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Worst date ever doesn’t begin to describe it.

25 May

I do not recommend meeting people online.  You can go back and read some of my older posts about the freaks I’ve talked to, but the experience I am about to share with you now, is by far the worst.

A guy messaged me and his picture was quite impressive.  He looked like Tim Tebow, so we shall call him Tim.  I was intrigued.  We had the normal starter conversation and decided to meet at TGI Fridays parking lot because its a public place and convenient for both of us.

As I’m finishing getting dressed Tim texts me and asks if I’m actually as pretty as my pictures.  I replied “what are you going to do if I’m not?”.   He answered that he would simply say nothing and just walk away.  Wow. I’m already turned off, but at this point I am hungry and dressed to go.

I pull into the parking lot and I see him sitting on the tailgate of his blue truck.  It was nothing special but still a decent vehicle. I get out of my car. I’m pretty nervous and Tim walks up to me and introduces himself.  I guess I do look like my pictures.  He also looks like his pictures, and is well dressed and nicely groomed. We plan on going to a nice outdoor mall to do some window shopping and grab some dinner.  I ask him if he wants to drive and he says his truck isn’t running properly. He thinks he ran through a really deep puddle?  I ask him how he got he got here. He points to the apartments just behind the parking lot and says he lives there.  Whatever. I’m more comfortable being behind the wheel anyway.

We get into my car and he tells me I look innocent.

Weird.

He says “oh, I brought you something” and proceeds to pull candy out of his back pocket. Not just any candy.  Can you guess what kind of candy? No, you can’t.  Because you would probably never fucking guess that it was Fun Dip. Yes, FUN DIP, PEOPLE!

fundip

Because that’s just what I want, candy that he SAT ON.  Plus, I am a fucking adult.  I do not eat packets of sugar with a fucking stick that you suck. I don’t eat candy that turns my mouth all different colors of the rainbow.  I don’t want to suck on a sugar stick that was broken by the weight of his ass.

But, I am a polite person, so I say thank you and toss it in the backseat. We are on the road now.  Tim begins telling me how he used to sing country.  He searches his myspace page on his phone and makes me listen to multiple songs. I’m thinking, great, he is one of those.  I am not impressed and kind of annoyed.  He is no Johnny Cash. I ask him if he has facebook. He says he doesn’t because it was too much drama. That’s not strange at all.

We finally arrive and decide to go eat first.  We agreed on Buffalo Wild Wings.  We both order beers. We get on the subject of jobs.  He reveals that he is no longer employed because he crashed the company car.  He laughs about it.  So as of right now, he is a candy sitting-failed musician-broken truck having-unemployed-but good looking guy.  This is not what I had in mind.  The waitress asks me if I would like another beer.  I say “you know, I think we’re going to need a pitcher.”  Little did I know, things were going to get worse.

The subject of his living arrangements came up again.  He shares that he has a female room mate.  She is morbidly obese and in love with him. He also doesn’t have his own room.  He sleeps in the living room on the couch. Because he is couch surfing. Tim is basically homeless.  I am on a date with a homeless man.

We finish dinner and I pick up the check, because, well, I have a home.

I try to tune out his words and focus on his beauty. Despite all of his strike outs, he was very nice. But nice isn’t cutting it. Because things are still going to get worse.

We are driving home and he is talking about how psycho his “room mate” is.  Okay, dude, she isn’t your room mate. You don’t pay rent. She is letting you stay there out of crazy lust. She obviously has just as many issues as you do. Let’s call it what it is, you are having a slumber party with your stalker.

I am curious as to why he doesn’t try to stay with a family member.  He claims that his Mom doesn’t have room in her house because his sisters children live there.  They get wild and he can’t handle it.  Why isn’t his sister taking care of the children, you ask? Well, it’s because she is a crack head. And the multiple children are also crack babies. HIS WORDS. This is his flesh and blood that he is calling crack babies. I don’t know the medical term for it but I’m sure there is one, and it has to be a lot less derogatory.  I know Doctors aren’t delivering newborns saying “Congratulations! You’re a proud mother of a sick crack baby!”

