That Poor Meat-Peddling Bastard & The Evil Kat

Once again I am forced to wonder if I am the universe’s favorite plaything or whatnot.

What are the odds that when you are down in the depths of despair*, working too many hours, battling atrial tachycardia, and exhausted yet unable to sleep through the night, that you come home from work and manage to fall asleep on the couch only to be awoken by a meat delivery service trying to hawk their meat subscription service on you?

Apparently in my case, the chances are pretty fucking good.

Last week I was dozing in living room when I was roused by the doorbell ringing and the explosive barking of my dogs expressing their indignation that someone touched their doorbell. I slept-walked to the front window where I could see who was on the porch without them seeing me. I did not recognize the young man and for some reason–I’ll blame my sleep deprived brain–I decided to answer the door. This is seriously very unusual for me because I don’t open the door to strangers when I’m home alone, not because I’m scared that they’ll kill me but because I’m scared that they will bore me.

I opened the door and the dude took a few steps back as he was greeted by two dogs snarling with all of the fury they could muster from the fifteen pound frames.

“Can I help you?” I asked him.

meat team ad“Uh yeah, I’m from CM Meats (← not their real name) and we offer a discounted meat delivery service,” he told me adjusting his hat.

I blinked at him in confusion thinking that I must be have an hallucination from lack of sleep. “You’re… selling meat?”

“Yeah, you like saving money, right?” he asked revving up for his salesman schpiel.

“On meat?” I was still in disbelief. You would think that with the shit that I’ve experienced that a random guy selling meat wouldn’t be that much of a mind fuck and yet it was.

“Yeah, we sell a wide variety of steak, seafood, chicken and pork,” he recited.

And then the evil part of my brain woke up.

“How’s your sausage?” I asked him in a low voice.

“It’s great!” he said overflowing with enthusiasm at my apparent interest. “But we only sell it as part of our pork variety case so there’s a lot of meat in there.”

“I’m sure that I could handle any amount of meat that you were interested in…unloading,” I smiled.

“The case has got pork chops, spare ribs, loin steaks and sweet Italian and sage sausage,” he continued.

“I’ve had Italian sausage, but never sage sausage. I might have to try yours,” I replied. “Though I would prefer to try it before I buy it.”

He scratched his head. “Oh sorry, we don’t have any samples.”

“That’s okay, I’ll just have to take you at your word that your sausage is as amazing as you say.”

He whipped out his clipboard and clicked his pen to begin writing. “So are you interested in any beef or chicken?”

“No, I’m a vegetarian,” I told him.

His face clouded with confusion. “But the… It’s a meat variety case. Like pork chops.”

“I’ll confess that I have no interest in chops, but if I need to buy them to get your sausage then I’ll do it,” I said. “So will you be able to give me that delivery now?”

“I…have to put in the order,” he said still looking uncertain.

The guy was obviously pretty dense and I was running out of innuendos so I crossed my arms and screwed my face into a look of annoyance. “Don’t be a sausage tease. You come to my house hawking your sausage and now you won’t give it to me? Let me be clear, I want your sausage and I want it now!”

His jaw hung open in response and he just stared at me for a moment probably taking in my knotty hair that had escaped from its hair band, the dark circles under my eyes from no sleep and my pale, anemic face.

The guy’s eyes darted around looking for an escape from the nutty nympho and he began backing away. “Sss… sorry to bother you, ma’am,” he said then turned on his heel and bolted for the safety of his truck.

I gave a very theatrical shrug and then closed the door.

And no, I was unable to fall back to sleep so I feel no guilt WHATSOEVER at traumatizing the dude responsible for ruining my precious nap.

Jerkstore.

*Okay maybe it’s not that bad, but fellow “Anne of Green Gables” will appreciate the reference.

If You Have Ever Had a Guy or Girl Treat You Like Shit Then This One’s For You

busted, you know what you didSTORY TIEMZ!!

And FYI, a writer’s brain is never their own.  It’s owned by whatever tale has hijacked them.  I wasn’t planning on writing this story, but since it keeps cropping up as I’m trying to get other shit done, then I guess I’m birthing the rude little fuck.

***

As much of a badass bitch as I am, there is some part of me that still wants to believe the best of people. I really want to believe that people don’t set out to hurt each other on purpose, and that even if they do that they are still capable of true remorse. It’s because of this belief that I didn’t tell Phil to go fuck himself when he approached me as I was reading on the eliptical machine.

“Could I talk to you for a minute?” he asked nervously.

