SPOILER ALERT: I still have my drains. The upside? I’m feeling somuchbetter. Possibly because I’m ALSO weaning myself from The Max (Topamax)(GOD, I hate writing drug words, because then I am spammed to BALLS with “farmacies” selling me knock-off drugs, which is the opposite of awesome. Normally, I’m just spammed about Ugg Boots, which is working, because I’m now dying for a pair of them. Well played, Spammers) while I’m on hardcore narcotics.
And while you’ve been busy, living your life, THIS is what I’ve been thinking about:
*I’ve started writing a weekly Open Letter To Something on Mushroom Printing. This week, I wrote to my abdominal muscles. Last week, I wrote to vomit. Because OBVIOUSLY.
*When presented with this, the answer is always yes:
You all know how badly I want a Robot Monkey Butler named Mr. Pinchey, right? I used to want a REAL monkey butler, but I think PETA would be all up my ass if I got one, and besides, I don’t want my face ripped off. *makes Zoolander Face*
*I require this dress.
Okay, so not THIS one specifically, but one JUST LIKE IT.
So, Pranksters, if you should choose to accept this mission and find me this dress, I will hump you forever. Or, at least, uh, NOT hump you? WHATEVER YOU WANT.
*OR, I could give you this cookbook I found.
Aunt Becky + Rachael Ray = NOT BFF.
Why? I DON’T KNOW. I think she’s too happy for me.
I found THIS cookbook on my shelf and got WICKED confused. Like REALLY confused. We ALL know I don’t cook. And EVERYONE who knows me knows that Rachael Ray and I are NOT OKAY with each other. And somehow, THIS was on my shelf. THIS was NOT DIAMONDS. THIS WAS RACHAEL RAY.
I was stampy. HORRIFIED. This may be the source of all bad karma in my life. How long had it sat on my shelf? And WHERE had it come from? I simply didn’t know.
I STILL don’t know. At least the Williams-Sonoma books came from a recognizable source (my stupidity). I think I’m going to run some sort of contest to get rid of those cookbooks. Like, MAKE ME AWESOMESAUCE and get some ridiculous cookbooks.
*Earlier today, I tweeted this post on Band Back Together about Gender Non-Conformity.
(my manly butterfly says FUCK YOU to gender stereotypes, by the by)
Normally I tweet Band Back Together stuff from the Band Back Together Twitter Account. I recognize that the people on my Mommy Wants Vodka Twitter are normally expecting status updates like, “I JUST TOOK A POO, PLZ RT” so I try to keep the do-gooding to a minimum on there. But the gender non-conformity piece and occasional other pieces, well, when I see awesome ones (and don’t be offended if I do not, because I do not edit everything), I tweet them. I just can’t overwhelm people who expect status updates on my vagina.
(P.S. I hate having to think like that).
Well, this is what happened.
Let me show that to you a little closer.
That cause would PROBABLY be you. WHOOPS. And ROCK ON. I’m PROUD. Crash away, Pranksters. CRASH AWAY.
(no seriously, please crash the shit out of it. I’ll buy more space)
*Also: my rose is defiantly thumbing its nose at November.
Note my finger at the bottom. I expect a GRAMMY for this picture.