8peEo6w/s200/600957_hulk.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Well, if he merged with his car...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I went out on four dates last Summer. The first one was just a "friend date" and his pics were true to life. He was a model and a body builder. Did I mention that's all he did? No jobs to speak of besides modeling for an art class.<br />
<br />
He rented out his apartment during the Summer and crashed at his mom's to save money. He was a bit quirky; his entire car was painted Slimer-green with exterior house paint. Also, he didn't drink, eat out or take drugs, leaving very little to do without being creative. A few times he did ask me to go swimming in the river and promised that his friend Corey only got one yeast infection from the water. Oh, and he invited me to a hotdog eating contest (he was a judge), but he forgot to call and confirm. Bummer.<br />
<br />
We met a few times in person and made plans to watch <i>A Serbian Film</i> together (so I could observe him cry like a girl), but once I got a job, I couldn't keep up with his whirlwind, jet-set schedule of working out, playing <i>Settlers of Catan</i>, and sleeping. He ended our relationship after accusing me of being another Sarah that was crazy, then apologizing and saying, "Is there really any chemistry here?" That's right. I was friend-dumped by a hobo.<br />
<h3>
Picture's Worth a Thousand Lies</h3>
<h4>
(This Pic was Taken on Kodachrome.)</h4>
The third date I ventured out on was so promising. He was semi-attractive, witty and kept up with my sense of humor, see below:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-T91vUxm21mk/UcyNNuno0CI/AAAAAAAAA8A/kMh6JHHT6Eo/s1600/convo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-T91vUxm21mk/UcyNNuno0CI/AAAAAAAAA8A/kMh6JHHT6Eo/s640/convo.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Names have been blurred out to protect the crazy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h5>
Here's the photo he posted as his profile image:</h5>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JS2ezgLaf0I/UcyN1FF2lJI/AAAAAAAAA8I/pc5YPewy6Yg/s246/download.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JS2ezgLaf0I/UcyN1FF2lJI/AAAAAAAAA8I/pc5YPewy6Yg/s246/download.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Viva la chest hair!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h5>
Here's the pic I took of him on his porch:</h5>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z9mIKRW_rwc/UcyOByv_2jI/AAAAAAAAA8Q/-tdqFh7Hoj0/s320/photo+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z9mIKRW_rwc/UcyOByv_2jI/AAAAAAAAA8Q/-tdqFh7Hoj0/s320/photo+(1).JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Redefining sexy one stain at a time.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h5>
And here's the pic the cops took at his booking:</h5>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M4llKcfTMKs/UcyOZSkAmFI/AAAAAAAAA8Y/WxzH6arhHoU/s382/Screen+Shot+2013-06-27+at+2.46.37+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M4llKcfTMKs/UcyOZSkAmFI/AAAAAAAAA8Y/WxzH6arhHoU/s320/Screen+Shot+2013-06-27+at+2.46.37+PM.png" width="258" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can't make this shit up.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h5>
Just to round things out, here's some pictures of his house:</h5>
<table align="center"><tbody>
<tr> <td><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lAfM_WOCbwE/UcyQPcUS5RI/AAAAAAAAA8o/8m9C3bNiChM/s320/image+(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lAfM_WOCbwE/UcyQPcUS5RI/AAAAAAAAA8o/8m9C3bNiChM/s200/image+(1).jpeg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Toilet brushes are for pussies.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</td> <td><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tQK0Qug_Yd0/UcyQPc1ZxBI/AAAAAAAAA8s/6vvcLrLkhRE/s320/image.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tQK0Qug_Yd0/UcyQPc1ZxBI/AAAAAAAAA8s/6vvcLrLkhRE/s200/image.jpeg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was ransacked! All my clean stuff was stolen!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</td> <td><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AGNsB9RFboA/UcyQPVkqCpI/AAAAAAAAA8w/C1rCMO_J1x8/s320/photo+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AGNsB9RFboA/UcyQPVkqCpI/AAAAAAAAA8w/C1rCMO_J1x8/s200/photo+(2).JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watch out for debris. And needles.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h3>
Burned Agains</h3>
<h4>
(And They have no Idea what 'Red Flag' Means)</h4>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_go2DaDHbn8/UcytNXqGesI/AAAAAAAAA9I/nqirGAdTYQw/s300/1327383_shout_let_it_all_out.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_go2DaDHbn8/UcytNXqGesI/AAAAAAAAA9I/nqirGAdTYQw/s200/1327383_shout_let_it_all_out.jpg" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is also my <br />
dick-in-the-zipper face.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Out of the clump OKC has chosen carefully (with mathematics, kids) according to "match", "friend" and "enemy" percentages, you get a handful of nerds, a sprinkling of Christian Mingle stragglers, and a shit ton of "she burned me" guys. These 'burned agains' don't seem to notice how obvious it is that they aren't over their ex nor do they think it's tacky to go on at length about their expectations of what a "good woman" is. No thanks. If I wanted a lecture on double standards, I'd take a Women's Study course. At least that one would be more accurate. <br />
<br />
I'm no psychology whiz, but my guess would be that these guys have no business putting themselves out there in the dating pool. Any girl with half a mind would see his summary and move on. No one volunteers to pay for the sins of the former lover. In the words of Kanye West, "That shit cray." And he would know. He would know. <br />
<h3>
Bitches be Trippin'</h3>
<h4>
(Or How Men are the Crazier Sex)</h4>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-J9pb9Ia0miw/Uc2wvB4uwzI/AAAAAAAAA9Y/MX4jpKm1njE/s300/941938_fuuy_man_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-J9pb9Ia0miw/Uc2wvB4uwzI/AAAAAAAAA9Y/MX4jpKm1njE/s200/941938_fuuy_man_.jpg" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sometimes I bark at squirrels.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I've heard most of my adult life how "bitches are crazy" and I have to agree. Only the "bitches" are male.<br />
<br />
I've been pestered, accosted, lied to, blown off, shunned and propositioned. I've made plans a handful of times only to be ignored and blown off without a whiff of explanation. Even after meeting some guys and having an OK time, they never returned my texts or called me after. That's right, guys can fake it, too. All night long.<br />
<br />