Phil and I had a “relationship” based on the understanding that we weren’t going to be introducing each other to our families or picking out china together any time soon.  He had broken up with a longtime girlfriend a week before we had met, and I was still dealing with an overzealous admirer stalker, so neither of us were in a place to start anything serious.  Still, our pseudo-relationship ended when he would break dates ten minutes before we were supposed to get together, when he would say that he was going to call and wouldn’t, but most of all, when he would treat me like he didn’t know who I was when we ran into each other at the gym where we both worked out. The kicker was that he would act like an inconsiderate asshole at the gym and then call me to get together as if everything was peachy. The last time that he had called, I did get together with him but it was only to make sure that he knew that I’d had enough.

“Sure.” I closed my book but didn’t break my stride on my machine.

He paused for a moment and then got on the machine next to me. “Okay, I guess I’ll try to keep up with you,” he said grinning.

I mentally rolled my eyes thinking that I wasn’t rising to that bait to begin a flirtaion.

“So how have you been?” Phil asked as he started on the machine without bothering to actually select a workout.

“Brilliant,” I replied.

When I didn’t elaborate, he cleared his throat to fill the silence.
“I just…well, I think I owe you an apology,” he said. “I know I was an asshole, and I’m sorry.  I…at the time I wasn’t right.  Up in here.” He tapped his temple.

Something about his apology actually sounded sincere, so I shook my head slightly. “Don’t worry about it. I just let it go. I’m not a psycho chick like that.”

“I know you’re not, and that’s why I’m sorry.”

The elliptical beeped that my workout had ended so I finally stopped and gave him my full attention. “Well, thank you for the apology.  I really do appreciate it,” I told him. And because of that side of me that tries to be nice, I asked him how he was doing and we made chit-chat for a few minutes before I took off.

Over the next few months, Phil and I would talk here and there when we saw each other at the gym, and while I wouldn’t call us friends, I’d say that we were at least friendly. It even turned out that his mother was one of my patients at the optometry office where I worked. She was a very nice woman who showed me pictures of the wedding that the entire family had attended the previous week. There were several pictures of Phil dancing it up and snuggling a very tan, very blonde woman. Phil’s mother went on to say how much she adored Phil’s girlfriend and how it looked like they would be the next couple to be married, and I can honestly say that I was happy for all parties involved.

About a week later, I was leaving the gym when I saw Phil pulling into a parking spot. I gave a wave and continued walking down the sidewalk toward my house. Phil gave a shout as he got out of his car and trotted after me. He smiled as he approached and looked me up and down.
Alarms immediately started going off in my head.

“Hey,” he said leaning close to me.
I stepped back. “Hey. I met your mother last week.”
“Really?  Where at?”
“At my office.  She’s really nice.”
“Yeah, she is.” He looked me up and down again which would have annoyed me if I didn’t find it a bit amusing that he was eyeing up someone who look like as much of a sweaty mess as I did.
“Uh huh. Well, take it easy.” I turned to leave, but he grabbed my arm.
He must have felt my muscles stiffen because he let go and laughed.
“Preparing to spar me again?”
“No, but you know that I don’t like to be grabbed.”
“Maybe you should remind me.” He stroked my cheek and leaned in.
I snapped my hand up against his chest to keep him from coming closer. My eyes narrowed in the bright sun and I knew that they were fading from brown to hazel green as they did whenever I was angry.
“I thought that you said that you were sorry,” I hissed.
He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”
“You had apologized for being an asshole before, so why are you doing it again?”
“I’m not. I just thought that you might want to hang out again.” He smiled. “We had a lot of fun, didn’t we?”
“Go have fun with your girlfriend,” I told him.
The briefest flicker of surprise registered in his blue eyes, and then it was replaced by indignant confusion.
“What girlfriend?”

I’d had enough. There was something that I had always suspected when we were seeing each other and it was time to find out. I snatched his keys from his hand and skipped back a step.

“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m going to ask you two questions. If you lie to me then I’m taking your keys and you can walk home. Savy, boyo?”
He rolled his eyes, “Um, no.  How about you give me my keys and just walk away?”
“Um no,” I mimicked his bored drawl. “The truth is the least that you own me, and I’ll have either that or your keys.
His face twisted in fury. “What the fuck? Give me me keys!”
He stepped toward me, and I immediately dropped into a fight stance with my left leg forward.
“Stay the fuck away from me, Phil, or I’ll make that last trouncing that I gave you when we sparred look like your birthday spanks.”
That halted him, for which I was very grateful for since I’d been injured since we had last spared and I wasn’t as fully confident that I could take him as I had been before.
“Now take three steps back and I promise to throw your keys back after you tell me what I want to know,” I told him.
He obliged and then crossed his arms and glared at me.
“You have a girlfriend, don’t you?” I asked him.
Phil glared even harder at me. “Fine,” he finally admitted, “Yeah, I do.”
“Very good. See how easy this is? And you had a girlfriend last year when we were fooling around, didn’t you?”
The shock on his face was evident, but he still began to protest. “We had broke up!”
I turned and began walking. “I guess I just got myself a new set of keys.”
“Fine, fine! Yes, I had a girlfriend back then, too!”
I stopped and turned back. “Is it the same one?”
“Does it matter?” Phil sneered.
“Not really. Whether you cheated on one woman or two you’re still an asshole.”
“What-the-fuck-ever,” he snorted. “Now give me my fucking keys.”
“Of course.”

