Tis the Season to be Slutty

One of my former acquaintances once told me that when we dress up in costume we are truly reflecting our inner selves. He then proceeded to comment on several different costumes and what they said about the wearers, when I told them that they all belonged to me he did not seem that surprised. Over the years I have generally agreed with this theory. We personify our inner selves through Halloween. I also believe this is one of the reasons why people are partaking in Halloween more and more as adults. And after looking around this year, and trust me I saw many a costume since I was in two costume contests, I know what most women are. Yes...most women (not all) are secretly sluts.

After looking around at all the sexy kitties, pirates, cheerleaders, waldos, firemen, and super heroes, and realizing that at lease half of these sexy costumes should not have been worn by the women in them I knew the truth. Secretly we all want to be sexy. Some of us act the part all year long, hearing the beat of the va-va-va-voom with each step we take, others however need the guise of Halloween to bring that 'sexy' forth. Still, I ask you all when did less clothes become the standard sexy? I rocked out a full length evening gown last night and had people tripping over themselves. No need to have your ass hang out. Seriously, this is something that I saw...a lot...

Ladies, I get it, we all want to be sexy, confident, powerful women. But can we look back on icons like Ava Gardner and remember that classy can also be sexy because it is more about attitude most of the time then it is about what you are wearing. Your attitude governs your poise, facial movements, and actions. Laugh at the right moment. Throw your shoulders back. Hold your head as if you own the world, and by god, you will. You are sexy in jeans and a t-shirt with the right attitude, all the rest is just icing. Seriously though, for the love of all that is holy...put on some clothes...

TMI

I was talking to my mother this morning while I was getting ready for work, and we were having a debate about a certain bartender we have both seen. There was a lot of back and forth that finally ended with me saying, "Look I know for a fact that he isn't gay!" My mother then proceeded to ask me if I had slept with afore mentioned bartender. Much to my own disappointment the answer was no, but I know someone who has. As if this conversation wasn't special enough it continued...

Mom- Oh good, learn from my mistakes.

Me- You slept with the bartender?

Mom- No! He's a puppy!!! No, but I've slept with far too many bartenders.

Me- Okaaaaay. Well, bartenders are fun.

Mom- And too many band guys.

Me- Well, band guys are fun too. You shouldn't try to make them anything more then a good time though.

Mom- I've had a lot of good times.

(I pause slightly horrified)

Me- Okaaaay

Mom- Do you know I don't have a clue how many people I've slept with or what their names were. Learn from my mistakes.

Me- Yeah, I know all of the names and the number, and it isn't that high.

Mom- Good! Considering I've been married for most of my adult life and I never cheated I guess that says something.

Me- (Awkward silence) Ummm... I guess

Mom- Yeah, it say's that I'm really busy when I'm single! In fact right now is the least busy I've ever been and that's because I'm old!!!

Me- I thought you had a date this weekend.

Mom- Yeah, but that's with this band guy.

Me- Well, it should be a good time at least.

This is what happens when you become friends with your children...your conversations become posts.

Metaphor

Anyone else ever seen a hairless cat stop to clean it's fur and then remember it is hairless? The surprise on it's face is priceless. I think that this image makes for an excellent metaphor for turning thirty. Yes folks, that right there sums up my feelings about my up coming birthday. Come next month when you think of me...remember that cat.

Turning thirty is like a hairless cat trying to clean it's fur....

just so amusingly sad that you don't know whether you should laugh or accept the sad 'poor thing' pat on the head.

confusing but still cute in it's own unique way.

something you only experience once.

something some jackass is going to take a picture of and put on facebook.

something that makes you realize that a fur coat could help any situation. (and diamonds never hurt on a side note.....eh-hem)

something that makes you wonder if you should moisturize more.

and my favorite.............

something that makes you realize no matter how much you might forget...you are still you.

And that sums what thirty is for me pretty darn well.

