Circle Back Around

Editor’s note: This post is brought to you by marijuana.

It’s like that thing when you’re g-chatting with one of your friends who’s trying to cheer you up because you are sad and he sends you the most bangin’ dating website ever of which you run and tweet to amazement of your followers. And then later that evening you’re playing Words With Friends with your ex boyfriend from college who you may or may not have lost your virginity to when he brings up said tweets and reminds you that your freshman year roommate was in a porn called “Cap’n Stabbin’s Anal Adventures”, something that you haven’t thought about in years and then tweet about immediately, forgetting temporarily that another one of your roommates is also on Twitter who then responds that she too remembers your roommate who was in a porn in college at which point you remember screening said porn when you were still with your now ex husband and wanting to vomit which then reminds you that you guys met at Easy Street, which is now Sullivan’s, which is also where you first met said friend who originally sent you the awesome captain dating website and introduced you to your most recent ex boyfriend which is why you were bummed and needed cheering up in the first place.  And because of your ex husband you realize that that is why you work at Steal Your Soul,  Inc. and because of Steal Your Soul, Inc. you started a blog and then got on Twitter which is how you met aforementioned original friend above and everything is so meta right now and you wonder what your freshman year roommate who was in the porn is up to right this very second, but you should probably go to sleep since it’s midnight and you need to be at Steal Your Soul, Inc. in the morning.


Dry Spellitis


I rarely get sick. I thank my mother for subjecting me to an onslaught of germs at a young age and refusing to take me to the doctor to get antibiotics, thus bolstering my immune system to super human strength.  I also credit my unwillingness to rid my shower of mold, which I believe aids me in not getting AIDS.  The last time I was sick was back in February when I had a wicked case of Cabin Fever caused by the fifteen god damn snow storms we had.  Unfortunately, poppets, I’m sick again. This time I’ve caught myself a terrible case of Dry Spellitis. 

Dry Spellitis is a medical condition caused by not getting any action ever for an extended period of time ranging from one month to infinity.  Symptoms include being sexually frustrated and being convinced everyone is getting more sexy times than you (because they are).  The initial stages of Dry Spellitis are the most severe as sufferers who were at one time used to getting laid, now do not. As the Dry Spell continues the patient begins to accept their condition. In the latter stages of the disorder it is common to find those with Dry Spellitis slowly hoarding newspapers and semi-feral cats. 

There is no known treatment for Dry Spellitis beyond making out with oneself, which only temporarily alleviates the symptom of the disorder.  Loved ones should be aware that although Dry Spellitis is not contagious, it is best to not speak of one’s own sexual conquests in front of them lest the patient rip your fucking face off.

A Gentlelady’s Guide to Strawberry Hill

You won't actually see any of this

Strawberry Hill is this Saturday and white people from across the region flock to Colonial Downs to binge drink under the guise of a horse race.  It’s really great fun.  You will see all types of white people there from the bluest of the blue blood rich white person to the biggest East End Redneck drinking beer out of a hat with no shirt on white person.  You’ll even spot a fledging hipster or two, there solely for the irony of course.  As such, a gentlelady such as myself must be sufficiently prepared ahead of time to deal with the ridiculousness of this event.  For the fellas, I recommend checking out Jack’s advice here.  For those with a v instead of a p, behold my top five tips to make it through Strawberry Hill in one piece!

1-Dress to Impress!  It’s time to break out your spring fineries.  Don’t dress to the lame ass theme, because that’s retarded. Show off your assets. If you can’t hookup at Strawberry Hill, then you might as well give up on a life. It’s one giant orgy. Also, for the sake of everyone else’s sanity, wear comfortable, yet sassy shoes. Hard to pull off I know, but no one wants to hear you bitch and complain about how much your feet hurt all god damn day.

2-Wear sunscreen! There’s nary a shady area there and you’ll burn to a crisp by one in the afternoon if you don’t have the forethought to lather up properly before leaving your crib.  As sexy as raccoon eyes and skin cancer look on TV, put on some gd sunscreen. You’re white! Hello! 

3-Pace yourself! Unless you want to be carted off by EMTs at noon (seen this) or end up left behind because you wandered away from your group (also seen this) keep your SHOTS, SHOTS, SHOTS, SHOTS, SHOTS to a minimum.  Don’t drink too slowly, however, as you will become sleepy and lame. It’s important to find the right balance between slowing your roll and having another red bull and vodka.

