All the things I'm thinking

It's 1:27am and I'm sitting naked in my dorm room, writing on this blog because I want to spill the bitchiness that is seething inside me. This is where I'm free from judgment, for the most part, and this is where I'm safe. Tonight when I got off work at midnight, I came back to my room, pondering what I should wear tomorrow for Thanksgiving. I tried on a few outfits, then lay down on my bed, nude as I caressed my body. I thought of you. I thought of you as I dipped my fingers inside myself and couldn't believe that you turned this down. I slid my wet fingers out of me and turned them as they glistened in the light, shining with my juices. I don't care if it's crude, if it's arrogant, if it offends you. I want you to be sorry. Not sorry for treating me like a bitch, but sorry that you missed out on me.

Did I tell you that I saw what she looked like? It's a little insulting to think that you chose her over me. I hope she has an amazing personality. I judged her, I picked apart her flaws and compared them to my own. She has a muffin-top, a bad smile, no hips, and bushy eyebrows. She's thinner than I am, it's true, but if you'd rather have that than me, so be it. Call me shallow. Call me callous. Call me bitter and judgmental. But, for your sake, I hope you turn the lights out on this one.

Do you believe me when I say I'm a little giggly about it? About how I wasted my time and my excellent oral skills on a chump like you? Can you hear me slap myself square in the forehead for ever thinking that I wasn't good enough? I played your game, little boy, wait, scratch that, I got sucked into your game through my own stupidity, I'll admit it.

In awhile, maybe not soon, maybe not for months or a year, you'll have a thought that crosses your mind about me. Maybe it'll be when and if another girl is going down on you and you'll compare her to me. Will it make you sad? Will you regret it and wonder what I'm doing and who I'm doing it with?

All these things I'm thinking, but not saying to you. I wrote some of them out in an away message that I know you would see. I erased them, thinking that I shouldn't judge you or your choices, but I can here. I wanted to say in one message that I'm "moving on to bigger and better things...emphasis on the bigger...well, actually emphasis on the better, too," but I didn't say that. Would you know I was talking about you and your warped sense of size? Did a girl lie to you and tell you that you had a monster cock? Did you not get my hint when I made you cum in a matter of a few minutes that you weren't impressive?

I would say best of luck to you, but I really don't wish it upon you. I honestly don't think you deserve it. I'd be lying if I said I was happy for you because I'm not. You'll never hear me say these words to you because it's not worth my energy to contact you, nor would it do any good to tell you how big of a dickbite you are.

Here I am and I have a smile on with a fuck you attitude, because I'm a cunt, and because I can.

I need it.

Would it be outrageous to ask my parents for a significant amount of money, say $200?.....to buy lingerie?? I really want this corset that I saw at Frederick's of Hollywood. It's not $200, but I also liked these great pair of fuck me pumps that just scream for me to buy them. I also want another vibrator. Or at least better batteries for the one I have now. So, add all those up, plus gas/shipping money, we're probably close to $200. I'm not quite sure how I'd ask for $200 though, that's the problem. I blame my predicament on the economy. I applied to seven places and haven't been hired at any. This is the cause of my woes. When I get back to school, I'll go back to my old job, but I really need that new vibrator. Or at least new batteries. After using a vibrator, it just isn't as satisfying if you have to do it manually. Once again, this wouldn't be a problem if Dumbass (see previous posts) would just get over himself and fuck me already. I'm constantly super wet and I feel like my pussy is starting to turn into a bitch because she's not getting any. I mean, it's not like I blame her. She deserves to get worshiped and love and pleasured and tongued, and ......and you see what I mean. Sometimes I want to wear a sign on my head that says "Will fuck clean, decent, STD free human male." Because I would. And there's really no mistaking that blatant statement is there?

So, I will end this post, unsatisfied and without money to buy sexual necessities.

I'm a cunt and I love it.

Please don't run away scared because you saw the worst of the famous four lettered words. Being a cunt is an amazing thing. I love being a cunt. Being a cunt is fun. Being a cunt is better than being a bitch, a whore, a skank, etc etc. Being a cunt is powerful, sexy, fun, and amusing. Call me a cunt and I'll give you a high five and a "fuck yes!" Why? Because I know I'm a cunt and I'm fucking proud of it, bitches. Being a cunt doesn't necessarily mean that one is a foul-mouthed, incoherent, muffin-topped, junior high drop out. No, no, no, darling. Being a cunt is about embracing yourself and not apologizing for it. It's about having quadruple the amount of sexuality of a normal woman and an equal amount of humor, and a certain hmmm in your recipe that makes people notice you, and more importantly, remember you.
In fact, the use of the word cunt does not have to be used in a derogatory way at all. Cunt is a beautiful thing. People come from cunts (well, it's true) and birth is always an amazing thing, isn't it? And please tell me what man does not get instantly hard when he hears a woman let out a throaty moan of, "pound my cunt!"? It's a very powerful word. It invokes power in itself, as well as raw sexual aggression, passion, (even if used negatively) and emotion. Being a cunt is like being the best hard liquor on the market; smooth, classic, enjoyable, and capable of making a person have the greatest time of their life. So please, embrace the inner cunt in yourself and try it on and sashay around in your house wearing only your most cunt appropriate outfit and feel the power of being unapologetically a cunt.

I manifested my...manifesto.

I'm not going to go into a spiel about this being my first entry on my first blog, because it'll become very apparent in the near future that I have no experience with blogging. As you can tell from the name of my blog, I'm not a nice girl. I'm not particularly mean (intentionally-be forewarned) but I am just not nice. I've tried to be nice, and sometimes it has worked, but it has also left a little hole inside my mean old soul that just kept nagging at me. So, I've embraced my inner meanness to show the world that it's okay to be mean if it's what you feel. Now, let's not get into a war of definitions via blogging/bloggers/blogs/bloglgobglogble. I'm not outwardly mean in the sense that I kick 10 year old boys in the nuts just for shits and giggles, I'm about two pennies short of being that perverse.

I am the type of person who says what everyone else is thinking but doesn't want to say for fear of getting their ass kicked or being looked down upon. So far, I have yet to get my ass kicked. As for being looked down upon, well that's another story. A lot of times my meanness is interpreted as humor, which I appreciate because in all honesty, that is the purpose of my shouting out random things when I have the urge to. No, I don't have Tourettes Syndrome, I've checked, but thank you for your concern. This blog will hopefully amuse others as well as keep me sane so that I don't become a 34 year old coke head who pushes a cart of cans around a Jewel-Osco parking lot yelling about the inevitable apocalypse.