Tag Archives: sex

Only the Lonely


There are so many people out there who seem to know what’s best for me and what I need to live my life. It’s amazing I’ve grown to the ripe old age of 39 (several times now) and am still able to function and even dress myself. How did I ever get along without them?! People love to tell other people what to wear, what to eat, how they shouldn’t cuss like a motherfucking sailor, who to vote for, where to spend their money, how they should get married and have children, or at least get into a committed relationship, and on and on and on. I know they mean well but seriously. I’ve got this. Stop telling me what to do. Especially when it comes to relationships. As we’ve discussed before, I’ve been married. And lest the ex get too much credit for my views on relationships, I can honestly say he’s not the only one who’s ever broken my heart and left me for dead. It’s truly been a group effort. So when it comes to the boyfriend stuff let’s just say, my name is…no. But there are the brave few that continue to insist that I can find a man and that I should find a man and that I need to find a man.

reluctant brideBut…but…my cats and my tv!

Apparently, there’s so much in my life that’s missing because of the lack of on-premises penis. So I decided to take the majority of the arguments as to why I need a relationship and wreck the ever loving hell out of them. Just for funsies.

You’ll be lonely

Now, if I don’t get a man while the gettin’s good (and let’s face it, the gettin’s sliding downhill at an alarming rate), I will be cursed with an eternity of loneliness. Who will I talk to? Who will I share my day with? Who will I do things with? And go places with? Who will come see my plays? Who will bother me while I’m watching tv?

side profile of a young man arguing with a young woman

I can’t wait to tell you all about sportsball.

So how will I combat my loneliness without a boyfriend? I’m not sure. Let me ask Melanie, Jen, Mom, Melinda, Kim, Debra, Cory, Lindsay W., Lindsay A., Brandon, John, Brian E., Brian L., Carly, Kelly A., Kelly M., Kelly H., Linsee, Stephen, Dad, Janet, Alan, Bonnie, Nikki, Genesis, Pat, Fallon, Ashton, Nancy, Julie, Ravyn, Chris, Jan, Rex, Ingrid, Chrissy, Jamie or any of the other hundreds of family, friends, fans, and well-wishers I have. That I talk to. And do things with. And go places with. So loneliness is obviously not a valid reason to get a fella. And of course when it comes to good company, if all else fails…

catsCats. That is all.

You need children

As we’ve also previously discussed, I’m not having children. Along with all the reasons listed in the link, I have to say kids aren’t for everyone. They are real, live human beings. They have feelings and thoughts and needs. They do! I read it in a book once. They are people and not a trendy accessory or pastime. I refuse to bring another person into this world because (a) somebody else thinks it’s a good idea, or (b) I’m bored and don’t have anything better to do. I don’t care how much children have enriched your life and you don’t care how they destroyed your lady bits. I’m not interested. And also, I’m never bored. Especially since FXX became The Simpons Channel.

homer-simpsonWayyyyy more enriching than a baby. With lady bits still intact.

I don’t really have that time bomb or clock or whatever it is that makes women want to squeeze something the size of a wet St. Bernard through a hole the size of a cat door. But if the mothering urge does overtake me and all else fails…

scupsI have a real St. Bernard.

Who will do the man stuff?

Ok, I’ll admit it. There are certain things a man can do that I’d rather not. Like killing bugs and mowing the lawn and building things and fixing things. Of course, I can and will build my own blanket fort. And it will be rad. And no, you can’t come in.

blanket fortThe only rule of Fort Blanket is there is no farting at Fort Blanket.

God knows I hate bugs but I can use a can of Raid or hairspray or Febreze or whatever poison just as good as the next guy. I also have money, which I can use to exchange for the goods and services of a person who knows how to build and fix things, should I need them to do so. I’ve also found that a low cut tank top can get me all kinds of help from the all the men and about half the women at Home Depot. And if all else fails…

woman's tool kitThanks for teaching me this, Mom!

You’ll never get flowers and gifts

This one worried me a little. I adore flowers! And chocolates. And anything sparkly. But I had an idea. A wild crazy idea that just might work. So I went to Kroger. I went to the floral department and picked up a bouquet of roses. Only $10. I took a couple of steps away from the refrigerator case. I looked around. Nope. Nothing. Nobody ran up to me screaming that I can’t have these flowers. Nobody punched me in the face and took them back. I cautiously walked to the register. I handed the girl my credit card and lo and behold she let me buy them! Holy shit! I can’t believe that happened. She asked me who they were for and I said, “Myself.” And she said, “Cool.” Damn right, it’s cool! Now, I’m not sure if this will actually work for candy and shiny things but I’m pretty sure it will. So no, I don’t need a man to buy me gifts. If I want something, I’ll buy it for myself. Or ask Santa Claus. And if all else fails…

stealing flowersYoink.

