Monday Bear

So Kathryn’s in the kitchen right now cookin’ me some breffis.  She knows a woman’s place.

Really and truly, I haven’t seen this little lady in over a year, and the perfect situation arose (or should I say, aroused) for us to hang out.  And so we did.  With Valerie.  And her widdle boobs.  Watching late night Oxygen.  Trashy “romance” stories (AKA, really bad softcore pr0n).  ‘Twas a night to remember.

GOOOOAAALLLLL!

Many moons ago, Dan, Lia, and I went to Sokol Underground in Omaha.  Dan was the gay friend.  This drunk guy named Rocky (and his faithful pal, whom we lovingly called “Bullwinkle”) was all about some Lia on Liz action.  He sells pills.  He always tried to give Lia some, but he got way creepy, as they all do, so she told him that she was 13 and that her mom wouldn’t let her talk to him anymore.
Smooth move,  Catania.   Way to prevent us from ever getting free pharmaceuticals ever again.
But there was this other guy who told me his name was Icarus.  I challenged him to a lightsaber duel (perfect way to break the ice), and I totally beat his drunken ass.  He had a button on his jacket that said “Shalom!” so I thought that was cute, but I quickly found out that there was a reason his “crazy” ex- baby mama was an ex- baby mama.

Yeah, one of those.

The moral of the story:  Never pick up guys at a bar.  Use the interweb.

: )

“You silly boy, you can’t drive the car like that.”
“You’re a funny little man. *laughs*”
- Me, last night in my sleep, according to Kittie
So speaking of Lia, we have kind of the same habit tendancy– we pray when we’re scared, and pretty much only when we’re scared.  I probably pray about once a week, for any of these reasons:

• I’m afraid a burglar is breaking in to my house and is going to kill be because I’m there.
• Matthew did something really really amazing and I want to thank God that I have him.
• I just think “oh, I haven’t prayed in a while.”  Kind of like when you haven’t cleaned the bathroom in a while and you just get a whim to do so.
• When I’m really really stressed and freaking out about something.
• But mostly because I’m home alone and I’m afraid someone’s going to kill me.

I used to pray like crazy when I was about 13/14… but I think anorexics sometimes become religeously obsessive and begin to confuse God and Ana.

So I apologize if I have ever blogged anything to offend you, but for the love of Pete, it’s a blog.  At least it’s entertaining.  And nobody’s forcing you to read.

Unless I am.  And I don’t do that.  That often.

“If you’ve got that H.I. Virus…”
- Sue Johanson, Talk Sex, the Sunday Night Sex Show.

We just thought that sounded like something an old southern black woman would say.

I wanted to call her last night, but I couldn’t think of a sexual problem that I had.
I mean, someone had already called in for advice on how to let her husband fist her ass…

Kathryn farted -really really really- loud earlier, and right afterward, she started her period.  It relaxed her.

While we’re on the subject, my boobs always look different in the morning than they do at night, or even midday.  It’s like they’re whiter and less firm in the morning, and my nipples are more of a pastel pink than a hot pink.
I call this syndrome Morning Breasts.  It’s like morning breath, but better.

Much better.

By the way, I’m going to Alabama Georgia Arkansas Mississippi later today to visit my Church of God Evangelist grandparents, and I’m returning Wednesday afternoon.   As many of you know, they don’t have computers in Mississippi (let alone internets), so you guys will be blog- free for the next few days.  You’ll manage.  But I promise to give you a nice fat juicy blog Wednesday, full of snake- handling and suspense.

Note that I’m avoiding all church by arriving Monday and leaving Wednesday afternoon.  This was -not- coincidental.  They have scary church.
I should get Cris Angel to go to church there.

*imagines the possibilities and makes a mental note to call good ole’ freaky Cris*

Remember my tube socks?  They used to be my trademark.  As I’ve spent most of the summer barefoot/ in flipflops, when shoes are absolutely nessecary, I feel as though I’ve neglected my long, stripey friends.  I think I’m going to go a couple days wearing shoes and tube socks again, just so we can put the spark back in our relationship.

I would wear them with my summer sandals, but as Bloodhound Gang said, “Thou shalt not wear tube socks with flip flops.”

I hugged Kittie and Valerie this morning.  That’s many a hug for it to only be 11AM.  I haven’t pooped yet, but I just released a couple fluffs.  And I didn’t start muh bleedin’ cycle, like Kittie.

Her boyfriend is a cracker.  An even bigger cracker than I am.  And he’s black.

“Well hello there, K-Dizzle!  How ya doin’?”  *swings arms like a ’30s cartoon*  *and wears a bowtie*

That’s Kathryn’s boyfriend.

So in conclusion, it’s almost 11:11.  And I miss Matthew.

That ending sucks.

So in conclusion, the roof is on fiah and there’s a song in my heart.

That ending sucks as well.

The end.

This entry was posted on Monday, July 31st, 2006 at 11:15 AM and is filed under Awkward Scenarios, Breasts, Nasty, Pooping, Secks, Television. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.