So I Met A Unicorn

Literally, I met a real unicorn. I’m shocked. Usually, I’m unicorned but I haven’t actually met a man that is an admitting unicorn. Are you following me?

Unicorn: A man that is in your life and then suddenly disappears from existence. You also start to think everything you experienced with him was imaginary and you were playing mind games with yourself. They usually treat you well, make you fall head over heels and say all the correct things before radio silence. No explanation just a dead line and a girl in shambles.
Note: These Unicorns are always drop dead sexy and are disguised as nice and true gentlemen.

Anyways, as I was saying, I met one…one that admits that he is a unicorn (however he referred to it as, “bad dater”, either way).

I was sitting there trying to enjoy my nice glass of wine while listening to him ramble on and on about his dating life. That woman always think they are boyfriend/girlfriend if they are exclusively having sexual intercourse and going out for drinks (he pays). Wait…what? You’re literally giving us no reason to think otherwise. But then I asked well for how long did that “non-relationship relationship” last (thinking it was a couple weeks, giving him the benefit of the doubt)…to my actual surprise he told me, 8 months. 8 mother fucking months, EIGHT FUCKING MONTHS, that’s almost a baby…and men think we are insane, when they just disappear after 8 months of contact.

I literally almost spit my wine across the room, I didn’t even know what say. I wanted to yell at him for all the times I’ve been unicorned (2ish). Do we not get it?! Do they not get it?! He also proceeded to inform me that someone informed him why said “8 Monther” hated him… and that is the only reason why he semi understood what he did may have been rude!!! wtf.

I didn’t know if I was enlightened, pissed or just highly confused. We have all these technic logical advances but men and women can’t figure out how to date.

Attention All UNICORNS: We aren’t fucking mind readers, I don’t know what you want from me, and if you decide to vanish into thin air, give me a heads up that I suck…so I can save myself the next few weeks depicting apart my entire life.

PS. Eat One

Social Media Can Suck My Dick

Well, if I had one…and if I did have one I would be really aggressive and foul and dick slap it in the face.

Dear Social Media,

You really suck. I’m sitting here, drinking my cup of joe, reading my horoscope, pulling angel cards and trying to get out of my morning mood. I’m happy, well as happy as I will ever be at this hour.
Then for some unknown reason or out of pure habit…I check my social networks. And because I’m a chick and we are all fucking insane I peep my ex boyfriend, ex neighbor friend, ex hookup…basically I just stalked every damn man I have ever been with and I have no idea why. I also have no idea why I am friends with all these mother fuckers…they’ve already served their purpose in my life. But you social media, you just have to be around and shove it in my face of my past poor decisions.

Oh and why does everyone always seem so happy…not that I’m not happy but I just don’t find the need to tell all my “Internet friends” that I had the most amazing cup of coffee or that I finally got laid after months or rub it in their faces that I’m rad.

So there…that’s all I have to say to you. I just want to go back to real telephone conversations and letters in the mail. Nobody sends letters anymore and I can’t get a man to call me (they seem to think texting is the only form of communication).

I need to go back in time to the 1940s…I think I would do so much better in that decade.

Forever Unhappily Happy on Social Media,

Me

P.S. End Rant

The Art of NOT Being Sexy

Some days I wish I could strut my stuff like those runway twigs (supermodels), to be fully comfortable wearing sexy lingerie…but then I remember that I am 5’2 and a half (yes, that half fucking matters) and I have an ass and tits. Now, I know that skinny isn’t always desirable, I don’t want to be skinny…I’m fully comfortable with my booty and the rest of the shit I got going on. I embrace my assets. But, honestly, how the fuck do those girls do it?!

I’ll tell you something…being not sexy, it is an art form…and I’ve mastered it. No really…the few times I have tried to do the “sexy strut”, “lingerie pose”, or anything even remotely close to that I FAIL.

For instance, when said Navy Seal (see Thank You, Mr. Seal post) was in my tiny adorable home, I decided this was my chance…my one chance to be extremely sexy…I threw on a black lace bra (I never wear it) and a pair of my vintage like, high waisted, lace panties…I topped it off with his flannel shirt and my hair was up in a scarf with 48 bobby pins holding it in place. Now, you see…I’m odd. I get super awkward and uncomfortable quick…I just don’t know what to do with my fucking hands…WHERE DO YOU PUT THEM?!
Note: I don’t know what to do with my hands during a lot of things…I often am thinking more about my awkward hands than anything that is actually happening…then I clam up and laugh when one shouldn’t be laughing.

