Impulse Control… Poetry

So the Sippy Cup (re: ) is already getting poetry written about him. Again, this can’t be good, and I’m waiting for bad things to happen. The poetry that came out of it isn’t so bad though 😛

“Impulse Control”

I should take it slow…
I know
As my body reacts differently
Heating at your touch
Melting at your voice
You tell me a song with your smile
And I’m already a puddle

Slow, slow
Even as I move to claim your lips
Your lust, your heart
Taking you inside of me in whatever way possible at this moment

Slowly, slowly
“Let’s not rush,” I whisper to myself
As I take in your scent
The vision of you
Becoming drunk off the fantasies
Pouring through my mind, my very spirit
All connected
My emotions want slow
As my body primes for Now
Impulse control shot to hell and back

It’s simple.
I want.
And I don’t want to wait.

Be the strength of us both, I beg
To slow things down
Slowly, slowly move towards
A heightened feeling of more
Before I take over
And plunge us both
Into an exploding moment of ecstasy


Aaaand, Of Course Its A Great Day to be Smacked in the Face Verbally

You know, I’m enjoying my freedom as the Monster is on Vacay (at gramma’s house, out of my hair, FREEDOM!!!). And so, I’m getting more workouts in. Going out on more dates, since I don’t look in the mirror and see Little Miss Muffin Top Blobette. I’ve lost over 30 pounds so far. Go me! I’m still curvy as all heck, but my thighs do look like they’ve regressed from toddlers to newborns.

And I’m feeling great. I’m feeling pretty, oh so pretty. And on the dating sites I feel my confidence leaking into the interwebs.

Even with the randoms that throw me off, like Mr. 24 hour stalker.

But there’s always one. I’d like to add this message verbatim.


Message 1 from Douchebigalow (I think he’s trying to connect with my geeky profile, where I have photos of me in what-else? Cosplay):

INTj have one weakness… the J… Yes, you feline eyes are there, but who says magic is there gift…. It might be intimate. Please only reply if you are not “WHITE BOY Crazy.” Seriously… yes, I said it. Still I don’t think MAn of STEEL will be better than Avengers… EN_ _ on the test aka SENOR Q ps., Thinking women are quite interesting and not in a Vulcan sense. lol.

Message 2 from Douchebigalow (after he’s seen that I looked at his page but did not reply):

See,  I did not call you those names… lol. Thanks for stopping by and being legit about the cat or pantera in you… oh, Cheshire 
in you… off to meditate… Oh, I love the Receding hairline on the new Superman. It gives him something. lol… WHat do you think?

I finally reply to Senior Douche:

You know, I did not reply, because I can’t tell if you were trying to be funny, or slyly put me down and be racist by questioning if I’m white boy crazy? Seriously, do you get many women interested in you with that kind of opening? Not this one. Not this one at all.

And I get back from Senior Douche:

Hi Oreo cookie…

My last reply before blockage:

I still don’t even get why you contacted me in the first place, just to troll and hurl insults? If I was at all interested, I would be extremely pissed that you are calling me out of name now, with a slur, just because I don’t fit your ideal of what a black woman should think. Thank God I’ve come from a racially diverse family, lived all over the world, and am raising my son not to be an ignorant bastard like men of your ilk. Good day sir, please enjoy me blocking you.


Seriously, am I over reacting with this shittake mushroom?! As you can tell, this was a black male. Apparently he guessed from my profile/ hobbies or just wanted to make sure that I was not “White Boy Crazy”. And yes, the Cheshire is my thing. WTF about being legit about the cat in me? WTF about talking about the J in my Myers Briggs INTJ?

Why message me just to be soooo, ew?! Just go die in a corner ahole. This pissed me off more than it should have. Seriously, even without the put downs this dude was not attractive to me in the first place, no matter his race. But to actively troll me with BS on a stupid dating website? To call me an oreo when you don’t even know me? Dagnabbit, I’m an uppity negro thank you very much! ( )

Yeah, I was trolled. Letting this whole irritation go in 3, 2, 1.
I hope his testicles rot off.

He’s Awesome! Wait…What’s Wrong With Him?

