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Archive for the 'I want to Punch You in the Neck' Category

October 4, 2009

We don’t care about your bodily functions.


A friend of mine recently became a divorced, single mom.  She’s back in the dating game and is really having a hard time finding, well, a guy who isn’t a total pig.  Sure, she expects some piggish behavior.  I mean, hello?  But come on, have some manners… (no offense to men, I like men, a lot, and no this is not about any men I know either IRL or Online, so don’t panic you’re all cool and nice and polite).  But honestly, when you have absolutely zero redeeming qualities, as some of the whackjobs my friend has dated lately?  God.  Might as well punch yourself in the nutsack and call it a day.  Just sayin’.  And some of the men my friend has described to me?  Oh, dear Lord.

I decided I’d help my friend by making a list of things she can show her prospective dates.  So maybe they can get a clue and have a second date with her or any other person they might be interested in.  Perhaps, even get laid at some point.  Or at the very least not get slapped or punched in the neck.  I told her to print this off and send it to them before their date.  Sure, that might be slightly difficult to do, but hey, its worth a try.

Some basic rules to possibly snag a second date and/or even get laid:

1. Try not to be a douche.  Simple, it really is.  Don’t talk about your ex (or if you’re still married, um, fuck off and why are you on a date?).  Don’t tell your date that you think the waitress is “bangable,” and then proceed to wink (last guy she went on a date with, totally did this).  If you’d like to screw the waitress, do it on your own time, not on our date.  See?  Simple.  But know, if you bang the bangable waitress, there will be no second date with me.  Take note.

2. Pay for some of the shit.  Please.  If you make me take out my wallet every single time, yeah, there will be no second date and sure as hell no sex.  No, and not even a handjob.  Get lost.

3. Picking.  Don’t do it.  If you must retrieve something out of somewhere, leave the room, table, dance floor, what the hell ever, just don’t show me.  Don’t tell me about it either.  Don’t care.

4. If you excuse yourself from our date to use the bathroom, don’t come back and tell me about it.  Yeah, don’t want to hear about it.  At. all.  Don’t care what you did, how big it was, how long it took, if it resembled an old classmate, Don’t care.  See # 3.  DON’T CARE.  And you’d better wash your fucking hands.

5. Avoid scratching your balls.  Sure, all guys apparently do that, but on our first date OR EVER, resist the urge.  A slight discreet adjustment, fine, but all out finger-digging scratching?  Um, yeah, not attractive.  And if you then think that I’ll be laying a finger/hand/face on those balls you’ve been rubbing through your pants all night?  Not frigging likely.  Take care of the major rash/itch on your own time.  Is that asking too much?  Or if you’re scratching/digging because your balls are sweaty?  Yeah, read on to # 6.

6. Come groomed.  Honestly, do you own a mirror?  If you have nose hair longer than your pit hair, trim it.  It’s easy.  There’s even nose hair trimmer thingies!  For realz.  Get one. 

Brush your fangs.  If you’ve been eating garlic and pizza and drinking beer for the past week, yeah, you need to sterilize your cakehole (love the word cakehole by the way).  If I can name what you’ve eaten in the last 48 hours by the smell of your breath, I’ll vomit in your shoes.  That’s a promise.  Not even kidding.

Do not smell like BO.  It’s 2009.  No one should smell like sweat and/or shit.  Seriously.  No excuse for it.

7. Don’t brag about your money (’cause dude, if you’ve made me pay for everything thus far, I’ll know you’re a) a lying sack of shit or b) a douche or 3) a lying sack of douchebaggery-asswipe-ish-ness.  Yeah, don’t care what you make – at least not on our first date.  Total turn off.  Also money related?  Telling me you forgot your wallet… lame.  See # 2.  Yeah, my friend’s recent date pulled this stunt.  And then never paid her back or called her again.  Classy.

8. I don’t want to know how many chicks you’ve bagged or how many names you have in your little black book.  Take that book out and I’ll cut you.  I’ll just assume you’ve been laid before and know that I have and we’re good.  Do not need to compare notes.  Don’t care what you did with Sally, Darla, or Brenda or how Kathy could “take it all.” <–Yeah, that might impress your guy friends, but your current date?  Not so fucking much.  However, on the note of sex, if we’re going to have it, I’d like to know if you anything that I may not want.  Actually, I don’t fucking want it, so fess up.  That shit you need to disclose.  Not on the first date, of course, but also don’t wait until we’re in the “moment” to drop a bombshell.  See # 1.

9. Yeah, burping the alphabet, while does require effort, is not sexy.  If we were 10, maybe it would be fun and/or funny.  However, if we’re over 12, then it’s not.  And I’m pretty sure we are over 12.  And saying things like, “You’d better stand 10 feet from me, wheeeeewwwww weeeeeeeee, those nachos are doing a number on me,” is not going to make me want to jump your bones later.  Keep that shit (uh, no pun) to yourself.  Which brings me to # 1o.

