I wasn’t sure if I had a “date” this weekend, since the meek-ass bullshit email I sent him only said “hang out” and he hasn’t used definitive words in our texts, so hey, maybe for him we’re just hanging out as friends.
But he just said I’m pretty, so…
Heeeeeeeee…
I have a date. 😊
Got this first message on OkCupid today:
My job is actually listed in my profile, but… You know, dude’s clearly busy flexing and blurring his penis. I can’t also expect him to read. Ain’t no blood in that brain.
I’m also, like…99% sure this is fake.
But hey, I’m sexy, hot, beautiful, AND pretty — I think he hit all four perfunctory tryna-get-laid compliment food groups there!
Trying to email a man my phone number and a casual (dare I say…breezy?) invitation to hang out.
In other news, may also be having heart attack.
Definitely an anxiety attack.
I am the worst feminist.
(I’ll DO it. Shut up.)
During Easter dinner conversation, my aunt said political protests are pointless because, “The election is over. These people just need to move on with their lives.”
Um, BITCH, you’re still salty about some shit my mother said about your potato salad in 1987, so you better hope the new healthcare plans cover legs to stand on.
I met a guy last weekend, and IN MY HEAD, we’ve already been dating (and sleeping together — frequently) for a week.
So…I guess I should probably, like…SAY something to him ever.
He’s a friend of a friend. I’ve ascertained that he’s single and straight. And when I asked, my friend said she’d been hoping I would because she “thought it’d be a good match.”
Now I just need to figure out what the hell is going on in MY head to make sure I don’t end up being totally weird to a friend of a friend…again. Last time this happened, I slept with the dude way too soon, then realized we had nothing in common and ended up pulling The Fadeaway on him.
I’ve spent so much time “not being ready” that I don’t know if I AM ready, or if it’s just my vagina that’s ready, all, “SINGLE DICK AHOY!”
*deep breath*
SO. My next therapy appointment isn’t until NEXT week, eh? Mm’kay. That…that’s fine…
“So, Smug, what finally got you off your lazy ass to start working out again? Was it all that free time while you were unemployed? Was it multiple healthcare professionals telling you regular exercise could help you feel less depressed and foggy and gross? Perhaps the fact that all your pants are uncomfortably tight because your thighs look like those big fuckoff turkey legs at Renaissance Faires?”
“Naw. They etched a mythical creature into a piece of shitty fake metal.”
“One of the 24 similarities between girls and fish is that they’re both attracted to shiny objects.”
— Barney Stinson
I knew I’d put on some weight, but I just tried on clothes while also puffy from PMS and salty food, and now I would KILL to be fucked as thoroughly as my body image.
I took this photo from the car while driving, so I’m sorry for the poor quality, but I drive past this billboard every day and I feel like everyone needs to behold its majesty.
Twitter stalking a man while tired = accidentally “liking” a tweet then quickly UN-liking it but knowing Twitter probably notified him = BRB, crawling into a hole and dying.
(BTW, I had a crush. I mean…I have to go die now, so past tense, but it was a good 48 hours.)
For a moment I thought, “I miss having a spouse-like device to make me coffee on lazy Sundays.”
But then I remembered my coffeemaker can be programmed to start automatically, so I’m going to marry it.
Registry information to come. 💕☕️💍
Smug Singleton 