Breaking Up

One of my biggest pet peeves is when you tell me you are going to do something and you don’t actually follow through with it. This is happened to me twice this weekend.

As I previously wrote Ms. Ineedacheeseburger and Mr. Breadstick had split sighting religious differences. Well they got back together to “work things out” on Easter. Here’s the deal. Ms. Ineedacheeseburger is an Eastern Orthodox Catholic. Mr. Breadstick is either Baptist or Methodist (I can’t recall). So there are some difference in the way the Christian religion is practiced between the two. What their argument boiled down to is Ms. Ineedacheeseburger wants their children (if they get married and have them) to be raised like she was and Mr. Breadstick disagrees.

Now speaking from experience, this is an issue that Pig and I had. He was Catholic and I am a Southern Baptist. We did the same thing. We talked about our differences of practice and tried to gain a basic understanding of each other’s religions. Blah blah blah. So on and so forth. But in the end it came down to him wanting our children to be Catholic and I didn’t. It was one of the reasons we parted ways. Hindsight is 20-20, I know, but looking back Pig and I held on to a failing relationship for longer than we should have simply because we didn’t want to admit that our religious differences were a deal breaker. Sadly, I believe that this is what Mr. Breadstick and Ms. Ineedacheeseburger are doing as well. Nevertheless, time will tell and they will both learn something about themselves in the end.

As Ms. EatsPlentyOfCheeseburgers pointed out to me, Patti Stanger says, “Religion…is a deal-breaker. Can’t take a Jew and mix it with a Baptist. Not gonna make it happen in a million years.”

The second split of the weekend that turned out to hold no water was between Mr. Delicious and TF. This relationship is honestly worse than beating a dead horse. I mean really. They have been over their issues time and time again and yet they still keep riding a quickly sinking ship. I don’t really get it. Why would you waste your time? Either way, Mr. Delicious told me on Thursday that TF punched him five times (closed fist) because she is has PMS. She demanded a massage  and then claimed Mr. Delicious was hurting her, which I can personally say that Mr. Delicious gives excellent massages, so that cannot possibly be true. Fucking ridiculous. This is not the first time she has hit him either. Personally, if he hit her back, I wouldn’t blame him one bit. Whatever. They apparently worked it out and spent Easter together.

Either way, I believe both of these relationships are complete horseshit and they need to end.  Learn something about yourself. Move on. Unfortunately, they can see what I see because they are blinded by “love”. But I can promise you when the bottom does fall out, I’ll be there to help pick up the pieces.



“Yeah, talking… communicating… relationship stuff. It’s just… If we were in a relationship I’d become a weird scary version of myself, and my throat starts constricting, the walls start throbbing, it’s like a peanut allergy. It’s like an emotional peanut allergy.” -No Strings Attached


You know that feeling you get when your heart just about jumps out of your chest and your cheeks turn red and start to tingle all because you saw someone? I got that feeling today, and I’m panicking. I don’t get this feeling often at all. I can’t even begin to tell you the last time I had that feeling. Seriously, I can’t. I didn’t even have that feeling with Pig.

When this happens, I literally full-on panic. I can’t help it. I feel vulnerable. It’s something I can’t control, and it leaves me open to getting hurt. I don’t like it one bit. I am not ok with having emotion like this. It is a flaw in my very existence. Emotions like this are not accepted in my realm. I am not an emotional being. Not feeling is what makes me who I am. Feeling is what turns me into a bubbly mess of uncontrollable reactions to commonality. A lack of feeling is much, much better than actually feeling something for me. Thus, when I being to feel things like this I shut down completely.

Peace and Mr. Breadstick tell me that I actually need to learn how to feel again. That this is good. I trust them, but I really don’t feel like crawling out of my shell and feeling. Nope. No thanks. Not really my cup of tea. I start to think about those feelings and literally choke up in my throat and I feel like I’m going to burst into tears. Really, that’s not cool.

I think Peace put it best when she said, “You’re so brave in every other aspect of your life and this is clearly your weak spot. You just have to tell yourself it’s not always going to feel good. There are times he’s going to upset you, probably without knowing he did. But what makes it worth it is the times he makes you feel good.”

I’m totally fucked.

PS. I’m talking about Mr. Soup in case you were wondering.

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I found this chart on The Frisky a few months ago, and it honestly has changed how I reference men. It use to be “Oh he is so hot”, “Delicious”, etc., but now I can’t help but to scream with giggly joy “HE’S A UNICORN!” And boy when I do hit a unicorn, I keep hitting it. Repeatedly. Yum.

