Help Me, Help Me, I'm No Good at Goodbyes

Breaking up is hard to do. 

Train and their "50 Ways To Say Goodbye" will help you, help you, get you through.

Can’t face telling your friends you got dumped? Take a few cues here on ways to tell them your ex is no longer with us. Festive mariachi... poppy rock... humorous lyrics... it’s all just good silly fun.

MUST see hilarious video:

LYRICS:
My heart was paralyzed
My head was over-sized
I'll take the high road like I should
You said, "It's meant to be.
That it's not you it's me."
You're leaving now for my own good
That's cool but if my friends ask where you are I'm gonna say
She went down in an airplane
Fried getting sun tanned
Fell in a cement mixer full of quicksand
Help me, help me, I'm no good at goodbyes
She met a shark under water
Fell and no one caught her
I returned everything I ever bought her
Help me, help me, I'm all out of lies
And ways to say you died
My pride still feels the sting
You were my everything
Someday I'll find a love likes yours
She'll think I'm Superman
Not Super Minivan
How could you leave on Yom Kippur?
That's cool but if my friends ask where you are I'm gonna say
She was caught in a mudslide
Eaten by a lion
Got run over by a crappy purple Scion
Help me, help me, I'm no good at goodbyes
She dried up in the desert
Drowned in the hot tub
Danced to death at an East Side nightclub
Help me, help me, I'm all out of lies
And ways to say you died
I want to live a thousand lives with you
I want to be the one you're dying to love
But you don't want to…

Now if you're counting, that’s only ELEVEN ways to lose a lover.
I added to Train’s list to make a quick and dirty 50 ways:     

          1)      Went down in an airplane

          2)      Fried getting sun tanned

          3)      Fell in a cement mixer full of quicksand

          4)      Met a shark under water

          5)      Fell and no one caught her

          6)      Was caught in a mudslide

          7)      Eaten by a lion

          8)      Got run over by a crappy purple Scion

          9)      Dried up in the desert

        10)   Drowned in the hot tub

        11)   Danced to death at an East Side nightclub

        12)   Caught cat scratch fever

        13)   Was gnawed by an angry beaver

        14)   Gazed directly at Medusa

        15)   Vanished in Tuscaloosa

        16)   Tripped on the treadmill

        17)   Rollerbladed downhill

        18)   Stepped on banana peel

        19)   Shocked by an electric eel

        20)   Dreamt about Freddy Krueger

        21)   Tried to tame a wild cougar

        22)   Surfed in a typhoon

        23)   Pierced with a harpoon

        24)   Blood sucked by a vampire

        25)   Lost balance on a high wire

        26)   Journeyed down a manhole

        27)   Fell asleep on cruise control

        28)   Break-danced with a porcupine

        29)   Went belly up in a vat of wine

        30)   1,000 paper cuts that wouldn’t heal

        31)   Ate a bad Chinese meal

        32)   Played footsie with a grizzly bear

        33)   Thought they could walk on air

        34)   Hit by lightening on a sunny day

        35)   Circled by a bird of prey

        36)   Choked on a chicken bone

        37)   Couldn’t pass a kidney stone

        38)   Toxic rainstorm without an umbrella

        39)   Fatal case of salmonella

        40)   Piranha came to skinny dip

        41)   Walked the plank on a pirate ship

        42)   Sawed in half by a senile magician

        43)   Coronary in missionary position

        44)   Head shrunken up on a pole

        45)   Heart literally turned to coal

        46)   Parachute opened at ground level

        47)   Sold their soul, cheap, to the devil

        48)   Swallowed up by a whale, Karma did indeed prevail

        49)   Rendezvoused with Sasquatch

        50)   Nasty flea infestation of the crotch

So help me, help me, I'm all out of lies.          
       

Comment and share some of your creative and wild ways to say goodbye. I would love to hear to them.

Chivalry Dead?

                    Ollie Ollie Oxen Free!  

                    Come out, come out wherever you are, Chivalry!

                              *Crickets*

                    Chiiivvvaaalllrrryyyy!!!!

                              *Crickets*

                    Are you there Chivalry?!?

                              *Crickets*

                    Hel-looo. 

