Also, Twitter put me on douche alert today and I have no idea why. What a day, ya’ll. What a day.
I got a lot of traffic! What up, new readers? Please come back. I promise the epic whine fest/Banky saga is OVAH. Also, I have something fun to talk about tonight. Until I decide on a name for the alter-ego blog, dating adventures will appear regularly in this space.
Now, a few things. Pet peeves regarding internet dating:
- Do not message me with a “hey” or “Wazzup”. If you can’t think of anything clever to say I probably can’t carry on a conversation with you. Buh Bye!
- Do NOT call me babe. This applies in any aspect of life. The tattoo reads “Nobody’s Darling” for a reason. I am not now, nor will I ever be, your “Baby Gurl.”
- Do not ask me a question that I clearly answered in my profile. I don’t like camping. I say that. Explicitly. Do not offer to take me camping and four wheeling so we can, and I quote, “git r done!”
- S-P-E-L-L-C-H-E-C-K. Use it. Also, maybe learn what a fucking possessive apostrophe is and where one goes. “Coomon interest’s” NO. BAD.
- Why is it that all the ads on these dating sites are for weight loss or teeth whitening? Like I don’t feel bad enough. Seriously.
- Why are you putting ads on my inbox page for BBW dating sites? Am I offended or confused? Do you think I am one or looking for one?
I now give you a gallery of my favorite ones.
This looks like a fucking Perez Hilton picture.
This is just mean.
So now I have to lose weight AND dress like a dayshift hooker?
Doubly offended again. Am I supposed to BE her or WANT her?
Ok, I get it. You think I'm a twinkie eating fat ass! (For MFEO)
And…in what may be the greatest present I have ever received… Toast has made a permanent spot in my heart for providing me with the following. That’s me.
You stay Classy, lowercases and capitals.
He may be my favorite person today. That’s not really fair, because I’m starting to think I’ve made him up. He must be a figment of my imagination. No one is that awesome besides me. Mind reading, son of a bitch.
Apparently this also showed up next to my picture:
God bless the internet.
In other news, THERE WAS A SPIDER ON ME TODAY. I was on the phone with the dude with kids and I wasn’t listening. I look down (I was outside) and there is a spider crawling up my pants to get me and eat me. I shriek and start dancing like a maniac and doing some weird version of Riverdance to make sure I killed it dead. All while still on the phone. I am made of awesome. Like the time I was on the phone with J-Bear and I told him I thought my neighbor was a nympho because he was always burning things. I shouldn’t be allowed to speak to members of the opposite sex.
So anyway, I was watching L&O:SVU yesterday and for the first time ever it freaked me out. Child abuse? Rape? Fetish porn? Nah. Spiders. The woman was a spider venom collector. WORST. JOB. EVER. They kept showing spiders and then the creepy bitch busts some knowledge on me, “You are never more than six feet from a spider.” ARE YOU FUCKING WITH ME?! I could have lived my life very happily without that little nugget. It’s like when Wifey told me tarantulas (second biggest spider fear after camel spiders) live 10-30 years. There is a tarantula somewhere that was born before me. AND IS STILL ALIVE. I have now insured I will not sleep tonight. Kudos, me.
Don’t know if you’re garrulous, but you’re definitely fabulous. I almost snorted multiple times.
Oh Poprocks, I can’t wait until you’re home and you can live this with me. We’ll be fired by xmas.
Hold the phone — Are you on POF? GIIIIIIIIIIRL.
Get out of that water. It’s contaminated with douche and crossbreeding.
As for the spiders, remember that scary story about the girl who had a bump on her face and she couldn’t figure out what it was and it got bigger and bigger until one day — POP! — a kajillion baby spiders burst from the egg sac that the mama spider had LAID IN HER FACE.
IN HER FACE!
Think about that next time you get a pimple.
Ahahah! Numba’ one biatch, representin’. Holla.
OMG Jami, I so did not need that. For real.
I saw that episode the other night too.
I freaked out less about the spider crawling on me than the gecko that jumped on me Saturday. Roughneck thought that was a good laugh.
Ladies, rule number one about l&c….WE DO NOT TALK ABOUT THE EIGHT LEGGED SCARY THINGS LIKE THAT!!
I sit in meetings all day and come back to that. That’s some cold shit.
Yeah, I signed up for OkCupid today with the intention of ditching POF as fast as possible. I’m already annoyed by this new one too, but at least the site design is nicer.
God, I am so disgusted right now. Thanks for deterring me from my afternoon snack.
“S-P-E-L-L-C-H-E-C-K. Use it. Also, maybe learn what a fucking possessive apostrophe is and where one goes. “Coomon interest’s” NO. BAD.”
Hilarious. Also, it’s your use of good punctuation that made me want to read your blog.
And Jami’s spider story is too damn creepy. It makes me equal parts sad and scared. on the bright side, I think spider statistics are skewed. They probably take in information from both rural and urban environments, right? At least I keep telling myself that…
I know they’re skewed. Spiders can’t come in my bedroom. I think it’s in the Geneva Convention somewhere…
Your bedroom sounds like a haven. None of mine have ever been so blessed. How can I sign up for the Non-spider non-aggression articles of peace?
No spider has the proverbial balls…or so I tell myself.