All I want for Christmas is..

Dear Santa,

God, it's me Margaret.

Hey Santa, it's me Courtney. It's been awhile hasn't it? I'm sorry I haven't written; I've been really busy. There has been a lot on my plate with the Election, the world ending, trying to date - when all I want to do is stay in bed and troll DT on twitter.. it's been a lot to process and deal with.

I can feel your eyes rolling.. Trust me Santa it's really stressful. Okay! Fine! I'll be honest. I have a really hard time writing to a fantasy fat man in the sky. There I said it! I don't think I believe in you. If there was a Santa, why on earth did you allow a narcissistic mad man gain control of the most powerful position in America? How the hell does that make sense Santa? What kind of Christmas miracle is that? Huh? Answer me Christopher T. Cringle!

I'm sorry. I haven't slept much and I haven't had whiskey in weeks. I'm all out of sorts. Forgive me? Let's start over, shall we?


Santa, I haven't asked for much. I hardly ever ask for anything, so please understand how important this is to me. I do have to say I have been pretty decent this year.. I haven't murdered anyone. And oddly I only got into a handful of political fights over social media. That's really good; my big ass mouth has a hard time not calling people out on their shit. You feel me, Santa. People be crazy! But I feel I utilized perfect restraint, a majority of the time.

I also took every hit this year with grace! I didn't have a mental breakdown when yet again I found myself on the other end of a break up phone call. I held it together when everything around me started to crash and crumble. I didn't go through an OCD meltdown when my date decided to lick my face. What the fuck was that all about Santa?? I know you saw it!! How can a girl recover from that? How can my face recover? She still wakes up in the middle of the night freaking out and I have to calm her down "It's not your fault Face! Men are gross and think licking you in public on the first date is socially acceptable." I don't think she will ever be the same..

I've kept a smile on my face during every single derogatory and objectifying conversation I've had with online dating suitors. I didn't punch any balls this year! That has to say something, doesn't it? I didn't say a word when my guy friends sent me messages about how disgusting men are and how sorry they are about men treating me like an object, all while in the same breath calling me "Sexy" and ending it with "We should go out sometime."

Basically what I'm trying to say Santa, I've been a good girl this year and I feel you owe me. I have taken a lot of hits and I think it's about damn time I get what I want! I don't want world peace, I know you're not a magician. It would be nice, but I feel my wishes... wait are these wishes? That feels too Arabian Nights rub my lamp to me. Prayers? Questions? Requests? Whatever I'm not good at this. Where was I? Oh yeah! I don't think my requests can really be of the world peace nature. That's a lot of pressure and I'm not ready for all that commitment.

That being said Santa; I would really like a long soak in a tub, a plate of Mexican food, and a puppy to cuddle.
If you want to throw a dude who loves and respects me in the mix.. I won't be mad.


Thanks Santa! You're a peach! Stay safe out there... it's fucking nuts!


Always,

Courtney
xoxo

My First Encounter..

You haunt me. I can't seem to get you out of my mind. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about you, crave you. I often think about the first day we met. Do you remember?

It was a warm summer evening; a nearby fan gently kissed my ears with its soft hum. I pulled my hair out of its tousled bun and bit my lip out of curiosity. Will I meet you tonight? A quivering giggle escaped my lips. Tonight is the night.

I took my time getting ready. I didn't want to rush,  I slowly brushed my hand across my hanging clothes in wonder. What would you want to see me in? What would make this real? I chose a forest green form fitting shirt with my favorite skinny jeans. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I could feel you. I know you are near. I gently sprayed my perfume on my neck. The smell of fresh anticipation filled the room, I'm ready. Leaning into a mirror to apply a rose tinted gloss; my senses are overwhelmed by cherry, sweet decadent cherry. The vibrating pulse of my phone sends chills down my spine. It's time.

I rush to the door, and before I leave I stop and look at the living room. My life will forever change tonight. I studied the paintings on the wall and how haphazardly a crocheted blanket hung over a love seat. My eyes skimmed the coffee table; they were met by a neatly set candle and photo book. Can I have you there? My eyes begin to widen and burn with desire, the grin on my face is unrecognizable and the knots in my stomach began to twist. I need you.

The air felt warm and delicious on my skin as I rolled down the window of my car. I've never felt so alive, driving through the hustle and bustle of the city streets, with my hand gently waving through the breeze. The sounds of sultry percussion flood my ears, the aggressive beats of the drum, feels animalistic. I'm energized.

The sights and sounds seem so familiar, I'm getting close. My heart starts to take on the animalistic drumming and a blanket of heat rushes over my body. I can see you. I park my car and fumble as I take the keys out of the ignition. One last look in the mirror. "You can do this"

I open the door, I'm greeted by a jingle of bells as the door shuts behind me. I nervously clench my hands together, the beads of sweat caress my skin, I may come undone with excitement. The cool metal chair chills my skin as I sit, all while my senses are dancing with the sensual smells. And then it happened.

