Bad Bitches, What’s Your Fucking Problem

I am not a “bad” bitch, I am just a straight up bitch. I am the hardest person you will ever meet. I don’t like you until I know you and if I don’t get to know you, I will never like you (I am really nice once you are in the inner circle of bitch).

I can’t pin point my change from sweet ginger baby to platinum blonde ass face but it was a change, a drastic one. I may have been on a quest to prove the world that I AM WOMAN, I AM STRONG, HEAR ME ROAR (or just to prove I can do it alone). Upon my journey to independence my heart shrunk two sizes and this perma bitch look has been forever plastered to my face.

I’ll get with it. I had a revelation, I am a man-eater. Literally, somehow in my quest to prove myself to God knows who I became the girl that eats men up and spits them out. It dawned on me when another one bit the dust. This man was nice, good job, good looking, sweet to me and I had to open my big mouth and be a raging ass not once but twice. I have since apologized and received nothing but crickets. I don’t blame him.

Now, I have been hurt, torn down and dated the men you are always warned about. I have seen and done it all. I don’t know why, I went from loving love to being petrified of the men I CHOSE to be with. I am so terrified of getting hurt and my heart ripped out again but I don’t even give the men a chance.

I am a self sabotage person in the dating world. I decide to not talk to them before they decided to not talk to me. I decide to use my words and smart ass mouth so that they don’t want to talk to me. I decide to allow certain men to be great to me or certain men to be disrespectful to me. All of this is my own doing.

The cycle continues, good girl meets bad boy, bad boy screws over good girl and now said good girl turns ass and eats the next good boy that comes along. It is the ever continuing cycle of craziness until one good girl gets the bad boy to soften or one nice man tames the wild beast.

Bad Bitches…aint the fucking problem, the damn dating game of good girl turns bad girl back to good girl is the fucking problem. Bitches be bitches baby!

The “Gay” Man

I’ve come to realize that when a man doesn’t seem to give two flying fucks about me and turns into a unicorn my friends and I automatically assume he is a gay man.

He had to be gay, there is no reason for him not to adore me.

I’m really a catch, he has to love penis as much as I do.

He really is into his body, do you think being around all those men in the gym make him attracted to them?

He’s dresses way to well to be straight, I don’t know how I didn’t see it.

There is no way he could be dating another girl, he’s to feminine for women.

Literally, there are millions of statements from myself and my lady friends claiming the men that loved us and left us are swinging for the other team. I can’t tell you how many times that this has happened and how many times we’ve found out they are indeed homosexual (ZERO).

Now just because of this post and The Lipstick (Non) Lesbian Post it may seem that I am slightly confused on how being a lesbian or a gay man work, and that I seem to be making a lot of conclusions with just assumptions. Well yes, I am, because I’m fucking crazy and I have to have answers and if I don’t…I make them up in my crazy woman head and call it a mother fucking day.

By the way, I love everyone, whether you like women or men and no matter what race or sex you are…I only don’t like you when you fuck with my brains (or my friends).

Anyways, I actually just stumbled upon my crazy woman moment when talking to my friend about a non mutual friends situation with her lame ass boyfriend (he brings lame to another level and he just is a sucky human with a penis and bad taste in life). Any who, I blabbed about how mean and horrible this man was as I kept seeking advice from my friend I kept ending every statement with, he must be gay…my friend is a nurse…she is honestly the best person…he’s gay. After the 7th time my friend stated laughing and pointed out the fact that I always jump to this conclusion.

I finally figured it out. I don’t want to admit that sometimes men just suck and they don’t like us. I bet you anything if they were gay they would be my best friend! I keep trying to justify why they don’t like me or my lady friends but it’s simply because they suck not because they enjoy penis as much as I do.

I need to start thinking of other crazy conclusions or maybe I’m a “lesbian”…. Oh Baby Jesus, I’m the lesbian girl they’ve talked to but was too independent, cursed like a sailor, had pink hair, talks to her “best friend” every morning at 9:30 and her “mother” every evening at 11. HOLY SHIT! (light bulb)

I’m going to go drown my sorrows in a bottle of red wine…it has to be 5 o’clock somewhere in the fucking world.

My sister doesn’t do the penis…I’m going to ask her if I give off the carpet munching vibe.

How To: Not be Memorable

This is a guide on how to not make an impression with a sultry man that is trying to pick you up.

