A Case of the Could You Fucking Not’s

Lately I find myself with little patience. For everything. My favorite season is ending, my job provides little to no enjoyment, I’m in a constant search for something to do with the rest of my life professionally (or at least a constant search for a job that provides the possibility of moderate amounts of enjoyment and more than, oh ya know, three paid days off), I’m trying like hell to make a long distance relationship feel just as normal as it did pre-distance and all of this has been leaving me maxed out on my daily allotment for patience. It’s a rare day I don’t find myself constantly annoyed by any and everything dumb. I suppose normally my tolerance for stupid people doing stupid things isn’t the highest, but the stress of these last few weeks has just demolished said tolerance for all things asinine. For example…

Coworkers approaching me with problems first thing in the morning:


Coworker who forces me to be at the office 20 minutes later than necessary so I can hear his thoughts on the decline of “modern neighborhoods”:


Coworker who asks me to work late full well knowing I’m salary and won’t get paid for it:


The person who cuts me off in traffic, then proceeds to drive under the speed limit:


The person who cuts me off in line at the pharmacy, then proceeds to ask one trillion questions:


Manufacturers of cardboard tampon applicators, one-ply toilet paper, automatic faucets that don’t work and all other sub-standard bathroom products:


All things pumpkin spice and soon to be cold weather related:


People who are constantly on Facebook/Twitter/Instagram, but yet can’t seem to use their phones to text you back:


All ex-girlfriends:


And mostly, all the people who insist on telling me their own long distance failures when they hear my boyfriend was relocated 600 miles away. Really? REALLY? All of you:



Luckily y’all I have found a way to combat this raging case of Could You Fucking Not’s, and boy is it delicious…



Date Rape Does Exist

Fair warning to (what I’m guessing is the majority of my readers) my family. This post contains references to me having sex. If you would prefer not to have that visual in your head, I suggest you stop reading now. But, the sex is not gratuitous or discussed for scandalous reasons, rather to give voice to an issue that is important to me, and should, in my opinion, be important to everyone.

Recently there is a woman making some headlines. ‘Princeton mom’ has become a figure of contention for many feminist minded women, like myself. I wanted to ignore her and not add fuel to her already controversial fire, but it comes to a point where I can no longer ignore her stupidity and ignorance because I fear for any young women out there reading what she has to say and letting it become a form of truth. I fear for any person who experiences what I experienced 13 years ago and letting her idiotic thoughts make them feel that what they are going through is not valid.

Princeton mom does not believe in date rape. Rather, she believes women use this term to refer to sex they “mistakenly have” and that only she is to blame in that situation.

Princeton mom is an uniformed, archaic sack of shit.

Date rape does exist.

I am a victim of date rape.

I am 17. I’m watching a movie with a guy I’ve hung out with in a group a couple of times. He is much older than me and instead of obeying my mom’s ‘I need to meet him first’ rules, I tell her I’m hanging out with a friend and head to his house instead. I was excited to hang out with him, but when he suggests we watch a movie in his room instead of the living room, I begin to feel slightly uneasy. He puts in Three To Tango, a romantic comedy with Neve Campbell. She has always reminded me of my older sister, so this movie choice calms my nerves some, like she is there keeping an eye out for me. It’s about an hour into the movie that I realize there is no one there keeping an eye out for me. I am completely on my own.

It starts out nice enough. We are sitting on his bed, legs next to each other just barely touching, and actually enjoying the movie. But then we are kissing. And then he pulls me down so we are lying together while kissing. And then his hand is up my shirt. And then taking my shirt off. And then unbuttoning my pants. I pull his hands away before he can finish unbuttoning them, hoping he will understand this is as far as I want to go for now. Gradually his hands go back to my pants, and again I pull them away. Instead of understanding what I’m not wanting, he begins to take off his own pants. In my mind I know I want to leave. I know I need to leave. I try scooting away from him, hoping some distance will slow things down, but now he has his pants off and is pulling me back to him. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks in a way that is meant to be cute and flirtatious, but is not. Now I don’t know what to do, but I know I need to leave. I know I want to leave. I try to say it’s late and I have curfew, I say I need to go to the bathroom, I say I have to call my mom and check in, but he thinks I’m just playing hard to get and tells me how cute I am. I know I need to leave. But, I can’t.

