I don't understand why its so hard to get a sandwich made for me.

What a shitty year. 

I know, I know, I'm supposed to stay positive and look for the silver lining and for the most part, I do that.

(In between throwing major hissy fits and checking out of reality every so often with alcohol.)

But come on, surely a black cloud is allowed to descend before dissipating?

Modern Gypsy Hoops in Jumbo Size

So here it is;

I didn't like last year.

 Last year opened my eyes to the cruelty and indifference of man. Man previously thought of as brethren, hunkered down in dug outs and fox holes beside me with the solidarity goal of surviving this strange and painful world with a little fun on the side. But I no longer see them as such.

Of the 8 men I dated this past year, there is but one I would trust to have my back. 

(Hi, Mr.Catalogue! ♥)

I told Mike, emotions deep into one of the above mentioned hissy fits,

"The man I will know I could've trusted will be the one standing at my death bed."

Hopefully with a good sandwich. 

I swear I think I'm dieing from the lack of grilled meat.

I need;

good bread

thick cheese slices

fresh juicy grilled meat 

some tangy sauce like the stuff they serve with onion rings at Ruby Tuesday's?

lettuce, tomato, onions, banana peppers

Then I'm all happy.

And quite easy to get along with.
And helpful.
And fun.

There. That is my new match.com profile.
"I'm helpful. And hungry. Call me."

So that is my new years goal;

to have such a sandwich masterpiece created for me by a truly caring man who can actually appreciate me and my fascinating, mysterious womanisums.
Peace and Prosperity,
Shannon