…and on a chilly December day she came back, better and bitchier than ever.
The ramblings of me.
Here I am, still single , and still wondering why the crazies find me. With the months of me being blog free nothing has changed much, literally, ex boyfriends still show up at my house (new ex flings do too (I must have missed the memo because this is a weekly thing)), I’m still trying to figure out how to lasso in dapper man and I’m still chugging wine at the end of each evening.
So I’ve dated…
whoop whoop, I beg and cry to my besties that all I want is a attractive, funny, blah blah blah man to swoop me off my clumsy feet and pull my curvy body into his bodacious one…is that so much for me to fucking ask for? Instead, I’ve met every damn stage five clinger on this side of the Mississippi (I’m so west coast that I’m basically in the Pacific Ocean). For some reason, I can attract men, handsome ones but they all latch onto me after a few days of simple conversing. They are life suckers trying to feed off my happiness and I can’t escape them. The really weird thing too, they think I’m sweet…still trying to piece that together.
I’m beginning to think that there is a website with my photograph and some sort of crazy tagline that get all these men to swoon after me…or give me crazy pickup lines.
* You’re face is pretty but your hair is ugly
* You’re beautiful but my mother would laugh when she saw you
* You’re surprisingly attractive
* Does the carpet match the drapes
* You have long finger nails, I’d love them on my back
The list goes on and on…most men seem to insult me by trying to crack a joke at my naturally curly Afro….they tend to fail and end up chasing me outside of a restaurant (yes, shit you not). Good thing, I have thick skin and good friends that hold me back from making a snide remark or punching them in the throat…which, I’m certain one day will happen but there is only so many times a girl can hear, “I would love to pull just the pink side of your hair…mmmmm”, as I can feel their warm cigarette breath hitting my lower neck, literally…that happens more often than not…I’ve discovered that I’m not exotic looking nor plan, I wouldn’t consider myself edgy or vintage but something about my porcelain skin, curvy body and wild hair seems to make men lose all common sense and they tend to word vomit. Which, is strange to me…if I was Eva Mendes then you can word vomit but not with me (no, I’m not saying I’m self conscious, just saying I’m nothing like Halle Berry, the closest celebrity I resemble is Martha Stewart and not in looks but with all my home decor and love for baking).
So in the mean time I’m over here shoving my hot Chai Spice Loaf in my mouth ranting how I’m burning my tongue because I couldn’t wait to see if the new recipe was good and the loaf literally just came from the oven. Any day now Mr. Not So Perfect But Perfect For Me can waltz his happy ass into my life and take me home to watch lifetime movies and drink wine…I’ll be waiting patiently (kinda).
I’m back bitches and I have so much more to say, you’re warned!!!