Let sleeping dogs lie.

17 Dec

I’m so bored right now that I might take a shower.

I’m also so cold right now that I might take a shower.

It’s bad that the first two reasons for me to bathe have nothing to do with my poor hygiene at the moment, which is less than acceptable. I’m oilier than a Jiffy Lube garage. My hair could prepare a frying pan for scrambled eggs. My filth could rival that of Pig Pen’s from the Peanuts. It isn’t pretty.

I opened up a Dove Chocolate Promise this afternoon that read, “You can never go wrong with honesty.” -Jackie Moehler, Utah.

Apparently Jackie has never tried smuggling marijuana through airport security, or spent time getting ready with a roommate who is on the heavier side of the freshman 15. She has also never thrown a party at her parents’ house in 11th grade and did a poor clean-up job afterward. “Mom, the dog barfed on the floor and left the Heineken caps all over the basement; don’t you trust me?”

There is a guy somewhere outside my apartment building, possibly across the street even, yelling the same indecipherable two-syllable word over, and over, and over again. I can’t pick out what it is. “LAU-RAAAAA!!!!!” It could be, “RHON-DAAAAA!!!” It could even be, “SPOOOONGE-BOB!!!!!” I just don’t know. I don’t know how this guy rolls. What I do know is that with every yell he makes, I become more and more aggravated. If this man is stumbling back and forth in front of his (ex) girlfriend’s apartment, locked outside over a stupid fight about Glenn Beck or how to cook Hamburger Helper, I will march outside and break a wine bottle over his head. I will.

I’ll feel really bad if this guy is wandering around hopelessly outside, calling for his lost dog.

He probably isn’t though. On with the bottle-breaking.

So, the most common search terms that have led people to my blog via search engines has gone from being overwhelmingly “vagina, vagina waxing, vajazzling, and waxed vagina” to “cactus” and “cactus photo.” It’s a really weird transition. My audience is now more concentrated with horticulturists? This was certainly an accident. I’m not sure how I went from intriguing women curious about Swarovskis on their Chicken Pot Pies to individuals consumed by desert plant matter. It’s a crazy world that we live in.

Well, time to go.


“He’s Jersey, he skis in his jeans!”



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