Oct 30, 2012

Once A Bridesmaid....

You know what they say, "Once a bridesmaid....you're fucked." 

And not in the literal sense. Well, it depends which weddings I'm counting. But it has been my experience that being a bridesmaid 7 times hasn't exactly launched me into the arms of the love of my life. Mind you, this is my own doing. I usually score 1st place in my all time favourite game of "Be The Drunkest One There." This game is not just exclusive to weddings...I do Bat Mitzvahs if you need to detract attention from drunk Uncle Moshe. *I charge extra if you want a Lindsay Lohan-esque distraction. 
And certainly my guy friends who are at the wedding/in the wedding that read this blog, aren't going to tickle me with their pickle or snatch me off the market to knowingly face the following challenges: 
  • 1. They have to get me out of 3 layers of Spanx which are holding in my FUPA (fat upper pussy area). I rise like dough outta those lycra miracle workers.
  • 2. Once they remove the Spanx, they know they are gonna be hitting up some serious 70's porn bush accompanied by leg hair as thick as a Sasquatch...they may as well fuck a brillo pad.
Ugh, when I think back to the shit I've done at weddings, I make myself uncomfortable. In one wedding, I ordered a bridesmaid dress 4 sizes too small thinking I couldn't possibly still look like Precious by the time the wedding rolled around...but of course I did. I had to get a new dress made for 250 bucks... only to spill an ENTIRE bottle of perfume oil from the Body Shop down the front of that 250 dollar hand made gown.... minutes before walking down the aisle. Silence fell over the room when it happened as I locked eyes with the photographer which looked at me like I just killed her puppy. 
All of a sudden there was a dramatic burst of panic from the bridesmaids and mother of the bride as they carted me off to the bathroom. Grandma was trying to frantically blow-dry the perfume right into my dress while the mother of the bride was on the phone with the dry cleaners. I sat on the toilet sobbing looking a little Tammy Faye Bakker-ish as the mascara rolled down my cheeks. 
(This is Tammy...RIP Tammy)  

Sadly, it was too late. Blackhawk down. There was nothing we could do. This dress was to be laid to rest in the bridesmaids graveyard, after the wedding of course. The bridesmaid's graveyard is a place I created for all things bridesmaid-y that I wish to never see again. This includes but is not limited to; 
  • fake eyelashes that spontaneously whip off during pictures or land in my meal, 
  • pictures I've been ripping out of magazines for months of what I wanted my hair and makeup to look like for the wedding, but it never happened, 
  • copies of a speech that I find HILARIOUS but is far too dirty to share amongst the bride's family...meaning Aunt Rose won't find your teenage pregnancy scare nearly as funny as I did.
  • anything with lace or bows on it, enough said 
  • fake acrylic nails which caused me to not be able to open doors, write my own name, start a car,  hold babies, open lids and masturbate effectively. 
BTW-no bride ever tells me I have to get lashes or all this nonsense, I choose to do it myself in the spirit of trying to not look like an unkept slut in photos. Wedding photos seem to rome this earth forever.

I remember when the church doors opened and I stood at the top of the aisle looking like a baguette soaked in olive oil, there was a slight gasp... I heard it and shit my Spanx. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath, only to open them and discover my Mother in the very back of the church. She took one look at me and mouthed "WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO YOU?" then keeled over silently scream laughing in the pew as any good Mother would. We're super religious. 

There is an obvious bitter tone to my post as per usual, but it truthfully is an honour to be a bridesmaid, I'm just putting my own spinster spin on the process. 

Well, I must go as I more stuffed up than my cha-cha in University. Nasty cold. 

But first I must leave you with some parting wisdom: Tomorrow is Halloween, don't handout raisins. Only assholes give children raisins. 


Oct 14, 2012

Dear Sundays, I Loathe You

Dear Universe, that was SO funny that time when you made me single for 31 years. You're a jokester! 

So I reluctantly logged into my online dating account to check my messages today and to my delight, men with the user names "Fat_homo50" and "Tacobellsushi" asked me out. Fun! 
Upon reading their messages, I promptly shut my laptop and headed toward my kitchen to stick my head in my oven, but I got distracted by a peanut butter M&M I found under my fridge. C'mon, I have priorities. 

I also, may or may not have taken a Percocet and messaged a very attractive man online and asked him only one question, "Would you rather be swallowed whole by a shark or attacked by a bear."  
(Ugh I'm cringing as I type this. I should probably have kept that to myself.) 
Let's slap that on my list of regrets and call it a day shall we? Don't judge, he said in his profile:
"You can ask me one question, and it doesn't matter how crazy or sinister it is, and I promise to answer honestly." 
Insert crickets...He hasn't responded and that was oh..um 10 hours ago. 
I really want to write him the following but I fear it will only make things worse:
"Hey, sorry about the message earlier, it was sponsored by Percocet."  Jesus. I think I've just answered the age old question of why I'm single. (If you listen closely, you can hear the sound of sad violin music playing in the background.) 
I also have a MAJOR problem with Sundays. And by the angry tone of this post right now, it seems like I really hate my life. Which is not the case, I just REALLY hate Sundays Mondays,Tuesdays Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays more than I hate peas and that's A LOT. (That vegetable should never have been invented in my opinion. You surprise me with peas in a meal, I'll surprise you with a swift punch to the throat.)