Phil still stood back where I had told him to move: exactly in front of the storm drain. I threw the keys toward him in an underhanded arc that flew just below his outstretched hand. They clattered against the bars of the drain and then dropped with a resounding splash into the water below.
“What the fuck!” Phil screamed. “What the fucking fuck!”
“Gee, Phil I guess I owe you an apology.” I shook my head, “I’m a terrible throw.”
“Fuck you! You did that on purpose!” he snarled.
I shrugged, “Maybe I did.  But then I’m not feeling right-” I tapped my temple, “-up here.”

Fifty Shades of Kat

What could be a better way to start a month than with a Soft Core Friday post? And what a SCF post it is, too! My laptop started overheating from only the notes of everything I wanted to cover! (Or uncover since this is SCF).

First up on this SCF is the bidding adieu to Zombie Awareness Month with the ultimate bang, namely by my writing some zombie-inspired smut. When I had originally wrote this piece several months ago, it was more humour than erotica, so I did a massive rewrite over the past few days (despite a summer flu) and I came up with something that I actually kinda love.** Seriously the piece is not as whacko as you are probably thinking it is–because how could zombie smut possibly sound whacko?–and I think that it’s one of my better written pieces, so please check out “Love Bites”. Don’t be shy about leaving comments either because you can leave them anon, and I’d love your feedback.

And zombie smut was just the intro, peeps! Now onto the post!

fanfic sex fail, fan fictionToday’s SCF post comes courtesy of those “Fifty Shades of Grey” books. Bloody fucking hell I am so fucking sick of hearing about these books! While I am admittedly more likely to disdain anything promoted by The Hype Monster, the reason these books make me so angry that I see fifty shades of red is because they are so fucking poorly written. They originated as fan fiction. As “Twilight” fan fiction. Twilight. Fan. Fiction. And the writer is making millions. Kill me now. The only thing that I can conclude is that people are really starving for BDSM stories, and since I’m all about being helpful, I’m going to provide the world with a little ditty about the topic from my own experiences. Off we go then.

I’d met my former shagbuddy while sparring so it wasn’t surprising that our sex always had a wrestle-y, competition for dominance to it.

“You are a bad girl and you should be tied up during sex,” he had told me one time while pinning my hands down.

I rolled my eyes, “You couldn’t tie a knot that would hold me, so I’ll pass.”

“Scared?” he was obviously trying to goad me, but in this case it wouldn’t work.

“No, I know how my brain works and the entire time I would be more annoyed that I was supposed to be restrained by a pathetic knot. Get some handcuffs and I’m your huckleberry.”

We continued our pillow play, and I thought that we were done with the subject until we were in the throws of the main course and he suddenly told me to hit him.

I ignored the first request, but when he barked at me again to hit him, I gave him a hard pat to the side of his face just to shut him up.

“You call that a slap? You hit like a fucking girl! I said to hit me!”

Now, there are a few phases that you never want to say to me, at least when you are within my reach. Number one, “I drank the last cup of coffee.” Number two, “I erased all of the music from your iPod and replaced it with Justin Bieber, Miley Cyrus and the best of Glee.” And three, “You hit like a girl.” Furthermore, none of these should be followed by an invitation for me to hit you. Because chances are that I will. (I really love my coffee.)

In this particular case I drew my hand back and I nailed that fucker with a slap that would have made the most jaded pimp weep with pride.

He didn’t ask me to hit him again.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I broke my hand.
(No, not really, but I find the idea is so hilarious that I almost wish that was true.)

No the real moral of this story is that you don’t provoke a trained fighter to hit you as hard as they fancy. To Shaggy’s credit, he at least laughed about it after we were finished.

That story probably didn’t titillate the way that you were expecting, so to make up for it, I’ll conclude today’s Soft Core Friday post with the next member of the sexy Writes Like a Slut crew. I purposely wanted to make sure that I posted her pic on a SCF since she is the originator of the idea. I give you the hotness that is my darling Random Girl from Random Girl Blogs.

writes like a slut shirt

Have a kickass weekend, my dear naughty ones! Don’t do anything that I wouldn’t do–which means that you have free reign to do pretty much anything. And if you do, please blog about it since I’m sloooowly catching up on my roll.