One in a Sea of Sky Scrapers

I ended up in Tulsa, Oklahoma last night. It was extremely unexpected but a fabulous man I am dating decided to be impetuous and proceeded to spend an entire evening sweeping me off of my feet. It was an amazing evening of adventure and romance that fit right in with my whirl wind life style. The merriment and revelries a side though while we were walking from point b to point c in our journey we found the most out of place building in the city. Now, anyone that knows me is shaking their head and saying, "Oh, Wickkett, not architecture again!" Buildings are beautiful damn it!!! So yes...we are going to talk about a building in today's post. What about the amazing night? What about those crazy and incredible details? Hello...this is The Sarcastic Side of Life....remember? When it becomes 'The Juicy Details of Wickkett's Wild Ride' I'll let you know. Anyway, back to the very out of place building. Now, anyone who has ever spent any time in down town Tulsa knows that there are a lot of big beautiful tall buildings. Of course you can walk a few blocks an be surrounded by shorter and fa older buildings.

It is in the short and old buildings that the personality of age seeps out at you from every angle. At one time they were buildings with a more professional purpose and now they find themselves the homes of night clubs and bars. Their disdain is evident with every graffitied tag across their noble sides. It is to one of these angry blasts from the past that I was walking towards when I saw it. Surrounded by sky scrapers, lost in a modern world, sandwiched as snugly as could be stood a Chinese restaurant. I stopped dead in my tracks and started to laugh. Here in the concrete jungle I saw a ginormous middle finger raised to corporate America as it became obvious that someone enjoyed to be a property owner. I could envision a little old Asian gentleman telling his family on his death bed "Do not sell!" I could see the horror in their eyes as they listened. The world rose up around them but out f respect they continued to hold to their guns and respect the old mans wishes. Some of the family would fight about it, but eventually it would become the running family joke. Eventually it would be the focus of one sarcastic Wickkett and cause me to laugh maniacally. Ah yes, random Chinese restaurant, I salute you. Hold strong and eff them, eff them all!

Life Outside of the Cubicle

Hello all of you out there who take the time to cross over to the sarcastic and twisted moments that I like to share. Today's post comes straight from the still beating heart of cubicle hell. I bet you didn't realize a cubicle had a heart huh? Well it does...me...yup that's right I am the heart of a cubicle. I figured this out today as I stared at the random decorations that litter the three grey walls that surround me daily. My cubicle is far more flashy then most, but I suppose after having a office (even a shared office) for the last six years that should be expected (and no I didn't get demoted). Or maybe it is just my strong aversion to cubicles and my belief that three drab grey walls can suck the life force out of you, I'm not sure. Still the result has left me often staring at a small Van Gogh print hanging above one of my screens plotting a way out while doing my job. Don't get me wrong, I love my job, but there are far too many times that I find myself day dreaming about climbing a plateau in New Mexico, or drinking a rum drink in the Caribbean, or maybe learning to tango in Argentina. Ah, or even just strolling along the street in a neighborhood in a town that I miss and love. Some times as I walk these imaginary streets in my mind there is someone with me a friend that I haven't seen in far too long. Some times I find an old lover standing by my side lending his own interesting input, like he did in the memory my imagination lets me live through in that moment. Maybe it is a new lover that stands next to me in my thoughts, and the sweet escape plan becomes something wild but tangible and free. It has become the fuel to the spontaneity that always causes interesting stories later in my life. Yes, as I sit in my cubicle part of me focuses on everything I am good at in the working world but the important part schemes. That's right the heart of the cubicle is scheming, waiting to break free of the three walled world that holds it every day. Eventually there will be blue sky again, and freedom, sweet sweet freedom, and all of the scheming will have paid off as one cubicle feels it's heart slip away. As I stare at the print that hangs on the grey wall that is the bland generic face of corporate America I dream. I stare at this particular picture because it is my window, the window of my choice. My coworkers don't have these types of eclectic windows, but I know that like me a few of them are scheming. Yes, they are plotting in their minds making imaginary bids for freedom or plans for their own private escape over the weekend. I know, because those of us who scheme often scheme together. So rise up my fellow schemers and dreamers, cry out in your three walled worlds, refuse to go quietly into the night! We are everything that as children we knew we wouldn't be, but remember at the moment we are just treading water, biding our time. We are luring the world into a false sense of security, they think that we are safely secured in our cubicles, but they are wrong. We are not safe, we are not secure, we are the hacked off voice of a generation unwilling to give up our youth...and we are scheming. Be prepared folks because one of these days you are going to be reading about how I got on a plane for Ireland and never quite made it back, or maybe you will read a random post about how much the cabs in London piss me off. Either way, I encourage you all as you sit there scheming and dreaming lost in your own personal freedoms, seize the day and regret nothing!