I walked out of my room to a gorgeous naked man eating a cookie and holding a glass of wine. I could tell he enjoyed what he saw…his member was rapidly growing and he told me I looked like a 50s pin up. a compliment from a dime piece, I must be doing something right. I try to walk as sexy as possible which ends up me basically leaping at him on the couch. fail. He sets his items down and reaches for me…but because I’m fucking uncomfortable I reach too, and ram my forehead into his. fail, again.

How is this possible? Can I take lessons on being sexy? I mean really? Thank goodness, he was an amazing person and laughed with me or at me…either way, I suck.

Another time I was in my early 20s…it was Valentine’s Day and my then boyfriend and I had the house to ourselves. I bought some frilly thing to wear for him. The ENTIRE day all I could think about was how to put the thing on and at what time to I make my exit to the restroom and what do I say when I come out…oh and if I wear heels or not. Well long story short…I got too drunk, made a strange exit, couldn’t figure out who to put the thing on, and when I finally did and I walked out…I tripped and fell…

I’ve decided maybe certain things aren’t for me; sexy lingerie, jumpsuits, being sexy in general, hands…

I admire you ladies that look ridiculously good in nothing but a bra and panties…I also admire those that can wear pencil skirts and their asses don’t look like swamp ass or mom ass…

Note: Future Husband, I’m sorry for being awkward and making a big deal about my hands…oh and I’ll try to be sexy for you but don’t expect it to be classy.

Thank You, Mr. Seal

Have you ever seen person so incredibly yummy that in the second that it takes for your eyes to meet, you’ve already undressed them and are slowly picturing every curve of their body. All the sudden your face is flush and a heat wave is barreling through you, you can barely keep your legs closed, but the pressure is too much and all your animal instincts kick in…you need that persons naked body against your naked body.well, that just happened to me.

In celebration of my 26th birthday, two of my lady friends and I traveled up to beautiful Lake Tahoe for a weekend of dancing and regret. When we arrived to the hotel, we couldn’t immediately check in so we made our way to the bar. Looking like complete disasters, two of us on gnarly hangovers (one hangover mixed with Aunt Flo) and the other worked graveyard at the hospital the night before, had not slept and was a bit cranky…we were the creme de la creme of train wrecks.

Literally, the moment we pop a squat and I look up to notice this…beef cake, clad in boots, tight tee and even tighter jeans that make his ass look DELICIOUS. It was love at first backside. I was instantly regretting my poor choice in attire and my non makeup face. Within that second of thought, said beef cake turned around, gave me the smile of death and walked over to me.

Beef Cake: You, (pointing at me) what is your name? I am going to buy you a drink.

(baby jesus, he is talking to me…wait am I even saying anything…SPEAK MIMI…why is Emma nudging me…ohh)

Idiot (me): Um, Mimi…uhh, I just got one, wait, yes…thank you
(FOR THE LOVE OF BOOZE, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU)

Beef Cake: Nice to meet you, I am Chris….What can I get you?

As he turned to walk away to purchase me an adult beverage, the three of us assess each other and quietly squeal in delight. He proceeds to walk back in a sultry manner and my panties may or may not have been a tad wet. He hands me my drink and our hands graze and those “maybe” wet panties were fucking drenched. Chris offers my disasters drinks as well, retrieves them and plops down right next to me. heaven, wet panties and booze

We all bull shit some more, when suddenly 3 more sexy ass men in tight jeans, boots and tees come and join us. When did the sexy train drop them off, happy fucking birthday to me. Come to find out there wasn’t just the 4 of them sexy ass mother fuckers there was TWENTY, twenty of these delicious men…in one area…how can that even be possible.

Would you care to know how that becomes possible?! Possible that none of these men were under 6’0 or weighed less than 220 lbs?! That Chris, my new beef cake looked like a fucking action figure…that all 4 of them had the best manners and were so respectful?! How they can talk to each other with their eyes! Why their massive arms were full of beautiful tributes to their lost brothers?! Because these men, these men were a different breed. These men were Navy Seals…these men were the most humble, well-rounded and beautiful men I have ever laid my eyes on.

These men, seemed to be enthralled by three disastrous women. These men, continued to by us rounds of cocktails and engage in great conversation without us feeling like all they wanted was our panties (extremely drenched ones) on the ground in their room. I literally had to pick up my jaw from the disgusting bar floor numerous times. Check in time came and went and we were still enjoying our eye candy. Kate finally spoke up telling me to go check in so we can drink and get ready. I walked out of the bar, saw the mile check in line and turned around. I was not to stand in line for a half hour while my two friends get tossed with Navy Men. I plop down next to my new friend, he grabs me another drink and disappears without a word to anyone.

