1.Have you guys ever heard that old Meatloaf song that goes “I would do anything for love?” What a lovely song. Very moving. It really pulls on the heart strings, you know? There’s few things in life that are more special than knowing the person you’re sharing your life with is willing to do anything for your love. It’s all great until the next line of the song, “but I won’t do that.” Um……… wait. Hold on. What? You’d do anything… but you won’t do that. I mean, does anybody actually know the ONE thing that Meatloaf won’t do for love? Is it wax his hairy nipples? Share his last piece of pineapple pizza? Start wiping his ass back to front? What the hell is it? I.must.know.
(Anyone else suddenly craving meatloaf for dinner?)
2.One of my cats has serious allergy issues and gets “hot spots” on occasion. (Itchy, raw patches that get inflamed. Ick.) She despises wearing a cone, so we tried to get creative and make a sort of “recovery bodysuit” so she didn’t have to wear the dreaded cone of shame. We took an old baby onesie my mother-in-law had and cut some holes and sewed some areas and… wam!
(And tell me, Sharon. How did that make you feel?)
Look at her proper collar and flower-shaped button. What a classy lady. Alex had never let us put any sort of clothes on our pets prior to this (he always jokes and says it’s animal abuse) so I was a little obsessed over how cute she looked. I totally get you crazy pet owners who put clothes on their pets. Totally get it.
3.Let’s get to know each other by answering the question below. (I love you guys, so, you know. TELL ME ALL YOUR SECRETS.)
If you could only choose one restaurant to eat at for the rest of your life, which would it be?
My answer would probably be Dunkin Donuts. Bagels and cream cheese are my favorite food. And, uh, who says no to endless amounts of coffee and sugary donuts?
I’m having one of those days where I don’t feel like writing. Or talking. Or being awake and functioning at all. Depression… such a fickle bitch. Creeps up behind you when you least expect it and wraps its Voldemort-esque fingers around your neck and chokes you like a bad scene in one of those Fifty Shades of Grey movies. Except it’s a lot less pleasurable because at least the girl in that scenario is getting something fun out of it. Ya know? I’m forcing myself to write anyways, though, because isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Slap a smile on, pretend everything is great, and that unicorns are frolicking around your backyard farting out cupcakes? Cupcakes actually sound pretty good right now. Even if they are coming out of something’s ass. I’m pretty sure if I could have any superpower, it would be farting out cupcakes.
I’m still trying to get into posting regularly. I feel like I’m already dropping the ball, but I’ll pick it up. I promise my first born child on it. Okay, not really. Being in a funk makes me a risk-taking rebel. Who knows, maybe I’ll spring an extra shot of sugar-free syrup in my coffee later or eat more than half of a cookie for dessert. You never know what’s coming. I’m just so unpredictable.
Here’s a random silly poll for the week. Yay! Answer honestly – It’s anonymous. I mean, I’m sure I could somehow hunt down your IP and figure out who voted what, but I can barely get my email to work, so no worries. Your secrets will stay hidden!
Ever love something so much you want to squeeze it so tight that its eyes pop out and guts burst all over your walls and decorate it with a nice red tinge? Sure, it’s a bit brutal like a scene from Dexter when he’s hacking the shit out of one of his victims and bathing in their blood, but that’s okay. It’s out of love, you know? My mom always told me it was the thought that counts, so… as long as you do it with good intentions it’s okay. (That’s how it works, right?) Anyways, the point of this ramble was to tell you guys that I love you. So much that I want to hug you so tight you can’t help but shit yourself. I really appreciate and have all the feels for this community.
Anyways, I was nominated for an award by R Cawkwell. Since I never follow to the rules to these things, I thought I’d answer the questions she asked, then turn and ask y’all questions of my own so we can learn more about each other. It’s a fun game, so answer them damn it! Or sit in the corner being a party pooper while you pick your nose. Whatever works.
She asked me:
When did you start writing? I started writing poetry when I was in junior high. It was absolutely terrible, but it spawned my love for writing.
Pluto: Planet or not? YES. Of course. Don’t disrespect Pluto just being it’s smaller than the others. Didn’t your parents teach you manners?
Favorite place to write? At my desk, I’m not hipster enough to write in public.
Pen or word processor for the first draft? Word processor. My hands hurt way too fast when I write by hand.
If you were a mythical creature, what would you be? A hippogriff. Because, uh… Harry Potter kicks ass.
My questions for y’all:
If you could recommend ONE show right now, what would it be?
Would you rather spend the rest of your life with giant testicles on your chin, or having hooves instead of hands?
If you could choose any celebrity to hit the sheets with, who would it be?
Who’s your favorite blogger around these parts? (Besides me, obviously!)
