FUCK: A SPOTTER'S GUIDE

- Good Fuck: Lots of noise. Makes a point to alert neighbors of sexual activity on premises. Leaves nothing behind and does not phone immediately after. In short, should probably have charged for services rendered.
- Bad Fuck: Counts ceiling tiles, thinks of grocery list. Then demands betrothal.
- Fuckathon: Think... Non stop wildness. Think... The Zoo. R.Kelly. Think... Jurassic Park. Sexasaurus Rex anyone?
- Fuckable: Not so much conventionally attractive as exuding animal qualities. Unless, of course, that animal is an otter. Or slug.
- Fucking Hell: A destitute area populated by people of the special kind who exude sex but would rather talk about their pets, spirituality, sports or their hobbies rather than engage in sex.
- Fucked Over: No longer the recipient of regular fucks.

SEX: A SPOTTER'S GUIDE.

- Sex Shop: Not normally known to sell sex as such, sell things pertaining to sex more like.
- Hot Sex: Reproduces, as nearly as possible, the visual effect of pornography. (Read: Phone-In Sex)
- Good Sex: In which you get everything you want.
- Bad Sex: In which someone else gets everything they want.
- Sex Kitten: A woman of reasonable charm, though often reliant on cantilevering lingerie.
- Sexual: Usually related to the mating rituals of animal species or the burgeoning hormonal urges of youth. Word never used in an actual sexual episode without various Marvin Gaye songs.
- Sex Education: The interface between a banana and a condom. Not generally known to impart any useful information.
- Sex Bomb: A weapon of Mass Destruction.

LOVE: A SPOTTERS GUIDE.

- Love At First Sight: The overwhelming desire to mentally undress, dry hump, or see the inside of the nearest closet (bar toilet, friends back garden, the alley way over there, et al) upon seeing member of choice of sexual orientation.
- True Love: Can be introduced to the family without unreasonable fear of embarrassment. On part of the family.
- Everlasting Love: A polyarmorous couple who haven't had sex with each other in years.
- Love Match: An alliance between kingdoms
- The Love of Your Life: The indolent person from your last year at Uni who spent 8-plus hours a day online and ate all the nutella. The memory of whom mysteriously improves over time.
- In Love: A momentary instance of being almost as interested in someone else as in oneself.
- Loving: Capable of untold amounts of suffocation.
- Lover: The one who comes around when your partner's "out of town.." (read: seeing HIS lover)
- Lovable: Cuddly. In the pejorative sense.

"Game Recognize Game Grandad, and You're Looking Unfamiliar Right Now!"

"Just be yourself" may be the biggest lie anyone ever told. Everyone knows "Being Yourself" is a bad idea, just ask the neighborhood Ho. There's always a buyer for whatever you're selling. For instance, I love Abs, but when girls like me see Abs (knowing how hard it is to get them) I just assume he's mentally incompatible. Why? I figure he lives in the gym. I love Abs, but I love brains more. What does it matter? In the Gym guys defense I only represent about 10% of the female population. So really, my dislike of his "Gym-Time" affects such a small percentile of his overall pussy supply. We know this upon meeting. We know who's who just by looking at each other. He'll see me and know I spend too little time in the gym and too much time in the books, and I know the vice-versa. So what do we do? I give his Ab's a solid Nod. He gives my Ass's perfect circumference a standing ovation, and there continues the circle of life.
Someone once told me that most guys don't go for me because of some reason or the other revolving around my infamous "difficulty" (I pick my bones, what can I say?). At the time, I was offended (and proceeded to take her man) but now in retrospect all this is just Natural Selection. Most guys don't go for me? That's perfectly okay, because guess what? I don't go for Most guys neither. So we just canceled each other out right there. I don't want typical men, and typical men don't want me.
The Theory of "Game Recognize Game" is so etched into the fiber of my being that I cannot afford to waver from the truth. I look at people in the eye, and if I recognize the other person, I nod. If I don't, then I'm honestly trying to learn to just let you be. I release you from all expectations. I accept that your body is indeed just a body, and whatever is residing in that body has nothing to do with me and my peace of mind. Knowing who you are in the scheme of things is important to me, but wild cards exist, and Thank God they do. Oh, how I adore a mind-job.

The Death of Eve. The Birth of Lilith

I'm so highly upset.

So upset, that this blog might be entirely biased. I only have ONE thing to say to each of The Common Offenders. But first, Let me give you a visual of what I'm trying to say. You have a deck of cards (a group of people). You're trying to play a game (You're trying to have fun). You have two "wild cards", commonly referred to as "The Jokers". These two cards can change the game (OR these two characters can change an evening)... so. I have written letters to them.