I've also been harassed by a nineteen year old who wouldn't take "abso-fucking-lutely not" for an answer. It's great you love your job at Wal-Mart, but the whole living with your parents thing is too sexy for me to handle. I'm sure you understand. <br />
<br />
No matter how irrational women have been branded, I can do you one better about a dude just from personal experience or from anecdotal goldmines from close friends. Once they figure out you aren't there to put out, they lose interest. If they consider you more successful or more intelligent, they scamper from intimidation. Wait, Sarah, are you saying guys are flighty and temperamental?? What does that mean?! It means what you knew already; bitches are crazy.</div>
Ida Clayerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03992789244488090308noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376142093209109953.post-81918836223470325902013-03-21T15:15:00.004-04:002013-06-28T10:28:38.808-04:00Why You Should Always Renew Your Drivers License<h2 style="text-align: left;">An Homage to Roby Fusspucker<sup>*</sup></h2><h5><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">*For the sake of the anonymity of the parties involved, all names have been changed to protect the innocent.</span></h5><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It was 08:15 on a damp, quiet night on a Wednesday, last October...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Roby Fusspucker had set off in his 1998 Buick Regal to join some friends for a lighthearted dinner and drinks at his neighborhood <i>Chili's</i>. Little did he know that this would be a night he would look back on in infamy.<br />
<br />
Roby met his friends Marsha Knubbrubber and Craig Slischt, two friends he'd known since business school and met frequently at American franchise restaurants. When it came time to order, Roby chose from the beer list a drink popular with housewives, Stella Artois.<br />
<br />
"May I see your ID?" the waiter asked. His name was Paul Wienerpluhg and he'd been working double shifts for three days in a row. <br />
<br />
"Sure," says Roby and he slides his ID out of his duct tape material wallet before gingerly handing it to Paul.<br />
<br />
Paul looks at the ID and shakes his head, "I'm sorry, but your ID is expired. I'm not legally permitted to serve you alcohol."<br />
<br />
"Seriously? I didn't realize that was a thing. It's still got my date of birth on there; it's not like <i>that's</i> expired," Roby said with a slight chuckle tinged with discomfort. But the jovial extension only hit an ugly chord with Paul. As it turned out, 'I didn't realize that was a thing' was his hot-button phrase. Apparently he'd recently contracted a case of syphilis from his long-time girlfriend, Jenny Perdue, whom the rest of the staff knew as 'Jenny Any-dick'll-do', whom had not long ago told Paul she hadn't gotten an STD test because she "didn't realize that was a thing."<br />
<br />
Paul's eyes narrowed. "It <i>is</i> a thing. And your attitude isn't helping the situation, <i>sir</i>."<br />
<br />
Roby blinked in disbelief. The last word emphasis caught the ear of the crew leader, Ron Ripsack. Ron had also been working double shifts since most of the crew had called off due to a syphilis outbreak. He made his way to the party's table. "Is there a problem over here, <i>sir</i>?" he asked. He had a rolled menu slapping against an open palm. "If that's even your real name," he snarled, then snatched the ID from Paul's hand. "What do we have here? An expired license! With the name ROBY!" Ron exclaimed, then shoved his menu into Paul's chest. Paul took the menu without breaking eye contact with Roby and Ron slammed both his hands against the table. "Did you drive here, <i>Roby</i>?"<br />
<br />
At this point Roby knew he had to up his game if he wanted to leave <i>Chili's</i> alive. "...Actually, yes, I did." He straightened his shoulders.<br />
<br />
Ron snapped his body erect and turned his head quickly to Paul, cocked it to the side and said in a mocking tone, "He drove here, Paul." He snapped his eyes back on Roby and glared as hard as he could, again slamming his hands down on the table. "Don't you think that's...dangerous?" His eyes widened as he enunciated the last word. "Maybe we should call the police. I'm sure <i>they'd </i>have something to say about this."<br />
<br />
Paul, still never breaking eye contact with Roby, said to Ron, "Maybe we should escort his heinie OUTSIDE!"<br />
<br />
Roby looked at his friends Marsha and Craig. "You guys suck as friends," he forced out as Paul and Ron grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of the restaurant. "You two are off my joke e-mail list! OFF!"<br />
<br />
Marsha and Craig exchanged glances. "Why does he always have to make a scene, Craig? Always. Remember when he got thrown out of Meineke?" Marsha asked rhetorically. Craig nodded, "Mmhmm."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Meanwhile, out in the parking lot...</span> <br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Well boy, looks like you got an <i>ex-pired li-cense</i>," a black club was lifted up over his shoulder, then swung. Glass shattered and pieces sprinkled onto the ground. "And a <i>bus-ted head-light</i>."<br />
<br />
"What the fuck, man!" Roby protested, "You're not even a cop!"<br />
<br />
"That's right, I'm the <i>man-a-ger</i>," said Jeff Honkytrough. He'd been manager of <i>Chili's</i> for four days. He was part of the "Reformed Release" program funded by the state.<br />
<br />
"That's not even my car!!"<br />
<br />
Jeff smashed another headlight on a nearby vehicle. "And this here is MY parking lot. Who do you think you are, driving into MY parking lot without a proper license?!"<br />
<br />
"That's not my car either..." Roby quickly formulated a plan. After Jeff had smashed through enough cars to run through both Marsha and Craig's vehicles as well, he'd fake a seizure. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Dicks," he thought to himself.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Twelve busted headlights later...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Well boy, you sorry you drove here with that pathetic piece of garbage you call a license?" asked Jeff. <br />
<br />
"Almost. That Volkswagen Beetle is mine. Why don't you just let me get in it and take off..." He hoped they didn't notice the headlight eyelashes that Marsha sported on her beloved bug.<br />
<br />
"Not so fast, <i>Roby</i>!" Jeff smashed both headlights out. "<i>Ex-pired li-cense</i> and TWO <i>bus-ted head-lights</i>," he emphasized.<br />
<br />
Roby knew what he had to do. He fell to the ground and contorted his body, mimicking convulsions. <br />
<br />
"Oh crackers!" whined Paul. "Now we have to do paperwork!"<br />
<br />
"Fuck that," said Ron. "It's not really a seizure until his pisses himself. I read that somewhere."<br />