On Sunday's I get this fierce anxiety about the week ahead...I mean, I just don't know what's gonna happen. And please, can you blame me? Since the universe is sticking to the, "Holy shit, we should do that to her" project, it's not unreasonable for me to think that I could wake up in the morning and the bones in my leg could spontaneously turn to dust. Or maybe in my sleep, I'll spontaneously give birth to my twin that I didn't know I ate in the womb. Who knows. Thanks TLC! 
By the way, The Learning Channel is turning me into a major hypochondriac/weirdo. It used to be all about birth stories, wedding planning and nice pretty shit...and yes, they still have that, but on occasion TLC will have the odd documentary narrated by some monotone British man that goes something like this:
*Must read in a slow monotone British accent: "On Sharon's 34th birthday she awoke to find 18 extra fingers protruding from her stomach, each had nails, 4 of which looked like dinosaur claws."

That type of fuckery keeps me awake for days. 

Well, truth be told, the real reason why I'm a giant Debbie Downer today is because I did laundry...and yes, laundry sucks but it shouldn't launch you into a state of depression. It's just every time I take my underwear out of the dryer to fold it, I hold my panties up in absolute shock and astonishment that yes, those in fact are my underwear and NOT a circus tent... Whomp, whomp. 

Anyway, Dexter is on. He's one crafty son of a bitch. 

Until next time, 

Oct 9, 2012

Is That A Shoe in your Pocket? Or Are You Just Creepy?

No, it's not cows moaning in a pasture you're hearing, it's me scream crying from my couch while reading through my online dating messages. I'll be sure to scour the city tomorrow on my lunch hour to find that guy who sells guns out of his van. I'm positive most of his customers are single spinsters (much like myself) who are 10 cats and one shopping cart away from going off the deep end.

It's been 3 hours since I posted my profile and so far I have a toothless 63 year old man from Doucheville, Ontario trying to win me over with his intellectual messages such as "Hi" and "I love this time of year."  Oh and let's not forget about the other guy who claims to be 5"4 in his profile which is a blatant lie and he's probably 1 foot tall in real life. (Please don't get me wrong, nothing wrong with little people, I just can't imagine hooking up with one since my right thigh is the size of an average person.)  I'm 5"9 so being able to pack up my date and put him in my purse is just not an option for me. Mind you, maybe he could shave my legs while he's down there? Lord knows I don't do it. My hairy legs haven't felt my sheets since the summer of 2002 when I thought sleeping around and crushing 8 vodka coolers before the bar was a hip thing to do. It's funny, that's the summer my dignity went missing. Weird....

I typically don't end up going out with men from online dating sites. There is something very 48 Hours Mystery-esque about meeting a random person online. LOTS of my friends have done it and have met the love of their lives, but for me (and if you follow this blog) you'll quickly realize if there is a WORST CASE SCENARIO to happen...I'm your gal and it'll happen to me.

However, with enough wine...I can do anything. So I have given in and gone on a couple of dates. One was with a tall British guy who absolutely hated his life but loved feet...actually not feet...but shoes. It got to the point where he would ask me to snap photos of the shoes I was wearing to work...like take pictures from under my desk and send them. The first day he asked, I had on a sick pair of penny loafers to match my Hilary Clinton pant suit so he was in luck that day. I thought this would for SURE get rid of him since I told him I wore stilettos and skirts to work...which was completely false.
Pfffft...PA-LEASE. First of all, I'd be dead in a ditch if I were to ever even think of stilettos and skirts are a big no-no with me. I cannot risk my leg hair poking through my panty hose. It just makes everything awkward for everyone involved. Plus the risk of chaffing greatly increases since my thighs have been touching since birth.
So what's a gal to do? So... I started sending him pics of my shoes...don't judge...I was lonely. Just wait until you have to take a Dust Buster to your vagina and then we'll talk.

So the next logical step was to start sexting since he wouldn't drive to come see me because he was too lazy. ( OH GOD, as I type this, there is a very dramatic single tear streaming down my cheek as I realize how desperate and lonely this situation really was...hold on...need to grab a Percocet.)

Okay, I'm back. So obviously this ended badly...blah blah blah... The shoe fetish went WAY beyond a level of creepiness I was comfortable with and I never saw him again. From time to time I do think how great of a blog post it would be if I actually licked a shoe, or did anything remotely sexual with a boot.  Then I slap myself back into reality and think about how unsanitary it would be.

