tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72308696540699756002024-02-06T22:12:46.486-05:00The Precious Princess's Guide to BananalandComplete and utter nonsense rambling about kids, boys, work and other stuff I find particularly funny...Precious Princess of Banananlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08526638597888942341noreply@blogger.comBlogger74125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7230869654069975600.post-22893600835526659222016-07-01T14:18:00.004-04:002016-07-01T17:35:25.438-04:00Is English Your Second Language - Dating Part III<i>Is English your second language? In the grimy underworld of online dating, this seems to be the question I want to begin most messages with. I'm fine if it is your second language. Let a bitch know so I don't think you dropped out in the 3rd grade and now you're out in the world messaging me pretending to be a grown ass man with a job & shit. </i><br />
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Being a user of online dating services numerous times over the last 7 years I've noticed that some serious fuckery occurs. Not just the members are guilty of said fuckery. The sites blow ass chunks too. These dating sites need to take a lesson from Fuckerburg and get their shit together. It can't be that hard. Facebook is a free site and and those bitches know the last time I pooped and what kind of toilet paper I used because you can be damn sure there's ad for it the second I log on. The only thing these sites have in common with Facebook is their nonstop need to get my money. Denied.<br />
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<i>The sites</i><br />
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A perfect example dating website shenanigans. My first day back on display, I go directly to my matches because I'm all excited and shit because the man of dreams is going to be waiting for me. Negative. You know who was waiting in my matches? My next door neighbor (an ex meth dealer who was released from a federal penitentiary two years ago, and has seen me naked a million times because I don't close my curtains - zero fucks given here), a dude I hang out with every Friday night (for years), my ex best friend's brother-in-law (who I know well enough to have spent 9 days in Alaska with), my first Florida boyfriend's little brother (I've known him since he was 12 and still know him as an adult because he might be a bar whore), and a guy I've known for years (and cannot fucking stand). It was like Facebook's "People you might know". I already know all those people and I have zero interest in them. Zero. So much for meeting new people, shitty dating website. I wanted to just give up immediately because seriously, this kind of bullshit makes my face squinch up. I'm not attractive with a squinchy face. Trust me.<br />
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These sites also get off on subjecting its members to horrible quizzes. They are tedious, annoying, and by the time I finished with just 2 of them (there are 5 on this particular site) I wanted to stab every person on the site. Seriously, if the fucking men and women on these sites can't even bother to read the paragraph I so painstakingly typed up to describe my bad self, I'm pretty fucking certain they aren't reading the 3 page long quiz results to see if we are a personality match. Get off my tip with your tests, dating site.<br />
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<i>The members</i><br />
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<b>Please, please read my list of my Dating Profile Dont's by clicking </b><a href="http://princessbananaland.blogspot.com/2014/07/ppbs-top-20-dating-website-dontsfor-men.html">HERE</a> after you finish this post. In addition to that list, I've found some new shit that bunches my thong (and it's hard to bunch a thong). Men with the profile pic of them in bed. You know, the head on the pillow looking all dreamy? So not. They do not look dreamy. They look downright scary. Scary like they have bitches tied up in the basement. I'm not sure the reasoning behind this particular pose but if you know anybody who's particularly fond of it? Tell them to fuck off for me.<br />
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The profile "about me" section is not meant for 1 line of text that says: "I'll fill this out later" or "If you want to know, ask me" (and about 75% of profiles state one of those). If I wanted to ask you shit, I'd be at the bar asking not trolling a goddamn website, BITCH (I totally shook my head like a black girl while I typed that - picture it). The best fucking thing about a dating website is that you have time to properly describe yourself without downing 7 vodka drinks like at the bar. For fuck sake, handle that shit. <br />
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Every guy on the site cannot have the tag line "Looking for a Good Woman (usually spelled women)". There needs to be a limit on tag line usage. Like email addresses. There can be only one, motherfucker. Sites, do your damn job. Good woman, my ass. <br />
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And last but so not least - This is my 3rd attempt to date via the internets. There are currently 27 men on this particular site that I have talked to at least once since the first time I did this shit 7 years ago. Each and every one of these 27 men has the same profile picture as they did then. <br />
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<b><i>Every. Single. One. </i></b><br />
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<b><i>Makes ya' think, don't it? </i></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEhHicxw44T0PBqghK1YBbat3nSINcSsvcYla80cQiTWWKYlhZ8EEA4yk5rEytu3QCzAx8uXdgA6wjX7KUzhXspWCOpx0K_cVqeMgq7tyV_uWbNCAfD9POOx6pFJsgJ7zDu5G6dVZ26t6_oX9ZMvrgXPZHkV9o4hoBbc_nsdWRlACvl4wT6JU8_Bihxk9HI9d0xWlrdbDpWFXsmBnGftzJpvGN1UFEbVxlgg0uBPPFmNd29s3S5Doheb=" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEhHicxw44T0PBqghK1YBbat3nSINcSsvcYla80cQiTWWKYlhZ8EEA4yk5rEytu3QCzAx8uXdgA6wjX7KUzhXspWCOpx0K_cVqeMgq7tyV_uWbNCAfD9POOx6pFJsgJ7zDu5G6dVZ26t6_oX9ZMvrgXPZHkV9o4hoBbc_nsdWRlACvl4wT6JU8_Bihxk9HI9d0xWlrdbDpWFXsmBnGftzJpvGN1UFEbVxlgg0uBPPFmNd29s3S5Doheb=" width="200" /></a>P<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">P</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">B aka the Precious Princess - The Princess is a twice divorced, currently single, self-proclaimed member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 13 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares stories from Ba</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">nanaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook page </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePreciousPrincesssGuideToBananaland" style="font-family: 'times new roman', serif; font-size: 16px;">Precious Princess's Guide to Bananaland</a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;"> where she is famous for her rants and her blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life. She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at </span><a href="http://www.princessbananaland.com/" style="font-family: 'times new roman', serif; font-size: 16px;">Princess Bananaland</a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses all the swears and makes up dirty words.</span><br />
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I work with people all day long. Co-workers. Customers. All goddamn day I manage to hide my disdain for the human race. I'm attentive, understanding, and downright fucking pleasant. Everybody is under the impression that I'm fanfuckingtastic. I hate them. They don't get me. I'm sarcastic and witty. People aren't. This is fine. I don't hate them because they don't get me. I hate them because they aren't me. I like me. I'm comfortable with me. Me gets me. When I take me home after a long day at work we have a great time. My patience for the outside world ends promptly at 6 pm. And then...it doesn't. In addition to being a lover a vodka and a hater of people, I am a parent and that shit means there are kid things to tend to: parents, teachers, assemblies in the middle school gym, and the absolute worst - other kids. I shoot the fuck outta my comfort zone each and every day. Coping with the minutiae of every day life wears my ass out. <br />
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I have serious anxiety. I shoveled my meds in like a good girl, hand over fist, for years. Last year, I quit. The zombie life wasn't fun anymore. I needed to feel things again. I feel eleventy-million times better but I FEEL THINGS AGAIN. I am acutely aware of my emotions. No - I don't understand them - that would be crazy. I'm just aware of them. Anxiety and the unknown are a bad mix. People = unknown. I cannot predict what people, specifically strangers, will throw my way. At work I'm paid to deal with these situations. At home, not so much. For the safety of myself and others, I tend to take the most familiar route to all the things. I try new things. However, I try new things with old people. People I'm used to. People who know my crazy and embrace it. <br />
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Bars fucking annoy me. I hate cigarette smoke (yes, I smoke, shaddap). The smoke consumes me. I don't like the smell and it plays hell on my allergies. An hour into the smoky bar scene I get fat, watery eyes and I become a creepy mouth breather who grunts her words. Additionally, some fuckhole I happen to traveling with will insist that we sit "really close to the band so we can hear them better". Now the talking and the hearing are gone. And then there's the asshole of the group who wants to sit inside because "It's way too humid out here and my hair will get frizzy". Inside is either a) smoky as fuck, it's dark and there are 3 men from Deliverance sitting at the bar or b) you can't smoke at all, it's dark and there are 3 men from Deliverance sitting at the bar. Also, bars have karaoke. A lot of karaoke. I cannot take karaoke in any way, shape, or form. #Ihatekaraoke There's people at the bar. A fuckton of people. People I don't know and people I know all too well. Neither are good. If I wanted to see these people, I'd invite them for brunch (champagne style). I don't. <br />
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I'm not looking for a man. If I accidentally fall over one at the grocery that's cool but I'm not out on the prowl. Hunting down men in bars is what I did 10, wait, and 20 years ago. Not only have I outgrown it, I live in fear of it. I was the party girl. I couldn't keep up with the men I met. It was fun. No, I thought it was fun. I know now for certain that shit wasn't fun. I gained nothing from that time in my life except massive utility bills from sheet washing and Sad Frown Vodka Face. This me doesn't want to get hopped up on goofballs and fall for some guy who pays attention to me because he wants to get laid. I'm no longer that person and the desire to go back in time is zero. Waving the "come out and meet someone" flag in my face will get you set on fire. I've already met all the people I'm going to like. At least for now. <br />
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I love to sit outside with friends, listen to a great band, have a few cocktails, converse, judge the other people, and nosh. I rock the theater, stand-up comedy, and concerts. A day drunk at the beach with friends is spot the fuck on. Hanging at local events, trying new restaurants, and day trips are how I do it now. Hell, a day of people watching with a good friend is fucking tops. Life is way too short to have Sad Frown Vodka Face. I choose Happy Smiley Vodka Face. That's how I do it. If you don't like it, fuck the fuck off. <br />
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Thank you to my good friend Briton over at <a href="https://www.facebook.com/PunkRockPapa/?fref=ts">Punk Rock Papa</a> for making my Sad Frown Vodka Face not so sad.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEhHicxw44T0PBqghK1YBbat3nSINcSsvcYla80cQiTWWKYlhZ8EEA4yk5rEytu3QCzAx8uXdgA6wjX7KUzhXspWCOpx0K_cVqeMgq7tyV_uWbNCAfD9POOx6pFJsgJ7zDu5G6dVZ26t6_oX9ZMvrgXPZHkV9o4hoBbc_nsdWRlACvl4wT6JU8_Bihxk9HI9d0xWlrdbDpWFXsmBnGftzJpvGN1UFEbVxlgg0uBPPFmNd29s3S5Doheb=" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEhHicxw44T0PBqghK1YBbat3nSINcSsvcYla80cQiTWWKYlhZ8EEA4yk5rEytu3QCzAx8uXdgA6wjX7KUzhXspWCOpx0K_cVqeMgq7tyV_uWbNCAfD9POOx6pFJsgJ7zDu5G6dVZ26t6_oX9ZMvrgXPZHkV9o4hoBbc_nsdWRlACvl4wT6JU8_Bihxk9HI9d0xWlrdbDpWFXsmBnGftzJpvGN1UFEbVxlgg0uBPPFmNd29s3S5Doheb=" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">PP</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">B aka the Precious Princess - The Princess is a twice divorced, currently single, self-proclaimed member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 13 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares stories from Ba</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">nanaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook page </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePreciousPrincesssGuideToBananaland" style="font-family: 'times new roman', serif; font-size: 16px;">Precious Princess's Guide to Bananaland</a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;"> where she is famous for her rants and her blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life. She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at </span><a href="http://www.princessbananaland.com/" style="font-family: 'times new roman', serif; font-size: 16px;">Princess Bananaland</a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses all the swears and makes up dirty words.</span><br />
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This letter is to inform you that I'd really like you to wake the fuck up. And shut the fuck up. Just stop. Pick your sack up off the floor, jam it in your tightie-whities, put on some non-skinny pants, and grow up. The whiny, pathetic fucks you have become would make your momma slap you. <br />
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Sure, I poke fun at the average male more than I should but in reality I have a lot of respect for you guys. You go through a lot of cockamamie bullshit to get with the ladies; to find that special one who won't cut you while you slumber. I got a secret, women are bitches. Yes, I said it. Bitches. I am one. I know this. Vagina equals crazy. I don't care who you are. You just have to find the crazy that fits with your crazy.<br />
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But first...<br />
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Stop your incessant bitching about the woman who hurled your ass directly into the "friend zone". She ain't the girl for you. Move on. Just because some sweet thing you sugared up with happy hour drinks doesn't want to move in and make babies doesn't mean she hates nice guys. Stop that. She doesn't dig your happy ass, that's all. Your annoying social media posts about her, the ones where you moan and bitch and feel oh so sorry for yourself because she wants a nice guy but not you (Whine, whine, whine, whine), absolutely blow. Maybe she doesn't want to be with you because you're not a nice fucking guy. I'll bet you never even considered the fact that you might just be a grade-A nine inch dick. You think you're so damn nice. All of you. Teensy hint boys, you aren't. You can't all be nice. That's not how it works. Or what if maybe, just maybe, you weren't her bowl of jelly (cuppa tea is so overused). What, you say? How could she not be into you? It's the stuff romance movies are made of. I know, sigh, you've never seen one. I'll give you the gist, he likes her - she doesn't like him, she likes him - he doesn't like her. It happens. Suck it up. Whatever the reason she friend zones your ass, its her damn reason so accept it and shut the hell up. <br />
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You bash these women because they don't want you. When do you take some responsibility and accept that some of this knuckle deep dating diarrhea you've found yourself in is your fault? Why are you on the hunt for women who aren't interested in you? You're always searching. Searching for someone, anyone. You are continually the victim of the lady's buy me a drink syndrome. Have you tried watching? Listening? Taking your time to maybe, I dunno, meet a woman who doesn't suck the life out of your entire being? Stop settling for the first one, or even the second one. Go for number six. Six seems safe. The woman who wants you will let you know. She's out there, you guys. She might not be where you think she is. She might be home reading a book, watching "Love, Actually", waiting for you to call (not text, asshole). She might be hoping you'll drop by her job with one of those tacky gas station flowers. Not because you're trying to impress her with corny romance but simply because you're thinking of her. She may just be hanging at the bar, hoping you'll stop in for a cocktail so she can stab you in the chest. Keep your chins up, boys. She's out there. Just shut the fuck up about her. <br />
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Exes & Ohs,<br />
<br />
#PPB<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEhHicxw44T0PBqghK1YBbat3nSINcSsvcYla80cQiTWWKYlhZ8EEA4yk5rEytu3QCzAx8uXdgA6wjX7KUzhXspWCOpx0K_cVqeMgq7tyV_uWbNCAfD9POOx6pFJsgJ7zDu5G6dVZ26t6_oX9ZMvrgXPZHkV9o4hoBbc_nsdWRlACvl4wT6JU8_Bihxk9HI9d0xWlrdbDpWFXsmBnGftzJpvGN1UFEbVxlgg0uBPPFmNd29s3S5Doheb=" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEhHicxw44T0PBqghK1YBbat3nSINcSsvcYla80cQiTWWKYlhZ8EEA4yk5rEytu3QCzAx8uXdgA6wjX7KUzhXspWCOpx0K_cVqeMgq7tyV_uWbNCAfD9POOx6pFJsgJ7zDu5G6dVZ26t6_oX9ZMvrgXPZHkV9o4hoBbc_nsdWRlACvl4wT6JU8_Bihxk9HI9d0xWlrdbDpWFXsmBnGftzJpvGN1UFEbVxlgg0uBPPFmNd29s3S5Doheb=" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">PP</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">B aka The Precious Princess - The Princess is a twice divorced, currently single, self-proclaimed member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 13 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares stories from Ba</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">nanaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook page </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePreciousPrincesssGuideToBananaland" style="font-family: 'times new roman', serif; font-size: 16px;">Precious Princess's Guide to Bananaland</a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;"> where she is famous for her rants and her blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life. She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at </span><a href="http://www.princessbananaland.com/" style="font-family: 'times new roman', serif; font-size: 16px;">Princess Bananaland</a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses all the swears and makes up dirty words.</span><br />
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<br />
I'm tired. I'm depressed. I wake up every day searching for a good day. Every day I'm let down. The day gets utterly sucked away, quickly. Every day. Most days I want to curl up and hide. I'm beaten down. I'm losing. The struggle is sucking my every last drop of life. <br />
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b> My fucking kid is 13!</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b> My fucking kid is 13.</b></span></div>
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Gone is everything decent and sweet and innocent and good. There is hate. And screaming. There are girls. And boys. It's all snarling and spitting. And fear. One moment my kid is thirteen. And the next? A creepy monster bitch with hair of fire (because her head exploded). <br />
<br />
I prepared myself for this. Since the birth of my daughter 13 years ago I've been prepping myself for for this, this nasty puberty. It feels so free to type the word puberty. I can't say puberty or talk about puberty because I'm not allowed to use the "P" word in front of the 13 year old giiiirrlll. "OMG I'll die if you say that word" - whatever. The hysterics aren't worth it. I can write about it. You should listen. <br />
<br />
There is no advice I can give. I cannot tell you what I do not know. I can share a few thoughts and feelings that might help you decide whether or not to buy condoms later tonight. <br />
<br />
<i>I feel...hated. It's not so much the "I hate you!" that rolls from her gaping blabber-hole on the daily - it's the look. The "don't even look at me or I will burst into flames" look. It slams the hate home. Straight into my guts. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I have been deserted. My child is no longer trying to crawl her ass back in the womb. I have wished for this day. I knew it would come. I was excited. I thought I was ready. I clearly was not. We are separated. I've been replaced with video games, computers, ipods, phones, and friiiieeeeends. I'm lonely. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>There has not been a day, not one single day, that I haven't wanted to give up. My parenting is tested - Every. Single. Day. I am physically tired of arguing over every miniscule detail of every situation. I'm drained. I am turning gray. I am sad.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I am downtrodden. I'm positive I'm a failure as a parent and that I'm raising the next infamous serial killer. In my mind I'm sure that one morning when I ask if she wants eggs she'll reply by swallowing my head. This girl with black eyeliner and an attitude. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I'm completely uncomfortable. It's gross. Boys and giggly girlfriend drama sucked ass when I was a kid. I have zero desire to do this shit again! We average at least 1 awkward conversation per 12 hours. More on the weekends. </i> <i>More on bad days. More during pms. More on days that end with y. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>It's terrifying. I'm afraid most days. I'm afraid to say the wrong thing, look the wrong way, or ask the wrong question. I am a complete bitch but this nasty, teeth gnashing witch scares the shit out of me. Horrified that I will have to listen to all that whining. It's scary. I hate it. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I'm way stupid. I mean, that's how I feel. That's how she makes me feel. "Mom, you wouldn't understand" - whatever. I know stuff. I can't help with physics homeowrk but I can make a helluva meatloaf and I can stand on 1 foot for a long time. I'm useful, damnit.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Watching my child's metamorphis from a little kid to to big asshole kid is not a good time. I go into every day with hope. I begin every day with understanding. I also end every day screaming "shut up, I'm done". It's okay. When my day ends like that it means we talked. I have that. </i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">PP</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">B aka The Precious Princess - The Princess is a twice divorced, currently single, self-proclaimed member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 13 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares stories from Ba</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">nanaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook page </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePreciousPrincesssGuideToBananaland" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Precious Princess's Guide to Bananaland</a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> where she is famous for her rants and her blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life. She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at </span><a href="http://www.princessbananaland.com/" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Princess Bananaland</a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses all the swears and makes up dirty words.</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">A perfect day - anything goes - no boundaries</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">My day begins the usual way. I drag my slovenly ass out of
the bed (the alarm begins alarming at 5:30am and I wake, turn on the news, hit snooze until 6:00ish) and clomp to the potty where I spend 15-20 minutes
performing my a.m. constitutional (aka - on the Facebook). I jump (crawl)
off the throne because I realize I wasted 20 minutes being a dick-around. I gracefully complete my morning stretch and
all the muscles in my body react - poorly. I shower, ignoring the
screaming pain from my parts. I stand in the shower, letting the hot
water attempt to relieve my aches and pains until I realize, once again, that
I'm a dick-around. I've been in the shower for 10 minutes and I haven't
thought about soap. I rush to half-ass wash my parts paying close
attention to the stinky region (I have standards), wash, condition, and
haul my soaking wet ass back to my room and lunge for the caffeine. I sit,
nude, with a towel wrapped around my head and ingest the much needed caffeine
& take my much needed meds. I take the towel off my head, wrap it
(barely) around my ample business, and plop into my 12almost13 year old
daughter's room for the first of many morning visits. I turn off her
nightlight, make sure the t.v. is off, and turn on her overhead light. I
do something horrible like rip a huge fart, squeeze her cheeks, or jab my
finger into her closed eye while chanting "poke, poke, poke" to give
her a little wake-up boost. I'm a gem. I flap back to my room to
smear on the war-paint and do up the hair. I head back to the kid's room
where both of her alarms are blaring; one beeping and one playing music. She's sound asleep. She acknowledges me
with "5 more minutes" and I pound the snooze on one of the screaming
alarms. I hit the kitchen to throw lunch together for the kid,
and conjure up something for us to jam in our face-holes for the a.m. meal.
