Today's Little Ditty

Suck it.

Doing it for dollars and a fancy man

I once knew a man who was obsessed with his own reflection and all the things I would do to further his ambition. And even though he promised not to zap my life force, I was nourishment for his nocturnal feedings.

And so, we made the deal.

The cock squad promptly revoked my self-will card. And I bowed. And so did every other woman who was captured in his mirror.

I spent hours there, but I don’t think he ever saw.

Now, listen to the money talk.

~S.S.

The Mighty Sword

Have you ever wanted to fuck your lover with a strap on? Bend him (or her) over and give it to ‘em hard? Women are supposed to be docile, like flowers. They aren’t supposed to act like men, want to be men, or interpret their experiences through a male lens. Thus, women who dominate, control, and posses their lovers are often the subject of controversy. No stranger to controversy himself, Sigmund Freud first popularized the term, “Penis Envy”, a psychological state which he said plagued female children at the age of four, when a female child realizes she does not have penis. Of course, feminists and other analysts have been highly critical of Freud’s hypothesis, so, “penis envy” is still a debatable subject.

Yet, many women I know (straight, lesbian, and bi) have wistfully trailed off in thought, “If I only could have a penis for one day…” Ladies, I couldn’t agree more. My desire to covet the penis has, over time, only grown stronger. For example, those incredibly lucid dreams about sticking my penis into Her. I’m not sure who She is, but I’ve felt her insides with my Throbbing Member more times than I care to admit. In my last dream, I felt more attached to my penis than I ever had before, which begs the question, where does the strap-on end and the penis begin?

Many curious folks have asked why I fuck with a strap on. As in, what’s in it for you, Sally? First of all, being on the other end of the stick is a refreshing change. One is released from the prison of gender. Strict conformity to gender roles is horribly oppressive and monotonous. Stretching ourselves (both literally and metaphorically) will open the door to new energy and discovery within our partnerships. Next, it fosters trust and allows for greater intimacy. For example, on Friday night, I fucked my lover with a dildo. It was our first experience with anal sex together as a couple. Since the first time with someone new is always a little tricky it’s important to ask the right questions. Does it feel ok? Tell me, how hard and fast? And, should I pull out before or after you climax? This, along with the lube, should be broken out immediately before you begin or you risk this unfortunate reaction:



Luckily, it was an extremely pleasurable experience for both of us. After he climaxed, we laid together wrapped up in the sheets while he trembled in my arms and we laughed quietly. Have you ever noticed how a really good orgasm will make you laugh? Anyway, eventually he nuzzled up close to me and fell asleep breathing deeply while his head rested on my chest. It was, dare I say, romantic? The next day we both looked at one another with renewed interest as the power dynamic shifted

She’s a Man, man

Two of my girlfriends, pointed out the other day that I was ‘no ordinary whore’- meaning I don’t fuck for validation, love, money, or to cement a relationship in stone. In fact, they went as far to tell me, “You fuck like a man.” Both of them expressed their desire to acquire a similar mindset as well. However, I’m not sure it’s a trait one can learn, at least not at this stage in the game. And yes, some women are docile flowers- emotional, naïve, and easily destroyed, but not this bitch.

Why are some women unable to access their inner bad girl and make the Cocky Guy cry? Well, first of all, not everyone is as ruthless as your girl, Sally S. And secondly, some people actually want to fall in love, which requires a high degree of vulnerability. Vulnerability, evidently, is not compatible with search & destroy missions.

Even so, as a woman, contact and comfort with one’s masculine side is important. It helps ward off unhealthy/abusive relationships and inserts a certain appeal and richness in the personality. Too often, women, desperate to connect, will fall for a rebellious man with a penchant for wandering and infidelity. For women who actively seek marriage or serious relationship, men who “won’t commit” are their worst nightmare.

For instance, last night, a girl friend relayed a story about some Divorced Dude she was dating. They started to get close, and then suddenly he stopped calling her. She was, understandably, hurt. Readers, it is extremely difficult for me to see women let men get the best of them. I could feel my horns rise and the steam pour out of my ears as she shared her story. In the back of my mind, I was already coming up with an intricate plan for revenge.

But evil plots & revenge aside, I felt horrible for my friend. I wanted to infuse in her a sense of self-worth, strength, and power. I could talk to her until I’m blue in the face, but she’s the one who’ll have to pick herself up from the floor in the end. It’s no secret, my friend could benefit from a more masculine approach in her life. Identification with “masculine traits”, regardless of whether you like to fuck people in the ass or not, to the extent that it represents the balance of experience, is healthy

Therefore, the $30,000 question is what constitutes acting/fucking like a man? And, can women legitimately inhabit male territory?

Stay Connected. ~ Sally S.

Vengeance & Rage- Jealousy Un-masked- Part II

:Woman Scorned, by Maram McWilliams:

“The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee. “-Samuel Jackson, as Jules, heard in the film "Pulp Fiction"

Samuel Jackson was already one my favorite actors when this speech solidified my Sam-worship. Jackson’s character, a hit man with a spiritual side, would deliver the monologue above in a chilling executioner-like manner before he pumped his captive full of lead.