This just is not normal.

And I want to remind you, that this is the same guy who said he would walk away from me if I was not up to his physical standards.

The worst is yet to come.

I’m dropping him back off in front of his apartment where he says “I’d invite you in, but my room mate gets really jealous.”  Then he asks me if I kiss on the first date. I say no and he replies “I knew you were the innocent type.”

Gross.

I go home and my mind is reeling from the craziness.  For whatever reason, I have the urge to look him up on facebook, undeterred by the fact that he said he did not have one.

Lo and behold, his face comes up.  I’m thinking, that’s a weird picture. Oh, right, because it is a fucking mugshot.  It is his mugshot as the profile picture, on a HATE PAGE on facebook. What I see blows my mind. It must be some ex that really hates him and is trying to ruin his life. Although, his life is already in shambles.

I search for his public records and to my disbelif, it is true. He was fucking arrested for a sex offense with a victim between the ages of 12 and 15. Holy shit. I messaged the facebook page asking for more information and they replied almost immediately saying multiple girls had come forward between the ages of 11 and 14.  The case is ongoing.

Even if he is somehow innocent, there was enough evidence to bring him into custody!  Innocent until proven guilty, I know. But any way you look at it, he was doing something he shouldn’t have.  I begin having mental flashbacks of the comments on how innocent I seem and the kids candy.  I am nauseous.

He messages me the following day asking when we can hang out again.  I could only think of one thing to say.

“I saw your mugshot.  I wish you were here. Just so you could watch me walk away.”

He messages me close to a year later.  He says his charges were dropped and was hoping to have a second chance with me.

No.

It looks like his charges were dropped from sex offender to felony battery.

I would rather die alone.

 

 

 

 

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Beat or Cheat? The first Mistake

19 Jul

Disclaimer:  This post is written with the sole intent of entertainment.  If you actually rely on a strangers advice, who doesn’t know your relationship from a jack rabbits asshole to fix your problems, you are more than likely an idiot.  You deserve to be dumped.  I’m surprised anyone committed to you in the first place. You will probably die alone.  If your lover has already cheated on you, I’m pretty sure it’s your fault. My best advice to you is to hit the gym and buy a low cut top.

I’ve recently been thinking about what makes a man want to cheat. More specifically, why men cheat when they have what seems to be a very desirable woman at home.  This woman is physically attractive, smart, ambitious and basically the epitome of what the less fortunate females of the world, wish they could be.  These men that choose to risk their relationships are either dead set on self-destruction, or maybe, just maybe, men and women have different views of what perfection is.  Surprise! No one saw that completely obvious answer coming.

This day and age the existence of successful and powerful women is widely accepted, and even sometimes expected. Men aren’t necessarily looking for the next June Cleaver or a hot version of Martha Stewart.

Some men are just born players. They learned in middle school that they were adored by the female population. But for others, there are definite preventative measures you can take.

After doing some hot and heavy research, most men had the same excuse.  They aren’t getting the sex they want at home.  If you want to keep your man, you have to sleep with your man.  These morally confused men find themselves at a fork in the road, he can either choke the chicken to their favorite porn, or he can find a hot girl who has the same destination he does, Pleasure Town, USA. So… will your man beat or cheat?

It seems more and more are following the yellow brick road all the way to the wizard of sex they find in the Bar of Oz. Cheating.  Another thing I found is that good sex reflects a good relationship, and vice versa.  Sexing up your routine shouldn’t be viewed as perverted or desperate, but as a natural connection between two people who love each other. I’m no expert, on anything really. But I think I make a valid argument, that many cheaters would agree with.  I started this post with my finger pointing at men, but women also cheat.  And I believe it’s for some of the same reasons.

The first reason I want to bang upon, is sex. Boring sex is a symptom of a dying relationship. Resuscitate your relationship by giving your S.O. mouth to mouth, mouth to genitals, mouth to whatever creepy fetish you might be into.   If your S.O. loves you, they will give it a shot, or maybe you’re just not a match.  Or maybe you’re just into some really sick shit and need to keep it between you and your online circle jerk.