During this portion of my morning routine, the kid enters using the
zombie walk, eyes half closed, arms out, and stomp-y. She snags my breakfast
offering, and heads to the family room to fuck with the cat. I get
dressed, get all my work shit gathered, and brush my teeth. I check on the
kid's progress (still fucking with the
cat), and help her out by screeching: "hurry up, brush your teeth, hurry
up, shoes & socks, shoes & socks, brush your hair, is all your homework
in your backpack, hurry up, brush your teeth, hurry up". I know this
helps because she is screaming back at me but moving her ass all the while.
I head for the car, and get myself settled with a few moments of quiet
before the morning drive to school. School for the kid is .4 miles from
our house. It takes approximately 20 minutes door to door to sit in the
drop-off line. The school is .4 miles from our house. It takes the
kid 7-10 minutes to walk. The kid slams her whole body and her 40+lb
backpack into the car, and the talking begins: "So this boy made me laugh,
why is bacon red, I almost peed my pants yesterday, baaaaa, pewtiepie is so
funny, we should get a dog, I want a dog, the boy's name was Freddy, what's for
dinner" and so on...until she bolts from the car without so much as a
goodbye. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Every second of that shit is gonna make my perfect day, perfect.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I will do what I dream of doing almost every morning while I drive to work. I will go and I will do - anything I want. Because I can.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I head to the beach, alone. To <i>not</i> think. To relax, to
listen. I hop of out of my car with zero aches and pains. I
effortlessly set up my umbrella, chair, towel, and cooler in the perfect spot.
The spot where the water reaches my toes, the breeze is consistent, and
the view is breathtaking. I yank off my beach cover-up, giving absolutely
no fucks about what my fellow beach goers think about my fat rolls,
pasty white skin, or the jiggly-ness that is me. I lay in the sun with
headphones in my ears, a book in my hand, and an amazon-sized, fruity umbrella
drink that was just delivered to me. Delivered. I sit for hours. I totally fry
the fuck out of myself. I am totally red. hot. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I see a couple of hobos while leaving the beach. I give them
each a $50 and a Fireball mini (because its my fucking day and I can)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I meet friends for food & drinks at a restaurant on the water
in a nearby town. I'm wearing the perfect dress to compliment my lobster
complexion. I have heels on my feet</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">(I can wear them without the usual
searing pain). I bounce into the restaurant. We eat, have grown-up
drinks, and we dance. I dance. For hours. In heels. With no
pain. I dance with wild abandon. I forget how I think this isn’t
cool; I let go. I embrace my inner fool and I laugh - and laugh.
I'm not performing. I am not "on". I'm just me. I’m free. I feel, ahem,
giddy. It feels good. I feel good. Friends. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I come home and whip up dinner for the family. The kid scarfs
what I make. We chat about the day - school, friends, homework, etc...
After dinner, we walk a couple of miles around the park. My feet don't hurt.
I'm not out of breath. The kid
showers without argument and she washes. She says thank you and tells me she loves me. We eat chocolate and head to
bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I slip into a magnificent, non-scratchy, nightie that makes me
feel glorious. I slide into freshly washed sheets, turn on a great show,
and get ready to sleep without assistance from OTC sleep-aids. As my eyes
close, I feel hot breath on my neck. He's come to hump me and he's
my best friend in the entire world. I forget my cottage cheese
ass, my untidy pube-age, and the fact that my mouth tastes like a day old
egg-salad sandwich. I forget my wrinkles and my saggy milk bags and I let go. I have hot, dirty sex.
Sex that should make me blush but it's dark and I don't give a damn.
After, there is kissing, some hugs, and more kissing. He watches me
fall asleep, and then he leaves. He texts me from the car, "I miss
you already, talk to you in a few hours". I read it, then sleep. I'm smiling. Even though my vagina feels ripped in half when I wake, the rest
of my parts made it out unscathed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I smile because my day is not ending. It has no boundaries. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I smile and I begin again. </span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEhHicxw44T0PBqghK1YBbat3nSINcSsvcYla80cQiTWWKYlhZ8EEA4yk5rEytu3QCzAx8uXdgA6wjX7KUzhXspWCOpx0K_cVqeMgq7tyV_uWbNCAfD9POOx6pFJsgJ7zDu5G6dVZ26t6_oX9ZMvrgXPZHkV9o4hoBbc_nsdWRlACvl4wT6JU8_Bihxk9HI9d0xWlrdbDpWFXsmBnGftzJpvGN1UFEbVxlgg0uBPPFmNd29s3S5Doheb=" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEhHicxw44T0PBqghK1YBbat3nSINcSsvcYla80cQiTWWKYlhZ8EEA4yk5rEytu3QCzAx8uXdgA6wjX7KUzhXspWCOpx0K_cVqeMgq7tyV_uWbNCAfD9POOx6pFJsgJ7zDu5G6dVZ26t6_oX9ZMvrgXPZHkV9o4hoBbc_nsdWRlACvl4wT6JU8_Bihxk9HI9d0xWlrdbDpWFXsmBnGftzJpvGN1UFEbVxlgg0uBPPFmNd29s3S5Doheb=" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">PP</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">B aka The Precious Princess - The Princess is a twice divorced, recently single, self-proclaimed member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 12 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares stories from Ba</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">nanaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook page </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePreciousPrincesssGuideToBananaland" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Precious Princess's Guide to Bananaland</a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> where she is famous for her rants and her blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life. She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at </span><a href="http://www.princessbananaland.com/" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Princess Bananaland</a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses all the swears and makes up dirty words. Eventually when she’s done being sloth-like, she will write a book. Until she changes her mind. Be afraid. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I am the current keeper of a piece of parenting advice that I wish to hell somebody
would have given me when I was with child.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Because I am awesome and this is important, I will share this bit of info
with all the uninformed parents. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Indulge. Sip that wine. Slam a beer and chase that beer with another beer. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I was not a big drinker prior to having my one
and only child.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I was never told
that it was </span><s style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">okay</s><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> imperative to consume a little nip here and there to
calm the nerves while attempting to parent.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Subsequently, the first several years of my daughter’s life were alcohol
free. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Insanity. That's what ensued. Total insanity. The fact that we made it out of babyhood alive is a mystery. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I know
damn well my obsessive-compulsive tendencies, my helicopter mom-ness, and my need to be in control of every moment would have been kept in check if
someone had told me to shut hell up and pop a cold one.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I was so worried what people would think if I was drinking, or god forbid, I got drunk.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">The world would have ended. I would have been shunned by my peers. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I have since learned to embrace the joy of a cool buzz when my offspring has lost her damn mind. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">The word needs to be spread,
folks – drink.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">How else can we support
each other through this madcap journey of rearing the snatch monkeys?</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
is rarely mentioned that soon after the bundle of joy is brought home, many new
parents are hiding in the hall closet sipping whiskey from a brown paper bag
like hobos. This closeted behavior must be made common knowledge so whiskey
can be sipped in an appropriate place, everywhere. People with zero kids,
new parents, and those perfect television type parents will argue that this is
not the case. Parents would never hide
from a screaming baby. Lies, all lies. Yes,
there are probably some parents out there who don’t down a shot of tequila
after an especially fragrant thirty-seven-wipe diaper change. That’s because they didn’t receive this nugget
of sage parenting advice. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s okay to
have a drink when the day is long and there are too many kids. It’s really okay. In essence it’s fairly cool to do almost
anything that assists with making it through one of the endless days that make
parenting so special (</span><<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">--------- insert sarcasm
font). If the kids are breathing, fed,
and <s>happy</s> content, consider the day a success. <u><o:p></o:p></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">For
those days when the newborn is screeching for hours for reasons unknown, the toddler is tearing through the house
naked, his poop-filled diaper swinging from his arm like a lasso, with the shit literally (literally) hitting the fan, and the tween is calmly ignoring the
entire scene while foraging in the kitchen (and everywhere else) for food. Those days are made for a glass of wine (or
2). The simple act of ingesting some alcohol can
keep a parent from ending up in the snow, rocking, wearing only underwear &
cowboy boots. It can keep them from burning down the house, or taking the train to run far, far away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
shit, it never ends. Even before all of
the above scenarios have been dealt with, the damn kids are on to the next disastrous
event that will require yet another glass of the red. Or white.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Perfect
parenting is total bullshit and it does not exist. There are no perfect
parents. There are no perfect
children. Parenting <s>sometimes</s>
most times calls for a cocktail. There
will be parents who will not agree with this advice. Fuck those parents. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Drinking is bad, blah, blah, blah. Everyone will be an alcoholic, blah, blah,
blah. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nervous
breakdowns are bad. Ignoring, screaming
at, and shaming kids is bad. Also, all
that stuff is like work. Parenting is
hard. Sit down and enjoy a nice tall
glass of vodka. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">That’s stress free
parenting right there, folks. Enjoy that shit.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">*The above post was written in jest. Really. – Sorry – I have to say that shit because people are assholes. </span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">P</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">PB aka The Precious Princess - The Princess is a twice divorced, recently single, self-proclaimed member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 12 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares stories from Ba</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">nanaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook page </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePreciousPrincesssGuideToBananaland" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Precious Princess's Guide to Bananaland</a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> where she is famous for her rants and her blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life. She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at </span><a href="http://www.princessbananaland.com/" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Princess Bananaland</a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses all the swears and makes up dirty words. Eventually when she’s done being sloth-like, she will write a book. Until she changes her mind. Be afraid. </span></div>
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<span class="color_11" style="border: 0px none; line-height: 2.2; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; word-spacing: 0.1em;">Post originally published on the <a href="http://originalbunkerpunks.com/">Original Bunker Punks</a> website because they rock and I am one. A punk. An old punk, but a punk. </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px none; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 2.2; list-style: none; outline: none; padding: 10px 20px; word-spacing: 0.1em;">
<span class="color_11" style="border: 0px none; line-height: 2.2; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; word-spacing: 0.1em;">Growing up in the South you hear a lot of quaint sayings. One I have heard many times is, “Dance with the one what brung ya.” Proper English, no, but the meaning was well-defined. I am sure that originally it meant exactly what it states. You should dance with the one that brought you to the dance. But it has evolved to mean stay the course with the talent, process or system that got you here.” <i> (Definition taken from the </i></span><i><a href="http://southernwritersmagazine.blogspot.com/2013/03/dance-with-one-what-brung-ya.html" style="border: 0px none; color: #b23737; line-height: 2.2; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; word-spacing: 0.1em;" target="_blank">Southern Writer’s Magazine</a>)</i></div>
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<span class="color_11" style="border: 0px none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">There are numerous definitions and variations of this phrase but essentially they are all very similar. I was married and almost 38 years old when I first heard this expression. I didn’t know what it meant. I had never heard it. I had no idea that this simple phrase would define how I felt over the next several years. </span></div>
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<span class="color_11" style="border: 0px none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">The first time I heard it, </span>it was in jest. A friend said it in regard to waiting outside the bathroom, which by the way should be some sort of law. I’m always getting left or leaving someone in the bathroom. I digress. This silly hillbilly phrase intrigued me. I needed to know more and I needed to use it. I wasn’t sure how but I was damn sure going to work it into conversation as much as possible. You can never overuse old southern sayings, can you? You can, but I didn’t care. I was using that shit.</div>
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<span class="color_11" style="border: 0px none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">It wasn’t until almost 2 years later when I was single that this silly little saying made a real impact. I was always a flirty hooker even when I was married and I was married almost my whole life. Things didn’t change much when I was single. Flirty hookers are popular in the single community.</span></div>
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<span class="color_11" style="border: 0px none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;"><i>It’s my personality</i></span></div>
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<i style="line-height: 2.2; word-spacing: 0.1em;">It’s how I am.</i></div>
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<span class="color_11" style="border: 0px none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;"><i>I married; I’m not going to cheat</i></span></div>
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<i>I’m single; I should be flirty</i></div>
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<span class="color_11" style="border: 0px none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">In the beginning stages of my dating frenzy, I was usually on the receiving end of this phrase. I didn’t know how to date. I didn’t know how to meet people. I was married for 17 years. I was under the assumption that I could just play my usual role of flirty hooker which in reality was, douchey asshole. It was not attractive. I never really had a date say anything about it but I noticed it. I noticed that I was getting that reputation. Not that I gave a flying unicorn shit what other people thought of me but I cared what I thought of me. </span></div>
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<span class="color_11" style="border: 0px none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">I took a dating break and have recently returned to the scene with my new outlook and I’m trying hard not be that douchey asshole who needs to be told to “dance with the one what brung ya”. It hit me hard this time around. I figured out what this phrase meant to me. I am really paying attention and now it’s me giving the speech. My new and exciting take on the world of dating has made me realize just how important that old hillbilly saying is. How serious. How important. To me. </span></div>
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<span class="color_11" style="border: 0px none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;"><i>Respect</i></span></div>
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<span class="color_11" style="border: 0px none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;"><i>For yourself</i></span></div>
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<span class="color_11" style="border: 0px none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;"><i>For others</i></span></div>
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<span class="color_11" style="border: 0px none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">It isn’t a difficult concept. Whether you’re on a first date, out with a friend for the evening, 3 months into dating, or married for 15 years, “Dance with the one what brung ya”. If you cannot respect the person you have chosen to share time with you shouldn’t spend time with them.</span></div>
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<span class="color_11" style="border: 0px none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">That person, regardless of the relationship, should be your one and only focus. If you are never going to see them again or live the rest of your life with them; the time you spend with them should be spent respect them and making them feel like they are the only other person in the room.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEhHicxw44T0PBqghK1YBbat3nSINcSsvcYla80cQiTWWKYlhZ8EEA4yk5rEytu3QCzAx8uXdgA6wjX7KUzhXspWCOpx0K_cVqeMgq7tyV_uWbNCAfD9POOx6pFJsgJ7zDu5G6dVZ26t6_oX9ZMvrgXPZHkV9o4hoBbc_nsdWRlACvl4wT6JU8_Bihxk9HI9d0xWlrdbDpWFXsmBnGftzJpvGN1UFEbVxlgg0uBPPFmNd29s3S5Doheb=" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://static.wixstatic.com/media/5b670a_fed00588798546a8b394a972c3b06122.jpg_srb_p_225_225_75_22_0.50_1.20_0.00_jpg_srb" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px none; height: auto; line-height: 30.7999992370605px; list-style: none; margin-top: 0px; max-width: 100%; outline: none; padding: 0px; word-spacing: 1.39999997615814px;" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">P</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">PB aka The Precious Princess - The Princess is a twice divorced, recently single, self-proclaimed member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 12 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares stories from Ba</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">nanaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook page </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePreciousPrincesssGuideToBananaland" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Precious Princess's Guide to Bananaland</a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> where she is famous for her rants and her blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life. She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at </span><a href="http://www.princessbananaland.com/" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Princess Bananaland</a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses all the swears and makes up dirty words. Eventually when she’s done being sloth-like, she will write a book. Until she changes her mind. Be afraid. </span><br />
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18 kickass vacation lessons you need to be aware of:<br />
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<ol>
<li>It's best not to drink 4 beers prior to getting a massage. The ass-clenching that occurs while trying not to subject your massage therapist to your stank beer farts negates the entire experience.</li>
<li>Remember to show your kids where all the bars in your hotel are located. Let's be serious, we all know that's where you're going to be. Might as well the show the kids up front. Honesty is the best policy.</li>
<li>Be prepared to be hit with snarfling laughter every single damn time the phrase "duty-free" is uttered. It doesn't matter how old your kids are. "Duty-free" is ageless. You will hear it eleventy-million times. Be ready.</li>
<li>Rule#1: Don't fart in the rental. Or the room, or on the plane, or anywhere really. Vacation farts are nastier than at home farts. So don't.</li>
<li>Try and remember not to refer to your kid's new crabhat, (that you paid $15.00 for) ball-tie thingies as "deez nuts" in the presence of other parents. You will get the stink-eye. Judgy bastards.</li>
<li>Make sure to point out the nutsacks on the wildlife to your children. Do this because it's funny as hell. Blame it on learning. It's biology ya' know. Take lots of pictures.</li>
<li>Pay close attention to your body's poop signals while traveling in a foreign country. Your pipes are used to preservatives and a daily dose of McDonald's. Fresh fruits and meats will fuck up your pooper, hugetime.</li>
<li>Leave the men at home. Cuz - DUH. Love him on the daily but leave his ass at home to work when looking for true relaxation.</li>
<li>Teach all or 1 of your kids to order room service. Designate that kid or all kids, as "CEO of In-Room Food", "Queens of the Food Court", or President of Room Service". They'll dig it and you'll never be hungry. It really is a win-win.</li>
<li>When flying, give your kid the window seat right from the get-go. It seems like a shitty deal but it will save you from the entire side of your body becoming completely numb after said kid falls asleep using you as their in-flight pillow.</li>
<li>Pack every snack your kid (s) like. Their very favorites. Pack them all. Bribery is totally worth a peaceful vacation. "If you can drag your grandma's luggage to the next gate you'll get chocolate". The magic snack trick is in your best interest. Promise.</li>
<li>Do not feel guilty about using the pool as a shower for your kids when on vacation. It's water and it has chemicals. You're on vacation for chrissakes. Enjoy that shit. No guilt. Showered kids = dirty bathrooms. </li>
<li>If you're on a vacation that involves going through U.S. Customs, you cannot claim your offspring as items purchased that are over the spending limit. They can't be deemed vegetables, fruits, plants, or dairy either. Your kid nor the customs agent think that shit is funny. Humorless fucks. </li>
