Wednesday, March 25, 2015

The Vagina Drag

I was feeling healthy enough to sign up for CrossFit class through my university. It was a coupon I won through our Working Well program which can be applied to multiple exercise classes. Every year I work for these things to get my stuff for free because I am of the poor variety. When I signed up for the class, I had not been diagnosed yet with my broken neck, bad left rotator cuff, declining vision, whacko body chemistry awry and whatnot. At the time, I just figured in three months I will be in good enough shape. Now, with my "issues" (yes, I'm one of those now) I think I might disqualify with their requirements, but shhh-don't tell. If it hurts me too much, I will resign.

Sauntering into class, expecting to be amongst my peers I saw a vision of sugar plums. Yes. Me-47. The Others-20. Most intelligent people would have turned around while saying, "Oops, wrong class. I was looking for Yoga."

Nope.

I was mega smart. I stayed.

The instructor was a nice looking lad of Irish descent with a full on red beard. I shall call him Shamus. He was no ginger. He shook my hand at introductions like it would be the last. He was mocking me.

The warm up was like everyone else's (that shows possession, Spellcheck-it is a word I say so) regular workout. He even said so after some students groaned and moaned or vice versa. Not sure the order of those words. While doing the forward and backward lunges down the length of the gym and back I found myself thinking my quads would probably be toast the next day. We did a series of planks for hours it seemed followed by bear crawls, jumping jacks, air squats, Spiderman walks, and mountain climbers. This was just warming up. The Spiderman walk was the last on the list of warm up exercises. My last round resembled a vagina drag. What is that? You might ask. It was all I could do to drag my vagina across the finish line in true slug form with my arms up pulling my body which led with my vagina on the basketball court floor and my noodle legs following limply behind to resemble some type of dead woman down maneuver which resembled a paraplegic drag. I'm not exaggerating.

That was the beginning.



Once Shamus explained the WOD (workout of the day) and scoring and instructions, we began. I was not going to come in last. I persevered and did not go quietly into that good night. I believe my last wall ball pretty much looked like a dip and I hugged the medicine ball when the buzzer went off, but I did not stop. In fact, I was not going to let those little whipper snappers see me flounder and cry and go into the fetal position. I could do that at home on my own time.

Yeah. I seem to recall writing a book similar to this.

I kicked ass like a true old cop. A couple of the kids introduced themselves and shook my hand. Shamus gave me that nod of approval, showing he was impressed and proven wrong without having to say so.

I was the first one out of the classroom. Was I being rude?

No. I just couldn't breathe and carry on a conversation. Why embarrass myself.

There isn't enough Biofreeze in this world to save me right now. I can't move. My ass was stuck on the company pot for a few extra long minutes because I had no handicap rail to get up. And that was just a hover. Imagine when I poop at home.

Photo credit: Pinterest


I have CrossFit class tonight. Yep. Round Two.

I have been praying since one minute after that last class to God so he can get me through this and that has been two days now. I might be on the longest running prayer streak. Someone wrote a CrossFit poem titled "Footprints."  In the end I can tell everyone Jesus, not my Mexican friend-the other Jesus, carried me.


Monday, March 23, 2015

Ponderances and Overthunks

Do you ever have moments where you reflect?

I don't mean in the mirror. First of all, many of you out there are vampires and you wouldn't have a reflection anyway. 

I mean reflect upon yourself. Or the past. Or whatever reflects around in your brain.

I over think a lot. It is a fault.

It's just a question.

Have you ever thought there was an equal you out there? Or did you find your equal you?

Yeah. Me, too. Somewhere. I am patient. I am not in any hurry.

However, I often ask myself why.

Why did I date those people?

I have no idea. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Strange.

I could ask myself the same question on marriage number two. Boy. What the fuck was I thinking?



And then to follow it with a fake boyfriend. That hurt. I guess I learned a lesson. I suck.

Formal education will make you a living and give you a nice fat certificate to hang on the wall. Self-education will make you a fortune. Jim Rohn said something like that. Apparently, he was an entrepreneur and smarty pants. I have no idea who he was. He died.

