Singles Awareness Day


It would appear that today is Singles Awareness Day. As if we needed a dedicated day to be singled out even more than we already do. **Spoiler** We were very ‘aware’ of our singledom yesterday. And why might I add, is this ‘awareness’ the day after Valentine’s day? It seems like a commiseration prize that all the happy sappy couples cooked up and served with an air of smugness. We get the leftovers, the day after everyone declares their love to their significant lovers. Is that it? For the life of me, I don’t understand it. I know I’m single! I don’t need a day to remind me and others like me that in society’s eyes, we’re a bunch of lonely bastards for which pity must be bestowed upon us.

Twitter today has gone mental from brands jumping on the bandwagon, poking fun with phrases such as, ‘Don’t be a third wheel’, ‘Even singles need love’, ‘At least you don’t have to share your biscuits’ harty harrrr haaaarrrr. Furthermore, if this day was supposed to be a true celebration of being single then shouldn’t we rename the tagline? Because awareness is not cutting it in my books. It’s almost as if one day someone haphazardly said, “Oh…I guess… yeah… I suppose singles need love too. But let’s name it an awareness like it’s a disease that one should know the signs of in order to avoid catching it.” Fuck you guy! How about that. In all actuality it should be known as the highest form of achievement day. This should also acknowledge, and include, our well versed ability in combat scenarios when jealousy befalls the crazies of a duo. Military precision on evasive action when faced with ‘oh how funny what a coincidence’ ambush set-ups. Deflection tactics when it comes to questions, and our subtle yet steadfast ability to look like we’re enjoying a day surrounded by couples doing couple things. This acknowledgement should be given as an award and bestowed to us as herald trumpets play in the background by Angels while God booms down with admiration. All the while a shrine of light beams upon us because he knows, that we know without doubt, chosen wisely. I’d like to point out that I don’t see stories of God’s wife anywhere. I was forced to go to Sunday school for years and there was no mention of God having a wife or a significant other. There’s only been speculation on the subject in recent years for which I’m sure a couple played a part in creating. Yeah I’m taking this biblical! Now, if the single path was acceptable to the creator of the universe, then surely we too should be revered in awe. Additionally, I’m not even completely sure how society has decided everything should come in pairs. A conundrum indeed!

Since we’re clearing the air…I’ll have you know I’m exceptionally happy with being single. I like not sharing my bed and not having to talk to someone as soon as I step my foot in the door after a long day of work. The sheer enjoyment I get by having the remote all to myself and being able to do my own thing without having to ‘check-in’ is paramount to me having an orgasm. That’s how good I feel people!

All this pitying that’s going on, no matter how playful it is, should be steered to all the couples out there. Who in their right mind wants to compromise in love, sex, arguments, and so on. Every time I hear stories of my couple-friends discussing their woes makes me want to hurl. They have become a shell of their former selves, who have added ‘we’ in everything. The constant emotional roller-coaster of jealousy, rage, anger, hatred, longing, analyzing, frustration, that theses pairs go through is enough to make anyone come down with a sudden spell of vertigo.

Therefore, I will be ignoring this day on the grounds that being single is awesome. And if we are pointing out truths, me thinks those frou-frou couples are jelly; as well they should be.

And so, I’ll leave you with this inspiring thought…

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❤ ❤ ❤

Excuse Me While I Go Knock Myself Into A Coma…. Someone’s Invented Clown Contouring. (Insert puke emoji here)

Clown Contouring

Panda’s I just can’t anymore. What in the hell is the world coming to?! Apparently we have now ventured into the era of the Clown. Wasn’t the first contouring makeup tutorial enough for you? Weren’t the hoards of photos and how-to articles enough to satiate your appetites? Apparently not, because now all I see are articles about clown contouring. And everyone and their momma’s are lapping it up. So I simply must ask, when will the madness end?

First things first, I’m the realest. Haha jokes! Don’t you guys do that when you hear the beginning phrase of a song? Anyway, I digress. I don’t actually mind the whole concept of contouring. The first pictures/articles about it really got me. I was 100% on board.  It wasn’t long before I bought my own kit and contoured it up like the best in the business. And by this I mean doing the least labour intensive contouring possible. I do not have all day to be painting my face. So all I did was get a darker powder and highlight my cheeks, sides of my nose, chin, jawline, top of my forehead and neck. It literally took me less than 1 minute. I just don’t have the patience for something lengthier. Either way, have you seen the before’ and after’s?!


