Bwah ha ha... "Throw some soft cheeses into the mix, unless you’re insecure about your weight because she sure mentioned that, too. You know what, you are going to need that cheese. And all the wine."
My personal recent Mom favorites:
Via Reductress: 6 Wines that Pair Well With Having Just Gotten Off the Phone with Your Mother
I debated being a jackass and posting that I'll be spending Mother's Day making it rain disposable, childless income on fancy brunch cocktails and new Lush products. And, don't get me wrong, that IS what I'm doing today.
But also: Serious, non-snarky props to all my mom friends. I hate most children because I hate most people, but your kids are the best because YOU'RE the best. So thanks for raising a new generation of non-assholes. 'Cause we all know if *I* were the one endeavoring to "teach them well and let them lead the way," my kid would be a complete dick -- he'd be late for school every day and have unexplained Cheetos in his unwashed hair.
So, as for us fruitless non-multipliers... Y'all wanna go get hammered at noon and then go buy some motherfuckin' high-end soaps?
WE RIDE!
This DVD arrived in today's mail, proving once again that sometimes Netflix just gets me. 
"Oh, honey. We at Netflix know you've had a long, stupid workweek, and have a busy weekend ahead. We know you need to spend your scant free hours drinking irresponsibly, eating popcorn for dinner, and watching Gretchen Weiners find true love with the Lord's guidance in a movie that looks like it was originally developed for Lifetime. No, wait -- this has Hallmark Channel all over it. You go MST3K that shit, sweetie. You've earned it."
I really hope she finds out how "fetch" Jesus is.
Or, as a friend said, "Maybe he makes her realize butt stuff doesn't count."
WE RIDE!
I'm going with a basic list for last night's date recap (Waffles Guy, date 2), because no storytelling would be better than just throwing it all out there:
1. He really likes Triumph the Insult Comic. He was surprised I didn't, because it's "such similar humor to George Carlin's."
THAT is when I should've left. BUT...
2. He ordered Bud Light Lime. On purpose. And paid for it. With money.
3. He mocked Rhonda Rousey for saying she was depressed after a loss, because "she just didn't get her way," and "male fighters would never say something like that -- they'd say, 'OK, I'll get back to the gym, work harder.'"
So... You can't be depressed but ALSO plan to improve? But "that's not what a champion says."
He actually seemed pretty dismissive about mental health issues in general, which is odd because he works in a facility that treats addicts and people with psych issues. But fuck you, dude -- I'm only moderately crazy ("dysthymic," I believe is the word), and therapy and meds have helped me a lot. And I know at least two people who'd probably be dead if they hadn't sought help.
4. There's "gentleman," which I enjoy, and then there's repeatedly insisting I put your coat over my shoulders even when I've said I'm not cold. Dude, it's 65 degrees out, and I am a grown-ass woman who can determine when she needs a coat.
5. Related: While walking, he told me he was switching sides with me on the sidewalk so I wasn't walking closest to the street.
I forgot that was a THING.
I don't usually get feminist-tweaked until you start treating me like a child, and then suddenly you're staring down the barrel of 40 years of family issues. I know when I need a coat, and it's our second date, so... you're gonna, what, get hit by an out-of-control car so I don't? Way to volunteer as Tribute.
6. Discussing movies:
Him: "I never saw Lord of the Rings. Is that the one with the kid with the glasses?"
Me: *blink*"...No. That's Harry Potter."
Him:"Oh, right! I've never seen those movies, either."
I don't care if he didn't see them. But how the actual balls do you confuse the two?
7. He said Breaking Bad was "just OK," and that Better Call Saul is better. I hope someone gives you Stevia. (Kidding.)
8. Audible eater. (Of FOOD, shut up.)
9. While not as disgusting or graphic as I would've thought, hearing how diverticulitis presents in an adult male is still pretty boring.
10. When I asked if he was a Trump voter: "There are two things I don't talk about in public: religion and politics. One I know far too much about, one I know nothing about. I won't tell you which is which, but I will say I went to Catholic school for 12 years."
Wow. I am in awe of the enigma of you.
I realize some of this is just me being an asshole. But... I mean, the valid points are REALLY valid. (It also hit a lot of my big-issue nerves, but that's ME, not him, so I'll get into that later.)
P.S. I let him kiss me because I was still curious after he didn't on the first date, and I'll give him credit: Solid kiss, one hand around my waist, one hand in my hair. Good work, sir. A little too much moaning for me personally, but overall, good for you.
I have dates. Two dates, with two different guys. Dates I probably won't end up canceling when I find out the guy has an STD or wants to take out his fake teeth before he goes down on me.
