Before I am in Paris!

Things you should know about me dear readers. I am completely OCD about packing. Not about anything else, but when I pack it is a sight to be seen. I know down to the ounce how much shampoo, conditioner, face soap, body wash, lotion, hair goop, perfume

when this is the graffiti in front of your house (or my house as the case may be)

that most of the guys I date are foreign, and generally not white. This guy, and all guys like him. All all guys who maybe aren’t like him but can “see his point”. And all guys who want to be like him. And all guys who have ever thought of being like him.

I’ll take over-educated Asians, Latin Americans and even some Europeans rather than come within a thousand feet of the “Angry White Guy”. Shit I’d become a celibate nun before coming within a thousand feet of this guy, and I don’t really believe in god.

Maybe they are angry white guys beause the women they used to get to subjugate have discovered that hot Asian guys are better hung than the stereotype implies, or that there really is something to the Latin lover thing. Hell, at this point even the mildest Canadian would be more interesting than Angry White Guy.

Via Jeff Fecke at Shakesville, a white guy with more sense than the writer of this stupid article and all the angry white guys he thinks are being ignored.

After yet another scary, awful home crisis (I’m not getting into it y’all- I’m really tired of being a charity case) I still managed to finish the little essay I was working on.

It’s been edited for grammar by my good friend Ms. J, the schoolteacher, and content by B!

It was submitted just a minute ago. Wish me luck. I am wayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy more nervous about this one than i was about the last one (prolly because last time I was in the middle of Effexor withdrawl and just keeping my wits about me left little room for nervousness.)