I’m not the right person to ask

… pretty much any relationship question, really.

Kazander and I were in the living room.  I was reading and he was re-watching an old show he likes, Sons of Anarchy (possible minor spoilers ahead, if you care about that sort of thing).  He was watching the scene in which Jax is cheating on Tara with a porn star.  Tara walks in to the clubhouse, and asks Jax’s best friend, Opie, if Jax is there.  Opie lies and tells Tara that Jax isn’t there.  So Tara walks into the back, to find Jax and the girl in bed together.

Kazander paused the show, turned to me, and said, “Would you be mad?  If you were Tara, I mean?”

“If you cheated on me?  Uh, yeah.”

“No, would you be mad at Opie?”

“Of course I would.  He lied.”

“But that’s been his best friend basically since birth.”

“I don’t care.  I’d be done with him.”

“So you’d forgive me, but be mad at him?”

“I never said I’d forgive you.”

“Assuming you did.  Assuming you’d forgive me, would you forgive him?”

“I don’t think I’m the right person to ask.”

“Well, let’s use me and Red.  Red is one of my best friends, and you two are cool.  If Red lied to protect me, would you forgive him?”

“No.”

“That’s something I never understood about women.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’d forgive me, but you’d hold it against him?”

I laughed.  “I wouldn’t forgive you.”

He paused.  “You wouldn’t?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You wouldn’t forgive me?”

I put my book down and turned to face him.  “I have let you fuck another woman in my bed.  More than once.  And I’ll let you do it again.  Just as I would with Steel and Sounder, and anyone else I own.  If, after I let you do that, you still need to go behind my back and cheat on me, there are more problems in our relationship than can be fixed.”

He paused again.  “Yeah, that’s a good point.  You’re not the right one to ask.”

I’m polyamorous, y’all.  I have no problem with any of my subs playing with others.  I don’t even mind them having other romantic relationships, under the right circumstances (such as Kazander and his ex-girlfriend).  At the end of the day, I know they’re mine, and I know they love me, just as they know I love them.

But honesty is the most important thing.  And to me, it’s the difference between polyamory and cheating.  If you want to go fuck a porn star, go fuck her.  Knock yourself out.  Have fun.  But the moment you try to hide it from me, you cross a line that can’t be uncrossed.

More than once, Kazander has asked me questions like this, and then realized I’m the wrong person to ask.  When it comes to relationships, I’m an easy person to figure out.  Don’t lie to me.  Don’t hide from me.  And I won’t lie or hide from you.

I’m not perfect.

Also, while I’m obnoxiously conceited and completely, totally in love with myself, I can also admit my shortcomings.  A great portion on my self-adoration comes from having come to terms with both the good and bad parts of myself.

And I don’t want my readers to get a false-ish idea of who I am, so I’ve decided to put together a list of my faults/weaknesses that drive the people around me nuts.