If you’re not asking your lover to dress up as an alligator, while crawling around at the mall on a leash, your chances are good.

First things first.  Good sex takes communication.  Unless you’re dating a mentalist, your lover won’t be able to read your mind.  Tell them what you want.  I know, I know.  It sounds crazy.  But most people that care about you will be quite receptive.  Take the chance.

Communication goes both ways.  Be open.  Just because you’ve opened your legs doesn’t mean you’ve opened your mind. You may end up liking something you never thought you would.  If it hasn’t been made illegal yet, there is a reason for it. It either isn’t all that bad, or its so unknown that you may literally be able to have a sex act named after you! That’s money, bitch! 

Secondly, be confident.  Nothing ruins potentially great sex more than insecurities.  Don’t think about that double cheese burger you had for lunch.  Don’t think about the last time you shaved your legs.  Don’t think about when your parents are coming to town.  Concentrate on your pleasure, their pleasure, and live in the moment.

And last for now, remember why you’re having sex with this person. You supposedly love this freak on a leash.

Names Shmames

7 Sep

We recently went out for Bakers birthday!  The drinking started at the beach bar in the early afternoon.  We had to request more soda for our drinks because they were that strong.  We were happy to get our moneys worth but damn, it wasn’t 5 o’clock anywhere.

There was a 3rd grader at the table behind us that was far too loud.  My first thought was she is going to be even more annoying as she gets older.  She was the youngest person at their table, thus probably the dumbest.  But she was dominating the conversation like she owned the fucking place.  If that was me, my parents would have been like “pipe down with your pre-adolescent bull shit.”  The little girl commanded the attention of the table like it was the state of the union address.  She then confidently said “Not that it would ever happen, like ever, but would you rather die by drowning or get eaten by a shark?”  First of all, it could happen. Florida is practically the capitol of unprovoked shark attacks.  Second of all, what kind of question is that? Aren’t you just a sadistic, little 7 year old? I don’t consider this to be appropriate lunch conversation. Third of all, DROWN! Duh.

We attempt to continue drinking at dinner, but that is a bust because they are out of House Margaritas? How does that even happen?

After dinner we hit up our favorite waterfront bar to meet up with more friends. We notice a random guy sitting alone on the corner of the deck.  We make up a story that he is a writer.  He keeps looking at us, probably wondering why we keep looking at him.  We are convinced that we just became characters in his novel.  I am drunk.  My friend dares me to go ask him why he is there alone.

5 minutes later he is coming with us to play pool at the next destination.  I’d like the record to show that I did NOT invite him.  In his words, he “overheard us talking about leaving” and wanted to come with us because he wasn’t a local. According to him, he was a fourth grade teacher.  Coincidentally, one of my friends is also a teacher.  They talked. Multiple red flags were raised. He was a weird one.  His name was Amun, “like the sun god”.  We asked him how old he was.  His response? “Do you know how old our Lord Jesus Christ was when he died? I’m that age.”  That at least answers the question of why he is there alone.  I think he had some sort of God complex.  Eventually, Baker started interrogating him about being a teacher. She told him not to bullshit her.  Not even God could help him. He got scared and left.

I go to the jukebox to play music.  I couldn’t get my bill into the machine, mostly because I wouldn’t put my drink down to straighten the crumpled dollar. A random guy, comes over and offers to help.  It goes right in.  Drunk.  He returns to whatever he was doing and I play Britney Spears and Bob Marley.  Can you dig it?

His friend approaches me and I introduce myself.  He says “I’m Luke, we’ve met before.” I argue  “no, I don’t remember you. I think you are thinking of someone else.” He continues to argue with me saying I have a face he couldn’t forget. Awkward.

Then he says “you were wearing a peach dress.”  Creepy. And awkward.

I’m still momentarily baffled because I have always thought that dress was orange. He knows my wardrobe better than I do.

Baker walks over and I introduce him “Baker, this is Lance.”  He corrects me, his name is Luke. Awkward.  I still don’t remember him.  He reminds me that the night I met him, I was way more interested in his friend.  Wow, Lance sure does know how to keep a conversation awkward.

