Look at what this american female wants:

[gmm567]

Do you find this in the Philipines? This country is a disaster!

A rant entitled- Weak Men (Give me a bucket)

By Helen Rossiter

I recall a disturbing encounter I had in the summer that left me feeling rather ill.

Out of work I come and as usual I find myself rummaging frantically deep into the depths of my little shoulder bag for my tobacco.

I cross the dusty street of my sea-side town, mingling through children with ice creams, dripping all down their hands and their parents with their pasties………..wot should I cook up for tea tonite? Wot should I wear out later? I think to myself as I wonder up the road, lighting up my rolly in my normal day-dream-state.

Then from out of no where I hear……….�HI�…OH.

Its mid afternoon and “HI� has come to meet me from work: to walk me to my house.

Two words. Piss Off. I’m quite capable of walking home from work ON MY OWN- in the middle of a hot summers day. In fact- (not that “HI� would have even considered this) I like walking home on my own!

“I thought I’d come and meet you,� he said. (& Without making reference to every bloke that meets his girlfriend from work, in fact, he’s actually saying…) “ I’ve been doing nothing all day except mopping around listening to Sepultura and feeling sorry for myself. I can’t do anything as I think I’m in love with you after one day, so please please can we start planning the wedding as…………oh shit dude I’m nearly 30 and unmarried! No kids! MY WIFE HUNT MUST END!

I’m good at two words. PISS OFF.

How did I get tangled up with such a cheesy old bugger (as me best mate would describe him!) I hear you ask.

Well, “HI� (who shall remain anonymous) was ok I spose in the beginning.

It’s my own fault really and I do continually ask how I get my self into such scrapes.

After consuming two bottles of wine me and me grrl in crime, dived into the Surfers Against Sewage Ball, - full Rio-Carniball style. We proceeded to consume several tickets worth of free Tequila as we have discovered that Tequila grrls have even more fun than Lambrini grrls do!

I need say no more. By the early hours of the morning, there being no sign of my grrl, I collapsed in a corner in a bed of plastic pint glasses and wet feathers. With conversation from a half empty bottle of wine and “HI�.

A couple of days later we took a walk along the beach, and talked about Pearl Jam and life and stuff, which was all right.

He asked if he could see me again and I thought ok, he’s a ‘nice guy’ (just what I needed apparently after “that last wanker�)…someone nice and safe…who turned out to be (get ya bucket ready)

Clingy, paranoid, and WEAK and still in need of his mother (or a wife preferably)

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh my skin is crawling, crawling with hundreds and hundreds of cockroaches like that scene in The Craft!

I NEED A BUCKET!!!!

But to conclude this sad tale of sickness…

Everyone has shit, but if u don’t make yourself deal with issues, no one else is gonna pick you up out of your pool of self-pity. I’v been people’s emotional punch bag before and I’m sorry, but I’m not letting it happen again. I’m not cruel and heartless, but after only 1week I don’t need “HI� sat on the sofa crying and saying how f***ed up his life is.

AND I don’t need my shopping done for me, or my washing, or to be put up on a pedistool of any sort. I HATE WEAK MEN.

Wot I like is a guy who leaves you buzzing and jumping around your now trashed bedroom.

Weakness is my sickness, so I got rid of him and carried on living my own mad, independent life. Shit happens they say and I found myself a

bad boy who was wicked (in the good sense of the word) who bursting with positivity and life, and was compassionate without being suffocating and weak.

So the moral of today’s story is be warned of Mr Nice guy

(Unless you are 19 and just dying to get that ring on ya finger!! and start cooking him nice little dinners!!)

Get yourself a Bad boy. That’s what I did. But that’s another story………….

Helen Rossiter




OP note: Can't wait to read about the "Bad Boy" story, I'm assuming it involves another bucket where she stores her crocodile tears and wonders why bad boys never act like good guys..