"Are you Courtney?" he said. I sheepishly looked up at him and said "Hi, yes I'm Courtney." He smiled an approving smile. My heart jumped. This is happening, it's all I ever wanted and it's happening right now!

"Okay, 5 rolled tacos with extra sour cream? Did you want a soda?" he asked while preparing my order.
 Trying to muffle my excitement I said "No, just the tacos, thank you."

I needed you, I couldn't wait to get home. I had to have you right then and there. I devoured you one by one in the Roberto's Taco Shop parking lot. Napkins were not necessary, I didn't want to stop. The taste of fried tortilla and cheese consumed me. You are a god. I love you 5 rolled tacos. I love you endlessly. You make me a better woman, I love who I am when I'm with you.

I forever miss you.

Breaking up is hard to do

Dear Donald Trump,

       Wow, how did we get here? It's been an interesting year hasn't it? We have learned so much about each other. Actually you don't know shit about me.. it's just been you, you, you this entire time. But I digress.. I am at a stage in my life where I'm looking seriously and systematically for someone I can share my life with. You seem like a nice person to 35-45% of Americans, but I just don't see it. Or get it. I know this letter might come to you as a shock, because what woman on earth would want to break up with You, The Donald, The Trump! The Pussy Grabber!? I know, I'm a silly silly woman. I just can't do this anymore DT, can I call you that? Is that okay? I want you to be very happy. It's very important to me.

       We are just on different paths. I want equal pay and the freedom to make decisions concerning my own body. You want to cheat people out of hard earned money and you also like to grab pussies. Like a lot. What's with that DT? Do you think your money and status has power over vaginas? Do you think a woman's genitalia will automatically recognize your tiny hands and be okay with a good ol' fake billionaire gropage? Sadly, my love, that is not the case. I know you don't believe me, but you have to trust me on this one. Oh and darling, you're not much of a looker yourself. Every time I hear your voice or see your glowing orange face I get chills.. chills of the nausea nature. I want to puke, I want to puke my brains out. You're gross. Ridiculously gross, and did you ever learn how to blow your nose? Seriously the sniffing has to stop! How can I trust a man who can't blow his nose? This is serious Donald.. believe me.

       I'm choosing to walk away from this relationship with my head held high. You have done nothing for me emotionally, physically, or sexually. Financially all you have offered was to make you and your "good friends" (we know they don't exist.. we know.) richer. I know you made a huuuge donation to your own lawyers. That doesn't count, nope, not even a little bit. Have you noticed that all of your buddies are dropping like flies? No one wants to be around you, and not because you are inventive and a genius force to be reckoned with. People can't stand you because you are an uneducated racist who uses and abuses women and threatens war like it's a conversation at brunch. And nobody fucks with brunch.. Nobody!


      We've had some good times though. Remember when you said all Mexicans were rapists? We laughed and laughed because you were just deflecting your own self onto another race. Remember honey? You're the rapist. Oh and I will never forget when you called Alicia Machado 'Miss Piggy' and continued to embarrass her for gaining weight. Sugar-pie Honey-bunch you are fat as fuck. Most doctors in America would categorize you as being obese. You do not have room (in your pants) to talk. That reminds me my love, you keep blaming your words of sexual assault on women as "Locker room talk" Now we all know you have never been in a locker room.. your Jabba the Hutt physique says otherwise. Unless you were talking about the locker room with the naked TEEN beauty queens you barged in on regularly, because you can. If that's what you were talking about, then I apologize.. you have definitely been in a locker room.


      It's not you.. it's you. I cannot continue this union anymore and I hope you can respect that. I expect to be publicly embarrassed and my looks will be the reason of our ultimate demise. "I mean look at her.." That's just you, it's who you are. I would hope you can take this time to reflect and really understand my words.. maybe do some yoga? Maybe even a pottery class will help you understand what a complete douchebag you are. I hope you find your center Donald. I really do.


Kisses,

Courtney Marie

     

"Everything is fine.. thanks!"

 Hashtag Adulting.


You know the feeling, when you are trying on a pair of skinny jeans in a Forever 21 dressing room? You somehow, by the grace of god, get them all the way on without pulling a muscle. Your Michigan (muffin top) is bursting at the seams and you are losing circulation in your thighs. You say "These will do" as you look how amazing your ass looks squeezed into sweatshop made material. You start to take off the toddler sized jeans, while a heat of panic flows over your body. You can't get them off! They are holding your thighs hostage and never letting go. I don't even think Liam Neeson and his particular set of skills can help you now. Shit! What do I do? I can't waddle out to the 18 year old dressing room attendant and ask her for help. What is she going to do? Snapchat my misfortune and thank god she has a thigh gap? I'm crying at this point, thankfully Justin Bieber's "Sorry" is blasting so the nearby tweens can't hear my sobs. Sobs of desperation and sobs of "What the fuck am I doing here?" You are 30 years old Courtney! What are you trying to prove? At this point you are starting to sweat and every movement you make, like a boa constrictor, the jeans are getting tighter and tighter.