He does not physically hurt me. He doesn’t hit me or threaten me. He just keeps me pinned underneath him with his arms and his body weight so I can’t stop what is happening. He kisses me tenderly, like we are lovers and this means something. A few times I even catch myself thinking this isn’t wrong as he strokes my cheek, but then I remember, this is wrong because this is not what I want. He can make it as romantic as he wants, but I tried to leave and he would not let me.

When it’s over I hurry into my clothes at a speed usually only reserved for when I am running late to school. I need to leave. But, as I grab for the doorknob that leads to my escape, he grabs for my wrist roughly. “This was fun, wasn’t it?” he asks. I don’t know what he wants me to say. Is he testing me? Or does he actually think this was fun for me? He hadn’t physically hurt me before, but what if I said ‘fuck you, no this wasn’t fun’ would he hurt me now? I decide silence is the best route and smile and nod until finally he lets me walk through the door and through the rest of the house until I can breathe again in the damp, cold night air.

This is my story. Sadly, I know many who have stories like mine. Stories where the lines of what is right and what is wrong can feel blurred. Where you’re scared people will think you’re overreacting to a hook up that goes just a little to far.

Princeton mom goes on to stick her foot further down her throat by saying we shouldn’t be wasting time educating men (and women) on what does and does not consist of consensual sex, instead we should be teaching women not to go out and get drunk and put themselves in questionable situations. This? This is victim blaming at it’s worst and IT MUST STOP.

I was not drunk. I did not have one sip of alcohol. Was I putting myself in a questionable situation by going to the home of a guy I didn’t know very well? Maybe. Does that excuse the fact that he ignored I clearly was not engaging in consensual sex with him? NO. Because I did go over there did I deserve to have my right to make a choice about what I did of did not want to have happen that night taken away? NO. Because I did kiss him was I asking for it? NO. I’ve posted this before, but I’ll link to it again because I think it sums up what I’m getting at here in a way I cannot. No one is ever asking for it.

At the time, I found it hard to even think about talking about this because I imagined any number of victim blaming responses. For days, months, ever years I didn’t know what to make of what happened that night. I thought that what happened couldn’t have been rape because I was willingly spending time with him, I even willingly kissed him. It couldn’t have been rape because it’s not like some stranger attacked me in the middle of the night and I screamed no. I knew that what happened, what he did to me that night was not right. I just didn’t know why. I never once said no. I pushed him away and I tried leaving, but I never said no.

But, I never said yes.

At the time “date rape” wasn’t a familiar term to me, but when I finally learned about it I understood that my attempts to leave, my attempts to push him off of me, the way he held me down- it was rape. Non-consensual sex will ALWAYS be rape. Even if you are with someone you know and you’ve gone on dates with, even if you fool around with someone, even if you begin to have sex with someone but are made to feel uncomfortable or do something you don’t want to do- once your consent is taken away it. is. rape. I’m not sure what it is about date rape that Princeton mom cannot wrap her (what I’m guessing is a rather small) brain around, but it does exist. It is happening. It needs to not be happening and one of the ways to accomplish this is to give victims a voice. One sure fire way to ensure victims will not want their stories heard through is to belittle the experience by claiming it does not exist.

I hope for any person who finds themselves in a sexual assault situation that the words of this ill-informed woman, or the mass of people out there who agree with her thinking, never make you question your feelings of whether you really are a victim or not. If it was not consensual, no matter how you got into the situation, you are a victim and all your feelings of hurt and betrayal and fear and anger are valid. Never, NEVER let anyone make you feel otherwise.

Ohh The Weather Outside is Weather.

That little asshole Punxsutawney Phil just predicted six more weeks of winter. My reaction to that?


