I think I'm part feline.
Emily Dickinson and Henry Wodsworth Longfellow, they would be the cats of the house, sleep all the time. Sometimes I leave the house for hours at a time and return to find them still snuggled in the same spot on the couch. Sometimes Henry even has his paw lovingly wrapped around Emily.
It's times of such quiet intimacy I want to squirt them with water.
The damn cats are getting more action than I am.
Something's rotten in the state of Lake Oswego.
And I'm not sure what it is but I keep finding myself so tired. The other morning I woke up at 8am on my day off, feeling mostly rested but thought, I'm not quite ready to get up. So I turned off my alarm and went back to sleep for three and a half hours.
You must have needed it, Grandma concluded.
I guess.
But why am I so bloody tired all the time?
If I am part cat then this kitty's addicted to java. I admire those people who have real energy in the morning. They're the ones who run every day at 6am and get more things done before 10 than most people complete all day. I got up and ran at 6am for a couple weeks. I felt like I was gonna vomit all over the sidewalk I was so exhausted. The best part of early morning jogging? The number of people in my neighborhood I caught in their underwear. ROBES, folks. Invest in one. Though nothing like scaring the bejesus out of the well to do silver haired man at the end of the block who I caught THREE times. I think he was just showing off. Get 'em with your bad self, sexy Grandpa.
I don't know how I'd function if I quit coffee. I love watching the transformation of you before you've had coffee and then after, my co worker told me. It's AMAZING. It is really hard to be nice when you're not awake. It is also hard to pretend to give a damn when you feel anything but. I had a class this morning and couldn't even focus my eyes to look at the teacher and feign interest to be engaged. I could not possibly smile and nod with my eyes half closed so I just zoned out and tried to occassionally bob my head in agreement.
I don't know that any of this is normal.
I know normal is relative but I feel like if I were a kid I'd be taken in to the doctor to see if I had some blood deficiency or something.
I can hear my brother thinking, eat some meat! Bah. Eat it yourself.
I haven't been tired for the last 8 years just the past month. I blame Nordstrom. There is no zoning out allowed. No auto pilot there. Thus my reserves of energy are being zapped before I even get home. I rarely am even up to dance when I'm actually able to go.
'Tis eerie indeed.
But sometimes there's nothing more comforting than little lace pjs snuggled under piles of fuzzy blankets and just giving in and napping like Sir Henry and Lady Emily.
Sometimes you need to give in and indulge in something a little wicked.
Sometimes you need to just listen to your body and fall in.
I'm purring already.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Cutting puppet strings
I don't like being told what to do. Don't. Like. It.
My aversion to direction is so off the charts it is probably listed somewhere in some book under psychotic disorders. Once when I had just started dating Narcissus he told me I should paint my toes red when I got my pedicure because you know, red would look pretty against my white skin. I got so irrationally upset with him the poor foreigner was understandably confused.
Clearly, I have a sensitivity on the subject I'm gonna need the grace of God to overcome. Today ain't that day.
Grownups know a lot. Yes, I know I am technically a grownup and my new job and latest diamond ring purchase do make me feel like one. But there are still plenty of real grownups (and by that I mean, older) who have years of experience and vaults of knowledge to impart. And I appreciate that. Really. I do. And often they are right. Totally onboard with your wisdom. But when the advice is coupled with condescension, with mocking ridicule over the unliklihood that I will actually follow through on being so responsible? Well then I kind of wanna kick your cane from under you and watch you bruise your chin.
I'm NOT an idiot. And I have NO patience when I'm being treated as one. Speak your thoughts, offer counsel and then let me live my life! Even GOD has given me free will can you not respect my right as a human to fail and fumble and bruise my own fabulous chin if I so desire?
Even as kids we want to feel our opinions matter. We want to pick out our clothes. We want to carry it ourselves. I want to be trusted enough to be given room to move. If you really doubt my ability to function as a capable adult then why don't you pray the big G prompts me to do things?
