I have other fixations as well. Now let’s reach into the crazy bag and see what we pull out! I am interested to know what level of neurotic you all are, also, so please do post and fly your freak flag along with me! Or join me on Face Book. (The button is over there —->)
I Have No Filter. None. If it pops into my head I am gonna share it. Recently while out on a What A Fucking Shitty Week date with Carrie, we were talking about baby arms. If you don’t know what a baby arm is then you may be in danger of having your lady card revoked. Unless you are a virgin. Or a nun. At any rate, we were flashing a bunch of hand gestures…imagine our hands 4, 6, 8 and 10 inches apart while mouthing “this big”…and laughing. Maybe some snorting and generally sneezing our margaritas out of our noses. We also discussed various dismounts but more about that later. People were watching: the man stuck with two brats seemed interested and maybe like he wanted to come sit with us (sorry- we don’t like REAL baby arms), the chicks next to us seemed perturbed that we out good-timed them and the waiter was looking at us as though we just let loose the most obnoxious fart known to man kind. Pretty sure we are banned from the inside of that restaurant because the next time we went they were sure to seat us outside on the most secluded corner. Like distance is any challenge to us!
I Tell It Like It Is: I think I have always done this to an extent. But lately- I just go balls out. I’m annoyed by political correctness. Just say what you mean- and mean what you say! Holy shit- I can’t stand it if people will not just say what’s on their mind or their real opinion of whatever subject. Part of my motivation for this blog was that I am freaking out about my weight and turning 40. Like some switch in a deep unreachable corner of the universe will be flipped off and I will never be able to lose another ounce come August and aging will accelerate. Crazy much? While digging around the interweb- all I was able to find was bullshit advice like: this will be the best decade, embrace the new softer you, men love you droopy and all, you will find your true self, 40 is radiant, you are a beautiful butterfly emerging. What. The. Fuck! Stop blowing fucking sunshine up my ass and tell me the truth. After that, quickly tell me the recipe for the “Holy Shit I’m Fucking 40” cocktail. I am certain- that once I am 40- I will sail smoothly. However, right now, I am trying to figure out: why my period is all wonky, what can I do about my skin drying out, why the mustache, how do I keep my boobies from trying to hump my knees, why do I gain weight by simply reading a menu and why this all happened suddenly at one time and holy shit WHAT could possibly go wrong next? Can’t I have a decade to adjust? So here I am- telling you- exactly what to expect and what I find out. No sunshine. No mincing. Just the truth. This is scary. And I am only usually afraid of the boogie man and the dark. And people with bad hygiene. And ugly shoes. *Shiver*
I’m All For Feedback: Some people like this blog- some people like Jeanne09 do not. She emailed me about my last post- in which I described my recent party at the Gyno’s. More like panic than a party. Sorry you were offended Jeanne, but I did give fair warning to not read on. Love it when you guys comment, post on my Face Book page or email me . I have had some awesome email conversations that have made me feel fantabulous and one that made me cry. I cried because this woman emailed me and told me thank you for being so honest and open. That she wished her girlfriends would be – because she is struggling with 30 and they think she is weak. WHAT! Pardon me while I step up on my soapy box: Always be a good girlfriend and listen to your posse. If someone is struggling shut your pie hole and hug her! Do not tell her she is whining, weak, less of a woman or over reacting. Or worse, don’t tell her about the time you were in her shoes and coasted through the same situation singing Zippity Fucking Doo Dah while unicorns shit rainbow cupcakes down on your picnic! If your girl confides she is on the verge of a nuclear fucking freak out- drop your fork and listen to her. M’kay? As far as feedback- I’ll take what you have to say but if you email me and call me names, tell me Jesus hates a cusser or act like you shit sunshine- I’m gonna get all pissy and post your user name. Meow.
Lastly- I love you all. Because this makes me feel better- that I am not alone. Or I made you laugh. Or think. Or waste your lunch hour. Thank you for your support, your cheers, tears and smart ass responses.