  1.  I’m generally quiet and reserved in unfamiliar situations, which makes me come across as snobby.  I usually don’t approach people, even if I’m interested.  If you’re interested, you’ve got to show me why you’re worth my time.  You’ve got to be the one to approach me.
  2. When with people I’m comfortable with, I talk.  A lot.  Y’all think I ramble here?  You don’t know me in person.
  3. I argue.  A lot.  And I’m damn good at it.  I never, ever, ever shy away from a debate, and I will argue a point I don’t even agree with just to get a better idea for how people think.  I love talking religion and politics, with a caveat: only with people who are capable of discussing sensitive topics without becoming demeaning or insulting.  Because…
  4. I am occasionally known to sink down to someone’s level if they’re being an ass.  You want to be petty, demeaning, insulting, and passive-aggressive?  Oh honey, I see your cute attempt and raise you one public humiliation.  I can and will beat you at your own game.
  5. It takes a fucking lot to piss me off, but when I lose my temper, I generally lose all self control.  That’s obviously why I keep my anger in check and don’t allow myself to lose my temper.
  6. It takes a lot to get me to my breaking point, but once I’m “done” with someone, there are no second chances.  They’re pretty much dead to me.  There have been two exceptions (one was because my refusal to acknowledge the person was putting Kazander in a very awkward position, so I went against my gut and gave the person a second chance), and both reminded me why I was done with them in the first place.
  7. I don’t like being told I can’t do something, and I will bury myself with my own shovel to prove someone wrong. That’s how I got into bouldering, actually.  During a bonfire party thing that I drove my sister to (I think I was 19-ish), some of the kids were trying to climb up this cliff thing, taller than a one-story house, but not as tall as a two-story house, I don’t think.  Most kids weren’t getting more than halfway up.  One or two got all the way up.  One of my sister’s friends saw me watching and asked what I thought.  I shrugged and said it looked like fun.  He scoffed.  I don’t remember exactly what he said, but it was something about me not being able to do it.  So I did it.  And I made it all the way to the top.  And I ended up re-injuring my shoulder in the process.  But a little pain never hurt anyone, and I didn’t let it stop me from making it to the top.
  8. I overuse the word “literally.”  Although, to be fair, I actually use it when I mean “literally.”  Nothing is more annoying than when people use “literally” when they mean “figuratively.”  You did not literally shit a brick.  Shut the fuck up.  Oh, but that reminds me….
  9. I’m a grammar Nazi.  Like, a big one.  Especially in written arguments (oh, I’ll get to that).  Although I do believe I’m justified.  In written communication, it’s kind of important.  Missing a word, or using the wrong form of a word, or misspelling a word for a similar word (one example that immediately comes to mind is misspelling “angel” as “angle”), can potentially change what the text is conveying.  It’s a big fucking deal.  Use proper grammar.  If you’re not sure, fucking Google it.
  10. I said before that I like to argue, and I often take that a step further (especially if I’m bored) and engage in arguments over the internet.  I don’t lose, because I don’t join arguments that I can’t win, and it’s entertaining to see how different people react to realizing they’ve lost.
  11. I don’t start drama, but I damn sure don’t shy away from it.  Or confrontation.  I’m not afraid to get in an argument or fight with anyone.
  12. I’m a tad bit impulsive.  I’m known to make some pretty significant impulsive decisions, and more than once, I’ve made huge, life-altering impulsive decisions on a whim.  I don’t regret a single one of those decisions, by the way.  I’ve learned long ago to trust my instincts.  They don’t steer me wrong.
  13. I completely suck at organization.  Growing up with hoarder parents, it was never a skill we learned.  In the past, I’ve countered this suckiness by just not having a lot of stuff, and leading a minimalist lifestyle.  But now I live with Hoarder 1 and Hoarder 2, that’s a lot harder to do.  And while my house is clean, you can tell that I’m just not great at organizing this kind of volume of shit.  I have literally smuggled out trash bags full of broken toys or electronics while they were sleeping.
  14. I’m forgetful as fuck.  This is a relatively new thing.  It started when I was pregnant (pregnancy brain is actually a thing) and just never went away.  I forget shit all the time.  I forget to reply to texts or emails, I forget to return phone calls, I forget to do things I need to do, all kinds of stuff.  It’s as frustrating to me as it is to the people around me.
  15. I need time to myself on a regular basis.  At least a few hours every few days.  If I don’t get that time, I start to get irritable.  This is part of the reason why I often stay up til 4 or 5 in the morning.
  16. I can be lazy.  Sometimes, I can be really lazy.  It goes in cycles.  Every few months or so, I’ll just have a couple of weeks (it’s usually two, occasionally three.  The only times it’s ever lasted longer have been when I’ve been struggling with depression) where I don’t want to do shit.  I do the bare minimum with pretty much everything.
  17. I often forget to eat.  Which isn’t a fault, necessarily, but I’m a raging, psychotic bitch when I haven’t eaten for awhile.  After awhile, I’m pretty good at noticing it and saying to myself, “Hey, I’m being kind of a psychotic bitch.  Why is that?  Oh, I haven’t eaten anything in the last 10 hours, except for like 4 cups of coffee.  Yeah, maybe I need a Snickers or some shit.”
  18. Occasionally, if I don’t get my way, my inner spoiled child comes out.  In my defense, this is a holdover from a time when the only kind of affection I got was having money thrown at me, but I’m an adult now and I’ve been working on that.  Most of the time, I’m good.  But every so often, I slip up.  The good news is that it usually doesn’t take long for me to realize I’m doing it, and I’ll stop and apologize.  But that’s gotten on Kazander’s nerves more than once.
  19. I’m not great with emotional openness.  Sure, I’m open here, but in real life, I can be pretty hard to read.  I don’t really do it on purpose, and I will go out of my way to be open and transparent with my boys.  I don’t like games or beating around the bush, and I never want them to be made to guess what I’m thinking or where they stand.
  20. I’m emotionally constipated. I have the habit of not asking for help when I need it.  Somewhere along the line, I got the insane idea that, to be strong, you couldn’t let anyone help you.  It’s a stupid idea, but by the time I realized just how stupid it is, it had already become kind of a big part of my personality. And it’s still something I struggle a lot with. And it’s knocked me on my ass more than once.  When you’re dealing with so much, the stress starts making your body literally shut down, and you end up being hospitalized, you probably should’ve asked for help a long time ago, and you’re a fucking idiot, and your idiocy cost you a couple thousand dollars (and no, I haven’t completely learned my lesson yet). I don’t deal with self doubt or insecurity well, so it’s rare that I will be willing to acknowledge it. And then add the guilt of thinking, “Am I doing the other person any favors by letting them see the extent of my psychosis?”  And talking about it gets a lot harder. I have been known to begin conversations in which I plan to ask for help, but any perceived  (or imagined) reluctance to listen will immediately make me shut down again.  What’s helped has been thinking of the times when friends or loved ones have had something bothering them, and how badly I’ve wanted to help them.  If it were anyone else asking for help, I would urge them to talk to me, to vent, to rant, to cry or yell or whatever they needed to do.  So my own reluctance to do exactly that makes me a hypocrite.  It’s the one major personality flaw that’s still lingering.  And I’m not doing myself or the people around me any favors by keeping it all inside (someone ask Kazander how much he loves this trait, and the problems my emotional constipation has caused).  It has flat out ended more than one relationship, and it’s one of the contributing factors that led to my marriage almost ending.  So it’s something I’m working on. I saved it for last because it’s the thing I currently like the least about myself, and it’s the thing I struggle with the most.  It’ll take time, but I’ve already conquered all my other demons. I’ll conquer this one, too.  Vincit qui se vincit.  Imperare sibi maximum imperium est.  He conquers, who conquers himself.  To rule yourself is the ultimate power.

How not to piss Jen off while driving.

So my regular followers (and anyone who has known me for more than a few days) know that I’m kind of a car junkie.

Well, a fast-car junkie, anyway.

 

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This car still makes me wet, btw.

I like to drive fast.  And I like to drive aggressively.

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But I live in Vegas, where we have traffic.  And those pesky laws.

And a lot of really, really stupid people.  Who don’t know how to drive.  And no, I’m not talking about driving in snow or anything like that.  Obviously people who live here, and didn’t move from Alaska or Maine or some shit, don’t know how to drive in snow (although someone remind me, I have a hilarious story about the first time I ever drove in snow.  I was 23-ish).

But people irritate the fuck out of me.  And yes, dear reader, chances are, you have fallen into the category of stupid drivers who irritate the fuck out of me.  Because the number of people who truly understand the shit you really should understand before operating a 4,000-pound pile of metal and gasoline is terrifyingly small.

So what are the things you should understand?

We’ll start with the big one, the one that influences every other thing.

1. Recognize that your car is a deadly fucking weapon.

How deadly?  I’m glad you asked.

They are literally the deadliest weapon known to mankind.

Don’t believe me?  Let’s look at some facts.  There are 253 million cars on the road in the US.  Comparatively, since this is a current hot-button issue, there are 300 million guns in the US.

50 million more guns than cars.

There are 50 million fewer cars than there are objects created and designed for the exclusive purpose of harming or killing something or someone.

Of making something alive no longer alive.

Sounds super scary, huh?

How-mother-fucking-ever….

In 2015, 13,471-ish (some sources state that number, others state a number slightly lower, but still above 13k) people were killed by guns.  Scary, right?  Like, that’s the entire population of some towns.

Super terrifying.

Except that 38-fucking-thousand people died in automobile accidents in 2015.

And serious injuries? 4.4 million Americans were seriously injured by cars in the 12 months that comprised 2015.

4.4 million.  Just FYI, the entire population of the Las Vegas valley (including Las Vegas, North Las Vegas, Henderson, and all of the areas within the county) is 2 million and change.

M’kay, so take the entire population of everyone who lives in this valley, double it, and you’ll almost reach the number of people seriously injured (as in requiring hospital care or sustaining life-long injuries) by cars.

Wanna know how many Americans were injured by guns?  Quick, wanna take a guess?  Come on, throw a number out there.  See if you’re right.

Did you guess a million people?  3 million less than cars?

If so, you’re wrong.  By a lot.

