Musing on muses?

A friend said to me that he felt like he may have lost his creative spark.
This got me thinking about whether or not that could actually happen.
I know people encounter creative blocks but to actually lose the life blood of your creativity?

I thought about the long spells where I was not creative at all and most of those times were due to my surroundings - being in an area and/or situation that was not conducive to creative endeavors.
Just existing day to day was all that filled my time.

...which then put me in mind of what my ex-husband would always say
(and it is a proven psychological fact)
You become like those with whom you surround yourself.

I said this recently to that friend, who I think misinterpreted it to mean attitude only. 
But it is not about attitude only - it is about everything.
You will become like them socially, economically and well, you eventually just become "them"
I have experienced this a few times in my life.
I felt beat down.
I was sad.
Everyday life was rote.
I was not faring well creatively.

When I finally woke up to it, I knew I had to make a change.
A drastic change.
I understand that some cannot make drastic changes but even subtle changes can make a difference.  You have to find the "hive" that is conducive to keeping the spark alive.
People who express ideas and draw and take pictures.
Collaborators.
Innovators.
Thinkers.
Bakers.
Writers.
Musicians and poets.
And within that hive, with any luck, you may even discover a muse;
A driving force that will take a match and strike it right in front of you - for you.

Being around creative people keeps your creativity flowing and the fire stoked; even if you are not producing anything.
There's a reason all of those amazing creative hives existed in Athens, Paris, Barcelona, NYC and the like. The greatest writers, artists, musicians etc have all seemed to have been a part of a "scene"

I have currently not been feeling creative visually so I had to switch gears and spent the last year concentrating on doing comedy and comedic writing.
I wanted to paint - I had ideas to paint but just couldn't.
I am aware that I am currently not living in a "happening" part of town so I have to make a concerted effort to go be around the things that I want to do and the people I want to have motivate me.
I need some sort of artistic stimulation away from the mundane - even if I just wander around and look at things and snap pics with my phone.
At one point I had to channel all my creative energy into cooking/baking.
It was the only thing I had the time, energy and funds to do during that period of my life.
I even took a job at an art supply store, which did wonders for me creatively!
I was around "my people"
I try to do something creative every day even if it is a ridiculous image on my white board or some photoshop nonsense I send to a friend or family member.
Many times that is the reason for writing these.
It keeps me from being sad - from dimming the spark.

So, can you lose the creative spark?
I think that is up to us as individuals.
It can lie dormant or go into hibernation and maybe even be forgotten but I don't believe it ever dies.
I don't think we should get down on ourselves when we just can't - no matter how hard we try or what our expectations were.
Maybe all that is needed to reignite the spark is as simple as a drink in a strange bar, a pen and a cocktail napkin.

Swiping Conundrum

What's the difference between "dating" and "hanging out?"

I believe that is the question that stumps pretty much everyone who participates in the swipe games.
As most of my readers are aware, I participate in the games in 6 month increments, get completely re-disillusioned and then sit them out for the next 6 months until some rube again convinces me that I am a great contender.

Is it possible to just be "hanging out" with one person after 3 months or more have passed?
Or is that technically considered dating?
Should you still be meeting other swipers during that three+ months if you are only hanging out?

And how the hell do you know if you are just hanging out?
I have a rubric (if you will) that I use to test the difference between dating and hanging out.
Feel free to use it if you find yourself confused.

Questions to ask yourself while looking upward at nothing with your hand on your chin:
- are you a priority for them?
- do they initiate contact as often as you do?
- is it one-sided?
- do you feel like talking to them?
- do you care whether or not you see them regularly?
- do you only want to see them when you're bored or lonely?
- would a pet accomplish the same thing as this person?
- is it just a sex thing?

These questions are good start to sort out the difference between dating and hanging out.
If you discover that you are hanging out but feel like enough time has passed and you are ready to date, perhaps talk to your swiper and see where they are at.
If it looks like you are just going to remain in "hangout" limbo, I say go ahead and see other people.
Hang out with as many other swipers as you damn well please because more than likely they have been.