4-Charge your Billy Mays!  Shenanigans and antics will occur as the afternoon progresses. People from your group will roam and wander away and you may find yourself halfway across the track and unable to remember your plot number (been there).  Communication via cell phone or carrier pigeon is a necessity lest you be left in New Kent and forced to catch a ride back to the city with a bunch of randoms in the back of their van (hi, I’m a pro. Of course I’ve seen this).

5-Put your “strolling” cocktails in a container with a lid. Think sippy cups for adults.  Do you want to spill a freshly made Bloody Marry down your sundress before you’ve even made it around the first turn? (again, I’ve been there)  Do you want to trip and fall and have your brewskie go flying all over the back of your bestie’s dress? (of course I’ve done this!) No, you don’t.

Remember you’re going to be hammertimed, so do your best to plan ahead of time to prevent rookie mistakes.  Follow my sage advice and you’ll be making out in front a group of strangers in no time. Money back, guaranteed!

We are turning one!

Happy birthday to us!


Hi, guys. Guess what?  Our little baby blog is turning one on Friday. Can you believe it?  I would like to take a trip down memory lane if you don’t mind and revisit some of my favorite posts from the past year.  

I tickled myself pink when I created my own bar guide.  A year later it is still shockingly accurate. Kudos to me!  

We took it really hard when Terrell Brown left NBC 12 last summer. Barista and I still wax poetic about infamous time our main man did a snow angel on the side of Midlothian Turnpike in two inches of snow with his microphone still on. God damn, that was great.  

We are good at generalizations and stereotypes (they save time). Nowhere is this more evident than our Virginia College Retrospective series. Barista’s tribute to Randolph Macon and my ditty about JMU are my favs.  Please note, these posts still receive comments which cause me to LOL/ROTFL/LMBO forever.  

Remember when I got Billy Mays? I do, too. Longest relationship I’ve had since my big D.  

Then we went on vacation!  

One of my favorite Top Fives!  

Remember when RVA was obsessed with naming our new baseball team? I still wish the Richmond Hambones won, but whatever. Screw it.  

Cat Scratch Fever took over my life in November. Barista had to get all intervention up on my ass with the help of a few of our friends. R.I.P Little Jerry Seinfeld!    

Stop bitching about the heat. Remember all of this bullshit?  

Bob McDonnell and The Cooch really step up the crazy, making my job a hell of a lot easier. Thanks, guys!  

I tried to leave UMOT out of it, but was quickly scolded on my decision.  The thought of getting called bitter one more time made my skin crawl.  But hey, it’s a great post. Plus also, two different people are now committed into buying me all the tacos I can eat if I get called something I deem nasty. Cheers!   

Here’s to another year of snarky badassery. See y’all at the club.

I Hate Sex And The City

(Insert picture of the four gals shopping here!)
In honor of the upcoming  sequel to the worst movie I’ve ever had the displeasure of viewing, today’s post is dedicated to Sex And The City! Girl time! Cosmos! Jimmy Choo!


When you get married you tend to forget what life was really like when you were single and could do whatever you wanted without having to “check in/ask” your spouse/domestic partner/real doll.  The tendency to wax poetic about your “single years” is high. I know this because 1-I did this when I was married and 2-many of my married friends now do this to me.  I’ll resist the urge to quote Janis Joplin here because I have more respect for y’all than that. 

Anywhoos, what better television show/movie franchise to better capitalize on women’s inability to remember the past than Sex And The City?  If I had to choose the one thing that most makes me want to claw my eyes out and throw them at the television is the completely unrealistic portrayal of “being single”.  Let me tell you ladies and germs, it sure as shit isn’t gal paling around town with your three besties. First of all, this would not happen. There is one single person (me) and everyone else is married with 1-3,000,000 children, thus making grabbing a few Cosmos on a Saturday night a statistical impossibility without planning six months to a year in advance.  Plus also, Cosmos are nasty and I’m way too poor. 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m happier now than ever.  You meet new people and have new adventures and it’s completely badass, but to all the former single ladies, let’s keep it real.  So the next time you sit down with big ole glass of chardonnay (if you call it Mommy juice my head will explode) and watch a rerun of that shitastic show, think of me, being fabulous in my thrift store outfit.  Cheers!

Facespace May be the Death of Me

I saw this little ditty of a status update on Facespace today and it made me want to claw my eyes out of my skull and throw them at the person who posted it. Please note: this is exactly how it appeared on my news feed.   

