Fucked up bitch, reporting for duty!

So this is the obligatory "I am sorry I am such a lame ass and forgot how to blog, but I really miss it, and you, and blogging, so I am gonna come back and try again, and I really hope you still like me" post. But rather than telling you all that stuff, I am just going to think it and expect you to know it. (The holiday brings it out in me. Passive-aggression always makes me think of home...)

Speaking of which, happy bunny/shagging day! Not much on the jebus, but I like getting down--so to celebrate, I got laid this morning. And then I made eggs. I know you wanted to know. That's why I told you.

Alright, so I think it is obvious I lack a coherent thought or the ability to organize the dribbles of thoughts currently eminating from my brain hole. As such, I am gonna stop. BUT. I did want to let you know I will be in NOLA this week, and so I anticipate some REALLY terrible-awesome pics for next week.

P.S. When I came back to my blog today, it said the top recent search result that led people to my blog was "fucked up bitch." I thought that was kind of appropriate.

Victoria's Secret is touching my cocktail where it's bathing suit covers...

I found this in my drafts folder. Apparently I made this in February...and then had enough drinks that I forgot to post it...

There are some drinks I am proud of. This is not one of them...



This is pink lemonade vodka and diet lemon-lime soda. It was fucking delicious, I can't lie...But it left me feeling ashamed and dirty. The walk to throw the little bottle away could definitely be classified as a "walk of shame." I tried to capture the color, but that feat was beyond my phone and the poor kitchen lighting. Suffice it to say, it made me think of the line "Pink" from VS. And I think that fits well with the drink.

The "Pink" line is essentially trying to repackage skanky lingerie so that it can be marketed to underage girls in a manner that they will still be able to convince their mothers to let them wear it (or even buy it for them). And that feels a lot like this drink. An adult idea that has been inappropriately modified to suit the tastes of underage girls, while not totally offending the sensibilities of those adults who may happen to see them.

Take home message: Don't tell frat boys about the pink lemonade vodka. Or underage girls, for that matter.

P.S. Don't think I am hating on the skanky lingerie. I'm not. I am not a big fan of VS, but I have drawers and drawers full of corsets and stockings and the like. I just find it creepy when lingerie is marketed towards girls in their mid-teens. They already have WAY too much of a skank-urge. You do not need to be leveling lingerie marketing campaigns at them.

Narsty Mystery Moisture

Am I the only one who overly distresses herself  by wondering about what new sponges (fresh from the package) are moistened with? It creeps me out. Why can't they just sell me a dried damn sponge? It would be lighter and smaller (and therefor cheaper) to ship--and then I wouldn't have to spend time sniffing and poking and feeling disturbed as all get out.

I don't care that it came sealed in a package...it is similar to the feeling I get when someone hands me a moist dollar bill, or when I rest my arm on a table only to discover there is something sticky on it. It is not as bad, however, as accidentally touching the underside of a public table to find a variety of crusty "treasures." And not nearly as bad as plunking yourself down too fast on a public toilet, only to feel unknown moisture seeping through that flimsy paper to your tender rump region.

You know, just in case you forgot any of those gross feelings. So, what about you? Sponge moisture creep you out? What is your least favorite unexpected substance experience?

It's like peeing on stuff, but with tassles.

I still have fantasies of proper posts...but for now we will stick with random facts.



That's a lot of peeing all over your boyfriend's house.
Source
(Who interestingly asserts you can never have too many throw pillows...so clearly we have different feelings on the matter.)

 FACT: Throw pillows are the girl equivalent of peeing on stuff to mark your territory. Seriously. Think about it--if you walk into some guy's home and he has throw pillows, you know there is a highly involved woman in his life. Whether mommy is still a bit too involved, there is a friend who doesn't realize she wants to be more than a friend, or there is a flat out girl friend or wife. Or, he's gay. Regardless, it lets other women coming into the space know that they should not count on this gentleman as a viable partner. It is one of those gender stereotypes that tends to pan out. (And I hate those, because I hate to think of myself as in any way stereotypically feminine. I'm not saying that makes sense, but just that it is my gut reaction.)

Also? No one really likes throw pillows. I am pretty sure. I don't. I have them, I put them around--but for the most part I find them vexing. Which is another way they are like peeing on stuff to claim it. While an effective method, no one really enjoys it. So the next time someone pisses you off, just rub a throw pillow on them and know that, secretly, it is just like you are rubbing piss on them.

From Toothpaste for Dinner

 FACT: Cucumbers are nasty, but tsatziki is delicious. I don't know how this works out, but I was reminded of it over the weekend when I made super delicious tsatziki (to go on the spanikopita and dolmas I also made) from super-nasty cucumbers. (I just mean that cucumbers are super-nasty, not that there was anything wrong with the ones I used. They were perfectly good, as cucumbers go.)