Who will take care of you when you get old?

Statistically, women live about 5 years longer than men. So really, if a woman marries a man her age or a little older (as is the norm), she’s looking to spend her golden years taking care of a sick and dying husband and then being left heartbroken and alone when she’s too old and wrinkly to appreciate finally being able to strut around the house in the nude and bask in her newfound bachelorette status. Then, some people would say, that’s when you need those kids you didn’t have to come take care of you. Not so fast. Who’s to say your kids aren’t assholes who are going to throw you in Shady Pines and forget all about you until the will’s read? Why take that chance? I’m currently saving for my own retirement that I don’t have to waste by “sharing” it with someone else. My plan includes a lovely 401k, a small pension from SAG, some scratcher tickets, and my own retirement palace in my sister’s basement where I’ll live with my cats and enjoy my choice of Fancy Feast or Meow Mix, depending on what Social Security the Republicans have left me. My sister also has 2 kids though, so she said I can borrow one of them to love me and take care of me when I’m old. I’ve been working hard to form a tight, loving relationship with them, forged by gifts and currency so if all else fails…

kid moneyReplace your IV bag with vodka…got it.

What about…you know

Just say it. Sex. What about sex?! Now, my parents read this here blog so I’ll keep it brief. Parental figures, SPOILER ALERT, I have had/do have/will have sex. You might not want to read any farther than this.

unicornWe interrupt this blog for a rainbow and unicorn break.

Ok. You don’t need to be in a relationship to get laid. We all know it’s true. I can have sex whenever I want. The best part about uncommitted sex is that you’re not, you know, committed. You don’t have to talk about personal crap or care or get sucked into a tsunami of the feels. You don’t have to worry about taking him home to Mom, or him monopolizing your free time, or touching your stuff, or whether or not the cats like him. You can be friends, take care of your business, and move on with your life. And if all else fails…

batteriesHell, a lot of married women probably need these, too. 😉

Don’t get me wrong though. If the right guy came along, sure, I’d totally go for it. But I don’t believe in settling or talking myself into loving someone just because other people think I’m supposed to. There are so many amazing men out there. But if I’m confined by society’s dictates and don’t live my life honestly and with an open mind and heart, I might miss him. If I fall in love, it will be with a man who enhances my life; but he will not be my life. He will be there because I want him, not because I need him. Yes, I’m single. You know why? Because I’m worth the wait. And as RuPaul, the Mother of all Queens says…If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell are you going to love somebody else? Can I get an amen up in here?!


Randomness in my brain…


I get tons of messages on this blog (ok, well, it was like 3 messages. but you know. whatever… shut up.) from people telling me I’m funny and they enjoy my wit and wisdom. They beg for more blogs. More and more and more blogs! I haven’t been able to find a subject to write on recently. I’ve been very distracted by stuff like tv, men, the internet, Words with Friends, burritos and so on and so forth. I actually meant to write this blog like weeks ago but I got totally sidetracked by some shiny stuff.

(Must write blog toni…ooooOOOOOoooo, sparkly!)

Long story longer, I’m just going to write some random thoughts and hope they’re funny.


I hate paying my bills. I don’t know why companies get their panties all in a bunch if I don’t pay them on time. Seriously, Verizon? Out of all of the millions of customers you have, my measly $150 is going to make or break you if you don’t get it by the 17th? That’s a damn lie! And if it’s not a damn lie, you really need to learn to budget yourself better. Anyway, I always pay you eventually, so why are you acting like just because I’m a little behind, I’m never, ever going to pay my bill again. Look Drama Queen, you need to chillax. This needy thing is very unattractive.

(Here you go, Mien Fuhrer. Better late than pregnant.)


