Posted in Humor, Life, Satire

3 Ways To Let Down That Man At The Gas Station

How to let him know you can’t love him like he deserves

A man smiling at a woman at a gas station.

I am a creature of routine. Every morning, I stop at the same gas station on the way to work to get my coffee or snacks or gas. Yes, I know this is a frivolous expense. I decided to cut corners elsewhere, OK? Back off.

Anyway, let’s get back on point. At the same gas station, there’s a man who thinks I am the love of his life. Well, he thinks I am and every other woman that comes in there is, too.

I’m not sure if he’s drunk or on crack or just extremely horny. Regardless, he doesn’t seem to want to take no as an answer. I have tried letting him down gently and I have tried telling him to f**k off. Nothing will throw this man off of his intense mission to find a mate at the Circle K.

My first attempt to shake him off went like this. He moseyed up behind me as I waited in line at the gas station, Cheezy Puffs in hand. He got extremely close to me standing in line and I could smell his beer breath on my neck. Every woman’s favorite.

He put his ice cold, forty ounce Natural Ice on my back, which was showing at the top of my dress, causing me to jump and yell, “Fucktard!” He then proceeded to apologize and segued straight into asking me if I wanted to fornicate behind the dumpster. Has there ever been a more beautiful moment?

But, alas, I was/am married. I just asked him, “Who the hell do you think you are?” Before he could answer, I scurried off to my job as this happened at 7:30 in the morning.

Take 2

He tried again a week later. This time, it was right after work. I popped in to buy a bottle of wine and a lottery ticket. I finished my transaction and was about to walk out the door when I heard him slur, “Hey, girl! You want to give Daddy a dollar?”

I looked around, but saw no one who seemed to be his father. At this point, I started to get annoyed. I mean, who pretends to beg for his father? Still, being the southern lady that I am, I just told him to fuck off and went about my day.

Take 3

About a month later, I popped into my gas station and this time I was in a bad mood. Picture the witch song from The Wizard of Oz playing as I walked in. It was definitely playing in my head. I was in a straight bitch mood. Which kind of excuses me from my behavior when Dingleberry hits on me again.

This time I can’t remember what he said exactly. I do remember he smelled like beer, pork rinds, and body odor. I just brushed past him, saying, “I’m married, but I’m only attracted to turtles anyway so you will never have a chance.”

I was such a bitch.

Take 4

The next day. I was back and I felt bad. I also felt disgusted. This guy was starting to get on my nerves. I told him I was married, but he didn’t care. I didn’t go to the gas station to get harassed.

I walked in and got my coffee. I stood in a small line waiting my turn to check out. I checked out.

Looking around, I didn’t see him, hear him, or smell him. Growing concerned, I looked around and left.


I have been back for thirteen days straight trying to find this drunk lunatic. I would like to tell him he doesn’t have a chance with me. I would also like to slap him for making me worry. Where is he? Is he okay? Is he thinking about me?


Posted in Humor, Life

Amazing Tested Responses For Rejecting Dumb Pick Up Lines

When a simple no will not suffice

A man flicks the bird to a woman rejecting his advances.
Unsplash

I like the smell of the autumn air, the taste of wine, the sound of a baby laughing, and the sight of a douchebag getting put in his place. Don’t get me wrong. I am not a mean or evil person. But, as someone with a vagina, I get tired of unsolicited advances. I won’t lie about taking some pleasure in rejecting the unwanted pick up lines and attempts with the following amazing responses.

I do not send one signal out that I am interested in being picked up or even that I know how to smile. And, yet, the creepiest creepers this side of the Mason Dixon line will find me like a beacon in the night. My messenger is ridiculous with the amount of unsolicited creeps that fill it up constantly.

I also enjoy savagely rejecting men or women who try to pick me up with ridiculous pick up lines. I call them my anti-pick up lines. I’ve learned a few of them from other people, some online, and others are complete originals created on the spot by yours truly.

Take the following scenarios and make them work according to your actual situation.


Him: Can I buy you a drink?

Me: I’d rather just have the cash.

Him: Do you come here often?

Me: Yes. I’ve been waiting for the man of my dreams to come to me and now you’re here. Let me grab my six kids out of my van and we will go back to my place.

Him: Do you want to come to my place Saturday?

Me: Sorry. My explosive diarrhea is happening on Saturday.

