The Best Relationship Advice Article You'll Ever Read... Part 2

Welcome back!

If you read Part 1 and were able to filter through my rambling to get to the point, you realized that my only piece of advice for dating was:  Be Yourself.

Nope, not glamorous.  Not going to sell a bajillion magazines or generate frackjillions of page clicks, and that's why no one else tells you that.  Except your mother.  She totally knows her stuff.  You're awesome.  Don't forget that.

Anywho, now that you've found "the one" and they're totally okay with your tiny booties and vintage midget porn, and you're cool with their weird obsession with Pokemon or whatever - what now?

THERE'S ALWAYS A FRONT - AND IT NEEDS TO BE THERE... SOMEWHAT.

So... no matter how "you" you behave, there are always going to be things you camouflage around new people, specifically people you might like to touch your dangly bits at some point.  Thing is, no one really needs to know if you pick your boogers on the toilet or what exactly your shave/wax routine is... some things NEED to be sacred.  Your significant other shouldn't be offended if you leave the room to bust ass, or if they totally believe that you just naturally have no hair on 98% of your body and suddenly discover an entire closet filled with razors, wax strips, and Dremel tools.  

This goes for men AND women, straight, gay, or otherwise.  Tip:  we might like to think of gay and lesbian couples being all proper and fabulous all the time, but I'm pretty sure they grow hair in unsightly places, and fart, too.  Granted, their farts might result in an eruption of lavender-scented glitter rather than the putrid death that breeder-butts emit, but let's not got caught up in ridiculous stereotypes about people.  That would just be stupid.

I'm just going to leave this here.

The Best Relationship Advice Article You'll Ever Read... Part 1

To be fair, I'm probably not the foremost expert on dating, since my entire adult life has consisted of two long-term relationships.  My first marriage ended in divorce, so... there's that.

Still, in my almost 33 29 years, I've found it nearly impossible not to question the insanity that is the world of dating advice, from the Internet to those airbrush-laden magazines that line the checkout at the grocery store.  A quick Google search reveals all kinds of "advice," its relevance ranging from "well, der," to "who the f*ck do they get to write this shit and why do they hate humanity so much that they want to end it through systematic relationship sabotage??"  Most of them, if put into any kind of collective idea, boil down to, "DO NOT, by any means, or for any reason, be yourself, you pathetic, prude loser."

Resistance is futile.  Unless you want your fate to be "Crazy Cat Lady."  Don't forget to like us on Facebook, loser!

But never fear, dear readers, because here I am once again with a giant steaming dose of non-moronic reality.

Because Confessions are Good for the Soul

A while back, I asked some awesome fellow bloggers to critique my blog, and asked for any suggestions as to why I get plenty of traffic but rarely any comments.  "It just kind of seems like you don't need anything from the reader," one person said.

This got me thinking.  It made sense.  Even in the real world, I'm the answer person.  I come off a lot of times as arrogant and self-righteous, even though the reality is that I'm actually just socially retarded.

There's the first confession.  I dislike small talk - not because I find it pointless, or because I feel like I'm too smart to engage in it - but because I simply can't form a whole conversation around the weather or sports or whatever it is that normal people chit-chat about.  I also have a tendency to ramble. I do that here, too, but the beauty of written word is that you have the chance to go back and edit things before anyone actually has to endure it.  In real life, whatever falls out of my mouth is just out there, and then I can either just stand there with a dumb expression on my face, or I can try to dig myself back out of the awkward by cracking a joke.

  M-O-O-N, that spells - crap, wrong reference...

Extended Summer

Well... Turns out that my kids got an extra month of summer vacation because the rebuilding of the high school is *conveniently* still happening and the town we live in has a slight aversion to piling kids up in old abandoned buildings to fill the required amount of school days until it is finished.

Today's lesson:  Asbestos and Bloodyface.

This has thrown off my entire sense of time.  

It's not unusual for me to forget what day of the week it is in the summertime, considering that my girls aren't in school and are either visiting with their dad or hanging out with me on the days when I'm actually not working.  Working in retail, my "schedule" looks more like the pattern of lucid moments in the life of someone suffering from part-time insanity.  I'm not trying to be funny - that's actually how I would characterize my feelings about the time I actually get to spend with my family versus the time I spend hawking shoes to people I would painstakingly try to avoid in the real world.