The night I met him was the night I felt like a slutty cinderella.  There was a nice guy and a cute guy.  Guess which one he is.

Anyway, it turns out he is friends with the jukebox helper, Marcus.  Marcus confesses to Baker and I that he “has to be honest, he just got out of prison.”  Oh, fabulous!   Don’t only rapists and pedophiles have to be up front about that kind of thing? Clearly, we need to find new places to hang out.

Lance invites us to his beach house that is not far from there that is stocked with rum. Marcus will also be accompanying us.  Beach house? Sounds fancy.  Rum? Sounds like fun. I ask him what his name is again.  I’m way past beer goggles at this point.  I’m just straight up fucking blind. Then, I ask Baker if she is willing to go.  She agrees. Only because she is drunk. He gives us the address.  Baker says “Marcus, we will meet you at the gas station to pick up some cola to mix with the rum.”  He corrects her, his name is Maurice. Whoops.

We get to the gas station which looks shady as hell. But I guess all gas stations look shady at 3 in the morning.  She opens the car door and tells me she will be right back.  I tell her I want to come with her.  She says no, stay here and keep the doors locked.  Which is pretty much what every person says right before something horrific happens.

A couple minutes later she comes back to the car with a 2 liter of cola with a frustrated look on her face. Apparently, Lance made a comment that it was a lot of soda for his amount of rum.  She is pissed because she felt we shouldn’t even go if the rum is that limited. I agree but it’s too late now…we bought the soda.

Just because the town has ‘beach’ in the name does not mean the house is literally on the beach. I got shafted.  The house was poorly decorated and smelled like the 1950’s.

The four of us took a lot of group selfie pictures.  All of which confirm that I drank too much.  None of which I wish to share.

Around 5 a.m. Lance/Luke and I went into his kitchen to put the rum back in the fridge.  There was old, rotting corn on the stove.  It was definitely time to go. Baker had also had enough of her conversation with the felon, who she found out had a couple kids that he really loves.  Whatever.

We say our goodbyes and hightail it outta there.

The next day Lance text messages me multiple times. I do not respond.  The day after that he calls me multiple times.  I do not answer.  The third day he sends me a text that says “Are you not interested in talking to me?”.   What gave it away?  Was it the fact that I’m not talking to you?

Idiot.

Thank God for Laser Tattoo Removal

5 Sep

Like most of my blog, this post is about what the hell is wrong with people today? When I saw a girl sporting a tramp stamp of a poorly tattooed BatMan emblem, it really made me wonder what thought process, if any, takes place before deciding to make such an everlasting mark on ones body.

I don’t have anything against tattoos. I’ve debated on getting one myself, actually.

I understand wanting to get commemorative tattoos and/or ones that represent your heritage.  What I do not understand is why you would let a 3rd grader with a severe tic be the artist of your choosing.  For the love of God, go to a reputable parlor. Your cousin, Rick the Hick,  and his $50.00 equipment he ordered off of Ebay, is in no way, shape, or form, a good choice.

Learn from others mistakes:

This piece of shit looks like it was drawn on an etch a sketch.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Who knew cooks had so many confining laws to adhere to?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lactose intolerant, maybe?

 

 

Pegasus style? sure why not?  Flying high in the sky, but only he has wings. Why is his horn so much smaller than hers? Why does he look so angry when he is in pink territory?  How did she light that cigarette?

 

 

She won’t ever regret this. Solid decision.

 

 

There’s a woman you don’t want to forget.  Smile of an angel.

 

 

Winning at Losing

Winning aka losing… in so many ways. This tattoo makes me bleed from my eyes. I never knew Charlie Sheen had so many freckles.

The truth is you should think before you ink!

Shit gets real at the Public Pool.

18 Jul

The bitch is back.  I’ve been busy. I graduated from college, met a boy, started looking into better paying jobs, yada yada yada.  But my awesomely supportive friends have encouraged me to continue writing. Even if they are the only 3 people who read it.