10. I don’t care about your bodily functions.  At all.  Not even a little bit.  I don’t care to know what you do in the bathroom… yes, I have an idea, but I prefer to keep that stuff “fuzzily” in my brain.  Please never discuss any of it with me.  Not on our first date, second or 10 years into the marriage.  I will never care about what you do once you close the bathroom door.  See # 3, 4, and 9. 

My friend’s date with “Tom” sort of went to the bathroom talk, as in, “Tom” telling her about his explosive diarrhea that he experienced the day before and how his “bottom” (Yes, because saying “bottom” instead of “ass” makes it less disgusting) was still “raw.”  Needless to say she didn’t sleep with him and she was going to up until that point because she thought he was hot and she hadn’t had it in a while.  So, to “Tom,” dude, you could have gotten laid had you not disclosed the information about your shitty, raw ass.  *sad face*

Honestly, it’s easy to get a girl to go out with you a second time.  Know what the secret is?  Bring out your feminine side… act like a guy but with some sensitivity (I know, what fantasy world am I living in?).  Or, hell, just don’t burp, fart, tell me about the dump you took, or pick your nose, and we’ll be good to go.

Hope this helps, “T” honey.  I love ya, but I’m glad it’s not me in the dating pool.

Posted by Sassy @ 7:09 pmI want to Punch You in the Neck,Just Stuff.,Nonsense30 comments  

July 31, 2009

I turned 42, but don’t look at day over 41.


Did I say I turned forty-two? I meant twenty-seven because I lied last year and said I was 26 twenty-seven comes after 26. So, yeah, right.

Some of my family forgot it was my “special” day yesterday. Yes, I said “special,” because clearly it is if they forgot to say HAPPY BIRTHDAY. That’s just how “special” it was. Especially SPECIAL.

To the person who sent me a gift, woot!, thank you, LOVE getting mail that doesn’t require me to drain my bank account or my “services” will be shut off.

To the people who called me, thank you… means more than a present (but, uh, if you WANT to send me sompin’, yeah, DO IT).

To the handful of people who wished me HAPPY BIRTHDAY on Facebook, I do thank you – luckily, I get the messages in my email or I would not have seen them. I don’t do Facebook – much. Maybe once every few months I’ll get the gumption to sign-in, but other than that, I honestly don’t use it anymore. To those of you who are waiting for me to “friend” you, I will, the next time I sign-in. Like next Christmas or something. And to two of the Facebook birthday-well-wishers, I will SEE you in TWO WEEKS. Woot!

To the e-card birthday-well-wishers, spanx muchly (yes, totally real words, with real meaning, y’all).

To the email birthday well-wishers, thanks but I’m not sure I believe you when you said you TRIED to “attach” cash in the email, but it just wouldn’t work. Hotmail and Gmail were “not working properly” you said. Uh huh.

To the person who said they loved me so much (and will love me MORE once I make my first million), thank you for letting me know you are shopping at HOOKERS ACCESSORIES AND MORE for me. I bet it’ll be something special. And probably glittery!

So,you’re asking yourself, what has this clearly insane chick learned in forty-two, oops, twenty-seven years? Let me put you out of your misery.

1. When your daughter tells you, “Mommy, you don’t even look forty-two, you totally look, um, like you’re twenty-four (she’s really pushing it) and when my brothers tell you that you’re ‘old’ I give them dirty looks, just so you know mom,” what she really means is, “I’m totally sucking up bitches so I can get my own cell phone at the age of nine!”

2. When a 20-something dude calls you ma’am, he means it.

3. When you hear yourself say, “Oh, so-and-so and I have been friends for twenty-five years,” you want to bite your tongue off.

4. You probably shouldn’t wear the “JLo” glitter lotion you own, but fuck it, I’m going to anyway. See? At *cough* 42, you don’t care.

5. When your growns sons (see # 1) call you old, they absolutely mean it.

6. You’re at an age where you will most likely attend more funerals than weddings. Sad, but true.

7. It’s possible to become a grandparent (providing you have children), but don’t call me grandma.

8. It sucks when your doctor is way younger than you.

9. It scares the shit out of you to know you have been watching a particular soap opera for twenty-seven years. I mean, I don’t watch any soap operas. Like srsly, EVER.

10. You realize you haven’t learned as much as you thought.

Happy Birthday to anyone who is having a birthday this year. Ha.

Posted by Sassy @ 5:11 pmGlamourous,I want to Punch You in the Neck,Nonsense,Special Events & Stuff8 comments  

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