Archive | Inspirational RSS feed for this section

Rule #31: Visiting a gay club is one of the greatest ego boosts known to the straight woman.

9 Jul

I love going to the gay club. I don’t have to worry about getting too drunk. If you have been to a gay club than you know that they typically make drinks strong enough to kill a baby, womb dwelling or otherwise. I have a strong habit of getting so drunk that I sit on a bar stool and make eyes at all of the young gentlemen sitting around me. At a straight bar, this would get me in so much trouble, that I’d have to go to a gay bar and drink my babies away*

Anyways, I have recently attended this said gay club with a few friends of mine. I have never felt so beautiful. The men there have no fear of rejection from a woman, so they will compliment at will. One of the most common compliments: GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL, you are so beautiful! If only I was straight I would totally bang you.

So hold up. I understand that Beyonce (maybe Cher, and a close third place can be designated to Celine Dion) is probably one of the only woman capable of turning gay men straight, but when you constantly remind me that I’m at a club where there is no chance of me getting laid whatsoever. But then I think to myself that I should go to a straight club, not get told that I’m totally bangable and get banged anyways. At the very least, I’ll get eye-fucked. Either way, I’m back to the straight bar scenario mentioned in the first paragraph of this post. So then I decide to stay at the gay club with beautiful men who actually appreciate the fact that I bought this new pair of Steve Maddens…ON SALE! I’ll get told I’m beautiful and get some wonderful fashion tips along the way.

Some times I wonder if men believe that woman are vein enough to have an entire conversation based on lipstick, so that’s what they compliment. But I don’t really care. They’re right, I COULD talk for hours about lipstick.

Later, I learned that many times the gay foreigner to the friend group may be hitting on the straight woman as a way to show her hot gay friend that they are straight friendly and open the windows to conversation and gay mating. I once had a man pull me off the dance stage to warn me that I might trip on how beautiful I am…he definitely had ulterior motives. First, he invited me to his strip club where he dances and then asked if my brother was gay. Like I want my brother dating a male stripper. But this tiny fact can be easily overlooked as beautiful (gay) men continue to fawn over my beauty.

 

 

*Fetal alcohol syndrome is a real threat to a womb child’s health. The only way to kill a fetus with booze is by killing yourself first. Those resilient little buggers might even live through that, so best to not get pregnant in the first place.

Advertisements

Rule #30: Love the person that you are becoming

13 Jun

You’re still becoming her and you will be until the very day that you die.

I’m only saying her because my blog is pink, this could easily be directed to men.

There is a difference between loving the woman that you’ll become versus loving the person you are. If you love the person that you are, well good for you! You’ll only get bored eventually, so keep a goal of the ideal self that you want to be. It is having this goal of a person that you are trying to become that keeps you motivated to keep improving, it’s inspiration to make something better for yourself. Do you think Angelina Jolie thought “oh well now that I’ve got a hot body, I can probably cool it” Or “I’m flipping Lara Croft, ain’t nobody gunna top this” or “I just stole Brad Pitt from freaking Jennifer Aniston!” No, she went out and adopted kids with him and then made him put a ring on it. And I will roll over and die if that woman stops improving. She is constantly working on a new goal and making herself a better woman. Don’t you dare say that you’re not Angelina. That bitch is weird, but she keeps her shit together and I bet if you ask her, every day she gets happier. It’s that constant evolution that keeps you satisfied with yourself and that growth keeps you constantly intrigued and happy with who you are becoming. To use that cliche Emerson quote: “Life is a journey, not a destination.” It’s so hard to keep track of your long term goals if that is all you’re looking at. Be happy that you aced your college essay. But even more importantly, be happy that you cared enough about it to put in the effort. That effort and drive will make you happier than any stroke of luck that could happen to you. Except maybe backstage passes to Trey Songz which leads to marriage. That would be a very happy stroke of luck, but marriage to Trey Songz is a hefty goal of mine.

I once swore to myself that I would never do a job that I didn’t love. What I’m slowly realizing is that it’s not about the job at all. It’s about how you choose to spend your time. If you can make money while doing it, that’s awesome. No one lays on their death bed and asks for more money, they ask for time. It seems like something so simple. If it’s money that makes you happy, then go for the money (sometimes I just love counting it). If it’s love, then do everything in your power to make love happen. If it’s adventure, then get out and do something. You’re not going to accomplish much by sitting here and reading blog after blog. Go out and live your life, make things happen. Idealize the person that you want to be and get out there and work at it.

Rule #29: If you must fart, then either be respectful or sneaky about it.

13 Jun

I was a vegetarian for 4 years. The only meat I would touch was a beef stick, and not the kind you find in a convenience store either. Unless if you found it in a convenience store and he wasn’t a hick and you took him home immediately. So a sort of penis beef stick.

