This seems like a whole lotta words in an online dating profile when you could just SAY “willing to try butt stuff.”
BWAH HA HA…”During this whole fatty fatsy fatterino time people kept hitting on me, wanting to fuck me in my fat (but very tight!) pussy and, obviously, my asshole, which for me is a no-fly zone but I respect its power.”
This is part of why I don’t have a photo on this blog, or on the other (clean) one I write. I have neither time nor temperament to deal with shit like this.
Sara Benincasa via Medium.com:
Why Am I So Fat? A man wrote to me to ask why I gained weight. Here’s my response…
Overheard older business-y man in Starbucks: “It’s always personal on the back end.”
Jesus. I would HOPE so.
“Oh, honey. We at Netflix know you’ve had a long, stupid workweek, and have a busy weekend ahead. We know you need to spend your scant free hours drinking irresponsibly, eating popcorn for dinner, and watching Gretchen Weiners find true love with the Lord’s guidance in a movie that looks like it was originally developed for Lifetime. No, wait — this has Hallmark Channel all over it. You go MST3K that shit, sweetie. You’ve earned it.”
I really hope she finds out how “fetch” Jesus is.
Or, as a friend said, “Maybe he makes her realize butt stuff doesn’t count.”
I had scheduled a date. I was going to meet an OkCupid person. We were going to go to a Philly taproom I’ve wanted to go to for years but never had time/company. They have fried PB&J, and I KNOW y’all don’t think I’m above eating the HELL out of that on a first date.
Yeah… I can’t. I started thinking about our conversations, the number of red flags I’d been letting pass because they were “just little things” that made me go “Hmm…” But when considered together, they make me really uncomfortable. I have a bad vibe I didn’t get from the initial OkC messaging, but have had for the past few days of texting. I told friends about less than half of those “little things,” and they told me to cancel, and cancel NOW.
But something in my brain felt guilty, like I should meet him because I said I would, because I said we’d at least be friends, because I flirted, because I took the flirting further than I should have, because I am a sexually frustrated attention whore, and because what did I expect would happen when I behaved that way?
Sound advice from a friend: “Don’t help them think only with their dicks until you’ve at least seen their face.”
On occasion it seems a self-proclaimed male “feminist” bloviating that, “Women should be able to express their sexuality without fear of being judged!” translates to, “I’m going to make demands on your time and behavior, and treat you like you owe me something, even when you’re sick, or busy, or clearly don’t want to.” I guess I’m only free to express it when the whoring works in your favor?
But I am legitimately concerned, all bad Spidey Sense, and fuck that. I’m not gonna get axe murdered just so everyone at my funeral can remember me as NICE. (My friends wouldn’t — they’d be like, “GAWD, how was she such an accommodating asshole when her asshole never actually accommodated anyone?!” My mom would probably be proud I died polite, though… [Ahem. Too dark?])
Anyway. I should’ve known when I found myself telling him we had to go out Monday because I was “busy” on Thursday — busy watching Scandal, but busy nonetheless.
It’s possible I have more feelings than one normal person should, like maybe I evolved wrong, or missed a meeting. Because I shouldn’t be blaming myself for being “slutty” here. (“Well, yeah, I feel like he’s overstepping my boundaries, but how would he know I even HAD boundaries?”) And if I’m actually worried about my safety (not a TON, but…a little), I REALLY shouldn’t feel bad about either just saying “no” or blocking his number.
I feel bad getting over a guy I haven’t met just by reading his texts, but… You gave such good OkCupid messages — how do you text like an asshole?
Crap… I’m Mr. Heckles, aren’t I?
I told him politely that text-speak makes me twitchy, which is IN my OkC profile. He said that’s how he texts because he doesn’t have a smartphone, and, “i hate texting all together but im paying my dues until we can meet.”
Yeah, I’m out. I’d told him I was trying to relax after this week sucked the life out of me, but for every text I sent, he sent three. The last time it was five.
Listen, the rule about buttsex also applies to you being in my ass with poorly punctuated texts.
He asked if text speak bugged me THAT much. It does. But combined with you sending five texts with no response, and referring to getting to know each other a BIT via messaging so I’d feel safe meeting in person as “paying my dues?” Oh, sorry I won’t just meet a strange man from the Internet who can’t leave me alone for a day.
I’ve behaved this way, I know, so this is karmic payback. I was clingy with That Guy; I knew it at the time and have considered in hindsight how irritating it must have been. But since then it’s also happened to me with guys I’ve dated/talked to online, and now I’m a reformed Clinger. It’s the WORST, and I’m no longer tolerant or indulgent of it. I admit I can be obsessive, but I work very hard not to burden others with it. (You people notwithstanding. You subscribe, that’s on you.)
WordPress is kind enough to track the search terms that lead people to my page.
Here are a few:
- “Miranda Lambert slutty” (If by “slutty,” you mean “fabulous.”)
- “Kerry Washington receiving oral sex” (I wish I didn’t want to see this, but I’d totally watch for at least a few minutes.)
- “Anal smug” (Nooope.)
- “americanwomanfuck” (Yes, please.)
- “woman on top sex positions” (yes, please, pretty please?)
- “glad I don’t have balls” (Always.)
- “Netflix and chill pajamas” (THAT’S THE DREAM!)
I love you all, you depraved bastards.
From my personal journal:
“I’ve noticed it, because I’m anal, but never pointed it out, because I’m not AN ASSHOLE — critical distinction, ass-wise.”
I amuse myself.
From the department of “I’m going to hell”…
I just said something looked “more forced than buttsex on an altar boy.”
(Does it need to be said that I don’t actually find child molestation funny, nor do I have any qualms about religion? I did not invite that metaphor into my brain — I’m not sitting here thinking of pedo jokes as a habit. But I did think it was too good not to share. If you like, just substitute ME for the altar boy, because I don’t want that nonsense in my ass, either.)
Quotable: “He’s a good Christian boy, so he won’t come home with me. Well, unless I’m willing to do anal.”