I just happen to agree with his statement. I learn more from my self-education, good or bad, than I do from the books.

I am now going to talk to trees more as it seems to get me in less trouble. Wait. I already do that. Note to self: up the tree talk.

I should focus on eliminating the "whys" in my life. Like pronto.

Ok.

Cleansed.


Ok, Bruce. I got that down pat.

How can I fear what happens often? I am seriously not depressed. This is my funny.

Anyway, it was just a thought.

Do you ever wonder if "they" reflect about you the same way as you reflect about "them"?

It's just a question.



Thursday, March 19, 2015

Bring In The Clowns

At 0400, at times, it seems The Moose needs to pee. And so we go out there in the darkness in my jammies, half awake, empty the dog bladder, and go inside. I'm aware it is dark. I'm aware the town is sleeping and I like the solitude at that time of day. I also have had no neighbors on the east side of my house for almost two years. The house just sold but they haven't moved in yet. Sheriff Mike said the man worked for the carnival and was a retired cop or "something." Bullshit. No cop works for the carnival. I told Sheriff Mike the dude was either fired or a wannabe cop. He told me to "relax" and that the dude had lived in town for a while. Relax, go to it! Yeah. Whatever. Anyway...I noticed the house next door was dark and empty still.

So...out we go...me in my jammies, Moose in his German Shorthair Pointer attire.

Pee...pee...pee...

I smelled cigarette and looked around, but didn't see anything. It could be Lord Farquaad. He usually puffs away on his porch and with the clear air, it sometimes carries over to me. It stinks, but I know it is him and I sometimes scare the shit out of him.

Moose really had to go.

Pee...pee...pee...

"Hi! Do you ever go hunting with him? Pretty dog."

Holy batshit fuck me in the ass heart attack! The low, deep voice about sent me to Mars. I got complacent, the most deadly thing you can do.

"Uh. Thanks. Good morning." Now I am feeling buck assed naked in my jammies. Please, Cloak of Darkness swallow me up so no one can see my boobs dragging the ground. Boobs on the ground. Boobs on the ground. Why can't I be perky and small!?! Not that I was trying to impress the neighbor. I was just thinking I looked like Maxine.

"Good morning." He took another puff of his cigarette. "I'm thinkin' about going to get a German Shepherd and teachin' him some tricks for the circus. It's a lot of work, though."

"Cool. They are nice dogs." Note to self...get the pepper spray if he sends German Shepherd into attack the neighbor mode.

"What brings you to Indiana? I hear you moved here a couple years ago."

Damn realtors. They are worse than the beauty shop.

"It was either here or Albuquerque."

"Huh. Weird."

"Well, gotta get ready for work. Have a nice day!"

"You too."

Photo credit: Pinterest


What's the odds I would have a carny move in next door.

Yep. My luck.

Maybe I just need to think of it as work. Pure entertainment.

But I find them odd. His girlfriend is a nurse- pretty and thin. He is scruffy and reminds me of an under tall Al Pacino only not hot. Sheriff Mike has nary a clue about people. He thinks carnival people are just ordinary people working for a living. Yeah, right. I don't know. My experience with them is much darker and different.

I'm thinking Witness Protection Program.

What's the chances of two families in WITSEC being right next to each other? That's the fucking government for ya.

Ha.

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

The Tude

The last few days have become a game of mind over matter with the teen princess. I call it, "Tude Adjusting." It is supposed to be a parenting tool of progression from The Tude to something more pliable and worthy of a human being classification and the methods preferred are with positive influence of behavior modifications.

Somehow, she is as stubborn as a German Virgo jack ass firmly planted in concrete.

Dig it?

Feel my misery?

On top of that she pokes back and pushes my buttons. I picture her like Dr. Evil only not 1960's slow, skinny- the girl version-and the words flying in my ear like a gnat minus the 70's porn music in the background with the voice of Fran Drescher with resting bitch face and eye rolls and stuff.
Whew.

My blood pressure just went up. 