His monologue is actually based on Ezekiel 25:17, a Bible verse stating, “And I will execute great vengeance upon them with furious rebukes; and they shall know that I am the Lord, when I shall lay my vengeance upon them.”

Similar, no?

And if that's not enough, other examples can be found throughout the Bible where acts of retribution and “eye for an eye” theories flourished. “God” gets ticked off when we worship other deities, and He hates it when we disobey orders. In fact, during the entire length of the Old Testament God is smiting, destroying, and pillaging because he’s one jealous, angry, bitter old dude.

The problem with this belief system is the lust for revenge is endless. You smite me, and I smite you right back, and so the cycle goes. Until, that is, someone finally breaks the circle with forgiveness. Unfortunately, human beings bear the genetic imprint- a retributive stamp of pain- accumulated from ancestors, heritage, and if you want to go there…past lives too.

These primal feelings (cell memories) remain lodged in our subconscious and affect our relationships. Thus, when faced with a partner’s infidelity (or imagined infidelity) instinct kicks in. Once jealousy is aroused the tendency is to revert to our primal nature when threatened. Rational thought processes are discarded and the animal is released. Extreme examples of this type of behavior would include crimes of passion and half the bar fights I’ve seen over the course of my life.

Now, readers, let me just say, I’m a nice girl. However, some of the things I’ve done to my lovers in the past in the name of revenge have been really mean, if not outright horrible. Lovers were surprised by my malice because I seemed, on the surface, laid-back and uncomplicated. I told lovers, “I’m the most non-jealous person in the world!”, but was thinking, “I don’t care if you flirt with her, I’ll hook up with 10 guys to your one girl, Ha!” It didn’t matter if I actually did it (which yes, sometimes I did!) but the threat was there. Clearly, I wanted to have my partner by the balls. Do This or else. Do This or I will (insert consequence). Obviously, I am a jealous person, but was masking my feelings with revenge/control/manipulation tactics instead of admitting it. As one can imagine, this attitude has caused a lot of unnecessary pain in my relationships with others and internally as well.

For instance, my ex-girlfriend is a flirt AND she’s incredibly cute. I’d cringe each time a pretty girl would even walk in her direction. However, on one particular night I was especially worried. A tall dark-haired, tan, exotic-looking sexy grrl had been eye-fucking her for at least an hour when she finally walked over and struck up a conversation. I stomped off in the other direction, looking for some poor unsuspecting girl to flirt with while she talked. Eventually, sexy tan grrl and my girlfriend parted ways, and I was relieved, but still pissed.

I grabbed a twenty dollar bill out of my wallet, and made my way across the room toward tall tan girl. I took the $20 bill, marched up to the table she was sitting at with her friends and said, “Do you see that girl over there (pointing to my lover)? That’s my girlfriend. But, I’m soooooo tired of her, I’ll give you twenty bucks if you’ll take her home.” I threw the bill down on the table and walked out of the club with my pride in tow.

Evidently, insults of that caliber are enough to kill a relationship.

In hindsight, my behavior was clearly motivated by jealousy. This, strangely, coming from the girl who said she didn’t have a jealous bone in her body. However, that was then and this is now. It’s never too late to bring our negative behavioral patterns into our field of awareness. It’s never too late to learn the art of self love, healing, and forgiveness. And, it’s never too late to try again.

Stay tuned for Part III, when a guest blogger makes his mysterious presence known to weigh in on the jealousy factor.

Game On, Part III

Read Part I

Read Part II

An old flame visited in me during the wee hours of the night. It was humid, and I had been burning eucalyptus incense for hours. And even though the air was heavy and I hadn’t seen him for months, he was hot…hot under his shirt, his face, his ears. I complimented him, told him I missed him, and got down on my knees by the chair in front of him. I kissed his stomach, bit his nipples, and pulled him off the chair and into my bedroom.

To be certain, I was ready for it-- hardcore humiliation and violent slapping, PLEASE.

There is a certain amount of sexual rage inherent in the BDSM scene. Some of us want a loud, screaming, fist-pounding fuck fest. And I must say, writing about it has not helped matters. I want it more. Images of electric red and black bodies slapping hard against each other in the darkness have been creeping into my psyche for weeks now. Along with the music (think Marilyn Manson on Acid x 100), the soundtrack in my head hasn’t been pretty either.

Am I mentally ill? A sexual deviant? Should I be committed to an asylum? Maybe given electro-shock therapy?

Not that long ago, I would’ve been labeled as such- a psychotic lady in need of some serious therapy. Sadomasochism was considered a psychiatric/sexual disorder until the DSM IV (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) reclassified “consenting adults” as exempt from this label. Seems as though adults are allowed to engage in whatever activities they’d like to in the privacy of their homes. And since the psychiatric community now considers us “normal”, we have all been healed! Great! Woo hoo!

We are no longer treated like outcasts, “weirdos”, freaks, or referred to as mentally ill.

Or not.