Anyway, I have never been a big dater although I'm not really into hanging out either if it extends past a certain amount of time and just becomes a weird rut - you know, like having to stop at the grocery store on the way home from work constantly to pick up toilet paper and beer. (which, dammit, I have to do again tonight. ugh)
I will go the usual 6 months and then it is definitely time for a break.
I don't want dating OR hanging out to feel like buying toilet paper and beer.
Sorry, not sorry.

Hangouts seem to provide me with a great supply of stories, however, like the biter, the weird French guy, the rugby player with the unusually soft skin (I swear I am not a serial killer but do really appreciate a good skin care regimen) etc as long as they are short-lived.
Some guys I swipe on with only the intention of hanging out and very few with the intention of dating.  If I feel like dating another swiper, I have found something very intriguing or special about them - but that seems to be a rare thing.
And of course we all know I will almost definitely every time swipe to troll a mother fucker if the opportunity arises!

I am used to doing things alone and don't need a baby daddy or even financial support so I guess that puts me in a unique position in the swipe games.

But those are my thoughts on that.
I hope this helps all my lady friends (and dudes, too) who seem to find themselves asking this question too often.

Decisions, Decisions.

I am currently faced with a conundrum.

Whenever I am confused about a situation, (and I am quite often confused about situations)
I always fall back on the Walmart plan.

"What exactly IS the Walmart plan?" I heard you ask

Well, I'll tell ya (there's a surprise)

When I was in my mid-twenties, I was a District Manager for Walmart in charge of about 11 stores in and around Indiana/Kentucky.  As part of the training to get me ready for that responsibility, they made me a clean up manager for a while.
A clean up manager goes into stores with specific problems (like an inventory problem, a sales problem, an HR problem, etc) and then you have to find a solution for that problem. It's a great immersive, experiential way to deal with actual problems instead of just theoretical situations.
One store I was in had an HR problem. 
There were people just not doing the work they were hired to do. 
One individual in particular comes to mind.
She worked on the night shift and never completed her tasks but always left a very extensive note about why she was unable to finish the tasks. 
I was out with some friends in the Fort Knox area, where the store was in which this girl worked, so I decided to drop in on my way home. (around 2 am) I discovered that this girl was not in her department doing her tasks but instead over by the magazine rack reading magazines.  I walked to the back to check if she was perhaps on her lunch break or some other break. 
She was not.
She was just not doing her work.
I pulled out the performance report book from the previous manager and discovered that this girl had been written up 6 times in the past year but was still employed for some odd reason.  When I brought this girl into my office the following day, she had many excuses and the long note as to why things did not get accomplished. I had to let her know I saw her reading on the clock and that she already had 6 write ups from the previous manager and today would be her decision making day.

Walmart has the 3 strikes, boom, you're having a decision making day.
And THAT is the Walmart plan.

A decision making day is one where you are given a day off (unpaid) to decide if you are going to shape your ass up and get on board with what is expected or move on to something else.

When I have a difficult decision to make, I set a decision making day for myself wherein I decide, am I going to proceed on my current path or am I going to cut bait and move on to something else?
(yes, I used a fishing analogy - one my brother used one time while giving me advice and I liked it!)

So there it is - I have set a date for my current confusion.
I need to do this to keep anxiety at a minimum and to keep progressing in life.
This is a simple but sometimes painful way to 'rip off the bandaid' of moving forward.
I will sit with a problem for quite a while but when it begins to interfere with my daily tasks and goals, then I am acutely aware that a decision making day is in order.

You Trippin’, Bro?

I woke up giddy with excitement and full of anxiety all at the same time.

