Why All Women Need At Least One Man

Man friend that is. I'm not of the school of thought that men and women can't be friends because somewhere, somehow along the lines feelings are involved. I call bullshit on that. Perhaps that's because I don't go around crushing on my niggas but really, I value the thoughts if my male friends much more than my female ones. How could you say such a thing Ally? I mean, really women are more well-rounded with their thought process, don't you appreciate that? Like hell.

Don't get me wrong, I'm as fragile and sometimes petty as the woman one seat over but I don't often care for the addition of female fluff to pad my issues. Your male friends will never pad. And I never pad for them. Or for my female friends actually... which explains why I have so few. It all boils down to this simple fact: bitches be lyin'. You're always wrong but not really wrong. And it's always, "who does he think he is?" and "i can't believe he did that!" I have the same convo with my male friends and they're all like, "you know you should've seen that shit comin, come on now." And then I actually have to stop and THINK. Psh. Men. Burstin women's bubbles since 500 B.C.

Anyhoo, tonight I was having a convo with a friend in which sex was briefly "discussed". I use the quotations there because men don't really discuss sex. For women any talk about sex could turn into a book, for men it can be narrowed to a simple sentence. Specifically when addressing casual sex. When is casual sex ever casual for a woman? Didn't Justin and Mila just address this?! So I said to him "sex is complicated" to which he responds, "it definitely is not" and goes on to break it down in man sense.

For men it's basically as simple as a handshake, we're doing nothing but having sex - simple. That's a binding contract right there. For us it STARTS that simple and can turn into something else if we're attracted to the person outside of just the physical (insert fine print complication here). 

We think, "maybe, just maybe this could be more and this will just be the funny tale of how we became mr. and mrs." (catastrophe pending!) Men think (in the words of my friend), "just don't fuck them like you love them. pull their hair and shit."

A female friend would interpret that as "ooh maybe he's just freaky" but this is why I love and appreciate ma mens. Because I know that if ever I were to enter into a casual sex arrangement and he pulls my hair I better just enjoy the ride and neatly pack my oestrogen riddled brain in my overnight bag. Simple life 101.

Your knowledge-seeking man hugger,


Image from: cartoonstock.com


Therapeutic Gangster Rap

There's just something about Thursdays that automatically make me feel like shit. And what is it with random showers of heavy ass rain on a Thursday anyway? Basically, Thursday is an asshole. It was however, interesting to (tentatively) embark on my adventure of seeing a therapist. There I was sitting in the waiting room expecting a frail-looking woman with round spectacles to peep from behind the wooden door and ask me - with a very Keanu Reeves monotone - to come in. Imagine my surprise and awkward facial expression when this bubbly adorable woman emerged smiling and chirping hellos. Ok Thursday...

There was no couch, no weird instrumentals fucking with my subconscious, and no one sitting across the table nodding and taking notes while randomly inserting an automated "mhm". She's almost as animated as I am, didn't outright gawk like my girlfriends but she reacted like a regular human being would and best of all she's HILARIOUS. Like, I think she may have been Eddie Murphy (a la Beverly Hills Cop not Pluto Nash) in a previous life. I. Love. Her.

But of course this would not be a tale of my life if there wasn't something awkward amidst the interesting social interactions. I cursed. I cursed at my Christian therapist. Not my usual F (and MF...and C...and friends) bombs but I said shit and asshole a few times. I was actually quite proud of myself. What self control I possess! She was able to confirm my sanity (aaaaaahh!!!) and assure me that I wasn't in fact fuckin up. Did I mention she was awesome beyond all definitions of awesomeness?

Following the relief of my visit I was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to listen to gangster rap. Wu Tang Clan ain't nothing to fuck with. And neither is B.I.G. Thuggin Thursdays. It was perfection.

The saga continues!

Your Zen Master,



Seasonal Resolutions And Things

Following my last awkwardly obscure post (all mobsters know snitching gets you murked) I decided to do a switcharoo for the blog. Every new year I say I'm going to write more, share my rants and other musings with the world while trying not to say too much about my actual life because oversharing makes me nauseous. Time to change that. Just a little.

In order to actually write more about my random and excessively theatrical life I will be sharing a little more of ME with you. This will include my most amusing interactions, loads of aliases, maybe some video, definitely some pictures, and interesting things I run into on a daily basis. The word daily as used in that sentence does not mean I will be posting daily however. But it's an improvement, yes?

This year was full of changes and overhauls for me and now that I'm decidedly less cynical but absolutely still a comedic case I'm going to let you into my head a little. Even my dearest loves (said friends who bitch slapped me out of my quarter-life crisis) are weary of the thoughts floating around in here. Enter at your own risk of course.

The adventure begins tomorrow with *insert drumroll and other suspense-inducing sounds here* therapy. Yes, therapy. Yes, that therapy where you see a therapist who takes notes while you lay on a couch and/or vomit because of the nausea induced by oversharing. This is an adventure for me because my friends outwardly gawk at the shit I tell them about my life and I always wondered what a therapist would say, so I'm going to test one. 

I know right now you're envisioning an eye-twitching, awkwardly conspicuous psychopath but sane people get therapy too! Friends and family are generally biased (yes, no matter how much they try not to be) and at times you just need an independent party to tell you when you're fuckin up. God, if my therapist curses this will be the beginning of a very long love affair. She better not be one of those, "and how did that make you feel?" types because I won't be able to stop laughing and from experience I know that can be counter-productive.

So we begin a new chapter ahead of the new year and if 2012 brings the wrath of Armageddon upon us, I'll be at my cursing therapist's office drinking tea and discussing my absurd emotions. Here's hoping.

Your silly wabbit,


Image from toonpool.com


The Audacity of Closure

Years of movies and regurgitated therapeutic rhetoric has lead us to believe that when things happen in our lives that hurt us no matter how much we try to move forward there is just one final piece of the puzzle that’s missing. This final piece that threatens to leave us “incomplete” forever is closure. Like many of you, I was of the belief that I would forever be labelled a baggage handler if I didn’t confront the person who wronged me. I somehow assumed that if I faced this person and asked the questions I felt I desperately needed answers to, all will be well in the world. Meh...

Delving into those emotions past only sent me down a path that was better off barricaded (and surrounded by warning signs and booby-traps). The thing about emotions, particularly those dealing with love and other associated romantic notions, is that you can only wield so much control over them. Beyond that point they take on a life of their own. And so, in seeking nothing but peace of mind and the mythical being ‘closure’, I got lost. Not send-a-search-party lost but I definitely lost my bearings and spent a night in the wilderness.

There is a reason this person is no longer a part of my life and despite not having gotten the answers to any of my questions (because as much as we like to see it movies, in reality dogs can’t talk) I was given so much more. I didn’t get the type of closure you see in movies. You know the thank-you-for-being-honest-I’ll-be-on-my-way-now-bless-you *cue the music* but I got the truth anyway. It’s not always as straight forward or simple as I would like it to be. Suffice to say, I can never get closure from someone else. They are the ones who have to deal with what they’ve done. My only duty is to forgive them and release myself of the burden so I can be happy.

As enlightening and devastating as that experience was, it has strangely renewed my hope. I was always of the belief that at least once in our lives, no matter where on the timeline, we all eventually get the love we deserve. In retrospect, despite the soap opera melodrama of that day, I wouldn’t have done anything differently and I’m actually better for it. You never really see me discussing intensely personal things here, because it's hard to articulate my emotions that aren't humorous, so I’ll let my love Nina touch on the issue. Really she says it better than I ever could. 

Your soldier of love,


What an appropriate description! :)