                    Hello??

                    Sigh…

                    Let’s all go home girls.

                    Chivalry isn’t gonna come out of hiding today.

 

Okay guys, just relax. This is not going to be an estrogen-laden-male-bash-blog-tour de force, although, you never know when one of them there just might pop-up. God knows I have plenty of material along those lines. Writer’s block? Pffft. The male gender has given me plenty to vent about. My keyboard is ready, willing and able. So watch those p’s and q’s boys.

Despite what many say, I believe chivalry is not dead.  It might not be kickin’ it hard like it used to, but it is still alive. 

Gone are the days of brave knights and noblemen decked out in armor that made it their duty and pleasure to honor and be gallant towards women. Hell. Gone are the days that you can even expect and assume every man will be polite and decent to you. 

Modern day chivalry is not as overt. As we “damsels in distress” have become stronger and more independent, chivalry has become weaker and frailer. It’s evolution. Fewer opportunities for our Knights in Shining Armor to come to the rescue and save us. It doesn’t mean we don’t like those chivalrous moments, however. Last time I checked, we are still “woman” and like “men” so it will only behoove you to act like a man, preferable a “gentleman.”

I’ve been lucky and most (not ALL) guys have been chivalrous in the new-age sense towards me. Want to make us feel special and appreciated?

• Open doors for us (Yes, we can open them ourselves and we barely even expect this anymore. Bonus points for you!)
• Compliment her when she looks nice (She probably spent a lot of time picking out an outfit and getting ready for you. It’s nice if we feel it wasn’t all for naught.)
• Conversely, dress for a date (If you wear your every day garb every time, are we not worth a little extra effort? You will look hotter. You will benefit. Trust me.)
• Offer to carry heavy packages (We may or may not need the upper body workout, but having a “spotter” is probably a welcomed gesture.)
• If it’s cold, offer us your jacket (Can’t smooch if your teeth are chattering.)
• If it’s raining, offer to drop us off at the door (From a curly haired girl, do offer or at least have an umbrella handy. Add water? My hair will go “Hulk” on your ass. It won’t turn green, but it won’t be pretty.)

Such a scant amount of effort, right? Simple common courtesies. Do them. It won’t kill ya. We aren’t expecting you to slay dragons for God’s sake, although, the occasional slaying of a spider would really be wonderful. 

I got this!!

We will be grateful for what amounts to mere politeness. We will believe that you respect woman and want to treat them accordingly. Your Momma raised you right.

Just this week at work I saw “Chivalry” in action, proving it is not a thing of the past. A female co-worker sitting at her desk struggling to get her water bottle open. Cue her “Prince” who quickly jumps up and runs to her rescue. The “Prince” here being played by the real-life version of Family Guy’s Peter Griffin, then add smell-a-vision. 

Peter Le Pew also can not open the bottle. Twisting. Turning. Grunting. Thankfully not belching, burping or expelling any other kinds of gases, as he does this often. The bottle is shut tight. He needs “traction.” What better thing to use than his shirt which is tucked deep into his pants? Pulling, pulling and pulling it out of his drawers which rivaled a clown with a magic handkerchief; he finally used the bottom edge of his shirt and is able to “conquer” the unyielding bottle. The woman sat unbelievably quiet, dumbfounded, but managed to blurt out a “thank you.”

Meg Ryan once said, “I heard that chivalry was dead, but I think it’s just got a bad flu.”

In this case, I believe it just needed a shower and a clean shirt?

But alas, it is alive!! ALIVE!!

Beware o’ Pet Mutiny!

This day be th’ the International speak like a scurvy pirate day. Can ye believe, tis th’ 10th anniversary o’ ‘tis celebration? It be!

(I honestly... Can. Not!)

Now ye may or may not be knowin’ I live next to ye buccaneer. You can read all about him HERE. 

Yar - har - fiddle-dee-dee, havin’ a pirate neighbor is alright wit’ me! Well… it’s been alright wit’ me ‘til I began to spy wit’ ye eye signs o’ a pet mutiny. 

I be predictin’ me neighbor has had an influence on me?? I'm off to try ‘n collect all them cute wee little pirate hats from th’ pets. 