Feeling like I need to take a handful of Xanax with a strong double espresso is nothing new for me on travel days, even though I had been packed for two days already. That’s the main cause for the anxiety; did I pack everything I needed? 
Two days ago I might have been under the influence of a full moon or Mercury might have been retrograde or some shit and now all I have packed is 3 pairs of underwear, 5 books I’ll never read and a couple of dresses that have been hanging, unworn in the closet since the Harlem Shake was still a thing people did on the internet.
I never second guess myself though. 
I figured I’d roll with whatever Gina from two days ago decided was necessary for this trip. 
I didn’t have to leave for the airport until 1:00 pm.  
I had gone out the night before but refrained from getting Ernest Hemingway drunk, knowing I’d be traveling the next day. I brushed my teeth and headed to the kitchen around 10:30 to grind the beans to make the coffee.  A double shot would work nicely to scare off any hangover nonsense before it even got started.
As I drank my coffee, I did my usual reading of the emails, loading of the dishwasher, and finally the making of the bed before jumping into the shower.  It was rolling up on 11 o’clock now so it would be nice not to have to rush to get ready.  
Grabbed my drawers and headed to the bathroom to begin the ritual: 
open blinds - turn on Bluetooth speaker - connect to phone - select music - turn on shower - ????
Turn on shower????
TURN ON SHOWER!!!! 
FUCK!!! NO WATER???
FUUUUUUCCCCCCKKKKKK - disconnect the fucking Bluetooth - call the office...
WHY THE FUCK IS THERE NO WATER IN MY APARTMENT RIGHT NOW WHEN IT WAS WORKING LITERALLY 10 MINUTES AGO??
None in the sink.  None in the toilet. 
“We’ll let you know when we find out more.”
What the fuck? I have to be at the airport soon.
I have to sit on an airplane for 9 hours and I sure as hell ain’t gonna do it funky as hell!! I NEED to wash my damn hair AND my ass! 
*marches said funky ass over to the office to get some motherfucking answers*
“Hey, what’s with the water?  We weren’t told it was going to be off.”
“We’re on the phone with Atlanta water right now. We’ll send out an email when we know more.”
“I have to leave for the airport shortly.  What am I supposed to do about a shower?”
“Do any of your friends live nearby?”
“No! And even if they did, they have jobs and are at work! It’s 11 o’clock in the morning!!”
“I don’t know what to tell you.  There’s some bottled water in the fridge here if you need it to brush your teeth.”
-_-

As I was letting myself back into my apartment, I glanced over my left shoulder and the rail just beyond when my eyes fell on the sparkling crystal blue that is the swimming pool just below me.
Yep.  
You know what I was thinking.

With great purpose, I strode into the house. 
I put on my bathing suit. 
I delved into my stash of tiny hotel sundries.... little bar of soap, little bottle of shampoo. (Should I shampoo my hair? We’ll make that call when we come to it)
Grabbed my beach towel and some flip flops and marched my ass down the three flights of stairs to the pool.  
The pool area was vacant.
Dropped my towel on the closest chair.  Kicked off my flip flops.
Opened the little bar of soap and in I dove with it palmed in concealment.
Surely this disgusting little swamp rat would emerge a glowing beauty like Daryl Hannah in “Splash.”
I scrubbed the hell out of my armpits and all the other funky bits.
A sunbather came down and so I decided to forego the shampooing.
Would be hard to hide that I was having an Herbal Essence moment in a pool.
Whatever.
I was pretty sure the chlorine stripped away whatever oils were in my hair anyway.
Got out.
Wrapped my newly bathed ass in a towel, tossed the tiny bar of soap in the trash can by the pool entrance and marched my ass back upstairs to dry my hair and apply massive amounts of lotion to my chlorinated body.
Problem solved.
Mermaid status not quite achieved but I no longer had swamp ass.
Win - win in my book.
No water also meant no breakfast.
Fuck it - I decided to go to the airport early.
I can eat AND get drunk while waiting for my flight.
I might even meet someone interesting.
Flight scheduled for 5pm.
Arrived at airport, noon thirty. 
I didn’t want a $30 dollar hot dog (thank goodness for iHop at the airport) 
I got a $9 breakfast instead. 
Things were looking up! ;)