<br />
Roby repeated to himself, "You can do this you can do this you can do this..." and he tried to urinate. Unfortunately, he found that peeing his pants was difficult with three grown men staring at him. He imagined waterfalls, canon-balling into a pool, that Asian site he frequented called the <i>Golden Bathhouse</i>, but nothing seemed to work. He was getting tired from the convulsing. It was now or never. He strained as hard as he could, but all he could muster was an erection. Defeated, he ceased all convulsions and laid on the concrete like a crumpled piece of paper. <br />
<br />
Ron, Paul, and Jeff exchanged glances then descended upon Roby like birds of prey, disgusted at his convulsion-boner. Bob Barkers, Pumas and New Balance shoes became weapons of choice as the three took turns kicking Roby. Gang initiations had less violence. The irony was that the beat-down he took caused him to lose control of his bladder and he finally achieved his goal of urinating in his pants.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Present day...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Roby has an intense fear of American franchise restaurants. He walks with a limp now and poops in a bag, <b>but he always carries an unexpired drivers license</b>.<br />
</span> <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: xx-small;">*Paid for by the committee Making the DMV Look Good in Comparison</span><br />
<br />
Ida Clayerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03992789244488090308noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376142093209109953.post-56462864850967038932013-02-06T13:30:00.001-05:002013-06-28T10:45:54.099-04:00Stupid Icon Calendar Holidays.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><h2>A Personal Rant.</h2><h3>Lincoln's Birthday</h3>If you take a look at your calendar, and I'm sure you do because that little voice says, "Fuck my eyes, that stupid, goddamn Valentine's Day is in two mother-fucking weeks." Well, before you freak out about missing that opportunity to take a whore to Applebee's, let's take a gander at the 12th, which is Abraham Mother-fucking Lincoln's observed birthmus.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YLHBTa0VwCk/UQvfeEDwJiI/AAAAAAAAA5E/rMONJk0jMs8/s1600/lincoln1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Abe Lincoln" border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YLHBTa0VwCk/UQvfeEDwJiI/AAAAAAAAA5E/rMONJk0jMs8/s320/lincoln1.jpg" title="Abe Lincoln" width="217" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is as good as it gets, bitches.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>That's right, we still celebrate the first Republican Party President's <i>observed</i> birthday. We celebrate Washington's, but that makes more sense. First off, because he wasn't a republican, but secondly, because he was the <i>first</i> president. This isn't even Lincoln's actual birthday, what makes Lincoln so special?<br />
<br />
"Lincoln Freed the Slaves!" you say. O.K., sure, I'll give you that, but read this quote:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, tahoma, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19.453125px;">“I will say then that I am not, nor ever have been in favor of bringing about in anyway the social and political equality of the white and black races – that I am not nor ever have been in favor of making voters or jurors of negroes, nor of qualifying them to hold office, nor to intermarry with white people; and I will say in addition to this that there is a physical difference between the white and black races which I believe will forever forbid the two races living together on terms of social and political equality. And inasmuch as they cannot so live, while they do remain together there must be the position of superior and inferior, and I as much as any other man am in favor of having the superior position assigned to the white race. I say upon this occasion I do not perceive that because the white man is to have the superior position the negro should be denied everything.”<sup>1</sup></span></blockquote>That's a quote from Michael Richards. Hahaha! Just kidding, that was Lincoln, baby! He was what as known today as 'racist as fuck'. That is correct, <b>we celebrate a racist's birthday during Black History Month</b>.<br />
<br />
<h3>Columbus Day</h3><br />
This day would make more sense if it were Columbus, Ohio Day. This asshole isn't even American, pro-America, or sexy.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qHhgMScuxZo/UQvgeQnzXSI/AAAAAAAAA5M/4Y8fm80sZR0/s1600/Christopher-Columbus-WC-9254209-2-402.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Christopher Columbus" border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qHhgMScuxZo/UQvgeQnzXSI/AAAAAAAAA5M/4Y8fm80sZR0/s320/Christopher-Columbus-WC-9254209-2-402.jpg" title="Christopher Columbus" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This isn't even a real portrait. Never had one commissioned in his lifetime. So basically, everyone assumed he was this ugly-ass dude.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>They lied to us all the time in public school. Mostly about that guy ↑ with little gems like "Christopher Columbus discovered America!" or "He was brave because everyone thought the world was flat!"<br />
How does one 'discover' a continent that is already inhabited? That's like me walking into my neighbor's house and claiming I discovered the couch he was sitting on then call it the discovery of New Couchland.<br />
<br />
Also, no one believed the world was flat. As kids, we believe this because we're stupid. Then as adults we believe this because we see so many stupid people in the populace. Thing is, anyone can see the curvature of the Earth when they stand on the shore and look at the ocean. Even peasants. Columbus knew he wouldn't fall of the edge of the Earth, and if he was like most captains, he knew the amount of supplies he had, making it possible to judge how far he could get before he was at the point of no return, or what I like to call "super fucked." So I guess you could say he was brave for going that far having no idea of whether or not he would hit land for sure, but you could also argue that he was suicidal, or considering he had three ships with crews, homicidal/suicidal.<br />
<br />
Let's also not forget that the man brought syphilis to Europe<sup>2</sup> and small pox to the 'new world.'<br />
<hr />In conclusion, maybe we should just stop celebrating people on the calendar. Because I'll just make fun of them.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<hr /><h6 class="smallprint"><sup>1</sup>Source:<br />
Fourth Debate with Stephen A. Douglas at Charleston, Illinois, September 18, 1858<br />
(The Collected Works of Abraham Lincoln edited by Roy P. Basler, Volume III, pp. 145-146.)</h6><h6 class="smallprint"><sup>2</sup>Source: <br />
