Check out my latest comedy column:
Check out my latest comedy column:
Gotcha! Not a real baby, a metaphorical one. I think in today’s society with media being in your face 24/7 you need to know when to birth the pain in your ass, and sever the bloody umbilical cord. Pun totally … Continue reading
I have been a non-blogging machine lately. Sorry guys. What? I’ve been in Italy working on my next film. Woo! The sun was bright, the fruit was in full bloom, and the air was refreshing…
While I was on a very strict production schedule, scouting locations, wining & dining, and meeting people in the Italian film industry, I couldn’t help but think of what happened the night before I left England. The man who has ‘wrecked’ me in the last few blogs came back from France. We talked privately about what had happened between us. He simply admitted that I scared him, then he kissed me. Twice. He told me to have a brilliant time in Italy, and that he’d be there when I got back.
He didn’t speak to me the entire time I was gone. I went through massive feelings of anger and hate, and had to just work through it…I was in Italy for Jesus Christ and peanut butter’s sake! I was also so very prepared for a grand speech when I saw him again. What? I had some free time.
Two weeks later I was back in England, and when I saw him: he immediately said it was so good to see me, and so nice to have me home, and he commented on my tan, and my super blonde locks–Oh, God.
I just smiled and got on with shit. He had simply got over the fact that I was back in England for work and my love for the city of Bath had nothing to do with him, and maybe he really does want to be my friend or something…because he told me to stop by for a drink, that I could take his dog on play dates with my really good friend and her dog, and walked me to the door, letting me leave with “I’ll see you soon”.
Dude sat right in front of me and lied to my face. If you really know me, that is a big, fat ‘no-no’. I’ve tried to get in touch with him and what have I got–once again? Ignored. Straight ignored. Dude, if you don’t wanna be my friend ‘fuck off’. But don’t kiss me before I leave, and tell me it’s great to see me when I get home, and that you wanna hang out, and I can stop by whenever, because that was bullshit.
Shame on him. Shame on me, though, for letting him do it again. My life has been so simple amazing lately. He’s just one more piece that doesn’t fit in my brilliant puzzle. That is the hardest thing to admit, as a woman, to yourself. That you let someone be a part of your life longer than they should have, and each person has a breaking point. Mine was the other day.
When life knocks you down, calmly get back up, smile, and very politely say, “You hit like a bitch.”
I realized in my self-pity, that I had forgot to take care of ‘me’. I spent two weeks in Italy binge eating my feelings in the form of pasta, pastry, and fried everything.
Yep. Every damn day, and gaining more weight than I have ever weighed in my entire life. Why? I ate this every day.
Oh, yeah. That’s filled with nutella. A lot of nutella.
I was eating this every day for breakfast with at least two cups of cappuccino. I was turning into the Freshman Girl I left at WVU who was fat, who guys were really mean to, who self-loathed in weed, Cheetos, and beer. I didn’t get this far in life to regress. Plus, I’m a firm believer in:
But I’m currently on the verge of a coronary with all this shit I’m eating, and I don’t look like that girl up there in a bikini. I wouldn’t even put a bikini on right now. I know a thing or two about body shaming and fat calling. It’s not nice. But when did we make it okay to say, “Fuck beauty standards” in order to justify obesity?
Simply put: I’m not happy. I’m especially not happy with the guy I was dating. Most importantly I’d say, most often, we aren’t happy with others, because we aren’t happy with ourselves. True story. So, yesterday I changed all of that.
I started the military diet to jump start healthy eating and weight loss.
No more damn donuts! I’ve decided to keep a diary, take photos, and highlight my whole week in a super, sweet blog. I have to pee like a pregnant lady. But–I have lost weight! I feel so much better already. I’m prioritizing my life to be more creative on a daily basis. I’m also making time for people who want to be in my life.
Oh, yeah! For those of you that have read my book, you are gonna love this: I had coffee with Apollo yesterday…
As for all the negativity in my life, including my bad food habits and lack of exercise…
xx Sassy Lil’ Biscuit
It occurred to me today: I’m a pushover.
I let people slide. I give a lot of second chances. I used to think it was because I’m a nice person, but now I’m starting to think I let people walk all over me. My very close friends have pointed out the astronomical amount of shit I put up with, the crappy way people treat me, and it’s because I don’t put my foot down and say enough is enough.
That shit stops today.
My relationships on a personal level really fucking suck, because people think it’s okay to walk all over me. For instance, I totally went on holiday with this guy. We had the best time ever. I told him I’d like to keep things private for now, because I liked where we were and I wanted it to just be ours for a bit. He agreed, too.
I was so happy in that little bubble, that I even splurged and paid for cinema tickets…which were like 30 quid. In London. I know. Don’t go to the cinema in London. Yeah. That’s 45 fucking dollars in the current exchange rate.
I was literally living in an Uptown World. No really. Billy Joel was serenading me. I was also living in the moment. Something I think is way more important than sharing your happiness with the world. Which is normally the girl I am…
What? I get excited. When men are nice to me. It’s rare. It should happen more often, Men. Just a lil’ F.Y.I.
My friend Mandi has told me for ages that I should quit blogging about my happiness or shittiness with men. But, simply put–that’s not who I am. I built this blog around my novella. To help women understand that men really are just manipulative douchelords.
And no matter how much we think they will change, they just do it again.
