humor, relationships, Uncategorized

HO-PROOFING

IMG_3942
*insert James Bond music here*

TWO THINGS come to mind when dating. 1. Keep the crazy bottled up. *Insert tasmanian devil whirling around here.*  And 2. Shed your long beautiful strands of hair everywhere. Absolutely. Everywhere. Shed? Did she say shed? Like a dog, shed?  Yes. Yes I did. What the hell does that have to do with dating? Hear me out. Shedding in your man’s car, bed, bathroom are must DO’s. This is called ho-proofing your relationship. And it isn’t as maniacal a task as it sounds. Uh, you sure? Or bat-shit crazy. It’s totally crazy. Stay with me… Statistically, we lose approximately a hundred hairs a day, right? Give or take. I feel like I lose more than that when I take it to the shower; but, enough about me. 

Girlfriends of mine are always coming to me, whining about their man and if he’s cheating. Driving themselves insane with internal dialogue and worrying themselves sick over “what ifs” and maybes.” Well, I came up with a solution. Drink to numb the pain? No. I’m pretty laid back. Drown your sorrows at the deep end of a pond filled with pirhanas? Uh… I’m not that laid back, and um, no, don’t do that. My theory is, if your man is going to cheat… You can’t stop it, control it or follow him around incessantly with a hat and sunglasses. Chances are, he’ll catch your Audrey Hepburn disguise faster than you can say, “I’m late for my breakfast at Tiffany’s.”  But ladies, you can brush the heck out of your hair and let your luxurious locks do all the work….

IMG_5418
Wait a minute… I have a plan!

GUIDE TO HO- PROOFING

1. Brush your hair: In his bed, car, bathroom, breakfast nook… wherever you can find a place to target your tresses.

2. Any cute curls laying around will definitely make a ho, who’s entered upon your territory, second guess your douche-bag dude’s bad intentions. Although, if she’s a ho, she might not care anyway and play in his romper room regardless. Maybe I’m not being so helpful…

DISCLAIMER: For amusement only. Any ideas found in this post will likely cause arguments, insecurity and drama. Use with caution or manipulative intent. Or rather, dismiss entirely.

Advertisements
humor, relationships, Uncategorized

Lonely Llama Spitter

There’s nothing more depressing, than feeling lonely. Crocheting? Well, maybe there is; But, at this moment, I can’t think of anything. You’re girlfriends are all out of town, doing their own thing. Vegas fuckers. Kid(s) are away at… whatever. “Ditch The Kids” camp? You have the house to yourself. Hello, hello, hello…. It echoes. You’ve eaten so many cheese quesodillas that you may actually hate cheese now. Never happen. Still loving cheese. Except the Bleu one… I’ll pass on the anaphylactic shock, thanks. Oh and you’ve been recently dumped by yet,

llama shopping…
llama shopping…

another “I’m here for a lifetime” hack. My favorite thing is when people tell you, I got you. Sarcasm. Not really my favorite thing at all. In my best male voice impersonation: “If you’re ever lonely, I’m here for you.” They’re lying. They don’t, “got you.” They just want to boink you. Like, the guy who’s ready to settle down after being “funtime guy,” for years, suddenly wants you to be open to committment and yet, when you text a “hey, I’m feelin a bit lonely… let’s cuddle” text his way… Crickets. Poo. Thick, mushy poo. Or, you’re in a fight with a mate, and instead of pushing aside the senseless spat about airline food to choose love and happiness-which, oddly enough, why you chose that mother fucker in the first place, because he balanced you out or some bullshit- he wants to keep fighting you and keep each party separated… yeah, and then dump you. Publicly. Thick, mushy, chunky poo. Guess, I’ll have my own party then. A spitting good time, llama party. Life’s too short to argue over nothing. Oh wait. Yup, my heart is chock full of thick, mushy, chunky, SMELLY POO. Oh, there it goes. It’s spewing. It’s spewing everywhere now.  Is that a rotten egg?

I think llamas got it figured out. They chill on their sandy mountainsides. Or lush, grassy fields, chewing on their cud… Whatever cud is. I’d chew pretzel cud. Or gummi cud. If they ever made it. Llamas seem like independent creatures who don’t give two fucks about having company. Or a mate. When a space invader approaches, they spit. When their elbow rooimages-1m is getting crowded upon, they spit. When a feel a sneak attack sheathing upon them, they spit. I don’t kow much about llamas, but they like to spit a lot. I’m a lover, not a fighter. So, spitting may not be the weapon of choice for me. A lot of times, I’ll try to make amends, even if I’m right. Just to stop the arguing. I prefer to live in love and light. Although… when pushed into a corner, I will retaliate. That decides it then… I’m going to learn to spit. One more douchebag dumps me, I’ll spit. Llama spit. I’m thinking about it, and the more I do, the more it seems it may be a valuable tool. The Llama Tool.

The good news is, now that I’m roaming this big, bright world solo again, I will have more time to investigate llama ownership and it’s rewards. And, I’ll finally be able to figure out what the hell cud is…