You see, I have hit at least 2  unicorns in my life, and you best believe I have proof. Mr. Soup, and Mr. Nelson. And yes, it really doesn’t get better than that. The first thing that qualifies them is their face. Gorgeous eyes, high cheek bones, and a smile that makes you want to jump him on the spot. Next, we have the body. Incredible genes. Solid, fit, and you know those arms can hold you tight, and hold you up. Three, for me it’s that he was a brain. Yes, you must be intelligent to some degree or I will not fuck you. If you can’t carry on a decent conversation beyond sports, beer, drunken adventures, how hot a girl is, and the size of your dick, I am not interested in becoming a jockey. Luckily, these two men have enough sense to carry on a conversation about something else with me. Four, your team player must be able to make the all-star team. If not, you’re fucked (figuratively of course). Five, have the balls to communicate with me. That’s were Mr. Nelson failed. No communication equals an extremely pissed off Nelson who really doesn’t give a shit how great the sex was.

Moving on.

Mr. Mosquito…He’s an iPhone. Even though it’s common, I’ll still show it off. Doesn’t quite make bragging rights, but it leaves me coming back for more. Just a point that even if you have a small package you can still work it enough to please a lady.

Pig, definitely a banana split. There were too many other issues that got in the way of great sex. Damn it. But it was good while it lasted (for a whole 2 years in case you were wondering).

Mr. Bear, Riding Coach. Not really sure what was so great about that whole relationship.

Mr. Slap, before he got into his slapping motions, he was a mere handheld fan. Something to attempt to keep you cool, but still fails at it pretty epically.

Finally, the Graham Cracker Express…Mr. Turkey Sandwich. We can thank drunken thoughts for this one.


After reading Confessions of a Love Addict’s post, I really got to thinking about my non-negotiables, or as a friend of mine likes to call them, the dealbreakers. These are things that no matter how great the person looks, or how wonderful their personality is, the relationship will absolutely not work. Everybody has these dealbreakers and I damn sure do not have a problem admitting mine. Call it being picky/shallow/having standards that are too high. I don’t care. These are standards that I must have.

1. If you are a mama’s boy, we will not make it.–I learned this lesson back when I was dating Pig. Now that boy loved his mama and I see nothing wrong with that. But when you don’t stand up to your parents and defend me when I have done nothing wrong, we have a problem. A very big problem. Moreover, if you can’t tell your mama no because you “don’t want to hurt her feelings”, not only are you going to piss me off, but I’m going to be the most uncooperative bitch that you have ever seen. Finally, if you ever, and I mean ever, utter the words “well that’s not how my mom does it” to me, I promise you, you won’t do it again.

2. You have to have a job, or at least be looking.–I will not be your suga-mama, and if you think that I will be, you are sadly mislead. You have to be able to stand on your own two feet, just like I do. Because if the bottom falls out of the relationship, you have to be secure enough to be ok. Also, I will not be paying for everything under the sun. Do I mind paying for groceries when I’m cooking? No, but I do mind you eating me out of house and home. Give and take. Give and take.

3. You will not ignore me!–It’s all about communication people. If you can’t carry on an intelligent conversation with me, I can guarantee that I will become very irritated with you very quickly. If you open your mouth and the only thing I hear is one word responses, I’m going to refuse to engage in “conversation” with you. If you ignore me there will be hell to pay. I absolutely cannot stand to be ignored. Just answer the damn question!

4.  You got to have an open mind.–I never get more frustrated than when I have to deal with people who are narrow minded and just plain ignorant. I’m not saying that we have to agree on everything, or that you have to love everything in sight. But I do require that you at least consider and understand the other side of the argument. Otherwise, you will find me tell you that you are an ignorant ass, along with a few other names, and then walking away.

5. You must get along with my boys (and some of my girls).–Plain and simple. You don’t have to like most my girl friends because you don’t have to hang out with them and you can’t get jealous of them. However, you do have to like my boys and certain girl friends for a number of reasons. First, you probably will be spending a good amount of time around them. Second, if you aren’t with me, I’m probably still out with them, so we need to avoid the issue of jealousy. Third, if my boys and my close girls don’t like you, they will tell me. Fourth, if you hurt me, consider the bounty that will be put on your head. Fifth, my friends are a reflection of me, and if you don’t like them, chances are there are parts of me that you aren’t going to like either.

