Category Archives: rant

Bonding over Bitching

I work in an office of women and it’s quite discouraging.  Through the course of a single day, the topics of conversation include: Reality T.V, how much they hate their bodies, celebrities, plastic surgery, cosmetics, and how annoying their kids/boyfriends/husbands are.  I have never had much in common with women, especially the “modern” woman.  Perhaps my lack of appreciation for the modern women stems from my facing constant rejection by many of them due to the way I live my life.  I am openly submissive.  I love my husband and he rarely annoys me.  I enjoy meeting his needs, and I love to take care of him in any way necessary.  I don’t like to be an inconvenience to him and I refuse to be a nag.  Thus, I have a relationship that is relatively free from any resentments or drama, save the occasional squabble over something stupid like him not picking something out for dinner off his bi-weekly menu I make him.  We have a relationship that, I would deem, comes as close to perfection as possible. My relationship and my lifestyle, it would appear, would be the cause of my lack of steady female companionship. I am rarely unhappy with any part of my personal life or myself, so I appear haughty I’m female circles. The perception of haughtiness is threatening and the antithesis to female bonding over bitching.

I also don’t hate my body.  I appreciate my body.  I am happy with the way it looks and feel very comfortable naked.  If I come into a pattern of low self-esteem over something about my body, I’ll make an expeditated move to fix it in whatever manner possible.  If I feel like I’m hanging onto a few extra pounds, I amp up my workouts and cut back on some of the foods that could be holding me back from my goal.  I have nothing against plastic surgery, and may find myself in need of some in the future.  But, I don’t see a need to discuss it at length with other women. How does airing discomfort provide comfort? Can women only dish a complement without the need for one in return if they perceive themselves as equal or better than the person they are paying the compliment to?

How does this fix anything?  How does this make these women feel better?  Perhaps, female comradery is built upon a foundation of self-hate and negativity. Do women have to demean themselves to find acceptance from other women and feel as though they fit in?  Why are the lives of celebrities (or their assumed lives based upon what the media portrays) fascinating enough to cover the span of an hour or more in near constant communication?  Who the fuck cares? Any significant amount of time spent discussing celebrities is an utter waste of time. If each moment brings us closer to our death, I don’t want to spend it discussing the Kardashians for an hour.

My life experience thus far has revealed that to share a relationship of any depth with another woman you must be at least mildly miserable with yourself and your life.  You must enjoy complaining.  Complaining seems to be the very thread essential to the fiber of the female friendship. People within earshot of such pointless, meaningless and seemingly endless jabber should be the newest victims to form a hashtag movement. Are you having to listen to women bonding over bitching and it’s making you miserable? #metoo.

Fuck You!

Have you ever just wanted to walk up to a stranger, tap them on the shoulder and exclaim, “Hey…FUCK YOU!”

I’m in a strange way tonight.  I’m not sure what is going on with my mind.  Please, allow me some sweet written release.

I’m in the kind of mood that makes you feel like committing career suicide.  The woman that I work closely with is rather ugly.  Mind you, I’m typically not one to place myself physically superior.  But, this woman is ugly; and, this woman has gone out of her way to make my life miserable between the hours of 9 to 5.  She and my boss have a twisted, work “husband/wife” relationship.  I assume work the only place she finds acceptance and importance in the world.  Today, I was wearing a fabulous pair of high heeled, knee high black boots.  I paired them nicely with a figure flattering sweater dress.  I sat at my desk rather un-lady like, my legs spread apart providing a nice breeze for my lovely box. My desk is rather perfect for picking wedgies or adjusting my clit ring when it gets caught up in my thong.  No one knows that I sit like this at my desk, because there is an apparatus that prevents anyone from seeing from the front of the desk.  I have a professional reputation to uphold, afterall.  Anyway…I digress.  I had a fantasy that went a little something like this:

I kicked over my desk with my fucking ass-kicking knee high boots.  I strutted over to Ugly as my slightly curled, tousled hair fell over the side of my face.  I grabbed a fist full of her nasty, unkempt black hair and backhanded her across her face.  I then proceeded to take the black ball point Bic pen (that she is obsessed with) and colored all over the gigantic mole that graces her cheek.  I then colored in the spots where her mustache is growing in rather splotchy.  “No worries, bitch, I got you covered”, I say.  I then take her horrendous Winnie the Pooh figurines and break them,  If there is one thing I loath in life more than any other, it’s a grown woman obsessed with stuffed animals, Disney characters, or any other cutesy animated character from childhood.  I break each and every one of her cutesy figurines and stick a big rubber dildo in her mouth.  Now, don’t ask me where I got a big dildo.  I don’t carry dildos around with me because they would make my purse weight too heavy; but, in this fantasy, a whipped out a giant black King Kong dildo that matched her nasty black hair perfectly, and I shoved it in her shit-talking, snitch, hairy upper-lipped mouth.  I proceeded to rip approximately 10 leaves off of her stupid ass Christmas cactus, tossing them in her face one by one, and I walked my happy ass out of my office.

If only fantasies were reality…

I have a beautiful house.  Unfortunately, I have a tweaker house next to mine.  Seven people live in this house to afford it, and it appears only two actually work.  These mother-fuckers are dirty; they carelessly leave water bottles, wrappers, and various other forms of trash in the street in front of my lovely abode.  Yesterday, I walked out in my 6 inch heels and pick up the various forms of trash from the street.  I happily walked them over to their yard and dumped them all over their front lawn.  I hoped one of those assholes came out, because this is what I fantasized I’d do:

I’d grab that skinny, piece of shit tweaker by his “garage job” tattooed neck and punch the three teeth he has remaining out of his gums.  I’d proceed to slam him to the ground and step on his throat with my high heels.  I’d take the crumbled up water bottle he so sloppily left in the street in front of my house, and I’d shove it down his throat.  I’d follow up my assault by hog tying him.  I’d heat up a spoon with my cigar lighter and give him a singular burn.  I let him know that if his disrespectful ass leaves another shred of litter near my gorgeous home, I will burn every square inch of his skin, to include his diseased cock and withering little balls.

Allow us to transition to my beautiful, Dom husband.  I have been meat gazing him, grabbing his cock and slapping his ass all night.  This frustrates him, as he doesn’t like to be “man handled”, of course, preferring to be the one delivering the spankings.  I bit him on his well-developed bicep tonight.  I tugged on his thick beard and playfully smacked him across his face.  He gave me a look like, “Dear God, woman…do you have any idea what’s coming to you?” I do…I like it…

How do people have “normal” relationships?  Normal is so deliriously boring…

Thanks for the vent, peeps!