--Knock Knock-- "How's everything going in there?"
Maybe if I hold my breath, she'll go away! "Everything is fine.. thanks."

Is this how I'm going to die? Will my life end here? In this super loud, gum on the wall, terrible lighting, cell of a dressing room? "Courtney lost her life today while fighting a metaphorical pair of jeans in a local shopping mall, she didn't die in vain though.. her ass did look banging."

I say NAY! This is not how it ends! Not today! Not on Rex Manning day! No one in the store understood that reference.. because they are children.
I did what any self respecting woman would do. I pulled the Satan's mistress's pants up, ripped off the tag, and paid for them. I walked out of the store with absolute confidence and loss of oxygen. Pulled the life ruining jeans down to my thighs as I got into the car.. Super happy I chose to wear sassy black panties.. as opposed to period granny ones. Ya know, just in case I get pulled over by a hot cop.. and he falls in love with me and puts the siren on at our wedding. I finally made it to the privacy of my own home and I cut those fuckers off. Never again will I forget who I am.

Never again.

I'll 'Oh Canada' all over your face..

I got kicked out.

Have you ever been kicked out of something? You know that awful feeling of "Wait... what did I do??" as your ass is being metaphorically or physically pushed out of a door, elevator, revolving door, garage door, barn door... basically any entry way. I recently had the pleasure of getting kicked out. Now, I am no stranger to the kicking outage process.. I've been the kicker outer as well as the kickey outey. I just made that up.. I like it. My prior experiences have nothing on my recent banishment. Trust me, I've been kicked out of bars.. twice. Kicked out of stores, kicked out of hearts, kicked out of houses, kicked out of Super Spy clubs.. Yeah Jessica I'm still holding on to that one! We were 8 and I'm sorry my brilliant ideas were too advance for your tiny brain. I was the best Super Spy and you know it! Bitch.

All of those are child's play compared to what happened to me just two months ago. Let's go back shall we? I was living in Seattle, about to embark on an epic adventure. My life is forever changing and I was about to take an awesome step and move to another country. I have lived in other states, countries and visited places that most people my age have never witnessed, so this move was just another part of my ever evolving life. Seriously guys, I've seen some shit! Like actual shit.. I lived in Downtown LA.

I decided to pack up all of my belongings, toss them in my car and begin a cross country trip, with my boyfriend. Oh yeah, I was moving to this country to start a new life and also live closer to my boyfriend. Ya know.. have my happy ending/beginning. Such a silly silly girl.

The drive was great! I had an amazing time! I saw parts of this country that I never thought I would see. Cows. So many cows!! I think I will comfortably go through life without ever seeing a cow again. Oh and corn!! Corn for days! We definitely drove through some Children of the Corn nonsense and I may or may not have pissed my pants every time I saw a scarecrow. We drove through 12 states.. maybe it was 13? I lost count. Soooo many fucking cows! We were getting closer and closer to my new life. I was so excited! I had the love of my life on my left and cows on my right. Bliss. We reached the border. I've never driven to a border before. Tijuana doesn't count, it's just a continuation of California, but with guns, tequila induced decisions, and donkey shows.

The plan was just to drive on through and start our life together. Sounds so romantic right? As we were arriving to the guard station.. I began to sweat and freak out. I felt like I had to puke and take a major deuce all at the same time. I don't know why I was so scared.. it wasn't like I was smuggling heroin or midget strippers.. again. I just had a couple suitcases and a bag of jerky, teriyaki jerky to be exact. That shit is so good. I'm telling you there is something about tearing apart dried dead animal with your teeth.. that just makes you feel alive! Anyhoo, where was I? Oh yes, I was asked to get out of the car and speak with an immigration border control representative.. or major bitch for short. I walked in with confidence and extremely proud of successfully hiding the ungodly amount of boob sweat under my shirt. Seriously, my boob sweat could run an entire irrigation system with no problems what so ever. Buckets! 

I answered every question Mrs. umm,. I don't remember her name. We will call her Cuntasaurus Rex. I answered every question Cuntasaurus Rex asked me with prowess and grace. I was very polite and looked her in the eye... I feared she might eat me. She looked hungry. She looked me over and not in the lesbian thirsty way, but in the "I'm going to ruin your life today" way.