THIS JUST IN. Here is a very blurry pic of a conversation I just had a minute ago, on an online dating site. You will see EXACTLY how this works and the type of men who are striking up a conversation with me. Please note we were having a very normal conversation prior to me asking,"Don't you have a job?" And his response is in green.

"You don't want sex?" and "Are you crazy?" Are two very common responses to "Don't you have a job?" RIght? Jesus, take the wheel will ya? I then go on to respond to his sex comment "Of course I do, but not right away, not my style" Which is probably the most hilarious part since I'd hump a lamp post right now. GAME OVER.

Anyway, I'm gonna peace out now...I see a pillow I'd like to scream into.


Oct 5, 2012

White, chubby, one-legged 30 something year old seeks man with pulse

There is an old saying that "nothing good happens after midnight." (Or am I just making that up?) Anyway, it's 430am in the morning as I type this and I can't sleep, so I got to thinking... Winter is coming so it's about time I create an online dating profile again. (I have nothing else to do...whomp whomp). 
Truth be told, I enjoy having cyber sex developing a deep online connection with a stranger and never meeting them.
This time around, I've decided I'm gonna be brutally honest with what I write in my profile but I wanted to share it here first. If you haven't done online dating, there is a whole bunch of bullshit like tag lines and blah blah blah. It's supposed to catch the attention of other singles. Well my last tag line/profile didn't exactly land me at the altar so I've revamped it a little.

Old tagline: "Laughter is contagious." 
New tagline: "If you believe hot dogs aren't just for ball games and campfires, but believe they are a way of life, then I'm your girl."

And here is how my profile will look:
Hi everyone, my name is Nanners, I don't do this often...only off and on since 2007 every 6 months when I want to receive offensive messages from strangers or if I'm looking for someone to sext with. 
I consider myself a fairly stable gal and only require an exorcism every 28 days when my period rolls around. 

I feel I'm a gifted communicator who is a firm believer in "if you've read my text message, then fucking respond." We probably shouldn't add each other to Blackberry Messenger because if I see that you've read my message and you don't respond within 20 seconds, I'll just assume you're with your wife and kids or banging hookers. Or perhaps you're a raging drug addict held up in a crack den in the city doing blow and are too swamped with drugs to respond.

I have a zest for travel but found myself in a shit load of debt due to impulsive spending and my theory of "I'll be famous one day, so pfffft." So for now, while I'm dodging calls from creditors, my idea of a vacation is slapping on sunscreen, chain smoking on my balcony and staring directly into the sun. 

One of my all time favourite things is jumping to conclusions! If you look at me for more than 5 seconds, I'll just assume you're wanting to be with someone who actually shaves their legs and is younger, hotter and doesn't have back acne and cankles.  
I like to keep active by walking to the fridge and frantically lunging across my tiny apartment to hide my vibrator from my guests.

Typically, you'll find me watching re-runs of Dawson's Creek on Saturday morning, followed by some light masturbation and panic attacks.
I love a solid weekend nap. Fuck, do I ever. But it's been years since I've been able to do that because my anxiety has kept me awake since 2010. Well that, and my double chin is making it increasingly harder to sleep with out Xanax or a litre of wine. 

I like to live my life by a few simple philosophies:  What drops on the floor, stays there.
If it ain't broke, I'll brake it and complain about it for at least 6-8 months. 
Just eat it- especially if there is flour and a high level of sodium or nitrates in it. 
Be someone else, not yourself. Being yourself has landed you on an internet dating siteNever answer a number you don't recognize, it's always bad news.
If you invest in a good new dry shampoo, you'll never have to shower another day in your life. 
If you're kissing, you may as well have sex while you're at it. 

Well, if any of this sound remotely enticing I haven't had a p in my v in years so chances are you're getting laid on the first date.  Good luck with your search! 

I'm gonna go post this on Plenty of Fish and I'll let you know what happens. 


Oct 1, 2012

Stay Tuned...

I typically post on Sunday nights, but for the past 24 hours I've been swamped with googling whether or not you can get an STD on your cheek. A male stripper kissed me on the cheek twice and put his penis near my face on Saturday night, so that'll give me enough anxiety to last until Christmas. (I've also been in the E.R for most the evening because I'm having a fierce amount of pain in my smashed up leg and I kinda want the earth to open up and swallow me right now.) So please stay tuned for a full blog post by the end of the week where I will be introducing a very special guest and travel companion.....
I'm looking forward to explaining this.

Also, I want to thank everyone who reads my silly little blog, (I just took a Percocet 30 minutes ago so I'm all of a sudden filled with love so bear with me) but I love that I have people to share my nuttiness with.

Hope your monday was better than mine.
I'm out,