Oooh. Got ya there.
But then they'd have to get their hands out of it and controllers like to be in control. And I'm savvy enough to pick up on that. Which is why I grind my teeth whenever it happens.
DO.NOT.TELL.ME.WHAT.TO.DO.
You cannot control me.
I will find a way to gain my own authority back.
If anyone is capable of anything it's this chick.
Leave me the fuck alone and we can enjoy our library books in peace.
My aversion to direction is so off the charts it is probably listed somewhere in some book under psychotic disorders. Once when I had just started dating Narcissus he told me I should paint my toes red when I got my pedicure because you know, red would look pretty against my white skin. I got so irrationally upset with him the poor foreigner was understandably confused.
Clearly, I have a sensitivity on the subject I'm gonna need the grace of God to overcome. Today ain't that day.
Grownups know a lot. Yes, I know I am technically a grownup and my new job and latest diamond ring purchase do make me feel like one. But there are still plenty of real grownups (and by that I mean, older) who have years of experience and vaults of knowledge to impart. And I appreciate that. Really. I do. And often they are right. Totally onboard with your wisdom. But when the advice is coupled with condescension, with mocking ridicule over the unliklihood that I will actually follow through on being so responsible? Well then I kind of wanna kick your cane from under you and watch you bruise your chin.
I'm NOT an idiot. And I have NO patience when I'm being treated as one. Speak your thoughts, offer counsel and then let me live my life! Even GOD has given me free will can you not respect my right as a human to fail and fumble and bruise my own fabulous chin if I so desire?
Even as kids we want to feel our opinions matter. We want to pick out our clothes. We want to carry it ourselves. I want to be trusted enough to be given room to move. If you really doubt my ability to function as a capable adult then why don't you pray the big G prompts me to do things?
Oooh. Got ya there.
But then they'd have to get their hands out of it and controllers like to be in control. And I'm savvy enough to pick up on that. Which is why I grind my teeth whenever it happens.
DO.NOT.TELL.ME.WHAT.TO.DO.
You cannot control me.
I will find a way to gain my own authority back.
If anyone is capable of anything it's this chick.
Leave me the fuck alone and we can enjoy our library books in peace.
The Hope Deferred
The next time I pick up a snake I vow to not be surprised when it bites me.
I'm so bad for you, the snake whispers.
But with misplaced faith I draw the snake to my heart.
It won't hurt me, I grin stupidly.
And even snakes need love.
Ouch.
That little fucker broke the skin.
What did you expect? the snake grins back. Are you ok, it asks as it slithers away and it takes me just as long as the poison drips down my neck to realize the question was rhetorical.
I think some men don't want women they want dolls. Little.Fragile.Porcelain.Dolls. The kind that shatter when thrown across the room. Nothing feels sexier than having power over something else. Especially the kind of control that destroys. I did that the man can boast. There are creators and there are destroyers. The destroyers would create if they only knew how. So they create chaos in the wake of destruction. They find beauty in pain. They are the sadists who long to be masochists.
And who wouldn't want to take light to keep in his pocket. Or shoe.
I am one, singular. It baffles me those magicians who cut their insides into tiny pieces and strategically compartmentalize each and every one, categorically, alphabetically organizing each distorted truth. The mirrors housing each shifted reflection are aligned just so that one tiny pebble could start a ripple of shattering glass as simply as it dances with the ocean.
Conveniently for me I always travel with a bag full of rocks for just such an occasion.
Boys are stupid. Throw rocks at them.
I like lies. I enjoy watching them executed by an amateur. I like the way their eyes can't meet mine. The falter in their voice that counters the validity of their words. Actions reveal. Words deceive. I heard all 'twas spoken and laugh most heartily at the shaky delivery. An acting class would serve well for making an audience believe requires ingenuity, sincerity and depth. You can't fake a faker. I'm a much better liar. They've yet to shatter my mirror. Observe.