She asked me if I have ever been arrested. I immediately said no, because I'm perfect and have never made a mistake..well maybe 7 years ago. Wrong answer. She continued to tell me I was not allowed into the country and that I in fact have never been allowed into the country...including the 6 times I have been previously. My vision blurred and I could only see a blob of skin where Cuntasaurus Rex sat. Is this happening? She was talking and all I could hear was Charlie Browns mom.. whomp whomp whomp. She explained that she would not allow me into the country because I lack in substance and would not add anything to her country. What?? Have you met me? I'm full of substance! I reek of substance.. abuse.. alcohol. Wait! No! I didn't mean that! It was a joke.. ha? See I'm funny! And fucking adorable!? No?

I got kicked out. I got kicked out of Canada.. you know the nicest country on earth? The one with maple syrup and monopoly money? The one where everyone says sorry, eh, and buddy? The one with FREE healthcare?!! The one with a Prime Minister who is sexy as all hell.. Yeah, Justin Trudeau, I'm talking about you, you're beautiful. I'll 'Oh Canada' all over your face. I love you.

Am I proud of getting the boot from Canada? No, not really. Does it make me a bit of a badass? Yup! Sure does! Thank you Canada! Me and my badass-ness will go elsewhere!


 QnA:

"Were you really arrested?" 
I don't know what you're talking aboot. (See what I did there? They are fools to have not let me in.. Fools!!)

"What happened between you and your boyfriend?"
Well just like Canada he didn't want my awesome substance either.

"Would you ever go back to Canada?"
Maybe, only if sexy Trudeau hits me up. I'm following him on Insta.. we are soulmates.. sexually. 

I'm going to hell

Do you ever sit back and analyze your life and past? I'm currently going through a pretty tough time and I'm trying to make sense of it all. What could I have done? What should I have done better? Why did all these bad things happen? What did I do wrong? I've done a lot of thinking and the only solution I have come up with is..

Chain letters.

I have never passed a chain letter on.. especially the ones that say "If you ignore this your life will suck.. big time!." Shit. I knew deep down in my heart I should have "liked" and "tagged" 10 people. But No! I had to be too cool and break the chain! Uggh what was I thinking? How does one rectify this? Don't get me started on the "If you have a soul.. like, share, and comment Amen" I didn't post Amen!!! Am I going to die?? Guys.. this is serious! Did Jesus (Hey-Zeus) notice I didn't comment Amen? Is he plotting my death as we speak? I also haven't posted photos of sunsets with really profound quotes or pictures of Marilyn Monroe explaining "If you can't handle me at my worst, you don't deserve me at my best.. yadda yadda" Am I going to make it?? Do I have to prepare my parents for my social media induced death?

I'm deleting my search history as we speak.. and that personal massager in my underwear drawer was for my neck...

Ok, social media Jesus, what do I need to do to stay on this earth for a little bit longer? I know I have failed these past 10 years with internet chains and never filling out online quizzes. What can I do to make up for it?

Farmville.

Fuck no! Sorry guys.. it was fun while it lasted. And again parents.. it was used for my neck.. I have a really stiff.. neck.

Feed Me Seymour!

Don't cry. Don't cry. Damnit Courtney Don't cry!

I'm standing in line at a local Qdoba. The teenager worker just asked me "That's it? That's all you want?"

Wait a second? I came here because I was hungry, this is where burrito dreams come true and now all of a sudden I feel like I need to question every life choice I have ever made. Is it.. all that I want? Do I want more? Do I need more? I could just be fine and settle for the queso and chips.. but do I really just want the guacamole? Do I switch it up and add some salsa? What about just saying "fuck it" and forget the burrito all together and get a taco? Who the fuck is this kid? Are you some kind of burrito therapist? Did you have to go to school for this? Did they teach you to completely break down someone's psyche while you wrap a tasty mexican delicacy?

I stared at this wizard of a child from across the sneeze guard plexiglass in pure wonderment. I could feel the impatient chubs McMidwestern woman huffing and puffing behind me. "Bitch, This is my session! Wait your turn!" I locked eyes with the burrito guru and asked "So when you say 'That's all you want?' are you implying I in fact deserve more?" He stared at me completely confused. "I get it.. you want me to talk.. ok so.."

I'm starting to lose all trust in men. I don't have Daddy issues, so I'm very unsure why I'm surrounded by well.. for lack of a better word.. Dicks! I would totally be a lesbian.. if I wasn't so afraid of vaginas and lack of silence. I know.. how can a female be afraid of an organ that she has? You honestly have no idea what a vagina can do! I automatically think of the plant from "Little Shop of Horrors" "FEEEEEEEED ME!!!!!" That scares the shit out of me.. man. But I digress..