I didn’t think anything of his disappearance other than missing the warmth from his hand that had been nicely placed on my leg. I finally get my ass up to go check in (again). I am at the back of the line when Chris finds me. He kindly states that he had been waiting in line for me this entire time and my turn was up. He gives me his million dollar smile and walks his amazing ass back to the bar. I am in to big of a daze to even noticed that the lady at the counter had been saying, “ma’am” repeatedly for a solid 30 seconds. what is this man doing to me. I proceed with the counter lady as best as possible, all I kept thinking about was the glorious man who left me with a fleet of butterflies in my stomach and the rattled brain.

I return yet again to my friends and the Navy Men….continued our banter for a moment. We finally pull ourselves from their trance, numbers had been exchanged and we head up to our room. We laugh the entire way up and continue to be amazed that the three of us were just hit on looking the way we do. We mutually decide that if the men call us to hang out again that we will.

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Not to long after we get settled and snap this photo does my telephone beep.

Chris: Dinner? We’re hungry.
Me: Come up to our room. We’re drinking champagne, getting ready.
Note: Emma wrote back because I stared at my screen for 5 minutes trying to figure out how to respond

We tell them the room number and begin to get dressed as fast as possible. I don’t know about the girls but I swear I almost shat myself I was so damn nervous. They arrived, by now, I didn’t need to shit my pants, I was only sweating so much that we needed to hurry and get some fresh air. I walk out of the bathroom, a changed woman…my hair was no longer tied back and my sweats were placed in my bag, I had birthday cleavage showing and tight pants on. The look Chris gave me once I came into line of sight was something I will never forget. He wanted my nuts, good…I wanted his.

The night continued greatly, well minus my two friends melting rapidly but I didn’t even care at that point. These men, gave us their jackets to keep warm, kindly asked us to link arms with them so we wouldn’t fall on the dangerous black ice, fed our starving bellies (PAID), bought us more drinks and escorted us to the bathroom just so we were safe. why aren’t more men like them, it is insane. After an eventful dinner full of laughs and modest under the table touching between beef cake and I, we headed to their room so they could pick up the rest of their crew and change for the night out with myself, sleeping Kate and hammered Emma. Literally, Kate fell asleep holding a chicken wing, and Emma had melted.

Chris held my hand the entire walk to their room, we talked about life and I honestly do not know how I kept my pants on so damn long. We entered the suite and holy fuck, I died. There seriously were TWENTY FUCKING ACTION FIGURES. All of which shook my hand, some gave up their seat, and a few made us cocktails. We were in a room full of dime pieces. They must have been super interesting because it was 9pm and Kate was asleep sitting up in a chair. This time, one of them cleaned a room and lifted Kate up and put her to bed. I kindly left her a note by her face, “ you’re an ass, you are safe, call me xxoo”.

I don’t know where Emma was the entire evening. I was to busy undressing beef cake with my eyes, feeling his hands on my hips as we danced and dodging his kisses. yes, I was dodging his kisses, I know if I would start I wouldn’t stop and I think it’s a felony for having sex in public. But holy hell, was the heat between us intense. The gaze from his eyes and the way he licked his gorgeous lips while staring up and down my body. I’ve never felt so exposed yet so clothed.

I could go into great detail about this man and this night. I could write for days in lengthy details about every touch, glance, and moment I shared. I can tell you that being called “a breeder” by twenty Navy Seals is apparently a very good compliment (my hips don’t lie). That seeing the morning light hit his glorious naked body, accentuating his beautiful tributes on his arm while seeing every ripple of muscle as he breathed so deeply, made me feel like I was in a dream. That after an amazing evening spent with the incredible hulk, led to an even more amazing morning, the way he knew my body, all the proper places to touch and kiss. When to be rough and gentle and that you can make love with a complete stranger without regret.

After I composed myself, took a couple of showers and packed up the room…my own incredible hulk took all 3 bags and carried them to the car. His manner didn’t change because I gave up the cookie. We walked hand in hand to his hotel to find my disasters. Which when I arrived, they were already disasters. The girls never stopped drinking, or if they did…I couldn’t freaking tell because they seemed to be in just the same state as I left them (minus Kate being awake). I wish I was surprised but I wasn’t, I know these girls way to well. I threw up my hands and told them to pass me the gin. The day continued, more drinking and a visit to the pub across the way. Sly glances and his deadly smile had me remembering every inch of is delicious body.

