Now, hispanic racial slurs are even better. Wetback. Greaser. Spic. I love it! They are just so silly. But I have to admit, my all time favorite and what I come to refer to my fellow hispanics in an endearing manner is. . . BEANER! I love beaner! It's so dang cute, how could anyone ever be offended by it? I even call my white friends, beaners, sometimes.

Plus, I love beans. Partly because they taste good, but mostly because they make me fart and that is just plain good times.

So if you love me, just call me, Ang the Beaner.

Oh and I'm sure I'm forgetting some good racial slurs, so refresh my memory, people. And, if you are offended by any of this, all I have to say is. . . pooey.

Respond to my cutsie wootsie ad. Or bambi gets it.

I might be bald, but my rock hard abs make up for it, rrrrrrr! Come on, touch 'em, you know you want to.

I'm just a big loveable harley lovin' neon shirt cutoff sleeve wearin' teddy bear. Can I lick you?

(His ad said that social situations make him "uneasy") I may not speak to you or look at you on our first couple of dates, but after I get to know you, I'll let you touch my bush, er I mean, my hair.

Don't be scared, my eyes are only bugged out because these jeans are so tight they are squeezing my nads off. Let's makeout.

And finally, the one that takes the cake. And then some.

I'm naked, hehe, and waiting in my bedroom, hehehe. I'm not a serial killer, hehe , I promise, hehehehe. Can I sniff your pits?

Last night I had one of those moments. The details of what set me off aren't really important. I was lying in bed next to my son and I just started crying. There were people in my basement, so I was trying not to be loud about it. But I was clearly sobbing with tears streaming down my cheeks.

My precious two and a half year old son asked me what was wrong. I told him it was nothing, because he wouldn't understand anyway, and gave him a little pat on the tummy. After asking me a few more times what was wrong, he sits up, scoots close by me, puts his little arms around me, and leans his head on my shoulder and says, "I take care o' you, mommy."

Say it with me now, "Awwwwww!"

Dreams.

Yep, last I had a doozey. I must warn you that this is highly disgusting and I've never ever ever thought of something like this on my own, so please don't hold my conscious normal self responsible for anything you are about to read.

I dreamt that I was grinding my hand up in a meatgrinder to make salsa. Yes, I said salsa. My ground up hand look more like mashed tomatoes than ground up meat. And it wasn't too painful.

Needless to say, I didn't know whether to laugh or vomit when I woke up.

Because straight guys cannot go one fucking nanosecond without thinking about pussy!

Holy fuck, I hate dicks and all that surrounds them! What is so fucking difficult about NOT thinking about the possibility of getting laid by every walking cunt? WHAT? WHAT?

I'm just sick of it. I cannot tell you how many guys I have met that start out as friends or maybe even a potential for more. Then I get to know them a bit. Then I decide I want nothing more than friendship. I tell them, honestly and sensitively that we can ONLY be friends, that's it. Things go along smoothly for a minute. Then they start in with the "OH! Big date tonight?" or the "OH! Got a hot man in your life yet?" or the all famous manipulative, "Damn, I guess I was never good enough for you." or the pathetic plea of not-all-hopes-lost, "Maybe someday I'll get a shot."

Listen, you dumbass reject! Oh wait, you can't listen, otherwise I wouldn't be here complaining in the FIRST place! I said I only want to be friends, plain and clear. That means I don't want to be interrogated about my dating life. That means I don't owe you any explanations. That also means there is NO CHANCE IN HELL of you ever getting to see me naked. Ok, fuckwad?! Get it through your fat ass head. Better yet, how about I just avoid you like the plague until you get the fucking hint. Which could be, say, 2008.

I feel so dirty! And not in a good way.

The following is an excerpt from some article I found about dust mites.

"House dust mites primarily live on dead skin cells regularly shed from humans and their animal pets. Skin cells and scales, commonly called dander, are often concentrated in lounging areas, mattresses, frequently used furniture and associated carpeted areas, may harbor large numbers of these microscopic mites. For most people, house dust mites are not harmful. The medical significance of house dust mites arises because their microscopic cast skins and FECES are a major constituent of house dust that induces allergic reactions in some individuals."

Did you notice the word I highlighted and capitalized? That's right, people, we are breathing in SHIT!!! on a daily basis. It just doesn't get any more disgusting than that.

Note to self: Buy a couple gallons of bleach on the way home.

Slightly Odd [more like slightly scary]
Riding Season Approaches [and? you want me to mount you?]
Need to Feel that Warm Silky Feeling [save the sex talk for the first date, pervo]
Slow & Easy [try the nursing homes, gramps]
Single Dad wants Life of His Own [guess you should have thought of that before you busted your nut all over the place]
Save me from My Isolation [the emo act is only cool if you are in a scrubby band, guy]
Last of a Dying Bread [so what are you waiting for?]
Looking 4 a Friend maybe More [wow, the originality astounds me]
Looking for Honesty [what about ass, will ass do?]
My Mission is to Please You Ladies [I love a man who can please more than one woman at a time]

And the best yet: (drumroll please)

Got Jesus? [then he goes on to call Jesus his "big brother"]

And tomorrow I just might post some of these sexy hunks' pictures for your viewing enjoyment. Because I have absolutely nothing better to do.

Didn't happen.

However, I did meet an old rich guy that could potentially be a sugar daddy. I got his number, cause Lord knows I have enough old men calling me that I avoid on a daily basis. Yeah, that would be old men that have no money, but just want a piece of this. I guess I'm just keeping them around in case I get really desperate.

But, it wasn't a total loss. My girlfriend that I went out with that night and I had not been out together in almost two years. She had a baby last year and you know how that goes. So, it was like being 18 all over again, when we used to go to bars with our fake I.D.'s. We have this really bad habit of dissing on everyone. She fucking kills me. It's all in good fun, of course. Plus you know what they say about people who make fun of other people. Yes, that's right, we do it to make ourselves feel better.

Also, there is this guy friend of her husband's, that I've met once before and thought he was a total cutie, that supposedly asked about me this weekend. So now, I can't stop fantasizing about him. I'm such a pervert. But I just hope he's as good in person as he has been in my fantasies. Rumor has it he's hung like a horse. I'm a little scared.

Why do you fucking hate my guts? Literally. What the fuck did I ever do to you, you god damn blood sucking whore bitch? I mean, is it something we could discuss like civilized adults instead of you making me feel like a psychotic bitch for two weeks out of every fucking month? Seriously, what hell did I ever do to you? I don't even feel like the same person, and I feel even crazier for acknowledging the fact that I feel totally and completely out of control. You take over and the world becomes one fucked up warped ball of shit. You make me feel fat, you make me feel pissed off at everyone and everything, you make me cry, you make me sulk, you make me eat, you make me break out, and you make my body ache all over. God, you are such a BITCH! But, then I look like the psycho one for blaming it on you! Thanks for nothing, you whore, I hope you fucking die.

Hatefully yours, Angela

(Yes, the comments are back. What can I say? I missed them. Oh! And I figured out how to customize them to match my blog. Aw yeeeah.)