27,025.  Nope, not millions.  Twenty-seven thousand, twenty-five.  More people actually lost their lives in car accidents than people who were injured (serious or otherwise) by guns.

To be clear, I’m not saying that gun violence is not a problem.  We’ve still got the rising number of mass shootings here.  We’ve still got the loophole allowing people to buy guns without background checks or waiting periods.  Yeah it’s a problem.

But the fact that there are 50 million fewer cars than guns in this country, but 3 times the number of deaths (and 163 times the number of serious injuries versus the number of all gun-related injuries) is something we need to look at.

But no one is looking at it.

And that is just the US.  When you look at car fatalities across the world per year, you’re looking at a number closer to 1.2 million.

Cars have killed more people in the last hundred years than any other weapon, war, or natural disaster in the entirety of human history.

There is literally no other invention ever created by mankind that is as deadly as cars.  This is not an exaggeration, and it’s not skewed facts for the purpose of shock value.  It is 100% undeniable, unequivocal truth.

Why are cars so much more dangerous than actual weapons?

Mostly because we don’t see them as weapons.

If you’ve ever been around guns, and people who know about guns (I am not one of those people, by the way.  I’ve shot rifles before, and that’s it. I don’t know much about them other than the fact that bullets come out of the long pointy tube part) you see that there are precautionary measures taken.

They are weapons, and they’re handled like weapons.

Everyone who touches a gun knows that it can take life.  Even accidentally.  Precautions are taken by responsible gun owners to insure that accidents don’t happen.  There are policies and procedures in place in an attempt to keep dangerous people from owning them.  They are treated with respect for their capacity to kill.

Cars are not.  Sure, there are rules for safe driving, but the respect for its capacity to kill doesn’t exist.

Would you brush your hair or put on your makeup or play with your phone while swinging a loaded AK-47 around?  Probably not. But you do it while controlling an exponentially more dangerous weapon.

Because you don’t see it as a weapon.  You take it for granted.  You forget that it’s a two-ton, sophisticated piece of metal and machinery capable of going truly dangerous speeds.

Ask any baseball player if it hurts to get hit by a 6-ounce object traveling at 80 miles per hour (they’re often hit by balls going much faster, but it’s more common for an average driver to go 80mph than 95mph).  Shit hurts.

A car going 80 mph hurts a lot more.

You can’t call yourself a good driver if you don’t understand the danger of the weapon you’re wielding.  You can’t claim proficiency with it if you don’t understand it.

2.  Know your damn car.

Know what your car feels like, how it drives, what it’s capable of.  I can tell even before my car’s sensor goes off if a tire has less air pressure.  I know my car.

I also know what it’s capable of, what it was designed for, what its strengths are, and what its weaknesses are.

You need to know whether it’s front or rear wheel drive.  Or all wheel drive.  You need to know if your car has a higher rollover risk.

If you drive an SUV or some types of pickup trucks, you have a higher rollover risk.  You need to know that.

And speaking of pickup trucks (and a select few SUVs), you need to know that they are designed for hauling shit.  Which means the suspension is designed to hold a shit load of weight.

Here’s a good way to think of it:

We all know semi trucks are dangerous, right?  They’re big, they’re heavy, they can’t make sudden moves or stop on a dime.  But do you want to know when they’re the most dangerous?  To the point that some truck companies won’t even allow them to be driven this way?

When they don’t have any weight, or any trailer, at all.

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Exhibit A

It’s called driving “bobtail,” and a bobtail semi is a thousand times more dangerous than one weighed down with 80 thousand pounds.

Wanna know why?

Because of the tires, and (particularly) because of the suspension.  That spot on the back end of the truck, those axles (called the drive axles), are designed to have 34 thousand pounds directly on top of them.

It was built specifically for that purpose.  The brakes, the suspension, the axles themselves, are all built specifically to handle that much weight.

When they don’t have that weight, that pressure pushing them down, the tires can’t grip the road as well. It is prone to excessive skidding, to the point that countering it is a big fucking deal.  It takes twice the distance for a driver to safely stop a bobtail than it does to stop a fully loaded truck (keep that in mind the next time you think it would be a good idea to cut off a semi.  Even a bobtail weighs about 20,000 pounds.  Wanna take a guess who will win the battle between a Kenworth and your Prius?  Or your Focus, or your Jeep, or your Silverado, or even your Hummer?  ‘Cuz you do realize that the Hummer you bought is not the same as the Humvee used by the military, right?  But quick, wanna take a guess who will win the battle between a Kenworth and a Humvee?  The Humvee is 5,000 pounds and made of aluminum, and most of them aren’t armored.  Kenworth is 20,000 pounds and made of steel.  If the most iconic military truck can’t stand up to a semi, do you honestly think your sedan could?).

To a lesser extent, pickup trucks are the same way.  Some more so than others.  For example, my dad had a 2004 Dodge Ram 3500.  He bought it specifically to haul our horse trailers.  It had a diesel engine and stiff suspension.  Like, really stiff.  To the point that if you weren’t hauling anything, it was so bouncy it was just awful to drive.  When I started driving it, I took to throwing a few hundred-pound sacks of grain feed in the bed, to keep the rear tires from skidding and bouncing, and to make it smoother to drive.

All pickup trucks are designed to haul things.  All of them are built for that purpose.  And when there’s no weight on that rear axle, spinning out is a risk.  Especially since all but the smallest, lightest trucks are rear wheel drive.

Rear wheel drive + stiff suspension + tires that can’t grip the road all that well = bad m’kay.

SUVs have become passenger cars more than anything else, but they’re still tall, and heavy, and you need to know whether they’re all-wheel drive, four-wheel drive (you need to know the difference), or front- or rear-wheel drive.

You need to know how long it takes your car to come to a complete stop.  If you need to brake suddenly, you need to know how to do that, in your specific vehicle, without fishtailing or losing control or locking the brakes.

Know your damn car.

3.  Know your surroundings.

Most drivers look ahead 3 to 5 seconds, and they only check their mirrors when changing lanes, and they hardly ever check their gauges.

This is unsafe.  Look up.  Know what’s happening a quarter mile down the road.

This goes for road signs, as well.  If you see a sign that says the lane you’re in is closed, and you need to merge, why in the hell would you wait til the last minute?  Trying to get in front of other cars?

You’re either a moron, or a moronic asshole.  Doing this slows down the flow of traffic, and causes an even bigger traffic jam.  Stop it.  Be aware of and prepare for lane closures or construction signs.

4.  Be fucking courteous.

Don’t wait til the last minute to try to merge.  It’s a dick move, and when I see you do it, I assume you have some kind of developmental or mental disability that prevents you from understanding what the sign meant half a mile back.

