Soup. It's what's for dinner!

Southern Belle Secrets

There's a new man....

that's right.  I said man.  Not boy.  Not adolescent.  But like, an honest to goodness fucking MAN!

This one has potential.  Stay tuned for updates on him.

In the meantime, I think tomorrow may be a perfect day to introducer The Big Finisher!

Yeah, if you have heard any of this nightmare, you know what's coming to ya, cupcakes!

You ain't been in love....

If you haven’t contemplated murder, you ain’t been in love. If you haven’t held a can of rat poison in your hand and looked at it for forty-five minutes straight, you ain’t been in love. And the only thing that’s stopped you from killing this motherfucker was a episode of CSI: ‘Oh man, they thorough. I better make up. They might catch my ass.’

— Chris Rock

Happy Christmahannaqwanzakah

Or whatever the hell you celebrate.  I hope you receive all the gifts you want, and if you don't, I hope you earn enough to buy them yourself.  Because charity starts at home, loves.  And don't forget, Jack Daniels has been helping people cope with the holidays, since 1866.

Merry Christmas - Love - RG

Words of Wisdom

Southern Belle Secrets!

THIS is why I am over the Fireman

Listen. With cell phones, text messaging, instant messaging, Facebook messaging, Skype, etc etc etc, “I’m too busy” just isn’t an excuse, especially when it happens repeatedly. You’re not being needy, you’re not making it up in your head, but you are getting the blowoff.
I’ve been waiting to share this story, and this is a perfect opportunity: My girlfriend is dating a guy who travels all over the world for work, for weeks at a time. Recently, I asked how that was going and she said he’d been texting her from Antarctica. ANTARCTICA.
If someone wants to make the effort, he will, and that’s the truth. Text messages are the minimal effort someone should give, and if he can’t, it’s because he doesn’t feel like it.

Thank you for stating the obvious, BBlove.  I needed that.

Love...

I want you to show meeeeeeee.....

I had a late night.  Or an early morning, depending on how you look at it.  Let's suffice it to say, it involved a few fun people, multiple bars and ended with us closing a strip club.  Now let's just be clear, I love a strip club!  Those are some hardworking ladies!  I made a friend last night, I think her name is Amber, but she tells people it's Asa, but I think she told me her "not dancer name" because I can keep a secret (clearly).  Anyway, Amber/Asa and I slow danced on the stage, 8th grade style and including a few twirls of each other around - her in a skimpy outfit, me in my clothes - to Foreigner "I want to know what love is".  Then she took my business card, and she told me she would take me horseback riding next week cuz I'm "super adorable".  I'm pretty certain she is going to be my new bff. I'm just hoping we have the same shoe size, because I have zero heels that are clear.

I'm thinking of joining - because 1 in 5 relationships starts online....

Just sayin!

Thanks, once again, to the nice guys who roofied my friend and I at the Pac 12 Championship game.  It was super fun, you waste of human life.  Go fuck yourself.

Back to our regularly scheduled programming....

www.anthonybergen.com.  Mothereffing genius:

Possible Blasphemy

I saw something today about how people are outraged that E! spent $17 million on Kim Kardashian’s 72-day-long marriage, and how that money could have been spent to help a lot of people. It’s absolutely true, and I totally agree, but the person to blame isn’t Kim Kardashian. It’s the people who watch her TV shows, buy her shitty products, and snap up every magazine that she’s on the cover on just because she’s got a tremendous ass, made a sex tape, and is the daughter of the guy who probably hid O.J.’s knife for him (ALLEGEDLY).
But forget about Kim Kardashian and E! and that $17 million for a second. Actually, don’t forget about it — keep it in your mind as we make a comparison.
Do you realize that Avatar cost nearly $500 million to produce and promote? FIVE HUNDRED MILLION DOLLARS. That’s a half-billion dollars. Sure, Kim Kardashian and E! could have fed a lot of hungry people and paid a lot of tuition for college students, but the money spent creating Avatar — which was basically a metaphor for American mistreatment of Native Americans/indictment of industrial greed and imperialism and the Iraq War/love story of the environment/and a little bit of aliens crossed with Smurfs — could have pretty much solved the economic crisis.
So, yeah, you’re an asshole if you give attention and business to E! and Kim Kardashian, but you’re an even bigger asshole if you bought a ticket or DVD for Avatar. The point I’m trying to make is this: the problem isn’t the 1%, it’s the 99%. The problem is US. We have all of power necessary to change these things, but we don’t.