There still are a lot of misconceptions about those who practice BDSM. The opposition will suggest reasons like childhood abuse, improper bonding with a parental figure, addiction, and the old,“we think you’re just plain crazy.” And to an extent, it may be true. Alternative lifestyles attract those on the fringes of society (radicals), which could increase the presence of victims and/or perpetrators of past abuse. Notice I said “could.” In any given group, you will find victims/abusers, which is not all that shocking really. The main issue involves classifying all BDSM’ers as “victims” or “abusers”, ignoring that there are normal folks who enjoy a good ass slap every now and then. Hey, it happens.

So, why? Why practice BDSM? Society definitely does NOT support it. Even worse, it shuns those who participate in it. Also, doesn’t it hurt?--- as in... my, those nipple clamps are mighty tight. Well, yes indeed, they are. However, the point is to move outside of the ordinary and challenge ourselves physically and emotionally. We all live in a world that thrives on social order where we must maintain our polished image. This is the face we show others like our colleagues, bosses, children, and students. Where, then, can we REALLY be ourselves? For some, the beast is released sexually- with partners and/or alone. Others may channel their soul energy into different aspects (art, music, service ect..) of their lives. We all need somewhere to land, a place where we can see ourselves being ourselves.

For some, BDSM does just that. Of course, there are other reasons such as:

1) Empowerment, self-expression, and self-gratification
2) To create or allow for a new form of gender expression (female dom, male submissive)
3) To impress/stimulate one’s partner
4) To get lost in a fantasy (i.e. escapism)
5) To explore power structures outside of the normal realm of experience (a dominant personality in “real” life versus a submissive personality in sexual situations or vice versa)

If you have engaged in any form of BDSM (from the most basic to the advanced acts), and feel comfortable leaving a comment either anonymously or otherwise as to your reason why, please do so. Sharing is caring.

Stay tuned for an upcoming post about practical user-friendly BDSM toys and possible “scenes” for beginners to integrate into your sexual life.

Also, as an added bonus for you history buffs…

Check out this site.

There is an especially intriguing piece of art on the right hand side of the page called The Binding and Flaggelation of Christ.

Until next time, SS

Karma, 101

Everything I touch breaks.

At least today.

My car, the toilet in our community office bathroom, the toilet at the house I used to rent with my sister, the door which the cops kicked down at the old house I used to live at, and for fuck’s sake, my favorite Channel lipstick, and the end of my living room table (baby toe, meet table, AGAIN…), ect…

Eh.

Similarly, my little sister claims everything in her life rots, i.e. grows mold, from the fridge to possibly her personal life, but I’m not judging, no, of course not.

Conversely, everyone in my office is having a grand old day. So-and- so’s pathetic excuse for a son just bought a house and blah, blah, blah… suck it people!

Do I sound like a five year-old today or what? Maybe someone should just put me on a leash. After all, with my tendency to break shit and what not…..

So, why the rude smart-ass overtones? Readers, I have been feeling somewhat emotionally numb the last few days and cannot be bothered to find one iota of compassion for others in my cold dead lifeless heart.

Also, money people, that’s right, money. I’ve been spending an obscene amount of it lately and found I am somewhat disgusted with myself about it. I received a rather large inheritance over a year ago and I have basically bought a lot of shit. Needless shit. So much for that "conservative with money" accountant stereotype, you won’t find that here, no siree.

And each week it’s a game, isn’t it? We say, I’m going to change this and this and this about my life, next week, yeah, sometime next week. But that time never comes, and well, why should it? When we’re doing just the minimal amount of work in our lives to get by and keep others off our freakin’ backs, there’s not much incentive to achieve, is there?

I the problem is, I was a nose-to-the-grind stone hard core achiever for many years, and managed to make some pretty impressive strides in my life. But now, it’s just enough to get by….heh. How did it come to this, I ask myself often. And each week I make impossible promises to myself about how dedicated and service-orientated I will be and how much joy I will experience because of it, and then… fuck…. it’s pedicures, shopping, tanning, excessive gyming (is that a word?) and martinis on a Tuesday night.

Key lime pie martinis.

Who does that?

Some people my age have 2.5 kids, the house, The Job, ect, ect, ect..
Yet, I cannot be bothered with such humdrum. I’ve been catching flack from friends lately about being more “adult-like” and “stop all that partying girlfriend!” which is actually ironic, because 5 years ago with my nose held to the stone, they looked awfully frivolous in my eyes.

Well, Justin Timberlake, you just might be on to something there, what goes around does come round’. Funny, I thought I told ya.

Sistas' are doin’ it for themselves…

“Standin' on their own two feet.
And ringin' on their own bells.”

If you haven’t done so yet, go read Cassandra’s post about women-only spaces.

My experience with women-only spaces was a little different. I grew up in a family of women (powerful women at that) with no male influences. I saw the women around me kicking a lot of ass..doing it on their own and what not… both my mother and aunt were staunch feminists. In fact, the very first book my mom ever gave me was called “Eve’s Revenge”, a collection of feminist stories, jokes, etc… so I remember identifying with feminism at a pretty early age. Although my paternal grandmother never identified herself as a feminist, hell if she didn’t raise 3 boys on her own and run an entire franchise with little or no help. So, yeah, women-only spaces, not a bad thing in my book.