6. There will be no kegs.--Kegs…as in beer guts. I have a standard. If you are not in shape, I’ll vomit when you touch me. I’m not even remotely attracted to men who have a little extra to love. I’m sorry, but it repulses me. Now you don’t have to work out everyday, but you do need to take care of yourself. And as Mr. Boxer put it “if you get fat, we won’t be friends.” So true.

7. You have to travel.–If you sit at home all the time and never have a desire to go, see, and do things, chances are you won’t be spending a lot of time with me. I love to travel, to see new things, to explore and learn. If you don’t want to hop on my train and travel the world with me, then you sure as in hell aren’t going to derail it.

8. Must love my children.–My children, as known as my kids/cats, are my babies. I’m not giving them up just because you don’t like them. Get over it. My kids are my entertainment, silent source of right, they never argue back, and always love me when I get home. That’s more than I can say for most men I have met. So, if you don’t like my kids, then you will be in the liter box.

9. Liar, Liar. Pants on fire. Literally.–Don’t you ever lie to me. Not even little white lies. Also, choosing not to tell the truth is the same thing as lying. I’d rather you say something and we deal with it, versus me finding out on my own, because it’s very likely that I will severely injure you.

10. Finally, you have to know how to dress yourself.–I know this sounds like a bit of an obvious statement, but if you are a grown ass man and you don’t know how to dress, I will judge you. Holes in clothes, unless they are cleaning clothes (or something of that sort) will not fly. You can’t match colors, I will freak out. And since I’m currently panicking thinking about the number of possibilities that could go wrong, I’m just going to stop there. Just know that as an adult, I expect you to dress like one.

The Non-Negotiables

I make incredible demands on myself. Some may call me a perfectionist, others may coin the term “over-achiever”, and I can’t even begin to count the amount of times someone has told me they envy my bravery. But to me, none of these titles really fit who I am because I’ve never thought twice about pushing myself to the extreme or shooting for my dreams – no matter how unattainable they may seem. To me, the most terrifying risk is not giving the th … Read More

via Confessions of a Love Addict

Far Too Independent For My Own Good. Literally.

There is only one point in my entire life that I ever want anyone to take care of me, and that’s when I’m sick. When my body hits that achy-slug feeling, I would like to just curl up and die, while having someone making me eat, talking to me, and stuffing medication down my throat. Simple request right? Wrong. I’m far too independent for my own good. I can look back over the years that I have been sick since my freshman year in college, and I have yet to ask for help. Let’s review.

1. Fall of 2005–
Sick. Would wake up in the middle of the night with my throat swollen shut and not being able to breathe.
Solution: Wait. Wait. Wait. Wake up not breathing. Shove finger down throat to open air way. Tada. Problem solved. Not once did I go the doctor.
Lesson learned: Make sure you roommates don’t panic when you wake up not breathing. It just makes things worse.

2. Mid February 2008–
Deathly ill sick. Got a gnarly cold (or so I thought). Went to a dance at school with tissue box in hand. Blew my nose…a lot. Dance ended. Went back to hotel. Vegged out with the TV and some pizza (which I didn’t eat). Sleep. Woke up in the wee hours of the morning not being able to breathe (again). Finger down throat. Problem solved. Sleep. Woke up again. Fuck I have a fever. No worries. Sleep. Woke up. 1040. Ah, the alarm. Sat up in bed. Laid back down. Too weak for this. Attempt to get up. Fall back on bed. Wow. I didn’t know the room could spin like that sober. Attempt number two at getting up. Barely manageable. By this time Pig  had noticed that I wasn’t functioning correctly. Asked the usual “Do you feel ok?” questions. Me being me responded accordingly,  “I’m fine.” After 15 minutes of this ordeal I finally got my pants and t-shirt on. The grey blouse (jacket) on the other hand, EPIC FAIL. Finally, Pig just dressed me out of frustration. When he opened the door to leave, I remembered we were on the second story. Shit. I couldn’t walk that far and stairs. Ha. No. I think he just read the look on my face and proceeded to pick me up and carry me to the car. I was pissed. I may have been sick but I didn’t want to be carried. I was in the car by this point and madder than hell on top of feeling miserable. After checkout, Pig took me to the school hospital. I was mad, ill, and didn’t want to talk. The only thing I asked for while the nurse was checking me out was a trashcan to throw up in because I didn’t want to clean it up off the floor later. Needless to say, I slept from Sunday mid-day to Tuesday night and don’t remember waking up at all. I was out of commission for two weeks. Welcome to the suck.
Solution: Sleep, a lot.
Lesson learned: when I do get this sick, I should ask for help.