Among the topics which were abundant...started out with doing chores without me micromanaging...let me explain...

1) She demanded each day I leave a list of chores for her to do. My argument was that I should not tell her what needs to be done, she should know by now what is expected. Her argument: "I forget." Sound the alarm. Mom's head is on fire. So, I compromised here. I left notes with lists and I HATED it. Yesterday, I left this...

She was not amused and threw fits of anger while I was away working but took it out on me first thing when I walked through the door. Yes, my plan backfired. Stomping, dirty looks, and calling me "ridiculous" spewed from the mouths of babes. As you can imagine, I was none too impressed. I gave her tantrum a 6 and told her to figure it out, it was a waste of my time to micromanage my kid and she had a brain. Momster failure 1: NOT CODDLING THE CHILD.

2) Her moodiness was also addressed (because the topic later came up-not during THE LIST episode) with how she treated my fake boyfriend in the past and addressed any other man friends like Sheriff Mike or others who were being nice to her while in the company of her mother. This resting bitch face and poo poo attitude happened when we went site seeing, out to eat, shopping for her school clothes, or whatever. It makes my blood boil to upteen levels of explosion. Like instantly. I have to control the urge to slap the living snottiness out of her face. Really...disrespectful teenagers make me have jail thoughts. I told her she was rude and distant with all of them despite their efforts to be kind and made me embarrassed.  I was done with it. I can't fix her dad. I can't convince her even by showing her that I am not like he is and I would never abandon her. 

She said, "I don't want you to have a boyfriend because I don't want you to end up like daddy ignoring me." You know what? That is bullshit. I think she got that off of some stupid ass movie and saw it had manipulating force. It's copied. It's not real feelings. Maybe it was in 2011. She uses that because she tries to play to my heartstrings. None of these people are her daddy and none of them are dating me nor taking time away from her. She is included. She also likes her private time and I give that to her. And someday I am going to date again. Like 20 years from now and stuff.

These men are or were friends. She does it to all people except those she likes. I won't stand for it and at the same time I don't want her to ruin the entire day. Why? Because she does. I have made her go on outings with various people and she ruins it. Makes. It. Miserable. These are truly kind people. Every time I talk to a man friend, she follows up with..."you aren't dating him now, are you?" 

Fuck.Me.In.The.Ass. 

I want to scream bloody murder which I have never understood because screaming isn't killing so what is the point of that saying? It's pointless. Anyway, I have tried everything I can think of and even leaving her behind is just making true her feelings of inadequacy or being left out. It doesn't really punish her anyway because sometimes she likes it. I also WANT her to be included and some of the events are catered to her. I don't know. But then, on the other hand, I have to enjoy myself and I do not want her tude to run the place. See. I'm vacillating. Can we get some prayers?


3) "Backtalking." I can't even type it without getting fuming mad. Can a mother slam a pony tail around the kitchen like a WWE wrestler even if it is attached to a body? It's just a question. 

Yeah. 

Those were the issues of Tuesday Tude. 

I'm sure I'll be back for some more episodes and lack of problem solving capabilities. 







Sunday, March 8, 2015

Bless The Tribe Of The Weirdos

I have been called a weirdo a time or two. At first, it seems people were trying to shame me, but as I grew older and wiser...I embraced the label. I like being me. I like being weird. If weird is taking risks, exploring options, goal setting, using failures as lessons, and inhaling life by the seat of your pants...well...that's me.

Weirdos seem to glob onto me and no matter where I go...it's like magnetic attraction. Another thing: Normal people worry the hell out of me. 
Aw..me posing as a Normal.



Their ass is wound so tight you couldn't get a needle up that thing. And who wants that? I bet they poop needle strands or if they are constipated it would be BB size.

When I was a cop...I could communicate with the best weirdos and accept people's differences as a unique part of their character. Being called weird is like being called a limited edition. It's better than unique which when mentioned makes people cock their head sideways and say, "hmmm." So weirdos don't like to be called unique.