Jesus! What a fucking difference a cake full of make-up can achieve right?! It’s actually Da Vinci-esque in a way. Sculpted with mathematical precision for a perfectly fake facade. Because let’s be honest, It’s just a pretty illusion at the end of the day, is it not? Did you ever stop to think about that guy that’s going to wake up beside you the next morning and get a ghastly heart attack at the site of you and your un-contoured face? No I bet you didn’t. It’s a valid question you know!

Next came strobing. I mean, strobing? Really? I feel like I should be in some EDM brothel in Croatia popping pills and drinking until the word ‘poisoning’ is thrown into a sentence in reference to my current state of affairs. Strobing has to do with shimmers. Basically creating a glowing effect on your face. You know, to make you look radiant. Take a look.

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If you want to know what exactly Strobing Makeup is then check out these links. ( Popsugar, Refinery29, HollywoodLife )  Even Buzzfeed hopped on the strobing bandwagon. This, however, is how I feel about the matter…

Strobing

Now… let’s talk about this clown bullshit for a second. Can I get a collective, WTF?! Who in their right minds has the time for all this shit? In case you have missed out on why it’s called “clown” contouring…here you go. But you have been warned.

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The photo above is by a makeup artist, Bella De Luna who has a youtube channel full of makeup tutorials. You can see the video here. Apparently it was her and another instagrammer @Makeupby_alo  (picture below) who started everyone talking about this clown contouring mayhem. And now people are starting to test it out…

Can we please make note of the two ladies on the right. Someone needs to tell them that they resemble The Day of The Dead.

By the way, I’m not knocking the day of the dead make up. I actually love it. But someone needs to tell those ladies that they are celebrating a different thing. They need to come on over to The Day Of The Dead side. I would much prefer people donning this makeup rather than taking your sweet old time contouring your face and then blending it all away. Life is too short! Do people do this to themselves every day? What time do you get up in the mornings?

But, the icing on this clown cake is, (and it’s the strangest thing) that no one, I mean NO ONE has commented on the fact that this Bella lady likes to draw poop emoji’s on her forehead.

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Her reasoning behind it, is that people can say what they want but in the end it will all be blended away. Well who knew that I would be getting free advice on life through a makeup tutorial. All I’m saying is, if they want to do this, then that’s fine by me. But why does every online magazine/blog have to go bonkers and label it ‘The Next Big Craze’. Could ya calm the fuck down?! You need to start asking yourself, in the long run, is this such a big deal? Will it better humanity? No, no it wont. So let’s all chill out, take a deep breathe and do a couple of woosah’s. Damn, what the hell’s going to be next? I shudder at the thought.

Peace, Love and Poop Emoji

Sleepovers Are Not What They Once Were… The older you get, the more stuff you bring.

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Remember when you were younger and you got invited to sleepovers? How excited were you being able to go to someone else’s house?! It was like a mini adventure. Almost like a safari of learning how other animals live in their natural habitat. You would pack the bare essentials like your favourite toys to play with and you were off. But as the years flew by your little backpack of “bare essentials” became a trunk of  unwavering ammunition. Nowadays by the time you even get to your friend’s house, your back is out because of all the shit you’ve packed and you are ready to fall asleep. My how times have changed!

About a month ago my good friend invited me to sleep over because she got a new puppy! Awwww!  I sleep there because I don’t like travelling late at night by myself anymore and her place is a bit of a mission to manoeuvre my way to and from now that I’ve moved. If I had a car in this country, things would be so much easier. Anyhow, the night before I always pack my stuff. And the amount of shit I take is ridiculous. Bear in mind that I only go for one night!

