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.

Introducing Amazon Prime’s Asshole Plan…

An acquaintance shared this on Facebook:

new

I only bothered reading the first 20 or so comments, so maybe someone said it beyond that, but I didn’t see anyone suggest maybe, um…NOT lying to your spouse about your spending habits?

One of the comments LEGIT advised using Amazon’s lockers so the husbands wouldn’t see.

*sigh* You go enjoy your very healthy marriage. I’m single, so what the shit do *I* know?

Also, “HA HA HA, we’re women and we love to shop and we do so irresponsibly and then lie about it, HA HA HA FUNNY HA HA.”

(I know, I know — it’s a joke and I’m a buzzkill.)

Last words on Waffles Guy

I almost forgot to report that Waffles Guy texted me Sunday morning asking when we could get together again. And that is my fault. I did let him kiss me, and let him leave the last date thinking there’d be another. So…my bad. I did want to kiss him, and I’ll admit I didn’t have the balls to a) stop him from kissing ME, or b) sack up and say to his face that there wouldn’t be a third date.

I let the text sit for a day because I was busy and didn’t have time to think about a response. He texted again yesterday morning, asking if I’d gotten the FIRST text. I apologized for the delay, told him I had, but that: “I actually don’t think we should get together again. I had a nice time, but I don’t see it going further.”

I said essentially the same thing to Elbows Guy, and he was cool with it, so… brilliant, right? I’ve created The Line? Kind, but clear? I AM a real writer!

Yeah, no. Waffles Guy texted back and said, “Why, what happened?”

And for as much of a snarky asshat as I was when recounting what happened on that date…nothing really “happened.” It was all MY preferences and issues. There’s gotta be a woman who’d find him charming…no woman *I* know, but surely someone.

So I told him nothing specific happened, but I didn’t think we had “anything in common except for George Carlin. :),” and he responded, “Didn’t get together enough to really find that out…oh well…good luck :)”

…Um, how much more time do YOU need? I knew 30 minutes into the second date. Do your stories about diverticulitis or shopping for shirts get better?

I told a friend about this and she said, “You didn’t need to give him any response, but seriously, was he hoping you’d say, ‘Never mind. You’re right. We should date some more?'”

I gave him a, “Thanks, you too!” and called it a day.

Waffles Guy, we hardly knew ye.

Re-blog: 35 Spot-On Tweets About Being A Woman

Via Distractify: 35 Spot-On Tweets About Being A Woman Guaranteed To Make You Laugh.

Some of these are funnier than anything I’ve said ever or WILL say ever in life.

Also, I can’t wear rompers — mostly because I don’t romp, but also because my (FINE-ASS) body is just not intended to go into a grownup onesie.  

Chick-fil-HEY.

…Goddammit, I hate everything.

Man, bitches, though, amirite?

Have any of you ever been placated by a fucking frosted lemonade? Screw you, Chick-fil-A. Make it chocolate salted caramel and replace the wedding dress with the magically evasive unicorn of a tall boot that zips over my giant hamhock calves, and then MAYBE you’ll sell me something.

Who run the world? GIRLS.

Finally a GOOD story about a women’s magazine! I’m glad I subscribe to this one.

High five, Women’s Running! #WhoRunTheWorld? #GIRLS

Women’s Running praised for curvy cover model: ‘Runners come in all shapes and sizes’ 

Naming kids: last name, Business; first name, None-o-ya

Overheard in pre-meeting chatter at work, from two women who’ve only recently met:

Woman 1: “How old is your son?”

Woman 2:
“14 months.”

Woman 1:
“Aw! Are you gonna have more?”

Woman 2:
“…Ehhhh, I don’t know about that…”

Woman 1:
“Aw, you don’t want to try for the girl?”

Dear Lord, baby Jesus, please keep me from punching this woman in the throat.

People. This is not an acceptable topic of conversation, especially at work, where maybe we’re not all “Ya-Ya Sisterhood of the Golden Girls Traveling Caftans” wanting to discuss what’s going into or coming out of our vaginas next. Kindly extricate yourselves from other women’s uteruses. It’s, like, SUPER none of your business.

For serious reals.

Via The Mary Sue: Jessica Williams Has Some Better Suggestions for Women and Money Than Putting Their Faces on It

Well… At least I don’t have balls. 

I like being a woman. We’re pretty great. Go team and all. But I envy a few things about men.

First, obviously, the penis is brilliant. I wish I always had access to one. I would name him George and hug him and pet him and squeeze him (gently).

A second, semi-related envy: I’m pretty sure men don’t often have to wonder, “Is this the regularly scheduled bleeding from my genitals? Or is it one of those times it’s just for funsies, or because I’m dehydrated or played too rough during sex?”

Then again… If a man’s genitals are bleeding, that’s probably really bad. For me it’ll probably just sort itself out.

It reminds me of a Ron White bit: “I’m not making light of women’s periods. I would never do that. That’s serious stuff. If that happened to me one time, I’d be in the hospital. It wouldn’t be any of this nonchalant, ‘Oh, I’m spotting.’ FUCK THAT. I’d be running down the road like my hair was on fire, screaming, ‘My balls are bleeding, my balls are bleeding!’”


Speaking of which, balls are pretty ridiculous. I’m glad I don’t have those.