Now onto the news. The news is boring. Really, really boring. I almost never watch it. I figure if it’s super important, I’ll see it on TMZ or my mom will tell me about it. Is it too much to ask that I get to learn about what’s going on in the world through, say, hot shirtless guys or interpretive dance? I would care a hell of a lot more about the national deficit if that chick on the Today show rapped it to me. (Her name is Suzy something…what kind of financial guru is named “Suzy”?) Boss rhymes and a sick beat would definitely keep my attention. I know grown ups are supposed to be able to sit still for a half hour and listen, comprehend and care about this stuff but I just can’t. Thank God I have a DVR full of Simpsons and King of the Hill to keep me entertained in the morning.

(Mmmmm, Serbian refugees…now I get it.)


I also don’t get why I have to “behave” at work. It’s bad enough I have to go to this place for 8-9 hours a day. Yes, I know. We all have to work. If I don’t work, I don’t have money. If I don’t have money, I can’t buy vodka. And if I don’t have vodka, I’ll never get my hands steady enough to write that fucking check to Verizon! Anyhoo, when I’m at work, I’m expected to do things like be nice, be polite, don’t look at porn on the internet, don’t curse like a sailor, don’t hit stupid people, don’t steal office supplies and so forth. This can make for very long and boring days. I can understand “be nice and polite” and maybe even “look at porn on your own time” policies but really, no cussing? How can I properly convey my rage towards the stupid people I’m not supposed to hit without using colorful language? They won’t know they’re stupid unless I yell it at them and include descriptive adjectives like the f-word. And are you really going to use all those office supplies? Surely a few boxes of paperclips and a couple of laptops wouldn’t be missed.

(Burn “Kenny Rogers Greatest Hits” for Mom’s birthday…check.)

Adult Situations

When I hear some sad woman say, “Chocolate is better than sex.” my immediate response is, “Then you must be doing sex wrong.” Or when I see these commercials for the sex lotions to help the lady achieve whatever fireworks and rocket ships and submarine antics she requires. What the hell is up with that?! Seriously, ladies. If you need this stuff, you obviously have a lazy man. DO NOT encourage his laziness or lack of skill by using these things. Take that money and buy him a book or a class or something to teach him how to do it right. Maybe I’m weird because I think that way but in my mind, I feel like we don’t require a lot of you guys other than carrying heavy stuff, killing bugs and telling us these jeans don’t make our butts look big. Man up and learn how to do the bed stuff properly. That is all.

(Sexy times? Really. Ummm, okayyy.)


I have yet to understand why I have to be this adult person. My brain is pretty much stuck somewhere between the ages of 15 and 19. I still laugh at stuff that most grown up people don’t think is funny. Whenever I have to call L.A. Superior Court for work, I can barely ask for Department 69 without giggling. I’m actually kind smiling now just typing it. Hee-hee, Department 69. I also think that any and all videos/pictures of guys getting hit, kicked, punched, slapped, head butted or in any way injured in their testicles is freaking hilarious! I stick my tongue out at people. I can’t chew gum in front of my mom because apparently, I don’t know how to “chew it like a lady.” (That means don’t pop, snap, crack, blow bubbles or make any other sort of noise with said piece of gum.) I carry a Smurfette lunch box. I have colored paper clips at my desk along with colored pens and pictures of puppies and kittens in my cubicle. I hate vegetables and cannot even pretend that jicama is “just the same as potato chips”. It is so NOT. I also have an appalling love of pop music. I’ll say it-I love Britney Spears! I know all her songs by heart as well as the choreography of “Oops, I Did it Again”. Yes. I do. Good music to me requires the ability to be sung loudly in the car but the lyrics don’t really need to have any deeper meaning than “ooo baby”, “I want you/You want me” or “I love you and/or dancing”. I still call my sister names. I’ll also moon and/or flash her on Skype because that is also still so damn funny to me. Haha-boobs.

(Pictured: Stupid Melanie Garbage Face)

Girly Girl

I love being a girl. It must really suck to be a guy. No make up. No purses. NO SHOES! I would literally kill for any of these things. I love everything that is brightly colored, fluffy, sparkly, soft, lacey and cute. I hate bugs. I despise them. I hate smelly things. I hate sports. But I love men. I yearn for the man who will tell me I’m pretty. That I’m soft. That I smell good. Feminism can kiss my ass. I want a guy to hold the door for me. To buy me presents. To sing me a song. To hold my hand. To remember a stupid thing like how much I like peanut butter and chocolate anything. I am a complete sucker for puppies, kittens, bunnies, rainbows, unicorns, dolphins and flowers. Note to the men out there: you’ll get a lot further with flattery and flowers than anything, ever. And that includes the aforementioned sex ointment.