Toe-ing the line -

DUII

First, this is not, nor should it be construed as, legal advice.  This is just a few facts I wanted to share, my personal "opinion", if you will.

Second, don't do it.  Don't drink and drive.  The cost of cab fair is far, far less than the statutory minimum fine in most states.  Just take a damn cab.

• Be polite, but don’t think you can charm your way out of a ticket. Particularly at this time of year, they have already called in your license plate number and you are almost in the system now. Everything you say is subject to being quoted or misquoted.
• On answering the “have you had anything to drink tonight?” It would be inappropriate for me to suggest anyone lie to a police officer, although lying to a police officer is not a crime in most states. That said, the laws generally prohibit “driving under the influence,” not “driving while intoxicated.” In most jurisdictions, this means the state need only prove you were influenced. Having a .08 is, in most jurisdictions, a legal standard for being under the influence, but I know several people who were successfully charged, despite only having a .06 (and even lower). By telling the police officer that (1) you have drank; (2) when you last drank; or (3) how much you drank is just handing the state evidence against you.
• Breathalyzer: you should almost never refuse it, as you will automatically lose your license for at least a year. However, and your jurisdiction may vary, but in most jurisdictions, the “field” breathalyzer (that administered on the side of the road) is inadmissible in court. It is only used to gather “probable cause” to arrest you for drunk driving, and when you are at the police station, you will be asked to take an official one. In my state, you can lawfully refuse the “field” breathalyzer if you tell the officer that you will submit to the official breathalyzer (or blood test) at the police station. If you are on the margins of .08, this will buy you additional time, which is the only thing that brings that number down.
• Field sobriety tests: This is the “touch your nose, say the alphabet, walk the line” test. Again, your jurisdiction may vary, but in most, the field sobriety test is not mandatory - you won’t lose your license for a year or anything. This is because the test is subjective and completely dependent on the officer’s observations (“subject slurred the letter g,” “subject slightly weaved while walking the line”). Unless it is videotaped, you have no way to challenge the officer’s report of how you performed. At least in Washington, it is the strong advice of top DUI attorneys that you NEVER take the field sobriety test, as you are just giving them evidence that can rarely be challenged, and is given a strong presumption of truth because an officer of the law swore to it. Politely decline and again offer to take a breath or blood test at the station.
• Keep your mouth shut: Bears repeating. It rarely, rarely helps you and almost always hurts you. Be polite, be succinct, volunteer nothing.

Again, not advocating drunk or buzzed driving whatsoever. Just passing along information that may prove valuable if you ignore the advice to take a cab and get behind the wheel with ANY alcohol in your system.

Happy Holidays!

EXACTLY! The always amazing, Mindy Kalling, took the words right out of my enormous mouth....

Until I was 30, I dated only boys. I’ll tell you why: Men scared the sh*t out of me. Men know what they want. Men own alarm clocks. Men sleep on a mattress that isn’t on the floor. Men buy new shampoo instead of adding water to a nearly empty bottle of shampoo. Men make reservations. Men go in for a kiss without giving you some long preamble about how they’re thinking of kissing you. Men wear clothes that have never been worn by anyone else before […] At this point you might want to smack me and say: “Are you seriously just another grown woman talking about how she wants a man who isn’t afraid of commitment?” Let me explain! I’m not talking about commitment to romantic relationships. I’m talking about commitment to things—houses, jobs, neighborhoods. Paying a mortgage. When men hear women want a commitment, they think it means commitment to a romantic relationship, but that’s not it. It’s a commitment to not floating around anymore. I want a guy who is entrenched in his own life. Entrenched is awesome

I wish

I had a life coach to follow me around, taking the Jack and Cokes out of my hand.....you know, before shit gets weird? That is a service I would pay for.

