All I wanted were some boobies.
I was twelve, and my next-door neighbor and best friend had presented me with the holy grail of puberty: the training bra.
I remember it like it was yesterday.
Delicate white lace, with a wee white flower and tiny green leaves right in the center between the two band-aids, I mean cups, and it was perfect.
I had to have it dammit. Continue reading
So for the most part, New Year’s Resolutions are total bull shit. I am not going to suddenly become patient or decide to become one with a greater power, unless that greater power belongs in one of these four categories: 19th century literature, battery-operated toys, Godiva chocolate, or rock star.
I probably am still going to be anxious. Still gonna smile too much at strangers—seriously, the other day when I was out with a friend, a creepy old man tried to offer me candy. Two pieces to be exact. I kid not.
And I am still probably going to say what I think before I’ve had the chance to decide if I should or not.
However, there are a few resolutions I have decided to keep:
Because I am a nice girl and am already petitioning Santa for 2014, here are some quick and easy tips to help you get laid tonight. Continue reading
Only kids.
You’re special. You’re one of a kind. Truly. There’s no competition. No one else ready to take your toys or your college fund money.
You’re the apple of your parents’ eyes.
You’re the focus of their worlds.
Everything is all about you, you, you, you, you.
Here’s a list of shit parents of Only-Children Do: Continue reading
Have had enough of hearing of how I should learn to be less sensitive.
Might anyone know how I could go about doing that?
Maybe I need to watch a bunch of people being murdered….or watch a war right in front of me.
Or freeze my heart. Numb myself with unnecessary psychiatric medications.
Start pushing old people when they walk too slow.
Kick little kids that cry too much.
Tell strangers to go fuck themselves.
I am sensitive damnit!
I have been since I was a kid. I hated grass stains, milk, E.T., boy bands, and terrible blonde-dye jobs.
I have been able to cry at the drop of a hat since I was old enough to read: age 3.
I like the theatre, lingerie, comedy, loud families, tiaras, makeup, sex toys and role playing (not as a kid, thanks), big boxes of expensive chocolate, buying people presents, dance shows, and other THEATRICAL AND GRAND GESTURES OF LOVE AND EMOTION!!!
Bring on the shakespeare! Bring on the intensity! Break out the capital letters! The exclamation points!
I am sensitive. I cannot be taught to be different.
I have been abused, lied to,kicked, assaulted, mugged, and more.
I have been alone, afraid, broke, victimized, disconnected, and still…I cannot make myself some cold and unempathetic person.
I cannot be less sensitive.
So for those of you who may ask me to do so, here is my suggestion:
Go fuck yourself.
And I say this in the most sensitive way possible, of course.
Signed,
A Woman who loves being who she is: intense sometimes, other times not, but definitely never boring.
The other day I felt saddled with depression.
I say saddled because depression is like this nasty bitch that tries to choke you ten feet deep in the water. No matter how hard you try to get to the surface, depression grabs you by your gray-colored glassed throat and keeps you under.
I blame the holidays.
Between birthdays, family functions, and holidays, there are a lot of expectations in the air.
Quite frankly, I have only celebrated Christmas a few years now, and I am not sure how everyone does this.It’s the most wonderful time of the year, but it also comes with a set of expectations and demands that aren’t always easy to meet. Continue reading
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Wintertime doesn’t need to be a lonely time, if you do it right.
There’s a reason why so many babies are born in September. What else are you supposed to do when it’s 26 degrees out, or there’s a tundra outdoors? You’re certainly not going to brave the outdoors, unless you’re one of those types, which I am not.
The only winter sport I feel fit to endorse, is sex. Try some of these ideas to keep that lovely glow about you without frying your skin in a tanning salon or taking an expensive vacation. Continue reading
I know it’s the thought that counts, but sometimes people’s thoughts suck.
If it says, “As Seen on TV” on the box, I can tell you right now it’s a shitty gift unless the person is 80.
If it’s a sequined sweater or involves rhinestone patches and puffy paint, I don’t care if poor kids in Taiwan made it or my own kid concocted it.
Don’t wrap it!
Here is a list for what kids should give to their mothers…and a “gift list” for those of you other halves buying for a mom–or at least, a mom like me Continue reading
You’ve met someone new, and man, does he or she get you all riled up. And well, would ya look at that? It’s the holidays. You’ve got to score big with a kick-ass gift so you can keep this broad or dude’s interest?
Right?
No.
Don’t. Break. The. Bank.
Read my other tips here.
Do you want to be nice to me this holiday? Would you like to leave me a little virtual present?
Please follow me here on Twitter & follow my blog too.
xoxo
Laura
Just because you gave birth to a kid, it doesn’t mean that child owes you his or her lifelong pledge to love you.
Sure, your child probably loves you unconditionally, but like all relationships,what you put into your child, will be what he or she will give back to you.
I am a good mother. I mean, I am as good of a mother as I can be. I mess up, and I’m not a DIY-pinterest mom who handmakes her kids organic band-aids and churns her child’s butter with the milk from a grain-fed cow, but I do my best and measure in highly on all the choices I make for her.
That said, lately I wonder if my kid loves me. Continue reading