<li>When your tween daughter is the person who notices and announces to the crowd that the resort's entertainment dude has a boner, just go with it. Knocking over the table trying to jam your ass under the table is overly obvious and disruptive so just smile, wave, and laugh like the proud parent you are. </li>
<li>If you're feeling lonely as you watch the couples hump each other in the pool, remember this: they'll soon be headed to their hotel room filled with wet socks (he left everywhere), bathing suits half-hung over the shower bar, flooding the bathroom floor (thanks, lady), and a trash filled with tampon wrappers and empty tequila bottles to begin their argument about where to have breakfast. </li>
<li>Set up the "tv rules" with the others in your party immediately. You may think this is a ridiculous rule but when to wake up to your bunkmate watching repeats of Maverick at 3 a.m., shit can get weird. Or you could end up watching really crappy tv. Both are bad.</li>
<li>Regardless of how nervous or unsure you are, try everything you have time for. Skip a tourist place and hit alocal bar, shop in a place with no floors, listen to the natives, stop at a roadside produce stand and - eat all the food. I'm really serious about the food. Try as many local flavors as you can fit in your face and still swallow. (Keeping #7 in mind, of course)</li>
<li>The hotel pool is not your personal piss place. Kids are bathing in there. Show a little respect and skip your happy ass to the building with the toilets, otherwise known as the bathroom. If you think someone is pissing in the pool be sure to point and shout "Pool Pisser!" really loud. It's a good time. </li>
</ol>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nparQ0q_GKo/VNfi4VfTlDI/AAAAAAAAHC4/JrFRivVlzzs/s1600/Headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nparQ0q_GKo/VNfi4VfTlDI/AAAAAAAAHC4/JrFRivVlzzs/s200/Headshot.jpg" width="200" /></a>P<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;">PB aka The Precious Princess - The Princess is a twice divorced, recently single, self-proclaimed member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 12 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares stories from Ba</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;">nanaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook page </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePreciousPrincesssGuideToBananaland" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;">Precious Princess's Guide to Bananaland</a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;"> where she is famous for her rants and her blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life. She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at </span><a href="http://www.princessbananaland.com/" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;">Princess Bananaland</a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;">. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses all the swears and makes up dirty words. Eventually when she’s done being sloth-like, she will write a book. Until she changes her mind. Be afraid. </span><br />
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<br />Precious Princess of Banananlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08526638597888942341noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7230869654069975600.post-13171172002071972672015-05-14T20:22:00.004-04:002015-05-14T20:22:44.720-04:006 reasons being pregnant sucked ass <br />
I hated being pregnant. Everything about it irked the shit out of me. All of the “old hat” moms told me that pregnancy was great. They told me I would love the feeling of my baby growing inside me and that it would be the happiest time of my life. Those bitches lied. I just barely lived through the side effects of being with child. It totally sucked ass. Here's 6 reasons why:<br />
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1.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>During pregnancy (and after) my face looked like a tomato turned inside out (complete with seeds) and ready to explode. The pregnancy glow that I’d heard everyone talk about – it didn’t happen. I never had any glow unless glowing like the rings off the planet mars counts. When I say I was red, I mean that shit. My skin was bright red like a shiny new sports car and blotchy too. There wasn’t enough make-up to cover the disaster that erupted on my face. I just went with it and blamed it on the kid. Figured if I started blaming her for stuff right off the bat, she’d be used to it by the time she popped out.<br />
2.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My feet hurt. They didn’t hurt a little. They hurt like I was lifting boulders with them. From the very second they hit the floor, they hurt. They hurt all day while I worked, and all night while I was doing all-the-things to prep for my new bundle of snatch monkey. I was carrying a baby – in my belly. It was growing by the second in my hugely bloated stomach. Why in the hell did my feet hurt so badly? They were always swollen and I had, gulp, kankles. Fat, ouch-y feet and swollen ankles were not in my pregnancy plan.<br />
3.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Caffeine, the lack of. I was that mom who quit everything that was considered “bad” for my new bundle of joy during pregnancy. This meant I consumed no caffeine. For 10 damn months. No caffeine also meant that I was impatient, rude, bitchy, and fairly completely intolerable. It also meant I had a headache – every fucking day. My addiction to caffeine was real and the headaches were more real.<br />
4.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I had to hide all the time. I was hiding because I was told by my husband, my doctor, my friends, other mothers, the neighbors, and every other damn person I came in contact with that I shouldn’t do this or I shouldn’t do that. Screw that. I did whatever the hell I wanted. I just hid whilst doing it. Painting the kitchen, painting the nursery, resurfacing the kitchen cabinets, getting my hair and nails did, were all things that had to be done. I was pregnant, not dying. Get the hell out of my way…pregnant bitch coming through! I was also hiding from the advice givers. If I heard one more uppity bitch tell me about the best "this" to buy, where to get the perfect "that", or what the best time to do something was - a motherfucker was going to get jackslapped. My hiding protected a slew of phony, know-it-all-ass-hats from being punched in the neck but it wasn’t my idea of a rocking good time. <br />
5.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I had no morning sickness. That may sound like a good thing but I’m here to say, it wasn’t. No crackers, no soda water, no clinging to the toilet drenched in my own sweat each morning. No smells that made me want to squeeze my nose-holes with a clothespin or a giant set of needle-nosed pliers. I got none of it. No morning sickness meant that I could eat everything that would fit through the giant opening in my face. I gained 90lbs. That's right - 90. A little dab of morning sickness could have cut that number in half. Damn pregnancy. <br />
6.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The peeing. I would be remiss if I failed to mention the excessive amount of urine that escaped my bladder on the daily. The peeing interrupted work, bedtime, television time, dinner time, sexy time (have you ever tried to be sexy while crossing your legs and doing Kegels simultaneously?) and just time in general. The walks from my office to the bathroom down the hall took up the better part of my 9 hour work day. I never slept because every time I tried, I had to pee. Even when I didn’t have to pee, I felt like I had to pee. It wasn’t the –regular old I have to pee- feeling. It was the- I have to get up right this very second and haul my bloated pregnant ass to the bathroom before I have urine streaming down my leg-feeling. And yes, it happened. The peeing down my leg. It happened so many times I can't even lie about it.<br />
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Before I wrap up this ever pleasant post, I would like to add that there actually were two (just two) things I enjoyed about being preggers - the shopping for all the much needed, super cute baby stuff and mostly the absence of my monthly uterus explosion. Oh, and that snatch monkey that shot out of my vagina at the end of 10 months; she’s okay too. <br />
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One last thing: for those of you wondering why the fuck I didn't mention the lack of alcohol? I didn't drink then. I mean like once a year, I had a cocktail or 2. I didn't have kids yet, assholes. That's when the drinking started. Duh.<br />
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Cheers to you enjoying your pregnancy.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nparQ0q_GKo/VNfi4VfTlDI/AAAAAAAAHC4/JrFRivVlzzs/s1600/Headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nparQ0q_GKo/VNfi4VfTlDI/AAAAAAAAHC4/JrFRivVlzzs/s200/Headshot.jpg" width="200" /></a>P<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;">PB aka The Precious Princess - The Princess is a twice divorced, recently dumped, recently unemployed, self-proclaimed member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 12 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares stories from Ba</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;">nanaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook page </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePreciousPrincesssGuideToBananaland" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;">Precious Princess's Guide to Bananaland</a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;"> where she is famous for her rants and her blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life. She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at </span><a href="http://www.princessbananaland.com/" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;">Princess Bananaland</a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;">. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses all the swears and makes up dirty words. Eventually when she’s done being sloth-like, she will write a book. Until she changes her mind. Be afraid. </span><br />
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Precious Princess of Banananlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08526638597888942341noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7230869654069975600.post-81279756945009439182015-05-09T16:20:00.000-04:002015-05-09T16:20:48.630-04:00My Perfect Mother's Day Dream <br />
I know everybody has their own dream about the "Perfect Mother's Day. I have mine too. It's awesome. It would have to go down a little bit like this:<br />
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1. My mother would not get drunk, hug me, cry and tell say "this is the best Mother's Day ever". Mostly, our Mother's Day celebrations suck. Really. They do. It could be because we're there, but I doubt it. I'm awesome. Maybe it's her. <br />
2. My little sister would NOT send my mother the most bestest, most expensivest gift ever because she can and make me look like a jackwagon. Which I am, but I don't need to be reminded. Just cause' she lives far away doesn't mean she can upstage me all the time. Right?<br />
3. The Mini would refrain from watching "Pokemon" for the ENTIRE day. Or SpongeBob or any other tv show I deem stupid or loud. Because in all honesty? These shows give me cramps. <br />
4. I would not receive yet another "Mom" charm for a non-existent chain. Like really, I haven't owned a chain since I was in High School and I have like 6 of these charms and I can't even sell them or pawn them or anything. Maybe I can make a charm bracelet? Maybe?<br />
5. There would be no yelling, hitting, crying or whining. From everyone else. I would be exempt from this rule. (It's MY dream, fuck off)<br />
6. I would get to pick what we do on Mother's Day. HUGE. I've never done it. NE-VER. My Mother ALWAYS gets to pick. ALWAYS. And, there would be no damn day trips to the Springs cause I can't stand the Springs and all the yucky wildlife and the ice cold water that freezes my vag to the point of soreness. A frozen vag? No good. None whatsoever.<br />
7. ALL parental decisions, punishments, issues and whatnot? Handled by someone else - Grandma. Or a neighbor. Or a hobo. Or anybody. Just not me. ONE day to not think? I'm good at this dreaming shit.<br />
8. Mother's Day would be on Saturday. Sunday holidays are bullshit. We deserve a Saturday.<br />
9. There would be a caramel vodka fountain and I would have the ONLY glass.<br />
10. There would be pizza from Chicago delivered to my spot on the beach. Yes, the beach. <br />
11. I would be allowed to watch my favorite shows all day and NOBODY would be allowed to interrupt. NOBODY. Unless, of course, I summonsed them because I needed something. Cause' that would be totally different. Totally.<br />
12. There would be clean floors everywhere. There wouldn't be any itty bitty pieces of paper, lint, brownie, rabbit turds, chocolate candy, sandwich crumbs, pieces of ramen noodles (OMG, those piss me off, fucking ramen) or any other pieces of ANYTHING. ANYWHERE. <br />
13. I would NOT walk into any room for the entire day and have to say "what the fuck happened in here"? (It's MY dream, stop it)<br />
14. There would be cake. With ice cream. Because I like it. That's why. <br />
15. A full body massage and plenty of back scratching throughout the day.<br />
16. And there would a magical fairy godmother who would come at the end of the day and blink her eyes or wriggle her nose or do whatever dealio is fashionable these days and make everything all perfectly clean. I'd rather not have to clean up all the shit from super duper Perfect Mother's Day Dream. Cause that would suck. A lot. <br />
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I'll settle for this. Really.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dH5l-qPU9JA/U2rCSJn5b4I/AAAAAAAABQ4/xwyzw55T6ic/s1600/mothers+day+drunk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dH5l-qPU9JA/U2rCSJn5b4I/AAAAAAAABQ4/xwyzw55T6ic/s1600/mothers+day+drunk.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nparQ0q_GKo/VNfi4VfTlDI/AAAAAAAAHC4/JrFRivVlzzs/s1600/Headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nparQ0q_GKo/VNfi4VfTlDI/AAAAAAAAHC4/JrFRivVlzzs/s200/Headshot.jpg" style="text-align: center;" width="200" /></a>P<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;">PB aka The Precious Princess - The Princess is a twice divorced, recently dumped, recently unemployed, self-proclaimed member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 12 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares stories from Ba</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;">nanaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook page </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePreciousPrincesssGuideToBananaland" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;">Precious Princess's Guide to Bananaland</a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;"> where she is famous for her rants and her blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life. She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at </span><a href="http://www.princessbananaland.com/" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;">Princess Bananaland</a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;">. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses all the swears and makes up dirty words. Eventually when she’s done being sloth-like, she will write a book. Be afraid. </span></div>
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Precious Princess of Banananlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08526638597888942341noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7230869654069975600.post-24650520539510962042015-04-29T09:39:00.001-04:002015-04-29T09:40:15.049-04:00That Woman<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I’m becoming
that woman…<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
am slowly becoming that woman that I read about in books.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have always envied her. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her will is amazingly strong. She embodies
everything that I believe is mature and adult-like. I never thought that I
would have anything in common with her. I was not raised to think like her. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a bit impressive to me that I am
beginning to mimic this behavior of hers. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m amazed at myself; I think…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Impressed?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or sad? <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
have read about her in hundreds of books over the years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s that woman, the woman who not only
doesn’t have a man but isn’t interested in finding one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That woman who goes on for years without a
man because she’s either busy with her career, her children, or has been so
scorned that she can no longer even dream of finding someone to love. Sometimes
she’s sad, and sometimes not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most times
she’s just busy, too focused on everything around her and not on fulfilling the
dream that the people in her life think she’s missing out on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She’s not
missing out <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She’s
in the movies too, those movies about women finding men and becoming all
happily ever after. The movies in which she starts out being complacent with
living her life alone but a family member introduces her someone new, or she
gets into a car accident with a handsome stranger, or a meddling friend puts an
ad on a dating website for her, and of course…she falls in love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The End.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But in the beginning of the movie she’s alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alone - happy, healthy, and thriving. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then out of the blue, she’s all madly in
love and truly fulfilled – happily ever after.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Alone – yet
happy – for years<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
never understood this woman. She was utterly foreign to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would read my book or watch this movie and
think “how is it possible for her to be happy without a man around”?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no way this could be real.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my mind it was a fantasy, a fantasy like
falling in love with a prince and living in a castle. I couldn’t fathom being
happy AND alone. I was taught that I must have a man to experience complete
happiness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no way I could take
care of myself financially, physically, or mentally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could only do this with a partner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was led, by example, that I should do
anything to keep a man because without one – I’d be nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">That’s what I
was taught and I believed it</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Reading
about this woman was unfamiliar to me, even as a child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was something I had never
experienced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A woman who had no interest
in being with a man was unknown to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>How did she feel whole?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How did
she make it through the day not having someone there to guide her and be her
rock?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This woman didn’t even think about
being with a man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was busy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This just couldn’t be possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It couldn’t be real.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No woman could be without a man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It just didn’t happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not in my world. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Can’t fathom it<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">As
I got older, I achieved what I knew, marriage at 22 because I wasn’t going to
be in my twenties forever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I needed to
begin fulfilling my life, with a man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Divorced at 27 and married again at 29 because I couldn’t stay single
for too long. (What would people think?) I was getting older and I needed
someone to take care of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Divorce the
second time was inevitable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the ripe
old age of 39, I decided to try something new – not getting married.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had a long term relationship with a pitiful
excuse for a man but I had someone to protect me, to keep me whole. Ignore all
the things that men do and be taken care of. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s what I was supposed to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be taken care of. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I did what women
should do<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve
not had a man in my life for almost a year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I date a bit, sometimes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t feel
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t feel like doing the right
thing, that right thing that has been ingrained in my being for all these years.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t feel like being with a man. It’s
all new. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel crazy sometimes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What is wrong with me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m being called a man-hater, depressed,
unsociable, and other names that make me feel like less of a <s>woman</s> person.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve even been called a lesbian because
I’m not out banging every guy who hits on me. I’m not (less of a person or a
lesbian). I don’t feel like being with a man – not even for sex because even just
casual sex seems like it will come with some kind of time commitment that I’m
not interested in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t want to give
up my personal time and share it with someone else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t want to bend or compromise. I’m
mad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not at anyone in particular.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m mad at me for spending most of my life
doing what others expected of me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not
now. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t care if I’m called names
and thought of as a bitch or a man-hater.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m just not interested.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Period.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Is this
maturity?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s scaring the shit out of me. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I am becoming
that woman</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">.
