Dear Joe...

Relationships are like a novel by your favorite author. You know their writing style. You like them. You’re instantly attracted to the cover. To the story. You start out fresh on the crisp first page…all with interest and intrigue and your 100% undivided attention. Glass of wine. Even turning off the TV to sit down and read. Just you and your book. You carry it around in your purse with love and honor. And then around page…26ish…you start to get a little bored. Your attention begins to drift. You sometimes forget to even pick the book up. It just lays neglected on the coffee table while you watch some brainless reality show. So then you loose your page. You try to figure out where you left off…skipping boring passages…skipping whole chapters altogether…just to “hurry up and get to the end.” You get to read all about your characters action packed adventures. All the fluffy sex scenes. All the violent fights. All the drama. But you never really connected with who that character was….bec...

Inspired by a recent trip to the park, where I ran across a woman named Pam, I thought to myself…how much of our names really define who we become in life? For example. Quintessential trailer park names. ::I always felt sorry for women named Pam. They all seem to have that hard living struggle face. All worn out and dried up by Marlboros and domestic violence. See Also: Carol. Loretta. Leann. Beth. Maggie. Eats a Big Mac in a parking lot and washes it down with a Diet Coke names. ::Claire. Dorris. Donna. Shelby. Brenda. Lois. But mainly Nancy. I have never met anyone named Nancy that was less 345lbs. Anyone named Nancy looks like they can push Ford Explorers down pot-hole streets with one hand, and washes down Ham and Cheese sandwiches with a water bottle full of melted butter. Will have sex with your boyfriend in the bathroom while you’re all out to dinner names: ::Ashley. Lindsay. Becca. Angel. Nikki. Tasha. Lexi. Anyone named after a car, or a liquor. Extra points if its spelled “in...

People who need to be waterboarded I. The overly happy co-worker who asks “how you weekend was” with a huge grin first thing Monday morning, as you stumble towards the coffee maker. B*tch is my cup empty? Is it 8am? Fall all the way back. How are these people waking up so happy? Sex? Burbon? Anti-depressants? I need answers white America. II. People who answer the phone “yellow” without being the least bit ironic. Like, they seriously answer the phone that way. Because, that’s how they talk. III. People who pull out in front of you, and then proceed to go 36 mph. Are you kidding me Tokyo Drift? You were all in a hurry to cut me off and now you’re not even GOING the speed limit? IV. Keeping on the subject of asshole drivers, people that pass you by going 186 mph only to have to slam on their brakes at the SAME red light you are at. Again, I ask, really sir? This is not the Indy 500. This is a small highway in a suburbs with red lights. Calm it down. V. People named Mercedes. Porcha. ...

Theres no such thing as a dumb question. Only annoying, pointless, usually slurred next to me while standing at a bar waiting for a drink questions. So. I thought I’d go ahead and answer them now. Please bookmark this blog in case you ever meet me one day and I walk away from you smiling with none of your questions answered. 1. What are you? A woman. Pretty complicated. Some daddy issues I would imagine. Music enthusiast. Obsessed with fashion. Oh? You meant my RACE? Well if you want to know my RACE then ask me what my ethnic background is. Or just my ethnicity. Or something creative, like “you have a very exotic look, I cant quite figure out what race you are.” NOT “yo what are you.” See Also: “you whatchu mixed wit cuz I know you aint white.” 2. What do you do for fun? Spelunking. Dumpster diving. Drive-bys. I mean really? Could that question be any broader? Ole generic just sayin shit to hear yourself speak ass. Put some creativity into it! 3. Why are you still single? Im appar...

I thought id blog today in honor of Steak and a Blow Job day. The official “men’s” holiday. Well, let me rephrase that, I “thought” id be participating in the festivities of today, but since I am not, I’m blogging. There’s much talk as to how all you need to do to keep a man happy is to keep him “full and fucked”. My mother and father have been married 30 years, and every single night he comes home to a hot meal (yes my mom works). I imagine its been that way since they met. They also still enjoy an active sex life (don’t ask. Lets just say, the day you find out your mom is a “screamer” is a day you’ll spend the rest of your life drinking to try and forget) From friends, to family members, to relationship “experts”, to men themselves, theres a big emphasis put on being skilled in the bedroom and kitchen. Since I was 18 years old I’ve been trying to excel at both. Consistently going into each new relationship with an arsenal of recipe’s and porn, I am bright eyed and willing to please t...

So. I’m watching Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. On a very large high def television. It was the scariest thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life. It was just truly frightening. A horror of which Amityville could never imagine. It was also one of the saddest things I’ve ever been subjected to. Each and every line on their face, covered in about 86 lbs of foundation. Liver spots highlighted and on display. Scars. Bumps. Wrinkly hands decorated with big cocktail rings and fake nails perfectly polished. Every single botox injection point. The years and years of nips and tucks and pulling and stretching and injecting. Until they barely looked human. Until the one housewives lips, literally looked like they were going to fall right off of her face. Right there. On the floor. On live t.v. I was on pins and needles waiting for it. Once I tried to burn all my Barbie’s in my “feminists of the world united” bon fire in my backyard. The result was pretty much what I saw on tv last night. Synthetic...

I miss the simple days of love. Where you met. You married. You had children. There were still the same problems. Alcoholism. Infidelity. Domestic Abuse. Recession. Death. Taxes. But it was all veiled behind fabulous elbow length gloves, and low-tipped fedoras. No one really knew what was going on in your home. No one dared question you about your husband. Or your children. Those were private intimate things. For better or worse that’s just how it was. Today we have the absolute extreme opposite. And just as damaging as it is to live behind veils and lies, its equally damaging to be too open. Too exposed. Too naked. This is the struggle I have within myself constantly. How to keep pieces of myself private and protected. But also allow myself the comfort and personal freedom that comes with being totally open and honest about my life. Its very easy to “put it all out there.” Between twitter and facebook. Foursquare. .Tagged photos. Comments. Replies. Innuendos. You can pretty much expos...