Obviously, at some point our day had to end, Kate was asleep at the bar and I think Emma stormed off to cry (or yell). We couldn’t really drive down the fucking mountain, so beef cake called in a Newbie (I don’t have to explain), to have him drive our car to Reno (yes, this happened, yes I was shocked and yes I let the girls be in one car and I in the other). I ravished that man the entire car ride and upon exit he gave me the best farewell kiss ever.

I honestly had a hard time wrapping my head around this trip, this past weekend with these men. So many things happened that I am having a hard time putting them into words. I wish I could relive it but then again I wouldn’t have been able to experience last night.

Beef Cake, oh the glorious chiseled, handsome man was walking into my tiny home, looking better than I remember. Had I possibly forgot how incredible he was? He seriously drove an hour and half to visit me for 8 hours just to drive back and leave. This possibly couldn’t be my fucking life, there isn’t possibly a Navy Seal (yes, I will forever remind everyone) standing in my living room. I don’t really remember much, other than how is skin felt against mine and how we seemed to talk about nothing and everything. I wish the night didn’t have to end. I wish that this man didn’t live miles away. I wish I could feel his hard body wrapped around me and smell him (creep). Last night topped the weekend before, it made me feel alive. I haven’t stopped smiling since he left. I lingered longer in my sheets this morning, smelling his musky scent and thanking the universe.

If I never see this man again, or never hear from him…I am okay…wait, I am better than okay. I did something I never do, I opened up to a man, I let in the unknown and I let him go. I made love to a complete stranger, I connected with another soul and I didn’t cry when it was over. I feel alive and empowered. I am not worried if I didn’t impact his life or if I did. I am one independent and hard ass bitch but I was softened just a little by a Navy Seal in flannel. I hope that everyone at some point in their lifetime has such an awakening.

Dear Mister Navy Seal,

Stella got her groove back.

Thank you,
Marie

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Oh, and thanks for the flannel.

Retiring a journal

Twist and Shout

Running out of pages in one’s current journal is not the only reason for retiring it and moving on to a new journal. It has been a very long time, in fact, since I filled a journal right up to its very last page. The way it usually happens, with me, is that I will sit down to my semi-regular ritual of journal-keeping, and feel a powerful aversion to writing in that journal. As though the things I want to write about don’t belong in that particular book.  My journals usually span a period of 5-7 years…a good chunk of time in which major life situation and personality changes might occur (I’m not talking about the fanciful myth that claims we generate completely new bodies every 7 years!) that find me a different person, at the end, from who I was when I started the journal.

Soon after we arrived…

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Ode to the Jumpsuit

I purchased a fabulous jumpsuit to wear for my birthday…and the mother fucker about killed me. Seriously, not even kidding or over exaggerating…all hell broke loose once the stupid jumpsuit was in my possession.

After I acquired said devil suit, my life fell apart. I come home Friday evening after a glorious night of working and I feel that something is off (yeah yeah), I ignore my crazy gut feeling and go to bed. Only to be woken up by a weird beeping coming from my dead fire alarm hours later. It’s been dead for about a month (yes, I know) and why it was beeping was beyond me, I as well ignored this too.

I’ve been dreading taking down my Christmas decor but today for some reason I felt compelled to do so. Well had I not taken down the stupid decor and move my couch to plug in a timer for a lame I would have not noticed this….

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20140105-101741.jpgI almost died! And it burnt a hole in my amazing shag rug! I blame the jumpsuit.

Yeah, I know…a jumpsuit can’t be cursed…oh but it is.

As my Saturday continued, my near death experience residing…I decided to get ready from my weekly date night with my BFF. It was our NEW YEAR date and the menu included; fine wine, red meat and fancy attire. It was PERFECT for me to prance around in my jumpsuit. I figured she would be dressed up as well.

WRONG

I arrive at my girlfriends house in my light colored sheer jumpsuit, afro hair, high heel booties and two sweaters because I couldn’t find the correct one. I needed her help, due to the fact that I just spent an hour (45 minutes longer for me to get ready than usual) getting dressed…I was over it! Plus, she went to fashion design school, I have a built in adviser at all times.