I am more independent every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I</b> am fulfilling my needs and
wants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am doing exactly what I want to
do with every moment of my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know
that I’m going against the grain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know
I’m being looked down upon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I like my
life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I like where it’s leading me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I like making my own decisions without asking
another’s opinion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I enjoy parenting how
I want, cooking what I want, watching what I want, waking up when I want, going
where I want, and doing just whatever the fuck I want, when I want. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have been at the beck and call of another
human being for the last 20 years and now…I am done. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Am I sacrificing this perfect idea of
man-woman love?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But for now, I am happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still
look at every man I pass and wonder “Is he the one”? It’s been drilled into my
head for far too long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When it comes
down to meeting that man though, I’m simply not interested.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But hey … that woman always had some sappy
ending that involved the love of her life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Maybe that will happen with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Maybe. I’ll wait and see and in the meantime I’ll be right over here
doing exactly what I want to do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I’ll still be
happy, regardless.</span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nparQ0q_GKo/VNfi4VfTlDI/AAAAAAAAHC4/JrFRivVlzzs/s1600/Headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nparQ0q_GKo/VNfi4VfTlDI/AAAAAAAAHC4/JrFRivVlzzs/s1600/Headshot.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a>PPB aka The Precious Princess - The Princess is a twice divorced, recently dumped, recently unemployed, self-proclaimed member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 12 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares stories from Bananaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook page <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePreciousPrincesssGuideToBananaland">Precious Princess's Guide to Bananaland</a> where she is famous for her rants and her blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life. She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at <a href="http://www.princessbananaland.com/">Princess Bananaland</a>. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses all the swears and makes up dirty words. Eventually when she’s done being sloth-like, she will write a book. Be afraid. <o:p></o:p></o:p></span></div>
Precious Princess of Banananlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08526638597888942341noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7230869654069975600.post-87174570819764582992015-04-27T12:00:00.000-04:002015-04-27T11:45:03.274-04:00Naked, Afraid, Ashamed, and ProudWritten and first published on <a href="http://thecoolgirl.com/">thecoolgirl.com.</a> <br />
<br />
This post has been a long time coming. While I'm outwardly gregarious, flirty, cute, self-centered, narcissistic, arrogant, big-headed, and even stuck-up at times; on the inside I'm a whole different person. I'm nervous, shaky, anxious, afraid, self deprecating, and enjoy a self-esteem so low that sometimes I can't even leave the house. <br />
<br />
I debated about writing this post because it is completely personal and I will bare a smidge of the inner me. I'm doing it anyway. To quote the infamous scene from <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0086200/">Risky Business</a> when Miles told Joel - "Sometimes you gotta say 'What the Fuck', make your move. Joel, every now and then, saying 'What the Fuck' brings freedom. Freedom brings opportunity, opportunity makes your future". I'm dating myself with that reference but it's totally relevant in this instance. <br />
<br />
The reasons I'm writing this post now are many. I'm getting ready to embark on a new adventure with a new person in my life (yes, you can cat-call or whatever you do) after a fairly long dry spell. I had an opportunity to write a piece for someone whom I admire the most-est. I also need to get this out. For me. For you. For my daughter. I want her to read this one day and know that life is about more than one's perceived shortcomings. Also, for all the people who feel the same way I do. I know that you're out there. I hope that you're out there anyway or else I'll just be hanging out all by myself. I guess that's okay too. <br />
<br />
If you follow my page and/or blog you are aware that I am overweight and that I joke about it often. I am not ashamed. Being overweight is a small part of who I am. I am beautiful, I dress well, I'm healthy, I'm active, I'm intelligent, I have a fantastic personality, I'm sarcastic, I'm loyal, I'm pretty damn humorous, I'm a mom (a fairly decent one), and I genuinely like me. That being said...<br />
<br />
I completely flip the frack out when I'm naked. I'm naked a lot. I hate pants. And bras. And clothes in general. I'm good with being naked because I'm alone most of the time. Yes I manage to don clothes when other people are in my presence, because, ewwww. It's when I study the nakedness. When I actually look. You know, in the mirror. The fat-shaming, tell-all, find-all-the-flaws, mirror. I'm doing this often now because of the anxiety of a new person seeing this naked mess that is me. <br />
<br />
I have pale, sensitive skin. Because of this I have scars, bruises, bumps, scrapes, and other bizarre markings of the pale and sensitive. I have actually tried to cover that shit with make-up, scar covering, and even facial toner to remove bumps. (Don't lie and say you haven't thought or even done this - please). My skin gets dry and scaly and the twice daily coating of my skin with lotion is a blast, especially when I'm in a hurry. (always) If I'm lazy and happen to skip this step, I can head over the school and let the kids use their nails on my body like a human chalkboard. Good times.<br />
<br />
I have huge, veiny boobs that have to be physically lifted so that they don't appear to be ears for my belly button. The nips are good if I don't say so myself. The actual boobage isn't so bad except; I'm 44, they're real, and they are heavy as hell. Picture it. Sexay. If I could wear a bra comfortably during sex, I would. I think they are the part of my body that I'm most self conscious about. Doing that whole on top position is a hell no. Unless of course there's alcohol involved and well that's a whole separate blog post. They look great in clothes. Naked? Not so much. At least not to me.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
***WARNING - VAGINA TALK AHEAD</div>
<br />
That hot, molten, gash between my legs that rules the world? It's okay. I won't be having labia reconstruction anytime soon. I could totally do with all the hair. I'm not waxing because in all honesty it isn't that important to me and it hurts. A lot. Yes, I keep it shaved up and tidy however, remember the sensitive skin issue from above? It causes a lot of issues in the very sensitive folds of my lady bits. My dream is to be hairless from the neck down. Hair is unsanitary (again, a whole separate blog post) and altogether yucky. Getting older also causes the random, cool, and attractive, 3 inch long pube. No, I'm not joking. However, unless the laser hair removal fairy comes I'll be shaving. Shaving makes me itch, causes bumps, makes me feel totally grossed out and completely overwhelmed at the idea of maintaining it. Like I have nothing better to do than spend 30 minutes several times a week grooming my junk? Sorry. I'm busy. It gets done when I have time. Honestly, I'm not a fan of the bald, 10 year old girl look anyway. Not sexy. At all. <br />
<br />
I'm not even going to bother discussing the dimples on my outer thighs, the flab on my inner thighs, the roll just above my waist, the post baby stretch marks, the surgery scars, the gain weight-lose weight stretch marks (those are different than the post baby stretch marks) and my saggy, wrinkly, fat ass. I guess I did kind of just discuss them, right? I'm smart enough to know that most women, fat or thin, have these issues. That's just something to suck up and deal with. I'm 44, I've earned that shit. Yes, I'm aware that I could exercise and handle some of these issues, however, this post is about accepting me as me. How I am. Now. <br />
<br />
I have many male friends who have explained to me that no man is interested in any of the above issues, and I've read numerous articles that reitorate that thought. In reality most of the time during sexual activity, I'm not worried (except for that floppy boob thing) about any of that stuff because...sex. It's the other times. The naked teeth brushing, walking around, getting dressed. That stuff. The ugly naked stuff. The regular every day stuff in the daylight when my body is subject to extreme scrutiny. I guess this is where that whole love thing is supposed to take over. Total acceptance and such. I know it happens. I've actually experienced it. Doesn't make it any easier. <br />
<br />
In this day in age there are so many great role models who are continually shaping, and reinventing what is perceived to beautiful. There also many websites and bloggers who maintain a judgment free zone, including this one. I’m thankful every day for these people. <br />
<br />
I have been dealing with the naked demons daily lately and most of the time I win. I will continue to be proud and grow and every day.<br />
<br />
Here's to you beating yours. Stand proud and fight.<br />
<br />
PPB<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nparQ0q_GKo/VNfi4VfTlDI/AAAAAAAAHC4/JrFRivVlzzs/s1600/Headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nparQ0q_GKo/VNfi4VfTlDI/AAAAAAAAHC4/JrFRivVlzzs/s1600/Headshot.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
PPB aka The Precious Princess - The Princess
is a twice divorced, recently dumped, recently unemployed, self-proclaimed
member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a
rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 12 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy
of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In
addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares
stories from Bananaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook
page <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePreciousPrincesssGuideToBananaland">Precious
Princess's Guide to Bananaland</a> where she is famous for her rants and her
blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life.
She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at <a href="http://www.princessbananaland.com/">Princess Bananaland</a>. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses
all the swears and makes up dirty words. Eventually when she’s done being sloth-like,
she will write a book. Be afraid. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />Precious Princess of Banananlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08526638597888942341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7230869654069975600.post-53842545749299798312015-04-27T11:24:00.003-04:002015-04-27T11:24:59.024-04:00Nobody Wants to See Your ShitThis post was written for and originally published on <br />
<a href="http://originalbunkerpunks.com/">Original Bunker Punks</a><br />
<br />
Some content doesn't belong on socia media. There are certain things that nobody wants to see. Nobody. I haven't polled anybody but it's been the general consensus amongst the assholes I know. I've gathered a list of items that should never be posted on social media. I have joined 3 of my favorites right here, all together, for your handy-dandy reference:<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>(Yes, I totally realize that this list has been eleventy million times but, so? Mine is different, maybe.)</i><br />
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<b>Newborn baby photos</b> (dedicated to the over achieving parent who posts flipbooks of baby photos to their Facebook Timeline, A LOT)<b> -</b><br />
This may sound douchey but it's true. Yes, your close friends and family want to see every single snapshot you took in the dingy ass hospital room. The rest of your friends list (the fake ones you don't even know) couldn't care less about your damn baby. And some of you go way the fuck overboard with the closeness. Naked, bloody, and, that bellybutton tube thing. All of that shit is straightforward 3rd grade TMI. A pic of your kid looking all cute is always acceptable and even welcomed (mostly) but all these flower child, non-comforist, beatnik, earthy baby pictures need to stop. Some really fine people you know don't have kids, are trying to forget they have kids, can't have kids, or are so old the sound of kids make them shudder. Not that pissing these people off should bother you but it does. Your the kind of person this behavior would bother, so stop it. They just can't handle it all. You can now change your privacy on each post. You should probably think of doing that. <br />
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<b>Your food </b>-<br />
There is not one motherfucker on your friends list that wants to see the meatloaf and mashed potatoes, and corn you prepared for your brood last Tuesday. You don't even get the close friends & family "like" on your pictures like the baby picture posters do. People just scroll and by and think "asshole" to themselves. Now if you make something really hard (like 10 ingredients or more) and you're going to share the recipe because it was that damn good, go ahead and share the damn picture. Know this too, nobody wants to see your restaurant food. Stop posting every single piece of sushi of you order. Everyone has been to a restaurant. The menus have pictures. Unless you're recipe sharing or you're making money off that shit, keep your blurry chicken, still lifes to yourself. <br />
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<b>Bizarre & vague status updates or tweets - </b><br />
When you're lucky (lucky?) enough to boast 1,100 friends on Facebook or have 27k followers on Twitter, don't post shit that contains info that only 3 people you know are privy to. It doesn't make you look or sound bitchen (totally 80's). In fact, it makes you seem like a complete bucket of dirty douche water. The 3 people you know are busy with other people and the rest of the people? Don't give a fuck what you're posting. They are too busy hiding your weird ass posts because they don't want to unfriend you and risk pissing off their boss/mother-in-law/spouse/significant other/family member/friend of friend (fill in with your choice). <br />
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Example of some really shitty Status Update, Tweet, comment, whatever:<br />
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"I'll bet someobody is wishing I was there right now" -I'm betting they don't. If they did, they wouldn't be on social media, they'd be on the phone - with you. <br />
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"Everything in my life just sucks so badly" - Yes it does. If the only place you have to make this huge statement is on social media, your life sucks. There really is no nice way to say it. You're an asshole. If you don't have at least one friend, family member or neighbor, you should definitely hit up someone on the internet. That's a great idea. But, hey, it's all good if that's what you feel you need to do but you could you PRIVATE MESSAGE them? Announcing dumb shit to people who probably won't see it because they're following 33k people and have no clue what you're posting, is unproductive and pointless. You fall into boy-who-cried-wolf syndrome. It's a real thing. Don't get caught up in stupid shit. <br />
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<i>Now that I've given you the list, I'll do a bit of explaning. Just a bit. Your friends don't hate you. Just because they'd rather see 6 beautiful photos of your precious bundle all dressed up in his first outfit than the 183 dark, grainy photos from the hospital room you posted last night, doesn't make them bad people. In all reality, this isn't about you. This is about the rest of the internet. You cannot bog it down with #allthethings. You just can't. It's not cool. Yes, you should definitely speak your mind and post shit you like but you should do it smarter. </i><br />
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<i>The implied safety memo, duh... Be cool when you're posting pics of the crotch monkeys. There's a bunch of fucking creepers out there. Make sure you know who's on your friends' list or who's following you on Twitter. and who's pinning your recipe for roasted beets. Have you met these people? Also, people know that if you're posting pics from the hospital - you aren't home. Some dude with 2 first names from the internet is sniffing your undies while you're squeezing out your new puppy. So much wrongness. You're friends care about you, they just don't want to see what you ate, what squeezed out of your hoo ha, or read about your crazy on the daily.</i><br />
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<i>I made up everything you just read. I literally spewed it. It's just something I was thinking about and I couldn't help but write. So all of the above is just the #PPB being an asshole...again. xx (It was funny though, right? And I totally agree with some or most of it)</i><br />
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PPB aka The Precious Princess - The Princess is a twice
divorced, recently dumped, recently unemployed, self-proclaimed member of the
mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a rock stocked
with vodka and anger. Her 12 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy of the
Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In addition, she writes
about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares stories from
Bananaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook
page <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePreciousPrincesssGuideToBananaland">Precious
Princess's Guide to Bananaland</a> where she is famous for her rants and her
blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life.
