Time does NOT heal all axe wounds

I’m a big believer in time healing all wounds when it comes to relationshits.

But no one mentions how time can also phantom-cockblock you when you discover too late in the proceedings that one of your favorite go-to, Old Faithful masturbation fantasies — the ones you rely on to get you there repeatedly and thoroughly when you can’t quite close on your own — doesn’t…fucking…WORK anymore. (This one involved That Guy, but SHUT UP, my clitoris was always happy!)

Personal growth is bullshit. The bulliest shit there is. (Joking. I just wish I could’ve somehow gotten the orgasm BEFORE the epiphany.)

BRB, changing my OkCupid profile to say my vagina is now accepting Tribute volunteers. #StuntedSingleton

Cockblocking Cupid

Honestly, how did people ever end doomed online dating “relationships” without the iPhone’s number-block feature?

What? Is that NOT how I’m supposed to do it?

I’m not an asshole, he is, and a creeper to boot. Trust, this was merited, and sanctioned by a panel of experts.

During the most intense of the phone flirting, you said you wanted to “impale”* me with your dick, and later told me you like your ladies in white cotton underthings, considered aloud that it made you sound a little pedo, but said it anyway? *deep breath* I’m out.

There was more, if that’s not enough.

It’s my fault, really. I should’ve known when I saw his name was “Phyl.” You know, like “Phil,” except you’re an asshole. Goddamn hipsters.

* That’s not just me, right? I realize I’m not exactly after “sweet, gentle, love-making” here — I definitely need to be banged the hell out of. Probably twice, just to make sure we unclench all the Crazy. But isn’t “impale” a tad aggressive? I’d really like to live through this transaction, sir.


Ah, the great moment of reckoning in any packing/decluttering mission: “Do I expect to get laid any time between moving day and October, when this box of condoms expires?”

Tossing ’em. Not SO much because I don’t anticipate getting any, more because I never want to be reaching for a condom only to find myself cockblocked by the passage of time. 

Fun with double standards

I enjoy being a woman. Because I was just thinking, I’d be a little miffed if a guy texted me and said: “I know we were supposed to have a date tonight. But what do you say we just hang out at my place, you do naughty things to me, and then we can order pizza?”

Coming from a woman, though, I think that would make me a hero. Like Wonder Woman. But without that troublesome cockblocking panty.