I think it’s fair to say I cannot stand winter. Nothing about it pleases me. Not the cold, not the fresh, white snow (that soon turns dirty and brown and lingers for weeks on end), not the shorter days, not ANY OF IT. All I ever want to do is curl up in my blankets and hibernate. Good ol’ KC is in the midst of a (mini) snowpocalypse and I am on the verge of tears thinking about the prospect of six more weeks of this cold bullshit, but fear that the tears would freeze to my face keeps them at bay.

Y’all might think I’m exaggerating my disdain for winter just a bit, but I assure you I am not. To further prove how much I loathe this season, and the prospect of an extension of it, I’ve put together a little list of things I’d rather do than suffer through six more weeks of these freezing temperatures…

Share a tuna fish sandwich with a jort wearing, open-mouthed chewing chap.

Go one month without Yellowtail Moscato.

Have a nun magically appear and give me the side eye every time there is a sex scene in a movie I’m watching.

Watch every single episode of Keeping Up With the Kardashians.

Have all my socks suddenly be made of wool.

Never be allowed to eat peanut butter froyo again. Ever.

Spend 24 hours in a cave that reeks of curry.

Have all radio stations be set to play nothing but Norah Jones for one full year.

Have the last ten pages missing of the next ten books I read.

Never, ever, EVER get to see the final season of Sons of Anarchy. Okay, no, never mind. That clearly is pushing it too far. Unless, maybe that would earn me a life free of winters for the rest of my days… then sorry, Jax Teller, we are through!

Sigh. Six more dreadful, chilly weeks. How can a person be expected to make it through? Finding a way to make the cold and snow more sufferable isn’t easy, but there is a way… Put Charlie Hunnam in it with you and suddenly the snow starts looking a whoooole lot better.



2014 was going to be a resolution-free year. I decided after making a boatload of changes in 2013, I deserved a free pass this year. But then, one of my lovely lady friends suggested our resolution for the year should be to do a new fitness challenge every month. My lovely lady friend must really know how to get me on board with things because if you say ‘challenge’ I say ‘fuck yes, I can do it!’

January’s challenge was squats. And I KILLED IT. Today I completed day 30 of the challenge (250 squats, nbd.) and I feel awesome. I’m pretty damn proud of myself for not missing one day, not even one little squat. And the awesome feeling is great since, unfortunately for me, aside from killing this challenge, the rest of January hasn’t gone so swimmingly. It was just one of those months where I found myself thinking ‘when it rains, it really fucking pours’ at least once a week. But, fear not dear readers. I am nothing if not resilient. I am not the least bit uncertain that, eventually, I will see my way through the downpour. The only crap thing about having a month like this is when I’m going through the bad times, I tend to beat myself up a little more than usual. It’s not a conscious thing, sometimes it is just fleeting ew, what’s going on with my hair today, but every little jab at myself counts. I am fully aware that these thoughts do nothing to help me through the bad and get me to the good, but in the past have done nothing to change my way of thinking. So, now I’m deciding to throw another challenge into the mix…

Since February is the month of love (I’m assuming someone out there calls it that, anyway) I’m giving myself a non-physical challenge in hopes of inspiring some self-love. It’s a two part challenge, really. First, I’m challenging myself to squash these negative thoughts as soon as I acknowledge them. And second, and most importantly, for every negative thought that creeps into my brain, I have to say three things I love about myself. Okay, maybe a three part challenge, because I also have to not roll my eyes and call myself ridiculous as I list off all these great things about myself. I have to acknowledge and accept them as fully as I’ve accepted all those negative feelings of the past. And, since I am such a go-getter, I got a bit of a head start on this.

This morning, while doing the wiggle and jump and pull the tight pants up dance, I caught myself in mid-ugh I’m such a fatty fa… thought. I didn’t let myself finish. Instead, I finished getting dressed, looked in the mirror, and forced myself to accept that 1. I love my eyes, 2. I love that I’ve worked really hard to get good at my job, and 3. I love that I finished the squats challenge because my booty is actually looking pretty damn good in these tight pants. Between a new physical challenge (arms and abs!) and the thinkin’ good thoughts challenge, I think February is shaping up to be a pretty great month.