So without further ado…

  • I of course need my fluffy bunny slippers. They’re grey and super cute.
  • I need to get bottles of water because they (her and her boyfriend) drink tap water. Is that snobby? Well, I don’t mean to be picky but tap water isn’t the greatest. And if there was a study to prove that the water in London isn’t the best I would show it. In fact I will do some research on the subject. Plus it tastes funny! And YES, water has a taste!
  • I have to pack my 50 billion vitamin/mineral pills. I now have a pill for everything. Vitamin C, B12, Cod Liver Oil, Spirulina, Sea Kelp, Evening Primrose Oil, Aloe Vera Juice…. The list could go on. But these are my go-to pills with the exception of the Aloe Vera Juice. That stuff makes you shit like 10 times a day! So no, I don’t feel like shitting all the time at my friends house.
  • Coconut oil so I can do my oil pulling.
  • Obviously toothbrush and toothpaste.
  • Pj’s and a comfy zip-up.
  • Extra socks and undies. I don’t know what I’m thinking with this one. However, I will be ok if The Walking Dead hit London for real though.
  • The current book I’m reading for fun. I don’t even read one single page.
  • The current book I’m reading for my course. Because, you know, I’m going to my friend’s house to study. This one is ridiculous. But that book goes with me everywhere.
  • My Samsung Tablet so I can fall asleep to some noise.
  • My olloclip. Which is also with me at all times.
  • My old iPhone 4s. It’s dead, I haven’t charged it. Yet, I carry it with me.
  • My old sony IXUS compact camera that I don’t use anymore. But, once again, you just never know.
  • My passports. Yes plural. These ones have just been sitting in my bag for aeons. So they come with me everywhere too. You know, I might be jetting off somewhere. Hahaha! Oh I do make myself chuckle. I’m broke, so I don’t know where I would jet off to.
  • My facial cleansers are a must along with my night creams and rosemary oil concoction for my eyebrows.
  • And then there’s the essential stuff like a change of clothes, hair brush, contact lenses, wallet, some jewellery and headphones.

I mean it’s ridiculous isn’t it?! Yes, yes it is. The funny thing is that all the above stuff is taken when it’s a quiet night in. It doubles when we go out to places.

If it were up to me, I would also bring my own pillow and duvet from home. Ah man, I wish I was a kid again!

Leggings Are Most Definitely, Not Pants!

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Guys, we need to discuss a dilemma that doesn’t seem to be getting any better. In fact this problem is running rampant through the streets of the world and the women who are responsible for this outrageous atrocity are repeat offenders. I am talking about see-through leggings people! See-through fucking leggings…

I love me a good pair of leggings. What girl doesn’t? They are down right comfortable. In fact when I can’t be bothered with life I throw a pair of black leggings on with a black top and I’m good to go, walking around mourning the days that have past me by. Ok too melodramatic, I know. But leggings are great. And boy do I thank my lucky stars when I’m in food Hoover mode. You know those days where you are eating for the entire universe. On those days, while wearing my leggings, I feel a little less guilty inside and a little less fat. Reason being, they don’t cinch me at the waist as my stomach becomes that of the gluttonous man who died of overeating in the movie “Se7en”.

There is however, one very important rule to wearing them right. The top that you choose to go with them, must go past your va-jay-jay and ass. That’s it. That’s the only rule you have to abide by. How difficult is that? NOT AT ALL if you ask me! So why am I still seeing all these ladies walking around with see-through leggings, short tops AND undies with ice-cream cones and kittens on them that are also shoved up their ass-holes? It is not flattering, even if you do happen to be the fittest woman alive. Whoever thinks it’s acceptable to have a camel toe in the front and a bunched up mess in the back should be imprisoned for life in solitary confinement.

It’s simple ladies, when you go into a clothing store and your sole mission is to buy a pair of leggings, here’s what you have to do. Firstly, check if they’re see-through. Hold them up to the light and stretch them. Put your hand in one of the leg openings while you’re still holding it up to the light. If you can see your own flesh coloured hand clearly then with 100% certainty know that when you put those bad boys on, you will be showing off your bits along with your unpleasant underwear choice. Secondly, go for dark or bold colours. Do not… I repeat, DO NOT buy nude colour leggings. You will look naked from the waist down. And please know that all those car horns which will be blowing up a storm in your direction, won’t be to compliment you on your shapely ass-ets. No, they will be blowing that horn because from afar, you will be looking like a crazy naked whorebag.

Let’s all stop and think a little ladies. If we make a concious decision to “uncouple” ourselves from these horrible atrocities, the whole world would be a much better place. If it’s not meant to show your undies, then cover those cracks, front and back, up! Enough said…

Dieting Has Officially Driven Me crazy…

Diets

 


 

I tried… I honestly tried. For years I attempted to better myself but I think it’s about time that I just face the facts and say that doing these rigid dieting treatments is not for me. I love food way too much and I definitely don’t mind being the only fatty in the city. Ok, sometimes I do but if it’s at the expense of losing the will to live then forget it. God knows all the health freaks of the world are going to slaughter me but you know what I say to them… I’m not judging your lifestyle choices, so don’t judge mine.

