Further Proof That I’d Make The Worst Mistress Ever


Ryan: “Can we discuss the fact that you haven’t been to my place in two weeks, and I’m still finding your hair in weird places?”

Me: “Can we discuss what this indicates about your cleaning methods?”

Ryan: “I never see my own hair.”

Me: “Apples and oranges, dude.  Your hair is like, what, a inch long and beige?  Mine are three feet long and red…hardly a fair comparison.”

Ryan: “But can we agree that finding them in the following places is weird: in my dress shoe, on the office keyboard, and wrapped around my neck while I’m sleeping?  You can’t even pet my cat, and I found one of your hairs tangled in his ass.”

Me: “I think the larger issue is that you’re inspecting the cat’s ass.”

Here…Let Me Ruin Your Self-Esteem, Playa.



John: “So, now I’m having to make sure that I’m done with brunch with the first girl in time to pick the second girl up.”

Me: “Are you proud of yourself for juggling two women at once?”

John: “Um…YEAH.”

Me: “Can I offer you some perspective, Cassanova?”

John “This should be good.”

Me: “As proud as you are of juggling TWO women, there was an annual televised contest, in which TEN TIMES that many women fought for the affection of a syphilitic Flava Flav.”


John: “How come your perspective always ruins everything.”

Me: “It’s a gift.”


I Swear We’re Not Perverts…We Just Want To WATCH Perverts


I have to preface these texts by telling you that Ryan and I have a running joke about Anthem, this very Stepford-esque suburban “planned community”, that lies just north of Phoenix.  He claims he heard a rumor about an underground swinger’s scene that goes on up there, where reportedly, the swingers identify themselves to each other by placing purple rocks in their yards.

Ryan: Damn it!  I was up in Anthem for that service, and I didn’t get a chance to look around.

Me: You mean that, while on your way to a FUNERAL, you didn’t try and track down some swinger-sign?  What’s wrong with you!?

Ryan: We could always go back this weekend.  That’s a fun date, isn’t it?

Me: Me, you, some flashlights…good times. What do we do if we find any?

Ryan: “I’m sorry, but we couldn’t help noticing your rocks.  We were wondering how you get them off?”

Me: “No, we don’t want to join…nice cold sore, by the way, but we’d like to observe from a safe distance.  Outside the ‘Splash Zone’, if you will…”

Ryan: “Do you provide tarps?  Oh, no, nevermind, we have rain panchos…that’ll do.”

Me: Good thing I keep those in my car.

Ryan: Yeah, we don’t want anything to get stained.

Me: LIKE OUR SOULS!  Bring that vial of holy water I saw in your kitchen.

Ryan: Pretty sure that turns to vinegar the moment it crosses a swinger threshold.

Me: So…Saturday?

Ryan: Sounds good.  Bring galoshes.

It’s Like Lord Of The Flies…Without All Of The Tropical Scenery



Me: “Hey, we just need to ask everyone what they saw, and then we need to make a decision about how we’re moving forward with this.”

Student: “I didn’t do ANYTHING!”

Me: “I hear you, but you were there, so we have to find out what happened.”

Student: “I’m not the one who tagged the bathroom!  They’re all a bunch of goddamn snitches!”

Me: “Um…just an observation…but if you didn’t do anything…how can they be snitching?”

Student: *death stare*

Fiat…I Want A Check…And Condoms In The Glovebox.


Ryan: The kids with their dad?

Me: Yup.  I might pull a Risky Business in a minute and do some air guitar in my underpants.

Ryan: Just don’t start a brothel in your house, or you’ll spend the entire weekend terribly concerned about an overpriced crystal egg.

Me: You just know his parents were at some high-end swinger’s weekend…some Eyes Wide Shut number.

Ryan: You mean where they wear masks, and could just as easily be attending a human sacrifice?

Me: WASP boners as far as the eye can see…

Ryan: WASPS don’t have “boners”, and they can only get them if they throw back a Cyalis with their single-malt.

Me: Thank God we’re just poor Irish-Italian immigrant trash.  Our people only needed a couch and healthy dose of shame, and it was on.

Ryan: Shame is Irish lubricant.  Also liquor, let us not forget the liquor.

Me: And the Italian side?

Ryan: Italians are passionate.  Any high surface will do.  Countertop…Tables…Hood of a Fiat…

Me: Back of a Vespa?

Ryan: I’ve heard you can’t get pregnant on the back of a Vespa.

Me: I think we just explained why you have so many cousins, Casanova.


Maybe It Was The Fact That I Fart Rainbows.


PWDUB=Person Who Doesn’t Understand Bumper Stickers

PWDUB: “I didn’t realize you were gay.”

Me: (pause) “Well….that’s two of us.”

PWDUB: “Huh?”

Me: “I’m not gay.”

PWDUB: “Oh…but that sticker on your car…I thought…”

Me: “That sticker means I support equal human rights.”

PWDUB: “Oh…I thought…but, you’re always posting on Facebook about…

Me: “Yeah, that stuff doesn’t mean I’m gay…it means I’m not a dick.”

(the most awkward pause of all time…)

Me: “So…wanna talk about how much I love penis, or were you hoping to ask me if you could borrow my Indigo Girls album, and I just ruined everything?”



And I Shall My Make My Chapeau From the Finest of Tin Foils…and It Will Be MARVELOUS.



***Yes, Ryan and I are obsessed with the NSA monitoring our texts.  We are clearly narcissists who read too many spy novels.***

Ryan: What was going on with Bugs and all the cross-dressing?  Was he based on J. Edgar Hoover, what with all of his spying and his manipulation of Elmer and Daffy?  He was OBSESSED with control.

Me: Oh, you totally know Bugs was into leather.

Ryan: Obviously.  Probably had an 11″ dildo in his nightstand, too.

Me: Well, don’t we all?

Ryan: I think it’s in the Constitution.

Me: Falls under the Second Amendment?  Right to bear arms?

Ryan: At 11″, it might be an ACTUAL bear arm.

Me: Ha!

Ryan: How does one purchase an 11″ dildo?  What exactly do you say to the store clerk?

Me: “You know…I just don’t think that 8-incher is getting me where I need to go.”

Ryan: “Here’s a picture of a bear’s arm…how close can you get me?”

Me: It’s too big to buy in person, one would have to purchase that item online.

Ryan: And you’d know this how?

Me: Logic!  Don’t judge me, you!

Ryan: Hey, no need to qualify the purchase.  It clearly isn’t for me.  Now it’s just between you and Visa.  And the NSA who is reading this, of course.

Me: Damn it NSA, I thought we were cool.