<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/01/02/columbus-syphilis_n_1180293.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Did Columbus Bring Syphilis to Europe? New Study Says Yes</a> </h6></div>Ida Clayerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03992789244488090308noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376142093209109953.post-4241304762028345912013-01-18T17:06:00.002-05:002013-06-28T10:48:36.571-04:00How to get your House Cleaned for Free<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Do you share a house, apartment, or office with someone? Are they a fucking douche bag? Do they take advantage of you cleaning the place a little too much? Do you have fantasies of murdering them with a hammer and dumping the remains in a mine shaft because of it? Here's a solution I have tested personally that will keep you from murder charges, with one caveat: <b>patience is essential</b>.<br />
<h3>Step 1:</h3><h4>"Borrow" something semi-valuable of their's.</h4>Be smart about it; nothing too big, but something that they can't replace as easily. Think 'key to a safe,' 'lucky coin' or maybe something with sentimental value, like pictorial evidence that they fucked 75 year old Gertrude when they were wasted. <br />
<br />
In most cases, this is all about timing. If they travel frequently, you can get away with snagging a favorite pair of shoes or cuff links. The broader the item, the broader the effect, too-- take away a favorite kitchen item, get the kitchen cleaned, but take away something usually carried on their person, get the whole place cleaned. The fixation of the object determines the effort you'll mindfuck out of them. Even habitual slobs will bust their ass looking for something they think they can't afford to lose.<br />
<h3>Step 2:</h3><h4>Hold on to it.</h4>For a long time. Long enough for them to forget about it or give up ever seeing it again. If they are a chronic stoner, that's quicker than you think. The smaller the item, the easier it is to conceal. The easier it is to conceal, the more chance you'll forget about it, too, thus making the percentage of a success go up.<br />
<h3>Step 3:</h3><h4>Give it back.</h4>Say you found it somewhere weird like under the couch or in the recycled paper bin or whatever good lie you can come up with. Or don't say anything at all if you suck at lying. Shit sometimes appears out of nowhere, right?<br />
<h3>Step 4:</h3><h4>Take it again.</h4>Make it soon. Within a week of giving it back. If they ask about it, lie through your teeth. It's pretty easy to lie about whether you've seen the item or not. A quick and dirty "nope" should do the trick. Maybe throw in a shrug if you're into that. I personally like the distraction method where you bring up something you're missing as well. You might even get away without answering if you do it right. But really, if you can't handle this part, just go ahead and face palm for Jesus because you're in the wrong place.<br />
<h3>Step 5:</h3><h4>Enjoy yourself.*</h4>Relish having the place cleaned and organized as they try to find the thing you stole again. And you are welcome.<br />
<br />
<br />
<h5>*The author would like to note that whether or not you ever give the item back for good is up to the social scientist because she personally doesn't care if you're an asshole or not.</h5></div>Ida Clayerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03992789244488090308noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376142093209109953.post-71493540264105358382011-07-26T12:11:00.001-04:002011-07-26T12:12:32.299-04:00Performance Review<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Thanks for agreeing to see me, boss. I wanted to turn in my Annual Review papers and also if I may, explain why I think I deserve a raise. You see, when I first hooked up with this outfit, I was just a simple strainer. Since then, I've moved up to team leader, and quite frankly, I've done a great deal to turn this meth lab around. If you look over at that cardboard covering the window, you'll see that marked on it in bright red, it says, "Accident Free for 3 Days," and that is undeniably an improvement from three days ago, may God rest Carlos' soul. It was my quick thinking that kept Carlos' burning body from getting out of control and threatening the rest of the house. In fact, the only reason we have fire extinguishers is because I suggested it after Leroy wouldn't shut up about how bad his skin grafts itched, day in and day out. <br />
<br />
I've had to act as shift leader when Duane is "occupied" in the corner of the room more frequently lately. Just last week, Megan went into labor and Duane wouldn't help me get her to the bathroom. I had to use my "Kiss the Cook" apron to keep the baby-havin juices from getting mixed in with the bleach and ether rags (I would like to submit my reimbursement ticket for that apron, by the way). If I hadn't had Megan's sister's number, Megan wouldn't have been able to return to work as quickly as 15 minutes, either.<br />
<br />
I'd also like to point out that I brought better face masks and gloves to the table after my cousin got a sweet deal on that over-turned Sam's Club tractor trailer. My fencing contacts never fail. Well, except for that one time when Markie got busted in the Best Buy parking lot for illegally transporting human organs. There wasn't much I could do about that. Since the new face masks, we've had lower employee turn over and Jay's not had to hide any OD bodies in weeks!<br />
<br />
Before I hired on here, there wasn't any health insurance! My swear jar instatement has been the best way of keeping cash on-hand for emergencies. After we beat the dog shit (Oops! See! Another dollar for the swear jar/emergency cash!) out of Sped and Lefty, no one's dared to try and lift it.<br />
<br />
In conclusion, I'd like to just say that my dedication to safety and smart thinking will help this little lab go places. You've noticed a larger profit margin and less hassle with employees because of me. Excuse me...(Megan! You've already breast fed that little bastard for 20 minutes! We have product to move! Get your skanky ass back over to the burners!) Sorry, work calls. And now I have to make a deposit in the swear jar. Thanks for your time, boss</div>Ida Clayerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03992789244488090308noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376142093209109953.post-57494016580146396932011-07-13T13:29:00.002-04:002013-06-28T10:56:45.154-04:00Kübler-Ross Model: Typos in Tweets<h2>We all do it.</h2>Sometimes a tweet is mediocre. I won't care if it's got a mistake in it. But occasionally, there is a tweet that makes me laugh, literally out loud and it has to be perfect, but in my excitement I fumble through the furious thumb-typing on my phone or iPod and after it's posted, I step back in anticipation and read it for the first time. Lo and behold, a mother fucking, goddamn typo!!! I'm going to discuss the stages I go through when this happens:<br />