There is also a "Dance of The Weirdos." If you know it, then get up and do it. If you don't, I don't know what to tell you, except maybe you aren't a weirdo.Actually (which is a word usually signifying a lie is about to follow), the Dance of the Weirdos hits people at odd times and might spark a jig of celebration during inopportune moments. You have to be in the "club" to know about it.  

Ouch. That was a little far up in there.

I have weird friends. We have met under strange circumstances. For instance, one of my favorite pairs of Bohemian weirdo friends are hippy, dippy, trippy. They found me in the newspaper. It's not like I advertised. There I was. It was front page news when I opened my shop in Mayberry. They came because when they read the article, they said to each other and later shared with me, "We just have to meet her. I know we are going to be friends and there is a connection. She has a good aura." It was true. We've been wonderful friends ever since.

 


In fact, yesterday our conversation was a little off the beaten path. I was sharing my strange sleep patterns that my Fitbit is tracking. For the first two weeks, I was apparently getting woken up around 3 am (the witching hour) but I didn't remember it.

"Oh. Wow. That's when you are getting visitors."

*blink*blink*

"Yeah, do you remember who you were thinking about or dreaming about? Because that is more than likely who is visiting you."

"That's a little creepy, Ro. I have no idea. I don't remember a thing. I don't even remember being awake."

"I've had someone sit on the end of my bed before and it scared the fuck out of me. You need to sage your house."

"Does cooking with it count?"



Yeah. Those are the conversations. I love them and I love my friends. However, I haven't slept well since Saturday because I am freaking out about the "visitors." It sounds like an alien movie. Those things would scare me worse than a fucking ghost. Maybe.

And, no, cooking with sage doesn't count just like cooking with garlic doesn't keep the vampires away. You have to wear that shit around your neck. So...one of these days I have to find a head shop and buy a stick of sage.

It stinks like ass. I know because I had a college roommate who did that in our apartment. "Cleansing" she would say, but the rest of us thought she was burning marijuana and we didn't know how to approach her. When she showed us the stick of sage, we still thought she was doing pot. It's because we were country kids and didn't know any better. Looking back and relying on my years of experience..AS A COP (sheesh-don't get any ideas...it came from viewing evidence, doing drug busts)...I can laugh about it. Obviously, she wasn't a pothead. She is a great teacher in Wyoming and did great things with her life. She is double great. Not that it matters, but if you knew our college backstory, you would shit.

One time she came out naked while the rest of us were watching movies with our boyfriends in the living room. She had shaved her bush in the shape of a heart and asked for feedback. Needless to say, our boyfriends thought she was pretty cool. That was just the way she was...a free spirit.

Edgar Allan Poe said, "There is no beauty without some strangeness." So how much is "some"? I would like to ask Edgar (yes, we are on a first name basis-perhaps he has visited me at 3 am) that question. I'm just curious because, dude, I have a lot, so I must be fucking gorgeous.

 

 


Friday, March 6, 2015

Face Yerself and Erotic Subtext

I feel like I am on fire because I am running again. The broken neck dealio gave me oodles of setbacks emotionally and physically. I was probably a psychologist's protege patient but just didn't realize how much so. They just get those degrees to figure themselves out. We have to pay them so they tell us the same thing they figured out for themselves. Well, only if we are as crazy as they are. I would not know.

Now with the physical therapy and medications, I feel positive and full of life. My daughter has noticed it as well. There is one drawback to all of this. With your eyes open, you really LOOK. I HAVE AGED. Oh my gosh. When did that happen? Poop. Shit.

I'm no Christy Brinkley
You know JLO looks better with age. Well, duh, but you know what I mean. She has the body
that won't stop and nice skin and nice hair and looks 25. You want to hate her but she seems to be so nice you can't do it. So you just admire her booty.



So now I am frantically working on turning back the clock like they do on television but I swear those creams and natural processes don't work. Beer on my hair made me want to drink. Avocado on my face made me want to hate Mexican food. I can never look at another cucumber again thinking, "How long was that on a face? Do they have a spa in the back? Are those re-run cucumbers?"

Yeah. It makes me look at food a whole 'nother way.


