Whatever you do, -DO NOT- smell the crotch of Michele’s unitard. Her name is spelled with one L. And an E. It’s like Micheal, but feminine. Welp… he… you know.
Papa just called me. I talked to him for almost an hour the other day when Matt was here. He cracks me up:
“Georgia might be coming down here in a couple weeks… or she says so. You can never trust them mountain people. They always lie to you.”
I almost died within the past few days. You ladies should know how this is. It isn’t really menstrual, but just femanine. You have a bad couple days and then something itty bitty happens, and BAM. You FREAK THE FUCK OUT. That’s what I did. I’m talking crying, shaking, bitching, etc. “I need to be sedated! Somebody fucking sedate me! Now!” (please, no cheesey Ramones jokes here. Save them for when I get my teenage labotomy). I needed drugs. All I had was a sedative that was prescribed to me about a year ago, so I took three. I didn’t feel much better.
And Caitlin, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. I just really don’t like to be touched sometimes whenever I’m freaking out. I was thinking about that, and it would have upset me if someone did that to me.
We’re having a Monkey Mama Party at my dad’s house sometime soon to initiate Caitlin, Rachel, and Kaylie. Other Caitlin, Sarah, and Brenda, your time will come. We haven’t had MMFP in about 2 years. More than that. Closer to three. Sure, we may have grown up a bit, but geez, can’t we still do bizarre hazing rituals to our friends?
Speaking of rituals, it’s confirmed that Steve and Holly do -not-, I repeat, do NOT do the Swahili thing. I was wrong, you were right.
Matthew came over this weekend. Fun times were had by all. Especially him and me. But also Steve, Holly, mum, etc. Oh, and The Ross. The Ross used to work at Olive Garden in Memphis (or Memphrica, as the “emo” boys with badly bleached hair and big butts say). Can you believe that? I wonder if his penis ever hit anybody in the monocle.
Matt kind of fixed my computer and he kind of fixed my potty. He just doesn’t like noises. I forgot to give him that cardboard. Whoops. He’ll have to come back and get it. And by it, I mean cardboard. Perverts.
When Steve gets sleepy, he becomes insanely weird. Not cracker weird, I’m talking Liz and Holly weird. Holly was trying to make Matt talk by saying singular words and making Matt tell a story having to do with the word. This was going well, and Holly said, “Pickle.” Matt began, but Steve interrupted with, “When your art attacks you… Run with it.” We looked at him confusedly. He continued, “You know, when you’re painting and your canvas falls on you.” We told him to wait his turn and not to confuse the poor boy. Matthew told a story about this kid in one of his classes snorting pickle juice, and then Steve continued with, “When your art attacks you.” After we had a good laugh about that, he explained, “Maybe I was snorting the wrong pickle.”
Despite what Holly and Steve think, Matt does indeed like them. They gave us something to laugh about.
Then Holly and her HUGE House Party 3 shirt.
You know, sometimes -you- talk about the same thing over and over and over. That gets boring. It wouldn’t be so bad if you talked about the same thing a little bit and said other things, or nothing at all even, but you talk more than you breathe, and you breathe your singular topic. It didn’t used to be that way.
And -you-. Give it a rest. I’m just not interested. You’re like an overly persistant telemarketer/ door-to-door salesperson. I can’t stand it. Just stop. It won’t happen. Especially not now.
I am really really happy. I know, I’m always happy, but… I’m such a girl. I can’t help it. We’ve already had our first child. Jethro. You saw him in a below blog.
I apologize for not blogging lately. It’s just that Matthew was in, and I like him more than I like blogging for you assholes. But don’t you worry your pretty little heads… there -will- be more semi- erotic fictional short stories to come. (Get it?) And you’ll actually be allowed to read some of them.
By the way, Yes, I educated the younguns. But hell, think about when you were their age. Think about what you talked about with your friends. Emily and I talked about that stuff in like, 7th grade. Anywho, they didn’t judge me, and if they didn’t judge me, I -certainly- don’t expect my friends to judge me, even if they are much older than I. Once again, you and I both know what you did when you were my age.
Sometimes having friends older than I am sucks. I only need one set of parents. I’m good after that, I promise.
Everyone, come to CATS. I know T.S. Eliot was an idiot, but it’s going to kick ass. I mean, the $15 is worth just seeing me in a unitard.
Beth fucking sucks, and everyone thinks so. She shows up late, sometimes doesn’t even dance, and nobody says anything to her. She’s not the fucking star. Did you see what she did after dress rehearsal? Yeah, real cute. I did that in the 7th grade. And it wasn’t after a dress rehearsal with an audience.
Did you know that grapefruit can get your pregnant? That’s right. It’s not just semen that carries that virus.
I would tell a really horrible joke here, but I won’t for fear of burning. I’ll let Mark or Matthew say it.
Mrs. Dollie told me to use “rubbers”. And yes, she meant condoms. She’s 86.
Mrs. Macintosh told me that my grandmother was sleeping with her son- in- law. Then she said that an RN was and called her a “two- bit- whore.” We then put her to bed.
I feel goofy in my tummy. That’s not pregnancy, that’s luuuuurve.
So in conclusion, those girls at the show were -sooo- last season Liz.