<br />
<h3>Stage One:</h3><h4>Denial</h4>What? No fucking way! I did not just post that with a missing letter! I must be reading this wrong!<br />
<h3>Stage Two:</h3><h4>Anger</h4>NO FUCKING WAY!! OMG!! I fucking hate you phone! You stupid piece of shit! ARRRRGGGGHHHHHH!!! FML!! Fuck it SO HARD! <br />
<h3>Stage Three:</h3><h4>Bargaining</h4>Please, for the love of all that is holy, please let no one have starred that yet!! I will stop swearing at children, if you'd just...no, I can't promise that...I'll stop looking up German porn on Bill's computer at work if you keep anyone else from starring that! I just need a little bit more time! I'll fix it and repost!!<br />
<h3>Stage Four:</h3><h4>Depression</h4>I don't deserve to live! What kind of idiot fucks up a golden tweet like that? Now everyone will think I'm an illiterate bastard! <br />
<h3>Stage Five:</h3><h4>Acceptance</h4>Well, it's up to 15 stars already...no one's gonna RT that hot mess. I've got to learn through this to proof read before I hit send. Composure, composure! Inhale..........and exhale. Sweet. Let's get drunker.Ida Clayerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03992789244488090308noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376142093209109953.post-25011560722480449842011-05-19T12:21:00.001-04:002011-05-19T12:22:28.407-04:00Day 3<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><h2 align="center">1:30am</h2>It's day three of losing internet connection...I've gotten so desperate for WiFi that I find myself waking up in the middle of the night laying in the college library parking lot clutching my iPad. Three days! It's so cold...so cold. I collect shoes, couch cushions, whatever trash I can find to keep a fire going. It won't be long until we all turn on each other out here. I've sharpened an old toothbrush I found into a shank. I must protect my WiFi at all costs.<br />
<h2 align="center">2:00am</h2>I found a couple unbroken beer bottles not far away. I'll have to use them to store my urine if I'm going to have anything to drink. Already the natives have been circling me, testing my reflexes and perimeter boundaries. I stabbed one in the face but he got away and now I'll have to fashion a new weapon. I'm running low on supplies though. Even as I type this I'm eye-scanning the area and I see a hubcap, a rubber trash can, some broken glass, and what looks like a Wendy's drive-thru bag. I'm going to have to venture outside the perimeter to find better parts.<br />
<h2 align="center">3:00am</h2>I've seemed to have lost some time...it's still very dark out here and the trail of Tic Tacs I left are missing. I was able to fashion a crude mace out of a broom handle and a can of green beans that I covered in gum and rolled in the broken glass. Now I sit and wait...and watch Netflix and answer e-mails. </div><h2 align="center">4:00am</h2>It's gotten noisy; I can hear those savages rummaging about in the adjacent alleyways. I have to stay sharp if I'm going to protect the precious signal. Google, don't fail me now! I need to find a video of animal behavior regarding the territorial sentries.<br />
<h2 align="center">4:45am</h2>I've done my research and I think that a tough defense is a thick one, so I've decided to take on the territorial traits of several animals. I can't mark my territory with urine, so I'll have to use my scent glands, instead. I'll just rub my armpits about the area. I've been practicing my hissing and howling and I think it's working.<br />
<h2 align="center">6:00am</h2>I'm starting to get hungry and my attempts at ordering Dominoes are failing. My battery is getting low and soon I'll have to leave here for sustenance for both myself and my electronic companions. I must set up booby-traps to protect the den. I will return here soon and report my progress.Ida Clayerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03992789244488090308noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376142093209109953.post-8020865207067155442011-04-06T09:39:00.001-04:002011-04-06T10:35:06.301-04:00The Atheistic Blues<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">We all put walls up to keep from being hurt by getting too close to people, just to different extents. I'm the worst one of all. I'm always awkward in sensitive situations and I can't even tell people things they should probably know about me because I cringe at the idea of responding to a sympathetic word. We could analyse my baggage all day, but the end result is always going to be the same: I need to fucking deal with it.<br />
<br />
My dad is dying of brain cancer.<br />
<br />
It's such a profound statement. It fills some with overwhelming sympathy, others (like myself) are completely and totally too emotionally crippled to know what to say and we'd even fake a seizure or douse ourselves with gasoline and light a match just to get away from the awkwardness and helpless feelings we conjure.<br />
<br />
I relate to guys better than girls, save a select awesome few. This is probably because of my intimacy issues and the fact that I love muscle cars, beer, rock 'n roll and John McClane. Sometimes I'm even male in my dreams. That could be proof of reincarnation or a reminder to parents to keep kids off of drugs, I'm split on the debate. Regardless, I usually use a male pseudonym or avatar and I don't broadcast my gender. This is for two major reasons: 1) keeps the requests for nipple pics to a minimum 2) lets me be me without bringing sexual tension or inhibiting stereotypes into a conversation.<br />
<br />
This being said, I really fucked up. Call it bro-mance, call it male bonding, call it whatever you want; I just wanted something clandestine and sacred that I can't have. Coming to terms with this meant coming to terms with acknowledging a lot of baggage from the past and present. And like every other asshole, broadcasting it to the world via blog.<br />
<br />
Maybe in the future things will be different and sex won't dictate who you can and can not be friends with. Maybe "platonic" will even be a solid and respected concept, but I doubt I'll be around to see it.<br />
<br />
The biggest problem with being an atheist is the Christian assumption that you're morally corrupt. The second biggest problem with being an atheist is that you don't have the Devil to blame for your sins. Instead, you have to accept responsibility for your own actions, understanding that intentions don't count. Atonement isn't as easy as a few breathy Hail Mary's, either.<br />
<br />