After that four years was up, for some reason my values and morals flew out the door and I began fucking up a storm and eating meat like the world was ending. Sometimes eating and fucking at the same time!

But the things that meat can do to a body that has forgotten how to digest meat. Apparently there is a special enzyme that your body evolves when you’re eating it on a regular basis, however, my body took a few months to remember how to break it down. Now it’s breaking it down like Chris Brown…I digress. During that strange transitional period, I could usually contain my gas outbreaks to the privacy of my own home and the confines of my own private bathroom…except when beer was involved. When do I pick up guys? Usually when beer is involved. Allow me to humiliate myself further by stating the following example of what a woman should not act like:

I was out to the bars one fateful night when suddenly a dashing young man offered to buy me drinks. Wanting to impress him by not drinking what I should have ordered, I went with a nice stout Guiness. This is a drink that should probably just stick to loggers, the Irish and maybe a few Germans. But alas, with my need to prove that I am different than all other girls, I asked for the manliest beer that I could think of: an Irish Stout. I may have gotten bonus points with the beer, but what happened next could not be overshadowed regardless of how much of my tatas were hanging out. There was this mini-stage that my friends and I were standing on. It elevated us to a good two feet above everyone else in the bar and I felt a big one building pressure within the depths of my bowels. I tried holding it back which just gets uncomfortable and I figured that if I let it out now, then it wouldn’t come back to haunt me later…in bed. BOMBS AWAY! Little did I know that the able bodied man buying me drinks was on that lower level buying round #2 and had turned around just in time to get the brunt force of my atomic fart directly in his face, showering his nostrils and open mouth with my toxic exorcism. Ladies and gentlemen, it went a little something like this:

http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_PFKH3sNe9bQ/TKYiYKtXkuI/AAAAAAAAAAg/5wZxmuIdVhM/s1600/fart_southpark1.gif

The poor guy was defenseless against my air raid…his mouth was open and everything! He hops up on stage to hand me my second glass of butt poison and asks me the dreaded question: Did you just fart? Now, I hate lying. Especially to men that I might take home; it’s not a good way to start off the one night stand. So I did what I always do when I feel awkward: Lay on the sarcasm. I could have blamed the dog, or one of the other drunks; but instead I say “Oh yeah…that was tooooooooooooooooootally me.” This way, I still tell the truth, however the truth is highly misconstrued because of the sarcasm laced within my words. My cover might have been blown when my best friend bursted out in laughter…but he still took me home.

As it turns out, boobs can cover up flatulence!

Rule #27: Ugly Girls Masterbate.

12 Jun

Because all girls masturbate.

Since that first N*SYNC video that gave you the tingles to seeing that beautiful underage man take his shirt off and like his lips we’ve all been itching to rub our junk on the nearest piece of furniture. Don’t even try hiding that you did it. Usher’s 8701 was playing in your bedroom alone when I first felt those tingles. What? Usher, I remind you of a girl that you once knew? Fine, I’ll discover my clit. I even remember this lonely little girl that would sit on her foot in her second grade classroom and jump around on it. I had no idea why the teacher was constantly getting on her case about this heavy rubbing business and thought it was a far graver mistake to pick your nose with a pencil eraser as Kevin next to me would do all day.

But I’ll hand out my dosage of honesty here. I had no idea that I was flicking the bean until my Best Friend was wasted one night and ranting and raving about how playing finger tennis is her best form of exercise. She had never had such a wonderful time alone as when she’s flapping those butterfly wings. It’s like fun abstinence!! Sometimes letting the dam loose by yourself gets the flowers watered much better than any man could. Sometimes thinking of innuendos for folding the linens is much more fun than taking down the mini tent. Once one girl admits her crime of rebuilding London’s bridge, then the door is opened to so many other conversations, such as this one I found on Urban Dictionary:

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=masturbation%20for%20girls

That girl was strange and maybe should keep her water fetishes between her thighs, but whatever gets the job done! Heck, I might even try that tonight…no. Now. Brb.

Didn’t really work. One of the many reasons that us girls have to man up and talk about how we jelly our beans. The vagina is a very complex machine with gears and doohickies flopping around every which way. There is no way that a man is going to uncover the mysteries of this machine if the machine owner is not willing to give it a test drive. Every single perchina is different, which is exactly why every woman must frost her cupcake. It’s so sad that we don’t talk about it! How in the world are we going to figure out the tricks of the trade if my girlfriends won’t even talk to me about how they fluff their pussy? How are we going to screw the driver? How in the world will that cat get let out???

So ladies, have some confidence. Open that discussion. Make things happen for yourself and things will be so much better for yourself by yourself.

Rule #26: The bro code is bogus.

