Well, here we are 7 weeks into 2015 and my adult acne is flaring up, I accidentally gave myself an episiotomy in the shower while shaving my cha-cha this morning, and I'm fairly certain my new birth control is making me 50-shades-of- bat-shit-cray. #YOLO.
(*For those of you who are about to google 'episiotomy', that's essentially when a woman's cooter is sliced and diced to get the tiny citizen she's birthing, out of her vag. You're welcome).
Speaking of cha-chas, I decided to hop on the birth control pill since munching on Plan B for dinner got pricey in 2014. And truthfully, I'd rather save up that extra money to visit my prison pen-pal in Alabama this summer...His name is Bubba and he's promised me steak.
Just kidding, but I will say that writing an inmate would probably give me greater satisfaction than dating this city's finest rejects and going into overdraft while funding my HD subscription to PornHub.
(I actually googled 'prison pen pals' and there are a shocking number of websites where you can get love right at your fingertips with some of America's finest incarcerated gentlemen. I would provide the links to these sites, but I've seen enough Criminal Minds to worry that somehow an inmate who is currently in 'the slammer' getting his free college degree in I.T, will somehow find out I posted their link on my blog and get an early parole, only to come to Canada, find me, and put my head in their freezer. So you can fucking google it yourself).
I'm not sure what I thought would happen when the clock struck midnight on New Year's Eve, but somehow I had convinced myself that in 2015, (me being the experienced, veteran of the Great Dating War of 2014), I would magically only attract the greatest guys. Yup, you heard me: Great. Guys. I would not allow another bad date to happen. I would not be 'catfished' by albinos off the internet and I would not share my tampons with Billy, who is just a giant p*ssy and loves talking about his divorce. Nope, not me. Not this year.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Good one. I just got a job at the joke store.
Well, you'll be shocked to learn this, but 2015's dating roster has been filled with assholes.
And I've figured out why: KARMA
(I read a quote today that said something about 'writing being therapeutic and like a confessional' blah blah blah, or some shit like that), and since I'd burst into flames in a church, I've decided to share a lie that I believe has lead me to a dating life of pure and utter misery...
This haunts me.
I once lied in a lovely hand written piece of fan mail to Donnie Wahlberg when he was Hangin' Tough and I was waiting for my breasts to come in.
Ummmm, if that doesn't make you tingle in your panties, I don't know what possibly could.
After being in attendance (in row 1 million) of the 1989 Hangin' Tough tour, at Maple Leaf Gardens (we literally could touch the roof), I was convinced that Donnie Wahlberg locked eyes with me and this is where my inner Sharon Stone was born.
I may or may not have lied in every letter that I wrote to him, by stating my name was Summer and I was a 17 year old professional dancer from California....who may or may not have gone on tour with Michael Jackson.
Truth is, I was a chubby 8 year old, who just started dance classes at her cousin's dance studio, who lived off of Kraft Dinner and had a My Little Pony collection I would die for.
So where does Karma come in you ask?
What if he spent the rest of his career, (even now on the set of Blue Bloods), thinking about me? That beautiful 17 year old gal from Cali that just got away? Stranger things have happened, amiright?
I mean c'mon people....
Look, Richard Gere fell in love with Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, and she was a hooker for christsake. A HOOKER!
Patrick Swayze was literally INSIDE Whoopi Goldberg's body and danced with Demi Moore, in the movie Ghost. "Ditto. Sam??? Sam?" Ugh. That movie gets me every time. It also gives me a lot of false hope that one day a middle aged black woman will be able to channel me so I can speak to my loved ones.
Oh wait, AND....Noah wrote Allie 365 letters for an entire year in the Notebook, and that bitch never responded. Yeah, I know it wasn't her fault she never got them, but he never gave up...despite having meaningless, casual sex with this widowed neighbour and becoming a hairy alcoholic carpenter while waiting for her.
He still spoke to her when he thought she had gotten his letters and blatantly ignored them for what must have felt like a god damn eternity.... I'm still waiting for a date to return a text I sent him in October....
So, really. Is it THAT far fetched that my dating misery is a result of my tom foolery and games of the heart when I was a little girl?
I think I'm on to something here....
That's enough misery for now...Night, night.
Actually, come to think of it, not only did I lie in my fan mail to Donnie Wahlberg, I also was an outright bitch in a letter to Joey Lawrence after Blossom was cancelled.