To wrap this up, I propose a toast: To bro-mance, and to hoping for a healthier future for unconditional love for everyone.</div>Ida Clayerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03992789244488090308noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376142093209109953.post-37210340987845220512011-03-25T12:04:00.002-04:002013-06-28T11:02:03.369-04:00Gingers vs. Albinos<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><h2>Let's run a little comparison between the two scariest types of humanoids, shall we?</h2><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPmcRMcKbWueQS9STTn1jF5heNwj65hr80bWCj7kCgIXt_aZWFCE9X16aQLWhATNr2nRSwWbTpg1S1Wc36YZbvgAxJop_o8WjNnD77uPTIpjc5wPEm30wjy3cVJAKj6HEVckqiizgimnrR/s1600/albino.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPmcRMcKbWueQS9STTn1jF5heNwj65hr80bWCj7kCgIXt_aZWFCE9X16aQLWhATNr2nRSwWbTpg1S1Wc36YZbvgAxJop_o8WjNnD77uPTIpjc5wPEm30wjy3cVJAKj6HEVckqiizgimnrR/s200/albino.gif" width="200" /></a></div>"<b>Albinism</b> is associated with a number of vision defects, such as photophobia, nystagmus and astigmatism. Lack of skin pigmentation makes the organism more susceptible to sunburn and skin cancers." (Wikipedia)<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://ripgrimey.files.wordpress.com/2010/06/ginger_kids_45.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://ripgrimey.files.wordpress.com/2010/06/ginger_kids_45.jpg" width="200" /></a>"A human, characterized by pale skin, freckles and bright red hair. "<b>Gingers</b>" are generally considered to be inferior to their more melanin-rich brethren, and thus deservingly discriminated against. Gingers are thought to have no souls. The condition, "<b>gingervitis</b>" is genetic and incurable." (Urban Dictionary)<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>Fact #1:</h3><br />
<b>Albinism </b>is found outside the human species. In fact, albino animals are worth more to collectors; they are considered "<b>rare</b>" and "<b>valuable</b>".<br />
<br />
<b>Gingervitis </b>is not found outside the human species. They are neither rare, nor valuable.<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>Fact #2:</h3>"At least 53 <b>albinos</b> have been killed since 2007 in the east African nation and their body parts sold for use in witchcraft, especially in the remote northwest regions of Mwanza and Shinyanga, both gold-mining regions where superstition is rife. The victims’ blood and body parts are used for potions. Witchdoctors tell their clients that the body parts will bring them luck in love, life and business." (<a href="http://www.menwithfoilhats.com/2010/08/kenyan-witchdoctors-stoke-demand-for-albino-humans/">MSNBC</a>)<br />
<br />
<b>Ginger </b>parts can only be used in curses, not potions. Even then, the risk is too high for harvesting them and most self-respecting witch doctors won't deal in ginger parts, as the majority of their business is from word-of-mouth.<br />
<br />
<h3>Fact #3:</h3><br />
<b>Albinos</b> are considered "the other white meat".<br />
<br />
<b>Ginger</b> meat is black and inedible; this is a direct result of having no soul.<br />
<br />
<h3>Fact #4:</h3>There are no documented <b>albino</b> serial killers.<br />
<br />
The survivors of the Zodiac Killer's attacks have described him as a heavy set man with glasses, and <b>red hair</b>.<br />
Other <b>ginger</b> serial killers include:<br />
Todd Rizzo<br />
Bible John<br />
Chucky<br />
Charles Starkweather (inspired the movie "Natural Born Killers")<br />
<br />
<h3>Fact #5:</h3><b>Albinos </b>have several support groups.<br />
<br />
No one wants that many <b>gingers</b> in a room together.<br />
<br />
<br />
Hope this helps keep dangerous myths from spreading! Pass on the word; knowledge is power!</div>Ida Clayerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03992789244488090308noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376142093209109953.post-12848384954394725802011-02-18T20:01:00.001-05:002011-02-18T20:02:21.589-05:00When Life Hands you a Shit Sandwich, Take a Big Bite. Make him Look like a Dick.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Seriously, giving up is what they want you to do. Since when do you take orders from the sycophants? Did you stop masturbating to your cousin just because your parents told you it was unnatural? NO! Did you stop driving drunk after the second DUI? Hell No! Did you let that restraining order keep you from peering into the windows of your ex-girlfriend? Of Course Not! Did the lock on her door keep you out? Fuck No! Um... I forget where I was going with this... Oh, yeah, don't give up!</div>Ida Clayerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03992789244488090308noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376142093209109953.post-51124666074586526052011-02-15T09:18:00.003-05:002013-06-28T11:12:20.140-04:00Valentine's Day Tips for Beginners<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2>
It's that time again, campers.</h2>
Have you planned your romantic evening already or are you, like thousands of others, unsure of how to set the right mood? Well, if you fall into the latter category, I have compiled some valuable tips for you to ensure that you make this VD memorable for you and your date.<br />
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
Music</h3>
This is the #1 mood setter; don't skimp on this area! Choose something heartfelt and sexy to let her know you've had your eye on her and think she's the one. Don't go with the normal cliché; she'll respond to more original approaches and won't be seduced by something that worked on your mom.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Here's a few suggestions to consider:</span></h4>
<ul>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i><b>Heartbeat</b> </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">by </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b>Don Johnson</b></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i><b>Sex Farm</b></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> by </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b>Spinal Tap</b></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i><b>Stay with Me</b></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> by </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b>Faces</b></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b><i>Tyler</i> </b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">by</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b> Toadies</b></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b><i>Rape M</i>e </b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">by</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b> Nirvana</b></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b><i>Fuck the Pain Away</i> </b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">by</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b> Peaches</b></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b><i>Feva for the Flava</i> </b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">by</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b> Hot Action Cop</b></span></li>
