Behind Lemon Bars.

Fuck making lemonaid. I have my hand in many pies and I am HAPPY. I am never, ever happy when I am a nanny. I love the babies and I take care of them and nurture then and teach them but after 20 fucking years my heart is no longer in it, and has not been in quite some time.

I’M FUCKING DONE. With them, the incessant ennui, but more than that, their fucking parents and thier bullshit.

I look like shit when I drag myself out of bed and go to work because I hate my fucking job and I am better than it. I am well, read, have travelled everywhere, a dancer, educated in interior design, nutrition, cooking, and am a teal hair, heaviliy tattooed make-up artist. I also have the story and the talent.  What the fuck am I doing continuing to squander my talents for easy money and security?

I have been gorgeous every day since I lost my job. Dresses, gorgeous hair, full make-up, jewelry, make-up and amazing shoes as apposed to the dumpy bun and shitty yoga pants, flip-flops and tanks tops I wore to work as a nanny every day.

I mean it. I am lovely. I love my 16 PT. jobs AND I AN NOT GOING BACK TO ANOTHER FUCKING NANNY JOB, NO MATTER HOW MUCH MONEY THEY FUCKING OFFER ME.

Other news? I’ve lost 30 lbs. Bye, Bye, Prednisone.

Oh, and suck it.

Hard.

What else? I had to unload some gingers. One of them was so patently embarrassing I am actually horrified that I had THE SEX with him (though I *did* fall asleep, not that I blame him, as I had had a very trying weeeknd)…he was incredibly kind to me so I offered to cook for him (name the last motherfucking time I offered to do that for anyone. Don’t worry, I’ll wait.)

We seemed cool, he had shit to do, I was doing plenty, but it suddenly occured to me that he never hollered to see if I was okay (and he knew that shit was REAL) and there I was offering to make him fucking Beuof Bourgignon and he’s giving me the runaround and all these lame-ass excuses and no, nigga, just no – you came at me when I was vulnerable, you bounced and now, “My friends know that I am a Special Snowflake who need lot of alone time to create (bylines? ZERO, unlike Jed Texass, who has accomplished more in 22 years  standing still than you could ever hope to churining out your “Special Snowflake Lonely Man Tome” in your 40’s too bad, so sad), …” and here’s the thing.

If you’re being a dick? Stop it. And if your friends are enabling your bullshit they are doing you no favors. Oh, and you’re gross. So I booted his selfish, entitled, homoerotically obsessed with Morrissey ass and kept it moving.

I also unmoored David Bowie, which makes me sad because his name was David Bowie, but he was also a) lame and b) full of shit and I am a fucking Berserker and my kindness and compassion are rare and very easy to lose. So adieu, Gingers. You’ve both been replaced.

And. By. So. Many.

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They just keep coming…and coming….

I have been officially cleared of mania. (and my used-to-be-cool now a Grandmother knitting an afghan while peering at me over her half glasses psychiatrist is making me come to fucking Larchmont once a WEEK to check for crazy eyes or NO DRUGS FOR ME so I am really and truly cleared)  but I have pretty much fucked non-stop since I got fired. Which was last Saturday? I went from sticking my nose up at everyone to begging them all to stick it in.

 It must be summer. There is this sudden onslaught of gorgeous, well-kempt,  good smelling and better tasting  gingers with English accents, Scottish accents, Irish accents; funny gingers, gorgeous gingers, tall, tall, tall gingers, able bodied gingers, bitchy gingers, clever gingers, luscious gingers who kiss for days and fuck for weeks, sexy gingers, hott gingers, rich gingers, aggressive gingers, shy gingers, gingers at the pub, gingers in the ocean, gingers on the UES, gingers in my cab, gingers in my bed, gingers in my mouth, gingers in  my sex, gingers  who can FUCK…honestly, this is just ridiculous.  And really fucking FUN.