She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at <a href="http://www.princessbananaland.com/">Princess Bananaland</a>. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses
all the swears and makes up dirty words. Eventually when she’s done being sloth-like,
she will write a book. Be afraid. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />Precious Princess of Banananlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08526638597888942341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7230869654069975600.post-5539412961408253192015-04-19T09:00:00.000-04:002015-04-19T20:59:36.172-04:00Friends? #FriendshipRevolution<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A
few days ago I was asked what friendship means to me:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> In a nutshell it means you put up with my
crazy and I’ll put up with yours.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
do have a few musts-haves because I'm me - <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Loyalty</span></u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> - this sounds
like an easy one. It isn’t. If you’re my friend you back me up regardless
of the circumstance. You can totally
tell me <b>later</b> that I acted like a
complete asshole. (I probably was) Talking smack about me, listening to others
talk smack about me, and spreading aforementioned smack is also a big bad
no-no. In regards to my smack, keep your
face-hole closed. Standing up for my stupid ass when others are
talking the smack will definitely get you bonus points in the friendship arena.
You may not fuck, date, flirt, or otherwise engage in physical contact with my
boyfriend, husband, date, etc…
Again…seems easy, right? It
isn’t. My almost 45 years on the planet
have shown me that <s>some</s> many bitches who pretend to be your friend will
damn sure play mind games – just for sport.
Cum guzzling, bottom feeding, ass munching, fake bitches can easily
march the fuck around waving the friendship banner high while trying to figure
out how to stab you in the taint with it on the down low. If say you are loyal to me, be that. You won’t need to take a bullet for me
(maybe) but if I call your ass at 3am because a spider has me trapped in the
bathroom you had best come up with something.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Responsibility</span></u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> – not for your
family, duh – do that shit on your own time.
I require a responsible friend who doesn’t let me get lost, lose stuff,
fall asleep on the beach and fry myself like bacon, leave with a complete
stranger, eat too much, or drink too much.
There is an exaception to these rules; If any of
the aforementioned shit ends up happening despite your Olympic babysitting
skills? You’re in charge of making it
all better. Yes, I require a damn
babysitter. That’s exactly what I’m
saying. I lose money, things, people, and brain cells. I do
okay on my own because I have to, but if you’re in the picture you will damn
sure assist my sorry ass with <b>attempting</b>
to behave normally. Trust me; this is
for your benefit too. When I say “Hey,
let’s drive to Tennessee for White Castles” at 6pm on a Tuesday night, you have
to talk to me down or you won’t be making it to work on Wednesday. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Thick
skin</span></u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">
– I will fuck with you until the day you die.
Deal with it. The more I fuck
with you, the more I love you. I can’t be friends with a pussy-assed
lollygagger who doesn’t get the joke. I’m always going to go for the joke. It’s what I do. Shut up and deal. If you take yourself too seriously chances
are I won’t deal with you anyway. If I have to explain the joke to you, we
can’t be friends. Obviously you have to fuck with me too. Being funny is yet another prerequisite for
hanging with all this (points to self using both hands in really creepy, over-sexual
manner). I have to be able to say
anything about everything to you. You
can do the same. No filters. This is not
negotiable. Horrible, awful things may
be said and we will disagree. Doesn’t matter.
If I tell you that I like to stick dead frogs down my pants and sing
“It’s Raining Men” while I dance the tango you need to just nod your pretty
little head and go about your business.
You can think it’s fucking weird because it is. I can say some freaky shit. It just pops into my head and flows right out
my mouth. Mostly I say it just to freak
you out – DEAL. <b>Open & honest</b> or you’re an acquaintance. End of story.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
ability to drink massive amounts of alcohol without being a douche</span></u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> – this is
probably the most important must-have for being my friend. You cannot be a falling-down, puking,
obnoxious, drunk. You cannot tell me you
love me, drool, and yell bizarre offerings at the dude next to us in the bar. You cannot try and fix me up with your
blitzed version of the man of my dreams, or get all involved with the people
screaming at the sports on the television. You cannot get all whore-y at the
bar and start jamming your tongue down the face-holes of unsuspecting men
(unless it has been previously discussed).
If there is dancing - falling down on the dance floor, near the dance
floor, or while dancing at your chair is a “fuck no” unless you approve of me
laughing, taking photos, and posting them on Facebook. If we are drunk at my home you are not allowed
to break my stuff or get puke everywhere unless you are going to pay have that
shit fixed. I will not be cooking for you
or play hostess. We are there to
drink. We will drink. If we are drunk at your home do not expect me
to accomplish things. Don’t ask me to
come over and do crafts while we drink or bake shit. Ummmm, no.
My sorry ass can watch a movie, chat, sleep, or eat stuff (that is
pre-made, you made, or has been ordered & delivered) whilst guzzling vodka. No other activities will be tolerated. I cannot be trusted to take care of myself so
you are not to get drunk and act a fool.
That’s <b>my</b> job. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
friend must-haves are important. Equally
important in a friendship with me is trust.
Trust is interwoven into the 4 qualities. You can’t be loyal without
it. I have to trust you to be
responsible. Being open & honest and
having thick skin requires trust and lastly, it is essential to have a mutual
trust when you’re completely blotto on the alcohol. I must be able to trust that we are like Vegas
- What happens with us, stays with us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><i>All
relationships regardless of type require communication, and effort from both
sides. Friendships aren’t easy. Sometimes they require adult stuff that blows
hobo sack. When done correctly (not the
hobo blowing) they rock. It took me
getting totally fucked over a gazillion times before I found healthy
friendships (people who would put up with my shit). I don’t have many. The friends I have are close. They have different backgrounds, marital
status, income levels, and social standings.
I don’t limit who I’m friends with.
When I find a good un’ I don’t let them go. </i></span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WSfC_veHN8A/VQeQEwWW0hI/AAAAAAAAHl8/HBHai7CB1tQ/s1600/Headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WSfC_veHN8A/VQeQEwWW0hI/AAAAAAAAHl8/HBHai7CB1tQ/s1600/Headshot.jpg" width="200" /></a>PPB aka The Precious Princess - The Princess is a twice divorced, recently dumped, recently unemployed, self-proclaimed member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 12 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares stories from Bananaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook page <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePreciousPrincesssGuideToBananaland">Precious Princess's Guide to Bananaland</a> where she is famous for her rants and her blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life. She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at <a href="http://www.princessbananaland.com/">Princess Bananaland</a>. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses all the swears and makes up dirty words. Be afraid. </div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><i>*For Stephanie, Aly, CB, J, Bernie & Maria, Sue, Andrea, Amanda, Jeanne, my bitches in the WOP, (we need a cooler name - that sounds racist) and the A2 Papa- xx, my friends. </i><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">While
bullying and bullies are a huge topic as of late and everybody is up in arms
over the whole debacle, I have an entirely different and most likely not
popular, point of view on the subject.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before
I give my unique opinion on how to stop bullies, I’m going to explain my stance
and give a little background. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
believe the terms bully, bullies, and bullying are used far too often and used
by people who have no idea what the actual definition is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being that there are several different types
of bullying and I can’t stop all the bullies in one blog post I’m going to
stick mostly with the generic good ole’ bullies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I’d
be remiss if I didn’t start the post out with a definition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The definition of bulling according to Wikipedia
is as follows:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bullying</i></b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> is the <u>use of force, threat, or </u></i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coercion" title="Coercion"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: blue;">coercion</span></i></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u> to </u></i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abuse" title="Abuse"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: blue;">abuse</span></i></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>, </u></i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Intimidate" title="Intimidate"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: blue;">intimidate</span></i></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>, or aggressively </u></i><a href="http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/domination" title="wikt:domination"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: blue;">dominate</span></i></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u> others. </u>The behavior is often <u>repeated and habitual</u>. <u>One
essential prerequisite is the perception</u>, <u>by the bully or by others, of
an imbalance of </u></i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Power_(social_and_political)" title="Power (social and political)"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: blue;">social</span></i></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u> or physical power</u>. Behaviors used to
assert such <u>domination can include verbal </u></i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harassment" title="Harassment"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: blue;">harassment</span></i></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u> or </u></i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Threat" title="Threat"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: blue;">threat</span></i></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>, physical </u></i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Assault" title="Assault"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: blue;">assault</span></i></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u> or coercion</u>,
and such acts may be directed repeatedly towards particular targets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If bullying is done by a group, it is called
</i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mobbing" title="Mobbing"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: blue;">mobbing</span></i></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bullying is divided into four
basic types of abuse – </i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Psychological_abuse" title="Psychological abuse"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: blue;">emotional</span></i></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> (sometimes called relational), </i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Verbal_abuse" title="Verbal abuse"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: blue;">verbal</span></i></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, </i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Physical_abuse" title="Physical abuse"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: blue;">physical</span></i></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, and cyber - It typically involves subtle
methods of coercion, such as intimidation.<o:p></o:p></i><br />
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If the definition above has been read and understood it should be obvious
that most of these so called bullies are not bullies, they are just
assholes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Assholes with big mouths,
vendettas, poor upbringing, no manners, anger issues, the need to be popular, etc…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whatever it is, they aren’t bullies so stop
calling them that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are being given
all this false power because of perception.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Incorrect perception and the public’s ability to glom on to a phrase,
overuse it, and generalize it, are real problems when it comes to issues like
this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can you say vicious cycle? <br />
<br />
I do think bullying exists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just
don’t believe that it exists to the extent the mainstream media and overzealous
bully hounds would lead us to believe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every
time a student gets called a name or laughed at because they are wearing bright
orange pants or their socks actually match, is not a bully situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is called teasing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s going to happen. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is not one individual, no matter how
cool or popular, who hasn’t experienced this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s human nature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We must not
confuse teasing with being bullied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
When a kid gets hit at school because he or she acted like a jerk, or
they’re arguing with their best friend, this is not bullying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If my Mini (12 year old middle school girl)
fights every day with her friend at school, this is not bullying. This is kids
being <s>little shitheads</s> kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What
about when one kid is bigger than another and they get into a tiff - should we
automatically assume that the big kid is bullying the small kid?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Absolutely not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We cannot assume anything until some
questions have been answered. As listed above the 4 types of bulling are
emotional, verbal, physical, and cyber.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Size doesn’t matter in any of these situations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All children are capable of bullying another
child. <br />
<br />
Let me refer back to the definition listed above for a minute – specifically
the underlined sections. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Abuse, intimidate, dominate</b> are key
words here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These are serious
infractions against another human being.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So if my Mini is calling another student a bitch in passing is this
bullying?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is there <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">abuse</b> or <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">intimidation</b>?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is she <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">dominating</b>?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think not. I call bullshit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again, this is just my kid being <s>an asshole</s>
a kid. Should she be punished?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hell yes.
Should she be labeled a bully?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, if my Mini is calling another student a
bitch every day and getting her other friends to call this student bitch as
well, that is <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">intimidation</b> (causing
fear) and therefore – bullying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or if my
Mini is repeatedly using <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">force</b> to<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> coerce</b> another student to only wear
purple on Thursday, this is bullying and<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">
harassment</b>. If someone is posting offensive photos, messages, or words on
my Mini’s Facebook page every day to taunt her, this is cyber bullying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If a classmate calls the Mini douche in a
Facebook status update one day because she’s pissed at her?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not bullying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>See the difference? <br />
<br />
In my mind adults are incapable of being bullied in <u>most</u>
circumstances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find the usage of the
term bully in conjunction with adults absurd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m aware of behavior out there that is out of control but as able
bodied and minded adults we should possess the skills to obliterate this so
called bullying before it begins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Should
sexual harassment now be defined as being bullied sexually? Again I think that
this is just a generalization of the term bully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We just categorize everything into one neat
little package that makes us feel justified in calling everyone a bully because
it’s a cool label. We love labels. It isn’t right and it pisses me off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is absolutely ridiculous and adults
participating in this farce should be ashamed. <br />
<br />
Now that I have blabbed on forever in regards to bullying I’ll address the
prompt: Stop Bullies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my opinion
there are only a few ways: <br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Know
the definition<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><em>Ensure that you and your child are aware
of what bullying actually is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kids will
pick on each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Know the difference.<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Ignore
it<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><em>This works best with verbal and cyber
bullying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People (especially kids) are
lazy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ignore it and it will go
away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is it difficult?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Children should have a support system of steel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Parents, siblings, and other family members
should all be there 100% for a child who is being bullied.</em><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Fight
it head on <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><em>This works well with physical
bullying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If a child is being physically
abused on a repeat basis he/she needs to stand up for himself/herself,
period.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, I’m suggesting that a swift
kick in the junk of said bully will deter future bullying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it doesn’t, we as parents need to get our
asses to the school and take charge.<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Education/Awareness<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><em>Emotionally our children need
strength.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Strength comes from within but
the ability to use strength to deal with difficult situations is taught.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It should start with the parents but not be
limited to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There needs to be more education
and awareness training and at an earlier age.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We teach children about strangers beginning at birth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why shouldn’t this be the same? With the
advancements that we have available to us, there is no reason to witness
another suicide as the result of bullying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>On the other side, children are taught to bully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, I said it and yes, I believe it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The majority of bullies are bullying to
become popular.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is learned
behavior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This needs to stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The self-esteem issues of our youth are
incredible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We need to spend more time
teaching our children how to be empathic, supportive, productive members of society
and to be happy with themselves no matter what. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Children who witness bullying should not be
afraid to report it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They should feel
secure and proud in the fact that they are helping a classmate. In addition,
every school in this country should have an anti-bullying program.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The funds are available.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How about we spend the money allocated for
standardized testing on some anti-bullying programs?</em> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
In closing please keep in mind that these are my
opinions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having a tween child in middle
school could have kept me going on this subject for another 10 pages (be glad I
have a job).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In reality I don’t think
this is a problem that will be solved quickly or easily.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think education is the key and I think we
as a country are headed in the right direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Not quickly enough but the direction is there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
*I had to add that the morning of writing this
story, my Mini called me 3 times at work as she didn’t want to go to school
because her cheeks were peeling and she was afraid she’d get called names.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ahem, she almost got called names – by me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And her ass went to school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not bullying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Just a<s> bullshitty</s> kid trying to use anything as an excuse to get
out of school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
#OBPwordswap<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<br />
<o:p><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WSfC_veHN8A/VQeQEwWW0hI/AAAAAAAAHl8/HBHai7CB1tQ/s1600/Headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WSfC_veHN8A/VQeQEwWW0hI/AAAAAAAAHl8/HBHai7CB1tQ/s1600/Headshot.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a> PPB aka The Precious Princess - The Princess is a twice divorced, recently dumped, recently unemployed, self-proclaimed member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 12 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares stories from Bananaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook page <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePreciousPrincesssGuideToBananaland">Precious Princess's Guide to Bananaland</a> where she is famous for her rants and her blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life. She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at <a href="http://www.princessbananaland.com/">Princess Bananaland</a>. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses all the swears and makes up dirty words. Be afraid. </o:p><br />
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Precious Princess of Banananlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08526638597888942341noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7230869654069975600.post-45118476067544962612015-04-14T08:58:00.002-04:002015-09-24T21:18:45.785-04:00I want a fucking date<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Just
what in the actual fuck happened to “the date”- the real date; the kind of date
in which the man calls the woman and asks her out for dinner or for
drinks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Prior to which - </span>girlfriends gab, plan, and
plot whilst the men folk conjugate with their buddies and brag about their
upcoming rendezvous. When the
nervousness of what to wear, say, and how to act, ate us up inside and we
couldn’t eat for days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the thought
of spending time with someone we were really interested in caused goose bumps
from excitement. When women spent hours primping and men showed up wearing
their best outfit and smelling of cologne. A woman was picked up at her
door and driven to the cool new lunch spot on the water or to a dinner at a
romantic restaurant. The date in which holding hands, walking, and sitting in a
coffee shop for hours happened after the actual date was over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the promise of a kiss at the end of a
date was such a stressor it caused sweaty palms, nervous stomachs, and lots of
awkward smiles.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It
seems that the art of dating is all but lost in the easy access of getting on
our smart phones and texting or Facebook messaging the object of our desire. Dating
in the traditional sense requires planning, courage, and an investment of self
confidence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The simplicity of being able to punch in a few
characters and find out immediately if someone wants to “hang out” is far too
attractive for many.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It cuts out all of
the nervousness and fear of rejection. Rejection is easily ignored via text or
messaging.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This form of communication is removing all the
character building aspects of learning to woo. Yes, that reads woo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Woo –
to try and attract someone or engage in a romantic relationship.) </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In our current social climate there is no
longer a need for charm, romance, or wooing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This can now be imitated with an emoji. The electronic date is
becoming more and more popular.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I</span>s
this a good thing?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Hanging
out, too, seems to have replaced actual dating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After hitting up our potential hottie hook-up via text, we hang out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What is hanging out?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s keeping the nips in place and the nut sack from dangling
out of an old pair of ripped shorts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> It's</span> spending time with a entire fucking group of people while attempting to
attract the person we actually drove all the way out to the middle of nowhere on a Thursday night to see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s the cool new thing to do - apparently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And nobody is doing anything about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are all just lemmings following our
non-dating leader into singlesville.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How
are we supposed to get a girlfriend, boyfriend, or land a relationship when we