They give you the tools....

Don't bring a clipboard to an interview and reference your notes that are handwritten on a copy of your resume from it. Ever.

Also, do not refer to yourself in the fucking third person.  i.e. "Portland was too big for Mike".  Not ok.

Finally, if you did, indeed, work at Enterprise Rent a Car at some point, you most certainly cannot, under any circumstances, make a Step Brothers style reference to it.  He literally said "They encouraged me to not only manage a branch, but to BRANCH myself". 

Dumb girl

Exactly

Everything happens for a reason.
Except for the things you fuck up by yourself.

— Word Boner

72 Days? I can't believe he made it that long...

So, Kim Kardashian is getting divorced already?  Is this all that surprising?  That guy is straight up tired of her fat ass already.  Well played, NBA Dude.  Well played.

Happy Halloween!!!

That's a cat.  Wearing a taco.  Probably photoshopped, but who gives a crap?  It's a cat wearing a taco, and that's just awesome.

Did it?

Really!

Here's a little head's up, men I date:  My heart is not your piñata.

People have no skillz - that's right, with an effin z

Ok, candidate I interviewed this morning.  Here's some free advice, from me to you.  If you live in IDAHO, and you work for one of those loan places that loans up to 3K in unsecured cashola out to people with no credit and no business taking out loans, and you work on a green screen DOS based system, and you only have a high school degree and are making 45K base and a total of 70K a year with commission - STAY THE FUCK PUT!  DO NOT QUIT YOUR JOB! 

Seriously.  Don't roll in my office with some story about how you wanted to move and are hoping to make the same kind of money here but will settle for 50K a year, telling me a story about how you can't use Word or Excel or motherfuckin GOOGLE because, well, you been blowing up some green screen dot matrix printer shit for the last 16 YEARS at Shadyloancompany Inc.  Seriously.  I almost laughed in her face and told her to get on the phone and beg for her job back.

Oh, also, I failed to mention, she had one of those 1992 T-Boz from TLC haircuts, you know, long in the front, super short in the back?  Also, Shadyloancompany Inc.  apparently didn't have dental insurance.  Just sayin.  And she smokes.

Beeeeotch, please.  I can put lawyers to work around here, all day every damn day of the week for $15 bucks an hour.  Though, it should be noted, those bastards don't know Excel, either.

Pure Fucking Poetry - that Lil Wayne guy

If you can love the wrong person that much, stop and think how much more you could love the right one.

— Lil Wayne … People, PAY ATTENTION. This is wisdom. (Source: veena, via blondiebird)

What porn looks like. For women.

Update

I'm taking stuff down, reposting old stuff, making some changes.  Deal.

Screw you, Bridget Jones, Volume 2

Scene: Restaurant in the Gateway section of Springfield.  Which, this idiot decided, was half way between our two houses.  Way to go the extra mile, asshat.