3. Fast forward to October 2008–
Blind in one eye. That’s not a joke. It turns out that the pink eye that I thought I had was actually an eye ulcer. Drove home for a weekend, woke up on Saturday with a massive migraine. Now, I’m prone to these so I get took my medication and went back to sleep. When I woke up for the second time, I couldn’t see a damn thing out of my right eye because it was swollen shut. Damn it. Given the last time that I was sick I phoned the doctor and made an appointment. I know that anything dealing with the eye is bad news bears. One appointment after another I finally found an answer. The sweetness of an eye ulcer. Most painful thing I have experienced in my life. After 3 trips to the eye doctor for a month, I was told I was lucky. If the ulcer had been a fraction more to the right I would have lost my eye sight forever in my right eye. The good news was that I no longer have correctable vision in my right eye.
Solution: Lots of eye drops. Lots and lots of eye drops.
Lesson Learned: Take your contacts out and do not ignore sickness.

4. Fall of 2009–
Status: Deathly ill sick (again). It turns out that ignoring migraines and back pain are a very bad idea. After several bouts of migraines, I eventually went to the doctor for additional medication. I had run out of the normal prescription and it also wasn’t working as well as it should have. (See I do learn somethings.) The doc hooked me right up with a shot in the bum (I cursed the nurse, aloud). I went back on my merry little way with another medication for my back. We assumed that I had just pulled it. Wrong. A week later I walked in the poor rain to the ER because of some symptoms I was having (we’ll skip the details).  The ER doctor was a moron! He released me. The next day, I made a visit to my doctor, which is an hour away, and shockingly I had a kidney infection. After being treated for that, the pain still continued. Now let me just describe to you the type of pain I’m talking about. It’s the kind that rides right in your lower back, off to one side, near your kidneys. It’s the kind that no matter how you sit, lay, or stand, you are not comfortable. It’s the kind that every time you move, cough, or laugh, you cry and not from joy. Get my point? After a few weeks of this non-stop pain, I got another test revealing that I have kidney stones. Shit, shit, shit. I can’t do a damn thing about them. These whole ordeal took place over about a 2 month span. I never once asked anyone, not even Mr. Breadstick who I was dating, to come and help me. Idiot.
Solution: Drink lots of water and cranberry juice and limiting your diet to eating less than an anorexic chicken and everything tastes like cardboard.
Lesson Learned: Drinking too much milk gave me kidney stones and now I’m stuck with them forever. Also, this is one of those sickness that I should have had someone staying with me.

After my deathly ill experiences I have learned that I actually need to ask for help, especially when I want it. I tell people all the time that I am far too independent for my own good. The examples above prove it. I need to take a chunk out of my pride every once in a while and rely on others.

I Earned My Nickname.

Ms. EatsPlentyOfCheeseburgers asked me recently to provide the background for all of my nicknames for people. After thinking about this some more, I think this may benefit a few others as well.

***Warning: If you are a male and you know me, you may not want to read this. (Hint. Hint. Mr. Boxer STOP READING!)***

Angel–Ex-boyfriend’s lady friend. She was such a sweetheart.
Grace Kelly–He got his nickname from Mad TV’s “Can I have your number”
Graham Cracker Express–His first name was graham and it just kinda stuck.
Granny–My hateful grandmother on my mother’s side.
HairSwoop–He has this thing he does with his hair. It’s like the Richmond comb over. We call it the hairswoop. It’s just bad, bad, bad, and he’ll be rocking that hairstyle for the rest of his life. Think a toned back Justin Bieber.
Juliet–Her and her boyfriend, Romeo, are tied together at the hip.
Mr. 8.5–You got this one already. 8.5 inches.
Mr. Bear–He has chest fur, not hair, FUR! It’s that thick. Plus, we think that if he gets on all fours, his ass would be about the size of a bear’s ass.
Mr. Breadstick–We got this lovely little nickname from the lack of what he was packing. It was a thin breadstick. One of the biggest disappointments of my life.
Mr. Delicious—Oh sweet jesusssss!!! He is gorgeous. Enough said.
Mr. Greek–Not exciting. He is from a greek family.
Mr. Mosquito–Once again, lacking in the packing. I believe my exact quote to my cousin that earned him this nickname was “If this doesn’t work out, I won’t be disappointed. I was thinking WTF is that, a mosquito bite on your leg!”
Mr. Nelson–His middle name is Nelson. Also where I got my nickname from.
Mr. NotSoHotItalian–Never been more let down in my life. His background was italian, but nothing about the way he looked was. Sadness.
Mr. Slap–He hit me. Only guy who ever has and he’s lucky he’s not dead.
Mr. Soup–He is so hot but the LAX team tells me he is a soupy, old man ass. GAHHH!
Ms. Granny–This would be another girlfriend of an ex. She was 27 I believe. Not old at all, but her mannerisms were that of grandma, or that of a freshman in high school. Based on the way she dressed, it tipped the scales to call her Ms. Granny versus CrazyBitch.
Ms. INeedACheeseburger–She thin, thin, thinnnnn. One of Spangler’s runners. She needs to eat!
Pig–I have never seen someone eat so much food in my life and stay so thin. He literally ate everything. Leftovers. GONE.
Romeo–See Juliet.
Sunshine–That’d be my cousin.