I will also go out of my way to run you off the road.  If your lane is about to end, and you decide to pick the last minute to merge, and I’m anywhere near you, I will adjust my speed as much as is safe for the other drivers in my lane to make you unable to merge.  Because (surprise, surprise) I’m kind of a bitch, and you’re a fucking moron, or a fucking asshole, or a fucking moronic asshole.  And I can out-asshole the biggest asshole.

Anytime before that, I’m the most courteous driver around, and will happily slow down to let you in (if you use your turn signal and I know you’re wanting to get over).  But if you wait til the last minute, I’m an unapologetic bitch.

As far as passing goes…

I drive fast, m’kay.  But only when there’s no one else in the car.  When I have passengers, I rarely go more than five or ten miles over the speed limit.

If I’m in the fast lane, and I see a car coming up behind me (because I check my mirrors), I move over to let it pass.  Making cars pass you on the right is dangerous.  To the point that semis are not allowed to do it at all.

If you want to travel in the fast lane (or passing lane, depending on where in the US you live), then fine.  But don’t be a dick.  Be aware of people going faster than you, and get the fuck out of their way as soon as you can safely move over.

One of my favorite tricks when I was younger and driving to see my family or friends in California was to drive at night and keep my brights on.  You’d be surprised how quick people (who shouldn’t be traveling in the fast lane, anyway) are to get out of your way.  I could set the cruise control at 90 and just coast on through.  And on the rare occasion a car, going faster than me, came up behind me, I’d move over for him, let him pass, then get back in the lane and continue on my way.

And I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but turn signals come standard in every car.  Use them.

Not just as a courtesy, but for safety reasons as well (you know, it’s the whole respecting-the-fact-that-your-car-is-a-weapon thing).  Let people know what you’re doing.

If I’m going 80, and you’re going 60, and you suddenly decide to cut in front of me, and I hit you going at 80 miles and hour, because I didn’t know and couldn’t prepare for you to merge, wanna guess how many of us are going to walk out of that, as opposed to being carted into an ambulance?

Also, wanna know who is going to be at fault for causing the accident?

It’s not me.  I’ll be cited for speeding, sure.  But the accident will be your fault.  Because of a little thing called lane control.

I was in my lane.  I had control of the lane directly in front of and behind me.  You were merging between two lanes.  You did not yet have control, did not check your mirrors, and made the unsafe and reckless decision to move over into the lane I was in control of.  It’s your fault, and you’ll be on the hook for the injuries I sustained by hitting you.

However, if you decide not to be a stupid dick, and use your turn signal, I can see that you’re looking for an opportunity to move over.  I can prepare for your merge by slowing down or moving to the next lane over, to give you the space you need to merge and gain the proper lane control.

If I’m behind you and you suddenly slow down to make a right hand turn, I have no idea why you’re slowing down, or if your gradual brake will turn into a sudden one.  Sure, you could be braking for the turn.  Or maybe there’s something in the road you can see, but I can’t.  Or maybe there’s something wrong with your car.  Or something wrong with you.  Emergencies happen.  Sometimes they happen while you’re behind the wheel of a car.

I have no idea what is going on.  I don’t tailgate people, so I can prepare for any of those options, but it’s still a dick move.  Tell me why you’re slowing down.  Use your goddamn signal.

Oh, and don’t tailgate.  I have and will brake-check you (‘cuz I’m a bitch, if you’ll recall).  And if I’m alone in the car, I’ll slam on my brakes, and you can either swerve to avoid me, or rear-end me.  I find both highly entertaining.

And in the case of the second, wanna guess whose fault that accident will be?

Yours.  Because of a little thing called adequate following distance.  You never know what could happen on the road.  Maybe a kid or a dog jumped in front of my car.  Maybe I thought the car in front of me was going to suddenly brake.

The rule is that you need to be far enough behind me to be able to avoid a collision no matter what happens.  If I slam on my brakes and come to a complete stop, you need to be far enough behind me to avoid hitting me.  Of you’re not, and you hit me, you’re at fault.  Back the fuck up.

5.  Don’t be fucking timid.

Okay, so I have officially made it a rule that, when we take family trips to California, Kazander is not allowed to drive once we get to any kind of densely-populated area.  Los Angeles?  Dude, he’d never survive.  Either he’d be hit by another car, or I’d toss him out of the car.

California is not a place for timid drivers.  The only place I’ve ever been that’s worse was China, where those pretty white lines are just decoration and cab drivers literally get offended when you wear a seatbelt.

But if you don’t know how to be assertive, then don’t fucking drive.  Take a bus.  Or an Uber.

Would you like to know the purpose of a freeway entrance ramp?

Entrance ramps exist so that you can accelerate to the proper speed by the time you get to the freeway itself.  So you can safely merge at the speed of established traffic.

If I’m stuck behind you and you’re at 50 mph by the time you reach the freeway, I think you’re a moron.

Gas pedals.  They’re the long, skinny pedal on the right.  Fucking use it.

Because trying to merge into traffic that is going 65 miles per hour, when you’re going 50, is stupid, and reckless, and dangerous, and you’re a motherfucking idiot.  The world doesn’t revolve around you and your timidity.  You’re not the only person on the road.  When you merge into traffic going at deadly speeds, you don’t have the right of way.  The cars going 65 do.  Don’t do stupid shit.

*Hint*

Entrance ramps are also often called “acceleration lanes.”  That should fucking tip you off.

You need to be at 65 miles per hour by the time you reach the end of the entrance ramp.  Then, you have adequate time to adjust speed as needed to merge in between cars.

Press that gas pedal down.  Like, down.

Your car is a complex machine.  It can handle that acceleration.  They are designed specifically to handle the acceleration expected to go from 0 to 65 in the span of a freeway entrance ramp.

If it can’t, then you need to not be on the freeway.

If you’re too timid and too scared to get to the appropriate speed by the end of the entrance ramp, then you need to not be on the freeway.

6.  That cop doesn’t give two shits about you.

I have no idea why people slow down so much when they see a cop that has pulled someone over.

First of all, the cop has someone pulled over.  He’s fucking busy.  He’s not paying attention to the fact that you may be going 2 miles over the speed limit.  Even if he notices, he doesn’t care.

So why in the actual fuck would you slow down to ten miles below the speed limit?  No really, what’s wrong with you?

The only time you need to slow own is when the cop is behind you and turns on those pretty flashing lights.  Otherwise, don’t be an idiot.  He’s fucking busy.