(ahhh. ah. oh. ah…so pretty…must. hug. flowers…)

Soooo long story short. I’m a girl. And I freakin’ love it!

Well, that’s all I have to say to my tens of fans for now. I so wish I could write about my day job. Now that would be fun! But since I am so attached to my paycheck, I’ll leave it alone for awhile. I also think it would be fun to do some sort of Christa TV Show Round Up. Except there’s not a lot of good tv on now. Then again, any kind of round up is super fun. I better go. It’s sooo hot here in L.A. so I really feel the need for some cool mint Oreos…with sparkles on top! Til next time…



I think we all have those memories from our childhood that are special. The first day of school, first kiss, a new sibling, winning the spelling bee. These events shape who we are and give us a wistful smile as we replay our most innocent days.

Then there’s reality. The things that you go through that take your innocence, stomp it into a greasy spot, spit on it and then point and laugh as your greasy spot is washed away by a river of your tears. Here are some of the events that brought my childhood to a screeching halt.

 (And you’ll die alone with 57 cats who hate you.)

 #5: You can’t dig to China

From the time I was a toddler, my Irish Setter and I were working on an underground expressway to China. With my trusty teaspoon and her speedy paws, we were on our way. We also carried the same tennis ball in our mouths and drank out of the same water bowl. We were a team! Anyway, China was always my “Plan B”. If I got in too much trouble or the punishment was too great, screw it. I’d move to China. Ha-take that behavior Nazis! But then I caught an “educational” show on PBS between Bob Ross Painting and Seasame Street (this was wayyyy before cable, kiddos). This show told me that there’s more than a few feet of dirt between me and that sweet, sweet freedom. Apparently, there’s thousands of miles of dirt, rock and dinosaur bones. Then you have to cross like 4 layers of fiery hell. Then another few thousand miles of dinosaur bones, rock and dirt. Worst of all, once you get to China, you find out China sucks! They don’t speak English, they don’t celebrate Christmas and they don’t even have french fries! Dammit. Thanks for nothing, China.

(We should’ve stopped to pee at the last Shoney’s.)

 #4: Grown ups can be mean to little kids

There are certain things I promised my mom I wouldn’t address in this post so as to not ruin someone else’s childhood and end up on their blog 10 years from now. So I will say, as a child, I learned the hard way that grown ups can be very mean to little children. There were certain truths that I held dear when I was little. One of the many being that when I grew up, I would ride my unicorn to Gargamel’s hovel and kick his ever loving ass for being mean to the Smurfs. Then I would marry Squire Johan and live happily ever after in Smurf Village Adjacent. In 2nd grade, my friends and I were discussing such weighty issues when the mean old librarian came over and laughed at us. “You don’t really believe that crap, do you? Are you really that stupid? There’s no such things as unicorns and Smurfs. You kids are so dumb!” Wha-wha-WHAT?! She said this to an entire class of 7 year old believers and decimated many dreams. I cried the rest of the day. Not only was my fairy tale world destroyed, that grown up yelled at me and called me stupid! Then in 4th grade, my teacher had the nerve to literally punch me in the head for working ahead of the class on multiplication tables. She actually said, “We’re on 4’s, not 7’s. Pay attention!” Dude. Are you kidding me? I know that particular teacher got fired two years later for hitting students but my image that all adults loved cute, blonde children with bows in their hair and stars in their eyes was a lie.

(You only exist because your dad’s condom broke!)

 #3: I can die

So this one was a little hard. In 4th grade, the Challenger space shuttle exploded. It was a huge tragedy. I remember it very well. I was so excited that day. The teacher on the shuttle was named Christa, like me. Her husband went to college at VMI with my dad. So I wanted to be a teacher and astronaut, like her. Our teacher (same bitch who punched me in the head) had the t.v. on so we could watch the launch. 5-4-3-2-1……explosion. My class cheered. Look at the fireworks! But our teacher was yelling, “No, no! Oh my God. It exploded. They’re all dead!” I was horrified. My namesake died. If I grew up to be like her, I might die, too. Maybe it was time to re-think being a professional butterfly. Around that time, some elderly relative passed away and I attended the first funeral I could remember. I looked in the casket and I was so afraid. I thought for sure that sleeping old lady was going to jump up and grab me. My grandmother kept saying, “Touch her. It’s ok. She’s dead. Touch her. She’s not getting up.” So, I touched her. It was awful. I asked my grandmother why she died. And she said something like, “Well, we all die. Death is part of life. I’ll die. Your mom will die. Your sister will die. You will die. Nothing you can do about it. We all die.” Holy shit! I can die? Any second, I can just cease to be? One second, playing Cabbage Patch Dolls and the next, sleeping in a box, being poked by 8 year olds, never to open my eyes again? Thanks for that, Grandma. I’ve definitely logged a few hundred hours of therapy over that one.

