Tantrum!

Yes, clearly, the way to get me back into your bed is to hit on me via my personal Facebook where MY DAD can witness your “game.”

Aren’t you proud, Daddy? He likes my rack! He called it “sexy” for you and all my former coworkers and college professors to see!

It’s perhaps egotistical of me to think that’s why he said it. But I can’t see any other reason to use “sexy” in a public forum, one in which you’ve seen me keep it clean for YEARS, and seen me interact with my family. Especially if that obviously wasn’t what I was going for; especially since the photo I’d posted didn’t show a damn thing for you to call sexy (I purposely cropped my cleavage because I’m a freak); and especially since WE BROKE UP. You don’t have “sexy” rights anymore — you don’t use that word with friends, and this is neither the time nor the place.

[/tantrum]

Taking One for the Twitter Team.

Guys, I have to start sleeping with New Lad again.

I don’t WANT to. But I do want him to shut the fuck up about Grand Theft Auto V on Twitter. Really, you haven’t done anything else worth mentioning for the last 2 weeks? Including three posts before the game even came out?

Lemme fuck you and give you something else to talk about. I’d rather you tweet about getting laid WHILE I’M ON TOP OF YOU than read one more update about this game.

True, I could just delete him. But if I just sleep with him, he’ll do something else besides play video games and I’ll have someone to spank me. It’s a win for us all, really. AND for his other Twitter friends, because NO ONE wants to read about that.

Smug Singleton: Saving the Internet, one orgasm at a time.

Tent Poles and Outdoorgasms

New Lad is camping. In the rain. I have never been so happy to not be at an event to which I was invited.

And that’s how I know I made the right call — there are exactly two people I’d ever want to camp with in a dating sense, especially in the rain. I’m not a camping girl by nature (campy, yes, but not camping), but spending time with them is always so fun that they make me want to try things I wouldn’t do on my own. (Not to mention the thought of smooching under the stars at night while getting soaked by summer rain makes my knees weak. And I can’t even imagine how sexy I’d look trying to hush during tent sex.)

With New Lad, I think I’d have to go poke a bear with a stick just so we didn’t have to stare at each other trying to come up with things to talk about. (“How are you repeating stories already? I’ve only been with you for two weeks and we hardly ever talk. Go poke that bear with a stick and get a new story!”)

Plus, New Lad wouldn’t even go to a restaurant with me while it was raining. He’d check the weather every time we went out, as if meteorology is an actual science. I’d hate to see the pouting that ensues when weather screws up his Wilderness Girl vibe.