Tell Me Again Who Is The Sexual Being

Never Put Salt On a Snail.

I didn’t go to university until I was 31 years old. By that time I was married and had three children. My marriage was not sexless, but honestly, if my husband knew I was even remotely interested in sex, we would literally go weeks without. I could do my hair, put on makeup, dress the way he liked. He wouldn’t so much as glance at me. Then I’d have those days where I was up all night with sick kids, knee deep in dirty diapers, my hair greasy and stringy from not having time for my own shower – That would be the day he suddenly could not resist me. Suddenly I was a sexual goddess.

I’m sure there are those who think my husband found me irresistible because he saw me as this strong, sexy woman taking care of our family. Well all I have to say to that…

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Relationships Are A Responsibility!

Never Put Salt On a Snail.

Why do people find it so impossible that a woman can be happy alone? I’m happy and I’m alone. Here’s the kicker. I plan to stay this way. No, I don’t hate men. No, I’m not a lesbian. I just happen to really, really, really enjoy being single. why is that so hard for people to accept? Why can’t they just believe I’m happy this way? Why does everyone think I would be even happier if I had a man in my life? Why? Why? Why? I truly could go mad over this issue. So I decided to try and clear things up once and for all. I feel like I’m banging my head against a brick wall, but what the hell, I’ll try once more.
So let’s start with the basics. Everyone thinks that I don’t want a relationship because I was in a controlling, emotionally abusive marriage a…

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Women Love Misogyny


We live in a misogynist society. I hear this word brandied about by pretty much everyone these days. Politicians, clergy, women’s groups, celebrities have all seemingly jumped on the soapbox to make a better world for women. The barrage of articles dealing with education, rape culture, genital mutilation are everywhere. Well I applaud these individuals and groups for putting women at the forefront in this modern society, I have to suggest that it is, to me, very clear, that women are largely responsible for keeping us under the patriarchal thumb. I’m sure that many women who read this will think I’m being too anal with my views. It will indeed be women, who think I’m just some bitter, old woman. I’d be the last to say I haven’t had some issues from my own experiences that have caused me to be a little set in my ways. That said, I will give you a prime example of things that drive me completely insane. These are little stories or posts, that women in particular, are sharing on social media. Posts, that I believe, continue to perpetrate our worthlessness and ingrain in the minds of women and men, boys and girls, the world over, that we are here to be subservient to our masters — men.

So let’s start with one of my favorite  examples:

Burnt Toast

When I was a kid, my Mom liked to cook for us and usually there would be nothing interesting about that.

But one night in particular when she had made dinner after a long hard day at work, Mom placed a plate of jam and extremely burned toast in front of my Dad. I was waiting to see if anyone noticed the burnt toast. But Dad just ate his toast and asked me about my day at school. I don’t remember what I told him that night, but I do remember I heard Mom apologizing to Dad for burning the toast. And I’ll never forget what he said: “Honey, I love burned toast.”

Later that night, I went to hug Dad good night and I asked him if he really liked his toast burned. He wrapped me in his arms and said, “Your Mom put in a long hard day at work today and she was really tired. And besides, burnt toast never hurt anyone but harsh words do! You know, life is full of imperfect things and imperfect people I’m no exception; I forget birthdays and anniversaries just like everyone else.”

What I’ve come to appreciate over the years is that learning to accept each others faults and choosing to celebrate each others differences, is one of the most important keys to creating a healthy, growing, and lasting relationship. Life is too short to wake up with regrets. Love the people who treat you right and have compassion for the ones who don’t.

So, once everyone is done wiping their tears away and able to focus, let’s begin. I know many/most of you are thinking how could I possibly find anything wrong with this lovely story. Hold on a minute, well I give my blood a chance to stop boiling. What could I possibly find wrong? How long are you here? I have seen this shared on social media by many women; some educated; some not. The one thing each of these women had in common was the awe factor. Each of these women shared this story dreaming, that they too might be so blessed, to have a man such as this in their life. Many of the women likely had a tear in their eye as this story pulled at their heartstrings. Bravo. This story did precisely what it was supposed to do. Written by a man, once a boy, taught an invaluable lesson by a talented misogynist.