are always hanging out?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Will it happen
eventually or just fizzle out so we can move on to our next hangout?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Should we just go back to hooking up?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least we were alone with our date.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> Sadly? - Banging our way through the hang out probably isn't the best idea. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Back
in the day a man courted a woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
got to know each other with no physical contact.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Essentially it was dating - without all the nudity and awkward hanging out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They got to know each other first.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They enjoyed each other’s company. Knowing someone before hitting the sheets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Hmmph.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If we knew what an asshole the person we were
about to let invade our nether region was, we might just skip that asshole
(might).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It might cut down the number of
“walks of shame”, sexually transmitted diseases, unwanted pregnancies, and the
good ole’ hang-over regret.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe it’s
old fashioned and out of touch with the reality of today’s dating scene but
it’s worth a shot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Isn’t it? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></i>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">In closing and in my personal opinion, I want
a fucking date; a real old fashioned date. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to be asked out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want a friendly stalk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want a man to see me in a random shop and
hunt me down to ask me on a date.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want
charm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want some effort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to feel like I am wanted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want someone who wants to spend time with
me to think enough of me to put his ego aside and go for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Men need to be men.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Get over yourself, grow a set, and ask me the
fuck out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">*No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think any of the above will happen
but a girl can dream so suck it.*</span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WSfC_veHN8A/VQeQEwWW0hI/AAAAAAAAHl8/HBHai7CB1tQ/s1600/Headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WSfC_veHN8A/VQeQEwWW0hI/AAAAAAAAHl8/HBHai7CB1tQ/s1600/Headshot.jpg" width="200" /></a>PPB aka The Precious Princess - The Princess is a twice divorced, recently dumped, recently unemployed, self-proclaimed member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 12 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares stories from Bananaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook page <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePreciousPrincesssGuideToBananaland">Precious Princess's Guide to Bananaland</a> where she is famous for her rants and her blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life. She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at <a href="http://www.princessbananaland.com/">Princess Bananaland</a>. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses all the swears and makes up dirty words. Be afraid. </o:p></span></div>
Precious Princess of Banananlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08526638597888942341noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7230869654069975600.post-79376688362437754522015-04-10T16:16:00.000-04:002015-04-10T16:16:00.627-04:00Happy Muthafuckin Sibling Day<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
don’t talk much about my sister because she’s an entertainer and all my fucks
& anal leakage aren’t really good for her career.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whatever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Because
today is national sibling day, I will write about her a wee bit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Ha.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
said wee)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Here
are my most favoritest fucking things about my baby sister:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She
has no children<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She’s
10 years younger than me<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<sup><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span></sup><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She was born on February 14th (easy to remember)<sup><o:p></o:p></sup></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She’s
way purty (I like purty people)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Her
boyfriend is really hot<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She
gives not one single fuck about how much money someone has, or how they look<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She
will play “Fashion Police” with me (yes, we make the siren noise and
everything)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She
has a disgustingly sick sense of humor (runs in the family?)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She
has no children<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She’s
really tall so I can make corny jokes about her height (she still laughs)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She’s
completely ADD so she never remembers anything I say so I say lots of stuff<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She’s
the fastest texter ever<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She’s
all perfect & pretty & will scarf down 4lbs of crab legs and a
cheeseburger in one sitting<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">When
we go to the gym (it has happened) she doesn’t talk (I hate talkers at the gym)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She
has no children<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She
never pays attention so it’s really easy to get over on her (I would never take
advantage of this, ha)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She
lives far away from me (shaddap – we’d kill each other)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She
buys really good gifts (she forgets to send them but they arrive – eventually)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She
had the balls to have a knockdown, drag out, fight with a pregnant woman on top
of a mountain in Switzerland (I was the pregnant woman)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She
can drink a lot (not soda, duh)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She
loves the beach (just like me)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She’ll
eat all kindsa wacky assed food and then shove some in your mouth so you can
try it too (even when you don’t want to)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She
has no children<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She’s
seen me naked and said it wasn’t that bad (that’s a huge compliment – snort)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She
left her cat with our mother when she moved (I did the same thing – sorry mom)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She
thinks I’m funny<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She
finds really good shit and then tells me about it<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She
turns me on to cool music<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">And
best of all she still claims me as her sister regardless of all the bullshit I
talk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also, I’m still prettier than
her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WSfC_veHN8A/VQeQEwWW0hI/AAAAAAAAHl8/HBHai7CB1tQ/s1600/Headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WSfC_veHN8A/VQeQEwWW0hI/AAAAAAAAHl8/HBHai7CB1tQ/s1600/Headshot.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a>PPB aka The Precious Princess - The Princess is a twice divorced, recently dumped, recently unemployed, self-proclaimed member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 12 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares stories from Bananaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook page <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePreciousPrincesssGuideToBananaland">Precious Princess's Guide to Bananaland</a> where she is famous for her rants and her blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life. She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at <a href="http://www.princessbananaland.com/">Princess Bananaland</a>. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses all the swears and makes up dirty words. Be afraid. <br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
Precious Princess of Banananlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08526638597888942341noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7230869654069975600.post-56257984253679469012015-03-30T10:43:00.000-04:002015-03-30T10:43:29.062-04:00Girls rule and Shakers drool<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I’m
at the beach on a perfectly glorious and sparkly day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A day when the skies are blue, the water is
clear, a slight breeze is blowing to keep the air comfortable as the bright sun
warms my bathing suit clad body and…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
have to pee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to pee so badly that
I’m doing the pee dance on the beach, which is covered with spring breakers who
are open mouthed gaping at me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to
pee so badly that I’m singing songs about peeing to my friend as she sits on
the beach chair next to me trying to hide. I have to pee like I just drank a
quart of vodka (because I did).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Normally I would just go in the ocean to
handle my urine dilemma but because it’s still early on in the beach season, I
cannot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The water is the temperature of
melting icicles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The water is so cold
that even the kids aren’t in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not
freezing off my hoo-ha to pee with the fishes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Wait…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I’m in luck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Just behind on us on the beach is a local bar/restaurant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can pee there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yay, I can pee, I can pee, I can
peeeeeeee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I grab my beach bag, make my
friend rise from her hiding spot, and hobble over to the pee place because my
legs are clenched as to prevent leakage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Up the stairs we go, through the bar, and head to the bathroom only to
find…a pee line; a pee line with about 6 people waiting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t these people know how badly I have to
let loose?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently not because I’m
now being told that there is one line for 2 toilets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I might have to squat right here and pee in
the line. Wait, it’s moving a little bit so I’ll just keep on hopping from one
foot to the other - In my bathing suit - In a bar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Standing here jiggling my wares, the line is
inching closer to the actual potty place and I see that one of the bathrooms is
designated <u>shakers</u>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, it’s I exactly
what I think it is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the dude’s
toilet room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are sharing the
shitters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m completely good with
that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll take a bucket, please and
thank you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just move this damn
line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I’m
the next person in line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m the next
person in line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>YIPPEEEE, I get to pee
soon!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At last, a woman is exiting from
the shakers bathroom and I’m running toward the door and…bam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some shaker is pushing his way passed me
yelling “I’m glad I ain’t a girl” in what he thinks is a cutesy sing-song voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wait,
what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What just happened?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What in the actual fuck just happened?</i>
I’m looking at my friend because she is a big ole gun toting, scary bitch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s drunk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She’s got nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to
handle this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I chase that dirty shaker
right into the bathroom and scream directly into his shit eating grin wearing
face that we are all waiting in this line for whichever bathroom opens next so
we can squeeze out our business.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
bitch is laughing, well not just laughing, drunk assed guffawing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will sit my ass down on this toilet and pee
right in front of this monkey-toed ass-wipe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Wait, he’s pushing the door shut with me on the outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shit, shit, shit. I lost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m just going to stand outside the bathroom
door and taunt him the entire time he’s doing his thing and while he’s leaving
the bathroom and now as he walks through the even longer line of wanna-be pee-ers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pee-ers are clapping and yelling and
calling him names.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Solidarity amongst the
bathroom crew is die-hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Shit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In all the excitement, I DIDN’T PEE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m standing here watching as some other
shaker just went into my bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
just walked right in there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bathroom
I had just <s>fought</s> acted like a complete ass for is no longer mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a tiny bit of pee leaks into my bathing
suit bottom, I think to myself <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">it sucks
to be a girl.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><em></em></span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WSfC_veHN8A/VQeQEwWW0hI/AAAAAAAAHl8/HBHai7CB1tQ/s1600/Headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WSfC_veHN8A/VQeQEwWW0hI/AAAAAAAAHl8/HBHai7CB1tQ/s1600/Headshot.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a>PPB aka The Precious Princess - The Princess is a twice divorced, recently dumped, recently unemployed, self-proclaimed member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 12 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares stories from Bananaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook page <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePreciousPrincesssGuideToBananaland">Precious Princess's Guide to Bananaland</a> where she is famous for her rants and her blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life. She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at <a href="http://www.princessbananaland.com/">Princess Bananaland</a>. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses all the swears and makes up dirty words. Be afraid. </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
Precious Princess of Banananlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08526638597888942341noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7230869654069975600.post-66656930915563142052015-03-13T13:10:00.000-04:002015-03-13T13:12:15.837-04:00I'm an asshole and I have an opinion<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">In
my opinion…opinions don’t matter<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The definition
of an opinion is: a view or judgment formed about something, not necessarily
based on fact or knowledge.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Don’t hate
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My opinions get me in trouble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I don’t know
what I think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know what I
believe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not even sure I believe it.<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Maybe I’m a
fake, a phony, a hypocrite, a liar. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
don’t know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">My
opinions are strong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s me, opinionated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I always have been.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since I was a child I’ve known exactly what I
liked or didn’t like about a situation, a person, a hairstyle, clothes, ideas
and I’m quick to share them with anyone who will listen. Are my opinions right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can opinions be right or wrong? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who cares?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I don’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re just opinions
and I have no fucking clue. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">*Note
– because of my strong and what are considered somewhat negative opinions, I am
learning to keep most of them to myself (meds) but when asked, I am truthful
and might go a bit too far.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
have hated Taylor Swift for so long that I no longer remember why.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My passionate un-love for karaoke and the
people who sing it is so deep that you’d think I had a parent killed in an
untimely karaoke accident.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People who
watch shows like the Bachelor and Bachelorette make me want to punch them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why are my opinions on such trivial matters
so strong? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In reality, I don’t care if
you sit in your underwear, on fire, and participate in any of these activities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">My opinions are
important to me, I think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were at
least important to me at one time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Deep
down I wonder if still actually believe them or do I just repeat them because
it’s what I know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
will create an opinion based on my relationship with person requesting my
opinion, or based on my personal reaction to the question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How did the question make me feel on that
particular day? My opinions are based on attitude, emotions, thoughts,
nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It depends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I change my opinion constantly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It keeps me busy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I cannot stand
her. Will she ever shut up? I want to stab her in the eye with my fork,
repeatedly. What is in her hair? What’s wrong with her toes? She’s fatter than
me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Does she have a mirror? Those shoes
are ugly. Her husband is an asshole too. I bet their marriage won’t last. How
does he put up with her nagging ass? I bet they never have sex. Why are these
people talking to me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Opinions
floating in my cranium within 15 seconds of meeting someone new<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Totally
close minded opinions but because of the situation or my mindset at the time, I
hate her and I hate her stupid husband too. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
will totally answer a question in regards to my opinion with a sarcastic and
totally false answer because I think it’s funny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is this lying?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think it so because I know it’s true
and that’s really all that counts, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I
think.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">For
example, a simple question at party – <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Q:
“What’s your opinion on porn”? (This would totally happen in my circles)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">A:
“The only porn I watch is the porn I star in”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
will continue to have a 20 minute in-depth conversation in regards to porn;
neither pro nor con, just information.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>People who know me will know that is totally me being a complete
asshole.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s what I do. The problem is
that I have no problem flapping my facehole with strangers who do not
understand the glory and complexity of the asshole that is me so these people have
now formed the opinion that I am a porn queen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I am not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t watch porn, I’m
not a porn advocate, and I’ll even go as far as to say that I’m completely
against porn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Or am I?</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Regardless, I go
for the joke and sometimes I pay for it later because I’m forced to stick with
that opinion because, eeh gads, I don’t want to be labeled a hypocrite. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alas, people continue to think I am who I am
not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">My opinions are
important to me, I think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were at
least important to me at one time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Deep
down I wonder if still actually believe them or do I just repeat them because
it’s what I know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">My
snap judgment opinions are often times mood based.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Totally fucked but I can’t help it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Say its day 1 of the pre-shark-week battle in
my uterus and I casually get asked what I think of a restaurant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My answer will be something to the effect of
“I don’t have money for restaurants” or “I don’t give a shit about food” said
with a snarly growl and saliva dripping from my fangs. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m pretty sure this isn’t nice and I will
usually apologize later and reopen the subject for discussion. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes it does get skipped over and these
people are left believing that I hate my favorite get-my-grub-on place
because…vagina. I need a warning sign or a shirt that says “Don’t ask me shit”
for these days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s no fault of the
question asker but when I’m in a mood, nobody goes unscathed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My opinions are scary as hell during my wrath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">If
some mouth breathing jack-wagon I barely consider asks my opinion on something,
they are going to get a bullshit answer and I don’t give a rat’s ass if they
believe me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This can be a boss, a mutual
friend, a co-worker, or someone I know casually.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will answer the question like the asshole
that I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean let me be honest here,
if some fuck-nugget is asking me about a bar that I like, the opinion I give of
that bar will be false.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do I want to see
aforementioned fuck-nugget chugging a cold one at a place where I hang; trying
to chat me up while I’m enjoying a night out with the girls; obtaining the
knowledge that I drink and swear more than the average trucker? Hell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In addition, if said person asks what I think
about anything, I will totally make up some bizarre opinion just to fuck with
them. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Remember, I don’t like this
person. They can think I believe in candy cane people, ghost fucking, and the
curse of the horse cock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not my job
to care what they think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This too, gets me
knee deep in the hoopla. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Don’t hate
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My opinions get me in trouble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I don’t know
what I think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know what I
believe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not even sure I believe it.<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Maybe I’m a
fake, a phony, a hypocrite, a liar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
don’t know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
have been known to take the opposite opinion of someone just to be
different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am a fan of playing devil’s
advocate. This causes my opinions to be misconstrued.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Misconstrued by people because people are
stupid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes that’s my opinion, a fairly
accurate one but my opinion all the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Just because I take the opposing side in a discussion does not mean that
I necessarily agree with the opposing side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Hello, dumbass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I am to be
completely honest, I have been known to come off with “Oh, I love that” just
because it’s not your thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not
saying its right or even sane, I’m just saying that I’ve done it and I’m sure
I’ll do it again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Sometimes
I just give absolutely zero shits about the subject being discussed and instead
of shutting my fat mouth, I do it. I do that thing where I shout out to the
world (or a few people) my opinion based on totally nothing. “I totally hate
that and I think you’re an asshole for liking it”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only do I give my opinion on the subject
I will also make you feel a douche for your opinion, just because. These are
the opinions I vehemently defend because when I make up shit, I’m going to back
up my shit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Don’t hate
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My opinions get me in trouble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I don’t know
what I think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know what I
believe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not even sure I believe it.<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Maybe I’m a
fake, a phony, a hypocrite, a liar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
don’t know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">More
often than not I get off my ass and base an opinion on actual thought and information.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I care about stuff) These opinions are not
to be confused with fact because interpretations of information are subjective.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most people do not comprehend this simple
concept. If it’s a fact; it is not an opinion. An opinion can be based on some
