I like you.
I like how you are constantly re-evaluating your life. You are not the kind of person who is satisfied simply living the dream of mom jeans and honey buns for breakfast. Otherwise you would not visit this website.
And visiting this website is exactly why I love you. You may just be an anonymous, faceless statistic to my stats counter. But I know your true identity.
You aren't just a stay-at-home Mom. You are the kind of person who challenges the norm. And I don't just mean the tramp stamp you show off proudly to your 6 year old. I'm talking about how you let your kid dress all in black and watch HBO.
Strategies your average Mommy Blogger would not understand.
You may have known all of that. But did you also know you are a strident fighter against pedophilia?
I say that because I have always tailored this website to fit whatever the preconceived notions I think my audience has. And I always assumed my audience to be the mass of men in their mid-thirties who have never married, because Georgia outlawed marriages to 12 year old's without parental consent.
But I was wrong. Pedophiles want coverage of their favorite superstars. So pedophiles have stopped visiting my website.
That's probably why my last post got a lot of hate e-mail from my pedophiles asking why I did not talk at all about how Abigail Breslin was in the movie Zombie Land USA.
I hate to disappoint all the pedophiles who still read this site, but I did not talk about the 12 year old girlfriend they want because 72% of the people who now read this site have kids. (The chomo's think this means that this website is the kind of place that should start a dating service.)
I may not be able to talk about hebophillia, but one thing both my audiences loves to hear about is how terrible I am with the ladies.
I am terrible with the ladies.
I am terrible with the ladies all because whenever I am around them I get the same feeling I get after taking my morning dump. The blood all rushes to my anus, and after squirting out what little fiber and potassium I have consumed that day my blood pressure drops and I get all queasy and light headed.
I thought I was over getting that feeling whenever a girl talked to me. But I was wrong.
I got a phone number from a girl for the first time in 4 years last night. I brag about it to you because the girl is very attractive. And I am into looks/not brains.
The fact that I am into "looks" reduces the possibility of "us" hooking up one day to small (or get me really drunk), but I know how you are okay with that.
I got a phone number.
But things did not go right after that.
I broke out into hives after the girl gave me her phone number and invited me to hang out with her and her sister and get drunk at her house playing beer pong.
I am 38, and I have no idea how to play beer pong.
And for all the pedophiles who read this blog, let me disappoint you again. She was at least 21 because she bought beer.
She wrote down her contact info on a piece of paper and stuffed it into my apron (after first getting turned down by Emma the 65 year old greeter.)
I don't think the fact that she invited Emma to drink with her should distract you from the fact that she still gave me her number.
I assumed she was just giving me her address. I assumed this because when she asked for my phone so she could put her number in it I told her I had lost mine.
But I was wrong. All I got on the scrap of register paper was a phone number and a name. Penny. But since I lost my phone a while back I could not call her.
I thought about walking over to the nearby apartment complex she said she lived in. I thought I might be able to find her that way. But I decided that would not be worth the effort. I would just get a ride home from Emma instead.
Emma tells me the funniest shit. (You should read about Emma!)
Emma also likes to think she can motivate me. She tells me that I would make a great Pharmacy tech. "It starts at 2 dollars more an hour than you make now."
She calls me on my bullshit too.
She told me the only reason I did not hang out with the girl after work was that I was "scared."
I tried telling her I lost my phone. But she countered my objection easily. She told me I could have used her phone. Or I could have called the girl at work. She even offered me a ride over there.
I shot back, "I had no idea how I would get home." and "I was in my work clothes."
She reminded me that the, "The girls were not dressed for a party either." Which is true in one sense. But white trash think cut off jean shorts are appropriate for anything.
The ride home with Emma had her talking about how she wished she had someone to go to the Opera with. "I've always wanted to go to the opera."
"But all the men your age are dead." I reminded her.
"I now." She laughed. Whenever Emma laughs at one of my jokes she swerves a bit into the other lane. It's a good thing I only drive with her after midnight.
After over-correcting back into her lane Emma tells me that she's never been to the opera before. "The only thing I have ever been taken to is a porn movie." She says.
The pathetic nature of the idea makes me bust out laughing.
Emily notices my laugh, but continues, "In a T H E A T E R." Emma draws out the word theater like that makes it better.
"Well that makes it better." I say trying to comfort her. I think about adding my experience in jack off booths to our little discussion.
But I hold back, thinking it might makes things weird between us.