I’m minding my own business, enjoying a drink when a tall bloke approaches me. He’s already invading my bubble, and I can tell this will be an interesting conversation. This man, is all up in my pearly whites, his nose may be an inch or so away from mine.

goody goody gum drops someone get him a tic tac and a taxi

Guy:Your face is pretty

I smile…he continues

Guy:Your hair is ugly

I smile…he continues

Guy:Wanna make out?

I am still remain smiling…I politely decline (I’m actually laughing inside and wondering if his compliment followed by an insult gets him laid).

Guy:I won’t remember you anyway, you’re not memorable

Thank you, strange man. I’m very glad that my face, hair and strength of withholding punching you square in your strong jaw wasn’t memorable enough for you.

Apparently, white curly hair with a hint of pink wasn’t his cup o’ tea…but he would sacrifice his wants because my lack of golden locks was made up by my pretty face.

Your lack of respect wasn’t made up by your chiseled body.

I’m actually surprised I didn’t flash on him and turn into a fast speaking and insult saying fucking chick. I held it together and sipped on my drink as the bartender asked if I was okay. I nodded and smiled. Because I am. Who gives a shit what a strange drunk man says. Even if he had been sober, he wasn’t my fucking type.

I don’t want to be memorable to every man, I just want to be memorable to the one fucking man that matters.

Basically, there is no how to, I wasn’t memorable because my legs weren’t ever going to be wrapped around his waist. I wasn’t memorable because I didn’t look twice at him. I wasn’t memorable because his lame line didn’t get me hot and bothered the way he expected. So basically, be yourself ladies because it’s not memorable but him being hammered, is?! He should be worried…not I.

I keep hearing basic bitches

Don’t be a fucking mediocre man

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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

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.

Rocking Big Girl Panties

I would say I have a unique style. I’m more of a dress/skirt kind of gal than a jean/short kind of gal. It’s somewhere lost in translation from modern to retro and vintage. Basically my closet is a disastrous combination of awesome. Any who, I wear these radical vintage like, high waisted and full booty panties…these fuckers are amazing and I just adore them. I feel like this sassy yet classy lady. Plus, really convenient on the off hand chance we have a wind gust and my dress blows up, my sacred area is fully covered and my goods aren’t just exposed to everyone. Lets face it, if I wanted to show the world my goods I would be a stripper or a porn star but I don’t…so big girl panties it is.

So picture this. I meet a tall, good looking 6’10 black man out one night. I’m in a navy dress that is tight around the waist and boob area with a little flare in the skirt, I paired it with red knee heel boots and my large hair is in full swing. I mean, not to pat my own back but I look good. As I was saying, I meet this man, we have a few drinks and I kindly ask him what he does (I don’t actually care), he states his plays basketball (everyone in this town does something…most females are models now), I nod my head and continue to drink. Who gives a shit what he does as long as the mother fucker is nice.

Cocktails and small gossip are over. We walk around the casino more and everyone is stopping to talk to this damn man (who is this guy and why is he famous). After 8 million people stop us he finally asked me if I want to continue the drinks at his house. Usually, I am not that girl that goes to strange men’s houses in the middle of the night but I figured I’m 25 and why the hell not live a little.

We hop in a taxi and proceed to go to his very nice home. The outside was no jaw dropper but the inside was…just shocking…seriously, beautiful wood floors, amazing furniture and great decor. I looked more at this mans house than him. He even had a pool and a hot tub (seriously who the fuck was I with)! He gives me the grand tour and as we are walking up the stairs in a large frame is a NBA jersey and a picture with him playing against a very famous basketball player. I swivel around and pick my jaw up from the floor and kindly say, “No fucking shit, you weren’t kidding”. He gives me a full belly laugh and in that moment he realized that I may be the only girl in the city that doesn’t know who is he.

I seem to be terrified now as he gives me the rest of the tour and a cocktail. Yes, terrified. This man is huge, in height and in life and I am this 5’2 white girl obsessed with home decor…WHAT THE FUCK DOES HE WANT WITH ME! I clam up. Sweaty plams and all. I can’t even get comfortable because I sink into his couch and the coffee table where my drink is, is about a mile away from the damn couch. Fail.

It’s late now, I have no car and I don’t exactly know where I am. He offers a sleep over and I die. DEAD. Whatever, he has been nothing but a gentleman so I oblige but I kindly told him I will not be sleeping with him. He smiles and told me it’s fine. WHEW, I didn’t want to see what his penis looked like anyways. I’m sure it would murder my vagina (gross).