What I would like to know, is why did no one have a problem with this story? Was it because the wonderful father/husband admitted his own shortcomings? After all, here was a man who admitted to being imperfect. Here was a man who would forget birthdays and anniversaries! The horror! The humanity! Did no one have a problem with the fact that,  “my Mom liked to cook for us and usually there would be nothing interesting about that”.? Well geez whiz, mom was probably just not that interesting. No one took issue with, “Your Mom put in a long hard day at work today and she was really tired.“? So, let me get this straight… dad knew mom put in a long, hard day at work, but he couldn’t make his own toast? Would it have killed dad to make a real impact on his children and suggest that maybe mom should relax and he would make supper? I’m sure dad worked that day too, but everyone at the table knew that this had been a particularly hard day for mom. Yet everyone was content to sit at the table and let boring, old mom wait on them. I think if we look a little closer we might see that maybe, just maybe, mom was being passive aggressive when she presented dad with the extremely burned toast. Maybe mom was hoping dad would open that can of worms, but dad knew better. Dad knew this was no ordinary can of worms. This was a can of whoopass. He was smart enough to know that he should just smile and tell mom “Honey, I love burned toast” He knew to open the can might result in a future of making his own toast. He knew mom would get over it. She always did. I wonder if good old dad stepped up and cleaned up the supper mess, made sure homework was done, or took care of any of the countless jobs mom still had to do before it was her turn to relax.. Likely not – that was not his job.

I know many of you will think I’m a man hater. I’m not. It simply drives me completely insane when women post/share these stories on social media. Before I’m done reading this garbage I’m always aware of the collective sigh heard from women the world over. The awe factor is driven out of the ballpark by an all women team. Is there an important message in this post? Yes. The message for women is to stop being a doormat — stop expected service. I don’t think I’m asking too much. I’m simply asking that you read between the lines, before you share such crap.

Gillean Ollsin

I’m Only Human So Don’t Piss Me Off

fwordYou know what I’m not? I’m not a robot. I’m not one of those holier-than-thou people who spew forth goodness, but in reality are just as terrible in real life as you and me. You know who I mean. We all know one or two. Every morning their social media explodes with colourful, flowery, powerful affirmations to get us through our day.
Holy Mofo. Sorry about the language! Namaste. Hah! They drive me completely insane – mostly because you really don’t want to turn your back on these people. Now I’m not saying there are no genuinely wonderful people out there. Of course there are. I’m living proof. (Okay, sit down in the back. It’s called a freaking joke. Sheesh!) But the truly genuine, wonderful people are not afraid to let off some steam.
Now I’m not saying I know everything. (Which of course I do, but you already knew that because you’ve read this blog before and keep coming back for more because we are impossible to resist. I apologise in advance for the addiction, but we really needed the followers in order for our world domination plan to work, so we use subliminal drugs to keep you coming back. I’d love to take the credit for our powerful writing prowess, but it’s the drugs. Really. Would I lie? Of course I would. Wow. You really have been here before! As if you had any choice.) I do however, know a little. I can tell you it is human nature to get a little pissed off from time to time. In fact it is human nature to feel your blood rushing through your veins as though you are about to EXPLODE! So, if I feel my blood start rushing, I do what comes naturally. I talk to someone. I explain why I’m upset. And depending on how pissed off I am, I may talk to others before I talk to you. Is this gossip? Not if it’s true. Am I being malicious? No. I’m saving your life. NAMASTE! I’m letting off a little steam so that when I next talk to you we will both come away with all our limbs intact. You know why? Because I don’t want to kill anyone. Because deep down I am a nice person. Because I don’t want to hurt anyone. Because there is a very good chance I care about you. And the number 1 reason to talk to someone else first? Maybe, (doubtful, but it could happen.) just maybe, I’m wrong. Or maybe that someone else will give me another perspective. Maybe they can see clearly that you did not intentionally piss me off/hurt me/ etc.
In short, I will never make a promise to never talk behind your back because doing so might save our relationship. (Also, I don’t look good in orange jumpsuits) I would love to be perfect. I would love to never judge another human being. But honestly, I’m human. I do make mistakes. I’m just smart enough to not tell you. Hypocritical? Absolutely.