</ul>
These selections show that you're a sensitive-to-her-needs kinda guy.<br />
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
Gifts</h3>
<div>
If you go the gifts route, make sure you're in tune with her likes and dislikes. Worried that you're not? Well, here's a few ideas that are sure to make any woman melt:<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><b>Lesbian Porn</b><br />
What better way to tell her she's hotter when she's making out with another woman? </li>
<li><b>A Pregnancy Test</b><br />
Let her know you're in for the long haul, even if it's your first date.</li>
<li><b>A Picture of your Dick</b><br />
Homemade gifts are from the heart and show that you put effort as well as thought into your gift.</li>
<li><b>A Cookbook, Vacuum Cleaner, or Apron, etc.</b><br />
Let her know you think domestic life is sexy and that she doesn't have to put on that feminist front with you.</li>
<li><b>A Boa Constrictor</b><br />
What better way to show her you think she's exotic?</li>
<li><b>A Plastic Surgery Gift Card</b><br />
What girl doesn't love being pampered? </li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></li>
</ul>
<h3>
Activities</h3>
OK, so you've got the music picked out, the gift ready, now what? Dinner and a movie? Sure, if she's looking for unoriginality. Romance = spontaneity.<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><b>A Funeral</b><br />If you can't arrange to go to one of a loved one, a stranger's will work too. It shows her that you know just how precious life really is. </li>
<li><b>Your AA meeting</b><br />No secrets. Period. </li>
<li><b>Your NA meeting</b><br />See above. </li>
<li><b>A Fight Club</b><br />If you don't know where one is, start one. If you can't really know yourself until you fight, then how can you know your partner until you've fought each other? </li>
<li><b>Children's Cancer Ward</b><br />This is a great place to disclose to her you really want kids. Women love a family-oriented man.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
After Activities</h3>
<div>
You know what I'm talking about. You've finally made it through the easy parts and you're at the crucial stage of the night...what do you do to make it a sure thing? It's a good idea to keep a date night tool kit to keep things interesting.<br /><br /><h4 style="text-align: left;">
Essential Accessories:</h4>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><b>Duct Tape </b></li>
<li><b>Two Gerbils </b></li>
<li><b>Roofies </b></li>
<li><b>Ether </b></li>
<li><b>One Spiderman Suit </b></li>
<li><b>One Badminton Racket </b></li>
<li><b>One Welder's Mask </b></li>
<li><b>Four Spools of Baker's Twine </b></li>
<li><b>Bengay</b></li>
</ul>
These items need no explanation, so get out there and make this the best VD ever!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Ida Clayerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03992789244488090308noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376142093209109953.post-25069662222973598542011-02-11T14:36:00.000-05:002011-02-15T09:15:36.141-05:00I just want to get this straightened out...So, I can have a kid if I get knocked up under any circumstances.<br />
<br />
If I try to adopt, I'll be screened with a background check and also I have to be 20 years older than the child, but younger than 40; neither underweight or overweight; can't smoke or abuse drugs; and have a certain financial status.<br />
<br />
If I don't ever want a child, I can abort, but I can not get scooped out preventatively until I meet the age requirement or have already had a child that I do/did not want.<br />
<br />
Did I get this right?Ida Clayerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03992789244488090308noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376142093209109953.post-15599243485408453832010-09-08T14:14:00.000-04:002011-02-15T09:15:52.789-05:00Best of Craigslist (week of 9.8.10)<h4>Missed Encounters:</h4><br />
<b>Stripper named Leather from Silk Stalkings - m4w - 38 (clarksburg)</b><br />
<br />
Date: 2010-08-02, 8:20AM EDT<br />
Reply To This Post<br />
<br />
Looking for a stripper named Leather . She used to dance at Silk Stalkings on Meadowbrook Road. I f anyone knows how I can fine her PLEASE email me!! <br />
<br />
Location: clarksburg<br />
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests<br />
PostingID: 1875994308<br />
<hr /><b>Glory Holes - m4m - 18 (Morgantown)</b><br />
<br />
Date: 2010-09-08, 1:04AM EDT<br />
Reply To This Post<br />
<br />
Looking for glory holes in morgantown wv. Do you know any let me in on it please =). <br />
<br />
Location: Morgantown<br />
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests<br />
PostingID: 1942327117<br />
<h4>Services Offered</h4><br />
<b>Let us remove your shorts,stop your drips,an caulk your cracks!! (Buchannon to Morgantown)</b><br />
<br />
Date: 2010-08-31, 4:25PM EDT<br />
Reply to: rbrtbarnett@yahoo.com [Errors when replying to ads?]<br />
<br />
Barrnett an Son Services..we do Electrical an Plumping, repairs an insulation. Now doing handyman services such as decks,drywall,siding,gutters ect. Give us a hollar! <br />
Over 21 years exp. best rate you'll find.............304-439-8005............ <br />
<br />
Location: Buchannon to Morgantown<br />
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests<br />
License info: We are licensed and insured<br />
PostingID: 1929698206<br />
<hr /><b>"Special" Cleaning..... (morgantown)</b><br />
<br />
Date: 2010-09-02, 1:37PM EDT<br />
Reply to: serv-pn5ye-1933002561@craigslist.org [Errors when replying to ads?]<br />
<br />
I'm a pretty good looking 20 year old girl. <br />
College student. <br />
I'm a pretty tidy person. <br />
I have a topless cleaning service charging $50 an hour. <br />
Due to my class schedule we'll have to work around it but I'm pretty flexible. <br />
If interested send an email. <br />
DON'T ASK FOR NAKED PICTURES!!!!!! <br />
<br />
Location: morgantown<br />
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests<br />
PostingID: 1933002561<br />
<hr /><br />
<b>Psychology of Homicide Presentation</b><br />
<br />
Date: 2010-08-27, 7:40PM EDT<br />
Reply to: serv-wnvpv-1923050136@craigslist.org [Errors when replying to ads?]<br />
<br />
If you are a member of a group or organization in need of a fascinating guest speaker, please consider the Spingola Files' special presentation. The Psychology of Homicide is an entertaining hour-and-a-half speaking engagement. <br />
<br />
Having spent 15 years chasing down cold-blooded killers, former Milwaukee Police Department Homicide Detective Steven Spingola uses a Power Point presentation to walk those present through challenging crime scenes, discuss motives and opportunities, and then explore the backgrounds of predatory homicide suspects. <br />