(I’d much rather be an out of work actor, thank you very much.)

 #2: Sex

When I was a kid, my understanding of sex was, you kissed, got naked and went to sleep with a man. Then you had a baby. Bada-bing, bada-boom. D-u-n, done. My mother informed me this was not the case. There’s a little more detail involved than that. Using a teddy bear for illustration, she gave me the talk. A half hour later, I realized how ignorant I was. My understanding was now complete. You have to let the guy pee in you for it to be sex and the pee only sometimes makes a baby. Ew! No guy was peeing anywhere near me, so I will stay happily childless, thank you very much. Boys are disgusting. I had also sneaked one of my mom’s bodice ripper novels and read the sex parts for a deeper comprehension of human relations. From that I also learned you also have to let a guy lick you with his tongue instead of kiss sometimes. Who thought up this crap? But the ladies in the book seemed to like it. They’re knees would go weak and they’re hearts would race and they’d feel all tingly. So I was reserving judgment on the dog-like kissing. Anyway, after reading those books, I have to say, my first kiss was a huge disappointment. Sorry Travis….um…Smith. My knees did not go weak. I did not see stars and his tongue lashing truly needed some finesse. Then he said he had to use the bathroom and since I wasn’t ready for children, I had to let that relationship go. It was for the best.

(We’ll always have the jungle gym.)

 #1: Barbie’s charmed life

So after my dreams of moving to Smurf Village were dashed, along with my dreams of being an astronaut/teacher and having children, I turned to the best role model any girl ever had. Barbie! What was I thinking before now? This bitch has it all. A dream house, horses, convertible, Jeep, gorgeous clothes, stupid kid sister to kick around, giant boobs. She also had awesome boyfriends in Ken, GI Joe, He-Man and Optimus Prime (at least she did in my house). And she was a rock star and actress. This is what I will be! Or not…this dream was crashed slowly and thoroughly as I went through middle school and high school. According to Barbie’s dream scale painted on the floor of her dream bathroom in her dream house, she weighs a dream 110 pounds. I passed that in 8th grade. By age 16, I did have giant boobs but that was about it. We lived in a 2 bedroom apartment, the closest thing we had to a horse was my sister’s idiot boyfriend, I drove a 1969 VW Beetle with the floor boards rotted out, my sister was prettier and more popular than me and my boyfriend was my boyfriend because he knew what was good for him and did what I told him. And I worked part-time as a dj for tens of local listeners. Well, that didn’t work out as planned!

(I call shenanigans on you, bitch!)

But you know what? It’s ok. I do have a nice house now and a nice car. I am an actress. I’m a rock star at karaoke. I’ve had gay boyfriends (Sorry, Ken, but let’s be honest here. It’s ok to be who you are!). I have great shoes and I even have a small pony.


Childhood may have been traumatic in a lot of ways but my life is good. As Mr. Burns’ said, “I’m a wealthy man but I’d give it all away for just a little bit more.”


6 Reasons Why Divorce is Awesome (for Me)


I was married for 5 years and I’ve been divorced for 10. So I think I’m far enough removed from the situation to be able to make fun of it in a humorous and slightly bitter way. You may (or may not) be thinking, “Why would you eschew the sacred vows that you made before the Almighty and the one pastor in town who didn’t fondle young boys?” Well, it’s like this. I…

(Yes, this is really me.)

was married to this.

(There have honestly been many comparisons of my ex to Jiminy Glick.)

And he cheated on me with this.

(Oedipus ain’t just some dead Greek guy. It’s a complex!)

Ergo, I divorced his lame ass. Not for cheating on me. But for not cheating with someone hotter than me.

Reason #6: No Pressure!