A touch of revenge. A dash of disdain. A pinch of indifference, pity, disgust.
The men I never heard from again had nothing more to say. What more was left?
You cannot be sorry for outcomes you orchestrated.
You cannot play the fool in a story penned in your own hand.
You cannot profess deep romance for the rulebook reads simply, "can't be r.o.m.a.n.t.i.c."
So you do what you always do what you hate to do what inevitably destroys you.
And cut off the tiny piece inside of you so it grows no more, yet refuses to die.
And with shaking hands you find an empty box and place it inside.
And shift the hall of mirrors to reflect the dissatisfaction into smiles.
And years tick away, and suspicions peak and fall, and the tiny piece in the tiny box twitches involuntarily. And it sends shivers through your gut and perfumes the air.
And at times your hand reaches for its hiding place to take it out and feel it again.
But the mirrors have buried each door. And the box is no longer in sight.
So it just sits there. Stirring. Calling to numbed ears. Willing for release. For freedom.
So you swallow more broken glass and convince your tears the pain is beauty.
And rub your fingers over the tiny bird and try not to see the colors in his opened wings.
And whisper, I am free.
I'm so bad for you, the snake whispers.
But with misplaced faith I draw the snake to my heart.
It won't hurt me, I grin stupidly.
And even snakes need love.
Ouch.
That little fucker broke the skin.
What did you expect? the snake grins back. Are you ok, it asks as it slithers away and it takes me just as long as the poison drips down my neck to realize the question was rhetorical.
I think some men don't want women they want dolls. Little.Fragile.Porcelain.Dolls. The kind that shatter when thrown across the room. Nothing feels sexier than having power over something else. Especially the kind of control that destroys. I did that the man can boast. There are creators and there are destroyers. The destroyers would create if they only knew how. So they create chaos in the wake of destruction. They find beauty in pain. They are the sadists who long to be masochists.
And who wouldn't want to take light to keep in his pocket. Or shoe.
I am one, singular. It baffles me those magicians who cut their insides into tiny pieces and strategically compartmentalize each and every one, categorically, alphabetically organizing each distorted truth. The mirrors housing each shifted reflection are aligned just so that one tiny pebble could start a ripple of shattering glass as simply as it dances with the ocean.
Conveniently for me I always travel with a bag full of rocks for just such an occasion.
Boys are stupid. Throw rocks at them.
I like lies. I enjoy watching them executed by an amateur. I like the way their eyes can't meet mine. The falter in their voice that counters the validity of their words. Actions reveal. Words deceive. I heard all 'twas spoken and laugh most heartily at the shaky delivery. An acting class would serve well for making an audience believe requires ingenuity, sincerity and depth. You can't fake a faker. I'm a much better liar. They've yet to shatter my mirror. Observe.
A touch of revenge. A dash of disdain. A pinch of indifference, pity, disgust.
The men I never heard from again had nothing more to say. What more was left?
You cannot be sorry for outcomes you orchestrated.
You cannot play the fool in a story penned in your own hand.
You cannot profess deep romance for the rulebook reads simply, "can't be r.o.m.a.n.t.i.c."
So you do what you always do what you hate to do what inevitably destroys you.
And cut off the tiny piece inside of you so it grows no more, yet refuses to die.
And with shaking hands you find an empty box and place it inside.
And shift the hall of mirrors to reflect the dissatisfaction into smiles.
And years tick away, and suspicions peak and fall, and the tiny piece in the tiny box twitches involuntarily. And it sends shivers through your gut and perfumes the air.
And at times your hand reaches for its hiding place to take it out and feel it again.
But the mirrors have buried each door. And the box is no longer in sight.
So it just sits there. Stirring. Calling to numbed ears. Willing for release. For freedom.
So you swallow more broken glass and convince your tears the pain is beauty.
And rub your fingers over the tiny bird and try not to see the colors in his opened wings.
