You may want to wear a gas mask while reading this post. I’m sure near the end you will smell a rather peculiar scent. Have you ever wondered how the hell a human can release such lethal toxins (into the air) from that miniscule hole between the cheeks of the buttock? I mean, that force of funk causes vibrations, sharp pains, burning sensations, unbecoming tunes, strange facial expressions, and smells that would clear a few rooms. Contrary to popular belief, the human fart is the best defense mechanism (against bratty children, obnoxious in-laws, nosey co-workers, and frenemies).
A female fart is like no other bodily function. It’s like a “rumble in the Bronx” … It’s like a roar from a cowardly lion. Some men think women don’t “toot the horn” or “blast butt music.” Fellas, we can’t hold it in … we would explode only to be broken down into little women (with silent and deadly butt bombs).
Some women are too embarrassed or too ashamed to “let the gas out” … especially in the presence of their significant other. Honey, you better “rip the runway!” He’ll probably love you more … then again, he may leave your “stank” ass. Ha! Ha! Ladies, it’s natural and it’s okay to “poot.” It becomes a problem when you don’t. I mean the stench could exude through your pores (who wants to walk around smelling like day old gym socks or a loaded burrito that’s been sitting in your stomach for weeks). That daring and brave (I might add) “poot” could sneak out and leave a lingering odor (all eyes would be on you).
Yes my dear … Women fart too. Who are you going to call? Fart Busters? Let Go and Let Flow!
Be like an animal! Dare to be different. Wear your stripes with pride (Your flaws are the perfect imperfection), Roar like a Lioness (Be confident), and Extend your claws (Be fearless).
I’m often my own worst enemy. There are days that I wish I was taller, sometimes a little bit shorter, smaller in the waist, slimmer hips and thighs, more defined abdominal muscles, and had less of a pooch and rump-a-dacious curve in the back.
All things hoped for are not always the components that make us extraordinary or distinctive earth bound beings. Our external and internal “tattoos” or make-up define who we truly are and who we are/were meant to be.
Roar … Growl … Bark … Howl … Hiss! BE LIKE AN ANIMAL! BE FEARLESS!
You never know what someone is going through until you walk miles (barefoot) or in their shoes with no soles. Everyone attempts to travel alone before needing the company of someone else. The world is composed of too many bullies (intentional or unintentional). Before you form your lips to speak, allow your thoughts to process. The tongue is the most powerful weapon we as humans possess. It’s like a samurai sword piercing through your body and tipping the core of your heart (right before the “lub dub”).
We were all planted on this earth to bloom without fear of someone cutting off our supply of water, oxygen, and essential nutrients and fly without fear of someone clipping our wings. Humans tend to be the most disengaged and insensible beings on earth. We often attack others (with words) like a predator decoying its prey. Words can hurt and in many instances, kill.
I ask that each and every one of you take just five minutes out of your day to converse with a stranger. It only takes a few seconds to utter, “Good Morning” or “Have a beautiful day.” Smile like you just won the lottery. Actually you did … the lottery of life. You were blessed with another chance and another opportunity to LIVE. Be a blessing to someone else. A chapter in your life story could be the one to save a life.
What better way to start the morning off than with a tribute to ass. I know, how dare I write a post about that big (or small) bubble butt, that big (or small) “cake by the pound”, that big (or small) slab of “junk in your trunk”, or that big (or small) mass of curvaceous meaty tissue we coin as the one, the only … ass.
I’ve watched them all (butts that is) sway like a broke pimp or attempt to speak with no sound during one of my many “people (butt) watching” segments at the supermarket. There’s no better way to enjoy your grocery experience. Men with muscular butts tend to make a sista drool like a fool … it’s the right cheek that does it to me every time. They can flex the muscle without even knowing it. I just want to throw a penny at that ass and make a wish all before it (the penny that is) bounces back and hits me in the eye (It’ll shoot your eye out kid) … OUCH!
This is for the ladies who often feel a bit embarrassed or weird about their bountiful blessing. I often have to buy jeans one size up just to appease my rump. I even tried to suck it in once … Big Mistake (no pun intended) … the trapped gas I once had slowly eased right on out once my booty was released from my muscle bound grip. I was literally the walking fart machine. Can you imagine walking around only to rush into a corner to let loose? YIKES! It wasn’t the sound (it has quite a harmonic tone) it was the smell (forces you to make the ugliest face, close your eyes, and fan your nose before the hairs are abruptly charred).