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Mo Gingers Mo Problems

Okay, the car is picking me up at 10:30 and I am going to, “Tao” but I haven’t had interwebz so quick, quick, I’ve lost almost 2 stone, as well as my job, and it was a fuck-up that did not involve the girls and I took it as a God damned sign from the Baby Jesus that my ass needs to get the fuck out of the strip mall that is Queens.

I had the secks and it was all sweet and ethereal and lovely but there was no fucking. I mean, we fucked, and I know he has it it him to throw one, but I was…sad. And he was kind. And now I have Wanker Claw from last night and the new ginger I’ve aquired who took me to The Russian Tea Room.

Tonight it’s Tao. Two nights in a row? Dare I? I am ashamed of myself and my complete lack of game. In other news, being unemployed has really freed up my time to get free dinners and aquire little known but painful afflictions. Wanker’s Claw is a real thing!

Where’s my telethon?

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“I will literally be the woman who lived in her shoe(s)…”

Oh, fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine, ass riders. Sorry I haven’t been posting, but I all I do is look for apartments and complain. Still losing weight. Really, that’s really all. No sex, so I buy shoes online for stress therapy. To quote another friend who is currently househounting, “I hate you/me.” That’s all I’ve got. When you see me living in a cardboard box in an underpass on the LIE give me my diginty and look away.

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What Has Dick Done For Me Lately… Also, Divorce is Hard on The Whole Family

So I wrote this in February of aught nine. Right after my husband and I split up. Did I seriously proceed to fuck every tall, washed, unbearded Hipster in Brooklyn before settling down with a twat of a married man from South Carolina for nearly four years? Yes, yes I did. And was I seriously fucking 13 when I wrote this…diary entry? SQUEEEEEEEEE!!!!!! Anyway, this strikes me as both hilarious and, ultimately, terrifying. I am never ever going to be in a relationship for the rest of my life not never unless it involves me being Blanche collecting lingerie for needy, sexy people on the linai with my old broads living fabulous Golden Girls lives in Fl. I’m so done.

And what is my fucking obsession with The (Oh Mighty Sword Oh Pen Is! -Fuck you for doing that to me, Bill) dick? WHAT HAS IT DOES FOR ME LATELY?  it is forever up to no good and is inevitably attached to a braying jackass whom I’d like to fuck the dogshit out of me and then get the fuck out so I can re-watch, “BattleStar Galactica” without explaining vital plot points, or which Boomer is which.

I’ve been trying to do this thing in my advanced senile dementia where I try and be friends with dudes who I like but, for whatever reason I don’t want to stick it in and that, hookers, can eat a big fat dick.  You’re chasing after some dude who isn’t following through or texting you whe he said he would and you’re not even getting your pussy eaten out of the deal. Hang that the fuck up, bitches. If I’m  fucking you, I’m  barely dealing with your bullshit, and if you’re not making mre come on the regular? MOVE IT THE FUCK ALONG, SON.  So I am reprinting this so you can laugh at how disgustingly, hilariously, pathetically GAY I was, and also as a warning to myself.

FUTURE MELISSA, LISTEN TO THE LADY UP THERE! SHE’S REALLY FUCKING SMART! SHE TAKES REALLY GOOD CARE OF YOU! SHE LOVES YOU! SHE’S THE ONE WHO HAS TO DRAG YOU AROUND EVERY TIME YOU GET YOUR HEART GUTS CURB STOMPED OUT! KEEP COLLECTING SHOES, PERFUME, AND ‘ALICE IN WONDERLAND’ CHOTCHKES! STOP TAKING RISKS ON ASSHOLES! STAY ALIVE & I WILL FIND YOU!!! (OH, AND DON’T LISTEN TO HER ABOUT WHAT SHE SAID ABOUT FUCKING. SHE’S A BOSSY ASSHOLE. FUCK *HER*. KEEP FUCKING ENGLISH BOYS, THEY NEVER HURT NOBODY.)

So now, without further ado, the queerest unedited shit ever. EVAR.

