facial expression

Tonight, I was told by a couple of my friends that I often walk not just with poise, or purpose, but a general look of and I quote I am "going to punch a fucker" to prove the point at some point while we were getting ready to go this picture was taken.

It is an interesting continuation of a conversation I have been having off and on for years with my friend Crow...about how she gives off fuck off or I will deck you vibe sand people leave her alone, but somehow my version of it is seen as a challenge.

I seriously want to joint the Evil League of Evil because maybe then people would take my "I am going to kick you in bad bad places seriously!

More on this when I am more coherent and it isn't 4am.


I know this makes me a bitch (in one of many ways really)

Damn. No more short men.

I hate to say it because I am sure there are a number of very nice short men out there, but I have come to a point in my life where when a man is my height (5'7 in bare feet) or shorter...I am all dried up. I mean there is the Sahara in my pants.

There are a couple reasons for this. Let's first look at me. I mean physically. I am not a tiny girl. I am not fat, trust me I bust my ass enough that I can honestly say I am not fat. But at 5'7, I am not a petite girl either. (No, not giving my weight or measurements) How's about we just say I can take a bastard out in a fight.

So, I really have no interest in feeling all huge around a man, esp don't really feel like being the hulkette in bed. Honestly, I enjoy feeling small, protected when wrapped up in a guys arms. I realized quite recently that I rather enjoy the feeling of being almost lifted off the ground as a guy wraps me up in a hug, or kisses me. It makes me feel unusually feminine...

YEAH THERE I SAID IT! Trust me my feminist side beats me up whenever I admit that detail. It's okay, she is currently fighting with my libido, my inner child, and my inner OCD monkey. It's a party in here I tell you.

Honestly, I can throw down. As a friend recently pointed out to me, I have always been kind of able to take care of myself, but anymore I am getting to the point of being positively lethal. I am in good shape and enjoy getting dirty, there is something fun about being able to wrestle about.

So, it's kind of nice to be with a guy who gives as good as he gets, who is bigger than me and could quite possibly win.

Now, here is the other thing. Yes of course there is the fact that my ex was short, which obviously is that whole mental BLECH want the opposite thing. Thing is, the ex, along with honestly every other short guy I have dated has had something to prove.

Man...does that get irritating.

Oh trust me I know that most people on some level have something to prove. Hell I always have something to prove. That being said, there is a reason there is a whole complex named after this particular phenom.

Not throwing the hate at short guys, I have plenty of short guy friends. Just saying that when it comes to potential playmate, boyfriend, or anything that involves anything more than playing a first person shooter on a big screen TV, I just can't do it.

Now if you will excuse me, I need to go find lotion because just thinking about this topic made me dry out and chafe!


It's baaaack.

Alright, so aftera long hiatus from this blog (I still maintain my Livejournal. I never have been good at break ups, and really my LJ has been with me for 11 years now.) I am going to be coming back to it.

Not really going to go too much into my photography, other than to use it to help me make a point, or just to distract you from my poor spelling and grammar.

I have spent a lot of time going over blogs, and in the last couple years I have written for a number of them, analyzed others, worked on SEO for blogs, and really? BUrned myself right out on it. Basically it became...work. And really? Who wants to work when they are not at...work.

Not that anyone who knows me would believe me, but I also burned out on writing and felt as though I had nothing to say. Pff. Now, picture a teakettle about to explode or whatever mental cliched image you can (no, please don't picture me as a giant penis about to spew goo.) But there you have it,ready to write again.

I dunno, maybe being married for that little bit of time sucked the life and the creativity right out of me and I shouldn't blame it on work?