How does one live happily ever after in 2016? Everyone wants the next best thing, an upgrade, or just a better model. Nobody wants to work anymore. If challenges arise, they just leave and go find an easier solution. It's very easy to forget about love and all the life plans you made together.. with just one click of a block button on social media. Out of sight out of mind. And how fake is social media? I can only speak from experience but while I was completely miserable and depressed in Michigan, I posted beautiful, lovey dovey photos of the perfect life I led.. with a man who treated me like I was worthless and invisible every single day. He later cheated on me, just to add salt to my wounds. But to the social media world.. I was happy.

"What do you get from all of this Burrito Buddha? I definitely do deserve more.. right?"

"Umm, Do you want extra cheese for just 25 cents more?"

You get me.. you really do.

Why am I..

Dear Diary,

Today I learned something about myself. I have been living a lie. A complete and utter lie. I don't know what to do, I can't even look myself in the mirror let alone function as a human being. How did this happen? How do I fix this? Diary, what do I do?? I have been a little down in the dumps as of late and I just needed to do some soul searching, ya know? Find out the inner workings of Courtney. Why am I here? What's my purpose? Why do white girls love pumpkin so much? Naturally I went to the Googles, I needed answers immediately. I typed in "Why am I here?" and underneath all the Evolution vs. Jesus articles I found my answer. I'm so ashamed, I can't even.

Diary, today I found out that I am. Wow! My heart is racing and I'm sweating like a whore in church. Ok.. Diary.. I am in fact.. a Millennial.

Riiiiiight?? I can't believe it either! This entire time I thought I was a Generation Y - which according to the Googles is just a made up generation and it does not exist! I'm an entitled, spoiled, lazy MILLENNIAL! I don't think you understand what this has done to my psyche. I have made fun of Millennials, quite regularly. I have told numerous youngsters to "Go cry in a corner and collect your participation medals!" I think I've also said "Cool start up bro.. did you think of that idea in your Mom's basement? After she paid all your bills? Bitch."

Now what? I can't take all those things back. I can't put my tail between my legs and apologize to the Millennials. How could I reach them? Do they have meetings? Do they have social gatherings in an "apartment" over their parents garage? Should I bring cookies? Uggggh Diary!! I'm so confused!

I guess I could look at this as a gift. I now have an excuse for all my fuck ups and poor decisions I have made in my 30 years of life. I could milk the shit out of this. Diary, I think I just hit a gold mine!

"Courtney, why do you not have a career? Why don't you own a house? You have nothing of substance in your life! Why?"
"Sorry bro.. not my fault. I'm a Millennial."

Perfect! This might actually work out for me! I'm going to write a very heartfelt letter to the Millennials of America, or what I like to call them "Millies." I will express my sincerest apologies for all the mean things I have said over the years and ask to be a member of their Generation. They might even ask me to be President! Hahaha of course not, who am I kidding? I'm a woman. Silly weak woman thoughts! I'll just do all the work and secretly run things from the sidelines while the men get paid more and take the credit!     

Wish me luck!!



UPDATE:

Dear Diary,

Those twats! I just received a rejection letter! Are you kidding me? I didn't want to be in your stupid club anyway. Pussies! I'll just make up my OWN generation! Screw your Pokemon finding, lazy can't pull up your pants, living in your parents basement, never grows the fuck up generation!! What? Am I not broke enough for you? Sorry Millies I actually know how to balance a check book and file my taxes. Tools.
My generation will be called "Super cool, awesome and everything Millennials want to be, but they can't because they suck and most likely have small dicks and daddy issues.. generation!" or

SCAEMWTBBTCBTSAMLHSDADIG for short.

Whatever.

Deepest Darkest Fear

What is your biggest fear?

That question is a doozy isn't it? It haunts me wherever I go. First dates, job applications, loan questionnaires, Planned Parenthood.. it's everywhere. You can't exactly tell the truth when you are being asked that, right? If my date asks me about my fears my immediate response would be "Umm not ending this date with me chopped up in your freezer..." But obviously I can't say that, that would be rude and I want this serial killer to like me. Love me!!

So what is my biggest fear? Well besides being a woman? This fear of mine is a constant element in my life. I think about it daily, I've had many sleepless nights just obsessing over this fear, I even went and saw a shaman about it.. he mumbled some Icaros bullshit and said I was fucked. This fear is huge! If a drugged out shaman tells you you're fucked... well.. you're fucked! I don't even want to say my fear out loud.. I don't want the universe getting any ideas! But unfortunately I have come to realize my fear is the inevitable and I might as well address it, head on!

I fear wrongful convicted imprisonment. It's a thing and it will absolutely happen to me. Absolutely! I can hear your eyes rolling... Why would an innocent law abiding young gal like myself get wrongfully convicted? I'm glad you asked! Here's how! Only one word. 3 letters.
D N A

I shed more than a German Shepherd in springtime. My hair is everywhere! You think I'm kidding? Look down. I guarantee my hair is there. Go ahead look around. Your carpet? My DNA. Your shower clogged? My DNA. Your vacuum broke? My DNA. I'M EVERYWHERE!!!!!!! Scary ass shit.. isn't it? My hair will definitely end up in the wrong place at the wrong time and with science being so sciencey.. I'm fucked.