Teh List.

February 4, 2009

I just went to Relish for brunch with Vanesscipes. We had Greyhounds and (for her, veggie) burgers and they were fantastic. Anyway, we giggled and checked out all the hipster boys (who were out in all of thier stunning resplendance), decided that now that I am single again it would be a problem for us to go out together as we like the same elusive quality in a man (ridiculously tall) and if we met one that caught both our eyes we would handle it with a simple fist fight.
We also discussed the latest misses in our love lives (dusters and mincing walks and none of it okay) and she copped to having made “TEH list” of things she wanted in her next partner. And I was like, “Oh, fine,” and pulled out TEH list that I had made in my paper journal because I am that gay and proceeded to orated it aloud (because, again, I am that gay.) Then we went and tried to see Prince in his usual spot at Verb, but he was not out. So we got coffee. And looked at dudes some more.
(Because I am totally fucking boy crazy and worse than a 7th grade girl.)
Anyway, tomorrow will be one month without fucking and I totally plan on holding out for the remaining two (although there may be the slightest bit of sexually inappropriate behavior on my part as I mean, I am who I am) but when I get back into the dating scene this is the sort of dude I want.
TEH list:
not a faggot. tall. smart. sleeves with good gorgeous tattoos including the totally gay hardcore one he got when he was straight edge (and maybe even really, really cheesy ones that say, like, ac/dc and shit. I just want someone who was making records when you were sucking your mother’s dick. No fronters. no “just add water”). not a pussy. has mad flavor. hilarious. loud. obnoxious. ridiculous dancer. sexy bitch. witty. exceedingly well-read (reads actual novels. maybe even quotes them.) emotionally available. has a good heart. consistant. fucks for days. can cook, or at least can appreciate my cooking. not a mama’s boy (sorry, tugalug). weighs more than I do. good taste in music. knows from the smiths. hot as fuck.
gives really good head, knows his way around a g-spot, and is totally turned on by me (and not in a gross, “be my geisha” mysogynistic way like THFM ™ was). Also, not misogynistic, ( and in advance: “Yes, I spelled it wrong twice, Keith, I am too lazy to look it up. Eat me.”) period. loves and respects women. adores me. has good hair (and this includes facial hair, as it matters. I’m sorry, but it just does. no bluto beards.) not trifling. is forgiving. can support his own ass. can hang. has some sort of talent (artist, writer, banjo player (hey branden), whatever, just be creative and interesting.) wears good old school sneakers and not cowboy boots ( good shoes are also terribly important to me, as I am hopelessly shallow. I really like Pumas. And Shell-toes. And Gazelles.)
adventurous. loves it when I give him road head. can drive a fucking car so that I can give him road head. (would be nice if he owned a hot-ass car like tugalug’s ,but I realize that is unlikely in Brooklyn, but it would be totally dope. I’m just saying.) well dressed, dammit. (no Cosby sweaters. no dusters. no bad jeans.) is not full of shit, can totally fucking hang, has decent teeth, lives in Brooklyn as I love Brooklyn so much I want to fuck it. is REAL. can rock a porkpie hat like Blake Feilder-Civil. appreciates teh big boobs and teh hotness that is my tattooed feet. is an amazing kisser.
can man a bbq. not a vegan. digs culinary adventures. has been in relationships and had his heart broken and learned from it. is not a big withholding baby. can hold his alcohol. has a signature drink. is cool. loves coney island. is a bass player (all right, fine. I’ve gone too far. but dammit, it’s my list and while I’m here, southern accents are so fucking hot). kind. has a soul. is sexually openminded without being a vile freak. is a grown-ass man. not a junkie. can handle me when i am crazy. cocksure. And finally, is awesome, just totally fucking awesome.
I realize I am probably going to be alone for the rest of my life, but there it is. TEH list.
************************************************************
OMFG Pt. 2. It has to be the ring. Or I am older and at my sexual peak? Maybe because it’s a barbell and it’s thicker and more of it is in there or I never really got into the shower head because I was all about the rabbit but, just OMFG. I heart screamy awesome o-gasms 4-eva and I am never leaving my bathtub ever again.
And also I was thinking for my next tattoo I would get a tasteful portrait of Ruthie on my forearm. Not too big, maybe 8″x4″ inches. Maybe her high school yearbook picture. What do you think?
Back to 2012.
                  I’d like to blame this on the divorce but I am still driven by my cunt and my need to look good and to have teal hair and tattoos so what have we learned, really? I’ve got n0thing.
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AN DEN? ANNNN DEEEENNNNN????? AAAANNNNNN DEEEEENNNNNNNN????