And whisper, I am free.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
A trip to the beach
mean what you say
say what i mean
name the birds who've known no name
learn guitar
brighten overcast days
embrace emotions burying flames
question truths that may have won
smile in spite of the holes within
while away sleepless hours til the sun
cry over all that might have been
take your truth to the beach
pack butterflies, sunscreen, luv and sparks
sit with the sand and wave adieu
i'll take your hand in the dark
say what i mean
name the birds who've known no name
learn guitar
brighten overcast days
embrace emotions burying flames
question truths that may have won
smile in spite of the holes within
while away sleepless hours til the sun
cry over all that might have been
take your truth to the beach
pack butterflies, sunscreen, luv and sparks
sit with the sand and wave adieu
i'll take your hand in the dark
Mine is Bigger than Yours
My Ego would like to take yours out for drinks.
That is if the Superegos will allow it.
Something tells me your Id is definitely game.
Every game has a shelf life.
There are times when we are consumed with the outcome.
Or with every.subtle.calculated.move.
But waves crash after such great heights.
And momentum is rarely recreated.
The Players simply tire and move onto other games.
Ones more suited to maintaining highs, with rules that mean what they say.
That shed light on rainbows within.
Grey is the color of indecision.
It has no hue and reflects and transmits only a little light.
And it kind of stifles the shine of my silky, black hair.
So not sexy.
Such absence of color drains, it never adds.
It merely takes.
There is no half way.
You go half way, you get hurt.
Lies exhaust.
No amount of rest will ever relieve.
I can see your dark circles from here.
Poor.Tired.Bastard.
Because you can't have it all because you lost it because you calculated foolishly.
And failed to forecast your opponents moves accordingly.
"You know if you hadn't screwed things up with her you'd probably be doing it right now."
What a Happy Ending that would be.
T H E
N
D
That is if the Superegos will allow it.
Something tells me your Id is definitely game.
Every game has a shelf life.
There are times when we are consumed with the outcome.
Or with every.subtle.calculated.move.
But waves crash after such great heights.
And momentum is rarely recreated.
The Players simply tire and move onto other games.
Ones more suited to maintaining highs, with rules that mean what they say.
That shed light on rainbows within.
Grey is the color of indecision.
It has no hue and reflects and transmits only a little light.
And it kind of stifles the shine of my silky, black hair.
So not sexy.
Such absence of color drains, it never adds.
It merely takes.
There is no half way.
You go half way, you get hurt.
Lies exhaust.
No amount of rest will ever relieve.
I can see your dark circles from here.
Poor.Tired.Bastard.
Because you can't have it all because you lost it because you calculated foolishly.
And failed to forecast your opponents moves accordingly.
"You know if you hadn't screwed things up with her you'd probably be doing it right now."
What a Happy Ending that would be.
T H E
N
D
Friday, April 1, 2011
The Quintessential Villainess
I dealt with a psychotic customer today.
Oh, excuse me. I forgot.
Disclaimer: The opinions of this blog vixen are hers exclusively and are not affiliated with that of Nordstrom, Clinique or its subsidiaries.
Why is it that the most vile, the most unattractive and unapologetically wretched folks are the ones who stamp their image into my brain? Into my BLOG?
Why can't my mind be overwhelmed with thoughts about the woman who told me how much she liked me for being honest about the foundation I thought was best for her (Sorry Clinique, that would be one by Estee Lauder). And how we bonded so much that she opened a Nordstrom account with me without even batting an eye. Or about the shy girl who never wore makeup who I sat down and applied a whole face of color to and she walked away with such a smile on her face that after she'd already left she came back just to say, Thank you, Teresa. And it felt fantastic even though she didn't purchase a single item.
But no.
Today I do not, in fact, have a heartwarming tale of inspiration and sister hood.
Today I have a story of the Wicked Witch of Clinique who spewed such nasty venom it left me with an overwhelming sense of ickiness.