5 Jun

Perhaps I am inadvertently discrediting my own current blog, but I had an experience this weekend to show how bogus the bro code is when bros can’t even properly decode a situation where a woman is involved. These rules in the letters to my eggs, however, are already bogus because my eggs will never read them. I recently had an experience where the bro code was even more highly violated by enforcing the bro code; proving it’s inefficiency.

There was once this coworker of mine who I got along with nicely. I would even go as far as to say that he was my first friend at my new job, but I was not interested. He was nice, but frankly, overwhelming and obnoxious; therefore lonely. Since you can’t drink when you’re bartending and bar cherries, pickles and olives just cannot sustain a human diet, I have been known to drink a virgin Bloody Mary for dinner. Something about the zest fills me up like a Latino penis. Anyways, I would like to make it as obvious as possible that my drink is a virgin because virgin jokes are quite becoming. Lots of jokes run around about this: Vivian is eating the virgin again. Vivian has never sucked a virgin so quickly. Vivian is as virgin as her drink isn’t.

Anyways, somehow this translated into lonely bartender asking about how my virgin Bloody Mary’s dating life was. I answer with the most obvious answer: Obviously not great; still a virgin. Somehow he thought that that meant I was still a virgin. I don’t even understand how men think that that is sexy. There is nothing attractive to me about an inexperienced bed-mate who probably knows nothing more than to thrust rapidly or lay there like a dead starfish. Anyways, after his shift when he got wasted, he brought up the idea of my drink being a virgin again. I didn’t think it was possible for there to be more jokes about me/drink being a virgin. But this wasn’t a joke. He offered to change my joke of a virginity status by asking me out on a date. I say nay nay because he was obnoxious and now wasted.

Meanwhile, I was feeding shots to this hottie tottie slut in a red dress. If you wear a red dress to the bars on a Tuesday, you’re begging to be fucked. There was the fact of the dress, and that she was begging to be fucked. Almost immediately after lonely bartender had asked me out, she went and started grinding on him. She was sexy and he was wasted, so no judgement was made on my part. It was a busy night so I further occupied myself with the less creepy customers who actually tipped. What happened next I only caught glimpses of from my peripheral.

Apparently, slutty red dress had gone up to one of the sober bouncers and purposely knocked a drink out of his hands. They both looked at it and she says “I’ll get it.” She literally did the bend and snap. The cup came up cupping her C-cups with her ass on his weenie. You go girl! The bouncer said that he would have totally gotten her number, except that lonely bartender was already taking her home to fuck her.

BRO CODE VIOLATION! By the bouncer telling me this story, he may have allowed for one night of fucking, but he definitely ruined all chances of lonely bartender to hit it with me on the regular.

Why the bro code is a failure is because too many bros know about the bro code and insist on bragging about it. With girls, it is more of an unspoken code. We must be respectful of each other and our prerogatives. Slutty red dress was trying to get her pussy wet and I wasn’t about to stop her.

Rule #24: Even underwear models have poopstreaks.

29 May

It’s hard to imagine that there could be anyone wrong with someone who looks like this:

Hello Daddy! I mean ideally, this man would rip you from reality and off into some magical land with castles and then you could bathe in the money that he makes from modeling together. However, I have noticed that men like this have been blessed with a child-like immaturity, obsession with body image and video games. Many of the reasons why we got along so well.

I fell for it. The tricks that he pulls on every girl in the whole wide world. When we met, I was with a friend. He got both of our numbers to seem nonchalant, or maybe to see if he could get with my friend if things didn’t work out with me. Men like to prey on little girls like that. He starts texting us both but continued texting me and I had to lie to my friend every time my phone buzzed because we were both under the spell of his defined abs and hulking biceps. He planned for a group of us to go see a B-rated horror film which he was raving about before and after the movie. But here is where his immaturity really shone through. My friend and I snuck away to the bathroom and while we were gone, he arranged the seating so that he was next to me on the end and my friend was sitting and snuggled between two of his bros. He couldn’t have made it more obvious that he was interested in me and wanted nothing to do with my friend. Sure he was sexy, but I have a conscience here. No one breaks my friend’s spirit that horribly. He definitely could have taken a less subtle approach, like, I dunno, not inviting her in the first place?? Alas, I was still under the spell of wonderfully defined body parts. We went to go and hang out at a mutual friends place where the douchiness escalated. He tries to pull that scary movie shit and tells me some ghost stories about his childhood and expects me to go leaping into his arms. I was still concerned about breaking it gently to my friend that I am the more desirable one in that situation. But really, she could have had one look at my ass and realized that it was no competition when it comes to chocolate men. When I didn’t go leaping into his arms after his deftly told ghost stories, he literally says to me “I’m super ticklish, don’t tickle me.” That is an invitation. Picture a muscly sculpture screaming at the top of his lungs “TICKLE ME!” Of coarse I did. He squealed like a piggy. What a character, right??