Grog-filled International Talk Like a Pirate Day to ye Mateys!

Poochie Le Pew

Sniff. Sniff. The fragrance of fresh skunk in the air, that intense, sophisticated bouquet featuring warm woodland musks from one perfumed bandit’s anal glands.  Ahhhh….

Breathe it in.

In—ha—le.  Ex—ha—le. 

* Cough * Cough * Cough *

Out-hale. Out-hale. Out-hale! Gag! Gag!

Poochie Le Pew you wonder? Yeah, skunks and dogs don't mix well. Shocker right? 'Tis a very foul combo that I hope you haven't had the misfortune of gracing your doggie door.

Dogs love sticking their noses in places they don’t belong. Keep your grubby snout away from the receiving end of anything that is gonna blast and super soak your furry ass with a gun freshly loaded with greasy fart juice. Is this too much to ask? You do know which side your dog bone is buttered? Adding a skunk’s backside to the list of “Don’t go theres,” right between the garbage can and the crotches of my guests. K? Are we all clear here?

My dog, Palomino, got himself skunked a while back. Now to say he got “skunked” would be an understatement. He went out and clearly pissed off the Granddaddy of them all, the King of the Skunks. He got “SKUUUNNKKKEED.” You see the difference, right? Not remotely the same thing. No. No. BIG smelly difference. Captial “P,” Captial “U.”

Now this is a dog that loves a good stink. He reveled in the scent of dead squirrel once and decided that it was so very lovely that he just had to have it for himself. Just. Had. To. Have. It. Commence “Operation Roll All Over Squirrel Carcass.” Writhing and wriggling on top of it. Grinding every inch of stench from the decaying flesh beneath his large Labrador frame. Mission complete. Drenched in eau de toilette of decomposing rodent, he was happier than a pig in shit and smelled even better.

Even HE, a fan of all fermented things, was appalled with the way he smelled after his brief encounter with King Pepé. His sad eyes pleading with me, “help me.”

Exiled to the back yard, he sat, lowly, tied to the swing set until I could locate a magic potion. 

I never had any luck with tomato juice. Its only success was in emulating finger painting for adults with a mushy hairy nasty mess. Passing on that art project as an option, I immediately called the Vet. They suggested feminine douches, even said pharmacies usually have cases on hand for this very occasion. Presto chango, this was the rabbit in that hat I was looking for. Makes sense, cleansing and neutralizing odors of an intimate kind just might work on the stink of a more public variety.

Hi Ho! Hi Ho! It’s off to get my case of douches I go!

Enthusiastically at the pharmacy I requested my case of makeshift skunk-be-gone. The immediate look of horror on the girl’s face, I knew I had made a grave error and did not fully consider the execution of this purchase.

Back pedal. Back pedal. Back pedal. I began stammering and stuttering, “my dog got skunked, the vet suggested this.” She’s not buying a single word and her repulsion for me is clear and unwavering. This woman has now figuratively placed a giant “V” on my chest, like the scarlet “A,” but I’m the stinky “V.” Great.

I have a strong need to defend my personal hygiene. But what do you say? “I don’t need extra cleansing?” “I smell good?” “I wash habitually?” “I haven’t had any complaints?”  Feeling I can’t redeem any sense of decorum or pride at this point, I turn and walk away, dragging my humiliated, but squeaky clean “V” with me. Ya hear that? CLEAN!

Still needing a remedy for the dog, I grab as many twin-packs of disposable douches off the regular shelves that I can hold on to. I check-out with the cashier up-front and I get the hell out of there! A flowery mist of wonderfulness follows me out to my car and it ain’t from the dozen plus douches that I now have in stow. Just saying.

At home, the delicate deskunking process begins.  Scrub-a-dub-dub, it’s doggy douche time in the tub. Pour it over. Rub it in. Soak. Repeat. And it works!  Bottles and bottles of “Extra Cleansing” followed by equal number of “Country Flowers” and the dog is clean, deodorized and feminine fresh. Aside from his owner, this male dog is the second best smelling female in the house. Ah-em, second to the owner and he’s my dog. Got it? Good.  