I was so early that my gate hadn’t been listed on any of the boards yet.  
I asked around and was told that E and F terminals were the international terminals so I just decided to ride the train all the way down to F terminal.
I chatted with a guy from Ft. Lauderdale all the way through security so the time passed fairly quickly.
I hopped the train to F.  
As I was coming up the escalator, I noticed a large information booth at the top.
Yay.
The guy informed me that my plane would be leaving from E6.
Back down the escalator.
This time I did not take the train but used the moving sidewalk to get in a bit of exercise.
I got to E and decided to grab a beer since it was only 2pm.
I drank the beer and moseyed over to the Duty Free shop.
I needed some perfume - remember that time when I took a bath in a swimming pool? Yeah.
They had my signature scent - the one that everyone compliments and makes me feel good about not smelling like a goat.  #ChanelisLife 
Anyhoo after I dropped almost 100 large on that shit - they told me it would be waiting at the gate for me to pick up when I board the plane.
This was an odd feeling - like I just handed my dog over to Cruella de Vil expecting she would return him after taking ‘very good care’ of him.
This was not the time for my trust issues to rear their ugly head because this was clearly out of my hands unless I wanted security involved and a big red flag placed squarely over my head.
I convinced myself it would be a good trust building exercise. 
I decided to grab some over priced snacks and go sit by the gate and wait to board the plane.
So I did.
I checked in at the counter just to be sure I was at the right gate.
They changed my seat from the middle seat to an aisle seat a little closer to the front - so that was pretty sweet.

Well, we were told that the flight would be delayed an hour and we would be boarding at 6 instead of 5 now.
What’s another hour when you haven’t properly bathed and have been at the airport for the better part of your life now?
6 o’clock came rolling around and we were then informed that the cleaning crew needed time to clean and we would board at 7.
Ugh.

Eventually we boarded and I totally forgot they changed my seat and sat in my originally assigned seat after throwing my heavy ass carryon into the overhead only to be greeted AFTER sitting down and settling in, by a man who insisted his son was sitting there - then I remembered they changed it and apologized profusely (seriously tho dude you could have inquired a bit earlier)
Now I had to pull my carryon back out of the overhead and go against the flow of increasingly disgruntled passengers to try to get forward in the cabin.
One man in particular was extremely pissed at me so I shot him a look that shut him up immediately, while the overhead was blaring announcements in German that seemed to get everyone more riled up just as I was reaching my new seat and settling in for a SECOND time - ugh.
We were now told this plane was unfit to fly so we would have to deplane and our new flight would be leaving from gate E32 at 9:30pm
Yay! Confusion and mayhem.
And where the hell was my Duty Free shit?
Of course the new gate was at the complete otherend of terminal E.
It had to be.
This was the kind of day it was.
Once more with the heavy ass carryon.
I got down to the new gate and looked around.  Meh.
2 more hours to kill. 
Ugh.
I walked back up to the center of the terminal, looked around in a sort of 360º movie-style montage and decided NOW may be the time to get Ernest Hemingway drunk.
Most of the ‘flying solo’ passengers from my flight seemed to have had the same idea and they all sat at a giant table that was assembled from smaller tables pushed together.
I chose to sit at the bar next to the guy you would expect to see at an airport bar. He had the biggest plate of nachos loaded with peppers and I felt for everyone of us that would have to endure breathing his recirculated flatulence.

I ordered potato skins which paired nicely with several Yuenglings. 