If I were honest I would change the name of this blog to vodkaandfuckingpeopleup.

It’s been a rough couple of weeks, bitches.  I am going to make a mini vagina-blog exception and break some shit down. Entire Birth Family Found My Brother, My Sister, & I after 27 years, 10 of which were spend in 38 different foster homes. Why, yes. Finding My Cocksucker of a Deadbeat Father is  FACEBOOK FRIENDS (With His Old Ass) With One of My Dead Mother’s Brothers and Never Once Asking After The Daughter He hadn’t Seen Since She Was, Like, 8? There was that. STUPIDLY (WHAT IS MY NUMBER ONE RULE? DON’T CHASE TRIFLING NIGGAS. WHY IS THIS MY NUMBER ONE RULE? BECAUSE OF THIS VERY TRIFLING ASS NIGGA.)  Contacting The Talking Piece of Human Dogshit Who Didn’t Even Have The Class To Offer Me Condolances on The Loss of My Mother and Me Completely Losing my Shit and Acting Out By Throwing Drinks in Dude’s Faces in Bars When I Wasn’t Throwing NYC Cares Condoms at Some Slutty Barkeep Whose Jib I Decided I Didn’t Like The Cut of Whilst Calling her a “Harlot” , a “Trollop” a “Hoyden” and a, “Strumpet”? That may have gone down.

Then there were the stories about my mother and the beautiful pictures of her before life ruined her. The love.   One baby picture of her that I kept trying to hug through my computer as though I could fix her before she was broken. While all this was going on and I’m running around like a crazy person some…person not related to my family randomly dragged 50 years out of the past and threw a bunch of allegations regarding my poor fucking mother who is finally at peace up so I had to go after this bitch…HOWEVER, I did it with sugar, and not vinegar (okay, one threat to drive down there if she didn’t go to my mother’s grave and apologize for disturbing my mother’s peace, but mostly I shamed her) , and I made her cry, and oddly, she owns a flower shop, and does funeral plots, and she is going to plant year round plants as well as flowers in my mother’s favorite colors. As I am in New York and cannot take care of it myself, it would really be such a gift if someone could, even if she is crazy. Misguided and insane though she is, she loved my mother, and you know what? I’ll take the free flowers. She deserves them. She deserved so much. So much.

While this madness is going on I am involved in a triangle of bullshit with my landlord and my dirty ass roommates. Basically the landlord wants to sell the house and he is trying to illegally evict everyone. My ex husband was a NYC realtor and my foster father was a Realty Lawyer and you’re going to turn off the electricity and try and give me two weeks verbal notice when I’ve lived in this crackhouse where I can’t cook because I once saw a coackroach and now have PTSD (what?) for 4 months and after 30 days I have, “Squatter’s Rights” and even if my rent wasn’t paid (which is it) your ass would still have to take me to court? Yeah, no.