Clinique is great.
If my executives are reading this IT'S THE BEST BRAND IN THE WORLD!
However.
This best brand has produced some of the craziest of the crazies I've seen this side of Starbucks.
The price point is low. So that means we're not dealing with the classy well to do of Chanel. Or the compulsive teens of M.A.C. No, we're dealing with the frugal, no nonsense woman who KNOWS what she wants because SHE'S been using Clinique for YEARS. (Emphasis THEIRS). They want. what. they. want. how. they. want it and they don't want to see what's new. They want the foundation they've been wearing the past 20 years.
Ahem. Can you see where this is going?
The best part, the BEST. PART. of this whole interchange is that the product the woman wanted is so obsolete I hadn't even heard of it my whole month working there. That means in the thousands of dollars I've rung the past 4 weeks, not ONE single woman has requested this item. Exhibit A, friends of the jury.
Fortunately, for my own sake, I discovered this product for the first time this morning. We moved our entire bay to a different part of the store.
Good Morning, 6am! Oh how I've missed thee so! Oh, but I mean the opposite of that.
And while packing up different drawers I stumbled across this little handcream. Thank you, sweet Jesus, for this moment of learning, for heaven help me had I not known the product the Wicked Witch of Clinique had wished for!
What's this? I'd asked a co worker. It's a handcream that's AMAZING, she informed me.
Huh, I thought and tossed it in a box.
Cut to MANY hours later and the WWOC (she is so evil she gets her own acronym) asked me if we have any of the handcream. I was SO elated at not only knowing what she was talking about having laid eyes on it earlier but I figured she would for sure be thrilled as well that we had what she wanted! I searched a couple drawers looking for the one magical bottle and she reached her hand into the drawer to pull it out before I could. You found it! I declared in grins. Hooray!
Is that all you HAVE? The WWOC uttered slowly through gritted teeth. Jilted by her sudden shift in mood I hesitated before maintaining my cheer and marched over to the computer.
Well, it looks like this is the only one we have in this store but I can definitely get some sent to you from another store and.....
NO! she roared. And continued on a diatribe about how she'd driven all the way out there and Nordstrom didn't deserve her business because they didn't keep on hand the products that consumers used and she was going to give her business to Neiman Marcus because THEY would send the product to her and.......BLAH. BLAH. BLAH. BLAH. BITCH.
NO! she didn't want me to send any more to her. NO! she thought I was an idiot for citing that we didn't have control over ordering stock and received what the warehouse sent us. NO! she wanted me to tell my managers how irate she was. Excuse me, that vocab word is much too large for her. I'm quite certain she said how mad she was. As in CRAZY. Crazy like a fox! A meth pumping, haggard looking, ratty sweats wearing fox! It is never the beautiful who act so ugly. Think about it.
I would like you all to take a moment and be proud of me that I just ignored her and rang the transaction as I would any other. Though what I WANTED to do was say, So you're mad, you're furious with me because I HAVE the product you want? You drove here to get this hand cream and I have that very hand cream you desire. And yet you are irrationally angry with me because I don't magically have 20 containers of the hand cream? Maybe you shouldn't be so damn selfish. Maybe you should go visit J-A-P-A-N and realize THERE ARE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS IN LIFE THAN YOUR PRECIOUS FUCKING HAND CREAM!!!!
But I didn't. I was a good little sales girl and I apologized for being so low in stock and for her being so upset. I even asked if she wanted a bag for her beloved hand cream to which she replied NO!
It's good she loves trees because it's clear the only human she is capable of caring about is her self.
That is if witches count as humans.
And I suspect NO!
Oh, excuse me. I forgot.
Disclaimer: The opinions of this blog vixen are hers exclusively and are not affiliated with that of Nordstrom, Clinique or its subsidiaries.
Why is it that the most vile, the most unattractive and unapologetically wretched folks are the ones who stamp their image into my brain? Into my BLOG?
