Mr. Incredicock

I believe in giving credit where credit is due. This outrageous temptation turned out to be the most fabulous idea and I look smug today because it has been years since I’ve been so satisfied. I’m pretty sure my eyes are a lighter shade of green and I feel muscles in my spine I didn’t know existed.

I’m an erectile dysfunction survivor.  I’m a nice girl, so I’ve always made the most of a difficult situation but it just sucks. I’ll be blunt; in my experience the closer they get to 40, the softer their dick.

I wish there were a way to sugar coat it, but I’ve had to try to swallow that soft, disappointing noodle, too many times and for the record, making him feel better about it gets really old, really fast. It’s his job to handle things on his end and if he doesn’t?

Peace out of that party, girlfriend..because good Lord in the morning…

You are missing out on some earth-shattering orgasms. I sure was. My favorite new superhero had to listen to me scream again and again all night.  I lost count at 8 and that was early.  God love him, he’s probably half-deaf today because I had no idea that titanium dick existed.

It does exist… and every woman needs one. Post haste.

Women go through all sorts of invasive shit in order to have safe sex. The least men can do is come prepared for battle. I feel bad for any man struggling with getting or keeping it up, but there are all sorts of solutions and it shouldn’t be our job to handle that end of things.

I felt like I was drowning in a sea of semi flaccid dick, when Mr. Incredicock showed up to remind me that not all men are created equal.

I feel like sewing him a goddamn cape.

good

Eleven lessons learned…

To say I’ve had a hard year is like saying Bernie Madoff only borrowed a few bucks.

I’ve spent enough money on water that I could have bought a new car. A nicer car than I drive… lol

I’ve dated King Douchebag…  and several of his minions. To be compared to Nathan Steinbauer means you’re worthless, for all the minions that read my blog, and yes, I mean you- if I haven’t told you to your face <yet>, you were a total waste of my time. ALL of you.

But…

In making mistakes you gain wisdom… and I’m sharing my favorite eleven lessons I learned this year….

1. Men don’t lie. Boys do… and generally because they’re compensating for <cough> failures in other areas. Especially the men with equipment failure. Dude… we notice- FIX it. In this day and age, it’s just sad not to. If it’s not a problem with your dick, just that you are one? You serve a purpose in teaching all of us how to avoid you. Way to be an anti-role model. Way to aim low.

2. Marriage isn’t captivity unless you marry the wrong guy, and then it’s a life sentence. I swore I’d never do it again- but I’ve learned precisely why people get married recently. When you love someone so much that you want to be the only one privy to their heart? You lock it up. I claimed wife status again tonight after a customer was being rude.

DB- Nice rock, did your sugardaddy give you that?

J- No, my husband did, but maybe I’ll call him that later and see how he likes it.

DB- Hey I’m sorry, no offense to you or your husband. He must really love you.

J- I’m the lucky one, thank you.

DB- It’s cool when it works out like that. I’m divorced.

Shocker… lol… he was actually really cool after that- and apologized again. All I needed for him to respect me, was a husband. <eyeroll>

3. Any bad day can be fixed. Drop your clothes at the door and dance in your heels & panties with me to a little Biggie Smalls Hypnotize… I promise you’ll feel better.

4. Tomorrow really is always a new day. I’ve juggled so many damn bills this year it’s scary- and if I can do it, anyone can. If you’re willing to make the effort, you can pull it off, some way, some how. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy… well… yeah I would… cause it sucks… and I got a brand new pair of bitch panties for Christmas. It’s never too late to learn to stand up for yourself- and it only pisses off the people accustomed to taking advantage of you.

5. Fleas are forever… these damn dogs will be the death of me, I swear- or at least the cost of the Advantix.

6. People who rent say “NO PETS” for a reason. If you thought you didn’t love anyone’s children as much as yours, try loving a dog who requires that you pick dog hair off the milk carton IN the refrigerator. I rest my case. Want me to love your dog? Vacuum up the fucking hair. Every day, like it needs to be, but I shouldn’t HAVE to do.

7. Wear repellent. Want to scare off the douche bags? Put your favorite diamond on. Now when they smile and say “Ohhh holy shit, she’s married and what a rock” … I can laugh and say… “No…. What. A. Man.” It doesn’t matter it’s not from him. It doesn’t matter that I’m not married. My boyfriend is so good, that no one else will do…now that’s a job well done.  What matters is that men do have a healthy respect for the fact I’ve gleefully taken myself off the menu, and clearly- I’m expensive. Bonus- I get to wear something sparkly & pretty. Two birds, one rock, Amen.

8. Don’t shit where you eat. Now you’d think I’d have already learned this one, but what can I say… he was charming and attentive and I fell for his hoarding bullshit game. I’m reminded what a mistake it was every single time I have to run into him again. What was I thinking…. ???? More importantly, wtf was he thinking? It takes a whole new level of stupid to disrespect the girl writing the words your friends are reading. Read ’em and weep, Hoarder- and hey… pick yourself up a tshirt while you’re at it.