I’ve started going to the pool to swim laps for exercise.  Naturally, my friends and I made a few bitchy observations of our fellow pool goers.  We soon realized that the public pool is a place where people lose their inhibitions, and being self-conscious is unheard of.

Disclaimer: I do not claim to be the world’s next top model.  But I do make an attempt to be somewhat presentable and not allow myself to look like a street peddling slob.  You don’t have to be a wheat thin to be attractive.  You just need to dress appropriately for your body type.  Translation:  If your body resembles a lightly chewed gummy bear, do not strut around in a string bikini.  And god only knows what the hell you were thinking when you had the Batman emblem permanently inked above your ass crack. All I know is that it gives a whole new, horrific meaning to the term Bat cave. I don’t doubt for a second that an actual bat resided in your rotten rear end.  ANYWAY,  that disclaimer didn’t exactly come out the way I intended.

Some kids seriously piss me off at the pool.  I go to the pool to swim laps.  I am not there to flutter around pretending to be a mermaid.  I am not there to play Crocodile Hunter.  I am not there to play Marco Polo, blindly thrashing around like a retarded beaver.  I am there for exercise. Stay out of my way unless you want to play a little game I call Guess how long I can hold the kid underwater before he passes out.  See those lane ropes kid? Those mark MY territory, which I paid for.  If you cross into my lane, I will not hesitate to swim right over you. I don’t care if you swallow water, become disoriented, and flail around until you sink to the bottom.  That is what the lifeguards are for. Where are your unsightly parents, anyway?

Then there are the kids I pity.  Their parents are actually one of the reasons I decided to start going to the pool.  I don’t want to end up like the monstrously overweight, piece of pig meat, that can be seen basking by the kiddie pool, shoveling chili cheese fries into her garbage disposal of a mouth.  I agree, chili cheese fries are delicious. But, it disgusts me to see a morbidly obese person absorbing calories by the nanosecond, without a care in the world.   At least pretend like your health is important to you.

And then Beefasaurus the swimming dinosaur starts screaming at her son across the pool that it is time to leave.  Everyone is staring at you while you lose your voice trying to gain the attention of your mortified child.  Your son  is successfully ignoring you.  The rest of us aren’t as lucky. And no wonder he is ignoring you, you are grotesquely embarrassing. If I was your kid I would wear a shirt that says “I’m adopted”.

I just feel as though some people have lost all respect for themselves as well as those around them.  And it is very apparent at the swimming pool.

The truth is, if you can plug your nipple into your belly button, you shouldn’t be wearing a bikini.

Alexander Graham Bell, this is your fault.

5 Apr

It dates back to the prehistoric times of the Caveman.  The males approach to women doesn’t seem to have changed that much.  The caveman knew how to sweep a woman off her feet — beat her over the head until she falls flat on her back.

I know that men were put on this earth to create chaos in a womans mind.  I don’t understand it, but I’ve come to accept it — only because I have to.  We’re lucky if they change their underwear let-alone change their strategies of attracting women.  Here we are in the year 2012, and men still believe the best way to get a lady back to his cave is by messing with her head.  The only thing that’s changed is that now women beat their own heads against the wall.

Like men weren’t confusing enough, Mr. Alexander Graham Bell had to go and put hot sauce on a jalapeno and invent the telephone.  Which leads me to the topic of my post and the burning question, will he call?

This should be a very simple question to answer.  If he says he will call, then yes, he will.  But that wouldn’t get us to beat our heads against the wall, now would it? So, they’ve made it into an impossible guessing game because every case is different.

Classmate Example A:

Run into classmate at a bar:

“Hey, can I have your number? We should catch a movie tomorrow night.”

“Sure, that sounds great.”

He doesn’t call.  I bet he was really tired from staying out late last night.

I see him again in class and he continues to talk to me, but for embarrassments sake I do not ask why he bailed the other night. After all, it wasn’t set in stone and I don’t want to seem like a clinger. and then:

“What are you doing later tonight? Lets get together, I’ll hit you up.”

“Okay, I’m down.”