Every new diet that gets traction has been discussed between me and my girlfriends. One says they are on the 5;2 diet and the rest jump on the bandwagon. Another tried that maple syrup detox shit for 14 days and the rest hopped on the express train to slimsville.  Do you know the will power that you must have to only drink a diet concoction for 14 days and that’s it. I mean I barely have the will power to get out of the house on the weekends. Most of the time I am one lazy bitch. I have no will power to speak of.

When I start a new diet I go full steam ahead like a trooper. But it takes less than two weeks for my interest to fade and like a person who suffers from ADHD (I am assuming) looks to other shinier things that have piqued my interest. You know, like eating a big ol’ fat burger and some chilli cheese fries.

I am the same with exercising. I do maybe a month straight of pushing myself to my limits. As if I was G.I. Jane  training to be in the Navy Seals and Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson were my Sergeant. But like the fatty that I am, I then stop cold turkey. It’s by far my most shitest characteristic.

Dieting is like my arch nemesis. And he is kicking my ass. I can’t even say that thing about ‘You may have won the battle, but not the war’ quote. Because the reality is, if I’m being brutally honest, Mr. Diet has not only won the battle, but all the wars. I have been K’Oed even before getting into the ring when it comes to battling with him. He has broken me mentally, physically and emotionally.

You know what the sad thing is? I buy all the right food. But do I eat it? NO! Instead I look in my pasta cupboard. When I do decide to be healthy it never satisfies me and I end up spending the whole day miserable, as I stroke my tummy to comfort it while saying, ‘I’m so sorry for torturing you in this way.’ I am now coming to the conclusion that I most definitely need a hypnotherapist. Someone to go into my brain and reprogramme the whole damn thing.

So what is a girl to do? I’ll tell you what! She is going to eat whatever the hell she wants to eat and that’s that! Going to a restaurant and ordering some steamed veggies and a salad does not appeal to me. You don’t want to be a savage hangry person when you’re out at a restaurant. No. You want to be the most sociable and content human being walking the face of the earth. And when I eat like a bird on these diets I am literally the hulk, fuelled by the rage of starvation. No seriously guys. I am like the worlds crankiest person when I don’t eat. I start hallucinating and eventually black out due to my rage. Ok, maybe that was a tad too dramatic but I am most certainly, not a happy bunny.

Therefore, I am not going to waste my hours throughout the day counting calories, or measuring grams, or making sure that my food portions are the size of a golf ball on my tiny plate. No. I am just going to eat what I want, when I want and then exercise from time to time. Life is too short to be so regimented like a drill sergeant. Where is the fun in all of that anyway? I don’t want to be over-consumed by weighing myself and dieting until I’m blue in the face. There is always a happy medium for which I am totally willing to explore. As for the crazy diets… I am done.

Pelfies or Delfies, how about neither…

 

Pelfies or Delfies


 

Taking photos has become like second nature to us all. We take so many photos that they have all turned in to one big ball of blurry colours. It’s obviously easier nowadays due to this phenomenon of what they call the smartphone. I sometimes want to smash mine, which for me, is like an annoying family member you can’t get rid of. A few words come to mind in association with my phone. Glued, attached, fastened, just to name a few. One time I forgot ‘my precious’ at home and not only was I paranoid, nervous, incomplete, but I also got an overwhelming sense of uncertainty that, even though I am a human being who can think on my own without the aid of any electronic devices, has now suddenly been rendered useless. A defective blubbering moron; all because in my head I thought I lost contact with the outside world and most importantly that I missed out on important calls and texts. Here’s the thing. Hardly no one ever calls me because I’m not so important. It would seem I’m only a queen within my own mind and nowhere else. Yet here I was, phoneless and lifeless, the world as I knew it was caving in all around me. Now, do you know how many people got in contact with me for the whole 11 hours I was away from my phone? One! Yes, one person. And do you know who that person was? My mom. Need I say more.