But if you slam on your brakes and slow to 30 in a 45mph zone, and cause an accident, wanna know whose fault that is?  Yours.  Because of minimum safe speeds (yes, cops can pull you over and cite you for going too slow).  If you’re going significantly slower than the flow of traffic (and significantly under the speed limit), then you are a safety hazard.

And an idiot.

7.  If you’re stopped at a red light on an incline, back the fuck up.

If you’ve never driven a manual transmission, you may not understand why this is a big deal.  And trying to explain the way a clutch works will take too long, and this post is long enough.  Just take my word for it.

In manual cars, it’s common for them to roll backwards a little bit on an incline before the gear catches, and they’re on their way.  If you crowd these cars, you’re a dick.

If you crowd them, and they roll back, and they hit you, it’s your damn fault.

But you know what?  Even if you’re not on an incline, back the fuck up.  It’s rude to crowd the car in front of you.  Don’t be a dick.

8.  Don’t block intersections.

We’ve all been there.  Traffic sucks.  You’ve been waiting three cycles at this light already.  You want to get the fuck home already.

I don’t care.  That doesn’t make it okay for you to be a dick.

If the light is green, but the cars in front of you aren’t moving, and there isn’t enough room for you to cross the intersection completely, then fucking stay there.

There are parts of Vegas that are notorious for this.  The light is green, but traffic is backed up, and if you follow traffic, you’ll end up stuck in the middle of the intersection when the light turns red.

And you’re a dick.

If you can’t enter the intersection without coming to a complete stop in the intersection, then stay there.  Wait until the cars in front of you move up.  Yes, that might mean having to wait another cycle.  Deal with it.

There’s no excuse for you being a dick.

9.  Don’t be overly cautious.

I know I said the whole thing about your car being a deadly weapon.  But in all honesty, if that scares you, don’t fucking drive.

Being overly cautious is almost as dangerous as being reckless.  You’re driving too slow, you’re taking too long to merge, you can’t get out into traffic, you slam on your brakes any time someone passes in front of you.  It’s more than just supremely annoying.

It shows that you’re afraid of your car, and afraid of traffic.  Going back to the weapon reference, ask anyone familiar with guns if they would trust someone who is afraid of the gun more than someone who is confident in how to use it.

I know nothing about guns, and I can tell you which I prefer.

10.  Don’t give up the right of way when it’s yours.

Ugh, this drives me nuts.  Cars are dangerous weapons, m’kay, and they commonly go at dangerous speeds (you know, like 35 miles per hour).  We have created rules and systems to minimize risk.  These rules and systems have a purpose.

They’re important.  And obnoxiously breaking the rules is bad.

Even if you’re “trying to be nice.”

Take a 4-way stop, for example.  You got there first.  You need to go first.  Don’t wave me on to go before you.  I will sit there and start looking through Facebook on my phone until you get impatient and just go.

Why?

Mostly because I don’t trust you.

If I go, and then you change your mind and decide you want to go, and then you T-bone me, it’s my fault.

Don’t yield the right of way when it’s yours.  Don’t yield to merging traffic (but don’t be a dick during rush hour, either.  Letting a car or two in front of you is fine.  Letting 6 in is not).  Don’t yield to people who are turning when you’re going straight.  If you’re turning right, don’t yield to people who are turning left.  Or making a U-turn.  Don’t slam on your brakes to let that dick in who waited until the last minute before his lane ended to merge.  There are people behind you.  When you brake to let that dick in, it makes you a dick.

Don’t be a fucking dick.

Merry early Christmas to me

Christmas came early.

So my precious Thunderstick died, and the timing could not have been worse.  But after convincing myself that setting the bed on fire is a bad idea, I shrugged and said, “Oh well.”

Things have been tight because we literally just dropped almost a thousand dollars on Christmas presents for the family, and since the thing is a tad pricey, I knew I wouldn’t be able to get another one until January.

I was devastated, and quite vocal about my devastation, but life goes on, right?  It was my normal habit of whining and bitching for ten minutes (okay, maybe 15 minutes), then shrugging and moving on with my life.

Until I mentioned it to star.  She immediately offered to buy me a new one, asking for the brand name, and I immediately thanked her for the offer and declined, pointing out that I’d be able to get one next month.

Then she said:

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The adorable, clever little brat…

And I have to say, no one has ever gotten me like that.  She figured it out, though.  I couldn’t help but laugh, and surrendered.  Yep, she wins.

The first time I use it on her, though, she may come to regret her decision to buy it for me.  That thing can be sooo very nice, and it can be sooo deliciously mean.

She’s going to become intimately and profoundly familiar with this unique ability.

Star: 1

Me: 0

…. for now

That’s pretty damn cool

I made the Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2016!  Yay, me!  And thank you to my boy, Steel, who nominated me.

Top 100 Sex Bloggers 2016

But I have to say I was pretty damn surprised when I found out.

So I’m not a fan of marketing.  Like, at all.  I don’t do the whole internet marketing, promotion thing.  It’s too much work, and I’m just not all that good at it.  Not the same thing, but somewhat related, I also hate sales.  I’ve had two jobs in the past that involved sales, and pitches, closings, and all that crap, and I despised both of them.

That’s actually why I’m not a martial arts instructor anymore.  Because of the 80 hours a week I worked (I’m not kidding, for more than a year, I worked 5am to 9pm on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays {instructors’ workout was 5am to 8am, and that gave us an hour to drive to our dojos and get ready to open at 9}, 14 hours a day on Tuesdays and Thursdays {7am to 9am was my and the other assistant instructor’s private lesson at our dojo with the chief instructor}, and Saturday was 9am to about 3 or 4.  Sometimes we got to leave as early as 1, but that was about as common as having to stay as late as 5 or 6), a good 30 of those were spent on sales and sales-related crap.  Going out to parking lots, trying to get interest for new students.  Sometimes going door-to-door in neighborhoods. Practicing our pitches.  Practicing our closings.  Figuring out our “sales dog style” (I’m a chihuahua, in case you were wondering), and reading all those classic books, like How to Win Friends and Influence People, Rich Dad, Poor Dad, The Secret, and tons more I never bothered myself to remember.  It was obnoxious, and I hated it.  Surprise, surprise, I wasn’t that great at it, either.

I’m rambling.

Of course, I wish I had the patience and ability to do it.  This blog (and likely, my life) would be very, very different if I had the ability to properly market myself.  Alas, while I possess a great many strengths (like, a lot), this is not one of them.

There’s a boy I own, however, who does possess that level of patience and ability.  Steel is very good at doing it.  Of course, that’s not surprising.  He’s a writer.  A big part of how he makes his living is knowing how to market his writing and his name.  He’s occasionally helped me with my own stuff, but I’ve never had the desire or motivation to keep it up on my own.

