Rose was a Sheisty Bitch (or) part II of “The Reaons Why I’m Kind of a Terrible Person.”
You guys, I really hate Titanic. And not even in a hipster ~I hate it since it’s so mainstream even though it’s exactly the same since I first heard of it 3 years ago along with 12 other people at an underground organic coffee shop/faux-vintage thrift shop~ kind of way.
I have no plans to see it in 3D unless I get word that the above scene is somehow in 3D because that would be magical… like I’m excited just thinking about it.
Let me tell you about this scene. That poor dude could have been saved (or ya know, lived for 5 more minutes)! Rose looked right at him like he was scum as he’s clutching his pearls and holding on for dear life! Like bitch, you were just dancing along side that dude at the hoedown two days prior. And seriously, what the fuck, Jack! That guy was probably your third cousin or something.
Karma is an iceberg sinking your unsinkable ship. For real.
I also enjoy the scene where Rose is on the driftwood and has the nerve to say, “I’m so cold, Jack,” as he’s turning blue in the icy water. That would probably be me except, I definitely would have been one of the first bad bitches in the life boats, chilling like a mile away, saying “We should totally go back, you guys… I forgot my mink handmuffs. And who’s hogging the ~popped corn~?”
“Your hair looks great.”“I let it air-dry. It looks like shit.”
“Your nails are nice.” “They’re heinous. I did them in the car.”
“You sure know how to take a compliment.” “I knooowww. Thank you so much.”
One of my male students trying to butter me up. Get out of here, kid.
Just consider this part one of a series I’ve entitled: Really, Really Getting to Know Me & The Reaons Why I’m Kind of a Terrible Person.
Some time last year, I donated $10 to feed the hungry. Not because I’m such a good person (since that would clearly contradict my title), but because it got me a gift certificate for a free slice of cheesecake from The Cheesecake Factory. Note that I actually realized after my transaction that I only had to donate $5 to get the free slice. I believe at the time I was thinking double the donation, double the cheesecake, but I was wrong. But whatever, my $10 bought 20 bushels of oats & grains AND a slice of vanilla bean cheesecake. BARGAIN!
Cut to this year… I’ve been getting an outrageous amount of junk mail lately and by “junk mail” I mean letters from every freaking charity in existence asking for donations. I am 99.9% convinced that the organization that I generouslydonated to sold my address (because they do that, right?). Rude.
Well, my favorites are of course the ones that send you a gift. I now have enough return address labels to last me for the next 2 years (shame we plan on moving this year). I have an over abundance of gift labels for Christmas. I have a super cute greeting card set. AND of course, I have a dime from March of Dimes (I just can’t bring myself to use it. I mean I’m terrible, but not that terrible).
The worst are the ones that send you a picture of the child you’ll be helping. I mean, don’t guilt trip me in to donating with a photo of little Jazahara, shirtless, playing with a rock. And please, don’t send me any more pictures of babies with cleft palates. I know what they look like, and I would love, LOVE to help them all, but it’s just not feasibly possible (seriously, like the girl who cried about saving all the little kitties, I want to save all the babies… and kitties… and puppies… and unicorns).
But back to the gifts and the first reason why I’m kind of a terrible person. I have set aside the donation slips of all the charities that sent me a gift with the highest intentions of eventually, at some point in my life, making a donation. I immediately threw away the mail of any charity that did not send me a gift and also the charities that DID send me a gift but it was either ugly and/or had the incorrect address… because I’m a terrible person… kind of. :)
Have you ever been asked, “what’s your absolute favorite song of all time”? Like once in a blue moon, right? Well, some people without hesitation have an answer to this question. Justin Beiber’s Baby. Easy Peasy. Me? Nope. I freak the fuck out like it’s a ride or die question. OMG. I am a rider! Let me think for a moment. Will you accept top ten!? No? Whyyyyyyyyyyy? I’m a rider damnit! Annnnd proceed to hyperventilation.
I have no idea why I have this reaction and since I do, you’d think I would have come up with an answer by now. But it’s such a judgy question, you know? Like if someone told me their favorite song was by Selena Gomez, I would side-eye them HARD and I’d hope that they would stop, think for a moment, and then side-eye themself. Not okay.