Photo credit: Pinterest


I also have been indulging in my favorite Chinese tea which I have drank for decades. One time, ICE (immigration and customs) took down my supplier at a local spa place. I was none too happy and told them it was crap. I was not afraid. They were my friends and colleagues. Rest assured, it was not an illegal substance per say in the ingredients, but there was an issue with custom and tariffs not being paid. It sounded a lot like a tea party. Anyway, I was really miffed because I couldn't find anything similar. Now, you can buy it on Amazon, so they must have fixed that problem. I ordered it. Thank Jesus it is cheap. Of course, it is in Chinese and I can't read it so for all I know I am drinking bear penis. Luckily, one of my friends and colleagues is Chinese. She is the cutest, tiniest thing at 90 pounds. I asked her to interpret the words on the box. She laughed. Like. For. A. Long. Time.

"What? What does it say?"

She would just shake her head.

"Come on, Lin, what does it say?"

"It says it is plenty for weight loss and makes a good, clean woman."

"I get the weight loss. What does the other mean? Does it affect my vagina? I will have clean vagina?"

She laughed again.

"No."

"Gets rid of gum disease?"

"No."

"Well, I was trying to interpret in Chinese thought."

"It cleans you out. You know, the restroom. Thus, clean. Like your organs. It probably helps with weight loss that way, like a diuretic. "

"Oh. Rats. I was hoping I wouldn't have to wash or douche ever again."

"What is a douche?"

"An idiot or really contemptible person. It is usually a man. Kind of like we call women 'bitches'. It's a man bitch."

"Oh. Ok"

"You don't get it. I know, my Chinese friend, when you are not understanding and being nice, you say-Oh, OK and nod and smile."

It's true. They are polite and they think we Americans are a little dramatic and sensational in our expressions.

"I don't understand how it applies to your woman parts?"

"Well, it is an American thing I would have to take hours to explain. We can do coffee."

"Ok."

So, over my almost half-century life (cough, cough), I have tried tons of toxic waste remedies and probably blown more than my fair share of funds on beauty regiments and products. I have drank the teas. I bought toilet water knowing full well I could have dipped a ladle in my latrine. I have entwined myself in Syran wrap trying to melt off pounds. It's true. It didn't work either. I even did it more than once. I did learn one lesson. If you grease yourself first, you won't have a Brazilian wax job done by Syran wrap when you take it off. Believe me, when you aren't expecting a Brazilian, you don't have time to brace yourself. Zowie! Unless you use the cheap stuff and it doesn't stick. But in order to have complete and ultimate water loss you should use the good stuff. Why risk it? I mean, if you want to be a cocoon for an hour, you should be the best you can be.

Back to the stick and peel crotch problem. You could also start with a cleared runway and avoid the pube ripping experience all together. Not that anyone cares, but I have found I prefer an empty nest if you know what I mean. Think of a bush in winter. There are no leaves. Yeah. That doesn't make sense either. It's a bald beaver. It makes for better hygiene plus if I ever have sex again, it makes much better contact.

Kind of like this only different.


Moving upward.

What have I found to work the best for my face? Natural soaps on my face with an organic moisturizer. Call me crazy, but it is true and cheap. I first found a success with my friends' products ( I have two friends, Angel and Cheryl who make wonderful products) and then my sister-in-law gave me some of her homemade soap. It is so wonderful for my problem skin, I can't tell you. All these things are great. I should know because I had a retail store and my products were quality. I still love Caldrea's spa line and Tokyo Milk. Archapelago has some wonderful selections as well. Man, I need to go back into market buying and whew! running a shop is great fun. I could go on but that would be a wall of marketing text only giving joy to myself while boring the hell out of every reader.

I should say I am not doing a review of these products nor was paid to say anything...but just passing on good information based upon my experiences. I researched and tested many products before I purchased them for my shop.

Over the years, I have found the best way to maintain soft, healthy BODY skin (not face skin because they are different-just watch Silence of the Lambs if you don't believe me) is to put baby oil all over after you shower. Simple. Cheap. I prefer the Cocoa Butter scented from Johnson & Johnson, but any of them will work. Lotions become just a scent preference and texture thing after that and not so much of a medical issue to stop the itching and cracking.