I know your next question. "Why don't you just explain yourself to the detectives when they come to question you? Tell them you couldn't have possibly been in Texas during the murder and express your fear of cowboys and everything big?" See.. well.. I hear you and that would be the obvious and most appropriate way to handle this situation. But here's the thing.. I'm a pretty confident woman and if you add whiskey to the mix, I just reek confidence. If the detectives catch me during happy hour.. or brunch.. maybe partaking in a Sunday Funday.. anytime between 3pm-12am.. The probability of me being whiskey frisky is very high.

"Courtney, we asked you here today to ask a few questions.."
"YEAAAHHHH I did it!! And I'd sure as shit do it again.. bro.. cop man bro! Stabler Law and Order type bullshit you got here.. sir. Can I call you sir? Or blue eyes! I'm gunna call your pretty little face Blue Eyes! Your handcuffs are weak bro, you sexy beast uniform thing wearing.. you. Yeah you.."

Do you understand now? I'm screwed! I'm not going to make it in prison!! I don't care how many episodes of Orange is the New Black you watch.. that shit is just not for me. How the hell would I make a shank? I'm not crafty.. and I sure as hell know they won't let me have a Pinterest account to look up Prison Shank DIY. And even if they did.. I would fail at the shank DIY.. because DIYs are complicated and dumb! I also look hideous in orange and I have a fear of vaginas.

I try and stay friends with all my exes, just to stay on their good side. I'm fully aware they all have a crushed velvet memory box filled with my hair. They take it out from time to time just to smell it and cry.. because they miss me so much. Yeah dudes.. I know. So if they ever wanted to wrong me (more) they could just sprinkle my voodoo doll hairs all over a crime scene.

That being said if any of my exes decided to "mysteriously disappear" just know that it wasn't me! Unless that shithead from the Midwest disappears. I definitely did that. That guy sucked! Big time!

Uh oh! I've dated 2 guys from the Midwest!! Muhahahaha live in fear fuckers!

I'm kidding. Kind of.

Yaass Queen

I have not worn make up in 35 days.  I had to look at my period tracker calendar app to count the days. Me being technologically inept I can’t seem to find a normal calendar on my phone so the color coded ovulation and “damn it didn’t I just have this?” period tracker is my calendar of choice. It is pretty convenient when I’m checking a date and a little color pops up notifying me “No! You can’t go hiking! You are going to be a total bitch for 3-5 days and your murder forecast is 85% probable.” That bad boy has definitely saved me from some messy situations. Yeah, I said it. 

So why sans make up, you ask? Let me take you back to a time of freedom, a time of innocence, a time of pure bliss. It was 1994 I believe I was 8 years old. I can’t confirm that.. my period app lacks a calculator. It was a chilly afternoon, I would say about 80F outside. I’m from Vegas. I had my face pressed against a plasma globe (google it) and stared in wonder at the electricity. And just with that a light bulb turned off and I had a brilliant idea! I’m going to cut my hair!! Like my mom! I’m going to get a short ‘mom cut’ hairstyle and it’s going to be amazing! I begged my mother to take me to the salon for a fresh do. I’m pretty sure I used words like “Pleeeease mom! I want to look just like you!” while she was trying to talk me out of it. But to no avail my mother succumbed to my constant whining and believed my excitement over wanting to look just like her. An appointment was made and my new life was about to begin! 

The stylist turned my chair around and brushed off my neck with a hot pink apparatus to wisp away the recently buzzed hair. Yes, I said buzzed. It was glorious! I looked absolutely magnificent! It somewhat resembled a crossbreed of bowl cut and mushroom top. Stunning. My mom paid the stylist whom I like to refer as a magician.. and we went on our way.  

Had I known how drastically my life would change after that fateful haircut, I might have actually come out to be a normal kid. But nope, that was not the case. Not at all. I was no longer Courtney the cute little girl. I was now known as “Aww the little boy.” My identity and apparently my gender changed that day. I’m telling you.. he was a magician!

Everywhere I went I was referred to as a cute little boy. I was already a sensitive kid and now add gender confusion? Shit, my sister had me believing I was adopted for 10 years. So of course when perfect strangers call me a boy, I believed it! 