Is my phone on silent? I bet his phone ran out of battery.  Is my phone out of battery? He’s said he would be home, he should have a charger.  Maybe he isn’t getting service.  Am I getting service? I don’t even know if I like him. Why am I so worried about his call? I just don’t understand why he would initiate hanging out with me only to leave me hanging…alone. Just shut up. I need to just shut up.

The next time I’m walking out to my car, staring at the ground in a daze, only to look up and see him in his car waiting to talk to me.

“Hey, what class did you have today?  What are you doing later? We should go to the beach or something.”

“Yeah, just let me know.”

Oh, no. I feel it. My brain is going into over-drive-over-analyze mode again.

I don’t think our phones can connect for some reason.  I bet he found some other girl to go to the beach with. Why is he doing this to me? Do I deserve this? I bet this is karma for all those fake numbers I gave out. FML. Why does he act like he’s interested and then pretend to do something about it?  I knew I shouldn’t have worn these jeans today.  They make my ass look huge. What a fucking dickbrick.  I hope he knows how to use his dick better than he knows how to use a phone.   Fuck you and fuck Alexander Graham Bell.

That’s where Classmate Example A ends for now.

Let’s continue.

Random guy at a bar Example B:

Run into a friend at a bar who introduces me to Example B.  We hit it off and have a great time.  The night ends around 4 AM with a drunken, short, good night kiss.

“Can I get your number?”

“DLFKAJS;LF yes alajdfas;lij”

I know I said yes, but like I said– 4 AM – BAR– I’m lucky I remember the little that I do.  Besides, that fuckers never going to call.

Next day:

“I wanted to know if you’d like to come watch a movie at my house tonight?”

“Yes.”

Well, the movie, ahem, went well. We share another kiss goodbye and I leave.

Why didn’t he mention calling me again? I am so stupid.  I have no self control. He doesn’t want to buy the cow. Fucking bastard motherfucker.

Next morning text:

“Good morning, How are you?”

Texts me all day. WTF. The guy who never mentions calling is the one who calls. The one who goes out of his way to say he will call me is the one who doesn’t.

That just goes to show you how fucked up the male psyche is.

I really need end this post because I think my head is bleeding.

No, I can’t hear you now. But Call me, maybe?

This song is so catchy.

It finally happened.

4 Apr

My partner in crime sent this to me.   Apparently the evil bitch has her own show.

The evil bitch has her own show.

The day has come, folks.   I finally managed to make the evil bitch a deleted scene in the movie I call life. And let me tell you, it feels like a brothel house has been lifted off my shoulders.

She still had some of my belongings and I had one of her bags. So, we needed to make a trade.  If she didn’t return my things I was going to have her ex boyfriend take a dump in her bag and leave it on her car with a note reading “here’s your shit back.”    I thought it fitting after all the shit she has given me.

We still have some mutual friends which is unfortunate.  But, that’s only because she is clinging to them like glitter to a stripper. I predict things getting better and better though.

 

Go away, Bitch.

 

Truth of the past.

20 Mar

It's not my fault your life sucks.

(2007) Sometimes, I wonder how stupid someone has to be before officially being declared retarded. But maybe it’s not stupidity, maybe it’s some other obnoxious mental condition. Why is it always the hated people that say it’s not important to have a good rapport with those you work with? I find it funny that a grown man can stoop so low as to talk trash about me to my friend. Are you that incredibly moronic and depressed about your life that you have to pick on an innocent girl? Apparently, yes. I’m sorry you’re jealous of the good relationships I have with our coworkers. I’m sorry you think I turned everyone against you, even though you clearly did that yourself. I’m sorry you’re going bald and had to marry your wife because you had already knocked her up.

It’s my party and you better not cry.

6 Mar

Quit Crying

When it comes to feelings, I like to keep mine private. When I get upset I tend to bottle it up and put it on the shelf. Which is quite fitting considering I usually have to drink a bottle before I let my guard down. People say that you feel better after you get things off your chest. But I just end up feeling vulnerable. And there is nothing I hate more than that overwhelming feeling of vulnerability. It makes me feel weak.