I’m having one of those days where I don’t feel like writing. Or talking. Or being awake and functioning at all. Depression… such a fickle bitch. Creeps up behind you when you least expect it and wraps its Voldemort-esque fingers around your neck and chokes you like a bad scene in one of those Fifty Shades of Grey movies. Except it’s a lot less pleasurable because at least the girl in that scenario is getting something fun out of it. Ya know? I’m forcing myself to write anyways, though, because isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Slap a smile on, pretend everything is great, and that unicorns are frolicking around your backyard farting out cupcakes? Cupcakes actually sound pretty good right now. I’m pretty sure if I could have any superpower, it would be farting out cupcakes.
I’m skipping my ‘Random-As-Shit Thursday Thoughts’ post for today. Maybe I’ll do it this weekend, or maybe not at all this week. Being in a funk makes me a risk-taking rebel. Who knows, maybe I’ll spring an extra shot of sugar-free syrup in my coffee later or eat more than half of a cookie for dessert. You never know what’s coming. I’m just so unpredictable.
Here’s my Random-Ass-Poll for the week. Yay! Answer honestly – It’s anonymous. I mean, I’m sure I could somehow hunt down your IP and figure out who voted what, but I can barely get my email to work, so no worries. Your secrets will stay hidden!
1.There was a woman at Target yesterday who had toilet paper stuck in her waist band by her butt. I thought it was embarrassing to advertise to a crowded store that she recently shat in store’s bathroom and was the cause of the ungodly odor seeping out onto the people waiting in the Starbucks line, so I took it upon myself to tell her. You know, trying to cash in my good deed for the day. Instead, she turned and looked at me and said, ‘That’s not funny! Those type of pranks are very immature for a woman your age.’ This chick thought I was the one who put the toilet paper in.her.pants. IN THEM. How the hell could I manage doing that without her feeling it? I’m a modern day Houdini. That’s what I get for trying to be kind. I responded with, ‘Don’t be embarrassed, lady. Everybody poops!’ …. Didn’t her parents teach her that?
2. I saw this on the front page of Yahoo the other day. I mean, is this really news-worthy? ‘Adult knows how to feed himself?’ Congratu-fucking-lations! You’ve done what 75% of the population does. Making your own food? How inspiring! How brave! I understand a lot of people who work get lunch out, but surely there’s a time when everyone has gone at least three days making their own food, right? Especially in the poor college years. I eat at home every meal besides maybe one a week, so I’m expecting a feature on the front page of Yahoo any day now. If you’re a journalist, hit me up. It will be a top article. I promise. Everyone else – keep your eyes peeled for my grand debut.
3. Do you ever wake up in the middle of the night and suddenly have a light bulb go off? Like, your mind has a moment of clarity and everything in your world just seems to make sense all of a sudden. I had this last night. I woke up out of a dead sleep and realized something amazing – The french fry brand ‘OreIda’ is Oregon and Idaho mashed together. Did you know that? Genius. Pure genius. Why was I thinking about french fries at 3 am? Who knows. I don’t even like the damn things. Apparently it was an important mystery my subconscious needed to solve.
I had an epiphany yesterday. I was standing in the middle of a Walmart pharmacy section with my newly purchased box of Samoas a bunch of little girls conned me into buying even though I probably won’t eat them. Those girls are so shifty. Have you ever had those Girl Scout cookies before? They are akin to tequila for me – every bite makes me want to strip down, put my underwear on my head, and do a seductive rendition of the chicken dance for everyone. Sexy, eh? I really know how to party. I was minding my own business, but then I was interrupted.
Walmart Lady: Is something wrong?
Me: I hate it here. That’s it … I hate being here. It’s driving me crazy.
Walmart Lady: Uhh, is there something that happened? Can I help you with something?
Me: Oh, no. Not here here. I mean, I kind of hate it here. Why does it seem like Walmarts are always in dusty old warehouses where they once held a bunch of Chinese kids hostage to make their clothes? Is that why your stuff is so cheap? Where are the children now? Where. Are. The. Children?!
Walmart Lady: …
Walmart Lady: I don’t know nothin’ about no Asians!
Me: *turns and quietly leaves*
I’ve come to hate living in this town. I’m not entirely sure where it stems from, but recently I’ve had the overwhelming feeling of needing to get out. Sheep aren’t made for the suburbs. There’s barely any room between the houses, silence is nonexistent, and it feels like privacy is hard to come by. I miss the country. I need to take some deep breaths of fresh air – cow shit and all. I’d even rather be closer to the beach.
I tried to ask my Mom for advice while I was driving home, and her wisdom was ‘just follow your heart!’ What kind of crappy advice is that? My heart is just telling me to go to the refrigerator.