Dear Jenny Lawson – Forgive Us Our Sins

Never Put Salt On a Snail.

poopblog Dear Jenny Lawson aka The Bloggess

I am writing to inform you of a recent tragedy involving your book Let’s Pretend This Never Happened. I would first like to point out that your publisher is cheaping out on the quality of paper on which your precious words are written. Had your publisher acquired high quality rubber or plastic pages, I would not, in fact, be writing to you now. You see, Jenny, (May I call you Jenny or do you prefer your Bloggess?) on or about April the 25th 2014 at approximately 7:34 p.m. your book was desecrated beyond recognition by a four-day-old baby. I would hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive the child as she knows not what she did. Though we are still reeling from this most horrific event, I assure you that we will do our utmost to make certain that…

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Dear Jenny Lawson – Forgive Us Our Sins

poopblogDear Jenny Lawson aka The Bloggess

I am writing to inform you of a recent tragedy involving your book Let’s Pretend This Never Happened. I would first like to point out that your publisher is cheaping out on the quality of paper on which your precious words are written. Had your publisher acquired high quality rubber or plastic pages, I would not, in fact, be writing to you now. You see, Jenny, (May I call you Jenny or do you prefer your Bloggess?) on or about April the 25th 2014 at approximately 7:34 p.m. your book was desecrated beyond recognition by a four-day-old baby. I would hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive the child as she knows not what she did. Though we are still reeling from this most horrific event, I assure you that we will do our utmost to make certain that the baby in question is raised to worship your words and will most assuredly join the ranks of your faithful followers one day when she is of an appropriate age. We would, however, understand if you were to punish her by way of excommunication, to set an example for others. Still, I feel the need to reiterate that the babe cannot be held wholly responsible as your publisher must take responsibility for the low grade paper on which your illustrious words are written. Had your publisher taken the proper precautions, there would be no need to explain, how an otherwise innocent baby, could wantonly and with undue force projectile feces across a room onto and into the pages of your wondrous book.
It was with heavy heart that The Church of Jenny in our community lay to rest your holy book. I would now ask, nay, beg that you speak with your publisher immediately in hope that we can avert further tragedies. I would also ask that you trouble yourself not with worry for our loss as we will be passing the collection plate at the grave-site, where many of your followers have gathered and set up camp, to raise the funds needed for our new book. We know in our hearts that the original can never be replaced, but we hope that the new book will in time help us to heal. We will also be raising funds for a bullet-proof, fire-proof glass case in which to keep our most precious holy book to prevent what would most certainly be future soilings.
Good day and bloggess,
Your faithful followers,
Gillean Ollsin
Sarah Mandigo

bad-taxidermy-squirrel A token of our affection.

I Won The Lottery! (The Universe Is A LIAR!)

lotteryI’d like to know what a decent person has to do around here to win the lottery. Seriously. I’ve read all these stupid ask the universe books. I’ve got my little vision box on the table next to my bed. Every once in a while I check to make sure all my dreams are still in there. And guess what? They are. What the hell, universe, I thought all I had to do was ask? So far Brad has not left Angelina. And now George is actually engaged to some posh human right’s lawyer! So now I don’t get the vacation home in Italy! Why the hell did I waste my time cutting out all those little pictures if you weren’t going to let me have ANY of the things I’m asking for? Okay, so maybe Brad and George aren’t things. But you said I could have WHATEVER I WANT! LIAR! Do you know how many doctor’s offices I had to sit in to get those pictures? What, did you think I was going to buy the magazines? Do you know how dangerous it is to cut out pictures in a doctor’s office? Pretty sure the doctor would be very happy with me because I was keeping him in business. Some of those women fought hard for those magazines. Pretty selfish if you ask me.

Anyhow, about that lottery. I bought a ticket tonight. Any chance you could see your way clear to letting me win this one? I actually suspect I have the winning ticket. You know why? Because it’s only $5,000,000. Seriously. How am I supposed to survive on that? If you’re going to let me win the lottery, I don’t know why you have to be so cheap about it.  See, I’ve been promising a lot of people that when I win I’ll help them out. How can I do that with a mere pittance? I was planning on feeding some starving people, universe. I’ve been a good girl. Have you heard about karma? Maybe you should look it up. I’m pretty sure you’re behind on my payments!

