Choufleur

2008-02-14T19:34:00.004-05:00

The Single Girl's Guide to Surviving Valentine's Day

Less than half of the population is single, 44% to be exact. That means 100 million people spent Valentine’s Day solo. Assuming that half of all single people are women, 50 million girls whispered sweet nothings to themselves on February 14. Shares in Kleenex went through the roof and 100 million gallons of triple chocolate rocky road “disappeared.” Being alone on the greeting card industry’s favorite holiday is no reason to be down in the dumps. Next Valentine’s Day, don’t spend it feeling blue; follow a few simple rules to keep yourself in the pink.

Light Candles and open that heart-shaped box of chocolates. Buy yourself flowers, a dozen roses if that strikes your fancy. Take a romantic bubble bath and listen to “Three Times a Lady.” The only occasion Lionel Richie is appropriate listening and it certainly beats “Dancing on the Ceiling.” Do something special for yourself. No one else is going to cherish you if you don’t appreciate yourself.
Get Dressed-up to spend the evening with two very special men, Ben and Jerry. Go ahead and put on the sexy red lingerie you bought to wear for a long gone ex. Compliment the bunny slippers with a little black dress. Break out the curling iron and hair spray. Who cares if no one is there to see you but the cat? If you look good, you’ll feel good about yourself.
Set the table for a romantic dinner delivered from your favorite restaurant. Put the lace table cloth down. Fill the good crystal with wine, out of a box is fine. Serve it on the fine china with grandma’s silver even if dinner is chicken chow-mein from the Chinese place on the corner. One place setting isn’t too much to wash, tomorrow. Enjoy a meal with the one person who will always be there for you: yourself.
Lower the Lights and turn on the DVD player. There are so many appropriate movies. Anything with explosions and doomed star-crossed lovers is always a good choice: Titanic, Terminator, Romeo + Juliet, the one with Leo DiCaprio and guns. If you’re feeling optimistic, root for the lovers to win. If not, you feel validated when everyone dies. Feel free to be petty. They’re fictional characters, they don’t have feelings. It works out better than hoping actual couples fail.
Strip down and slip into something more comfortable, bed but don’t go alone. Cuddle with a favorite teddy bear or the cat. Sleeping with someone whose world revolves around you will make your night. Snuggle down with Fluffy and tell him you love him. It’s okay if he doesn’t say it back, some things are bigger than words.

February 14, 2009 don’t let yourself be one of the millions of sad singles. Take charge of your love life, even if you don’t have one. If you happen to be part of that exclusive 44% without a Valentine, don’t let it get you down. “If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with.” Be your own Valentine; you’ll never get a gift you don’t like.

Worst Feeling Ever

2007-08-08T20:35:00.000-04:00

Today, in an astonishing show of ineptitude, my dentist managed to take four hours to finish a root canal. FINISH the goddamn root canal.

If later in life I'm unable to have children or develop brain cancer, I'm blaming them. They took x-rays three fucking times. They never seem to get it right the first time. And what's worse the pain medication they give me makes me sick. I don't even get to enjoy the sweet, melodic embrace of vicodin singing me to happy land. Because, about two hours after I reach happy land, I get sucked in to the vortex of toss my cookies land.

I don't know if you know what a root canal actually entails:

Sure they make it look simple, a quick trip in with the drill bit. Umm, no it feels more like:

See, I'm fine with the drilling and the scraping and the poking holes and such. The bit that truly is the worst, the part that feels like having your brain flossed with red hot pokers. Oh, it's this part:

See they stick these little measure-y thingies into your tooth and I'm sure that it has a name but I refuse to validate the use of such evil devices. And the leave them in while they struggle outrageously with the x-ray machine. And they hurt like seven devils frolicing about in my jaw nerves. The image in my brain upon the moment of insertion:

And believe me the raw places the dental dam left on my lips is more than enough to dissuade of ever using one for sexual purposes. Trust me. The finding out I'm allergic to condoms experience left me with little desire to ever, ever experience the surprise allergy on my vagina.

So let me just say, that a root canal is the least pleasant experience of my life. Though I'm assured that child birth is worse. Chalk another one up for never having children.

Can I get . . . any of you cunts. . . a drink?

2007-08-07T13:22:00.000-04:00

Mmm, introductions perhaps are in order. Random internet people, I'm Mama Casper for lack of a better nom d' plume. Very pleased to meet you.

About myself, bit of a freak I guess. I'm nearly twenty and a college student. So I'm aggravating and broke most of the time. I drink a bit but my stomach generally rebels against such gratuitous abuse. Charmingly illustrated by a dear friend of mine.

I don't smoke any more except for the odd drunken cigar. Or hookah which I was gifted with for my last birthday. And nobody smokes pot out of my hookah. Mostly because I'm not allowed to have them on campus and if I get caught with it, I'm rather not be facing possession charges too.

I have been known to indulge in pursuits of the cannabis nature but only on rare occasions and only in the company of friends.

I actually have no clue what my breast are doing in that picture but it looks like they're trying to escape my bra.

Bit of a sex fiend. Whenever I don't pick up my phone, my friends tactfully assume I'm fucking and call back after the appropriate amount of time has past. I have an entire list of sex toys and kinks I'm trying out. Well, not an actual list though that would be an easier way to keep track of them.

As of the moment I am writing this, I haven't had sex in almost six weeks. The top to my bottom, the dom to my sub, my lover and all round buttface is out of the country and I've still another week before I get to see him again. It's been terribly trying. But I'm thinking the bitch factor has more to do with pms than lack of sex.

This has run entirely too long and if anyone is still reading at this point, I'm much more interesting than I originally thought.