It is so awesome that I am no longer pressured to get married or have babies. My marriage, thankfully, yielded no progeny. God has a sense of humor but He’s not mean. So if crazy old Aunt Jo or nosy co-worker, Tammy, asks “Why isn’t a pretty girl like you married?” or “Why haven’t you spurted new life through your loins?” My sister or another co-worker will answer in a loud stage whisper, “She’s divorced!” This will elicit a sad smile and nod of sympathy that completely gets me off the hook for explaining why I have no interest in having a whining, crying, money sucking, snot-nosed leech in my life. Or why I don’t want kids.

(Babylon 5 was canceled. Hold me!)

Reason #5: The Cat

I got the cat. You may not have a cat. But there is something that every man loves more than life that you can take away with you when you leave. Mine was the cat.

(This is Buttons aka Buttony B aka The Diva aka Princess Pretty Paws)

The year before we were married, my ex gave me a kitten on Christmas eve as an expression of his love for my boobs. When we split, I took nothing with me but my clothes and the cat. He said, “But don’t you want (insert meaningless object here)?” And in my best grandma guilt trip voice, I’d say, “No. We bought that (dish, towel, tv, porn). There is no more we. You keep it. It means nothing to me now.” Good stuff, huh? Yeah. Except the cat. I adore my cat. So does he. He was like, “But I love her and I bought her.” Yes, you bought her for me and she hates you now. The only person she ever bit in her life was your whore when you brought her to the house when I was out of town and she clawed holes in your air mattress when I kicked your sorry ass out of our bed and made you sleep in the hall. So not only does she come with me, but bitch gets fresh shrimp and lobster the rest of her days!

Reason #4: Ex-Husband Jokes

Ex-husband jokes are gold! I have a friend who calls her ex-husband “needle dick the bug fucker.”

(Steve? Is that you?)

Everybody laughed. Because that’s some funny shit right there. I could go on for hours about my ex. I wish I could be nice but I’d rather entertain friends and strangers talking mad smack about my Dungeons and Dragons loving, Star Trek watching, Oedipus complex having, he thinks doggy-style is super naughty ex-husband instead!

(There’s a third sex position? Is that legal?)

Reason #3: Money

Holy shit! I have money! My ex was a high maintenance babe. Comics, Everquest, Pinkie & the Brain tees and Magick cards don’t come cheap. I remember an argument over the action figure collection that was purportedly worth thousands of dollars. Apparently, one still-in-the-package wookie was worth $300. Really? Then sell the damn thing and we can use the money to pay the electric company and maybe they’ll give us the cat back.

(Being held hostage blows.)

But, “NoooOOOooo! I can’t sell it. It’s rare!” Then you know what? It’s worth NOTHING! Since my divorce, I have money for everything I want-bills, clothes, liquor, shoes, porn and food. I have money to take care of me, which leads to the super awesome…

Reason #2: Not Being a Wife

I was a good wife. I cooked, cleaned, worked and gave 3 blow jobs a week. And I did it with a smile on my face and a song in my heart. No more, baby! I work for me. I clean what I dirty. If I want to eat Fruity Pebbles for dinner and drink vodka for breakfast, I will. And if I give a b.j. it’s because (a) someone bought me an expensive steak dinner and (b) I wanted to.

(And now, onto dessert!)

I can even do laundry when and if I want. Dirty undies? No probs. I don’t have to do laundry. I can buy new ones! (See above entry re: money) And speaking of undies, the very, very best part of being divorced is…

Reason #1: SEX

Divorced sex is the best. There is no thought of “Could I marry him?” Or “He might be a good dad.” NO! It’s about getting some of that sweet, hot, freaky, monkey love. 23 positions in a one night stand. Do I love him? No. Do I like him? Who cares. Do I know his last name? Unimportant. As long as I’m getting some. I don’t have to wait for the presidential address to cut into the Star Trek Voyager marathon so I can get laid. Right after my divorce, my main goal was to cut a swath through town of as many dicks as possible just because I could. The 19 year old grocery bagger who just shaved for the first time yesterday-he gets this sweet action. As does random club guy, the mechanic, the cable guy, his boss, the vet and his best friend. The point is, I will give it to everyone EXCEPT HIM! So climb back on your mommy doppelganger, because I’m having the time of my life doing things you can’t even imagine with whoever I want. Life is good.

My mom always said, “It’s not about looks or money. Go for personality. Look at the man inside.” Well, sorry Mom. That ain’t gonna happen. If I get ever get married again (which is highly doubtful) it will be to this guy

(I would say hi but I’m mute. Just fuck me.)

Or this guy.

(You were my only beneficiary, baby.)

God bless the institution of divorce!