Why can't my mind be overwhelmed with thoughts about the woman who told me how much she liked me for being honest about the foundation I thought was best for her (Sorry Clinique, that would be one by Estee Lauder). And how we bonded so much that she opened a Nordstrom account with me without even batting an eye. Or about the shy girl who never wore makeup who I sat down and applied a whole face of color to and she walked away with such a smile on her face that after she'd already left she came back just to say, Thank you, Teresa. And it felt fantastic even though she didn't purchase a single item.
But no.
Today I do not, in fact, have a heartwarming tale of inspiration and sister hood.
Today I have a story of the Wicked Witch of Clinique who spewed such nasty venom it left me with an overwhelming sense of ickiness.
Clinique is great.
If my executives are reading this IT'S THE BEST BRAND IN THE WORLD!
However.
This best brand has produced some of the craziest of the crazies I've seen this side of Starbucks.
The price point is low. So that means we're not dealing with the classy well to do of Chanel. Or the compulsive teens of M.A.C. No, we're dealing with the frugal, no nonsense woman who KNOWS what she wants because SHE'S been using Clinique for YEARS. (Emphasis THEIRS). They want. what. they. want. how. they. want it and they don't want to see what's new. They want the foundation they've been wearing the past 20 years.
Ahem. Can you see where this is going?
The best part, the BEST. PART. of this whole interchange is that the product the woman wanted is so obsolete I hadn't even heard of it my whole month working there. That means in the thousands of dollars I've rung the past 4 weeks, not ONE single woman has requested this item. Exhibit A, friends of the jury.
Fortunately, for my own sake, I discovered this product for the first time this morning. We moved our entire bay to a different part of the store.
Good Morning, 6am! Oh how I've missed thee so! Oh, but I mean the opposite of that.
And while packing up different drawers I stumbled across this little handcream. Thank you, sweet Jesus, for this moment of learning, for heaven help me had I not known the product the Wicked Witch of Clinique had wished for!
What's this? I'd asked a co worker. It's a handcream that's AMAZING, she informed me.
Huh, I thought and tossed it in a box.
Cut to MANY hours later and the WWOC (she is so evil she gets her own acronym) asked me if we have any of the handcream. I was SO elated at not only knowing what she was talking about having laid eyes on it earlier but I figured she would for sure be thrilled as well that we had what she wanted! I searched a couple drawers looking for the one magical bottle and she reached her hand into the drawer to pull it out before I could. You found it! I declared in grins. Hooray!
Is that all you HAVE? The WWOC uttered slowly through gritted teeth. Jilted by her sudden shift in mood I hesitated before maintaining my cheer and marched over to the computer.
Well, it looks like this is the only one we have in this store but I can definitely get some sent to you from another store and.....
NO! she roared. And continued on a diatribe about how she'd driven all the way out there and Nordstrom didn't deserve her business because they didn't keep on hand the products that consumers used and she was going to give her business to Neiman Marcus because THEY would send the product to her and.......BLAH. BLAH. BLAH. BLAH. BITCH.
NO! she didn't want me to send any more to her. NO! she thought I was an idiot for citing that we didn't have control over ordering stock and received what the warehouse sent us. NO! she wanted me to tell my managers how irate she was. Excuse me, that vocab word is much too large for her. I'm quite certain she said how mad she was. As in CRAZY. Crazy like a fox! A meth pumping, haggard looking, ratty sweats wearing fox! It is never the beautiful who act so ugly. Think about it.
I would like you all to take a moment and be proud of me that I just ignored her and rang the transaction as I would any other. Though what I WANTED to do was say, So you're mad, you're furious with me because I HAVE the product you want? You drove here to get this hand cream and I have that very hand cream you desire. And yet you are irrationally angry with me because I don't magically have 20 containers of the hand cream? Maybe you shouldn't be so damn selfish. Maybe you should go visit J-A-P-A-N and realize THERE ARE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS IN LIFE THAN YOUR PRECIOUS FUCKING HAND CREAM!!!!