He’s ignored me. Even to my face. Since said holiday.
Me: I thought things had changed. I mean, I spent $45 on cinema tickets.
Best Friend: He should love you just for that.
And you know what? He should. He should love me for the amazing woman I am. I hopped a flight to London in the middle of this massive career explosion, blocked a whole three days out, did everything he wanted to do in the city (even though I wanted 50 shades of awesome), and catered to his every whim–that included coffee and the morning paper, not so much hot sex.
When we parted ways once before, it was because he did not want a relationship. If I wanted relationshippy shit I would have said so…so there came the mixed signals. We should be fucking like rabbits. Not reading the damn paper like two, old married–
After 24 hours of being ignored I called him an arse. After another 24 hours, I said:
It hurts my feelings when you ignore me. I’m not asking you to hang the moon and the stars, but don’t be crappy. Please.
He’s still not speaking to me.
So, last night I thought: I’ll just send him a nice note to let him know I’m not mad “Hope you’re having a good week.” Nothing. He has now ignored me for a total of six days…and counting.
“Maybe he hasn’t seen the messages,” my BFF (and the only person who knows about us) claims. “He has a smart watch. That pings him every message he gets on every device and app.” *insert ominous “Oh.”
She then sincerely asked how I felt. She knew I was hurting. Who wouldn’t?
“He’s the first man to ever make an effort for me…so I don’t know how I feel.”
Quite frankly, women don’t let shit go. We try, ever so hard. We wear it on our faces. Then we steam in it for a bit. He’s left me marinating in it for days. At this point I’m confused. Part of me doesn’t even want to go to my friend’s birthday party this week, because he will no doubt be there: with his chiseled face, and his big blue eyes, and his sweet, insincere, shitty smile.
Cause I’m gonna look like a stalker…
And if he talks to me, I’m gonna be like…
He’s really over there thinking I wanna marry him, and I’m over here like: Can I get a Christian Grey?
Can I? Just once. I didn’t even break out the sexy lingerie I had, because he was being so boring. C’est la vie. I really don’t know what happened. He clearly has never dated a girl who has her shit together. The only thing I can chalk it up to is he’s retarded. And I don’t date retards.
xx Sassy Lil’ Biscuit
p.s. I think I’d like a Jack Colton more so than a Christian Grey. Perfect amount of bad boy & romance. “Cause when the going gets tough, the tough get goin’…” *cue sexy stuffs and dance it out
I read this meme this a.m. as I trolled the facebook. About how everyone in your life has a role. Some will test you, some will use you, some will love you, and some will teach you. The important ones bring out the best in you. They are rare and amazing people who remind you why it’s worth it.
Big, fat, book-sized tears strolled down my face…
I’m okay. Kinda like that time I text my ex, “Hope you have an amazing birthday…and get raped by a bear.” I made a book outta that stuff…true story:
My best girl friend in the entire world swooped in and said ‘Get your ass to my house’. She knew if she didn’t distract me with a booze filled day or two, I would just be ‘mean’ to everyone like those girls in my last post.
Oh, God. I let this guy see the underground garage of crazy that I hoard from most men. And he accepted me for my weirdness. I’m all happy pants, cause we’re having one hell of a conversation, and he suggests I go find myself a ‘fella’…for the second time this week. But I don’t want to find a fella. I found one…and it’s you.
No. No you do not. When a guy tells you to go find love, that means he’s not interested. Doesn’t matter if there are 365, actually 366 because I wanted him to open the first one on New Years’ Eve, sweet little cards in transit to his home in Australia. Plus –plus a card that says ‘if a snowflake were a kiss I’d send you a blizzard’. Oh yeah. I went there.
Damn you, Pinterest.
You don’t tell the truth. You’re gonna look like a nutball, and in true ‘sassy’ fashion, we both know I didn’t reveal that this was what was going on in a casual way. Oh, no. I just blurted it all out. With a big, fat ‘Enjoy all the ways you make me happy. All 365 of them.’
And what did he do? Nothing. No. I mean, he said–nothing.
For the love of Jesus Christ and peanut butter balls. It’s all good. You win some, you lose some. I mean, what part of blog #2 and probably #3 or 4 did you not think said “I like you more than friends”?
Men are so retarded. I know, not PC, but they are. My best girl friend thought what I did was awesome:
Well…he was drunk, but, yes he did.
One of these days, the guy will like me back for my weirdness and all that comes with it: the bubble baths with champagne; the pancakes-bacon-and spooning for breakfast; the ways I make him smile or laugh every day; the talks about holidays in Hawaii; my severe love for pizza; the stand-up, the blogs, the books, and the films I write; the 367 hand-written notes that say, pretty much, ‘I love you in a big, bad-ass way’…and when he tells me I’m amazing, all the time, he’ll mean it.
This one’s for my best guy friend. The one who isn’t speaking to me now. Stop being an Ass Jacket. You need to listen to One Week by Bare Naked Ladies. Google that shit. *the theme tune to all the hilarity that is us.
Now, I’ll sit back and wait til’ you say you’re sorry. What? Just like the song says, “I have a tendency to wear my mind on my sleeve. And truth be told, I have a history of losing my shirt.”
Until then…I’ll be in Pittsburgh, getting my girl time on, and probably whoring myself out to some rum and cokes. And so what, if he doesn’t like me back.
xx Sassy Lil’ Biscuit