Then the roommates turned on me because they don’t get that they need to GTFO. I immediately move everything in my room because I don’t trust these people and I go into The Bride    Mode. He fucks with the computer so I can’t access the wireless I am paying for and his cunt girlfriend (this short round Asian girl who I could punt down the stairs like a football) starts running her mouth (I ignored her and only communicated with him, as I don’t speak that girl dialect commonly known as, “Cunt”) and then he  TRIES TO CHANGE THE LOCKS ON MY BEDROOM DOOR. There will be no fucking with my personal belongings. I am crafty so I call the police, rat them out, he is being admonished by the popo and is told he can be arrested for such behavior as I am building pipe bombs in my bedroom, then I take one of my serial killer post cards, write,  “While I was trying to figure out why the guy was saying what the guy  was saying, Nickie just hit him. No matter how big a guy might be, Nickie would take him on. You beat Nickie with fists, he comes back with a bat. You beat him with a knife, he comes back with a gun. And if you beat him with a gun, you’d better kill him, because he’ll keep coming back, and back, until one of you is dead.” -Ace, ‘Casino’ on it, stab it into his door with a knife, and change my locks.

His ass has, having been neutralized, goes off to sulk in his room, behind a door that I tell him I will take off it’s hinges and have a yard sale with his shit if he DARES come near my door again, which I have a Target Practice Poster hanging on, just in case. Then the landlord starts losing his mind and trying to psychologically torture us out of the apartment. I was married to a sociopath for 5 years. Come at me, bro. I wake up Saturday AND Sunday to these obscene drilling noises and open my window to a Mexican wang in my face as they are doing work directly above my bed. First day, I’m cool, Second day, I’m screaming out the window in my curlers and threatening to come down in my muumuu, knee his and slippers. So then I pretend I’m not there when they are supposed to show the house (no one gave *me* any legally required 24 hour written notice) and it was a contractor and they lost $10,000. You reap what you sow, fuckers. The son attacked me and I got it on film and he tried to evict me with this bullshit “letter” from a “lawyer” that was, for all intents and purposes, a flier, a  flier that was NOT notarized, NOT delivered by registered mail, NOT signed by the lawyer, NOT affiliated with any court case on file and oh, was NOT real so I made it into a Papa John’s Flier’s with free coupons and said, “Look! Now it’s worth something” and mailed it back.

Then the kid got in my face and a cab driver got out with a tire iron and he called the police and the driver and I were in the wind (Free advice, kids; TIP WELL. ALWAYS. People will have your back if you have theirs) and the cops showed up to him and his, “boys” and their ridiculous “complaint and there was no crazy Berserker and her getaway taxi and they called him a faggot and told him to man up soooooo he broke into my room (seriously, these are grown men. What do you want with all of my lingerie and shoes? All the good shit is locked up, ffs) and had, like, a little temper tantrum with my pillows and blankets. So I took nail polish and vandalized the hallway, woke up the next day, called the police, said they were trying to illegally evict me and I think they were trying to frame me, told his father…and he got his ass beat for it. I decided I was done so I squashed the beef with the main dude, I mean, I can’t live like this – I’m grown. I had my own apartment for 10 years. I am just staying in a cheap place until I feel comfortable knowing that my ass is covered in the event of any emergency before I sign a lease and I am stuffing my mattress just like my drug dealing daddy taught me (do not confuse him with the TRIFLING NIGGA) I told him I was moving August 4th and good luck to him and whatever they decided to do.

The other roommate and his girlfriend are still being passive aggressive cunts but, again, I don’t speak girl so I let that shit roll right off me. What’s hilarious is that the landlord’s son and I made up and he was like, “You were right about everything, you are hardcore, allow me to learn at your knee, black magic woman who can summon both taxis and the devil” and now we are grudge-free and mad cool. We laugh at how ridiculous we were and we both admitted we acted like fools, you know, whatevs. I gave him a step-by-step tutorial on how to actually evict someone and he was like, “Oh, my God, the Pizza flier? Evil genius! And my dad really thinks I painted that shit in the hall.” “I was all, “Listen, Blanket Tantrum, you should have stayed out of my shit.” and he was like, “That was so gay.” And he owned his shit. That’s all it takes with me. Own your shit, and don’t fuck me over again, because I will ice you the fuck out of my life so fast you won’t even feel the snowball until the blood is dripping out of your nose.  So I am not flouncing, I am just bouncing. Also, apparently the GROWN ASS man I live with called the kid at 2 am and tattled about the postcard and how he was ascared of the girl with the tattoos of the brass knuckles and the sense of righteous indignation (I have debilitating asthma. This dude is a nurse for a lung doctor. If I have an attack and I can’t use my nebulizer because he illegally turned off the electricty, there’s a good chance I could die, or at the very least get more lung damage. I cannot afford to play the Reindeer Games and don’t let your mouth write a check your ass won’t cash because that Casino quote is no joke. I won’t come back with a bat, but I will wear you down until you are defeated. Which I have. ) and the landlord’s son was all, “DO I LOOK LIKE A DOMESTIC VIOLENCE HOTLINE? CALL THE POPO.” We laughed until we cried. Real talk.

