Friday, August 2, 2013
30-Something & Single
I woke up today, like every other day for the past 5 years, alone and single. Now, don't get me wrong, I love sleeping with Cleetus my hound mix, who is a super-awesome snuggle buddy, but...there is no but, I just figured you would be anticipating one so I delivered. Most of the time, I relish in the single life, getting to do what I want to do and living alone without anyone to answer to. Sometimes a girl just wants to be lazy and let the house get trashed or frolic in the nude, coughing away knowing I do not have anyone judging the jiggling of the evil McMuffin-top I am working very hard to get rid of (great Seinfeld episode btw). I have never been married, never even been asked, and no children, by all means I am the old maid. It wasn't until I turned 30 that I decided to get back into school and at this point, I am really only motivated by finishing that choice successfully. I think trying to balance children and school is clinically insane, but I salute you mothers out there that can do it, mine did and that's just one more reason that woman is amazing to me. *Side note: I get irritated with my cat who is VERY talkative, sometimes following me around and won't shut the hell up...he's doing it now. I made the mistake of feeling pity for them (him and the Siamese) and started dolloping wet food in addition to dry food to the felines plate. He struts up, sits right next to me and licks his lips and meows...constantly. I mean, if you're one to gag over mouth noises, this guy right here will send you into salivation. I sometimes daydream about having his vocal cords surgically removed or I fear that eventually I am going to throw myself off of the Eads Bridge. He pissily meanders away when he doesn't get what he wants and I swear he meows "fuck you" to me. I love him though, that is unmistakable, but back to the single part.
I'm kind of a hard person to get along with. I'm told by men and women alike that I'm intimidating, and my little brother is scared of me and he's 19. Am I a class A bitch? Sure, but I'm a good bitch. I work with animals, who are 99.9999999% of the time worth more of a shit than any of your friends. I will help any of my friends, and I stick up for what I believe in so I guess me backing my opinion and thoughts makes me a bitch. Cool, so understand here, when you are a woman, and you have this confidence, the good men are scared to come up to you. I get assholes and douche bags who have nothing to lose and just want to try and get some poon tang. These tools have already d-bagged their way through the rest of any other thing in the room with a vagina and a pulse, and when even those girls aren't stupid or drunk enough to fall for the BS, they move on to the last resort...girls that are obviously slick to the agenda and already have the hand up. Do these guys even give a bubbled pink baboons ass? Not even remotely, they are going to try until every last woman has said no and there is no one else but Rosy Palms available for room service. They get all up in my personal space. and spew crappy pick-up lines and douche baggery all over my freshly dry cleaned garments. Sometimes, you have to get down right snotty and pick a fight for them to get lost. So this is what I am stuck with. That and the occasional one thats OK, but I am in no way, shape or form, physically attracted to them. If I am and we hit it off, I sleep with them, and then discover they had just started seeing someone else at the same time as me, already have a girlfriend or are married. I'm that girl that is a magnet for all the dicks of St. Louis so it has made me super skeptical and paranoid of men. I do not date in my friend circle because I'm not a "hood rat" and "study" is the only word that describes my life during the semester. Seriously though, most of the guys I know are cool friends, tattoo and bar industry folk. I, however, have tasted the finer things in life and want someone that has security. I'm in my 30's and look for different things now. I would have dated a guy living in his parents basement with a shitty job and no goals in my 20's, but now, I am going for my bachelors in biochemistry and I look for someone who WANTS to travel, eat at a great new restaurant with a bottle of vino, or go to the symphony, which is a shocker to most I know, but I enjoy it quite thoroughly. I used to play clarinet and was a band nerd, so if you'z gotta problem with band nerds? Then go blow a flute. One might ask, does this make me a gold digger? Meh, I'm not looking to find a rich old man and spend my nights hiding behind corners hoping to scare him into a coronary and roll in sweet life insurance laden bliss, but I'm not looking to support you while you are in between jobs and have children from other relationships you can't take care of. That's not hot to a woman....at all, although there are some out there that will take whatever comes along because they have no spine and can't stand to be alone and without a man for one second. I pity the broads whom can't function as strong women. We wear our balls on our chests so puff those things out and don't take shit from anyone.