I am a cook, a housekeeper, a parent, a teacher, a student, a referee, a taxi driver, a nanny, a nurse, a handy woman, a maid, a secretary, security, and a comforter. I don’t get holiday, sick pay, or a day off, I work through the day and some of the night, I am under paid and over worked. Now tell me that YOUR job is harder then mine. Repost this if you’re a MOM.

Let’s break down the most annoying aspects of this update, besides the preachy, “I’m better than you” vibe.  We’ll leave that to your imagination!

1-I’m not sure when not having pushed a child out of a vagina exempted us empty-wombed women from having to cook, drive, tend to wounds we suffer when skipping and subsequently falling or paying bills but nada mas!   Life: I’m doing it wrong! 

2-I also work through the day and am underpaid. Totes sucks!  And it is “underpaid”, not “under paid”, just so you know. Same deal with “over worked” which means something entirely different from what you meant to say which was “overworked”.  And last but not least, it’s “harder than”, not “harder then”.  Sorry, grammer’s a bitch! 

3-Again, I’m not trying to be a stickler, but I would say these should be separate sentences: 

I don’t get holiday, sick pay, or a day off (PERIOD!) I work through the day and some of the night (PERIOD!) I am under paid (SIC) and over worked (SIC).

4-I don’t care enough about my job to tell you if it’s harder than yours. My job blows. Sounds like yours does, too so we’re even.

5-I’m not a MOM, but I am an AQUARIUS. I like tacos, unicorns and shiny things with a sparkle. Let’s get together and talk about you and your MOTHERHOOD and me and my inability to connect to people on an EMOTIONAL LEVEL!

Yearly Awkward Exam 2010 (Back to the Future)

Scootch that butt down!


Every year women get the glorious treat of getting their who-has given the once over at the gynie. It’s mad fun and we all count down the days with more anticipation than a teenage girl at a Justin Bieber concert!  My special day finally arrived yesterday and I was stoked to hear my four favorite words, “Scootch your butt down!”  Squee!  With last year’s nightmare visit still fresh in my mind I was armed with an arsenal of lies to tell my doctor. “Yes, I quit smoking”. “Nope, no new sexual partners”. “I”m going to Northern Italy for vacation this year.”  However, upon entering the doctor’s office filled with happy pregnant couples (gross), nervous teenage girls and their angry mothers (rad) and me (badass), all of my lies completely flew out the window. It’s like they have some truth serum up in that bitch. 
My visit went as follows:
Nurse: Do you need to use the restroom?
Me: Yes, please! Nervous bladder!
Nurse: Do I need to test your urine for anything? Pregnancy? Urinary Tract Infections, etc?
Me: Ha! I sure hope not!
Nurse: Is that a yes or a no?
Me: A no.
Nurse: Please turn around and take your shoes off.
Me: Wha? Normally I get dinner first!
Nurse: (Not thinking I’m funny even a little bit) It’s to measure you.
Nurse: You’re 5 foot, two and half inches.
Me: STFU! I’ve grown! I’ve gotten taller!
Nurse: That’s impossible. You’re too old to grow. You’ve been incorrectly measured is all.
Me: ……. (sad face)
Now we get to the good stuff!
Dr: Hi, TLW. So good to see you again!
Me: Whee!
Dr: Any changes in medical history we need to be aware of?
Me: Nope.
Dr: Any abortions? Surgeries?
Me: Ha! No!
Dr: Still smoking?
Me: Yes!
Dr: Do you drink?
Me: Yes. Holler!
Dr: Any new sexual partners?
Me: (I had already planned on taking this actual number, dividing it in half and then saying 1/4 of that.) Yes.
Dr: How nice! How did y’all meet?
Me: (Not believing she actually assumed this was only one person I instantly invent my astronaut boyfriend a la Liz Lemon) know…out?
Dr: How nice! How long have you been together?
Me: Like a year. He’s super great. So, so special.
Dr: Great.  Now scootch your butt down.
Dr: Well, everything looks just great. Great cervix, uterus looks great and your fallopian tubes look top-notch.
Me: Great? 
Dr: Are you using birth control?
Me: No. I mean yes. YES. ALWAYS.
Dr: Condoms?
Me: Yep. Bring ’em on!
Dr: That’s good. You should always use condoms.  Many men are unaware they even have an STD until it’s really bad.
Me: Like really gross?
Dr: Absolutely totally disgusting.  Like “go sit way over there” gross.
Me: Ha! Badass!
There you have it ladies and germs. My shit’s too legit to quit and me and my boyfriend are probably getting engaged soon. So yeah, be jealous of our love. Holler if you see us holding hands and being loserly dorks!