I have the next week off from EVERYTHING. Oh hell yeah.

This means you shan't be hearing from me on this bloggy blog until I return in the New Year. Perhaps a bit disappointing. For you at least. But this *ALSO* means that I plan on spending the next week boozing 'til I puke, a loose woman on each arm and a pack of smokes in my pocket, fucking shit up all crazy-like in this city of Cleveland.

So if you'd like to join me in celebrating my week's worth of glorious unencumbered freedom (did I mention I'm off from EVERYTHING next week?) and doing absolutely nothing constructive, ring me, and we can fuck shit up together.

Until then, Merry F-ing Holidays, loyal readers. Catch you in the New Year.

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Some days there ain't nothing better than a nice steamy mug of coffee pressed in between your thighs--it can even have the power to improve a morning where you woke up once at 3:30am with cramps and a second time an hour later because your body is that in tune with itself that it actually sensed the moment that your DivaCup hit maximum capacity. There's something lovely about that--mmmm, menstrual blood and coffee.

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My Harem: The Christmas Edition

Newest editions:

• Hugh Laurie (though I suspect it may moreso be specifically his character House rather than the man himself... What a hottie though)


• Peter Dinklage (not so much with the facial hair though)

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I am somehow being blinded by the crazy, eyeball-withering orb of a sun shining through the windows at work FROM OPPOSITE SIDES OF THE BUILDING AT THE EXACT SAME TIME. What I mean to say is, I can see its orbosity hanging like a flaming dime on both the west side of the building and the east side simultaneously. I am not quite sure how this can be happening, as last time I checked, there was only one sun. Then again, I've been inside all day. So perhaps another one got tossed out there at some point.

Which leads me to another point I'd like to make (inappropriate, slightly incoherent attempt at transitioning):

People, if someone buys you a little Christmas present of some sort or another but you didn't get them something in return, IT'S OKAY. 95% of us are buying you the present not because we expect reciprocation but because we just wanted to, dammit. Which means it makes us feel bad when you act awkward and weird about it, as though we just took a big shit in your hat. It's called Christmas Spirit, motherfuckers--enjoy it. And for the 5% of folks who *ARE* sitting there fuming because you *DIDN'T* buy them something in return, fuck 'em. The second sun will smite them anyways.

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I have officially not posted on this blog in over a week. I don't think that's happened since I first started maintaining this silly little thing.

I feel dirty. Or something.

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It is a good thing that one whole slot of our vending machine at work is filled up with Lemonheads, seeing as everyone who works here IS still in 6th grade.

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In other news:

I refuse to see any movie whose title has "Mel Gibson's" in it and in which he wedges himself into the previews, yammering on about how brilliant his own movie is... the egotistical douche.

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I've had that "The stars at night, are big and bright *clap clap clap clap* deep in the heart of Texas" song stuck in my head ever since I woke up, which is really goddamn irritating seeing as that's the only line I know out of the whole song, and I can't even vouch for its veracity since the only thing I've ever done in Texas was eat spaghettios out of a can at a very windy rest-stop.

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Some days I just wanna wrap all my friends up together in a huge bear-hug and blow on their bellies like you do little babies and cry with them while smiling through the tears and makeout with them slowly and a bit sadly and braid each others' hair and dangle our legs off of a pier as the sun sets.

Damn you, Sufjan Stevens.

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