Well, the point of this post… I was at a barbeque today, and this question was casually tossed out. I probably haven’t been asked this in years, so I haven’t put much thought into narrowing my favorite songs down to one ultimate all time fave. Some people answered jokingly with Right Said Fred-esque songs. Some people answered seriously with “Imagine” type shit (gag me!). I opted out of answering to avoid any potential freak outs.
But since I’m at home on a Saturday night blogging (Read: WINNING!), I thought I’d put some thought into it. So here’s my top ten. Nope, no, I still couldn’t choose just one. Guess I’m not a rider after all!
Don’t get all judgy on me now. It was really hard for me not to create an additional list with honorable mentions! You know, some cool, hip songs so I’d seem less lame. But whatevs.
What’s YOUR favorite song OF ALL TIME!? Or your top ten. You ain’t gotta ride or die.
Since my wedding day is drawing closer, I thought I’d take the time to reminisce about my tragic first relationship.
I was lucky enough to have one of those mothers who tells her daughters that if a boy teases you that means he likes you. Yes, if you’re playing on the jungle gym and little Tommy pushes you to your death, he’s totally in love with you.
I actually had a Tommy push me off one of those metal spider webs in kindergarten. I knocked my chin off one of the bars, fell backwards and landed on my back in the sand. I believe I did one of those no air cries for a good 60 seconds.
Of course, I remember this day clearly even 23 years later because he was totes my first love. Duh. We had a very healthy relationship. I shared my snacks with him, and he gave me cooties. The cootie shot unfortunately wouldn’t be invented for several more years.
Our relationship came to a halt during our kindergarten graduation when he refused to hold my hand during the procession. His last name being Johnson, and mine JaXXXXX, he really could never get away from me. But it was in that moment I realized he had no qualms holding skanky Ashley L.’s hand (those Ashleys and Amandas, right? there was always more than one). I was heart broken.
How dare he mooch off me for extra snacks for months! How dare he give me cooties and run out on me! You can live a completely normal life with cooties. Ride bikes. Hold hands in the park. Share a Slip ‘N Slide.
Well, this tragedy was caught on tape by my parents. They were proud owners of a 50lbs VHS camcorder. I have clear, substantial evidence of the day Tommy became a player. And if I ever run into him again (or you know, stalk him down on Facebook), he will regret it.
Because I’ve since been cured of my cooties. I have ~circle, circle, dot, dot, now I’ve got my cootie shot!~ many a time, and I may or may not have gotten damn fine. And like most romantic comedies teach us, he is fat, single, and drives a cab.
So if you ever happen to be in San Diego and take a ride in Tommy Johnson’s cab, give him cooties and tell him they’re from me. Thanks!
Before I met my boos, I was all pussy’s only pussy, and I get it when I need it; asking every other hoe out there to show me a good time. But I found their lovin. I found their hearts. And now, all I see is fireworks. I’m a little bit in love.
To have and to bone, from this day forward, for better, for best, for richer, for more richer, in sickness and in health, until world tours do us part.
Time for the rings… Drizzy?
I dislike strangers’ kids. Well… any kid that has no discipline, but it is easier to tell a friend rather than a stranger that their kid is a brat. But probably still inappropriate in both cases.
Worse than the bratty kid? The bratty mom. OMG. Like, let me have a conversation with your child in the grocery store checkout line without you butting in and/or giving me weird looks. I’m just asking him if he likes chocolate cake because he’s staring at me hardcore as I flip through this Kraft’s Desserts Recipe book that I don’t plan on buying. You gotta work on that staring problem, mom!
But the point of this post… Super, cute, little girl in the checkout line today! Little girls are my weakness. Not in a To Catch a Predator kinda way, but in a ~I can’t wait to have a baby girl, so much that I already have nursery plans~ way. For real.
Here’s how the events went down.
Cute little girl also has a staring problem, but I am looking super cute today myself so I’m just chucking it up to that. (Pretty sure the bag boy was eying my too, but he looked about 16 so I hoed up instead of down.)
Me: That’s a pretty dress you’re wearing.
Little Girl: It’s mine.
Me: ~thinking: yeaaaaa, kid. I know~ Well, it’s very pretty.
Little Girl: You’re too old for it.