A client of my company actually fixed me up on this blind date.  Same old story.  This person thinks I'm great, this guy is great, we will have a great effin time together blah.  She gives him my number, there is some texting that isn't exactly inspiring but we decide to meet.  Sunday afternoon at 5:30pm.  Clearly, this guy is rolling with a different crowd then I am, because at 5:30 I like to be pregaming my night, but whatever.  So I drive out to the Roadhouse Grill to meet Asshat FisherMan (AFM) in the bar.  I get there, he's the only person sitting in the bar.  Walk over, introduce myself, he doesn't get up.  What the fuck is that?  ON YOUR FEET, BOY!  I sit.  He's a couple drinks ahead of me.   This retard pregamed the date.  He looks, and kinda smells, like he's been drinking all day.  AFM is an electrician, owns his own electrical company.  And by company, I mean one motherfucking van with his name vinyl sticker'ed to the side.  Let's not get ahead of ourselves here.  I sit, we talk about work, he tells me his business is terrible, he fired his secretary, so he's doing everything.  Continues to bash every other electrician in town, for "taking up my business".  It's hell.  My ears were bleeding.  I do some cheerleader pep talk about having a job he loves and he launches into a story about how being an electrician isn't his real job.  I bite.  "Oh, really, what is".  He says he's a professional fisherman.  Now it's making sense.  There is a big truck with a logo of some sort in the parking lot, this fine speciman of a man clearly rolls in that thing.  AFM goes on to tell me he spent all day fishing on Cottage Grove Lake.  I ask the obvious question - how many fish did you catch?  He says 22.  I say that's a lot of fish, what are you going to do with them all?  He replies "I threw them back"...............um.....huh?  What? You threw them back?   In the water?  AFM launches into a diatribe about catch and release fishing blah blah yada.  That's when the tourette's kicks in.  I ask the obvious question "How the fuck do you know that you didn't catch the same damn fish, 22 times?"  He actually has a story about how a fish will only bite once every 3 days or something.  Then he launches into the whole "fishing like this is a sport".  Now, I will let you catch fish all day and throw them back, you retard.  If you want to spend a whole day on a lake drinking beer, getting fatter and smelling like bait, rock out with your cock out, I could care less.  But I know a "sport" when I see one.  And that ain't it.  Now we are going to have an argument.  He keeps going on about his sport "And see, when I took up this sport.....blah blah sport...."  I finally interrupt.  I lay out the obvious "Fishing isn't a sport".  Crickets.  I've stumped AFM.  He replies "It's on tv, and I have a sponsor, it's a sport".  RG "No, it most certainly is NOT A SPORT!  If you there was cardio involved, possibly it could be a sport.  Say you, AFM, jumped in the fucking lake and outswam the fish, then it would be a sport.  Sitting on your ass pulling a dumb animal out of a lake all day while kicking back PBR's, not a sport.  How do you train for that?  Extra time at the tavern?" 

At this point, things are going downhill at a rapid pace.  I pull out the big guns and text my 14 year old son the following: You want a laptop for christmas, I want out of this date.  Mommy needs  a 911 call right now.  Feel free to improvise the emergency, but no kidding, CALL NOW.  Beloved son makes the call, I answer the phone and do my best impression of oh no, we have an emergency "What? The dog got out?  Oh no, where is Moose now?  Dammit, I'm on my way"

I bail.  AFM sends me a text saying I should come over after I deal with the dog and sit in his hot tub.  Probably with a beer.  I text back that I'm unavailable to help with his "training" in the hot tub with brews, but best of luck in the future....

Happy Fall, Y'all!

I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to get my hands on some fucking gourds and arrange them in a horn-shaped basket on my dining room table. That shit is going to look so seasonal. I’m about to head up to the attic right now to find that wicker fucker, dust it off, and jam it with an insanely ornate assortment of shellacked vegetables. When my guests come over it’s gonna be like, BLAMMO! Check out my shellacked decorative vegetables, assholes. Guess what season it is—fucking fall. There’s a nip in the air and my house is full of mutant fucking squash.

— “It’s Decorative Gourd Season, Motherfuckers,” Colin Nissan (via notyourlife)

Pretty sure I would want to SuperSize...

