Petit Mort on Halloween

Dear Heartless,

You didn't listen to me, did you? I give you great advice and you don't take it! You could've have easily locked the key in a block of ice. I know you: you have a hairdryer. You could have escaped your own chaste prison. (Trust me, a boy licking the steel edges of your belt would have vaporized that ice block in seconds - yum.) But I guess you're more glass princess than iron maiden, now aren't you?

May I recommend belladonna "soothe" your next issue?

Dilated pupils, I've heard, are considered attractive on women. Something about our, ahem, "souls" being wide open. I wonder what that's all about? I just read an article that suggested men prefer women who are quiet. Open? Closed? Which way to go, my heartless f(r)iend?

As you know, I come from a long line of witches and hags, and I recommend belladonna to kill - I mean quell - what ails you. Trust me, we've been using it for years to look good, feel funky fresh, and drop dead weight.

So what if your vision's a little blurry and your heart rate increases? You're used to that. Administer it as a tea or offer it up raw: you can produce vivid hallucinations, described by many as a 'living dream'.

Isn't that what you really want, my dear belladonna? A living dream? Something you awaken into? Isn't that worth the threat of a petit morte?

Iron Maiden

I AM THE BEST FRIEND EVER! I GIVE INCREDIBLY PRACTICAL ADVICE ON LOVE AND RELATIONSHIPS.

BEHOLD!

MY LATEST AND GREATEST NUGGET OF ADVICE:

Dear "Heartless",

There are these neat belts...they have a metal pad that goes in between your legs, and a lock in front of your pussy. If you want to remain faithful to _________, I would recommend you buy one, lock yourself into it, and give him the key. I know they sound a little old fashioned, but they do the trick.

I say, why bother working through those pesky emotional ties, when there's a simple material solution? Free yourself from feelings. "Down with emotional ties, up with material bonds."

You bestest singlest friend,
Violet

(p.s. The ghetto fable is a'comin' and I foresee an iron maiden and a glass princess in the story. Hmmm. Maybe they should have a cat fight.)

Wolf Eyes versus Shark Tooth

Disco Naps are out: Ghetto Naps are in.

While lazing about on the opened futon couch, laughing at the antics of the Desparate Housewives, eating cookies off of our bellies and sucking back beers (who knew prone breasts make a convenient beer holder?), Coco Channel - my charming friend and cohort in the way of the ghetto nap - suggested that I should beware of Wolf Eyes.

She was contemplating the mess we had stepped into the previous evening.

"Nice. Coco," I replied, "You have such a way with words."

I furiously stuffed an olive in my mouth while I waited out the hideous flashback to the previous night. I muse out loud: "Why would Wolf Eyes - someone who never wanted to see me again (because it hurts too much) - spend an evening slobbering all over my chest, repeating the self-help mantra: "I'm okay, you're okay"?

Coco purrs, "Because he's pissing on his territory: 'If I can't have you, no one else can', hissss".

"Oh lord, I'm not even a housewife." And waiving my beer around in the air like a lefty pamplet, I announce in my throaty, Deitrich voice, "This kind of drama should remain in the box, daahhlink."

I wipe the beer spittle off my chest with the duvet. "Maybe I should call this the summer of 'Beware of Wolf Eyes and The Shark Tooth'? I'll make it a bitch fable on the blog."

Coco huffed and chortled, "He just kept looking at you with wolf eyes, waiting to devour." And swinging her head toward me without disrupting the obnoxious platter of heathenry precariously balanced on her chest, she hissed at me with mad eyes and said prophetically: "Beware the Wolf Eyes. Don't get trapped under his spell".

Stay tuned for the charming ghetto bedtime story: "Beware of Wolf Eyes and the Shark Tooth".... Trust me, it's required ghetto bitch reading.

Won the competition, lost the boy

Yup. I am the only ghettobitch left standing. Therefore I am the winner. And I must confess: I WANT TO GIVE MY CROWN BACK.

Please!?! Can I give it back. Let the runner up don the tiara of single-tude. It sucks being single in fall and winter. Summer is ghetto bitch time, and I've had fun watching all my challengers head toward the love lights like bunnies on the road home from Burning Man.

Ah summer: girl bitch, boy bitch, it didn't matter, they all fell, and I cackled with schmee glee. Two of my main competitors actually started dating each other. I'd like to think that I manipulated them for competitive edge, but the femme bitch actually manipulated me (willingly) in order to date the boy bitch. Talk about a mental game.

But now? It's gloomy, moist and melodic. I desire a boy with whom to wear matching sweaters, and sip mugs of hot cocoa laced with Baileys, while snuggling up all cosy-like next to the fire — Falcon Crest lovin'.

Tequila face

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Originally uploaded by Oksana1000.

No reason, just love the compadres of summer.