So I never really worked to get my name, or my blog, out there.  And in some ways, I sort of regret it.  My following grows very slowly compared to those who put the time and effort into letting people know they exist, and attracting readers who are interested in their content, and could potentially learn from those who are more experienced.

And while I will never profess to know everything, or even a fraction of everything, I’ve been doing this for awhile, and I’m pretty good at it.  I would like it if more people who are new or inexperienced could find my blog and learn from my own experiences, just as I learn from the experiences of the bloggers I follow.

I’m also just a tad egotistical (shocking, I know).  I like knowing that people are interested in and entertained by what I write.

I just don’t like it enough to put effort into marketing/promoting/getting myself out there.

So I was surprised when Steel said, “I saw you made Molly’s Top 100.”

… Wait, what?

Molly’s Top 100?  That sounds so familiar.  Why does that sound so familiar?

He showed me the link, and as soon as I saw it, I immediately recognized it.  I’d seen the list before, of course.  I think most bloggers have.  I just never thought I’d be on it.

So that’s pretty cool.  I’m pretty stoked.

Just a touch of neurosis

So Sounder is going to swallow cum, and be fucked by a man, before the year is over.  Which I’m beyond excited about.

As of now, I have two options.  The first is Connor (previously called Pet).  And he’s an attractive option for a number of reasons.  He’s young and inexperienced, but very eager.  As far as safety and my neuroses go, he’s the best because he’s small and thin, so I can physically overpower him, and he’s still new to the Dom thing (he started out as a submissive, and is a submissive adult film actor), so I can mentally overpower him.

But there are some drawbacks.  First of all, he’s young and inexperienced.  He’s a teenager.  He lacks life experience, as well as scene experience.  This will be completely new for Sounder, he’s never been fucked by a man, and he’s never swallowed cum before.  So dealing with two people in unfamiliar situations could keep my hands full.

The biggest drawback, though, is transportation.  Connor doesn’t have a car.  He doesn’t drive.  And he lives on the complete other side of town from me, and in pretty much the opposite direction of Sounder.  That part is inconvenient, but not impossible.  The part that really makes me hesitate is after the play is over.  I don’t know how this is going to affect Sounder.  I want to be there with him for a little while afterwards.  I want to make sure he gets appropriate aftercare.  And I want us to be alone.

That won’t be able to happen if Connor is there.  And I’m not entirely sure how to resolve that problem.

So that leaves me with the other option, a man I’ll call Doc.  Doc is extremely experienced and knowledgeable about how this kind of session usually works.  And this won’t be the first time he’s Topped another man.  He knows what to expect.  And he has his own vehicle.

Of the two, he seems like the obvious choice.

The problem is that he’s a male Dom.  As many of you know, I am not super thrilled about his male-Dom-ness.  Especially since he’s already given me reason to hesitate.

Logically, I know I have nothing to worry about.  The rational side of me knows that he’s highly respected in the community, and has been for years.  I’ve known him for years.  He’s not going to cross a line during a session.  I wouldn’t even consider him as an option if I thought there was any sort of possibility that he’d cross a line.

It’s the irrational part of me that is the problem.  And that irrational bitch has been rearing her ugly head relentlessly.  Every time I start to think about some sort of plan, how I want the session to flow, she hijacks my brain and concocts all sorts of nasty scenarios.

And it’s pretty hard to shut her up.  Because the truth is, if something were to happen, there’s not a whole hell of a lot I would be able to do about it.  If my focus is on Sounder, and Sounder is tied up, it would be too easy for Doc to take advantage of the situation.  And the dude is 6’6″ and built like a tank.  There’s no way I could physically overpower him.

While I know Sounder could, that’s only if he’s not bound at the moment, and he’s still dealing with those issues that would make kicking Doc’s ass a bad idea.

And furthermore, it’s not Sounder’s responsibility to do that.  It’s mine.  It’s my scene, it’s my decision to include Doc, and Sounder is my submissive.  It’s my responsibility to keep him safe.  I’m not going to rely on Sounder’s physical strength to protect us, and with the issues he’s dealing with, I’m not going to put him in a situation that may put him at risk to make them worse.

Rationally, I know there’s nothing to worry about.  My concerns stem from my own neuroses.  The problem is with me, not with Doc.

And I need to get over it.

Which is easier said than done.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I could do the session now.  I could make it work.  But I’d be unbelievably tense through the whole thing, and would be paying more attention to Doc than to Sounder.  I’d be watching and over-analyzing every word, every inflection, every facial expression, every gesture.  Not many can read people as well as I can, and my entire focus would be on that.  The scene would be a success, but I’d be too drained to be of much use afterward.

And that’s not acceptable to me.  It’s not acceptable to Sounder, either, who said that my enjoyment is the whole point of the thing, and that’s ultimately what matters.

So, options?

There is one option.  I recently bought a pepper spray keychain after a couple female friends had some rather frightening experiences over the last couple of weeks, and the US has enjoyed a spike in hate crimes since every bigot in the country now feels validated (‘Murica!).

Not that everyone who voted for Hitler 2.0 is a bigot.  But this isn’t a political blog, so I’m going to use every shred of willpower I possess to refrain from turning this into a 5,000-word political rant.  I won’t talk about how the similarities between Trump and Hitler are downright uncanny, or how anyone not a white, straight, cis, Christian male is now at legitimate risk, and have valid reason to fear for their safety.  I won’t talk about my uncle, a veteran who converted to Islam after marrying his wife, who is a Muslim (and one of the kindest, most gentle-hearted people you will ever meet), and how he is so afraid, he won’t let her go to the Mosque by herself, he won’t leave the house without at least one gun, hell, he won’t even go to the bathroom at night without taking a gun with him.

And you know what?  I can’t really blame him.  He lives in a small town in a red state, and his wife (who is all of 5’2″, maybe 100 pounds soaking wet, and is not Arabic, and will sternly correct anyone who calls her Arabic) was attacked after 9/11, and one of the ER doctors refused to treat her because she’s Muslim.

He’s a veteran.  He’d probably still be in the service if he hadn’t been medically discharged.  He loved the military.  He wanted to devote his entire life to serving this country.  To fighting for our freedoms (one of those freedoms being the freedom of religion… you know, the whole goddamn thing this country was founded on).

And now, for the second time in his life, through no fault of his own, he has been made an enemy of his own countrymen.  The very people he fought for were the ones who hurt his wife, and they’re the ones who want to hurt him now.