Time was nigh to maybeboard our plane.
The alcohol soaked brood moved back toward the gate in a swarm.
I decided to check in with the counter to see if we would be keeping our same seat assignments and lo and behold, I got another upgrade - ever closer.
“The sun has to shine on a dog’s ass sometime.” My ex-husband’s words ran through my head as my new boarding pass was handed to me.
Several passengers had gotten rebooked on other flights when they chose not to put up with Delta’s horse shit, which worked in my favor, I guess.
Everyone finally began herding into the boarding tunnel.
As I stepped onto the plane, I remembered DUTY FREE!
I asked the attendant and she said I already passed the station to pick it up.
I looked back recalling the last time I had to swim upstream.
Ugh.
These people wouldn’t put up with my bullshit again - half of them were drunk now. I was included in that half.
The attendant could see my distress, took my receipt and had me wait by the exit row seating while she retrieved my coveted Chanel.
I waited as the exhausted horde filed past.
Finally, I was presented with my tiny treasure and I proceeded to my new seat.
The correct one.  I had learned my lesson.
I settled in: -iPad (check) *place in seat pocket* -phone (check) *place in seat pocket*, -water (check) *place in seat pocket with much difficulty* 
-headphones (check) *shove in ears and connect to little seat back TV* 
-backpack (check) *cram under seat in front of me*
Ahhhh.
Let’s do this.
The plane does plane things and we are FINALLYheaded off into the 
wild blue yonder.
Time to check out a movie!
*Touch screen*
*Touch screen* again
*Have seat mate touch screen*
It’s broken.

FML

Rückkehr ins Vaterland (Return to the Fatherland)

Tomorrow I am returning to the only place I consider "home."

As a Third Culture Kid, I do not have the luxury of calling any place my hometown.
We moved from my birthplace (Baltimore, MD) when I was 6 months old so I don't think that qualifies as more than that, "birthplace."
The great thing is though, that I can select ANY of the places I've been as my hometown if I choose to be optimistic about it.
Munich, Germany is the place where I stake such a claim.
It is where I spent pretty much the longest stretch of residence during my formative years.
And boy was it formative!!!
Having lived there from the tender prepubescent age of 15 sprouting into the pseudo-adulthood of 21, I learned many things about life and love and angst and various vices during the Regan Era.
The dollar was strong.
The Euro didn't exist.
Neither did the internet or cell phones.
New wave and metal bands ruled the airwaves.
Parents were seemingly absent - as if it were a period piece written and directed by John Hughes himself.
Fuck you, Ferris Bueller.
You wish you had this much adventure!

One of the things I cherish most about my time in Munich, is that it is where I learned it was okay to be me.  Weird, artsy, intelligent, nerdy me.
The German culture seemed to embrace and nurture these qualities.
The people in our tightly knit community did too.
We are all still very tightly knit thanks to Facebook - love it or hate it.
It also taught me that it was okay if people were different, you still loved and respected them because they were their own unique little selves.
That seems to be missing today - people believe if someone doesn't believe the same religious, political or sports nonsense that they do, then they are the enemy of you.
This is complete and utter horse shit.
But I digress....

Munich is where I met my soul sister - sister from another mister; Marika.

I just turned 16. She was 15.
She was smoking cigarettes with my older brother.
How we became friends exactly, I can't say.
We didn't have many classes together but apparently something just clicked.
The universe conspired and that was that.
Turns out we had very similar home situations and attitudes.
We both loved Prince and would listen to Dirty Mind and Controversy on the turntable at her house ad nauseam.
We read the same books and comic books.
She was a musician and I was an artist.
We were both into gymnastics and working out.
Typical workout routine:
smoke on the walk to the gym; hit the mats to do some stretching and tumbling; take a break to go smoke; hit the free weights; take a break and go smoke another cigarette; play a few rounds of racquet ball; smoke cigarettes on the walk over to the bar; cool off with a few cold beers - perhaps a shot or two if the workout was a particularly good one.
It's all about balance.