So, with the toe sucker weirdos and non-working white chocolate stalkers, I was bound to meet an actual good guy right? Well, during the time of weirdness I did. We will call him Ridiculously Handsome Guy, like that meme. Seriously. He’s one of those. It’s almost disgusting.

This… my ridiculously handsome dude is my area’s version of this… Evil.

I’m going to fall for it hook, line, and glurg-glurg-glurg. That was the sound of my drowning.

So, even with all the badness/madness I’d run into on the dating site, I was not giving up! Dear Lord there had to be someone decent up there, that didn’t worship roasted chickens, or cause a nuclear war. Someone that had a job, some normal beliefs/morals/values. That was geeky enough that they wouldn’t look at me like I was a bug to be pinned on the wall. AND dear baby Hay-soos, could they be a little close to my age and not old enough for me to say “Dada” in all seriousness?!

RHG popped up while I was looking through all my so-called matches.

And I drooled.

I mean, looks aren’t everything, and I honestly didn’t start drooling until I read through his wacky profile. Wacky and a combination of OMG good looks had me drooling like a 1-year-old holding my hand out for the sippy cup. “Want! Want! Want!” Was all I could say at the computer screen.

But I figured “he’s almost too perfect. He probably isn’t into the chocolaty-ness. AND he calls female smokers dragonlady.” My adventurous drooly baby inside of me said “frack that, gimme that sippy cup!”… I should call him Sippy Cup. Yup, I like that more than Ridiculously Handsome Guy.

So, I listen to my inner toddler and emailed Sippy Cup. I let him know up front that I was a smoker, but other than that I loved his profile. Shortly afterwards I get a surprising reply of his interest, at least to be friendly and get to know each other.

So we did, and I can’t find anything wrong with him, other than him being extremely handsome. He’s gotta have warts somewhere, or a serial killer. Maybe his wholesome personality is a cover for wearing women’s clothes and skinning women at night. There has to be something wrong for him to find me attractive and not have any issues that I can automatically see or find out. It just does NOT happen with me.

So I gotta keep an eye out for the crazy to rear its ugly head. I will not be comfortable until I find it. This dude has to be Dexter-ish, or my names not dimensionthe5th.

This isn’t over. My adventures with Sippy Cup and online dating will continue. Hopefully.

Yes, Even My Toes Are Monogamous

Sooo, the date that I had a couple of weeks or so ago.

You know life was too normal to be right, that it went well, AND the dude didn’t irritate me, right?

Uh huh… This is the face of hope hanging on by a thread.


Everything with date itself was actually pretty great. A lame action movie, some hand-holding, some long gazing to rival Spock and Kirk in the newest Star Trek movie. The dude didn’t say anything too weird (except for some hints of a foot fetish), or have any real weirdness to him. A hug and kiss I was not prepared for/expecting by the end of the night, that actually gave me a light giggly bits flutter.

Too good to be frackin true.

So, Faceybook is the devil Bobby. And as usual, it slapped me with some shittake I wasn’t expecting. I’m a-scrolling, FB porchsitting, you know. Watching as life happens internetically (oooh, I like my new word). And I see Mr. GuyDude himself, with, *gasp* another chick on his new profile status saying “In a Relationship”.

That would be my heart if I had actually cared…

That chick was not me. And to add to this dude is sending me texts about another date, possible foot massages, all that shittake mushroom. And I say of course at this moment “Well, GuyDude, how do you plan to do this with a GIRLFRIEND?!” He first says he doesn’t have a girlfriend. So who the frack am I looking at then?

In GuyDude’s version of life: his ex who is suicidal and has tried to kill herself 3 times after he broke up. And since they were friends and still friends, he thought it would help if he just pretended to still be with her.


Everyone, please be on the lookout for a Truck of Stupid I apparently fell off of. It’s dangerous. Shoddy brakes.

What I imagine a truck of stupid looks like. Probably filled with Nazis. And clowns.

Of course I replied with wide-eyed innocence “oh poor girl, poo poo,” and some other such nonsense. And then dropped: but I don’t get involved with guys that are already involved. Period. End sentence. End thought.

Even my footsies are off-limits.

So, there’s that. And so I went back to online fishing and caught myself… A stalker. Shoot, dagnabbit!