P.S. Don’t tell Sarah I’m winning. she is one of those pesky people I promised to help!

Enough About Those Bitches

memes-friends-are-like-bananas[1]Baby poop and dog acne? What exactly has become of this blog. We used to be a self-respecting blog. We were filled with ideals when we first began. We were going to be all topical. Not like something you’d put on a sundae, or a wart, but topical, like important shit. Then we started getting too serious. And Sarah was all, “You’re too afraid of offending people.” And I was all, “Me? Afraid of offending people?” And then I realized I’d offended her so I stopped. I stopped partly because I’m nice that way. And partly because, frankly, I’m afraid of Sarah. Not afraid in the way that you’re afraid of a serial killer, or your neighbor who peeks out the window and watches you kind of afraid. Afraid in the – shit she knows stuff about me – afraid. Also, she has a mean streak. And she likes to throw food at you. I wouldn’t care, but she always throws the food I wanted to eat still. And once the gravy is in my hair, it just doesn’t have the same consistency as it has on mashed potatoes. So I stopped. I also stopped because I can’t afford to lose any more friends. And that, people, is what brings us to today’s subject: Enough About Those Bitches.
So I went to a movie this weekend. It was a pretty funny movie. But not a “I like to spend $12.00 at the movies” kinda movie. So maybe save the $12.00 and wait for it on dvd. Okay, you twisted my arm. Stop now please. Okay, seriously. STOP. I know you are all dying to know what movie it was, so I’ll put you out of your misery. It was that new chick flick The Other Woman. It was pretty funny and has some great ideas if you have an ex you’d like to get even with. Personally, I’m still a let’s pretend you’re chum and let you play with the sharks kinda girl, but that’s me. You just can’t change me I guess. But, you can get some pretty good ideas from this movie too. Anyway, the movie was funny, but made me sad. Not because of the cheating, slimeball husband. Because of the friendship. *Sigh* The women in the movie become great friends. I miss great friends. Honestly, I think Sarah is one of the few I have left. No. Nobody died. Well actually, that’s a lie. There have been a few. Wow. Bigger sigh. I miss those friends. But I miss the friends that are still alive.
I miss these friends because they are simply too busy to remember to put the time into our relationships. We are not angry with each other. Okay. One of them is. We had a stupid fight. It really was a stupid fight. But there is no way around it. Now that friendship is gone. WTF! I miss her too. But this is really about the other friends. Where the hell are you?! We’ve got secrets we would take to the grave! We held each other’s hair while we puked! We peed in the street! You hated my boyfriend/husband when I was too stupid to know any better. I hated yours as well. You dyed my father’s lawn blue! (For the record, if you drink beer and eat cotton candy, your vomit is very pretty) We’ve been through babies, divorces, affairs, death, life! WTF?! Where are you? Pick up the damn phone! Shoot me a text! Do you even have a pulse? Do you deserve me? I’m thinking not. You are so busy with your lives that you can’t take five minutes to say hello? It burns my ass that if you are hit by a truck tomorrow I will be the first one there. I will help you get back on your feet. Because that’s who I am. I thought that was who you were too. It’s harder to make these bonds as we get older. We don’t give of ourselves so easily anymore. We don’t trust like we did at seventeen. No one knows me like you do. We simply don’t have the time. You make me sad. And I don’t like sad. Last call. That’s what this is. I’m not about to beg anyone for their friendship. You make me feel like a stalker when I’m always the one to call. Here’s a thought, I wouldn’t chase a man, so why am I chasing you?

Rich Man, Poor Man, F-Wad!