I don’t know that my mom ever told me “Sally, you don’t have to fear anyone, especially men.” But, it was communicated to me through her actions. She, in my mind, was doing the impossible (single parent, 4 kids, in law school) which taught me a lot about self-preservation and kicking ass, overall. Typically, I’ve approached dangerous situations with somewhat of a reckless attitude. For example, the time I caught a burglar in downtown Minneapolis in the process of robbing my best friend’s car. I simply told him to get his ass out of the car and start running because I was going to call the police, so when I screamed, “FUCKIN MOVE IT!”, he got out of the car and ran. Fortunately, he wasn’t able to pry her stereo system free in time.

Sure, there were instances when I was younger where disgusting men helped themselves to my body. Three situations in particular stand out. The first one was in the 3rd grade when nauseatingly perverted older boy grabbed my crotch on the play ground at school and taunted me, “Sally, watcha’ gonna do, huh?” “Huh?” Had I been a little older n’ wiser, I would’ve beat his sorry ass to the pavement, but no, I just sorta stood there with a dumb look on my face. My pelvic area burned for the next week, I could still feel his fat meaty hand there.

The next incident was when I was in 8th grade. Keep in mind, I, er, developed early. I started wearing a bra when I was 10 or 11. By the time I was 13 I was a full D-Cup, on a 5’3, 110lb frame. Let’s just say it didn’t go unnoticed. Anyway, it was the summer before my 8th grade year and I was at the state fair with a few girl friends. As we walked by the various displays n’ games, the old carnie guys with missing teeth would leer at us with their various cat-calls and what not. At one point, a particularly gross toothless excuse for a man reached over and grabbed by boob. Again, I was speechless. It was during the bright light of day and I had several others with me, so I wasn’t worried for my safety, but like Cassandra said, found myself enraged and a little bit shocked.

And lastly, as the girl from the wrong side of the tracks at the good ol’ Catholic high school, I found issues like class, religion, and sexism were alive n’ well. And don’t even get me started on race and sexual orientation. Anyway, I spent a lot of time bucking the popular paradigm. Refusing to be confirmed, openly questioning authority, standing up for other fellow outcasts who were teased by girls who made “Mean Girls” look like fuckin’ tea party…eh.. well, you know how those catholic girls are. But, the guys were even worse, specially’ the jock guys. Seeing how I had “developed early” I was often harassed in the hallways by the junior/senior guys. For example, on one particular day, an unruly jock guy grabbed my ponytail, threw me against a locker, and said to his buddies, “Hey guys, look at my little freshman sex toy.” Not the most welcoming environment for an insecure teenage girl. But, eventually, I grew out of my shell and started kicking a little ass, just like my mom… the apple doesn’t fall from the tree…

Over the years, I’ve become much more assertive and aggressive about protecting my boundaries. I no longer stand speechless when some uncivilized slob grabs a body part, I also feel like if I was attacked, I could defend myself, and hell… like I said before, maybe even kick a little ass. After all, those hardcore body building training sessions at the gym have to count for something.

A Swift Kick to the Groin

sticking it to the stone…

I am divesting in you, closing your accounts, taking out the trash, and removing your scaly hand from my mouth. I’m taking each and every sentence you uttered in my presence and declaring it null and void. I’m watching you stumble away, limping, without interest.

A Rant and a Slap!

I f***cking hate lawyers. As clients they are a royal pain in the ass. I want to bludgeon their eyes out with a fork and then make their colleagues eat them as penance for their self-righteousness. Hey lawyers, not everyone is ENAMORED with your smug demeanor, in fact, it’s disgusting, vile, and most of all… irritating! And another thing, if you think you know more about tax law, retirement planning, or accounting principles than me, well, do your own f-ing tax returns then!

Bastards.

** No lawyers were harmed during the making of this post, especially my mother and sister, who are both lawyers.

Prudes or Prunes?

All dried out and laid before you.

Excessive shame and sexual repression aside, you really gotta love those prunes, I mean prudes. You know, prudes- the women who strictly judge other women based on what they wear, who they sleep with, and how they generally approach their sexuality.

Karl Lagerfeld Stole My Boyfriend

Readers, I have been snubbed. Karl Lagerfeld stole my boyfriend. That’s right, boys and girls. See, once upon a time, I had this boyfriend who was super-excited to spend time with me, 24-7. He would call and write emails at least 10 times a day. He wanted to spend hours looking into my eyes, reciting poetry, and feeding me chocolate. He was, for all purposes, my man slave. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that screwing the pool boy every once and awhile isn’t fun, but it’s typically not thought of as a long-term arrangement.

Now, this division of labor (me laying there, him devoted to my every need) was ok for awhile, but dear readers, it get’s boring. Huge over-the-top displays of devotion only can take a person so far before time simply runs out. (Next please!)