When I was in college I was invincible. Life is fleeting, and all I knew back then was that I wanted every moment to count. Every moment to be memorable. Which explains the years that I thought it was completely justifiable to get drunk, rip my clothes off, and run down the street with a bong clutched in my hand and tassels dangling from my nipples. Or when I didn’t think twice about bungee-jumping in that really sketchy neighborhood in Mexico for only $5. Smart? No. Memorable? Definitely. Hey, I never claimed to be the smartest person. Don’t judge.
Yesterday I got word that my sister-in-law wanted to go sky-diving for her 30th birthday with all of the adults in our family. I was, well…. horrified. Seriously. In the last decade life has become a lot more fragile. I make sure I’m more careful and avoid any unnecessary risks. I have an amazing husband and future goals that I’m not ready to put on the line for a cheap thrill. Of course, Alex was excited about the prospect of going before I shot him a nervous look and he decided to back down from the idea. I’m such a bore and a damper on a good time. Whoops.
Would you want to go sky diving for your birthday? What if you had 3 young children and a lot to put on the line if, heaven forbid, something went wrong? Have you gone sky diving and think it’s totally safe (enough for me to not worry about my husband going?)
Sometimes I feel like a bad American. Now, I can definitely get down with the love of hamburgers and pizza. I’m also all about double-fisting cans of really shitty beer until I can’t remember my name and I’m running down the street wearing my bra as a headband. (I haven’t done that before. Nope, never. Really.) I just can’t handle the politics. It makes me stabby. When someone tries to talk to me about them I stare at them wide-eyed and clueless. I’m a lost cause.
People like to give me a lot of shit because I don’t vote. (Yes, you can too if you want. But I’m just going to shake my head slowly and pretend you’re naked and being hugged by a human-size porcupine.) Obviously I care about the issues at hand and a lot of them are important to me, I think I just get too overwhelmed by the arguing. I can’t handle the confrontation. The idiocy. The insanity. I get too emotionally invested by things so I’m better off avoiding them like the plague.
Ready for some irony? My college major was Political Science. (Weird, right?)
(Edited to Add this paragraph) I just can’t handle the way politics turn people into assholes. Recently when Scalia passed away, I read numerous posts on Facebook and here (WP) about celebrations. How it was a great thing. There were jokes over his death, cheers, and a lot of fucked up stuff about how happy people were. Regardless of the guy’s politics – he was still a person. With a family. Who died. Seriously. What the fuck is wrong with people? You’re disgusting.
I’m curious where you stand, so you better vote down below. I already told you I was feeling stabby. So… you better listen! (Please and thank you 🙂 )
I’ve never really understood Valentine’s Day. If it takes corporate America to force you into proving your love to someone… chances are y’all ain’t gonna make it. Sorry folks. But, I can’t completely condemn a holiday that emphasizes something positive. Especially one that’s often paired with champagne and chocolate. Or cheesecake. Mmm… cheesecake.
Do chocolates, roses, and jewelry do it for you? Do you expect to come home to rose petals strewn across the bed while your partner is naked and covered in sushi? A stuffed bear holding a fuzzy heart? A surprise couples massage and a rub down by a sexy masseuse named Antonio? (or, if you prefer women — a sexy masseuse named Sophia)
It seems like Valentine’s day evokes a lot of different feelings for people. I’m genuinely curious where you stand.
People are weird as hell. I am no exception. (Neither are you!) For some reason I have the incessant desire to snoop through the bathroom cabinets when I’m in a person’s house for the first time. Terrible, right? But, the contents of your cabinets and drawers tell a lot about you. Plus, I think I have the right to know what kind of crazy shit I may be dealing with here. It would be nice to be sure that, you know, you didn’t invite me over to harvest my organs or shove a plastic bag of heroin up my butt. There’s no way I’m schlepping over the Mexican border for you, asshole.
So, if you are inviting me over for some of your prize-winning chili and a rousing game of Pictionary for the first time – there is a good chance I will be rummaging through your bathroom. Hide your pill bottles, your condom stash, and your Preparation H. Do me a favor and don’t leave a pile of dirty crusted over undies on the closet floor. (Not that I’m going to touch or go through your underwear – I’m not that crazy – but I will help myself to opening the door if it’s closed.) And, for the love of God, please refrain from leaving a pile of wet hair swirled around on the wall of the shower or leave a new douching kit proudly out on the counter. There’s no way I’m going to see a douche out on a counter and not make a joke about it. Embarrassment will ensue, my dear.
Thanks for your consideration. This is the first step to a successful lifelong friendship with a crazy person. (e.g. ME)
Have you ever nosed your way through someone’s bathroom? Ever find something alarmingly weird? Don’t be ashamed, folks. Here’s a Fun Fact: 40% of people who come to your home for a party snoop in your medicine cabinets.