Hell yeah he’s scared.  And he’s fucking angry.  Possibly to the point of being irrational, but this whole post is about my own irrational neuroses, so I really don’t have room to judge him for the same thing.  His anger is tearing the family apart (he found out my mom and other uncle voted for Trump, and won’t speak to them, and he’s not super eager to talk to me, either, even though I’m on his side, because he doesn’t agree with my opinion that not everyone who voted for Trump is a bigot, and he feels like I’m trying to change his mind), and guess who got volunteered/told to fix it?

And you know what?  I don’t know if I can.  His anger is this huge, horrible, monstrous beast, and it’s completely consumed him.  I am neither a veteran nor a Muslim.  I don’t know what to say to him.  I’m in way over my head.  And if I make even the smallest mistake, if I give in to my own frustration, if I lose my control for even a fraction of a second, then I’ll be responsible for destroying both of my parents’ families, and my daughter will lose two relatives she adores.  I can’t afford to make a mistake, and I have no idea how to fix this.  I have no idea how to get past that wall of defensive anger he has up around himself.

But I won’t talk about that.

I have pepper spray, and the canister is small enough that it can fit in my pocket.  So keeping a weapon of sorts on me, within easy reach, will help me relax enough to enjoy the session.  I won’t have to worry about watching Doc like a hawk, because I’ll know that, in the extremely unlikely case that Doc crosses a line, I’ll be able to defend myself and Sounder.  I’ll be able to maintain control of the situation.

And on the other side, in the much-more-probable case that he doesn’t cross a line, and the scene is successful and smooth, it will help me get over that irrational neurosis in future scenes.

It’ll satisfy the neurotic bitch, and it’ll satisfy the rational woman.  And Sounder will be thoroughly fucked by a man, and he’ll cum again and again with a man’s cock inside him.  Everyone wins.

Dating as a fat chick

I’m a fat chick, and I’ve been dating a very attractive man for about six months.  We’re in love.  He’s introduced me to his parents.  My parents love him.  We’re talking seriously about moving in together.  Everything is great.

Except I’ve never met his friends.  I’ve talked to them on the phone but have never met them in person.  He even had a separate birthday celebration just for him and his guy friends.  He always tells me I’m beautiful and I believe him.  I don’t think you can fake a physical attraction and he always makes me feel beautiful and sexy.  But I think he’s ashamed to show me to his friends who are all with thin, conventionally beautiful women.

If that’s true then that’s completely unacceptable.  But I don’t want to ruin what we have and I don’t want to make him choose between me and his friends

How do I handle this?

Welcome to the world of straight women.

Let’s assume that your suspicions are correct, and while he finds you attractive, he’s afraid to show you to his friends because you may not meet current society’s conditions of physical attractiveness.

Okay, so women are *usually* nicer about that kind of thing, but think about this.  Switch the roles.

Let’s pretend you’re Kate Upton, and you’re dating Danny DeVito, but he was amazing, and awesome, and everything you could ever want in a partner (which Danny DeVito very well may be), would you let his lack of Channing Tatum-ness get in the way?

No, because you’re not an idiot.

However, you know how awesome he is.  You know how he makes you feel, you know that he’s everything you could ever want.  Your friends, who are not you, may not be able to comprehend the truly astounding level of awesomeness that is your Danny.

Are you saying you wouldn’t hesitate, even a little bit?  Because would.  And I have.

And maybe you wouldn’t.  I can admit that I can be shallow, and maybe you’re not.  I don’t know.

But the majority of men I’ve been with have been at a certain level of physical attractiveness.  And for the ones who haven’t quite been at that same level… Well, I haven’t really hesitated in introducing them to my friends, but I have prefaced it by saying something like, “He’s not much to look at, but he’s fucking awesome.”

And, we’re both fat chicks, we can say it.  There are plenty of people out there who aren’t into us.  No matter how hot we are, there are some who will never be able to see us as anything more than fat chicks.

And that’s fine.  They don’t have to be into us.  I truly, honestly don’t care.  I’ve never had trouble finding people who are into me.

Like the guy who hit on me the other day at the music store (with my kid in tow, that hardly ever happens).  He was playing on a guitar as we walked in the room, looked up, and said to his buddy, “Man, something told me to look up, and as soon as I do, I see this beautiful angel with the prettiest little girl walk in.”

Smooth.  I smiled, I went about my business, and he went about his.  He left as I was talking to the sales guy, and that was it.

Until I walked outside.  Dude followed me to my car, and struck up a conversation.  He actually waited outside in the parking lot just for the chance to get my number.

This is not a hugely uncommon thing, folks.

So do you think I care if some random dude isn’t into me?  No.  Because there is no shortage of men who are.

Part of that, I’ll say it again, is confidence.

I am hot.  Even if I’m not feeling it on a particular day, I’ll tell myself I’m hot.  Because telling yourself will actually, literally trick your brain into thinking it’s true.  And confidence makes such a big difference, you’d be completely amazed.  Like, it sounds like some middle-of-the-night, law of attraction, self help type bullshit.  But they’ve actually done studies on this.  Google it.  It’s a big fucking deal.

Be confident.  Tell yourself that you’re hot.  Because you don’t have to be a size 6 to be a full-on knockout.

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And don’t ever fucking forget it.

However, there’s one thing I’ve learned in paying attention to the way male friends interact with each other: Men are dicks.

Eh, that may be too strong.  Lovable assholes, maybe.  But they’re kind of brutal to each other.  Seriously, and I thought junior high girls were mean.

So it’s reasonable to assume that your boyfriend will catch all kinds of hell from his friends for your lack of Kate Upton-ness.  Hell, his friends may even think you’re hot, but because men are dicks lovable assholes, they’ll feel that obligation to give him all kinds of hell.

Should that stop him from being proud to be with you?  No, it shouldn’t, and that’s on him.  But cut him some slack.

This is a situation I’m familiar with, because I’ve never been thin, but again, the majority of men I’ve been with have been at that certain level of physical attractiveness, and there have been times that my lack of Kate Upton-ness has indeed caused tension with his friends.

Of course, I’m lucky in that I carry most of my weight in my tits and ass.  Tight jeans, a low-cut shirt, and a great bra have been very effective tools.  Men who spend the majority of their time checking out my cleavage are less likely to bitch about the fact that I’m not a size 4.

You may not be that lucky.  But regardless of whether you are, should you decide you want to, there are a number of little techniques and tricks to win over his friends and stop that tension before it starts.