Just Dance

Lately I’ve been on an extended vacation in Shittymoodville. Here’s the thing about Shittymoodville, it’s not a fun place to be. There’s an unexplainable foul odor lingering in the air, the sky is permanently heavy with a grey fog, the fellow occupants of this town are particularly surly, and the longer you’re there, the harder it is to leave. You just get stuck.

In general, I’m not the world’s most patient person, so you can bet money that I have little patience for riding out crappy moods. I’ve tried everything to expedite my departure from past pit stops at Shittymoodville- wine, girl’s night out, meditating, wine, sappy movies, funny movies, scary movies, wine, hot baths, rereading my favorite books, googling pictures of Tom Hardy holding a puppy, WINE- but so far only one thing is truly effective, and since holidays can be a stressful time of year and lead many others to Shittymoodville, I thought maybe I would share this breakthrough…

Dance. It. Out.

I’m sure if you know me, or have read past posts and seen my affinity for dancing gifs, you know I am a booty shakin’ fan, but just trust me on this, dancing is a first class ticket out of Shittymoodville. It really is just that simple. In a funk? Get up and dance. Do it for 15 minutes. Put on some music, gulp a glass of wine first if you must, and just DANCE. Go see a jam band and do some Dave Matthews moves, go do a pole dancing class, a zumba class, a tap class, hell, just go to the club and twerk it out. tumblr_mtk0w8QqlY1rp68cjo2_250I’m telling ya, just move your damn booty for awhile and tell me you can’t feel the funk fading away. A particular favorite pick me up of mine is Billy Blanks Jr (yep, son to Tae Bo guru Billy Blanks, so you KNOW he’s good!) and his Dance Party Boot Camp. If you can get your hands on it I highly recommend you skip to the last workout in which he gets your heart pumping by dancing to gospel. Yes, gospel. Talk about mood enhancer!church-lady-live-gifI know, I know, dancing around your living room like the Church Lady to some gospel on a workout DVD sounds ridiculous. But, you know what? When it comes to dancing it out, the more ridiculous the better. Whether you’re at home or out in the club, you don’t have to look good, you don’t have to look sexy, hell, you don’t even have to have rhythm. All you’ve gotta do is shake what you’re momma gave ya. The times I’ve felt the best after a healthy dose of dance therapy was when I closed my eyes, let the music move through me, and just did like that good ol’ cliche told me and danced like no one was watching.elaine-dancetumblr_mic2yg7l2j1rw32xuo1_400

Some may laugh at my methods, but I 100% know I will have met my true love when he too believes in the power of dance therapy and, much like gangs in 1950’s era movies, we dance out all our fights thus keeping us from booking a couple’s retreat in Shittymoodville.44499-Jennifer-Lawrence-Bradley-coop-z1ns

So dear readers, throw on your Richard Simmons shimmy shorts and shake it out. Shake out any stress or sadness or seasonal depressions that are getting you stuck in Shittymoodville.

And, if I’m wrong and that doesn’t work for you…here’s a picture of Tom Hardy with a puppy, just in case. tom-hardy-puppy-3

The Worst Advice You Never Asked For

Dear readers, you know what I’m really beginning to hate? Advice. Specifically, dating advice. Personally, I’ve gotten a lot of it. I admit, sometimes I seek it out, but in general it’s unsolicited, which probably makes it even worse. It just seems that everyone has some knowledge they need to drop on me when it comes to finding (and keeping) that special someone. The problem is one person’s advice almost always completely contradicts the other persons! Come on, y’all! Dating is already hard enough without hearing all of this:

Put yourself out there and always be on the lookout, you won’t find someone unless you try. But…Stop trying. You always meet someone when you aren’t looking for it.

Know what you want, make a list of the qualities you want in a man. But…Don’t limit yourself to a “type”, be open to all different qualities in a man.

Relax! If it doesn’t work out then just know it wasn’t meant to be. But…If you feel like it’s not working out, you aren’t putting in enough effort. Do more!

