Must Be to Loathe Her

"She's gone. I am abus'd, and my relief
Must be to loathe her." -Othello


I was trying to sort out what to write here whence I came across this quote and was reminded of something in which I can't stand. It, in itself, is one of the most loathesome of things on this planet. I cannot go another second without venting about this, the worst of all imaginable imaginables....annoying females. They are not ladies, they are not women, they are The Annoying Females.

Now, there are a number of categories of The Annoying Female in which I loathe (much like Othello). With that, this will be one of those posts in which I list and label. It just needs to be done so we can spread my cause and bring awareness to all.


The Annoying Female Skirt-Liftin'-Ho:
I'm fed up with girls who flirt for no reason, with anything or anyone. They are the biggest attention whores (and I dont say either of those words lightly). They feed on the attention of males and, if they are males with girlfriends, the Skirt-Liftin'-Ho feels more in the need to seek the male's attention. You can usually hear these annoying females saying something like:
"Oh, (insert name of someone elses' boyfriend) did we just play footsey!"
Or, "(insert name of your boyfriend), you're just the sweetest. I wish I was as lucky as (insert your name here)!"
Or, while pouting, "I'm so lonely. Can I have a hug," which is obviously directed at someone elses' boyfriend.

At this point, the real girlfriend in the situation has flames coming out of every orifice as she suppresses the rage that comes with this interaction. Said girlfriend is also in a bit of pickle not wanting to comment to the boyfriend, who will think she is being mean to Skirt-Liftin'-Ho, irrational, and a bit overprotective. Here in lies the problem, men think we're crazy when we comment on these types of selfish bottom-feeders. The Skirt-Liftin'-Ho desires so much attention, so much love, and so much affection from other people's boyfriends that the boyfriends, in turn, feel sorry for them. Some guys are just nice, these men don't see the devious deceitful-ho-ness of these men stealers. Other guys, well they fall for the sluts and leave their significant others' and realize, only too late, they are with an Annoying Female only too late.


There are only so many things I would love to do to this type of female. When it comes to these females the only emotion I have for them is loathing; complete, utter, unrestrained and undeniable loathing.

The Annoying Soon-to-Be Mrs. Female

For most, I am happy to see someone has become engaged. Its nice to congratulate them and talk shop about the wedding to come. Then, there is the "Soon-to-be-Mrs-Female." Recently I encountered the most extreme of these females. She regaled me with the details of the wedding and repeatedly referred to her boyfriend, who was standing there at the time, as "my fiance." He no longer had a first name, he had become "my fiance" in all aspects of the phrase. This girl's hands were so tightly wrapped round' his balls that when he excused himself to go to the bathroom she had to accompany him. It wasn't just the fact that he was whipped, or that he had become "my fiance," it was mostly that she could not speak without mentioning her engagement. It went a bit like this;

Me: So, how's the new job?

Her: Well, since I've been engaged I swear the work has piled on.

Me: Really? How did the engagement affect that?

Her: Well, being engaged is just so tiring.

Me: I guess with all the plans...

Her: I don't plan on getting engaged everyday though do I (chortle-snicker).

Me: Is this conversation happening?

Her: Well, my fiance and I need to have a conversation about color palettes before this engagement moves any further.

Me: Maybe you should talk about your grip on his balls?

Her: My fiance and I are thinking of an engagement-engagement party for my fiance, my fiance, my fiance, blah, blah, blah-fiance-blah, blah, blah.

Me: Your ring is ugly.

The Annoying Disney Princess That Never Was Created

Oh, jeepers! Everything is just so sweet in this girl's world. Nothing ever goes wrong because she's a Disney Princess That Never Was Created. Gosh, she's so damn sweet I need a route-canal. Golly, she would never cuss because her mother once told her that girls who curse are crude (giggle) and no man would marry a potty-mouth! She cries when something merely pricks her finger and, Lord forbid it, if something doesn't go her way she is frantic. Its ok because there is always a nice warm male to cuddle. Oh, boy she likes to give guys hugs and tickle them playfully but nothing more! No, no, no silly billy! Shame on you for thinking dirty thoughts of this Disney Princess That Never Was Created. She is pure. Sure, she'll wear her dainty, almost invisible, skirt but its to look at and not to touch! No, no! Your grubby fingers aren't nearly worthy of this girl's poontang. She smells like cookies in the winter, ivory soap on a baby's ass, lemonade and sunshine all balled up in one lovely little package. She's off limits and waiting for prince charming with his big grin and promises to keep her in her ivory tower forever.