 

 

Tomorrow I will be returning to my hometown for the first time since I left.
I will be staying with Marika at her mother's home.
I am giddy with anticipation and nostalgia.
Those were the absolute best days of my life.
It was where I found my life line.
It was where I found out who I was and not who I was expected to be.
It's where I told everyone to fuck off, this is me - love it or don't.
It was where I learned no one has to like me but myself and I need to be myself regardless of anyone else's opinion.
Most people don't make these discoveries until well into adulthood and some never lose their insecurities enough to ever fully be themselves.
Munich taught me to say "fuck that"
I think Marika and I learned that at the same time - growing painfully into that awareness together in sometimes dangerous but always interesting situations.
We have traveled the world together sometimes without leaving home.
I think the greatest thing about Munich though was meeting her.
Everyone should be so lucky (especially people in our unique situations) to have a best friend for life.
The person you can call day or night.  The person who walks through fire with you. The person who celebrates joys with you and you give it back to them in equal measure.
This is why I am so excited about this trip....
The two of us back together again in the place where it all started, for the first time since it all started. May the memories and growth continue over beers and laughter - PROST!

 

Trolling for Entertainment

Am I a troll?
Yes.
The murky world of dating apps are my waters.
I know I promised a gem of a troll but this one is a bit more recent and I have all the resources available at hand.
The other one I have to go back and do some grabs etc. These I had grabbed in real time.
Sit back and enjoy a tiny bit of the joy that is my app dating life:

A while back I matched with this guy, Anthony:

Pretty cute, right?

I match with fairly cute guys, so it didn't seem odd at first

(I suggest you google Raoul Bova)

Anyhoo, this guy messages me and here begins our journey:

This was not the end of this conversation but he apparently unmatched me right as I was grabbing the next part of the conversation but it went something like this:

I asked if he shares this story with all of his matches.

He said only me because I looked like his mom when she was young.

I asked for a picture of his mom for comparison.

He asked if this made me hot and turned me on.

I said no, it made me think he was a sociopath who took advantage of a woman who was vulnerable when her husband left her 

and thats when

 *poof*

he was gone 

and with it the last of the screen grabs 

- before I was able to report him as a fake account.

I have learned that when someone opens with a bizarre story of this sort or a dead wife or child etc that the account is a fake and leading to a scam of some sort - I will usually do a Google image search of the profile pic (as in this case) which will confirm it

...then the trolling begins

if I have the energy and time 

Stay safe out there, ladies

and men, this is why women are sometimes shitty on these apps.

I know it happens to men too.

Dating sucks.

Here We Go Again.

Yes, yes again.
I go through these phases where I let my nieces or friends convince me that I need to start dating.  I need to find someone.
Well, kids, that's easier said than done - as you may have seen from a few of my previous silly posts about what a nightmare the dating app scene can be.
I think sometimes I just continue to do it for comic relief.
I mean, c'mon how can you not get a kick out of a profile like this:

That's like 2 tickets to paradise right there - a guy willing to take you on a weekend getaway right away? (see what I mean? comedy gold)

But alas, there are only so many giggles you can mine before getting extremely depressed and disappointed.  I try to never have expectations of any situation or person but I think the disappointment stemmed from having expectations of the apps themselves.
The quality of the people I've met on there is questionable, at best. (quite a few scammers)
I will blog about one in particular that was hilarious - Chad (my ex-husband) was in awe about how persistent the guy was even though I totally called him on his scam!! stay tuned.

The best connections I've gotten off any of the apps were from guys who were straight up about only being on there for a hookup.
I appreciated the honesty.

The games, the endless texting, the ghosting after what seemed like a fairly decent date (in which they talked up hanging out again but turned out to be blatantly lying)
I have a tendency to take people at their word because I try to be an honest and straight forward person. I will admit a few of my apps linked through facebook have my wrong age (I give false info to fb because who tf are they that they need my info anyway?)
Usually a guy will ask if that's really my age.
Honestly, they usually think I'm younger which is weird - but I will tell them my real age.

Age is of no consequence to me; as many of you know.
Matching maturity level, interests and connection is way more important.
Most guys are totally cool with it - and some say they are cool with it but are not.
Nothing I can do about that.