I should have known that it was a bad idea to even entertain someone that would call themselves White Chocolate.

It’s like a softer version of Pretty Fly for a White Guy.

Exactly. Shame.

So this dude tells me his life story in like 3 messages. But I ignore the eagerness (or THIRST if I’m using new kids slang-crap that makes sound old) and give the dude my personal contact information. He then proceeds in a 24 hour period to contact me almost every hour. And not just a text, oh no. Each time I get a phone call (which I asked him NOT to do at that time), a voicemail, a text, and then an email on the dating website.

Are we for serious here?

This goes on all night, and then all the next day while I’m at work. I send him a text saying I will contact him after work, hoping that will back him off a bit, but he KEEPS sending messages! When I get home I finally call him to tell him just how much I am irritated by his utter rudeness and clingy-ness.

He doesn’t get it.

I ask him if that’s worked for him in the past with chicks, since it obviously hasn’t if he’s on a dating website (yes, kinda hypocritical since I’m on the same site, but dangit I’m pissed).

And I thought he finally got it, that any interest that I had was gone, especially after blocking him on the dating site… That was about a week or so ago. Today I had sent a nasty message to tell him to stop messaging me “Good Morning Sweetheart. I hope you have a beautiful day.” I would have a frackin beautiful day if he would stop calling me pet names like we’re that familiar with each other, and if he’d just go away!!!

The icing on the cake? He had the nerve to say I should have said something in the beginning, and called me fake.

The sprinkles on top of the icing of this bad moldy cake? I check his profile before I block him… This ahole doesn’t have a job.


Gots to be more careful looking at these profiles. And my Facebook friends.


Tales of Growing Up: The Wacky Tobacky Trials and Why I Can Never Smoke Even When Legal

Once upon a time I was a teenager. And like all teenagers I wanted to show I was bad, tough, all the retardedness of being a teen. So at 13 I started smoking cigarettes. Less than a year later my cousin was offering me marijuana while I stayed the summer in the hood.

Since I was in full on rebellion stage, I was super terrified, but willing to do stupid things. So we walked the hood to meet up with a friend who sold weed. As far as I remember, my tryout was free. And the guy was cute (my eyes were really bad then, or time has not been kind to the hood’s local weedman). And I wanted to impress my cousin. Exact opposite happens.

Right in some random neighborhood weeddude lights up. I’m as jittery as a guy about to see his first boobs at a strip club. We’re doing this in public?! Out on the street?! Where anyone could see us?! Egads!

I am not nerdy enough, nor was I that nerdy then to say Egads!

Embellishment. Ahem. To continue…

Egads! I cried in my head, as the weeddude to a puff puff and passed to my cousin. And she puffed and puffed and Wow she has great lung control.

And then its my turn. I’m sweating like a hooker in church, and its laughable but I’m actually praying right then and there that inhaling this mess doesn’t randomly kill me or make me crazy for LIFE.

I inhale. And try to hold it in as I was told to do, but this crap burns like tear gas that I’m less than 10 years away from experiencing when I join the military. Instead of exhaling all smoothly I hack it all out, and Oh My Sweet Baby Jesus lying in the manger with swaddling clothes this mess burns like the fires of Hell!!!

I swear I turned into a cartoon at that moment because I felt the burn and fire pouring from my ears! And while weeddude and the cuz are roaring laughter I feel my ear drums dying and my throat crying. I call to my cousin to ask the obvious. “It burns cuz! Why does it burn?!” Which sends her into another roll of laugh at my newbie pain.

I barely get a buzz that time, and of course, I have to redeem myself. Weeks later, back visiting, I try again, this time at weeddude’s house. I’ve learned my lesson and fight my throat not to cough. And I get totally weird and wrong. The first thing that starts to bother me is that my eyesight and started to go in and out of focus like a drunk video camera. The second is that I’m in one room sitting, but feel like I’m about to tip over and fall out the window… in the next room. And third, my natural paranoia went to “Warning Will Robinson” levels and I was sure everyone could read my thoughts and that the police were on their way from reading my thoughts.

Not to mention, weeddude’s eyes turned into demon eyes.

This. This is what I saw.