I can’t blame Massengill or Summer’s Eve for the unjust disgrace and shame my poor “V’ had to endure here. Nor can I attest to whether their products can renew girly parts gone wild. But I can tell you, a vinegar-and-water douche can come in handy at unanticipated and surprising moments. Due to that fact, I’m suggesting a new picture for their boxes:

NO!

YES!***

***4 out of 5 Pooches recommend for that “not-so-fresh” feeling!!

Fifty Shades of Blush, Flush and Pink

Late to the game, as always, I finally surrendered to the “Shades of Grey.” This phenomenon has infiltrated and oozed its way into homes and boudoirs everywhere, traumatizing some and exciting and stimulating others. Much like “The Blob,” notorious hunka-hunka burning goo that it was, absorbed people and engulfed entire communities in its hungry wake, “Shades” has slimed the globe in “Mommy Porn.” You can run, but you can’t hide!

Say what you will, but that E.L. James is one lucky biotch. She, self-admittedly, is “not a great writer.” I concur. But with her bondage-busting trilogy still flying off the shelves and a soon-to-be-made movie, she now can afford as many ghostwriters or writing lessons that her kinky little heart desires. She might not have written a literary masterpiece but she did stumble upon a fan-fiction pot of gold. Congrats to her, that lucky, lucky, lucky, RICH, biotch.

Curled-up, best-selling marital aid firmly in hand, this single girl was all-a-quiver down below in short order. Quivering and queasy were not my loins, however, it was my stomach. A bucket. Stat! My quest for some Tums was not set off by the endless and annoying repetition of words, nor was it the outside of mainstream sexcapdes. S&M kinda shit existed before this book. We all knew that right? This particular exposé had mommy panties far and wide all hot, bothered and twisted up? The hot lukewarm at best account didn’t put a single wrinkle in my gotchies. My gastrointestinal tract, however, was wound-up up like a pretzel. Abusive relationships tend not to bode well on me and this book read more like that than a steamy romance novel. Certainly the intention of this book was not to sensationalize the manipulation of a young innocent girl but it did an abominable job of portraying a fully consensual sexual relationship.

“Shades” follows the relations of soon-to-be college graduate, Anastasia Steele, and hottie-tottie young “multi-bagillionaire” businessman, Christian Grey. She had the fortune misfortune to interview the mysterious Grey for the university paper. And so it began… the sexual exploration and exploitation of Miss Steele. 

My contempt for both of these characters was deep, deeper than any one of the poundings dished out by Christian Grey. He went at her sometimes like a jack rabbit coming off a celibate retreat. He was so sexy and romantic that way.

Not since Susan Boyle has a woman been so virtuous and naïve as Ana Steele.

The sacrificial virgin here had never really “explored” the mouth of another with her tongue (aka kissed), never partook in sexy-time of any kind, never entertained the idea of touching herself, never got drunk, and was not using any modern day technology; no laptop, no smart phone, no E-mail... no vibrator. Seriously? Was she hiding out with the Duggar family for all of her 21 years?

She was whiny and weak and I wanted to slap her upside her nauseatingly innocent and dense pigtailed head. Pigtails, Ana’s cute incognito defensive mechanism against her sexual predator. How very clever of her. That should work quite well.

While “grey” was uttered quite possibly a thousand times in this book, it was pink, in every rosy hue, that was splattered on nearly every page. Our leading lady’s face blushed so often that Bashful Dwarf should really be considered when casting her in the movie. Puce, she even turned the color of puce? James was working that Thesaurus and color wheel hard at that point. Nearly as hard as I was banging my head against the wall. I stopped when I achieved "puce." "Pink" was the desired color of Ana's behind after Christian got a hold of her, as well. Pretty in pink? Christian thought so.

The painfully immature Ana talked to her subconscious and "inner goddess" so much that I was convinced she was either a young child with imaginary friends or was Sybil herself. These friends of hers were with her every step of the way. They danced. They cheered. They did back-flips. They even hid behind the couch, which is something she should have done. Hide Ana! Hide your gullible ass!