Before we carry on, I don't want anyone thinking that these things "just come up" for me. I have battled with these characters for forever it seems and they just won't die. While other people live their lives according to plan, and all social things come into frutition and more, no matter how many ways I try, I cannot escape these two. A 24 year and still going strong WAR. And... just to put proof in my pudding, In my letter, I quote a short letter a very good friend of mine had dedicated to Offender Number One earlier on this week (due to a social circumstance, as always) Because WAR takes no holidays, it's cares not about my appeasements. Only about my death (and they certainly are KILLING! me.)

DEAR JOKER NUMERO UNO:

"Dear insecure people,
""You guys are worse off than people with herpes...at least they can occasionally hide their affliction and chill out, where you are quick to be seen in a room with your sickness, in spite of yourself or better wisdom..."" It seems no matter how hard we (the universe) try to help you, you sink deeper into your world of madness.
No you're not like the rest of us. We're cool, trying to chill out and relax. I have included some definitions for you Insecure Person. So that you try and see yourself, I have realized that you insecure people don't know who you are. You just walk around spreading a mean funk and don't know it's you walking with the dog shit under your shoe...
INSECURITY is: Inner turmoil coming from a lack of direction or bewilderment as to where you are going, what your goals are and what responses are appropriate for social events in life.
INSECURE PEOPLE MAY HAVE: Been raised in a chaotic, unpredictable or volatile environment in which they were kept off balance, on guard or on edge.
INSECURE PEOPLE END UP: Being candidates for paranoia
INSECURE PEOPLE NEED TO: Take a rational approach to each problem they face so that they are no longer inhibited by debilitating fears or beliefs.

Insecure person, I'm trying to help you here, by inviting you to my shindigs. It makes me hope you'll embarrass yourself and see Insecurity for the ugly, useless thing it is that's occasionally passed for "Love, Obsession, Passion..." But I'm done helping you. Let's just say that the next time I want to ball, and you're there... I'm going to clock out. Peel out. Roll out. Bounce, Bish. Houdini. Because I've seen the future. I've flashed forward. If I haven't been able to successfully socialize with you in 24 years, I never will. Not last night, not tonight, and not tomorrow night. So I surrender. Here's my white flag. You win. I'm done!


AS FOR YOU... CUPID! JOKER NUMERO DOS!

Dear Cupid,

Please Leave me Alone.
I've trusted you time and time again. I think it's time we part ways. Don't try to convince me otherwise, or try to make it up to me (not that I would expect "kindness" from you). You've ruined more lives than George Bush, or any natural disaster combined. You've made me look like a DUMBAXX on numerous occasions. Sending gifts to undeserving parties, spending hours looking for the perfect card to make him laugh, trying to get my handwriting on it juuuust right so I won't look like a total DUMBAXX. Even baking cakes! Written a few poems! What do I know about Haiku? All I know is I like you. Well, I mean I like him. LIKED him. I mean, I thought I loved him but Cupid, you had to shit on it too. Well Cupid. The feeling is mutual. And you know what? You REALLY suck at your job dude. What did you like, graduate at the BOTTOM of your class or suttin'? See when someone shoots someone, they usually get jail time. What do you get? Praise? You even get your own fucking Holiday! I try to be a nice girl. You know, try to be a lady. But apparently, the quickest way to someone's heart... is through the axxhole. Well, I mean, being an axxhole. When I have no missed calls, I'm picking up the phone just to check if my signal is working. And then when the phone rings my heart-rate jumps just to see if it's HIM, but it's not. Stupid chain texts! No I will not forward to 10 people! (Maybe that's why I didn't get my 4am blessing.) No No No the blame is TOTALLY on YOU. You're NEVER there for me! After all the chances I've given you, are you SERIOUS? You have the power to build me up. Higher than any drug, then in a second, take me lower than any whore has ever been. I want off this roller-coaster. Cut the puppet strings! From this day forward, I am your anti-thesis. and I shall spread all propaganda, shit on all your love projects and be any unions worst nightmare.

DEAR CUPID: FUCK YOU!!!

Sincerely.
A Pretty Girl.

You can't be neutral on a moving train.

""It's that all talk, no listen" Policy. It's cool though, the next flight to Hiroshima is at dawn." -- APGB, March 14, 1.02am

Some ground rules. How do you know if you're a booty call, and not the main squeeze? Well.

1. You're never texted, or updated on this persons life. Never called just to talk, never told you're missed in any context other than the one listed below.

2. If you are contacted, it's probably after sunset, and it's not to meet in any public area... it's to expect some company for the evening.

3. If you are the booty call. Just know it's not a bad position to be in. All's is required is that you be aware of the fact that you're NOT the main squeeze because you're either not physically attractive, or you're mentally incompetent. OR. You got off on the wrong foot. That being said, if you are the booty call... Say as LITTLE as possible. You're not there to talk.

