28 | April | 2014 | Confessions of a Preacher's Daughter

I do declare, finding a good single Southern Gentleman in this damn place is harder than finding a condom in my sister’s vajayjay. Unless one just drops in front of me, I think I’ll just plum out of luck. For those of you who don’t know the difference between a Southern Gentleman and a redneck, I’ll explain it for you.

A redneck is a scruffy guy who enjoys hunting, mudding, drinking beer in excess, and probably has no real ambitions in life except maybe to get hitched and make some little redneck babies with a woman who is happy to wash his drawers and fix his supper. His accent is southern, but not the gentile type. He also has no problem using words like dingle and the n-word. I’m generalizing here, but you get the idea.

A Southern Gentleman is more educated, and probably went to one of the big SEC schools. He is stylish, courteous, chivalrous, polite, ambitious, and kind. Hunting may be one of his pastimes, but it’s not something that he spends most of his free time doing. He actually enjoys going to museums, traveling, and yes, even spoiling his significant other whenever possible. The finer things in life are important to him, but so is working hard and planning for his future stability. Of course he too wants to settle down, but not just to make babies and have someone bring him his supper. He wants an educated woman to be his partner in life. And the accent…oh my God, the accent. Just hearing him talk makes you melt. It drips with charm, intelligence, and humor.

tumblr_mpldzlkLcR1qka51yo1_1280 Now that we have that cleared up, I’ll just tell you right now that there is not a single decent looking single Southern Gentleman in this damn town. Trust me. I’ve checked. Twice. Since there aren’t any left, I’ve deleted all of my profiles from all the crappy dating sites and have decided that unless one drops in my lap, I’ll just stay single forever. Plus the fact that my tastes in men seems to suck on a colossal level doesn’t help any.

This completely goes against my “never give up on love” policy, but at this point I don’t have the energy nor the drive to continue looking for my soul mate. In fact, I don’t think I even have one.

So it looks like I’m stuck here because of my job, which I am grateful for, but I have no real friends here. I’m all alone in this little town with no car. I couldn’t even run away even if I wanted to. My life has turned into a monotony of going to work, going home, watching tv (lately it’s just been re-watching True Blood), and praying that one day, before I die alone in this shit hole, I’ll be able to at least buy a car and get out of town for a few days.

Well, there I go again ranting. At least I feel a little better now. Not much. Just a little.

Here’s a cheesy 80’s video to make us all feel better.

Happy humping!

Late Easter Sunday night my phone rang. It was my sister. “Hello sis. So…Bitchboy came over tonight,” she said. Bitchboy is her new plaything. He’s a 28-year-old self-absorbed redneck who is quite possibly bisexual. He’s cute though, and therefore fun to play with. So he went over to her house last night and they had a little play time. Evidently half way through the condom came off. Of course my first question was if the condom was too big for him. She swears that wasn’t the problem. Since they were half way in through they didn’t bother looking for the condom right then. He put another one on and kept right on going.

surprisedwoman After they finished they started looking for the missing condom. It was nowhere to be found. They checked the bed, under the bed, under the pillows, and still couldn’t find it. Then it dawned on my sister, and Bitchboy, that the condom might still be inside her. Not knowing what to do, Bitchboy pulled out his phone and started Googling it. He found out that if the condom is not removed rather quickly, it can cause an infection. So she went to the bathroom to go on a condom hunt.

She couldn’t feel it or find it. The condom must have been deep inside, and she assumed it was because he was hitting the “back wall” if you get my meaning. He must have pushed it so far in that she couldn’t reach it on her own. The only other thing to do was either to wait and see if it came out on its own, or go to a doctor to have it removed.

Funny-condom Well, once Bitchboy left my sister called me and told me what had happened. At first I tried to be supportive and helpful, even doing my own Google search. I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was a little worried and even more embarrassed, but we were still able to laugh about it. Especially when I asked, “How in the hell do these kinds of things happen to us?”

I really didn’t know what to tell her or what advice to give her. The only thing I could suggest was for her to do jumping jacks to try to jog it loose. Unfortunately, she said Bitchboy had already suggested that. After some more research I found a page that suggested propping one leg up high on a counter or something so that the condom can more easily be retrieved. So it seemed that yoga may be the answer…or not.

Since neither of us had any good ideas about how to retrieve the missing condom, we decided it would probably be best if she just had a drink and then went to the doctor the next day, if it hadn’t made an appearance before then. I said goodnight and good luck.

Seven minutes later she sent me a text that said, “Got it!!!” I guess the jumping jacks worked.

Happy humping! (Never stop searching.)