You can't beat a pedicure and seriously, I think they are necessary for healthy feet. No kidding. Massaging, paraffin dips, keeping your toenails healthy, and salt scrubs are good for the lower extremities. You betcha. Besides you have sexy feet. My budget does not allow me to get crazy with these like when I was in Wyoming. I would go every two weeks. Now, I try to budget one a month, but sometimes that isn't always doable so I have to do them myself. This sucks monkey ballz and is not nearly the fun. Besides I can't keep up on my Chinese or Vietnamese when I do it myself.

I just recently went to the nail salon and when I walked in the door, Hong accosted me. He is the manager. I do love me some Hong. He is a doll.

"Hah! Miz Lyn (short for Kathryn) lon tine no see. You leave os lon tine. No goo! Get in heyah. Loo at eye blauws. They one. I spect yo naze be bahd too. Sham."

Well, yes to all of that. So I fixed it, anyway, until next time when he tells me the same stuff.

Getting your eye brows done by Vietnamese women is no joke. I think it is about as much fun as getting gunny sacked at the mall by ISIS and carted off to a dark corner for torture with steel instruments. Unfortunately, it is a necessity of beauty. I could continue life looking like Zach Galifianakis but who wants to do that?

Photo credit: Pinterest
Well, anyway...you know what?

These cucumbers aren't that bad...

Wednesday, March 4, 2015

How To Turn Off A Man #3747

"Where do you work?"

"Here."

"Uh..."

ME: *blink*blink*

"I haven't seen you around."

"Nope."

"Where might I find you?"

"Around."

Yep. Word should have already gotten around that I am unapproachable and uninterested. I might say I failed at the pickup this morning and shot this poor man's dick in the ground... depending on his ego. Maybe he is not thin skinned. I don't know the dude. Some men have bigger balls, while others keep them in their purse. Besides this one stroke joke, I have a way of turning off men or being off-putting or making them angry or making them turn up their nose or...or...and...

You get the picture. I have a knack. Maybe they bore me after 6 months or I bore them. I am not quite sure but there are those who leave me after so long or those who turn off my emotions like pronto and then I am done. Just like that. Once you piss me off to a certain point, there is no going back. I can take a lot of nonsense, probably more than the average female. However, I can forgive, but if something is at a high hurtful level, it is over. Like... if you attack me (verbally because physically I would kick your ass) or if you have two girlfriends and wives, I don't think there is room for me and I do not like that balderdash. It is sad when you meet someone you think is genuinely unique and fun and you end up finding out they are that way with every online date, girlfriend, or wife they house. And vice versa if you are a woman.

How can you keep all the names straight? I know...you call them all babe, honey, sweetheart, beautiful. But...you don't see anything wrong or dysfunctional about that. Why not? If you bother yourself with guilt, why do you do it? Why would you hurt another human being who entrusts you with their heart? Are you that much of a self-righteous pig who disregards a person's well-being and feelings?

Let me tell you about emotional games and the playahs. Yes, I've been played. Multiple times. It hurts. The playahs don't care. I don't play. I put people too high up on a pedestal to do that to another person. I may hurt them by not being who they want or maybe I don't click with someone who likes me, but I am real. The most painful experience I have had was -NOT MY SERIAL KILLER SECOND HUSBAND- but when I trusted a man whom was very close to me and I felt was becoming my best friend and that man turned out to be someone else and had a whole 'nuther life with multiple women I didn't even know about. And this was a popular dude in his little town. If only they knew the facade. Ridiculous. And why? What is the thrill about all these different lives?

It matters not to him. However, that feeling of discovery crumbles your heart and you don't even trust your good brain to have any sense if you didn't detect the deception. I mean, I was a cop for Pete's sake. Poor Pete. He gets into these conversations and he wasn't even a part of it.