And for the most recent one that I referenced specifically at the beginning of this post, Mr. Boxer. It’s what it sounds like. He’s a boxer, along with being an athlete in several other sports.

Boys, Boys, Boys. (Notice It’s Not Men, Men, Men.)

I’ll admit it. I must have a replacement man before I move on. If I think all the way back to my first boyfriend, Mr. Slap, I easily progress through the men to this point in my life and I’ve always had one before moving on to the next. For a quick progression, there was Mr. Slap first. We dated for a year. Puppy love, high-school bullshit. First man I loved. First man and only man to hit me (don’t worry I hit him back). First man to cheat on me. First man to break my heart. You get the point. Blinded by love, oh yes sweets I was!

After that nightmare of a relationship ended, I went off to a senior military college and fell for one of my corporals. He was a year ahead of me in school and I saw him every day of my life. He made it hell, but I was damned and determined to impress him. Which, by the way, I did. Grace Kelly and I are still friends to this day. More to come on Grace.

After Grace Kelly, I moved on to Mr. NotSoHotItalian. My first boyfriend since my first serious relationship. Yeah, he was a rebound, and I knew it. He didn’t. Dropped the L bomb after a month of dating. I panicked and ran into the arms of Pig. Oh, the pig. Pig became my second serious relationship.  I loved him with everything that I had for two years. Unfortunately, things didn’t work out. We realized that we didn’t need each other in the same ways as before. I do still love him for the record, and I truly do wish him the best. But as I said, we ended, and I snuggled down with Mr. Bear for round one of our notorious relationship. The I hopped on the Graham Cracker Express. Choo Choo! No, literally, I hopped on it and right into bed. Clearly, that ended. Then I bounced right back like the jack rabbit that I am to Mr. Bear for round two. Once again, not a very bright choice.

After Mr. Bear broke my heart (serious relationship number three for the record), I scooted my way right next door to Mr. 8.5. Yeah, everybody remember him…and the size of his wood.  After I was done being gagged by Mr. 8.5, I causally slipped on over to Mr. Breadstick. A serious down grade in the food chain, if I might add. Though I never shagged him, he sure had a hold on me. He broke my heart. Stomped all over it a few days before Christmas, but not to worry. I quickly skipped my way on over to Mr. Nelson (hence where I got my nickname from). After Mr. Nelson and I had our session in the back of his Jeep, and a few other places, I drove myself to Mr. Mosquito. Oh, how I feel about him cannot be put into words (both good and bad). But even as we are attempting to figure out life, I still have Mr. Greek in my back pocket, and I do adore him. He give me what I deserve and treats me well. I just can’t make up my mind about making the jump into a relationship.

Do you see my point? I’m all over the place (as usual). Oh what I am to do with my life?! Easy, stop looking for love. Be myself first! Never settle. BE FREE.

**This of course all inspired by Confessions of a Love Addict. Thank you!**

One of my best friends, R is having a hard time getting over her ex-boyfriend. For the sake of this blog, we’ll call him Mr. Bail. I was a big fan of Mr. Bail when R and him started dating. He was so incredibly in love with her, always supportive, and he broke her out of this protective shell she kept herself in. Generally speaking, even though he’s younger than me, he’s an attractive guy and most importantly, R was very happy and as long as she’ … Read More

via Confessions of a Love Addict