So I’ve sat down like, 1,500 times, give or take 1,496, to try and write something for the Queefies and every single time, my mind comes up blank. Just
And so I just click over to eBay and obsessively search the listings for my new favorite purse which doesn’t exist anywhere other than in my imagination, and if it does, I have yet to find it. Hence, the searching, searching, searching…
Moving on, we got a new black book cart at work yesterday. It was tres exciting. Lynne named it “Sexual Chocolate” and then we laughed the kind of laugh you laugh at work when somebody says the S-E-X word out loud in a library. I think “Sexual Chocolate” is pretty much the most kick ass name any book cart has ever had in the history of ever.
Moving on part deux, I wrote “Asshole” in salt on the door of one blue Ford Fuckus (that’s Focus to you normal people) because the owner of the Fuckus parked his/her motherfuckus so close to my car that I couldn’t get Homeslice’s car seat in no matter how many times I smashed the door of my car into it in hopes the dent would provide the extra space I needed. I had to go to the driver’s seat with the car seat and put it on my passenger’s seat and pull out of the spot and then get out and go all the way around to take her out and put her in the back. Boy was I mad, you guys.
I wish I had had the presence of mind to write something a little more clever, but you know. I was pissed and my brain freezes up and I just sputter random Tourettsian nonsense like “Fuckhead!” “Jizzbag!” “Pissface!” “Asshole!”
Moving on part thrice, I’m going for a physical today with a new doctor. I hope he isn’t good looking because it’s awkward as ass to have a good looking doctor examine you. Amiright? Or is that something I should discuss with Monica the ninjerapist tomorrow? Like, I wonder what he’d do if I tried to touch his penis, and then I get nervous that somehow I’ll lose complete control and actually do it. It’ll be all kinds of awkward after that, I imagine.
Moving on part vier (that’s four for those of you who didn’t have a German great-grandmother), I know I said I’d never do this, but I bought a Diva Cup. I don’t really know why except to say that I’m kind of sick of shoving wads of chemically treated cotton up my twidget. It’s gross. Not that the Diva Cup isn’t gross. It’s all gross, so why not save the environment or whatever whilst being equally gross? I don’t want to get twidget cancer.
I was in the shopping mood, I guess.
I had to order the Model 2 which was sort of insulting to me. It’s for women who are over thirty and/or have had a vaginal birth. Mister tells me it’s the “cougar edition.” Maybe that’s what they should call it instead because “Model 2” is fucked up. Or maybe they should call it “Sport” for the active vagina.
My new theme should go live tomorrow, IF I can get Mister to understand that colors have to match and that a picture of my crotch isn’t appropriate for a blog header. It’s coming along. Remember last time when I put up a theme that he made for me just to show you what happens when I put him in charge, and then everyone was wicked mean to me and insulting because they thought I was actually going to keep a pornographic theme up? Hahahahaha! Good times. (I’m still hurt over what some of you said, btw)
Anyhooters, that’s the story morning glories.