facts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wake up, John Q Public, and pull
your oversized head out of your ass. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When
it comes to subjects like politics, religion, current events, and news, I believe
people’s opinions should be based on knowledge gained through research and some
facts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In order to have an intelligence
based conversation that includes opinions, I prefer to be aware of some shit. If
your opinion in these instances is based on some bullshit story you heard in
the lunchroom at work, on social media or that you were told by your granny on
her deathbed?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no patience for you
and I will not engage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">My opinions are
important to me, I think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were at
least important to me at one time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Deep
down I wonder if still actually believe them or do I just repeat them because
it’s what I know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
am <s>not usually</s> (never) open to other people’s opinions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t give a fuck what you think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure I’ll listen and nod my head and I might
even value your opinion but that’s what it is, your opinion. I’ve created my
opinions and they’re what I believe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
you believe something different than I do, that’s great.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t go all door-to-door religion
salesperson on me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><s>Sometimes,</s> (All
the time) I change my opinions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
human nature, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I think</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Don’t hate
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My opinions get me in trouble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I don’t know
what I think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know what I
believe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not even sure I believe it.<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Maybe I’m a
fake, a phony, a hypocrite, a liar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
don’t know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">My
opinions while loud, snarky, bitchy, often totally off base, sometimes
frightening, and most times total bullshit, are still my opinions. Do not take
them literally and don’t get all freaked out about them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t sweat anybody’s opinion for that matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you don’t want or can’t handle an opinion,
don’t ask for it. Depending on my mood (no meds), you might still get mine. Remember,
opinions change. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Does it make us all
hypocrites?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though I think I don’t
know, I don’t think so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so what if
it does.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s only an opinion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<ul>
<li><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Tea in a can tastes like ass<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
</li>
<li><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I love cake and ice cream<o:p></o:p></span></i></li>
<li><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Books should be bound or they aren’t books<o:p></o:p></span></i></li>
<li><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Country music blows dead hobos<o:p></o:p></span></i></li>
<li><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I prefer short hair on both men and women<o:p></o:p></span></i></li>
<li><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I believe that most romance movies are corny, unbelievable, and boring <o:p></o:p></span></i></li>
<li><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Animal hair is unsanitary and it skeeves me<o:p></o:p></span></i></li>
<li><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I believe there is good in people<o:p></o:p></span></i></li>
<li><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I think karma is real<o:p></o:p></span></i></li>
<li><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Life is too short for fake cheese<o:p></o:p></span></i></li>
<li><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">My favorite color is brown<o:p></o:p></span></i></li>
<li><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Epic, douche canoe, cray cray, bae, boo, and awesome sauce, are overused and ridiculous<o:p></o:p></span></i></li>
<li><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Valentine’s Day, Grandparent’s Day, Sweetest Day, Kid’s Day and all the other made up days are bullshit, not holidays<o:p></o:p></span></i></li>
<li><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">People who base their political beliefs on what they’ve heard and not what they know to be true, are fucking idiots<o:p></o:p></span></i></li>
<li><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">People who put too much faith into organized religion are scary <o:p></o:p></span></i></li>
<li><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I don’t understand people who say that water tastes badly<o:p></o:p></span></i></li>
<li><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Real butter; there is no substitute<o:p></o:p></span></i></li>
<li><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">In some weight-loss before/after pictures I prefer the before <o:p></o:p></span></i></li>
<li><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">In most instances I don’t find tattoos attractive<o:p></o:p></span></i></li>
<li><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Barry Manilow pumps my non-existent gonads</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></li>
</ul>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">These
are my opinions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Might they piss you
off?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Might they be totally
ridiculous?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure. Suck it and move
on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><strong>The definition
of an opinion: a view or judgment formed about something, not necessarily based
on fact or knowledge.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Oh,
and I would be remiss if I didn’t throw this out there: “Opinions are like
assholes, everybody’s got one and everyone thinks everyone else’s stinks”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>– While corny and lame (my opinion), there’s
a reason it was created.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
don’t know if there are others who think like I do but if you don’t, do me a
favor and keep your opinions to yourself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
<o:p><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nparQ0q_GKo/VNfi4VfTlDI/AAAAAAAAHC4/JrFRivVlzzs/s1600/Headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nparQ0q_GKo/VNfi4VfTlDI/AAAAAAAAHC4/JrFRivVlzzs/s1600/Headshot.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p>PPB aka The Precious Princess - The Princess is a twice divorced, recently dumped, recently unemployed, currently a temp, self-proclaimed member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 12 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares stories from Bananaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook page <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePreciousPrincesssGuideToBananaland">Precious Princess's Guide to Bananaland</a> where she is famous for her rants and her blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life. She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at <a href="http://www.princessbananaland.com/">Princess Bananaland</a>. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses all the swears and makes up dirty words. Eventually when she’s done being sloth-like, she will write a book. Be afraid. <o:p></o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
Precious Princess of Banananlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08526638597888942341noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7230869654069975600.post-20584173550020155662015-03-09T11:56:00.000-04:002015-03-09T19:25:10.504-04:00Pissed and it's my fault<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Today
I am pissed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Not
like most days when I wake up with something to bitch about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not like that at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today I am pissed with myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I try like hell to keep my name out of other’s
mouths.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I avoid people, I avoid conflict, and I avoid
bullshit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As soon as something gets bull-shitty?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Today
I am pissed because I allowed myself to get involved with bullshit. I try to be
two things, honest and nice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I try my
best not to hurt people’s feelings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
may not be the most patient person and after I down a few, I’ll tell you exactly
what I think about you but only if you ask. I’m nice until it’s time not be
nice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will treat you how you treat
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am pissed because I don’t even
like doing that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m just done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My time shouldn’t be wasted with superfluous and
mundane bullshit that’s passed off as being “adult”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
am tired of being nice to people that I can’t stand because it’s supposed to be
mature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fuck that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t find it mature to spend time with
people I can’t stand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find it
nonsensical, useless, and a waste of time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When I’m invited to a social gathering and fucks I wouldn’t trust to use
my bathroom are attending, I don’t want to play.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
understand the art of being nice in work situations or in public situations. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s a given. I put my phony face on and
wear that shit all damn day. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are
people I have to deal with because of a marriage and people I have to
fake it with for work but I will no longer spend my precious free time with
people I want to set on fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Am I
immature?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I’m smart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I’m a time saver.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The
whole pretending to like someone for another person doesn’t work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, it fucked with part of my
weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I missed out on some good times
with fantastical friends because I believed a lie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I actually believed that someone gave a shit
about my feelings and was giving me a lil respect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not so much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was expected to hang with people I don’t dig, lie about not digging
them, and take the backseat to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
missed out on seeing two people I adore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I didn’t go to a party I was invited to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I didn’t go to one of my favorite band’s gig.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t do any of these things because,
people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hate people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every damn I try to step outside the box a
dumb motherfucker crushes the box.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now
there are useless fucks out there with my name on their tongue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My beautiful name on nasty, twisted tongues
because I tried to be honest and nice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Nicely & honestly telling people that I have no use for them in my
life would have had two-fold positivity:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">1
– I wouldn’t be pissed today<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">2
– You could be eating chicken & waffles instead of reading this<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I’m
not sorry that I don’t want to deal with certain people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s my choice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not that often that I open my tiny
circle and head to a public setting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When
I do, it must be with people I respect, can laugh with, and who just completely
rock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I leave my comfort zone, it’s
to have a kickass time with people I enjoy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There’s no other reason.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not to
pick up men, not to argue, not to avoid, not to be hidden, and it’s for damn
sure not so I can be a phony, plastic, bitch. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s to enjoy myself; period, end of story. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nparQ0q_GKo/VNfi4VfTlDI/AAAAAAAAHC4/JrFRivVlzzs/s1600/Headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nparQ0q_GKo/VNfi4VfTlDI/AAAAAAAAHC4/JrFRivVlzzs/s1600/Headshot.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p>PPB aka The Precious Princess - The Princess is a twice divorced, recently dumped, recently unemployed, self-proclaimed member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 12 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares stories from Bananaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook page <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePreciousPrincesssGuideToBananaland">Precious Princess's Guide to Bananaland</a> where she is famous for her rants and her blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life. She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at <a href="http://www.princessbananaland.com/">Princess Bananaland</a>. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses all the swears and makes up dirty words. Eventually when she’s done being sloth-like, she will write a book. Be afraid. <o:p></o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
Precious Princess of Banananlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08526638597888942341noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7230869654069975600.post-52634494691072646472015-03-03T13:20:00.002-05:002015-03-03T13:20:59.648-05:00I am an adult and I hate kids
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I am an adult.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I hate kids.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The
diapers, the vomit, the baby wipes, the lack of sleep, trying to understand
their non-verbal signals, the anxiety, the helplessness, the feedings, the
wishing their pain could be taken away<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I hate kids.<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The
tantrums, the odors, the crying, the whining, the questions, the sniveling, the
shouting, the nightmares, the backtalk, the messiness<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I hate kids.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Telling
them no, punishments, homework, teaching, listening, lying to them, lying for
them, protecting them<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I hate kids.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">School
pick-up lines, fulfilling their every need, sleepovers, explaining death,
giving them freedom<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I hate kids.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Untangling
of knots, shoe tying, their lack of listening, sneaking, pickiness, stubbornness,
incessant gibberish, loudness, irritability, attitude<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I hate kids.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Teaching
them bicycle riding and kissing boo-boos, spending money on their toys and
games that are played with for 3 days and then hidden amongst the dust bunnies
under the bed, morning wake-ups, buying clothes that they pick out only to find
the clothes buried along with the useless toys <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I hate kids.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Losing
of shoes, socks, hats, and other pieces of clothing, sticky surfaces in every
room of the house, hair filled brushes, toothpaste in the sink, indescribable
gunk in the bathtub that will never, ever come off<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I hate kids.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Paint,
crayon, and pen on the walls, crayons left in the hot care that melted into the
interior, the unknown goo that takes over the handle of every item with a
handle, watching them walk and watching them fall <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I hate kids.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Messy,
uncombed hair, the dirty fingernails, the stinky feet, teaching them to read, seeing
them fail, explaining life<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I hate kids.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Mean
kids, teaching them to defend themselves, listening to the same song over and
over, watching the same movie over and over, playing the same game over and
over, singing the same rhymes over and over<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I hate kids.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The
birds and the bees, gym class, being happy, teaching life’s lessons, embracing
independence, overcoming embarrassment, becoming a successful member of society<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I hate kids.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Long
explanations, disapproval of choices, decision making triumphs, arguments,
growing up<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I hate kids.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Being
in bed by 10pm because the kid will be awake by 6am, not being able to go out
with friends on a school night because mom duty takes priority, not being able
to party like a rock star because those damn kids need a parent, being responsible
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I hate kids.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I hate it all and
yet I wouldn’t drag my ragged, overworked ass out of bed each morning without
expecting it.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The sheer
innocence of my child, the not knowing that each of these things is slowly
driving me insane is what keeps me from trading her to a stranger for half a
candy bar and a postage stamp. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Having a child
has forced me to accomplish things I never thought I would.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have looked at things differently than I
ever have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have discovered creative
ways to explain, teach, and assist my child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I have become a person I never thought I would be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My child comes first when I think and do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My child has taken over my life. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hate kids. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">My kid is a life
sucking beast who will steal my last breath and my will to live.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p>And she is worth it.</o:p></span></i></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I am an adult.</span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nparQ0q_GKo/VNfi4VfTlDI/AAAAAAAAHC4/JrFRivVlzzs/s1600/Headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nparQ0q_GKo/VNfi4VfTlDI/AAAAAAAAHC4/JrFRivVlzzs/s1600/Headshot.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a>PPB aka The Precious Princess - The Princess is a twice divorced, recently dumped, recently unemployed, self-proclaimed member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 12 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares stories from Bananaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook page <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePreciousPrincesssGuideToBananaland">Precious Princess's Guide to Bananaland</a> where she is famous for her rants and her blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life. She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at <a href="http://www.princessbananaland.com/">Princess Bananaland</a>. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses all the swears and makes up dirty words. Eventually when she’s done being sloth-like, she will write a book. Be afraid. <o:p></o:p></div>
</o:p></span>
Precious Princess of Banananlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08526638597888942341noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7230869654069975600.post-65591627688750115842015-02-25T20:10:00.000-05:002015-02-25T20:10:08.011-05:00My Self-Imposed Sexual Sabbatical<br />
I don’t remember the exact moment my sabbatical from sex began. Or even why it happened. I love the sex. After my divorce several years ago, I had all the sex. I was sexy in every corner of my fair city. Ask anybody. Or everybody. I had a blast. This time, not so much. <br />
<br />
After my last break-up I thought I’d once again hit the sexy party girl road. I didn’t. The comfort of men was somehow not so comforting this time around. I had had enough. Enough bullshit. I felt, I don’t know, empty? <br />
<br />
<i>Empty and angry</i><br />
<i>Angry at men</i><br />
<i>Furious with men</i><br />
<br />
Men lied, and cheated, and lied again. I couldn’t get past the anger and feeling of betrayal toward men, not even for one night. How could <u>any</u> man excite me when <u>every</u> man made me cringe? I dreamt about it, the sex. I wanted so badly to be held, to be touched, to be told I was wanted, needed. But the thought of actually letting a man touch me was like a blow to the gut. I couldn’t do it. I have a couple of close male friends who took the brunt of my non-sex-man-hating-anger during this period. I love them for that. I truly do. I had to get over this non-trusting of men. I had actual hatred towards men. I knew this was not normal. Not all men deserved my hate. It was making me miserable. It was making me miserable to be around.<br />
<br />
Eventually men happened. The sex happened. I found little joy. I found lots of problems. I could not be happy. The men weren’t making me happy. They used to make me happy. What had happened to me? The touching, the kissing, the handholding, the closeness, none of it made me feel like I wanted to feel. Why wasn’t it working? It had to work. I wanted to have sex. I wanted company. I didn’t want to be alone. I wanted to be like everyone else.<br />
<br />
I pushed it all away. The men, the sex, all of my chances for happiness were pushed away. <br />
<br />
<i>I woke the fuck up</i><br />
<br />
I was no longer happy with me. Self-esteem no longer existed within me. The emptiness I felt was because of me. Not happy with me - I was not familiar with that sentiment. It had been years since I had been unhappy with me. I like me. This did not feel like me. This was wrong. Something had to change. I had to be happy with me before I could be happy with a man; before I could have sex. For me to be happy I had to start doing things for myself. It began with little things: going to dinner, hanging with friends, plans that didn’t revolve around a man. Then the things got bigger: concerts, day trips, festivals, theme parks, vacations. <br />
<br />
<i>I was having fun</i><br />
<i>With my family</i><br />
<i>With my friends </i><br />
<br />
There were no men. No men to hate. No men to distrust. No men to make me feel like less of a person. No men to bash my self-esteem. No sex. None. This was a good thing. I needed time to like me and to find my sexy. I needed to feel worthy of being liked. I needed to do all of that so I could stop the man hating. I needed to do all of that so I could move forward. I needed to do all that so I could enjoy the sex if and when I allowed it to happen.<br />
<br />
<i>Fast-forward</i><br />
<br />
I like me. I cried, I laughed, I had fits, I hid from people, and I stomped the hell out of my feet to get here.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I cried but I did all the things</i><br />
<br />
But, I like me. It was worth it. Because I like me, I no longer hate the men. I determined that my man issues are worse than I originally thought. Trust issues. I still have problems believing that men (people) are sincere, about anything. I continue to believe that all men have ulterior motives. This is my problem. There's no one to blame. It's just me. Yes, I am damaged. Yes, I am working on it.<br />
<br />
I continue to abstain from the sex. Once it wasn’t a huge deal; it wasn’t a huge deal. And I’m terrified. I'm absolutely dark, creepy house at the end of the block when I was 6, terrified. It’s true. I’m scared shitless to allow a man to touch me. I can’t even imagine sex. No night time put-me-to-sleep-smiling thoughts, no sexy after I hit the REM sleep, no daydreams of hot, half naked men on the beach rubbing me down and then "you know". It’s almost as if sex no longer exists for me. It’s not easy. It's sad. I am in pain. I am raw. Sex will hurt me both mentally and physically.<br />
<br />
<i>I still have a sense of humor. Always a sense of humor.</i><br />
<br />
I want it; I need it. Once I believe what comes out of the face-hole of man, the sexy-time issue will be a non-issue and all will be well. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bXVnZOEZrSs/VO5xJRmKk5I/AAAAAAAAHT4/iu-SgInHLPo/s1600/Headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bXVnZOEZrSs/VO5xJRmKk5I/AAAAAAAAHT4/iu-SgInHLPo/s1600/Headshot.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
PPB aka The Precious Princess - The Princess is a twice divorced, recently dumped, recently unemployed, self-proclaimed member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 12 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares stories from Bananaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook page Precious Princess's Guide to Bananaland where she is famous for her rants and her blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life. She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at Princess Bananaland. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses all the swears and makes up dirty words. Eventually when she’s done being sloth-like, she will write a book. Be afraid. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
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<br />Precious Princess of Banananlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08526638597888942341noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7230869654069975600.post-77604591959333386142015-02-09T19:42:00.000-05:002015-02-09T20:08:16.340-05:00Valentine's Day-PPB Style<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Until
I was 10 years old, Valentine’s Day was a day in which my classmates and I
exchanged goofy little cards that we dropped into handmade pouches taped to the
sides of our desks. Some years one of
the not so frazzled class moms would bring in cupcakes or we would munch on
some of those dry, powdery conversation hearts after we tried to create every
dirty sentence we could out of them.
That was the extent of it. My
parents probably went out. I remember a
heart shaped box of chocolate or two. I was usually the recipient of such a box but Valentine’s Day really was a non
event in our household. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
1980, the year of my 10<sup>th</sup> birthday, my baby sister was born. On February 14<sup>th</sup>. In the years
that followed, February 14<sup>th</sup> was my sister’s birthday, not Valentine’s
Day. We were special now. Within the confines our immediate family, Valentine’s Day fell
behind the back burner and onto the floor.
