Monday Bear

So I had the craziest dream last night. There was this huuuge party– Matt was there, his Mama was there, some big huge black guy was there, Cactus was there, and then a bunch of other people were there. We were doing lots of drugs, booze, and sexin’. Well just two of us were sexin’. (Me and Matt, FYI). But then the cops came, so the black guy took all of our drugs and put them atop this flag pole, so the cops couldn’t find them. Then, to cause a distraction, I threw my fancy bracelet on the tile floor. It broke into a million pieces, and then Mama started yelling at me and calling me stupid. Then the cop partied with us. He didn’t do any drugs, he just boozed.

So do you like my new banner? Matthew did it for me. He’s a genius. Click on the “Monday Bear”.

“Whoa. It changed.”
Damn right. There are seven different pictures. You can use them up right now, or you can save them, and every time you come to my blog, it will be like xmas.
If you do decide to waste them all right now (which I know most of you will… I did), let’s play a game. Comment me and tell me which one was your favourite.

PS, I hate it when people blog about their layouts.

But I’m so glad the blue is gone.

Daaaaamn right.

Hh yeah, and I forgot. When I was at Matt’s, that Wolfgang kid came over. The one who is just as much of a jerk as Matthew is, and Colleen said that they should have a jerk off. Yeah, him. Well, I could have met him, and they could have had their jerk off, but i was too busy. Too busy having sex.

So I had another crazy dream a few nights ago. I was told that I got a job at an upscale vintage store, but it turns out that it was really just a bad thrift store. Not even like Goodwill… somewhere between Clothes Carosel and a garage sale. But it was 2 stories.
Then, I got my room mate/ dorm. However, they suprised us. It wasn’t a dorm at all. It was a fancy Real World/ Big Brother- esque apartment. There were 3 bedrooms, but I chose to sleep in the dining room/ hallway, because it had a Love Sac. k.
Anywho, it was time for the ballet, and I was in the greenroom with Nikki and Ashley, two ex dancers. I have nothing against Ashley, but Nikki, I can’t stand. She’s the Jessica Simpson of ballet. Anywho, they were being really really mean to me, and they kept mentioning that I was 16. Then I said, “I’m 18, guys,” and they started making fun of me even more. Realizing I was late for my entrance, I rushed to the stage.
There was someone in my place! Someone who looked -just- like me, except not as good of a dancer. “Those bitches,” I thought, “They did that on purpose. They wanted me to be late.” I figured the reason they were trying to sabatoge my dancing career was because they were jealous. (Of what, though, I’m not sure.)
So anywho, at intermission, there was this woman on the stage with a boom box, and a guy in the background playing with puppets and singing in a goofy voice. Ballet is dead. Then it was time for me to dance. This boombox woman turned on the music from the boombox and continued to stand on the stage. Nanci always said that if someone is in your way, you should just dance on top of them until they move. So I did. She just said, “Sorry, I can’t find the music.” It didn’t really matter, though, because it was so soft that the audience couldn’t hear. It caught my ear, and it wasn’t Tchavkasky at all. It was The Cure. I was doing ballet to The Cure. Of course, I couldn’t keep my old choreography, just I began making it up as I went. As we know, all songs come to an end. This song came to an end, and the next song was Bloodhound Gang’s Kiss Me Where It Smells Funny. The audience, which mainly consisted of old people, mustn’t hear this, so I danced over to the boom box, and with one swanlike movement, I kicked the boombox into the orchestra pit, completely destroying it. It being the boombox, not the orchestra pit.
I decided to dance the rest with no music. I could do this. And do it I did. I was doing phenomenal stuff– 32 foute’s in succession, grande jete’s that reached an altitude higher than the sets, never running out of breath. Things I could never do in real life. (Although I must say, I do have some pretty rad grande jete’s.) The whole time, Dr. Triplet was in the front and center of the audience giving me thumbs up, coaching me and such.
Then, people started leaving. Booing me. “You’re a great dancer, Liz, but we don’t have all day!”
I had only been dancing for 4 minutes! People are just way too impatient.
Anywho, I started crying, and they were making fun of me, then Ashley and Nikki came to the stage to take their curtain calls.

Bitches.

Kathryn and I hung out tonight. We got coffee and cheesecake. Then we bought a lifetime supply of condoms. Well, a lifetime supply for her. A week’s supply for me.

Sex is expensive. Here are some things to take into financial consideration when bumpin’ nasties:

• Contraception (ie, the pill, the patch, etc)
• Backup contraception (ie, condoms, morning after pill, etc)
• Lingerie (if he’s the picky type) (or if you’re just an awesome girlfriend) (or both)
• Toys and accessories (vibrators, cock rings, harnesses, knives, whatever gets you off)
• Grooming (Razors, shaving cream, depilitory creams, waxing) (If he’s the picky type) (or if you’re just an awesome girlfriend) (or both)
• Room rental (If you’re lacking privacy)
• Whore rental (if you’re just into that sort of thing)
• Getting your phone number changed
• Faking your own death to avoid paying child support when you decided that the first two expenses were just too… expensive…

Now, I only find the first five expenses nessecary. Actually, only the first one, and maybe the second one, are nessecary, but what can I say… I’m extravagant. And I like to keep Matt happy. Keeping him happy keeps me happy, both in -and- out of the sack. (Get it? In and out?)
Anywho, just with my using the first 5 expenses, I’ve calculated in the past month, sex has cost me $116. And that doesn’t include the gas money it takes to get me to Nashville.
Given, I don’t buy new toys and fancy underwears every month, but I just happened to buy both this month. On a month that I don’t buy that, sex would only cost me around $26, depending how much shaving/ waxing/ depilitorizing I did.

So guys, appreciate your girlfriends. Kiss them, hug them, sex them, take them to fancy dinners, tell them you love them, buy condoms, and maybe even give them fancy underwears as a gift or something. How else are we supposed to know what you like?

Remember when Jade took me to the Chinese restuarant where they sang me Happy Bursday? This is a dessert type thing we found.

Doesn’t it look like diaper rash? Wait til you open it up and see the stuff inside of it. Warning: That ain’t no chocolate. Seriously. I licked it.

And here is the “cake” I got:

Jade’s the cutest : )

I just remembered something:

Valerie: Man, when guys see all the stuff that Liz does, they’re all like, ‘Dang, I better wife her up!’
Liz: Wife me up?
Valerie: Yeah, that’s what black men say.

She’s subscribed, yet she’s never commented. Val Pal is her screen name. It’s like PayPal, except better.

Liz: Geez, how many pictures of my dog do you need?
Alley: Three.

Oh, and that wretched cake that I made for Matt? I have a picture. Only three slices were eaten. One by Matt, one by Courtney, and one by Bobby. Well, Bobby only ate half of it. What an insult. I’d rather him eat no cake than half of a slice. After I slaved away. On my birthday. And cried.
“Go ahead. Eat my cake. I’ll get another piece later. *SIIIIIGGGGHHHHH*”

See, it even had pretty flowers on it.

Then it sat in my car for 5 hours.

So in conclusion, my ass is really sore. It’s from shimmyin’. Shimmyin’ to cardio health and shimmyin’ to luuuv.

This entry was posted on Friday, August 18th, 2006 at 1:06 AM and is filed under Dance, Dreams, Food, Game, Party over here, Secks. 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.