I went to the doctor, to see if I in fact had a penis. No I’m kidding.. it was a normal check-up. At least I think so?? (I can just hear all my ex boyfriends gasp! Wait! She had a dick?? .. No dumbass.. No.) I was over trying to find all the objects in the ‘Highlights Magazine’ hidden picture. That stupid cat was always so hard to find! I saw a boy playing with a colorful looking play set in the waiting room, and I decided to join. He was setting up the colors completely wrong. It goes Red Orange Yellow Green Blue Indigo Violet – not Blue Orange Yellow Red Green…. fucking idiot. So as I was showing this amateur how to correctly play, his mother came over and said those chilling words “Aww Nathan, are you playing with the little boy?” I saw red. All I wanted to do was yell “No bitch! Your color incompetent Nathan is playing with a girl!!! A fucking adorable girl!!” But instead I walked away and cried in my chair. 

That day started my journey of overcompensating my gender. My mom allowed me to get my ears pierced. It hurt, it hurt like a bitch. But I had to prove to strangers I was a really cute, funny girl. I wore more dresses and that lead to evil looks to my mother, because why on earth would she let me... A boy.. wear a dress? I had enough!! What else could I possibly do? Other than lifting my dress and showing my bathing suit parts? I found myself back in my room with my face pressed against my plasma globe (seriously google it) and I just couldn’t figure out how to legally show I was a girl. Until it hit me! I’m telling you that plasma ball really inspired great ideas. GLAMOUR SHOTS!! That’s it!! I’ll go to The Meadows mall and get glamour shots!!! What do you do if you are feeling down? Glamour shots!! Where do you go if you want to prove you’re a girl?? Glamour shots!!!!!! This is the best plan ever! 

I didn’t have to do much convincing…my parents agreed on this perfect plan! And who doesn’t want to get glamorous after eating Hot Dog on a Stick? Genius. The lights were bright and the aerosol hairspray was in full effect. I was ready! My themes were of the variety nature. I wore a sunflower hat with a matching vest. I also had the pleasure of wearing a Red White and Blue sequined jacket. ‘Merica.  I felt like a movie star! I felt unstoppable! No one will ever think I’m a little boy after this! I could hardly wait to see the photos! Unfortunately this was 1994 and I had to wait 2 weeks. I told all my friends how amazing I looked, I believe I said the words “Overflowing with femininity” Don’t quote me on that one.. 

This was it! This was the moment!! The photos are in and I can return to being known as a funny cute ridiculously amazing little girl! 

Drag Queen.

I looked like a fucking DRAG QUEEN! And not the fabulous ones you see on TV or in downtown LA. I resembled "Just Pat" after he/she entered into a Toddlers and Tiaras pageant. Horrifying. To this day I shudder every time I sit in a salon chair.

So the reason why I haven't worn make up in 35 days? I got nothing. I guess I'm just lazy as fuck. It must be the little boy in me..  

Unfortunately photos do last forever.

Oldest Profession..

Prostitutes and escorts offer something that is called the "girlfriend experience" How do I know this you ask? I happen to be from Las Vegas and I watch a lot of Law&Order SVU.. silly Johns.
This "Girlfriend experience" consists of men paying for female companionship in a non sexual environment. They cuddle, read the newspaper together, talk about his grueling day at work.. yadda yadda yadda. It's pretty ingenious if you ask me. But I've never really understood the whole prostitute thing and having to pay for sex. I guess because I've never had a problem getting laid. HEY-OH! I'm kidding. No I'm not.

Ok, where was I going with this? Ahh yes! I have decided I'm going to shake up the business a bit and create my own experience! Get excited folks! It's going to be something every man will love and actually be good at! They will be overflowing with confidence and all that built up aggression will just disappear. Studies have shown after my experience Men have gained 45% more of their receding hairline back!  BUT WAIT! There's more!! Many esteemed science journals have stated: after 3 weeks of the allotted dosage you will in fact add 2 inches.. to your member! Yes, I'm talking about your penis. Your balls may shrink.. but that's a given.

What is this new and exciting experience? I call it.. The "BREAKUP EXPERIENCE!!!" (Please read that in a WWE wrestler voice..) Yup! That's right! You will get to break up with me! I'm well versed in break ups.. a connoisseur if you will. If you have that sudden urge to break a heart or if you just feel like lying to a girl. I got you! I'll even send you texts pouring my "heart" out, just so you can ignore them! Doesn't that sound satisfying? I'll listen to you discuss how you want to grow old with me, and then have you completely deny you ever said that, while I pack my "bags" to leave. You will get to say the ever so lovely "You will go on and do great things" speech that every single man fantasizes about saying. And we must not forget the fan favorite "It's not you it's me" mumbo jumbo! You sir are in luck! Just for 10 small payments of 49.99 you will get to say that stupid speech and more!!



** Side effects can occur commencing, decreasing/increasing the break up dosage. Personal studies have shown you will marry the next woman you date after a break up experience with me. Proceed with caution. Nausea, dizziness, and compassion may occur.. but suck it up and go break some hearts!
 ** No feelings were hurt in the making of break up experience. Except for mine. 
** Angry break up sex not included.