Moving along, so I dated a guy named Matt for almost 5 years. I caught him partaking in some not so nice boyfriend activity involving a red-head who was engaged and then some texts from an ex and that was the end of him. If I can't trust that guy, I can't trust anyone. He had me fooled, so bad and we had a great and very active sex life. That wasn't the issue. I think he just hadn't sewn all the oats yet. I am a firm believer that if you get married before 30 that you are a cheating yourself and didn't live your life to the fullest. I understand the feeling of love and how it works but I just think that you don't know the person you are with and who they will become when they grow up, or if you two will be on the same page later in life. I am still in love with the guy I first fell for when I was 20. We still see each other as he is one of my best friends brothers, and I would date him again...now. If we had gotten married at all before now, we would be divorced. He went to medical school, is now a doctor and chicks throw themselves at him. Ladies and gentlemen, it doesn't matter how ugly or hot you are, if you have money...pussy throws itself at you, let's not act like it doesn't happen. That is one drawback of marrying with money, you really have to be secure in your relationship because it will get tested by gold diggers and hot pool boys who want to give your ladies hot tub a good skimming. I'm not bragging by any means, but I just don't get laid that often either. It's an average of once a year, then horrible things occur and I am scared into introversion.
Other than Matt, I have led a not so productive love life. I'm in no hurry, the eggs haven't scrambled yet and I don't need a husband to feel complete, but sometimes the touch is a very soothing, needed feeling. I think I'm an attractive girl, and I have friends that have no problem going from relationship to relationship, but in my world, all you hear are the chirps of the crickets legs as they string together a melody of perpetual loneliness. The double edged sword, is to either be happy in this macrocosm or rot in its misery. I seem to get stabbed in my heart, and back a lot for that matter. School has been a saving grace with the preoccupation of study, which, like a true friend, is always there for me:)
I dance in the rain of the tears, shed by this forlornness, where grass grows a lush and crisp green on the other side of the fence. I wonder how many of us are out there, listening to the sounds of these contented crickets, when all they seem to fiddle is the notion we are to love and to be loved. I am happy in miserable bliss.
Sunday, July 21, 2013
Chigga Please!
Chigga Please!
I thought I would be coming to you in my second ever blog with stories of my family of abandoned animals, or maybe how I fell in love on the Metro-Link with a jobless guy who was clearly selling crack. Wait, does that still make him jobless? Now I'm going off on a tangent so I need to revert back to the story.
St. Louis, Missouri...what exactly AREN'T we the capitol of? Homicide, STD's, baseball...you know, what makes America AMURICA. Located in the lovely Midwest, it is almost smack dab in the middle of the whole darn country. Yearly tornadoes and hail storms galore, how bout an earthquake to jack up your floor? As a St. Louisan, we take pride in our city, and we're known for drinkin beer, float trippin' and hoosier love. I can't help but be proud to be from the Midwest, with its nice people who say "Hi." I once said Hi to someone in an elevator in NYC and they looked at me with a look of, I don't know, fear, disgust, and "oh god please don't follow that up by asking me for change," but I digress.
In the midst of good ole' Route 66 Country, deep beneath the blades of the old prairie acres, lurks something so hideous, the eyes do not want to see it, so it was rendered, small as fuck...a flesh thirsty ravenous beast I dub the "Living Zombie." Soul sucking heathens known as Chiggers which are the reasons rolling down hills as a child came to an abrupt end. The bastards cling to your skin and set up camp in horrible places such as your underwear lines, (god help you that you're wearing some) armpits, buttcracks and every location with conditions resembling a rainforest. Well, I was attacked the other day, like Bill Murray in Caddyshack, those nasty little bastards burrowed holes all up in my golf course, creating welts, making me almost insane. Something, and I didn't care what...needed to die. 13 Chiggers inserted their feeding
structures into the skin and injected enzymes that cause destruction of the host
tissue, or in my case the ass, ankles, ribs, almost in the same hole as my belly button ring and upper boobular area. Hardening of the surrounding skin results in the formation of a feeding
tube called a stylostome. Chigger larvae then feed upon the destroyed tissue. If
they are not disturbed (how ever the bloody hell that is possible, since you claw at your skin like an opiate addict all up on some smack) they may feed through the stylostome for a few days. Hmmmmm...Let me break it down for you...there is one located like a star on a Christmas tree right at the tippy top, front and center of my ass crack and I was using a back scratcher to get at it. I was desperate and on the fence of running for the razors because of the ass crack itch intensity. Anything this itchy in a personal spot is from complete hell. I'd like to give a shout out to the bitches with yeast infections, jock itch, herpes, crabs, latex allergies, beard-burn, or anything else that requires an ointment. As I used this back scratcher, it looked like I was making a transaction with my credit card, as I kept swiping the wooded hand down my ass crack. Approved...Approved...Approved...Decline. Friends, I got so desperate the first night and Walgreens was closed so I raided my medicine cabinet and put vagisil on them. Vagisil...soothing power for more than your vag.
