Mary Birdsong
  • dating
  • February12th

    Ohhhhh, Maynard!

    They Don’t Write Em Like That Anymore… Hop In My “Valen-Time Machine” to the 1920s! | 99 Cent Whore.

    There just ain’t nothin’ as sweet/sad as this bunch of old, used Valentines Day Cards I bought on Ebay from the 1920s & 30s… written by little boys and girls with names  like Henrietta, Hortense, and Maynard, all lookin’ to hook up.

    They’re sweet cuz they’re all so rosy-cheeked and innocent.  And sad cuz they’re all probably dead by now.  Like… DAYYYYY-UD dead.

    repurposed hearts- under a buck each.

    Well, at least they HAD a Valentine. I’m alive, sure enough, but with nary a sweetheart to be found.  So if y’all don’t mind, I’m gonna git in my science fiction Valen-Time Machine and git to smoochin with Maynard. That boy sure do know how to… well, I ain’t gonna sci-fi kiss & tell.


  • August2nd


    IS IT POSSIBLE TO REPURPOSE A PERSON?  (Why, yes.  Yes, it is.) My sister reminded me of some great feng shui tips she (no, no- you just said it wrong. You said it like “fehng shoo-y.” It’s pronounced “fung shway.”)  Anyway- she reminded me of some great feng shui tips she learned from an audio-book I gave her of The Secret® years ago.  We both agreed that The Secret® is total bullshit®. Then we discussed with great fervor how I should do exactly what The Secret® says I should do.  It told the story of a woman who wanted to attract a man into her life, but was having no luck at all.  Then she realized that she had some very “I’m single and I always will be” habits that she needed to get rid of, like…

    • Sleeping in the middle of her queen-sized bed, instead of leaving room on one side for her man to sleep next to her

    • Keeping her closet so packed with clothes there was no room for her man’s clothes

    • Parking in the middle of the garage, thus taking up two spaces, leaving no room for…. you guessed it- her man’s car

    You get the idea.  At the time, my sister and I happened to be talking about doing this to help a creative project of mine get to the next level, but then later while I was cleaning, I decided to go ahead and apply it to my bedroom. The “after” photo is above.  I should’ve taken a “before” shot as well because it was pretty bad. The bed was shoved into the corner, there were wayyyyyy too many pillows on the bed, the list goes on and on.  But the worst part?  When I was smoothing the bedcovers I noticed that they were covered in dust.



    I HAD TO



    So sad.

    But my favorite part about the new bedroom’s makeover is the dolls.   (Let me finish!!!) My mom sews these dolls for people that are supposed to look like them, and then she gives the dolls to them as gifts.

    I know.  It’s just…

    Anyway, I still have this doll she made of an ex-boyfriend of mine.   I tried to get rid of it, trust me.  I even donated it to a thrift shop , but then I felt guilty because my mom had MADE him, so I went back to the store and bought him.  But here’s the thing- I figured if I could just repurpose him, maybe it wouldn’t be bad feng shui to keep this doll of an ex in my bedroom on the guy’s side of the bed.  Ya know?  So- I took off his glasses, and I replaced the little electric guitar used to be holding with something else.  I replaced it with a condom.  Voila!  He’s a condom dispenser!

    May I offer you a breath mint?  Jesus candle?  How about a condom?

    Hello, big boy.  May I offer you a breath mint? Jesus candle? How about a condom?

    Not only is it safe sex, and helpful for whoever I wind up sleeping with to have a condom ready to go, but the fact that it’s being “handed” to my new lover by my OLD lover is like a fun practical joke on the ex.  Right?  Maybe? Not sure.  He was the one who dumped ME.  I can’t do the karma calculus.

    If I knew how, I’d rig the doll electronically so it could do cool stuff.  Like– as soon as I turn off the light, it could automatically light the Jesus candle, eject the condom from some sort of spring-loaded mechanism in it’s hand, and play a song:

    “He’s got the wholllllle wer-erld in his hand, he’s got the whollllle wer-erld in his hand, he’s got the whollllle wer-erld…”

    Oh, also? The doll was Jewish, because the ex-boyfriend is Jewish.  So I hope he enjoys hugging that big ol’ Jesus candle.  Ha ha.





  • February13th


    This is (obviously) a SUPER-GROSS BILLBOARD

    for the HALLMARK channel’s movie of the week*

    A Ring By Spring

    I drove by it the other day and I was really grossed out by it. So grossed out, in fact, that a cop pulled me over!
    Cop: Ma’am, do you realize how cynically you were driving just now?
    Me: Yessir.
    Cop: You were also in a no vomiting lane.
    Me: I’m sorry sir…..
    (awkward silence)
    Me: Sir?
    Cop: Ma’am?
    Me: Are you single, sir?

    So this V-Day, drive carefully, won’t you?  Eyes on the road.  Not on smiling ladies swinging from trees on giant engagement rings.  As the no texting campaign so aptly put it, “It can wait.”

    A Ring By Spring?  Feh.  It can wait.

    A Ring By Spring? Feh. It can wait.










    *In show biz, people are all really important and don’t have time to say big long phrases like movie…of…the….weeeeek.   They say “m.o.w.” instead.  (If this insider information gets you laid at your next Hollywood cocktail party, please let me know!)

  • January27th

    I like my furniture like I like my men–  real fixer-uppers.  Diamonds in the buff, if you will.

    But lately, I’m starting to think I better curb that instinct to take in “strays,” convincing myself all the while that I’M soooooo special that I’LL be the one (the only one) to truly transform them.   (Wait a minute… we’re still talking about furniture now, right?)  Progress is… NOT hauling an old beat-up piano I saw on the street into my Mini Cooper, thinking “My crafty, DIY skills will fix it up & get it tuned! It’ll sound gr8!” This is the equivalent of dating a junkie I found on the street and thinking “My undying love and quirky persona will fix him up & get him in tune w/his higher self! He’ll be great!”