Rather than telling my favorite sugar-coated candy boy to get lost, I rather coyly feigned interest for about a week, and then stopped giving him the time of day. Now, during this time period, evidently, Mr. Over Eager started to see someone else.

Readers, I am simply devastated! You mean I won’t be getting horrendously trite emails on the subject of my boundless beauty? Oh, the shame! Or, what about the late night phone calls declaring his love, do I miss out on those too? I cannot face the world! I think I shall crawl into the nearest hole and die.

And this other woman, gesh, she must be a dream come true! I cannot type anymore as my keyboard is drowning in my tears.

Fucking for Sport: A Hallow Desire

Is it desire that propels us from one stranger’s arms to another? Transforming desire into a workable philosophy of living is exhausting. In fact, doing so involves many late night trysts with foreigners, something I’d be hard-pressed to avoid.

Ever notice how the anticipation of the touch is always better than the actual touch? Absence is greeted with a warmer response than presence. In initiating the mystery, I often contemplated, is this desire?

A man once told me that I asked too many questions. I spent the next three years punishing him for it. When I walked by him and looked through him like a ghost, I wondered, is this desire?

A smiling devil once left my house with my virginity in his back pocket, and I locked myself in a room for days without food. When I purged him from my body, I asked, is this desire?

At 4:30 a.m. during a summer rain storm, I ran outside barefoot with raw knees and a sore mouth. And when I left him, he went home to his girlfriend. After I was inside drying, the thought crossed my mind, is this desire?

I wore a fabulous little black dress when I tied a handsome 21 year-old young thing to my bed post. Arms spread and stomach flat, I grabbed the whip. Red faced and skin glowing, I questioned, is this desire?

The question itself is rhetorical, an answer is not required.
I could go on asking myself this indefinitely, but it’s hard to think when the blood rushes in.

"Is This Desire?" – PJ Harvey

Joseph walked on and on
The sunset went down and down
Coldness cooled their desire
And Dawn said, 'Let's build a fire'
The sun dressed the trees in green
And Joe said, 'I feel like a King'
And Dawn's neck and her feet were bare
Sweetness in her golden hair
Said, 'I am not scared'
Turned to her and smiled
Secrets in his eyes
Sweetness of desire
Is this desire
Enough enough
To lift us higher
To lift above?
Hour-long, by hour, may we two stand
when we're dead, between these lands
The sun set behind his eyes
And Joe said, 'Is this desire?'
Is this desire
Enough enough
To lift us higher
To lift above?
Is this desire
Enough enough
Enough inside
Is this desire?

The Rat Woman: A Natural Bewitcher

What, in heaven’s name, is a “rat woman?” Dear readers, do any of you have a definition for this type of woman? When I first encountered the term, taken in context, it seemed to carry a strong negative connotation. To me, it signified one who is notoriously evil, devilish, fiendish, lacking in sincerity, with a penchant for destroying others. For example, if one is referred to as a “she-rat”, I doubt it's being expressed as a term of endearment.

In my experience, I’ve found that attractions to “rat women” are usually the result of a strong archetypal energy pattern the “rat lover” carries, which becomes his hook, or point of projection. There are many reasons why we find others attractive. Generally, the reason being, “the other” has constellated a powerful image in our psyche. This is a sensitive point for us because we actually contain the image within ourselves too, but it’s hidden.

Men, who find themselves at the mercy of a rat woman’s feet, are bestowing archetypal power on a woman who happens to be just as human as he is. Is this wrong? I’m not sure it is, as I think it’s a natural human tendency to impart divine qualities onto that which is hidden. Because it remains “under the radar” we are all to eager to assign these projections to others who sure make fine receptacles, as long as they too are feeding power to the same image. However, men who experience this power as being “done to them”, need to effectively draw back their projection and see it for what it’s worth, their own inner image of the feminine, or their expectation of it what it is.

These images, in childhood, are passed down from parental figures, but are far more powerful and large than the actual parents. However, our own parents play the part well themselves. Those who attract rats are actively projecting some part of their own ravished feminine upon a woman, who, because of her identification with the Persephone archetype, is only too eager participate.

If there is one thing I’ve learned from my smorgasbord of failed relationships, it's when to pull the projection back when it get’s out of hand. Consider this a strong jerk in the right direction.

I kinda always knew you’d end up my ex-boyfriend.

My ex-boyfriend is such a douche bag. It’s not that he did anything horribly wrong, or offended me in epic portions. However, merely his continued presence on this planet irritates me. Since every word he uttered caused me to curl up into little ball and scream “la la la la!” while covering my ears, it’s probably better that we are not together anymore.

Yet, seeing pictures of him on-line schmoozing it up with other girls is like driving by a bad car accident, you don’t want to look, but you almost have to. I did notice the woman he was hugging looked like an anorexic fish with a large fish-head. But dear readers, really, whose keeping score? This man was so horrible in the sack, my libido nearly dried up during the course of the relationship. Talk about a long dive down a dry well! Someone bring me some water!