How do you even keep track of multiple lovers? Can you remember that Dan likes blow jobs but Fester doesn't want you to swallow? Or how about Ernie who likes you to tickle his balls but you can't go down on him? Furthermore, Dax likes you to lick his nose and refuses foreplay, gets right to the down and dirty. Additionally, Levi just wants a companion and likes you to hold his hand and sing the blues.

I mean, seriously. Who has time to make a flow chart for all your lovers?



I don't share my va-jay-jay with multiple lovers (all at once-space them out, people) , so why is it OK for a man you are seeing to do the same if he knows your moral stance? I mean not share YOUR vagina because men don't have them. Well, some men don't have vaginas, others act like such a bitch, so who knows...they may have an "innie" instead of an "outie."

You know what I mean. I was speaking to the crowd in general. Let me clarify...

Wankies and vaginas should not be MONOGAMOUSLY CHALLENGED. Your vagina or your wanky should not be in the Sports Hall of Fame for the NFL record for the most touchdowns, wide receptions, or interceptions. I'm not even going to talk about fumbles. There is Viagra for that. Most importantly, these plays should not be attempted at the same time.

If I tell a man who commits to me I don't like multiple lovers at the same time, then I would hope he would respect me or find a person who likes to pass around vagina funk and dick disease. I respect him, why not get the same in return? Maybe it is self-respect they are lacking and their arrogance overcompensates for little problems they have. They need to do an internal shakedown.

Nor do I like fake people. Fake people suck. Players are fake.

I am too old for that shit! I'm not in high school or college anymore. But, yes, I have been played more times than I care to admit. FAKE OUT!

Anyway, I digress.

Ok, so I mostly blame myself for my stupidity and don't hold any ill will toward anyone. Except my second husband. He is truly an ASSHOLE.



Back to the point of this story...I'll get there. I just had to rant about dating and relationship behavior to get to the punchline.

We (anonymous detectives) actually told our detective sergeant to get his balls out of his purse once. I credit my detective partner and I for those eloquent words and I continue to use them to this day. We were the only ones with balls enough to say it and not worry about the repercussions. It's true. We didn't get in trouble, believe it or not. The sergeant stink eye came out but no write ups. I don't even have balls but I grew a set that day.

So the breakfast dude was a tall, handsome professor. He is supposedly very nice and well liked...or so the cafeteria ladies told me. He was a snappy dresser. They also told me I was ruthless. Oh, well. I'm just doing my little part in America to drive dicks in the dirt. Next time I see him, I will pass out a long questionnaire including requests for dependent information, financials, and medical history. This also includes a section on your household daily drama, gun ownership numbers, fishing and hunting licences, extracurricular activities, pet numbers, dating site memberships, and pastimes.  Instagram that shit and I bet his facial expression would say a lot.

Perhaps women are the same as men in the first approaches, but I find men are more so disgustingly obvious. Take last night's workout in the rec center, for instance. There I am minding my own business...jogging....working on interval training...etc. I put headphones on for a reason...well, two.

1) I want to zone out to my music.
2) It's like airplanes. I don't want anyone to talk to me.

I notice the students all jazzed up in their cute little workout outfits. You can tell the ones who are there trolling and the ones who truly want to work out. It is the difference of two words: pedal and peddle.  Trollers pedal the bikes like a Sunday afternoon and move from one machine to the next after 10 minutes. They lift 1 pound weights. They jog a couple laps. They peddle themselves from one area to the next, searching for their next victim. Peddle that shit on the corner. I'm here to work.

On another note, boys should not ride stationary bikes. If they really bike, they should do it outside like a man. Tra lah lah-ing through an imaginary bike path and watching the basketball below is not going to attract a mate. I think men on bikes are usually trolling because they are fake exercising. I don't know. If a dude is going to bike for real, they are outside doing it. Stationary bikes are for girls. So are yoga mats. Don't get a mat if you are a dude. I know. It is ridiculously unfair of me to think like that, but I do. It think I am a gym racist. Girls can do all of the above and if you get a box and do box jumps and punch the punching bag, you are tough.