    You mean my love is NOT transformative and all-powerful?  Huh.

    You mean my love is NOT transformative and all-powerful? Huh.

    marybirdsong on Instagram.

  • January4th

    If the coffee creamer you bought for the dude goes bad before he stops returning your calls, then this relationship has "gone bad."

    Coffee creamer has a relatively SHORT life. But my romance with the man I BOUGHT this creamer for?  Even shorter.

    “What time you getting here tonight, hmm?

    And how do you take your coffee in the morning?”

    I giggled, wishing I had a pink Princess phone so I could twirl the Slinky™-like cord  in between my fingers.  I relished the sexy sound of his voice.  And I loved that he was a good  tennis partner, who could keep up with my propensity for “bits,” and lob them right back at me.

    The very thought of getting naked with a guy like this got me all in a tizzy.  I’d never been with a guy like this.  A guy who… who… okay I guess I should just say it…

    A guy who WAS NOT… IN….  SHOW BUSINESS!

    Isn’t that HOT?  He wasn’t writing a screenplay, wasn’t “thinking about trying standup now that his divorce was final,” and wasn’t an actor who’s career consisted of getting new head shots and teaching kundalini yoga, but was “totally cool that I’m successful at my chosen ‘craft’.”  (Ewww!  Did he just say “craft?” Non-ironically?)  One of my least favorite words to EVER hear out of an actor’s mouth is the word CRAFT.  Blech!  Shut UP!  I don’t give a shit about your craft.  Now hit your mark and know your lines and for god’s sake take that conspicuous book of poems sticking out of your back pocket and shove it up your pretentious arshole!  Craft.  Feh!!

    “Craft” is a word that should only be used when construction paper and elbow macaroni are involved.  (And glitter.  There should always be glitter.)

    Oh, I'm sorry, did you say two sugars or three?

    Oh, I’m sorry, did you say two sugars or three?

    So no- he was not in show business.  In fact, he was not in ANY business. Okay, look- he didn’t have a job.  He wasnt unemployed.  He just… hadn’t had a job in over 20 years.  He was 49.  He’d been a stay-at-home dad pre-divorce, and was now living  off of the alimony he was collecting from his ex-wife.  Yup.   But wait- it gets better!

    He also didn’t have… a home.  Yup!  I was relishing this triste with a guy who was basically a sexy homeless dude. He seemed, in that moment, a perfectly appropriate romantic partner for me.   Me! Who has wined all my dating life about men who disappear,  men who come on strong  then get all wet-noodly, and my favorite… men who do the HOT/COLD/HOT/COLD/HOT/GONE dance.  

    But he was sexy.  And I needed to feel sexy again.  So… as we finalized our plans for the night on my fictitious pink Princess phone, I asked him in a voice as seductive as I could manage while secretly emptying my recycle bin , “Do you drink coffee, sexy homeless man?   Or tea?  Coffee, huh?  Mmmm.  What do you take in your coffee, sexy homeless man?” etc.

    It was sexy all right.  The chemistry we had was crazy-good, and we had so much in common, despite the fact that I… oh, how do I put this?  Earn a living? But was he “relationship material?” Hellll to the no!  But whatever chemicals or dopamine were swimming around in my body and my brain that day made me convince myself otherwise, though I never would’ve admitted to it.  And I knew that this night was gonna be THE night– the night when some “biblical knowing” was gonna be goin’ on in my little bedouin tent.

    But just because I was prepared to be a bad girl didn’t mean I wanted to forget my good manners.  And if things wound up going the way I’d hoped they would, then we’d be gazing into each others’ eyes over hot beverages the next morning.  And I wanted to have whatever condiments he might desire on hand.  So back to my original question:

    “How do you take your coffee, sexy homeless man?”

    Sexy homeless dude?  Check. His coffee?  Light.  Two sugars.  Piping hot.

    Now, this line of questioning started OUT sexy, but then (because I’m me) it quickly devolved into more of a neurotic demand for grocery list specifics: “What kind of sweetener?  Unh huh.  Okay.  Well, wait– do you mean Stevia?  Or Splenda?  I can’t remember which color that one is.  Yellow?  Okay.  Do you like pancakes?  Like… is gluten a problem?”  And on and on it went.

    Way to put the kabash on that sexual tension you’d worked so hard to achieve, Mare!  Why don’t you tell him about a coupon you just got in the mail or how Xylitol makes you gassy while you’re at it!

    Despite all this, he came over anyway.  And there was biblical knowing.  And stuff. And it wasn’t a “I never heard from him again” type situation.  But a couple of weeks or a month later (however long it was) I opened the fridge one night and noticed that pint of half and half I’d bought for him.  It was still unopened.  He hadn’t even used it. It was still perfectly good, as far as the date on the carton indicated.  And yet– it was clear to me that my choice in men was…. not good.  The coffee creamer I’d bought him lasted longer than my romance with the sexy homeless dude.

    Relationships: Winning!

    There oughtta be a smell test.  For men.

    Actually… there is.  Behold!  The WORST, most DISTASTEFUL MUSIC VIDEO ever made.  But it has one thing going for it.  The woman is smelling something bad in her relationship choice, and she IS prepared to do a SMELL TEST.

    Lovers- Please enjoy the music video for the song known as Smell Yo Dick.”  You’re welcome.

    No crying over spilled half & half.  :-)

    No crying over spilled half & half, now, ya here?

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