Extra Cream and Sugar

Who’d have guessed forty years ago that the key selling points for our foods would be the fact they are made with “real” ingredients. I find myself reading tiny printed paragraphed labels in the grocery store aisles. Im not pleasantly perusing the romance sections o the public library. I want to get in and get out. Why is it too much to expect that something named a chocolate brownie is made from fucking chocolate as opposed to a plethora of artificial chemical compounds produced in a “flavor laboratory”? Where I came from, and I’m not talking the stone ages here people, but where I come from things like butter came from a cow and chocolate still grew on trees. Is agriculture n longer cost effective meansfor food production? It’s all about principle. When I call your customer service hotline, I wish a person, a real homo-sapien would pick up the phone. Or does all this just make too much sense? Let us simplify things so that they all begin to make sense again.

It made me feel embarrassed how often I caught myself reaching out to touch him. And having to pull away was always easy because I knew if I kept this up, he’d surely think I was falling in love with him. Then I’d just be another one f those silly ridiculous girls. The kind that write cliche broken heart poetry and sleep in their boyfriends t shirts. The kimd of girlish behavior im ashamed to partske in. So instead I’d have to entertain my idle hands by twirling my hair and blush. need something to use up my time besides admiring his slightest mannerisms and movements. I could spend long stretches in afternoons watching his hands hold a book. I’d get lost in curious thought imagining first, what is he thinking behind those reading glasses? And why did he have to look so damn cute wearing them on his forehead? I’d day dream it was me he was holding amd the empty space between my soul amd my skin would flutter amd suddenly wouldn’t feel so empty anymore. I know this because it happened that way when he’d envelope me in those muscular arms. I’d feel myself leap on the inside. Hes not thekind of boyfriend who puts his lips to my ear to whisper sweet nothings. No, he growls. and it gives me the most incredible goosebumps. He gets me excited like a fat kid with cake. He’s a triple layer death by delicious big guy cake. Amd I can’t seem to get enough.

Even despite the fact that a few years ago the GM at my local Hooters laughed at me when I approached him looking for a job, I hold no hard feelings against the chain.

If I’ve resolved to have this motto, for the last say two years, why the hell haven’t I been able to actualize it?

I mean, in terms of a relationship. I find myself so unsatisfied by these men, and it has nothing to do with me. I’m a simple girl. I’ve been through the shit, and back out. I’ve taken crap, literal shitballs from life, and made a fucking fruit smoothie out of it, but for some reason I’m stuck in a rut here.

I like this guy. I really do, but he gives me a complex. I’d like to make him happy, but I don’t think he really cares much either way about me.

I’d really like to get what I want too ya know.

I know the answer, STOP SETTLING FOR LESS THAN WHAT I WANT!

WOMEN IF WE WANT SOMETHING< TAKE IT FOR YOURSELF! I don’t mean be crude and heartless bitches about it. I like to be a caring person, a person who can stand and be a shoulder for another person to lean on, even a man. So let’s do that. Let’s be good to each other, and at the same time, get the goodies too.

a slap in the face has ignited my fuse. I was mistaken that my greatest ability was being capable. I tried for years i battled to overthrow the rambler inside of ne. I realize now it's that which cages my spirit. I must take steps in reverse. Now that I've built it up again it's time to disassemble it once more. No, not carefully dismantle, but tear it down. I should be as fiery as I feel compelled to be. As destructive and disastrous and powerful and accomplished and avant-garde as I possibly can be. Don't take me as I seem, take me for what I am underneath, the full potential of me far outweighs your first impressions. Don't interpret me poetically for poets leave so much for interpretation. I prefer to be understood not simply but understood insofar as I cannot be understood. Just as I seek to experience and not criticize we can only change our paths and hope for the best.

I am presently researching this topic.

According to the math, I spend about 2% of my day, pleasuring myself.

While driving and rummaging for a phone charger I found a
watermelon sucker in my glive compartment.as I glanced up I caught
myself smiling. What are the odds that the treat just waiting for
me hidden beneath the handi wipes would be my favorite flavor? This
is a simple pleasure. May I have more please?

While other parents are taking their kids to Justin Beiber
movies and fixing their little girls hair I’m teaching my childrenr
practical life skills. Like how to splice wires after the puppy
chews through the home theater speaker cables.

There is no eloquent  way to tell this story.

Recently, I took a trip to the sex toy shop. I was pleased with the inventory, but not their presentation. I expected, as ridiculous as this may sound, classy. Instead, I felt like I was in the front room adult mag store cover for a peep show in the back.

Rather than support their business, I found another local small woman owned business. Feminique Boutique. Her catch phrase “Get your Heart on” Seems kind of cheesey, but the owner has a kick ass blog. So I made my purchase from her. I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for, I just sort of had this idea in my head of a really sassy looking purple glitter dildo. And she had the perfect one! It’s called the Sparkle G. It doesn’t look anything like a realistic penis, it’s just sort of phallic, and that’s about the extent of it. It has buttons, and features, and speed adjusters. It was relatively cheap. At 26.50 (minus the express shipping) it was a bang, for my buck.

But, like the maniac that I am, this story comes with drama. See, the bitch is that the express shipping cost more than the goddamn thing, and when they tried to deliver it. I wasn’t home. Apparently, to deliver a fucking sex toy, they needed my signature. Needless to say, I marched my ass right up to the post office to collect my parcel. However, it was unavailable. The postal worker reminded me that they’ll try again tomorrow (when I’m not home of course) I may have raised my voice, but I certainly didn’t shout, when I asked what was the purpose of the 33 dollars in express shipping if I cant get my package? She proceeded to tell me that after three attempts, they’ll return it to the sender. This was the point at which I asked for a supervisor. They were dealing with a sex deprived sex maniac here they just didn’t know it. I explained to them that the need for this package was urgent, and to please supply me with some options to obtain it. The best they could tell me was to make arrangements to pick it up after hours the following day.

When I arrived at 5:30 pm to collect my package after hours at the post office, the postal worker met me in the darkened alleyway behind the post office. He opened the back door aand handed me the package. I smiled to myself, this guy was holding a penis in a box, for me. It did appear sort of shady, making a pickup in a secluded empty lot.

Sigh, in any event, I highly recommend this product for all you ladies out there. I would classify it as average size, and with a perky get up and go! It doesn’t sound like a diesel engine, but the sound is noticeable. Just light a candle for yourself, and play a little soft rock or easy listening in the background.