From Toothpaste for Dinner

 FACT: This comic is both hilarious and accurate. Also, if you did not already know about Toothpaste for Dinner, you should go check that shit out. How could it not be? The little neurotransmitters look like dinosaurs!

Science is spicy (Also known as, "Really, me?")

Spicy food digests easier. It's Science. If I eat eggs, I HAVE to eat hot sauce, or else I feel sick for hours. I prefer to chase that with some diet Pepsi, which I also believe helps kill the food in my stomach. If I have a nasty hangover, I can treat it like a pro: 2 ibuprofen and a glass of water, followed by a bloody mary or beer consumed with eggs, melted cheese, and LOTS of hot sauce. Follow that up with 2 hours horizontal in front of crap tv or movies and I am ready to drink take on the world again.

_______________________________________

Found this in my draft file. Not really sure how in the skull-fuck I thought this was going to be an actual post, as it is crap, pointless, and short....Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand now I'm posting it. I blame it on the bossa nova rain moving. Honestly, it is like I am trying to scare away the few of you that are here. Sure, most of you are here by accident, but that's not the point.

Seriously, though. I am getting really curious: Could whoever is coming here after googling "the question" PLEASE tell me what the hell it is you are looking for? I could not be more curious. There is more than one of you. Or you are a creature of habit.

Okay. I am going to try to make this slightly less sucky with a 1-minute anecdote:

When I was about 10 my best friend and I were eating top ramen together. We were being silly and trying to make each other laugh. I thought I had totally won when I got her to laugh scalding broth out her nose, but then it was so funny that I laughed scalding broth AND a noodle out my nose. Which of course only made me laugh harder. Hurt like hell, though.

I will be back with real posts soon, pinkie-swear. In the mean time, what is the most awesome thing you have ever laughed out your nose?

Itty-bitty-titty-committee

Hello imaginary friends! That title is kind of irrelevant. Which means it mostly to completely is. I love that saying, though. It is just terribly satisfying to say. I have a tiny notebook computer named the itty-bitty-computer-committee (aka, babybot). Which is as bad a name as the title of this post--but almost as relevant. All of this to say: Short Story Time! I want to come up with an alliteration that uses "anecdote," but it didn't really work. All I came up with was Abbreviated Anecdotes Anon (which sounds like there won't be any drinking) or Abbreviated Anecdote Hour (which really only works when spoken). So! In the absence of a real post (due to ongoing chaos), random short stories!

I had totally forgotten about this movie. As I recall, it wasn't fantastic--but it definitely had it's moments. Source

• I was gonna tell you that the reason the title phrase just amuses me but doesn't offend me was that I was never teased about having small boobs. But that would be a lie. I was just never teased using that phrase. I was the first girl in my school to get boobs (at around 11-12), and as a result was constantly teased about how flat chested I was. While at the same time the boys kept trying to touch the boobs they said didn't exist. People are confusing. Particularly middle-schoolers. They are also assholes. Particularly middle-schoolers.



This comes up on the first page of images if you google "middle school assholes." I think middle schoolers are evil, but hippos rock my socks. So I went with this. Source

•  When I was about 5 or 6, I got in trouble for some damn thing (it was always something) and my parents sent me to my room. I tried to argue with them, to no avail. I felt this was a terrible injustice. I brooded and stewed in my room, until finally I stormed out to the living room to give them a piece of my mind. I apparently delivered some wee tirade about my rights, only the conclusion of which I recall. I summed up my point by saying something to the effect of, "You can't just treat me like that! I have rights! I am a human bean, you know!" My precociousness was no match for the hilarity of calling myself a "human bean," and so of course my parents burst out laughing. Not realizing my error, this only enraged me further. My efforts to have them brought up on charges in The Hague were unsuccessful.



This is NOT what I MEANT! Source

• The only time I have been to Honolulu (it was just overnight, on my way back from Samoa) I had a very hung-over breakfast drinking a li hing mui margarita listening to the two prostitutes at the table next to me talk about the guy that got thrown out of a 5th story window that morning at the hotel where one of them was turning a trick that morning. Her nipple kept popping out of her shirt, and all I could think was that I would be really pissed if I was a prostitute and had to work the morning shift. I can't imagine it helps with tips.

This really was the sexiest (and most photogenic) part of the story. Source

• I ran a 5k Saturday morning, but then basically spent the rest of the weekend getting smashed on vodkarade and watching/hanging out at a bike polo tournament. I have to say, bike polo is kind of the balls.