Read Below.

SHORT STORY: I decided not to inform him of my new homes location. So as to let things die naturally. When I had discussed this decision with a previous lover of mine, he had warned me that if he still knew anything about me, that my body would bring me down to my knees. He was right. I concluded that I couldn't let my body suffer for intellectual shortcomings, I asked him to come over. Him being overly eager to come over, happily obliged. I saw multiple orgasms in my horizon - under the sole condition he acts like he knows he's The Booty Call and Does Not Speak. Of course, history told me that he has no knowledge of this Job Description, because The Boy could not Shut The Fuck Up.

The Fates had spoken: This relation would die an unnatural death, HIROSHIMA.

PAUSE. (Commentary) - HIROSHIMA - The mental place where I move all fruitless projects to and drop a bomb on it. Nuclear.

He came to me, complaining of my less than good direction giving. Strike One.

PAUSE. (Commentary) - if you're here for sex, don't say anything negative. Walk in, be charming, be silent, and be seductive.

Due to that, the vibe was jeopardized. We had us some drinks. Apparently, this was the perfect time for him to talk more (Rolling Eyes)... eventually leading to a place of talking about Marriage. Him not accepting the marriage cycle of a hypothetical situation, a cultural mixation of American and African. Me not caring about his opinion. Him asking if his American Ideals have had no effect on my African Ideals. Me saying only the effects I've always wanted it to have have taken their rightful place, the rest I threw in the trash. Him not accepting these answers, undermining my take on his ideals. Me, anxious for dawn, when the next flight to Hiroshima takes off. Him, giving me another hypothetical situation. A choice, between a hard working man who fails at all things, or a rich man who's successful at all things but without the effort. Me choosing the logical option, Mr.Big. Him so rattled and upset by this choice, wrangles me for an explanation. Me explaining that I like Winners. That like the Lioness, if two males were to physically fight over me, I'd choose the victor, and never look back. Him being SO bothered by this, tells ME that I'M not who he thought I was (look who's talking, booty call) and decides to sleep on the couch. Me, unphazed. Nonchalantly retire to sleep and immediately erase all his contacts.

He arises in the morning and asks me what I'm doing in the afternoon. I wonder why he tries so hard to apply for the Main Squeeze position, when he couldn't even cut it for the Booty Call? I made something up and closed the door.

Hiroshima flight takes off.

ALL THE REASONS WHY HE CANNOT BE MAIN SQUEEZE:
- Physically ideal, Facially unattractive
- Mentally incompetent (all this fighting with the course of nature HAD to stop. It's not that he's unintelligent. He just doesn't get it because he refuses to broaden his perspective away from his own)
- Refuses to read and learn his Job Description.


CONCLUSION: As so eloquently put by my fellow Ninja
I think some people look for relationships in the wrong places and get confused when the result isn't what they were hoping. You don't aspire to date a guy/girl who's coochie/penis you happened to fall on at midnight after the club or on a drunken night.

Until proven otherwise you are to assume you are a one night fuck buddy

Then you're Booty Call buddies if you get a second phone call.

But That's It

I rest my case.

APG's Manifesto

A Pretty Girl might never be married. She has too many Options. Too many ways to not be where she is. The Pretty Girl knows that most things she wants are hers for the taking. That with a certain amount of charm, any harm done to her choice of lovers can be easily undone. A Pretty Girl doesn't want to endure, suffer, compensate, or persevere for love. She is under the impression that love is the honeymoon particle of all relationships. Little does she know of the lessons her ever elusive opposite can teach her. For instance, an Ugly Girl knows what it is to work for a relationship. Which is mostly to endure, suffer, compensate, and persevere. It's the only way "relationships" can survive. The only reason Ugly Girls are talented at this is because they lack the one essential component A Pretty Girl defines herself on: OPTIONS. Lessons Pretty Girls should learn;

Its easy to be faithful (when nobody's trying to fuck you)
It's easy to be satisfied with little (when you had nothing to begin with)

A Pretty Girl = Wild Animal.

A Wild Animal roams on its plains moving here and there. When drought hits the premesis, it relocates. If it's too cold, it relocates. If it's too anything, it moves. Never second guessing the fact that somehow, somewhere, there are greener pastures awaiting! Pretty Girls are the same. Try to put one of these creatures in a zoo, and you will witness the biggest struggle you might have ever seen. The absence of a limitation on your Options makes all the difference in your beliefs and actions.

Like a captured Tiger in a zoo, she will circle her cage for all eternity. Pondering methods of escape. Dreaming of the Jungle.
To bring A Pretty Girl to her knees is to tame a wild animal. Impossible.

The delusion of never ending OPTIONS lasts until A Pretty Girl's last breath... She who lives Pretty, dies Pretty.