A few weeks ago I received a late night call.  You know the one.  Where a completely platonic male friend has had way too much to drink and decides, while driving drunk to some other girl's house in an effort to get some ass, decides to give you a little call at 2:35am.  So the phone rings, and incidentally I was up.  I see it's my friend Teddy.  Now, Teddy is a strictly/completely/nowayinhellanythingisevergoingonbetweenus friend.  But he likes to talk a big game about how great he is in the sack, and I like to laugh.  So it works out.  Now to give you the visual, Teddy is a short guy.  And I'm a tall girl.  Like, you need to be at least 6' to ride this ride.  So he calls me, and I answer, and I'm kind of laughing.  He asks if I have anyone over - I secretly love that he thinks I'm getting ass like that - and I tell him I don't.  Then it starts!  He tells me "You know, I think you are the kind of girl who would appreciate what I'm bringing to the table.  I could give you so many orgasms a night.  Probably like 10 a night.  And the things I would do to you, I would do some kinky stuff to you.  Hang on a second.......can I get a number 6, two tacos and a medium root beer"?

Yeah.  Teddy interrupted the orgasm talk to get his late night drunk food fix at Jack in the Box.  That. Just. Happened.

Words of Wisdom

If you are old enough to vote, you are too old to wear Abercrombie.

Screw you, Bridget Jones - volume 1

My co-workers are amused by my new single status.  Since most of them are married, they find it highly entertaining to listen to me ramble on about my bad dates, and lately there has been a lot of "you should blog about that" going around.  So in an effort to recapture the horror that is now my dating life, I am starting the new installment - Screw you, Bridget Jones - in order to chronicle the hysteria.  Brace yourselves, people.  It's gonna get bumpy.

Scene:
Valentine's Day, restaurant in Eugene, Oregon, packed with people who actually appear to like each other, or at the very least know each other. 

I agree to meet my friend Ryan's blind date set up - who we will refer to as SPJ - for a drink, maybe some food and a friendly "hi, how are ya".  The fact that it's Valentine's Day is not lost on me, so I run home and dress for the event in head to toe black.  Because I'm an optimist like that.  I text SPJ on my way to the restaurant, he says he will put the menu upright on the table so I know it's him.  Someone has done this before.  I walk in and see him right away.  Cute enough, bald, blue eyes, wearing a dressed up hoodie and jeans.  Suddenly my all black slacks, turtleneck and flats (he said he was 6', he's not) seem overdressed.  We sit and chat, have a few drinks, it's fine, but there's NO SPARK!  I keep drinking, in search of the elusive SPARK, I don't find it in the bottom of yet another Jack and Coke.  I don't want to be rude, but this is going nowhere.  He pays, we walk to the parking lot, he hugs me goodbye and makes a comment about how he likes hugging me???? and we are out.  I'm not even out of the parking lot when I get a text from him saying "Well, what did you think?"  About what?  A resolution for peace in the middle east?  I'm not sure I know what we are referring to at this point.  We go back and forth a bit, he says that he thinks I'm fun, blah blah blah, but he can tell I am sexually aggressive (good to know I'm putting THAT out there) and he wants to be straight with me about something.  I was like, ok, let's hear it.  He then goes on to tell me that he has a small penis.  Um, ok.  I reply with something brilliant/tourettesy like "Just how small IS it?"  and he goes on to say it's pretty damn small, and it's been a problem in his relationships.  I say something about how I'm not concerned (because I'm not - I wasn't going down the penis path to begin with, buddy) blah blah yada yada.  He travels for work, doesn't come through Eugene often it's been pretty easy to avoid a second date, though he does keep inviting me to visit him in his hometown, which is like a 3 hour drive - not happening.  Not to be a bitch, but I drive a Jeep, and gas prices are up there!  Nice enough guy, just not for me.  Poor SPJ.  And just for the record - you guessed it - that stands for Small Penis Jake.  Because his penis came with a disclaimer....like cigarettes.

Ok, ok, ok, I can't commit....

It's the truth.  I can't.  To much of anything lately.  Coming out of the last 20 months of a nightmare relationship, I can honestly say that I'm going to attempt blogging again.  I think it's a good way to get my thoughts out.  Those of you who read this, hang in there, this may get bumpy.

I've started running, and came across SR of SkinnyRunner.  This girl is divine inspiration for me at this point.  I'm just pounding out miles until I feel better!