I’m supposed to be skating, but I was up til 4 am on the phone (well, texting very naughty messages) with Man-Friend.  Since I didn’t make it to the rink, I’m supposed to be cleaning my wreck of a house.  I’ve unloaded the dishwasher and started a load of laundry, but the rest is kind of overwhelming, so I’m on the internetz instead.  Very productive.

Anyway, after all the texting, I woke up this morning really missing him.  I love waking up all intertwined with him.  We’re cuddle-bitches.  So to get myself out of the mopey-missing-him mood, I decided to think about the two things that are good about him not being here.  I’m amazed I could come up with anything, but here they are:

1.  I can eat all the damn cheese I want.  I’m lactose intolerant, but I love love love cheese.  I think I love it more than that Amy girl from Big Brother 2 (?) – the one with Marcellas.  I feel like it was 2, but I could easily be wrong.  When M-F is here, I don’t eat anything with cheese or creamy sauce or milk or anything else that would cause me to blow him out of the house with my lactose intolerant ass.  It’s so gross.  The night before last, I ate cheese enchiladas.  They are one of my all-time favorite foods, and they were fucking awesome until … ew.  No details necessary.  So it’s a good thing he wasn’t here for that.

2.  I don’t have to shave.  This may not seem like a big deal, but a) I’m not a natural blonde and I have very dark leg hair and very pale skin.  Even when I do shave, you can see the root dots on my legs.  Yuck.  And b) I’m a hairy monkey child.  I have enough hair for about three people.  I could give Adam Avitable a run for his money, and he is one hairy mo-fo.  I tried bikini waxing a while back, even going so far as to have a Brazilian for some time (and yes, it freaking hurt like childbirth).  The problem with waxing me is that I don’t get the promised four to six weeks.  No, I get maybe four days.  FOUR days, people!  Gosh!!!  I can’t ever go on Survivor no matter how bad I want to because they’d vote me off just having the nastiest bikini line ever.  For now, I figure I’ll shave on Saturdays just to keep from really turning into an ape, and then right before I go to New Mexico, I’ll weed-whack everything. 

So yeah, here I am sitting at my super dusty kitchen table because my desk is covered in crap, not cleaning my house and still unshowered and in jammies.  It’s 2:36 in the afternoon.  I’m disgusting.  Disgusting and I have leg hair so long you could braid it.  Oh, sexy mama! 

P.S.  I’ve added the man-friend category but haven’t gone back through to mark the other posts with it.  I’ll get around to it when I’m delaying cleaning out the garage or something.


Okay, first of all, it snowed twice this week.  I thought I lived in Texas, but apparently, we’ve switched places with Minnesota.  Snow in March in Texas?  Unheard of.  Luckily it melts by early morning so nobody has to deal with us being bigger idiots on the road than usual.  I swear, they should make it illegal to drive here unless the skies are cloud free.  We are bad drivers.  It was even worse when I lived in Houston.  It rains all the time there, and yet, whenever it rains, nobody will touch the accelerator.  It’s like they’re all stopping to gawk at the raindrop.  Like they didn’t see eleventy billion of them the day before.

Monday night, M-F and I had dinner from this Italian place close to where I live.  It was snowing, so we had it delivered.  I think it’s ironic that people order in when the weather is bad – it’s like, I don’t want to die, but I’ll let the delivery guy risk life and limb on the little one lane each way, winding, potholey blacktop farm road.  I ordered Chicken Marsala.  There’s no milk or cream sauce or anything in it that should make my lactose-intolerant self sick.  The chicken was definitely cooked through and hot when I ate it.  And yet … a little while after I ate it, I started feeling sick.  Then my forehead got all clammy.  Then I got super-quiet which only happens if I’m afraid I’ll open my mouth and instead of words, puke will come out.  Then I knew for sure I was going to puke, and I ran for the bathroom downstairs.  Oh no!  M-F was in there!!!  Shit!  So I ran up the stairs, dog following, and started throwing up in my mouth about halfway up.  I got to the guest bathroom and barely made it to the toilet to unleash the vom.  Meanwhile, Magnus was hanging his head into the toilet just checking out what I had created.  I’m like, “Magnus, no!  Don’t eat that!” and then another wave of barf would come.  A word to the wise:  Unless your mouth is full of throw-up and you cannot speak, tell your dog to wait outside the bathroom.  They just don’t need to be in there.  Anyway, when I was done, I felt freaking awesome, like better than normal.  It was the weirdest thing.  My sister randomly barfs, not me.  So once again, we have to start the non-pukeage streak over.  I swear I don’t normally throw up three times in one year.

That’s pretty much all the non-drama for the week.  Oh, we never made it to the aquarium on Tuesday.  We stayed in bed for too long and then ate at the Waffle House which is totally gross but so yummy.  I insist on calling it “Der Waffle Haus” like in “Dead Like Me”.  I miss that show, but dude, whenever they ate, it made me so hungry and I wanted their food.  When I die, I’d like to be a reaper so I can have their metabolism.  Check that – assuming that the show is right about how it works, then I’d like to be a reaper.  Otherwise, forget it.  Anyway, their coffee was surprisingly good.  It kind of makes you rethink the $4 latte.