So, I'm at that place where I have deleted all of my accounts/apps again because it's tiring and I am perfectly fine being by myself - I just think sometimes it would be nice to share time with another interesting human being with whom there is mutual attraction.

What I have discovered is that those people are not on apps - they are out in the real world and that's where I need to be too.

No Such Thing as Free Lunch?

This week has been crazy; maybe it's because it was the last week of Mercury Retrograde or maybe it was just weird because sometimes that's how life is.

My job was a bit stressful, well probably more annoying than stressful.  It takes quite a bit to stress me out, especially at work.  I also had an issue with my useless fucking ovaries causing unbearable pain just for the hell of it. So all in all a pretty miserable state of affairs.
But being the optimist that I am, I want to point out the bright spot in all of this daily drudgery –
I have not had to pay for one of my meals at work this week – breakfast or lunch.
Why?
I dunno.
The cafeteria people are good folks.
There are two employees that I have an affinity toward because they like to chat, as do I.
One of them pointed out, we are all Geminis.
(This really is not about astrology)
The fact that we know each other's birthdays is the actual point.

Every morning I greet the Security guard when I walk in unless she is quicker on the draw.
Every evening when I leave there is a different Security guard who is much younger and I always say Goodnight to her and sometimes stop to check out her latest nail art or compliment her when she has done something really cute with her hair.  She also sometimes beats me to the punch but always has a great smile and lights up when we speak.

I consider all of these people my coworkers.
We are all in the same building working toward a common goal.
Each a specific cog in the wheel that makes the UPS machine run.

The fact that I receive free meals and hearty greetings from these particular coworkers, makes me think that not everyone views them in this light and that makes me sad.
We are all equal in my eyes.  Some of us may make more money or work longer hours but we are human, regardless of race, sex, social status or whatever – we are human and we need other humans.
Deep down we all desire the same things.
I love that these coworkers talk to me and take the time to engage during our brief interactions.

Tonight as I was leaving, I was thinking about how much fun it might be to have a beer with these coworkers; one on one.  Find out more about them as people.  Laugh with them and find out about their lives outside of the office.
We all have lives outside of work.
We all have common ground.
I just wish there was more time in the day to explore it.
I also wish more people would realize this basic fact.

Say Hi to the people that serve you and whom you serve.
We're all only here for a short time.
Let's make it awesome for each other.
Those seemingly small gestures by those coworkers this week made the difference between me having a shitty week and me being able to make it through.
So, thanks.

WTF is up with Lime Candy?

First of all, I'd like my stripper/drag queen name to be Lime Candy.
That being said, I have a story to tell.

The other night I was in a good bit of pain and my traps
(trapezius muscles; just an FYI for whomever) were so tense I thought my head would snap off. 
I don't usually take anything but I really needed to sleep and I did have a little bag of special gummy bears I brought back from Florida. 
I decided I should eat one to help relax my damn traps... and who doesn't enjoy a good gummy bear?
I decide on the green one because I LOVE green apple!
I put it in my mouth and after the granules of sugar dissolved, I discovered, to my sheer and utter horror that it was NOT green apple but LIME!!
No one wants that kind of surprise in their mouth!!
I was enjoying the sensations of the gummy bear but was definitely NOT enjoying the flavor!
Who the fuck makes candy lime flavored anymore?
And why the fuck was it a flavor for candy to begin with?
It's not even a good fruit.
Have you ever seen a kid in the fucking grocery store running up to his mom in the produce department with an armful of limes shouting, "Can we PLEASE get some limes!!?? PLEASE??"
No, you have not.
Lime flavoring just tastes like green chemicals.
It is not a good flavor. 
Who thought it was?
I mean, you KNOW it sux as a flavor because not even you grandparents like fucking lime candy!

Lime should only be in two things:
Alcohol
And pie.
That's it!!
(I will allow for it in sparking fizzy water because alcoholics drink that to pretend its alcohol)
STOP MAKING LIME FUCKING CANDY
It's fucking deceptive and of the Devil himself.