As we reach his bedroom, he throws me a giant sleeping shirt and walks away so I can change. I pull off my dress and am mortified on what I have failed to notice this entire time…BIG GIRL PANTIES. Dear Baby Jesus, what the fuck am I going to do. My palms are sweating (again) and I’m running out of time. Fuck it. I take a ginormous leap on to his bed (largest and tallest bed I’ve ever seen in my life, I ran and jumped) and wait patiently for him.

The massively large man returns and sits down and cuddles up next to me. I have to do it, rip the bandaid off and be strong. I sit up and look him dead in the eye and start with, “So, I wasn’t planning on going home with a strange man I just met this evening and I have…(pause,breathe) high wasted, vintage full booty panties on right now”. I choke the last part. He roars to life with laughter and he tells me he doesn’t quite understand what I mean (how the hell don’t you get it…I’m wearing grandma panties).

Now, I can’t explain them anymore than I just did. I hop off the bed, do a little dance while I lift up my shirt and spin around. Embracing my fashion panties, I loose my terror and hop back in bed. I wait patiently before he asked me if I was wearing somebody else panties since I said the word “vintage”. He just made my night because he wasn’t concerned with the look of my underwear but if they were already worn by someone else. I inform him that they aren’t authentic and I would never wear already used panties.

You would think I would have never heard from the 6’10 man after the pantie debacle but I did. I was shocked that my large choice of undergarments can reel in a man. We joked about it more and we hung out frequently until he went to play in the Euro League.

Bottom line and lesson I learned here was, don’t be frightened of your pantie choice, embrace your inner dork and being real isn’t as terrifying as I thought it would be. Oh, and that I can score any man I want because I’m basically adorable (kidding, it’s confidence and acceptance).

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Rocking my panties, bitches…

A strapping man: inquire within

Bottom line, I need a man….

Reason being my pops told me so, and I think he is sick of saving the damsel in distress…or needs a break from me calling him for “projects”.

Those projects include but aren’t limited to; tire rotation, oil change, weathering my yard, changing light bulbs I can’t reach, hanging heavy objects…the list goes on…

Now I am an independent woman, but there is some shit I won’t fucking do…or times that I need verification from a male…let’s face it ladies we need help sometimes…my bitchy ass self isn’t fucking Wonder Woman…

For instance, last night I came home from work around 11 pm….I notice the mail slot on the outside of my home is wide open, hmmm the mailman came before I left for work and I would have shut the slot prior to leaving for work.

I ponder and call my mother.

Me: Ma, did you come over while I was at work…my mail slot is open.
Mother: No honey, maybe the Postman did that.
Me: He came before work, I’m not going inside.
Mother: Ah, Marie, get your ass inside and stay on the telephone.
Me: Nope, not going in, what if someone put a snake in the slot and there is a snake in my house…

(WAIT, WHAT, did those words come out, a snake…being snake like, slithering and doing that creepy tongue thing…it MUST BE A SNAKE….wait, do I hear sounds).

Mother: WHAT!!! (she proceeds to speak to my father…I hear sighs and mumbles) your father and I will be right there, get in your car.

7.5 minutes later my parents step out of their car wearing pajamas and shaking their heads…

Mind you my pops is a law enforcement officer (retired) so not only is he in his gray thermal pajamas, he has a magnum flashlight and his gun…(I wish I had a photo of this epicness)

He asks a couple “cop like” questions, I respond saying, “a snake in a mail slot seams like a valid reason as to why it’s (mail slot) open.” He grabs my keys…tells me, “STAND BACK” as he enters as if he’s about to find a hard up criminal dealing drugs in my living room (does this involve blood, how do I get snake stains out of my hardwood floors and can I make something cool from snake skin).

Meanwhile, my mother who is just as bad as I seems to be hovering behind me terrified because I somehow seemed to have convinced her of said snake…I SHIT YOU NOT! My mother, has her hands pressed firmly on my back, and her breathing had gone crazed, fast and loud (she is NOT cut out for snake hunting).

Welp, Pops wasn’t surprised when there wasn’t a snake creeping in my house but he died when he had actually found mail in the damn mail slot…go fucking figure!

I concocted this thing in my head, pops sits down, I grab him a cookie I made before work (his reward) and he kindly tells me, “you need a boyfriend”. Then proceeds to crack up and my mother is in tears (wasn’t she on the verge of a breakdown 3 minutes ago).

They hang out for a moment and laugh at all the stupid shit I seem to have pulled…and other reasons I need a man. I find it funny that this is something I would do and my mother only asked me once during our expedition if I had been drinking, I wish I had been.

I need a man. When your parents tell you that, you really might actually need one.

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My mail slot…free and clear of snakes.

Single men, where you at? I need a snake hunter because mine just retired (again).