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The "hardcores", I like to call them, are climbing the rock wall, doing box jumps, running full force for an hour on the mountain climber machine, then running 3 miles and finishing up with an hour of free weights.

There are some rules at the university gym:

1) Always clean your machine after use.
2) Don't be a machine hog.
3) Be respectful to others and respect the equipment.
4) Wear gym shoes only for gym use, not your garden shoes or work boots.

Yes, some of the ROTC run in their combat boots. Go figure.

My rules are a little more strict and mostly contain creeper/weirdo danger signs and gym etiquette.

1) There should be no camels in the gym. They belong in the desert. In fact...way, way, way out in the desert with miles of sand and no people. Seriously put a sock in it or something to ease the pain I am sympathy feeling just seeing that spandex cut your crotch in half. It hurts me to see that coming and everyone stares and laughs, snickers behind your back. Does it attack joggers? It looks like it would suck up small children. But seriously, can't you feel it? It can't be comfortable. Plus, it is really really ugly and then you have people comparing camel toes in the gym while pointing.

Same thing with short nutters with the boys. Nutters are not attractive whether it is your shorts which need adjusting or your Wranglers. I call them Stranglers when they tie your junk up into a teeny tiny little ball which we can all see. I will measure your junk by the high short mark. And it is really not attractive.

Last night I was jogging and my underwear crawled right up my ass and came forward to the front. Yeow! I mean, I felt it. It cut like a knife. I stopped on the track and dug them out of my vagina. No, I didn't go to the restroom. This is my way of making the playing field even when boys shift their junk. Plus, I can guarantee it deters trollers.

2) Daisy dukes might be great on the farm, but I don't want to see your hoohah when you do situps and I don't want to see your buns when you bend over. It is the same with lowcut shirts. Now I know girls just wear their exercise bras and spandex but those are hardcores. They look so hot, I would do them. Lowcut shirts worn for the sole purpose of drawing attention to the girls is not proper in the gym.

3) Put your damn phone away unless you are streaming music. Go out in the hallway to call and yell at your sister. If you want to sext and talk dirty to your boyfriend or girlfriend, the entire gym does not want to hear you panting.

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4) Don't talk to me unless I talk first. Now, I don't judge you if you are fat or skinny or fit. It's great you are at the gym. Use your time wisely and leave me alone. You're there! Yippee! Just pretend I'm a wall flower. You don't see me.




5) I usually wear generic t-shirts like Cabela's or Underarmor insignia attire. It wasn't working so I changed strategies. You look hip and cool, wearing "designer gym wear" and then trollers ask where you got your shirt. Duh. Uh..."Cabela's" or Duh...Uh.."the gym store".  It makes you approachable.

So, I decided to start wearing some of my old cop shirts, like "LawDogs and Cowboys Charity Shoot 2006" and my "UCPOWER Homicide Conference 2004". First, it dates me with the numbers on there and second, no college student likes cops. They look away once they figure out you might be or were the fuzz. It backfired last night.

All be if one of those little nerdy piss ant types came up to me and asked if the t-shirt was mine or my husbands. I used plural and not possession. He stared at me with his big black rimmed glasses which are stylish but annoying when I am concentrating on working out.

"Who wants to know."

"My friend and I were wondering. Never seen it around here before and you have command presence."

"Did you learn that phrase in class?"

"I'm a criminal justice major."

"I see. Well, I stole it from a cop which got me sent to prison back in 2006. I spray painted his dog and stole his clothes and gun. They caught me, but I still kept the t-shirt. Been out for a few years now and I'm wearing it with pride."

Snort. Giggle.

I've never heard a man snort giggle but this little feller did in all his skinny wonder. I just shook my head. He was also one of those intellect types. I have no idea why he was working out except he needed to build up those gangling limbs. He look a little rangy.

"Yes, I was a cop. Carry on. Good luck with your studies and career as a probation officer."

"Oh, no, ma'am. I'm going to be a cop."

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Lord, help us. Mr. Bean is going to be a cop.

Damn, I am going to buy a Hello Kitty t-shirt for gym use. I hope I can stand to even leave the house in it.