Adjective: Having qualities or appearances traditionally associated with men, esp. strength and aggressiveness.

As much as I play the role of independent single lady, I cannot hide the fact that when it comes to relationships I prefer being the submissive. Of course I expect the affairs to be fifty fifty, however I want a man who’s going to wear the pants in the game. Unfortunately this is not easy to find nowadays. We live in a world of metro sexuality; and while I appreciate the necessary male grooming, I’m seriously finding it difficult to tell the difference between gay and straight. Although I do welcome a man who takes pride in his appearance, I don’t want to date someone who has a better eyebrow shape than I do. What happened to being a little rough around the edges?

Far more important than the exterior is what happened to your balls? Men have become so sensitive in fear of losing their woman that they may as well be a pussy. Females have reversed the roles and are now the ones calling the shots. I’m all for powerful women, but I can’t possibly condone taking away a man’s masculinity. I want a man to challenge my thoughts, not agree with everything I say.

I look at guys who were once upon a time my idea of an ideal man; I see them attached to the shortest leash ever, obeying every command...
I cringe and say a prayer for their manhood; may it rest in peace.



Birthday Special.

Today is my twenty-ninth birthday. 
All week I've refused to reference my age, but in reality I'm not afraid
of the number. What I fear is how fast time passes. I'm not afraid that I 
am almost thirty and still single, what scares me is it feels as though 
just yesterday I was twenty-one. This year I vow to appreciate time as much 
as possible. To not focus on the past or the future, but to be grateful in 
the moment. If you are an avid reader, you know my obsession with horoscopes.
This year is said to be a great one for me so I can't help but be excited...
More details to come, now it's time to celebrate xo
Sent from my iPhone 



Exclamation: A French word for “shit”.

That moment when you wake up Sunday morning with a slight (or major depending on the night before) headache, dry mouth and extreme thirst, as if you just woke up from a desert nap. You stumble for your phone to determine if you’ve slept long enough to survive the day and as your eyes adjust to the text message replies from those so called males you swore you would never drunk text again, you immediately vow to give up alcohol.
The torrential downside to being drunk and single is exactly that. You’re drunk and single. The result is often a feeling of extreme hate towards your cell phone for allowing last night’s messages to go through, mixed with a hangover. The hate is escalated when the recipient never responded the night before (while all your inhibitions were lost) leaving you now with a post drunk message situation to deal with. The hate sky rockets when you realize you have multiple incidents to repair. My initial reaction is to smother my face with my pillow willing reality away; however I’ve concluded that ignoring the situation and pretending like it never occurred works quite well.

So that will be the end of this discussion.
You know it's bad when it begins and ends with...



Noun: An act of revenge or retaliation.

Only twice in my life have I received birthday gifts from the opposite sex, not including my father of course. The initial occurrence was the first summer, and first birthday celebration, with my ex boyfriend. He surprised me the evening of my birthday party with a dress I had been eyeing earlier in the week. At the time I was head over heels for this boy and consequently it became the best gift ever.
The second (and last) occasion, which topped the boyfriend gift by far, was four years ago; the giver was the same one who declined my invite back in May (note: I impulsively texted him this week and never received a reply).  You could say I was going through a quarter-life crisis, and his present was one of the most thoughtful ones I have yet to receive. I suppose all I spoke about at the time was running away to Paris; although I had never visited Europe then, I had this infatuation with Paris and leaving my life behind. One night, after work, he escorted me to his car where he shyly presented me with a book. If you know me at all, you will know that I have a deep love for books and anything on paper. Not only did he give me a book, but he had hand-written a note before the first chapter begun:
 “I sort of gathered that this 25th of yours was showing up quite uninvited, yet you have yet to give any sufficient reasons why! I really don’t know what more you want though, honestly. You’re smart, beautiful, sociable, great to talk to, the list honestly goes on and on. The truth is, time brings knowledge, don’t fear it, embrace it.
I hope this book finds you well, I really do, it’s easily one of my favourites. I guess I like it because its about everything I don’t have the guts to do.
After you get past all the ridiculous ideas you have of growing “old”, try to have an enjoyable weekend! Remember, you’re the top of the tops and your cool enough to have my mind a whirl!”

He then gave me a beautiful framed picture of the Eiffel Tower.
If I only I knew then what I know now, and if only I could go back in time; I’d kiss him right then and there.



Noun: A combination of statements, ideas, or features of a situation that are opposed to one another.

My mind is in a constant argument with itself; single or relationship? I fear that I have been brainwashed into believing that when you embark into a relationship your freedom disappears. Where this correlation came from I’m unsure; and although I know it is incorrect, somewhere in the back of my head lays panic.
I can’t decide if I want to continue working hard to attain a great career; splurge on expensive clothes to acquire the perfect wardrobe; save all my money to buy a dream home; find a nice man to settle down with while buying an overly expensive French bulldog before getting married and having a baby (did I just say baby?! I may have given myself a minor heart attack right there).
Or do I live day by day doing whatever makes me happy, working only to make money to spend; not planning for any future; everything going towards travel and life long souvenirs of meaningful tattoos.

What I require right now is a knight in shining armor to show up (preferably from a European country so I can inherit a permanent vacation spot) to assist in discovering a happy medium.