The Elusive Self-Esteem Boost and a Therapeutic Three-fer

If you've never had a day where you look in the mirror and think, "GodDAMN, I look good," I highly recommend it.

Spring and summer clothes and weather really are my wheelhouse. I'll also be buying more of this new makeup (aptly made by Tarte) and thanking the gods of hair for blessing my rolled-outta-bed coif today.

Sometimes a plan just comes together, and today it did, in the form of my unplanned FINE ass.

"Give it up, boys and girls. Admit it. I look GOOD!" (Don't judge me, Bette is my jam.)

P.S. I went to therapy tonight, and one of the first things she said to me, unprompted, was, "You look wonderful!" So there you go, y'all -- my cuteness is verified by a licensed professional. (My brain went full Cady-Heron-in-the-black-dress: "I KNOW, right?!")

P.P.S. Tonight's agenda: Therapy, takeout food, and Scandal. So basically a therapeutic three-fer.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A_Sb7PpLoS0]

Slut Shame and the Blame Game

I had scheduled a date. I was going to meet an OkCupid person. We were going to go to a Philly taproom I've wanted to go to for years but never had time/company. They have fried PB&J, and I KNOW y'all don't think I'm above eating the HELL out of that on a first date.

Yeah... I can't. I started thinking about our conversations, the number of red flags I'd been letting pass because they were "just little things" that made me go "Hmm..." But when considered together, they make me really uncomfortable. I have a bad vibe I didn't get from the initial OkC messaging, but have had for the past few days of texting. I told friends about less than half of those "little things," and they told me to cancel, and cancel NOW.

But something in my brain felt guilty, like I should meet him because I said I would, because I said we'd at least be friends, because I flirted, because I took the flirting further than I should have, because I am a sexually frustrated attention whore, and because what did I expect would happen when I behaved that way?

Sound advice from a friend: "Don't help them think only with their dicks until you've at least seen their face."

On occasion it seems a self-proclaimed male "feminist" bloviating that, "Women should be able to express their sexuality without fear of being judged!" translates to, "I'm going to make demands on your time and behavior, and treat you like you owe me something, even when you're sick, or busy, or clearly don't want to." I guess I'm only free to express it when the whoring works in your favor?

But I am legitimately concerned, all bad Spidey Sense, and fuck that. I'm not gonna get axe murdered just so everyone at my funeral can remember me as NICE. (My friends wouldn't -- they'd be like, "GAWD, how was she such an accommodating asshole when her asshole never actually accommodated anyone?!" My mom would probably be proud I died polite, though... [Ahem. Too dark?])

Anyway. I should've known when I found myself telling him we had to go out Monday because I was "busy" on Thursday -- busy watching Scandal, but busy nonetheless.

It's possible I have more feelings than one normal person should, like maybe I evolved wrong, or missed a meeting. Because I shouldn't be blaming myself for being "slutty" here. ("Well, yeah, I feel like he's overstepping my boundaries, but how would he know I even HAD boundaries?") And if I'm actually worried about my safety (not a TON, but...a little), I REALLY shouldn't feel bad about either just saying "no" or blocking his number.

My orgasm: "It's handled."

I would like this to happen to me in the very near future.

I can't figure out how to embed it because everything (read: ABC) is dumb, but here: This is a scene from last night's episode of Scandal, and I am coveting the experience HARD.

I'm just gonna send the guy this video like it's office training material. Except the office is my body, and "You bettah WORK." (Ahem. I apologize for that.)

If Scott Foley ever grabbed my hair and put his mouth on that part of my neck, we wouldn't have even made it into the apartment -- I would have just pulled up the dress and ridden him like we were in the Hallway Tour de France. And I'm not ashamed to admit that watching him do...THAT to Olivia, even just for a tragically fleeting moment, produced an actual tingle. Kerry Washington gives great sex face.

Don't judge me, we all have our deal. Mine just happens to involve being occasionally slapped on the ass with a fashionable leather glove by a trained assassin. Whatevs.

#Scandal #TGIT #TeamJake

Busta Shonda Rhimes

Worth revisiting as I wrap up my Shonda Rhimes book review:

"You don't get to call me a whore. You chose Addison. I'm all glued back together now. I make no apologies for how I chose to repair what YOU broke."

This construct really evolved by the time it got to Olivia Pope: "I am not a toy you can play with when you're bored or lonely or horny. If you want me, EARN me!

Goddamn right, ladies. Testify.
(BTW, this is not a one-sided notion. I certainly hope I've earned the men I've had relationships with and have never taken them for granted. Ha ha, GRANTed... See what I did there?)

INXS "Kick" you right in the feels

Speaking of working past perfectly good elements of pop culture weighed down by the emotion I associate with them...

Last night I found myself caught off-guard when I saw this new Apple ad during Scandal, featuring an older song I'd been avoiding pretty successfully.

A million years ago, I teased a man in the most delicious way for the duration of this song after he told me it made him think of me.

"You gonna go your whole life scared of that song? It's just a song. Don't make it a monster."*

I'm playing it in full now, because suck it, fuckface -- it was my song first.

*Quote from Silver Linings Playbook

Girl, PREACH!

Again, I have my own things to write, but it's been such a "Girl, PREACH" day on the Internet this morning. Just for the sake of brevity:

First, the new song from Adele, which...yes, as the article points out, please gut punch me right before the holidays. Bring it, Adele, I ain't scared. (It's got a li'l Lionel on it, but I'm not mad at it.)

Next, can we just talk again about Ashley Graham's FINE ass? I'm suddenly pretty proud of things I have that jiggle, even if they jiggle in a whiter, cottage-cheesier way than hers do.

And last, from last night's Scandal, Kerry Washington is my hero. I'm in the process of creating a "vision board" as one of the hippie-dippy elements of therapy (*eye roll*), and goddammit, I'm getting rid of everything I have and just building an altar to Kerry Washington, and obviously also to Shonda Rhimes. There will obviously be Scandles. (See what I did there?)

#‎HowDoYouTGIT #‎InMyPants

#TBT #TGIT #TBTGIT 

UNF.

Carry on.

Badass ladies of #TGIT

Note to self: Work on bedroom eyes, ability to say, "Get in there and get naked" and have it WORK.

Can't WAIT to #TGIT!

In which I am eternally damned because of a shitty sandwich chain.

Well, I mean...the slogan WAS "eat fresh."

#LiveYourBrand