9. Thou shalt not borrow without asking. Especially if it’s something of mine. I don’t share. I don’t have to, and I don’t want to. I’m nice enough that I’ll probably say yes if you ask, but I’d rather not. All bets are off if you make the decision for me and take something without asking… that’s right up there with pouring lighter fluid from the bottle into an open flame… you will get burned. I’m a huge fan of painful consequences.

10. Asking for help when you need it is the most grown up thing you can learn how to do. I die trying to do everything myself… and sometimes end up in a bigger mess as a result.  Help… my least favorite four letter word… is the one I need to learn most.

11. Real friends are priceless. These are the friends that don’t touch your things… regardless of whether we’re talking about men, makeup or your favorite sweater. Yes, as a matter of fact… I do expect them to hate the people I hate. Nobody’s  holding a gun to your head, but if you’re one of my true friends, you will know exactly how that sort of loyalty feels in return. I’m the one that helps you bury the body, but if you betray me? Brace yourself. It’s cold on the dark side of the moon, and you may as well move there because I do not forget and I do not forgive. I wont hate you- but if you were on fire and I was holding a glass of water? I’d drink it.

Rough year… holy shit… but it’s only getting better. I have amazing friends, amazing Love and a family that makes the chaos of it all, worthwhile. My family is still broken, but the details are falling into place and life is about to get easier. Hopefully at some point I’ll be able to say the same about the fracture in our family. Until then, we will strive to be happy.

My New Year started with a message of my favorite variety, and I’ve been smiling since.

It’s a good sign.

It’s going to be a good year…

Happy New Year, y’all… I hope you all have the same love in your life that I woke up to, on the first day of the new year. I already like this year better.

Oh She of so much faith…

I woke up to silence… a tiny furry Yorkie dog sleeping as close as he can get to me without being actually ON me. Kicking the covers off, knowing as soon as my naked foot landed on top of the fluffy cloud of down comforters heaped on my bed, my little Tucker Max would be running for my sparkly red toenails. He loves feet. Especially mine.

Giggling & fighting him from licking my toes as he tunnels under the sheets to follow them, I’m forced out of bed to let him out.

On a soft dusky rainy morning in a sleepy silent house. It’s 65* with a latte and the hot tub beckoning me. In nothing but my new Halloween pumpkin panties that say “Trick me”  and the candy necklace my darling friend brought me last night as a gesture of “I told you so” love. Goosebumps spreading from my neck to my knees reminding me that fall is in the air. Smiling at the seasons. Happy with the perennial details.

I love the little things that mean so much. I love the tiny details that make me happy. The perfect imperfection of my life that keeps me going.

I put a million things away today, I folded laundry for hours. I swept, mopped, dusted and ran for a while. I focused on the one foot in front of the other approach, knowing what peace there is in the details. Clean floors make me smile. A clean refrigerator makes life beautiful. A nail appointment where he takes one look at me and frowns.

N- How’s the love life- uh oh.

J- No bueno. He died a quick death just like the rest of them. Lying, cheating, you name it… same old story.

N- No. You need one nice man. Not bad boy. You are very nice, you are a good woman. You will be happy, not sad.

J- Aww, thanks… but I’m inclined to think it doesn’t exist. I’m more than a little jaded these days.

N- I’m a good husband. A good father. I love my family. You will find that too.

This is just awesome, even my favorite nail guy is feeling sorry for me. Awesome…. he replaces them completely, makes them sparkly and talks me into an eyebrow wax.

So I look like a blonde girl with Asian skinny eyebrows… lesson learned. In fact I think I was born with thicker eyebrows than I have right now.

Still, I left feeling a million times better. Prettier… not so completely offended. Reaffirmed and readjusting to silence between us where he’d been so present before. For the record, the silence sucks most of all. It’s the biggest downside to breaking the addiction.

As a comfort eater from the word GO, I have pizza on the brain, combined with not wanting to cook in my lovely sparkly new pink nails… Gourmet Vegetarian pizza from Papa Murpy’s Take & Bake. With Canadian bacon… because it’s better like that 🙂

A fifth of Goose from the liquor store… because it’s that sort of week. Ohhhh and olives from the olive bar… ever the olive junkie.

I miss him as a diversion. Plain and simple. The reality of him is far different. He’s a snake in a polo. A shark in argyle. An asshole in a nice guy’s costume.

Who knows what or who he is, I don’t think he even knows… and I know precisely the woman I am.

I’m a dirty princess. I weed in designer jeans. I wear gloves to cover my beautiful nails and I get dirty. I garden, I can veggies and jam. I knit. I sew. I paint. I write. I smile you into smiling with me. I dance my feet to hell and gone. I work my ass off. I do more in a day than most people in a week. I juggle more right now than anyone else I know.