He also was excruciatingly boring and dull-down to the very fiber of his being. Thank Goddess he had the decency to get lost. I never specifically told him to lose my number; he just sort of faded into the oblivion. There was no angry outburst, name calling, or biting involved here. Hell, even the break up was boring. We simply just stopped calling each other. It was the best non-relationship and non-break up I’ve ever had.

At the same time, some of the wind was taken out of my sail since, unfortunately, I was not able to tell him to go fuck himself. And dear readers, after being subjected to his endless stream of witty repartee for a good six months I deserve better than that!

I should’ve at least been afforded an opportunity to spank him like his mother never did. I would’ve tied his ankles to the bed post, bound and gagged him with a heavy cement block and repeatedly lashed him until he was brought to tears. But, shoulda, coulda, woulda, hindsight is always 20/20 in these situations.

There is a wonderful little website offering free revenge services to punish that one unique bastard that got away. Every once in awhile we need a bit of help implementing our most diabolical plans against those who have wronged us, hence, the site Make Him Pay. The celebrity page is pretty funny too. Go on, have a look.

Here are some other ideas to get you started while you’re forming your own craftily- planned act of retribution.

1) Skin him alive and hang him over a metal rod to dry. (If this is too Ted Bundy-ish for you, just tie him to metal rod and watch him squirm.)



2) Spray paint his car with obscene words and video tape his reaction when he finds it. Then, his reaction can be viewed multiple times from your own home in slow motion. Grab some popcorn and have fun with it!



3) Kidnap and drug your ex. Then, put him in a lovely festive costume and place a red flag in his hand. Next, sell tickets to the event to all your friends, so they can see him wake up from his drug –induced coma with a bull or other large animal breathing down his neck. This is a fun event for all ages! Plus, you’ve just profited from his misery.




4) Ask your ex if you can come over to collect some of your things. When he’s at the top of the stairs, give him a big push. If you can manage to avoid doing prison time and paying all his hospital bills then, you, my friend, have succeeded.



5) See a voodoo practitioner. Make wax dolls, do spells, and give’em hell. He’ll wish he’d never met you!

Your Leggings are Sooo Gangster

Saturday night was debauchery at its finest. I stumbled home at the lovely hour of 4:30 am after some serious Jack Daniels consumption. Still drunk, I forced my happy ass out of bed at 8:30 am and tackled the next day with vigor as self-imposed penance for my naughty behavior the night before. Please allow me to share with you a quick re-cap of the evening:

TWO BITCHES TERRORIZE THE CITY: AN EPIC TALE

Fellow sass-pot, Miss M and I began terrorizing the city of Sioux Falls at about 10:30pm. Miss M is new in town and I,of course, her attentive tour guide. Now, don’t get me wrong, Miss M is a helluva good time, as feisty as they come. However, taking random stabs at strangers proved to be not a good idea. Go figure. Miss M is definitely NOT afraid of stating the obvious, plus her stare reduces men to a pile of rubble. Additionally, Miss M wasn’t adverse to the idea of offending random women throughout the evening either. Hell, neither was I for the matter. For once in my life I said whatever I wanted, when I wanted, and it was damn liberating at the time. Although in retrospect, I probably was just behaving like a drunken diva.

For example, at one point during the night, a couple of tall dark n’ handsome boys approached us and said politely:

“Hey ladies how are you tonight?”

To which Miss M. replied sarcastically, “Super!” in a child-like tone.

I nearly fell off my chair. They were dumbfounded.
I almost felt bad for them, almost.

But, then, we were off to other various destinations. At the end of the evening, Miss M. and I went to three differently house parties. At the first party, I asked some girl if she wanted to “take it outside.” (WHAT?) I think I might’ve lost my mind at that point. (It was the JACK, I swear!) At the next party, I stumbled around the house screaming about the Socratic Method and Dr. Evil in one breath. Then, I made out with some guy as I crossed the threshold to the door and said my good-byes.

At the end of this classy evening, we ended up in a kitchen with a grown man wearing an aluminum skirt/thong. (G-string, no less!) This fine young gentleman was also wearing a tie and had vegetable oil smeared all over his ass. Yes, that’s right, at some point during the evening he discovered the leather belt blows didn’t hurt as bad after the oil had been applied. Not to be outdone, I grabbed the belt, bent it in half, and took a mighty crack at his bare ass. Needless to say, that will leave a mark.

In hindsight, comments like “your presence has renewed my faith in the death penalty” and “I’m sorry honey; I don’t speak to people with less than a 8th grade education” might’ve been better left unsaid. However, one can always dare to dream.

