Tag Archives: People I Want to Punch in the Face

There’s a First Time for Everything

Cupcake Dangler (CD):  While I was running errands, I ran into an old buddy, and we grabbed a drink. How was your night?

Me: It was fine…right up until the point that you stood me up.

In my 15 dating years, I’ve never been stood up. Even Mephistopheles never pulled that. He was notorious for showing up late, but he always showed up.

CD: I didn’t realize I had actually committed to seeing you tonight.

Oh no you didn’t…. The c-word rears its ugly head.

CD: I’m sorry. I messed up.

Me: It’s ok.

That “It’s ok” was the kind you feel like you have to say because someone apologized, but in reality, your feelings are still hurt and you just want to punch the asshatted douchearoo in the face.

Except for this, CD was a perfect gentleman while we dated. But it was this exchange that made me begin to realize he wasn’t the guy for me.

My friend Puddin’ put it best: “He’s nice guy. But he’s not your nice guy.”

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “That cupcake is terrifying. Look at the eyes! Cookie Monster is choking on that cookie. Why are you wasting time arguing about desserts and nicknames when you should be doing the Heimlich maneuver?”—Laura


Hot As Balls—Yeah, I Said It

Last week I had to get up earlier than usual was late to work because I had to scrape frost off my windshield. This week…I’m wondering if I’d get fired for taking off my pants.

Seriously.

I’m hot. And not sexy hot. I’m sweaty hot. And not glistening sweaty. I’m I-think-I-just-wet-my-underoos-no-that’s-just-sweat sweaty.

That’s how hot it is. I don’t even care how embarrassing it is to share with you that my thighs have soaked my undies. To dry them, I’m sitting spread-eagle at my desk…in a dress. Classy.

My legs scream "Open for Business,' but I don't care.

My legs scream “Open for Business,” but I don’t care.

While we’re I’m sharing, although I have a cold water bottle behind my neck, I really want to shove it down the front of my dress.

Apparently, switching on the AC requires a gazillion different approvals plus a dead body, so yesterday and again today we’re all sitting inside a 90-degree building….crying because no one would sacrifice themselves to the AC gods.

Ok, so maybe I was the only one actually crying. But only half of the time. The other half of the time I was begging for a Channing Tatum-look-a-like cabana boy to fan me.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “I used to have an apartment where there was a small access panel (to the bath plumbing) in my bedroom. The first guy I showed it to swore that was where the trolls live. I never opened it, just to be sure.”—BluzDude


If You Don’t Have Anything Nice to Say…

As I was crossing the parking lot back to my car, I passed 3 older women. Right after I passed them, I heard…

Old Lady: Town whore.

My thoughts: Wow, she sounds pissed off. Is there going to be an old lady smack down?

I kept walking.

Old Lady: ::even louder:: Town whore!

My thoughts: Uhhh…is she talking about me?

What I Wish I’d Said: Takes one to know one!

I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure she was talking about me. What the….

I just ignored them because there were 3 of them…and they were bigger than me and had weapons. One of them had a cane, and all I had was a cup of chicken noodle soup.

How rude. Is my sweater dress a little short? Probably. But my ass isn’t hanging out. It passed the fingertip test.

Passed the fingertip test with a couple inches to spare!

Passed the fingertip test with a couple inches to spare!

Or maybe it was the boots? Is it because they’re knee high? Because they have ties in the back? I always thought they were pirate-like. 

Ties = Whore not Pirate

Ties = Whore not Pirate

Maybe it was my makeup. I was only wearing mascara, but I did layer it on pretty thick. Two coats.

So there you have it: The new definition of “whore” is having sex with 1 person for the past 4.5 years.

Since when does someone’s clothing reflect their sexual actions? I suppose if I had been raped while wearing it, I would have been asking for it, too.

Grrrr…why are people so flippin’ mean? If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

What should I have said? Obviously, I need more practice with comebacks.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “I’ve got a ring but is there a Give-The-Husband-The-Cold-Shoulder-Till-He-Unloads-The-Dishwasher-Day?”—Tori Nelson 


Someone Is Fighting a Harder Battle Than You

Dear Bitchy Lady on the American Airlines Flight from Baltimore to Miami  on November 2,

You don’t know me, but just the fact that I’m using the B word to describe you means you suck…big time.

The same day I was leaving for my vacation I found out I was miscarrying. Again. And your attitude while we were boarding made my day worse. So thanks. Thanks a lot for that.

Let me refresh your memory….

B Lady’s Nice Friend: Oh, they’re in Group 3, so they should go ahead of us. We’re Group 4.

B Lady: You’re in Group 3?

Thoughtsy and Kiefer: Yes.

B Lady: Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to cut in front of a Group 3. Oh no! Please go ahead of me, Group 3 people.

Then you repeated that for the next 5 minutes while we waited to board the plane. Boo and Radley were more mature than you.

B Lady, I’m sorry you can’t count. I’m sorry the airline put you in a group behind us. I’m sorry you got in line before your group number was even called.

I’m sorry I didn’t let you go first just to make you feel like an ass. But I was tired and bleeding, and I just wanted to find my seat, go to sleep, and forget that I was miscarrying.

I don’t know what prompted your attitude, but whatever it was, I’m sorry. I hope you’re feeling better today.

You see, I try to be nice to everyone because I know no matter how bad of a day I’m having, someone is having a worse one.

That said, if I ever see you again, I’m punching you in the face.

Insincerely,

Thoughtsy