You can smell yourself. 
A person standing a foot or more away compliments your scent.
When you hug, the recipient of your affection smells like you for the rest of the day.
Knowing noses can identify your signature fragrance by your wafting aromatic trail.
Recently, I bought a sex toy online. It wasn’t a vibrator or a dildo. It was this weird spreader bondage contraption. Anyway, in case my little Midtown Meltdown indicated otherwise, I’m strong as fuck. I destroyed the bondage toy before my first orgasm. I literally tore the flimsy binding completely apart. The inner-rod detached from the larger outer rod. I snapped the chains in two. This bitch don’t play.
For a variety of reasons, I don’t return items very often even when I’m dissatisfied. However, I’m super pissed, stunned, and profoundly disappointed that this expensive, but crappy accouterment disintegrated at my first healthy tug. Shouldn’t a bondage toy effectively bind? Weak Sauce.
Stymied by my dilemma, I asked around to see what others thought was appropriate in regard to initiating a refund. Let me be crystal clear here: no bodily fluids touched the device. Indeed, I destroyed it before anyone climaxed or even felt much of a tickle. (By the way, even if the thing hadn’t broken, the spreader didn’t actually spread enough, so skip this amateur shit and get your favorite lesbian to build you a sturdy custom device from Home Depot.)
The overwhelming response from a sampling of trusted advisers was to indeed return the overpriced janky novelty to the allegedly reputable website that sold it to me. I packed it up piece by piece, making sure every broken part made it back into the box in some semblance of its original form and shipped it back to the sex toy graveyard. Now let’s see if the site actually refunds the cost of this crap. This junk was over $75 or I probably wouldn’t have bothered at all.
I’ve experienced significant loss and am close to others who have experienced major loss, and I still stutter for the right words to speak amidst a tragedy. When searching for the right words to say, remember these are not them…
I’m going to grieve, bitch.
But my suffering has only begun.
I know this is the most obvious and seemingly kind offering in a crisis, but the truly helpful don’t ask, they just do. Not all of us operate on that level of selflessness (myself included), but remember if you do offer help be prepared for the person to take you up on it. If they do, YOU MUST FOLLOW THROUGH.
No shit. We are biologically hardwired to perceive change as a threat. Of course you fear change. It isn’t an excuse for bad behavior.
To paraphrase Yoda: there is no try, only do.
Why does everybody have to do everything by gawd damn committee? Make a decision and execute.
To be completely honest my life is turned upside down right now. The moment in nature has ended. A major relationship has ended. The dream of a big project has ended. Some of my stuff is here. Some of my stuff is there. Then my dear laptop friend Joan Crawford passed on, and until her replacement arrives I am at the mercy of the kindness of friends to update you. No excuses. Just letting you know why the erratic post schedule in case your pussy has been hurting over it or whatever. I know some you bitches are fanatical readers and for that I ♥ you.
They say write what you know, and lately I’ve become a reluctant expert in moving. (Blanche, I know you feel me on this girl. You and Ryan are about the only two fools that move more than I do.) We discussed this topic before, but a few points are worth reiterating and a few worth adding.
You can never have too many boxes, especially smaller ones. I like a mix of free liquor or grocery store boxes and specialty boxes. For example, I purchase picture boxes properly sized to protect my art collection. Yeah bitch, I got an art collection. And what? Make sure that if you pack a big box that you can lift the big box.
Smart movers know that tape on a well-made tape gun is an absolute non-negotiable. You need a gun for everyone and a spare for when one of those fuckers misplaces theirs. Buy tape in bulk.
Start packing early. Kitchens, closets, and storage areas will take longer than you think. Leave extra time. When I rush, I make careless errors. When you rush a move, you can actually injure yourself. Wanna add a trip to the emergency room to an already stressful day? (Blanche’s elbow says amen.)
I tend to shy away from hiring moving companies, but one way or the other you are going to need some muscle. Just remember that no one will treat your things with the same care that you would, so keep an eye on folks lugging your possessions. Move your own electronics.
Use linens to cushion breakables. Watch how nicely those framed pictures slip inside a pillowcase. Socks hug drinking glasses.
Clearly mark the contents of your boxes. There will be a moment when you are surrounded by stacks of boxes at your new place when you are looking for something specific. Unpacking a bunch of boxes to find the scissors will drive you bananas.
Make a list. It may seem rather obvious what you are doing here – packing up and cleaning, but in a state of dishevelment a list provides direction and structure. Plus, everyone can work off a list, so you don’t have to constantly stop what you are doing to supervise others.
Realize that moving sucks. It kicks up a substantial amount of physical and psychological dirt. View it as an opportunity to shed the weight of unused possessions, but recognize that process can be painful and difficult. You will probably act like a twat, so budget some money to take your helpers out to a post-move dinner.
Would you rather have your car washed and gassed every week or receive a pair of diamond earrings?
Me = care for the car bitch. 
Would you rather couple with someone of means with no sex drive or a poor person who is always pawing at you?
Me = desire over dinero. 
Would you rather take an exotic trip with four people you barely know or stay home alone?
Me = I’d rather be domestically bored than internationally annoyed. 
Would you rather have 1 oz of premium chocolate or a whole bag of Hershey’s?
Me = It’s chocolate so I’ll take either in a pinch, but quality over quantity. 
Would you rather have a $100,000 home that is paid for or a $1,000,000 home with a mortgage? 
Me = free and clear. 
What’s with the quiet talkers? Am I just listening to my music too loud, or are bitches basically whispering? There’s a mediocre vegetarian restaurant nearby staffed by limp, greasy hipsters. The tribe Deschanel waitresses speak in such hushed and dulcet tones you’d think they were confessing they’ve contracted the latest hipster herp and not taking a routine drink order in a packed restaurant. 
I’m not fan of loud talkers. I will actually urge my companions to keep it down in public if they get overly amped, but I also think this whispering trend is just another way of lessening oneself. Would it kill a bitch to speak clearly and directly? 
Besides, making me respond “what?” to everything you say is tedious for us both. Own your power and speak up bitch. Dampening yourself to seem cool is pathetic and antiquated. 
When you bump me say, “excuse me.” When I politely say, “excuse me,” move your ass and let me through.
Don’t come stand directly in front of me, rudely block my view, and then say, “who is this playing?”
Don’t fucking sing along. 
Don’t shout. I could give a fuck about your favorite song in the set. 
Stop weaving through the crowd holding hands in an obnoxious twenty person chain.
Don’t push. I will shank you bitch.
On at least three separate occasions recently, businesses or proprietors have asked if I would post positive reviews about their service. One woman in particular retyped handwritten comments I left in a guest book and asked me to cut and paste them into a link she provided in her mildly badgering email.
So what do we think about this folks? Fair request or foul over-reach? I personally find it pathetic to pander for praise and would never do any such thing because I simply have too much foolish pride. However, I do want to acknowledge that we dwell in a time where online reviews can make or break you – especially as a small business. Moreover, I throw ample shine where it is duly deserved. 
I will likely capitulate and leave the requested review, but these pushy business owners may not necessarily love every word they read. It’s why this bitchy critical cunt generally keeps her sharp opinions safely confined to the four corners of this site. 