This is my blog, and it is dangerous. Do you think I want to die like this?

Saturday, January 30, 2016

Drunkfest 2016

3:23am - It has has officially started. By officially, I mean that my mother finally went to bed. I started drinking like, an hour an a half ago, out of boredom. Just need to endure the brain-melting blasts of his space heater, until he gets out of the bathroom and I can beg for a reprieve.

3:26am - Seriously, it's Africa hot in here.

3:31am - He's still in the bathroom. Fuck this. I'm playing Iggy Azalea.

3:37am - He has emerged. I asked him if it was a satisfying experience. He mentioned listening to "tasty tunes." I told him his heater had melted my face. He claimed it was an improvement.

4:47am - I am clearly pacing myself too well, because nothing noteworthy has occurred yet.

5:07am - We did a Mad Libs online:

For a Limited Time Only!

Hi, I'm Hank Hill, and I want to tell you all about the new leftover.

Have you seen the new leftover? It's fantastic! It will slink and perturb with no problems at all. To use the leftover, all you need are a few scabs. Yes, folks, it's that easy.

Tired of always having to scoop? Well, now you can relax and let the be-tailed leftover do all the work.

Our customers love the leftover!

That guy named Michael, what's his last name? said, “After using the leftover, I'll never go back to using the waffle stress. Why bother?”

This be-tailed leftover is available at any store that also sells painful defeats. For a limited time, we are including a bonus fork friend with each leftover that you purchase. That's right, folks. Buy the leftover and get the fork friend absolutely free!

We are also running a contest. The next 100 people who buy a leftover will be entered in a contest to win a lifetime supply of racism!

Visit your local Victoria's Secret and pick up the leftover. Act now, while supplies last!


6:09am - Playlist thusfar: Blue October - Bleed out, Matisyahu - King Without A Crown, Cyndi Lauper - Fearless. This is a less drunk than usual Drunkfest.

6:32am - He's playing Rick Astley now. Game over man, game over!

7:13am - So this just happened - I was trying to show my ex-husband (since he is up at this hour) this new fun thing, and I failed:

My picture editing is everything.

8:30am - As step dad is playing No Doubt, I will share yet another Mad Libs we did together:

Road Trip!

One day my Uncle the guy from No Doubt who died, and my Aunt Caitlyn Jenner said they would take me and my sister Dolly Parton's boob on a trip to THE GREAT STATE OF NEW JERSEY.
“You will love THE GREAT STATE OF NEW JERSEY,” said Aunt Caitlyn Jenner. “It is famous for its wild the un-mockable African pygmies, its Jets green flowers, and its beautiful tripping balls hills.”

“I hope you packed plenty of stale french fries for the ride,” said Uncle the guy from No Doubt who died. “It will probably take us 5 or whatever hours.”

So we all piled into Uncle the guy from No Doubt who died and Aunt Caitlyn Jenner's unicycle. At first the trip was really plum stupid. We sang “fifthry billyord Bottles of Bud Lite on the Wall.” Then we counted the puke that we saw knee rubbing in the fields by the side of the road. But after 1 hours we had eaten all the stale french fries and Dolly Parton's boob was getting really really, like rilly stupid.

“Are we almost there?” she asked with extreme Jewishness.
“Yes, Skippy,” said Aunt Caitlyn Jenner.

Just then I saw a sign that said, “Staten Island: 2 miles.”
“Umm, Uncle the guy from No Doubt who died, is Staten Island on the way to THE GREAT STATE OF NEW JERSEY?” I asked.

“Yeah,” said Dolly Parton's boob, pointing, “and is The Staten Island place where I lost my phone on the way to THE GREAT STATE OF NEW JERSEY?”

That's A Good Loose Meat Sandwich, kids,” laughed Uncle the guy from No Doubt who died. “You can trust the expert.”

“One thing's for sure,” I muttered. “I don't think we're in New Jersey! any more.”


I am so sorry about this. This is a very ... something Drunkfest.

9:14am - This night has been weird, but not a failure, since I convinced my step dad that new music, such as Blue October, Lana Del Rey and Milo Greene is way cool.

9:20am - Step dad wants to pack up pack it in, let me begin. Wait, okay, he said he wants to hit she sheets. Which means I will finish this beer, grab my hoagie leftovers and some water and have a nippity nap. Sorry it wasn't a weirder night, kittens. But Drunkfest is what the night demands.

Love you all! (Especially anyone who read this.)

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Wednesday, January 13, 2016

Christmas! GAH.

How did it go for everyone? Just tell me in your minds, I can hear you.

It was a very different Christmas this year, which started on Christmas Eve. Boyfriend traditionally spends the night at his sister and brother-in-law's house - since I really enjoy them both, I was like, "me too?" and I was permitted access. It was that evening I realized there is no one on this planet who loves decorating for this holiday more than boyfriend's sister. Every inch of her abode was festooned and swagged and stuffed to brimming with cheerful lights and decor. It was amazing. I was fatigued just looking at it.

I was even more exhausted the next day, due to forgetting to beg boyfriend before he fell asleep to turn off a few hundred lights, because attempting sleep on her very comfy couch was like attempting sleep on the very sun. I was myself afraid to touch a thing, lest my penchant for lacking grace should topple everything into a desperate mess.

Christmas day itself was fairly typical, except for homes requiring air conditioning in the ding dang winter. Presents, naps, beer for breakfast - one might call it a day like any other, except with Christmas cookies.

My mom was working on Christmas, so we all had to wait until the following Monday to celebrate with her and my stepdad when she finally had a day off. We went out for some shitty Mexican food, had a few drinks, then re-assembled back at my sister's house to open gifts.

Among other treats, I got underwear. Good news is, I want underwear.

After arriving back at boyfriend's, we sat outside for a bit, when he suddenly fell prey to a concomitant case of phlegm and pernicious hiccups. I took one look at his face and implored him to face away from me immediately, and boy, am I smart, because his dinner found its way out of his body and down the porch steps.

We decided it was time to retire to bed, which was fine by me, since I felt a rainy-day headache looming hard. He got slipped into the bed first, where I heard him exclaim curses with a measure of bemused distress. I walked over to discover not one, but two liberal wet spots and more cat shit than I care to recall in detail. By the time we made it into a clean bed, cats kicked the hell out of the room for the night with as stern a glare I could manage, and I took my requisite "just laid down for a few, now it's time to pee of course" trip to the bathroom, I returned to bed to discover I had a full-on, head-threatening-to-explode migraine. I also found myself without a belly full of Mexican food, or any fluids I tried desperately to retain, by the time I mercifully fell asleep in the gloomy twilight.

The lesson here is try new traditions on Christmas, definitely, but not the ones that leave you barfing and cats shitting all over your stuff.
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