She was so sheltered that she could barely bring herself to talk about her girly parts. “Down there” or her “sex” was her verbiage of choice, and it was hair covered when she did mentioned it. Her chacha was hairy! Ick! Ick! Ick! Her roommate insisted that she shave before her first date and clearly didn’t instill proper womanscaping technique on her. Get that vajayjay in order Girl! What the hell is wrong with you?



Self-explanatory? Pretty & picture perfect for an Island and not for much else.

 
And this man of Ana’s dreams, you wonder? Let’s see, he is jealous, controlling, overbearing, demanding, moody, will not tolerate being looked at or touched, wants her to sign a contract to control every aspect of her life, inside and outside of the bedroom, and to sequester her away in his tower in the Seattle sky. Oh, but hold that Blackberry that Christian bought for you, because he’s also rich, powerful, ridiculously handsome, and supposedly has a pretty impressive package, so that nullifies all the bad, right?

This man was so temperamental that every other second Ana was worried whether she upset him or pissed him off. She asked herself “what’s his problem” so many times that my eyes rolled back into my head. Uh oh… eye rolling was not allowed and was deserving of punishment. I’m in trouble now. Ana, let me take this opportunity to tell you what his problem is, he is a dick. He’s just a dick. Don’t over think things.


He did try to warn her however. He declared early on that he is “fifty shades of fucked up.” Ummm, Sayonara Buddy. It’s been nice knowing ya! Don’t let the door of one of your numerous Audi’s hit ya on that fine ass as you drive far far away from me. Forever. That would have been too rational a response for our insecure heroine.

The "handsome" part was really lost on me as well, with the first depiction of him being with “unruly dark copper-colored hair.” You mean to tell me this man is a ginger? Nothing against gingers at all, but wild red hair wasn’t stirring up any amorous feeling inside of me and I couldn’t shake the mental images that had popped into my head. So the beautiful Christian Grey looks like:

Ana did love herself some tea!

No?  How about this:

Perhaps this then??

To each his own I guess?

Mr. Red Hair here has a playroom chock-full of erotic toys, the “Red Room of Pain.” It’s even equipped with suspension gear on the ceiling. Kinda offers a whole new meaning to the phrase “give a flying fuck,” huh?

Anyone care to cross the threshold with him? He shall be addressed as “Sir.” It’s in the rulebook. Breaking any of the many rules at any time? Go directly to the Red Room of Pain to receive your ass-whooping. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200.

  

Now if you’ve always thought about this kind of thing or are curious, have fun with that. More power to ya. Be careful. Safety first. Stop, drop and roll. Whatev. But if you are conflicted, brought to tears, feel “debased,” don’t do it. Just say “no.” Please. Don’t be an Ana.

 

While this book ended with them being caput, of course it’s not their final good-bye. That’s crystal clear. This degenerate will end up being Prince Charming. This kinda dude is a wart-infested frog. He’s not going to morph into anything else no matter how many kisses you bestow upon him, no matter how obedient you are to his every whim and wish, or no matter how many times you let him spank you. This fantasy works for you? Fine. Enjoy it. But Ladies, don’t expect this kind of thing in real life. Don’t expect deep-dark to turn into fun-loving. Uh-uh. No way. Ain't gonna happen. Move on.

So why did I continue to read this book? I enjoyed the E-mail banter between the two, I’ll admit that much. I love a good text volley and their back and forth was some how, some way endearing.

There were also parts just so unbelievable that they were down-right humorous. I trudged on for the comic relief. The newly deflowered and still completely inexperienced Ana managed to give a gold medal worthy blow-job. 10-10-10. She went in for the deep dive and never came up for air. First attempt, gag-free and with perfect form. Hysterical. Truly.

Equaling entertaining was the tampon scene. You know, nutin’ says romance to a girl like a guy yanking out her tampon and flinging it across the room. You wanna invite Aunt Flo to your parties, that’s cool if that’s your thing. But let’s leave the sanitary products out of it, shall we? 

I was also interested in the physiological side of the story, why was Christian the way he was?  Why is he emotionally unavailable and not only wants to beat his partners, but needs to beat them. You know, that biotch James never answered that question for me. Inquiring minds want to know. Now I need to read books #2 and #3 to find out. Well played James, well played.