I’m fucking exhausted, and gawd dammit I deserve a man that isn’t a douche bag.

I deserve someone worth spoiling equally as much as I deserve to be spoiled. It all seems to be such an imbalance.

So I did what any self respecting faithful princess does…

and I bought myself a pumpkin…. a Cinderella pumpkin to be specific.

My $6 says it’s ok to have faith… and it’s ok to believe in fairytales and pumpkins.

My $6 says it’s ok to continually roll the dice, even though I’m equipped with a douche bag magnet and the odds are stacked against me.

At some point? I’m going to roll the dice and win.

At some point? They can’t all be frogs.

He doesn’t need to be a prince. Just good. Just honest… and worthy of the ridiculously delightful feminine hurricane I am. Capable of keeping up with the tornado of yarn & fabric. In love with my pickled asparagus. Sincere in his words and actions… and inspirational enough to leave me torn between curling up in his arms to fall asleep and getting up to write about him.

He just needs to make me think, make me feel and make me laugh… at myself…

But never at my princess pumpkin, or the heart that believes in the magic of it.

I’m canning ginger peach jam tomorrow… along with white plum vanilla bean… all before work.

More importantly? I’m smiling every time I see my pumpkin, blissful with a side of smug.

What a stupid foolish boy with horrible taste and what a ridiculous crybaby to waste a minute crying over someone who wasn’t even worthy.

Sparkly pink nails are wonderful…but my Cinderella pumpkin fixed everything.

Here’s to the best $6 I’ve ever spent.

You give me fever…

When you touch me… fever when you hold me tight…

But when you lie to me and sleep with someone else the ENTIRE time we’re together?

I throw a party.

The First Annual Nathan Roast. Yep, first…because this guy is such a parasite I’ll have this party until the day I die purely to provide a warning to the other women unfortunate enough to cross his path. Thank GOD for Google.

Public on Facebook. Pictures public too. I’ll acknowledge my stupidity in a second to save someone from being his next victim.

He targets ladies. Pretty girls. Women. Good ones… the kind of girl you need to immediately take home to your mama, just so she knows she did a good job raising you.

THAT girl. The one you marry. The one you treasure because she makes your life resemble “Leave It To Beaver”.

We’re a dying breed, y’all… this guy has to be stopped for the sake of domestic goddess civilization. We’re endangered, and he’s a noxious weed… choking all us lovely little flowers out…

His cryptonite? He’s attracted to amazing women… but this time?

He shook the wrong hive.

Darling Mrs. First bought him these socks and had one request.

F- Spit on those for me before you throw them in.

I picked them up, and realized something about all of us. I handed one to Ms. Babymama and told her we had to spit on them before we threw them in. We both froze.

I’m a lady. I don’t spit on anything. Ever. I can tell by the look on Babymama’s face that she’s having the same thought.

J- I’m a lady… I don’t know how to spit.

B- Me either.

If there were ever a time to learn, it’s now. They burned quickly in spite of being spat on.

We started the fire with wood from the Dirty Boat Stealing Asshole. We burned old love letters, etc… it was fantastic.

Then the real stuff came into play…. the gift he bought for poor sweet Babymama…

Second edition, indeed.

The dog toy… which made me so sad at first. Until I talked to Marissa, or Ms. Other White Meat. He told her the dog lost it and they bought a new one, together. I hope she thinks of the truth she knows every time she looks at it. I swear… women can be so fucking stupid sometimes.

Sorry Remington… some people are just cursed with a douche bag for a dad.

I emailed his mom to apologize. I feel horrible for the drama hitting a few weeks before his brother’s wedding. Nothing back. Why? Because they’ve created this monster by financing the lies. It’s one thing to be successful. It’s one thing to share that success with your children. It’s another thing to facilitate someone ruining other people.

I happily volunteer to help undo the damage they’ve enabled.

We burned his bullshit. We burned the stupid Cornhuskers shit he buys everyone. The crotchless panties he gave us all…what an unoriginal piece of trash…

Speaking of trash… it was time to burn his uniform. Who impersonates a soldier? Who claims to be a Ranger who’s never enlisted?  His reason is that he’s special forces, he’s a big shot. You have to have General clearance to get his records.

You shouldn’t cheat on a General’s niece… should you? You definitely shouldn’t mess with a girl who has a fleet of  Special Forces & Pararescuemen as best friends.

Because it only took two calls… to establish finally- that Nathan has NEVER enlisted. He’s NEVER been a soldier and even more so? He couldn’t hack it in military school. Had to beg his mommy to get him out early.

So the next item up? His bullshit Army t-shirt he had the audacity to wear on the 4th of July. He had the balls to salute back when the veterans walked by. Someone bought him a beer because of the shirt. This guy deserves to burn just as quickly as his favorite went up.