Maintain your own identity. Follow your own passions while dating someone. But…Spend more time learning and getting involved in his interests.

Spend time alone, don’t jump from one relationship to the next. But…Don’t stay single for too long lest you get too set in your own ways.

Never assume exclusivity, don’t be afraid to discuss where you’re at in a relationship and tell him what you want. But…Never put too much pressure on where you’re at in a relationship, men hate pressure!

Focus on the person, not the zsa zsa zsu’s. Zsa zsa zsu’s can grow after time. But…Chemistry is key, it’s either there or it’s not.

Don’t act like a needy girl. But…Don’t be afraid to be vulnerable and let him know you need him.

Men love elusive women and like to be the pursuers, let him come to you. But…Don’t be afraid to make moves and pursue a man to show your interest.

Learn from past mistakes. If your last boyfriend strayed, be sure to keep your guard up and look for signs in your next boyfriend. But…Don’t let your past haunt you! Just because one bad boyfriend strays doesn’t mean they all will.

Never put out on the first date! Wait until you’re ready. But…It’s okay if passion gets the best of you! If it feels right and you want it, go for it!

Don’t talk about the future too soon. But…Don’t wait too long to talk about the future so you can know if your hopes and goals are compatible.

Watch what you wear on a first date, nothing too revealing! But…Play up your assets. Got great boobs? Work that V-neck!

Don’t sell yourself short or settle, you are unique and wonderful and deserve the best. But…Don’t feel entitled, you may think your quirks are endearing, but those quirks may not make you as much of a catch as you think you are.

You deserve all the love in the world, it’s okay to want more love from a person. But…Don’t expect a certain amount of love from a person, just enjoy what love you do get from the person you’re with.

Don’t let your age or the length of time you’ve been single make you give up on finding the relationship you truly want. But…Don’t think you have all the time in the world to find the perfect match.

Never accept an invitation for a date 1-2 days away. Only pre-planned outings. But…Guys love spontaneity! Happy hour after to work tonight? You bet!

Always look your best no matter the situation, even for a physical activity date. But…Guys love a girl who is comfortable in no makeup and yoga pants, don’t be afraid to get gritty!

And my all time favorite advice:

All men are different, so never listen to dating advice.

It all leaves me feeling a lot like this…tumblr_mk8d58eAcL1qcm0m3o1_500gif_tb_lafayette_fuckdisshit71191-what-the-actual-fuck-gif-game-cjx5tumblr_lzve1dTqJf1qa6lp8Disgust-1

A Clusterfuck of Crazy

You know those weeks where everything’s just off and you realize you’ve gained about six pounds and it’s all in your tummy and it’s totally obvious because all your shirts give you the fat-girl-in-a-little-coat feeling but that doesn’t stop you from stress eating a BLT because everyone at work is looking at you kinda funny because you turned down a new position but none of them know it’s because of your early onset mid-life crisis and then you stress eat French fries because people make it so damn complicated to get into graduate programs thus furthering your early onset mid-life crisis and those French fries end up helping your waistline almost as much as they help your skin, which you know is an old wives’ tale but nonetheless weird skin isn’t exactly easing your stress level for the week, especially when you are in the midst of a social life more active than your planner has ever seen and there’s nothing that makes an already painful activity like dating even more painful than bad skin, oh expect staticky hair, which you now have because you stupidly dyed it again, even though you knew it would leave your hair a staticky, split end mess but you still couldn’t stop yourself because the color on the box just looked so much better than the color currently on your head and this is kind of leading you to believe that you have a “grass is always greener” problem and then wondering if you only want things you can’t have, like boys in California and new lives in new cities when there’s a possibility that the life you have here and the boy you were out with last night are perfectly fine and there’s no need to go makin’ changes because then your life might turn into one big staticky mess? Yeah. That’s been my week. My brain has been a clusterfuck of activity, my thoughts scattered in a million different directions. The only thing calming this craziness?


So happy Friday, fellow crazies!