But I didn't. I was a good little sales girl and I apologized for being so low in stock and for her being so upset. I even asked if she wanted a bag for her beloved hand cream to which she replied NO!
It's good she loves trees because it's clear the only human she is capable of caring about is her self.
That is if witches count as humans.
And I suspect NO!
NiceMeetYou
I used to have an Okcupid profile.
I think it was a right of passage when the boom of internet dating took off. Some of my most entertaining dates were dudes I met online. Cra-zy! But the best part of having any sort of online interaction with cybermales was that there would always be some guy, some one or twelve that would compose a message that seemed too ridiculous to be real.
Author's Note: Women should have profiles for entertainment purposes only not actual dates.
So today, for my entertainment, some cybermale sent me this message via facebook.
Hello
Just surfing through profiles and found yours quite interesting and fascinating and I decide to get to you to see maybe we can get to know more about each other to see what the nature has for us.
Though I know it sound strange to you, since you do not know me, but I will appreciate it, if granted this Privilege. I am 48yrs old divorced with no kid. I am an American Citizen and working as an Operator Manager with a Cargo Shipping Company in NJ, USA. The nature of my job makes me travel usually once a week, so I try to travel as much as I can.
I am very honest, caring, sensitive, loving, straight forward person. I like sincere, creative mind, brilliant having transparent personality, I believe strongly in peace, and human right. I love art/graffiti music, films, reading, holidays, swimming, and social gathering.
Honestly I really want to know much about you. Right now, I am in the sea working, we take cargos from USA to England, Dubai, Australia and Japan... I am happy every time my ship duck in Japan because that is the only free time I have to visit friends and well wishers ....My vacation is for 60 days 3 times in a year .
*****Please answer the below questions:
• What is your full name?
• Where are you currently located?
• Age / Date of Birth?
• Do you have kids? (If yes then how many)
• Are you married or divorced?
• Can we be friends?
Kindly write me directly to my email........
I will let you know more about myself as soon as I hear from you.
Love always
Lawrence
Conclusion: I knew I looked hot in my profile picture.
I think it was a right of passage when the boom of internet dating took off. Some of my most entertaining dates were dudes I met online. Cra-zy! But the best part of having any sort of online interaction with cybermales was that there would always be some guy, some one or twelve that would compose a message that seemed too ridiculous to be real.
Author's Note: Women should have profiles for entertainment purposes only not actual dates.
So today, for my entertainment, some cybermale sent me this message via facebook.
Hello
Just surfing through profiles and found yours quite interesting and fascinating and I decide to get to you to see maybe we can get to know more about each other to see what the nature has for us.
Though I know it sound strange to you, since you do not know me, but I will appreciate it, if granted this Privilege. I am 48yrs old divorced with no kid. I am an American Citizen and working as an Operator Manager with a Cargo Shipping Company in NJ, USA. The nature of my job makes me travel usually once a week, so I try to travel as much as I can.
I am very honest, caring, sensitive, loving, straight forward person. I like sincere, creative mind, brilliant having transparent personality, I believe strongly in peace, and human right. I love art/graffiti music, films, reading, holidays, swimming, and social gathering.
Honestly I really want to know much about you. Right now, I am in the sea working, we take cargos from USA to England, Dubai, Australia and Japan... I am happy every time my ship duck in Japan because that is the only free time I have to visit friends and well wishers ....My vacation is for 60 days 3 times in a year .
*****Please answer the below questions:
• What is your full name?
• Where are you currently located?
• Age / Date of Birth?
• Do you have kids? (If yes then how many)
• Are you married or divorced?
• Can we be friends?
Kindly write me directly to my email........
I will let you know more about myself as soon as I hear from you.
Love always
Lawrence
Conclusion: I knew I looked hot in my profile picture.
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