It was fine with us. Birthdays
meant cake. Cake is good. This was not a negative
happening. There was still the goofy
card exchange at school, lots of heart shaped crafts in art class, and I still
received the obligatory heart box of chocolate each year.
Now though, there was a reason, a real reason, for us to celebrate. We were the coolest. We had a heart baby. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When
my baby sister reached school age, the months of January and February were
spent peddling cookies for the local scouts. Selling (and buying) cookies took a significant amount of time, energy, money, and patience. Valentine’s Day continued to hide out in the
background. Cookies were now considered
a valentine treat. I was too old for the school parties at this point and after
the scout cookies and a birthday party, it took no trouble at all to brush away this silly heart holiday. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Now in my head all of this non Valentine activity made perfect sense. I was a realist. My heart, though, had a different wish. It wished for one of those romantical,
lovey-dovey, 10 minute kiss on the balcony, dinner, drinks, dancing, and a walk
on the beach nights all rolled into one heart shaped evening of bliss. When I traded in living with the family unit for a place of
my own, I decided I would still celebrate my sister’s birthday but I had to start working on my dream date. My Valentine's Day dream date. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">No
so much. We had moved from Chicago to
the Daytona Beach area. February in
Daytona Beach isn’t romantic. It isn’t
even remotely romantic. There’s this
little two week event in February called Speed Weeks. Ever heard of the Daytona 500? Every year around the 14<sup>th</sup> of
February is when that race occurs. That
means the entire county in which I live is filled about two hundred thousand (or so) extra folks. Who wouldn’t want to
travel to Florida in February? Who didn’t want to bask in the sun while
whichever snow riddled city they had traveled from was frozen over? Every restaurant, bar, beach, club within 60
miles was filled to the max with race fans. There are no quiet romantic dates on Valentine's Day in this town. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">What
the Fuck? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Once
I was married there were dinners out of town, overnight trips, last minute
chocolate, gas station roses, movies, numerous cute but useless stuffed animals, and even edible underwear to celebrate the
holiday of hearts. Stuff I planned
because I wanted to go somewhere and the holiday was the excuse. Not the undies or the gas station roses, the
other stuff. Deep down I had no interest
in this ridiculous red and pink holiday of hearts but the non-stop commercials
promising diamonds and kisses were wearing me down. Where in the hell was my chocolate diamond,
damn it? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
never did get a chocolate diamond. Hell, I
never got any diamond. I have countless
numbers of little fuzzy white bears holding red satin hearts. I don’t even know who they’re from anymore
but I have them. Was Valentine’s Day
ever unpleasant? Not that I recall. It just wasn’t the hyped up version of all things love that I had created in my head from seeing all the propaganda. It never will be. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Now
that I’m older, Valentine’s Day itself, means almost zero to me. It’s my sister’s birthday. It’s a race day. It’s cookie day. It’s just another day. I have been married, single, dating, madly in
love, bored to death, and divorced on Valentine’s Day. None was better than the rest. As for my dream date, it will happen one
day. I don’t care what day it is. Love is love.
Infatuation is infatuation. If
it’s right, romance will happen when it’s meant to, not on a day covered in
pink and red hearts. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This
year, I’ll be spending the Valentine holiday with the love of my life. My daughter.
A friend and her son will be joining us.
It will be special. It will be
filled with love. There will be
food. There will be booze. It will be a joyous occassion.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Life is good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In all
seriousness I would pass on the dream date completely if I could find a man who
could make a reservation without asking me a single fucking question. A goofy card would be cool too. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HUu3spSCCWk/VNlOrdLXNqI/AAAAAAAAHEc/qGDFwkEhTfU/s1600/Headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HUu3spSCCWk/VNlOrdLXNqI/AAAAAAAAHEc/qGDFwkEhTfU/s1600/Headshot.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
PPB aka The Precious Princess - The Princess is a twice
divorced, recently dumped, recently unemployed, self-proclaimed member of the
mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a rock stocked
with vodka and anger. Her 12 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy of the
Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In addition, she writes
about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares stories from
Bananaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook
page <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePreciousPrincesssGuideToBananaland">Precious
Princess's Guide to Bananaland</a> where she is famous for her rants and her
blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life.
She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at <a href="http://www.princessbananaland.com/">Princess Bananaland</a>. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses
all the swears and makes up dirty words. Eventually when she’s done being sloth-like,
she will write a book. Be afraid. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
Precious Princess of Banananlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08526638597888942341noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7230869654069975600.post-67790313371593711532015-02-05T17:27:00.000-05:002015-02-08T17:30:03.421-05:00A letter to some boys<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Dear <s>Men
</s>boys, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I like most
of you. I do. A lot.
I know that one of you out there was made just for me. “A good man.
A true man. A man to love me for
sure”. (Thank you, Bette Midler for those eloquent words) I joke about you and laugh about the things I
think you’re good for and how dumb I think you are but the truth is, I really
like you. You are a necessity in life; as
a partner but also as a father, a son, a brother, a friend, a coworker, and
sometimes a backbone. I also joke about
women. I’m famous for my “vagina=crazy”
quote, and I’m quick to discuss how women are bitches. In short, I fuck with all the sexes
equally. This letter is not to man-bash.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I’m
writing to tell you something that has been bothering me for months. I tried to ignore it. I really did.
I tried not to judge you. It
thought that it really wasn’t my place. The longer it went on, the more disgusted I
became. You all didn’t commit the
heinous infraction I’m about to describe.
Many of you did. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The bile is rising to my throat
right now thinking about it. I’m making
“that” face as I type. That face I make
when I smell spoiled milk, rotting potatoes, or dog shit that has been frozen
and thawed. That face. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Let me
try and explain this to you without breaking down, crying my head off or
calling each of you a sickening fuck.
You deserve all of the above but name calling solves nothing and I’m
ugly when I cry. In short, my long-term
relationship ended. As soon as one day
after the relationship ended, I began receiving private messages on social
media from you. Not all of you. Just a
few. As the months went by, more of you
joined the cluster of fools. Today
it’s almost every <s>man </s>boy on my friends list. Some of you are casual and cool, some flirty
and cute, and some of you are downright fucked in the head with messages
blatantly asking for sex and/or sexual favors. All of you hiding and messaging in private. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">It
doesn’t seem like such a big deal, does it?
I’m single, why not? Why shouldn't I enjoy messages from <strike>men</strike> boys who are supposed to be my friends? Should be a great fit, no? A small
portion of the “why not” is because each one of you are married or in what
appears to be serious relationships. This makes you not only an asshole but the lowliest scum that exists. The
reason your partners don’t give it up to you or act the way you’d like them to
is because they know. Women aren't stupid. But keep looking for
other women to fill that hole that you caused.
I bet it’s working fantastically for you. That’s not why I’m writing this. I’m not judging. I don’t know your situation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">You<u> could</u> have an open
marriage, <u>could</u> be separated, or it <u>could</u> be that you are a
fucktarded simpleton who needs to be wanted by more than one woman (the last
option being the most possible choice).
I don’t care. That’s your
issue. The real
reason I’m writing this here story of woe is to ponder aloud, this:<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Why did
you message me? Was I so hot? Did you like me? Did you want me? That’s what you wanted me to think. You wanted me to think that you thought I was
so freaking awesome that I would get my head all big and I’d fall for your insipid bullshit. “He thinks I’m cute” so I’ll give him a piece
of ass. Those thoughts lasted a hot minute. “Is it
because I’m fat?” was my next thought. Big girls are easy. Ain’t that right? You thought my self-image was shot because I
was dumped and overweight? Did you
figure that my self-esteem was so low you could get a quick roll with me and
maybe even boost my self-esteem in one shot?
You’d have been doing me a favor. Right? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Next this - “What kind of sleazy bag of shit do these <s>men</s>
boys think I am”? I couldn’t figure it
out then and I still can’t. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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I was either married or in a (what I thought was monogamous) relationship the entire time I knew the lot of your sorry asses. What in the hell brought you to my inbox? Was it because I shared memes that were risqué or posted stuff that had the words “fuck” (OMG) or “cunt” (I must be a whore), or because some of the posts were of a sexual nature? I enjoy smut talk and goofy assed memes about sex. Must mean I like to fuck married men. Makes complete sense. If this is your mentality, it’s no wonder you’re looking for some strange; your partners hate you because you’re idiots. Ridiculous. You all are ridiculous. I blog. I discuss sex all the time. I also discuss poop, farts, shopping, my kid, and a myriad of subjects. Do these posts define me? No. They don’t. They are sarcastic and exaggerated posts for entertainment purposes. Period. If any of you actually had taken the time in the 10+ years that I knew most of you, you’d know this. You didn’t. You suck. You suck as human beings and you suck at being men. <br />
<i><br />Not one of you asked me out. Like on a date. It was all about sex or what you could get from me. I wasn’t even good enough for an affair. Just some whore you could hit once and hide away from your seemingly normal lives. </i><br />
<br />
I began to link numerous blog posts from my page to my personal feed about cheaters, what I wanted from a man, and anything I could find that might explain to you that I was not going to be your fuck-buddy. Not then, not now, not ever. This was the passive-aggressive approach but I didn’t have the time or energy to write each of you individually (yes, there were that many of you). Not to mention, it<br />
was publicity for my blog. Can’t blame a chick for marketing. I also figured that if you were messaging me, you were probably harassing the shit out of other women on your friends list. My giant head isn’t so overgrown that I believed I was some “special” whore. The purpose of this letter is not to “out you” or get you into trouble. It is to try and explain how your behavior made me feel. Like shit. That’s how I felt. That’s how I feel. Like a useless waste of a human being. You thought I was weak and would cave and perform sexual favors because you showed me some attention. You thought wrong. I felt disrespected. I felt embarrassed. I felt ashamed. I felt sad. I felt confused. I still feel all those things. Add mad to those things and that's what I feel now. Mad that I allowed a bunch of losers, posing as men, to make me feel that way. Never once did I feel lucky or excited because I special enough to receive your messages. I wasn't impressed. I laughed about it with my friends. I joked that you were sick, desperate losers. All the while, I felt I was being sexually assaulted without any physical contact.<br />
<br />
I continued conversations with some of you because I couldn’t even believe it was happening. I had to keep responding because I couldn’t fathom that it was real. I’m a writer at heart so I also knew that one day I’d use your sad, tired pick-up lines disguised as messages, in a writing. I didn’t think that the day would come so soon but I needed to get this out there. For me, and for all of the other women that you deem your personal booty message whores. <br />
<br />
In closing, if any of you half-wit fucks are actually able to read this – FUCK YOU. Fuck you for making me feel like a piece of shit. Fuck you for all the other women you made feel like shit. Fuck you for not having enough respect for your wife or significant other to be a MAN. And just fuck you.<br />
<br />
Sincerely,<br />
<br />
A stand-up bitch who isn’t taking your bullshit<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WBGw8t66M7c/VNPwZw34CQI/AAAAAAAAHBY/Um0rA8nWRYc/s1600/Headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WBGw8t66M7c/VNPwZw34CQI/AAAAAAAAHBY/Um0rA8nWRYc/s1600/Headshot.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
PPB aka The Precious Princess - The Princess
is a twice divorced, recently dumped, recently unemployed, self-proclaimed
member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a
rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 12 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy
of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In
addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares
stories from Bananaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook
page <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePreciousPrincesssGuideToBananaland">Precious
Princess's Guide to Bananaland</a> where she is famous for her rants and her
blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life.
She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at <a href="http://www.princessbananaland.com/">Princess Bananaland</a>. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses
all the swears and makes up dirty words. Eventually when she’s done being sloth-like,
she will write a book. Be afraid.<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Precious Princess of Banananlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08526638597888942341noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7230869654069975600.post-39755778326867088152015-01-19T21:02:00.000-05:002015-03-03T13:20:27.286-05:001986 - I have found itPicture it, Port Orange, a city about 4 miles South of Daytona Beach, FL. The year was 1986. The month, August. I was 16 years old. I'd had my drivers license for exactly 1 month. My family had moved to Port Orange in June. I was in a new city, a new driver, and on my way to a job that I'd had for only 2 weeks. <br />
<br />
Now that you have the background, let me get to the nitty fucking gritty. It was probably around 100 degrees with 150% humidity (If you've been to FL you know this to be true), it was pouring rain and I was tooling along in my fancy new-to-me, hand me down Chevy Chevette. I was cool. You know it. <br />
<br />
I was sitting at a red light in the left hand lane, wipers going eleventy million mph, waiting to make my left turn to complete my 2 mile drive to work. I make the turn, and whoa...what the shit? The car began to slide up onto the 2 foot high median (We didn't have that shit in IL), and into oncoming traffic. Well me being the awesome 16 year old, non experienced driver that I was, cut the wheel all-the-way to the right to avoid the oncoming traffic. Awesome idea, right? Right? Right? Come on, you<u> know</u> it wasn't right. I have 2 words for you - Florida Ice. Yes, some hillbilly Florida phenomenon that occurs during and after the rain. Apparently this happens everywhere but in Florida it's worse because of the extreme temperatures. The oil and other chemicals that have soaked into the concrete come up to the surface because science happens or some shit. Whatever. It made the roads extremely slippery. <br />
<br />
New driver + New city + Slippery road<br />
<br />
Know what happened next? Can you guess? I'll bet you can't. As my car literally flung itself to the right after the cutting the wheel, it then went up over the sidewalk and right through the plate glass window of a drapery shop. Right through the window of a brick building. Yes, the damn shop was open. Yes, there were people inside. No, nobody got hurt. Those bitches ran fast and I was wearing my seat belt. And here was the front end of my new-to-me Chevy Chevette jammed inside a store. Holy balls of fuck. <br />
<br />
A whole bunch of witnesses came to check on me (I was a cute young blond girl) until the police arrived. There was flurry of action and I was, well I was 16. I didn't know what the fuck to do or what the fuck to say. Finally, the police came and he walked over to me (I was still in the car) and asked how I was. My response - "I have found it" - one of those weird family sayings we had that came from a movie and, no I don't remember which one. Loosely, it meant the shit hit the fan and I found it. Also, I do what I always do when I'm going to lose all control of my bodily functions, giggled like a bitch. All I remember after that was me begging the cop not to call my Dad because he was going to chop me up into little pieces and bury in the backyard. He was going to k i l l me. My giggles had turned to tears at this point. (Anything to avoid my Dad coming) Of course the cop didn't believe any of that shit and 5 minutes later...<br />
<br />
My parents showed up. Both of them. My Dad walked over to the car and that big, scary, bastard, who I was terrified of, laughed his ass off. He was crying because he was laughing so hard. I was kinda pissed. Here I was shitting myself and this fuck is laughing. My mom was laughing too. Even the cop was laughing at this point. Dicks. They were laughing at the dumb ass 16 year old girl who drove through a building. Looking back it was really funny. Nobody got hurt and shit happens. My Dad told me that everybody had to have their first accident and he was glad mine was so awesome. So that. I then reversed the car out of the building and drove my ass to work. Yes, the Chevy Chevette that had driven through the building, was drivable. And, yes, I went to work. Why not? Wiped my tears, shook it off, and went to make my money.<br />
<br />
When the dust (literally) had settled, I ended having to pay for 1/2 of the car repair which wasn't too bad. It was mostly dumb stuff. The building? I got a letter about 4 months later saying that the building was supposed to have been condemned and closed and that owners had never complied with the city so I was not responsible for the repairs. The store stayed open for a few years after that but was ultimately demolished about 10 years ago for some huge development that was supposed to be built (still hasn't happened). <br />
<br />
So, yeah, this isn't even my most embarassing story. Lesson - the Chevy Chevette could really take a beating.<br />
<br />
Truth: A few years later when I was taking a defensive driving course (No, I didn't learn my lesson after that first accident) the instructor used my story as a crash example. Yep. I got to take a bow. I'm famous. Famous for being an idiot. <br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nparQ0q_GKo/VNfi4VfTlDI/AAAAAAAAHC4/JrFRivVlzzs/s1600/Headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br /></div>
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nparQ0q_GKo/VNfi4VfTlDI/AAAAAAAAHC4/JrFRivVlzzs/s1600/Headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nparQ0q_GKo/VNfi4VfTlDI/AAAAAAAAHC4/JrFRivVlzzs/s1600/Headshot.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a>PPB aka The Precious Princess - The Princess
is a twice divorced, recently dumped, recently unemployed, self-proclaimed
member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a
rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 12 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy
of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In
addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares
stories from Bananaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook
page <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePreciousPrincesssGuideToBananaland">Precious
Princess's Guide to Bananaland</a> where she is famous for her rants and her
blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life.
She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at <a href="http://www.princessbananaland.com/">Princess Bananaland</a>. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses
all the swears and makes up dirty words. Eventually when she’s done being sloth-like,
she will write a book. Be afraid. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
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<br />Precious Princess of Banananlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08526638597888942341noreply@blogger.com4