Nailed it

What's on your mind?

I recently took a little break from social media. I wanted to see how it felt, break away from my 1200 or so friends and just kind of disappear. I lasted about a solid week, and not one of those 1200 friends of mine noticed I was gone. How tragic. No phone calls, no texts asking if I was alive. Nothing. This paragraph is super dramatic and feels like it belongs in the beginning of a anti depressant pill commercial or in a "How to Understand your Teenager" book. But I digress.. In that week I decided to throw my attention to other things. I needed to distract myself and find something that made me feel full again. I wanted to make real connections with people and feel like I mattered.

I found Pinterest. Holy shit man! Talk about amazement! Not only can I fix every single flaw of mine with coconut oil from a mason jar covered in glitter and lost dreams. I can also bake a fucking cake and not eat it if I want to "Tighten that tummy in 12 days!" Don't get me started on the DIYs! (do it yourself, for the non basics out there) I can't even manage to brush my teeth without drooling all over my shirt. You honestly think I can make a Hanging Light bulb Planter? You sir are smoking rocks.

So much pressure! The internet is just oozing with it. I have to be this sexy woman with perfect skin and body all while having an amazing personality. Now you're throwing in homemaker and crafty? What the fuck! Oh and don't forget successful! I have to handle a career, somehow have a man actually love me (because men lie.. that will be a future post I'm sure) and have kids who will later in life scream "I HATE YOU" as they slam their door in my face. Perfect. Thank you Pinterest for pushing me into an early mid life crisis.

I'm not that perfect girl. I'm a fucking mess actually. But I'm starting to come to the realization that the hot mess in me is pretty fucking awesome. I make the wrong decisions, but I did them all from my heart. I don't stick around, it's very hard for me to have stability.. but I long for it every single day. I say fuck a lot.. and drink whiskey. I don't drink whiskey to be "the girl who drinks like a man" - I hate that by the way! Every time I order bourbon on the rocks I get looked at like I'm an alien.. or a tranny. No dude, I don't have a dick under my skirt.. I just happen to dig whiskey. My fondest memories when I was a child was sitting on my grandfathers lap while he drank his manhattan. I loved hearing the ice clink on the glass and the smell of the "adult drink" I couldn't have. He did always save the maraschino cherry for me.

I'm complicated. I can cry and will cry about everything. It doesn't matter what it is. You can tell me your pet turtle Monty died and I'll be a fucking basket case. Show me a video of puppies? Waterworks for days! Emotional fucking mess I tell ya! But I will also be the first person to tell you to Fuck off if you are wrong. I may be emotional but I have no problem kicking your ass... with my words of course.. I'm not very athletic. 

Life is so amusing. I'm not perfect and I'm just trying to figure out my beautiful mess. It's going to be an interesting journey filled with failed DIYs and whiskey. A lot of fucking whiskey.

  

Welcome.

Hello, welcome to my Blog.

I wrote that salutation in a robot voice. And that last sentence was in a British accent.

I'm a complicated woman.

I wont bore you the details of my many complications, but if you stick around I'm sure you will pick them all out on your own.

So, where do I begin? I had a really delicious breakfast today that consisted of blueberry yogurt and a cup of coffee, black 2 sugars. My mind raced as I read the newspaper and filled out the Sunday crossword puzzle in pen. I could feel the gentle breeze of a nearby fan. It's Nevada, it's hot as fuck. Actually, I'm going to start over. I woke up, contemplated what bridge I was going to fling myself off of.. then reminded myself I have a fear of heights. I turned over to check my phone to see all the missed calls and texts that I actually never received. You are alone. Today is Day 3 of absolute confusion.

Life is like..

Life is like…

You know that feeling you have when your thong finds itself all the way up your ass? And you are walking down a busy street while your brain is racing trying to figure out a way to successfully pull your underwear out without anyone seeing or judging? Obviously you are wearing too small of panties because you can’t accept the fact you got fat! And after an hour or so of fighting and trying to convince yourself you can deal with the pain and discomfort of the lacy unmentionables now finding its way to your colon. You stop.. you just can’t take it anymore! So what if that bitch Nancy from accounting sees and screw Mark the Barber, he shouldn’t be looking at your ass anyway!!  So you shove your hand down your pants and pull that toddler size thong out!!! You are FREE!! It’s amazing, almost orgasmic! You feel on top of the world! You give yourself a mental high five and start thinking about the other amazing things you can accomplish! Shit you can do anything sister friend! You got this!!! Flash forward to 3 minutes later: You crying on the pavement with your thong so far up your vagina you confuse it for child birth and start screaming “You did this to me!! Mother fucker!! Get it out!! Get it out!! I need drugs!!! GIVE ME DRUGS!!”