Check out my latest comedy column:
Check out my latest comedy column:
Jesus Herbie Christ, Mary and Joseph. What in the heck kinda rubbish did I publish? I just looked at my last blog, and it just had a random sentence that trailed off it at the end. What in the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t. I was hurt. I was crying loads. I was devastated.
I spent the weekend after my first date since the ‘break-up’ in a haze. I don’t want to date anyone else. I don’t like this feeling of even thinking about being intimate with someone else. How do I ‘move’ on? How do I pull an Elizabeth Gilbert and let go of ‘us’? Send him light and love? Fuck that. I want to punch him in the face, because I haven’t been sleeping thanks to the crappy fucking pillows I let him convince me we needed for the bed.
Do other people have these kinds of problems when it comes to break-ups?
Yeah, her name is Taylor Swift. She has a hella-hot new boyfriend, so there’s hope for me yet. Or not…because this is the kind of messages I’m getting on the dating app now:
My response was sincerely: Are you fucking kidding me?
Why do men think it’s okay to speak to women like that? I mean, I get it. It’s the internet, but still. Unless you’ve bought me a three day weekend in Barcelona, get your penis away from my golden vagina.
He blocked me shortly after, but not before my excellent screen shot skills came into play. That’s when I realized I was missing laughter in my life. No wonder my writing, my general mood, and all that is around me was becoming more and more complacent. I wasn’t laughing through it like I normally do!
Thanks to the Supreme Court, I’ve come to the conclusion:
I’ve never really been a relationship person. I don’t let people in. That’s what hurts so much about this particular break-up. This guy knew all of those things and chose to take me to a place that I have never been, then mysteriously disappeared like mother f’ing Batman. On the plus side, maybe I was dating Batman.
This week my friends have really come through for me, because they know that I don’t do ‘love’ or let people in like that, with words of encouragement and copious amounts of wine.
I’ve stuck myself back into my career, and well you gotta have a hardcore vagina and a boat load of strength to be a female writer, comedian, and general bad-ass. *see Creative Writing below
No more winging about, like a heart-broken lunatic. I was so down in the dumps that I couldn’t see my strengths. I’m not gonna heal overnight. There was even a moment I told the ex that there was no God, and boy did ‘The Big Guy’ knock me down a notch. My whole world came to a halt. This relationship wasn’t a test of my strength. It was a test of my relationship with ‘The Big Guy’. I lost faith in everything including myself. But in the end, we patched things up. I figured it out when God made it abundantly clear:
It’s not my fault some guy hasn’t realized this about me yet:
And until I meet Mr. Right, I’m gonna keep writing the way I want to write, with the kind of comedy I want to put in, no matter who it offends. Because this is about me, not ‘you’.
And yeah, there will be days that I see things like this outside my house:
And my heart smiles thinking of all the reasons I loved this one man, and why this is so special to him.
And with that…I’m getting my sassy groove back. Because it’s gonna be alright.
“I’m just gonna shake it off!” *commence half-naked pants dancing in the living room, and yes my giant bay window faces the very public street.
xx Sassy Lil’ Biscuit
This was supposed to be the ‘Summer of Fun’. Instead it has been the Summer of Suck.
‘One thing after another’ has been the theme of the week. Someone kindly reminded me yesterday that my writing was sucking, too. *that comma is there to annoy him. 🙂
I lost sight of who I am. What I want. My drive, my focus, my passion. So, God hit the reset button.
I was fighting ambiguous loss. I lost, the one person, the most important person in my life. I read an article in Elite Daily today, and it all started to make sense. We have to be able to learn from everything, especially the bad stuff. The stuff we don’t want to happen. Things we have no control over. “You don’t need someone who understands you, just someone who wants you,” Paul Hudson says in Dating. He goes on to say,
“If you want to find the right person to spend your life with, then find someone who recognizes you as being important enough to fight for.”
That’s it. When do we convince ourselves to let go of something that was important, and move on? Remember my three day rule from Hope You Have An Amazing Birthday…And Get Raped By a Bear? That didn’t apply here. I fought. I fought hard. With blogs, love letters, texts, calls, and an mp3 file via email. LOL. In the end I wasn’t important enough to fight for.
I know. That is a hard thing to admit, but you have to treat people who walk out of your life like the dead ones. You mourn them just like someone who commits suicide because there are no answers. The sooner you quit torturing yourself for them, the faster you can begin to heal. And how does this Sassy Lil’ Biscuit heal? With a new writing gig involving dating–and sex toys! Shit yeah. So, it’s back to online dating. “Hey Girl, looking for something serious?”