And it wasn’t just the one time. Each time I tried, things got weirder and weirder until I had to stop myself and ask “Is this really fun, or giving you nightmares and destroying your mental stability more than your normal crazy?” When cows begin to nod their head to the music that is only playing in your head. When green buildings begin to look like Emerald City, when you start to not know the difference between reality and what the drug is telling you is real… Well, you’ve entered the real life version of the movie “A Scanner Darkly” or you just have a bad reaction to the wacky tobacky.

I stopped. And learned later through my mother that my father had the same reactions. That he lost a whole weekend not knowing who he was and just wandered, making snow angels where there was no snow.

I believe marijuana should be legalized. I know many people with my medical condition (hidradenitus suppurative, see my previous post: that are so severe pain that it’s all they can take. But for me, oh no. No thank you. Give me some percocet or something NORMAL for me.

My Couch is My Boyfriend… Oh God, Either I’m Becoming Really Weird or Pathetic

So, when I come home after work, I throw my bag down and instead of getting out of uniform, I run right to my couch. Of course, that’s where my laptop is and yes, I may have a small internet addiction, but that’s not it. On weekends, Fridays where I don’t go out. I fall asleep on my couch. The Monster Teen has learned not to try to make me go to my room. He just turns off all the lights. I have a pillow and blanket there.

My couch is my inanimate boyfriend. I name him forever more… Hector.

This is not Hector. Hector is more handsome in a solid sage green. And he’s bigger. Bigger is better when it comes to my sofa Hector.

Hector is there for me. We sit comfortably together. He doesn’t tell me I’m fat (even though I’ve lost over 25 pounds in the past 2 months, go me!). Hector doesn’t care if I decide to hang with him in PJs, unbrushed teeth, and my hair a mess with no makeup. Hector is the PERFECT inanimate boyfriend.

He’s not like my bed. Cold and empty because my picky butt still hasn’t found someone I’m willing to share it with, no matter how many online dating sites I join.

Oh god, its depressingly hilarious that I have a closer relationship with a frackin couch than any man right now.

For that reason, I’m going out on a date today with someone who while attractive, may be just trying to see the dimensionthe5th knickers color. But, as much as Hector means to me, this relationship is bad for my mental health!



The Creatures Plot Against Me…War Against Nature

I have carpenter bees outside on my patio.

Carpenter bees. I’d never even heard of carpenter bees before moving here. These bustards look like ninja black bumblebees on steroids. They don’t sting you apparently, but the are very… Lively. And they swarm my patio.


If there is one thing to be said about me, it’s that I have many things that make me paranoid, that give me a phobia like feeling that I should run away from it. Bees are one of those things. I have been stung before, back when I was around 10. And although it wasn’t bad and I didn’t even have a stinger left in my back by the time I rode my bike crying back to my house, I was TRAUMATIZED for life.

All bugs look like this to me. The Devil.

And don’t worry, I freely cringe, whimper, and squeal like a little girl at anything that isn’t a pet or zoo animal. So, that means the frog that hopped along past me this morning as I went into the gym (whimper). That’s the possum that used to hang out as the trash compactor at my apartment complex when I lived in Georgia (squeal with a dash of cringe). And that definitely goes for the spider that somehow made it into my car the other night and almost caused me to crash (full out scream and panic).

It’s not just the bugs though. Small animals that are NOT dogs or cats (and many dogs are suspect), freak me out. So I was pulling a desk duty late one night, and my little young service member was manning the desk while I did an outdoor security check. Well, everything was all good until I had to lock a door by the dark area with the huge trash bins. Something big and furry ran past. Loudly.

In the dark. Creature.

It may have called my name as it ran between the trash cans. “Human, I will eat your soul as dessert!”

I said a loud “frack this mess” and speed walked back indoors. When I returned to the desk, I told the little Marine sitting there this: “Look, I know this is about to sound really jacked up and girly, but I need you to go outside and lock a door for me. There’s a creature out there, and I don’t do creatures.”

Luckily the poor little troop was okay and facing down the scary raccoon/cat/possum/monster of the shadows.

Ugh. And in the summer its worse. I want so bad to be a hermit. My pet cat needs to beef up and be a guard dog against all the nonhuman things out to get me.