I was listening to the radio today when a Tom Cochrane song came on. I don't care who you are, you tap your feet and crave a cold beer when Tom Cochrane comes on. Life is a Highway?? Then, I thought of Jim Brown, my blog crush from Red Shoes Chronicles. So I e-mailed him yesterday to say Hello. In telling him that I was up to so little lately that I couldn't even type up a crappy blog, I figured that there must be something I can pull out of all this nothing. And there is. Which is a really good thing since I'm sure I'm pretty close to losing my followers. Especially my newer followers who I tricked. I reeled them in with some post or another they thought was worth reading, then I vanished. I'm magic like that.
So I got my crotch hair ripped out two nights ago. This has become a fairly regular event. I don't know if it has to do with needing at least someone down there paying such close attention or what, but I honestly can't figure out why I am still paying so much money for this brutality to be inflicted on my lady-bits when I'm not even showing it off. I mean ... I want to show it off, I just can't really think of anyone that wants to reap the rewards of my hairless cooch off the top of my head (contrary to what my previous blog post said, I'm not like a real whore, just kinda act like one sometimes ....)
Next on my agenda, I fucking hate being sick. Shakes, fever, snot, the shits, all of it. As much as I love my couch, my real happy place in life, there's not much worse than being that goddam sick for that goddam long - even considering my crotch waxing. I would have gladly traded my couch for my office. It ruined my chubby busting, pushed me even further behind in procrastinating all the stuff I need to do around the house (like take my Christmas boxes down to the basement), and made me miss a night of roller skating and drinking with my friends (not at the same time). I did, however, get through the rest of the Twilight Saga, which was literally the best friggin thing I've done in a really long time and made me happier than my fat-ass cat drinking tuna juice soaked ham. Don't feel sorry for me, I LOVED IT. I'd wear this all the time if it fit a little better (fucking failed chubby busting) >>>>
(please excuse the spots on the mirror ... I've even procrastinated calling my cleaners)
But judging by the way my Pirates of the Caribbean shirt was received a few years ago in the office on a day that wasn't casual Friday, it's probably not appropriate for a 31 year old woman wearing a teeny t-shirt with a teenage heart throb vampire on it. And my kid would literally gouge my eyes out in my sleep if I wore it out in public around her (mental note: Wear teeny-tiny Edward shirt in public with daughter next time she's being an asshole ... then lock my bedroom door)
Speaking of assholes ... my baby-daddy hasn't drunk dialed me in a long time. And only due to the lack of action in my life right now, I'm a little offended.
Over and out!