Also, it’s back to writing that second book…
A journey of self-discovery, self-healing, learning how to live, and I mean really live. I’d Rather Die Than Eat Thai is a book about ambiguous loss, and how to pull yourself out of self-loathing. I thought this book would end with a true love story, but I’m not Elizabeth Gilbert. Then again, maybe I should be:
I woke up today realizing that I haven’t eat in three days. I’ve been so depressed I just fucking forgot to eat. And I forgot to fucking curse. I forgot who I was…I forgot to moisturize. I can’t get saggy skin. OR bags under my very pretty eyes. I’m single.
So, I’m gonna eat some mother fucking pizza today. Screw weight loss.
I also have a date tonight. No doubt you’ll hear about it soon. Just because someone walks out of your life doesn’t mean that you have to quit living. If they don’t want you, you need to surround yourself with people who do.
xx Sassy Lil’ Biscuit
Yeah, you read that right. I know some people would argue period, but I would take a lifetime of surfing the crimson tidal wave over a damn diet. Why? They suck.
I told you guys when I started this blog I was going to be brutally honest, and dieting blows harder than a seventeen year old on Prom Night.
I have been eating disgustingly not-so-delicious food since Jan 1st. Yeah. It’s gross. I don’t care who you are, eating healthy sucks ass sometimes. There are delicious smoothies, and omlettes packed with veggies, but I added loads of clean protein to my diet. *82 grams a day to be exact, and…it tastes like cardboard for the most part. Why? Because I cut out lunch meat, high fat meats, processed stuff like sausage and pepperoni, and…bacon. I know. I’m bat-shit crazy.
My best friend is doing the same thing, but cutting carbs. She’s lost 7 pounds. She also “gags down her breakfast” every day. Like me, and most women, the thought of eating things that you aren’t used to or simply don’t like is nasty.
First thing’s first: Forgive yourself for not being a size two.
Second: Fit takes effort. Lots and lots of dirty, sweaty effort.
From the tasteless cardboard food, to getting physical at the gym full of hot people in lycra, to men and their crappy comments about ‘how you should diet’, I’m here to tell you dieting is absolutely awful. Getting fit takes commitment, and people are still going to be rude to you during this process, so don’t get discouraged. Even if, most days, you’d like to go back to your couch and live there forever, for ever ever.
There is temptation everywhere. It’s like your friends invite you to dinners and parties just to watch you fail.
As if that’s not bad enough, you got assholes posting stuff like this in your facebook feed:
Oh, and men. They’re the worst. Ya’ got guys like this calling you fat…
Stand by this Ladies, you can fix fat. There ain’t no way in hell you can fix ugly. Without a million dollars and a Hollywood plastic surgeon. Yo! Douchecanoes! Stop putting women down and encourage us to look like Tyra or Gisele, dammit.
No joke. Had a man that I went all through school with–who people think is just the most awesome guy ever. He’s not. He was helping me with weightloss last year. I was actually doing pretty good, too. He introduced me to some awesome people, including a very hot doctor friend. Hot Doctor Friend and I talked for a while. He finds out the Doctor and I have developed a bit of whatever. Then tells me Hot Doctor Friend said, and I quote:
She is the most awesome woman I have ever met…but she’s fat.
Who says that? Your arch nemesis. And assholes. Assholes say that. I went home and ate a whole pizza, and cried because it was delicious.
I mean, who are men to shame us? They don’t know why we are overweight, what got us there, and it’s obviously a struggle–cause we aren’t dumb. We know, in fact, that we could lose some pounds. The worst thing you can do is tell a girl who is trying to do that, that she is indeed fat.
Men should be praising us for our sexiness. We know we aren’t perfect. Give us a slight kick in the arse to get motivated. Don’t cripple our will to live.
Because when I do get that fight in me, the yearning to transform myself, the will power to go out and get my body back, you might not want to be the guy who called me fat.
Because not only will I possibly kick your ass…I’m gonna look hot doing it.
This blog is for every woman who has ever been put down by a man, made to feel less than awesome because they have a few extra pounds, my best friend who is struggling to gag down a shitty breakfast every morning to look okay in a bathing suit soon. For the girl who was bullied because she wasn’t a size two, the girl who has a female reproductive disease that keeps her from losing that last 20 pounds, the girl who eats her feelings, the woman who simply just can’t get motivated, and the one who works her ass off in the gym and still jiggles a little.
I encourage everyone reading this to start supporting one another. Check out campaigns like This Girl Can and go get your freak on…no seriously. Watch the video below. Just the best damn motivation I’ve seen in a loooooong time, Ladies.
I’m back in the gym with a bad-ass trainer on Monday. Hot Doctor, Douchecanoe School Friend and the guy who rejected me over a package full of 365 handwritten love letters will be kissing my lily white, hot ass in no time. 🙂
Now pardon me, while I go get my sassy lil’ freak on.
xx Sassy Lil’ Biscuit
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