Killing the Rabbit

After living in the dating world again for awhile now and being the type of woman that has has no problem receiving the affections of the opposite sex I have realized some things. Today you will get to spend a minute with those realizations.

1. Don't date me. I know, hell of a first realization huh? Seriously, I know I might be exciting and keep you on your toes but I get bored easy. Also, this kind of exciting wears a person out fast.

2. I have to date more then one guy at a time. Three is a good number, but I can range up to eight as long as most of them live else where. And yes...they all know that they are not my one and only.

3. I am addicted to sex. Seriously...it's an addiction, and the withdrawals are not pretty.

4. The explosion of technology has made it far too easy to send random penis pictures. Oh, by the way guys, penis pictures are not an acceptable form of flirtation! Seriously, wtf???

5. Coupled with #4... Guys are really proud of their penises.

6. Dating is kind of like trying to kill bugs bunny. You could probably nail the fuzzy little fuck if you quit giving it the opportunity to talk. Just shoot!!! Quit letting it challenge you and pull a fast one because you find it necessary to prove your superiority to it! It might just be a rabbit, but it is smarter then you think and not afraid to cross dress. Seriously, there is no winning against it so either go with the flow, walk away from it, or let it slowly hammer you down with a large mallet until you submit and settle.

7. I find this one worth repeating... Don't date me! I don't play games and walk away in a second. Or mention any kind of commitment and watch me run.

8. Probably the mos important lesson I have learned. Always ask if they are married or in a relationship! Given, this isn't something that should be necessary, but humanity seems to have lost every last shred of decency and so this lesson has become a firm rule. For some reason married men just love me. Maybe I just project the 'mistress vibe' or something, but I have actually seen a married man fall over himself trying to get to me.

With these lovely little lessons in place I am seriously considering a year long celibacy kick. I think it might be a good idea, my friends however don't think I can pull it off. In fact they laughed in my face at the idea. Do any of you know what it feels like to have an entire table laugh in your face? It sucks! Still it will be after my birthday before I take this very drastic measure if I take it at all. Several people in my life have opted to go on vacation about that time, so they don't have to deal with the withdrawals. The withdrawals get ugly...extremely ugly.

One Bag Of Hammers Short of a Lesson

The warning labels on things crack me up. You see some of the most ridiculous ones. I mean is it really necessary to put a warning 'Do Not Eat' on a bag of hammers? And who was the bright bulb that made the warning 'for external use only' to be placed on a curling iron? That is the truly disturbing part I think, that for every warning label out there someone as equally ridiculous caused it's existence. 'Do Not Use While Sleeping' on a hair dryer....Really??? Well darn and here I thought I could cut some getting ready time while I took a nap. "Do Not Eat Toner" on a printer cartridge...you know because I wanted a mid afternoon snack and nothing else was available in the office. Good job guys. Seriously to all of you out there that are responsible for these consumer warnings, good job! Clap, clap, clap!!!! You should all be rewarded with a swift kick in the ass. What ever happened to natural selection? In the wild these people would have fallen off of the evolutionary chain. Instead now, we are catering to these people, putting asinine warning labels on everything to protect their precious little lives. Let me pose a question to all of you out there that are not responsible for causing companies to create ridiculous labels, should we continue to protect these people? Seriously, are they really a benefit to the gene pool? Anyone ever seen the movie Idiocracy? That one hits a little too close to home when you think about some of these warning labels. With these exceptions and special circumstances being created for the dumb is it really surprising that reality TV is such a hit? Let's encourage children to have idols like Snookie, and Paris Hilton, yeah that's a great idea raise your daughters to be dumb sluts but hey at least they won't have any false expectations of meeting a intelligent kind hearted man. Nope they will grow up looking for their next baby daddy that will treat them like crap and be a firmly absent figure in their child's' life because they are just immature children themselves. Oh yeah, way to go America...we're just one bag of hammers away from a lesson.

