Smug is back with a brand-new invention.

So…hi. This is awkward. 

I shut this page down when I was laid off in September. (“I am not getting laid; therefore, I am getting laid off.” —Carrie Bradshaw.) I had more pressing priorities, like finding a job and wallowing in my personal failures.

But then… I’m not a HUGE believer in “signs from the universe,” but we do seem to be shushing female senators, and I do seem to be getting fatter, and Valentine’s Day does seem to be tomorrow, and women’s magazines do seem to be alternating cutting-edge journalism/hilar-balls sex headlines, and the President of the United States does seem to be tweeting about easy D, and y’all KNOW I can’t keep my mouth shut around some easy D, so…OK! CHRIST!

So here I am. Let’s see how this goes.

My feet aren’t even cute enough to fetishize.

I have questions, Tumblr.

What I Know for Sure: I Don’t.

Things I knew FOR SURE yesterday:
“I am taking a break from this blog and from OkCupid to focus on work and getting my life/health/goals in order. I will write about this break tomorrow night and that’ll be that.”

Things I know for sure today:
“I have a new blog follower (hi!), and received a free book I requested from a publisher so I can review it here. Also, I just saw a man on OkCupid who’s cute, tall, literate, and likes to play naughty in bed but was somehow both forthright and gentlemanly about it.”

Right, then. “Strike that. Reverse it.”

Wall-a-palooza

Writing about therapy in my everyday journal:

“She told me I’ve ‘built up walls,’ but I think I’ve actually constructed some sort of castle. A fortress, really. There might be a moat. Perhaps turrets. Obviously a panic room.

“Pfft. You say ‘guarded and distrustful’ like it’s a BAD thing. Lemme ask you: How many times have I sent money to an online Nigerian prince? That’s right, NO times. See? I don’t have ‘issues,’ I’m just smart.”

Know-it-all nipples

Today someone found this blog by searching “smug nipples.”

I fucking love you people.

You are a terrible person and I hope bad things happen to you.

Via Raw Story: Prominent feminist writer drops off social media after rape threat against her 5-year-old daughter.

YOU ARE WHY WE CAN’T HAVE NICE THINGS.

Honestly. The FUCK ails you? How do you even have time to do this? I have shit to DO. Go to work and get out your mama’s basement, shitheel.

In all seriousness, I’ve been wary of posting certain things here. Not that 46 followers are going to garner me much hatred, but the page IS public. I actually just found out a friend was reading who I didn’t know was reading, and I’m a little weirded out by it. Apparently I’m totally fine telling strangers about my vagina, but I get ishy when it’s people I know?

But anyway, once you start threatening to assault children, I give less than one iota of one fuck about your rights. I hope the FBI investigates your ass. Literally.

Getting a Master’s in Ego Tripping

One of my favorite college professors — who taught me women’s studies but now teaches master’s level writing — just told me I’m a real writer.

Feelin’ pretty preeny right about now. ‪#‎ExtraSmugSingleton‬

(Fret not, the crippling self-doubt will be back tomorrow. Hell, probably tonight.)

Straight pimpin’

I’ve posted this before, but it’s been a while, and new people are here (!!!). So here’s a list of all the platforms this blog lives on, in case you want to follow something different.

• Facebook
• WordPress (Duh, but there’s a “follow” button on the bottom right of the page, and I THINK that means you get each post emailed to you. You lucky duck!)
• Twitter (It auto-tweets links to WordPress.)
• Blogspot
• Instagram
• Tumblr (Auto-posts from WordPress.)
• Aaand in case you’re old-school, LIVEJOURNAL: (That’s right. Because I CARE. Though it seems LJ skipped a whole month of posts, but hopefully I just fixed that.)

Vodka made me do it.

One more on this, and then, sweet baby Jesus willing, I think I’m done.

Possibly (erm, make that probably) inebriated conversation with a male friend…

Friend: “Does That Guy know you’re the one writing these posts when he likes them on Tumblr?”

Me: “Yep. I told him about it before I fucked everything up.”

Friend: “Before HE fucked everything up. Don’t get it twisted.”

Me: “Mutual destruction.”

Friend: “That’s weird, though.”

Me: “What, that he knows? Or that he’ll like posts about my body but turned down my many offers to do any naughty little thing he wanted to it?”

Friend: “Both. I mean, he made his choice, right?”

Me: “Eh. It’s fine. He doesn’t read often. If I don’t want him to like the posts, I’ll just keep writing about feelings. He never did like my feelings.”

Re-blog: Writing Your Way to Happiness

Via the NYT Well Blog: Writing Your Way to Happiness:Told y’all writing was my therapy. I’m a little pissed that this apparently makes me just like everyone else. But a) I already knew that, and b) given the familial evidence at hand, I think journaling may be the only thing that makes the women in my family shut the fuck up once in a while, so there’s that.