 | Don’t Call Me “Baby”Wednesday, July 28th, 2010 |
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… or else.
I dunno. I guess
… well, it’s creepy. It’s smarmy-creepy when "Hey, baby" are
Because here’s what happened (and I’m always right about these things, so don’t even attempt a protest): You found yourself with your dick in your hand. Your dick wanted a P U S S Y. Not a woman, not Angela St. Lawrence or even a girl by any other name. You just wanted a PUSSY.
(Which begs the question: Would a pussy by any other name still smell as sweet?)
Regardless, we both know that you and your selfish prick could care less if you were talking to Angela, Mindy or Theresa. You didn’t know my name, because you didn’t care who I was as long as I possessed a vagina. In other words, in this particular instance (‘cuz certainly you don’t operate this way in your everyday life; say it isn’t so, dear man), you were actually using "baby" as a pronoun.
And not a pronoun as in "you." I wasn’t me to you. I was an it. Calling me baby was the equivalent to calling me IT. So guess what?
Baby = It = Pussy = No Phone Sex for You from Me
Yanno … You really should be more of a savvy shopper when it comes to calling a Phone Sex Operator, because there are many men who are so talented at changing there voices that they actually take calls — usually from
And yes, you pissed me off and that is why I ever-so-abruptly hung up on you. Call me cranky, call me a bitch, call me too demanding. I don’t care. FYI, you’ve also been permanently blocked so I never have to hear your slimy voice again.
So to HDB, jellyfish, Pervert Savant, Mr. Smith, et al: Okay, so I wasn’t on my best behavior today. Not so charming, not so sweet, not so tolerant. But, as you fellows and most of my readers and/or callers know, I’ve recently moved. It’s been hectic and stressful and energy-depleting. A girl can only take so much, dontcha know?
And, really now … is it so wrong to expect at least a sentient being on the other end of the phone when I pick up? Should I or any girl be subjected to the guttural demands (because with that intro, you know they were coming) of loutish clochards operating on three brain cells at best?
Tell me I am wrong, and I’ll try to do better the next time. Honest Injun. *fingers crossed*
In the meantime …
Well, men really can be damnably dumb at times. From my sister:
Three mischievous old Grannies were sitting on a bench outside a nursing home when an Old Grandpa walked by. Grandma One yelled out, "We bet we can tell exactly how old you are."
Grandma Two answered back, "We’re not crazy and we can prove it. Just drop your pants and under shorts and we will tell you your exact age."
Embarrassed just a little, but eager to prove
"I don’t know what you old bats are laughing at," said the Old Grandpa, stopping to catch his breath, "you still don’t know how old I am."
Then all three Grandmas all piped up and said, "You’re 87 years old."
Standing with his pants down around his ankles,
Slapping their knees and grinning from ear to ear,
"We were at your birthday party yesterday!"
BTW … been super busy with this move. Unpacking, shopping, decorating, etc. I will be blogging and taking calls most days, now that things are starting to come together. We’ve got some dirty stuff, some interesting news and a whole bunch of mischief waiting just around the corner. So stick around, get comfortable, loosen your tie or drop your drawers or pop some popcorn. Hopefully it will be a very bumpy ride.
with much affection, Angela
(photo credit: The Pirata)