Eff That Corner

All my life I have been afflicted with nicknames. I am not sure why, I suppose that I just have one of those personalities that cries out to be named in some other fashion then the name I was given at birth. Not all of the nicknames have been favorable, my ex-husband has been the creator of quite a few of these, but they are there none the less. The one I find the most amusing and most frequently used is Baby, I'm not sure why but it seems like everyone calls me Baby at one point or another. I find this extremely amusing since I don't exactly see myself as the 'Baby' type, but you know, I'll roll with it. The most amusing out of the Baby moments is when an employee who I have not, and never will, meet face to face starts calling me Baby over the phone. Sometimes I just feel like laughing because it seems so second nature to them. One of these days I'm going to say..."Nobody puts me in a corner!" In simple response to one of the many "How are you doin, Baby?" moments that I get. My favorite nicknames though have been Kitten and C-Dub. Kitten by several of my exes, who have come up with this separately and on their own, but always for the same reason. Then C-Dub because I rocked out a Cat Woman costume one year for Halloween, and everyone went from calling me Cat Woman to C-Dub because it was shorter. By the way...the people doing the new Batman movie totally missed out when casting for Cat Woman. Little did they know that I was tucked away in north west Arkansas just waiting for them to call me. Hey guys, if Anne Hathaway doesn't work out just send me a message, I'll be all over it.

Bunnies + Yorkies = Horror

I hate bunnies. This is a new hatred, and really it has less to do with the bunnies and more to do with the horrific experiences the bunnies bring with them. Yes, that's right bunnies = horror, bet you didn't know that little factoid, well you didn't unless you live smack dab in the middle of bunny breeding country and you have a couple of small dogs. You know, Yorkies were bred to be ratters, tiny little dogs that were encouraged to have a blood lust for tinier furry creatures. Nothing that tiny should ever be encouraged to have a blood lust by the way. I mean seriously, anything that could be drop kicked should not be given an attitude that big, it is just cruel. Anyway, the bunny horror/hatred began several months back when they started nesting in my backyard under various bushes. Little did I know that bunnies are the worst mothers in existence with the possible exception of that one bird that pushes her chicks off of a cliff. Did you know that bunnies barely cover their young? They also make their nests where anything can find it. Oh, and let's not forget that they only come to check on their offspring once a day. Epic fail on the mothering scale bunnies...epic, epic fail! I mean, come on, what kind of mother has their babies in the home of things bred to destroy them? The horror that I have been living through with pulling Yorkies off of bunnies, erecting fences around nests, hearing bunny screams as they die in my hands, and then cleaning up bunny parts and blood off of my floors after the dogs throw it up has been a real treat. Does anyone know how emotionally jarring cleaning up bunny parts is, especially after the bunny has died in your hand??? I have been going through this so frequently that now if I am sitting in my back yard enjoying a cup of tea and I hear a bunny scream I move at the speed of light. I have become trained to listen for the sound of screaming bunnies to spring into action. Moral of this little tale of horror...don't live in bunny breeding country. I have so got to move.

Life As I Know It

After quite an extended absence I have come back to you. You may all heave that collective sigh of relief now. Life, as always has continued in a fast paced and interesting manner. My child is amazing, my dogs are still fuzzy little punks, and after a decade my husband is now my ex husband.

So now I find myself cut adrift in northern Arkansas, loosed back into the dating field a few years older and far more bitter then I started. I believe they call this jaded. Funny how the twists and turns in the road will sometimes have you waking in circles.

I went out to a bike rally last night with my girlfriends. It was one of those life lesson moments. The lesson being that I should not add myself, alcohol, and bikers together. Mainly because I have a 'I don't give a fuck' kind of attitude on my best day and last night was not my best. I was in fine form though, breaking hearts, hitting on exes, drunk texting, talking shit to everyone, and just being a all around joy to be around. I suppose I should be grateful that my friends did not just abandon me. However, the entertainment aspect had to be worth something.

My new goal...never get so drunk that I wake up in bed unsure of how I got there again...or where my pants are. Not a goal most people have to adopt but a goal none the less.