As I told Therapist and my friends, I understand this is a good thing. Aside from just testing my capability for interaction on a date, the last person I kissed was during The Year of Poor Life Choices (2013), so it's been FAR too long. Therapist tells me if I end up kissing one of these dudes, that may be good, because maybe I'll no longer be giving Bad-Life-Choice Guy mental significance as "the last person I kissed."
But Jesus Christ... DATES...Plural...
You can die of anxiety, right? 'Cause I'm going to. Just so you know. Kissing won't be an issue if I have a heart attack. Hopefully the kissing will come first.
If I die, it's been a pleasure writing silliness for you all.
Seems fitting for Groundhog Day, but with advance apologies to the few readers who emailed me to say I shouldn't waste anymore time in this place...
This is the point in the That Guy cycle when I'm worried we're not actually done -- that I'll let my guard down and then he'll pop up somewhere. It's been a discernible pattern, so much that I'm in a mental fighting stance every time I check any element of my digital existence.
I don't think it's going to happen this time. We weren't exactly kind to each other. And he wasn't trying to resurrect our friendship, which it turns out we never HAD. He was just finally confirming he'd been using my body and affection to make himself feel better, and that I was inadequate in both capacities. (Still a great feeling if you ever get the chance.)
Logistically, I don't see how he COULD pop up. He can still see this page because it's public (everybody wave!). I'm not changing that to avoid one person. (Unless it's, like, Dexter.) But I don't think he's going to "like" anything after I gave him a bunch of shit about liking posts about my body or masturbation.
I think I've taken every other precaution, but I'm still a little on edge. When I stopped speaking to him last New Year's, I don't think a month passed thereafter where he didn't remind me he was checking on me -- a text, blog like, Facebook friend request (to my professional account), a LinkedIn profile view. But I probably said enough that he'll avoid setting off that particular powder keg again.
And we'll just save it for therapy that I still miss him. (Shut UP, I don't KNOW. He told me I "claim dysfunction and use it to explain away being wrong," so...yeah, dibs on that. I was crazy, I thought we were friends -- I was wrong. I'm basically Clarissa right now.)
Oddly, I think I'll relax about all this around Valentine's Day, since that'll be about 6 weeks. I'll aim to spend that day finally unclenched, hopefully in more ways than one, with a movie, a glass of wine, my bombass lasagna, and an obscene quantity of really good chocolate. Ideally with a man under me as well, but I think it'll be a decent day either way. Me and my Valentine "Serenity" -- in all the ways. Shiny.
I'm thinking about where I was last New Year's Eve, mentally and physically, and... son of a bitch, that IS real, tangible progress. I suddenly have a li'l extra swagger this evening -- 2016 is gonna be the year of Dat Ass.
Happy almost new year, my lovelies. My bourbon cider and I salute you. Have fun, be safe, and thank you for reading my silliness this year.
Cheers and hugs,
Smug
I think I'm packed for Christmas, yeah? 
No, wait... You're right. I need beer.
Also, I totally hear you -- Xanax would've been great, but alas, there's some shit about ethics where they won't give it to me because I don't actually have anxiety? I KNOW, right, what the shit? This IS America, right? Family gatherings + Jesus' birthday = special dispensation. That's in the Bible: "And lo, distributed among them, there were delicious medications, and yea, they were happy. OK, well...not really HAPPY, but they didn't hit anyone, and so there was peace on earth, and sedated goodwill toward men."
P.S. I will spend today baking MANY cookies; those are almost Xanax if you eat enough of them.
P.P.S. That whiskey is not for me. That shit is like having one of those hippie honey cough drops in your drink. Ugh.
One more on this, and then, sweet baby Jesus willing, I think I'm done.
Possibly (erm, make that probably) inebriated conversation with a male friend...
Friend: "Does That Guy know you're the one writing these posts when he likes them on Tumblr?"
Me: "Yep. I told him about it before I fucked everything up."
Friend: "Before HE fucked everything up. Don't get it twisted."
Me: "Mutual destruction."
Friend: "That's weird, though."
Me: "What, that he knows? Or that he'll like posts about my body but turned down my many offers to do any naughty little thing he wanted to it?"
Friend: "Both. I mean, he made his choice, right?"
Me: "Eh. It's fine. He doesn't read often. If I don't want him to like the posts, I'll just keep writing about feelings. He never did like my feelings."
Weirdly, I'm feeling MUCH better...
And also feeling as if every shelf in my home not dedicated to bourbon is a shelf wasted.
(Bourbon & Branch, Philadelphia.)