Hopefully I will get around to finishing the post about the pimp I was drinking with later this week. But, seriously, who the fuck knows!? (Damnit. I need and interrobang. Where is an interrobang when you need one!?)

P.S. Speaking of interrobangs...THIS just makes me laugh too hard. I have done my fair share of "walks of shame," but I think having specific clothing for that really takes the fun out of it. I never really saw the "shame" in it, either. But I suppose if you make it a regular enough occurance that you need a special wardrobe...that is probably outside my area of expertise.

A day in the monkey-trucking life...

Good morning imaginary friends! I am in a super-cheerful mood today. Last few days actually. Believe it or not, I think the blog-vomit of my last post may have loosened up my mental constipation. (I so deserve a prize, puke and poop metaphors in the SAME SENTENCE!)

Anycow, for whatever reason, people occasionally think they should argue with me about my choice not to have children. Now I am not saying you would ever do such a thing, because you are all kind, decent people who only ended up here accidentally because you were googling asshole tattoos or "fuck me in my bathing suit." I am pretty sure swanky people like you understand that arguing with someone that they should have children when they don't want to is among the stupidest uses of time ever imagined. (Incidentally, if you have a more stupid one, I'd love to hear about it.) Some people do this, and to them I offer up "A Day in the Monkey-Trucking Life of Messy." (Incidentally, this is actually from Monday.)

5:45 am Smack phone repeatedly because you're a bit hung-over and there is no way in hell you're getting up, plead with JSun to feed the dogs so you can sleep more.

6:15 am Realize it is actually Monday, and that "one last drink" last night did nothing to change that fact. Hit snooze.

6:20 am Realize you need to leave for work in 10 minutes. Engage in some morning snogging.

6:25 am Drag your ass out of bed and thank "before" you for making sure there was clean laundry. Get dressed, brush hair, put in contacts, and brush teeth.

6:30 am More light snogging (Yes. All of the getting ready, responsible morning stuff happened in 5 minutes)

6:35 am Go downstairs. Pray to Jeff there is Diet Pepsi in the fridge. Thank "before" you again when there is. Thank "before" you for grabbing something out of the freezer for lunch. Remember you are supposed to eat breakfast with the steroid you had to take this morning from the time pineapple tried to kill you. Decide to eat cookies.

6:40 am Time warp where the clock magically says it is later than it could possibly be.

6:50 am Leave the house, a mere 20 minutes late. (This actually isn't too bad for me.) Commence with a big blah, blah, blah of work, errands (mostly going to 4 grocery stores so you can get the sparkly nail polish that you have decided will bring you the magic luck that will sell your house--never mind that you won't actually paint your nails until it sells--though I did get a couple groceries while I was at one store, and some booze), and 3 hours of commuting (seriously, we are not talking about that now--probably won't until it is over--but it is some crazy-sauce).

I think we can actually just stop here--it is clear that there is no room for children in here. The evening part of my day is a hell of a lot more fun, but it is NOT child friendly. Booze, blow-jobs, and cookies for breakfast. That's how I like my life. That's why I live it this way. I guess when it comes down to it, that's what bothers me about people arguing with me about the choice to never have children: It feels like they are implying I am incapable of figuring out what makes me happy and then living my life in a manner that achieves that. It implies that they believe they are more knowledgeable about what will make me happy or content than I am. And that's just rude.

P.S. I am sure I don't have to explain the concept of "before" me--many people talk about it--but just in case: There is the me that is now. There is this other person that is me "before" and yet another person that is "future" me. Now refuses to accept responsibility for before, because before is often an asshole. And now fails to recognize that I will eventually be future, so often fails to make necessary arrangements. Hence why before is such an asshole. There is even some science (not just Science) to the idea. One time I worked really hard to be as nice as I could to future for the following day. Laid out clothes and packed snacks and planned and went to bed early and didn't drink too much that night. It was really awesome. I have never loved before so much in my life. Usually now is too busy, though. Just monkey-trucking along. So now, before, and future live in uneasy amicability--each doing the best they can. Now is getting more considerate, though--both in terms of looking out for future, and forgiving before.

P.P.S. No. I am sorry. I don't know what my deal is with monkey. You are not the first to wonder. A few weeks ago at brunch I just yelled out "MONKEY!" When my friends looked at me with the standard, "Please tell us what the skull-fuck you are doing" look, my only explanation was, "I thought we were just saying stuff." It is a fantastic word and the animal conjures so much whimsy. And if you don't have room for more whimsy in you're life, you're probably doing it wrong. (See what I did there? I was rude.) Also, I think I have some form of voluntary Tourette's.