Rapper's Delight

I’ve presented the lyrical stylings of Too Short, mac-daddy rapper, and self-proclaimed player for life for your examination. Please read below:

Too Short- I’m a Player

You see I made up my mind when I was seventeen,
I ain't with no marriage and a weddin' ring,
I be a player for life so where's my wife,
probably at the rehab stuck on the pipe,
'cause she must be smokin' and I'm not jokin'
Too Short baby comin' straight from Oakland,
Got way more bitches than I ever need,
I put that on a big fat bag of weed,
'cause I can give you a bitch who wouldn't give you joint,
Bitches ain't shit and now I made my point,
so you can light that weed,
while I spit this rap,
and tell you 'bout a player from way back

I was only fourteen when I first got my dick sucked,
now I'm grown up and I really like to bust nuts,
Gettin' freaky in the right situations,
You wanna rap well that's a nice occupation,
To get pussy when you want 'n how you want it fool
'cause I was fuckin' ugly hoes back in high school
I used to fuck young-ass hoes,
Used to be broke and didn't have no clothes,
Now I fuck top notch bitches,
Tellin' stories 'bout rags to riches,
'bout a pimp named Shorty from the Oakland set,
Been mackin' for years 'n ain't fell of yet,

So if you ever see me rollin' in my drop top caddy,
throw a peace sign and say hey pimp daddy!
'cause I never would front on my folks,
I slow down and let the gold diggers count my spokes,
Bitches come a dime a dozen,
So don't get mad when I fuck your cousin,
your two sisters, I even fuck your ex-bitch,
Short Dog in the house with some player shit

Comin' up we learn how to freak these hoes,
and when your through getting yours then you shake these hoes,
and when your older, it's nothin' but a routine,
Makin' G's everyday workin' blue jeans,
I know I seen it before,
I see it again,
Young tender saying Short would you be my man

I was born to mack,
I'm hookin' hoes like crack, I be a monkey on your back bitch,
Until you kick that Short Dog habit got you on my dick,
and even though I can't fuck you every day,
that's 'cause I got another bitch around the way,
We can all get together on a late night,
cut to the house hook somethin' up real tight,
I really don't care,
cause I'm a player

Now, this is interesting. Feminists have been wrapped up in this debate for awhile. Do the lyrics above contribute toward the subjugation of women in our society? Rappers talk about “big-booty hoes” and “pimpin’ bitches”, but what is this really about? Is it art? Is it just a little harmless fun for the masses, or another method some men use to assert their dominance over women? If “bitches come a dime-a-dozen” then why don’t men go find a hole in the wall to fuck rather than expose us (i.e. women) to another boring lay. I’ll try to suppress my YAWN next time, boys. I mean, seriously, as women we have to deal with this shit everyday. Yesterday, a girlfriend of mine called at work to tell me some asshole tried to rape her last weekend. As women, how are supposed to respond to this? With a casual, “oh I’m sorry honey, how was the rest of your weekend?” Topics like rape, sexual abuse ect.. are the dark side of sexuality and typically make people uncomfortable. However, we must face these issues and FIGHT BACK! I don’t know about the rest of y’all, but I’m in the mood to kick some boy ass!

I wonder how Mr. Short’s lyrics would sound coming from a woman’s mouth. I think it’s worth examining. See Too Short’s lyrics below, but this time, they're comin’ from me, sons-of-bitches.


You see I made up my mind when I was seventeen,
I ain't with no marriage and a wedding ring,
I be a player for life so where's my guy
probably at the rehab stuck on the pipe,
'cause he must be smokin' and I'm not jokin'
Sally S comin' straight from Oakland,
Got way more men than I’ll ever need,
I put that on a big fat bag of weed,
'cause I can give you a man who wouldn't give you joint,
Men ain't shit and now I made my point,
so you can light that weed,
while I spit this rap,
and tell you 'bout a player from way back

I was only fourteen when I first got my CLIT sucked,
now I'm grown up and I really like to bust nuts,
Gettin' freaky in the right situations,
You wanna rap well that's a nice occupation,
To get dick when you want 'n how you want it fool
'cause I was fuckin' ugly boys back in high school
I used to fuck young-ass boys,
Used to be broke and didn't have no clothes,
Now I fuck top notch men,
Tellin' stories 'bout rags to riches,
'bout a pimp named Sally from the Oakland set,
Been mackin' for years 'n ain't fell of yet,

So if you ever see me rollin' in my drop top caddy,
throw a peace sign and say hey pimp Sally!
'cause I never would front on my folks,
I slow down and let the gigolos count my spokes,
Men come a dime a dozen,
So don't get mad when I fuck your cousin,
Sally S in the house with some player shit

Comin' up we learn how to freak these boys,
and when your through getting yours then you shake these boys,
and when your older, it's nothin' but a routine,
Makin' G's everyday workin' blue jeans,
I know I seen it before,
I see it again,
Boys saying, Sally, would you be my girl

I was born to mack,
I'm hookin' boys like crack, I be a monkey on your back,
Until you kick that Sally S habit got you on my CLIT,
and even though I can't fuck you every day,
that's 'cause I got another man around the way,
We can all get together on a late night,
cut to the house hook somethin' up real tight,
I really don't care,
cause I'm a player

And if that, girls, doesn’t put you in mood, then, here is some art work by the lovely Natalia Fabia. Now, let’s kick some ass.

Male-strippers, candy-boys, gigolos:

Wanna come over and get spanked?
With our Pretty Woman stories
They know Girls are better when we're dirty
so if you’ve been drug through the mud
And you’re feeling a little primitive
You won’t have to look hard to find

endless intrigue
mad-circus freaks
the shark's mouth bringing you closer
the carnage never ends
we just collect the dust and run


Jefferson Airplane- Don’t You Want Somebody to Love?