Never Put Salt On a Snail.

poverty-no-accident Unless you have actually been poor, you will never truly understand what a drain it can be on your soul. You can’t say you get it, or you understand any more than I can tell a parent who has lost a child that I get it. I don’t. I can imagine the feelings of devastation, but I can never really, truly get it, until I have been there. And trust me, I pray to every god of every religion, – I never understand that anguish.
Now I’m not saying that I understand what it is like to be homeless. I do not claim to understand the level of poverty that many third world people face each day. I do however know what true poverty by western standards is like. I have lived in a home with no indoor plumbing, where we had a five gallon pail to use as a…

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Sybil Has A Penis.

love yourselfMy head needs a “no vacancy” sign. What is going on? Too many thoughts at once. It has been one of those weeks. In my case, one of those lifetimes. What?! No really – what?! The issue on today’s agenda? Sybil has a penis.
Sybil, like many other women, has a problem. They have begun to think with their penis. Okay, to be clear, Sybil does not actually have a penis. So somebody please, for the love of god, explain to me what is going on? Because I really, really, REALLY want to know. Sybil, like those many women, is not a stupid woman. She is bright, articulate, educated. She has not needed anyone to look after her since she was a little girl. But something has come over her lately. Something has taken possession of her brain. Is it male hormones? Is she a man trapped in a woman’s body, you ask? Good questions! But sadly, no. She is lonely. Sit down, Sybil. I told you you weren’t going like this!
Sybil started dating this guy a while back. Unfortunately, he turned out to be a bit of an idiot and she dumped him. Ever since then, she has been looking for a replacement. Now, I don’t have a problem with a replacement. I have a problem with her desperation. She isn’t thinking rationally. She dates the kind of men that you date when you are young and stupid and don’t know better. In fact, she dates worse. She dates men that she doesn’t particularly like. She even dates men that she thinks would rape her. Now I know you’re all thinking “No way! Not Sybil!” Yes. Sybil.
Let me set up the scenario. She went on a date. The guy drives her home after said date. Sybil allows the guy to escort her to her door. He steps in to say good night. Then he moves in for a kiss. This isn’t just any kiss. Sybil explains to me later that he was very aggressive. He was very “hands on”. Luckily, for Sybil, her roommate came home and interrupted the “kiss”. The next day, Sybil tells me, she believes that if her roommate had not come home, her date might not have stopped.
“So you’re telling me, you think he would have raped you?” I asked.
“Yeah.” She hesitated, “I think so.”
This is the point where your friend tells you what a f-wad the guy is and that they will never see him again. Right? Wrong. Sybil says she is attracted to him. She doesn’t know why. She says he gives her a bad feeling. Something is off. She thinks he looks like the devil. But she is attracted to his bad boy persona. Did I mention that Sybil is no dummy? Yes. I. Did. So what the hell is going on? Why, is she going to knowingly place herself in danger? Now I know that a lot of you are going to be super pissed off at what I am about to say. Trust me. I don’t care what you are wearing. I don’t care if you are dancing naked in front of a hundred men. You are not asking to be raped. NO MEANS NO! No one ever has the right to rape you! However, if you go on a date with a man, you believe may be dangerous. If you purposely, put yourself in a situation, where you will be alone with someone that you believe is capable of rape… YOU ARE ASKING FOR IT! I don’t smear myself with blood and go swimming in shark infested waters. You know why? Because I don’t want to eaten by sharks!
Sybil says she got used to having a physical relationship. She says she now needs sex. I tried to tell her this is why god gave her hands. She says she has a vibrator, but she is used to the real deal now. She needs the skin on skin contact. Nothing can replace it. I tell her rape is not fun. She tells me she will be careful. Well thank goodness for that! Break out the champagne glasses! Sybil is going to be careful! Hot diggedy dog! I feel so relieved. Except, that I’m LYING. I don’t feel relieved. What I feel, is the urge to reach out and slap her – really hard. Maybe slap some sense into her.
So here is the deal. Sybil is one of many. One of an army of women, desperately looking for a man to fill some empty space inside. A space they need to fill themselves. So they use the excuse that they are horny. They need sex. They got used to having it. What a cop out. How do the women who have been in a relationship for twenty years and suddenly find themselves single get by? COP OUT! Stop lying to everyone. Stop lying to yourself. You’re lonely. I get that. You want a relationship? Go ahead. Find Mr. Right. (Sorry. I gagged.) But for the love of god, love yourself first. Take a class. Take a trip. Join a club. Do something. Just stop making sex your excuse for dating losers.