In other words, hey girl heyyyy. I know I've been absent lately, boo. Girl you know I don't mean it when I disappear like that. Get over here and let's motorboat our way back to intimacy. I had a somewhat last-minute visit from my darling Sister-in-Law for two weeks and before that an unfuckingfathomable work load. Forgive me, sugar lips? If it makes you feel any better I thought about your lovely lady lumps a lot. No, seriously, and in an even creepier fashion than usual.
And now I go about the business of updating you on the wildly important content of the last month.
1. Speaking of creepy and vomiting all over your peaceful existence, I saw 'The Conjuring'.
Now, if you're too afraid to see it I'll tell you that anything based on a story as told by Lorraine Warren is horseshit. I love me some paranormal people and one or two I believe, but she's one of the ones where if you flush a toilet in your house she's going to go flapping and squawking out of it yelling "demon! Deeeemonnnn!" if that makes you feel any better.
If you would like to see it, but are perhaps too preoccupied or frightened to see it in theatres, let me know and I will come over, wait until you fall asleep, and then hover a few inches over your face with my ridiculously unkempt hair until I can muster up some bloody vomit to bathe you in. That'll give you the gist.
Oh. Also - can we all just accept that all dolls are horrifying, definitely come to life at night and should be burned in a great big pile? I feel like that will solve a lot of problems. K thanks.
2. I was instructed by my Doctor for awhile there to abstain from sex so as to not aggravate Francisco the Asshole Cysto. Now, as we all know, the instant you are told you HAVE to have sex you are suddenly overwhelmed with narcolepsy and likewise, the instant you are told you CAN'T have sex, you feel as though you have been mainlining raw oysters and Spanish Fly into your veins whilst sitting on top of an unstable dryer. Suddenly Bubba's "Greatest Hits" reel was playing over and over in my head, highlighting his greatest moments in vagenius.
And wouldn't you know it, that asshat wouldn't go for it? Try as I might to shimmy everywhere I went and drop a lot of things, he remained unmoved. Something about sex resulting in wild amounts of painful screaming on my part not being his thing... weirdo.
3. Speaking of weirdo sexual proclivities, I learned what 'cuckolding' is.
You see, a creepy man who wanted to buy my car (which is not for sale) had my number because I am an idiot. Bubella and I were out for a lovely dinner when creepy man butt dialed me. Creepy man proceeded to have a conversation with a girl for seven minutes that began something like this:
"I know you want to fuck a lot of other people, I know you do. I just don't get why I can't be in the room when you're doing it because that would really turn me on".
And then proceeded into further detail. (and YES I listened for seven minutes in a very nice restaurant.. Who are you to judge me?!?!)
Any particular sexual fetish and I can usually, usually, tilt my head and squint my eyes and see why that would be a turn on for some people. This one... no. There is no fathomable cocktail - of booze, prescription meds, roofies, bleach, whatever - that you could give me that would result in anything else other than that girl being buried in my backyard. (And my dogs have been kind enough to pre-dig the holes, just in case). My feelings on the subject are best expressed via Madeline Kahn in "Clue".
I am crazy - NUTS - for my Sister in Law Bubella who is 17. She is a kickass girl who I have known for nine years and she will be one of my closest friends forever. She's amazing and I can't wait for her to hit 21 so we can booze up the town. Much more my sister than she is SIL. She is the exception to my rule - the rule being I tend to regard teenagers much in the same way one would a large sweaty woman's used tampon being placed in the middle of your Cobb salad.
But man alive - I could disappear into teen twitter town for hours. Those bitches be cray-cray. Everything is life or death, a horrible attempt at being deep, a picture that makes them look like baby prostitutes (you can smell the impostor perfume, I tell you) and/or they've apparently been told that just being aware that marijuana exists is your one way ticket to cooltown so by all means, prove it's existence in your life as much as possible. Nothing is cooler than trying to look cool, apparently.
Honestly it's an entire post, my discoveries - the one Bubella is not immune to, however, is apparently whenever a teenager talks to their parents they inevitably sound like a sexually frustrated Napoleon Dynamite.
Not that I am always the best influence. I may or may not, while we were in San Diego, have decided it was an excellent idea for us to go swimming in the hotel fountain which we did. Mr. T and I also spent a significant amount of time trying to dress her like a baby prostitute in a West Hollywood thrift store.
5. Those of you who watch True Blood - know that I am a psychotic fan, and under no circumstances would I allow my Sunday evening to be interrupted when it comes on. But good Lord this season is disappointing. Can we just kill off Sam and Alcide, please, because I could really give a shit less at this point. (Yes, fine, Alcide is hot - what if instead of him being a character they just had nudey pictures of him run through the credits?)
Because everytime him & Sam talk in this storyline that I don't give a shit about, my eyes glaze over and I swear to you all I hear, in angry tones, is:
Alcide: grrrr I have a beard
Sam: me too!
Sam: No but seriously, beard
Alcide: Hey, Sam? I'd like to talk to you about something... We have beards.
10 minutes out of every mother fucking episode.
6. I watched Bryan Cranston get his star, which made me feel like a fraud considering I had just finished, less than 24 hours before, getting into a deep philosophical argument with Bub about why I hate Breaking Bad. And I'm the one that got to see him.
7. Despite our deep, deep, deep fundamental differences in regards to Breaking Bad, Bub and I celebrated our 7th anniversary on the 22nd. And yes indeed, sex we had. Vagenius reborn.
8. Apparently there's a headless man wanted on the streets of Los Angeles so, you know, keep a look out.
9. I do not give a shit about the Royal Baby. Do not. Give. A. Shit. And if from now on I have to spend every childless anniversary listening to what wondrous things he's crapped out of his tiny anus in the last year I will burst into flames Madeline Kahn style.
I mean health, happiness, best of luck but sweet merciful crap.. Really? I am supposed to give a shit about this? In 5 gajillion years he may be the head of a country I am not a citizen of. Quick - everyone start inspecting the vaginas of expectant Moms to try and get a grasp of what fetus will be President when I'm 500 years old.
And spoiler alert - he looks like a grumpy old potato full of shit and tears just like every newborn. He is a Royal Potato, sure, but a potato nonetheless.
It is, however, making me seriously consider announcing the birth of my child with a 41 gun salute.
10. This afternoon I absentmindedly took my thyroid pill. Turns out - not my thyroid pill, but half (HALF I didn't realize) of an Ambien pill. So the rest of my day will be spent thusly:
That video makes me die.
Okay - I think we're all caught up. I am BACK.