But just – it’s been a lot. And on top of this I am looking for an apartment and Queens is just NOT COOL. The only neighborhood I really like is on the N/Q line which would be dope, but as I work knee deep in Queens I have to find something on the M/R or near a bus that gets me here. And I’ll tell you what. I am SO NOT SETTLING again. I will rent a truck, put my shit in storage and pay through the ass to sublet in a gorgeous place for August before I move into another shithole in Elmhurst. My old apartment had a doorman, a deck, an elevator, a dining room, a dishwasher, a guest room, closets, including 2 walk-in closets, that were bigger than most bedrooms I see, a giant master bedroom, a livingroom the size of a bar, beautiful hardwood floors, a great kitchen with insane cabinet space, and I lost it because living at the end of the world made no sense without a car, but real talk? Queefs is gay. If any of you have any leads or suggestions of ideas about good neighborhoods please help a sister out because I am for real on my last nerve and I can’t even use my Spa gift certificates until August when I have a day off.

:::collapsed onto fainting couch:::

All right, we now return to our regularly scheduled program. I have painted myself into a corner, and now I have THE HORN so fucking bad I am considering just sitting on random dude’s junk on the subway. “Ooops, sorry, but, you know, while I’m here…” My fucking Rabbit is a) judging me b) leaving dating sights open when I come back to the computer c) Telling me it has a headache and d) hiding the AA batteries, the asshole. Now that I am done laying waste to the world and everyone in it I should change the name to vodkaandfuckingmyself? I have my work house and car this weekend. I want to go to Long Beach (I’d go to Coney but Derby madness, and I want peace) relax, drink a bit, maybe eat some oysters, and FUCK. But not some random strange, or else I would just make one of those traps out of a cardboard box attached to a string and put, like my vagina in it and trap the first penis it ensnares. It’s not even about fucking off some of this fat (which would also be helpful, but no) I am legit in need of the whole        kissing, licking, biting, clawing, sucking, spanking, shagging, fucking hard core experience. While you are looking out for apartments, please look out for an English cock to throw my way as well, please and thank you.

I SAID PLEASE, MOTHERFUCKERS.  APB. ANGLOPHILE PENIS BULLETIN.

The weight continues to fly off…I think the fact that I go for literal days without eating and have pretty much survived on Xanax and Ketel One since this Tsunami of relatives back from the dead and leaving threats in people’s doors with knives and all the little beautiful Mommies and trying to find a new home in this Bunghole of a burough combined with the fact that the only food I ever *do* feel like eating is, like 2 pieces of sashimi and adult Gummi Vitamins. My body is so fucking happy to be OFF the Prednisone the fat is just STAMPEDING away. I don’t have a pic this week because, really? Be lucky I haven’t killed anyone and be done with it. My life has been extreme, and insane, and ridiculous and I’m still here, so suck it. Or rather, find me a peen, and *I’ll* suck it.

xxx

P.S. Yes, I said, “Bunghole”, and it is all “SugarBlind’s fault.

P.S.S. I really did say, “Come at me, bro.” In my defense, I kept my shirt on.

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