I know that's a lovely visual, but lets move onto the chigger larve feeding upon my destroyed tissue....vomit. My broke ass just ate tacos at Jack in the Box, and I'm expected to feed the children of 13 chiggers?? Since when did I become the social services department in the country of Chiggeragua? This grosses me out, so I immediately made a killer cocktail of bleach, peroxide, rubbing alcohol and Mad Dog 20/20...I wanted them dead, and this seemed like the logical concoction. I doused them repeatedly, but the one on my ankle kept itching like the dickens. In haste, I resorted to flicking my bic for 8 seconds, then flipped it over and tried to make the itch stop by burning it. Some might say, WTF Miss Bea? Are you friggin' nuts? Yes. Like hot water to poison ivy or any other itchy condition, the burn feels as an orgasmic scratching feeling. Don't think I'm weird, if you know what I'm sayin', it's an experience. So I'm doing some shots and drinking some wine as I wait with anticipation to see if my blood makes them white girl wasted and they just pass out and fall off my skin. I warn you Amurica, when you skip through the fields of the beautiful Midwest, scattered with wild flowers much more breathtaking than the rose, and with honeysuckle that kisses the morning dew on a crisp summers day...don't end up going fetal in a shower of Off Outdoor Spray...wear some ma'fa'n socks!
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Dirty Little Secrets
Dirty Little Secrets
We walk down a long familiar hallway to a room our bodies frequent, and no matter the size, each of our rooms will have their darkened closets. Upon opening its door, Bernoulli's breath blows as the skeletons sway a little dance of death. So my friend, how much does your closet hold?
I prefer my mind to appear as a walk-in closet, with lots of room for baggage, and empty hangers, or as I call them "Henry's" after Henry VIII. He would appreciate something that hangs headless things. The Henry's wait with the promise that they will reconcile with their loneliness and add but another pish to the posh. I guess if you're going to frolic with me in the wonderland of my mind you should at least know a few key things about me.
I am a smut-minded mix of type A & D personality, although if I were an A & D ointment, I wouldn't be able to help that rash on your ass. I'm not going to disclose my age because this lady wears fire-foxy gloves so yes, I do in fact have a vagina, which despite what penises or penes think, doesn't always help you out when you get pulled over...at all...ever. Not that I'm dancing with the dogs, but the blood sucking ticks of the law like to taste my sweet broke flesh. Broke you say? Yeah, I don't currently have a boyfriend, but I'm getting fucked in the ass by Tuition. He doesn't even tell me he loves me before he crams it in, but I can do nothing. I am a student, a scholar and a shot caller. I am a bartender WAHOO! And honeys, I was here way before 50 Shades. I plan on telling you some stories about my job, but I am not emphasizing on that here, this blog isn't about that, it's about me and what I feel like talking about. I enjoy writing although I mainly take science classes at school. I was encouraged by this hussy I know named Emily to express my mental wonders on those around me via blogger so here I am once bitten, twice shy. I am single, no diaper shit clean ups in isle 5, but I have pets that I consider my children, and they would consist of two dogs and two cats, all boys. I will showcase "The Chiltrens" soon.
I feel like I'm on a date with someone, candles lit, me singing Barry White while the neighborhood hounds throw out some background vocals because "I love to play all up in your hair." In essence, we are speed dating right now. You are checking this out deciding if you ever want to read me again. Their blogs are so big and mine is the size of your pinky, but that pinky is packed full of intensity, obscenity, indecency...increasingly.
Word of Warning: In case you haven't noticed, my mouth is in the Navy and my mind is in the gutter so if you get easily offended, ummmmm yeah...well strap-on or in, it's going to be a bumpy ride full of Dirty Little Secrets... (to be continued)
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