All I can say to the Disney Princess That Never Was Created is...uh...fuck you. You are no more precious than anyone else. Your purity shows an inability to get past a 5th grade mentality about sex. Your resolve to be so sweet shows a lack of self-esteem, personality, ability, and understanding of self. I loathe you because you think you are so much better than others. Stay in your ivory tower of delusions.


Ladies, the point is, keep it real. You don't need some form of teasing or a piece of jewelry to define you. Your skirt doesn't need to go up your ass crack to feel a sense of worth.


~The Lady~
(no picture necessary)

What Light Through Yonder Window Breaks

"All the infections that the sun sucks up

From bogs, fens, flats, on
Prosper fall, and make him

By inch-meal a disease!"- Caliban, The Tempest

<-- this is an ad for Sunless Tanner from Brussels. Get it, Snow-NOT-so-White!? I'd buy that product.

This is a story about my adventures in tanning salons. I ask that you do not judge me to unkindly. And, don't tell me all the harsh realities because, frankly, I don't want to know.

One dreary-gray afternoon, when the sun in Pennsylvania hung hidden under a smudge of dark clouds, I felt a bit down. Instead of blogging about life's problems I turned on Oprah. As you may know, I love me some Oprah Winfrey, so it was no uncommon that I was watching Oprah on this afternoon. That day a Gyno-guest-expert was discussing Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) which a lot of people in Eastern States acquire due to a lack of sunlight. SAD victims feel horribly depressed during the winter months when they recieve less Vitamin C (or D...or B...really I have no clue. This is the last I will pretend to be a scientist). That dribbly day, in front of my television, and with the eyes and ears of only my dogs to attest to this incident, I proclaimed "I MUST have SAD!" Torn , and feeling more depressed that I now had a true disability, I waited to hear how to solve my deeply troubling problem. The specialist on Oprah enlightened me that by sitting near a higher frequency lightbulb I, a SAD victim, would feel better about life.

"What the $%&^!?" I yelled at the television scorning both the expert and, my love, Oprah.

Frustrated, and wondering how much of an expert this lady was, I now felt more depressed. Where would I get a higher frequency lightbulb? How much of a tool would I look if I sat, at home, near a lamp for the suggested 20 minutes) sticking my head close to the rays of the lamp hoping, without hope left in me, that the lamp would make me feel happy.

I toiled with asking my father to buy an extreme lamp to leave in my bedroom. I would tell him it was for reading. Only true SAD victims, like myself, feel the need to cover up their disorder. Then it came to me.

"Ah-HA!" I yelled to no one except the dogs who, at this point, wanted me to shut the fuck up. I had realized, much like Edison himself, where the real lightbulbs were at; Tanning Salons. There, in the mother-ship of lightbulbs, the hub of Vitamin C (or D, who knows) I would get a proper, if not excessive, amount of lightbulbage (words made up in blog are based on personal preference and are not to be used in daily life).

Through the dreary day I drove like mad to the nearest Tanning Salon. Past grey buildings, mud-colored roads, and deep-depressing leaflesstrees I flew in my Volkswagon searching for a bit of sun in the middle of January. Finally, it blinded me. There it was glowing in the middle of the gloom beckoning me to its rays of joy and tan-acity.

The girls at the front desk greeted me and gave me a tour. Past stand-up beds, coffin-like beds, and sleep number (just kidding) beds I gazed admiringly. Which would I chose to help me beat my affliction with SAD? In the heat of the moment, I chose the stand-up tanning booth based on it looking less like a coffin and more like a box o' happiness.

The glowing beauties who ran the Tanning Salon offered me lotions showing me how wonderfully they had tanned them. I pushed past their keen salesmanship wanting only to get, as fast as possible, to my cure of SAD. I also avoided their lotions noting the front-desk ladies had streaky-chocolate faces. I didn't need a mocha tan, I didn't need my tan to endure, I didn't need to tingle whilst tanning, I didnt need any of the various products they tried to sell me; including nipple gaurds, nail gaurds, hair hiders, jock socks (weird, huh?) or anal gaurds. Not really the last one but, what if? Ew.I disregarded why all these "gaurds" might be warning me to stay away from the booth and, instead got inside and pressed "START."

For the next five minutes I listened to the music playing in the booth, held tightly to the rails for, as I was told, a more "even tan," and repeated with clenched teeth and eyes "I'm getting skin cancer, I'm getting skin cancer, I'm getting skin cancer...."

Something did happen that day. I didn't feel happier and I didn't feel less SAD or sad. All I felt that day, after my five minutes in the sunshine-happiness booth, was the deep burn that comes with staying out in the sun too long but, in places the sun hath never seen before.

Let it burn,

~The Lady~