So here’s what you do.  Tell your boyfriend you’re coming with him to his next guys’ night.  If he goes out drinking with your buddies, tell him you’re coming, too.  Invite yourself.  Don’t give him the option (but don’t be mean, and don’t give him any kind of ultimatum).  And assure him that you know how to handle his friends.  He’ll be nervous.  Do what you can to assuage his nervousness.  But don’t take no for an answer.

Walk into the room as if you own it.  Be dripping with swagger.  By the end of this post, you’ll understand why that swagger and confidence are completely deserved.

It’ll be almost laughably easy.  But there are things you’ll have to do, things you’ll have to remember.

First of all, be prepared.  They’re going to judge you.  Even the nice ones.  They may look at your Channing Tatum-esque boyfriend and wonder why he’s with you.  The less tactful ones will likely say something about it.  Be prepared for that.

And for the love of all that is decent and holy (and this is to all women) put your political correctness the fuck away.  Holy fucking shit, do you have any idea how annoying that is?  You can’t be a feminazi.  Put it away for the night.  Go back to your badass feminazi self tomorrow.

Realize that you’re coming into their space.  So you need to adapt to them.  Whether it’s right or wrong, trying to make them adapt to you will cause you to come across as a snooty/bossy/snobby/obnoxious/buzzkilling bitch.  And you’re not trying to enact social change here.  This isn’t the time, or the place.  Play their game for now, and change their perception after they like you and have reason to listen to a single damn word you say.

Because if you show yourself to be fun-loving, laid back, and reasonable, they’ll be more inclined to listen to you when you do tell them why judging women for their looks is wrong.

That doesn’t happen the first night.  You’ve got to speak their language.  You’ve got to give them something to relate to.  Sometimes, in some situations, that may mean sinking to their level (in a fun way, not a confrontational way).

Listen to the way men talk to each other.  Even professional, educated men.  Chances are, they’re not being any meaner to you than they are to each other.  But men don’t get offended when their friends insult them.  They come back with a better insult.

It’s a game.  Every group has their own specific rules that you’ll have to learn, but the gist is always the same.  And if you’re going to date men that are generally considered above your level of attractiveness, and you want things to go smoothly, then you’re going to have to learn how to play.  And you’re going to have to win.

Which you can.  It’s pretty common knowledge that women can be exponentially more vicious and conniving than men.  Trust me.  Once you get the feel for his friends, once you find that rhythm, it’ll be child’s play.  And, although it seems counterintuitive, it’ll actually be a bit of an ego boost.

As a bonus, it’ll also build your boyfriend up and make him feel like “the man.”  Regardless of your relationship dynamic, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.

So play their game.  And throw them off guard.  Surprise them.  Do or say something they’re not expecting.

Want an example?  Here’s one, a snippet of a conversation that actually happened the first time I met a particularly attractive ex’s friends.  This took place at a bar, and after just a teensy bit of drinking, the douchiest of his friends just couldn’t do tact anymore.

Friend (to my ex): M’kay bro.  What is the deal, anyway?  I never knew you were a chubby chaser.

My ex (super offended): Come on, that’s not cool.

Friend: I’m just curious.  Nothing wrong with being curious, right?  Like, what is the appeal?

Me: Ever had road head that was so good you pulled over on the side of the freeway at 2 in the afternoon so she could finish?

Friend: …. No…

Me: That’s the appeal.  I give better head than you’ll ever get in your life.  My mouth and my pussy can do things that would make you see double for a week.

Friend (scoffing): You’re full of shit.

Me (shrug): You’ll never know, will you?  But he (my ex) does.

And it was pretty effective at shutting up his friends.

Of course, it was 100% bullshit.  I never once gave that ex head.  He was my sub, and I was his Domme.  Pulling over on the side of the freeway to have him ride my strapon was more likely.

But his friends didn’t need to know that.

I’ve told an ex’s friends that I’d arranged a threesome for our anniversary.  I’ve told an ex’s friends that I actively worked to set up the ex with my extremely hot boss at the time, and wanted him to take pictures to share with me.  I’ve told an ex’s friend that I gave him head every day for six straight months.  I’ve told Kazander’s friends about how I arranged to have a stripper give him head while I watched.

Out of the examples that I listed here, only the one about Kazander is true.  The rest are bullshit.  His friends don’t need to know that.

Your boyfriend’s friends don’t need to know anything about what the two of you actually do.  If you want to make things easier for your boyfriend (which I would highly recommend), the truth doesn’t mean a damn thing.  Truth isn’t part of this game.  Not for you.

And if your boyfriend is anything like a couple of my exes, his friends will try to test you.  You already don’t meet their standards as far as physical attraction.  They’re going to be looking for reasons not to see you as an equal.  Be prepared, and beat them into bloody, satisfying submission at their own game.

If they make a sexist joke, return it with one that’s even more sexist (as long as it’s funny, it can be sexist against men).  If they tell you to go to the kitchen and make them a sandwich, scoff and say, “Have you ever tasted my sandwiches?  They’re the stuff of legend.  And I can already see that your dick isn’t big enough to earn one of my sandwiches.”

If they say something about your weight, return it with something about theirs.  Or their hair.  Or their clothes.  Or tell them they have no room to talk when they’re drinking such a weak/girly drink.  Be every bit as offensive and crass as they are.

But (and this is important) keep it light.  Don’t get offended.  Don’t get mad.  For the love of gawd, don’t start crying.  Adopt the mindset that none of them are serious.  Remember, it’s a game.  A game that women, generally, don’t know how to play.

But the only reason women don’t know how is because we tend to take things more seriously and more personally than men.  I’m the same way, and I specifically turn that off whenever I walk into those kinds of situations.

If you can learn to turn it off, and remember that it’s a game, and just embrace the conniving, manipulative, vicious mental terrorist that your gender makes you, then they genuinely have no chance against you.  There’s no woman alive who won’t win that game, and stomp her opponents into the ground beneath her fabulous six-inch heels.

Trust me.  It may seem like I’m telling you to be anti-feminist, or to be self-deprecating, but if you follow my advice and do it, you’ll understand how it’s the exact opposite.  You’ll feel like Queen of the Motherfucking World, and it’ll feed your boyfriend’s ego, as well.  With just a little bit of forethought, you’ll be able to build him up to his friends while good-naturedly knocking them down (by their own rules.  Remember, you have to play their game.  You can’t just walk in and start hurling insults.  Women are way more nuanced in their social interactions than men, so you’ll figure it out quickly and easily, but you do have to take the time to figure it out).  Do it right, and your boyfriend will never hesitate in bringing you around his friends again.  He’ll be quick to show you off every chance he gets.

So play the game.  And win.