It came time that the night was winding down to an end and my friend was supposed to give me a ride home, but as we were walking out the door, he announces to her that he was going to give me a ride. So we crawl into his suped up VW 2006 Bug. Fly as a fly. After he blew me up with house music and then asked if I knew who deadmau5 was (um do you know who the Pope is?) we were finally in my driveway. He kindly walked me to my front door and asked if he could kiss me. I thought I would be coy and say no with a smile on my face. He took that as a direct no and got back in the car and scooted out of my neighborhood. And that is how you reject a male model ladies…on accident.

The most horrible thing about this story is that this wasn’t the last of him. He also pulled the ghost story, tickle me and then check out my awesome ride on my Best Friend, roommate and every girl at the club that he ever met. Apparently douche bag is the new form of steroids.

Rule #20: Never forget what the childhood version of you wanted to be.

27 May

Ninja. I wanted to be a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. Becoming a turtle was a little out of the question and I had enough trouble kicking a soccer ball so kicking someone’s ass was always a little stretch. I tried with my brothers, but that’s another story that ends with plenty of black eyes and tattling to mommy. Sure you realize that you might not necessarily end up exactly where you thought you would, but I would still think that I’ve kept most of the same principles of my childhood goals. As a child, your goals are so pure. Keep it there.

Right now is the season of graduations about and younglings launching into the fake-real world and I do not envy them at all. Not so say that I have all of my issues figured out. I’ve graduated twice now. From high school, I moved on directly to college. I absolutely loved it. Would I have changed it? Oh totally. I would go back and take a year off to travel and then make some money so I wasn’t trapped in all these God-forsaken loans. When you graduate high school, you’re still very much a kid with hairy genitalia. Kids follow anything they’re told. Except the annoying little crapheads that I babysit. Anyways, I loved my college experience and am very happy that I went. But now that I’ve been out in the real world for a while now, I’m still constantly asking myself if I’m where I’m supposed to be. And it’s always something different. And frankly, I’m so tired of asking myself if I’m doing the right thing. Instead, I’ve started questioning who I want to become and the type of person that I want to evolve into. Maybe it is better to ask who you want to be rather than what you want to be. Who you are defines more of the “youness” than any degree or career can tell you.

Make sure that you make time for the ones you love, make love to the ones you want to make love to and do what you love. That’s it. No one really cares what you do (besides your mother who has always been nagging you to marry rich and follow in her footsteps). If you love living in sewers and climbing up to the main level to rescue hot lab assistants like April O’Neil, then fucking do it. You’ll be able to find tons of used food down there so survival is no biggie. But seriously, if you were not cut out to go to college and get that big person job and make millions of dollars to buy that nice house and car that you spend the rest of your life paying off so you can die old, then don’t follow that plan. My man (not actually my man) Micheal Dell dropped out of college, and here’s what the fuck that billionaire has to say on the topic: “As you start your journey, the first thing you should do is throw away that store-bought map and begin to draw your own.” I’ve never been much of a map drawer, but I do what I love and so far I love where that has taken me. What I really want to get down to business and say is that if you’re not happy, then change something. If you hate your job, go to school so you can get a different job. Or just get a different job. If you feel constrained by your relationship and you’re no longer happy, then move on. Life is a constantly flushing toilet bowl where there is always new shit. The people who love you will always love you as long as you stay true to yourself. Decisions to better yourself are ALWAYS understood by normal people. If someone does not understand that you are changing your life so that you can better accomplish your dreams, then they should probably consider some life changes as well. Flush that shit down.

Think of your Uncle Earl, or whatever his name is. He’s the guy who sits in his basement all day and counts his money and sometimes brings nasty food to family gatherings, like fruitcake and mustard bread. He talks about all of the things that he wants to do but he is just a basement dweller. If he would just accept that he was a basement dweller, then that would make his life so much happier. He’s living to be the true Earl. If he wanted to travel, he would have done it. No. He is indeed a basement troll and he loves it. Don’t be that. Unless if that is exactly what you want to be. If you want to be a basement dweller, you go and do that with all your heart! As for the rest of you, get out there and do something that you actually enjoy doing. Stop reading this blog.

But you didn’t stop. You didn’t stop because you love it. Enough for my own personal little egotrip.

Discover the type of person that you want to become and then your life path will work out for you in the end. It’s so hard to control…well, anything in this world. How is anyone supposed to get a decent job in this economy? And then even if they get a “decent job” who likes working the 9-5 for their entire career? Some people, that’s the answer; some people. If that’s what makes you happy, then just do it. But me, I’m going to be devoted to becoming the person that I want to be and the rest will hopefully fall into place. Also, I’ll work on my nun-chuck skills.

YOLO muthafuckas. YOLO (that’s what the kids are saying).