Me: Gurrrlll, whatchu thinking I’m just gone steal your dress? I said it was pretty. And ya know what? Fuck you. I could rock that if I wanted to.
The Mother: Come here, sweetie. Don’t talk to strangers.
Me: Esssscuze me!? Hold up. First off, when your beady-eyed kid is staring at me that’s an open invitation for me to say hi or muster up a small compliment. Second, you should tell your child to say thank you for the compliment I gave her on the dress YOU probably picked up from Sears. Kid obviously already has a sharing problem, don’t need for her to have terrible manners on top of that. And yea, kids shouldn’t talk to strangers, but I wasn’t leaning out of a VW van offering her candy or asking if she wanted to pet my “kitten.” I mean, seriously…
Heaven, help me.
1. No BJs on an one night stand (or with someone you’re hardly acquainted with). I am a firm believer that you need to know someone well before you get all up close and personal with their dick. You need to know them well enough that you’re at least aware of their hygiene habits. Are they using the triangle method? Are they trimmed or growing wild? You go down there and find a piece of popcorn chilling in their pubes, what do you do!? You need to know! If all else fails, resort to the Dip & Sniff. If they nasty, get out now. Don’t pass go. Don’t collect $200. You go back down to that hotel bar and find someone else to make that rent money! Okay!?
2. The dick is in your mouth. You’re in control. This is self-explanatory. There is nothing I hate more than a guy directing me like we’re on the set of Busty Babes 9: Less Busty But Perky. Don’t tell me what to do. I’m experienced. Just sit back and enjoy. Thanks.
3. Cum. Where does it go? Not the hell in, on, or around me that’s for sure! I hate it. HATE it. I don’t know where I went wrong in my hoe days, but this is the one thing I never enjoyed. Do you swallow? Do you sit back and open your mouth, letting him cum on your face? Are you one of those girls who lets him cum on your chest and then proceeds to massage your tits and lick your lips? Well… kudos to you. You go girl!
4. Deep-throating. When? Solely special occasions. And by special occasions, I’m talking 10 year anniversaries or any event that involves money. A raise, a bonus, a sweepstakes win, a diamond. When else would you want a dick blocking your airway?
5. Hit him with the combo. Do I actually enjoy having a penis in my mouth? No. Hell no. Do I enjoy pleasing my man? Yes. That is what it’s all about. But do I want to get it over with as fast as possible? Duh. I always recommend the blowjob/handjob combo. It is very effective and reduces the blowjob duration by 80%. Try it!
That is pretty much all of my guidelines. Go out there and suck some dick, ladies! Make me proud!
I’m sitting here in my program office, attempting to work on my thesis, but someone just heated up some fish for lunch. There is something about the smell of fish… I will smell like this all day. Like I just ended my shift at Long John Silver. Like I just turned a trick and owe a pimp some money. Worst smell ever.
But slightly unrelated but not completely off base, my life has been a slight mess lately. And to break this down, it’s due to 20% family, 30% school & 50% friends related issues. Sooo so much.
In an attempt to avoid any breakdowns (Read: Shambles & Cupcakes), I told TJ, my fiancé, that I just wanted to be alone and listen to music. So I close myself in our guest bedroom, put my iPod on the dock, and turn on shuffle.
The first (and only) song to play is “Lullaby (Rockabye)” by Shawn Mullins. You know it. Don’t lie! I become immediately transfixed. Closed my eyes and sang along at the top of my lungs. I’m sure the neighbors could hear me through the walls, which is unfortunate because I played this song over & OVER, joining in every single time.
After maybe the fifth or sixth play (I KNOW!), I decide to turn it off and just enjoy the silence. Maybe only 60 seconds of silence… I hear yelled from outside the door, “PLAY ‘IN YOUR EYES!’” And so I do.*
And I open up the door to find ALL my boys: TJ, Corey (my son), and Max (our dog) standing there and surprisingly not looking at me like I’m completely insane and this makes me smile.
Today, I’m still smiling, despite smelling like fish and still having 101 issues to deal with, because I have my boys, and they’re safe & healthy & happy & love me even though I might be insane and that’s all that really matters. Everything else I’ll just sing away.
*I am 100% sure TJ thought these songs were sung by the same person. It was an odd choice otherwise. And don’t judge me for having Peter Gabriel on my iPod in the 21st century.