<br />
Some of the cases discussed include Jeffrey Dahmer, the North Side Strangler homicides, the unsolved murder of a 15-year-old newspaper delivery boy, and the mysterious disappearance of a young Milwaukee girl. <br />
<br />
Spingola and his staff of investigative journalists recently returned from Yorktown, Virginia, where they probed a series of two-decades-old cold case homcides, known as the Colonial Parkway murders (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Colonial_Parkway_Killer). In August, Spingola published a 29-page magazine article, Predators in the Parkway: a Former Homicide Detective Explores the Colonial Parkway Murders, that detailed his findings. <br />
<br />
For more information regarding costs and available dates, please visit http://badgerwordsmith.com/seminars.html <br />
<br />
<br />
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests<br />
PostingID: 1923050136<br />
<hr /><h4>Gigs</h4><b>$500 To Go Streaking!</b><br />
<br />
Date: 2010-09-05, 6:21PM EDT<br />
Reply to: gigs-9fced-1938281902@craigslist.org [Errors when replying to ads?]<br />
<br />
Just what it says, holiday weekend, home win. Will pay $500 to any attractive female willing to streak a public place. Just send a clothed photo with face and where in Motown you'd do it if avaialable. <br />
<br />
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests<br />
Compensation: $500<br />
PostingID: 1938281902<br />
<hr /><b>$300 To Skinny Dip</b><br />
<br />
Date: 2010-08-29, 5:02PM EDT<br />
Reply to: gigs-fkrqc-1925961863@craigslist.org [Errors when replying to ads?]<br />
<br />
As the states I will pay any attractive female $300 to go skinny dipping with me, nothing more. You must have a place to swim as I do not. Please send clothed photo with face and how i can get in touch with you if available. No time is too late. <br />
<br />
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests<br />
Compensation: $300<br />
PostingID: 1925961863<br />
<hr />Ida Clayerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03992789244488090308noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376142093209109953.post-13677726176801813702010-08-19T16:48:00.000-04:002011-02-15T09:16:04.121-05:00The Best of Craigslist ( week of 8.19.10)<h2>Discreet Amateur Investigator Thursday Night (Morgantown, WV)</h2>Date: 2010-08-11, 3:37PM EDT<br />
Reply to: gigs-hrdrb-1893338915@craigslist.org [Errors when replying to ads?]<br />
<br />
I need an individual with a digital camera or camera phone, email access and a vehicle to "discreetly" visit a few locations in the Morgantown area on Thursday evening/night. <br />
Yes, you will be doing some very simple PI work: observing and picture taking--all from outside locations, no communication with any individuals. You may be required to follow an individual <br />
to 2 or 3 locations (their workplace, gym, home) and observe if they have any visitors and take photographs. <br />
I would personally be in communication with you as I know the details of this person's schedule for the most part. This would be for the evening/ night of (Thursday) August 12th, approximately <br />
from 3pm (maybe a little later) til approximately 2am. <br />
<br />
The right person and I will discuss secured, immediate payment through Paypal. <br />
Thank you. <br />
<br />
Location: Morgantown, WV<br />
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests<br />
Compensation: As noted above<br />
PostingID: 1893338915<br />
<hr /><h2>Flash me for $100</h2>Date: 2010-07-15, 7:29PM EDT<br />
Reply to: gigs-hwgzz-1845241609@craigslist.org [Errors when replying to ads?]<br />
<br />
Just what it says. $100 for a nice long flash. Send clothed photo with face and best way to reach if available. <br />
<br />
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests<br />
Compensation: $100<br />
PostingID: 1845241609<br />
<hr /><h2>My Husband had Sex with my Mom</h2>He wanted to sleep with another woman while I was pregnant. <br />
<br />
I came up with a plan that only backfired in my face. <br />
<br />
Please feel free to comment on my story. <br />
<br />
http://www.peoplesinsight.com/articles/2-relationships/89-sex-with-my-mom <br />
<br />
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests<br />
PostingID: 1902915816<br />
<hr /><h2>Good-looking WVU Guy, looking for work? (Morgantown)</h2>Date: 2010-08-11, 11:42PM EDT<br />
Reply to: gigs-vedw2-1894150435@craigslist.org [Errors when replying to ads?]<br />
<br />
Placements available for men ages 18-25 in the area. <br />
Work for clients who need a range of services from maintenance to companionship to modeling. <br />
You can set the parameters under which you will work, and the types of work you will do. <br />
All services are legal, and clients will pay a premium for work to be done by good-looking and friendly guys. <br />
Please note you must be open-minded as many clients are men. <br />
Respond today for more information. Your information is always kept confidential. <br />
Minimum rate is $50 for an hour; with rates up to $200/hr. <br />
<br />
<br />
Location: Morgantown<br />
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests<br />
Compensation: $50/hr and up.<br />
PostingID: 1894150435<br />
<hr /><h2>I need someone to draw something (Pittsburgh)</h2>Date: 2010-08-17, 3:35PM EDT<br />
Reply to: gigs-mg553-1904119133@craigslist.org [Errors when replying to ads?]<br />
<br />
Looking for someone with the time and ability to draw something once a week for me during the entire football season. <br />
<br />
Please reply with: <br />
Samples if you have it (preferably cartoon and portraits) <br />
Rates <br />
Anything else you think may help <br />
<br />
Thanks, <br />
Jason <br />
<br />
Location: Pittsburgh<br />
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests<br />
Compensation: Cash money<br />
<hr /><h2>205 Stratford BRING BACK MY TABLE! (Friendship)</h2><br />
Date: 2010-07-31, 4:32PM EDT<br />
Reply to: sale-yqaxe-1873732539@craigslist.org [Errors when replying to ads?]<br />
<br />
If you came on my front porch and took the free dresser we offered on Craigslist, it DID NOT INCLUDE any other furniture on the porch. <br />
Please return, (or email me to arrange the return of), the table and 2 chairs you took immediately. <br />
<br />
My neighbors witnessed you taking the items, so we do have ample description of you and your vehicle for the police, if it has to go that route. <br />
<br />
Thank you. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Location: Friendship<br />
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests<br />
PostingID: 1873732539<br />
<hr />Ida Clayerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03992789244488090308noreply@blogger.com