Since we take our phones everywhere, we are able to constantly whip it out and take photos wherever we are. Here are a few examples: The park (you didn’t get enough pictures of grass) clubbing (you needed yet another one of you and your friends puckering up to the camera or if you’re super drunk, your middle fingers) road trips (taking a picture of a random road sign that is exactly like the one on your street back home) restaurants ( you simply have to take a picture of what you’re about to eat, I mean come on!) and of course we can’t forget a selfie. This word was the most used word of 2013 and is still being used like the air we breathe. Now, don’t get me wrong, I have been doing selfies since before they came into fashion. But I do at least have the common decency to make it seem like I am in the company of someone taking the photo. I do not understand the ones where you stand in front of a mirror and take a photo of yourself looking at yourself looking into a mirror. But hands down, my most detested selfie of all time is a, let’s call it a pelfie and for those raunchy males out there, a delfie. Are you now questioning what I’m blabbering on about? I am talking about men who simply love to take a picture of their beloved little “friend”, their penis. They then have the audacity to send it to the girl that they are chatting with. What is the difference between a pelfie and a delfie you ask? Well, a pelfie is a more subdued photo of a flaccid penis. They just take a picture of it flopped on top of their balls. A delfie (deriving from the word dick + selfie) is a fully errect penis with them holding it in their hands. If there was a caption to accompany this photo it would be ‘It’s right here, come and get this bad boy’.

Men, I completely understand that you are ruled by your one and only true love. I totally get it. It is something that us woman have come to accept and tolerate since the beginning of time. But in all honesty, do you really think women love receiving pictures of penises? The quick answer to that is no, we do not. I have lost count with how many photos I’ve received of man’s best friend. I could literally open up a photography exhibition with the amount of penis photos I have received throughout my dating life. Here’s the thing. I do not ask for these photos. I do not even wish to receive these photos, yet some how my phone beeps and lo and behold a penis pops up on my screen. Men, women do not want to receive these surprises on their phone. In fact we would much rather get a photo of some sexy abs or a cheeky smile while biting your lower lip. Those are the things that turn us on. Do you honestly think that penises are attractive things to look at? I’m sorry to say, they are not. And don’t get me started on wrinkly scraggly balls! Those things need to be kept under lock and key. I’ll let you in on a secret. We like the lights off because we don’t want to see your manhood in all it’s glory. It is not because we are ashamed or shy with how we look naked. Ok, maybe we are but your penis out ranks our fears of being naked with the lights on. It is bad enough to be constantly bombarded with men all day long adjusting, fixing, rearranging and scratching their balls in public. But to then send a delfie on top of all that is just pure madness. We, as ladies, like the idea of what a penis can do. So when we fantasise about a man, the penis is the last thing we envision. It is more about the touch, feel and scenario that gets us going. We are most definitely hardwired differently then you men.

So what is the solution? To stop sending Pelfies, Delfies and Balfies (ball shots). Yup, it’s that simple. Instead send us photos of you playing football, or a cute photo of you working hard at your desk, or even one of you cooking. That way we can then fantasise about you being all sweaty after you winning that foothball game, or throwing all the papers off your desk and picking us up forcefully while we go at it on said desk and lastly sitting at the dinner table while we devour the wonderful food you’ve just cooked for us. Oh, right, I missed out on the sexy scenario of the last one. Well, to that I say a girl has got to eat and for your informantion, we want a man who can take the time out to do something for us without getting sex as the dessert. Dear holiness of the devine right of women, now that would definitely be the best fantasy of them all.

On the Corner of Desert Drive and Melting Lane – The reality of Getting older…

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So, I just turn 31 a couple of weeks ago… and as thrilling as it is to get older, what has hit me even harder is that I am probably leaving my prime years behind me. I am noticing wrinkles people! The lines are getting deeper while my pores are getting bigger. I am starting to feel like a desert that got shot up with land mines. Can a person shrivel up so early on in life? I swear my skin is starting to look parched and pasty, no doubt a prime candidate for being an extra in The Walking Dead.

Now that I’m officially in my 30’s I am noticing that things are starting to shift southwards. That it’s taking longer to loose weight, that I’m needing a foundation with a concrete base so I can shelac it on my face, that my bra straps need to be hoisted up to an unimaginable height which has created new grooves in my shoulders and while I’m being completely honest I might as well say that there are hairs popping up in places that make me want to cry. That one is no doubt due to my Greek roots. Thanks parents for that one. I can officially say I  am now a mix between the melting wicked witch in the wizard of Oz, wolverine, The Swamp Thing and the marshmallow man. So, with all these wonderful transformations happening I have realised that my prime years are leaving me.

