humor, relationships, Uncategorized

Cockamamie BooBoo

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See? Totally sweet and doe-eyed… *wink

I’m a good girlfriend. Sometimes I go needy and want that cuddle crap; but, even I know when to shut that shit down and go YOLO into my work and steer clear of “boys night out.” That’s right. You heard me. I said YOLO. Judge me all day. I can take it. I AM a good girlfriend… except for that one time he had to duck behind the serving counter to avoid a teapot to the head. It wasn’t a BIG teapot. Just regular sized. Hey, we all have our moments. And not all of those moments can be shiny and bright. Like stainless steel. Like that teapot.

Booboo’s friend was recently dumped-or he dumped her-I don’t know, it really doesn’t matter who dumped whom. This fellow is single again and I almost got a bed out of it. But I didn’t.  A king size bed. There’s no bed. Anna’s Linens, here I come! No BED. Dammit. I didn’t get the king size bed. No bed? *whining*  But I was already shopping for 2,000 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets…WAH. But, since a man doesn’t always operate in hyper-mode like a female… Dude’s, Miss Ex-Thing, sold it off to some schmuck. Two eyelash battings before my partner-in-life got the, oh so imperative- “hey I’ll finally sleep in a bed” -text back to the guy. Time is of the essence. And essence was m.i.a. here. So, I’m still bed-less in Los Angeles. Somehow, this is building my character or something. This no bed thing. Couch surfing in my living room isn’t all bad. It’s an upgrade from the air mattress that’s for sure.

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IDK anything about any -damn- sunflower seeds

Circling back to Mi Vida Loca, so the dumped lad gets a bed AND my chap. So I’m out a mattress. And freaking sexy time. Maybe I should give said boyfriend/pillowtop thief my hints on gardening too…. I mean, while he’s taking all my will to live away. I’m kidding. I have a will to live. Stupid box spring. Hmmm… Great idea though. Pumpkin seeds? Right now, I don’t like you, dumped person. Maybe an avocado seed? I should give you gardening hints… mostly because I have the gardening ability of a bull in a china shop. Take THAT, sunflower seeds. You won’t make it past the dirt. And three cockamamie sunrises from today, I look forward to my sweetheart showing up with a shiny new cozy hammock gift, in my office-home-atorium.

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humor, relationships, Uncategorized

Lonely Llama Spitter

There’s nothing more depressing, than feeling lonely. Crocheting? Well, maybe there is; But, at this moment, I can’t think of anything. You’re girlfriends are all out of town, doing their own thing. Vegas fuckers. Kid(s) are away at… whatever. “Ditch The Kids” camp? You have the house to yourself. Hello, hello, hello…. It echoes. You’ve eaten so many cheese quesodillas that you may actually hate cheese now. Never happen. Still loving cheese. Except the Bleu one… I’ll pass on the anaphylactic shock, thanks. Oh and you’ve been recently dumped by yet,

llama shopping…
llama shopping…

another “I’m here for a lifetime” hack. My favorite thing is when people tell you, I got you. Sarcasm. Not really my favorite thing at all. In my best male voice impersonation: “If you’re ever lonely, I’m here for you.” They’re lying. They don’t, “got you.” They just want to boink you. Like, the guy who’s ready to settle down after being “funtime guy,” for years, suddenly wants you to be open to committment and yet, when you text a “hey, I’m feelin a bit lonely… let’s cuddle” text his way… Crickets. Poo. Thick, mushy poo. Or, you’re in a fight with a mate, and instead of pushing aside the senseless spat about airline food to choose love and happiness-which, oddly enough, why you chose that mother fucker in the first place, because he balanced you out or some bullshit- he wants to keep fighting you and keep each party separated… yeah, and then dump you. Publicly. Thick, mushy, chunky poo. Guess, I’ll have my own party then. A spitting good time, llama party. Life’s too short to argue over nothing. Oh wait. Yup, my heart is chock full of thick, mushy, chunky, SMELLY POO. Oh, there it goes. It’s spewing. It’s spewing everywhere now.  Is that a rotten egg?

I think llamas got it figured out. They chill on their sandy mountainsides. Or lush, grassy fields, chewing on their cud… Whatever cud is. I’d chew pretzel cud. Or gummi cud. If they ever made it. Llamas seem like independent creatures who don’t give two fucks about having company. Or a mate. When a space invader approaches, they spit. When their elbow rooimages-1m is getting crowded upon, they spit. When a feel a sneak attack sheathing upon them, they spit. I don’t kow much about llamas, but they like to spit a lot. I’m a lover, not a fighter. So, spitting may not be the weapon of choice for me. A lot of times, I’ll try to make amends, even if I’m right. Just to stop the arguing. I prefer to live in love and light. Although… when pushed into a corner, I will retaliate. That decides it then… I’m going to learn to spit. One more douchebag dumps me, I’ll spit. Llama spit. I’m thinking about it, and the more I do, the more it seems it may be a valuable tool. The Llama Tool.

The good news is, now that I’m roaming this big, bright world solo again, I will have more time to investigate llama ownership and it’s rewards. And, I’ll finally be able to figure out what the hell cud is…