Morning Glory

A blog- because there's nothing else to do at work 

The day goes as follows: I wake up 45 minutes late for work. Typical. It's only my second day of being on my own and already I'm dropping the ball. Luckily, my lateness is partially overshadowed by the scheduling snafu that was caused by a dumb broad who decided she had better things to do than call out herself. Touching. 

Speaking of touching, my swollen lymph node is getting smaller, so that's good. I feel like one of those colonial men who journal-led every day, about the menial and the mildly interesting. 

"Today I woke up and said 50 hail Mary's. Martha made porridge for breakfast, which she knows I hate. I gave her 10 lashings. Praise be to God Almighty."

And so forth. 

The alarm just went off and it took me minutes and minutes to shut it off. It was one I hadn't heard before, and I tried every combination I knew but to no avail. Finally i just punched in a random combination and it gave up and turned off mercifully. 

My professor says I am too long-winded in my writing, so I will leave it at this for now. 

Moody Blues

Why am I the biggest gun-jumper ever? Someone slap me with an uncooked hot dog. That's all.

Ramblings

I am writing to you from the exciting hub of America i.e. my bedroom. I am so green about this whole blog thing that just writing again is therapeutic. Ever since I was a wee devilish thing I've wanted to write, to tell stories and make people laugh and cry and maybe even pen a rave review or two. I figure that even if what I write is total shit, and most of the time it will be, it will work out the rust and old screws from my writing and I will see some sort of progression. 

Currently Listening: Scissor Sisters

Future Second Husband

My Loves

Nub and Thrust: The Sex Column

I am writing this for the benefit of those ladies who were once where I used to be: lost in a fog of their own naivete and potential whoriness. My advice on relationships is sparse, seeing as how I've only been attached for a short while, but what I do know I feel compelled to share in the event that it prevents some poor drip from making the same mistakes I made. It's one thing to get advice on your skankery from Cosmo or Elle, which I love and am by no means hating on, but to hear it from someone like you who has been there is entirely different. 

1. STOP BEING SO AVAILABLE. 

This is essential. Thus it's the first point. If you spend every ten minutes texting, calling, or generally being up the rectum of your potential or current partner, you are going to annoy the hell out of him or her. Not only that, but eventually you get sick of each other and have nothing to talk about. Unless talking isn't what you're into in the first place...

2. HEY! WHORA INGALLS WILDER! KEEP IT IN YOUR PANTS.

I know as well as anyone that in this day and age of rampant hobaggery, the goods are more valuable than ever. Besides the obvious risks of the herp et al and emotional nonsense that comes with being a grade A hooker, it makes you one of many. And that's never a good place to be. See below picture of my favorite trollop and recently ousted Danity Kane member, the classy and gorgeous Miss Aubrey O'Day.

3. FROM THE CHELSEA HANDBOOK: DO NOT CONTACT HIM FIRST.

It's all about the chase, kids. This is just common freaking sense to me, but apparently not to the ten million tricks who whine about why their potential butt buddy doesn't want to talk to them, AFTER they've spent their whole day textually stalking them. Men enjoy the chase. Seriously. And don't think for a second that playing coy will deter the man (or manwhore, as it were) who knows what he wants. Sluts are decisive!

Favorite Manwhore and dirty douchepickle

4. TEXTUAL INTERCOURSE. 

DON'T DO IT. PERIOD. By this, I mean no sending pictures of your naked drunk ass, slutty texts, videos or anything to that end unless you want it to take a few laps around YouTube in the future when the receiver kicks you to the curb. 

5. SUCK IT UP, NANCY! STOP BEING SO SENSITIVE.

This is not so obvious to most chicks, as we live in a bubble of false expectations and are treated like the glorious Georgia O'Keefe flowers that we are, but life is tough. Get a helmet. (I know I know the Boy Meets World reference has seen better days). Nevertheless, it is imperative that you stop taking the littlest things so seriously and reading into facial ticks and random hand gestures or whatever that mean little more than the fact that your man is fidgety or gassy or just a weirdo. I am incredibly guilty of this and have seen what comes of making it a habit. So for your own good, cut it out.

Ecuador

In keeping with my newfound wanderlust, I am sojourning to Ecuador in January with Global Volunteer. I am not prepared for snakes and spiders *shudder* and the indigenous people making fun of me in their native tongue, but the time has come to leave home for a while and get a bit of clarity and perspective on the big wide world. 

I'll update more as it approaches, but I'm already racked with traveler's nerves. Sounds to me like this pansy needs an ass-kicking, and nothing does that better than being plopped down into a country where no one speaks your language and the present you bring home is one you'll spend six to eight weeks getting rid of. 

The bright side of all of this is that I will hopefully get to teach English in the schools, and get to live in one of the most gorgeous and sought-after places in the world for two weeks. Service is my passion (no bj jokes pleaseandthankyou), so I'm finally ready to take the first step.