Part Deux: Shit I Don’t Like

 

  • Non-handicapped people who park in handicapped spots just because it’s close to an ATM machine or because they are “just running into the store real quick.”  No one gives a shit as to your reason excuse.  If you’re not handicapped, just don’t do it!  Show some fucking respect, man!  How hard is this?

  • Short, scrawny, fugly lil white boys driving big honkin’ jacked up trucks who put a “No Fat Chicks” sticker on the rear window.  Seriously?  YOU have the nerve to discriminate like that??  LOLolololol………..dude.

  • Psycho-dialers.  If they didn’t answer the phone the first five fuckin’ times, just…seriously.  The fuck are you thinkin’?!?!

  • Hairless cats.  That shit’s just not natural, man.

  • Slow drivers who a.) drive in the inside / passing lane and b.) refuse to move their slow ass over.  It’s called the “passing” lane for a fuckin’ reason!  Dumbass.

  • People who allow their kids to run around like little heathens in a store, repeatedly call the kid’s name while the kid pretends he’s deaf, and then have the nerve to yell, “Joey, I’m warning you….one….two….”  Lady, just shuddup already.  Go snatch that little snot-nosed hooligan up, smack his ass once or twice, and drag him back over to where you were.  We all support you in this.  Really.

  • Men who drive through a parking lot, honk their horn when they see a girl and yell, “Hey gurl, com’ ‘ere!”  You, sir, are a lazy, disrespectful bastard.  I’d also lay down some serious jack betting  that you’re broke, shitty in bed, and living with your mama!

  • Desperate Women who actually walk their happy asses up to the car to talk to the lazy-assed man who just picked her up by sittin’ on his ass.  Sister, the fuck are you doing?!  You are not Papa John’s.  You do not deliver coochie!  Did your mama never teach you this?!

  • People who pick their nose while driving & flick the boogers out the window.  A.) That’s just gross.   B.) You make me wonder just how many of the bug corpses on my windshield are really bug corpses.  And I don’t like having to wonder about that.

  • Women who wear skimpy clothes into a store and then make comments to their friends about all the fugly guys looking at them.  Well, duh, bitches!!!

 ☿
Wycked

Running With The Herd

At my old job we had a daily meeting to exchange intel.  At the end of that meeting, the head honcho would always end the meeting with the phrase, “keep your head down and run with the herd.”

That phrase never failed to bring a smile or a chuckle from most of those present at the meeting.  Looking back though, I often wonder just how many people understood the underlying message.  Because there was a message.

In the most polite terms, it was a very clear warning: do something to draw attention to yourself and you risk being culled from the herd.  You could even take that warning one step further–do something that makes you stand out, you will make yourself a target of predators.  Whether the predators came from outside the herd or from within would only be discovered after you made the mistake of making yourself a target; when it would be too late.

You don’t have to be the slacker, the whiner, or the instigator to be the target.  Nor do you have to be the do-gooder, the suck up or the know-it-all.  Although being any of the aforementioned will get you notice from the rest of the herd, every herd has these types so you are relatively safe from being preyed upon by the others. In fact, from what I’ve seen, the herd is more comfortable having the aforementioned types in their herd.

So how do you get culled from the herd?  By making the herd uncomfortable.  You show yourself to be stronger, faster, more agile.  More…adept.  It is at this point that you have made yourself a target.  It is also at this point that you better be prepared to find another herd or, prepare to become lunch.  Because once you’ve attracted the spotlight and made your herd uncomfortable?  The only question that remains is which predator will pounce on you–one from outside your herd or… one from within?

Wycked

 

Those Pesky Details…

Since I am, like, the queen of weird-assed home remedies (that work), friends of mine often call me to tell me their aches and pains to see if I have any suggestions to help them.

One of these friends called me the other day.  After a bit of Q & A, it was determined she had a boil.  You would think the silly heifer would just go her doctor and get some antibiotics, right?  Oh, negative.  And why not? Well, the boil was on her ass.  Right, smack-dab, in the middle of one of the cheeks on her nicely rounded boo-tay.

My much-loved, silly heifer of a friend has a new doctor (whom she has dubbed dubbed Doctor Hawt-As-Hell).  She has issues with going to him and dropping trow to display the so not sexy boil on her ass.

So, cool.  I told her of a home remedy to cure the ass boil.  It wasn’t necessarily a holistic remedy, mind you, but it was a cure nonetheless.

Today, this same friend calls me while she’s at work in her highfalutin, ritzy office (where she makes a shit ton of money because she’s supposedly really smart…).  The convo goes like this:

Here’s her snickering & whispering like she stole some shit:  “Guess what?!”

“What?” I whisper back.

Still whispering, she proudly announces,I got a piece of HAM on my ass!”

Me?  I’m confused.  So I say,Oh-kayyyyy.  Why do you have a piece of ham on your ass?”