Take a gander what my BFF was wearing…don’t get me wrong, she always looks amazing but that little jerk decided to go mountain cute and not fancy pants. She was enlightened hours ago that we were going Truckee and it’s rugged and cold. She forgot to make one small telephone call and inform me of her change of attire (apparently she was too busy chasing chickens, literally…I have photographs).

whatever

We arrive at the restaurant in beautiful Truckee and my friend proceeds to parallel park…she failed miserably. Without even looking how close to the car behind us was… I shout her a warning, “careful, you’re going to hit that car”. She kindly tells me she won’t and then WHAM!!! Wouldn’t you know, she actually hit a fucking car. The world stops. My instinct is to run and hers is to apparently not even move the car forward, we just sit there until she asks me if she thinks anyone saw and what do we do. WE! We take our nessary steps (by that I mean, we check for damage (NONE)) and head into the nice restaurant.

The place is dark…terribly dark and I’m in a bright summer outfit surrounded by rugged sexy mountain men. We rapidly sit, order wine from a man that looks exactly like my friends married unicorn and scan the menu. Both of us order a $36 steak and are pretty much drooling over the thought of juicy red meat in our mouths. We laugh at her car issues and then to get back at me she reminds me at some point I’m going to have to stand up and go pee…and with peeing comes undressing my damn jumpsuit. I cringe at the thought.

Finally, our food is dropped and heaven will shortly be penetrating our mouths. We take a few silent bites which is never good for us. She then gives me this terribly sad look and I know she feels the same as I. The steak was AWFUL, HORRIFIC, WORST STEAK EVER, BURGER KING HAS BETTER MEAT. We choke down as much as possible and try to play, “guess this meat”, ultimately, we couldn’t take anymore and guessing the meat concluded into convincing ourselves we were eating cow dick. But the wine was good.

It became that time…the time I’d been dreading. I had to fucking pee. I look to my friend for empathy, none from miss mountain cute. I proceed to walk through the dark restaurant, passed dropped dead gorgeous rugged men whose jaws were dropped and the entire time the song, “all eyes on me” was blasting in my head…let me tell you they weren’t happy eyes. More like confused as to why I am in Lake Tahoe in January in a mother fucking neon jumpsuit. I was like a light bulb. shine bright like a diamond.

I arrive at the porcelain God, and just my luck, it’s a single room and I’m in a line. I’m on display with the woman in front and the woman behind trying to hold in their laughter. I swear these woman were professional snowboarders in their uggs and leggings with sweaty pony tails and large sweaters. Damn devil suit. Undressing was the worst. Literally, I spent ten minutes in that damn bathroom cursing loudly about how not convenient this stupid thing was. I return to the table after yet another long walk with gawking eyes to my friend….her face down…twiddling with something. She hops and and practically runs out of the damn place, telling me that once I left everyone was staring and snickering. great.

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We made the journey home, laughing our asses off about how our date nights can never be normal. We decided to go to a bar in town where my attire would be normal. wrong (again). This must be the day that everyone dresses in dim dark clothing, I apparently didn’t get the memo. So yet again, I look out if place and now my jumpsuit has decided to make it look like I have a penis. Yes, it seems to be parachuting out. The bartender, a nice friend of my friend, is trying his best to make me feel better…honestly, it didn’t go unnoticed and I really appreciated it. But, I was over this night and this forsaken jumpsuit. We plow 2 glasses of wine and begin to melt and hysterically laugh…time for us old ladies to end our night on the town (2 towns).

Things I learned:
1. Some people aren’t meant for jumpsuits
2. I am one of those people
3. I’m returning the stupid thing
4. It gave me really bad mom ass…and I actually have a nice ass, that was disappointing.

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UPDATE
I ended this post, and forgot to return the damn devil suit on Sunday. Welp, guess what happened Monday. Devil still in possession and my car decided it wanted to break down in the middle of the hood while I was on my way to work. A NICE MAN DECIDED THIS WAS THE MOST OPPORTUNE TIME TO CIRCLE MY CAR MUMBLING FOR MINUTES.
My father couldn’t come fast enough (yes, he saved me again).

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The Snooze Button

Oh, how I can relate to so many strangers!

A journal of my thoughts

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The Snooze Button was invented some time shortly after the invention of the alarm clock itself, and
I remember the day I discovered it as a young boy. It was early in the morning, and my alarm clock was going off. I didn’t want to get up so I wondered if there was a way that I could silence the alarm for about nine minutes so that I could get a little more rest. This would allow me just enough time to toss and turn for 8 and 1 / 2 minutes, and sleep for the remaining 30 seconds, before starting the cycle all over again.

Although I had prayed for a snow day, I was forced from my slumber on this cold western New York morning by my alarm clock, which began emitting a heinous noise at the pre-agreed upon time of precisely 6am, Eastern Standard Time. I rolled…

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