Good thing he knows where to order this shit online. He’ll have a new one in days. It’s his thing.

Creepy, huh?

But not as creepy as the ultimate kindling. His favorite blanket. The blanket he’s wrapped around a lot of us. The blanket he then wrapped his baby in…

This man is past Jesus…

We reclaimed our pride last night, and the faith we all have in our own judgement. We all deserve better. We all deserve the truth.

Everyone deserves better than Nathan.

Even the stupid girls. Even Marissa. Even if they don’t know it yet.

So we wore that blanket in style… one last time. With our arms wrapped around each other, bonded by a heartache neither of us ever deserved, from a douchebag that was NEVER worthy.

Who’s laughing now, Nathan?

My pretty purple orchid smiling up at me. Surrounded by friends old and new. In love with the fact that I’m finally not the stupid girl still sitting next to him, convinced that those “other jealous bitches” just can’t handle that “he only wants me”.

Please… <eyeroll>

I’ve been looking forward to this all week… since I first had the idea.

All this time I thought this thing was going to put the fire out. I was sure polyester was a bonfire buzz kill…

Nope.

It went right up in seconds…

and he was gone as fast as he came into my beautiful life… and finally providing something helpful.

I made the perfect toasted coconut smore over the flames of his favorites.

Sweet, delicious closure… with a mouthful of something that tastes better than he’ll ever be able to cook, surrounded by a bunch of amazing new girlfriends.

♥ – ♥ – ♥

Thanks Nathan… now go contract AIDS and die alone like you deserve.

James Beard Wannabe

Oh Liarpants… my daddy laughed out loud at you. I didn’t even have to Google it for him to tell me you were full of shit.

D- Babydoll… that is seriously pathological…. but wait… you never even told me he was a chef? If this guy is the James Beard Rising Star then I should have heard about his cooking…and I happen to know that Gabriel Rucker won this year.

J- Well….. he makes torchon. It’s his big deal. Ewww. He made me dinner once… but it was pretty bad. Too salty… with some sort of sausage, broccoli, crayfish soupy stuff under a steak… with a bone.

D- Oh. My. HA HA HA. You hate meat on the bone.

J- I know, but he had already bought it… and you know me… what was I going to say?

D- I don’t like meat on the bone?

J- Yeah right.

But… and I only know this because I am an absolute brat…

He’s not a very good cook… and I couldn’t finish it because it was so salty and so… well… overcooked. Dude if I want to eat broccoli paste? I’ll have my 11 year old boil some for me.

The steak was perfect… after you fought your way around all that nasty fatty disgustingness. Blech, gag… wretch.

They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach….  but it’s not. It’s through his balls and we all know it. The way to a woman’s heart is a man that knows how to be domestic in order to delight her.

Feed me.

Tell me about it.

Talk to me while you cook and tell me what you’re doing.

It’s the highest form of foreplay you can achieve with me and if it’s done well? I’m sold. I’ll buy the farm. I’ve already picked out china patterns in my head after the second course if it’s really good.

I do not leave food on my plate…. hence the chunk-tastic thighs.

I also only send one thing back when I don’t like it…. and that’s steak….

and how on earth do you send the steak back if it’s your boyfriend cooking it? You don’t. That’s what. You suck it up and eat it…

Even when you don’t like it…. and you pray he doesn’t notice that you hardly touched it…

Even though you know he did.

You make excuses. You’re tired. You’re feet hurt. You want to take his clothes off and really thank him appropriately.

lol… or you’d rather get laid than eat another bite.

Either way- it worked… and I was pushing away my plate in minutes. Wondering how long it’d take him to pass out before I could eat a bowl of Lucky Charms.

Annoyed enough at how bad it was to be a brat about it… dice some onions and garlic and REALLY cook dinner.

Show him how it’s done… Mr. I-wish-I-could-be-talented Steinbauer.

Dude… put down the salt and walk away slowly so that people can eat your food without three glasses of water.

Or vodka…

Which improved the taste exponentially- thank you.

Watching him shake like a crazy person while trying to cut his steak sort of takes my mind off the taste in my mouth. I’m grinning at him, thanking him for the amazing dinner… lying through my teeth.

It’s the thought that counts, right?

No.

When it comes to food? It’s the taste that counts. Sheesh. Buy a clue, Liarpants.

But the James Beard?

Give me a fucking break. Do I look like an idiot? Or just play one convincingly?

The James Beard Rising Star award is the epitome of chef-dom. It’s what they all pray for when they close their eyes at night. They all want it.

None of them get it.

Least of all, Liarpants with his nasty ass too salty overcooked broccoli.

Dude… please… you have to get up very very very early to fool a foodie…

and the closest you’re getting to a James Beard? Is to Google it.

🙂

BTW…. it’s his birthday…