Acting like I’m the idiot with part of a deli sammich stuck to my ass, she says, “Ugh! The boil, silly! You told me–“

Rolling my eyes, I cut her off with,Dude. I said nothing about ham. I said bacon fat.  I said put salt on a piece of bacon fat and strap it to your ass with a band aid.  I said nothing of hamNor did I say wear that shit to work!”

After a brief pause for those in the conversation who have wandering minds and are terminally confused cause their ass never listens (!!!), here’s her, “Huh.  Salt?  I thought you said pepper. And ham and bacon are both pork, so I thought it’d work.”

“No,” I chuckle, “No ham.  You want bacon fatJust the fat; no meat!!! And I said SALT!”

“Oh.” She says.  Then we both start laughing.

After our giggling dies down I whisper, “Is your ass burning?”

She practically yells, “God, YES!!!!!”

———————————————————————————————————————

Sometimes, paying attention to those pesky details are important…

 

Wycked

Who Am I?

 

I am…
A daughter,
A mother,
A friend,
An enemy,
A lover,
A hater,
A temptress,
A prude,
A pacifist,
An antagonizer,
A mediator,
A fighter,
A rule maker,
A rule breaker,
A follower,
A leader,
A comedian,
A sour puss,
A rebel,
A loud mouth,
A listener with no voice,
A teacher,
A student,
A pain in the ass,
A pleasure to have around,
A bullshitter,
A no-holds-barred truth teller,
A soother of souls,
A club where no whiners are allowed,
A soothsayer,
A Witch,
A Catholic,
A Christian,
A Pagan,
A sinner,
A saint.

So.
The question is not which of these define who I am.
The question is which of these define who I am to you.

 

Wycked

Shit I Don’t Like

 

  1. People who blame others for their lack of ______ (insert anything here).  All that energy you waste complaining about what you don’t got because of excuse A thru Z?  How ’bout you get off your lazy ass, put that energy toward action and go get what you want.

  2. Racists.  Of any race.  Racism is for lazy and small-minded motherfuckers who need to feel important and/or good about themselves and the only way they can do it is to put down other races.

  3. Bigots.  Just do you, motherfucker.  Again, have you accomplished so little in your life that you need to focus on, and insult, how others live their lives just to feel good about yourself?  Really?  Sucks to be you!

  4. Bambi Bitches.  Those women who confuse the shit outta men in a plethora of ways.  We’ll talk more about you bitches later.

  5. Wannabe Men.  I say “wannabe” because real men don’t do the dumbass shit you do.  We’ll talk more about you bitches later, too.

  6. Married people who lie & cheatOh yeah, we will most definitely be talkin’ about your asses later, as well.

  7. Religious fanatics.  You people give God–by whatever name you call Him–a bad name.

  8. Deadbeat parents.  You assholes should have been sterilized at puberty.  Seriously.

  9. Pedophiles.  You bitches can’t give a good enough reason to fuck up the minds, emotions, and bodies of children.

  10. Criminals who aren’t good at their chosen profession.  If you’re gonna be a fucking criminal, be a good one (ie: don’t get caught!).  If you keep getting caught, well, guess what?  You’re shitty at your chosen profession and it’s time to find a new profession!  How hard is it to grasp this concept?!

 

Wycked

Where Have All The Good Men Gone?

I am not a man-hater.

I preface everything I will ever say about men–now and in the future–with this tidbit: I am not a man-hater. I love men; absolutely adore them.

I could spend days detailing all of the physical, mental, and emotional nuances I find attractive–including the way men smell.

The natural scent of a man is very alluring to me. No, not the scent of unwashed-ass, but the natural scent every man has that marks him as a male. Perfumiers have attempted to duplicate the scent for centuries. They can’t. The smell of a man fresh from the shower or after a hard day’s work?  Quite simply… irresistible, indefinable and undeniably sexy.

The physical makeup of a man is beautiful. From the wisps of hair on their toes, the downy hair on their powerful thighs, the “heart” outline in their hips, to the love-line of hair trailing down their bellies…Magnifico! From the delineation of the breast bone between their pecs, to the slight protrusion of the adam’s apple, to the softness of the hair on their head–I love it all.

Mental weaknesses and strengths, emotional insecurities and confidences, the curiosities, needs, wants, desires, and the protective instincts. Simply captivating. I am incurably fascinated by men–how they think and how they speak. I love the calm, relaxed feeling I get from listening to the deep rumble of a man’s voice. I don’t care if he is beside me in bed or lecturing in an auditorium, a man’s voice will hypnotize me into complete relaxation.

I love watching a man with his mate and/or his children. So much goes on beneath the surface.  The focus of his attention on those he loves.  The unconscious posturing he projects outward toward possible threats from his environment.  The gentleness, the ferocity, the open love for what he has claimed.  The confidence of knowing he is master to his mistress, the pride in seeing himself in his children, the insecurity he feels at the thought of possible loss or failure.  All of these things and more, I love seeing in a man.

My male counterparts are just so interesting and complex and yet, so very, very simplistic.
So when I say I love men, I mean I love men!