When the truth is found to be lies
And all the joy within you dies





Don't you want somebody to love
Don't you need somebody to love


When the garden flowers baby are dead
And your mind is full of red

Don't you want somebody to love
Don't you need somebody to love
Wouldn't you love somebody to love
You better find somebody to love

Your eyes, I say your eyes may look like his
But in your head baby I'm afraid you don't know where it is

Don't you want somebody to love
Don't you need somebody to love
Wouldn't you love somebody to love
You better find somebody to love

The Irony of Incarnating

This weekend I got the flu, and it got me thinking and dreaming about sickness and bugs and the way these illnesses affect us. What exactly are our bodies saying? And where does the anger stop and healing start? I mean, human beings are in unique position. We move through each day with strength, yet we are fragile and our bodies tell that story.

Our bodies tell the stories of abuse, sickness, tension, anger, stress, fatigue; even so we still can SURVIVE. Survival is the work of the world, thrust upon us when we least expect it. We are expected to survive this.

All of our bodies’ work is symbolic, so it has a girl like me thinking…

What promises have the gods above made to us? I wonder what happens when we break ours. Is that why we’re sick? Vengeance, the definition of tough love, disguised as hatred, it is the name of the game, people. Although I’ve refused to believe, I’m still waiting for destiny to come and tap me on my sleeve. These are the consequences we face.

Spiders Crawling Up My Back

Because they told me I could be a star
Because they told me no one else could do it
Because they told me everyone would love me
Because they told me it wouldn’t hurt too much anyway

If the swelling doesn’t go down
If the red marks aren’t fading
If the sweat makes you sick
If the pavement is too cold

Lay next to me baby
and wait for love to wash it away

The Weekend's Rage

All weekend long the rage was on. People fighting, attacking, screaming, name-calling and destroying, and everyone made a good show of it. No one was immune to it. Relationships ended and we all acted like we didn’t care. We danced and laughed anyway.

The layers of anger were astounding, and I too found myself at the mercy of my bitter side. In a salute to the rage-y-ness encountered in others and myself I’m posting these lyrics. How fitting.

Volcano- Damien Rice

Don't hold yourself like that
You'll hurt your knees
I kissed your mouth and back
But that's all I need
Don't build your world around volcanoes
it’ll melt you down

What I am to you is not real
What I am to you you do not need
What I am to you is not what you mean to me
You give me miles and miles of mountains
And I'll ask for the sea

Don't throw yourself like that
In front of me
I kissed your mouth your back
Is that all you need?
Don't drag my love around
volcanoes melt me down

What I am to you is not real
What I am to you you do not need
What I am to you is not what you mean to me
You give me miles and miles of mountains
what I give to you
Is what I’m going through
This is nothing new
just another phase of finding what I really need
Volcanoes melt me down
I kissed your mouth
you do not need me



And of course a little more for him. I imagine this is what you might have said to me on Saturday night if you hadn’t called me fucking bitch instead.


"Lying Is The Most Fun A Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off" – Panic! At the Disco

Is it still me that makes you sweat?
Am I who you think about in bed?
When the lights are dim and your hands are shaking as you're sliding off your dress?
Then think of what you did
And how I hope to God he was worth it.
When the lights are dim and your heart is racing as your fingers touch your skin.
I've got more wit, a better kiss, a hotter touch, a better fuck
Than any boy you'll ever meet, sweetie you had me
Girl I was it, look past the sweat, a better love deserving of
Exchanging body heat in the passenger seat?
No, no, no, you know it will always just be me

A Medieval Mood

Today I saw a picture of my ex in all his finery on a website with photos of his new girlie-friend and immediately was hit with a lust for revenge. This is a normal reaction for me, as my mother would say, "revenge is the best dish served cold." Well, maybe she never said that, but it would've been a interesting piece of worldly wisdom to pass on. Evidently, the "eye for an eye" theory runs deep in the family tree, and on a purely emotional level can be very satisfying to "gut" one's opponent. Do I sound like I'm living in medieval times or just sympathizing with the war machine? I certainly hope not.

On a practical level, revenge is far too time consuming and facilitates the acknowledgement of the other's continued power in one's life. Thus, I am torn asunder. On one side, our more beastly qualities need recognition, but at the same time it should be balanced with reason and our more refined qualities. But, as the many times wise Bloodhound Gang would say, "You and me baby ain't nothin' but mammals." In celebration, I offer a spiteful vengeful piece I wrote to, as they say, "get the red out." Enjoy!

A Woman in White Never Dies

Now if you dream about me at night when you're clutching her thigh
and you think you've been freed from the curse of me
think again
I know you've settled into domestic tranquility
but when you look at those hands
you wanna rub them over my body again
she crosses your mind in nick of time, just before I'm in
so if you're listening for me in the in-betweens and my voices still echoes eerily
step away from the ledge and get back under your bridge

"They widened and widened, thrusting you both asunder, one from the other". - From the Woman in White by Wilkie Collins.