Embrace your booty! Walk with class without displaying all of that ass.
Cheers to my BIG (or small) booty sisters (no matter your color)!
Ladies, we must do a lot better in the public restroom department. Every time I walk into a public restroom I feel as though I need to be fully armored with a gas mask, full artillery, a biohazard suit, and a fire extinguisher (poop can be explosive). Not only are we forced to squat (excruciating pain after leg day at the gym), but we must avoid touching the shiny chromed handle with our hands. We then must use some out of nowhere kung fu kick to flush. What makes matters even worse is when you hear the grunts and moans of a woman who has the infamous “bubble guts” … Now, you must hold your nose, squat like a novice twerker, and hurry the hell out of there. What a nightmare! But wait, it’s not just the southern ladies … it’s all of us born with a brilliant va-jay-jay. It births, bleeds, and burps! That’s one powerful “P.H.A.T (Pretty Hot and Tempting) Pocket!”
Ladies, we must do better in the public restroom department. Comment below with your public restroom horror stories.
You read the title right! No need to rub your eyes or scratch your head in confusion. I am happy to say that I am a sexless single woman. I shouldn’t profess it so bluntly, should I? … (clears throat) … I am a celibate single woman. Now, that sounds a bit more elegant and prude. Ha Ha! To be honest, I am proud to not spread my legs for the first guy who offers me a two piece snack deal or a biscuit without the honey. Hell, I am a vegetarian so widening my womb for chicken, pork, or steak is out the question.
Male and female friends of mine often ask the day old question, “How do you do it girl?” How? I tend to focus all of my attention on things that will bring value to my empire. Things that will increase my wealth. I’m sorry, one night of lust from a stranger will not add dinero (Ching Ching not Ding-a-Ling) into my checking account unless I am a high dollar prostitute willing to Flip it, Spin on it, Rock steady with it, or Drop it like it’s luke warm.
I don’t place sex at the forefront when meeting someone of the opposite sex. A guy of interest must be willing to carry on an intellectual conversation and converse via a phone conversation instead of texting slang every other day (Wyd, Hru, K, Y, GM) I often respond with the following sequence of letters -> WTFAIWMT (Why The F-Bomb Am I Wasting My Time) only to get the infamous “?” (Question Mark). LOL! Access Denied!
You can call me what you like. I refuse to lower my standards in an effort to change my status on social media from ‘Single” to “In a Relationship” only to change it to “It’s Complicated” the next week. You can call me old school or eldered. I still believe in courting (aka dating for the younger generation) before knocking the boots.
As a young girl at a tender and preadolescent age, I always wanted to be an ethnic and beautiful princess with long flowing shiny black hair and slightly sun-kissed skin. Sort of like the Disney character, Princess Tiana from the animated film, The Princess and the Frog. I wanted to escape the immature and vulgar boys in grade school and ride happily ever after in a pink diamond encrusted carriage with my prince charming.
As I think about it (presently), my prince charming was like the perfect gentleman. The perfect partner that every girl (or woman) would often dream of (look at me now). He had a body like an overexposed jock, the scent of an Axe model (the pheromones would be electrifying), hair so perfectly molded that he used half a jar of Bed Head molding wax, and eyes like a Hawaiian sea at sunrise. Damn! If only day dreams were more than just a figment of the imagination or a mere escape from reality.
Now that I am 3 decades and several years old (coughs uncontrollably), nothing has truly changed in the imagination department. The boys that were once immature and displayed vulgar behavior are now living in men molds with the same adolescent mentality.
After my amicable divorce in 2012, I was forced to enter the dark age of dating again. Holy Shit! I thought I had somehow entered the land of the lost and never found (some men were and still are using their penis as a compass to find the land of va-jay-jay). This can not be real!
Fast Forward two years (inserts Back to the Future theme song) to my dismay, dating has become nothing more than a race to the bedroom with dirty funky sheets and leftover bodily fluids from the previous sexcapade. (Grabs my crotch in disgust). YUCK! No one has standards or respect anymore. Who do you blame? Men, Women, the Media, or Society as a whole? I’m still searching for the answer to this sought after question that seems to fade into an atmospheric cluster of debris.
Hooray! This is my first blog post! Look forward to candid interviews with other singles and couples, real life experiences (dating), and other dateless mumbo jumbo. This is going to be one hell of a ride ladies and gentlemen … buckle up for safety while I prepare to accelerate into the whirlwind of dating (dateless) in carolina.