But that’s just me. Other people are happy to advertise their heartache and failures to anybody that will listen.  I read statuses on facebook all the time that make me go “WTF? Somebody needs a diary”. Does anybody know why it is called a diary? I’ll tell you why; It is because it was invented to prevent diarrhea of the mouth. It’s purpose is to help those with uncontrollable, pathetic feelings pouring out their pie-holes, stinking of desperation and the need for attention.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind being a shoulder to cry on. But not when you cry about everything. I hope you can use your frequent crier miles towards a one way ticket out of my face.

The truth is, when you cry about everything, your tears mean nothing. That may sound like a mean thing to say, which is why I said it. Well, that and I speak the truth.

You’ve just become the girl who cried wolf; but without the wolf.  So, you’re just the girl who cried. Over and over again. Until one day everyone stopped caring.

Let me guess, you’re going to cry, aren’t you?

You are ugly when you cry.

Your crying face makes me laugh.

How to mind your own boring business. Part One.

27 Feb

I think we have all heard the advice  “write about what you know.”  Well, I’d like to know why the advice “talk about what you know” never caught on.

We are all guilty of irresistibly sticking our noses where they don’t belong.  As human beings it is only natural for us to be curious about what others are doing.  But most of us manage to not make a habit out of it.

Other people, however, have nothing better to do than contribute to the spread of biased and inaccurate information.  In simple terms,  they like DRAMA. And some people seem to thrive on it.

So I’m going to be direct:

I’m sorry to hear that your life is so mundane that you have to meddle in mine. I really am.

Ha! Actually, no, I’m not. That’s your own fault.

It must be hard to be nothing but a walking vagina without a wisp of an original thought happening upstairs. You should probably get a boob job.  Maybe the attention will help raise your self-esteem.  Although, it shouldn’t. Because they are only interested in your sexual objectification.  You are still as uninteresting as you were yesterday; and a little less annoying than you will be tomorrow.  But at least what you lack in mental capacity you can make up for in cleavage.

There is more silver lining.  You can finally prove me wrong when I said it would be utterly impossible for you to become any more fake. Bravo! You’ve defied the laws of superficiality.

So, I have taken the liberty of noting a few simple steps to start you on your recovery of gossip whoring.

Stop Facebook stalking.
– Facebook is, without a doubt, an abundant source of information and a stealthy way to sneak a peek into people’s private lives. But some people turn it into the Never Ending Story. They stare at Facebook for hours on end just waiting to spread negativity. They hope to catch a glimpse of embarrassing photos soon to be untagged. They wish to read slandering statuses aimed towards their peers. They laugh at the facebook user whose relationship status just changed to single. Then they send out gossip alerts to all their friends. If you’re not involved, stay out of it. And If you’re going to be responsible for passing along crude information at least be sure you have your facts straight; which you don’t, because the fact is, it is none of your business.

If it was your business you wouldn’t be putting the information on blast.

Stop talking about people you don’t know.
-You don’t even know their name. Clearly, you have no association with this person, and unless they plan to pass a new anti-internet-stalking bill, their actions do not affect your life. After all, you would have to have a life for it to be affected.  Not to mention, if you don’t know the person, it is probably old news; you are rehashing the past that the gossip victim would just like to move on from.

Don’t add people on facebook you don’t know, either.  A friend of mine does not make them a friend of yours.  It makes you a stalker.

People do weird things.
This is a major one. Once you learn to accept this you will find that what was once so juicy is not all that uncommon.  In fact, I’m sure you can think of at least one time when you negatively viewed someone because of something they did, only to remember that you once did something very similar.  The point is, if you spread these types of stories it’s bound to cause unjust judgement on those involved. Your distorted and limited knowledge of the subject makes you reek of elementary drama. People have all kinds of reasons for their actions, albeit some crazier than others.  But no matter how moronic, jaw-dropping, or tragic it is, it is still not your business. Let people live their lives.

You should probably search for a career in reality tv, because that’s as close to a real life as you’re going to get.

Do me a favor and don’t open your mouth unless you’re shoveling your feelings into it.

facebook stalking

Facebook or Stalkbook?

To be Continued…