Him: Can I get your digits? (This is slang for asking for your phone number)

Me: Sure (give him local STD clinic phone number)

Him: He texts you a picture of his penis,otherwise known as a d**k pic.

Me: Why are you sending me pictures of little boy’s penises?! I am calling the police, you are a disgusting perv!

Him: It’s 2020. Don’t be afraid to ask me out.

Me: Okay. Would you do me the honor of exiting the building as quickly as possible?


I hope these responses will help you as much as they have helped me. There is something liberating about turning the tables on unwanted and dumb advances. Maybe if we take a stand, we can actually bring back manners. Or at least a class on clear signs that someone is open to advances. Or, if I”m completely delusional, maybe we can start a new trend with romantic undertones instead of creepy ones.


Posted in Humor, Ideas, Life

5 Simple Ways To Gain Massive Street Cred

I might not look like it, but gangsta is used often to describe me

I work on the south side of my town. Much like other towns, some of the areas are not the best on the “south side.” Some are considered dangerous. I’ve never had any problems.

In fact, I enjoy the people here so much better than on the ritzy side of town. I have broken down on the side of the road and had more than three people rush to help me.

I do avoid nefarious situations, though. For instance, I don’t hang out in dark alleys. I also hate smiling. That tends to keep most people away.

Teardrop tat

I don’t know that I’ve actually ever met anybody in a gang. But I’m going to go ahead and say, “Yes, I have.”

That means, I have street cred which is short for street credibility. That means I have been validated as someone raised on the streets by others of the same description. Basically, I’m in a club by initiation.

I don’t have a teardrop tattoo yet because I have not ever killed anybody and I don’t plan on it. So instead, I will get eyeliner tattooed on.

In the meantime, I just wear a butt-load of eyeliner. Sometimes, I’ll draw tears on with a sharpie to increase my standing in the gangster community.

Sagging my slacks

I actually have a professional job so I can’t sag my jeans. So I have to sag my slacks. The effect is not the same when you’re wearing a skirt, just so you know. And it’s impossible with a dress.

Image for post
Photo by Andrew Le on Unsplash

Bitch Slap

I don’t fight. I’m too physically fragile for all of that nonsense. But I will throw out a good bitch slap when needed.

I also have a taser and I’m not afraid to use it. But, I have never used it. I also have a gun I’ve never used as well.

But, as I mentioned earlier, I’ve actually had no problems on the horrible side of town that I work on.

A gang is a club

I’m in a club, much like a gang member, except we help the community and try not to shoot people. We discuss current events. Otherwise known as gossip.

We like to read, so some might call us a book club. Regardless, two are in menopause, one has grandchildren, and three have kids under age ten at home.

Gangster is subjective. We are women. We are moms. We will f**k up anyone from any street.


Posted in Humor, Life, love

Sarcasm Is My Love Language

Love is not what you say. Love is what you do.

Sarcasm is my love language is written over a backdrop of Paris' Eiffel tower. Love is not what you say. Love is what you do.
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Is gentle scorn or sarcasm really worse than public displays of affection? I don’t think so. Apparently, I am in the minority with this view. I would much rather roast someone than hug them. Sarcasm is how I show my love. In other words, it is my love language.

Am I proud of this? No. It’s just who I am. I am not a very demonstrative person. I get that from my mother. We hugged on holidays and when I gave birth. Because of this, I am the most awkward hugger on the planet.

I have always been the type of person to show my love with gentle scorn, or sarcasm, rather than affection or generic platitudes. You will feel my love by the heat of my sarcasm. Except for my mother, obviously. She doesn’t understand sarcasm and would beat my butt into oblivion.

The people that know me understand that about me. They love me for it. The people that don’t know me well think I’m a huge bitch. They are not wrong, but I’m not the kind of huge bitch they think I am.

A man named Gary Chapman wrote a book entitled The Five Love Languages. In the book, Gary basically says that people show their love and receive love in different ways and it’s all about finding out what you or your partner’s love language is. This book seems to help people find the way to love their partner in the ways they need and understand. You could just ask your partner what they are missing from you in the relationship and save $24.99. Just saying.

I use attention, humor, sex, gentle bullying, and sarcasm to show my love to my husband. I think my love language combo would be a new mix for the author of the book. I am a pretty odd duck according to everyone that has ever met me.

My husband is actually the sensitive one that shows his love by holding my hand and doing chores around the house. He thinks he is doing those chores for me since he’s a man and thinks deep down inside chores are a woman’s obligation. He would never say that out loud of course. However, he acts as if he is owed a parade thrown in his honor after he completes them.

