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…

humor, relationships

Gum Drop Daddy

Photo: Jared Alexander
Photo: Jared Alexander

The best advice I ever received was to always take gum (or breath mints), if offered. Wait. What?You don’t take candy from strangers. But, doesn’t it sort of make meeting strangers fun? You can’t tame this butterfly.  But, this post isn’t about that. Or is it? I don’t know. Just follow along.  And well, yes,  I did offer a breath mint to a total stranger on my flight yesterday. He was dressed nice, suit, tie, etc. How bad could he be? Yes, I’m a fan of the clean cut man club. You know, the type that bathe, more than once a week. And shave. Uh, ever watch Mansions & Murders, sweetheart? Yes, but not every tall glass of water is out to murder his family in their mansion. So, still a fan. Sexy and perfectly manscaped. Sigh.

Anyway,  this hot little gum drop slept pretty much half way across the nation, as we flew high in the skies, seated in between my son and I.  Head back against the seat rest. Mouth wide open. Breathing all over everybody. So, when he awoke from his drool-less slumber, I thought I’d chat it up. Oh no. He wasn’t having it. Dag nabbit. Dialogue, dialogue… I need to instigate a conversation.  So, I offered a mint, to break the ice and he slightly joked, “Oh, no thanks. Unless you’re trying to tell me something,” as he smiled. His sexy little smirk. Ahhh… why is he staring at me all weird? Maybe I should stop batting my eyelashes in his general direction. Damn his freshly shaven, strong jawline.

4567c-img_6565About an hour to go on the flight. And cutie patootie is ordering a cup of noodles and bloody mary mix. Without the alcohol. And a Cup O’ Noodles. Hmmm… ok, they were out of tomato juice. I see the alternative, choice of champions. Sarcasm. But, now he’s so loaded up on sodium, he might poop salt. Dammit. Less attractive now. And then the coughing begins. Why?! Why, the bad food choices?!! There were other healthier options. Like vodka. And, he’s still not taking an interest in me and all my hotness. Hmmm… no biggie. But, I can’t find anything wrong with him except his terrible sodium-packed snackery. And his possible, common cold outbreak, he’s about to unleash onto the airborne vehicle because he doesn’t cover his mouth with his sleeve. Or hand. Or maybe with a nearby napkin. Hey hambone, let’s try the nearby napkin!  So, I give up on this chance at love, because we’re only a few short stints from landing and I realize, for at least two, of the four and a half hour flight, he’s the jerkoff that’s been coughing and hacking in my general direction. While snotty children were screaming in the back and running up and down the aisles. Ah, but his kindly tailored suit and chisled bone structure, all handsome and yearning for my touch … You sure you don’t want some gum?