And yet….what I do not love–and frankly cannot stomach–is the ever-increasing number of men who are overtly insecure, manipulative, conniving, lazy-assed, complaining, whining, sniveling, driveling, excuse-having, women-using, small-minded, petty, control freak little toads who have the fucking nerve to masquerade as men today. Those back-stabbing, bitch-made humanoids sporting a penis who feel the need to demean, undermine, and hurt women in order to feel empowered.

It’s like this new breed of man is some kind of disease.  And it’s spreading in uncontrollable and epic proportions.

Where have all the good men gone? Seriously. I mean, dude.  What.  The.  Hell?!?! I understand women are partly to blame for the evolution of man from the great hunter into the greatly breast-fed-during-college-and-beyond, but seriously. You’re a damn man. Stand up. Act like it. Get your ass out there and do your job! You know–that job you inherited along with the hoo hoo–the job of a man. Take some control. Show some fortitude, some loyalty (to anyone!). Stop whining about how women have taken over, taken your jobs, taken your manhood, wha-wha-wha. You sniveling little bitch babies. For the love of all that is Holy–grow a pair!

A-hem! Ummm….Hmm. Okay.
*Woosah, woo-sah, woooo-SAH!*

Did I mention I love men? I did mention this, right?

Wycked

About Me

I find it hard to talk about myself. I never quite know what to say. So, owing to my love of bullet point and numbered lists, here ya go:

For some basic facts, let’s see…I am:

  1. Female
  2. In my 40’s. (Read as: I’m old enough that I’ve done a lot of shit, seen a lot of shit, and consequently, rarely care about shit people say).
  3. American Mutt.  Mostly White from Germany & Scotland but throw in some Native American & Black that have trickled down a bit.
  4. Single.  By choice though I believe in renting & borrowing from time to time.  Full-time men are just too much work.  I love you, but it’s true.  I’d be lesbian but women get on my damn nerves, too.
  5. Opinionated.  I’m female.  Of course I have an opinion about everything. 
  6. Intelligent.  Men:  I apologize in advance for this fact.  Women:  Might as well apologize to you, too, just to keep shit equal.
  7. Sarcastic. Only about 97% of the time though.  (Read as: You sensitive bitches got about a 3% chance that I’m not gonna make you cry).
  8. Annoying.  See #1 – #7.
  9. A retired detective.  (yes, I was a cop.  No, I don’t care about your “I hate all cops” shit.)
  10. Tall.  Six feet to be exact.  (I wanted a #10 & couldn’t think of anything else offhand). 

 

Whatever most people consider “normal?”  I’m not it.  I’ve been blessed (or cursed, depending upon your view) to have a wide range of experiences that make me see things just a little bit different than the average person would.  Some side items about me that contribute to my thoughts, views, and beliefs:

  • I am a people-watcher extraordinaire.  People fascinate me. 
  • My people were dirt poor.  We didn’t have electricity or running water until I was in my teens (no, we weren’t Amish).
  • I grew up on a “working farm” outside of a small town in the Midwest where there were only White folks.  “Working farm” means if we didn’t work, we didn’t eat.  Gardening, milk cows, butchering chickens–the whole nine. 
  • When I was seventeen, I bought myself a car, taught myself to drive (only wrecked twice!), and then lived in the car where I met all kinds of interesting people from all walks of life.
  • While living in the car I got a job at a factory where I met a woman who would become my best friend.  She opened her house to me and gave me a family.  We lived in “the ghetto” (a politically incorrect term, at present, when said by a White chick) in the inner city of a large Northern city where I was the only White dot in the hood.
  • A few years later, I moved from my “Hood” in the North down to the South where I became a cop.  An eye-opening experience in a plethora of ways, lemme tell ya!
  • Being a cop allowed me to do a few things I would not have had the opportunity to do otherwise, like, get a college degree & travel abroad.  I still travel abroad a lot–mostly Europe (FYI: it’s way cheaper to vacay there than it is in the US, believe it or not!).  
  • I retired from Cop World a few years back and now I pretty much just do and say what I want, when I want (which is why I’m starting this blog now! Ha!)
  • I have an extremely over-developed sense of humor.  99% of life just shouldn’t be taken seriously.  I can find humor in almost everything and, I laugh at some of the weirdest shit!
  • I’m very plain-spoken.  I actually end up stuttering if I try to censor my words to people.  It takes up a lot of energy.  Since I no longer have to worry about getting fired for being honest and saying what I think, I use that energy for other shit and now I just say what I mean!  (It’s very nice).
  • I have a low tolerance for bullshit.  These days, I find that most shit is bullshit. 
  • Some people think I’m an asshole–or bitch, depending upon which word pops into their mind first.  And I’m extremely traumatized by this opinion.  Really.
  • I am jaded and cynical.  Had you lived my life, you would be jaded and cynical, too.
  • My only real prejudices are against stupidity and people who are prejudiced against others.  I can’t fucking stand the whining, bitching, moaning, complaining, and/or blaming people do in lieu of getting off their asses and bettering themselves.