Now, I would probably have handled this better if I knew I had someone already there as my partner. You know someone who is stuck with me and knew that I once was a pretty decent catch. At least they could hold on to that image in their mind while all these transformations happen. But to still be single and this shit to be happening is not cool. Suddenly my friend’s joke of being a cranky old cat lady is hitting a little too close to home. I haven’t got a cat yet people, so there’s still some sort of hope I guess.

Dates now seem like it takes me a week to prepare for. And on the day of, I feel like I’m one second shy of having a cardiac arrest.  Just the thought of trying to prettify myself is getting my heart rate going. I feel at this rate it’s going to get a whole lot worse. My beauty regime will become even longer where I will have to get up at 4 am just to prepare myself for the day and where I will have to go to bed at around 1am because it will take me 5 hours just to sandpaper all the crap off me. I mean, it is getting pretty bleak.

Being single in your 20’s is one thing, while being single in your 30’s is looked at as slightly depressing. But, to be a single, melting, pudgy wolverine is a down right cruel punishment. There was a reason why people got married young and divorce was unfathomable back in the day. I know society would have you believe that the men of religion brought that forward but I am convinced it was women. That way you got them while they were beautiful and when their transformations started taking effect the men couldn’t escape, therefore never having to fear you will be a spinster hag that rivalled the hunch back of notre dame. Ok fine, I know a bit far fetched but whatever.

Meeting new people seems harder now and when you are looking for a potential suitor it is slim pickings out there. At this point I would just be happy for someone with a pulse  who isn’t married. I mean that surely isn’t much to ask for.  But would they still want me? I mean I think I can still doll up for the first stages of dating but what happens when they sleep over and see me in the morning in the harsh light of day? At least it’s cloudy for most of the year in England so that has worked in my favour. But on the downside my skin has gotten so white that it has only enhanced my pasty-ness. Either way they would have to sleep over at my place because to wake up in their place without my arsenal would be unthinkable. Or I would have to carry a Mary Poppins bag and every girl knows that arriving on a date with a suitcase sized bag is not cute. So when they sleep over at my place it would mean that my make up would be staying on for the night especially on my eyebrows. I was over zealous when I was a kid and now they are sparse and ridiculous looking…CURSE YOU TWEEZERS and curse you mom for failing to advise me better!! I would have to sleep on my back the whole night in fear that I might smudge my carefully constructed face and my pillow will inevitably look like picasso himself came over for a painting session. So not only will I be cranky because of the lack of sleep but let’s not forget my whole beauty regime would be fucked where no doubt a new bullet hole would leave its mark on my already cluttered face. As you can see I have already made the potential scenario even more than what it would be. I know I’m over analysing, but I’m a woman, that’s what we do.

As you can no doubt tell, I am not thrilled of the prospect of getting older. Maybe if I had lots of money this wouldn’t even be an issue. But being poor and only being able to afford the cheap remedies has not worked. I have more creams and elixirs than I care to admit. Even my choice of foot wear as of late have been flats because heels are another painful reminder that my poor little feet can’t sustain the fat that I’m walking around with all day. The only time I wear heels is when I’m on a date. Even for those couple of hours I want to shoot myself. The shitty thing is people only aproach you if you are well put together. I have never heard a man say, damn, she sure looks like she has a great personality. No, they look at your tits, your face, how tall you are and if your junk is in all the right places. If all these things look appealing and then they find out you’re funny with a great personality it’s like striking gold. I know I got the funny down, and a pretty good personality, but the rest is a train wreck. So you tell me, how the hell am I supposed to catch me a guy? And let’s say I eventually do, then there’s that old pesky pessimism that’s laced with self-doubt, self-consciousness and awkwardness when you know that evenutually this person is going to see you naked. And that right there kills me every time. I don’t even want to see myself naked so how the hell can I expect that a guy would.

I tell you, it was a lot easier when I was younger. Now, it’s just a very slow torturous ride that I will never be able to get used to and just when I think that I’ve come to grips with how I look, that’s when another line and another inch down and outwards sends me right into the arms of a straight jacket and four padded walls.