Multi-colored spray painted hearts
Photo by Renee Fisher on Unsplash

Love can be felt and seen in a million different ways. From a text checking up on you to a home cooked meal, love is not always tangible and physical. It is a phone call, flowers when you’re grieving, visits when you’re sick, and tears for you when you’re hurting. I believe that the little things are worth the most. They signify a real, lasting love.

I have always told my children, as they have grown up and experienced falling in love, and then their first heartbreak, if a love starts fast like spontaneous combustion, it will die just as quickly. If a love is built slowly from a solid friendship, it will be more likely to be enduring.

A beautiful hummingbird picture inside of a heart
Photo by Andrew Lane on Unsplash

If we focus less on how we receive love and more on the ways we can give it, we might not be such miserable dirtbags sometimes. Despite my snarkiness and sarcasm, I am very thankful for every little act of love and every kindness I am shown.

We can apply this principle to many areas in our lives. It’s the small actions, done consistently, that add up to cause the biggest difference made. Being a giver will always bring more back to you than being a taker will.

Love is not what you say. Love is what you do. Also, romantic love is not always the strongest kind, only the most glorified.


Fire pits & patio heaters

Posted in Humor, Life, life lessons, WTF

Diary Of An Idiot

A diary laying on a pink background with beautiful flowers. It is an idiot's diary, though.
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The true story of when I ran myself over with my own car.


I ran myself over with my car. I had never felt more like an idiot in my life. I am lucky to be alive, actually. What a dumb way to die.

The morning started just like any other with me being frazzled and running late. I rushed through my morning routine, grabbed my work, and darted out the door. This is the same as any other weekday except on this particular morning, I was on the phone with a friend. She called me at 7:30 am to try and help me with getting my lazy ass out of bed, but we ended up chit chatting as I rushed around.

I hopped in the car, cranked it up, put it in drive, and got off the phone with my friend. Then, I realized, as I was backing up, that I had forgotten my lunch in the house. I jumped out and headed to the house to go get it. I saw the car moving in my peripheral vision.

I turned around and was horrified to see my car backing up out of my driveway with my driver side door hanging open. I raced back to the car, in my heels, and grabbed the edge of the driver’s side door just as the car backed up out of my driveway.

I hung on as the car drug me across the street and into the neighbor’s yard before finally coming to a stop against the tree between my car and the neighbor’s house.

Luckily, the tree stopped serious damage, or worse, to myself and anything else.

The pain was not instant. It seemed to be on a twenty second delay. It came with an intensity that almost knocked me on my back again. Lunging, burning pain in my ankles, knees, and back. Blood pooled up on my knees and my ankles started swelling. I started mentally berating myself for not letting go of the car.

Then I started laughing. Then, just as suddenly, I stopped laughing. That was the moment I realized all of my neighbors had caught this on their cameras.


Posted in Family, Humor, Life, life lessons, Satire

A Tragic Breast Story

The story of when my Aunt’s nipple fell off

My family has extremely bad luck, but most of us have two nipples

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I never thought I’d write about my Aunt’s nipple. At least, I’m not writing about my Uncle’s testicles. Yet.

This story has been passed around more than my high school best friend since this incident happened. People at bars have heard it. People at church have heard about it. I created a children’s book about it and read about it to my son’s kindergarten class. OK, well, maybe I didn’t do that. Yet.

I will preface this story by saying that my Aunt, my Mother’s sister, was very sexually active back in her day. She continued to be sexually active long after her day passed, also.

Breast cancer runs in our family and has caused many tragic, untimely deaths. So, in an effort to be proactive against cancer, my Aunt had a double mastectomy. She went ahead and had reconstructive surgery soon after and had those puppies lifted and enhanced.

Fast forward a while later. This is where things get foggy. I’m not sure if it was eight weeks or eight years, but she had taken her bra off during the night and her nipple fell out of her bra onto the floor. She reportedly yelled, “Shit!” out loud.

Honestly, I don’t know what I would’ve done. I can probably say that I wouldn’t have gathered my nipple up, set it aside for the night, and worried about it the next day.

Maybe she didn’t worry about it the next day despite what she says. Because to date she still does not have a nipple on one side. Yolo, I guess.

I may be the black sheep, but there’s a herd of us in my family.